It has been a real whirlwind of all the things over here lately. Two weeks ago (that long already??) my dear sister in law welcomed her fourth child via VBAC, and our little village has been pretty busy rallying with food, child care of her older three, and whatever other sundries she needs while recovering. I had the great honor of serving as my SIL's doula at her delivery, which is a whole other post about how that was the highlight of my entire life, but what you need to know is it happened overnight. Dear Lydia made her entrance at 3:44 a.m. I learned two things that night: 1) Childbirth is every bit a miracle when witnessed rather than experienced/survived. Oh my heart. and 2) I am no spring chicken anymore. It took me a solid week to recover from missing that night of sleep and now I have a cough and cold. I am officially an old lady because I had thoughts like, "What fool person would stay up all night on purpose?" My inner adolescent might have shed a tear.
Then, my hubby suggested that we move our guest room downstairs and shift the library/office up to the baby's room. What you need to know is that my love language is rearranging furniture. Of course, this project stretched over the course of a week as we trucked books upstairs and bedroom furniture back down. But it's finished, so hey, come and stay with us sometime!
Also, this Saturday we plan to paint our main downstairs living area. We are hurrying to get the furniture switch squared away as much as necessary to be able to prep the space for this big job. Phase 2 will be painting the trim, with replacing doors and maybe door frames as Phase 3. It seemed like a simple enough idea at the outset, and one that will update our home by a couple of decades without breaking the bank, but...with three young kids, every sprint becomes a marathon, yes? That weekend project takes over your home for a month because you didn't get to finish painting, so you left the painter's tape up and the switch plates off, so you left the furniture pushed around a bit so you wouldn't have to move it again, etc. etc. And all because the baby didn't take his nap that he always takes like clockwork, chopping a solid hour off of your painting day. Not that I expect this to happen on Saturday because that is the one project that is sure to go without a hitch. Hahahaha.
And then there's the whole "hi, it's spring, and obviously 81 degrees all week!" thing that has twisted my arm into the whole rotating bins of clothing thing for the kids. I only just located some shorts for my poor daughter, who has been referring to her one pair of capris as shorts because, well, they were her only not-pants. And then the shoes. The shoes! My kids outgrew their boots, then their sneakers, which I just replaced only to find that hey, sandals would be good now. If anyone has found the answer to keeping their kids in adequately-fitting footwear for longer than a month at a time, please subscribe me to your newsletter.
Then of course the typical cooking, cleaning, yard work, keep the kids alive and generally out of danger, blah blah blah which only takes thirteen of my sixteen waking hours. I'm working on planning (just) ahead on preschool lessons, which has paid dividends in getting my kids some structure and passing these spring hours a bit more productively. We started piano lessons which is not at all like nailing jello to a wall. The important thing is the love of music, not the technical perfection, I keep telling myself between deep breaths and shots of coffee.
What have you been up to? Has the long-awaited arrival of spring turned you into a hypomanic overachiever, too? Are you doing all of the things, or have you managed to slow down and smell a few freshly-blooming lilacs? To all things a season. This might be one of my favorites!
Showing posts with label Life at Large. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life at Large. Show all posts
Blogging From the Surface of the Sun
I'm writing this at 11pm, which makes this post somewhat akin to a unicorn and means that Oliver is for some reason not singing his 10:45 "I miss you momma" song on the monitor.
I don't usually get inspiration this late so you know I took a nap or drank wine or something. (Oh fudge. It was the fudge.)
Anyway I was getting ready for bed tonight when I glanced in the mirror and thought wow, self, looking good. You are really bouncing back from that whole third baby ordeal. Nice.
And then I spotted my glasses sitting on the dresser, which explains that particular moment of self pride.
In other news, my bedside lamp died today so Joel replaced it temporarily with this goose neck one my parents gave us. It is usually my sewing lamp. Which means it is not so much setting the ambiance. The light bulb is literally too large for the decorative frosted lampshade and looks to be about 900 watts. It is like having the sun in our room at night. Every time Joel looks over from his side of the bed, he makes this super dramatic reaction like all of his retinal cones are simultaneously combusting. So I wait just long enough to seem casual and nonchalant and then say, "Hey Joel" and wait for him to look over and go blind again.
The best part is that it has worked three times. Poor Joel, just trying to read his book. (Fourth time is not the charm, btw, he is totally wise to me now. He said, "I'M NOT LOOKING.")
As an aside, the next time I blog from my phone I'm just going to leave all of the autocorrects and see if you can translate what I've said. It's amazing.
We've made it to 11:05 with no caterwauling so now that I've typed that baby boy will no doubt shatter the silence. Or wait til I am enjoying that last snuggle into my electric blanket where the covers are just right and my eyes are closing and I've found the perfect spot on my pillow because HE KNOWS.
No but really. I'm signing off so that I can pretend to go to sleep but actually end up in his room within the next forty five seconds. Sweet dreams, tall.
And sweet dreams, autocorrect.
ETA: Oliver woke up at 11:17 as my head hit the pillow. Called it.
ETA: Oliver woke up at 11:17 as my head hit the pillow. Called it.
(Not) A Story of True Courage and Inspiration
I'm not sure why I clicked on the "31+ Hair Braiding Secrets" if not for myself. After all, my almost-four-year-old hasn't even required a haircut, save to clean up a few straggling hairs. I told myself, laughably, that I would brush up on some braiding skills for when her hair gets longer, so that she can have a sweet "Princess Elsa" side fishtail braid and think I am the coolest mom ever. No, I lied inside my head, it's not like I will be using these on my own hair!
