By Hannah Davis

My Hate/Hate Relationship

Posted on June 9, 2014June 9, 2014 by Hannah Davis

The internets are really good at making me feel guilty.

There are the workout people who post stuff like, “OMG! My calves burn so bad! It feels awesome!” Which is silly, because obviously it hurts, and that is not awesome.

And there are the healthy-eater people who post all the blogs about how you’re going to die from eating store-bought broccoli or how you can cure lung cancer with coconut oil.

And it doesn’t make me want to change or anything. It’s just the guilt.

But I had gotten pretty good at ignoring the angst they imposed. Especially from the the gym-going people. Because I know that I hate exercise with all of my heart.

Over the years, before I’d really figured myself out, I used to get on, “I’m going to be healthy” kicks. I imagined that I could learn to enjoy exercise. I ran or roller-bladed (remember when that was cool?!) or something. It lasted about two weeks and then I’d completely fall off the wagon. Because, as much as I hate exercising, I hate the out-of-doors even more.

When I hit 30 or so, I realized something was wrong. In my 20’s, I could just stop drinking soda for a week and lose 5 pounds. But after 30, my body was like, “You shouldn’t have been drinking that stuff anyway. I’m not going to reward you for doing what you were supposed to do all along.”

There was a sinking feeling that it was now going to take more than diet to get back into my favorite jeans. But I had enough experience to avoid any kind of outside adventures. Instead, I convinced Chris to get me an elliptical. He gave me his stern look and said, “If I get this for you, you have to use it.” (Because he knows my track record.) And I looked at him with my biggest eyes and said, “I will! I will!”

And I did! I might have even lasted a month or two.

But then we started the adoption process and summer break and… OK, honestly, I just gave up. Again.

Lately, I’ve been trying to un-give-up on the elliptical, because I promised my husband I’d use what he bought me, and because of fat in my belly.

I hate it with all of my heart. When I finish exercising, I don’t feel AWESOME, like all of the internet lies about. It is annoying and it makes me sweat. And my legs feel all wobbly. And I want to eat all of the food in the house.

I think acceptance of this is half of the battle. No longer do I have ideas that I will somehow start to enjoy exercise. I will always more or less hate it. So there shouldn’t be any disillusionment to make me give up.

My new goal is to simply make it tolerable:

I vow to never, ever try to do any exercise that involves the outdoors. I vow to always get an awesome snack when I’m done. I vow to watch TV while exercising, because I love BBC and TLC far more than I will ever like exercising.

So basically: indoors, food, TV. If it weren’t for the sweat and wobbly legs, I could almost pretend I’m relaxing.

Feels Like Flying and Other Myths

Posted on May 23, 2014May 28, 2014 by Hannah Davis

The other day, I read someone say that when you’re doing exactly what you’re created to do, you feel like you’re flying.

~~I admire the sentiment.~~

The concept actually kind of annoys me. Because I know I’m doing what I was created to do (for this season of life, anyway). And it rarely feels like “flying.”

Sometimes it even feels like drowning.

There are days where the big kids WON’T stop arguing. And there are no clean bottles. And the key ingredient for dinner fell on the floor. And the dogs have to bark at every car that drives by.

I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, doing exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. But it doesn’t feel one bit like flying.

It’s hard work. And frustration. And a nagging sense of futility.

But it’s something worth doing.

Worth-doing things don’t always feel shiny. Or glamorous. Sometimes, in the moment, they don’t even feel fulfilling.

If a sense of being on top of the world is considered the plumb-line for deciding if my pursuits are worthy, that scares me. Because it places A LOT of emphasis on my feelings. And offers me a chance to give up too easily on something that might be hard and painful, but still completely mine: Completely something I was created to do.

So I’m going to keep at it.

And in between all the chaos, there are moments that pull everything into perspective.

Like when the whole family agrees that dinner is delicious. When one of the big kids says something that let’s me know they really get the Gospel. When the baby grabs me by the earrings to pull me close for a sloppy kiss. When my son sticks up for his little sister in a playground dispute. When my husband cuts some of my favorite outside flowers and puts them in a vase so I can enjoy them inside too.

