Reese: "I just gilgameshed. I just gilgamushed."
Cole: "Reese, you are so funny. How are you so funny?"
Reese: "I just think of the first thing I think of...and then I think of the very next thing I think of. And then I just blurt it out."
Cole: "What is that smell?"
Mama: "What smell?"
Cole: "It smells like...it smells like...lentil soup."
Reese: "I might have just lentil souped."
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Quotable
Delivery nurse: "Oh honey! I think you're in shock!"
Karissa: "Sobbing in my bed. Thrilled beyond measure that you have a DAUGHTER"
Brenda:"Is this a joke?"
Casey: "SHUT UP!"
Meshak: "Are you sure?"
Cole: "A sister, I've always wanted a sister, I can't believe I have a sister! I have to wake up from this dream!"
Brigitte: "Mom's trying to find something to wear that is pink and wishing she had a pink boa."
Sam: "I think I heard your mom scream."
Justin: "Honey, when I was holding the baby this morning" (1 hour old) "I just kept trying to think of having to marry her off, and I couldn't do it. I'm not ready. I think it's too soon."
Cole: "She's going to be such a beautiful woman some day!"
Ari: (jumping up and down): "I! LIKE! BABY! BEA! I! LIKE! BABY! BEA!"
Sean: "Can I hold her?"
Cole: "Can I hold her?"
Reese: "Can I hold her?"
Sean: "Can I hold her?"
Reuben: "She's so fragile, if she just tapped her fingers against something, they would all break off. You have to be CAREFUL."
Justin: "I have to build her a bedroom!"
Sean: "Can I see her possibility cord?"
Justin: "Sean, you can't run around naked anymore. Go put your underwear on RIGHT NOW!"
Oh Baby Bea, how you rocked our world...you were worth our wait!
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Bringing Home Bea
On November 16th, 2012, I gave birth to our first daughter. I have been trying for two and a half months now to write this post in my head, and I just haven't been able to do it. It feels like trying to pin down air. My words are stupid, fumbling, inadequate. And she is pure love. How can I confine her to a box of language? Why should I be so naive as to try? And yet her story must be told...
Here is her story, from the beginning.
My pregnancy this time was difficult. It wasn't terrible physically, but the emotional discomfort was there. I often felt maxed out and tired of a body that was all used up. My third trimester schedule of medical appointments (4-5 per week) overwhelmed me. I looked in the mirror and saw a decade's worth of pregnancy pounds. I wanted space, time to myself, a vacation with my husband. I wanted to be selfish and do something for ME.
For nine months, I struggled with the indecision in my head. Time and time again, God has told me to go forward, to continue on this childbearing road. It hasn't been easy, but I have obeyed. This time was different. This time, I was ready to throw in the towel.
For nine months, I watched my husband. I took silent note of the times he seemed stressed, frustrated or overwhelmed, and hid them away in my heart, telling myself that he would support my decision to end our family line. I wrote in waves of bitterness to the friend that I knew would hear me and not judge me. I am certain that I hurt her with my self-centeredness. I recognized how easy it was to misspeak and to hurt, and used it as further proof that I was beyond my capacity as a mother. Further proof that I should get out now, and cut my losses.
I made a stealthy plan to become friends with the pill just as soon as I was able. I knew that Justin would trust my intuition and would not question my judgment in the matter. I ignored the lingering uneasiness and told myself that "just a little time off" would be so good for me...for my body, for my marriage, for my family.
It was about two weeks before I was due that I began getting bombarded with messages in regards to how very wrong I was. Suddenly, everywhere I looked, people were sending me articles about the importance of the large family in today's society, sending me encouragement, urging me on. All of the correspondence came from the most unlikely sources, and none of it was weighted--no one was privy to the decision I had already made within my own heart. Like Jonah, I turned my back and ran, ignoring every word that came my way, trying not to think about it, telling myself that decision was already made and the messages weren't meant for me. I knew it would be better for my sanity and my bank account if I just closed my ears and continued on the path I had chosen.
Then---- Justin was encouraged to apply for a promotion at work. He did, though uncertain about whether he really wanted it, and assumed he bombed the interview when he told the VP honestly that he hoped to eventually leave the company and move on to other things. We were both shocked when, despite his damning interview, he was chosen for the promotion and given a significant bump in salary. (He had been promoted just 4 months prior, and for the first time then we were able to pay our bills and have just a bit left over.) This new position gave us quite a bit of "fluff" in a budget that has always been brass tacks. The cracks in my resolve when he got the new job began to grow. God was financially making a way for us to bring this new baby home...and I was about to throw it back in his face? I wavered. A week went by, or two, and suddenly it was the night before my induction. I worried over the details at the house, writing lists of instructions for care of the boys, and filled the fridge with food, while Justin worried over his desk at work, dotting every i and crossing every t. He came home late that night, finally away from the papers and numbers, looked at me sheepishly and told me that he had been told privately that afternoon that he was getting a large Christmas bonus...from a company that hasn't given bonuses in years. I stood in my kitchen and shook my head at him, astounded. Finally I said, "You have to stop this. You have to stop bringing money home. This is getting ridiculous!"
