I just turned sixty. I can’t even believe I said that out loud! I mean, come on, sixty??? How on earth did that happen??
Honestly, in the months preceding my birthday, I tried to avoid even thinking about it. But my husband, God love him, would occasionally remind me with a little glint in his eye that at fifty-nine I was actually in my sixtieth year. Cute. Not. He’s sixty-two so he can get away with it 🙂
I don’t know why it bothered me so much. Turning forty was a big milestone and I think the realization hit home that I was nothing resembling a young person anymore. Turning fifty wasn’t so bad. I just slid right into that decade and didn’t think too much about it but sixty. Whoa….
Marriage
Ten Ways to Show The Father’s Heart
My Puzzle part. That’s what we’ve always called each other. In fact, it’s inscribed on a signet ring I had made for him before we got married. Our life together often feels like a giant, 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle! We haven’t always known where we fit and we’ve been moved about trying to fit here or there or just fit in. But we’ve always fit together.
We clicked from the instant we met. It didn’t hurt he was super cute, an incredibly gifted musician, smarter than anyone I’ve ever known and funny as the dickens! I knew very quickly he was the one I wanted to marry. And we did, 31 years ago. And in those 31 years he’s taught me more about the Father’s heart than anyone else I’ve ever known.
10 Ways to Untether and Tame the Crazy
Mamas, let me share my heart with you. In my years of mothering I’ve learned a few things and looking back, I see what was important. I see them condensed, pinpoints of light like bright stars in a vast and black sky.
Mothering is universal but things have changed, a lot, since I became a mom almost 3 decades ago.
The world is fast paced with information available at warp speed, voices everywhere screaming for attention. Distractions abound and pull, tugging us away from what’s important. The tyranny of the urgent seduces and traps with flattering but empty promises.
I’ve come up with some remedies, in no particular order, except the last one.
My Ugly Confession
True confession time. You may think you know me but unless you’ve lived with me, you don’t know what a brat I can be. Just ask my poor husband because I was such a pill to him this weekend. If my granny were still around, she’d say, “Stop being such a piss-ant Kate!”
I’ve never known anyone else who said ‘piss-ant’. Except for granny. I can totally see her, standing in front of the stove cooking roast beef hash and eggs for breakfast and waving her spatula around while I pick on my little sister. And telling me not to be a piss-ant. Yes, it means just what you think it means. Poor Mike. He puts up with my moods way better than I deserve. Not to say he doesn’t fight back, he will stand his ground and let me know when I’m being a complete brat. He’s not a push-over that is for sure. We are both passionate people and we will fight for our position even when it’s not pretty. And it rarely is.
Catch and Release
It’s a push/pull, this mothering thing. Holding and at the same time, letting go. We have these babies, these tiny, soft, helpless babies, and we vow to hold them close, keep them safe, and never let the world and all it’s fears and worries and heartaches get too close. We become mama-fierce, like protective she-lions, ready …