I have always been a crier. Ask anyone. I mean, I am completely predictable. When something is sad, I cry. When something is happy, I cry. When something is really funny, I laugh so hard I cry. I am just a weepy willow. I own it. I am an ugly crier, but I look even uglier when I try to hold in the tears, so I embrace the snot nosed, furrowed brow, smeared mascara look now.

Last night, That Nice Boy (TNB) and I were sitting on the couch watching Extreme Weight Loss with Chris Powell (oooh la la, love me some CP) and the woman just found out that CP was going to work with her for a year to help her lose weight. She was a guidance counselor at a school and it was a pep rally and all the students held up signs that read "I CHOOSE YOU" while she got a phone call from CP to officially tell her the good news. I felt my quivery lip start and the lump in my throat got all lumpy and I was just about to lean over and tell TNB, "I am just so happy for her! He chose her! How happy!" and before I could utter the words, he matter-of-factly stated: "There is no way that she is just finding this out for the first time. It's totally staged." Then he looked over at my tear-filled, compassionate, empathetic eyes (yep, layin' it on real thick) and the look on his face was incredulous.

I don't know how to not be a crier. Today it was approximately 176 degrees outside so Faithy and I headed out to the Splash Pad to cool off. And I sat there in the blistering sun watching her run all over the place through the water fountains, and that damn urge to cry came over me again. I swear, I am so lame. She ran up to me with her hair soaking wet and hanging in her face like Cousin It and I pretended like I didn't recognize her.

"Excuse me little girl, can you help me find my daughter? I can't find her anywhere! She kind of looks like you, except she has a face, not just hair!"

Cue: hysterical 3 year old laughter.

"MOMMY! It's ME!!"

Cue: lame lumpy throat.

(I mean, nobody else thinks I am as funny as she does. It's such an ego boost having a preschooler.)

She ran off and the same scene was re-enacted approximately 14 times and normally after Round 3 I would be tired of it and trying to pawn her off on some other kid at the Splash Pad ("hey there little buddy, this here is Faith and she is super fun. Play with her. Now.") but not today. Weepy Willow in full force.

I don't know what it is about being a parent. Those tiny little humans freaking own you. Last night before she went to bed, Faith looked at TNB and said, "Will you color with me?" Simple enough request. He sat down at her tiny coloring table with her and she looked up at him with big brown eyes and said, "Draw a baby for me."

He quickly looked over at me, mildly panicked.

"I have to draw a baby?"

Very confidently, she responded, "Yes. A baby. In a bathtub."

The mild panic turned to true panic in his eyes for a brief second. And I laughed. HARD. Welcome to the world of a 3 year old, TNB. Awkward moments abound. But you best believe that boy with big muscles sat at that coloring table and drew not only a baby but an entire aquatic scene, complete with swordfish and tiny fishies and everything that little girl asked him to draw.

Even when they aren't your own, kids are masters at the heart-
owning business.

I will never be able to give Faith everything she needs in life. I am a failure at a plethora of life skills. But she gives me everything I need. I have never loved anyone so hard in my life. Sometimes my heart wants to explode (well, let's be honest, sometimes my heart wants to explode because it is 10:18pm and she is getting out of bed for the 18th time to ask for water or for me to tuck her dolly in or that she needs to go potty). But if there is such thing as a GOOD heart explosion, it happens at the most random times with her. Whether she is Cousin It or talking in a strange Southern accent (who taught her that?!) or singing songs to her animals or yelling "I ripped a big one!" after she "toots"... there is an angel wrapped up in that tiny little body, I am sure of it. (Surely angels toot.)

This post is more for posterity sake than anything...one day when she hates my guts for not allowing her to run away with the rockstar at age 16 or for forcing her to be a Cubs fan....she will read this and know that there is nothing in the world that I love harder than her.

If you are a parent or an aunt or an uncle or a pseudo-aunt/uncle or a big brother or sister, or even if not...I know you understand.

beautiful disaster

Almost exactly a year ago, my whole life turned into a crazymessyterrifyingdisaster and now that the storm (I mean, it was like a Cat 5 tornadicanequake) has passed and the sunlight is peeking through, I can finally look back and see how God held me through it all.

“You hem me in behind and before and You lay Your hand upon me.”

                                                                                                                                -Psalm 139:5

Last August, within a matter of days of each other, I moved out of my apt with Baby Daddy (BD)and quit my job. Obviously, those two events occurring simultaneously make perfect sense. Or the opposite of perfect sense. But the environment I was in at my job was destroying me and I knew I was in too vulnerable of a position with my personal life to stay there and survive. To say my world spontaneously combusted is an accurate description. No family within 300 miles, no job, no money.

The night I moved out (and into my life coach/guardian angel/ginger bestie’s brand new house she had bought like 14 seconds before that), Faithy and I (and my severance pay) wandered aimlessly around Walmart at 9pm. I found the cheapest toddler bed and mattress I could find and threw it in my cart. I could feel the judging eyes around me…

“What kind of mom brings her 2 year old to go shopping at 9pm?!”

