reset

When the kids and I get into a relational snarl- you know, the kind of bad spiral where their negative behavior feeds my negative emotional backlash to the point that I fear Child Protective Services should be called, or at least put on speed dial as a precaution- we "hit the reset button".  Either I or the kids can initiate it, and we literally use our fists as a button, and take turns "hitting the button" by pounding fists.  It looks like an elaborate urban greeting, except we are so not that cool.

And we take a collective deep breath and a few steps back up the negative spiral and try to start over with a fresh perspective.  I usually retract whatever dire consequence I was threatening, and they let go of whatever whining, demanding, or otherwise terrible behavior they were engaging in that made me want to throw away all their toys and cancel their birthdays. It feels like waking up, a little- and like getting your first breath after being underwater.  Reset.

I was inspired to write with an old overhead marker (remember those old things?  This particular marker is an ancient leftover from my teacher days)- anyway, to write on our bathroom mirror, "God always lets us hit the reset button."  I liked that the kids had another set of words they could use to relate to God's grace.  Something to negate the "angry policeman in the sky" idea that we seem born with. Or maybe we develop it in Sunday School when we learn about Noah and the ark? All I know is, I need God to let me hit the reset button several times a day, and when my kids are feeling ashamed or stuck, I want them to run TO God in that moment. Hence, the neat red marker letters on our mirror.

Well, a friend of mine was asking recently how other moms handle the stress.  The kind that makes you want to run, or weep, or run whilst weeping, fast and far away from the things you love that make you want to pull your hair out.  And I had to laugh, because other than the Sunday School answer (Jesus!) which she knows, I had no answer to give.  All I had is my memory of earlier in the evening, when my oldest had wanted to hit the reset button, and I had resisted.  We had hit it two times already!  And I was not currently mad, just (energetically) insisting they clean up their mess- so I had no feelings that needed reseting!  STOP ASKING TO HIT THE RESET BUTTON ALREADY! And my boy (who is ready to take his bar exam) tossed out this:

"You said that God always lets us hit the reset button!" Big blue eyes, earnest and accusing.

To which I responded, with all my heart, "Well he's a lot better at that than I am!  That's the point!"

And then I made him pick up his crap.  Errr- toys. And we brushed teeth, read books, and went to bed.  With only a little wailing and gnashing of (sorta clean) teeth.

So there you have it.  I am gonna fail as a mom because I only have so much to give.  And sometimes I forget to ask God to fill me with more.  And sometimes I do ask, like for patience and love and a delightful lilting voice instead of a harsh one- and God seems to say: not this time. But those painful times make me remember something!  God is better than me.  Duh, self!  Me being worthy of my kids' worship was never the goal.  So kids, Mom snapped, but someday there's heaven, and I have high hopes that there will be no cavities and no brushing of teeth. Sweet dreams.

Hello, my precious son, beloved of my heart. Do we perhaps  need to hit the reset button?

For a better post with a beautiful example of a time God did answer our constant mother's prayer for more love and patience, check this out:  How to fall in like with your kids

that time I got social and caused everyone respiratory problems

This late winter/ early spring season, we have been more intentional about being hospitable. And there is a whole lot of backstory packed into that little ol' sentence.  There is a lot of fear and trembling and toddler-like learning in that idea of hospitality, for me.

I pride myself on being friendly. In social situations I think I am an encouraging listener.  I'm a nodder- that much is indisputable.  I am a people pleaser to a sad degree, and when I read Bible verses about what to do about your enemies, I'm always a little stymied.  What enemies?

But. But.  I have learned a little about myself in the last 38 (ahem) years.  I am an introvert.  Hermit-level status.  Also, a people-pleasing perfectionist.  And I am much better at contentment, than I am at having the faith and initiative to change circumstances.  Including when it comes to housekeeping.  So although I personally can live in all kinds of clutter and mess and not bat an eye (or lift a finger), as soon as the doorbell rings, my people pleasing side kicks the panic into high gear.  WHO is at the door!? And how can I keep them from seeing this mess!?

Life is messy. At least, ours is.

And so I make all sorts of New Year's Resolution style plans for getting my house under control, once and for all. And when that magical (organized! clean!) day arrives, I think to myself, I will fling open my doors, and all my friends and acquaintances can come in.  I will have all sorts of over-the-top parties, and that will make up for this long stretch of me being too self-conscious to welcome people in... at all.

I guess I hoped the kind of friendship I wanted- needed- could be found without the mess.  Without letting other people see my mess, I mean.  And it's not like I NEVER had a friend over.  But when you shove clutter into a back bed room and pray they don't open certain disheveled cupboards or see the state of your fridge shelves and generally feel on edge about them seeing ALL OF IT- well, it doesn't lead to a very relaxed, authentic atmosphere.  Although I for years could quote all sorts of wise people about intimacy and living in community, I just could not live it.  And my humble, friendly little self, as hard as it is to admit, hurt some people by sending the message, "Thanks for inviting me into your home and life... but I just can't return the favor." I cringe thinking about it- I was so preoccupied by our dog hair covered carpet (despite daily vacuuming I assure you) that I missed saying to people, "You matter.  To me, personally.  You are important, more important than my pride. Please, come in, shove that pile of Legos aside and sit, and tell me how you are."

Bouncing off- err, climbing on- the walls.

This winter marks a baby step in the right direction.  We have had people over several times- on Monday nights, for dinner, with the kids bouncing off walls and life pretty normal.  And I kinda aimed for "normal". As in, not Martha Stewart clean, hosting a big party clean, but what I like to think of as "clean enough to not be featured on a troubling Oprah episode."  And one of the first times we had people over, it went badly.  So badly.  My meat thermometer went mysteriously missing, and I could not figure out if the meat was done.  Food poisoning, anyone?  Something had spilled on the floor of our oven, and I didn't know.  But I found out when I tried to cook the broccoli at 500 degrees.  Smoke billowed out of the oven and even putting the vent fan on high and opening windows wide didn't help.  Everyone sat at the table, waiting for a late dinner, peering through and breathing a choky gray haze.  

