A Note

A rocky morning.

A mother brooding downstairs.

A little girl grumping upstairs.

And then, a three page note that a mother can read and perhaps you can decipher as well:

I still love mi famle

And I am sre fr mi mstax

So wil you forgiv me

Dear Lord, I'm crying.

Waiting

I am in stutter land, friends.

Every time I come to blog, the biggest, most amazing stories happening to me are, well, somewhat inappropriate to blog about. They're too intimate or personal or would break a confidence.

Rats.

So I'm waiting. I'm waiting for the drama to settle, for God's words to come to me (maybe they won't).

But what I can say is that God is immensely, completely, utterly enthralled with patching and improving relationships.

Today I was thinking about someone who I needed to write and *wham* there was an email from that person. Waiting for me.

And then on Facebook a friend told me that we had a rocky past and *wham* God's grace was there, covering over old scraped knee wounds with His perfect love. Bringing smiles to our faces and erasing years of hurt.

I'm waiting. And resting.

Like Elijah when he was being hunted down and the angel of the Lord told him to eat and then eat some more because the journey ahead was a doozy.

Or like Elijah when he waited for God's voice and finally found it in a quiet spot.

Waiting.

Birthday Coming

Shhh... It's rather late and the children are sleeping.

And me (giggling...) I am getting excited about a certain little girl's 6th birthday party.

I'm excited because I found some cute Martha Stewart decorations on super duper sale. The hubs isn't the biggest fan of her or of "giving to her coffers" (Lands, he's smart, isn't he?) but he likes when I say the word "sale". I like the word "cute", so it's win-win.

The kiddo wants "rainbow balloons" and a "My Little Pony party, please". She also wants a tiered birthday cake.
(Like a wedding cake, you ask? Yes, yes. She's crazy about weddings.)
I'm not a master cake baker, but I bought some rainbow Twizzlers (Oh please don't let Dan find them in the closest and eat them) which will make a beautiful rainbow somewhere on the pastry.
And some foil-wrapped toilet paper rolls will probably do for the columns on the tiered cake, doncha think?

Darn if JoAnns fabric didn't have those tempting 40% off coupons. Now my wallet is a bit lighter and my dining room table is heavier.
With 14 yards of purple tulle.
Soon to be tutus.

It's bound to be a crazy hour and a half of frosting, giggling, running and mayhem. I hope it's fun. I'm putting some loving into it.

Pics later, okay?

Days of Grace

A long time ago, my friend Sarah told me that God's grace comes in many different ways in motherhood. I wish I remembered verbatim how she put it, but the essence of her sentiment was that God provides for mothers.

I've never forgotten that conversation. Sarah probably has. She is a busy mother of three (Hi, Sar!) and probably forgets her gender most days due to exhaustion. So it meant a great deal when this friend and weary-but-wonderful mother would share this with me.

I thought of this yesterday as I was about to take Morgan to a birthday party. It was a bit of a rush to get there. I threw the baby in the car seat (no, I did not throw her...) and made haste to pick up another little girl and whisk ourselves to an hour and a half of birthday enchantment. The venue for this party was a really swanky little tea party place in Naperville. There are times when I roll my eyes at the hoity toity, but I was absolutely smitten by this darling little place. I'll spare you all the details, but know that there were purple walls, lots of sparkly things and real china cups. Oh my.

So as I dropped off my load (read: two little girls), I realized that I was footloose and fancy free. In downtown Naperville. With my little Eve. So fun.

I've been meaning to come here for some time because there's a special spice I needed for a recipe and, well, there's a Penzey's spice shop in Naperville. Can I tell you how much fun it was to go into a spice shop, tell them I needed Ancho Chile Powder and have the lady confidently ask "Small or large size?" *Swoon* I love it when I spend $3 in a hoity toity place but feel like I've spent $50.

And then, someone gave me a G*ap gift card a while ago and I haven't been able to use it, so off I went to Gap to get baby girl a little outfit.

As I spent the hour and a half gladly strolling the streets with my baby, I felt thankful. Wow... there is that grace I needed. There is that spice I wanted. There is that bit of time I didn't think I'd get. There is a little gift to me... a little refreshment. Thank you, God.

Morgan Kay

Having two daughters in two very different stages of life is quite interesting. Baby Eve gets a fair bit of attention, so I have to be careful to watch my Morgan. She is changing just as quickly. For starters, my five year old daughter is a funny mix of girl + infant + woman.

