3 am life questions with my little girl

It's 3 am.  I feel the air pressure in the room change as a little one sneaks in.  My eyes are still closed as our oldest girl, just 4, appears on my side of the bed, but I feel the brush of her small hand on my arm.
"Did you have a bad dream?" I say, the usual cause of her appearance in my room at this hour.
"No. I just need your help."
"Help with what?"
"I need to you to help me pray to ask Jesus in my heart."
Confused, I ask her what she said again.
She repeats, "I need you to help me pray to have Jesus in my heart.  I want to go to heaven to be with God."

My mind races, fully awake now, trying to scramble around and process what I've just heard.  This is my 4 year old.  It's 3 am.  The ramifications of this question are deep and life-changing.  I hold her close in my arms and tell her, "I will help you.  Let's talk about it when the sun comes up."
I want to be fully present for this moment.  I wonder silently if this is the right choice, but I can't talk to her rationally at 3am about the choice she wants to make and I really want to be able to.

This is my girl of deep questions.  In the last month I've gotten the following, usually at 6:30am when she first wakes up:

"Mama, how do I know what is truth?"
"Mama, can two girls get married?"
"Mama, how does a baby get inside of you?" (She actually asked this one at age 3, but now she wants more details.)

The list goes on and on.  She desperately wants to grasp the world around her.  Not HOW things work, but why.  Mostly interpersonal relationships.  She recently held a fellow mom friend of mine captive with her questions for more than thirty minutes.  The questions were all about my friend's parents and grandparents, divorce, death and on and on.  This girl cuts from, "My favorite colors are pink and purple," straight to, "my baby sister died.  Is your mama dead?"  It's kind of rattling.  It keeps me on my toes.  I am grateful for the job of helping to shepherd this little deep well of a heart.  I pray for the knowledge and understanding to do so.

We give Thanks (a recap of November thankfulness)

For first bike rides.

For tea time with Gramma Net.

For fancy hats.

For family Rock Band.

For biker hubby and his mini biker gang.

For terrible family photos.

For three generations of these crazy men (and men to be).

For my girl and her girly self, which allows me to be more of my girly self.

For fancy hairdoos.

For snuggly little boys.

For little boys who still sleep like babies (bum in the air!)

For grubby little feet.

For night hikes

 

and for PIE!!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thoughts on 36

The fall frost has finally come to our maple trees and they gave up the last of their gold speckled leaves this week.  The Christmas music is already playing because, why not.  Especially when the biggest girl requests Ella Fitzgerald Christmas music.  How can I resist her excellent taste?  Through some herculean effort on the part of myself and the children yesterday the house is, dare I say, clean.  At least the downstairs part.  No movement from the youngest yet.  I'm just 16 weeks along yesterday.  It should be soon now.  Being still enough to feel it rarely happens.  In fact, most days I forget until someone asks me how this pregnancy is going.  I am consumed with 4 year old imagination and nearly 2 year old darling chubby curiosity.  They are contentedly cutting up paper at the table and I'm not going to protest if they accidentally move on to the vinyl tablecloth.  Quiet moments of reflection are too precious to sweat that stuff.

Thirty-six sounds old to me.  Edging closer to 40 which is some mental 'over the hill' lie I've swallowed over the years.  I'm sure I'll look back at 80 and laugh at my youthful folly, knowing I had more than half of my life left to enjoy.  It doesn't feel old though.  Even though the midwives handle me with care and do extra tests now that I am of 'advanced maternal age.'  (Isn't that a lovely term?)  In some ways, looking back over the years, I've been waiting for something big to happen.  To 'become' something.  A famous singer?  A widely read mommy blogger?  I'm not sure what it is I am waiting for.  Recently I was reading about Moses and was struck by the fact that God didn't choose him when he was in his prime, adopted son and royalty to Egypt.  Nope.  He chose him when he was 80 years old.  A fugitive, hiding in the desert and a shepherd.  The strong days long past.  Just like Abraham and Sarah.  90 years old and pregnant!! Talk about advanced maternal age!

Somewhere in my lifetime I absorbed the message that only the young have anything to offer the world.  They are the innovators, the imaginative, the world changers.  But God has wildly different ideas about when people have the best to offer.  He doesn't look at their age, their youth, their beauty.  He looks at their hearts.  And mine has been, to say the least, being molded and changed through pain and fire and loss for some time now. 

I see glimpses of progress in my heart.  I am (mostly) no longer discontent with my life.  I love my husband through his imperfections (most days).  God's love is finally breaking through to my selfish heart.  I still have days when I resent being home with these lovelies, even though I chose this life with them and wouldn't trade it.  It can be lonely, thankless, and filled with far too many bodily fluids, but here I am.  I have an amazing community of friends and loved ones to help me through those days.  And I am realizing that this isn't the be all end all, just because I didn't 'become' in my youth.  I did 'become', even though it isn't flashy.  And I will be whatever it is I am called to, maybe at 36, maybe at 40, maybe at 90.  For today I am really enjoying the journey.  Happy birthday to me.

Quiet

Our family has been resting and recuperating from various illnesses, and for the papa, surgery.  I managed to avoid all of it until the very end when everyone else was finally on the mend.  I guess all that extra caring for babies and hubbies can wear a gal out.  Thankfully, my children love to quietly entertain themselves occasionally and give mama a break.  I love how much these two are book readers.  If I can't find them and begin to wonder at a patch of silence, this is often what I find them doing.  I love it.  Not that they don't get up to their share of mischief!  But here is a quiet moment from us, to you.  I'll be back tomorrow with pictures of the cutest pirate and princess ever. 

4

Zero

My dearest little girl,

You turn 4 today.  I can't think how that happened.  The days have run swiftly by and that tiny girl we brought home is so big.  Four going on fourteen or forty-five, depending on the day and the color of your attitude.  My old soul.  You ponder the deep questions as we snuggle in the big recliner in the half hour before the boys wake up.  Life, death, God, a hope for a sister, how things work, and what is your place in the world.  Those big blue soulful eyes peer up at me and you offers your endless stream of why and where and how, your silly jokes (How does a pig sneeze?  "Oink-choo!"), your fierce independence, your gentle heart.

