top 10 from this week

Top Ten Highlights from my week.

1.  Running out of Drugtown* with a loaf of bread for pb & j and running into Janice, who works for MFD; she gave me this to replay all.week.long: "Hey you look like you've lost weight! You look great!"  I love you Janice!!

*PS Drugtown refers to a drugstore.  My family always freaks out when I say that I ran to Drugtown.  They think we could come up with a less-ominous sounding name.  It's true, we could.

2. Vying for second place is the Robin Mark worship concert we were able to go to share in. I am always so overwhelmed by the way his music moves his listeners to worship Jesus.  Definite favorite from this concert was the song that follows.  Daniel reached over and squeezed my shoulder hard as Robin Mark sang about some only stay for a brief passing moment; and my whole soul just bursts as I listen to all the claims of Jesus that I believe.  Awe-inspiring worship. 


The concert had some funny moments involving some flag-waving audience members (you gotta love us Christians and our semi-weird sub-cultures) that had us googling Tim Hawkins when we got home. If it weren't for the sheer logistical impossibility, I would think that the worship javelin part came directly from Thursday night.


*and for those wondering. . . I'm from that genre of people who need the hand raising lessons, so this is hysterical to me.  I just.can't.unglue.my hands from my sides.

3. Three whole days with Aunt E, Kamie & Blake.  We crammed a ton of sister/cousin time in!

4. Last Love & Respect class.  Totally teared up listening to each one share what God has taught them.  Super special summer group.

5. Witnessing the awesomeness that is Loren. . . seriously, she has to steal all the fun mom awards.  Jace's bd party: Drive in movie theater (they built each child a car out of boxes) in the back yard. So so so cute.  She even gave them dollar bills  for concessions.  Mmm. . . our kids are so blessed to have Pastor Jake and Loren in their lives. 

6. Reading this hilariously funny book on parenting. 

It's very very secular but I am fascinated by how many Biblical principles are woven throughout the book; God so knows what He's doing.  Pamela Druckerman is a gifted writer and I feel like I get to visit Paris in between the rest of the things I have going on this week.

7. We got our Chick-Fil-A on:

oh yeah.



8. I'm sorry, but this whole chalkboard paint thing. . . is this to 2012 what orange shag carpet was to 1972? I can't change. I love it. I want it everywhere.

9.  And doesn't this just look like something worth blowing your diet for?!

I saw it on pinterest last week and just had to try it out. I don't make cakes- they always flop for me- but this one looked worth risking failure again.  I even had to go buy layer cake pans.  Anyway, the Domestic Rebel's (what kind of name is that, anyway?) recipe was way too complicated, and though I'm not a domestic rebel, I shortened this up a lot. 

Yellow cake mix, according to package directions + stir in one pkg. vanilla pudding

Bake in two round layer cake pans.

Cool.

Mix cookie dough filling:

1 stick butter

1/2 c. brown sugar

1 t. vanilla

1 c. flour

3 T. milk

1/2 c. mini chocolate chips

*{this is the topping for Deeann's infamous cookie dough brownies- credit where credit is due}

I pressed the cookie dough into waxed paper lined round cake pan and then flopped it on top of layer #1, topped with layer #2 and then frosted.

Frosting:

1 can cream cheese frosting

3 T. brown sugar

2 T. flour

1/4 cup mini chocolate chips, for sprinkling

Mix well and spread onto cake. Top with chocolate chips.

So I think this will be good.  Each individual component has been delish, but I haven't sampled a whole piece yet.  It's chilling in the fridge, waiting for Sunday dinner. 

10. Totally rocked my school planning prep. There's this little thing called Form A that you have to fill out and turn into your school district as well as each students course of study for the year.  It's a little daunting but since I planned everything in APRIL  it took me about ten minutes to do the paperwork.  I am not bragging.  It is not bragging when a normally disorganized person has a small moment of organizational triumph. You just sort of bask in it, feeling calm and wondering if this is the way organized people feel all the time.  You do this until something clatters out of the cupboard because you stuffed it there (while you were planning the school stuff in April).

Happy Weekend!



25,000 graves & 10,000 reasons

You would think by looking at the little brick building with it's steep roof and swooping covered drive that it was from a fairy tale. . . 

The covered drive breaks away to cobblestones and then asphalt,  lined with trees, magnificent grandfather trees, strong, old, wise, shading the path that sharply rises.

At the crest of the hill, up through that  tree-canopied drive, is my little man's resting place.

And that's why we're in the little brick building, which isn't a fairy tale at all.  It's hot and stuffy and lined with monuments and markers and urns.  Daniel and I are seated in 1970's era squeaky chairs with papers spread on the Formica table.  Polly, the lady helping us design Gabe's stone is new to our ideas.  She isn't familiar with substituting different fonts.  She wants to add clip art.  We don't want clip art.  She seems relieved to answer the phone and her associate begins to small talk.

