Sprinkles are for Winners

Being a wife is way harder than being a mom, possibly more exhausting too. I think it’s because there is no option in not being a mom once you become one. It is eternal and undeniable. However, society has no issues if you stop being a wife. Many people even promote it, there are guide books even.

Society promotes personal happiness over all else; so if your husband doesn’t make you happy, leave him. As a wife, only 4 years in, I can confidently say, your husband will not make you happy a lot of the time.

And if you’re in the middle of littles you may question your sanity and wisdom and love and choice of mate. That is normal.


  1. he is a man and wired completely differently
  2. he is a man and therefore does not multi task efficiently
  3. he is a man and thinks he can fix everything with youtube better than a professional
  4. he is human and cannot read minds or thought bubbles (thank goodness sometimes)


Choose him anyways. Marriage isn’t supposed to be 50/50; you each carry the weight at different times. Sometimes you give and sometimes you get, and sometimes you can’t tell the difference through the exhaustion.

Society says it’s ok to quit, it’s ok to find your real soul mate and perfect fit. Many godly people say it’s ok to quit if your spouse isn’t godly.


“Likewise, wives, be subject to your own husbands, so that even if some do not obey the word, they may be won without a word by the conduct of their wives,” 1 Peter 3:1


But here’s the thing, once you say “I do,” you become one. And maybe the fit doesn’t seem perfect and maybe its borderline painful at times. But instead of quitting and thinking of all the ways someone else would be better, easier to live with, at least more helpful…


Lift each other up, stop pointing out flaws that shrink. Focus on your mistakes instead of his.


Most of all remember you’re both tired, and you’re both trying, and you do love each other.


And go get some ice cream with or without the littles, because sprinkles help every situation.

(I do think there are some serious reasons for separation, this post is not in reference to abuse of any kind)

  • J

A Self-Reliant Man

a-good-self-reliant-man-vintage-art-posterI married a good man, who was taught to need no one. That kind of mindset is highly applauded these days…

Take care of yourself

Do your own thing

Depend on no one

Plant your own flowers

Frost yourself


Which are all great sentiments, to an extent. Except for the wife who was loved too much as a child and wants to be lavishly loved on as an adult.


The world is shifting – I know more people with divorced parents than committed.


It’s really no wonder people think independence and self reliance is the key.


Yet, I was raised to rely on each other. I was raised based on the most dependent love, Christ love. The most pure, uncomplicated, yet wholly dependent love.


As a believer and as a wife that is hard. It’s hard loving a man so unvulnerable, a man with so many walls.


It must be done, with Christ love, over and over and with a gentle word…


And there in lies my problem. Thank goodness I can be wholly dependent on my God for grace and mercy and love as I try my best, to rededicate my life to Him and to him.


And to see the day the walls come down.

  • J

Not His Fault

I almost ruined a perfectly good day yesterday. I did ruin an hour.

And our zoo outing with friends turned into an aquarium visit without.


I almost blamed my husband for it all. And brought three years of legitimate frustrations into a self made morning of anger. Don’t get me wrong, plenty of bad days (or moments) are his fault. This time it wasn’t.


I didn’t eat breakfast (I’m not myself when hungry…)


And I have a shrinking, yet still very present, problem with letting go of self imposed timelines for a days events. When 90% of the time, if we leave 30 minutes late it does not matter.


its not his faultThe world will not collapse if I stop running around like a tazmanian devil. If I wait, and play, with the kids while Chris brushes his short hair and teeth and finds his shoes and phone and then asks questions. And then we can load the car together.


Heck, I can take an extra 10 minutes and do my own hair, if I slow down and let myself. (by this, I mean perhaps brush it today)


Luckily, this angry morning I did pack a granola bar, and Chris doesn’t hold grudges.


I know I am making a little progress because I allowed my irrational anger to dissipate before we even entered the aquarium. Typically, my irrational feelings linger a little too long.


But someone make me slow down, this is not the momma I want my kids to remember. Outtings shouldn’t be marked my irritation and fights on the drive there.

And breakfast is a must. Coffee does not suffice.
– J

Not Just Another Self-Help Book

A common theme in my life. Also, something I do not have. Kids teach you real quickly just how little you know and how little you can control. And marriage is a precursor.

There are flowers and lingerie and beautiful photos. Long hot coffee mornings with blankets and the news. Runs in the evening, cookie in hand. No major conflicts. Then you move, have a baby, realize you were never really communicating. And life is hard.

You think they’re these little humans, that smell good and coo and are calmed by tingalaya (an old raffi song). Then they get older. Just a little bit, and all hell breaks lose and they sit there asking for coffee and telling you, “don’t talk to me like that”…yes I’m talking about my two year old. (I don’t know where he’s heard that before!)

And you’re back to square one. Zero control and it’s right in your face.

“Our level of faith determines our response to God” Wendy Blight.

