When I think of Thanksgiving, I think of food and togetherness. I picture long tables with lots of people and heaping plates and laughter and talking and contentment.
My extended family usually gathers at the ranch for Thanksgiving. My grandparents bought the ranch in the 60s, and now we have four generations simultaneously enjoying its blessings. And yes, the food and togetherness both loom large on the horizon.
Because of the ranch and its role as a gathering place and sanctuary, I value such a place for families. I see the rich fruit that can come from having a place where family and friends can gather, unwind, simplify, and be together.
The fellowship is so huge there. Not sure if it's the fires or the stars, the walks in the hills or the cooking and cleaning in the kitchen, the music, the wine, the horses, the trucks, the land. Even the laundry is satisfying there; sometimes it's your own, sometimes it's someone else's.
I think I love that no one is in a hurry to be anywhere else than where they are. You want to be on a walk with the stroller and your cousin or your cousin's wife or your sister-in-law. You want to be sitting by the fire with your aunt and grandmother. You want to be walking your child down to the barn so he can learn to brush a horse with his great-uncle. You want to see your children swinging with your mom and husband. You want to walk in the evening with your son and show him the stars he can't see in the city. You want to see your 4-year-old daughter patiently try to teach her 2-year-old cousin how to color in the lines. You want to hear about the ones who sunk the canoe because of all the togetherness (too many in the canoe!) and then wrote a song about it. You want to listen to your brother, uncles, and cousins make music while we all dance and maybe sing a little backup. Where else would we want to be?
There is peace in being where you are and not trying to get somewhere else. I need to remember this back in my daily life in the city. I need to enjoy being where I am and not consume myself with how to get to the next place. Sit still. Breathe deeply. Be grateful.
"Be still and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10)
Monday, November 29, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Pre-School Party Planners
For our little family celebration of the baby's 1st birthday, the big kids (age 4 and 5) and I made a cake and decorated it. Well, all I did was put the white icing on as a base and "clean up" the letters a little.
In the middle of the decorating, I had to leave the room to change a diaper. I returned to find two mountains of sprinkles covering most of the letters. The new striped icing I bought looks more like Aquafresh toothpaste to me, but at least it didn't taste like it.
The kids also wrapped some presents for their baby brother. They worked hard and made a giant mess in the office: wrapping paper and ribbons and tape covered the floor.
In the middle of the decorating, I had to leave the room to change a diaper. I returned to find two mountains of sprinkles covering most of the letters. The new striped icing I bought looks more like Aquafresh toothpaste to me, but at least it didn't taste like it.
The kids also wrapped some presents for their baby brother. They worked hard and made a giant mess in the office: wrapping paper and ribbons and tape covered the floor.
Sometimes I like to go all out on the details of a party, and sometimes it's great to give up the control.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
First Birthday
Two days ago, our baby turned one. I cannot even believe how fast this year has flown. Because his birth was a scheduled c-section, it was a very calm morning, arriving at the hospital with grandparents already in town and big kids at school. I do remember as the anasthesia was kicking in and I felt all out of whack on the operating table, I started crying, and said to my husband, "Remind me not to do this again!"
"Are you hearing what you are saying as our baby is about to be born?" he said. Uh, yes. Excited about the baby, not the surgery.
A few minutes later, as the doctors took our little guy from my tummy, they said, "A big boy!"
(I need to preface with the fact that I have big babies. Our first son was 10 1/2 pounds, and our "tiny baby girl" was 8 1/2.)
"He's not that big, honey; he's not that big. He's beautiful," said my husband. He was 9 pounds. And truly gorgeous.
The first time I saw him... that moment of recognition, the tears of awe, the exhaustion and almost confusion of his being ours, the snug bundle of blankets and tight hospital cap and t-shirt, tucked right in my arms, those squinty eyes and puckered lips, then the surrender of sleep. A miracle.
A week ago, as he toddled down the hallway one morning in his monkey footie pajamas, our five-year-old said, "Mom, he's not a baby anymore."
"No! Don't say it!" I pleaded. "He'll always be our baby. Won't he?"
"No," he answered wisely. "He's a little little little boy."
"Are you hearing what you are saying as our baby is about to be born?" he said. Uh, yes. Excited about the baby, not the surgery.
