Mommy Brain

Thoughts

2009-09-25T07:39:00.000-07:00

Hello, old friend. Ah, the blog. I've neglected you for almost a year. Awhile back I joined Facebook, which has been a great venue for updating on family happenings and the occasional thought. But I have found, especially over this last year, that I have a great deal of trouble expressing my thoughts and feelings. In the back of my head there's a little voice that says, "No one really cares how you're doing, just as long as you're there for them, and help them in their need." It speaks to the higher value placed on doing vs. being. An old curse I've battled from a young age. Growing up as the younger sister of a handicapped child, I struggled expressing inner turmoil to people because I was always aware that there are others worse off than me. There is always a family with a more handicapped child, less food, more trials, less money, etc. And from a very young age I learned how to invalidate myself. Even if I feel bad, my main response to people when they ask me how I am is, "I'm fine. How are you." Which is technically true, I am fine. I'm standing here talking to you. I'm not dead or sick in bed. The situation could be worse! But inside I can be heartbroken. Worried. Angry. It's a hard habit to break. Because I've learned to be a good listener and how to be solicitous, I often times get people talking and sharing. I have a compassionate side. People feel cared for. But inside I'm not really sure people want to know how I'm doing.

That's why Facebook has been good and bad. I feel safer putting out there, "Hey, I'm having a crappy day." And there are generally kind, encouraging responses. I was hurt when sitting with a group of non-Facebook/blog people who were critiquing FB. They referred to it as "virtual friendships." The people on FB are my friends. At widely varying levels. But the interactions are real, often sharing my real life in real time, without the month or two lag that we have before we get a chance to sit and catch up. (Often times, I'm the one sitting there, listening to you catch me up.) But blogging has always forced me to formulate and present complete thoughts of my very own. Good and bad. I am vulnerable in a deeper sense. I expose my heart without waiting to be asked. Yes, it's a carefully edited version , but it's a start.

So, if you want to know what's happening with me, meet me on FB. If you want to know what I think and feel, meet me here. And to my anti-computer communicating friends, writing and FBing is very much a real expression of a person. It's just a much more practical venue for those of us who aren't sure anyone really wants to know anyway. :)

2008-11-18T19:13:00.000-08:00

My mother-in-law is probably the only one still checking my blog. You're a woman of great patience, Gaye. :) I've been up to my eyes in growing kids! I know you know what I'm talking about. I've also been facebook-ing, but not really, because I never update my status. A few days after my last post, Izak fell off his bike and had a nasty concussion, went to the hospital in an ambulance and everything. Great fun was had by all - and he was amazingly calm and cheerful. Such is the joy of being Izak. We spent the summer learning to swim, all except Levi, who was firmly stuck to my side, but next summer he's gonna "float, baby, float!!" I'm trying to hit some other highlights... oh, I've been working out in my basement with Leslie Sansone for 6 days/week and I'm skinnier than I've even been, even high school, and I feel great! Levi potty trained in a day in September, so I sold his cloth diapers and bought clothes that fit me and look nice, too. Matt is doing great at the Chapel. You can check out their new website at chapel.org. Under "Meet the Staff" you can find his bio. And from time to time you can listen to his sermons online. Tomorrow is our 14 year anniversary. 14 years. Amazing.

Thought I would post this excerpt from a letter I was writing earlier today. It would save me having to repeat my thoughts.

"I was very struck by your question on Saturday, "When does the joy come in ministry?" I've thought and thought about it. I think I can more clearly say now that I believe joy comes when you're walking in obedience and you really, truly sense God's pleasure in you. It's when you're in the right place, doing the thing He's asked you to do. I don't think that it's a unique experience to those in the ministry. God visits joy on all his children, marketplace and ministry, when He is pleased with them. I'd say my joy has come on the heels of very hard, challenging times that seemed to be dark with no hope of relief. Pregnancy, losing our church plant in New England, moving to Illinois and losing everything good and stable, moving to Buffalo - things that were a real struggle, things which I did not welcome, but participated in nonetheless. It was through them that joy came. Maybe as a by-product of the sorrow and struggle - only God could have an equation like that. The sacrifice was different in each circumstance. Some financial, some dealing with dreams and plans, most all relational... bu somehow, whether He replaced what I thought I lost or not, He always supplied the joy, and when there wasn't joy, He at least held out my hope when I couldn't. It was always about finding the end of myself and the place where He began."

AH HA! Figured it out - ain't rocket science, you know...

2008-07-26T18:50:00.000-07:00

Stuck on the camera

2008-07-25T20:14:00.000-07:00

I have all of these lovely pictures for you - but they're stuck on my camera. I need a card reader. And I'm working on it, but life just blows by so, so fast!

In May Matt and I went to our favorite inn in Rutland, VT for 4 days. It was amazing. The same as 6 years ago. but in many ways different. I felt like I saw things with new eyes. That last time we were there we didn't have kids (didn't have kids!!!). I can remember my lazy, fantastic thinking about how great it would be to live there, the quietness of life, the quaintness... but now I've somehow morphed into this high-octane suburban mom of three. And I see quite clearly that if the Furrs moved to Rutland we would simply blow it up. Though I did get a little trauma while there. As we were leaving the restaurant, Matt shouted, "Man down!" An older gentleman had taken a hard fall, face first on the cobblestone entrance. Matt worked the perimeter, got 911 called, managed the little crowd, and stayed with the wife. Lots of blood, loss of consciousness. I happened to have my handy-dandy CPR mask and gloves right in my purse. Still got bloody, but it was great to be apart of getting him settled and on his way the the hospital. Nurse sentiment, I'm sure.

The beginning of June I took a "Buffalo Sister" weekend with my two best friends from Buffalo. We had a chance to worship together at the Wesleyan Church of Hamburg Sunday morning, which was amazing. Then Carrie, Audrey and I got away to a lovely little town (Ellicottville, NY), stayed in a hotel and spent a lot of time talking and listening. It was what I've needed for so, so long. And having people who have shared history with you makes all the difference in self-examination. It illuminated some things to me that I didn't even realize were still there - little lies that creep in and camp out. Good friendship explores all the cracks and crevasses. The closed rooms and the open rooms of the soul. Real transformational friendship walks along the "landscape of the heart" (dear Lo). There are just friends that God gives us that, if allowed, will not let us be the same. And that's what I desire. And when I don't have it, I really miss it. But another thing that I realized is that I'm starting to form those core friendships here in Chicago as well. Finally. People who challenge me, not because they just like to challenge, but because they've taken the time to really learn about me. And I feel like I can reciprocate as well. Good friends make us better friends for others as well. It was a great weekend!

The summer has been chocked full - whose isn't? We've been tie-dying t-shirts and making personalized plates. We've visited sprinkler parks and pools, beaches and children's museums. We've had a lot of busy days, but then quiet days of hanging around the house. We joined the reading club at the library. Izak blew through it before June was over, and that included the "Super Challenge." He's legitimately reading and understanding this year! Liberty wasn't far behind on completing her assignment. Levi still needs to listen to about 18 more books and he, too, will get another fantastic prize. I love that the kids are loving to read, and be read to as much as I do! There's a particular obsession with weather this summer. Early in June we had tornadoes in the area, and the kids were painfully curious about them. Now that's pretty much all we discuss. Emergency preparedness, the facts about tornadoes and hurricanes, looking at pictures and watching videos. It is endless. Thank you, library! I think the kids are also thrilled to have limitless information at their disposal because they bleed me dry with questions all.day.long.. From the rising of the son (sp!) to his bedtime, it is one long stream of questioning and interrogation. Now I just say, "Well, we should find a book about that at the library!" Add it to the list!

A little funny: Liberty is such a beautiful, sweet girl. We were going through the makeshift bakery area of the grocery store. She noticed the bags of "homemade" French bread in the display. "Mom, we should get one." I explained that we didn't need one, and walked on. I heard in this soft little whisper, "Oh... just a little nibble..." and turned around to see her begin to chew on the exposed loaf. "Liberty!" She was immediately surprised to have been caught sampling, apologized, and we ended up with French bread for dinner.

I can't possible keep up with all the little funny things, but this was a conversation from the back of the van between the older two sibs:

(I) Liberty, it's my turn to have that.

(L) calmly No. It's mine.

(I) Liberty!! You've had it, now it's MY turn!

(L) calmly No, I'm not done with it.

(I) God wants us to share. He does. He says we should share!

(L) No.

(I) condescending Well, you're being selfish! That's just selfish!

(L) bursting into tears and yelling I'm not a FISH! I'm a girl!

(I) I didn't say you were a fish. I said you were s-e-l-f-i-s-h. (Stretching out the pronounciation word for better understanding)

(L) sobbing IZAAKK! I am NOT a fish, I'm a girl!

Matt laughs and leans over, "Tell me you'll blog that."

Stashing and stuffing

2008-05-28T05:39:00.000-07:00

Liberty LOVES to stash things. She usually walks around the house with her "Libby" backpack on, filled to the brim with various items. Books, a battery-free flashlight, flip-flops, Matt's pay stub, a spoon... you know, the things you may need, just in case. Every night, after she's gone to sleep, I straighten her bed, which is stuffed full of books. I always check the little boxes in her room to see what she's hiding. A favorite library book, one of my bracelets. But Monday hit a new level of stash.

We were in Home Depot as a family. Libby was riding in the over-sized car cart, when she took off her baseball hat and pulled out a slice of cheese! "Here, Mom. Can you unwrap this for me?" Matt and I burst into laughter as he said, "Did she just pull that out of her hat?!?!"

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Levi was playing in the garage with his new Cars car, Ramone. We had just bought it that morning. I was taking groceries in when I heard him say quietly, "Can't reach it." "What can't you reach?" "Ramone." "Where is he?" And Levi poked his little pointer finger up my minivan exhaust pipe! I immediately laid on the ground and looked, and at the very top of the tailpipe, before it bends into the muffler, I could see Ramone's tail lights. I began to fume, spouting of a mini-lecture to Levi about not stuffing cars in the tails pipe as I went in to find something that I might be able to gently hook over the top and pull it out. I broke off a curly straw, but only managed to tip the car over the bend into the pipe. It was now out of sight, and all I was seeing was the $$$ that it might cost to fix my car. You know the math, $3 car costs $300 in a new exhaust system. I went in a googled "matchbox car in muffler", thinking that surely another little boy in the universe had had the same idea as Levi. No matches. Called the mechanic and explained the situation, while he began laughing aloud, "In all my years as a mechanic I've never heard of that!" He assured me it would do no harm, but may rattle around, maybe we could get it with a long magnet and flashlight... Now I'm really hot. I called Liz, one of my most resourceful and dear friends. She also has a great sense of humor, so she began to laugh. Within a few minutes she was at my house with a handful of long magnets, none of which worked. She said, "What if you backed the van down the driveway and slammed on your brakes?" Worth a try! So I attempted a few jolting stops, which produced nothing. But Liz wasn't out of ideas. "Okay, go forward and then really gun it down your driveway, hit that bump at the end as fast as you can and SLAM ON THE BRAKES!" Oh, my exhaust and my suspension system. But I obeyed, and as I slammed the brakes I heard the fantastic sound of a small metal dye-cast car shooting into the street. Liz began laughing and doing the happy dance. Successful extraction! I called the mechanic back, who laughed and laughed and thanked me for a" real bright spot in a dark week."

So folks, if you're at my house and you can't find what you're looking for, be sure to check the boxes, hats, and backpacks, and occasionally... the muffler.

Spring!

2008-04-22T17:52:00.000-07:00

It's here - I think - but then snow may fall from the sky and I'll have to recind. I think we're on our way into spring and summer of 2008. We're loving it here, and already the baby has grass stains on his feet that won't scrub off.

March was a blast. Early in the month we took Levi to Children's Hospital to rule out cystic fibrosis (yes, it was negative). A few blocks from the hospital is a big, free zoo - Lincoln Park Zoo. I highly recommend going in the late winter - there may have been 20 people there total. It was mid 30's, no snow, and relatively warm as compared to the rest of the winter. We saw SO many amazing things that we'd never enjoy in the summer - a face-to-face stare down with the King of the Jungle, the male lion, who topped it off with a few hearty ROARS. Hearing a lion's roar while you're about 20 inches away is amazing, even if it wasn't as vicious as it would be in the wild. We had up-close experiences with Silverback gorillas, orangutans, Bengal tigers (and every big cat you can think of). The kids got to pet a reptile and see bats and alligators. Pink flamingos. Camels (very cold camels). A sleep brown bear. Probably the BEST part was the polar bear, who was swimming in loops under the water towards a huge glass observation wall. We would stand against the glass with our arms extended and the polar bear would swim up to us, squeaking his nose against the glass in front of our faces and bang on our hands with his enormous paws. He appeared the love the game, though in his mind I'm sure he was thinking, If I could just get through this tough piece of ice, I'd eat you up!!!! We could've stayed there all day, the kids shrieking every time he came around. But the temp dropped a few degrees and the sleet began... so we headed home. A beautiful family day at the zoo in March!

Holy week came and went in a flash. I participated with worship leading on Good Friday - the day that we received 14" of SNOW in a matter of hours. But the services were beautiful and profound. And the Easter Bunny did manage to sneak in and distribute a few goodies of chocolate and Levi-friendly sugar on the second floor as Izak and I watched a wonderful orchestral piece on PBS. Levi came down with a rapid 6-hour flu that knocked his socks off, but the kids did well-health wise until a few weeks ago when they got some sort of bug with high fevers and cold symptoms. It wasn't a big deal until I got it and I felt like I was going to die. But here I am...

Friday Izak learned how to ride his big bike without his training wheels! He picked it up in about 30-seconds. An absolute natural. His line of questioning has taken on a spiritual tone - a few times a week he asks me if we're going to be going to the New Earth. "Oh, I can't wait to go!" (We've established that the New Earth is Heaven for now.) He names people who have passed on as residents of New Earth. The other days he asks, "Where do people's dead bodies go to wait until they rise from the dead?" (Yes, I said the cemetery.) He wondered if "God made a mistake" when He created a little girl in our church who died at the age of 10 with a sick heart. "Absolutely not. God never, ever makes a mistake, even if something sad happens or people get sick." You need to eat your Wheaties and study your theology before you engage this kid in the morning! Whew! Liberty is braving a larger frame bike with Izak's old training wheels. She's become my little computer geek, with an intuitive ability to understand and navigate all the little kid websites. Her latest round of art involves super heros, SuperLiberty, who flies in the air with her cape with an "S." She's also setting things in front of her and attempting to sketch what she sees - there's an impressive penguin hung in my kitchen! Levi is my pretend-play boy, with many conversations and re-enactments centered around Larry-Boy, Nemo, and Kipper the dog. His talking is non-stop from sun-up to sun-down. And the faces... by far the most funny one of all!