And I wanted to go into my room, shut the door, and let some of my stress trickle out my eyes.  Or at least spend some time sniffling shakily.  Alone. But I didn't!  God does change and redeem.  I bravely made distracted small talk, turned off the oven and declared the broccoli done (after half the cooking time) and served some food.  And it was good.  Not the food, I mean (maybe? it was?  I have no idea.  I was unable to taste much at the time) but I mean the night was good.  It helped that our guests were the kind of people that ooze grace and understanding.  And I figured, if Shauna Niequist* can plan a dinner party and get overwhelmed with her people-pleasing perfectionism and end up messing things up... then I was in good company.

So I am not giving up.   I am a person who struggles.  With my own, and others', expectations about what constitutes "normal," and how I live up to that.  My kids, my house, my hair, my small talk, my marriage, my shoes.  Can I let people see it all?  Observe the flaws and awkward edge?  I've learned that if I don't- when I don't- I get sad and lonely.  And I tried being okay with that for a long season.  But I want better, so I am closing my eyes and jumping off the high dive.  At least I found my meat thermometer.  In the hose attachment to my vacuum cleaner, of course. Take that, normal!

*Please refer to her book Bread and Wine. And then buy it.

Cooking is a family affair. 

hey, girl!

When we started our family, I was prepared to have all boys.  Even planning on it.  I'd kinda started thinking that way when I used to babysit, and I loved spending time with a family of three boys.  Then I married Craig, a man with two brothers- and no sisters.  Our firstborn was a boy.  When we went through the brief but emotional season of trying for our second child, which took about eight months longer than we'd expected, we were sad thinking that our chance to have two boys close in age, and thus relationship, was slipping by.

When we found out, many pregnancy tests later, that number two was cooking, the ultrasound could not come fast enough.  We held hands waiting to see our son floating on the inky screen.  So it felt like a bit of a shock to hear the technician's voice pronounce that our little one was... a girl.  And not in the "we can't for sure see any man parts, so it's a good chance it's a girl" way; it was more of a "look- she's a girl, all right." And I am a little embarrassed to admit that I mourned a little- I had to say goodbye to the little brother so that I could welcome the little sister.  

Because I never had a sister, I had plenty of experience being a girl, but not much relating to a little girl.  And of course all my parenting at that point had been with my boy. I'd bought into all the worry about boys being easy, and girls being difficult, emotionally speaking.  So this felt like new territory, and in many ways the learning curve was steep.  

My little girl has big feelings.  Like, BIG FEELINGS.  She is so sweet and shy around others, that people who have not been the caretaker of a little girl recently do not believe me that she is capable of crazy tantrums.  I cannot bear to tell you details, lest you, dear reader, go from nodding sympathetically to carefully and quickly clicking away in fear.  Suffice it to say, girl has some lungs and the ability to flail on the floor.

The flip side to all the terrifying drama is, of course, the beautiful side of those feelings and drama.  She is so intuitive and has such a high emotional IQ, she brings a little healing to this too-long-surrounded-by-testosterone heart.  And girl loves to treat life like a musical- breaking out into narrative song at any moment.  It drives her older brother nuts.  The back seat of our minivan is often full of high-pitched, wandering tunes, punctuated with the fierce brotherly refrain, "STOP SINGING!"

This week was a high point for me in mothering my little girl.  We went, just the two of us, to her first movie in the movie theater.  It was Disney's "Frozen," and it was perfection.  I tried to get a picture of her face lit up by the screen as she bobbed her head to the music, but the light was too dim for iphone captures.  Halfway through the movie she climbed onto my lap and we snuggled until it was over.  The next morning we put on the Disney Pandora station and sang along to musical after musical.  I got a vision of she and I going to Wicked together in years to come, and the ballet, and... all the other things my man's man of a husband either won't do, or suffers through, for me.  My love of musical theater- born on a kindergarten age trip to see "Annie" on broadway- can still be not just enjoyed but shared with someone I love.  And isn't that the best enjoyment of something- in the sharing?

So here's to God's plans- He knew I needed a girl when I didn't.  And what a girl I got!  Now excuse me while I pretend to be Cinderella whilst cleaning the house.

apple pie

Drinking "appa pie jue."

It's no secret to me that our baby is no longer a baby.  I mean, he's just shy of 22 months old- the Big Two birthday is in sight.  He's running and talking up a storm and attempting all kinds of feats of strength.

He does many things his brother and sister did not do at his age.  Eating peanut butter, for instance.  The others had to wait longer for that.  On the other side of the mom score card, he still sits rear facing in his convertible car seat.  His siblings were forward facing within a week of turning one.  I'd like to take credit for that, as if I were all crunchy-granola- high achiever mom, but in truth it's because it lets him face his brother and sister in the van and that makes him incredibly happy.  Or at least, occupied.

And I thought he was turning out differently from his brother and sister in one other way, which I am now second guessing.  It occurred to me the other day that he was past the "dreaded 18 month season." My olders did not suffer from the "terrible twos," rather, their monstrous phases hit at 18 months and three years.  Mostly their twos were cruise-y. (By comparison.  Although wonderful and and beloved, they were no cherubs at any age.) And I was just thinking that maybe Little C was going to buck the trend, and be easy until sometime after his birthday.

Then this week hit.  And although he has not displayed the full-on tantrums and completely maddening illogical tyrannical demands that I remember (and I know will come!) this week has blindsided me.  Maybe. Just a little.  Dumped out garlic salt forming snowy peaks on his plate and the floor.  Pencil and crayon slashed across the cupboards and floor. Yogurt brought onto the carpet and spilled, although he clearly understands the rule that no food comes onto the carpet.  Running away with a screaming giggle when he is told to come.  And opening the fridge twenty times in the span of the morning. That one pushes my buttons pretty efficiently.

Still, he reimburses for those transgressions will all sorts of cute.  He loves to care for F's baby dolls, feeding them and covering them with blankets.  He blows adorable kisses.  When he does something wrong, like hitting, and he comes in for a hug and says "Haw-wee" right away.  (He doesn't make "s" or "f" sounds yet.) And perhaps my favorite of all: he kept babbling about apple pie one week, and I realized after a couple of confusing days that it was his way of saying "pineapple", which was the kind of juice he had just experienced for the first time. He still asks for "apple pie" juice. All the time.

I'm as ready as I can be, mentally at least, for the high energy stage he has entered.  And since he's kid number three, I won't be surprised at his transformations from innocent angel to naughty rugrat and back again within moments, repeated all day. I like this ride, and look forward to seeing the personal twists he puts on it. I just hope the surfaces in our home are as ready.

