Terrible Twos or Bratty Kid?

I've had a magic trick happen in my home.  One day, I had a happy baby that laughed often, snuggled with mommy and daddy, willingly gave kisses and hugs and was polite.  Then *poof*!  I wake up the next morning to a whiny, clingy, demanding little 17 month old.  Could this honestly be the dreaded "Terrible Twos" already?!?

What's happened to my sweet baby girl?  We are deep in the throes of Temper Tantrum Land.  Squealing or growling or just plain "pitching a fit" when she doesn't get her way.  Perfect example:  last night, we were driving home in my car.  Avery wanted to listen to her Mickey Mouse CD (isn't it funny how you know what they want without using any words?).  After a little while of listening, she was still grunting and growling at me, so I turned Mickey off.  When she threw a fit to listen to him again, I told her that if she wanted something she needed to say please.  Cue terrible tantrum.  Cue the pouty lip and the waving of fists.  Which made me insist: "Avery, we don't act like that to get what we want.  If you want to listen to Mickey, you have to say please."  You see, this line ALWAYS worked before.  Want a banana? to watch TV? to wear a bow in your hair?  You must say please.  And she would.  Until recently.  Now she'll throw a fit to get what she wants...saying please is an absolute thing of the past.  I would like to say that I don't give into those embarrassing temper tantrums, but sometimes you're caught in public when one comes on.  What do you do?  You leave your cart full of groceries in the aisle and walk back to your vehicle because your child just HAS to have that rubber ducky she spotted on the shelf?  Sometimes, it's just easier to give her the rubber ducky that will keep her entertained the rest of the time we're in the store.  I know that's not the best thing to do.  So sue me.  It's hard disciplining a 17 month old.  She doesn't fully understand everything I'm trying to tell her.  I say "We don't pull mommy's hair.  That's not a nice thing to do Avery."  Who knows what she's hearing?  Probably: pull mommy's hair! 

Let's move on to dinner time.  Eating out at a sit down restaurant is going to have to be retired for the time being.  Avery wants to throw her cup, throw her toys, throw her food, get out of the chair, pretend to choke because she thinks it's funny (yeah....that really happens).  I understand that she's still a baby, leaning towards being a toddler and that she isn't always going to sit still whenever we're in public or eat all her vegetables.  I'm not naive.  But I definitely don't want to be embarrassed any time Marty and I decide to go eat dinner at Cheddars. 

Then there's playing well with others.  To summarize:  it doesn't happen.  Well, let me specify.  Avery plays well with others at a neutral place (i.e. someone else's house).  When those playmates are on "her turf," don't even think about it.  A while back, there were a couple of Avery's friends over at her Gramma's house.  They played with Avery's toys at Gramma's house....and Avery wanted nothing to do with it.  Harper would play with Avery's kitchen...Avery would run over and play with her kitchen.  Delaney would pick up Avery's play vacuum....Avery suddenly wanted to vacuum.  Lots of growling and yelling took place that day.  How do you teach a child that's Avery's age how to share?  I can tell her that she needs to share her toys, but again...what does that mean to her?  I have been blessed to have an amazing family that watches Avery during the week, thus keeping her out of daycare.  Am I doing Avery a disservice by keeping her out of daycare and keeping her away from the chance to learn how to interact with other kids her age?  What's a mom to do??

Someone told me that this could be the result of lack of sleep.  Well, at 17 months old, Avery is still not consistently sleeping through the night.  We may have a week of sleeping through and then a week of being up every night crying it out.  Then she may sleep through two days and cry the next three.  She's also not getting regular naps.  She may go to my Granny's house and take a three hour nap around 11 one day and then go to my Aunt Pam's and sleep 30 minutes at 12 the next.  Without me being with her every single day, it's almost impossible to regulate her naptime schedule.  Could I just have a grumpy baby because she can't figure out a consistent sleeping pattern??

Now that I've ranted, let me explain.  Avery rarely ever acts this way with anyone else (unless all my babysitters are lying when they tell me "She was perfect today!").  It seems to be just when she's with me.  That makes me feel like crap.  And let me clarify something else:  I know I just talked about everything that Avery is doing to misbehave, but my child is no means a terror.  She's still enjoyable to be around (for the most part), ALWAYS says thank you whenever you hand her an item and is so much fun.  Everything I mentioned above is behavior that happens occasionally.  No, she doesn't throw a fit every time we go to Wal-Mart.  No, she doesn't embarrass me every single time we're at a restaurant.  No, she doesn't throw a temper tantrum every single time she doesn't get what she wants.  But these instances are becoming closer and closer together.  And I want to raise a well-behaved and polite child (for the most part...I understand kids aren't perfect). 

