You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July 2008.
Last Saturday was our 5-Year Anniversary. In conversation last week, someone asked how long Brian and i had been married, and i answered five years, adding that five feels like more than four. You mean, this past year has felt like a particularly long one? She asked. I was glad she asked, rather than going on thinking that was what i meant. What i meant was that it’s more of a milestone– a more special number to commemorate, somehow.
In my estimation, it was probably our best year so far. It always weirds me out to reflect on the events of our meeting, dating and getting married, really just because it still seems to have happened kind of fast. This fall will mark seven years since we met, six years since we were engaged. In the five years of marriage, we both completed college degrees, we bought a house and we’ve had almost three kids. I like to think of that as being efficient.
It never occurred to us to wait until we’d finished college to get married, we just figured that since we knew we wanted to, we should go ahead with it. I can see now how a longer “courtship” could possibly have been beneficial; as could have paying attention to the advice of married folks rather than laughing at the suggestions that we should discuss our individual expectations of finances, household duties, etc. “We’ll never fight over that stuff!” we confidently declared. Ha!
Like so many, we were more focused on other aspects of our future marriage. Like Fun! and Sex! Like always having a someone to love you unconditionally. One or both of us may have been a little surprised and dismayed by the reality of sharing everything– time, money, bedrooms, bathrooms… There was an adjustment period; a time of getting used to the fact that we’d just signed up not only for a honeymoon adventure in Hawaii and the excitement of moving in and settling into Our First Place and Our New Life together, but also for the rest of our lives, no matter what happens or what the other person does. I believe anyone who doesn’t have to wrestle with that a bit doesn’t really understand it. That’s quite a commitment, no matter how sure you are.
In God’s perfect timing, we celebrated our 1st anniversary with the discovery that we were going to become parents. We were freaked out. We decided to embrace the call to grow up a bit. A month later, in a whirlwind of baking desserts and friends visiting and getting out the door to Overflow, I lost my engagement ring. I do not know where it is (this is the questions folks always ask when i tell that horrifying bit of information.)
In the four years since, i asked God lots of times where that gorgeous diamond went. I know you know, i’d tell Him, and I really want it back. And I wonder why on Earth i’m such a loser (of items, that is). I’ve struggled because it’s only a piece of metal and stone, and reflects nothing of the legitimacy or quality of my marriage. It is an expensive thing, something that i can live without the rest of my life–a luxury item, which was afforded through Brian’s dilligent saving, in hopes of finding a good use for his savings, even before we met. But i still wanted it back.
Saturday we got in the car to go to dinner. We’re not huge present-givers, but I’d surprised Brian with a new camera to replace the second one (two in one year!) that he’d been robbed of while traveling. He asked then if i’d like my surprise now or later. Now, of course! Sorry, he said, you’ll have to wait. Then he asked me to get something from the glove compartment, and that sneaky guy had a surprise waiting there for me, in a very small box. And would you believe he bought me an(other) engagement ring. He did! I was speechless, having expected my surprise to be a pair of flip-flops (and that would have been a good surprise!).
“Don’t lose it yet,” he warned, “i don’t have it insured.” And when i asked how the heck he pulled that off, and why he decided to go all out like that, he said he knew it would make me feel special, that he felt like it was important for me to have it. Knowing my husband values me and what makes me feel valued is yet a better gift. I am grateful, reflecting on the (often painful) “sharpening” process we’ve engaged in and seeing how much growth has occurred in these five years, now marked with a sparkly stone and metal gift reflecting the love that’s grown with us.
This is for those who enjoy the “Toddler Antics” portions of this blog. If you have child(ren) and they are crazy as mine, be encouraged that you are not alone! If have no children feel free to laugh at my expense. If you have no children but you might like to someday (or have a little baby, or are going to soon), don’t worry, yours will never do this. If you are my mom, you will be secretly amused that i’m getting payback.
Turns out during Stella’s 3-week sleep crisis, when we thought Oliver was just laying in bed dazed and confused, he was busy taking notes. Now in his younger and i-think-i’m-so-cute way he is executing the plan. And he’s good. He got the part about resisting Mom and Dad’s instructions to “stay in bed!” no matter the cost.
