Getting the trash out

Yesterday was another windy day in my city. It was also trash day. Once, I glanced out my window and saw that my giant recycling can full of easily-blown papers was lying on its side, lid open. I rushed out to upright it, and I saw that my neighbor’s cans had also lost their lids. 

In the past, I have chased her trash around her yard while she is at work, righted her trash cans for her, and pulled her empty cans out of the street and up to her garage. I was anxious that today was going to be another one of those days where I had to check out the window every five minutes to make sure her trash wasn’t blowing all over the neighborhood. I spent about one minute feeling sorry for myself that this was turning into Trash Watch 2013 while my neighbor was oblivious to my very sacrificial civic duty, and then a thought came to me. She got her trash cans to the curb. On the right day. And suddenly I was in awe of her, of what she does.

My neighbor is a single mom whose kids I count as my own. She works full-time and somehow manages to single-parent and run her house as well. She pays her bills, feeds her kids, arranges for their education and child-care, and enrolls them in extra-curricular activities. She teaches them character and obedience, and I have to say here that they are great kids. I don’t know how she does it all.

In my world as a stay-at-home-mom, I do a lot of “drive-by reading.” I read blogs here and there, when I can. I read texts here and there, when I can. I read articles here and there, when I can. I check Facebook here and there, when I can. And many of the things I read have to do with parenting, and mothering specifically. After reading about another mom who took her kid to ballet (somehow I cannot manage to enroll Coralie in a dance class. I do not know why I am so dumbfounded by the process), or whose children just won the Leadership Award in preschool (!), or who saved $1500/year by cloth diapering (which, by the way, is the only loving way to diaper your child), I feel inadequate.

Yesterday, I read this article. Finally, I thought. Another mom who says, Enough! Enough of trying to look like Supermom! Enough of spending hours on Pinterest coming up with Easter ideas or birthday party ideas or Valentine’s card ideas! I felt validated in the choices I make as a mother that exclude me from the over-the-top-awesome-mom category. And then the author mentioned that she had read to her children for 20 minutes that day, played outside with them, bathed them, helped them practice guitar, and cooked them dinner and ate with them. And then I felt bad again. Because, yesterday, I did none of those things. I played with my kids a little, I read to them for maybe five minutes, I babysat another kid for a few hours, and I cooked dinner for them. But I did not eat it with them: I went to the gym during dinner. I also yelled at my kids, rolled my eyes at my kids, and ignored my kids. 

Ryan often tells me that I am a good mom. I always respond, almost desperately, with, Why? Why do you say that? I need to hear him tell me that he believes I am a good mom, because I doubt it often. Now listen, I’m not plagued with a low self-esteem at all. I’m pretty confident in myself and my abilities. But when it comes to being a mom? I need all the positive reinforcement I can get, because reading those blogs and those statuses and those tweets? They are not encouraging to me. (And, by the way, I have stopped reading Facebook and many of the blogs I used to read for this very reason.)

Ryan doesn’t read those blogs; he doesn’t use their metrics of 20-minutes-a-day reading to analyze whether or not I’m a good mom. He sees our kids, their character, their health, their security, their curiosity, and he knows I’m a good mom.

Sometimes, getting the trash to the curb is what matters. So what if the lid blows off, I didn’t make homemade Valentine’s cards, the recycling blows all over the neighborhood, I served my family a frozen pizza, the trash can blows into the street. So what. I took the trash out. 

This is not about kids

No time for pleasantries. The little tyrants are in bed, and I have about half a minute before one of them calls me in for some emergency, like a toe not being covered by a blanket, or a paci falling out of a swaddled infant’s mouth, or a papercut on the pinky of an overtired girl. (I am sure a good parent would nip that kind of behavior in the bud, but alas I am not one of those parents.)

The second reason I haven’t written much (the first being the Tyrants themselves, of course) is that I have no good material. I don’t want to write only about my children because to me that means my thought life as well as my daily life has been completely taken over by people not even four feet tall. So I have some sort of rule in my head to not write about my kids very much, except HA HA HA I am writing about them right now, and they have taken over my thought life, because I haven’t written about anything else for months now.

(But while we’re on the subject of Them, let me ask some advice. Madeline has started refusing to wear diapers. That’s not a problem, except for the fact that she has no idea when she NEEDS TO GO. Or WHEN SHE IS GOING, for that matter. What the heck am I supposed to do about this?)

And now for some non-kid thoughts:

1. Ryan and I are watching The Good Wife on Netflix. We are halfway through the most recent season and are trying to catch up before CBS takes the current episodes off the site. I won’t say this is the BEST show I have ever watched*, but I really enjoy it for several reasons. First, the logic that is used to navigate the cases really stretch my brain. I am FOR SURE not smart enough to be a lawyer. Secondly, the law is an area of American life I know very little about, and I enjoy learning about its many strengths and flaws and politics. Thirdly, there are no kids in it. 
2. I just finished up Cloud Atlas for my book club, and I fully intend to write a review of it. Someday. The thing I liked best about the book was the political and social satire--there are soooo many quotes I want to share with you . . . it is rife with “warnings” about the way America (and the rest of the world) conducts herself. There is even a line about the disastrous Pentecostal takeover of North America. Doesn’t that sound ominous? I wonder if the author thinks we are in that now.
3. This is a really good one: my friend (well, if you want to be technical, she is my parents’ friend and the parent of my childhood friends and now my friend) recently started a blog so that she could be intentional about living her 59th year of life. One of her goals for the year is to glean wisdom from different women she would not necessarily otherwise have befriended. One woman is an Iranian Aziz (think princess, though she says that princess is a new term and her tribe has been around for much longer than princesses) whose title dictates that she marry a hero. Only she defines hero as “someone who fulfills his destiny so that a woman may fulfill hers.” Don’t you LOVE THAT? She goes on to explain that a hero gives a woman space to be more fully herself: When he takes care of her needs, she can explore ways to be more fully herself. Likewise, when she takes care of his needs, she frees him up to be more fully himself. Think familial roles, with a lot more elegance and significance. I just really love that thought. A hero is not a strong man in the muscly sense we all think of; a hero is a strong man in that he serves his wife. And she in turn can serve the family from a place of peace and conviction rather than from a place of duty. Wow.

