Wednesday afternoon Rose and I went to Fred Meyers.
The boys were at piano and Avonlea was home with a fever.
We had an hour to spend and I had all the groceries I needed in the cart and had made my way over to the clothing section to browse.
An announcer over the loud speaker droned on about some product demonstration they were about to do and I swished intently through the 60% off rack. A little hand on my arm stopped my swishing.
"Mommy listen."
"There will be free gifts given to everyone who meets at the black and red stand by the furniture section in two minutes." (Note: furniture section is the opposite side of the store from the clothing section)
"Mommy! Free gifts! Please can we go?"
I laughed. "Rosy, mommy doesn't want to walk all the way across the store for free junk."
"Mommy, ppplllleeeaaasssee."
I turned the cart and power walked toward the furniture.
"THANK YOU MOMMY!"
There were three of us gathered round the black table listening to the infomercial on super absorbant towels from Germany. It sucked soda from a rug. It could hold 25xs its weight in water. Ect. Ect.
The free gift was a 2" by 3" scrap of this miracle fabric.
We walked away and Rosy bubbled, "Mommy, it was a show! Can this be my very own cloth? It can hold all that water and not even drip! I'm going up to my room when we get home and clean my table with it!"
Her enthusiasm made my day.
There are so many moments like this in a day. Just simple beautiful moments of sharing life with people you love. I think sometimes I look for the big things, the English balls, Christmas, vacations. Those things are the roses I cultivate. But surrounding those roses, are hundreds of wild boisterous daisies, waving happy faces. These daily things too, I want to remember. I want to acknowledge them. I want to enjoy them.
When Daddy came home Rosy gave him the details of the wonder scrap and he had to try it out for himself. There they squatted on the kitchen floor together, moping up water with the yellow rectangle, and mentally I picked the moment and pressed it into my memory.
A daisy with a happy face.
A daddy and daughter sharing life.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Cultivating Roses
Cultivating roses.
It sounds so romantic, but it's not.
It's work.
I can testify to this and if you drove past my house Saturday you would have seen me on all fours cultivating for all I was worth.
I'm used to my flowers blooming unassisted. But lately, I've been wondering if my yard could be more if I poured more time into it, if I cultivated it.
So yesterday, armed with fertilizer and a spade, I cleared a circle of space around my rose bushes so they could breathe. I added fertilizer and mixed it in well so they would bloom lush.
I don't have any pictures to offer you of this process because I wasn't thinking about blogging at all. I was thinking about the ball that I would be attending that night with my daughter. I was thinking about how much I've learned about her lately.
Last Saturday we had a disagreement regarding our cleaning time. I am rather dramatic. She is stoic. This can equal trouble in a mother/daughter conflict. The reality is, I want her to respond to me like me. I want her to apologize with sackcloth and gnashing of teeth. I want to see tears to know there's contrition. But she's her and not me. And she gives me a sorrowful look with her big brown eyes and closes herself up in silence in her room. That night I get a note on my bed that states that she loves me, but she is an Indian and keeps all her emotions inside and on the outside, is expressionless. Last I heard we were Germans, who are not known for suppression.
So God, in His kindness, brings me a friend who once upon a time was a quiet, reserved girl with a verbal, dramatic mother, and we talk. In sweetness and gentleness, she is able to show me that Avonlea is just Avonlea. She is a precious soul that God made, not for the express purpose of helping me clean, but to do His will and to glorify Him.
So the next day Avonlea and I talk. It's hard work. I clear a space around her, clear it of my ideals and ideas and give her some room to breathe. I reaffirm how much I love who God has made her and I talk with her about ways we can improve our communication. I get a glowing look from those big brown eyes and she hugs me and opens up her silence to let me in. I think she's German again.
We work on this all week. I give her space. I fertilize her with love and listen to what she's trying to say to me. And Saturday night I take her to a ball.
We go to an English Country dance in our best dresses and we dance with each other all night (except for 2 dances when she was claimed by a young gentleman).
Our brown eyes laugh joy into each others and we bloom lush.
It sounds so romantic, but it's not.
It's work.
I can testify to this and if you drove past my house Saturday you would have seen me on all fours cultivating for all I was worth.
I'm used to my flowers blooming unassisted. But lately, I've been wondering if my yard could be more if I poured more time into it, if I cultivated it.
So yesterday, armed with fertilizer and a spade, I cleared a circle of space around my rose bushes so they could breathe. I added fertilizer and mixed it in well so they would bloom lush.
