Two Years

I had a bit of a shock this morning as I walked past my front-room window. I was running back into the house for one last thing before driving off to my morning CrossFit class.

I did a double take as I neared the door.

Oh my gosh!

I'm wearing spandex.

Please understand, I knew what I was putting on this morning.

I knew because every night I look at the workout for the next day and decide what pieces of my workout wear will give me the best chance of success.

Today we did a lot of lifting our legs- so I couldn't wear shorts or a skirt. I hate thinking that someone can see more of me than I want them to!

But we were also doing a lot of jumping, so I couldn't wear pants because I trip on them while I jump.

Skintight capris it is!

But when I walked past the window, I was suddenly aware of how far I have come.

Prior to starting CrossFit I had only dabbled in fitness. I wasn't opposed to it, I just didn't really work hard to make it a part of my life.

But from the very first affirmation I got from my coach of, "good work today" to learning to do pull ups (yes I can do them!), I have thrived on the duality of feeling accomplished and also feeling like there is always more to learn.

I have been doing CrossFit now for two years.

I can do a pull up.

I can't do a push up.

I have hit major milestones every couple of months.

I have also groaned and held back tears on many occasions as I am all too aware of my limitations.

But through all the ups and downs, I have discovered wonderful things about what I can do.

Today, my spandex reminded me that I indeed am capable of so much. I dreaded the workout I saw posted today, but I did it any way, and did it well.

That is what I love about CrossFit.

That I do it.

I do it even when it is hard.

Even when I complain about it.

Even when it is inconvenient, I do it.

I haven't been writing much, because most of what I think about is making dinner and making it to the gym. It doesn't exactly seem like trilling blog talk, but today, I realized how much a part of me this has become.

I'm just going to say it.

I love CrossFit.

...I wonder if I will become a CrossFit blogger? A little too over the top and into the cult? Perhaps. But I'm already in - I might as well make the most of it!

Why "I think, therefore I am" is not an effective parenting philosophy

Next week I have an exciting adventure planned.

I will be boarding a plane and heading back to the homeland.

For me, that means the gorgeous and drizzly state of Washington.

Since moving to Arizona, we have been back a few different times. What makes this journey so thrilling is that I will be traveling alone.

My brave and capable husband is sending me off for some much needed rest and girly conversation.

I anticipate missing my men, but let me tell you, the prospect of seven days with not a single child needing anything from me sounds like bliss.

Most of our kids are on Spring Break

and that means that they

are home all day and hover around me

as if I am some delicious cookie

that they want to devour.

I constantly feel at risk of being consumed

by their eagerness and desire to be

close to me.

Especially in the kitchen.

Our kitchen is TINY.

But everyone loves it.

Andy has become a kitchen bouncer this break.

He walks in and when I am standing at the stove,

with four children flanking me,

he walks in and commands that everyone leaves.

Then there is a sigh of being able to move without

the potential of running into a child

with a hot pan or sharp knife.

Until they all drift back in.

As hard as it is to be so wanted,

it also reminds me of exactly why we do this job.

Just being able to hang out in the kitchen with "mom"

heals wounds and builds confidence

for the kids who live with me.

They need to be close.

They need to be close much more than I need space.

(Most of the time)

Andy always rescues me before my needs get the best of me

and I forget to be careful with my

charges.

Today a very dear friend of mine was texting me. We have been previewing the areas we are looking forward to catching up on and laying the groundwork for some long conversations.

We had been talking about making the gym part of our life... and she followed up a victory comment about successful childcare with a comment that so deeply resonated with me.

Her message said this:

"One of the things I need to talk to you about is that terrible insecurity and guilt that I'm not doing enough as a mother..."

There was more to the question, but I honed in on the feeling of guilt.

I told Andy over dinner, I don't expect that he will ever understand the role that guilt plays in my life. He just doesn't feel guilt the same way I do. And I'm pretty sure that is a normal man-woman difference.

But for my friend, I absolutely understand what she means.

It seems that every action as a mother not only has an opposite and equal reaction - but also a measure of guilt.

If we build strong parameters for our children, we feel guilty for being too ridged and fear stifling their creativity.

If we embrace the personality of our child and give them room to explore and express themselves, we feel guilty about not having more control over their behavior.

Guilt over food.

Guilt over television.

Guilt over discipline.

Guilt over leaving them with a babysitter. Or over not leaving them with anyone...