I'm a little worried about this new development in Avery's behavior.  I worry that it's my parenting or disciplining style that's made her that way.  Help??
(I leave you with Avery's best "gimme-what-I-want" pouty face, as given to her Gramma)

"Organize One Thing Wednesday" Bare Bones.

I hate to be discriminatory, but I gotta do it.  If you're a boy and you're reading this post (dad), then you need to leave.  Also, if you're a relative or just generally uncomfortable talking about an issue that's a little more personal, you should probably skip out on this post too.  I'd love for you to come back tomorrow when I post something a little more appropriate, but for the time being....toodle-oo.  Seriously, go right now.  No boys allowed from here on out. 
Alright ladies.  This "Organize One Thing Wednesday,"  I want to talk about an area of organizing that's not usually covered.  Your "unmentionables" drawer.  Undergarments.  Underoos.  Skiivies.  "Unda-wares."  I don't know about you guys, but this particular drawer in my house was a daggone hot mess.  My morning routine involved lots of digging and moving items around to find what I needed.  And that just is not acceptable.  Because I love you guys, I'm going to show you the before picture:

Hot mess, right?  I told you.  The amount of items in this drawer were out of control.  Bras that fit me in high school, old underoos that didn't fit anymore or I didn't feel comfortable in (So I wear granny panties now...don't judge).  Nightgowns.  Slips.  Shape wear.  Ridiculous!  So I rolled up my sleeves and dove in (not literally.  that's gross.)  I got rid of the items I don't wear anymore and reorganized the ones that I do.  I picked up some drawer dividers at my local Wally World.  I weeded and folded and organized.  After:

I can breathe again.  It's not a hassle every single morning.  I pick out my undergarments and I move on.  Amazing what organizing a single drawer can do to shorten your morning routine and make you feel better about your day.  Because if you start your morning unorganized, what's that say about the rest of your day?  So, go forth and conquer your underwear! 

Unfriendable.

Does becoming a mom automatically make you un-friendable?  It seems like when I had my sweet Avery, I gained a daughter, but lost all of my really good friends.  If someone were to ask me right now who my best friend was, I would have trouble coming up with an answer.  Actually, before I go any farther, let me clarify.  My husband is, without a doubt, my best friend.  I know that I can tell him anything and he's always the first person I turn to whenever I have something on my mind or have news to share.  Sometimes though, you just need a girl-best friend.  Someone that understands that you HAD to buy that cute pair of shoes or your need to go into an Anthropologie store even though you can't afford anything in there.  Someone to call when you need to complain about your husband (just kidding Marty! sort of....).  Someone who will meet you for lunch once a month just so you have an excuse to put nice clothes on.  I need that person in my life.  And I don't have them. 
I had my college friends.  People that would hang out on a Wednesday night at the drop of a hat and didn't care if I called at 1 am on a Thursday to just talk or make a Taco Bell run.   As college friends tend to do though, they graduated.  I graduated.  We got jobs.  We moved.  We got married.  And, even though I share some of my fondest memories with those people, I can't remember the last time I talked to them.  Other than the occasional "Facebook hello,"  I can't remember the last real conversation I had with them.  I feel like that's part of life though.  You share the college experience and then you grow up. 
Once upon a time, I would have considered my sister my best friend.  I would tell her everything.  And I think she did the same.  We knew that we shared an unspoken sisterly bond.  Until I had a baby.  A baby that would become her niece.  Suddenly, seeing me was less important, unless I was bringing my kid along.  The bond is still there, but it's more my kid's aunt---her niece's mom kind of bond.  The ability to share secrets and stay on the phone spilling my guts isn't really there anymore.  I guess we're at different points in life now.  I used to love hanging out with my cousins.  We're all close in age and we would spend a lot of time hanging out, giggling and bonding.  Now, I feel like the old maid that's left out of the loop.  Browse any of their tweets on a weekend and you'll see inside jokes and plans for parties and get-togethers.  It just makes me feel.....old.  Outdated.  Friend-less.  I understand that I'm not the same person I was pre-baby.  I can't take off on a Wednesday night to hang out or go watch a movie on a weekend with all of them without making plans for a babysitter and trying to get home in time for the bath-bottle-bedtime routine...but sometimes it's nice to pretend that I'm still that person. 
I have my mommy friends.  The girls whose daughters are around Avery's age and we have the occasional play date.  I love spending time with these girls.  I know that I can show up with baby food in my hair or be late because I had a poop explosion situation on my hands and they just get it.  We can talk about epidurals for hours or the things we're going to do differently on our next babies.  But we haven't gotten past that "mommy friend" point.  We have a great time at the play date, but that's really where the friendships end, with the exception of one or two of the girls.
Right now, I would probably consider my mom my best friend.  We have more things in common than we ever have before and I know that I can talk to her for hours about whatever was on my mind.  She understands my need to have a good cry about Avery's sleep issues and gives me advice on how she would start to wean Avery off her bottles.  But (and if you're reading this mom, PLEASE don't take this the wrong way) there are things you can't talk to your mom about.  Sometimes, you just need a best friend.  I realize that it's not an easy thing to do.  It's not like I can just take an ad out in the paper:  Wanted.  Best friend for a 20-something mommy.  Must understand if lunch dates are cancelled due to teething, but also must be prepared for a 3 am ranting phone call when her daughter is up for the fourth time.  Needs to be a frequent window shopping buddy that supports her shoe habit.  Unpaid position. 
Is it something I've done?  Have I put myself in this mommy zone and made myself unfriendable?  Have I subconsciously distanced myself from everyone I was close to and only have myself to blame?  Or is it just part of life?  Meet the guy, get married, have the baby, lose all friends?  Am I the only one??

