Friends

My friend (facebook and real life) Jennie has a really nice entry on Facebook friendship.

Self Control

I woke convicted that I must dig deep within myself. I need to unearth a new level of self control. So this morning I am telling myself to take the day minute by minute. I can do this.

It isn't food. Not alcohol or drugs. Not coffee. No, my friends it is Facebook. I know, just a few posts ago I expressed my confusion over what it is and what exactly is so magical about it, I know.

But I am addicted.

It involves people. It involves searching through the past for people you once knew. It has the snooping element; you can search through other people's friends. Piece together who knows each other and imagine how they met, how they are connected. You read snippets of their life and can imagine. (I'm a snoop at heart...I confess. And I have a huge imagination.) Plus, people actually use this more than email...I have actually heard from more people (or different people) than I do via email. For someone at home with small children, it lulls you into feeling connected with the outside world. And this alone is a drug one must have...It is addicting.

So, today, NO Facebook. No matter how many notices come to my email box, I will not go over to Facebook. I will not. I will not. I. Will. Not.

I know what you're thinking. I said nothing about Blogging or email--so don't judge me. ;)

And Then the Nest was Empty.

Well, almost.

Oh, they grow up so fast. Seems like just last week they were bald ugly and their eyes were all bulging and closed. Thanks to the tireless efforts of Mama and Papa Robin the birds are off. And they are cute!
This morning as I went to let the dog out and much to my surprise there sat one of the babies on our patio table. She was all proud and puffed up. Mama, true to form, was hopping around in an anxious fit on the ground near by. Eventually the baby bird decided to show off for me and took off FLYING to the next tree. I was so proud.

I'm not sure how the family dynamics go with The Robins but the other bird was still huddled in the nest. Perhaps waiting for permission from Mama and Papa. "Wait your turn. She hatched first. Life isn't fair. Get use to it. You both got plenty of worms--I don't want to hear about it."

I'm sure this one will get a crack at life out of the nest, too. This has been a fascinating event to watch.

p.s. from the top photo you'll notice that Big Boy's lettuce crop is doing well.

Do I Look My Age?

I left Oprah in the kitchen remaking women so they looked their age (with Oprah's resources remaking them, I hope they look good at the end...reality isn't quite that easy....) to check my email. I came across this blog entry from Jenell Paris.

http://jenellparis.blogspot.com/

Read her post, Disguises. She could be writing about me in the last two paragraphs. Made me laugh out loud in solidarity.

I don't get it.

Facebook.

I was never part of the 'in' crowd. I never attended one event in high school that could legitimately be described as a 'party'. I did fine as I progressed through college and now feel my social skills are well honed. But perhaps it is these latent HS feelings of inadequacy that made me sign up for Facebook yesterday.

I learned that most of my cousins and all of my siblings were communicating (without me there to monitor the conversation) on Facebook and I just had to be apart of it.

Sure, it was great fun to set up my account and post a photo. I found a few friends that were also signed up and I laughed as throughout the day I received email notices like this one...

"Robroy and Heather are now friends."

Well, I thought we had that established years ago, but whatever. :) And I did get to IM with my sister, so that was a neat feature.

But at the end of the day, old as this may make me sound, I don't get it. Can't we just keep in contact with each other via email? Or phone? Or the US Postal system?

Someone explain, please.

New Life

This past week I discovered something more tiring than being a mom...being a Robin Mama.

A few weeks ago a nice Robin couple made a nest in the pine tree right outside our kitchen window. Pretty soon three perfect, blue eggs showed up. We watched and wondered how they would do. Henry was so excited. While he had no idea what it meant for eggs to 'hatch' he got the gist that it was a special event. I began to worry that this might also turn into Henry's first taste of the big cruel world of nature. I so wanted the eggs to hatch and the birds to live.

Proving that we mothers are a competitive bunch, I began to second guess the Robin Mama's moves.

"Should you really leave the nest so often?"
"Are the eggs warm enough?"
"Awfully windy today, hope you built that nest well."
"Was it smart to build your nest so close to our house?"

