a few moments with AJ
11 Jan 2012 1 Comment
in Uncategorized Tags: Beautiful Life
AJ and Ty woke up this morning with LOTS of vim and verve. They spent a good piece of time talking to each other from bed—okay, YELLING. Ty: “BAAAAAH! BAH BAH LABALA!” Ruly: “You old stinky rat! What are you saying?” “BLAH BLAH BABABAAAA! APPLE!” “I know I know I know I KNOW, mister you old stinky rat!” (What is this? Why has this child’s mother not taught her better?!?) 
AJ and I singing together: “There were two in the bed, and the little one said, ‘Roll over! Rll over!” So they all rolled over, and one fell out! There was one in the bed, and the little one said, ‘Gooooodniiight!’” “*GASP* MOMMY! That is NOT what he said!” “It isn’t? What did he say?” “He said, “OH NO! I’M COLD! COME BACK PECAUSE I AM SO COLD AN I DON’ WANNA BE TOO COLD!” (Oh right. Sorry. I stand corrected, I guess. Don’t think I learned that version as a child…)
“Selah is a sweet, little, sweet, tiny, little, tired, sleepy, ANGEL. *sigh* I llllllllove her.”
So glad this crazy girl is in my life.
boy-inspired church at home
08 Jan 2012 4 Comments
Taking a moment to stare at the silhouettes of the barren trees against the sky, to soak the last rays of winter’s weakened sun filtering through the glass…a moment of quiet. A moment of solitude. A moment to notice the glowing echo of sun on cloud, of swelling, paused bud on chilled branches. A moment to breathe perspective and depth into my lungs, to step away from the decisions, guidings, confusions, provisions, and stretching of reality and just….listen.
I don’t do this often enough.
This morning, my soon-to-be two-year-old son ran around like a ball in a pinball machine. He must not have slept well, because the length of his fuse between provocation and little-boy wail was very, very short. He would drag himself from one activity to another—the balls! the blocks! mommy’s folded clean clothes! the trash can! the shoes by the door!—wreaking utter havoc on every poor object that happened into his pudgy, curious fingers. I watched him walk, more confidently and assuredly than he used to, and watched his eyes narrow as he focused on fitting one block onto another. His little eyebrows furrow just like his daddy’s do, and his face transforms to a joy-smashed smile just as easily. He’s precious and I adore him.
Whoops. Son-adoration tangent. I had a point…
Because of Mr. Preciousness’s sudden inability to focus and desperate need for sleep, we didn’t go to church this morning. (No nursery, small room, long story!) We set up the four-year-old with Bible story coloring pages and snuggled up on the couch with our Bibles and our current study books, and had church. We sang together, read together quietly and aloud as passages jumped out at us, talked with Ruly about the history and stories behind the pictures her Crayolas were illustrating…it was wonderful. Refreshing and intimate and out of the ordinary.
I’m not one to abandon church. But at the moment, I’m honestly morethanslightly fed up with the modern American church *culture* and have little patience with churchy, pious, fakey, self-promoting gobbledygook. The body of Christ is supposed to be just that—about CHRIST—and we’re just…not. We’re about us. Our needs, our interpretations, our perceptions of what’s necessary and our emphases on our versions of “right” doctrines. It wears me out and leaves me more empty than encouraged. My dissatisfaction is not with a particular person or group of people, with a denomination or a limited group of applicants—it’s a generalized, broadly-swept statement.
It’s a growing season for me, a refocusing and sorting out and balancing season. Figuring out who I am, who I’ve been, what I’m here for, what direction our family is taking—more importantly, searching and seeking after Christ. Running towards who He is and away from the littleness of who I am, discovering the far more important pieces of who I am IN HIM. It’s a beautiful, scary journey, and extracurriclar confusion is *so* not helpful. :/ This morning was just exactly what I needed, and I’m grateful for it.
another round with PPD
01 Jan 2012 5 Comments
The kids are all in bed for naptime this New Year’s Day. I’m sitting in our living room, nursing a bowl of chicken & dumplings, still in my robe and morethandesperate for a shower. Every morning that my husband has been home this week, he’s gently insisted that I stay in bed and sleep as long as I could. Sweet, longsuffering man! One morning it was noon. NOON. Today, it was ten. Ten in the MORNING! It’s frustrating to me, because I am NOT a sleeper-inner. I’m normally a wake-up-at-six, hop out of bed and attack the day girl—live it up from moment number one! “Normal” me is creative and energetic, ready for a party and happy to be challenged. This…this me is not normal. 