No pictures, please.

When do I start feeling good about myself again?  When do I stop looking at pictures and thinking "My gosh.  I am a fat, pasty white cow."?  I have struggled with low self-esteem my entire life. I'm constantly worried about looking stupid or if my chin is too big or if people like me.  I've never had much confidence in myself.  But nothing compares to how I feel now...ten pounds heavier than I should be and carrying the battle scars of pregnancy.  Don't get me wrong, having my sweet Avery is more than worth the extra weight I'm carrying or a couple of stretch marks.  I'm not asking for a flat tummy or killer boobs.  I just want to feel good about myself.  I don't want to dread taking pictures with my family because I'm worried about how I'll look in them.  Something is wrong when I look at a family photo and, instead of focusing on my adorable daughter or my smoking hot husband,  all I can see is my double chin and how my clothes cling to my stomach.  When does it end?  When do I start feeling on the outside like I do on the inside? Motherhood is the most amazing, most empowering thing I've ever done in my life.  I've never felt more beautiful as a woman than I do when I'm caring for my little girl.  So when does that start to show on the outside too?  I guess I've done it to myself.  I have zero motivation to workout after being at work and going through my daily routine.  I know I don't always eat as healthy as I should.  I guess instead of complaining, I should be jumping on the treadmill or doing laps in my parent's pool.  If I want to look good, I have to work for it...and it won't come easy.  But until I get that "hot body," I would just like to feel good about myself in the meantime.

There are no words.

Remember my post from a few weeks ago where I organized the master bedroom closet? And I promised you pictures of my disgustingly horrible office/craft room/junk room. *deep breath*(I'm just gonna throw this out there....I must realllllly love you guys if I'm about to show you the following pictures. That, or I have temporarily lost my mind).

Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh. I hear you now, because it's the same question I asked myself every single day: How did it ever get like this?? I wish I could say that I have no idea. But I do...and her name is Avery. You see, when Marty and I were just a little family of two, had a three bedroom home. One master bedroom and two bedrooms for us to have individually to store our junk. When we found out that our Avery was on the way, one room had to be cleared out and condensed into two. I love our little house, but I would KILL for more storage. My next home will have closets everywhere you look. We have the problem of too much stuff, not enough places to put it all. Hence, the disgusting room. Any time someone would come to visit our adorable newborn, things would be thrown in the office. I eventually quit painting (something I hope to be able to pick up again) and all of my painting supplies and canvases lay haphazardly around the room. My dresses and coats are in the office closet, some hung up, some laying in the floor or draped across the back of the chair. Boxes thrown in, Christmas wrapping paper lay in the floor, Marty's weight bench blocked much of the walking area in the room. It just continued to pile up, making the room worse and worse. I was beginning to worry that we'd be candidates for the hit TLC show "Hoarding: Buried Alive." Over the last two months, I attempted to tackle the overwhelming mess. I would walk in, move a few things around, become short of breath and panicky and have to walk out. My office was causing me to have a panic attack on a daily basis, literally. The funny thing is, as bad as the above pictures look, it got worse. You know how they say to get an area cleaned and organized, you have to make a bigger mess first? That happened. In my attempts to de-clutter, I made a bigger mess. It was an insurmountable project. The mess was so big, I didn't ever know where to start. So I hadn't.

