It hardly seems like a day of marked significance. The end of an entire year counts down with the tick of my kitchen clock while I sit at the living room window enrobed in a fleecy jacket. It is a cold afternoon, though the pale sunlight highlights the beauty of the season. I am glad to see its face today.
Andy is working. He was up and out early and in his absence a little girl with tousled hair and a pink unicorn crawled up in bed beside me to finish her sleeping. "I saw the kitchen light on so I knew dad was up," she mumbled as she snuggled under the covers. I relish these sweet moments, yet I was awake and could hardly let the morning hours waste away. They are my favorite.
Evie chose this morning to dream long and took a great deal of coaxing to be awakened. I snapped a picture of her sweet sleep before I leaned over to whisper in her ear. She did not stir, this for the girl who normally wakens at the drop of a sock. There is something about a morning with a scheduled appointment that invites children to sleep more deeply. We celebrate sleep around here.
It feels much like a normal day. Much like the 364 that preceded this one. Yet, in the normalcy of the days there was much that marks this year as a quite significant. God did great and mighty and miraculous things right before our very eyes. We made changes. We saw changes. Life was good. Life was hard.
We made it.
In some sense, the triumph comes not only in the highlights of joy but also for the victory of making it through the darkness. Life is a celebration. Even if only to raise your hand to acknowledge that you haven't been swallowed up...celebrate that.
God is blessed by our joy.
The tick of the clock and the fading of the sun behind the bare armed trees remind me of things yet undone.There is dinner to be made and my little artist begs to paint in swirls of vibrant hues across the kitchen table. I must bid my haven of words au revoir.
There are memories to be made before the year is over.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Monday, December 30, 2013
"I-love-you-so-much-I-can't-stand-it" hair
She is a little fairy of joy. Her feet dance to the tune of the songs on the radio and the songs in her heart. Her joy is contagious and sometimes a little bit dangerous.
She is the wild sort.
Overwhelmed by joy or a surge of 4 year old energy, she nearly bursts with excitement at times. To those who are in her path, beware. You are in a danger zone.
Often it's a head severing neck hug. A giant leap onto a poor, unsuspecting seated or standing individual. A dancing leg hug that knocks a person to the ground.
It's dangerous.
One day last week we were sitting on the floor downstairs in the middle of a pile of matchbox cars, dollies and plastic animals. My little playmate and I acted out the stories of flying horses and girls on sunny vacations. There was drama, there was excitement, there was a lot of make believe.
I was unprepared.
Little figures went flying as my bright eyed companion exploded from her seat with a shout, "I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I CAN'T STAND IT!" Little arms circled my head and neck. I may or may not have screamed, feeling as much loved as I felt scared. Scared for my life and yes, a bit scared for the state of my hair.
She may be small but she is a wiry one. I closed my eyes to protect them. Her grip on my head was strong and she jumped while declaring her sentiment with joyous abandon, her lung capacity fully engaged.
We fell over, crashing into a pile of plastic hooves and car bumpers. My attacker let go and we laughed. I was thrilled to have survived and she was thrilled with the state of my new coiffure.
It was exactly then that the kitchen door opened, and my weary man returned from a long day at work. He looked down the stairs and saw us. He inquired about the state of my much teased locks.
"I-Love-You-So-Much-I-Can't-Stand-It," I offered.
He understood. He knows a joy-splosion when he sees one.
In case you were wondering, we do not condone these violent expressions of affection. In fact, we are trying to teach her a gentler way to express herself.
Overwhelmed by joy or a surge of 4 year old energy, she nearly bursts with excitement at times. To those who are in her path, beware. You are in a danger zone.
Often it's a head severing neck hug. A giant leap onto a poor, unsuspecting seated or standing individual. A dancing leg hug that knocks a person to the ground.
It's dangerous.
One day last week we were sitting on the floor downstairs in the middle of a pile of matchbox cars, dollies and plastic animals. My little playmate and I acted out the stories of flying horses and girls on sunny vacations. There was drama, there was excitement, there was a lot of make believe.
I was unprepared.
Little figures went flying as my bright eyed companion exploded from her seat with a shout, "I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I CAN'T STAND IT!" Little arms circled my head and neck. I may or may not have screamed, feeling as much loved as I felt scared. Scared for my life and yes, a bit scared for the state of my hair.
She may be small but she is a wiry one. I closed my eyes to protect them. Her grip on my head was strong and she jumped while declaring her sentiment with joyous abandon, her lung capacity fully engaged.
We fell over, crashing into a pile of plastic hooves and car bumpers. My attacker let go and we laughed. I was thrilled to have survived and she was thrilled with the state of my new coiffure.
It was exactly then that the kitchen door opened, and my weary man returned from a long day at work. He looked down the stairs and saw us. He inquired about the state of my much teased locks.
"I-Love-You-So-Much-I-Can't-Stand-It," I offered.
He understood. He knows a joy-splosion when he sees one.
In case you were wondering, we do not condone these violent expressions of affection. In fact, we are trying to teach her a gentler way to express herself.
Tuesday, September 24, 2013
a tale of a party
Spend a little time around my dancing fairy and you will hear a story. She loves to weave tales of parties and places and people. Some things are true and others originate from a land of make believe but they are her stories.
She has lots of stories to tell and some are repeated until they become a new reality, her reality and then mine (to a point, of course).
Convinced that birthdays are days randomly chosen to celebrate oneself, she regularly tells people that tomorrow is her birthday. Tomorrow. So people fawn over her and offer their well wishes and she comes away with the grand idea that she has created her birthday.