I gave the classy clientele surrounding me the stink eye … they chose a bad night to mess with me.

“LOOK AT ME THAT WAY ONE MORE TIME AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS!!!”

Yeah right. 1) Nobody at WallyWorld would ever look at me weird for having a 2 year old there at 9pm because just about everyone else there had their kids too. #ResponsibleMomsUnite  2) Like I am really brave enough to mad dog someone at WALMART late at night.

I immediately started freelancing and making enough to basically pay rent and my car payment. Mandie worked from home, so I did my best to keep Faith out of the house during the day. Days were a blur. The park, Monkey Joe’s, Barnes & Noble…anything to keep a wild 2 year old entertained. Me and F shared a bedroom, and at night  I would put her to sleep in her Minnie Mouse toddler bed, but half the time I would pick her up and bring her to bed with me later on. Two of us in my little twin bed. Uncomfortable, but she was my lifeline. Something about the smell of her Dora shampoo kept me sane. Dang, I love that kid.

Me and BD’s custody agreement is 50/50. Saturday nights before I had to give her back, after she went to bed, I would sit on my couch with a glass (or 2) of wine and dread the next day. It’s like giving half your heart away every other week.

I discovered that running was a healthier outlet than bottles of wine and frozen pizza. The irony is that I looked like an awkward, drunk Clydesdale every time I stepped on the treadmill, so that’s a treat...looking intoxicated without feeling the actual buzz. But I learned to channel my frustration and stress into exercise.

I avoided dramatic Facebook confessions about the genuine disaster my life had become. 1) It ain’t nunya biznass, FB world. 2) to protect F. I think it’s completely tacky to bash your ex publicly, especially when a kid is involved. That little girl loves her daddy and he loves her. End of story.

I went on job interview after job interview. I made it to the final rounds 4 TIMES. And then got rejected.

DAMMIT, I AM QUALIFIED FOR ALL THESE JOBS!!!

I saw a career coach and he said, “You have to learn to sell yourself better, Shannon.”

Hmmm.

“I am 30 years old, mid-divorce, halfway unemployed, broke…but I am a damn good mom and my legs are now in GREAT shape. I mean, seriously. My quads are rock solid. Just please don’t mention anything about my family or Chicago because I am crazy homesick. And if you do, I will scoot my chair over to you and not-so-delicately lay my head on your shoulder and weep for 26 minutes. And I am a horribly ugly crier. So please…let’s move on…and pretend this never happened…I’ll show myself to the door, thanks…”

As soon as I got paid for my freelance gig, I would pack up my Kia and Faithy and drive the million miles to Rock(&roll)ford to stay with my sister and her fam. I’m tellin’ ya – if you don’t know Heather & Troy DeCook, you’re missing out. They are the salt of the earth (what does that phrase even mean?!) and they took SUCH good care of me and my boo.

Actually, the support came in the most random ways. I would get Starbucks gift cards in the mail from sweet friends, insightful messages from friends on FB who had no idea what was going on with me, invited to people’s family holiday meals….the love was overwhelming. God uses people to bless other people!

THANKFUL.

Fast forward to March 2013. Somehow, Mandie managed to not lose her mind, despite the pure chaos that Faithy and I brought to her house. And we finally moved into our own little teeny apartment. I got a job. I started going back to counseling on my own. My sweet girl and I survived (and are totes BFF now). For the first time in 7 months, I could breathe.

It’s like that cheesy “Footprints” poem that I freaking love so much….looking back, when I thought I was alone…but He was carrying me the whole time. Through Him, I am so much stronger than I ever deemed possible.

You never know what kind of chaos someone else might be going through. Love people HARD and without condition. Make an occasional sacrifice for someone else. Send that encouraging note. Take someone out to coffee. Be someone’s anchor, their happy place. Show them Jesus.

Like my other BFF, Ellen DeGeneres, says...BE KIND TO ONE ANOTHER. Maybe the Bible says that too. Whoops.

It ain't easy raising a kid while still married. But when you are divorced, the chaos is multiplied by 8 bazillion. (Sidenote: random that I would choose a tiny number like "8" to put next to a ginormous number like "bazillion." Like, why wouldn't I choose 800 bazillion or something? Also, why don't I change the word "bazillion" since it really isn't even a word? I digress...)

In marriage, it's about compromise. Outside of that, it's more...negotiation. Bartering. Sometimes I imagine an auctioneer in the background rattling off our negotiation bids as we discuss these major life decisions. I don't imagine him as an ol' country boy or a slicked back greasy haired skeez. My auctioneer has a slight British accent and he looks like Chuck Bass. Which is weird because Chuck Bass talks exceptionally slow. Almost awkwardly slow. But I still choose him for my auctioneer. I digress...

When Faith is with her dad, she calls me every night to say goodnight and vice versa. The other night, Faith called and that sweet little voice got on the phone and ...

F: "Mommy! I want to get my ears pierced. I want earrings."

