mom

This is a letter to my mom.  The rest of you are just along for the ride on this one.

Dear Mom,
Here are some of the things I remember from my childhood, about you.

I remember sitting on the kitchen counter watching you cook.  I remember that you made yummy food- pot roast and macaroni soup and chili and tuna noodle casserole and bologna sandwiches with Miracle Whip.  I remember when I was old enough to leave home, getting some of those recipes from you, because although I knew you didn't enjoy cooking, it didn't mean that your food wasn't delicious.  On the contrary, your food represents the best of home and comfort to me. (Except the bologna sandwiches.)

I remember that when you scrubbed the kitchen floor, you let us make a fort with the chairs in the other room. I remember that (as a kindergartener?) I was out shopping with you and I realllly wanted that fancy dress, the white frilly one, it somehow mysteriously ended up on my bed that week as a present "from Dad." I also remember you cleaning up after me when I was sick, and stroking my hair, and making me chicken soup.

You led my Brownie troupe. You led my Odyssey of the Mind group. You baked lemon cupcakes for me to take to school for my birthday.  You swam with us at the lake.  You bought me the most outrageously expensive prom dress, because you wanted to give me everything.  (And it was the only one we found that we liked!  Or were we just too tired to shop anymore?!) You worked, and gave all that money for me to go to college. You gave me Strawberry Shortcake's house, an electric keyboard, a sapphire ring, hugs, love, and when I needed it- spankings. (Although not too often on that last one.)


You drove me to piano, school, friends' houses, and church.  You drove me to Perkins when I was little to get me a muffin and spend special time with me once while Jason was at preschool.  You rode with me while I was a new driver, and only clutched at the door when I turned, sped up, or slowed down. ;)

I knew that you loved me even when I pulled away.  When I chose different hobbies, friends, churches,   homes, destinies.  When I was callous, sarcastic, selfish and self-absorbed- I never doubted that even when you didn't like me, you loved me.  And because of that, being with you will always feel like being home.

I almost lost you.  There was a time when I was 11 when you weren't there to put together my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and drive me around and I didn't know if you would remember me or even keep breathing. It was scary to see you in the hospital with your head shaved and the wires and tubes making you look so fragile.  That season rarely comes to mind, and seems strange to think of now.  But I know it is a part of our story that intensifies how grateful I am to you, and for you.

I learned so much from you about love that I am still struggling to put into practice.  Things I learned so young they are subconscious, and things I learned this year.  About sacrifice and loss and faithfulness.
You are a hero to me.  And a friend.
You are my mom.
And I love you.

All the numbers in the whole wide world.

Becky

links i love

I've been moved by a few great posts, and thought I'd share.  Someday I'll look back at the things that influenced me, and smile about some, and grimace about others.  But for what it's worth, here's what's on that list:
1. thoughts on motherhood

2. the voice bible- thinkin' about this...

3. the gospel is all i have

4. so funny i watched it twice

5. thoughtful, poetic and beautiful

6. want to buy things here- someone stop me

7. gonna make this someday- soon?

And, I know that seven is the number of completion and perfection, but, one more here oughta do it:

8. annie v nails it again!

So that's some of what's been good to me on the intranets lately.  More soon on athletics, what it's like to be sans hubby for a weekend, and how I've been processing the "gospel is all I have" idea.
Peace!

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!

sigh

If my children keep spilling things at this rate, and in this far-flung of locations in our home, I will have scrubbed all the floors in our house by the end of the day. One. spill. at. a time.

Sigh.

And, happy May 3.  It is snowing like crazy outside my windows at this moment.  School was not cancelled.  Rain/sleet yesterday.  Pouring rain tomorrow.  Tulip Time, it seems, is ruined.

Sigh.

I stayed up until midnight trying to do my business cards before my coupon expired.  I still did not get the deal I was hoping for, nor cards that I love, after ignoring my children big portions of the day to work on them.

Sigh.

I feel like we need Mary Poppins to show up. Which means I probably need to listen to the Holy Spirit, and start amping up my gratitude.

We have power, while several towns around have lost it due to the storm,  My children help clean up their messes.  My boy got out the door to school on time, wearing his costume for Pirate Day.  The (very full) garbage made it to the curb on time, and I don't have to go to the store today in the snow.  In fact, in short order all this snow will melt and I'll be back to wearing my (new) flip flops.  In the meantime, the big flakes of snow make my yard look like Narnia. And my (wonderful) husband was my true partner in all of this morning's adventure- even washing old dirty rain boots in the tub to transform them into pirate gear.

Smile.

beauty

Right now, I am paying attention.  Noticing that out my window is a darkening sky, with just enough light and color to make the tree branches into black lace laid over the blue and purple behind.  There has been a lot of beautiful light lately.

There is a lot of ugliness around for me to pay attention to.  Of course, there are the evil and devastating things on the news.  "You will hear of wars and rumors of wars..." it says in Matthew.  And for me, even more than the mean and sad things in the headlines, I see the ugliness cozying right up next to me.  Sometimes literally ugly sights- like the nasty dishes flaunting their reign of terror in my kitchen.  And the toys that end up as randomly placed in the corners of our house as possible.  And the dirty floors, dusty shelves, spreading laundry, and grungy bathroom that make me feel like I can't like my own home.  And that is just the visible- the sounds of conflict and feelings of frustrated loneliness can be uglier.

