Whoa, Baby!

Whoa Baby!

A 17 pound baby was born to Russian parents this week.

Wow. Cabbage Patch Kids do exist.

Those friends of mine who have no idea how much a baby should weigh, just look at the photo. Newborns should NOT have creases in their arms like that; compare the size of the other baby. The average birth weight is around 7 lbs. Seventeen pounds is nearly 2.5 times that.

Every woman now: grooooaaaan.

Artist

Is there a Picasso in the house? Because I have a budding artist. Just two weeks ago, Morgan was limited in her drawing abilities to circles and squares. And now...animals! Say hello to Mr. Giraffe and Mr. Elephant.

Am I proud, you ask? Just a bit.

Will of God

Good news. I have broken through some pretty negative lies that I've been believing about myself.

For a really, really long time, every morning I wake up with this thought: "Something is not right."

It's a subtle thought. I don't start the day weeping or in anger. It's more of an aching belief that I hold in the recesses of my mind: "Something is not right."

The "thing" that is not right is, of course, our losses. My pitbullesque instinct to hold onto something until it gives me the result I want is, well, wanting. Each time I ask, "Why?" I get an answer which registers to me as "Does not compute. Does not compute." Something is not right.

Today, I finally had the courage to ask myself why I felt a pit in my stomach every single day. The answer that came back was startling to me: I believed myself to be outside the will of God.

When I really searched my thought life, I realized that I have been obeying God in a robotic fashion. It's somewhat necessary when the emotions go through such turmoil. But I never turned them back "on" again. I chalked up my silent situation to God putting me on the back burner. After all, there are worse things than having miscarriages. A lot of people suffer. God sees my situation but he hasn't determined a verdict yet. Back burner for now.

So today, it hit me: I AM in the will of God. God knows. God hears. And for now, this waiting period, this silence, is His answer. I am in the will of God.

This was hard for me to swallow at first. I don't want THIS to be the will of God. I don't want to be here. I want to push the pause button on life until the suffering is over. This isn't REALLY life. When all this terrible mess blows over, then life will REALLY begin. I swept it under the rug.

This was the answer given me: "No, Emily. Life is now. You are God's child now. And this is His will."

I have friends who have lost their spouses, jobs, pregnancies, hope and possessions. But this message is for everyone in whatever aching sadness pervades their daily life: Suffering does not mean that one is outside of God's will. Often suffering is his will.

Ah, the mysterious, loving, care-filled, vigilant and frustrating will of God. So glad I am in it.

Oh Where, Oh Where Did My Little Girl Go?

Calling Dr Jekyl. Dr Jekyl? Morgan to see you, sir. Something about turning 4.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Where did my funny, somewhat amicable 3 year old daughter go? We are having power trips left and right. And they're always over something ridiculous. And they're mostly done in public. To the outsider, they probably sound silly. But my Morgan knows how to trip my trigger.

Before I go on, I want to disclaim that this is NOT intended to be a slam fest on my daughter. No sirree. Just 4 year olds in general.

Example 1:
Morgan wants something to drink.
Morgan's Plan of Attack: She comes up to me and says, "Water."
I reply, "I'm sorry. Did you want something, Morgan? How do you ask for it?
Morgan: "Water. Please."
Mommy Responds: "Use your whole sentence, sweety."
Morgan: *sigh* "Can-I-please-have-some-water-thanks."

We do this runaround about 20 times a day. Twenty. Roughly the age I expect she'll be when we can stop this fancy pants dance.

Example 2:
Morgan disagrees with me.
Morgan's Plan of Attack: She first alerts me to this fact by zerberting into the air. "THBBBBB", her tongue informs me.
I give her that classic disappointed Mom smile. And then I proceed to ask her to do the aforementioned deed.
With a completely straight face she turns to me and belts "NO" and continues to stand expressionless.
Mommy Responds: Time out. Talking.

We do this runaround about 5-10 times a day. They're particularly fun in public shopping areas.

Example 3:
Morgan doesn't want to hold my hand anymore.
Morgan's plan of attack: Hold Mommy's hand reluctantly and drag feet as much as possible. Try to make Mommy look like she's pulling arm out of socket and periodically complain about the pulling. Act like hostage.
Mommy Responds: This one is tricky. I tried slowing down my walking speed, but the only way I don't pull her along is when she and I are both standing still. Which defeats the point of destination walking, no? At this point, I try to tell her why we're walking and why it is important that we keep doing so. This may involve bribes.

We do this gig at every errand run.

My challenge for you, gentle readers, is to help me cope/enjoy this age. Please note that I may ask you to come over to my abode and SHOW me how your idea works. This may involve several days worth of observation, so pack a suitcase.

*sigh* Tired momma, signing out.

Swing baby!

Disclaimer: I've been slightly hesitant to write this blog for fear that OUR pleasure has resulted in our friend Marc's annoyance. Dear Marc gave us the better part of his Saturday to disassemble a playset we bought on craigslist and delivered it to our house. What a friend. That being said, here's my real post:

WHOOO HOOOO!! We are fitting in quite well with super suburban living. We are the proud new owners of (drumroll, please) a playset.

If you have visions in your head of rusty, creaky tin-ish structures that break easily and jostle every time someone swings, then you're not far off. The only difference is that this unit is a bit heavier so we don't expect toppling. We are anticipating some pretty spectacular splinters, however. Ah, childhood.

Dan and Marc were disassembly fiends on Saturday. Within 4 hours they had broken down the mammoth into bite sized pieces. I attribute this success to the coffee and donuts they had enjoyed earlier. They claim that they're smart and strong. Whatever.

After Dan and Marc dumped the puzzle-ish wood pieces of the playset on our backyard, they hauled back towards Marc's neck of the woods to return said friend. Morgan and I rested a little, but not for long. Neighbors started coming out of the woodwork to see what landed on our lawn. They offered their help for the resassembly in the form of hoots and hollers, libations and general manual assistance. The latter was offered under the breath in hopes that we wouldn't hear.

We plan to restain Morgan's new playset. That's for OUR benefit, of course. Morgan wouldn't care.

In the end, our math was right: Child + Playset= Happiness.

Morganisms

This week I was at some venue speaking to an older woman with short hair.

Morgan beckoned,"Mom! Mom!"

"Yes, Morgan?" I replied.

Her urgent question could have waited: "Is that a MAN or a WOMAN?"

Good Word, Bad Word

Word I Like: Hork
Why I Like It: Fun to say
Meaning: To chow down quickly
Used in Sentence: "It took me all day to make that soup! Don't hork it down so fast."

Word I Don't Like: Value
Why I Don't Like: Grandpa word. Can't think of any situation in which I would need to say it.
Substitute for word: "Bang for your buck"
Used in Sentence: "Let's buy those bananas. Ten cents a pound is a good value."
Try this instead: "Oooo... cheap bananas! I got a lot of bang for my buck."