Satisfied: Mar 23 - 29

Your word, O Lord, is eternal... Your faithfulness continues through all generations... Your laws endure to this day, for all things serve You. 
Ps. 119:89-91


MONDAY
Henry got two more shots today. So naturally we went straightaway to Rita's for a treat.

While we were in the same shopping center, I stopped in Jo-Ann for some buttons I needed for a few projects. Henry entertained himself.

The sweet thing about this moment was that I remember fabric shopping with my mom, as a little girl, and when she'd be scrounging the aisles for the best deals, my sister and I would sift through the bins of loose buttons. Now that I reflect on it, I wonder if they were there purely for entertaining restless kids stuck with shopping mamas, and not actually for purchasing. Each bin had a rubber hand puppet, the kind you might get in a fast food kids meal, as a scoop. (If you're dying to know, I'm fairly sure they were these. My sister might remember for sure.) So we could scoop up a puppet-ful of buttons, dump them out, match colors, bicker over favorites, and then pour them back into the bin. It was endlessly fun. It's an isolated memory, one that doesn't have much context, but one that I can almost feel with all my senses all over again. The smell of the rubber puppet, the texture of buttons on child skin, the rainstick sound of falling buttons... My childhood is a bin of memories, each differently textured, many unmatched, some hard to find again once they're dumped back, others always seeming to be at the surface.

I'm aware of this as I'm raising my son, mindful of the memories he's storing and the moments that he'll return to in his mind over and over again.


FRIDAY
It's been a satisfying week. A few specific triumphs:
- Henry's naps are back on track. After a few weeks of short and unpredictable afternoon naps, he's back on track with a shorter morning nap and a slightly longer afternoon nap.
- The new bathroom has a coat of primer and is ready for real paint!
- There was no snow this week!
- Pete decided to eat fruits and veggies - just fruits and veggies - for lunch every day this week. Packing lunches was a breeze.
- I sorted through all my old jewelry, found a few special things to keep and purged most of the remaining items.
- We hosted friends for a yummy dinner.
- I'm spearheading a 10-Year Reunion for my high school class.
- As of today, Henry's sign language vocabulary includes two words: "Please" and "All done." 

Taking joy in these little gifts tonight as we share an extra large supreme pizza (it's Friday, after all!) and head into a lazy weekend.


SUNDAY
Even in the most satisfying of times, discontentment scurries across the mind. At first it's hard to identify. "Was that resentment? Am I dissatisfied?" It's ignored, allowed to stay. So restlessness chews out little holes and breeds in dark corners, sneaking into passageways and crawlspaces and reappearing in the least likely parts of life. Lovely gifts are suddenly not lovely enough. Life fails to meet a standard. Expectations are unfair and unreasonable. The dream home that you've loved is no longer what you want. Suddenly discontentment is everywhere. You find it when you look in the fridge, when you fold up the laundry, when you dust your second-hand furniture, and you definitely find it when you open pinterest and instagram.

I used to look at my gorgeous old home and see charm, history, elegance, and a fifty-year future as a treasured family estate. Lately, all I see is chipping paint, cracking plaster, creaking floors, disintegrating roof, leaking basement, wasted space, too much dust, and a big fat mortgage bill swallowing paychecks every month.

Today our new bathroom has a first fresh coat of Americana Blue and it's stunning. But all I can think about are all the things that aren't good enough. When my bathroom is complete, will I be satisfied? When every room in my house resembles the pinterest board I've assembled, when all my clothes match the 'essential wardrobe' pictures in the magazines, when all my menus are planned a week in advance and all my groceries are organic and stored in a spotless fridge, when our mortgage is paid, and when my daily schedule includes hours for reading and writing, will discontentment be squashed?

I need an Exterminator for these swarms of dissatisfied thoughts.

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth," says the One who comes to eradicate the nests of discontentment. "Is not life more important than food and the body more important than clothes? In my Father's house are many rooms and I am going there to prepare a place for you. In this world you will have trouble but take heart. I have overcome the world!"

And every day, if I'll let Him, He overcomes the bitter this-isn't-good-enough thoughts that infest me, sweeping my mind clean again. Satisfaction does not require perfection. In fact, it grows best in the rich soil of an imperfect life. In a home that cracks and creaks, my soul can be satisfied as if living in Cinderella's palace. In a tired outfit worn a few too many times, my soul can be content as if wearing the latest J Crew. Things cannot satisfy. The soul finds contentment and peace in His unseen kingdom or not all.

Scripture references from Matthew 6:19, Matthew 6:25, John 14:2, John 16:33, and Psalm 63:1&5.