Ok, I think that is all. I can only think of THREE NON-KID THINGS. 

I am so ashamed.

*Those would be Friday Night Lights (drama), Arrested Development (comedy) and Parenthood (hybrid).

Pink clutter

You know, I used to desire my house to still look like an adult’s house after having kids. I would try to restrict the amount of baby gear/kid toys that were in our living room, bedroom, and kitchen because I needed the house to still feel like mine, unlike my life which decidedly did not feel like mine.

Three kids later, the house has gotten away from me. It is so much dirtier than I ever thought I would let it become, and it has passed my "clutter limit" five times over.

But last night, as I was sitting in my bedroom feeding Lainey in a rocker that has been temporarily crammed into the corner, I looked around and saw her bassinet crowding the space between my bed and the wall. I saw her swing taking up the only other open corner of the room. I saw a DVD tower next to my nightstand, full of VeggieTales, Disney movies, and Elmo videos.

And a wave of immense happiness washed over me. 

I swaddled Lainey, put her in that swing which really should have been an eye-sore to me, and walked out to the living room. There was a play dress on the couch, a sleeping bag wadded up in the corner, an unreasonable amount of shoes that Mads had arranged by the front door, and a stroller parked in between some chairs.

Instead of feeling like I needed to tidy up the room, I got my camera out. I don’t want to forget the days of play dresses on the couch, swings in the bedroom, and tiny shoes by the front door. My girls have brought so much fulfillment and meaning to my days that their detritus is welcomed. 

I never, ever thought I would be so happy to have pink clutter take over every. single. room. of the house. But, hey! I think I'm finally growing up. Smelling the roses gets easier every day, and the roses in turn become more fragrant.

Today I am so very, very grateful to God for my girls. Their giggles, their antics, their smiles and games and imaginations . . . they are changing me. I know God specifically gave me Coralie, Madeline, and Lainey, and I know He has things to teach me through and because of them. I have never been so happy to lose bits of myself--  my controlling nature, my need for tidiness, my desire for adult conversation, for heaven’s sake!-- because I am finding richer bits of myself. 

Those bits are pink, and they are everywhere, and they are of the divine. 

Thank you, God.

A KTB short (like those clever short movies, but without the cleverness or the motion-picture-ness)

Hey! When you are feeding a baby in the middle of the night every night, you tend to have a bunch of random thoughts. I thought I'd gather mine here for you so you can feel like you're a part of the middle-of-the-night feedings.

• Coralie started school last week. I sort of dreaded it, because end of an era, blah, blah, blah, but it felt right. I did cry during orientation and after dropping her off the first day, but I found myself surprisingly excited about her time at school when the day finally came. She is such a delightful, smart, funny kid that I know her teachers will like her. And being a former teacher myself, I know all too well that the likable kids. . . well, let's just say it's good to be likable. 

• You know those pronunciation guides after words? Like pronunciation is pronounced prəˌnənsēˈāSHən ? Does anyone know how to read those anymore, or are we all dependent on the little speaker buttons after words that will pronounce the word for us? I am sad to think we might have lost the ability to read pronunciation guides.

• Know what can freak me out? A space-agey future. Read this article about the future of retail if you dare. Then please tell me the world is not headed in that direction. It makes me think about those Left Behind movies, and no one wants to think about those.

• Pertussis also freaks me out. GET YOURSELF VACCINATED IF YOU WANT TO TOUCH MY BABY. Insert a rant here, which I will not publish for fear of alienating someone, but just imagine my ire, ok?

I have such happy middle-of-the-night thoughts, yes?

Here are some day-thoughts for you.

• I found a really great e-calendar that is both an app and a website. It's called Cozi. You're welcome in advance for making your life more organized.

• I bought an e-reader, and I feel really sophisticated reading it. Right now I am reading Cloud Atlas for my book club, and I feel especially cool because I can highlight and annotate without needing to get up to get a pen! Anytime I can accomplish a task without burning a single calorie is a really good time in my book.

• Speaking of calories, ick. I really hate burning them but I love ingesting them. Especially when they are in chocolate.

• Because we can't really travel right now (You know what? I think three small kids is kind of a kill-joy when vacationing), I am dreaming of our future travels. We are going to NYC in the summer of 2014 with our best friends-- without kids-- and we are going to have such a great time, I just know it. Broadway, Ellis Island, Central Park, museums! BEING OUT AND ABOUT PAST EIGHT O'CLOCK! We are also planning a trip to CA to see family and go to Disney Land, but that won't be until Lainey is old enough to appreciate the dollas required to get her there. AND we are planning a really awesome trip to . . .  somewhere . . . for our fifteenth wedding anniversary in 2018 (that is, if Ryan can convince me to stay with him that long). I would love to start booking unbelievable fares and rates and such, but I really don't think airlines are taking reservations to a place called somewhere in the year 2018. 

• And finally, I would like to leave you with a picture. Look at Ryan's quads! While they don't look exactly like that anymore, he is still a very trim man. But he thinks he's fat. If that doesn't make you question everything you thought you knew, I don't know what will.

Thirty

Thrice this week in my Facebook newsfeed a quote has popped up that essentially says that if you have a clean house, your priorities are out of line. That well-loved children are better than an immaculate home, and that it’s one or the other. 

When I read that quote, I immediately felt guilty. For the record, I agree. However, I like having a clutter-free home, and to the best of my ability I maintain that. In my wedding vows to Ryan, I even said something about creating a harmonious home environment, and to me, that partly means that I straighten my home every day. But that Facebook quote makes me feel bad for doing so, like I am not able to play with or love on my children because I have a clean(ish) house. 