I slept restlessly all that night. Part of my restlessness was certainly due to the monumental thing I knew I had to do the next day, but most of it was because of the dreams that plagued me all night. ALL NIGHT, I dreamed of all of the concrete ways that God would provide for my family. The dreams were very specific. God gave us shoes, he gave us bikes, there were rooms and rooms of schoolbooks. And throughout the whole dream I wandered, wide-eyed, and kept saying to my husband (who was with me), "I didn't know, I didn't know. I didn't know it would be this easy, I didn't know that it was all within grasp!"
At 5:00 the next morning (November 15th), the alarm went off. I think I was already awake, sorting through my dreams, and as soon as I heard Justin stir, I sat up in bed and burst into tears. I blubbered hysterically. "I can't do this anymore, I can't even sleep now, I thought I could ignore all of the messages but now they are in my dreams! I can't even SLEEP!" He was dumbfounded, had no idea what I could be speaking of. "Slow down, start from the beginning," he murmured, and I blubbered my way through the whole long two week window, every message, every encouragement I had shut my eyes tightly against. I confessed my secret plan and told him why I couldn't possibly follow through now. "This is ours now," he told me, "you can't keep these things to yourself, you have to tell me." I assured him that no 9-month pregnant woman literally on her way to the Childbirth Center would be advocating for having MORE children if it were not by divine intervention. He understood. He prayed with me, I wiped my eyes, we woke the children to take to the sitter's, and we were on our way.
I'm telling you all of this back story to try to explain the level of peace I had when we were finally admitted and I was lying in that bed. I was diabetic, facing my second VBAC, and there were risks abounding, but I had so much peace about that day and about our future as a family. I had been having nightly anxiety attacks for months but they were all gone now. There was a bigger picture. It would all be okay.
And then... came Bea. She was delivered from me at 12:27 am on the morning of the 16th. I cried when they announced her time of birth. When I first met Justin, he was young and stubborn, with the world on his shoulders, and he had boldly made a pact within himself that he would take control of his life and would not marry until he was 27 years old (just an arbitrary number). In reality, on his 27th birthday, I was already pregnant with our third child. But the further we have gotten in our life together, the more that God has reassured us that he knows the plans we laid forth for ourselves, and that he has a better way. Ari was born on August 27th, Henry was born on May 27th, and our first daughter--Beatrice--was born 27 minutes after midnight on the 16th, just a few short weeks after Justin and I celebrated 16 years together. Somebody planned her arrival. Somebody knew, all this time, that she was coming. She was meant to be.
So many people have asked me what I felt when she was born. I really can't put it into words. I was so thrilled, and so shocked, on such a deep level that I'm still coming up out of the fog. When I saw my 18 year old niece for the first time after Beatrice was born, I told her, "It's as if you have this person, this one person that you love most in the world. And he wants so much to have this one particular gift, but you can't give it to him. And then one day you get to give that gift, and the feeling is more than you can bear." Handing my husband his daughter was one of the single most greatest moments of my life. It takes nothing away from the elation we felt when each of our sons were born. But Bea was a special little seed inside Justin's heart--she is the one he has been watching for--and seeing the look on his face when he got to be a daddy to her for the first time--a daughter's daddy--is beyond what I can describe.
We named our daughter Beatrice because it means "Bringer of Joy". Her middle name is Ruth, which means "Companion, Friend". She changed our whole lives. She changes our future. She made me a liar---all of the things I have insisted for years that I would NEVER do if I had a daughter, I have already done. When I myself was young, I despised girly things, hated girly colors, climbed trees with the boys and tried to rip holes in my dresses before Sunday School so that I could get away with wearing pants. I had one dress that I loved but it was blue. My bedroom was a sunny yellow. When well-meaning friends tried to tease that I would go over-the-top GIRL should a daughter enter our fraternity, I told them they didn't know me well enough. She would wear her brothers' hand-me-downs, I insisted--no sense in spending valuable dollars on a second wardrobe when the original Levis would do. And then this little sunny spot was born, and all of my days were brand new. All of the rules were different. I immediately began growing my nails and dropping baby pounds. I had the sudden urge to call my father and apologize for all the years I have worn ripped jeans instead of long skirts. I was shocked at the fierce protection I felt for her--totally different emotions than those that flooded my heart in the boys' first days. I dressed her in purple one day and spent the whole day mad at her clothes because they weren't pink. Seriously, people. I have lost my mind over this girl.