Here's that Americana Blue:

Grateful this week for:
fresh blue paint
a last hug
kind vaccine nurse
felt chair footies
semisweet chocolate chips
painters tape
high school yearbook

Just a Little Emotional: Mar 16 - 22

My eyes fail, looking for your promise; I say "When will you comfort me?"
They almost wiped me from the earth, but I have not forsaken your precepts. 
Ps. 119:82, 87
I had a hard time with this week's verses (Ps. 119:81-88) until I put them in the context of my brothers and sisters around the globe whose physical lives are at risk daily as a result of their faith. Considering this passage in that light helped me know how to better pray for these dear people.


THURSDAY
So far this week... 
Car: Inspected
Scones: Baked
Budget spreadsheet: Updated
Boxes of thrift store items: Dropped off
Emails: Sent
Stamps: Purchased
Gardens: Raked

But...
Floors: Not vaccumed
Bank: Not visited
Buttons: Not bought
Doctor's office: Not called
Taxes: Not started

My life is lists and schedules and checkmarks this week. Nothing urgent or earth-shattering, just getting through the days.

Every week will only be about lists and checkmarks unless I focus on something more eternally meaningful. All my weeks will blur together in an aimless dotted line of phone calls, errands, purchases, chores, and appointments unless I preempt the day's To Do List with a more important list. Have I prayed for people I love? Have I resisted - even just once - the temptation to say something unkind? Have I reminded myself of the message of the gospel and of the salvation that was bought for me? If I can remember these things, put them on my list, make them a priority for my time and my thoughts, I will have weeks that build, one on the next on the next, bringing me slowly closer to the holiness I'm asked to pursue.


FRIDAY
First day of Spring today.

This was Tuesday.

This was today.

You wouldn't know it, but winter is officially over and wonderful springtime has come. As you might have guessed, we had early dismissals again today so Pete left with me at 12 and drove me to pick up Henry. I was very glad he did because the drive was horrible. We did make a stop for free Rita's, though. The first day of spring is the first day of spring, snowstorm or no snowstorm.


SATURDAY
Blogged a few recipes today over at Dinner in Parkerford.  Check it out over the next few days for waffle, tilapia, and chicken recipes!


SUNDAY
"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken," says C. S. Lewis. We have deeply loved a couple who said goodbye today. A pastor and his wife, who had become a dear pair of friends, leave this week for a new life five states away. And tonight our hearts are broken.

Yes, there is facebook and email and instagram. And yes, of course there is heaven. But sharing this life with someone - learning, being inspired, being changed - is different. Hearing a voice, seeing a smile, sharing a meal, learning to sew, furiously copying down words of a sermon, asking for a recipe, praying together, swapping baby advice... these things are precious. And now these things are gone.

I have said goodbye to dear friends before. I know that life goes on. Our friends will find new friends. We will find ways to patch the gaping holes they've left behind. It is not often that friends stay in your life for a lifetime and though we are sad tonight, we are so grateful for the years we had to share with them.

Goodbye, beloved friends. We will pray you all the way to Alabama... and maybe one day, back to Pennsylvania again.


Grateful this week for: 
borrowed van
yardwork
warm sun on skin
new stamps
bathtime tickles
aunts
flannel
Dorothy
fabrics
textures
strawberries
cooperation
mud
Be Thou My Vision

That Busy Week: Mar 9 - 15

Your hands made me and formed me; give me understanding to learn your commands. 
Ps. 119:73

MONDAY
Honesty first. Today was mostly good with a little smidge of this:

But let's be real. We all feel like that at around 4:30 in the afternoon. Especially if we've been tricked into wearing overalls all day. Poor little chap.

After a long weekend of hard work (including Jon and Pete spackling late into the night yesterday), our new bathroom now looks like this:

I could not have imagined at Christmas time that by spring I'd have a brand new bathroom. So my joy tank is pretty full. But at the same time I've had to learn to live in a construction zone for the past two months. We have a one-year-old in a house full of power tools. We have dust everywhere. (Everywhere.) We have lights removed and a hallway full of drywall sheets and no free Saturdays and a thick bundle of Home Depot receipts to tally up. I've had to suspend certain expectations and desires for the sake of something greater. Construction forces that. Construction requires time and materials and energy and space that would have otherwise been used in other ways.

Living in the construction zone means that things are inconvenient, messy, temporary, and constantly changing. As I step over two-by-fours to reach my hair dryer, I think about the mess we are always living in, in our own souls. My heart is not fully finished. Or, if I think it is, there's some part that's about to be demo'd so some renovations can occur. My soul is constantly being upgraded and made-over. In my home, I yearn for an end to change and for the freedom to live without disturbance. And though life-after-construction may come in my house, it will never happen in my heart.

