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Said yesterday by my husband to me:
“Hey, you look like you’ve really got that pregnancy glow. Or maybe it’s just because you finally washed your hair.”
oh, that’s love.
It’s Saturday, and it feels like Friday. That’s not a great quality for a Saturday. But B’s out almost all day for work-related meetings and then to officiate a wedding, so to me it feels like the last five days already felt– me and the babes. And it’s a beautiful thing to be able to stay home with my kids, and i don’t take it lightly. But i ask you, when is my day off? I have been wondering this for a while, and it’s become clear: never. Well, that’s not true. I get a couple annually– like if we go on an anniversary trip or my parents (praise the Lord!) take the kids up to their house for the weekend.
But it’s true there is never freedom from the responsibilities of motherhood. Not long ago, we left the kids with Duke and Duck-Duck, and jetted (er, drove) a few hours to visit friends for a few days. We had some cold, rainy days which were perfect for sitting around, watching movies and hitting up good restaurants. (which would have all been pretty miserable with the babes in tow). And it felt good. But when we left them, Oliver was feverish with a cold, and each night we were away, i sat awake in bed, feeling guilty and terrible for leaving my sick little boy. Who else could understand as well as me what to do for him? How to best take care of him? Never free, i tell you.
Today i sit sipping coffee from a favorite mug, and marveling at the wonder of how things so simple as the favorite mug and good coffee can make me feel so good inside. And i watch the kids playing joyfully together in their box. (A big cardboard box that was bestowed on us a week ago, with the very insightful thought that we might enjoy it.) The box has been decorated with crayon, furnished with favorite pillows and blankets; dubbed “the palace” or the “candy shop.” The mug, the box, these little things that bring joy to our lives.
Just a bit ago i was frustrated with Oliver’s frustration: he was attempting to wear Stella’s pink cowboy boots, and having quite a time putting them on. I think he knows he can’t do it himself, but he really really wants to be independent. And he can’t quite articulate his need for help, instead he yells and screeches. So i help him put on the boots. He’s excited until one falls off, and he screeches again. And i’m over all that noise, and of course he should know he can’t climb all the furniture with those boots on anyway. Like a million times each day, i’m looking at a little reflection of myself: wanting to do it all myself, my way. I can’t even adequately ask for help.
The moment that makes my heart happy is when my son doesn’t try to speak the words he doesn’t know, but brings the boots to me. He gestures to let me know he wants help, he sits in my lap, quiet and still. He knows he’ll find help when he stops trying to do it himself.
So, when will i learn that? Although each day brings a cycle of things to do, and re-do, and re-do; feeding kids, and again twice more; sweeping the floor at least four times. And somehow in the midst of this, the beauty of the cardboard box: enjoying these fleeting moments. Attempting to live an example of Christ that will somehow (?) someday (?) communicate the important things to my littles and my community in spite of myself.
Lord, i pray for still moments in your lap; you know i cannot do this myself.
I don’t think there is any way around it. I mentioned recently my experience with this matter. The cold, hard facts: On my 5th anniversary this summer, i will have spent 40 of those 60 months gestating or nursing a babe. (Most of our first year of marriage, and 5 months after weaning each babe make up for the other 20.) Due to this fact, you would think i’d have become used to the changes that accompany it.
And the changes start long before the elastic-waist jeans are needed. Just a sampling of the glory of it all: 1)the “body chemistry”. Oh my, the changes those hormones bring– yielding mood swings, food aversions, nausea and the like. Instructing the old gut that Asian food is necessary for a week straight, and then not to be so much as considered for the following two months. Reminding my woozy stomach that foods containing beef, noodles or basil are off limits, but pickles, cold cereal and dairy products are in fact, mandatory. I’ll leave that at that. 2) The exhaustion. I am proud to say i can now actually make it through the day without a nap. But it is not recommended. Brian insists that going to bed earlier and waking up earlier will yield the boundless energy he experiences. To that i say, have you ever been pregnant? (Hint: no.) And finally 3) The baby. Demanding, from the very start, more oxygen and the production of more blood in the mother’s body. Rearranging what had previously been coherently-assembled insides and pushing things around to make more room (Now, where did my stomach go?). And for thanks, kicks in the ribcage (or worse!).