I have written about this feeling before.

This topic of mom-guilt is growing in my awareness.

Truth be told, I feel a bit like a doctor. I see a sickness that is running rampant and as of now has no known cure, but I am setting out to find one.

I don't want the women I love to live weighted down by insecurity and fear or by the heaviness of guilt that presses out the joy and strength and authority that we need to be successful as mothers.

So I'm pondering. I'm praying. I'm looking for a new way of living.

And what I realized tonight is that just because we FEEL guilty doesn't mean we ARE guilty.

For myself, I realize that I very easily mistake the two. The instant I feel like I've missed something or made a poor choice, guilt isn't just a sensation, it becomes a definition of who I am.

But that isn't how it works.

Guilt - we are talking in terms of mothering here. Not stealing or harming someone. This is the shapeless guilt that comes from being unsure where we rank and whether or not we are being the very best mom for the kids we love so much - this kind of guilt is a thought.

And we know from God's word that we can take every thought captive.

For example.

I really like ice cream.

I mean, I REALLY like ice cream.

If I ate ice cream every time I thought, "Oooohhh, ice cream sounds good," I would not be a healthy person.

I know that my fondness for ice cream is okay, as long as I keep my indulgence of it in check.

So now, imagine that many times a day I think, "I should have read another story to Joey."

"I should have not given in and let Jack eat marshmallows before lunch."

"I shouldn't have..." "I wish I was more..." "I'm not doing a good job at..."

These thoughts are going to come.

They are going to find a way into my mind.

But just because they are there doesn't mean I have to indulge them.

I am not guilty.

I am a mother.

Even if I perfected the art of mothering (which is impossible by the way) I imagine that I would still find something to worry over.

The reality is that mothering is a huge job with really significant implications.

Sometimes the significance of the implications overwhelm us and what starts as concern for our children grows wildly out of control to the point that it ends up controlling us.

To live as a guilty person sucks you dry. It drains the energy from your movements and makes any attempt at moving forward feel like pushing a stone up a hill.

If you are living guilty, the way out seems almost impossible because what you feel has become who you are.

But let me say it again, you are not guilty.

Guilt brings nothing of value to your mothering. It doesn't help your children or foster security and peace in your home.

What you wish for and aspire to as a mother will not come by feeling more guilt.

So stop.

Remember that when you think you are guilty, you have the power to lay that thought down and pick up a new one.

You are caring.

You are capable.

You are creative.

You are ... fill in the blank. What are you to your children? What are you as a woman?

Instead of mentally rehearsing all the things you are not as a mother, start reminding yourself of what you ARE.

You will not be everything.

But you will be enough.

Where in your mothering is guilt robbing you of your energy, joy and authority?

And more importantly, what are you going to do about it?

Just as it is sometimes hard to resist ice cream, there will be days that guilt gets the better of you. But don't go overboard. If it helps you to think in the terms of food - put yourself on a guilt diet.

Go for a few days without giving into guilt and see how light you feel!

The task is not easy, I know. Especially since in our culture guilt is sold as part of the package of becoming a mother. But return that part of the package and go pick out something prettier. Pick out some enthusiasm, some confidence, some rest or some security.

You are a mom, yes.

But there is no reason for you to be a guilty mom.

Remember, what you FEEL is not the same as who you ARE.

Panties... Again

Do you know that horrible sinking feeling when you rush to get ready for the day, and about eight hours later - when you eventually find yourself in front of a mirror, you discover that you have had the most awkward panty line ALL DAY...

Or,

If you find when you come home from, oh, EVERYWHERE, after the gym and you take off your black gym pants to discover that there is a gaping hole in the backside and that your red, red, red panties have been displayed to the universe...

In case you didn't guess,

this happened.

Two weeks ago.

Horrible, horrible discovery!

Or,

When you thought you learned your lesson about talking about panties on a blog, but you continue to do it anyway...

Do you know that feeling?

Actually,

that last one has nothing

to do with that same feeling.

I'm just pointing out the same fact

that you will all notice,

that I should have learned my

lesson already,

but haven't.

Well, I've had that same shivering, heavy, blushing feeling in my stomach for the last two days.

Except the sensation is coming from something much more significant than issues with undergarments.

I've been wearing something that doesn't fit.

Not clothing, but an idea.

When I picked up this idea, this way of thinking, it seemed like the right size.

