I don’t get enough sleep during the week and by Friday am experiencing accumulated sleep deprivation. Plus I pushed myself too hard at the gym on Thursday (got my heart rate up too high which ends up doing something funky to my blood pressure). And, frankly, I’m still adjusting to working full-time again.

But it was more than that.

It struck me sitting in church this morning–which also involved crying in getting there as I was, for unexplained reasons, determined to change the license plates over to our Oregon plates making us later than we already were. I’m disappointed. Disappointed that this is all my life is. That this is how I am here to serve. Wife. Mother. Daughter. Worker. Cook. Cleaner. Poopy bottom wiper. Financial planner. Accountant. Disciplinarian. Person who gets up in the night to assess the cause of the screaming. Friend–though not yet to anyone local.

I keep thinking I’m supposed to be more, do more, say more, lead more. But perhaps I am just here to practice living as my divine self in all of those small ways.

It’s fair to say that we moved to Oregon with high expectations about our new life. And now that we’re here and living that new life–while I am very grateful for all that we have–I can’t help but look around and thing, “This is it?” My days are jam packed full, every day, of mothering, working, exercising, studying. Yet somehow they seem empty of something.

That’s the thing I can’t quite put my finger on. How and why is this not enough and what more is it that I want out of my experience here?

*Hello boss, co-workers and HR. I do like my job. It’s not making me cry. I also happen to like all of you, too. And I tend to keep the at-work crying to a minimum.

Last Sunday, the kids stayed home at the Church of Daddy (where they got to watch TV) while I checked out the Universalist church downtown.

I’ve been to the First Unitarian Church of Rochester a few times. It was a while ago — while I was still pregnant with Berry — and, though I liked it overall, I didn’t keep going. It has a lot going for it: a great Sunday school program and nursery, really nice people (quite a few of who I already know), and interesting sermons. But I just couldn’t get over the brutalist industrial architecture of the place. Cold, grey concrete just doesn’t inspire me and move me towards the divine. It wasn’t cozy at all.

The First Universalist Church, however, is small and cozy. Not too small that they don’t have childcare, though. If a church doesn’t have some kind of child care / nursery / Sunday school, I just can’t go to it regularly. Last Sunday, when I left without them, there was lots of screaming, clinging and crying as I tried to squeeze out the front door. Clearly, for whatever reason, they want to come.

I enjoyed the service at First Universalist — and the people. They were welcoming and friendly, without demanding to know my entire spiritual background. A good thing, since I’m fine talking about being an ordained Spiritualist minister, but not an in-your-face kind of person about it.

So I went back again yesterday. With the kids. And spent the entire service in the nursery as Berry wouldn’t let me leave the room. *sigh* Not even to go to the bathroom. Next week, I think Kevin might come with us to hang out in the nursery with them so I can flee and go to the service. In time, she might let me leave her side.

This does make it problematic to visit other churches, though. There’s the Church of Divine Inspiration that I’ve been to once before (years ago) and would like to visit again. They appear to have a Sunday school program, so I’d like to check that out. Plus, there are a couple of Unity churches in Rochester that I’ve heard good things about. It seems like I might be a spiritual gypsy for a bit longer.

I asked them what it is they like about their church. The said they like the fellowship and knowing that they were working on their spiritual lives in some small way.

So today, after an invitation from one of those friends, I went.

Going somewhere new is always a bit of an uncomfortable experience. You’re out of your element, don’t know where anything is and worry about making some awful faux pas in front of strangers. Fortunately, one of my friends pulled up right behind me as I was parking and getting Duncan out of the car. So we followed them inside and they showed us around. I quickly got lost in the maze of this place.

The way the service works, everyone – parents and kids – sit down in the church for the first part of the service. Then the parents take the kids to their rooms for the remainder of the time. Duncan was in a 3-year-old pre-school room with his 2 playdate buddies and Berry went to the nursery with the siblings of Duncan’s friends. (Nice that we all had kids at the same time.) Then the adults go back to the service.

It all went well. Berry consented to being left and didn’t even notice me leave. I left my cell phone number and kept my phone on vibrate. Duncan got to play with his friends, so he didn’t care.

The service itself was fine. I have to say that I wish I liked it more. Because all the other things were really great – child care, my friends, a beautiful big building. But, while I do love Jesus, I just don’t have a Lord & Savior kind of relationship with him. I want to talk to God myself, directly, not through his son. Besides, we’re all God’s sons and daughters. To me, worshipping one person misses the fundamental point that Jesus was trying to convey to us all in the first place.

I will say that the hymn at the beginning of the service (not that I can name it, but it was a familiar tune from my childhood) made me start to cry. I was sitting there with two squirmy kids and no tissues – not the ideal time for an emotional religious moment. Besides, I hate to cry in public.

On the way home, I asked the kids if they liked it. Duncan said he did. He said he’d like to go again (i.e. he responded affirmatively when asked directly if he’d like to go again). Berry did not shake her head no when asked if she’d like to go again, which I will take to mean that she enjoyed it, too.