I don't have any pictures to offer you of this process because I wasn't thinking about blogging at all. I was thinking about the ball that I would be attending that night with my daughter. I was thinking about how much I've learned about her lately.
Last Saturday we had a disagreement regarding our cleaning time. I am rather dramatic. She is stoic. This can equal trouble in a mother/daughter conflict. The reality is, I want her to respond to me like me. I want her to apologize with sackcloth and gnashing of teeth. I want to see tears to know there's contrition. But she's her and not me. And she gives me a sorrowful look with her big brown eyes and closes herself up in silence in her room. That night I get a note on my bed that states that she loves me, but she is an Indian and keeps all her emotions inside and on the outside, is expressionless. Last I heard we were Germans, who are not known for suppression.
So God, in His kindness, brings me a friend who once upon a time was a quiet, reserved girl with a verbal, dramatic mother, and we talk. In sweetness and gentleness, she is able to show me that Avonlea is just Avonlea. She is a precious soul that God made, not for the express purpose of helping me clean, but to do His will and to glorify Him.
So the next day Avonlea and I talk. It's hard work. I clear a space around her, clear it of my ideals and ideas and give her some room to breathe. I reaffirm how much I love who God has made her and I talk with her about ways we can improve our communication. I get a glowing look from those big brown eyes and she hugs me and opens up her silence to let me in. I think she's German again.
We work on this all week. I give her space. I fertilize her with love and listen to what she's trying to say to me. And Saturday night I take her to a ball.
We go to an English Country dance in our best dresses and we dance with each other all night (except for 2 dances when she was claimed by a young gentleman).
Our brown eyes laugh joy into each others and we bloom lush.
 |
| Mommy and her Papoose |
Friday, February 3, 2012
Armed and Ready
I smile as they walk off into the woods.
Winter's sloping sunlight at their backs makes for long shadows in front.
Two boys, well armed, go into the wilderness determined to subdue all opponents.
Grant has a machete slung nonchalantly over his right shoulder, over his left is a bow and a case of arrows. Rowan has a duct tape sword. I'm guessing there's a slingshot in his pocket and I wouldn't be surprised if there was a pocket knife somewhere as well.
Grant turned 10 this week and somehow, in this moment, I see the future.
My boys, walking away from me, towards the shadows, towards the wilderness.
The thought comes quickly, If he is armed spiritually like he is physically, he will have nothing to fear.
But no, having the weapon is not enough, he needs to know how to use it.
So we set up a target. He memorizes the Word.
The truth, the bulls eye, becomes familiar. His eye is trained to seek the center.
He learns how to apply it to his life, what weapon to use in each situation. This is wisdom.
He shares the adventure with a brother, a sister. This is fellowship, love.
He learns to always center himself on the target, even if it's uncomfortable, even if he has to adjust his position to do so. This is faith.
There is victory in the sight of my warriors walking away. I know my job isn't even close to being done, I know that the boys will come in cold and wet, wanting hot chocolate and warm underwear. I know the target is still hazy to them sometimes.
I know,
and yet I rejoice.
Because they are walking in the right direction, with the sun at their back, illuminating everything they see.
They are well armed.
And by the grace of God, they will subdue their enemies.
"Sons are a heritage from the LORD, children a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one's youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. They will not be put to shame when they contend with their enemies in the gate." Psalms 127:3-5
Winter's sloping sunlight at their backs makes for long shadows in front.
Two boys, well armed, go into the wilderness determined to subdue all opponents.
Grant has a machete slung nonchalantly over his right shoulder, over his left is a bow and a case of arrows. Rowan has a duct tape sword. I'm guessing there's a slingshot in his pocket and I wouldn't be surprised if there was a pocket knife somewhere as well.
Grant turned 10 this week and somehow, in this moment, I see the future.
My boys, walking away from me, towards the shadows, towards the wilderness.
The thought comes quickly, If he is armed spiritually like he is physically, he will have nothing to fear.
But no, having the weapon is not enough, he needs to know how to use it.
So we set up a target. He memorizes the Word.
I know,
and yet I rejoice.
Because they are walking in the right direction, with the sun at their back, illuminating everything they see.
They are well armed.
And by the grace of God, they will subdue their enemies.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
The Gift That Wasn't
It was Avonlea's idea.
There, you know it will be a good post when I start out blaming my daughter.