This does not work with me. I do not whip up a cake or hang the balloons. Tomorrow is not her birthday...but it is Mr. Unicorn's.
Poor Mr. Unicorn has aged considerably in the past month. It all started about the time when she finally realized that her make-a-birthday story did not create parties in our home for her. But what about her stuffed friend, Mr. Unicorn? How could he or I protest?
Nearly every day she tells me that we should gear up to celebrate Mr. Unicorn's birthday...tomorrow. And nearly every day I tell him happy birthday and let her decorate away. And she celebrates. And every night I clean up the party and the next day it reappears, though it does not always look the same. Other animal friends sometimes gather around to wish their stuffed companion a happy day. Scraps of paper and streamers are attached to the walls with masking tape. It is bright, it is cheery, it is messy, it is fun.
This past weekend she took it up a notch, and made invitations for a celebration. Every one she met received a small scrap of paper covered with stickers. "An invitation," she told them. We wondered if the handful of invited guests would appear at our door to celebrate the dear, pink fella and decided that we could ignore it no longer.
"Let's do it, let's put a little party together for him," Andy decided. So we set the date and told the girl our plans. She was thrilled.
Presents were wrapped, papers were decorated and hung on the basement walls, her best tea set was laid out. Her stories about Mr. Unicorn's upcoming birthday party were told to every listening ear. She was so excited that one might have wondered if it were her own special day.
Today was the day. She finished the decorating while I baked our sweet treats. We picked up Joyce and brought her home with us. Nothing could be more perfect and then..a call for a showing this evening. We packed away our party magic with promises for the celebration to continue just a little bit later.
While Mr. Hitchcock and a brown haired fella toured our home (they arrived 15 minutes early!) we took our supper in a local park, sandwiches eaten on a park bench. Evie laughed and climbed as we watched the sun dip behind the trees. New friends came and joined the fun for a bit before we loaded up and headed home, party on our minds ( with the exception of one of our party guests for which the party treats were the biggest draw).
A game of memory, a rousing rendition of "Happy birthday", gift opening and a cupcake treat. The party, the night was a success. And especially triumphant was a smallish girl who got her party after all for, as she was quick to often remind us, Mr. Unicorn is actually pretend so he can't really play a game or open presents or eat his cupcake (or even blow out the candle!). How good it was that he had such a kind friend to assist him...
She has lots of stories to tell and some are repeated until they become a new reality, her reality and then mine (to a point, of course).
Convinced that birthdays are days randomly chosen to celebrate oneself, she regularly tells people that tomorrow is her birthday. Tomorrow. So people fawn over her and offer their well wishes and she comes away with the grand idea that she has created her birthday.
This does not work with me. I do not whip up a cake or hang the balloons. Tomorrow is not her birthday...but it is Mr. Unicorn's.
Poor Mr. Unicorn has aged considerably in the past month. It all started about the time when she finally realized that her make-a-birthday story did not create parties in our home for her. But what about her stuffed friend, Mr. Unicorn? How could he or I protest?
Nearly every day she tells me that we should gear up to celebrate Mr. Unicorn's birthday...tomorrow. And nearly every day I tell him happy birthday and let her decorate away. And she celebrates. And every night I clean up the party and the next day it reappears, though it does not always look the same. Other animal friends sometimes gather around to wish their stuffed companion a happy day. Scraps of paper and streamers are attached to the walls with masking tape. It is bright, it is cheery, it is messy, it is fun.
This past weekend she took it up a notch, and made invitations for a celebration. Every one she met received a small scrap of paper covered with stickers. "An invitation," she told them. We wondered if the handful of invited guests would appear at our door to celebrate the dear, pink fella and decided that we could ignore it no longer.
"Let's do it, let's put a little party together for him," Andy decided. So we set the date and told the girl our plans. She was thrilled.
Presents were wrapped, papers were decorated and hung on the basement walls, her best tea set was laid out. Her stories about Mr. Unicorn's upcoming birthday party were told to every listening ear. She was so excited that one might have wondered if it were her own special day.
Today was the day. She finished the decorating while I baked our sweet treats. We picked up Joyce and brought her home with us. Nothing could be more perfect and then..a call for a showing this evening. We packed away our party magic with promises for the celebration to continue just a little bit later.
While Mr. Hitchcock and a brown haired fella toured our home (they arrived 15 minutes early!) we took our supper in a local park, sandwiches eaten on a park bench. Evie laughed and climbed as we watched the sun dip behind the trees. New friends came and joined the fun for a bit before we loaded up and headed home, party on our minds ( with the exception of one of our party guests for which the party treats were the biggest draw).
A game of memory, a rousing rendition of "Happy birthday", gift opening and a cupcake treat. The party, the night was a success. And especially triumphant was a smallish girl who got her party after all for, as she was quick to often remind us, Mr. Unicorn is actually pretend so he can't really play a game or open presents or eat his cupcake (or even blow out the candle!). How good it was that he had such a kind friend to assist him...
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
a new song
"I waited patiently for The Lord;
And He inclined to me and heard my cry,
He brought me up out of the pit of destruction
Out of the miry clay,
And He set my feet upon a rock
Making my footsteps firm.
He put a new song in my mouth,
A song of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear and will trust in The Lord."
Psalm 40:1-3
I need a new song today. If you have spent time with me in the past few days you would agree.
I have not been waiting patiently for The Lord. I threw patience out the window and faced life with my fight on. No one who has observed me lately could possibly " see and fear and trust in The Lord."
................
I need a new song today. We have been walking a long, dusty trail. There's nothing like a few rocks in your shoe to make the journey seem unbearable.
................