To my darling Baby Bea,
You were known before there was time. We have been waiting for you! We didn't know how full we would be with you in our lives. Beauty begins with your name; you are what men have built ships for, sailed seas, and climbed mountains to find. Three days after your birth I danced with you and Daddy to "Great is Thy Faithfulness" while Daddy told you that he couldn't wait to braid your hair some day, and I cried. Every time I see the way he looks at you, I cry. You are the jewel in my crown. You are my daughter, my sweet Baby Bea! Nana wants to buy you purses. She wanted to stop and buy you a purse when she drove us home from the hospital, but it was too soon. There will be plenty of time for purses!
You are such a special girl. Your smile lights up the room. Your brothers revere you, stand in amazement at you, soothe you when you cry. Reese sang you Cami's Lullaby and you went right off to sleep. Daddy lulled you to sleep with his mandolin, and the moment changed him forever. That man would fight dragons for you.
Bea, your daddy and I could have missed you. We could have so easily missed you.
"Weeping may last for the night, but JOY comes in the morning!" psalm 30 verse 5
Here is her story, from the beginning.
My pregnancy this time was difficult. It wasn't terrible physically, but the emotional discomfort was there. I often felt maxed out and tired of a body that was all used up. My third trimester schedule of medical appointments (4-5 per week) overwhelmed me. I looked in the mirror and saw a decade's worth of pregnancy pounds. I wanted space, time to myself, a vacation with my husband. I wanted to be selfish and do something for ME.
For nine months, I struggled with the indecision in my head. Time and time again, God has told me to go forward, to continue on this childbearing road. It hasn't been easy, but I have obeyed. This time was different. This time, I was ready to throw in the towel.
For nine months, I watched my husband. I took silent note of the times he seemed stressed, frustrated or overwhelmed, and hid them away in my heart, telling myself that he would support my decision to end our family line. I wrote in waves of bitterness to the friend that I knew would hear me and not judge me. I am certain that I hurt her with my self-centeredness. I recognized how easy it was to misspeak and to hurt, and used it as further proof that I was beyond my capacity as a mother. Further proof that I should get out now, and cut my losses.
I made a stealthy plan to become friends with the pill just as soon as I was able. I knew that Justin would trust my intuition and would not question my judgment in the matter. I ignored the lingering uneasiness and told myself that "just a little time off" would be so good for me...for my body, for my marriage, for my family.
It was about two weeks before I was due that I began getting bombarded with messages in regards to how very wrong I was. Suddenly, everywhere I looked, people were sending me articles about the importance of the large family in today's society, sending me encouragement, urging me on. All of the correspondence came from the most unlikely sources, and none of it was weighted--no one was privy to the decision I had already made within my own heart. Like Jonah, I turned my back and ran, ignoring every word that came my way, trying not to think about it, telling myself that decision was already made and the messages weren't meant for me. I knew it would be better for my sanity and my bank account if I just closed my ears and continued on the path I had chosen.
Then---- Justin was encouraged to apply for a promotion at work. He did, though uncertain about whether he really wanted it, and assumed he bombed the interview when he told the VP honestly that he hoped to eventually leave the company and move on to other things. We were both shocked when, despite his damning interview, he was chosen for the promotion and given a significant bump in salary. (He had been promoted just 4 months prior, and for the first time then we were able to pay our bills and have just a bit left over.) This new position gave us quite a bit of "fluff" in a budget that has always been brass tacks. The cracks in my resolve when he got the new job began to grow. God was financially making a way for us to bring this new baby home...and I was about to throw it back in his face? I wavered. A week went by, or two, and suddenly it was the night before my induction. I worried over the details at the house, writing lists of instructions for care of the boys, and filled the fridge with food, while Justin worried over his desk at work, dotting every i and crossing every t. He came home late that night, finally away from the papers and numbers, looked at me sheepishly and told me that he had been told privately that afternoon that he was getting a large Christmas bonus...from a company that hasn't given bonuses in years. I stood in my kitchen and shook my head at him, astounded. Finally I said, "You have to stop this. You have to stop bringing money home. This is getting ridiculous!"
I slept restlessly all that night. Part of my restlessness was certainly due to the monumental thing I knew I had to do the next day, but most of it was because of the dreams that plagued me all night. ALL NIGHT, I dreamed of all of the concrete ways that God would provide for my family. The dreams were very specific. God gave us shoes, he gave us bikes, there were rooms and rooms of schoolbooks. And throughout the whole dream I wandered, wide-eyed, and kept saying to my husband (who was with me), "I didn't know, I didn't know. I didn't know it would be this easy, I didn't know that it was all within grasp!"
