We're just back from our big adventure, and as soon as I get my jet-lagged sea-legged self back on track, I'll have plenty to share, I'm sure. But for now, this gem:
In Greece, stray dogs are a fact of life. They're well cared for and accepted, never euthanized, vaccinated and spayed/neutered, even, by the government in preparation for the Olympics a few years back. One day, as we were observing a roaming pack of said dogs, Luke and I asked our tour guide what sound a dog makes in Greek. "Gav gav," she told us. "Oh," replied Luke. "Then those are definitely American dogs. Because they just said 'woof woof'."
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Who Needs a Gym When You're a Mom!?
Yesterday I looked up the closest Target (we've moved), loaded Sam into the carseat, and set out with my list. When we arrived, I debated about whether I should put Sam in his stroller or not. I decided not, since he really enjoys riding around in the shopping cart these days. We walked through the parking lot, Sam happily bouncing in my arms, diaper bag slung over my shoulder (since as we all know, if I hadn't brought it, I would've needed it).
As we entered I noticed, to my chagrin, that this was no regular Target - I would have to walk through the mall (!?) to get to it. Doh. Oh well, I thought, I'll just make sure to not go anywhere else and only get what's on my list. Well, of course that never happens at Target. Orla Kiely tray and bowl on sale!? Such a good find. Into the cart. A double-boiler! I've needed one for so long to make that special frosting mom always made for us. A beach umbrella. Perfect gift for Father's Day! Look at this adorable t-shirt for Sam! You get the picture. I finally force myself to stop shopping and head to the check-out. We pay and I dutifully drop the cart at the door and hobble out with my shopping bags, diaper bag, and baby.
Oh, but Old Navy is right here! I really need to look at their bathing suits - swim lessons for Sam start next week - and they have carts. 20 minutes and four unsuccessful try-ons later I am red-faced and my self-esteem in about as sore as my arms. I did manage to find a cute summery outfit for Sam. Back through the mall. The tray and the pot are banging against each other, making Sam (8 months old) very excited. He is now bending out of my arms trying to reach into the Target bags. A few seconds later he realizes he can kick the bags and make even more noise. So, here we are, a one and a half man parade trudging through the mall and providing some lucky shoppers with some lunchtime entertainment. Finally, we reach the car. I deposit Sam into his carseat, open the trunk, and place the bags next to the stroller!!
As we entered I noticed, to my chagrin, that this was no regular Target - I would have to walk through the mall (!?) to get to it. Doh. Oh well, I thought, I'll just make sure to not go anywhere else and only get what's on my list. Well, of course that never happens at Target. Orla Kiely tray and bowl on sale!? Such a good find. Into the cart. A double-boiler! I've needed one for so long to make that special frosting mom always made for us. A beach umbrella. Perfect gift for Father's Day! Look at this adorable t-shirt for Sam! You get the picture. I finally force myself to stop shopping and head to the check-out. We pay and I dutifully drop the cart at the door and hobble out with my shopping bags, diaper bag, and baby.
Oh, but Old Navy is right here! I really need to look at their bathing suits - swim lessons for Sam start next week - and they have carts. 20 minutes and four unsuccessful try-ons later I am red-faced and my self-esteem in about as sore as my arms. I did manage to find a cute summery outfit for Sam. Back through the mall. The tray and the pot are banging against each other, making Sam (8 months old) very excited. He is now bending out of my arms trying to reach into the Target bags. A few seconds later he realizes he can kick the bags and make even more noise. So, here we are, a one and a half man parade trudging through the mall and providing some lucky shoppers with some lunchtime entertainment. Finally, we reach the car. I deposit Sam into his carseat, open the trunk, and place the bags next to the stroller!!
Job Well Done
It was a task long-overdue. A summer job. Something that would require all of us (mom and the children, anyway) to accomplish: cleaning out and giving away some toys.