Twenty-five thousand people buried out there, he begins, waving his arm in the general direction of the tree lined drive and we're quite aware that he is just referring to the size of the cemetery. . . but my baby is numbered there now. 

Maybe thirty thousand.

Maybe I hate death.

Maybe I never wanted to drive through cemeteries trying to pick a spot to bury our son.

Maybe I'd rather be anywhere but here in your office.

I think back to the days of wanting to scream at the unthinking comments of well-meaning people.  I did scream. 

Two weeks after Gabe's death Daniel asked me if I was going to stop crying.  I remember being incoherent, retching, wailing, screaming the grief out at him. . . I want my babyyyyyyyyy. . . . .

He didn't know.  He was just scared, too, unsure, life spun out of control and searching desperately for mooring.  He wasn't finding any stability in me.

I bring myself  back to the present, a startling new concept for me. The Hayley of a year ago didn't have the strength to overcome insensitive words. This is a new Hayley, a different one.  Mr. Cemetery Man (Tom? Ted?) is rambling on about how they do rubbings of grave markers all the time. 

We finalize a bunch of details and write a check for an enormous sum that still doesn't feel like enough and then we leave and I feel spent and wasted.

There won't be Cubbies, swimming lessons, drivers ed or football. No snow-shoveling businesses, no camping trips, no first car, no graduation parties, no wedding plans.

I feel like this is the last thing I get to plan for my little man.

Yay!  We get to plan a grave stone!

Oh, I'd so much rather plan little boy stuff right now. . .



My friend Loren asks me how I'm doing and I tell her that I'm fine.

I tell her that I think I'm just stuffing the grief away because life is so good right now and the grief. . . two years of it. . .was so very dark.

It was, frankly, a nightmare.

I've reached the point in my grieving that it feels like reopening a deep wound to go back to the grief, the loss. 

It took so much time.  It was exhausting.  It was sleepless night upon sleepless night.  It was so dark.  I cry just thinking about the darkness. 

And now it's different.  I don't know exactly at what point it changed, but now I have the ability to cope, to laugh, to sleep, to smile about Gabe.

This is freeing.

It is not fun to be the people with red rimmed eyes.

It is not fun to be the drain on your friends and family.

It is not fun to be broken and needy.

But the grief didn't really go away, it just sinks below the surface, and the calm, apparently still waters of life hold so much deep pain.

On Mother's Day this year. . . that's the last time I broke down and wept for everything that could have been.

That was . . .well, two months ago.  Initially I never imagined being able to go a day without the screaming, burning pain being eased by tears.  But even in the tears of today, the calmer, gentler tears, there is a different sort of grief.

On Mother's Day. . .  Cambria (with much help from my sister Elizabeth) brings me breakfast in bed at 6:30 am.  I am thinking about Mother's Day two years ago and our happy little family, untouched by loss.  Gabe "wrote" me a mother's day card too, and I still have it, treasured. We ate at Las Lomas and he nibbled on beans and rice.  Details that would normally be forgotten are seared in my brain because it's all I have left of him. One week away will mark two years without Gabe and the grief is mixed up with Eli's laughter and the music playing. . .

The sun comes up

It's a new day dawning

It's time to sing Your song again

Whatever may pass and whatever lies before me

Let me be singing when the evening comes

The tears spill over and I weep for all of the pain and the growing and the changing and I cry because God is still so good.

I cry for the weariness that comes from "fighting the lies of the economy of deficit."  I cry for the simple trust that is broken and will never return, because I found out that life was cruel and earth is not my home not by being told, but by finding my little son asleep forever in his safe little bed.

That cruelty, that brokenness, that's not a reflection of God.

Those twenty-five thousand graves (or thirty) - that's not about God, that's about sin.

He is not okay with all of this pain.

He is not sitting in the Heavens watching suffering, cold and unmoving.

He is the only way out.

He is the only reprieve from the suffering.

You're rich in love and You're slow to anger

Your name is great and Your heart is kind

For all Your goodness I will keep on singing

Ten thousand reasons for my heart to find

So I while I weep for the 25,000 graves (mostly just one), I look for the 10,000 reasons that His heart is kind.



Well, it's not tidy and it's not neat, but there's the grief post for the summer. 

bath(f)room talks

{after the ladies room. . .}

***TMI ahead, proceed with caution.







So I do believe that I fry my brain cells on a daily basis with these conversations. 

Sometimes they drive me to Web MD, sometimes to tears, sometimes to laughter.

Cambria: I can't go to the baffroom, it feels like a pin.

