work in progress

home sweet home

2011-06-07T16:04:00.000-07:00

I have a goal this summer. I want to stay home. You say, "But you're a stay-at-home mom! Staying home is in your job description!" Alas, I am the least stay-at-home of all stay-at-home moms.

I love my home. I love my children. I love entire days. Put those three things together, and it's my nightmare.

I can probably count on one hand the number of days that I have stayed home all day. I take my children out, somewhere, every day. The grocery store, the other grocery store, the library, the park. Sometimes, we just drive down the street to the coffee shop.Sometimes, we just drive.

At some point, in the middle of the messes and babbling and screaming matches, I feel the overwhelming need to escape. I feel like I have three options: put the kids on the curb (free to a good home only, of course), lock them in their rooms with hamster feeders, or pack them into the car and go somewhere.

Now, there's nothing necessarily wrong with this habit, but it's been impressed on my spirit that I need to make some changes. We need to spend more time at home, period. I need to create a routine and a rhythm that uses more of the hours in our day in better ways. We need a less frantic pace. I need way less time listening to whiny, fussy, bickering children who are whiny, fussy, and bickering because their trapped in their car seats for too long.

Last night, I made the mistake of sharing this with my Bible study girls. I say mistake, because once it's out there, these women will hold me accountable to it. Darn them. So today, I devoted myself to trying it out, this stay-at-home thing.

Well, it's 3:49, and I'm freaking exhausted.

In the hours between Eli's 6:15 rise-and-shine (curse you, summer sunrise!) and when I plopped them into their beds for naptime, we did art projects, baked a pie, played in the backyard, put together our train set, and played the world's most frustrating game of Memory. Doesn't sound like much to you? Factor in the messes - my children get into EVERYTHING. Lucas is a champion dumper of all things in boxes. Add to that the 87,000 arguments that my children get into in the course of a day. Add to that the cacophony of wooden spoons on pots (net loss: 3 wooden spoons). And on top of it all, I actually managed to squeeze in a few chores. And I blogged! And I didn't escape. Okay, I escaped once, first thing, to get some coffee, but that barely counts. A girl needs her drug.

But here's what I loved about today: My kids were happier. We've been dealing with a lot of whiny, grumpy attitude from Eli lately, and so much bickering between the boys. Today was better. Our pace was slower, so I felt like I could actually stop what I was doing and give them the attention they needed in the moment. And it helped!

I certainly don't plan to stay home all day, every day. It's summer, after all! There are parks to be played at! And there are errands that simply must be run. But I'm going to try, really try, to build the rhythm of our days around what we can find to do in our very own little home. And who knows? Kid #2 might actually get potty-trained before kindergarten!

Wish me luck!

two

2011-04-14T15:03:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday, my Little Lion Man. Can't imagine our world without you.

on my own

2011-03-12T15:49:00.000-08:00

Ben is out of town this weekend, on a retreat to Sunriver with some of the awesome manly men of our church. He is snowboarding and skiing and snowmobiling, having (I hope) a fantastically wild-at-heart kind of time.

On the homefront, I have again proven to be a less than model single parent. On the plus side, I have made blueberry pancakes, cleaned house, and taken my boys on some sort of adventure each day. I let them stay up late and watch movies and read books and cuddle. On the minus side, I yelled - yes, yelled - at Eli to "SHUT UP!" in the car today. I actually had to pull over, get out, and apologize because, seriously? That is some weak self control right there (good teachable moment, though). Also, I've gotten take out two nights in a row and made numerous trips to Baskin Robbins (darn you, drive-thru!). So, not my absolute finest use of a weekend, but not terrible, all things considered.

(And in my defense, I recently discovered that I am severely anemic, so I'm considering it a major victory that I have gotten dressed each day, let alone anything else.)

papa's house

2011-02-27T21:22:00.000-08:00

We spent a week visiting my parents in Idaho. In Eli's eyes, the sun rises and sets on Papa. For weeks leading up to our visit, Eli would tell any available pair of ears all about his Papa's house, where the following things exist: cars, trucks, coffee, a waterfall, candy canes, Grandma, cookies, and a race car bed.

We got to enjoy some surprise snow while we were in town, and the boys loved playing in my sister's giant yard. My dear, devoted dad pulled them around and around on his old wooden sled. Luke seemed a little nonplussed by it all, but then again, Luke often seems unimpressed by the world. He wears a funny expression a lot of the time that seems to say, "What else have you got?"

My dad, who is awesome in many ways, is particularly great at building things for his grandsons. The bookcase in Eli's bedroom, the race car bed, a giant wooden hippo (don't ask), and this time, a real wooden soapbox car. The kids were over the moon about having a real racecar to "drive" around the neighborhood.

As much as I love my children (and parents), for me, the highlight of the week was leaving them for three days to hole up in a cabin with six of my dearest friends. Four of us have been friends from birth, and all of us from early childhood. We have seen each other through every imaginable stage of growing up, and share an extraordinary bond. These girls have loved me through every awkward, obnoxious, and painful season of my life, and I know how unique it is to still have their friendship. The rare occasions when we can all gather together for a weekend away are precious beyond words.

I love having a home to go home to. I am thankful for parents who are joyfully married after forty-plus years, for the quiet little town that never changes beyond recognition, and for the sweet relationships that still tie me to it. I have roots, deep roots, and I love them.

15 things - whoa, i am behind

2011-02-27T21:04:00.000-08:00

I've been awol for two weeks, so I'm just slightly behind on my great 15 days of blogging. Let's just pick up where I left off, with...

Day 10 - Songs I listen to when I am:

Happy - anything that helps me tell my Savior how glad I am to be His. I love the song "I'm Singing" by Kari Jobe. And "You Are My Joy" by David Crowder Band (must turn up VERY loud). And "Happy" by Aiesha Woods, if I want to dance around to a really cheesy song.

Sad - Hmm... not the songs I should listen to. I like to indulge my melancholy side once in awhile. I think the technical term is "wallow." Lately my favorite sad sack song is "Blood Bank" by Bon Iver, but also every other Death Cab for Cutie song.

Bored - I literally cannot remember the last time I was bored. Exhausted, yes. Maybe listless, but only if I'm avoiding my mile-long list of things to do. If I ever find myself bored again, I'll break out the Hallelujah Chorus.

Hyped - I really don't know what that's supposed to mean. But, on those rare occasions when a run feels really, really good, and I feel really, really energized and pumped about how good it feels (and how totally awesome I probably look doing it), I bust out one of my current favorites - Pumped Up Kicks by Foster the People. Seriously, you must find it, and listen to it, and love it. It's streets ahead, people.

Mad - I don't usually listen to music if I'm mad about something. The imaginary conversations I'm having with the object of my anger tend to be pretty distracting.

15 things - days 7, 8, 9

2011-02-13T18:45:00.000-08:00

Day 7- A picture of someone/something that has had the biggest impact on you

These little people have changed my life in every way possible, for the very best.

Day 8- Short term goals for this month and why

1. Roast a whole chicken. Because I've always wanted to try it. Because on Top Chef they are always roasting chickens and talking about how amazing the the crispy browned skin is. Because I envision the whole process: glass of wine, favorite cooking music, the deep satisfaction I get from chopping fresh herbs, and the even deeper satisfaction of making something absolutely delicious.

2. Run three miles with at least one kid in the stroller. To date, I've managed two, with serious concern for my cardiovascular health. I can do 6, maybe 7 by myself, so it seems ridiculous.

3. Get my garage under control. It's still half full of boxes, most of them rummaged through and left for dead. It's a nightmare.

Day 9- Something you're proud of in the past few days

I cooked the chicken! And guess what? Chicken skin, no matter how crispy and brown, makes me want to puke. Also, I couldn't hear my favorite cooking music over the mind-numbing whine and wail of my two-year-old, who hates dinner-making time in a violent way. But the chicken itself was delicious, so, WIN.

a servant heart

2011-02-13T17:54:00.000-08:00

On Friday, I had the privilege of taking part in our church's annual Women's Night of Prayer. This year, 650 women came together to pray, worship, and seek the Lord for six hours straight, from midnight to 6 a.m. It's an amazing time, and without a doubt, the world is changed because of it.

I had signed up to help out, expecting to be asked to help set up or clean up, or maybe greet at the door. Instead, I was asked to be on "the kitchen team." Now, you have to know that at our church, nothing is done halfway. The midnight breakfast served at this event isn't just bagels and fruit. It's bagels and fruit, and biscuits and gravy, and scrambled eggs, and homemade cinnamon rolls dripping in caramel sauce, and bowl after bowl of munchies, and... you get the picture. We are seriously spoiled. So being asked to help prep, serve, and clean up meant missing most, if not all of the event.

I was torn. Actually, I wasn't torn. I didn't want to do it. I decided to ignore the email and pray about it. So I prayed, "Lord, I don't want to do this. Tell me I don't have to, okay?" Or something along those lines.

After asking Him many, many times, He answered: "If you have to keep asking, I think you have your answer. If you want to be a servant, start serving."

You see, I've prayed for years for more of a servant's heart. Sure, I serve. I joyfully pour myself out for my family. I'm happy to bring dinner to a friend with a new baby. I'm glad to spend a few extra hours at church to help with Sunday School twice a month. But give me an opportunity to serve that presents the teensiest inconvenience, and I'm out.

I realized that this was just such a "feet to faith" opportunity. I said yes, but to be honest, I struggled with my attitude all week. I like to be in the mix. I hate the feeling of missing out. I imagined myself scrubbing dishes in the kitchen, hearing faint strains of worship and feeling hugely bummed that I wasn't a part of it.

As I was fretting and stewing about it, God brought me to Philippians 2:14: "Do everything without complaining or arguing." The ESV puts it as, "Do all things without grumbling or questioning." (I know this verse well, as I recite it to my son about a kajillion times a week.) It certainly applied to my attitude. I was complaining about the calling, questioning whether I should really obey.

Fortunately, when God shows us where we fail, He also shows us how to be better. God taught me that my obedience was empty if my attitude was rotten. He took me back to last year, when I staggered into the Night of Prayer needing to soak up every ounce of love and wisdom and presence I could possibly get, and how I was absolutely lavished with love. And He showed me how, in so many ways since then, He's been equipping me to pour out the same love onto someone else.

And so, by His grace, I marched into that kitchen armed with a new, humble, thankful heart. I took on Colossians 2:23 as my mantra: "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as unto the Lord." I wrestled frozen sausages, mopped up spilled juice, refilled coffee, and scrubbed dirty dishes with a deep-down joyful spirit. A few times during the night, as I listened to the beautiful worship of so many Godly women, that "Aw, man" attitude started to creep back in. And each time, I surrendered that emotion, and joined right in the singing.

I know there are people who are naturally servants. I see them all the time, or don't see them, as they work tirelessly behind the scenes, out of the spotlight, in whatever way they are called. I am not one of those people. But I want that kind of heart. And so God, in his loving, gentle way, is building one for me.

Oh, and one more thing. Find the person who cleans the coffee pots after church each Sunday, and thank them. Profusely.

15 things - days 5, 6

2011-02-08T18:06:00.001-08:00

Day 5: A picture of somewhere I've been

I love this picture, although it makes me long for the days of spontaneous travel, available credit, and skinny legs. Florida was a favorite destination when we lived in Indianapolis. Tickets were cheap, and it was a great escape for us poor landlocked beach lovers. Our favorite spot to visit was the Fort Myers area, and we loved to drive out to Sanibel Island and comb its famous beaches.

Day 6: My favorite superhero and why

Um....

I got nothing.

15 things - day 3

2011-02-05T16:06:00.000-08:00

So, today should be a picture of me as a child. I have the ultimate picture, but I have to find it. And find the cord to the scanner. Which hasn't been located since we moved. So, it might happen on day 15. But when it does, it will be epic.

I'll do day 4 instead: A habit I wish I didn't have.

I have a number of bad habits, or at least annoying, non-productive habits. But the one that's really bugging me lately is my bedtime routine. I used to read actual books before bed, but lately I've been addicted to catching up on a number of blogs before I can go to sleep. I might be struggling to keep my eyes open, but I just can't put the phone down. And they aren't important, character-building blogs, either. They're pretty much useless crap. So thank you, Steve Jobs. You've ruined my literacy.

luuuuke

2011-02-04T15:05:00.000-08:00

Poor, poor Lucas B.

This little darling has so suffered from Second Kid Syndrome. Even in utero, he got the short end of the stick. He was my percocet baby, because when you have migraines every day and a toddler to care for, you take drugs. Well, I did.

The first year of Lucas' life passed by in a complete blur. I struggled so much just to function with two kids. I didn't spend hours on end laying on the couch, just holding my baby (like I did with Eli). Couple that with the fact that Lucas, from a very early age, was a non-cuddler. He loved to be held, but hated to be held close and snuggled. He wanted to be upright and looking out. And as soon as he was mobile, he took off and never looked back.

So it has taken me by enormous surprise to realize that my sweet little baby boy is suddenly a toddler. I blinked, and suddenly he was rounding the bend to two. Talking non-stop (although, still can't understand a word he says), catching a ball, asking for labels (window? outside? cow? - which all sound like "flargaflafel"), and exercising his considerable sense of humor. He's already a little comedian and will do anything for a laugh.

For the longest time, Lucas refused to be read to - wouldn't sit still for a book if you paid him to. One night a few weeks ago, he brought me a book, sat in my lap, and opened it up. He sat for the whole book! Then he brought another one! My little teacher heart went flippy floppy and I immediately upgraded his educational potential from community college to Ivy League. And, just as I suspected, as I read more with him, he is finally making some actual words. The cow says "Boo," by the way.

I know that as mommies, we don't like to pretend that feel the same way about one of our children as the next. But the truth is, I felt kind of disconnected from Lucas for a long time. He was a needy baby and has the most obnoxious whine you've ever heard. He wasn't hard to love, he just wasn't as easy to like as Eli had been. So the best part of Luke's transformation into a toddler is that I like him so much better. Is that terrible? Well, it's true. I feel closer to him, more connected, and enjoy being with him more than I ever did when he was a baby. He is fast developing his own personality, and I love getting to know him as a little person. He's silly, funny, intelligent, and very lovey. Now, he loves to cuddle, and I can't get enough.

I do, however, worry a bit if we have a third kid. What does third kid syndrome look like - I call him "Three" and stick him in his crib with a hamster feeder?

15 things - day 2

2011-02-04T15:04:00.001-08:00

The meaning behind my blog name:

This blog is a work in progress. I'm a work in progress. That's about it.

How boring.

15 things - day 1

2011-02-03T20:46:00.000-08:00

A recent picture of me:

I love that kid.

15 "interesting" things about me. I use the word "interesting" loosely.

1. I have a serious ice cream habit. If it gets in my head, I cannot not get some.
2. I can't go to sleep without reading gawker.com.
3. I'm not nearly as fit as I look with my clothes on.
4. I have very detailed, specific daydreams about furniture.
5. I know all fifty state capitols. It doesn't help me out in life AT ALL.
6. I really want a daughter but I think my life is going to be all boys.
7. I don't enjoy playing with babies.
8. My favorite animal is an otter.
9. I'm great at starting projects and terrible at following them through.
10. My ultimate dream vacation destination is the Seychelles Islands.
11. I tend to be late, flaky, and forgetful. I try to make up for it with my charm and wit.
12. I'm exhausted, and I can't think of anything else. So, 11 interesting things about me.

the spacious place

2011-02-03T14:12:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was a Bad Day.

Nothing particularly bad happened, but the whole day was rotten. I felt terrible, with a migraine and a sick stomach, and a bad reaction to some medicine that left me feeling groggy and achy and pitiful. I needed my children to be silent and still. They weren't. Every noise, every bang or crash or yell or cry or whine produced within a fifty-foot range was instantly on my nerves. I was short-tempered and ungracious. And no matter how many times I took a deep breath, asked God to change my attitude and put a guard over my mouth, it didn't take. You know how sometimes, your child is just kind of a pill, for no good reason? Yesterday, that was me.

It didn't get any better, and I put the kids to bed cranky, and Eli was up SIX TIMES during the night with the most ridiculous "needs" (I saw a baby squirrel in my room! I need a tissue for my boogie nose! You made me feel sad yesterday!). At one point I actually sat down on the edge of the bathtub (during his third middle-of-the-night attempt to poop), and started bawling. "You're not letting me sleeeeeep!!" I wailed. To my three-year-old.

But this morning, as I dragged my weary self out of bed and hauled Eli off to school, I was reminded of a favorite verse in 2 Samuel: "He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delights in me." It dawned on me that, seemingly out of nowhere, I feel better.

I'd been walking through this dark, dry, desert place for so long, believing and knowing that God was working, but not feeling it. I knew that eventually, he would bring my emotions and sense of well-being into alignment with the truth he was teaching me - that how I feel would catch up with what I know. And you know what? He has! I am beginning to see the fruit of all he has been doing. I am actually able to look back - which means, I have moved forward. Out of the desert. He has brought me out into a spacious place. I can breathe. I can rejoice. Heck, I can dance like a crazy person. There's plenty of room.

the schedule

2011-01-26T09:12:00.000-08:00

I've had an idea rolling around in my head since before Christmas, and yesterday I finally sat down and did it. I made a daily schedule. For me, and my kids. At home. I know, I know. It kind of sounds ridiculous, right? I swore I would never become "that" stay-at-home-mom (might as well start saying SAHM, since this is such a very SAHM-ish thing to do). My parenting style is pretty laid-back, so actually scheduling the mundane activities of our day seemed restrictive and uptight and... well, unnecessary.

But God has been teaching me (read: DRILLING into me) to be moldable, teachable, and obedient. So last fall, when I noticed that I was wasting a tremendous amount of time during the day, and that I rarely actually sat down and played with my kids, and that Eli wasn't learning his letters and numbers as quickly as I expected, I began to ask God if he wanted me to change. Turns out, he kind of did. (Shoot.) I came across this verse:

"His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!'" Mt 25:21.

And this one:

"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart." Col. 3:23

Truth be told, I was slacking. Being a low-maintenance mommy, I have pretty low-maintenance kids. But I was getting frustrated with them - a lot. I was impatient with their neediness. I was constantly behind on everything. I crashed into bed each night feeling deeply unsatisfied with how my day had gone, how much was left undone and how much was on my to-do list for tomorrow. I know this is a common state for most people, especially for a mom. But I knew God wanted more from me. He had more for me. More responsibility, yes, but also more blessing.

One day, the Holy Spirit brought to my mind a reminder of my past (short) life as a teacher. I wasn't a great teacher, but I was a pretty good one. And darn it, I was organized. I kept things running smoothly with a classroom of 20+ kids. Why, then, couldn't I run my own home the same way? Soon after, a wise friend shared how she schedules her day - every hour, every activity is accounted for. She homeschools, and has a child with special needs, so her schedule is ten times busier than mine. But the idea stuck.

So, the experiment begins. My schedule is loose, and I don't expect to ever follow it completely. The point is, it's there. It tells me to get up EARLY and have my quiet time before the chaos of the day. It gives me times to stop everything and devote my attention solely to my kids. It includes times for specific activities with Eli (and Lucas, by default) to work on his early language and math skills, because it's important to me. It even tells me when to do laundry, clean my bathroooms, and weed the garden. And every night, at 8:30, it says "RELAX."

Feel free to laugh out loud at my idea. Eye-rolling and "Girl, please" will be allowed. After all, we're already off schedule - it didn't tell me to spontaneously post on my blog with numerous interruptions to play elephant, referee, and Old Lady Who Really Wants Your Trains. But you know, that's the beauty of being a (gulp) SAHM.

wednesday thoughts

2011-01-19T13:47:00.000-08:00

It's a random-thought kind of day.

The sun is shining and there are two gorgeous blue jays sitting on my back fence. Oh spring, how you tease.

Two New Year's resolutions this year:

1. Start every morning in the Word. I'm embarrassed to say that I've never read through the entire Bible. In this season of life, I've learned that nothing - no devotional, no sermon, no worship song - can substitute for the life-shaping power of God's own words. So far, I'm keeping up with our church's Bible-in-a-year plan, although dragging myself out of bed an hour earlier is painfully hard to do. I quickly learned that trying to have this quiet time after Eli gets up is impossible - or at least, unfruitful. (Is that a word? Fruitless. There you go.) Yes, some days it feels more like a "to do" than a desire, but the more I dig into scripture the more God makes me hungry for it.

2. Eat (and feed my children) more fruits and vegetables. In my mind, I was going to make smoothies for myself and the kids a few times a week, sneak pureed veggies into some of my recipes, and ample fruits and veggies cut, packaged, and ready for snacking. In reality, I finally cut up said veggies today - the 20th day of the year. Oh, well. Baby steps.

Have been trying some new recipes out and really enjoying cooking lately. I made my first homemade pasta into ravioli (thank you, Top Cheftestant Fabio, for making this look so deceptively easy). I made a delicious soup - pasta e fagioli - that they serve at the Olive Garden. Prosciutto and sage and garlic and white beans and tomato - oh, so good. The problem with my cooking phases is that they rarely involve really healthy food. It's always the comfort foods (read: fattening) that grab my attention. Sauteed kale with olive oil? No thanks. Bacon mac-and-cheese? Bring it.

Two major victories in my house of late. After the longest potty-training battle in the history of parenting, Eli has finally begun to poop on the potty every day. Before bed. Without screaming. What magical bribery tool finally brought this about, you ask? Was it the multitude of Hot Wheels cars? Dips into the candy jar? Threats of bodily harm? No, it was stickers. Just... stickers. (And yes, we've tried stickers a few times in the past. Apparently my child is now "developmentally ready" for stickers.)

