Chapter 1 - SO MUCH FUN!

There was SO much great stuff in Chapter 1 of For the Love.  I want to share every word with you, I really do.  But I think that will get me in big trouble with the bosses of the publishing company.  So I'm just going to share a bit with you.  The rest you will get to absorb and enjoy when the book comes out in August. 

How often do you rest your precious head on the pillow and say to yourself, "I can't believe I just pulled this day off. It's a bloody miracle."  Last night?  Me too.

While I was reading Chapter 1 of For the Love I kept wondering if my best friend Jen Hatmaker had been spying on me again.  She says, "...we combine the best of everything we see, every woman we admire in every genre, and conclude: I shall be all of that."  Yes Jen Hatmaker, that is EXACTLY what I do!  How did you know?

Good moms cook.  The internet told me so.  My children are lucky if I nuke some steamed vegetables in one of those pre-packaged steam baggy thingys.   Otherwise, we dine on a steady diet of Blue Coast burritos and chicken nuggets.  It’s NOT what I want for my family.  I laugh about it to keep from crying. 

Do you know what happens when I try to cook?  I will tell you.  This morning I decided to prepare a crock pot meal for the girls and Chris Jackson because I have to teach class tonight.  I placed the frozen chicken on the bottom of the crock pot and gave myself a fist pound.  I drained a can of crushed pineapple and poured it over the chicken.  "I'm crushing this meal like Dole crushed these pineapples!" I said out loud, to myself.  I opened up the BBQ sauce and began squirting it over the chicken.  “Why is this squirting and not pouring?” I asked myself.  “Because it has a tiny squirt hole lid instead of a big open top, that’s why,” I answered myself.  “This tiny squirt hole is too slow,” I announced, “Time for action.”  I squeezed that bottle with my big muscles.  “Winning!”  I shouted to my empty kitchen as the BBQ sauce poured out over the chicken at the appropriate emptying speed.  Then I realized why the sauce was pouring instead of squirting.  Because that tiny hole lid had blown off into 40 ounces of BBQ sauce, that’s why!  I spent the next 30 minutes searching for the tiny hole squirt lid in the crock pot.  At one point I wondered, “What would be the worst that could happen if I left that tiny squirt hole lid in there?  Will it totally melt or just get soft?”  But then I decided that was a bad choice so I kept searching. If I smell like BBQ sauce for the next 4 weeks, you now know why.  NAILED IT.

Real women create a welcoming home for their friends and family.  Glossy magazines with children in linen sitting on white couches warm my heart and make me yearn for the same thing for my own family.  When you walk into my home I have to say things like, "You want to sit down? Oh sure! But wait! I need to make sure you aren't sitting where one of the girls wiped a booger this morning.  Sit here, this cushion is clean."  I’m totally serious that this happens to me.

I’m not the best at my job.  I don’t volunteer enough at The Trifecta’s school.  And sometimes I have to say things to my sweet Chris Jackson like, “Please.  Please do not say any more words to me today.  My brain is broken.  Just tell me what you need through interpretative dance or draw me some pictures.  And also please fold these socks.”

So then that wise lady JH hits me with, "The only thing worse than this unattainable standard is the guilt that follows when perfection proves impossible."

Yes. Yes, that guilt happens to me.  Has it happened to you?    Does this sound familiar?  I know it does.  I am certain I’m not the only one trying to live this crazy life.

Jen Hatmaker says, "We need to quit trying to be awesome and instead be wise.”  I’m going to say her words one more time.  “We need to quit trying to be awesome and instead be wise.”  This really punched me in the gut.  Because I totally want to be awesome.  At everything.  All the time. But being wise would be REALLY awesome.

Because you know what happens when we figure out how to be wise?  JH states, "Wise women know what to hold onto and what to release, and how to walk confidently in their choices - no regrets, no apologies, no guilt."

 

Doesn't that just sound WONDERFUL?  Releasing what stresses us out.  Walking with confidence in the decisions we make for ourselves and the people we love instead of feeling like we let everyone down, all the time.  Being the best for the people that matter instead of giving our best to everyone EXCEPT those who love us the most. 

