Thursday, December 29, 2011
My funny boys
Thursday, December 15, 2011
My Grown Up Christmas List
My desk is cluttered with Christmas cards, a list of names concerning all I will one day send said cards to, books of stamps, my iPod recently charged and waiting to fill my SUV with Christmas tunes, stacks of envelopes from which I aim to extract addresses for my third attempt at an address book that will not die along with another hard drive. My kitchen sink is full of dishes, there is a cake sending out a divine smell from the oven, and my Christmas tree skirt is draped over the coffee table where I left it after vacuuming up an ornament catastrophe this morning. Only one thing is missing from my festive chaos: my manger scene.
It seems that this year I don't have time for setting up each shepherd, donkey, sheep, star, Mary, Joseph, nor the precious little one. There are garlands on the fireplace, lights on the stair, wreaths in every window, and I even have appropriately colored towels hanging on my oven door. Now this is in no wise a self inflicted guilt trip. I think that making my front door look welcoming, bright, and merry is just as soul warming as seeing my Willow Tree nativity on the bookshelf. It is simply something I notice, and I grieve.
A wise friend once told me, when we were discussing where is best to live, that we should appreciate where we are and at once mourn where we are not. A farmer should breathe deep, stretch out long, and sink his toes into the fertile earth, but never forget the many faces he will never chance to meet along the stretch of city sidewalk. The banker on Wall Street should enjoy the crispness of his tie and the artistic inspiration of architecture he walks into every day as his office, and nonetheless acknowledge the ache of tall buildings and few trees, the nameless thousands and the anonymity of it all.
I am grateful to be the mom now. I am grateful that it is my house people will enter tonight and my own cooking they will enjoy. It is incredible to me that I have become like my own mother, inviting people into a house bedecked in greenery and a gaudy Christmas tree, and that I was the one to hand my little one a spoon with chocolate batter on it. Having Christmas cards go out with my new address on them, with my husband, my children, and my own handwriting on the front. Honestly I even enjoy that I am the one that mopped the floor in preparation and hung the Christmas towel on the rack in the bathroom. The sense of satisfaction far outweighs the work. Nevertheless I mourn. I mourn that I am not the one still coming in from school and smelling the party food baking. I mourn that I am not the one to lick my mom's batter covered spoon and that I am not the one to walk into a freshly cleaned house, and not think anything of it. Mostly I mourn that I am trying to bring Christmas, when as a girl I let Christmas come to me.
I remember going to the Christmas Eve service in the back of the van, my tights pleasantly itching my legs and having to adjust my stiff pea coat as I tried to read my book by the small light above my window. I remember being ushered into the warmth of the big church by the small crowd that was my family and taking cues from mom and dad as to when we would leave, when we would get to the party, when we would go home and go to bed, when we could get up and creep down the hallway...
Jesus' miraculous coming was so simple to understand then, when I watched Him come all season, in the invisibly hard work of mom's decorating and cooking, in the even harder work (and even more invisible) of my parents providing for the many presents around the tree, in the birthday cake Aunt Ginny brought for Jesus every Christmas Eve Eve.
This month has been somewhat of a marathon, and I am starting to understand what all the older moms are talking about, "Christmas is so stressful." Yet, I take comfort in realizing I am taking my place among the millions of others-- moms, teachers, dads, grandparents, pastors, worship leaders, deacons, retail workers, movie ticket takers, who bring Christmas. It is my Hope that in this way I am learning to be like Mary, who journeyed so long and in such discomfort and with such disdain upon her shoulders by those who would call her neighbor, who would call her son Saviour. My hope is the joy that comes with bringing Christmas.
It seems that this year I don't have time for setting up each shepherd, donkey, sheep, star, Mary, Joseph, nor the precious little one. There are garlands on the fireplace, lights on the stair, wreaths in every window, and I even have appropriately colored towels hanging on my oven door. Now this is in no wise a self inflicted guilt trip. I think that making my front door look welcoming, bright, and merry is just as soul warming as seeing my Willow Tree nativity on the bookshelf. It is simply something I notice, and I grieve.
A wise friend once told me, when we were discussing where is best to live, that we should appreciate where we are and at once mourn where we are not. A farmer should breathe deep, stretch out long, and sink his toes into the fertile earth, but never forget the many faces he will never chance to meet along the stretch of city sidewalk. The banker on Wall Street should enjoy the crispness of his tie and the artistic inspiration of architecture he walks into every day as his office, and nonetheless acknowledge the ache of tall buildings and few trees, the nameless thousands and the anonymity of it all.
