I know. It's amazing.
Simply amazing how time flies...
:)
Showing posts with label mothering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mothering. Show all posts
Friday, October 28, 2011
Friday, June 10, 2011
So Much To Say...
Words swirl around my head. Posts composed in the twilight. So much to share, no time to sit at keyboard and plunk.
I approach this morning with trepidation. A long night translates into a quiet morning. All are still asleep. Yes, even the littlest.
The littlest who takes up the biggest part of me.
The one all flock to when rising.
He, who inspires humor and the most ridiculous serenades.
He consumes me. I am so honored.
:)
Little Dude is growing so quickly.
I find myself less torn these days....
You know, torn between wanting him to stay little and wanting him to grow and explore.
I used to be so torn. With Little Love, especially.
How to know God's plan? Will we have another? Can we just freeze this moment? For one more second?
But now...
Now that my boys are set to head off to school in the fall... I am so. excited. for them. Truly. I have no regrets and really am peaceful that this is what God wants for them, right now. I can't wait for them to go. Not because I don't want them around, but because I know this is where they need to be.
My Little Dear is so interested in dance and theater right now... and will be starting piano. So excited for her to find her niche! So excited that she got to go see a wonderful production of "As You Like It" last night with her drama class. She was glowing when she got home.
Now that Little Boo is a super star soccer player (ok, not really) I know that she is ready to take on the extra practices and games... indeed, she's been telling me this for quite awhile now. Hoofing it to practice in 100 degree temps is not MY idea of a good time. Ask Little Boo, however.... :)
That leaves my littlest, Little Love. She will always be my baby. But I am still so excited that she is growing up. She went to Camp Jesus all. week. with her sisters. Came home red-cheeked and full of stories every day. Up and at-em the next morning... and off she went. The house is quieter. The rooms less messy. :P But that big smile when I see her in the afternoon and the joy at being with her friends is just awesome.
I know that as my kids reach different milestones, I will always look back at when they were "little" and smile.
But I can see how the joy of watching them grow... of encouraging them to grow into the people God wants them to be, will more than make up for the longings of those days gone by.
Well... almost.
:)
I approach this morning with trepidation. A long night translates into a quiet morning. All are still asleep. Yes, even the littlest.
The littlest who takes up the biggest part of me.
The one all flock to when rising.
He, who inspires humor and the most ridiculous serenades.
He consumes me. I am so honored.
:)
Little Dude is growing so quickly.
I find myself less torn these days....
You know, torn between wanting him to stay little and wanting him to grow and explore.
I used to be so torn. With Little Love, especially.
How to know God's plan? Will we have another? Can we just freeze this moment? For one more second?
But now...
Now that my boys are set to head off to school in the fall... I am so. excited. for them. Truly. I have no regrets and really am peaceful that this is what God wants for them, right now. I can't wait for them to go. Not because I don't want them around, but because I know this is where they need to be.
My Little Dear is so interested in dance and theater right now... and will be starting piano. So excited for her to find her niche! So excited that she got to go see a wonderful production of "As You Like It" last night with her drama class. She was glowing when she got home.
Now that Little Boo is a super star soccer player (ok, not really) I know that she is ready to take on the extra practices and games... indeed, she's been telling me this for quite awhile now. Hoofing it to practice in 100 degree temps is not MY idea of a good time. Ask Little Boo, however.... :)
That leaves my littlest, Little Love. She will always be my baby. But I am still so excited that she is growing up. She went to Camp Jesus all. week. with her sisters. Came home red-cheeked and full of stories every day. Up and at-em the next morning... and off she went. The house is quieter. The rooms less messy. :P But that big smile when I see her in the afternoon and the joy at being with her friends is just awesome.
I know that as my kids reach different milestones, I will always look back at when they were "little" and smile.
But I can see how the joy of watching them grow... of encouraging them to grow into the people God wants them to be, will more than make up for the longings of those days gone by.
Well... almost.
:)
Monday, May 09, 2011
True Love
The eyes... they are huge. They sparkle and glisten, overflowing with love....
... and trust.
This little man, how he trusts. All babies do, I know. The Papa stands on the sidelines, tossing him high as the nearby mothers gasp. Little Dude laughs. Big belly laughs. The mamas smile and continue their chatting.
Big sisters perch him on the couch, talking and talking to him. He smiles, adoring. Listening to everything they say, laughing at their inflections. I pass by and pause. Then implore... hold him tight.
Please, do not let him fall.
He is too close to the edge... put your hand out....
And they do.
Papa holds him at dinner. And those eyes, they search. Each member of the family, seeking... seeking...
And then, those beautiful eyes find mine, and the lopsided grin grows wide. Wider than possible for a little man so small.
His eyes sparkle and mine glisten.
True love.
:)
... and trust.
This little man, how he trusts. All babies do, I know. The Papa stands on the sidelines, tossing him high as the nearby mothers gasp. Little Dude laughs. Big belly laughs. The mamas smile and continue their chatting.
Big sisters perch him on the couch, talking and talking to him. He smiles, adoring. Listening to everything they say, laughing at their inflections. I pass by and pause. Then implore... hold him tight.
Please, do not let him fall.
He is too close to the edge... put your hand out....
And they do.
Papa holds him at dinner. And those eyes, they search. Each member of the family, seeking... seeking...
And then, those beautiful eyes find mine, and the lopsided grin grows wide. Wider than possible for a little man so small.
His eyes sparkle and mine glisten.
True love.
:)
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Gemma These Days
Gemma is our Little Dear. Only 10 years old, she sometimes has the disposition of a 13 year old... what with all the requests for music and clothes and such. Although my good friend Lisa tells me that when she actually does get to that age, it will be nothing like it is now.
Hmmm. Can't wait.
:P
My Gemma Dear has an artistic soul. She has always been drawn to acute observation... and then she will proceed to talk talk talk about it. She loves to create. Painting, drawing, crafts, cooking, baking... she is adept at spinning things into beauty. It is quite a hurdle for this craft-challenged Mama to keep her occupied.
Gemma also has a heart of gold. She is a true friend. Never one to disparage others, she is fiercely loyal. And will always give her friends the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes to a fault. She is just like her Mama in this way. It hurts to see her hurting due to the thoughtlessness of others. That these other girls do not fully understand the treasure that is her friendship, that her heart has been thrown to the side in the name of "popularity". Yes, even among home schoolers there can be a pecking order. She is young for her grade level, and the friends in her co-op are much wiser in the lingo of "growing up." It's just a hard age, I'm afraid.
All of this comes down to my relationship with her. How hard it can be for me sometimes to look past the fact that she has told me the same story everyday for the past week. To see her excitement for crafts and special times together as an opportunity to bond, not another chore I must complete. Her desire to be close to me, to bring me in as a confidant, is something I need to foster and encourage. I'm working on it. And the rewards of our relationship have become apparent.
This oldest daughter of mine is a gem, as her name implies. She is sweet and honest. Open about her hopes and dreams, innocent in her loves and wishes. Her questions are refreshingly innocent. And her heart is pure.
It's a lovely thing to behold.
Lovely. Just like her.
:)
Hmmm. Can't wait.
:P
My Gemma Dear has an artistic soul. She has always been drawn to acute observation... and then she will proceed to talk talk talk about it. She loves to create. Painting, drawing, crafts, cooking, baking... she is adept at spinning things into beauty. It is quite a hurdle for this craft-challenged Mama to keep her occupied.
Gemma also has a heart of gold. She is a true friend. Never one to disparage others, she is fiercely loyal. And will always give her friends the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes to a fault. She is just like her Mama in this way. It hurts to see her hurting due to the thoughtlessness of others. That these other girls do not fully understand the treasure that is her friendship, that her heart has been thrown to the side in the name of "popularity". Yes, even among home schoolers there can be a pecking order. She is young for her grade level, and the friends in her co-op are much wiser in the lingo of "growing up." It's just a hard age, I'm afraid.