These past few weeks, it’s been a conscious, dogged decision to get out of bed. I’m awake generally to the credit of caffeine in various forms, and I cry at the drop of a hat. I’m irritable and argumentative, crave sugar and comfort food almost to the exclusion of anything else. There’s a headache that hasn’t ever fully gone away for almost two weeks, and I can tell that the iron in my blood is very, very low. Gentleness and patience with my little ones is a struggle. Prayer is my lifeblood.
My sweet littlest babe is five months old today, and I’m hopeful that the hormones are nearing a rebalancing point—they seem to be stronger than last time, possibly because of back-to-back pregnancies? I’m not sure about that, but it seems feasible.
It’s interesting to talk about the topic of PPD in various social circles—some people are convinced that it doesn’t exist, and is merely self-centeredness and a lack of accepting grace on the part of the mother. (I probably leaned that direction before having babies myself. :/ Hah, I say now. HAH.) It’s really easy to rain solutions when you’ve never been here! Having dealt with it twice before now, I recognize the pattern and hormonal cycle of the postpartum process. It’ll ebb and flow, and gradually disappear.
For now, there’s a peppermint mocha and a snuggly little teething girl calling my name. Git gone, PPD. I wanna feel good again!
going out and a short story by ruly-girl
13 Dec 2011 3 Comments
in Beautiful Life Tags: life organization
This season is so bittersweet. I love it anyway, but I’m definitely finding myself sad nearly as often as I’m joyful. The sadness makes the joy sweeter, though, and I would far rather be so *very* blessed with these sweet relationships that I have, and honestly sorrow to miss their company and presence, than to not have them at all. No contest there.
My sweet husband is taking me out for the .entire. day—he made babysitting arrangements and has the day planned out. (This is my wifely self, dancing like Snoopy. Not to be confused with Snoop Dogg, who doesn’t really dance…) We are having breakfast and working on some life organization at Panera, trading our rental minivan for our car (which is finally done! there was more damage than they initially found) and then—going CHRISTMAS shopping!!!!! Together!! I’m freaking out a little bit.
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Ruly woke up this morning with quite the story to tell. I’m not sure if it was a dream, or a story she’s made up in her head…
“Dere was a story one time, wif me, an a prince! An’ the prince tried to save me, but the bad guy tok the jewels. An’ I wanted dem, but he wouldn’t give dem back, an’ den we all gave our SOCKS to da GARBAGE man. An’ he took dem, and he PUT dem ON. An’ da bad guy still had my jewels. An’ I still wanted dem back, but he DEADED me! An’ den da garbage GIRL came, an’ da bad guy said, “Will ya MARRY me?” and she did. An’ den da bad guy was sorry, but I was still dead, an den da sweet prince guy came BACK an’ he kissed me an’ I woke up an’ I wasn’t deaded anymore! An’ den he put me in a box, an’ he put tape aaaalll onnnn da box, all around, and it was SO DARK. But fun. An’ den he opened up da box, an’ he put lights in it for me, and den he closed it again an’ taped it all up, and wif more tape an’ more tape, an’ he put some hot all over it to make the tape GLUE-tape so it would STICK, an’ it was so fun! Like a fun time! An DEN we went on ‘nother ‘aventure, an it was great, so great….”
Such an imagination in this girl! Who does she remind me of? (Just after this discourse had come to a close, she suddenly swooned and declared, “Oh, MOMMY! I want one more sister! AN’ one more BRUDDER! Pecause DAT would be PERFECT!” Oh dear. We will have this conversation another day, child.)
I’m off to find some unfriendly-to-the-muthahood clothes to wear out with my husband. Something that hasn’t been spit up on recently, perhaps?
Sweet day to you!
decemberings
07 Dec 2011 3 Comments
Hello, bloggy dear.
I’m sitting on my grandmother’s gigantic, L-shaped, white-leather couch in her family room. There’s a heating pad warming my aching shoulder muscles, an empty travel mug of caramel-cream coffee next to me, and a small pile of silvery, jangly bracelets that get in the way of typing if I forget to remove them.