Until this week. Dayna, my middle sister, is in the big kid world and has gone and bought herself a house. An adorable little house that came with this incredibly awesome corner desk. I love my little wicker desk because it has traveled with me from home to college to married/adulthood, but it's outgrown its usefulness. The desk at Dayna's house would be perfect. Best part? Dayna doesn't need it. It's too big and bulky for the room that she'll be using as her office. So we're trading off. She gets the wicker desk, I get the corner one. I was pumped. Until I thought about my office. Where is it going to go? How will we get it in? How will I get the office cleaned in time for it to go into the room? I doubt Dayna would be willing to wait the 6 months it would take me to completely clean the room the way I wanted it. This afternoon, I got a few wonderful hours to myself at home....and I did it. I tackled the junk room. But not in the way I thought I would. Instead of cleaning the room piece by piece, which would probably take DAYS (maybe even weeks) to do, I cleared the room out. I utilized every laundry basket, box and storage tote we own and piled up with stuff and took it out of the room. The room looks empty and amazing......but now the rest of my house doesn't.

Excuse me, I need to go have an anxiety attack right now.

I'm back. Holy crap. What have I done?!?! If you don't want to by my friend anymore, I totally understand. *inhale* *exhale* I know this is the most effective way for me to get my craft room back to its former glory. If I am able to control the items that go back into the room and put it back in a clutter-free and completely organized way, I know that it's going to be a million times better than just making all of the mess I had fit the room. This way, I'll be able to go through each box and bag and label each piece: keep, toss, donate, yard sale. Less will be going in, more will be going out, and I'll FINALLY be able to breathe (and hopefully paint!) again. I posted these pictures in the hopes that, by putting them out there for everyone to see, I will be held accountable to clean the room and make it awesome again. If you would, my faithful blog followers (are there really any of you out there???) gently remind me every once in a while or inquire about the status of this room. That way, I know I'll have to get it clean--at least for the sake of another blog post. If you'll excuse me, I have to go breathe into a brown paper bag now.

Rantings. And LOTS of them.

{Warning. I am going to be complaining. I don't need judgement. I just need to vent. This is more for me than for anyone else to actually read, so it's probably going to be a jumbled mess of angry rantings. You've been warned.}

