Of Self-Control

Yesterday morning I sat in Bible Study unable to focus, groggy, and altogether useless to anyone.  I had been short and cranky with my children and holding a conversation was a struggle.  I was miserable.  All because I had not gone to sleep until nearly one o'clock that morning.  Of course, having a new-ish little one in the house, you might think I had a good excuse - but if I told you he was in bed by nine, you may think I was crazy for not getting sleep when I could.  And you would be fully justified.

So, again, there I was, the next morning, paying for my poor choices the night before, spending time doing various things around the house, rather than getting the rest I needed.  And suddenly I had a small kinship with all those who had baffled me before with their decisions to imbibe in alcohol to the point where they are absolutely useless to the world not only at the time during which they are drinking, but also the next morning, as they suffer from the inevitable hangover (of which I truly know nothing more than what I've seen on television).

I've always wondered - if they know they'll be so entirely miserable the next morning, why drink it in the first place?

And, yet, there I was, not a victim of my own drunkenness, but a casualty caused by a lack of self-control all the same.  Exhausted, useless and unprepared to deal with the world.  All because I decided it was more fun to shirk my grown-up responsibilities to be sure my body had the rest it needed and give in to my childish tendencies to break the rules (especially self-imposed rules), simply because I can.

When would I learn?  Didn't I know the consequences?  And didn't I make the choices all the same?

And isn't self-control a fruit of the Spirit?

Clearly I'm still a work in progress.


1,000 Gifts:
466. A tiny sticker of Buzz and Woody hidden among the folds of my sheets - these days are so fleeting.
467. The productivity accomplished by ignoring the internet.
468. Pelmeni for dinner.
469. Birthday Parties

470. Big Bird Bandages
480. Acrylic Paint
481. Old furniture made new.

Of Remembering

I'm going to admit here and now, my blogging may get quite spotty as I focus on meeting my News' Year goal. I beg your forgiveness, but hope you'll understand.

Nevertheless, I have stopped by tonight because I have had such a wonderful day enjoying my children and felt I needed to remember it always.

I need to remember moments like licking the remainder banana bread batter from the bowl with my daughter as she pauses to let me know, "Mommy, you're a good mommy."  So many days that does not ring true and from a little girl who always speaks her mind, my heart almost melted.  (Also, later, while "playing house" with Daddy, she apparently quit because "This game's too hard" - yes, my dear, being the Mommy is hard sometimes.)

I need to remember her drawings that are getting more advanced by the day - like this one of Aunt Dia.

I need to remember sitting on the couch with all three of my wee ones, going through their toddler-aged Brain Quest one of them got for Christmas (I LOVE Brain Quest, so this was quite exciting for me), while brother and sister traded spontaneous hugs and kisses - for no other reason that they were sitting next to each other and realized they just really like their sibling.  And I really like them, too.

I need to remember getting help with the laundry.  We're training him up in the way he should go . . .

 I need to remember spiders with nine legs and noses (definitely can't forget the nose!).

I need to remember him snuggled up on his sister's pink chair.

I need to remember waving Joey's monkey rattle in his face and actually earning giant grins and adorable giggles.

I need to remember hide-and-seek with a little hider under a pile of toys, reaching one arm out to find his sissy's purple hat to place it on his head - all while the seeker (Mommy) and her tiniest partner stand at the door giggling.

Finally, I really need to remember what a difference living out a schedule makes in our lives - knowing what needs to be done and feeling the accomplishment at the end of the day at having not only checked off the to-do list, but, as a result, having the time and energy to love on the most important people in my life. (And, as a result of that, how much sweeter everyone is to one another.)

I always need to remember.

1,000 Gifts:
459. Our oldest son taking care of his babies.
460. Sharing - without arguing
461. Spontaneous sister-brother hugs.
462. Reciprocal brother-sister kisses.
463. Baby squeals.
464. Playing with a baby who smiles and giggles back.
465. A jump-start on tomorrow's to-do

Of His Faithfulness

The music of Sunday mornings is my re-fueling time, it feels.  To have those weekly moments of standing among a chorus of the saints - those fellow believers traveling alongside on this narrow road - as a harmony of voices worships my God with me - I simply feel as though I have been carried to His very throne, standing dirty and unworthy, but so loved.