Living in the construction zone means that things are messy, but it also means that things are on their way to being better. To wish for an end to change is to wish for a partially-unfinished project. And when God starts a renovation, he never leaves it unfinished. My heart will be a construction zone for all the days of my life. It means I'm never fully settled, things are never totally convenient or neat or finalized. But it means I am constantly becoming more like the finished project I'm meant to become. And waiting for that is worth putting some expectations on the shelf.

I'm looking forward to the finished project in my house. But in my heart, I'm content to live under construction indefinitely.

As a side note, Pete had rehearsal at school until late, but Henry and I had this for dinner. It is so good it needs to be on the menu every week.


WEDNESDAY
My boys love the garden.

My two favorite people, sharing joy over pebbles from the garden.
A sled, but no snow left.
Mossy brick patio in warm spring sun.
This is perfection.


THURSDAY

Our school produced The Sound of Music this spring. I have to confess that I was prepared to be unimpressed. Not only does the classic movie set the bar miles too high for a tiny private school to reach, but I've also seen two other stage versions (in both of which my sister had a lead role) and I am a bit biased toward those particular productions. I wanted to see our efforts, but I was hesitant to raise my hopes too high.

Tonight I attended opening night and the cast stunned me. In the first scene, our Mother Abbess, an eighth-grader, gave me chills with her outstanding voice. Our Maria, a senior, and our Captain, a senior who had never been on stage until this show, both delivered polished and convincing performances. Our Uncle Max, also an eighth-grader, is on student council and often stumbles over his words when doing morning announcements over the school loudspeaker. But he nailed every line of his dialogue and his songs. Elsa Schrader, Admiral von Schreiber, and Franz were also new to the stage and made impressive debuts.

Entrusting a show of this magnitude to a school of no special merit, with limited budget, limited casting pool, and limited stage space might seem a big risk. It did to me. But our students came through with a stellar production and I was very proud.

Did anything give you a pleasant surprise this week?

PS: The handsome guy in the pit orchestra on Trumpet III was my husband. He did a great job too.


SATURDAY
I have not thought of myself as a foreigner. Or as a compromiser. Or as unfaithful. But Nancy Guthrie's talks on Redeeming Love at our Women's Retreat this weekend taught me that I am all of those things and only the free love of Christ can peel those labels off and give me a new identity.

Using three stories from the Old Testament, Nancy showed us pictures of Christ and what his love can do for us who are empty and lost. In Ruth, in Esther, and in Hosea, we see people who need a savior. The redeemers in these stories are mere humans, but what they do points to our greater Redeemer: the grace he has shown, the protection he provides, the promise he gives, the abundance he offers, the sacrifice he made, the doors he opens, the kingdom he prepares, the patience he displays, the restoration he undertakes, and the devoted way he pursues us, regardless of our behavior.

I won't try to reproduce all that Nancy taught, or boil her hours of teaching down into a few sentences. But here are a few thoughts I walked away with on Saturday evening:

1. Wow, the Bible is rich. Did you realize that the fields outside Bethlehem were the setting for Ruth gleaning in Boaz's grain before he marries her, David sheep-tending before he's anointed as king, and the shepherds watching their flocks before the angel appears with the good news? Those are fields of grace, fields where big things happen in ordinary moments!

2. Things that seem like not-really-a-big-deal to me are actually great wickedness to God. The Israelites' slow slide into baal worship must have seemed pretty mild to them. They still loved Jehovah, after all. They just added some baal worship to the mix too. Any time I find myself worshiping anything except the Lord, it is prostitution. But God does not punish me. He's already punished Christ in my place. He is patient and tender. He convicts me, renews me, and slowly purifies me.

3. The practical questions of the Christian life that I'm always trying to answer (How do I love that annoying person better? What should I say when that issue is raised again? Where is God leading my family and how will I discern His will?) matter a lot less than I thought. The heart of the life God has for us is not finding answers to these questions, even if by "finding answers" I mean diligently praying and seeking the Lord's will. The life God has for me is not defined by "getting it right" or by anything external. Ruth's life was not defined by her Moabite heritage, nor Esther's by her status as queen, nor Gomer's by her prostitution. Instead, my heart should be dwelling on what Christ has done and the names he's written across my life: Beloved, Accepted, Forgiven, Mine.


SUNDAY
This was a hectic week. And at the end of it, Pete and I were both busy all weekend. But we started something this weekend that I think will be good: Sundayte. I was inspired by an instagram post by Val Marie Paper in which she mentioned weekend "Family Meetings" she has with her husband. I realized we needed something like this: a check-in to discuss the upcoming week, share things that we've been storing up to talk about, make each other aware of anticipated plans, and just open the floor for addressing those deeper things that a busy week doesn't allow space for. The plan is to have our Sundayte on Sunday evenings, after Henry's in bed. We'll have special drinks, special snacks, anything that will make it feel like a mini date, and we'll talk. This weekend, we had it on Saturday night because Pete anticipated being at school late on Sunday night working on plans for the week (which turned out to be true). So our first Sundayte was a Saturdayte. Oh well.