The clothing situation becomes awkward. I find myself standing in front of a closet that i do not normally spend much time staring at. It feels like high school all over again. (Yikes!) But none of the usuals fit. And even if the shirt does, what pants can i wear this week? Because if it’s the pants with the elastic waist, then i need to find a shirt that covers up the elastic. I attempted to do a little bit of clothes shopping the other day, and felt even sillier afterward; maternity gear seems made for only those ladies in the very cutest part of the process, and still looks very tent-like on me. But in just a matter of months, those same tent t-shirts will be no match for my great heft. Just watch!
Please do not mistake my elaboration for complaints. I am more than grateful for my children, (relatively small) space in their ages, the ease with which they came to us. I am so very thankful for very uncomplicated, healthy pregnancies. But can you imagine what all this feels like? It is all so alien and out of control!
And again, i am surprised by it all.
Surprised by how surreal, even unreal, it all seems. I mean, i am very aware of my increasing size, very aware of the other little symptoms that should make it seem real. Yet the reality of a new tiny person already here but not yet among us, is very hard to grasp.
Yesterday was Good Friday. And it was a beautiful, blissful sort of family day. We took the kids to their favorite “hiking” spot, had a peaceful naptime, then a bike ride way way down to the South end of the beach, with a nice stop on the way home for dinner. Aaah.
Today was a bit rough. I could tell from the start, when we awoke to little O’s screaming. Not for any real reason anyone could tell, but you know how he gets sometimes. (Sidenote: while at Target last night, i noticed t-shirts “Mr. Messy,” “Mr. Mischief,” you know the ones? They were almost out of Mr. Messy, but had quite a lot of “Mr. Happy” left. Interesting. I contemplated buying “Mr. Grumpy” for Oliver…. But of course i don’t want to label my child… and i hope that soon he will be adding more words to his vocab, resulting in less yelling.) So, he was ticked about breakfast, and life, apparently. And no one was getting anymore sleep after that.
So after breakfast, B left to go do some kite-boarding. And i am all for him going out and doing stuff like that. But if i had known what moody children awaited! So, we hung out for a bit, then i wrestled and wrangled two resistant and angry kids into their clothes, (Stels was mad about some sort of misunderstanding, O was still just mad in general), and set out to walk the loop and go play at the park. No more than two minutes out of the house, i began to have some allergy … issues. I now understand those commercials where the allergic person is in a fog all the time. I have never been very allergic, but something stirred me all up, and not only did i sneeze at a rate of probably every 2 minutes the entire 2.5 miles we walked, i looked like i probably spent a couple days crying (you know, the watery red eyes thing). And talking sounded like i’d been sobbing a while too, since i was continually catching my breath and gearing up for another big sneeze.
I know, i know, i’m done whining now. I’m sorry you had to hear all that. But good grief, why is it that such silly little issues of circumstance so easily affect our days? Even tonight in church, i had a hard time singing because of my sneezing issue, and was trying to let my heart focus in spite of it, but found myself seriously distracted. We are spiritual creatures, but as long as we remain on earth are bound to our bodies.
And i think of the things that bring such joy– those bike rides, sitting in the sand on the beach, a really good meal– things that exist in the physical realm. And i am thankful, so thankful.
There is always the struggle of living here and remaining oriented toward eternity, aware that what’s really going on is far, far more than we physically see and feel. And while we live in the freedom of Christ, there is still the responsibility to choose carefully; to subject the body to do what the heart chooses. I felt that tension today, when i wanted more than anything to reflect the love of Christ to my two screaming toddlers, but felt entirely incapable of doing so. I felt that tonight, when i could not get past my physical discomfort and embrace the worship that was going on.
Thank you, Lord, for the wrestling, because i know it will always keep me moving. And I pray that in this process my heart is moved ever more toward Yours.
I promised a post about Stella. Oh, my Stella; where to start? Can you imagine how excited she would be if she knew i was writing a post just about her? She would be standing here feeding me material and posing for pics to accompany it. Any kind of stage or spotlight, the girl eats it up. Do you think it’s my fault, even just a little, for giving her a beautiful name that happens to mean “Star?” But, even before her birth, we knew she just is Stella.
Oh, and you have met her father, right? Because i swear she is just a little lady version of my own beloved husband. Interesting. It seems to me that both of them can’t help but draw attention, whether or not they intend to. I don’t mean they’re out making scenes (though Stells has had her share of public freak-outs since toddlerhood) or trying to, but they do not blend so easily into the background. They have a certain way with people that folks like me do not. (Don’t tell him i told you, but before Stella was born, Brian once said he hoped she would have my looks and his personality. “That would be great!” I think that was supposed to be a compliment.) Lots of words, lots of personality, a knack for storytelling and talking to people.
