Today I ran to Trader Joe's with both girls and made it home in under 30 minutes. I repeat... I left my house with two young children, I drove to Trader Joe's, I took two said children inside the store, bought approximately six items, loaded groceries and girls back into the car, and made it home in less than half an hour. It was a miracle. Ever since we moved to California, this type of feat has been impossible because we lived in the middle of nowhere. Not like on a farm middle-of-nowhere. That would be cool. Just in the middle of the most inaccessible suburb in America. We moved into the most amazing neighborhood full of parks and playgrounds, pools and schools. It is probably one of the cutest tree-lined communities in the entire country. And it had so many conveniences, as long as we never had to leave. I could see the community pool, the splash pad, and the library from my front door. It was amazing... until I had to get in my car and go to the store. The community only had one grocery store and it was expensive and the lines were always insane, any hour of day or night. The nearest Target was 17 minutes away on a good day. An affordable grocery store was 12 minutes. A thrift store where I could drop off donations in the midst of our state-to-state move was over 20 minutes away. Our town was filled with the most random chain stores... Dick's Sporting Goods, Kohl's (which recently closed down), McDonald's, Starbucks. It didn't have a single independently owned restaurant or coffee shop. It was the most inconvenient suburb ever. I don't mind driving a bit farther to Target if I live in an exotic locale. If I get to live on a farm in the midst of rolling fields or in cabin in the woods or by the beach, I get it... I chose a fun and unique location over convenience. I'll listen to podcasts when I "go into town" once a week. But when my house is crammed next door to my neighbor's house in a master planned community and middle school pick-up off takes place on the sidewalk in front of my living room windows, I expect there to be a Target around the corner. It's part of the suburbia equation. We moved a few weeks ago. Our house is smaller and older and there is not a park in sight. We feel a bit cramped here, but it's just a temporary place until we are onto the next adventure. However, Target, Trader Joe's, Ralph's, and Hobby Lobby are all within five minutes of my house. There are two charities right around the corner, where I can drop off donations as we go through all our belongings and downsize. For a mom who must squeeze in all her errands between morning and afternoon nap time, I am rejoicing and running quick 30 minute errands with glee. This is how suburbia was meant to be. ... Read more

I look up at the clock and sigh audibly, although no one is around to hear it. 4:15pm. The final quiet minutes of nap time are slipping away, and I need to start dinner. I have one more email to send, I never did get to edit those pictures, and the thought I might get a blog post written seems laughable now. I wasn't lazy today by any means. I made the grocery list, did all the shopping with both girls, stopped by the bank, filled the car with gas, made meals, cleaned up after meals, and even got a 30 minute workout in. But by the time I got all the groceries put away and sent two of three emails, nap time is over and I feel spent, rather than rejuvenated. I feel desperate for another hour alone, and I long to check one more item off my to-do list before the toys and crumbs explode all over the house once again. Instead, I surrender, and start chopping vegetables for dinner as I hear the girls stirring upstairs. Three hours later... I'm still in the kitchen, wiping the counters for the last time of the day and sweeping the aftermath of dinner from the floor. I sigh again. I think of all the to-dos that won't get done, as I start corralling the girls up the stairs to bed. This is my every day life. Spending so much time on what seems incredibly insignificant. Weary from messes. Longing for time alone. And time with friends. Worried I'm not doing enough fun, stimulating activities to provide my children with a "good" childhood, but still somehow too busy to answer text messages for days on end. I've finally had to surrender my expectations. Mondays are my grocery shopping day, so if we hit dinnertime on Monday, and the house is stocked with fresh groceries, it was a successful day. It doesn't matter if the laundry is folded or if the emails got sent. Groceries are done and that is sufficient. Wednesdays are my house cleaning day, so if we hit dinnertime and the bathrooms are clean and the sheets are changed, it was a successful day. Who cares if Zianne watched four shows in a row so I could get it all done? Fridays are fun days, so if we got to meet up with friends, it was worth skipping a shower or a workout or a nap to do so. By nature, I love getting everything done each day.  A work out. Some quiet, alone time. Some housework. Some time to work on my computer. A coffee date with a friend. A shower. Before I had kids, all those elements made up my dream day... only it wasn't a dream. I could often fit all those events into one little square on the calendar. Since becoming a mom, I've had to surrender so many things that I love. Not completely. I still see friends, send emails, and write blog posts. But rarely do they all happen on the same day, because that would be nearly impossible. Somedays, the sacrifice seems easy. I love my kids. I love eating dinner all together when Micah gets home each night, even if the whole ordeal, from start to finish, takes about three hours of my day. But other days, the sacrifice suffocates me. I want to throw the broom across the kitchen and go out to dinner by myself. I begrudgingly count the weeks (or months) since I last talked to my closest girlfriends on the phone, and I bitterly ponder why even "easy" crockpot meals take so much work. It's then I must adjust my focus and view my surrender as God does. Not because I'm so holy, but because I might go insane unless I can catch a glimpse of the spiritual as I cut the vegetables. Lay down my life... this must be what it looks like. Laying down my life looks like closing the computer even though there is one more email to be sent. Laying down my life looks like ignoring my phone so I can sit on the floor repeatedly throwing a ball to my baby, because it's her favorite activity in the world. Laying down my life looks like wiping snot off my toddler's nose and getting out the watercolors so she can drip paint on the table with glee. Laying down my life means greeting Micah with a smile and a cheerful voice when he walks in the door, even when I want to complain about potty-training and emphasize how "stressful" my day was. When God said we should lay down our lives (John 15:13) and serve one another humbly (Galatians 5:13), moms weren't excluded. These aren't just commands for how Christian adults should treat each other. These commands should guide my actions toward my children and my attitude within my home. I am laying down my life and my time and my emails to love my children well. I am serving them humbly by wiping their faces and chopping their grapes in half in order to point them to the One who served us all by dying for our sins. I love my children, because they are my very closest neighbors. I'm pretty sure there will still be crumbs in heaven. Crumbs aren't sinful after all; they just have a way of bringing out the sin in my own heart. Someone will have to clean up after the great wedding feast, and I just might volunteer for the job. By then my heart will be made perfect, and I will count it all joy to sweep the floors of the King. ... Read more