But just like those pants with a hole in them, this belief has left me exposed.

Today, I discovered that I don't have the slightest idea who Jesus is.

I've loved God and given him a lot of significance in my life, for a very long time.

I am very good at being very Christian.

But today, I realized that while I love God, I have been loving and serving and surrendering to a very secular, and very wrong feeling about who God is.

Here is my problem. My panty line if you will.

I assume God has limited resources.

I put on this idea about God, and try and fit my life smoothly over it.

But the idea is too tight. It doesn't fit. The rest of my life looks bulky and bumpy and ugly, trying to rest over that understanding of God.

When I believe that God has limited resources, I don't ask him for much.

I, the generous and people-pleasing soul that I am, try and ease God's burden.

I think, "I won't ask for much, because God has to save his energy for people who REALLY need it."

I will work really hard, and be really good, so that God doesn't have to do much to keep my life going, after all, he is awfully busy.

The problem is, living that way doesn't require any faith.

It doesn't build relationship.

Or joy.

Or hope.

Or passion.

The idea that God is limited and that my job on this earth is to be one less person who requires something of him is not only ridiculous, it is WRONG.

There is nothing small about God.

There is nothing limited in him.

Quite the opposite.

God is OVERFLOWING.

What happens to my world if instead of trying to make God's load lighter, I begin to recognize his power and ability and DESIRE to pour out on me, and through me to the world?

Well...

The answer is that ANYTHING can happen.

If I begin to believe what the bible says about Jesus and his relationship to his father, and his good gift of the Holy Spirit, then suddenly I have to believe that when the bible says he is able to do more than we can ask or imagine... it really means he is able!

If I ask him to do more that I imagine, and I only imagine an average, uneventful life - sure, God can do more than that. I could have a pleasant and comfortable life.

But what if I asked God for something big?

Am I willing to believe that he could... WOULD... do even more than big?

I met an incredible man this weekend. He prayed joyfully and fearlessly for healing for people around me. Some people were healed, some were not. He said people always ask him, "What if you pray and nothing happens." When asked this question he responded energetically, "What if it DOES?!"

I've been walking around with my insecurities and fears bulging out of what I've thought about who God is. I have been prancing around, swinging my opinions, thinking everything fit, only to discover that my ideas and understanding are unflattering and ill-fitting, leaving me exposed.

Exposed to more fear, more insecurity, more foolishness.

So I'm changing my clothes.

I'm putting on something that fits.

God is not only good, he is able.

He has no lack.

And I am made in his image.

He has instructed me to ASK.

So from here out, I'm going to ask, and I'm going to ask big.

Ask for healing, ask for miracles, ask for favor and joy...

And in case you are getting worried,

I don't want to

"name it and claim it,"

and I don't really have a deep conviction

that I DESERVE

to have over-flowing bank accounts.

Those images

have probably

had something to do with

my retreat from believing

that God is abundant...

I don't want to be that

(greedy, self-promoting, entitled),

so I responded by

not asking for anything...

Stop for a moment.

Where have you been afraid to "bother" God?

What question have you wanted to ask, but haven't felt like it ranks on the list of REAL needs?

What would happen if you asked God TODAY to fulfill that desire in your heart?

You say, "But what if I ask and God doesn't answer?"

To which I respond to you dear friend,

WHAT IF HE DOES?

Pray big.

Heads Up!

Let's clear one thing up before we get started, shall we?

This isn't a real post. This is a thinly veiled attempt at "blogging" but it is really just a way to get pictures that I really enjoy to people that mean something to me, rather than bored FaceBook browsers...

But I plan to post that I blogged on FaceBook so...

It's a wash.

Bottom line, don't expect much witty blog banter or deep mothering thoughts from this one.

Moving on...

I have recently checked off one of my bucket list items.

Actually, I haven't made a bucket list, but if I were to do such a thing, this would have been on it.

I, modest mouse that I am, gathered my courage and sat for a pinup photo shoot.

I LOVE the 40s and 50s style. One of my new friends in Arizona has often lamented that I was born in the wrong era. After my experience with this photo adventure, I am inclined to agree.

There are a couple things you should know about that were weighing on my mind prior to the event:

1. I am not terribly fond of being photographed. I am inclined to enjoy my appearance as I see it in the mirror, and more days than not feel satisfied with the way I present myself to the world. But somehow, when I look at photos of myself, I look nothing like what I see in the mirror. In a very disappointing way.