I need a new song today. I've had front row tickets to a modern day production of " The Good Samaritan." Believe me, just as you can not judge a book by its cover you cannot measure a person's character by their fancy words. Love is an action word, an action that trumps our own needs or wants.
................
I need a new song today. I have a little girl who is starting to mirror my angst. I cannot tell her that God is good and completely trustworthy and full of love while I live a life of frustration at the circumstances that frame our days. As I see the unseen she will too.
................
I need a new song today. A song of praise to my God.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
sprinklers
"Devote yourselves to prayer, keeping alert in it with an attitude of thanksgiving." Colossians 4:2
This is my verse today. I am claiming it and running for the hills.
This is my verse today. I am claiming it and running for the hills.
It is a beautiful morning here in Minnesota-land. I sit, facing the west, drinking in the golden rays that burst through my open windows. Fresh air breezes into the room with the melody of morning.
Andy turned the sprinkler on in the yard before he left for work and I love to watch the flocks of robins that find the spray an invitation to come find breakfast. They stand close to the waving metal arms to avoid the spray, patiently waiting for a poor unsuspecting earthworm to appear. I can just imagine the worm, thrilled with the moisture that enters his world, pushing upward to drink in his fill when... The end.
Ev sleeps on and I envy her peaceful rest. When I woke up this morning, the burdens of lately settled down on my chest like an elephant. I tried to drift back to sleep but the day beckoned me. These early hours are the fuel in my engine. In the stillness, God speaks. In the beauty of the newness of the day, my heart finds rest. In the absence of a silly, curly mopped fairy (who seems to be perfecting the art of disobedience as of late) I can let the minutes drift around me without care. And, I can accomplish the tasks that her presence makes impossible. This morning, I made a hair appointment and came out of the salon, err bathroom, feeling fancy. The joys of the simple life.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
morning musings
It is morning and I bask in the stillness, the freshness of the warm, spring air from my open window and the songs of the birds that welcome the new day. I love morning and the promise it brings. It is a new day, full of opportunity, full of new mercies, a blank page in a notebook ready to be filled. I feel giddy at the prospects that await.
The wee one still sleeps and my love has long since taken his leave for a day of work. It is good to be alone in these morning hours, I find myself much more equipped for the day when I've had a chance to breathe and think and read God's Word and Pray first.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, carried away by my thoughts and the cheery bird songs. I stop and write down another "to-do" on the list beside me. I could add about ten more things, but I'm trying to be realistic. No sense in feeling defeated before the day has even taken flight. Unfortunately, I'm far too good at grounding life before take-off. "Walk by faith and not by sight" is a oft repeated reminder to my heart.
Soon, I will hear the sound of padded feet and a curly topped, tired eyed girl will appear in the doorway. Though I relish these moments alone, there is always a rush of joy at that sight. Quietly, she will greet me then climb up into my lap. Like her daddy she does not rouse from sleep quickly, so our routine seldom alters. She will close her eyes and twirl my hair in her fingers. I will bury my nose in her curly mop and breathe in her sweet smell. Lately, in those moments, my mind has wandered to the thought that she is growing so quickly and I remind myself to cherish each second.
There's no sense wasting today thinking about tomorrow. I have only one today to glorify God and love my family and live with abandon (and clean and cook and fold the 4 baskets of laundry that have patiently waited as I've neglected them to dance barefoot in the spring grass).
The wee one still sleeps and my love has long since taken his leave for a day of work. It is good to be alone in these morning hours, I find myself much more equipped for the day when I've had a chance to breathe and think and read God's Word and Pray first.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, carried away by my thoughts and the cheery bird songs. I stop and write down another "to-do" on the list beside me. I could add about ten more things, but I'm trying to be realistic. No sense in feeling defeated before the day has even taken flight. Unfortunately, I'm far too good at grounding life before take-off. "Walk by faith and not by sight" is a oft repeated reminder to my heart.
Soon, I will hear the sound of padded feet and a curly topped, tired eyed girl will appear in the doorway. Though I relish these moments alone, there is always a rush of joy at that sight. Quietly, she will greet me then climb up into my lap. Like her daddy she does not rouse from sleep quickly, so our routine seldom alters. She will close her eyes and twirl my hair in her fingers. I will bury my nose in her curly mop and breathe in her sweet smell. Lately, in those moments, my mind has wandered to the thought that she is growing so quickly and I remind myself to cherish each second.
There's no sense wasting today thinking about tomorrow. I have only one today to glorify God and love my family and live with abandon (and clean and cook and fold the 4 baskets of laundry that have patiently waited as I've neglected them to dance barefoot in the spring grass).
Live well. Love well. It is good day to be alive.
Monday, April 29, 2013
lovely
All the glories of spring have arrived and we welcome them. Andy spent the weekend in the driveway with his tools and a long overdue project. Evie jumped into the mud with both feet and never looked back. I just cooked a lot, in between deliveries of cool water to my sun-kissed companions, combating laundry piles that multiplied like rabbits (thank you, warm weather, for sending all of Ev's potty training skills to the hills) and breathed in beautiful, fresh air through my open windows.
If our weekend were a math project, I would have to say that the sum of 3 people, beautiful weather, productivity and laughter is: lovely.
If our weekend were a math project, I would have to say that the sum of 3 people, beautiful weather, productivity and laughter is: lovely.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
take a deep breath
I think I hyperventilated upon awakening this morning and I'm still recovering.
Dressed to kill, I was in the middle of solving a murder mystery when the warm body beside me stirred. "What's wrong?" I mumbled to the figure who dressed quickly and headed out into the hall. "I heard thumping sounds," he said," I think she's in her closet and her light is on."
