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I am sitting out on a covered patio at Starbucks in Asheville. Still a little slow to put together complete thoughts—it’s only 9 a.m. My time to shine will come later. For now, I am enjoying a breeze on my skin, the noises of traffic and birds chirping, and a favorite hobby: people watching.
It is Saturday morning, yet I notice that many of the coffee buyers seem to be in a hurry. Moms rush in from the family van, which is idling in the parking lot with Dad in the driver’s seat, a small child trailing behind with mom saying “Come on, pick up your feet,” as the child notices, with big blinking eyes, the flowers by the patio, the birds hopping around underfoot, the pattern of the brickwork on the floor. What’s the rush? I want to know. We sit just steps from the entrance to the Biltmore House, “America’s Largest Home.” Maybe the hurry is to beat the crowds. But from where I sit it is clear that the crowds are already there. Maybe there are errands to be run and sports to be participated in by the little juice-box drinkers.
A few weeks ago during a Sunday sermon, Mike told us that there are now organizations working to help people slow down the frantic pace of life. There are people who help other folks learn how to do this. I said, “Now that is a job I was made for!” and Brian thought that was funny.
Last October we spent time in Portugal and southern France. Talk about slowing the pace of life. We were vacationing. We had packed snacks for the kids. So we were not bothered by the fact that dinner was set for eight, but actually wasn’t served till 9:30. We marveled at the Brasseries at lunchtime, where it seems everyone sits for lunch with a glass (or three) of wine, followed by dessert and coffee. A lunch hour takes at least two, and then how do you go back to work after that?
Our friends who lived there confessed unanimously to love/hate relationships with the pace of life. The Americans living in Portugal and in France said, “This is the most inefficient country in the world.” Taking life as it comes is fine if you’re just going to get groceries or on the way to lunch. But try to get your landlord to have a plumber come fix your toilet, or to get government permits, and that’s a different story.
I don’t advocate a schedule-less life; although I might like to. No, I understand, or am beginning to understand the value of planning and preparation. The biggest influence, naturally, is my well-prepared and efficiently scheduled husband. But as I learn these lessons, I savor the chance to watch him learn too—to appreciate the moment, to be okay with spontaneity and unpredictability.
I notice our fellow patio-sitters, who sip slowly from their paper cups, talking, reading the paper, watching the world move. I am grateful for lessons from both sides of the spectrum.
I was standing next to a good friend of mine tonight in a social situation. A friend who is obviously beautiful. Beautiful in a way that, even though I didn’t know her then, I know she was considered so in high school, and not in her “own special way,” or only by her mom and dad. And there she was, worrying over a bit of water spilled on her shirt, that the spill would make her look bad.
Did I mention I was standing right next to her? I am no fashion plate on the best of days, and today I looked just like I’d come from the gym. Except I had not. I had been busy and not noticed the time (I can hear my husband laughing at this part already) and ended up with not a moment to even look in the mirror before it was time to go.
Now, I can’t speak for everyone, but I think it’s normal to want to check out the situation and make it right before you go out. For me, this is an issue mainly of hair. When untamed mine resembles a most unappealing hybrid of a mop and steel wool. This is not exactly the look I want, so I try to keep a handle on things. But tonight, there was the time issue. Then there was the issue of humidity; we were going to be outside all evening with humidity that feels like at least 90%, so even if I attempt to smooth the Brillo effect, it will just fluff back up in about five minutes.
I think you get the picture. And as we left the house, I had a fleeting thought of “I probably look really dorky right now.” As quickly as that little guy popped up, I chose to let it pass right on by. No point in entertaining a notion that could make me uncomfortable all night if I let it.
The other day I was talking to someone at church about my new mini-van. (P.S. I am now the proud new driver of a ’98 Honda Odyssey. It is so great.) He was commenting on my husband, saying “I’m proud of Brian for jumping in there and embracing the mini-van family-man role.” Sure, I said, adding that the real issue was simply that we needed a car our family would fit in. Well, he replies, at some point as a parent, you just realize that you have to stop trying to be so cool, and just make it through.
I wish I could tell you how funny this was in context of the actual conversation. But a day or so before, someone else who is a bit older than us had been joking with Brian about our “hip mid-town neighborhood,” and “cool car,” (not referring to the van, obviously), and something about being the sort of people who care about recycling, implying that we would think ourselves to be the hip little family. And I wondered during my chat there at church, um, do I look like I’m trying to be really cool? This question was not rhetorical or sarcastic. Earnestly, I wondered, is that what my life reflects: that I imagine myself to project some sort of trendy image? Or worse yet, that I am just desperately trying to do so?