At 5:00 the next morning (November 15th), the alarm went off. I think I was already awake, sorting through my dreams, and as soon as I heard Justin stir, I sat up in bed and burst into tears. I blubbered hysterically. "I can't do this anymore, I can't even sleep now, I thought I could ignore all of the messages but now they are in my dreams! I can't even SLEEP!" He was dumbfounded, had no idea what I could be speaking of. "Slow down, start from the beginning," he murmured, and I blubbered my way through the whole long two week window, every message, every encouragement I had shut my eyes tightly against. I confessed my secret plan and told him why I couldn't possibly follow through now. "This is ours now," he told me, "you can't keep these things to yourself, you have to tell me." I assured him that no 9-month pregnant woman literally on her way to the Childbirth Center would be advocating for having MORE children if it were not by divine intervention. He understood. He prayed with me, I wiped my eyes, we woke the children to take to the sitter's, and we were on our way.
I'm telling you all of this back story to try to explain the level of peace I had when we were finally admitted and I was lying in that bed. I was diabetic, facing my second VBAC, and there were risks abounding, but I had so much peace about that day and about our future as a family. I had been having nightly anxiety attacks for months but they were all gone now. There was a bigger picture. It would all be okay.
And then... came Bea. She was delivered from me at 12:27 am on the morning of the 16th. I cried when they announced her time of birth. When I first met Justin, he was young and stubborn, with the world on his shoulders, and he had boldly made a pact within himself that he would take control of his life and would not marry until he was 27 years old (just an arbitrary number). In reality, on his 27th birthday, I was already pregnant with our third child. But the further we have gotten in our life together, the more that God has reassured us that he knows the plans we laid forth for ourselves, and that he has a better way. Ari was born on August 27th, Henry was born on May 27th, and our first daughter--Beatrice--was born 27 minutes after midnight on the 16th, just a few short weeks after Justin and I celebrated 16 years together. Somebody planned her arrival. Somebody knew, all this time, that she was coming. She was meant to be.
So many people have asked me what I felt when she was born. I really can't put it into words. I was so thrilled, and so shocked, on such a deep level that I'm still coming up out of the fog. When I saw my 18 year old niece for the first time after Beatrice was born, I told her, "It's as if you have this person, this one person that you love most in the world. And he wants so much to have this one particular gift, but you can't give it to him. And then one day you get to give that gift, and the feeling is more than you can bear." Handing my husband his daughter was one of the single most greatest moments of my life. It takes nothing away from the elation we felt when each of our sons were born. But Bea was a special little seed inside Justin's heart--she is the one he has been watching for--and seeing the look on his face when he got to be a daddy to her for the first time--a daughter's daddy--is beyond what I can describe.
We named our daughter Beatrice because it means "Bringer of Joy". Her middle name is Ruth, which means "Companion, Friend". She changed our whole lives. She changes our future. She made me a liar---all of the things I have insisted for years that I would NEVER do if I had a daughter, I have already done. When I myself was young, I despised girly things, hated girly colors, climbed trees with the boys and tried to rip holes in my dresses before Sunday School so that I could get away with wearing pants. I had one dress that I loved but it was blue. My bedroom was a sunny yellow. When well-meaning friends tried to tease that I would go over-the-top GIRL should a daughter enter our fraternity, I told them they didn't know me well enough. She would wear her brothers' hand-me-downs, I insisted--no sense in spending valuable dollars on a second wardrobe when the original Levis would do. And then this little sunny spot was born, and all of my days were brand new. All of the rules were different. I immediately began growing my nails and dropping baby pounds. I had the sudden urge to call my father and apologize for all the years I have worn ripped jeans instead of long skirts. I was shocked at the fierce protection I felt for her--totally different emotions than those that flooded my heart in the boys' first days. I dressed her in purple one day and spent the whole day mad at her clothes because they weren't pink. Seriously, people. I have lost my mind over this girl.
To my darling Baby Bea,
You were known before there was time. We have been waiting for you! We didn't know how full we would be with you in our lives. Beauty begins with your name; you are what men have built ships for, sailed seas, and climbed mountains to find. Three days after your birth I danced with you and Daddy to "Great is Thy Faithfulness" while Daddy told you that he couldn't wait to braid your hair some day, and I cried. Every time I see the way he looks at you, I cry. You are the jewel in my crown. You are my daughter, my sweet Baby Bea! Nana wants to buy you purses. She wanted to stop and buy you a purse when she drove us home from the hospital, but it was too soon. There will be plenty of time for purses!
You are such a special girl. Your smile lights up the room. Your brothers revere you, stand in amazement at you, soothe you when you cry. Reese sang you Cami's Lullaby and you went right off to sleep. Daddy lulled you to sleep with his mandolin, and the moment changed him forever. That man would fight dragons for you.
Bea, your daddy and I could have missed you. We could have so easily missed you.