Every time I begin a post, one of the first this I type is “This has been a crazy week.” But then I realize that I ALWAYS say that, so I have to rephrase. I know I write a lot about how this season of life is a little bit of insanity combined with sleeplessness and stolen moments of adult fellowship—these days since last I wrote have been no different. Varied, full, exciting, wearying, sweet…all true. It’s been a good week.
My little brother is flying away this weekend, off to the never-neverland of Northern Ireland for the next five or six months. He’s an eighteen-year-old jewel of a boy-man, a soft-hearted kindred spirit and one of my dearest friends. The past few years have been extremely rough on him, and he’s tired and run-down and a little gunshy right now. We’re all SO excited for him as he’s been planning this time away from home, time to unplug from “normal” and recharge his emotional batteries. Of course, now that his flight is booked, the dreaded SAD emotions are surfacing in everyone, myself included! I know it’s going to be really reviving for him, though, and while I’m sad to know that we’ll miss out on his brilliant company for the next few months, he needs to get away. It’ll be better for him than he realizes.
Pinterest. PIN AAAALL THE THIIIINGS! So much to love, so much to do! I haaaave to leeeeaarn how to seeeeww! *groan of inadequacy* The horizons of creatively caring for this little family will be so broadened as I learn this returning art. I am happy about this.
Heart-melting moment of the week? Little nineteen-month-old (!!!) Ty reached for me earlier this afternoon. I leaned down to him and offered both my hands to pick him up, but instead, he lifted both of his to mine, palm-to-palm. He interlaced all of his chubby little fingers into mine and tugged me gently towards him, smiling up at me with his pool-blue eyes. I knelt down and brought my nose to his, our hands next to our faces. He kissed my cheek and hummed a barely-intelligible little “Iiiiah wooooovah yooooaaah”. I thought I might fall over or burst into tears! It was SO precious., Of course, the very next second, he dropped everything and yelled a gutteral, cavemannish demand that his sister give back the truck he’d been playing with.
We made these to go on our homemade-ornamentated tree this year. I have a gorgeous collection of antique glass ornaments, but with mister destructo in the house, I’m just not willing to risk of them being broken while I train him not to touch the tree! We’ve taken on weekly craft projects and are adding them one by one. These we did in brown burlap twine, and Ruly glittered them while they dried. They are hung alongside pipe-cleaner curlicues. (This is my decorator heart wincing while my mama heart applauds.) The kids are thrilled, and really, it’s very festive and cutesy!
I’m off to feed le bebe, get the two older ones up from naps, pack up our things for the homeward journey, call my husband, and try to convince my grandfather to have a snack with the kids. Have a lovely mid-December week, y’all.
Ruly-isms and what’s been on my mind
28 Nov 2011 6 Comments
Having three little children is not necessarily conducive to periods of deep thought and introspection. My “thinking time” is relegated to late nights and while the older two children are asleep during the afternoon. But the things weighing on my mind this weekend have been distracting and demanding—and I’m afraid that I haven’t been the most engaged mother for the past few days.
Currently swirling in the grey matter: It’s Christmas. This season used to mean one family, one house, one group of people and traditions. This year, more than ever before, I’m seeing and feeling the absence of the family I married into, whose traditions and love of the holiday we have added into our little family’s observance. We aren’t able to travel this year, and they will all be in Texas, and I’m a little homesick for my family-in-love.
My family here in the north is (almost) all coming home for Christmas. I love that. We’ll be missing one sister and her husband, and they’re takin that pretty hard. I understand, though I now have a bigger-picture perspective and really don’t know how to encourage my sister without dismissing her pain. It may be one of the last Christmases that our quintet experiences up here in the northland, so choosing to simply experience and treasure and to not concentrate on what we may lose with the years is a conscious decision through every event. I want my kids to remember—really remember—all of what is my family.