He’s tough as the big sister who taught him– no SuperNanny-style emotionless “back to bed,” no spanking, and no amount of gentle rocking will persuade him to stay in that crib until he feels he’s given enough fight for the night. He finally gives in, a couple hours after bedtime, and we all collapse into the deep sleep of those who are very sleepy. Except for those of us who are me, and therefore up to pee and then a little later woken up by the baby’s foot my ribs and then a by massive cramp in my right calf (at which point me sitting up with “Ow! Ow! Ow!” wakes Brian up too. Sorry, B,) then it’s off to the bathroom again and then, relieved that it’s only 4:45 am, i am back in bed and instantly back asleep.
And then, when we least expect it, at 5 am, Little Brother appears with the trit-trot of tiny feet on hardwood floors and a giant grin and “Hiiii!” as if he does really believe we’ll fall for it this time, and be charmed by his antics instead of sleepy and ill-tempered from lack of sleep. But we are not. So Brian pulls the little offender into our bed, thinking that he’ll be convinced that if Mom and Dad are sleeping, he should too. The idea is sort-of okay with him, until he remembers how much he loves to pull on my eyelashes and to scratch Daddy’s back. And then of course it’s much more fun to wrestle with Dad, so he tries a couple of jump-on-the-guts sort of moves. The response he gets is certainly more exciting than sleep. He seems encouraged, and begins bouncing on the bed, saying “Bouncy bouncy bounce!” with such enthusiasm that we simultaneously shush him, at which point Brian attempts to return the little monkey to bed. I think this is what led to the boys both starting their day around 6 today, one already little crazed from overtiredness and the other already annoyed. I was back asleep for a bit, thank God, but fearing the on-edge temperament of a tired toddler who is feisty to begin with.
Thankfully his version of this battle doesn’t include screaming at the top of his lungs, so that’s a nice break. And I’m confident it’s just a matter of time ’till he realizes that bedtime is a fact of life, so we must take it for the “character shaping” moment that it is, trying to remember through it all that it’s simply not all about us and our comfort; turning, again, to gratitude for these tiny ones we’ve been entrusted to shepherd and guide for a short, sweet season. But that doesn’t stop me from praying for a full night’s sleep.
But a “water bug” is still just a roach in my book.
Last night, as I was sitting in this very chair blogging, I glanced up and crawling up the wall right in front of me was a big daddy “water bug.” I gasped the gasp of horror that Brian knows translates to “I need to you come kill something quick!!!” even though every time it happens he looks at me and asks “What?” as if he did not know this.
He was on the phone, so he tells whoever to hold on, and seeing the source of my horror, he says “Well it’s just a water bug. They’re completely harmless.” Okay, you could call him a magical fairy bug and he could be here to clean my toilets but I still need him dead and disposed of, and ASAP. Even the memory of it makes me shudder with repulsion.
Since moving into the house, we have discovered that living near all this nature means that there is more wildlife in our life. It was cool when we saw a turtle moseying through the yard during a storm. It was not cool when I found a dead mouse in the front yard. (I don’t know how big the yard is, but it’s really big. There is a lot of wildlife. I like the birds chirping all day; I do not like the spiders or other bugs we never saw in our concrete-bordered, sterile new-construction townhouse).
So, responding to the call to husband duty, Brian grabbed a shoe and went for the bug. I, by this point, had fled the scene. So when he appeared in the kitchen I assumed the deed had been done. No, he informed me, the “water bug” had escaped his crunchy death by scurrying into the air vent (we have the kind on the floor). Bleeaaahhhh. I tried to put the thoughts out of my head, but you know the rest of the night I was very much watching my back.
Later, having just finished brushing my teeth, I went to look in at the babes before going to sleep. And there, in the corner between their room and the living room, stood the wretched creature, just waving his creepy antennae as if to taunt me. Shudder. Gasp. Everyone else was long-since asleep and I resolved to be brave. I moved to turn on the hall light and close the kids’ door all at once, so I wouldn’t wake them up. At that same moment the creature ducked under the just-closed door into the kid’s room and out of sight. Oh, Lord help me. I banged some toys around a bit to try to stir him out of hiding. I didn’t want to, but even more so I didn’t want to leave him in there. But I think he went for the vent again. He was nowhere to be found.