"Weeping may last for the night, but JOY comes in the morning!" psalm 30 verse 5
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Surviving
Nesting is such a weird thing. It always makes me feel a little bit crazy--having such strong urges to do such random things. Before Henry was born, all of the boys HAD to have haircuts, and they HAD to all have brand new white undershirt pajama shirts. Stat. And the last few days, I've been all in a tizzy about needing to get to the store to buy a Costco-sized pack of batteries, in case the batteries die in our big family flashlight this fall. This, even though in the last two years that we've lived here, we've only lost power once, and it was out for maybe 30 minutes in the middle of a weekday morning.
Where do these urges come from? I know they're supposed to be instinctual, but they don't make a lot of sense to me. I understand wanting to fill the pantry with food and wanting the house to be clean and warm. But white pajama shirts? Haircuts? Flashlight batteries? Why does that stuff matter now? I'm pretty sure the mamas way back in my ancestral line weren't worried about those same details. It makes me feel a little foolish for fixating on them.
We woke this morning to a huge windstorm. Justin jumped out of bed and ran out into the storm to stake up our new peach tree (a baby shower gift) and make sure it wasn't pulling up out of the ground (it wasn't). Then he headed to the store to buy milk for the boys' Sunday cereal, and lo and behold, he was barely out of the driveway five minutes when the power went out. Aha! Stupid flashlight battery urges. At least I felt just the tiniest bit mollified (even though I haven't actually purchased the batteries yet). Then I hear from the living room:
Cole: "Okay, you guys! Come on! We have to find ways to stay warm!"
(Enter several pairs of boy feet pounding up the wooden staircase.)
Reese: "Whyyyyy?"
Cole: "Because we don't have any HEAT!" (We haven't used our propane heat in a year and a half.....we heat with wood. And we have several years worth split and stacked undercover on our porch. Sigh.)
They come back downstairs all wrapped in big sleeping bags and stuff themselves through the kitchen doorway, where I am chopping the leftover baked potatoes from last night's dinner to fry up for them (cereal doesn't fill bellies well in this house).
Cole: "Mom! Can we make a fire?"
Me: "Why?"
Cole: "Because it's SO COLD! And we need to stay warm! There's NO POWER!"
Me: "Honey, we don't use our heat anyway. It's fine."
Cole: "Oh. I know. But I'm still cold. Can I make a fire?" (huddling in sleeping bag).
Me: "No. I know the power's out but really, it's so warm. Go check the thermostat."
He shuffles out and yells from the living room, "Thermostat says it's 68!"
Yeah, no. No way this pregnant mama is going to okay a fire in the woodstove when it is already nearly 70 degrees....
However. I did tell them that we could light one in the kitchen stove/cooktop so that I could still make their potatoes and cook up omelettes for Justin and myself in the cast iron skillet. They ran around like crazy, bumping into each other, arguing and yelling to "Get the wood!" "Find the matches!" "No I want to do it, Mom said I could do it!" "WE'RE OUT OF MATCHES!" (We weren't.) Thank the Lord it wasn't an actual emergency. Justin walked in to the middle of this mayhem and the boys all dashed to the table, desperate to fill their aching bellies now that we were in Survival Mode and Actual Lives were at stake. Cole dug the Rice Krispies out of the cabinet and I heard him mutter to himself as he moved the dried fruit out of the way, "Oh, PRUNES! Good. We still have prunes," and give a deep contented sigh. As though the September bounty from our plum trees would buy us just a few more precious moments at the bitter end.
So.....survival instincts. It's possible we may be just a bit off-base with the things we find important. I'm shaking my head just remembering the boys wrapped in sleeping bags and running around the house in chaos in a 70 degree house full of food....but the truth is, the things I'm worried about aren't a whole lot better. We adapted this morning and were pleased to discover what we COULD do...we ate hot, fried potatoes, veggie omelettes, and we ground our coffee in the mortar and pestle before putting it through the press. We made a mental note to replace the tea kettle soon, since it's obviously made for electric stoves--the handle is plastic and gets a little more melted every time we have to heat it on the cooktop. We lit an oil lamp so that we could see to cook in the dark corner of the kitchen. And then we sat and dreamed a little about being more self-sufficient and less reliant on the electrical stuff we take for granted (Sean sniffed about not being able to play video games----he doesn't play video games anyway). Baking bread and cooking a chicken in the crockpot are both on my list of things to do today...and both of those would have been ousted had the power not come back on just a few minutes ago. Oh and the LAUNDRY! What would I do with my piles of dirty laundry if I didn't have power? Certainly we would own a LOT fewer clothes. Power's back on now....rainy-day video games back in full swing...but I'm thankful for the chance to reevaluate my life yet again and consider changes that might make our footprint just a wee bit smaller.
Where do these urges come from? I know they're supposed to be instinctual, but they don't make a lot of sense to me. I understand wanting to fill the pantry with food and wanting the house to be clean and warm. But white pajama shirts? Haircuts? Flashlight batteries? Why does that stuff matter now? I'm pretty sure the mamas way back in my ancestral line weren't worried about those same details. It makes me feel a little foolish for fixating on them.
