Woman to Woman

I've followed the Woman to Woman posts before, but have never participated. The assignment is "Share an important quote and what it means to you". Well...that's a tough one for me. I like quotations. I keep a small notebook where I write down quotes that are especially meaningful to me, usually ones that are too long for me to easily commit to memory. C.S. Lewis, Mother Teresa, Tolstoy, Philip Yancey, and passages of Scripture are written there. I usually flip through that book when I am dusting the shelf on which it lives, and I always find encouragement and inspiration, no matter what mood I am in. So the difficulty does not lie in a shortage of quotes. This assignment is difficult for me because I am an indecisive person. There are too many choices!

Okay, seriously, the quote I have chosen for today is not exactly Tolstoy material. It is a simple phrase that I am borrowing from the BSA, one that has helped me to overcome mountains of laundry and herds of dust bunnies.

"Be prepared."

That's it. Nothing too profound.

I try to remind myself of this simple principle as I go about my day. For me, being prepared means staying on top of things. It means that on days like today, when I do not have any commitments outside of my home, I need to take care of the laundry and the cleaning and other household responsibilities, for two reasons. First, so that on the days when I do have outside commitments, I can focus wholeheartedly on them without being distracted by thoughts of what needs to be done at home. Second, so that I can freely accept opportunities as they arise. Andy and I try very hard to be available to good opportunities. I do not mean ladder of success opportunities, but rather opportunities to build and strengthen friendships, to help others, to enjoy each other, to learn. And we are constantly amazed by how frequently those opportunities present themselves. Of course there are times when we need to be intentional about them. We need to seek out a friend whom we haven't seen in a while, or choose a study with our small group that will challenge us, or arrange for a babysitter so we can spend time alone together. But more often than not, life presents unsolicited opportunities, and we do our best to remain flexible enough to accept the ones that fit us.

I guess another way of looking at it, for me, (can you tell I'm just thinking this through as I write?) is keeping my home and personal life in order. That is not to say I am always successful at this. I procrastinate, I dawdle, I get distracted, sometimes I'm just plain lazy. But at those times when things are in order, I inevitably appreciate it. When we have unexpected company, I am always grateful for the time spent cleaning the house earlier in the week. When Elise gets sick, I appreciate that the towels and sheets are all clean. When there is an emergency, I'm so glad the gas tank is full. And when a friend brings their baby home from the hospital (there are so many babies in our circle of friends right now...), I am thankful for an organized kitchen (always Andy's doing) with all the necessary ingredients to make an extra meal or two. And I hope I'm not giving the impression that this happens all the time. We are not always ready for these curve balls. There are times when we have unexpected company and I quickly throw piles of clutter into our bedroom and close the door. More than one of our new-parent-friends have been given dinners of pre-packaged pasta or soup, lovingly prepared by the kind chefs at Costco. I had to stop for gas on the way to a friend's house when she was in labor. (Did I ever tell you that, Beth?) These things happen.

So the moral of my way-too-long story is that "Be prepared" is a simple phrase that propels me through the laundry, the vacuuming, the errands, the phone calls. Nothing fancy. Just a reminder to keep going when the meaningfulness of my daily work escapes me.

Life

When I was a kid, I thought it must be so great to be an adult. Adults could go to bed when they wanted to. No one told them what to eat (or, more importantly, what not to eat). Adults got to choose what they watched on television. They did not have to follow anyone else's rules. I thought that adults answered to no one, which in my mind was the greatest freedom imaginable.

Now I am an adult, and I can smile at that childish way of thinking. It's true that the liberties are nice. I'm glad there is no one telling me what to eat or when to go to bed. But being a "grown up" is so much more complex than I could have imagined as a child.

Yesterday our pastor announced his resignation. He is not leaving out of any sense of animosity or hostility. He has not been offered a job elsewhere. He and his wife simply believe that God is calling them to leave. This came as a great shock to our congregation. Our pastor started our church thirteen years ago. He was an associate pastor at another congregation in our area, and he and his wife were called to minister in a neighboring town. They and some other families from their old church started meeting in a school, I believe, in the town to which our pastor was called to serve. They grew and moved into a renovated office space in a business park. The space was a cookie factory before the church moved in. They were in that space for a number of years - I want to say nine or ten - and that is where they were when Andy and I started to attend. We were newly engaged and looking for a church that we could attend together. We had visited many different churches - everything from a very traditional Lutheran church to a tiny, struggling Bible church where we were told, in no uncertain terms, that Democrats are among the damned (we were so told by the pastor's wife, who did not bother to ask about our political views first) to a rock 'n' rollin', 15-full-time-pastors, you-need-opera-glasses-to-see-the-speaker megachurch. The process of finding a church home is tiring. After months of looking, a distant relative invited us to attend their church, a family-like congregation that met in an old cookie factory. It was a bit of a drive - Andy and I both lived in the city at the time, and the church was about 20 miles away - but it was worth it. I may be misremembering, but I think we did not visit another church after that.

The church was not perfectly suited to our desires. We found very few people our age there. The music, while superbly executed by a professional conductor (they didn't intentionally hire a conductor; he happened to be a congregant and offered his services), was definitely more to the liking of, ahem, older generations. There were many physical constraints due to the building structure, and when I taught the kindergarten Sunday School class, I found those constraints to be very frustrating. But those things were cosmetic. We found the congregation to be worshipful, prayerful, and hospitable. And we found the pastor to be completely above reproach.

Shortly after we started attending the church, we joined a small group at the pastor's house. We were the youngest by far - 22 and 21 - and we were welcomed by all. They all took great interest in our wedding plans, prayed with us through difficult family times, and encouraged us as Andy searched for a job. (He had been working at an aerotech company and, like so many others, was laid off after September 11.) It was a great group.

We really got to know our pastor and his wife in that group. We found them to be kind, virtuous, and intelligent. They were obviously devoted to prayer and to God's Word. They were completely submitted to the lordship of Jesus. Andy and I asked the pastor if he would lead us in premarital counseling, even though we had already asked Andy's childhood pastor to perform our wedding ceremony. Our pastor agreed and refused to take payment for his services.

A few years into attendance, we had a major disagreement with the way our church leadership dealt with a conflict within the congregation. Some friends of ours - the subjects of the disagreement - left the church on very negative terms, and Andy and I felt bruised by the experience. We, too, considered leaving, but after much prayer and discussion, we decided that we would not let a tiff separate us from the church. We do not want to "church hop". So we stayed, and we have never regretted it.

Three years ago our pastoral staff changed somewhat. Our beloved associate pastor, a wise teacher, moved to be close to his grandchildren and to answer God's call to him to minister to pastors and their families. He is still missed. Our church hired two people to "replace" him - one associate pastor to share in the teaching responsibilities, and one part time associate pastor to take on the role of business administrator. Godly men both. A year after they were hired, our congregation moved into their own building, which we had spent several years planning and building. Two years after that - that would be just a few months ago - the new full time associate pastor announced that he was leaving, also to be near his grandchildren and to fill a different ministry role to which he felt called. (I'm seeing a trend.) So, as you can see, the last 3 years have been full of change for our congregation. We are now in our own, rather large, building. We have grown to such numbers that it is impossible to recognize everyone. We've taken to implementing the policies that large churches must have these days, such as security procedures in the nursery to ensure that only custodial parents pick up their children. Sad but necessary measures. The musical style has adapted to the growing congregation, not without growing pains and heated discussions. There are now many people our age in the church, and some of them have become close friends of ours. And through it all, our pastor has remained a steady and calm leader, trusting and obeying God in everything, and teaching us to do the same.

And now he is leaving. Andy and I, and our entire congregation, are filled with sadness. Ironically, we just became members of the church last night, during the same meeting at which our pastor announced his resignation. I can honestly say that this man is the most humble person I have ever met. There is not a shadow of a hint of pride in him. I think it must be easy for a pastor to submit to pride, especially one who has led a congregation through such growth, but in six years I have never once glimpsed any pride whatsoever in him.

Sorry does not begin to describe our feelings about his departure. Of course the announcement is new, so no one knows what is to come. We don't know where our pastor's family is going (they don't even know), and we don't know who will come to replace them. We trust in God's sovereignty and grace. We are thankful that this parting has come out of our pastor and his wife's obedience to God, not out of dissension or animosity. But we are very sad.

Being an adult isn't as easy as I thought it would be.

If I May Be So Sappy...

Warning: Sap alert.

I'm reading The Red Tent by Anita Diamant. It's okay. One of my very literarily inclined friends described it as a "book club book", and so it is. It's interesting and well-written, but probably not one I'll read again. I think it is fairly culturally accurate, but the author took great liberties with the biblical account (it is a fictional retelling of the story of Dinah, Jacob's daughter). Her liberties are very creative and intriguing, but she takes them too far at times.

