What I would do with 5 unspoken-for minutes:
1. Trim my toenails.
2. Finish my obscenely-overdue library book
3. Make lists of what needs to be done yet
4. Bathe.
5. Read my blogs. My google reader is well over 300+. Epic fail. (I did manage to read this week's Sunday Secrets. I do have priorities).
To whom I would write long letters of gratitude, filled with poetic prose (if I had aforementioned 5 minutes):
1. My mom
2. My mother-in-law
3. My realtor/mover/father
4. My sister - for providing H boy a fun week and for reminding me it's okay to cry
5. Jill, Melinda and Kristen - they know love is spoken through the language of food
6. Emily (my list of tasks and jobs for her keeps growing!)
7. Cindy The Amazing Babysitter (today we basically only woke M up, dressed her, then retrieved her in enough time to put her back to bed... so much for this year's Super Parents award)
8. Rebecca - for much-needed perspective and encouragement
9. Jennie - for taking me from stress and lists to enjoying the beauty of my baby, if only for a few hours
9. Brent the Mechanic - he squeezed in my sister's car and our 2 vehicles, not to mention loaning us a trailer and generally being a good friend for Husband. He's good for providing an ear and a beer when it is much needed.
10. Mi Taquilla - for their $1.95 Monday Margarita especial. Oh, que bueno.
I hope I don't forget to:
1. Return aformententioned library books
2. Return the router to TWC
3. Put the remote controls in a place we can find them
4. Put the dogs in the vehicle to go to Troy
5. Check all appliances for clean/dirties left in there
6. Feed the baby
Thoughts and motivation that are getting me through this week:
1. It's only a week. It will end.
2. He has a really good job.
3. We're going to the lake for vacation after we're settled.
4. David. Crowder. Concert. Front. Section. KLR. Fair. food. Monday.
5. My husband. I think he's bearing more of this than me.
6. We're just moving. There's no Garden of Gethsemane involved... Self, put it in perspective.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
transition
When we moved away from Upper, one of the hardest things was saying farewell to our church family. While we were just heading down the road, we knew that the week-to-week relationship we had with many of the people there would change. We still love them very much and enjoying a return (though regretfully it wasn't for the ice cream social this year). They walked with us through our time dating, into marriage and as we started careers. It was a family that helped to get us set up and sent us out to grow.
We would never have guessed that leaving the next period of time in our life would be just as difficult.
Our time in Findlay has mostly been spent in limbo and waiting. We "made things work" as Husband finished his masters degree and searched out a job. We started our family and welcomed 3 babies into the world while in this house and this place. We trimmed thin budgets, worked strange hours and did what was needed. It was hard, but good.
This last labor and delivery of C was my toughest yet (I know! I thought it was supposed to be easier as you go!). Progress slowed to an almost-stop and we began Pitocen in order to get labor moving again. For a few hours I made little progress despite strong and painful contractions. Finally, they let me get in the shower (water helps relieve the pain for some reason), but as I dried off I told Husband that I simply could not continue. I had much too far to go and just couldn't endure the pain for any longer. I wanted to quit and get an epidural "like everybody else" and rest until it was time to push and finally see the baby.
Husband encouraged me not to quit, that I was almost there... the midwife echoed his sentiments and then checked my progress. 2 contractions and 2 pushes later our precious C was crying in my arms.
That period of time when you feel you simply cannot go on, in the L & D world, is known as "transition." It is at that point that everyone truly knows that the show is about to start. But it takes a strong supporting cast to convince mother to endure "just a few more" in order to get there.
The past 3 years in this town, and with this church family and the group of The Friends we have come to rely upon so heavily has been nothing but sheer transition. Labor pains seem to fit as the perfect metaphor (especially since we've went through the experience 3 times in the past 3 years; we arrived pregnant and are leaving with a one-week old newborn). And our church family here has been been supporting us and encouraging us through a change of career to schooling and then job hunting.
The last song we sang today (Never let go) is one of my favorites and is forever tied in my mind to this place and St. Paul's. I remember watching Ron My Favorite Bass Player sing it earnestly as he battled his own health issues. And I've teared up through it more than once, reminding myself that "I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on...", and we would someday not be living only in this state of painful transition.