Sure enough, the offender was a curly topped fairy and the time was 4:12am.
Dadday was less than cheery in his directions but she did not heed his tired words. I left the cozy spot beneath my blankets and wrapped my robe about me though not without catching a bit of chill first. These April mornings are not the sunny, barefoot days of yesteryear. Winter has an icy grip on our world and will not let it go.
I entered her room and gazed upon the mess she calls her own. Despair washed over me, first at the sight that greeted me and then at the idea that this might be our morning. "Good morning" should not quite be the greeting of 4:12am.
"It's not time to be awake," I sternly instructed."Pick up your pillow and go back to bed. It's time to be sleeping." "I'm so frustrated," she replied with a set jaw and marched, pillow in hand, back to the little bed in the corner. She climbed in and laid down with a grunt of disgust.
"Do you want me to rock you?" I asked while settling into the comfortable glider beside the dresser. "Yes," she replied. She climbed up into my lap and we snuggled, her face and hands pressed into my hair.
Since her tiniest days she has found comfort in my hair. She twirls and twists, pulls and scrunches it. She also likes to rub it between her fingers and make split ends. I try to relish the moments and ignore that my hair is being ruined. Often times I can let it go and just breathe in her smell and take in the preciousness of a 3 year old girl snuggled up in my arms. Other times, I simply cannot stand it and take the wiggly fingered hand from my head and place it on her own. "Pull your own hair," I tell her. "I don't want to pull my own hair," she replies.
As the clock ticked in the darkness we rocked and rocked. Lots of hair pulling and split end making later she drifted off into the land of nod. I stood up and carefully laid her down into her soft mess of blankets. She stayed asleep.
It was now 4:39am and as I headed back to bed my companion slid his feet out from under the covers and headed off to ready for the day. I climbed back beneath the covers for just a moment, relishing the warmth that he left behind. I may have looked peaceful but my mind was a swirling vortex of frustrations and overwhelmedness at the state of my house, my inability to stay organized and keep it all together and the things about life that prove so challenging. I'd had enough of the day before it even began.
I got up and made the bed. I wish I could say that I preached a good message to myself, but I didn't. In fact, I'm sure my face had as ugly an expression as my troubled mind felt. I tried to tell myself to be thankful and all that I could come up with to be thankful for at that moment was that we have been healthy. It seems that so many around us have succumbed to some nasty bugs and we have been well. And for that, I AM thankful.
A steaming breakfast on the table for my husband later, I headed down to pick up toy-splosion in my basement. I was still frustrated yet my sweet companion gently kissed me goodbye and offered his help this evening. His tender heart began to melt my icy one.
Not wanting to nurture this grumpy spirit, I made myself sit down with God's Word and my devotional. The words were like the sun's warmth on a cold day and God continued to melt my hardened heart. Grateful, I moved forward in my day with a renewed spirit despite the circumstances that still taunted me.
I picked up a bit before deciding to settle down with the computer to compose this post. I had just written about the moment I slipped back into bed when a little voice at the top of the stairs beckoned me. She was ornery yet tired. We snuggled up on the couch and fell asleep together, the sun shining on our faces, through our eyelids, brightening our dreams. It was lovely.
She woke up first with a fuss and a request for a water and breakfast. I settled her with a cup and brought out a new recipe to try. Grain-Free Pumpkin Pancakes. She sat beside me in a chair as I whisked them up, her eyes falling shut and her head bobbing in sleep. I asked her if all was well, she assured me it was and asked for more water and then juice.
Sizzling pancakes on a hot griddle, the smell of pumpkin and the coconut oil that greased our pan wafting through the house. A delightful, warm scent to perk up our tired chilly selves. She was quiet, unusually quiet, randomly offering little tidbits here and there about much she loves using whisks and asking me to make a pumpkin pie because it's her favorite.
We sat at the table, steaming pancakes before us topped with a pat of butter and drizzled with real maple syrup. I took a bite and then another, analyzing the flavor and texture of this new breakfast treat; my own critic.
She ate a few bites slowly and then her expression changed. I noted this new face with a tad bit of alarm and then, as I began to react....well, her breakfast came up. Breakfast was over. I had a sad, scared little girl and a big mess and a recipe I will never ever make again.
Take a deep breath.
God gave grace and peace and cleaner and homeopathic remedies and bright sunshine and my mom to arrive with a bag of supplies and good people to cheer and encourage me on the phone and a lifetime of many more blessings that I may never recount.
It is well with my soul.
note: By mid morning she was much improved and this afternoon was jumping on her trampoline and singing songs of cheer. Now, she is napping and I am breathing deeply as I tackle the tasks that nearly strangled me this morning.
Dressed to kill, I was in the middle of solving a murder mystery when the warm body beside me stirred. "What's wrong?" I mumbled to the figure who dressed quickly and headed out into the hall. "I heard thumping sounds," he said," I think she's in her closet and her light is on."
Sure enough, the offender was a curly topped fairy and the time was 4:12am.
Dadday was less than cheery in his directions but she did not heed his tired words. I left the cozy spot beneath my blankets and wrapped my robe about me though not without catching a bit of chill first. These April mornings are not the sunny, barefoot days of yesteryear. Winter has an icy grip on our world and will not let it go.
I entered her room and gazed upon the mess she calls her own. Despair washed over me, first at the sight that greeted me and then at the idea that this might be our morning. "Good morning" should not quite be the greeting of 4:12am.