Those are the moments that feel like winning.

They are why, with my feet planted on the ground, I keep doing exactly what I was created to do. Because I believe beauty is found in mundane. Sometimes you just might have to look really hard for it.

But it’s there.

Meatloaf

Posted on May 20, 2014May 23, 2014 by Hannah Davis

I made meatloaf the other night.

Not my mom’s meatloaf recipe, because that would have been too easy. I already knew that one would taste good.

No, this was experimental meatloaf.

I’d attempted an awful meatloaf recipe a few weeks previous. It relied heavily on bulking up its mass with shredded carrots. The result tasted like a sponge. Dipped in boring. Boring sponge.

This one seemed more promising.

In addition to using plenty of seasoning, the recipe had a unique plan of dividing the ingredients between 2 loaf pans, cutting the cook time down to 25 minutes.

That was a really awesome idea, because through the years, the majority of my meatloaf trouble has come from, “cook for 40 to 45 minutes.” Being a procrastinator, that means I start preparing dinner 53 minutes before I need it. And prep always takes longer than 13 minutes. And cooking ALWAYS takes longer than 40 minutes.

My other meatloaf pitfall has been that my meat never thaws as quickly as I expect. It’s very hard to mix all the ingredients together while there are still big chunks of icy ground beef.

Even though it was ground turkey this time, the pattern stayed true to its non-thawing form. But it didn’t daunt me. I scraped off the thawed part and put the still frozen chunks in the microwave on defrost.

While that problem was resolving, I finished mixing the spices and other ingredients into meat that had thawed on time.

While I was doing this, my husband called on his way home from work.

Let me just say something about this. Chris is my favoritest person in the whole world. There is no one I’d rather talk to. But he literally calls at the craziest point in my day. All the kids are home, and the dogs want dinner and I’m chopping things. So I try to just add him into my multi-tasking, because that’s how much I like him.

This time, I managed to do all-the-things simultaneously. I divided the meat into the two loaf pans and popped it in the oven for its 20 minutes. All while finishing up my conversation with my husband.

And you know what? The 2 pan method worked! The meatloaf was totally done in 25 minutes. Obviously the pieces were smaller/shorter, so I had to serve each person more, but my husband loved the flavor. And the kids didn’t hate it, which is basically a compliment from them.

After dinner, Chris opened the microwave to heat up some baby food. And do you know what he found? The rest of the meat that was supposed to be in the meatloaf.

Yeah.

There was a reason those meatloafs were so short. Literally a third of dinner was missing.

And the thing is, if I make it right next time, the family probably won’t think it tastes as good. But with my track record, do we really think that making it “right” is a concern?

Because people always seem to want these things, here is the recipe. My husband took a bite and let out a happy sigh. I asked if it was good and he replied, “It tastes like meatloaf.” This glowing review lets you know how bad the previous attempt had been.

Flip-Flops and Old Feet

Posted on May 19, 2014 by Hannah Davis

There are few things I dislike as much as wearing shoes. (OK, I hate socks more, but whatever.)

I would go barefoot all the time. Except the rocks on the ground and the restaurants not serving you.

But if I have to wear shoes, I’m at least going to wear comfortable shoes.

Now, I’m not talking about tennis shoes or trainers or whatever you call them. That would imply that I’m athletic. I refuse to wear anything that would make me look athletic. Because if I look athletic, someone might ask me to run. Not happening.

No, I’ve always opted for shoes that don’t really feel like shoes. So in the summer I wear flip-flops and in the winter I wear Toms.

And I only wear the Toms because it’s too cold for flip-flops.

The thing about flip-flops is that they are awesome. It’s pretty much like being barefoot. And they’re so cheap at Old Navy, that you can have a pair to go with each outfit. Isn’t it a woman’s dream to have a pair of shoes in every imaginable color?!