I am grateful to be the mom now. I am grateful that it is my house people will enter tonight and my own cooking they will enjoy. It is incredible to me that I have become like my own mother, inviting people into a house bedecked in greenery and a gaudy Christmas tree, and that I was the one to hand my little one a spoon with chocolate batter on it. Having Christmas cards go out with my new address on them, with my husband, my children, and my own handwriting on the front. Honestly I even enjoy that I am the one that mopped the floor in preparation and hung the Christmas towel on the rack in the bathroom. The sense of satisfaction far outweighs the work. Nevertheless I mourn. I mourn that I am not the one still coming in from school and smelling the party food baking. I mourn that I am not the one to lick my mom's batter covered spoon and that I am not the one to walk into a freshly cleaned house, and not think anything of it. Mostly I mourn that I am trying to bring Christmas, when as a girl I let Christmas come to me.
I remember going to the Christmas Eve service in the back of the van, my tights pleasantly itching my legs and having to adjust my stiff pea coat as I tried to read my book by the small light above my window. I remember being ushered into the warmth of the big church by the small crowd that was my family and taking cues from mom and dad as to when we would leave, when we would get to the party, when we would go home and go to bed, when we could get up and creep down the hallway...
Jesus' miraculous coming was so simple to understand then, when I watched Him come all season, in the invisibly hard work of mom's decorating and cooking, in the even harder work (and even more invisible) of my parents providing for the many presents around the tree, in the birthday cake Aunt Ginny brought for Jesus every Christmas Eve Eve.
This month has been somewhat of a marathon, and I am starting to understand what all the older moms are talking about, "Christmas is so stressful." Yet, I take comfort in realizing I am taking my place among the millions of others-- moms, teachers, dads, grandparents, pastors, worship leaders, deacons, retail workers, movie ticket takers, who bring Christmas. It is my Hope that in this way I am learning to be like Mary, who journeyed so long and in such discomfort and with such disdain upon her shoulders by those who would call her neighbor, who would call her son Saviour. My hope is the joy that comes with bringing Christmas.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Artistically Inspired.
http://southernhomentality.wordpress.com/
My friend Brooke is gifted in all things classy, homey, and delicious. Check out her blog for humble inspiration and interesting decorating trends;)
My friend Brooke is gifted in all things classy, homey, and delicious. Check out her blog for humble inspiration and interesting decorating trends;)
Monday, October 24, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Why I love Fall
Ma' boys, att Rudd Farm where we went on our first ever pumpkin patch adventure!
photo by Rachel Darst
One Fine Day
I can't believe I didn't notice them myself, but it took my friend Rachel pointing out the crunchy leaves today for me to open my eyes and see them. Cutting through the Science Center parking lot, all around us was the tapestry of brown and red and orange and gold. The colors of my home and the colors of Autumn are one and the same because this is the time of year when I finally sink into my own. With layers of sweaters and jackets and socks and jeans I feel uninhibited and comfortable. I happily leave behind the sticky film of a Southern summer and don the layers of Winter's approach. I do not mind the early nights and nose-reddening winds. Today I wore socks all day, never had to shed them, and when my little boys were snug in their beds for nap time I sat in the sunroom and listened to the wind play its familiar song on my wind chimes right outside, softly clinking pipes whose song is more familiar than a lullaby and more tranquilizing than hot buttered rum.
A good friend once said that a bass player is the one in the band that everyone forgets about, but whom if he were gone would be noticeably missed. I think that is Autumn. If not for the mosaic of colors fluttering about our heads, and the acorns that catapult down like a parachuting SWAT team this, my favorite season, would be missed. Autumn would be lost amid the hot, sensual sauciness of Summer and the blissfully bitter cold of Winter, Christmas. If not for my friend pointing it out I might have kept waiting for it to hit me over the head (which it later did in the form of an acorn careening straight out of a forty foot tall oak tree and straight onto the top of my head; I'm just glad it didn't hit the kids).