Reluctantly, I went to bed. If it were just me, I would have been sleeping with the light on. But that does not bode a good night’s sleep for B. I can tell you I lay awake for quite a while, trying so hard not to be creeped out, and trying to remind myself of how harmless the source of my terror actually is. When I would try to envision it as “harmless,” though, I kept getting this cartoon-like mental image of the creature trying to snuggle up in bed with us, all peaceful-looking, and that did not help at all.
The exterminator is scheduled to come on Wednesday.
I had a phase not long ago during which i felt the great need for a vacation. All the time. Something quite vacation-like would happen, like my kids would spend the weekend at my parents’ house. This would alleviate many of my major moment-to-moment responsibilities and allow such luxuries as sleeping in, running errands by bike (which would be fine with one kid, but not so fine with two), and eating meals without bouncing up and down helping littles with a bite and a spill and a refill every couple moments. Vacation.
Then the weekend would be over, and 48 hours later, I’d find myself feeling like rest and relaxation never even happened. I was feeling pretty frazzled, actually, and on top of that, i was a getting concerned for my mental health. I mean, that can’t be good, can it? Surely the small-scale demands of everyday life should not feel so draining.
Well, i don’t remember how it happened exactly, but i came to realize the problem was (Thank God!) much simpler than i’d feared. It was just that i needed to become intentional about my time alone. I used to treasure my alone time when I was a single gal, and i didn’t realize how much of it I had. That was back when I still believed that i didn’t like people in general (I actually do, a lot.) And so if someone called, and I was busy with something or not busy at all but had a little plan for how i wanted to spend my afternoon, and didn’t want to change it, i would just not answer. If there was absolutely nothing I wanted to do, I would get in my car, put on some good music and go for a drive. (That was back in those innocent old days before the cost or consumption of gasoline ever crossed anyone’s mind.) I just liked to be alone.
This changed quite a bit after i got married, because when you’re dating someone and ignore their call for whatever reason they might never find out. But then you get married, and eventually, if you know you are coming home to each other, things are going to hit the fan with that. Learning how to share our time was a bit of a challenge, since we often had different ideas about what constitutes a good use of free time. However, we didn’t have that much free time together (I worked lunch waiting tables and took classes and he worked opening at a coffee shop, part time at church and then dinnertime waiting tables. I do not recommend this.) so the issue wasn’t a very prominent one.
Currently time to myself is at a premium. You may know that i love to stay up late, after everyone else is in bed, and that is “my” time, but that little habit impedes my ability to be a productive citizen or a happy camper. Not good. So it turned out that my frazzled-self problem was that, though i do like people a lot, i need to not be around them sometimes. I need to face myself, to think my thoughts, to meet my Maker and to create; my heart and head simply cannot thrive otherwise.
It’s not every day. The other day it was when Brian was home with the kids and I went out for a walk. It amazes me, sometimes, how just half an hour to move and to think undistracted out in the sunshine can change my day and my outlook.
Tonight I went out for the weekly grocery shopping, taking the time to commute to the further (nicer) store. On the way there i was driving into the most beautiful sunset, with the music up loud (the new Coldplay, which, having just popped back in after shelving it for a bit since the initial getting-to-know-you period, {cause that’s just what i do with new music} i like quite a lot). I took my sweet time comparing cereal prices per-ounce and squeezing the bell peppers and making sure i picked the bag of cherries without any mushy ones on the bottom. (I am an unusually slow grocery shopper). And it made me laugh inside, at my joy in such small rituals, and that grocery shopping had the feel of vacation.
It’s been a while since I’ve blogged regularly, and every time that happens, i inevitably need a little practice upon returning. I have plenty to say, which is actually the problem– i start writing and can’t stop and have a hard time editing things into coherent thoughts. And everything ends up being way longer than you will want to read (or than i have the patience for.)
Here are some tidbits for today, till i get the wheels turning right and words flowing a little more smoothly.
