Post Category → family

doings.

I’ve been:

to Maine and back for a fast and furious and very fun weekend with Ryan’s mom and sister.

sewing a ball gown for Cinderella. It’s awfully fun to work on something so detailed and beautiful (for someone who usually is just cutting up old polos to make play pants!)

bundling up to go outside, even though it’s mid-April. The only problem with this extremely slow season change is that somehow I have the sensation that time is standing still, waiting for the sun. It’s not.

marveling at the imaginations of my two boys that have suddenly come alive. All at once, in the last month or so, they are best buddies who will play for hours.

thankful for how joyful those two little boys are. They smile and dance and laugh and cheerfully anticipate almost every moment of the day. It’s pretty amazing, and I don’t want to take it for granted.

thinking about the basics: faith in God (and Him alone), digging into this moment and not missing the opportunity to find Jesus, serving my family with a smile, honoring my husband and being mindful of him every moment, praying continually.

anticipating several nights of presbytery at church, followed by a Good Friday celebration and then, of course, the Best Sunday Of All.

30

thirty

A very poor night’s sleep, thanks to a bad head cold, ended quite pleasantly when a certain four year old snuck into bed next to me early this morning. After a long time of cuddling and trying to sleep, he finally whispered, “Can I watch videos on your iPhone?” Treat of all treats: laying all warm and snuggly in Mama’s bed watching all the Little Bear that youtube has to offer. William joined us, too, and we three made a happy lazy bunch. (Ryan slept on the couch. He said he didn’t want to disrupt the head-cold-sleeper, but I have a sneaking suspicion he was the one avoiding disrupted sleep!)

I made cornmeal mush. It’s my birthday, and not much sounds better when you’re just feeling crummy. I enjoyed my coffee alongside William, who’d pulled out playmobil pirates as soon as his feet hit the ground.

I found a lovely little birthday gift of springtime promise on the kitchen counter (SEEDS!), left by the very thoughtful and sweet Olivia.

I buried myself under an afghan on the couch, and two boys played pirates ON TOP of me. I’m not complaining. I like being loved, what can I say?

I read 100+ kind birthday wishes on my FB page. They made me smile.

I made a fort for the boys out of blankets+kitchen table. They played cowboys, then knights, then cowboys, then a strange futuristic combo. I watched from the couch and soaked up all the wonderfulness of having children who enjoy one another. (BTW: the fact that I was noting and enjoying this should imply that it’s not always the case. Ha!)

I heated up leftovers for lunch. Jameson declared how much he loved it. William, in true William-style, ate all the flavorful sauce and left the rice. We told jokes and sang songs and observed that I’d never gotten them dressed that morning. Jameson said “that’s because it’s a cuddly day.”

I tucked them into their beds, then sat and sang two songs (Twinkle Twinkle and Amazing Grace — new songs!!). William fell asleep while I read Heidi.

And now I’m tucked into my own bed with burning eyes and a fuzzy head, and wondering if maybe I’m actually turning 80, ’cause that’s how I feel.

But no, I’m 30. And I’m not sad about that, or negative or depressed or any of the above. I have no issue with growing older, so long as God continues to give grace to live faithfully for Him (and He will.) I won’t miss being in my twenties, though I’ll get choked up when I look at certain pictures, because memories are dear. The future isn’t known to me, but it’s far from uncertain, and it comes to me a day at a time. I don’t have to be scared.

In fact, the prevailing thought I have this year, as I try to pause and take note of passing time more than I usually do (who pays attention to their 27th birthday, for example?) is the promise of Proverbs 4:

But the path of the just is like the shining sun,
That shines ever brighter unto the perfect day.

Not easier, necessarily; not smoother, or lacking greater challenges. But brighter… unto the Perfect Day (a Day I can’t wait for.)

And since I’ve wandered into the realm of exhortation, I’ll just tack on the end of Proverbs 4, too, which is such wonderful wisdom for how to continue on that path of the just:

My son, give attention to my words;
Incline your ear to my sayings.
Do not let them depart from your eyes;
Keep them in the midst of your heart;
For they are life to those who find them,
And health to all their flesh.
Keep your heart with all diligence,
For out of it spring the issues of life.
Put away from you a deceitful mouth,
And put perverse lips far from you.
Let your eyes look straight ahead,
And your eyelids look right before you.
Ponder the path of your feet,
And let all your ways be established.
Do not turn to the right or the left;
Remove your foot from evil.