How are we going to do this, Friends?  We are going to listen to Jen Hatmaker, that’s what we’re going to do!   She reminds us, “When you can’t trust your own discernment, you can certainly trust His.  God has no agenda other than your highest good in His kingdom.”

 

I’m going to start asking God to help me stop trying to be awesome.  I am going to ask Him to teach me how to be wise instead.

And then I’m going to read Chapter 2.

"For the Love" of Laundry Piles

 

Guess what people?  I got a copy of Jen Hatmaker’s new book, For the Love.  It did not fall off a truck and I did not steal it, though I would have, if a precious friend had not gifted it to me.  Because she knows I just can’t get enough of Jen Hatmaker.  I count JH among my people.  My best friends.   But before you get so excited and ask me for an autograph you should know that Jen Hatmaker has never met me.  I just love her to bits because she knows what to say to the hurting out there.  And I count myself among the hurting, sometimes.

Here’s a spoiler alert, Friends.  For the Love is amazing.  A-MAZ-ING.  I think it should sell no less than 762 skajillionbillion copies.  Because if all the people in the whole wide world would just read this book there would be a lot less grouchiness and a lot more love, joy, and hugging out there. 

Also, here is another secret.  I have only read the Introduction.  But I need to tell you about it RIGHT NOW.  Because if the whole book only consisted of the first three pages it would be ENOUGH for us to take a bite out of and digest for a day or two until it became the fuel we need for our souls. 

Here are a few things that GOT TO ME.

“I see a generation of people ON THE HOOK.  Man, we are tough on one another, starting with ourselves.  Folks who thrive in God’s grace give grace easily, but the self-critical person becomes others-critical.  We love other people the way we love ourselves, and if we are not good enough, then no one is.”

Take a moment and just think on that one.  What were the 954 ways you were hard on yourself today?  Shall we start with the moment you woke up and the sweet morning sunshine hit your eyeballs?

Let me just share a couple of my personal favorites from the last 24 hours of my own life. 

I have a pile of laundry that reaches to our ceiling.  If it was not full of smelly socks and molded dish towels I would hide in there so the triplets could not find me while I took a nap.  I looked at that pile today and almost cried “I give up” tears. 

Did I mention that I have 15 years of teaching experience in early childhood, a master’s degree in education, and I still cannot get my own children to learn outside of school?  Homework time at our house more closely resembles a prison break with a) Tears and cries for mercy. “Please, PUH-LEASE MAMA, don’t make me WRITE MY NAME on this paper!”  b) Weapons.  “Mommy, she just tried to stab me in the EYE with that pencil!”  c) Threats and negation.  “Girls,” I say, “If you complete your homework you will get to select a piece of candy out of the Halloween stash (it’s March, BTW).  If you don’t complete your homework, or if you continue to fight and cry, I will take your stuffed animals into the driveway and set them on fire.” 

And, for my final number, I arrived at our spring break location only to learn that I DON’T HAVE ANY CLOTHES ON THIS TRIP.  They did not get packed.  They are sitting on the ironing board at home.

My list of shortcomings, failures, and catastrophes is endless. 

So, how does this influence the way I treat others?  Because I think my best friend Jen Hatmaker is on to something.  How can we truly be kind and accepting of others when we beat ourselves up?

It doesn’t bother me at bit to think that I spend most of my day in a hot mess of craziness, but I hate the thought that my self-criticism may impact my relationship with my husband, my family, my friends, and the precious woman who helps me at the local post office.

And since we are all so busy thinking right now, add this (from the Introduction) to your thoughtful deliberation, “I believe we can do better than this.  I think God wants us off the hook, since Jesus pretty much already handled that for us.  Can I tell you my dream for this little book?  I hope you close the last page and breathe an enormous sigh of relief.  I hope you laugh out loud because you just got free.”

ME TOO best friend, Jen Hatmaker.  So I’m going to keep reading.

Reflective Reflections

Several weeks ago I had a conversation with a friend of a friend who learned she is pregnant with triplet girls.  I had such a lovely discussion with her, but I know I helped her very little.  I could not remember what kind of car seat we purchased when The Trifecta were infants.  I could not remember where I found their triplet stroller.  And how did I select my breast pump?  I. Don’t. Remember.