There have been moments lately when I think, Okay... stop. I could stay in these moments for a good long while. Stop growing. Stop changing. This is great just like this. I feel like I've done the baby phase pretty thoroughly. I celebrated when I took the baby seat out and looked at the gallery of booster seats. I hope to kiss the last batch of diapers good-bye this summer. Baby, done. Toddler, mostly done. Welcome, Preschool and Kindergarten. And the best part is that I was here for it, I had the opportunity to be a stay-at-home mom. What a privilege.

He can't breathe

2008-03-02T18:31:00.000-08:00

My little Levi. He really struggles with his lungs. It's been series after series of steroids since November. We're now the proud owners of an allergist and a pediatric pulmonologist. We've spent thousands on testing and meds.

One day, in my desperation to solve his wheezing problems, I attacked the closet in his bedroom. There were stacks of boxes from the move, a dusty old suitcase big enough to hold at least two of the kids, and other unused items. I pulled everything out and vacuumed like a crazy woman. ( The kids are aware that Levi doesn't have the easiest time health-wise, and often make their own assessments about why things are different for Levi. "That cookie will make him sick?" "Levi can't go there because they have a dog and that will make him sick?" "Does milk have milk in it so Levi can't have it 'cuz it will make him sick?") Well, I cleaned for a good hour and hauled the over-sized, dusty luggage into my bedroom. Izak came in, immediately interested in the huge black box. "Mom, why is that in your room now?" "Because it might be making Levi sick (running my finger through the dust)." "So... now Levi's allergic to suitcases too?"

Good friends

2008-03-02T18:10:00.000-08:00

I am beginning to enjoy my children's love of one another more and more. They really are becoming very good friends, navigating conflict, understanding and accommodating differences, and enjoying the levels of silliness that each one brings. I don't know how much is nature and how much is nurture, but part of being home as much as I am enables me to be in their relational business every time they turn around. Libby was in the front hall the other day, having a conversation aloud with herself. She said, "Izak is my good friend. (pause) Levi... (long silence) Levi is my good friend." And I unconsciously exhaled a prayer a thanks.

Backbone

2008-03-02T17:27:00.000-08:00

If you've survived the toddler years, if you're in the toddler years... then you need one. A backbone. A certain amount of "you are absolutely too short and have too poor of a vocabulary to control me" kind of attitude. I joke that when I'm older and the kids have gone to college, I should think about becoming a hostage negotiator because some days it feels like I negotiate with short terrorists every day! I don't have the alpha attitude every morning, but mostly... you absolutely have to for your very survival.

Most people who know me understand that I really dislike confrontation. I'd rather disappear than deal with explosive, negative, volotile situations. I've always been (honestly) passive-aggressive with hostile people, usually by never letting them know how outrageous and immature I think they are. I cut out people that I perceive to be a threat. I'm not quick with words and refuse to enter into shouting matches. It's not that I want everybody to just love each other and get along, but I want a fair playing field, one without cutting words, power plays, manipulation, intimidation, etc... and then I had kids. I love my kids alot. And thankfully, God is giving me the backbone to push back and shape their hearts... even when there are demands and screaming and tantrums. I love them too much to let them be uncontrolled, and God loves me too much to not strengthen my backbone.

Funny how life plays out occassionally. I was working in recovery room the other day. We had a particular patient that was really making life hard for the staff. He was fully recovered, very demanding and rude. Downright mean. Fortunately, he wasn't my patient. Unfortunately for him, I was in an anti-terrorism mood. I was bending down beside the bed of my patient to measure some urine from the catheter when I hear BANG BANG BANG BANG. I looked up to see a 30-ish year old guy two feet from me with his cup in hand, banging it on his tray table. Worse yet, he was looking right at me. I studied his face. Was he nauseous? Perhaps confused? Non-verbal? And then I saw his eyes narrow, and he glared at me and BANGBANGBANGed the cup again. And my toddler-mom brain said, "Oh, no you don't! I DID NOT come all the way to work to deal with THIS!" I suddenly felt filled with power of a mom that's survived 5 long years of pecking, nagging, and demands, and I fully engaged this hostile man. I imagine that he, too, saw my eyes narrow as I leaned towards him. Without as much as a smile I said, "Do you need something?" BANGBANGBANG went the cup. "You need to use your words. I asked you a question. (more slowly and with a slight growl) Do you need something?" And slowly he dropped his gaze. "Water." I put my hand on the cup and decided to negotiate my final demand... "Water what?"

"Water, please."

My Hero

2008-02-07T06:49:00.000-08:00

There are some verbal non-negotiable points that a marriage brings with it - young couples, deeply in love, begin to make promises for a lifetime before the day of marriage. "I will always let you read the morning paper in quiet." "I will never interrupt your phone calls." "I will have supper waiting for you when you get home from work." And then marriage happens, and kids happen, and things don't necessarily go as planned. But something that my husband does to consistently serve me is taking care of the driveway in the winter and the lawn in the summer. Shoveling may not seem like a big deal to some of you - but it is a gift to me. It's not because I can't - I spent 20 years helping my mom and sisters dig out our Michigan driveway. It's not because I won't, because there have been a few times that I pick up a shovel and find a measure of satisfaction with a task that shows immediate results. It is because I just don't want to. When I see snow I generally start reviewing all the things I have that will allow me to hole-up for as long as possible. Soy milk. Milk. Juice. Ramen. Pasta. Ground beef. Popcorn. Shoot, we can live for a week before we need anything! But Matt diligently serves us by clearing and clearing and shoveling and clearing for as long as necessary. Yesterday we received over 14" of snow from sun up until sun down. It was beautiful! (Now, this looks a little like Buffalo!) And Matt shoveled and shoveled. What a great looking driveway! Honey, thank you for working so hard to keep our home looking great in the summer and accessible in the winter.

The kids are well, except for a few runny noses and hacking coughs. This morning Levi has developed an ominous faint, tight squeak at the end of his cough, which may mean a fifth round of oral steroids on top of his twice a day inhaled steroids and Singulair. For a little guy, he's got bad lungs. We'll be headed to the pulmonologist next week to begin a long and beautiful relationship, I'm sure.

Tonight I'll be starting a working relationship with Centegra NIMC about 20 miles from my house. I still plan to work primarily at Loyola in the city (100 miles round trip), but a back-up hospital that's only a few towns over is a good idea.

Next week my mom is going to Liberia for about two weeks. This will be her first BIG trip ever. She's going with a medical missions group... we're so excited for her! My dad and sister, Stef, will be home, maintaining homeostasis, with Kat and I in the wings if necessary.

Here's to a great Thursday!

Breaking the Surface

2008-01-17T07:12:00.000-08:00

Boy, when I disappear, I disappear! This week I'm beginning to feel like I'm coming up for air after the Christmas season. It was wild and crazy, wonderful and work-filled all at once. And every mom out there says, True, true. By my silence assume I'm busy and there's too much going on, sometimes things that I can't even blog about! But I'll give you a little run-down.

There were many Holiday parties. Many. And they were each wonderful. Some we attended, some we hosted, and some we assisted with. It was a great time with our new friends at the Chapel. In so many ways, God affirms our newest job transition. Many Sundays I have the strangest sense of de ja vu. I see this campus as my family, and rejoice in being able to love and care for them.

Matt preached many times. Three of our weekends from the last time I blogged until now were filled with preaching schedule, and he's up again the next two weekends. There were many services, with Christmas Eve being one of the most worshipful experiences I've ever had.

There were many decorations - I really got into doing the house up this year - thanks to Command strips! Garland and lights and ornaments. The kids and I made many projects and home-made treats (rock candy, ricechex "treats" to name a few).

There were many visits and visitors! We ran to West Michigan for a 24-hour tour the day after Christmas, and my folks, sisters and brother-in-law came for five days a day after we got home.

There were many gifts! The kids celebrated and were celebrated fully! I received the only thing I wanted this year - the movie White Christmas. I'm getting a bit nostalgic in my old age. Izak now thinks punch is a permanent part of the Christmas season. He's really understanding the meaning of the season, and is chocked full of Christmas information. Many folks asked us if we do the Santa thing. Yes, we do, for reasons that I'd discuss with you if I knew you. It was fun this year because Izak noted that there were many Santas . I said yes, but there's only one real Santa (someday to be revealed as St. Nick's story!) and the others are his helpers. He spent the holiday deliberating whether that one was the real one, or that one, no, not him, maybe that one... yeah, he's the real one! Well, maybe not... . The older kids have the Christmas story down pat, and enjoy being questioned in game-show form about the information. Although the Hebrew is a little tricky; Izak thinks the angel that announced Christ's birth was named Ariel... close, but no point.

There were many rounds of the movie Cars (Levi), Handel's Messiah (Izak), and M&M's (Liberty).

There were many sleepless nights and doctor's visits. Libby struggled with the croup for a few weeks. Then Levi was sick, sick, sick. Between ears draining and developing pneumonia, I feel like I spent 30 days doing around the clock nebulizers. He's started on Singulair and is much better. Looks like the boy got my lungs. We also discovered he's very, VERY allergic to dogs. Hmmm ... not sure how we're going to work around that. We always thought cats were the culprit. He's five times more allergic to dogs than cats. I'm so thankful that we donated Sailor (out New York Newfoundland) to my sister in law. God worked things out in advance for Levi to join our family.

There were many prayers. For strength, wisdom, mercy, grace, thankfulness, self-control. Prayers for our friend, Rick, in Buffalo, who's come back again with another clean bill of health! Prayers of intercession and sustenance . It's been a season where I've willingly thought, even in the hard times, God is with me. He hasn't left me here to fix this. He's with me. Emmanuel.

Friends, there are so many other things. His goodness and provision. His faithful call to pursue Him and throw off all that hinders. My hurts, the hurts of others, my own pride and ignorance. His undeniable love and power. May 2008 find you increasingly aware of the many, many, many ways that He appears to you, and how that reality will transform your life.

We three... um...

2007-12-11T20:43:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm not exactly sure, but I believe the little one is a wise guy. I mean, wise man!

THAT day...

2007-12-10T19:28:00.000-08:00

Last Friday... well... it should have been stricken from the calendar. Just a hard day - not really bad, just laborious. It felt like everything had to be difficult. Difficulty complicated by twist. But by one in the afternoon, scenarios began resolving without blood, sweat,or tears. But as a mom, you know that the anxiety becomes a little, um, pent up. About four in the afternoon, when (on a good day) I'm usually ready to quit parenting and flee to Canada with an assumed identity and four years of high school French in my back pocket, I decided to just have a roll on the floor sessions withe kids. (A hint of sarcasm in my voice at this point) Let it not be said of me that I don't play with my kids. No sir-ey, Bob. I'm a mom that PLAYS with her little ones, even on hard days. So we were having a great time tickling, imitating barn animals. At some point I laid on my back and closed my eyes. I opened them to find the two year old standing over me with a brick-size toy camera. I smile, getting ready for my pretend photo, when Levi raises the camera and slams it down on top of my unprotected forehead. He hit me so hard the camera bounced. I saw stars. I saw moons, black holes, and supernovas. I immediately shot up to a sitting fetal position with my hand clamped over my face and screamed. The two year old, who thought I was playing, picked up the camera and attempted to lob another shot my way. Without uncovering I shoved him to the ground and kicked the camera across the room - was this a modern-day stoning?!? Levi was immediately aware that our relationship, yea, his very life, was in jeopardy because I started to cry... and then just outright bawl into my hands. I don't think I've ever lost it in front of them like that - BUT IT HURT SO BAD!!! Levi kept trying to crawl on my lap, and when I could peel my fingers off my head, I grabbed him soundly by both shoulders and barked, "Say sorry to Mommy! Say sorry to Mommy!" Now, the apology that took an hour to coax from him in his crib just last week came forth quickly, awash with tears, "Sorry, Mommy!!!" With that I grabbed him and pinned him on my lap to prevent further bodily harm (to myself!), and turned my hysteria upon the four year old. "Is there blood on my forehead ?! Right here?! Is it bleeding?!" Z, trying to keep it together assures me there's no blood, but then dissolves to tears himself because I've "made (him) feel so, so bad." He buries his face in my back and weeps. The baby is still screaming on my lap. I bow my head and try to focus my gaze.

In front of me stands the three year old girl with her hands on her hips. Dead serious. There wasn't a hint of fear or distress. "Mom, do you need a kiss?" I'm sniffling, "Yeah...". She leans over and plants a super-power, healing kiss on my forehead which felt like it was going to split in two. "There," and she leans back. "Now, Mom. I'd like to dress up and be the princess, okay? You help me with the dress." "Okay," I sniff. The boys are sniffling and crying softly. But my Libby stayed large and in charge. A good candidate for nursing already, if you ask me. But the hospitals may take issue with the pink princess dress and magic slippers.

Approaching Christmas

2007-12-10T19:15:00.000-08:00

(Riding home in van after church on Sunday)

Z: "Mom, have we ever been to Bufflahem?"

M: "Bufflahem? Do you mean the place where Jesus was born?"

Z: "Yeah. Have we been there?"

M: "No. It's very, very far away."

Z: "Is it on the earth?"

M: "Yes, but it's not in America. I believe Bethlehem is in Israel. It's very far."

Z: "Oh..."

(Several minutes of silence pass.)

Z: "Gabriel... Gabriel was an angel."

M: "Yes."

Z: "And he said to Mary (raising voice and lifting arms to the side), 'You are going to have a baby! And he is going to take very good care of you!'"

M: "I'll bet that the angel said to Mary, 'You will take really good care of him'."

Z: "Yeah..."