We’re planning a move back down south in the next few years, and the weight of that decision is heavy indeed. We’ve only just told my immediate family, quite accidentally and in about the worst timing possible, and I feel like I’ve betrayed them. They had no idea of our plans, and while I know they will mentally adjust with time, it’s a pretty fresh revelation right now. I have NO idea how to talk about it without causing deeper pain, nor how to “make it all okay”, because by virtue of us consciously choosing to life on the opposite end of the country, we are making it very decidedly NOT okay. There’s a little place of frantic emotion down deep in my heart, which I surrender every time I start feeling the spiral into freak-out-and-apologize-my-face-off mode, but I’ve no idea how to resolve it beyond that. Even further, there are decisions that we have to make and I’m desperate for their wisdom and counsel. HOW do you ask your parents to sit down and help you contemplate the wisest course of action for moving their grandchildren permanently to a far-off land where they will be involved in their lives primarily over the internet? It just breaks my heart to think about, much less ask them to advise us on.
My heart is also missing my friends. I have a few dear ones near us, here in my home-city, but many, SO many of them live very, very far away. My best friend just got married, one dearylove is pregnant with her first baby, one with her second, three are raising little girls, three are almost ready to start their families and one has two little ones and lives out in the country, as we plan to. We all have very busy lives and important things that demand our focus and attention, and living nearby wouldn’t suddenly remove all of those avenues of need—but I miss them.
Adding to all of this angsty emotion, my husband and I have been revisiting and reexamining a group that we were both involved in as we grew up. Our parents were very wise and cautious to raise us up with Scripture as the authority rather than a man, for which I am ever more and more grateful as the blinds over this organization’s true nature are pulled further and further back. Going back over stories, principles, reasonings and tenets is actually giving me cause for deep anger and outrage—not that I’ve personally been damaged (again, we had VERY wise and careful parents!) but for the thousands of children who were severely, horribly wounded. The stories are endless, and if even half of them are even PARTIALLY true, there is something acutely amiss and highly unlike the nature of Christ within the teachings of this organization. I’d heard some of the rumors (that are now proving to be truths) before, but thought that they were isolated incidents. They weren’t. And I’m spitting mad about it. HOW could Scripture be so twisted and made believable?!? (One example is the story in I Samuel about Abigail. The Bible calls her wise and praises her. The man who leads this organization calls her rebellious AND blames her for David’s future adultery. WHAT?!)
Ughhh. In order to relax my mind and disconnect from the whirling dervish of brainpower…I shall quote our resident comedienne.
My daughter is HILARIOUS. She has an extremely creative mind, a huge vocabulary and is curious about ev.er.y.thing. I try to write down and remember some of the funniest things that she says, for posterity and general amusement.
AJ: “Mommy, I need HELP!! RIGHT NOW!” *running* “What’s the matter?” “My tooooilet paper. I am trying to FLAT it an’ it won’t FLAT!”
AJ: “So. I have a ques-chun.”"What’s your question?” “Am I gonna get married?” “I sure hope so, baby, someday when you’re older.” “But WHO am I gonna marry?? DAT IS WHAT I WANT TO KNOW! Who IS it? Did you already get him picked out??”
Not polished or proofread, but I’m out of time. Grace for typos and unfleshedout paragraphs?
Happy Thanksgiving
23 Nov 2011 2 Comments
I love Thanksgiving. I love it so much. Almost—dare I say it?—almost more than Christmas.
Yes. It’s true.
Christmas has an entirely different significance that I treasure and fully enjoy. But so often, it gets a little lost in the trappings and trimmings. There aren’t a whole lot of those surrounding Thanksgiving. (If you’re a Black Friday shopper or a retail employee like my sweet husband, it’s a little tainted—but roll with me here!)
Gratefulness. Family. Gratefulness. Food. Gratefulness.
Essence of Thanksgiving, pure and simple. I love that.
This year, things are a little strange for our family. Two of my sisters have moved away this year, one out-of-state with her husband and son, and one overseas with her new husband. It’ll be their first Thanksgiving away from home, and the first Thanksgiving without them for the rest of the family. Our southern family (my husband’s side) are remaining south-bound for the holiday, and his sister in Michigan will be celebrating with her husband and his family. We’ll be enjoying the day at my parents’ house with them and with the siblings who still live at home.