 One

I love to watch who you are, even if I see too much of myself in you and it scares me.  No mama wants their girl to hurt, but I cannot save you from everything that will come your way.  You want to do so much and be so big, but the scary shadows move on your walls and still you come to our bed to seek comfort.  You are, at once, so big and still so small.  I forget that and expect you to be bigger than you are, and your reminds me, sometimes loudly, that you still needs your mama.

Two

A seeker of accompanied solitude (I'm in the room, but we work on our own things), a doer of small things, a lover of the lovely, you live to make and dream and play and pretend.  I watched you play with your new paper dolls for 2 hours the other day and you never broke concentration, never asked for help, never decided that this wasn't interesting enough for you.  I see you grow in kindness and friendship with your brother, even though some days you boss the life out of him.  I hear your heart's yearning for a sister, although I can tell you from experience, she won't let you boss her around either.

Three

You run and play and dance your heart out and then are quiet and still.  The beauty of your heart shines through you and my love for you gets bigger every day.   We have our struggles and we may butt heads often, but you will always be the most amazing little girl I have ever known. 

Four

Thank you for just being you.  Happy Birthday, my girl.

Love,
 Your mama

An open letter to Amy Krouse Rosenthal - concerning the Beckoning of Lovely

Introduction:

  I wrote this letter to Amy Krouse Rosenthal recently and although I mailed it to her, I wanted to put it out there on the internet in case others feel like I do.  Read on, fellow lovers of Lovely.

10/11/12

Dear Amy,

On 11/11/11, I arrived at an old bungalow home on Douglas Avenue in East Nashville.  In the yard stood a nearly naked maple tree that had recently let go of its beautiful, leafy coat of gold, the remains of which covered the ground.  I, along with nearly thirty other women, sat in the small living room of a woman named Alice Smith.  You may not know her at all, but around here, she is a connector of lives, a gatherer of information, and a finder of beautiful.  Not necessarily in things.  Mostly in people.  It’s her gift.  She saw it in you from afar.  She introduced me and many others in East Nashville to your books, youtube videos, and finally, the “Beckoning of Lovely” movement.  On that night we watched your film.  I left my friend's home, literally inspired and lifted.  I left full to bursting with my own ideas that had been touched off by the things I had seen.  I almost didn’t want to speak for fear they would be lost in the noise of my own voice. 

I have often felt like the lovely has been dragged out of me forcefully by the grind of daily life with small children.  If it does appear, it is often focused on them and must be finished and packed away by the end of naptime.  I used to be a song writer, back before babies and the “baby brain” that comes with it.  I used to make beautiful things for more people.  I know I will again and that this is just a season, but when I’m in the weeds, it’s hard to remember that. 

I shared your movie link with everyone and talked about the beautiful thing you had made.  I read your book – Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life and laughed at the small things and the magical things.  I read how you liked to write to authors and so, this is my letter to you. I just have this one thing to say.

I’m not sure what happened to the film, but I wish I could watch it again.  You said you took it down to make it more polished, but for me, the point was made.   You came together with others and made a beautiful thing.  It was, in truth, lovely.  It was lovely, as is.  It didn’t need more.  It needed to spread like wildfire and grow beautiful things in others as it did in me.  It had impact. 

If you need further proof, take this letter as that.  Here I am, nearly a year later, thinking of it and wishing I could see it again.

In the (nearly) last year I have begun painting.  I have begun writing (in earnest).  I found my voice again and have begun playing music again and have begun singing more than bedtime songs.  I am taking up the fiddle and enjoying my photography as an art rather than merely a documentation of my small ones’ march from birthday to birthday.  Your film was an impetus. 

I don’t know the reasons you took it down, but I wanted to encourage you to put it back out there.  Yes, the magic day is passed and there will never be another 11/11/11, but the beauty is still there to be shared.  Please send it back out into the Universe.

Sincerely,

Ariana Evans – mother, musician, maker of lovely.

p.s.  Thank you.

p.p.s.  Forgive the scratchiness of my writing.  I've begun to write with a pen and ink nib to help me stay in the moment.

AE

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you don't know who Amy Krouse Rosenthal is, here is a primer.

(from her bio on www.whoisamy.com)

"Amy Krouse Rosenthal is a person who likes to make things.

Some things she likes to make: Children's books. Grown-up books. Short films. Salads. Connections with the universe. Something out of nothing. Wishes."

Hop on over to her website and be amazed.  Go on...hop!

You and Me plus three - A love letter

 

For better or worse
For richer or poorer
In sickness and in health

We said those words together on that chilly spring day, bare feet on a brick path, and little did we know what we were in store for.  It's not our anniversary, it's not your birthday, or my birthday or any other special day today, but this is a day that I tell you how much I love you.

We've had our ups and downs, sorrows and joys, have been broke, living in a one bedroom upstairs apartment where the winter winds whistled in through the cracks.  We've been together.  We've been apart.  We have been crazy about each other and have driven each other crazy.  We have been wildly in love and wanting to spend every moment together and we have come as close to hatred of each other as two people who are married should ever come.  Maybe a bit too close.

We reached an equilibrium after a whole lot of work and had a good life, you and me.  It wasn't peaches and roses all the time, but we were together and it was pretty great.  Then the life we knew and the plans we made got turned upside down.  Babies, losing babies, crappy cars, crappy jobs and layoffs, and a leaky old house that drives you crazy and drives me to daydreaming.  It has been a wild last 4 years!  Sometimes it's seems as if we are just holding on with eyes tight shut until the wind stops blowing and the waves stop pounding us, praying we make it through the storm.  But this storm isn't a storm, really.  It's life.  And without you in it, I would have been swept out to sea a long time ago.