I don't want to give the impression that our time in this place has been only painful... there has been great joy and even greater growth in our personal lives and our marriage. We've enjoyed the company of so many wonderful people, friends that have given us a sharper image of what true friendship looks like in the day-to-day. Our memories of here aren't bitter or disparaging but rather coated with encouragement and love.
So now we move on to the next stage; Husband has a good job at a nice school, which was the goal all along, I suppose. We have 3 healthy, happy and beautiful children. And we we've grown to know what it means to need God to make sense of the state of chaos in your life. We know how to love others because of how we've been loved. We know that it's not in vain to say to someone "You're going to make it through this okay" because those words were spoken to us at times when we needed to hear them most.
This past week (and I anticipate the one forthcoming) includes a lot bouncing from excitement and anticipation to sadness about leaving. We're making such a quick and hasty exit that I feel like there's not quite time to tie up those loose ends with so many of my relationships. But yet what lies ahead will be new and different and I hope to not let my selfish desire to take Findlay with me overcome the possibilities; I don't want to make our new place compete with the people and place we love here.
So, to all of our Findlay Family, we'd like to say thank you for everything. We'll miss you, and we hope to return again someday. (And next time, I promise not to spend the entire time pregnant!).
We would never have guessed that leaving the next period of time in our life would be just as difficult.
Our time in Findlay has mostly been spent in limbo and waiting. We "made things work" as Husband finished his masters degree and searched out a job. We started our family and welcomed 3 babies into the world while in this house and this place. We trimmed thin budgets, worked strange hours and did what was needed. It was hard, but good.
This last labor and delivery of C was my toughest yet (I know! I thought it was supposed to be easier as you go!). Progress slowed to an almost-stop and we began Pitocen in order to get labor moving again. For a few hours I made little progress despite strong and painful contractions. Finally, they let me get in the shower (water helps relieve the pain for some reason), but as I dried off I told Husband that I simply could not continue. I had much too far to go and just couldn't endure the pain for any longer. I wanted to quit and get an epidural "like everybody else" and rest until it was time to push and finally see the baby.
Husband encouraged me not to quit, that I was almost there... the midwife echoed his sentiments and then checked my progress. 2 contractions and 2 pushes later our precious C was crying in my arms.
That period of time when you feel you simply cannot go on, in the L & D world, is known as "transition." It is at that point that everyone truly knows that the show is about to start. But it takes a strong supporting cast to convince mother to endure "just a few more" in order to get there.
The past 3 years in this town, and with this church family and the group of The Friends we have come to rely upon so heavily has been nothing but sheer transition. Labor pains seem to fit as the perfect metaphor (especially since we've went through the experience 3 times in the past 3 years; we arrived pregnant and are leaving with a one-week old newborn). And our church family here has been been supporting us and encouraging us through a change of career to schooling and then job hunting.
The last song we sang today (Never let go) is one of my favorites and is forever tied in my mind to this place and St. Paul's. I remember watching Ron My Favorite Bass Player sing it earnestly as he battled his own health issues. And I've teared up through it more than once, reminding myself that "I can see a light that is coming for the heart that holds on...", and we would someday not be living only in this state of painful transition.
I don't want to give the impression that our time in this place has been only painful... there has been great joy and even greater growth in our personal lives and our marriage. We've enjoyed the company of so many wonderful people, friends that have given us a sharper image of what true friendship looks like in the day-to-day. Our memories of here aren't bitter or disparaging but rather coated with encouragement and love.
So now we move on to the next stage; Husband has a good job at a nice school, which was the goal all along, I suppose. We have 3 healthy, happy and beautiful children. And we we've grown to know what it means to need God to make sense of the state of chaos in your life. We know how to love others because of how we've been loved. We know that it's not in vain to say to someone "You're going to make it through this okay" because those words were spoken to us at times when we needed to hear them most.