* Editing this post to add that I was just rereading things I wrote back in June... when I was complaining that C had just entered a "high maintenance phase." Ha! Somethings never change.

this, too

Sometimes I blog to record the sweet details of daily life that slip from my memory each 24 hours.  Sometimes I blog because I think and build my understanding of the deep things in life through words- talking and writing.  And bless him, my husband cannot handle me verbally running through five drafts of my thoughts about every. little. thing. So sometimes I come here.

Tonight those two purposes intersect.  My heart is aching with the burden of- how do I put it?  The junk of life?  The just plain sad sin and its consequences that plague us all? The fact that yuck in the culture brings out not our best as believers, but more... yuck?  I found out news about a person I know- secret news, disappointing news, news that knocks me back a little.  And it's one of those things where the news is a rodent in my brain, scrambling around in my neurons, forcing me to pay attention to its nibbling and scratching.  But I can't talk to anyone about it, even though it's filling my head, because it's "of a confidential nature."

Plus there's a friend with a legal issue.  And another who is seeing a counselor for this thing in their past.  And a marriage- that covenant cord that ties two into one- that is fraying.  Which is ironic because I know someone else who is feeling the pain of a long season of desperate singleness.  And when I inventory the list I gotta be honest- I want to put my head down and have a good cry.  And I'm an introvert, a stay-at-home-mom; I don't even know that many people.  But you don't have to know many people to have a reason to taste tears, it turns out.

However.

Tonight I experienced redemption in a painful situation with which I am well aquainted: my own sin.  And it was not a result of my grueling efforts, or my own clever skills at sin-management.  There was no adherence to a 4-part acronym.  Instead, after a week of unbelievable selfishness where the smallest chore sent me to facebook to hide, and the wreck piled up around me, and the sound of my children's voices asking things of me made me want to yell and fume- and I did- after this week, I had a moment of grace.  My beautiful daughter was helping me in the kitchen.  We were unloading dishes, drying them as we put them away. The Rich Mullins song "Calling Out Your Name" came on Pandora. My four year old girl started swaying and spinning and twirling her dish towel around her.  My favorite part of the song came on, the warm lights of the kitchen glowed out the window into the night, and I sang along as she danced and twirled. And we laughed, and talked about how working together was making the job fun and fast.  And I lifted her into a hug as the song ended and held her there, for a moment.  It was all I had hated- my failures as a parent, housekeeper, person- disappearing under a flood of love and worship. And I kid you not, I felt God kick me in the pants, saying, "Get it? I love you. I've got this.  Don't miss how beautiful this is.  This is what is real." I didn't miss the moment because He wouldn't let me.  He was right there, in the music of Rich Mullins and a dish towel.

So I have the Rend Collective Pandora station playing now.  And when the deep sad things come to mind tonight, I am choosing to remember that God's got those things too.  And I don't know how- it's a mystery.  Tomorrow I'll clean and make pipe cleaner animals, and clean again, and probably cry at some point. But for now it's enough to sing along quietly to the words:

It is well with my soul.

added to the list. wait, hold the list.

Okay, I have something I want to add to the "list of things I do not do." I think. Maybe. Oh, I don't know!  Grr. You'll understand my angst as soon as you see the idea.

Elf on the shelf.

On one hand, it is the epitome of what I don't- should not- do.  We don't even really do Santa, for crying out loud!  I just saw a Pinterest pin of a friend, that boasted 20 IDEAS FOR ELF ON THE SHELF!! WITH A SHOPPING LIST AND A SPREADSHEET OF DAYS TO KEEP TRACK OF THE IDEAS SO YOU WILL HAVE EVERYTHING YOU NEED AND IT WILL BE SO FUN!!  Or something basically like that.  And seeing the hype (shopping list?! spreadsheet?!) it just made me so. tired.  The thing I know deep down in my soul is that I need less things in my life that require lists and spreadsheets, etc. Things that confuse my kids more about what to get excited about at Christmas.

But.  But. I love play and silliness and laughter and surprise.  And creativity! And special things that make memories.  And Elf on the Shelf has those things in spades.  Like, who doesn't want their kid to wake up in the morning and burst out laughing because the elf is riding in underwear suspended from a helium balloon, floating through the family room (thank you Pinterest for that visual, btw).

So I'm left clutching at compromises. Can I do some version of this?  Minus the "he's watching your behavior and reporting it to Santa" element?  Minus the "purchase the helium balloon before oldest child gets off school but after finishing the grocery shopping and baby's nap" stress?  I don't know.  No neat, easy answers here!  I'll be pondering this a day or two.  Because I have plenty of time, right?  Christmas is a loooong ways away. Right?

Stay tuned for a Christmas tradition that I AM ready for, and I love, and it's easy.  And in a perfect world it would save my children from attitudes of entitlement. And materialism. And the flu. And terrorists.  Okay, maybe not all that.  And it does involve me venturing into our spider-y basement and opening sketchy boxes.  (Shiver). But still, stay tuned for Christmas-y goodness!

pallets

I've been trolling Pinterest again.  So fun!  And I pinned a few Christmas ideas.  So, sue me.  At least it's November!  And it's not like I'm wearing Christmas sweaters and belting out Amy Grant's first Christmas album.  Yet.  Not that I have a problem with anyone doing that.  I'm just not organized enough to have all that holiday stuff handy this week.

But as I was clicking away, I realized that my mind was shuffling the pins I saw into three categories: First, things I could do- and might want to do- very soon.  Like my classic favorite Pinterest example: glowsticks in the kids' bath at night.  Easy-peasy, cheap, and heavy on the fun & memorable quotient.  My next group of pins are the, "Maybe someday, not this week, could happen, it looks cool" group.  And last but not least is the category, "Never going to happen.  Realistic assessment says... nope." For me, building ANYTHING using wood acquired from pallets fits this category perfectly.

Now here is the thing.  I'm not jealous of anyone else's pins, especially the ones in the last category.  You built an indoor playhouse/ tree fort out of pallets and painted it to look like Cinderella's castle?  Cool!  More power to you!  And my response to the first category of pins is kind of gratitude.  Like, you have easy and meaningful activities that will make my hours between nap and dinner prep less... slow? Sign. me. up.

