tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16700424522386043502024-03-05T18:52:41.810-08:00Nest to NestCubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.comBlogger185125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-14491528020051406842015-03-23T14:14:00.002-07:002015-03-23T17:43:14.812-07:00Gabriel Deep chocolate brown eyes.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cherie, my sweet and dear friend, will look into those eyes and gush, "Oh my goodness. He is such a charmer. Look at those bedroom eyes!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He'll bat his eyelashes at her and add, "And do you see my golden curls?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
From Day 1, he has rocked a chin dimple that drives us all batty. He knows how to work this trifecta of cuteness to maximum advantage. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He started talking early. I mean, <u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">early</u>. By the time he was 15 months old we could have full fledged conversations. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When he was 20 months old, I went for a Target run with him. I stopped off at Starbucks to get a latte. We wandered up and down the aisles together for awhile. The only thing I needed to get from Target that day was escape. So we ventured out, latte in hand, looking for escape.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Mom, wat dat?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Its a latte."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I had dat sip?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You won't like it."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Pleeeeaaaseee?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I held it up to his lips and he took a gulp. His eyes widened. I smiled, waiting for my opportunity to say, "see? I told you it would be yucky."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My moment never came.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I need dat latte."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And so it began. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And so it unraveled in many different ways.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While the other kiddos begged not to eat veggies, he would ask for more asparagus. But with his own twist of course.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Put dat lil' peppert. Dat lil' salt. Dat parmesans."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He refused to be left behind or treated like "the baby." He would often knock his eldest brothers to the ground just for the hell of it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The manipulative cuddler, the bedtime snuggler and the candy smuggler. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He wants the fluffiest towel when he gets out of his "relaxation Bublé bath."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He loves to perch high up against my hip when its time for a story. Slouched down in my lap just won't do.<br />
<br />
His toes are always dirty. Always. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He loves with ferocity. He is loyal and hilarious. Unbearably sneaky and sweet. Giver of grey hair and messy kisses. The all time best napping partner. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
5 years ago I lay stretched out on a hospital bed. My arms were peppered with purple bruises from multiple semi successful blood draws. 6 visits to the ER. I was covered in hives. Head to toe. Covered. My steroids would wear off and then my anaphylaxis would kick in again. Troubled breathing, violent stomach pain, retching, migraines, anxiety. Never ending anxiety. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My 2 year old and 1 year old sons were home. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Without me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Again.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They had just wheeled me back into the room after a rather long test/scan for pulmonary embolism.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A young doctor walked into the room. Blonde pony tail pulled back. Eyes that matched her scrubs. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You're pregnant. Barely pregnant. The count is low but its there."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I just had a miscarriage a couple weeks ago. Thats impossible."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She shrugs, "Could be leftover hormone…but chances are you are pregnant. Maybe your body eliminated an embryo that wasn't viable but another remained."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"A twin?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You need to think about your options. You have been through a lot. Radiation. Multiple drugs. This was a traumatic experience. And you just had to stop nursing your baby because of your accident. I highly recommend looking at all your options."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"My options?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Termination. You have so many chemicals in your body and you could end up with severe complications and physical defects. Chances are you won't carry full term. So yes, I recommend considering your options."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There was silence for about thirty seconds.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She looked tired and a bit impatient. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I felt one hundred years old.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You need to think about yourself."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I took a deep breath and wondered why our world is the way it is. Why the jewels are cast into the trash. Why murder is spoken of so casually. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I am thinking of myself. Truth is... my baby could come out looking like a unicorn and I would still treasure it. I am thinking of myself as I truly am in this moment. And that is a tired and weary protector. An advocate for this tiny little miracle who has no value or voice in this world. I don't feel the need to discuss this further. Adjust whatever medications need to be adjusted. I won't be killing my baby."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She nodded and left.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You and I stayed behind. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The months that followed were dark. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mental illness is harrowing. Growing a baby in the midst of that pain and bleakness feels like a cruel joke. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Until I realized that it was the lifeline. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The thing that kept me going. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'd run into the bathroom, lock the door and hide in the bathtub to escape the confused husband and the crying toddlers, but you stayed with me. I couldn't get away from you. And it reminded me that I couldn't run away from God. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
During those seemingly endless weeks of bed rest, you would nudge me awake every Wednesday morning, and we would take our daily escape to Bible Study Fellowship. We would go and be filled and come home and slip between the sheets and remain still for the next six days. You and I and Jesus. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When the anxiety would hit, so would you. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Swift kicks to the rib. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Calling me back. Calling me home.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You were born in our home. Tiny brilliance. A long, arduous labor leading to the overwhelming gift that is you. Mercifully and miraculously without defect. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I saved your life.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You saved mine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I valued you then. I value you now. There was no minute in which you went from disposable tissue to sudden life that if taken could be punishable with incarceration. You were life from the beginning. We thought of you that way. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Its no surprise that in many ways you are the heartbeat of our family. The greatest force of life, someone to be reckoned with. You survived the unthinkable. God's plan for your life started in the midst of chaos and disaster. We held on tight.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Your birthday is not till November. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But this month, I am celebrating the moment when someone asked, "is it really worth it?" </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And we shouted, "YES! Yes. He is worth it."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
. </div>
Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-37644536366925326032014-12-22T14:19:00.002-08:002014-12-22T16:04:47.276-08:00SevenSeven years ago on the 27th of December...<br />
<br />
I lay on my hospital bed in all my hardwired post-partum misery. I phoned the nursery at 4am and threatened them with bodily harm if they did not bring me my baby immediately. I'd rip out all the tubes and wires from my body and HUNT. THEM. DOWN.<br />
<br />
They brought the baby.<br />
<br />
I had not seen him since his terrible birth hours before on the 26th.<br />
<br />
My Dad had stayed with me through night in one of those miserable armchairs that loudly proclaim "visitors are NOT welcome!" When they brought the Bear in, we both huddled close together and watched him open his eyes and take us in with a spark of miraculous recognition. It was a special, unforgettable moment. In fact, it is my first real memory of my son. If I ever have a "MY LIFE FLASHED BEFORE MY EYES!" event, that moment will play in the slideshow.<br />
<br />
Bear started growing up, steady and sweet. With a kind of heart breaking kindness and compassion purely innate to who he is. His sensitive heart is a brave and fragile wonder to behold.<br />
<br />
Yesterday, he lost his first two teeth. Yes, two at once. With no days of wiggly teeth beforehand so we could make a preemptive run to the bank for some dollaz.<br />
<br />
We were seated at the table, basking in the glow of our first farm raised meal. He turned and informed me that his mouth hurt. Lo and behold, two fully grown adult teeth jutted out from behind his baby teeth. I reached out and touched a baby tooth and it went from firm to holy wigglyness in two seconds.<br />
<br />
"I am so efficient" Bear said in a proud voice. "No holes for me."<br />
<br />
I pulled out his teeth with string and placed them in the palm of my hand. I still remember the excitement over their homecoming when the Bear was nearly 12 months old. Finally! Teething crackers! Now they've done their job and their time is up. Who knew milk teeth could usher in near emotional breakdown?<br />
<br />
I've watched him closely this week, savoring the sixness of him. I adore his habits, even the messy ones that so heavily mark these boyhood adventure days.<br />
<br />
The wooden box next to his bed filled with revolutionary war soldiers. He takes them out and lines them up carefully, then returns them back to the box in a precise order.<br />
<br />
The pile of books always strewn about his bed. His bed never lacks an open book.<br />
<br />
His enthusiasm for a great story. "Read it again! And make the voices even crazier please!"<br />
<br />
He rarely wishes anyone "Merry Christmas" instead he says, "A most heartfelt Merry Christmas to you!"<br />
<br />
The sound of his wheels turning just before he builds something incredibly creative and out of the box.<br />
<br />
His scent when he comes in from an afternoon of outdoor play. Sunshine, crushed grass and freshly churned earth.<br />
<br />
The way his face crumples before he apologizes to one of his brothers. The broken way he says "I love you, will you forgive me?" The purest contrition I've ever heard in a child comes from this little boy of mine.<br />
<br />
His innocence. Its still intact. In this day in age, that is miraculous and I thank God for this gift. Shepherding him over the next few years to keep that innocence without it festering into ignorance will be a tricky line to walk.<br />
<br />
Seven. He is turning seven in five short days. I don't know why this birthday feels so much more monumental than turning six did, but it does.<br />
<br />
Six was a tremendous year for him. He accepted Jesus into his heart. He conquered his fears and learned to ride a bike. He learned to jump out of trees and learned how to stick up for himself a little more. He lost his first two teeth. He learned to read. He took risks. He overcame his first failures. He asked really tough questions and gave really thoughtful answers. He discovered Sherlock Holmes and George Washington and Paul Revere. He became a die hard patriot. He laughed a lot! He mastered his lightsaber vocal sound effects. He memorized more scripture this year than I have in my entire life and challenged me to join him next year.<br />
<br />
I am proud of my boy. We are mere days away from "Happy Birthday dearest" and so I am soaking in all those bits of charming boyness before they shift, evolve and disappear unannounced one day between breakfast and lunch.<br />
<br />
Instead of joining in the hustle and bustle of preparing for the Holidays, I am off to memorize my son's hands, the way they look today, a breath before turning seven.<br />
<br />
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-88735904514877569112014-05-13T11:26:00.001-07:002014-05-13T11:30:27.083-07:006531<br />
"When I grow up I want to live across the street from you. I want to live in a blue house with a red door. I'll have five kids and a wife and we will visit you every day."<br />
<br />
Your eyes are wide with excitement when you tell me this.<br />
<br />
"The number on my house will be 6531 because that is how old me and my brothers are today and I like this year better than any other year and I always want to remember when we were 6, 5, 3 and 1."<br />
<br />
My eyes are wide and wet with tears as I listen.<br />
<br />
"Mom? We are going to stay together always, right? Because we are family nothing is ever going to keep up apart, right?"<br />
<br />
"I will be here as long as you need me."<br />
<br />
"Moooom," you tilt your head to the side in exasperation, "I am ALWAYS going to need you."<br />
<br />
"Then I will always be here for you."<br />
<br />
You nod, satisfied, and move off to chase your baby brother and build a rocket and grow 4 inches in a year and learn your multiplication table and catch fish and carve wood and mow the lawn and kiss a girl and finish school and pack up your car and drive away.<br />
<br />
You are 5 today and gone tomorrow.<br />
<br />
So do me a favor, Cubs. Stretch out every day. Roll the minutes out in a long slow line of marching ants. We can lay down side by side and watch them march. It will take a long time but we will stay for every second of it.<br />
<br />
Speaking of ants, lets have a picnic. Out in the sun, under a tree, with lots and lots of books strewn about and a hefty slice of pie for each of us.<br />
<br />
Lets have an adventure that has nothing to do with the rest of the world and everything to do with our little family, rolling around the great outdoors. <br />
<br />
Lets climb the tallest tree and tie a sail in the boughs and go on a floating pirate voyage into the clouds.<br />
<br />
Lets have messy ice cream days and crazy dances in the mud hole.<br />
<br />
Lets watch the baby chicks hatch and let me memorize the freckles on your nose and the sweep of your lashes.<br />
<br />