We woke this morning to a huge windstorm. Justin jumped out of bed and ran out into the storm to stake up our new peach tree (a baby shower gift) and make sure it wasn't pulling up out of the ground (it wasn't). Then he headed to the store to buy milk for the boys' Sunday cereal, and lo and behold, he was barely out of the driveway five minutes when the power went out. Aha! Stupid flashlight battery urges. At least I felt just the tiniest bit mollified (even though I haven't actually purchased the batteries yet). Then I hear from the living room:
Cole: "Okay, you guys! Come on! We have to find ways to stay warm!"
(Enter several pairs of boy feet pounding up the wooden staircase.)
Reese: "Whyyyyy?"
Cole: "Because we don't have any HEAT!" (We haven't used our propane heat in a year and a half.....we heat with wood. And we have several years worth split and stacked undercover on our porch. Sigh.)
They come back downstairs all wrapped in big sleeping bags and stuff themselves through the kitchen doorway, where I am chopping the leftover baked potatoes from last night's dinner to fry up for them (cereal doesn't fill bellies well in this house).
Cole: "Mom! Can we make a fire?"
Me: "Why?"
Cole: "Because it's SO COLD! And we need to stay warm! There's NO POWER!"
Me: "Honey, we don't use our heat anyway. It's fine."
Cole: "Oh. I know. But I'm still cold. Can I make a fire?" (huddling in sleeping bag).
Me: "No. I know the power's out but really, it's so warm. Go check the thermostat."
He shuffles out and yells from the living room, "Thermostat says it's 68!"
Yeah, no. No way this pregnant mama is going to okay a fire in the woodstove when it is already nearly 70 degrees....
However. I did tell them that we could light one in the kitchen stove/cooktop so that I could still make their potatoes and cook up omelettes for Justin and myself in the cast iron skillet. They ran around like crazy, bumping into each other, arguing and yelling to "Get the wood!" "Find the matches!" "No I want to do it, Mom said I could do it!" "WE'RE OUT OF MATCHES!" (We weren't.) Thank the Lord it wasn't an actual emergency. Justin walked in to the middle of this mayhem and the boys all dashed to the table, desperate to fill their aching bellies now that we were in Survival Mode and Actual Lives were at stake. Cole dug the Rice Krispies out of the cabinet and I heard him mutter to himself as he moved the dried fruit out of the way, "Oh, PRUNES! Good. We still have prunes," and give a deep contented sigh. As though the September bounty from our plum trees would buy us just a few more precious moments at the bitter end.
So.....survival instincts. It's possible we may be just a bit off-base with the things we find important. I'm shaking my head just remembering the boys wrapped in sleeping bags and running around the house in chaos in a 70 degree house full of food....but the truth is, the things I'm worried about aren't a whole lot better. We adapted this morning and were pleased to discover what we COULD do...we ate hot, fried potatoes, veggie omelettes, and we ground our coffee in the mortar and pestle before putting it through the press. We made a mental note to replace the tea kettle soon, since it's obviously made for electric stoves--the handle is plastic and gets a little more melted every time we have to heat it on the cooktop. We lit an oil lamp so that we could see to cook in the dark corner of the kitchen. And then we sat and dreamed a little about being more self-sufficient and less reliant on the electrical stuff we take for granted (Sean sniffed about not being able to play video games----he doesn't play video games anyway). Baking bread and cooking a chicken in the crockpot are both on my list of things to do today...and both of those would have been ousted had the power not come back on just a few minutes ago. Oh and the LAUNDRY! What would I do with my piles of dirty laundry if I didn't have power? Certainly we would own a LOT fewer clothes. Power's back on now....rainy-day video games back in full swing...but I'm thankful for the chance to reevaluate my life yet again and consider changes that might make our footprint just a wee bit smaller.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Today's Project
It is a testament to how chaotic my last 12 years have been that I have no photos, anywhere. No albums and even very few printed copies....even my Pre-Digital photos are still hidden away inside of their little film canisters. Somewhere. In the hustle and bustle of 7 kids in 12 years of marriage and multiple houses....well, photographs have certainly taken a back seat to daily life. It all came to a head recently when Reuben, at the tender age of six, lovingly hugged my expired passport to his chest and said, "Mom, when you die, this is the picture I am going to look at to remember you." I laughed. That picture was taken when I was seventeen and blonde....I am 60 pounds heavier now, 5 months pregnant with my seventh child; my hair has darkened over the years to a deep brown and I wear glasses instead of contacts. In short, that picture looks absolutely nothing like me.
But when I asked him why in the WORLD he would choose that picture as a remembrance of me, he stared at me aghast and said, "well, what else would I look at, there are no other pictures of you!" Convicted.