I have a zombie baby. One who has decided that sleep, unfortunately, just isn't for her, no matter what kind of sleep training techniques or bedtime routines her mommy and daddy try. And we're not just talking not sleeping at nighttime. That, I could almost handle. We're talking not sleeping...EVER. She's a notorious catnapper. Ten to twenty minutes later, she's awake. You rock her to sleep when you see that rare window of opportunity when she begins to rub her eyes and show signs of sleepiness. But don't even dare try to lay her down. She has a magic sensor that alerts her body when someone is no longer holding her and those sweet little brown eyes fly right open. No matter how tired she is or how little sleep she got the night before. She WILL NOT sleep unassisted. She has to have help going to sleep and staying asleep. The going to sleep thing, I can handle. I love rocking her and singing her a variety of bedtime lullabies and watching as she can't fight anymore and sleep overcomes her. Those moments, I cherish. It's the moments when she cries the second I lay her in her crib or on a mat in the floor are the ones that are about to drive me bananas. For the most part, I had come to terms with the fact that Avery never sleeps. Until this morning. The last three nights, Avery has been up almost every single hour and laid in her bed and whined. Not really cried, which lets me know that she isn't in pain or needing to be comforted, just whined. Like "Someone please come get me because I sound so pathetic and I know you can't stand it" whined. And for the past two nights, I've ignored her. (when I say ignored, I mean laid by the monitor and listened to every noise she made, but didn't go to her). Last night, however, was a different story. After several hours of waking, whining and falling back asleep, Avery thought that 4:30 am was an appropriate time to wake up and start really crying. Just enough to get my attention to make me think that she didn't feel good or needed to be attended to. So I got up, went in her room and got her out of her bed, thinking that I could rock her back to sleep. Fifteen minutes later, I still had a wide-eyed baby that had no intention of going back to sleep in her crib. So I made the mistake that I'm sure a lot of sleep-deprived mommies make....I put her in our bed. I swore, from the moment I found out that we were expecting, that our babies would not sleep in our bed. I didn't want to find ourselves, five years down the road, with a toddler still sleeping in between. But sometimes, in the wee hours of the morning when you would do almost anything to get a few hours of sleep, you're not thinking 100% clearly. I laid her down, thinking the warmth of our bed and her laying in between us would immediately put her back to sleep. Wrong. She laid in our bed....and played. She reached for my pajama top, my nose, my hair, the blanket--anything she could get her hands on and play with. She rolled from Marty's side to mine. She flipped over, she sighed, she popped her pacifier in and out of her mouth. Basically, she did everything BUT sleep. Soon, I found myself facing 6 am and time to shower and start the day....all without a single wink of sleep since 4:30. I gave her a bottle and placed her beside Marty, thinking that she'd keep him awake and demand early morning playtime or episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. So I showered and fought to stay awake. I applied my makeup and fixed my hair. All was well until my dryer bumped the display board where I have all of my earrings and down went all of my earrings in the sink. As I picked up the pairs of earrings, I found only one lone earring belonging to my favorite pair....meaning the other probably went right down the drain. And I lost it. I stood in my bathroom and cried. Over a $5 pair of fake pearl studs. I knew it was less about the earrings (which could be easily replaced with a trip to Claire's or another equally cheap jewelry place) and more about the fact that my baby's sleep issues make me feel like a complete and utter failure. What have I done, or haven't done, to get her to this current pattern of sleeplessness that she's in?? Did I baby her too much as a newborn? Did I hold her too much? Show her too much attention? Rock her to sleep too long when she should have been laid in her crib as soon as her bedtime routine was over? Which, in turn, made me angry. Why should it always be my fault? Why should it be something that I did, or didn't do, to cause something as huge as these ridiculous sleep issues? I shook off these feelings, finished drying my hair and walked out of the bathroom to get dressed...only to find my 7 month old curled up to her daddy....sound asleep. Which started another fit of crying. Why me? Why will she go to sleep just fine for Marty, but seems dead-set against getting a good night's sleep for my sake? It wasn't always like this. When Avery was about 10 weeks old, she was sleeping at least 8 hours through the night. I was incredibly thankful. Each night that I would lay down and wake 6 hours later without a peep was a restful and wonderful night. Then, Avery caught a cold. Stuffy noses and a whiny baby became our nightly routine and I thought we'd never get back to that blissful state of restfulness we were in before. Until Marty and I started Avery on a pretty strict bedtime routine. At 7 pm, on the dot, we were beginning her routine which started with a bottle and cereal and ended with a bath and lotion-y massage. For awhile, that worked. She would sleep from 8-5 consistently for about 2 weeks. Then she got an ear infection and broncholitis and spent an entire week in our bed propped up on pillows so I could make sure she was still breathing through the night. Which brings us to our current state. The routine is still the same...filling that little tummy and then a bath and lotion before bed, but the results have been far different than they were before. But no one else in the house seems to be affected by this sleeplessness, other than me. Avery is a happy baby...seemingly unaware as to how awesome sleep is and the fact that most babies her age should be getting 10-18 hours of sleep a day. We're lucky if we get 18 hours in two. Marty, while extremely helpful whenever I ask him to get out of bed and tend to her, has the remarkable ability to sleep through anything and usually doesn't hear her crying at night. There have been a few times that he'll stir when she's really wailing, but he can always roll over and go right back to sleep. And I'm envious...and a little bit angry...and a lot bit resentful. Anger is now my #1 emotion...if I'm being completely honest with myself. In fact, more than once during this frustrating morning, I had to refrain from punching my snoring husband. And why? I'm exhausted and want sleep more than anything...why on earth would I begrudge anyone of getting their own 6-8 hours of sleep a night? But when I'm in the middle of being sleep-deprived, I don't think of things like that. I think of how jealous I am that he gets to sleep and how I want to be the one that's drooling on my pillow. I've become this irrationally angry person that I don't even like being around. I get mad over clothes left in the laundry room or a dish left on the table. Things that absolutely don't matter in the long run. But rational thinking and an even-temper have completely left me. And I have no idea how to get them back. I resolve to be a nicer person and to control my emotions when it's no one's fault that I'm so tired, but I can't. I go right back to being the snappy, hormonal, momasarus I was before. Not to mention the fact that I have become a blithering idiot. I can't think of words that I'm wanting to say, I lose my train of thought at the drop of a hat and if it's not written down or I'm not reminded 5 times or more, I will forget things. My co-worker probably thinks I'm the dumbest person in the world. I feel like I'm on this vicious merry-go-round: Avery doesn't sleep=I don't sleep=I blame myself=I feel like a failure=I get angry=Avery still doesn't sleep...the cycle continues. I want it to stop. I want my baby to sleep. Forget all of my issues for a second...how is she functioning?? If a baby is supposed to be getting 10-18 hours and she's getting maybe 7 the entire day, how is that good for her? If she doesn't take naps, is she a burden to anyone that watches her? I know I'm barely able to get things done on the weekends because she refuses to be left alone and she doesn't nap...do other people resent the fact that they have to stay right by her side the entire time they're babysitting her? In fact, this very issue lost us a regular weekly babysitter. One who had children of her own that needed her attention, which is how is should be, and my whiny baby was beginning to interfere with that. Which makes me feel like a terrible mom. No one likes to hear that their baby cried all day and didn't let the babysitter get anything done. I don't want to be THAT mom. I just don't know what else to do. We've tried crying it out. It worked for a little while, but now she's up all the time just crying. What do I do? Go to her every hour that she's crying and rock her back to sleep? But then doesn't that teach her that she needs me to comfort her before she enters any state of sleep? Do I let her cry every single time through the entire night? But doesn't that teach her that nighttime isn't an enjoyable time because she knows she'll lay in her crib and cry? Why isn't there a clear answer? I can handle all the ifs of mommyhood...if she'll be succesful, if she'll hit her milestones on time, if she'll be healthy and happy...but this is one issue that I just want the magic answer. Don't get me wrong, if there's a good reason to lose sleep, my Avery girl would be the best one. But I would like the magic formula to get my baby to sleep through the night and get my home to return to some type of order and the old, pleasant Devan back. I guess until then, I just have to keep repeating that "this too shall pass...."

