Tuesday, February 28, 2012

.morning snapshots.

- When Rosie, my 2-year-old, wants to read "Guess How Much I Love You," she does not even try to say the title.  She tries to ask to read "Nutbrown Hare."  But it comes out like this: "Mommy, wead Bwown Haven?"  I love it.  Brown Haven.

- Rosie is the type to wake up as the little butterfly that she is, and immediately start socializing.  My 1-year-old, Piper, on the other hand...well.  She wakes up and, after her initial ear-piercing shrieks to let us know she's ready to be retrieved from her room...she goes silent.  Until after she's had several cups of juice and breakfast.  She will smile and be happy to see us...but only Daddy rates any squeals before breakfast.  The only word she will say before breakfast is "Uh-oh," and this is only employed if she drops her baby doll or her pacifier.  No words, no games, no giggles - until after breakfast.  A girl's gotta have some priorities.

- Note: Rosie and Piper are not their real names.  I've changed them for privacy's sake.  But I liked the idea of doing bird names for our kiddos on the blog, so Rosie and Piper are short for "Rosefinch" and "Sandpiper."  And they really fit the personalities surprisingly well.  ;)

Monday, February 27, 2012

In Which I Am Disorganized, Shop, Stress, and Laugh

So the sun came out and it's not a cloudy day after all. It's actually warm and glorious and spring came back again. I'm sure that's why the birds were singing so much – they knew winter was faking us out. Again.

It's actually been a rather disappointing winter, in that it's been entirely too warm even to light a fire on the long winter's nights. But the days are getting longer now and the weather is only getting warmer, so I'm giving up on winter and going ahead and getting in the spirit of springtime.

Of course, we could still have a blizzard in March. It wouldn't really be surprising, and definitely not unheard of. You just never know around here.

But as for my list of things-to-do. Well. We went shopping. And that is all we've done so far. The kitchen is a mess, and the kitchen table is absolutely covered with...stuff. I don't know where Stuff comes from, but it is always showing back up just when I think I'd conquered it. I have trouble believing the sheer amount of Stuff that ends up piled on the table.

All of you organized people out there...my hat is off to you. Except that I never wear hats. But really...I admire you. Immensely. When I get hit with Stuff, I can never seem to figure out what to do with it in just seconds, because there isn't a really satisfactory Place to put most of it. So I put it in piles that are as neat as possible. Because, really, if I file away coupons for free dishes at restaurants, I will never remember that I have them. Of course, when they get buried under new magazines, catalogs, and ads for Events that I want to Remember...well...they kind of get forgotten anyway. Until three weeks later when I get sick of the piles and go on a cleaning frenzy and discover – oh, yeah – I could have gotten two free dishes at the new Mexican restaurant. Too bad they expired yesterday.

That's life as a disorganized person who desperately wants to be organized, because I'm not good at being disorganized. It doesn't seem to inconvenience some people. It really flummoxes me. But my brain is surprisingly not wired when it comes to simple concepts like: where is the best place to put this flier about the new nature center that I want to remember to go visit soon, and what to do with journals that I'm wanting to remember to actually write in...because for me, if it's out of sight, it's out of mind.

Perhaps I should convert one entire wall into a giant bulletin board. That might do the trick. And it would be really, really ugly. But I still couldn't pin a journal to a pinboard. I would probably stick it in a basket, and of course we all know how that would turn out. I'd never see it again. At least, not until the basket overflowed with Things To Be Sorted and I had to clean it out again.

But, disorganization aside, we had a lovely time. In spite of the fact that, invariably, when I am in the middle of loading or unloading the two littles from their carseats, the cars parked on either side of me immediately begin to buzz with activity. Seriously. I came out of a store with my one little find – yes, I talked myself out of some over-priced Easter dresses for the girls and was feeling victorious – and began to load up my eldest. Immediately, the people belonging to the cars on either side of me showed up. The parking lot was not that busy. Just the two cars on either side of me. Yes. I think the odds are curious, too and was pretty sure I was flunking some kind of Stress Test. The Lord sends me a lot of those and I continually flunk them. When will I ever figure out to just calm down? Breathe, honey. It's okay. Really.

But there I was, panicking a bit inside as I realized that I was surrounded by people wanting to leave and who were probably not a bit happy to find me there holding up the works. The man on the left side just looked at me like, “You do realize that I am about to back this car out whether you are finished getting her in or not.” And I did, in fact, realize that, and was already clearing out of his way to go put my youngest in on the other side.

At which opportune moment the lady parked on that very side showed up. She was trying to be polite and waited quietly. This made me even more nervous so I just halfway buckled Baby and backed out of the way, telling her to go ahead.

“Oh, no,” she said very sweetly, “That is fine.”