What the what?

Jacob: Cambria, you may be constipated. {This is a classic Jacob comment}

Cambria proceeds to conversationally chat about her lack of bathroom progress throughout the day.

I suggest drinking water, my cure all for everything from scratches to smashed toes.

At about 4 pm, we are in Barnes and Noble, headed to baby Blake's shower and after a two hour drive and McD's sweet tea, I  need the restroom. 

If you would have been in B&N ladies powder room, you would have heard the following:

Mom, wow, I never thought about this, you hafta have Eli with you when you go to the bathfroom!  Wow that's just really hard! 

{you have no idea my dear}

Me: Well, moms do hard things sometimes.

Cambria: Wow, Mom I'm going to the bathfroom!  Wow! 

Me:  That's good.

Cambria:  Well I had been noticing all day that I couldn't go to the bathfroom, and now I can!! *spoken with the same inflection and intensity you might imagine in a child announcing a trip to Disney*

Me: Good, Cambria, that's great.

Cambria:  Mom, isn't it nice that we can have our own, private word, just between you and me, for p**p, it's  go-to-da-bathfoom.  That's our own word so that we're polite.

Me:  Yes, that is so nice.  {oh i do love euphemisms. . . }

Blake Lee (my sister writes about home birth)

I read little Blake's birth story last week and just thought it was too cool not to share.

Edith (better known as Aunt E) is my sister and one of my best friends; we talk almost daily and she is such a special part of my life.  She's beautiful and funny and married to Bronz, her farmer husband and mom to two little farmer babies, Kamie and Blake.

I tell her that her life is like a happy Tim McGraw song with her big white farmhouse, hardworking man who loves her, cherry tree across the driveway and tractors and cows and cornfields.  


Enjoy!!

{and leave her some comment love :)  }

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go. ~ Joshua 1:9

“I can’t do it”

--that’s what I told Bronz when he suggested a home birth.  My reasoning being if something went wrong, I would blame him, and our marriage would fall apart or be forever ruined by bitterness.  He didn’t necessarily agree, but listened, and consented.  Then God started working… Showing me that not only was I not trusting Bronz, but I really wasn’t trusting Him.  Did I trust God to take care of me, baby, and our marriage?  Could I take the risk?  Not meaning that home birth is a more ‘spiritual’ option, just that in my case it happened to be a trusting God issue.  After about a week, I brought it up to Bronz and agreed to plan on finding a midwife. 

Enter Homebirthisphere

“I don’t fit”

--I really don’t know how many times I whined that.  But really this home birth group was a subculture I’m familiar with, but they aren’t ‘me’. I like coffee and chocolate and cold cereal and nutella and….  First visit with midwife had her going over what I had eaten the day before, her face lit up when she saw pistachio dessert… “Oh pistachio’s!”  Umm… keep reading. 

I started reading blogs – cloth diapering, baby wearing, co-sleeping… (In which all kids sleep in bed with mom while dad is relegated to couch) mentally going –scratch- scratch- scratch

So I figured that I couldn’t possibly be the only reluctant homebirther out there.  Surely the world wide web had someone like me, whose husband had cajoled them into trying it “just once”… So I googled… And found… Nothing. Zip. Nada. There was quite a bit on convincing your husband – not my issue, including one lady who was willing to divorce her husband over the issue.  Now that’s taking it to a new level.

Then there was the fact that I was extremely phobic (if that’s a word—if not, you get the picture) about what everyone else must think.  Because if I thought we were borderline crazy everyone else must think we actually were.  

So yeah, I gave it to God, and gave it, and took it back… and gave it again.  And cried on the phone to my sisters… and played the martyr with Bronz… And gave it back to God.  Just being honest here.

When I am afraid, I put my trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I shall not be afraid. What can flesh do to me? ~Psalm 56:3-4

Through it all God showed me that he held our future in his hands…

We had an extremely emotionally tough winter, with bizarre family issues happening weekly if not daily.  Things I never, ever would have dreamed we would go through.  Midnight phone calls, police, hospitals, court dates.  The court dates were the worst, I would feel contractions, and know I couldn’t do anything about it, and pray that God would watch over our baby.  I didn’t have the option to stay home, as there was another innocent involved.  God protected.  God would still have been good had I miscarried… Yet instead he allowed me to be pushed right to the edge and held me through those rough months.

Finally a week before my due date a friend and I were driving home, and hit a deer, I watched it fly up and thought it was going to land on my windshield.  Instead he did a flip off to the side, but smashed in the friends hood pretty good.  The odd thing was that the airbags never went off. $3000 worth of damage, dead center of car, and no airbags… While the baby probably would have been okay, it certainly couldn’t have been good to have it be hit by the airbags.  It could have been coincidence, but it felt like God was showing me that He could take care of everything.