________________________________

But as I've retold the dialogue, I think Izak had it right. The Saviour. The one from whom all Love flows. The King. Mighty God. Emmanuel. Indeed, he takes very, very good care of us!

On the lighter side of love

2007-11-19T17:44:00.000-08:00

What was my 13-year anniversary gift to Matt, you ask?

I let him sleep in while I took all three children (especially the two who had been up since 3:45 AM) to the pediatrician's office at 8 o'clock to get their ear infections diagnosed and treated.

He said it was the best gift ever!

Happy Anniversary, my love!

2007-11-19T17:07:00.000-08:00

Today is my 13-year anniversary of marriage to a fantastic man. I remember wrestling during college with whether or not I even wanted to marry. I had settled on the single life when I became friends with Matt, another campus leader at IWU. As our friendship grew, so did my respect, admiration, and attraction! What a gift I've been given. Handsome. Wise. Kind. Funny. Godly. I am blessed among women.

I love you, Matthew. A day doesn't go by that I'm not aware of your sacrificial love, your hard work, your intentional decisions, and your protection. You're my hero.

New babies

2007-11-12T11:18:00.000-08:00

Well, we've been so busy. Since I last blogged, the boys both turned 2 and 5. My mom (poor mom) and sister, Stef, brought the train out, but Mom ended up in the hospital to rule out a stroke (posterior bleed). The party did happen, and Mom was able to make the end of the celebration, which was a celebration in itself! A few weeks later, Matt's parent came out and took the kids trick or treating. One of the boys' gifts was a huge bag of costumes from Mrs. Clay... we put it to GREAT use (both on that day, and every day since)!

Izak's now using a digital wristwatch and a big boy bike - we may end up trying to get the training wheels off before snow. He's growing so quickly. Levi is fully into conversation and a little gear-head. He can't get enough of his cars. He has a special affinity for the little die cast "Cars" characters... truth told, I actually have quite an affinity for them as well. Our collection is almost complete! People were so kind that Libby genuinely believed that it was her birthday too, as she was flooded with gifts as well. She's also LOVING preschool. I'm sure of the genetic connection with my daughter as all day long she absent-mindedly sings and hums... and her favorite songs are "Jingle Bells" and "Frosty the Snowman"! My real friends know that I sing Christmas songs year-round. Why should she be any different? :) Such happy kids.

The other week I took my protestant kids to a local Catholic church to buy some of their honey. The church is located on a beautiful plot of land in the country, surrounded by hedges. It's cared for by the Handmaidens of the Precious Blood (quite the name!). We approached the tiny chapel that was formerly a house, looking for someone to unlock the little house that had the "Local Honey for Sale" sign in the window. Izak rang the door bell, but there was no answer. As we were pulling out, a nun came running from the back door in full habit, "I'm sorry! I was on the phone!". The bright white hat, burgundy robes with the necklace and the cord around the waist, all blowing in the fall breeze. My kids' eye widened, they'd never seen a nun before! "Sister, hello! We came for some honey!" We bounded out of the minivan as she loved all over the babies, "What beautiful children! Are they all yours?" Izak pulled me aside. "Why do you call her sister?" "That's her special name for the job that she does here. Everyone calls her 'sister.'" And then the kids began to chorus, "Sister, where's the honey?" "Sister, do you live here?" Sister, sister sister! We loaded back into the van and waved goodbye. As we drove around, Izak noticed all of the beautiful statues of Mary, Jesus, and other saints. There was a big, white statue of Jesus, arms spread wide with a big smile. Izak asked, "Mom, is that God?" "That's a statue of Jesus." Then, with fantastic five-year old enthusiasm he shouted, "Mom! We have GOT to get one of those!"

Beautiful little faces

2007-09-21T13:35:00.000-07:00

The question

2007-09-21T10:18:00.000-07:00

One of the privileges of being a SAHM is learning the language of my children. Recently I've found that I'm "hearing" much clearer questions from each of them, regarding their deep inner wonderings... they don't need to necessarily say the words, but they ask them in a million other ways.

Izak asks, "Do you hear me?" Coming from a little boy who hasn't had it easy as it pertains to communication and development, I believe he often wonders if he's coming across in the way he intends. This is evidenced by the string of talking, the non-stop questions, the follow-up questions, the rephrased questions, the questions just to clarify. Possibly one of the more hurtful things in his world is to hear, "I'm don't want to talk anymore," or when he's ignored. I was outside watching him approach some older neighborhood kids skateboarding the other day, I saw his lips move, but not one kid returned his greeting. I pushed down the killer fire that ignited, and slowly went over to him. "What are you doing, Buddy?" "Just watching. I said, 'Hi, my name is Izak', but they didn't say anything." He came home with me and we talked about how mean it is when people aren't polite, how important it is to acknowledge people. He just wanted to be heard. God, let me listen to my son.

Libby asks, "Do you feel me?" Ironically emotional when compared to her older brother, Lib sports her emotions on her sleeve. Her recent preschool report said, "Liberty is very expressive." I know, I've watched her stand and make faces at herself in a mirror for two years now. She has quite the range of "expression." I think it's easy for moms of girls to invalidate and ignore emotion... because there's so much of it. I'm not a highly emotional person outwardly, but it doesn't mean that I should eye-roll or constantly tell her how she should feel according to my adult standards. I notice a special spark in her eyes when she's been particularly demostrative about something, and I say, "Libby, do you feel surprised?" (even if I know it's acting) "(gasp) Yes!!!" she smiles. It's as if she's wanting to know someone "gets" what's she's feeling, and there's great peace in that for her. There's a place for her too. She knows she's understood.

Levi asks, "Do you see me?" The shortest member of the family, Levi tends to strive for eye contact. He's been a great one for locking eyes with someone across a crowded room, even as a baby, and bursting into smiles when they acknowledge they see his big brown eyes on them. I watch him wander around our front yard, and as he approaches the boundary he slowly turns and peeks back at me over his shoulder. Do you see me? Do you see what I'm about to do? He's quick to redirect and easy to parent once he knows he's been seen. Attention seeking? Sure, in a toddler sense. And he responds so well... if you look at him. But you can't bark orders at him and expect him to fall into line yet. He wants to be seen. There's a lot of activity in my home, one can easily feel overlooked, unless you make them look your way. God, may my littlest one find me looking at him long before he feels invisible. May he feel valued.

Some July images

2007-08-13T12:33:00.000-07:00

Urks and misses

2007-08-13T12:20:00.000-07:00

Driving home in the minivan.

"Mom, do you urk?"

"Do I urk?"

Yeah, Daddy urks. Can you?"

"How does he urk?"

"You know - the big blue car when he goes fast. Uuuurrrrrrrkkkkkk!"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Potty trained child yells,"I have to go poopy!" And runs for the toilet. Toilet paper patrol follows and arrives to hear a lot of gassy noises but sees no concrete evidence. Child hops off toilet.

"Wait, wait. Do you need me to help wipe you?"

"Nope."

"No? Did you go poopy?"

"Nope. I missed."

Home again and again

2007-08-13T11:45:00.000-07:00

I am officially going to stop apologizing for any long lapses in my blogging. I'm busy, which all of you understand, and this is a luxury for me. I'll stop right after I say this... sorry it's been so long.

We've been in a full court press here in Illinois. Kids. Church. Work. And last night at 10 p.m. we arrived home from a flying trip to Buffalo to see our soulmates. We were there "three sleeps," one of which was even our first sleep over (with four kids ages 3-6 in one bedroom!) with the Muslielaks. I spent a lot of time before the trip preparing for the trip... I've found that while I never underestimate the work that it'll take to accomplish large tasks I always underestimate the energy that I'll have going into it. I'm usually so much more tired that I hope to be. I hear that it passes - in about 10 years or so.

There are two couples in Buffalo who are, and remain our dearest friends. The Gobles and the Musielaks. The Gobles celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary while we were there, and we were able to attend (kid-free, thanks Rache!) a wonderful celebration for them in the rolling hills of Ellicotville. The Musielaks (Rick is our friend who is fighting cancer - see my husband's post ) and the Furrs pretty much spent every waking minute together. My body is exhausted, but my heart is full. Sunday morning we were able to go to church and catch up with a couple hundred people, all of whom offered love and encouragement... and pressure to come back!!! Thank you, everyone. My favorite comment was Elaine's, who said, "Glad things are going well for you out there. Don't unpack all the boxes, dear, I'm still praying you'll move back." This year I was able to receive the love and strength from our New York family without the questions of whether or not we were right to leave in the first place. It's a strange balance to find, love and appreciation amidst the sadness of being apart from New York - a balance that doesn't need to invalidate our current life in Illinois but can enhance it. I received so much affirmation in the deep places of my heart that have questioned "Am I a good friend?" "Do I love others well?" The Spirit whispered many, many times, "Yes." Thank you, Lord, for healing those places and giving me peace.

A shout out to my lukring Buffalo family. I love you so much.

2007-07-04T19:20:00.000-07:00

Happy Birthday, America!

2007-07-04T18:09:00.000-07:00

Happy birthday, America. The older I get, the better you look to me. I'm so thankful to live here and enjoy your goodness. No, you're not perfect, but I chose you over any other nation. I'm so thankful for our men and women in uniform who serve here and abroad. I know we're still not impenetrable, but I rest easy at night knowing I'm here and not somewhere else in the world. I still cry when I hear the 1812 Overture. I cross my heart when I sing the national anthem. I am so grateful for you and the good things God is doing through you. Happy, happy birthday, old friend.

*************************************************

We've been running and trying to find quiet moments to pause and take in all that life has been handing us lately. There are many things that aren't mine to share, but just know that we're processing a lot. This is a shout out to the friends and family who've spent time listening and encouraging. Thank you for letting us put down our packs and rest for awhile. I rejoice in the opportunity to be stretched, and while I don't perceive the recent events to be "testing," it has served to clarify my beliefs in God and His goodness.... despite circumstance.

One thing I can share is that our little Levi went for tubes last Friday morning. He's had a nagging ear infection since March, and had four rounds of antibiotics. The ear doctor still came out of surgery and said his ears were badly infected. They drained nasty stuff for a day, but he did great, and seems to improve talking-wise every day! He's the fastest talker of the bunch, and remains a delight! Thank God for relief from pus-filled ears!

Through a series of events I am cutting back my work hours to approximately one day a week. We Bennetts are workers, evidenced by generations of hard (read "obessive") laborers... who, frankly, don't always know when to quit. So before I go any longer feeling like I see my husband less, and before I start wondering if the kids are feeling stressed with the increased pace, I've decided to dial it down and stay home another day.

This should be an intersting night. Rowdy, rowdy subdivision! There's music and explosives and plenty of alcohol. Trauma census should be up tomorrow! I've always loved the Fourth... maybe once the kids are a little older that joy will return. For now, I agonize over every little pop. When John Adams proclaimed that today should be commemorated loudly with much pomp and celebration, I'm almost certain that Mrs. Adams didn't sign off of it. If she had any kids under the age of ten she would've smacked him and demanded a re-write. Argh.

I've loved this day with Matt and the kids. He's such an amazing daddy and husband. He works as hard at home as he does at work. And the kids are testament to that. He's a rock star!

(POP! FIZZ! BANGBANGBANGBANG!) Well, here's to along night in suburbia.

Squirt

2007-06-16T09:38:00.000-07:00

Now, anyone with little ones has an appreciation for how you sometimes feel totally exposed, totally embarrassed by your inability to control, or at least appear in control of the children to whom you gave birth. Yesterday was another "time" to add to my growing pile. But I'm learning to get past the discomfort of my own embarrassment because I'm recognizing the trend of others who are genuinely kind and giving to this mother of F5.

It was in the 90's here in Chicagoland, so I decided to take the kids to a local beach that I'd heard about. Three babies, 4.5, 3, and 1.5 years old. One mom, me. So we landed on this lovely little park with a boom. Similar to buckshot. Libby's yelling, "Swim, swim swim!" and bolting for the water, Izak's darting back and forth from me to his sister, flip-flops abandoned along the sidewalk. I'm pulling Levi out of his seat, surveying the park. If there was one person there, there were 150. I'm trying to navigate the kids toward the safe swimming area (with a LIFEGUARD, thank you , Jesus) when Libby begins making pit-stops at each picnicing site. Stopping, looking at the blankets covered with food and toys, chattering to the families. I'm half apologetic, half embarrassed. Eventually I get the kids into the water... oh, what a time! They splashed and ran on the beach, bobbed around, and made new friends. Many of the families were Latino, taking an afternoon to retreat from their busy days as well. Many of the kids spoke English, but many of the moms in the water did not. When Levi would kidnap a little girl's shovel I would return it, and we would smile at each other as if to say, "Here you go, thanks for not making a big deal out of it. " "You're welcome, I know what it's like. Have you seen my gang? I get it."

After an hour we began moving towards the minivan to return home. That's when the wheels fell off. Levi begins to scream like I'm killing him. Izak is running around the perimeter of the beach in an attempt to herd his sister, who has now discovered a whole different dimension of the beach - the PLAYGROUND. Women are watching me pass, cooing at Levi who's reaching a dog-like pitch in protest. It's buckshot all over again, but at least we're moving towards the van. And then Libby bolts. Something caught her eye at a picnic site that she'd visited on her way to the beach. I'm yelling for her to return to me, but she waltzes over and begins to pick up juice box after juice box, checking for refreshment. And as I'm still 100 feet away, yelling, (being ignored) I see the family - who has probably worked very, very hard for their money and for this picnic time - spot the poacher. They were not smiling. And I'm now starting to run. Who is this unparented child? As I get close enough to grab her she hustles off to the slides. I turn to apologize to the family, but they're still talking among themselves, not looking at me. I drag past them with the screamin' mimi on my hip, my arms full of towels and three pairs of shoes, yelling orders that (obviously) no one is listening to.

And then he was there. A tall pre-teen from the picnic site that Libby had just crashed. He stood in front of me with a cold can of Squirt. "Here, you can have this." "Oh no, no. I'm sorry she did that. I'm fine, thank you." "No really, please take it." And suddenly I'm humbled. Humbled by the F5. Humbled by the inability to do it all. Humbled by my obvious need... of help or a cold drink, or encouragement, or something. I looked over to the family who was watching me, and smiled. "Gracias." They smiled back with a look that didn't need any interpretation. You're welcome, little mother. Have a little refreshment for you or your children. But you're okay. It's going to be fine.