Last Wednesday I noticed some movement in the nest and sure enough, there were three baby birds crying out for food. (the photo is not of our baby birds but rather some in PA at Jenell Paris' home)

All weekend we watched with fascination as the Robin family attended to their babies needs. It made me tired. Apparently worms are digested even faster than breast milk. She no sooner feeds them than she flies off to find another worm or grub. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. At least I know how she loses the baby weight.

Obviously parents both of us, our nest multiplied as Chad and I unconsciously check on the birds and report back to each other. "She's feeding them again." "She's got a big grub this time." "Oh, nice worm." "They are awake."

We have tried to respect their space but Sunday I just had to plant some flowers. My own babies were in the house with their Dad and I had some luxurious time to myself. Mama Robin watched me the whole time. As I dug in the soil, just out of my peripheral vision I could see this little bird hopping around in a nervous fit; a fresh worm or grub hanging from her beak.

So our flowers are planted a little denser on one side of the flowerbed and there are weeds under only one tree. I worked as fast as I could.

I feel for her, I really do. These kids are exhausting. At least mine are cute.

Doing Motherhood

Yet today, tomorrow and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem. Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather her brood under her wings, and you were not willing! Luke 13:33-34

The mom's group at my church leads a early childhood class for mothers who attend the alternative high school in our area. This morning a small group of women from our group gathered at church to organize and put together gift bags and resource binders we'll give the students in a few weeks.

I arrived too late to help with one group and just on time to work with the second group. Being a true Minnesota Lutheran, even though I was running late, I also felt a need to bring coffee and baked goods. (It is as if I was raised to believe that sweets and coffee are the third sacrament.) So there we were, united in our effort to support these younger moms.

We joked about who had showered (not I said the fly) and most of us sucked down coffee with the passion; or was it desperation?; of any good addict. Our kids played, cried, laughed, bossed each other around, screamed, ate, and walked/ran around the building with the familiarity of children who identify as much with the church as with their home.

Seemingly we don't have much in common with these young students. For the most part we differ in age, race, economics, upbringing, education, and marital status. By the grace of God our lives look much different than theirs.

But we are all mothers. Whether we wanted to be or not, whether it fit our schedule or turned out how we thought it would, we are mothers. No matter what else we need to figure out in life, we share a call to raise up our children; part of our lives are now lived beyond ourselves.

I love the image of Jesus as a mother hen. He likened himself not to the rooster but to the nurturing hen. The one whose chief purpose is to watch out for her chicks. The one who protects her own by fluffing herself up and stretching out her wings--clucking at her kids to get under her and then sitting on them for their own good. Then she puts her own body between her chicks and the fox. Denying herself so that they might have a fighting chance at a whole life. Dying for them if she must.

Barbara Brown Taylor writes, "...perhaps this is why we call the church, "Mother Church." It is where we come to be fed and sheltered, but it is also where we come to stand firm with those who need the same things from us. It is where we grow from chicks into chickens, by giving what we have received, by teaching what we have learned, and by loving the way we ourselves have been loved--by a mother hen who would give his life to gather us under his wings."

And so at least for me, I gathered my two chicks (by gather, I mean threw them in the car-one without shoes, the other hungry and in her pajamas. I went back for the shoes and she got food.) got sustenance and plopped them in the nursery because, for the sake of my chicks, I want my outstretched arms to extend beyond my own brood.

The students who will receive the binders and goody bags will never know what was going on in our lives as we put them together. They may look at them and never put them to use. They may be too overwhelmed to even open them. But it is our way of extending grace...we are mothers and stretching out our arms is what we do.

I give great thanks for a group of women who model this grace; the ones on this journey of motherhood with me. The ones who continually remind me of the One who opened his arms for me, and through their lives encourage me to open my own arms wider.

Art of Schmoozing

Schmoozing 101

For anyone who wants to help their congregation/small group grow, here are some tips. Although, my friend Jennie has proclaimed the "less chairs" at a party tip for sometime. :)

Awe...needed food for my soul

My devotion for the morning. Watch to the end. While I don't think God is a white male, God may in fact have an Irish accent in my mind. :)
It came from Mary Hess's blog.