Obedience

If you read my last post, or if you've talked to me in the last month, you may have read the title here and be thinking that I'm writing about my daughter. It's true that I've been struggling with her in issues of obedience, as any parent of a preschooler can likely relate. But tonight it hit me like a blow to the gut that I'm not being a very good example to her when it comes to obedience. She doesn't know it, but I do... and God does.

Over the last several weeks I've been feeling a deep conviction to get up in the morning, before the rest of my family is awake, and spend time in prayer and reading the Bible. Right now, I usually reserve those things for when my kids are napping in the early afternoon. It has worked out pretty well, though every now and then I miss that time alone because my kids nap at opposite times. Then, of course, there are the days when I say to myself that I'll go and spend that time after I get just one quick thing done... and then maybe one more thing... and, oh, I need to make sure to get this done, too... and then, *yawn* maybe I'll just close my eyes for a couple of minutes first... You get the idea.

I've never been a morning person. My daughter wakes up smiling and cheerful, and for all the ways she is just like me, we can't figure out where on earth this characteristic came from! Waking up is a struggle for me, no matter how much sleep I've gotten. (Sometimes I resist a much-needed nap just so I don't have to wake up twice in one day.) I just don't like mornings.

Recently the message of getting up in the morning to spend time alone with God has started to come at me from all angles. It stood out to me while reading an outstanding autobiography last month. While studying the life of Jesus this year in BSF I observed his example as he got up early to be alone to pray. I've heard it in lectures and it grabs my attention. I've heard it during a sermon at church and I feel my heart pound harder. I even overheard a friend last week mention a similar conviction, completely out of the blue.

If this same concept didn't seem to crop up at every turn, I wouldn't think much more of it than just being an idea. But everywhere I turn I am hearing God saying to me, "Get up! Spend time with Me before your family needs you and before the day gets away from you!"

It's not skywriting, but do we really need God to write us messages in the sky when we already have his written Word?

Isaiah 50:4
He wakens me morning by morning, wakens my ear to listen like one being taught.

Psalm 5:3
In the morning, O Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation.

Mark 1:35
Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed.

I have been keeping all of this to myself because I'm afraid someone will want to keep me accountable. Every night for the last few weeks I've gone to bed knowing I should be setting an alarm and haven't done it. And every morning I've woken up to the sound of my kids and have known that I have been disobedient.

If I am expecting obedience from my daughter, and for her to listen to my voice and do as I ask, the least I can do is set for her a good example of obedience. She may not know it or understand it for years, but in my heart I know I can't require obedience from her if it's something I'm not willing to do. I have been listening, but now it's time to obey.

Little reminders

My husband loves to leave notes for us. Whether he is out of town or just has to leave the house before we are awake, we usually can find notes telling us how much he loves us and other reminders.

Lucy found a note this morning. We've had a particularly trying morning--a battle of the wills on seemingly everything including eating breakfast, getting dressed, cleaning up, and putting away her "B" (her lovey blankie). So when she found this note she brought it to me and asked me to read it, I was delighted to read John's hand-writing: "Lucy, be a very good girl for Mommy!"

I asked her, "Have you been a good girl for me today?"

She looked at me and thought about it for a minute, then said, "Well, no, but maybe I'll be a good girl on Sunday."

Hey, one day is better than none!

Good Mom, Bad Mom

We needed to get out of the house this morning, so I took the kids to the mall to let Lucy run around and burn some energy and to keep Joey entertained by watching the change of scenery.

As we were leaving the mall I made a startling new discovery: Ben & Jerry's has a new kiosk in the Food Court! I've been spending the last 8 years in a B&J-less state, and suddenly a myriad of delectable flavors were staring me in the face. It was only 11:15, and we hadn't eaten lunch, so I groaned loudly and walked on by, trying to ignore the gush of saliva being produced in my mouth. I couldn't believe I was passing this place up!

A few steps farther, I turned around. I asked the kid what the smallest possible cup was and he pulled out a kiddie cup and told me it was $1.99. Ugh.

"Chunky Monkey," I blurted out. It bypassed that filter part of my brain that is supposed to think before I speak.

Lucy spoke what the rational part of me was thinking: "Mommy, why are we having ice cream before we have lunch?"

I've trained her well. I told her it was a very special treat, and she had to promise me to still eat all her lunch when we got home. Plus, I figured that the huge chunks of nuts were providing us with protein, not to mention calcium in the ice cream... Yes, even I can rationalize having ice cream before lunch.

For a few moments I felt like a hero, the Good Mom saying yes to this whimsical desire. But I certainly felt like the Bad Mom as I became aware of the tables around us, filled with other families whose kids were eating their nutritious lunches now all staring at us in jealousy and wonder as we ate our ice cream at 11:15 in the morning.

Celebrate Love

Ahhh, so the world around me reminds me that today is Valentine's Day. Those who know that John and I got engaged a little less than a week before this holiday know I've never been fond of it. In fact, most times when we tell our engagement story, the first question people ask him is, "Why didn't you wait a few days and propose on Valentine's Day?" His reply is usually, "Because she would have either said no or killed me if I did." He knows me well!