Well, anyway, this wasn't supposed to be a book review. Last night I read a passage in the book that described the birth of Dinah's son. Giving birth and being a new mother were the most intense experiences of my life, and I think Diamant did a good job of describing some of the emotions that go along with those experiences.

"Why had no one told me that my body would become a battlefield, a sacrifice, a test? Why did I not know that birth is the pinnacle where women discover the courage to become mothers? But of course, there is no way to tell this or to hear it."

And then later, as Dinah describes her first moments with her son...

"Just as there is no warning for childbirth, there is no preparation for the sight of a first child....There should be a song for women to sing at this moment, or a prayer to recite. But perhaps there is none because there are no words strong enough to name that moment. Like every mother since the first mother, I was overcome and bereft, exalted and ravaged. I had crossed over from girlhood. I beheld myself as an infant in my mother's arms, and caught a glimpse of my own death. I wept without knowing whether I rejoiced or mourned. My mothers and their mothers were with me as I held my baby."

I told you it would be sappy.

One down,...

Boy, I've really been dragging my feet on this blog lately, haven't I? A week or two will go by between posts, and yet somehow I trick myself into thinking that I'm posting every couple of days. Must be summer.

I've spent the better part of today cleaning my daughter's room. It was long overdue. We "borrowed" a curtain rod from her room in December. In Elise's room, it holds a wall hanging made by my mother-in-law when Elise was born. In December we were given a Christmas wall hanging and wanted to display it in our living room. Thus the borrowing of the curtain rod. How long ago was December? Oh, that's right. Six months ago. Half a year. More than 25% of Elise's life.* And it's not that we needed the rod in the living room this whole time. We stored the living room wall hanging away with the other Christmas decorations just after the new year. I threw a couple of themed quilts over it for Valentine's Day and Easter, but other than that, it has been empty. So today I finally moved it back to Elise's room and returned the lovely little girl wall hanging to its rightful place.

I won't bore you with more details of how I cleaned her room - cleaning is cleaning, yes? - but I will say that I'm very happy with it. It's refreshing to have a really clean room. But I finished just in time to put Elise down for her nap, so now she is in there enjoying the cleanliness (okay, so I'm sure she doesn't notice the difference, but it makes me feel better to imagine that she appreciates my efforts), and I am in the living room, which is decidedly not clean. It's not filthy or anything. It's just not neat. Maybe I'll sneak into Elise's room and just sit there for a while.

*Edit: This is not to say that I have not cleaned Elise's room since December. That's just how long we kept her curtain rod in the living room.

Household Help

Have you ever heard the argument that the Proverbs 31 woman - that intimidating heroine of Christian women - was able to do all that she did because she had servants? It's usually said as a joke. "Well, sure, I could buy fields and clothe my family in luxurious garments, too, if I had servants." That sort of thing.

Over the last few years, I've also heard the case for the modern Proverbs 31 woman. The argument is that we do have servants. Washing machine, anyone? I've thought it was a cute comparison and I've smiled at it. But the other day I got to thinking...

I have a lot of "servants". A lot. My household roster is quite long.

First, the full-time help. I have three full-time servants. Dishwasher, Washing Machine, Dryer. These three work in my home every day. Now I have lived without the services of Dishwasher. It's do-able, but not all that fun. Someday I hope to acquire a clothesline, thus demoting Dryer to a part-time position.

Next, the part-timers. There are a lot of part-time servants. Vacuum Cleaner puts in the most hours, and may very well be promoted to full-time one of these days. Other part-time servants include Toaster Oven, Microwave Oven, Food Processor, Coffee Maker, Coffee Grinder, Mixer, and Sewing Machine. It is amazing how quickly these servants work. They are very skilled. Without their services, it would take me at least twice as long to complete the tasks that they accomplish so efficiently.

We also have some seasonal help. Furnace, the Fan Family, Lawn Mower, Weed Eater, and Hose. No getting up before dawn to stoke a fire. It's really great.

I do not have to refill the oil or clean my lamps before bed. I do not have to empty old water from basins and jugs, nor do I have to walk to the nearest stream or well to obtain fresh water. I do not have to make my own soap, ink, or fabric. I do not have to raise my own meat or grow my own produce. I do not have to sew my own clothes. I do not have to wait for days or weeks or months to share news with a long distance friend. I do not have to gather wood or coal to fuel my oven and furnace, and I do not have to clean up ashes. All of these things are essentially done for me.

So....why am I so busy?

Books

A week or so ago, I was having a hard time finding something to read. Silly, I know. There are countless numbers of books that I would like to read and haven't, so why should I have a hard time finding one to read? And yet, that is the problem I had. I tried a few different books on for size, and none of them fit. Fine books all, but they didn't suit my mood. I started reading A Year in Provence. It was a no go. Then I tried Jeeves and The Tie That Binds. A fun book, especially if you imagine Wooster as Hugh Grant. If ever the Jeeves books are turned into movies, Hugh Grant should definitely play Wooster. But, regardless of its cleverness, the book did not hold my interest. It just wasn't what I was looking for.

So now I have those two books to add to my growing collection of half-read books. I want to finish them all. I have half-read A Severed Wasp, The Brothers K, The Brothers Karamazov, Louisa, John Adams, and now A Year in Provence and Jeeves and The Tie That Binds. Pathetically flaky of me, wouldn't you say?

Now I am reading George Muller, a biography of that great man. The writing style is rather dry, but the story is inspiring enough to keep me reading. It doesn't hurt that the book is only 150 pages long. And now I have no shortage of books to read. Andy and I hit a thrift store sale on Monday, and I came home with three books that are shamelessly tempting me. A book that I had on hold at the library has also come in. But I will not be distracted! I will finish my current book. I will. I will. Truly. Here I go to finish the book. Okay.

Childproof vs. Proof of Children

This past week, we visited a couple of different friends in their respective homes. I was struck by the contrast between the two homes.

While making arrangements for the first visit, our hostess said, "Our house is child-proofed, so there's nothing within reach that Elise can break." Hm. Well, that was good to know.

At the second home, Elise walked in and immediately began running for a back bedroom, where she knew there were some good toys hiding. (She has visited this home many times.) Our friend immediately reassured us, "There's nothing back there that can hurt her."

See the difference? Now I'm not qualified to say whether these comments reflect our friends' subconscious attitudes towards children, but the contrast was stark enough to pique my curiosity. One home was childproof. The other home was child-friendly.

It was just one of those things that made me go, "Hmm...."

ABC and Dick & Jane

It's finally done! Benjamin's quilt, which I meant to have done in time for his shower, is finally done.


I have really enjoyed making this quilt. There were some frustrating moments throughout the process, but overall it was a lot of fun. I did this one from scratch, - well, I should say Andy and I did this one from scratch - starting with a rough sketch and adding details as we thought of them. Andy came up with many of the applique designs, and it was his idea to add the borders to the pinwheel squares. Originally I was going to reverse the red and polkadotted fabric within the squares - the red would have been the border pieces, and the polkadots would have been the little corner squares - but I made a happy mistake in cutting, and so they were reversed. I'm glad of that - I think it would have been too red otherwise.

It is an alphabet quilt without letters. There is an appliqued picture to represent each letter, starting with an apple and ending with a zipper. The appliqued squares are offset by simple 6" Dick and Jane squares. A few weeks ago my mother-in-law, who taught me to quilt, dropped off a gift that she had made for Chris. She had made him a set of pillowcases (a long-standing tradition; she has been making pillowcases for Andy and Chris since they first roomed together during freshman year of college). Come to find out, she made the pillowcases out of the very same Dick and Jane fabric that I used! We did not consult one another before choosing our fabrics - we just think alike. It was a very happy coincidence.

So there it is!

Do you suppose I should make a quilt for my nearly-two-year-old daughter now?

Ladies and Gentlemen, we are proud to present...

...Benjamin Michael Tindall! (or "Baby Min", as Elise calls him.)

"Name me one thing, one, that we've gained from technology." "Electricity!" "That's one."

This year I am keeping track of the books that I read. I've never done that before, and I was inspired by Bob. I have a list of read books in my sidebar. If you glance at it, you may notice that I read four or five books a month in January, February, and March. Certainly not an amazing feat by any means, but at least it means that I was reading a few chapters a day. But then...did you notice April and May? One book per month. Wow. Sad. So I started to analyze...

Now I could argue that it is easier to read more in the winter months. The evenings are longer. It's cold outside. There aren't as many social activities. Sure, that sounds okay. Maybe I'll stick with that excuse.

