Real Reedy

2012 Intentional soaking

2012-01-19T10:45:00.000-06:00

Am I too late for 2012 resolutions? One month into the year and although I've been thinking about this for weeks, I'm finally finding time to get my hopes and plans down.

I'm not a big resolution person, but for the past two years, I've loved writing a story for the year. Maybe it's more of setting the scene for the year and dreaming of the setting I'd like to be living in next December.

Last year I planned for a year of quiet purpose. I wanted to write and read much. Honestly those stacks of journals I had hoped to fill still have many blank pages. The writing books I planned to read were carried around with me for a few days and then other reading priorities replaced them.
My bookshelves did get decorated and the weed boxes in our backyard produced radishes, peas, tomatoes, and one fantastic green pepper. And so I completed the practical.

At this stage of life, the practical usually rises to the top of the pile as the urgent and the dreaming, the planning, the reflection sinks lower and lower on the priority list.

In the middle of the practical, I did lots of snuggling, soaked in the sweetness of my newborn, and tried to take a mental snapshot of those precious times.

For 2012 then, I look forward to more of the same. I hope to write. Not just the assignments or hoped submissions, but write to write. The way I always have in a small cute notebook where my thoughts jump and wander.

As I think of a friend, one I've wanted to know deeper, who is facing a scary health issue, my thoughts have been wondering what she would be doing in her moments when uncertainty about the future is so real. Would she be finishing one last kitchen chore or reading a book with her preschooler? I imagine there is much intentionality.

In 2012, I want to frequently ask myself those questions about the best use of my time and more often than not choose the thing that will not always be the option.

When December 31 2012 arrives, I hope to roll my eyes over the number of words I've written on a page wondering when I'll ever read them again and what purpose they will serve in all practicality. The setting in my house still won't be perfect or as cute as I'd want it to be, but I would like to have our office transformed into a well-used working space. As Asa gets older and we figure out what works in getting us out of the house, I hope we have chosen to geocache, be outside, get the table messy, and soak in the time.
Although it's well into 2012, I take this time to say goodbye to 2011 the year of quiet purpose and welcome 2012 the year of intentional soaking.

Here's to a year of soaking it all in!

Desperation

2012-01-08T20:21:00.000-06:00

We haven't had a lot of snow yet this year and my kids are so anxious to do all the snow things. They have great memories from all of the angels, forts, and snowball fights they had with all of the snow last year and are getting desperate to experience that fun again. So when it snowed (dusted) last week, they were out the door and getting their fill.

I've wanted things that bad. I know how they feel.
Sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.

Bootcamp

2012-01-03T08:16:00.000-06:00

On this last day of Christmas break, I pushed the snooze button, reset my alarm, and justified to myself that I would still get some quiet time in because the kids would probably sleep in. After all I had reminded them before turning out the lights last night that it would be their last chance to have a lazy morning.

Actually, I meant to say, this is mommy's last chance to sleep in, so please don't wake up early!

And so why am I surprised that I had companions on both sides of me this morning while I tried to have a quiet time alone? We've already had a fight over pillows, a meltdown about wanting me to retrieve a blanket, and spilled coffee two times and it's not yet 8 o'clock.

So yeah, no pain no gain. If I had pushed through my sleepiness and rolled out of bed when my alarm buzzed, I would have had a quiet hour alone but I didn't take the pain and I missed out on the gain of time spent alone receiving from God.

I hate to say it, but doing hard things often gets the best results.

I've been squatting, lunging, sprinting, and planking at bootcamp twice a week for almost six months. While those workouts leave me exhausted and believing I will not be able to hold my baby for the rest of the day, I am seeing great results. (Thanks Emily!)

I also see results of facing family difficulties head-on. Amelie is almost potty-trained. Asher is kind to his siblings. Asa is still nursing even though I thought we would not make it this long. Getting the kids to embrace behaviors that seemed like mountains to climb hasn't been easy, but that pain has also been worth the gain.

Living life as a bootcamp isn't what I'm advocating. But I am suggesting that pushing through the hard things we don't want to do might just be worth it.

Read more at The Pantagraph.com

Imperfect Christmas

2011-12-22T07:41:00.001-06:00

I am the perfect example of why we need Christmas.
It's been one of those months when things I do come out just not quite right.

There's been nothing big. No glaring mistakes, just small ones that magnify my less than perfect status.

Because of that unfortunate status, my house is not decorated as I would like. The gifts I made turned out just not quite right. Our Christmas tree only has decorations on the bottom, and the stockings are lying on the fireplace rather than hanging.

I need grace.

When you come to my home, I need you to overlook the dirty floor.
When the kids open their knitted animals, I need them to not notice the crooked owl wing and twisted bird foot.

It's not that I haven't worked hard or put in the effort.
I have.
And that is why I need grace, hope and assurance that me working my hardest to make it happen is not what I have to rely on.

I am thankful that I get to rely on the hope of Christmas. The birth of Jesus took away the need for me to strive for more and better good deeds. Instead I can depend on Him to look fully at my mistakes, forgive me, and love me completely.

Because of the real hope of Christmas, I can still have a fabulous Christmas while the stockings lie rather than hang, the tree is half decorated, and my projects are not complete.

All of these displays of imperfectness remind me of exactly why I need Christmas. The birth of a Savior to lift me out of this cycle of working hard and failing to meet expectations brought the greatest freedom to have peace even when everything I do is just not quite right.

It is because of the imperfect that I need Christmas.

Waste the day

2011-12-05T09:29:00.001-06:00

I try not to waste.

I recycle.
Eat leftovers.
Shop at thrift stores.
Print on both sides of computer paper.
Carry my own shopping bags.
I even am currently using my brother's girlfriend's old phone (pathetic, I know).

I think wasting time must be the most difficult thing for me to watch go by. I bring magazines to read in line, knit at stoplights (shhh....). If there's a way to multi-task, I'm doing it.

December always reminds me of a deep desire to slow down. To enjoy the moment, because these Christmas times go so quick, and before I know it the celebration of the best GIFT ever will be come and gone and I might have missed it. So for these reasons, I wrote to encourage myself (and anyone else I can convince), to waste the day...

Go ahead, try it.

Owls

2011-11-16T07:10:00.001-06:00

I'm writing this post for my husband. If he were a writer, he would be filling this blog with posts of sweetness.

He would tell you about his "Big Girl Owl" and describe his interactions with her as "Daddy Owl."

Sure I am "Mommy Owl" to Amelie, but my imagination hasn't allowed me to flap my wings and hoot around like Daddy Owl does with her.

Daddy Owl loves mornings when Big Girl Owl finds a perch on the bathroom counter just in time to help him shave. She eagerly points out any leftover shaving cream behind his ears or under his chin. And when the work of shaving is done, the two of them move on to picking out his clothes.

When they emerge downstairs, Big Girl Owl proudly points out the shirt she picked out for him and they smile at each other knowing what the process entailed to find that perfect shirt.

He pours his coffee, grabs his coat and gives everyone a kiss goodbye. He's ready to leave when Big Girl Owl reminds,

"Oh Daddy Owl, I forgot to give you a hug."
"I will miss you so much Daddy Owl."

I hope she doesn't see me gagging out of the corner of her eye. Daddy Owl sees and agrees with my assessment of the sickening sweetness of it all, but we both know he is soaking in this time.

How long will she be Big Girl Owl before she turns into Teenage Owl? I doubt Teenage Owl will grab her daddy and hold him with so much intense adoration.

And so I smile and share the moment with him. Someday when our interactions with our Amelie need a little sweetness, we will spoon this memory out and remember the relationship of Big Girl and Daddy Owl.

Case solved

2011-11-01T11:17:00.001-05:00

The word up and down the street alerted us that a criminal was on the loose. To gather all of the clues and solve the case, we sent our best secret agents to find the perpetrator and bring him to justice.

They went from house to house, enjoying the clues given to them along the way.

Our favorite girl spy lost her hat and moustache, but she remained super sneaky.

At one point, the leads directed them to a pair of spooky pumpkins.

After an hour, they wore him out and he could run no more. Our secret agents put the clues together and solved the case to find the baby who stole mommy and daddy's hearts.

He was disguised as a pumpkin.
Case solved.

Buddy Boo

2011-10-27T15:14:00.000-05:00

"Buddy Boo, we love you!"

Six months ago, I left the house in the middle of the night with nothing other than a coat and came home two days later with our Buddy Boo.

Content and smiley and launching us into the crazy club of three kids, I can't believe Asa has been here six months. Funny how I also can't imagine what life was like without him.

Amelie's squeals of "Baby Asa-a-a-a-a-a."
Asher's subtle grins whenever we talk about how the boys outnumber the girls.
Walter's confidence that Asa's bulkiness means a destiny surrounded by sports.

And my contentment with grace overflowing.

The third child may not get toys with working batteries, or books with covers still attached. His clothes are a little outdated and we occassionally use a pink washcloth to bathe him.

But he is loved and we are so thankful for our smiley Buddy Boo.

Not my role

2011-10-17T07:00:00.000-05:00

I have a confession to make.

Although we've had money management systems before, we are just now transitioning to a real active budget. While I miss buying whatever I need (want) on a whim, I feel safer in the constraints of knowing my limitations.

I know my limits, and for my control-freak tendencies, this means I constantly rehearse them. Mentally recalculating and doing various "what-if" scenarios. These numbers have become my go-to thoughts - the place my mind naturally falls when there's a lull of answering a two year old's perpetual WHY? questions. Because our budget accounts zero out by the end of the month, I regularly add and subtract upcoming expenses to make sure the math will work out once again.

Month after month, the cycle rises and falls with my anxiety building at the end of the month while I hold my breath to see if each category will have enough.

Insanity I tell you!

I know God's resources are unlimited. I believe He will provide, but I also believe He doesn't want us to be foolish with our spending choices or neglect giving back to Him.

And so I continue to allow anxiousness to consume me.

Sarah Young's words reminded me this morning of so many powerful things. She deflated my business-educated bubble of control by knowledge when she stated that I'm missing something if I continue to be anxious about the future.

That missing something is remembering that God's Presence is also in the future. Not only is He here guiding and comforting me in this moment, but He will be in all my future moments. While my mind has made me the "god of my fantasies," thankfully that is not my role!

God is God of my current reality and He is God of any crazy scenarios I imagine, and He is God of the future reality.

"Anxiety is a result of envisioning a future without (God)."

Simmering

2011-10-03T07:04:00.000-05:00

Is missional a hot word right now or is it just me?

Everyone wants to be missional and I am no exception. In my daily tasks I dare to hope that my purpose here consists of more than repeating the same chores of picking up, putting away, and washing. I don't want to ignore the immediacy of the demands of my three kids and I absolutely want to soak up these days with them, but I do want to know this is not the end of my work.

Although my passions for other cultures, writing, and exploring outdoors are put on a simmer mode for now, I do hope the little dabbles I make into areas will keep those fires burning until I am able to turn more focus back onto them.

At our new little "bookclub," Vicky, Rita and I shared our passions and plans. Even though we're all in an intense parenting stage, we celebrated freedom in knowing there will come a day when our focus can return to those simmering passions.

In my hopes of keeping my other loves alive, I brainstormed ways to remain on a mission even during the days when the immediate must come first. You can check the article out at The Pantagraph online.

No peppers please

2011-09-23T06:44:00.000-05:00

I remember the evening Asher ate radishes and decided they were so delicious, he would go outside and sell them to any passersby. He has always had odd tastes when it came to food. As an infant, he refused to eat any kind of meat. No chicken, beef, or turkey - but he loved tofu. Seriously, he loved tofu. Lentils too. I baked tofu into little bites and these were some of his favorite dinner time treats.

Although there aren't many meats he will eat, he has always loved raw vegetables. Radishes, carrots, green, red, orange peppers - all of those vegetables I always refused to eat.

So when his Kindergarten teacher told us the kids would need to bring a healthy snack of fruit or vegetables everyday, I had a lot of options to choose from. He took peppers and radishes and the bags always came home empty.

Until this week...when the bag of green peppers I sent for lunch came home still full.

It still breaks my heart to imagine the scene at school. Asher's naive love of eating non-typical kid food vegetables ended this week. He revealed to me that other kids thought his peppers looked funny and so he decided he's not going to take them to school anymore.

We talked about how he will just eat extra amounts of peppers at home, but please don't pack them for lunch or snack anymore.

I understand. Who wants to be the kid who has weird looking things in their lunch? I still remember what I thought of Alex who had a green potato chip in fourth grade. With the torment he got, I doubt Alex ever brought potato chips for school lunch again.

I know its just peppers and I know nobody got hurt, but I'm sad. I'm sad because Asher's awareness of what is cool and what is not is beginning. Now its peppers but I know where the influences lead. For me it was into Guess jeans, Esprit bags, and Munchos for lunch way too often.

I want to live those elementary school years again through him and enjoy the time so much more knowing those lessons in life that just have to be learned by yourself. I pray his free spirit to stick with his own choices doesn't die.

For now, I'm packing an apple and leaving the peppers at home.

Just fun

2011-09-16T06:39:00.000-05:00

A rare moment.

Nobody needed anything. Lunch dishes washed and drying in the rack. Diapers changed and everyone smelling fresh. All satisfied and all happy.

At that moment yesterday after lunch, we had a rare ten minutes of just fun. Amelie, Asa, and me playing peek-a-boo, giggling, and chanting the knee, clap, snap rhyme.

This morning, I thought of the giggles and smiles we shared. Immediately I knew that out of all the moments with young kids, I want to remember that kind of time. Laughing with silly elephant/hedgehog toy brought the sort of joy that I rarely find as a parent, but when I do,I know it is what real living is meant to feel like.

That kind of peaceful joy evades me most of the time. Usually the list on the counter holds my mind in such a grip that pausing for even a free moment of purely enjoying my kids can't happen.

For whatever reason, it happened yesterday and that moment of just fun, pure joy, and really living is one I want to relive over and over again.

Some years

2011-09-07T16:33:00.000-05:00

The sun shone the brightest it ever has on September 6, 2003. Walter and I rode away from the church that looks like a church in the old-time red convertible while bubbles filled the air. One of my favorite mental snapshots from one of the best days ever.

We celebrated the anniversary of that great day the following year when we spent the weekend in Door County. Over the years, we've celebrated our marriage in big and small ways. One year it was a trip to Galena, another an afternoon grape-stomping at a local winery and last year, a day at the friendly confines of Wrigley Field.

This year, we remembered the occasion at the park across the road. No, we didn't have a romantic picnic. We watched Asher practice soccer while Amelie turned herself brown while playing in the dirt of the baseball field. And this remembrance was good.

I'm not saying I'm giving up on celebrating big with exciting trips and romantic dinners, but after eight years and three kids, I guess I have reached a place of contentment with the simple remembrances.

I loved my Gerber daisies and Tanner's apple doughnut and I'm happy that Walter decided to share his Ghirardelli brownies. But I'm even more happy that we still love each other and that the depth of quality in his character through highs and lows continues to amaze me.

Some years simple celebrations are exactly perfect.

Gippet and Papoops

2011-09-02T14:10:00.000-05:00

Amelie's bedtime can't be complete without the gippet and a papoop (preferably the pink one). Of course, I'm talking about her blanket and her pacifier. Yes, she is two and a half and still has a pacifier...but only at bedtime. And yes, I let her drink coffee every once in a while too just so your bad mom judgements of me can be complete.

Everyone needs a gippet and a papoop, don't they?

A few days ago, I pulled out the frayed and torn blanket from my childhood to show Amelie that while I don't need it every night anymore, Mommy has a gippet too.

Sometimes a gippet is just the thing I need. I crave security, comfort, something soft against my face to remind me about little sweetnesses.

I think about the upcoming tenth anniversary of 9/11 and wish our security could be found in something so simple as a gippet and papoop. On September 10, 2001, I had no idea how safe I felt. When the terrorists attacked our country and the naivete of security was blown away, how many of us wished we could go home and hide under a blanket while ignoring the new knowledge that people hated us simply for being us?

When I look for my security in savings or living in a safe neighborhood, God regularly reminds me that while those might be good ideas, they are also deceptive. Busted boilers have melted through our savings faster than we ever thought. Our idea of a safe street turned out to be not so safe. On those days, I could only look up and into God's words to find assurance that all was still well.