One grievance I have against North Carolina is that I have to wait so long for this beloved time of year, whereas in Maryland the Fall couldn't wait to come park itself right alongside the shiny backpacks, newly sharp pencils, and brand new Keds. In North Carolina Summer is so reluctant to release its humid tentacles that by the time the leaves start to fall they are already dead and Winter is already checking its watch, waving its number in the deli line.
Nonetheless, today the leaves did reach up and grab me by my sock-clad toe, acorns fell and I didn't miss it. I spent two perfect hours with good friends seeing all the animals, from oversized turtles who look like army tanks to the sleek tigers in whose eyes I gaze and feel unbelievably second-rate. After a sweet time together I went to the allergist for my weekly shot and crossed over a tiny river of red leaves, so shiny I'm surprised Jonathan didn't mistake them for candy. I had to look up and make sure they were actually coming from trees because they were so beautiful it seemed like a trick, as if maybe someone who longs for Fall like I do got down on hands and knees and painted them that way.
After dinner we took a walk and had to bundle the baby in a coat and blanket, and the neighbors wore down vests or zip-up jackets. And then, when I headed to meet up with friends over coffee and talk about books, I enjoyed driving down a dark road at seven-thirty pm, in a car so empty of anything but me that my thoughts could roll out of my head like a roll of wrapping ribbon, spinning out in shiny curls of red. I ordered a pumpkin spice latte and watched my two friends talk animatedly about books in their cozy sweatshirts, and then we had to rush to the car to get out of the cold when we said our goodbyes. The flavor of pumpkin and the bite of the cold followed me to my car and I'm just so glad I had my girl friends today to get me out of the house and into the leaves, under the acorns, and into the coffee shop; I came startlingly close to missing the coming of Fall.
A good friend once said that a bass player is the one in the band that everyone forgets about, but whom if he were gone would be noticeably missed. I think that is Autumn. If not for the mosaic of colors fluttering about our heads, and the acorns that catapult down like a parachuting SWAT team this, my favorite season, would be missed. Autumn would be lost amid the hot, sensual sauciness of Summer and the blissfully bitter cold of Winter, Christmas. If not for my friend pointing it out I might have kept waiting for it to hit me over the head (which it later did in the form of an acorn careening straight out of a forty foot tall oak tree and straight onto the top of my head; I'm just glad it didn't hit the kids).
One grievance I have against North Carolina is that I have to wait so long for this beloved time of year, whereas in Maryland the Fall couldn't wait to come park itself right alongside the shiny backpacks, newly sharp pencils, and brand new Keds. In North Carolina Summer is so reluctant to release its humid tentacles that by the time the leaves start to fall they are already dead and Winter is already checking its watch, waving its number in the deli line.
Nonetheless, today the leaves did reach up and grab me by my sock-clad toe, acorns fell and I didn't miss it. I spent two perfect hours with good friends seeing all the animals, from oversized turtles who look like army tanks to the sleek tigers in whose eyes I gaze and feel unbelievably second-rate. After a sweet time together I went to the allergist for my weekly shot and crossed over a tiny river of red leaves, so shiny I'm surprised Jonathan didn't mistake them for candy. I had to look up and make sure they were actually coming from trees because they were so beautiful it seemed like a trick, as if maybe someone who longs for Fall like I do got down on hands and knees and painted them that way.
After dinner we took a walk and had to bundle the baby in a coat and blanket, and the neighbors wore down vests or zip-up jackets. And then, when I headed to meet up with friends over coffee and talk about books, I enjoyed driving down a dark road at seven-thirty pm, in a car so empty of anything but me that my thoughts could roll out of my head like a roll of wrapping ribbon, spinning out in shiny curls of red. I ordered a pumpkin spice latte and watched my two friends talk animatedly about books in their cozy sweatshirts, and then we had to rush to the car to get out of the cold when we said our goodbyes. The flavor of pumpkin and the bite of the cold followed me to my car and I'm just so glad I had my girl friends today to get me out of the house and into the leaves, under the acorns, and into the coffee shop; I came startlingly close to missing the coming of Fall.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Hannah digs in
Allow me to explain the title of my blog. I love to write, in fact I sometimes wonder at the fact that I chose Spanish over English as my major. The weaving of English words exhilirates me. Both the study and the practice of writing could easily occupy hours of my day. Nonetheless, I inherited a distracted method of housekeeping from my mother. When we see something that needs doing, it is hard to walk by it. Therefore, "piddling" occupies much of my free time. I piddle from Pottery Barn.com to Pottery Barn Kids.com to OH!! Williams-Sonomahaven'tbeenthereinawhile. I piddle from unloading the dishwasher to cleaning the counters to scrubbing that goshdarn spot on the floor to OH! Ihaven'tvaccumedinaweek. I piddle catching up on emails to addressing thank you notes to OH!! canibuystampsonlinelet'slookthatup. You get the picture. The same way you felt reading those run-on words is the way I feel at the end of my kids' naptime many days, "What did I just do?"