That’s all beside the point though. That quote, coupled with my reaction to it, made me think about something much more important than toy bins and happy children.

What I really want to say is this: I’m sorry. I’m sorry for every time I said something that made you feel bad about your choices . . . your priorities . . . yourself. 

I turn thirty tomorrow. They say that the twenties are full of ignorance and ambition and selfishness and that the thirties bring wisdom and confidence. Since I’m not actually thirty yet, I can’t attest to that, but what I can attest to is that I have learned a lot these past twenty-nine-plus years. 

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is that people don’t need my opinion or assessments. They just need my love and acceptance. My mom recently shared a quote with me (as usual, I don’t remember the originator of this quote) that said something to the effect of, “If you assume each person you meet is hurting, you’re probably right.”

One goal for this next decade of my life is to encourage those I love, including myself, more. 

(I will probably still clean my house, though.)

Cheers to a new decade!

Gratitude

I want to spend a few moments in gratitude. I have so much to be grateful for: a loving husband, delightful children, model parents, a thoughtful sister, great in-laws, and a wonderful extended family. I have a house that is more than adequate, plenty of food on the table, cool air in the house, clothes in my closet, and diapers in the nursery. I am healthy, and those I love are healthy.

***

I will admit that my days with three little kids is total chaos. Total. Chaos. My house is a mess even though I straighten it a billion times a day; I have no mental energy to think about what to cook my family for one meal, let alone three meals a day; I am holed up in "baby jail" feeding Lainey for what feels like eight hours a day; and someone always needed something five minutes ago.

Also. Madeline now requests to wear underwear over her diaper. Coralie has to put on lip gloss before we go anywhere. The girls are completely unaware that it is a hundred degrees outside and ask to play on the driveway every ten minutes. I took Madeline to get her hair cut, and the stylist did such a horrible job that five cuts into it, I told her to stop. I took Mads home and then tried my hand at cutting her hair. (Needless to say, it's short.) Coralie has announced that she will be taking showers instead of baths now.

Throw in a newborn, and I am in over my head. For someone who likes order and predictability, my life is laughable right now. I taught Coralie to tell me, whenever she thinks I am stressed, "Mom, it's only for a few months."

The new-baby stage is so so short. And so so so sweet. I don't want to wish these next months away, but I know I need the reminder that life will not always be so chaotic. I am grateful for this chaos, and I am grateful that the chaos isn't permanent. 

But there is something else I am abundantly grateful for.

***

My mom, RiRi, lived with us for an entire month, helping me and loving my girls. She did laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning, bedtime routines, cooking, counseling, and playing while she was here. She freed me up to learn about my newest daughter, to go to doctor's appointments, to rest while my body healed,  and to actually enjoy the craziness of bringing home a new baby. She freed Ryan up to go back to work before his wife was ready to be alone with three kids all day.

She held Lainey when she cried or needed to be burped, she let Coralie do make-up with her every day, she taught Madeline at least a dozen new words, and she talked with me late into the night while I fed Lainey one last time before bed.

I don't think it is possible for me to adequately express either my gratitude or my love for my mom. Or my admiration for that matter. But I do know how to be a good mom to daughters based on my mom's example, and I will work every day to pass that legacy onto my daughters.

Thank you, Mom, for giving us a month of your life, for the third time in four years. Thank you, Dad, for being a "bachelor" for that long and for coming to Wichita four times in the past 30 days. (And while I'm at it, thank you, Allie for making the trip twice. I loved having you here for Lainey's birth. Your sacrifice to make those two short trips in the span of five days leaves me feeling very blessed to have you as my sister.)

***

Gratitude. Yes, that is what is defining my day today.

Our story

It’s hard to know exactly which details to include in telling one’s story, and it seems even more difficult if one is trying to show how God has orchestrated one’s life.* 

Does my story start when my parents met at their local church of Christ? Or years earlier, when their parents each moved to Amarillo, for different reasons?

Or when my parents decided to get married and then proceeded to have two (very awesome) little girls?

Or when my dad decided to leave his position as a pharmacist in Texas and move his family all over the country for sales positions?

Or does the story only really begin when Mom and Dad announced that we would be moving to St. Louis, after which I sobbed and cried and said I wasn’t going and where was St. Louis, anyway?

I don’t know how far back to start when telling my family’s story. Since I have to pick a point in time, I think I will start in August of 1996, with one very important lead-in.

I truly have the best parents I could ever have asked for, prayed for, wished for. I am grateful for everything they did for me, starting the day I was born. They prayed for me, challenged me, disciplined me, cared for me, and ultimately set me up for the life I have now. I do not wish to minimize their impact on my life, but I have to start my family’s story somewhere, so I will start the summer I turned fourteen.

We (Mom, Dad, Allie, and I) had moved to St. Louis from Atlanta in August of 1996. For some reason, we visited the Lafayette church of Christ the first Sunday we were in town. For some reason, we went to Sunday School that very first time visiting. For some reason, Ryan Bond was sitting in my class instead of at his grandparents’ lake house, where he usually spent his summer weekends.

I remember what I was wearing, probably because Ryan won’t let me forget it. I do know that my make-up was awful, I had bangs, and I still had braces on my teeth. Nonetheless, Ryan said the first time he saw me, he knew he would marry me. I had just turned fourteen; he had just turned fifteen.

He waited a full year before asking me out. He and my dad rode bikes the day of our first date, sophomore year Homecoming. For some reason, he kissed me. For some reason, I let him. Then, for a reason known as humiliation, I avoided him for a full year.

For some reason, he didn’t give up on me, and a year later he asked me to Homecoming our junior year. For some reason, one of his friends asked very publicly if we were a couple (we weren’t), and, not wanting to embarrass him in front of his friends, I said that it was up to Ryan. Ryan, of course, said that we were a couple.