New pics

2007-06-06T11:30:00.000-07:00

Still here!

2007-06-06T10:15:00.000-07:00

Wow, friends, I am not keeping up, am I? I apologize for the long gap. It feels like I ran up next to a locomotive and grabbed on to the handle on a freight car, and now find myself running just to keep from being dragged alongside! Life is very, very good, but NUTS.

We joined the Chapel (for the curious: www.chapel.org) March 22, and last week my husband was installed as Campus Pastor for the Libertyville campus. Our campus is about 1300 strong. We're loving it. The pace is more up my husband's alley, I believe the term is frenetic. Last week and this week he also joined the teaching team, which includes delivering a message 7 times live to three different campuses and by video to two other campuses. I concentrate on learning names, faces, stories, and positions. All support staff and pastors included, the Chapel has 140 employees and continues to grow. That doesn't include volunteers. And staff spouses. And volunteers' spouses. And children. And the list goes on.

I have a good memory, but I use lots of it remembering where I saw Libby's rouge sock and the 16th piece of the Cariboo game, so to commit a long list of new names and relationships is a challenge, but I love it.

Since February I've felt this sense of bursting forth, like a butterfly leaving it's cocoon. A sense of empowerment. New trust. New eyes. A putting off of the old. A new awareness of the places where the Enemy has hooked my life and messed with my spirit, and a new determination to live in freedom. I remember back in the winter actually saying aloud, "When I die I want to be remembered as a woman of great faith." I guess I'm starting to figure out how to quit wishing and starting living. And since this year is the big 3-6 I guess you could say, "It's about time!"

The children are well. Not physically, but in all other ways. We've had this strange recurrence of ear infections since March. Izak landed his first sinus infection, and if Levi keeps going his route he may buy tubes before long. Even in the sickness they're doing great.

Libby potty trained very quickly. She is loving books from the library and playdoh. She sings almost all day long, varying the words to her particular situation. She is happy and (mostly) easy-going. Her vocabulary is exploding. She turns THREE tomorrow. I'm so proud of her and her heart.

Izak (4 1/2) is awesome. He's a sponge at church, learning and repeating his lessons and songs. He's very taken by the current sermon series call "The Mighties." It looks at the Mighty Men that surrounded King David and how God empowered them to do great things. All the staff and volunteers wear these bright red shirts with a big "M" in the center - sorta a take off of the superhero thing. Z keeps asking about the shirts, asking if he can be a Mighty too, and can he have a shirt... on and on. Last Saturday I was having prayers with him and when I finished, "and give Izak a good night's sleep. Amen," he whispered, "And help me be a Mighty when I grow up." I explained to him that anyone who has Jesus living in his heart is a Mighty. Well, can I tell you on Sunday he got his own Mighty shirt?!? - he wears it as often as possible. With his red cowbow boots. And shorts. And blue foamy sun visor.

Levi is communcating with ever increasing clarity. It feels like he adds new words every day... I've heard about these kinds of kids, and now I have one! Even at 20 months "yes" and "no" are fully intact. Have I mentioned that he air-guitars every chance he gets? He learned that from Murray Wiggle and his heros, Jeremy and Oliver.

I was so touched on Sunday during one of Scott's prayers for us during installation as he prayed that my kids would love their church and look back on it as an awesome place to grow up. Yes, let it be, Lord. And may their home be one of love, grace, innocence, and safety. And a home that makes them eager to know Jesus.

So amidst all of this I'm still finding time to connect with my husband and keep fanning the marriage into flame. I love him and admire him so much. I love his transparency and submission to others, which enhances his God-given strengths. Is it really going to be 13 years, my love? Hardly possible. I adore you.

I've been unable to figure out how to take care of all this stuff and blog too; sorry! But thanks for checking in.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

2007-04-30T12:06:00.000-07:00

Reduced

2007-04-30T10:37:00.000-07:00

I was standing at the stove, boiling ramen noodles as I listened to the heated debate starting to simmer between the two preschoolers. I knew I was moments from needing the intervene and pass a fair judgement on the dispute. Meanwhile, the toddler, hearing the start of something interesting, interjected himself right into the middle of the fray, extracing loud screams from both sibilings who prefer that he leave them alone while they play/argue/debate. Screaming. Ramen. I forgot if I'd even had a shower yet that day. The thought came into my head with crystal-like clairty.

"My life has been reduced to this?!?!"

Then almost as quickly as the conflict was resolved by my referee calls and separation, that little voice, the one that pulls you back to a place of grace, said, "What is reduced?"

My thoughts went immediately to cooking. I watched the ramen bubble. To reduce something, especially over intense heat is "to decrease the volume and concentrate the flavor of by boiling." Has my life been reduced? Most certainly. It doesn't have the excess volume of self-centered luxuries. It's not filled with useless relationships. It doesn't have time or space for empty, hopeless investments. Each moment is full of concetrated joy, work, value, and eternity. Life is not what I thought it would be 12 years ago. It's much smaller, but so, so much more sweet.

Ah, well

2007-04-30T10:30:00.000-07:00

Wire = (n) 1 a : metal in the form of a usually very flexible thread or slender rod

Molding = (n) a decorative plane or curved strip used for ornamentation or finishing

Support = (v) 4 a : to hold up or serve as a foundation or prop for

Lift = (n) 10 : an apparatus or machine used for hoisting

My dad's a contractor. Used to understand all of these terms in the context of construction, especially as they pertain to highrises and skyscrapers.

Now they are all terms that are used to describe my bras.

They put the force in "F5"

2007-04-30T10:21:00.000-07:00

April showers

2007-04-11T11:55:00.000-07:00

The first picture was taken March 16th.

The second was taken April 11th.

Thank you

2007-04-11T11:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Jesus,

Thank you for a warm, sturdy home that keeps my family safe and warm when April snows and winds hit.

Thank you that my power lines are underground and that we don't lose power for long.

Thank you that my children are over their strep throats (and Levi's additional double-ear infection).

Thank you that Levi's allergic reaction to the antibiotic was mild.

Thank you for our new used car.

Thank you that the nice gentleman that owned it only drove it 28,400 miles in ten years.

Thank you for my husband's new church, and for our new friends.

Thank you for our former church, and for our old friends.

Thank you for my job, even when it's sad.

Thank you that I can go to my job and receive perspective regarding life and it's challenges.

Thank you for Matthew.

Thank you for your hand upon His life, and the way in which he loves and blesses me.

Again, thank you for our warm, carpeted home.

Thank you that I no longer own a Newfoundland.

Thank you for the family in our new church that recently moved back to Chicagoland from Western New York.

Thank you for someone who knows what Wegmans, Weber's mustard, and Chiavetta's are about.

Thank you for your strength that carried me through Holy Week and bouyed me up under extra evenings without Matt.

Thank you for every day that Matt gets home safely from work.

Thank you for this day.

Amen.

A Candy Ring

2007-03-24T10:05:00.000-07:00

What do you do with a big candy ring that you buy and snack on for what seems like hours and then you have a legitimate reason to put it down because you need to use your hands but you're afraid that your brothers might steal the ring and not give it back?

Just turn it into a nose ring! Atta' girl!

Spring Sprung

2007-03-24T10:02:00.000-07:00

Birth Day

2007-03-24T09:54:00.000-07:00

Last night I had the privilege of sitting beside my son's bed when he prayed to ask Jesus into his heart. With the gentle guidance of his daddy, my Izak stepped onto the little path of his new spiritual journey. Happy re-birth day, little one.

Funny thoughts

2007-03-10T10:47:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I had two funny interactions with the oldest boy...

1. (Watching Curious George TV show about dinosaur bones)
(I): "Mom, do boogers have bones?"
(M): "No. Boogers are soft and squishy. They don't have bones."
(I): "But, Mom, this one is really hard...".

2. (Getting the girl dressed. Brother speaks up.)
(I): "Mom, Libby's belly butt sticks out."
(M): "What?"
(I): "Her belly butt. See? Mine goes in." (Lifts up shirt and points to navel.)
(M): "Z, that's a belly button. Button."
(I): "Oh, button. But look, my belly butt still goes in."
(M): (He has SO got to get this figured out before high school...)

My Weak Spot

2007-02-22T14:27:00.000-08:00

I'm the type of person who can usually muscle through a weakness. I can read, think, formulate and execute a plan, and receive good outcomes. But as a mom, one of the areas where I feel completely inadequate is as a feeder. I hate, again, hate feeding the kids. I'm mostly at fault, giving snacks at the wrong time, reading books with competing information and applying none of it... but honestly, eating is just not a big deal to me. Somewhere in my head is a principle that food is not the center of one's life, and I hope to instill that in my children. But how can you do that without also instilling poor behaviors? We run on an early shift in this house, rising between six and seven; but bedtime also occurs early, between six and seven, giving Mom and Dad a few hours to reconnect. So the children eat earlier than most, lunch at 11 and dinner at 4. I've tried for two years to have the family dinner at 5 when Dad walks in the door, but the kids were tired, hungry, and I was usually frustrated. They are still little, after all, 1, 2.5 and 4, so there are years to come when they may be able to tolerate a later supper.

After 4 years of trying to be a good feeder, here's my summary:

1. Each child will have a meal that is their best, the time when they will eat the most. (Karen, mother of 6)

2. Only put three to six bites of food on the baby's plate. Anything more than that will be used as ammunition. (Liz, mother of 3 great eaters)

3. I think the phrase "I'm not a short order cook" was invented by someone who didn't have a kid with food allergies (milk,egg, nut... thanks, Levi). When that comment comes up, I feel judged. I won't use it with others.

4. There is an inverse proportion applied to every meal that states "the more time Mom has spent fixing the food means that the children will spend even less time sitting /eating/ enjoying the meal." X=1/X... remember? That also means that drive through meals are joyfully and patiently eaten, sometimes lasting up to 30 minutes at the table.

5. If I had to choose between a good eater and a good sleeper, I'll take the good sleeper.

6. My kids eat better than some and worse than some. They can still be respectful and polite, even in their refusals to eat.

7. I would rather have my kids grow up with few memories of meal times than remembering fights over food.

Ecclectic

2007-02-22T08:46:00.000-08:00

I remember a variety of music in my home growing up. Classical, hymns, contemporary christian, ragtime, children's music, etc. One of Mom's first bits of advice to me as a new mother was, "Bathe your babies in all kinds of music." I have, Mom. Every chance I get. Though I'll admit, my preferrence is jazz and classical.

I popped in my "Messiah" CD this morning, cued up one of my favorite pieces ("And He Shall Purify"), and hit play, filling the kitchen with sound. Izak looked up at me and smiled broadly, "Mom, this is my favorite music!" Yet in less than a half an hour we were all gathered around the piano singing "God Bless America", and "Stinky Cake." Ecclectic, yes, but babies bathed in music? Absolutely. Thanks, Mom.

Perzina, my new baby

2007-02-16T15:14:00.000-08:00

Enough said.

Wall Words

2007-02-13T11:36:00.000-08:00

My sister-in-law told me of a great website - www.wallwords.com. You are able to order transferrable, vinyl quotes, either from stock or create your own. This phrase has been on my mind for over a year now. It's my summary of I Samuel 15:22, which says, "Does the Lord delight in burnt offerings as much as in obeying the voice of the Lord? To obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed is better than the fat of rams." In other words, God delights in the follower who is quick to do what he/she has been told. He'd rather have obedience than sorrow and consequence for being disobedient. If you know what God has told you to do, do it, and do it quickly.

Sunday evening, at a congregational meeting, my husband announced his resignation from NWCC. Over the past four months God has been leading Matthew (and me) to this conslusion. I believe His timing, wisdom, and strength have clearly directed us to take this faith step. I will share more in the future. But more powerful than the tears of sadness at leaving this sweet body of believers is the driving conviction that it's best, it's always best to obey the voice of the Lord.

Winter babies

2007-02-13T10:56:00.000-08:00

And snow is falling... again. It seems like we've been locked in the house for months. I'm determined to have kids who will handle cold weather well (motto: the warmer they are, the longer they will play outside), but the wind chills have been below zero for several weeks. They're just too cute to freeze.

Birds at my feeders: purple finches, sparrows, finches, a downy woodpecker, morning doves (the C-130 of birds), juncos, and a swarm of european starlings (I think). NO CARDINALS.

Books I've been reading: Francine Rivers' The Priest, The Warrior, and The Prince. Currently in The Prophet.

My grandmother left me an inheritance. So, because of my husband's wise counsel, I bought a brand new piano! I take delivery on it on Thursday. It's a 44" console, hand-made in Europe by a company called Perzina. She's beautiful. Red ribbon mahogony. Fantastic company in downtown Waukegan that I highly recommend: Family Piano Company. They are outstanding!

My toes: pink polish with little hearts, purple and red. With sparkles.

January Babies 2007

2007-01-24T06:33:00.000-08:00

I apologize for the lack of blogging. The Holidays eliminated my margin, and 2007 has taken off like a shot out of a gun! The weekend before last I went to Buffalo to visit soul mates, and meet a beautiful baby girl that is now 7 months old! I've been battling 7 weeks of diarrhea with the baby, the girl is only 2.5 and beginning to surpass her brother in her art skill (see her rendering, unassisted, of a CAR), and the oldest has magically turned into this wonderful boy. One toddler, on half toddler/half girl, and one boy. Thank God we're growing up!

I continue to feed the birds, often times losing myself in thought as I stare at my feeders. I received a fantastic field guide to the birds of Illinois (thank you, Jenny!), which has been so helpful in identifying the exact species... still no cardinal, though I spent a good buck on a feeder with a deck for their landing preference.

There is more, so much more that I have on my heart. Little comments that the kids have made that are driving eternal truths into my soul. Welcomed words from good friends that challenge and pierce my heart. God is good to me, showing me the flood of grace that He continually pours out on me. I am being changed, every day, because of His mercies.