Two things my daughter has inherited from me. One is a love of words and word-play: She loves writing little songs and making rhymes, silly nicknames and such. That’s a fun one. The other is less fortunate– it seems she inherited my grace. Er, lack of. And i don’t mean in the spiritual sense. In her three years in GZ, we have been paged to come get her early two times. Both involved a fall resulting in a busted lip. I cannot even tell you how many walls/doors/pieces of furniture the girl has walked right into.
And she is a feisty thing! I mentioned in an early post my hope that the new baby will be a ’sweet’ one. It’s not that Stells isn’t sweet. But a list of the adjectives that most aptly describe her (or are most often used to describe her) would contain these first: spunky, fun, feisty, crazy, articulate, a handful, helpful, energetic. And then perhaps sweet.
But when she is in a sweet mood, she does lay it on thick. I woke up the other morning to, “Good morning, Mommy. You look so beautiful today mommy.” (This is before my head ever even left the pillow.) She asks what’s for breakfast, and i tell her probably cereal. “Oh! That sounds great! Thank you to make me my breakfast, you are such a sweet mommy!” And this sugar-fest continues until she’s tired of it. A bit over the top, yes, but better than what accompanies a bad mood, that’s for sure. (The less-irritating version is her announcement that she is “ticked up.” The worse version includes lots of dramatic screaming and phrases like “that’s a yucky idea, Mom. That is gross and stinky!”)
A favorite game is name-that-band. We were at the mall last year on her birthday. I noticed Stells stop for a minute with a strange faraway look in her eye. Moments later, she looked at me triumphantly and declared “Keane!” having successfully identified the song playing behind all the mall noise. And later, it was “Coldplay…. no… Matt Kearney!” The downside is that although neither Brian or i are music snobs, we may be breeding one. When asked what songs she sang with her class in GZ last week, she said “We didn’t sing any real songs. Just pretend ones.” I ask what they learned about, she says something like “crayon ketchup” or “goldfish boots” and cracks herself up.
The moment was redeemed when she recounted to us how the people “threw all their clothes on the road” to make a special way for Jesus. We also learned that she graced her class with a solo of “Hosanna,” and as much as i know she enjoyed her singing, i also know my girl loves to make people smile. And (like her dad,) whatever she decides to do, she just goes for it. No dull (certainly never any quiet) moments here; ultimately, nothing but pure, life-embracing joy from my little “star.”
Noticed my posts get a little wordier than i intend. Even when i think they are not, they are long. Trying to be less verbose. Lots on mind; heart very stirred. This is all good, but not good for a short-winded post!
For now, take this; let me know how it sits with you.
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of all mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For just as the sufferings of Christ are ours in abundance, so also our comfort is abundant through Christ.”
2 Corinthians 1.3-5
I see my friend Kirsten has tagged me. Leaving me with the task of listing 10 interesting, shocking, surprising or random facts about myself. Well, friends, i am a pretty interesting and shocking lady. And maybe a little sarcastic as well. So buckle up:
1. One of my earliest childhood memories is of the warm fuzzy feeling you get when you stick a paperclip in an electric outlet. Obviously i wasn’t harmed too much…
2. I was a track and cross-country runner in high school, the kind of person who would run extra 12 or 14- milers on the weekend for fun. Nothing like working up a good sweat!
3. My hopeful majors when i started college were exercise science or nutrition (with the goal of becoming a cross-country coach, of course). Both required some kinda icky anatomy classes, and therefore more motivation than i posessed at that time. So i picked English, figuring i could find something i would like to do with it (not teach!), and well, here i am!
4. I have been pregnant every year since 2004. I almost missed ‘07, but nope! This is not a surprising fact, but interesting. And it helps me to understand why i am tired all the time.
5. I hope to someday have chickens and maybe even goats, and to garden extensively (and compost! and make jams and canned food!) To me, this just sounds so satisfying.
6. In high school, i was the rhythm guitarist and lead singer of a band, Good Soil. You may have heard of us. (Oh– and did you happen catch the clever biblical reference there?) We officially formed after watching the life-changing movie “That Thing You Do.” We wrote some very interesting, and almost even catchy tunes, and performed to dozens and dozens of screaming fans.