After all, if ever there were a diagnosable hair-styling disability, then I would have it. The highlight of my styling career was the double ponytail, but I had to leave that behind when the 90's ended, for obvious reasons. (Although according to that link, maybe they are coming back? Score!) Lately I have been attempting this side twist ponytail thing that works at home, but isn't really presentable.
Enter fifteen year old poppet on a Youtube tutorial, explaining to me how to oh-so-easily French braid my own hair. Something snapped inside me. If this little whipper-snapper can French braid her hair, then surely I, a reasonably intelligent, educated, determined thirty-something could learn to do so as well. Forget the painful memory of blood-drained limbs struggling to keep my baby-fine sections of hair in place. Forget the burning muscles of my upper arms and the eventual ponytail waving its white flag for the remainder of the day.
No, those tens, dozens even, of failures are in the past. Today is your day. Seize it. Divide it into three even parts and, for the love, BRAID IT. Frenchly.
Ok. Hairbrush, mirror, and laptop next to me on the couch. Fresh faced teenager ready to instruct me in her black magic. It's go time.
She's telling me to "just" do this, then that, brush it smooth, oh and "you'll figure out your own way how to hold your hair as you go!". Stop. Forgive me, but I wouldn't be watching a tutorial if I already knew how to use my ten left thumbs to hold and manipulate all this hair, would I? No, I would be looking in a mirror instead of at the back of YOUR head trying to decode your tricks.
Suffice it to say, I did NOT figure out how to hold my hair, and I endured several angsty moments of wondering which hair section, exactly, was supposed to be braided next because I can't SEE them because they are on the BACK OF MY HEAD. That, and I don't have a tri-section mirror or a third arm to give me the right visual angle back there. Not whining, just saying. It felt more like I was weaving a very tangled rug back there than neatly plaiting a braid. More rugged-Scandinavian than French, in any case.
Then my kids woke up from naps and joined me on the couch. You know what's even better than trying to master something you suck at, while not being able to see it? Endeavoring to do so with a sweaty two-year-old draped across your lap. My chiropractor would have been thrilled to see me "engaging my core" so diligently while styling my hair.
End result #1:
Slightly crooked, stragglers everywhere. Ok. As the judges from Cutthroat Kitchen would say, "Does it remind me of a french braid?" Yes. Maybe not church-ready, but mission accomplished.
The kids were into it, though. Mikayla was cheering me on: "Mommy, it looks pretty! It looks like what the girl was doing!" And Isaac, irrelevant but sweet: "I love you, Mommy." I told them I was going to try it a second time, and they asked me to turn around so they could watch me braid from the back. This time around, I think I was sweatier than my two-year-old. French braiding for upper body strength, who knew? Two reps and my arms are feeling it. But it came out a little better this time:
If you knew me and my hair-styling disability (rivaled only by my statistics disability, seriously), you would be doing straight HANDSPRINGS at this moment. (I'll forego the celebratory gymnastics myself, which aforementioned chiropractor would discourage anyway.) You guys. I would be willing to leave my house right now. Albeit just to the store or the playground, or anywhere with the kids so that I could play the whole nonchalant, "Oh, this? My hair gets so messy when I'm being such an awesome mom to my three little kids!" card. But still. No Ponytail of Defeat! Win!
And just wait til you see my braiding muscles start to develop. I'll be that totally ripped mom spinning her five month old on one finger. Or, you know, not.
Thanks for sharing in my little victory today! I needed this. It's been such a demanding couple of days. God grants these little graces sometimes, doesn't He? There are so many bigger, more important things going on, but I can enjoy the fact that my hair is braided while I weather the stresses today. To God be the glory for even this small blessing.
Learn to do an Elsa braid:
http://www.howdoesshe.com/31-hair-braiding-secrets/
"My" French-braiding tutorial:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2ru7d9yDWo
After all, if ever there were a diagnosable hair-styling disability, then I would have it. The highlight of my styling career was the double ponytail, but I had to leave that behind when the 90's ended, for obvious reasons. (Although according to that link, maybe they are coming back? Score!) Lately I have been attempting this side twist ponytail thing that works at home, but isn't really presentable.
Enter fifteen year old poppet on a Youtube tutorial, explaining to me how to oh-so-easily French braid my own hair. Something snapped inside me. If this little whipper-snapper can French braid her hair, then surely I, a reasonably intelligent, educated, determined thirty-something could learn to do so as well. Forget the painful memory of blood-drained limbs struggling to keep my baby-fine sections of hair in place. Forget the burning muscles of my upper arms and the eventual ponytail waving its white flag for the remainder of the day.
No, those tens, dozens even, of failures are in the past. Today is your day. Seize it. Divide it into three even parts and, for the love, BRAID IT. Frenchly.
Ok. Hairbrush, mirror, and laptop next to me on the couch. Fresh faced teenager ready to instruct me in her black magic. It's go time.
She's telling me to "just" do this, then that, brush it smooth, oh and "you'll figure out your own way how to hold your hair as you go!". Stop. Forgive me, but I wouldn't be watching a tutorial if I already knew how to use my ten left thumbs to hold and manipulate all this hair, would I? No, I would be looking in a mirror instead of at the back of YOUR head trying to decode your tricks.