"It's not time to be awake," I sternly instructed."Pick up your pillow and go back to bed. It's time to be sleeping." "I'm so frustrated," she replied with a set jaw and marched, pillow in hand, back to the little bed in the corner. She climbed in and laid down with a grunt of disgust.
"Do you want me to rock you?" I asked while settling into the comfortable glider beside the dresser. "Yes," she replied. She climbed up into my lap and we snuggled, her face and hands pressed into my hair.
Since her tiniest days she has found comfort in my hair. She twirls and twists, pulls and scrunches it. She also likes to rub it between her fingers and make split ends. I try to relish the moments and ignore that my hair is being ruined. Often times I can let it go and just breathe in her smell and take in the preciousness of a 3 year old girl snuggled up in my arms. Other times, I simply cannot stand it and take the wiggly fingered hand from my head and place it on her own. "Pull your own hair," I tell her. "I don't want to pull my own hair," she replies.
As the clock ticked in the darkness we rocked and rocked. Lots of hair pulling and split end making later she drifted off into the land of nod. I stood up and carefully laid her down into her soft mess of blankets. She stayed asleep.
It was now 4:39am and as I headed back to bed my companion slid his feet out from under the covers and headed off to ready for the day. I climbed back beneath the covers for just a moment, relishing the warmth that he left behind. I may have looked peaceful but my mind was a swirling vortex of frustrations and overwhelmedness at the state of my house, my inability to stay organized and keep it all together and the things about life that prove so challenging. I'd had enough of the day before it even began.
I got up and made the bed. I wish I could say that I preached a good message to myself, but I didn't. In fact, I'm sure my face had as ugly an expression as my troubled mind felt. I tried to tell myself to be thankful and all that I could come up with to be thankful for at that moment was that we have been healthy. It seems that so many around us have succumbed to some nasty bugs and we have been well. And for that, I AM thankful.
A steaming breakfast on the table for my husband later, I headed down to pick up toy-splosion in my basement. I was still frustrated yet my sweet companion gently kissed me goodbye and offered his help this evening. His tender heart began to melt my icy one.
Not wanting to nurture this grumpy spirit, I made myself sit down with God's Word and my devotional. The words were like the sun's warmth on a cold day and God continued to melt my hardened heart. Grateful, I moved forward in my day with a renewed spirit despite the circumstances that still taunted me.
I picked up a bit before deciding to settle down with the computer to compose this post. I had just written about the moment I slipped back into bed when a little voice at the top of the stairs beckoned me. She was ornery yet tired. We snuggled up on the couch and fell asleep together, the sun shining on our faces, through our eyelids, brightening our dreams. It was lovely.
She woke up first with a fuss and a request for a water and breakfast. I settled her with a cup and brought out a new recipe to try. Grain-Free Pumpkin Pancakes. She sat beside me in a chair as I whisked them up, her eyes falling shut and her head bobbing in sleep. I asked her if all was well, she assured me it was and asked for more water and then juice.
Sizzling pancakes on a hot griddle, the smell of pumpkin and the coconut oil that greased our pan wafting through the house. A delightful, warm scent to perk up our tired chilly selves. She was quiet, unusually quiet, randomly offering little tidbits here and there about much she loves using whisks and asking me to make a pumpkin pie because it's her favorite.
We sat at the table, steaming pancakes before us topped with a pat of butter and drizzled with real maple syrup. I took a bite and then another, analyzing the flavor and texture of this new breakfast treat; my own critic.
She ate a few bites slowly and then her expression changed. I noted this new face with a tad bit of alarm and then, as I began to react....well, her breakfast came up. Breakfast was over. I had a sad, scared little girl and a big mess and a recipe I will never ever make again.
Take a deep breath.
God gave grace and peace and cleaner and homeopathic remedies and bright sunshine and my mom to arrive with a bag of supplies and good people to cheer and encourage me on the phone and a lifetime of many more blessings that I may never recount.
It is well with my soul.
note: By mid morning she was much improved and this afternoon was jumping on her trampoline and singing songs of cheer. Now, she is napping and I am breathing deeply as I tackle the tasks that nearly strangled me this morning.
Monday, March 18, 2013
gak
Gak: a putty toy and a modeling compound of variable colors that has been sold for distribution to children. Useful for making fart noises, grossing out friends.
It sounded intriguing. A good project to help fill a long, lonely Saturday with two well rested girls and one tired me and a daddy off at work.
Our day began at 6 a.m. when a curly topped girl bounced into our bedroom and announced herself. "I'm awake!" she said and filled our room with stories and songs. "Get up," she ordered, pleading with us. So we did, slowly. Evie and I made our way to the kitchen to start breakfast while daddy got ready for work. In a matter of minutes Joyce announced herself and our day had begun.
After we had fancied ourselves for the day and filled our tummies with breakfast, I wrote up a brief shopping list using the gak recipe from ehow as my guide. Shoes and coats on, we piled into the black Toyota and drove through the cold drizzle to our local Walmart. Our list was small, 2 bottles of glue, which was good because poor Evie seemed to be experiencing some bladder issues which required frequent visits to the bathroom. Walmart bathrooms are not real bathrooms in my book. We opt for the mobile potty and it works well for us, though I'm sure people have wondered about my stops near the end of a parking lot to dump the content of the chair into snowbanks. "What is that lady doing?" I can imagine them thinking, just as I might think observing such a situation.
Home again. We unpacked our bags, set out the ingredients for our recipe and decorated the table and the girls in gak-proof decor. These things can get messy and we were prepared. Let the fun begin!
Product may be mixed exactly the same but turn out completely different in texture!
It sounded intriguing. A good project to help fill a long, lonely Saturday with two well rested girls and one tired me and a daddy off at work.