After we hung up the phone I dissolved into a reflective state.  How can I help this “mommy-to-be-times-three?” So I started writing down some notes.

1)   Sleep. 

When I was on bed rest with The Trifecta I had the following real life conversation with Chris Jackson:

Chris:  What are you reading?

Me: A book called “Babywise.”  It’s all the rage.  It says here that babies should operate on a three hour schedule of eating, playing, and sleeping.

Chris:  What about at night?  Will we have to play with them at night?

Me:  Oh no.  We will set our alarm when we need to wake them up for feedings.  Then, after we feed them and burp them, we will put them back in their cribs and they will fall back to sleep.  I think that means we will have to set our alarms for 11 pm, 2 am, and 5 am.

Chris: That doesn’t sound too bad.

Me:  No, and just think, my Mom will be here for a couple of weeks after they are born to help us.  Maybe we can even take turns sleeping through a feeding.

Chris (kissing my insanely large belly):  That would be great.  I love you!

Me (kissing his head as he kissed my insanely large belly):  And I love you!

 

 

They did not sleep for the first six months they were alive.  My precious mother lived with us for 18 months.  Hire a night time nanny; even if it means living off of mac and cheese and those packs of noodles that college students eat.  I’m not even kidding about this.

 

(2) There are two N’s in triplet nutrition:  nursing and nuggets.

When the “mommy-to-be-times-three” asked me if I nursed, I hesitated before I gave my answer.  Nursing has become one of those ridiculous subjects in which we measure our awesomeness or catastrophic failureness as a mother. Yes, I nursed those babies for a year.  Did I mention my mother lived with me for 18 months and only left on the weekends to visit my father?  I had help, lots of it, so I was able to do what most triplet mommies cannot do.  Diet is a tricky subject, so let me just share my humble opinion based on zero research and the philosophy that I just want/need to keep them alive:

I nursed them for a year.  Fed them only homemade or organic baby food and milk for the following year, and then transitioned to a steady diet of Chik-Fil-A nuggets for the rest of their natural lives.  Oh wait, they don’t just eat nuggets, they also eat chicken tenders.  And Cheetohs.  And also cheese pizza. And crackers.  So I also feed them a lot of foods that start with the letter “c.”  

 

(3) You will experience highs and lows. 

I do not know how to describe this other than to share a personal experience from this morning.  And this afternoon.  And tonight.  And yesterday all day.

7:45 am – The Trifecta and I find ourselves cuddled on the couch reading a book about unusual animals from around the world.  We are discussing the countries in which the animals can be found in their natural habitats.  The Trifecta giggle as I describe strange and bizarre physical characteristics and feeding patterns.  “I am so good at this job,” I say to my brain, “I am so glad that I left my prestigious and high paying position as a school teacher to raise outstanding, brilliant citizens of the world.”  I pat myself on the pack in my imagination and let out a sigh of contentment and delight as we finish our daily nonfiction.

7:46 (and 15 seconds) am - Baby C yells at me and rolls around on the floor, kicking and crying, because I did not stack the pillows correctly for the couch fort.

7:46 (and 22 seconds) am - Baby B wanders into the backyard wearing nothing but her underwear and starts a one-sided discussion with the teenage boy who lives behind us.  After telling him that penguins do not urinate, but that they excrete white poop, she shouts at me to bring her book to her immediately so that she can show him a picture.

7:46 (and 26 seconds) am- Baby A reminds me that I haven’t made her an egg yet, that she has asked me 4 times to do so, and begins to refer to me as “Amy Jackson” in an attempt to drive home the message that she wants her egg.  Right now.

And so on and so forth. All day.  Every day.  For a really long time. Unless they are watching, “Octonauts.”  Then, things are quiet.

 

(4) Lots of good things will happen.

I never knew I could love so much.  I never knew other people could love me so much.  I never knew how good it would feel when I experienced the profound love other people have for my own children.  I never knew a lot of things I didn’t know I didn’t know, but I am figuring that out along the way.  And so will you.

Dear Brad Pitt...