There are times when she'll put on an outfit and my husband and I look at each other and send her right back up to her room for another go. She looks too, um, womanly.

She's five, folks.

Five.

I mean, she's nearly six, but that's no sixteen. My, how's she growing.

There are other times when she utilizes new words like, "for example" or some big word like "horrendous" and I have to keep my concentration on WHAT she is saying instead of smirking like the dorky proud parent that I am. "My child just used a multi-syllabic word correctly," I'm thinking. I look into her blue, strong eyes and realize that she wants to be thought of as, well, worth listening to. And she is. Believe me, she is.

But there are times when I realize that she is still very much a little girl. I recently started taking her to a girls club at our church. She was, by far, the youngest member. Other girls are in junior high. I smiled as my eldest daughter was invited to fill a plate with snacks at the end of the evening. Morgan had brought a friend to this evening's gathering. Between the two of them, the brownie tray was 10 brownies lighter. That's right: TEN. I smiled at how these little girls have not gotten to the "Am I fat" or "I'm watching my weight" thoughts that often infect girls. They love chocolate, by golly, and they're gonna fill their plates. (For those who are horrified at their gluttony, yes, yes, I did "help" them put some back.)

Tonight we were at a Chinese restaurant and a little boy (age: 8?) came up to Morgan and offered her a sticker. "Would you like this clown sticker?" he said. My Morgan hardly broke eye contact from her wonton soup as she said, "No thank you." Completely not flustered. As if she expected it. I marvel at this child. Totally unaware that this little boy probably liked her. (Oh, please... not this early.)

As I watch my little Morgan grow and become more independent, I release my hold. At times I release her reluctantly and at other times I think she can't grow quickly enough.

It's times when she shares her heart that I love this growing up process most of all. She'll giggle in an embarrassed way as she explains that she doesn't know anybody's name at school. I tell her that she'll learn; it's okay.

She'll ask me to put a ponytail in her hair. Then she asks me to put THREE ponytails in her hair. I gulp and wonder if I'll be brave enough to let her look the way she wants, even if it's bizarre.

When we're in the car, sometimes we'll break out into funny songs.

We'll laugh about how trees look naked in autumn. "Heehee... naked."

And when she's grumpy, we'll have contests to see who can be the grumpiest.

Naturally, we break out into laughter.

She's still at the age where she'll describe bodily functions without any shame. I'll spare the details, but know that she wants to educate us about the full and healthy functions of all ends of her body. 'Nuff said. Again: I love this child.

Morgan Kay: It's a joy to know you. Without you, I wouldn't see joy in the little things in life. I love how you walk into a room, decide you want to paint a picture, and immediately do so. I love how you put bright green socks on your feet even though they look ridiculously happy on your feet. And I love how you use 10 gallons of hairspray each morning to keep your cowlick from getting hair in your face.

You are my Morgan. And I am so glad you're in my life.

Title

It's easy in the muck of stay-at-home-ville to think that one is basically in a state of constant chaos for the purpose of proving entropy. I have a daily battle of will when my alarm clock (aka- my daughter, knocking gently at my bedroom door) reminds me that I should, in fact, admit that another day is upon me.

It doesn't help matters that my husband, in a gesture of goodwill towards my mush mind, reminded me that René Descartes declared his existence was based upon his ability to think. ("I think, therefore I am.") This gives me pause for two reasons: First, because most of the time I question if I can, in fact, think. The morning hours especially give me reason to question this as I put the milk in the snack cabinet and the dry goods in the fridge. Secondly, I don't know if I can trust a man who goes by the name René... sounds too girly to me.

But I digress.

Today, in a state of optimistic thinking, I told myself that my repetitive house keeping efforts certainly have merit. I decided to reframe my situation by renaming my efforts into titles that I might find in the world or marketplace. I reason that I will respect my efforts more.

This proved a bit difficult when I was checking out my groceries at Mei*jer today. A particularly lonely cashier gabbed incessantly about her opinions of the president, the safety of baby toys and about how helpful plastic bags can be for using in the bathroom trash. I'm not hatin' on the lonely out there, but I do use the checkout time to add my groceries before hearing the grand total. With careful concentration, I turned down the volume of my chatty friend and determined the sum of my groceries within two dollars. Thoroughly amazed at my abilities, I determined that such mind control is only found in Star Wars episodes. I must be... a Jedi.

Wow, this was getting fun.