7. In the year or so before the band, i went through a pretty heavy disco/Jackson 5 phase. My 16th birthday party was a “Disco Inferno,” and attendees were required to come in costume.
8. Until i get to know them very well, people who are very emotionally expressive make me a little nervous. The kissers, huggers, squealers– you know who you are. I think my problem is that I can never seem to respond correctly– definitely can’t fake shouts of joy when you tell me something exciting, and “oh, awesome” feels like it’s probably a let-down.
9. I am a sucker for reality-competition shows on the Bravo network: Project Runway, Top Chef, the interior designers (Top Design? What was it called?), even the hairstylists (Project Hair? Top Cuts? Cutting Edge?). I get sucked in almost every season. But not those new supermodels. They’re just too much.
10. When i was about 5, i modeled dance costumes for a local dance/western-wear store; appearing in their catalogs. It was the ’80s– you can only imagine the amount of hairspray and sequins that were involved. And everything looked a little bit like a pageant. I’m not sure how i got involved in that gig, but it didn’t last too long.
So there we go! Now, i will tag my sweet sister, who i hope is up for the challenge!
I had a bit of a wild dance party yesterday with the babes. I am no dancer, but with little kids, the standards are all different. They alternate between wild spinning, jumping, arms everywhere and trying to create new “moves;” banging on furniture with drumsticks. There are no rules, just lots of wild energy and the infectious, unfiltered joy of expression.
The most favorite dance tunes of the day were “We Shine” (Fee) and “Dancing Generation” (Matt Redman). Very fitting. And when the music starts, they just start dancing. Like instinct– No worries, no inhibitions. Amazing!
I know i promised a blog about Stella was coming, but she is in no danger of being forgotten, and something else is on my heart today. Starting here: When i first heard “We Shine,” i was not sold. I was skeptical (oh, dark and dirty heart!) as i too often am: It’s too much. Too crazy. The Rock Fist, really? Not me.
But i say this, as i jumped around the living room carefree, listening to those words, all i could think was that if I mean those words “We are the redeemed– we are the ones who are free. And we belong to Jesus!” how can i not dance? And you are not going to find me dancing in the aisles, but my heart must express the joy and gratitude for the truth of redemption.
We started a new series this week at Overflow, “Breathe.” It deals with addiction and ultimately, living lives of righteousness. Some of the ‘addictions’ Brian mentioned were the intangible sins that infiltrate so easily because they are only visible in the heart. Pride is one of those. Anger was another. But pride is the one that punched me in the gut.
I had a ‘revelation’ a while ago (a few months i guess) that I actually struggle with pride. And it had sent out little roots everywhere! I never even knew it, and i can’t even remember what sparked the whole thing. But for a month or so, in every encounter with the Word, in every moment of struggle, it was PRIDE. Big and ugly.
I was surprised that i’d never noticed it before; but i know why i didn’t. When my pride makes itself visible, it is in the form of insecurity. Every bit as sneaky, ugly, and cancerous, but to me it did not look like pride. It just looked like that’s how I am, and how I always was. But my ‘realization’ taught me that insecurity, looking (secretly!) for validation in the things i do or from people, makes it impossible for me to fulfill all of God’s purpose for me– i am focused on me, and that’s never good. I am out for my own good, with something to prove, rather than resting in my identity in Christ.
What an awful, wonderful revelation. And Tuesday’s talk reminded me that the battle is not over; i am in that process still. Replacing the tendency to be silent and stuck in my own head with the willingness to be vulnerable (yikes!) in whichever way God leads. Replacing those “reflex” thoughts that so easily judge and belittle (like i did with the song) with a heart of encouragement. Replacing the hopes and intentions of doing all those things with God’s heart in me– His life flowing right on out through me and into everything i touch. To really be a light! Just like we are called to do.
We (the Fews) love having folks over for dinner. One of the most memorable evenings with friends happened a couple of years ago. The mix of people was just a little random and we grilled burgers along with whatever anyone brought on the side. Perfect! What happened next, I can’t remember exactly how it happened, was not expected. Toward the end of the evening, we put on some music, closed the curtains, and danced. Like little kids– in a big circle, crazy, and silly, and carefree. And the remarkable part is that (maybe with the exception of Brian) none of us are people who are prone to dancing; it’s just not what we do. But that night, we did. And i seek that freedom (and you know i don’t mean just to literally kick up my heels) in my days, and not just behind the closed curtains.
