The 5AM-ers

I’m really proud that you went to work out this morning at 5am.  No, really, I am.  But I’m actually more happy that I got to sleep in until 8.

So what time do you go to bed at night?  Have I mentioned that I need at least 9 hours of sleep in order to be a fully functional human being in the morning?  And let’s face it, when I have my period, I wake up after 9 hours still feeling like a bear.  Have you ever fallen asleep while running on the treadmill?  Can’t you just imagine me tripping face-forward, shattering teeth and breaking skull bones while being thrown off the ‘mill?

You said it wasn’t about being skinny, all about being healthy, right?  I guess I can understand that.  But secretly you dream about cheesecake and mozzarella sticks.  I just know it.  I read in an article once that stated eating too many vegetables may make your skin turn green.  Which must be true because it was on the internet and honestly, I just can’t take that chance, I’m sorry.  “It’s a good way to clear my head,” you said.  What is your head so filled with?  Because I’m positive no matter how much I ran, I would not be able to clear my mind of a)running and b) being awake at 5am.  What do you think about for 90 minutes?  Collapsing on the ground? Is it okay to think about drop kicking the girl next to you who is running double the speed you are?  Oh, she also is not sweating and is talking with the guy next to her NOT sounding like she is dying.  She laughs and says, “Oh, I looove pasta, but I prefer a big ol’ salad.”  Cute.  Real cute.  You’re lying, but cute.  (That has actually happened to me by the way).

Do they have a limit of how many bras you can wear at the gym?  Just wondering.  If two or three aren’t doing its job, do you use tape?  Oh, you don’t have that problem?  Well, what do you do when you start to do your jumping jacks and you pee your pants?  You know… because you can’t hold it in anymore after childbirth?  Do you bring an extra pair of clothes?  Or just let it go and hope that people pass it off as an impressive, sweaty workout?

Well… I just don’t think it’s going to work for me tomorrow. But way to go, my friend, way to go.

I’ll just go, you know… on the elliptical for 20 minutes and watch Cops. Maaaaaybe 15 since I had to run around town chasing my get-away dog.

So.. Maybe next week?

Thaaaaat's me.

Thaaaaat’s me.

“We’re All a Little Broken.”

Nearly two years ago, my grandpa went to heaven.  On November 17th, 2012 I posted this to my facebook page :

I rejoice in the 25 years I got to be with you, but mourn the loss of you on this earth. I am happy you are now home and will greet me in Heaven with open arms. I will carry pieces of you in my heart forever. I love you, Grandpa Wally Bear.

There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss his laughter, sense of humor and love he shared with all he knew.  He loved spending time at the lake and most of my memories of him are there.  Whenever I hear the sound of crashing waves and feel a cool breeze, it wraps around my soul like a memory.  Along with spending time at the lake, he loved telling jokes and making people laugh.  A trait my sister inherited; his beautiful sense of humor and quit whit shine through her making me smile, but missing him more.

He also loved “tinkering” with all sorts of… well, everything.  He stored away broken things, waiting for the chance to repair them.  Grandpa loved broken things; things that were defective, damaged, cracked.  He beamed with joy when something he had turned into a masterpiece after his tinkering hands got a hold of it.

Lately Lucy has been so “into excuses.”  If it’s not her idea, she doesn’t want to do it.  Her most favorite is ‘it’s broken.”

I can’t go to bed because it’s broken.

I can’t get my shoes on they’re broken.

I can’t hug you, you’re broken.

At first it was funny when she would call a person broken.  She obviously doesn’t get the concept, but one day I told her that “we’re all a little broken.”  Meaning really nothing by it, when she continued to call me broken I would think of my Grandpa and how much he loved fixing things.  Which made me think of how much he loved people— even when they were broken.

And it’s true.  We are all a little broken.  We have pasts that cannot be erased filled with anger, regret, lies and stupid embarrassing moments.  We’ve not always done our best.  And we’ve made a lot of mistakes.  Luckily, we don’t have to be perfect.  We have a God who is so forgiving, so loving and so miraculous that he can make our deepest and darkest sins wash away like the crashing waves.

When my Grandpa passed away I was 5 months pregnant with Eleanor.  For weeks prior, I prayed and prayed for God to wait to take him to heaven so he could meet her.  I desperately wanted a photo of them together– a keepsake of two people I loved so much.  A few months ago, I had a dream about him.  It was one of those real dreams where you felt like you’ve experienced it first-hand.  None of it is foggy and I remember each second playing out.

I was by myself at a restaurant.  Not a nice one, but an older, run-down one like the Wagon Wheel or Rascals.  It had mauve booths and small white sugar packets placed neatly on the tables.  I walked towards the back of the restaurant, looking for the bathroom.  I glanced over to my left and saw my Grandpa, in a white and gray flannel shirt.  I quickly stopped, looked at him and said, “What are you doing here?” We chatted briefly and then asked me, “How is your mother doing?” (which is exactly how he would have said it)  “Fine,” I said, “She misses you.  When are you going to see me again?” He got up to walk out the front door with a smile and said, “When it’s your turn again.”  I watched him walk to the door, place his hands on the handle as he looked over his shoulders and said, “Mandy, I love the name.  I love you too.”

And he did.  He loved me even after I puked all over his shoes when he was brushing my hair.  He loved me full of my imperfections.  Just like he loved all of us.  Completely broken and a masterpieces in his mind.  Just as we are completely broken and masterpieces in His mind.


Love you, Grandpa Wally Bear.  Can’t wait until it’s “my turn” again.