Our day began at 6 a.m. when a curly topped girl bounced into our bedroom and announced herself. "I'm awake!" she said and filled our room with stories and songs. "Get up," she ordered, pleading with us. So we did, slowly. Evie and I made our way to the kitchen to start breakfast while daddy got ready for work. In a matter of minutes Joyce announced herself and our day had begun.
After we had fancied ourselves for the day and filled our tummies with breakfast, I wrote up a brief shopping list using the gak recipe from ehow as my guide. Shoes and coats on, we piled into the black Toyota and drove through the cold drizzle to our local Walmart. Our list was small, 2 bottles of glue, which was good because poor Evie seemed to be experiencing some bladder issues which required frequent visits to the bathroom. Walmart bathrooms are not real bathrooms in my book. We opt for the mobile potty and it works well for us, though I'm sure people have wondered about my stops near the end of a parking lot to dump the content of the chair into snowbanks. "What is that lady doing?" I can imagine them thinking, just as I might think observing such a situation.
Home again. We unpacked our bags, set out the ingredients for our recipe and decorated the table and the girls in gak-proof decor. These things can get messy and we were prepared. Let the fun begin!
Step #1-
Empty bottle of glue into mixing bowl:
Step#2-
Add water to glue and stir until well mixed:
Well mixed glue/water mixture should look like this:
Step #3-
Add food coloring to create desired color: Green for Evie- Yellow for Joyce.
Step #
(This is where things start to get tricky)
Add 1T Borax to 1c. hot water and stir until dissolved.
Add an additional ½ teaspoon of borax to the solution and stir until the powder dissolves. Repeat this step until the water won't absorb any more borax. This solution is now saturated.
Step #5:
(Look out- mess ahead!)
Pour two tablespoons of borax mixture into the bowl with the water and the glue. Quickly whip the borax into the glue, stirring until you create a slimy ball of goop. If your gak is too sticky, add a bit more borax and blend it in, kneading the slime with your hands if necessary.
(note: This is much easier said than done. Adding the borax does not instantly create a ball. It can create lots of smallish gloppy pieces that do not want to stick to anything and simply swim in a lake of food-colored water. Lots and lots of kneading required.)
Repeat the procedure for each child present. Alternatively, children can mix the glue and water at their individual stations and you can distribute the borax solution, allowing them to mix it.
(note: Clothing may begin to be removed at this point as some individuals get too hot from kneading and others as their wild mixing makes a food-color splosion)
The resulting gak globs can be stored in plastic zipper bag indefinitely. If properly stored, the slime will not dry out for several weeks. If the goop does dry slightly, it can be restored by adding a slight amount of water. Eventually, even with the most diligent efforts, the goop will dry up completely and it will have to be discarded.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
snow day
From my cozy place in front of the fire I watch the snow fall. They are small flakes, difficult to see against the backdrop of naked tree tops and a great white sky. Small as they be, they fall together, each flake joining hands with another to cover the world.
The landscape is decorated in a frosty white. Every still object wears a top hat, proud and tall. Pine boughs dip low under the weight. Tree branches shed their covering as the wind gusts through, snow falling to the ground in a blast of icy smoke.
I do not feel the chill from here. It is warm and inviting beside the golden, dancing flames and I find myself repeatedly drawn back to this spot as the day goes on. As I type, my charges are otherwise occupied and I relish the sweetness of the moments that I can call my own.
In the stillness, I hear the swell of a bird song. Cheery, warbly notes sung back at the small flakes which land on a world that longs for spring. Though I could not see the bird in song, I well imagined his breast puffed out in defiance at the blast of winter, his head high, his little heart overflowing in praise. I smile at his courage his strength, though he is small.
Small flakes gather on the driveway that I helped to shovel at 5:30 a.m., making invisible the tracks that tell the story of the early morning. Cars and people, each on their separate paths, in the snowy dark hours of the early day. I watched them go, feeling a twinge of sorrow to be left behind. Yet, for the two sleepers who dreamed away under cozy blankets, I was needed.
Just one me, small yet needed. Just one in the millions who walk this earth. Insignificant? Not if I learn from the smallish snowflakes who do not seem to demand much, yet fulfill their purpose alongside their neighbor. I can hardly imagine a snowflake using their journey to compare themselves. "Maybe if I was shaped like that flake, I would enjoy this trip down." "Maybe if I was over there, instead of over here, things would be different." "What good can I do? Just one little flake with fears and flaws?" Their journey is not long, not worth wasting. Neither is mine.
The landscape is decorated in a frosty white. Every still object wears a top hat, proud and tall. Pine boughs dip low under the weight. Tree branches shed their covering as the wind gusts through, snow falling to the ground in a blast of icy smoke.
I do not feel the chill from here. It is warm and inviting beside the golden, dancing flames and I find myself repeatedly drawn back to this spot as the day goes on. As I type, my charges are otherwise occupied and I relish the sweetness of the moments that I can call my own.
In the stillness, I hear the swell of a bird song. Cheery, warbly notes sung back at the small flakes which land on a world that longs for spring. Though I could not see the bird in song, I well imagined his breast puffed out in defiance at the blast of winter, his head high, his little heart overflowing in praise. I smile at his courage his strength, though he is small.
Small flakes gather on the driveway that I helped to shovel at 5:30 a.m., making invisible the tracks that tell the story of the early morning. Cars and people, each on their separate paths, in the snowy dark hours of the early day. I watched them go, feeling a twinge of sorrow to be left behind. Yet, for the two sleepers who dreamed away under cozy blankets, I was needed.