2. I, along with most women, fear bathing suits and much prefer fancy wraps and floaty cover-ups when dressing for the beach or pool.

3. I have never worn red lipstick.

It is a very good thing that my brave friend Robyn flew to visit me, expressly for the purpose of a journey back in fashion times. She was a great moral booster and cheered me one while I held endless poses that I'm ashamed to say made my legs shake from exertion. I would have hate to have posed with out a year of Crossfit under my belt!

If given the chance, I will gush about the sitting. Everything was delightful. Thrilling really. I'm warning you, don't give me the chance!

But let's cut to the chase.

The pictures.

Look at the colors!

Look at the lips!

Look at my legs!!

Actually,

when I picked up my prints

I confessed to the photographer

that I had a hard time believing

that she hadn't cut and pasted

somebody else's legs on my torso...

My unfriendly thoughts about

my bottom half have been the slowest to resolve...

But she assured me that with proper posing

anybody can have great legs!

Lesson learned.

But mostly, let's talk about the hair.

That is not my hair. That is a wig.

The wigs were my favorite, favorite part of the whole day (we were there for more than four hours).

First we picked out our outfits. How I ended up in a bathing suit beats me, but I just put it on and didn't want to take it off. (Not even for a stunning mauve party dress. You can expect those pictures when I schedule my next sitting!)

Then make up.

And finally wigs.

The whole thing felt sort of silly until she plopped the first wig on my head. Then it was like I was a whole new person. Like I could change myself with every flip of the wig. It was magic I tell you!

We tried tons... a long red one, a short blond one, curly, straight, all shades of brown...

I loved it so much that I am fairly certain I am going to purchase a wig or two and wear them on a regular basis. Just because the joy of wigs is a secret that should no longer be kept!!

I have a slight confession to make. A few days after the shoot, I had planned to go to bed early, but I started looking at wigs online and I gazed from page to page, review after review, until I got a headache. I think I probably looked at wigs for about three hours that night.

Obsessed.

I am aware.

The only solution is to buy a wig. I know it!

So, if the next time you see me I am no longer sporting my pixie cut, or have suddenly gone Marilyn Monroe blond... you can give me a little wink and we can smugly smile to each other thinking, "Aren't wigs incredible!?"

Actually, you will probably be thinking, "Emily is out of her mind." But I will be happily ignorant of that and strut around confidently in my purchased hair.

I can't wait!

To Mothers

Sweet and beautiful mothers,

I have been thinking about you a lot since starting this adventure of extra-mothering. Extra because I’m mothering children that aren’t really “mine” – not extra in the sense that I do anything more than what I would do for Jack and Joey…

The nature of my job means that I stay pretty busy, a word I have avoided for a long time, but now seems to fit. I move a lot during the day.

A lot.

A house of 11 kids means that when one body is settled, two or three more are up and moving and talking and needing…

As I have adjusted to this new pace, I have had to reframe my idea of what a “good” mom looks like. I simply can’t do EVERYTHING that I thought I would as a mother.

I have reviewed what I assumed I would do as a mom and had to sort my expectations. There are some things that are a MUST for me – things I would regret not incorporating into my family if I let them slide. Other things however are simply a result of how I was raised or what appeals to me. They are the aesthetics of mothering - the non-essentials that make up what kind of “look” I like.

And for now, some of those minor preferences have taken a backseat to the more urgent needs of my large-scale household.

It used to be that I played a mental parenting chess match. For each move of actual white-piece parenting, my mental black pieces would respond. Every hour of the day alternating between doing and thinking –often critically. Most days, I felt like although I was moving my white pieces across the board, somehow the black pieces always found a way to capture me.

Guilt. Fear. Indecision. Doubt. Check mate.

Now, given the speed of my mothering, I spend a lot less time scoring myself than I do in actual parenting.

I do what I need to do throughout the day, and at the end, if I have energy and emotional capacity, I might review it and see what will work better tomorrow. If I don’t have energy, I will go to bed and know that I did my very best with the day that I had.

This is the change in me that most often makes me think of you.

I used to spend a great deal of emotion considering how to be an intentional and aware parent. But a lot of my thought was more about what was wrong with me than what was right. And, I think, most of it came from a place of fear in me. Fear of not doing my job well, fear of disappointing those who love me or fear of disabling my children in some unseen and un-healable way.