When I sit down with the computer and commit to staring at that white screen as rapid-fire black print begins to fill it up like grass clippings shooting out from the mower and peppering the lawn I have to put the piddle-ables in life aside. It takes more tenacity than I am often willing to exhibit. Like many things in life, reluctant tenacity begets beautiful results and I always feel crisper, like walking through orange leaves on a Fall day, when I am finished writing. For this reason I owe all of you persistent readers a debt of gratitude for asking this of me, this that I love.
There has been so much to inspire me this Summer. A baby growing with always new chubby rolls, a house beginning to sigh and settle into its new identity as our home, a new church literally bursting with vitality: these are just the window trappings of a Summer I will not soon forget.
A story much better told by Clint himself, we nearly lost dear friends in a car wreck two weeks ago. I know that death is a reality always but it felt bold, as if it were a flashing sign in Times Square or written in red letters. August fourteenth, also my parents' twenty-ninth wedding anniversary, will take a long time to fade.
While seeing our friends recover from this near-tragedy was the low point, (though probably a high point in terms of seeing Jesus at work), there has been a lot of joy in our summer. As you saw in a recent post, Josh and I took the kids to Myrtle Beach back in June. A first for our family, it was hugely rewarding to go on our first real "vacation" adventure together. Complete with a trip to Urgent Care and a pneumonia scare, I would say we toughed it out and came out on top. We also spent a long weekend in sunny Fort Myers with my folks and REALLY relaxed. Golf, poolside, outlet shopping, homecooked (not by me) dinners all coalesced perfectly to energize us before we headed back to our new home for more unpacking, organizing, and settling in.
One of the sweetest things about this Summer has been seeing our friends in different contexts. The Jonkers visited us here in Greensboro for the first time since they've had children, and seeing their kids together with the Adams', Dukes, and Disneys was priceless. Friends that stick are gifts. Friends that stick and are willing to enter your world and try your life on for size, even for just a moment, are miracles.
This past weekend we left Jonathan with Marmee and Dedad and headed to Chapel Hill for the night with the Brian and Emily Disney. I'd dare say we did Franklin Street justice. When we headed out to walk around campus in a perfect summer evening breeze, the rain began to crescendo. We ducked into a bakery and bought some cupcakes. Eating that cupcake in the rain with one of my dearest friends was blissful. The night didn't end with wet baked goods however. We had scrumptious Italian in a small restaurant covered in ivy and set among old brick buildings, laughed hard with a new friend, conquered competition at the foosball table, and I personally finished the night with a chocolate martini and pizza Pokey Stix. All in all it was solid good fun.
Not every day can be July Fourth. We have had a grand fireworks show called "Life as we know it" this summer and I think now we will start to settle down. After all of these adventures I am ready to sink into a big chair with a good book and enjoy the regularity of things. Although, it may look more like being tackled on a big couch by two little rascals and Where the Wild Things Are. I'll take it.
When I sit down with the computer and commit to staring at that white screen as rapid-fire black print begins to fill it up like grass clippings shooting out from the mower and peppering the lawn I have to put the piddle-ables in life aside. It takes more tenacity than I am often willing to exhibit. Like many things in life, reluctant tenacity begets beautiful results and I always feel crisper, like walking through orange leaves on a Fall day, when I am finished writing. For this reason I owe all of you persistent readers a debt of gratitude for asking this of me, this that I love.
There has been so much to inspire me this Summer. A baby growing with always new chubby rolls, a house beginning to sigh and settle into its new identity as our home, a new church literally bursting with vitality: these are just the window trappings of a Summer I will not soon forget.
A story much better told by Clint himself, we nearly lost dear friends in a car wreck two weeks ago. I know that death is a reality always but it felt bold, as if it were a flashing sign in Times Square or written in red letters. August fourteenth, also my parents' twenty-ninth wedding anniversary, will take a long time to fade.
