a moment with Paul

Keepsake moments.  We live for them as parents.  We can wipe a sticky, after-meal floor three times a day for what seems like forever, and suddenly, one keepsake moment puts it all in perspective.  Kids are dreamy.  Fun.  Hilarious.

Never-ending messy floors?  Who cares!  I'm blessed!  Blessed!  This experience is Out-Of-This-World Wonderful!

Keepsake moments can never be planned.  They just happen.  When they're especially delicious, our minds naturally want to recreate them in subsequent days or seasons.  How can something so wonderful not become the norm?

 This morning, I had a doozy of a keepsake.

Beth awoke at 6:30 a.m., dragging me out of bed with her.   Her sleeping habits have changed again.  Back to night nursings and late evening wake ups, with lousy naps during the day.  I mind the unpredictability more than I mind the wake ups, actually.

My last beauty sleep occurred eight years ago, in case you're interested.

On the positive side, my little one recently gave up early rising for a more respectable 7:15 a.m.

I held out hope.  Would my night-person body hit the jackpot?  Would this trend continue?

I refer you to my second paragraph, in which she drags me out of bed at 6:30 a.m.  Is she my darling daughter, or my boot camp instructor?  Definitely both.  As I write this, I can hear her.  It's nearly midnight and she's on her second wake up.

Back to this morning.......

...After her diaper change, I tried cuddling her on the playroom couch.  Kid cuddles hit the spot when Momma is drowsy.  I crave them.  My brood is one of movers and shakers though, so for the most part, I'm often disappointed.  Beth is fun and sweet, but her cuddles are as brief as a hidden package of chocolate chips.  Here one minute, gone the next.  If Beth could talk well, she'd say, "Okay, Momma.  Cuddles.  But briefly.  I'm busy ya know."

Enter Paul, my part-time mover and shaker.  He's been known to sit around at times and stare off into space.  Hence, the part-time designation.

He joined us at 7:00 a.m., while the other siblings continued slumbering.  Seeing Momma drowsy, he took the cue and climbed under the blanket with me.

Oh, what a gift!  That child's wrap-around, boa constrictor cuddles!  May they never end, Lord!

Now Baby Beth wanted to cuddle.  It's her pattern.  No one, and I do mean no one, can come between Beth and her Momma.  Even the sight of Momma changing big sister will irk this jealous baby.  She actually climbs into my lap during sister's diaper changes!  I tell her I love her and then I disentangle myself. Foiled, she plants herself on Mary's head, to discourage us from interacting, I suppose.  Mary, all sugar and spice, takes it in stride and giggles.

Diaper changes are special to children; they equate them with love.  Reaching that coveted milestone, toilet training, is complicated for them.  Four children in, I finally get this.

Anyhow, back to the couch with my boa-constrictor boy......

....Paul and I started giggling away at a collection of children's poems.  Beth climbed on top of us, as though our cuddled bodies were a mountain.   She grabbed the book, running her finger over the words and mumbling as if to "read".  Then she giggled, as she'd heard us do.  This would last a minute, and then she'd go play briefly.

Meanwhile, Paul and I read the whole book of poems, giggling and cuddling, cuddling and giggling.  I squeezed him repeatedly for giving me my best morning in a long time.

I found myself wishing we could cuddle and read, just like this, every morning.

But keepsake moments can't be planned.  Only captured.  Enjoyed.  Lived.  Remembered.

Usually, the older three wake up simultaneously.  Special morning times with my boa-constrictor are rare.

The funny book, if you're interested, was this:

 My Dog Does My Homework!  An Exclusive Collection of Poems by Shel Silverstein, Jack Prelutsky, Eve Merriam, and Many More.  

With a Special Introduction & Poem Pointers by Jon Scieszka

I purchased it through the Scholastic school market, years ago.  We laughed the most at this poem, which is anonymous:

Vegetarian Poem

Do you carrot all for me?

My heart beets for you.

With your turnip nose

And your radish face,

You are a peach.

If we cantaloupe

Lettuce marry.

Weed make a swell pear.

Anonymous/Folk Rhyme

It's late now and I probably won't get to that folding pile.  But I captured something here--something special, to feast on in my empty nest years.  I chose the better thing, even though those clothes start their fourth night of basket dwelling.

It's never about the laundry piles or the sticky floors, is it?

in which I interview myself

Q:  What's bothering you?  Why so glum today?

A:  I'm aging badly.  Only 44, I look nearly 50.  Moderate to severe acne starting at age 12--relieved only by pregnancy and nursing--ravaged my skin.  For as long as I can remember, my skin lacked smoothness.  Serious scars on my chin and temples, coupled with sun damage, have ruined my looks.  I'm doomed.  My appearance will get far worse by age 50.  My neck, arms and hands are sprinkled with sun spots and wrinkles, despite fairly consistent sunscreen use starting in my late twenties.

Q:  Surely the acne has stopped by now?

A:  It had.  But now that menses has returned, the acne has as well--though less severe so far.  To say I'm depressed by this development is an understatement.

Q:  Why do you share this pain here, in this space?

A:  I want my bloggy friends to escape this pain.  No matter their current age, they need to know that the damage they allow now will begin to show up quite cruelly in the mid-forties.

Friends, whatever your skin type, keep it protected!  Take vitamin D supplements, use sunscreen, wide-brimmed hats, and sunglasses.  I was never taught to use hats as a child, and I don't remember anyone applying sunscreen on me.  80% of the damage occurs before age 18.

Q:  What else would you like to share?

A:  If you know an acne sufferer, be especially nice to him or her.  Acne leaves lifelong emotional and physical scars.  It is becoming more prevalent in adults, especially in adult women, due to hormonal imbalances.