Lets stretch 6531 as far and long as we can until the days of 7642 arrive and then lets do it all over again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-26353033992491653422014-04-21T06:58:00.000-07:002014-04-21T06:58:00.668-07:00Six ChickensThe aches and pains of farm life stretch far and wide. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sore muscles, busted up knuckles, pulled backs, hornet stings, irretrievable splinters, all kinds of fun. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The last few days have brought ache and pain of a different kind. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The aches and pains of the farmer's heart.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Its one thing to butcher a healthy animal in a humane and dignified way, its quite another to euthanize an injured animal. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't know that I will ever go through the motions of that process disaffected. I had to put down one of our chickens on Good Friday, after our boxer broke into the chicken coop. It was a visceral hurt, cut quick in the gut and permeating the brain and wrenching out grief you didn't know you could ever feel for a chicken. One was more than I could take. J put down the other chicken once he arrived home.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On Saturday I loaded the kids into the car and we headed out to a local farm and picked up four new hens and headed home. Quick and easy, I thought.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thus began a weekend of trial and error.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Did you know that introducing adult hens into a flocks of other adult hens is a bad idea? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I didn't.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Did you know that you have to quarantine the new chickens from the old flock for thirty days before integrating?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I didn't.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Did you know that the old gentle flock will suddenly turn into the bitches from Mean Girls the minute you try and move a few new hens in?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yeah. It got ugly real fast.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Quarantine for thirty days?? Are ya kidding me?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We have a grand total of ONE chicken coop. Its a great coop, thick cement on the outside, predator proof, nice wood nesting boxes. Truly, a great coop. But it is coop, singular. J built a fantastic chicken tractor but it is by no means a long term solution if you need to quarantine chickens and keep two separate flocks. This was made abundantly clear on Monday morning. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I made my early morning trudge to the coops with their feed bucket and met with carnage a la king. Turns out our dog was whining last night for a reason. A fox dug a hole underneath the tractor and destroyed all four of our new hens.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A heavy salve of guilt and horror was smeared over Friday's raw wound. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wanted to leave the mess for J to deal with when he got home. But I have four boys in the house waiting to run outside and play. So I took a deep breath and barreled through the clean up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I knew going into this that farming would not come to us instinctually. We are sorely lacking in basic farm knowledge. But we will get it. Hard earned and sweat soaked, it will come to us. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
10 minutes later I walked inside, half defeat and half determination, if such a mixture is possible. I picked up the phone and called my favorite farmers, my Abuelos. Knowledge a plenty over there.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Abuela E commiserated with me over the losses. Six chickens in three days. Ouch. We didn't get to eat a single one. Wastefulness. Which stings on a whole other level once you have shared a home and broken bread with someone who has nothing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She started sharing her stories. Her false starts and her trials and her errors and her miseries and her moments of frustration. I listened and laughed and teared up a few times. I felt grateful that at the age of 30, I can still pick up the phone, call grandparents and let age old wisdom soak in through the receiver. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't know how much the boys will remember of this trial and error phase of farm life. Will they remember seeing their Mama's tears on that Good Friday when she had to kill a hurting friend? Will a hazy memory of the fox hole and the explosion of feathers ever break the surface? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Boys, this is worth it. All this heart ache and pain. We do it because we love it, yes. But we also do it for you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A few days ago Cubs came bounding into my room, overall-clad and freckled, sun-streaked hair and cheeks pink and sweaty from the outdoors. "I love farm work! I am a great farmer boy." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Those words were said proudly, with great enthusiasm and joy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It made me want to press forward, it made me know that I could. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-56283570957490795402014-04-08T18:35:00.001-07:002014-04-08T18:35:14.978-07:00Farm ProgressA farm.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That has always been the dream. From our first walk on the shore of Lake Michigan the day we met, its always been that distant romantic idea of "farm life."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Once we started dating, the dream revved up. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Once we were engaged it became the goal. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We prayed that our will aligned with whatever God's for us was, but really…we hoped that His will included our hearts desire. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Back in January, we closed on the dream. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2.5 acres of dream land.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We spent a month tearing up the inside and getting the place "move in ready."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then we had to pack the rental and unpack in the new house.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We are bone tired.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Which is saying a lot because as the parents of four boys aged 6 and under….we KNOW tired like the back of our hands. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The compost bins are built.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The banana garden is in place.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The chicken coop is prepped and we currently have four hens laying around 14 eggs per week. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Its just a fraction of all the things we want to do here and all ready, we are so deeply tired!!!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I am encouraged when I see the boys help around the farm. They are so eager to work and learn. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My heart feels so deeply grateful and thankful to the Lord for providing this place. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
J and I look at each other every day and we say the same thing…</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I can't believe we get to live here." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In a few weeks the garden will be in full swing for staging. I'll be attempting to make a natural fence using some of the materials on our farm. The boys want to make a children's garden for themselves. We'll be deciding whether we raise goats or pigs on the back lot. We'll be eagerly waiting for the first farm harvests, avocados and pineapples. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So much work and excitement on the horizon, but really I am feeling such contentment here in this day, feeling thankful and working myself to satisfying exhaustion. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-56090700676443159042014-03-09T12:48:00.002-07:002014-03-09T12:55:16.590-07:00BlessingWe get a lot of comments.<br />
<br />
Day to day, out and about, people see us and feel the need to comment.<br />
<br />
Usually, they stick to the predictable comments we hear all of the time. Any combination of the following:<br />
<br />
1. "You sure do have your hands full!"<br />
2. "Are they ALL yours?"<br />
3. "Are they ALL boys?"<br />
4. "Any twins in there?"<br />
5. "You must be exhausted."<br />
<br />
While we sometimes roll our eyes at these, they are mostly the harmless declarations of people who really don't know what to say but feel the need to say something, anything.<br />
<br />
Sometimes we get great comments. Like…<br />
<br />
1. "What well behaved little boys!"<br />
2. "We had four children too. Best years of our lives."<br />
3. "You must have a lot of fun."<br />
4. "What a great bunch of kiddos!"<br />
<br />
At other times, we are on the receiving end of some pretty horrific statements…..<br />
<br />
1. "Why did you have so many?"<br />
2. "People should really have no more than two children. You need to take care of the earth."<br />
3. "How do you do it? I hate kids. I can't even imagine what you go through."<br />
4. "Four boys???? Yuck."<br />
5. "Did you have this many on purpose?"<br />
6. "Are they all your real children or did you adopt some?"<br />
<br />
After all, children are a burden from the Lord. Oh, no wait. Scratch that. Children are a <i>blessing</i> from the Lord. But these days, our world tells us quite clearly, children are a burden, a distraction, a headache, a waste of time and money. Adopted kids are just something you collect, they are not even "real" children. Apparently, children are so inconvenient to some they are likened to pollution. Fecundophobia. A child created in the womb is the equivalent of medical waste. Not ready for this burden? Doctors will vacuum it out of you, piece by torn piece, until life becomes painful death discarded.<br />
<br />
<br />
There are days when I read the news and my heart sinks down to my toes. I look at the glorification of sinful lifestyles, war, corporate corruption, and I wonder "what have I brought my children into this world to endure?" Slimy prosperity gospel preachers like Joel Osteen and Joyce Meyers, truly a force of Satan in this world. Other "christians" who do everything they can to minimize Jesus and remove authority from the bible in their churches so that they can accommodate their own social acceptance and sexual desires. It is truly gut wrenching.<br />
<br />
But then from the next room, I hear a child singing.<br />
<br />
"It is finished, He has done it. Let your weary heart rejoice."<br />
<br />
My weary heart. The very one that is lifted when a child rounds the corner, joy bursting from his every pore, to recite a verse or two of scripture. My weary heart is filled with peace when I think of what He has done.<br />
<br />
These perceived burdens running around my house remind me of freedom and victory.<br />
<br />
I look at their lives and feel a heavenly affirmation that He is in control.<br />
<br />
They have no past to look at. Nothing to compare the current world with and say, "things have fallen apart. Where is God in this mess?" They live in the world's current state and despite man's best efforts to pollute and manipulate, the boys still know and experience the love of our one true God.<br />
<br />
No one can rewrite His words or His laws or His love. What He has created has value and meaning and purpose, no matter how we try to rearrange things in the name of "social progress." We do not make the definitions, we only pervert meanings.<br />
<br />
My life may seem wasted to many. But to me, these days are precious. They are purposeful. Even if the purpose for the day is bathing my three year old for the fifth time that day and nursing a snotty infant back to health. It is done in His name and therefore it has a shimmer of His glory in it.<br />
<br />
Which is why my heart's response is always the same, no matter what comment comes my way.<br />
<br />
"We are grateful for all the joy and life God has blessed us with."<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-47324476817647998482014-01-23T11:11:00.000-08:002014-01-23T11:11:02.669-08:00Farm.Taking advantage of a late napping hour for the younger boys while the elder children play outside on this lovely day. Its been months since I have sat down to blog in earnest. I didn't want to spend time away from the children for the first half of the homeschool year. We needed space to carve out an understanding of how we were going to do this thing. I am glad we did.<br />
<br />
I love homeschooling. Its surprised me in so many ways. I have exceeded my expectations in some areas and failed spectacularly in others. My children and I have learned how to extend grace to one another and mean it. We have felt frustration and triumph and misery and joy. I am grateful.<br />
<br />
J and I will be starting a fresh new chapter in our lives next week. We will be closing on a house, a 2.5 acre farm. J mentioned the other night that he has been praying for a home like this, with land to work, for years. Years before we even met each other. We are so excited. We are giddy with it.<br />
<br />
Right now all is idyllic and lovely. We imagine the chickens, goats, gardens, fruit trees, etc without the harsh reality of poop, more poop, weeds, intense labor, etc. Its similar to the weeks leading up to the labor and birth of your first child. We know the work is coming, but right now our minds are rife with pleasant thoughts of rural life.<br />
<br />
We have all this unharnessed potential energy accumulating around the house. The boys are plotting their adventures and seem eager to dive into life on a farm. As always, they watch us intently, taking cue from our own approaches to this great life change. We've moved them around quite a bit and I can sense the bottom layer of nervous apprehension, familiar to me as I wear my own concealed layer riddled with "what ifs." I try and talk it through with them from time to time. Our focus stays on the Lord and how thankful we are to Him for providing this home.<br />
<br />
How strange, the intense cross country journey He took us on to reveal where He wanted us to be all along. He is merciful in quickly crushing our misplaced dreams and rerouting us in a new direction. It was painful, but necessary. A good pruning.<br />
<br />
We'll be moving in late February. Before then we have loads of home repair work to embark upon. We have little experience but eager hands, which will hopefully go a long way! Once we are settled in the next round of work begins. Clearing land and preparing the gardens and chicken coops.<br />
<br />
We can't wait to record all the adventures our little farmers have in their new space.Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-89901441485088551152013-12-16T16:24:00.000-08:002013-12-17T08:12:19.280-08:00Storytelling Part 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Ok, round two. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"The pardable of Zacchaeus."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Part 1</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzy66l9kfhXc09ewoFphcbxZzK4qc5-g8g_T72xmNwn0Kmn1BDPULUV8NEpedIvT619xBSvjX8N5tZsVx2BXA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
Part 2 (interrupted by the Babe)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz9ULlnm5FkjQkFj07Q9SHTIvN5x4xq5dXMW-N6zbWdbiBDScxiBZcZf6mztwxXZyB_wsOVq32XWw6nc_POrA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Part 3</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw11MLynhP_KgLTbavx-0VBx2244Oub3irPLwJ-WY62qdxhdB3N0VHvBcBCA1j8TEBdaaz_suxVndI7iMMWNQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-26264945136734600772013-12-16T16:02:00.002-08:002013-12-16T16:10:13.266-08:00Story Telling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
