39. Little boy voice singing Snoopy and the Red Baron.
40. Kids laughing.
41. The cloud lifting.
42. Neighbors coming to visit.
43. An afternoon nap.
44. The way my daughter walks with her head held high, full of confidence.
45. Sitting outside reading a book while the kids draw with sidewalk chalk.
46. Neighbors who buy popsicles for my kids just because they're good people.
47. Kids doing cheers with popsicles.
48. Time for bed.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Does the check-out girl really have to take time to scratch herself?
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things. Philippians 4:8
I went to the store today to do "big grocery shopping" for the first time since Ralphie was born. I could barely fit everything in to the cart! I said to dh, "Remember when we lived in the apartment and we'd buy a half gallon of milk and it would go bad?". Yeah, those days are long gone.
I knew I had about two and a half hours to get to the store, do my shopping and get home before Ralphie needed to be fed again. (Thankfully, my mother-in-law had the other three!). I was speeding through the store like those people you see who are told they just won a shopping spree for whatever they can fit in their cart in five minutes (I know that's an excessively long sentence).
As I got to the checkout, Ralphie opened his eyes and I thought, "Dear God, we've got to move fast". The lady at the checkout was moving slowly and as I watched her slowly scan, then stop to scratch her nose, I caught myself thinking, "Don't scratch, just keep bagging, sister!!".
And then my gratitude list came to mind...
Ahhhh, it is so easy to express gratitude when things are going my way. I very mechanically forced myself to think about her and what her day must be like. I forced myself to thank God that she was probably moving as fast...as...she...probably...could. Yes, mechanical and forced, it is true. But my hope is that the more I do it, the more it will shape me in to more of the person I desire to be. I'm a mutterer, a griper, a wish-I-wasn't-doing-this-right-now-er.
Thanks for going with me on this journey to delighting in all of the wonderful things that are there for the taking--we just need to open our eyes to them!
25. Stationary from Target.
26. Food in the fridge.
27. Lady at the deli who is on her feet all day long.
28. The voice inside that says, "You better go see what they're doing".
29. Sleeping baby at grocery store.
30. Help with the kids.
31. Sweet baby boy asleep in his swing.
32. The ability to take care of my family.
33. Clean folded laundry in drawers.
34. Empty sink.
35. Honesty in others--truth about shortcomings. I, too, am so very human.
36. The beginnings of potty training.
37. Answered prayer.
38. Building train sets.
I went to the store today to do "big grocery shopping" for the first time since Ralphie was born. I could barely fit everything in to the cart! I said to dh, "Remember when we lived in the apartment and we'd buy a half gallon of milk and it would go bad?". Yeah, those days are long gone.
I knew I had about two and a half hours to get to the store, do my shopping and get home before Ralphie needed to be fed again. (Thankfully, my mother-in-law had the other three!). I was speeding through the store like those people you see who are told they just won a shopping spree for whatever they can fit in their cart in five minutes (I know that's an excessively long sentence).
As I got to the checkout, Ralphie opened his eyes and I thought, "Dear God, we've got to move fast". The lady at the checkout was moving slowly and as I watched her slowly scan, then stop to scratch her nose, I caught myself thinking, "Don't scratch, just keep bagging, sister!!".
And then my gratitude list came to mind...
Ahhhh, it is so easy to express gratitude when things are going my way. I very mechanically forced myself to think about her and what her day must be like. I forced myself to thank God that she was probably moving as fast...as...she...probably...could. Yes, mechanical and forced, it is true. But my hope is that the more I do it, the more it will shape me in to more of the person I desire to be. I'm a mutterer, a griper, a wish-I-wasn't-doing-this-right-now-er.
Thanks for going with me on this journey to delighting in all of the wonderful things that are there for the taking--we just need to open our eyes to them!
25. Stationary from Target.
26. Food in the fridge.
27. Lady at the deli who is on her feet all day long.
28. The voice inside that says, "You better go see what they're doing".
29. Sleeping baby at grocery store.
30. Help with the kids.
31. Sweet baby boy asleep in his swing.
32. The ability to take care of my family.
33. Clean folded laundry in drawers.
34. Empty sink.
35. Honesty in others--truth about shortcomings. I, too, am so very human.
36. The beginnings of potty training.
37. Answered prayer.
38. Building train sets.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
A few of my favorite things...
A few of the things I'm thankful for today...
9. Airplane tacked to my corkboard that he was so proud of.
10. Golden sunshine streaming in from the window and on to my wall.
11. Coffee with husband before the kids wake up.
12. Cindy-lou Who's picture of her and a friend dancing.
13. Little boy voice at the bottom of the stairs.
14. Toys, toys everywhere.
15. Clean water running cold from my faucet.
16. So kissable baby cheeks against my lips.
17. Gravel under my bare feet.
18. 3-year old cherry-stained mouth.