Or...I could be honest. I could admit that my husband and I stopped watching television during the Lenten season, which occurred primarily during February and March. I could tell you that my husband took our laptop computer with him to work for several weeks, and frequently had to take it to evening meetings as well, thus leaving me Internetless. And then the TV-watching and Internet-browsing resumed in early April. Hmm.

Kind of makes me question how much time I spend in front of a screen. (Ironic that I would say that on my blog, isn't it?)

I Love Monday

I'm not sure I've ever said that before. I love Monday. Today I do. I am so glad that it is Monday. Last week was...interesting. It was like an amazing rollercoaster. Our week included disappointing news about Andy's mom's hand injury; news of the death of a friend; a visit from friends who live in Africa; a trip to the ER with Elise; a stomach flu that hit all three of us; a funeral; and then, to end the week on a wonderful note, the birth of a new friend. Well, I've only met him twice, and he was sleeping most of that time, but I think we really hit it off. He arrived early Sunday morning, and I won't say more than that until his parents have had the chance to share the details themselves.

It was really great to end the week with the baby's birth. For his parents' sake, I'm sorry it happened at the end of the week (he was apparently quite happy in the womb), but after the week we had, it was wonderful to end it on such a happy note.

So it's Monday. I have done load after load after load of laundry. I have vacuumed. I have cleaned and washed and disinfected. I have even watered my plant. It has been a great day. I think I've mentioned before that I really love having order restored. Last week was a chaotic time for our family. To wake up this morning, to make a pot of coffee, to go through a normal day was simply wonderful. We're not completely caught up yet, though. I still have a lot of laundry to do. (Having a toddler with a stomach flu results in having a lot of laundry.) Andy is still really tired, having slept for just a few hours several nights in a row. But things are normal. Yay!

Early

I got up early this morning. Early for me, anyway. 6:30. I realize that doesn't sound early to a lot of you, but Elise normally sleeps until 8:00 or so, and I usually let her wake me up. (Don't hate me, moms of school aged children or early risers!) I hate getting up early, but I love being up early. I love how the sunlight slants across the earth in the early hours. I love how quiet everything is.

Which leads me to another thought. It is amazing how loud certain things seem when everything else is quiet, especially when you are hoping to not awaken a sleeping child. The coffeemaker, for instance. I don't typically think of the coffeemaker as a loud appliance, but this morning, as Elise slept peacefully and I enjoyed a few minutes of quiet while I read the Sermon on the Mount (there's a passage to read if you want to jumpstart your theology), the coffeemaker was obnoxiously loud. It gurgled and sputtered and hissed. I'm sure it does that every morning, but it's usually not quiet enough to notice. Even as I type this, I realize that it's not loud in here. Elise is talking to her bunny, and I am typing, but that's about it. Maybe earlier this morning I was just more sensitive to noise. It kind of makes me wonder how much noise I constantly tune out. Hm.

Well, my day has started now. That hour and a half this morning was really nice. Now the trick will be to remember how nice it was come tomorrow morning when 6:30 seems awfully early.

The Tact of Children

Elise just saw a picture of Ronald McDonald. She pointed excitedly at it and said, "It's Mommom!"

Mommom. That would be me. Apparently she sees a striking resemblance between me and Ronald McDonald.

Terrific.

Attention, Moms

Check out the link in my sidebar to the "5 Minutes for Mom" Mother's Day giveaways. They're giving away some fun things over there! Even if you're not interested in the contests, it's a fun and encouraging blog for moms, so check it out!

Resistance

When my friend Janene volunteered as a counselor at a crisis pregnancy center, she used to talk about how she experienced a sort of resistance nearly every time she was scheduled to work. She would feel ill, or would be tired, or would have a hard day at her regular job. There was almost always something that discouraged her from going to the pregnancy center. She also talked about how much she loved being there once she got there, once she pushed past the obstacles.

I have worked with the Wednesday night kids' programs at my church for several years. For several years, I have experienced the same sense of resistance that Janene felt in her counseling job. Wednesday night rolls around and I am tired. Headaches develop frequently on Wednesday afternoons. When I worked at the hospital, Wednesdays were my busiest days. For the last several months, however, I have taken a smaller role in the Wednesday night activities, more behind the scenes, not working directly with the kids. And for several months, I have not experienced the usual resistance.

This morning, Elise woke up an hour and a half earlier than usual. I have changed three diapers in as many hours (common when she was a newborn, but not at 21 months!). Elise has been testing my patience and my consistency all morning. I am tired. Tonight I will be working directly with the kids at church. Coincidence?

I don't mean to sound all heebie-jeebie, but I believe in spiritual warfare, and I don't think that the resistance felt by myself and Janene is fake. I think it is very real. And you know, it actually really helps me to realize that. To know that my headache may not just be a headache, and that Elise's early waking on this day when I will be out late was probably not a coincidence. It helps to know that the way to combat the trials of this day is not with Excedrin and a nap (although I may employ those remedies as well), but with prayer.

C.S. Lewis observed that we make two mistakes in our beliefs about evil spirits. He said the first mistake is that we ignore them, or deny their existence. The second mistake is that we see them behind every rock and tree. I don't want to make either mistake. I want to be observant and be able to recognize when my family or I are being attacked or oppressed; but I don't want to live on edge, thinking that finding the bread is moldy when I wanted a sandwich is a sign that I am under spiritual attack.

When I think I may be running into spiritual resistance, I find that the joy and peace and victory of overcoming that resistance is greater than the usual satisfaction of following through on a commitment. What I mean is that when I think I am having a bad Wednesday, and I don't want to go and play with 40 kids, and I go anyway, I'm always glad I went; I enjoy the satisfaction of having kept my word. But when I recognize that there is something - someone - trying to keep me from going...well, first of all, that motivates me to go. Not going would not just be "taking time for myself" - an idea that I think we as Christians need to be very careful with - it would be surrendering a battle. So when I feel that resistance and I go anyway, making it through until the end of the evening leaves me feeling joyful and victorious. I'm usually still tired, but that's to be expected. I am, after all, fighting a spiritual battle through the confines of a human body.

I was just talking about this with a friend this morning. She commented that it's encouraging, in a way, to view our trials, even the minor ones, from a spiritual perspective, because to do so is to recognize that we have a hope that is greater than ourselves and our own limited capabilities. I hope you will be encouraged, as I have been, to fight your battles not only with the physical tools that God has given us - I'll be picking up my sword of Excedrin and shield of rest today - but also with the more powerful spiritual tools that have been provided for our good.

Writer's Block

I have started several posts lately, and have saved them all as drafts. For some reason, they don't turn out the way I intend. Usually I just sit down with a line of thought, start typing, and a little while later have a post. Not the case lately. I sit down, start typing, and come up with gibberish, an incoherent pile of words. I feel like I am writing things that make sense, but that don't go anywhere. I am dithering. Do you know ditherers? We all do, I think. People who talk and talk and talk and never get to their point. My problem is usually that I try to explain too many details. My point may be that Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water, but first I need to tell you why they needed the water and what the pail looked like.

I'm not sure what the problem has been in writing lately. The words just don't flow to my liking. I don't write blog posts the way I write other things. I don't write a first draft and then revise it. I don't usually search for the perfect word or phrase to tickle the reader's literary fancy. I do try to check for gross spelling and grammar errors, but even those basics sometimes go by the wayside. My blog posts are pretty much just loosely bridled streams of consciousness. So you would think that I wouldn't have any trouble whatsoever in writing them, what with such a lack of self-enforced rules. But I do.

So maybe this post will get me back on track. Maybe it will reassure me that I can focus on one topic long enough to write a few words about it. Or maybe I'll just go ahead and post all of those incoherent drafts, and then you can all read them and think I've gone completely off my rocker. One thing I realized as I went through some of those drafts is that I very rarely end up publishing anything I save as a draft. I save it because I am frustrated by it and cannot make it read the way I want it to, but usually I have spent a fair amount of time writing it and do not want to just delete it. So I save it, and never publish it. So the chances of you seeing my recent drafts are pretty slim.

One thing I haven't learned about myself yet is what is the best way to combat a problem like this, this disinterest in or frustration with something I enjoy. Not being able to write as I want to, not having patience to finish a book or even an interest in choosing one to begin, not being able to make a sewing project turn out the way I had envisioned it. Is it better to put the activity aside for a while, take a break from it, and then go back to it refreshed? Or is it better to push on through, keep at it even though it's driving me crazy? I suspect the answer differs based on the situation. Sometimes I need a break and sometimes I need to persevere.

"And I was just starting to think I had a few things figured out..." Brian Finn [Edward Norton], Keeping the Faith.

Today....