Avonlea had inherited our old camera and she thought getting a kids camera for Rose, for Christmas, would be fun.
I admitted to the fun potential and bought Rose a snazzy pink camera. I failed to read the fine print, or any of the print for that matter. Print, that boasted of the camera's ability to take videos, edit pictures, and play video games.
Last week, Dave saw that Rose's card was full and decided to delete some pictures and video. The laughter that accompanied this procedure was curious.
There were many pictures of my friend and I having tea. The kids had hidden and taken incredibly embarrassing pictures of our animated discussion. There was also some video. (No comment on that.)
Then there was video of me in bed reading. This wasn't so bad until the boys jumped in next to me and you see my arm begin randomly smacking them. I was still reading and have no recollection of doing this. But there it is, on video. Apparently I beat my children if they disturb me while I'm reading. Who knew?
Then there were the pictures of Dave getting dressed. (All I can say there is, better him than me.)
Then we got to the photo shop area of the camera where the nasty pictures of us were distorted, made into puzzles, had crowns added to them, or possibly all three.
Rosy showed me one of the puzzles she had made out of a picture. I was having trouble figuring out what it was so I asked, "What is that a picture of?" She twinkled an answer, "It's your bottom."
This was all on Rosy's camera. Apparently, Avonlea as well, has been documenting our family life. She's videoed Rowan disobeying and Ma Glo calmly washing the dishes while Rowan disobeyed. She also took video going down the path to the creek for her friends to see, unfortunately she tripped on the way down.
Yesterday, I hit my camera limit when Rosy cried because Rowan was using photo shop on a picture she didn't want photo shopped (or something equally disturbing). I took the camera and hid it in the back of my closet.
Where the only family documentation it can produce is of the state of disorder of my shoes.
Better them, than me.
There, you know it will be a good post when I start out blaming my daughter.
Avonlea had inherited our old camera and she thought getting a kids camera for Rose, for Christmas, would be fun.
I admitted to the fun potential and bought Rose a snazzy pink camera. I failed to read the fine print, or any of the print for that matter. Print, that boasted of the camera's ability to take videos, edit pictures, and play video games.
Last week, Dave saw that Rose's card was full and decided to delete some pictures and video. The laughter that accompanied this procedure was curious.
There were many pictures of my friend and I having tea. The kids had hidden and taken incredibly embarrassing pictures of our animated discussion. There was also some video. (No comment on that.)
Then there was video of me in bed reading. This wasn't so bad until the boys jumped in next to me and you see my arm begin randomly smacking them. I was still reading and have no recollection of doing this. But there it is, on video. Apparently I beat my children if they disturb me while I'm reading. Who knew?
Then there were the pictures of Dave getting dressed. (All I can say there is, better him than me.)
Then we got to the photo shop area of the camera where the nasty pictures of us were distorted, made into puzzles, had crowns added to them, or possibly all three.
Rosy showed me one of the puzzles she had made out of a picture. I was having trouble figuring out what it was so I asked, "What is that a picture of?" She twinkled an answer, "It's your bottom."
This was all on Rosy's camera. Apparently, Avonlea as well, has been documenting our family life. She's videoed Rowan disobeying and Ma Glo calmly washing the dishes while Rowan disobeyed. She also took video going down the path to the creek for her friends to see, unfortunately she tripped on the way down.
Yesterday, I hit my camera limit when Rosy cried because Rowan was using photo shop on a picture she didn't want photo shopped (or something equally disturbing). I took the camera and hid it in the back of my closet.
Where the only family documentation it can produce is of the state of disorder of my shoes.
Better them, than me.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Moments
Last night, after sitting in front of a smoking fire for an hour, I went out to get another log. I was astounded by the comforter of white downy snow tucking the yard in for the night. How did such beauty happen in so small a time?!
This morning I reached up in the cupboard for oatmeal bowls. As my elbow came back down it accosted a goblet that fled to the floor and shattered. It was a beautiful, thick, blue goblet my husband had given me for my birthday. I was astounded at the wreckage that occurred in such a brief amount of time.
It only takes a moment to break or to cover. A moment to shatter a soul with my words or to tuck insecurities and faults under a quilt of love and forgiveness. Words, sharp as shards or soft as snow.
The fire is smoking again tonight, I need to pry myself off this settee and get another log. It's the work of a moment but it makes all the difference.