This past week (and I anticipate the one forthcoming) includes a lot bouncing from excitement and anticipation to sadness about leaving. We're making such a quick and hasty exit that I feel like there's not quite time to tie up those loose ends with so many of my relationships. But yet what lies ahead will be new and different and I hope to not let my selfish desire to take Findlay with me overcome the possibilities; I don't want to make our new place compete with the people and place we love here.
So, to all of our Findlay Family, we'd like to say thank you for everything. We'll miss you, and we hope to return again someday. (And next time, I promise not to spend the entire time pregnant!).
Friday, July 22, 2011
and but or
Wow. I love this little girl.
Don't get me wrong - I love the other 2 as well. And I've heard parents say before that there are fears of "not loving the next one as much as this one" (especially after the first), but that you "just do" love them and it's amazing. Between the first 2 I never really lived in those fears much, I loved them both from the start in very similar ways. I read once that having multiple children required you to teach your heart to expand, not divide. I thought that was neat.
But this morning holding C I was struck by how much I loved her and how little that had to do with how much I love the others. Mutually exclusive. And then I got to thinking how I just "do" love her, and each of them, because... well, because I love them. I was briefly tempted to try to siphon out "why" I love each of them so... but it struck me that I don't love H for his boyish, playful qualities or M for her giggles and curiosity and desire to be like the big kids, or C for her sweet and innocent stature. I do find those qualities endearing, but they're not the source or the cause of my love. I simply love them because it's what I was created to do. It's in the operating system.
It made me reflect on God's unconditional love**. I've heard the phrase a million times, plus one. But today I began to see, in a small way, a much larger truth about what that means. God doesn't love "in spite of" my lackluster qualities or "because of" my more marketable skills. He just loves because that's how the system is built. I honestly feel that there's not a way for me to not love my children (and I feel most, if not all parents agree)... and I anticipate that God might share a similar sentiment.
That's all.
(**Ed note: I'm not one that believes that Parents hold some sort of upper-level right to new insights about God that non-parents aren't privy to; I view it more like this: God is an elephant, much too large to fully see and understand when you're close. So you're familiar with parts, and new life experiences expose us to a new view. Sure, becoming a parent might bring you to a new angle, but so does living a life of service to the poor, living in another country, or as a nun. No particular look at the elephant is any "better" than the rest, it's just simply different. Today I appreciated a new look at say, a toenail.).
Don't get me wrong - I love the other 2 as well. And I've heard parents say before that there are fears of "not loving the next one as much as this one" (especially after the first), but that you "just do" love them and it's amazing. Between the first 2 I never really lived in those fears much, I loved them both from the start in very similar ways. I read once that having multiple children required you to teach your heart to expand, not divide. I thought that was neat.
But this morning holding C I was struck by how much I loved her and how little that had to do with how much I love the others. Mutually exclusive. And then I got to thinking how I just "do" love her, and each of them, because... well, because I love them. I was briefly tempted to try to siphon out "why" I love each of them so... but it struck me that I don't love H for his boyish, playful qualities or M for her giggles and curiosity and desire to be like the big kids, or C for her sweet and innocent stature. I do find those qualities endearing, but they're not the source or the cause of my love. I simply love them because it's what I was created to do. It's in the operating system.
It made me reflect on God's unconditional love**. I've heard the phrase a million times, plus one. But today I began to see, in a small way, a much larger truth about what that means. God doesn't love "in spite of" my lackluster qualities or "because of" my more marketable skills. He just loves because that's how the system is built. I honestly feel that there's not a way for me to not love my children (and I feel most, if not all parents agree)... and I anticipate that God might share a similar sentiment.
That's all.
(**Ed note: I'm not one that believes that Parents hold some sort of upper-level right to new insights about God that non-parents aren't privy to; I view it more like this: God is an elephant, much too large to fully see and understand when you're close. So you're familiar with parts, and new life experiences expose us to a new view. Sure, becoming a parent might bring you to a new angle, but so does living a life of service to the poor, living in another country, or as a nun. No particular look at the elephant is any "better" than the rest, it's just simply different. Today I appreciated a new look at say, a toenail.).