Fear is not really a very good motivator. It is never satisfied. Once you respond to one fear, another is always there to criticize and confuse.

Let me right now say that yes, parenting is very hard. It requires attention, selflessness, and a willingness to always adjust.

Those things are hard.

And we will continue to do them regardless of their difficulty because we are women who respect the call of mothering and desire to honor a creative and loving God who has entrusted us with beautiful and messy and one-of-a-kind children.

Those are hard things, yes. But it used to be the impossible pursuit of perfection that felt so hard for me. I wanted EVERY. SINGLE. MOMENT. to reflect perfection in my parenting.

If I spent a half hour doing the dishes while my boys played happily, I would wonder if I had missed a special moment with them. If I rushed through bath time to get more quickly to bedtime, I would end the night fearful that my boys went to sleep feeling brushed off and unloved. If I lost enthusiasm for making playdoh balls only five minutes into what I hoped would be an activity to fill the morning – I worried that my children wouldn’t have an opportunity to exercise their creativity or express their growing understanding of how the world works…

All these little fears mounted through months and days, filling me with deep concern that I was missing so much, and more horrible to me, that my children were missing so much.

What I have discovered as I meet children with heavy stories and parents that range from uninformed and unable to outright evil… is that parenting isn’t quiet as “hard” as I had been making it.

I have met children who have not just missed out on story time a few nights in a row, but children who, in second grade can’t recognize all the letters of the alphabet. I have taught children who haven’t just been rushed through a bath now and then, but who at the age of 10 aren’t able to shower themselves or use the bathroom in a clean way.

For most of us, I think that mothering is much simpler than we make it.

Do you smile at your children?

You are a good mom.

Do you talk to them while you push them through the grocery store?

You are doing an excellent job.

Do you pay attention to the things that make your children the most glad and try to make those things a part of their days.

You are a success!

The things that make a difference for your children are not going to be all the times you miss. They will live. They will understand that they are not the center of the universe, and that is a good thing.

The things that will speak to your small children and remind them that they are safe and important and valuable to you are the very tiny things that you do so naturally.

I know so many mothers who are truly wonderful. They parent creatively and thoughtfully. They consider the words they use and pay attention to their children’s responses to what is happening around them.

I have been taught and encouraged by these mothers.

But I have also heard their fears, their frustrations, the weariness that creeps in so easily.

To you, my friends, those who mother, please believe me when I tell you that what you are doing is enough. If you wanted to do one or two or three things less, that would still be enough.

Please fill your lungs with a deep, expanding breath, and consider for a moment that you ARE a good mom. The striving and aspiring and worrying can take a break for a minute. Look at your children and know that they will survive a childhood with an imperfect mother and they will be better people for it.

You are loved.

Rest well my dear friends.

Flash

Yesterday I had a flash.

Sort of like a firework behind my eyes, only I couldn't see it. I just knew that one moment my mind was dark and the next, truth seemed to be exploding and shining light into the dim places.

It was one of those afternoons when the dread of "out of control" was washing over me.

I was hunting for a piece of paper.

To make a list.

Or four lists.

Or maybe just to make a note of "be better at everything" lest I forget that I'm not living up to my unrealistic and unholy expectations of myself.

One particular relationship in our house has been draining me for weeks. I was tired and worn out by the frustration and consumed by a "fix." The kind of consumed where your mind can't rest. You start by thinking about the problem. And thinking and thinking about it. Then you urge yourself to find a solution so you aren't just one of those perpetual whiners. But your search for a solution takes you on a bumpy road, filled with potholes and signs that bear all of your insecurities and paint in bright colors the fears that YOU, in fact, are the source of the frustration to begin with. So if you want to fix it, you have to start by knocking yourself all to pieces and then rebuild yourself as a new, in control woman.

Control.

When I get flustered, I want control.

I want a list to tell me how to get that control.

To make order.

To own and manipulate.

As I simultaneously lamented my failures and clung to the abilities that I believed could put me back into a sense of controlled, or controlling, well-being, I had the flash.

I realized that when I am overcome by a weight of "out of control" it means that I have tried to take something that is not mine.

When I can't settle into my life and relax in the ebb and flow of my days, it means that I have abandoned what has been very specially planned and saved for me while I'm on this earth and traded it for a heavy, impossible load.