Late, but nonetheless - HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Christmas Elements

2006-12-27T18:10:00.000-08:00

Attending

2006-12-27T17:36:00.000-08:00

I work in a teaching hospital, which means that the hospital itself is a training ground for doctors as they come up through medical school. You may see a white coat, you may see "Dr." stitched on the lapel, but said man or woman may still be in training. All baby docs in training answer to/ are taught by an "attending." I'm not sure if I'm totally clear on the nuances, even after 12 years of nursing, but an attending is the real deal. Residents wear white coats. Attendings wear grey. When you see a doc with a grey coat, sit up, take notice, and listen, because it's the real deal. Not a staging, not supervised practice. They are important. I say this with all seriousness. And as much as a resident might bite, attendings have been through enough that they may be just frustrated enough to rip your head off of your shoulders and not even remember your name two seconds later.

I feel closer to a lot of the residents and interns. Feeling my way along. Waiting to learn something new. Quick to ask questions, but quick to listen, open to new information. When an attending rounds with his group of students, it's quite an entourage. Two, three, sometimes four students. When an attending rounds on my patients, I'm quick to be at the bedside with a chart and answers. It's a serious time.

Such was the setting when a neurologist, an attending, came to the ICU the other day. We had a fascinating case, and he was called in to evaluate the patient. Here he came... with four students in tow. One grey coat, four white coats, and me. We drew the curtain around the patient's bed and the doctor sat in front of her, conducting a thorough evaluation. He was a kind man, seemingly gentle. All nerves assessed, a detailed history, test after test... after 20 minutes the entourage had barely made a sound, watching his every move, listening to each question and answer. Then it happened. I broke the unwritten rule. I felt something softly drop on my foot, and looked down to see a tiny white sock laying on top of my shoe. It must have shaken out of my scrubs where it was stuck after a washing. Without thinking, I leaned over and grabbed it, held it up in the air and yelled, "Alright! I found it! And I know exactly where the other one is!" I almost launched into my victory dance, when I became painfully aware that the entourage, the patient, and the neurologist were all staring at me. I bit my lip and stuffed the sock in the pocket of my shirt. But the best part was that they all broke out into laughter... including the attending.

And there was snow...

2006-12-14T06:40:00.000-08:00

For the Birds

2006-11-29T19:35:00.000-08:00

I am a closet fusser. I come from a long line of fussers, both sides. At a cellular level I think I was born knowing how to worry. I have a clear memory of walking into KMart, I was probably seven, and I was tearful. When my mom asked what was wrong I said, "When will I ever lose my baby fat? I want a skinny tummy!" See? Fussing. I would worry about where we were going next, how we would get there - I learned how to read a map as early as possible to have something to do while traveling - that, and Dad explained, in no uncertain terms, that I wasn't allowed to ask ANYMORE questions. "Just ride along!" I fussed that people would stare at my handicapped sister, which they did, and then fussed about how I should respond. A glare? A sharp comment? A punch? I have always fussed.

You can rest assured that you are in my inner ring of friends if you've received a call from me at some random time that starts out with, "Hi. It's me. I just need to fuss. Do you have a minute?" Because though I've learned to master some of the crazy thinking that spins me off into a parallel universe, sometimes I need to spread my thoughts out somewhere and just acknowledge that they're there.

God has been good to me in that He hasn't left me to live in my fussy state. He's given me chances for redemption, and for that I'm grateful. Three words: Kids, Matt, birds.

Kids: I have three of them. They were all born within three years (and two days). They range in age from one to four. Every waking minute of my day is spent chasing, changing, refereeing, teaching, fixing, watching, and soothing. The things I used to waste time and energy on I no longer have space for. Remember the reference to the "funny farm"? I had a friend whose dad actually worked at the state institutions for the mentally ill when they were farms, real farms. People with mental illnesses went there and worked hard on farmland, and, according to this man, they got better and went home. There was something soothing and helpful to troubled minds that hard work with the hands healed. I guess God gave me my own funny farm right here in Illinois. There is something in the trench I work in that keeps me steady in a way I've never known.

Matt: My husband of twelve years. Words are cheap when it comes to describing one of the most amazing men I know. My husband strives to fulfill the call of scripture to "love his wife and Christ loved the church - and gave Himself for her." My husband daily chooses to value the children and me by placing a high priority on his family. I was recently accused of being a "submissive wife" (that's submissive, NOT passive). Guilty as charged. But I have the joy of being in a marriage where I gladly submit myself to my husband because he readily submits himself to me, consistently putting my interests and needs ahead of his own. Matthew has the spiritual gift of faith. While we are all given faith, his has that extra edge of permeating all of his thoughts. He sees things that I (and others) don't. He is able to confidently move towards issues that may not be clear to me, but that he knows God is in, and walks in obedience. His faith is an antidote to my fuss. Living day in and day out with a man who believes and relies on the character of God helps my worries about "woulda coulda shoulda" disintegrate into very tiny pieces.

Birds: I've tried something new. I went out and bought bird feeders, filled them, and hung them in the front and back of the house. The little birds who come and feed aren't incredibly exciting. I live in suburbia, for Heaven's sake. But several times a day I'm reminded of the line in scripture, "Why do you worry about what you'll eat? Look at the birds. Your Heavenly Father feeds them...". Well, I guess I feed them, but it flows out of all that the Lord has provided to me.

Why should I fuss about the future? Why should I fuss about this person and that person? My Heavenly Father knows, has known, and will continue to know everything. My only mandate is to rely on Him, enjoy His hand on my life, obey, and stop worrying. So between the funny farm, a godly man, and the birds, I'd say I'm finally learning to stop all the fuss.

The Heard of Cats

2006-11-29T07:50:00.000-08:00

Some days I think shepherding cats would be easier...

Correction

2006-11-29T07:46:00.000-08:00

(Izak and Liberty are standing in the kitchen, staring at a Munchkin all coated in white.)

Liberty: "Gibbergibbergibber 'white donut' gibbergibbergibbergibber."

Izak: "No, Yiberty, it is called (slowly with much clarity) POWER SUGAR."

Twelve

2006-11-19T16:50:00.000-08:00

Somewhere amidst the diapers, tiny socks, bagel crumbs, tears, unclear speech, unclear fits, fits of laughter, short lectures, "hellos"/but a mostly "see-you-later" day...

I thank God for the blessing of twelve years of having you for my husband.

Happy anniversary, Lover.

2006-11-10T17:05:00.000-08:00

It's my responsibility to provide the selection of library books from which Matt and Izak pick their night reading before bed. Today I gave into my dark side and got the funniest book ever - Walter the Farting Dog. I give it four stars out of four. What's best was sitting downstairs listening to my husband read it with all seriousness to Izak, who was amazed by the content. All the while, I couldn't stop giggling!

Communion sacrifce

2006-10-26T20:34:00.000-07:00

Just posting a meditation that I wrote for communion last week.
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John 15 says, “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends. “ I can think of a small handful of people whom I have known and loved enough in this life that I would readily give my life for them… or rather, that I would have readily given my life for them.

Four years ago, my definition of sacrifice and nobility was redefined by the birth of my first child, a son. Several years followed with the birth of two more children, a daughter and another son. Now the thought of :"laying down my life for a friend" doesn’t ring with the same tone… I cannot imagine being separated from my children, the willingness to die for anyone other than my babies, or my husband has grown rigid within me.

Yet another notion crossed my mind the other day - no where in scripture does it command me to show my love for another by sacrificing the life of my child. Lay down my life, yes, but lay down the life of my child? Though there are those I love deeply, I would never, ever secure their freedom or safety by giving up one of my children. My boy who has blonde hair and green eyes, my girl who has fire and sugar all rolled together, my baby who lays in his head on my shoulder - I wouldn’t part with any of them for a friend, let alone an enemy.

God is the only Father in the history of the world who chose to set evil men free by giving up the life of His perfect son. His son was the only child in history that had the ability to satisfy the debt of all of our sin because He, in no way, deserved it. And it was done one time, for all of mankind.

As we take the bread, be thankful that there has only been one case when God needed a parent to sacrifice the life of a child. Thank Him for His sacrifice.

As you take the cup, be mindful of the innocent man who died for all of humanity to offer true freedom

I need.

2006-10-26T19:58:00.000-07:00

There are seasons when I'm not totally sure what God's up to. As many of you experience, chasing three little ones keeps the feet flying and the mind comfortably numb. I'm usually preoccupied with what to make for the next meal, who's where and doing what, is the baby gate up, what's that noise... etc. Despite the pace, I feel like the din of life is finally stabilizing, that, or I'm growing used to the chaos.

Many thoughts come and go regarding what I'd like to blog about. I miss sitting down and taking the time to capture it all. This is a little of where my heart is.

One Sunday I was rambling around my kitchen with my sister-friend, Lo. I was talking through some issue, have no recollection of what it was, and I said, "I am sick of having to say what I need. I'm sick of having to spell it out. Why can't they read my mind, or just know what I want?" Rants are less and less a part of my life, there's no time, and usually no appropriate audience. It's not often that I voice the frustration of needs gone unmet. But Laura said something profound, "This seems to be the recurring theme over the last year and half. You have to tell people that you need."

How true, how true. As hard as I've tried, I've been unable to eradicate need. Crazy enough, the choices I keep making in my life (having babies, lots of 'em close together, moving to another state, staying at home) seem to compound my inability to be the self-sufficient, private person that I imagine myself to be. I have to ask for help. I have to tell people how I like things done, what I will and will not do, what I like to eat, where I keep the sugar, that I don't like caffeine, that I prefer no network television until after the kids are all in bed, that I do things this way for this reason. Living in Buffalo for seven years allowed me to settle into a pattern with people who knew and loved me. I felt known by an inner circle of friends who understood enough of my past and personality that they could see why I did what I did, and in those friendships I felt free, without judgment. I believe I've found true friendship here in Chicago as well. God has clearly surrounded me with a loving church body. He has been specific about the friendships He wants me to pursue. But no matter how led I feel to become someone's friend, at some point I feel like I'm standing there, vulnerable, pants around my proverbial ankles having to say, "Let me tell you what I need...". Gosh, sometimes I feel like a part of the cast of "What About Bob."

Actually though, letting myself admit that there are things that I need is making me a better wife because I'm not laying those relational/life/household demands on my husband. It's making me a better mom because I'm able to advocate on the behalf of my kids with a backbone that I never had until I became a mother. It's making me a better friend because I can give people the Cliff's Notes version of where I'm at and why it matters. And ultimately, I think it's making me a better Christ-follower. In having to admit need, I am learning to partake of grace. I'll be the first to admit that until a few years ago I had NO IDEA of what grace meant, other than it's book definition. But now I'm starting to get it... especially since I can admit that there are things I can't do for myself... I need... .

I entitle this piece... "Futility"

2006-10-26T19:55:00.000-07:00

Fall 2006 Furrbabies

2006-10-26T19:51:00.000-07:00

Homestead

2006-10-26T19:47:00.000-07:00

I know there are friends in Buffalo who are wondering what our new place looks like. I thought I'd post a picture for you. Matt (and Rick) did a great job of picking out our home. I love it.

The Boys' Birthdays

2006-10-26T19:43:00.000-07:00

You know you're a SAHM when...

2006-10-09T17:15:00.000-07:00

you have one drawer for shirts, one for pants, one for unmentionables, and TWO for pajamas.

Salt, pepper, sugar

2006-10-09T16:27:00.000-07:00

Today is family day. We hole up, ignore the phone, and concentrate on one another on Mondays. Since Matt preaches every week, Sunday evenings are generally quiet. The kids are getting more tolerant of watching football all day (Who's lovin' Sunday Night Football?!?! Hello!?!? Me! That's who!) and hanging around the house. So Mondays are a great time to play and run around together. Family Day.

I was in the basement playing with Levi, doing a little dance and making him laugh. He crawled off and busied himself with a big box of toys. Suddenly, I was inspired to go on a long-awaited search for my missing salt and pepper shaker, and sugar bowl and spoon. Since our move to Illinois last January I've been unable to find them. I didn't pack our house up, several friends did. I was on the peripheral, playing with the kids, trying to keep a level head and not get overwhelmed.

I had narrowed the boxes down to a few which contained my second set of dishes. As I rummaged through I was surprised by the feelings that surfaced. Each box was so lovingly packaged, hand-written notes on top about contents. I began to remember the day - snowy, cold, we probably got about 18 inches that day. And the people who loved us enough to come and pack us. Leslie (a lovely Australian woman, newlywed, took a partial day off from running her farm) and Stacia (Matt's administrative assistant) packed up the kitchen. An enormous task. Leslie is tall and Stacia is, well, not tall, so they worked their way around the kitchen, each one packing what was within her reach. How smart, I thought. Mike McGarry and his son Thane tackled the uninsulated attic, this is January in Buffalo remember. The attic was not tall enough to allow you to stand up straight, but they collected, sorted, packed, taped, and labeled boxes for several hours. From time to time you would hear Mike burst out laughing over a box of old pictures he found, or his gentle voice of instruction spelling out a word for Thane as he labeled, "B-u-s-i-n-e-s-s". "C-h-r-i-s-t-m-a-s." And then sweet Carrie. You have to know Carrie to know what a labor of absolute love it was. Carrie is one of my closest friends. She avoids sadness at all costs, so to spend a Saturday packing up her girlfriend's belongings only days before a long goodbye was a terrific sacrifice.

I opened one box labeled "kitchen dishes" and started to pull out little stacks of carefully wrapped bowls. Then I smelled something - pepper! I dug into the bottom and there they were! Salt and pepper, sugar bowl, lid and spoon.

It might sound crazy, but I cried.

Home

2006-09-30T19:42:00.000-07:00

We returned home from Bay City on Monday, where we had stayed for 5 days. We had a lovely Memorial for Grandma with a full church and full hearts. It's funny how I seem to miss her more and more. Since I was not there when she passed I think it'll come upon me more slowly... . Probably the coolest part of the service was at the very beginning when they played the video clip from Gaither's "Heaven" DVD - a piece by Wintley Phipps called "Go Down, Death." It was profound and beautiful and perfect. If you get a chance to listen to it, please do.

The kids are steadily readjusting to being back home. A wise woman said, "It will take you as many days as you were gone to readjust to being home." By that count it should be today.

I took lots of pics. (Mom with Levi, Dad, Kat - my little sis - and her husband Dave, Stef - my big sis - and me) It helps capture things while my heart and head seem strangely empty...

