Post Category → motherhood

hazy days

A couple of weeks ago, our church hosted a one-day women’s conference. I was asked to be one of the workshop speakers, and to share on the topic of mothering little ones.

I was so honored. And immediately so stumped. I was sure I had something to share, I knew that God had been faithful to teach me and show me things these past several years, but my head was fog.

It’s really hard to put together a clear message about the haziest season I’ve ever lived through, you know? Seriously. This is what my brain perpetually looks like:


— and I was supposed to think and speak coherently?

Ryan said, Well, that’s what you should talk about. Seeing through the haze.

So I pondered. What does it mean to have a vision for mothering? For our children? And how does that get lived out right now?

This season I’m in — it’s a season of multi-tasking. Of simultaneously developing big God-sized vision for who I am, what I’m doing, who these children are — and marrying that vision to possibly the most “mundane”, repetitive days I’ll ever live. Both need to happen, and one without the other just doesn’t get the job done.

Vision: I guess I hear that word and think “future.” But vision doesn’t have to be about seeing what’s ahead (though it sure helps to have an idea of where you’re headed!) Sometimes the vision God wants to give us is just a matter of seeing today through His eyes.

He gives meaning to each moment, every breath.

Isn’t that amazing?

So even if all around seems to be just fog, that’s okay. Where I’m standing, right here, in this moment: there is sun. Because there is Jesus.

(More thoughts from my sharing to follow.)

william is five

20131022-223824.jpg

Today, this baby is a five year old boy. His eyes dance with joy, pierce with intensity, grow wide with wonder.

He laughs with his sister. Wants to be like his brother. Is incredibly thoughtful toward Fiona.

Mornings find him burrowing under the covers for those few last minutes of sleep. He does his chores diligently, if not always thoroughly. There is always a story playing in his mind, and he’d love nothing more than for you to stop and let him share it.

He sees in black and white. His prayers are fervent, faithful, and thoughtful.

Chocolate always wins.

Tonight, I am just so thankful for this baby-turned-boy. I’m not sure where all of the days have gone, but each one was a gift. I love having this little boy in my life.

20131022-223855.jpg

interruptions and rest.

I need Thee, oh, I need Thee
Ev’ry hour I need Thee…

So true. And some hours, the needing is extra-strong.

There have been a few of those the last few days. Thursday evening, as I was putting dinner on the table, I realized that a part of me was still just waiting to get the day started. I had been “catching up” on the stuff of life all day, just waiting to get things caught up enough to begin our day’s routine. And it never happened.

Huh.

Good thing we get to try again every 24 hours!

But the really, really good thing?

That those days that never get “started” because they’re so “interrupted” — those days can still count. Interruptions and unexpected happenings are only interrupting and unexpected to us. God knows our days. Our times are in His hands. And His beautiful, good, profound work in our hearts and in the lives we touch — that doesn’t get interrupted by any curve balls life throws our way.

And when our cranky response to those curve balls does threaten to stall His work? We don’t have to wait 24 hours to try again. Repentance, grace, and help are always right there. Wide open. Just waiting.

*****

Some goodness:


Stop. Are you kidding? Those perfect fingers, plump cheeks, sweet lips? Beautiful.


Jameson left our second freezer wide open, and I discovered it 24 hours later. Yup, that was my Thursday. London broil for dinner, chicken baked and stashed in the freezer for another day, roasted turkey and lamb for the work crew down the road at my Mom’s. And interruption that worked out to be a blessing.


Me, feeling badly about not getting the school books out while cleaning the mess of a thawing freezer and cooking meat like a madwoman — look over and realize Jameson has created a football field from paper, duplos, and Lego men, and he and William played all day. That was way more creative than any lesson plan I had.


Two handsome boys. Two. Ready for the first day of Friday School. So big.


And so cute.


Beautiful CSA bounty. It feels like the best gift, every single week.


Cooking. I like to be in my kitchen.


And this? No matter how busy the day, no matter how little I get to just sit with my baby, I know that this will eventually happen. I love my Fiona-girl.


Her aunties love her, too. Her sweet face popped up in my feed last night. I said to myself, Yes. Yes, she is beautiful.


This morning, she woke up and celebrated her 6th week with us. It’s raining and cold and very October-ish. So she wears the sweater knit just for Dunphey #4 by my friend, Carol. It’s just the thing for a sweet babe.