A gippet and a papoop give Amelie the security she needs. I hope that lasts for her as long as it possibly can.

Some days the tangible softness of a blanket is all I need for comfort. And on the days when the world news seems scary and uncertain, I know true security and promises kept are only found in the One who is in never ending control.

Better than a gippet and papoop.

The right words

2011-08-29T09:11:00.000-05:00

Lines like

"Grace and Peace"
"Give me Jesus"
"Ride with me through the breaking of the dawn."
"This good day, it is a gift from you."

have played in my mind repeatedly through the years. Some days I hear the clear voice of Fernando Ortega remind me of exactly the right encouragement and even in those moments peace returns.

My new friend, the alpaca farmer gave me her prime seat so I would have a picture perfect view of the man with my favorite voice. He sang all of the right things. Even though I heard whispers of people singing along throughout the entire concert, his voice led us in a couple of worship songs providing a time for everyone to sing along loudly.

His stories are his. I love hearing more details about Mildred Madalyn Johnson who drives her big red car at every concert, but its those lines - the ones with less than ten words - that I pull out and repeat into my story. Those lines describe my days with the same plot, just different characters maybe because we're centered on the same author.

That same author who is guiding me today through deciphering which of the three kids are crying at any given moment. "grace and peace"

The one who leads me to make good decisions when I crave those things I don't need. "give me Jesus."

And the God who has led me through many dark hours into each new day and "the breaking of the dawn."

This good day, it is a gift.

Cramming

2011-08-10T13:46:00.000-05:00

The countdown is now down to one week. I'm feeling like I need to cram everything into Asher's consciousness in these final days like a giant run on sentence of

Be kind eat all of your lunch share be friendly respect your teacher wash your hands don't hit anyone try not to get too angry girls are nice to play with too don't be afraid to answer questions don't yell stand up for truth if you fall get up don't act too crazy talk to God anytime you want say please and thank you always remember I love you!

These and a hundred others are phrases I've repeated to him a zillion times over the past five years. And I guess this is what I've been preparing him for. Days when I won't be there to remind him. Now days when he lives on the strong foundation.

"The rains came down, the streams rose, the winds beat against the house; yet it did not fall because it had its foundation on the rock."

I've been wondering what I will do on the first day of kindergarten, here are some of those thoughts.

A person too

2011-08-05T06:45:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I forget that I'm a person too.

The three extensions of myself demand constant energy and their needs (or wants) get all of my attention.

We finished bedtimes before 8:00 last night and I spent time alone outside with my book. The book is good, but I stopped reading often just to rest, to sit with nobody asking me to do something or dream over a Lego catalog.

Just sitting can be so fine for me. I really don't need to talk or listen, but sometimes I just need to be.

This morning I read from Sarah Young, "Sit quietly in my presence while I bless you." She writes from God's perspective and I love this letter that allows me to sit and let God's fullness wash over me with newness.
new strength
new energy
new love

It's from this filling of newness and remembering that I am not simpy a machine meeting constant requests that I can enter a day when there may one again always be someone crying.

The Girl with the Dinosaur Tattoo

2011-08-03T07:06:00.000-05:00

Amelie is my fighting warrior who can wield a sword quick enough to fight off the attacks of a five year old boy.

She is also my scared sweetie who runs to me when Asher pretends to be a tiger or dragon or simply puts his hands up in a menacing growl.

And Amelie is a diva. Refusing to move her hand an extra millimeter to grab the sippy cup, she insisted Grams walk across the kitchen to place it in her hand. Even though she is two and fully capable of feeding herself, she refuses to move her mouth to the food, but makes Mommy stick the food in her mouth.

Spoiled? Maybe. But she is my only girl - the one who wears dinosaur tattoos.

'

too much

2011-07-27T15:48:00.000-05:00

"I'm too full, mommy."
She says this with one more half pancake, banana bread pieces, and a bowl of cereal left in front of her.

All this after I read about the seven month old Somalian boy with skin taut around his ribs and eyes that stare straight ahead into nothing.

Pudgy three month old boy sleeps upstairs in his crib after I wiped drops of milk spilt onto his face.

Somalian mother has walked for days to reach help but it might have been too late and how many others did she pass on the way who couldn't make it?

Five year old skinny by choice son still rests in bed. He will wake up and choose a mouse amount of food, when he has the pantry available to him.

My mind needs medicine too states the Somalian mommy.

Yes, my mind does too. I can't comprehend having to watch babies want food not available to me.

Sure we're out of eggs and bread right now and I'm trying to stretch what we do have until the next grocery store trip on Friday, but I could ask Walter to stop on the way home tonight and we'd have more than plenty.

I think I read 800,000 are at risk for starvation and I threw away strawberries that I let grow fuzzy in the refrigerator.

I'm frustrated with the unequal distribution of resources around the world. I'm angry at the Somalis who killed aid workers. I'm annoyed with my abundance when much of the world doesn't even have enough.

And I don't even have a point or a solution. Just thoughts. just prayers.

sometimes not

2011-07-25T07:04:00.000-05:00

I love my early mornings. They are my time to be Angie. Not mommy or sweetie or friend, just Angie. Alone, with God. Sometimes in this quiet time I simply sit and talk with God about the swirl of stuff in my mind. Sometimes there are specific things I just can't stop wondering, dreaming, or worrying about.
Usually I have the Bible with me and usually I read a verse or two or twenty.

But sometimes not.

It's the "sometimes not" days I love best. Sometimes not happens because I've felt God's presence so personally and I know this is what He wants me to carry throughout the day.

Today was one of those days. I'm celebrating that Asa slept for eight straight hours for the first time. When I finished feeding him, he fell back asleep over my shoulder and I couldn't put him down.

Sweet puffs of regular breathing. Pudgy arms resting around my neck.

Living in the moments I spent so much time pleading for.

Absolutely gifts. The kind I never ever want to forget.

Nothing more peaceful in the world.

The clock kept urging me to put him down, jump in the shower, get down to the couch to spend the quiet time with God. That schedule, my type A check it off the list personality.

But God spoke over the clock and I knew adoring the gift He sent to me needed to be my quiet time for today.

It was a sometimes not kind of morning.

summertime classics

2011-07-18T08:36:00.000-05:00

The summer of 2010 will be defined in my mind as the months of the Sheriff. Watching Home on the Range, feeling nauseous from a new life growing inside, handing Amelie vitamins to share with her brother, and Mediterranean Spa in my Scentsy burner.

I can't tell you yet what the summer of 2011 will be defined as. Possibly will include a googly eyed boy in his Bumbo, a drama queen sweetie flip-flopping her decisions between cereals, finding the crafter's latest masterpiece attached to the wall with letter stickers, and nights outside after kids are in bed, just soaking in the joy of the day.

Each summer has it's own feel and rhythm but there are certain summertime classics that need to be repeated every year.

Catching fireflies
Discovering the first giant hibiscus bloom
Swimming until eyes turn red but no one really cares
Ice cream and freezie pops

Read more about the summertime classics and step outside to enjoy them yourself!

One more month

2011-07-12T08:18:00.000-05:00

The countdown is nearing the end. One more month until school starts and this year that actually means something to us. It actually means a lot. Rather than simply watching other families wind down their summers, we will close down our carefree days as well.
In the final hours of the day when Walter and I sit outside watching the fireflies and waiting for stars to come out, we regularly bring up the subject of our boy heading off to Kindergarten. I have no reservations about how much Asher will love it. But I'm not sure I will be ready.

Asher can hardly wait to learn more about reading, be around friends all day long, make cute crafts, and run around in the gym. The knights welcoming students at the front entrance to the school were enough to make him want to spend more time there. But then we visited the ginormous playground a few weeks ago and that threw him over the top of wanting to spend more time at the school.

When Walter and I discuss this whole going to school thing, all I can focus on is the trajectory Asher is officially starting to be launched out into the world. Kindergarten leads to all the excitement of learning about this great big world but the great big world isn't always so great and bigness can be quite scary sometimes.

I don't want to watch him hurt when bullies make him not want to get up in the morning. I hate the thought of my boy dreading going to school because someone told him he really can't be a knight when he grows up or that the Backyardigans aren't cool for a five year old to watch.

On these nights when cicadas sing their songs I try to remember the fun he'll have. Learning how to read full books on his own is going to be such a great discovery. Meeting friends and teachers he'll remember all of his life could fill him with new fun and purpose.

He will adjust fine. I guess it's me who needs to figure out what to do without my Asher around all day.

One more month.

just to be with you

2011-06-22T07:29:00.000-05:00

Kids had been crying, the kitchen took forever to clean up and a then a trip to the store when I just wanted to sit down and rest.

And then I turned the radio on.

Third Day sang a song I used to listen to over and over and over in those days pre-kids and pre-Walter when I could close my eyes and enjoy music with the lights off.

The verses describe how Jesus did so much, more than any human lover could to love me, to be with me. The chorus says phrases I remember in whatever order they may actually have been sung.

"Just to be with you I'd do anything...There's no price I would not pay..."

And the final verse and chorus describe how "Just to be with you, I've done everything. I gave my life away...just to be with you...Just to be with You."

That love song I needed to hear more than any sweet words even Walter could have spoken. I could almost swear there was a rainbow in the sky as I drove past Veterans Parkway. Maybe there was or wasn't one there - either way I'm sure God put the colors there just for me. Just to remind ME that He has done everything to show love to me - to me.

I let go of deep breaths, realized that even for the few minutes of that song Asa had stopped crying and I had been wooed back to confidence that I am loved.

Too late?

2011-06-21T16:29:00.000-05:00

Am I too late for Father's Day?

I know two days have passed and the Happy Daddy's day cookies are half price at the grocery store, but I still need to talk about my husband.

He's the guy who turns the camera to take proud pictures of himself holding the babies.

Walter is the daddy who plays and plays in the water, in the mud, he just plays.

Asher will tell you Daddy plays "Hares Hare" with him, takes him camping, and makes the coolest things out of Legos.

When Walter asked me to come to his birthday "party" that turned out to be a double date nine years ago, I didn't imagine he would be my partner in raising three children. I was more interested in his sparkling blue eyes and the way he always made me laugh rather than wondering if he would play with kids while insisting I take time for myself.

There are many things that topped my list of "must haves" in a guy I'd marry and although I wanted someone who would be a good dad, that quality didn't make the top of my list. It's one of those things he couldn't possibly show me until he could show me and now he shows me every day.

I know it's a little late, but you just have to know. My kids have an incredible daddy!

Indulge today!

2011-06-14T06:26:00.000-05:00

Indulgences are much better when shared. It doesn't matter if it's an iced skim decaf caramel latte or a pacifier, we're all looking for someone to join us in celebrating life.

Here's to a day of celebrating the little things of life together!

Go away!

2011-06-09T15:32:00.000-05:00

Maybe this blog post will be the one that gets posted. Even though I'm typing with Asa on my lap and fingers that hardly remember where to find letters, I hope these words get recorded.

Do you ever have days, weeks, months, and even years when guilt is your best friend? She seems to have latched on to me recently and only lets go for brief moments when I've lost myself in idyllic places like the park on Playday.

Guilt for not holding Asa enough.
Guilt for holding him too much without paying attention to other kids.
Guilt for not blogging.
Guilt for not writing my article.
Guilt for indulging in Panera takeout for lunch.

And now guilt for laying a squirmy sweetie down for a nap so I have a few quiet minutes in the house.

I know I've written about mommy guilt before, but she's back and I need new inspiration to fight the mental battle. She has dug roots in deep and it appears I need to examine them more closely to keep her out of my life.

These roots could be fear. I'm afraid my kids will grow up to feel neglected because I missed doing something for them.

Or maybe I worry too much about those same things I fear.

Lack of trust is always an issue

Today I wonder if this nagging voice of guilt telling me I'm doing the wrong thing at the wrong time is even more sophisticated than I thought. She seems to be working on a plot to keep me from a free mind. A mind that delights in the peace that should permeate my life right now.

Oh guilt, my unwanted friend, please leave my mind. You are an unwanted thief who steals my contentment away. There is no place for you.

Giver of all peace, please fill the empty guilt spot with perfect peaceful confidence in Your divine control.

No sadness

2011-05-20T15:18:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow marks Asa's fourth week of life in this big crazy world.

Amelie insists on trying to put her own shoes on and constantly requests mommy and daddy to leave her to do things on her own.

We watched Asher walk the steps of his first graduation, preschool though it may be.

And I don't want to be sad about any of it.

My first impulse is to lament everything we do these days because it is (most likely) the last time we will do newborn things. You know, the last time to hear a baby's first cries, the last time to announce a baby's name, the last time to dress a baby in his going home clothes, everything has a "last."

Every event, every child, every moment is a last in some ways.

But (again I thank Ann Voskamp for figuring out the words for the feelings I'm wanting to capture) I don't want to be sad about any of it. I don't want to hold on for too long to a preschooler who so belongs in kindergarten. Or to an independent girl who is getting so good at being grown-up.

The time comes to let the season pass into the next and so as Asa moves into his second month of life, I kiss the teeny tiny newborn diapers goodbye and look with eagerness to the next stage without sadness and lingering for too long.

This day, this moment, I've captured in my mental memory and won't be sad about any of it.

If I held you more

2011-05-08T09:52:00.000-05:00

For the past two weeks, I haven't done much of anything besides sit and hold a newborn baby.

I feel guilty about the dirty floors, bedtime routines Walter has done on his own, and my general disregard for the way the rest of the world keeps ticking ahead. Each morning, I vow to stick with my to do list and find something tangible to accomplish.

But then I hold Asa for just a little longer. A little longer turns into a lot longer and a lot longer turns into an entire morning.

He has the same hypnotic eyes of each of my babies. They blink at me all blue and adorable while lulling me into a trance of not being able to look away. I want those moments of snuggling to last and last. Even then, in my exhausted trance while I hold a swaddled wrinkly body, my thoughts leap ahead to when this dependent one while drive away from home and walk down the aisle to pledge closer allegiance to someone besides daddy and me.

I know these days will not last. My moments to cuddle and hold aren't very long. Ann Voskamp's words identified my subconscious thoughts when she asked about her own maturing son, "would it have all slowed down if I held you more?"

"It all goes so fast" is the constant mantra of older mothers and I've seen it myself in a growing five year old. I beam with pride watching his success but my mind always flicks back to the precious first days when the crazy bustling world didn't matter and I simply held him.

These days with Asa, I'm sitting, dreaming, soaking in the smell of newborn skin and hoping that it will all slow down if I hold him more.

Happy Mothers Day.
I pray you too take time today to sit. hold. and slow it down.

Mother duck

2011-05-04T09:49:00.000-05:00

Oh Mother duck with your five freshly hatched ducklings, why did you want to cross the busy road to the corporate parking lot?

Were you desperate to find water for them?

Did you know they couldn't survive in the open grassy field of the hospital?

What instinct caused you to lead tiny babies into such danger?

Why is my hormonal mother's mind so reflective on a mommy duck with her ducklings?

Walter turned on the hazards and jumped out of the van to scare the brave duck back into the grass, but really how long would it be until she attempted to cross the busy street again?

These days while my activities consist of simply sitting and bonding with a fresh new baby in my arms, I can't help but think of moms who don't get to sit all day cuddling and caring for their babies. Yes, I do want to go up and down the stairs more than once a day.
Yes, I can't wait to be ok'ed to drive again.
Yes, I'm excited for the time when I can exercise this extra weight away.

But I am thankful for peace in my home.
A caretaking husband who although a bit harsh at times, forces me to fully recover.
Family who does the daily things that need to be done.

Oh mother duck, with your little babies forced to waddle to safety just hours after being born, I don't envy you. Instincts you have, but loving support you need!

Welcome Asa William!

2011-04-28T12:05:00.000-05:00

Asa arrived April 23 at 5:18 am. Another perfect gift.

So amazed to have experienced another life's first cries.

Don't skip it!

2011-04-22T06:43:00.000-05:00

It's Good Friday.

Not good for the physical act of Jesus' crucifixion, but Good because we remember the greatest love ever shown to the world.