Worrywart.

Out of all my character flaws (and I have many--impatience, temper, pouting when things don't go my way), my worrying is the worst. I have the innate ability to worry about anything and everything. I'll take anything, which can start as something very small, and worry about it until it becomes a very large and overwhelming situation. I can't help it. I worry about Avery CONSTANTLY--is she happy? Is she being fed okay? What if she's allergic to every fruit I give her for the rest of her life (the current list is bananas and pears)? Is this current I-need-you-all-the-time, whiny stage of her life caused by something I did...or didn't...do? Will she ever get back on a sleep schedule again?? I worry about myself--am I a good enough mom? Will I ever learn how to balance Avery and a home? Will I find time to paint again? Am I destined to be a zombie mom? I worry about my husband and my family--about their health, happiness and relationship with me. I worry about my relationship with God--is it strong enough? Do I pray enough? What is God going to say to me when He gets the chance? I even worry about worrying too much! I've always been this way. When invited to high school parties or to friend's houses whose parents were gone for the night, I declined their invitations because I worried that my dad would know the next door neighbors and they'd see my car at the party. Sometimes I wonder if I've been this way since birth. But it's Lent. And if I could truly give anything up, it wouldn't be Dr. Peppers for 40 days or facebook. It would be worrying. Since I know that isn't a realistic, I am going to make it my Lenten goal to worry LESS. For 40 days (and hopefully longer), I will worry less and enjoy more. I will give my problems over to God instead of thinking that I'm big enough to handle everything on my own. It shows my own lack of faith in believing that my worrying will solve anything instead of handing the problem immediately over to God and relying on Him to help me through. I will print off these quotes and place them where I can read them and remind myself daily that I need not worry. And hopefully by the end of this Lenten season, I'll be a worry-free(ish) and happier me. :)