The other victory is that I haven't taken migraine medicine in over a week. That may not sound like much to you, but believe me, it's huge. I can hardly remember when I could go two days without a migraine. Who knows why or for how long it will last, but I'm just gonna go ahead and praise God.

mr. personality

2011-01-04T18:29:00.000-08:00

This kid.

He's coming up on four years old, and he is a Character. Eli has had personality to spare since he was a young toddler. He keeps me either in stitches or pulling my hair out. There's very little neutral with this one.

Eli isn't often outright naughty, but he is curious and mischievous. As any reader of my blog (or anyone within hearing distance) knows, he gets into trouble the moment your back is turned. The other night, around four in the morning, I woke up to a very quiet tap-tap-tapping on my door. "Eli?" I groaned. His little head poked through the door, and he informed me he needed to go potty. After putting him back to bed, I stumbled back to my room and noticed my broom leaning against the wall outside our door. "That's odd," I thought sleepily. "I don't remember sweeping the carpet before bed." I went downstairs for some water and on the way passed a random empty sake cup sitting on the bottom step. "Also odd," I murmured. "I don't remember drinking sake on my way to bed."

The next morning I noticed a few other strange things around the house. Another sake cup in the refrigerator. The pantry door left open, and the quarter-bag of chocolate chips from the pantry lying on the floor, empty. A pair of pajama pants stuffed into the coffee table drawer. Someone had done a little exploring during the night.

Later that morning, Eli pointed to a glass measuring cup that was sitting out on the kitchen counter. The night before, it held a good amount of leftover balsamic vinaigrette, but now it was empty. "Mama?" said Eli with a mournful look on his face, "I dwank that chocowate miwk and it. did. not. taste. good."

Later still, we found the last sake cup in a drawer, with a bit of balsamic vinaigrette still in the bottom.

Eli definitely inherited his mommy's gift for words (which is a nice way of saying that he talks, endlessly, just like I did. Again, mom and dad, I'm sorry.) I usually fall asleep and wake up to him babbling away in his room. He's developing a great imagination and loves to play with (and talk to) his stuffed animals. He already has a great sense of humor and we laugh together a lot - and at him a lot. I could, however, stand a fewer pee and poop jokes.

Oh, and he loves his little brother. A few months ago, he turned a 180 from trying to clobber Lucas at every turn to trying to (aggressively) hug him at every turn. Every time he says, "Wucas is my sweetie brudda," my heart melts a little.

a little tiny soap box

2011-01-03T14:42:00.001-08:00

So, it occurs to me that the blog post I wrote late last night may have come across a little too transparent for those of my readers who prefer light-hearted "Guess what Eli said today?" posts. I hope that I didn't send anyone into a panic - I am not planning to jump off any bridges, and I don't need an intervention. One of my New Year's goals is to blog as often as possible - and that means that on some days, you will see the sunny side of my life, and on others, you will see something much more raw. The truth is, as women, especially as Christian women, we tend to live lives of great secrecy. We share the whole truth - the really ugly, scary thoughts and emotions - with very few people, if any. We are afraid to speak up when what we experience or what we feel isn't found in any Beth Moore book. And this? The shiny half-truth that we clothe ourselves in before we head off to church or work or play group or Target? It's a tool of Satan. I know, I know, nobody's comfortable tossing around the word "Satan." But he's real. He is the enemy. And this enemy of ours tells me that the Me who is content, self-controlled, faithful, gentle, and patient is the "Christian me." And the one who fails to live out the fruits of the Spirit is the sinner, and has to hide. But the truth is, it's all just me. I'm a real human being, and I live a real life. I swear when I drop something on my foot. I lose my patience with my kids when they whine and fight and make messes. I feel real things joy and sorrow, lightness and anger, hopefulness and hopelessness. Yes, I strive to live a life that pleases and glorifies the Lord. I try to be controlled by the Spirit and not by my emotions. I am quick to repent when I know I am hurting His heart. But my humanity does not make me a hypocrite. Please, don't believe that yours does, either.

I have two purposes in writing this blog. One, to encourage other women that they are not alone, even in their ugliest moments. That is why I try to write very transparently. Oh, I self-edit, of course. I do so to protect the people I love (because really, I swear a lot more than my mother-in-law thinks I do). But I see no need for another blog about another "perfect" Christian woman. I love to hear from readers who tell me they can "so relate" to what I've written. But even more important to me is to ultimately point you to Christ. I hope, and I pray that even when I let you see me at my weakest and lowest points, you will understand that I still have incredible, unexplainable joy and hope in the arms of my Savior. It's a tough balance to strike, and I know I fail at it often. Thanks for coming back anyway. Tomorrow, I promise, will be all about my cute kids.

happy new year

2011-01-02T22:56:00.001-08:00

I've been reflecting on the past year. This morning, I was thinking about a women's prayer night at our church last spring. I was given a verse that would prove to be a touchstone for a very hard year.

Ps 18:2: "The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge. He is my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold."

If ever I've received a prophetic word from God, that was it. While the past year brought many moments of joy and laughter, it also brought some incredibly dark days. In 2010, I was overwhelmed, frustrated, angry, discouraged, or sad more often than I've ever been. I spent countless hours on my knees, praying for circumstances to change and mountains to move. I pored over scripture, asking for answers to problems I couldn't begin to solve. I sobbed, shouted, and pleaded with God over pain and sorrow that ran so soul-deep that I could sometimes barely breathe.

Most years are marked by lots of little battles (a protracted potty-training standoff, for example). But 2010 seemed like a different type of animal. Trial after trial headed our way, the desert season seemed endless, and I spent a good deal of the year feeling like I was drowning, or at best, furiously treading water.

I'll be honest. In 2010, God's most frequent answers were "No" or "Not yet." And while I was dying for a "Yes," aching to see him move, I clung to his promises, dug deeper into his word, and staunchly refused to give in or give up. I'd love to say that I was never shaken, but trust me, I shook. I trembled, and I faltered, and I got really angry and full of doubt and tried to hide from the One who I felt was most failing me. But that verse, that promise, stuck with me. "The Lord is my rock. My fortress. My deliverer. My stronghold." I couldn't shake that.

The turning of a new year didn't magically fix the holes in my boat. Did it for you? I think we all hope that January 1st will bring a fresh start to everything in our lives, but on January 2nd, we wake up to the same reality, with a new calendar. I know the coming year will have its trials, and while I pray for a way in the desert, I know that sometimes, life just... sucks. There's a reason that we're not home yet. But life in Christ, on the rock? That life is hope, and joy, and renewal. That is the life I look forward to, this year.

diet hell

2010-10-04T22:05:00.001-07:00

Ben and I began a new program last week called Take Shape for Life. I've been asking the Lord to show me ways to honor my husband, and when he wanted to try this weight-management program, I thought, "Hurray! What a great opportunity for me to show him how much I respect and honor him! This will be fabulous and life-affirming and team-building!"

Oh, golly.

We have survived almost one week on an 1100-calorie-a-day diet of basically really horrible food (no offense, Medifast) that brings us absolutely zero pleasure. I've been lethargic, exhausted, fuzzy-headed, depressed, irritable, and HUNGRY. So, so hungry. Five seconds after I finish a "meal," I'm starving again. When we're not feeling suicidal or homicidal, we're just bummed, and thinking about food. I'm told that one of these mornings I will wake up with an amazing amount of energy and motivation and will know that I have entered the mythical "fat-burning" phase of the program, and that my pesky ten to fifteen extra pounds will begin to melt away, and that I will no longer feel insatiably, unconsolably starving. I'm clinging to that promise.

I am learning some things. I'm beginning to understand my rather unhealthy relationship with food. It appears that I took enormous pleasure in food, because there's a significant hole in my life where cheese and ice cream used to reside. I'm beginning to think about eating deliberately and purposefully, which is new. I've never struggled much with my weight (which is wholly the blessing of good genes), but I was becoming an extremely undisciplined eater. If nothing else, going through this experience should help me to make better choices when it comes to my health.

But seriously... I want a cookie.

falling short

2010-07-24T15:49:00.000-07:00

Every evening, before I go to bed, I imagine that the next day will go something like this:

6:30 Rise and shine! Have a half-hour of intimate Bible study and worship followed by an invigorating workout. Shower, get dressed. Maybe a cute sundress, jewelry, sandals. Do hair. Put on makeup. Take many vitamins.

8:00 Greet children warmly and cheerfully. Take Eli to the potty, dress him in real underwear, confident that it will be the only pair he wears today. Get children dressed.

8:30 Make nutritious breakfast - maybe blueberry pancakes or oatmeal and whole-grain toast. Fresh fruit, of course. Give Eli a cup of plain milk, which he will happily drink. Empty the dishwasher and reload the breakfast dishes. Be thankful that I took the time to clean the kitchen the night before. Marvel at how efficiently my morning is humming along.

9:00 Take completely prepared diaper bag and neatly dressed and groomed children out to the car. Run five or six errands with great efficiency, using coupons and reusable grocery totes. Listen to upbeat Kids' Mix on my ipod and enjoy as Eli sings along to every song. Dispense one - only one - nutritious snack. Make multiple potty stops, and marvel at how Eli is dry at every one of them!

11:30 Make spontaneous stop at the playground. Fountains? No problem! Grab pre-packed "Park Bag" from back of the car, stocked with sunscreen, swim clothes, towels, and snacks. Lazily talk on the phone with sister-in-law while the boys happily play in the fountain and the play gym. Smile proudly as Eli plays nicely with other children, although of course, I'm not surprised. He's raised really well.

12:30 Home for lunch! Whip up a healthy lunch of whole-wheat pita chips, hummus, cucumbers and fresh fruit. Eat with my children, while Eli regales me with joyful tales from the park and tells me about numbers, letters, colors, and shapes. Which he knows. Weave important life lessons into the conversation, which are instantly imprinted into his mind and heart.

1:00 Nap time! Smile approvingly as Eli poops in the potty in two minutes flat. Put children to bed. Clean house (according to well-prepared cleaning schedule), check email, read several chapters of an engrossing novel, and paint toenails. Marvel at how wisely I am using my time.

3:30 Get children up from naps (warmly, again). Engage children in any one of the following enriching activities: Art Time (from the well-stocked Art Time box), Pretend Play, Outdoor Play, Nature Walk, Letters and Sounds, Tumbling and Fitness. Approach impending dinner time with complete calm and ease.

5:00 Time to make dinner! Feel absolutely no panic as I consult my weekly menu, find all necessary (fresh!) ingredients in the refrigerator and pantry, and whip up an innovative and nutritionally dense meal that the whole family will love. Take a few moments to sweep through the living room and put away toys, and touch up hair and makeup in the mirror, in anticipation of hubby's arrival home.

6:00 Welcome husband home with warm smile, inviting hug, and a cold beverage. Sit down together to enjoy delicious meal and stimulating conversation about our day. After dinner, quickly clean the kitchen.

7:30 Bathe children and get them ready for bed. Read a variety of books together, then spend several minutes in prayer, enjoying how much Eli loves to pray on his own. Put children to bed, knowing that they will go to sleep immediately and sleep soundly in their beds.

8:00 Spend an hour with hubby, enjoying our favorite tv show. Eat one single ounce of dark chocolate, and marvel at how much it satisfies me. Glamorously drink a glass of red wine.

9:00 Sweep and mop kitchen floor, start dishwasher, and clean out and repack diaper bag and all "just in case" bags for the next day.

9:30 Wash face thoroughly. Use luxurious eye cream to pamper my tired, puffy eyes. Read in bed for half an hour, turn out the lights, and fall into a deep, restful sleep.

Sounds nice, doesn't it?

Here's how it turns out:

6:30 Through drug-like fog caused by taking a sleeping pill after tossing and turning half the night, hear alarm go off. Hit snooze twice. Turn alarm off and determine to get up early tomorrow.

8:00 Hear Eli pounding on his bedroom door. Stumble into the bathroom, brush teeth, and pull hair into a ponytail. Begin praying for strength.

8:15 Greet Eli with a half-smile and barely-open eyes. Whisper, "Are you poopy?" The answer, of course, is yes. Change poopy diaper while Eli screams for his diaper rash medicine. Drag him, kicking and screaming, into the bathroom to pee in the potty, which, he claims, he cannot do. "My penis is broken, Mommy." Put on his underwear. Make mental note that he is running out of clean underwear. Again. Determine that tomorrow, we will stay home all day, every day, until he finishes potty training. Get Lucas.

8:45 Take kids downstairs. Struggle to open eyes while slicing a banana. Give kids cereal and bananas. Give Eli juice because milk is simply not worth the battle. Determine that starting tomorrow, he will not whine about juice. Eat my cereal in the dark, on the couch, half-comatose. use couch cushion as a shield to hide behind. Continue praying for strength.

9:00 Begin getting ready for the day. Dress in sweats and a tank top. Put on running shoes and hope that people think I was just working out. Try to make bangs work, give up, and pin them back. Put on mascara so that people don't wonder if I have lazy eyes. Listen to Lucas cry downstairs and wonder which type of bodily harm Eli has inflicted upon him. Determine to buy the perfect book about three-year-old aggression and put it into practice. Pray for patience.

9:15 Pick outfits for the kids. Try to make presentable outfits out of what clean clothes I can find. Remind myself to start the laundry before we leave the house. Immediately forget. Get the kids dressed and unruly hair tamed. Spend thirty minutes scurrying around the house, packing the diaper bag, forgetting items to pack into diaper bag, making multiple trips upstairs for things I've forgotten. Sit down halfway through and try to make a shopping list, but keep getting distracted by endless whining, crying, brotherly beatdowns, time-outs, and loving lectures that seem to bounce right off my brick wall of a child. Finally get kids into the car, make two or three trips back inside for things I've forgotten, and hope that no one calls the police while my children wail in the car. Feel like I've already lived six days in one morning. Pray... for everything.

10:00 Leave to run errands. Get coffee and marvel at how utterly addicted I am. Wait expectantly for caffeine to kick in (will still be waiting for this hours later). Run three of seven planned errands, due to whining, meltdowns, lack of planning, and total lack of energy. Know that I should stop at the grocery store now, even though I feel like I'm going to drop dead of exhaustion, but make the wholly unwise choice to "just go after naptime."

12:00 Make spontaneous stop at the park. Spend half an hour chasing Lucas, playing referee, giving firm-but-gentle reminders not to hit, giving firm-and-not-so-gentle reminders not to hit, wishing I'd brought snacks, wishing I had more patience, praying for more patience. Realize after half an hour that I forgot to put sunscreen on the kids. Watch as kids get soaked in their clothes because I forgot to put their swim clothes back in the Park Bag. Marvel at how Eli cannot seem to relate to other children on the playground, and swear under my breath at the woman who tells me that I have an adorable baby and a beautiful daughter. Consider tattooing "I AM A BOY" on Eli's chest.

1:00 Drive two naked children home for lunch. Feel hours of mounting frustration settling into my neck as Eli yells, "MOM WHAT IS THAT YOU HAVE TO TURN YOUR HEAD MOM MOM MOM MOM MOM MOM!" for the tenth time in five minutes. Yell at him. Feel terrible for yelling. Pray for a guard over my mouth. Get home and briefly consider leaving them in the car while I take a nap. Throw together any food-like substances I can find that require less than three minutes of preparation, while Lucas cries in his high chair and Eli finds new ways to hurt him. Send Eli to time-out three times in the course of a ten-minute lunch. Sit on the couch, hide from my children, and scarf down a bowl of cereal so that my stomach won't growl during my nap.

1:30 Dump Lucas in his crib and shut the door on his crying. Argue with Eli over using the potty before nap time. Marvel at how he can sit for twenty minutes or more without pooping. Give up and put him to bed. Think about all of the things on my to-do list while I crawl under the covers and pull them over my head.

2:00-4:00 Nap, putter, half-heartedly clean something, watch tv, read trash on the internet. Think about working out. Think about reading my Bible. Think about reading something from the giant stack of overdue library books. Do none of the above. Stare into space. Begin to panic about dinner.

4:00 Get children up, clean up more poop, and spend the next hour playing cars, chasing, wrestling, blowing bubbles, and stare off into space in a daze. Lose my patience with Eli five or six times. Pray for more patience. Marvel at how I can feel so mind-numbingly tired, day after day.

5:30 Realize that it's five-thirty and I have absolutely no plan for dinner. Haul tired, cranky, hungry kids to the grocery store, rack my empty brain to come up with something edible. Spend too much money on one meal because I didn't plan ahead, again. Think about carefully organized coupons, sitting at home on the counter.

6:30 Feed kids frozen corn dogs or chicken nuggets while I start dinner for Ben and me. Eat my dinner alone because Ben has to work late. Take kids for a walk to kill the time before bed because I think if I try to sit down and play with them that I will fall asleep. Or cry.

8:00 Get kids ready for bed. Try to read to Lucas and give up because he won't sit still for two seconds. Let him crawl around Eli's room while I read to Eli and hope that he's getting some of the benefit. Continually remind myself to treasure these days while I try to keep my eyes open. Say a one-minute prayer and marvel at how Eli still refuses to pray on his own. Put Luke to bed. Put Eli to bed, knowing that he will be out of it again in a heartbeat, and will be crying at the door within an hour with a poopy diaper.

8:45 Watch TV in our bedroom while Ben works out in the living room (a good thing, really). Sit and talk with him for a few minutes while he eats his dinner. Get ready for bed, skip washing my face because I'm too tired. Read for five minutes before I can barely stay awake. Attempt to fall asleep without any medication. Feel a migraine coming on, take medication, and fall asleep knowing that I will still feel exhausted in the morning.

This is, generally speaking, how my days unfold. I am amazed at how often and how spectacularly I fall short of my own expectations. Some days are better than others, of course. Most days I accomplish something; every once in awhile I accomplish a lot. I do spend a lot of time with my kids, and I do engage with them - I actually love to play with them, read to them, take walks with them. I know I'm a good mommy, and a good wife, and a "good" Christian. It just feels like I always fall short - a little or a lot. I'm never as organized as I want to be. Never as prepared as I want to be. I never have enough energy - or anywhere near enough. I am always tired. I have headaches every day. I have joint pain and back pain and neck pain, and I feel weary and old. I struggle with my three-year-old's mood swings, battles of the will, aggression toward his brother, and constant - constant - noise - questions, commentary, whining, demands. I struggle with my one-year-old's neediness and dependence. I long for moments to myself, but when I get them, I don't use them well enough. I feel like I waste an enormous amount of time. I know moms with with young children who seem to use every day so productively - they homeschool, they make huge batches of meals, they freeze enough fruit for an army and still make time to put together scrapbooks. I know moms who tackle big projects and see them through to the finish. I never finish a project. I am a serial project-abandoner.

Some days, I feel like an absolute loser. I look at my flabby belly, my messy house, my kid throwing a fit on the floor and think, "Why can't you just get it together?" But I am gently reminded of a God who loves me, and accepts me, in all of my miserable states. In my weaknesses, my shortcomings, my failures - as overwhelming as they may sometimes feel - even when I feel totally worthless, He sings over me. The God of the universe looks at my pitiful self and delights in me. Best of all, He gives me permission to try again. Tomorrow.

summer

2010-06-27T22:59:00.000-07:00

Summer has finally arrived in Portland, so we've been taking advantage of our new friend the sun. Lots of trips to the park, playing in fountains, late evening walks, and homemade ice cream.

We took Eli fishing for the first time this weekend. We went to a funny little place called Horning's Hideout in North Plains. It's basically somebody's old house with a giant pond and rambling property. But for $3 you get a pole and some bait, and the "lake" is well-stocked. We brought home seven big, tasty rainbow trout.

Eli tried fishing with Daddy, but he was about as patient as you'd imagine. He was more interested in catching salamanders with the net. Or himself.

Summer makes me so happy. I love every season and I'm so thankful to live in a place where we experience all four. But summer is special. The sounds, the smells, the experiences bring back a flood of happy memories from my childhood. I was raised in rural Idaho (I know, what other kind of Idaho is there?), and I spent summers outdoors. My parents were both teachers, and they loved to travel. We spent weeks at a time traveling the country in our RV. We camped in the beautiful Idaho mountains, fished and swam in the rivers and lakes, drank hot cocoa in our pajamas around the campfire. Something about camping is just... magical.

Close to home, most of the summer days were spent outdoors. We had a big, above-ground pool and I was an absolute fish, swimming and diving and splashing for hours. I've always had a thing for swimming, for bodies of water in general, and chlorine is still one of my favorite smells. We played in the sprinklers and dug in the dirt and took long, late walks in the waning evening light. As a teenager, I loved driving home through the country after dusk, the windows rolled down and the fresh breeze blowing through my old clunker car. The scent of mint and onion fields still transports me back to those lovely summer nights.

As my children grow, I realize how much I long to raise them to be nature lovers. Parks and playgrounds are amazing, and we are blessed with an abundance of them here. But in reality, they are man-made, still an artificial substitute for real, wide-open spaces. It is certainly easier to stay home, watch TV and play in the yard. But I trust that the hassle and effort of planning, packing, hauling, driving - everything it takes to get our family "out there" - is well worth it. I think we are raising our boys to love the outdoors, to find beauty and adventure in tall grass and jagged mountains, in crashing waves and gurgling streams, in ladybugs and snakes and bluejays. And, oh yes, in post-adventure sno-cones. Most definitely in sno-cones.

gossip

2010-06-22T22:10:00.000-07:00

I stumbled across something yesterday. Completely insignificant, it nonetheless represented a small personal victory. I wanted to share it.