 

Today my Facebook page blew up with comments about Brad Pitt’s love letter to Angelina Jolie.  Everyone really, really, REALLY loved it.  Except me.  This letter left me sweating in discomfort.  First of all, is this letter even real?  Did he really write it?  Here is a link to the letter in case you have not read it yet:

http://couplesandco.blogspot.se/2013/12/i-lost-hope-and-thought-that-well-get.html

Let’s pretend he wrote the letter.  Also, let’s pretend someday he wants to marry me. I do not want to marry him, though I would love access to his full time nannies, chefs, and choose your own adventure vacation homes.  I love Chris Jackson.  But we are pretending.  And since we are pretending, here is all Brad Pitt needs to know to keep me happy.

Dear Brad Pitt,

1.      You do not need “to pamper me with flowers, kisses and compliments.” Indulgence for me these days is a hot meal.  Do you remember that one time in “Ocean’s 11” when you got to eat all those delicious nutrients in Las Vegas?  Your character, Rusty, did a lot of snacking and meal eating. I want to sit at a table without having to: a) get up to fetch more ketchup, milk, strawberries, and/or cheese sticks b) ask the question, “what do you say after you burp?” c) referee a disagreement d) answer questions about human body functions and/or anatomy e) use the words, “please come back to the table and have ONE bite of food.”

2.    You “gave Angelina lots of gifts and lived just for her.”  The only gift you need to give me is the gift that keeps on giving.  The. Gift. Of. Sleep.  Do you remember that one time when you did the movie “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button” and you were born as an elderly man and then you grew into a baby?  Didn’t you just love sleeping like a baby?  I want to sleep like a baby too. I’m talking 8-12 hours of uninterrupted bliss in stage 5 of the sleep cycle.  Take me to the land of Rapid Eye Movement dreamland.

 

3.   You “incorporated all themes in her direction.”  I do not even know what this means.  However, I love themes.  Specifically, themes in books and literature.  It’s been a long time, Brad, since I’ve been able to sit and read a good book.  Do you remember that one time in “Burn After Reading” when you pretended to be Chad the personal trainer who believed he discovered government information?  I do not think Chad enjoyed reading very much in that movie.  However, I love to read all sorts of glorious works of fiction and non-fiction.   So throw some of those themes my way and let me read and read and read and read and read.

4.      You “praised her in front of her own and our mutual friends.”  I’m going to go out on a limb here and betcha that when you praised her she was wearing clean clothes.  I recall in “Legends of the Fall” your character Tristan…was very fun to look at on the big screen.  But I digress, I don’t need praise.  I need a laundress.  Someone to tackle the pile of laundry the size of Mt. Rushmore.  Someone to collect it, sort it, wash it, dry it, fold it, and put it away.  That would be awesome.  That would keep my mental health in check in a BIG way.

Please feel free to contact me, Brad Pitt, with any additional questions about things that make me happy.

Love,

Amy Elizabeth Nichols Jackson

It’s a good thing I’m married to Chris Jackson.  That guy makes me happy.

 

I AM JEALOUS OF YOU

I’m super thankful Al Gore invented the World Wide Web.  I am thankful for the WWW because without it, Mark Zuckerberg would not have invented Facebook. Some people want to stay off the grid.  I am not one of those people (yet).  I love Facebook.  As someone who has moved 14 times in 38 years, it has allowed me to stay connected with friends I have left behind geographically.  For example, I found my very first best friend from Charlottesville, VA on Facebook.  We met in kindergarten.  Our mothers taught school together.  She is a brilliant photographer in New Mexico now.  This makes me happy.

But I must confess; Facebook does not always bring out the best in me.  I have found my skeletal system growing more and more jealous bones.  It’s not something I’m proud to admit.

So, last week when I overheard two mothers discussing the concept of jealousy, I had to tune my eavesdropping ears into the conversation.  They were not discussing Facebook though.  They were discussing, “How do you help your children deal with jealous feelings?”  One of the mothers had read, somewhere, the strategy of teaching children how to make “statements of jealousy.”  She thinks it works.  She believes it has helped her daughter share her feelings and work toward self-acceptance. 

I’m going to try it.  Here I go. I made a list of things that make me jealous on Facebook.

1) Status update:  YAHOO!  Couldn’t be happier that the University of Awesomeness just defeated our rivals 954 to 6!

