Category: life & everyday

Thinking on Tears  4

You keep track of all my sorrows.
    You have collected all my tears in your bottle.    
You have recorded each one in your book. Psalm 56:8 (The Living Translation)

Have you ever thought about how we enter this world . . .

with a cry?

Do those tears count?
Those very tears that cause others in the room to cry out in thankfulness, in relief, in joy . ..  .

Are they our very first tears in our very own God-bottle of tears?

You’ve kept track of my every toss and turn 

                                                       through the sleepless nights,    

Each tear entered in your ledger,      
 each ache written in your book. 
Psalm 56:8 (The Message)

And what about our growing up tears?
The ones we’ve cried when we’ve been left with a new babysitter?
Or the ones that spring to our eyes when we scrape our knees or drip a tiny drop of blood?

Have you thought about the tears that you’ve cried that seem unwarranted?  The ones that could be easily fixed?

What about the tears you’ve cried over things that don’t break the heart of God?  Do those make the cut?

As we get older, we control our tears a little more, don’t we?
Keep them in check.
Angrily hide them when we’re embarrassed of what brings them to our eyes.
We save them for “what really counts”.

But if the promise is true . . . .
every. single. one. is precious to the One who records them.

And not one tear of ours falls without notice.  And the One Who Notices is never impatient or angry with our tears.  He simply collects them and loves us.

Just something I’m thinking about today.  (For me, as I cry.  And for me, as I listen to the many tears that fall from the rascals that I’m Mama to.)

P.S.  Bonus points if you can name the cry-er in each picture.  Grandmas are not eligible.

pop!  2

Oh!  Did you just hear that?

It’s my Mama Bubble Bursting!**

🙂

I love this Bored 1st Grade Boy of mine!

And so does she.

**  It’s not the first time my bubble burst. (has burst?  Bursted? Done hath bursted?)

An Interview and a Recipe  6

Today I would like to share this space with the special-est of guests.  She is destined to do great things, people!  Without further ado . . . .
Mom: Hi.  Would you like to introduce yourself?
Kate:  Yes.  My name is Kate.  I love you.
Mom: Before we start, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself.
Kate:  Ok.  I like books.  They are my favorite.  I have lots of other favorite things to do.
Mom:  Like cooking?
Kate:  Yes.  (whispering) say and . . .
Mom: And?
Kate: Coloring.
Mom:  What would you like to share with us today?
Kate:  Nothing.
Mom:  I mean, what is the recipe you are going to talk about today?
Kate:  Uh, Kate’s Recipe.
Mom:  Could you please tell me how you made it?
Kate:  I had chocolate covered raisins
Kate: And peanuts

 Kate: And almonds and cranberries

Kate: And one more thing . . .  pumpkin seeds!

Mom:  What did you do with those things?
Kate: I ate some of them.
Mom: No, I mean, how did you make Kate’s Recipe?
Kate: I used all that stuff, of course.
Mom:  Did you dump it on the floor and stir it with your feet?
Kate: No!  Mom gave me a bowl to stir it in.  I used a spoon to stir it.  

Mom:  And then what?
Kate:  Then we got to eat some of it.
Mom:  So I think that what you are saying is that your favorite part was the eating?
Kate:  Yes!
Mom:  Is there anything else you’d like to share today?
Kate: No.  The end.  Goodbye.

On Nurturing my Kids.  9

So many times when I find myself getting frustrated with my kids I realize that I’ve grown lazy in being intentional with them.

Just because I send my kids to church several times a week doesn’t mean that I’ve been left off the hook in their spiritual development.   It’s so important for me, as a Mom, to nurture my kids in their relationship with Christ.

Did you know that Susanna Wesley, as she raised her children, would often sit down at her kitchen table, flip her apron over her head and pray?  Her kids knew that they weren’t allowed to bug her when they saw her apron-covered head.

Here’s a quote I love from a letter she wrote to her husband:

“I am a woman, but I am also the mistress of a large family.  I am not a man nor a minister, yet as a mother and a mistress I felt I ought to do more than I had yet done. I resolved to begin with my own children; in which I observe the following method: I take such a proportion of time as I can spare every night to discourse with each child apart. On Monday I talk with Molly, on Tuesday with Hetty, Wednesday with Nancy, Thursday with Jacky, Friday with Patty, Saturday with Charles.” (source)

That’s the kind of Mom I want to be . . . a Mom that acknowledges the massive undertaking it is to raise kids in a broken, suffering world and actively seeks Christ to get through each day.  Intentionally. (Although I’m not sure I aspire to have a different child to “discourse” with each day of the week!  ha!)

Here are a few things I’ve been doing to help them along.

Peter and I want the kids to know the importance of praying daily for others.  So we sat down and wrote people’s names out on strips of paper.  Each morning we pull a name out and pray for that person/family during each meal time.  It doesn’t take long, but it’s made a big impact on our days.  Sometimes I take the extra step to write to the family to let them know that they were our “family of the day” and that we’ve been praying for them (but, honestly, this step doesn’t happen often).

