Renewed Vows

I was talking to a friend a few weeks ago about marriage.

About how sometimes man and wife just coexist in the same house, trying to make sense of the beauty and responsibilities of life.

Not much connection.

Fortunately, Dan and I have been able to have little snatches of time here and there to strengthen us... Little moments that strengthen our laughter and help us release our responsibilities, that help us see the real us.

Nearly a decade ago I pledged my love and faithfulness to Dan. Today the vows are a little more specific, but no less precious:

I, Emily, take you Dan, to be my wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward,

For dirty laundry-bin-clothes-shopping or clean drawer-ed clothes,

For humdrum evenings or chaotic black Friday morning shopping,

For VISA bills or lottery wins,

For silent weeping in hospitals or joyfully wrestling a baby into clothes,

For minivan or sports car,

For beer gut or six pack abs,

For exhausting birthday parties as well as movies-in-bed,

For the appearance of white hairs on our heads or wrinkles on our faces,

to love and to cherish 'till death do us part.

And hereto I pledge you my faithfulness.

Friendship

There's a continuous blog going on in my head but the connection of my head to my hands to the keyboard is difficult of late. Is it lame to say that I have been a mother 6 years and it still surprises me how much joy and work it is?

As usual, I digress.

Recently I met with a group of women. A really cool group of women who I like very much. I like their differences and their ideas and their vim and vigor. (I've always wanted to say that... "vim and vigor"... tickles the tongue, it does.)

So as I was meeting with this group of women, the subject turned to food. My ears perked right up. How to make dinners. How to get good deals on food. That sort of thing.

I'm a self confessed foodie.

I'm not afraid of a little fat.

And I'm not afraid of cooking something for two hours if it means it's wicked good.

I wanted to hear about flavors and richness and the beauty of taste and texture. I wanted to hear about obsessions with coconut or mishaps with caramel.

As the conversation continued, I didn't really hear anyone say, "Oh man... you have GOT to try this such and such..."

Instead I heard words like "quick" and "easy" and "just open a can of..."

I became very quiet. And, can I confess, I felt really sad.

"Emily, this is ridiculous. You stop being such a food snob. Listen up, girl. You may learn something new," I told myself. But the loneliness stayed. And it seemed to grow.

Fast forward a day. My friend Ann and I are talking on the phone. She tells me, "Hey Em, I made a gluten free carrot cake recipe for you. It's pretty good."

"You did? You made one for me?" I don't think I've had a good gluten-free baked item since I went glutenless a month ago.

"Yep... I can't get it out of the pan, but the taste is really good. I found some special flour at the Whole Foods store. Did you know you can buy bulk spices there? And if you just need a little, you can do that, too!" Ann is such a foodie.

"But Ann, you're not gluten free," I said, putting two-and-two together.

She laughed.

"So you went out of your way to make a special cake for me?"

More laughter. I was deeply touched.

"Well... I like the challenge," she offered. Did I mention that she's modest?

The next day I ate some of the best darn carrot cake known to man. It was sensual and had layers of flavor that hit your tongue at different times--it was earthly and moist and somehow chocolatey. It was amazing.

Now I know it's frowned upon in nutritious circles to be an emotional eater, but I can honestly say that I rarely eat a bit of food in which I don't have an emotion. I really don't know how to stop being an emotional eater. That being said, when I ate this cake I nearly cried for the goodness of it. Each bite confirmed friendship and fellowship and goodness and creativity. My tongue did a happy dance, it did.

Later, I called my mother and told her the two stories. I don't have to explain "foodie" to my Mom. She called me into the fold with her love of cooking years ago. And I didn't have to explain the friendship part, either. We just ate the story up.

God's Grace, Anew

I've pictured the grace of God for a long time like this: a gentle, loving father figure stooping to pick up the pieces of a person covered in filth, wiping him clean. The spirit is somber and sobering.

But today I have a new picture:

My daughter Eve, who is desperately social, was sitting in her wheeled exersaucer. While I was checking email in the office, my clever infant found a way to scoot until she reached the door frame where she repeatedly bang, bang, banged on the door, giggling with glee at the sight of me. She had messed her pants but didn't seem to care. But she was completely delighted to be in the sight of me, bumping around awkwardly in the wheeled toy.

I love this image. I picture God delighting in His children as we seek His face eagerly and awkwardly, as we shriek in joy at His presence and as we come to Him even though we're dirty... We come to Him because we're dirty and social and in need of Him to pick us up and love us.

Thank you, God, for little Eve and this new picture of grace.

Stay at Home Ponderings

It's 11 o'clock in the morning. I've just returned from the gym and, honestly, I should shower. It's one of the plusses of being a stay-at-home mom: I can do whatever I want, whenever I want. *cough, gag, snort and all manner of eye rolling*

The minuses to being a stay at home mom are the same as the plusses: (flexibility) because one moment you're on-top-of-the-world with organizational ecstasy and the next moment you're reluctantly giving the two-hour slot you allocated to (whatever) to the tire center with a nail in the tire. *Boring*

So I'm seizing this moment to blog.

Recently, I was reflecting on what life was like one year ago. I was somber. And weepy. And happy. And crazy. The happy little hormonal rainbow that we call pregnancy was a joy ride for all involved.

