Cheerios

Dry, waiting in the bowl, they glisten in their saccharine gowns, then they float like so many tiny, ill-fated life preservers. Milk-wet, lightly coated in sugar, crispy for those first frantic moments, then soggy like miniature, friable sponges.  Rarely, a lucky breakfaster will find one that is glassed over--Oh! the joy of that honey webbing.  

Cheerios, part of this complete breakfast, now dripping down the cabinet and becoming breakfast for

Mom, What Does Encouraging Mean?

Encouraging.

To come alongside, to carry, to take up another's burdens: to encourage.  There are many moment that I can recall when I have been there to encourage another.  I have dropped my life to shoulder another's.  To be the encourager is a comfortable place for me because I am giving aid while remaining strong.  It is joyful to meet another's needs.  And safe.

Vulnerability.

To make yourself available, to need, to reveal: to be vulnerable.  To say that I bristle at the mention of needing help is kind.  Typically, I would rather hurt myself trying than ask for help.  But when Jesus described his Kingdom, I am not sure he envisioned the most-of-these swooping in to help the least.  There is no class system in the Kingdom of God.  We are called not only to serve, but to be served.  Before Jesus washed the feet of the disciples, Jesus's feet were washed by a woman so low his disciples, who were common workers, were uncomfortable around her.  But our Lord, our incarnate God, submitted to encouragement and the embrace of a forgotten, unlovely woman.  Be dwell in God's kingdom is not a string of service opportunities, but an invitation to be known and to seek to know.  Through that knowing we find community.  

Parenthood.

To love, to train, to cry, to worry, to need: to parent.  Children are needy.  Relentlessly and unapologetically so.  They are willing to stop and ask and cry and demand.  They love unreservedly because they don't imagine that they could ever be rejected.  Their joy is just as full as their pain, and I should learn from them.

So, I promise to follow in the footsteps of my children into God's great and glorious kingdom.  I promise to strive not only to know but to be known and refuse to allow my need to be sufficient to deprive myself the joy of living in the sufficiency of God's grace.

Broken Hearted

Today I am broken.  I pretty much stunk it up as a mom.  I was grouchy, snappy, gruff and unlovely.  I wanted nothing more than for my kids to just go to sleep for lots of hours.  I don't like admitting it, but sometimes I just have to be honest.

Honest.

Because if I am not, someone might get hurt.  My kids might think I am disappointed in them.  But I am not.  I am overwhelmed.  My whole person is cluttered and scattered.  I am trying to hold my heart together with glue made of tears.  I am tired, self-absorbed, and prone to blather on about my heavy load.

Honest.

But that isn't all of it.  I am also finding that my ears, eyes and hands are always full.  Audiobooks, texting, blogs, house-hunting, even Bible reading make sure that I am never left alone, quiet.  I love all that stuff.  But I am NEVER quiet.

Honest.

Because if I am quiet, I have to face to questions I have been assigned.

How to love these children?  Who are the least of these?  What can I do to share the love of Christ?  How can I follow a Jesus who commanded us to love God and neighbor and still called a woman a dog?  Every time I get my mind around this guy, I lose my focus and my schema falls apart again.  I want Jesus to be one guy all the time.  A feed the hungry, love the lonely, clothe the naked (although this last one is quite a challenge at my house) fella who never tells confusing stories or tells someone they don't have a place at the table.

Honest.

I hate that story.  But it gives me hope.  Maybe the writer of the story was simply illustrating something that made more sense to the writer's audience.  Maybe Jesus never really meant that.  I don't know, but the woman looked persisted and was healed.  Sometimes I feel gruff and I fear that I am no longer reflecting the love of the Father, but, heck, even Jesus Christ lost it in the face of constant whining.  But, he was humble and honest and I can see him close his eyes, take a deep breath, and murmur, "start over" to himself, and he healed that whiny, fussy, unlovely woman.

Honest.

Tomorrow I will start again.  Tomorrow I have another chance to love these little miracles.  Tomorrow I have another chance to work in a quiet moment.  Maybe two.

BTW...I only have one basket of clothes to put away.

And it is mostly socks.

And who need socks in the spring?

Being Mama

What being Mama means today...

Getting up early to make baked oatmeal with fresh strawberries...then not crying when my little critics say yuck.

Giving them granola for two meals a day.

Wiping lots of noses.

Smiling as a tired and overstimulated toddler melts down at the grocery store.

Making her smiling and laugh.

Napping when the kids nap.

Playing camping under the covers.

Listening to the best audio book ever with one earphone while I drive.

Reading a book on making the most of the toddler years while nursing my infant scooter.

Singing and dancing with a stupid headache.

Scratching backs and singing favorite songs during the thunder.

Not giving up.  Ever.  Even when they fuss.  Because we are doing this well.

Some ideas should come with a warning

I am probably a nut, but there are some mornings I wake up just sure I have stunted my children by not allowing them to do the creative, explorative things that I see on Pintrest and various mommy blogs.  On those mornings I pour over internet ideas and pick one that seems the most likely to repair the aforementioned damage and springboard my kids into self-actualization.

Today I picked oil and water bottles and button sorting.

I was just sure that was what my children were lacking.  I thought after a good hour or so of thoughtfully pondering why the oil and the water in the bottles were not mixing, my children would sit at the table earnestly sorting buttons and engaging in spirited discussion about nuclear fission.  All the while I could clean the accumulated dishes and periodically offer pithy interjections.

We started out pretty strong.  Laine requested that we turn his water green and we did so using blue and yellow.  Annabel asked for "boo," and we were off!

The kids vigorously shook their superglued bottles (I'm not crazy), asked for different colors, threw them on the ground a few times then sprinted off totally uninterested.

