Surrendering Your Story: Reflections on “Called” by Ryan J. Pemberton

“Being called means surrendering the story we’ve been fighting to tell, and to instead accept the story God wants to tell with our lives.”
–Ryan J. Pemberton, Called: My Journey to C.S. Lewis’s House and Back Again

I first met Ryan during my junior year of college. We were both attending a campus ministry group called The INN and I was co-leading a small group Bible study called a CASA there (coincidentally, the co-leader I got paired with that year, Jon Peterson, later became my husband–but that’s another story for another day). Ryan was one of the core members of our CASA group way back in 2003.

Before we began the “official” study in our CASA, Jon and I decided to go through a book with our group that we both shared an affinity for: C.S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity. If you’ve never read it, you should. Today. Like, right now go to Barnes & Noble and pick up a copy. Besides the Bible itself, no other book has ever spoken to me so clearly and deliberately about the Truth of God’s person and work. It was the perfect springboard for a group of college students seeking God’s will for their lives as we entered the brave new world of adulthood and independence.

Mere Christianity struck such a chord with Ryan that he began spending his free time studying Lewis’s works and theology. After college graduation, Ryan married his high school sweetheart and was working a “safe” job in marketing. It was then–in the midst of his comfort and security–when God interrupted his story and called him to something totally new and unexpected: to study theology at C.S. Lewis’s former teaching grounds, Oxford. Ryan was called to leave behind the very things he had worked his whole life to achieve and follow God in faith.

In his first book, Called: My Journey to C.S. Lewis’s House and Back Again,  Ryan explores what it looks like for the Christian to truly surrender and follow God’s calling–wherever that may lead them. Even if that means trading a steady job for the life of a poor college student halfway around the world.

Called is the story of Ryan’s journey to Oxford (where he actually got to live in C.S. Lewis’ house!) but, more than that, it is also the story of what it means to truly follow God. It is the story of the peaks and valleys, the triumphs and the disappointments, the joys and the struggles that come with following God. It is the story of listening to God’s calling on your life and following without abandon. No matter what the cost.

And as much Ryan wrote this book about his journey, it also took me on a journey of my own. In turns, the heartfelt stories made me laugh and cry. They transported me to the hallowed halls of Oxford and the unpretentious quarters of C.S. Lewis’s home, The Kilns. More importantly, though, the stories also caused me to reflect on my own life. Where is God calling me, and what would it look like if I truly surrendered to that calling?

As I was reading Called I was convicted of what it looks like for me to personally surrender to God’s call. You see, I suffer from this disorder called control. In this disorder, I have the misconception that I am entitled to control over my own life and that, in fact, I am currently in control. The side effects from this disorder include, but are not limited to: disappointment, fear, regret, anger, stress and frustration. Thankfully there is an anecdote available for people like me who want to control themselves, their world, their story. Called reminded me that the solution to my “problem” is one seemingly simple act: surrender. We must lay aside control over our own plans and surrender to the calling God has in our lives.  Then, and only then, is when the most beautiful story of our lives can finally be written.

In the midst of this most difficult season that I find myself, I would like to surrender my story to God so that He might write the beauty into my pain. As a writer, I know that the author has a purpose in their writing–a goal they are hoping to achieve. So as I go through this journey called life–with the peaks and valleys, the triumphs and the disappointments, the joys and the struggles–I will trust in God’s plan for my story. After all, I am the main character in this story, experiencing as I go, but only God knows the ending.

I am humbled that I got to witness part of Ryan’s journey as he followed God’s calling. I am equally grateful that he wrote it all down in his book for so many of us to benefit from. It is my hope that you, friend, will find the beauty that God has written into your story. And if you need a little inspiration, pick up a copy of Called–you won’t be disappointed!

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**The Goods** 
Look for “Called: My Journey to C.S. Lewis’s House and Back Again” by Ryan J. Pemberton on Amazon (available on Paperback or Kindle) or BarnesAndNoble.com (available in paperback or Nook). You can also learn more about the book and follow Ryan’s blog at calledthejourney.com

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Lessons From The Laundry Pile

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172. That’s how many individual items composed the mountain of laundry. 172 shirts and pants and socks and towels and sheets and pairs of under-oos that needed folding and ironing and put-away-ing. Every time I looked at the massive pile I did a double-take to make sure the clothes weren’t actually multiplying before my eyes. I mean, seriously. There was so. Much. Laundry.

