In which I, um, write
So yeah. There hasn't been much time lately. Which is only half-true. There have been plenty of times I have said to myself, "Probably should blog," only to opt for the Hallmark Channel.
Christmas comes but one and a half months a year, you know.
But really, I honestly can't tell you why posting has steadily dwindled through the year. Maybe lack of inspiration. Which can't be it, because the boys do something pretty much every day that makes me shake my head in disbelief. Over-inspiration?
Whatever the case, my brain has decided it's time.
It is the end of November. The house is as decorated as it's going to be. Christmas cards are stuffed, stamped, and stuck. Stuck, that is, with insurance company return address labels and my own nerdariffic mail-merge printed address labels. Yes, I have a database. Judge away. And most of my shopping is done. Darn you, Toys R Us, for not discreetly labeling mail-order kids' stuff.
So it would seem as though I have my act together. My particular brand of OCD requires that I put up such a front.
Ooh, not only are we Christmas-prepared, but this has been, and continues to be, a big year for the house. Our unfinished basement, formerly a sight that would immediately qualify us for our own episode of "Hoarders", is by comparison squeaky clean. We now even have a fairly wide open oval for the boys to race their bikes. I know where everything is. Um, except the treetop angel.
Brandon has a workshop. I have a - get ready - canning kitchen! Free fridge, free stove, chest freezer, storage, countertop area. And hundreds of Mason jars ready for whenever God would see fit to grant us a productive garden. I'm ready.
And the basement is just the beginning. Closets, pantry, cabinets and [most] drawers. Organizing bins, be still my heart.
We have decided to have Brandon's family over for Christmas, all forty-some of them. Which has sent me into a home improvement frenzy. Paint touch-ups. Toy purges. Window treatments. I'm falling in love with my house again. It's starting to look like people actually live here.
And boy do we ever. There is never, ever a dull moment around here. Nor a quiet one. The boys run back and forth, a path from just inside Trey's door to the picture window in the living room, stomping and screaming and laughing. Until Trey knocks Aden into a wall or Aden gets too carried away and just punches Trey point blank in the gut. No harm intended. They're just boys.
Or so I'm told. It seems that explanation is applied to a whole lot of what they do. And because I know no different, I just smile and nod. Aden's obsession with being naked. Or Trey's fantastical hip gyrations when dancing. Both of which scare me more than just a little bit. But yeah, they're boys. Right??
And they're sweet boys, yes they are. And I am saying that after an entire day of just me with them. Those little moments that just steal your heart away. Like Trey thanking me for all the good food at breakfast last Saturday. I almost cried. Or Aden just ambling through a room, and for no reason at all saying, "Ah wuv yew, Mama." Or their bedtime cross-room conversations. Sigh.
God provides those. Straight from Heaven they come, and He makes them stick too, so that you don't lose your stinkin mind when they poop in their bed or sass you to your face. Yep, it is not at all rare to have a desperate arrow prayer for patience answered by a precious Mama memory.
Basketball season is in full swing, and not just for Brandon. For Trey too. How my first baby is old enough to play organized team sports, I can't tell you. But it is totally cool and pride-inducing for him to be out there showing off his stuff. Kindergarten co-ed basketball is at times painful to watch. Defense is just...wow. But here we are and loving it.
At least tonight we are. Last night, the first ever practice, Trey pulled a Trey and refused to participate. To my severe frustration and his Daddy's severe disappointment. We, his coach, and his friends tried everything we could think of, until finally we just let Aden get out there. By the end of the night, Trey declared that he would indeed practice on Friday.
And he kept his promise! It was great. Probably the greatest thing of all was seeing him set aside some of his mama-ness and be bold.
Aden really has no mama-ness in him at all, besides his face and stubby little legs. Bold is his middle name, along with several others he has earned for himself. If we had any idea what was coming, we would have just named him Taz and been done with it.
He is loving and exuberant and never does anything halfway. I'd say he is going through a destructive phase, but the destruction is just a byproduct of his relentless curiosity. Vocabulary is exploding, with a rich Italian slash deep south accent. He loves to sleep, loves to run, laughs with his whole belly, still sucks his thumb, and would rather have his Mama than anyone in the whole world.
Every day is crazy, for one reason or another. Every day holds disappointment, mainly with myself, as neither my Walk nor my parenting are in the best place right now. Life may not be perfect, but every day is filled with blessing. After blessing. After blessing.
Sometimes I wonder what my life would look like if it were perfect. For one thing, the thirty pounds I've put on since the wedding would not exist. Nor would I even be tempted by food. I would never, ever grumble over chores that regenerate themselves with the sunrise. I would respond to mothering challenges with super-human Duggar-esque calm, instead of yelling. Or maybe there would be no mothering challenges.
In a way it's nice to daydream about. Of course all the while I'm daydreaming, Aden has gotten himself stuck on the top shelf of a cabinet he somehow managed to climb into. And though in the, er, non-Duggar moments of life I could easily wish for such an existence, if I'm really honest, I'd rather have the chipped paint. The daily emptying of the dishwasher. The opportunity to use my parenting mistakes as opportunities to apologize to my children and embrace a teachable moment.
The arrow prayers of desperation. I need my God. I need the character He is building in me by giving me non-perfect children, thereby erasing my perfectionism. I need His wisdom, His rest, His endurance, His provision, His perspective. His blessing.