I don't say enough how great you are.  How thankful I am that you have put aside your dreams to take care of our family, even though the way you have had to go about it is soul crushing work.  How I wish it was different for you.  How happy it makes my heart to see you run and play and love on our children because I know how much you love them.  And how hard that is for you and hard earned, since you didn't have a dad around to show you how to love them.  How content I am to just hold your hand as we sit across from each other at our favorite coffee shop, enjoying a stolen moment alone, feet entangled under the table and you open your heart to me just a bit more and I marvel at the things you show me.  You have a deep love for me and our family and for others that I sometimes forget but sometimes get a glimpse of and it wows me.  It shocks me.  It surrounds me.  You love with a fierce love.

When I lay there pale in the hospital bed and you were brave for both of us.  Both times, brave for both of us as I came unraveled.  You were a rock for me.  And then when I got my breath back, you cried for our lost babies.  I love you so much for that.  

We are so different and sometimes it frustrates me, more from a lack of understanding (and a big dose of fear) of how two people who are so polar opposite in occupation and hobbies could come together and stay together.  Perhaps it is the sameness in substance that binds us.  Your joy, even if sometimes it's covered up in the weight of family life.  Your tender heart, even if you hide it, I know it's there.  Your Faith in our Father.  Your loyalty.  Your depth of character.  All those grey hairs you have earned in the last 8 years, caring about things.  Your generosity to not just your friends and family, but to strangers.  Your kindness to find good in me and others when we can't find it ourselves. 

So life may send the 'sickness', the 'poverty', and the 'worse', but I'll take it as long as you are in it with me.  I'll stand by you always.  I'm so grateful you carried my guitar all those years ago and let me ramble on about degreasing my engine.  You pursued my heart and wrapped it up with yours, healing wounds I didn't know I had.  Who you are is a blessing.  Thank you.

All my Love,
Tiny

Beautiful and Precious

There is something beautiful and precious about life.  It's so fragile yet so unstoppable.  Against all odds, the seeds of spring survive, buried deep in what seems like a kind of death.  But the sun warms.  The rains fall.  And the idea of what could be, comes alive in a small, hard cocoon of forgotten possibility.

And so it is with the lives of my precious children.  In some ways I feel unworthy of the life they have awoken in my being.  Like I was never meant to feel this deeply or this wildly.  It's a strange and wonderfully scary place to be.  The seed of forgotten possibility suddenly wants to put down deep roots and send tentative tendrils up, reaching for the sun.

We went this last week to have an ultrasound to see what to expect with this baby.  My faithless heart and I went wearing black, just in case I would begin mourning in that moment.  My expectant heart and I dressed up a bit, hoping that moment would be a celebration.  And God knew which one it would be before that baby's form ever flashed on the screen, while I yelled, "I see it!"  and my tender-hearted husband cried beside me, and a weight lifted off of us.

I am tempted to write that God is faithful.  He is.  But for every mourning heart of a parent out there, those words sting.  Why was He not faithful to heal the lost children?  The hurting ones?  The children of this world who haven't made it to their 2 month birthdays, like sweet Pearl has?  I don't know the answer.  He is faithful, but it all is beyond my understanding.   Why do I get these three children when dear friends try again and again for a second baby?  A first baby.  It's not fair.  My joy seems gaudy in the face of their sorrow.

And yet it grows.  God has a plan.  In time I won't be able to hide that He is working in my body and this baby's body.  It is the unstoppable force of dust that has had breath breathed into it by the Creator.  His plan for this little one may be big or small, but it is part of God's story.  I can't even write my own chapter.  If I could, I would have skipped all of the sad parts.

I don't know why my friends can't have children right now, but I know that God binds up the wounds of the broken hearted.  He did mine.  He will yours.  The wildly and deeply will come.  And though the seeds may have not awakened yet, they lie sleeping in your heart and He knows.  And He holds the pieces of you in His hands to keep you from falling apart when everything threatens to break.  And here's what I want you to know; it is you who are beautiful and precious. 

For MQ, JD, KC, and BN.   And for every other mother out there who has lost their baby. 

Little knits for little girls

 Nearly four years in the world entitles this girl to some opinions.  Namely what she wears and what she likes.  So when I asked her if I could knit something for her, she told me what, picked out the yarn and monitored my knitting progress every day.  Unfortunately she also decided to use my scissors on them so these exact arm warmers, after some repairs, were given away as a birthday gift to Cora's BFF, as a consequence for messing with mama's knitting stuff (her choice of consequence, by the way).  Little does she know I made her another pair just like them for her birthday in a month.  Shhhh!  Keep it on the down low.

As for the pattern, it's a simple tube knitted in a rib pattern and when I got within 3/4 of an inch of the end, I knitted 8 stitches onto some scrap yarn, re-knitted the stitches with the real yarn and carried on until the end.  Then I came back and pulled those scrap yarn stitches, picking up the 8 stitches on each side plus 2 more on the ends and knitted a tube for the thumb.  Make 2 of these, then bind off and weave in ends and watch your little fashionista light up!

Messy Monday - laundry mountain

My family likes to have a big breakfast.  They pick at lunch, they graze at dinner, but at breakfast they feast!  I'll give you three guesses as to how eggs and a newly pregnant mama mix in the mornings. 

Actually most mornings are like this lately, not just eggy mornings.  Mornings used to be my most productive time, but not so much right now.  So in honor of Messy Monday, here is a view of my heap of laundry waiting to be folded.  It happens to be clean, and for that I am grateful.  I will get there, but not right now.

Here is the window seat and book corner, post Kid-Apocalypse.  They are fans of dumping baskets and boxes of things out.

I feel like I could take a picture like this in every room right now.  But before I depress myself about the state of my uncared for home, I will say this:

I may not have a clean house, but the kids and I baked an apple pie together today.  (read, they ate peels, ate pie dough, ate apple slices, and ran around squealing and wearing aprons while I chopped apples, but we were together and had fun!)

I may not have a clean house, but on Friday we went apple picking and I made an entire farm full of roosters crow with my rooster impression, inspiring awe in my kids.  We also slid down a giant pipe slide together.  All three of us.  Lots.

I may not have a clean house, but my daughter whispers in my ear, "Guess how much I love you?"  

I may not have a clean house, but I have a good and loving husband who just this morning promised to make breakfast until the morning sickness passes.  What a fella! 

I may not have a clean house, but I am a fun mama.  And that is enough.  I'll have a clean house when they leave for college.