So today, as the little ones nap and the big ones snuggle in front of a movie (truly one of the only ways to ensure a quiet house for naptime in our tiny, tiny house), I will be sorting through piles and piles of digital photos and picking out my favorites to send to the printer. All of my boys adore looking at old pictures, and I'd love to make each of them their own album of their "story" to gift them with at Christmas. But Christmas is only (!) 4 1/2 short months away, and in that time, we have holidays, the start of school, a new baby, birthdays, and plenty of messy daily life to get in the way of projects I hope to give in December. Today seems like as good a day to start as any.
But when I asked him why in the WORLD he would choose that picture as a remembrance of me, he stared at me aghast and said, "well, what else would I look at, there are no other pictures of you!" Convicted.
So today, as the little ones nap and the big ones snuggle in front of a movie (truly one of the only ways to ensure a quiet house for naptime in our tiny, tiny house), I will be sorting through piles and piles of digital photos and picking out my favorites to send to the printer. All of my boys adore looking at old pictures, and I'd love to make each of them their own album of their "story" to gift them with at Christmas. But Christmas is only (!) 4 1/2 short months away, and in that time, we have holidays, the start of school, a new baby, birthdays, and plenty of messy daily life to get in the way of projects I hope to give in December. Today seems like as good a day to start as any.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Snips and Snails
Quote of the Day:
"Reuben! Reuben! Let's play LASER SWORDS!" --Sean, age 4
(Yes. It really is what you are thinking.)
"Reuben! Reuben! Let's play LASER SWORDS!" --Sean, age 4
(Yes. It really is what you are thinking.)
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Jamie Oliver and Baby #7
Eleven and a half years ago, Justin and I went away for one night to celebrate our first wedding anniversary. We left at home (with his Gramma and auntie) our 2 1/2 month old infant son. (We packed the pump and several glass jars.) We stopped at the grocery store before leaving town and bought fresh October whole crab and a plank of salmon, then skipped away to a beautiful vacation home owned by relatives out in the San Juan Islands....experiencing the oddity of driving in the opposite direction from our baby and knowing we were doing something that was important for our marriage.
We arrived at the house in the evening, barbecued our salmon and cooked a smattering of gorgeous fresh veggies, then photographed our food and each other sitting out on the deck, just a stone's throw from the water. We exchanged our "paper" gifts and talked about our son. We sat on the bed in our jammies and ate crab dipped in melted butter. And we giggled when we turned on the cable TV (a luxury for us) and discovered a cooking show called The Naked Chef.
Of course we fell in love with Jamie nearly instantly, once we saw the magic he could make from a few simple, fresh, local ingredients. We don't have access to television and we've caught very little of that magic over the years, but he remains a special figure to us. We spent our first anniversary with him!
So a couple of years ago, on a cold Christmas morning, I was delighted to open an oversized package in my stocking and discover a cookbook: Jamie's Dinners. I was even more delighted to look inside and see that our favorite chef had married and had two beautiful babies of his own. I still remember the bliss of that moment: Christmas morning breakfast was in the oven, the coffee was brewing, I had my Beloved and all of my sons about me, and all was right with the world. I wanted to freeze time, sit with my mug of coffee, and read every word of that cookbook cover to cover--twice.
But Justin was beside me, urging me to continue opening the trinkets of my stocking. I persisted, relishing the moment, and said No, no, I'm so happy right here, please, this is so much more than I ever could have wished for, let me be. I'm so happy. I want for nothing. He laughed and protested: But there are gifts for you under the tree!
In the end, he won out. He had chosen special things and couldn't wait for me to open them. My children didn't understand how I could look at a Christmas tree brimming with bounty and not want to dive in headfirst. We enjoyed the gifts of our stockings, we shared breakfast together, and we opened the tree gifts...but when all was said and done, you better believe I found a quiet little corner of the living room and snuggled right back up with my new cookbook.
In February of this year, I was 8 weeks into training for the Seattle Rock and Roll half marathon when I missed a period. Thinking it was nothing because I was running 5 to 6 miles at a time with no loss of energy, I assured my husband that I must just have the dates wrong or my training was affecting me physically. But within a matter of weeks, when I began falling asleep on the couch at 9pm every night, he started giving me knowing glances. I was still unsure. A new baby? Really? When Henry is only 9 months old? Our usual MO is one year...
In those quiet first weeks when he and I began to adjust to the idea of our family growing again....privately, without involving the children or making it public, taking our time to move through the normal range of emotions....I remembered my cookbook on that crisp December morning and that feeling of wanting to pause time. For the past seven years, God has been whispering to me about living with open arms, living sacrificially, holding nothing back. Primarily this has played out in the way that we have perceived our growing family. I want so much to learn to live with this heart! I crave a life of listening to that still, small voice and being willing to follow its leading. It's a long, drawn-out message and though I've made strides, I feel like I have so much further to go. This was the first time that I felt like I wanted to put my hand up and say Abba, no, it's too much, you have given too much love, these gifts are too great, I am so undeserving. Leave me in my corner to enjoy what you have given! ...and I hear him saying, But there is so much more for you under the tree!