When asked what he did, Duncan told me that he “sang songs and played games.” Apparently the teaching was something about Moses. On the way out of his room, he was handed a “Take-Home Sheet” entitled, God Calls Moses, that has a coloring activity, a bit of bible teaching and an explanation about the whole thing (presumably for me). Which is a bit of an issue for me.

While I’m quite able to sort out my own personal beliefs from those of the person in the pulpit, I’m not sure I’m ready for my kids to be exposed to Presbyterian religious doctrine. On the other hand, I want them to grow up with something. The silly thing is, one of the main reasons we don’t go to my church – the one in which I am an ordained minister – is because they don’t have childcare. So either I leave them at home (with their Dad), hire my own sitter, or don’t go.

I think I’ll go to my friends church again. And maybe visit some others in the area. I like seeing how other people do things, but I don’t want to be a spiritual gypsy for too long.

Yeah, me too.

Then Real Life crept back in. What’s with that? Berry has a cold, Duncan slept in really late this morning so he’s refusing to take a nap, Kevin has been sick all morning. So, even though the sitter has been here, I’ve gotten 10 minutes of billable work done. That was right before lunch. It’s not good when your morning’s work is reduced to being counted by the minute.

Berry is finally napping. Duncan is talking to his teddy bears and being stubborn. But at least he’s contained in his room. I’m in my office wondering if I should get into a project or not before I’m inevitably interrupted again.

I was going to write last night before bed about some insights I gleaned from watching Oprah and Eckhart Tolle on the web cast Monday night (thanks for calling to remind me, Mum). But after being woken up multiple times by everyone in the house (Duncan somehow fell out of bed at 4 am, Kevin was up puking and repeatedly pulling the covers off me), I’m not sure my brain is up to depth and eloquence.

Basically, it was this:

I’m doing better than I think in the spiritual awareness aspect of my life. Listening to people who seem to know what they’re talking about helps me realize that and deepen my connections. Good stuff.

During the web cast, Eckhart (I’m sure he’d be OK with us being on a first name basis) answered a woman’s question about how to keep her young children from identifying too much with their ego. He said that children have to learn what things are called, but that you can tell them, “That is called an oak tree,” rather than “That is an oak tree.” Because the tree is more than the label of “oak tree.”

It reminded me of the difference in French and English with how we refer to what a person is called. In English, we say, “My name is Joanna.” In French, “Je m’appelle Joanna,” means “They call me Joanna.” Meaning that it’s what people call me, it’s not who I am.

Insight #1: I spend so much time taking care of everyone else, I should take 15-20 minutes a day to focuse on my own inner spiritual growth and being.

Insight #2: I should use my Reverend title more. I worked hard to earn it and it reminds me that I am, indeed, a minister. Which focuses my thoughts and emotions on being more spiritual, which in turn makes me happy.

Why these insights? Eh, who knows. Perhaps it’s because I signed up for the Oprah Web Event of the Century (or whatever they’re calling it) and am reading Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth. My mum talked me into it. I’ve had lots of practice not doing what my mum’s told me I should do, so I thought I’d try out a new tactic and follow some of her suggestions and advice.

(Note to Mum: “Some” not “all.” Stop celebrating already.)

Another insight occurred to me today.

Insight #3: Writing makes me happy, as does connecting with other people. Maybe I should also take a few minutes (if I can find them somewhere) and write a little bit more…like on here. I go back and forth about the whole blog = public journal thing. But, let’s face it, I’m not going to find the time to, say, write a book any time soon. So I might as well write the little bits and pieces that float through my head. Maybe. We’ll see how that goes. “Making” extra time means it comes from somewhere and I’ve already cut down on showering.

But I have a situation where if I’m honest about how I feel, then I risk hurting someone’s feelings. And being told that I’m disrespectful, unpleasant and mean. But if I try to avoid conflict by not really saying how I feel…I don’t know, I still end up with a less-than-stellar response.

Maybe I go about things in the wrong way. Maybe I should just flat out say what’s on my mind and deal with the confrontation and resulting…I don’t know, whatever it results in that I’m apparently afraid of dealing with.

I don’t even know how to write about it without being totally vague. Why write about it at all? I’m a writer. It’s how I deal with stuff.

I think the heart of the situation is that someone I once looked up to and trusted has let me down. And I’m being told that I should still respect that person and follow their leadership when I cannot, in good conscience, do so. Because of things going on my own life (like having a rough pregnancy, then a baby, and making a living for my family), I haven’t had the emotional resources to do something to affect positive change about the situation. So I’ve backed off.

Occasionally, I have to be a part of the situation. Life is like that. And I deal with it the best way I know how, but somehow that ends up being the wrong thing to do.

I guess what it comes down to is that “you can’t please all the people all the time” and that not everyone is going to like me, especially when I share my version of the truth that puts them in an uncomfortable place.

And I thought being a grown up was going to be great.

Mostly I love being in charge of my life, of deciding my future and making my way in the world. Dealing with other people — that can still be a tough one for me. I think I still have some emotional baggage to deal with. But it’s worth the work to be a wholly functioning person.

Specifically, I miss speaking at church and chairing services. I really liked that part of it. I’m not sure I can explain why. I mean, most people avoid putting themselves in the spotlight. Guess I’m not one of those people.