But it was snarky and catty and downright mean.

So I kept it to myself.

All day, I fought the temptation to tell someone. My sister, my husband, my best friend... surely, sharing it with one little person wouldn't matter. Right?

But the Holy Spirit made it clear. No.

As I lay in bed, I almost turned to my husband and blurted it out. "You won't believe --"

But then I thought of Mary. And I decided to "treasure these things in my heart," instead.

And then I smiled in the dark with self-satisfaction.

And then the Lord reminded me that that's really not the point of the verse. And also, that I should probably repent. And then pray for that person. Sincerely.

Rats.

a peek inside

2010-06-20T20:34:00.000-07:00

A friend recently mentioned that she is sometimes discouraged by "perfect mom" blogs. "Sometimes?" I thought.

So as proof that this blog is written by the most imperfect of women, a sample of my thoughts today. Don't ever be fooled... it is only by His grace that I do anything.

* * * * *
I'm not reading enough with Lucas. I'm not playing enough with Lucas.
He's never going to talk. Or walk. But I should be helping with the talk.
Poor Lucas. Good thing he's cute.
He's not as photogenic as Eli. Sometimes he looks like a really ugly baby in his pictures.
I didn't say that.

Eli won't poop on the potty. A year later, he still won't poop on the potty. I suck.
No, I don't suck. He sucks.
I didn't say that.

I should clip coupons.
I should make a shopping list so I might actually use the coupons.
I should plan meals so I could make the shopping list to use the coupons.
I should get the paper so I would get the coupons.
I spend more on the paper than I save in coupons.
I hate coupons. Screw it.

Where is my Bible?
How I can not know where my Bible is?
When did I last read my Bible?
I really do love God's word.
No, really. Like, I love it.
So why do I find it so stinking hard to read it every day?
Lord, thank you for always showing up.
Thank you for always feeding me.
Thank you for meeting me where I am.
Even when where I am is miles from where you want me.
Even more miles from where I want to be.

I'm not going to read US Weekly ever again.
I'll read my Bible instead.
Maybe I can read it after I read my Bible.
For crying out loud, Alisa. Read a book.

Is there anything good on the DVR?
No. Darn it.
I should clean house instead.
I should fold the laundry. I've dewrinkled that load of t-shirts five times already.
No, I should clean the kitchen. And put away toys.
And organize the toys.
And organize the office.
And clean the bathrooms.
And behind the stove.
Can I even move the stove?
I've got to get up and get busy.
Oooh... Top Chef!

There's the stupid dinosaur book I've been looking for all week.
Eli will be thrilled.
When did the dinosaurs live? I should look it up.
Bless you, Wikipedia.

Eli still doesn't know his colors. Or letters. Or sounds.
And he can't write his name.
Some great teacher I am.
Doesn't matter. He can't go to preschool if he won't poop in the potty.

Lucas is awake. I should get him up to play.
Sometimes I hate playing with my baby. I get bored.
I'm a terrible mother.

I should exercise. As soon as we get home, I'm going to exercise.
When's the last time I exercised? Last Tuesday? Man, that's sad.
Maybe if I exercise, I can have some ice cream.
I should buy some ice cream. Then I'll be motivated to work out.
Or just eat ice cream.

Oh, God, thank you for your grace. I would be lost without it.
Hopeless without it.
Helpless without it.
I can barely function with it, for pete's sake.

Crap, it's five o'clock. What am I going to make for dinner?
I hate cooking dinner.
I love to cook, but I hate cooking dinner. Weird.
No, not weird. Normal. My mom says so.
My mom is great.
I should call her.

Eli's awake. I bet he pooped.

* * * * *

confessions of an unfit mother

2010-06-15T21:54:00.001-07:00

I came across this article tonight http://theweek.com/article/index/96342/The_last_word_Advice_from_Americas_worst_mom. All I can say is, "Finally!" Thank you, thank you, thank you, mystery woman, for being a mother I can relate to. You see, I am That Mom. I am the mom who has left her two young children in the car, doors locked, alarm armed, to go into the grocery store for FIVE MINUTES and buy milk... and have returned to find my car surrounded by several Very Concerned Mothers taking down my license plate number and yelling at me about Who Do I Think I Am?!! Yep, I'm that mom. I'm the mom who doesn't freak out when her baby eats a little dirt, the mom who lets her three-year-old ride his tricycle without a helmet (heck, without shoes), the mom who would let her kids play in the front yard by themselves... if only the neighbors wouldn't call CPS. I'm a mom who insists on "Yes Ma'am" and "May I please?" I'm a mom with spanking spoon.

Don't get me wrong. I am responsible. My kids wear their seatbelts. They sleep on their backs. I hold their hands when we cross the street. They wear helmets in the bike trailer and eat organic fruit and sit far, far away from the television. I am caring, engaged, and conscientious. I am, in fact, a really good mom.

And I, too, am sick of irrational fears being shoved down my throat. The way Nancy Grace tells it, with her nightly BOMBSHELL news, there is little hope that my children won't be abducted and sold into slavery - that is, if I ever let them out of my sight. I realize how much the world has changed since I was a kid, but I desperately want my children to have a taste of the sense of freedom I had. I want to send my son on his bike to a friend's house on a summer evening without immediately playing scenes from The Lovely Bones in my mind. I hate feeling so afraid for them. But I hate even more the pressure that I should feel ten times more afraid, the damning judgment from other mothers who are, clearly, so much better suited to raise my children.

So if you ever see my poor little boys trapped in the car in front of the coffee shop, please, just shake your head and walk on by. You can rant about it later on your blog.

birthdays, etc.

2010-05-13T16:38:00.000-07:00

We celebrated our boys' birthdays in April. Lucas turned one and Eli turned three (and I turned 25, again) within days of each other. We threw them a joint birthday party in the park. We had to reschedule the party and move to a new location at the last minute, so we were thankful for flexible and understanding friends. The theme of the party was Up!, my favorite animated movie ever.

My darling husband, who is known for fairly elaborate birthday cakes, upped the ante by about 150% with his Up house cake. He stayed up all night before the party (with the help of his brother - thanks, Matt) to bring his grand vision to life.

It really was amazing. If orthodontics doesn't work out, I think he could give the Ace of Cakes guy a run for his money.

It's such a cliche, but it really is so hard to believe how quickly my guys are growing. Eli is at a really fun age. Full of questions (and questions, and questions), developing a real sense of humor, learning and understanding new things at lightning speed, and saying so many funny things that I have to jot them down in my phone to share them with Ben every night. Eli loves to read (WIN), and loves to play outside. The kid would live in our driveway if he could. Since our acreage leaves a little to be desired, we spend lots of time park-hopping around the west suburbs. Our favorite parks are Bethany Meadows ("Pirate Park"), Magnolia, and Rood Bridge. One of the greatest things about the Portland area is the amazing abundance of parks, playgrounds, and green spaces. There seems to be a park of some kind on every block. Eli got a tricycle for his birthday and loves to ride it (although he prefers scooting to pedaling). We also gave ourselves a family birthday gift and bought a bike trailer, which has quickly become an oft-requested activity.

Luke's first year of life flew by. He is crawling, pulling up on furniture, babbling, and getting into everything. Lucas is a pretty happy baby, but decidedly more high-maintenance than Eli. He wants to be held and played with all the time. Eli was always content to play by himself for long periods of time - Luke, not so much. The evenings (and by evening, I mean from the moment he wakes up from nap until the moment he goes to bed), he cries this really annoying, fussy, whiny cry any time he isn't getting attention or food. Sometimes I feel like a zookeeper, tossing food at him to keep him happy while I cook, clean, entertain Eli, and occasionally try to talk to my husband. Lucas is a very sweet baby, though, and has a darling smile and laugh. It's been especially fun to see Eli start to play with him, rather than just on top of him. Someday, I remind myself, they will be the best of friends.

A couple of other random notes on life:

I am THRILLED to see warm, sunny weather emerge after months of gray, cold, rainy days. I've struggled with low energy for years, and I was beginning to think I might never "rise and shine" again. I'm amazed at how differently I feel and how much I accomplish just because the sun is shining. The Pacific Northwest in the spring and summer is breathtaking, and well worth the lousy weather we see from November to April. Looking forward to camping and trips to the beach this summer.

Some great friends came to visit us a couple of weeks ago from Idaho. Erica's been a dear friend since we were little girls, and her husband Scottie and Ben are two peas in a pod. We had a great time with them, spending time at the beach and playing Rock Band late into the night. They loved our church (and who wouldn't?) and our adopted hometown, and I loved having my kindred-spirit friend in town to indulge in some much-needed girl talk over the world's greatest chai (apparently). Erica is a wise, Godly woman with four kids and a great sense of humor. Win, win, win.

I am training for the Portland marathon in October. "Training" might be a stretch. I'm trying to run two to three modest runs (4-5 miles) a week, with a longer run on the weekend. I'm only up to seven miles, so I'm glad to have several months still to train. The biggest challenge is definitely finding the time to run, since I can only run with the kids in the stroller for a couple of miles before I collapse and have to be rescued by helicopter. I'm discovering how much I love to run, which is a nice surprise. Even with 80-year-old joints (seriously, my knees are a disaster), I feel so happy and well and alive when I'm running. That's a God thing right there, folks.

saturday

2010-04-10T09:38:00.000-07:00

If you came to my house today, you would find:

A dishwasher full of clean dishes and a sink full of dirty ones.

Clean laundry sitting in the dryer, patiently waiting for Dewrinkle Cycle one of six before finally being folded and put away.

Toys. Everywhere. Everywhere.

One child watching television, spinning in circles, making messes, beating on his brother, getting into mischief, giving hugs and kisses, and pooping in his underwear.

One child crawling on the floor, playing with small objects, being beaten upon, whining, fussing, crying, and laughing.

Occasional non-violent interaction between said children (win).

A mommy with a headache, half-ignoring her children, completely ignoring the mess, closing the blinds to the brilliant sunshine and lazily blogging on her computer.

Not my best day. Not my worst either.

at least he's funny

2010-03-31T15:21:00.001-07:00

Eli has been in a Mood lately. Or a Funk. A Snit? Whatever it is, it had better be a Phase. And it's causing Mama to want to Drink Heavily and Take a Vacation.

Fortunately, in the midst of arguing, talking back, disobeying and being generally cantankerous, he is also saying some funny, funny things. A few of my favorites:

"You better change that attitude, Mom. That's a bad attitude." (it often is)

"It's the law, bud." See also: "It's the law, bud. Opa said so." (his reason for whatever he's doing that he shouldn't be, or in order to get his way)

"That's not for you, Mom. It's yucky. It has sugar in it." (his reason for needing to take my coffee for himself)

We have to laugh, mostly so that we don't go crazy.

And he's cute. Good thing.

even if

2010-02-25T14:52:00.000-08:00

I had a wonderful encounter with God yesterday.

In an ordinary moment, He caught me by surprise. He met me where I was. He heard my cry. He spoke truth into my heart.

We are going through a deep, dark valley, facing a personal battle that has turned everything upside down and inside out. I am praying, praying, praying - for healing, for deliverance, for grace, for strength. It is the hardest season we've walked through in our twelve years together - and if you know us, you know that we've had our share of hard seasons.

Yesterday, I needed to be with other believers. I was drained. I needed to share my burden and be lifted up in prayer. I needed encouragement and nourishment from God's word. So, I left my sick children at home with Ben and went to our wonderful House Church.

Our leader took us into the book of Daniel, and the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. Inside of such a familiar tale, God brought new revelation that spoke so clearly to my need, I could hardly contain myself. If you don't know the story, King Nebuchadnezzar commanded that all of the people bow down in worship before an idol. Three of his officials refused to do so. When he threatened them with certain death in his fiery furnace, they responded:

"Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego replied to the king, "O Nebuchadnezzar, we do not need to defend ourselves before you in this matter. If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it, and he will rescue us from your hand, O king. But even if he does not, we want you to know, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up." Dan. 3:16-18

It was the last verse that pierced my heart. The words that are still repeating in my mind: Even if. Even if. Even if.

Even if we never get our dream house...

Even if we never make it to Europe...

Even if Ben's business fails...

Even if our children fail us...

Even if I'm never healed of migraines...

Even if we get cancer...

Even if our circumstances never change...

Even if we don't get out of the valley...

Even if our lives fall apart, we will not turn away from God. We will not forget his promises, his faithfulness, his goodness, or his mercy.

We will not be abandoned.

We will be whole, and loved, and provided for.

We will have Jesus.

Even. If.

happy heart day

2010-02-13T23:23:00.000-08:00

i love these boys.

and this one, most of all.

freshmennn!

2010-01-31T16:50:00.001-08:00

Last weekend we went to see Phoenix perform at the Crystal Ballroom. If you're not familiar, they're a super cool Indie Rock band. You can check them out here: http://www.wearephoenix.com/. It was awesome, one of the best live shows I've ever seen.

However, the opening act. A band called Soft Pack. Horrible. Horrible, horrible, horrible. A group of random misfits including two old boyfriend lookalikes and a hobbit. First of all, someone needs to tell them about microphones and amps. When sixteen-year-olds are plugging their ears, you are too loud. I know a lot of people like their punk rock loud, fast, and way off key, but I am not one of those people. Every song sounded exactly like the one before it. The lead singer was particularly self-satisfied, and with no good reason. If I can master your song on Rock Band, it's too easy. I had to feel for them, though - when they announced that it was their last song, everyone cheered.

The Crystal Ballroom is a general admission, standing-room only kind of place. In good citizen fashion, we had arrived early to secure our spot toward the front of the crowd. A few people squeezed their way up during the opening act, but it was nothing unreasonable. As soon as Phoenix took the stage, though, a huge group of kids started pushing their way up to join their friends. You want to bring a couple of friends up to join you, fine. But a dozen? They were, of course, loud, drunk, and obnoxious. Suspiciously full of energy. And proudly proclaiming, in unison, "FRESHMENNNN!"

Remember being a college freshman? Man, life was easy. Wake up, go to class (or don't, it often didn't matter), eat cereal for lunch, play flag football, go to a party, watch a movie in the lounge, sneak onto the boy's floor after hours, get busted, bake cookies for the boys' R.A. as atonement. I spent my freshman year in Seattle. It was such an adventure. I took the city bus to my part-time job downtown. I went to bonfires at Alki Beach and drank Strawberry Boone's. I learned the hard way about balancing a checkbook. I studied (really!) and got good grades and loved my classes. I worked as a' writing tutor in the library, and spent hours trying to edit the Asian students technology papers. I took step aerobics at five in the morning and ate Ben & Jerry's almost every day (I blame you, C-Store, for my freshman fifteen). I made wonderful friends. I made not-so-wonderful friends. It was absolute freedom and independence and adventure, and I hope that my children will get to have the same sort of freshman year (minus the Boone's and the overdrawn checking account, maybe). But I digress.

Back at the concert, I realized that I am officially Not Young. Not old, but I have definitely crossed beyond the boundary of reckless youth. As my toes were crushed by the spastic moshing of the young people (did you know that the youth are still moshing?), I ran a silent dialogue through my mind. At one point, I used the phrase "paid good money" to justify my indignation at their behavior. I think that's enough to prove that I'm getting old. Also to that point: I was constantly distracted by my too-tight shoes and the thought that we were going to be late for the babysitter.

Fortunately, Phoenix put on an amazing show. They sounded great (not always the case with a live performance), and most importantly, they were obviously having a blast. I'll still see shows at the Crystal Ballroom... but it might be time for the balcony.

sunday stuff

2010-01-30T17:18:00.000-08:00

I suppose I'm a fickle blogger.

I really want to write daily. I have the itch. I have the ideas. It's the time and the energy that seem to be lacking.

My sort-of-secret dream is be a "real" writer. As in, published by someone other than blogspot.com. But I know that takes more dedication than I currently seem to manage. In the meantime, I'm here today.

(By the way, today is Stream of Consciousness Sunday. Didn't you know?)

I am a bit of a worship music junkie. Is that a contradiction in terms? God bless whoever created modern worship (it's got to be either King David or Keith Green, right?). My taste in music tends to run to the indie/alternative bands, but I try to listen to worship music as much as I can. I absolutely believe that what I feed myself with (music, TV, movies, books) affects my emotional and spiritual health. Anyway. A few songs on my current worship playlist:

Everything - Tim Hughes
With Me - Chris Tomlin
Desire - Phil Wickham
Alleluia, Sing - David Crowder Band
My Soul Sings - Delirious
Sound of Melodies - Leeland
Now Unto the One - Evan Wickham
Beautiful King - Danyew
Birmingham (We Are Safe) - DCB
You'll Come - Hillsong United
I Will Wait for You There - Phil Wickham
How He Loves - DCB

Just a sample. I also recently discovered Seeds Family Worship, which are scripture memory songs for kids. Basically GT and the Halo Express, but slightly cooler.

I am dying for a vacation. Ben and I were vacationing fools when we were kidless and had lots of pretend money. Since Eli was born, we've spent one night away, just the two of us. ONE. Our tenth anniversary is coming up this summer, and I want to go somewhere. And while I wouldn't say no to a free trip to Fiji, I will happily take a couple of nights out at the coast.

Speaking of Fiji... I have a problem with daydreaming, I think. God is working on that with me. I daydream a lot. I mean, a lot a lot. I imagine the things I want to be and have and do, and sometimes it gets me down about what I currently am and have and do, and that's when the Holy Spirit steps in to remind me about contentment. I am thankful to be loved by a God who takes me the way I am and makes me into something better.

ten things i have never done

2010-01-16T10:58:00.000-08:00

1. Gone skydiving. 2. Eaten mussels. 3. Mailed in a self-addressed, stamped envelope. 4. Picked up a hitchhiker. 5. Seen an opera. 6. Ran a marathon. (Yet!) 7. Slept outside on the ground. 8. Darned a sock. 9. Swam in the Indian Ocean. 10. Had an operation.

a project runway color commentary

2010-01-15T17:38:00.000-08:00

That's what they call it in football, right? Yeah. I know some stuff.

Project Runway is back! I'm a little apprehensive about watching the premiere, because last season really let me down. I mostly listened to the first half of this show while doing other things, but here is what I thought of The Show (runway, of course).

(I realize you may not be watching the show at exactly the time you are reading this, although I recommend that you do. Go back in time and record it. Or just imagine the looks and enjoy my brilliant writing.)

Dear Heidi Klum: We all know you're hot. We know you know you're hot. Don't feel as though you need to wear see-through clothes to prove it to us.

Michael Kors looks exactly the same way Michael Kors looked in the first episode of the first season. I know the man has a trademark look, but come on. Try some color. Heidi's got an awesome green see-through shirt you can borrow.

Nina looks suspiciously perky.

Nicole Richie is an odd-looking gal. A little Fraggle-ish. I hope she doesn't read this, as it would probably give her an eating disorder.

Let's start the show!

Jonathan has good glasses and a whole lotta self esteem. His dress is kind of design-y, I guess. Not a fan of giant belts. Definitely not a fan of the peekaboo crotch. "Hey everyone, guess where my crotch is? It's right here."

Seth Aaron looks like Liberace. He gave his model a very predatory look when she came out. His dress has zippers and looks like something you might buy at Forever 21 in 1998.

Poor Model Britney. Looks like she was swallowed by a snake backstage, and had to chop off its head and stick her feet through its neck to hit the runway because the show must go on! Oh, and she made a special collar out of the leftover snake, because she is crafty. Or took a little off her left boob. Or maybe, Jesus (the designer, to be clear) just made a crappy dress.

Huh. When did Mrs. Jetson get into modeling? The designer reminds me of Thom Yorke, but not enough to redeem the dress.

I lovelovelove the top of the next dress. The oversized belt is kind of cute, but has too many poufs attached. Oh I'm sorry, that's a skirt? No wonder Heidi looked so excited. We all know how she loves the mini.

The next dress is pink. I like pink. This dress is PINK. And odd.

EMILIOOOO! Oh, how I love you and your adorable circley stripey confection of a dress. Please make one in my size and mail it to me. I promise to look much less intense than your model when I wear it.

So, the next dress came out and I did one of those little puff-of-air-through-the-nose-laughs with a half eye-roll. It's totally Naughty Caravan Fair Fashion Show.

Ping Wu is very excited about her outfit. Ping Wu is delighted with her outfit. I had to rewind three times to take it all in. There is so much going on here, and none of it makes me as happy as Ping Wu.

Christiane's dress makes me want to go on a Carnival Cruise.

At first glance, Amy's dress is kind of adorable. I love the black-and-white checkered skirt with the accordian style pleats. However. What is happening with her boobs? I think she forgot a step in her sewing, because one cup is very structured and thickly padded and the other is almost transparent. But since Amy is giving no indication that a mistake was made, I guess this was part of her design. Odd.
p.s. did you notice how i used the term "accordian style pleats" so effortlessly? it's because i
made it up.

I actually quite like Janeane's design, but why oh why must our shirts be see-through? Heidi Klum LOVES it. She is going to tear it right off the model and wear it for the rest of the show.

I am in love with the jacket on Mila's model. I officially covet. The rest of it, meh. But oh Mila, make me some jackets.