Later, I listened to my baby's sounds as she crawled around the house. I noticed that her gibberish turned from a squealish "GLA GLU BLA" to a whispery "as soo foo" tone. (Alert! Alert!) I was able to determine her exact location and that she was about to bring a wad of fuzz to her already open mouth. With such deft hearing, I reasoned that I would make... an excellent bat or, barring that, a Navy Seal.

I mentally went down the list of how many ways I benefit the family:

Appeasing a rowdy playdate crowd with Goldfish crackers: Crowd Control

Feeding the never-full-baby: Sinkhole Management

Turning away youth at my front door (in a nice way) as they try to sell me lame, expensive products: Sandbag Piler

Taking money from my clothing budget and using it for my housewares budget: Chief Financial Officer

Using my index finger to wipe food off my baby's face. Eating said food: Recycling Managment

Using same index finger to scoop non-food out of baby's clamped-shut mouth: Bill Collector

Raiding my daughter's closet to find where the smell is coming from: K-9 Officer

and, finally, using superb phone skills to maneuver through a sticky insurance situation: Bee Keeper

Whew. I feel better about myself already.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a sleeping daughter. My mind-control is telling me to get off the computer. :)

Date Night

Fighting all the responsibilities which threatened to undo our datenight, Dan and I left our beloved offspring in the capable hands of a babysitter Friday night and had... an amazing dinner.

I am as cheap as they come when it comes to datenights. I make every effort to not spend too much money on an evening if I don't have to because we're already forking out dough for the sitter. But there are times when the occasion calls for it. 

Like being married to your best friend for nine years. *swoon* 

(And all the men rolled their eyes.)

Dan and I had an amazing dinner at Adelle's in Wheaton. 

I'm not here to tell you I had a fancy evening out. 

I'm writing because I had a beautiful, unforgettable evening out. 

It wasn't life changing, but it was life giving.

Have you ever been in the presence of something so beautiful that you felt physically changed afterward? I hope so. That was me. Friday night.

The ambiance at Adelle's is hard to describe without sounding cliché. It was simply breathtaking.

I wanted to live there. Forever. 

The restaurant is surrounded by a garden with a tall brick wall. There is ivy and small trees planted here and there. My favorite part was... hold your breath... twinkle lights... all over the trees. 

The restaurant had this really amazing way with decor. A privacy curtain was created using multiple ball-chain necklaces that the miliary uses on dog tags. Simple star ornaments hung from a bay window. Our table faced a fireplace filled with glass ball ornaments (how clever!) instead of a hot fire in summer. Sitting in that dim room with the perfect companion and just the right amount of laughter and talking at the tables surrounding us, I felt safe and happy and carefree.

I felt like I could breathe great big breaths of air and eat as slowly as I wanted. 

I felt like someone else was taking care of me, giving to me. 

It was unforgettable. 

Dan and I swapped tastes of our food. Fish tacos. A crab cake. Meatloaf. Duck in berry sauce. Amazing. I could taste the love in all the flavors. The restaurant is one of those places that takes good, simple dishes and then surprises you with a new infused flavor. The tomato aioli which accompanied my crab cake was totally unexpected. And, of course, delicious.

And for dessert? Mousse. 

Can I say that again? 

Mousse. 

Mousse, mousse, mousse.

Chocolate swirled with vanilla and a pool of raspberry sauce at the bottom. 

Caught up in the moment, I wanted to sell all my possessions and eat at this exact table with my husband every single night. I had been in a beautiful place with thoughtful food and my favorite person... and I won't forget it. Ever.

Brave

This year I turned 35. 

In previous birthdays, I have had a definite "this is a good age" or "I'd rather be younger" feeling. I remember starting to feel like an adult at age 25. Birthdays 18-21 were fun. My first teen-aged birthdays were greeted with giddy delight; If memory serves, my aunt bought me a subscription to "TEEN" magazine. The periodical was beautifully dribbled with makeover before and afters and some articles about boys, fashion and eating habits. But most importantly, it said "TEEN" on its cover to cue my arrival.

When this 35th birthday arrived I thought something profoundly simple: "By golly, I'm the age I have always been." If this is a bit cryptic for your tastes, it just means that when I was 13, I wasn't ever particularly fun, in my mind. I held the weight of a 35 year old. When I turned 26, I still had the furrowed brow of a 35 year old. And when I had actually turned 35, I felt something different... not thrilled, not horrified... I felt like my flesh and time had finally met up. I figure that when I'm twice this age, I'll still act like I'm 35 and I'll be thought of as immature. 