So when the warmer weather rolled around this spring, I pulled out my faithful flip-flops.

The first couple of days of foot freedom, I did notice the big toe region of my foot hurting a bit. A couple of more days and it was hurting really bad.

I should give you a little back story on this. At some point during the previous year or so, I had experienced achiness in this same part of my foot. It hurt for a while: maybe weeks, maybe months. I put a heating pad on it and eventually it was better. I didn’t care why it hurt, as long as it went away. And I didn’t document what else was happening at the same time. Was I wearing flip-flops? I don’t know. It’s not like I have brain power to expend on trivial stuff like that.

But this time, as much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t help but recognize the coinciding of pain and flip-flop wearing.

So I got out my heating pad and and quit wearing flip-flops. A couple of days later and my foot was pretty much back to normal.

I’m no doctor, but I think I know what this means.

And guys, I’m freaking out! I don’t even know who I am without flip-flops! They are my summer, foot-loose joy. I am devastated beyond all reason.

Now I have to go shoe shopping for a whole new summer foot wardrobe. Now…

Wait.

Shopping? Shoe shopping?

I think I’m going to make it.

Who Told the Baby About Food?!

Posted on May 16, 2014May 16, 2014 by Hannah Davis

I know pediatricians get a bad rap. They’re always trying to get you to conform to immunizations and formula and making your baby sleep on his/her back.

But my Pediatrician is pretty cool. He has teenage sons and PERSPECTIVE. So when I tell him I don’t want to do baby cereal, he’s like “That’s fine.” And when I tell him crunchy moms scare me, he says, “I understand.” And when I tell him I want to use coconut oil on my baby’s skin, he’s like, “Sounds good.”

So at Enoch’s 4 month appointment, when he said I could start feeding him baby food, I was OK with listening (even though it went against everything I believe in), because he’s not the crazy “Have your baby drink juice! Put infant cereal in his bottles!” kind of doctor.

He told me that the allergy people (whoever they are) now say early exposure to foods is what prevents allergies. Just like babies that have pets in the home are rarely allergic to them.

It kind of made sense, or at least made me think it doesn’t matter all that much. Enoch was already living on formula (horrors!) anyway, so from the “healthy” perspective, how much worse could it get?

So we let him start tasting fruits and vegetables. I thought he’d do the normal baby thing and act all shocked and “What evil thing have you just put in my mouth?!”

No.

Enoch thought real food was the greatest thing ever. No spit-it-out vetting process. He knew exactly how to get that goodness down into his tummy.

Once he got going, he cried for more in between each bite. And grabbed the spoon to “help” get the food into his mouth faster. Score one for baby-led feeding, I guess.

The problem is, now he knows.

He knows about food.

He doesn’t say much if it’s at home and just one person is eating.

But restaurants are a different story. For some reason, he’s decided that when everyone else at the table has a plate, he’s entitled to have one too. He’s fairly vocal about this opinion.

When we were attending Mom’s Day at the big kids’ school, they gave us a snack of an apple and an orange juice. (They used to give out donuts, but somebody got the idea that we need to eat healthy.)

Enoch decided that the school cafeteria was pretty much a restaurant and that he needed food like everyone else. Of course, I had no food for him.

My brain decided the best solution was to let him attempt to sip juice from the cardboard carton and suck on my apple, after I got some peal off. You can imagine how clean and neat this was.

It may have been very bad parenting. I’m really unsure at this point. But Enoch was sticky and happy, and his big brother and sister thought the whole situation was highly entertaining.

But it’s official. My days of having an oblivious baby are definitely over.

Here is Enoch, trying some of his first bites of real food. Please pardon my vertical video and his siblings making derogatory comments about dinner:

Mother’s Day Angst, Because: Social Media

Posted on May 12, 2014July 9, 2018 by Hannah Davis

Holidays on social media are weird, you know?

Basically everyone posts about the holiday that we already know we are all celebrating. Like someone announced, “We pause our regularly scheduled programming to bring you this bulletin: IT’S MOTHERS DAY!”

