NY heartaches and promises kept

This trip promised to be difficult on so many levels, yet wonderful on so many more. All of my relatives are amazing people. They are super-generous, love children and big families, and just really go out of their way to make you feel welcome and at home.

(said in your best godfather voice:) It's family, after all.

But, emotionally, it would be tough, I knew. My grandmother suffers from dementia (not sure if it's full-blown alzheimers) and her confusion always upsets me. Not because I get irritated, but because I feel sad. The hardest part of this particular trip was seeing how much she has forgotten. The last time we went to see her, I noticed her forgetfulness and repeated questions, but her wits were about her enough to mask a lot of the confusion, and she would even joke about the frequency with which she asked the same question. It was almost like she knew the joke was on her, and she was inviting you to laugh with her.

This time, (after not seeing her for 4 years) I was shocked at the lukewarm reception I received. She always asks my dad how I am when they talk on the phone, yet when she saw me in person it was like she didn't know me.

Because she didn't.

At first I was devastated. Again, not angry, not in the least. Just unbelievably sad. I guess I was a bit mad at the disease, I must admit it. I mean, here I am, dragging my family on a 4+ hour plane ride, and a drive through the craziness of NYC and rush hour, etc... bringing to my grandma 5 out of her 7 great-grandchildren, and she has no idea who they or I am.

Frustrating.

After a few encounters, I was just praying for that one instant where she would know me. Just one.

And God is so good, because it came.

Sunday evening we were all gathered at my Aunt's home, celebrating Mother's Day. It was late, and my grandfather and I had just spent a lot of time being entertained by two of my girls on the back deck. We were making our way back inside the house, when my grandmother stood up, asked my aunt who I was and when she found out it was me, called out my name most joyously and gave me a big hug.

It was wonderful.

And the next instant she asked me where I lived and if I was married and how many children I had. (questions she had been asking me since I arrived)

But it was okay, because she knew me, if only for an instant. And in that instant, she knew my children and husband too. And the joy she expressed at our presence made the trip worthwhile. And the joy that shone constantly in my grandfather's eyes made it worthwhile too.

But it was heartbreaking in a way.

I cried in the shower that night, because I felt guilty.

Guilty for leaving, guilty for not being there and being part of her daily life. Because then she would know us. And my grandfather would be surrounded by these children that give him so much joy.

It's heartbreaking for him to see my grandmother like this. Much more so than for me.

He must live for those moments, too. The moments (and I witnessed such a one) where she turned to me and said that I'd be lucky to have found a husband 3/4 the husband that she had. And I agreed that even 1/2 the husband would do for me. He turned to her, not having heard what she said, and she demanded a kiss from him, which he readily supplied.

Very very sweet.

Pictures soon.

Gratias

Thanks for the prayers, all.

I felt them as I wound my way around the western end of Long Island, searching for a parking spot at JFK.

I felt them as I wiped vomit off of Little Boo and then held my hands under Little Love's mouth, catching hers while my gallant DH fought rush hour traffic.

I felt them most especially as I soaked in the warmth and love of family not seen for so very long, and the joy of catching up with them and their lives enveloped me.

We have our return trek tomorrow, and then I hope to post some pictures and do some blogging Tuesday or so.

You have all been in my thoughts and prayers... gratefully!

Happy Mother's Day to all of my beautiful friends (bloggers and non)....

:)

*excuse the crazy grammar and sentence structure... we're off in a minute to yet another get-together... gotta run... no time to make it pretty*

Ora Pro Nobis

So many other people and intentions to pray for, and here I am, shamelessly requesting you all to add one more intention to your list.

I am currently still trying to figure this out, again. Fluctuating hormones are never pleasant, especially since I thought I had everything under control.
(HA -says God)

Along with that, we are currently planning a trip out of town for the weekend. Please pray for a smooth plane ride/ rental bus ride/ car drive for the whole weekend! Little Love got freaked out by our last plane trip (I can't believe it's been that long!) and so I'm a bit nervous as to how she's going to react when/if she remembers...

Add to the mix that she and two of her siblings are battling some sort of allergy/sinus thingy.

Lovely.

So, if you could spare a few fuzzy navels prayers...

Thanks.

:)

Inanity

Besides my usual daily duties of dishes and laundry, there are always a few tasks that threaten to drive me right into a straight-jacket permanently.

This is one of them:
















Every. flippin. time. I enter the kitchen, this little chore awaits me.

No, it's really no big deal to pick up the box of band-aids and place it back in the cupboard where it belongs, then deposit the remainders in the garbage.

No. big. deal.

But after the 50th time, it starts to grate on me.

Just a bit.

:)

And yes, we do buy our band-aids in bulk from Sam's, why do you ask?


(I'll spare you the photo of my chore every time I enter the bathroom....)

Any other inane occupational hazards out there today?

What A Trip to the Library Results in...

Lots and lots of good quality reading time!!

:)

Lovin' Blogger These Days...

... *snark*

My comment alert e-mails are about 3 days behind.

No joke.

So, in order for me to tell if I have any comments, I need to (gasp) click on my blog to check and see!

The end result being, I'm sure I've missed quite a few comments...

Another more pleasing result is that my stat-counter numbers have never been so high. And therefore apparent that someone in _____, Texas needs to get a life. (um, me)

;)

Out of This World

Kind of like having an out-of-body experience, which I would not know about, I went 13 miles down the highway Saturday morning to pop in to Sephora's.

No, not my sister.

I wish.

Nervously, I chose my outfit. Jeans and black shirt, black J Crew slides. Nervously, I applied my make-up. My hair? Wild and free, per usual. I wasn't going to get carried away here.

:)

But I was still nervous.

Why?

Here I was, about to foray into the wilds of the unknown.

The make-up boutique.