It was in these moments this morning that God just continued to rip me open, breaking up further fallow ground - pointing out areas of residual bitterness and unforgiveness - unforgiveness that has been festering for years, decades even - and disobedience.  I didn't know he could cover so many topics in one twenty-minute span, but our God is the God of the impossible.  And suddenly I was broken.

But the theme that just kept echoing in my head was, "He is faithful."  There are so many points in my life that I would once have considered hindrances to my walk, which He has completely turned around.  Our God is faithful.

People on whom I might have given up have been changed.  Relationships I might have considered lost have been restored.  Bitterness erased.  Forgiveness opened.  Our God is Faithful.

One area of my life God has been working lately has been on my submission to my husband.  To continue to work this point, I attended a short seminar at a conference our women's ministry hosted yesterday morning.  The title of the seminar was, "There is Nothing Weak about Submission" - this title is so accurate as it takes a courageous woman to submit to another's will - to truly trust another to determine and protect one's best interests takes strength and humility.

At the end of our brief session, the dear friend who acted as instructor encouraged the handful of us in the room to remember: we get the easy part.  We have simply been called to respect and submit - that's all.

Our husbands, however, have been commanded to love us, their brides, as Christ loved the church - unconditionally and sacrificially.  Every moment of every day.  To love in such a way is not easy.  And yet, this is their charge.  To love like Christ.

So, this morning, as I stood beside this man who has sworn to love me in such a way, I recalled how whiny and bitter I had been that very morning about our assignment to work in the church nursery, rather than attend Sunday School with our friends.  I'll admit, we both hate these days (another point God was working on, but that's beside the point at the moment).

But as I complained, once more, my husband insisted, "You go to Sunday School; I'll go to the nursery by myself."  And he was serious.  Now, I, honestly, was not going to leave him alone in a room of toddlers, but the fact that he offered - the fact that he continually offers to do the unpleasant because he knows I don't want to.  That's sacrifice.  Daily.  Daily he takes over what I have considered overwhelming, sacrificing his own wants and needs for rest, down-time, or even his own to-do list.

He is constantly sacrificing for me - even on the days when I have no right to complain.

Loving me the way the church is loved.

Loving me in a way I do not deserve and had even failed to notice most days.

To bless me with such a man - our God is faithful.

Of the Classics

I had one of those moments the other day, the kind of moment when I was vacuuming the living room/dining room floors and watched an ant scurry away and, thinking of all the insects, crawling, creeping or flying, which have invaded our home as the heat has risen, seeking respite from this mid-spring summer weather, reaching the 90's already, I had a fleeting thought of, "I could blog about this."  Really, about bugs.

I could title it,"Of the Bugs of Summer" - catchy, eh?  But then I realized maybe the reference would be lost on most.

Because maybe not everyone spent their childhood repeatedly putting the VHS tape into the VCR on which their dad had recorded a couple of hours of VH1 (you know, the grown-up version of MTV that played more soft rock than pop hits - though those were allowed, too).  Not everyone fast-forwarded the VH1 recording to find their favorites, like Paula Abdul's "Straight Up," Billy Ray Cyrus's "Achy Breaky Heart," and, yes, Don Henley's "Boys of Summer."

Especially not many my age.

Most of my friends were barely sitting up on their own, if they were even born, when this hit was at the height of its popularity.  And there I was, nine years old (or younger), singing about long-lost summer love, when Don Henley was already past his prime - and here I sit, still able to sing along with the chorus.

This is one of the gifts my dad has passed along to his children, a fondness and appreciation for the classic rock (and a little pop, too) hits of the seventies and eighties.

Because I know not everyone spent their weekly Pizza Hut visits sitting in a booth, waiting their Pan-Style Meat Lovers, while Dad picked out the songs on the juke-box, always the same ones, asking the waitress to turn up the speakers so we could hear his prime playlist and he could quiz his tiny musical protegés on the name and artist of each hit - like Brownsville Station's "Smokin' in the Boys' Room" or ZZ Top's "Legs" - while we competed to see who could spit out the answers quickest, hopefully within just the first couple of notes of the tune.