19. Playtime in bubble bath.
20. Cool rain on shoulders.
21. The binding up of wounds.
21. The binding up of wounds.
22. Sleep smiles.
23. Blue fuzzy slippers soft on my feet.
24. Collecting acorns in a pretty blue bucket.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
The Art of Giving Thanks
I sat outside picking weeds this morning with baby Ralphie next to me in his bouncy seat. Dynamite was immersed in blowing bubbles, Cindy-Lou Who was playing in the backyard and Super-boy sat inside listening to an old Smoky Robinson record (yes, record!).
My 94-year old neighbor hobbled over on the other side of the fence to see how we all were doing. "Hanging in there," I said, "Still adjusting...feels good to be outside, how are you?"
"I'm really down in the dumps today and I can't figure out why".
"I hate those days," I replied, "It feels like a cloud settled around you and you can't get out from under it".
"Ahhh", she half-smiled, "You're learning about that young".
Yes, I know those clouds more than I like to admit. Sometimes it is so hard to get out of that "funk" as I call it. I picked up my Bible the other morning and was reading Psalm 103, "Praise the Lord...who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion". That pit is a dark place. There are days I feel emotionally that I've got dirt caked under my fingernails from clawing my way out of that pit.
That being said, I am reading a wonderfully transforming book called, "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp. It is about, quite simply, giving thanks. Yes, pure gratitude. Why is it so hard for us to see the many blessings that are poured upon us daily? And so, I am diving in to count my way up to one thousand gifts. I will venture to post things I'm thankful for daily, even if I post nothing else.
Here is a blog of which I want to spend WAY more time by the author of this book: http://www.aholyexperience.com/category/1000gifts/
You will be blessed by it! And if you have the time or the desire, get this book!
And so begins my count to one thousand:
1. 3 1/2 week old sweet baby boy asleep in his swing.
2. A quiet house with only piano music playing softly.
3. Pulling weeds and getting my hands dirty.
4. Dear friends who bring me yellow daisies.
5. A husband who works so hard to meet the needs of so many little people (and me!).
6. Sunlight cast on the street.
7. Rubberband arms.
8. Sweet smell of candle burning.
My 94-year old neighbor hobbled over on the other side of the fence to see how we all were doing. "Hanging in there," I said, "Still adjusting...feels good to be outside, how are you?"
"I'm really down in the dumps today and I can't figure out why".
"I hate those days," I replied, "It feels like a cloud settled around you and you can't get out from under it".
"Ahhh", she half-smiled, "You're learning about that young".
Yes, I know those clouds more than I like to admit. Sometimes it is so hard to get out of that "funk" as I call it. I picked up my Bible the other morning and was reading Psalm 103, "Praise the Lord...who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and compassion". That pit is a dark place. There are days I feel emotionally that I've got dirt caked under my fingernails from clawing my way out of that pit.
That being said, I am reading a wonderfully transforming book called, "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp. It is about, quite simply, giving thanks. Yes, pure gratitude. Why is it so hard for us to see the many blessings that are poured upon us daily? And so, I am diving in to count my way up to one thousand gifts. I will venture to post things I'm thankful for daily, even if I post nothing else.
Here is a blog of which I want to spend WAY more time by the author of this book: http://www.aholyexperience.com/category/1000gifts/
You will be blessed by it! And if you have the time or the desire, get this book!
And so begins my count to one thousand:
1. 3 1/2 week old sweet baby boy asleep in his swing.
2. A quiet house with only piano music playing softly.
3. Pulling weeds and getting my hands dirty.
4. Dear friends who bring me yellow daisies.
5. A husband who works so hard to meet the needs of so many little people (and me!).
6. Sunlight cast on the street.
7. Rubberband arms.
8. Sweet smell of candle burning.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Loving the Ugly
I got to take a shower today for the first time since having my c-section on Wednesday. I've been hooked up to a pain pump for the last two days, so there was no getting wet other than to wipe my face off with a hot towel.
Dh and Cindy-Lou Who came up to the hospital to visit Ralphie (if Dynamite can't name his this in real life, I will allow it in Blog World).
I am still weak from being in bed so much and a healing incision. My legs are still a little shaky and I'm walking like my 94-year old neighbor.
Dh walked slowly behind me with his hand on the small of my back and followed me in to the bathroom. There I very tenderly undressed, as not to bump anything. I looked down at my body and, well, I felt vulnerable.
My stomach is pooched out and looks about five to six months pregnant. I am red all over from the pain meds leaving a rash behind. I will spare you the facts about everything else as to keep this blog "decent" and trust that whether or not you've had a child, you know what it is to feel insecure.