It's my inner response to the middle group of pins that became a little less subconscious tonight, that has me fascinated.  I realize now that when I see an idea that I know I COULD do, that might be fun and cool, but that I know I can't really (realistically) tackle right now- I tense up inside just a little.  There is a tension in evaluating whether I should do something now, or not.  SO... I think I would be capable of painting a sign that says, "Eat, Drink, Give Thanks." And I kinda want to. It would look great in our kitchen.  Or, I could make a few and sell them!  Yeah, like that Proverbs 31 woman, making and selling things to keep her family dressed in purple, or whatever!  But then I realize that I can't handle a big craft like that right now when I can't even handle my dishes, laundry, and clutter.  So I am a little disappointed and frustrated inside.  Therein lies the danger of Pinterest for me.  It's not in comparing myself with what other women can afford with their money, but what they can afford with their time, maybe? Or comparing myself with some hypothetical version of me that has more free time?  (Because- less kid time? Ouch.)

So I am going to tread- or click- more carefully.  I want to be conscious of this tension I'm creating, and work to have two mental categories: yes, and no.  No more "could/should" in the middle that stresses me out. And if I can't handle that, then a Pinterest fast, perhaps.

But not until I find all the cool free Christmas printables.

drawing lines

I am reading Shauna Niequist's book Bittersweet, borrowed from our local library after several weeks of waiting.  It didn't take me too many pages to figure out that I was going to have to own a copy of this book and read it again and again, marking up pages and letting the truths seep in. Reminds me of Traveling Mercies by Ann Lamott.  It not only makes me want to shelf the idea of writing a book, but it makes me question why all these other women are writing- because Niequist is. that. good.  Why bother, as long as she keeps writing?

At any rate, one of the many things that struck me whilst reading Bittersweet was her idea of keeping a list of things she doesn't do.  That in this mad crazy pretend world of Pottery Barn Kids catalogs, Pinterest, and the like, we can't do it all.  So she works at being intentional and listening to the Spirit about what she's called to do, and then making it clear to herself what she CAN'T do if she wants to do those well.

After a tiny bit of thought and a huge bit of desire to drop the dross and live fully, here is where I am drawing the line.  Here is what I want to say I DON'T DO:
garden
paint furniture
make crafts out of vintage items
sew
have a pet.  or poultry.

This list exists so that I CAN:
Cook well
Bake
Be a photographer
Be creative/ artistic once in a while
Spend time with my kids
Read and pray
Do my basic functional adult tasks

Things on the bubble for me right now:
exercising
hosting frequently
writing more intentionally
teaching

And I think that as I live with this idea this week, more things will accumulate on the "I don't" list. At least I hope they do.  Because when I realized that I can say, "Yeah, I just don't garden," it was immediately as if a weight lifted.  It was palpable. I didn't realize that being a crummy, virtual non-gardener was making me feel a degree of guilt and shame.  Wasn't every good and perfect mom supposed to organic garden WITH their children?  And make gluten-free recipes with the produce joyfully harvested from said garden?  It just isn't happening that way.  Aside from the fact that my ability, energy, and motivation to "do my basic functional adult tasks" is so low that it's causing conflict between me and the mister.  If I get time away from the laundry hamster wheel, I need to do something with my free time that fills me up, not stresses me out.

So I'm drawing lines!  I'm going to say, "NO!" with a measure of joy and certainty.  And don't get me wrong, I know this is meant to be a fluid list.  Who knows, maybe in a couple years I'll be puttering around in my garden, all green of thumb and wearing a cute apron I sewed myself.  But for now, no. No.  NO!

(Happy sigh.)

bated breath

So, tonight is Friday.  Which means movie night- especially when Craig is doing stats at an away football game, as he is tonight.  And while G was at school, the littles and I made a crash trip to the library to score some books, and the aforementioned movies.  F picked out a Barbie DVD, and I grabbed two for G: the classic How to Train Your Dragon, which we've seen (and loved) multiple times, and an exciting new pic that I was sure he'd get into: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (cartoon episode, not the full-length feature film of my youth with the foam costumes).  I almost just got the Turtles, but at the last minute grabbed both so Go could pick.  I was certain he'd be thrilled to see cartoon ninja reptiles defeated nefarious villains.  But G decided that it looked too scary, after having me read the back to him and analyzing the bad-guys involved.

And when he wasn't sure, Craig encouraged him to pray about it.  (I love that man.)  Grady became more firm in his resolved NOT to watch it, even when I said I would stay with him, I thought it was pretty harmless,


and we could watch a few minutes and stop the movie if it proved too much.  He said something to the effect, "I just don't want to grow up like that mom, watching things that will scare me.  Not even when I'm older."

I was praising him for his wisdom when he interrupted me to continue, "And that's how I feel about pop, too, Mom.  I don't want to drink pop when I'm older either. I just want to grow up to do the things that I want to, that are right.  I want to stand up and be me."

And here's the part that made my heart beat harder and made me want to hit the pause button and soak in my life and my kids.  G went on the approach F who was cuddled on the couch, and he said to her, "I don't want you to grow up like that either.  Like don't drink pop or choose bad things.  I want you to grow up and be strong, too.  Don't you want to be strong and do what's right and listen to what God says?  And if you do stuff like that, then someday when you die, when you're in heaven you'll get to be one of the important people.  Doesn't that sound good?" He said all this in the most earnest, sweet, persuasive voice.

Fin wasn't sure she was buying the idea of all he was saying, at first- specifically, I think she wasn't ready to swear off pop.  She's tasted it a time or too, and she's decided she likes it. So she was not immediately agreeing with him in a starry-eyed way; she wasn't matching his enthusiasm. And in a flash I could see how it might all go down, in the future.  I could see him growing up the consummate oldest child; obedient, high-achieving, good.  And I could see her fighting to create her own identity by defining herself as different from him- rejecting and rebelling at least a little against the areas in which he excelled- including faith.  His passion for God was going to drive her away.  And it made me shiver.  In desperation, I tried to open up a door for her, and I explained that G was talking about being herself, and making choices for God instead of being like other people.  She liked that, right?  And heaven, that sounded good, right?

And she agreed, G was satisfied, and we went on.

