The Plan

The plan was to have a wonderful morning full of Valentine themed activities, baking and even a service project, following which I would blog about Child #3's birthday - an event complete with giant color coordinated hanging tissue poms and cupcakes frosted to look like two toned roses.

Ha

Ha

Ha

The morning combusted.  I sat next to a heap of crumpled Valentine's ribbon and hit the pixie sticks like a cocaine addict.

It was a dishwasher broke, ten hours behind, children driving me up the wall, barely holding it together sort of a day.

I felt the way discouraged feels on it's rough days.

I called my friend and homeschooling mentor.  I used my "chipper" voice, wished her Happy Valentines and asked her a few questions.  She was not supposed to know just how close to the edge I was standing.  But she did.

An hour later there was a knock on my door.  There was my friend, a pot of daffodils in hand.

"I thought you could use some sunshine," she said.

I burst into tears.

She burst into tears too, just because I had and she is that kind of a friend.

She only had a moment, but we talked deep.  We talked about letting go.  We talked about love and respect and beginning again.  We talked about how perfectionism is actually the opposite of perfection - wanting the appearance of perfection without wanting the process required to become more perfect.  (enter child #3 completely naked)  We talked about educational theories.  (her children began knocking at my door.  She promised to be done in two minutes.)  We talked for two minutes about focus and simplicity.  Then we gave each other the "I know we will survive this, not sure how, but here we go," look and said goodbye.

The scriptures say to "be still and know that I am God."

Most of the time I say "I am super busy, so thank heavens I know that there's a God."

I want to say (as one of my favorite bloggers recently said):
"I am still and I know."

But I am chronically un-still and habitually forgetful.  Hmmm, I am sensing major life changes that need to be made.  I'll let you know if I figure out the secret.

So anyway, today's post will not chronicle my crafty, birthday triumph, or my Valentine's Day homeschooling wonderfulness.

Todays post is about finding grace in a flowerpot.  It's about stillness.  It's about starting over at 5:25 p.m. and letting that be okay.  It's about having my children give me another chance even though I probably don't deserve it.  It's about having a sweetheart who can come home to a sink full of dishes and house full of movie zombies and can still tell me I'm wonderful.

I suppose it's really all about love.

That's better than color coordinated poms.

Oh so true, so very,very true

Very funny.  Hope you enjoy.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEbZrY0G9PI

Elegant

A few moments that made this week elegant:

Child #3 helped me stir cinnamon into our green-apple, cranberry oatmeal while singing "Cindermommy, Cindermommy I can help my Cindermommy."

Cutting gingerbread scented play dough with cookie cutters.

I put big dots of finger paint inside ziploc bags, sealed them and duck-taped them to my kitchen table for some mess free painting time.  It was great for practicing letters in too.

Homeschool is going so well.  We are loving it.  It doesn't leave a whole lot of time for writing or laundry, but it is going great.

Hopefully more soon.

Hang in there!

Of Mites and Motes

It was one of those mornings.  The kind that begins with children whining and screaming and the bag in the diaper pail splitting and leaking and then, while wrestling the reeking, leaking bag into another bag your hair somehow gets caught in the pail and while you sit there untangling yourself you hear your older two children bickering and slamming doors and stomping and you really want to parent the way the Lord would, and for a moment you seriously consider giving a 40 year in the wilderness time out and then you realize that you have only been awake for 20 minutes and you have nothing left, the inner reserves are totally depleted.  

It was one of those mornings.

Ironically just the night before, I was thinking of all the things I wanted to accomplish - things like exercise, and writing more and pursuing talents and giving service and strengthening friendships and reading.  

Thinking of where I was and where I wanted to be had me feeling more than a little depressed because my limitations are very real and infuriatingly limiting.  I can only give so much but it feels like I can/should/aught to be able to give so much more.

Then the parable of the widow's mite flashed into my mind.  That widow gave next to nothing, but it was all she had.  Others had buckets of money and were able to slosh it around as generously as they liked.  The widow may not have given much, just a mite, but she gave all she had.

Some days I plonk the kiddos in front of candy-colored animation while I pull the covers over my head and try to remember what silence and solitude feel like.  Some days that is my mite - my everything.  It doesn't look like much, but it's all I have.

Right now, as we are saying goodbye to two weeks of colds and flu and starting homeschool just thinking about exercise is all I can do.  Keeping in on my "to be added to my life as soon as possible" list is all I can do.  It is not much, but it's what I have to give.

Some days two verses of scripture (sans meditation, study, cross-referencing, outside reading or preparing for Sunday School) is all I can do.  The judgy voice in my head is having a field day with that one, but honestly, some days that is all I can do.

Ditto for the dishes, laundry, toilets, reading list etc. etc. etc.

For the longest time I have been defining these areas where I lack as motes and beams - something wrong that needed fixing.  But I may have had it all wrong.

If I am truly giving everything, then when I have more I will be able to give more.  True, others may have buckets of time to slosh as generously as they choose and that's great for them and it has absolutely nothing to do with me.

If I am giving everything, no matter how little than I am in mite territory, not mote territory.

This realization doesn't change anything, but it sure makes me feel better.

Spanish Dancer

This is one of my favorite paintings.    It is Spanish Dancer by Pino.  I once saw the original.  It was huge and it moved me.  Just wanted to share.

The Everythingist

(from my Little Basil Blossoms blog.  It is exactly how I am feeling again today.)

In this world there are scientists, dentists, fascists, Bunburyists, and a host of "ists".

I am an everythingist. I want to do everything. I want to do it all at once, all the time and all the way. Perhaps this would work if I was also a rationalist. But, alas, I am a perfectionist and an idealist. This is a frightening combination. Frightening AND depressing.

This afternoon found me brooding about this. You see, I chose to exercise this morning. That takes up a significant chunk of my high-energy, super-productive time. This means that other things must go. This is hard ... tough ... excruciating!!!!

"Ah," says the voice of wisdom in my head (my voice of wisdom has a Chinese accent and sits in lotus position wearing a white robe) "but you have chosen what is best."

"But best is not everything" my everythingist side protests.

"True," says the voice of wisdom.

That's it. Nothing more from the little white robed voice. It must be waiting for me to put the rest of the pieces together. That, or it doesn't have any more of an idea of how I am going to un-burry the kitchen table and put laundry in the washer than I do.

Choosing the best is great.

Letting go of the good and the better stinks.

But, I believe it is worth it. I feel good. I have had more patience today. I have been happy. And that is worth a lot; possibly even worth more that a clean kitchen table.

Names

Our culture has an interesting phenomenon of taking boy names and making them into girl names.

There are Ashley, Jody, Tracy, Taylor, Payton, Jaden, Courtney, Leslie, Michael, Laurie, Whitney, Kim, Ariel, Paris ... just to name a few

There are a few names, however, that I think are completely safe from the grasping hands of innovative parents of baby girls.

Take Ralph for instance.  Boys, that one is all yours.  And Mortimer?  Well you're welcome to that one too.  The same goes for Bob, Doug, Hank, Bruno, Cesar and Hercules.

Speaking of names, my cousin made a youtube video about how inventive Utahns have become with their names.  It's pretty funny.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BfIehCrO4Zs