I wasn’t quite sure how to begin tackling Mt. Laundry, so I just sat and stared at it for a moment before digging in. I needed to formulate a game plan. As I contemplated the massive chore that lay before me, though, a funny thing happened. Not “haha funny”, but ironic funny. As I sat there trying to avoid the tedious task that lay before me, I felt an overwhelming surge of gratefulness. Let me explain.

You see, that pile of laundry was sitting there because I have laundry to do.

Each shirt, each pair of pants, each mismatched sock represents clothing that my family owns and wears every day. We have beautiful clothes that fit us properly. We have warm clothes for when it is cold outside, we have swimsuits for when we play in the water, we have rain gear to wear out in a storm. We chose our clothes from a store or received them as gifts or were given them as hand-me-downs (sorry, little brother, but this is your destiny for all eternity…or until you can start buying your own clothes). We have so many clothes that we regularly have to sort through our dressers and our closets to pick out clothes we no longer wear so we can make room for new clothes. We have so much, and I am grateful.

The sheets and towels in the pile represented extra beds that were filled in our house the last couple of weeks. Guests that traveled from faraway, exotic places (like Seattle) to visit us. Friends and family that went out of their way to spend time with us. Adventures that we shared together while they were here. We have amazing friends and family, and I am grateful.

The dress shirts I got to iron (I’m going to say “got to” instead of “had to” here because I’m on a roll. But don’t get me wrong. I despise ironing with a fiery passion.) were so my husband can look presentable at his job. His job that he loves and, I am convinced, was created to do. His job that provides so fully for our family that I do not have to work outside of our home. His job that allows me to wear yoga pants every day instead of dress shirts (can I get an Amen?). Our needs are provided for, and I am grateful.

The fact that I have clean, dry laundry points to the fact that I have a washing machine and a dryer. IN MY HOUSE. Does that not boggle your mind? I have my very own machines that do all the hard work for me. I don’t have to walk down to a river or draw water from a well, scrub clothes on a board with soap that I made with my own two hands, or even wait for my clothes to dry in nature’s time. It’s not even like my college days when I had to walk down to the basement in my dorm to put quarters in a machine or my Ireland-days when I had to walk through the rain and the mud to get laundry out of our garden shed. I have every convenience at my fingertips, and I am grateful.

But here’s the real kicker. 172 pieces of laundry means that there are people in this house that I get to love and care for each day. There are children who call me Mom and a husband who calls me Helper. And I GET to serve them every time I do a seemingly tedious task…like the laundry.

And even though meaningless tasks consume most of my days, I will be grateful. The pile of laundry that needs folding or the floor that needs vacuuming or the toilet that needs scrubbing or those mouths that need feeding represent more than the task at hand: they represent the people and the privilege behind them. Some day I may not have meaningless tasks to do or people to do them for so, in this moment, I choose to be grateful.

Exhausted, perhaps, but grateful.

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DIY Paper Heart Animal Valentines

FullSizeRenderIf you’ve been following my posts lately, then you know I was SO over January. When February 1 rolled around last weekend, I seized the opportunity to start something new. I “took down January” (recycled all of the paper snowflakes we had hanging around the house) and decided it was time to “put up February” (cover my house in hearts). Plus, since Jon was off for the day starring in his first major Hollywood blockbuster (OK, he was just an extra in a new Steve Jobs movie, but I’m sure he rocked it!) I took advantage of the quiet morning at home with the kids to do a little Valentine project.

We had gone to the library earlier in the week and checked out this cute little book, My Heart Is Like a Zoo:

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It’s a rhyming book with timely similes about the many ways our heart can love. What makes the book really unique, though are the illustrations–every picture is an animal constructed entirely of hearts. There are silly seals and a rugged moose:

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Eager beavers and a steady yak:Hall-2

And even happy hippos sipping their juice:

Hall-4Each page features a different heart animal, and my boys couldn’t get enough of them. After reading the book for about the 5,000th time that week, David suggested that we make some heart animals of our own. And, since I’m never one to shy away from a cheesy craft, I obliged. We (and by we, I mean I) set to work making our little love zoo.

