What is my mom thinking?! (A letter from baby Greiman)

Dear Readers (that my mom talks about all the time):

This here is baby Greiman. I may be a boy or I may be a girl-I’m not sure yet. Things haven’t quite developed in my nether regions.

However, what I am sure of is that my mom is crazy. Like seriously, ridiculously out of her mind. Granted, she’s not afforded the brain to body ratio that I currently enjoy (her brain is merely 2% of her body), but she should know better.

Take for example what she put me through yesterday: 1 hour of a modified WOD in Crossfit. Apparently, her doctor said I’m already changing her life. She has to give up handstand push-ups, double-unders and box jumps.
But, I still am sloshed around while hearing muffled grunting. And, I can sense stinky sweat just outside my cozy oasis. Why mom, why?
How about a nice bath, some netflix and a fire going instead?

Then, as if to ironically offset all the hard work-she eats THIS! Are you kidding me?! I would prefer a salad, some lean meat, an avocado, maybe the occasional bowl of yogurt…but THIS?

And, I’ve been informed that this is the guy who supplied this greasy mess. Apparently, he’s going to be my dad. I have to question both of their ability to make sound judgements-not just for themselves, but for me.
After all, I’m subject to whatever it is that they put me through.

Including this nonsense. Every weekend-multiple times a weekend, I endure a super noisy, clanging cacophony of sounds that I’m confounded as to the purpose.
Although, mom seems to really enjoy it. She sways back and forth, stomps her feet and sings really loud. Sometimes she stops only to stare at the aforementioned ‘dad’, which she tells me quietly is “so cute”.

I think I’m doomed to have a strange life with really weird parents. Please pray for me.

Of Midwives, Doctors, Babies and Such

I’m trying not to make this blog about me and baby. There are plenty of those out there and women have been birthing since the dawn of creation. The fact that I’m pregnant is new to me, but run of the mill for everyone else. But, from time to time, I may drop a baby nugget or two. (Is that gross to say?)

Here we are sliding past week 15 and I’m finally starting to feel the pinch if I button up my jeans each day. The key word being “if” I choose jeans instead of opting for my cozy “house pants”.

At any rate, the baby is the size of a large orange and is already taking my breath away during Crossfit, climbing stairs or scaling fences to retrieve my naughty cat.

The baby is also causing me to rethink my 32 oz blender bottle full of water before bed (I peed 6 times last night), the necessity of makeup or matching my clothes.

And being pregnant has spurred me to read, research and question things I truly never cared about before. How do I want to give birth? On all fours? At home? In a tub? In a hospital bed? Knocked out, blindfolded and with ear plugs?

I like the idea of a midwife-but I like the idea of a capable doctor, too. Advances in modern medicine have saved countless lives-I won’t deny that. However, I don’t buy all of “modern medicine” hook, line and sinker.

After all, a lobotomy was considered a helpful procedure on mentally ill patients less than 50 years ago.

That looks fun.

If you are a mommy or daddy, I would love to hear your experience-if you’d like to share. Tell me what went right, what went wrong, and what would you wish you knew then that you know now?

PS-Just try not to scare the crap out of me. Thank you and goodnight. But, first I have to pee.

This was/is my house.

Welcome to my home.

We bought a perfectly livable house and then–tore it apart. Sure, we could have moved in and not changed a thing. Sure, there was a functioning kitchen and two usable bathrooms. And yes, the electrical and air were working and the heater kicked on appropriately.

Instead, Biceps and I dusted off our sledgehammers, slapped on our tool belts and got to work ripping most our house down to the studs.
Our realtor thought we were crazy and told us “good luck”. Our neighbors helped themselves to our necessitated open door policy and gave us their opinions. Some scoffed. Some offered condolences. Some told us we should have left well enough alone.

We knew our vision and the plans that we had for the home. And that’s what powered us through dust-filled nights, cut fingers and aching backs.
It was a poorly laid out home with adjoining bedrooms, a room devoted to a sauna, awkward transitions and unusable spaces. To make things right in this house, we had to get rid of all the junky craftsmanship and all of the poor decisions made before we ever owned the home. We had to fix what appeared to be somewhat working but indeed was not working.

I was thinking about our home remodeling escapades and of course, being the über deep person that I am…related it to my own spiritual walk in life.
For example, my “house” looked fine to outsiders while in college. I was a decent person, maintaining good grades, keeping my arrest record clean and going to church regularly.

However, on the inside, I was a total mess. I was full of unforgiveness, envy, pride and a bunch of other horrible behaviors I’m sure you can imagine. My selfish decisions in life led me to a humiliating low point; one where I was unsure of who I was and unsure if God could ever love someone like me.

I realized there was no way I could ever be good enough to deserve forgiveness. But yet, He gave it to me freely. I accepted His forgiveness and the fact that I was a desperate sinner in need of a Holy Savior.

That’s when He went to work on my heart. He tore off all my facades and ripped apart my poor craftsmanship and took me back down to the “studs”. I was a shell of a person, ready and willing to be rebuilt by the master renovator.

My “house”, both physical and spiritual, have been rebuilt with a distinct purpose in mind. Both “houses” took years to become livable. Both were a terrible mess and needed an expert to make sense of it all. I am so thankful He replaced my disorder with His perfect design for me–and continues to do so.

“This is what the Sovereign Lord says: On the day I cleanse you from all your sins, I will resettle your towns, and the ruins will be rebuilt.” Ezekiel 36:33

Amen and amen.

10 Ridiculous things I did to be like my Dad

I have a pretty awesome Dad. As a little girl, there was nothing more in my life that I wanted to do but to be like him. I idolized him. This brought about a lot of weird behavior on my part-trying substitutes for the adult things that I saw him doing.

I got to thinking about the silly ways I tried to be like him–which must have made him both laugh and feel honored. Here are a few ridiculous things I did as a little girl to try and be like my Dad.

1. I used to pray for a soar throat so that I may have a reason to carry cough drops in my pockets. Dad’s pockets were and still are filled with paperclips, rubber bands, cough drops, a tiny eraser, coins, folded kleenex and other essential items.

2. I witnessed a daily foot powder regiment with my father. So, I administered copious amounts of baby powder to my shoes–which I thought was the equivalent to foot powder. This created a gooey, sticky mess after running through mud puddles.

3. I memorized every line to every Beatles song ever written, so that we could discuss them on our “days” together.

4. Played simultaneously with G.I. Joe’s and Barbie so that the army guys would have equal face time with me.

5. Learned how to draw Kilroy, because that seemed to be the funniest cartoon ever, for all of mankind and into eternity.

6. Shined my non-leather shoes with shoe polish after watching my Dad buff his combat boots to a nice sheen. My socks, pant legs, hands and household items suffered due to my lack of leather vs non-leather knowledge.

7. Used duct tape to fix anything. And I mean anything.

8. We were timed as we did chores, motivating us kids to complete them “most rick-tick”. Presently, I have absorbed a habit of counting and timing everything I do-from how many times I stir the batter, to how long it takes me to walk across the house.

9.  I never believed in Santa, the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny. But, I sure as heck believed in the Clean Room Checker. He brought me a candy bar for a surprise clean room inspection. I still hope Biceps will one day take note of the cleanliness of my bedroom and leave me a candy bar.

10. I always wanted to know, up front, what the rules were and what was expected of me. It was better to get that out of the way, not disappoint or frustrate others and stay within the confines of societal norms. That is, until I reached my adolescence. Then, this knowledge was skillfully used to know just how far I could push the boundaries without crossing the line. I saw this skill as sort of a win-win. Have fun, but stay out of trouble.

They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I think “they” are right. I love you, Dad.