Yesterday's weather was as close to perfect as it can come. Perfect day to sit around and hold hands.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
On to the 40th Year...
Today is my birthday...
...phone calls
...cards to open
...delivered coffee, bagels and scones
...coffee gift cards
...hugs from friends
...the joy of FB greetings
...the joy of FB greetings
...one friend offered to have the older kids over for a play date (leaving me and LP to hang out and blog this morning)
...yesterday, I picked out my own gifts--thanks to the generosity of various family members. One gift is in the photo above. My husband joked that he has a vision of me clutching it like a prayer bead...
I am so immensely grateful for this life!
Thank you, thank you.
Thank you, thank you.
Friday, August 12, 2011
July 21-August 15
Recap:
I was in the hospital. I came home. LP was starving and screaming. Finally, the kid got some food and I started up the ole pumping machine. He returned to his calm, sweet and sleepy self.
My parents came. The help, company and built in entertainment was priceless. They left.
A friend took my two oldest kids away each morning to VBS. Another friend came, she brought crafts and attention for my kids.
Many friends brought us food. It was very appreciated.
We've ran some errands, met up with friends and in general are finding our rhythm.
I was in the hospital. I came home. LP was starving and screaming. Finally, the kid got some food and I started up the ole pumping machine. He returned to his calm, sweet and sleepy self.
My parents came. The help, company and built in entertainment was priceless. They left.
A friend took my two oldest kids away each morning to VBS. Another friend came, she brought crafts and attention for my kids.
Many friends brought us food. It was very appreciated.
We've ran some errands, met up with friends and in general are finding our rhythm.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
And then there were three...
Wednesday, July 20
9 lbs, 6 oz 19 inches long
A little baby boy was born.
His arrival evens up the genders in our household.
1 Dad, 2 sons.
1 Mom, 1 daughter and 1 female Labrador Retriever (who, apparently, count in the gender tally.)
He shall be know here as, Little Pooky or LP. This is the name his older brother has given him. It makes me laugh every time BB says it.
9 lbs, 6 oz 19 inches long
A little baby boy was born.
His arrival evens up the genders in our household.
1 Dad, 2 sons.
1 Mom, 1 daughter and 1 female Labrador Retriever (who, apparently, count in the gender tally.)
He shall be know here as, Little Pooky or LP. This is the name his older brother has given him. It makes me laugh every time BB says it.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Pressed Against the Fence
We live on a postage stamp sized lot. Our backyard backs up to our neighbors and looking east and west you can see the backyards of our neighbors. After nearly seven years of living in this house, we have a comparable forest in our backyard. We are among the only ones who have planted trees or shrubs in their backyards...it makes a wide open landscape. And free roaming for the neighborhood kids.
Which is apparently how many people like it. I haven't read the book Free Range Kids nor am I frequent visitor to her blog, but I am familiar with her basic theory: that we micromanage our children too much and that the world isn't nearly as dangerous as our culture likes to think it is.
While I can't visualize a day where I would just let my kids out the door in the morning and tell them to be home by super time, the problems over our back fence are more related to basic civility and common sense manners.
Last summer two new sets of neighbors moved into to the houses to our west and south. One set is a great match for our kids and everyone has a grand time playing together. The family is beyond kind and generous. Their generosity is actually the problem. They have a play set in their yard. A smallish one with a few swings and a rock wall with a fort on top and a slide down. It is a novelty in our neighborhood. I don't know what invitations they made to the neighbors around us or if they meant to open up their backyard to the entire subdivision...but as time has gone on, that is what has happened.
Especially since we have new neighbors catty corner and next to the play ground. The yards are small and with no fences to distinguish between lot lines, I understand how kids don't know the difference between one space and the another...especially when one space has a fort. It is also obvious that their parents aren't interested in pointing out these imaginary property lines to them.
On any given hour you will find the 'other' kids playing on the equipment. They even bring friends over. Some of the kids in the family are older and thus the conversations aren't appropriate (or understood) by the children whose yard it is (or my kids, their friends who would like to play with them.)
As time has gone on, the neighbor has opened up to me about her frustrations. The garbage left in her yard, the shoes, headbands, clothing, books, toys and miscellaneous other 'stuff' left behind from the neighborhood kids. My own kids express their frustration many days--mostly because I won't invite the whole gaggle of the kids over to our yard and I won't let them play with their friends if this older family is playing there. (and, they are always there.) But also because BB has a sense of "that's not their yard." He has, of course, heard me talk about these kids and their behavior. He also knows he needs to ask to leave his yard, he needs to check with me before inviting friend over, he hears us tell him to 'let Adam and Dave play with their parents.' He has heard Adam and Dave say that they can't come over because it is family time...etc. etc. etc.
There is no major theme or great thought going on here...except the questions that came out of my conversation with my neighbor the other day.
She was stating the parenting challenges of this situation..."I can share my things" she said. "Why does this bother me so much?" Neither of us really 'like' the kids that come over, but we both recognize that they aren't "bad" kids or doing horrible destructive things to the property. They aren't exactly who we would want our kids to hand around with, but again, they aren't a horrible influence. (I have the added pleasure of their father working with my husband--loosely--so I feel that social connection.)
I was having the same thoughts about what is the more important lesson to teach my kids...Sharing the communal nature and lost art of neighbors/neighborhood or modeling manners and care and respect of other's property. I know there's some middle ground in there...it is just so flipping flapping much work to find it, and communicate it and model it....
In my next house, I will gladly look for neighbors in their 70's or 80's...surely they'd be easy to get along with, right?
Which is apparently how many people like it. I haven't read the book Free Range Kids nor am I frequent visitor to her blog, but I am familiar with her basic theory: that we micromanage our children too much and that the world isn't nearly as dangerous as our culture likes to think it is.
While I can't visualize a day where I would just let my kids out the door in the morning and tell them to be home by super time, the problems over our back fence are more related to basic civility and common sense manners.
Last summer two new sets of neighbors moved into to the houses to our west and south. One set is a great match for our kids and everyone has a grand time playing together. The family is beyond kind and generous. Their generosity is actually the problem. They have a play set in their yard. A smallish one with a few swings and a rock wall with a fort on top and a slide down. It is a novelty in our neighborhood. I don't know what invitations they made to the neighbors around us or if they meant to open up their backyard to the entire subdivision...but as time has gone on, that is what has happened.
Especially since we have new neighbors catty corner and next to the play ground. The yards are small and with no fences to distinguish between lot lines, I understand how kids don't know the difference between one space and the another...especially when one space has a fort. It is also obvious that their parents aren't interested in pointing out these imaginary property lines to them.
On any given hour you will find the 'other' kids playing on the equipment. They even bring friends over. Some of the kids in the family are older and thus the conversations aren't appropriate (or understood) by the children whose yard it is (or my kids, their friends who would like to play with them.)
As time has gone on, the neighbor has opened up to me about her frustrations. The garbage left in her yard, the shoes, headbands, clothing, books, toys and miscellaneous other 'stuff' left behind from the neighborhood kids. My own kids express their frustration many days--mostly because I won't invite the whole gaggle of the kids over to our yard and I won't let them play with their friends if this older family is playing there. (and, they are always there.) But also because BB has a sense of "that's not their yard." He has, of course, heard me talk about these kids and their behavior. He also knows he needs to ask to leave his yard, he needs to check with me before inviting friend over, he hears us tell him to 'let Adam and Dave play with their parents.' He has heard Adam and Dave say that they can't come over because it is family time...etc. etc. etc.
There is no major theme or great thought going on here...except the questions that came out of my conversation with my neighbor the other day.
She was stating the parenting challenges of this situation..."I can share my things" she said. "Why does this bother me so much?" Neither of us really 'like' the kids that come over, but we both recognize that they aren't "bad" kids or doing horrible destructive things to the property. They aren't exactly who we would want our kids to hand around with, but again, they aren't a horrible influence. (I have the added pleasure of their father working with my husband--loosely--so I feel that social connection.)
I was having the same thoughts about what is the more important lesson to teach my kids...Sharing the communal nature and lost art of neighbors/neighborhood or modeling manners and care and respect of other's property. I know there's some middle ground in there...it is just so flipping flapping much work to find it, and communicate it and model it....
In my next house, I will gladly look for neighbors in their 70's or 80's...surely they'd be easy to get along with, right?
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
End Times...
A friend asked me today if I had begun thinking about life in terms of "this is the last time life will be this way." The last lunch out with just EG and BB. The last bedtime with two kids. The last time we fit in a booth as a family. The last time heading out without a diaper bag. The last day with no diapers. The last...
I haven't really begun to think like that. It feels a bit different. Life is a lot busier and frantic than it was when I transitioned from one child to two. Or perhaps it doesn't feel like anything is going to change because here, where I am, in denial--all is well.
But a number of years ago I wrote about this feeling, and I repeat that entry today. It is similar to what I wrote a few posts ago about my heart expanding. I'm not so much 'sad' this time around. There have been no tears for weeks--and they weren't about Baby #3. Sadness was months ago. Panic was months ago. I am pretty serious about my state of denial--I have to pinch myself to remember all this physical pain, list making and frantic planning is being done for an actual reason. I have to mentally remind myself that there is another person coming to live with us.
I could also point to this as growth. I've leaned back on God's grace a whole lot more since this first entry was written.
And here I am.
Life has indeed come out of millions of tiny, and some enormous, deaths. Perhaps my mental state right now isn't denial so much as a matured faith life.
Or perhaps life is just way too comfortable here in Denial and I've lulled myself into all sorts of delusion.
Either way, so far I am staying sane in these End Days.
Monday, February 25, 2008
This is the last week of my daily routine involving just Baby Boy and me. Next week we add another person to the mix and life will never be the same. Maybe because it is Lent and the shadow of the cross is around me or maybe it is just because I am so thoroughly rooted in the ideas that "out of death comes life", I tend to really mourn the changes in my life. It is my pattern. I also don't like being caught off guard. So I like to cut the sad feelings off at the pass, getting to them before they can sneak up and tie me down. I'll admit sometimes I go a little over board with drama in regards to how big of a change it will really be or how realistic it is to anticipate a particular change. Once in a while I get all sad over a change that isn't even on our radar (oh, it will be so hard to leave these people--when we have no plans to move or a place to go) ...it is just one of those "what ifs." or "might happens." But usually I reserve some really good grief for the "big ones."
My husband doesn't quite understand the profound anticipatory grief I feel about life. "Why are you sad now? It (what ever 'it' is) hasn't happened." But for me it is how I process life...I have to anticipate the change and process the 'death' in order to be ready to accept the joy and new life that is surely to come.