Be still & know that I am God.

Baby Birth Day

After labor started and stopped the day before… And I had felt all the nausea early labor signs, I really didn’t think I would go into labor on Saturday since I felt so terrific.  So I planned to go on a picnic after church on Sunday and called a Strawberry U-Pick-Em Farm to make sure they were open.  I cuddled with Kamie and happened to fall asleep for two hours.  I woke up at 4:45 and had a contraction, 15 minutes later another one, then they started coming every 2-3 minutes with strong ones being about 8 minutes apart.  I called Bronz who was working on fence out in our pasture and told him that I was having contractions for twenty minutes.  After another 20 minutes I called our midwife who was camping  and was going to be at least 2 ½ hours out.  I didn’t want her to have to drive over here if it was a false alarm, but then I really didn’t want an unassisted birth either!  I got my family team to come over and pick up Kamie. – Who was busy using my distraction to dump out birth supplies and fill the toilet full of tp.   Now I’m an extrovert, but when it comes to labor, I get very quiet, and have to concentrate… So I kept thinking that I had all these people I wanted praying and just couldn’t call them.  I called a doula friend… She had put me in touch with my midwives, and so I thought I would do her a favor and let her observe a birth. I’m funny about who I want around me, they have to either know me so good that I won’t feel dumb, or need to live up to their expectations –or- not know me well enough that it really doesn’t matter.  Tracy fit into the not know me very well category.  Was I in for a treat, she was closer than the midwives so got here first and was so amazing, calming, supporting.  Bronz and I were so thankful that we had her with us.  About  8:30 I got in our whirlpool tub, and just loved the water. Bronz was showering and getting last minute details done. 

Midwives arrived at 9:00, and helped Bronz fill up the birthing pool – which was really cool.  They said I could deliver in the tub, but I wanted to have the option of the bigger space and Bronz to be able to get in and support me. 

Around 9:30 my midwife examined me and said I was at 6 but could go really fast.  Then they told me that they really wanted me to walk around and maybe do some stairs.  Bronz was still filling up the pool, so I waited till he was done, cuz I knew I would need his support to get through any harder contractions. 

Sure enough I stood up walked into the next room, had about two contractions and went into transition. I promptly laid down on the floor. I remember hearing Keith Green & The Imperials playing in the background and thinking that I really was feeling like a little more calming music… That, and why did Eve have to mess up and give us all this pain in childbirth thing.  The assistant midwife told me I should get into the tub. I did and the contractions immediately became more manageable.  My Mom came in and asked if the water slowed labor, I figured it did and didn’t really care.  Midwife shrugged, then asked me if I felt like pushing.  Two contractions later and I did.

Blake was a big boy and it took about ½ an hour to get him out. I didn’t have any desire to deliver the baby myself, or even have Bronz do it.  But when it came down to it, being able to feel progress as I went through the incredibly painful part was fantastic.  When he slid out and they untangled him from the cord (Around his neck, arm and leg!) and I lifted him out of the water… That was the most amazing experience ever, laughing, crying, praising and thanking God.  

About that time my supportive husband almost passed out…Which created a small crisis in which everyone tried to get him off the side of the birth tub so that he wouldn’t fall in. (Now that’s a new risk to homebirthing!)  He was so embarrassed. “I pulled a calf last week!” (The difference my dear, is that I am not a cow.)

I like to be clean and reasonably pain free before cuddling in, so Bronz had the first hour to hold Blake and rub the vernix in.  I guess my Dad showed up for a peek at his grandson. This is getting to be quite routine for him, not only is Blake the 11^th grandchild, but his fifth grandson born in ten months.  That’s what happens when you raise eight kids, and pass on a love and awe for life.

Then it was my turn, and I think I’ve pretty well hogged him ever since!  So amazing, incredible. What a gift.  Having such an emotionally difficult pregnancy deepened the joy of the baby. 

So, Mr. Blake Lee

All nine and a half pounds, twenty –two and a half inches of you,

God can care for the sparrows, he has taken care of you. 

And your mama can’t wait to see what He has planned for your future.

Love you

Postscript

My recovery has been amazing.  Totally different than Kamie’s, but then I’ve been drinking this raspberry leaf tea with nettle and alfalfa, and taking liquid kelp. Oh, and comfrey tea in my bathwater, and I have seaweed sitting around.  I even eat spinach if I make it into a green drink.  Still not using cloth diapers, and Blake has slept in his cradle two whole nights.  Maybe I need to set up a natural mama blog… after I finish my coffee.

 The verses used were ones I looked up before a court date, when I literally didn’t didn’t know how I could pull through. I printed off multiple copies, and hung on to them for the next couple of months. 