 But it made me realize that I just need to keep praying.  That each of my kids will have their own journey and experiences woven into their story of God's grace.  And having each other as brother and sister will be a part of that story.  In my own limited, tiny view, I will judge whether they are helping or hindering each others' faith- but actually the very things I dread are likely what God is using to shape them and draw them to himself.  And I laugh now, realizing that I (again) thought I could understand and control everything with my kids.  Classic.   I'll have to wait with bated breath to see how this all unfolds.

So we watched our movies, and I made apple crisp.  And after jammies and brushing teeth, I tucked the kids in, saying to them as I always do, "I love you bigger than a mountain.  And I always will.  And God loves you even more than that."
Amen.

every good and perfect gift

So someone from church, who wishes to remain anonymous, got a new scooter for us to give our girl for her birthday.

It was so generous, kind, and unexpected, it made me cry. Finley's reaction to the scooter was, as you can see, not to cry.  Girl freaked out with happiness.

Daddy took her for a little spin in the driveway.  Early morning, jammies on, before breakfast.  That's how we roll when it comes to birthdays. (Sap alert: This picture makes me heart skip a beat.  And makes me want to marry him all over again. Sorry, but you were warned.) Later in the day she got to ride it for real. Helmet on, of course.  She fell once, but did great and loved it. 

Big brother has been saving his dolla dollas for a loong time to buy hisself a big set of Legos he's had his eye on.  He is so. close. to being able to afford it.  Then this week he took some of his own money and bought is sister a box of girl Legos, because that's something she wanted for her birthday. He was so excited to do it, he said, "Mom! It's just like when we talked about how giving to other people gives YOU joy in your heart!  Well, I am so happy to buy a present for her I can't wait for her birthday to see how much she likes it!" In future sibling strife, I will hold on to the memory of this moment.

This girl. She keeps me on my toes. She can be level headed and philosophical one moment, and all drama and torrents of BIG FEELINGS the next moment.  Beautiful, strong, kind.  Funny!  Oh so funny, in an intentional way.  Artistic, mathematical, girly.  In this pic we are gearing up to eat the cupcakes BEFORE dinner, because a sudden violent thunderstorm kept us from heading out to the restaurant for her birthday meal on time.  So we sang happy birthday and ate cake, after which it was calm enough to head to our neighborhood Applebees.  

Are you having a hard day with your kid(s)? Well, I wasn't (today), but I did something that I'll do our next hard day (tomorrow?)  I went back and looked at old pics of them I'd put on facebook years ago. SERIOUS nostalgia.  Try it!

deep breath

I am pausing before I type here.  Do I really want to reveal to you the sometimes bitter and cynical streak that lurks within me?

Okay, here goes.  I am tired of cheap motivational drivel on Pinterest.  Don't get me wrong.  I love Pinterest- like, looove Pinterest, and I feel like I follow some savvy, creative people therein.  However, you know that you are reacting from a deep place when you read a cutely graphically designed pin that reads, "Wake up and be awesome," and your immediate thought is, "Why don't YOU wake up and be awesome! Leave me alone!" Or when you launch into an imaginary lecture in your head, aimed at the person who wrote, "Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life." Bullllll-oney!  So I may be a little literal. And hormonal.

But, people, please.  Can I write a public service announcement here for a minute?  I have for many years been a "wake up and be awesome" kind of person.  And I have to pull back the curtain here.  That is the way of death. Hold up, don't click away on me now.  I've been reading Jami Nato's blog From the Natos, and I feel bolstered in expressing this truth.  When you run out of awesome, you run to the gospel.  And I think I'm going to try to sidestep some of the misery in the middle, and just start running to the gospel first thing when I wake up. Because I never have enough awesome, and that whole phrase just seems like a lot of pressure.  "Be awesome." Cue my failure.  I know that the intention behind this is to motivate and encourage, but look me in the eye and tell me where to find the awesome when my toddler is screaming in the aisles at the store?  After Houdini-ing out of the safety belt in the cart and standing in his seat over and over? How about when my clothes have mystery smears on them and they don't fit anyways and my husband is busy and the laundry is the Burmuda Triangle and the bank account is sparse and the fridge is littered with moldy leftovers? Because I like the part where Jesus says, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." THANK GOD he doesn't say, "Hey!  Don't worry!  All you have to do is... BE AWESOME!"

I can't be awesome in the way the world seems to mean it, where you can take a picture of me, my home, and my kids at any moment and stick it on Pinterest like an "after" picture.  But I can come to the foot of the cross, ask Him to heal, redeem, transform, forgive, and glorify himself... and then see how the day plays out.  Loving others, listening to His voice and nudges, and thanking him in the beauty and the ugly alike.  Maybe I can edit that mantra strewn all over Pinterest to "Wake up and SEE AWESOME." Yeah, I like that.  I think that fits with the gospel as I understand it, a little better.

And it doesn't make me want to throw up in my mouth a little.

zoom

It is going too fast.  And so help me, I am going to find some way to get off this ride for a couple hours so I can do some Big Thinking- think some thoughts that aren't punctuated with laundry, or guilt, or sweet but mind-bending conversations about animated characters.  I desperately need to figure out who I am and what I want life to look like in this season.  And how to I get there from here?  How is it that purchasing milk can reduce me to tears?  It seems that my daily routine gives me no room to think and plan, so I must carve out space for that- a mini retreat- mini, because that is all I can imagine getting in my wildest imagination.  Get me a quiet room, a notebook, a pen, and two hours. Please.
In the meantime, here is more evidence that the minutes and months are going much too fast.

state fair

Whew.  That's just about all I can say.  The looming start of school for G seems to have driven me to pack all the fun and frivolity I can into one. last. week.  Since we got back from our Cran Hill extended family vacation, we have gone to the beach, camped in the the yard, done the state fair, celebrated a friend's birthday, had a picnic and explored at the lake, and gone to an Iowa Cubs game.  We even tried (unsuccessfully) to go to the pool tonight, since it's the final day of the season.  Because if it's not yet crossed off on the summer bucket list, I am cramming it in!

We are feeling the affects of my frenzied summer-ing. The kids are absolutely running on empty tanks. Emotional states are fragile.  There is a big transition coming, and my new goal is to push again, but this time for rest.  Rest and meeting of needs.  And hopefully, if it can be managed without ruining the rest part, lots of cleaning.