I have this inner hippie or hipster or something. It crops up unexpectedly, causing me to feel extremely resistant about doing whatever it is everyone else is doing. Because it’s already been done, man.

Mother’s Day, for example, people posted pictures of their mom or with their mom. Husbands posted pictures of their wives, declaring her to be the best mom. Moms posted pictures of their kids, because that’s what makes them a mom. And even if people weren’t sharing pictures, they gave us status updates containing these same sentiments.

Being a cliche-hating rebel, I don’t know how to handle this.

Obviously, I too am celebrating Mother’s Day, so do I talk about it?

I want my social media presence to be an organic representation of my Instagrammable life, which means I should post. However, anything I could say about my Mother’s Day sounds just like the stuff that everyone else is putting out there.

So if I share any kind of Mother’s Day status, I’m a sheep, just following the herd. (Or fold. Or whatever sheep travel in.)

I can ignore the holiday completely, but then it’s like Mother’s Day isn’t even real. Because if you don’t Facebook it or Tweet it or Instagram it, it didn’t happen.

And if I post about non-holiday related things…

like a picture of my plain Greek yogurt with fresh berries, hand picked from my garden that have glow decoration accessories(but NOT an adorable breakfast-in-bed because that’s a Mother’s Day cliche that’s been posted 20 times before 9am)

…then I feel like a compete Grinch. People will probably think, “She must not believe in Mother’s Day. Maybe she’s judging all of us for celebrating Mother’s Day.”

Plus, I have to consider the pressure on the people around me. Do I want my husband to post a status about how I’m the awesomest mom in the world? If he does, he’s a sell-out, buying into greeting-card propaganda. But if he doesn’t, will people think he doesn’t love me? Or that I’m a bad mom?

To conclude, I should probably add a serious plea to break free of social media angst and be liberated from its control. I should tell you that you’re all beautiful, no matter what you posted on Mother’s Day and to just be yourselves. But I won’t. Because that’s SO been done before.

* Just to clarify, I succumbed to peer pressure and posted all kinds of Mother’s Day related pictures. But my husband kept it cool and didn’t do any cliche status update about my Proverbs 31-ness. He’s rad like that.

Don’t Do As I Do

Posted on May 6, 2014 by Hannah Davis

It happened again.

Always, always, when I’m telling someone about our newest diet endeavors or the secret that lost us a bajillion pounds, I look down and realize I have a plate of ridiculously unhealthy food in my hand.

A heaping one.

eating-hobby

Years ago, Chris lost 70 lbs and I lost a bunch too. Ever after, we kind of got on the merry-go-round of calorie counting and then falling off the wagon. And our jeans slowly got tighter and tighter.

But, since we KNEW the secret to weight loss, even if we weren’t utilizing it, we could totally share our tips with others.

While we ate cake.

The problem is, I love pitch-in dinners (or pretty much any social event where my friends make their tastiest dishes). We have a lot of them at Destiny Church and our people are really, really good cooks. There’s this mac-n-cheese that’s probably going to be in heaven…

So it doesn’t matter what “diet” plan I’m on, when a pitch-in comes around, all bets are off.

Most recently, it was a lingerie party that did me in. Just a bunch of girls, gift bags filled with lacy underwear and plates full of delicious treats.

I had been eating great for like 3 weeks straight. So I was totally justified in having a splurge.

But somehow, we got talking about gardens and then vegetables and then “eating healthy.” And I was sharing about how we’d been doing so great.

And I looked down at my plate: Mint-chocolate cake balls, chips and queso, cream cheese veggie pizza.

So then I felt like I had to EXPLAIN. And the explaining is just awkward. Kind of a “the lady doth protest too much,” feeling. Like no matter what I say, everyone is convinced I live off of Twinkies at that point.

And that’s OK if they think that, except I don’t want to lead other people astray. I’m not here to justify your bad eating, you know?!