*I bought Oliver some big-kid underwear. Sometimes he’ll tell me when he needs to go, and he loooves taking his diapers off, so i thought he might benefit from testing waters with some new drawers. He is so proud to run around the house in his new “beefs,” (that would be “briefs,” for those not initiated in toddler translation,) and Stella is so encouraging– doting on him and trying to help him learn to go to the potty. I have to say, you would never believe how adorable tighty-whities can be until you have seen them running round on such a teeny-tiny little hiney. Though in this case they are actually tighty-camo; the selection for very small person’s drawers is a bit limited.
*We have been trying to take advantage of our giant yard. I say trying because the back yard in this Promised Land is a little different than i’d imagined. The downside of our beautiful green neighborhood is a profusion of mosquitoes. That and the pond/fountain that i can’t decide whether to embrace/love or hate and demolish. The house came with a little fish pondy thing that, to me just says “Danger!” I like the idea of a water garden and the sound of a fountain is quite soothing. The thing’s not big, but it is about 3 feet deep, and all Oliver wants to do it find a way to get into that nasty water. And i’m pretty sure it’s compounding our mosquito problem significantly.
If you have seen what mosquito bites look like on small children, you understand why i feel so bad after each time we play out there. I can’t decide which is worse– the bites or the sketchy chemicals i can douse my kids with to try to prevent them.
*We have cable and internet in our home! And it’s not the 10-channel cable either. We were sucked in by the great deal the cable company is offering right now, and i sort of love it. Stella declares every show that comes on (preschooler-appropriate and commercial-free!) Noggin “Oh, my favorite!”
When Brian watches TV now, he flips channels like he’s looking for something, but never lands on anything. I cannot stand to be in the room while this is going on– 5 minutes of a halfway-finished movie, 3 minutes of news, snippets of various sports-related things, at least 5 whole minutes of one of those cable preachers he loves (why, oh why?) to watch. This stresses me out- it feels like such a waste of time, never actually seeing anything start to finish.
I am fairly focused in my TV viewing– i was hoping to get it hooked up in time for the new season of Project Runway (we did), even though so far those folks are looking a pretty kooky. I caught a few episodes of “Jon and Kate Plus 8,” last night, and who doesn’t like them? Then today i made the mistake of putting TLC on while i was working on some stuff in the house, and caught a Baby Story birth, which is against my policy of not watching A Baby Story while pregnant. which brings me to…
*By the calendar, there are 7ish weeks until Asher is “due.” I have mixed feelings of excitement, contentment impatience and dread. The accidental birth viewing today did not help with the dread.
So sorry for the empty promise of all the exciting blogs i was going to write this week. I thoroughly enjoyed vacation time and did all the stuff i told you i was going to do on vacation, minus the writing. Instead i got my “pent-up” words out with my family, and a lot with my sisters (My apologies/your welcome, court and steph. You pick whichever one you prefer.) It was a great time.
Last night we went out for dinner, then came back to the big house and sat around the big table for key lime pie and chocolate cake. We had special dessert in celebration of my Gramma’s birthday. She would have been 78, but she died two years ago. Ernie, my Grandad’s lovely new bride, suggested we put two candles on the cake to celebrate the two years since she’s been living with Jesus. But there weren’t candles in the house, so instead we spent a little time remembering Gramma.
When she died, my sisters and i were staying at my parent’s house because we knew the time was close. There were late nights in the hospital room with her not conscious, and us taking turns reading Psalms or singing hymns, sitting, talking, not talking. I wasn’t there when she died. I am not a good sitter; i was itching to make dinner for someone or do some laundry, something productive to help out. My sister was there; she was cut out for that talking and compassion sort of thing. She and mom called from the hospital that night to tell the rest of us; me, Steph and dad laying around in mom and dad’s room, watching TV and talking, waiting.
I didn’t feel much like mourning her death. I know that sounds bad, so let me explain. Gramma had been on a downturn for a while; notes seeming to pile up on her hospital charts fast as the notes she’d always played by heart on the piano. After 65 years playing hymns in church, she remembered the tunes though she could not remember my name. It had been a few years with Alzheimer’s; she never called Stella anything other than “that baby.” And she loved to see “that baby.” She’d become such a sweet lady, leaving everyone with the benediction “Bless you, honey.”
