those days that shift perspective

Yesterday we did hardly anything.  I was completely exhausted from being up all night with Elijah. Once awake I noticed some facebook entries asking for prayers for Japan.  Then, curious and unaware, I clicked msn news and read about the devastation. Off to the family room, where we spent a good deal of our day watching cnn and msnbc.  In fact, Gracie can now site facts about earthquakes and can tell you how they work and what a tsunami is and how it's formed.

Facts are fine, good, but really not important.  The important were the lives. People. Families.

All caught in the midst.

It's hard to explain this to kids when one as an adult doesn't understand it either.

I had no answers for them. I just told them to pray.

Days like that shift perspective. The "annoyances" of daily life are no longer taken for granted -- they become the beautiful. Treasured.  Time is short. Finite. These moments stop and redirect my heart back to seeking the beauty, laughter, an attitude of content, and hope in the everyday.

I just wish that it didn't take days like that to remind my heart to remember.

So today, even with the tiredness in my body and the endless list of things to do I am going to remember. As I buy groceries, and wipe noses, and make a peanut butter sandwich, and clean the toliets, and make dinner, and sweep the floor, and fold the clothes, and drive to ballet, and make my bed, and pick up lincoln logs, and write this post, and brush snow off the car, and clean the boys' room, and water the plants, and wash those dishes.   Those things are life's gifts.

I am grateful.

Join me in praying for Japan.  Please.

rocking. no strings attached.

Samuel was fussy yesterday. Not a simple baby day, but rather a full-fledged tantrum on the floor with legs kicking type of fussy day. He was exhausted. I was even more exhausted.

He just needed to be rocked. Held. Loved.

I picked him up, rocked him a bit, and then sat down at my computer to check for emails regarding our Nutcracker Ballet (which, for all you interested readers, is THIS Saturday). I'd rock, and then stop -- scroll down with the mouse -- and then resume rocking. I followed this pattern for several minutes.

What was wrong with me?
Could I not rock him without needing to multi-task?

Luckily, those are the thoughts that slammed into my face as I read about silent auction signs. I stood up, clicked the button to turn the monitor off, and walked downstairs to our family room. Then, slowly, I began to rock Samuel in my rocking chair. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.  He fought me -- remember he'd been the super crabby baby -- but I kept rocking. A lullaby that I sang when he was first born came back to me, and finally as I sung those words his weary head fell onto my chest.

I would have missed this moment.

I rocked Samuel for 15minutes. That's it. It didn't change my work. My house didn't get messier. But Samuel? He had me. Undivided.

That was exactly what he needed.

I'm so grateful for the clarity that I had at 6:56 pm last night. Clarity to remember that family trumps everything. Maybe my Nutcracker sign isn't as perfect as I'd want it. Or my floor spotless. That is perfectly fine with me.

I had Samuel.
It was me and him.
No strings attached.

--that's my baby Samuel with little Elijah on the day of Samuel's birth -- 

that's also the first day Samuel ever heard the lullaby that lulled him to sleep.

oh those ads

my mother-in-laws salt & pepper shakers

Our newspaper was almost three inches thick yesterday. Ads stuffed the interior, with their glossy pages ladened with deals.  As I sat -- post turkey and slightly comatose -- perusing the ads I could feel my attitude shifting.

From gratitude to wanting.

All of a sudden what I did have seemed old.  Inadequate.  Out-date. Or I simply didn't have it and now found myself wanting it.

Then I stopped.

Not that shopping or looking at ads is bad.  Not at all -- in fact I'll probably be going out later today.  It came down to my heart.  Here I lamented not having cool gadgets, or a new couch, or some great boots -- and there are children around the world eagerly waiting for a shoe box of gifts (my Hannah will be working at Operation Christmas Child today packaging those boxes). Or those without food who await a simple bologna sandwich each day. (see my post on 363days)  Because they have nothing.  Or at least very little.

Who am I to complain?  Where did my heart go when I picked up that tome of ads? When did entitlement creep in?

Then last night I came home to read and comment on the ABC's of Thanks Link Ups.  I simply was blown away reading the lists.  The amount of blessings that I overlooked was glaring.  And yet, when I read your lists, I was humbled.  Reminded.  And so so grateful.