We love stories. Hearing them, reading them, telling them. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Every night, the boys are tucked in their beds nice and tight. We kiss them. Recite a few verses. Turn out the lights and hit the play button on their stereo.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The stories start to play.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Sometimes its AA Milne or CS Lewis or Roald Dahl, lately its been the Jesus Storybook Bible recordings. They are read by a man with an English accent.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The Bear has memorized nearly all the stories and loves reciting them. At times he busts out his English accent, which is quite quite hilarious. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I've never shared a video on here before, usually videos end up on facebook. But since this is a 3 part story, I thought I'd upload the story telling here.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Enjoy......</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
the pardable of the prodigate son :)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Part 1</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwIXruSdNimQd8h-yZhBmqEugHBs-M1N3A7l9kIrkK_Abl80oNWvnjIdVis3vWC_HpSBmFMqtYPmJMv79LJxg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Part 2</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxnL5nsBjAnZBusmZ9rUuyzp1-S5JdWo2s2IWNj-7QscTlYqhUx1krj5Fmj80I4RWPlYUPsb9lNuD_ykPRPqQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
Part 3<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxpHpxVVriZkpKuUV9ttlThHIUFK30OOT0VBC30FDCdUa5lZYYg9fJQq4_tNaLm_oTjqcqdYscsmd-osMj6KQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-23183241167465613442013-12-11T08:23:00.000-08:002013-12-11T08:26:44.007-08:00Happy Birthday Meme<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">An excerpt from something I posted back in January, in honor of my great grandmother's birthday today. Boy do I miss her! </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">------------------------------------------------------------------</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">January 2013....</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">I've decided to learn how to knit and crochet. Why did I choose this? </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Well, I wanted something to do with my hands while my boys were working at their play doh or legos or lincoln logs. A mindless busy work, but still beautiful and something I can bless others with. And because...I miss my great grandmother.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">I was blessed to have her in my life for 18 years. Our birthdays were two days apart and we were known to rock a shared birthday cake at a family party or two.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">We did not get along too well the first 16 years since I had an affinity for frogs, dirt, pranks and daredevil schemes. She most assuredly did not like any of the above. Nope. No way. We did not get along. At least, I thought we did not get along….</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Now that I am a mother, I look back and realize that while she did like to fuss and cluck at me…she really loved me.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">I remember how nice she always looked. Hair like a football helmet. Not a single strand out of place. Nails always polished a nice peachy sheen. Pant suits. Lots and lots of pant suits. Clean, tidy, organized…and not afraid to party. :)</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Every once in a while she would surprise me by doing something totally goofy and fun. She agreed to put on a clown costume one year for halloween, suggested by my mom at the last minute. Five minutes before we were to walk out the door and into the neighborhood, she agrees and dons this hideous polyester footie pajama. It came with a metallic wig.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">METALLIC.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">16 years of that sort of thing. Super organized, predictable day to day order and then...the unexpected element that would put the great in "great grandma!" </span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">She suffered a stroke and was blind the last two years of her life. I used to jokingly say to her that she liked me better when she couldn’t see how untidy and messy I was. Because we were quite suddenly, inexplicably closer than ever. A light turned on in the darkness.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">During junior year of high school I would drive an extra thirty minutes out of my way after school to the nursing home just so I could hold her hand and listen to her talk.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">I learned so much about her that last year. She told me a few stories she had never shared with anyone else. I don’t know why she chose to tell me of all people…but I am glad she did.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Yeah, she loved me a lot.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">I loved her too.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Have I mentioned yet that she was the craftiest person ever?</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">She knew how to sew and knit and crochet. She would make such beautiful things. I used to love to watch her work. She made a pair of little snowmen once for my mom for Christmas. I used to hold them every year when we took them out of storage and run my fingers over the loops and hooks.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">After she died I would run my finger over those loops and feel a bit closer to her.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">So in her honor, I am picking up that heavy crochet needle and learning this new art. If I can make three things before the year is out, I’ll consider it a success.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">Hand in hand with this learning of a new code and a new rhythm, I want to tell my boys all the stories I know about Meme.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: left;">So that when they run their hands over each loop and hook of my handiwork, they will remember her. Stories about their blue eyed great great grandmother, the rigidly organized party animal who would surprise her family with something zany from time to time. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">--------------------------------------------------------------------------------</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">The update to this story is that I completed two pieces of work and am 80% of the way through with my third piece. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">I loved learning her art. I loved feeling close to her whenever I picked up my crochet needle. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 20px;">Happy Birthday Meme. I hope to one day rock helmet hair, pant suits, crochet needles and spontaneity just like you. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: #4c2600; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 20px;"><br /></span></span></div>
Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-78683972710661152422013-08-15T07:46:00.001-07:002013-08-15T19:44:04.002-07:00Safe MarksThe first time I looked at my post-partem body, I was standing before the hospital mirror in a hideously lit bathroom. Time has faded the exact rendering of what I found so shocking, but I know I saw something unexpected. It was alien. I had anticipated familiarity, at least some slight memory recall of what used to be. But my new Mama body was an unknown place, deeply uncomfortable and a visceral disappointment. Compounded by the trauma of that first birth, the experience I had dreamed of literally wrenched away from me, I felt and looked broken.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Its not that I had expected a hot body immediately after birth or that I carried some misbegotten expectation of emerging unmarked by the whole process.... </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had simply anticipated the newness to be of a storybook spring quality, like a delicate scene purposefully unfolding the new season. Call me naive, but I wanted the unfurling blossoms, the wobbly kneed lambs, the pale green daffodil shoots, the soft downy chicks, all the warm fuzzies to match the baby's freshly painted room. The fragile and tender unknown land of motherhood would be blissful and satisfying. Awe and wonder. How could it not? My body would not be perfect, but it would reflect that "new spring feeling."<br />
<br />
A new undertaking yet in a familiar setting. The territory would not be unchartered, I would know where I was even if I didn't always know what I was doing. I held on to that foolish notion during my pregnancy like a life line, convinced that familiarity would leave me with the sense of control I believed I so desperately needed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yet there I stood, weak-kneed, broken, exhausted, truly terrified and crying hysterically as I tried changing back into my clothes while my mother and husband ran various last minute errands before the big homecoming. The shock over what had transpired and the disappointment over what had not, it all fell heavy and ugly. The ominous cloud of depression on the horizon was moving in with breath taking swiftness to settle over my shoulders. <br />
<br />
Oh, yes. And let us not forget that wee bundle of miraculous joy and unnerving responsibility cooing away in the bassinet.<br />
<br />
Come on in guilt, we've been waiting for you.<br />
<br />
I felt less and less myself with every passing minute. I wanted to focus on my son, but I could not overcome the crises of self I was unexpectedly facing. It dawned at last that the territory was indeed unchartered, a new undertaking in a completely foreign land. I didn't recognize myself, in body or emotion. My 24 year old bones were shaken to the marrow.<br />
<br />
Talk about lost.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This morning I stood by the stove fixing breakfast for my brood. Its been four years and three more babies since the storm clouds of depression have lifted. The kitchen was warm with morning stirring to life. The eldest boy walked over and for whatever reason, decided to lift the bottom hem of my shirt up a few inches. He ran his fingers over the familiar marks he knew he would find there. I let him trace the long lines back and forth. He asked the questions over again, the same ones he had asked for months.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Mom, are your zebra stripes really scars?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"No."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Not scars? They look like scars."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"They are marks. Stretch marks. From when my skin stretched as far as it could go to hold you in my belly and keep you safe while you grew there."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"While I grew inside you?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yes."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"That is when God put me together right?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yes."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"And when He made me, your belly stretched and stretched and stretched.... and that is why we call them stretch marks?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I smile and muss his hair with my free hand.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then, he asks something entirely new...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Mom? Your skin stretched that way to keep me safe is what you said. So we could also call them safe marks, right?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I felt my throat close up a bit. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yes, I suppose we could."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I think your marks are safe marks, because you got them keeping me safe."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was many years ago and a few babes back that I came to terms with those marks. Between the second and third water births of my sons, I remember standing in front of a different mirror, this time in our bedroom at the bungalow, tracing those ever deepening marks with my fingers. Somewhere along the way I had stopped hating them and lamenting their existence. They were simply familiar now, in a tender and comforting way. They were the new landscape. Maybe they weren't my favorite things in the world, but I wasn't ashamed of them.<br />
<br />
Time marches on and now a little boy, dearly loved, wants to call them safe marks.<br />
<br />
Hmmm....<br />
<br />
I can't think of them as "battle scars" or "honor badges," though I know some Mamas who do see them that way. They are neither ugly nor particularly victorious to me.<br />
<br />
I suppose because for me, they can never be about what I have done.<br />
<br />
To my mind they can only ever serve as a marker for what He has done.<br />
<br />
They are the pile of stones, set up as a reminder of when the Lord gently led me out of that dark valley. When I followed Him into a better and deeper realization of what this life is and what this temporary body is for. <br />
<br />
My body is marked for motherhood, for sacrifice, for a call to selfless living, for a diligent teaching I must first live out. Those marks remind me that I am not in control, I never was. They remind me to surrender my children daily.<br />
<br />
Alone, I can not accomplish what I have been called to do. But with Him, I can.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
Those dark and ragged marks, luminous in the light of His love and gentle leading. <br />
<br />
The safe marks.<br />
<br />
Known to my children as the lines that held them safe within me, but known to me as the daily promise that the Lord holds them safe. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
From scary marks to safe marks. Only God could transform such heavy lines into miraculous simplicity. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-16828199206291416192013-08-04T14:51:00.002-07:002013-08-04T15:10:31.096-07:00The Night Before Kindergarten<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">I've tried several times today to scrawl out a few words in honor of my two boys starting Kindergarten tomorrow. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">I have failed each time.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Overwhelmed with emotion and terror and joy, I guess. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Cubs has also raided the supply cabinet and used nearly all the new supplies prematurely. My sister has poisoned him with a love for expensive office supplies and he is tearing through everything. I wanted to have the house shiny and clean for the first day of school tomorrow, but the boys got into the paints and everything is stained now. Really, the house looks like a tornado ripped through it. Oh well. It will STILL be a happy day tomorrow...a messy, happy day.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Anyways, I felt inspired to jot down my own version of "Twas the Night Before Christmas" Casa Iudi style. I hope you enjoy! It sums up our day, the excitement level, the disasters, everything without my having to write an emotionally draining blog about it.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Twas the Night Before Kindergarten</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Adapted from: "Twas the Night Before Christmas"</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: red; font-family: Arial, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">By: This homeschoolin' mama of four boys.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">'Twas the night before Kindergarten, when all through the house,</span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">All creatures were stirring, right down to the mouse;</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">The backpacks were hung by the front door with care,</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">In hopes that adventure time soon would be there</span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: left;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">The children were jumping wildly on their beds</span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">While visions of school </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">supplies</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> danced through their heads,</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;">