Suffice it to say, I did NOT figure out how to hold my hair, and I endured several angsty moments of wondering which hair section, exactly, was supposed to be braided next because I can't SEE them because they are on the BACK OF MY HEAD. That, and I don't have a tri-section mirror or a third arm to give me the right visual angle back there. Not whining, just saying. It felt more like I was weaving a very tangled rug back there than neatly plaiting a braid. More rugged-Scandinavian than French, in any case.
Then my kids woke up from naps and joined me on the couch. You know what's even better than trying to master something you suck at, while not being able to see it? Endeavoring to do so with a sweaty two-year-old draped across your lap. My chiropractor would have been thrilled to see me "engaging my core" so diligently while styling my hair.
End result #1:
Slightly crooked, stragglers everywhere. Ok. As the judges from Cutthroat Kitchen would say, "Does it remind me of a french braid?" Yes. Maybe not church-ready, but mission accomplished.
The kids were into it, though. Mikayla was cheering me on: "Mommy, it looks pretty! It looks like what the girl was doing!" And Isaac, irrelevant but sweet: "I love you, Mommy." I told them I was going to try it a second time, and they asked me to turn around so they could watch me braid from the back. This time around, I think I was sweatier than my two-year-old. French braiding for upper body strength, who knew? Two reps and my arms are feeling it. But it came out a little better this time:
If you knew me and my hair-styling disability (rivaled only by my statistics disability, seriously), you would be doing straight HANDSPRINGS at this moment. (I'll forego the celebratory gymnastics myself, which aforementioned chiropractor would discourage anyway.) You guys. I would be willing to leave my house right now. Albeit just to the store or the playground, or anywhere with the kids so that I could play the whole nonchalant, "Oh, this? My hair gets so messy when I'm being such an awesome mom to my three little kids!" card. But still. No Ponytail of Defeat! Win!
And just wait til you see my braiding muscles start to develop. I'll be that totally ripped mom spinning her five month old on one finger. Or, you know, not.
Thanks for sharing in my little victory today! I needed this. It's been such a demanding couple of days. God grants these little graces sometimes, doesn't He? There are so many bigger, more important things going on, but I can enjoy the fact that my hair is braided while I weather the stresses today. To God be the glory for even this small blessing.
Learn to do an Elsa braid:
http://www.howdoesshe.com/31-hair-braiding-secrets/
"My" French-braiding tutorial:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o2ru7d9yDWo
The Big Move
I've been procrastinating this post for awhile - my first public thoughts since moving. Mostly because my thoughts haven't been fit for public consumption. Even now, I'm uncomfortably aware of the need to temper my thoughts and feelings with grace, because the honest truth is that deep down, I'm a grumpy, selfish 36-week-pregnant lady. But the even deeper truth is that God is so good to us, and has used the crucible of these last few weeks to teach me more about the depths of His grace than I ever expected.
On May 3, our little family moved in with Joel's parents and sister. We now outnumber the native inhabitants of the house, and will soon add a newborn to the mix. So when I think all my cranky thoughts about not having my own washer and dryer, my own kitchen, my own 1800 square feet in which to nest, the first thing I ought to remind myself (but usually fail to do so) is that we are not the ones who are being inconvenienced here. We are being welcomed, accommodated, and blessed by the generosity and hospitality of our family.
Two weeks in, and I'm finally starting to feel like I know which way is up. I'm starting to brainstorm what our routine could look like (Monday morning going to the park with some other mommas, including my dear sister in law and her kids; Wednesdays, library story time or Moms' Bible study depending on the week...). It helps me to anchor my days and weeks a bit, at least until baby brother arrives and throws everything off-kilter again. This morning we even ventured into Bible verse review at breakfast, something that hasn't crossed my mind in weeks, possibly months.
The first few days were some of the most emotionally intense times of my life. Battling exhaustion, unpacking our bare necessities into 1/20th (rough estimate) of the space we usually live in, changing my definition of necessity. We attended church the morning after we got here and the emotions felt like a punch to the gut. Walking into a church that I've visited over the past ten years as a girlfriend, fiance, and then wife to the pastor's son, suddenly felt oppressive and too much. The same warm hugs and smiles that previously felt so welcoming, now struck me as intrusive. I couldn't fight the mental repetition of, "This isn't my church family. My church family is a hundred miles away in a 200-year-old country church with stained glass windows that make it too hot in the sun, worshipping without me."
I realized then that I needed time to process, time to adjust, and time to, honestly, grieve. The past few weeks were such a whirlwind of packing and organizing and doing that I hadn't had much time to experience the feelings that go along with such a major transition. And by transition, I mean leaving absolutely everything familiar and beloved. Sure, we were heading toward many more things that were already familiar and beloved, as well as new and abundant blessings from the Lord, but at the same time there was a profound sense of loss that hit me like a brick.
I drove away from my job, my career, to become a stay at home mom on a Thursday. And two days later, I watched all my worldly possessions parade from my home into a truck, and finally and unceremoniously into two big, empty, windowless storage units. I said tearful goodbyes to best friends and dearest nannies. I threw gigantic silent pity parties for myself.