While seeing our friends recover from this near-tragedy was the low point, (though probably a high point in terms of seeing Jesus at work), there has been a lot of joy in our summer. As you saw in a recent post, Josh and I took the kids to Myrtle Beach back in June. A first for our family, it was hugely rewarding to go on our first real "vacation" adventure together. Complete with a trip to Urgent Care and a pneumonia scare, I would say we toughed it out and came out on top. We also spent a long weekend in sunny Fort Myers with my folks and REALLY relaxed. Golf, poolside, outlet shopping, homecooked (not by me) dinners all coalesced perfectly to energize us before we headed back to our new home for more unpacking, organizing, and settling in.
One of the sweetest things about this Summer has been seeing our friends in different contexts. The Jonkers visited us here in Greensboro for the first time since they've had children, and seeing their kids together with the Adams', Dukes, and Disneys was priceless. Friends that stick are gifts. Friends that stick and are willing to enter your world and try your life on for size, even for just a moment, are miracles.
This past weekend we left Jonathan with Marmee and Dedad and headed to Chapel Hill for the night with the Brian and Emily Disney. I'd dare say we did Franklin Street justice. When we headed out to walk around campus in a perfect summer evening breeze, the rain began to crescendo. We ducked into a bakery and bought some cupcakes. Eating that cupcake in the rain with one of my dearest friends was blissful. The night didn't end with wet baked goods however. We had scrumptious Italian in a small restaurant covered in ivy and set among old brick buildings, laughed hard with a new friend, conquered competition at the foosball table, and I personally finished the night with a chocolate martini and pizza Pokey Stix. All in all it was solid good fun.
Not every day can be July Fourth. We have had a grand fireworks show called "Life as we know it" this summer and I think now we will start to settle down. After all of these adventures I am ready to sink into a big chair with a good book and enjoy the regularity of things. Although, it may look more like being tackled on a big couch by two little rascals and Where the Wild Things Are. I'll take it.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Summer Snapshots
Blue casts post-surgery, pre-braces. Morning cuddle time:)
Wake Forest and crabs: I wonder who dresses the fellas...
"Mama, sometimes Jonathan is... interesting."
Buds Charles and Jonathan. Keepin' it chill.
Aunt "Ria" and William.
Grandy + books = YES!!
We love when Poppa comes to visit!
Wine with my sister is a good evening.
Josh and Hannah take the boys to Myrtle!
We came. We saw. We conquered!
Girls night! Natalie, Hannah, Katie, Kristen, Jesse. Thanks Jesse!
Cousins Morgan, Leah, Jonathan.
Reading with Marmee!
William Kyle Adams and Kyle Christopher Ficker.
The adventure I sought
I married a practical man. A down-to-earth, responsible, and nearly unflappable man. Adventuresome is not an adjective I would use to describe him, and so the heart within me that is ever searching for my own wardrobe into distant lands is having to find adventure in the nearby and not-so-crazy.
This last month has provided the opportunity for a few gray hairs, or perhaps something more... To be honest neither my husband nor myself would mind a few gray hairs. He would begin to look his age and I would have another blog-worthy anecdote. I digress. In the last month I have travelled hundreds of miles, seen Niagara Falls, bought a house, travelled a couple hundred more miles, sat at the hearth of dear friends, packed up my house, been evicted from current house by putrid dying rodent, returned to house and continued to pack up closets, clothes, and toys, and all during the record breaking heat that has swept the East Coast and tipped its hat to old friend North Carolina.
We are tired.
Yet, as we piled children and suitcases back into the car the other night to seek refuge from the stench of a dying bat, Josh smiled at me. "Life is an adventure," he said.
All I could do was smile back. After all, I have asked for unexplored lands, whitewater rafting, trips to Europe, and perhaps a bareback ride through Colorado mountains. Its hard not to see that saddling the Toyota with suitcases and sleeping next to our children in the proverbial campground of others' homes is quite an expedition. Add to it that we are displaced and without waffle maker or frying pan for the next week and I let out a silent breath of laughter.
Life is an adventure.