Who knew having a son could feel so similar to having a very small, very jealous boyfriend? Not me. Being a lady myself, and having a husband who could definitely not be called a “mama’s boy,” I was not prepared for what this might look like.
Now, he’s not even one-and-a-half yet, so Oliver really still qualifies as a baby. At least in my scheme of things. Meaning that while he can actually walk and climb or parrot words and obey simple commands like a kid, he’s not to be expected to reason yet. Or to understand the consequences to all of his actions. Or have self-control. (Which Stella, at three, is working so hard on. And me- at twenty-six– i might finally be making some progress!) So he gets a little slack.
Also, he was born with separation anxiety; he has always needed a little reassurance. So i am thankful that he’s now independent enough to play without me in sight, to not cry whenever we leave him with babysitters, etc. However, there are times i can expect him to need me more: traveling is a big one. And i empathize, because it makes sense not to be as comfortable in a place you are not as used to.
When we went to visit with G-ma Duck Duck last week while Brian and Duke each were travelling, I wasn’t surprised that Oliver had a hard time getting to sleep. (And it didn’t help that we got in late and he was all confused.) I was a little surprised, though, that he kept waking up during the night. And even more so, when, at 2 a.m. I put him in my bed and he immediately snuggled up and drifted off. In our house, we’ve never been much for co-sleeping because it has always been more of co-tossing-and-turning. And well, i like my space. But also, because my babes love their space too, and sleep much better in their own beds. I didn’t sleep as well with little feet kicking into my side and face and little hands gently pulling at my hair, but i’ll admit it was sweet.
Oliver adjusted fine by the second night, and i think he secretly enjoyed being the “man” of the house. And i think this because even though he was very excited to see his “Dada!” again, he kept trying to push B away from me!
At this point I’m afraid that he’s as much my child as his sister is Brian’s (and i’ll get to her next time). He’s messy, he’s loud, and he can be kinda mean. All things that i am not, but as a child i was. He also throws things when he gets mad. Which i outgrew eventually. Basically, this one fulfills the definition of “the strong-willed child,” in the book by the same name.
In his defense, he is hilarious. Since Stella is such a performer, i didn’t expect another, but sure enough he’s a little showboat. They love to stand on the “stage” in their room with pretend microphones. And mischief– i think almost every smile across his face comes complete with those up-to-no-good eyes. And i should mention that he can also be very sweet. I caught him today trying to share is pacifier– his prize possession– with a baby doll after “feeding” her a bottle. Frequently i feel his little arms around my knees when he runs up from wherever just for a hug. Before bed i get a “night-night. Mwwah!” as he attempts to blow a kiss.
Oh, but kisses: When he catches me and B kissin’, he forces his way in between with a grin. Like it’s a silly joke to kiss anyone but a baby. My tiny little jealous one.
Consider these words;
“Let now Your Church shine as the Bride
that you saw in your heart as you offered up your life.
Let now the lost be welcomed home, by the saved and redeemed
those adopted as your own.”
We sang this (Savior King, by Hilsong) Sunday morning; words that always stir my heart. I often feel such despair when i think about the culture i live in, the world i am “in but not of.” And when i feel like that, i want to run away. Take the family, move somewhere remote and start a self-sustaining farm and forget it all. Oh, but i am called to be “salt and light,” to persevere in reaching out and loving.
Thankfully, i am learning new hope. Seeing lots of Jesus-loving people with dynamic vision, and fiery passion to carry Christ’s love to the places most in need. Hearing stories of redeemed lives and transformed hearts. And i read this:
“So is my word that goes out from my mouth:
It will not return to me empty,
but will accomplish what I desire
and achieve the purpose for which I sent it” Isaiah 55:11
God’s plan is solid, his Word is steadfast. He has plans for redemption, and that as His Church, parts of Christ’s own body, we all have purpose to bring Him glory: glimpses of his redemption and Life in this thirsty world. And we are together in this; “bearing with one another,*” “surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses.**”
“Let the church shine as the Bride…”
I pray we will. Above the self-seeking glory of the “stars” in our world, I pray we will shine as the Radiant Bride, reflecting the great glory of our Savior King.
*Ephesians 4.2
**Hebrews 12.1