Dh helped me wash my four-timed cesarean scarred up body and wrapped me in a towel. He then knelt down to dry off my legs and helped me on with my underwear as I stood there feeling anything but beautiful.
"Look how little you are," he said smiling.
It felt so good to take that shower. I felt renewed, clean and cared for.
Tonight I am thinking about what it is to be loved. To be treasured. To be cherished.
Nine and a half years and four kids later, I may have figured it out. It is not easy, but it is persistent.
Dh and I are both flawed. As I talk about the physical, it reminds that I am also spiritually flawed. We both are. We are human and full of failures. Earthly trials and temptations. Shortcomings.
And yet, showered in grace. Mercy. Love. I believe that God looks at all of those spiritual wounds we bear, and says, "Look how lovely you are".
This is what true love is: seeing the imperfections and choosing to love anyway. Embracing the broken and not trying to fix it, but to love in spite of it.
I'm counting my blessings today. Among them: a fuzzy-headed Ralphie, three gorgeous kids who keep asking their daddy when mama is coming home, the best friends in the entire universe, a mom who just can't help enough, and a dh who loves every broken part of me.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Most days, I feel uncertain. Am I being purposeful enough? Am I enriching the lives of my children? Am I being thoughtful enough? Am I making a difference? Many nights, I lay in my bed and wonder what it's all for and feel a sense of urgency that I better figure it out real quick!
But yesterday morning, I awoke and knew that I was going to accomplish something amazing. I was going to receive the gift of bringing forth new life. I didn't have to wonder if I should have focused more on math than phonics with the kids. Or if I should let Dynamite go without his nap. Or worry about what I was going to wear. My sole purpose was to give birth to my child.
Everything that could've gone wrong did, in fact, go wrong. We arrived at the hospital and a gown was tossed on the bed next to me. "Go ahead and get in to that," the nurse said without making eye contact. Okayyyy...I put the gown on. A few minutes later, a different nurse came in and said from behind the curtains, "You didn't put that gown on yet, did you?"
"Um, yeah, I did."
"Oh, well, I guess that's okay," she said, and then she turned and walked away.
They asked me a plethora of personal questions and inquired about any and all piercings and tattoos (I revealed my barely visible closed-up belly button piercing that sat like a toddler bite on my pregnant stomach).
I heard whispering about being bumped as I sat there with the IV coursing through my veins. I watched the clock ticking away minute by minute. Finally, a streaky-blonde came in and said, "Looks like there are a few emergency c-sections lined up...don't really know if or when you're going to get in there."
I wanted to yell out, "Hey lady! You're messing with My Purpose!"
A few minutes later, my doctor came in and said I could come back the next day or he could ask another doctor if she'd be willing to do it, but she might not be too happy about it. Well, quite frankly, I didn't care if she was happy about it or not. And I didn't care who did it. I just wanted it done.
So, as I sat there with nothing but a flimsy robe on and tubes tangles around me, I said, "I'm not going home."
The alternate doctor in the practice, the one who doesn't really like me b/c she thinks that I bothered her when the room was spinning and I thought I might be dying from a blood clot (yes, I am that dramatic) is the one who ended up doing my surgery. I was a little frightened that she might take out her frustration on me in the OR, but she graciously restricted herself to a few sarcastic comments and hoity-toity looks.
Finally, hours after my arrival at the hospital, I was wheeled back to achieve My Purpose. They tied my arms down (apparently that's just what they do), bent me over and stuck a needle in my back, and gave me funny medicine that made my legs feel like hot water was filling up inside them. There was pulling so hard that I thought my face was going to explode. And then...
There was life. There was a cry that had never been heard before. Soft skin never touched now laid up against mine.
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. A million words in a single drop. I love you, you are mine.
As I lay in bed and the night sky is streaked with purples and pinks, I am reminded that all of the mindless macaroni and cheese lunches come back to this. All of the empty reminders to flush the toilet and brush your teeth, to tie your shoes and do your homework...all of the things I feel my day are comprised of that make me feel like I don't achieve anything...they all come back to this moment. The take-your-breath-away and the if-I-have-to-clean-up-this-mess-one-more-time...all woven together in to one fabric of beautiful, meaningful life.
But yesterday morning, I awoke and knew that I was going to accomplish something amazing. I was going to receive the gift of bringing forth new life. I didn't have to wonder if I should have focused more on math than phonics with the kids. Or if I should let Dynamite go without his nap. Or worry about what I was going to wear. My sole purpose was to give birth to my child.
