You are currently browsing the category archive for the 'Uncategorized' category.
He is five years old– five and a half, actually, and that extra half year is crucially important to his not-quite-kindergartener’s ego. He is noisy, and friendly, and opinionated about pretty much everything. His favorite color is red, he’ll eat just about anything, and he wants to be a train driver when he grows up. He is also a very social little boy; the world is his friend, and he loves to hang out with other children of all ages.
That’s why when I dropped Ryan off in the kids’ program at the GARBC conference I wasn’t in the least bit worried about him. I knew he would have a blast with the other children as I sang in the choir concert and Art directed a glut of traffic through the pouring rain.
We sang and it was amazing. The overheated stage, our aching feet and backs– we forgot it all in the melodies and rhythms, the lyrics and harmonies of the music before us. When that last long glorious note ended, triumphing over exhaustion, dry throats, and bad acoustics, the response of the audience made every sacrifice worthwhile. What a powerful experience.
It’s incredible how quickly the mountains can turn into valleys. Two hours later, I was standing, soaking wet, in my husband’s office, unable to reach him on his cell phone. The van had been commandeered by someone for something, and was no longer where I had parked it. Sam was wearing jean shorts with no underwear, having decided that it would be better to go “Number Two” in his pants than to tell his teacher that he needed a potty break. And Ryan was eating an apple that my mother had given him in an attempt to get him to sit still while we tried to figure out what was going on.
I finally reached my husband, who was in the middle of trying to get some 1700 people out of a campus that thinks 500 is a crowd. He knew where the van was. He would be there to get us and take us to the van any minute. I heard a little surprised sound from one of the boys– and turned around to discover my older boy with an apple in one hand, a baby tooth in the other, and blood running down his chin. Goodbye, I told Art. Your son just lost his first tooth.
Ryan got that little incisor a little over five years ago. The poor baby had had horrible diapers for a week, so I took him to the doctor. She felt his gums and could feel nothing, and he was a little young to be teething
at only five months. Rotovirus had been going around, so she told me to collect some samples and bring them into the lab. Collecting stool samples from diapers may be easier than collecting them from a potty-trained child, but was still not exactly the fun special times I had imagined motherhood to contain. The day after I drove those little bottles and test tubes of my child’s poop twenty miles to the nearest insurance-approved lab, Ryan cut his first tooth. A few days later, he cut his second. Within seven weeks he had eight teeth.
Now, standing in the bathroom of my husband’s office, holding a wet paper towel in the gap where that precious little tooth used to be, shivering in my wet clothing, I calmed my slightly worried son and wondered if the evening could get any crazier. Answer: of course it could. It always can. Ryan was quite convinced that the apple grandma had given him was the Most Important Fruit Ever. As soon as I declared the bleeding “mostly stopped,” he attempted to take another bite of the apple, which caused the flow to start again. Maybe he should be done with the apple for tonight, I suggested.
You should know that this part of my story happened at 9:30 at night, which is approximately two hours after my children’s normal bedtime. You should also know that their nap had been cut short. The loss of the tooth had pushed Ryan to the point of tiredness that comes right before hysteria. My apple proclamation sent him over the edge. With blood yet again running down his chin, he sobbed about the general cruelty of a world that takes away apples given to boys by their grandmas.
When Art walked in to rescue us from his office, I was hysterically trying to calm my hysterical boy (I was pretty tired too), Ryan was bleeding freely and bawling with great feeling, and Sam was calmly attempting to make 700 copies of his sticky little hand. As we began our dramatic exit I discovered that my mother who had helpfully offered to hold my purse had helpfully driven off with it at her feet. My purse is missing, I announced in exasperation.
“OH NO! GRANDMA TOOK MOMMY’S PURSE? WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO???” I honestly have no way of communicating the sincere desperation in Ryan’s voice. The loss of my purse was to his little toothless self the end of the universe. It’s okay, I said, we’ll get it tomorrow. Nothing was going to stop him now, though. Slimy paper towel chomped in his mouth, the boy wept bitter tears as we loaded the boys into the security truck. He wept as Art drove us across campus. He wept as we transferred him into the van and as Sam attempted to make the conference a whole lot more interesting by running out in front of an oncoming vehicle. He wept as I buckled him in, speaking calming words against his tear-streaked face. He wept as Art told him goodnight and as I drove away.