A few minutes later, as the doctors took our little guy from my tummy, they said, "A big boy!"
(I need to preface with the fact that I have big babies. Our first son was 10 1/2 pounds, and our "tiny baby girl" was 8 1/2.)
"He's not that big, honey; he's not that big. He's beautiful," said my husband. He was 9 pounds. And truly gorgeous.
The first time I saw him... that moment of recognition, the tears of awe, the exhaustion and almost confusion of his being ours, the snug bundle of blankets and tight hospital cap and t-shirt, tucked right in my arms, those squinty eyes and puckered lips, then the surrender of sleep. A miracle.
A week ago, as he toddled down the hallway one morning in his monkey footie pajamas, our five-year-old said, "Mom, he's not a baby anymore."
"No! Don't say it!" I pleaded. "He'll always be our baby. Won't he?"
"No," he answered wisely. "He's a little little little boy."
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Half-Marathon
My husband ran a half-marathon on Sunday. He has been training for months, and I was so proud of him. A few things especially inspired me about his training and race.
1. Making a goal and sticking with it. After his brother ran a marathon in February, he and my husband began tossing around the idea of running a half-marathon together. My husband ran track in college, but has always been a sprinter, not a distance runner. This would be a huge stretch for him. But once they committed, they stuck with it.
2. Enduring the training. My husband began training in earnest at the beginning of the summer. Where we live, that time of year is not exactly inspirational outdoor running weather. He finally had to switch to running at the gym with only occasional outdoor runs. His brother helped him figure out how many miles he needed to work up to each month and week, and it was amazing to see how physically prepared he was by the time the race arrived. He worked his way up week by week so it was never too overwhelming. But it wasn't easy. The training schedule had to be worked into his work schedule and our family life. It took a lot of time and discipline to prepare.
3. Not waiting for the perfect time. My husband, like most people, has a very busy work schedule, and with three little ones at home (and a wife that LOVES to spend time with her husband), this time in his life may not have been the easiest to start training. Where would he find the time to devote to the training? But he decided this goal had many merits, and he dove in with my support.
4. Having people in place to offer support and accountability. I think one of the reasons he was successful in reaching this goal is that he had my support on the home front and his brother's support on the racing front. Because I knew this was important to him, I could make sure our weeks allowed time for his training. Because of his brother's accountability--checking in periodically and offering tips--my husband also had encouragement to keep pushing himself with the training. The biggest part of this accountability was that his brother flew down to run the race alongside of him. What a huge gift and what a metaphor for brotherhood.
5. Overcoming fears and doubts to reach the goal. The last weeks before the race, my husband was anxious about some physical issues in his legs that the running had exacerbated. He was worried that he would not be able to finish the race. We prayed about it, and it was truly an awesome gift because he finished the race! Not only did he finish, but he and his brother had really impressive times. I was so proud of them.
What can I learn from this, standing as a cheerleader on the sidelines? Don't wait for the "perfect time" to set a hard goal and stick with it; endure the training; establish support and accountability; and stay focused despite fears.
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. ... Endure hardship as discipline; ... No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. 'Make level paths for your feet'" (Hebrews 12: 1, 7, 11-12).
1. Making a goal and sticking with it. After his brother ran a marathon in February, he and my husband began tossing around the idea of running a half-marathon together. My husband ran track in college, but has always been a sprinter, not a distance runner. This would be a huge stretch for him. But once they committed, they stuck with it.
2. Enduring the training. My husband began training in earnest at the beginning of the summer. Where we live, that time of year is not exactly inspirational outdoor running weather. He finally had to switch to running at the gym with only occasional outdoor runs. His brother helped him figure out how many miles he needed to work up to each month and week, and it was amazing to see how physically prepared he was by the time the race arrived. He worked his way up week by week so it was never too overwhelming. But it wasn't easy. The training schedule had to be worked into his work schedule and our family life. It took a lot of time and discipline to prepare.
3. Not waiting for the perfect time. My husband, like most people, has a very busy work schedule, and with three little ones at home (and a wife that LOVES to spend time with her husband), this time in his life may not have been the easiest to start training. Where would he find the time to devote to the training? But he decided this goal had many merits, and he dove in with my support.