All of this comes down to my relationship with her. How hard it can be for me sometimes to look past the fact that she has told me the same story everyday for the past week. To see her excitement for crafts and special times together as an opportunity to bond, not another chore I must complete. Her desire to be close to me, to bring me in as a confidant, is something I need to foster and encourage. I'm working on it. And the rewards of our relationship have become apparent.
This oldest daughter of mine is a gem, as her name implies. She is sweet and honest. Open about her hopes and dreams, innocent in her loves and wishes. Her questions are refreshingly innocent. And her heart is pure.
It's a lovely thing to behold.
Lovely. Just like her.
:)
Thursday, January 20, 2011
I Dance
There are roses on my kitchen table... splayed out in hues of pink and red. Put there haphazardly by my exuberant 8 year old, after my equally exuberant 6 year old plucked them from her Papa's hand with a grateful smile and twirled them in the living room.
I think she thought they were for her.
He smiles at me over the din and my weary eyes thank him.
It's been a day. And he knows it.
Hence the flowers.
And they dance on the kitchen table... brightening my heart.
:)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The boy whose southern heritage is borrowed by place of birth is being formally instructed in the ways of south.
It has come to this.
Yes ma'am doesn't roll off his tongue very easily... and my northern ears cringe to hear it. But his Canadian Papa has insisted. A form of respect. Respect that is wanting. And the perfect way to capture exactly the tone that is needed. 27 days to form a habit? We'll see.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Papa is at work tonight, in the cold. I urged him to stop somewhere and buy insulated work gloves... fretting over his cold fingers in a dim warehouse. This extra job he took. How sad I am that he has to work it. That he cannot be home with light and warmth and chicken soup. How determined I am that he come home to that, and much more. To cleanliness and peace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How inspiring it is to read these words. And these. And most especially these.
Pausing to take stock. Stilling the despair, and straining to hear the music. The music of the now...
There is an urge to purge and embrace Ordinary Time once again. To establish our routine again. To tuck our new baby into our lives and move on. Because, after all, he is a little one... and can simply fold into us and be a part of us... another facet so small.
But then the reality of such a little one and all he entails hits hard. He is beautiful, he is loved. And he is loud.
3 months postpartum, and I have spent more nights sleeping upright than I have in any other position. Teething comes early to my poor little ones, and oh how painful it is for them!
Yes, I am tired. Yes, our house is as haphazard as the flowers dancing on my kitchen table. And yes, some days the tears come easily. But I would not change it for anything in the entire world.
The reality of what I am trying to do is comforting. It may seem crazy to some, this hidden life. But the reason hangs on every wall of my home. I pass by this crucified love on display as I walk....
I hold our love close and I pace and I bounce and I hum.
I dance.
I think she thought they were for her.
He smiles at me over the din and my weary eyes thank him.
It's been a day. And he knows it.
Hence the flowers.
And they dance on the kitchen table... brightening my heart.
:)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The boy whose southern heritage is borrowed by place of birth is being formally instructed in the ways of south.
It has come to this.
Yes ma'am doesn't roll off his tongue very easily... and my northern ears cringe to hear it. But his Canadian Papa has insisted. A form of respect. Respect that is wanting. And the perfect way to capture exactly the tone that is needed. 27 days to form a habit? We'll see.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Papa is at work tonight, in the cold. I urged him to stop somewhere and buy insulated work gloves... fretting over his cold fingers in a dim warehouse. This extra job he took. How sad I am that he has to work it. That he cannot be home with light and warmth and chicken soup. How determined I am that he come home to that, and much more. To cleanliness and peace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How inspiring it is to read these words. And these. And most especially these.
Pausing to take stock. Stilling the despair, and straining to hear the music. The music of the now...
There is an urge to purge and embrace Ordinary Time once again. To establish our routine again. To tuck our new baby into our lives and move on. Because, after all, he is a little one... and can simply fold into us and be a part of us... another facet so small.
But then the reality of such a little one and all he entails hits hard. He is beautiful, he is loved. And he is loud.
3 months postpartum, and I have spent more nights sleeping upright than I have in any other position. Teething comes early to my poor little ones, and oh how painful it is for them!
Yes, I am tired. Yes, our house is as haphazard as the flowers dancing on my kitchen table. And yes, some days the tears come easily. But I would not change it for anything in the entire world.
The reality of what I am trying to do is comforting. It may seem crazy to some, this hidden life. But the reason hangs on every wall of my home. I pass by this crucified love on display as I walk....
I hold our love close and I pace and I bounce and I hum.
I dance.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Mae These Days
Mae is our Little Love. Named after my grandmother*, Mae reminds me so much of her. She is funny and charming. A bit of a spitfire, but with a heart of gold. She is my first girl to collapse into tears, just really sob, when someone teases her. I am learning to guard her heart fiercely... while trying to teach her not to take herself so seriously.(or... sewiouswy... as she would say)
:P
At the age of 6, Mae-love (see where she gets her blog name?) is oscillating between wanting to be my baby girl and wanting to do all that the older girls are allowed to do. She gets frustrated by the razor's edge she must continually walk. And I sometimes wonder if I am not protecting her just a little too much. Maybe she should be able to do more and explore the world around her a little more freely. But the thought of unseen dangers keeps her close to home.
Maisy Daisy (another nickname... cute, huh?) is such a smarty. And I'll be the first to admit that any one of my children is not very bright. But this girl picks things up quickly, and remembers them. She blurts out letter sounds and math facts and placement of States before her big sister can even start to open her mouth. But this awareness has it's downfalls. Super sensitive, she will bristle and howl when there is even of hint of teasing or ridicule in a sibling's tone. She picks up on the slightest bit of sarcasm and reacts strongly. It gets a little trying for this Mama, dealing with all of her battle wounds.
Mae has stepped into the role of big sister with pride. She hauls Brynach around like a pro, and has become quite territorial. Between her and Little Boo, I feel like I need to make a sign up sheet and assign hours of the day for their baby care turns.
:P
My Maisy will always have that special place in my heart. The place that is reserved for "The Baby Girl of the Family." I never knew such a spot would exist, until this littlest girl came along. But there is something super special about that last girl. I can't quite put my finger on it, but every Mama knows.
She's just my Mae. The sunshine of our family.
:)
*My grandmother passed just last week, on Dec. 27th. May she rest in eternal peace and love.
:P
At the age of 6, Mae-love (see where she gets her blog name?) is oscillating between wanting to be my baby girl and wanting to do all that the older girls are allowed to do. She gets frustrated by the razor's edge she must continually walk. And I sometimes wonder if I am not protecting her just a little too much. Maybe she should be able to do more and explore the world around her a little more freely. But the thought of unseen dangers keeps her close to home.
Maisy Daisy (another nickname... cute, huh?) is such a smarty. And I'll be the first to admit that any one of my children is not very bright. But this girl picks things up quickly, and remembers them. She blurts out letter sounds and math facts and placement of States before her big sister can even start to open her mouth. But this awareness has it's downfalls. Super sensitive, she will bristle and howl when there is even of hint of teasing or ridicule in a sibling's tone. She picks up on the slightest bit of sarcasm and reacts strongly. It gets a little trying for this Mama, dealing with all of her battle wounds.
Mae has stepped into the role of big sister with pride. She hauls Brynach around like a pro, and has become quite territorial. Between her and Little Boo, I feel like I need to make a sign up sheet and assign hours of the day for their baby care turns.
:P
My Maisy will always have that special place in my heart. The place that is reserved for "The Baby Girl of the Family." I never knew such a spot would exist, until this littlest girl came along. But there is something super special about that last girl. I can't quite put my finger on it, but every Mama knows.
She's just my Mae. The sunshine of our family.
:)
*My grandmother passed just last week, on Dec. 27th. May she rest in eternal peace and love.
Monday, January 03, 2011
P.S.
Brynach These Days is a big fat fuss.