Since my babies were, well, babies, I have sung to them. I love to sing and my children have, for better or for worse, been the audience for my solo concerts of lullabies, hymns, kids’ songs, show tunes, and whatever else happened to be running through my head. When they were scared I would sing safe am I, safe am I, in the hollow of His hand. When they were sleepy I would sing Just count on me your whole life through, ’cause I’ll take care of you. When they were grumpy I would sing I’m so happy and here’s the reason why– Jesus took my burdens all away! And when they were feeling a little crazy we would sing together I’m not cool but that’s okay, my God loves me anyway!
I have sung to them in the car, in their beds, on the couch. I have sung while they took their baths, while they danced with me around the kitchen, while they sat in their highchairs flinging food on the floor. I have sung during thunderstorms, during snuggly moments, and after nightmares.
So last night I sang for Ryan. With the thunder providing percussion, the rain adding a nice little counterpoint, the noises of the van singing harmony, and the lightning adding a little bit of drama to the scene, I sang the song I have always sung to Ryan.
Jesus loves me, this I know
For the Bible tells me so.
Little ones to Him belong;
They are weak but He is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me–
The Bible tells me so.
And as the sounds of Ryan’s sorrow faded to nothing and then turned into his little voice singing along, I realized something. I had sung in a huge choir to more than 1500 people. We had sung about the glory of the cross, and we had lifted up the name of Jesus and brought many to a deeper appreciation of the sacrifice Christ made on Calvary.
But in spite of all that, this was the most important song I sang all night. This simple child’s melody, this little moment of soothing an exhausted and worried boy– this was what mattered most out of all I had done during that crazy evening. That choir didn’t really need me. Altos aren’t exactly hard to come by. But this little boy, this child I have cradled and cuddled and serenaded all his life, this boy needed me.
It’s amazing what a baby tooth can teach you, if you let it.
So tonight as I pulled up our street, I couldn’t help but notice this sign in a yard across the road from us.
I have been trying to think of something clever to say about this for three hours, but I think it really just speaks for itself.
So, to make up for the lack of actual content in today’s blog entry, here’s a picture of Sam. I hope it makes your life a little bit smilier.
Have a nice day! 
Vanessa lived in a house in Parkersburg, Iowa, up until the devastating tornado ripped through that little town last month. Her house destroyed, she picked through the rubble and salvaged what she could, packing it away in boxes and storing them in a garage in another town. Vanessa then moved into a tiny one-bedroom apartment until she could figure out where she would go next. Last week the town where Vanessa had stored her salvaged belongings was flooded, and everything she owned was destroyed.
This spring has ravaged the state of Iowa. We had snow in May, wet fields, late planting. When you live in a state that survives on farming, the weather is more than just a nuisance. It threatens to destroy your way of life. And then, when things were finally drying out, when the farmers were getting their crops in and the tiniest of green miracles were pushing themselves up through the soil, that tornado hit Parkersburg. And the rain came.
I don’t live where the water has been bad. We have had a lot of rain, yes, but I don’t live near a river or in a low-lying area. Other than a damp basement and the annoyance of working with children on never-ending rainy days, the water hasn’t really affected me. Honestly, we seldom watch TV and I had no idea how bad it was just miles from our home until I started looking at the pictures online. I am thankful for the protection my family has had from the floodwaters, the tornadoes, the inundation of horror that has overcome so many places in Iowa and now Illinois.
As I have listened to the stories, read the articles, heard the voices on the radio speak, I have been stricken by the strength of my fellow Iowans. Vanessa did not once beg for help or weep hysterically. The pain was present in her voice, but so was a defiance and a determination to rebuild, to start over. It makes me proud to be an Iowan.
One of our local stations is doing a radiothon this Saturday to raise money for families who have been affected by the storms of 2008. I have no doubt that people will give generously to this cause, because those of us who haven’t had our lives ripped apart strongly desire to help those who have. But even if WHO were to raise enough money to replace every home, every carpet, every lost heirloom or destroyed vehicle, a radio fund raiser could never meet the deepest need we all have.