4. Having people in place to offer support and accountability. I think one of the reasons he was successful in reaching this goal is that he had my support on the home front and his brother's support on the racing front. Because I knew this was important to him, I could make sure our weeks allowed time for his training. Because of his brother's accountability--checking in periodically and offering tips--my husband also had encouragement to keep pushing himself with the training. The biggest part of this accountability was that his brother flew down to run the race alongside of him. What a huge gift and what a metaphor for brotherhood.
5. Overcoming fears and doubts to reach the goal. The last weeks before the race, my husband was anxious about some physical issues in his legs that the running had exacerbated. He was worried that he would not be able to finish the race. We prayed about it, and it was truly an awesome gift because he finished the race! Not only did he finish, but he and his brother had really impressive times. I was so proud of them.
What can I learn from this, standing as a cheerleader on the sidelines? Don't wait for the "perfect time" to set a hard goal and stick with it; endure the training; establish support and accountability; and stay focused despite fears.
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. ... Endure hardship as discipline; ... No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it. Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. 'Make level paths for your feet'" (Hebrews 12: 1, 7, 11-12).
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Rainy Day Reading and Paris
This morning it rained for the first time in ages, and after digging out raincoats for the kids and getting them to school, I could focus on the sound of the rain against the car windows. Soothing.
Getting the kids' raincoats was a chore because the raincoats were not waiting patiently in the closet as they should have been. The ones that actually fit must be hiding out in the back of my husband's car because they were nowhere to be found. So we rolled up sleeves on a coat for the baby, we buttoned a snug-fitting coat for the 4-year-old, and we tried not to worry about the 3-quarter-inch sleeves on the 5-year-old's coat. When we were halfway to school, my 5-year-old son said, "Mom, you forgot your raincoat!" Yes, we don't worry as much about ourselves, do we?
So back to the soothing sound of rain on the windows. All I could think about was rainy day reading. I could put the baby down for his morning nap and curl up on the couch with my book club book. We have book club tonight, and I'm not finished. Wouldn't a cup of warm coffee and a book be luxurious?
The book I'm reading, Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik, has on its cover a woman and child in the perfect raincoat ensembles walking on a rainy Paris street full of statues and trees. The title is dreamy and romantic, too, but so far, the book is not that dreamy and romantic. It's been hard to sink my teeth into, but it does have some really witty parts.
The problem for me is the writer is more of an essayist than a journalist, and I usually tend toward journalism or memoirs for my nonfiction. His observations are almost too profound, where I need accessible. For example, the chapter on Paris cafes starts with a comparison between cafe popularity and a late nineteenth century mathematical problem. I really want to be sitting at the cafe with him, not delving into a theory.
But when he talks about the lack of help and customer service in Paris, especially compared to the American model, I really cracked up. Having two close friends living in Paris recently, I have heard their stories (amusing to me all these miles and waters away, but highly frustrating to them) about just this situation. Gopnik says that where in America the customer is always right, in Paris, the customer is always wrong.
"So, for instance," Gopnik writes, "if your clothes dryer breaks down and you want to get the people ... to come fix it, you will be told first, that only one man knows how it works and he cannot be found...; next, that it cannot be fixed for a week because of a store policy...; and, finally, that you are perfectly right to find all this exasperating, but nothing can be done, because it is in the nature of things for a dryer to break down, dryers are like that... 'They are sensitive machines; they are ill-suited to the task; no one has ever made one successfully,' the store bureaucrat in charge of service says, sighing. 'C'est normal.'" (Gopnik, 80)
Turns out, my Paris friend has a dryer story of her own. Three different people came to her apartment over a two-week period with no answers and no fixed dryer. They would say, "C'est tres bizarre." Then they would ask her if it ever worked. Uh, yes. That's how she knew it was now broken. Then they would leave her with a broken dryer and two toddlers racing around. Finally, her upstairs neighbor who spoke great French called and raised the roof until they came to fix the dryer.