But about the state fair.  It was fab.  We were given some free tickets, and different combinations of vouchers for food and rides.  My parents came along to help with the shuffling of children.  G rode a zero-gravity type spinning ride. He came off it with a big grin.  F rode a mini roller coaster.  She came off it with... a running hug for mommy and a shy pronouncement that it was fun.  Then Craig and G rode a spinning tilt-a-whirl type thing that left Craig sick for two hours. Oops.

Last comment about the fair: there are 50 foods on a stick there, and I didn't eat any of them.  But I did eat something called a deep fried pickle dog.  Yup, it exists and I ate it.  And it was good.  

I watched the movie State Fair- the 1945 version- with the kids in preparation for the day.  We were humming and singing the theme song for hours after.  I think those Rogers and Hammerstein fellows are on to something!  The funniest part was that the kids didn't think the midway in the movie looked different from the midway we visited today.  And I had to explain to them how those old phones worked.  Which reminds me- G asked me today what was in a container at a garage sale.  I said, "film." And he responded by asking what film was.  And I honestly didn't even have the energy to go there.  Generation gap, indeed.

Updates: G ran a 5k on his own, going just over 6 times around our large block.  Just put his shoes on and announced he was going for a run, one day, and did it several times since.  C nods and shakes his head to say yes and no, respectively.  The list of words he says in growing exponentially and now includes Mommy, Daddy (not mama or dada), please, bat, ball, pop, dog, out- and more.  F still cannot sing the alphabet song correctly, but can DO things that G wanted us to do for him long past this age.  She is crazy independent.  

That's all for now, until I can pull my tired scattered mind together and wade through the emotions of G starting kindergarten, to post later this week.

Our state fair is a great state fair

Don't miss it! Don't even be late!

And dollars to doughnuts, that our state fair

Is the best state fair in our state!

(from the musical State Fair)

stitches in time- now nine

On the eve of our anniversary, I am struck by how God takes two people- two people who are very different!- and stitches them together into one. It has been mysterious and painful, but nine years in, I realize that we are far more "one" than we were when we said, "I do."  Still so different (can't get him to watch Downton Abbey; I have to manufacture interest in fantasy football) yet my life and heart are so mixed up with his, I can't believe it's been nine years. God does beautiful work through marriages. Happy anniversary, honey.

My heart still skips a beat looking at his face.  Seriously, he's handsome, strong, full of Jesus, and his kids think he hung the moon. This picture says it all!

line 'em up, knock 'em down

C has graduated from innocently exploring the world around him, to actively trying to get into things, including things he understands are off limits.  Like the water in the toilet.  And the top of the kitchen table (via the kitchen chairs). And the street.  So the fact that I was describing him as "high maintenance" a few weeks ago now seems like a crazy joke.  As in, I turned my back long enough to help the older kids start a video on youtube about backyard birdwatching, and within thirty seconds I turned around and C was on his hands and knees on the table, happily banging a serrated steak knife on a dinner plate. Cue the twinkle in his eye and dimple on his cheek.  Sheesh! He's so cute and joyful all. the. time. So it's hard to be overly frustrated.  I'm just getting used to a different gear, and getting used to tipping all the kitchen chairs over when they are not in use.  And then standing them back up when F and G need to use the table. Over. And over.

This is all good because it's natural exercise, right?

This week our memory verse* is Romans 12:18- "If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, be at peace with everyone." This was particularly directed at G, who has trouble handling the presence of little sister and who has been heard saying things to F like, "You can't be in this room.  Just go away." Not about his room; about the family room. So, yeah, we're working on the whole sibling thing, still.

Life is full right now.  Earwigs and ants, swimming pool trips, sprinkler fun, park dates, G's week-long summer class, birdwatching, and all the usual shopping, cleaning, cooking, and laundry.  Legos and dolls and balls and bats and ice cream.  And the feeling, so strong, that wells up in me is, "This is beautiful.  This is the good life."  How long this season will last I don't know, but I want to stare at everything and soak it in.  I want to laugh at the funny and laugh at the frustrating because it is all sooo good. I plopped down by the hubs last night as we watched Black Hawks hockey on TV, eating homemade guacamole (successful attempt at copying Chipotle's recipe, as per Craig's request) and the kids were all fast asleep and the dishes caught up, and I said, "We are livin' the dream!" Because we are, and that's no less true given our imperfections and the world's griefs.  There are so many things that I want to be "better" but I won't sell out the joy of the present.  Pass the chips.

*This would seem to imply that we do a new memory verse weekly.  Not so.  I meant, every once in a blue moon I remember to do a memory verse, and this is one of those weeks!

A friend who likes to play dolls!? Yes, please!

Sprinkler = joy.

She may not have a super soaker, but she knows how to dominate a water fight. With her toddler brother.

Handle broke on the bucket.  Can't believe it!

What is this strange happy contraption in our yard flinging water!?  I must squeal with delight!

closure

Nine months ago...

I am riding for a fall, big time.

It came to me earlier tonight as I was folding laundry that I am actually sad that G is finishing pre-K.  As in, I'm not letting my brain go there too often, because there is an inexplicable "ugly cry" lurking.  Every time I think about taking his "last day of school" picture on the front steps, I freak out a bit.  I didn't get all emotional when school started at the beginning of the year, so I was wondering tonight what my problem is.  Seems like the end of things is a lot harder of a milestone for me than the beginnings.  Go figure.

Grady on the other hand is thrilled for summer vacation.  No messy sentimentality on his part!  Sure, he likes his teacher and classmates, but the lure of home for my little 5 year old homebody is too great.  I guess the crushing responsibilities of pre-K- no homework, school 2 or 3 days a week, classroom rewards of Skittles for work accomplished- were wearing him down.  He's ready to be footloose and fancy free.  His basic attitude is, "It's been real, it's been fun, it's been real fun.  Later, suckers." Not that he would ever say it that way.  Ahem.

Pinterest rip-off.  One of many!