Q:  How can a woman deal gracefully with aging and skin damage?

A:  I'll get back to you on that one, as soon as I get used to an uglier me.  In the meantime, give thanks for the things you don't struggle with.  Are you free from body weight concerns?  Rejoice!  Are you free from chronic diseases?  Rejoice!  Do you have great, full-bodied hair?  Rejoice!

And work on your heart.  Pray for a gentle and quiet spirit.  A beautiful heart will soften looks, however compromised they are.

When we get to heaven, we're all beautiful!  Praise the Lord!

your faithfulness, I know

Early April, 2010, we had reason to worry.  Unemployment was out, leaving us with meager income from low-paying, part-time custodial work.  Scared we were, in our flesh, even though God had always provided.  Who wouldn't be, with the likelihood of defaulting on a home so real?

I remember that week.  We performed our duties, lived out our roles, behaving as always.  Kids need three meals, snacks, baths, schooling, diapers, teeth brushing.... ..every day is full of tasks.  Children have a way of propelling life forward, regardless of circumstance.

Suddenly, a phone call.  Census work, applied for months and months earlier, would start in three weeks.

God's timing.

In January, 2001, we started trying to get pregnant, six weeks after suffering a difficult loss.  The first pregnancy happened in a couple tries.  Not this time.  Several months went by.  We waited.  I grieved.  I agonized.  I thought of nothing else.

Then, I surrendered all to God, telling him I would accept his will.

Next month, pregnant.

God's timing.

In December, 2008, my Mary turned two.  Without talking.  A milestone definitely missed.  I pondered.  I worried.  I researched.  I pondered.  I worried.  I researched.

Then at 27 months, she talked.  A little at first.  Then a whole lot.  Soon, sophisticated words and sentences poured out.

God's timing.

I wanted to get married in my twenties.  Despite two engagements, no one seemed right.  I broke things off.  I worried.  I agonized.  I thought of little else.

I worried.  I agonized.  I thought of little else.

Then, at thirty-one, I became a Christian.  I was in love.  With my Savior, my Bible.  My Christian radio.  I grew and grew.

But I still longed.

At that same time, my would-be husband became depressed and grievously lonely in Pennsylvania.  On a whim, with minimal planning, he moved to the smallish, high desert Californian town I lived in.

Two years later, we met on a church-sponsored group hike.  Event after event, we got to know one another from a distance.

Then, something changed.  Interest sparked.  But nothing spoken.

An ice skating event arose in a mountain town ninety minutes away.  At the last minute, everyone cancelled.  Except for us.

I nearly fell on the ice once.  He caught me.  And then never let go of my hand.

Eight months later, we married.

I was thirty-three.  He was nearly forty-one.  I waited a decade for a husband.  He waited two decades for a wife.

God's timing.


The Census job will end early next week.  The local paper and job websites offer no hope.

I could fret.  Agonize.  Research.  Cry.

Agonize.  Research.  Cry.

Or I could rest.  Knowing.  Praising.  Rejoicing.

Knowing.  Praising.  Rejoicing.

Faithfulness verses:

Numbers 23:19
God is not a man, that he should lie, nor a son of man, that he should change his mind.  Does he speak and not act?  Does he promise and not fulfill?


Lamentations 3:22-24
Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.  They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.  I say to myself, " The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him."


Isaiah 25:1
O LORD, you are my God; I will exalt you and praise your name, for in perfect faithfulness you have done marvelous things, things planned long ago.

the battle for purity - junior high

 I came across this short video about junior high boys and porn (Randy Alcorn speaking).  It's a must see for all concerned parents.

Randy Alcorn warns us to never let a junior high boy be alone in his room with the Internet.  Doing so would be like giving him stacks of pornographic magazines.  Most adult men addicted to pornography started viewing it in junior high or high school.

He goes even further in the piece, and says that to trust your boy in his Internet use is to abuse him.

If you're not already, start praying about the purity of each child.  Often.  The world will battle us and belittle us in this quest.  We must stand firm.   It bothers me that I can't even take my kids to Walmart without having them see a huge cardboard picture of Miley Cyrus in an ultra mini.

How much worse will the aisles get in the next five years, before my first hits the teen years?

Momma Robin's Morning (if you dare read)

My dining room features a sixteen-foot-long window, offering us a backyard nature viewing at every meal. Yesterday morning, as I gathered remnants of the hot oatmeal breakfast we'd enjoyed, I noticed a robin land right under the window.

Not moving a muscle, I watched.

Digging her beak into the soggy grass, she swiftly pulled out a squirrelly worm, about the size of a baby snake.

How do they always know precisely where to place their beaks?  They score worms faster than I score handfuls of chocolate chips!  From my secret place.

The inhabitants here might smell my poison, but they never see it.

 "I think I smell chocolate, Mommy.  Are you eating some?"

Surely, I mused, Momma Robin won't manage to take flight with that snakish thing in her beak?

She pecked it, grabbed it and swung it around.  Then dropped it.   Three or four times, she repeated the process.

Is she slowly killing it?  Wanting it to stay still, I wondered?

Finally, the worm's nervous system gave out.

Next, Momma Robin pecked at it furiously, tearing it into small morsels.

Oh, dear.

Disgusting!

I shivered.

The baby robins, nestled in a maple tree by our window, waited for Momma.

She did her morning duty, just like I do.  Breakfast morsels prepared for hungry babies.  Faithfully.  Systematically.

In the end, I didn't know for whom I should feel sorry.  The worm.  Or the babies?

At any rate, you won't find me grumbling about my morning duties tomorrow.  (Not that I ever do that.  I never wake up at 6:00 a.m. feeling cranky.  Not me.)

Now I know.

Momma Robin, my kindred spirit?

She has it far worse.