In my corner of the world, thunder rolls this morning and the sun is no where on the horizon. It's gray windy and I want to go back to bed. Considering the weather, I would rather just skip today.

But, this is a day not to be skipped over. Without this day, the day of recognizing Jesus' death, there is no hope for a better day.

Without the gray we can't appreciate or even recognize the light.

Yes, the light is coming but first we must walk through the gray of today.

"For every sin on Him was laid, Here in the death of Christ, I live."

It could be today

2011-04-20T06:27:00.000-05:00

Every Friday morning for years, I heard a fellow leader of my Bible study group encourage us that, "It could be today." For her, the hope she thought of every morning was the return of Jesus to complete work of restoration He initiated on the cross.

As I sit here with swollen ankles and an exploding belly, "It could be today" means this might be the day we get to meet the one wriggling around inside of me.

For the ones who lived before Jesus was born, "It could be today" filled believers with hope that each sunrise brought the possibility for the return of Messiah. The one who would bring light back into the world.

And one day he did come. It was a today. There was a day when angels shouted this is the day! God with us has entered the world and the plan for bringing people back into relationship with him is set one step further into motion.

Thirty three years later, the day came when it was "today" again. The day when love and grace mingled themselves in perfection and Jesus paid our sacrifice on the cross. The most important "today" in all of history.

That today of thousands of years ago is the one we celebrate this week. And it is the today that all of my hopes hang on.

Even as I hopefully look forward to the approaching time when I get to look into the face of the one who saved me, in my own little world, I hopefully look forward to the imminent day when I hear a newborn's cries.

It could be today!

Help Mommy

2011-04-14T06:39:00.000-05:00

Amelie tells me a hundred times a day that she wants to "Help Mommy."

Sometimes I can make this work to my advantage. Last night at bedtime I convinced her it would "help mommy" if she carried something up the stairs for me rather than continue to play with the toy that kept her from wanting to get ready for bed.

Score! Cleaning supplies got carried upstairs and bedtime progressed.

Other times, her "help" totally complicates any work I've done rather than contributing at all to completing a task. The most obvious of these times is when she closes herself in the bathroom with me and stands next to my legs declaring she is going to "help mommy."

But I've been reminded to love her heart motive even though her help usually creates more work.

And my heart has been pricked over who I am "helping," or could it be hindering?

I want to help God do good, not believing doing good things will save me, but simply because I want to be lined up with His purposes and do things for Him. Sometimes I ask what it is that I can do to most bring Him honor. But most times, I push ahead doing what I think will be helpful only later to find out I kind of messed things up.

Whether through immaturity or impulsive actions, my words, as one example, can do a whole lot of unhelp in someones heart that He has been carefully working on when I don't first ask Him how I can help.

My unskilled help, when not connected to His plans can quickly undo His work and leave my attempts just as unhelpful as Amelie's declarations to "help" me. Still I find He gives me opportunities to help. I haven't been pushed away or banned from trying to help Him.

Rather I feel reminders to slow down, reconnect with Him and become realigned with His plans.

Today I do want to be helpful and when Amelie asks to "Help Mommy," I plan to ask how I can "Help God."

One Decision

2011-04-11T06:37:00.000-05:00

What addictions are you fighting today?

Are you sitting at your computer reading blogs, checking email, or shopping when you really wanted to be folding the clothes that just finished in the dryer? And did you just tell your 2 year old that you would read her a book "in a minute" for the twelfth time?

This is the addiction I face. Too many times "just checking" one more thing - facebook, reading one more blog post, finding a great deal on kid's pajamas and my free time is eaten away.

When I heard about the book, "The Soft Addiction Solution," I immediately knew what my soft addiction is and that it needed to stop. Obviously I haven't completely banned myself from the internet, but reading the book and coming up with a vision of what I do want my life to look like has made me think twice before heading to "just one more" online place.

You can read more about making your One Decision in the Hearts at Home column this week.

Eat food!

2011-04-07T06:32:00.000-05:00

"Asher, Don't eat toilet paper when you have food on your plate."

Because really once the food is gone, eating toilet paper is a perfectly good option? (please catch the sarcasm dripping off that sentence.)

Yet again, words flew out of our mouths that really don't belong together. Our boy rarely eats his dinner, but I often find myself telling him to stop eating leaves when we're outside or to keep the paper out of his mouth during quiet time.

I've gone the route of trying kid-friendly food all of the time and it hasn't worked. Pizza must have pepperoni only and be exactly the kind he's used to seeing without any sauce visible or stringy cheese parts hanging off the edge. Chicken nuggets are fine, as long as I only make him eat two. Hamburgers - good - but not too thick, or on a bun, hold the toppings.

And so we settle for suppers of a few mousey bites of regular adult food without kid-friendly amendments. As we eat, the battle rages for our child to eat what's been served rather than the extra toilet paper he sneaked back to the table after a trip to blow his nose.

Lovely. (and now you know why we use cloth napkins in this house!)

The little ones

2011-04-04T07:05:00.000-05:00

Most of my prayers are for big things.
I ask God to continue to bless us with good health, spiritual growth, provision for food, home, clothing. These general prayers He answers and I'm grateful for the ways I know we are supernaturally provided for.
I know He regularly performs huge miracles and there is no request too big for Him to answer.

He has changed the outcome of wars, turned hearts of stone cold leaders, and rescued entire people groups. Still, it is the little specific prayers that build my faith on a daily basis. Whether it's asking for help in finding a dropped contact, bringing a friend into my path at the right moment, or providing the perfect opportunity just when I need it, I am blown away when my small prayers get answered.

Last week, I lost my calendar.

Not just a book of dates and times, but the place where I store lists, invitations, reminders, all the basics to keep our family on track. My first inclination was to immediately order a new calendar so I could get to work recording the things I could still remember.

But God prompted me to pray and wait. I prayed on Wednesday that He would help me find the calendar by Monday or I would order a new one. My commitment to this request was tested several times. I went ahead and spent time finding the website to order an exact replacement calendar from. And during our weekend trip to Barnes & Noble, I resisted the temptation to just go ahead and use my coupon to buy a new one.

I waited and God provided Sunday morning. Through a series of thoughts that He led me on, I went to a spot to check. It was a completely random spot I never would have searched in a million years on my own.

And there lay the small but familiar red leather book!

I immediately felt relief as that nagging feeling of life being out of order lifted and I knew God answered my little prayer once again! He felt tangible, real, and I am reminded of my need for Him. I rarely tell anyone about the little ways He has worked in my life.

You could call these coincidences, fate, or just the way life works out, but I will refuse to label these as anything other than God's direct intervention into one small life.

This spot

2011-03-28T06:34:00.004-05:00

Mommy, I want to make a sign for this spot that is not normal.

I answered in my "not really paying attention mode" with Ok, that sounds great.

So Mom, how do you spell, "Dad ironed on this spot of the carpet?"

That question snapped me back to attention and we set to work.

Amelie, our budding artist who just this weekend scribbled on the walls of our favorite coffee shop, took a crayon and left her big blue mark on the middle of our family room floor several weeks ago.

Walter immediately set to work trying to figure out how to get crayon out of carpet. I suggested ironing and several internet sites did as well. So, he heated the iron and rubbed it, on top of a paper bag, over the crayon spot.

We removed the paper bag hoping to see the miraculous blue streak disappeared only to discover melted rough ugly spot in the middle of the floor! I'm thinking the rules for taking crayon out of Berber carpet differ from regular carpet.

And so the spot sits in the middle of the floor daily reminding us of that awful moment when we damaged our new home with a well-intentioned try to fix it.

Asher regularly points out and talks about the spot and now he has decided to simply leave a sign over it so everyone will know that Daddy made a spot on the floor.

Nothing like having a flaw pointed out.

Kids are good for that. Amelie often points out peeling skin on my lips as an "owie." Asher tells me that I really should go running more regularly. And he frantically reminds me to keep watching what I am cooking on the stove because he doesn't want the smoke alarm to go off (again?).

I'm thanking God today that He has forgiven and forgotten my flaws! He knows the mistake spots in my life. Those in the middle of the floor that everyone else knows about and the hidden ones that no one knows.

Even though He knows every time my mind judges, criticizes, or feels selfish, there are no signs hanging around my neck saying, "Angie judged that lady with 5 boxes of Fruity Pebbles and 3 packages of donut holes in her cart."

He knows those thoughts and has paid the price to forgive them.

And my spots are gone!

Handling anger

2011-03-23T06:32:00.002-05:00

The anger scale Asher developed last fall has thankfully gone by the wayside. Although his temper can rise quickly, he has either learned how to label his feelings differently or is better able to calm himself down when his blood starts to boil.

I don't take a lot of credit for that other than to point to my intense prayers asking for divine intervention!

Even though I can't claim to have used all of the techniques I listed, my most recent Hearts at Home column lists several ideas of ways to teach children how to manage their anger.

Just thought I would share the ideas here because truthfully, these calming methods work just as well for adults as they do for kids.

Two

2011-03-18T06:08:00.006-05:00

Tomorrow Amelie turns two!

She is not a baby. Too big to be a toddler. A preschooler? Definitely not yet. I don't know what label to put on her, but I can tell you who my two year old is. She is

A cuddler who can quickly detect female arms willing to hold a little girl.

A "hide/seek" player who decides anything not easily spotted is playing hide and seek with her.

Attracted to all things pink and one who talks endlessly of her anticipated pink puppy cake.

Edging me off the chair at this very moment because she just needs to sit so close.

A risk taker who never hesitates to follow whatever Asher does.

An accesorizer who has more sense of when to wear a scarf, carry a bag, or wear pretty pink shoes than her mommy does. She even succeeds at getting daddy to wear a scarf whenever she suggests.

Two is a big year. She will do so many new things this year. I'm excited for Amelie to

go to school one day a week

become potty trained (can this magically happen somehow?)

become a big sister

let go of that pacifier

expand her vocabulary

These days I look at this girl I love thinking about how her world will soon be rocked upside down with the arrival of a new baby. It makes me sad to think my sweet one who just wants to be held will have to be more grown up and independent. She has been my clear answer to prayers and a constant reminder of Hope.

There might not be much room on my lap anymore, but my arms will always be ready for my precious two year old, Amelie.

Pamper me

2011-03-16T06:02:00.003-05:00

We are completely out of diapers in Amelie's size!

I don't know how the diaper supply ran so low without me noticing, and thankfully our Amazon subscribe & save shipment should arrive today, but until then I hope the much smaller sized diapers I've been accumulating for Baby will fit her - or there's always the swimmie diaper option.

This never would have happened my first time around as a mom, and if it had, I would have made an emergency trip to the store last night when I realized the problem we would face this morning.

The first time around, I knew everything about mothering! I spent hours scouring BabyCenter's web site for information on all the trendiest gear and searching for up to the minute lists of what foods are safe for a pregnant woman to eat. Walter regularly listened to my stomach, fascinated that he could hear a heartbeat through skin and, well more skin.

Honestly, I lived that pregnancy to the fullest - squeezing out every bit of compassion people had for pregnant women. I had showers, my coworkers held a guess the baby details contest, I documented my weight gain once a week and we have weekly pictures of my belly's growth.

Suddenly I'm realizing I'm almost done with this, our probably last pregnancy, and I've missed out on all that extra love!

Rather than the cute little pregnant woman, I'm the one who waddles through the parking lot balancing one on my huge belly while holding the hand of a bouncing five year old on the other side. This time around, I get those looks and even words reminding me that I'm "going to have my hands full." Even though I think they secretly wonder what I was thinking!?

And so, I'm bringing a question to you, my friends, who have either received or given pregnancy pampering. What is the best way to take full advantage of a pregnancy?

I have six weeks left and I need to enjoy this for all it's worth. I want to fill these weeks with things like sending my husband out to find something to satisfy my late night cravings, or have him paint my toenails, or plead pregnancy brain as an excuse to cover up forgetting things like having enough diapers on hand for my two year old. You know, those normally selfish things that suddenly get written off as being excusable because of the extra person being carried around.

Help! What are the best things you've enjoyed about being pregnant?

Renew, Refresh, Restore

2011-03-14T06:33:00.002-05:00

Renew, Refresh, Restore

God heard these three words repeated from my lips in quick succession when I walked through a hard eighteen months.

The days needed extra help and I counted minutes until each bedtime when I could lie in bed. While I rested in a comfy hideaway, God melted my heaviness to deep sleep. As I waited for the change to come, I asked Him to allow me to see the breaking of the dawn soon.

I couldn't wait to see the time when light would shine into my days again and the promises He had whispered would be liveable realities. Fernando sang to me about Grace and Peace and I knew only through God's grace and matchless peace would my life feel renewed, refreshed, and restored.

Renewed. Refreshed, and Restored.

Three years later, those sufferings still sting, but the constant heaviness is gone. Emotions of abandonment and desperation gave way to security and peace.

That time of suffering has been washed over with waves and waves of refreshing goodness.

The time I thought was lost has been redeemed with restorative moments. Restored through a little girl and all her sweet cuddles and soon through a squishy kicky one I will meet face to face.

Yes, the suffering lasted much longer than just those 18 months and I refuse even now to declare it officially over, because it isn't and never really will be over and complete.

But when my three R words came to mind today, I praised God because the work is being accomplished.

Renewal, Refreshment, Restoration.

Wait for it. It will come.

Free!

2011-03-08T06:05:00.002-06:00

Grandpa is free!

Free from a worn out body, a mind that blocked connections from being made, and free from an existence that Harvey never would have chosen.

Yesterday morning, he broke away and met Jesus. Today he exists more alive than ever.

He can run, remember people, hold conversations, and worship God who never left him for a moment.

Isaiah recorded God's promises of this, "Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he. I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you.; I will sustain you and I will rescue you." (46:4)

God rescued Grandpa from a horrible trap that felt painful to watch.

And today I'm remembering him not as the distant man stuck in a wheelchair, but as the farmer who loved to collect. The one who could fix everything and had the odd supply ready out in one of those barns. As the electrician he spent hours installing wiring in the house I grew up in. He was the Grandpa who cut the corn off hundreds of cobs on the annual corn freezing days.

I think of times out in the field on a tractor, combine, or driving a wagon around the farm. When the work was done and he and Grandma came to town to celebrate our birthdays, Grandpa never turned down an ice cream sundae at the Old Country Buffet.

I share my love for angel food cake with strawberries with Grandpa but I doubt I'll ever convert to the instant coffee he didn't mind drinking. Mom kept it in the back of the cupboard especially for Grandpa to drink before they drove the 45 minutes back home.

My Grandpa, the one who wiggled his ears knowing it would make all of his grandchildren smile.

He is free today!

Five

2011-03-02T06:11:00.009-06:00

My boy is five today!

One full hand of fingers. No longer a baby, not a toddler, and now not even a preschooler. He's five. Five year olds do so many things.

They

go to Kindergarten,

learn how to read,

lose teeth,

figure out how to ride a bike,

learn how to win and lose.

He doesn't need to be swaddled, burped, fed, or pushed in a stroller.

But he does still

need hugs,

cry in frustration,

hear noises in the dark,

want someone to lay with him while he falls asleep.

He's still my boy.

The one I waited for

Who looks exactly like his daddy

With the wild imagination

He's my Asher, the boy I love.

Letting go

2011-03-01T06:16:00.003-06:00

We've made the plunge. Today I will drive to Bible Study as many other moms ---- in my very own sleek and silver mini-van!

I'm excited to talk on the phone hands-free. I'm anxious for Asher to be able to buckle himself into the car. The handy kid-viewing mirror means I won't have to adjust, readjust, and adjust my mirror to make sure little hands are being kept to themselves. Best of all, one more item got checked off the "to do before baby comes" list.

But last night, we left behind Walter's single man car. The one he drove when he picked me up for our first date, and the one where he always held my hand while driving. That car we popped balloons in and scrubbed away the words "Just Married" from.

So I'm a little sentimental. I hold on to inanimate objects as if they have feelings and will miss me too. Last year letting go of our house led me to constant reflection. This year, it's the letting go of a car and acquiring a minivan.

My house and car didn't have arms to reach out and hug me one last time. Or warm faces to place a last kiss on but there are people who do and I guess that's where this post is heading, naturally yet unplanned.