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters.

He restores my soul.

He leads me in paths of righteousness

for his name's sake.

(Psalm 23:1-3 ESV)

Sweet Corn & Aunt E

Well at the begging of my children, I stopped at a stand and bought sweet corn tonight.

Cambria:  '"Mom, pllleeeeese can we get sour corn.  Or whatever it's called."

It is roasting hot here; they didn't care.  I thought a dozen would be enough for us since Daniel is gone, but . . . Eli and I had to share one ear.

Apparently we're fans of corn.

*   *   *

Super special treat in the works for you. . . my sister  (known as Aunt E around here) is posting on how she ended up having a home birth. 

Edith's beautiful and funny and lives on a farm with her farmer husband, Bronz and their two little farm babies, Kamie and Blake.

I think her life is like a happy Tim McGraw song.  She's got her big white farmhouse and her gravel road and cherry tree across the driveway, tractors and cows and a hardworking man who loves her.

And she's super brave.

Find out more later.  :)

and I am not angry

I am slapping on sunscreen

starting the dishwasher

answering phone calls

cleaning up bedding from my overnighters

dashing out the door to early morning swimming lessons

My kids are ready (remember when you were a kid and didn't have a blessed thing to do?), shouting from the van in good natured tones:

Mom, we're going to be late!

I feel that squeezing, burning frustration rise in me.  It doesn't matter that I've been up since the crack of dawn, I still have people shouting that I'm late!

I am ready. I grab Eli.  Oh, he needs to be changed.  I walk run over to my diaper bag and start digging in it for the necessary paraphanalia.  But before I can get to that stsuff, I have to remove my favorite Bible, a beat up leather NIV, from the top.

I recognize the irony of my priorities as I dump God's Word on the table and I stop.

Lord. . . I don't have time to sit down and study today.  It's going to be a flip-open-and-read-the-first-verse-my-eyes-land-on kind of day, but I really do want to hear from You.  You're important to me.

Standing, still holding my (admittedly peeeuuuuueeee) son, ignoring the calls of my human event reminders, I open my Bible to Isaiah 27 and start reading at verse 2:

In that day --

Sing about a fruitful vineyard:

I, the Lord, watch over it;

like I watch over my kids

I water it continually

hear, hear

I guard it day and night

2 am mommy calls

so that no one may harm it

always with their best interest in mind.

Yes, Lord, this is how I feel!  You do this, too?  This continual care for needy ones? And You sing about it?

I let this thought wash over me and then let my eyes scan to the next line. 

Thunder from Heaven for Hayley on a Monday morning:

I am not angry.

He does all of this care, this protecting, this loving guardianship. . . and He is not angry.  I feel enlightened and amazed at how much I needed this encouragement from God. 

I continue the continuum. . .

I am not angry.

He is not angry.

He is not exasperated.

He is not faint and weary.

He is God and He has every right to be angry with these ungrateful beings He calls children. 

But He is not. 

And I am so thankful.

May I pass on the grace and lack of anger to my children.

why i don't need a bigger house

This week finds me making daily trips to the grocery store to replenish my refrigerator and feed work crews, small groups, children, company, lunch dates and friends.

I should keep a running stat on how much cold cereal has been consumed at this house in the last several weeks. . . (wow, do twenty year old guys eat a lot).

What am I learning these days?  I am learning about contentment and creativity. 

My inner American house-glutton constantly desires more. 

Early this year I started praying that God would change our housing situation in order to allow us to minister more effectively. Looking at this thought in black and white words, typed out, it looks like what it is: discontentment cloaked in spiritual needs. 

Cuz see, I wanna have people over and have a little guest suite that they can stay in and stock a fridge in their room. So they're comfortable.   I want their children be able to play in a huge playroom inside when it's raining so that there's relative peace for the adults to talk.  For fellowship.  And definitely I would like a school room so that my kids can learn in a less distracted environment .  For education.

So aren't those valid concerns? 

Well, sort of.

And sort of not.

I watched, a little amazed, as we somehow ended up hosting a small group with thirteen members who do fit into our living room.  The childcare (I was sure this one would stump God) was provided and besides moving some furniture around each week. . . it's really easy to prepare for.

I feel a bit like an observer in my own home watching God work out details that I thought I needed a bigger house to solve.

And this work crew thing.  Some brothers, some friends. . .  sending them all to a hotel was tempting for me.  It's a lot of work.  And laundry.

But then my children would miss moments like these:

It's good, in our fragmented, broken society, to slow down a little, to live a little smaller, to wait our turn to use the restroom, to crowd around a dining room table, to do life with one another.

I know better than to believe that things=happiness, but I live a hypocritical lie when I say that house=hospitality.  It doesn't. 