Here’s a brief how-to if you want to join in the heart-animal fun:

What you need
~Paper–any paper will work, but I used a combination of construction paper and scrapbook paper. If you want more sturdy animals, use colored cardstock.
~Scissors
~Glue–glue sticks work best for this project
~Black marker
~(if you’re the perfectionist-type) Heart-shaped stencils, paper punches or die cuts

What you do
~Decide what animal you want to make. After making about a dozen of these critters, I’m convinced that you can make any animal imaginable out of hearts. If you need some inspiration, see my creations below or search Google or Pinterest for “paper heart animals” and you’ll find more animals than were on Noah’s Ark.

For instance, did you know that you could make a penguin, a blue jay, or a bear out of hearts?
IMG_1859Or a beaver and a fox?IMG_1858 What about a caterpillar and a butterfly?IMG_1857You see, the possibilities are endless…
~Next, choose what papers you want to use for each part of the animal, and just go to town cutting out hearts! I did the good ‘ol fold-your-paper-in-half freehand method for my hearts, but you could certainly use some other more-precise technique if you have the patience for that sort of thing. Cut out hearts in many sizes and colors to use for the different parts of your animal.
~Start puzzling together your animal. Cut hearts in half to make oval shapes, turn the hearts in different directions, or cut the points off the bottom of the hearts to make triangles–it’s amazing the different shapes you can form from simple hearts! If there’s a part of your animal that doesn’t lend itself to a heart-shape, I also give you permission to just cut out whatever random shape of paper you need. You’re welcome.
~After you’ve laid out your design, glue it all together. Use a black marker to add details like a nose, mouth, or whiskers.

And that’s it! Each animal only took me a few minutes to make, so I had a whole Valentine menagerie by the time my boys had finished watching Veggie Tales (yes, I also give you permission to enchant your children with television while you get lost in kids’ crafts that they should be helping you with).

Happy Heart Day, friend!

 

Posted in Crafts and DIY, Educational Activities and Learning Games, Holidays and Traditions, Kids and Parenting | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The White Flag

SurrenderThis weekend we finally said goodbye to January. Goodbye, and good riddance. Never in my life have I been so glad to see a month end. January 2015 was, hands-down, the most challenging 31 days I’ve ever been dealt. The entire month was just an endless string of one let down after another, one loss after another, one upheaval after another, one tearing apart of my perfect little organized, well-planned, predictable life.

The month started with us saying goodbye (again) to our loved ones as we left our Christmas holidays in Washington and returned to our “normal” life in California. Saying goodbye was rough.

A few days after arriving home we visited the doctor to confirm our recently-discovered pregnancy. What was supposed to be an exciting time of preparing for our new baby quickly turned into unsettling discussions followed by even more disturbing test results as we learned that our baby would never be born. My miscarriage (discussed further here) was, and continues to be, a physical and emotional roller coaster that I was in no way prepared for. The whole thing is R-O-U-G-H, ROUGH. I would have been fine with the life-change stopping right there for the moment, but as they say: when it rains, it pours.

A few days after we found out that we’d lost the baby, we went for a family hike to try and clear our minds a bit. David had brought along Mimi, his stuffed monkey lovey, on the hike. In the moment we didn’t think too much of this because, as David’s lovey, Mimi has gone with our family everywhere we’ve gone for the last 4.5 years (which, by the way, is the same total time that David has gone with us everywhere we’ve gone).

Mimi was at the hospital the day David was born. Mimi snuggled David to sleep when he was a baby. Mimi played endless hours of basketball with David when he was 2 years old. Mimi moved to Ireland with us when David was 3. Mimi traveled the world with us: she went to the top of the Eiffel Tower, rode in the London Tube, and sunbathed on beaches in Spain. Mimi comforted David when he was moved to a new home, new school and new community for the 4th time in his short life. David loved Mimi more than anything, she was his WORLD.

