Our son loves being tickled. And I love the way he squinches (it's a technical term, you may not have heard of it) his chubby neck, even when he's tickled on his belly, though it's the back of the neck, really, that's his weak spot. Grazing that one little spot will get him pulling his head in like a turtle in his shell without fail, always accompanied by a giggle, of course.
Not only does he get a kick out of a good tickle, he's learned how to bait his daddy into a good round of tummy attacks. Yesterday during lunch, while Emmett reclined on the love-seat with Daddy, he reached his tiny hand up to grab Philip's nose. Philip responded by giving Emmett's belly a good squeeze. Little man would give a good belly laugh and reach his hand back up toward Daddy's face again. And so the cycle continued. That little guy just couldn't get enough.
And, naturally, the rest of us were tickled by his amusement and his teaching himself cause and effect. What a cutie.
21 April 2011
20 April 2011
Of Re-defining Beautiful
My sister and I had a conversation once about how we do our best thinking in the shower - I suppose it has to do with the fact that this is the one place (for those of us "regular people" who aren't fancy enough for such things) where we are completely empty of technology or any means by which to distract our attention. There is no T.V. to drown out our thoughts, no phone calls or books to read. Just us, our shampoo, and our brains.
Thus, yesterday, I was in my "think spot" gazing at my painted-purple toes and my mind began to wander. Why do we, as women, feel the need to paint ourselves varying colors? My toenails, granted, just make me happy - it's not that I think they're any more beautiful when they're purple or green or blue, just more fun. But what about my face?
Having done no technical research (I was in the shower, mind you, google wasn't exactly at my finger-tips), I pondered the realization that once upon a time someone decided a woman with long, dark eyelashes was beautiful. So they created a way for all women to have luscious lashes. And then someone else fell in love with the look of faintly rosed cheeks, so they created a way for all women to re-create this natural blush. And so on until all women within a certain social standing were buying every product on the market in an attempt to emulate the ideal beautiful. Have you ever noticed that the gorgeous ones out there, when all made-up according to beauty standards, tend to all look the same? And then, in those ultra rare moments when we see one of these goddesses off of her mountainous throne, face stripped of its faux features, we see she looks nothing like how she is portrayed on a daily basis.
And society has taught us this naked face is simply not beautiful, or, at least, not as pretty as it could be, if she would just enhance things a bit.
Have I ever stopped before to consider what an insult this is to my Creator? To tell him, every morning as I mourn my invisible eyelashes and strive to make them pop just a little with a small touch of mascara, that what He made wasn't good enough. Good effort, God, but let me help you out a little; I'll show you what real beauty is.
What a slap in the face.
He has made an array of beautiful masterpieces and we, the ignorant masses, are running in and throwing spray-paint on his work of art - feeling not good enough because we don't look like the person next to us, not realizing that it's the uniqueness that defines our beauty.
So, right there in that shower yesterday morning, I decided this daily offense to God had to stop. I dried off and marched right past the drawer of my vanity (interesting name for our bathroom counter, isn't it?), not stopping for a little touch-up. Believe me, it was a big step.
This morning, though, knowing I was preparing to see all of my friends in Bible study and feeling as though my eyes just look so dull with those invisible lashes, I struggled just a little, with wondering if I really was beautiful all on my own - just the way God made me. I realized just how much I hide behind the dark paint on those tiny hairs attached to my eyelids. You wouldn't think such a minuscule mask would make much difference, but oh, how it does.
I was reminded of the verses in 1 Peter: "Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight" (1 Peter 3:3-4). One of those verses us good Christian girls thinks is just so sweet and then we re-assure ourselves that as long as our inside is pretty, it doesn't hurt to make the outside pretty, too. It's just a reminder, really, that we need to be sure we have that gentle spirit under our gold jewelry and fancy hair. And I'm not saying that is necessarily wrong. I'm just knowing the Spirit has convicted me, personally.
Because here's what happens. We hide behind our outer beauty so it softens the blow a little when our insides aren't quite up to par. When we rely entirely on our quiet and gentle spirit to be the beauty others see in us, when our outside isn't painted and our hearts have to speak of the natural beauty with which God has equipped us, there's a lot more pressure.
