Jan 242013
 

 

HELLO, and Happy Day, Monkees!  Sister here, reporting for Glennon on this most exciting day.

I was forced to put G in a one day Momastery time out because her distaste for anything that smells like promotion was threatening to ruin the perfectly fabulous time we are about to all have together.  But sister-promotion is a basic tenant here at Momastery, and what G does whenever she sees a sister doing something good and true and smart, so here I am.

Because she and WE – this whole Momastery community – have done something very good and true and smart.

 

WE HAVE MADE A BOOK.

 

We have made a book that will arrive in 70 short days! Carry On, Warrior is our baby, and we are in our LAST TRIMESTER! Which, actually, is a very good reason to order up many foot rubs and naps and chocolate desserts and stay in our yoga-pants until April.  Carry On, Warrior will be here before we know it and there will be crying and rejoicing and visitors and no sleeping and we’ll really wish we had used these 70 days more wisely and lazily.

If you’ve been reading Momastery long enough, you know that G has a tendency to rename her babies. Some people play tennis, others cook, and Glennon picks new names for her kids.  Partly because it is a hobby she can enjoy without leaving the house, but also because, as she gets to know each kid, her name reveals itself undeniably.

Remember how Amma got her name(s)?  In utero she was Tess. Then Amanda. Then Amme. Then Scout. Finally, Amma. Rhymes with Anna. We repeat that “rhymes with” part a lot. Glennon has friends who still won’t attempt the third child’s name because they’re so confused. They gesture in Amma’s general direction and say, “you know . . . her.”   In fact, when Amma was four she looked up from her coloring book and said, “Mama! What my name again??” Which would’ve been funnier if G had been able to remember it more quickly. The point is, she was always, undeniably and for all time, just an Amma of a thing.

So it should not be a shock to us that this phenomenon also happened to our baby - Carry On, Warrior.  Glennon took that book home and loved her and learned her.  And, as these things go, Carry On revealed herself and her cover was blown. Carry On, Warrior is, undeniably and for all time, a beautiful and bold rainbow of a thing. So without further ado, may I present to you the new and final cover of Carry On, Warrior. . .

 

 

IT’S A GIRL!!!  And we love her.  We love that she assumes nothing. Everyone has a home with her. Each of us can find our place and take what we need. Just like our community. Everybody’s in, baby.

 

It’s time for the Shower (without all the awkward 4-hour gift opening and the pretending you’ve never seen a Boppy quite that beautiful before). It is time to celebrate all of the doing of the hard things and the loving each other so well here.

Every preorder of Carry On, Warrior (www.carryonwarrior.com) will arrive to your home ON the first day of the book’s release, April 2. And if just half of Monkees preorder the book today, Carry On, Warrior could be on the New York Times bestseller list in the first week of publication. Wouldn’t that be wild? It would be historic and magical, just like our community. And it would be a proper way to celebrate a baby sister’s arrival to the world.

 

And if you believe our baby will help folks breathe easier and further the kindness revolution….

 

 Pinners, Pin THIS! 

 

For you Tweeters and Facebookers, share the book with your friends by posting this link into your status:  www.carryonwarrior.com.  

 

And then PREORDER!!!  All preorders will arrive on publication day, April 2, and many of the sellers are offering the book on preorder for 40% off list price – that’s $10 off each book!

 

Buy a copy for your bookshelf or nightstand (you are going to want to HOLD this beautiful baby in your hands, trust us!) and preorder one for your friend who is becoming a mom, becoming sober, healing, becoming more real. Buy one for your mama and mama in law and sisters and daughters and your child’s teachers. Buy a copy for each of your warrior girlfriends for Mothers Day. Stock up, make this book your 2013 Go To Gift to Those You Love.

 

And Thank You. For everything. For Every Thing.

 

Carry On, Warriors.

Sister and G

Jan 252013
 

 

You took our book to # 5 on Amazon this morning.

 

Our book is Number Five. It’s number five OF THE WHOLE AMAZON. OF ALL THE BOOKS. And it’s not EVEN OUT YET. No one can believe this. The fancy folks can.not.believe it.

Raise your hand if you can totally believe it? I can. It’s actually pretty easy to believe, after all we’ve been through together. We can do hard things. We know this.

This morning I am filled with awe and gratitude and an overwhelming desire to keep things real. I want to remind myself every minute that this revolution is not about wide, it’s about deep. It’s not about shiny, it’s about a little banged up. It’s not about impressing folks in fancy offices…it’s about touching folks one at a time right in their family rooms.

Our revolution is simply about reminding folks that they are already home. And that there are thousands of people who will say “welcome home” and then offer a sister a seat and a cup of tea and a place to stay forever. Even if and when she makes a mistake. Even then. Especially then. There is plenty of room for mistakes inside our revolution. You need to know that. Don’t hold your breath.

And so . . . the bigger things get, the smaller we need to keep them. One at a time. On the ground. Upside down revolution. Person to person. Hand to hand. If we lose this- we lose it all. What good is it to gain the world if you lose your soul? My job is not to top the charts. It’s to keep the soul in the Momastery.