I am bound and determined that growing old is going to equal knowing Jesus more. Me decreasing, Him increasing. Finding what it means to have my strength supernaturally renewed. Outward perishing, inward renewed every day.

sledding

I have a lot to be thankful for. Close to the very top are my parents who, on top of the million other wonderful things they do (and are), take Jameson and 6 other kids to our “Big Hill” for a fun sledding expedition.

I’m also thankful for winter. I refuse to complain (please hold me to it!)

snapshots

It’s funny how daily life seems, and then suddenly, it’s a year or two later, and I can’t even remember those details that I thought would make up my life for the rest of forever. You know? Like, Jameson used to toddle around after me? I tripped over him for a year, maybe more, and now I can’t even remember what it was like. He’s a long-legged, independent, running all over the house with hardly a dull moment 4 year old, you know.

So, for my own memory’s sake, a snapshot:

This is how our nights go, every single night after night. We tuck two boys into their matching twin beds, read a story, and sing “Angels We Have Heard on High” and “Jesus Loves Me”. We pray, remind them not to get off their beds, cry, or continually call for Mama. We leave — and they either get off their beds, cry, call for Mama, or all of the above simultaneously. My little night owls are usually sound asleep by 9pm, when I slip back in and cover them with the quilts they’ve already managed to kick off. Their little arms are always wrapped around a favorite stuffed animal — Jameson loves Baxter the bunny, and William loves Puppy. Their faces are always sweeter than I remembered from the night before, and my heart always catches. They are perfect.

Hours later, Ryan and I are asleep. Somewhere between 2 and 4am, little footsteps wake Ryan and then me. William somehow manages to safely make his way to my side of the bed, in spite of the fact that I never remember to NOT throw pillows all over the floor when I get into bed. I pull him up between us, and he’s already fast asleep. We sleep.

Until.

Until William works his way to his favorite sleeping position: horizontal. The three of us make a lovely H, and we manage, until. Until he starts head-butting Ryan’s ribs and kicking mine. Ryan’s out of there. Why would he sleep with a head-butting toddler when there’s an empty twin bed down the hall?

We sleep again.

Until.

Jameson climbs into Ryan’s side of the bed around 5 or 6am. Sometimes he falls asleep. Sometimes he proceeds to squirm for an hour or more while I resolutely determine to ignore him and get more sleep. After all, I didn’t go to bed at 8pm, as he did. I was up far too late watching who knows what with Ryan. I do not have 5am wake up times in mind.

But when I can no longer put him off, or he’s driving me completely insane (and making me laugh, too), I slip with Jameson out of my room and we start our day.

And a year from now I’ll read this, and it will seem a foggy memory, at best.

Just like the way William runs with his little shoulders all hunched, and sits at the kitchen table with his little feet dangling and swinging. And the way they giggle and laugh together and follow each other around the house playing soldiers.

I love it.

a tuesday afternoon: just thoughts

This winter has been the prettiest winter ever. I think. There’s fresh snow almost every day — or, rather every other day. In between, the sun comes out and makes yesterday’s fresh snow sparkle. There’s so little yucky sand/slush/slop. It’s all just white, clean snow.

It sparkles like diamonds. Of course, that can prove disappointing if you’re 4. Jameson and I were out on a particularly sparkly day, and he, in a dejected voice, announced that “it looks like diamonds but if you get close, you can’t find them anywhere!”

Of course, this house makes winter (and spring and summer and fall) just more enjoyable. I feel like I’m living in the most magical snow globe ever. Snow dancing and whirling, snow on pine tree’s branches, snow on split rail fences, snow in drifts like dunes… Snow in all the most beautiful ways.