So, here we were, out on our hike with the whole family +Mimi and life was grand. I even got a picture of David and Mimi at the top of our hike so we could remember what good little hikers they were. But, somehow between the top of our hike and bed time, Mimi went missing. She was not in the house. She was not in the car. Mimi. Was. Gone. David was inconsolable at bedtime, so I did what any rational parent would do. I called the restaurant that we stopped at for lunch after the hike–and all of the other restaurants and businesses within a 2-block radius of there. No Mimi. I left voicemails for the security that I knew checked the area where we were hiking. No Mimi. I enlisted my running friends to retrace our steps on the trail (a huge thank you, by the way, to the dozen or so of you who did that!). No Mimi. I put ads on the lost and found section of Craigslist. No Mimi. NO. MIMI.

I don’t know if it was because we were already experiencing another type of loss or just because I really loved Mimi (because, really, she has loved my boy very well), but losing that silly monkey just wrecked me. I lost sleep over it. I’m crying right now just thinking about it.  Losing Mimi was rough. For all of us.

Two days after the Mimi fiasco, I lost something else. The Bible study that I’ve been involved with for the past 10 years, the Bible study that I love and look forward to every week, the Bible study that has been my constant through all of the moves and changes and upheavals, decided they were done with my family. They asked us not to come back…for awhile…but I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea any more. I was shocked and I’m still not sure how I feel about the whole thing–and I still really do love the group and what they stand for–so we’ll just leave it at that. Another loss, another change, another rough patch.

And then, just to add a little madness to the mayhem, we got word that our landlord here in California had died a week before Christmas. Well, not so much died, as he was murdered in his new home a few miles away from where we now live. Nobody really had a plan for this, so now our agent and the landlord’s brother and some attorneys are scrambling to figure out what to do. I don’t know if we’re going to be kicked out of our house (worst case scenario) or if they’ll decide to *sell us* the house for dirt cheap just to get it off their hands (best case scenario), but it’s just another thing. Another change, another challenge, another confusing and rough experience.

In summary, my January SUCKED. There were moments when I just wanted to push stop or rewind or erase so I could make it all go away. But if I’d done that, I would have missed a lot. Because, despite the pouring down of rough sucky-ness, there were lots of bright spots in my days.

There were bright spots like eating late-night brownie sundaes with my “comfy” friends (you know, the dear friends who you are so comfy around that you make a pact to wear sweats and messy hair when you hang out). Bright spots like handwritten notes. Bright spots like the neighbor that brought us dinner and a box of doughnuts. Bright spots like David’s teacher telling me how proud she was of his effort in school. Bright spots like the gift of a day out and some pampering (shout out to Val because, seriously, I have the best friends.). Bright spots like Jacob holding my face in his tiny hands and saying in his most earnest toddler voice, “Mommy, I LOVE you. You’re pretty.” Bright spots like Jon doing all the dishes WITHOUT ME EVEN SAYING A WORD ABOUT HELPING WITH THE DISHES.

Through all this, I’ve come to realize that no matter how ridiculous life might get, there are always bright spots. In order to find the bright spots, though, sometimes you have to do more than just look for them. Sometimes, you have to surrender first in order to find them. When you’re at that place of raw vulnerability, that place that I’m at now, you have to acknowledge that you simply can not depend on your plans, your dreams, your expectations. In the now-infamous words of Elsa of Arendelle, you have to “Let It Go” (OK, I may have watched Frozen with my kids a few (dozen) times this month when I couldn’t find the will to move off the couch).

But, seriously, sometimes you just have to throw in the towel and say I can’t do this. Because, really, you can’t. I can’t. We can’t. And we’re not supposed to. We were not created to handle, on our own, all that life throws at us–because, if we were, then there would be no need for God or a Savior. We were not created to carry the burdens of the world on our shoulders, because nobody’s shoulders are sturdy enough to carry that burden. No, we were created to surrender. We were created to need the God who created us, to surrender to the Savior He sent us, and to move confidently forward knowing that He has freed us. You have to acknowledge that there are times when life is tricky and confusing and maddening and rough. And you have to lay it all down at the foot of the cross and LEAVE IT THERE. You have to give it all up and let God take the reigns on your life. It’s not easy to do, but it’s worth it.