But the end of that verse in Matthew.  The entire verse reads, "You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come." One way that I see to it that I am not so alarmed is turning my attention a few degrees to the side and seeing the beauty.  Like in Philippians when it says to think about the things that are lovely and worthy of praise.  So sitting on top of the laundry pile is the pretty dress I got for my girl at a garage sale this week. The dishes bear the remains of the yummy new recipe that I tried out.  You get the drift.  I get cynical sometimes about praising about the little things- yada yada, yeah, my mess is really wonderful.  But after a day of bickering and cranky children, my oldest grabs the hand of his little sister to help her as she crosses the street to our house. I saw it, and it was like sunshine in my heart.  I was, for once, paying attention. It was beautiful.

how?

How did I miss the fact that cute cowgirl boots were the missing piece to Little Girl's wardrobe?  Now everything she wears makes her look like some cuter, rounder Taylor Swift.

So I tried the "get everything ready the night before" trick to make Sunday morning go more smoothly. How did that not work?!  It was zany how awful things were, how each carefully laid plan fell apart.  Why?  I'll give you a clue: "I can't wear this- it's UNCONSTIBLE!!!" In the end, leggings saved the day.  Both on the front end, when they got the outfit to pass inspection on both our parts, and on the back end, when she leaked into her underwear trying to manage in the bathroom at church, and we had to stash said underwear in Daddy's office.  Yay for the leggings that covered up business so we could stay for the fundraiser burrito breakfast!

How do I get my camera to focus in the right spot?  I'm enjoying taking many pictures again, but still struggling for consistency.

One of the big mysteries of my chosen profession is, how is it that I can be exhausted at the end of the day, feel like I did many household chores, and still the house is an embarrassing pit of dishes, laundry, toys, and random junk? Hmmm, must get more organized and methodical in getting the other members of the household to do a few light but meaningful chores at the end of the day.

Tonight Craig and the kids played the funniest and most random game.  The kids hid in the porta-potty across the street, while Craig threw t-balls at it.  When a ball would whack the door, they would scream with laughter.  They did this over and over and over... When it was time to go back home, and they were crossing the street, G turned and grabbed his sister's hand and walked her safely across, on his own.  He can be so sweet.  And when he helped in the nursery with this morning (because his Sunday School was off for the week) he was mostly helpful, although so wild and energetic that it took me some firm and slightly awkward redirecting to make all the adults in the room feel more comfortable.

The last day or two, I have really been in love with my kids.  Like, stare at pictures of them and feel very bittersweet and sentimental.  We really do have so much fun, and the times I get overwhelmed are usually due to my own agendas and schedule.  I. am. learning.  How about that? Thank you Lord for the blog-processing reminder.

PS- C loves pizza, but not bananas.  As in, won't eat them whole, cut, or smashed.  Or in a box or with a fox.  Or in the rain or on a train.
Go figure!

I will look at these squirrels but not eat bananas.

random thoughts. my favorite.

Just had a garage sale yesterday, and I am remembering again that it is far easier to spend money than to make it.  I am exhausted.  And just when the last customer saunters away and you feel like you can't move one more muscle, you see the depressing reality of how much STUFF is left to pack up, take to the thrift store, take to consign, and take (shudder) back to the basement.  The kids had a blast, though.  The garage sale was a collaboration between our family and two others who are the salt of the earth, and my kids love their kids.  For them it was a giant play date of the highest order- very loosely supervised and culminating in pepperoni pizza.

I'm contemplating instituting a new rule: no yelling on Sundays.  Four of the five members of our family needed that rule today.  And to help that happen, I want to set out clothes for church the night before.  And possible bribe people.  Because it takes me too long to shake off the yucky before I can worship God and have my heart ready for learning, when we've all been nasty and impatient.  And that's what our morning was like today- me muttering a quick prayer over my children as we walked into the front doors of church, that we would forget and forgive and be ready to really worship.  How cliche that lost shoes and whiny attitudes make us run late and ruin our morning.  But it's true: our sin is not original.  At least, not in the creative sense of the word. So next week, I will be intentional and prepared.  Early to bed! Clothes negotiated and at the ready!  Attitudes adjusted! I'll keep you posted, if you remind me not to be cynical of the odds of success.

Okay, to the more random: Crosby is napping in his crib, and starting the night in his crib.  Beautiful.  Cleaned the kitchen in peace, with both hands free, tonight.

Got the kids to pitch in with sorting Mount Laundry today.  We made a molehill out of a mountain.  But... more loads are coming and I am not sure we can keep up for any length of time.

Bought new flip flops.  Totally what I wanted, brand new with tags on, from a local posting on facebook "for sale" site.  At a fraction of full price.  Booyah!  Told you it was easy to spend money! And fun.

Talked to G about how he treats little sister.  It had been a bad day in sibling land.  Told him to think about how the world says the older, stronger, and bigger get to act.  Told him how Jesus acted to those who were weaker, younger, smaller.  Said he could choose which way to copy: Jesus, or the world.  Five minutes later when they brought library books to the couch for read aloud time he piped up that I could read little sister's book first; he could wait.  My heart swelled.  Now, one gracious act will not heal all the wounding from the demeaning, demanding behavior from the idolized big brother.  But it's not his job to heal all that- she will need Jesus to do that.  Because that's something that drives us to the cross, right?  How the messed up world- even our messed up families- fail us.  Hurt us.  And out of this sibling relationship G will be driven to Jesus, too.  Because he will need forgiveness for the ways he's hurt her.  Thank God that the people he puts us with are like big neon arrows pointing to Jesus. Praying that my kids will recognize those arrows early.

Went to the park with all four kids this evening.  Even used the iphone to "embrace the camera,"  using my new crush, instagram.  Now if only more of my friends would use it...

Okay, gotta go.  G is having one of his night terrors again, and we are combatting it by letting him fall back to sleep watching "Storm Chasers" on the couch with Craig.  Lovely. Well, at least tomorrow isn't Sunday... ;)

Rejecting a little love from the sis on his first birthday.