Needless to say, I don't like it. I think that my senior year in college was when I finally gave up on my desperate attempts to dodge disappointment and depression on February 14th. On that day, I wore all black clothing, black lipstick, black nail polish, and I even dyed my hair black. (It was temporary dye and sort of looked an odd greenish color over my blond by the end of the day, but it made the statement I was looking for.) I wasn't in mourning or turning Goth; I just wanted to bring some balance to all the giddy pink- and red-clad girls everywhere I looked. A few of my friends from college still contact me each year to ask me what color I chose to wear.

I'm not down on love--in fact I think love is one of the most wonderful things with which God has gifted us. I'm just down on someone else dictating to me when I should celebrate love. I'm down on women's silent expectations and men's guilt-laden attempts to live up to them.

If you celebrate Valentine's Day, that's great for you and you won't catch me telling you that you shouldn't. For me, it was always a day that ended up being disappointing, no matter what my relationship status was. And usually the day after Valentine's Day is one of complaining and commiseration. Not my favorite things.

John and I have been married for almost ten years, and we realize that we have so many other days throughout the year to celebrate our love: our engagement anniversary, our wedding anniversary, the anniversary of our first date, our first kiss, etc. Plus, we have this silly ritual of seeing who will first wish the other a "Happy 18th" every month, as we were married on the 18th of July. Sometimes it's in the middle of the night when one of our kids wakes up, sometimes first thing in the morning, or sometimes it's a text message as we are driving opposite directions in the middle of a busy day. We have many ways we celebrate our love, and February 14th just isn't on that list.

For the last few years I've returned to wearing a more Valentine-y color--for the sake of my daughter. I decided I didn't want Lucy to grow up jaded on my behalf. She is her daddy's Valentine, and for her that means being surprised with something special from him like a red balloon or a pack of heart-shaped stickers and a few extra snuggles to remind her what a special girl she is and how very much she is loved. Watching John show his love for her makes me love him even more, and I have to smile as I realize that in this place in my life, it's not the worst day after all.

(Side note: Last year my one and only niece Elianna was born on Valentine's Day, so now we have a very special reason to celebrate this day! Happy First Birthday, Elli!)

Shameless plug

I've just been added to the blogroll on Mile High Mamas, an entertaining community resource area for Denver moms! I've enjoyed reading blog posts there from other writers since I discovered it recently, so I'm pretty excited that Amber, the editor, asked if I'd be willing to be included among them. Check out their site and see My Original Self listed on the Blogroll.

T.G.F.O. (Thank God For Oatmeal)

Josiah turned 6 months old at the end of January and on his half birthday we started down the adventurous road of solid foods. I had intended to start them earlier with him than I did with Lucy, but then there were the holidays, and I just couldn't add one more thing to the insanity at that time. Then we were getting back to our routine, and by the time I considered it, I realized I could wait a few more weeks to be able to say I was one of that minuscule percentage of mothers who are still exclusively breastfeeding at six months. Yes, I know, I'm a nursing snob. But nonetheless, we started Joey on solids and I found that, true to his personality (that being the opposite of his sister) he opened up for the spoon and swallowed anything I put on it.

Then came last week. He clammed up. Just clenched his lips and turned his head anytime I came close with the spoon. Every day. All week.

Now, I know that babies have setbacks when starting solids, and I was aware that it could happen, but to understand how deeply disturbed I was by this, you have to know that Lucy didn't swallow a single bite of food until she was 9 1/2 months old. It wasn't for lack of trying! I tried making my own, I tried every brand of store-bought I could find. I tried it in the morning, the afternoon, the evening, and every moment in between. I had every other mommy I knew giving me tips and tricks, and none of them worked.

One friend said to me, "I don't know of any kid who has refused Cheerios." So I tried Cheerios. Lucy would pop them in her mouth, then repeatedly spit them out onto her chin (which created a lovely 0-goatee).

So last week when Joey clammed up, I nearly threw in the bib and spoon as I envisioned many more months of desperate attempts and wasted time... and exclusive breastfeeding. It really wouldn't be that bad, but while nursing an 18 1/2 pound baby I'm dropping an extra pound below my pre-pregnancy weight every two weeks no matter how much I eat.

But then the proverbial light bulb went on in my head yesterday as I sat on my friend's living room floor with our baby boys, just weeks apart in age, talking about our joys and struggles. She mentioned switching her son to oatmeal from the rice cereal, and I made a note on my mental grocery list.

And today it worked! After the initial clam-up, I managed to sneak a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. His face went from "Eeeww!" to "Mmmm!" in an instant and he opened up for more, eating every last bite I had prepared.

It could be the texture, it could be the taste, it could just be that it's not rice (or pears or sweet potatoes or apples or bananas mixed with rice). It could just be his own timing. Who knows what tomorrow will bring, but for today T.G.F.O. indeed!