I am also absurdly honest about how I feel through these changes. I'm sure when Baby Boy was born my admission that he seemingly, "ruined" our perfectly good routine, felt a bit severe for a new mom. And I still give any new mother around me permission to express sadness over what she has lost while gaining this new joy. I am not shocked when they whisper complaints or question what they have done.
Change sucks...in any form. Of course the changes I had no choice in or the events that I never saw coming throw me but even the ones I created get to me--maybe even more so. Moves, I wanted to make. Jobs, I wanted to take. Deaths, I saw coming. People, I wanted to marry and love more than anyone. Career choices, I alone made. Babies, I am overwhelmed to hold and blessed to care for. All of it, at one point just sucks, and I have learned to anticipate that feeling. Anticipating it actually makes things easier.
So as Baby Boy and I ran completely ordinary errands today, it didn't shock me when mid-stroller push, on a sidewalk we travel many times a month, something told me I should take this moment in deeply. I realized for the first time it was to be among our last. Next time we are here, someone else will be with us. And I don't know much about this little person. The unknown. Change.
I stopped the tears from falling then, but let them fall freely right now. I love hanging out with this little guy. I love the 'Mom and Baby Boy show'...we have a blast talking about the world, chatting with the store clerks, getting in and out of the car, giggling over the amount of goldfish in in car seat, stopping to check out this or that. Sure errands are slower but I have someone to talk to and apparently from some recent outings I have taken alone (and glances made in my direction), I talk to myself a lot.
My annoyance with all things 'change' has taught me to fall back on God's promise of new life. After all, there was a day about two years ago when I was sure we'd made a huge mistake and I so wanted a time machine to go back start over. I know it involved crying (both parent and baby) some bodily fluid (baby) and a whole lotta tired (all involved). It was a day when I was sure my life was over.
And it was.
But it was replaced by this wonderfully chaotic one, the very one that I now grieve. Next week we'll start again--welcoming a new person to this crazy mix that is our clan and I will shed some tears this week in anticipation of the change. I will lament the "last times" and "it will never be this easy agains" and I'll grant myself a moment to second guess our choice. But I will also give thanks for what I am grieving--through it, I am able to give even greater thanks for what is to come.
I haven't really begun to think like that. It feels a bit different. Life is a lot busier and frantic than it was when I transitioned from one child to two. Or perhaps it doesn't feel like anything is going to change because here, where I am, in denial--all is well.
But a number of years ago I wrote about this feeling, and I repeat that entry today. It is similar to what I wrote a few posts ago about my heart expanding. I'm not so much 'sad' this time around. There have been no tears for weeks--and they weren't about Baby #3. Sadness was months ago. Panic was months ago. I am pretty serious about my state of denial--I have to pinch myself to remember all this physical pain, list making and frantic planning is being done for an actual reason. I have to mentally remind myself that there is another person coming to live with us.
I could also point to this as growth. I've leaned back on God's grace a whole lot more since this first entry was written.
And here I am.
Life has indeed come out of millions of tiny, and some enormous, deaths. Perhaps my mental state right now isn't denial so much as a matured faith life.
Or perhaps life is just way too comfortable here in Denial and I've lulled myself into all sorts of delusion.
Either way, so far I am staying sane in these End Days.
Monday, February 25, 2008
The Week Before...
Today as "Baby Boy"--my son's name for himself in these baby-crazed days--started out on our errands a strange sadness fell over me. I don't 'do' change well, anyone who knows me knows this--and change is a commin'.This is the last week of my daily routine involving just Baby Boy and me. Next week we add another person to the mix and life will never be the same. Maybe because it is Lent and the shadow of the cross is around me or maybe it is just because I am so thoroughly rooted in the ideas that "out of death comes life", I tend to really mourn the changes in my life. It is my pattern. I also don't like being caught off guard. So I like to cut the sad feelings off at the pass, getting to them before they can sneak up and tie me down. I'll admit sometimes I go a little over board with drama in regards to how big of a change it will really be or how realistic it is to anticipate a particular change. Once in a while I get all sad over a change that isn't even on our radar (oh, it will be so hard to leave these people--when we have no plans to move or a place to go) ...it is just one of those "what ifs." or "might happens." But usually I reserve some really good grief for the "big ones."
My husband doesn't quite understand the profound anticipatory grief I feel about life. "Why are you sad now? It (what ever 'it' is) hasn't happened." But for me it is how I process life...I have to anticipate the change and process the 'death' in order to be ready to accept the joy and new life that is surely to come.
I am also absurdly honest about how I feel through these changes. I'm sure when Baby Boy was born my admission that he seemingly, "ruined" our perfectly good routine, felt a bit severe for a new mom. And I still give any new mother around me permission to express sadness over what she has lost while gaining this new joy. I am not shocked when they whisper complaints or question what they have done.
Change sucks...in any form. Of course the changes I had no choice in or the events that I never saw coming throw me but even the ones I created get to me--maybe even more so. Moves, I wanted to make. Jobs, I wanted to take. Deaths, I saw coming. People, I wanted to marry and love more than anyone. Career choices, I alone made. Babies, I am overwhelmed to hold and blessed to care for. All of it, at one point just sucks, and I have learned to anticipate that feeling. Anticipating it actually makes things easier.
So as Baby Boy and I ran completely ordinary errands today, it didn't shock me when mid-stroller push, on a sidewalk we travel many times a month, something told me I should take this moment in deeply. I realized for the first time it was to be among our last. Next time we are here, someone else will be with us. And I don't know much about this little person. The unknown. Change.
I stopped the tears from falling then, but let them fall freely right now. I love hanging out with this little guy. I love the 'Mom and Baby Boy show'...we have a blast talking about the world, chatting with the store clerks, getting in and out of the car, giggling over the amount of goldfish in in car seat, stopping to check out this or that. Sure errands are slower but I have someone to talk to and apparently from some recent outings I have taken alone (and glances made in my direction), I talk to myself a lot.
My annoyance with all things 'change' has taught me to fall back on God's promise of new life. After all, there was a day about two years ago when I was sure we'd made a huge mistake and I so wanted a time machine to go back start over. I know it involved crying (both parent and baby) some bodily fluid (baby) and a whole lotta tired (all involved). It was a day when I was sure my life was over.
And it was.
But it was replaced by this wonderfully chaotic one, the very one that I now grieve. Next week we'll start again--welcoming a new person to this crazy mix that is our clan and I will shed some tears this week in anticipation of the change. I will lament the "last times" and "it will never be this easy agains" and I'll grant myself a moment to second guess our choice. But I will also give thanks for what I am grieving--through it, I am able to give even greater thanks for what is to come.
Saturday, July 09, 2011
When I Grow Up...
Life goals were shared over lunch the other day...
BB: "When I grow up I'm going to move to Minnesota and be a MN Twins baseball player."
EG's earnest response was, "I'll try my ever best to not go to jail, Mom."
BB: "When I grow up I'm going to move to Minnesota and be a MN Twins baseball player."
EG's earnest response was, "I'll try my ever best to not go to jail, Mom."
Friday, July 08, 2011
The Problem with Pregnancy Part 3
3. Expanding Heart
Along with hearing someone's personal labor and delivery story, every woman experiencing her first pregnancy must be told--"Your life will never be the same" Or some variation of that sentiment.
While this is true. It is an annoying mantra that is usually uttered with a certain amount of smugness or dry/dark humor. (you have no idea what you are in for...)
But then when the subsequent pregnancies (and babies) come along, you do know what you are in for...mostly. Most of the edge has been taken off of this particular learning curve. Each pregnancy and birth is as unique as the child you give birth to, but the initial shock wears off. Except...except for that growing heart.
It is a common concern for parents to wonder how they can love a second (third, etc.) child as much as their precious first born. Articles and columns fill the parenting webpages with this topic. Miraculously, we discover love isn't as finite as we once thought. Our view of our own parents, siblings and Creator expand.
Love, and our ability to love, is larger and more pliable than we knew...
but I have to admit, I wasn't just done with diapers and 2 am feedings, I was pretty sure my heart had stretched as far as I wanted it to. I didn't feel like learning if my heart could expand further. I had had enough...
*enough fear, worry and analysis of how many mistakes I was making in raising the two kids we already have.
*two felt like enough people to keep a handle on--physically, mentally, spiritually--enough care taking.
*enough energy spent discovering who these little people are--dissecting what is ME, from what is THEM.
*wondering how I can weather the bumps and bruises life will throw at my kids. Never mind, "How am I going to help them weather life?"
* enough grace.
Perhaps it is my Scandinavian roots showing, but we've been pretty blessed so far. Our kids are healthy, bright, well behaved...etc. There is this nagging thought that surely our luck will run out. Why push it. This train of thought takes my brain down theological pathways that I don't even believe, but there I go...down a dark alley thinking God's grace and love is conditional and fickle.
* enough joy or awe. This is pretty good, could another child live up to the two we live with now.
I'm not sure my heart can take much more. But I also know that isn't true.
Obviously, a woman can grow and change through a variety of experiences, but part of why I didn't want to go through this again was I felt I was done with some of it.
Lessons learned. Check. "What's next?" Whew, no need to face my feelings of helplessness, vulnerability or these particular fears again. Done working on lack of control. (or the feeling that finally I can regain control of, at least, my body.) No need to engage in mind numbing pregnancy chatter.
but that isn't true. There is much more for me to learn and the lessons are processing and percolating within me as I type.
Slowly at times.
Too fast and furious at other times.
So, I wait.
Knowing that I am no longer who I was, and in a few short weeks, I will be changed all over again. My heart will expand and I will be given another glimpse of how grand and expansive God's love for us is. I will be reminded that no matter who shows up in my arms, God will bring new life--even through my own darkness, fear and no matter how much I resist.
It is a love so strong that it is continually shaping us...in ways we never expected, with lessons we wouldn't have thought of and by little people we never dreamed of.
Along with hearing someone's personal labor and delivery story, every woman experiencing her first pregnancy must be told--"Your life will never be the same" Or some variation of that sentiment.
While this is true. It is an annoying mantra that is usually uttered with a certain amount of smugness or dry/dark humor. (you have no idea what you are in for...)
But then when the subsequent pregnancies (and babies) come along, you do know what you are in for...mostly. Most of the edge has been taken off of this particular learning curve. Each pregnancy and birth is as unique as the child you give birth to, but the initial shock wears off. Except...except for that growing heart.
It is a common concern for parents to wonder how they can love a second (third, etc.) child as much as their precious first born. Articles and columns fill the parenting webpages with this topic. Miraculously, we discover love isn't as finite as we once thought. Our view of our own parents, siblings and Creator expand.
Love, and our ability to love, is larger and more pliable than we knew...
but I have to admit, I wasn't just done with diapers and 2 am feedings, I was pretty sure my heart had stretched as far as I wanted it to. I didn't feel like learning if my heart could expand further. I had had enough...