Anthony is like a cartoon character. What's more over-the-top than over-the-top? His dress would be a cute little number if you took off the voluminous ruffles on the side. He just said, "I like the volume on the saahhdd..." Is that irony? I'm never sure.

Anna Marie is precious and twelve. She didn't actually make her dress. She bought it at Anthropologie. And I would buy it too.

Maya has amazingly long lashes and a dress with many, many, many ruffles. The ruffles are brownish, so it actually looks like one of those potato tornado things you can get at the state fair. Which is not a bad thing. (Mmmm... fried food...)

And that's it! Let's see if I'm as completely off-base as usual. It seems like Heidi is calling names for ten minutes. I always forget how many contestants there are at this point.

Well, I get a couple of points.
The judges like Anthony's dress okay, but hate the hip bubble.
They are eating up the plaid number with all the many zippers. Way to go, Vancouver WA!
They actually love Ping Wu, and Ping Wu loves them loving Ping Wu. I just like to say Ping Wu.
Snakeskin Britney is a no-go.
They don't care for Christiane's fabrics, but not for the same reason. Seriously, nobody else is thinking cruise ship?
And finally... Hurray for EMILIOOOO! and his super awesome adorable dress. I am sending him my address. And a coupon for Tillamook cheese, because I have no money.

Until next time... auf wiedersehen!

this just in: motherhood is freaking exhausting

2010-01-14T15:42:00.001-08:00

I spent the entire day out with my two darling children. It was Errand Day.

Errand Day always falls on or just after the most important day of the month: Pay Day.

I had three errands on my list when I left the house this morning: Drop off rent. Target. Grocery store.

On the way to Target, I decided to get coffee. I unloaded the boys and got my favorite drink - medium-triple-iced-vanilla-2%-latte - in decaf. Somehow, I really thought it would have a placebo effect and I'd be bursting with energy in ten minutes.

Not so much. And it tasted different.

Pulling into the Target parking lot, I called my doctor's office (hands-free, of course) to see if maybe-just-maybe I could get an antibiotic for what I absolutely knew was a urinary tract infection. We women know when this little delight comes calling, don't we?

Nope, had to be seen first. Could I be there in twenty minutes?

We drove back across town to the doctor's office. Is there anything better than peeing in a cup with two hungry, cranky children in tow?

Guess what? UTI.

After the impromptu doctor's visit, I decided we should have lunch with Ben and his assistants. We met up at a very popular Vietnamese restaurant. We squeezed into the only available booth - all six of us. Lucas screamed. Ben fed him with one hand and maneuvered chopsticks with the other. I performed the Dance of the Distracted Child with Eli and tried to get my food into my mouth without being able to raise my elbows. I wondered why I thought this was such a great idea. The staff probably had the same thought.

After lunch, we beelined for Target. A trip to Target always involves the question: ride or walk? Eli is old enough to hate riding in the cart, and generally is good about staying with me. I chose to let him walk this time, and decided that we would just take our time and mosey. We made it through the entire store - including the toy section - without a single tear, screech, or whine. Just as we were leaving, Eli discovered a spinning airplane candy thingie that he absolutely Had. To. Have. I gently instructed him to put it back.

He stuffed it down his shirt. Visions of juvie danced in my head.

I needed to pry the toy from his death grip without making a scene. I tried the lighthearted approach: "Heh heh, you funny little shoplifter, let's put it back now!" I tried counting to three. I tried being matter-of-fact: "This is NOT OKAY."

I tried the Get Up Next To His Ear and Threaten Bodily Harm While Keeping A Pleasant Countenance So No One Calls Social Services method.

Finally I just yanked the damn thing away and stuffed it into a random box of candy.

Eli collapsed on the floor in a puddle of weep. Heartbroken sobs. Oscar-worthy, really. I scooped him up and carried him - sob, sob, sob - out the door.

Back in the car, Eli apologized ever so sweetly. He asked my forgiveness. He asked for a hug.

My cold little heart melted and I told him that if he would get into his seat and be very quiet while I unloaded the cart, I would give him the special treat I had picked out in the store. He was pumped.

I told him to close his eyes and hold out his hands. I placed the handpicked gift in his little hands - a Valentine's Day book about puppies. He opened his eyes.

He threw the book on the floor and yelled, "I WANT A DIFFERENT TREAT!!"

I almost left him at Target.

Oh, and after that we still had the grocery store, the dry cleaners, and the pharmacy.

And I never did pay my rent. Crap.

whew

2010-01-13T17:27:00.000-08:00

There has been so much sadness today.

An old friend received unthinkable news from home. Her life is turned upside down in an instant.

An elderly woman is losing her beloved husband. Even in old age and sickness, how do you say goodbye to the person you've built your entire life with?

My dearest, closest friend, is watching her father die. It is unbearably slow and painful. She is so strong, so steady, but I know how loudly her heart is breaking. My heart aches for her.

Haiti. This tiny, massively impoverished nation, crumbled. Literally torn apart by the ground beneath them. It's impossible to see why God would allow this tragedy to fall onto such a defenseless land. Of all the nations of the world, why Haiti? It feels immensely unfair.

My own life: richly, abundantly blessed. And still, I am facing down giants who refuse to surrender. The trials seem to be relentless. It weighs on me. Wears me down. Wears me out.

I am bent today, sending up prayer after prayer for crisis after crisis.

Running through my mind all day, the words to a favorite song:

I can choose to ask why. I can choose to be angry.
I can wrestle when life is not what I thought it would be
I can wish that all the pain would simply go away
And at the same time I can choose Lord to trust You

Do you see me I can't do this on my own
Are you near me just let me know I'm not alone
I prayed, had faith that you would answer me so differently

To trust Your ways are not my ways
To know there's purpose in this pain
To trust that you will bring my joy again
But I'm still asking why...

One day, I promise, we will know.

rainy day musings

2010-01-12T14:21:00.000-08:00

I took the plunge today, friends: Grocery Outlet. I drove past one and then when I saw another one on the way home, I decided that God was asking me to be humble and buy some stinking cheap food. I expected to feel ashamed and dirty, wandering aisles of outdated, generic food like a supermarket leper. But actually, it wasn't bad. No different than the dollar store, really. I found my favorite sandwich bread, half-price, and it tasted perfectly fresh in my pb&j. I found some Dole canned fruit, very fresh bananas, and Spaghettios - all dirt cheap. God is teaching me to be humble... and humble some more. Go, Grocery Outlet!

Somehow, I can always tell when I've forgotten to lock Eli's bedroom door after putting him down for a nap. Even before he escapes, my Spidey sense starts to tingle.

I am seeing a new doctor in the never-ending quest to rid my life of headaches. This gentleman instructed me to stop taking Excedrin (which I gobbled like candy), stop taking Zoloft (which I was considering anyway - I'm not exactly postpartum any more), and stop using caffeine (whoa there, pal). I've followed his orders and have to admit that my headaches are already improving. Granted, I have zero energy and am massively irritable, but that should sort itself out over time.

I am excited for a new season of Project Runway. I am addicted to a show called Make It or Break It. It's about teen gymnasts. It's ridiculous in its angst and cheesiness, and I heart it. American Idol? Meh. Bring back the Gleeeeee.

I wonder if there are actually women whose homes are not in a perpetual state of disarray? Let me rephrase: I wonder if there are actually mommies-of-young-children whose homes are not in a perpetual state of disarray. Seems like I'm forever re-organizing a closet or cupboard or bookcase, and every time I think it's going to stay permanently organized because my organizational skills are just so darned organizey. Not so much, though.

I am ready for spring. Leaves and flowers and sunshine and warm weather and going outdoors.

I could really use some coffee.

dear oprah: this is why I deserve a free vacation

2010-01-05T21:18:00.000-08:00

It's no secret that my Eli is a little mischievous. Behind that sweet disposition and those angelic blue eyes lurks a little rascal just looking for something to get into. But this week has been one for the books.

Tuesday. In a fit of housewifely ambition, I decided to clean the oven. I forgot about the leftover fire extinguisher residue from New Year's Eve. The house quickly filled with toxic fumes. I opened every window and packed the kids out of the house for a few hours of good, clean oxygen. When we returned hours later, I put the boys down for their naps. Completely forgetting that Eli's windows were still open - only a bit, but open. Yes, I am officially a Very Bad Mother.

I wasn't feeling well and decided to lay down for a little while. I could hear Eli playing in his room, as he often does before he goes to sleep. About twenty minutes later, I found myself... stuck in the bathroom. Suffice to say, when my dog started barking, I couldn't immediately investigate why.

When I did manage to get downstairs, I noticed that the front window was still open, and our neighbors were standing in my driveway. "Of course," I thought. "Molly's barking because the neighbors are outside." If only.

I went to close the window and heard, "Oh, thank goodness you're home!"

I opened the door. Sitting on the front porch was a pile of my son's clothes.

I peered around the corner to see my two-and-a-half-year-old son perched on the ledge of his second-story window, gleefully throwing all of his worldly possessions out on the roof. He had pushed the windows open and pushed the screens out.

The neighbors said, "We thought maybe you weren't home! We were so worried! We called Ben and left a message for him!"

(Excellent. Because this couldn't possibly be a "what Daddy doesn't know won't hurt him" situation.)

Eli said, "Hi, Mama! I'm coming out!" Huge grin morphing into terror when he saw my face.

"DON'TYOUDAREMOVESTAYTHEREIAMCOMINGTHANKYOUNEIGHBORS!" I managed to yell before dashing back into the house and up to Eli's room.

Eli was already sobbing, "I sorry Mama, I sorry Mama!" as I scooped him up and gave him three - yes, three - good spanks.

Then I burst into tears and rocked him on my lap until we both calmed down.

Then, we had a Very Big Talk about not trying to escape out the windows.

How did I feel at that moment, you ask? Mortified. Terrified. Furious. Thankful. So, so thankful.

Did I mention, MORTIFIED?

I imagine the neighbors now have CPS on speed dial.

So that was day one.

Wednesday. I put Eli in his room for a little "rest time" so that I could take a shower. Twenty minutes, tops. I opened the door as he excitedly exclaimed, "Look, Mommy! I painting wif wotion!"

Sure enough, he found a bottle of baby lotion tucked in his dresser drawer and smeared most of its contents around his room. On the floor, the walls, the toys, the books. Inside the stereo. Lots of lotion inside the stereo.

Ironically, none of it on him.

"At least lotion is better than poop!" proclaimed my mother-in-law's encouraging facebook comment.

Today.

I heard Eli stirring. I was out of bed and into the shower immediately. Not giving him the chance to get into trouble again.

Ten, maybe fifteen minutes passed while I speed-showered and got dressed.

I opened my bedroom door and smelled poop.

I opened his bedroom door and saw... poop. Lots of it. Everywhere.

Eli, happy as ever, greeting me. "Good morning, Mama! I awake!"

Huge grin morphing into sobs of terror and regret. "I sorry Mama, I sorry!"

I didn't hit. I didn't swear. But oh, I yelled. I stormed around gathering cleaning supplies and hollering. "CAN'T I JUST LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR FIVE MINUTES IN YOUR ROOM WITHOUT YOU WREAKING HAVOC?!!"

I dumped him in the tub, where he let me scrub and rinse without a fuss. (Oh, you better not fuss, kid.)

Then, being dried off, he looked at me with great seriousness. "Mommy, I forgive you," he said. And gave me a hug.

Well then.

"I forgive you, too," I said.

I hugged him back, kissed his head, cleaned poop for half an hour, and we went on with our day. Because that, friends, is life with children.

uncle matt

2010-01-04T20:23:00.000-08:00

Ben's brother came to visit us for the first time since moving to Portland. He hates to fly, so we had to persuade him with Portland tales of microbrewed beer and cute single hipster girls. We spent a wonderful week showing off our fine state (Campaign Make-Matt-Move-To-Portland is in full effect). Eli fell completely in love with his Uncle Matt and I think Uncle Matt is pretty smitten with his nephews.

Lucas and Matt

Eli and Matt

Cannon Beach

Snuggling with Luke at Timberline Lodge, Mt Hood

Oregon Coast

snow!

2010-01-01T15:50:00.001-08:00

Last snow of 2009 was the first snow of the season. I laid down for a nap at 2:00 with a handful of tiny flakes falling on bare ground. An hour later I woke up to an inch of snow covering everything. It was beautiful.

fire safety

2010-01-01T14:35:00.001-08:00

Note to self: The next time something bubbles over in the oven, clean it up.

Oh and also, no matter how briefly you use a fire extinguisher, the stuff will get on everything within range. Everything.

Our New Year's Eve started with bit of a fire in the oven. Real flames and all. Poor spring rolls never had a chance.

Thankfully Ben knew how to use the fire extinguisher, and after some minor smoke inhalation and a complete kitchen wipedown we were able to usher in the 2010 in style.

Happy New Year!

looking forward

2009-12-31T12:59:00.000-08:00

I caught a rerun of Oprah the other day where she interviewed Stephanie Nielson. A mom of four, she was in a horrible plane crash in 2008 that left her with third and fourth-degree burns on over 80% of her body. Her story is amazing and heartbreaking and so inspiring. I immediately sought out her blog and have spent every free minute reading it.

She has inspired me to be more present with my children. I realize how often I say the words, "In a minute" to Eli. He plays wonderfully by himself, so it's easy to sit nearby and work on the computer, clean the kitchen, fold the laundry, and pay the bills while he plays. I am ashamed of how often I treat moments with my kids as chores instead of privileges. After spending time in Stephanie's world, I realize what a blessing it is to be able to pick up my children and snuggle them, to bathe them, to prepare their lunches, to take them to Target, to read books with them. All of the mundane, repetitive tasks of the day take on new significance in the light of someone else's struggle. I am determined to be more "in the moment" with them - play trucks and bake cookies with Eli, play peek-a-boo and read board books with Lucas. In the blink of an eye, my babies will be gone. I want to hold on while I can.

Stephanie's blog has also challenged me to treat my homemaking as an act of service. I love being a stay-at-home-mom, and in theory, I love being a homemaker. I have grand ideas for organizing and cleaning and cooking and baking and sewing and crafting... and almost never have the follow through. I want to create a haven for my family, a home full of order and traditions and freshly baked bread. I want my children to look back and remember how mom made homemade pizza every Friday and gingerbread houses at Christmastime; how we tended to our family garden together and built forts in the living room; how she kept our home neat and organized and running efficiently; how she did everything with a special touch, just to show us how much she cared about us.

I encourage you to visit Stephanie's blog here: http://nieniedialogues.blogspot.com/. Be inspired.

looking backward

2009-12-29T18:14:00.000-08:00

I love the turn of a new year. No matter the circumstances on December 31, on January 1 I feel newly full of hope and promise for the months ahead. This being a milestone year (the end of the no-name decade), I have to take a moment to reflect on the journey of the Oh-Ohs. The single-digits? The "aughts?" Anyway, here are the highlights and lowlights of the past decade:

College graduation.
Never mind that I would never actually use the degree;
it was still a great achievement.

Wedding.
Married my bestest buddy and my first and only true love.
Ten years later, he's still the guy who makes my heart happy.

Moves.
Idaho, Indiana, Oregon. All of them home.

Struggle.
What do you do when you realize
that the picture you had in your head five years ago
doesn't look anything like the reality you face?
To say that we have struggled is an understatement.
This I do know: God's grace is sufficient. God sustains. Always.

Teaching.
An embarrassingly short teaching career, but those two-and-a-half years
spent shaping the minds of first graders brought me so much joy and fulfillment.
I miss the classroom. I hope to go back there one day.

Loss.
Ben and I both lost our last remaining grandparent in this decade.
So strange how an entire generation can disappear.
Then everything shifts, whether you're ready for it or not.
Suddenly, our parents are the elderly and we're the grownups.
We still feel like kids.

Children.
Oh, my babies. My precious little boys.
I'm constantly astonished by how much I love them.
Being a mother has brought me unspeakable joy.

God.
What can I say about the goodness of the Lord?
I have been overwhelmed by His loving, merciful,
unshakeable presence on the brightest days and darkest nights.
I have learned how to long for and allow for
Him to rule and reign in my heart and in my home.
He is with me.
He is unchanging.
He wants me to dream big dreams.
He delights in me.

Oh... how He loves me so.

this is what happens when you aren't paying attention...

2009-10-12T22:47:00.000-07:00

yep, i dressed luke in eli's pants. he didn't seem to mind.

eli-isms

2009-10-12T14:21:00.000-07:00

Eli is two-and-a-half. It's an interesting age. Each day brings a new set of battles, and I am constantly learning how to win them. And how to lose them graciously. A few months ago, I thought I was going to lose my mind. My sweet, easy-tempered little boy was replaced almost overnight by a screaming, fit-throwing, impossibly stubborn demon child. I was mortified, exhausted and extremely humbled. I felt helpless and hopeless.

So I went to the source of all help and hope. I started getting on my knees every morning and asking God for wisdom, patience, and strength. When I was about to lose my temper, I would pray out loud for God to put a guard over my mouth. I cried out to the Lord - literally - and begged for more wisdom, more wisdom, more wisdom. Of course, He poured it out. "If any of you need wisdom, you should ask God, and it will be given to you. God is generous and won't correct you for asking (James 1:5)." Suddenly it seemed that everywhere I turned I found wisdom - good, Godly, practical advice.

Now when Eli starts to throw a fit or have a meltdown over something, I feel like I have many more "tools in my toolbox" with which I can respond. He still goes to time out - often - and I still spank - less often - but I find myself able to respond less out of anger and frustration, and with much greater thoughtfulness and patience. I also started praying over Eli more - sometimes, even in the middle of a meltdown, scooping him up and just praying out loud for God to calm his spirit - and I really believe that it's made a difference. He is having fewer behavior issues and the tension between us is so much less. This isn't to say that our days are problem-free. Or that the next challenging phase isn't right around the corner. But I'm thankful for good days right now.

Eli is quickly changing from a toddler to a preschooler (insert giant sob here). Cognitively, he's right on the cusp of understanding so much. I can see the wheels turning constantly, and it's hard to be patient and allow him to figure some things out for himself. I watch him make mistakes and get frustrated and have accidents and I think that he's just never going to get it. And then, he gets it. He figures out how to carry the bowl so that his snack doesn't spill. He figures out how to get Mickey in and out of the Mickey car by himself. It's amazing. When I was teaching, it was always so thrilling to witness the Aha! moments in my students - the moments when something clicked and the light bulb came on. It is a hundred times more rewarding to see them in my own child, especially when I am with him all day, every day, and I witness many, many "What the crap is wrong with my child?" moments.

The best part of this age (aside from all of the hugs and "I fuv you too, Mommy"s) is all of the funny things he says now. The other day I went to get him up from his nap. He was standing with his back turned to me, and I startled him when I walked in. He jumped, then turned around with his hand on his chest and exclaimed, "Oh! I scared you!" The same day, I went through the Starbucks drive-through and Eli was whining for his "Eli coffee?" I told him that he couldn't have any coffee, but that I would give him a special treat - and then handed him a nickel from my change. "This is a nickel," I said. "A pee-cole?" he replied in an awed voice. Then, after a beat: "A pee-cole, Mom? This is NOT a treat."

Oh yeah, and Lucas is six months old and growing at the speed of light and Mommy cannot handle how fast it's going this time and is having massive daily meltdowns over it. So, we'll save him for another day.

desire and power

2009-09-28T13:21:00.000-07:00

God brought a verse to me recently: "Work hard to show the results of your salvation, obeying God with deep reverence and fear. For God is working in you, giving you the desire and power to do what pleases Him (Phil 2:12-13)." In the past few years, God has changed my heart, radically transforming me into a woman who not only loves Him and pays Him lip service, but who earnestly desires the things of His heart and character. He is growing in me a heart that longs for His name to be glorified in my life. Changing me so that I long less for my dream house and more for my children to grow to love Him with all of their hearts, minds, souls, and strengths. He takes my eyes off of the Pottery Barn catalog and opens them to see the hurting people in my city - and, most amazingly, causing me to want to move.

I lived so selfishly for so many years, despite my outward professions of being His daughter. I spent my time thinking about myself - what I wanted, how I felt, what I had and didn't have and what I thought I needed to be happy. "If I only had..." or "If we could only get to this point..." were a constant refrain in my head. I loved God with a passion, but it ebbed and flowed. Even when I wasn't outright sinning, even when I went through a spiritual "high" period, my life was still about me more than anyone else. I was the picture of a lukewarm Christian. It breaks my heart to think of how many hurting people I've passed by over the years because I was too caught up in myself. But God - oh, our awesome God - He poured out His new mercies on me, again... and again.

What an awesome thing for my passion for Jesus to become steadfast; to want what He wants more than what I want. I am starting to get a grasp on His power - power that supplies me with the supernatural, unexplainable ability to move in obedience to His word. He speaks, and I want to listen. He directs, and I want to obey.

He gives me the desire and power to move towards the things of Him and away from things that grieves Him. In my spending and saving. In what I watch and listen to. In how I discipline my children. In how I discipline myself. It's the power to go for a run rather than re-watch Glee for the tenth time. It's the power to stop and pray, "Lord, place a guard over my mouth" before I yell at my screaming two-year-old having a screaming-two-year-old fit. It's the power to let go of my insatiable need to be visible and let someone else have the spotlight. It's the power to let go of my anger and my need to be right, and approach my husband with a gracious and forgiving spirit. It's the power - and this is the tough one - to make my actions live up to all my big talk.