Now, as a certified 35 year old (*wink*) I did start to have some misgivings about my life. Birthdays are great for tugging us a little more towards wisdom. I realized, with some surprise, that I have spent most of my life feeling really unsure about who I am and what makes me tick. You know how some people are known for... I don't know... being healthy or being organized or being witty? I have struggled a great deal in embracing the quirks and idiosyncrasies of being Emily. 

But now, I'm bringing the weaknesses to God and asking Him to help me still be me, only braver.

1. When making purchases, have a peace about it. 

Ugh. I am one of the most indecisive people ever when it comes to decisions. And purchases made with a crying baby or a pleading 5 year old pulling on me do not improve my decision making process. So now I am trying to step back from a purchase, ask myself honestly if I have the room for it in my home and if it is worth maintaining. If I don't have a true peace about it, I need to not buy it. 

Case in point: This weekend my neighbor was selling some amazing furniture at her yard sale. It was all I could do to resist an über cute desk set and adorable dining set. They were vintage; I melt at the word "vintage"... I called Dan at work to ask him his thought. Honestly, I had hoped he would say no. Instead, he said it was my decision. Grrr... I must have visited the furniture three times. After going through my entire house, room by room, I finally realized that I had no proper place for any of it. I said no and I'm glad for it. Plus, I reasoned that that cute furniture should probably be in someone else's house. Decision made.

2. Before I try to contact someone, ask myself if I'm doing it because I'm afraid of quiet or if I really feel that I should call them. 

I love to connect with people. But even more, I love to get the dish on my girlfriends and have a good laugh or cry or pep talk. Being a Mom affords me the opportunity to have constant peopleage (it's a new word) in my life, but speaking "ba ba" to my squishy baby is hardly edifying socially. So I find myself calling people. At times I do it frantically, like the talk-crazed mother that I am. And then I think, "Did I honestly just call that person to fill in a half hour?" *Horrified*

In a nutshell, I'm learning to ask God for peace about connecting with others. Strangely enough, I have spent many-a-prayer asking God that I might have time with... the man I married. I'm delighted to say that God is very interested in me spending time with Dan. 'Nuff said.

3. Pause before making a time commitment to an organization and then, if prodded, join with a glad heart. 

Shortly after the ultrasound which revealed that our baby would be "Eve" and not "Evan"... I began to think about life with two girls. Our church has a club for young girls called GEMS which meets Tuesday evenings. I talked with Dan about the commitment and he asked great questions like "How much time will it take?" and "Will I still get dinner?" I just had my first leader's meeting this week and I am really excited about doing something I believe in... 

Being generous in heart and wise with time.

4. Whatever I do, ask for God's presence and peace.

Alright, this sounds totally full of fluff, but it makes sense to me. I tend to put my concerns into two categories: Things God cares about and Things God doesn't give a hoot about. This is really wrong theology, I finally admitted. And then I put faith into practice.

For weeks now I have looked longingly at my sewing table (also doubles as my dining table) and wanted to create. I've fretted a good deal about this ridiculousness until I asked myself, "Do you believe God cares about this?" When the answer came back, "Heck, yeah!", then I asked God for the peace to sew and the time to do so. On Wednesday, baby Eve slept like a trooper and the coffee filled my veins nicely, so I sewed. Soon I shall share pics of the dropcloth curtains I sewed for our TV room ... in one day. Whoohoo!

On Eve

I'm struck by a pattern I see when complete strangers see my beautiful baby girl. 

Women say, "Oh, would you look at those big blue eyes" or something to that effect.

Men often say, "Hey, there, buddy." One out of ten men will notice that she's in pink and correct themselves. 

and children... children say it like it is: "That baby don't got no hair!"

Indeed. :)

Coming to Terms

Nine-ish months ago when I gave birth to the most beautiful baby Eve there ever was, I had no idea that life would change this much. I didn't know my heart could expand to twice the size of Montana and I certainly didn't realize that the clock would run on "fast" mode. 

For starters, the joys and sadnesses of life are hucked out so quickly that when I take a breather, I'm not sure if I'm crying for the joy or sorrow of it. 

My worry warts are being removed (permanently I hope) by the sheer fact that I don't have time for it. 

A new relationship in my life is challenging my notion that I can, in fact, play well with others. But then, by God's strong Word, I realize that loving sincerely is a whole lot harder than looking like I'm being nice. I'm humbled and reliant upon His great love.

My husband and I come to God with scraps of problems, the equivalent of not being able to tie our shoe laces, and marvel as God wraps up the loose ends and sends us running again.