We started on Wednesday afternoon with the game shelf. They keep coming, these games. At least one per birthday (that's three) and then maybe one or two more for Christmas. At the rate we collect them-- and at the rate we don't clean out the game shelf-- we had, on Wednesday, Too Many.
I was impressed, really, by the efficiency and honesty of the children in parting with them. They were frank: "No, we don't play with that anymore." "No, I don't like that one now." They were willing to give them away. And they were vocal, assertive about, even eager to play with some that had been neglected.
I was pleased. And we had a small pile on the playroom floor.
That could have been enough for one day, but this first task had gone so well. Why not move over to the Major Toy Storage Area, that space under the television where, for years, we've stored bins and bins of toys? So we did.
The Bionicle bin stayed, as did the Matchbox car bin, the Lego bin, the Playmobil bin and the wooden train set bin (which, let's be frank, we're keeping for young guests at this point). Also kept the Kapla blocks and the little basket of wooden blocks that we got-- when was it?-- when William was two.
We jettisoned the two (two!) empty Lego bins (why had I kept them?) and (it was Time, I know) the Fisher Price castle set, complete with joker and king figure (the other knights are long-ago-lost, and one of them had lost his arm), horse-drawn wagon-that-converts-to-armored-vehicle, and dragon. The castle has a draw-bridge that really works and makes wonderful (electronically-generated) creaking draw-bridge sounds when you push the lion's nose above the gate. These were gifts to William for his fourth birthday. They had felt like a Huge Splurge at the time, but when I think of the hours of play they enjoyed (even now a string is lassoed about the flag on one of the turrets), I know it was Totally Worth It.
Still, the castle had to go. It was Time. None of the children doubted it for a minute.
Also purged from this under-the-television area were the two hobby-horses that William and Everett received for Christmas when they were (when was it?) five and three. Or maybe four and two. They really don't ride them anymore.
The pile on the playroom floor grew.
We were on a roll. Next off to the toy-chest, where we were all relentless. And now two garbage bags joined the pile. And finally on to the costume bin, which of late is almost entirely populated with Nerf guns of various sizes, light sabers, a few cowboy pistols, and an impressive slew of bandanas. We did cull some more stuff from here, but most of it was junk. I sequestered the cowboy hat that Bill brought to William from Australia when Will was 16 months old, the felt vest I made for William's second Halloween (he was a pirate), and-- gasp!-- Everett's Batman costume, the one he wore Almost Every Day while he was four.
The pile was Most Impressive, and the children helped me carry it out to the van, the back of which it filled Quite Nicely. Not bad for an hour or so of summer labor. The playroom feels accessible now, approachable. The things in there are things they want, and there's a place for everything.
I took the load to the giveaway yesterday. Emma was at camp; the boys had stayed home reading. It was up to me to unload everything to the large yellow bins in the narrow hallway, and I worked alone, efficient and quiet.
The bins weren't very full. I deposited my goods in one that was nearly empty, one marked "household goods," because I couldn't find one marked "toys."
It seemed strange that our things should take up so much space. Stranger still, in that store and hallway full of the smell of used and old and unfamiliar things, to see our Very Familiar Things piled there, just a little bit abandoned.
The hobby horses lay off to one side; the castle was on the top of a pile of garbage bags. I pushed the lion's nose, just to hear the sound of the drawbridge one last time.
I'm not sentimental at all. No. Not in the least.
Just then a friend from church came in, making her own deposit of well-loved things. Her girls are much younger than my children, and she exclaimed when she saw the hobby-horses lying there.
"Oh my gosh. The girls would go crazy over these," she said.
And suddenly I felt so glad. So Glad. "Take them," I said to Samantha. "Take them. They don't really belong here. I just put them there, and nobody from the store has even seen them yet."
"Are you sure?" she said, smiling, doubting.
"Absolutely," I said. "It would make me so happy," I said. And, "The head on one of them is a bit wobbly."