She told a similar situation about when she bought her dining room table. She already owned a chic set of chairs she had had made a couple of years before, and now that she was in Paris, what a perfect place to invest in a table! She found a wonderful table, measured, went home to compare against the chair measurements, and took her husband back to seal the deal. He happened to bring his own American measuring tape to the store (she had used the store's French measuring tape before), and went back to measure while she paid up front. She remembers the payment in slow motion: Just after she'd signed on the dotted line, her husband came flying up from the back of the store, saying, "The centimeters are different! It doesn't fit!" The store clerk was no help, at least the one who spoke English.
Her husband said, "Can't you just cancel the transaction?"
"No, No," the clerk said in a thick accent, "Eees not like the States." She seemed convinced that it was their own fault and they should be punished by having a table that won't fit with the chairs. As they tried to work things out and their voices would start getting louder, the clerk would say, "C'est pas grave" ("It's not a big deal.") My friend says she hears this all the time, and it's usually when things are a very big deal.
Well, the rain has stopped, and it's overcast. I haven't started reading yet, but at least I did some Rainy Day Writing. I guess this can be my contribution to book club since I haven't finished the book.
Getting the kids' raincoats was a chore because the raincoats were not waiting patiently in the closet as they should have been. The ones that actually fit must be hiding out in the back of my husband's car because they were nowhere to be found. So we rolled up sleeves on a coat for the baby, we buttoned a snug-fitting coat for the 4-year-old, and we tried not to worry about the 3-quarter-inch sleeves on the 5-year-old's coat. When we were halfway to school, my 5-year-old son said, "Mom, you forgot your raincoat!" Yes, we don't worry as much about ourselves, do we?
So back to the soothing sound of rain on the windows. All I could think about was rainy day reading. I could put the baby down for his morning nap and curl up on the couch with my book club book. We have book club tonight, and I'm not finished. Wouldn't a cup of warm coffee and a book be luxurious?
The book I'm reading, Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik, has on its cover a woman and child in the perfect raincoat ensembles walking on a rainy Paris street full of statues and trees. The title is dreamy and romantic, too, but so far, the book is not that dreamy and romantic. It's been hard to sink my teeth into, but it does have some really witty parts.
The problem for me is the writer is more of an essayist than a journalist, and I usually tend toward journalism or memoirs for my nonfiction. His observations are almost too profound, where I need accessible. For example, the chapter on Paris cafes starts with a comparison between cafe popularity and a late nineteenth century mathematical problem. I really want to be sitting at the cafe with him, not delving into a theory.
But when he talks about the lack of help and customer service in Paris, especially compared to the American model, I really cracked up. Having two close friends living in Paris recently, I have heard their stories (amusing to me all these miles and waters away, but highly frustrating to them) about just this situation. Gopnik says that where in America the customer is always right, in Paris, the customer is always wrong.
"So, for instance," Gopnik writes, "if your clothes dryer breaks down and you want to get the people ... to come fix it, you will be told first, that only one man knows how it works and he cannot be found...; next, that it cannot be fixed for a week because of a store policy...; and, finally, that you are perfectly right to find all this exasperating, but nothing can be done, because it is in the nature of things for a dryer to break down, dryers are like that... 'They are sensitive machines; they are ill-suited to the task; no one has ever made one successfully,' the store bureaucrat in charge of service says, sighing. 'C'est normal.'" (Gopnik, 80)
Turns out, my Paris friend has a dryer story of her own. Three different people came to her apartment over a two-week period with no answers and no fixed dryer. They would say, "C'est tres bizarre." Then they would ask her if it ever worked. Uh, yes. That's how she knew it was now broken. Then they would leave her with a broken dryer and two toddlers racing around. Finally, her upstairs neighbor who spoke great French called and raised the roof until they came to fix the dryer.
She told a similar situation about when she bought her dining room table. She already owned a chic set of chairs she had had made a couple of years before, and now that she was in Paris, what a perfect place to invest in a table! She found a wonderful table, measured, went home to compare against the chair measurements, and took her husband back to seal the deal. He happened to bring his own American measuring tape to the store (she had used the store's French measuring tape before), and went back to measure while she paid up front. She remembers the payment in slow motion: Just after she'd signed on the dotted line, her husband came flying up from the back of the store, saying, "The centimeters are different! It doesn't fit!" The store clerk was no help, at least the one who spoke English.
Her husband said, "Can't you just cancel the transaction?"