*enough fear, worry and analysis of how many mistakes I was making in raising the two kids we already have.
*two felt like enough people to keep a handle on--physically, mentally, spiritually--enough care taking.
*enough energy spent discovering who these little people are--dissecting what is ME, from what is THEM.
*wondering how I can weather the bumps and bruises life will throw at my kids. Never mind, "How am I going to help them weather life?"
* enough grace.
Perhaps it is my Scandinavian roots showing, but we've been pretty blessed so far. Our kids are healthy, bright, well behaved...etc. There is this nagging thought that surely our luck will run out. Why push it. This train of thought takes my brain down theological pathways that I don't even believe, but there I go...down a dark alley thinking God's grace and love is conditional and fickle.
* enough joy or awe. This is pretty good, could another child live up to the two we live with now.
I'm not sure my heart can take much more. But I also know that isn't true.
Obviously, a woman can grow and change through a variety of experiences, but part of why I didn't want to go through this again was I felt I was done with some of it.
Lessons learned. Check. "What's next?" Whew, no need to face my feelings of helplessness, vulnerability or these particular fears again. Done working on lack of control. (or the feeling that finally I can regain control of, at least, my body.) No need to engage in mind numbing pregnancy chatter.
but that isn't true. There is much more for me to learn and the lessons are processing and percolating within me as I type.
Slowly at times.
Too fast and furious at other times.
So, I wait.
Knowing that I am no longer who I was, and in a few short weeks, I will be changed all over again. My heart will expand and I will be given another glimpse of how grand and expansive God's love for us is. I will be reminded that no matter who shows up in my arms, God will bring new life--even through my own darkness, fear and no matter how much I resist.
It is a love so strong that it is continually shaping us...in ways we never expected, with lessons we wouldn't have thought of and by little people we never dreamed of.
Thursday, July 07, 2011
Problem with Pregnancy Part 2
2. I Learn Things I Didn't Need to Learn about People. (and share things I didn't want to share.)
There is also an odd dance between women once you enter the world of pregnancy. It is a waltz between helpful information and over sharing. Obviously, we each can fall victim to either ditch in any area of life. Over sharing is over sharing--regardless of the topic. From personal experience and from what I have observed, pregnancy and childbirth leave many women with a need for some post-traumatic counseling. Seriously.
For generations the way we handle our battle scars is not by actually heading to a mental health professional, but by processing the whole event with another pregnant woman. Sometimes, for some women, any old pregnant woman will do.
I remember being overwhelmed by how many women *needed* to talk about their pregnancy and childbirth experience with me with my first pregnancy. There was no way out of the conversation, and that first go around, I couldn't always see it coming. What seemed like an innocuous conversation about bibs and baby drool, became a lesson on someone's anatomy or a fear based story complete with the blood and guts. Whether they had given birth last year or last decade, many people had a story that needed to be told.
This third time around, I'm ready for it. I go to my internal happy place, put a smile on my face and mentally sing... "la, la, la..."
Part B of this subsection: the topic of How Babies Are Made. (This overlaps with my comments on feeling vulnerable.)
When you are pregnant, people know you had s-e-x. (shhhh) And, likewise as women are sharing their stories, I know they had s-e-x. Often, we learn when a couple is "trying" to make a baby as well. This information, as a visual learner, is a huge 'eeew' for me.
This time around many people knew we weren't planning on a third child so a whole new area of discussion was broken open. I could watch people try to figure out our birth control method. Now granted they were probably wondering out of fear for their own "planning," but from my mom, to acquaintances in my mom's groups, I watched the wheels in their heads work out how they could ask 'the question' (how'd this happen?) without getting too personal.
There is also an odd dance between women once you enter the world of pregnancy. It is a waltz between helpful information and over sharing. Obviously, we each can fall victim to either ditch in any area of life. Over sharing is over sharing--regardless of the topic. From personal experience and from what I have observed, pregnancy and childbirth leave many women with a need for some post-traumatic counseling. Seriously.
For generations the way we handle our battle scars is not by actually heading to a mental health professional, but by processing the whole event with another pregnant woman. Sometimes, for some women, any old pregnant woman will do.
I remember being overwhelmed by how many women *needed* to talk about their pregnancy and childbirth experience with me with my first pregnancy. There was no way out of the conversation, and that first go around, I couldn't always see it coming. What seemed like an innocuous conversation about bibs and baby drool, became a lesson on someone's anatomy or a fear based story complete with the blood and guts. Whether they had given birth last year or last decade, many people had a story that needed to be told.
This third time around, I'm ready for it. I go to my internal happy place, put a smile on my face and mentally sing... "la, la, la..."
Part B of this subsection: the topic of How Babies Are Made. (This overlaps with my comments on feeling vulnerable.)
When you are pregnant, people know you had s-e-x. (shhhh) And, likewise as women are sharing their stories, I know they had s-e-x. Often, we learn when a couple is "trying" to make a baby as well. This information, as a visual learner, is a huge 'eeew' for me.
This time around many people knew we weren't planning on a third child so a whole new area of discussion was broken open. I could watch people try to figure out our birth control method. Now granted they were probably wondering out of fear for their own "planning," but from my mom, to acquaintances in my mom's groups, I watched the wheels in their heads work out how they could ask 'the question' (how'd this happen?) without getting too personal.
(sorry, folks, once the story brings s-e-x between two people who you actually know, into the conversation, it is too personal for church coffee hour or Christmas dinner.)
Wednesday, July 06, 2011
The Problem with Pregnancy
In fact when I first found out I was pregnant this third time, the thought of a new baby brought me initial joy. (my husband was just glad to hear I didn't have cancer.) The idea of going through the phases of babyhood again were even ok with me.
Then I remembered the 38 wks between peeing on a stick and holding the new baby.
I Was. not. filled. with. joy. Or anything resembling it.
Pregnancy has a few major themes that fill me with dread and force my personality beyond its comfort zone. Over the next few days I will share them with you.
1. Vulnerability.
Pregnancy is this weird dance of making decisions that will protect a baby and coming to terms with the fact you have no control over your own body. Your body will do what it will do. The genes have come together to make a new person, and once set in motion, you've got limited impact on who this baby becomes. Birth defects, special needs, eye color, gender, size..most of it you are powerless to control once the process has been set in motion.
For many of us, pregnancy is the first time we fully come to terms with the fact we are not in control. Even of our own bodies. We must trust ourselves--our bodies and our instincts. We put our trust in doctors and medical professionals. We take a deep breath and settle back into the arms of God in a whole new way.
Also, under 'vulnerability' is the more humorous way society interacts with pregnant women. The fact strangers feel an overwhelming need to comment on my body bothers me. It draws attention to me in ways I don't like. It forces me to interact with people when I really don't feel like it. Details about my life become fodder for elevator conversation.
(blessedly, no stranger has ever come close to touching my belly...there is a good chance my face radiates with a glow that says, "Don't even think about it.")
With pregnancy comes an acknowledgement that much of my public persona needs to be exposed.
I have to let go of so many standards:
*fashion
*personal cleanliness--keeping food off the front of me.
*house cleanliness--letting the dust bunnies procreate seems on topic.
*cooking--reaching the handles on the water faucet, keeping my stomach away from the burners...
*breathing--I stopped preaching a month earlier this time because when I get too excited, I can barely breathe.
*generally moving from room to room with grace or ease
*doing things for myself. Equally annoying is having to admit I just can't do something.
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
On my Mind-Language, Children and Cleaning up our Act?
One of the blogs I read on a daily basis stirred up a bit of controversy over the past few weeks and has been stirring in my mind since I first read the article.
You have to do a bit of reading to get on board....and to proceed you probably need to be a bit thick skinned about foul language...the *F* word in particular.
You need to know something of this book. Go the F* to Bed
When it first made the rounds on Facebook, I could resonate with the title--or the sentiment behind the title. I don't think I "shared" the link but I might have "liked" a post or two about the book.
Then I read this post on Karen Spears Zacharias' blog. You need to at least sample the comments on the CNN site (link from her blog) to understand the harsh and disturbing commentary she received. (or the comments on her own blog.)
I admit from a first read of her first post, I wasn't completely with her. Some of the leaps and connections she makes between a book of "humor" and child abuse/neglect/oppression, didn't immediately connect for me.
I thought about it more and read more comments...and then, some of her comments convicted me.
Of course I heard the title of the book through my own filter. A filter that is much tamer than many families across the country. I may have *thought* in exasperation, "Just go the 'h-e-double hockey sticks' to sleep already," or had the emotional reaction that went along with the sentiment of the title...but I don't know I have ever felt the visceral hatred that comes across in the words beyond the title. And, laughing at the title on Facebook feels different that sitting down with the book (if only mentally) and picturing myself reading it in response to my reaction to my kids... um, that doesn't feel as funny.
There is a second post in defense of her first post. I found this more clear and actually a better attempt on her part to make her original point. (this one quotes a bit more of the book...which is where I realized I don't find it all that funny beyond the title.)
I think I have written about swearing elsewhere on this blog, about how swearing one of my only rebellions. It also "protects" me from being seen as too 'holy" or "un-friendable due to religious convictions" or I (misguidedly) have thought it made me "cooler" than I am in real life. And sometimes, sometimes, it is just really how I feel and what I want to say.
But as I read over comment after comment, the crassness of our current culture hit me hard. (the fact this all occurred the same time the jacka** "star" died in a car crash, and because I daily read a blog by the jacka**director's wife, the news, and her reaction to it, sucked me into just a titch of the jacka** culture. (talk about a crass/gross/beyond my understanding) All these combined posts and comments probably have a lot to do with my dismay at the state of our cultural dialogue and what is deemed funny.)
Never in a million years do I want my children to communicate with one another as the discourse displayed in these comments suggestions many do. Maybe I need to ponder a little bit more why I feel a need to express myself (even in my head) with this type of anger towards my children. Or maybe the mild thoughts I have are natural...honest. Maybe the conviction I felt comes from the fact my own communication style is lacking some days and it was a reminder to myself to "grow the cuss up" (or keep the anger, frustration and selfishness a little more in check)
I offer all this as food for thought. An insight into my brain. I'm not surrounded by many adult conversations these days, certainly not deep ones, so I thought I'd use this blog for its intended purpose---unload my thoughts so I can form new ones.
You have to do a bit of reading to get on board....and to proceed you probably need to be a bit thick skinned about foul language...the *F* word in particular.
You need to know something of this book. Go the F* to Bed
When it first made the rounds on Facebook, I could resonate with the title--or the sentiment behind the title. I don't think I "shared" the link but I might have "liked" a post or two about the book.