So here's to throwing out the crutch and living God's beauty - gentle and quiet on the inside, and beautiful the way He made me on the outside.
(This is the song that came to my mind as I pondered all the above sentiments. Please disregard the animated vegetables for the time-being and allow the truth of the words to soak into your inner-most being. God knit you together in your mother's womb - and He has called you beautiful.)
Thus, yesterday, I was in my "think spot" gazing at my painted-purple toes and my mind began to wander. Why do we, as women, feel the need to paint ourselves varying colors? My toenails, granted, just make me happy - it's not that I think they're any more beautiful when they're purple or green or blue, just more fun. But what about my face?
Having done no technical research (I was in the shower, mind you, google wasn't exactly at my finger-tips), I pondered the realization that once upon a time someone decided a woman with long, dark eyelashes was beautiful. So they created a way for all women to have luscious lashes. And then someone else fell in love with the look of faintly rosed cheeks, so they created a way for all women to re-create this natural blush. And so on until all women within a certain social standing were buying every product on the market in an attempt to emulate the ideal beautiful. Have you ever noticed that the gorgeous ones out there, when all made-up according to beauty standards, tend to all look the same? And then, in those ultra rare moments when we see one of these goddesses off of her mountainous throne, face stripped of its faux features, we see she looks nothing like how she is portrayed on a daily basis.
And society has taught us this naked face is simply not beautiful, or, at least, not as pretty as it could be, if she would just enhance things a bit.
Have I ever stopped before to consider what an insult this is to my Creator? To tell him, every morning as I mourn my invisible eyelashes and strive to make them pop just a little with a small touch of mascara, that what He made wasn't good enough. Good effort, God, but let me help you out a little; I'll show you what real beauty is.
What a slap in the face.
He has made an array of beautiful masterpieces and we, the ignorant masses, are running in and throwing spray-paint on his work of art - feeling not good enough because we don't look like the person next to us, not realizing that it's the uniqueness that defines our beauty.
So, right there in that shower yesterday morning, I decided this daily offense to God had to stop. I dried off and marched right past the drawer of my vanity (interesting name for our bathroom counter, isn't it?), not stopping for a little touch-up. Believe me, it was a big step.
This morning, though, knowing I was preparing to see all of my friends in Bible study and feeling as though my eyes just look so dull with those invisible lashes, I struggled just a little, with wondering if I really was beautiful all on my own - just the way God made me. I realized just how much I hide behind the dark paint on those tiny hairs attached to my eyelids. You wouldn't think such a minuscule mask would make much difference, but oh, how it does.
I was reminded of the verses in 1 Peter: "Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight" (1 Peter 3:3-4). One of those verses us good Christian girls thinks is just so sweet and then we re-assure ourselves that as long as our inside is pretty, it doesn't hurt to make the outside pretty, too. It's just a reminder, really, that we need to be sure we have that gentle spirit under our gold jewelry and fancy hair. And I'm not saying that is necessarily wrong. I'm just knowing the Spirit has convicted me, personally.
Because here's what happens. We hide behind our outer beauty so it softens the blow a little when our insides aren't quite up to par. When we rely entirely on our quiet and gentle spirit to be the beauty others see in us, when our outside isn't painted and our hearts have to speak of the natural beauty with which God has equipped us, there's a lot more pressure.
So here's to throwing out the crutch and living God's beauty - gentle and quiet on the inside, and beautiful the way He made me on the outside.
(This is the song that came to my mind as I pondered all the above sentiments. Please disregard the animated vegetables for the time-being and allow the truth of the words to soak into your inner-most being. God knit you together in your mother's womb - and He has called you beautiful.)
19 April 2011
Of Signs of Growth
This guy . . .
And this girl . . .
Three weeks ago, she couldn't get a sip from the drinking fountain at church without a boost from mom (which wasn't easy with her brother on one hip, but somehow it worked). Last week? She got a drink all by herself. And she didn't even have to stand on tiptoe. See those legs? There's not even any baby fat left. Where did my baby girl go?!
I'm working on a theory that they switch them out every week in the church nursery. Because those are not the kids I brought home from the hospital - those kids couldn't even hold their heads up, let alone eat green beans or drink from the water fountain.