"No, No," the clerk said in a thick accent, "Eees not like the States." She seemed convinced that it was their own fault and they should be punished by having a table that won't fit with the chairs. As they tried to work things out and their voices would start getting louder, the clerk would say, "C'est pas grave" ("It's not a big deal.") My friend says she hears this all the time, and it's usually when things are a very big deal.
Well, the rain has stopped, and it's overcast. I haven't started reading yet, but at least I did some Rainy Day Writing. I guess this can be my contribution to book club since I haven't finished the book.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Logistics
I just wanted to say thank you for those of you who have signed up to "follow" this blog or have subscribed by email. I love having an outlet for writing and have been so encouraged by your thoughts and comments.
Several of you said you were not able to leave a comment on the blog and so have been sending me email comments. Also, because some of you receive the posts through email, you are replying to the email to send a comment, and again, I love reading them, but I am the only one who gets to read them! That is totally fine, but I also think your comments could be really encouraging for other people to read, too.
From what I understand, I think you have to have a "Google Account" to leave a comment on the site (but that takes about a minute or less to get). If you have time, great, but I know that sometimes "one more thing" is one more thing.
In the meantime, I love reading the comments you are sending me alone.
Several of you said you were not able to leave a comment on the blog and so have been sending me email comments. Also, because some of you receive the posts through email, you are replying to the email to send a comment, and again, I love reading them, but I am the only one who gets to read them! That is totally fine, but I also think your comments could be really encouraging for other people to read, too.
From what I understand, I think you have to have a "Google Account" to leave a comment on the site (but that takes about a minute or less to get). If you have time, great, but I know that sometimes "one more thing" is one more thing.
In the meantime, I love reading the comments you are sending me alone.
Dehydration
During the blazing hot Texas summers, you have to drink a lot of water. I have heard that once you are thirsty, you are already starting to get dehydrated and need to drink water to replenish your body's supply.
The other day, I was reading the story of the Woman at the Well in John 4 and thinking about thirst.
"Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life" (John 4:13-14).
I have always related this passage to what I thought of as thirst: my need to be satisfied, my desires' need to be quenched. But this time, I saw that my tendencies are not true thirst, but just greed or gluttony or temptation. Thirst in the literal sense is about water, which our body needs to survive. True thirst is life or death, not whims and fancies, hopes or daydreams. When we thirst, we are already in need.
Jesus is talking about our spiritual thirst, which is based on what we need to live. We are thirsty because our sin has separated us from His perfect glory. He quenches our thirst once and for all through salvation, offered to us by Jesus' death on the cross, which was the sacrifice needed to restore our relationship with God. Then He provides a spring within us through the Holy Spirit, eternally quenching our thirst, daily allowing communion with God.
The well in the Samaritan town of John 4 was a gathering place, a vital part of the whole community because everyone needs water. Even though this woman hoped to avoid people because of her past and current lifestyle, she still came to the well; she had to. She needed water to live. Once there, she was shocked to meet Jesus and more shocked that he wanted to talk with her and asked her for a drink because "Jews do not associate with Samaritans" (John 4: 9).
I love that, though we may think we need to approach God's throne in a certain way or at a certain time, He meets us at His well any time. He knows our baggage and speaks truth over us--just as He did with the Samaritan woman and her past and present. He offers us LIFE, not death. He saves us. He quenches our thirst. And then He gives us an eternal spring.
I so often come to God, thinking, "Oh, my thirst, my hopes, my dreams, my desires...." He is not condemning my hopes and dreams; He is not invalidating those or saying no. Instead, He is shifting the focus back to the real priority--salvation, living water, eternal life. I need to have an eternal perspective, not an earthly one.
The other day, I was reading the story of the Woman at the Well in John 4 and thinking about thirst.
"Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life" (John 4:13-14).
I have always related this passage to what I thought of as thirst: my need to be satisfied, my desires' need to be quenched. But this time, I saw that my tendencies are not true thirst, but just greed or gluttony or temptation. Thirst in the literal sense is about water, which our body needs to survive. True thirst is life or death, not whims and fancies, hopes or daydreams. When we thirst, we are already in need.