Today, on Black Friday, can I encourage you to read some of the ABC's of Thanks lists or to write your own?  You don't need to link-up -- it's not about pressure -- it's more about keeping the heart centered on the blessings in our lives versus the onslaught of ads pushing things they want us to have. Those items in the ads are good -- blessings -- shopping is a blessing -- it's just keeping the heart centered and focused and content. It's the difference between need and want.  For me writing down items of thanks and reading lists of gratitude re-centered my heart. I think, my friends,  you'll be blessed.

I am joyfully thankful today.

(if you haven't done yours and would like to I've kept the link open till Saturday.

 The link is above. And thank you to all who linked up.)

shoes

Today our homeschool group made over 1800 sandwiches for the homeless.  A man, Mr. Law, from the organization 363days came and shared how he has given his life to providing food for those in need.  When he spoke -- it was with urgency -- for families desperate for food.  And blankets. And socks.  And hats. And shoes.

Shoes.

It hurt my heart.

Just earlier today I complained that there were too many shoes in our entryway.

Later today I learned how two little girls take turns going to school because they share one pair of shoes.

Tonight I'm grateful for shoes and am determined to give away shoes.

I cannot believe how quickly I complained about too much when there are those around me with so little.  How selfish I've been.

I need to change.
I can change.
I will change.

**********

To learn more about the 363 Project feel free to watch this segment from our newscast.  Mr. Law, the founder, came today -- after being awake all night -- to speak to our families.  He took time to get down on his knee and thank my five year old Caleb for the fourteen cents that Caleb pulled from his pocket and gave to him. "For the little kids," my Caleb said.  This man lives his life serving others -- not for glory or recognition -- but out of love, and concern, and purpose. I need to learn from his example.  And follow it.

snow angels

Freedom.

To be a child.  To fall backwards into freshly fallen snow.  To let go. To not worry about how we look. To wave our arms and enjoy life.

To laugh.

Sometimes life loses the snow-angel moments.  The daily grind overwhelms.  The laundry piles up. The responsibilities crush.  Soon, instead of seeing the beauty in life, we begin to see all there is to do.  Or that we haven't done.  Or where we've failed.

Where did the freedom go?

It's not gone.  It's still there -- we just need to see it.  To realize that even with all the endless lists of things to do there can be joy.  And laughter.  And winning.  How often do we describe ourselves as failing and not winning?

It's time to change.

Instead of focusing on where we fall-short, I believe it's time to look at where we excel.  What we've done right.  I did read to the kids.  I was patient when half the gallon of milk spilled on my clean floor.  I laughed at my five year old's jokes. I listened. That's winning.  Not failing.

And that brings freedom.

Today, I'm going to be grateful for the good steps.  There are still challenges, but instead of letting myself dwell on the hard, I'm going to fall backwards, stretch my arms, and enjoy life in the midst of a crazy busy schedule.  With laundry, and cleaning, and cooking and teaching.  It's a change of perspective.  Seeing the snow, seeing life, with new eyes -- and living free.

sweet moments

I love little moments with my children.  More often, they're not planned -- they're those times that just happen.  I've learned to savor those sweet, blessed, moments in time.  Time is fleeting. The little ones grow.

They won't fit in my lap forever.

So, today, I read.  The same story again and again and again and again....

....and again and again and...

again and again...
and again.

***********

<a href="http://manyrandommusings.blogspot.com/search/label/Lovely%20Photo%20Wednesday"><img vspace="none" hspace="none" alt="Lovely Photo - Wordless or Not-So-Wordless Wednesday at Aspire" src="http://i617.photobucket.com/albums/tt255/ElvishAuthoress/LovelyPhoto.png" align="center" /></a>
Hannah asked me to host Lovely Photo Wednesday for her one more time.  Thanks for linking in  -- I'm really grateful -- I wanted to keep Hannah's project up and running. Now, I'm going to have a hard time giving this up when she returns.  I've been blessed getting to view your pictures and getting glimpses into your lives.