This morning I reached up in the cupboard for oatmeal bowls. As my elbow came back down it accosted a goblet that fled to the floor and shattered. It was a beautiful, thick, blue goblet my husband had given me for my birthday. I was astounded at the wreckage that occurred in such a brief amount of time.
It only takes a moment to break or to cover. A moment to shatter a soul with my words or to tuck insecurities and faults under a quilt of love and forgiveness. Words, sharp as shards or soft as snow.
The fire is smoking again tonight, I need to pry myself off this settee and get another log. It's the work of a moment but it makes all the difference.
Monday, January 9, 2012
The Island
I just wanted a cup of tea.
Seems such a simple thing to ask of a day, doesn't it?
Now I suppose I must clarify that a cup of tea, to me, is much more than a beverage.
It's a destination.
It's my "island of peace in a turbulent sea".
My pink teapot, my Czechoslovakian teacup, my Ironstone cream and sugar set, these are my island scenery. My Bible, my journal, are my sun and sand.
But there were "miles to go before I rest" and I knew that those miles included children.
The first wind to blow me off course came from Grant. We were doing our customary Monday Laundry (believe me, it should be capitalized when you only do it once a week), when Grant asked, "Can you be a girl and a boy at the same time?"
I always try to understand where they are coming from with these types of questions before I jump in and answer, so I said, "What makes you ask that?"
"Well, God is neither male or female and we're made in His image, so why are we one or the other?"
I wildly threw open every file in my mind even vaguely related to this subject and laundry was suspended while I explained the sovereignty of God, the implication of "made in His image", and finally a little info on testosterone and estrogen and how some women have beards but that's not normal. Avonlea threw in some helpful information about soy
He said, "Oh, okay."
End of conversation, but it lasted quite awhile, and now I was off course.
Bible came next. Our passage this week was about the "Man of Lawlessness." Neither of the kids had heard of that term and we began discussing the anti-Christ.
I'm not going to record that conversation here, because it was long and because it ended with Avonlea drawing a picture of him (entitled Son of Satan) and ripping it to pieces in a symbolic rage.
When we were done with Bible it was 9:30a.m. and I was exhausted.
Rowan's school work came next and was relatively painless.
Posy was next and she made me cry. Which made her cry. Which made us both apologize without really knowing what for. She tried to cheer me up by saying, "How about I try reading again in a couple of years." She might have something there.
I went up to make lunch. I was back on course and I could see the waves lapping at the shore of my island, but I couldn't hear them because Avonlea was practicing all her instruments.
After lunch came gales from friends. Phone calls that left me thinking, news that left me perplexed. I prepared my tea in quiet while the kids played outside.
Rosy came in from playing outside to change because, "I tried to potty behind a tree, like Rowan does, but I missed."
I nodded absently, it was too late, I had made my tea. I could smell the black leaves infiltrated with honey, my eyes were on the island.
I had everything in hand and I headed to my room.
At the top of the stairs I met my toothless wonder.
Rowan.
"Look what I found Mommy!"
He held up the book "Alice in Wonderland." It was a large book. Huge. I opened my mouth...
"I know you love to read this to me Mama Daaaarling!" His gums smiled his confidence...
The island became obscured by mists.
Sometimes tea is a destination, and other times it's just a beverage, sipped in between pages of Alice in Wonderland, finished off by a blond girl, cuddled on your lap, wearing clean pants.
Sometimes we land on a different island than we set out for.
Sometimes, the island is a bed, where three travelers maroon on a velvet quilt for a while....an "island of peace in a turbulent sea."
A destination.
Seems such a simple thing to ask of a day, doesn't it?
Now I suppose I must clarify that a cup of tea, to me, is much more than a beverage.
It's a destination.
It's my "island of peace in a turbulent sea".
My pink teapot, my Czechoslovakian teacup, my Ironstone cream and sugar set, these are my island scenery. My Bible, my journal, are my sun and sand.
But there were "miles to go before I rest" and I knew that those miles included children.
The first wind to blow me off course came from Grant. We were doing our customary Monday Laundry (believe me, it should be capitalized when you only do it once a week), when Grant asked, "Can you be a girl and a boy at the same time?"
I always try to understand where they are coming from with these types of questions before I jump in and answer, so I said, "What makes you ask that?"
"Well, God is neither male or female and we're made in His image, so why are we one or the other?"