Happy Rainy/Messy Monday!

Messy Mondays was inspired by Flo Paris Oaks when she wrote this blog post/article and subsequently started this blog.

Letters to Pearl: We shall see God

Dear friend,

  This post is part of a collective of letters to Pearl Joy Brown.  I've written about her before in this space, but since then her life has touched so many people.  This is a bit about how she has touched mine.

Dear Pearl,

   Your mama and I found out we were pregnant with our little girls around the same time.  My baby did not live longer than a few weeks in my belly, but every day you grew, I rejoiced.  When your papa sent word of what experts thought was your fatal illness, my heart failed me. I lost faith.  I could not grieve my own baby and you at the same time, so I retreated back into myself.  With every letter your papa sent out, I rode the roller coaster from afar of hope and fear for what your life could be.  I remember reading these paragraphs and just crying.

"We truly feel privileged to have been given the opportunity to care for Pearl. People all over the world get the same type of devastating news every day, so it’s not as if we are unique or special. The amazing part is that God chose two of the most normal, unimpressive people that we know of and has given us the privilege of partnering with him in unfolding a story about a baby girl with only half of a brain and no nose, and a God who numbers days, makes people out of dirt, and rides in to town on a donkey, unlike any other king has ever done. He has used us to display himself. He has pulled us in close, because he knows that if he doesn’t, we will rebel and fall off the deep end. We have peace that passes all understanding, even while in the midst of something that should otherwise crush us. It’s not as if we’ve already gone through the fire and are able to look back at how he sustained us. We are in it, and he is good."

and this:

"Pearl bears the image of the same God that Brennan and Abbey do. We do not need to hide image bearers from other image bearers. God knit Pearl together in Ruth’s womb exactly as he saw fit. He didn’t make a mistake. Things didn’t go wrong. He brought her form into being with the same intentionality that he has created everyone. " 

This was faith beyond measure in your family and I wondered where mine was.  When your mama asked for scriptures for your blanket, even my choice of God's word reflected my faithless heart.  I embroidered, "Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God" Matthew 5:8.  My fear was that you and your innocent heart would make a brief appearance here and then you would be in the presence of our Father and I dared not choose a verse that was about hope, for I had none for myself.

And then you were born.  And then you lived!  People said the word, "Miracle" and my faithless heart turned away.  I still feared.  It took me a long time to come visit you.  I held your sweet, tiny body and then I prayed for you.  For your family, for your very breath.  And the word "miracle" went past my head where the fears and doubts lived and hit my heart.  You are a miracle.  I said that word as I breathed thanks to the God who created you.  Who knew you.  Who knew exactly what your story would be.

Nearly 6 weeks later and you are still here.  Not just alive, but thriving, growing, and changing the world.  And here I am, nearly 6 weeks pregnant.  God did a work in your body, in your family, and through your story, the world.  He is also doing a work in my body and in my family.  I don't know the answers.  I don't know if my baby will live.  I don't know the outcomes for any of us, but I know that right here and right now, God is good.  

He has a plan and He is working all things together for Good.  I still find fear in my heart when I think about your future and my baby's future, but more and more, I find faith, hope, and peace.  And though I chose that scripture from a place of no faith, it has come true.  Through your precious, tiny, and pure heart, we have seen God.  Thank you Pearl, for the gift that is your very life and breath.

You can read more about Pearl's story on her blog.  http://pearljoybrown.wordpress.com/

If Pearl has touched your life, you can write her a letter too.  Here's how:

There are three ways to share your Letter to Pearl:

1. Publish your letter on your blog or web site. Link your post to Life.Edited via the “Click here to enter” link at the bottom. *Please link directly to the post with your letter in it (not to your blog’s homepage). The link-up will remain open until Friday, Sept 14, at 11:59PM.

2. Publish your letter as a note on Facebook. Post the note on your own Wall/Timeline, then copy/paste the note as a Wall post on the Letters to Pearl event page HERE.

3. Mail your letter to Pearl. Send your handwritten letter or a copy of your published letter to:
Letters to Pearl
c/o Eric or Ruth Brown
PO Box 160083
Nashville, TN 37216
Thank you for sharing your part of Pearl’s story.
Click here to enter your link and view the Letters to Pearl link-up list…

If you would like to support the Browns in a tangible way, I have something for you too.  They need a van!   Here's how to help make that happen.

The Adventures of...

Super Sister and Potty Training Boy!!! (aka Super Brother!)

So Cora emerged from her rest time as this:  

SUPER SISTER!! (she dubbed herself - see her ring of power, see her super tights (with matching pink undies, shirt and cape? The girl has style!)  

With the Power to Fly! (off of the furniture) And not to be outdone by his sister, and at her insisting that Judah also be Super...

  

Potty Training Boy was born! (She calls him Super Brother, but I think my name is more appropriate) 

 

 

And so the daring duo lept from furniture, shared, and in general got along for an hour! Hurrah! Triumph! Humanity was saved by kindness! (and underwear worn over tights!)

Cloth Diapering - from the other side of the trenches

 

When I wrote my previous cloth diapering posts, I was still a mama of one kid.  One kid who had not yet finished potty training and got all of my attention.  Now I am the mama of two (and a third on the way).  One kid out of diapers and the other one on his way out.  My lovely pile of cloth diapers has been through the wringer.  Literally.

Some thoughts from the other side of this adventure.
1. Diapers suck.  Paper, cloth, whatever.  Having to be responsible for the poop of another human being is just gross.  Especially after they start eating solid food and even more so when they are toddlers.  We did as much Elimination Communication with both children as we could and still, there was poop in diapers and sometimes on the floor during the potty training phase.  (And that is why we pulled up the carpets.)  I still stand by my 'shake what you can shake and leave the rest to the washing machine' mantra.  The less contact one has with that stuff, the better.