...my seam ripper is my best friend. My sewing station has been transferred to the dining room so I can sew while Elise plays (normally I sew only when she is asleep). Apparently adding a 1/4" seam allowance is too complicated for my non-mathematically-inclined brain. I ended up with six squares that were significantly smaller than the rest of the squares. My husband suggested I add a border to the squares to bring them up to size. Great idea! So I did. Did I remember to add the seam allowance to the border? NO! Ugh. My new motto is, "Measure 87 times, cut once."

We Interrupt This Quilt...

Elise is napping and I am out of thread, so quilting has been put on hold for at least an hour. I have been sewing like mad this week. Baby Boy Tindall will be here within a few weeks, and the shower to honor him and his mama is in four days! And I'm still piecing...please don't tell me it's impossible to finish by Saturday, I already know that, and I'm going for it anyway! In the meantime, I welcome this forced break. There is plenty of other work, albeit less enjoyable, to be done. My mother-in-law just emailed to say that she has been cleaning out her garage, doing laundry, sewing, and cleaning her counters all day. She has just started a dose of steroid treatment. I'm not a big fan of steroids, but if you must take them, you might as well enjoy the energy!

Speaking of my MIL...this past weekend marked my in-laws' 40th wedding anniversary. Forty years! Andy and his sister threw a surprise party for them. We were all in their living room watching old family movies when people started pouring in. There were about 65 people in all, I think, everyone from their next door neighbors to the pastor that married them 40 years ago to relatives from the other side of the state. The first few walked in and Andy's parents were surprised and pleased to see their friends; then we told them that there were at least 50 more people coming, and Andy's mom said, "Get the dust mop!" Ha! Hers is the only house I know to which I would be comfortable inviting dozens of people without first warning the people who live in the house. It's just that clean. Andy and his sister did a great job. Right about the time that Andy's mom started to worry about feeding all those people, Andy's sister took a huge cake out of her car, and the caterer arrived. It was a really nice time.

Andy's mom, Susan, had a surprise of her own, too. On Sunday we all showed up at their church, to the surprise and confusion of Andy's dad. I don't know what he thought we were doing there. The service seemed normal, until the very end when the pastor asked Andy's folks to come up front. We all, save his dad, knew what was going on, and his dad is such an easy going fellow that he just went right up, not knowing what was happening. Well, Susan had arranged for them to renew their wedding vows. It was so sweet. When the pastor asked if there was a ring, Andy's dad looked flustered and said no...at which point Andy walked up and gave him a ring to give to his bride. (Susan's wedding ring doesn't fit due to a hand injury, so this ring was new.) It was a lovely surprise.

Confession

Sometimes I wish there had been a time when I didn't know about God, because I would love to have been able to read the Bible for myself, just once, without knowing what was going to happen next.

A Wise Man Once Said...

On Sunday we had a guest speaker at church, a missionary to Mexico who has been home on sabbatical for the last several months. He and his family went back to Mexico on Monday. He was talking about their work there, how he has recently turned the pastoral duties of his church over to a Mexican pastor, and how he and his wife are now focusing on teaching local pastors how to teach, how to lead a Bible study, how to counsel, etc. He said many of the pastors in central Mexico are young men who have traveled to "the big city" in search of work, were introduced to the Gospel while there, and felt called to return to their hometowns to bring the Gospel to their family and neighbors. But most of these young men have very limited education, the equivalent to having finished elementary school, and even reading the Bible can be challenging for them. So the missionaries are now working on training the pastors.

The missionary made a comment that really struck me. He said that here in the States, he would be considered an average teacher, just another teacher. But in Mexico, where the majority of people are deprived of what most Americans would consider a basic education, his teaching is phenomenal. The new Christians in central Mexico are so hungry for knowledge of God, for education of any kind, that the missionary's willingness to teach basic reading, basic Bible classes, and basic leadership skills makes a tremendous impact.

So that got me thinking about the United States. I started to think about how saturated our culture is. We are so saturated with education, knowledge, skill. Resources that are normal here would save lives elsewhere. Food, water, medical care. A nurse who gives 25 vaccinations in the United States does valuable work, to be sure. A nurse who gives 25 vaccinations in Congo saves 25 people from imminent death. We are so wealthy. Do we know how wealthy we are? We have virtually unlimited resources available to us. I can see seven Bibles in five different versions on my bookshelf right now, and that does not even include the two that I use most often, which are elsewhere in the house right now. Seven. Not only that, but with just a few keystrokes and clicks, I can access biblical commentaries written by noteworthy scholars. I know of at least half a dozen Christian colleges within driving distance of my house. Finding a church here means trying church after church after church until finding one that makes you comfortable; it does not mean literally searching for a group of people, any group of people, who worship God. If I devoted my life to it, I still would not have enough time on this earth to read all the Christian books that are available to me for free through the local library system.

I think education is very important. I think we should "transform ourselves by the renewing of our minds", as Paul instructed us to do. And I don't really think that education is ever wasted, at least not in the way that that phrase is usually used. For example, I don't believe that I am wasting my education by being a stay-at-home mom. I think education is pretty much always worth pursuing, not necessarily in a formal sense, but definitely in a lifelong learning sense. But I wonder...are we making the best use of the tremendous blessings we've been given? Our missionary friend saw that he could make a bigger impact with his gifts in Mexico than he could here. I don't think that we all are supposed to up and move to Mexico or Africa or India, but I do think that those of us who remain in overdeveloped countries should look hard for opportunities to put our gifts and resources to good use. I guess I just mean that here in the U.S., we have so much that we have become numb to the immensity of it all. We take it for granted and even belittle it.

A favorite professor of mine once asked his students to consider "what is in your hands?" In other words, what opportunities are right here, right where you are? What gifts have you been given that can benefit another person right now? I think about that sometimes. It's easy to deceive myself into thinking that by belittling the gifts I have been given, I am showing humility. (Note: I think it's pretty safe to assume that whenever I think I am being humble, I most definitely am not.) Seattle is the most educated city in the country. My formal education is small fry here. Does that mean it is worthless? Because there are so many people, millions of people, around me who have greater knowledge, greater education, who are better suited to tackle the problems of our area....does that mean I don't have to? No. Ignorance doesn't let me off the hook. My efforts here in western Washington may not have the impact that the same efforts would have in central Mexico, but that doesn't give me the right to simply not expend the effort.

I know I'm rambling, and that is because I haven't really sorted through all of my thoughts on this subject. I've just been thinking a lot about using the gifts we've been given, being good stewards and all. Sometimes it's hard to know where to help, since I can't help everywhere. How are we to choose? But I guess one of the most important things is that we are helping. Somewhere. Anywhere. It would be wrong to not help at all simply because we don't know where to start.

I almost don't want to post this because I feel like I'm not making sense. But I'll post it anyway, and you can read it if you want, and you can think, "Gee, that post totally didn't make sense", and that will be that.

The Emerald City

We really had a great time during our short stay in Seattle. We live less than an hour from downtown, but after talking about what to do for our anniversary, downtown just seemed like the best choice. It is a very different environment than our daily suburbia, but it is an environment with which we are very familiar. I like it.

So anyway, we ate dinner Friday night at an English pub. We spent much of the meal reminiscing about college as we watched the large group of people at the table next to us. They all acted as though they were not quite used to the privileges that come with being 21. They were loud, they laughed at jokes that weren't really funny, they flirted shamelessly with each other, the girls poked fun at the guys for being guys, and the guys poked fun at the girls for being girls. And Andy and I decided that we are now old.

After dinner, we ordered Music and Lyrics on pay-per-view. It wasn't a spectacular movie by any means, but it was really funny. I typically like Hugh Grant movies, with Bridget Jones's Diary being an exception. Hugh Grant as an 80's pop star is one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time.

We spent Saturday morning walking around Pike Place Market. We ate fresh strawberries (produce from Pike Place is just good) and enjoyed doughnuts handmade by two big, burly, unshaven, heavily tattoed men wearing ripped t-shirts and leather. We watched the fishmongers for a while and picked up a Dungeness crab for Andy's dad. Come to find out, they throw crabs, too. We explored the bookstores, the quilt shop (I didn't even know it was there until this trip), the specialty food stores. We bought a stuffed toy cow for Elise, who has been way into Old MacDonald lately. It was great. I love Pike Place.

We had lunch reservations, and we weren't entirely sure where the restaurant was, so we left Pike Place in plenty of time to walk back to the hotel to drop our wares off at the car and then head off to lunch. We could have looked at a map, but that would have been too easy. The restaurant, Wild Ginger, was at 3rd & Union. 3rd is easy, but we couldn't remember exactly where Union was, so we figured we would walk to 3rd, turn left, and walk until we hit Union. So we walked out the back door of our hotel, which put us at 4th and....yep, Union. Even if you are not familiar with downtown Seattle, you can probably surmise that it does not take long to get from 4th & Union to 3rd & Union. So we arrived at the restaurant nearly an hour before our reservation, but fortunately they were not busy and seated us right away. It was so good. Amazing, really. If you live close to Seattle, you should go to Wild Ginger. Yum. We were very pleased.