Just one me, small yet needed. Just one in the millions who walk this earth. Insignificant? Not if I learn from the smallish snowflakes who do not seem to demand much, yet fulfill their purpose alongside their neighbor. I can hardly imagine a snowflake using their journey to compare themselves. "Maybe if I was shaped like that flake, I would enjoy this trip down." "Maybe if I was over there, instead of over here, things would be different." "What good can I do? Just one little flake with fears and flaws?" Their journey is not long, not worth wasting. Neither is mine.
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
what time is it? valentimes.
A mama. A camera. A dream.
(And a silly little girl)
Andy's new work schedule has changed our world. Gone are the days of late nights and breakfasts together at the big table while the sun streams in the window. Our morning starts at night, 4:30 a.m. to be exact, a time when the world is still buried under the covers.
Our house is small and the sounds of morning seem to have their own volume. A task that seems relatively soundless in the middle of the day echos off the walls at 4:30 a.m. These sounds call a little girl from her slumber to join the world of the moon and stars. How I love my curly topped fairy but often find myself feeling a tiny bit resentful at her early presence. "It's still nighttime," I remind her as I snuggle her up in hopes that her long lashes might come to rest again on her cheeks. "I'm hungry for breakfast," she replies.
This particular day, however, I decided to capitalize on the early. By the light of a candle (well, not really but it sounded rather poetic or antiquated or fancy or something) we pulled out a box of art supplies and a stack of colored paper. It was 6:30 a.m. and we had a banner to make.
A few hours and a good breakfast later our studio was ready to go. We have all the modern equipment here, vacuums and kitchen chairs stacked to hold the backdrop up nice and high and hair clips to keep it securely in place. Our fancy new banner, our trusty old Valentines sign, a chair and a girl who insisted on wearing her "cherry dress."
Gone were my dreams of sweet smiles and drippy Valentines sentiment. Fishing for that sweet smile was like a day on Lake Owasso with a pole and a can of worms. The lens on my camera found a girl who's silliness knows no end. She made the photos her own. Lots of crazy expressions. Lots of hats. Lots of poses and one shot in her jammies. We covered all the bases here.
And in the end, a sweet smile or two, though I've saved my favorite photo as a surprise for our Valentines card. Wouldn't want to share our wishes too early.
I left the room for a few minutes and returned to find a little curly topped girl in a cherry dress holding my camera while standing on a chair rather precariously. "I want to take your picture mama," she declared. We decided it might be better for her to sit on the chair while taking pictures so I held the camera while she climbed down.
She set up her subject and her shot with stern instructions. "Hold this sign dreadfully," she told me while handing me our valentines sign." Don't wander off or be disobedient while I take your picture." So I sat and smiled even wearing the hat when the time came. She snapped away, giggling as she worked, her laughing hands moving the camera about. I think it's what makes them so endearing. Looking at them, I can see and hear the sweet sound of her joy. To me, they look like laughter.
"I don't see much sense in that," said Rabbit.
"No," said Pooh humbly, "there isn't. But there was going to be when I began it.
"No," said Pooh humbly, "there isn't. But there was going to be when I began it.
It's just that something happened to it along the way."
Thursday, January 24, 2013
sleep
Close your eyes and peaceful be
night has fallen
Starry hosts from heavens far
send their light.
In the stillness rest is found;
cares are gone.
Dreams to carry you from bed
to ventures far.
Sleep my sweet with cherry lips;
from song and play
Find in quiet, warm and love,
'til light of day.
As I rocked my little fairy to sleep tonight this little poem came to be. I hummed a little tune and the words fell from my tongue in time to the music. She fell asleep and I darted out to write down the words before I forgot them.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
her
A wise old sage once told me to "enjoy the journey as much as the destination". It has been a thought I've revisited often, pouring it over my circumstances like syrup on a steaming pile of hotcakes. And, as for the sage, she really isn't old at all but wise beyond her years. I think often of her words to me.
I am a mommy. The moment that beautiful little creature I'd felt dancing in my womb for months entered the world my heart changed. I remember being caught up in wonderment at the miracle in my arms. I cried. I took in her tiny features. I kissed her soft skin and breathed her in.
Such a tiny person to enter my world and such big changes she brought. I had watched other people have babies and anticipated a certain sense of "new normal" that I would experience in those shoes. My "new normal" did not follow my carefully laid plans. My child did not enjoy life outside the safe confines of her early existence and protested everything. While my heart ached at her sorrow my attempts at bringing comfort were often not successful. I have many fond memories of those early days though the soundtrack to them is an unceasing wail.
Such a busy little person even from the days when mobility was a skill to master. She moved with determination. She had plans to see it all, touch it all, rip it all and eat it all. I can still remember the weekend I attended a women's conference and returned home to see a half eaten cardboard book on the kitchen table. I wondered if Andy had taken in a pet in my absence. "No," he assured me,"it was just our daughter. We drove to a friend's house and I gave her a book to read for the trip. She ate it instead."
My tidy house has morphed into something I hardly recognize. Sometimes I gaze about the living room and wonder who could let their child do this? Oh yes, I remind myself, it is your smallish person who moves about with such a passion for life. If only she felt so passionate about restoring order to our world. I observe my space and deflate. My perfectionist expectations raise the white flag and the mess throws a victory party.
It is her joy in the simple things that breaths life into my day. Down the magical rainbow of wonderment (a pile of pillows) into a soft cloud of blankets. We drink imaginary hot cocoa and sample plastic snacks. We read stories of curious monkeys and talking bears and Bible characters. We set out for adventures and explore the world. She helps me cook, carefully measuring and mixing things and always asking to lick the beaters. Tony Bennett's music puts a spring in her step.