Most of the people are friends and family, but we also had a few in there that the kids thought were funny.  Like the Manning family.  You know, as in Eli and Peyton.  Or the Obamas.   But when we wrote out names, I wanted them to realize that you don’t have to personally know someone to pray for them.  And being famous doesn’t necessarily mean that they don’t need prayer.

After ending our Jesse Tree (in February . . . our advent season went a little long this year.  ha!), we missed having something to do together.  So I hunted around a little and put together Quiet Time Journals for the kids.  (Here and here are the resources I used)  We pull these out a few times a week (sometimes more, sometimes less–  I really want to cultivate a love for the Word of God and not put emphasis on how often they are doing their Quiet Time.  The importance of regularity will come later).

William is studying the book of Luke.  Each time he reads a few verses and then answers a few questions I’ve written for him.  Somedays I’ll have him write out a particular verse that I want him to remember.  For his prayer time, I always have him come up with something he’s thankful for, something to ask forgiveness for, and something to ask for.

We read Kate a story from her Jesus Storybook Bible.  Then she draws a picture of what she read.  For her prayer time, she draws a picture of who or what she is praying for.  Because she loves drawing so much, she’s so excited to fill in her journal each time (and it keeps me from having to tell her how to s-p-e-l-l each word).

I try to direct their prayer times a little.  One day they’ll focus on neighbors or their siblings or friends.  Sometimes I have them pray for missionaries or for people who don’t know Jesus.  I try to remember that prayer is something they don’t just know how to do . . . they need to be taught how to do it.

Also, we’ve been listening to Scripture.  This morning I stuck in a cd of Matthew.  I loved walking through the living room and hearing snippets of verses.  And we have Seeds Family Worship loaded on the ipod.  Are you familiar with them?  I have been amazed at the Scripture songs I have running through my head and the impact they have on my thoughts.

Now, in full disclosure, I am having a hard time publishing this post as I think about my “mom skills” this week.  Let’s just say I’m glad I don’t get evaluations.  I would probably lose my job.  But underneath all my own selfishness and laziness and general impatience, I do truly desire that my kids would love God and His Word deeply.

P.S.  Were you wondering about Eliza’s Quiet Time?  Well, she uses that time to sneak the big kids’ cups of juice.  She thinks she’s pretty hot stuff.

Birthday Pancakes  5

Last Friday was Annie’s 3rd birthday.  I expected the words to flow freely onto this blog, as they usually do on the hard days . . . but it just didn’t come.  And that’s okay.  The longer this grief thing wears on, the more I realize that there is no “expected”, no “normal” to these days.  They hit hard each time, in a different way then before.  It is exhausting.

And so we ate pancakes.  Funky Monkey pancakes, to be exact.  How I love the ways in which God blesses us and the ways He reminds us that He cares.  Often I am sad that we have so few things that we knew about Annie . . . what her favorite color would have been, her favorite food, what her voice would’ve sounded like.  Birthdays bring that sadness out in me because I always make something special for the kids, as so many Moms do.  But with Annie, I don’t know what to make since she only really ate rice cereal (and I can’t imagine my family being too excited about that for breakfast.  Ha.).

I was flipping through a cookbook and I found a recipe with a note:

 “Mom made these for us when we brought Annie home from the hospital”

Instantly, I was transported back in time.  I remember carrying tiny Annie Jane into our house for the first time.   I was slightly traumatized at having two rambunctious kids running circles around me, begging to see, kiss, hold, suffocate their new sister.  And then the smell of banana muffins hit me.  Mom had made muffins, timing it perfectly so that they were coming out of the oven just as we walked into the house.  I cannot tell you how good they tasted to me.

That little, powerful memory has allowed me to have a “favorite” to celebrate Annie.  Seems a little silly, but nevertheless it’s something.  When we miss her we make banana muffins.

And on her birthday we tweaked it a bit (because muffins have too many steps for me to process in the mornings) and made banana pancakes instead.

It went over quite well.

Happy Birthday, Sweet Girly.  How we miss you.

P.S.  In our grief, I’ve found that finding ways to celebrate Annie regularly has been very, very important.  These rhythms that we’ve built into our life help us to look forward to something, to share it with each other, and to process her death.  The next day, we took a trip to the hospital, as we do each year, to deliver cookies to the PICU.  One of the most powerful ways to heal is to bless others . . . it may sound strange, but it’s true.

P.S. #2  I have the best Mom, don’t I?  Here she is attempting to teach Will and Kate how to be quiet and gentle with Annie (FYI: It didn’t work)

Things He’ll Never Do.  2

William and I went for a walk together the other day.  Just the two of us.

He rode his scooter, but slowed down so I could keep up with him.

I treasure these moments and the mundane conversation that goes along with them.

He looked at me seriously.

“Mom,” he said, “I want you to know there are a few things I’ll never do.”

“Like what?” I said.

“Smoke.”

“That’s good.  What else?”

“I never want to drink drugs.”

(I love his innocence.  Its’ days are numbered, though.)

“Anything else, Son?”

“Nothing that I can think of.”

“What about tattoos?  Will you ever get a tattoo?”

“Only a good one, Mom.”

“Oh?  What is a ‘good tattoo’?”

 . . . . pause . . .