I’m at the breaking point, and I have a choice: I can rely on my own strength–and ultimately crumble–or I can surrender to God who will strengthen me. Hiding behind my own comforts and well-thought out plans isn’t going to work right now, because all of that has already been stripped away. I am left with one option: surrender.

Surrendering to God’s will is the only way to truly move forward, so that’s what I’m choosing. I’m surrendering January (praise the Lord!) and letting it all go. I’m surrendering the trauma of the miscarriage and the loss of our beloved Mimi and the questions that remain about my future. Because it’s not worth holding on to all that rough-stuff alone, and I know that I can’t live in the “now”, let alone move forward, if I’m carrying that burden alone. It’s too much. And, since I know the solution to this particular set of problems, I’m going to take it. I’m waving the proverbial white flag like a madwoman. I’m surrendering my life, my circumstances, my very heart to God–and sitting back to watch Him work.

Proverbs 23:26: “Give me your heart, and let your eyes observe my ways.”

Done and done.

Goodbye January, and hello, February. Out with the old, in with the new. It’s time for a fresh start. Moving forward, now!

Posted in Daily Life, Kids and Parenting, Musings | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments

Finding Grace In My Miscarriage

daffodilThis post will not be funny. In fact, it will not even be fun. But I need to write it. I need to write this, because writing helps me process my own thoughts–and I have a lot of thoughts racing through my mind right now. I need to write this because some day this moment will only be a memory, and I’ll want to remember the details. I need to write this because I need your prayers right now. I need to write this because I know I am not alone in this struggle–and if I can help any of you to feel hope or peace knowing that you are not alone, then it will be worth it.

Today was supposed to be a fun day–I would have gotten a popup from the baby tracker app on my phone that told me all about my fetus who would turn 8-weeks today. My baby would be the size of a raspberry and have brain cells growing at the rate of 100 cells per minute. But instead of being 8 weeks closer to meeting our new baby, I am saying goodbye to a baby that will never be. I am in the middle of one of the greatest challenges I’ve ever found myself in: a miscarriage. It’s one of those experiences that I’ve witnessed in others and prayed to never have brought upon myself. And yet, here I am.

When Jon and I found out on Christmas Eve that I was pregnant, we were overjoyed. We had been praying for this child for over a year, and it felt like we’d scored the jackpot. It was a Christmas miracle! Since we were in Washington for the holidays, we got to share our happy news with all of our family and closest friends in person.  Looking back, I am so grateful that we had that time to share our joy with the people we love them most. For the moment, it seemed, everything was perfect.

Unfortunately, our joy was short-lived. Once we returned to California I made an appointment with my doctor to confirm the pregnancy. But during my first routine blood test, a problem quickly became apparent. My pregnancy hormone levels were raising, but not as much nor as quickly as they should be. Over the course of that week I returned to the doctor for half a dozen blood draws, prescription medication, and two ultrasounds. Then, last Friday, January 16th, I got the very diagnosis I’d been dreading: our pregnancy was coming to a close, and there would be no baby to meet at the end of it.

The doctor explained to me that I was experiencing something called a blighted ovum or an anembyonic pregnancy. What this means is that a fertilized egg attached itself to the uterine wall, but the embryo never developed. Somewhere in those very early stages of development, something went wrong. My body didn’t know this, though, so it kept preparing to host a new life. The pregnancy sac and the placenta developed, and I experienced the normal side-effects of first-trimester pregnancy. There was no way I could have known what was actually happening inside my body, and there was nothing I could have done to change the outcome.

Eventually my body will realize that the baby is no longer developing, and a physical miscarriage is imminent. My doctor gave me the choice of taking medication to initiate this process, or of going in for a medical procedure, or of simply waiting for nature to take its course. I opted to wait for a week to see if things will occur naturally, but when I return to the doctor this Friday we will decide if there are other steps that I want to take. For now, though, I am in that gray area of waiting. Waiting for something I am dreading and mourning. Waiting for the inevitable unhappy ending to my fairytale. It’s horrible, and I am broken.