From the inside, it has always looked like I assume and accept myself to be just what I am: Normal, (in the sense that everyone is normal because no one is ‘normal’), a little awkward, sometimes a little self-conscious, but at least comfortable with all that. And I assume we are all alike in this. I mean, does anyone ever really fancy himself to be “cool?” If you do, let me know. That would be interesting. Of course, like I imagine we all feel, I want to look a certain way; to be accepted, valued and sought in community. And every girl wants to be beautiful, that’s just how it is.
But as my lovely, well-put-together, smooth-haired friend fretted for a moment over how she looked, I thought of this again. How clear it was from any other vantage point that she need not worry, but how we will never know what we look like from the outside. How though we try to appear certain ways, we do not know if we succeed or end up looking like something else entirely. And how my desire is to reflect just one image: that of Christ. So easily I am distracted by my own image, a hope of my glory rather than His. I forget to offer myself up, to pour myself out like He did, wanting instead to lift myself up and to find fulfillment.
I have not seen the light of computer for a full 8 days now. Nor television. The latter, i can continue to do without; the MacBook, however, i’ve been missing. I’ve felt so disconnected. I don’t think do that much computer-based communication, compared to those of you who are all Twittering and carrying on iChats from iPhones and such. But it turns out, i do like the ability. Knowing that when i pop on Facebook at a random hour of the night one of my sweet sisters may be there and up for a chat. Checking my emails in time to actually respond to them before they become outdated. So maybe i like technology a little more than i had thought. But just a little.
So, onto the important stuff. The new house. Oh, the lessons the house has already helped me learn. The glaring flaws within me that have become so apparent this week. You knew it would come to this– here, it almost always comes to this– me, again surprised by the myriad defects in my mind and heart and working to process through it all. So here we go: we moved in one week ago today. It’s great. The move was awesome, i am grateful for so many selfless, helpful friends disassembling/reassembling a crib, organizing my kitchen better than i would have, moving toys and kid’s clothes, and being happy people throughout it all!
Once we got in, it was almost funny how big this new place is. We knew this before, i told you all about it- the dining room is enormous, it’s more like a dining wing. Our dining room before was a bar and 3 barstools. Half the house is completely empty. Space is just what we wanted, right? Yes.
But this has also caused me such anxiety. I find myself wanting so many things. I don’t want to want things,i like to think that i am minimal and not such a stuff person, and wanting things makes me feel like a brat. So a lot of this week, i’ve been feeling like a brat. And a lot of the time i have been one. I wanted to get moved in and buy furniture and hang all the pictures and make it homey all at once. I got stressed out because i know this isn’t possible or realistic. I wish i was naturally content just to be there. But it has taken many a heart-check and lots of moments of surrendering my expectations and impatience.
I struggle to remain content with eating on the floor. Even though i know this is a temporary condition. Just as i know that we will eventually have curtains and rugs and yes, probably cable (though still the cheap kind) and feel at home in our home. The issue is not the things. There is absolutely nothing wrong with rugs or dining room tables. Part of the point of moving was for a space to invite our friends into, a place to gather as a family– a dining table isn’t absolutely necessary, but i think it will be a nice touch. The issue is my feeling that not only will the Things bring me happiness, but that the key to happiness lies in the Things, and that i will suffer (oohh and drag my husband and kids down with me!) until i go on a crazy shopping spree and get all the Things i need want.
And there it is. I struggle because i believe with great conviction that Things will never bring satisfaction, but in many of my recent moments i’ve sheepishly found myself clinging to the hope of being made happy by having more Things.
So i’ve faced it, though i preferred not to. I’ve let go of it. I am thankful to be paired with a wise husband who diligently budgets, works, saves, plans and prepares, even though sometimes those are the exact things that drive me crazy. Because of all that, because he is wise, we can buy a table and afford to put some food on it. That is a good thing. And today, I am thankful for the big empty dining room. Just this morning, with a second day of thunderstorms looming and toddler-stir-craziness threatening, we had some friends over for a pancake picnic on our expansive dining room floor. The kids ate and then ran in circles, their happy voices bouncing off the big empty walls, and i was content.
Maybe a lot of things. I hope you know what i mean when i say that sometimes i stink at life; i do things, and then i catch myself and think, now what was that? It’s the little things.
Monday i was at Wal-Mart for the weekly grocery extravaganza. It a study in sociology, psychology, personal finance, pop culture and chaos management all at once. I have been doing the shopping all alone while the kids are in bed and Brian’s home, and i should definitely stick to that. But this week, i did not. Stella walked by my side and “helped” me shop, nearly running into every passing shopper, cart, and display because she was so distracted by the Shrek Mac& Cheese, Barbie Cereal and Clifford Juice Boxes along the way. Oliver, meanwhile, wanted desperately to walk, but was confined to the little seat in the shopping cart, which (though buckled securely in) he kept wriggling out of, Houdini-like, while protesting loudly and obnoxiously. Son, i am sorry, but I have seen the havoc you wreak on your toys, and a one-and-a-half year old is not to be trusted running free through aisles of boxes and cans that are just begging to be thrown down on the floor.