Then I read this post on Karen Spears Zacharias' blog. You need to at least sample the comments on the CNN site (link from her blog) to understand the harsh and disturbing commentary she received. (or the comments on her own blog.)
I admit from a first read of her first post, I wasn't completely with her. Some of the leaps and connections she makes between a book of "humor" and child abuse/neglect/oppression, didn't immediately connect for me.
I thought about it more and read more comments...and then, some of her comments convicted me.
Of course I heard the title of the book through my own filter. A filter that is much tamer than many families across the country. I may have *thought* in exasperation, "Just go the 'h-e-double hockey sticks' to sleep already," or had the emotional reaction that went along with the sentiment of the title...but I don't know I have ever felt the visceral hatred that comes across in the words beyond the title. And, laughing at the title on Facebook feels different that sitting down with the book (if only mentally) and picturing myself reading it in response to my reaction to my kids... um, that doesn't feel as funny.
There is a second post in defense of her first post. I found this more clear and actually a better attempt on her part to make her original point. (this one quotes a bit more of the book...which is where I realized I don't find it all that funny beyond the title.)
I think I have written about swearing elsewhere on this blog, about how swearing one of my only rebellions. It also "protects" me from being seen as too 'holy" or "un-friendable due to religious convictions" or I (misguidedly) have thought it made me "cooler" than I am in real life. And sometimes, sometimes, it is just really how I feel and what I want to say.
But as I read over comment after comment, the crassness of our current culture hit me hard. (the fact this all occurred the same time the jacka** "star" died in a car crash, and because I daily read a blog by the jacka**director's wife, the news, and her reaction to it, sucked me into just a titch of the jacka** culture. (talk about a crass/gross/beyond my understanding) All these combined posts and comments probably have a lot to do with my dismay at the state of our cultural dialogue and what is deemed funny.)
Never in a million years do I want my children to communicate with one another as the discourse displayed in these comments suggestions many do. Maybe I need to ponder a little bit more why I feel a need to express myself (even in my head) with this type of anger towards my children. Or maybe the mild thoughts I have are natural...honest. Maybe the conviction I felt comes from the fact my own communication style is lacking some days and it was a reminder to myself to "grow the cuss up" (or keep the anger, frustration and selfishness a little more in check)
I offer all this as food for thought. An insight into my brain. I'm not surrounded by many adult conversations these days, certainly not deep ones, so I thought I'd use this blog for its intended purpose---unload my thoughts so I can form new ones.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Saturday, June 18, 2011
It's a big job.
Bending over to reach the floor is becoming increasing a) painful b) impossible c) unwise--lest I just fall head over heals to the ground thanks to my odd center of gravity. This is not good for our general house clean up. We went from nearly perfect clean up every day (for showings) to disaster zone status in just a week's time. I am ready to string Caution tape around the whole living room.
I have two perfectly healthy children who are capable of picking up. They don't. Either because they don't want to or they apparently don't hear me.
But something had to be done last week so I made it my project to get them working. Delegation is always harder than just doing it yourself. I spent much of the day handing out small detailed pick up projects to each child. Before they could enter another Land of Make-Believe, they had to leave the previous Land clean and put away.
At bedtime my husband was getting the kids ready for bed and was continuing the clean up process for the night. Dad was carrying clothes from the bathroom (BB's) to the laundry hamper in BB's room. Then he was picking up some Legos left in the hallway.
Then as he went to pick up the remote control car, he said, "BB, this is your stuff, why am I picking it up?"
BB--"I didn't put it there. My sister did." (Which I might as well stamp on his forehead right now.)
Dad--"Well, I seem to be the one picking it up..." muttered a bit under his breath as he finished up.
The kids were both naked. Hopping and slipping from the bathroom to the hallway. (I was reading email at the computer.) Then they were giggling and running between their rooms--doing everything to not be focused on picking their pjs and books for bed.
From BB's room we hear BB call back to my husband, with a voice full of five year old wisdom and a little lilt of emerging humor--"Being a dad's a big job, Dad. It's a biiiig job."
My husband and I caught each others eye as my he plopped another handful of Legos in the box, and busted up laughing.
"Yes, it is. Yes, it is." he called back to BB.
I have two perfectly healthy children who are capable of picking up. They don't. Either because they don't want to or they apparently don't hear me.
But something had to be done last week so I made it my project to get them working. Delegation is always harder than just doing it yourself. I spent much of the day handing out small detailed pick up projects to each child. Before they could enter another Land of Make-Believe, they had to leave the previous Land clean and put away.
At bedtime my husband was getting the kids ready for bed and was continuing the clean up process for the night. Dad was carrying clothes from the bathroom (BB's) to the laundry hamper in BB's room. Then he was picking up some Legos left in the hallway.
Then as he went to pick up the remote control car, he said, "BB, this is your stuff, why am I picking it up?"
BB--"I didn't put it there. My sister did." (Which I might as well stamp on his forehead right now.)
Dad--"Well, I seem to be the one picking it up..." muttered a bit under his breath as he finished up.
The kids were both naked. Hopping and slipping from the bathroom to the hallway. (I was reading email at the computer.) Then they were giggling and running between their rooms--doing everything to not be focused on picking their pjs and books for bed.
From BB's room we hear BB call back to my husband, with a voice full of five year old wisdom and a little lilt of emerging humor--"Being a dad's a big job, Dad. It's a biiiig job."
My husband and I caught each others eye as my he plopped another handful of Legos in the box, and busted up laughing.
"Yes, it is. Yes, it is." he called back to BB.
Thursday, June 09, 2011
Holy Vacation
We celebrated Easter this year on the beach--the South Carolina coast. It was a multi-family reunion, a few years in the planning. We shared a large house on the beach. The organization and planning was done mostly via email and facebook. It was a week that started (for a small few) with a sunrise Easter service on the beach, for a few others by racing to worship at the local Lutheran congregation and for others by sinking their toes into the damp sand. We had an egg hunt on the beach and ham for dinner.
The rest of the week is a blur of sand castles, wave jumping, beach games, and cooking/eating. The weather was warm but not oppressive. An ocean stretching out before you is humbling and powerful. And there is nothing more calming than the sound of the ocean waves.
When we returned people asked again and again..."Did you have a good vacation?" Most of them meant it as passing, idle chit chat. Me being me, can't do idle chit chat well. Every time I smiled and said, "Good. We had fun." I took note of the slight hesitation in my answer.
It was good. It was fun. I wouldn't describe it as a vacation.
It was time away from the daily routine and there is a regenerative property in that. When I'm not engaged in chit chat over coffee, I describe the time differently. I say it was 'holy.'
The week brought together my Dad and one of his two brothers. My siblings were there with spouses and children. My four cousins were there along with their families and 'significant others.' Our cousins grew up, and live, in the South. We grew up, and, for the most part, have lived our lives in the North. Together, we have a handful of common memories. But we share one story.
It is the retelling of that story that made the time 'holy.' Every family has a story--of where they came from, what their grandparents and great, great, great grandparents' lives were like. Some families care more about genealogy than others. Some families share the story so often they seem to be living in the past. Others are content to live firmly in the present. All of us alter the story along the way. For some there are real scars or chapters in the story best left untold. I know families that embellish the story making every person or moment grander, more impressive than it could have been. And, with today's technology and ability to simply 'delete' a photo or video, I often wonder if we are leaving out parts of our own stories...maybe it is only the bad hair days.
Like most people, my siblings and cousins love to hear stories about ourselves. We delight in watching old home videos of the earlier reunions. First of all it is just good old narcissistic fun to see how cute you were as a kid....or how delightful your cousins were...or how much the house has changed. But we are now old enough to take note of the passing of time as well. Some of us are nearing the age our parents are in the videos. We mirror the life stage and we take note of who they were and who we are at a similar point in life. Seeing ourselves as kids--when we still often feel like one--places our own mortality before us. Reminds us to be grateful and to savor the passing days.
We also watched videos of complied photos from our Grandparents lives. Theirs is a story, hallmarked by my Grandmothers strength, determination, and her dedicated love to her sons. My Grandfather died at a young age, leaving behind my Dad and a wife pregnant with twin boys. It is a story that could easily be retold a number of ways--tragic, romantic, incomparable... Probably depending on who is retelling it, I have heard it shared a variety of ways over time. Each variation adds a layer to the story that weaves in to my own story. Some of who I am is actual genetic DNA from these people, some is the result of a shared purpose, familial code--the story shared from generation to generation.
Story sharing, in all its forms, is holy. It is what we humans do best, tell a story in such a way as to create a common bond, purpose and direction. It is how we tell another human who we are and where we come from. I'm a story teller by professional training, and with nearly every fiber of my being. Storytelling is essentially the way God's children have remained connected for thousands of years. It is the primary purpose of our congregations, today. It is how we create meaning and purpose. By retelling our past, we create a future.
It is what I want to know about you...not the idle chit chat but the actual story that brought you to this point in time. If I know that, then I am more comfortable hearing the minutia of your day. What I often need to be reminded of is, that it is the seemingly unimportant details that create the larger story that will be told about us decades from now.
This is what I thought about as I sat on the deck watching my siblings, cousins, and my own small family playing on the beach. I listened to my parents talk with my aunt and uncle--some of it idle chit chat, some, in more hushed tones, was deeper in content. I am sure they looked out at their kids playing on beach with a certain amount of relief, pride and thankfulness--they are the parents who know the actual stories beyond the snap shot that others might see of people playing on a beach--taking a moment to be grateful to have raised them/us to this point. "The boys," my Dad and Uncle, joked about people from their past, adventures they shared as kids, memories of my Grandma....
All of the noise, laughter and unsaid words mingled together like incense floating up to God. Permeating our hair and our clothes. Sneaking into our luggage. Coming home with us again. We breathed it in and added it to our ever growing story.
Moments like this are holy.
Wednesday, June 08, 2011
Balance
It has been said before,**elsewhere and in better ways, but I so respect and admire Meredith's career path. A woman of such talent, poise, humor and ability, who has shown a generation of women (albeit on a very grand scale) what balancing a family and a career can look like. That a career path doesn't have to have one trajectory. That it is painful to leave one "family" for the other. That parts of you from each role you fill, come with you in to the next one. It isn't done without sacrifice or tears or thoughtful consideration, but it can be done and done well...but mostly done in your own authentic way.
I was a crying mess over breakfast today as I watched this. Of course, I'm hormonal. Plus, whenever anyone cries...I cry. And, I love a grand gesture...so these tribute shows always get me.
** Elsewhere...here, here, here
Tuesday, June 07, 2011
Update
Went on vacation.
Came home.
Showed house.
No one bought it.
May 31st, took house off market.
Process of rearranging house so we can live in it. EG now has a bedroom. We are getting ready to make BB's room "fancy."