And while Daddy and Jameson showered and dressed and headed off to church, the rest of us got wool socks and sweatshirts to layer on our pj’s. Vitamin C, chicken broth, afghans, and rest.

Rest.

Even on the busy days. The interrupted days. The I-can’t-quite-catch-up-days. There is an invitation to just rest.

diastasis recti: fun!

I mentioned in a pre-Fiona post several months ago that I have diastasis recti. Well, that became all the more clear during my labor, which took its time starting in the first place, and then seemed to pause for a couple of extra hours (and by “pause”, I just mean “didn’t progress.” Because no, I haven’t discovered the secret to pushing “pause” at the height of labor.) Pushing required more effort, too. And I felt very, very discombobulated when everything was all said and done. That makes perfect sense, of course, if you realize that your abdominal muscles have deserted their post, and there’s nothing keeping your insides in check. Details.

During my pregnancy, I’d done lots of reading about several different exercise-based approaches to healing a diasasis (rather than surgical). I’d figured I’d take a laid-back approach, incorporating some of their principles as it fit into my life. Ha. After the strange twists and turns of labor, and the condition of my muscles post-baby, I quickly realized this wasn’t going to be something to just “fit in” here and there. So I ordered a whole kit from Tupler Technique, including the not-a-joke splint (which I think could double as bullet-proof gear?) I’ll be honest: I watched the DVD, found out how much time this would really take each day, put the splint on and realized I’d be wearing that uncomfortable contraption for months — and cried.

But here’s the other honest truth: two days later, I didn’t feel like I was falling apart anymore. I’d read that simply doing the baby-step exercises and wearing the splint would be effective very quickly, but I was really surprised at how effective.

Still, this is for the long haul.

I’ve checked off three weeks’ worth of daily exercises. I’ve only torn the splint off a few times, when the humidity + kevlar was just more than my claustrophobic self could handle. I’m going to repeat Week Three’s regimen several times, waiting for 6 weeks post partum to really pick things up. It’s really hard to find 10 minutes, 3 times a day, when I can sit still and do the exercises. And it’s only going to increase in time as the program continues on. But my midwife, my mom, and my husband said: do it. It’s part of being faithful in this season, and so I just pray as check off another box, Lord, use this. Heal me.

(I’m posting this because I heard from several people that they, too, had diastasis recti. If you’re interested in how the program is working for me, or have questions, let me know!)

pause

I just go. Non stop.

So do you, I bet. You know. You fall into bed and wonder where the day went, remember how you meant to do this and that, and somehow you never even had half a chance to remember. Does it count as forgetting if you never had a fighting chance??

But some days, I get to pause. And sometimes, in highlights, it looks like beautiful sunrises during early walks, homeschool opportunities right out your own window, babies who love each other, simple lunch turned into a end-of-summer hurrah, a spontaneous trip to the playground with friends, and beautiful boys who play their hearts out and enjoy each day until they just can’t keep their eyes open another minute.

seven fleeting years

I remember sitting on the second story porch of our first apartment with my 8-day-old Jameson. It was a delicious September afternoon, with warm sun and a breeze stirring the trees around me. I remember what he was wearing — soft baby jeans and a navy cardigan from my mom — and I remember holding his little bundle of a body so close. He nursed, and I sang to him. And I cried as I sang, my heart hurting with the gift of that moment and the simultaneous knowledge that it was disappearing as quickly as I savored it.

Today I continued to persevere through the semi annual Great Clothing Exchange, and as I stood folding load after load of freshly laundered summer clothes, I pulled a pair of pajama bottoms from the dryer — and paused.

I held them up: skinny waist band, custom made for my thin as a rail son. Long legs, custom hemmed for his bean pole body. I made them last summer out of vintage robot fabric, and his face beamed when he realized the project running through my sewing machine was for him.

Robots. Skinny waist. Thrill over Mama-made clothes.

Those things don’t last forever.

I folded them slowly, not really wanting to put them away. Can we just stay here? Can he be my little boy forever, and can he jump up and down with sheer glee when I make something for him?

He’s seven now, you know. Seven.


Out with Daddy on his birthday-eve. This is his first ever medium cone. Next time you order a medium cone, try smiling like that. I have a hunch that it’ll turn your whole day into one big thankful fest.