So we got to the checkout, all three of us, alive and well and with our week’s worth of groceries. And there was a line, of course, but we were only second in line. An older lady got in the line behind us and immediately looks at the kids and says “Oh, they are so cute. Look at them, playing together. Just adorable.” Well, thank you, new best friend. The truth was, they were being adorable: kneeling together in front of a little basket of toy cameras by the check-out and playing so sweetly. I began to forget the hassle of the previous thirty minutes. New friend and i chatted it up, and she was adorable too. Probably at least eighty, buying nothing but one rotisserie chicken, which was for her lunch.
I mentioned this to Brian later, how encouraging it was that the one sweet lady did not give me a “look” like some other folks had done but said something kind instead. How i felt kind of bad, in the end, because she had to wait while we got all our groceries paid for and the cashier couldn’t figure out how to ring up our papaya, even though it’s not confusing, and it took a while. “Well, didn’t you offer to let her go before you?” he asks.
Uhmmm…no. No, i surely didn’t. Immediately, i get that “what is wrong with me?” feeling. My husband thinks of things like this; he considers other human beings and how to help them out. I am stuck in my own little world. Maybe if you tell me my kids are cute, then i will notice you and let you in. Otherwise, it’s all about me. The worst part of it is that i am the whole time meaning for it NOT to be all about me. I am wanting so much to be a light to the world, generally just kind and loving to everyone around. But i am so used to thinking of myself, what makes my life easier and my to-do list get done. Praise the Lord that we are all in process; He knows i need it!
i have been having things i wanted to write. But some things have happened, and my attention has been diverted. The first thing being that all children in our household over the age of 2 are now totally pacifier free. This might not sound like a big deal to you. If that is the case, i should have called you in the middle of the night last night. Or the night before. Though the pacifier was never even requested, the new freedom from this bedtime accessory proved difficult to get used to. But i think we are pretty well adjusted, if a bit sleep-deprived.
Another thing that can’t be ignored, though i’ve been trying, is that we’re moving in 3 days. So even though i have not actually packed anything, i am in the stage where you go through your cabinets and closets removing the stuff you should have gotten rid of long ago. Now none of us are pack-rattish, but i have had the great pleasure of making a huge pile of stuff for a huge trip to Goodwill. Have i mentioned how much i love getting rid of this kind of stuff? I do. Anyone need a sandwich grill, an assortment of outdated cell phone chargers, or a small collection of VHS tapes?
I used to be sort of heatproof. Stella is like this; she may get hot and sweaty playing, but not red-faced or bothered. Oliver on the other hand, is flushed even in the air conditioning of the car. He seems to soak up the warmth and feel the weight of it. This is how i feel lately. I suspect it’s the combination of babe on board with the two to care for, corral and carry around. Oh, and the heat index of 101. And aside from just the discomfort, i am feeling protective of Asher. Trying to drink water constantly, aware of the possible dangers to him if i try to live like he’s not depending on me.
Thirteen weeks till he’s due to meet us, and i feel like i could not possibly get larger. At the same time, i know i will. It’s wierd. It’s reached the time where friends and strangers at random feel free to comment. Mostly, this doesn’t phase me. I am happy to see that babies and the people expecting them bring a sense of hope and excitement to the general public. But sometimes… (hint: this is where “the stupidity” comes in). Yall, i was reminded recently of when i was about this much pregnant last time. Checking out at Home Depot, of all places, the oh-so-helpful checkout lady had some encouraging words for me. Now, i’m all for friendly small talk, but this was just too much.
Her: When is the baby due?
Me: October.
Her: Oh, you won’t make it that long. You’re so big already.
Me: Well, um, it’s my second baby. And i’m kind of short, you know, so not a lot of room. (I was kind of at a loss. What would you have said?)
Her: You know, it might be twins. You just look so big.
Me: No, it’s just one. We saw him on an ultrasound.
Her: Are you sure? Because I knew a girl once who had one baby on the picture. And they didn’t know it was twins until the second one was born. It could really be twins.
Me: (in disbelief that a total stranger really wants to take this so far, in such a bad direction) Ok, thank you, that’s helpful. But really, it’s just one.
Her: Well, there’s no way you’ll make it till October if you’ve popped out so much already. It could be twins, you know.
Me: Ok. It’s not. Great. Thanks, bye.