Make no mistake. Not a moment of gracious, obedient, selfless behavior has anything to do with me. It is all by His grace, by His tender mercy that I can do anything good at all. But each time I drag myself out of bed early to have time before Him in the morning, each time I bury myself in studying His word, each time I pay attention to the Holy Spirit and move in obedience, I find deeper desire to know Him, to serve Him, to follow Him - and more and more power to do so.

hope springs

2009-09-22T07:06:00.000-07:00

Sunday was one of those quiet turning points in my life. There was no emotional breakdown, no blowout fight, no life crisis to precipitate the radical change in my heart. This time the only catalyst for change was a weary, broken heart crying out to God, met by a God who loves me enough to listen. A simple moment that opened my eyes, broke my heart, and changed my direction.

We've been in a desert place for a long time now, and for months I've felt like I was barely trudging through the hot sand, head down and just moving, moving, one exhausted step at a time. Even though I was walking with the Lord, searching his word and and listening for his voice, all I could see were circumstances and things to worry about.

On Sunday morning, I sat in church as we were introduced to some new leaders and naturally, my thoughts were on myself. I wished that I was visible as a servant. That when someone thought about a servant and leader in our church, they would think of me. Immediately, God spoke: "It's not about you." And then: "What good is your servant's heart if you never serve?

How like God to be right. In an instant, my hard heart was softened. My dry spirit was drenched in His. He heard my cry and he poured out His grace. How like God to be faithful, merciful, loving. To be there. To be here.

I committed myself then to walk in obedience to him. I have asked him to use me. Now I need to listen, and when I hear him speak, I need to obey. I want to obey.

"Trust in the Lord and go good, dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture. Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart (Ps. 37:3-4)."

I woke up this morning positively bursting with joy. Still in the deepest valley of my life, still facing mountains I can't climb and an enemy who refuses to quit. But I feel real hope and real peace. Still not able to see the way that God has made for us, but I know He has made it. He is waiting, listening, speaking, directing. How sweet to have his presence.

one of these days...

2009-08-20T16:32:00.000-07:00

I am actually going to visit this poor blog regularly again. I keep jotting down things on my "blog about this" list, but I never actually manage to blog about them. In lieu of real writing, here's a snapshot of things I want to share:

My first real fasting experience, during which God spoke some amazing things into my heart. In general, He is working in my life like never before... mostly because I am yielding to Him and walking in obedience like never before. Funny how that works.
The joy and struggle of life with my two-year-old, including his new penchant for screaming bloody murder in the car - a lot. When does that end??
My in-laws first visit to Portland, and our campaign to woo them this direction.
Beginning to think about preschool for Eli next fall - not sure how that is even possible - and wondering what other mommies look/looked for in a preschool.
My struggle with resolving the absolute truth of Jesus Christ and my desire to respect personal liberty and choice.
My new journey as a runner, which has been derailed (temporarily, I hope) by a hip injury, bad knees, and that pesky family visit. :)

Hopefully I'll get to writing about these things soon. Bet you can hardly wait. :)

look what i made!

2009-07-26T00:37:00.000-07:00

I'm discovering that I really love being a homemaker. I take enormous pleasure in keeping my home clean and organized. Just kidding. I don't actually keep my home clean or organized, but in my mind, the Proverbs 31 women has nothing on me. Anyway, I have been feeling very crafty lately. The other day I was at the park and saw a woman with an adorable little blanket that attached to her Baby Bjorn. When she pulled it up over her baby, it made a little hood for him. I always struggle to keep Lucas covered when we're out in the sun, and I thought it was so clever. I searched for it online and came up empty. So I thought, "I bet I could make that." Heh heh. Side note: I have very limited sewing skills. In fact, I am a pretty terrible sewer. Thank goodness for my can-do attitude. A couple of days later, I was talking to my friend Dara and mentioned what I wanted to make. She said, "Oh, that's a GO blanket." Of course. I found it online and thought, "Oh yeah. I could totally make that." (I should really say those thoughts out loud, so someone can stop me.) No offense to the GO Blanket people, but $70 is a lot for a blankie, no matter how versatile it is. I found possibly the most adorable fabric ever created, and decided to put my crappy sewing ability to the test. And guess what? I actually did it!! Considering that I had no pattern and can barely sew, I think it turned out pretty darned good. If you squint, the stitches look almost straight. The drawstring part at the top doesn't pull through as smoothly as the real version, and it's a little too long when it's tied to the Baby Bjorn, but overall I think it's going to do the job quite nicely. And it's just too cute for words. I tell you, I don't think I was this proud when I delivered my babies. What do you think of my craftiness?

the baby blues and other adventures

2009-05-27T17:08:00.001-07:00

It was only a matter of time before post-partum depression settled into my otherwise idyllic new life with two children. It's nothing major, but when I went from feeling happy and energetic one day to weepy and utterly exhausted the next, I knew what was up. Since I've experienced this before, I quickly called my doctor and started on some happy pills, and I am already feeling a little better after just a few days. But man, am I tired. More than tired, I am excessively, mind-numbingly weary. I feel like my blood is barely pumping and just getting out of bed and off the couch is a challenge. I am so thankful for Ben, who stepped way up and pitched in with baths and dishes and vaccuuming and hugs. I wish we were closer to my family, who I know want nothing more than to help out. I have struggled with mommy guilt and wife guilt and Christian guilt while being too exhausted to really care about all of the things that I feel guilty about. And to add insult to injury, I am having daily migraines again. Waking up with them this time, which is ridiculous. It doesn't even give me a chance to do anything right or wrong, just, "Good morning, you feel like crap already!" It sucks, because I was feeling so good... more energetic and ambitious than I ever felt while I was pregnant, and just... very up. But I've been here before, and I can already feel it getting better. Today I took Eli to the playground, and I worked out, and I'm cooking dinner. Little things that provide a sense of normalcy, that help me see the light at the end of the tunnel and feel like a slightly less inadequate wife and mother. It's comforting to know that I'll get there. But oh, I hate getting there.

In other news, we enjoyed a wonderful Memorial Day at the beach. We spent several hours at Hug Point, wading in the waves and watching Eli play in the sand. He is still skittish about the waves, but he adores running around and digging in the sand. I am an ocean junkie. There is no place I would rather be than sitting on the beach, any beach, watching waves crash. Put a fruity drink in my hand and I'm a happy, happy woman.

squeaky mcgee

2009-05-06T15:52:00.000-07:00

Lucas was born with a condition called laryngomalacia, which means that the cartilage on the back of his larynx is immature, so it is soft and floppy. It is a fairly common condition that in 99% of cases is resolved over time (usually by age 1), and it rarely poses any kind of risk to the baby's health. It does, however, cause him to squeak (and snort) loudly and incessantly. It's particularly bad when he's nursing or in distress, but even when he's deeply asleep he lets out intermittent little chirps. He is a one-man noise machine. So noisy that a woman on the phone with me while I was feeding Lucas asked, "Do you have a hamster there with you?" So noisy that when the music stopped in church on Sunday, twenty heads turned toward us to see whose child was suffocating to death. So noisy that when we asked Eli was Lucas was doing in a picture (he was sleeping), he opened his eyes wide and started mimicking Baby Brudder's squawking gasp... and then explained, "He seeping."

Lucas is so noisy, in fact, that it is impossible to sleep anywhere near him. We've spent the past three weeks trying to figure out a way to get some sleep. The first two weeks weren't terrible, as we had family in town who took turns with Lucas so that we could take turns getting naps. Then my sister left and we were on our own, and for a few days and nights we simply did not sleep. Lucas was waking himself up constantly, squirming awake with what I assume were tummy pains. We tried sleeping on the couch with him in his bouncer, him in his swing, holding him on the couch, holding him in the recliner... you get the picture. But where as with Eli we could at least sleep while he was sleeping, Lucas kept us awake with his crazy noises. After getting just a few hours of sleep over three days' time, I was a complete wreck and sat sobbing on the kitchen floor, desperate for some rest. I was literally crying out to the Lord for help.

And then, as always, God answered. Two nights ago, as I considered the sleepless hours before me, I decided to just try putting him in his room. I knew he wouldn't stay asleep for long, but thought that I might at least get a twenty minutes catnap out of it. I swaddled him tight and put him in his bouncer, turned the monitor on low, and crawled in bed next to my husband for the first time in days. I was shocked and a little worried when I woke up an hour later and he was still sleeping! I hurried to check on him and found him peacefully snoring and chirping away. Hallelujah!

So for the past two days, Lucas has been sleeping for about two hours at a time in his room at night. Yesterday he actually took a two-hour nap in his crib. Victory!! It is amazing what those little bits of sleep do for me. I know from experience that babies are sneaky and like to trick us poor parents with their sleep habits, but I don't care. This is one tired mama who is going to take whatever she can get.

the tale of baby reese

2009-04-29T17:27:00.000-07:00

Oh Blog, how I have missed you. It's been two weeks since we welcomed our new son, Lucas Benjamin. I've wanted to sit down every day and write a little bit about his birth and how life has changed since he joined our family. But as those of you with children know, the first days of a newborn-hood are all about survival. The first days with two? Forget about it. If I get a shower, a latte, and an hour-long nap, I'm thrilled. I can't fathom what life will be like with three... so I won't think about that yet.

First, the baby. Lucas joined us on Wednesday, April 15 at 1:54 in the afternoon. Let me say that everything about his birth was the polar opposite of Eli's. With Eli, I went into labor naturally (just before his due date) and endured 36 hours of labor, of which at least 30 were drug-free. I am not bragging about that. Seriously, I was an idiot. Get the drugs. Always get the drugs. Anyway, I digress.

With Lucas, we scheduled an induction in March. After an unpleasant experience with the on-call doctor in the hospital, I decided that I really wanted to know that my own doctor would be there to deliver my baby, and thankfully, she was all for it. We were admitted at midnight to start the process. It was so odd to sit at home all day, twiddling my thumbs and knowing that in a few hours I would be having a baby. Or at least, trying to have a baby. I had my doubts about the whole process, but it went very smoothly and astonishingly fast. Around 7 am I was given Pitocin and had my water broken to start labor. "It's just the tiniest dose," the kindly nurse assured me. "You won't notice any crazy start to your contractions." Ha. Within twenty minutes I was contracting hard, having to breathe through each one and thinking, "Hell to the no. I did not sign up for this again." As luck would have it, the anesthesiologist was just beginning a C-section when my contractions hit, and I had to wait a couple of hours for my epidural. I know that doesn't sound like much, but I had determined that this time I was not going to feel my labor, so I was a little impatient for the drugs. Ben was his usual awesome self, patiently riding the waves of my schizophrenic needs - "Rub my back! No stop! Rub my legs! Don't touch me! Hold me! Ice chips! Water! Leave me alone! HUG MEEEE!!"

Thankfully, Dr. Ford showed up just in time with my happy juice, and expertly and quickly administered my epidural. It helped that he had a wonderful sense of humor and kept a running banter with us to distract me from the pain. Within a few minutes I was blissfully unaware of both my contractions and my legs, and settled in for what I assumed would be many, many hours of labor. I was already beyond exhausted, having not slept for the past two nights. I decided to put in my earplugs, close the blinds, and take a nap. No sooner was I snuggled into my dozen pillows than the phone rang. It was my dear friend Dara, who had taken Eli for the day. She was at my house with both of our kids for nap time, and had gotten my obstinate house key stuck in the deadbolt. It wouldn't budge, so the door couldn't be unlocked and she couldn't wait outside with two toddlers for the next two days until we got home. In a lapse of judgment I told my dad and husband to scurry on home (we live a good 25 minutes from the hospital - barring traffic) and get the key out. In another lapse of judgment, they listened to me.

It was around noon when they left, and I was dilated to 6 cm. The nurse assured me that I had at least a couple of hours before I would even think about pushing, but to let her know if I felt any pressure. With the room almost empty (my mom stayed behind, thankfully), I replaced my earplugs and made another attempt at a nap. Not ten minutes later, I felt incredibly strong contractions and an unmistakable feeling that this baby is coming now. I rang the nurse, who checked me again and, much to everyone's surprise, announced that I was "complete." As in, completely dilated. As in, holy crap my husband is not here he is not anywhere near here now is the time to freak out. And freak out, I did. I sobbed uncontrollably into my oxygen mask as my mother, nurse, and doctor all tried to reassure me that they would make it in time, that we could definitely delay the birth long enough for them, all while my new son swam ever-more-determinedly toward the light. I called Ben in an utter panic and choked out the words, "The... baby... is... coming... and... you... are... not... here!!" In typical can-do spirit, Ben told my dad to hang on tight, gunned the engine and drove approximately 100 miles an hour, weaving through traffic on the freeway to get to the hospital in record time.

As I waited, watching the seconds tick by and unable to catch my breath through the sobs, I decided that I just simply had to calm down. I put on the most soothing worship song I know ("All Praises to the King" by Hillsong - love, love, love it!) and determined that I would not open my eyes until it had played three times. Sure enough, halfway through the second repeat my husband and daddy came rushing through the door. Ben's face was ghostly-pale as he breathlessly raced into the room. He stopped short when he saw his wife, delivery "imminent," lying peacefully on the bed, headphones on, serene expression pasted onto face. After several people assured him that yes, the baby really was coming now, I think he forgave my panicked call. I think.

We got to pushing, and I will spare the details of that endeavor on the off-chance that an unrelated man might be reading this post. Suffice it to say that this baby was ready. In approximately seven minutes, Lucas Benjamin was in my arms, and I was trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened SO FAST. My first impressions of Lucas were that he had a dent in his head and did not appear to be breathing, but all of that was forgotten when Ben laid my precious baby boy on my chest and he snuggled in like it was right where he belonged.

I have to take a moment to say that I had the most amazing birth team, for which I am incredibly grateful. Every nurse I had during my stay was excellent, but Kyleen, who was there from induction to delivery, was absolutely amazing. She was the epitome of what you want in a labor and delivery nurse - attentive, patient, kind, and competent, by turns bubbly and enthusiastic or calm and soothing. My OB was equally wonderful, and of course it was awesome to have my parents with us again to welcome their grandson into the world. And my husband? He simply rocks.

So that was the beginning of my darling baby boy. Lucas has so far been a very "easy" newborn, and many things about new mommyhood are much easier this time around. Nursing, which was a nightmare with Eli, has gone beautifully from the beginning. Aside from a couple of completely sleepless nights which threaten to send me to the asylum, Lucas is sleeping well. Eli, who turned two just a few days after Lucas was born, is completely in love with his baby brother. He calls him, quite practically, "Baby Brudder," and loves to touch his head, tickle his toes and fingers, and give him air-kisses. He checks in on him frequently - "Brudder seeping," or "Brudder eating," and then goes happily about his business again.

I think I am adjusting well to the brave new world of having plural children. I hit a wall of fatigue from time to time that sends me slightly over the edge, but after a good cry and a power nap, I am able to regain perspective and keep going. I am having to re-learn how to soothe a crying baby (I am definitely not the gifted one in that regard - Daddy is the real Baby Whisperer of the family) and constantly having to remind myself to stop doing "just one more thing" and rest. The hardest thing for me was re-establishing my bond with Eli when I came home. I could not believe how grown-up and how huge my baby boy was the first time I saw him. Even though he didn't seem to be too affected by the new arrival, it was really hard for me to feel like I was neglecting him in order to tend to the baby, and then to deal with him turning two at the same time... it's definitely been an even greater emotional roller coaster than my first post-partum experience. I miss being able to sit around and hold Lucas for hours on end like I could with Eli. But I am also overwhelmed by how incredibly blessed I am. It is an awesome privilege to have children, and I am so thankful for it. Finally, I am reminded, over and over and over again, how completely sufficient God's grace is for every moment and every need. I have cried out to him (literally!) so many times since bringing Lucas home, and each time I am met with His awesome peace and strength for another moment.

So now we begin our new lives as a family of four, and I can't wait to share the moments with you. Stay tuned!

tales of domestic bliss

2009-04-08T16:44:00.001-07:00

Our vaccuum cleaner bit the dust (heh heh) awhile ago, and we finally broke down last week and bought a Dyson. HOLY CRAP. How did I ever live without this thing? Yes, they're expensive, but oh my, so worth it. Ben vaccuumed a four-foot by four-foot section of our living room carpet just to demonstrate its awesome power for me, and the pictures here show what he picked up in just that section. Ewwww... He also had to show me how incredibly dirty our vents were. Please don't send these pictures to social services.

On another note of domestic triumph, I overcame my crippling fear of baking this week and baked my first ever loaf of homemade bread. I love to cook, but somehow my baked goods have never turned out well. My dear mom found a very simple recipe for me (actually titled "Simple Bread Recipe" - I appreciate truth in advertising), and I tried it out. It didn't quite rise enough, but it turned out pretty darned tasty. I also took a cue from some friends and tried my hand at making strawberry freezer jam. It didn't set up all the way (see a pattern here - just off the mark), but the flavor was delicious. Unfortunately, my clumsy pregnant fingers managed to drop one of the jars as I was putting the lid on, and strawberry jam coated my cupboards, floor, pants, everything. Man, that stuff is sticky. This picture is the final aftermath and does not do justice to the carnage of the spill. Thank goodness I had two other jars, or I would have been sooo mad. So I can't potty train and or get my dog to stop peeing in the house, but I made bread and jam. Suck it, Martha Stewart.

the countdown

2009-04-06T16:55:00.001-07:00

The countdown is on, friends! I am being induced in ten short days. Several people have commented to me that they feel like this pregnancy has flown by. I think they're all smoking crack. I didn't much enjoy my first pregnancy, but this one has been pretty miserable. I don't take for granted the awesome privilege of carrying my children and I am so thankful that God has blessed me with this experience twice. But I can't wait to get this baby out!

Of course, I have some mixed feelings about Lucas coming.

Things I'm excited about:

Holding my precious little boy. I miss having a tiny bundle to cuddle with.
Bending over!
Being able to do normal things around the house without feeling like I'm going to pass out - picking up toys, unloading dishes, doing laundry, vaccuuming, you name it. Because the truth is, just because I can barely manage these tasks now, they don't go away. My overactive guilt complex keeps me from asking for help as much as I probably should, and my inner control freak wants to do it myself anyway.
Being able to keep up with Eli! I can't wait until I can chase him around the playground again!
My toes!
Wearing real person clothes again. I haven't gained as much weight with this baby (and I will have two built in calorie-burners in my boys), so I'm optimistic about getting back into my old clothes a little faster than last time.
Actually being able to sleep when I have the chance to sleep. Right now, so many forces conspire to keep me from sleeping now - achy hips, achy back, uncomfortably huge belly, overactive internal furnace, crazy pregnancy dreams. It is such a cruel trick of nature that I can't get enough sleep now when I need it the most.
Seeing Eli interact with the baby, and seeing my family grow.

Things I'm anxious about or not looking forward to:

Giving birth. My first labor lasted 36 hours and I spent 30 of them stubbornly refusing drugs. I learned my lesson and I'll get an epidural right away this time, but this time I also know how much it hurts. And of course, I have the usual fears of delivery. The other night I dreamed that I hemorrhaged to death while I was having the baby. Not a happy thought.
Breastfeeding. It didn't go well the first time around, so I'm really praying it goes more smoothly this time.
The physical aftermath of giving birth. A good friend of mine who recently had her first child called me to say, "Why didn't you tell me about all the crap that comes out after the baby's born?!" No kidding. Reading about locchia was nothing like experiencing it firsthand. Then there's the gelatinous mass that used to be my tight-as-a-drum baby belly, the overnight Anna Nicole boobs, the pain/burning/itching of said boobs, and the long, tough road back to a body that will never quite resemble the one I had before kids.
Sleep. I think about the mind-numbing exhaustion of having a newborn, and how this time I won't be able to lay around on the couch all day and sleep in between feedings... which is pretty much what I did the first two months of Eli's life.
Post-partum depression, which I had after Eli.
Adjusting to another person in our family. I know this will be a challenge for all of us, as excited as we are to have this baby. Eli has been our whole world for two years and it's hard to imagine loving another child as much as we love this one.
What will Lucas look like, and what will his temperment be? Shallow as it may be, we have one stinking cute little boy with a personality to match. Eli has always been a happy, easy going baby. What if Luke gets all of our recessive genes, or is a "high need" baby? Will I still love him as much?

So much to think about as I count off the hours until D-Day. I can't imagine how I would feel if I didn't know God's peace and hope, if I didn't know without a doubt that he is fully in control of all of this family-raising madness. Can't wait to have pictures for you all soon!

the potty chronicles

2009-02-22T18:21:00.001-08:00

This past week, I began and ended potty training with Eli. I never worried about getting him potty trained by the age of two, but when I got pregnant again I was determined to have only one child in diapers at a time. I have a group of girlfriends here who have all used the same "method" of potty training and have successfully had accident-free kids by or before they turned two. So I had pretty high hopes that it would happen. I bought all of the "big boy" underpants, the plastic pants, the potty seats, the travel potty seat, the wipes, the handwashing step stools... you need a serious arsenal for this kind of warfare. I started on Wednesday, and as soon as Eli woke up in the morning, I put him on the potty. The timer beeped every thirty minutes, and we went to the potty. Each trip was a good ten to fifteen-minute ordeal: pants off (he refused to have them just down around his ankles), underwear off, on the potty, read a book, sing a song, read another book, ignore fifty-seven requests for "treat?", get off the potty, flush the potty, new underwear on, pants on, get on the stepstool, wash hands, dry hands, and back to play. It was beyond exhausting. Leaving the house was suddenly like having a newborn again, as was one or two full pajama-and-sheet changings in the middle of the night. Cleaning up poopy underwear is a HAZMAT nightmare compared to tossing a poopy diaper. After four days we had two very tired and cranky parents, one tired and cranky toddler, and absolutely no pee or poop in the potty. I had committed to one week, but at the end of day four, I called Ben and said, "Please, please stop by the store and bring home a package of diapers." To which he basically replied, "Hallelujah."