Do you do anything like this in your marriage or family?


Grateful this week for: 
warm porch
new sippy cup
checking off a to-do list
Bible verses coming to mind
buzzfeed
Henry signing 'please'
fake flowers
folded clothes in piles
a perfect night's sleep
basement sump pump
patio bricks
dirt
seeds
corner brownie
Nancy Guthrie's messages
borrowed toddler clothes

Little Things: Mar 2 - 8

Teach me knowledge and good judgment, for I believe in your commands. 
Ps. 119:66

TUESDAY
Yesterday, a two-hour delay. Today, early dismissals. Spring is dragging winter out the door, kicking and screaming and flinging sleet storms left and right. I'll be so glad when spring shuts the door tight and blossoms bright, here to stay.

In the meantime, in this afternoon's sleet, I drove Henry downtown for his shot. He was a brave little boy, and only let out a short wail when the nurse stuck his arm with the needle. At home I made him a chocolate milkshake. In my own childhood getting a shot meant getting a milkshake and I intend for the same consolation to comfort Henry after encounters with needles.

When he's not slurping down a milkshake, our little boy is learning his own mind. He's started refusing foods he normally likes (scrambled eggs, pineapple, grapes), turning his face away or spitting out bites of food. There's a fine line between independence and defiance when you're one, and we're trying to navigate this new territory. He's too little to understand "two more bites and you can be done," but we don't want him to win every high chair battle. There's a way to find compromises that will leave his dignity intact and still assert that we are in charge... right? Parenting is hard work.

On a more adorable side, he's gaining some more "words." He says "ah-oh-da" while he's putting blocks from one box into another or pulling off his socks or looking at a book. We haven't deciphered exactly what it means, but it's probably something like "Look at me!" He also says a imitative sort of "meh" after we finish a prayer with "amen."And as of last week, he can finally sign "please!" Little successes can bring big joy.


FRIDAY
We had three snow days in a row this week. I should be glad, but I struggle with days off. Tackle my to-do list? Or do nothing? I'm terrible at doing nothing.

After two days of feeling guilty over the tension, today I gave in and just relaxed.

I slept in (which for me, means getting up at 6:15). I read a book during both of Henry's naps. I ignored the laundry. We ate leftovers for lunch and dinner. We had a family play date in the snow.

Tomorrow I will do laundry and shop for groceries and sweep the floors. But today, I silenced the inner voices telling me to be dutiful and I successfully did nothing.


SATURDAY
Photo an Hour today!

Though the result is a bit boring and speaks of a rather humdrum life, I actually find this a good exercise. Clicking the camera every hour helps me notice how I'm spending my day and evaluate if I'm spending it well. Give this a try yourself!

7:00 | Awake

8:00 | Breakfast

9:00 | Floors

10:00 | Read

11:00 | Shop

12:30 | Forgot to snap a pic at 12:00, and now it's naptime and we're stuck in traffic!

1:00 | Late Lunch

2:00 | Wishing

3:00 | Snack Break

4:00 | Veggies

5:00 | Diapers

6:00 | Family Devotions

7:00 | Just Us

SUNDAY
Snow and resulting snow days tossed a curve ball I didn't expect and what started out as a run-of-the-mill week with nothing more noteworthy than my son's latest babbles turned into an out-of-the-ordinary mini vacation week.

This coming week promises to be more hectic. I used to long for the day when I'd hit that Plateau of Adulthood and things would finally be all neatly finalized and settled. How embarrassing that I once thought it existed. We don't achieve a coasting speed when everything just auto-pilots along with a cozy hum. There is always change, always growth, always newness, always upheaval. What I long for now is peace in the midst of chaos. An attitude of humility and acceptance and calm. As I dive into a new week (on one less hour of sleep, thanks to last night's time change), I'm going to create breathing room at the edges of my busy days and seek contentment in the mess that life inevitably creates.


Grateful this week for: 
visit with an old friend
recipe inspiration
orchid blooms
milkshake with H
a repair to the light in the new bathroom
free evening time
prayer
oil change for the car
hair dryer
Bible Study
new boots, after much searching
yellow lines on a road thickly covered with fog
snowflake-filled air
H's closed-mouth grin
Car Talk
sunshine
dripping of melted snow
clean diapers
salads for dinner

Health: Feb 23 - Mar 1

The earth is filled with your love, O Lord; teach me your decrees. 
Ps. 119: 64

MONDAY
I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm starting to enjoy evenings in the kitchen. I used to always say that packing lunches was the absolute worst part of being an adult. But I'm beginning to find relaxation and joy in preparing lunch meals for the three of us, browning sausage to toss in a crockpot soup in the morning, washing and chopping fresh vegetables and fruits to store in the fridge, prepping the coffeepot to be switched on in the morning, and maybe sipping on a glass of chocolate milk while I do it all. An hour or two in the kitchen before bed can be a beautiful thing, a bookend to the hour I spend alone in the wee morning hours. (Although 8:00 at night is not very wee.)