Samantha grasped the horses by their sticks and headed out the door behind me. "The girls will be thrilled," she said.
And I drove away to pick my girl up from camp, remembering that it was only just last summer (wasn't it?) that the boys used that castle (didn't they?) as they played with their Playmobil things.
We started on Wednesday afternoon with the game shelf. They keep coming, these games. At least one per birthday (that's three) and then maybe one or two more for Christmas. At the rate we collect them-- and at the rate we don't clean out the game shelf-- we had, on Wednesday, Too Many.
I was impressed, really, by the efficiency and honesty of the children in parting with them. They were frank: "No, we don't play with that anymore." "No, I don't like that one now." They were willing to give them away. And they were vocal, assertive about, even eager to play with some that had been neglected.
I was pleased. And we had a small pile on the playroom floor.
That could have been enough for one day, but this first task had gone so well. Why not move over to the Major Toy Storage Area, that space under the television where, for years, we've stored bins and bins of toys? So we did.
The Bionicle bin stayed, as did the Matchbox car bin, the Lego bin, the Playmobil bin and the wooden train set bin (which, let's be frank, we're keeping for young guests at this point). Also kept the Kapla blocks and the little basket of wooden blocks that we got-- when was it?-- when William was two.
We jettisoned the two (two!) empty Lego bins (why had I kept them?) and (it was Time, I know) the Fisher Price castle set, complete with joker and king figure (the other knights are long-ago-lost, and one of them had lost his arm), horse-drawn wagon-that-converts-to-armored-vehicle, and dragon. The castle has a draw-bridge that really works and makes wonderful (electronically-generated) creaking draw-bridge sounds when you push the lion's nose above the gate. These were gifts to William for his fourth birthday. They had felt like a Huge Splurge at the time, but when I think of the hours of play they enjoyed (even now a string is lassoed about the flag on one of the turrets), I know it was Totally Worth It.
Still, the castle had to go. It was Time. None of the children doubted it for a minute.
Also purged from this under-the-television area were the two hobby-horses that William and Everett received for Christmas when they were (when was it?) five and three. Or maybe four and two. They really don't ride them anymore.
The pile on the playroom floor grew.
We were on a roll. Next off to the toy-chest, where we were all relentless. And now two garbage bags joined the pile. And finally on to the costume bin, which of late is almost entirely populated with Nerf guns of various sizes, light sabers, a few cowboy pistols, and an impressive slew of bandanas. We did cull some more stuff from here, but most of it was junk. I sequestered the cowboy hat that Bill brought to William from Australia when Will was 16 months old, the felt vest I made for William's second Halloween (he was a pirate), and-- gasp!-- Everett's Batman costume, the one he wore Almost Every Day while he was four.
The pile was Most Impressive, and the children helped me carry it out to the van, the back of which it filled Quite Nicely. Not bad for an hour or so of summer labor. The playroom feels accessible now, approachable. The things in there are things they want, and there's a place for everything.
I took the load to the giveaway yesterday. Emma was at camp; the boys had stayed home reading. It was up to me to unload everything to the large yellow bins in the narrow hallway, and I worked alone, efficient and quiet.
The bins weren't very full. I deposited my goods in one that was nearly empty, one marked "household goods," because I couldn't find one marked "toys."
It seemed strange that our things should take up so much space. Stranger still, in that store and hallway full of the smell of used and old and unfamiliar things, to see our Very Familiar Things piled there, just a little bit abandoned.
The hobby horses lay off to one side; the castle was on the top of a pile of garbage bags. I pushed the lion's nose, just to hear the sound of the drawbridge one last time.
I'm not sentimental at all. No. Not in the least.
Just then a friend from church came in, making her own deposit of well-loved things. Her girls are much younger than my children, and she exclaimed when she saw the hobby-horses lying there.
"Oh my gosh. The girls would go crazy over these," she said.