</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">New jeans stained with ketchup, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">and the pen with no</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> cap,</span></span></div>
<div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">The school year not yet begun and I needed a nap!</span></div>
<div style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: blue;">Suddenly in the hall there arose a great clatter,</span></span></div>
<div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">I sprang from my macbook to see what was the matter.</span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">A tiny nudist streaked by in a flash,</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Followed by small children, covered in trash,</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">From the lure of white paper like new fallen snow,</span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">To the lustre of unopened paints they could not say no;</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Hurry! Quick! They mobilized before I could appear,</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Splashes of paint on papers, flooring and one small ear.</span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">The two year old leads, so lively and quick,</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;">
</span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: blue;">I round the corner, forgetting the floor would be slick .</span></span></div>
<div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">More rapid than eagles the descent of my frame,</span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Now Dad intercedes, points out the paint, shouts out the dog's name:</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">"Now Micah, now Sam, now Gabriel, and Frankie,"</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">"On bathroom!; On carpet! On bedspread and blankie!"</span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Helvetica; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">"To the top of the mirror! to the top of the wall!"</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">"Please wash away! dash away! spray away all!"</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: blue;">As scattered legos before company fly,</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">A whirlwind of children; rags in hand, they did dry,</span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Each corner of the house, while Dad sipped his brew,</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">With faces like angels - the west highland terrier too.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: blue;">I tried to ignore the sprinkling of paint on the roof</span></span></div>
<div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">By the pile of crumpled paper the toddler stood aloof.</span></div>
<div style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">As I shook my head, and was turning around,</span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Down the hallway children returned with a bound:</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Dressed ready for school, from head to foot,</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span></span></div>
<div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Twelve hours too early, no sign of growing kaput. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">A bundle of books pulled away from the stack,</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Crammed quickly through the opening pack:</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Those eyes - how they twinkled! Those dimples so merry,</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Fingers coated in green paint, one face covered in cherry;</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">Excitement and energy, strung taut like a bow,</span></div>
</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">One more night of waiting could only add to their woe.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;">
<span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">The new things ahead: reading, writing, loose teeth!</span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Dreams of adventure circled their heads like a wreath.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">My growing boys: lean leg, diminishing belly</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Could not wait for the school year start: for pencils and jelly</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica Neue, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Paper and scissor, new notebooks on the shelf.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">So I laugh'd when I saw them in spite of myself;</span></div>
<div style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">This school in our home, the lessons in my head,</span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Hand in hand with them, I have nothing to dread.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Boyhood filled with adventure, brings joy to the work,</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">(And help with the house chores so I won't be a jerk).</span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">And so I gave a sweet kiss to the tip of each nose</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;">
</span></div>
<div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">And promised chocolate chip pancakes when they rose.</span></div>
<div style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">Fully clothed in their beds, clean as a whistle,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Away the dreams flew, like the down of a thistle:</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">One sleepy voice said, as I crept out of sight-</span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">"Happy First Day to all…… how will I ever sleep this night?"</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
</div>
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">
</span></span></div>
Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-71501750475915971332013-07-13T10:43:00.003-07:002013-07-13T10:52:40.301-07:00Trust and ObeyI haven't written in this space for three months.<br />
<br />
Three months.<br />
<br />
I really hate when so much time lapses without an update. This is our place for recording precious memories and our struggles as parents. We usually soldier through and make the time to update, even in the midst of life's greatest difficulties. But these past three months we've left things silent on here.<br />
<br />
I think I needed a bit of time to reconsider how I use this space. I wondered for a few weeks if I should reboot this sucker and go for an all out "Mommy Blog." But that just isn't me and its not what this little corner of the internet is.<br />
<br />
No bells, no whistles, just stories.<br />
<br />
Our last reason for silence is the overwhelming amount of work I undertook as we prepared to homeschool our kids. Yes, we homeschooled last year. But we were really just dipping our toes in the water. The water was contained in a very, very small pool of water.<br />
<br />
Ok, it was a puddle.<br />
<br />
Turns out the path to homeschooling is wider than the Pacific. Like most areas of childrearing, any fool with internet access has a thousand and one things to say on the subject. I don't think I've ever researched anything that has left me so emotionally drained. I read around 75 books. Combed through endless homeschooling blogs, listened to recordings of speakers, spoke with other homeschooling families, and cried myself to sleep on at least three occasions. I endured this time of endless research while the testosterone levels in our home reached historic highs. It was a bit of a nightmare for a few weeks there, until I realized my calling and gained my footing.<br />
<br />
I am proud of what we are left with...terrified of it too.<br />
<br />
Yet I am upheld by the knowledge that God has laid this heavily on my heart. He has called me to serve my children in this way. He has specifically asked us to do this work, not so that we isolate ourselves from the world, but in order to teach our children His word and demonstrate DAILY what it means to live in Him and love others. I had times of crisis when I thought, <i>I am planning to teach them something I do not practice myself. This is HYPOCRISY. They will see right through it. Also, I hate Math. How will this ever work? </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I realized that I could not conquer this mountain on my own or expect an end product of perfect young adults sold out for Jesus. There can not be two Captains on this journey. There is only one and I am not it. I am too weak without Him. This is not easy for a control freak like me. So many things could go wrong....<br />
<br />
What am I left with?<br />
<br />
Obedience.<br />
<br />
As my wise BSF teaching leader Babs always says, "We are not responsible for the consequences of our obedience to God."<br />
<br />
I will obey. I will ask the Holy Spirit to enable me to live what I teach and to break what must broken so that I can lose myself in Him. I will trust Him with my children. Wherever their roads lead, I will trust in Him. I will commit myself to praying for my boys every day and to train them up the way He has commanded.<br />
<br />
The step of faith has been taken. School starts August 5th.<br />
<br />
We've picked out the curriculum and acquired more books, which is frightening since 60% of our last move consisted entirely of books. We joined a homeschool co-op and signed up for our last year of Day Class at BSF. <br />
<br />
I am looking forward to this sweet time with my children. I will have the best hours of their day all to myself. We can study things that interest us and there will be no limits to how much we can learn. We can study His word freely and practice it daily. Field trips and daily chores. Science projects and toddler tantrums. Endless baskets of laundry. I have no doubt in my mind that my laundry problem will escalate into crisis mode this year.<br />
<br />
Math. The bane of my childhood. Math will be back in my life. Maybe this time I will learn it the way I should have years ago. Prayers and numbers for support groups appreciated. This is the valley, the depths of despair.<br />
<br />
The highest peak? Do you even need to ask? It is a mountain made of books.<br />
<br />
Hours and hours of reading lovely books. Curled up on the couch or nestled in the play tent, flashlights in hand, or under the boughs of trees we know by heart.<br />
<br />
Most of it feels idyllic. All of it will be messy.<br />
<br />
There is no doubt about it.<br />
<br />
My house may never be clean but it will always be filled with learning.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i>"He who called you is faithful and He will do it."</i><br />
<i>1 Thessalonians 5:24</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-21368262856199229712013-04-12T11:08:00.002-07:002013-04-12T12:34:27.233-07:00YOUThe Babe is nearing the 2 1/2 year mark.<br />
<br />
This is an important landmark for parents.<br />
<br />
It means you have survived the first six months of the terrible twos.<br />
<br />
No one will hand you an award or pat you on the back over the cleverness of your survival, but you will know, and as you wipe the sweat from your brow and pause from scraping spaghetti off the ceiling, you will give yourself the fortifying pep talk of "Only 6 months left, only 6 months left."<br />
<br />
At least, thats what I did with the Bear.....who was an angel until he hit the 3 and half year mark. He was our late attitude bloomer.<br />
<br />
Then came Cubby....<br />
<br />
who blasted all milestones and usual norms out of the water. Spaghetti on the ceiling? Ha! Mere child's play. Who thinks the camera should go for a swim in the toilet? Who wants to scream bloody murder for an hour for no reason? Who wants to spend every minute of the day finding new ways to die with creative flourish?<br />
<br />
Cubby made me want to google the addresses of authors who had written the parenting books on my shelves. I wanted to find out where they lived so I could confront them, parenting manuals in hand, and hit them over the head with it. Plan B was to just ding dong ditch Cubs at the door....but he was too cute to leave behind. His eyes were too blue. His freckles were too....freckly? Ugh. I couldn't get him out of my system. So he stayed and we endured and just as I managed to pick myself up off the ground, shake the dust off, and pull forks out of the electrical sockets, I was pregnant with child numero tres...round 3.<br />
<br />
Not to be outdone...our Babe looked at Path A and Path B, shook his head and whipped out a machete and began bushwhacking his own path.<br />
<br />
While most 2 1/2 year olds ask for apple juice and a bubble bath and cheerios, our toddler asks for coffee, hot showers and parfaits.<br />
<br />
If I lose him at the playground, I don't bother with the usual kiddie areas, I find the most complicated, dangerous area of the equipment, typically found near a sign reading something like "Ages 8+ only" and there I find him. My son. Curly hair, big brown eyes, irresistible chin dimple, bossing around twelve year olds and hanging upside down from the monkey bars without a thought for the 6 feet of open air beneath him.<br />
<br />
Babe usually takes home the biggest prizes at the end of the day.<br />
<br />
Beach Day Award for Most sand in a body crevice? Babe.<br />
<br />
Publix Award for Most wine bottles knocked off the shelf in a single swipe? Babe.<br />
<br />
Library Award for Best use of shelving for purposes of escape/possible espionage? Babe.<br />
<br />
Parking Lot Award for Most heart stopping moment of the year 2012? Babe.<br />
<br />
Party Award for Most downed cups of discarded wine when no one was looking? Babe.<br />
<br />
I love you little Babe. You drive me crazy and I don't think I could ever kiss you enough.<br />
<br />
You drink a cup of hot milk with a shot of coffee every Saturday morning. You ask for a parfait every day. You OWN your brothers. Does it matter that they are two and three years older than you? Nope, not one bit. Your right hook puts theirs to shame.<br />
<br />
The way you pray....is one of the sweetest things I have ever heard.<br />
<br />
Your cuddles.<br />
<br />
Your cheeky grins.<br />
<br />
Don't even get me started on the way you giggle.<br />
<br />
Or the devastating perfection of your cute little booty. It is ode worthy my friend. Ode worthy.<br />
<br />
As per usual, I can't drink alcohol during the terrible twos because I am nursing someone else younger than you....BUT if I were to raise a toast three weeks from now...<br />
<br />
Babe, I could almost 100% honestly say that I am a bit sad these six months are behind us and only six months remain.<br />
<br />
I say almost because the small percentage still cleaning the urine off the bathroom MIRROR, replacing toothbrushes, and liberally spritzing the bathroom with bleach would SLAP me silly for wishing those six months back.<br />
<br />
Only six months left....only six months left.... who am I kidding?Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-68540811494114336522013-04-12T10:36:00.000-07:002013-04-12T13:12:16.879-07:00Broken<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I've been wanting to sit down and write for a while. I have so many things to share. Everything is stockpiled onto shelves in my brain and they are begging to come down and play on the page for awhile. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
But with this large brood, I have had no time for writing. I am busy cuddling, laughing, playing, cleaning, cooking, creating memories, and raising boys after God's heart....which reminds me... </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Boys, I started this blog a few years ago for you to enjoy years from now. I have left out a lot of the best stories. They were posted on facebook or written in your quote books, but never posted here. This space is where the big stuff landed. And today, I carved out a bit of time to tell you what's been rolling around your Mama's head these past months as we made our second cross country move of the year. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Boys, you are a tsunami. A tidal wave of epic proportions headed towards me with maximum destruction in mind. You have wreaked utter havoc on my life. You have annihilated my peace. You have tossed my career goals out the window. You have brought utter ruin to my waistline. Our bathroom is an unspeakable horror.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I am more than ok with all of the above.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