2. High Efficiency washing machines don't actually clean diapers very well, or clothes for that matter.  And the ones with the short agitator just shred the heck out of my diapers.  I am serious!  They are quickly going to tatters.  Very frustrating, especially when I had planned for them to see me through all of our children, not just the first two.  We saved up and bought our HE washer in September 2011 and I am over it.  It was made for people who gently wear their clothes, not for kids who think it is their job to coat themselves in mud or who pee their pants and then stash the offending undies at the bottom of the laundry basket to be found later when the stench has infiltrated the entire load of clothes.  When you can't get the smell out after 2 hot wash cycles and extra laundry boosters thrown in, the washer is just not doing a good job.  I'm on the hunt for a used washer that actually fills with water, warranty be danged!

 

3. Cloth diapering loses it's 'fun' aspect after one kid and just becomes work.  This is the reason our mother's generation gleefully dove headlong into the paper diaper movement!  Who needed the extra work?  I'm sure glad these kids are cute!  Don't get me wrong, we still cloth diaper and I'm still grateful for the savings, but it's not fun anymore.  I don't get asked about it much anymore since most of my friends CD as well or have potty trained their kids.  So I rarely get a chance to enthuse about CDing to strangers, educating them in the ways of the cloth.  In hindsight, that was one of the things I loved about CDing...talking about it.  Because who in their right mind really loves a pee and poo soaked piece of cloth?  Am I right?

4. The overnight diaper dilemma.  I'm sure there is a cloth diaper solution for a kid who is a nighttime super-soaker, but I have not done the research on it, apparently.  I've tried inserts and doublers and still, it's not enough.  And without being able to get them really clean (see HE washer paragraph above), the nightime diapers sit on my little guy's bottom so long and have the tendency to burn his skin. (Pee reacts with laundry soap residue left by that stupid HE washer and can cause problems for sensitive skin. Super awesome.) So for now, Judah wears a paper overnight diaper and often still pees through it.  He has a bladder of a cow, I tell ya!  If you have any good ideas for a super-soaker kiddo, let me know. I'm guessing I won't solve this one until we get a new washer.

5. Lest I sound like a complete ingrate, I still would and do choose cloth over paper any day.  We have saved our family thousands of dollars this way and that is no small feat.  We have it down to a science now, with the diaper pail kept only in the laundry room.  Yes, it adds an extra step to the change, but getting rid of the stink from our main rooms was so worth it.  Judah looks cute as all heck when he runs around in those little cloth diaper covers with trees on them (Thirsties).  He is out of the full time diaper phase and into the running around naked and practicing going potty phase so we use a lot less diapers.  We have even introduced undies but at this point, but he uses them like diapers and it's just more for me to wash. We are working on it.  He does loose shorts much better.

All in all, cloth diapers serve a purpose, save some money, look cute and are a great step for reducing waste, but don't feel guilty if it's not for you.  I encourage parents to try it and like everything else we do as parents, give yourself some grace if it isn't perfect. 

Please, oh please...

I've never greeted happy news with such fear and trembling.  I had my fifth positive pregnancy test today.  Fifth ever.  That means, for those of you who might be confused about the importance of that, I have two living babies, two babies in heaven and now...this one, who is living, as far as I know.  I am equal parts ecstatic about his/her arrival and terrified that I will miscarry again.  Each loss has pulled loose a chunk of my heart, and for a time, a chunk of my sanity.  I am grateful for the love and support of our families and wonderful community as well as deeply sensible of how blessed I am to have our two living children.  But since this is a place for me to be honest I have to say I don't think I can keep it together very well if this pregnancy is not viable.  

Conventional wisdom might dictate that we keep this under our hats until we know for sure, but wisdom seems to be more about not showing grief if something is wrong and I just can't do that either.  I am going to find joy where there is joy and hold on to hope.  We had planned to have this third baby, but I realize now that I've been putting it off, almost hoping it would take longer.  But no, true to form, one month of trying equals pregnant.  Thanks, Mama, for those genes.  (Really. I mean it.  I am kinda impatient.) And now, there is nothing to do but wait, take my prenatal vitamins, and pray that this baby stays.  Please, oh please, stay.

Join us in our joy and won't you say a prayer for me and this little one?

Give up, give in, rest

"Stop fighting me!  I'm trying to keep you from getting hurt."

I said that to my son this morning as he attempted to dive off of the back of a chair and through a window.  The words left my mouth and I was suddenly flooded with all of the words my parents said to me over and over while I was growing up.  In spite of how I believed they felt about me as a teenager, they were, in truth, trying to keep me from hurting.  How I fought them.  I sneaked around, I lied, I did what I wanted in covert ways that kept me from trouble, but did damage to my heart.

I see the sneakiness in my daughter and it terrifies me.  Granted, it's three year old sneakiness of coloring on walls, raiding my closet for clothes to dress up in when I ask her not to and in general doing what she wants as long as she thinks I can't see her.  I see the fight in my son and it frightens me, even though it is only the fight of an eighteen month old.   Oh, that stubborn face when he gets determined to do something.  Even after I've just caught him in mid-air or pulled his hand from the flame (sometimes literally).  I didn't think I was a worrier, but it seems this is my first instinct as a parent.

Our culture says YOLO! (you only live once)  Our culture encourages us to live and love recklessly.  There seems to be some mysterious beauty and allure in the untamed heart.  I have felt that.  "'Tis better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all" they say, but somehow that mostly applies to sleeping around.  We aren't there yet.  My kids are small.  But seeing their resistance to the wisdom of my years even now brings that worry.

I see the willingness in myself to still have those sneaky, stubborn, rebellious traits in spite of the fact that they do damage to my health, my relationships...everything!  I can hear God saying the words I say to my children.  Granted they are more gentle, but there are those words in my heart. Give up, Give in, Rest.

Give up the stubborn need to be right.  Give up the worry about these kiddos, give up the secret desires of my dark heart that threaten everything around me.  The fear, the anger, the selfishness, the shame, the covetousness. 

Give up the insanity.  Give in to my Grace.  Rest.

 

Sounds like a plan.

No more 3x5's...at least not on this hike.

The kids and I went to Beaman Park this morning and I didn't take my camera. I didn't even take my phone.  And I wonder if I saw them more and a little better.  Of course I won't have an image to look back on of our hike, but I have others.  It made me sing John Mayor's "No more 3x5's" as we walked. 