Poor Little Dude will be going to the doctor today, for a possible ear infection. Or maybe it's teething. Or maybe he just really likes to nurse all. night. long. for the sheer thrill of it? I dunno. These little peeps don't come with instructions or light up buttons. Maybe we should have just settled for an iPhone instead. And get the "new baby" app? Surely they must have that by now.
:P
After a 12 hour drive home from my parents yesterday, it's all I can do to gulp down my coffee and be minor-ly civil to my family.
The series of ruminations on my other darlings will continue at a later date.
Happy New Year.
:)
ETA: It's a double ear infection. Poor Little Dude. :(
Poor Little Dude will be going to the doctor today, for a possible ear infection. Or maybe it's teething. Or maybe he just really likes to nurse all. night. long. for the sheer thrill of it? I dunno. These little peeps don't come with instructions or light up buttons. Maybe we should have just settled for an iPhone instead. And get the "new baby" app? Surely they must have that by now.
:P
After a 12 hour drive home from my parents yesterday, it's all I can do to gulp down my coffee and be minor-ly civil to my family.
The series of ruminations on my other darlings will continue at a later date.
Happy New Year.
:)
ETA: It's a double ear infection. Poor Little Dude. :(
Friday, December 17, 2010
Brynach These Days
I've never published my kids real names. Inadvertently, they may have popped up in the comments through family or close friends. But I've always been vigilant about keeping them anonymous. Always. But just this once, I'm going to break protocol and talk about each child by name. Mostly because I want to remember this crazy time. And also because we have many long distance family members who want to know, and long to see, our growing peanuts.
Brynach is our Little Dude. Born just 7 short weeks ago. He is, by far, the noisiest of the bunch... and the most needy. Especially today. The mama of the house got a whopping 3 hours of sleep last night thanks to his royal fussiness. And today has not been promising in the nap department. Thank goodness DH took the day off. Too bad he thinks he did it for car repairing projects.
:P
Bryn is our precious gift. Yes, even after a measly 3 hours of sleep I can still say that and actually mean it. We didn't think our family would ever reach 6 children, and the fact that it did is such a blessing. He has already stolen all of our hearts, and now repays our drooling attentiveness with drools of his own. Cooing and occasionally even smiling, he is constantly the center of attention.
So much a part of the family, he has already been incorporated into the games of Little Love and Little Boo. The other day as I folded laundry, the girls decided Bryn and I were aliens and they needed to "kidnap" the alien baby. I was to walk over to his "happy chair" (as they call it) and "discover" he was missing. As I did so, they ran away from behind the couch, giggling. I walked back to my laundry... only to discover Bryn tucked into one of the laundry baskets, perfectly cozy and content. An unwitting playmate in their game.
Of course, he is simply beautiful. I love his tender face, his half-drunk milk-drooly smile as he nurses. His deep blue eyes seem so serious as he takes in his surroundings and processes what it all must mean.
And I want him to understand... it means you are loved, littlest one.
So much loved.
It fills us all to the bursting.
:)
Brynach is our Little Dude. Born just 7 short weeks ago. He is, by far, the noisiest of the bunch... and the most needy. Especially today. The mama of the house got a whopping 3 hours of sleep last night thanks to his royal fussiness. And today has not been promising in the nap department. Thank goodness DH took the day off. Too bad he thinks he did it for car repairing projects.
:P
Bryn is our precious gift. Yes, even after a measly 3 hours of sleep I can still say that and actually mean it. We didn't think our family would ever reach 6 children, and the fact that it did is such a blessing. He has already stolen all of our hearts, and now repays our drooling attentiveness with drools of his own. Cooing and occasionally even smiling, he is constantly the center of attention.
So much a part of the family, he has already been incorporated into the games of Little Love and Little Boo. The other day as I folded laundry, the girls decided Bryn and I were aliens and they needed to "kidnap" the alien baby. I was to walk over to his "happy chair" (as they call it) and "discover" he was missing. As I did so, they ran away from behind the couch, giggling. I walked back to my laundry... only to discover Bryn tucked into one of the laundry baskets, perfectly cozy and content. An unwitting playmate in their game.
Of course, he is simply beautiful. I love his tender face, his half-drunk milk-drooly smile as he nurses. His deep blue eyes seem so serious as he takes in his surroundings and processes what it all must mean.
And I want him to understand... it means you are loved, littlest one.
So much loved.
It fills us all to the bursting.
:)
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
A Blessedly Ordinary Birth Story
Looking out of my two eyes, I saw my feet, for, perhaps, the first time in awhile. I felt the weight that they had to bear, the unyielding gravitational pull. And I felt my knees weaken at this pressure. For the first time in my life, my earthly body seemed nothing less than a burden. A burden to be borne and endured, not adorned and arrayed. And I could truly whisper to myself that the promise of the Kingdom to come is surely a blessing and a welcome comfort.
~Nutmeg, 2004
Naturally, I've been gun shy ever since. After Little Dude's existence was made known to us, I was thrilled, but cautious. Ok, who am I kidding... I was scared sh*tless. I did not want to go through the fear and anxiety I experienced during the surgery... did not want the horrific recovery... did not want the colicky baby with acid reflux. I wasn't sure that all of my longing for another little one would turn out to be the best thing for us.
*smile*
The morning of Little Dude's scheduled birth, I explained to DH my need for some Mama time. I needed to shower, to do my hair, to accomplish some detailed grooming... because I knew it would be at least a week before I would be strong enough to give any attention to detail in regards to personal hygiene. Sorry, (tmi?) but surgery recovery is no picnic. And I knew it.
Surprisingly, I was calm. Begging for prayers from all corners of the internet and real world friends, I was amazed at the effects. I had a game plan, and was following it to the letter. Baby steps, I decided. Take one thing at a time. First step, pack. Next step, get to the hospital. And so on from there. At each turn, I would take a deep breath and submit. Hospital gown? check. I.V. line? check. Scary consult with the Anesthetist? You betcha. Throughout all of this, my mind focused on something I had read that morning. A poor woman had revealed on the Faith and Family blog that her husband was caught in the throes of a porn addiction. My heart ached for her, and I was moved to promise her that I would offer up my sufferings that day for her. Oh, to think that maybe my meager sufferings could aid in his release from that bondage! My resolve was hardened.
The peace was unbelievable.
There were moments of pain and panic, I will not lie. I have a slight scoliosis in the base of my spine, and the positioning of the epidural was tricky... and painful. Having the anesthesiologist ask you which nerves were spazzing out as he pushed the needle one way or the other? Yeah. Not pleasant. Lying down on your side to let the medicine have easier access to that one side that wasn't quite numbing properly? Wondering if they'd have to redo it? And what about the surgery? Eeeek. Yes, there were moments of panic. DH was not allowed in to the O.R. at that point either. I had forgotten about that. He would not be allowed in until I was numbed and the sheet was positioned. And that added to my anxiety. To be suffering and in pain and confusion without my stronghold beside me. That was probably the hardest part. But I remembered my resolve. I was determined to hang on to my peace. And the prayers carried me through.
And as the medicine took effect, DH was ushered in. He took my hand and smiled.
My arms were outstretched and the words of Our Lord took root in me. This is my body... given up for you. I was fully living this truth at the time that the first incision was recorded.
During the surgery, with all of it's strange sounds and smells, I had my eyes closed. My doctor asked how I was doing, and the nurse anesthetist said I was smiling. Strange, huh. I was thinking about Little Dude, and how we would meet him soon. And I couldn't wait.
The moment I heard Little Dude... the tears sprang up, unexpectedly. And as I laughed them away, I remembered that I always cry when I first hear those wails. They wrapped him up and laid him on my outstretched arm, close enough so I could kiss his face. My arms still immobile, DH held him in place for me. As my doctors finished their work, I lost all sense of time just gazing at his face. And during recovery, the protocol at the hospital is for complete skin on skin time. Having him nurse and snuggling him close made the time go by quickly. I can barely remember my doctor checking in on me before he headed home. Something about how it all went well.... and then he was gone.