In fact, I thank you for it.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Wholeheartedly.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Thank you, for ruining my life....so that I could have LIFE.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The stuff listed above ...that is just the tip of the iceberg.....want to know what you really broke?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
You broke my selfishness in pieces.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
You shattered my vanity.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My pride? I don't even know where you left it...but last time I looked at it, pride was gasping for breath.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Self righteousness? </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My need to judge others silently in my head?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Greed?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Oh sweet boys, I tucked those in jars years ago and hid them deep in the darkest crevices of my heart. You found them. You brought them out. You smashed them to pieces on the ground. The foul odor of them rushed up to greet me and I could not escape them. You stood there watching me, wondering what I would do with the mess you uncovered.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I never knew the depth of my sin, until I saw it reflected back to me from the blindingly bright mirror of my children.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Wether it was the morning at the museum when Cubs let out an exasperated, "DAMN IT!" or when Babe scolded a toddler at the library in an all too familiar voice with the words, "FOR PETE'S SAKE JUST SIT STILL FOR TWO MINUTES AND DON'T MOVE ANYMORE." Or that time when I sat you boys down to teach you about sharing the gospel with others and not a minute passed before the Bear said, "Do you do that too, Mom? I've never seen you do that to anyone." </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
No matter how hard I tried to focus on you boys and your hearts and your upbringing, you always turned it around, flashed the mirror in my face, forced me to look at myself. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
You forced me to surrender the ugliest parts of myself to Jesus.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Thank you.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
When I graduated from college I had a few books in mind.... things I would write...ways I would change the world.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I didn't do any of them.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Instead of bringing change....I am changed. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
When I tried to impress God's words on your hearts, you turned around and impressed them on my heart.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
When I wanted to parent you from a corner of fear and anxiety, you broke free and taught me to parent you with courage and bravery and trust in God. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP54ZvJv0fl5sfYumq8sU9MhLAWAqqoqRbLeETZTkFLlFBJWZ_6jaPZIiDLVB39-ePj9QFwywpBqF5X5ra7jEE39VMG1xjCzWiYeXzZusmhlbm73apUE3Rwp4fWrsW3zqrknqnuxw9gIw/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP54ZvJv0fl5sfYumq8sU9MhLAWAqqoqRbLeETZTkFLlFBJWZ_6jaPZIiDLVB39-ePj9QFwywpBqF5X5ra7jEE39VMG1xjCzWiYeXzZusmhlbm73apUE3Rwp4fWrsW3zqrknqnuxw9gIw/s320/photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
You....</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
and you....</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
and you....</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
and you....</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
being your mother, is one of the greatest honors of my life.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
If all I ever do is serve you. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Wash your feet.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Be brave alongside you.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Love Jesus beside you.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Well, thats more than I ever dreamed of.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
No matter what my waistline looks like these days, being my ugliest before you has led me to the beautiful freedom of grace and mercy...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
and that makes it all truly lovely.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpVzkA8qDCU2a9nwVN5fWmeaHJ9UA4UH2UXEwWGDEINdNbMAXVIz-yDHFPzaYWWFXjPVu6XiE9vbQCRLrsYodF7U5wYn3gMspuT_K-d-7cYhjqFOHycmk44MBX2AkMx7M99_VtZ__e9wo/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpVzkA8qDCU2a9nwVN5fWmeaHJ9UA4UH2UXEwWGDEINdNbMAXVIz-yDHFPzaYWWFXjPVu6XiE9vbQCRLrsYodF7U5wYn3gMspuT_K-d-7cYhjqFOHycmk44MBX2AkMx7M99_VtZ__e9wo/s320/photo-1.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-69918937992903229232013-03-10T18:44:00.002-07:002013-03-10T18:47:37.872-07:00beautiful<br />
Have I mentioned enough times on this space how much I truly value and appreciate my husband?<br />
<br />
He is my Prince Charming. My Silver Knight. My Baby Daddy. :)<br />
<br />
I am so grateful for this man who strives to show his sons an authentic Christian faith. How he lives his every day life is the most priceless teaching my boys will ever receive. Which is great...since they are starting to do and say <i>everything</i> the way their Daddy does.<br />
<br />
I noticed their little "monkey see monkey do" habit with their Dad a while back. It manifested in different ways for each boy.<br />
<br />
For example, the first words out of J's mouth after arriving home from work or school was always, "What can I do to help you?"<br />
<br />
The Bear picked up on it and is endlessly asking his Mama, teachers, relatives, random adults, "What can I do to help ya?"<br />
<br />
This progressed over the year and now I see all my boys doing their very best to act just like their Dad. His good habits, his bad habits, all of it. They mirror him. All. the. time.<br />
<br />
Now when we were dating and engaged and newly married, J would tell me how beautiful he thought I was. I would dismiss it and tell him he was crazy or list whatever physical faults I thought I had and why I hated them.<br />
<br />
Why did I do this? I have no idea.<br />
<br />
Eventually I stopped. (Ok fine...I did it waaayy less but I could not stop completely since I really did look like the letter "o" for a few of my pregnancies).<br />
<br />
When he says it to me now, I smile my biggest smile or toss him a saucy look or give him a kiss. I don't care what anyone else thinks...HE finds me beautiful and that is more than enough. Our children watch our exchanges. They witnessed this whispered, "you are beautiful" receive an immediate pleased reaction from Mama.<br />
<br />
The boys picked up on it and put it in to practice.<br />
<br />
Lately, the boys will not stop telling me repeatedly, "Mom, you are so beautiful!" Even if I am in sweats with crazy messy hair, dusty from unpacking or sweaty from hauling boxes. Their eyes light up, their smiles grow wide, they jump up and down and proclaim it with open arms. They are down right enthusiastic about it.<br />
<br />
<br />
It means the world to this tired mama's heart to hear them say it. I always make a big fuss of thanking them, which only makes them say it more. Cubs proclaimed this morning, "Mom, you are my beautiful princess!" He turned pink when he said it. I feigned a swoon and grabbed him in a big bear hug.<br />
<br />
<br />
I can't help but smile thinking of those four little girls somewhere out there.... who will one day be the recipient of the daily whispered "you are beautiful" from my four sons.<br />
<br />
The glow of happiness that will spread in their hearts when they hear such loving praise from their husbands---it makes me grin just thinking about it! I will have to let them know to thank their father in law, the man who made me glow each and every day and taught his sons to do the same.<br />
<br />
Thanks J. :)Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-62782556285452258712013-01-18T14:05:00.000-08:002013-08-15T18:07:04.268-07:00BucketsMommy self esteem is an important thing, you know? Everyone loves to capitalize on a Mama's frail sense of self esteem, especially on the parenting side of things.<br />
<br />
Seems like someone is always penning an article on working mothers (WM) vs. stay at home mothers (SAHM). I am still mystified as to why they present it as a "VERSUS" argument--but that is a whole other can of worms for another day. Like all things in life, it gets polarized into one extreme or another.<br />
<br />
Option A: The snazzy stay at home Mama who is trendy, gorgeous, has a pottery barn home, an urban farmhouse garden, perfect unvaccinated homeschooled children in flawlessly ironed clothing, surrounded by every pinterest idea you, the SAHM reader, have pinned to a board entitled "What I would do if I had less children and more time."<br />
<br />
or<br />
<br />
Option B: The frumpy disgusting housewife with a messy house, a dirt plot full of dead vegetable plants, messy unsuccessfully homeschooled children, a daytime soap opera habit, wrinkled clothes, surrounded by a mish mash of projects that you, the SAHM reader, have pinned to a pinterest board entitled "Pinterest FAILS, LOL!"<br />
<br />
Those seem to be the options pitched at my head every time I open a parenting magazine. Unattainable perfection or miserable failure. If you don't reach one, you are clearly, the other.<br />
<br />
And since being a stay at home mom is tough work, you can imagine what the odds are on which camp you identify most with when the self esteem monsters are chomping away at you.<br />
<br />
Even if staying home is where you actively, willingly, CHOOSE to be each and every day...<br />
<br />
Those self esteem monsters can still get to you. And if you are surrounded by working mamas who work all day and do the SAHM thing, better than you can, in less than four hours...well... it pricks the parental pride a bit.<br />
<br />
<br />
I confessed to my sister on the phone just the other day:<br />
<br />
"Sometimes 1:30pm hits and I look back on the day so far and think, <i>what have I really done today? I've wiped four butts and made macaroni and cheese.... thats about it." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I assured her that I washed my hands between each of those activities.<br />
<br />
She gave me a sympathetic laugh.<br />
<br />
"No really" I say, "sometimes I wish I had a 9-5 job that I could rock the socks off the way you do. Especially on those macaroni butt days...."<br />
<br />
My sister sighed and said that some days she wished she could stay at home nurturing a passel of sweet babies.<br />
<br />
Then she told me about her work day, which involved dealing with a grown up in the midst of a temper tantrum. Lets face it, grown up temper tantrums are worse than toddler tantrums... so I conceded the pity point for the morning. All though I still would not mind a day in her shoes...even with the grown up fit pitching, especially if it meant I could eat a hot meal without getting up once. <br />
<br />
I'm sure its normal to wish for a freaky friday swap every now and again. Life is exhausting, no matter what side of the fence you are on.<br />
<br />
J and I usually sigh and say "the grass is always greener on the other side" when we encounter friends that have spent the first 6 years of their married lives traveling the world being all artsy fartsy, while we spent the first six years birthing a preschool. They sigh right back and say they wish they had their own brood of goldfish cracker fiends.<br />
<br />
I'm not a big fan of that saying, "the grass is always greener on the other side," even though we bandy it about the house from time to time. It just seems to say it best, no? There is a reason its a "saying" after all. Yet I dislike it since its smacks of "<i><b>I hate where I am at in life and things looks better across the fence line, but I am sure they are ticked off and miserable too so we might as well stay here, discontented with life as it is</b></i>." Depressing, but we still say it all the time because on some days...it works to soothe the occasional ache.<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago, I stumbled across an easier slogan to swallow. Not sure if someone posted it on facebook or if it was some marvelously scrolled chalkboard artwork on pinterest, but the words hit home loud and true:<br />
<br />
"The grass is always greener where you water it."<br />
<br />
It was a quaint cheesy remedy that I wanted to grab hold of. Or rather, it made me want to grab a bucket and drench the blades around me. Cover my space with the richest, greenest grass that even the emerald hills of Ireland would envy.<br />
<br />
This made more sense to me than aiming my bucket at some far away land and using all my mental/spiritual/emotional energy to heave as much water as I could in that direction, hoping a few drops would one day land there, all the while standing on parched earth.<br />
<br />
Dumping the water right where you stand seems a no brainer.<br />
<br />
But what about dreams?<br />
<br />
Childcare is not a glamorous job, no matter how cute the midgets are. Poop, vomit, spaghetti messes, laundry---it ain't pretty.<br />
<br />
But the way I see the job and my life...that makes all the difference in the world. It makes it a work of art. Probably some weirdo modern splotch of "who would pay money for that??" kind of art...but ART just the same.<br />
<br />
I may not be working my dream job as an editor at a publishing house, but my jobs the past few months have been awesome. Here are just a few...<br />
<br />
Dino Wrangler<br />
<br />
Pirate Queen<br />
<br />
Cowgirl paintball gun fighter<br />
<br />
Enchanted Fairy<br />
<br />
Oak Tree--- (ok that one sounds boring, but it wasn't. I had lots of cute boys climbing all over me)<br />
<br />
T Rex<br />
<br />
Astronaut Dentist (VERY tricky work fixing teeth while maintaining the helmet in place so you don't get "space sucked" out into the blackness)<br />
<br />
Movie Director<br />
<br />
Carpenter & Termite Killer<br />
<br />
Iron Chef<br />
<br />
Vampire Bat<br />
<br />
Princess who needs a Knight<br />
<br />
Princess who is secretly a Knight<br />
<br />
Ninja Warrior<br />
<br />
World's Best Secret Kiss<br />
<br />
Wendy Moira Angela Darling<br />
<br />
Noah's Wife<br />
<br />
A Female Honey Badger<br />
<br />
----------------------------------------------------<br />
Suck on that, Random House!<br />
<br />
Fighting evil, nurturing goodness, fixing things, being creative--- not bad at all.<br />
<br />
You know, my sister also does all those things in her own way (She really is the Dino Wrangler/PirateQueen of the Photography/ Graphic Design World).<br />
<br />
Its all about where you water most. :)<br />
<br />
No matter how much I secretly wish I could be SAHM option A with the perfect hair and the fabulously run home, I know that its just not me. The Princess Ninja has no time for that, you know? To be honest, I don't want to waste my water buckets on that sort of thing. My cracked, exhausted, mismatched water buckets...they want to invest their water in something else.<br />
<br />
<br />
I hope when my little men are all grown up they look back on their childhood and remember the messes we made. Those gloriously fun sticky icky messes of playdoh and paint and baking dishes in the sink. I hope they recall that a pile of laundry sat in the same basket for three days because Mommy preferred reading Magic Tree House books under the table fort to folding shirts and underwear.<br />
<br />
They can look back and remember the occupational hazzards of those tender growing up days..... even the bad days. The ugly messes that have nothing to do with cute fun or playdoh or innocence.<br />
<br />
Oh do I hope they remember the bad days with the ugly messes.<br />