After lunch we headed home, stopping on our way to pick up some groceries and to browse through an antique store. Andy bought a seismograph. Yes, a seismograph. Then we went home to one very tired little girl and her grandparents. We were glad to be home. All of us slept in a bit the next day, then went to the late service at church. There was a baby dedication, a little one year old girl whose father has just returned from his second tour of duty in Iraq, where he received the Bronze Star Medal. He was in Iraq when his daughter was born. It was very touching, and the congregation gave him a standing ovation.

We enjoyed our anniversary weekend. Sometimes it's hard to believe that we've been married five years already, although at the same time it seems that this is the life I've always had, even though this life is a far cry from what I experienced growing up. If the next five years are anywhere close to as great as the last five have been, I'll be very happy.

My New Stash and Other Fun Gifts

As previously mentioned, my in-laws stayed here last Friday night and Saturday while Andy and I celebrated our anniversary with an overnight trip to downtown Seattle. Having them stay here was fantastic. My father-in-law brought me this beautiful bouquet of tulips, straight from the Skagit Valley tulip fields. Tulips are my favorite flower. My "arrangement" is rather haphazard, but the flowers are still gorgeous. The silver tray was an anniversary gift as well, from Andy's grandmother, directly from her own silver collection. You can't see the details in this picture, but it's really quite lovely.


My mother-in-law is an avid quilter and an organizational wonder. This is good news for me. She cleaned out her fabric stash and brought this huge stack of fabric to me! Again, my photo does not do it justice. My MIL shops only at independent quilt and fabric stores, because she a) always shops for quality over quantity and b) lives in one of those rare and wonderful locations where she would have to travel some distance to get to a big chain store. Don't get me wrong, I do my fair share of big chain store patronization. But all of us who have used both big chain store fabric and independent quilt shop fabric know...the independents win hands down.

I don't really know why they came to babysit for us and we're the ones who got gifts, but I don't fight it.


There were still more benefits to having my parents-in-law stay at our house while we were away. (Besides the very obvious benefit of having someone to care for Elise.) When we returned on Saturday evening, my father-in-law had installed a safety guard on our fireplace hearth (after Elise bashed her head against it right before we left on Friday), fixed our loose kitchen faucet, and purchased doorstops for our bathrooms. My mother-in-law casually informed us that there were tuna noodle casserole leftovers in the fridge.


As far as I'm concerned, they can come and stay at our house any time.

The First of Several

Yesterday I wrote this big long post. It took a long time. I added a few pictures. Blogger ate it. I still have the post, but I don't have the pictures, and when I try to replace them, I just screw up the formatting, so it goes something like this: "Here is a picture of Pike Place Market." [insert picture of chocolate Easter bunny.] So, rather than spending hours trying to fix the ugly post, I decided to just rewrite it, but to break it down into a few smaller posts. That's probably a good idea anyway. The big long one was pretty disjointed.

I will end this post on a cute note. My daughter was just sitting next to me holding a Hungry Caterpillar rattle. (Last night I gathered her infant toys and put them in a storage bin, having decided with Andy that there is no point in having rattles and teething rings cluttering her toy box at this point. Naturally, as soon as I did that, she noticed the bin full of fascinating toys and wanted to play with them.) She held it up to me and I said, "caterpillar". She mimicked me, "oh-bee-gal".

I repeated, "caterpillar", and she said, "jimmalon".

"Caterpillar".

"Feemiki".

"Caterpillar".

"Cassaaaaa-do".

"Caterpillar".

"Mihrumph".

I said, "very good", and she went off to play.

Spring Cleaning Motivation

There is nothing quite like having your in-laws coming to stay in your house to get you motivated to clean. The only thing I can think of that is more motivating than that is having your in-laws coming to stay in your house when you're not there. That's right. This weekend will be Andy's and my fifth wedding anniversary, and Andy's parents will be staying overnight with Elise so Andy and I can get away for the weekend. Well, for Friday night and Saturday. This will be our first overnight without Elise. Before she was born, we got away usually two or three times a year, typically a couple of long weekends and one bigger vacation. And we have done a bit of vacationing with Elise, but all in her first nine months. The last overnight trip we took (aside from visiting family a few hours away) was last May. Hmm. And we never meant to go 20 months without some time away with just the two of us. It just kind of happened that way. (It's amazing what happens when you're not intentional about making things happen.)

Now, some of you are probably thinking, "You've never spent a night away from your child?!", and others of you are probably thinking, "A night away from your child? That doesn't happen until the kid leaves for college." I can respect both viewpoints, but my own is that I don't feel badly about not having left Elise overnight as of yet, and neither do I feel badly that I'm about to.

Anyway, back to the cleaning. My mother-in-law is a sweet, kind woman with a spotless house, and she would never in a million years say anything about my inferior housekeeping skills. But I know they are inferior. And normally I'm okay with that. But did I mention that she will be staying overnight in my house when I'm not here? See, when they come to visit for the afternoon, and she asks if she can grab some Tylenol from the medicine cabinet, I can say, "Oh, I'll get it for you". That can be translated into, "Oh, you can't go into that bathroom, it's gross." But I won't be here to get the Tylenol for her. She'll have to go into the bathroom. It has to be clean.

It's great motivation.

Yesterday, I cleaned our bedroom. Spotlessly. Today it's the laundry (more of a necessity if I want my family to be clothed, which I do) and the bathrooms. My shower has never been so clean.

Let's Get Real Monday

I followed the "Let's Get Real" posts about spring cleaning a couple weeks ago, but did not post my own. This time I decided to join in the fun. "Let's Get Real Monday" is kindly hosted by Randi at I Have To Say.

This week's theme: My Favorite Things. I thought about many options. My favorite things about being a stay-at-home mom; favorite books; favorite corners of my home. But, perhaps in an effort to encourage myself, I decided to post My Favorite Things About Having A Cold (which I do). Here they are, in no particular order:

• Chicken soup
• Really soft Kleenex
• When my husband rushes in the door after work and shouts up the stairs, "I'm here to take care of you!"
• How good it feels to rest my head against the back of the sofa
• How wonderful the cool air felt on my face when I went outside to get the mail
• How wonderful the warm air felt when I went back inside
• Giving myself permission to not do everything on my pre-cold to-do list

What the heck, I'll do two. Here are My Favorite Things That I Appreciate More When I Have A Cold:

• A well-behaved child
• Strong, sweet, hot tea
• Chocolate
• My sofa
• Socks
• The Internet
• The DVD player
• The remote control.

You should play along! C'mon, everybody's doing it! :)

This Means War!

I have waged war against a dangerous nation. The Earthworms.

I have long held that earthworms are trying to take over the world, defeat the humans. And they are a most serious threat, making their mantra, "Divide and conquer!", something they seem to take quite literally. Hollywood medieval war tactics - slicing the enemy in two - do not work with them. They only come back stronger. They deviate from their slithering relatives in that there is absolutely nothing even remotely attractive about them. Caterpillars can be beautiful, and even when they are not, they turn into beautiful butterflies. Even nasty little white worms that hide in broccoli and eat your cabbage plants will eventually become dainty little lavender and yellow moths that little girls and kittens like to chase. But earthworms turn into nothing but more earthworms. They are vile creatures, as their very name suggests. Earthworm. Worm of the earth. Much like pond scum, only ambulatory and inhabiting human domain. And therein lies the struggle. The domain. It is our domain, and they wish it to be theirs. That is why they have infiltrated the very ground upon which we live.

The earthworms do have one weakness, a debilitation of which humans should take the utmost advantage. In true Silver Chair-ian fashion, they despise the sun. At 47, 37 N, 122, 20W, the particular region of human domain where I myself have been stationed, the enemy is given an obvious advantage in his very weakness. Long periods of sun exposure are quite uncommon here. On many a dreary day, my compatriots have been known to move too hastily to find shelter, only to fall prey to the traps set so viciously by the earthworms. They step on them. This may seem an oversight on the part of the earthworm nation, a senseless loss of their own troops, but do not be fooled. They are kamikaze earthworms. The lack of sun in our region should serve only to strengthen our resolve to use the earthworms' weakness whenever possible, not letting a single clear day go to waste.

After 2.7 decades of loathing the earthworms' existence, I have developed a sophisticated system of defense. Avoidance. Whenever possible, we must garden on days of sun exposure. We must work with the sun to avoid gardening in areas of shade and moisture. We must wear gloves when allowing our hands contact with natural earth. And, when all else fails, when we cannot avoid wet ground, when the enemy dares to show his ugly, featureless face to the light of day, when we have done all we can do - we must RUN AWAY! Retreat to the safety of a land where no earthworm can survive, where Mop 'N' Glo and Lemon Pledge make for nothing but pleasantries, where the dominion of humans is unquestioned. Go inside.