Five weeks until The Baby arrives. We hope to be ready...
That's the update. I am hoping to have more posts, especially as the summer heat begins to sizzle and need to stay inside more often.
Came home.
Showed house.
No one bought it.
May 31st, took house off market.
Process of rearranging house so we can live in it. EG now has a bedroom. We are getting ready to make BB's room "fancy."
Five weeks until The Baby arrives. We hope to be ready...
That's the update. I am hoping to have more posts, especially as the summer heat begins to sizzle and need to stay inside more often.
Monday, April 11, 2011
That's the Signal.
I have been bothering BB all day long.
1. I can't seem to arrange a play-date with his friend. (we have one set up, but I haven't told him about it yet.)
2. He only got to watch one tv program today.
3. I made him share his remote controlled car with EG.
4. He had to eat dinner. (and come inside to do so.)
Now dinner is over, and I was checking my email in the office. Just a few hours ago he gave me a lovely speech on how he had gotten too much fresh air today and it was making his head hurt. (he wanted to watch more tv.) Now he has come in to whine and pester me into submission so that he can have *more* fresh air. (new friends are outside now.)
As he was hovering near my left shoulder, he let off a little gas. I leaned over and told him that perhaps he should head to the bathroom.
"Oh, no Mom. That is just a little gas. It is a warning that I need some fresh air...that you should let me go outside, is what that means. What it means, MOM, I don't need to go to the bathroom, because that will be the last one of the night...(he is cracking himself up by now--smiling and coming really near to my face to kiss me) that is just the signal that I need to get more fresh air."
Indeed. More fresh air.
1. I can't seem to arrange a play-date with his friend. (we have one set up, but I haven't told him about it yet.)
2. He only got to watch one tv program today.
3. I made him share his remote controlled car with EG.
4. He had to eat dinner. (and come inside to do so.)
Now dinner is over, and I was checking my email in the office. Just a few hours ago he gave me a lovely speech on how he had gotten too much fresh air today and it was making his head hurt. (he wanted to watch more tv.) Now he has come in to whine and pester me into submission so that he can have *more* fresh air. (new friends are outside now.)
As he was hovering near my left shoulder, he let off a little gas. I leaned over and told him that perhaps he should head to the bathroom.
"Oh, no Mom. That is just a little gas. It is a warning that I need some fresh air...that you should let me go outside, is what that means. What it means, MOM, I don't need to go to the bathroom, because that will be the last one of the night...(he is cracking himself up by now--smiling and coming really near to my face to kiss me) that is just the signal that I need to get more fresh air."
Indeed. More fresh air.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Falling Close to the Tree
The scene begins as a mother says to her three year old daughter and five year old son. "I'm working in the kitchen right now so you have to play in our yard." (not play with the neighbors in their yard.) An hour passes and each of them ask a few more times, just in case the mom has changed her mind or forgotten their request. Finally, the five year old settles into realty. He's not playing in his friend's yard today. The three year old has another game plan.
After standing in the kitchen doorway crying for a bit, she decides to change shoes. On her way back through the kitchen, "Mom, I changed my shoes now can I go in Simon's yard."
"No, EG."
She stands in the the doorway and begins to cry again. Then suddenly shuts off the tears and looks at her mom.
"Mom, I'm stubborn." Stomps her foot and sets her face to stone.
"Yes, you are." her mom is internally smiling. "Do you know what stubborn means?"
EG ponders for a moment. Quietly she says, "No."
"Maybe you shouldn't use words when you don't know what they mean." A pointless remark.
There is a long pause. EG relaxes a bit. Her face and voice soften.
"Mom, what does stubborn mean?"
The mom finishes washing some pots and pans from last night's lasagna.
"Stubborn means that you don't change your mind very easily. It isn't always a good thing. But you know who else is stubborn?"
"Birds?" she asks.
"Well, maybe, but I was thinking of your dad, your brother and me. Sometimes it is a good thing, sometimes it isn't. Did you notice that BB is playing and you are standing in the doorway crying? Who's having more fun?"
She looks outside.
The mom gets out the dishwasher soap and fills up the soap cups. Closes the door and turns to start dinner.
A few minutes pass. With a mixture of defiance and resignation, "I'm having fun, Mom."
"hummm...Well, EG, my answer isn't going to change."
"Cause you're stubborn, too? (quick pause) Did I use stubborn correcdidly, Mom?"
After standing in the kitchen doorway crying for a bit, she decides to change shoes. On her way back through the kitchen, "Mom, I changed my shoes now can I go in Simon's yard."
"No, EG."
She stands in the the doorway and begins to cry again. Then suddenly shuts off the tears and looks at her mom.
"Mom, I'm stubborn." Stomps her foot and sets her face to stone.
"Yes, you are." her mom is internally smiling. "Do you know what stubborn means?"
EG ponders for a moment. Quietly she says, "No."
"Maybe you shouldn't use words when you don't know what they mean." A pointless remark.
There is a long pause. EG relaxes a bit. Her face and voice soften.
"Mom, what does stubborn mean?"
The mom finishes washing some pots and pans from last night's lasagna.
"Stubborn means that you don't change your mind very easily. It isn't always a good thing. But you know who else is stubborn?"
"Birds?" she asks.
"Well, maybe, but I was thinking of your dad, your brother and me. Sometimes it is a good thing, sometimes it isn't. Did you notice that BB is playing and you are standing in the doorway crying? Who's having more fun?"
She looks outside.
The mom gets out the dishwasher soap and fills up the soap cups. Closes the door and turns to start dinner.
A few minutes pass. With a mixture of defiance and resignation, "I'm having fun, Mom."
"hummm...Well, EG, my answer isn't going to change."
"Cause you're stubborn, too? (quick pause) Did I use stubborn correcdidly, Mom?"
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Saturday
Our house has been for sale for 10 months. Did you just stop reading? Tired of this topic, are you? Everyone in our life is as well. I understand. We are doing our best to change the topic. But for today, the house is a prominent chapter in our life's story.
It started out as a fantastically unique Saturday. It was the first weekend in a long time that did not have anything planned for either of us. I have no weekend church projects for the next few weeks, so I was feeling relaxed. Friday kicked off the weekend when a friend was available and interested in watching our kids. We ate dinner at a restaurant in peace. Ahh. Of course by 9:30pm I was exhausted and ready for bed.
Which I got to sleep in until 8:00am on Saturday. Ahh. BB and I got up and leisurely made pancakes (one of my very favorite things to do and his favorite to eat.) EG and my husband slept a bit longer. We ate. The kids planned a Dinosaur Show. BB hung signs, encouraging the family to sign up to see his show. Once the kitchen was cleaned up we headed into BB's bedroom for the show.
We sat in peaceful bliss on the bedroom floor, enjoying a Saturday all together. The kids showed us their drawings of dinosaurs. Then EG brought out her dinosaur, named Laura. They had made a cage out snap blocks and placed a dinosaur family inside. We had to speak quietly and could not touch the dinosaurs. After many "mic" checks, BB and EG were ready to preform their dinosaur song up on BB's bed. At this point the phone rang.
My husband and I looked at each other knowing full well what the call at 10:30am meant.
Someone wanted to see our house at noon.
After we patiently listened to the song and even got to draw a picture of a dinosaur. We had to sign our names to them and hang them on the on wall. Then we regretfully shared the news that we had to call the real estate agency back.
All of a sudden our Saturday felt just like every other Saturday for the last few months. (we want to sell the house, so we know what we need to do...it was just so amazing to be still and hang out.)
Instead of leaving to do something, we decided to park on our street and wait for the showing to come and then leave. By 12: 30 lunch was now on our minds and our house takes about 15-20 mins max to look over. So, we sat in our cars on our street, outside our own house and chatted on our cells phones. At 1:00pm, our agent called to say the showing agent was running late. Could they see the house between 1:30 and 2:30?
I can't actually repeat what my husband said. It was funny. Especially, coming from mild mouthed him, but I didn't share it with the agents. I sighed and said, "Sure."
Our kids hate this. It has effected their moods in various ways. They feel as powerless as we do, perhaps even more so, and their frustration manifests itself in a variety of ways. Screaming. Crying. Disobedience. Fighting with each other. Mouthing back to us. My children's mental health was never one of the things I would have listed when I thought of potential house selling issues.
We headed to lunch..out. (which I love.) Then home again.
Now we wait...
We did reclaim the weekend. I took a nap. My husband took his monthly trip to Goodwill. The kids watched some tv, played outside and colored some more pictures. Right now as I type, they are all at the park flying a kite.
I am watching House Hunters, waiting for the pages of this chapter in our lives to turn.
It started out as a fantastically unique Saturday. It was the first weekend in a long time that did not have anything planned for either of us. I have no weekend church projects for the next few weeks, so I was feeling relaxed. Friday kicked off the weekend when a friend was available and interested in watching our kids. We ate dinner at a restaurant in peace. Ahh. Of course by 9:30pm I was exhausted and ready for bed.
Which I got to sleep in until 8:00am on Saturday. Ahh. BB and I got up and leisurely made pancakes (one of my very favorite things to do and his favorite to eat.) EG and my husband slept a bit longer. We ate. The kids planned a Dinosaur Show. BB hung signs, encouraging the family to sign up to see his show. Once the kitchen was cleaned up we headed into BB's bedroom for the show.
We sat in peaceful bliss on the bedroom floor, enjoying a Saturday all together. The kids showed us their drawings of dinosaurs. Then EG brought out her dinosaur, named Laura. They had made a cage out snap blocks and placed a dinosaur family inside. We had to speak quietly and could not touch the dinosaurs. After many "mic" checks, BB and EG were ready to preform their dinosaur song up on BB's bed. At this point the phone rang.
My husband and I looked at each other knowing full well what the call at 10:30am meant.
Someone wanted to see our house at noon.
After we patiently listened to the song and even got to draw a picture of a dinosaur. We had to sign our names to them and hang them on the on wall. Then we regretfully shared the news that we had to call the real estate agency back.
All of a sudden our Saturday felt just like every other Saturday for the last few months. (we want to sell the house, so we know what we need to do...it was just so amazing to be still and hang out.)
Instead of leaving to do something, we decided to park on our street and wait for the showing to come and then leave. By 12: 30 lunch was now on our minds and our house takes about 15-20 mins max to look over. So, we sat in our cars on our street, outside our own house and chatted on our cells phones. At 1:00pm, our agent called to say the showing agent was running late. Could they see the house between 1:30 and 2:30?
I can't actually repeat what my husband said. It was funny. Especially, coming from mild mouthed him, but I didn't share it with the agents. I sighed and said, "Sure."