I've never been terribly good at food, despite my (sorry excuse for a) first blog. I still couldn't be called a foodie or a particularly skilled cook. But providing food for my family is one of my primary daily tasks and at least I don't dread it anymore.

Got a chore that's become a joy? Add a comment!


TUESDAY
Henry's eyebrow and a wooden crate in the kitchen had a little run-in tonight. He's turning into a brave little boy about most of his tumbles, but this one did make him cry pretty hard. I love watching him be tough, but it's validating to have a tiny body nestle into yours, needing your comfort.


FRIDAY
Illness has been rampant at school ("stomach bug," the parents call it when they write an excuse note for their absent child) but I have considered myself exempt. I don't get sick. I don't get beaten by a virus. I push onward and upward no matter what, refusing to bend to illness.

Then my little boy had diarrhea for a whole day and no appetite and things slowed down a little. BRAT diet, extra rest, extra snuggles, extra diaper changes. Then I came home yesterday afternoon and got slammed with the sickness myself. I haven't vomited in probably 15 years, but when my years of victory over my stomach were brought sourly to an end, when I was finally beaten, I admitted defeat and fell to the beast. And for the first time in a very long time, I accepted a loss of control.

When your body is emptying itself, when you're crouched over the bathtub crying, waiting for the next heave, it's suddenly clear how little you've been in control all along. I'm accustomed to having control. Of my body, of my household, of my time. I don't break things or lose things or forget things. I keep an orderly home and an orderly schedule. I make plans and I keep plans. I don't get sick. I don't lose control. But I was in bed at 3:30 yesterday afternoon. My sweet husband went out to pick up applesauce and PeptoBismal, brought me juice and ice water, cared for our son, put him to bed, cleaned up the kitchen, cleared away my soiled trash can, and didn't say a single word of complaint. The "stomach bug" knocked me to the ground and pinned me there, forcing me to rely on someone else, to admit that I cannot manage alone, that sometimes I cannot keep pressing forward.

And isn't that true even when we're not sick. "Have you ever given orders to the morning, or shown the dawn its place? Have you seen the storehouses of the snow or the hail? Can you count the clouds?" As much as I cling to the illusion of holding my life tightly by the reins, I am not the Driver. My life is one piece of a much bigger story that Someone else is writing. And though He gives me responsibilities along the way, my primary task is to recognize that He's in control.

This morning, as Henry naps and I sip on peppermint tea, I'm grateful to be learning this lesson. I've trained myself to be a mom who does everything, who pushes through, who doesn't leave duties undone. But I am taking a sick day. I am not even putting on mascara. I will not sweep the floors today. I will not do the budget. I will not cook dinner. I might fold the laundry, but I might leave it wrinkling in baskets for another day. The lingering fever and body aches and weakness are reminders that my health and the health of my family are not in my hands. Everything I thought I had under control has ground to a screeching halt and - despite my reluctance to believe it - I've been beaten. And it turns out to be ok.


SATURDAY
This week started out quite calm. I wrote in my planner "remember gratefulness" since I've been lax in recording daily gratefulness in my journal the past few weeks. And the week stepped slowly and peacefully along.

Then we all got sick. The night I was curled up in bed with a fever and an emptied stomach, Henry also threw up in his crib. The next day we both stayed home and Pete came down with the same thing that evening. A sick house doesn't inspire a lot of gratefulness, but if properly considered, it actually should. A washing machine for a crib-ful of messy blankets, a glass of apple juice, half a banana, sunshine and fresh air for a short walk, soup from a sister, all the days when we've been well. And this morning, when we're on the mend again, we are grateful for eggs and hashbrowns, no fever, cold air through an open window, a stack of books, and a mug of coffee.

Healing, on every the smallest of scales, points to a Healer and reminds that health is a daily gift. Today, we are grateful.


SUNDAY
I'm hoping winter's end is in sight, but today's drive home from church, through poem-worthy snowy woods (and over put-the-car-in-neutral! roads), made me glad for one last (please, let it be the last) good snowfall. It lay an inch thick already when we got home, whispering, "Sit by the fire. Make a cocoa. Read a book."

I wanted to give in. But there was work to be done. And organizing our work-in-progress rooms upstairs was nearly as satisfying as an afternoon with a hot mug and a thick book. Good work can be relaxing in its own way.