I think what I like about it is helping people find joy and self-understanding. Upliftment. Giving them a bright moment, sharing something personal or important. Perhaps part of it is giving back for the people who’ve said things that have profoundly impacted me and helped me on my healing journey.

Somehow writing about the things I’d talk about isn’t quite the same. But I might give it a shot, anyway. Because I feel like there are things inside me that I need to share because they’ll make sense to other people. And help them on their path. Help them see themselves and others around them more clearly and in the brighter light of God.

The sling, for instance, allows me to write this blog entry while getting Duncan to nap. It affords me 2 hands, instead of one if I’m lucky — usually my left, at that. It also spares my back the effort of carrying at 16-lb baby.

Yep, a 2-month-old 16-lb baby. Is he even on the growth charts? I don’t know. At least we know he’s eating well.

Speaking of eating, yesterday I bought my electric, super whammy double sided breast pump. The Medela Pump-in-Style of course. (Because style is of my utmost concern while I’m turning myself into a human cow and pumping holed up in my office at work with the door locked and a curtain over the window.)

There was something else that happened yesterday that, at the time, I thought would make an excellent subject for a blog post. Don’t know what it is now, though.

So, instead of interesting reading, here are today’s photos (yes, still in my jammies at noon — and I got up at 7:30 a.m. today).

While Duncan enjoyed the kangaroo hold (pictured in top photo), it wasn’t one he could fall asleep in with his bobble head. So he’s currently snoozing on my chest in modified snuggle hold (bottom photo). His legs are now too long to comfortably fit inside the sling. For some reason he protests when I double him up in half…

OK, on with that thing called freelance work.

Oh…I remember now. I watched part of the movie White Noise last night. (See how the thought of work magically jogs my memory?)

I stopped watching when it got scary. I admit it. I was home, alone with Duncan, it was night. And I’ve got no tolerance for creepy movies, especially ones that make out people in spirit to be evil, out to get you, and capable of killing someone in the physical. I don’t need that kind of thing in my consciousness — especially when I’m going to be doing readings at church tonight.

What was interesting was the special features segments with Tom and Lisa Butler of the American Association of Electronic Voice Phenomena. Tom and Lisa are also Spiritualists. So I watched that part instead of the rest of the movie. Good choice, I think. Shame Hollywood has to creepy-ize paranormal phenomena.

Now I have a baby.

A friend of mine called me this week and asked me if I’d like to do a gig at Nazareth College. Not a huge payer, but decent enough for it to be worth it were I so inclined and prepared. I don�t think my finger tips could take 2 hours of guitar playing right now, even if I had the energy and someone to baby sit.

But it was interesting that I was thinking about gigging and someone called and offered me one.

I�d like some lucrative freelance writing opportunities now, please. ( Might as well ask, right? Put it out there. Let it be known. Manifest that into my reality.

And now back to working on my Web site to do my part in helping it come about.

It’s my church’s annual yard sale today (29 Vick Park A, between Park and East avenues, all day today and tomorrow) so I showed up at 8:30 a.m. to volunteer and with a couple of boxes of stuff that we can stand not to have in the house/attic anymore.

They told me I looked tired and unwell and that I should go home, that they had enough people helping and didn’t need me. And I was. So I did. Nothing serious (the looking unwellness) – I just hadn’t put any makeup on and people always think I’m ill-looking in my natural state. Or really tired. And I am a bit.

Kevin started a new job which requires him to get up at 3:45 a.m. Which means I also wake up at 3:45 a.m., make one of my several nightly bathroom trips, make sure he’s really up and awake and not going back to sleep, then go into the other bedroom to continue my slumber.

I guess in a way it’s like practice for when Duncan is here – there’ll likely be quite a few getting-up-in-the-nights and having to function and do things then going back to sleep. Fortunately, I go back to sleep easily.

So between that and growing a new human life that is taking up more and more room in my abdominal cavity, I am a bit worn out.

So what better time to stand up for 3 hours and make strawberry jam? (that links goes to the recipe I used)

I don’t think any of them read the blog too often, so I can probably safely divulge this – the jam is for thank you gifts for the folks banding together to throw our baby showers. We had one in early May and another next weekend. Several people are involved in each one, so I needed multiple gifts that were inexpensive and easy to get/make. I thought I’d make candles, but gave up after 2 of them. (You can only make 1 candle at a time with the kit I have and it was taking at least an hour per candle, then you have to let it cool and harden before you can make another one, which means candle per day, which translated into forever making candles and having wax all over the kitchen.)

Jam = 2-3 hours of hulling and smashing strawberries, spilling sugar, making a jammy mess, dropping jars trying to get them out of the post-jam water bath and burning myself with hot water. But now it’s done. And I have 124 oz of yummy strawberry jam. Most of which I’ll give away (Yes, Mum, you get a jar next weekend, too.)

I was going to take pictures. I meant to. I really did. But I kept forgetting to get the camera on my pee-breaks and didn’t want to make an extra trip up the stairs. So, instead, I can only offer the jam jar label.