Date Archives → May 2012

bike riding

On Sunday morning, before we left for church, we packed pb&j, water bottles, crocs, play shorts, and bikes in the van. When the service was done, we headed to the public school parking lot for the long awaited Bike Riding Event.

It was perfect. The joy and elation as the boys took off on their bikes into the vast parking lot was priceless. Not even a playground with every bell and whistle could distract them from their mission. They rode and rode and rode. And smiled the whole time. (So did Ryan and I.)

Little summertime treasures.

it’s hard work

Sometimes I’m so busy raising kids that I feel like I’m missing their lives. (Does that even make sense? Yes? No?)

That sensation hit strong a couple of weeks ago. I was feeling really bad for myself. Feeling like these kids are growing up so quickly, and I’m missing the whole thing because they’re such handfuls.

And then I sort of laughed at myself. Laughed because I get so, so, so sidetracked sometimes!

The Holy Spirit reminded me: The point of all this is not sentimentality. It is not the “How Many Warm Fuzzies Can You Have” game. A string of exhausting days with few-and-far-between picture perfect moments does not necessarily equal failure. (My melancholy mind always jumps right to failure. Sorry if that seems dramatic. Ha!)

The point (He reminded me) is
— young boys to men
— fools to wisdom seekers
— darkness to light

There is very little that is cute, warm, or fuzzy about those things. They are serious, war-waging, blood-sweat-and-tears things.

So should I feel like I’m a failure when I’m exhausted? When I feel utterly spent? No. I’m in the trenches and should be giving 100%.

When we were first married, Ryan would sometimes remark on how tired he was. Our dear landlord would smile and say, in his Down East way, “Well, it’s Friday evening. If you’re not tired on Friday evening, you’re doing something wrong.”

And sometimes I have to remind myself of the same thing: Stop being an idealist. Real life is work, and being tired isn’t a sign of failure. (Yes, it’s a sign of weakness, but I’m learning to be content even in that.) Do I need to cave to the flesh when I’m tired? No. There’s grace for that. And joy, too.

But this is not vacation; this is work. This is not my destination; I am moving forward. There are gifts along the way that fill my mama-heart with incredible joy — but that is not the end goal. To see Jesus formed in them. That will be the greatest joy.

blessings.

This was a fun week.

It was a week of sunshine. Lots and lots and lots of sunshine. Sunburns, freckles, sweaty heads. Scraped knees, black-bottomed feet, green-stained clothes. And just enough rain to sit and rest for a wonderful afternoon.

It was a week of gardening. Several up-with-the-sun mornings for me. Throw on work clothes, take my coffee outside, listen to birds while I turn sod: this is as summery as it gets to me. I love it. And now, five new rose bushes, a hydrangea, 1 lilac bush moved, 20 day lilies moved, ranunculus bulbs planted, lettuce thinned, yarrow and speedwell bought and planted, six hollyhocks of a new variety, and a smattering of hopeful seeds. Wow. That was a lot of work!

It was a week of learning. A friend and I put together a “discussion on natural childbirth.” Every time I dive into that topic, I’m freshly awed by the miracle of life. The whole thing is just amazing design — and a humbling privilege.

It was a week of play. Some weeks, the boys regularly wake on the wrong side of the bed. Other weeks, they wake up ready to pretend and laugh and play and share and just be the best kids ever. They came up with so many new games and activities this week, and it was refreshing for my soul to just watch and enjoy.

It was a week of growing. Beatrice has unwittingly discovered real, bonafide crawling. She still prefers a military crawl, but it won’t be long. She pulls herself almost to standing with the help of our ottoman, and happily navigates her way through the entire house. It’s so very much fun, but all so very much too soon.

Yes, exhaustion, frustration, uncertainty, overwhelmed moments. But really? Really?

I just am feeling very blessed.

beatrice: nine months


licking daddy’s apple

Nine months old.

I’m typing that quickly and moving right along, because dwelling on that fact will reduce me to tears.

Last week she figured out how to do an army crawl of sorts. Up until then, she’d been rolling over, over, over until she reached her destination. Suddenly, that phase is over. I was sad to see it go. It was just so cute. So now she’s all over the place, faster and faster.

And suddenly she cries — huge tears — when I lay her down to change her. Mobility has, for whatever reason, inspired a sudden willfulness that, until now, seemed nonexistent. It’s pretty funny how quickly she can cue the tears — and how suddenly they stop when I get her attention and firmly say, no.

She still is the easiest, easiest baby I’ve had. She still naps for hours (Jameson would give me 20 minutes, tops, until he was 18 months old!) and lays down eagerly when she’s tired. At night she sleeps with me, since that’s the most restful way for me to accommodate her when she wakes to nurse.

Her eyes are big and beautiful, and are more and more aware of what’s going on around her. Watching a baby grow, seeing their person develop, is just an amazing thing.

I just wish it happened a little bit more slowly.