Me: "Whoa. No, Faithy, I'm sorry. You have to wait until you are old enough to be able to take care of them yourself. That's the rule."

F: "Noooo, Mommy. I want earrings. Daddy has earrings."

(STRIKE ONE)

Me: "What did Daddy say about this?"

F: "Daddy said YES!!"

(STRIKE TWO)

Me: "Ohhhh reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally."

F: "I love you, Mama."
(STRIKE THREE)

The next day, I climbed high up on my horse, grabbed a pedestal and stood on it on my tippy-toes, stuck my nose in the air and preached Baby Daddy a sermon about undermining my authority and the good cop/bad cop scenario and how it makes me look like a fool to tell her no when he said yes and that she needs to learn responsibility even at age 3 and that she can't always get what she wants, etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. 

Baby Daddy: "I disagree."

Me: "That's it?"

BD: "Yes."

Me: "Well what are your reasons for that?? I just gave you a whole lot of good reasons!!"

BD: "I just think she's a pretty little girl and she is in my sister's wedding and earrings would look so nice with her flower girl dress."

Me: "LOW BLOW. I am not invited to the wedding and I don't even get to see her all dressed up like that."

BD: "I will let you come to the ceremony if she can get her ears pierced."

Me: "Really?????"

She understands.

BD: "Ugh. Yes. And you can bring your boyfriend."

Me: (tap dancing in Target) "FINE. And I want custody of the Crock-Pot again."

BD: "Deal."

And that'ssssssssss how it's done. Bing, Bang, Boom. Bigger fish to fry down the road, I'm sure.

 And thank you, Chuck Bass, for the beautiful visual I had during that whole exchange. 

Walking out the gym last night, the sky was basically a giant burst of a million different colors. Being the Super Athlete that I am, I easily hoisted my rambunctious 3-year old onto my shoulders and breathed in the fresh air and tilted my face towards the setting sun.

False.

Drenched in sweat from a treacherous 2.1 mile run slash jog slash walk on the treadmill, face beet red from my lungs nearly exploding out of my chest, and boasting some totally sexy sweaty pits, I feebly bent down to tell my sweet girl to look up at the sky.
_________________________________________

Me: "Faithy, look! The sky is beautiful."

F: "Ooooh it's orange! I love it!"

Me: "Jesus made that beautiful sky."

F: "Did He paint it??"

Me: "Yep. You should tell Him thank you."

[silence]

F: "I just told him in my heart. He did not say you're welcome."
_________________________________________

Well, that's pretty rude, Jesus. :)

The whole drive home, Faith was enamored by the orange sky that she has seen countless nights...every single night when we go to the gym...or....every other night when we go to the gym....or maybe just every Saturday morning before we hit up IHOP with Aunt Mandie, so I guess she never sees the sunset. Whatev.

"Look, Faithy! Just beyond the rolling green hills, (surely they are alive with the sound of music)...do you see the sun setting??"

False.

"Faithy, strain your neck at a 75 degree angle...do you see it? Look just to the left of the Huck's gas station sign (dangit, gas prices are killing me) and above the roof of the Dandy Inn (haven't had a good Irish beer in a while)...do you see the orange sunset??"

"I SEE IT, MOMMY!!! I SEE IT! GO FIND IT!!"

Sitting at the intersection of 159 (such an annoying road) and Rt. 50, staring at the red light, I had a decision to make. Go left, home to my glass of Pinot and 6 cookies to reward myself for an intense workout....or go straight and chase that sunset, which according to my pastor (well, and scientists I suppose), is like 93 million miles away or something.

You'z best believe we chased that damn sunset.

Granted, we drove like 2.3 minutes down the road until the buildings cleared and she could see the whole sky, which actually was pretty much the bomb dot com (yep, I said that. I'm a mom, I don't need to be cool.)

"Where does the sun go?"

"It goes to sleep at night. It goes down and then the moon comes up."

[silence]

"MOMMY!!! THE MOON!! I SEE IT RIGHT THERE!!"

Dammit. So much for that analogy. Thanks a lot, Earth. You couldn't have waited 10 more minutes until the sun was gone to let the freakin' moon show up?

Regardless...I went home that night and thought more about the unplanned life lesson I had taught my daughter (minus the Irish beer and cursing gas prices). The fingerprints of Jesus really are everywhere. The pure joy on her face of understanding that He created beautiful things for our pleasure is a pretty sweet concept.

This morning on the way to school, I glanced at her in the mirror.

"Hey, sweet girl."

"Hi, Mama."

"You know that feeling you get when you are really happy? And you just want to smile really big?"

"Hmmm. YES!"

"When you feel happy like that, that is when Jesus is hugging you."

"He is??"

"Yep!" (I'm feeling pretty good about Life Lesson #2 I just taught her. Pat on the back. Mom of the Year. You're welcome, Jesus.)

"Oh. Well I don't know what that means. My Pop-Tart broke."

Fine. Can't win 'em all.