The weekend closes on a productive note, and after a fancy-for-a-Sunday dinner (recipe here), we sit tonight with steaming mugs (mine a hot cocoa, Pete's a mocha I just invented!) and bright laptop screens, hoping the sleet holds long enough to bring on a delay for tomorrow morning.

I do hope winter's over, but I do love a good 2 hour delay.


Grateful this week for: 
clumpy bathtime eyelashes
humor
paid bills
Hide and Seek: Henry and Daddy
crunching ice underfoot
needle and thread through fabric
cardinal beside the road
hippo in one boot, zebra in the other
ponytail
talking, really talking
dry shampoo
washing machine
heating pad
toast and apple juice and banana
fresh air
soup, a gift
snuggles with H
clean laundry
sunlight
birds! 

Deep and Shallow: February 16 - 22

I remember your ancient laws, O Lord, and I find comfort in them. 
Ps. 119:52

TUESDAY
Let's get one thing straight: Being a mom is hard work. Whether you're getting up every 3 hours to breastfeed (or bottlefeed) an infant, preventing a new crawler from doing somersaults down the stairs, relocating every object in your living room for the safety of your toddler, or washing your highchair cover for the second time in a week after a diaper leaked all over it, it's hard. Whether you're pumping breastmilk at work, or folding the same just-washed onesies you washed and folded two days ago, or filling your cart with Gerber baby food jars, or trying (again!) to get your baby to sign "please," it's never-ending, it's attention-swallowing, it's emotion-sucking, and it's always changing.

Like some of you, I am a working mom. I spend mornings in the office and come home to care for my son in the afternoons. As a Christian mom, with friends who spend their entire days at home with their kids, I can feel like a failure being only a "part-time mother." Have I bought culture's ideal of the working woman? Am I refusing to give my son the complete mom he should have? Am I being stubborn to keep working when my place should be with my child? Am I to be pitied because we're obviously so poor that I have to keep going to work every day?

To all of these, no.

Do I expect to someday be a "stay-at-home mom?"

I'm not sure. 

The days I spend at home with Henry are few and usually they're special. But I just had three of them in a row, and it was exhausting. I'm looking forward to getting back to work tomorrow. I know I wouldn't have felt this when he was a few months old, but now that he's one, I find that I can love him better when I get a break. For me, right now, the mom life I'm living is perfect. I enjoy my job and I enjoy having obligations other than washing diapers and making toddler food and picking up wooden blocks. I love my little boy and I love the time I spend with him. And I think I do it better when part of my day is spent doing something else.

There's no perfect formula for being a perfect mom. If you're a mom who spends your days at home - whether that includes working from home, homeschooling, or just keeping things afloat - that's good. If you're a mom who works half-days or full-days or nights or weekends or some tailor-made schedule - that's good. If you've been in one camp and are now in the other one - that's good too.

Being a mom is hard, but the hardest part is the comparison. "I'm doing it better than you." Or, "She's doing it way better than me." Cloth diapers, disposable diapers. Formula, breastmilk. Babywise, demand-feeding. Home-pureed organic vegetables, Up&Up squeezey tubes from Target. Spanking, not spanking. Working mom, stay-at-home mom. We judge and we feel judged.

Because I'm feeling the importance of this - or because maybe I'm the only one who struggles with this - here's a call to rejoice in the path you're walking. I want to learn from moms who are doing it differently and be open to them learning from me, if they'd like to. I want to stop pitying moms who are "making mistakes" and stop pitying myself for "failing." Without going all Similac-commercial on you, I suggest we recognize that what we're doing is hard and that we're each finding the way through this jungle that works best for us. Keep washing those onesies, keep mashing up those bananas, keep gating those staircases. I'm done judging you and judging myself. And tomorrow, I'm going to work.

Here's a mom moment you can judge me for, if you want. I fed my one-year-old a popsicle today.

He loved it.

WEDNESDAY
Today was going to be packed. Babysitting for a friend. Multiple evening obligations, back to back. An errand to run. Dinner to make, dinner to eat (in some miraculously appearing moments), somewhere else to go, and then dinner prep to do for tomorrow's crockpot meal.

But in a perfect storm of last-minute changes, nothing went as planned.

My babysitting gig got cancelled. We ended up sharing a pizzas with a few friends, leaving the dinner I'd made to be stowed away in the fridge for tomorrow. My evening Bible Study was cancelled, and I had the whole night free to work on some projects that had been piling up.

It was perfect. 

"The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps." What am I planning right now? For tomorrow? For next fall? For my next five years? What do I think is going to happen? With certainty, I can say that those things will not be the story I tell after that time has passed. Tonight, on a tiny scale, shows who's in charge. And it's not me. And when everything that happens is completely counter to my expectations, and it turns out far better than my plans were, I'm reminded that the best Planner is not me after all.