For some reason, we stayed a couple most of the rest of high school. (I did break up with him our senior year for a month or two and for reasons I won’t discuss on this blog because they seem very lame now. Let’s just say I had a crush on another boy, and that other boy never made a move.)

For reasons entirely obvious, we went to college together. Ryan asked me to marry him after the fall semester of our junior year (WE WERE SO YOUNG), and I said yes.

We wed the summer before our senior year of college, and I guess that is where the real story of our family begins.

Our life together has taken lots of twists and turns, not the least of which has been our move to our current Kansan city. The woman who hired Ryan put us in contact with a local realtor. As she drove us around town, she pointed out area high schools where I might be interested in teaching. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I wasn’t planning on teaching here.

For some reason, I hastily applied anyway at one school. For some reason, when they called to schedule an interview, I said yes. For some reason, they had a vacancy in the subject area I taught, for the next semester, with my very favorite curriculum. And for some reason, they hired me.

One of that school’s board members introduced Ryan to his son-in-law, and Ryan has since worked for both men. Those jobs have allowed me to stop teaching and to stay home with our daughters, and those men have introduced both of us to a wonderful local community.

We have become a family here. This is where we learned very difficult professional lessons, home-owner lessons, marriage lessons, and relationship lessons. This is where we have grown our family to three, four, and five members.

What if my parents hadn’t moved to St. Louis? What if Ryan had given up on me when I kept giving him reasons to? What if I hadn’t become a teacher? What if we hadn’t had our exact realtor?

Sometimes, it’s fun to play the what if game. But right now, I am just so very grateful that all of the little details in my life have worked out just so, so that I am sitting in this house at this address in this city with this husband beside me and those girls upstairs not sleeping even when they should be.

I love our family’s story. And I think we should know more about other people’s stories. The next time you see me, unless I am heavily drugged in a hospital room or equally drugged with the potent sleep-deprivation-because-a-newborn-lives-here phenomena, please tell me your story. I would really love to hear it.

*As you read, please assume I acknowledge God directed all of the details that led me to this point in my life. I could never, ever, have built a life like I have.

Memories

If I think about it too much, I get really anxious about how quickly our time on this earth passes. Even if we do make it to 80 or 90 years old, that’s not very long to be alive. Every day that passes is a day I don’t get back . . .  my wedding day, the birth of my first child, the last time Madeline slept in her crib . . .  these are all memories now.

Memories. I know I’m only 29 (ok, to be perfectly honest, I will be 30 in two more months), but already memories hold significant meaning for me. I can only imagine how much I will treasure memories in another fifty years.

I have been exceedingly blessed to have only happy memories. Sure, I remember hard seasons of life, like my first year of marriage, and I remember unhappy seasons of life, like when I had an identity crisis after Coralie was born, but the vast majority of my memories are happy. Even stages that are supposed to be full of heartache and difficulty (like the teen years) are only remembered in terms of how much my parents fought for me to make wise decisions and how much love there was in our home. Yes, I am sure there were many fights and I know there were many tears, and I am sure my histrionics made my parents want to send me away, but that’s not what I remember.

If all goes as things should, I will be bringing my third daughter home in a few weeks. My time as a mother of two little ones is quickly coming to a close. Yes, the days are so very long, but the years have flown by. 

These are some of the memories I have.

The day I became a mother

 The day I became a mother of two

The day my babies became sisters

Sisters becoming friends

Dress up days

Bedtime snuggles

 Time at the lake

Many, many trips to the zoo with my girls

 Morning toy time

 My Mads Cat

My eternal Fairy Princess Coralie

And most recently, these (with credit going to Angela Kleinsasser Photography and Design):

 Best Friends Forever

 The wild, nonverbal, precocious Madeline

 The sweet, smart, very verbal Coralie

 No, they're not always picture perfect, but they're MINE

My cup overflows

It's never my fault

This tricky little convenient tool called the iPad caused me to delete my post on The 19th Wife. And also to delete another "musing" I had written on how much I loathe cliches. I, in all my blogging wisdom, didn't save copies of those posts anywhere else, so now they are totally gone.

I am sure you are heartbroken. And also mad at the iPad like I am.

And to add salt (?) to the wound, I have no musings cooking in my head right now to replace those posts. All I am thinking about these days is how to take a quick nap when my girls are awake, how to take a nap when my girls are resting, and how to keep Ryan up until 11 or so at night when I become tired again. 

On the baby front, this little girl is big! Like, she is measuring two weeks farther along than Coralie and Madeline were at this stage. Someone asked me at church on Sunday if I was having twins. Uhhh ... I sure hope not! That surprise would mean an epic fail of prenatal monitoring and diagnostic technology. All signs are pointing to a single baby girl with a small(ish) head (WHEW) and long arms and legs.

I am planning on posting a belly picture at some point. I don't normally post pictures of my pregnant belly, but a few people have asked for one, so instead of posting it on Facebook where people don't have a choice of whether or not the picture shows up in their newsfeed, I will post it on the blog where people can choose whether or not to click and see this Large Marge Mama. You have been warned.

I guess what I'm saying is, this might not be BondMusings so much as BondFamilyHappenings for awhile. Once I can get baby off the brain, maybe that can make room for some more intelligent thoughts.

In the meantime, I will leave you with two things. 

First, a quote from CS Lewis a dear friend left in the comments of my last post:

“My idea of God is not a divine idea. It has to be shattered time after time. He shatters it Himself. He is the great iconoclast. Could we not almost say that this shattering is one of the marks of His presence? The Incarnation is the supreme example; it leaves all previous ideas of the Messiah in ruins” (A Grief Observed p. 52).