I need a T-shirt for pitch-in dinners, with a disclaimer:

**The food on this person’s plate is not recommended for a healthy lifestyle. Do as she says, not as she does.

A Real Parent

Posted on April 28, 2014 by Hannah Davis

My oldest son is 10.

That’s weird.

Last I remember, I was barely 21 and I had a new little baby and no idea what I was doing.

And I still don’t really know what I’m doing. I’m just winging this parenting thing and hoping I hit all the big stuff.

Maybe someday I’ll feel like a REAL parent.

You know? Like when we were kids and our parents totally knew what they were doing. They had that parenting thing in the bag. I’m still waiting for it.

But the other day. The other day, I might have seen legit-parentness coming on the horizon.

Isaiah was playing video games with his friends. Except they were at their houses and he was at ours and they were all talking to each other through the TV. Because, technology these days.

So, Isaiah’s friends asked him if he had a certain game.

I heard him say, “No, I don’t have that. Because my parents won’t let me.”

I mean, how parenty is that?!

We must be real parents. The ones kids talk about when adults aren’t around.

We are THE MAN.

It’s so odd and heart-touching all at the same time.

Giving Up on Gourmet

Posted on April 23, 2014April 23, 2014 by Hannah Davis

When Chris and I first got married, we didn’t hang out with people our age a lot. I mean, I was 20 and he was 21, so most of our peers were just trying to finish high school or college or something.

If we were invited to someone’s house for dinner, it was generally a couple who’d been married for like 15 years and had it “all together.” Their houses were not only clean, but actually decorated. Our house looked more like a college dorm room, complete with put-it-together-yourself bookcases (which we still have 5 moves later, by some act of God).

And they didn’t just cook. They PRESENTED their meals. With more than one fork. I was lucky all my forks matched.

So my expectation of normal was a bit skewed.

Somehow, a few years later, everyone our age caught up to the stage of life we were in.

The first time a family with little kids invited us over for dinner, they served spaghetti. I was like, “Wait, you can serve spaghetti?! I could do that.” It was like the heavens parted and angels started singing.

Somehow, I’m still learning and lowering my expectations. Recently, a friend commented that when she had company, she wanted to enjoy them rather that being stressed about dinner. So they ordered pizza.

Again, angels singing. You could do that? My life was revolutionized!

It turns out, people don’t actually mind eating Jimmy Johns or Dominos. What’s really important is welcoming friends into our homes, having them sit on our couches and share our lives.

Hospitality is not about presentation or impressing our friends. It’s about sharing stories, and laughter, and making time for each other. (And clean bathrooms. That’s still important.)

**My dessert cheat: A bucket of vanilla ice cream and a couple of toppings. I promise, no one will think you’re a slacker when they see caramel sauce.

Sorta Chinese and Books

Posted on April 3, 2014April 3, 2014 by Hannah Davis

The kids and I have a tradition of going to a Chinese Buffet on spring break.

I think it started when Isaiah tried egg rolls at school and liked them. I was overjoyed, because Chris got food poisoning the first time he ate Chinese and still holds it against the whole food genre.

Turns out, the school must have given the kids freezer-section egg rolls, because Isaiah doesn’t like REAL egg rolls. But we’ve all kept going out for Chinese together anyway.

The kids eat anything sweet they can find and I get my fill of delicious chicken and broccoli and crab rangoons.

Notice the distinct lack of Chinese food on my children’s plates:

The waitress was sweet and gave me a fortune cookie for Enoch. I let him hold it. He promptly tried to eat it, which was very smart of him. But not a good idea.

We named Enoch after the Enoch in the Bible, who was known as a friend of God. His middle name, Irvin, means “friend.” So the Chinese word his fortune cookie wanted to teach him? Check it out:

After the “Chinese” food, we went to the library next door. It was Enoch’s first visit, so we took a posed picture in front of books, because we’re all Pinterest like that. He immediately spit out his pacifier so he could taste the book. Don’t worry. No books or baby immune systems were harmed.

That was our day. I’m going to go sleep off my MSG hangover now.