Time brings such perspective. I’m so grateful for it! I’ve been the freshly-moved bride, the young mom celebrating without the familiar comforts of the family you grew up in, trying to adjust and embrace new traditions and decide which of your own to carry on into your own family…it’s hard. Sometimes you think your world just might crash to the ground without the voice of your dad saying the blessing, without those familiar dishes and people around you. But here is what I have learned: you’ll be okay. (Hear me, sisters dear?) You will find new joys, new traditions, new comforts. As you joyfully embrace the new (yes, while wistfully remembering the old), you give your heart permission to grow a little. ”The way it was” is not the way it always will be, nor should it! Seasons change, and this is a blessing in itself. 
(photo credit: Petty Family Photography)
This year, my heart aches with missing those who aren’t at our table. My four grown-up sisters, both by blood and by love (which I count the same!) and their families, my parents-in-love, the aunts and uncles and cousins—and most especially, my husband’s precious grandparents, who are celebrating at the Father’s heavenly feast-table this year. I rejoice, also, for each of the ones gathered with us, because I know that before long, the seasons will change again. I choose to be grateful for THIS moment, for THIS day, for THIS season.
Life is beautiful.
Happy Thanksgiving, y’all.
dinner is…
17 Nov 2011 4 Comments
Have you ever noticed how carefully-described dishes are in restaurant menus? (Better yet—blogs? Whooo-eee!) It’s all such a little web of pretty words and mouthwatering descriptions, and always, ALWAYS makes me wonder what a dish *really* entails.
See, I rather think that there’s a little bit of tactical maneuvering going on here. Verbal manipulation, if you will. If you want to sound super cutting-edge in the culinary department, take your usual basic recipes and substitute familially-related ingredients. (Same concept, trendy execution! Score!) And bonus points if you can fit the words, “artisanal”, “organic”, “locally-harvested” or “gluten-free” into the description! Boring ol’ brussels sprouts with bacon and onion? No, no, no. We’ll be having “fresh, locally-grown new sprouts, gently hand-tossed with crisped, pancetta and sustainably-harvested organic leeks”. Oh, and uh, that’s gluten-free, casein-free and sugar-free. FYI.
That kind of verbal substitution actually works surprisingly well in other areas, too. “Today, I changed diapers, made the kids pick up their toys and cooked dinner” becomes, “I used my honed skills in cleansing and refreshing to care for the needs of my offspring, worked with them on their tactile, fine motor, and recognition skills, simultaneously creating an awareness of the passing of time, and lovingly crafted a nutritious, balanced meal of artisan ingredients.” (Extra props if you can mention for the record somewhere in there that you were babywearing, breastfeeding, organizing a grassroots movement to ban hydrogenated oils in the U.S., pureeing organic babyfood, or preserving seeds from your heirloom tomato plants during all of this.)
Ahem. Fakity fakity fake fake faker. Cheater cheater pumpkin eater.
What? Am I jealous? Heck yeah! And also morethanslightly skeptical. I can barely scrape the mental acuity together to contrive such mumbojumbo, much less execute it in my own application. Someday I shall have enough sleep at night to create Masterful Meals of Perfection like the rest of you. (Don’t lie. You do it. You know you do.) 
I do love the verbal blabbity-blah, even if it is a total embellishment of reality. We can make anything sound far prettier or far uglier than it actually is. (I’m TERRIBLE with this. Love of words and small grip on reality? Bad combination.) I can’t decide which is worse, or better.
We’re such a culture of smoke and mirrors. We so carefully tune and polish our image so that others (we hope) will think we’re either a) miss perfity perfect who has it all together, all the time, or b) the sole victim of every single cloudy day. Here’s a thought…why don’t we just knock down the facades and let a little realism enter into the equation? Life doesn’t have to be horribly bad or amazingly wonderful. Some things, like grace and mercy, remain a constant—but most other things are always in flux. Always.
Tonight…well, it’s been a week that’s left me exhausted and drained, clinging to those constant truths and moving forward on the breath of the Holy Spirit alone. So dinner’s in the crockpot, and I hope it tastes decent. (It’s locally-obtained breast of chicken, seasoned lovingly with minced, dried herbs, smoked spices and organic sea salt, braised for hours in flavorful broth and accompanied by tenderly herbed baby carrots…)
the mouths of babes
16 Nov 2011 1 Comment
Listening to children pray is one of my very favorite things. They are hilarious, and convictingly simple in their trust.