<br />
Those awful days when I fail them miserably and beg their forgiveness.<br />
<br />
The days they saw me confess to feeling eaten up by those self esteem monsters but chose to stay by their side and love them.<br />
<br />
I hope they remember those bad days just as much as they remember the good days.<br />
<br />
It will give them a bit of grace to hold onto on those future bad days of their own with my grandchildren.<br />
<br />
When they feel like ripping their hair out and crying from sheer sleep deprivation, I hope they remember J and I in the same position... a memory like a hug saying, 'we've all been there son, remember?"<br />
<br />
They will recall their Mama, SAHM Secret Option C: a feisty Mom who loved her boys fiercely, played hard, worked hard, never provided matching socks, made a mean bowl of chili, fumbled with her own frail humanity, lived off an IV of grace and never hesitated to apologize to her kids or be vulnerable about her own brokenness.<br />
<br />
Maybe if they remember that, they will feel safe enough to surrender their parental pride, pick up the phone, call us and say "WHAT AM I DOING HERE?"<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe it will help them slay their own self esteem monsters a bit more easily and they can just focus on being the King of Camelot or a Shark Hunter instead. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That is a well invested bucket of water indeed. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A patched up rickety bucket with a purpose. </div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-44890031881026529432013-01-15T11:52:00.002-08:002013-01-15T12:02:10.880-08:00Tumor<br />
<br />
<br />
Dear Son,<br />
<br />
You were only a few days old, the first time I noticed it.<br />
<br />
The small round lump in your neck.<br />
<br />
Your beautiful, soft, sweet smelling neck.<br />
<br />
No bigger than a small grape, I rolled the pad of my thumb over it a few times and wondered why your lymphs would be swollen.<br />
<br />
In my postpartum delirium I did not even pause to question myself. I kept on enjoying the wonder of you. Memorizing the sweep of your eyelashes, adoring the fullness of your cheeks and kissing those ten silly toes. Soaking in the newborn freshness of you while you slept on my chest or nuzzled close to my side.<br />
<br />
You.<br />
<br />
Miraculous, captivating, you.<br />
<br />
A few days later I sat nursing you on my bed. Daddy walked in and we spoke in hushed tones about our day. I remember looking down to turn you over and catching sight of something strange. I placed my hand on your neck and gasped out loud. That small lump had grown in a matter of days to span the length of your neck from chin to collarbone.<br />
<br />
How can I adequately explain my fear in that moment? It was mind numbing. I was utterly terrified.<br />
<br />
<br />
Did I question what God was doing?<br />
<br />
Yes, I did.<br />
<br />
Did I let my mind drift to all the awful things this tumor could signify?<br />
<br />
Yes, I did.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You know sweet boy, Daddy was never afraid?<br />
<br />
He kept reminding me of that morning all those months ago when he stood in church and heard God speak to his heart about our fourth son. He reminded me that your name was whispered then, as he stood silent in the pews of the church where your Mama was raised. Daddy had no idea you were in my womb at that very moment. I had only just discovered you that morning and the beautiful wondrous secret of you had yet to be shared. Daddy had your name in his heart even as I carried you, freshly knit and unbeknownst to him.<br />
<br />
You can bet that Daddy did not let me forget it.<br />
<br />
He never doubted. He remained firm and secure. He knew God had a plan in all this, no matter what your diagnosis was. He knew that God would never leave our side or allow you to slip from the palm of His mighty hand.<br />
<br />
So Daddy held me in his arms as I held you and we prayed for you. Your Daddy always leads me closer to Jesus, always. Even though I felt afraid, I followed him to the place we needed to be most in the whole world. At the foot of the throne, asking Jesus for His grace and mercy.<br />
<br />
Those first days and weeks were frightening at times and encouraging at others.<br />
<br />
You looked so small on that hospital bed. They used an ultrasound wand on you that looked like a miniature hockey stick. You were so mad at the cold gel and the nurse who peeled away your little gown, exposing you to the frigid air. "Mad as a hornet, cute as bee" she said.<br />
<br />
Finding out you were living in pain was one of the worst days ever. We began working hard with your therapist to bring you comfort. I have to tell you, watching you smile for the first time once the cloud of pain had lifted...oh my boy... that was heavenly. <br />
<br />
Do you know what I am thankful for today?<br />
<br />
Your tumor.<br />
<br />
Your awesome, miraculous, spectacular, gift from heaven tumor.<br />
<br />
Thank you Lord, for blessing my son with his tumor.<br />
<br />
Even though it brought you pain and discomfort, your tumor saved your life.<br />
<br />
That outward sign of something gone terribly wrong allowed us to act quickly and intervene.<br />
<br />
Early intervention, they call it.<br />
<br />
Intervention to stop the myriad difficulties and challenges that would have snow balled into your life. <br />
<br />
Syndromes and lists of potential -isms. A daily dragon to battle all the live long days of your life.<br />
<br />
But that awful blessed tumor sounded the alarm.<br />
<br />
Some days you love your therapy--- other days it is a struggle. We work hard together, you and I. <br />
<br />
Every day that passes I see progress of one kind or another.<br />
<br />
Your tumor suddenly dissolved over Christmas. The muscles in your neck are gradually loosening. Your therapists now expects a graduation day later this year.<br />
<br />
THIS YEAR.<br />
<br />
If this had gone unnoticed for a few months or a year, it would have been a lifetime of struggle. But it was not months or years, it was days. And because it only took days to find, we will celebrate your graduation this year.<br />
<br />
Years from now when we sit together on our porch or gather at the kitchen table and you begin pouring your heart out to us, those age long questions about life and God and faith, falling from your lips--- Where is He leading? Where am I going? What should I do? What is God doing?<br />
<br />
I'm sure you'll think I'm crazy, but I may not be able to help myself...<br />
<br />
Forgive me if I reach out and ever so gently, place my finger on the right side of your neck? I'm just reminding myself, and perhaps you too, of His ever mysterious ways, working for the good of those who love Him.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Mama<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-90345449519202132472013-01-08T22:32:00.001-08:002013-01-09T06:41:04.941-08:00Traits and Chapter 8If its one thing I never do…its make a New Years Resolution.<br />
<br />
Its not out of any bah-humbug grumpiness or snobby superiority.<br />
<br />
To be honest, I am a pretty impulsive person. If I see something that I want to do—I just go for it. A great motivator and a recipe for disaster all rolled into one inherited family trait.<br />
<br />
Case in point, a class trip to the Miami SeaAquarium back in my early elementary school days. I raised my hand to volunteer during the big killer whale show. The trainer called on me and brought me up to the side stage next to the tank. I stood on the rubbery mat portion next to this very sun tanned, wet suit wearing trainer. I recall peering down into that blue oh so blue water and watching those whales swim back and forth. I kind of tuned out the conversation until I heard the trainer say something awesome.<br />
<br />
“All right now. What I need for you to do today is jump in the tank.”<br />
<br />
The audience giggled since clearly, the trainer was joking, expecting me to react with a vigorous negative head shaking or a loud exclamation of “NO WAY!”<br />
<br />
But through the giggles came one very loud, very familiar voice….<br />
<br />
My mother… the ever present chaperone, a permanent fixture for all school outing from pre-k to senior year of high school. Quite necessary for the preservation of my life and for the sanity of all other adults in charge of me.<br />
<br />
She was SCREAMING one word…it had a nice echo in the dome of that amphitheater...<br />
<br />
"Noooooooooooooooooooo!!!”<br />
<br />
You see, the minute the trainer said the words “jump in the tank,” I was all ready bending my knees to jump in. My mind had activated imagination mode and I was all ready picturing myself in that tank, swimming with shamu and balancing on that black and white nose while riding around the tank.<br />
<br />
Mama knows her daughter well. She knew I would literally “JUMP” on this trainer’s offer.<br />
<br />
This story has held true for me through the years. I’d like to think that I have matured a bit in this department and have learned to “look before i leap.” Maybe I have learned a bit…but the deciding factor that pulled the reigns in on my out of control spontaneity was the answer to my mother’s prayers…my husband J.<br />
<br />
Oh how my mother loves him.<br />
<br />
He keeps my feet planted firmly on dry land while encouraging me to accomplish my dreams in a safe, rational, orderly way. I help him loosen up and have crazy fun when he needs it.<br />
<br />
What a team I tell ya, what a team!<br />
<br />
So back to the New Years Resolutions….<br />
<br />
They are just not in keeping with my personality. I am always trying out new things so there aren’t many new things I must resolve to do.<br />
<br />
But this year I have decided to make a resolution of sorts. (Though to be fair, its just something I am picking up and it happens to be January).<br />
<br />
My two goals for the year:<br />
<br />
1) Memorize Romans Chapter 8.<br />
<br />
2) Learn to crochet in honor of my great-grandmother Meme.<br />
<br />
Right.<br />
<br />
The Romans 8 thing stems back to a sermon we heard at church a few years back. Our Pastor asked us, “How many verses would you have hidden in your heart if you suddenly no longer had access to a bible?” I remember blinking in surprise and thinking, “I’d be in trouble!”<br />
<br />
How much of the word would I have hidden away to comfort me, guide me, or anchor my soul to Him<br />
during a time of trial?<br />
<br />
Thats where Romans 8 comes in. Have you read it?<br />
<br />
Its the anchor.<br />
<br />
And this year I am going to memorize it and recite what I know so far, each day at lunch. Maybe the kiddos will pick up on it too? I think if the Bear can manage to memorize a bazillion animal species he can remember the verses his Mama repeats at lunch every day.<br />
<br />
Then there is the crochet thing.<br />
<br />
You know I am just drowning in spare time these days.<br />
<br />
ha!<br />
<br />
I wanted something to do with my hands while my boys are working at their play doh or legos or lincoln logs. A mindless busy work, but still beautiful and something I can bless others with. And because...I miss my great grandmother.<br />
<br />
I was blessed to have her in my life for 18 years. Our birthdays were two days apart and we were known to rock a shared birthday cake at a family party or two.<br />
<br />
We did not get along too well the first 16 years since I had an affinity for lizards, dirt, pranks and daredevil schemes (see: shamu above). At least, I thought we did not get along….<br />
<br />
Now that I am a mother, I look back and realize that while she did like to fuss and cluck at me…she really loved me.<br />
<br />
I remember how nice she always looked. Hair like a football helmet. Not a single strand out of place. Nails always polished a nice peachy sheen. Pant suits. Lots and lots of pant suits. Clean, tidy, organized…and not afraid to party. :)<br />
<br />
Every once in a while she would surprise me by doing something totally goofy and fun. She agreed to put on a clown costume one year for halloween, suggested by my mom at the last minute. Five minutes before we were to walk out the door and into the neighborhood, she agrees and dons this hideous polyester footie pajama. It came with a metallic wig.<br />
<br />
METALLIC.<br />
<br />
16 years of that sort of thing. Super organized, predictable day to day order and then...the unexpected element that would put the great in "great grandma!" <br />
<br />
She suffered a stroke and was blind the last two years of her life. I used to jokingly say to her that she liked me better when she couldn’t see how untidy and messy I was. Because we were quite suddenly, inexplicably closer than ever. A light turned on in the darkness.<br />
<br />
During junior year of high school I would drive an extra thirty minutes out of my way after school to the nursing home just so I could hold her hand and listen to her talk.<br />
<br />
I learned so much about her that last year. She told me a few stories she had never shared with anyone else. I don’t know why she chose to tell me of all people…but I am glad she did.<br />
<br />
Yeah, she loved me a lot.<br />
<br />
I loved her too.<br />
<br />
Have I mentioned yet that she was the craftiest person ever?<br />
<br />
She knew how to sew and knit and crochet. She would make such beautiful things. I used to love to watch her work. She made a pair of little snowmen once for my mom for Christmas. I used to hold them every year when we took them out of storage and run my fingers over the loops and hooks.<br />
<br />
After she died I would run my finger over those loops and feel a bit closer to her.<br />
<br />
So in her honor, I am picking up that heavy crochet needle and learning this new art. If I can make three things before the year is out, I’ll consider it a success.<br />
<br />
Hand in hand with this learning of a new code and a new rhythm, I want to tell my boys all the stories I know about Meme.<br />
<br />
So that when they run their hands over each loop and hook of my handiwork, they will remember her. Stories about their blue eyed great great grandmother, the rigidly organized party animal who would surprise her family with something zany from time to time. <br />
<br />
Hmmm…you could almost call her occasionally spontaneous?? :)<br />
<br />
Happy New Year.Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-4655383599593205182013-01-04T12:04:00.002-08:002013-01-04T21:16:40.147-08:00This one time, at the Doctor's office...The baby has the croup. He sounds awful. Heart wrenching, wrist wringing, panic inducing, AWFUL.<br />
<br />
I phoned the pediatrician first thing this morning, loaded the four boys into the car and off we went to see our favorite Doctor in the whole wide world. <br />
<br />
Have I mentioned that our pediatrican is a ROCK STAR? He is amazing. I really appreciate him.<br />
<br />
The boys each received a doctor kit for Christmas so they were pretty pumped about going to the office with some of their tools in hand. We rode the elevator up to the fourth floor with our usual system. Baby in the pram, Babe hanging onto the left side, Cubs and the Bear hanging onto the right side. We look a bit like a chem lab drawing, multiplying hydrogens all clumped together. People either laugh or shake their heads when they see us coming. <br />
<br />
The two nurse receptionists at the office are very kind and patient, crucial qualities in their line of work. They noticed the boys decked out in doctor gear and commented right away. The youngest lady cooed at the Bear, "Ooooo, are you a Doctor?" The Bear slipped the stethescope from his ears, "Excuse me, can you say that again, I didn't hear ya?" he asks. "Are you a Doctor?" she repeats.<br />
<br />
The Bear shakes his head and laughs, "No silly, I am not a doctor! I am just a kid PRETENDING to be a doctor with this kit my Mom got me for Christmas. Trust me, I don't have a license to give you medicine. I am JUST. A. KID."<br />
<br />