And suddenly I felt so glad. So Glad. "Take them," I said to Samantha. "Take them. They don't really belong here. I just put them there, and nobody from the store has even seen them yet."
"Are you sure?" she said, smiling, doubting.
"Absolutely," I said. "It would make me so happy," I said. And, "The head on one of them is a bit wobbly."
Samantha grasped the horses by their sticks and headed out the door behind me. "The girls will be thrilled," she said.
And I drove away to pick my girl up from camp, remembering that it was only just last summer (wasn't it?) that the boys used that castle (didn't they?) as they played with their Playmobil things.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I am 29 Going on 30...
I am really not freaking out about being thirty. Honestly. But I have these college friends who have yet to have children, and when discussing my impending (as in, tomorrow)30th birthday, they proceeded to tell me how liberating it was for them to turn 30. How they finally feel put together, healthy, balanced, stable, beautiful, and at peace with who they are. It was a good thing these communications occurred via email because my current unhealthy, imbalanced, unstable, new mayor of Hagsville, who-the-heck-am-I self might have reached out and smacked someone.
We are currently battling swine flu in our household and trying valiantly to keep the sick toddler away from the as-yet healthy 5-month old. I am wearing an old college t-shirt, my hair is pulled up into the classic "messy mommy ponytail", and the shaving status of my legs is questionable to say the least.
It's either laugh or cry, ladies. I'm doing plenty of both during my last day as a 29 year old.
We are currently battling swine flu in our household and trying valiantly to keep the sick toddler away from the as-yet healthy 5-month old. I am wearing an old college t-shirt, my hair is pulled up into the classic "messy mommy ponytail", and the shaving status of my legs is questionable to say the least.
It's either laugh or cry, ladies. I'm doing plenty of both during my last day as a 29 year old.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Finding the place
While looking through Benjamin's Bible attempting to figure out where my husband had left off reading the night before, I said aloud, "I don't know where daddy is."
To which my son replied, "He's downstairs." So there you go.
To which my son replied, "He's downstairs." So there you go.
what we spend 98% of our day doing lately.
"Go Fish" is my three-year-old's latest favorite game. One might call it an obsession. Since mama can only play so many hands of "Go Fish" every day, he's taken to playing it with his beloved stuffed turtle. It's now my favorite thing to watch. Ever.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Some People I Know Haven't Even Gotten Out of Bed Yet
It's 9:45 am and I have been awake with my children for 4 1/2 hours. Don't tell me it's too early to break out the sangria.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Why Daddy Really Does Know Best (Sometimes)
We spent this past weekend on a small vacation in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. It's a little beach town, with a one mile boardwalk that provides wonderful morning stroller rides, evening people watching and delicious smells of french fries and fried dough. The boardwalk is also home to Funland -- a pavilion filled with rides and games. In the height of the summer it is teeming each night with kids of all ages and their camera-wielding parents. For 60 cents (one ticket) the smallest children can ride the carousel with those paparazzi parents. For a bit more (cents and tickets), the older children can graduate to the spinning tea cups, or the helicopters, or eventually, the Haunted House.
My husband, George, grew up going to Rehoboth Beach, and to Funland. Most of the rides there are still the exact same ones he rode on as a little boy. Last summer, our little boy, Evan was still too small for any rides, even the carousel. This summer, however, George had big ideas for Evan's ride capabilities.
The three of us set out for Funland one evening and I envisioned us riding together on the carousel, and maybe watching some bigger kids on other rides. That was all I envisioned, because I was certain that Evan would not be able to handle anything else.
He is, after all, my baby. And, he is a shy sort of a fellow. While very rough and tumble at home, he's typically very reserved in new situations and very, very attached to his mommy or daddy. So, I had horrible visions of strapping him into a ride and watching a meltdown as he spun away and I was unable to reach him.
When we arrived, however, George headed directly for a ride that involves tiny little boats spinning in a small circle in a small pool of water. Each boat has a steering wheel that the kids can turn and turn, and a rope that makes a bell ring -- it is perfectly designed for toddlers.