As the events here in Iowa have unfolded over the last month, and as I have seen circumstances in my own life that have seemed like too much to bear, it has seemed that God has been trying to get my attention, to remind me of my deep need for Him. I am as materialistic as the next person; I have way too much stuff and I am way too attached to most of it. But those things to which I cling so desperately are not what I need. Even my husband, my children, my family, can’t meet the deepest needs of my heart.
Only Christ can meet those needs.
In daily routine it is so easy to forget how desperately I need my Savior. How alone, how small and weak I am without Him. I have been calling myself a Christian now for twenty-four years. That’s 83% of my life. When I was five years old and accepted Him as my Savior, I knew I needed Him. When I was in high school and the lies I had built up around myself came crashing down around me, I knew I needed Him. When I was twenty years old, flying alone across the Pacific Ocean to share God’s love with people on the other side of the world, I knew I needed Him. When I lost my unborn baby earlier this year, I knew I needed Him.
But today– today with the laundry and the dishes calling my name– today with noses to wipe, hugs to give, stories to read, songs to sing– today with one mundane task after another filling my schedule– today I so easily forget that I need Christ just as much now as I did at those pivotal times in my life. And because I forget that, I struggle to accomplish my daily tasks. In a way, it was easier to deal with life through those difficult, life-changing events because I was constantly turning back to my Lord, asking for strength to overcome a language barrier or just to get up in the morning. The truth is, if I am going to get the laundry done today I am going to need His help. He is my deepest need.
By some strange fluke of the universe I was invited to sing in a choir at our church association’s national convention next week. The theme of the conference is “The Glory of the Cross,” and the five songs we are singing all reflect on the sacrifice of Christ and the miracle of the cross. I love singing in a choir, and last night at our rehearsal we were in a room with amazing acoustics, with a director who really knows his stuff, and the sound was incredible. Participating in a group like that, singing these incredibly powerful lyrics about the amazing work of the cross– there were moments when I had goosebumps on my arms and tears in my eyes.
Here is what it all comes down to: “Death is crushed to death; life is mine to live.” I have had those words singing through my head since we left our practice last night. Christ met my deepest need on Calvary, when he destroyed death. And this life– He has given me the opportunity to live this life with abundance. It’s mine for the taking!
So many times I choose to forget that this life is mine to live. I am waiting for something– waiting for the housework to be done or my husband to graduate from school or my children to outgrow this new obnoxious phase– and I am not living. I am not relying on Him through everything, and because of that I am bogged down in the details of life and not free to experience the joy of the Lord. He has met my deepest need; everything else is so insignificant compared to that.
He can meet your deepest need too. He did that on Calvary, and He continues to do it daily in the lives of His children, when we allow Him to.
Life is yours to live. Are you living it?
a poetic endeavor by the Princess of Something
It’s Friday night; the air is cool–
A perfect night, you see,
For gathering balls and bats and gloves
For the church’s softball league.
The children come with hopes of treats;
The adults with hopes of fame.
We’ll have the greatest team around,
And it’s all in Jesus’ name.
They’ve practiced long, and practiced hard,
Through blood and sweat and tears;
And now it all comes together
Amidst their fans’ loud cheers.
For we, the fans, the wives and kids,
Sitting here upon the bleachers
Cheer once or twice before we fall
To talking about the preachers.
Yes, that’s the fun of Friday nights–
As the players swing the bat,
The children play and the faithful fans
Get to sit and chat.
Each Friday night, all summer long
Here’s where you’ll find my family–
Playing, running, enjoying the fun
Of the church’s softball league.
Last Friday night, when our great team
Had finished the final inning,
My dear son Ryan told his dad,
“Next week you should practice winning.”
This is my Mother’s Day Post. Yes, it is two days late and possibly far more than two dollars short. But I am the Princess and if I want to blog about Mother’s Day two days after the fact, that’s my prerogative.
So here you have it, my not-anything-like-comprehensive list of the Perks of Mommy-hood (Mommy-hood is different than motherhood. Mommy-hood involves your children when they are small. Once they’re teenagers, I don’t know anything about perks. You’re on your own for that).