When I take something that belongs in God's hands, and try to trap it into my own, I upset the balance of my relationship with the Creator.

It should come as no surprise that I feel out of control.

I never had control.

And in actuality, it sure sounds a lot better to know that someone who is everywhere and knows everything and can do anything is the one who is leading this pony.

Why on earth would I actively choose to spend my days in a frenzy, making lists to tell me what to do, how to change, what to stop and what to start? Why not, instead, when I feel that so-very-strong temptation to take something that is not mine, could I not realize what I've done and open my hands immediately.

My temptation, when feeling unsettled, is to curl up into a tight ball and hold what I think is mine close to my chest with my body ridged and weary around it. Who would have imagined that the solution would be instead to expand and stretch and open my arms to allow all that is not mine, all that I should have not tried to control in the first place, to go. To be in someone else's hands. To be in the hands of one much more capable than I.

Can I tell you, when I realized this, I was in my bathroom. I was trying to catch my breath and find my bearings and trying to shake off the soul-crushing weight of being a failure at making my life fit into my skewed understanding of "good."

I saw the pop of light and watched the little trickles of glitter fall over my weary mind and my heart that was bruised by the heavy load I had been trying to hold.

I made a decision to open my hands and drop my list and believe that God loves me.

When I left the bathroom, the difficulties were still there.

But so was peace.

I haven't fixed anything. The things that were hard before I went into the bathroom are still hard. The difference is, I feel more agile and sure footed when walking this trail.

The difference is, when I look at the trouble, I don't need to fix it.

My breath comes easily, in and out, trusting that as I take the time to breathe, God is caring, and participating, and holding all that is his, handing me beautiful pieces to look after as he sees fit.

My habit of holding too much has taken its toll, and I am sure that I have some recovering and restoring to do, but I see another way of approaching life. With my feet shod with the readiness of God's peace, I plan to walk in it.

Care to join me?

Conundrum

I've got a serious dilemma.

We're talking big.

As in the decision I make regarding this problem could potentially change the outcome of my whole life.

Oh what I wouldn't give for a sarcasm font.

In the grand scheme of things, what I'm facing is miniscule, but isn't it so strange how the very smallest of things somehow grow into monsters in our lives?

Maybe that is just me.

Anyway. My problem.

My problem is that I am this close to swearing off Target.

I know. I KNOW!

Not Target entirely, just their clothing section.

I have been avoiding the final shutting of my heart-doors toward the colorful and affordable mama-meca, but this morning just might have thrown the last straw on this camel's back.

Most of my wardrobe comes from Target. EVERYTHING that I have purchased since starting my new life as a foster mom has come from Target.

Why?

Well, the major factor is that if I want to shop at a real clothing store it requires weeks of planning and arranging to find a time to go (no sarcasm font needed here). It is much more convenient for me to take a scan of the selection on the first trip to Target in a week, notice what I like, and then quickly grab what I'm interested in on the second trip of the week and try it on.

It breaks the shopping process into two parts, making it manageable with kids in tow, which they almost always are.

The second reason is that with $17 for a cardigan (I confess a deep and librarian-like love of cardigans) I get instant gratification. I don't have to save up for what I want. $20 here or there doesn't seem like a big deal, whereas if I journey to the Loft (see... I should have been a librarian) or Macy's or some darling boutique, I have to go prepared with the reality that a single twenty isn't going to get me ANYTHING and that my stack of twenties is going to get me very little.

But here is the problem. Over the last few months I have purchased a few items from my standby, Target: two dresses, one pair of shorts, a workout top and a few clearance tank tops.

Within the first wash both dresses AND the workout top were destroyed. Gentle cycle, hang dry... the dresses both looked like they disintegrated in water and the sports top lost the entire seam along the bottom.

I exchanged the dresses and brought home new ones that have fared a little better.

But today I was ironing my shorts and realized that again something that I had recently purchased, and taken extra care with, had fallen apart.

Argh!

I'm mad.

The reality is, if I have to replace items every month, I'm not saving time OR money.

Target is the only place I know of that sells the perfect shade of green (bright but not too limey) so I may have to deal with a change in my expectation of color-selections... but friends, I think I'm over the concentric red circles for my clothing.

Am I being too dramatic?

Too harsh?

Expecting too much?

Please talk me off this ledge if I'm out of line because if you don't, this long-time relationship is over!