Kickin' Back

What could be better than chocolate milk, a good book, and a comfortable seat?
I love that she can rest her head and entire torso on a throw pillow.

Recipe and Good Blogs

I recently made this Lemonade Layer Cake, and it was really good. I didn't have cream cheese on hand, so I didn't make the frosting. I just used a store-bought buttercream, and then put sliced strawberries on top. Yum, yum, yum. Next time I'll put in more lemon rind - 1 T didn't make it quite lemon-y enough for my tastes. Of course, using the lemon frosting probably would have helped, too. This cake is definitely best when it is chilled.

I have enjoyed and been inspired by several blog posts recently and thought I'd share them with you. Some are sewing/craft blogs, others are thought-provoking writings about life.

The Merry Church Mouse has posted about her progress on this beautiful Moda quilt. I love these fabrics.

Artsy Crafty Babe has turned plain white onesies into darling little fashion statements.

Randi at I Have To Say has made these pretty totes. I just love how they look all lined up like that.

Creative Little Daisy shares her gratitude for some daily "problems".

My husband reminds us that the way we spend our time reflects our true priorities.

Randi at I Have To Say (again - what can I say, she's inspiring!) talks about what babies really need from their mothers.

Crazy Mom Quilts is one of my favorite craft blogs. If you're into craft blogs, you really should just read the whole thing. Some of my recent favorite posts include this beautiful bright quilt and this bib tutorial (I tried it out - her instructions are flawless, and the bib turned out great!)

Craft Apple is very generous with her tutorials. My favorites are the Chenille-Backed Baby Blanket; the Patchwork Notebook Cover; and the Patchwork Notecards.

There are many, many more, but I think this list should keep you busy for a while.

Gardens and Cakes

After acquiring some heavy duty gardening gloves over the weekend, I tackled the "garden" again. Isn't it pretty? Just kidding. Wish I had taken a "before" picture. See the dead grass in front of and the weeds in back of the plot? Just imagine the whole thing filled with those. That's what it looked like. Now it's time for some flowers.


After our yard work was done, Elise and I rewarded ourselves with some milk and strawberry-lemon cake. Elise used the two-handed, scarf it down method. I preferred a fork.




I'm not sure why all of a sudden most of my photos are out of focus. I suspect it has something to do with the fact that my husband no longer leaves the camera on the "Photography for Dummies" setting, the one that worked well for me. I can't blame him. We've had the camera long enough now that I should know how to adjust it. Okay, honey, I'm ready to learn. Let's just start with the basics - and remember that our definitions of "basics" are different.

Summer Days

It's Monday. I went to bed last night feeling exhausted after a full weekend, and woke up this morning feeling refreshed and glad to start a new week. I love that.

We really had a good weekend. We ran errands - Andy handled Costco, I handled Joann's. I'm pretty much okay with that arrangement. We did some weekend projects at home - cleaned out the car and garage, mowed the yards (entirely Andy), made strawberry jam. Sadly, two of the seven jars didn't seal, and we had already made an extra jar that we didn't process, so now we have three jars of jam in the refrigerator. We just don't eat that much jam. I guess I'll try freezing it. Anyway. We visited some friends and their brand new baby in the hospital on Saturday. His name is John, but Elise immediately dubbed him Baby Non. Now the baby boys in her life are Baby Men (Ben) and Baby Non. On Sunday we went to a birthday party for a 2-year old friend...very fun and very energetic. Elise got pretty cranky - cake, ice cream, candy, and being the littlest person in a large group of kids will do that to you - so we left a bit early. Throw church into the mix, and all in all it was a good weekend.

I started reading Ronald Reagan's autobiography this weekend. It's a large book, but so far it's easy to read. I may slow down a bit when he starts talking about politics, as I'm just not knowledgeable enough in that area to breeze through chapters about foreign policy, but these early chapters about growing up in small town Illinois are familiar. I feel like I'm getting a glimpse of my grandparents' childhoods, as they also grew up in rural and small town Illinois at the same time as Reagan. It has been a long time since I've read an autobiography, and I think I'll want to read more after this one. The writing may not be the best - most autobiographers are not professional writers - but I appreciate the personal details of the story. Biographers can tell you the facts, but they can't usually tell you about the lessons learned in small moments of childhood that shaped the person's way of thinking.

Well, Monday is well under way now, and it's time to work. Laundry and vacuuming are on the list today, and oddly enough, I'm kind of looking forward to them.

My Better Half's 100th Post

You should read it. It's good.

Not-So-Extreme Makeover: Home Edition

I started looking around my home yesterday and was discouraged by the sight of several very cluttered, disorganized, tired areas. So I decided to clean them up and play photojournalist at the same time. Here are my before and after pictures:

This is the windowsill in my kitchen.


They say that collections look better when the items are grouped together. I agree. I never intended to collect pitchers, but somehow I did.



This is the bar that separates our kitchen and dining room. It is the biggest clutter collector in our house. Everything ends up there, as you can see.


Much better.

Let's play Where's The Printer?, shall we?

Ah, there it is!

The top of the microwave - aka, spare key excavation site.

I even set the clock! No more 0:00.

The bathroom sink. Not exactly the most pleasant thing to see right before going to bed, or right after waking up.

Doesn't my toothbrush look happier?

Our nightstand. I've kept those candleholders out for...uh...years. Cause I like them. I've had candles in them...uh...twice?

I love being able to see surfaces.