But you know what? God has been so good. Two weeks later, and I've gone shooting with the "Annie Oakley Club" from my new church (honestly I watched everyone else shoot because the gunshots sent baby brother into elbow-throwing hysterics, but it was still fun!), the ladies of my new church home are throwing a small "Baby Sprinkle" for us this Saturday to help us feel welcome (which we do!), and I played the piano for worship on Sunday. I've exchanged smiles, hugs, and stories with old and new friends. I've even determined the exact most helpful angle for the ironing board in the basement as I press Joel's work clothes every night. The roses are slowly outnumbering the thorns in this whole process, and it's not the circumstances that are changing; it's my heart.
On May 3, our little family moved in with Joel's parents and sister. We now outnumber the native inhabitants of the house, and will soon add a newborn to the mix. So when I think all my cranky thoughts about not having my own washer and dryer, my own kitchen, my own 1800 square feet in which to nest, the first thing I ought to remind myself (but usually fail to do so) is that we are not the ones who are being inconvenienced here. We are being welcomed, accommodated, and blessed by the generosity and hospitality of our family.
Two weeks in, and I'm finally starting to feel like I know which way is up. I'm starting to brainstorm what our routine could look like (Monday morning going to the park with some other mommas, including my dear sister in law and her kids; Wednesdays, library story time or Moms' Bible study depending on the week...). It helps me to anchor my days and weeks a bit, at least until baby brother arrives and throws everything off-kilter again. This morning we even ventured into Bible verse review at breakfast, something that hasn't crossed my mind in weeks, possibly months.
The first few days were some of the most emotionally intense times of my life. Battling exhaustion, unpacking our bare necessities into 1/20th (rough estimate) of the space we usually live in, changing my definition of necessity. We attended church the morning after we got here and the emotions felt like a punch to the gut. Walking into a church that I've visited over the past ten years as a girlfriend, fiance, and then wife to the pastor's son, suddenly felt oppressive and too much. The same warm hugs and smiles that previously felt so welcoming, now struck me as intrusive. I couldn't fight the mental repetition of, "This isn't my church family. My church family is a hundred miles away in a 200-year-old country church with stained glass windows that make it too hot in the sun, worshipping without me."
I realized then that I needed time to process, time to adjust, and time to, honestly, grieve. The past few weeks were such a whirlwind of packing and organizing and doing that I hadn't had much time to experience the feelings that go along with such a major transition. And by transition, I mean leaving absolutely everything familiar and beloved. Sure, we were heading toward many more things that were already familiar and beloved, as well as new and abundant blessings from the Lord, but at the same time there was a profound sense of loss that hit me like a brick.
I drove away from my job, my career, to become a stay at home mom on a Thursday. And two days later, I watched all my worldly possessions parade from my home into a truck, and finally and unceremoniously into two big, empty, windowless storage units. I said tearful goodbyes to best friends and dearest nannies. I threw gigantic silent pity parties for myself.
But you know what? God has been so good. Two weeks later, and I've gone shooting with the "Annie Oakley Club" from my new church (honestly I watched everyone else shoot because the gunshots sent baby brother into elbow-throwing hysterics, but it was still fun!), the ladies of my new church home are throwing a small "Baby Sprinkle" for us this Saturday to help us feel welcome (which we do!), and I played the piano for worship on Sunday. I've exchanged smiles, hugs, and stories with old and new friends. I've even determined the exact most helpful angle for the ironing board in the basement as I press Joel's work clothes every night. The roses are slowly outnumbering the thorns in this whole process, and it's not the circumstances that are changing; it's my heart.
"Art" Projects and Psychobabble
Imagine that you have a three year old and a two year old running around the house. Say, for the sake of argument, that one of them is very talkative and the other enjoys channeling zoo animals.
Now, pretend that you are also 30 weeks pregnant. Lots of energy. Usually in a great mood.
Add to this thought exercise the unexpected goal of packing your house to move in three weeks.
Now, what does your house probably look like? Fantastic, right? And guess what else is happening? People are starting to COME LOOK AT YOUR HOUSE to decide if they want to live there.
Well, color me motivated to stack all the boxes neatly along the walls, (have my husband) vacuum the box-debris and diaper lint from the carpets, and investigate the condition of the toilets. It will take all my self-restraint not to follow the prospective tenant and our wonderful landlord around the house explaining why there's no bedspread on the guest bed (and why it's currently sans bed frame), the obsessive-looking stacks of baby clothing bins lining that room, and of course this:
Yes, friends, we have made it two years without scribbling on the walls and yet a month before we move out, a short week before we roll out the welcome mat for house showings, one of our darling children grabbed a dry erase marker and unleashed his inner Picasso (I'm assuming it was a man-child, no particular reason). I am so stoked for the paint job that I now have ahead of me. Actually, we were going to paint this section of wall anyway because as you can see, it was previously unfinished. Our plan had been to paint it with whiteboard paint, but I hadn't yet taken the plunge (for some reason that felt like a big commitment? Having moved four times in our eight years of marriage, I guess I have a hard time committing to a wall. Issues.).
So what could have been a leisurely return to paint a small patch of wall, perhaps even after we move out, by someone non-pregnant, has now become a "Shoot, Joel, can you run to Walmart for a paint roller after the kids go to bed so I can paint this before the showing tomorrow?"
Just a guess - my "Conscientiousness" scale would be just a bit high on a Big Five personality assessment. That's the one measuring, basically, perfectionism and sense of responsibility to others. Possibly also "Neuroticism". But hey I'm also highish on "Openness to new experiences" so at least I'm a good time at parties. And I feel obligated to clean up afterwards!