Thoroughly tired of having a cluttered, dirty kitchen, God gently helps me to stay on a simple regimen of putting pots, pans and dishes away... with a thankful heart... and shows me the joy of waking up to a kitchen that is clean and ready for action. What's more, He's giving me the desire to make dinners again and to share foodly goodness with others, my not-so-secret joy.

I'm learning to put even the most mundane, seemingly unimportant tasks into His great hands. Laundry. Mending. Cleaning. Working out. Resting. (Help me, God, make time for each.) And I'm learning to take care of my body again (patience, dear, patience) and find some clothes that will get me through this season of life. Oh, please let it be a season, says me.

I look longingly at a sewing project I've been wanting to do for ages. I ask God for the time and peace to do it. 

I learn to downscale projects or time eaters that aren't important whatsoever. I learn to be more efficient but also to rest. Both are gifts.

I'm learning to stay, to suffer long when the occasion calls for it, to be quiet when words don't come for prayer and to sink my teeth into joy when it does come because of its fleeting nature. 

My attempts to blog concise, clear thoughts become muddied when my too full heart can't possibly put into words its great bounty. 

I marvel as I've finally realized that my husband doesn't want a well-run house so much as a happy, well-rested wife. 

And while it's tempting in this economy to neglect date nights or time away in favor of the almighty savings account, a simple night out with the husband pumps fresh blood into my veins and wind into my tired sails and reminds us that we love laughing with each other. It's an act of faith to do so and the rewards keep coming.

A quick look at the clock reminds me that I have a few hours before my dear Morgan comes home from school. I am off again. Happy and humbled and tired and thankful. 

Paper Trail

Hello out there. I'm in hiding. 

Just when I thought I'd have a little breathing room with Morgan being at school, my arch-nemesis arrived: details and organization. 

There's a lot of things I'm good at: I like sewing and cooking and graphics. I like the house generally cleaned up, but when it comes to nitty, gritty details my brain goes into "does not compute" mode... also known as "huh?"

The first day my daughter came home from school, I donned my best "How was your first day" smile. She responded with a "Fine. Can I play with my friends?" and thrust a folder with papers inside for me to peruse.

I signed, folded, copied in triplicate* and sent back all manner of school material back to her teacher. There is a "take home" side of the folder and a "send to school" side, I quickly learned. That should have been a red flag for me.

The next day Morgan came home with more papers. Papers with dates. Important dates. Words in bold print. Places to write our names and sign up for this and that. I gulped and put them on my kitchen counter. At one point, I couldn't see my kitchen counter for the waves of paper that had multiplied upon it. We were averaging 5-10 papers a day. 

So I bought an organizer. 

And a three ring notebook. The big kind. 

This was war.

I promptly recycled or punched holes in the papers and claimed my kitchen counter back.

Every day the paper load seemed to increase. But I was ready for it. 

And then, yesterday.... I heard forests of trees shriek as I opened her pack: School Fundraiser info. There were papers stapled on the front of the pack to entice you to open the pregnant envelope. There were papers telling me that there were other papers to look at in her pack that night. 

I looked at the School Fundraiser packet and gulped. I can't think of a worse thing to do to my friends than to take the pack of papers that give me ulcers and shove them in their general direction with my cute, doe-eyed daughter as bait in the hopes that they'll give me paper back in the form of a check. What's more, the Fundraiser is selling, among other things: Wrapping Paper. Paper, paper, paper. 

But wait, there's more:

Yesterday I received two pieces of communication from Morgan's school which said the same thing, once in email form and then, just in case I didn't want to go paperless... once in paper... that Morgan's class will not be attending a certain program. What? Why are they so paper happy?

I mean, of course I know the answer to all of this mayhem... probably a psychotic mother who loved her children a whole, whole bunch threatened to sue the school if they did not communicate ad nauseam about the programs her children would and would not be attending. And she probably threw in some "communication must be in paper form" clause because she was the wife of a logger. 

*Breathe*

So there you have it. I'm hiding. If you have a problem with that, put it on paper. 

* I jest, I jest.

September Hath Two Girls

Morgan and the sunflower

Morgan and the her new glasses!

Ain't she cute?

Morgan's artwork of a duck... made out of sunflower petals.

I love this kid.

Pick me up, Mommy!

This pic isn't too clear, but it shows how Eve holds her lips. So funny.

Teething, teething...

Eve loves to tilt her head. Often she giggles and giggles as she does it.

A more somber moment...