All of it. Except the thirty pounds.
Christmas comes but one and a half months a year, you know.
But really, I honestly can't tell you why posting has steadily dwindled through the year. Maybe lack of inspiration. Which can't be it, because the boys do something pretty much every day that makes me shake my head in disbelief. Over-inspiration?
Whatever the case, my brain has decided it's time.
It is the end of November. The house is as decorated as it's going to be. Christmas cards are stuffed, stamped, and stuck. Stuck, that is, with insurance company return address labels and my own nerdariffic mail-merge printed address labels. Yes, I have a database. Judge away. And most of my shopping is done. Darn you, Toys R Us, for not discreetly labeling mail-order kids' stuff.
So it would seem as though I have my act together. My particular brand of OCD requires that I put up such a front.
Ooh, not only are we Christmas-prepared, but this has been, and continues to be, a big year for the house. Our unfinished basement, formerly a sight that would immediately qualify us for our own episode of "Hoarders", is by comparison squeaky clean. We now even have a fairly wide open oval for the boys to race their bikes. I know where everything is. Um, except the treetop angel.
Brandon has a workshop. I have a - get ready - canning kitchen! Free fridge, free stove, chest freezer, storage, countertop area. And hundreds of Mason jars ready for whenever God would see fit to grant us a productive garden. I'm ready.
And the basement is just the beginning. Closets, pantry, cabinets and [most] drawers. Organizing bins, be still my heart.
We have decided to have Brandon's family over for Christmas, all forty-some of them. Which has sent me into a home improvement frenzy. Paint touch-ups. Toy purges. Window treatments. I'm falling in love with my house again. It's starting to look like people actually live here.
And boy do we ever. There is never, ever a dull moment around here. Nor a quiet one. The boys run back and forth, a path from just inside Trey's door to the picture window in the living room, stomping and screaming and laughing. Until Trey knocks Aden into a wall or Aden gets too carried away and just punches Trey point blank in the gut. No harm intended. They're just boys.
Or so I'm told. It seems that explanation is applied to a whole lot of what they do. And because I know no different, I just smile and nod. Aden's obsession with being naked. Or Trey's fantastical hip gyrations when dancing. Both of which scare me more than just a little bit. But yeah, they're boys. Right??
And they're sweet boys, yes they are. And I am saying that after an entire day of just me with them. Those little moments that just steal your heart away. Like Trey thanking me for all the good food at breakfast last Saturday. I almost cried. Or Aden just ambling through a room, and for no reason at all saying, "Ah wuv yew, Mama." Or their bedtime cross-room conversations. Sigh.
God provides those. Straight from Heaven they come, and He makes them stick too, so that you don't lose your stinkin mind when they poop in their bed or sass you to your face. Yep, it is not at all rare to have a desperate arrow prayer for patience answered by a precious Mama memory.
Basketball season is in full swing, and not just for Brandon. For Trey too. How my first baby is old enough to play organized team sports, I can't tell you. But it is totally cool and pride-inducing for him to be out there showing off his stuff. Kindergarten co-ed basketball is at times painful to watch. Defense is just...wow. But here we are and loving it.
At least tonight we are. Last night, the first ever practice, Trey pulled a Trey and refused to participate. To my severe frustration and his Daddy's severe disappointment. We, his coach, and his friends tried everything we could think of, until finally we just let Aden get out there. By the end of the night, Trey declared that he would indeed practice on Friday.
And he kept his promise! It was great. Probably the greatest thing of all was seeing him set aside some of his mama-ness and be bold.
Aden really has no mama-ness in him at all, besides his face and stubby little legs. Bold is his middle name, along with several others he has earned for himself. If we had any idea what was coming, we would have just named him Taz and been done with it.
He is loving and exuberant and never does anything halfway. I'd say he is going through a destructive phase, but the destruction is just a byproduct of his relentless curiosity. Vocabulary is exploding, with a rich Italian slash deep south accent. He loves to sleep, loves to run, laughs with his whole belly, still sucks his thumb, and would rather have his Mama than anyone in the whole world.
Every day is crazy, for one reason or another. Every day holds disappointment, mainly with myself, as neither my Walk nor my parenting are in the best place right now. Life may not be perfect, but every day is filled with blessing. After blessing. After blessing.
Sometimes I wonder what my life would look like if it were perfect. For one thing, the thirty pounds I've put on since the wedding would not exist. Nor would I even be tempted by food. I would never, ever grumble over chores that regenerate themselves with the sunrise. I would respond to mothering challenges with super-human Duggar-esque calm, instead of yelling. Or maybe there would be no mothering challenges.
In a way it's nice to daydream about. Of course all the while I'm daydreaming, Aden has gotten himself stuck on the top shelf of a cabinet he somehow managed to climb into. And though in the, er, non-Duggar moments of life I could easily wish for such an existence, if I'm really honest, I'd rather have the chipped paint. The daily emptying of the dishwasher. The opportunity to use my parenting mistakes as opportunities to apologize to my children and embrace a teachable moment.
The arrow prayers of desperation. I need my God. I need the character He is building in me by giving me non-perfect children, thereby erasing my perfectionism. I need His wisdom, His rest, His endurance, His provision, His perspective. His blessing.
All of it. Except the thirty pounds.
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