Oh, our God is so gracious. How humbled I feel by the way that he continues to give, and give, and give, even when I am fumbling with what he has already given. He gave us this land...and we have allowed the grass to get too high and the weeds to overtake the flowerbeds. He gave us these children, and I misspeak when I attempt to parent them. He gave me a roof over my head...and its corners have cobwebs. And the floors need to be swept and mopped. And my desk is overflowing with papers...
But still he says, Child, there is more for you under the tree. And I am overwhelmed at his goodness. I repent of my inadequacies and I thank him for new mercies every morning. To get up, to see the sun rising, to dust myself off and to try again to make what he has given into something beautiful. I want it to be beautiful. And in the midst of all of it, I find an inkling of communion with him, and I feel like I get to experience the tiniest bit of the love that he has for me.
We arrived at the house in the evening, barbecued our salmon and cooked a smattering of gorgeous fresh veggies, then photographed our food and each other sitting out on the deck, just a stone's throw from the water. We exchanged our "paper" gifts and talked about our son. We sat on the bed in our jammies and ate crab dipped in melted butter. And we giggled when we turned on the cable TV (a luxury for us) and discovered a cooking show called The Naked Chef.
Of course we fell in love with Jamie nearly instantly, once we saw the magic he could make from a few simple, fresh, local ingredients. We don't have access to television and we've caught very little of that magic over the years, but he remains a special figure to us. We spent our first anniversary with him!
So a couple of years ago, on a cold Christmas morning, I was delighted to open an oversized package in my stocking and discover a cookbook: Jamie's Dinners. I was even more delighted to look inside and see that our favorite chef had married and had two beautiful babies of his own. I still remember the bliss of that moment: Christmas morning breakfast was in the oven, the coffee was brewing, I had my Beloved and all of my sons about me, and all was right with the world. I wanted to freeze time, sit with my mug of coffee, and read every word of that cookbook cover to cover--twice.
But Justin was beside me, urging me to continue opening the trinkets of my stocking. I persisted, relishing the moment, and said No, no, I'm so happy right here, please, this is so much more than I ever could have wished for, let me be. I'm so happy. I want for nothing. He laughed and protested: But there are gifts for you under the tree!
In the end, he won out. He had chosen special things and couldn't wait for me to open them. My children didn't understand how I could look at a Christmas tree brimming with bounty and not want to dive in headfirst. We enjoyed the gifts of our stockings, we shared breakfast together, and we opened the tree gifts...but when all was said and done, you better believe I found a quiet little corner of the living room and snuggled right back up with my new cookbook.
In February of this year, I was 8 weeks into training for the Seattle Rock and Roll half marathon when I missed a period. Thinking it was nothing because I was running 5 to 6 miles at a time with no loss of energy, I assured my husband that I must just have the dates wrong or my training was affecting me physically. But within a matter of weeks, when I began falling asleep on the couch at 9pm every night, he started giving me knowing glances. I was still unsure. A new baby? Really? When Henry is only 9 months old? Our usual MO is one year...
In those quiet first weeks when he and I began to adjust to the idea of our family growing again....privately, without involving the children or making it public, taking our time to move through the normal range of emotions....I remembered my cookbook on that crisp December morning and that feeling of wanting to pause time. For the past seven years, God has been whispering to me about living with open arms, living sacrificially, holding nothing back. Primarily this has played out in the way that we have perceived our growing family. I want so much to learn to live with this heart! I crave a life of listening to that still, small voice and being willing to follow its leading. It's a long, drawn-out message and though I've made strides, I feel like I have so much further to go. This was the first time that I felt like I wanted to put my hand up and say Abba, no, it's too much, you have given too much love, these gifts are too great, I am so undeserving. Leave me in my corner to enjoy what you have given! ...and I hear him saying, But there is so much more for you under the tree!
Oh, our God is so gracious. How humbled I feel by the way that he continues to give, and give, and give, even when I am fumbling with what he has already given. He gave us this land...and we have allowed the grass to get too high and the weeds to overtake the flowerbeds. He gave us these children, and I misspeak when I attempt to parent them. He gave me a roof over my head...and its corners have cobwebs. And the floors need to be swept and mopped. And my desk is overflowing with papers...
But still he says, Child, there is more for you under the tree. And I am overwhelmed at his goodness. I repent of my inadequacies and I thank him for new mercies every morning. To get up, to see the sun rising, to dust myself off and to try again to make what he has given into something beautiful. I want it to be beautiful. And in the midst of all of it, I find an inkling of communion with him, and I feel like I get to experience the tiniest bit of the love that he has for me.
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