Now, I've never been known for my stick-to-it-iveness. I have quit sports, clubs, jobs, books, and craft projects with barely a smidge of guilt. But this wasn't a normal quitting, this was mommy quitting. And good mommies aren't supposed to quit things, so my mom guilt was working overtime last night. But then I woke up this morning and changed my son's wet diaper in 10.5 seconds, and felt extremely satisfied with my decision. My little guy is simply not ready, and I simply too uncomfortably pregnant, and the combination simply doesn't work. So, we may try again in six months, or we may try when he goes off to kindergarten. At any rate, it feels really, really good to just let it go.

under pressure

2009-01-26T19:10:00.000-08:00

I am completely defeated this evening by unmet expectations. It doesn't seem to matter what I get right or do well - how many times I get a nutritious, edible meal on the table, how many times I successfully get my toddler in and out of a series of stores without a meltdown, how many appointments I manage to remember. There is always something waiting around the corner for me to fail at. A bad haircut, a bump on the forehead, a bill unpaid, a paper we can't find. I try to tell myself that this is just life, that mistakes happen, that nobody's perfect. But sometimes, like tonight, the weight of all of the little mistakes and disappointments add up to a crushing sense of failure and futility. I wish I was brighter, more careful, more competent... just... better.

true story

2009-01-26T14:00:00.000-08:00

It is a common misconception that my child is nearly perfect. To his credit, he is a remarkably happy, cheerful, even-tempered little boy. But today was proof that beneath that sweet, cherubic exterior lurks a pint-sized tyrant.

Today began with Eli crying for an hour straight in the car, while riding home from taking Ben to work. After a nap and lunch, I decided, much against my better judgment, to take him for a long overdue haircut. After two perfectly peaceful minutes in the airplane chair, he, without warning or provocation, began one of the most impressive meltdowns I've ever witnessed. The poor hairdresser did her best to snip while I pinned him down in my lap and he wailed at the top of his lungs. Mortified and desperate to get out of there as quickly as possible, I paid for the semi-retarded haircut and tried to get him into his coat and away from the train table. As he began to throw himself to the floor in protest, I scooped him up as deftly as my very pregnant body would allow and held him down in my lap while I forced his little arms into the coat, all the while trying to speak in my very best "Mommy is secretly fuming but doesn't want to alarm these strangers to the possibility of child abuse" voice. As I struggled, an older woman who was sitting on the other couch - and seriously, why the hell was she even there? - ever so helpfully said, "Oh, the poor dear. Did he even get to play with the train?" I gave her my best "Are you f-ing kidding me right now?" look and through clenched teeth replied, "No, we really don't have time for that right now." Meaning, "Clearly this demon child has used up every last ounce of my patience and I am going to completely lose it if we don't leave this instant, so mind your own damn business." Not taking the hint, she said, "Oh, but that's the only good part about getting a haircut!" I shot her a "I will kill you with my bare hands if you don't shut the hell up woman" look and hightailed it out of there.

As Eli wailed on in the backseat, I decided to cut my errand running short and head straight home. I manuevered him inside and set him free to play, then stepped outside to take the dog out and take a few deep breaths in the fresh air. As I prayed, "Lord, please give me an extra measure of peace and patience today," I heard the door shut behind me and an unmistakable "click" of the deadbolt. No. Surely, my son would not choose this moment to learn how to lock the door. With me on the wrong side of it. With a nervous chuckle, I warily stepped toward the door and tried the knob. Holy crap. My child has locked me out of the house. I hurried around to the front of the house and tried the front door, the car, and the garage, knowing full well that they were all securely locked. I returned to the back door to negotiate with my toddler. With tears of frustration spilling down my cheeks I knocked on the door. "Eli? Eli, honey, can you please undo the thing you just did?" I called through the door. I rattled the door harder. "Elijah Daniel. Turn the lock back. Turn it back now." Nothing. Trying not to panic, I remembered that a friend and her husband had broken into my house a few months ago through the front window in order to retrieve something when we were out of town (with full permission - not to rat you out, D). Flooded with relief, I managed to pry the screen loose (with minor damage) and push the window open enough to reach around and unlock the front door from the inside. I marched into the living room to find my son contentedly playing with his truck. I hauled him off to bed with a reminder to never, EVER touch anything in this house again, called my husband to report his malfeasance, and wished that I could have a very large, very stiff drink. Thank goodness we are going to the grandparents tomorrow.

the greatest superbowl ever

2009-01-21T13:44:00.000-08:00

So I'm trying to get on board with the whole 4th folder, 4th picture thing (which is really clever, by the way), and in the process came across some great old pictures. I found a set of pictures from a Superbowl party we threw a few years ago, when we lived in Indianapolis and our beloved Colts went all the way. These pictures make me nostalgic for so many things: having a home football team to root for, my wonderful friend Cary (who is about to "pop" with her own first baby), our friends Bin and Christy who had the nerve to move to Houston and not Portland, the days when my whiny toddler was just a cute bump under my jersey, my husband in braces (come on, how cute was he?), and most of all, my phenomenal hair. Oh long, luxurious hair, how I miss you. I'll probably watch the Superbowl this year out of force of habit, but in my mind, nothing will top Superbowl '07. Go Colts!

maybe he'll be a model?

2009-01-21T13:16:00.000-08:00

Today I had a "is my child a little slow?" moment. I met up with a friend and her two kids for a coffee and play date. I had been feeling awfully proud of my boy lately with all of his new words, and impressed when he occasionally strings two words together - "cookie juice," "cookie snack," "snack juice"... you get the idea. My bubble was seriously burst today when my friend's little boy, who is barely two months older than Eli, looked straight at me and proclaimed, "I throw a football like Peyton Manning!"

Huh.

Did I just have a seizure, or did a child my son's age just say a complicated, sports-related, well-articulated sentence to me? I really don't see Katie as the pushy, flashcards-at-6-months kind of mom, so when she told me that he just has naturally off-the-charts verbal ability, I guess I have to believe her.

I tried to shake it off and force myself back into my usual non-competitive mother mode. I was quite pleased when Eli picked up a book about baby animals and said, "animal." "Okay," I thought. "My kid's just fine. He'll still get into college." Then he pointed to a picture of my husband and said, "Daddy!" "Oh!" I marveled, "My little genius! Rhodes Scholar, here we come."

Then he pointed to me and said, "Daddy!" Hm.

Then he pointed to himself and said, you guessed it, "Daddy." Damn.

It's a good thing you're so cute, kid.

random rainy day thoughts

2009-01-07T12:44:00.000-08:00

Things I'm thinking about today:

I don't mind the Portland weather, the long weeks of cloudy skies and rain. It doesn't rain as much as I thought it would, and the sun shines more than I thought it would, and when it does shine, the brilliant beauty of this place is worth all the wet. This is surprising to me, since I could hardly stand to live a year in Seattle, long ago. I guess I'm just happier now.

I hate ridiculously loud commercials - Bowflex, DirectBuy, Proactiv. I should just turn off the t.v., but then, I would really feel like I'd lost a friend.

I feel like I haven't spent time with friends in ages, with the holidays and the crazy weather and traveling and family in town. I'm craving some serious girl time and anxious to build deeper friendships here. Any takers?

We have tossed around the idea - albeit not seriously - of moving to Dubai for a year or two, where Ben could make enough money to get us out of debt much more quickly than our current economy will allow. At first I completely dismissed the idea, but now it's got me thinking. It would be an adventure...

I've read some wonderful books lately. The Lake of Dead Languages by Carol Goodman, A Live Coal in the Sea by Madeline L'Engle, and yes, Twilight - which was a surprisingly well-written page turner. The first two, however, were really excellent - the kind of story-telling that I wish I could produce. They both have some disturbing elements, but so many great books do. I think I need to start my own book club so I can discuss books like these.

I am incredibly, unspeakably thankful for my husband. This pregnancy has been hard on both of us, and he has stepped up and stepped in so selflessly. I know that if I were working long hours, the last thing I would want to do when I come home is feed and bathe and play with a tired, cranky toddler, but he does it without complaining or making me feel even more guilty than I do on my own. And he makes me laugh. And lets me eat more chocolate than the food pyramid allows.

is it too early to count down?

2009-01-06T21:15:00.000-08:00

I am twenty-five weeks pregnant, past the halfway point but not far enough to begin the count down... although I am. I am overwhelmed today with mixed feelings about this baby's arrival. On one hand, I can hardly wait to meet my little boy. I'm dying to see how he'll look... will he have Eli's fair hair and brilliant blue eyes, or will I see more of myself in his tiny features? I think about having a newborn again, cradling a tiny, warm body against mine for hours and hours, stroking his miniature fingers and toes, napping on the couch with my precious little bundle snuggled up into the curve on my body. I am beyond thankful for this baby, the gift of getting to start a new life over again. But at the same time, when I look at my little Eli, how devastatingly fast the changes come, I feel a mix of joy and pride and grief that I can hardly bear. I think about my baby boy becoming a big boy, a teenager, an adult, and I have to struggle to choke back my tears. I'm glad that we are planning on at least one more, so that even when this little guy arrives, I'll know that (God willing) it isn't the last time.

the little engine that can't

2008-12-12T14:23:00.000-08:00

I just returned from a long evening of fighting bad roads, a crowded mall, and two cranky men in tow, and I... am... so... tired. I am experiencing a months-long episode of fatigue that is known in certain circles as "pregnancy." I know that I was tired with Eli - sometimes really, really tired - but this time I just cannot get my motor going. Every morning, I lay in bed and fight with myself: "I should really get up. Eli will be up in half an hour. I should get up and take a shower and get ready for the day. I should get up." Every afternoon, I decide to grab a "quick nap" while Eli naps, and an hour later I lay in bed and fight with myself: "I should really, really get up. I should get up and clean the kitchen and do some laundry and do something on my to do list." But I almost never get up until Eli is awake and I've lost my window of opportunity to do all of the things that I can't do when he's on the loose. Even when I do manage to pull myself out of bed early, I find that I'm controlled by an overwhelming sense of inertia. I feel like I'm moving through mud, forcing myself through every motion. I have had a handful of days where I've felt some real energy, and those days have felt amazing. I am so excited to meet this baby and I can't wait to have my new little bundle to snuggle and love on, but... how am I ever going to do this???

in my house there are many penises

2008-12-09T16:54:00.000-08:00

Today was the big day... the ultrasound. Although Ben and I (and everyone we know) were hoping for a girl this time around, God has seen fit to bless us with another little bundle of testosterone. I admit to a momentary but substantial breakdown in the bathroom (by the way, never look in the mirror under fluorescent lights after you've been crying... wow), I came to terms with the news and now feel only slight disappointment mingled with my excitement. I'm happy for Eli to have a brother so close in age and pray that they will be best buddies (I should probably stop reading Danielle's blog now). I also know that it will be a blessing for us to be able to re-use a lot of Eli's stuff, but don't think that I won't be scooping up some adorable new outfits for my little guy. Eli's clothes are so 2007. We're having a little trouble coming up with a name, but we're leaning towards Noah, Ethan, or Lucas. We briefly considered the names "Heh." or "Well, maybe next time!" but worried that they might send the wrong message to our child.

So, pressure's on, Baby Number Three. Pressure's on.

halloween

2008-10-31T22:23:00.001-07:00

We celebrated Halloween for the first time with Eli, since last year we were moving to Portland at this time and didn't have the energy for anything else. Like most toddler-aged people, Eli is totally into animals, and we were so excited when we found the perfect koala bear costume for our little bear. Even though he hated wearing the head and feet of the costume, we got him in it using candy bribes and old fashioned muscle, and headed out to beg candy from strangers in our neighborhood (known in some circles as "neighbors"). It didn't take long for Eli to figure out the system: ride in the stroller, find a house with a porch light on, hop out of the stroller, climb the stairs, knock on the door, and say "chirt teet," get candy and clap and squeal with delight, say "day-doo," and move on. (For those of you not up on your toddler lingo, that's "trick or treat" and "thank you.") He was the most adorable koala on the block and charmed every kind person who dropped crack - I mean candy - into his bucket. He even invited himself right into some of their homes to see what else they had to offer. Ben and I got into the act - Ben as a super smooth 70s dude and me as a Disney princess, complete with the woodland creatures who dress me every morning. We had a great "first" Halloween, and I can't wait to settle in for an awesome sugar fest and prepare for the gluttony of the upcoming holiday season. Happy Halloween!

camping trip (this is long, but worth the read)

2008-10-30T13:39:00.000-07:00

Ben had a couple of days off and had the wonderful idea to go camping at Silver Falls State Park, which is about an hour and a half from us. Being October, we opted to rent one of their little cabins rather than freeze to death in a tent. Although we both grew up camping every summer, for a number of reasons we've never gone together. We were excited and a little apprehensive about camping with a toddler. Turns out we had good reason to be nervous.

We arrived at the campground at around 1:30 on Monday. Since we couldn't check in until 4:00, we decided to go ahead on a hike to one of the park's ten waterfalls. We'd borrowed a baby backpack carrier from a friend (thank you, Jill, you are a lifesaver!). We spent what felt like an hour trying to get Eli into the carrier and adjust all of the straps so that Ben felt somewhat comfortable, which we accomplished with only a small amount of snapping and snarking at each other. Finally, we headed off on the trail to see the foot South Falls. We were blessed with perfect weather - clear blue sky and bright sunshine as the backdrop for the breathtaking fall colors of the trees. The trail took us behind the waterfall, which was a new and awesome experience for us. Ben was trooping along quite nicely with 40 extra pounds on his back, until we got to the back half of the trail and had to hike uphill for a good twenty minutes. I was winded, but I blamed it on being pregnant (when really, I'm just in terrible shape), so I couldn't imagine how Ben was feeling by the time we reached the top.

Our cabin was adorable and had a great porch off the front. We unloaded the car and I set up inside while Ben very adeptly started a campfire. Who knew he was such a boy scout? We enjoyed our dinner of roasted hot dogs (pretty disgusting), while we worked hard to keep Eli from becoming part of the fire. Everything was going well until I had the audacity to suggest that Eli try his first S'more. For some reason, it set him off and he refused to try even a smidge of marshmallow. We have some very funny (and slightly incriminating) video of me practically pinning him down and forcing marshmallow into his mouth. We finally gave up and decided to put him to bed. This was the beginning of the longest and loudest fit our son has thrown to date. He cried, screeched, and wailed for what felt like hours, while I prayed that we wouldn't get kicked out of the campground and cursed my unborn child that I couldn't at least put back five or six drinks to help relieve the tension.

After a loooong battle, Eli finally fell asleep, and Ben and I settled in to enjoy our campfire. And then, the raccoons came. Oh, the raccoons. So cute in Cinderella, so very annoying in our campground. At first it was just one raccoon, sneaking up on us from underneath our porch. We chased him away, only to have him reappear moments later to begin scavenging our dinner leftovers from a rock just a few feet away. We quickly moved the rest of our food inside (so long, S'mores), and tried to enjoy the rest of our evening around the campfire. The raccoon continued to sneak back into our camp, each time getting a little closer and a little more stubborn. Eventually, he brought a buddy with him. Isn't that nice? Having his pal along made him even bolder, and the two of them proceeded to terrorize us for the rest of the night. After several attempts to scare them away (vigorous waving of broom while shouting, "Go away, you racoons!"), we finally decided to call it a night.

Now, as any pregnant woman knows, a pregnant woman has to pee approximately sixty-five times during one night. Knowing that those little critters were waiting for us, I opted against going several campsites down to the restroom, and instead sucked it up and peed off the edge of the deck, while Ben peed a territorial perimeter around the deck and kept me alert of potential raccoon nibbles on my bare backside. We headed inside, and Ben quickly drifted off to sleep while I laid awake for the next hour or so trying to think about anything but how much I had to go again. Around 1:30 in the morning, I gave in and told Ben that I really, really couldn't hold it all night. Ben kindly got out of bed and stuck his head outside to make sure the raccoons were gone. But oh no, the little darlings were actually on our porch! Ben scared them off with threat of a marshmallow skewer to the head, and I hurried over to my little potty corner. But I was sleepy this time, and even more nervous, and I managed to not only pee on the deck instead of off of it, but also to step in my own pee. I let out an impressively loud swear and stripped off my pee pants, leaving me standing on the porch in the middle of the campground, in the middle of the night, in my lime green underpants and on the verge of tears.

I was finally able to fall asleep after that and held out until daybreak, when I felt safe to venture to the restroom by myself. The rest of our campout was wonderful, including a morning campfire, a hike behind an even more impressive waterfall, and a stop at the breathtaking Silverton Reservoir. We can't wait to start camping next summer and we will definitely go back to Silver Falls, but we'll do our wildlife aversion homework next time.

rainy day

2008-10-03T13:07:00.000-07:00

I am enjoying a few minutes of quiet on a blustery Friday afternoon. My son is taking a blessedly long nap, and I'm ignoring my messy house in favor of a quick blog update. Oh, and eating peanut butter straight out of the jar.

I am eleven weeks into my pregnancy. How wonderful to know that the end of the first trimester is in sight. As with my last pregnancy, I lost my nausea one day and picked up an endless string of migraines the next. I'm not sure which is less welcome, but the migraines definitely pose a bigger problem - namely, how much can I drug my unborn child and still come out with the right number of arms and legs and the ability to read past a first-grade level? I take some comfort in knowing that Eli was exposed to a number of medications in utero, and he seems to be pretty normal. Bright-ish, at least.

I had my first appointment with my new OB a couple of weeks ago. I'm seeing a wonderful doctor at Good Sam hospital in the Pearl. (I know, don't I sound so hip and Portlandian?) I still question whether or not I should be giving birth in a hospital downtown, but judging from my previous labor experience, I think I'll have plenty of time to spare. I had my first moment of true excitement when I saw my little pea's heart beating away on the monitor. Now that I'm getting past the yucky sick time, I'm starting to remember how amazing it is to feel a baby come alive inside me. I can't wait until "she" starts moving and kicking. Yes, this baby is going to be a girl. Or, at least, it's going to be raised as a girl. :)

Elijah will be 18 months old soon. He has some new favorite activities: making animal noises (he has a pretty impressive repretoire already, including a duck that whispers, "tack, tack"), climbing on and off the couch repeatedly, and laying down on the floor and crying anytime he doesn't get what he wants when he wants it. I prefer the first one. Occasional fits aside, Eli is a pretty awesome kid and I am so blessed to call him mine.

That's all for now, friends. Back to the peanut butter.

little blessings

2008-09-15T18:16:00.000-07:00

I had a wonderful time this morning at a new Bible study with a group of women from our church. I guess it isn't technically a Bible study - we're reading and discussing A.W. Tozer's classic, The Pursuit of God. But it's easier to call it a Bible study, and we did open our Bibles. Anyway, I was so encouraged by our time together. Things have been especially challenging lately as I cope with rough beginnings of my pregnancy. I've been overwhelmed by my own weakness and inability to "power through." I've felt useless and sometimes worthless as a wife, mom, and friend and have been disappointed in how little I manage to accomplish during the day. This morning we were discussing simplicity in our lives and particularly in our walk with God. Our group leader asked us to consider how we practice simplicity and I thought, "Well, I generally do nothing, feel guilty about doing nothing, and then do nothing some more. I guess that's pretty simple." But one woman shared that as she is facing several giant problems that she can't fix, she has focused on praying for each little thing in front of her and then taking notice of how God answers the little prayers. That spoke exactly to where I am right now, and really encouraged me to do the same. So, here are ten "little" things that I am thankful for today:

1) I am thankful that though my son fell today and busted his lip, and we had our first bleeding-all-over-the-kitchen-floor moment, his teeth were unharmed. If you know my world, you know how important that is.

2) I am thankful that God gave me the strength to get out of bed, take a shower, do my hair, get my son fed and dressed, and drive to the Bible study this morning. Even though I felt like I was taking each step through thick mud and barely holding down my breakfast, we made it, and it was an enormous blessing.

3) I am thankful that I felt well enough last night to make a healthy dinner and a delicious (albeit a little too sweet) peach dessert.

4) I am thankful for God's hand in my marriage and for a husband who is kind, loving, and tender hearted. I'm thankful for Ben stepping up to the plate so graciously when I'm not feeling well. And I'm thankful that we still have fun together, evidenced by last night's awesome Rock Band session.

5) I am thankful for this new life inside me. I confess that there are days I don't want to be pregnant, I don't want to have this baby. I realize how selfish and ungracious that is, and how many women would kill to be in my position. I'm also thankful that I can be honest with God about this and know that his faithfulness and mercy are not dependent on my perfection.

6) I am SO thankful for the gift of Christian fellowship. How amazing that I could walk into a roomful of strangers and within a few minutes feel free to share the my greatest struggles, darkest fears, and most intimate dreams. I am humbled by the privilege of walking alongside so many wonderful, Godly women in my life.

7-10) (Because I'm getting hungry): Beautiful weather, having a good-natured child, Jolly Ranchers, and the juicy steak that I will (hopefully) enjoy for dinner tonight.