I mean, really now!
as they say, have big ears. And big mouths. At least in my house.
This morning in the car: Stella: Mom, put on a CD. Let’s listen to the new “Def Top.” I pick up the case for “Narrow Stairs.” Stella: Yeah! That’s the one. (This made me laugh inside.)
A bit later we were all home for lunch and eating together. Stella: Hey, do you guys go to that Mega-church or something? (she is very pleased with herself about this one– had heard Brian telling me someone asked him that). This one made me laugh on the outside– i had to turn away so she wouldn’t notice.
The other day, she was asking me some questions about growing up– “Mom, when i get bigger, can i borrow your clothes?” Me: Yeah, definitely. Stella: “I want to be a mommy too, and i can help take care of Baby Asher.” I explained that big sisters are very important to babies, and she will be a huge help. She is a great helper. But i found it particularly sweet that she sees me, the mommy, every day of her life. She sees more than anyone (since she is more aware than Oliver) the good and the bad, and even in light of the past six months (which have brought out more tired and irritable in me than usual), she still finds “mommy” a worthy aspiration!
Oliver, to my amazement and appreciation, has been learning words left and right as well. Some favorites are “too,” which he pronounces deux. For example, i am putting on chapstick and he comes running “Too! Too!” Or Stella gets a piggyback ride from daddy, and he wants one “Too! Too! Ride too!” He loves any animal, and gets a kick out of “buggies,” horses and ducks (which he loves to impersonate loudly). Actually, to be clear, everything he says is done loudly. He makes his presence known.
Yesterday we were on a walk in the neighborhood and 3– yes 3– pit bulls came running from a (fenceless! ack!) yard nearby. Just as i was beginning to freak out, the owner runs out to retrieve the runaways. We’re okay. Oliver joyfully exclaims “Roxy! Woof! Puppies!” Roxy is my parents’ dog, whom i am pretty sure he considers his very best friend.
I think his favorite word is still “mommy.” So multi-purpose. He uses this as a question, an exclamation, a plea and a curse. Yesterday, only as the latter two. Oh, and this is funny– over the weekend when we were at the beach, he was hating the ocean. He was okay with it being there, and though it made him a little nervous, he got used to Stella playing in the water. Anytime the tide approached his little feet, though, he reacted with fervor “NO! No waves! Mommy mommy mommy!” It was sweet that he wanted to sit all snuggly on my lap the whole time, but it felt victorious on the third day, when he finally got excited about splashing a little in the tide.
Yesterday, as i mentioned, was a big “mommy” day for Oliver. Lots of yelling. And Stella was busy all day with a million plans and questions (she is a bit bossy lately). And these are the days when bedtime is extra-special.
we went to the beach once a day for three days straight. We are tan, toasty and possibly a little dehydrated. Praise the Lord that we live in Wilmington!
for God’s perfect timing. I mean, months of big and little decisions leading up to this point, and then like nothin’ we find a house.
I have not written too much about the house situation here, mainly because i have talked off many people’s ears about it. No need for more of that. Nearly a year ago, we started browsing the area, knowing that our first home has been wonderful, and more than enough really, but we are simply outgrowing our time here. The townhouse was on the market for several months, but didn’t sell. We found some great tenants, and opted to go the rental route, and this is great for us. But it still left us in need of a place to live and pretty soon.
I already told you about the near-purchase, but intermingled in there were many days of combing websites for houses to either rent or buy, many inquiries via email, and many drive-bys to check places out.
So the other day i was out walking with my friend Sarah. We’d planned on walking at the beach, but stormclouds threatened, and it didn’t look like we’d have time to make it. We shifted the plan and walked in her neighborhood, thinking we’d just be lucky to make it back before the rain. As we neared her house, we spied a little sign in the distance, the “By Owner” kind, but couldn’t make out the words. Was it a “for sale” or “for rent?” Closer proximity made it clear: for rent. Awesome! Except i highly doubted it would be within our budget, since it’s a sizable house in a great neighborhood.
Well, we gave the number a call, and would you believe less than 24 hours later we’d already signed the lease. Plenty of space (an actual dining room for a real table!), my much-hoped-for fenced-in backyard, close enough for B to bike to work. In short, all the things we’d asked God for, knowing that it’s not about all those things, but speaking our desires in order to lay them and ask for what’s best: His plan. Oh, and we can afford it too. That was a nice surprise.
As we left the house, lease signed, move date just two weeks away, we marveled to each other the simplicity of how it went down. All that time of questions and hoping and waiting and feeling all unsettled, and just like that it was all resolved. We were counting on God’s perfect plans in perfect timing; it’s always so exciting to see just how it all plays out. I am grateful!