My four-year-old daughter prayed this morning at breakfast:
“Dear Jesus, I fank you for dese wunnerful fings…an’ please help me to be nice, and a sweet girl, an’ to be a teacher girl for all da children…please teach Titus, my brother, him, to grow up an’ be a grown-up boy dat I will really love, an’ please tell him to not take my fings and play wif my Barbies…an’ please teach my baby sister to grow up, an’ I will teach her be all grown up like me, like a grown up girl who is sweet and plays and has so much fun…an’ please peel [heal?] Daddy’s very big, very bad, very very big owie on his leg dat makes him sad an’ please let him be all better so he can play wif me, on da floor, pecause dat is very fun an’ I wan’ him to do dat…and we fank you for all dese wunnerful fings we love, an’ all our frens, an all our fings, an’ my very favorite Nonnie and Nee-Nee an’ dere house dat I want to live in wif all my frens, pecause I will very love dat. In Jesus’ Name, Amen!”
(praying with Daddy)
My precious, precious girl. What a heart. What a vocabulary. What a personality!
thanksgiving, take 2
14 Nov 2011 2 Comments
A few more days, a few more gratefulnesses…
9. Quiet moments. They are few and far between, but rich indeed. I love how my Father continually draws me closer to Himself even in the chaos, but I feel it most in the silences. Generally speaking, I’m very lonely socially—but I’ve never felt the Lord’s presence quite so keenly as in these recent months.
10. My husband. He’s too expansive to be condensed into one day’s worth of thankfulness, though, so I’ll just choose one aspect of his wonderfulness (if that’s even possible!) …*think, think* I am so grateful for how he protects me. It’s not too popular in these “modern” times for a husband to actively protect his wife (far more acceptable for a husband to stand behind the wife as she battles off the attackers and thrusts herself forward into the world! Girl power!) Not with us. He IS my protector, and I wear that proudly. He goes to bat for me, he fills my car with gas, he notices when I’m frazzling and comes beside to take the load, reminds me of truth, prays over me, takes over communication when I get myself into a bind or a misunderstanding and can’t figure out how to get out, and locks the front door at night. He walks me on the inside part of the sidewalk, broadcasts to the legions of women he works with daily that he’s happily, joyfully and committedly married, refuses lunches one-on-one with female coworkers… they’re all various forms of protection, y’know? Too many women don’t have the luxury of a praying, caring, constantly-wooing husband. I’m grateful that I do.
11. This year’s slow shift between autumn and winter. Enough said.
12. Safety and protection over my brothers and sisters last night. They were in a (minor) car accident on the freeway that could have been so, SO much worse. MUCH worse. The amusing sidenote is that they had borrowed my pretty little #1-grateful-for Edge! (Hahahaha. The Lord has such a sense of humor. Oh, this is your first day’s pick, Em? Be reminded, please, that it’s a hunk of metal and plastic and rubber.) Perspective received!
13. Health and safety, even in injury. My sweet husband tore his MCL yesterday playing football, and is barely able to walk, even with a brace. It could have easily been the ACL, meniscus or any other ligament, tendon or bone in his body—any one of which would have required surgery, stitches or emergency room visit, which our lack of health insurance and tiny budget would not have easily afforded. His prognosis is yet to be determined conclusively, but I am choosing to be grateful that it was not a more severe injury, that no one else was hurt, and that we have willing and capable advisors around us.
14. Today, I’m thankful for three little ones who slept at the same time for a little while this afternoon! We had a rough night, and while I don’t take naps at my grandparents’, the quiet has been restful and productive. And filled with coffee…for which I am also grateful.
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It’s been a few days since I’ve been on the internet, so there was quite a bit of catch-up reading for me today. (To which I object not one bit!) I was gigantically encouraged by these three things:
“Motherhood Is Application“, by Rachel Jankovic
“God Does Not Fail You“, a post on the girltalk blog by Nicole Whitacre
“Chasing After Supermom“, yet another beauty-filled, Godward writing by my friend Amber (her next-most-recent post, “Fake Family” is going in my all-time-favorites list!!)
It’s supposed to get wintry later this week, so I have piles of coats and mittens and hats to wash and size for my kiddos. I know the boychild is in need of a real coat for a northern winter, so that’s on my list of items to acquire. (Dressing a toddler boy for Minnesota winter? Hilarious concept.)
New day, new week, new mercies. An overarching grace that I am very, VERY thankful for.