Statement of jealousy:  Sportsmanship is not one of my strengths.  I can only feel happy when the Texas Aggies, Vanderbilt Commodores, or MTSU Blue Raiders win.  I want no other teams to experience victory.  If Alabama plays LSU, I want both teams to suffer defeat. It could be football, basketball, NCAA Women or NCAA Men.  Or, it could be a United Nations simulation.  When your team wins, I feel jealous.

 

2) Status update:  Check out this nutritious and delicious meal I prepared in just under 6 hours.

Statement of jealousy:  I feel like a champ when I microwave organic chicken nuggets.  When you post pictures of the healthy meals you are preparing for your family from scratch using organic vegetables you grew in your garden with meat you cut from an organic cow, I feel jealous.

 

3) Status update:  Enjoying a super fun night out with my closest gal pals!

Statement of jealousy:  I don’t care if I haven’t seen you in 25 years. When you order food from a menu that someone else prepares for you and you don’t have to jump up 17 times to refill milk and/or cut up more strawberries and no one tries to steal food off your plate while you enjoy adult conversation and company, I feel jealous of you.

 

4) Status update:  Just finished my morning run!  Only ran 19 this morning!  Got my long run scheduled for this weekend!  May or may not make it to yoga after my boot camp class!

Statement of jealousy:  I want to be a super awesome exerciser and fitness person.  However, I am not.  When you burn 10,000 calories or complete an intense isometrics and/or bodybuilding session, I feel jealous.

5) Status update:  Baby Moonbeam just read her first Hunger Games novel!  I can’t believe she’ll finish the trilogy before her fourth birthday!  Maybe we can convince her to put down her algebra textbook long enough to analyze her wheat samples under the electron microscope!

Statement of jealousy:  I want all children to achieve success to the best of their potential.  When your kid reads War and Peace on her second birthday or counts to 1 million while he waits for his salad to arrive at the dinner table while The Trifecta run around in their underwear and build forts out of couch cushions, I feel like I gave birth to Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.  And that makes me jealous.  But happy for you.

 

6) Status update:  Hubby and I having such a super great time together on our vacation to sunny Detroit!

Statement of jealousy:  I totally own the fact that Chris Jackson and I have not been away from The Trifecta overnight since they were born.  Chalk it up to the fact that I can’t stand vertically, form a complete sentence, or function properly by the time we tuck their precious bodies into bed at night.  If I can barely make it, and I’m their mama, I don’t feel right asking someone else to live the dream.  When you go on vacation with your spouse/partner/sugar-mama/boy-toy, I feel jealous.

 

7) Status update:  Check it out!  Baby on the way!  Thor barely breathed on me and I’m pregnant!

Statement of jealousy:  I want to live in a permanent state of pregnancy and have at least 20 children.  This has not and will not happen for reasons both divine and logical.  When you get pregnant, I feel a little jealous…but sincerely over joyed for you too.

So now I’ve done it.  I’ve confessed my jealous feelings.  I hope you still want to be my friend. 

Brave Friend Beats Cancer

 

I have a friend that I love very much. 

In the fall of 1994 divine intervention placed us in the same pledge class in the same sorority at Texas A&M University. She took some stalking and convincing when she first met me, but eventually she came around and we became more than just sorority sisters, we became friends.  The real kind and the true kind.

She’s the kind of friend that turns life in the sorority house into a comedic adventure. 

She’s the forgiver of flaws, including the time at the age of 19 when you ditched your sorority sisters on Big Event day to paint a house with the Sigma Chis because the boy you had a crush on at the time said, “Hey, you want to paint a house with us?” 

She exchanges the same, “are we allowed to think the offensive and inappropriate content of this movie is funny?” glances during There’s Something About Mary.

She flashes you at the top of the stairs during rush because she realizes rush chair won’t be the most important job you’ll ever have and she wants you to lighten up and smile before you open those big double doors. 

She’s your roommate. 

She’s the keeper of all secrets that begin with the words, “I can’t tell anyone else but you…”

She stands next to you on your wedding day.

She visits you in your new house even though it is far away.

She walks the road of infertility with you and compares drug induced hot flashes.  She selflessly worries when she tells you she is pregnant and you are not.