That last goodbye is never easy. Words don't naturally come - there's too much and yet nothing more to say. Memories have been made and the last goodbye in a parking lot, a busy street, a hospital room will not be the memory I love the most. By then it's too late. Too late for one last meaningful conversation or shared experience. At that moment of letting go, it's time for simplicity.

A simple goodbye, a final kiss, one last look.

A good day

2011-02-25T06:05:00.004-06:00

Yesterday was a good day!

After I just wrote this in my journal, I paused to remember why my gut told me the day was good. I remembered events of the day, and saw myself in Amelie's room holding back tears while she refused a diaper change and Asher sulked in his room.

The more I remembered what happened throughout the morning, I realized, it wasn't really a good day at all. In fact, I disappeared from the sight of kids for more than a minute and overheard this conversation:

Asher: "I think Mommy left us by ourselves."
Amelie: "Daddy?"
Asher: "No, Daddy doesn't take care of us. I'm not sure, but I'd like to stay by myself without an adult taking care of us."

In reality, I sat at the computer just on the other side of the wall but realized I hadn't endeared myself to them all that much if Asher felt ready to take on the world by himself! (I will qualify that Daddy does in fact take very good care of the kids. This was more a statement that Mommy is the one usually at home with them.)

After the morning of cleaning the playroom and dragging them to the grocery store, we had an afternoon of more crying child with constipation and energetic boy looking for places to exert energy.

And yet my first thought of the day is that it was fun.

Maybe the crazy events of the day were replaced by a successful trip to the library. Or because I ended the day sipping coffee with a friend and then recapping life with my husband.

Whatever erased the bad parts, I'm thankful for it.
This must be the same drug that makes women want to have multiple pregnancies and labor/deliveries.
It must be the same substance that transforms even the most difficult to handle child into an angel when they're sleeping.
I'm sure this is the chemical that connects me to my two year old moments after she gets sick for the ninth time in two hours.

Whatever this magic dust is, I'm thankful it gets sprinkled over my memories so I look back and wonder why I didn't treasure the moment more at the time.

Experience tells me today won't be sugar coated in its moments, but I'm betting I'll say again tomorrow - it was a good day.

Goodbye Borders

2011-02-21T06:19:00.002-06:00

Fluorescent yellow "Store Closing" signs drape the front of my local Borders and I am sad.

I stopped by to see for myself the progress of Borders eliminating its local inventory and couldn't even find a place to park. Cars filled those extra empty spaces along the edges of the parking lot and people flocked into the building. I passed the man holding a big sign notifying traffic of the giant sale going on and felt a twinge of something that surprised me.

Was that sadness weighing my steps down?
Where did that come from?
It's just a store - and a chain store at that!

But still I wanted the strange people who were only there for a bargain to leave! Where were they when the store desperately needed more book buyers to keep the doors open? Why do they show up now just to get a good deal?

Ok, so I'm quite a loyalist to my stores, and when it comes to books and my favorite stores, that loyalty is sunk deep - deeper than I realized.

I soon left without purchasing anything.
Mainly because the length of the line was insane.
Also because the discount of 20% off was less than what I usually got with a coupon.
And somewhat because I didn't like watching the desperate pawing through merchandise that happens when bargain hunters catch a good trail.

As I backed out of the parking lot, my heart hung heavy. I lament the closing of one of my favorite places to escape. We still have our Barnes & Noble. We have a local favorite used bookstore. But the symbolic rejection of a bookstore feels deeper than a store that no longer sells merchandise. I join the others in questioning the future of books and feel bad that I often do look for the cheapest option and buy books on Amazon.

The Borders cafe is closed, the small children's tables and chairs are filled with discounted books, but I will visit again to say goodbye. If you see my eyes filled with tears, just ignore me I'm saying goodbye to books - my place of escape.

Lizard friend

2011-02-18T06:19:00.010-06:00

During Brazilian church services, lizards entertained me while they scampered around the walls - when I was 6.

Floridian lizards fascinated me when we vacationed as a family - when I was 9.

St. Lucian lizards climbed up my new husband's arm yet I remained calm enough to snap a picture - when I was 26.

Another Floridian lizard sat in my son's carseat and I FREAKED out - when I was 34.

What happened in the meantime to change me from one who befriends lizards to one who panicked at the sight of them?

I became a mom.

A practical mom who worries about lizards crawling on her children while we're driving down the road.

One who imagines reaching into a toybag for puppy friend only to find scaly moving friend instead.

This transformation into overprotective, safety loving, lizard fearing person began during my first pregnancy and Walter claims it's gotten worse as more kids are involved and especially when pregnancy hormones are in full swing.

But this time I know I'm justified.

Our lizard friend found his way into our car and perched himself in a sunbeam on Asher's carseat. The seat where my beautiful boy sits his sweet behind. The discovery happened while my husband, who (thankfully) has not transformed into overprotective, safety loving, lizard fearing dad) filled up his drink inside the restaurant.

Walter's absence left a pasty white, large bellied Midwest tourist in a parking lot with two lovely children. No one moved or breathed so lizard friend would not be frightened away from his sunbeam into the secret places of the car never to be seen again until at some future moment he found his way onto my shoulder.

When my adrenaline almost reached a tipping point, Walter did return, put on his superhero cape (after taking a picture of course) and rescued his family from a lizard trapped inside a minivan.

Well, we thought we were rescued until we arrived at our next destination 30 minutes later opened Amelie's stroller only to discover our lizard friend was not just an expert at breaking into locked vehicles, but a stowaway as well.

And so we said goodbye to lizard friend and mommy tried to keep her overprotective self in check for the rest of the trip. Really he did give us a good story, right?

Flamingos, stingrays and lizards

2011-02-15T06:00:00.016-06:00

Oh Anna Maria, I miss you already. Time to read and knit for hours. Those sunrises that called my husband out of bed.

Amelie's favorite pink shell that she carried tightly gripped in her fist.
Bunk beds where Asher allowed his sister to come play!

Sandcastles that turned into Sand Faces

Crab sandwiches with legs and pinchers.

Bundling on the beach praying the sun would reemerge one more time before setting.
Flamingos nibbling from outstretched hands.
But Lizards and stingrays - you can stay in your place and I'm happy your place is 20 hours from mine.

The right thing

2011-01-31T06:16:00.002-06:00

Do you ever feel like doing the right thing takes way more effort than it should?

My Jeep hit a "No parking" sign two weeks ago on a night when it was way too icy for any sane person to be out on the roads. The sign didn't get knocked to the ground, but wasn't standing up right anymore. No big deal, right? If I had a hammer and ladder, I could have gone out and straightened the sign myself. Really, it wasn't that bad! But the insurance adjuster insisted I needed to file a police report because I was liable for damage to the sign.

At the police station, I waited for an interesting hour to provide information about my crime of hitting a sign. While there, I listened to stories of reasons other people come to the police station and smiled over my situation of being there to report an injured sign.

Much effort to do a good thing.

Then at Borders, I developed a funny friendship with one of the salespeople when she tried to charge me 80% off a regularly priced item and eventually slipped it in my bag without charging me for it at all. At a stoplight while I waited to go pick up our Sunday evening pizza, I checked the receipt and realized she had given me the puzzle for free. Agh!

I really didn't want to steal a wooden doll puzzle! I had a 33% off coupon and Borders rewards, but intended to pay what I owed.

Doing a good thing meant our pizza got cold, a trip back into the store, and $10 coming out of my wallet.

Again, much effort to do a good thing, and I wondered why it's so hard to do what is right.

Then last night, I read this verse: "...If you suffer for doing good and you endure it, this is commendable before God. To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example that you should follow in His steps. " (1 Peter 2:20-21)

I hardly count my waiting at the police station and a trip back to Borders suffering, but I'm reminded that doing the good thing isn't going to be easy. The world, as beautiful as it is, has a bent towards sin and the bad. Trying to bend it back towards the good does take effort and sometimes requires going out of my way.

But it is the example of Jesus, and the one I want to follow.

Land Mines

2011-01-17T06:27:00.007-06:00

This picture is not posted to show how messy Asher's room. is. And it's not a display of his favorite toys that he spends hours playing with. This is the battlefield of his room that I walk through to get to his bed.

Those aren't castles, pirate islands, and knight lookouts. Those are landmines! If you could look closely, you would see each knight and pirate is looking a specific direction. They are holding weapons and wearing helmets and if you gave Asher a pop quiz, he could instantly tell you that the wolf knight is wearing a helmet with antlers, carrying a dagger and sword while the lion knight has a feather in his helmet and mace in his hand.

As my belly gets larger and my balance gets worse, I fear going to sit on Asher's bed to read him a story or to give him a goodnight kiss. The fear is that I might accidentally knock over one of those knights and set off a battle over where I should put him back. We had such a battle the other day:

Asher: "Mom, did you knock over a pirate?"

Me: "Yes, I'm sorry my foot brushed against him."

Asher:"Please put him back on the island."

(This drama now includes 5 minutes of me stepping cautiously around the rest of the carefully placed knights and pirates trying to figure out where the 'island' is)

Asher: "No, mom, that's not the island."

Asher: "Agh, mom that is not the island."

Asher (through gritted irritated teeth): "Mom, put him on the island."

Me: "Oh, you mean the dock?" replacing the pirate to the correct perfect location.

Asher: "Yes, the island. You should be more careful when you walk in my room."

I regularly accidentally knock over something, a ladder, a tiny bird, one of the dinosaurs who can't stand very well on carpet, but Asher will wake out of a sound sleep the second he hears that quiet noise of something tiny falling onto carpet.

"Mom! Did you knock over one of my knights!?"
"No sweetie, I twisted my ankle and bruised my cheek, but the knights are just fine."

People first

2011-01-10T06:16:00.003-06:00

Do you have a "to do" list for today?

I do. It's not even 6:30 in the morning, and I've added five more things to the outstanding list from yesterday.

As I look over the tasks I want to complete;

laundry
pay bills
put away piles of papers
enter commitments on calendar
call the eye dr.

I don't see anything about a person.

Absolutely that laundry will make sure my family has clothes to wear, we will continue to have electricity and water and heat if I pay the bills and our calendar ensures we get where we need to be. The focus of the list is to clean and organize.

This morning, I read God's words in Zechariah saying, "You're interested in religion. I'm interested in people." And as I looked at my list, I have to agree that yes, this list of things I want to do today clearly shows I'm interested in getting things done. In fact, I didn't have it on my list but mentally I just checked "quiet time" off my list subconsciously checking "being a Christian" off of my list of things to do today.

This verse and my time with Asher last night are reminding me that this completed check list is not what God is wanting from me.

Last night, Asher found me reading a book I had picked up hoping to make progress in since I've been stuck on it for way too long. He quietly came beside me and I heard,
"Mommy I want to spend time with you."
"Will you come upstairs and be with me."

Of course I set that book down quickly and agreed to be with my boy. He wanted to snuggle with me into the sleeping bag we still had set up on the floor in our extra bedroom and zip it all the way up. We looked at a magazine with knight figurines he dreams of owning, looked through the Sir Hugo book and talked about going to school tomorrow.

My pregnant belly squished underneath me and I wondered if I would be able to breathe much longer, but the time was absolutely worth it.

Time in a sleeping bag with my son wasn't on the list of things to do last night, but no doubt I made the right choice.

And God reaffirmed this morning that choosing people over ritual is always His best.

2011 story of quiet purpose

2011-01-06T06:12:00.003-06:00

The list of what I want to do in 2011 is longer than I can neatly package in a paragraph story, but the highlights can be summarized with the following...

At the end of next year, I want to find myself waking early to spend quiet moments alone. Quiet moments alone and newborn baby don't naturally fit into the same year, and this is why I'm setting the importance of my space before it gets invaded again.

Journals filled with daily writings will stack in my bedroom along with titles of writing books I have read. Prayer journals will contain purposeful petitions for the heart change of my easily angered boy and my girl who needs to begin receiving discipline. Continued prayers for my husband as we again prepare to embark on two study seasons I hope to live with much less complaining as I pursue love rather than endurance.

There isn't as much on my list to physically do this year. I look at my empty bookshelves and should add decorate and personalize but I've caught a phobia of clutter and too much stuff! Maybe I will attempt to avoid bringing into my house anything I'm not absolutely in love with.

My one practicality among this year of quiet writing and prayer is to transform those weed boxes behind our house into garden boxes. Because planting time falls smack in t he middle of baby and study time this challenge is magnified even greater than my gardening inexperience alone.

And so that's it. Not short and sweet, more rambling and drawn-out. A year of reflection and preparation. This time maybe not through action, but certainly with purpose.

Story of 2010

2011-01-03T06:12:00.002-06:00

I still hate New Years resolutions. Ok, hate is a strong word. But I strongly dislike the band wagon of making promises that will soon be forgotten. Every year I fight the desire to make lists, just because making lists is fun, and the pull towards contemplation over what life ideally could be like.

Until I read Don Miller's challenge to live a good story. Live a good story by planning a good story.

So last January, I wrote the story I wanted to live in 2010, and surprisingly, this story stuck in my mind throughout all of the year. I remembered the details of what I wanted my life to be throughout the year, and the story I lived looks fairly similar to the one I told.

The January 2010 story envisioned

Living in a new house with an open kitchen (check!)
Being published in a place I can physically hold (check! Thanksgiving Tales)
Reading more books (check! Thank you Book Club!)
Intentionally spending date time with Walter (little checks, but still needs work for a big check)
Running a race (umm...thanks to Baby #3, uncheck)

After we moved, my running became more regular, I found a great route and my body started to get into the routine of waking early, lacing up shoes, and pushing itself towards running longer distances...and then the morning sickness began. I know running during pregnancy can be just fine, but with my clumsy feet that trip over every crack and bump in the sidewalk I never trust myself to run while carrying a baby (inside or outside). So this goal was postponed.

The story of 2010 turned out way better than I could have hoped.

Later this week I hope to put together the story I want to live in 2011.

The day after

2010-12-28T06:23:00.002-06:00

What did Mary do the day after?

The day after giving birth to her first-born. The day after she held evidence that the angel's words weren't just a dream. The day after she pulled her post-labor self together when grungy shepherds dropped in unexpectedly. The day after she spent a night with moo-ing and baa-ing mixed with a newborn baby's squeaks.

In my imagination, I see Mary waiting in the stable alone with a tiny baby while Joseph finds a more appropriate place for them to stay. While he searches, she holds baby Jesus so close, smelling His perfect skin, counting those ten fingers and ten toes and dreaming about all that would come with this new person in their family.

Along with the song, I wonder, "Mary did you know?" Did she know this humble beginning would change the world? Did she know we would wonder about her in that moment two thousand years later? Did she have a clue the pain but finally ultimate joy her baby would bring to her and to the world?

What did she do when she found herself alone with the infant Messiah?

What do we do when the preparation is over and Jesus is here?
The day after cooking and baking sprees finally end. The day after completing the last Advent activity. The day after listening to Silent Night one last time for this year.

We put away the tree. Find places for a billion new toys. Put away the Christmas music.

And I search for ways to keep Jesus the focus of my preparations. The reason for celebration, and someone who is even more real and life-changing after his birth than during the anticipation of His coming.

As Mary knew, Christmas Day, Jesus' birth is the beginning of the life-change, not the culmination.

A Christmas Carol

2010-12-23T06:49:00.008-06:00

A Christmas Carol
by Christina Georgina Rossetti

In the bleak mid-winter
Frosty wind made moan,

Earth stood hard as iron,

Water like a stone;

Snow had fallen, snow on snow,

Snow on snow,

In the bleak mid-winter

Long ago.

Our God, heaven cannot hold Him,

Nor earth sustain;

Heaven and earth shall flee away

When He comes to reign:

In the bleak mid-winter

A stable-place sufficed

The Lord God Almighty

Jesus Christ.

Enough for Him whom cherubim
Worship night and day,

A breastful of milk

And a mangerful of hay;

Enough for Him whom angels

Fall down before,

The ox and ass and camel

Which adore.

Angels and archangels

May have gathered there,

Cherubim and seraphim

Thronged the air,

But only His mother

In her maiden bliss

Worshipped the Beloved

With a kiss.

What can I give Him,

Poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd

I would bring a lamb;

If I were a wise man

I would do my part, -

Yet what I can, I give Him,

Give my heart.