Everything that could've gone wrong did, in fact, go wrong. We arrived at the hospital and a gown was tossed on the bed next to me. "Go ahead and get in to that," the nurse said without making eye contact. Okayyyy...I put the gown on. A few minutes later, a different nurse came in and said from behind the curtains, "You didn't put that gown on yet, did you?"
"Um, yeah, I did."
"Oh, well, I guess that's okay," she said, and then she turned and walked away.
They asked me a plethora of personal questions and inquired about any and all piercings and tattoos (I revealed my barely visible closed-up belly button piercing that sat like a toddler bite on my pregnant stomach).
I heard whispering about being bumped as I sat there with the IV coursing through my veins. I watched the clock ticking away minute by minute. Finally, a streaky-blonde came in and said, "Looks like there are a few emergency c-sections lined up...don't really know if or when you're going to get in there."
I wanted to yell out, "Hey lady! You're messing with My Purpose!"
A few minutes later, my doctor came in and said I could come back the next day or he could ask another doctor if she'd be willing to do it, but she might not be too happy about it. Well, quite frankly, I didn't care if she was happy about it or not. And I didn't care who did it. I just wanted it done.
So, as I sat there with nothing but a flimsy robe on and tubes tangles around me, I said, "I'm not going home."
The alternate doctor in the practice, the one who doesn't really like me b/c she thinks that I bothered her when the room was spinning and I thought I might be dying from a blood clot (yes, I am that dramatic) is the one who ended up doing my surgery. I was a little frightened that she might take out her frustration on me in the OR, but she graciously restricted herself to a few sarcastic comments and hoity-toity looks.
Finally, hours after my arrival at the hospital, I was wheeled back to achieve My Purpose. They tied my arms down (apparently that's just what they do), bent me over and stuck a needle in my back, and gave me funny medicine that made my legs feel like hot water was filling up inside them. There was pulling so hard that I thought my face was going to explode. And then...
There was life. There was a cry that had never been heard before. Soft skin never touched now laid up against mine.
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. A million words in a single drop. I love you, you are mine.
As I lay in bed and the night sky is streaked with purples and pinks, I am reminded that all of the mindless macaroni and cheese lunches come back to this. All of the empty reminders to flush the toilet and brush your teeth, to tie your shoes and do your homework...all of the things I feel my day are comprised of that make me feel like I don't achieve anything...they all come back to this moment. The take-your-breath-away and the if-I-have-to-clean-up-this-mess-one-more-time...all woven together in to one fabric of beautiful, meaningful life.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Dynamite and His Hole Obsession
Today, I went to the Dr. with Dynamite for my thirty-six week appointment. The waiting room was filled with all kinds of pregnant women and their other halves, not to mention a few little munchkins running around.
Now, many of you may not know this, but I have a mole under my right arm. For reasons I'll never understand, my kids have all taken turns being fascinated by it. They want to touch it, talk about it; they have a slight obsession with my mole.
As we were sitting in the crowded room, Dynamite looks at me and belts out, "I wanna see you hole!" Well, I was a little perplexed trying to understand what hole exactly he was talking about. Again, "Mommy, I wanna see you hole!" Ahhh, yes, the mole.
This was a situation where had I tried to shush him, he would've grown more persistent. So, I acquiesced to his demand. With bright red cheeks, I slightly raised my arm so that he could look at the object of his desire. And when I thought it couldn't get any worse, he squeals with delight, "I KISS YOU HOLE, MOMMY!"
And with that, he planted one right on my mole. As he pulled away, he looked up at me with the biggest toothy grin you can imagine. As though to say, "Mommy, I just love you hole"
Lovely. People ducked their heads in empathetic embarrassment, but couldn't help but covertly snicker.
Reason #132 why I should get a sitter when I go to the Doctor.
Now, many of you may not know this, but I have a mole under my right arm. For reasons I'll never understand, my kids have all taken turns being fascinated by it. They want to touch it, talk about it; they have a slight obsession with my mole.
As we were sitting in the crowded room, Dynamite looks at me and belts out, "I wanna see you hole!" Well, I was a little perplexed trying to understand what hole exactly he was talking about. Again, "Mommy, I wanna see you hole!" Ahhh, yes, the mole.
This was a situation where had I tried to shush him, he would've grown more persistent. So, I acquiesced to his demand. With bright red cheeks, I slightly raised my arm so that he could look at the object of his desire. And when I thought it couldn't get any worse, he squeals with delight, "I KISS YOU HOLE, MOMMY!"
And with that, he planted one right on my mole. As he pulled away, he looked up at me with the biggest toothy grin you can imagine. As though to say, "Mommy, I just love you hole"
Lovely. People ducked their heads in empathetic embarrassment, but couldn't help but covertly snicker.
Reason #132 why I should get a sitter when I go to the Doctor.
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