I was thinking about this yesterday evening as I watched the numbers soar. I kept remembering that we are never as good as we think we are and we are never as bad as we think we are. I kept thinking about a quote I read in Bob Goff’s book, Love Does. He says, “I’d rather fail at something that matters than succeed at something that doesn’t.”

What you did yesterday on Amazon matters to me. It matters to Sister and Tisha and our editor, Whitney, who is as Monkee as Monkees come, and who spent the afternoon yesterday holding flowers I sent her, staring at her screen and breathing deeply while re-freshing the Amazon site every ten seconds. That matters to me. It matters to me that you made her so happy. I’ll never forget the image I have of my Whitney holding her flowers and refreshing her screen. She believed in us, she vouched for us, she went out on many thousands of limbs for us, and then she worked her Monkee BUTT off for us. Now it’s all paying off.  I am eternally grateful to you for that. As is she.

Still, in my heart of hearts, I know without question that yesterday’s frenzy matters less than other things matter.

And as I snuggled into bed thinking about that last night, I remembered an email I’d received a few days back from a woman in Indiana who runs a home for unwed teen mamas. Just five teen mamas at a time live there. They are loved well and so are their babies. They are taught hope. They graduate from high school. They learn what Carry On, Warrior and Sister On really mean.

In her email, this woman mentioned that her home was low on funding. And that they needed help. And that they all love Momastery and wondered if maybe we could be that help. They wanted me to come to them, but they didn’t have the money to pay for my flight there.

I wasn’t going to go. They needed me in the middle of the book tour, and my health and my kids and I get these requests all the time and you cant help everybody and you know…yadda yadda yadda and more endless yadda.

Last night I decided to quit yaddda-ing. Love doesn’t yadda. Neither does gratitude.

I got out of bed and I wrote the Indiana hero this message:

***

Friend,

I love your organization. And I just love you. Yes. I’m in.

I am honored that you want me. I want to come hold babies and hug warrior mamas and tell them my story and hear theirs. And yours. And dance on my head or sing horribly or make speeches or whatever else we need to do to raise money for this beautiful home. I’ll pay my own way- I want you to save every penny for the lovies.
What next? Sister and Bobby are coming, too. And my friend and fellow Love Warrior, Amy. And maybe a hell of a lot more folks. What you do matters. We want to celebrate that.


Love Wins.
G

***

I just wanted you to know that I KNOW that gratitude is as gratitude does.

And I want you to know that the work you do, the door you hold open today for the mama with one arm on the stroller and the other holding her toddler, the coffee you buy for a stranger, the millionth diaper you change, the character assassination you step away from and the smile you offer a lonely looking teenager in the check-out line:

Those are the things that matter. Those things are who we are.

I haven’t forgotten, and I won’t forget.

Serving this revolution is the fourth greatest honor of my life.

 

I love you. I truly, truly love you. And I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is.

 

Glennon

 

 

Jan 302013
 

 

*originally posted a million years ago

Once when Chase was three, he was looking through my wedding album and said “Mommy, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you look kind of BIGGER in these pictures. Like… not skinny.”

I cleared my throat and said. “Oh, right honey. Well there is a lot of food at weddings. I was REALLY FULL. And also, in case you’re wondering, grandpa was holding that shotgun because the ceremony was deep in bear country.”

Chase bought my fertilization fables for several years. But since he was five when I got pregnant with Amanda, his baby questions started to get more specific. “Mommy, how did she GET IN THERE? How is she going to GET OUT?” At first, I held tight to my routine of lies and distraction. “Oh, honey only doctors know the answers to those questions! And I didn’t go to medical school. Sorry. LOOK, AN EAGLE!!!”

But he wouldn’t let it go, and I thought maybe it was time for some professional help. So we bought a children’s book about what happens to a woman’s body during pregnancy. In the section about labor, the book discussed how the baby travels through the birth canal and then out through the vagina, which it described and illustrated as a “tunnel.”

This book was a really fun bedtime read for my husband. My favorite pastime became watching Craig try to read that book to Chase without skipping the words vagina, sperm, and ovum. Every night when Chase was choosing his bedtime story I’d yell up the stairs…”HEY GUYS, HOW ABOUT THE BABY BOOK?” And Craig would silently curse me while I giggled and felt a bit better about my heartburn and swollen ankles.

One afternoon, late in my pregnancy, I was in my family room with two moms I’d just met from Chase’s preschool. All the kids were downstairs playing with Chase and Tish’s new playhouse, which had a big tent and passageways to crawl through. Just as I began preparing a delicious snack of God knows what, we heard Chase scream,

TISH! IT’S MY TURN TO GET IN THE VAGINA!”

My new friends and I froze and stared at each other for a moment. I decided immediately that this little problem was okay, really. I had a lot of friends. I didn’t NEED these two ladies.

And then I politely excused myself to check on the children.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw Chase squatting and lunging into his new play tunnel, or birth canal if you will, trying to pull Tish out by her head while she kicked and screamed. I calmly suggested he use some forceps.

And since I don’t have a walk-out basement from which to escape, I had no other choice but to hike back upstairs and try to explain myself and my child. I don’t remember much about the excuse I offered, but I can’t imagine it went smoothly. Which is to say, that there haven’t been any more playdates with those particular ladies or their traumatized children.

And so it goes.