Jesus is talking about our spiritual thirst, which is based on what we need to live. We are thirsty because our sin has separated us from His perfect glory. He quenches our thirst once and for all through salvation, offered to us by Jesus' death on the cross, which was the sacrifice needed to restore our relationship with God. Then He provides a spring within us through the Holy Spirit, eternally quenching our thirst, daily allowing communion with God.
The well in the Samaritan town of John 4 was a gathering place, a vital part of the whole community because everyone needs water. Even though this woman hoped to avoid people because of her past and current lifestyle, she still came to the well; she had to. She needed water to live. Once there, she was shocked to meet Jesus and more shocked that he wanted to talk with her and asked her for a drink because "Jews do not associate with Samaritans" (John 4: 9).
I love that, though we may think we need to approach God's throne in a certain way or at a certain time, He meets us at His well any time. He knows our baggage and speaks truth over us--just as He did with the Samaritan woman and her past and present. He offers us LIFE, not death. He saves us. He quenches our thirst. And then He gives us an eternal spring.
I so often come to God, thinking, "Oh, my thirst, my hopes, my dreams, my desires...." He is not condemning my hopes and dreams; He is not invalidating those or saying no. Instead, He is shifting the focus back to the real priority--salvation, living water, eternal life. I need to have an eternal perspective, not an earthly one.
Daylight Savings and Turkey Feet
On Saturday evening, my husband said, "Daylight Savings...Fall Back..So tomorrow we GAIN an hour; right?"
I looked at him and said, "If you can explain that to the kids, then yes, we will gain an hour. Before we had kids, yes, we gained an hour." I don't recall ever gaining an hour in the past five years of Daylight Savings.
Sure enough, Monday morning, everyone was up at 5:45 and ready to get dressed for school.
We were already exhausted from a two-day trip to Dallas, which was a blast, but did not include great sleep only because of children's coughs and midnight wakings and wanderings, disoriented in a new place.
Then on our return, I had to stay up late to cram in an assignment for school on Monday. It seems crazy that I could be cramming at this phase in my life, but I had volunteered to trace and cut about a million paper turkey feathers, turkey necks, and turkey feet. When I did this, the teacher looked me in the eyes and said, "Are you sure?" I should have known. That was a clear warning, complete with a teacher look, that this was not a good idea. But I was picturing sitting on the couch and catching up on Gray's Anatomy. How easy! How long could it take? It took hours.
Now everyone has coughs, and the baby keeps waking himself up with coughing. Last night, our 4-year-old was up twice, once with an accident.
We are still looking to gain an hour of sleep.
I looked at him and said, "If you can explain that to the kids, then yes, we will gain an hour. Before we had kids, yes, we gained an hour." I don't recall ever gaining an hour in the past five years of Daylight Savings.
Sure enough, Monday morning, everyone was up at 5:45 and ready to get dressed for school.
We were already exhausted from a two-day trip to Dallas, which was a blast, but did not include great sleep only because of children's coughs and midnight wakings and wanderings, disoriented in a new place.
Then on our return, I had to stay up late to cram in an assignment for school on Monday. It seems crazy that I could be cramming at this phase in my life, but I had volunteered to trace and cut about a million paper turkey feathers, turkey necks, and turkey feet. When I did this, the teacher looked me in the eyes and said, "Are you sure?" I should have known. That was a clear warning, complete with a teacher look, that this was not a good idea. But I was picturing sitting on the couch and catching up on Gray's Anatomy. How easy! How long could it take? It took hours.
Now everyone has coughs, and the baby keeps waking himself up with coughing. Last night, our 4-year-old was up twice, once with an accident.
We are still looking to gain an hour of sleep.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Library Volunteer
Today I volunteered in the lower school library. This year, I have started working there every other Tuesday for 30 minutes. It is such a short time, but I wanted to start small.
I love libraries. And a children's library, one geared for the youngest kiddoes, is so inspirational. The librarians are both wonderful, and I love talking with them and listening to them. It reminds me of the old days, teaching 6th grade English and loving any time I got to hang out in the middle school library.
My 5-year-old son gets to go to the library once a week and check out a book. He did this last year, too, and every afternoon, besides having a new book, he'd have some new facts his librarian/teacher had taught him. A month ago, he cozied up to me on the couch and said, "Mom, I have a secret for you."