My doctor. A few words about him. He is Catholic, Pro-life and NFP-only. Knowing that the man who was performing the surgery was most likely in the state of grace gave me a confidence that I hadn't thought of before. I could almost picture the guardian angels guiding his hands. He is meticulous. So much so that he refuses to deliver his own children... afraid that his emotions would cause him to lose focus. He plays the role of dad then... but for us, he was all business. And I just love him for that.
After I was home a few days, and reflecting on how God's grace and many prayers carried me through each hurdle of recovery.... (first time up, first shower, removal of bandages, then removal of staples, etc) It dawned on me that it's really all about trust. Trust in God. Trust in your caregivers. Being rolled from the operating table to the recovery bed and then onto my hospital bed.... ever had that done? They tip you on your side, then lift you by the sheets and plop you on the other bed. I was completely numb, staring at the floor, as they tipped me one way, and then another. Totally helpless. But I had to trust. If I freaked out just a little, tried to steady myself with my arms... then the IV bag would have gone flying, and in their surprise, the nurses may have lost their grip on me. And those nurses? They are good. Protecting my dignity, soothing my fears, all while letting you know that this is routine. It's done all the time. And while you are uniquely you... you are also just part of their normal day. And there is something really comforting in knowing that.
How much more God loves us. He paralyzes us with his love. Tips us one way, then another. Only asking us to trust, not to freak out.
Because his grip on us is secure.
And there is something even more comforting about that.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The Craziness of our Days
I want to remember this time... this blessed time when my entire life is ruled by a little man who is not yet two feet tall. Who cannot even hold his own head up, and spits up constantly. Who cuddles and snugs and makes the funniest faces when trying to wake up... and who is the center of our universe these days.
We are in survival mode here in the Nut House. Those of you with little ones right now know (and are living out!) exactly what I mean. Other Mamas of littles now grown will nod in remembrance. It is a crazy time. But a blessed time of crystal clear priorities...
~The baby is screaming, he must be picked up/changed/fed/held/rocked.
The dishes can wait.
~The children need some family time. Some games/movies/mom-and-dad/special time....
The laundry can wait to be folded. Need something? Look in the clean basket.
~Mama needs a shower today. No, really, it has become a priority. ;)
The vacuuming will be done later. Please hold Little Dude, and pass him to another older sibling if he fusses.
~Nap time! Which equals tv time!
Yes, I know the children have been watching all morning. One more hour this afternoon won't rot their brains too much. I just need them in one place so I can rest and not worry.
And so it goes. Our housecleaning is haphazard at best. DH is trying not to do absolutely everything. He is such a do-er though. And the kids are being rallied to constantly step up more and more to help him out. Sat night their reward was a trip to the movies, how DH managed to stay awake after running errands all day is beyond me.
I stayed home and snuggled with Little Dude. Because that is all I can manage to do these days.
That is my A- #1 Top Priority.
And I'm going to treasure it for as long as I can....
:)
We are in survival mode here in the Nut House. Those of you with little ones right now know (and are living out!) exactly what I mean. Other Mamas of littles now grown will nod in remembrance. It is a crazy time. But a blessed time of crystal clear priorities...
~The baby is screaming, he must be picked up/changed/fed/held/rocked.
The dishes can wait.
~The children need some family time. Some games/movies/mom-and-dad/special time....
The laundry can wait to be folded. Need something? Look in the clean basket.
~Mama needs a shower today. No, really, it has become a priority. ;)
The vacuuming will be done later. Please hold Little Dude, and pass him to another older sibling if he fusses.
~Nap time! Which equals tv time!
Yes, I know the children have been watching all morning. One more hour this afternoon won't rot their brains too much. I just need them in one place so I can rest and not worry.
And so it goes. Our housecleaning is haphazard at best. DH is trying not to do absolutely everything. He is such a do-er though. And the kids are being rallied to constantly step up more and more to help him out. Sat night their reward was a trip to the movies, how DH managed to stay awake after running errands all day is beyond me.
I stayed home and snuggled with Little Dude. Because that is all I can manage to do these days.
That is my A- #1 Top Priority.
And I'm going to treasure it for as long as I can....
:)
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Leaving Good Behind
Yesterday was not what you'd call a stellar day in the Nut House.
By the time dinner was over, I was nursing a Smirnoff and ignoring the chaos surrounding me. The little girls were fighting, chasing each other all over the downstairs, Sports Fan was moaning in agony, sure that we'd have to amputate his foot because he had stepped on a pencil earlier in the day, and Action Man was punctuating the air with complaints about the state of his uncompleted schoolwork.
Glancing at the clock and noticing the late hour, I rallied the troops. Little Dear and Little Boo did the dishes, then cleaned up the living areas. The boys tidied (most of) the homeschool room, and then they were all sent upstairs, leaving a semblance of peace and order.... some good behind.
I continued my pity-fest on the couch with my feet up. Only one week left to go until Little Dude is born, but I have about a billion things to do. And the weight of that knowledge plus the burden of other thoughts weighed on me. Throw in some whacked out hormones, and you've got yourself one outrageously emotional Mama.
When despair starts to creep in, my instincts are to circle the wagons. I can only deal with a shrunken universe. My arms clench at my sides, and I bring the little ones in close. I surround myself with kindness and mercy and venture no farther than what I deem comfortable. This is not just a physical limitation, but a spiritual and emotional one as well. Little Love and I read story after story today. We sat quietly for so long, her head resting on my belly, that she suddenly popped up, looked at me and sighed.. what a loonnnggg snug that was, Mama! And off she went to play.
Making my way to my doctor's appointment today, my feet dragged, knowing that this would be the last time I see this building before Little Dude was born. My next appointment would be postpartum, and while I couldn't wait to be holding the little guy, the state of my physical being was not something I was looking forward to.
There are many "lasts" these days... My thoughts always begin with "This time next week..." because, indeed, this time next week, I will be in the hospital, and Little Dude will be born. He and I will have come through the surgery with flying colors (God-willing) and I will be holding him in my arms. And then the uphill climb of recovery will begin. And for that, I simply cannot wait. I am not a patient patient. But I am eager to begin ~possibly my last~ babymoon. It is always a time of simple joy and peace. To have baby at home, and to experience the neediness of tending to one so dependent and helpless. To be fulfilling just the basic needs, and to smile at the smallest of creation.
So, my dear friends, the blog will most likely be very quiet until the big announcement next Thursday. I need to leave good behind... to prepare our home and lives for this most joyous event. To ensure.. as best as I can... that those who will be helping out on the home front (thanks, Mom and Dad!) have a smooth transition, and that our veteran members of the Nut House will not be wading in chaos, but can truly enjoy this exciting time.
Please keep us in your prayers. I know that all will be well. And I truly cannot wait to introduce the newest Nut House member to all of you!
:)
By the time dinner was over, I was nursing a Smirnoff and ignoring the chaos surrounding me. The little girls were fighting, chasing each other all over the downstairs, Sports Fan was moaning in agony, sure that we'd have to amputate his foot because he had stepped on a pencil earlier in the day, and Action Man was punctuating the air with complaints about the state of his uncompleted schoolwork.
Glancing at the clock and noticing the late hour, I rallied the troops. Little Dear and Little Boo did the dishes, then cleaned up the living areas. The boys tidied (most of) the homeschool room, and then they were all sent upstairs, leaving a semblance of peace and order.... some good behind.
I continued my pity-fest on the couch with my feet up. Only one week left to go until Little Dude is born, but I have about a billion things to do. And the weight of that knowledge plus the burden of other thoughts weighed on me. Throw in some whacked out hormones, and you've got yourself one outrageously emotional Mama.
When despair starts to creep in, my instincts are to circle the wagons. I can only deal with a shrunken universe. My arms clench at my sides, and I bring the little ones in close. I surround myself with kindness and mercy and venture no farther than what I deem comfortable. This is not just a physical limitation, but a spiritual and emotional one as well. Little Love and I read story after story today. We sat quietly for so long, her head resting on my belly, that she suddenly popped up, looked at me and sighed.. what a loonnnggg snug that was, Mama! And off she went to play.