Undaunted, I pulled out my muffin tins and buttons dreaming of firing synapses and beautiful blog posts.  I explained to Annabel that I wanted her to sort beads into colors and Laine that I wanted him to match the buttons together.

Then Ollie woke up.

I was gone for maybe twelve seconds.  Maybe.

You can get a lot of stuff down an floor vent if you work together.  So, I guess that part of my plan worked...


Maybe I should have tried the toilet paper and glue modeling clay.    

Painting WITH borders

Systems

I have a friend who was a rocket scientist before she went to nursing school to be a nursing engineer.  Suffice it to say, when she talked about why things did or did not work, I considered her an expert witness.  One of the frustrations she had with hospital nursing was the lack of systems.

She explained that systems are put in place in a working environment to make it flow.  She then launched into lots of details and examples which I agreed with.  Totally.

I never forgot about those systems.  I think that as a SAHM, my workplace is every bit as complex as it was as an RN.  Not as many drugs but just as much poop.  Possibly more trauma.  With one child I could definitely input enough energy to keep up with the house without applying many systems.  With two, it was harder, but we moved twice, so I kinda gave myself (lots) of grace.  With three.  Well, let's just say I have been pondering those systems.

Enter shoe caddy outfit idea, once a month cooking (OMAC), and now the great toy crackdown.  I really like going to the toy store.  I think toys are neat.  Toys have taken over my house and won't let me play.  I am starting to get really serious about toys.  I have been paring down the toys that my children have access to for a while now, but yesterday I went Spartan on them.  I seriously only left out the amount of toys that I can clean up in five minutes.  Five.  I cheated a little.  I put the blocks inside a full size sheet and let them play with them on the sheet.  Then when it is time to clean up, all they have to do put the blocks on the sheet and put the sheet in the box.  Thank you, Pintrest.  (Although, I did resist making the cool thing with the quilting and the drawstring)  I am going to get four boxes, label them 1-4 and put them in the "crevice."  On Friday (pastor's Saturday) I will pull out the box that corresponds with the week of the month and plop it on the floor.  Then it will be like having new toys on a day that mom and dad really want to crash!  When Saturday night rolls around...away go the toys and back to five minute land.  Kinda proud of this idea.  Hope it works!

I am not a neat person.  My mom tried.  I try.  I am not a neat person, but I am not a deluded person.  I know that I can't handle much, so I am reducing what I have to handle.  So says the woman with seven chickens, two goats, two garden plans, three kids, and a 5 K planned in May (yep, you read that right).  Sigh.  I am really trying.  Imagine if I weren't!

Here is the aftermath of my cleaning:

Mommy, are you mad at me?

Laine has taken to asking if I am mad at him.  He does it because his mom is struggling to keep the happy face in place.

I hope you have a vision of the perfect moment in your mind.  Not so you can be frustrated, but so you have something to strive for.  One of the reasons I read blogs like Soule Mama is because she helps me remember that sometimes you just have to talk yourself into living above your current level of stress.  I am pretty sure sometimes she has five unfolded loads of laundry waiting to be dealt with, but she still lets her kids put up their own Christmas trees.

I believe in the power of words.  I believe that you can speak positively or negatively into the lives around you, and I also believe you can do the same for your own life.  So, sometimes I show our best moments around here to show how I want to be.  How I want to treat my children. So that when it has been raining for two days straight and my kids have taken to bashing into the walls and pulverizing chalk on the porch, and mommy's face is fussy; I can take a deep breath and remember that I want to play with my kids.  I want to see the joy on their faces when they see their chalk foot prints on the floor.  I want to BE with them.  That is why I do what I do.

My agenda can be forsaken for another day.  The stupid clothes are at least CLEAN.

The truth is, I about mailed Laine somewhere today.  He was wild.

Still, he made me laugh so hard I almost (victory) peed my pants.

Laine (being held up in the air by Luke): Put me down you merr-rohn.
Andrea: *snort* Honey, we really can't say merr-rohn.
Luke: How 'bout I tickle you, merr-rohn!

For all of you who just became horrified, it is a quote from Toy Story 2.  Maybe we should put that one up for a while.

Let's just say, it was a tough day to be a princess.

The making of a cookie

Dirt, Glorious Dirt

This is my first blog. I want to sound heady, interesting and witty, but I am just too darn tired. What I want to say is this...dirt is getting too precious to eat. I am trying to grow my first large scale garden. By large scale I mean more than peppers and tomatoes. It seems that seeds, dirt water and sun are all I really need, but I just don't have any dirt. Oh sure, my house is sitting on some, but I live in a suburb with limited yard. This winter I found the perfect place for my garden only to realize this spring that the dastardly leaves stole my sunshine. So, my brilliant husband found surplus five gallon buckets for me to grow in (left over from his bio-dieseling). I was thrilled with this plan, but now I am faced with a dilemma. What do I fill them with? I wanted compost. Of course I wanted compost. Wouldn't you rather drive a Mercedes than a Ford? (I know some of you would rather drive a Ford...but you get my point) So I am making compost...do you know how long is takes for bugs to eat stuff? If I took that long to eat my vegetables, I would still be at the dining room table with that soggy zucchini that my dog so conveniently ate. (Thanks Toby) So then I thought about buying compost, but I would have to use my husband's truck and he is sooooo busy. So then I thought about digging some dirt out of the creek bed in our back yard. Great idea, right? You know the flooding of the Nile brought nutrient rich silt to the Delta. Apparently the ancient Egyptians had not invented motor oil. Now am a searching Craigslist for dirt--dirt! What have we come to! I may have to break down a buy bags of dirt. That just seems silly. Where does that go in the budget? Dirt is the new oil.