She’s the guardian and protector of your darkest and most shameful places.

And so, when her husband calls you in March and says, “Christy asked me to call you.  She has Stage 3 colorectal cancer.   But it’s going to be ok.” You panic.  Not the small kind of panic, the big kind of panic that moves from the top of your head to your toes in the blink of an eye. 

And so you “Google” the words “stage 3 colon cancer.”

You learn about all the places her cancer may or may not have spread.  You read about blood tests and biopsies and wonder whether she’ll have a CT scan or a PET scan. 

You want to send her a text every hour to remind her to rest and eat right and you want to ask her “are you ok?” at least 10 times a day.

You want to call her doctors and get a list of their qualifications as health professionals including where they went to undergraduate school, medical school, completed residency, as well as a list of professional post graduate coursework.

You want to remind the doctors to get plenty of sleep and to eat a good breakfast before they see her because they have to be at their BEST on those days.

You want to explain to all the doctors and nurses and people in the hospital who see her that she has absolutely the most wonderful sense of humor and you want to ask them to make her laugh.  A real laugh, not a fake polite laugh.

You want to threaten everyone who comes in contact with her during radiation and chemo to be kind and gentle with her or they will be sorry.

You read about treatment options and survival rates.

You pray.  You ask God to stop the cancer from spreading to her serosa, her nearby organs, her lymph nodes, and anywhere…please don’t let the cancer spread anywhere.

You pray for her two precious children and her loving husband.

You know she will beat this cancer because, well, she has to beat this cancer.

And so, when she tells you on Wednesday, November 5 she will get her pump out and be finished with chemotherapy, you send up all your prayers of thanksgiving and praise to the almighty God who healed her.  Because He is good, always.

And you feel so proud of her for being so brave.

 

 

Homework Help

I’m doomed.  Not a little doomed.  Alotta doomed.  Because you see, I do not think I can help my children with homework.

I have a degree in Elementary Education.  I have a Master’s degree in Gifted Education.  I taught children for over 10 years.  So, I should have “the skillz,” right?  No. No, I do not have the skills.

Our precious and perfect preschool sent home some worksheets last week.  They are completely age appropriate and wonderful.  I thought The Trifecta would blow a gasket of excitement when they saw them.  They did not.

So, last week I fought the power.  We didn’t complete the worksheets.  I put them in a special stack.  For “later.” 

Today, I opened their take home folders to find a “letter F” handwriting sheet.  I know this is totally suitable as most of the children in The Trifecta’s class are already writing their letters like total champions.  We’re a little behind the curve.   I sent a trusted and dear soul sister (you know I’m talking about you, Lexie Harding) a “911” text message:  Are these worksheets homework?  Do we have to return them to school?  Are you doing them?

I just knew she would tell me she was using them as a coloring sheet and then I would be safe.  But instead she replied:  You don’t have to return them.  I’m doing them for kindergarten prep.

I cursed inside my brain.  “Girls!” I exclaimed, “Look!  Homework!  I’m so excited!  Let’s practice the letter F together!” 

Baby A came obediently to the table.  Baby B continued to jump from sofa cushion to sofa cushion in her underwear.  She was chanting something about yoga.  She totally didn’t even hear me.  Baby C looked me dead in the eyes.  “Mommy,” she said, “I am NOT doing homework.” 

No problem.  I have a Master’s degree.  I know how to do this.  I’ll start with the child who is eager to complete the work.  Baby A.  Then I will snap Baby B out of her self-induced imaginative coma.  She’ll like it once we get started.  I’ll conclude with Baby C.  It might take some bribing, but she’ll do it.

I sat down with Baby A.  20 minutes later we finished.  I was sweating.  I also think I threw up in my mouth a little. So that is when I gave up for the day.   Babies B and C will not succeed in life and probably have to live with us forever.  But 33.3333% is not a terrible rate of return. 

How do you people do it out there?  How do you keep from having a nervous breakdown during homework time?  Why do they have to grow up and do all this hard stuff?  Can’t they just stay little and jump on sofa cushions in their underwear? 

So that is when I decided; we are moving to the mountains, we will raise goats, we will plant corn, and also we will make our own soap.