I was reflecting on this as I watched my nearly one-year old baby pull tissues out of the box with great glee. About how I couldn't possibly have pictured this feisty little girl in my life, about how I clung religiously to this grainy sonogram picture of her gnawing on her fist and loved what I knew of her. The sonogram picture is still on my fridge from one year ago. One day I'll take it down, but not now. I have reasons which the heart alone knows for keeping it up there.

Much happens in a year. I'm up to my eyeballs in childproofing this house from my wonderfully curious infant. She adores SOS pads, at least the emptying of them from the box. She loves to chew on the ottoman and this little wood finial from Dan's chess table. She's got an adorable temper which I will blog about in a year with different feelings, I'm sure. And she dances with this odd flip-flop of the head that makes you wonder if she's got a tick. Again, adorable.

Last year I sat in her nearly-perfect nursery that smelled like fresh paint and rubbed my belly with all the holy ponderings befit of a mother-to-be. And this year I can barely keep the diaper bin empty as I wrestle my infant to the changing table.

The heart is amazing in it's capabilities, isn't it?

Last year, the quiet ponderings.

This year, I still ponder, but it's done in little snatches of time... a photo I snagged which remains in my constipated digital camera, a scrap of paper with a mad jumble of words on it which reminds me to tell Dan a funny story. That sort of thing.

What joy, to be a part of life, to ride the waves of God's goodness and to marvel at how he fills the heart again. And again. And again.

Friday

It is Friday morning.

Even if this day kicks my tush like it did every day this week, tomorrow is Saturday.

Saturday= Dan.

Dan= help.

Saturday is good.

I am eager to cleanse the house of the sickness that became this week.

When sickness hits our homestead, we are in triage mode.

Dishes only get done out of absolute necessity.

We eat whatever the freezer offers us.

When fresh fruit and veg are gone, they are gone.

I have worn the same jeans all week long. Denim is the ultimate in fabric forgiveness but even this pair could use some rest. And a wash.

I can see the horizon of health and will welcome it with open arms. There is something about the opening of curtains and letting light stream in and picking up laundry off of the floor that lends itself to reclaiming health and home.

With Comet cleanser in hand, I will oust the virus from our bathrooms. Truthfully, it may do absolutely nothing. But I'm not setting out the welcome mat for it, either. Begone, you terrible health-taker.

With some extra rest for my little one, perhaps today will be the day that she'll eat well and fuss less.

If nothing else, it's Friday. Beautiful Friday.

Sick Week

This is the fourth day in which my infant daughter has been sick. In fact, at this very moment she is fighting sleep. Her tired pink eyelids don't know that she is sleepy so she is wailing, pleading with me to pick her up and let her play.

Earlier this morning I sat on the floor with her and just let myself be a present mother. I just sat there. She crawled to me and then away from me to a toy. Then back and forth, back and forth, just to make sure I was still there.

At one point she stood eye to eye with me and turned red in the face while she grunted. I was oddly honored that Eve felt comfortable enough to do her business with me present. I laughed inwardly at her beautiful shamelessness.

Being a mother is, in my opinion, one of the oddest jobs on earth.

I smile as my shiny-faced infant holds out her arms to me and immediately thrusts her face onto my shirt, rubbing her runny nose all over it.

I sometimes smile, sometimes grumble at the sound of Cheerios crunching under my feet on the kitchen floor. "Missed a few," I say to myself. At other times, I'm so dogged tired from the day that I forget or downright refuse to wipe up the food from the floor.

Cheerios.

Banana pieces.

Whole chunks of chicken nuggets.

I justify the food on the floor with a Biblical story I learned as a kid: Kind Boaz told his workers to leave sheaves of wheat behind the harvest so that poor Ruth could find some food.

And so do I.

I laugh at Eve's strength when I bring the bulb syringe to her nose. With surprising speed, she whips her head left and right to avert the inevitable. If I use a tissue, she rips it right out of my hand and throws it on the floor so I can't clean her face. Feisty little one.

My favorite moment with her is right when she wakes up. We hug. I pat her back and she pats mine. It makes me smile every time.

As I reflect on this week, I don't see much in the way of what I have done. I suppose every mother feels that way when there is sickness in the house. But I see that through her mucous-rivered face she feels happy and safe. She even dances. That's all a mother could ask for on days like this.

Morgan Tells It...

I couldn't help but smile that Morgan "got" this about being married. *So* Proud:

Emily: "Morgan, when you have babies, can I snuggle them and take care of them?

Morgan: "Yep. 'Cause me and my husband are going to go on a little vacation."

Emily: "Yeah? Where are you going?"

Morgan: "I don't know. Maybe just go out for dinner."

Emily: "What restaurant?" (Expecting her to say McDonalds...)

Morgan: "I don't know..." (I can tell she doesn't know what restaurants grownups go to on date nights.)

Emily: "And then what?"

Morgan: "Then we'll come home, put on our jammies and brush our teeth and go to bed."

Of course, Morgan. Of course. That sounds delightful.

____________________

Morgan had gas issues (both ends) while visiting grandparents last month. The whole visit consisted of her yelling "Excuse me" loudly in the house so all could hear. I told Morgan that unless people were, um, "bothered" by it, you don't need to say "excuse me".

Fast forward a few weeks at the dinner table:

Morgan: "Dad, did you hear me burp? 'Cause I need to say 'excuse me' if you did."

Oh, for the love of Pete... She thinks of everything.