I feel much better now.

Another chore I did yesterday was cleaning the dishwasher. It was...gross. The dishwasher hadn't been draining well, so I tackled the drain. Ew. But it was a very satisfying job to complete, and I now feel quite secure about the cleanliness of my dishes. That's always nice.

Today's project was supposed to be yard work. I headed outside to weed the "garden". By garden I mean 3'x6' raised pasture. It was supposed to be a garden, but when you let it go until July 6 without doing anything - anything, including tilling and planting - then it becomes a jungle of grass, clover, dandelions, and thorns. Nice. So I set out to empty it of all wild plants (that would be all green life currently in it), thinking that I would then put in some nice, super easy flower seeds or something. I grabbed the hoe and went to work. 25 minutes, a garbage bag's worth of weeds, an allergy flare-up, and one painful popped blister later, I was inside seeking iced tea and triple antibiotic ointment. What a wimp I've become! After Elise's nap this afternoon, we'll be heading to the local nursery in search of good gardening gloves and some easy-to-plant plants, preferably already in bloom, for some incentive to finish the job.

I'm not a gardener. Not at all. My mom is a propagation manager at a very large nursery. Maybe the green thumb gene is the kind that skips a generation. Maybe I should turn the yard over to Elise. Hmm. Anyway, I would like to be a gardener. I'm just realizing and accepting that it's something I have to practice. I have to cultivate and weed and plant and weed and water and weed and fertilize and weed. I can't just look at our jungle and sigh and wonder why it isn't beautiful. I am rather impatient when it comes to learning. If something doesn't come naturally to me, I get discouraged, and I tend to avoid things that I know don't come naturally to me - sports, art, etc. I'm not proud of this fact, but I am glad that I recognize it. Admitting you have a problem is the first step towards solving it, right? Thus...gardening. Baby steps.

I really do sew.

I know that I profess to sew and then very rarely produce evidence to support that claim. So here are a few recent projects.


This is a quilt that I cut out last night. It'll be small and very simple, and it'll probably end up in Elise's room, given the girly floweriness of the fabrics.


This is my scary project box. When Andy and I rearranged the basement, I threw all abandoned postponed projects into this bin. It contains chair cushions to be repaired, clothing to be repaired, pillowcases to be turned into these bags, cross stitch projects, a tablerunner to be embroidered, and two unfinished quilts.


This is my first attempt at sewing clothes. (Except for once when I was twelve and my mom tried to teach me to sew a dress for myself. I picked out a pattern and fabric, and I think I may have put on a few buttons. Mom ended up doing the rest. It turned out well!) This is a dress for Elise, although it's a little too big around the middle, so I guess I should add a sash. I caught too much fabric when sewing the bodice to the skirt, so I'll need to redo that. I'm really diggin' the 5/8" seam allowance...much more forgiving than the strict 1/4" used in quilting.

And here are some pretty things that have found their way into our home recently:

This sweet little embroidery is on a pillowcase that I picked up for $.50 at a thrift store. It's not vintage, but I thought it was really sweet. I'm so glad I have a little girl and thus can bring home pink pillowcases with embroidered kittens on them, without getting funny looks from my husband. Okay, so I still get funny looks, but at least now I can say, "It's for Elise!" - unlike when we were just married and I bought a Strawberry Shortcake twin sheet at an antique store (really, should things from the 80s be in antique stores already?). I might be a tad nostalgic.


I also brought home another $.50 pillowcase, this one truly vintage. The fabric is so soft, the way good linens get after years and years of use. It, too, is embroidered, with pink dogwood flowers. I love dogwoods. I was thrilled to find that our neighbor has a big dogwood tree that hangs over our fenceline. (I wasn't quite as thrilled when the blooms fell and I had to rake up all the dead pits.) When I was growing up, we had two dogwood trees (plus a few saplings here and there, but two that left an impression). They were both wild. One grew at the edge of the shaded lane that wrapped around one side of our property, and it looked so pretty with its white flowers against the backdrop of big oak and maple and hickory trees. The other was magnificent. It was hidden in our woods, in the "second clearing". Our woods were pretty thick, but my dad and brother cut a path through them. I didn't think much of it at the time, but looking back I realize that that must have been a huge job! My brother and his friend even built log bridges over the little streams so we could ride our bikes through the woods. Ah, memories. Anyway, so you'd walk through the woods until you hit the first clearing, which was just a small meadow in the middle of the woods. Then you'd walk some more, go over the little stream, and then hit the second clearing...another small meadow. This one was beautiful. It had a giant cedar tree on one side, and a huge, amazing wild dogwood tree on the other. We didn't go back there very often, as it was pretty deep into the woods (deep for a child), but I remember whenever we first saw the dogwood in bloom each spring, we'd run back to the house to tell everyone else about it. It was a beautiful tree. I liked that it was hidden. I liked that we had to go through the woods to see it. It was like our own little secret garden. I still like "hidden" beauty, details in my home that only my family and I would ever see. I should cultivate those details more.


Some friends of ours recently gave us a big box of assorted Franciscan dishes. They are moving and are cleaning out their attic and garage, and decided not to take these with them. I've always liked this set. I like that they are simple and pretty and practical. They also go very well with the dogwood pillowcase, don't you think? Unfortunately, there is not much call for matching one's bed linens with one's dishes.

I thought it was too quiet...

This is what happens when you give a toddler rigatoni and a cup with a straw.

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.