"What?" I asked.
"William Shakespeare," he whispered. Well, he might as well have told me I'd be on the next train to heaven. I love Shakespeare, and to hear my son say his name... Dreamy.
"Oh? What do you know about him?"
"He wrote movies," he said, seriously, "and he wrote a few plays." I love it.
Last week, he started telling me about Prince Edward abdicating the throne to marry Wallis Simpson. Last year, he tried to tell me at dinner one night about the "terrasotta soldiers" from China. I had to spend some time on the internet with him to get to the bottom of this mystery, but we finally did find some terraCOTTA soldiers traveling to museums.
His library teacher takes the kids on "journeys" to new countries and different time periods each week, and it is amazing to me what my son retains. What a fun job.
Anyway, back to the library today. I was shelving some books while a third grade class took turns telling ghost stories to each other, and I came across some children's poetry books. There was the usual slew of Jack Prelutsky, but I was reminded of Pat Mora, a Texas poet, and enjoyed flipping through a children's picture book of poetry she wrote.
Just now I looked her up and read a portion of an interview with her (http://poetryforchildren.blogspot.com/2010_11_01_archive.html).
She talked about needing "the stillness to explore" and "creating the quiet to write."
I loved that morsel. I need more stillness and quiet. I need them in order to have the mental space and capacity to explore. But I also can create more quiet. It's hard, but once little people are asleep (or before they wake up), I can create quiet. Or maybe it's less creating quiet and more carving out quiet (recent pumpkin imagery). "Creating" sounds soft, a nice easy lasso of sound to allow quiet. In my life these days, quiet doesn't come so easily. I need a more ruthless term to get quiet. Carve out the time. Carve out the quiet. Otherwise, it won't happen.
I love libraries. And a children's library, one geared for the youngest kiddoes, is so inspirational. The librarians are both wonderful, and I love talking with them and listening to them. It reminds me of the old days, teaching 6th grade English and loving any time I got to hang out in the middle school library.
My 5-year-old son gets to go to the library once a week and check out a book. He did this last year, too, and every afternoon, besides having a new book, he'd have some new facts his librarian/teacher had taught him. A month ago, he cozied up to me on the couch and said, "Mom, I have a secret for you."
"What?" I asked.
"William Shakespeare," he whispered. Well, he might as well have told me I'd be on the next train to heaven. I love Shakespeare, and to hear my son say his name... Dreamy.
"Oh? What do you know about him?"
"He wrote movies," he said, seriously, "and he wrote a few plays." I love it.
Last week, he started telling me about Prince Edward abdicating the throne to marry Wallis Simpson. Last year, he tried to tell me at dinner one night about the "terrasotta soldiers" from China. I had to spend some time on the internet with him to get to the bottom of this mystery, but we finally did find some terraCOTTA soldiers traveling to museums.
His library teacher takes the kids on "journeys" to new countries and different time periods each week, and it is amazing to me what my son retains. What a fun job.
Anyway, back to the library today. I was shelving some books while a third grade class took turns telling ghost stories to each other, and I came across some children's poetry books. There was the usual slew of Jack Prelutsky, but I was reminded of Pat Mora, a Texas poet, and enjoyed flipping through a children's picture book of poetry she wrote.
Just now I looked her up and read a portion of an interview with her (http://poetryforchildren.blogspot.com/2010_11_01_archive.html).
She talked about needing "the stillness to explore" and "creating the quiet to write."
I loved that morsel. I need more stillness and quiet. I need them in order to have the mental space and capacity to explore. But I also can create more quiet. It's hard, but once little people are asleep (or before they wake up), I can create quiet. Or maybe it's less creating quiet and more carving out quiet (recent pumpkin imagery). "Creating" sounds soft, a nice easy lasso of sound to allow quiet. In my life these days, quiet doesn't come so easily. I need a more ruthless term to get quiet. Carve out the time. Carve out the quiet. Otherwise, it won't happen.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Grocery Store Outfits
When I was working full-time and went grocery store shopping, I was never happy to be there. It was usually after work, and I was tired and ready to be home and out of work clothes.