This sums up letting go of false illusions and explanations. When faith is strong, when open communication with God is present and running your life, you don’t need control. You have trust.

Mind you the answers are still fuzzy and they’re not lined up numerically in the back of the book. But there is a book.

I forget that a lot. Besides Sunday morning and an occasional verse jumping I don’t read a lot.

I don’t understand moms who have time for reading.

But there’s this book that has answers. All sorts, for the marriage and momma. And I own 4.

My Bible is well worn and marked yet I’m just beginning to realize it’s true value.

I think you have to acknowledge how little you know in order to really appreciate the best help book ever written.

You have to know that ever situation is either a chance to question God or glorify God and our response reflects our faith.

I consider my faith strong, yet my responses are lacking.

I’m a work in progress. Sorely wishing the answers were lined up numerically in the back.

But at least there’s a book!

Happy Valentine’s Day

These are the last few fights Chris and I have had:


  1. he vacuums too much, too slow (he got me a vacuum for Valentines day one year, I kid you not)happy valentines day
  2. he took over doing the dishes (I wanted 5 minutes without holding a kid)
  3. he took over sweeping and I wanted it done a specific way


Yes, I realize how ridiculous all three of these seem. I realize a lot of women want to be irritated because their husband DID housework. I am blessed to have a clean husband, and I do appreciate that.


However, these are repetitive irritants in my marriage, especially the vacuuming.


I am a control freak. I like to consider myself go-with-the-flow, but I’m not. I like things done a certain way, at a certain time, in a certain speed. And there is a logical explanation for all of those.


Unfortunately, Chris’ job takes him out of town for extended periods…and I can have everything done exactly how I want. We get a very specific routine for very specific reasons. Then he comes home and I’m supposed to turn that off and accept help in whatever form its given.


It’s not that simple folks.


I take his help as attacks on my parenting, my house keeping. (which he’s assured me it isn’t, but it desperately feels that way at times). And then I blow up because I’m feeling insecure and hurt, not because he is cleaning.


My point, the devil attacks in some very basic ways and outrageous emotions. And it’s ok to be upset, it’s even ok to have routines. However, it’s not ok to over-react.


I get mad at Nici when he over reacts, and then I turn around and do it. Our standards are higher for 2 year olds than for ourselves. I must learn to use my nice words, in the middle of rage, not after.


Little people are watching, and we are a team. The devil likes to skew that perspective, drive in a wedge, it’s our choice if we let him.


Also, write down why you’re fighting. It gives good perspective later.

  • J


World Series Kind of Love

Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.

I’ve said yes to Chris, given him my life, sometimes my all. But I still cling to the innermost parts. The deep tangled emotions I don’t think he wants to handle.

I realize those first refrains are written about Christ. Perfect love.


But, the hopeless romantic in me keeps yearning and hoping and striving towards one of the great earthly loves. “Can’t eat, can’t sleep, reach for the stars, world series kind of stuff.”


And yes, for some Jesus is their bridegroom. Their beginning and end is in Christ and it is right and holy, and they are stronger and probably more at peace and satisfied than me.


But my soul was called to matrimony, to love a man deeply and fiercely and imperfectly here on earth, and I want a world series kind of love. Which means I need to put in the hours of training, and learning new skill sets, and slowing down, and work.


world seriesIt doesn’t just happen. It’s not the stars aligning and two perfect souls joining, at least not for us.

It’s work and it’s a choice to keep working. To being a team, even if it’s a losing team where you both get no rest and are apparently raising vampire children of the night, still a team.

We bring different things, but we must bring our all, our life, our soul, all our deeply messed up parts.

Love is complicated and always imperfect when you aren’t Christ, but we have a model. And we have forgiveness. And we have a choice.

  • J

60 Years of Marriage

60 years of marriage doesn’t happen by mistake or happenstance.

I walked in their door same as every time. Rote muscle memory down to the smell.

But this times tears were streaming down, mascara running and my face was splotchy from crying so hard.

My marriage is in a rough spot and its no secret or shame. Neither one of us have done anything wrong, but two very different people chose each other, and now there are growing pains.

60 yearsTo get to the end, 60 years later clutching a fragile tough grand daughter…you have to go thru a little hell first. And right now I’m in the latter.

I walked in the door face red and embarrassed (I don’t get to visit often and this was my grand entrance. Head held low.

And gramma and I go back and forth for a while, and then gramps in his slow southern way proclaims

“I don’t know why you two are talking so much, there’s only one solution.”

Translation: hang on, hands up, and pray.

Have I mentioned how much I love them.

I walked to the car extra luggage, quilt in tow, head held high.

Ready to fight for my marriage, ready to thrive.

I’ve got God on my side.

And in that home up north I know so well, everything I’ve been pouring out and drained was poured back into me and my broken self.

And being in the presence of 60 years of old love was exactly what I needed. Hearing, “quit talking, there’s only one solution” was exactly what I needed in my hard marriage to a good man.

  • J