Gramma was a great woman, but before those last couple years, I don’t think you’d have described her as a sweet lady. She was thorough, thoughtful and tough, faithful and steadfast. But sweet she had become. By those last months, I had already mourned the loss of Gramma as i had known her. Raised in the old school Wesleyan church, with her father a preacher, she had lived up to the strict standards required of her. Then she’d married my Grandad, a preacher. She had high standards for herself and her family. She expected her children to do as she had done, and prayed for for them and for all of the grandchildren. That was a little of why it was hard to be sad when she died, seeing that so many of those prayers had been answered: that all three of her children and all the grandchildren old enough to choose had chosen to follow Jesus. What a legacy to leave.
And when she died, you would not believe the people who came to her visitation. Over a thousand, they said, had come to pay respects. We shook hands with so many people that day, and almost every one wanted to tell us how much they loved her, how deeply she had impacted their lives. She had served, given, encouraged, and taught. And all those years, simply doing what what was right in front of her: Simple obedience to the roles she had been given.
She’d taught school, taught piano and choir and Sunday school. I remember when, as a kid, I’d go to church with her and Grandad, being so tired afterward because they knew everyone, and would take time to talk to everyone. She seemed tireless. For every family lunch, dinner or holiday she’d cook a kitchen full of amazing food, all of which was served on a perfectly set and decorated table. We’d pile our plates with each dish that was passed around, and almost always run out of room on our plates before everything had gone around.
Memories of the Friday nights that i had a turn spending the night at Gramma and Grandad’s are still so wonderfully vivid. Before bed, we had a bedtime snack in the kitchen. Gingersnaps and hot chocolate. Gramma sitting across the table, always wearing a robe that, even though i can’t remember what it looked like, i remember how it smelled and it was just the comforting, sweet scent of Gramma herself. And then the bedtime stories and prayers, the special care to leave the light on in the closet. In the morning, I’d climb up into their bed and we’d watch cartoons for however long before a breakfast of toasted Pecan Twirls.
It was on one of those sacred sleepover nights one of my favorite memories happened. We’d been at some kind of church function. I was ten or eleven, and dressed up in a dress and uncomfortable shoes. All evening, i’d complained that my left foot was sore. And all evening, Gramma tried to be sympathetic. Back at their house, she iced my foot, and put Icy Hot on it, and still i was not placated. Finally, bedtime delayed because of my trauma, she said in her straightforward fashion, “Well, Lindsay, the Bible tells us not to complain about things. We’ll pray God will make it feel better for you, but you are just going to have to go to bed now.” It turned out i had a stress fracture in my left foot, and i think Gramma felt bad to have shushed me about it. But in my mind the memory remains such an impression of her: listening, administering, helping, but not taking any nonsense.
When she died, we knew she was ready. She was restless and had lost her desire to work against the illnesses in her body. It was sweet to see the family all together, her husband of 55 years still by her side, three children who loved her and one another, grandchildren influenced and encouraged by her. We’d each taken our turn saying goodbye, telling her it was okay to go, to finally see face to face the Savior she’d spent her life following, that we knew she was ready. When we got the call she was gone, and even still, i couldn’t help but think that was such a great way to go.
yes, it’s been a while. I’ve missed you all. I am currently sitting outside a local coffee establishment, enjoying the access to their wireless. Tomorrow we leave for 1/2 week vacation with aalll of my family. This could not come at a better time. Since our move (3 weeks ago), Stella has been struggling to sleep at night. She is really loud about it, therefore the rest of us have been struggling as well. We have not experienced this degree of sleep deprivation since having a newborn, but angry 3-year-olds are much, much louder than newborns. This has not been good.
So the vacation is a welcome break. This annual family beach trip, which has taken place each summer since before i was born, entails my extended family all crammed into an 8-bedroom beach house (it is quite a big house, but we have become quite a big family!). There is a lot of good food, sitting around the table talking, rocking chairs on a big screened porch, playing on the beach and long bike rides around the island. As far as i am concerned, this is a taste of heaven. Word has it that the neighbors have some password-free wireless signals this year, so i intend to get a lot of my pent-up words out here for you!
Updated to correct: Mom had it right, the house has it’s own entirely legal internet now!