Judah ran ahead of us, as sure footed as a little (cherubic) mountain goat over roots and rocks.  Uphill and downhill, faster than I was comfortable with, especially on the steeper parts of the trails.  His little chubby legs took him quickly down the path while he enjoyed a rare freedom.  It's hard to let them run ahead on city sidewalks when a few steps off of the sidewalk equals death by cars, but here, in the woods, a few steps off the path, while it may have poison ivy in places, is less of a risk.  Granted there were some tumbles, but nothing a quick brush off couldn't fix.

Cora walked more slowly behind me, searching for treasures on the trail.  Her favorite find was a blue-jay feather.  Rocks and leaves and roots and bugs, she saw them all.  She wanted to climb on the rock wall at the start of the trail and was so proud of herself.  I am too.  In all my mothering ways when it was just me and her, I somehow taught her to be afraid.  I'm sad that I did.  Now I spend time teaching her to not be afraid.  To be brave.  To try.  To practice.  To not give up.  To brush it off when she falls.  She's getting better at it every day.

Then we crossed the road to where the creek runs quickly over flat rocks (less bugs) and we explored the deeper pools of water and rocks until we spotted a snake in the water.  Unsure of what kind it was, we retreated to the shallows just to be safe.*

And me?  I soaked in the green, the blue, the earth, the sound of the creek running, the sound of my feet on the trail, the cold water on my feet.  I taught, I watched, I remembered to look up and enjoy the canopy of leaves above us and the glory around us, and not just down at little ones.

We returned home gloriously grubby and quite content. And now they sleep.  The perfect morning.

*Upon researching when we got home, I'm pretty sure it was a Northern Water Snake and therefore harmless, but there is nothing like thinking through worst case scenarios to get a mama to be more cautious!  We were a long way from help and with questionable cell phone coverage if any of us had gotten hurt.

Pouring out

This is the way of my vain heart: My journal gets the bad/hard and the blog gets the good/fun and so when I fall silent here, it's because my heart is full of things that I wish weren't there and I'm afraid they'd come spilling out here and that would be ugly.  Not that you folks haven't seen me in my ugly state in person, but here, I still like to think I am fooling someone into thinking I have it together.  I don't, by the way.  This is one of the things I have been silent about:

Halfway through her pregnancy, my friend Ruth and her family found out that the baby girl, Pearl Joy had alobar holoprosencephaly (HPE), a neural disease with low chances of survival.  Literally her diagnosis was 'not compatible with life'.  I read each email from their family as the pregnancy progressed with hope and anger all balled up in one.  I prayed, I cried, I fought back doubt, I wished for all things to be made new again, I embroidered God's promises on a square of a quilt for Pearl.  And then she came.  And then she lived.  She lives still!  She was born on July 27th at 12:07am.

Written before her birth, Pearl's father's words about her life, even if it was only in the womb, struck a deep chord in my heart.
 "There is a weighty joy surrounding all of her life, but to deny the joy and only focus on the sadness would be doing her a terrible disservice. Like all of us, there is so much more to her than her weakness."

I am continually being amazed by the work of God in the lives of those He loves. (Even when we don't love Him back).  I am in awe of the love and help and community poured out on this family.  I am rejoicing in the reminder of who God is.  In the midst of politics, controversy, trouble, strife and madness, there is a baby girl born to a family and in her birth, there is the boundless love of God poured out on not only their family, but the community where I live and on every person who has read her story.   I pray my life may be poured out in such a way.

Phillipians 2:17 But even if I am being poured out as a drink offering upon the sacrifice and service of your faith, I rejoice and share my joy with you all. 18 You too, I urge you, rejoice in the same way and share your joy with me. 

You can read more about Pearl in the following places:

A letter from her mother at my friend Amanda's website.

On her website where her father posts 

You can help support their family financially through this time here or here.

 

How my phone spent a week in a bag of rice and I learned a lesson in parenting

I don't have an i-phone.  I just have a palm phone which even my cell phone provider does not call a 'smart phone'.  It's only mildly knowledgeable, and yet, I'm on that thing a lot.  Recently, it nearly met its doom in a puddle of water on the counter when the portable dishwasher emptied on the space between the two sink basins and ran back over the entire counter.  I found it in the morning.  I took it apart immediately and per online advice, stuck it in a bag of rice.  Lest I be without a phone for half a millisecond, I called my provider to have my number switched over to my old phone.  And by old, I mean 2 phones back.  It's a flip phone.  This one, to be exact.  Straight out of the junk drawer.  I need to let go of thing!  Sheesh.

When I switched, the customer service guy mentioned how hard it would be for me to send texts and I merely scoffed.  I mean, this had been my phone before, right?  I know how to send text messages on those numeric keys!  How bad could it be?  Then I realized how often I send text messages that would take 5 minutes to send on a standard keypad.  Then I realized how much time I spent checking facebook status comments and photos on my very slow phone since I wasn't able to even access the web on this one.  Then I realized how often my kids are were vying for my attention while I took much, much longer to communicate on this new/old phone.  So I gave up.  If someone wanted to talk to me via long texts, I just called them for a moment or I didn't respond until I had some kid free time.   Don't get me wrong, this wasn't by choice!  I felt frustrated and cut off from friends.  I felt annoyed and spent my evenings perusing my phone carrier's website, looking at stats of smarter phones that I could get for free or cheap if I activated my upgrade.

But how many times per day are my kids asking me for something or talking to me and I am too busy.  How often am I engaged in a conversation with an unseen person via text and I just don't answer my children when they are talking to me because I want to finish my sentence?  They don't recognize that device as another person, merely some gadget I'm playing with.  All day.  They can't see what is going on on that screen and as a result, they feel ignored.  When we are with other people and I tell them I'm having a conversation with another adult, they can gauge that.  They can sit and wait until I'm done talking and then talk with me.  My phone offers no such cues.  I have it with me all the time. In the park, at home, in the car, in the store.  There is never a time when they can clearly see that it is their turn to talk to me if I have that thing in my hand.