Making my way to my doctor's appointment today, my feet dragged, knowing that this would be the last time I see this building before Little Dude was born. My next appointment would be postpartum, and while I couldn't wait to be holding the little guy, the state of my physical being was not something I was looking forward to.
There are many "lasts" these days... My thoughts always begin with "This time next week..." because, indeed, this time next week, I will be in the hospital, and Little Dude will be born. He and I will have come through the surgery with flying colors (God-willing) and I will be holding him in my arms. And then the uphill climb of recovery will begin. And for that, I simply cannot wait. I am not a patient patient. But I am eager to begin ~possibly my last~ babymoon. It is always a time of simple joy and peace. To have baby at home, and to experience the neediness of tending to one so dependent and helpless. To be fulfilling just the basic needs, and to smile at the smallest of creation.
So, my dear friends, the blog will most likely be very quiet until the big announcement next Thursday. I need to leave good behind... to prepare our home and lives for this most joyous event. To ensure.. as best as I can... that those who will be helping out on the home front (thanks, Mom and Dad!) have a smooth transition, and that our veteran members of the Nut House will not be wading in chaos, but can truly enjoy this exciting time.
Please keep us in your prayers. I know that all will be well. And I truly cannot wait to introduce the newest Nut House member to all of you!
:)
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sixty Minutes
We are a homeschooling family. That means that I have the privilege of being constantly surrounded by my children 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. (yes, I do mean 24 hours... you should see the nightly bed rotations)
For most of my waking hours (well over 12) I am perpetually engaged. Little Love is being formally homeschooled now. And she takes up the majority of my time during the day. She is a delightful learner, and very diligent. But it is a lesson in heroic patience to calmly spell out every single word she needs to write for her Spelling sentences, to listen as she sounds out the words in her reader, to point out again where Greenland is and that she needs to place the label "just there."
Couple that with Little Boo's exasperation over a History timeline that won't line up, Religion reading that is just above her level, and the never-ending battle of taming her pencil.... along with the challenges of the older three and their ability to either disappear or annoy the hell out of each other on a minute-by-minute basis... and I'm pretty much worn out by 11am.
Enter my brilliant husband.
On the first day of homeschooling, DH was standing in the kitchen at lunch time, listening as I spelled out a word for Little Love, told Sports Fan where the Bible was, and yelled up the stairs at Action Man... all while my shaking hands attempted to make a sandwich to appease my own low-blood sugar level. He commented that he thought I needed a break.
I almost hit him with a knife full of mayo.Me? A veteran homeschool mom needing a break on the very first day??? What am I? A wimp?
But then he explained.... I need a one hour break, every day. Where I am not to be disturbed. So that I can eat lunch, sit down, have a huge glass of water... and just be. With no schoolwork to help with, and most definitely nothing to engage in. In fact, he said, everyone needs that break. No matter where they are at on their schedule, no matter how much they have gotten accomplished... from 11:30 - 12:30 the kids are to get their lunch, eat, and then play. And not bother Mom. Period.
I admit, I was skeptical. But I also saw the need. I am the type of mom (and aren't we all?) who will get everyone's lunch, wipe down the kitchen and do the dishes before I'll sit down myself and eat. I will teach Math in between bites of pb&j, while gulping down leftover cold coffee. In short, I will not take the time to care for myself and I'll end up grumpy and undernourished by the end of the afternoon. Nobody wins.
So, now we get the gift of a break. We all do. The kids make their own lunches (I'll help the younger girls) and then eat and read quietly. I make my own lunch and either eat outside by myself, or with my prayer book. Then, I'll check e-mail or maybe make some phone calls or just sit quietly outside and breathe.
I am at a certain season in my life. Our family is in this season together. The children are close in age, and all self-sufficient. They can all play together.. and often do. There are no toddlers or newborns (yet... very soon, though!) and we (I) have the luxury of an hour of (relative) peace. (no method is perfect of course... we have had some unrest and bickering during our "breaks"... ) And I understand that for many homeschooling moms, this hour of solace in the middle of the day is an unrealistic expectation. But I would encourage those who can... make use of naptimes to enforce a quiet time for your non-nappers. Put out books and puzzles or even put on a little show..... just to be able to disengage... to breathe and clear your mind. To give the schooling ones a chance to recuperate from a morning of intense learning. (It's amazing how a stubborn math problem unravels like magic after an hour of outdoor play.)
You yourself will be a more cheerful, patient mom. And that is a gift every child needs.
:)
For most of my waking hours (well over 12) I am perpetually engaged. Little Love is being formally homeschooled now. And she takes up the majority of my time during the day. She is a delightful learner, and very diligent. But it is a lesson in heroic patience to calmly spell out every single word she needs to write for her Spelling sentences, to listen as she sounds out the words in her reader, to point out again where Greenland is and that she needs to place the label "just there."
Couple that with Little Boo's exasperation over a History timeline that won't line up, Religion reading that is just above her level, and the never-ending battle of taming her pencil.... along with the challenges of the older three and their ability to either disappear or annoy the hell out of each other on a minute-by-minute basis... and I'm pretty much worn out by 11am.
Enter my brilliant husband.
On the first day of homeschooling, DH was standing in the kitchen at lunch time, listening as I spelled out a word for Little Love, told Sports Fan where the Bible was, and yelled up the stairs at Action Man... all while my shaking hands attempted to make a sandwich to appease my own low-blood sugar level. He commented that he thought I needed a break.
I almost hit him with a knife full of mayo.Me? A veteran homeschool mom needing a break on the very first day??? What am I? A wimp?
But then he explained.... I need a one hour break, every day. Where I am not to be disturbed. So that I can eat lunch, sit down, have a huge glass of water... and just be. With no schoolwork to help with, and most definitely nothing to engage in. In fact, he said, everyone needs that break. No matter where they are at on their schedule, no matter how much they have gotten accomplished... from 11:30 - 12:30 the kids are to get their lunch, eat, and then play. And not bother Mom. Period.
I admit, I was skeptical. But I also saw the need. I am the type of mom (and aren't we all?) who will get everyone's lunch, wipe down the kitchen and do the dishes before I'll sit down myself and eat. I will teach Math in between bites of pb&j, while gulping down leftover cold coffee. In short, I will not take the time to care for myself and I'll end up grumpy and undernourished by the end of the afternoon. Nobody wins.
So, now we get the gift of a break. We all do. The kids make their own lunches (I'll help the younger girls) and then eat and read quietly. I make my own lunch and either eat outside by myself, or with my prayer book. Then, I'll check e-mail or maybe make some phone calls or just sit quietly outside and breathe.
I am at a certain season in my life. Our family is in this season together. The children are close in age, and all self-sufficient. They can all play together.. and often do. There are no toddlers or newborns (yet... very soon, though!) and we (I) have the luxury of an hour of (relative) peace. (no method is perfect of course... we have had some unrest and bickering during our "breaks"... ) And I understand that for many homeschooling moms, this hour of solace in the middle of the day is an unrealistic expectation. But I would encourage those who can... make use of naptimes to enforce a quiet time for your non-nappers. Put out books and puzzles or even put on a little show..... just to be able to disengage... to breathe and clear your mind. To give the schooling ones a chance to recuperate from a morning of intense learning. (It's amazing how a stubborn math problem unravels like magic after an hour of outdoor play.)
You yourself will be a more cheerful, patient mom. And that is a gift every child needs.
:)
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Slowing Down
I climb the stairs and take a deep breath. I can't seem to catch it. When did we add in all those extra steps, anyway?
;P
Suddenly I am assaulted from within. The Little Dude is making himself known, berating me in his own way for pushing myself again. Seems like every time I try to get something accomplished and then sit down, the WWE takes up residency in my womb.
It's a good sign, I know. But it certainly is wearing me down.