I love so many things about that quote. I love that Lewis is not complacent in his view of God, but that he is open to discovering new ways of looking at our loving, complex God. I also love that he is disciplined?generous? enough to work through and share his re-renderings in all of his writings. (And, by the way, I would argue that his idea of God is a divine idea.) But most importantly, I love thinking about the fact that God himself will not be made into an idol, that He shatters that idol in front of anyone who has eyes. God is loving, yes, but He is also innovative and aggressive and deliberate in how He reveals Himself to us. God is anything but boring or predictable.

And second, a picture of these beautiful daughters of mine:

Kinda makes sifting through a post about nothing  w o r t h   i t,  doesn't it?

Some unsolicited advice

Have the courage to say no.

Sometimes, that is the very best thing for everyone involved.

The third time is not so charming (I'm talking about naming the baby, not the baby herself) (just to be clear)

As I mentioned, we are having another little girl. I couldn't be happier! I love having little girls and watching them figure out girl things like purses and make-up and shoes. I also love that their daddy pushes them to be thinkers and designers and creators.

I know there will be challenges in our future, not the least of which will be how to pay for three weddings or whether or not to allow dorky teenage boys to take our daughters anywhere or how to handle all the D R A M A that comes with teenage girls.

But we have a more pressing problem.We have absolutely no idea what to name her. I opened up my Facebook page to suggestions, and I got about a kajillion good names thrown my way. But I am finding out that naming a child is a very personal decision. For instance, there were several votes for Kennedy, which is a name I also happen to adore. Also, there were some not-good-at-all names thrown my way, and I can't tell if these were offered up in jest or not. So. I will not be making the rest of this naming journey all-inclusive. (If you're one of the people who suggested a name, I assure you, I LOVED THE NAME.)

I will share one more story about naming Baby Girl Number Three, though. One day,  I asked Coralie for her input.

Me: Coralie, what should we name your baby sister?
Coralie: Coralie.
Me: Well, that IS a lovely name, but couldn't that be confusing?
C: No.
Me: Well, what if I said, Hey, Coralie, I have some candy for you! Which Coralie would I be talking to?
C: Me.
Me: Ok, well, what if I said, Coralie, you made a poor decision and disobeyed. Now you will have to get a spanking. Which Coralie would I be talking to then?
C: The other Coralie.
Me: Oh.

Well, then. Back to square one.

Six things you may not know

1. While waiting in line to see Christmas lights a few weeks ago, a very angry mom accosted us. I don't know how it's possible that I never shared this story with you, but the whole event was so unbelievable that as soon as I knew we were not actually going to be gunned down, I said, "Oh. my. gosh. I have to blog about this."

I started typing out what exactly happened, but it's very technically and sort of boring, so I'll condense it.

A van tried to cut in the hour-plus long line to see the Christmas lights and no one would let it. So a woman, the passenger, gets out of her car and stands RIGHT IN FRONT OF OUR CAR so if we try to move forward, we will hit her. Like RUN OVER HER. Well, this is ridiculous, so Ryan honks. (There are police patrolling to keep crazy people like this from cutting in line, but they are nowhere to be found.) She marches over to Ryan's window, starts yelling and gesticulating and turning red in the face and ends her tirade with a "MERRY CHRISTMAS."

Unbeknownst to us, the car from MI in front of us thought that their car had been hit by this crazy family trying to cut in. So a passenger no shorter than 6'6" gets out to confront the lady. She yells at him, too! This lady had no scruples. The tall guy finally gets back in his car, and the woman whips something out of her jacket's inside pocket. I was CERTAIN it was a gun. (It wasn't-- it was a pen and pad of paper, and she made a big show of taking down the MI car's license plate.) But if anyone did conceal and carry in line to see Christmas lights? It would be this lady.

Then it all became very awkward as we HAD to let this van in line in front of us, though people behind us yelled and honked at the van in protest. So here is this hostile van, in between the confrontational MI car and us, who clearly didn't want to let it in, just tra-la-la-ing through the park, hanging out the windows and taking pictures of the pretty Christmas lights. Merry Christmas indeed.

2. I think Madeline may have broken my nose. At the very least, she chipped part of the bridge off and it is now floating elsewhere on my nose. What happened was this: some very nice evangelical women have been canvassing our neighborhood trying to convert people. Because I am already a Christian, we usually just end up chatting about this and that, and--I guess--we have become "friends." Well, they came back twice last week. Twice. The first time, I had less than an hour to get dressed, feed my kids, get my house show-ready, and get the kids out the door. I politely told them that it wasn't a good time to chat, and they cheerily said they would come back another day. Well, that other day was last Wednesday. Coralie, Mads, and I were playing in Coralie's room, and I saw the evangelicals walking up our driveway when I looked out Coralie's window. I DID NOT feel like chatting that day, so I did something heroic: I taught my children how to hide in a closet. I shoved the three of us into C's closet and told the girls to be quiet and to wait until those people walked away. Coralie was confused as to why I wouldn't want to open the front door, and Madeline just played along like she always does. Well, pretty soon, she found Coralie's toy golf club and started playing with it. Now, this is no ordinary toy golf club--  it is SOLID. It's from Pottery Barn, who I am sure you know makes every single product of theirs weigh three times more than their competitors do. So she picked up the club, raised it over her head, and before I knew what was happening, cracked it down on my nose. The worst part? I couldn't even cry out because we had to be quiet hiding from those nice women.

3. I am eating an absurd amount of mac and cheese these days. I don't really even know why. Last night I made a box at 9 pm while I watched the Golden Globes. I'm not proud of it, but I did it.

4. We had our sonogram, and we are having another little girl. Besides the excitement of having a healthy baby girl join our family, I am also experiencing a mild amount of panic over the cost and drama of having THREE GIRLS. I'm not so worried about the next few years, but I am TERRIFIED about what will happen in 13 years. You know, when we have THREE TEENAGE GIRLS. THREE. TEENAGE GIRLS.