So not everyone still turns up the radio if their dial happens to land upon Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl," singing along to lyrics that will never be forgotten, though definitely not understood at the time at which they were ingrained.

And all of these memories flooding back because of one tiny ant as I vacuumed our living room/dining room floor.  And now I'm pretty sure I won't see another insect this summer without humming a little Don Henley.  Thanks, Dad.


1,000 Gifts:
452. Women being real
453. Free paint
454. Chicken Carbonara Pizza (especially when it's free)
455. Realizing what's worth crying over (and, more importantly, what's not)
456. A husband who consoles, even over the not-important tears
457. Being noticed
458. Remembering


Photo of the Day: Our big little man loves playing with his "babies" - this afternoon he even fell asleep snuggling with sissy's doll.  He's going to be such a good daddy some day - only don't tell him that; he always just responds with, "No, I Emmett!"

Of This Old (yet Young) House

Five years.

Five years ago today we signed the deed on this, our first house.  We had not even been married a full year.  And, like most new marriages, what a rough year it was.  But we were ready to move on.  Ready to move out of our one bedroom on-campus apartment into our new home.  The new home that would bring about the next part of our real, grown-up lives.

A new house was a symbol.  It was a symbol that, though Philip was graduating, we were not going anywhere. The next chapter of our lives would continue in this same town where our love had blossomed.  This was where I worked, this was where our family would begin - or so we hoped.

I sat in that very hallway around the corner to cry when the kitten we were fostering for Philip's sister (coincidentally, also named Joey - the cat, not his sister), passed away after one short week of our care - questioning whether I'd ever be fit to truly care for a living being.  I sat in that very same hallway to cry as we made the decision for me to leave teaching, despite the opposition to our decision - I questioned whether I would ever be able to make a wise judgment.

We moved in with one stray cat we hoped to tame and now, five years later, this house has been a home to three cats, six fish, two dogs and a turtle.  Only one feline has made it to this milestone (don't worry, so far as we know, the fish and the aforementioned kitten are the only ones no longer on this earth - the others have just moved on).  

We moved into a home with three bedrooms, hoping to make one of them a nursery at some point and still have room for visitors, and in the past five years, while one room was had begun to be cleared out, only eight months after moving in, to make space for a little on on the way, the third room has spent its days as an office, a guest bedroom, an office/guest bedroom and a nursery (/guest bedroom) to two little boys.

We have spent hours pasting tissue paper to the walls of one nursery and painting blue the walls of another.  We have painted furniture in the backyard with dreams of filling the shelves with children's books and toys.

We moved into this home knowing we planned to expand from a couple to a family, but never did we imagine, as we signed those papers five years ago, we were purchasing a future home to three babies or that one of these would be born in the very bedroom where we set up our first king-size bed, right outside the bathroom where I had seen the two special lines on three different pregnancy tests.

This house has been the home of decisions, prayers, dreams, tears, plans and hopes fulfilled.  It has been the home of first steps, first words, first baths and first cries.  It has seen joy, frustration, anger and forgiveness.  It has been the backdrop to bed-time stories, late-night talks, early-morning feedings and mid-day play-dates.  It has welcomed friends, parents, grandparents, siblings, nieces and a nephew.  It has been home.

It's been quite the five years and this house has been a part of every bit of it.

Happy Adoption Day, House!


1,000 Gifts:
442. A house to call a home.
443. A loving little brother
444. Tea parties while Mom and Dad cook

 445. The sound of a husband hard at work maintaining the land God has given us.
446. Snuggles on a rough day
447. Forgiveness from little hearts
448. Grace when Mommy drops the last kiwi in the sink and has only apples left to offer.
449. Thank you notes to write - symbols of love and generosity we don't deserve.
450. Breaking out the china.
451. A baby who smiles at my singing (I don't get that response a lot)


Photo of the Day:
This was the posture Emmett took while eating his snack and watching "My Little Pony" with his sissy - hand on her back, occasionally running his fingers through her hair.  He is such an adoring little brother.  I also love seeing a possible vision for how he will treat his future bride, with a posture of protective love.