With all of my other pregnancies, I was able to *ignore* my expanding belly and proceed with life as usual. Sure, my clothes were snug and I eventually had to switch into maternity wear, but I never skipped a beat in my daily routine.
This time? I feel like my house is on a slant, and that every step I take is uphill. I persevere with my back, leg and arm exercises. I try to dress is a way that is comfortable and conducive to exercise. I am attempting to trick myself into thinking that I am still 28 and can do all I did when pregnant with Little Dear.... while keeping in mind that I'm no spring chicken and I need to be more aware of my ever expanding mid-section.
It ain't working.
:P
And so... I am forced to slow down. To sit and relax while DH cooks dinner on the weekends. He has had to physically push me (gently, of course) to the couch and force me to stay there while he cleans. He pulls me up the stairs and propels me to the tub. He tries to imagine what it must be like to carry this extra 20 lbs (yes... already!) throughout the day... and groans in sympathy. My kids, too, see the strain and pat me on the back as they dart up the stairs ahead of me, leaving me in the dust. They check on me often (a little too often) when I'm resting in bed or on the couch. They'll even step in to lift or carry something for me... esp if I ask with a pitiful look in my eyes.....
:)
I wanted this, still want this, I remind myself. It's what I've longed for, dreamed of... just one more chance to inhale that sweet newborn smell. To be the Mama... the one the cries are for... the only one who can appease. It's a steep price, at least for my weak will and shaky legs... one that I had blissfully forgotten. And with a much-dreaded c-section on the horizon, there are bigger hurdles in sight.
For now, though, I will take each day as it comes.
Bask in my bigness...
Cherish the kicks...
Imagine the sweet sleeps...
And pray for the grace to meet the next month, week, day... task...
with love and patience.
:)
;P
Suddenly I am assaulted from within. The Little Dude is making himself known, berating me in his own way for pushing myself again. Seems like every time I try to get something accomplished and then sit down, the WWE takes up residency in my womb.
It's a good sign, I know. But it certainly is wearing me down.
With all of my other pregnancies, I was able to *ignore* my expanding belly and proceed with life as usual. Sure, my clothes were snug and I eventually had to switch into maternity wear, but I never skipped a beat in my daily routine.
This time? I feel like my house is on a slant, and that every step I take is uphill. I persevere with my back, leg and arm exercises. I try to dress is a way that is comfortable and conducive to exercise. I am attempting to trick myself into thinking that I am still 28 and can do all I did when pregnant with Little Dear.... while keeping in mind that I'm no spring chicken and I need to be more aware of my ever expanding mid-section.
It ain't working.
:P
And so... I am forced to slow down. To sit and relax while DH cooks dinner on the weekends. He has had to physically push me (gently, of course) to the couch and force me to stay there while he cleans. He pulls me up the stairs and propels me to the tub. He tries to imagine what it must be like to carry this extra 20 lbs (yes... already!) throughout the day... and groans in sympathy. My kids, too, see the strain and pat me on the back as they dart up the stairs ahead of me, leaving me in the dust. They check on me often (a little too often) when I'm resting in bed or on the couch. They'll even step in to lift or carry something for me... esp if I ask with a pitiful look in my eyes.....
:)
I wanted this, still want this, I remind myself. It's what I've longed for, dreamed of... just one more chance to inhale that sweet newborn smell. To be the Mama... the one the cries are for... the only one who can appease. It's a steep price, at least for my weak will and shaky legs... one that I had blissfully forgotten. And with a much-dreaded c-section on the horizon, there are bigger hurdles in sight.
For now, though, I will take each day as it comes.
Bask in my bigness...
Cherish the kicks...
Imagine the sweet sleeps...
And pray for the grace to meet the next month, week, day... task...
with love and patience.
:)
Thursday, July 01, 2010
Having A Child Is A Selfish Act
When I read those words, my jaw hit the floor.
Seriously?
Some infamous "Anonymous" commenter at a popular blog was putting forth this statement as an argument against those who say that childlessness = selfishness. Because, you know, the most effective way to argue a point is to turn around and say, "nuh-uh, YOU ARE!"
:P
Seriously.
DH and I have made some pretty selfish decisions in our time, but none of them, believe me, have to do with our decision to remain open to life. If someone had been at our house the morning I held my 3 month old son, crying and staring in disbelief at the two pink lines that announced the existence of Little Dear, and told me that I was selfish, I would have grabbed the nearest butcher knife and gone on a rampage. Never mind that my hormones were out of whack, and my almost two year old son was as yet not potty trained... it was a stretching and testing of my Faith and Trust in God and the Wisdom of Holy Mother Church. Let me tell you, if I ever had a crisis of Faith in my life, it was right there on the bathroom floor that fateful November morning.
As the years have gone by, and my rough edges smoothed over by time and experience, I thank God and His Church for the Wisdom and Grace that have been poured down through the ages.
You see, if it had been up to me, Little Dear would never have been conceived.
Overwhelmed with two failed attempts at nursing, a high maintenance toddler and high needs newborn, I was at my limit. How in the world could I have ever thought I'd be ready for another child? Did I really think that having another baby would be the most fulfilling event that could happen to me? That I would finally be satisfied? Was it selfish of me to accept Little Dear into our already chaotic home? Was it really an act of selfishness when I bowed my will to His and accepted this...*gulp*... gift?
I have grown and been stretched in so many ways... well beyond the stretch marks that have marked my many pregnancies. I'm not perfect. No, not by a long shot. But my selfishness has taken a direct, fatal, hit. No more do I assume that when I want something to happen, it will. No more do I rage against the inconvenience of sick children, husband, or self.
Something has happened to my heart along the way as well. It has been opened to be more accepting, more loving, more tolerant. I have seen both sides of the coin. Infertility and child-bearing both. Being overwhelmed, confused, sad, and joyful. Sometimes all at once.
Parenthood is a vocation, a lifelong commitment. Not to be taken lightly, but also not to be thrown to the side as a disposable option. Those who suffer from infertility can tell you, with much pain, what you are throwing away. And those who live the chaotic life of a mom of many can also articulate what even they could never have imagined in their wildest dreams.
That in saying "yes" to this life, you became a part of something much bigger than just the mere "wants" or perceived "needs"you once had. You became a part of the gift of creation. And it's not about you anymore. What you have helped to bring into existence is another being, another person, wholly separate and distinct from your own self. There simply is no room for selfishness now. It is not even a factor. It cannot be. You throw your whole self into the raising of this child. But why? For your own fulfillment? Really? How many nighttime wakings would you be willing to endure to bring about this supposed self-fulfillment? How many vomit clean ups or messy diapers? How many never-ending cries for "mama"? How many countless interruptions? How many how many how many?
No.
This is all about Love now. The wonderment and anxiety and heartbreak of unconditional love. It is this love that propels a parent through the many joys and heartbreaks of raising a child. It is the reason behind the many things we do. The nighttime wakings, the feedings, the baseball games, the heartfelt conversations. It is because we love the other so very much more than we love ourselves, that we do these things.
And what a tremendous gift, to be able to experience what it is like... to love like God.
Seriously?
Some infamous "Anonymous" commenter at a popular blog was putting forth this statement as an argument against those who say that childlessness = selfishness. Because, you know, the most effective way to argue a point is to turn around and say, "nuh-uh, YOU ARE!"
:P
Seriously.
DH and I have made some pretty selfish decisions in our time, but none of them, believe me, have to do with our decision to remain open to life. If someone had been at our house the morning I held my 3 month old son, crying and staring in disbelief at the two pink lines that announced the existence of Little Dear, and told me that I was selfish, I would have grabbed the nearest butcher knife and gone on a rampage. Never mind that my hormones were out of whack, and my almost two year old son was as yet not potty trained... it was a stretching and testing of my Faith and Trust in God and the Wisdom of Holy Mother Church. Let me tell you, if I ever had a crisis of Faith in my life, it was right there on the bathroom floor that fateful November morning.