Hospitality is your heart open to your neighbor, hospitality is an attitude, a generosity, a sharing what I have with you.

**I haven't been able to get Lisa Chan's words on humility and hospitality out of my head. This is a great, quick little listen:  Be inspired to share what you have, no matter how small!

just a little spiderwebbing. . .

Getting to the point in conversations is not a strength for me.

Humbling moment # 256 of the year 2011 was sitting in grief counseling and hearing the great woman working with us turn to Daniel and say, wow. . . she does use a lot of words! I vowed to shut up for good. It lasted about two hours.

I am pretty thankful that I have sisters and girlfriends to share the juicy rambling daily details of life.

One thing I need to be reminded of every single time we go through Love & Respect is how mind boggling this girl-trait of spider webbing is to men.  They want the point of the story first, apparently.  Seems so boring. . .

But Daniel gets so excited when I can whittle down my words and just get to the point.

I love that Dr. Eggerichs points out that given long enough, we can tie all of our anecdotes together;  it is one beautiful story, a picture, a painting in our minds.  This is so clear in my mind, but according to my husband, it comes out in a very confusing manner.

See what you think:



Spiderwebbin' highlights:

Eli screeches if you take something that he wants:  blueberries, his mommy, coffeecake pan into the next room, walking away from the pool. . . so begins his tiny little sin nature. 

Cambria, today:  Dad is leaving for the pire fedartment.  UGH!  I mean fire department. (whispers correct pronunciation under breath about five times to get it right)

Jacob:  Thanks, Mom, for letting us watch Bunza. (Otherwise known as Bonanza.)

Cambria, waxing hypothetical: If someone is not good at tennis, they could just ask Jesus and He could just be the teacher; He'd make them really good at tennis. (We told her the way Jesus would want her to listen to her real teacher and try hard.)

Discovery today:  the kids used my Bath & Body Peach Bellini hand soap for their slip and slide. Die to self, Hayley.  They offered to pay.  I'll probably make them.

Hmm.  I'm thinking none of these little thoughts mesh.  Oh, well.  You can tie it all together and slap the mommy label on it for tonight.

i deleted instagram

Yes, I did.

First of all, let me say what I loved about it.

You know, those moments, when your heart just wants to explode with joy and you wish you'd always remember, like inked fingerprints and footsteps in wet concrete. . . instagram just saves the moment. 

I wanted to eat him up. . . in that lil cowboy hat. . .

so much work. . .the joy was palpable.  last day of school

6:30 am
Cambria brought me breakfast in bed on Mother's Day (with the help of Aunt Elizabeth)
They had Matt Redman's 10,000 reasons playing for me.
I laid in bed and cried for all the joy God has brought back.

small group meeting in our home this summer

he's bald.  hats look good on him.  what can i say?

first tornado warning of the year.  basement camp out

asked Cambria to pack her pj's in her backpack for an overnight at Grandma & Grandpa's
this is what she packed
(note the bug cage)
packing light. . . not so much

And I always have my phone, this appendage that grows off of my arm, that connects me and disconnects me from the world.  So Instagram was always at my fingertips. . . encouraging me to savor the moment, to document, to press my fingers in the ink.

I loved it.

And I am fascinated by it.

It's like a mini microcosm of our own lives, this Instagram phenomenon, this document it generation.

But tell me you haven't done this:

Oh I want to take a picture!

Oh that looks great except for my neighbor's yucky car is in the landscape of my cute baby.

Crop it out.

Reduce the frame.

Reshuffle the baby.

Re-take the picture.

Ahh.

There.

Perfect.

Perfect?


I see a steady stream of these perfect photos, these perfect little snapshots of life, these inkprints of what we choose to show the world of our hearts and homes.

I wonder if we're being a little unfair to each other.

On Monday evenings in June, a bunch of honest friends are reading and discussing this great little read on letting go of the masks that we wear.  As I read, I just keep coming back to this line:

". . .we. . .as women. . .have a responsibility not to create a competitive and hostile environment for [each other]"

Letting Go of Perfect, Amy Spiegel, page 29

And I can't get the Instagram mentality out of my head, this creating of little vignettes, this documenting perfection, this wanting a picture of a sweet child with hands outstretched in the rain.  But her hands aren't stretched right.  here, hold your hands a little higher. And now her face is turned down.  Lift your face up. And now she's frustrated.  Smile like you're having fun!  Suddenly the moment is lost and we're staging life, trying to create perfection out of frustrated children who were indeed having fun five minutes ago. 

Some of this can be easily attributed to my lack of photographic ability and there's nothing wrong with posing for pictures;  but when the very picture meant and designed to be a freezeframe of life becomes something that is prepped and propped then our perception of reality is becoming very skewed.