Matt was my hero. He drove to Michigan with us Thursday, turned around after the service on Saturday and came back to Chicago, arrived in time for a visitation at another funeral home, preached twice Sunday, officiated another funeral, drove back to Michigan, arrived at 2 a.m.. We left at 9 a.m. for home. That man drove 24 hours in a matter of 5 days. God bless him. I do love him.

After all that driving we decided to make the move on a new minivan. It's perfect, I feel like we executed the decision and deal with great wisdom. The best part is it's red! Candy apple red or Inferno red... I guess it depends on my mood.

On a happier note...

2006-09-14T08:28:00.000-07:00

Sunrise

2006-09-13T05:59:00.000-07:00

This morning shortly after 8 a.m. my grandma went Home.

And even as I cry for myself and my family, I celebrate that there is hope beyond all this. Jesus is absolutely worthy of my praise.

Flashback

2006-09-12T18:41:00.000-07:00

Of course, Grandma has been heavy on my heart and mind today. My little sister, Kat, and her husband are there now, planning to leave in the morning for Pittsburgh. We have been texting throughout the day: heart rate way up, blood pressure way down. The end nears.

At a subconscious level I have always had a heart for immigrants. I don't think I've begun to piece it together until recently that I feel a strange connectedness with those who have come here from other countries because of my family history. I have no doubt that the many stories I heard at my grandmother's knee have come forward to shape my world view. My husband and I have discussed immigration policy, the right to immigrate vs. the reality of immigration, exploitation, discrimination, humanity vs. constituency, and so on. The county I live in is 33% Latino. I suspect that illegal immigration issues may apply to many families, but I am unwilling to treat every non-English speaking person like they don't belong here.

I delight to the very center of my soul when I'm at work and I'm surrounded by people all speaking different languages: Spanish, African, Russian, Arabic, Gypsy, Italian, Indian, Chinese, and the list goes on. I feel in balance when I am only a representative of the American English-speaking culture. We are so much more than that as a whole country. Each story being special, each blend unique and precious.

My grandma tells many stories about the family that she used to keep house for: the Christians (name, not faith). They were a rich, rich family living in Owosso post-depression. My grandma was a very young girl when she went to work for them in order to supplement the family income. I don't know if her service to them was a part of the immigration agreement that I mentioned in my previous post. Nonetheless, she gave at least ten years of her life to them as a housekeeper and servant. One of her "while I cleaned the house" stories involved perfume. Now, you have to know Grandma, she's always smelled good, with a particular habit of using liberal amounts of Estee Lauder perfume. She took such personal pride in her smell that the cashiers at the local grocery market said they always knew when Frances came into the store because they could smell that beautiful perfume. Grandma had never been exposed to perfume as a young, poor immigrant from Czechoslovakia, so when she was cleaning Mr. Christian's bedroom and found this handsome bottle of wonderful smelling cologne she unabashedly helped herself. "I splashed it everywhere", she would laugh, "but for some reason I didn't think that anyone else could smell me. I thought it was a secret." She realized, after time, that one of the reasons the kids at school would occasionally keep their distance was that the smell was so over-powering! Grandma was always able to pull one over on you if you weren't watching, but Mr. Christian, who was quite a pistol himself, let her in on his little secret. One day he whispered to her, "Kid, I don't mind you using the cologne, but will you let us know when we're running out?" Grandma would always giggle at that point.

Flash forward to today: The kids and I were burning daylight before Daddy came home from work. I decided to take them to the discount store on the corner to buy a few more toy cars, which we need like another hole in the head. I located the nearest family-sized cart, and as pulled up to load the kids I noticed a young Latino woman working at starting her car to no avail. After I had secured the kids I went to her window. "Do you want me to call someone?" "No, no," she smiled. We went in and came out a few minutes later only to find them still attempting to get the car started. The young boy approached me for a jump, which I did without any result. Omar, the boy, probably about 11, was going back and forth between his mother and me translating. It began to rain. "Can I take you anywhere?" Translation. "Yes, please. Can you take us home?" "Sure," and I opened the back door of her car to find two more children, a baby in a car seat and a 6 year-old little girl with long black hair and brown eyes. I rearranged the seating in the van, and I asked Omar (the only English-speaking family member) what his little sister's name was. "She is America." Ah. America, daughter of hope. Of course. And as I reached in to pull her out and load her into my van, there was an overpowering smell of perfume. "Oh, America, you smell so GOOD!" Her brother laughed and told me she had been playing with the perfume samples in the store. (Grandma, how could I not remember you in looking at this little girl?) We piled all eight of us in my seven-passenger van and headed home. I was watching in the rear-view mirror as America leaned all the way over to my daughter, Liberty, sitting on the other end of the seat. She softly took ahold of her hair, feeling it, running her fingers through it. I couldn't help but smile. Yes, little one, we are a little different, aren't we? America was babbling in Spanish and Liberty was responding in her 2 year-old English. In that moment my heart was so FULL...

We left them in their driveway. But even as I drove away I could smell the perfume from America that had rubbed off on my clothes, both literally and figuratively.

2006-09-11T20:48:00.000-07:00

Watch-keeping

2006-09-11T19:57:00.000-07:00

We just arrived home from a "suicide visit" to East Michigan (12 hours of traveling in a thirty hour period). My grandma, who seemed to be improving shortly after my last post, has taken an irreversible turn downward. Hospice. Hospital bed. Nothing to eat since Wednesday, barely drinking. All along I felt that I was okay with letting Grandma go from a distance. Friday as I was out running errands I felt this pinch in my gut. I needed to go home to say goodbye. I hesitated bringing it up to Matt, I didn't really know how we would execute this, but within minutes of me sharing it, he had come up with a plan. My husband is my hero. He works hard, loves well, sacrifices willingly, and engages fully. No post seems to be adequate to capture my utter admiration and adoration for him.

We bolted for my childhood home after Matt returned from church. Arrived about 9 o'clock EST, which is WAY, WAY past my kids' bedtime. There were several meltdowns, but once they got to Grandma and Grandpa's they were fantastic.

My grandma is a first generation immigrant from Czechoslovakia. She came in 1916 on a ship with her mother, Frances Kathryn Ledvinka. They left under threat of death during dangerous days. She came to Ellis Island. She was one of the nameless faces that you see in the pictures.

Through a series of events she found herself in Canada trying to farm in Saskatchewan. It was a hopeless situation. Great-Grandma and Great-Grandpa re-entered the US by indenturing themselves to wealthy land owners to work their fields as a means of passage. Upon arrival to Owosso, Michigan, my great-grandfater was diagnosed with inoperable stomach cancer. He died a painful, tragic death, leaving behind his wife, who spoke no English, and his two little girls. You cannot imagine, you cannot imagine the stories she's shared with me over the years. Perhaps I will share them with you over time... . You must not think of Grandma in soft, fluffy terms. She has always been proud of her nickname as the "Battleship of the Fleet." She was a tenatious, scrappy woman who has had to fight for almost everything in life. Tough, yes, but good? Oh, yes.

What you must know is that my grandma was the first one in my father's line to become a Christian. She began hanging around with the local minister's daughter, and part of their time together involved going to church. My grandma began to listen, heard, and received the message of Christ's salvation into her young heart. She dedicated her life to following the Lord, and has always been quick to recount the ways He saved not only her soul, but her life here on earth. When no one was for the "dumb Hunky," she was convinced the God was for her. When she was humiliated, victimized, shunned, God stood by her. When they had nothing, no food, no money, no hope - when Great Grandmother sat her two little daughters on the table and said sadly that she was sorry but since there was nothing left she would have to kill them now, rather than see them starve to death - how in that very moment a kind hobo knocked at the door, looking to rent a room for which he would pay a proper amount. God saved her time and time again. He gave her dignity and hope... which she gave to others... Her mother was a stoic, tough woman, who drilled her daughter about her whereabouts, so Grandma would have to recount the sermons for her, word for word. Great-Grandma became more and more interested. Grandma was convinced that if her mother found the Lord it would be awkward, she was sure she would shout and cry - and when Great-Grandma found out there was a way to be saved here on earth and in eternity she did shout with tears of joy.

So with great joy and bittersweet sadness I took a short watch with my grandma. I sat in the chair at her beside in which my mother has spent countless hours. I looked at the pictures of the old ships on the wall, ships that have reminded Grandma of her voyage here for as long as I can remember. Her breathing was labored, erratic at times. Her eyes were closed, her body was quiet. She would open her eyes and smile and little when I would say, "Grandma, it's me, Heidi. I'm here." I told her I loved her. I told her thank you for finding God and for giving me a godly legacy, how it has made my life so much better. I told her that Heaven awaits her, that she will see her mother again. But mostly I sang. My grandma has always been fond of my voice (this is the same woman who taught me the saying "Every mother crow thinks her baby is the blackest."). So I found an old, old hymnal and sang. One Day, Abide With Me, My Jesus I Love Thee, When The Roll Is Called Up Yonder, What a Friend We Have In Jesus, many more... but the one that really grabbed me was this little hymn:

Pass me not oh gentle Savior, hear my humble cry
While on others Thou art calling, do not pass me by

Savior, Savior, hear my humble cry
While on others Thou art calling, do not pass me by

Let me at a throne of mercy, find a sweet relief
Kneeling there in deep contrition, help my unbelief

Trusting only in Thy merit, would I see Thy face
Heal my wounded, broken spirit, saved me by Thy grace

Thou the spring of all my comfort, more than life to me
Whom have I on earth beside Thee, whom in heaven but Thee?

Indeed, Grandma, who is there on earth who has loved you half as well as God loves you? What hope is there in the Heaven other than that of the reality of your Savior, your Champion, Jesus Christ? Do not wait for me. I will find you there.

Love, Heidi

Prayer request

2006-08-28T19:08:00.000-07:00

Generally, I do not ask publically for prayer. This is not a pride thing as much as it is a privacy thing. But I know that if you can pray, you will, and that's all I need.

My grandma is 97. She is living at home with my mother (it's mom's MIL, my father's an only child), who has been her caregiver for years. My grandma fell last week and fractured her pelvis.

I don't know that I'm asking for healing, while that would be nice. But Grandma has been wanting to "go home" for a long time now. Mom feels it may be nearing that time.

Please pray for Grandma's pain control. Please pray for her peace and comfort. Please pray that God ministers to her in a special way and lightens this burden.

Please pray for my mom, who is exhausted and spent. Pray for her as she ministers minute by minute to Grandma. Pray for her mind to be at ease, and her body to be strong. Pray that God ministers to Mom in a clear voice. Pray for supportive people to come around her and help with joyful, gentle hearts.

Please pray for my handicapped sister, Stef, 38, who also lives at home with Mom. Pray that she will be a vessel of the Holy Spirit, as she watches Grandma and prays for her over dinner, prays that Grandma will go home to be with Jesus.

Pray for my Dad, that he will be comforted and quieted by God's hand; that he will continue to bear the blessing of the Godly legacy that my Grandmother gave him with thankfulness.

Thank you.

Stickers

2006-08-28T18:51:00.000-07:00

She is excessive. He is symmetric.

Muslim up close

2006-08-15T18:25:00.000-07:00

This post has been on my heart for awhile. I'm a slow thinker and an even slower typist. Thankfully I have a few quiet hours tonight.
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It was the morning of my daughter Liberty's second birthday. Early in the day the news came that Al-Zarqawi had been killed. I jokingly said, "Well, happy birthday, baby girl. They killed a terrorist on your big day!" And I didn't think another thing about it until later that day...

Many of you know, I'm a nurse. I specialize in Intensive Care nursing, but specialize within that in oncology (cancer) ICU nursing. I treasure few things as highly as working with people who are living and dying with cancer. I rarely get to work in my favorite area because other departments are busier and more needy. But that evening I was sent to the oncology unit.

My assignment was pre-determined. I sat taking report from the offgoing RN. Patient #1 was a bone marrow transplant patient. Doing well, slated to be discharged to the floor soon. But patient #2 was a problem. She was from Syria, non-English speaking, brought here by her physician brother to treat an aggressive recurrence of cancer. She was not doing well AND she couldn't communicate with us. "She's sweet, but almost impossible to understand. We're working on getting a translator hot-line number." Muslim probably, I thought. I've never taken care of a Muslim.

I readied myself to go in and meet her. We have to wear masks and gloves to protect our fragile patients from easily transmitted infections. But I was glad for the mask because as I entered her room I was nervous. In the front of my mind I knew she wasn't a terrorist, of course; she was probably a mother, a worker like me. But the uneasiness remained. I think I was nervous because I was afraid to be found as ignorant as I felt, and I was afraid I would unwittingly insult her culture and her religion. And this old evangelical quip kept flashing through my mind: Christians and Muslims are enemies, aren't they?

She was sitting at the foot of her bed with her hijab covering her head, drawn, pale, quiet. Her brother and sister-in-law were in a full-blown conversation. I quietly turned on the monitor, assessed her, took vital signs. I'd never really listened to Arabic before. In other languages I occasionally hear a word or two that I understand, or at least think I do, but in Arabic there was not one thing that sounded familiar. It was soft and filled with sounds I might use when calming a crying child or telling a secret. It was beautiful. I spoke to my patient through her brother: Did she have pain? Nausea? Any trouble breathing? No, she told him. The brother and I sat and made a list of basic yes/no assessment questions that we could use in his absence. I could point to the Arabic writing that followed my English question. But how could I really ask what I wanted to know? How can you leave your home, your country to come here to gamble getting better? Do you understand how very sick you are? Are you afraid? Are you lonely? As I turned to leave the room , she caught my hand and said, with a thick accent, "Thank you, thank you." And then she kissed my arm.

It was a good thing I wore the mask because I'm not much of a hugger, let alone a kisser. My mouth was probably hanging open. I know I blushed. I felt the heat in my face. I did something and excused myself, taken aback by her gentleness. Something in the back of my mind began to come forward. Prejudice. I was prejudice because she was Muslim and I was not. Yet she didn't represent Al-Zarqawi, just like I don't represent the screaming, yelling TV evangelists that you see on cable.

