I just got an email from a friend wishing me a happy birthday and hoping that the current upheaval was not dampening the day. Unfortunately for me, I have allowed the adventure preparation squash the celebration of God's amazing work in my past and the adventure He is planning for my future.
Abigail was up at 7:00 this morning. We rescued her from her confinement to try to steal a few more minutes of rest with her in our bed. One would think that after 21 months of failure we would learn, but apparently a little butt on my head isn't clue enough that rest is not coming. Chris and Abigail had a little conversation:
Chris: Abby say "Happy".
Abigail: Habby.
Chris: Birthday.
Abigail: Brdy
Chris: Mommy
Abigail: (with the flourish of knowing she can say this word) Mommy!
And I realized that in these 30 years the greatest gifts given to me did not come on my birthday but on the birthdays of so many of the people I love and am loved by. It is a joyful day indeed.
Friday, August 31, 2007
In Hiding
We're moving, as I have said before.
We are not the most organized people. In fact, my husband's philosophy goes something like this: Everything I own should exist in a series of piles I can constantly see. I believe that there should be areas of peace and areas of clutter. I am OK with a certain level of dishevelment. He exists in dishevelment. We had reached a quiet compromise. He could have his piles in certain areas (not the mantle or the living room floor) like the half of the dining room table we don't use or the table behind the couch. If his piles migrated I could put them in a designated spot; the former TV cabinet, or a drawer in the dresser turned sideboard. It worked for us.
Then it happened; our house was listed and we needed to live in a magazine. I have decided that people don't really live there in that state. This means that Chris's philosophy is impossible to keep, at all. And as much as he really tries, and he does, inevitably something is left out in a pile for him to be able to see. Even my philosophy is tried as areas of clutter can't even exist. And the compromise, well, it doesn't work either. You see, in staging our house all of the designated space for errant piles was consumed so now there is no agreed upon hiding spaces forgotten piles.
This is why today we spent an incredible amount of time looking for the drill, extension cord, and drill bits. Before our house hunting trip, Chris had finished putting in the last trim piece under a door. And he left the drill, extension cord, and drill bits in the dining room, on the floor. So Wednesday when I was getting the house ready for potential-we're-away shows and packing, I came across this pile and needed a place for it. As I already mentioned the normal, agreed-upon hiding places were full so I put it in the large skillet/angel food cake pan cabinet. I can't imagine why, a week later it took us looking on and off for a few hours to find the stuff.
Only one example of moving turmoil related to hiding our stuff. No wonder I feel unsettled. And worried: can I really create a peaceful, comfortable resting spot for my family in a rental house?
We are not the most organized people. In fact, my husband's philosophy goes something like this: Everything I own should exist in a series of piles I can constantly see. I believe that there should be areas of peace and areas of clutter. I am OK with a certain level of dishevelment. He exists in dishevelment. We had reached a quiet compromise. He could have his piles in certain areas (not the mantle or the living room floor) like the half of the dining room table we don't use or the table behind the couch. If his piles migrated I could put them in a designated spot; the former TV cabinet, or a drawer in the dresser turned sideboard. It worked for us.
Then it happened; our house was listed and we needed to live in a magazine. I have decided that people don't really live there in that state. This means that Chris's philosophy is impossible to keep, at all. And as much as he really tries, and he does, inevitably something is left out in a pile for him to be able to see. Even my philosophy is tried as areas of clutter can't even exist. And the compromise, well, it doesn't work either. You see, in staging our house all of the designated space for errant piles was consumed so now there is no agreed upon hiding spaces forgotten piles.
This is why today we spent an incredible amount of time looking for the drill, extension cord, and drill bits. Before our house hunting trip, Chris had finished putting in the last trim piece under a door. And he left the drill, extension cord, and drill bits in the dining room, on the floor. So Wednesday when I was getting the house ready for potential-we're-away shows and packing, I came across this pile and needed a place for it. As I already mentioned the normal, agreed-upon hiding places were full so I put it in the large skillet/angel food cake pan cabinet. I can't imagine why, a week later it took us looking on and off for a few hours to find the stuff.