As I am challenged to create a real environment, to be a safe person, to be honest about the reality that is mine, I'm finding that for me, Instagram is a fake mask too easily ready to wear.

So I deleted the app. 

Ahh, the freedom of being real.

Let us draw near with a true heart. . .and. . .consider how we may motivate one another to love and good deeds. . .[and] encourage one another. from Hebrews 10:22,24,25

on substitutes for life

First of all let me just disclaimer that this is not my normal style of writing and blogging. 

But at this point of my summer if I don't start throwing something up here, there won't be any blog left. 

It's a good thing, I think, this whole blogging/internet connectivity.  There is no longer the feeling of "I'm the only one" because with the vast resources made available by search engines, you can find someone else who shares your joy, your sorrow, your unique circumstances.

This is wonderful when looking for help and answers to needs.

This is not wonderful when you need a hug.

There's no substitute for real life friends.

There are no substitutes for living life. 

For actually licking the ice cream cone.

Catching the lightening bug.

Having friends over to swim.

Kissing newborn fuzzy hair.

Oh but there are substitutes.  I know.  I do the substitutes.  And they're flat.  So much less joy than the hard work of the real thing.

Taking pictures of the kids with their cones. (missing actually eating with them)

Getting the video camera for the first lightning bugs. (missing sharing the joy)

Letting the kids call their friends. (missing the building of a real life relationship)

Scrolling through facebook pictures of the new baby. (missing the  skin, the smell, the drinking it all in)

I don't want to live in the substitute world. 

So we've been pretty busy living in the real one.

It has

messy relationships

pain

friends with endless therapy and Children's Hospital trips

hard work

small groups

van problems

fights about the van problems

spontaneous pizza ordering

park trips

fishing trips

meeting people where they are at

groceries

reading Old Yeller aloud

wonky sleep schedules for the kids = zero sleep for me (okay, I lied.)

(no, I didn't lie.  it FEELS like zero sleep)

Yesterday I carried a scratch piece of paper from my Bible study book over to the trash and scanned as I tossed it; my eyes fell on this line. . . hug your children as often as you feed them, their souls grow on love.

I turned around and immediately met Cambria who was coming to me with some complaint.  I ignored it and picked her up.  She threw her arms around my neck and buried her face in my shoulder.  I was shocked at the urgency and receptivity to my offered hug. *whispers* Mom, I need to spend time with you.

I want to feed their souls.  Not just write about feeding their souls.

In my mind there is this big teeter totter with writing about life on one side and living life on the other.  In my quest for balance, I continue to write because my own need for closure, for sanity, for an outlet drives me on. 

But even as I post this little picture of Jacob's first meal. . . I am mindful of the fact that there was just no substitute for being there.

Five hours of food prep. (whew.  I had no idea it would take him so long.  he meticulously prepared each item.)

That's some strawberry cheesecake mousse that he's preparing. 

Rushing around all flushed and sweaty; everyone shows up at the table.  "You guys are all here already?!" 

two hundred flies that suddenly decided to decsend

goblet shattering at the table

oh but it was real!



Happy Friday to you. . .

Enjoy some real life this weekend!

summer salad time

Menu for the week. . .

Chipotle Chicken Taco Salad & Watermelon & Mangoes

Thai Beef Wraps

Pizza Margherita English Muffin Pizzas (it's good to be flexible)

Jacob cooks

Spinach, Rice & Feta Salad & Grapes

Grilled Corn Salad

Cambria cooks



So I have to explain the JD and Cambria's cooking slots.

Jacob's Menu

This is another brilliant idea that is not original with me. The other night I was listening to my friend Pam explain how she lets her girls plan, shop and prepare an entire meal; they take turns on a weekly basis throughout the summer. 

I loved this idea.  Although I'm not a big fan of little boys doing tons of household chores, learning how to put together a meal is a life skill.  And besides, I pointed out to Jacob, Daniel cooks for his shift frequently.  A nice perk of being the engine driver.  :)

So today they planned their meals.  It was too cute. I was surprised how well their selections meshed and I actually am excited to eat their food!   Cambria couldn't make out her own list, but Jacob did and they went shopping and pushed their own cart. 

I think Cambria is just a little young for the idea, (she needed more coaching) but Jacob owned the whole idea and can't wait to cook his meal. 

At the very least, I think it may give them some appreciation for me!  wink wink

Speaking of appreciation. . .

I am coming off of over a week of vacation and eating out every.single.night and oh. . . it's so fun.

I always come home inspired, though and since I love to cook it's okay that vacation is over.