With my little flip phone in hand it became again what it was mean to be.  Just a phone.  Remember the days when you called someone and left a message?  Or if they didn't have an answering machine you just called back.  I'm not calling for a personal return to phones tied to the wall by any means, but I am recognizing that being present applies to my phone too.  I can have mom breaks.  I have have a time out, but when I am present, I need to BE present.  Not wishing I were somewhere else, with someone else. 

It won't be like this forever.  My kids will grow up.  I can be here, or I can miss it.  Funny that while this phone in rice thing was happening, some very interesting blog posts circulated on facebook.  They came up when I had a hour at night to waste.  They struck a chord in me and I realized that I have been guilty of missing my children's childhood.  How much this time when they are young is a precious gift and while I have served on the mission field in foreign countries, there was never a mission so important and precious as this one.   The blog post that talked about motherhood as a mission field is no longer up.  It's as if it was up just long enough to speak to my heart.

A week in rice and my phone made a miraculous recovery.  And so did I, just a bit.  Oh, I'm still guilty of picking up that thing to entertain myself when the kid madness is turning the house upside down and we are housebound with a week's worth of stomach virus, but I am much more aware of it and I tend to put it down.  Texts can wait.  Voicemails can be heard later.  Phone calls can be returned.  I've got little hearts to tend and, sometimes, it's good to not be available to anyone else.

Rain for Roots: Alice's Story (and a giveaway!)

Y'all who know me, know I'm all about relationships, so I'd like to introduce you to some friends of mine.  They are dreamers, they are makers of beautiful things, they are lovely women whose heart's desire is to teach young children the Good News.  They have come together to create a wonderful album full of music that does just that, called Rain for Roots.  

 

photo credit: Wendy Twit

They are pictured above with their children and/or husbands and if you look closely, you just might see some familiar faces.  The group is composed of Sandra McCracken, pictured with her hubs Derek Webb and their kids (yes, that Derek Webb, for those of you who know me from my 'covering songs by Caedmon's Call' era, long, long ago.), Katy Bowser (of Coaltrain Railroad fame and other fabulous projects) pictured with her hubs Kenny Hutson and their daughter, Flo Paris, pictured with her hubs Josh Oaks an their girls, Ellie Holcomb and her hubs Drew, and Alice Smith and her hubs Matthew Smith with their boys.  Such a collection of wonderfully supported women making beautiful things and this is Alice's part of the story.

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I recently got a chance to sit down with Alice Smith, who is the type A gal behind the scenes making it all happen, ie, project manager, publicity, and so much more, to hear about the growing of this garden of songs from her perspective.  Alice brings an amazing level of organization to things that makes my head spin!

First, tell us a little about the idea behind Rain for Roots, how it was born and how you became involved.

"The idea was God's idea. Truly, multiple women separately approached those involved and encouraged them to make scripture songs for children.  Katy began sharing the idea and found that the same idea was on the hearts of others.  Last spring and summer, every time we were together, the idea came up and then in mid-July (a few days after Flo very sweetly had a dinner gathering as a belated birthday celebration for Sandra and me) Sandra sent this email: 

"What should we name our girl-kids-music band? 
Should we do just hymns and psalms? 
Scripture readings in between songs (by the kiddos)? 
Let's brainstorm a list of songs we love... This could be super lo fi. And super fun. :)"

That sparked more brainstorming and kept the seed of the idea growing. Katy reached out to Sally during Hutchmoot and the 6 of us shared lunch at Marché to get Sally's thoughts on her own involvement.  At the time, we were thinking of writing out of her Jesus Storybook Bible but, the day before, Katy had seen and bought Sally's Baby's Hug-A-Bible. At that meal, Katy pulled it out of her bag and we started imagining what a 10 song album based on those 10 poems would be like.  This project, Rain for Roots' first release, is hopefully the first of many."

You and the other women who created the album -- Katy, Ellie, Flo, and Sandra  -- are neighbors in a very real sense. What role did the East Nashville community play in your collective hopes for the record and its audience?

"Relationally, a long history of knowing one another and being close both in proximity and in heart made collaboration an much more natural and easy process.  There is a lot of unity and trust among us and that foundation led to freedom in throwing out ideas, challenging one another with hard questions and working through various shifts in the make up of the project.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the strong support of all the husbands involved.  They did double duty as fathers and supporters and contributed their own expertise musically."

How did it feel to project manage who are also dear friends?

"I've loved them all as songwriters and though I don't know Ellie as well, it was a great joy to watch and help. Getting to know Sandra as a producer (her first time in this role) was amazing.  Her insight, wisdom, boldness, careful thought and musical sensibilities were easy to support.  Ellie dove in with both feet and her enthusiasm and encouragement along the way kept everyone engaged.  And, Flo too is a great part of this team of women, looking for ways to engage the neighborhood, adding to the resources we have to get the music out there and offering her heart at every turn along the way. I've worked with Katy, consulting on Coal Train Railroad, and within the Indelible Grace projects, so it was a natural mode for us to find. I still feel like we are at the very beginning of what I hope will be a long, multifaceted working relationship."

I have been thinking about your piece in Art House America and how you said, in part, that your art was creating relationships and connections and reveling in the beauty to be found around you (my own summation).  I know you to be a creative person in your own right and although you didn't sing on this album, I want to hear about the creative process for you in approaching this project.

"For me, this project has been a welcomed gift. It is a place, among friends, to contribute some of my own skills and passion while working to create something I deeply believe in. That, in itself, is something I've longed for for years. The process has been full of opportunities to trust God and to not let insecurity and fear get me down. 

In early October, only a few weeks after we got the go ahead from Sally to write to her poems, I was with Katy in Minnesota  when she wrote God Helps Baby Moses. It was a great joy to be part of the first hearings of that and the other demos and work tapes that were circulating via email. Each time Ellie, Sandra, Flo and Katy sent through a song, I was struck by how immediately memorable each was.  Their talent and heart for the gospel of Jesus shone through in such beautiful ways.