Totally unrelated note: you know what's a great idea? Applying a coat of paint at 9:00 p.m., observing black marker clearly through the first coat, and THEN reading the label that says, "Wait four hours before recoating". Huh. Doing the math, that roughly means I'm an idiot and/or going to be very tired tomorrow. Also there is barely enough paint left for the recoat, so forget about pouring it back into the can, washing out the roller, and recoating tomorrow morning. Also, I have this thing about drop cloths being for wimps, but thankfully that one hasn't come back to bite me just yet.
Also mostly unrelated: The best husband ever came home with not just a paint roller, but also snickerdoodles and peanut butter cookies. He speaks my love language. And no, I do not have any idea why my babies are always over 8 pounds at birth, why do you ask?
I did manage to get a second coat on the wall just an hour later, though it required tilting the paint tray back and forth to spread the puddles of paint enough to cover my roller again. I like to live on the edge like that - close calls and late-night excitement. The wall looks great! And it's juuuust warm enough that I can crack the bathroom windows this morning to freshen them up before the walk through. Let's just say that'll help the house to show better. A cloth diaper pail in a closed-up bathroom all winter can leave one, shall we say, looking forward to some air circulation.
In all seriousness, we're praying for the right tenants to come along behind us. We've been so blessed by this home the past two years, and by our sweet landlord, that we sincerely hope to leave it a little better than we found it and that the next family here is a delight for her as well. Although I'm not sure she'll find any *cuter* tenants than the two currently occupying the second upstairs bedroom.
Now, pretend that you are also 30 weeks pregnant. Lots of energy. Usually in a great mood.
Add to this thought exercise the unexpected goal of packing your house to move in three weeks.
Now, what does your house probably look like? Fantastic, right? And guess what else is happening? People are starting to COME LOOK AT YOUR HOUSE to decide if they want to live there.
Well, color me motivated to stack all the boxes neatly along the walls, (have my husband) vacuum the box-debris and diaper lint from the carpets, and investigate the condition of the toilets. It will take all my self-restraint not to follow the prospective tenant and our wonderful landlord around the house explaining why there's no bedspread on the guest bed (and why it's currently sans bed frame), the obsessive-looking stacks of baby clothing bins lining that room, and of course this:
Yes, friends, we have made it two years without scribbling on the walls and yet a month before we move out, a short week before we roll out the welcome mat for house showings, one of our darling children grabbed a dry erase marker and unleashed his inner Picasso (I'm assuming it was a man-child, no particular reason). I am so stoked for the paint job that I now have ahead of me. Actually, we were going to paint this section of wall anyway because as you can see, it was previously unfinished. Our plan had been to paint it with whiteboard paint, but I hadn't yet taken the plunge (for some reason that felt like a big commitment? Having moved four times in our eight years of marriage, I guess I have a hard time committing to a wall. Issues.).
So what could have been a leisurely return to paint a small patch of wall, perhaps even after we move out, by someone non-pregnant, has now become a "Shoot, Joel, can you run to Walmart for a paint roller after the kids go to bed so I can paint this before the showing tomorrow?"
Just a guess - my "Conscientiousness" scale would be just a bit high on a Big Five personality assessment. That's the one measuring, basically, perfectionism and sense of responsibility to others. Possibly also "Neuroticism". But hey I'm also highish on "Openness to new experiences" so at least I'm a good time at parties. And I feel obligated to clean up afterwards!
Totally unrelated note: you know what's a great idea? Applying a coat of paint at 9:00 p.m., observing black marker clearly through the first coat, and THEN reading the label that says, "Wait four hours before recoating". Huh. Doing the math, that roughly means I'm an idiot and/or going to be very tired tomorrow. Also there is barely enough paint left for the recoat, so forget about pouring it back into the can, washing out the roller, and recoating tomorrow morning. Also, I have this thing about drop cloths being for wimps, but thankfully that one hasn't come back to bite me just yet.
Also mostly unrelated: The best husband ever came home with not just a paint roller, but also snickerdoodles and peanut butter cookies. He speaks my love language. And no, I do not have any idea why my babies are always over 8 pounds at birth, why do you ask?
I did manage to get a second coat on the wall just an hour later, though it required tilting the paint tray back and forth to spread the puddles of paint enough to cover my roller again. I like to live on the edge like that - close calls and late-night excitement. The wall looks great! And it's juuuust warm enough that I can crack the bathroom windows this morning to freshen them up before the walk through. Let's just say that'll help the house to show better. A cloth diaper pail in a closed-up bathroom all winter can leave one, shall we say, looking forward to some air circulation.
In all seriousness, we're praying for the right tenants to come along behind us. We've been so blessed by this home the past two years, and by our sweet landlord, that we sincerely hope to leave it a little better than we found it and that the next family here is a delight for her as well. Although I'm not sure she'll find any *cuter* tenants than the two currently occupying the second upstairs bedroom.
Pom Pom Hats and Mitten Prayers
My poor kids have been braving the November cold sans mittens and with Isaac wearing my green cable-knit hat to keep his ears warm. I've been watching for winter attire, though, and finally made some great finds today!
First, the obligatory matching pom pom hats:
You don't know what it took at 5:10pm to get a picture that looks even that composed. Maybe somebody should be starting dinner instead of blogging, *ahem*.