Of Getting Behind

In case you have been wondering how the book has been going which I vowed would be printed, in my hands, by my Golden Birthday (which, at this point is less than two months away) . . . well, it's not looking so good.

After floundering aimlessly for awhile (ok, more than five years), I finally talked to my editor (ie, Philip) who encouraged me to stop the process of writing, re-writing, re-reading and re-writing again all of the first part of the book without ever moving forward.  I need an outline, and I need to just write.

Editing, he assured me was his job.

I didn't like that.

This is, after all, my baby.  And I alone, I felt, am capable of making sure my baby is beautiful and healthy.

But, once again, he was right (why is this always true?  and why has it taken me this long to realize?).

So, I'm outlining.  And even that is going slow.  Has anyone ever mentioned that having three kids really sucks the time out of the day?  I mean, I enjoy my time with them, but between my wonderfully rambunctious and needy little ones and a house that doesn't take care of itself (and whose messiness can be directly linked to my - and thereby Philip's - stress level), I find there are very few minutes left in the day for my own endeavors.

Thus, this is me, being accountable.  Someday this book will be finished.  At this point, I'm simply hoping all the rough draft work will be done by my birthday.

So now you know . . . in case you've been wondering.


Photos of the Day:
While waiting for Mommy and Daddy to finish gabbing with friends post-parenting-class, Micaiah (and her friends) took to the dry erase board.  This is her masterpiece depicting herself (the tallest) and her brothers (Joey would be that tiny circle of a head with two inch-long legs underneath Emmett).

And I love how this boy just needs a happy thumb to put himself to sleep (also, this onesie is so not Baby Wise - but it's pretty cute either way).

Of Getting Domestic

This past week my adorable niece, McKenzie, celebrated her first birthday.  In honor of such an occasion, I dusted off my sewing machine (ok, maybe it wasn't as dusty as I thought, I just remembered I made super-hero capes for Emmett and his cousin for Christmas, also), headed to the blog I had pinned to Pinterest many months ago and got to work on a project I meant to start much earlier than this.  And I probably should have because it took a little longer than I imagined - but that's mainly because sewing in a straight line (a straight-non-diagonal line) requires me to let the needle go a little slower than I'd like to admit.

But after a couple of days and a few extra hours, the bean bags were done!  Here's the final result:

I was kind of excited and maybe a little proud.  There were a lot of firsts for this project: ribbons, appliqué, bean bags!

And then, since I had the machine out anyway, I decided it was finally time for another project I'd been meaning to get to.  These lawn chairs were the first furniture we bought when we became home-owners.  We ate our frozen pizza in them the first night in our new house, before we moved any of our other furniture in, right there in our living room, with the fireplace going (because it was our first fireplace!).  Unfortunately, when the dogs met them, they went downhill fast.  And then some prego lady sat in them and the seats split right down the middle (yes, both of them, at separate times).  So, this was the sad condition of our lawn chairs:

I had actually planned to create new covers from the day the first one split - or I guess, really, before that, when the one above was left without a back when it was chewed to pieces before they were stored in the shed.  Either way, it was clearly a long time coming.  So, again, since the machine was coming out of hiding anyway, and I was really missing being able to sit in the backyard while the kids played, I pulled out the fabric I had bought last year to re-cover a garage sale find that just never happened.  I inspected the pieces left from the original chairs and was able to re-create the design for this final masterpiece:

Ain't she perty?

Here's a before and after - quite the difference!

The final pair - now Philip and I can enjoy a nice sunset conversation on our very own patio.  It's been a long time since that's happened!

I'll admit, all this domesticatin' has really gotten me in the mood and now we've gone stark crazy re-making everything.  Ok, not everything.  But we're in the process of painting some garage sale furniture I scored a couple of weeks ago and there's no telling where the remodeling craze will hit next!

1,000 Gifts:
437. Fresh paint giving new life.
438. Sitting on the patio.
439. Grass blowing in the breeze.
440. A fierce storm (when I'm cozy inside)
441. A husband praying peace over his nervous wife.