(Hannah told me to remind you.....)
.... to link up and comment on at least 3 other blogs. :)

perfectly incomplete

I've had a love/hate relationship with the daily to-do list, the schedule, and the lesson planners.  I spend hours prepping and preparing, only to find myself falling short of filling in all the boxes.  We'd get so close, but then not finish history.  Or the laundry would get folded, but not put away.  Or the menu plan thought in my head, but not written down.

And I felt guilt.  This guilt led to frustration.  The frustration led to feeling inadequate.  The inadequate led to overwhelm.

So, I'd try again.  With a better list, a newer curriculum, and a fancier planner.  Fail.  I still fell short.  This time it was math, and dishes, and yard-work.  On and on and on.

And now, I felt miserable.

My incomplete to-do list glared at me, boasting of the items I never got to.  Instead of seeing the tasks completed, my focus was on all those areas where I fell short.  That's not freedom.  Then, today, as I was driving a green train on a track with Elijah images of the half-filled to-do list filled my head.  No longer was my train following the right track -- rather now, I began to hurry Elijah's playtime. I raced my train around and told Elijah I needed to get back to work.  Driving trains wasn't on the list.

But, should it have been?  Isn't driving scuffed-up metal trains through make-shift mountains more important then the wrinkly load of laundry waiting to be shoved into drawers? How come cooking pumpkin bars with Chloe never earned a spot on the list?  Or snuggling Samuel?  Or talking with Brennan?

Where's that to-do list?

I allowed a piece of paper, with scratched up notes to trump the beauty in the everyday.  In the moments that could be lost by simply moving to the next task -- without seeing glorious opportunity in the windows of free time.  And I beat myself up for not checking off tasks when those tasks, at least most of them, can wait.  Elijah will only share trains with me for so long.  Samuel will grow.  Brennan will move out.  This time is now.

My perfectly incomplete to-do list is perfectly complete.

And I am okay with that.  I really, really am.

appreciating the old

Several days ago, I looked around my house and started to get irritated.  The couch from when we got married is still in our living room.  There's an old wing chair -- it was my grandparents.  Permanent black marker scratches are on my dining room table. There are shoes all over the entry way.  And dishes waiting to be washed in the sink. There are walls to be painted, and a floor that just needs to be swept.

But-

That worn couch that I so want to replace - has memories.  Laughter and tears. Each worn thread not only shows signs of wear, but of family.  Of hours spent reading to my kids.  Or hours snuggling little babies to sleep.  It shows victory - there was a time when Todd was too sick from radiation treatment that he couldn't get off the couch - and now he comes and goes as he pleases.  There's contentment and rest -- good and bad -- life found there resting on those worn cushions.

newborn Sam sleeping on me

Oh - funny couch.  Held up with weights.   Just those weights are a memory.  Of moving and living in San Diego (they broke off in this move).  Of improvising.  Of still working on things even though they are broken.  There's the pillow where the seam broke where I attempted to stitch it together.  Then the memories of finding the stuffing in the boys room -- it was their "best" day ever.  At least that's what they told me.

Brennan and Caleb

Someday, I'll replace that couch.  It will probably be soon -- I'm ready to upgrade.  But, honestly, you know I'll miss it.  Not only because I was okay with plopping myself on it and cuddling a little guy who just ran around outside, but because that couch,  that couch holds memories.  And those things have to be earned - one broken leg, ripped seam, spilled coffee, thrown pillow and squished seat at a time.

Elijah being made into a pillow sandwich

It's easy to look at everything and see what we don't like -- sometimes there is much more work in seeing the benefits.  How about you?  What do you need to look at with fresh eyes?

Run. Don't walk.

The math can wait.
The handwriting can wait.
The phonics can wait.
The spelling can wait.
The history can wait.

Wednesday began like any other typical homeschool day.  The kids were gathered around our table, each working on respective tasks.  Chloe on math.  Grace spelling. Hannah at writing class.  And I was working with Brennan.  We just finished doing a page of phonics, when I turned to the next suggestion in our curriculum.  It was about water -- it gave a few suggestions of books to read and how to talk about the water cycle.  I asked him, "do you want to do a rain experiment?"  Of course, there was an immediate shout of joy, and just as quickly he jumped to my side.  So we made rain on the stove -- following this "amazing" experiment.