We had a hushed conversation at the side of this ride, during which I insisted that Evan would hate it and would cry as soon as he realized that he was going to spin away from us. George was sure that Evan would love it. Even as I protested though, I knew I would give in. I knew that George remembered being on this same ride as a tiny kid and that he had to try it with Evan. And, I'll admit, I was fully prepared to be able to say "I told you so" at the end.
So, we handed over two tickets and loaded Evan into his own little boat. From the instant he sat down, he lit up. The steering wheel was fascinating and he rang the bell incessantly. Off he went around the pool. And...he was smiling...and laughing...and completely fine and happy.
I never got to say I told you so. But, this was one time when I was really glad that I let daddy have his way.
had to share
This made me laugh.
"One day, my 2-year-old son, Maximus, stumbled and hit his head on the fireplace. We took him straight to the hospital, where he had to have six stitches. When we were getting ready to leave, my 4-year-old son, Gabriel, looked up at the doctor and said, 'Thank you for zipping up my brother.'"
from Parents, June 2009.
"One day, my 2-year-old son, Maximus, stumbled and hit his head on the fireplace. We took him straight to the hospital, where he had to have six stitches. When we were getting ready to leave, my 4-year-old son, Gabriel, looked up at the doctor and said, 'Thank you for zipping up my brother.'"
from Parents, June 2009.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
I never really thought of it this way before.
*it occurred to me last night that this isn't really a "mommy" post, but just something that has been on my mind.*
For years and years and years I have been passing this verse on to Bible-believing friends and family as comfort in whatever struggle or hardship they had been going through in that time:
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)
It's one of my favorites. I know it doesn't mean that God will give us everything we want or think we want or that He won't take away even that which we hold most dear, but that in whatever circumstance we find ourselves He is working to make the outcome good.
Right, except I never really thought of it this way:
"You make all things work together for my good." (from "Your Love Never Fails" by Jesus Culture)
So I'm supposed to believe that God will work all things for good in everyone's life but mine? Silly me - of course He has His hand in everything happening in my life - from the baby who keeps coughing so hard he throws up to not getting a faculty condo on Pepperdine's campus to hitting my toe on the stool my 3-year-old left in the middle of the kitchen to feeling cramped in this too-small apartment and wondering if I should have been working these last three years to save money to be able to afford a better house than what we're looking at to a brother and brother-in-law with no jobs to an uncle with prostate cancer to still owning a home across the country...
Yes, yes He is.
And even through all these unfavorable circumstances, I can still praise Him for so much. And I can have faith that whatever the outcome of the happenings in my life, He already knew what would happen and was busy making things work together for my good.
For years and years and years I have been passing this verse on to Bible-believing friends and family as comfort in whatever struggle or hardship they had been going through in that time:
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. (Romans 8:28)
It's one of my favorites. I know it doesn't mean that God will give us everything we want or think we want or that He won't take away even that which we hold most dear, but that in whatever circumstance we find ourselves He is working to make the outcome good.
Right, except I never really thought of it this way:
"You make all things work together for my good." (from "Your Love Never Fails" by Jesus Culture)
So I'm supposed to believe that God will work all things for good in everyone's life but mine? Silly me - of course He has His hand in everything happening in my life - from the baby who keeps coughing so hard he throws up to not getting a faculty condo on Pepperdine's campus to hitting my toe on the stool my 3-year-old left in the middle of the kitchen to feeling cramped in this too-small apartment and wondering if I should have been working these last three years to save money to be able to afford a better house than what we're looking at to a brother and brother-in-law with no jobs to an uncle with prostate cancer to still owning a home across the country...
Yes, yes He is.
And even through all these unfavorable circumstances, I can still praise Him for so much. And I can have faith that whatever the outcome of the happenings in my life, He already knew what would happen and was busy making things work together for my good.
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