Our kids hate this. It has effected their moods in various ways. They feel as powerless as we do, perhaps even more so, and their frustration manifests itself in a variety of ways. Screaming. Crying. Disobedience. Fighting with each other. Mouthing back to us. My children's mental health was never one of the things I would have listed when I thought of potential house selling issues.
We headed to lunch..out. (which I love.) Then home again.
Now we wait...
We did reclaim the weekend. I took a nap. My husband took his monthly trip to Goodwill. The kids watched some tv, played outside and colored some more pictures. Right now as I type, they are all at the park flying a kite.
I am watching House Hunters, waiting for the pages of this chapter in our lives to turn.
Friday, March 25, 2011
New Voice
Part of the reason I love to read blogs is that I am introduced to people I would love to personally know. I will probably never get to meet them, or share a cup of coffee, but I am happier just to know they are 'out there.'
A friend of mine needed to have a book by the title of Will Jesus Buy Me a Double Wide? (because I need more room for my plasma tv.) You can see why she needed to have this book. Just knowing a book with this title is 'out there' made us happy. Turns out the author, Karen Spears Zacharias, has a blog as well.
Her posts titled: Notes on Japan and What is he waiting around for? made my day. You'll have to scroll down a bit, because she writes everyday. (unlike others we know.)
A friend of mine needed to have a book by the title of Will Jesus Buy Me a Double Wide? (because I need more room for my plasma tv.) You can see why she needed to have this book. Just knowing a book with this title is 'out there' made us happy. Turns out the author, Karen Spears Zacharias, has a blog as well.
Her posts titled: Notes on Japan and What is he waiting around for? made my day. You'll have to scroll down a bit, because she writes everyday. (unlike others we know.)
Monday, March 21, 2011
I'm Pregnant.
There. I said it.
When you write about your daily life, but haven't actually wanted to deal with your daily life, your blog suffers.
Sorry about that.
When you write about your daily life, but haven't actually wanted to deal with your daily life, your blog suffers.
Sorry about that.
Monday, March 07, 2011
Working with what you've got
I have two full boxes of summer clothes in the basement. One box of clothes that are lovingly thought of as 'Memorabilia'. The dress I wore to my 8th grade Confirmation. A pair of shorts from college that received favorable reviews. A few tops that are too cute to give up, but would require major cosmetic surgery to get me back into. These boxes sit in the basement.
Upstairs my closet was overflowing with sweaters and pants. Many suits that I haven't worn in years. Clothes that belonged to my Godmother. Size, after increasing, size. On the floor in front of my closet was a pile of the clothes that did fit. Each day I would look over the beautiful items that I couldn't wear, and grab the few pieces that did fit from the overflow pile and stacks. It was tiring. A bit depressing. And a daily reminder of the ridiculous.
We had a house showing yesterday (so that answers your question of whether the house is still for sale.) and I realized many parts of my life might benefit from cleaning up my closet. I took out all of the items that don't fit/can't wear/wrong season and packed them away.
I am left with this closet. (note all the fun colors.)
Wednesday, March 02, 2011
Racing to Three
EG doesn't turn three until Friday, but we got the party started early this week.
For more on how EG has celebrated her birthdays look here. I realize I didn't do as much for the festivities this year but I'm a bit tired. More on that to come...
For more on how EG has celebrated her birthdays look here. I realize I didn't do as much for the festivities this year but I'm a bit tired. More on that to come...
Thursday, February 03, 2011
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
It has come to this.
Thursday, December 02, 2010
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
Christmas Cards
I am sharing a post from Hollywood Housewife on Christmas Cards. I agree with nearly every one of her criteria. Although, I am sure both us aren't necessarily judging...just, um...commenting.
My plan for this year shouldn't be too difficult to pull off. I say that every year, don't I? You can see some of my past cards here and here.
By the way: Our house is still for sale. We have had four showings in three days. This is the way to do it: get my money out of the cleaning.
My plan for this year shouldn't be too difficult to pull off. I say that every year, don't I? You can see some of my past cards here and here.
By the way: Our house is still for sale. We have had four showings in three days. This is the way to do it: get my money out of the cleaning.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
What I Need to Live Up to...
If I have any complaint about BB's preschool it is this. Too. Many. Birthday Parties. While the parties don't compare to the likes of Hollywood celebrities or even the articles you read about life in The Big City. They are still more than I think a five year old needs. (or a three year old--she's getting invited, too.) I have no idea how parents are planning to top themselves each year.
For many reason we aren't having a party this year. I mean we ARE. It just won't look like the last four parties....no grandparents, no invitations (yet)...Instead, we are heading to A BIG CITY to hang out as a family at a museum and then look at the Christmas lights. On Thursday we'll let BB pick his meal. He'll bring a goodie bag to school for each classmate (because we can't bring food...) Sometime soon we are planning a special "play date" with three of his friends from school. I imagine there will be cake, an activity and it will feel a bit like a party to a five year old.
This week I need to figure out how many of last years traditions I want to recreate. I best get busy...
For many reason we aren't having a party this year. I mean we ARE. It just won't look like the last four parties....no grandparents, no invitations (yet)...Instead, we are heading to A BIG CITY to hang out as a family at a museum and then look at the Christmas lights. On Thursday we'll let BB pick his meal. He'll bring a goodie bag to school for each classmate (because we can't bring food...) Sometime soon we are planning a special "play date" with three of his friends from school. I imagine there will be cake, an activity and it will feel a bit like a party to a five year old.
This week I need to figure out how many of last years traditions I want to recreate. I best get busy...
Monday, November 29, 2010
What I've Been Up To...
For my new nephew. (it is in the mail and I am pretty sure my sister isn't checking in on my blog these days...)
Love this! I almost bought a pre-made pot, but am so pleased with how it turned out.
The decorating style of the nearly f-i-v-e year old!
Regretting this purchase. :)
Monday, November 22, 2010
The Strong One
Are you an oldest child? Are you the "strong one?" Neither are bad ways of being (or being perceived), but there are some challenges. My dear friend who writes at The Emmaus Road wrote a beautiful devotional piece on being strong and taking care of each other--it brought me to tears. So often I forget that the hallmarks of my faith tradition are vulnerability, weakness and God's ability to bring life out of our human frailty.
I can't do much about people's impression of me, but I can learn to cut myself some slack. I am strong. But I don't always have to be....God can work with me, either way.
I can't do much about people's impression of me, but I can learn to cut myself some slack. I am strong. But I don't always have to be....God can work with me, either way.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Third Date
Surely, the third visit is when you fall in love with a house, right?
Our house is still for sale.
But people are coming for the third look tomorrow. Keeping my hopes in check.
*Anyone have any insightful or interesting thoughts on John's Bread of Life idea? (John 6:25...) The service on Sunday isn't using the Lectionary texts.
Our house is still for sale.
But people are coming for the third look tomorrow. Keeping my hopes in check.
*Anyone have any insightful or interesting thoughts on John's Bread of Life idea? (John 6:25...) The service on Sunday isn't using the Lectionary texts.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Lighter Matters.
Literally. We are moving on to a topic that is lighter. This is a mystery in my life right now...
These are my jeans. The top pair are the jeans I wore most of last fall and winter. The bottom pair is my current go-to jean.
On both of these pants you will notice a lighter coloring on my left knee. (The most recent one looks like the right knee is showing similar wear. But no where near the effect the left knee has.)
Why?
Yes, I am serious. Why is this happening?
On both of these pants you will notice a lighter coloring on my left knee. (The most recent one looks like the right knee is showing similar wear. But no where near the effect the left knee has.)
Why?
Yes, I am serious. Why is this happening?
Monday, November 08, 2010
Soft Hearts
It seems to me one of the most unattractive qualities in a person is a hardened heart. Cynical. Cold. Harsh. I can come across as possessing a number of these attributes. But for those who know me well, or the most deeply, they know it is all a facade. (ok, sarcastic humor is just...me.) If I actually went about life as exposed and in touch with everyone's emotions as I could be, I'd be in a perpetual crying jag. That is so attractive. Not always helpful. Or, necessary.
Instead, I layer on protective armor. Silence. Rants and anger at those with whom I feel the most secure. Eye rolls. Avoidance, can be useful as well. Plugging my ears and singing 'La, la, la' can be helpful. So can closing my eyes and focusing only on my family. "If the three around me are ok, everyone must be ok."
The trick becomes, in how to protect the heart with out hardening it too much. Reality is, a heart needs the bumps and bruises in order to remain soft. I must hear the stories people have to tell and feel their life, in order to more fully experience mine. And beyond me, to more fully experience God.
On this All Saints Sunday, I can across one too many heart softening blows. None of directly impacts my life or my heart...except God's heart is keeping beat with all of ours. As I went to bed last night, I felt battle weary.
At church today we learned a neighbor across the street had died. We had noticed action, but had never put much of the story together. We remember him as a helpful, cheerful and kind man, with fun stories to share. We feel--guilty? sad? careless?-that we weren't more in tune with the activity we saw.
Again at church, I learned of suicide of a young man whose life is connected to our congregation.
I have had a woman from our congregation on my mind for weeks...ever since I saw her beaming face at Target. She was a month away from giving birth to her first child. I was sure I was thinking about her so that our mom's group could bring her a meal and welcome her into our network. I learned today she lost the baby and her ability to have any future children to a horribly rare pregnancy risk. This hit too close to home. Plus, my mothering heart aches for her and what is a particularly gut wrenching type of grief.
And then, amidst the glorious fall colors of a high school cross country running race (is there anything so inspiring as young athletes and the spirit of the spectators?) one of my favorite aunt's by marriage confided that her only sibling/sister has pancreatic cancer. There is no armor strong enough to stop the tears when that diagnosis is proclaimed. So I didn't. Neither did my aunt. We let a few tears fall and learned that our hearts beat together.
From my own experience I know the comfort in finding people who will acknowledge the horror of this cancer. I remember the blank stares or pep talks of how "all will be ok." I remember the lonely feeling that came from knowing time with a loved just became increasing precious...and short. I gave thanks for the soft hearts that cried with me, allowed me to, and walked into the darkness with me.
While I don't find it interesting or attractive, I understand how hearts are hardened. I see the appeal. It just isn't for me.
Instead, I layer on protective armor. Silence. Rants and anger at those with whom I feel the most secure. Eye rolls. Avoidance, can be useful as well. Plugging my ears and singing 'La, la, la' can be helpful. So can closing my eyes and focusing only on my family. "If the three around me are ok, everyone must be ok."
The trick becomes, in how to protect the heart with out hardening it too much. Reality is, a heart needs the bumps and bruises in order to remain soft. I must hear the stories people have to tell and feel their life, in order to more fully experience mine. And beyond me, to more fully experience God.
On this All Saints Sunday, I can across one too many heart softening blows. None of directly impacts my life or my heart...except God's heart is keeping beat with all of ours. As I went to bed last night, I felt battle weary.