Plus I had this fun surprise today:

I love peas.  I bought some  sugar snaps at the grocery store today and gritted my teeth when I saw  how expensive they were; but my garden is just not going to win awards any time soon, so into my cart they went.  I was standing at the counter munching on them when my friend Becky knocked on the door bringing me a whole bag  from her mom's farm.

Oh wow, I was so excited.

In early June my mom would always make creamed peas over new potatoes.  We would pick peas out of our garden, shell them into bowls and dig new potatoes up out of the soil  I loved finding those tiny potatoes.  Like buried treasure.  So she would make a cream sauce for the peas and steam the new potatoes and ohhhh it was so yummy.

I ran out to the grocery store again and (the irony of buying this is not lost on me) picked up new potatoes so I could have this tonight:

Thank you thank you Becky!  :)

So what is on your summer menu?

adding ahhhhhhh to the dictionary

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh is the newest word I've added to my texting dictionary.

Over the last month, the word has embodied this emotion: i don't think i can handle one more thing on my plate!

But after a week spent doing stuff like this:

I'm renewed and refreshed and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh has a more stable, relaxed tone. 

As frenetic and crazy as life has become, I'm so happy to be back in our home.  It's where my heart is.

And I keep working on my porch, just so you know.

This is the June edition.

After a writing hiatus of over a month, I have all sorts of stuff to blog about.

why women see beauty in others and not themselves

less than finest hour parenting

love & respect

salad menus

book club

why i don't need a bigger house

& lots of little things like that.

For now, off to buy some Lunchables for Cambria's swim/lunch/pool date.

(I'll probably be back tonight.  Can't believe how much I missed blogging.  See  you at 11 pm.)

porch project & thank you

This week I decided to finally scrape our porch ceiling.  I've been living in denial and ignoring the hanging peels for about five years.

It was time.

I've been working on it in one to two hour increments because that's the way I roll these days.  Or I stay up late and work for a four hour period of time.  Anyway, it's all scraped and primed and ready to go.  Daniel gave me a hand and that's the reason for my progress.

Home improvement thrills me.  Seriously.

Before.  Notice I already have a Pinterest-approved porch ceiling fan.  Just had to remove a bird nest from it. ;)

So I want to go for this look:

rug
boston ferns
(which I've had every summer. . . from Lowe's. . .
because no matter what happens to your plant
if you take the container back to them they will replace it.
My kind of store.)
black planters

color pops
porch swing

real furniture outside
flowers
white white white

I'll keep you updated.

And the kids and I made these tonight:

I have this strange complex of justifying really unhealthy things by adding whole wheat flour.
I present:
Whole Wheat Cinnamon Raisin Pretzels

Really they are just these from Taste of Home.  With w/w flour.

Yum yum.  Lots of easy hands on steps and easy for kids to make.  They loved helping.  :)

A flurry of tornado sightings, sirens, weather alerts and phonecalls sent us all to the basement tonight.  If Daniel is here I never care but alone I want to error on the side of too safe; so down we trucked; toting pillows

and blankets

and water

diapers

wet wipes

flashlights

tennis shoes.

And down there in the basement I look at my little pile of self sufficient items and smile.  Really?  This will keep my babies safe and protected? 

Mmmm. . . no, I know better.  The power of these storms could sweep us away.  But I trust a God bigger.  The awfulness of losing a child has given me a strange confidence and peace when I am faced with fear and worry.

He will carry and He will provide. 

And in the back of my mind I always remember that one of my children is already safe.

We came upstairs and knelt on the couch, leaning to look out the front window at the sheets of rain.  I fought the feeling of frustration at having my evening interrupted, my van-packing derailed and my laundry undone. 

But then I see their little faces and I just want to freeze the moment (which is why I love Instagram right now) and forget the laundry.

So I snuck out to the kitchen and peeked in the sugar cone box (there were three left -  it was a sign) and dug some mint chip ice cream out of the freezer and the three of us ended up having a pretty special time.

Cambria:  "Mom, you're nice." 

(Do I live to hear this?  Yes.  Sometimes, yes.)

I make them little beds (away from the windows) on the living room floor, their flashlights set on the coffee table and let Eli sleep in the big chair. . .

and the laundry gets accomplished.

dishes get washed.

things get packed.

life will happen.


*   *  *

I just want to say thank you for all of the sweet comments you all have left lately. 

I haven't ever blogged to get followers. I deliberately ignore the get a following tips like "respond to every comment!"  However I don't want to seem unappreciative of the time you take to let me know that you're reading.

It is so super encouraging to hear from each one of you.  Each comment leaves me very humbled and very wowed that anyone actually reads.  So thank you.  Thank you so very much.

If you are here reading I hope that you are encouraged to love Jesus and love your family. . . if that is accomplished than I am so grateful to God.

Ok.  I gotta get some zzzzzzzzzzz's.