Well I had better get with the program.  Because a lot of change and goodbyes are coming.  Two best friends in town are moving.  Moving. Away.  And I have not given myself time to grieve that at all- seems like there will be plenty of time for that later, when the details come through.  And my baby is growing and honestly isn't a baby anymore.  Hello, toddlerhood!  Goodbye toothless smiles, tiny onesies, and naps in the car seat carrier.  And things are brewing in extended family circles that leave me feeling a little bereft too.

I'm gonna need to have it out with God about all these goodbyes, all these seasons passing away that I can't control.  All the fear that wants to step into the void left in the absence, reminding me that I have needs that aren't met in familiar ways anymore.  Faith.  Breathing in and out and knowing that the same One who gives me breath will give me friends, community, strength, and joy in the new things.  And His presence in the loneliness, too.  And I both cry, and remember that He is enough, at the same time.

In the meantime, we made fresh homemade lemonade today.  Wrote our summer bucket list.  And got ready to finish strong tomorrow.

Just need to remember to toss some kleenex in the van.  For me.

His backpack makes G look tiny.  And, Craig was very tan.  

making mental notes

I know it's the little things that make up the important part of my life.  That's why I love lifestyle photography; that's why I love Instagram.  I just don't want to become crippled by my desire to "capture life" so that I can wallow in the past later... but I still want to look back at the ways my kids were, back when they were littler.  So, in an effort to snatch a few details for posterity, here's a list of things I love about life right now:

I love that C can do so many things with a big grin on his face.  He'll spin, high five, touch his nose, touch his belly button, and waggle his head on command.  Unless you are trying to get another adult to see him do these things, in which case, he won't.  He will shout, "GO!" if you say, "On your marks, get set..." We cut another inch, maybe, off his hair this week.  It was so long we couldn't keep it out of his eyes.  It looks so much better, but I kinda miss the long surfer curls.  Today when F was throwing a fit in her room, C went through the house calling her name, until he found her in her room, and he was so concerned for her.  Of course, his version of her name sounds like two syllables of gutteral sounds, but whatever.  I knew what he was saying. When he wants something he points at it and says, "Eh!" I remember that stage with the other two, but with C it seems way cuter.  He pulls things off tables, climbs into G's lego box and puts legos in his mouth, dribbles juice from his mouth onto his shirt, and... walks right up to Craig to hug him goodbye when he is leaving for work.

What is it like to be the only girl with two brothers?  I'll never know, except through watching F figure out life from that vantage point.  She is an awesome blend of girlie-girl and tomboy.  Today she was teaching C about "how to be on the battle field".  Ha!  She runs like a girl, climbs like a boy, and loves Dora the Explorer, My Little Ponies, and Princesses (mostly the Disney kind, although she has seen very few of the movies).   She is tall- I had to admit to myself that her favorite pair of 4T pants were not going to last much longer, and she is still 3 1/2.  She can throw a fit like nobody's business, and we are still figuring out how to best help her a) avoid them, and b) work her way out of them.  She is so beautiful that I stare at her sometimes.  She is a copier, and will copy G's actions and words verbatim, immediately after him.  I love it when she says sweet things to me that I've said to her.  She likes to cook with me and honestly likes to bring the house from chaos to order. OH!  I almost forgot.  Mysteriously, this girl who can't sing the whole alphabet song correctly, and only knows a handful of letters, can use letter magnets to spell, "car".  Like, she did it, and proudly announced to me that she had spelled car.  But she can't do that with any other word.

Our oldest is such a firstborn.  Smart, rule-following, performance-oriented.  I have to remind myself to lean into the "who you are is enough, I love you no matter what" truth with him.  He loves his little brother fiercely.  Loves to play with him and teach him things, and honestly he just seems to get joy from watching C be himself.  But he is really hard on F.  It bugs him when she succeeds, and if she breaks any kind of rule he is all over her.  It makes me wince when he comes down hard on her, because I hear the echo of the tone and impatient phrases that I've used with him.  God is teaching me; I just wish seeing our own faults in our children was less painful.  Anyway, G is playing baseball.  So far, he likes practicing with Craig but doesn't love team practices.  Taking C and F with me to G's practice on the windiest day of the year last week just about did me in.  Looking forward to his first game, so we can cheer him on.  Oh- and G's little pre-K class performance was yesterday.  FOR THE LOVE.  It was so adorable.  G wearing his pope-style rainbow hat, doing "I'm A Little Tea Pot!" But G wouldn't smile or acknowledge us at all, and he told me later it was because he was embarrassed.  Sheesh!  But when the extraordinary Mrs. W told the kids to grab someone from the audience to dance with them, and he flashed his dimple and ran to get me, so excited, "Mommy!  Mommy! You come up and do the dance!" my heart melted, people.

I. love. them. so. much.
Okay, enough mental notes.  This momma bear needs to hibernate for a while.
Peace!

reckoning

Do you remember that bag with a few leftover (raw) potatoes that I thew in the back of our deep, high-up bread cupboard?  Yeah, me either.
Until today.  Which I will now consider a Day of Reckoning.  Yuuuuck.

When I have to do the serious, "little kids are out of the way" cleaning, like scrubbing bathroom floors and removing rotten potato juice from the bread cupboard, I put on music.  And I've been loving the Rich Mullins station on Pandora. It's got a few cheesy oldies mixed in (I'm lookin' at you, Michael W. Smith), but mostly goood stuff.  Like, close your eyes and throw your head back and belt it out along with the song kinda good. And right when I was uncovering the source of the stench in the cupboard, this song came on.  And the words supplied what my heart needed today. Enjoy.

you want some cheese with this whine?

I keep trying to cancel my pity party, but the guest keeps showing up ready to par-tay.  Season allergies are ruining my life.  Okay, that's a little melodramatic.
But they are.

And today we started the "no TV for the summer" transition.  And I cut out all pop, meat, cheese, and sweets from my diet starting today.  Just trying to get a little healthier.  I'm not much of an advance planner, and about ten minutes into today it occurred to me that with all this coinciding today, perhaps my timing on all this was a little wonky.

I could say that today was hard, but who am I kidding.  I drank a mug of caffeinated tea.  I let the kids play outside a bunch.  My eyes itched and swelled up and I went through half a box of Kleenex, but the attacks last for half an hour and then they go away for long stretches.  Compared to the average person on the planet, my day today was a luxurious vacation.