This last month has provided the opportunity for a few gray hairs, or perhaps something more... To be honest neither my husband nor myself would mind a few gray hairs. He would begin to look his age and I would have another blog-worthy anecdote. I digress. In the last month I have travelled hundreds of miles, seen Niagara Falls, bought a house, travelled a couple hundred more miles, sat at the hearth of dear friends, packed up my house, been evicted from current house by putrid dying rodent, returned to house and continued to pack up closets, clothes, and toys, and all during the record breaking heat that has swept the East Coast and tipped its hat to old friend North Carolina.
We are tired.
Yet, as we piled children and suitcases back into the car the other night to seek refuge from the stench of a dying bat, Josh smiled at me. "Life is an adventure," he said.
All I could do was smile back. After all, I have asked for unexplored lands, whitewater rafting, trips to Europe, and perhaps a bareback ride through Colorado mountains. Its hard not to see that saddling the Toyota with suitcases and sleeping next to our children in the proverbial campground of others' homes is quite an expedition. Add to it that we are displaced and without waffle maker or frying pan for the next week and I let out a silent breath of laughter.
Life is an adventure.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Dialogues to remember
Yesterday we were all piling in the car to head out for a birthday breakfast of blueberry pancakes at Midtown Cafe. It is an old faithful for Josh and myself, we shared many pancake breakfasts when we were dating. Now we are +2 little boys and a trip to Midtown requires more than just a wallet. As Josh ventured back into the house to grab more diapers (mind you we already had pull ups, blankets, burp cloths, diaper cream, size 9 shoes spilling out of the doors and onto the driveway and lifesaving PFDs you know, just in case) Jonathan piped up with his invariable stream of questions.
Jonathan: Mama, where is Daddy going?
Hannah: Inside for more diapers.
Jonathan: Whaa-aat?
Hannah: Pañales. Más pañales. (translation: Diapers, more diapers.)
Now let me insert here that Jonathan does not like it when I speak Spanish. He usually retorts with, "Mama, talk words." I, however, am determined to give him the elaborate gift of a second language daggumit, and sometimes I slip it in almost without thinking about it. This was one of those times, and as I spoke I rifled through the piles of necessary items to make sure they were in order. As I rifled, Jonathan started to frown.
Jonathan: Mama, that is not very nice to me and to William.
I had no idea what I had done. How was fiddling with junk bothering them?? They are the reason for all this paraphernalia in the first place!
Hannah (whips around): Jonathan, WHAT is not nice? I have not done anything to you.
Jonathan: You are stressing. me. out.
At this point I could not help but laugh.
Hannah (through stifled giggles): Why am I stressing you out Jonathan?
Jonathan: Don't. speak. Spanish.
Ay caramba, honestly, ay caramba.
Jonathan: Mama, where is Daddy going?
Hannah: Inside for more diapers.
Jonathan: Whaa-aat?
Hannah: Pañales. Más pañales. (translation: Diapers, more diapers.)
Now let me insert here that Jonathan does not like it when I speak Spanish. He usually retorts with, "Mama, talk words." I, however, am determined to give him the elaborate gift of a second language daggumit, and sometimes I slip it in almost without thinking about it. This was one of those times, and as I spoke I rifled through the piles of necessary items to make sure they were in order. As I rifled, Jonathan started to frown.
Jonathan: Mama, that is not very nice to me and to William.
I had no idea what I had done. How was fiddling with junk bothering them?? They are the reason for all this paraphernalia in the first place!
Hannah (whips around): Jonathan, WHAT is not nice? I have not done anything to you.
Jonathan: You are stressing. me. out.
At this point I could not help but laugh.
Hannah (through stifled giggles): Why am I stressing you out Jonathan?
Jonathan: Don't. speak. Spanish.
Ay caramba, honestly, ay caramba.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
The silly little things in life
Last night we ate like royalty. Allow me to be clear: I have not made dinner but once (and maybe you can count the sandwiches I may have made) since William was born. We are blessed by friends bringing meals, parents cooking, and the existence of Chick'fil'A and Papa John's. It's not so much the cooking I am avoiding, but the making time for it, and for shopping, and for thinking at all. Thinking about something other than a nursing schedule for one child, a potty training schedule for another, and a red wine schedule for myself. With a brain monopolized by milk, underwear, and alcohol there is little room for anything else right now.