What little thing are you thankful for today?

blech

2008-08-26T21:31:00.000-07:00

In a word, that's how i feel. In case you're one of the ten people in the world who I've managed not to tell, I am pregnant with our second child. It's very early, and yes, I should have waited to tell, and yes, my husband and I agreed to wait to tell, and yes, I'm sure on the inside he's shaking his head in amazement at my inability to either keep a secret or keep an agreement to keep a secret. At any rate, I've told a lot of people, and I feel sick and tired and discouraged, so I might as well blog about it.

This baby was a definitely a surprise. While Eli was precisely planned for - prenatal vitamins taken, OB visited, contraband medications halted for months prior to conception - this one came as a bit of a shock. By no means a disaster, but definitely a moment of, "huh." Definitely a sense of, "Wow, let's clean out the nest - quickly." We were hoping that Eli would be past the 2 1/2 year mark when the next baby came along. Instead, this baby is due approximately three days after Eli's birthday. That would be one day after my birthday. That would be three - yes, three - birthdays in one week.

So, God has a sense of humor... but I do believe in his timing. I believe that God is sovereign. I believe that he will never bring us to a place that he won't then walk us through.

I have to tell myself that a lot these days, as I battle endless nausea, exhaustion, headaches, a ridiculously achy back (there's barely even in a baby in there yet!), and a general feeling of... blech. I had a rough pregnancy with Eli, but this time, I have Eli. In some moments, it feels absolutely impossible to endure a pregnancy and newborn while tending to a very active toddler. I know I felt bad the last time, and my mother reminds me that I complained about all of these symptoms the last time, and I tended to an entire class full of first graders the last time, but... somehow, this one seems harder. It's different emotionally, too. My mom had a series of miscarriages after her first healthy pregnancy. It's hard not to fear that history will repeat itself in me. So there's a little less thrill, a little more anxiety. I try to think of it as cautious optimism.

And so I remind myself, over and over and over again, of several important truths. 1) God will give me everything I need for every moment of every day - if I remain in him, he will remain in me. 2) God alone holds the number of our days, and that includes our children. I can rest in the knowledge that this baby is his child so much more than it is mine. 3) As my friend Kyla pointed out (Kyla, who has three little girls five and under and a husband away in the navy), even if my son watches cartoons and plays by himself while I lay comatose on the couch for an hour (or two), he will still grow into an intelligent, well-adjusted man who will not have mommy issues. 4) My amazing cousin and dear friend Danielle is surviving a high-intensity toddler and a colicky baby and doing so with amazing strength, wit, and class... and she doesn't even need makeup.

All of which is to say, I will survive. God will continue to bless my marriage, my relationship with my son, my unborn child (daughter, daughter, daughter), my homemaking, my health, and my relationship with him. Stay tuned.

hair

2008-08-08T00:01:00.000-07:00

so here's what i start thinking about when i'm up way past my bedtime. as i watched the season finale of "so you think you can dance" tonight, i was distracted the whole time by a disturbing observation. every single teenage girl in the audience had a side bang! you know, the longish bangs, swept to the side. as in, the haircut that i, until tonight, was proudly rocking. while i was busy being a Very Busy Woman, i failed to notice that i (specifically, my hair) was becoming irrelevant. apparently i have reached The Age of Awkward Hairstyle Choices. after seeing my hair on so many jonas-brothers-loving youngsters, i'm definitely ready to ditch my side bang, but i don't know where to go from here. i refuse to go short, although i do now understand the practicality of "The Mom Cut." but after my husband recently confessed how much he hated my short hair in college, and after looking through pictures of myself with said short hair, i am determined never to go that route again. so how do i approach the minefield of potential hair "don'ts?" i certainly can't go with the bangs pinned back. that's how hannah montana wears her hair (don't ask me why i know that), and i'm pretty sure that would be a step backwards. i can rock a really good ponytail, but i certainly don't need anything else to give me headaches. half the time lately i've just given up, wearing my hair in it's natural wavy/kinky/curly state (gasp!). so, what is the right hairstyle for a young(ish), modern(ish), hip (going too far) woman who wants to be adorable and adored (because, let's be honest, what we're all really looking for in a hairstyle is something to make all the guys want us and all the girls want to be us)? any suggestions?

being still

2008-07-28T18:12:00.000-07:00

I have to confess, we are in a hard season. I've been in God's word and marveling at how He speaks through it, and I've been encouraged to press on in the face of every kind of trouble, but our circumstances have been pretty dismal. True, I can't even count all of my blessings - a happy marriage, a healthy child, a home, food to eat, water to drink, a church to worship in - way too many to count. And I remind myself of this often, whenever I'm feeling discouraged about all of the things that are standing between where I am and where I want to be. But the enemy is hard at work and he gets in my head sometimes, and I have those days... days where I just want to crawl under my super-cushy down comforter (another blessing) and sleep the day (week? year?) away. Some days I need a more tangible reminder that God is present and at work. A few days ago, He obliged. I was driving with my sister-in-law Heather, who was visiting from Texas. Leaving my favorite coffee shop (shout-out to Peet's!), I pulled up to a stoplight to turn left onto a very busy road. The light to turn left was green, but "for some reason" I stopped. I noticed the green light and said, "Oh hello, the light is green," and just as I put my foot on the gas to go, a car came flying through the intersection, going way over the speed limit, and running the red light. If I hadn't stopped at a green light, that car would have absolutely plowed into us. Now I know some of my friends might say that it was my occasional air-headedness that caused me stop when I didn't need to, but I disagree. I believe it was a little glimpse of God, a reminder that He is faithfully ordering my steps even when I feel like they're faltering.

I found an old CD today and was so excited to rediscover a favorite old song (shout-out to Lee U. - I can't help it, I love me some shout-outs). The lyrics are taken from Psalm 119:133: "Establish my footsteps in your word." I was spending a few minutes relaxing in my big chair (blessing!), when I heard a line that immediately brought me to tears: "While you are working, help me be still." Wow, how I need to hear that. I feel like I've finally learned how to root myself deeply in God's word and I actually want to bear much fruit and still... I am so impatient and so anxious to see my life bear the fruit I want to bear when I want to bear it. I still wake up in the middle of the night in a panic, with a sick, knotted feeling in my stomach, wondering how in the world we are ever going to get to that mythical place of "Everything's OK." In the midst of trying to work through all of the problems in my life, how desperately I need to be reminded to just... be... still. God is working. I am waiting. All is well.

the importance of sounding it out

2008-07-08T21:02:00.000-07:00

So I have this thing about words. I hate when common words are mispronounced. I know this doesn't carry the weight of, say, global warming, but seriously, these aren't tough words. They aren't foreign words that Americans have acquired to sound fancy pants but can't say correctly ("Would anyone care for some horse-doovers before dinner?"). These are everyday words. Phonetically easy words. We can handle them. So, I'm officially calling for an end to:

relator (as in, "Did you find a good relator to sell your house?")
nucular (as in, "There was an explosion at the nucular plant today! I feel funny.")
jewlery (as in, "Does this piece of giant fake gold jewlery make me look like a ho?")
expecially or eggspecially (as in, "Do you carry the expecially eggspecial on your breakfast menu?")
expresso (as in, "I would definitely take an expresso machine with me on Survivor.")
muse-em (as in, "This one might get me in trouble with my darling sister-in-law, who pronounces it muse-em even though she is a very intelligent person.")

Don't worry if you're reading this right now and thinking, "Heeeyyyy... I say that!" Many good, intelligent, God-fearing people pronounce words wrongly. Maybe this is my ministry.

So remember, you need a good re-al-tor if you don't want your new house to be by a nu-cle-ar reactor, but you want to live close to the art mu-seee-um and a good eSSSpresso shop. Also, you prefer not to live in the ghetto, eSSSpecially if you have a lot of expensive jew-el-ry in your house.

Sound it out, friends. Sound it out.

homecoming

2008-06-25T09:57:00.000-07:00

God gave me a picture this morning. It may not be the most accurate depiction of Heaven, but here it is:

I was thinking about Grandma Diehl and her hospitality. Whenever we would visit her in her little Shipshewana home, we would arrive to find freshly made beds, fluffed towels, refreshing iced tea and lemonade, and some kind of yummy treats to welcome us. She would greet us at the door with a warm hug and a welcoming smile. I could tell that she had been preparing for our arrival with great anticipation and excitement. It occurred to me (this is where God stepped in) that the very same thing is happening right now in Heaven, only on a much grander scale.

I imagine that right now, her sisters and friends who have gone before her are readying her room. They are fluffing the fluffiest pillows. They lay across the bed a beautiful quilt that they have been making together since the day God announced that June would soon be coming home. They have placed in a vase an arrangement of flowers that have never been seen on Earth - blossoms that God thought up and knew would be perfect for His daughter. They talk and laugh and reminisce, excited as little girls to see their loved one again.

Grandpa Diehl waits at the gate. Dressed in his finest clothes, he holds a giant bouquet of his wife's favorite flowers. He rocks back and forth on his heels, trying to be patient, but he can't remember the last time he felt so excited. He tries to remember how it felt to hold his beloved, and he can't believe she will be in his arms again soon. He has tears in his eyes and a permanent grin on his face.

The crowd is gathering around him. Brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts and uncles, neighbors and friends have all come to welcome June home. Her parents stand near the front of the crowd. They are so proud that their daughter has finished the race. They can't wait to love on their sweet girl. They can't wait to show her around this amazing place. A few of the Great Saints have joined the crowd - C.S. Lewis, Oswald Chambers, Fanny Crosby, the Wesleys. (They are on the official Welcoming and Orientation to Heaven Committees.)

And standing at the back, waiting patiently, knowing the exact seconds until she walks through the gate, is her first and greatest love - Jesus.

Thank you, Lord, that we have a home with you.

for the sake of transparency...

2008-06-24T22:53:00.001-07:00

... let me share that my house is never really clean until company comes. Really. I keep my living room and kitchen clean, and I manage pretty well with the bathrooms. But that's just the "front of the house" facade that makes me feel like a very righteous homemaker and puts me at ease that if someone were to drop by unexpectedly, I could probably fool them. The truth is, my bedroom, my closet, my enormous piles of various-stage laundry... this is the truth of my homemaking abilities. I so very much want to be the Proverbs 31 woman, but who has the energy?

If you have the energy, please don't tell me.

sometimes you don't see the thing that's been coming from a mile away

2008-06-24T22:45:00.000-07:00

Ben's grandma is dying of cancer. She is an incredible woman - warm, loving, kind, and strong. She lives and breathes Jesus' love in everything she does. My heart breaks for my mother-in-law. It might be easier to lose a parent when they are elderly, sick, or in pain... but I don't imagine it is. My dad's mother died in her mid-90s after years of deteriorating health. She was suffering terribly and so ready to go home to Jesus. But I know it broke my daddy's heart when she finally did go home - even while we rejoiced that she was free. Grandma Diehl is our last grandparent. It's so strange to think that our parents are, essentially, orphans. And it makes our own parents' mortality seem so much more real and terrifying. Yes, I believe in Heaven, and I know that seeing my savior face to face will be an experience beyond anything I can wrap my mind around. But I need my mama and daddy, and my children need their Grandma and Grandpa, and we need them for a long, long time. Ugh, this is a depressing post.

thoughts

2008-06-23T16:08:00.000-07:00

I think what I'm about to write is considered "stream of consciousness," random thoughts that are popping around in my mind right now. But I'm going to use bullet points, because I need my stream to be tidy and well-organized.

I've always loved to write. As a child I filled countless spiral notebooks with stories (mostly just a lot of "Chapter 1's," but still...). Then I moved on to journaling, and writing letters. I wrote a heap of letters to Ben when we were dating, during a season of separation, and reading them now both proves my naivete at the time and reminds me of all the reasons we fell in love. And now I blog, more rarely than I wish, but as often as time and energy permit. I generally consider myself a gifted writer, not Pulitzer Prize material, but enjoyable enough to read. Today, though, I had the pleasure of reading the blog of someone monumentally talented, and I felt immediately and terribly insecure about my own writing. I ridiculed myself for thinking that anyone would want to read what I write and had to resist the urge to delete this entire blog and save the blogosphere from my uncleverly turned phrases. I have no inner resolution to this just yet, but I decided to write today in defiance of my own insecurity. Ha!

I was cleaning the kitchen today. I love to clean. I love to put things into order and make my home pleasant and cozy. It's a cathartic experience for me, and always my go-to therapy when I'm angry or upset or worried. Today I wasn't any of those things, but I am having company tomorrow and my house is a disaster. So anyway, I was cleaning. The downside to cleaning is that it gives you time to think, and in my case, lots of time to worry. I struggle with anxiety and trusting God for the unseen on a daily basis (I don't think I'm alone in that), and today as I started washing up dishes all I could think about was money. We don't have enough of it, we can't seem to make it stretch the way we need it to, and even though we spend less and less we don't ever seem to have more and more. I started my inner dialogue of shame and regret for having lived above our means for a very long time and how much that is impacting us now, and I felt a heavy sickness in my stomach. I hate worrying. The Bible tells us not to worry. Period. God provides. Period. God is faithful. Period. I have witnessed His faithfulness in my life at so many turns that it amazes me that I can still be untrusting. So today, standing in the kitchen with a hundred burdens on my shoulders, I decided to start praising Him. I just started singing, loudly and triumphantly and determinedly. And God came. I love those moments when I feel peace wash over me. More often than not I let the enemy drown out God's gentle whispers, but today I listened and heard, and I felt peace.

Our son Eli is 14 months old, and we're beginning to see moments of misbehavior and disobedience (not to mention tantrums and fits and meltdowns), and we're really struggling with how to approach discipline at his age. We've read the books, consulted our families and friends, googled it - and we find the same advice at every turn. Tell your child to stop and redirect him. Give him a time out - a very short time out - and explain why. Tell him, "Don't touch" in a firm voice with a grumpy face and move his hand - and if he continues, give his hand a little swat (or a flick, according to the pediatrician). But all we get, no matter what we try, is the most annoyingly adorable little giggle from our son. I keep thinking, "This is just the beginning. I can't believe this is just the beginning." Of course, this time is precious and fleeting and full of delightful moments, but some days... good Lord.

My dog has a very touchy stomach. She's been on prescription dog food since she was a puppy and as a rule, does not get any people food. Until Eli started eating in the high chair and sharing his food with "deedee." I don't know what she got into today, but she has pooped and puked all over the house. Blech.

I wish I was pregnant so that there would be an acceptable explanation for my still-protuding tummy.

I got a call this weekend from an old college friend, Katrina Stewart. I met Katrina in our Birds of Prey class at NNC and became friends with her and her husband Marcus. We hung out with them a lot the first year we were married, when we lived in our tiny apartment on Sunnyridge with all of our borrowed furniture. Marcus and Katrina moved to Alaska shortly before Ben and I moved to Indiana, and they sold us their beautiful entertainment center. At the time, it was the nicest piece of furniture we owned, and we were so proud of it. We've kept in touch with them through emails and Christmas letters, but haven't seen them in seven years. So I thought it was ironic (don't roll your eyes if I don't quite understand irony - I told you I wasn't a very good writer) that on the weekend when we were finally selling the entertainment center at a yard sale, Katrina called to tell me that they were in town. I asked her if they'd like to buy it back, but she declined. She and Marcus are coming over tomorrow night to have dinner and take our little boys to the playground. I'm excited to reconnect with our old friends and reminisce about the days of cookouts and pumpkin carving parties.

tiny pet peeve

2008-06-18T17:26:00.001-07:00

I hate when someone says "each and every one." It's redundant.

how bittersweet to watch my child grow

2008-06-17T21:52:00.000-07:00

I had the rare joy of getting my sweet baby boy to cuddle with me today in the big, comfy rocker where we spent so many hours this time last year. Elijah is almost 14 months old, and every day he becomes less of a baby. I love to watch him grow and change. I have the incredible privilege of staying home with him every day (for now), and I am amazed at the ways he changes right before my eyes. It's such a wonderful and heartbreaking time. I can't wait for each new stage, each new word, new skill, new understanding. I can't wait until Eli can talk with me and until I can teach him and read with him. And in the next breath, I want to freeze time and hold him in that rocking chair forever. I imagine it will be this way for the rest of his life. I'm sure my mom still feels that strange mix of elation and heartache when she looks at me. Oh baby boy, what a constant reminder of God's goodness to us.

actually, i am...

2008-06-14T21:36:00.000-07:00

Right off the bat, I must tell you that I stole this idea from my friend Whitney, who I am certain stole it from no one. She is simply brilliant on her own. She wrote one about me, but it was far, far too generous. I thought I'd make it a bit more accurate.

I am: insecure
I think: more slowly than I used to
I know: useless pop culture trivia
I want: to be less critical
I have: a happy, funny, adorable son
I wish: I kept a cleaner home
I hate: migraines
I miss: my waistline
I fear: cancer, car wrecks, nuclear war... you name it
I feel: weary
I hear: the dishwasher - strangely, one of my favorite sounds
I crave: Starbuck's Java Chip ice cream
I search: for contentment
I wonder: about the what-ifs
I regret: not always valuing virtue
I ache: for anyone who doesn't know God's love
I care: what other people think of me
I always: pretend that I don't
I am not: high-strung
I believe: that Jesus loves me
I sing: joyfully
I dance: awkwardly
I cry: often and loudly
I don't always: floss, even though I know better
I fight: my human nature
I write: honestly
I never: know when to bite my tongue
I listen: without judgment
I need: affirmation. Lots and lots of affirmation.
I am happy: today

golfing with ben

2008-06-12T20:33:00.001-07:00

I had a simply wonderful day with my husband today. Ben and I have been married for almost eight years, and he's been my honey since I was nineteen. He has always been my best friend, my sounding board, my cheerleader. There's always good conversation and laughing. Lots and lots of laughing. But as life tends to go, with careers and children and more to do than we have time for, we don't get a lot of "us" time these days. I decided that as part of his birthday week (yes, at our house we get a week - and I often get a month), we would spend a day playing golf together. We used to play quite a bit pre-baby, but it's been ages since we got to go. So I was really looking forward to a day on the links with my buddy.

We dropped Eli off at a friend's house and headed to the beautiful Red Tail course in Beaverton. It was as pretty as it was described on the website, and unfortunately for me, as challenging. I'm not what you'd call a "good" golfer. I learned a new rule today - the "you can't score higher than double the par" rule. I got to use that rule on nearly every hole. Poor golfing aside, I so enjoyed the warm, sunny day, a couple of cold beers, and uninterrupted conversation with my sweetie.

you really want to hate her

2008-06-10T11:18:00.000-07:00

I've known my friend Liz since preschool. From what I've been told, we both liked to chase boys. Our mothers became friends, and it just happened that Elizabeth went to the same Catholic school where my mom taught (and therefore I attended). We were inseparably best friends throughout elementary school. We carpooled to ballet together for years. I have vivid memories of us in the back of her van, changing into our leotards and tights and eating crisp apple slices and carrot sticks. Or the thrill of seeing our recital costumes for the first time (minus the unfortunate misstep of the butter tub hats). Or waiting in the wings at Jewett Auditorium, counting the beats until we made our grand entrance as rose attendants, playing cards, or guests at the wedding of the Little Mermaid.

Eliza (as she was known then) and I shared a love of writing stories. We created and performed elaborate plays on the blacktop playground. We spent nights snuggled up in her amazing playhouse, pretended to be mermaids in my swimming pool, ran away from the orphanage in my grandmother's old hats, and solved mysteries as detectives Snyder and McGraw. We had wildly active imaginations and the 1980's freedom to roam our neighborhoods without adult supervision.

We also got into trouble. A lot. Once when Liz was playing at my house, we decided to investigate the attic. I'd never been to the attic, and I wasn't even certain we had an attic, but I knew there was some kind of door on the ceiling of our huge walk-in pantry. So we hauled inside my dad's enormous, rickety old wooden ladder and somehow manuevered it up the stairs to the kitchen and into the pantry. It was a tight squeeze. I was on the top rung of the ladder when we heard my parents returning from their bike ride. (Yes, children, in those days parents went out bike riding and left their children home alone. It was safe - I think.) I scrambled down the ladder and we raced down the stairs. I remember that my dad was coming in the back door just as my left foot rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs. I don't know what we were expecting - that he would see the ladder and think, "Man, I can't believe I brought this ladder in here and forgot to take it out?" We had just made it to my bedroom when we heard my dad yell "ALISA!" in the "you are in so much trouble right now" tone. And I was.

Liz and I went to different junior highs and quit ballet, and we drifted apart for a few years. We became close friends again when my family moved into a house across the street from hers. How thankful I am today that my parents chose that house! Liz and I remained tight friends through high school and college, and I watched as she slowly became the brilliant, talented, funny, self-effacing, and ridiculously beautiful woman she is today. Liz is gorgeous, no doubt. I swear she has absolutely no fat on her body, which is sickening. Her saving grace is that she has a warm, genuine, charismatic personality that makes it impossible not to love her. Liz is kind and compassionate, funny and humble. She is the single greatest hugger I've ever encountered. She hugs you long and tight and makes you feel like you are the most important and loved person in her world. I would walk to Seattle for one of her hugs.