What today did do, since it didn't provide enough drama and tragedy to make a Hallmark movie script, was to keep me aware of my own pitiful weakness.  I am not capable of making it through a beautiful, sunny day in a peaceful quaint town in the richest country in the world without reaching for props, crutches, and distractions.  My children are healthy and only moderately rambunctious- no deep grief from that corner, today.  My husband is faithful, handsome, and gainfully employed.  I have many tools at my disposal to make my job possible and easier- toys and cleaning products and dozens of things with electrical plugs that promise to help a mother out.  Yet I still have this urge to drop out, mentally and emotionally.  The urge to splurge runs deep.  "It's been a rough morning, I need this Diet Mountain Dew- it'll give me energy!" "What a stressful time with the kids.  I know, I'll make cookies with them!  And eat one- or six." "Hmmm, while the kids watch Clifford I'll just check Pinterest." Yuck- my own desire to at every moment be looking for a way to increase my own comfort and downshift my efforts and responsibilities is shocking to me.  And until this morning I was in a long season of completely ignoring the depth of my own desperate needs.

Because I want to be here, now.  I want to do what all the cliches people post mean, about living life fully, being present, making memories with my kids and doing something that matters.  And Pinterest does not have enough advice, facebook does not share enough motivation, pop and sugar and rich foods do not give me the energy to do that.   This morning when I woke up and 30 seconds later wanted to turn on the TV and grab a soda, I remembered that I need Jesus.  And two minutes later I remembered it.  And two hours later I was still running into that truth.

I am weak, messy, and needy.  And that does not make me feel like crawling into a hole to die.  It makes me want to go running into the arms of the one who wipes tears, heals what is broken, and gives purpose to the aimless.  Thank God for the gospel, that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.  Where we are ugly, he loves us enough to roll up his sleeves.  It is during the hard days of saying "NO" to my idols and addictions that the lyrics to every worship song go from trite to so, so true.

All of You is more than enough for all of me
For every thirst and every need
You satisfy me with Your love
And all I have in You is more than enough

I hope it goes without saying that I don't think drinking soda, eating sweets, meat, and cheese, or watching TV, are bad.  Or that stopping those things makes you better.  I'm sharing that these things were something that I used on a deeper level, as in "used," like something that is shaking me up as I (try) to stop.  I fully intend for this season to be about living with freedom and joy- focusing on my savior, my family, and my life- not by adding a chain of denying myself, but by cutting chains of dependance.

Ask me in three days, and I'll bet I say that I haven't felt this good in a long time.
In the meantime, I'll be clutching my Kleenex and water bottle.

tulip time is here, let's go dutch!

SO, this last week was Tulip Time, my town's annual celebration of its Dutch heritage. And it got me thinking about more than just wooden shoes and yummy Dutch pastries.

There is a lot to be said for a tight-knit community.  One that celebrates together, and makes amazing memories.  Tradition can be a beautiful frame to highlight the generations growing up together in a place.  I'm glad my kids can already, at young ages, remember past Tulip Times and their own parts in them.

But that same tight-knit camaraderie can leave newcomers puzzling out the foreign language of cultural expectations.  My husband's family is Dutch, and I've lived here for seven years.  My husband and I work in the biggest church in town, and as such, have had an easier time making connections and fitting in.  Still, we are no strangers to the feeling of being... strangers.  Not because people here are unfriendly!  But because when you try to become part of traditions and histories that are generations old, you are just run smack into your own ignorance of said traditions.  We've marched in the parades, eaten the food, and even tried weaseling our way into the Dutch Family Singers (only slightly set back by the birth of our third son, right in the middle of the rehearsal weeks leading up to the festival. He didn't want to miss Tulip Time, I guess).

And I still end up feeling clueless and silly.  Why is it that families are invited to march in costume with their babies as part of the "baby parade" but you can't find information posted about what time or where to meet... it's just kinda word of mouth?  And I'm standing in the middle of the street wondering where the other baby parade moms are?

Why is it that a community founded by persecuted seekers of religious freedom now touts, however tongue-in-cheek, the phrase, "If you're not Dutch, you're not much"?

And, why is it that when I get ahold of Dutch costumes and take pictures of my kids in front of the tulips, I always mess the costumes up somehow?  Like last year when I proudly displayed pics of my kids on facebook, "like all the other moms," I found out via a kind and gently worded message sent to my private inbox, that what I'd thought was a strange little vest for my daughter's costume was actually a strange little dickie, worn under the dress. Because it was a costume representing the Vander Zuider Tootenflueten Farfel Province, or some such thing.  Oops! My bad! That's not at all like wearing your undergarments on the outside, is it!  Um, don't answer that.

This year: G's hat band is pulled down. His shirt is not tucked in.
F's hat ties are supposed to be untied, hanging down? Oops! 

What brings me back around is the honest friendly fun that is at the heart of the hoopla.  We've never had to buy costumes for our kids; families have been generous to loan the (expensive) items to us.  There is so much hard work behind the huge event, literally 150,000 people come to a festival hosted by a town of 10,000 (ish).  It's a wonder it's as organized and inclusive as it is.  Many of our town's businesses survive because of this celebration and the tourists it brings, and people pitch in countless unpaid hours in every sort of menial task to make it happen.  I only hope that our churches can remember- that I can remember- that traditions and histories are best used when coupled with invitations and grace and love to the people who are, for whatever reason, on the outside of those cultural codes. I'm often so busy with my own awkward dog-paddle of cultural survival, I stink at thinking of others. Truth is, you don't have to be Dutch to be much, and really you can't be much, to have Jesus anyway.

I took our annual photos two nights ago of the kids in full regalia.  In front of the tulips that were finally blooming, now that the festival is over and the snow has melted.  And unlike other years where I found myself snarling through gritted teeth, "Just look at the camera! No! Put your hat back on! Why are you poking your sister!  That's not a real smile!  NO WE CAN NOT GO HOME UNTIL I GET A GOOD PHOTO!" I decided to relax.  Make it as fun as possible and take pics of the kids doing their thing around the tulips and just celebrate the real- take what I could get and go home.  The kids had a blast.  The next night we were talking and G asked what the word "paradise" meant having heard it on TV.  After we talked a bit, he said, "Yeah, that's kinda like Tulip Time pictures!  That was a lot more fun than I thought it was going to be!"

Winner winner chicken dinner!