5. I turned down an opportunity to do some tutoring. This was hard for me, as I really enjoy 1) working with teenagers, 2) using my brain, and 3) making money. But, alas, the timing wasn't good for our family.

6. I am sooooooooo behind on blogging the contents of my brain. I have two more posts I would like to write, but I don't know if I can stop playing Words With Friends long enough to type out anything besides words like "zeds" and "extractable" and "yak". But I'll try.

As Coralie would say, "peace out".

A double whammy

You know how you can read something a million times, and then one time-- BAM!-- something totally new hits you about it? Last night in our Bible study, we were studying the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand, and two things surprised me.

1. The story opens with Jesus telling his disciples, "Hey, let's go somewhere quiet together and get some rest."

Here, I am thinking, "Jesus, you had me at hello. I'd LOVE to go somewhere quiet and get some rest."

Then, when Jesus and his disciples arrive at the appointed place, they find that more than five thousand people have walked to that very place to wait for them

Here, I am thinking, "Brother, I feel you on this one! Everywhere I go, I am met with a (small) crowd. I can't wait to see how you disperse the crowd--I'll file that away and use it myself next time."

(Yes, I am an idiot in that I have read the story before and know how it ends, but still.)

Then, the Bible says that Jesus met them with compassion.

Here, I am thinking "Amen, brother! You tell 'em! Wait. . . what? You mean that when I sneak away to a remote corner of the house (ok, my closet) to read my emails and I hear four little feet running after me, I am supposed to meet my little girls with compassion instead of annoyance?"

Forget that Jesus fed five thousand men with five loaves of bread and two fish-- the REAL miracle is that he didn't snap the crowd's necks off and say, "CAN'T YOU SEE I NEED SOME TIME ALONE SO I CAN READ MY EMAILS, GIRLS?" Or, uh, something like that.

2. After reading all the way to the end of the story, our pastor's wife asked when we most feel the Lord working in our lives. I said that the Lord is always working in our lives; the changing factor is whether or not we acknowledge it.

Oh, yeah. That reminds me, I started this here blog so I can actively track how God is working in my life. I figured that if I could sit down and actually write some posts, it would mean that I would have had to have done some thinking and meditating beforehand, and that is usually when I see God working.

Ok, so I haven't announced this on my blog yet, but--surprise!--I am 19 weeks pregnant with our third little one. Also--surprise!--our house was put on the market this week. Also--surprise!--Ryan is teaching back-to-back sessions of a night class at our local university and won't be done with that assignment until my due date basically.

So to say that this is an insanely stressful and busy time for our family would be an understatement. Our house went on the market on Tuesday, and we have had five, FIVE, showings since Wednesday morning. Do you know what it takes to mobilize this tired pregnant mama and her two I'm-never-in-a-hurry-unless-you-bust-out-the-candy-basket kids? A lot. And twenty minutes' notice is not a lot of time to clean up the house, pretend like four people don't live there, and get the heck out of dodge.

Annnyway, last week as I saw in my mind's eye what these next few months could look like, I prayed that God would keep our spirits buoyed and our marriage intact. Oh, and if He could manage the sale of this house, the purchase of another one, Ryan's first job stresses, Ryan's second job stresses, my daily taskload, AND the growing of a fifth member of the family, that'd be peachy. But that all sounded greedy, so I just focused on asking for peace and joy in this time.

So. Here's how he has answered. We have had a remarkable amount of interest in our home, which is incredible since it is January of 2012, you know, the QUARTER OF DOOM in the real estate market, in the worst economy EVER. (Ok, so maybe the Great Depression was worse.) Five showings scheduled in under 48 hours?! That's awesome!

Also, I have felt very affirmed in my writing lately. It's a scary thing to put yourself out there in print, and I have felt nothing but encouragement that I should continue doing so.

Also, we sold our broken Blu-Ray player on Craigslist today (the DVD and WiFi still worked, so someone actually wanted it), and the guy who bought it asked Ryan where he worked. Long story short, this dude had heard of Ryan and his former side consulting business and said that someone had highly recommended to his firm that they hire Ryan! Not that Ryan could pursue that even if he wanted to, but that affirmation was a true God-send for him.

I write all this not to say how perfect our life is (see: trying to sell a house, juggle multiple jobs, and harness two small independent children) but to show how much more abundantly God answered my prayers than I could have imagined!

Just like Shasta learned that there had only been one Lion, I am learning that God is so much bigger than a singularly-focused request.

A holiday reflection

This time of year can be so busy. It seems like there's always a gift to buy, an errand to run, a package to mail, a party to attend.

But it's also magical. I have two young daughters, and I love seeing Christmastime though their eyes: their faces light up when we drive around to look at Christmas lights; they are so eager to receive the treat of a cup of hot chocolate; they squeal in delight when they see the blow-up Santa in our neighbor's front yard. They remind me that this unique time of year is to be thoroughly enjoyed.

I recently read a book called The Biography of Santa Clause. It's fiction, of course, but it has its roots in history. According to this account, a man from a city called Myrna became the man we know as St. Nicholas. Because Christ had come three hundred years earlier, Nicholas knew of Jesus and followed his teachings. He knew that we are to love one another and to take care of one another, so when he heard of a family in his community that needed help, he felt compelled to offer his. Nicholas understood that Jesus' point is for us to be kind and loving and generous, not for us to receive credit for good deeds. Nicholas deposited his gifts of aid in the family's house in the middle of the night so as not to be seen. Legend has it that he found such fulfillment in anonymously helping others that he made it his life's mission.

I love that account of St. Nicholas-- I think it's much better than the myths of Santa Clause that circulate today.

Christmas is a time when we acknowledge and celebrate the gift God gave us when he sent Jesus to Earth. I think it's abundantly appropriate to reflect on what Jesus did while here: He loved others.