A few days ago I went for a run to try to clear my mind. And as I was out there, alone on the trail, I came upon something that made me stop in my tracks. Right there on the side of the trail was a clump of daffodils, pushing their way out of the soil and proudly blooming in the sunlight. My first thought when I saw the daffodils was that this just wasn’t right.

Having lived in cold places all my life, the blooming of daffodils has always been a sign for me of triumph and new beginnings. Daffodils come at the end of the darkest season to remind us of the light that is to come. You see, in cold places, there is this season that comes every year called winter. In California we don’t so much get winter as we get a few cool-ish days mixed in with the usual sunshine. Winter in cold places is different. Everything is frozen and dark and bleak. The plants wither away to shriveled twigs and the animals go into hiding. I detest it. And then, just when it seems you’ll never enjoy daylight again, Spring arrives. The sun begins to warm the earth, the animals come out of hibernation, and the plants awaken. The daffodils bloom. I know that the worst is behind us and a new season has begun.

So as I was standing there staring at daffodils blooming in the middle of January, I understood something. These lucky California flowers didn’t have to endure the long winter and fight for survival, yet they were still allowed to blossom and grow. They were experiencing undeserved grace, getting something wonderful even though they’d done nothing to deserve it. And you know what? I am experiencing that same grace, even in the midst of this darkest hour.

Every time I hug and kiss and snuggle the two sons I already have, that is grace. Every time my husband encourages me or lets me cry on his shoulder, that is grace. Every time a friend calls or texts or sends me an email to let me know they are praying for me, that is grace. Every time I find joy in the midst of pain, that is grace. Every time the sun rises on a new day, that is grace. Every time I am reminded of where my hope lies–not in the fleeting conditions of this world, but in my eternal salvation through Jesus–that is grace.

And, even though I so desperately wanted to meet this baby, there is grace in this miscarriage. I don’t know why my baby didn’t grow, but I do know that God knew how this story would end before it even began. He allowed this to happen and, some day, I may even understand why. You see, God never promises to spare us from pain. In fact, quite the opposite is true. The Bible promises that life in this broken world will be FULL of hardship and strife. But God has an answer for that pain. He promises to be with us in our struggles, to comfort us and to heal us and to strengthen us. He promises to never leave our side, and to give us hope when we feel hopeless. Despite my great grief, I feel that overpowering peace that I know could only come from Him. I am reminded of God’s promise:

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

So that is the grace I am holding close to my heart today. Even though all I see right now is a disaster, God has a plan. He has a plan for me and my family and our baby who He’s already called Home. He has plans to pull me out of my despair and allow me to flourish again. This ordeal is not meant to harm me, but to grow me in new and challenging ways. He reminds me that my hope has simply been deferred, not abandoned–and that my hope in His Truth has been strengthened.  He promises me a future. This is not the end of my story.

And just like the daffodils, I will bloom again some day. But first, I have to get through the long, dark days of winter. I will survive, and I will live to see the light of a new beginning.

By God’s grace, I will triumph.

 

Posted in Kids and Parenting, Musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

My #OOTD “Fashion” Blog

These last few weeks have been marvelous. Over Christmas break I got to spend two whole weeks at my parents’ house relaxing and enjoying the holiday festivities. I got to spend two whole weeks eating other peoples’ food that other people cooked and that other people cleaned up after. Two whole weeks of allowing others to do the vacuuming and the toilet scrubbing and the taking-out-the-garbage. It was…extraordinary.

Between not-cooking and not-cleaning I found myself with a rare gift: down time. And, since I was on vacation, I decided to use my new-found downtime in the most productive way I could think of: mindlessly perusing the internet.