But then I spotted some mittens on a yardsale site for M. Jackpot! The mom selling them lived only three minutes away, right in our small town, so after naps we loaded up and went. (I love how that sounds so simple. But really it entailed me messaging said mom multiple times with messages like, "They just fell asleep, so we will probably be later"..."Ok, they JUST woke up and are eating crackers, be over at 4:15", etc. And then of course coats, shoes, deciding WHICH hats to wear since we got new ones at Second Street this morning. But anyway...)
The really fun part comes when we pulled up to the "house with the mittens" as M dubbed it. Let's just say it was the sort of neighborhood that makes you self-conscious about paying for your fifty-cent mittens with nickels and dimes. Kind of like paying for lunch with laundry change in college. We had two pairs of mittens from which to choose. Trying them on, M discovered that the purple pair, which obviously were the ones she really wanted, fit perfectly AND had a heart on the back of each hand that (sort of) matches her purple heart-covered coat! She naturally declared that she would wear the mittens ALL DAY. Oh glee.
I paid the lady in toddler-offering-plate-currency and we headed out. M exclaimed, "Bye house, see you the next time! When we come back! Bye bye house!" I told her that now she and Isaac are both ready for the snow to come. She exclaimed (she does nothing BUT exclaim, btw), "My mittens will keep my hands DRY in the SNOW!" and then "I can put it on the GROUND and make a SNOW MAN!!" I agreed with everything she said because it's easier that way, and told her we could ask God to send us some snow. She promptly clapped her hands together in preparation to pray, and the flood of emotions that washed over her little face as she realized that you can't fold your hands to pray in mittens!! She looked shocked, horrified, devastated, confused - would God still hear her little request? Oh, it was all I could do not to laugh.
And then when she did pray, it was "Dear God, thank you for that we can send snow. In Jesus name we pray, Amen." Precious.
Also, as we drove to get the mittens she kept saying, "Can we shoot back home?" I finally said, "Ok" just to acknowledge her, even though I had no idea what she meant. She responded with, "Ok, let's turn around then." So she apparently uses grown-up jargon now to talk about where she wants to "shoot" in the car.
These kids are just too much. I know this was mostly about M, but little man has had his moments today, too. He woke up from his nap all kisses and snuggles, and crawled into M's bed with her to bestow all manner of toddler affection on his sister. And soon directed it toward Momma as well. My melting heart, that would have been the perfect opportunity for him to ask me for a new tractor or jungle gym or M&M's for life. Putty in his hands. Let's hope he never realizes it!
Here's a bonus picture just because I'm feeling generous. The doctor's office this morning was giving out free reindeer antler hats. The look on I's face about sums up his feelings on the whole ordeal. M, of course, wanted to wear hers ALL DAY.
First, the obligatory matching pom pom hats:
You don't know what it took at 5:10pm to get a picture that looks even that composed. Maybe somebody should be starting dinner instead of blogging, *ahem*.
But then I spotted some mittens on a yardsale site for M. Jackpot! The mom selling them lived only three minutes away, right in our small town, so after naps we loaded up and went. (I love how that sounds so simple. But really it entailed me messaging said mom multiple times with messages like, "They just fell asleep, so we will probably be later"..."Ok, they JUST woke up and are eating crackers, be over at 4:15", etc. And then of course coats, shoes, deciding WHICH hats to wear since we got new ones at Second Street this morning. But anyway...)
The really fun part comes when we pulled up to the "house with the mittens" as M dubbed it. Let's just say it was the sort of neighborhood that makes you self-conscious about paying for your fifty-cent mittens with nickels and dimes. Kind of like paying for lunch with laundry change in college. We had two pairs of mittens from which to choose. Trying them on, M discovered that the purple pair, which obviously were the ones she really wanted, fit perfectly AND had a heart on the back of each hand that (sort of) matches her purple heart-covered coat! She naturally declared that she would wear the mittens ALL DAY. Oh glee.
I paid the lady in toddler-offering-plate-currency and we headed out. M exclaimed, "Bye house, see you the next time! When we come back! Bye bye house!" I told her that now she and Isaac are both ready for the snow to come. She exclaimed (she does nothing BUT exclaim, btw), "My mittens will keep my hands DRY in the SNOW!" and then "I can put it on the GROUND and make a SNOW MAN!!" I agreed with everything she said because it's easier that way, and told her we could ask God to send us some snow. She promptly clapped her hands together in preparation to pray, and the flood of emotions that washed over her little face as she realized that you can't fold your hands to pray in mittens!! She looked shocked, horrified, devastated, confused - would God still hear her little request? Oh, it was all I could do not to laugh.
And then when she did pray, it was "Dear God, thank you for that we can send snow. In Jesus name we pray, Amen." Precious.
Also, as we drove to get the mittens she kept saying, "Can we shoot back home?" I finally said, "Ok" just to acknowledge her, even though I had no idea what she meant. She responded with, "Ok, let's turn around then." So she apparently uses grown-up jargon now to talk about where she wants to "shoot" in the car.
These kids are just too much. I know this was mostly about M, but little man has had his moments today, too. He woke up from his nap all kisses and snuggles, and crawled into M's bed with her to bestow all manner of toddler affection on his sister. And soon directed it toward Momma as well. My melting heart, that would have been the perfect opportunity for him to ask me for a new tractor or jungle gym or M&M's for life. Putty in his hands. Let's hope he never realizes it!