There is no solid evidence as of yet, but I suspect the earthworms have formed an alliance with the dandelions.

Song Selection

For a long time, I have been singing the same two songs to Elise. Okay, more than two, but two particular songs were far and away the most common. One is "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" and the other is a nameless song that my mom sang to me and my siblings when we were little. I don't know if she made it up; I've never heard it sung outside my home. It is the song we sing every night when tucking Elise into bed. For quite a while, Elise has been making the motions (sort of) to "The Itsy Bitsy Spider", and that is how she identifies it. When I ask her what song she wants to sing and she responds by waving her hands in the air, I know she is requesting "The Itsy Bitsy Spider". Cute.

Recently, she has started to identify other songs. We've been adding songs to our repertoire one at a time, and she has started to ask for them. Not exactly by name, but by identities that she has assigned to them. For example, our little nighttime song includes the line, "When you're not near me, I'm blue!" Now Elise asks for that song by saying, "Boooooooooo!" (Not to be confused with "BOO!", usually shouted when she is right next to you, followed by giggling. Someday she'll understand that "BOO!" is more effective when accompanied by actually surprising the person with your presence. For now she is satisfied with shouting and giggling.) "Head and Shoulders, Knees and Toes" is requested by grabbing her toes. "Old MacDonald" gets an "e-i, e-yo". And "Jesus Loves the Little Children" has been abbreviated to "Bebe?" (Baby).

Figuring out what she is trying to communicate can be challenging, but it's always fun. It's a little easier now that she shakes her head "no" when I guess the wrong thing, and nods "yes" when I get it. This is so much fun. Yeah, there are tough days, and there are tough moments within every day. But overall, having a kid is simply delightful. I really can't express how great it is. Before Elise was born - even before we were expecting her - people insisted on telling me how hard it was to be a parent. They would find out that I wanted to have a large family and they laughed at me, telling me I would change my mind as soon as a became a parent. I always wanted to refute their confident claims, but felt that I had no right to do so. How could I, a non-parent, tell a parent that I knew I wanted a lot of kids, and that I fully expected to enjoy being a parent? I couldn't. But now, more than a year and a half into this endeavor, I know that I do love being a parent, and I still would like a large family. And there are still people who laugh at me. "You want how many kids? Oh, just wait until you have more than one!" And I can only smile. Of course I cannot prove that I will enjoy having multiple children while I have only one. But I strongly suspect that I will. I guess time will tell.

We don't drive a minivan - yet.

I just thought this was really funny.

Not quite finished

Yesterday I spent the better part of the day working on Elise's playroom. We recently moved the contents of my sewing room into the basement with the intention of turning the sewing room into a playroom. We had been playing with the idea for a while (no pun intended), and then some friends of ours gave Elise a tent. That's right, a tent. Or rather, a tent city. It consists of two pup tents, a tipi, and two tunnels to connect all three tents. It is huge, and there was no way it was going in the living room, nor was there room for it in Elise's bedroom. That sealed the deal. Elise was getting a playroom. We quickly got the room to a point where Elise could play it in without constant supervision, and then our efforts dwindled and we didn't get much else done. So yesterday I concentrated on the playroom, to the neglect of the rest of the house, I'm afraid. I am resisting the temptation to say that it's done. It's not done. There is still a pegboard of sewing notions on the wall, and the only child-friendly thing on the wall is a string of lights with colorful paper shades, purchased over two years ago with the intention of putting it up in the nursery, and then stuffed into a closet, where it remained until yesterday's excavation. Putting colorful, playful things on the walls is part of my plan for the playroom, so I cannot say that it is finished quite yet.

I try not to do that. To say something is finished when it is not. I am reminded of my college days - really not all that long ago. I did not have a car, so my friend Bob kindly gave me a ride to church on Sunday mornings. He would knock at my door and ask if I was ready to go, and almost inevitably I would say, "Yes, I just need to [find my coat/put on my shoes/get my Bible/tell my roommate I'm going/etc.]." At first Bob would say, humorously, "Well, then, you're not really ready to go, are you?" After a while, he didn't have to say anything. He would just stand in the doorway with an amused look on his face. It was funny, a bit of a joke, but it actually had quite an impact on me. It was a lesson in saying what I mean and meaning what I say.

Think about how often we do this. "Dinner's ready, I just have to set the table." "My paper is done, I just have to do the bibliography." "The laundry is done, I just have to fold it." Am I the only one who does this? It's a strange thing, to claim completion when we are oh so close to it. I think perhaps we deny ourselves that great, full sense of satisfaction that comes with a job well done when we try to experience that satisfaction prematurely. How much more satisfying is it to say, "Dinner's ready." "My paper is done." "The laundry is done." Last week Andy and I purchased a wedding gift for a friend, and we had the store gift wrap it for us. Now, granted, there wasn't a whole lot of satisfaction due to the work involved. How hard is it to find an item listed on a registry, carry it to the counter, hand the clerk a plastic card, and receive a beautifully wrapped gift in exchange? Not hard. But still, leaving the store with the gift all wrapped was extremely satisfying. (I realize I am greatly overusing that word.) To know that it was in our car, completely ready to go, and there was nothing more I had to do with it - it was great! I love that sense of completion. I am done. I am finished. What's next?

I'll let you know when I'm done with the playroom.

Keep your head up!

I haven't posted much lately, have I? I haven't really felt that I've had much to write about, which for me oftentimes means that I haven't been thinking critically about things as much as I should. Not always, of course. Sometimes the things on my mind or the events in my life, both good and bad, are just too personal to share on a blog. Frequently, though, I find that I make it my goal to "make it through" the day, and I take on a "put your head down and plough on through" mentality. There are times when such an attitude is necessary, I think. There are times when you need to focus on the task at hand and not allow yourself to be distracted. But I believe that should be an exception. You miss a lot when you have your head down. Beauty, the needs of others, insights, opportunities. I do not wish to aim for a life of no interruptions. That certainly isn't the example that Jesus gave. He lived His life with purpose, always moving towards the cross; but His daily life was characterized by interruptions, by people clamoring for His attention. It was also characterized by what most would consider petty mundanities. Dirty feet, quarreling friends, bad weather. I think of the events that have characterized my life over the last week - dirty diapers, demanding people, tulip-eating squirrels. It is hard to think of these experiences as meaningful, as more than annoyances and interruptions. But if I lift my head and look around me, I can see that these things are not just interruptions to my life - they are my life. And that might sound depressing, but it's not. It's not that the mundane and irritating things make life dull. It's that life makes the mundane and irritating things beautiful. Okay, so I still haven't seen the beauty in the squirrels eating my tulips. I'm working on it.

Well, I'd better not write more just now. There are some beautiful dirty dishes and meaningful laundry calling my name.

And nothing to show for it

Lately I have been focusing on one particular WIP, but I cannot post any pictures of it because the expectant mommy/intended recipient reads this blog. She knows about it already, so it's okay for me to say that, but she doesn't know what it looks like, and I don't plan on letting her know until it's finished. So, I am sorry to say, I cannot share pictures. I will try to remember to take pictures along the way, though, so that I can post them later. It's sometimes hard to remember to do that when I'm working on something in snippets of time that I steal here and there. When my focus is "how much can I get done before Elise wakes up?", taking pictures does not usually cross my mind. And now I do my sewing in the basement, where the natural light is very, very poor, so taking pictures requires the added effort of taking the materials upstairs. I know, I know, that makes me sound really lazy.

Very little sewing has been done here recently. We're all under the weather, and for me that means that I spend Elise's naptime recuperating from the morning, and the hours after Elise goes to bed are spent recuperating from the rest of the day. I wish I had a crochet project underway right now, as that would be a nice thing to do while resting. All of the ripple blankets and granny square afghans that have been showing up on various blogs have tempted me, but I am determined to get my list of WIP projects completed - or at least significantly diminished - before taking on something so large.

Last weekend I found this book at an antique store. I had this book when I was a very young child. I received it for my first birthday, I think...or maybe as a gift when I was born. I had two nursery rhyme books, and I'm not sure which was gifted on which occasion. Regardless, I was thrilled when I found this one. I wasn't looking for it. So much for waiting to collect children's books, eh?

Quote and 100th Post

"Resentment is like drinking poison and then waiting for the other person to die." - Unknown (I looked for a reference online and found several, and I am not going to guess which one is correct.)