You can imagine the ensuing laughter. We made our way into the waiting room, a few other parents were all ready seated. I parked the pram and sat down. The three eldest boys attacked the waiting room toys. An elderly lady across the room shook her head after a few minutes of watching us and she voiced aloud, "I don't know how you do it. I just don't know how you do it," one silver eyebrow was arched up as she said it. I smiled and gave a pat answer from my arsenal of typical rejoinders...something like "I love them a lot" or "I don't care if the house is messy" or "Huh? What kids?" or something like that. I just know that I did not voice my actual thought of "WOMAN, I AM HANGING ON BY A THREAD, MY KIDS ARE SICK AND ALL MY PANTS ARE WRINKLED!" I definitely did not say that. Whatever I said resulted in a slight smirk from her and a snort from the mom next to me. Must have been of the sarcastic come backs I guess...<br />
<br />
Well, Cubs and the Bear are trained to listen to adult conversation and they piped right up and began to recite our daily schedules, leaving this woman with no unanswered questions over "how we do it."<br />
<br />
A few minutes went by and my mind started drifting to other things. I felt exhausted from the night before and to be honest, I checked out for a bit there. <br />
<br />
When I snapped back to attention, a little girl stood in front of me. No parent in sight. Blue eyes, chubby cheeks, blonde ponytail caught high on her head. Purple dress, green coat, grey tights, and sneakers that were once a pale yellow color and are currently that inexplicable shade of color and health code violation known as "preschool sneaker." <br />
<br />
"HI" she yelled.<br />
<br />
"Hi." I can't help but smile at her. She had instant likeability. <br />
<br />
She points a finger in the baby's face. "WHATS HIS NAME?"<br />
<br />
I tell her.<br />
<br />
"Huh. Wellll, he gets me. We have a connection. He understands me." Her arms are swinging back and forth, the cotton of her dress is swaying a bit. <br />
<br />
The Bear hears a small child using full sentences with a decent vocabulary and he comes running. Moth to the flame.<br />
<br />
His eyes are wide and he sticks out his hand. "Hi!!' He introduces himself. First, middle and last name. She reciprocates with all three of her names and adds a pretty, "Pleased to meet ya."<br />
<br />
The Bear launches into a full on introduction of all his brothers. He is the pefect gentleman. He is utterly charming. He is talking waaay too much, as usual.<br />
<br />
But then again, so is this little girl. In fact, they are both speaking rapidly to each other at the same time and both seem to be in possession of an adult sized vocabulary. <br />
<br />
At one point the Bear exclaimed "this is all so ludicrous!" and she giggled a bit before purring, "you are sooo hilarious." <br />
<br />
They were pleased to discover that they had eached turned five within the past few weeks. They chatted away for quite some time...<br />
<br />
"Our baby is very sick. We brought him here to get a diagnosis and some medicine."<br />
<br />
"Oh, I all ready got my diagnosis."<br />
<br />
The Bear nods, "Hmmm. What could it be?"<br />
<br />
"I have boogers and I am SPUNKY."<br />
<br />
The Bear laughs and slaps his thigh, "Oh, you are such a funny, awesome girl. Do you know that?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, I do!"<br />
<br />
They keep talking at one another. I watch as he draws closer and closer to her side.<br />
<br />
He is soaking in her warmth. He is completely captivated by her. <br />
<br />
She is not oblivious to that fact.<br />
<br />
Little Miss Sassy pants starts flirting more and more with my son.<br />
<br />
Evetually, the connection is too great, his excitement builds, I can almost see his heart pounding through his t-shirt, love and adoration are shining in his eyes and my son is unable to refrain from telling her, "I have been waiting for you my whole life." <br />
<br />
Yup.<br />
<br />
That is what he said to her. <br />
<br />
"I have been waiting for you my whole life."<br />
<br />
Well....<br />
<br />
My eyebrows crashed into my hair line. <br />
<br />
The mom next to me giggled.<br />
<br />
The little girl let out a wistful sigh.<br />
<br />
Her mother walks in, having just finished checking out with the nurse receptionist and offers little girl a lollipop. <br />
<br />
"Can I have sugar this early in the morning?" she asks.<br />
<br />
Cubs nods his head, eyes bright, "you can have sugar ANY TIME of day." <br />
<br />
The Bear can't take his eyes off her.<br />
<br />
They begin chatting anew and eventually there is no choice but to physically remove them from the room so that we can each go about our busy day. The parting was not easy. Sweet sorrow you might say. <br />
<br />
He misses her....or so he says every minute on the dot for the next forty-five minutes. <br />
<br />
I catch him smiling a secret smile. <br />
<br />
"Mom, wouldn't it be great if I saw her again when I am a big grown up?"<br />
<br />
The romantic in me nods. "Yes...it really would be great."<br />
<br />
"Don't forget to remind me about her, ok Mom?"<br />
<br />
All right baby Bear, this is your reminder. <br />
<br />
The day we took your baby brother for a check up because of the croup, you fell head over heels for a little girl named Megan Anne. <br />
<br />
She wore a purple dress and you wore your heart on your sleeve.<br />
<br />
You waited five whole years to meet her. :)Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-25347791775660175462012-12-01T10:29:00.002-08:002012-12-01T14:27:45.796-08:00The Jesus Tree<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>265</o:Words>
<o:Characters>1511</o:Characters>
<o:Company>University of Miami</o:Company>
<o:Lines>12</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>3</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>1855</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Advent is here! God Bless you and your families this Christmas. I hope you can find a few minutes each day to set aside for Him. You will be blessed! Its also a great way to talk to your children about Jesus. I know a lot of moms feel awkward talking to their kids about God. How to make the little ones understand something and Someone so very big. Well, this is a great time of year to start talking! There are also TONS of Advent resources out there you can use. I thought I’d write a bit this morning about what we do here in our home and share an Advent resource I wrote up for my kids, along with a few other resources we use.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
I spend a good part of my time in November preparing for Advent season and I try to make every Christmas season revolve around this special time of learning and celebrating. Teaching my children what it means to participate in worshiping the holiness of Jesus is the single most important thing I can do at Christmas. </div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
We love using our scripture chains, Advents calendars, Jesse Tree, Advent book, etc. Here is a link to other material we used for <a href="http://nesttonest.blogspot.com/2011_12_01_archive.html">Christmas</a> last year and the year before. </div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
This season we are using our Jesse Tree lesson in the mornings along with the Names of Jesus and Scripture verse chains and Advent books. I have three kids eager to help so having lots of things for them to take turns with is a plus! There is always an ornament to hang or a small door to open—everyone gets to do something special! </div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
Believe it or not, I found myself wanting one more Advent lesson for my kids. I know there is an overload of Advent material out there in the pinterest world but I found a few great ideas this past year that I saved. Beginning with the <a href="http://adventtolenttoascensionwreath.blogspot.com/">Way of Light</a> wreath made by Caleb Voskamp. His mother is Ann Voskamp, authoress of 1000 gifts and one of my favorite blogs <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/">A Holy Experience</a>. We love this wreath. The wood carved figurine of the pregnant Mary riding a donkey, slowly making her way into the spiral of light towards Christmas—beautiful and meaningful to our family. We will be lighting a candle each night before dinner and reflecting aspects of what the coming of Jesus means to us.</div>
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vFLsum0yLY1tLQu63K7iGgzeGBB1v0ctrI7fYyO9-sPd8SuTNl6tP6GBAY6t2Qzp54Fxyia1_Q0qbwT-zKA3lXwKktrhGsopgex_uy-hDg04UXJg9zdiLxzKVTReVV0Q4FdbHxTBEz0/s1600/DSC_0001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vFLsum0yLY1tLQu63K7iGgzeGBB1v0ctrI7fYyO9-sPd8SuTNl6tP6GBAY6t2Qzp54Fxyia1_Q0qbwT-zKA3lXwKktrhGsopgex_uy-hDg04UXJg9zdiLxzKVTReVV0Q4FdbHxTBEz0/s320/DSC_0001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
The second idea I loved but unfortunately, could not use for our family. <a href="http://25daysofchrist.com/">25 Days of Christ</a> was, at first glance, perfect for what I needed. We love our AM advent time with the Jesse Tree but I really wanted to include stories about Jesus for our evening devotionals with Daddy. I wanted to give Jesus his own tree. A Jesus Tree. After a quick pinterest search I stumbled upon this link to 25 days of Christ. Everything all ready written up and an ornament kit available for order. I clicked on the link and found that they were all ready sold out for this season. I decided I could make my own ornaments and just use their devotionals….. until I clicked on the link and discovered that this was a Mormon website (had to google the term “Nephites"). Ahhh, never mind. So while the credit goes to the Mormons for having this great idea…the book of Mormon is occult material and I need to keep this biblical for my kiddos. </div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
So I went through the gospels and pulled together 25 accounts for a Jesus Tree. I have included them below to share with you. We made our ornaments last month and are so excited to add them to our Jesus Tree. Feel free to use it with your own kids. Swap out your favorite passages, lessons, parables if you want something particular for your kids. There are no devotional lines included. I like to read straight from the text and ask my kids questions depending on the day. Praying beforehand is also always a must. Not just with the kids, but on my own, before I even gather them to read from the Bible. I truly believe and have learned repeatedly that asking the Holy Spirit to go before me and open my children’s minds to understand what they will hear, blesses our time and makes things go so much more smoothly. He always provides the right questions and words for me to give my kids from His word.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
A quick word about ornaments. This doesn’t have to be expensive or complicated. Even just a small square of paper with a drawing on it is enough to illustrate your point. Sew a loop of thread around it and its ready to hang. Done and done! If you are feeling artistic and want the 3D specific ornament—go for it! :) </div>
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyyinpC8-ipT4EKOK-EcucpbUhuFA2R-89tynS1cZU_HqBDUVh97SlbReFFlfgiGJfGT7WoQRLyM-AgIIcNcE4Q8X8jdcCRu3iCKbuTmhnS3ALNIxuKMD50phW4BmXEKwpZcrHx7GF9rM/s1600/DSC_0054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyyinpC8-ipT4EKOK-EcucpbUhuFA2R-89tynS1cZU_HqBDUVh97SlbReFFlfgiGJfGT7WoQRLyM-AgIIcNcE4Q8X8jdcCRu3iCKbuTmhnS3ALNIxuKMD50phW4BmXEKwpZcrHx7GF9rM/s320/DSC_0054.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitG161YcREWmJbvdBDAmQlMlx589rQLg3QBrn6RFdtyL_dWBATot7Sz8f9m_hfHAdvaJNp3v4B2hUDX9K46j6DWPc6xHPNORFj0rYrxrK8Cs8X9tBahv7YeQT0j7MIZdBZAnApFPMN1mU/s1600/DSC_0056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitG161YcREWmJbvdBDAmQlMlx589rQLg3QBrn6RFdtyL_dWBATot7Sz8f9m_hfHAdvaJNp3v4B2hUDX9K46j6DWPc6xHPNORFj0rYrxrK8Cs8X9tBahv7YeQT0j7MIZdBZAnApFPMN1mU/s320/DSC_0056.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtF-h_oULDfHjnpF-4QiYndaGVFxFM9w16y-woNjRPbsavIIL4xZliaRc7qKdn9qX7WECpgrgHjTBRFLBV2St2_GS6xTn3FGII4zc9wRWZwaZNZW7XbMIxBV2Xj6Qiv4vaexAMCE7CY8/s1600/DSC_0057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRtF-h_oULDfHjnpF-4QiYndaGVFxFM9w16y-woNjRPbsavIIL4xZliaRc7qKdn9qX7WECpgrgHjTBRFLBV2St2_GS6xTn3FGII4zc9wRWZwaZNZW7XbMIxBV2Xj6Qiv4vaexAMCE7CY8/s320/DSC_0057.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This was Cubs idea for the story of the paralytic. We made him a little stretcher :)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0Q0btgFtMwtpftmK2QfqIHr_kkoHq4PLhythYRUGLhBEZNzQSacTm-6YYP_Y50nVIGrxKtQITOYOGvNDTSuM7zEVHzUl9J9_S05B1MRSk5d7L1N6HhEGKSBO8WrqFBW-TkzDcxOP4g8/s1600/DSC_0058.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0Q0btgFtMwtpftmK2QfqIHr_kkoHq4PLhythYRUGLhBEZNzQSacTm-6YYP_Y50nVIGrxKtQITOYOGvNDTSuM7zEVHzUl9J9_S05B1MRSk5d7L1N6HhEGKSBO8WrqFBW-TkzDcxOP4g8/s320/DSC_0058.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
And our cross will serve as the Jesus Tree. I put a few tree trimmings behind the cross and we will hang our branches all around the cross.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Here is the write out…ENJOY! </div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Jesus Tree</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 1: Birth of Jesus</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Luke 2:4-7</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Bundle of hay</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 2: Shepherds</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Luke 2:8-21</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Sheep</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 3: Wise Men</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Matthew 2: 1-12</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Star</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 4: Jesus in the Temple</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Luke 2:41-51</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Scroll</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 5:Baptism</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Luke 3:21-22</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Dove</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 6:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fishers
of Men</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Luke 5: 1-11</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<o:p> </o:p>Day 7: Sermon on the Mount</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Matthew 5: 14-16</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Candle</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 8: Calms the Storm</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Matthew 8:23-27</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Boat</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 9: Feeding of the 5000</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Matthew 14:13-21</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Basket with fish and loaves</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 10: Jesus Walks on Water</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Matthew 14: 22-33</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Footprint</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 11: Jesus Heals the Paralyzed Man</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Luke 5:17-26</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Man on a stretcher</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 12: Woman at the Well</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture John 4:13-14</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Bucket of Water</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 13: Jesus and his friend Lazarus</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: John 11:43-44</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: scrap of muslin</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 14: The Little Children and Jesus</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Luke 15:15-17</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: A picture of your children</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 15: Triumphal Entry</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Matthew 21:1-11</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Donkey</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 16: Washing the Disciple’s Feet</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: John 13:1-17</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Small sandal or bowl</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 17:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Body