And yet, I'm enjoying the process of seeing them develop. I suppose, if I had to face the truth, I'd probably get bored if they remained stagnant at this age for all of eternity. At the same time, though, it would be alright if the days and weeks would slow just a smidgen. I'm trying to soak it all in and this rapidly moving clock is not helping the process.
Has got six teeth (nearly). And he ate green beans tonight (don't worry, they came from Grandma's garden, hand-delivered by Gram this weekend - aren't they wonderful?) straight up, not even pureed. What a big boy.
Get a gander at those teeth (the fifth and sixth are tougher to see, they're on either side of this bottom two teeth) [click to see to see it larger]:
And this girl . . .
I'm working on a theory that they switch them out every week in the church nursery. Because those are not the kids I brought home from the hospital - those kids couldn't even hold their heads up, let alone eat green beans or drink from the water fountain.
And yet, I'm enjoying the process of seeing them develop. I suppose, if I had to face the truth, I'd probably get bored if they remained stagnant at this age for all of eternity. At the same time, though, it would be alright if the days and weeks would slow just a smidgen. I'm trying to soak it all in and this rapidly moving clock is not helping the process.
18 April 2011
Of Great Kids
As Philip and I semi-frantically (we were hurried, but not stressed) prepared food for a gathering I hosted this evening, we enjoyed one of those precious moments. When Mommy and Daddy are both set to a task and our babies just want to be near us, though are comfortable not being on top of us (you parents can understand this, I know). Emmett sat in the middle of the kitchen, not getting into trouble, per his customary ways, but just watching his parents hustle back and forth across the kitchen. Then his sister sat down next to him and, after smothering him with hugs and kisses, pulled out a book and began to read to her brother, "Once 'pon time, a girl and a puppy . . . hahahaha!" It was just about the sweetest story we ever heard.
These are the moments when we look at each other and say, "We have great kids." (For the record, we also say this phrase, nearly without fail, every night as we think back on the day together.)
And it's true. They have their not-so-great moments, but the two of them are, on the whole, pretty darn amazing. And they're mine.
These are the moments when we look at each other and say, "We have great kids." (For the record, we also say this phrase, nearly without fail, every night as we think back on the day together.)
And it's true. They have their not-so-great moments, but the two of them are, on the whole, pretty darn amazing. And they're mine.
17 April 2011
Of a Perfect Love
I don't have very much to say tonight, except for this - there is a wonderful harmony when a marriage is functioning as it should.
A partnership between two hearts; a feeling that we are truly working toward the same goal at the same time. Not a push and pull of who can avoid the most responsibility, but a bowing down of both to the needs of the other. When he is the leader and I am the follower, simply trusting in his leadership and knowing he has the best interests of myself and our children at the heart of all he does.
It's not always like this. Which is what makes days like today a true treasure. A perfect moment in the midst of imperfect lives.
Life, and love, the way God intended.
A partnership between two hearts; a feeling that we are truly working toward the same goal at the same time. Not a push and pull of who can avoid the most responsibility, but a bowing down of both to the needs of the other. When he is the leader and I am the follower, simply trusting in his leadership and knowing he has the best interests of myself and our children at the heart of all he does.
It's not always like this. Which is what makes days like today a true treasure. A perfect moment in the midst of imperfect lives.
Life, and love, the way God intended.
16 April 2011
Of Being Let Go
As previously mentioned, I spent the last day and a half with a good-sized group of women from my church at the Oklahoma Ladies' Retreat. What I failed to mention was that, aside from trying not to cry like a baby while missing my own, I was technically the group leader for our church. I say technically because I still find it difficult to grasp that anyone would put me "in charge" of a few grown women who are, in actuality, perfectly capable of caring for themselves. Nevertheless, I was the one who coordinated travel plans and facilitated group discussion.
The only thing I really feared was any semblance of a repeat of last year's plumbing issues which would end up falling on my shoulders should sewer water begin flooding the cabin - again. What I kept tucked in the back of my mind, though, was if anything went terribly wrong, I always had back-up in the form of our wonderful pastor's wife, Jamy, the one on whom this role typically falls. In an effort to let go of shouldering the responsibility of full leadership for all women's events, Jamy has begun delegating and, somehow, the task of ladies' retreat fell to me. Yet, thankfully, she still participated as a regular attendee and fantastic support system.