Now that I am a stay-at-home mom, I feel like the grocery store is my home-away-from home. This sentiment may sound cozy and calm, like my trips there are full of waves at the fish man and deli woman, chit chat with the checker. I do enjoy seeing all these people that work there, almost like it's its own small town.
But there is one problem that has arisen. Just as at home I am super comfortable in sweat pants and no makeup, my grocery store trips sometimes get the same treatment.
My increased frequency and time at the grocery store have also impacted the amount of people I run into there. When I was working, even if I looked a little haggard from the end of the day, I at least had remnants of make-up and an outfit that thought had gone into. I was presentable.
Now, I sometimes see people coming and want to hide behind the pita chip display, cringing at why I hadn't changed before I drove to the store.
Today was one of those days that I put on exercise shorts (a little tight) and a white t-shirt (a little tight), took the baby on a walk, and then realized I needed to race to make it to the store before I picked up my 4-year-old from school. I had no ounce of makeup on, but I had brushed my teeth and hair. Right before I got out of the car, I put a little lip gloss on, and off I went.
Now, you know that if I had looked cute at all, I would not have seen anyone I knew. But even in this 20 minute trip to the store at 11 a.m., I saw two people I know (neither of them well).
I feel like I am to the point where I need to put some thought into how I look every time I leave the house. I don't think I can get away with the grunge look anymore (wasn't that when I was in college? yikes.)
It seems like someone who is not working full-time outside of the home could manage to get fully dressed (including mascara) before leaving the house. But I can't always make it happen. I have to be efficient with my time while the kids are at school, so sometimes this means going places quickly--like right after the gym or a walk. I can't always go straight to a shower because I may need to make sure we have a meal that night and I know that if I take a tired pre-schooler with me to the store it will not be a good scene. I have to weigh the pros and cons of looking cute at the store.
Maybe this is just a season, and when the kids are a little older, I'll look fabulous at the grocery store.
Or maybe I can find some sort of telephone booth to disappear into and change like Super Woman, emerging ready to conquer the store and dazzle onlookers with my strength and dignity.
Maybe I should lean into this verse a little more and just not worry about it: "Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised" (Prov. 31:30)
Now that I am a stay-at-home mom, I feel like the grocery store is my home-away-from home. This sentiment may sound cozy and calm, like my trips there are full of waves at the fish man and deli woman, chit chat with the checker. I do enjoy seeing all these people that work there, almost like it's its own small town.
But there is one problem that has arisen. Just as at home I am super comfortable in sweat pants and no makeup, my grocery store trips sometimes get the same treatment.
My increased frequency and time at the grocery store have also impacted the amount of people I run into there. When I was working, even if I looked a little haggard from the end of the day, I at least had remnants of make-up and an outfit that thought had gone into. I was presentable.
Now, I sometimes see people coming and want to hide behind the pita chip display, cringing at why I hadn't changed before I drove to the store.
Today was one of those days that I put on exercise shorts (a little tight) and a white t-shirt (a little tight), took the baby on a walk, and then realized I needed to race to make it to the store before I picked up my 4-year-old from school. I had no ounce of makeup on, but I had brushed my teeth and hair. Right before I got out of the car, I put a little lip gloss on, and off I went.
Now, you know that if I had looked cute at all, I would not have seen anyone I knew. But even in this 20 minute trip to the store at 11 a.m., I saw two people I know (neither of them well).
I feel like I am to the point where I need to put some thought into how I look every time I leave the house. I don't think I can get away with the grunge look anymore (wasn't that when I was in college? yikes.)
It seems like someone who is not working full-time outside of the home could manage to get fully dressed (including mascara) before leaving the house. But I can't always make it happen. I have to be efficient with my time while the kids are at school, so sometimes this means going places quickly--like right after the gym or a walk. I can't always go straight to a shower because I may need to make sure we have a meal that night and I know that if I take a tired pre-schooler with me to the store it will not be a good scene. I have to weigh the pros and cons of looking cute at the store.
Maybe this is just a season, and when the kids are a little older, I'll look fabulous at the grocery store.
Or maybe I can find some sort of telephone booth to disappear into and change like Super Woman, emerging ready to conquer the store and dazzle onlookers with my strength and dignity.
Maybe I should lean into this verse a little more and just not worry about it: "Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised" (Prov. 31:30)
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