*****

It almost makes up for the fact that this has also been the dirtiest winter. Sheetrock dust EVERYWHERE. Always. No matter what. In my teeth, in my rug, in my bed, on my just-washed dishes. Spring cleaning never sounded so good. I’m trying to just patiently wait for the day they say, “Okay! You can now clean and be done!” Because I’ve lost all my oomph for cleaning in the midst of more dust settling. My mantel is as snowy white as the great outdoors, I know, but I just can’t care right now. I’ll quietly and happily wash my kitchen table and counters, vacuum a million times, and block out the rest. Oh, look, isn’t it pretty outside? Yes, let’s just look at the snow, shall we?

But.

But there is a test swatch of color on the walls, and that must mean something, right? (A pale, pale, pale warm peachy-pink. I think it’s going to be just right: clean but warm and most of all, pretty. I just want light, elegant, pretty.) And Monday (!!!), our talented friend comes to lay floors. He and Ryan will hem and haw over which board is the prettiest, which grain to highlight, how to scatter the varying widths — and then, ta-da, we’ll have a floor! Maybe it will make us giddy and itchy with excitement, and we’ll turn around and just start tearing the up the kitchen carpet—

Or maybe not. Maybe we’ll just stand and sigh and love it and take a break.

And go to California.

*****

For a week. Just Ryan and me. To what was home sweet home just one year ago (almost a year to the day, actually, I’ll be back where I started.) How strange and fun that will be! Strange to walk by “our” house and think that it’s not ours. Strange to meet my neighbor and realize she’s been strolling those streets for a whole year without me. To see friends from church and their kids-who-aren’t-babies-anymore and try to fill in a whole year. To walk out the door in ballet flats and a cardigan and laughingly remember that I willingly and joyfully left those winters for these.

*****

Speaking of clothes, I’ve hit that awkward stage. The old pants still work, sort of, if I don’t eat too much, but I had to buy a few extra-long t’s to cover my already-generous belly. 13 weeks? Really? That’s what people say when they see this generous belly, but that’s nothing new. I seem to always get off to a rip-roaring start when it comes to baby bellies. And I tend to finish a bit on the generous side, too, I guess. Blame it on genetics, right, Mom?

*****

Mostly, this is a winter to go deeper. For my roots to wriggle through another layer of rock and dry soil to find the water that’s always flowing, always life-giving, always sustaining. It’s a little happier, perhaps, when life isn’t serving up rocks and sand, but this is when it counts. So I wriggle away, reaching for the water I know is there, knowing that someday these root-strengthening days are going to prove to be oh-so-important. Never mind the extras: today I just set my feet a bit more firmly on these things:

Who does God say He is?
What has God promised to do?
How much does God love me?

Does anything else matter? Really?

No, not much.

A house won’t quickly be blown over when it’s built on the true answers to those questions.

Build my foundation, Lord. Make my house strong. I want to be standing at the end.

new year, new day

One year ago, our purchase offer was accepted. The boys and I were recovering from a violent tummy bug, and our little California house was topsy-turvy with the remains of a cross-country visit.

What a difference a year makes.

Lately, though, I’ve mostly been thinking about what a difference a day makes, as I ride the waves of nausea and exhaustion and not feeling myself. I wake each morning and wonder, what will this day be? Will the simple acts of breakfast and shower completely wipe me out till evening? Will I be forced to sit perfectly still, hoping to keep my stomach from sloshing, upsetting? Or will there be the gift of energy spurts, and a lifting of the “I just don’t care” that seems to be my constant feeling these days?

What a difference each day makes.

Everyone around me is talking about new years, fresh starts, new seasons, and I try to not feel severely lacking as I continue to simply process days. I have no exciting game plans, no fresh excitement for routines. Instead, I’m trying to let go of everything but bare essentials. Trying not to feel bad that the routines I so enjoy are having to go by the wayside for a bit. Trying to combat a sense of guilt for letting a New Year go a bit uncelebrated and unprocessed. Instead, being thankful for two little boys who are so happy these days, who have not once been demanding when I needed rest, but instead are almost always delightful. Thankful for a husband who is happy with clean socks and sandwiches. Mostly, thankful that, although God grants us the newness of seasons and years, He moves in our lives day by day.

Morning by morning, new mercies I see.

Strength for today.

Bright hope for tomorrow.

Blessings all mine.