Boil water.  Fill a cookie sheet or 8x8 pan with ice cubes.  Remove boiling water, place pan of ice on top of pan of boiling water.  Remove after one minute, and then lift pan filled with ice up.  Check out the condensation underneath and wait for the rain to fall.

That's it.  And he was hooked.  Question after question after question.  So we made a rain gauge.  I simply took the empty ICE Sparkling Water (from last night's expedition with Chloe), cut off the top, marked it every inch and half-inch, and nailed it to a post.  Then Brennan and I bundled up and pounded it into the dirt flower pot on our deck --visible from the kitchen.  More questions.

So I kept running.  I found books, and we read about the water cycle.  I searched and located the Magic School Bus Waterworks episode.  Which led to him watching another episode on weather.  By this time Caleb and Grace joined in (which worked out great because I was making lunch).  Then after lunch he was drawing pictures of how water moves.  Questions.  He was curious. He wanted to see the radar.  And check the rain gauge.  And make rain.  Again.

I could have drawn a diagram when we were doing the lesson.  I could have told him about the water cycle. I could have told him that we'll talk about that tomorrow.  But, what if he lost interest by then?  What if the moment of running was right now?  I didn't want to lose it.  So I let go of the schedule.  I pushed my checklist aside, and added science and water-cycle and weather to it.  That was our new plan.  For today.  Because I know that we'll catch up on the math, the spelling, the writing, the history, the phonics, and all of that tomorrow.  In fact, we'll probably be running with one of those subjects soon.  Today it was science.

There are many walking days - when it's time to run - we're off.

confused clarity

wake up
get breakfast
change the kids
clean the kitchen
start laundry
get dressed
teach the kids
answer the phone
drive
teach
start lunch
clean the kitchen
teach
read
drive

what's life?

what's joy?

I'm tired.  And confused.  Lest you think this blogger has her life tied up neatly with a giant organized bow -- I am here to remind you that I, too, have those exhausting days where I'd love to chuck the unthrowable towel in and ask for a break.  (how's that for a run-on sentence?)

The daily grind. 

I want to laugh.  To smile, to feel free, to sleep, to live.   Yet, the daunting pile of  laundry stirs agitation in my heart.  The stack of schoolbooks shoved against the wall creates guilt over all that isn't complete.  There's dishes needing to be washed, and toys to be placed in boxes--only to be dumped out again in the morning.  There are bills to be paid, and things to buy.  Too much for this momma to handle.

At least for tonight.

God's mercies are new every morning.  I've allowed overwhelm to overwhelm me.  I've been looking at the temporary, the present -- forgetting that tomorrow I'll fold that laundry, and we'll pick up those books, and use those dishes -- and those toys?  They'll be played with.  Would I want it any other way?  Nope.

So I fall on my knees grateful.  Even though I've allowed overwhelm to win for a bit.  And gradually all of the anxieties of the day fade away as gratitude fills those aching places.

Thank you for letting me wake up.

Thank you for food for breakfast

Thank you for diapers for the kids

Thank you for a kitchen

Thank you for clothes for the laundry

Thank you that I have the physical ability to get dressed

Thank you for the freedom to teach the kids

Thank you for the phone

Thank you for a vehicle to drive

Thank you for kids to teach

Thank you for food to start lunch

Thank you for the beauty in a clean kitchen

Thank you for the time to teach

Thank you for books to read

Thank you for the sun while I drive

Thank you.

How could I have forgotten to give thanks?

It was about me -- not you, Jesus.  You have blessed me greatly.  So greatly.

Thank you, Jesus, thank you.

the girls night

See that blurry pic?  The one taken with my camera phone?

That's from my girls' night.  Last night.  With my daughters -- Hannah, Chloe and Grace.  And my dear friend, Julie, who came along. We left our routine and headed out to the movies.

What did we see?  

Well, if you'd look at the Marquee of the movie theater there is absolutely nothing that would be appropriate for our family to see.  In fact, I didn't even want Gracie girl reading some of the titles.  That being said,  we saw the best family movie I've seen in a great while.

We saw Secretariat.

And it was awesome.

Inspiring, clean, funny, true, and beautifully filmed.  And did I say clean?  Because there wasn't a moment where I felt that "momma cringe" as something inappropriate flashes on the screen or is spoken.  And I was grateful.  It's sad that movie producers feel compelled to add a bit of controversy to a film.  Unlike Secretariat.