1. Someone to blame for your shortcomings. Even if you don’t specifically blame your children, if you’re late people assume it’s because your kids made you late. If you lose something, people assume it’s because your kids were playing “hide Mommy’s keys” and can’t remember where they put them. If you show up for an event in wrinkled clothes people assume that your kids got into your folded laundry and wadded everything up into a ball and you only discovered it as you were dressing. If you’re carrying around 20 extra pounds, it’s “baby weight.” If you look particularly haggard people think you were up all night nursing a sick child or baking 500 cupcakes for the school bake sale. Motherhood has this amazing way of making all our weaknesses look like virtues.
The truth is, I’m late because I was playing Text Twist online and lost track of time. My keys are lost because I lose everything. I’m wrinkled because I never folded the clothes in the first place. My 20 extra pounds are because I eat too much and am lazy. And this haggard look is because I stayed up late reading other people’s blogs and instant messaging people I’ve never met and then I overslept and didn’t have time to put on makeup.
Now I’m not saying that every mother you see who is late, tired, or slightly overweight is just using motherhood as an excuse for their personal issues. I’m just saying that for me, motherhood is an excellent explanation for character flaws that I have had my entire life. I am always amazed how other people are willing to excuse my messy house, my time issues, and my serious lack of organizational abilities with “well, you have young children.” Yes, I do. And I work. And I spend a lot of time that I could be cleaning, organizing, and being on time dinking around. But don’t tell. This is a perk of motherhood that I’m not willing to give up yet.
2. A diversion from your personal flaws. The younger your kids are, the more true this is. Also, if they are particularly cute or precocious that definitely works in your favor. Bad hair day? Put your little girl in her cutest outfit and take her with you to the grocery store. People will ignore you and pay attention to her. Not feeling friendly? Take your talkative child with you to the doctor’s office and you won’t have to carry on a single conversation. Nothing cute to wear? Put your little man in his cutest little boy outfit complete with little baseball cap and cutie patootie sneakers and no one will be looking at how ugly or ill-fitting your clothes are. Especially if he’s smiley. The older and less adorable your children are the less true this becomes, so take full advantage of it while they are babies and toddlers.
3. An excuse to leave if the preacher is boring. Oops, time to nurse. Uh-oh, the little guy just can’t sit still through this long of a sermon. Oh, dear, junior seems to have a smelly diaper. Whoa! It’s time to go make sure the little princess went potty! Hmmm . . . is that my child screaming in the nursery? I’d better go check. The possibilities are endless. Just don’t use them too often or people will start to suspect.
4. Someone to go fetch. My children love to bring me things. This fact probably explains the wideness of my bum, but I totally take advantage of it. I send them after kleenex, my shoes, drinks of water, blankets, my purse, whatever I need as long as it isn’t breakable. I mean, why go get something when you have to small people who think it is the greatest fun thing in the world to run upstairs and get whatever and bring it down to me? Pretty soon I’m going to teach them how to give me a foot massage and a pedicure, too. Hey, I deserve it. Right? I am the princess after all.
5. Never-ending entertainment. My kids make me laugh all the time. They are two of the funniest people I know. Their hilarious quotes, amazing artwork, and infectious laughter are one of the best perks of motherhood.
6. A reason to act like a lunatic. Seriously. If you saw someone pushing their grocery cart through the baking needs aisle as fast as they could go and then suddenly stopping the cart and saying “SCREEEEEEECH” and then breaking into a rousing rendition of “I’ve Got Peace Like a River,” you’d probably back slowly away from the pudding boxes and hide in frozen foods until security came and led the wacko away. Unless said wacko had two small children buckled cozily into the car-thing at the front of the cart. Because then you would think “well, she’s crazy but at least her kids aren’t screaming, crying, or running around the store throwing goat cheese into other people’s shopping carts.” Now, I realize that this perk is perhaps not as exciting for those of you who are by nature quiet, retiring, or “normal” people. For me, however, this is a wonderful thing. Because honestly I regularly struggle with a desire to skip through shopping malls humming to myself. My kids help me look slightly less weird when I do so.
And anyway, think how much fun I’ll have with this when they’re teenagers. Bwuahahaha.