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
the good, the bad, the blessed
It was a tough day, a frustrating day and yet I'm not sure which of these amazing people were the biggest blessing. We headed to my folks' house to put in an offer on a house that we both liked with a "motivated seller". Turns out that a short sale is not titled for its time-to-close. So, before moving forward we decided to make sure there's nothing else that we missed after our last roundup of houses. So tomorrow we drive southward. Again.
In the midst of this,
A) My dad is amazing. He's making calls, setting up appointments, running figures, making more calls (to annoying sales-ish people, mind you) and trying to help us to the utmost extent. We're forever indebted. I just can't bake enough cookies to tell him thank you. And he refuses to let us buy lunch. I'm determined to come up with something to show our gratitude.
B) KLR shows up with dinner in hand, takes me on a 2 mile hike to walk out a baby and then just sits and listens and engages me in stimulating conversation to take my mind off the frustrations of the day.
C) My husband entertains the kids (H learned how to somersault today; M's attempts were also hilarious), works with above-mentioned (slightly high-maintenance) father to outline tomorrow's events while I engage in said conversation with KLR.
D) Super-Sitter Cindy agrees to take my kids for the afternoon with such short notice and for a somewhat unknown length of time.
I can't get over how blessed I am. It really isn't the events of life that make or break the day... it's who is sharing them with you that can determine how manageable they are.
In the midst of this,
A) My dad is amazing. He's making calls, setting up appointments, running figures, making more calls (to annoying sales-ish people, mind you) and trying to help us to the utmost extent. We're forever indebted. I just can't bake enough cookies to tell him thank you. And he refuses to let us buy lunch. I'm determined to come up with something to show our gratitude.
B) KLR shows up with dinner in hand, takes me on a 2 mile hike to walk out a baby and then just sits and listens and engages me in stimulating conversation to take my mind off the frustrations of the day.
C) My husband entertains the kids (H learned how to somersault today; M's attempts were also hilarious), works with above-mentioned (slightly high-maintenance) father to outline tomorrow's events while I engage in said conversation with KLR.
D) Super-Sitter Cindy agrees to take my kids for the afternoon with such short notice and for a somewhat unknown length of time.
I can't get over how blessed I am. It really isn't the events of life that make or break the day... it's who is sharing them with you that can determine how manageable they are.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
letter to my unborn
Dear #3,
I fear this is probably at least a little my fault. You seem to be taking on a few of my more undesireable traits as of late, namely your lack of punctuality (well, you're not early by any stretch), but I'm also psyschanalyzing that you have a bit of a fear of the unknown and a tendency to stick with what is comfortable and familiar.
Apparently, we'll be learning to overcome these things together in the next few months.
It's been a good ride so far, these past 9 months. But honestly, it's time to pull your own weight. Well, I've been pulling both of our weight the whole time, but you're getting to be big enough that perhaps you can share some of the load. I don't expect you to be mobile at first appearances, but I'm not going to lie: I look forward to the time I can lay you down or hand you off and have a bit of... space. But back to our good times together.
I'm glad I could be the hostest of the mostest. I'm sure the consistently regulated temperature and constant food sourcing are amenities that you don't want to leave behind. It is July afterall, and this heat-regulation skill can be tricky. But I do promise a life of good food ahead of you. Our hospital serves the best chicken tenders, and well, what I eat, you eat. Eating is one of my marketable skills. I like food. Fair season is approaching, so there is bound to be some delicious fried dough with sugar, accompanied by some sort of slushie. So, I hope that might lure your tastebuds in the right direction.
Comforts and luxuries, like an umbilical cord, are nice for the beginning stages of life, but I have to say, if you stay in there forever you're really going to miss out on the real show. You might eat like royalty and sleep on a whim, but you'll miss out on exciting things. Like your brother and sister's singing. Or better yet, your dad's dancing. You don't get comedy like that where you're living right now.
It might be scary at first. It's okay if you cry on arrival; we all do. But this Big World is full of far more joys and excitement and love than it is with hurt and pain and evil. Those things might linger nearby and can even sometimes overwhelm us, but I promise they don't win.