I visited all of my favorite time-kill sites–Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest. And as I was clicking through the cat memes and the how-to-be-a-better-parent articles I discovered a new (to me) phenomenon: #ootd. Now, for those of you who might be new to the intricacies of the hashtag, #ootd stands for “outfit of the day”. It’s used by fashion bloggers and budding fashionistas to show the world what cute outfit they are wearing that day. In other words, this is how the fashion world says I should look. If you search online for #ootd you’ll come up with thousands of results like this (titled: “Ring in the year with style”):
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Well, wouldn’t you know it! I was thinking of buying that exact same strapless sequined number to wear for preschool drop off! That sparkly clutch would probably hold a credit card AND a diaper! And those shoes! They’d be perfect for Costco runs and trips to the pediatrician! OK, not really.

While my clothing will probably never grace to pages of Glamour Magazine (heck, I don’t think my clothes even know what Glamour Magazine is), I’ve still got style. My style. The style of a busy stay-at-home mom who chooses comfort over fashion. And yet, the #ootd phenomenon has inspired me. I think I will join the ranks of fashion bloggers and give you, dear friends, a highly anticipated glance into my wardrobe. I now present to you: Allison’s #ootd.

Day 1
Since this outfit is representative of 90% of the outfits I wear during a given week, I thought I would present it first. Notice the comfy (read: stretchy) yoga pants and technical t-shirt, perfect for chasing after toddlers and wrestling a preschooler. The necklace is from the last half-marathon I completed, to remind me that before the Christmas slump I used to be active–it’s a medal of inspiration, really. Flip flops because…flip flops.IMG_1604 Day 2
Sometimes I change out of my yoga pants so I can interact with other humans who don’t wear yoga pants every day. I put on a dress and some leggings (glorified yoga pants) to wear to my mid-week Bible study. The watch really goes better with my yoga-pants wardrobe, but I still like to know what time it is when I’m wearing a dress. Boots complete the look, wouldn’t you say?IMG_1597 Day 3
My other go-to outfit: jeans, a t-shirt, a scarf, and some comfy shoes. I got the scarf at Penny’s (an Irish clothing chain that I really do hope will find its way to America soon!) and the shoes are knock-off Chucks. I think the total cost of this outfit was about the same price as a dinner at Red Robin.IMG_1625 Day 4
I know you’re getting jealous of my unique sense of style and incredible eye for fashion, but I have just a few more gems for you. Outfit deets: tank–Tesco (an Irish grocery store. Yes, the grocery stores there sell clothes.); cardi–Target (basically an American grocery store that sells clothes); shoes–Toms (because I like giving shoes to people in need). This outfit is awesome because it’s layered (a practice that is apparently quite en vogue). If I get too warm, I can do the oh-so-fashionable tie-the-sweater-around-my-waist trick.
IMG_1624 Day 5
Yes, I wore this. For an entire day. And, yes, it is as comfortable as it looks. The hoodie is circa 2003 from The INN (the college group where I met Jon–he probably fell in love with me because I was wearing this sweatshirt). The yoga pants (yes, I know, more yoga pants) are Lululemon (that’s fashionable, right?). A messy bun and slippers complete the look.IMG_1612 Day 6
I didn’t even wear this outfit this week, but I just wanted to show you that I do own clothes that are not yoga pants and jeans. Outfit deets: dress–Old Navy; belt–Debenham’s (Irish Macy’s); necklace–LivingSocial deal (I have no idea what company actually made it, but I love it. Unfortuantely the beads have started to come loose and I keep reattaching them to the necklace haphazardly. I guess the interesting shape just gives it more character); shoes–H&M.IMG_1605 Day 7–A Super Boy Bonus Feature!
David saw me modeling my wardrobe and he wanted to show off his duds, too. Here he is in his #ootd: an outfit he put on while he was playing at the neighbors house. Since all of the clothes belong to another child, I’m not sure where you might find these incredible pieces. If you do borrow clothing from the neighbor girl, however, I suggest you borrow a skin-tight midriff-exposing shirt and pants that you wear low enough on your waist to expose a band of blue undies. Suuuuuper cute.IMG_1631I hope I’ve offered you some wardrobe inspiration with my outfit of the day picks. And, when in doubt, just put on yoga pants. Comfort will never lead you wrong!

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2014 in review: The Blog Edition

2014 has been busy–here are some stats from the blog this year. Writing has been one of my great joys this year–thanks for reading, friends!

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 42,000 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 16 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

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