However, I am woman hear me roar. At least that is what seems to be the expected mantra of mothers (or any woman for that matter) and I was determined to rise above. I fished out frozen meat (a combination of chicken and tilapia) from the freezer and pumped myself up to make a trip to the grocery store for salad ingredients. Arriving at the grocery store, I was overwhelmed by the produce section (see notes of brain monopoly above) so instead settled for spindly asparagus. Not willing to make my second dinner as a mother of two an utterly bland and unplanned disaster, I snagged our favorite topping, blue cheese, from the expensive cheese section-- I was too stressed (see note again) by the size of the supermarket to traverse it for cheaper fromage.
Instead of cooking each meat and vegetable in its appropriate pan and therefore accruing a sinkful of sticky dishes, I announced that we would be throwing everything on the grill. I slapped bbq sauce and balsamic on the chicken and passed it off to Josh, threw the partially thawed fish on too, and tossed olive oil doused asparagus in with the mix. I mentally wiped my hands of the meal and sipped my red wine while Josh tended the Weber.
Soon I ventured out to see my delicacies being cooked to delicious perfection. What I saw was less than impressive. Skinny sticks of asparagus were roasting next to bite size portions of chicken, and we both had to laugh because my less-than-thawed fish was so mushy that the lion's share was falling through the cracks and leaving a doozy of a mess on the grill racks. I had been concerned that I was using up too much meat for one meal, but now it appeared we'd all be two bites in before dinner was over...
You know the crazy part? I couldn't have been happier. It was just all too fun. Dinner smelled good (who cares how it looked-- I was cooking, hot damn and hallelujah!) Instead of kicking myself for halfway thawing fish I was giggling uncontrollably with my husband, who hugged me and laughed too. I was drinking good red wine and you know what, that blue cheese afterthought sprinkled on top of everything made the whole meal taste like the finest gourmet.
However, I am woman hear me roar. At least that is what seems to be the expected mantra of mothers (or any woman for that matter) and I was determined to rise above. I fished out frozen meat (a combination of chicken and tilapia) from the freezer and pumped myself up to make a trip to the grocery store for salad ingredients. Arriving at the grocery store, I was overwhelmed by the produce section (see notes of brain monopoly above) so instead settled for spindly asparagus. Not willing to make my second dinner as a mother of two an utterly bland and unplanned disaster, I snagged our favorite topping, blue cheese, from the expensive cheese section-- I was too stressed (see note again) by the size of the supermarket to traverse it for cheaper fromage.
Instead of cooking each meat and vegetable in its appropriate pan and therefore accruing a sinkful of sticky dishes, I announced that we would be throwing everything on the grill. I slapped bbq sauce and balsamic on the chicken and passed it off to Josh, threw the partially thawed fish on too, and tossed olive oil doused asparagus in with the mix. I mentally wiped my hands of the meal and sipped my red wine while Josh tended the Weber.
Soon I ventured out to see my delicacies being cooked to delicious perfection. What I saw was less than impressive. Skinny sticks of asparagus were roasting next to bite size portions of chicken, and we both had to laugh because my less-than-thawed fish was so mushy that the lion's share was falling through the cracks and leaving a doozy of a mess on the grill racks. I had been concerned that I was using up too much meat for one meal, but now it appeared we'd all be two bites in before dinner was over...
You know the crazy part? I couldn't have been happier. It was just all too fun. Dinner smelled good (who cares how it looked-- I was cooking, hot damn and hallelujah!) Instead of kicking myself for halfway thawing fish I was giggling uncontrollably with my husband, who hugged me and laughed too. I was drinking good red wine and you know what, that blue cheese afterthought sprinkled on top of everything made the whole meal taste like the finest gourmet.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
A few good shots:)
Dad and the boys
Mama and her fellas
Little Will, squish faced and asleep:)
"William I'm warning you, it's a crazy world out there.""Really? Oh, ok, you got my back though, right?!"
A favorite new outfit. Ah yes, his casts have been decorated (by Mama and Jonathan).Wednesday, April 6, 2011
On an adventure of sorts
As many of you know, William was diagnosed with a condition called "club foot" when I was about 20 weeks pregnant. We were directed to wait until his birth (we then did not even know he was a boy) for a complete diagnosis, as ultrasounds can sometimes be deceiving. With help from our outstanding pediatrician and a good friend it was decided we would see Dr. Frino at Baptist Hospital. Today Josh, William, and I drove to Winston-Salem and I was eager to find out about this doctor and William's treatment.