So, I'm asking - as your mother - to please join us. It'll be much more fun if you participate, rather than just evesdropping through the walls. You have a fan club awaiting, people who love you already and can't wait to put a face and a name to an idea in our heads and hearts. We want you to join in the cuddles and the loudness and even in the challenges of Family Life, because we know it's better when you live it together.
We hope to see you very soon. Though middle of the night guests aren't always appreciated, we'll make exceptions in these situations as I know you might be lacking access to a clock. So, whenever is fine. We're waiting on you.
Love,
Mom
(on behalf of Dad, H boy and Miss M)
I fear this is probably at least a little my fault. You seem to be taking on a few of my more undesireable traits as of late, namely your lack of punctuality (well, you're not early by any stretch), but I'm also psyschanalyzing that you have a bit of a fear of the unknown and a tendency to stick with what is comfortable and familiar.
Apparently, we'll be learning to overcome these things together in the next few months.
It's been a good ride so far, these past 9 months. But honestly, it's time to pull your own weight. Well, I've been pulling both of our weight the whole time, but you're getting to be big enough that perhaps you can share some of the load. I don't expect you to be mobile at first appearances, but I'm not going to lie: I look forward to the time I can lay you down or hand you off and have a bit of... space. But back to our good times together.
I'm glad I could be the hostest of the mostest. I'm sure the consistently regulated temperature and constant food sourcing are amenities that you don't want to leave behind. It is July afterall, and this heat-regulation skill can be tricky. But I do promise a life of good food ahead of you. Our hospital serves the best chicken tenders, and well, what I eat, you eat. Eating is one of my marketable skills. I like food. Fair season is approaching, so there is bound to be some delicious fried dough with sugar, accompanied by some sort of slushie. So, I hope that might lure your tastebuds in the right direction.
Comforts and luxuries, like an umbilical cord, are nice for the beginning stages of life, but I have to say, if you stay in there forever you're really going to miss out on the real show. You might eat like royalty and sleep on a whim, but you'll miss out on exciting things. Like your brother and sister's singing. Or better yet, your dad's dancing. You don't get comedy like that where you're living right now.
It might be scary at first. It's okay if you cry on arrival; we all do. But this Big World is full of far more joys and excitement and love than it is with hurt and pain and evil. Those things might linger nearby and can even sometimes overwhelm us, but I promise they don't win.
So, I'm asking - as your mother - to please join us. It'll be much more fun if you participate, rather than just evesdropping through the walls. You have a fan club awaiting, people who love you already and can't wait to put a face and a name to an idea in our heads and hearts. We want you to join in the cuddles and the loudness and even in the challenges of Family Life, because we know it's better when you live it together.
We hope to see you very soon. Though middle of the night guests aren't always appreciated, we'll make exceptions in these situations as I know you might be lacking access to a clock. So, whenever is fine. We're waiting on you.
Love,
Mom
(on behalf of Dad, H boy and Miss M)
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Just sayin.
Today I expressed a growing fear about giving birth to this baby, now projected to be near 8.5 pounds in size and apparently nowhere near ready to make an exit. I was informed by a young guy that "that was nothing" because he knew someone close to him to have had a child well over 9 pounds.
Dear Sir, let me take opportunity to educate you that you earn the right to make certain statements only after you "push one out" yourself.
Dear Sir, let me take opportunity to educate you that you earn the right to make certain statements only after you "push one out" yourself.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
say it ain't no...
You only need to know me a brief while to realize I'm a bit of a geek. It's okay, I'm fine with it. I tend to find some of the most random subjects of conversation appealing and intriguing. Often I'll read a book on a topic that to many may seem sad or weird or, well, geeky, but I can't contain the curiosity.
Given my previous experiences with teenagers (and my continued love for them), Marko's blog about extended adolesence had my mind whirling. I find it all absolutely fascinating. I asked him for further reads on the subject (currently The Primal Teen) and I'm passing my overly-nonnatal afternoons with reading up on the teenage brain.