7. An endless supply of dandelions. They are everywhere, I tell you, in various stages of dandelion death. On the counter, right inside the back door, on the kids’ dressers. In cups of water, just lying on the table. Inside my shoes. When the kids aren’t looking I throw the dead ones away, knowing that they will be replaced very shortly. And yes, sometimes it gets a little irritating to find dandelions in and on and around every surface in my home. But at what other point in your life do you have children joyfully bringing you flowers just because they love you? Dandelions are magic to my kids, and bringing them into the house is their way of sharing that magic with me. I know that soon enough they will stop giving me dandelions and start giving me dirty looks instead. For now, though, every dandelion is a little bit of sunshine shared with me because someone loves me. It doesn’t get better than that.
8. Lots of things that make you cry if you think too much about them. I don’t want today’s blog to be too sappy, but I can’t write about the perks of motherhood without mentioning the hugs and kisses, the “I love yous,” the deepened faith in God’s love and provision, the bigger heart that comes from loving these little people so much. Motherhood is a gift that I do not deserve. God trusted these little boys to my care, and every day He gives me everything I need and so much more than that to help me in my task. What a blessing to be a mom.
So I really don’t actually have a topic for today’s blog so much as a bunch of little things. I thought about calling it “tidbits” or something but decided my title was mildly more entertaining. Basically, today’s post has NO POINT. So I’ll just get right to it.
Tonight was awards night for our church’s AWANA program. This is a bittersweet time because Ryan finished Cubbies (AWANA’s preschool program) tonight. Next year, in Kindergarten, he will join the big kids in Sparks. He loves AWANA and learning verses and hanging with his little friends and is already counting down the hours until Sparks starts in September. Well, he would be counting down the hours if he knew how to count down from higher than ten. Or if he understood the concept of hours, which he really doesn’t. I think in Ryan’s mind an hour is any period of time longer than “just a minute” but shorter than “not till tomorrow.”
I try to answer his questions in order to deepen his understanding of time measurement, but whenever I do we end up having conversations that make me want to cry. Just tonight in fact, he asked me how long a year is. I told him twelve months, the amount of time it takes to use up a new calendar. Then I told him it was 365 days, and that it is exactly one year from his birthday to his next birthday. Sigh. Apparently I threw too much information at him because I’m pretty sure he thinks his birthday (which is in December) is 365 days from today and that a year is a new calendar. Oh well. This is why we are sending him to kindergarten, right? To fix all the stupid things we’ve told him?
I can’t wait till his poor teacher finds out that he thinks the answer to “how fast is too fast” is fifty-six.
Anyway, I was unable to get any fabulous pictures of this thing tonight because Ryan kept putting his loot in front of his face and Sam kept his finger firmly lodged in his nasal cavity for most of the proceedings. Sam is technically not a Cubbie, because they have to be three at the beginning of the year to qualify for Cubbie-hood, but our church is wonderful and let him go to Cubbies after his birthday in October. Next year he will begin his first book and get a vest and all that jazz. This year he just got to play, and then hang out on stage picking his nose during the awards ceremony.
Anyway, this is Ryan with his blue ribbon, which he won for finishing his second Cubbies book, and the t-shirt that all the little Cubbies put their handprints on. Coming soon– pictures of both the urchins in their shirts. Tonight we decided we had had enough excitement and wrestled the children into their beds before they could give us a fashion show. I mean, really, you can only have so many thrills in one evening.
This is Sam holding his shirt and just generally looking cute. It was a nice thing that they gave him one, especially since it kept his finger out of his nose. I’m still adjusting to his “little man in glasses” look.
In other family news, Art got his new glasses today. In case you haven’t noticed, we have been glasses-buying fools lately. Ryan is the only one who hasn’t had new glasses in the last six weeks. He got his back in September.
Anyway, poor Art was apparently not prepared for this change in his life. The little clues that have been sneaking up on him– my gray hair and crow’s feet, the fact that our son is going off to school this year– these should have warned him that his time was coming. Art has a young face, but in one way he has finally shown that he is, indeed, older than I am.
Art is now wearing bifocals. Poor guy. But his adjustment to them is proving highly entertaining to me.