Numbers

My daughter will be turning four years old in May, and as any firstborn child, she is expected to excel in everything there is to possibly excel in. Okay, not really, but as much as we don't want her to grow up too fast, we want her to be the smartest little girl she can possibly be. She lives up to this expectation most days and often surprises us with the information she retains effortlessly. But for probably a year now, Lucy has been leaving "15" out of every counting sequence that we have heard her sweet little voice recite.

A few nights ago, John -- being a numbers guy -- decided to work with her on this. Over and over again at the dinner table they counted together.

They started from one, but by the time they reached 15, she had long since forgotten to include it.

So then they started from ten. Still forgot the 15.

Then he tried to have her repeat this sequence: "Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen..." Her response: "Fourteen, sixteen..."

Seriously?! All three of us were in fits of laughter that this wasn't working. She thought it was a joke, and we thought we were in the Twilight Zone.

Some time ago a friend of mine said her daughter had the same problem with the same number. Coincidence? Perhaps. But then I saw an episode of Sesame Street where the number of the day was...you guessed it, 15. I snagged the opportunity and tried to draw extra attention to it and make sure Lucy watched and listened closely. The weirdest part was that one of the segments was an animated bit with the number 15 singing a song about how everyone forgets him and leaves him out!

Coincidence? I think not. Weird? Definitely!

My new best friend

All it took was asking John to vacuum for me a couple times for him to realize why I've been asking for a Dyson for quite some time now... He started doing some of his own research, found a bargain, and today he took Lucy out and came back with this.

I think he put it best when he said: "Now we have a vacuum that sucks."

Engagement Day

Today is the 10th anniversary of the day that John asked me to marry him... and also the day I said 'yes.' :) I've told the story countless times, but don't think I have ever recorded it, so I thought this would be a fun way to do that.

I was living in Indianapolis and John was still at school, about a hour north in Upland at Taylor University. He came down most weekends and stayed at my parents' house so we could spend more time together. On the night before February 8, 1998 we talked about our plans for the next day and decided it would have to be something outside because of the unusually warm forecasted weather. Before John could even say a word, I said, "Oh, I know, we should go down to the canal and take a walk. We haven't been there in a long time." He casually agreed. Later I would find out this was his idea, too. He didn't have to convince me or make me suspicious by doing so.

After church we came home and I decided to change to a sweatshirt and jeans, then we drove down and parked near the canal for our walk. It was beautiful and sunny, and when we got near to a bend in the water I suggested we just sit on a bench for a few minutes and enjoy the warmth. Again, John agreed, and of the three benches available, I picked the one I would later find out was his choice, too. Again, no convincing. I was far from suspicious.

As we sat there, he began to say all kinds of wonderful things to me. I wish I had paid closer attention, but the thought I had running through my head was: "I wish he'd save some of this stuff for when he's going to propose!" And then, lo and behold, before I knew what was happening, he was down on his knee in front of me, and presenting me with a tiny black velvet box with the most beautiful diamond ring inside.


I made him ask me twice. He had truly taken me by surprise and I was in such shock I barely remember how he asked. I also figured that this was going to be the only time in my life I'd hear that question, God willing, and I wanted to hear it again.

The first thing I wanted to do was tell my mom, and John was prepared with change in his pocket and the knowledge of the closest payphone (this was ten years ago, mind you). When we returned to my truck there were a dozen roses on the seat, but my head was spinning, so I barely thought about how they had gotten there.

Back at my parents' house, we were taking turns calling friends and family when there was a knock on the front door. John told me to stay put and close my eyes. He silently opened the door, then returned to me and told me to put out my hands. I thought, There's more? He placed in my hands a framed picture of the photograph above. Earlier in the week, he and our photographic genius friend DL scoped out a place he could hide with his camera. They asked permission from the firestation and DL perched in the window and brought a friend to chase away anyone who tried to sit on that one bench that would create the perfect shot.

This morning I woke up to find a card addressed to me with this picture on the cover and loving words from my hubby on the inside. We look like such young kids! It's been a decade since he asked... and since I said 'yes'...

Simple Pleasures

Sometimes I'm amazed at how the simplest things can please and entertain a baby. It's one of my favorite joys about having a baby in my life: to watch the look of awe and wonder at, well, just about anything.

At dinner last night Josiah was fussy and tired, but it was too early to put him to bed, so we were doing the best we could to entertain him while we ate. He was fine as long as one of us held him on our lap, but he's also in the grabby stage and was trying to grab our dinner plate or drinking glasses, or even the food as it went to our mouths. John and I traded holding him, trying to keep him happy, and every now and then we tried putting him down in his bouncy seat between us. No matter what toy we gave him, he just cried, putting us back at square one.

Then I remembered the spoon. He had taken great interest in one of those plastic kid's spoons that's shaped like an elephant on one end. It didn't have sharp edges and wasn't too small that he'd choke on it. So I plopped him into his seat, handed him the spoon, and ta-da! He was quietly amazed for about 20 minutes while the rest of us finished our dinner in peace!