Today's snippet (I'll give you the Cliff's notes version; I've learned most people can't stick with me on these kinds of escapades) . ED: skip about 3 more paragraphs to get the real point) involved the emergence of a new understanding regarding the teenage brain, namely that there's a growth spurt of sorts that rivals that of toddlerhood in the front of the brain - the area that helps us reason and plan and think.
The author cites several studies and summarizes that basically brain development is the continued path toward learning impulse control. She quotes a neuroscience as saying "development is progressive inhibition." Basically, it's not that we're necessarily learning new tasks all the time, but that we're also learning not to mimic certain behaviors at specific points in time. I'd like to make friends with a neuroscientist so s/he could tell me that I'm right when I say that learning comes through mimicking or mirroring behavior and repetition of the task (oh, toddlerhood, there you are again!), while maturity correlates to the ability to stop the behavior at appropriate times. So, H learns about going potty n through watching, imitating and repetition. He becomes a mature pee-er when he stops doing it in the front lawn.
Now, how can you not find that fascinating??? Brain development and maturity is not simply the addition of new skills, but the control of response with the skills you already have. Think about some of the most immature adults you know (and please don't mention that Yours Truly made the list). Most/many of their less marketable qualities can probably be tossed into a pile of lack of impulse control... say, over what comes out of their mouths (ahem... oh, hey there Pot! It's Kettle...), issues with anger, etc.
So, here's my deeper thought related to how this affects Yours Truly, one currently without teenagers but who loves them so. I believe firmly in the "takes a village" philosophy; teenagers and children need strong relationships with non-parental adults (another interesting read on that by Rage Against the Minivan). I love building relationships with young people because they're interesting, they have their eyes open to things I don't see, and they're better at keeping me hip and well dressed. But I also believe they need adult relationships through the process of becoming an adult. And I hope - pray! - that other wonderful adults will feel similarly when my own children are navigating the stormy seas of adolescence. Or childhood. Or adulthood. Face it, we all need lots of love.
And in our relationships with these young, easily-shaped-yet-perhaps-not-so-good-at-impulse-control minds, perhaps in the back of our heads we can remember that what would benefit these brains the most is setting an example of limits. Here's how to say no. This is what it means to draw a healthy boundary. And if we're honest, adults nowadays aren't so great at that. Our generation (and a few ahead of us) really kind of stink at saying no to working when we should be resting. We feel like over-involvement is a better option and sign ourselves - and maybe our kids - up for more than the household can handle. We buy more than we can afford and can't resist a good splurge.
I read a recent FB post that said that it's not what we want that is the problem, it's how badly we want it (TOTAL paraphrase). And I think part of teaching our children, and teens, what it means to be an adult is to live a life that knows a bit about self-control (I promise, I don't have inner control issues or anything...). Or maybe it's not so much about "self-control" but about purposeful living. Taking action because you believe it to be so and not just because we're driven by society or a whim.
But it's just a thought.
Given my previous experiences with teenagers (and my continued love for them), Marko's blog about extended adolesence had my mind whirling. I find it all absolutely fascinating. I asked him for further reads on the subject (currently The Primal Teen) and I'm passing my overly-nonnatal afternoons with reading up on the teenage brain.
Today's snippet (I'll give you the Cliff's notes version; I've learned most people can't stick with me on these kinds of escapades) . ED: skip about 3 more paragraphs to get the real point) involved the emergence of a new understanding regarding the teenage brain, namely that there's a growth spurt of sorts that rivals that of toddlerhood in the front of the brain - the area that helps us reason and plan and think.
The author cites several studies and summarizes that basically brain development is the continued path toward learning impulse control. She quotes a neuroscience as saying "development is progressive inhibition." Basically, it's not that we're necessarily learning new tasks all the time, but that we're also learning not to mimic certain behaviors at specific points in time. I'd like to make friends with a neuroscientist so s/he could tell me that I'm right when I say that learning comes through mimicking or mirroring behavior and repetition of the task (oh, toddlerhood, there you are again!), while maturity correlates to the ability to stop the behavior at appropriate times. So, H learns about going potty n through watching, imitating and repetition. He becomes a mature pee-er when he stops doing it in the front lawn.