FRIDAY
Let's remember how this week went. Monday, no school for President's Day. Tuesday, Snow day. Wednesday, day of ultimate plan upheaval. Thursday, Open House at school keeps Pete out late. Today, two hour delay due to extreme cold. No single day of this week was "normal."

In keeping with that theme, I got home today and discovered there was a bat in my basement. A very active bat. A bat that was fluttering angrily against the door between the basement and the kitchen. You should know that in my married life we have had no fewer than three real-live bat experiences in our living space. And Pete had several notable encounters before we were married. So as unusual as a bat situation should be, I was disappointingly unsurprised. When Pete came home, I had an errand to run, so I took Henry and left Pete to battle the villain alone. But when I was on my way home and texted him to ask if the coast was clear, he replied "Not necessarily. I haven't found your adversary."

Great.

As I pulled into the driveway and got myself and Henry out of the car, I heard a creature in flight banging into windows inside the sunporch. My bat! But it wasn't a bat. It was a starling. A better outcome than a rabid bat, but still a less than desirable basement pet. We let it out of the porch into the freedom of the great big world and he joined a large flock on the tree next door. Pete said they must have been waiting for him. Maybe so.

SATURDAY
I'm back where I was some 11 hours ago, sitting with propped feet in the living room while H sleeps upstairs. But this time I don't have the ever-escalating heart rate as his nap's-end draws near and my "free time" comes to a close. Now he's down for the night and I have the house to myself. We're snowed in. Pete's at the Men's Retreat and hopefully on his way home soon. I'm wanting to worry, but I'm choosing peace.

At the beginning of the week I was feeling worn out by long days with my son. Today, though, I enjoyed him. We snuggled in bed when he woke up too early. I chased him in endless circles around the dining room table. We read books (and ate scones!) with Nannie and Pops who came over to keep us company. I managed - finally - to find a toy of his that was missing. He shared grape halves with me. We went for walks in the snow. We shared a dinner of pesto tilapia with penne and roasted broccoli. I gave him a bath and sang him his bedtime hymn and he snuggled down in his airplane jammies with Bunny's arm in his mouth. We didn't manage to get out today like I'd hoped, but I relished the day with my little boy.

Now, to battle the worry about Pete's safety that's nipping at my mind, I'm going to bake. If it's any good, maybe you'll see the recipe here!

Grateful this week for: 
disrupted plans
coffee
more coffee
snow glitter
little boy smiles
little boy laughs
little boy babbles
guests
Italian Delite
baking
more baking

Be Mine: February 9 - 15

"I will walk about in freedom, for I have sought out your precepts."
Ps. 119: 45

MONDAY
Remember when you were a kid and you were just itching for a snow day? Or a delay? Or an early dismissal? It's magical. It's exciting. It's edge-of-your-seat drama. But when you work the front desk at a school, it's none of this. It's exhausting. It's busy. It's phone-ringing-of-the-hook drama. Today was one of these days.

Since we're a private school, we receive kids from about 14 districts. If they call an early dismissal - or a morning delay - the kids in that district are transported by bus on that district's schedule. Today at 9:00 one of our schools called an early dismissal. We were hoping it would only be that one and we could proceed as normal for the rest of the day. No such luck. One by one, all of our schools (except one) called early dismissals and gave us their dismissal times, which were stretched over a two-hour period.

Then parents started calling. "When will my child be dismissed?" "I was going to pick her up. Should I still do that?" "Can you tell my kids to be sure to get on the bus?" "What about the basketball game tonight?" "Will there still be play practice?" We've had enough practice at this that we are able to answer most questions. And they're valid, understandable questions! But it's wearying.

The irony today was that there wasn't a flake of snow in sight. Or a drop of rain. Temperatures were really low and freezing rain was predicted for the afternoon, but it's a little humorous to dismiss a whole school full of kids not into a blizzard, or even the beginnings of a blizzard, but into... a cold and gloomy February day.

My husband - who's retained more 'kid' than I have - thought today's dismissal was wonderful. And a coworker thought the "command central" of the office was awesome. In a way, they're both right. A change in the normal routine is refreshing, even if it means answering the phone every 30 seconds and setting aside my to-do list for the day to manage the closings. On days like this one, I can handle the whirlwind gracefully and with an eye to eternity, or I can become consumed by the whirlwind and completely lose focus. It's a choice every day, but more noticeably on days when things seem out of control. The truth is, every day is wildly out of control - out of my control, anyway - and only being at peace with the One who is in control makes it possible to find the magic in any ordinary day.