Later that evening, after her family had gone I reviewed my notes. She was required to bathe twice a day, according to doctor's order. It was standard care for leukemics to keep the potential bacteria from infecting their body. I leafed through the notes. No bath. She'd been there a few days and it didn't look like she had been in the tub once. I went into her room and tried to pantomime a bath. She wasn't getting it. She was waving me off, expressions that looked like No, no I don't need one. Too tired. Too sick. I picked up the phone and called a relative that had agreed to translate. "Please tell her that I need to give her a bath, ask her if she's had one. She needs to be clean." The family member was very kind, spoke with her for several minutes, and then told me, "No, there has been no bath. She says she will go with you."

I readied the bathtub and towels. She slowly began to pull her hijab off, and stopped. She looked directly in my eyes and said, "Sorry. So sorry." As her scarf came off I saw the thin little whips of hair that I've long associated with the disease. "Con-ser, con-ser" she said slowly. Conser... oh! Cancer! Yes, I whispered and rubber her shoulder, I know, it's from the cancer. It's okay. Syrian or American, women still grieve their hair. We steadily shuffled arm in arm to the bathroom and I helped her undress. She began to shiver violently from the cold. I eased her into the tub and began to carefully and quickly wash her. My mind was buzzing. Am I doing anything wrong? Have I offended her beliefs at all? The bathing of another person is always a holy moment for me, but none so much as this one. In that humble position, kneeling before her, my mind and heart wrestled through thoughts: Muslim vs. Terrorist, American rhetoric vs. Middle East, Mohammed vs. Christ, friend vs. foe - and then... she quietly leaned over and kissed the top of my head. "Thank you, thank you, " she whispered. With my head bowed, I tried not to cry. God had brought the image of Al-Zarqawi and my patient side-by-side, I heard my glib comment to Libby replay in my head, and then He said, "Who's judge are you? I created both. I love both. Don't let your over-exposure to the radical Muslim mislead your understanding."

I still think about her. We sat on her bed later that day and shared pictures of children, showing age by the universal "hold up the number of fingers" technique. I didn't learn Arabic, and she didn't learn English, but she bridged a gap for me that no article or special interest story could. I was changed by that night. Part of redemption is allowing God to work out areas of darkness in us that we don't even know exist, like prejudice and ignorance. It may have been Liberty's birthday, but the gift that night was all mine.

August Furrbabies

2006-08-11T16:39:00.000-07:00

Yes, that's me.

2006-08-11T16:16:00.000-07:00

Yes, I'm the mom at SuperTarget that drives the huge 19-seat cart that you need a trucking license to operate.

Yes, I'm the mom that picks up a whole bag of spilled chocolate teddy graham crackers off the store floor, puts them back in the bag, and hands them back to the child to continue eating. Yes, I also say, "It's okay, just be careful so we don't have to pick them up again."

Yes, I'm the mom that you hear holding discussions like, "Hey, don't put your penis in the pretzel bowl." "Why?" "Because we don't put our penis where our food is." "Oh, okay, Mommy."

Yes, I'm the mom at the restaraunt that lets my daughter dip everything, everything in ketchup, but has to draw the line every now and then - "No more ketchup in your hair, Honey."

Yes, I'm the mom that is standing in the line at Linens N Things with a tiny toilet seat, calmly explaining to my three year old, "Dora goes poopy in the potty. Boots goes poopy in the potty, and Swiper goes poopy in the potty too." Incredulous toddler, "Swiper goes poopy in the potty too?!?!" Mommy, with a straight face, "Yes, Swiper poops in the potty."

Yes, I'm the mom that sings rousing Wiggles sing-a-longs with the kids while clipping through the grocery store at 3.8 miles per hour. Yes, sometimes I'm the only one singing.

Never thought I'd be a mom. Never thought things like memorizing the Nick Jr. line-up would be important, nay critical information. Never thought I'd have a refrierator magnet collection that consisted of the entire alphabet, farm animals, and a magnet that says, "If beauty is a state of mind then I'm a frickin' genius!" Never thought I'd have en educated opinion about Teletubbies. Never thought I'd sacrifice, bend, or bow to the power of motherhood. Never thought I'd hear myself say, "I have three little kids." Never thought I'd love what I do as much as I do. Never thought losing my old self to this new life would be such a great gift.

August toewear

2006-08-06T11:42:00.000-07:00

There have been a few since this, but I thought you'd enjoy this one. Toes by Mimi Nails in Sweetwater Crossing.

Late Night Visitors

2006-08-05T19:58:00.000-07:00

One week ago, about now, we were heading upstairs; Hubby was turning in for a night of sleep before preaching, and I went in the nursery to quiet a particularly cute, but miserable teething 9 month old. When I came out I heard the quiet clicking of the front door knob. Funny, I thought, Matt must have had to run out to his car and forgot the door is locked. So I went down to let him in. Something told me to check first. When I peeked out the window, much to my surprise, there was a young man I did not know trying to get into my house. I flipped on the porch light and saw, unfortunately, no change in his expression. Eyes partly closed, swaying side to side, and his hands still busily trying to get in the door. Either he's drunk or tripping or both. I don't see a weapon. I knocked on the window, no eye contact. "Wrong house!" I shouted. No change. I ran to the phone, dialed 911, and called for Matt, who was just on the verge of sleep. My knight in shining armor came running down the steps and immediately took the situation in hand, continuing to try to convince the man that this was not his house, and he needed to leave NOW. Well, poor man, he had now started knocking politely and occasionally ringing the doorbell, seemingly oblivious to us. It was at that point that he took out his credit card and began working on the dead-bolt. "What's your emergency?" "There's a man I don't know trying to get into my house." I'm imparting pertinent information and now see a new problem arising. Knight in Shining Armor is getting more and more pissed off and protective by the second, pupils dilated, he begins to sway a little too, his hand on the inside doorknob. Matt said he was trying to figure out how to run out and knock the guy off the porch while I shut the door behind him... Attack Daddy was starting to emerge! I was staying on the line with the dispatcher while Matt was growling in the background about the response time. I kept saying, "I have little kids. Three babies. Are you close?" "Yes ma'am." "Please hurry, I have little kids. They're sleeping." Keep the intruder out, keep the husband in. After what seemed like forever, four police cars, six officers and a K-9 unit converged on our front lawn. Matt is narrating, "Okay they're here. They're coming. Okay, they've got him... oh! Not the new bushes!" After much shouting and handcuffing (poor kid was so drunk he just sort of fell in a heap), it became clear that he was a neighbor kid who'd been at a party, got smashed, was sleeping if off in his buddy's car, and then decided to walk home. Ideally to his home, but unfortunately, he ended up, persistence and all, at ours. The officers were very nice and took him somewhere to sleep it off.

Matt and I had quite an adrenaline buzz and stayed up until midnight replaying the events. The main thought that kept coming up was how unusual, yet divinely prompted it had been that I threw the deadbolt closed after having returned home from running to the store an hour before hand. Normally I lock up the house on my last pass through before bed. Had the door been opened it might have been a very different story.

Vive la suburbia!

(Since then, Matt had a chance to greet the kid in his driveway. Once he knew we were the family in the white house with the green shutters, he was thoroughly embarrassed and contrite.)

Reminder

2006-08-05T19:45:00.000-07:00

Why?

2006-08-05T19:26:00.000-07:00

Izak's favorite new conversational tool: "Why?"

(H) "Izak, please get ready to go for a ride. Get Blankie and your sandals."

(I) "Okay, Mommy. Why?"

(H) "Because we need to run errands before Levi gets sleepy.

(I) "Why?"

(H) "Because then he will need to take a nap."

You guessed it. (I) "Why?"

I'm trying to reject the "because I said so" response, though I can't promise it's not in my future. But Matt found the perfect closer. "Because I love you." And almost as a rule, when you answer him with that, he stops asking why.

Quieted by love. There is something timeless and universal in that, isn't there?

Diapers and Pearls

2006-07-26T08:11:00.000-07:00

Pics from the Big Trip

2006-07-18T08:23:00.000-07:00

Awkward Silence

2006-07-14T21:11:00.000-07:00

Ah, Jeannie, thank you. Yes, I'm still here. This past 30-some days has been a whirlwind. I'm a schedule-lightweight, so when things approach mild to moderate levels of chaos, I cut blogging. Truth be told, with the little ones pecking me to death like a pack of ducklings, I pretty much stop thinking coherent thoughts all together.

I struggle to articulate myself. This is hard, this mothering of three little ones. Many days I'm exhausted, wondering how I'll survive tomorrow. I flirt with the "Dear God, what have I done?!?!" thoughts lately. And the universe doesn't need another whiny blog, so I clam up. If we were in person you might not be getting much more than a blank stare either. Nothing witty. Nothing encouraging. I feel poured out.

I struggle with loneliness. Two of my closest friends are back in Buffalo. One has a newborn, the other will deliver within a month. And I'm here. I know they felt this way when Levi was born in Illinois. It just makes me sad. I'm working to connect myself with women. I'm not fast, but I'm very deliberate. (Points for intentionality.)

After Levi's dedication he was tested for allergies at Children's Hospital. Nagging eczema on the hands and face. Sure enough, he's allergic to dairy and egg. He was exclusively nursing (because it was easiest, and I suspected he might have some allergies), so since I'm unable to accommodate all the dietary changes for myself, I weaned him to a soy formula. His skin cleared up, but the process was rather fast. I don't feel well, probably some hormone stuff, but a little sad because it's over. We also just returned from a 10-day trip to West Michigan and Buffalo. 2,000 miles on the minivan. The kids were stellar. It was NOT easy, but the good (which was plentiful) outweighed the difficult (which was also plentiful). I'm still processing what being back in Buffalo meant to me, but remember the beginning of this blog... no complete thoughts to myself...

It's late. I hope to have time in the future. I feel bad that I have little to contribute, but know that I'm lurking in your worlds when I have a spare second.

In small group tonight we shared what people have said or done lately to encourage us... Last night I took care of a very, very sick woman in an ICU. She had two teenage/college age kids who I spent some extra time with, talking, getting to know them. Their dad, an awesome man, wandered out to the nurse's station before he left. "I wanted you to know that my kids approve of you." "Thank you! That means a lot." "And they said you look like Neve Campbell, whoever that is. Do you know her?" I blushed, "Yes, she's a very pretty actress. Thank you." And this wrung-out, slightly melancholy, weaning mother of three sat up a little bit taller. A good word goes a long ways, doesn't it?

Peace. I'll be back.

Levi is dedicated

2006-06-13T12:53:00.000-07:00

Sunday we dedicated baby Levi to the Lord Jesus. May God's hand rest on Him.

He is wearing the dedication gown that my mother crocheted. I wasn't able to put the hat on... it was so small it looked like a yarmulka. My other two children were dedicated at 6-8 weeks of age. But I did manage to cram his feet into the booties. I look forward to handing down this gown to my children.

Matt was teasingly bemoaning the fact that another one of his boys had to "wear a dress." I asked him to think of it more as a robe...

June toe wear

2006-06-13T12:50:00.000-07:00

Miss Liberty is TWO!

2006-06-13T12:08:00.000-07:00

My daughter turned two last week. She is, of course, my pride and joy.

Childhood

2006-06-03T09:08:00.000-07:00

I was looking at the handprints that Libby left on the back step. It caught my attention, the brighter print that faded into nothingness. Reminds me of the fleeting nature of baby/toddler/childhood...

June Babies

2006-06-03T09:03:00.000-07:00

And my June toewear: American flags for Memorial day.

Tendencies

2006-06-03T08:32:00.000-07:00

One thing about mothering, it highlights my personal tendencies. I have a choice to either learn and be moldable, or insist on my way, become brittle, and break under the weight of it.

If I tend towards "control freak", I need to recognize and relenquish my need to always have my way.

If I trend towards passivity, I need to learn how to communicate and expect obedience.

If I hate the thought of playing with my kids, then I need to offer to play their favorite game with them, even if it means I get hot, sticky or wet.

If I would rather punish and ask quesitons later, I need to listen, get to the bottom of my anger, and not die on every hill.

If the thought of disciplining my child is a real turn-off, then I need to fight inertia and intentionally parent my child.

If I know that I'm an overbearing mom, then I need to give my kid some space.

If I like noise, I need to practice quietness.

If I like peace and quiet, I need to allow for noise.

And so on...

A Call to Pray

2006-05-19T20:27:00.000-07:00

Friends of faith,

I would ask you to link to my friend's blog ("Donut's Quiet Corner") in the sidebar. Momrn2's DD has been terribly ill, and we are moving as many people to pray as possible. I have been managing her blog while she's in the hospital with her daughter.

Thank you.

His Face is Toward You

2006-05-16T19:51:00.000-07:00

Once a month I help out at NWCC by doing the communion meditation. I wrote this while reflecting on being separated from my little boy while he was hospitalized. Thought I'd post it. Enjoy.
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I have become aware of the power of my face. With three little children around my ankles all day, my face is a secondary communication tool next to my voice. When I’m happy, my face tells my children that there are good things ahead and all is well. When my eyes widen, it’s a cue that there is a surprise about to unfold, or that this is a time of delight. When my eyes narrow and I lock my jaw, the child needs to seriously re-evaluate his or her actions. A parent quickly learns the Creator’s design for the connection of the parent’s face with the heart of the child. There is great comfort when my face is towards them.

Can you imagine the heart of a child that loses the ability to look upon his mother or father? The darkness of abandonment she feels when she can no longer see the face of the one who loves and defines her? Especially in times of trouble or pain? Especially when it’s the one thing left before losing everything? One dark afternoon Christ hung on the cross enduring the most cruel death known to man. He was brutalized, scorned, humiliated - yet - His Father was present with Him and He endured. But as the weight of our sin was heaped upon Him, God the Father had to look away. He removed His gaze from His son, and we read the cry of Christ’s heart as he screamed, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Everything can be endured because God‘s eyes are upon us. Psalm 33:18 says, “The eyes of the Lord are on those who fear him, on those whose hope is in His unfailing love.“ We receive life and forgiveness and wholeness because God’s countenance rests on us. He looks upon us today because one afternoon, two thousand years ago, He looked away from His own dying son.

As you take the bread remember that Jesus received the full weight of our sin upon his body, and it was broken because of it.

As you take the cup remember that Jesus blood poured out when He was utterly alone and forsaken so that we would enjoy the gaze of God forever.

Jesus, thank you for your sacrifice. Thank you for enduring the abandonment of the One who loved you most to make a way for me.