At church today we learned a neighbor across the street had died. We had noticed action, but had never put much of the story together. We remember him as a helpful, cheerful and kind man, with fun stories to share. We feel--guilty? sad? careless?-that we weren't more in tune with the activity we saw.
Again at church, I learned of suicide of a young man whose life is connected to our congregation.
I have had a woman from our congregation on my mind for weeks...ever since I saw her beaming face at Target. She was a month away from giving birth to her first child. I was sure I was thinking about her so that our mom's group could bring her a meal and welcome her into our network. I learned today she lost the baby and her ability to have any future children to a horribly rare pregnancy risk. This hit too close to home. Plus, my mothering heart aches for her and what is a particularly gut wrenching type of grief.
And then, amidst the glorious fall colors of a high school cross country running race (is there anything so inspiring as young athletes and the spirit of the spectators?) one of my favorite aunt's by marriage confided that her only sibling/sister has pancreatic cancer. There is no armor strong enough to stop the tears when that diagnosis is proclaimed. So I didn't. Neither did my aunt. We let a few tears fall and learned that our hearts beat together.
From my own experience I know the comfort in finding people who will acknowledge the horror of this cancer. I remember the blank stares or pep talks of how "all will be ok." I remember the lonely feeling that came from knowing time with a loved just became increasing precious...and short. I gave thanks for the soft hearts that cried with me, allowed me to, and walked into the darkness with me.
While I don't find it interesting or attractive, I understand how hearts are hardened. I see the appeal. It just isn't for me.
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Repairing His First Love
This is BB's Bunny Bear. You can read about him/her here. BB, my son, has a bad habit of chewing on Bunny Bear right now. To describe the results in words is pretty grotesque--so I will leave you to look upon the poor little guy.
In a moment of maternal love, I decided to help both BB and Bunny Bear.
Tuesday, November 02, 2010
VOTE!!!
I know most people don't share my passion for all things political...but Election Day should be a holiday. Celebrate this blessing and hard fought right. I think it matters who you vote for...but any one who reads this knows my thoughts. (although I must say where I am voting today, it is a choice between bad and worse, across the state...BUT I am still voting.)
All I will say is this...my home state of Minnesota better remember who they are and what makes them great among the other 50 states. Don't make me come back there so I can campaign and vote....please, oh, please see the error of this congresswoman's ways!!!!
Going to be a late night for me...watching the results, and my blood pressure get high. I love it!
All I will say is this...my home state of Minnesota better remember who they are and what makes them great among the other 50 states. Don't make me come back there so I can campaign and vote....please, oh, please see the error of this congresswoman's ways!!!!
Going to be a late night for me...watching the results, and my blood pressure get high. I love it!
Vote!
Monday, November 01, 2010
Better than Jazzercise
At 2:45 I got a call asking if I could show my house at 4:00pm. Because I usually weigh situations from the perspective of "how I would do things" I figured if someone called on such short notice they must need a house ASAP. (Translation: I couldn't imagine making someone get ready for a house showing on such short notice unless I loved the house and needed to buy it today.) So, I negotiated for 4:30 and said, "yes."
Then I....
locked the kids outside. (literally)
put cider on the stove to mull.
lite a candle.
threw all misc coats, sweatshirts, school and work bags, and paperwork from the office in to the car.
put all dirty clothing in baskets and put them in the "laundry room."
put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher...with the current clean ones. No time to put away.
put the two baskets of clean laundry that I was folding down stairs in the "laundry area."
vacuumed.
made three beds.
cleaned up two bathrooms and a kitchen.
yelled at the kids to pick up the back yard and come inside.
put the kids in the car.
ran the swifter wet mop over the floors.
started some quiet music.
and I grabbed some candy for the kids and water for myself. It was now 4:10.
Once in the car we circled the block and waited. (Over time I have learned to just wait unless I have other things I must do.)
They came at 4:38pm.
They left at 4:48pm.
I have a flip book of quotes by my bed. The quote (paraphrased) right now is, "if you can't change something, change how you think about it."
Here's how I am choosing to think about this...I got my workout in for today.
and...wait for it.
Our house is still for sale.
Then I....
locked the kids outside. (literally)
put cider on the stove to mull.
lite a candle.
threw all misc coats, sweatshirts, school and work bags, and paperwork from the office in to the car.
put all dirty clothing in baskets and put them in the "laundry room."
put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher...with the current clean ones. No time to put away.
put the two baskets of clean laundry that I was folding down stairs in the "laundry area."
vacuumed.
made three beds.
cleaned up two bathrooms and a kitchen.
yelled at the kids to pick up the back yard and come inside.
put the kids in the car.
ran the swifter wet mop over the floors.
started some quiet music.
and I grabbed some candy for the kids and water for myself. It was now 4:10.
Once in the car we circled the block and waited. (Over time I have learned to just wait unless I have other things I must do.)
They came at 4:38pm.
They left at 4:48pm.
I have a flip book of quotes by my bed. The quote (paraphrased) right now is, "if you can't change something, change how you think about it."
Here's how I am choosing to think about this...I got my workout in for today.
and...wait for it.
Our house is still for sale.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
I'd Say it Was a Carnival.
Raffle baskets are a difficult concept for a 4 (3/4) year old. All he saw was a HUGE basket with Legos piled high inside. He walked by it, stopped to smell it, touched it a bit, wiped his drool off of the table it was set up on and dove into the carnival games.
We went to the kids' school Fall Fest Carnival last night. In case you missed that in my warm up.
I was feeling generous in my "support the school" spirit and purchased way too may tickets for any 4 and 2 year old to work through (especially at 6pm). We fished for plastic fish. We weighed our odds and grabbed ducks out a pond. We threw rope circles on to the horns of a plastic bull. We sent disks down a pegged board, trying to get 5 prize tickets. We picked our suckers from the Lollipop Tree in hopes of finding one with the right color on the bottom. Many, if not most of the games had an element of 'chance' to them. BB and Michael ignored this...just enjoying the process of handing over a ticket and then never really understanding that they could have gotten more prize tickets, had they Lady Luck gone their way.
At least I thought that was what was going on. Once we had done all the games, BB announced it was time to head over to collect his prize. He headed in the exact opposite direction of the actual prize table. "BB, it is over here." Then I saw where he was headed with his 30 prize tickets. The Lego Raffle Basket.
"BB, those are a special, different part of the night. The adults bought tickets and put them in each basket for....a chance at winning. They may not call our names." (and your mother never wins anything...so don't hang with me, kid.)
This did not go over well. While I think he got the message that we may not win, he never fully absorbed the game rules. I think it had a hard time making it through the layers of his imagination that had him taking home that box of Lego sets.
We got him over the the prize table. To make matters worse the only way he could get what he wanted was to pool resources with little 'Miss I've Been Pouting and Crying and Making Daddy's Life Miserable for that Last 15 Mins While Mommy Talks to People.' She didn't honestly get any of the economics of the night, so she never knew she gave My Husband permission to hand over her prize tickets to BB. 50 tickets got them a cowboy hat. to. share.
Then the raffle started and BB and his his best bud caught wind of this. The two of them got front row seats. My Husband was done with the night and took Michael to the car. I waited with friends and BB until the Lego Basket came up.
You know this story doesn't have a happy ending.
Perhaps, the worst part of the whole thing was the face and attitude of the boy who won. I imagine that he didn't realize what the heck was going on any more than my kids did, so I give him that. But seriously, kid, you just won THE LEGO BASKET. THE LEGO BASKET. He calmly stood to accept his prize. His face registered no joy, no interest, no enthusiasm...at. all. He calmly took it, nearly falling at the weight of the box, and sat down. Where was the passion? Come, on!!! If you would have looked across the room, you would have seen what passion looks like--Sad, hot tears on the face of a little boy clinging to his mom's legs. It wasn't pretty. It got loud.
We had a great night. No, seriously. It didn't end well. It ended loud and angry. People had very hurt feelings. We feel things around here. We feel them deeply. We feel them for a long, long time...well into bed time. Well after Mom and Dad have shut the doors and turned off the lights...the passion continues.
This morning, everyone woke up happy. No one is mentioning the night before.
It was a carnival.
p.s. I nearly forgot...our house is still for sale.
We went to the kids' school Fall Fest Carnival last night. In case you missed that in my warm up.
I was feeling generous in my "support the school" spirit and purchased way too may tickets for any 4 and 2 year old to work through (especially at 6pm). We fished for plastic fish. We weighed our odds and grabbed ducks out a pond. We threw rope circles on to the horns of a plastic bull. We sent disks down a pegged board, trying to get 5 prize tickets. We picked our suckers from the Lollipop Tree in hopes of finding one with the right color on the bottom. Many, if not most of the games had an element of 'chance' to them. BB and Michael ignored this...just enjoying the process of handing over a ticket and then never really understanding that they could have gotten more prize tickets, had they Lady Luck gone their way.
At least I thought that was what was going on. Once we had done all the games, BB announced it was time to head over to collect his prize. He headed in the exact opposite direction of the actual prize table. "BB, it is over here." Then I saw where he was headed with his 30 prize tickets. The Lego Raffle Basket.
"BB, those are a special, different part of the night. The adults bought tickets and put them in each basket for....a chance at winning. They may not call our names." (and your mother never wins anything...so don't hang with me, kid.)
This did not go over well. While I think he got the message that we may not win, he never fully absorbed the game rules. I think it had a hard time making it through the layers of his imagination that had him taking home that box of Lego sets.
We got him over the the prize table. To make matters worse the only way he could get what he wanted was to pool resources with little 'Miss I've Been Pouting and Crying and Making Daddy's Life Miserable for that Last 15 Mins While Mommy Talks to People.' She didn't honestly get any of the economics of the night, so she never knew she gave My Husband permission to hand over her prize tickets to BB. 50 tickets got them a cowboy hat. to. share.
Then the raffle started and BB and his his best bud caught wind of this. The two of them got front row seats. My Husband was done with the night and took Michael to the car. I waited with friends and BB until the Lego Basket came up.
You know this story doesn't have a happy ending.
Perhaps, the worst part of the whole thing was the face and attitude of the boy who won. I imagine that he didn't realize what the heck was going on any more than my kids did, so I give him that. But seriously, kid, you just won THE LEGO BASKET. THE LEGO BASKET. He calmly stood to accept his prize. His face registered no joy, no interest, no enthusiasm...at. all. He calmly took it, nearly falling at the weight of the box, and sat down. Where was the passion? Come, on!!! If you would have looked across the room, you would have seen what passion looks like--Sad, hot tears on the face of a little boy clinging to his mom's legs. It wasn't pretty. It got loud.