It was nice and all, but I knew that I still had to finish buckling, tighten the straps (which never goes as quickly as it ought to) and unclip and reclip the pacifier holder. This is fine when no one is waiting on you, but it was stressing me out having to do it with someone standing there waiting for me to finish so they could get on with their Entire Day. Oh, and I never love having someone standing there staring at me while I'm bent over. It's just not the most dignified position to be caught in for extended periods of time.

I was very rattled by the whole thing when I was finally out of everyone's way. But then, of course, at our next store – wouldn't you know it? Right when I came out and started loading my baby up in her carseat, someone pulled up and decided that, of the 20 empty parking spaces surrounding us, they wanted That One. The one right next to me, where I stood trying to load my baby up.

So I frantically got out of the way again, this time to avoid having me or my babies run over by the person in question. I was angry. I probably showed it. But thankfully, since I'm shy, I didn't have enough nerve to say anything. In this case, this was a good thing. I usually mutter to myself when I'm upset, but I am learning that this is Not Okay. It's not okay whether anyone's listening or not, but it's especially Not Okay when you have children listening to you sharing your bad attitude with them. It's excellent accountability. Had I muttered, “That person is selfish and rude,” my 2-year-old would have shrieked, “That puhson SALFISH? WOOD??? Dat BAD lady!!!” And it would have been extremely awkward. I am learning a great deal about self control already, and that's a good thing. If only I could learn how to control my facial expressions a bit more. I'm pretty sure I looked like a thundercloud. I tried to hide my face so the offending woman would not see. It wouldn't have accomplished anything.

Anyway, those kinds of things stress me out, but it was otherwise a very nice shopping trip. I found a few springish things to wear. I am never the same size for more than a few weeks at a time, these days. I'll take it. It's for an excellent cause. And no, in case you're wondering, I'm not growing. I am still shrinking. ;)

I melted when I put on a very pretty cardigan with a very pretty skirt, and my 2-year-old looked at me in the mirror and froze, smiling. “Oooooooh,” she whispered. “Pretty Mommy.” I was so touched, even though the skirt actually looked absolutely dreadful on me. It was a beautiful skirt, and she was appreciating that. So I kept the cardigan and got rid of the skirt.

A few minutes later, I tried on a shirt that I was not quite sure about. Jokingly, I asked my big girl about it.

She crinkled up her nose and cocked her head to one side. “Ummmmm...” she had a very definite Now-How-Do-I-Put-This-Delicately look on her face. “Ummm...it's not very bad, Mommy.”

“What?” I squealed, trying not to laugh.

She looked sorrowfully at me, with eyes insisting that I-Cannot-Tell-A-Lie, and whispered sadly, “Umm...it not very bad, Mommy. I no like it.”

This from a two-year-old. I started howling with laughter and she looked extremely relieved that I was taking the bad news so well. I assured her that I didn't much like it either, and put it away. I love the honesty. I love that we're starting to have these little conversations. It is all so. Stinkin'. Sweet.

:)

What else I love:

Standing outside the shop looking at the $2 rack and watching my big girl out of the corner of my eye as she stomped up to a springish-clad dress form and shouted, “Whatcha doin' there, you boy?”

Me: Trying not to snort too loudly

She: “Come on, boy! Dat's a BAD thing ta do. You never not never not do dat AGAIN. Now. Dat's bettah. You ah such a clevah boy.”

She sighed deeply.

“Buzz Lightyear...” she still seemed to be addressing the dress form, her volume rising with each word. “You. Ah. A. TOY!!!!”

I'm lovin' it. Only a 2-year-old could pull quotes from Winnie-the-Pooh, Toy Story 2, and Veggie Tales, and weave it all into one surprisingly entertaining monologue.

So many gifts, my friends, so many gifts. If I'd stopped to count them while I was stressing about being parked around, perhaps I would have stressed less?

Beautiful afternoon. Blue skies, glorious warmth.

Dishes to wash. I'd better go.

As The Birds Sing...

So Monday comes around again, and this time wearing gray. Gray skies, solid gray, spanning the horizons, stretched across barren gray tree trunks spreading their gray fingers against the clouds above. Slate gray roof, hanging over the black grill shimmering gray in the damp. Gray decking. Yes, we have a gray deck. It was there from before. Personally, we both would have chosen something with more true-wood coloring. But there it is, gray. Gray, gray, gray, under the gray grill and the gray roof and the gray, naked trees touching the gray, clouded sky.

It's not the cheeriest looking day.

And yet, from the barren treetops, birds are singing. Caroling. Praising. Rejoicing with joyous abandon. I fling open the kitchen window to let the joy inside, with reckless disregard for allergies or the cool air. It's only for a few minutes. I'm soaking in the sound of little created beings who do not care that the sun is covered today. Who do not care that the beautiful spring weather was halted in its tracks by an actually seasonal snap of cold air. They are not complaining. They are singing even more than ever.