and the Blood</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Matthew 26:26-29</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Wine goblet</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 18: Gethsemane</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Mark 14:32-36</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: a tree</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 19:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Betrayal and Denial</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Luke 22: 54-62</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Rooster</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 20: Trial of Jesus</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: John 19: 4-6</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: crown of thorns</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 21: Crucifixion</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: John 19:16-18</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Cross</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 22: Burial</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Luke 23:50-53</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Stone</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 23: Resurrection</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Matthew 28:1-10</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Lily</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day 24: Jesus Appears to Thomas</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: John 20:24-29</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Handprint with nail hole</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Day25: Jesus Ascends</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Scripture: Luke 24:50-53</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ornament: Cloud</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-28383900687545868142012-11-13T07:28:00.003-08:002012-11-13T07:48:19.084-08:00Happy AnniversaryYesterday in the late afternoon, we took an anniversary stroll through the park with the boys. Right when the sky soaks in a few pastels and the temperature begins its soft descent, truly the best time for an autumn walk. Our boys alternately zipped around either side of the walkway, held on to their baby brother’s pram or took off onto the leaf covered knolls surrounding us. They wanted to greet each dog along the way, finding out the name and breed, asking to pet them. I pushed the pram along and watched J interact with his sons.<br />
<br />
<br />
It was one of those moments when your heart feels as though it will burst from sheer abundance of blessing. I should feel this way many times a day, but truthfully, I am usually too busy to feel it as often as I should.<br />
<br />
<br />
We stopped at the “Tamarin Tree.” A beautiful tree that has brought us hours of comfort and laughter and play these past months. The boys climb her low lying limbs with varying degrees of difficulty depending on their respective heights. They pretend to be cotton top tamarin monkeys, all related in one way or another and with crazy nonsensical names. They love this tree. Last time we saw her, her leaves were a sad green splattered with brown and yellow. Yesterday the leaves were gone, in their place were fuzzy buds in a pale silver color, almost like pussy willows. They looked a bit like christmas lights actually, though once this comparison was verbalized the boys were quick to shoot it down. Cubs declared them to be “socket eye monkey fruits, hmph!” I guided the pram over Tamarin tree’s roots to stand under one of her higher branches. I pointed it out to J, “this is the tree I climbed the week before the baby was born.” (Ok, yes I know I should NOT have climbed a tree while 36 weeks pregnant, but I had been in labor for nearly 8 days and was not in my right mind). I remembered sitting up there for a moment of quiet while my mother watched over the boys, the Little One fiercely conducting my contractions every ten minutes. I so desperately wanted answers and results and PEACE. I wanted it right in that moment with a snap of my fingers. Of course, I did not get it. Instead, I got days and days of more uncertainty, of constant labor with no snuggly bundle of joy for a reward. He didn’t arrive for another 7 days.<br />
<br />
Little One was born on a cold September night. After two weeks of contractions, he came swiftly and “suddenly,” surprising all the nurses and our doctor. I have soaked in every moment. He is my last son, the last child that will come from my body. He, like all my other sons, is a treasure. His brothers are protective of him and love to watch over him. I am fascinated by him and his all ready serious nature. We are in another season of waiting for answers, submerged in constant questioning of our circumstances. One day we will see what it was all for and it will be worth it. Just like Little One...so very very worth it.<br />
<br />
The boys played in the leaves the way northern children from land locked states approach the beach, cautiously and with a bit of skepticism. Its so foreign to them still. Leaves that fall to the ground and decay. The lack of green. The barren branches that remain behind. The fact that this all occurs in the span of two or three weeks. The Bear kept asking about it yesterday, taking note of the fact that this place is nothing like Miami. No palm trees. No green leaves. Only “dead deader spike trees” and “christmassy trees.” He loves to shuffle his feet through the piles of leaves. No jumping yet. He’s not quite ready to give himself over to that. It seems he is content to experience this newness in a detached sort of way. He still asks from time to time whether or not we are done pretending that we live here. I know that next year he will jump into the leaves and play hard. As if he has always done it that way, the hesitation long forgotten. But yesterday he merely shuffled along, Babe shuffled behind him albeit a bit more determination in his step. A younger brother’s "divide, conquer and prove yourself" sort of stomp. J followed closely behind, a light smile touching his lips. His feet were shuffling as well, the remembered ritual kind of shuffle. The three of them shuffling in a row in the dusky air—such a mixture of content pleasure and a bit of sadness. Is that even possible?<br />
<br />
We miss our home greatly these days. Not just the sunshine and green. But the family and friends too. Its been a hard adjustment, but we are doing it together. There is great joy to be found, simply in being together, even when hard sacrifices are made or life is churning down the rougher path.<br />
<br />
We celebrated our six year wedding anniversary yesterday. We laughed often, as always, about the crazy number of children we have managed to produce in such a short time, and reflected on our time together as we walked through the park. We survived the PhD program. We moved across the country twice. One of us nearly died. Two of our children are in heaven with Jesus. We have lived in five different homes. We have buried some dreams and bred new ones. We have shared sorrow and joy. We have grown closer to the Lord. We love our kids…so much. We are thankful.<br />
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-12717142533378087222012-09-14T09:31:00.002-07:002012-09-14T10:39:43.138-07:00GardeniaRight between the 2nd and 3rd chapters of John, the hurried resting place where moisture soaked right into the pages of my bible as our family traveled hundreds of miles to our new home. The petals have dried and the holy words have gathered up the fragrance and the tears and the hurt and the hope and the goodbyes.<br />
<br />
It hurt to see him weeping over my children when we said those painful goodbyes. He had turned away, stumbling up the path towards the refuge of his home when he stopped short. I watched from the car, wondering if heart failure was settling in. He said he would die without us. I suddenly feared this would come true. But he veered to the left and made his way to the gardenia bush.<br />
<br />
He paused for several moments, looking them over. Searching for that one goodbye blossom. One pure white, no crinkled edges, no faded brown lines, no small black ants scurrying through its sweet center.<br />
He pulled one off and made his way back to me. The lump in my throat growing larger the closer he got.<br />
<br />
He is an ornery old goat. My Abuelo. Critical, pushy, meddlesome, childish, angry, fierce in his love and irreverent in life. I love him even when I want to escape him.<br />
<br />
He handed me this gardenia. Pushed it through the window in one spiteful sweep, pressing it roughly into my hands and looking at me with wistful sad eyes. The cold AC in our van diffuses the scent quickly, we watch in silence as he makes his way back to the house. Abuela stays on the porch, tears rolling down her brave smile-for-the-kids-face. He enters the house and closes the door, walks to the picture window and watches us pull out of the driveway. I watch as his shoulders shake through the shadow of the pane that separates us. The gardenia carries us away back to my parents home. Then I carried it inside and flipped through a few crackling pages of my bible and pressed it between John 2 and 3.<br />
<br />
We all have those scents or sensations that send us rushing into a memory of something. There are elements of life that lead me head first into memories of my four grandparents. Everything from sarna to sawdust to the sunset orange pulp of a mango or the creamy center of an avocado. Gardenias….<br />
<br />
Gardenias are a romantic flower. Mysterious in the way it unfolds, delicate petals with a moody temper bent on ruination the moment humidity spikes, uncompromising in the strength of its scent. It is a pleasure to touch, purrs in your hand really. A Cuban love song almost isn’t a love song unless this flower’s name is whispered somewhere in those lilting lines.<br />
<br />
For me, this flower is not my own love story, but my grandparent's romances.<br />
<br />
My mother’s parents dancing together surrounded by a cloud of piccolo notes and somehow I think “gardenias.” My father’s parents arguing in the kitchen as they make a batch of ajiaco together. Each adding salt when the other’s back is turned. The heat from the stove, the open window, the harsh words, the flashing tempers, the unraveling…and somehow I think, “gardenias.”<br />
<br />
Gardenias are the warm bowl of frijoles negros on the table. The freshly baked loaf of cuban bread on the pallet. The sound of mango tree leaves rustling in the wind weeks after the last piece of fruit has been harvested. The soft rapid sounds of spanish radio falling in the kitchen like rain drops. Gardenias are the feel of wrinkled brown hands grasping my own hands. The feel of slipping my newborn son into the arms of someone who will cloak him in love.<br />
<br />
Today my bible dropped off the wood table and onto the floor. The pages spreading awkwardly on the floor. Bits of messages and cut outs of handprints scattering and the slight crunch of a once green leaf. And suddenly, the smell of gardenias.<br />
<br />
Is it any wonder that tears flooded my eyes the moment I drew breath? A deep ache spreading throughout my body? A not so deeply buried grief for what I have left behind for these Pennsylvania mountains? It was all wrapped in this oh so familiar scent.<br />
<br />
I thought of his dearly loved face. My ornery old goat, Abuelo. The other three that stand beside him in the line of my family tree.<br />
<br />
I miss them.<br />
<br />
And for the rest of my life, I will open the book of John and inhale that sweet scent of memory and love and unfurling petals and remember them. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-43135528565362696072012-09-13T09:51:00.001-07:002012-09-13T09:51:29.885-07:00Last MondayOn Monday we sat gathered around the breakfast table, sunlight gently streaming in through the kitchen window. The iPod is playing a few worship tunes from the Miami Worship Choir CD and the boys are singing out loud. I am going through the motions of serving up breakfast. My belly is low and heavy. The dog is in his cage letting out huge sighs of despair that J is nowhere in sight.<br />
<br />
Cracking eggs, slathering bread with butter, pouring the steaming hot tea and going through the comforting motions of ritual. My mind is sluggish, thinking about the day-ins and day-outs of the past eleven years. All the breakfasts made and cups of tea consumed, while fighting and death and evil and politics hovered over our heads.<br />
<br />
I don’t keep this day a secret from my sons. We pray out loud for those boys and girls that have lost their Mommies and Daddies overseas. They know that men die defending them. They know that once upon a time airplanes hit towers and tears fell and people were lost in the ashes.<br />
<br />
They are not too small to understand compassion for those who have lost something so precious. They are not too small to grasp that boys just like them sit at their own breakfast tables and gaze at an empty chair across from them every day.<br />
<br />
They are not too small to desire honor, bravery, courage and compassion.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1670042452238604350.post-65805974630334191402012-08-30T10:26:00.003-07:002012-08-30T10:29:02.166-07:003333 weeks and counting.<br />
<br />
Cubs asks me every day. “Has your wabor started squeezing your uterus yet, Mom?”<br />
<br />
Hearing something like that from a 3 year old boy might horrify some people, I know. And yet, I look back at some of the three year olds in my preschool class and remember the horribly violent films they would watch and the trashy radio songs they knew all the lyrics to and I think to myself, <i>is it really so terrible that my son knows about LIFE? </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I think not.<br />
<br />
He has asked to be allowed to cut his brother’s “unbiblical cord” and we have agreed. He won’t be present for the actual birth, but when we call them into the room later his job is to cut the cord.<br />
<br />
The Bear has graciously declined this honor. I believe his exact words were “Ew gross! No fanks!” accompanied by the emphatic waving of his hands.<br />
<br />
I have been instructed to lay low and take it easy. Not bed rest orders just take it easy orders.<br />
<br />
I bet you can all ready guess how well THAT is going.<br />
<br />
All my little DIY projects and science experiments are temporarily on hold, no more solo trips to the creek with the kids. In general, avoid places were I am the only adult for miles around. No hiking, no long walks, no exploring, unless another grown up is with me…and even then apply those words—<i>take it easy.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Take it easy is not easy.<br />
<br />
You would think being this enormously pregnant, I would want to take it easy but I don’t! Its one thing to unwind at the end of a long day with the food channel and a glass of glorious crunchy ice cubes but its quite another to feel like your loafing around all day while toys and laundry pile up.<br />
<br />
The Bear and Cubs are pretty fascinated by Ben Folds right now. “Jackson Cannery” is one of their favorite songs and they seem to take great joy in belting out this particular line:<br />
<br />
<b><i><u>“The seconds pass slowly, but years go flying by”</u></i></b><br />
<b><i><u><br /></u></i></b>
I say it to myself several times day now…and I act on it.<br />
<br />
Whenever I feel that guilt over inactivity creeping up on me, I take a deep breath, sit on the floor and invite the babe over to read his favorite book for the 90th time that day. I’ll pull the slime out of their safety jars and help Cubs cut it all up into small pieces with his scissors and then watch him count each piece as he drops it back into the jar. I’ll curl up on the Bear’s bed and listen to him recount every single animal fact he knows about deadwood vultures, viperfish and badgers.<br />
<br />
I’ll sit and be still and know.<br />
<br />
I let the seconds pass by ever so slowly and we breathe them in together.<br />
<br />
33 weeks and counting.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Cubanitahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03078480066639576787noreply@blogger.com0