My pastor quoted this in his sermon this morning. I thought it was a very good simile. He has been doing a series of sermons called "The Bible Guide to Relationships", based on 1 Corinthians 13. I haven't heard all of the sermons in the series so far, but the ones I have heard have been just about the most practical and applicable sermons I have ever heard. I really appreciate that.

On another note, this is the 100th post to this blog. The one year anniversary of this blog's beginning occurred last week. It would have been cool if the two events - one year and 100th post - had coincided, but they did not, and I felt that forcing them to do so would be too - well, forced. I have enjoyed blogging over this past year and see no reason why I should stop in the near future. I have especially enjoyed reading the blogs of my friends, as well as the blogs of some people that I do not know but who share either my recreational interests or my faith. In rare but wonderful cases, they share both. In fact, my husband will tell you, checking and reading these blogs has become a part of my daily routine. In some ways I feel that it allows me a bit of interaction with other adults, something that is sometimes (but not always) missing from my weekday life with a toddler. So thank you, all who read and comment on my musings, and all who allow me to read and comment on yours.

Favorite Artists

I really love children's books. Really. I love the simple stories, the unabashed sentimentality, and especially the beautiful illustrations. I realized recently that illustrators of children's books are among my favorite artists. I don't know much about current artists; I don't know who is "big" right now and who isn't; and I wouldn't have a clue which pieces were significant at an art auction or gallery. But I love the work of some illustrators. I guess this is because I am reading a lot of children's books these days, and they are pretty much all heavily illustrated. (I'm reading to a toddler.) In other words, that is the art that I am seeing the most of. And it is beautiful. Richard Scarry, Jan Brett, Eloise Wilkin (I think she is my favorite), Garth Williams...they are tremendous artists.

I recently learned that my pastor's wife collects children's books. I thought this was a great idea. (My husband will groan when he reads this.) What a fantastic thing to collect! Of course, for the next many years I'll be able to gather children's books for my own children, so I don't really need to "collect" them at this time. I am so delighted by the many sweet and beautiful books that are out there. Of course, as with all genres of books, there are a lot of trashy books out there as well. They're pretty easy to spot, though. Like this. And you have to be careful about what you buy, because a lot of children's books authors - especially celebrity authors - donate a portion (or all) of the sales proceeds to charities, which is great, but you want to be careful about what you're supporting with your purchase. Madonna's The English Roses proceeds, for example, benefit this.

These are two books that I have particularly enjoyed and admired lately:

You Are My I Love You by Maryann Cusimano
How Do I Love You? by P.K. Hallinan

And here are a couple of Elise's favorites:

Crazy Caterpillars by Sue Whiting
God Bless by Stephanie Longfoot

Proof That I Love My Daughter

I just gave her my last Thin Mint Girl Scout cookie.
Ah, the sacrifices mothers make for their children!

Now What?

Last night I wanted to sew, but all of my current projects seemed too daunting for the late hour. I spent some time just looking through my fabric bins, thinking what a nice such-and-such this or that fabric would make. Eventually I came to a small stack of blue and yellow squares. I bought them about a year ago, pre-cut. I don't remember if I had a particular project in mind for them, or if I just got them because I loved the blue and yellow combination. (I have always loved blue & yellow.) Naturally, I decided to sew them together. (Isn't that what you're supposed to do when you want to sew but are too tired to be creative? Sew random bits of fabric together?) Now I have this 8"x12" rectangle, and I think it's quite pretty, but I don't know what to do with it. I thought maybe placemats would be nice (I have red & green placemats in a patchwork pattern, and I really like them), but I couldn't make a matching set as I only had two of each fabric square. I could make a similar second placemat, but not an exact replica. Then I thought maybe a throw pillow. Then again, it could be a single placemat, and I could just use it in the center of the table, almost like a doily, or to line a tray with. Hmm.

Any ideas?

Book List

I don't know who originally came up with this list, but I am curious about how many of them I have actually read, so here goes:

In the list of books below, bold the ones you’ve read, italicize the ones you want to read, cross out the ones you won’t touch with a ten-foot pole, put a cross (+) in front of the ones on your book shelf , and asterisk (*) the ones you’ve never heard of.

1. +The Da Vinci Code (Dan Brown)
2. +Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)
3. To Kill A Mockingbird (Harper Lee)
4. Gone With The Wind (Margaret Mitchell)
5. +The Lord of the Rings: Return of the King (Tolkien)
6. +The Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (Tolkien)
7. +The Lord of the Rings: Two Towers (Tolkien)
8. Anne of Green Gables (L. M. Montgomery)
9. *Outlander (Diana Gabaldon)
10. *A Fine Balance (Rohinton Mistry)
11. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (Rowling)
12. Angels and Demons (Dan Brown)
13. Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Rowling)
14. A Prayer for Owen Meany (John Irving)
15. Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
16. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (Rowling)
17. *Fall on Your Knees (Ann-Marie MacDonald)
18. *The Stand (Stephen King)
19. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban(Rowling)
20. Jane Eyre (Charlotte Bronte)
21. +The Hobbit (Tolkien)
22. The Catcher in the Rye (J. D. Salinger)
23. +Little Women (Louisa May Alcott)
24. The Lovely Bones (Alice Sebold)
25. Life of Pi (Yann Martel)
26. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (Douglas Adams)
27. Wuthering Heights (Emily Bronte)
28. +The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe (C. S. Lewis)
29. East of Eden (John Steinbeck)
30. Tuesdays with Morrie (Mitch Albom)
31. Dune (Frank Herbert)
32. The Notebook (Nicholas Sparks)
33. *Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand)
34. 1984 (Orwell)
35. *The Mists of Avalon (Marion Zimmer Bradley)
36. *The Pillars of the Earth (Ken Follett)
37. *The Power of One (Bryce Courtenay)
38.*I Know This Much is True (Wally Lamb)
39. The Red Tent (Anita Diamant)
40. *The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
41. *The Clan of the Cave Bear (Jean M. Auel)
42. *The Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)
43. Confessions of a Shopaholic (Sophie Kinsella)
44. The Five People You Meet In Heaven (Mitch Albom)
45. +Bible
46. Anna Karenina (Tolstoy)
47. The Count of Monte Cristo (Alexandre Dumas)
48. Angela’s Ashes (Frank McCourt)
49. The Grapes of Wrath (John Steinbeck)
50. *She’s Come Undone (Wally Lamb)
51. The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver)
52. A Tale of Two Cities (Dickens)
53. *Ender’s Game (Orson Scott Card)
54. +Great Expectations (Dickens)
55. +The Great Gatsby (Fitzgerald)
56. *The Stone Angel (Margaret Laurence)
57. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Rowling)
58. The Thorn Birds (Colleen McCullough)
59. The Handmaid’s Tale (Margaret Atwood)
60. *The Time Traveller’s Wife (Audrew Niffenegger)
61. Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoyevsky)
62. *The Fountainhead (Ayn Rand)
63. War and Peace (Tolstoy)
64. Interview with the Vampire (Anne Rice)
65. *Fifth Business (Robertson Davis)
66. *One Hundred Years Of Solitude (Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
67. The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants (Ann Brashares)
68. Catch-22 (Joseph Heller)
69. Les Miserables (Hugo)
70. The Little Prince (Antoine de Saint-Exupery)
71. Bridget Jones’ Diary (Fielding)
72. Love in the Time of Cholera (Marquez)
73. *Shogun (James Clavell)
74. The English Patient (Michael Ondaatje)
75. +The Secret Garden (Frances Hodgson Burnett)
76. *The Summer Tree (Guy Gavriel Kay)
77. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (Betty Smith)
78. *The World According To Garp (John Irving)
79. *The Diviners (Margaret Laurence)
80. +Charlotte’s Web (E.B. White)
81. *Not Wanted On the Voyage (Timothy Findley)
82. Of Mice And Men (Steinbeck)
83. *Rebecca (Daphne DuMaurier)
84. *Wizard’s First Rule (Terry Goodkind)
85. +Emma (Jane Austen)
86. Watership Down (Richard Adams)
87. Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)
88. *The Stone Diaries (Carol Shields)
89. *Blindness (Jose Saramago)
90. *Kane and Abel (Jeffrey Archer)
91. *In The Skin Of A Lion (Ondaatje)
92. +Lord of the Flies (Golding)
93. The Good Earth (Pearl S. Buck)
94. The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)
95. The Bourne Identity (Robert Ludlum)
96. *The Outsiders (S. E. Hinton)
97. White Oleander (Janet Fitch)
98. *A Woman of Substance (Barbara Taylor Bradford)
99. *The Celestine Prophecy (James Redfield)
100. Ulysses (James Joyce)

Sad. I have only read 15 of the 100 books on this list. I didn't recognize 34% of the titles. And there are two that I wouldn't touch - Interview With The Vampire and The Stand - but I couldn't figure out how to cross them out.