Liz is now married (to a truly awesome guy) and her name sounds like that of an investigative journalist - "Elizabeth Broenneke reporting from the front lines" - although she is actually a very successful accountant. Liz and Jason live in Sammamish, Washington and are two of the most down-to-earth, enjoyable people I know. We are separated by miles, but she is always close to my heart.

things i love and things i hate

2008-06-03T13:18:00.001-07:00

Things I am loving right now:

Rock Band. I love to play with Ben. I'm best on the drums, suck on the guitar, and love to sing.
Books. I've been reading up a storm lately. Some good recent reads - The Bright Forever, The Jane Austen Book Club, A Room With a View. I'm looking forward to reading The Russian Concubine next.
Reality shows. I love the Legally Blond show on MTV, Top Chef, So You Think You Can Dance. I can't wait for the new seasons of Shear Genius and Project Runway to start. I'll watch anything on Bravo.
Sweet Cream ice cream with fresh strawberries from Coldstone Creamery. In a waffle bowl.
Being thirty.

Things I'm not loving:

Slow Oregon drivers. People here do not speed. I speed. I am a speeder.
The crappy weather we've been having. We keep hearing that it's a fluke, that it's usually really nice and sunny and warm this time of year in Portland. It had better be.
Cooking. I do through phases of being a really good cook and enjoying making dinners. This is not one of those phases, sadly.
Headaches. I am still having headaches every day and migraines every two or three days. Still. I haven't had a day without a headache since Eli was born. I'm going to try acupuncture. I hope I don't end up on Dateline... "All she wanted was to lose her headache... "
Elijah's new habit of having mini-meltdowns when he doesn't get what he wants. Or doesn't know what he wants. Or doesn't know how to tell me what he wants. Who does he think he is, a toddler?
Did I mention the weather?

eli at 13 months

2008-06-03T13:02:00.000-07:00

I am currently head-over-heels in love with my son. I'm sure I'll say this every few months, but he's at such a fun stage right now. At 13 months (give or take), he's fully walking and constantly "talking." Walking has become a source of endless entertainment for us both. Eli's new favorite activity is to pick up two random objects (a yellow ball and a dish towel, for example) and carry them around. He sticks his belly out, holding his two precious items up in the air, and wanders all over the house, mumbling to himself, "ba da rar ga sha" with an occasional ear-piercing screech or top-of-his-lungs "RRRAAARR!" Kind of like a crazy old man, but adorable. Eli has recently taken great interest in Molly, our 5-year-old Yorkie. He has figured out that doggie has her own toys, and thinks it hysterically funny to let Molly take her toys from him. He tries to play tug-of-war with her, which usually ends with him falling hard on his bottom and laughing gleefully. He shows Molly affection by bending over and rubbing his head on her. To her credit, she is wonderfully tolerant of him and even gives him little kisses now and then, just to show that she's a good sport.

The other great thing about this stage is his growing vocabulary. He can say several words - dada, mama, "doddy" (doggie), "ma da" (my dog), "dat?" (what's that?), "pssh" (please), and "dadu" (thank you) on a fairly regular basis. Whenever he hears a car, truck, or airplane go by he says, "Rrraarr!" Apparently, vehicles sound like dinosaurs to him. Our days are set to the soundtrack of a constant stream of babbling punctuated by shrieks, screams, yelps, and howls that I thought could only be made by rain forest animals. I can't understand most of what he says, of course, but I'm pretty sure he's solving the energy crisis or forming an exit strategy for the war.

Eli is also a champion beggar. I rarely manage to get his dinner and our dinner on at the same time, so inevitably he is done before we are. No matter how much he's had to eat, he will beg for every bite of our food. He stands in front of us and marches, right left right left, hyperventilating and whimpering until he finally just goes for it, snatching whatever he wants right off our plates.

Of course, this wonderful age is also the beginning of the tantrum-throwing, leg-clinging, meltdown-having stage of the toddler years. There are days that I long for grandparents to be nearby. But whenever I feel like I'm going to absolutely lose it, I remind myself that these days are short and precious. I look at my little boy, his angelic blond curls, sparkling blue eyes, and dimpled grin, listen to his sweet baby voice, and know that I am impossibly blessed to be his mommy.

2008-05-13T21:00:00.000-07:00

she is WAY more than martha

2008-05-13T15:49:00.000-07:00

I am Blessed with a capital B to have many close friends. I have girlfriends from childhood, from college, from my long exile in Indiana, and in my new life in Portland. But I have a small group of girlfriends with whom I've grown up practically (and in some cases literally) since birth. There are six of us, and our fellowship runs deep and wide. My friends have, as people tend to do, grown up and changed and changed again and grown some more. The dynamics of our friendships have evolved, but I can say with confidence that we love each other fiercely and loyally. We don't always agree, we don't always share common interests or values - although we've certainly shared common boyfriends (cue great joke drumming noise) - but we care about each other and we respect each other. We would move mountains to rescue each other from the pit. I love and admire these women so much that I've decided to write a tribute to each of them. Whitney is first.

Whitney and I were born into our church at the same time (that paints an interesting mental image), but we weren't "besties" in grade school. Whitney moved away in the fifth grade. One of my rare crystal clear memories of that age is Whitney's going-away party at Roller Magic, that sanctuary of glitter stickers and giant jawbreakers. At the end of the party, we requested "Right Here Waiting" by Richard Marx. (side note: I will love that song until the day I die.) I so vividly remember all of us skating in a long line, grasping hands with the person on each side, and singing along through our choking sobs as we circled the smooth wooden floor again and again. I love that memory because, juvenile as it was, it perfectly illustrates our bond.

I had little contact with Whitney while she lived in tiny Paul, Idaho and I grew up in the big city of Nampa. She moved back to our town in the summer after our sophomore year (sorry Whit, if I have the timing wrong). We immediately became glued at the hip. I don't remember becoming friends with her, exactly, I just know that nearly every memory of high school from then on involved Whitney in some way. We had such fun together. We staged elaborate make-believe Miss America contests, complete with costumes, an opening group number, and variations on the talent of interpretive dance (Whitney's whale sounds dance was a highlight). We learned that the song Innagoddadavita (I had to look up how to spell that) was actually fourteen minutes long, way too long to dance to, so we sped it up on the record player and caused bodily injury in the process. Whitney and I went on road trips in her white Geo Metro, trips that took us 45 whole minutes away to Ontario, Oregon, to see her oral surgeon. (I've never before wondered why she had to see an oral surgeon in Ontario, but I am now.) We spent hours painting various esoteric quotes on the walls of her bedroom. We laid on her floor in tears, listening to Candlebox and knowing that we were the only teenage girls experiencing true emotional angst. We traveled together to Seattle to preview the college we wanted to attend, but when Whitney was immediately accosted by a homeless man who asked her if he could drink her urine (quite politely, to his credit), I knew that my dream of going away to college together might not happen.

We had our down moments. Whitney began dating someone briefly after I broke up with him, and when I found out I felt pretty betrayed. Never mind that he had already dated three of our friends, or that they wound up getting married and making adorable babies. I was very angry with her for awhile for not coming away to college with me, and hurt when I learned second hand about her engagement. It was a tough time for us.

But our friendship persevered, and when I moved back to Nampa my sophomore year of college, we grew closer than ever. I spent nights with her in her cinder-block-walled married housing apartment, where we played Nintendo half the night and fell asleep to Empire Records. After I was married, we took long walks every day and talked for hours about the adventures of being a young wife. Or, we met up go for a long run at the lake, but wound up eating Blizzards on her couch, instead. I still love Blizzards, by the way.

Whitney is delightful. She is impossibly smart (much smarter than me, which pains me to admit), ambitious, funny, spontaneous, creative, slightly neurotic, and wonderfully loving. She has grown tremendously in Christ, but there is no one with whom I would rather share my least Christ-like moments. She is a terrific mom, even though she thinks she is terrible. Her son is brilliant and loving and obeys at least 30% of the time, which is saying something for a five-year-old. I still can't believe she had the nerve to have a kid so much sooner than me, but at least her new daughter Adeline can marry my son.

Whitney and I live hundreds of miles from each other, but with a phone call from her, it feels like no time has passed. I like to imagine us in fifty years, driving a responsible speed down the freeway (safety first), singing along to "My Sharona," on our way to DQ for a cold treat.

why i am not too good for God's pursuit

2008-05-11T21:11:00.000-07:00

I have a confession to make. I have, lately, been in a funk. I've felt downcast, discouraged, weary, and a failure. After an amazing, healing, refreshing time with the Lord at our Women's Retreat a few weekends ago, I was surprised to feel this way only days after coming home. It shouldn't surprise me, because I believe that Satan is very real, and that he "attacks" us anytime we have a breakthrough with God. But it still caught me off guard. I neglected to spend any time in the Bible for a couple of days, which turned into a week, which turned into three. After awhile, I felt too distant from God to pray, beyond the occasional "help me find my car keys." I kept thinking that God just had to be so over me - my inconsistency, my self-centered focus, my stubbornness, my pride. I mean, I was sick of myself, so surely He must be even more. He did give His life for me, after all. He probably expected a little something in return.

My turning point came just this past weekend. As I prepared my Sunday School lesson on Saturday night, I knew that I had a terrible attitude about teaching, and was giving hardly any effort or thought (or prayer) to the lesson. Going to church the next morning, all I could think about was the things I don't I don't like about our church. During worship, I stood with my arms crossed and barely sang words that I knew I didn't mean. The point is, I was spiritually a wreck, and I knew it, and I couldn't figure out why I didn't just fall to my knees and cry out to God. I mean, I know Jesus. I know him as a beloved friend, my Saviour, my King... why couldn't I run to him and talk to him and listen for him?

Later that day, I determined that I was not going to let another moment pass without opening my Bible and spending some time with God. I'm in the middle of a wonderful Beth Moore study on the Psalms. It happened that the lesson I was on was all about fixing our gaze. Where we look, she explained, determines what (or who) we listen to. That determines what we feel, and in turn what we expect. How true that is in my life! I had been looking only at my circumstances - financial challenges, frustrations of parenting, disagreements with Ben - and stubbornly refusing to look up to Jesus. He was speaking, but I wasn't listening. So of course, I felt even more discouraged, and I expected that nothing was going to change.

Then I read this in one of my devotionals: "If you have a murmuring spirit, you cannot have true cheerfulness. Your cheerfulness can only spring up freely and healthily when your heart is truly at rest in God; when you are satisfied with His ways, and wishing no change in them. When this is truly the case, then your heart and mind are free, and you can rejoice in spirit (Priscilla Maurice)." If you know me well, you know that I am generally a very cheerful person. I pride myself on being light-hearted and full of joy, even in challenging circumstances. Which, I came to learn, is exactly my problem. Pride.

I've been reading a powerful book (which deserves an entire post to itself) called Blue Like Jazz. I came to a passage that so eloquently explained why I was refusing to turn to God. The author talks about his struggle to receive God's grace and forgiveness. He writes, "It seemed wrong to me not to have to pay for my sin, not to feel guilty about it or kick myself around. I love to give charity, but I don't want to be charity... I believed I was above the grace of God." I realized that I wasn't running to God for his grace because I was too proud to humbly ask for it again. I was reminded that God doesn't grudgingly pour out his grace on us, He rejoices in doing it! God loves me intensely and intimately. He doesn't want any barrier to exist between us, and He is thrilled when I break down and cry out to him, no matter how stubborn and sinful and selfish I've been. I was so humiliated by my failure to live up to expectations that I forgot that Jesus came for sinners such as me. As Donald Miller write, I am not above the charity of God.

eli takes a girlfriend

2008-05-09T14:34:00.000-07:00

my friend dara has an adorable daughter named sydney, who is about 6 months older than him. they play really well together and dara and i have decided that they are boyfriend and girlfriend. this morning we took them for a walk, and my son got a little too aggressive with his affection for sydney's taste. it looks like we may have to talk with him about his intentions.

eli's 1st birthday

2008-05-05T16:58:00.000-07:00

My darling son turned one on April 20. I know everyone says that the first year flies by, but to me, it felt like a year. Maybe it's because we went through so many changes in the past year - Ben finished school, we moved across the country, we moved a little bit farther across the country, settled into a brand new state/town/house/church/etc. Maybe it's because I quit teaching the day Eli was born, and being a stay-at-home-mom has allowed me to savor the moments more. At any rate, Eli's birthday didn't sneak up on me and leave me feeling like, "How could this be here already?" Which is strange, because I certainly feel that way with other events (like turning 25... for the fifth time).

But this isn't about my amazing ability to age in reverse. This is about Eli and his super first birthday party.

From the beginning, I was determined not to throw an out-of-control party for Eli's first birthday. I started with the idea to have my parents come from Idaho (like they need a reason to visit), and we would just have a nice little family celebration. Then, my sister moved back to Idaho just in time to be able to join us. "Hmm..." I thought, "maybe we should invite just one or two of our friends. I don't want Eli to be lonely on his big day." So I added a couple of couples and their little ones to the list. I realized that even that many people was too much for our little house, so I decided that a tiny outdoor party at a local park would be perfectly manageable and much more fun.

Here's where one of my loving friends should have intervened and said: "Alisa, an outdoor party in April in Portland? Are you on crack?" But they did not.

I decided to have the party at the cute little neighborhood playground in our subdivision. That way, just in case it decided to rain (very unlikely, in the second rainiest city in America), we could easily move the party back to our house, and our guests could just take turns sitting down.

As the big day drew near, the party grew, as parties are known to do. I added a friend here, a friend there, a fifth cousin who just happens to live in Portland, and before I knew it, my party had grown to 21 people. Not quite an extravaganza, but definitely bigger than I had originally planned. At some point, I decided that our party just had to involve baby swings, and since our humble neighborhood park doesn't have them, I moved the party to a beautiful (and, I learned, quite popular) park several miles away. Savvy planner that I am, I thought to reserve a covered pavilion at the park, but learned that until the first of May, they were first-come, first-served. "No problem," I thought. "Surely no one else will want to have their party there on the same day."

This is where one of my loving friends should have pointed out that Rood Bridge Park is an incredibly popular spot, and chances were good that someone else would want to have a party there on the same day. But they did not.

The location was taken care of. Now there was the issue of a theme. I'm not much for character parties, so I looked for something without Elmo's crazy smiling face on every plate. I found an adorable set called "Safari Babies," which I loved. "Now, don't go crazy," I told myself. But of course, I did. I started with a couple sets of plates, cups, and napkins. Oh, but they had regular plates and dessert plates, and they were both so charming that I couldn't pick just one. Then I needed a tablecloth, of course - maybe two. And matching plastic flatware, and the mini-centerpieces, and the seven dollar balloon shaped like a lion. I felt very righteous for putting back the jungle animal water squirters and the dozen balloons with color-coordinated ribbons.

My greatest accomplishment of the day (other than the fact that my son had survived my parenting for an entire year) was his birthday cake. I was determined to make the cake myself. I made a double-layer lion cake in my all-time favorite flavor - Rainbow Chip. Oh, the miracle that is Rainbow Chip cake. I cut the bottom layer to resemble a lion's mane, and turned the top layer into its snout. My mom made a delicious cream cheese frosting and I frosted the cake yellow, then added frosting "hair" to the mane. I was running out of time to finish it, and Ben saved the day with awesome cake decorating skills. The cake turned out incredibly cute, and I was very proud.

Eli's big day started out cloudy and chilly, and the weather quickly went from bad to worse. As I was finishing the goody bags in the last hour before the party, I glanced out the window and was greeted by the sight of pouring rain. Over the next hour, the rain turned into sleet, snow, and hail. It never snows in Portland, but of course, it snowed on a late April day, just for my outdoor party. I calmly finished my job and prayed for a miracle. God delivered! As we left for the park, the weather cleared. We didn't have the brilliant sunshine and 70 degrees I had hoped for, but at least our guests weren't getting soaked.

The final "Oh dear" moment came when my sister and I arrived at the park. I had expected that we were the only people brave (or dumb) enough to actually hold an outdoor party on that beautiful day, but I really underestimated the Oregonian's ability to ignore terrible weather. As we pulled into the parking lot I saw that not one, not two, but all three covered pavilions were taken! Not to be defeated, I marched over to the smallest party, which was still being set up, and asked if they would mind sharing their space for a darling one-year-old boy whose mommy doesn't understand the meaning of "back-up plan." They were kind enough to give us two of the tables, and we were in business!

After that, the party went off without a hitch. Our wonderful friends braved the elements to celebrate with us, the food was delicious, and Eli thoroughly destroyed his lion cake. Ben and I were able to forget the chaos of the day and enjoy our baby boy turning one. Having Eli has been an incredible joy, and we can't wait to see what comes next.

the zoo

2008-05-05T16:35:00.000-07:00

things my son could have marveled over on his first trip to the zoo: zebras, giraffes, rhinos, hippos, bears, monkeys, turtles, polar bears, otters, elephants, and many birds and fish. also the spectacular forested setting of the portland zoo. not to mention the remarkably warm weather, the bright sunshine and the brilliant blue sky.

things my son showed a teensy bit of interest in: my elephant ear, my sunglasses, and girls.

way to go, zoo!

why my husband is neat

2008-05-03T22:20:00.000-07:00

i've been blessed to be married to ben for almost eight years. so i know him well enough to say that he is one of the good guys. he's kind and sensitive, loving and funny, smart and witty. he's man enough to play golf (well), and man enough to wear pink while he does it. ben has impeccable taste and picks out my most adorable clothes. he's an incredible daddy. he would never write a blog entitled "sometimes being a dad sucks." but he doesn't judge me for writing one. ben has a hugely compassionate heart. he cares about people who no one else cares about and befriends people who have no friends. ben is disgustingly good at rock band and is, as i type, beating every song on the expert level. i can barely finish "roxanne" on the easy level, but whatever. his rockband band name is "no wait, now go!" if you don't understand how awesome that is, you can't be my friend. i'm incredibly thankful that God put ben in my life, and that, when i told ben that i could marry him on our third date, he didn't leave me on the shoulder of i-84.

sometimes, being a mother sucks

2008-05-03T21:48:00.000-07:00

so, hopefully it goes without saying that i love my son, but just in case there's any doubt, let me assure you that i love my son. i love being a mom and i am excited to have more children. that said... i'd like to address for a moment the many injustices of becoming a mother. i'm sure there are people (beeyotches) out there who would say, "whoa now, she must not really love her child to speak this way!" to you, please see above. i've been told that i'm the girl who says what everyone else is thinking. so i'm going to take license to speak for the mommies out there who wish they could, just once, complain.

as a mom, the party line is, "i can't imagine my life without alexis/madison/jacob/atticus!" i've said this myself, usually while backpedaling after complaining about my son's incessant whining or inability to sleep through the night. but really, come on. of course i can imagine what it would be like to sleep until ten, go out to dinner on a whim, and leave the house to run errands carrying only my stylishly tiny purse. i remember what life was like B.K. (before kid), and it was good. at the time, of course, i thought i was exhausted, stressed out, and generally run ragged. ha. i miss being spontaneous and unplanned and unprepared. i miss going out for late dinners and drinking too many margaritas and watching an entire episode of top chef uninterrupted. i miss my pre-baby body. when did i go from being the cute girl at the bar to the lady with the back fat buying gloria vanderbilt shorts? yes, that actually happened.

it's no secret that having a child changes your life, but i wasn't prepared for how dramatically. no one is. and that's good, because if we all knew exactly what we were in for, nobody would have kids. one night, after my flu-ridden baby puked on me for the tenth time and my husband and i argued over who had to give the five a.m. bottle, and after i found that i still couldn't fit into any of my adorable pre-baby skirts, i sat on the floor of my closet and cried... and cried... and cried. i'm sure it won't be the last time. it's tough, this mommy business.

thank goodness there's a good news. the good news is, there is seriously nothing that can compare to my son's giggle, no smile that can match his two-toothed grin, no kiss better than his slobbery one on my nose. my son walked for the first time this week, and those four wobbly steps made me feel more accomplished than my best day teaching. it's okay to remember my free-wheeling days and even to wish, from time to time, that i could go back there. but one sweet "mama" makes me remember that, back-fat be damned, being a mom rocks.

expensive jeans

2008-04-27T23:11:00.000-07:00

i turned thirty last week. but that is not the most exciting thing that happened. much more importantly, i got my first ridiculously expensive jeans. i don't just say "designer jeans," because to some, designer jeans means you bought them at the gap instead of old navy. no, i'm talking great jeans, the kind that barely button around my waist but make my butt look magically little and adorable. ben gave me a pair of seven's for my birthday, and then i bought a pair of citizens for (of?) humanity. i've been openly coveting this level of jeans-goodness for years, but after having my son last spring, i determined not to invest in any until i reached my "goal size." well, i'm close enough. so the other day i put on my fan-freaking-tastic new jeans, my favorite very cool green and yellow pumas, and made my wonderful new haircut into the most adorable ponytail you've ever seen, and took my extremely hip self down to the new whole foods. i felt impossibly cool, strolling the aisles of organic gourmet goodness, sipping my nine-dollar bottle of water, until... my darling son had a complete meltdown at the make-your-own-almond-butter station and i had to get my new-and-improved ass out of there in a big hurry. which leads to me to my point: having kids ruins your coolness, no matter how perfect the jeans.

my first blog

2008-04-27T23:07:00.000-07:00

oh happy day, i finally have a blog! many times i started to create the blog, only to be stopped by the "what do you want to call this blog?" step. i simply could not think of anything clever, and i was not about to call my blog "reese's reader" or "reese's pieces" - there is nothing too cool for school about that. i finally decided to call it like it is - just stuff i want to write about. i can do that. it's my blog.