December Joy

2010-12-20T06:26:00.006-06:00

This Christmas week, my words are taking a break, and pictures will tell the story of our December.
Enjoy.
Joy found in decorating a gingerbread house (and getting to eat the decorations).

Joy found within a snowfort and of course the snowballs that flew out of here. Joy found in a cozy sweater coat and a good friend who visited for a

weekend.

Joy in this picture will be found many years from now when Amelie sees her desperation. But also much joy is found here because of how far Asher has come from his own years of Santa fear.

Joy found in the simplicity of a slinky.

Wishes of joy for the simple things this week.

Surprise blessing

2010-12-17T06:11:00.002-06:00

I know four days inside doesn't sound like much, but when you add a four, one year old, and pink eyes into the equation, four days equals eternity.

At their worst, Asher's eyes looked like someone dropped red food coloring inside and rubbed it all around. The boy just looks sick. Meaning Mommy can't even take him for a quick grocery store run pretending everything is fine.

And now our sweet girl's eyes are starting to have the same pinkish tint that Asher's started off with.

So we've skipped school, the Christmas program, the Christmas party, the shopping I planned to do, the grocery shopping I must do. And traded that time for books, discovery of Peter Pan, rediscovery of the beloved cow cuckoo clock, and lots of Kleenexes.

As we look at facing yet another day inside, I'm feeling acceptance and relaxation that we don't have to perform our rushed morning routine to get everyone out of the house on time. I haven't had to capture a squirmy girl to get her dressed and presentable to leave the house. No searching for boots, gloves, scarves, backpacks. And I haven't had to frantically grab for a snack for Amelie.

I quickly moved through all of the grieving stages of my outside freedoms and I think we're content with being here.

The tree is lit. Presents are getting wrapped. Lists for when I do get to see the grocery store again are made.

We are cozy and settled in with our pink eyes. And I'm beginning to love the blessing of pink eye.

Low, Campy, Kitschy

2010-12-15T06:30:00.004-06:00

Everyone has creative juices.

Whether we hide them, use them to create sophisticated art, or just do our best with glue and string, we share a common desire to make something beautiful. Not even that we need to create with physical resources to make something out of nothing, but more that we long to improve, organize, direct.

The Christmas season brings out my need to make more than any other. In the past I've spent hours designing and assembling cards. Last year I determined to make everyone on my list something homemade. Even despite my attempts to stop the insanity this year, my creative ideas led me to a late night knitting flowers.

None of my creative attempts are especially good. Often they end up in the trash after one season. But yet there is something that makes me believe I must do it again.

I've wondered if my art is kitschy? Is it campy? Is it low? An artist with an eye for sophistication and true beauty would thumb their nose at my creations and perhaps wonder at the waste of materials and effort.

Even though I acknowledge my artistic inadequacies, the desire to find something else to make hasn't disappeared. And I believe I know where this creative urge comes from.

From the Original Creator Himself.

Not only did he create majesty in the oceans, hilarity in animals, and great abilities in mankind, but instilled within each of us the impulse to do the same.

To create beauty out of brush and paper.
To build skyscrapers with ingenuity.
To put a piece of fabric here and some lights there to make a house a home.

Whether grand to stand for years or flimsy to be thrown away within a few days, creativity moving hands and minds to action links us to our Creator in yet one more way.

And I believe through even our most lopsided attempts, He is glorified in our creations.

The funny moments

2010-12-13T06:21:00.002-06:00

Are you still stressing out like I am?

The peace, that secret I told you about last week is hard to keep. I attempted most of yesterday afternoon to answer just one more question in my Bible study lesson determined not to give up the one thing I know will keep me focused.

But the oven timer beeped, kids woke up from naps, my unfinished knitting projects that need to be done tomorrow sat close to my chair.

The phantom lists still to make and images I have of what I want these next couple of weeks to be and feel like flutter around and add to the clutter of empty Christmas decoration boxes that still need to be put back away.

But yet I took an impromptu roadtrip Saturday night with my brother and even on Monday morning, I'm not regretting that unplanned night which jumped into my carefully planned December.

The night represents exactly what I meant in the Funny Moments article I wrote for yesterday's newspaper column.

Slipping and sliding down I-74 with Sam. Spontaneous Steak 'n Shake with both siblings.

One of those unexpected memories I will keep long after the one of unfinished Oreo Truffles fades away.

A funeral

2010-12-09T06:26:00.002-06:00

Achieving the Great American Dream takes admirable virtues that I've always prided myself on having in full. These very characteristics give us reason to celebrate every July when we remember our founding fathers bursting with independence, initiative, self-assertion. Everything it takes to start a country from nothing and wrestle away from one of the mightiest powers of the day.

Without their commitment to an ultimate goal, they would have given up and forgotten about the dream of freedom to rule themselves and not be forced to submit to someone who didn't understand, or care, about life in this new world.

It's no surprise that American school children, myself included, grow up with the same vision. A dream to be in charge of ourselves. To make a way and rise to the top of whatever we set out to do. To accomplish, achieve, carry dependence to no one but find within ourselves the ability to provide in any situation.

And then I read today from someone who challenges me every time I read his writing,

"Beware of refusing to go to the funeral of your own independence." Oswald Chambers

While everything within the natural me wants to become self-sufficient, self-providing, self-reliant, God wants me to enter into a battle of giving up all of the rights I have to become self-anything. Virtues that I use to create my own Angie world aren't useful to Him and in fact take away from ways I could be used by Him.

And I'm wondering why it was good when the earliest Americans struggled so hard to become free and why it's not good when I work hard to become free?

The difference?

It lies in who freedom is being desired from.

Freedom from a King who taxed and imposed strict rules without understanding is completely different from pursuing freedom from God who loves, sacrifices, and intimately understands everything I face today.

I certainly don't enjoy attending funerals and would never seek out opportunities to go to one. But for this one, of my independence, I hope to have the courage to attend.

Spiritual sanity

2010-12-06T06:28:00.004-06:00

Shhh....I have the secret you've been looking for! It's the one guranteed to keep your Christmas season sane!

No, it's not getting your Christmas shopping done early.

Not baking ahead of time to fill up the freezer.

Not cutting the tradition of sending Christmas cards.

Not even reading time-saving secrets on blogs! (but of course please finish this one.)

The secret for keeping a peaceful mind over the next three weeks is found in the Bible.

"You will keep in perfect peace all who trust in you, all whose thoughts are fixed on you." Isaiah 26:3

My thoughts have a hard time staying peaceful when I'm mentally planning a billion things at once. Every year I start December with high hopes of not giving in to stress. And to not come up with some brilliant scheme that will make our Christmas perfect if I only add a dozen more things to the treats I want to make and ten more items to the shopping list.

After looking at idea blogs and hearing other moms tell about their beautiful traditions, I usually find myself determined to recreate the same. My imagination runs crazy trying to figure out how to implement that one more thing that will make our celebration perfect.

But this year, I am believing in just one thing to make my Advent season perfect and Christmas day a time of enjoyment. That one thing is to remember Isaiah's words; that when my thoughts are fixed on Jesus, He will keep me in perfect peace.

Ahh...the peace I've been searching for.

"Undisciplined imagination is the greatest disturber not only of growth in grace, but of spiritual sanity." --Oswald Chambers

The Waitng

2010-12-02T06:15:00.003-06:00

It's finally December and the Advent calendar countdown can begin. Since the middle of October, Asher has almost daily been asking me when it will be Christmas. Mainly because like a typical child, there are certain things he has his eye on and he can't wait to play with them. We made a list about a month ago to provide some kind of outlet for these longings. What's on his list?

1. Playmobil Pirates
2. Lego Knight castle
3. Star Wars light sabers
4. Fish (yes, an actual live fish, although he's concerned about how it could breathe under the wrapping paper.)
5. Nerf guns with bullets
6. Remote control motorcycle
7. The Knight Handbook

We discovered the final item on the list while checking out a book display at our local Festival of Trees. I showed Asher "The Knight Handbook" with an armor covered Knight on the front and explained that the book tells you how to become a Knight.

His eyes widened and a serious look of awe covered his face because I believe he thought if he read that book he would indeed know everything about becoming one of his heroes. Asher knelt on the cement floor and poured over the pages of the book. Eventually a frantic state of emergency developed when we had to leave it behind.

"We will put it on your Christmas list as soon as we get home," I promised.
"But another little boy might take it and there won't be anymore." he countered.
"They will not run out of that book, there is a store with hundreds more." I reassured.

And then tears flowed so freely and sincere desperate longing overtook him.

I almost cried myself.
Really, the book wasn't that expensive, we could have gone back and bought it for him right away.
I don't doubt he absolutely will pour over the pages of that book for hours and hours.

But this is a season of waiting and we both have lessons to learn.

I have several good, not to mention really fun, gifts waiting for both Asher and Amelie in my bathroom closet, and I'm regularly tempted to go ahead, give these toys to them, and enjoy watching their delight right now.

But this is Advent right? A period all about waiting for the arrival of the expected. The expected we are waiting for at Christmas time is a baby. A baby who brings meaning to life because He is hope of things much better to come.

Justice restored. Dreams filled. Tears wiped away. Good gifts freely given.

Gifts that I believe God longs to pour down now, but the time is just not right yet. Christmas is like the beginning, like people who (wrongly) choose the tradition of opening presents in their stockings on Christmas Eve. Christ's birth was a necessary first gift. Without His arrival to ultimately pay the sacrifice for us, there would be no hope of future goodness. We can forever look to His birth as a reminder that God hasn't forgotten us. He promised to restore this world and I believe Jesus' birth reassures us that promise has not been forgotten, and is in fact one step closer to taking place.

I want to give Asher that Knight book today. I want God to restore all hurts and pain today. I want to stop wanting and waiting.

Anticipate. Long for it. Good is on it's way!

Thanksgiving success!

2010-11-30T06:31:00.003-06:00

Walter and I became very friendly with our bird friend over Thanksgiving weekend. Thanks to a very thoughtful friend, I sported my pink frilly rubber gloves and my fingers never actually had to feel the slimy turkey innards. What a brilliant idea!

We massaged. We salted. We bagged. It was truly a team effort, and I probably was the weak link in the team. Walter was my turkey hero!!

Sometimes life actually happens in a picture perfect way. The one element that never even made it near my Thanksgiving planning list appeared just as we pulled the turkey out of the oven. I peeked in at our bird friend one last time and realized the turkey thermometer read the magic number 180.

Simultaneously, someone shouted, "It's snowing!"

Perfect. The ingredient only God could provide arrived at the exact right moment.
We sat down to enjoy our dinner next to the cabin's large picture windows and watched huge flakes drift over the hill and I breathed a huge sigh of successful relief.

Rock Castle we love you!

Soak it in

2010-11-23T05:50:00.004-06:00

Tomorrow I get to pick up my 20 pound bird friend. I've been hoping we get along well since July when I first learned I would be preparing Thanksgiving dinner this year.

Brining. Bags. Roasting Pans. Carving Knives. Sticking my hands inside the body cavity.

This year I'm word associating things with the big day that hadn't crossed my mind in past years when I looked forward to celebrating Thanksgiving.

Being a detail oriented, list-making person, you can bet I've had strategies planned out for weeks. I even had a chance to write about them in the newspaper column this month.

As the providers of the big meal, I like to think we get to plan any type of family discussion on Thankfulness. Although the loaded pretzel rods we made for place setting favors do not look like the ones on the crafty blog I follow, I'm looking forward to reading the Bible verses we will attach to each one and hearing everyone share about the good things in their lives.

For some who will sit around our table, this year brought more pain than they thought they could go through. Others received abundantly from God's gifts.

Whether it's Asher stating he's thankful that Christmas is just a few weeks away. Or Grandparents being thankful for their health, we will all have something to share.

Maybe it's a matter of perspective, being around family, or the peaceful feelings our brains create after eating turkey.

We will sit around the table, hold hands as we look around (at the most beautiful bird ever roasted), and for a peaceful moment that keeps us coming back year after year, we will rest in knowing God is good.

There is much to be thankful for. I pray the Thanksgiving abundance permeates and lasts in our spirits far beyond this weekend.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Anger management

2010-11-17T06:04:00.003-06:00

Mom I'm thirteen. Now I'm fourteen. I'm going to be twenty three if you keep doing that.

The scale used to stop at ten, but apparently Walter and I push Asher's anger buttons so hard that his tool to describe the intensity of his emotions had to expand.

It doesn't matter if it's an inanimate object like a door, a chair, the sun or a real person. Angry words tumble out of his mouth so easily, and I find myself constantly encouraging my boy to use self control.

His excuse?

"I'm defending myself."

He owns such a sense of self protection at only four years of age.

I am at a loss for figuring out where all of this anger comes from. All the research I find on anger in children suggest the emotions come as a response to major trauma in their little lives. We haven't had any of that here. God has given us goodness beyond what we could ever describe.

I'm left to believe the quickness to anger and lashing out is more deeply inherent, making it even harder to root out and manage. Much like in myself. And maybe that hits one of the hardest things about being a parent.

It's easy to take compliments for Asher's long eyelashes that I know come from me. And even easier to blame those ears that stick out on his dad. But to look at my flesh and blood child and realize those character flaws are inherited from me drives God's pruning tools even deeper around the areas I know need to be cut out of my life.

Maybe Asher doesn't see his mom yelling at a rock when I stub my toe on it. But maybe he has seen me grumping about that leaf truck driving slow and blowing leaves all over us when I'm trying to get us to preschool on time.

Agh. I hate even admitting areas for "growth potential" aka...bad character qualities exist in my life, but when I see them living out in a miniature way everyday, there is no denying I have room to grow.

Leading me to wonder if the most effective tool in God's sanctification toolbox is creating kids to act out life as they see it lived in their parents.

no more naivety

2010-11-15T05:56:00.005-06:00

Yeah! We're thinking more about little baby things around here again.

I'm dreaming about all the adorable items my knitting needles can get working on.

Walter's creativity in name selection is starting to run full speed. Let me tell you, he gets some of his best ideas on roadtrips when we see exit signs. Litchfield? Sawyerville? It's going to be a fun holiday traveling season.

Asher simply states, "It better be a boy baby," in that threatening way that I know will have consequences if Baby happens to be another girl.

Of course Amelie is clueless about the upcoming change to her world, but I look forward to watching her become a big sister.

A new baby will bring new energy, fresh hope, and a blanket of innocence to everyone who will count little toes and comment on lack of hair.

The innocence is what I now know will not last forever. It's not only believing the baby will always remain perfect and sweet, but believing mom and dad will only allow good things for the baby.

Somehow every mother holds on to the dream that her little boy will never play with guns and swords. He will be the peaceful exceptional child who prefers to play with farm animals and construct genius inventions out of wood. During pregnancy, during birth, in the early days, weeks, months, even years, fathers agree to this protection and desire to never allow the boy to touch a weapon.

Until the boy turns two, and finds a stick. Somehow that stick points at animals, other children, anything that moves. It makes popping noises. And before the flabbergasted mother can stop it, the father joins in and teaches the boy to make a better stick. How to fashion a sword. The joys of a capgun that has real bullets that smoke. Somehow the memories of his own boyhood arsenal overcome daddy and all the declarations of a peaceful weapon-free home are shot down.

The next time around, even as a baby girl, her peaceful innocence doesn't make it to her first birthday without holding a weapon and learning to make "pow pow" noises. Before she can even talk in full sentences, Mommy will look in her rearview mirror and see her little sweetie pulling the capgun trigger in a fierce gun battle with her brother.

Of course this is all theoretical, but I'm not a naive mom anymore. With this third baby, I'm making my sign now to keep the nursery a weapon free zone.

At least until the baby's eyes learn to focus!

Even MORE to Celebrate!

2010-11-10T14:25:00.001-06:00

Much to celebrate!

2010-11-08T05:51:00.003-06:00

We showed up at the hotel only to realize our reservations were at the hotel ten minutes away rather than across the street from the mall. This meant no afternoon of swimming.

Wolf, Amelie's most cuddled animal who we found at the top of the Trail Ridge Road in Colorado got left behind in the hotel room.

The out of the way yarn shop I drug my family to in Oak Park didn't have the yarn and pattern I hoped it would have.