Only one example of moving turmoil related to hiding our stuff. No wonder I feel unsettled. And worried: can I really create a peaceful, comfortable resting spot for my family in a rental house?
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Silence
I know I just posted something about not posting for a while. And I did it again. Here is why.
We're moving! After seven years of waiting, we are going to be about an hour from each set of grandparents.
We have been busy getting a house ready to sell, spending last precious time with friends, finding a new place to live, and trying to squeeze in time that looks like time we had together before this new craziness began.
That is why.
I have decided to wait to organize our stuff until after other people box it up and I am unpacking. This may mean more time for blogging, or more time at the park. Abigail will vote for the park, and because it means less mess for me to pick up for a show, I probably will too. You all may have to wait till we get to Pennsylvania.
We're moving! After seven years of waiting, we are going to be about an hour from each set of grandparents.
We have been busy getting a house ready to sell, spending last precious time with friends, finding a new place to live, and trying to squeeze in time that looks like time we had together before this new craziness began.
That is why.
I have decided to wait to organize our stuff until after other people box it up and I am unpacking. This may mean more time for blogging, or more time at the park. Abigail will vote for the park, and because it means less mess for me to pick up for a show, I probably will too. You all may have to wait till we get to Pennsylvania.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
On Being Followed
It was raining as we got ready for and went to church. Puddles were sure to excite stomping so we exchanged Abigail's sandals for lacy socks and little white mary-janes with a bow on the strap.
The rain ended sometime during service and the dry sidewalks beckoned us to walk around the church instead of through it. Chris led and I walked somewhere near yet always between the child and the parking lot.
Anyone who has walked with a toddler knows that toddler walking is really sporadic halts to ponder the world and awkward running to the next facination followed again by the sudden halt. Amid the running and halting and reminders to move on and to stay on the sidewalk and to slow down so as not to fall, the leader, Chris, turned around causing a halt and said,
The rain ended sometime during service and the dry sidewalks beckoned us to walk around the church instead of through it. Chris led and I walked somewhere near yet always between the child and the parking lot.
Anyone who has walked with a toddler knows that toddler walking is really sporadic halts to ponder the world and awkward running to the next facination followed again by the sudden halt. Amid the running and halting and reminders to move on and to stay on the sidewalk and to slow down so as not to fall, the leader, Chris, turned around causing a halt and said,
"It's like being chased by a duck!"
Friday, August 3, 2007
Quest
Abigail is on a quest. Her goal is to snap every one of the belts on all the belted baby contraptions.
Stroller 1--successful.
Stroller 2--successful.
Car Seat--successful.
Highchair--successful*
(*when placed in said contraption by parents.)
This morning the quest became more involved. Could she snap the belt on the highchair without Mom's help to get to said belt? Not from the floor. After stomping and yelling in frustration, a plan was formed.
Step 1--Scale the highchair
Step 2--Gather the belt parts
Step 3--Adjust to optimal position
Step 4--Snap Belt
Step 5--Stand and yell, "Momma, down peas."
Mission Accomplished
The Irony
Yesterday, I wanted to take a nap. I painted wainscoating while Abigail was napping and had the beginnings of a headache. I niavely thought "Daddy is home. The chicken is baking. I have 15 minutes." Abigail was thrilled to be sitting in her daddy's lap listening to him read books.
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Squirming came next
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It started so wonderfully.
Squirming came nextThe nap ends.
"Abby, did you take a nap today."
"Mm." with affirmative head shake.
"Well now Mommy needs to take a nap. Please go read a book with Daddy."
"Ummmm, . . .no."
At bedtime, the child so very anxious for "Nite, nite," with Mommy screamed in outrage at being asked to do something so intolerable as sleep.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Can I See Your License?
Perhaps your registration and insurance, as well. 
Oh how very like her daddy this little one is.
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