As the years have gone by, and my rough edges smoothed over by time and experience, I thank God and His Church for the Wisdom and Grace that have been poured down through the ages.
You see, if it had been up to me, Little Dear would never have been conceived.
Overwhelmed with two failed attempts at nursing, a high maintenance toddler and high needs newborn, I was at my limit. How in the world could I have ever thought I'd be ready for another child? Did I really think that having another baby would be the most fulfilling event that could happen to me? That I would finally be satisfied? Was it selfish of me to accept Little Dear into our already chaotic home? Was it really an act of selfishness when I bowed my will to His and accepted this...*gulp*
I have grown and been stretched in so many ways... well beyond the stretch marks that have marked my many pregnancies. I'm not perfect. No, not by a long shot. But my selfishness has taken a direct, fatal, hit. No more do I assume that when I want something to happen, it will. No more do I rage against the inconvenience of sick children, husband, or self.
Something has happened to my heart along the way as well. It has been opened to be more accepting, more loving, more tolerant. I have seen both sides of the coin. Infertility and child-bearing both. Being overwhelmed, confused, sad, and joyful. Sometimes all at once.
Parenthood is a vocation, a lifelong commitment. Not to be taken lightly, but also not to be thrown to the side as a disposable option. Those who suffer from infertility can tell you, with much pain, what you are throwing away. And those who live the chaotic life of a mom of many can also articulate what even they could never have imagined in their wildest dreams.
That in saying "yes" to this life, you became a part of something much bigger than just the mere "wants" or perceived "needs"you once had. You became a part of the gift of creation. And it's not about you anymore. What you have helped to bring into existence is another being, another person, wholly separate and distinct from your own self. There simply is no room for selfishness now. It is not even a factor. It cannot be. You throw your whole self into the raising of this child. But why? For your own fulfillment? Really? How many nighttime wakings would you be willing to endure to bring about this supposed self-fulfillment? How many vomit clean ups or messy diapers? How many never-ending cries for "mama"? How many countless interruptions? How many how many how many?
No.
This is all about Love now. The wonderment and anxiety and heartbreak of unconditional love. It is this love that propels a parent through the many joys and heartbreaks of raising a child. It is the reason behind the many things we do. The nighttime wakings, the feedings, the baseball games, the heartfelt conversations. It is because we love the other so very much more than we love ourselves, that we do these things.
And what a tremendous gift, to be able to experience what it is like... to love like God.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
When He's Gone
Mornings are spent assessing the day. Coffee in hand, eyes searching the rooms of the house.
What can be done..
what needs to be done...
how to pass the day...
make it go by faster....
Children are restless, what are we doing today, Mama? Is a question that rings in my ears... echoing off the empty walls. Empty now for only one reason.
He is gone. On a business trip. On a family trip. The reason is not important, just the absence. And the yawning of the days in front of me... days that must be filled. Filled with purpose and accomplishment.
And maybe? A bit of joy and memories? To report to Him when He comes home to us again? That we did survive, that we did enjoy? That it was okay for him to leave...
Afternoon, and I am in the kitchen, scrubbing away breakfast and lunch dishes. Children are full, resting and reading, and I am alone with my thoughts. Dinner, afternoon activities, and evening time. All are a-jumble and I try to focus on the task at hand. Try to mentally fill the hours of the afternoon, trying to juggle the necessary with the superficial. Do I really need to stop at the store? Can it wait? Who can I leave home? How will it work in the plans for the day?
Dinner time, and His place sits empty. The kids clamor to fill it, but I refuse. Another battle I simply cannot initiate. Who sat in Papa's seat last night? No. Amidst all the other 'battles' and 'turns', this one will not be among them.
Dishes and feet scrubbed, sweet-smelling hair and children tucked in. Doors and windows are locked... front door made extra secure. I follow the children up the stairs and run my own bath. It is my own little secret... to not be downstairs alone at night in the quiet. My oldest, almost a man himself, reads in my bed as I soak in the other room. His presence is comforting somehow.
In a day or so... He will be home. And the rhythm of the house will return, and all will be as it should be. His footsteps coming downstairs in the morning as He heads off to work. His key in the lock when He returns home. I will breathe again, and life will resume.
In the meantime, we will wait, and fill our days.
Note to concerned family and friends... (and especially any people with malicious intent...) this post was written after the fact. DH is safe and sound at home now... :)
What can be done..
what needs to be done...
how to pass the day...
make it go by faster....
Children are restless, what are we doing today, Mama? Is a question that rings in my ears... echoing off the empty walls. Empty now for only one reason.
He is gone. On a business trip. On a family trip. The reason is not important, just the absence. And the yawning of the days in front of me... days that must be filled. Filled with purpose and accomplishment.
And maybe? A bit of joy and memories? To report to Him when He comes home to us again? That we did survive, that we did enjoy? That it was okay for him to leave...
Afternoon, and I am in the kitchen, scrubbing away breakfast and lunch dishes. Children are full, resting and reading, and I am alone with my thoughts. Dinner, afternoon activities, and evening time. All are a-jumble and I try to focus on the task at hand. Try to mentally fill the hours of the afternoon, trying to juggle the necessary with the superficial. Do I really need to stop at the store? Can it wait? Who can I leave home? How will it work in the plans for the day?
Dinner time, and His place sits empty. The kids clamor to fill it, but I refuse. Another battle I simply cannot initiate. Who sat in Papa's seat last night? No. Amidst all the other 'battles' and 'turns', this one will not be among them.
Dishes and feet scrubbed, sweet-smelling hair and children tucked in. Doors and windows are locked... front door made extra secure. I follow the children up the stairs and run my own bath. It is my own little secret... to not be downstairs alone at night in the quiet. My oldest, almost a man himself, reads in my bed as I soak in the other room. His presence is comforting somehow.
In a day or so... He will be home. And the rhythm of the house will return, and all will be as it should be. His footsteps coming downstairs in the morning as He heads off to work. His key in the lock when He returns home. I will breathe again, and life will resume.
In the meantime, we will wait, and fill our days.
Note to concerned family and friends... (and especially any people with malicious intent...) this post was written after the fact. DH is safe and sound at home now... :)
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Body "Image"
As I took my place at the end of the line, I saw her. This thin, petite mom with sleek blonde hair and insanely high heels. A designer handbag perched on her shoulder, she was the epitome of fashion. While the other moms around her chatted, she soundly ignored everyone. Instead she flipped her hair and texted on her phone. She seemed utterly bored and barely able to contain her impatience. I wondered at her glamour and the importance of her status in her own world.
Then she turned around.
A mixture of awe and disappointment engulfed me. This stunning woman, desperate to keep her youthful appearance, had succumbed to the empty promises of cosmetic surgery. It was so obvious, I cringed. Her eyebrows strung high, and her lips in a permanent pout, she looked... unnatural. When someone accidentally bumped into her and apologized, she smiled... and I was horrified. She suddenly looked eighty years old.
Later that day, contemplating my expanding stomach and all the stretching and joyous changes on the horizon... I thought of that woman.
How easy it would be for me to feel despair at the loss of my thinner self. To decry every wrinkle and groan over each blemish.
But also... how ridiculous.
You see, I am a mom. And we moms have hit upon a secret. We have experience and know this secret firsthand. It is the key to our happiness, but also to our sanity.
Our bodies are not our own.
When God blesses us with a new life, we experience this "other" like nothing else ever could. There is, literally, an"other" dwelling within us. And everything we eat and do, every choice we make, affects this "other" being in an intimate way. Also? We have no control over the changes that must occur in order to sustain this new life. To bemoan the loss of our flat stomach or firm thighs is nonsense. To try desperately not to gain weight is absurd.
And so it is with getting older.
Our bodies are not our own.
We will get wrinkles and gray hair. Things will start to droop and sag. The weight that used to melt like ice cream in summer will suddenly become steadfast. We can use creams, we can color our hair, and expend hours of energy working out and weighing each portion of food before it touches our lips... but it is inevitable.