And, because on this blog I am an Equal Opportunity New Glasses Showcaser, here is a picture of Art’s new specs. Aren’t they nice looking? I think he’s a hottie.
I’m sure he’ll look even cuter after he shaves. Slob.
Finally, my sister sent me a link to this today and it is so perfect for Ryan that I have to post it here. $20 is a lot for a t-shirt for your five-year-old who likes to roll in dirt (I swear he must, it’s the only explanation), so I don’t anticipate he will be wearing it anytime soon. Still, it’s awesome. (You can click on the picture to see the page where they’re selling them).
That’s right, folks, it’s Thomas as a Transformer. It is like Ryan’s little dream come true. I wish they had it in a poster or something because I would totally buy it. If it were less than $20. I’m cheap.
And last, but not least, because I haven’t yet posted a picture of my recent dye job from Salon Mom, here’s a random picture of me and Sam. The color is a little off but you get the idea. I am loving not having those horrible roots!
So, after all that, I close with a farewell haiku.
Thank you for reading
Today’s fascinating post–
Have an awesome day.
I think the poetry really brings some real class to my blog.
So today the funnies are not flowing. However, in order to satiate the blog-lust of my one reader, I am posting some more haiku. Just because I care.
Today I am sick
And sitting here is making
Me feel all woozy.
My children aren’t sick
Which is good except for how
They’re loony monsters
My house is a wreck
Because they played all morning
While I laid in bed.
I shouldn’t complain
At least my darling sons aren’t
Throwing up as well.
Good night.
Today my dear sister-in-law Karen had a miscarriage. Somehow writing a funny blog about my life seems inappropriate. I know how much her heart hurts right now.
I am writing this post for her and her husband Joel. I want them to know that we love them, we are praying for them, and we grieve with them.
This year has been so painful for our family. My own miscarriage is still fresh in my memory. I don’t feel strong enough to encourage or share this pain. It hurts so badly. But I know that my own loss has prepared me to know and understand the loss of others. My heart breaks that this understanding must be shared with someone I love so dearly.
My friend, my sister– I am so sorry. Let our loving Father wrap His arms of comfort around you. He knows. He understands. He will bring you through this valley.
Tomorrow, I hope I can post something that will bring a smile to your face.
But tonight, I cry with you.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, Thou art with me.
Thy rod and Thy staff, they comfort me.
Dear Mike,
Yesterday you posted a comment to my blog about road construction and bicyclists. I deleted it. I blog for fun, not to invite judgmental comments or stir up contraversy. However, I do feel the need at this point to clarify a few things.
First of all, after visiting the Iowa Bicycle Coalition website, I became aware of the tragedy that happened recently here in Iowa that resulted in two cyclists dying. I can only imagine the heartache that this has brought to the cycling community, and I am sure that nerves are raw. This is the reason I am posting this publicly instead of just emailing you privately.
Here’s the thing about my blog. I am not a confrontational person. In fact, it’s possible I’m slightly passive-aggressive although definitely more on the passive side. Mainly I just like to whine. So when I’ve spent my day at a very stressful job and then coming home I get stuck for a couple miles behind a clump of bicyclists who are not SHARING the road, but are in fact taking up the whole thing, that’s going to get on my nerves and you can bet I’m going to vent about it.
The majority of the cyclists I pass are extremely respectful of the other drivers along the highway. They ride single file or at least get into single file when they realize a car has come up behind them. But it’s the minority that makes those of us in the driver’s seat feel disrespected. I am one of the drivers who waits until I’m in a passing zone and can see significantly ahead of me before I try to pass even a single bicyclist on the road, unless there is a pretty wide shoulder. There is no way I would want to endanger the life of a bicylist. I am certainly not a road rager, as you accused me of in your comment. What frustrates me is the attitude of this minority that they are going to ride in front of me, not even trying to move out of my way, and there is not a darn thing in the world I can do about it.
Share the road shouldn’t just be the message preached to the drivers of motorized vehicles, it should be preached to bicyclists as well.
And that’s all I have to say about that.
Tune in next time to read my reply to the guys with the orange barrels . . .
Recent Comments