Later, in the studio with Sandra and Flo as they recorded Flo's God Rescues Noah From The Storm, they invited me to give input as they worked out the form of the song.  We experimented with a few ways of asking and answering the questions posed in the lyrics. We tried repeating a few of the sections to let the heavy truths sink in and linger; that God is the one who keeps his promises and does "just what he says he'll do". I loved the editing process; feeling the changes with each new form the song took, even with the same words and melody, so many options were there. This opened up to me a greater understanding of the work of songwriters.

Also, I observed Sally as she came in to listen to her words set to these melodies and, at some point, referred to her as a songwriter...which was a new title for her to add to author, speaker and poet. I LOVE seeing souls find their way into new roles.  

That same day, when we gave Sally the best seat in the studio to listen, I (somewhat shyly and concerned it may be out of turn) mentioned that I was missing the voice of the men on the project because, at that point, it was only women and kiddos singing.  Everyone agreed and a few days later Sandra sent out a sweet email to the husbands with the simple subject line "low notes?". 

I approached it as work I'm called to and am offering means of order and looking for relational connections that make sense to follow for sharing the work.  I'm incredibly proud of the songs and am enjoying the work so very much."

What has been the most meaningful experience to come out of this album for you?

"The most meaningful experiences have been the way God uses the songs themselves.  On Easter morning, after our church's sunrise service, our family came back home, groggy and bundled in sweaters from the cool morning.  Sitting in our living room, still trying to wake up, we sang Jesus Is Alive over and over again.  The boys lept and danced and I sat deeply encouraged that this batch of songs (and others to come in the future from Rain for Roots) are part of the soundtrack of our family.

Other times, I've woken up in the middle of the night with these songs on my mind.  God's spirit gently but strongly imparts that I am the little one being addressed and that I need to hear the promises for me and not just for my children and other little ones."

I personally love your ability to encourage and bring out the best in your artistic friends, me included, who may be a bit more disorganized that you are.  You have a way of not only perceiving a seed of an idea in others but then you help to awaken those ideas and teach others to discover hidden beauty in themselves.  I find that amazing.  What seeds did you see grow or help to grow in this project?  

"I helped oil what was already in motion and looked for ways to support the girls to help them accomplish the project.  That included everything from drafting a budget, to navigating complicated touring schedules to working out the license for the words.  The seeds for this project were given by God and we scattered them around but the growth has been His doing.  Right when we began tossing around the name Rain for Roots, our neighborhood group studied this passage from Mark:

Mark 4:26-28

²⁶ He also said, “This is what the kingdom of God is like. A man scatters seed on the ground. ²⁷ Night and day, whether he sleeps or gets up, the seed sprouts and grows, though he does not know how. ²⁸ All by itself the soil produces grain—first the stalk, then the head, then the full kernel in the head. 

I am reminded that prayer and waiting are part of helping to make good things grow."

So we've heard from Alice the neighbor, the friend, the artist and manager. This question is for Alice the mom. How have your children responded to Rain for Roots? Any favorite moments during or after production that you'd like to share with us?

"I mentioned Easter morning above. I laugh looking back at the favorite moments as a mom.  Evan sang some background vocals on Jesus Is Alive and, for some reason, being in the studio and on a mic caused him to act in a sillier manner than I'd ever seen.  Derek and Sandra commented that he was almost singing harmonies (trans: he's so off key, I'm not sure this will fit). We continue to realize that Asher would have been a much better studio contributor as he dances around the house signing Jesus Is Alive along with God Makes Everything (our current household favorites).

Jesus Stops A Storm was the last song to be written and, early on, I wondered if perhaps I could give it a whirl alongside Evan who loves to make up songs.  One night, I asked him to sing the lyrics with me.  Within a few minutes, Evan was writing his own song on the same topic, singing "Jesus, Jesus! Lord of all...Lord of the baby, Lord of the talls, Lord of the building, Lord of the mom, Lord of the eyeballs, Lord of the toys, Lord of the bulls, Lord of the animals!"  I recorded the very sweet, somewhat theological dialog that followed came out of this singing time.

Sharing treasured conversations like these and watching the boys come to believe the truth in these songs gives new meaning to Jesus' words of "Let the little children come to me..."  Sally, Ellie, Flo, Katy and Sandra are not just letting them come, they have created a way for them to run in and to savor being there, at Jesus' feet, cared for and lavished with love."

 

And finally, hat are your hopes for the continuation of this project?  What is the next step for Rain for Roots?http://rainforroots.com/

"I hope for these songs to reach the hearts of as many of God's little ones as possible.  

Rain for Roots plans to continue recording, perhaps an album of Psalm Songs for Little Ones or Genesis Songs for Little Ones.  We imagine future projects drawing more directly from the words of scripture so that as they are learned and sung, the word of God is being memorized."

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So friends, now is your chance to win a free download of this entire wonderful new album!  Are you ready?  All you have to do is go and post the free sampler download link (saying that you downloaded it) on your blog, your facebook page, or where ever you are online, and link back here in the comments.  The sampler download is on the bottom right hand corner of RfR's webpage. (Just put a link to your FB page or blog and be sure to leave your email or twitter handle so I can get ahold of you.) On Sunday afternoon, I will post the winner, so check back here for updates!

When you decide you love this album and can't live without it, head on over to Rain for Roots to by it (for only $8!) and enter 'truelove' for a 10% discount on the album (that makes it $7.20!), available to all my readers!

P.S. Exclusive interviews with the rest of the gals from Rain for Roots are available on the blogs of my fellow East Nashville Mom bloggers!
Read Flo's Story at Nala's Photography
Read Ellie's Story at Designs by Stephie
Read Sandra's Story at Life: Edited
Read Katy's Story at If Stones Could Talk

Update - Sunday May 20th!!
 I just got back from a long weekend of camping with my children and some other families and am not ready to finish the drawing up.  I'm extending until Wed. the 23rd to allow myself some time to finish a heap of smoky laundry.   See you Wednesday!
P.S.  Leave a way to contact you in the comments!  You can't win if I can't reach you! :)
Update - Wed. May 23rd.  Comments Closed!

And the random number chosen winner is Happy Wife!  Congrats, Kim!  Look for an email from me soon with your download code.
Ariana