... making homemade baby food.
... enjoying watching Levi as he tastes new things. So far I'd say peas are one of his favorites; beef on the other hand (which I did not make, for the record) did not go over so well. I'm secretly happy about this one.
... dealing with a fussy baby who has just not quite been himself. I blame teething.
... only getting up once a night, somewhere between 3 and 4 AM, with the Levster. This is good.
... reading Asher's new Tonka phonics books over and over and over and over again.
... sad to leave my boy at preschool because for some reason he has started being sad when I leave! He did great for the first month, and now, out of the blue, he's been crying. It's so hard to leave like this, even though I know I need to.
... continuing on with the potty training journey. Asher has great days, and then days with many accidents. Two steps forward, one step back is how we roll I guess. As I think about this, I realize that this whole process has been so Asher. New things are always hard for him.
... so grateful for my mom. She has been coming over every second Wednesday to give the boys supper and put them to bed while Greg and I go out. It's a sweet deal all around. Asher asks for her to come back the next morning.
... feeling like something is so "right" about this journey my church is on now that our current pastor has resigned. We are growing in good ways, but will miss my pastoral family dearly.
... thinking a lot about children and church; how do we welcome them? Read some thought-provoking articles in Faith Today on this.
... lighting a candle every day when I'm praying for some big things. It's helped me to focus, tune in, and listen to my heart, and has been a good tool for me to use.
... feeling anxiety about my upcoming journey with taking care of 2 other children, 2 days a week. I've done this before, and I know the first few weeks will be tough, but I'm confident that I'll figure it out. Until I start, the anxiety is there though.
... looking forward to U2 this summer!!!
... tired.
... running a few times a week.
... enjoying Steven Tyler on American Idol.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The Invisible Mom & The Cathedral
It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, 'Who is that with you, young fella?' 'Nobody,' he shrugged. Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, 'Oh my goodness, nobody?'
I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like 'Turn the TV down, please' - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, 'Would someone turn the TV down?' Nothing.
Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work.
So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, 'I'm ready to go when you are.' He just kept right on talking.
That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me.
I'm invisible.
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.
I'm invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.' I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -
but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going... she's going... she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself.
I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it there.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family - like 'Turn the TV down, please' - and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, 'Would someone turn the TV down?' Nothing.
Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We'd been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work.
So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, 'I'm ready to go when you are.' He just kept right on talking.
That's when I started to put all the pieces together. I don't think he can see me. I don't think anyone can see me.
I'm invisible.
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.
I'm invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.' I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -
but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going... she's going... she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.'
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself.
I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it there.'
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Thankful Thursday
Lately I have been thankful for...
... Levi is loving eating solids! We've moved him up to eating them twice a day. Last night he tried peas for the first time and he gobbled them up.
... Levi is basically back to only getting up once a night, rather than the little stint he had been on of getting up twice. Once is better than twice.
... Asher yesterday, about 3 or 4 times said to me, "Mama I feel my body telling me it has to pee so I'm going to go quick quick to the potty". He then proceeded to have several pees in the potty! Whoop whoop! That's progress.
... that Asher is doing fan-tabulous in his new swimming class. Same pool, different time, and different instructor. This class has more kids his age, and he is really starting to do more stuff. The boy can do a back glide like it's nobody's business. Wow! He's also getting braver with putting his face under water and this week he picked up a ring from the bottom step of the pool, which meant he had to put his head mostly under the water. A big step for him. So proud!
... that Asher is doing so well at preschool. When I picked him up yesterday, one of his teachers said, "He's doing so well. He's such a sweet boy and he's so well behaved!". He also said to me, as he does every time, "Mama, you came back!". This week he added "Mama, I missed you!". I missed you too little buddy. He rocks.
... a movie night out with a friend. 127 hours - crazy intense, and crazy good.
... the anticipation of my mother taking the boys overnight this Friday. I can't wait to have a fun night out, and to sleep 8 consecutive hours. Wow.
... the many lovely friends I have in my life. I often wonder how I'd survive a week without them. One friend in particular sent an email to me with a story about mothering that I just needed to read. So thankful for that perspective.
... running again. I'm able to do 10:1 x 2 pretty easily again and am now adding more to that. I feel so good about it.
... no blocked milk ducts in IONS! Sweet.
... U2, I am going to see U2!!!!!!!!
... that there is joy and blessings in the midst of such sadness that seems to be happening around me. I'm thankful that I am in a place where I can see that clearly.
... Levi is loving eating solids! We've moved him up to eating them twice a day. Last night he tried peas for the first time and he gobbled them up.
... Levi is basically back to only getting up once a night, rather than the little stint he had been on of getting up twice. Once is better than twice.
... Asher yesterday, about 3 or 4 times said to me, "Mama I feel my body telling me it has to pee so I'm going to go quick quick to the potty". He then proceeded to have several pees in the potty! Whoop whoop! That's progress.
... that Asher is doing fan-tabulous in his new swimming class. Same pool, different time, and different instructor. This class has more kids his age, and he is really starting to do more stuff. The boy can do a back glide like it's nobody's business. Wow! He's also getting braver with putting his face under water and this week he picked up a ring from the bottom step of the pool, which meant he had to put his head mostly under the water. A big step for him. So proud!
... that Asher is doing so well at preschool. When I picked him up yesterday, one of his teachers said, "He's doing so well. He's such a sweet boy and he's so well behaved!". He also said to me, as he does every time, "Mama, you came back!". This week he added "Mama, I missed you!". I missed you too little buddy. He rocks.
... a movie night out with a friend. 127 hours - crazy intense, and crazy good.
... the anticipation of my mother taking the boys overnight this Friday. I can't wait to have a fun night out, and to sleep 8 consecutive hours. Wow.
... the many lovely friends I have in my life. I often wonder how I'd survive a week without them. One friend in particular sent an email to me with a story about mothering that I just needed to read. So thankful for that perspective.
... running again. I'm able to do 10:1 x 2 pretty easily again and am now adding more to that. I feel so good about it.
... no blocked milk ducts in IONS! Sweet.
... U2, I am going to see U2!!!!!!!!
... that there is joy and blessings in the midst of such sadness that seems to be happening around me. I'm thankful that I am in a place where I can see that clearly.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Thankful Thursday
This week...
... there has been a lot of crisis with numerous people in my life
... some big troubles, some major needs, some issues that could be serious
... my heart has been heavy and sad at many moments because of this
... I have worried and thought about "what if's"
... I have been on the phone a lot
... I have wondered why there must be so much pain
BUT through that I have...
... prayed more than I have in a long time
... connected and reached out of my comfort zone
... offered practical hands-on help
... loved
... felt like I am living out of God's purpose for me
... felt closer and more connected to Him
The hope that is left after all your hopes are gone -- that is pure hope, rooted in the heart
David Steindl-Rast
... there has been a lot of crisis with numerous people in my life
... some big troubles, some major needs, some issues that could be serious
... my heart has been heavy and sad at many moments because of this
... I have worried and thought about "what if's"
... I have been on the phone a lot
... I have wondered why there must be so much pain
BUT through that I have...
... prayed more than I have in a long time
... connected and reached out of my comfort zone
... offered practical hands-on help
... loved
... felt like I am living out of God's purpose for me
... felt closer and more connected to Him
The hope that is left after all your hopes are gone -- that is pure hope, rooted in the heart
David Steindl-Rast
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
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