We made way too many wrong turns and missed exits for a girl who likes to believe she remembers her way around Chicago.

Navy Pier's parking garage sign said "FULL" meaning we had to walk a couple of blocks - a big deal for a four year old boy who believes his hands and face need band-aids all over if he gets too cold.

I should have known when I chose to have a Jamba Juice for my dinner that Asher would hover his lips close to my straw waiting for his turn to drink.

And just ten miles from home when the car had settled down with a little girl and tired mommy asleep, the gas light came on and the peaceful ride ended.

But we still had so much fun!

We have so many reasons to celebrate and I am reminded how much of life is a choice of whether to celebrate or not.

Walter is back with us after months of study hibernation!
And felt rewarded for entertaining kids at Oakbrook by winning a t-shirt after playing the new Microsoft gaming system.

The hotel pool stayed open until 10 pm!

Maggianos still tastes delicious even with a child who keeps falling off his chair.

The knitting shop did have color samples of the yarn I want to order.

Cheesy dancing pirates fascinated Asher enough to make him think about becoming a pirate when he grows up.

Yes, life is good here.
And we choose to respond with thanks and delight.

End of the Sheriff?

2010-11-05T06:36:00.006-05:00

Although a little late with the Halloween picture, I had to share a picture of our adorable Cowgirl and the Sheriff. For months, my Sheriff has worn his get-up everyday but I think this phase is waning. He no longer needs his bandanna tied around his neck every morning. I don't have to buckle his belt that holds the twenty pound jail keys, and I'm not finding hairy moustaches all over the house anymore. The capguns and holsters he received to go with the Sheriff outfit will probably stay around for a while, and so will the cowboy boots since they make him taller than his sneakers.

But the fact is Sheriffs don't have armor to protect against weapons and Knights do. So the Knight armor has re-appeared a little more often these days.

It's hard to know what the next big thing will be, but I'm desperately hoping he forgets what he declared he's into next. On the way home from preschool this week he stated.

"Mom, I think I'm going to be into skeletons next."

Jabbing and poking

2010-11-01T05:50:00.003-05:00

"Why did they call me a bad knight and bad cowboy? It hurt my feelings." Asher asked last night when I tucked him in with his goodnight song.

My heart tore with the realization that those words still stung hours later. Rather than thinking about the fun he had playing with his friends and trick-or-treating, his last thoughts before bed were replaying a bad scene in his mind.

I understand where the words came from, that they were meant to be in play, but they still hit a place where no one wants to be hit. A place every mother tries to protect in her child as long as possible. I want him to believe everyone loves him just as much as I do and that no one will ever think badly of him. It's a form of denial that begins the moment I first held his screaming body, looked into those beautiful eyes for the first time and truly believed he is the most perfect child ever born.

Of course I learned long ago that my son is less than perfect and earlier last evening before the friends arrived, I wanted to trade him in for a child who skips rather than grumps around the neighborhood. But I don't know if I'm ready for going through another round of feeling painful words from kids who don't understand what they're saying. The first time around of hearing "shorty" and "midget" were bad enough. I don't want to live through that part again.

Still surprised about how much this is weighing my heart down, I sat to talk to God about it this morning. I heard myself saying to Him, "I hate watching my son go through so much hurt." and realized how much God understands my pain.

Pain multiplied to the millionth power.

God didn't just watch people call His son, who really is perfect, "bad," but listened to words intended to cut down and disregard everything about His son's entire life. God watched His son be mocked, spit on, beaten, ignored, and enduring the worst possible pain. Did He have to turn His eyes away? Somehow distance Himself from the pain? Tell Himself Jesus would forget it all in the morning? Surely Jesus' years on earth frequently broke the Father's heart. And sometimes having a heart broken watching from afar hurts even more than having it pierced in the moment.

I know this is just the beginning of the ups and downs of childhood words and feelings being hurt. Somehow Asher will make it through to adulthood relatively unscarred. And I hope along the way I can help my boy understand he's not the first or last to be on the receiving end of hurt feelings.

And there is Someone who walks close to him who sympathizes with every jab and poke.

And I've been reminded the Father understands the pain in watching the jabbing and poking.

New Daddy

2010-10-27T06:08:00.002-05:00

Last night should have been one of the best night's of Asher's life.

Earlier in the day, his holster and six shooters arrived, just in time for Halloween. Walter took Asher outside in the afternoon to show him how to shoot the capgun and that little smile he tries not to smile when he's overjoyed kept popping out on his face. We knew the guns filled a joy deep within his spirit.

After dinner, I presented my sheriff with the cowboy hat I had ordered to replace the large seed corn hat that got thrown in with the stuff I really wanted at an auction last year. The new hat has a sheriff's badge on it. It fits his head much better and all around looks much cooler!

It should have been a good night.

But after we gave him these gifts he's wanted for so long, Asher turned into a whining boy who had traumatic meltdown after meltdown. Way too much crying. Too much anger. Too many grumpy words.

Even though it was only 6:30, Walter decided Asher just needed to go to bed. After stomping upstairs, I overheard him sobbing to Turtle.

"I need a new daddy."
"I need a daddy who looks the same, who is a Walter, but doesn't give these bad consequences."

Oh, dear Asher.

Even in his grumpy anger he knew enough to want to hold on to the wonderful daddy he has even while he wished for a replacement. We've come a long way from the days when he simply wanted a new daddy or mommy. I actually see this as a mini-victory because even in deep anger and frustration with his parents, Asher realizes the fun and loving daddy he has is mostly a good guy. Hopefully he looked at the toy cowboys and knights lying around his room and remembered daddy isn't all bad.

As I continue to study through the book of Isaiah in my Bible Study, I wonder if God's people in Judah felt the same way. Did they want a new God? Did they remember all the good things God had done for them and their ancestors but just wish God would ignore the way they had turned their backs on Him? Maybe they wanted to keep their God, Yaweh, but just take away his wrathful side. Taking the good of God and hoping the holy side that demands obedience would melt away.

An authority figure who gives good gifts, lives up the fun times, and winks at the naughty things we do.

Would this really be a good Daddy?

Big Dreams

2010-10-25T07:24:00.006-05:00

They started roasting the pig at 1 am Sunday morning and we took the first eagerly anticipated bites about 15 hours later. I couldn't bear to walk around and look at her face, and tried not to look at all her piggy friends still rooting around the farm but I did enjoy her deliciousness.

With the sun peeking in and out of the clouds, good friends, and top chefs who had cooked all day for us, I knew we made the right decision to join the Epiphany Farms CSA this year. Even though I admit I'm tired of bok choi and arugula, I whole heartily agree with everything the local farm movement stands for and love the passion the three chefs have for their farm and future restaurant.

I consider it a huge honor that we will soon have a farm to fork restaurant in our very own Central Illinois town and love that my family got to be a part of the company's experimental CSA. Excitement oozed out of one of the chefs while he talked about his frustration with local fusion and so called Italian restaurants in our town. He described the shot gun he keeps just inside the barn door to protect his turkeys from hawks and the excitement started oozing all over onto me too. I didn't doubt for a second that he absolutely agreed with the "I (heart) worms" t-shirt he wore.

While we ate the pig, turnips, leafy greens, and amazing peach cobbler we heard and saw the way dreams are coming true for this young group of world-traveling/ex-big city living/ Las Vegas style chefs.

When someone has such intense passion for anything, and so vividly describes how their big crazy dreams that at one time made no sense are coming true, I can't help but get excited.

It renewed my energy to think about big dreams I have and what I can do to take small steps towards making them a reality. Our visit to the farm proved more motivational to me than any of those business videos we used to watch during unit meetings of my working days. Forget figuring out who moved your cheese, figure out who has turned a patch of grassy land into a full-blown rooster crowing, pig mudding, tomato and basil growing farm.

Speaking of dreams coming true... the winner of my giveaway for Bittersweet is Ellen! I'm so happy someone who listened so compassionately to a deeply bittersweet time of my life gets her own copy of the book.

And finally, I leave you with a picture of a little girl whose dreams, for now, revolve around doing exactly what her big brother is doing...

Concrete and toilet paper

2010-10-22T06:23:00.003-05:00

"Stop eating the toliet paper."

"Never, never, ever eat concrete."

Ah yes, more things I never thought I would say. I blogged about a whole host of things I never thought I would say back a few years ago and you could read a few of them here, here, and here.

You might think these words were spoken to the youngest member of our family, but no I regularly need to ask Asher, my four year old who desperately wants to grow big and strong. to not snack on non-food items. My son, the one who eats practically nothing but radishes and peanut butter and jelly, also snacks on toilet paper, leaves, grass, and yes did attempt to eat concrete as well.

He sits at the dinner table and claims fear about eating spaghetti casserole, fish, and anything that has tomatoes or onions in it but without hesitation chews on random pieces of nature (and household items). I believe it's the temptation of the forbidden fruit.

And I'm really not that different.

We are in the "less than one week before actuarial exam count-down" at my house and this is the time of the year when I have to work with all my might to get along with my husband. This one week period when he needs to be in a good place emotionally and full of much sleep challenges me to not bring up the long list of items I feel we NEED to discuss.

I'd love to talk about why we should replace the cabinets in the master bathroom.

Or maybe I should schedule a night to review our finances and saving plans.

Discuss when exactly he's going to buy me the diamond earrings I've been asking for at every anniversary, birthday, Christmas, Valentines Day, Mother's Day, sweetest day, love on Angie day...

And simply everything he does feels me with the need to remind him of the importance of putting his socks in the laundry basket and really why doesn't he read for fun other than when we're on vacation and I just can't understand why he doesn't keep in touch with his college friends better, and when am I going to get a night off anyway?

This is one of the two toughest weeks of the year. The other one will happen next spring before his next exam.

I'm tempted to eat the concrete and toilet paper, to grab the forbidden fruit of criticism and deep discussions. Maybe I would do well to keep my mouth busy so I don't speak things I'll regret later.

Anyone have a good recipe for concrete cake with tp frosting?

Bittersweet

2010-10-17T13:14:00.006-05:00

With my hands full of garbage can lids, I met one of my new neighbors. She said she heard a Christian writer had moved onto the street and she wondered if I was the next Shauna Niequist. Immediately I wanted to hug her and claim her as my new best friend because I couldn't think of another writer I would want to be compared to.

Almost three years ago, I heard Shauna Niequist on the radio promoting her first book, Cold Tangerines. She described that book as one of celebration and claimed she wanted to be known as someone who celebrated and lived every moment of life. My heart, at the time completely broken from recurring losses, wanted to be her - that woman who celebrates even when life is hard. So I bought that book. And read it on a Florida beach while soaking in as much sun as my skin could possibly hold. I underlined, read out loud, and found myself believing Shauna and I were in fact the same person because so many of our life experiences were the same. That book was my inspiration to consciously choose to turn my back on letting recent hard knocks define the rest of my life but instead choose to celebrate because life is in fact good and God hasn't disappeared.

Since finishing that final page of Cold Tangerines, I could hardly wait until Shauna released her next book. When I received a copy of Bittersweet, I thought about saving it until I could fully enjoy it on another beach, but desire for more inspiration compelled me to get started right away, and I wasn't sorry.

Even though I loved Shauna's thoughts on celebration and the way she approached it from a real way of acknowledging hurt even in the middle of celebration, something about it made me question what her essays would be like if she had experienced deep loss. The kind of loss that makes you want to sit and stare and wonder if the pain would ever go away. Bittersweet is the answer and I am not disappointed with her honesty and complete openness even in the middle of a broken spirit.

As expected, my copy of Bittersweet is underlined and dogeared and even now I struggle with what thought I want to share the most. I'm bouncing between thoughts of change, joy in finding theological doctrines to be absolutely true when put into practice, and the importance of telling our own stories. In the middle of her hard season which Shauna writes from come encouragements down the road of faith. But she doesn't stop with her story and this I love.

Her final essay is a call to all people of faith. "If you are a person of faith, it is your responsibility to tell God's story in every way you can, every form, every medium, every moment. ... Don't allow the story of God, the sacred, transforming story of what God does in a human heart to become flat and lifeless. ... If you have been transformed by the grace of God, then you have within you all you need to write your manifesto, your poem, your song, your battle cry, your love letter to a beautiful and broken world. Your story must be told."

That means your story. Not just mine because I have a blog, or Shauna's because she wrote a book, or your pastor's because he stands in front of the crowd every Sunday. Your own story. Your story of loss, of change, of grace, of hope, of love. It's your unique story meant to be shared. Meant to challenge, motivate, and reveal more of God's heart to whoever you choose to share it with.

Perhaps because our losses have been the same, or because I too recently moved, or because I too long to see God's grace in the middle of it all, or maybe because I love her quick chapters that have left me with plenty to ponder when I have to put the book down and get back to my harried life. Perhaps because I have seen the bittersweetness in life and am reminded of it every time I write Amelie Hope's middle name. For all these things, I am thankful that even though she risked much by opening herself up bare to the world, Shauna dared to share her stories and her discoveries of God's grace.

The bittersweetness of my day today is that I have finished reading this book.

But, I am so pleased to get to offer one of my readers a signed copy of the book! Yes this is it, my very first giveaway and what an honor it is to be able to share it with one of you. Please leave a comment on my blog before the end of the day on Friday, October 22nd and I will randomly choose a winner. I know many of you read and comment on these notes in Facebook, but for this giveaway, I will just look at comments on the blog itself.

I can only have one winner but I encourage everyone else to check out the book for yourself.

Mommy Brain

2010-10-15T06:23:00.003-05:00

I hate pretending to be dumb.

I'm not blonde, but jokes about a woman's intelligence as if it related to her hair color make me want to jump up and scream smart phrases and maybe draw a couple of those economic graphs I came to love with my dear smart Econ friend Vanessa (who does happen to be blonde).

Now that I'm a mom and do crazy nonsense things like showing up at church with my shirt on inside out or putting milk into the pantry, I've been tempted to blame it on my intelligence's transformation into mommy brain.

And now that drives me crazy too. As a woman who used to spend her days in the corporate world brainstorming and talking intelligently, I already struggle with hours filled with playing sheriff is coming and figuring out why Amelie doesn't think she can ever consume enough snacks.

When I discovered a book about how being a mom actually makes you smarter, I researched all I could about the topic. I haven't even read the book yet, but love the research I discovered when I wrote this article for the Pantagraph about how having a mommy brain actually does make you smarter than you previously were.

Not smarter in an IQ sort of way, but smarter in a way of being able to better use more of the mass of muscle in your head. Smarter in perception, efficiency, resilience, motivation, and emotional intelligence.

When Walter read my article, he asked if I was saying that I was smarter than him. And to my extremely intelligent, math-brained husband I proudly said YES!

(Heads up to you my faithful readers: For the first time in my 3 years of writing this blog, I am hosting a give away on Monday. But it requires comments!! So instead of telling me in person that you read my blog, I'm excited to see some electronic comments that you, my readers do exist! :) )

Keep your brave

2010-10-12T06:30:00.002-05:00

We had fish for dinner last night.

I rarely make fish, but love it, love it! There's something about buying fish at a Midwest chain grocery store that takes away some of the appeal of freshness and all those health omega whatevers. But I had a recipe in my line-up that I wanted to try and so fish came up on the menu last night.

This is the actual conversation we had last night at our dinner table:

Walter: Asher, eat your fish.
Asher: I'm scared to eat it.
W: You're a brave boy, you can do it.
Asher: I'm not brave. I gave all of my brave to Evan today.
W: I will give you some of my brave.
Asher: Well I will take it off
W: I will duct tape it to you.
Asher: I will take it off with tweezers.
Angie: Then I will knit some brave together and wrap it around you so it won't come off.
Asher: I will take it off and throw it onto the smoke detector.

Really, I'm not making any of this up.

Don't know where he gets his ideas, must be the same place that used to inspire him to make a puddle of sap for his little sister to sit in.

Being an emotionally charged mom who always sees the deeper meaning behind his words and never wants to miss a teaching moment, I wanted to tell Asher to NEVER give his brave away!

NEVER. NEVER. NEVER.

Whether it's needed for eating fish, meeting a new friend, joining the track team, standing up for the truth he believes in, life must be met with lots of brave.