Here's a bonus picture just because I'm feeling generous. The doctor's office this morning was giving out free reindeer antler hats. The look on I's face about sums up his feelings on the whole ordeal. M, of course, wanted to wear hers ALL DAY.
Library Books and Failed Photo Ops
Full disclosure: This is one of those Pinterest Mom moments for me, where I dress my kids in coordinating fall outfits and take them on an educational outing. And it's hilarious that I just made it sound like this happens, like, more than once. What I'm saying is, don't be fooled. This is on the blog because it is momentous, not because it is routine. Ok, I feel better now knowing that YOU know that I know I am not super mom.
Moving right along. Today, the kids and I went to visit Joel at work "with all the BOOKS!!" Mikayla is certain there are at least ten books at the library. That girl is good with estimating. We started planning this two days ago, and I still managed not to bake the banana bread that I wanted to take for his coworkers. I totally want to be That Wife but alas, see above, not super mom. Life happens.
What I DID manage was getting the kids dressed all in brown and orange, Mikayla in her fancy embroidered jeans that I usually avoid like the plague because isn't the point of jeans that EVERYTHING matches them? Why would you get into a situation where you have to color and style coordinate with your jeans?? Isaac wore this totally handsome brown and orange striped shirt with that fake long-sleeve layer look going on. Oh man. Between that, shorts, and his preppy sandals, the college guys on campus had nothing on my little dude.
I'm bragging because my daughter has been dressing herself lately and has little regard for concepts like a color wheel and that you're not supposed to mix stripes with a bold fruit print. And Isaac...it's a good day when he simply remains dressed. So matching themselves and each other? I deserve my fifteen minutes for this, ok?
Did I mention I also wore a cute brown shirt?
In my secret heart of hearts, I was hoping that somebody would notice how fantastic we all looked together and insist on taking a photo of us for the university website. Realistic dreams, guys, all the way.
This was our first official checking-books-out library trip as a family. (Yeah, that not-super-mom thing again. My kids have never had library books before. We've done story time though, if that counts.) And can I tell you how cool it was to have Dadda as our librarian? He showed us where the children's books were, recommended a few, and then took us down the secret back stairs to where he showed us how he checks them out with the "Super Computer!" as Mikayla proclaimed. (Thank you, Super Why!)
They helped Dadda run them through that magic thing that makes the alarm not go off - not that we needed to. We were ushered out a secret back door because I'm married to one of the top bananas, or because we had already caused enough disturbance out in the open. I can never tell if we are special or a liability.
Isaac was a little behind; they were already bagging books when he decided to jump in.
Putting all our books into the bag, with Sister Joanne's help.
And of course there were plenty of book carts, the perfect size and height for tiny hineys to sit on.
I never did get that Pinterest-perfect shot of the kids and me gloriously and patiently reading a new library book together while sunlight streamed in through the tall library windows. Probably because that never actually happened. You know what matters more, though? I got to see, in real life, my children delighting in books, greeting friends and strangers with smiles and open hearts, and generally bringing lots of sunshine to our little learning opportunity. I'm thankful sometimes when the photo ops don't pan out, and we are stuck with just plain old life. It's good to view the world and especially the ones we love through our own eyes, capturing the moments in our hearts instead of through a lens.
I'll take a blurry shot of my daughter not looking at the camera and Isaac missing because he ran at the last minute, as a reminder that they are too full of life to stay still and pose just right. They are just right the way they are.
Thanks, Dadda, for making our first library visit a memorable one!
Moving right along. Today, the kids and I went to visit Joel at work "with all the BOOKS!!" Mikayla is certain there are at least ten books at the library. That girl is good with estimating. We started planning this two days ago, and I still managed not to bake the banana bread that I wanted to take for his coworkers. I totally want to be That Wife but alas, see above, not super mom. Life happens.
What I DID manage was getting the kids dressed all in brown and orange, Mikayla in her fancy embroidered jeans that I usually avoid like the plague because isn't the point of jeans that EVERYTHING matches them? Why would you get into a situation where you have to color and style coordinate with your jeans?? Isaac wore this totally handsome brown and orange striped shirt with that fake long-sleeve layer look going on. Oh man. Between that, shorts, and his preppy sandals, the college guys on campus had nothing on my little dude.
I'm bragging because my daughter has been dressing herself lately and has little regard for concepts like a color wheel and that you're not supposed to mix stripes with a bold fruit print. And Isaac...it's a good day when he simply remains dressed. So matching themselves and each other? I deserve my fifteen minutes for this, ok?
Did I mention I also wore a cute brown shirt?
In my secret heart of hearts, I was hoping that somebody would notice how fantastic we all looked together and insist on taking a photo of us for the university website. Realistic dreams, guys, all the way.
This was our first official checking-books-out library trip as a family. (Yeah, that not-super-mom thing again. My kids have never had library books before. We've done story time though, if that counts.) And can I tell you how cool it was to have Dadda as our librarian? He showed us where the children's books were, recommended a few, and then took us down the secret back stairs to where he showed us how he checks them out with the "Super Computer!" as Mikayla proclaimed. (Thank you, Super Why!)
They helped Dadda run them through that magic thing that makes the alarm not go off - not that we needed to. We were ushered out a secret back door because I'm married to one of the top bananas, or because we had already caused enough disturbance out in the open. I can never tell if we are special or a liability.