I will never forget my first journey to this unknown land after I had Little Dear. I was about one month post-partum, Little Dear in tow, sporting my oh-so-trendy Old Navy overalls and Birkenstocks. My hair (still wild and free, I'm afraid) and my skin showing the signs of much time spent poolside during the hot Texas summer.

The woman across the Clinique make-up counter was my polar opposite. Hair slicked back into a sharp pony-tail, skin unnaturally white, lips bright red, and lashes thick and black, it was almost like looking into another world.

Her older colleague peeked over the counter and gushed over Little Dear. I explained that she was a month old, and I was finally getting out to purchase some much-needed facial cleanser and make-up. I looked around at the glitz and glamour of the department store, at the manicured faces chatting with me, and remarked that I felt a little "out of place" here...

The older woman smiled, glanced at Little Dear, and softly said that maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

On Saturday, keeping this encounter in mind, and knowing exactly what I wanted, I was able to whisk in and out of Sephora unscathed. By that I mean unmoved to buy more than I came for, unaffected by the promise of glamour and perfect skin and amazing lashes. I remained content with my face, my hair, my nails... content with what God has given me to work with.

There is a part of me that wishes I felt comfortable in this world. I would like to be able to at least navigate the waters for my daughters when they come "of age." A basic knowledge of skin tone and eye color and what works and what doesn't would be helpful. Not to try to make my girls look perfect, nor to emphasize their flaws, but to bring out their natural beauty.

My first job being to cultivate the knowledge that their natural beauty comes from the inside out.

:)


*I may be getting into controversial territory here, but I think some make-up for high school girls (and maybe even in junior high) is fine. For me, make-up is only to enhance beauty, not obscure it or completely fake it. *

A Good Day of Learning

Late to the party, as usual, but I wanted to share some thoughts on this topic.

I am not an unschooler, just to lay all my cards out here. I don't condemn it at all, but I also don't understand it. I am a product of public school (and awesome familial support, I must add) and the ol' workbook work ethic has never completely left me. I understand that workbooks are imperfect learning tools, and so have branched out, but not completely away, from them. I still tend to measure my day by how much we got "done" by subject and page and content covered.

As a fledgling homeschooler, (this is only my third year) I am learning. Learning how kids learn. Learning how to weave the content through their minds in an unassuming, non-confrontational way. Even with math facts, to calm the hysteria of confusion and nonchalantly suggest 'short cuts' and 'interesting' variations... I'm learning to stack the bookshelves with poems and fiction along with biographies and non-fiction. Learning that pre-schoolers love to do workbooks their own way, and will also quite willingly follow instructions.

I've also learned that there are days when we need a break. Not from learning, but from school work. We need to see and experience something else for one day. And so we take trips, to the lake, the zoo, the botanical gardens, or a friend's house. Sometimes we just stay home, circle the wagons, and be together in our chores and reading and playtime. I'm learning not to feel guilty about that. Even though it is, by far, a harder beast to master.

I feel good about my schooling day when we have checked off everything on our clipboards by lunchtime. I also feel good about my schooling day when we have spent the day away from the house on a field trip, learning and experiencing something different. These two types of days are polar opposites, but require just as much energy from me. Although I must admit I prefer the latter over the former...

Who wouldn't? It's beautiful to watch your own children absorb and learn. And what a privilege it is that I get to see that, everyday.

And that leads me to the aspect of homeschooling I love the most. The environment of learning we have tried to create in our home. I love the books, the games, the puzzles. I love the manipulatives lining the shelves. I love it when I see my kids all gathered around the youngest, assisting her in a new type of "work"... or gathered around the oldest, watching him navigate his way through a new (educational!) computer game, or looking over his shoulder (if he'll let them!) at the pictures of a new book.

For the time being, we are all in this together. In sickness, in health, 'til insanity do us part.

And I love it.

:)

The Uncraftiness of Nutmeg

This post over at Waltzing Matilda's had me thinking.

Go, read it. I'll wait. And while you're there, notice her right-hand side bar with the different topics she has written about. Notice the word "crafts".

Now, type the word "craft" into the search window at the top of my blog.

I bet only this post comes up.

And so now you have realized my own dirty little secret.

My children are Mama-craft deprived. I can't say they are craft-deprived period. Just Mama-craft deprived.

I don't do crafts.

The main reason is because I never really think about it. I love to buy craft-y things for my kids to use on their own: paints, stickers, wood, glue, paper, markers, crayons, ribbons, etc. But as far as any adult-led crafting? Uh uh. That's not me.

Am I proud of this? No. Absolutely not. I'm a bit ashamed to admit it. I read everyone else's crafty creations and click on by, not daring to comment, to admit my own uncrafty nature.

Here's what I do love to do:

Painting
Drawing
Cooking
Baking
Listening to Music (all kinds)
Being Outdoors
Playing and Watching Sports
Exercising (with kids)
Taking Trips

I hope that's enough for my kids. I hope they see the value in those things, not the hole left by the lack of handmade what-nots around the house. I hope I can have the patience to impart these joys to them... especially the cooking and baking.

Mostly, I'm okay with my aversion to crafts. Much like my aversion to ironing,(scroll down to "I") I accept it and am only embarrassed when it is revealed in public.

Which is what this blog is about.

Me...

Warts and all.

:)

Thanks to Grandpa...

...this is what our sons' room looks like.

My Father-in-law was the night editor for the Vancouver Sun for years. He still enjoys going through the Sun, and it's rival up there, The Province, and sending out articles to the families who no longer live in the area.

And when playoff hockey is going on?

My boys get the privilege of being the recipients of these exclusive Province posters of the Canucks...
















And we get to hear them chant the headline from the front page of the Sun over and over:

"BRING ON THE DUCKS!"


Game 4 tonight... we'll be watching!

:)