And if he does give it all away to a good friend, mommy and daddy will always have enough encouragement and love to fill him back up with more brave.

Never run out of brave my dear Asher!

Whe Mommy is sick

2010-10-11T05:48:00.002-05:00

I picked up Amelie's dress from my desk in the living room this morning. It's the adorable brown corduroy dress she wore to church yesterday for the first time. I felt a tag underneath and thought Walter had forgotten to cut it out before she wore it to church. I lifted up the skirt to remove the tag and found instead the matching brown bloomers still attached by plastic cord to the back of the dress and I laughed out loud. This is what happens when Mommy is sick.

But a million other things happen while mommy is sick that make up for a little girl wearing bloomers still attached to the inside of her dress.

Saturday may have been the sickest day of my life. I couldn't keep anything down and found myself believing I should bring the sleeping bag to the bathroom floor because it would take less energy to just stay there. Walter got the sickness first in the middle of the night Friday and spent much of his night in the same bathroom. Although he was functional throughout the day on Saturday, I know he didn't feel completely well.

But he took over, sacrificed a much needed day of studying, and brought me glasses of ice water while setting up episodes of The Office for my entertainment. And I was reminded of the wonderful caring husband I have.

When Mommy is sick, kids eat crackers in her bed, 4 year olds spend too many hours shootin' em up on the iphone, and birthday parties are missed. But I don't take for granted the help of family who step up and do kind things. My brother brought our sickly family chicken noodle soup and popsicles just when we wondered what would make it to the table for supper.

Yes, when Mommy is sick, little girl's wear bloomers still attached to their dresses, but when Mommy is sick she is reminded of the ones who go to great lengths to care for her and she is thankful!

First lines

2010-10-06T06:25:00.005-05:00

"Call me Ishmael."

Voted the best first line in a novel, this opening sentence from Moby Dick begins an adventure (a long adventure) of whale hunting that remains popular more than 150 years after publication.

I read through the list of top lines from novels and smiled as I remembered reading some of them for the first time years ago and became intrigued about the rest of the story of others.

What is it that makes an opening line great?

Quick analysis tells me it's an element of surprise mixed with a perfect choice of words and names. "Call me Angie." just doesn't have the same effect as Ishmael. "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." from 1984 obviously throws a curve ball of surprise and immediately makes a reader stop and wonder what would make a clock strike 13?

I watched the movie Enchanted last night and when the mean step-mother sent the beautiful princess tumbling down the wishing well, she wished her bad luck in a world, our world, where there are "no happily ever afters." Those words put together in the opposite of the familiar "happily ever after" stopped the flow of thought processing in my brain and I'm still thinking about the idea today of living in a place where fairy tales don't really come true.

As I've been doing Bible study in the book of Isaiah where God's wrath and judgement dominate, I admit I have wanted to stop, to skip over it and move on past what I don't want to hear and on to the good stuff of love and peace and hope. It's shocking to be reminded of a God who demands obedience and who will appear on a throne with flying six winged angels. Shocking almost to a point of not being able or want to understand.

But equally shocking is a God who loves enough to die for me. A God whose love is equally as powerful, relentless, and just.

Definitely shocking and the first line of my story.

I leave you today with another shocker...

"I want a moustache just like my brother."

Hard to be cool

2010-10-04T06:23:00.004-05:00

We added a third child to our mix this weekend and traded our red Jeep for a white mini-van.

Like the Go Fish song says, it is in fact "hard to be cool in a mini-van."

Not that we are so cool with two carseats in the back of our Liberty, but there's something in my mind that believes taking that step into mini-van land will push us over the edge into true suburban parents. And I'm fighting that final step.

Walter and I both admitted to each other that we had learned how to drive in a mini-van (talk about uncool!), so it was a homecoming of sorts. Back to where we started - in the car with parents and kids - one big happy family.

I remember growing-up days with my happy family in the mini-van. All of my five foot self sprawled on the back bench while my taller but YOUNGER sister shared the middle bench with baby brother in the carseat. After all, I frequently reminded her, it was a step up from her former sleeping spot on the floor of the Oldsmobile when she had to navigate the hump in the middle of the floor.

Oh yes, good times in the mini-van. I'm sure there will be those good times to come for us when we finally break down and realize it's not worth being squished just to avoid the uncoolness of a "bubble driving down the road."

We are thankful for the use of the mini-van so we could get around all in one car, but I'm still wondering if our good friends left the "hard to be cool" song in the cd player on purpose?

Tulip Planting

2010-10-01T06:08:00.003-05:00

Planting anything in the ground ranks near the top of my favorite activities. Digging a hole with a purpose, sticking a onion shaped bundle of flowering hope into the dirt and then covering it back up with anticipation of what will happen under the ground gets me excited about God's miracle of life.

The first year after my family moved to Ethiopia and I lived in a home with a yard I could plant things in, I went crazy planting tulips. It must have been one of those perfect almost spiritual moments because I feel it like it happened yesterday. We had an off-site work meeting which got over early so I raced home, threw on grubby clothes, and sat outside on the sidewalk of that condo in the sun digging and planting tulips and more tulips. The perfect therapy for the loss I felt with the move back to my hometown to find it completely different especially without my family nearby.

The following spring, those beautiful tulips reminded me of the beautiful fall day and the anticipation I felt of better days to come.

Then I got married and moved again. That first fall in the new house, before I knew of the abundance of spring bulbs previous owners had planted along the driveway, I spent another perfect fall afternoon digging and planting, once again anticipating the excitement of seeing new life springing out after a hard winter.

Bunnies and squirrels teamed up to ruin that dream and also began my six year battle with the woodland creatures living on White Place. A couple of my tulips survived the stockpiling of winter food, but mainly I enjoyed the established tulips that had been there for years and years.

The warmth and sun drew me outside yesterday to plant tulips around our new home. With a silly four year old and a clingy 18 month old, the digging and planting wasn't quite the idyllic moment I enjoyed that first year of planting.

It started out family picture perfect with Asher interested in the process and wanting to put the bulb in the ground.

And then I let him turn the hose on to fill my watering can.
And then I sat in a puddle I didn't realize he had sprayed onto the sidewalk.
And then Amelie had a diaper taking away my ability to imagine the fresh spring smell of tulips.
And then I battled the tarp that keeps weeds out of the landscaping.
And then my holes got shallower and sloppier.
And we finally finished.

Once again I'm anxious to see how these authentic Holland tulips (thanks Becky!) will bloom. Maybe ten years from now when life is different, I'll miss these days of having a clingy girl and a silly boy and the memory will become just as fond as the one of me, alone, on a sunny day planting tulips at my parents condo.

Selah

2010-09-28T06:06:00.004-05:00

A red leaf falls in your path.
Selah.

A babbling toddler stops to pick up a feather.
Selah.

A four year old in complete Sheriff gear races his big wheel down the sidewalk to watch football practice.
Selah.

A fireplace is lit for the first time of the season while water destined for hot chocolate boils on the stove.
Selah.

Selah, a pause. A specific instruction to stop the previous activity of reading or walking or rushing through mounds of laundry and weigh the meaning of what has just been spoken or otherwise sensed.

After so much heat and sweat, Fall is finally beginning. What's not to love about Fall with its cooling breezes, colorful trees, and amazing treats made out of apples and pumpkins?

Way too quickly this time of change jumps into a time of preparation and hurriedness as the rush of the holidays creeps further and further back into these months of just Fall.

Just Fall, not Halloween, not Thanksgiving, and certainly not Christmas. Just Fall, leaves that are still mostly green but just tinting towards red. Just Fall, warm enough some days to still sit outside and eat a popsicle after dinner. Just Fall, when we sit around a fire and listen to birds preparing for their flights away from the upcoming frost.

This is Just Fall.
Join me in a pause and weigh the meaning of what we have just seen before plunging forward into what will be next.

Selah.

Wind

2010-09-24T06:19:00.002-05:00

Wind blew in wave after wave through our open windows last night.

I'm not talking gentle breeze. These were the kinds of gusts that made me wonder if we had been transported to the edge of a hurricane. Branches and leaves from the Ash tree madly danced around. I'm certain many of them escaped from the hold the tree had on them and I will find them lying exhausted from their dance on the ground this morning.

Whenever we begin to question an issue of construction quality of our house, we rest knowing a well-known builder in town built this house for himself and lived here for 15 years. I guess that implies I don't believe he would have cut corners on his own home and this house probably won't blow over minus a tornado touchdown.

The wind fascinates me not only because I'm concerned about whether or not our house will still be standing in the morning, but for the metaphoric reasons of life blowing and swirling around me.

Right now we're adjusting to the changes of being back in preschool, returning to Bible Study lessons, reconnecting into groups of friends, and missing daddy while he studies furiously.

The hot summer wind that blew across the wide open space of day after day of unscheduled time is gone and I'm actually thankful to be swept into something new.

For me the new means fresh opportunities.

bok choy in stir fry
preparing to be the provider of Thanksgiving dinner for 30 at the Rock Castle
crochet flowers and knitting adult sized sweaters
girl time with Amelie while Asher cuts and practices letters at school

I hear the next tidal wave of a wind gust building up in the trees outside.

I do find comfort in trusting the builder who constructed this house, but I find far greater comfort in knowing the Creator of my soul. And I rest in knowing the winds He sends can not harm the soul He created.

Mental snapshots

2010-09-22T07:14:00.003-05:00

Asher asked me to close my eyes promising he would bring me a surprise. Even with my eyes closed, I knew where he was going. He ran off the porch through the still wet grass to our exploding mum bush. When he declared I could open my eyes again, a purple flower sat on the arm of the red rocking chair and my 4 year old boy told me he will always love me, even when he goes to school.

My heart melted and I wanted to stop time and record his promises to always tell me that he loves me. There is no pause button in this continuum of time and so I settled for a snapshot.

A mental snapshot.

I looked in his sweet face, studied the water droplets still on the flower, and replayed his little boy voice over and over and then I closed my eyes and made a silent "click."

Recorded, forever in my mind.

To read more about mental snapshots, check out my Pantagraph column from this past weekend.

Flashback

2010-09-20T07:01:00.003-05:00

Flashback to Homecoming in the early 1990's.

Purple, or maybe aqua, suede skirt with blocked silk shirt of an equally bright color.

Next year velvet is in and get ready to explain why if you show up to the Homecoming dance in anything other than a velvet dress.

And now flash forward to Homecoming 2010.

Super short strapless dress with a bubble skirt. Sequins and flashy bling in just the perfect proportion.

I thought we were just going out to dinner on Saturday night because I was craving Olive Garden's salad and capellini pomodoro. But once we got there, my obsession became getting the best possible view of the Homecoming crowd.

Yes, I already transformed into one of those mothers who whispers to her husband about whether they would ever let their daughter out of the house in such a revealing skirt!

I mumbled to the hostess on the way to our table about how early Homecoming is this year and how crowded all of these kids make the restaurant for the rest of us "normal" people. But of course I chose the chair at our table with the best view. I continued to watch the flow of groups of girls giggling to the bathroom and nervous guys wondering how much longer they have to hang out in the uncomfortable suits and ties.

Oh what fun we had! I think I have more fun watching Homecomings and Proms as a spectator than I ever did as a participant.

Just please poke me if you hear me exclaiming over the styles too loudly. I still can't get over the fashion changes and will begin praying now that skirt length styles will start going down again before Amelie ever reaches high school.

Claustrophophia

2010-09-16T05:52:00.002-05:00

I love my kids. I love to snuggle and hug them. I've started to love laying with Asher at nights while he falls asleep. I like to be close to them. Even though physical touch is not one of my top love languages, I completely understand the need to show love through hugs and cuddles.

But I don't love working while being cuddled and hugged. In this picture, it is not Amelie wearing the cowboy hat, but of course the Sheriff who is snuggled in so close to Mommy working at the computer that all you can see is his hat.

Veteran moms tell me to enjoy these days because eventually they will be too embarrassed to be so close to me. Someday Amelie won't feel the need to position herself between me and whatever countertop I happen to be working at. Asher won't insist on sidling as close as he can to me in restaurant booths. And as hard as it might be to believe, they won't need to pile on top of me whenever I sit on the couch.

So in these days of claustrophobic touch, I am learning to love to be close!

Reading

2010-09-14T07:11:00.002-05:00

Why do you read?

Or maybe I should first ask, Do you read?

On top of the standard books, magazines, and newspapers we have so much reading material waiting for our eyes to land upon. Blogs, facebook updates, online newsletters and news sites. There literally is no end to the information available to read since new content is continually being produced.

Do you read to get information about what's going on in the world?
Do you read to be entertained?
Do you read to keep up with the lives of friends?

I read for all of those reasons and more that I'm not even aware of, and I'm wondering if I'm alone in the way I spend afternoons curled up turning page after page of a good novel?

How many people sit down, open the cover of a book and flip pages?

Really is there a need for that kind of reading anymore?

As my husband often says, it seems like there are so many more exciting things to do than sit down and read. He forgets how much he enjoys a good story until we go on vacation and he reads his quarterly book. Then we've been known to stop at a bookstore so he can grab another one and soak in as much reading time as possible until we return home and he once again forgets that reading isn't boring.

So, why do I read? I read because I do think it is exciting. I love learning about the lives of people not like me and also feel normal knowing there are people exactly like me.

I read not because I need to escape from my daily life, but because the experiences I learn about in books enhance my daily life. Asher and I read a history of cowboys and from the information I learned, I've been in wonder all summer about the amazing invention of barbed wire!

For years, I neglected my love of reading because of busyness, a feeling of needing to be more productive, and because I spend so much time reading books to my kids. But this summer I've rediscovered the joy of being so caught up in what will happen to Katniss Everdeen and Lisbeth Salander and I'm so thankful to be reminded of why I read.

Take a minute to think about it, why do you read?

Yes, you can!

2010-09-10T07:08:00.004-05:00

No smoking.

No children in the front seat.
No pets allowed.
No digging.
Asher has been really curious about signs that have a circle with a line through it.

He constantly is asking me, "What are you not supposed to do?" while pointing to yet another warning about how death could be imminent if you wear a necklace while sliding down the slide or wear shoes while playing on the McDonald's playland.

With my heightened awareness of what we're not supposed to do, I've realized most of these signs relate to children. In one way, it confirms what I've been telling my children about being cautious. But in another way, if we took absolutely seriously every single one of these signs we would be afraid to do anything.

I'm sure each of these warning signs came from a tragedy. A freak accident where a child did become injured after doing what the sign now forbids doing. And I don't take the fact that accidents happen lightly.

But I wonder where all of the signs telling me what I can do are? What about a sign with a circle and no line through it that tells me to go ahead and pick the flowers, enjoy the sun on my face, run freely down the sidewalk. Where are those kind of signs? The ones that say, "Yes, go ahead and enjoy all the fun of life."

Even in my parenting, I find myself constantly shouting out the "no's."

Don't say that word about pottys anymore!
Don't wear more than one pair of underwear at a time!
Don't put Cheerios in your hair!
Don't drink the water from the sandtable!

Don't, No, You can't, Never.

Maybe today I will try to shout out only the "yes's."

Yes! Give your sister a kiss!
Yes! Take turns on the slide!
Yes! Eat more Jello!
Yes! Use more chalk!

Yes! You can!

Almost a missed opportunity

2010-09-07T06:30:00.004-05:00

Seven years ago today, Walter and I forgot to do something we had looked forward to for months.

As an engaged couple who intended to spend our wedding night at a hotel across the parking lot from Panera, we talked on our weekly visit to get bagels and coffee about the great fun it would be to simply wake up and walk over for yummy cinnamon crunch bagels and hazelnut coffee.

So on the morning after our wedding, we brought our suitcases, leftover cake, balloons, and bulky wedding dress to the car and then proceeded to get into the car, turn it on, and drive the short distance over to our favorite breakfast spot! I think we actually turned into the parking spot of Panera and were about to get out of the car when I realized we had just missed the very thing we were so looking forward to!

The luxury of walking to Panera had passed.

Never ones to waste an opportunity, you can guess what we did. Yes, we drove back to our parking spot by the hotel and got out of the car so we could walk back to the same spot we had just driven to. Almost a missed opportunity.