Isaac was a little behind; they were already bagging books when he decided to jump in.
Putting all our books into the bag, with Sister Joanne's help.
And of course there were plenty of book carts, the perfect size and height for tiny hineys to sit on.
I never did get that Pinterest-perfect shot of the kids and me gloriously and patiently reading a new library book together while sunlight streamed in through the tall library windows. Probably because that never actually happened. You know what matters more, though? I got to see, in real life, my children delighting in books, greeting friends and strangers with smiles and open hearts, and generally bringing lots of sunshine to our little learning opportunity. I'm thankful sometimes when the photo ops don't pan out, and we are stuck with just plain old life. It's good to view the world and especially the ones we love through our own eyes, capturing the moments in our hearts instead of through a lens.
I'll take a blurry shot of my daughter not looking at the camera and Isaac missing because he ran at the last minute, as a reminder that they are too full of life to stay still and pose just right. They are just right the way they are.
Thanks, Dadda, for making our first library visit a memorable one!
Glamour Shots
Today, the kids and I are just hanging out, hoping to get through this fussy Friday without too much grief (I hear on Facebook it is going around today; apparently the Lord is up for some serious momma-sanctifying!). But there have been some really fun moments in the midst of *someone* insisting on crackers for breakfast, and *someone* not taking a morning nap because he stealth-pooped right after I put him down.
For instance, here is Isaac, giving his momma some sugar (ok, I was balancing a baby and snapping a photo, I seem to have missed the actual moment of the actual smile; but he's still hecka cute!).
And guess who decided to do her own hair today? I have been waiting for the day when she would leave hair accessories in, but this isn't quite what I had envisioned.
For instance, here is Isaac, giving his momma some sugar (ok, I was balancing a baby and snapping a photo, I seem to have missed the actual moment of the actual smile; but he's still hecka cute!).
And guess who decided to do her own hair today? I have been waiting for the day when she would leave hair accessories in, but this isn't quite what I had envisioned.
Maybe this will be her prom look someday, along with the dress I'm going to make for her.
And Then Pigs Flew
This morning, in celebration of sleeping ALL the way until 5:45 a.m., I went for a run. To be more precise, I went for a walk/jog/run, as it used to be called in high school gym class when we spent the entire period ambulating around the track at whatever pace felt right. At that time, we took very seriously the recommendation to never elevate our heart rates to the point where we could not comfortably hold a conversation.
But about this morning. I felt positively energized at 6 a.m. when I put Isaac back down for his "chill time" (I'm never actually sure if he goes back to sleep, but he doesn't seem to mind spending another hour or so hanging out in his crib). I had exactly an hour before Joel would leave for work. So I donned running apparel, including my new/used New Balance sneaks, and headed out the door. Joel was so impressed that he opened his eyes and uttered three words before I left.
Leaving the house, I started at a brisk walk to warm up. But I just couldn't hold back, and broke into a steady run.
It was the best thirty seconds of my workout.
Then I came to my senses and walked the rest of the way to the park entrance. Mind you, it takes less than a minute to drive from our home to the parking lot. Hey, it was a start. I explored our local park as I alternated walking and running for the next twenty or so minutes. And I confess, I kept it relatively low-key because I can't exactly afford to spend the rest of the day icing my shin splints and wondering when THOSE muscles appeared in my body for the sole purpose of making my life more painful.
In sum, I got some exercise, got my heart rate up, and I didn't even feel like I wanted to die. That, for me, is a successful beginning. Usually I way overdo it the first time and spend the next week recovering and recalling why I don't DO that sort of thing. However. Two pregnancies in rapid succession say that I had better START doing that sort of thing, so I felt it best to set myself up for workout longevity.
That said, if you are ever in the Reamstown area early in the morning, keep a sharp eye and have your cell phone or oxygen tank handy just, you know, in case you spot a walk/jog/runner in need of assistance.
But about this morning. I felt positively energized at 6 a.m. when I put Isaac back down for his "chill time" (I'm never actually sure if he goes back to sleep, but he doesn't seem to mind spending another hour or so hanging out in his crib). I had exactly an hour before Joel would leave for work. So I donned running apparel, including my new/used New Balance sneaks, and headed out the door. Joel was so impressed that he opened his eyes and uttered three words before I left.
Leaving the house, I started at a brisk walk to warm up. But I just couldn't hold back, and broke into a steady run.
It was the best thirty seconds of my workout.
Then I came to my senses and walked the rest of the way to the park entrance. Mind you, it takes less than a minute to drive from our home to the parking lot. Hey, it was a start. I explored our local park as I alternated walking and running for the next twenty or so minutes. And I confess, I kept it relatively low-key because I can't exactly afford to spend the rest of the day icing my shin splints and wondering when THOSE muscles appeared in my body for the sole purpose of making my life more painful.
In sum, I got some exercise, got my heart rate up, and I didn't even feel like I wanted to die. That, for me, is a successful beginning. Usually I way overdo it the first time and spend the next week recovering and recalling why I don't DO that sort of thing. However. Two pregnancies in rapid succession say that I had better START doing that sort of thing, so I felt it best to set myself up for workout longevity.
That said, if you are ever in the Reamstown area early in the morning, keep a sharp eye and have your cell phone or oxygen tank handy just, you know, in case you spot a walk/jog/runner in need of assistance.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)