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Beyond {5 minute Friday}

Small like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wing.

Tiny, really.

Tiny and big and oh, so very scary.

A baby’s heartbeat.  On an ultrasound.  Next to my IUD.  Outside my heart.

I cried and not in a good way.  I wept and wondered and went to my knees to try to understand.

When blessings become burdens the heart weighs heavy.

Until you get beyond.

He came in a rush on a clear day in the spring.  Head full of dark curls, lungs that swelled and filled and lifted his voice back to Heaven.  Beyond perfection.

Beyond my fragile belief that all would be well, he was.  He is.

Beyond what I would have ever imagined my life would turn out to be.

It’s Five Minute Friday.  Head on over to Gypsy Mama to join in the reflection on the word beyond.  Then write, just write, for five minutes flat.  Go!

Five Minute Friday


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She’s Naked Again

There’s been a lot of nakedness in my house lately.

Not for that, get your mind out of the gutter 🙂

Amelia has discovered that she likes to strip.  So she does it repeatedly. All. Day.  Long.  When I went out on the back deck to discover her skinny dipping in the kiddie pool under the watchful eyes of her sisters, she informed me, “I WIKE be naked!”

Someday it might not be so cute. Probably the same day she stops lisping, but for now?  I often have to leave the room so I can get the laughing over with before I return to stern-mommy-face.

“Amelia, you really should keep your clothes on.”  Please let me not have to repeat that when she’s a teenager.


It’s tough work raising little ladies.

motherhood

Just a Moment of Real

Yesterday I was all set to publish what I think it is a pretty good post about how much I’m loving this whole living-off-the-garden, whole foods, simply organic mindset I’ve got going recently.

But it didn’t happen.  Maybe later.

Today I thought I might crank out a top 10 post since I’ve got bunches floating around in my cavernous mind: top 10 baby products worth the investment, top 10 summer on a budget, top 10 ways to sneak vegetables into your kids’ food.

But I don’t think you all (and from what I understand there are more than 39 of you) blog readers hop over here just to read something that is, honestly, me trying to market my thoughts.

I didn’t start this for that.  Not that I won’t do it sometimes, we’re a one income family, remember?

But that’s not what’s real.  Really me.  Really what this blog is meant to be about.

It’s about my journey in mothering, my path that is sometimes rockier than those hills my mom is currently climbing on the AT in Pennsylvania.

It’s about the real stuff that’s lurking behind the images we post on facebook or pinterest.  It’s about the gunk that’s growing on our shower curtains, stopping up our drains, lingering under the toaster oven.

What’s real is that I melted on my six year old yesterday because I have let my kids grow believing that eventually (if they cry hard enough) they will get their way.

What’s real is that my own desire to have more has led to my children believing that we deserve more.

What’s real is that I yell, I scream, I cry, I throw things, and I certainly don’t greet my husband at the door with a kiss every evening.

What’s real is that I can’t get through writing this without having to stop to care for a shrieking baby, a panty-wetting toddler, and a demanding middle child.

What’s real is that my baby spends more time in his swing than my arms, so far today has been nursed at the city park and a Subway, and is lucky if I can remember his daily doses of zantac before the my-belly-is-on-fire screaming starts.

What’s real is that when my husband calls to say he’s on his way, we kick it into high clean-up gear.  What’s real is that I keep the living/dining/kitchen passable and the real mess behind closed doors.

What’s real is that I hide in the shower.

What’s real is that everyday I screw up my kids a little bit more and every night I ask forgiveness and pray that the grace that covers me despite my shortcomings will cover them.

What’s real is that they know I am real.  There’s nothing more humbling than asking forgiveness of your seven-year old.

They told me I was the best mommy last week. It might have had something to do with the Cokes I let them have, but it still made me feel good, because I believe that deep down, they really mean it.

Even when they’re driving me crazy.

Friday Five · marriage

When the One You Love is Enough {5 minute friday}

Ten years ago today I thought it was enough that we had the perfect, fairy tale wedding.  Blue chiffon on my bridesmaids, yellow roses in my bouquet, a full church, and a fabulous reception.  For that day, that moment, that time, it was enough.

It was perfect.

We had given no real thought to the future.  Neither of us had jobs.  Neither of us had set-in-stone plans.  Neither of us had given days beyond our honeymoon any thought at all.  All we had was an apartment, crates of wedding china, and degrees so new you could smell it on the paper.

It was enough for then.

And sometimes it’s enough for now.

Those aspirations of the newly married…we still haven’t reached them.  We probably never will.  Because those ideas we had of what would be enough were more than we could ever need in this lifetime.

Today we define enough by the groceries in the pantry, the socks on the floor, the toys in the bathtub.  Enough is counted in bedtime stories and sloppy kisses and dirty diapers and one more snuggle before the alarm sounds.

Enough is more than the fairy tale, the happy ending, the one perfect day.

Enough is when you get up every day and try again, and try harder, and love even when it’s hard and the home is in chaos and the kids are shrieking and the air has gone out again in the truck.

It’s enough that we’ve made it ten years and would do it again, over and over, everyday for the rest of our lives.

Five Minute Friday
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When Tending a Marriage {part two}

When I was in college, one of my best friends had a funny picture of herself and her boyfriend taped to a wall in her dorm.  In it, she was clutching his shirt collar and dramatically serenading him with some show tune (did I mention we were theatre majors?), though it looked as though she was telling him how it was going to be.  What made it funny was that Melanie had taped a speech bubble onto the photograph (ahh…the days before Picasa) that said, “You always follow.”  It was a joke between them that if they had a fight and she got mad and walked away, he was always supposed to follow rather than just let her go.

Wish I could tell you that worked out for them and they’re living happily ever after, but life happens.  They’re still friends and so are we, though it’s one of those relationships that only surfaces every so often.  Things like distance and choices and kids have moved us far apart, but she stood by my side in sticky hot blue chiffon on a sweltering summer day and listened to me promise to love my husband for better or worse and in those years since, I’ve often remembered that mantra of “always follow.”

Because he always does.

Sometimes I’m selfish and I walk stomp away in anger knowing that he will come to me.  I don’t have to make the first apology or slink back later, because he always follows.  He always reminds me that I don’t get to just walk away from life, from marriage, from my kids, from problems.  I get to stand with him and work through the hard times, the rocky places, the rage-filled moments when it’s all too much and I wonder for half a second if all this is worth the work.

After ten years, I can tell you it is.  And after ten years I can admit that if I want my marriage to work for another ten or twenty or fifty, sometimes I need to be the one who follows.

We named our girls to remind us of God’s promises: grace, faith, hope.  If I was naming Joshua, he would be mercy.  More than anyone else he has shown me how merciful our God must be.  Joshua knows me better than anyone because he’s seen more than anyone else.  Seen my worst, my darkest, heard my most pitiful cries and held me in moments when I certainly didn’t deserve his love or anyone else’s.

He always forgives me.  He always follows me.

He loves me the way Christ has loved his church, with a love that is merciful even when I think he should be casting me out and choosing someone who isn’t as selfish, as broken, as difficult.

All I can be is grateful for the blessing of a husband who truly loves me for better, for worst, for always.

25 Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her, 26 that He might sanctify and cleanse her with the washing of water by the word, 27 that He might present her to Himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing, but that she should be holy and without blemish. 28 So husbands ought to love their own wives as their own bodies; he who loves his wife loves himself. 29 For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as the Lord does the church.
~Ephesians 5:25-29