P.S. Thanks for the strike tip, Bob. Since posting this list, I have watched (sort of) the movie The DaVinci Code, and I no longer want to read the book. It was a bit like National Treasure, only the humor, humanity, and honor were replaced by oppression, depravity, and heresy. Dan Brown's mind must be in the clutches of something very ugly.

Einstein

I just read an interesting statement made by Albert Einstein. He wrote an essay entitled "Some Notes on my American Impressions". For the most part, his impressions were very flattering to Americans. He held our country in high regard in most areas, commenting on things such as the efficiency of our industries, the convenience of our buildings, and the limited (!) involvement of the State in private matters. (This was written, of course, many decades ago.) But one statement in particular caught my attention. He does not use a particularly negative tone, and I do not know whether he considered this characteristic to be positive or negative. Here it is:

"Great importance attaches to the material comforts of life, and peace, freedom from care, security are all sacrificed to them. The American lives for ambition, the future, more than the European. Life for him is always becoming, never being."

Always becoming, never being. No wonder medications for high blood pressure are so commonplace. Something to ponder.

American Soldier

Last December, I told you about my brother, Nathan. (fifth paragraph down) Just recently, I learned that he will indeed be deployed to Iraq, although we're not entirely sure when that will happen. Sometime between September and January, it sounds like. I am so proud of him for serving our country in this way, although naturally I am also concerned for his safety, and would appreciate your prayers in that regard.

Nathan's lovely wife, Laura, posted this photo tribute, and has graciously allowed me to share it with you. Turn your speakers on! (P.S. It takes a few seconds to get going.)

American Soldier

Add to My Profile More Videos

Some Updates

I've just added a few features to this blog. You'll find links to the blogs of some friends of mine, as well as a list of books that I have read this year. I almost didn't include that list, because Bob's list just puts me to shame. But then I thought that may be a silly reason to not post my own.

Hopefully there will be more in the days to come. I hope to get some pictures posted soon.

Logic

After a late dinner and a sad goodbye (I think I've mentioned previously that my parents and younger brother have just moved to North Carolina), my sisters, brother-in-law, and two nephews climbed into their car to go home. Everyone was quiet after the sobering evening. Everyone except for three year old Jacob, who probably did not quite grasp the gloomy spirit of his relatives. He sat in his carseat saying, "Pah" over and over again. (Imagine "pop" without the last "p".) "Pah...pah....pah...pah..." Finally his father asked him to be quiet. Jacob's response:

"But, Da-ad! I'm saying 'pah'!"

How do you argue with that?

"Ma, they don't qualify as leftovers if they're still warm!"

Taking into account several factors - nutrition, taste, money, time - Andy and I have been making a concerted effort to prepare good, homemade meals. And this is great. We enjoy cooking together. We enjoy sitting down to eat dinner at the table together. We enjoy controlling the flavors that go into the food we eat. But there is one downfall: leftovers.

Now, in all fairness, this isn't really a downfall. It's actually a benefit. It's nice to have some good leftovers in the fridge. If there are no leftovers, I usually don't eat lunch. Silly, I know, but it's true. I just don't take time out of my day to make a sandwich, unless I feel really hungry or weak. (Note: it's not a good habit to wait until you are weak before you eat.) So for this reason, leftovers are a very good thing. But currently we have the following leftovers in our refrigerator:

• chicken tortilla soup
• pasta/bell pepper/sausage/basil dish
• rice & broccoli in puff pastry
• fettuccine alfredo
• salad
• lime Jell-O
• cranberry/raspberry Jell-O
• chocolate pudding
• birthday cake
• a fish stick

This presents a challenge. I really do hate to see food go to waste. Elise and I are doing our best here, but I'm afraid we're no match for all this food. Maybe we should have leftovers for dinner tonight...

What I've Been Doing

Andy found these great copies of Little Women and Little Men at a used bookstore the other day. He actually brought every copy the store had for me to inspect, and these are the two I chose. The copy of Little Women is just lovely - really well bound, with attractive pages and type. Actually, Little Men is much the same way, but it is an older copy - 1947, I think - so it is a bit more fragile and has a nice vintage quality to it. I like them. (Little Women is my all-time favorite book. I think this is my fourth copy of it.)


Last fall, I made my first (and, so far, only) crocheted blanket, with the intention of using it as a lap blanket in the living room. When I began the blanket, we had a red-striped slipcover on our sofa. By the time I finished the blanket, we had switched to a blue plaid sofa. Oh, well. Anyway, Andy immediately adopted the red blanket as his own, which greatly pleased me. It's nice to see something you have made being used and appreciated. However, I was still without a reading/watching TV/hanging out in the living room blanket of my own, and I wanted one that coordinated a bit better with the blue sofa. So I made this one, mostly from fabric that I already had, supplemented by a few fat quarters. I backed it with a large brown flannel print, which makes it extra soft and warm, and then I used the same flannel for the binding, just to make things easier.



On Tuesday, I made marshmallows for the first time. I'm really pleased with how they turned out. I haven't made much in the way of candy, so I was a little nervous about this, but everything worked out fine. Next time I'll work on making them pretty. This time I was just aiming for general marshmallowiness.



So there you have it - some of the fun things in my life from the past few days (well, last few weeks in the case of the blanket).

18 months and counting...

Last Saturday was Elise's 18-month birthday. Eighteen months. She's not a baby anymore. I guess technically babies are considered to be people who are twelve months of age and younger, but there are some baby traits that hang on after that point. But now...not so much. Elise is learning to run, talk, feed herself (with utensils!), navigate stairs, and climb. She's learning how to use good manners and how to be patient (although those lessons are significantly more difficult, it seems, than the lessons of physical skills). She is beginning to recognize numbers and letters - only as objects, not concepts, of course, but still... She acknowledges the difference between an accident and wrongdoing. She remembers things. For example, she has this little Baby Einstein DVD that we sometimes let her watch, and there is a part where objects ("food from the farm") slide onto the screen from various directions. She points to the empty space where the next object will go, before the object appears, and sometimes will say the name of it before it appears. She is showing signs of being ready for potty-training. Yep...my little girl is growing up.

Having an eighteen month old is very tiring. I read this excerpt from On Becoming Toddler Wise by Gary Ezzo, M.A. and Robert Bucknam, M.D. "There is no question that a toddler's mom is a tired mom, and for good reason. The emotional and physical energy needed to supervise an energy-packed tot can take down the most physically fit mom....Never so beautiful does this child look to his weary mom as he does when he closes his eyes in sleep." Just reading that was a little bit encouraging to me. It made me think that I'm not the only mother who is worn out by caring for a toddler. (My thoughts are with Beth now, caring for both a toddler and a newborn!) But at the same time, having a toddler is so much fun. I've never been around anyone who finds such joy in discovery as a toddler. Everything is interesting to her. I love watching Elise grow and learn. I love hearing her say a word for the first time. I love watching her dance. She is a bundle of energy, it's true. She is curiosity on legs. She keeps me busy. But she is so precious. Tiring as this job can be, I wouldn't trade it for anything. (Right now, Elise is sitting in her booster seat, having just finished a snack, and she is going through all the animal noises she knows. I have no idea what prompted this recital, but it's awfully cute.)

It's exciting to think of what the next six or twelve months may hold. I'm in no hurry for that time to pass, but I am looking forward to seeing Elise grow and learn even more. Last night, as I twisted in my car seat for the 100th time (so it seemed) to reach Elise's fallen book and give it back to her, I commented to Andy that it will be so nice when Elise is able to do that on her own. I then immediately chided myself for the comment as I realized that I was wishing away a most precious time. I know that someday soon I will be helping Elise pack for college, or will be watching her walk down the aisle towards a man who will be the object of her highest affection. And today will just be a fond memory, and I will be wishing that I had it back. So I won't wish it away while I have it.

Is That Weird?

Last night, as my husband was trying to fall asleep, I had to ask him a pressing question. I said, "Honey, I have a question. You know how when you're upside-down your eyes see everything around you as upside-down? I don't. When I'm upside-down, everything still looks right-side-up to me. Is that weird?" He replied by rolling over to face me and asking, "What do you do after I leave for work in the morning?"

But it's true. As a kid, when you hang upside-down from the monkey bars, the world around you appears to be upside-down, right? Not for me. For whatever reason, my brain makes the adjustment and I don't perceive my surroundings as upside-down. They look entirely normal - right-side-up - to me. Now of course that's not true of my perception of individual objects. If you came into my house and turned my coffee table upside down, I would notice. But that's only because it would be upside down in relation to the things around it. When everything is upside down (or when I am upside down, thus making everything else upside down in relation to me), I don't notice it.

Is that weird?