Now, how can you not find that fascinating??? Brain development and maturity is not simply the addition of new skills, but the control of response with the skills you already have. Think about some of the most immature adults you know (and please don't mention that Yours Truly made the list). Most/many of their less marketable qualities can probably be tossed into a pile of lack of impulse control... say, over what comes out of their mouths (ahem... oh, hey there Pot! It's Kettle...), issues with anger, etc.
So, here's my deeper thought related to how this affects Yours Truly, one currently without teenagers but who loves them so. I believe firmly in the "takes a village" philosophy; teenagers and children need strong relationships with non-parental adults (another interesting read on that by Rage Against the Minivan). I love building relationships with young people because they're interesting, they have their eyes open to things I don't see, and they're better at keeping me hip and well dressed. But I also believe they need adult relationships through the process of becoming an adult. And I hope - pray! - that other wonderful adults will feel similarly when my own children are navigating the stormy seas of adolescence. Or childhood. Or adulthood. Face it, we all need lots of love.
And in our relationships with these young, easily-shaped-yet-perhaps-not-so-good-at-impulse-control minds, perhaps in the back of our heads we can remember that what would benefit these brains the most is setting an example of limits. Here's how to say no. This is what it means to draw a healthy boundary. And if we're honest, adults nowadays aren't so great at that. Our generation (and a few ahead of us) really kind of stink at saying no to working when we should be resting. We feel like over-involvement is a better option and sign ourselves - and maybe our kids - up for more than the household can handle. We buy more than we can afford and can't resist a good splurge.
I read a recent FB post that said that it's not what we want that is the problem, it's how badly we want it (TOTAL paraphrase). And I think part of teaching our children, and teens, what it means to be an adult is to live a life that knows a bit about self-control (I promise, I don't have inner control issues or anything...). Or maybe it's not so much about "self-control" but about purposeful living. Taking action because you believe it to be so and not just because we're driven by society or a whim.
But it's just a thought.
perpetually pregnant
I've heard my share of jokes (especially at work) about the fact that it seems I'm always pregnant. I share the sentiment. But I've decided that this recent pregnancy is taking it a bit far. I know that the ultrasound said the due date isn't for another week (my calculations were closer to this past weekend), so i shouldn't be surprised that I still can't see my toes. But it's disappointing nonetheless.
As I was powerwashing the back deck yesterday - yes, moving close to time of birth has it's perks where nesting is involved - I came to realize exactly why it is that my husband loves to keep me pregnant. I'd also organized the garaged, sorted books and clothes for the yard sale, keep laundry in a continuous cycle and I'm about one meal ahead in preparations. Not to mention the fact that he likes the midwife's suggestion for getting things "moving along."
Today he's back at work, hoping I show evidence of the pains of labor so he has a viable excuse to leave, and we continue on the packing and house-readying journey. I'm starting to rearrange in a way that so when someone does come to visit and perhaps purchase the house, that it doesn't look nearly as cluttered. Finding a home for all the small appliances and boxes of cereal isn't as easy task as what you might think.
We're also expecting some new siding to come today, which will bring good cheer. Not to mention the fact that the bid was within our insurance reimbursement means, so we're excited about that.
But for now, breakfast for a 2-year-old awaits.
As I was powerwashing the back deck yesterday - yes, moving close to time of birth has it's perks where nesting is involved - I came to realize exactly why it is that my husband loves to keep me pregnant. I'd also organized the garaged, sorted books and clothes for the yard sale, keep laundry in a continuous cycle and I'm about one meal ahead in preparations. Not to mention the fact that he likes the midwife's suggestion for getting things "moving along."
Today he's back at work, hoping I show evidence of the pains of labor so he has a viable excuse to leave, and we continue on the packing and house-readying journey. I'm starting to rearrange in a way that so when someone does come to visit and perhaps purchase the house, that it doesn't look nearly as cluttered. Finding a home for all the small appliances and boxes of cereal isn't as easy task as what you might think.
We're also expecting some new siding to come today, which will bring good cheer. Not to mention the fact that the bid was within our insurance reimbursement means, so we're excited about that.
But for now, breakfast for a 2-year-old awaits.
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