We had a great night. No, seriously. It didn't end well. It ended loud and angry. People had very hurt feelings. We feel things around here. We feel them deeply. We feel them for a long, long time...well into bed time. Well after Mom and Dad have shut the doors and turned off the lights...the passion continues.
This morning, everyone woke up happy. No one is mentioning the night before.
It was a carnival.
p.s. I nearly forgot...our house is still for sale.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Frightening
A really nice byproduct of having a blog is the ready made filing cabinet for my memories. Today, I looked back at what I did last Oct. Apparently, I was on speed. On Oct. 29, 2009, I was making birthday invitations for a party six weeks away. Hum. I do have the cookies on my mind for Oct. 29, 2010. But the party planning is nowhere on my agenda. (although BB does talk about his 'theme' and gift list daily hourly.)
I have no idea where we will be for his birthday. And, I have not yet committed to a 'friend' party. I'm in denial that I will have a five year old.
And, ya, know....our house is still for sale.
I have no idea where we will be for his birthday. And, I have not yet committed to a 'friend' party. I'm in denial that I will have a five year old.
And, ya, know....our house is still for sale.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
CaNdY!!!!!
First. Our house is still for sale.
Apparently, Halloween is becoming a holiday we celebrate for weeks on end. The kids have already been to two "Fall Festivals." Both of which involved CaNdY. Bags of CaNdY.
We've had some interesting "quiet times." Instead of doling out CaNdY slowly, or hiding it, (and eating it myself) or buying it back, I am letting the kiddos eat it all. At one sitting.
Or, rather at their own pace. As it turns out they actually pace themselves. To their mother who has never really understood delayed gratification and has a mild addiction to food sugar, their behavior is odd.
But because of this addiction, and some emphasis on, ya know, nutrition, wenever rarely have candy in the house. I figure once a season they might as well go crazy. It is an odd move in today's parenting world. I'm not sure if it is a conscience decision on my part or lazy parenting...either way, we are enjoying this week(s) of CaNdY!
Apparently, Halloween is becoming a holiday we celebrate for weeks on end. The kids have already been to two "Fall Festivals." Both of which involved CaNdY. Bags of CaNdY.
We've had some interesting "quiet times." Instead of doling out CaNdY slowly, or hiding it, (and eating it myself) or buying it back, I am letting the kiddos eat it all. At one sitting.
Or, rather at their own pace. As it turns out they actually pace themselves. To their mother who has never really understood delayed gratification and has a mild addiction to
But because of this addiction, and some emphasis on, ya know, nutrition, we
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
8:00am to 2:00pm with 3,4,5 yr olds
If you know me, the title alone should get you in your car to bring me a glass of wine. It has been a long day. I volunteered for it. The first half of the day, that is. Then the field trip got moved to the afternoon. And, three hours turned into five.
The greatest lesson I learned was that my nearly five year old is a) normal and b) is doing just fine. While still unable to sit still and a bit bossy, he exhibits many other good qualities that I am, in fact, happy about.
And, p.s. our house is still for sale.
The greatest lesson I learned was that my nearly five year old is a) normal and b) is doing just fine. While still unable to sit still and a bit bossy, he exhibits many other good qualities that I am, in fact, happy about.
And, p.s. our house is still for sale.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
I live up to my name...
Yes, I'm sure you were looking for an actual post. One with words and updates. Perhaps, just a thoughtful reflection on an event.
Sorry.
I redecorated, instead.
The blue is too much like my high school color. But it matches the blue on the ladder better than any purple I couldfind create. Rest assured I will play with it a bit more.
Our house is still for sale, so I am redecorating my blog to release my creative energy.
Sorry.
I redecorated, instead.
The blue is too much like my high school color. But it matches the blue on the ladder better than any purple I could
Our house is still for sale, so I am redecorating my blog to release my creative energy.
Friday, October 15, 2010
I Don't Do That
I have a review for work this afternoon. Last night as I was filling out the form, I realized that I don't actually have a job description. This past year I have done bits and pieces of what was asked and what I felt like doing. While I will try to clarify my role today in the review, it doesn't completely bother me.
As I was thinking this over I read a chapter in the book Bittersweet by Shauna Niequist. She talked about how she needed to define her own job description. Especially, when it came to motherhood. She wrote about how helpful it was to write out not only a list of what you do like to do, and have to accomplish, but also a list of what you don't do.
I'm pondering this thought.
I realized I don't make Halloween costumes. That one is coming off my list of "things I feel I should do."
While it might seem that my creative energies would be all about the costume creation. Halloween always sneaks up on me and I feel pressure rather than enjoyment. Apparently, there are other things I'd rather be doing during the month of October.
Job descriptions are reviewed on a yearly basis so we'll see what next year brings. But right now, I am giving my self permission to buy a costume, should it come to that.
It would also be mighty helpful if the costume wearers liked to a) wear costumes and b) could make up his mind.
As I was thinking this over I read a chapter in the book Bittersweet by Shauna Niequist. She talked about how she needed to define her own job description. Especially, when it came to motherhood. She wrote about how helpful it was to write out not only a list of what you do like to do, and have to accomplish, but also a list of what you don't do.
I'm pondering this thought.
I realized I don't make Halloween costumes. That one is coming off my list of "things I feel I should do."
While it might seem that my creative energies would be all about the costume creation. Halloween always sneaks up on me and I feel pressure rather than enjoyment. Apparently, there are other things I'd rather be doing during the month of October.
Job descriptions are reviewed on a yearly basis so we'll see what next year brings. But right now, I am giving my self permission to buy a costume, should it come to that.
It would also be mighty helpful if the costume wearers liked to a) wear costumes and b) could make up his mind.
Friday, October 01, 2010
Reunion
Whether my parents intended it or not, my most influential and important extended family, isn't family at all. We don't share any common genetics, or last names, or great grandparents.
What the first generation shares is common professors, and meals in a shared dining hall and stories from college housing...fraught with mild mischief. Nine people...some of whom married each other, some never married, some married from "the outside"...went on to form this group. Over the past 40 plus years, they gathered for parties and long weekends where they camped at each others houses. They shared casual get togethers and wove their lives together as tightly as any DNA could have.
Only one person beyond the first generation holds a degree from the college campus that started it all. The second generation has beendragged brought back for more than one homecoming and we could tell the folklore of the campus art and even share stories from a magical Pink House. We are busy bringing up and bringing in the third generation of this family.
This weekend is my 15 year reunion for my college class. My husband and I met there our junior year. He lived for two years in an honor house with many men. I lived with roommates I no longer keep in touch with and then by myself...in blissful heaven for a year. I spent my college days in the, now seemingly ridiculous, pursuit of athletic dreams. My teammates and I had lost contact with each other by 1996.
Due to my the influence and mythic importance I put on my parent's friends, I have always had vulnerable spot when it comes to the topic of college friends and my lack there of.
The men from my husband's college house all (nearly all) married women from our college. The women get together every year. I don't know if the men do, but they will all be together at the reunion this weekend. Through the magic of Facebook, I am 'friends' with these women. Their get togethers make me a little sad...jealous perhaps. Frustrated that I didn't know what I would be missing out on when I passed on their offers of friendship 15 years prior.
In the end we aren't going to the reunion due to our schedule. The trip to my home state can only be done so many times in one month and the reunion got cut. I would have loved to be there. A decade and a half has healed many insecurities and settled me in my own skin. I was looking forward to seeing familiar faces again and catching up in person. I was interested in meeting people I should have met 15 years ago.
Then it hit me as to how it is slightly odd that so much emphasis is placed on these four years of our life. I decided to cut myself a little slack. Since 1995, I have been a part of numerous groups with whom I would love to catch up. I wondered what makes our college years so poignant and holy? It isn't 'ba hum bug' or even insecurity that asks the question...I just wonder.
I will never have what my parents have with their college friends. What I have is a person here and a dear one there. My friends and soul mates are spread out across the country. Stories and moments scattered and sent. Memories from Habitat training classes and my work colleagues at my first 'real' job fill me with joy and energy. I cherish my seminary classmates and perhaps that is where my reunion energy will land.
All of this wistful looking backwards has taught me that friendships take time, cultivation....they don't just happen. When they do, one should take great care with them and be very grateful to be apart of it. Even if you are in the second generation.
This is a lesson I learned in college.
Um. Yah. Yah. Be sure to listen to the song as well.
What the first generation shares is common professors, and meals in a shared dining hall and stories from college housing...fraught with mild mischief. Nine people...some of whom married each other, some never married, some married from "the outside"...went on to form this group. Over the past 40 plus years, they gathered for parties and long weekends where they camped at each others houses. They shared casual get togethers and wove their lives together as tightly as any DNA could have.
Only one person beyond the first generation holds a degree from the college campus that started it all. The second generation has been
This weekend is my 15 year reunion for my college class. My husband and I met there our junior year. He lived for two years in an honor house with many men. I lived with roommates I no longer keep in touch with and then by myself...in blissful heaven for a year. I spent my college days in the, now seemingly ridiculous, pursuit of athletic dreams. My teammates and I had lost contact with each other by 1996.
Due to my the influence and mythic importance I put on my parent's friends, I have always had vulnerable spot when it comes to the topic of college friends and my lack there of.
The men from my husband's college house all (nearly all) married women from our college. The women get together every year. I don't know if the men do, but they will all be together at the reunion this weekend. Through the magic of Facebook, I am 'friends' with these women. Their get togethers make me a little sad...jealous perhaps. Frustrated that I didn't know what I would be missing out on when I passed on their offers of friendship 15 years prior.
In the end we aren't going to the reunion due to our schedule. The trip to my home state can only be done so many times in one month and the reunion got cut. I would have loved to be there. A decade and a half has healed many insecurities and settled me in my own skin. I was looking forward to seeing familiar faces again and catching up in person. I was interested in meeting people I should have met 15 years ago.
Then it hit me as to how it is slightly odd that so much emphasis is placed on these four years of our life. I decided to cut myself a little slack. Since 1995, I have been a part of numerous groups with whom I would love to catch up. I wondered what makes our college years so poignant and holy? It isn't 'ba hum bug' or even insecurity that asks the question...I just wonder.
I will never have what my parents have with their college friends. What I have is a person here and a dear one there. My friends and soul mates are spread out across the country. Stories and moments scattered and sent. Memories from Habitat training classes and my work colleagues at my first 'real' job fill me with joy and energy. I cherish my seminary classmates and perhaps that is where my reunion energy will land.
All of this wistful looking backwards has taught me that friendships take time, cultivation....they don't just happen. When they do, one should take great care with them and be very grateful to be apart of it. Even if you are in the second generation.
This is a lesson I learned in college.
Um. Yah. Yah. Be sure to listen to the song as well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)