And, perhaps, that is the best time to sing, in a way. When our expectations have been met, it is easy. But when they have not been met...that is the hard thanks. And that is the time when our souls need it most.  Need most to be reminded of how much we have to be thankful for, and so how much reason we have to rejoice greatly.

May I remember to sing praises – if not aloud, then at least in my heart; if not singing, at least whispering thanks – all day. Even if expectations for the day are not met. Even if my grandiose plans of hand-washing all of the dishes (owing to a certain broken dishwasher) and doing several loads of laundry and tagging clothes for a consignment sale and going out to run some errands with the girls all fall by the wayside.  They probably won't all be met, for it's an ambitious list.  Even if it is yet another day of snuffly noses needing wiping and little souls hungry for cuddles and book-reading and just sitting still and being together. Some days need to be like that. And it is okay if my house looks like a warzone temporarily because my children needed some extra doses of loving to chase the sniffles away.

I will probably have trouble remembering this when I am in the middle of trying to do laundry and have my little 1-year-old tugging on my pants leg, blowing bubbles from her poor little nose and sobbing “Maaaaaa! Maaaaaa!” and rather than getting frustrated...to remember how grateful I am and how good it is that I have a little one there to want me and need me.  It's good to be wanted. It's good to be needed. It also gets tiring – especially when I feel so tired most of the time anyway. But I think of Jesus, so tired that He fell asleep in a ship tossed by raging seas. And he did not rebuke the disciples or get angry or roll His eyes when they woke Him, frightened, needy. He rose and drove their fears away – attended to their needs – didn't tell them to leave Him alone because He needed some Me Time. He did not rebuke the multitudes who followed Him everywhere, needing Him, never letting Him be alone. He looked on them with pity and served, and served, and served.

May I serve and serve and serve today. I had attitude trouble with the whole Being Needed Constantly thing last week. May I remember these things this week, and may this be a week of grace. At the moment things look promising. Everyone is peaceful and serene and we are having a cozy, snuggly, at-home kind of day with lots of sweet little conversations with my 2-year-old. We are talking about how God made the birds and how beautiful their songs are, and we are dressing teddy bears from Mimi in different little outfits, and we are talking about how Jesus is good all the time and wouldn't it be nice to be good all the time, like He is? My 1-year-old is sleeping surprisingly late, which promises great things for a happy day ahead for her. But it might not pan out to my expectations. What promises to be a sunshiney day may turn cloudy when you least expect it. And my response is usually to pout and whimper and complain at my unmet expectations. As if I had some right to the day turning out like I wanted it to.

I hear little whimpers coming from the back. I am needed again. Being a mommy brings so much reward, and at the same time requires so much giving, giving, giving. And yet, how can I hope to help my children learn thankfulness if I do not show it first? If I do not meet my baby's expectations, she wails. This messes up my expectations, so then I wail, too. We're really not that different. I just think I'm all grown-up and mature. And yet here I am, still struggling to learn the same lessons I am trying to teach her. I am grateful for the Lord's grace to me when I fail to learn things for the 100th time. May I show grace to my little ones when they are needy yet again, because that is what I would want from my Jesus. And that is what He gives. Grace, abundantly. Grace, even when my expectations are not met. Grace, even when a sunny sky turns cloudy.

Grace to sing.

Outside, the chorus has only continued to crescendo as I write. Rising, rising, louder and more joyful. It's a cacophony of praise. May my words and my life and my attitude today, add to the noise another note of praise. May I bring the sunshine in with my thankfulness, even if my day doesn't go as planned. Days often don't go as planned when you're a mommy, I'm learning. But every day as a mommy is such a precious gift. These children such jewels. It is good to be needed constantly. It may be hard on the days when I feel that I have nothing to give, but it is good.

The gray skies fill with little birds flitting from tree to tree, singing joy into our hearts.

“Mommy,” says my 2-year-old, “I lub boords.”

“I love them, too, sweetie,” I smile into her shining blue eyes. To her, every day is beautiful and sunshiney, because she sees everything with eyes of wonder. May I take that wonder in my heart with me today, and never lose the wonder of being a Mommy. Of being forgiven. Of being Christ's.

I have every reason in the world to sing.

Gifts today, and it's not even 10:00:

~ Bird's songs piercing the morning air with joy
~ Wonder in my eldest's eyes as she looks out the window
~ Whispers of, “I lub you, Mommy.”
~ Hugs from my youngest
~ Tottering, joyful first steps
~ Little lisping lips saying, “God made de boords.”
~ Baby giggles and kisses and hugs


May you have a blessed Monday and a grace-filled week, my friends.