I think much of life is a missed opportunity. Things I've talked about enjoying for years are happening right now and I'm driving on by without fully loving the experience.

Yes, this is life and it is what I've looked forward to!

A billion rewards

2010-09-02T06:12:00.003-05:00

We joined Walter at work for lunch yesterday. It's been two years since I left my paying job at the same office building where he works, so I looked forward to going back in for a visit. After the four of us ate our pizza without too much commotion, we walked through the space where I used to sit. It's been only two years, but in the ever changing corporate world, it might as well be an eternity.

A cleaning staff member must have grabbed everyone's name plate, mixed them all up in a bag, and returned them at random to offices and cube aisles. No one sits in the same spot and I recognized about one in five names. Where a row of windows once allowed light onto the floor, managers enjoyed their own private sunshiny real estate in their newly converted office space.

With so many physical changes on the floor, it would take me weeks to understand the workflow and assignment shifts that all of these moves represent. And I feel a twinge of sadness knowing that just two years later I would be lost if I reentered the department that I had once been such a part of.

As we walked through the doors of SC-4, Asher asked where we were going and why Mommy used to have a job and why Mommy doesn't still have a job so Bekah can watch him again.

I wonder those things too.

Don't misunderstand. I will never regret staying home with my kids.

This is absolutely what I want to be doing and I do not take it for granted that Walter's hard work allows me to do this. But some days I get nostalgic and think about the old days when I didn't get asked to play "Cowboy is coming" ten times before ten o'clock but finished ten research requests before ten o'clock.

Being a stay at home mom has a billion rewards but I don't know that we often acknowledge it has a hundred sacrifices. Clearly the billion outweighs the hundred, but every once in a while
I think the sacrifice needs to be noticed and understood.

Thanks for noticing and understanding.

Simply

2010-08-30T07:11:00.003-05:00

Jesus asks if we "think God sits in a box seat" waiting to hear our prayers?

I imagine God arriving early to the theater to get an expensive seat with a perfect view of the stage just to listen to a formal and distant monologue from me and I shake my head at the absurdity.

From what I've discovered about His desire for intimacy and close relationship, I can more easily imagine God preferring a cozy corner table at Starbucks (or maybe the Coffee Hound because He probably believes in supporting local businesses! :) ) where we can talk over concerns, hopes and I can learn His perspective on it all.

Not that I put myself at on an equal plane with God, but I don't believe He desires the formality or specially worded prayers.

There's a place for awe and respect in the way I speak to Him, but there's also a sincere need to be honest and not put on a brave perfect front. That's not me and He wants to meet with the real me, not Angie in a disguise.

When I've ached for something, like another child or for someone to buy our house, I've wondered if I needed to say the magic words.

Could there be a phrase like "Bippity Boppity Boo" that would unlock the door holding the treasure I desperately desired?

There must have been a game on The Price is Right that works like that. I could hear Bob Barker, or now Drew Carey, saying "Select the right key and you will win fabulous prizes that you can't even imagine" while beautiful women hold the keys that I need to choose from.

But no, God doesn't run the world like a game show and thank goodness Bob Barker and Drew Carey can't compare to Him.

There are no special words or techniques.
He desires simplicity, honesty and adoration, and this is what Jesus calls us to;

"The world is full of so-called prayer warriors who are prayer-ignorant. They're full of formulas and programs and advice, peddling techniques for getting what you want from God. Don't fall for that nonsense. This is your Father you are dealing with, and he knows better than you what you need. With a God like this loving you, you can pray very simply." (Matthew 6:7-8)

Techno Addict

2010-08-23T09:41:00.002-05:00

It's been really hard.

I feel like I've gone through withdrawal, but for the past couple of weeks, I've stayed away from the internet and the iphone for one day a week. My mind constant turns to wondering what else I need to check online and it drives me crazy. I don't want to be mentally tethered to the silly screen but there must be some happy button that gets pushed when I find new information.

The idea of a techno sabbath isn't new and really I want to unplug for more than one day a week, but this is my starting point. You can read more about my addiction journey to this point in the Pantagraph column.

Gotta go, Facebook to check, emails to send, and online sales to shop.

Eating, Praying, Loving

2010-08-18T07:06:00.003-05:00

Wanderlust is tugging inside of me again and I blame it on Julia Roberts, well really I should blame Elizabeth Gilbert.

Last night on a rare girls night at the movies, we saw Eat, Pray, Love. I knew what to expect since I've read the book, but I didn't guess the amazing streets of Italy, the mystic bustle of India, and the pure paradise of Indonesia would be so incompatible with my scenery consisting of rows of cornfields in Illinois.

What woman can't relate to and desire the courage to do what Liz did when she set off for a year of self-discovery in absolute romantic locations? No matter how much we love our families, friends, and places of influence, that fairy tale tug, perhaps ingrained from too many bedtime Cinderella stories, doesn't disappear. And this movie fueled the hope of finding something more fulfilling in a far-off country.

For these reasons I totally love Liz Gilbert.

But for more deeply held convictions, I totally disagree with her. I want to be her soul mate and aspire to be like her, but I just can't.

I can't agree with her spiritual revelations.

It sounds so good to say as Liz does, that God is everywhere and that God is within you. If you stop there, I completely agree. God is huge. There is no where to hide from Him. And God lives in everyone who asks Him - in the form of the Holy Spirit.

But I can't agree with the so called enlightened idea that God is me, that I am God. I see spirituality as black and white. I am not God (thank goodness for that!) and no amount of meditation or search for bliss inside of myself can bring the peace and grace that only comes from the holy true God.

I know I sound unenlightened and so backwardly conservative in my spirituality. Call me unliberated and Midwesternly out of it, but I do believe I have experienced God in the form of love, peace, grace and hope. These have been gifts from somewhere so far outside of me that I spend my prayer times looking out rather than within.

So, Liz Gilbert I thank you for stirring up the spirit of adventure inside of me. I can not agree with you on many counts, but in my own place and own way I look to enjoy life by Eating, Praying, and Loving.

In the neighborhood

2010-08-16T07:15:00.002-05:00

A Sold sign sits in the yard a few houses down and we have anticipated the new neighbors moving in for several weeks. The rumor is that a 4 year old will be living there and we can't wait to find out if that 4 year old is a girl or boy. Neighbors make great friends and like it or not, the close proximity brings many opportunities to learn the good and bad about each other. But the comfort of knowing friendly people are there and ready to lend a travel book, or drop off a strawberry pie adds sweetness to home.

While we're anticipating the new neighbors on our street, I am so thankful that more than 2000 years ago, God kept His promise to move into my neighborhood. One of the promises that must have filled the Jewish people with great hope in the times of Zechariah the prophet, and perhaps even today is the assurance that God will be moving into the neighborhood.

"Shout and celebrate, Daughter of Zion! I'm on my way. I'm moving into your neighborhood."
(2:10)

With Jesus' birth, that promise was fulfilled and He literally slept, ate, and lived in a physical neighborhood. He knew the concerns the issues, the sicknesses of people around Him and entered into the challenges of the day in a tangible way. As Jesus wept, celebrated, and healed among the friends and strangers in his hometown and in surrounding towns His presence couldn't be denied.

Jesus isn't physically moving into that house down my street, in fact He is already here. Not in some mystical way that I need to search inside to find, but in a tangible way through the Holy Spirit living in everyone who has found life through Jesus.

He is in my neighborhood and He is in yours.

Tilt a whirl

2010-08-12T05:57:00.001-05:00

My stomach hasn't done flip-flops for a while.

It's been a few weeks so my neck is lined straight up and down again.

I forgot about the feeling of adrenaline swirling up inside only to be sloshed to another side.

But I won't forget the thrill of watching my little boy experience something so shocking and I look forward to the next time we can ride on a carnival ride!

Long Live the Tilt a Whirl!!

Change in profession

2010-08-12T05:55:00.003-05:00

Nine months ago, Asher dressed as a Knight for Halloween. Every day since then he has put on his armor and insisted on being called Knight. His passion for Knighthood led him to add Knight to one of the three words he can spell. The others being Asher, and Keep Out (a story for another day). He has had battles with his dad, played with Princess Amelie, and studied many books to know everything about Knights.

Then we had a cowboy themed VBS.
Then we vacationed in Colorado and watched a Cowboy Parade.

And now my knight has become a cowboy - actually not just a cowboy, a sheriff. For a while he wanted to keep a foot in the knight genre and switched between armor and a bandanna. But the other day he officially switched.

In that calm moment before the beginning of his quiet time he asked, "Mom when I grow up can I be a cowboy instead of a knight?" I agreed that would be a good profession and he officially changed his dreams.

Notes from the DMV

2010-08-10T05:51:00.006-05:00

Everyone knows not to expect any form of good service at the DMV. Rudeness and apathy abound. I reminded myself of this before I renewed my drivers license last week, but still held on to hope that someone behind the counter might actually smile at me.

Didn't happen.

When I got back in my car to leave after the delightful experience, I jotted down several observations so I could remember to vent about them later. Here they are.

Observation #1
Mirrors not allowed.

The drivers license picture is the single picture of me that complete strangers will see most often. I will show it to cashiers almost every day for the next four years. So of course I wanted to make sure I didn't have a stray hair sticking up or cottage cheese stains on my shoulder (both equally likely possibilities). However the DMV photographer smugly replied, "Nope, no mirror." when I asked to look at myself. I wondered how many times a day she delights in telling drivers that news and why no one had thought of actually providing a mirror for one last look before the picture is snapped.

I'm thinking of donating a mirror to the cause!

Observation #2
Grumpiness required.

Walmart specifically hires greeters - kind men and women to stand at their doors simply to smile and say hello. These employees might occasionally pull out a cart or provide direction, but their main job is to welcome customers to the store. The DMV specifically hires grumpers. Men and women who serve as the first point of contact to make the customer feel unwelcome and begin the initial infusement of grumpiness that pervades throughout the building.

Observation #3
Bring your own sanitizer.

Not only did I get the privilege of being grumped at by the second person I was directed to, but I also got to watch her consistently reach two fingers into her mouth to pull out pieces of ... (gum? skin? paper?) and deposit them in the garbage. This must have happened every 30 seconds and after she threw away whatever piece of whatever from her mouth, her fingers jumped right back onto her keyboard. I barely passed the vision test because my eyes focused on where her hands went to make sure they weren't touching anything that would soon be handed back to me.

Observation #4
They really don't want your money.

I should know by now that they don't want it to be convenient to pay the registration tax. This is the one area I should applaud the DMV because they do now accept credit cards, but I'm still frustrated that my primary method of paying everywhere else is not an option at the DMV. The sign taped onto the cash register simply taunts me as it states, "We accept Mastercard, Discover, VISA." With a BIG "X" through the VISA. Who doesn't take VISA? Yes, of course it would be the DMV.

Despite the inefficiency and unfriendly treatment, I made it through the experience, passed my drivers test again, and have another bad picture to carry around in my wallet for the next 4 years.

Really Alive

2010-08-06T06:29:00.004-05:00

"But the person in right standing before God through loyal and steady believing is fully alive, really alive!"

Habakkuk 2:4

I am so drawn to this idea of being fully alive! Really alive!

My world is so practical and task focused that I get frustrated with finding those opportunities to be fully alive. Finding them, and then pushing beyond my tiredness to grab and act on them.

Pushing past inhibitions and practicalities is hard enough on a normal day, but on the days when I'm tired of figuring out what we can have for a snack and sibling scwabbles are constant, I have no energy for doing what it would take to live up to my mind's image of being free and alive.

As a mom of preschoolers I don't know what it looks like to live that fully alive life day to day.

But, by looking at these words in Habakkuk, it looks like being fully alive starts with right standing before God.

So is it freedom from my worry and fears that would allow me to stay in right standing?

Is it constant confession?

According to the one who gives life, Full life comes from having right standing before God.

How simple that seems.

Right standing comes when I put faith in Jesus and accept His gift of grace. I've done that. So in theory, according to Habakkuk, I already have full life! real life!

And this is where the choice for abundant life comes - the choice to trust the path of grace and rest in love I've been shown rather than trying to forge my own new and wandering way.

Do you hear it?

2010-08-03T06:35:00.004-05:00

Do you hear it coming?
For me, it's just five more weeks.
Five more weeks until my schedule begins!

That's just a little over a month until the days become strict and we start rushing around from preschool to Moms Group to Bible Study to nights of fitting in all the unfinished business. And while I've loved the vacations, parks, and pool times we've had this year, I'm ready for something a little more to my days.

Structure - I miss you!
I hear God getting ready to do something specific with our days and I'm kind of anxious for it to begin.

Like sounds of a distant ice cream truck which Asher has superpower hearing for, I am waiting to see what this year of activity is going to bring. Sure, we're enjoying our summer, but in a laid back way of knowing these lazy undemanding days aren't going to last.
When we first moved to our new neighborhood, we didn't get much warning that the ice cream truck was driving by. We heard it and by the time we made it to the front door, we saw the back of the van heading down the street - too late. No ice cream again.

So Asher's hearing has miraculously become capable of hearing the Candy Man music while it is in distant neighborhoods. For the past 2 Saturdays, he has sat on his dinosaur lawn chair patiently waiting by the mailbox for over an hour. About 15 minutes before it shows up, I begin to hear it, but until then the truck makes a noise similar to a dog whistle, music only heard by 4 year old boys who love popsicles.

And after the waiting comes the reward. It's what he waited for and he delights in the icy sweetness.

I hear my structured schedule approaching and am patiently waiting for those days to begin.

Coffee Name

2010-07-29T06:24:00.002-05:00

Do you have a coffee name?

You know, a name you give the Starbucks barista even thought it's not your real name.

Walter heard a story on NPR yesterday about the realization that those names scrawled in black marker on the side of the white logo clad cup might not be accurate. Like a fake phone number you give to the person you really don't want to get a phone call from.

Sure, my number is 555-1234.

It's a name intended to portray an identity different from your own. Sometimes meant to confuse, sometimes to shock, and maybe just to add a moment of whimsy to your day.

We sat on the porch discussing our coffee names for a while as Asher did his "sport" of throwing a tennis ball over the tree. I gave Walter his new coffee name and he approved of mine.

Calvin and Calie talked about the lattes and dark roasts we would enjoy together as we sipped coffee in romantic coffee shops looking up at the mountains or while digging our toes in the sand.

Then Walter and Angie went into the house to change a diaper and set the table for dinner.

Don't forget Amelie

2010-07-27T06:19:00.004-05:00

I often say God gave Asher such an interesting personality so I would have something to write about. With my oldest child providing so much material for me to analyze, I often forget to write about the sweetness of my Amelie.

Three years ago, I started this blog as an outlet for writing and to keep family and friends up to date on the happenings in our family. RealReedy has morphed through different phases from focus on family stories, to what I'm learning from God, and then just random thoughts that need to find their way to a page. But one thing that has remained constant is my desire for this to be a record of our lives whether that means I am entertaining or not (sorry!).

So I'm taking opportunity here to share about Amelie.

She is the girl whose face lights up when she waves and blows kisses to anyone and anything. She waves at her pacifier when we leave it in the crib, she waves to Elmo on her diapers, and fervently waves at pictures of Asher hanging on the wall.

She is the girl who loves shoes and hats (won't we have fun shopping in a few years!?). The crocs I bought for her to wear next summer are her favorites and if they are not on her feet, she brings them to me so I can put them on for her.

She is the girl who loves to eat. If the toddler-proof snack bowl is in her hands, she smiles. Our son refuses to eat at most meals, so Amelie eats her portion and often moves on to Asher's.

She is the girl who appears to have an obsessive side like her mommy. She insists on putting things away properly (don't put the toothpaste away without the lid on!) or you'll have to do it again.

She is the girl with no fear of water - who runs along the edge of the swimming pool until she has escaped my reach and then decides to lunge for the water. I'm constantly running back and forth trying to estimate where she will decide to jump in.

She is the girl who cuddles with even Touch and Feel books, trying to rub them onto her arm and be as close to the soft feeling as possible.

She is the girl who loves to dance. Instrumental, Pop, Folk, Washing machine buzzer, Learning toy tune, it doesn't matter, she's not afraid to show off her moves.

She is the girl who God gave us as a reminder that there is much Hope in the world.