I began to realize quickly, though, that Jamy is serious in her loving role of mentor for those of us rising to the task. To nearly every piddly question I attempted to pawn off on her, I received the response, "It's up to you; you're the leader!"
I got the message. The training wheels were off. Yes, she was still close by, ready to catch the bike if it fell, but I was pedaling this baby all on my own. Eventually I stopped asking. I knew what she would say. And, instead, I made a decision on my own. And then another. And then I asked for help with the next, but I'm learning.
And with every step, as she pushed me off on my own, there was always the encouraging shout from her spot behind me on the pavement, "You're doing great! Keep going!"
And that, to me, is true leadership. Someday I'll be there. Hopefully.
The only thing I really feared was any semblance of a repeat of last year's plumbing issues which would end up falling on my shoulders should sewer water begin flooding the cabin - again. What I kept tucked in the back of my mind, though, was if anything went terribly wrong, I always had back-up in the form of our wonderful pastor's wife, Jamy, the one on whom this role typically falls. In an effort to let go of shouldering the responsibility of full leadership for all women's events, Jamy has begun delegating and, somehow, the task of ladies' retreat fell to me. Yet, thankfully, she still participated as a regular attendee and fantastic support system.
I began to realize quickly, though, that Jamy is serious in her loving role of mentor for those of us rising to the task. To nearly every piddly question I attempted to pawn off on her, I received the response, "It's up to you; you're the leader!"
I got the message. The training wheels were off. Yes, she was still close by, ready to catch the bike if it fell, but I was pedaling this baby all on my own. Eventually I stopped asking. I knew what she would say. And, instead, I made a decision on my own. And then another. And then I asked for help with the next, but I'm learning.
And with every step, as she pushed me off on my own, there was always the encouraging shout from her spot behind me on the pavement, "You're doing great! Keep going!"
And that, to me, is true leadership. Someday I'll be there. Hopefully.
15 April 2011
Of Missing My Babies
Today I am off on our annual Ladies' Retreat through the Baptist General Convention of Oklahoma. Honesty alert: this was actually written yesterday - which, as I'm writing it is "today," I'll let your mind stew on that for awhile.
My first retreat after the birth of Micaiah, truth be told, was rough for me. I thought I could handle it, truly, I did. But as I awoke on Saturday morning without a baby to snuggle and my husband close by, I found a spot to be alone and the tears streamed down my face. All I wanted was to be home and home was two and a half hours away via church van (and on top of my not being comfortable commandeering an 11-passenger van, I don't think the other 10 ladies left with no form of transportation would have appreciated my doing so). I felt like a fifth-grader at sleep-away camp for the first time.
Of course, I pushed through the feelings and survived the rest of the morning until arriving home more than a few hours later. But I was more than ready to see my baby girl when the time came.
Here's hoping I'm holding together a little better this year. Just yesterday (or "today" - wink, wink), I took a long look at my bubbly little boy giggling with his Daddy and already felt my homesickness welling up.
This coming from the woman who had no problem leaving her one-week-old first child with Gram and Grandy while she went on a date with her husband. Apparently my apron strings have selective levels of tightness.
My first retreat after the birth of Micaiah, truth be told, was rough for me. I thought I could handle it, truly, I did. But as I awoke on Saturday morning without a baby to snuggle and my husband close by, I found a spot to be alone and the tears streamed down my face. All I wanted was to be home and home was two and a half hours away via church van (and on top of my not being comfortable commandeering an 11-passenger van, I don't think the other 10 ladies left with no form of transportation would have appreciated my doing so). I felt like a fifth-grader at sleep-away camp for the first time.
Of course, I pushed through the feelings and survived the rest of the morning until arriving home more than a few hours later. But I was more than ready to see my baby girl when the time came.
Here's hoping I'm holding together a little better this year. Just yesterday (or "today" - wink, wink), I took a long look at my bubbly little boy giggling with his Daddy and already felt my homesickness welling up.
This coming from the woman who had no problem leaving her one-week-old first child with Gram and Grandy while she went on a date with her husband. Apparently my apron strings have selective levels of tightness.
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