It is so hard not to look at yourself critically. To notice the extra pouches here and there. Yesterday, while standing in line, I unconsciously sucked in my stomach. I fingered my wild, curly hair. And I felt a bit frumpy. But then I pulled myself together. I chatted with the lady behind me and held onto Little Love's hand, while waving to a friend I hadn't seen in awhile.
When I got back to the car, I'll admit it, I glanced in my rear-view mirror... briefly. I saw.. me. A healthy, slightly older, Mama. Full of life and joy.
And no matter what my age, I hope and pray that that is what I will always be able to see.
:)
These ruminations brought to you courtesy of my birthday today... not surprising, eh? :P
Then she turned around.
A mixture of awe and disappointment engulfed me. This stunning woman, desperate to keep her youthful appearance, had succumbed to the empty promises of cosmetic surgery. It was so obvious, I cringed. Her eyebrows strung high, and her lips in a permanent pout, she looked... unnatural. When someone accidentally bumped into her and apologized, she smiled... and I was horrified. She suddenly looked eighty years old.
Later that day, contemplating my expanding stomach and all the stretching and joyous changes on the horizon... I thought of that woman.
How easy it would be for me to feel despair at the loss of my thinner self. To decry every wrinkle and groan over each blemish.
But also... how ridiculous.
You see, I am a mom. And we moms have hit upon a secret. We have experience and know this secret firsthand. It is the key to our happiness, but also to our sanity.
Our bodies are not our own.
When God blesses us with a new life, we experience this "other" like nothing else ever could. There is, literally, an"other" dwelling within us. And everything we eat and do, every choice we make, affects this "other" being in an intimate way. Also? We have no control over the changes that must occur in order to sustain this new life. To bemoan the loss of our flat stomach or firm thighs is nonsense. To try desperately not to gain weight is absurd.
And so it is with getting older.
Our bodies are not our own.
We will get wrinkles and gray hair. Things will start to droop and sag. The weight that used to melt like ice cream in summer will suddenly become steadfast. We can use creams, we can color our hair, and expend hours of energy working out and weighing each portion of food before it touches our lips... but it is inevitable.
It is so hard not to look at yourself critically. To notice the extra pouches here and there. Yesterday, while standing in line, I unconsciously sucked in my stomach. I fingered my wild, curly hair. And I felt a bit frumpy. But then I pulled myself together. I chatted with the lady behind me and held onto Little Love's hand, while waving to a friend I hadn't seen in awhile.
When I got back to the car, I'll admit it, I glanced in my rear-view mirror... briefly. I saw.. me. A healthy, slightly older, Mama. Full of life and joy.
And no matter what my age, I hope and pray that that is what I will always be able to see.
:)
These ruminations brought to you courtesy of my birthday today... not surprising, eh? :P
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Sorrow
It is with great sadness that I read this morning that Charlotte has lost her little one.
Please join me in prayer today for her and her family as they deal with this great loss.
Please join me in prayer today for her and her family as they deal with this great loss.
Friday, March 05, 2010
This Present Joy
While we all pray that it is not fleeting,(please join us!) I am glorying in the present moment.
~every twinge of nausea
~every ache and pull
~the thickening of my middle
~the craving of homemade bread, toasted with butter
~the extreme fatigue at the end of the day
~the tears of joy and wonder...
:)
*Of course I took two tests! I'd have taken 10 if I had 'em! After 6 years, wouldn't you? :P
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Concerning My "Oh-So-NOT-Very-Holy-Family"
Our Holy Mother Church is so so so very wise.
We all know this.
But the celebration of today's Feast of the Holy Family could not be better timed.
Wrung out physically and emotionally from the past two days of merry-making and happy-face-making, I made my way to mass feeling very UN-like the Holy Family. I was not looking forward to the inevitable exhortation of "we must look to the Holy Family as an example for our families today" hogwash as I discipline Little Love for the umpteenth time and remove Action Man's fingers from his ears... my eyebrows raised at Little Dear to leave her locket be, and folding my hands properly while trying catch Sports Fan's eye as he serves at the altar. (erm... DH always has Little Boo all to himself.)
:)
No. I thought. I just cannot do this today. We are so very much unlike the Holy Family, and it's probably all my fault since I was not born sinless! (I am very rational when I'm annoyed... can you tell?)
So, what to do?
Enter the readings.
From Sirach:
I needed this confirmation today like no other. Not an "in your face, kiddos" kind of way, but just a very real and very comforting and firm encouragement that we have the backing of the Almighty in our day to day struggle.
From Colossians:
Yes.... and be thankful.
Thank you, Lord, for my beautiful family. For my children, who are so unique and somewhat tiresome. Thank you for the daily struggle... since by this alone will come my redemption. Thank you for my strong husband. Ever supportive, ever understanding. My earthly rock to which I cling.
Yes... I need to ask more. To beg Him to show me. To pray before teaching and correcting... and above all, to be a better example. Lord, what a mighty work still needs to be done in me.
The pictures painted in the readings today are ones of hope, not a misplaced ideal of something we will not be able to attain. There is a path here, clearly labeled. And it is not a foreign one.
And yet, in the wake of the hustle and bustle of the season... how apropos. Somehow, She knew. Our Mother knew that we earthly mothers would be strung out and left high and dry. Our nerves and patience would be shot. We would view our children with a wearied eye.
Akin to a gentle kiss on the forehead and a firm pat on the back, The Church sends us out once again. Ready to take up our tasks with a renewed vigor.
Heartened and grateful.
:)
cross-posted to DFW Catholic
We all know this.
But the celebration of today's Feast of the Holy Family could not be better timed.
Wrung out physically and emotionally from the past two days of merry-making and happy-face-making, I made my way to mass feeling very UN-like the Holy Family. I was not looking forward to the inevitable exhortation of "we must look to the Holy Family as an example for our families today" hogwash as I discipline Little Love for the umpteenth time and remove Action Man's fingers from his ears... my eyebrows raised at Little Dear to leave her locket be, and folding my hands properly while trying catch Sports Fan's eye as he serves at the altar. (erm... DH always has Little Boo all to himself.)
:)
No. I thought. I just cannot do this today. We are so very much unlike the Holy Family, and it's probably all my fault since I was not born sinless! (I am very rational when I'm annoyed... can you tell?)
So, what to do?
Enter the readings.
From Sirach:
God sets a father in honor over his children;
a mother’s authority he confirms over her sons.
I needed this confirmation today like no other. Not an "in your face, kiddos" kind of way, but just a very real and very comforting and firm encouragement that we have the backing of the Almighty in our day to day struggle.
From Colossians:
Brothers and sisters:
Put on, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved,
heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience,
bearing with one another and forgiving one another,
And let the peace of Christ control your hearts,
the peace into which you were also called in one body.
And be thankful.
Yes.... and be thankful.
Thank you, Lord, for my beautiful family. For my children, who are so unique and somewhat tiresome. Thank you for the daily struggle... since by this alone will come my redemption. Thank you for my strong husband. Ever supportive, ever understanding. My earthly rock to which I cling.
Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly,
as in all wisdom you teach and admonish one another,
singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs
with gratitude in your hearts to God.
And whatever you do, in word or in deed,
do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus,
giving thanks to God the Father through him.
Yes... I need to ask more. To beg Him to show me. To pray before teaching and correcting... and above all, to be a better example. Lord, what a mighty work still needs to be done in me.
The pictures painted in the readings today are ones of hope, not a misplaced ideal of something we will not be able to attain. There is a path here, clearly labeled. And it is not a foreign one.
And yet, in the wake of the hustle and bustle of the season... how apropos. Somehow, She knew. Our Mother knew that we earthly mothers would be strung out and left high and dry. Our nerves and patience would be shot. We would view our children with a wearied eye.
Akin to a gentle kiss on the forehead and a firm pat on the back, The Church sends us out once again. Ready to take up our tasks with a renewed vigor.
Heartened and grateful.
:)
cross-posted to DFW Catholic
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)