Brothers and Sisters, The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace.

Let Me Out

2006-05-12T20:09:00.000-07:00

Anyone see "The Perfect Storm"? (If you didn't and you intend to, skip this paragraph.) Right at the end of the movie, after battling wind and wave, the captain looks heaven-ward, there's a stillness, and the clouds part for a brief moment revealing a clear night sky... you think that they might make it. The music become slightly cheerful, the captain smiles, and tension eases for a second. Then music turns minor, the hole in the clouds closes, and the storm grabs ahold of the ship. The captain's smile fades and he growls, "She's not going to let us out!" Then the ship flips and they all die.

There have been times when I find myself uttering, "She's not going to let us out!" Watching my poor little one lay limp on the ER gurney, and even after a fluid bolus he showed no improvement... my hopes of a quick recovery were dashed again and again against the rock of Mother's Guilt. Waited too long. Didn't get it right. Missed the critical nature. For you nursing folks, he was basically in a ketoacidotic state (much more than basic dehydration), not dissimilar to that of a diabetic coma, except he had incredibly low blood glucose. I can only imagine when it set in. He had been so, so sick, probably as bad as I'd ever seen him, but then he seemed to rally Monday evening at 3p. Got up walked around, talked, wanted to help Daddy with lawn mowing. But by 5p, he was in bed, sleeping, still only taking water, water, water... that demon water. 12 hours later he wasn't getting up to pee... ah! I need to stop here. Thank God we had a great ER staff. Thank God he was salvageable with 36 hours of fluid therapy. Thank God.

He looked so little in that big white bed. Not talking. Not smiling. Daddy and I were with him Wednesday morning and afternoon as he was admitted, poked and prodded. He was brave. I was pretending to be a Mommy, though my Nurse-brain was giving me quite the lecture about "How could I have missed the signs...?" That evening I ran home briefly to nurse Levi and give Libby a kiss goodnight. They had been under the care of Miss Bonnie and Aunt Lo all day - what a gift! I was almost paralyzed by Izak's screams for me as I left him "to go away for a little bit." I could hear him way, way down the hall. It was everything I could do to go. He was with Daddy, his hero, his rock. But when I got home I heard Levi on the monitor and ran up to nurse him. I picked him up and he immediately vomited everywhere. The same virus had gotten him too. Now I knew I couldn't go back to the hospital. I had to stay with the baby. My milk was his best chance at making it out. It was like I looked up and saw the sky clouding back over.

God bless Matt. I have new respect for him everyday. He laid aside his schedule for two days to stay by the bedside of his son. No questions. No whining. He sat with Izak and prayed, comforted, conversed. He slept restlessly on a chair/bed/nice-try-but-nothing-like-my-awesome-bed-at-home. He was full of information for me, texting and calling. He redeemed and healed so many old wounds in me in those 48 hours, and created a new legacy for our children. I cannot adequately express my admiration.

So, as of last evening, we are together again. Levi seems to be withstanding the diarrhea. He had minimal vomiting. In a third world country there's a good chance that Izak wouldn't have made it, but tonight he sleeps in a soft bed with a healing body. He's understandably a little clingy now. After he came home and went through his night-time routine, every time I'd go to leave he'd start asking, "Can I go away? Mommy, can I go away? ... Can I?" If I didn't turn back around and lay down with him, he'd start crying. I didn't understand the phrase. I knew it had something to do with his hospital experience. I thought all day about that little request, and then it dawned on me... When I left him at the hospital Wednesday night I had said, "I have to go away for a little bit." Well, if I went Away, then, in his desire to be with me, he wanted to go to Away too. Where ever you're going, Mommy, can I go too?

Yeah... I'll be processing all this for a long time to come. It wasn't a tragedy, like so many friends have experienced, but it was hard. And at some point, Jesus stood on the bow of our ship and simply said, "Be still." And the storm obeyed.

Yup

2006-05-10T18:28:00.000-07:00

...we lost. Z hospitalized. Levi vomiting/diarrhea.

Mayday, mayday, mayday!

2006-05-09T10:39:00.000-07:00

Flu here. stop.
Girl mending. stop.
Boy in 60th hours of vomiting. stop.
Dehydration may win. stop.
Baby still fine. stop.
Mommy freaking out inside and cool cucumber on outside. stop.

Furrbabies

2006-05-02T10:31:00.000-07:00

I hope this doesn't bog my blog down. Let me know if you cannot download it. I'm working with a new camera and program.

This week at the Furr Funny Farm

2006-05-02T10:00:00.000-07:00

New items:

*Matt had a five day trip to Boston at the beginning of the month. He was gone 94.5 hours.
*I still don't feel like I've been able to catch up from when he was gone, hence, the enormous gap in my blogging.
*I received my early Mother's Day gift from Matt and the kids - an amazing new camera with all kinds of bells and whistles. What gorgeous pictures I've been capturing. I may not scrapbook, but I do take lots of pics.
*Libby is starting to try more words. She babbles and gargbles in coversation form, but real live phrases are starting to emerge. The most popular: "Hewp, hewp." (Help, help.)
*Levi is thinking about pushing through some teeth, though I see no real redness yet. I can't believe he's 6 months old and I'm still exclusively breastfeeding, though most days I wonder if I can possible make enough to fill his gullet anymore. I haven't had the time to even think about introducing solids yet. That, and I accidently melted the highchair.
*Izak is very fond of being "the baby" now. Carry me, let me sit on your "yap", sit in Yibby's seat in the car and at the table. Libby doesn't care one bit.
*We're painting. So far, two walls are completed. Only 41 to go.

Things that I'm finding to be over-rated:
*A sparkling clean home.
*My need for sleep.
*Fighting every battle.
*Annuals.
*Play dates.
*Daily showers.

Things that I'm finding to have been comletely under-rated:
*Playing with your children.
*Blowing bubbles - incredibly therapeutic. I would highly recommend it to a few world leaders.
*The power of a pretty pedicure (This month it's red background with beautiful flowers on all toes.)
*The ability to listen.
*Japenese steakhouse restaraunts.
*Winning the war. (I'm speaking as a mom, not making political statements)
*Perennials.
*Fostering friendship among sibilings.

What I Do All Day

2006-04-26T20:29:00.000-07:00

Daily Outfit

2006-04-01T20:47:00.000-08:00

The first thing she does after her morning bottle is retrieves those crazy dragon boots. The fireman's hat is not far behind.

At the risk of offending, I think he looks like Harry Potter. With blonde hair. And a better sense of humor and overall levity.

Reflecting on my Blog

2006-04-01T20:14:00.000-08:00

My friend has been very open to receiving comments on her blog about the art of blogging and blog etiquette. She is a fairly new blogger (see Donut's blog "A Quiet Corner") but has a real gift for communicating. She's a warm person, a good friend, and it just flows out of her writing. I look at my blog and wonder if I've been fair when I opened this cyber-relational-account with the universe. Can I keep up? Will I carry my relational weight in the world of bloggers?

"Post every other day." My real preference is twice a week, but lately writing is a luxury item, like sleep. Or I could post a bunch of stuff all at once! Like pictures of my toes! Yeah! Good grief, what a loser. (laughing)

"Paragraphs." Got it.

"Easy on the eyes." Fine.

"Humorous." That's actually been my preference too lately. Life's hard. Let's laugh!!

"Leave comments." Uh-oh.

"No lurking." Double uh-oh.

If I do not comment, I do not intend to be rude or presumptuous. Twelve hours a day I'm usually somewhere between refereeing sibling interactions ("We do NOT push our friends!"), breastfeeding Mr. Boobie, or diving through the air to catch something being pulled over by Liberty, a.k.a., the Death Cheater. After the kids are in bed, I slump onto the couch with a little stream of drool coming from my mouth. Day over.

And I love to read your blogs, but I have such profound responses that 1) I cannot concisely capture what I want to tell you in a short period of time, and 2) I ran out of grown-up vocabulary about 5 hours ago. Just know that your blogs are very special places to me. Good writing. Good stories. Good reflection. It helps me feel like there are others trotting along this same path along with me. Feel free to lurk here, weary moms. Even if no one read me, I think I'd still blog. It's done wonders for clearing out nagging thoughts and funny scenes that occasionally stick in my head.

Prayer

2006-04-01T19:03:00.000-08:00

"Wanna pray, Mommy?"

"Sure, Buddy. You go ahead."

(holding my hand) "Dear Jesus, thank you for Mommy, and Fizzy Pop [Libby's nickname], and Izak. Thank you for Levi. Thank you for pizza and colored goldfish. (pause) And... (voice growing louder) thank you for Daddy, home very, VERY SOON! THE END!"

(Mommy giggling with eyes closed)

(Son thoughtfully reconsiders) "Aaaa-men!"

Toe Wear 2006

2006-03-23T09:42:00.000-08:00

Shamrocks on my toes

2006-03-20T20:15:00.000-08:00

It's hard to learn to "be kind to yourself" after years of neglect. It's not that I was ever really mean to me, just not governed or paced well. I was always in an all-out roar. Comments I remember from my twenties: "You have such passion!" "You have so much heart!" Translation: Always going at a dead run and a wee bit emotionally wrought because of it.

The blessing of children is that it's forced me to slow down... way down. It was either that, or destroy the little ones that God gave me. So in the name of not killing myself for ridiculous standards set by (and cared about by) myself alone, I practice the following:

1. I don't always shower every day. I have short hair that has a messy look anyway, even when styled, and I find that my skin care products last twice as long.

2. I can wear my pajamas during the day (or my day wear to bed, either way.)

3. I let caller-id and voice mail do their jobs.

4. I get a pedicure once a month, complete with jewels and designs. This month is Irish shamrocks.

5. Once I even served popcorn for dinner... on plates.

Enough to Belly-Laugh

2006-03-12T19:46:00.000-08:00

I hate forwarded e-mails. Hate 'em. Don't care who you are. I hate them, except for what my sister, Kat, sends. She knows what I need and when. And I love a good story. I cannot vouch for it's veracity, only it's effect.

A Bad Day At Work

Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana.
He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs. Below is an
E-mail he sent to his sister. She then sent it to radio station 103.2 on
FM dial in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, who was sponsoring a worst job experience
contest. Needless to say, she won.

Hi Sue,

Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother. Last week I had a
bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I
thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so
bad after all. Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must
bore you with a few technicalities of my job.

As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to
the office. It's a wetsuit. This time of year the water is quite cool.

So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered industrial
water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the
sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature.

It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped
to the air hose.

Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times
with no complaints.

What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose
and stuff it down the back of my wetsuit. This floods my whole suit with
warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi.

Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch.
So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse.

Within a few seconds my butt started to burn. I pulled the hose out from
my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit.

Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick
to it. However, the crack of my butt was not as fortunate.

When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the
jellyfish into the crack of my butt. I informed the dive supervisor of my
dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the
fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically.

Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three
agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before
I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression.
When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet.
As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running
down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber. The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut.

So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your butt.

Now repeat to yourself, "I love my job, I love my job, I love my job".

2006-03-12T12:33:00.000-08:00

Izak at 3 1/4 years

Liberty at 21 months

Levi at almost 5 months.

What's a Grit?

2006-03-12T12:11:00.000-08:00

The two visitors look at the plate, and the guy says, "What's a grit?" As he takes a bite, his girlfriend takes a picture of him.

Does the scene sound familiar? From one of my favorite movies. I will not go into which one, as my mother reads my blog and would certainly not be amused.

Anyway, the other day I had grits for breakfast for the very first time. They were good!

I'm a northern girl, raised in mid-Michigan. The most south I've ever lived has been mid-Indiana (Marion, to be exact). It was too hot for me. That being said, I was reminded what a wonderfully different culture Indiana is as I drove through it's heartland on my way to last week's funeral. Big sprawling farms. Tiny little towns. Lots of stores that contain the word "Gramma". Acres of fields. Tire swings made out of real tires with long ropes tied up in 300-year old trees. People write their family names in colored shingles on the roof of the barns, and you can read it for miles. Some people live a good mile from their nearest neighbor (that must be awesome! writes the intorvert). Farm equipment as big as my suburban home. It was a really peaceful change. There was a quietness there that I coveted.

I stayed with my adopted mom and dad from college. In the morning my mom made me a gia-normous breakfast, which included grits! How fun! And good... I used butter, salt and pepper as she recommended.

Mom and Dad F. said they would be up to the windy city this summer for some Furrbaby lovin.' So last night, I bought a container of grits (all that was available was instant).

Dear Southern readers - what are your secrets for making good grits?

Download

2006-03-10T12:06:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I'm sitting here trying to sound together. Image management never ceases, does it? I'm so tired I can hardly blog. Last weekend Levi and I made our first big trip together to Marion, Indiana for the untimely funeral of my sister's FIL. It was supposed to be a family thing, but we were experiencing round two of boggers, coughs, and fevers. Travel really takes it out of me, I'm much more energized by staying home and checking off a list of things to do that's as long as my arm. But being on the road steals my pizazz... if there was any to begin with.

Things that seem precariously balanced start to teeter. Issues that need addressing are once again pushed out of sight. Conversations that need to happen are covered by communicating the urgent information, the "report" of the home happenings. Fix dinner? Well, it's 5p.m. and my husband's almost home. I guess it will be pizza. Balance the checkbook? Now when can I find an hour to myself for unadulterated number fun? Forget it. Check the balance online and hold your breath. Take a nap? I'm so tired I can't sleep, except for at night when I'm so soundly oblivious to the baby that my husband has to wake me.

But in the hustle and bustle I've heard from the Lord. It's like He's taken me out of my orbit just enough to give me a new insight, a new encouragement regarding my family. When I'm traveling in the same old pattern I almost unconsciously tune-out and mentally go to screen-saver. But when I'm scampering to merely survive I feel like God more readily gets my attention. Funny - I have to be tired and poured out in order to hear Him. Maybe it's as close as I get to "being still."

I wish I could tell you about His word to me, but it's too sensitive. Too private. But just know I'm sitting here, pooped out, sleepily grinning and trying to keep my face off the keyboard. I am tired. I'm sorry, I don't mean to whine. And I try not to blog when I have nothing productive or encouraging to say. But people, more than anything, God is good.