The passage in Matthew was playing in my mind as we rode home today:
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable they they? ... See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. yet I tell you that no even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? ... Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. (taken from Matthew 6: 25-34)
From the doctor's tender demeanor to the orthopedic tech's capable hands to the nurse's joyful (and hilariously quirky) personality I could not have felt more assured of my son's well-being today. While today marked the first day of a new challenge, and while I certainly was caught a bit unaware by the enormity of William's fragility, God's promise to take care of all the "tomorrows" to come is real.
As I know that it is nigh impossible to know about these things and not do, I will give you an assignment-- pray. Please pray for Josh and me as parents that we would be tender, consistent, and dedicated to partnering with the doctor.
Finally, don't worry about Jonathan-- following a moment of confusion when he saw William's casts, I told him they were just like big band aids and he smiled. I think he will be no less than a fearless protector;)
Treatment details: William will wear "soft" casts for a week at a time for six weeks, which will gradually rotate his feet enough to be braced. Following this he may have a little surgery on his achilles tendon, after which he will have "hard" casts for three weeks straight. Then he will be put in braces (removeable) to wear all the time for 3 months. Then he will wear the braces only at night and naptime for two to three years. Dr. Frino says he has a very mild form of club foot and the treatment should go very smoothly!
Here are the little casted feet. (He will wear casts like these for 6 weeks for the beginning of treatment.)
Here we are with friends Emily and her daughter Ella when William was two weeks old.
2 1/2 weeks old
3 weeks old
Brothers (and Wake Forest fans)
The passage in Matthew was playing in my mind as we rode home today:
Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable they they? ... See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. yet I tell you that no even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? ... Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. (taken from Matthew 6: 25-34)
From the doctor's tender demeanor to the orthopedic tech's capable hands to the nurse's joyful (and hilariously quirky) personality I could not have felt more assured of my son's well-being today. While today marked the first day of a new challenge, and while I certainly was caught a bit unaware by the enormity of William's fragility, God's promise to take care of all the "tomorrows" to come is real.
As I know that it is nigh impossible to know about these things and not do, I will give you an assignment-- pray. Please pray for Josh and me as parents that we would be tender, consistent, and dedicated to partnering with the doctor.
Finally, don't worry about Jonathan-- following a moment of confusion when he saw William's casts, I told him they were just like big band aids and he smiled. I think he will be no less than a fearless protector;)
Treatment details: William will wear "soft" casts for a week at a time for six weeks, which will gradually rotate his feet enough to be braced. Following this he may have a little surgery on his achilles tendon, after which he will have "hard" casts for three weeks straight. Then he will be put in braces (removeable) to wear all the time for 3 months. Then he will wear the braces only at night and naptime for two to three years. Dr. Frino says he has a very mild form of club foot and the treatment should go very smoothly!
Here are the little casted feet. (He will wear casts like these for 6 weeks for the beginning of treatment.)
Here we are with friends Emily and her daughter Ella when William was two weeks old.
2 1/2 weeks old
3 weeks old
Brothers (and Wake Forest fans)Saturday, March 26, 2011
It seems right
More and more I feel like something is missing. I am not joyful enough in the circumstances, the cake didn't come out just like I had wanted it to, I didn't fully wrap my arms around a Saturday and squeeze the juices out of it...
Every now and then, however, life feels right. My muscles relax and settle around my shoulders and I feel like I've found the perfect spot on the couch-- the spot where there are no creases and I am not sliding into the middle or off to the side and my pants are not bunching around my knees and I can just enjoy a moment. William feels like this. His quiet presence just feels good, and it is almost as though there was a him-sized niche in our home and now he is there filling it up.
He is so peaceful and wonderfully unaware of anything outside the world of soft blankets and being held in the cozy nooks of arms that I'm sure some of his innocence will rub off on you and leave your tee shirt smelling like Spring.
Every now and then, however, life feels right. My muscles relax and settle around my shoulders and I feel like I've found the perfect spot on the couch-- the spot where there are no creases and I am not sliding into the middle or off to the side and my pants are not bunching around my knees and I can just enjoy a moment. William feels like this. His quiet presence just feels good, and it is almost as though there was a him-sized niche in our home and now he is there filling it up.
He is so peaceful and wonderfully unaware of anything outside the world of soft blankets and being held in the cozy nooks of arms that I'm sure some of his innocence will rub off on you and leave your tee shirt smelling like Spring.
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