I try to teach my girls that we don't just give random gifts to family and friends at Christmas: we try to show others that we know and love and want to delight them. And we don't just hastily grab a card off the Angel Tree at work, sigh, and add it to our long list of to-do's: we show a child that others care about her.

If you know my girls, you know they keep me on my toes. But they also teach me to be deliberate, especially at this time of year. I want them to remember the holidays as a time to love and honor others, be they family or strangers. That's what Jesus did when he came to Earth so many centuries ago. My girls may not understand theology yet, but they understand love and generosity.

So you can say that my 3 and 1 year old have helped me rediscover the joy of Christmas: that is celebrating the birth of a baby who became the greatest lover of people who ever lived.

Merry Christmas from my family to yours.

The best passage in all of literature

Source



As you know, I am reading through The Chronicles of Narnia right now. I can't say enough about the perfection of these books-- they are . . . perfect. They are entertaining, quick to read, didactic, and most of all, they point to the wonderment of Jesus.

My favorite passage in all of the Chronicles, and therefore in all of literature, comes from The Horse and His Boy. I hope you've read it, but in case you haven't, here's a little back story:


In a far-off land, a young boy named Shasta meets a talking horse from Narnia who convinces him to run away from his cruel master. Together, they encounter many dangers on their long journey to Narnia, not the least of which are all the lions that plague them. One night, Shasta --yet again--is met with a lion.This time, the lion walks quietly beside Shasta until Shasta speaks to him. The lion, who is of course Aslan but is referred to in this passage as "the Voice", asks Shasta to tell his story. Shasta recounts the past few weeks, including the many examples of his "bad luck" with lions.

     "There was only one lion," said the Voice.
     "What on earth do you mean? I've just told you there were at least two the first night, and --"
     "There was only one; but he was swift of foot."
     "How do you know?"
     "I was the lion." And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued. "I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you."


Source

    Shasta was no longer afraid that the Voice belonged to something that would eat him, nor that it was the voice of a ghost. But a new and different sort of trembling came over him. Yet he felt glad too . . . after one glance at the Lion's face, he slipped out of the saddle and fell at its feet. He couldn't say anything but then he didn't want to say anything, and he knew he needn't say anything.

Wow. How little we understand. How little we acknowledge God's sovereignty. How little we are in the greatness of God.

If ever there was a true instrument of God in the last century, surely it was CS Lewis. Thank you, God, for CS Lewis. And thank you, God, most of all, for Jesus. May we heed your Voice and believe in your plan.

Lately

A few updates on the girls:

Coralie finished her first session of swim lessons. I'm not really even sure what to say except that I am really proud of her and that she still has a loooooong way to go. The place where she takes lessons has very specific levels with very specific skills that must be demonstrated before a swimmer can move onto the next level. Out of ten skills in Level One, Coralie can cross off three. THREE. At this rate, she'll be in Level One until she starts driving herself to the lessons.

Nah, I'm just giving her a hard time. She is actually doing a great job. Her teacher describes her as "timid and shy", which she is there. Her main obstacle is that she doesn't like putting her face underwater, and that is sort of necessary for most components of swimming.

Where she is not shy is at home. Somehow, and I'm really not even sure how, she has come to be my fashion guru. It all started when she asked to pick out a shirt for me. (Okay, fine.) But then she started commenting on my yoga pant/t-shirt outfits saying she didn't like them and that she liked my other shirts better. (Ouch. And also, is it really that noticeable that I don't dress very nice*?) Then she started intercepting me on my way to my closet so that she could pick out what I should wear. Inevitably, she prefers very fancy, frilly clothes. Yeah, I am not wearing those, so we compromise on something between a dry-clean only shirt and a college t-shirt.

Madeline, on the other hand, remains nonverbal. Well, I should say that she isn't speaking English, but she is verbal enough for our whole family. She grunts and jabbers and whines and laughs from sun-up to sun-down. :) Her little pointer finger gets quite a workout during the day, too. The result: she is pretty good at communicating what she wants. With Coralie, I remember working on teaching her signs and forming her words. Poor Mads-- she gets half the attention Coralie got and therefore has had to develop her own language to tide us all over until she starts talking.

She is also walking most of the time now. It's super cute, and she grins from ear to ear (literally. . . that girl has the widest mouth I have ever seen) when she nears her destination. Man, she is a beautiful child.

I was thinking the other day about how irritating a kid this age can be--they're still so dependent but want so badly to be independent--but when I go to sweep her up during one of her grunt- or whine-fests, I find myself immediately kissing her little cheeks and giving her a tight squeeze. And I think, wasn't I annoyed with her one second ago?

And then I got a little poetic and thought, maybe this is a parallel for how God feels about us? No matter how frustrating we can be, he just wants to give us hugs?

I do love my girls, and I think they're the most brilliant, perfect, gorgeous children ever created. And if that is any indication of how much God loves us, we are very loved indeed.


*I am almost certain that "dress nice" is the correct usage here. "Dress nicely" would refer to how I get dressed as opposed to what I dress in. However, I have been away from grammar rules for awhile now, so correct me if I am wrong.

Cool parents

I was listening to the radio the other day and a song came on-- I don't remember which song it was exactly, but it was an oldies song-- that reminded me of "Sugar Pie Honey Bunch". This song sticks out in my mind (and probably will for the rest of my life) because of a skit night at family camp when I was in high school.

My friend H and I donned two of my dad's khaki pants, button down shirts, and blazers, stuffed them with pillows, and "sang" this song to two boys wearing women's dresses. (I know, awkward all the way around, right? It seemed like a good idea then. Oh, high school judgment calls.)

My dad had no idea we had stolen from his wardrobe until he saw the performance. (He was not very happy.) But the point is, he SAW the performance. He was there. We were at family camp, and all of the parents of the, ahem, performers were there.