It is her strong, independent and adventurous spirit that keeps me on my toes. She is as determined as she is capable. As quickly as she draws breath her mind weaves tales. She has a broad vocabulary and knows how to use it, often to try and re-explain circumstances that should spell for naughtiness. Of course she's innocent, it was all a mistake. Opossums are often blamed for things around here. Darn creatures.
She is my little creature. I am her mommy. Today was a day of potty training independence. She calls out "I NEED TO GO POTTY!" then makes a dash for the potty chair. I meet her there but am not greeted with graciousness. "I NEED PRIVATE-CY!" she announces, her hand waving me away. I step out, my careful eye on the girl inside. Recently, however, she has discovered that it's better not to announce her intentions as she slips into the bathroom, a place that she visits often in these early days of learning. Three separate trips equal one time of actual need. Lots of hand washing. Lots of toilet paper strewn about the bathroom floor. And then an afternoon of energy-splosion, as if she was a vending machine filled to the limit with quarters. I could barely keep up. I prayed for strength to endure the afternoon with joy, to live in these little moments with a 3 year old girl who won't be 3 for long.
Night falls and the little girl snuggles up in my arms. Daddy reads a chapter of "Little House in the Big Woods" and then Psalm 23. I treasure these moments before tucking her in her little bed. She is tired and does not stir. I smile.
I am a mommy. The moment that beautiful little creature I'd felt dancing in my womb for months entered the world my heart changed. I remember being caught up in wonderment at the miracle in my arms. I cried. I took in her tiny features. I kissed her soft skin and breathed her in.
Such a tiny person to enter my world and such big changes she brought. I had watched other people have babies and anticipated a certain sense of "new normal" that I would experience in those shoes. My "new normal" did not follow my carefully laid plans. My child did not enjoy life outside the safe confines of her early existence and protested everything. While my heart ached at her sorrow my attempts at bringing comfort were often not successful. I have many fond memories of those early days though the soundtrack to them is an unceasing wail.
Such a busy little person even from the days when mobility was a skill to master. She moved with determination. She had plans to see it all, touch it all, rip it all and eat it all. I can still remember the weekend I attended a women's conference and returned home to see a half eaten cardboard book on the kitchen table. I wondered if Andy had taken in a pet in my absence. "No," he assured me,"it was just our daughter. We drove to a friend's house and I gave her a book to read for the trip. She ate it instead."
My tidy house has morphed into something I hardly recognize. Sometimes I gaze about the living room and wonder who could let their child do this? Oh yes, I remind myself, it is your smallish person who moves about with such a passion for life. If only she felt so passionate about restoring order to our world. I observe my space and deflate. My perfectionist expectations raise the white flag and the mess throws a victory party.
It is her joy in the simple things that breaths life into my day. Down the magical rainbow of wonderment (a pile of pillows) into a soft cloud of blankets. We drink imaginary hot cocoa and sample plastic snacks. We read stories of curious monkeys and talking bears and Bible characters. We set out for adventures and explore the world. She helps me cook, carefully measuring and mixing things and always asking to lick the beaters. Tony Bennett's music puts a spring in her step.
It is her strong, independent and adventurous spirit that keeps me on my toes. She is as determined as she is capable. As quickly as she draws breath her mind weaves tales. She has a broad vocabulary and knows how to use it, often to try and re-explain circumstances that should spell for naughtiness. Of course she's innocent, it was all a mistake. Opossums are often blamed for things around here. Darn creatures.
She is my little creature. I am her mommy. Today was a day of potty training independence. She calls out "I NEED TO GO POTTY!" then makes a dash for the potty chair. I meet her there but am not greeted with graciousness. "I NEED PRIVATE-CY!" she announces, her hand waving me away. I step out, my careful eye on the girl inside. Recently, however, she has discovered that it's better not to announce her intentions as she slips into the bathroom, a place that she visits often in these early days of learning. Three separate trips equal one time of actual need. Lots of hand washing. Lots of toilet paper strewn about the bathroom floor. And then an afternoon of energy-splosion, as if she was a vending machine filled to the limit with quarters. I could barely keep up. I prayed for strength to endure the afternoon with joy, to live in these little moments with a 3 year old girl who won't be 3 for long.
Night falls and the little girl snuggles up in my arms. Daddy reads a chapter of "Little House in the Big Woods" and then Psalm 23. I treasure these moments before tucking her in her little bed. She is tired and does not stir. I smile.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
2013
It's New Years Day. I'm 34 years old and feel every day of it.
I can turn my mind's eye around and see this same day and how I've lived it so many times before. A starry eyed youth who saw the magic in a fresh start. New ideas and new changes to implement. Dreams to chase.
Now, I sit here, in the front row of the game of life. A courtside seat to the sufferings of others with whom I walk closely. A game in which I too have played, though in wonderment I find that it hurts my heart more to see their pain then to experience it for myself.
It's New Years Day. I do not begin this year with a head full of dreams or a list of improvements but rather a determination to cling to hope. I will not be defeated.
I can turn my mind's eye around and see this same day and how I've lived it so many times before. A starry eyed youth who saw the magic in a fresh start. New ideas and new changes to implement. Dreams to chase.
Now, I sit here, in the front row of the game of life. A courtside seat to the sufferings of others with whom I walk closely. A game in which I too have played, though in wonderment I find that it hurts my heart more to see their pain then to experience it for myself.
It's New Years Day. I do not begin this year with a head full of dreams or a list of improvements but rather a determination to cling to hope. I will not be defeated.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)