I wildly threw open every file in my mind even vaguely related to this subject and laundry was suspended while I explained the sovereignty of God, the implication of "made in His image", and finally a little info on testosterone and estrogen and how some women have beards but that's not normal. Avonlea threw in some helpful information about soy
He said, "Oh, okay."
End of conversation, but it lasted quite awhile, and now I was off course.
Bible came next. Our passage this week was about the "Man of Lawlessness." Neither of the kids had heard of that term and we began discussing the anti-Christ.
I'm not going to record that conversation here, because it was long and because it ended with Avonlea drawing a picture of him (entitled Son of Satan) and ripping it to pieces in a symbolic rage.
When we were done with Bible it was 9:30a.m. and I was exhausted.
Rowan's school work came next and was relatively painless.
Posy was next and she made me cry. Which made her cry. Which made us both apologize without really knowing what for. She tried to cheer me up by saying, "How about I try reading again in a couple of years." She might have something there.
I went up to make lunch. I was back on course and I could see the waves lapping at the shore of my island, but I couldn't hear them because Avonlea was practicing all her instruments.
After lunch came gales from friends. Phone calls that left me thinking, news that left me perplexed. I prepared my tea in quiet while the kids played outside.
Rosy came in from playing outside to change because, "I tried to potty behind a tree, like Rowan does, but I missed."
I nodded absently, it was too late, I had made my tea. I could smell the black leaves infiltrated with honey, my eyes were on the island.
I had everything in hand and I headed to my room.
At the top of the stairs I met my toothless wonder.
Rowan.
"Look what I found Mommy!"
He held up the book "Alice in Wonderland." It was a large book. Huge. I opened my mouth...
"I know you love to read this to me Mama Daaaarling!" His gums smiled his confidence...
The island became obscured by mists.
Sometimes tea is a destination, and other times it's just a beverage, sipped in between pages of Alice in Wonderland, finished off by a blond girl, cuddled on your lap, wearing clean pants.
Sometimes we land on a different island than we set out for.
Sometimes, the island is a bed, where three travelers maroon on a velvet quilt for a while....an "island of peace in a turbulent sea."
A destination.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Pictures and Laments
I am extremely random today.
So much so, that while talking to a friend on the phone this afternoon she voiced the question, "How much tea have you had today?"
Rose and I butted heads in school this morning.
We had company this afternoon.
Dave went and picked up our beef for the year at the butchers and I messed up the order.
I forgot I had a dentist appointment tomorrow.
I don't know where my mother is.
Dave tried to have a bon-fire with the kids and almost set the yard on fire and I didn't really care.
We were at the cottage for a week between Christmas and New Years. I did nothing there except play with my husband and children, take walks outside, and eat chocolate croissants. I had no phone and no computer. I loved it.
I came back to this world, the weight of it's responsibilities, and it's been a shock, like the cold water that shoots out of the shower when you're expecting it hot. I know the hot will kick in eventually and a nice warm temperature will emerge and I'll be comfortable again.
For now, I'll leave you with pictures of our season and family.
Good night!
So much so, that while talking to a friend on the phone this afternoon she voiced the question, "How much tea have you had today?"
Rose and I butted heads in school this morning.
We had company this afternoon.
Dave went and picked up our beef for the year at the butchers and I messed up the order.
I forgot I had a dentist appointment tomorrow.
I don't know where my mother is.
Dave tried to have a bon-fire with the kids and almost set the yard on fire and I didn't really care.
We were at the cottage for a week between Christmas and New Years. I did nothing there except play with my husband and children, take walks outside, and eat chocolate croissants. I had no phone and no computer. I loved it.
I came back to this world, the weight of it's responsibilities, and it's been a shock, like the cold water that shoots out of the shower when you're expecting it hot. I know the hot will kick in eventually and a nice warm temperature will emerge and I'll be comfortable again.
For now, I'll leave you with pictures of our season and family.
Good night!
 |
| Rosy racing |
 |
| Grant and the last kitten |
 |
| Ready for presents! |
 |
| Avonlea took a picture of me having tea on Christmas |
 |
| I took a picture of Avonlea playing the harp on Christmas |
 |
| Our family dinner |
 |
| Amy and Avonlea |
 |
| New dresses for the girls |
 |
| My cottage breakfast |
 |
| The girls room in the cottage |
 |
| Avonlea relaxing with the kitten |
 |
| Tea in the cottage den |
 |
| Orchard with light snow |
 |
| Our creek! |
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