I tried to go to bed but it didn't take.
It took for the other members of my family. Evie, after a long hour of telling adventurous stories and a trip to the potty, succumbed to the magic spell of dreamland. Andy, approximately 8 seconds after laying his head upon the pillow, was breathing slowly and his right leg twitched.
What a day. What a week. What a month.
Take a deep breath.
Evie and I stopped at a garage sale today. I say Evie and I because she was in the car with me, let not the reader mistake my words for suggesting that she would have stopped willingly had she been behind the wheel.
I stopped at a garage sale today. What a lovely drive it was through the winding roads, the landscape decorated with homes that might have rivaled Super Target for square footage. The peaceful drive was narrated by the girl in the backseat who did NOT want to shop.
This garage sale was actually a driveway sale. I stopped the car at the end of the driveway and told her it was time to get out of the car. She fussed so I offered her a deal.
"You can stay in the car,"I suggested. This idea was met with hesitation at first until I offered her the alternative: shop with me. "I will stay in the car," she agreed.
I think they must have been redecorating their mansion. The items were arranged like settings from a home store, except with large pictures propped up against couches and tables due to the lack of walls. No expired toothpaste or used underwear here. I admired a few things and passed a kindly greeting to the man tending the sale before turning back to the car.
There was the car. There was Evie. They were not together. They were not on the same side of the street.
There, across the road and in a field of dandelions was a girl in a heart jacket, bent over, picking handfuls of bright yellow flowers. "EVIE!" She turned at the sound of my voice then came back to meet me at the edge of the street.
She handed me the bouquet with a smile,"I picked these for you, mom."
I was not charmed.
"Real motherhood is different. You find yourself alternating between feeling like your friends talked you into some sort of pyramid scheme so you could share in their misery and thinking this is the most fulfilling thing you've ever done in your life." -Melanie Shankle
Friday, May 16, 2014
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
countdown
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.
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.
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.
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