Another crazy component of that skit night is that I wanted to be there, at family camp. In high school. I liked, well, still do like, being with my parents. They weren't the richest or most glamorous parents in the world, but they were/are smart, disciplined, interesting, hospitable, educated, funny, and attractive. I knew my sister and I were loved. I knew that with our family was a place they, too, wanted to be.

Yes, we had our fights, and there were times we couldn't stand each other I am sure, but I never felt not loved or not valuable.

So what if my parents weren't the "cool parents" who let me do whatever I want? So what if they made me change my clothes if they felt my skirt was too short? So what if they only let me go out with Ryan once a week? They were awesome parents.

And I guess that's why I wanted  to be with them.

I hope my kids can say the same thing in 25 years. That would be cool.

The Beatles were controversial, too, I know

Have you heard the song "This Friday Night" by Katy Perry?

Here are the lyrics in case you haven't:
There's a stranger in my bed,
There's a pounding my head
Glitter all over the room
Pink flamingos in the pool
I smell like a minibar
DJ's passed out in the yard
Barbie's on the barbeque
Is this a hickie or a bruise
Pictures of last night
Ended up online
I'm screwed
Oh well
It's a blacked out blur
But I'm pretty sure it ruled
Last Friday night
Yeah we danced on tabletops
And we took too many shots
Think we kissed but I forgot
Last Friday night
Yeah we maxed our credit cards
Got kicked out of the bar
So we hit the boulevard
Last Friday night
We went streaking in the park
Skinny dipping in the dark
Then had a menage a trois
Last Friday night
Yeah I think we broke the law
Always say we're gonna stop-op
Whoa-oh-oah
But this Friday night
We'll do it all again
This Friday night
Do it all again
(There's actually more, but I'll stop there)

Yikes, right? It's such a horrible song. People love to make fun of her singing, but I won't since she has made a legit living with her voice and I won't argue with that. But the lyrics? Awful. I'll be the first to admit that there are other songs with similar morals (Grab somebody sexy/Tell 'em "Hey, give me everything tonight") that I actually like to listen to. But "This Friday Night" is over the edge.

Of course, our parents were shocked at some of the stuff that we listened to as teens, just like their parents were before them. I could be just another stodgy parent here, but I really do think Katy Perry's latest single has gone far too far.

Being a believer in God, I know that there are certain behaviors that bring more harm than good. Now, not everyone believes that we answer to a higher being who sets forth standards for living a good and happy life, but I think we can all agree that the behavior Perry sings about is self-destructive and irresponsible at best.

Maxing out credit cards . . . Think we kissed but I forgot . . . There's a stranger in my bed . . . Think we broke the law

There is no honor in any of those lines. No strength of character, no dignity. It's no wonder people don't know how to budget or support themselves. It's no wonder STD's are so rampant. It's no wonder people rely on the government to take care of them: this is what is played on the radio and therefore enters people's heads on a daily basis.

This song makes it seem as though making poor decisions is really fun! and harmless! and that there are no consequences, ever! But anyone over the age of twenty knows that making poor decisions can result in heartbreak, harm, and years of trying to fix things.

I like a catchy tune as much as the next person, believe me. And I'm no moral elitist when it comes to finding songs that energize me, that make me exercise better, that make me want to dance around with my girls. But I just can't stomach this song. I don't think we can afford to allow these kinds of songs to be played in our cars or our homes.

What about you? Have you had this kind of reaction to songs like this, or am I just reacting like an octogenarian who doesn't "get" culture? I really am curious, though I won't change my mind. :)

Psome pself psycho analysis

Sometimes I wonder how I come across on this blog. For instance, on my post about feeling weird, did I sound like I am not grateful to stay home or that I don't love being with my kids all day? Because I am grateful to be able to spend all day with my girls. The problem with e-relationships is that they provide such an incomplete picture of someone.

By nature, I am critical. I don't mean judgmental, though sometimes I am that, too. I mean that I look for what needs to be fixed or corrected. For instance, if I got such a low score as a 96% on a test (as if!), I would review the entire thing to find the 4% I didn't get right. Then I would carefully study that material so that I would really understand it.

I asked Ryan if he would describe me as critical but fair, and he said I am better described as fair but competitive with myself. I try to find out how to be better, and that usually means I think about what isn't great and come up with a plan to make it great.

So, in the case of giving up my career to stay home with kids, I acknowledge that that decision was awful in some ways and then figure out how to maintain all the good things about teaching while staying home. That is a reason I blog, started a book club, and keep in touch with former students.

Anyway, this all came up because of the anniversary of 9/11. I was telling Ryan how odd it was that my dad would call me on that morning ten years ago to tell me about the World Trade Centers. Not having kids of my own yet, I couldn't understand why Dad felt it important to call me. Couldn't I have just heard about it on the news? But now that I have kids, I know why he called. When I am scared or stressed or feeling out of sorts, I want to be with my children. I want to know they are okay, and then I am okay.

We then started talking about how else we are different now that we are older and have had different life experiences. I said that I have probably become even more competitive, to use Ryan's word, and spend more time figuring out how to squeeze more quality out of life.

Our time is so short, you know? We don't have time to drift through life unaware of ourselves, of how we come across, or of how we make people feel. But we also can't spend our days regretting our previous days.

I know I have blind spots. I know there are areas of my life that need improvement. I know I am failing my girls in some ways. But that's the beauty of relationships, right? I want those close to me to hold me accountable, to tell me when I am being narcissistic, elitist, and difficult.

I know what my life is supposed to look like: the Bible makes that clear. The Beatitudes, Proverbs 31, and the fruit of the Spirit all give me concrete characteristics to strive for. The Spirit makes us more holy, more intentional, more of a "pleasing aroma" to God.

Regret is a waste of time, but reflection can make life richer. Growing older is fascinating, and growing older surrounded by people who love you? It's awesome and humbling and rewarding and painful. But mainly awesome.