This was about life.  And persistence.  Belief.  And perseverance.

We'll be seeing it again.

I love days where family comes first -- and last night it was about my daughters and me. 

*******

Thanks to Blogher and Disney for my screening tickets.  I wasn't required to mention either, but we were so blessed that I feel compelled to thank them for including our family in the screening.  Plus, my daughters thought it was awesome to have reserved seats.  We just walked into the theater, they checked our name off a list, and then showed us to our assigned seats.  Very fun -- what an experience for them -- and me!  :)

reclaiming family

I need to draw a line in the sand.

It's not an easy line to draw.

This mark,  this line, is antithetical to what I perceive as society's view of normal.

That view, that belief?  That normal = busy.

It feels as if the measure of success for families is directly proportional to the level of activities participated in.

Is it too busy?  At what point do we begin to lose the beauty of family?  For instance, we are spending over 40 hours a week on busy activities.  Driving here and there -- racing around, dropping off, picking up -- living with each other in bursts of conversations.  And now, we're exhausted.  But more importantly I've noticed that we're losing family.

There are fewer dinners gathered around our too small table.

With fewer dinners together there's fewer times cooking together, playing games together, listening to each other and praying together. 

I need to draw that line.

But, it's hard.  That line represents saying no to activities that on their own are excellent.  Yet added together these beautiful excursions subtly invade every facet of our lives.  What do I want my children to remember?  The frenetic, crazy life?  Or the simplicity of breaking bread together.  Or serving others.  Being together.

Deep down, I want family.  I want to reclaim what has been subtly taken from me in the disguise of "your kids need to do all these things" to have a happy and filled childhood.  I'm beginning to believe otherwise.  My children want family.  Yes, they love their activities, but deep down?  They love laughing with each other.  Learning. Reading.  Spending time together.

We're given a finite time with our children in our homes. Sadly, I've allowed the so called urgent needs to displace our own fellowship. I've been pondering what they'll remember when they are adults -- is it better to remember being involved in hours of activities? -- or is it better to see parents who said "no" and created memories together as a family? 

I just need the courage, the boldness, to draw that line.

To rest securely in being different, knowing that for our family, it's what's needed.

I need to reclaim family.

How about you?  My challenge -- look at your life, your schedule, your day -- where do you need to pare back, to reclaim your family?  Your family, your kids -- they're only young --once.

(all of these pictures were taken today at the apple orchard.  today we spent time together.  as a family.  and it was good.)

who's on first?

When my children wake in the morning, what do they see?

Do they see me ready to greet them with open arms?
   Or do they see me -- with my back to them -- on the computer?

Do they see me joyful?
   Or do they see me fretting, worried, or busy with my head down typing away?

Do they see me preparing for the day?
   Or all of a sudden racing around, complaining about all that needs to be done?

How do they see me?

This was our second week of school.  As the week wore on I started to pay attention to what first impression I gave to our children.  I noticed that my tendency is to get Samuel, to walk downstairs, and "quick" check  my email.  For 40 minutes.

That's not right.

They deserve more than just seeing my back.  They deserve more than just dry cereal plopped in a ceramic bowl splashed with milk. They deserve more. They deserve me.

Am I starting my day right?  Am I praying and dedicating the day to the Lord?  Or am I becoming a slave to media --- and all the things that I'm deeming important?  When, in reality, they are not the true important.

So what are the boundaries?

For me, I either wake earlier or stay up later.  I don't want the tone of our day to be set by my back turned to those seven blessings.  I desire to be aware and present for each of them.  Joyful to see them.  Managing the day.  Not racing around after my "quick email check" to get back on task for the day.

I putting my foot down.

Family first.  Media second.

Are these words antithetical to a blogger?  Absolutely not.  In fact, I believe appropriate boundaries will strengthen a writer.  They provide a framework, and make writing intentional.

So tomorrow, Monday morning, I will still be linking up to Carissa's Miscellany Monday, but I will NOT be doing it with my back to the kids.  Maybe I won't be linked till 11 pm, and that's okay.  Remember.

Family first.  Media second.

That's rightly ordered.