“You know, like, ‘I love Mom’ or something.”

Bless his little heart.  Now, how am I supposed to protest a tattoo when he wants to make it about me?!

Date Night  3

Whenever Peter and I find ourselves in South Dakota, we like to take advantage of having free babysitting (aka Grandma and Grandpa).

But after many days sleeping in a hospital room, and hosting family and planning a funeral . . . well we just didn’t have the heart to dump our crazies on the Grandparents.  So we insisted on an early bed time for them, driving away with the kids strapped in their car seats before they could argue.

And then we went on a date anyway.

Now.  I know the importance of getting away with just Peter.  But can I just say that we had a lot of fun going on a date as a family?  When Kate turned to William and said, “William!  I’ve never dated YOU before!” it sealed the deal.  Especially when William turned to her so completely disgusted that she would even suggest such a thing.  Ah, the innocent difference of age 5 and age 7.

We went to our “usual” spot, an eclectic coffee shop in Aberdeen called “Red Rooster”.  And we all ordered Italian Creme Sodas.

Whenever we tell Peter’s Grandpa that we’re going to the Red Rooster, he tells us about the one and only time he’s been there.  “Well,” he says, “They had an advertisement for ‘Old Time Music’ so we went in and sat down.  We waited for a half an hour and then someone came up to us and said that they didn’t think it would be the kind of old time music we were expecting.  We didn’t stick around much after that.”

So, date night.
Sometimes it’s just as good WITH the kids.

Whispered Prayers.  13

In the still-dark hours of the morning yesterday, I heard a whispering from the middle child.

“Dear Jesus, Thank you for this day . . . .”

After some mumbling, I heard her “Amen.”

We are in South Dakota for the week.

Celebrating the life and death of Peter’s Grandma . . . a wonderful woman of Christ, the one I loved as soon as I met her.

This bittersweet-ness of life, it just seems to grow.

So, here we are crammed all together in a hotel room, all five of us figuring out how to sleep even when the baby wakes up puking and one wants the light on and the other wants it off.  We work it out somehow.

When I hear Kate praying, I ask her about it.

“But Mom,”  she says, “You told me that as soon as I wake up I should pray.  I should ask Jesus to help me get through the day.  To be kind.  To be happy.  To not argue.  And so I do.”

I had no idea she was actually listening.

 And so now I WANT to be crammed together in this hotel room to listen to My Girl’s sweet words to Jesus first thing in the morning.

Because her prayer not only changed her day, but it changed mine, too.

P.S.  Grandma was named Kathleen, but was known as “Aunt Kate” to many.  Our Kate was named after her.  Here they are celebrating her 1st Birthday together.

Sickies  1

Today I find myself home from Church . . . again.  It’s the third one I’ve missed of the last five.

We’ve amassed a pretty impressive list of ailments that we’ve conquered this Winter.  And just when I thought we were finally through it, it’s rearing it’s ugly head again.  Ah, this too will pass.

So today I am home with Eliza who started puking at the infamous time of two-in-the-morning.  Thankfully it only lasted a few hours, but she’s still not up to par.

After my initial guilt of having to stick others with my church responsibilities this morning, I settled in on the couch with coffee, sweats, a cuddly baby on my lap and “Sense and Sensibility” in the DVD player.  It’s all about finding the perks of the job sometimes.

Until.

#2 walked in the door.  Sick.

I’ll give you 3 guesses as to which Big Kid bit the dust:  “Sense and Sensibility” has been replaced with the 1993 Bulls vs. Suns game.  And, FYI, Phil Jackson and Charles Barkley are sporting pretty impressive moustaches.

He just said to me (and I quote): “Mom, do you mind if I skip ahead to the 4th quarter to see who won?”  Since the game was, oh, NINETEEN years ago, I guess it wouldn’t hurt, would it?

These moments are not always welcomed.  They are often long, filled with day after day of staying in the house without break or escape.  And I have to admit to dry heaving when I think about facing one more blow-out diaper.  Or midnight bloody nose. Or another load of foul smelling sheets.

But, I simply love being the Mom of these.  I’ll keep spraying the Lysol and taking temperatures and I’ll keep learning to be thankful for even these moments that make up life.

P.S.  These pictures were taken a few weeks ago during Round #2 of the Sickies.

Dear Mama, From Eliza  5

Dear Mama,
Now you know I love a good game of peek-a-boo.

And I’m forever indebted to you for introducing me to the best meal ever: spaghetti.

When you let Kate make me a snack?  Oooh, that is just the best.  She is way more generous than you are, Mom.  I try to stuff it all into my mouth just in case you decide to confiscate half of it.  In all fairness, though, you are super nice to let me run around in my diaper sometimes.  I love it so much.  Makes it much easier to squat, you know.

And should you need help cleaning out the fridge . . .   I’m your number one helper.  It’s really the least that I could do.

But, please, I beg of you, please don’t ever make me play in the snow again.

I will. not. move. my. feet.
Not even one little bit.

And in case my tears don’t convey enough of how I feel, just observe the cry-slobber.

Have pity on me, dear Mama.

I remain your faithful baby-of-the-family,

Eliza