WEDNESDAY
I've been reading When People are Big and God is Small, which we will hopefully be doing in my Bible Study sometime in the next year or so. The chapter on "growing in the fear of the Lord" suggests reading regularly the last few chapters of Job. "It is a speech intended to cause Job to grow even more in knowing God's greatness. If you read these chapters every day for a month you will find that they are a treatment for almost anything." I have been reading them for 3 days, and this is already true. My heart is so humbled to think on the greatness of God and it really changes my perspective on things when I consider the absolute control God has over everything. Who am I to question him? To try to turn things in my favor? To complain? To be annoyed? It's humbling, but not depressing. I feel awed at God's power and grateful to be in His hands. Add Job 38-41 to your devotions this week. It's pretty powerful.

THURSDAY

When I was a little girl, my dad would bring home a special Valentine's Day gift for my sister and me every year, nearly always a stuffed animal. I had a stash of pink, white, and red critters and the new bear or monkey or rabbit was added delightfully to the collection. The dead-center of February, the dead-center of a cold winter, was warm and bright and cheerful in the supermarket aisles of shimmery pink and glimmery red. By middle school, I had made a tradition of wearing red and pink every day from February 1st through the 14th. I didn't have a boyfriend, but I didn't need one. I was blissfully happy with Valentine's Day as a single girl, drenched in sappiness and not the least bit embarrassed about it.

Valentine's Days while I was in college cemented the day as my favorite holiday. On February 14th of my freshman year, the boys who lived on the top floor of my building bought a rose for each of the girls on the other three floors. The next year on Valentine's Day, snow blanketed the campus forcing an unprecedented cancellation of all classes. I spent the next Valentine's Day in Oxford, England with a houseful of American students. We made a fantastic feast, topped off by layered chocolate heart-shaped brownie cakes and chocolate covered strawberries, and the next day some of us left for a weekend in Rome. 

By the next Valentine's Day, I had met my true love (who is now my husband) and though this should have been the Valentine's Day I'd been waiting for all my life, the glow of a blossoming genuine love had dimmed the shimmer I'd found in all the Valentine's Days that had gone before. When it was just me and my candy heart earrings and my girlfriends and my glittery garlands and chocolates and stuffed animals, falling in love with love was easy. When February 14th - or any day of the year - brought the reality of a serious relationship, none of that glitzy stuff meant anything. It didn't work anymore. Though I kept decorating and pulling out my collection of Valentine's socks each winter, the excitement had worn off. I suppose it's the same phenomenon that causes the drive to the beach to actually be more exciting than the vacation week itself, or the anticipation of Christmas morning to be more magical than those few hours ever actually are. I'd been glorifying "love" for all those years, and now here it was. Not a let-down, just the end of the anticipation.

Since then, for the past 6 Valentine's Days, there's been less pink, fewer decorations, and a decreasing collection of heart earrings in my jewelry box. This year I got out my box of Valentine's Day decorations, but couldn't bring myself to put any of them up. I've outgrown them. I made some simple heart garlands out of scrapbook paper in deep reds and browns instead. Grown-up V-day decorations. I miss the glitz a little bit, but it's been replaced by the deep and lasting love of a committed husband. That's something you can't box up with chocolate truffles, can't put on a conversation heart, can't spell out with x's and o's. And finally, I'm OK with that.

FRIDAY
Valentine's present from my love.

And I got him a 1-gallon jar of dill pickles.

That's true love.

SATURDAY
I spent the whole day baking. Creme brulee first, which had to chill for 6 hours, then a devil's food cake with strawberry cream filling, chocolate ganache, and chocolate curls. I'm not really good at this kind of thing - I'm not a chef - but it completely absorbed me all day. (Along with Love Songs Radio on Pandora.) Life's not about me and what satisfies or fulfills me, so I want to be really careful not to go in that direction. But I was very content spending the whole day in the kitchen and when I served the desserts at our Brother Sister Valentine's Dinner (with Pete and his three brothers, and all four wives) I felt reassured that my day had been well-spent. Even though the creme brulee was a little runny and the cake was a little dry.

Pete spent the day working with his brother and dad on the new bathroom. Progress is slow, but steady. I love what's happening up there and I'm so excited for the finished project!

SUNDAY
Sick mama and sick baby boy today. Skipped church, wiped runny noses (mine and his) all day, and snuggled for the three hymns (instead of the usual one) before bedtime. Glad the weekend's extended by one day this time. Thank you, Lord, for Presidents Day.

Grateful this week for:
kitchen counter lamp
2 hour delay
H's attempts with a fork!
eggs and sweet potato hashbrowns
errands with my boys
birds in winter
emoji texts
wooden animal toys
nail makeover
pink
chocolate
sappy love songs
coworkers who are friends
sunshine
orchid
Peter
baking
Charlotte snuggles
three bonus sisters
snow plows and salt trucks
smile cheeks
avocado and oatmeal facial mask
2nd cup of coffee
honesty
hymns
leftover stromboli

PS:  A couple new recipes will be posting here in the next week or so.