Tsunami

Tsunami was a cranky old lady most of the time. She loudly MREOWED when she didn't like her food or when the weather didn't suit. She looked condescendingly at the kids antics. She was quite comfortable in her role as supreme being within our household. In other words, she was a cat.

For 13 years she was a comfort and companion for me: lonely years living far away from family, sad years facing judgment, busy years raising the family. She took it all in stride, even in later years sharing her abode with a dog. In spite of her cantankerous appearance, Tsunami was a furry little angel for me - an embodiment of God's love. Thanks for everything, dear kitty. We all miss you greatly. (Puddin' is waving and saying hello to your picture even as I type.)

A Walk in the Rain

It's been stinkin' hot around here but today there's a coolness blowing in along with some sweet-smelling summer rain. After our yummy, heavy Mexican lunch, Peanut and I went for a walk. We walked hand in hand, getting misted and drizzled by the soft rain, talking and laughing. She so rarely has a parent all to herself and she took full advantage of it. She regaled me with stories - from what would make God sad enough to cry to what colors her house will be painted when she gets older. Occasionally she recognized my silence with a comment about how much she'd been talking. I reassured her that I didn't see a problem and she gladly went back to telling me everything that was on her mind. And quite the mind it is, too. I often get so caught up in the daily doings that I lose track of the wonderfulness of each little person in our house. I'm grateful for the time and the reminder. I'm also thankful for my little Peanut.

Be there in just a minute

We have commenced potty training.

I pride myself on (mostly) being able to arrive on time, even with kids in tow. I have a feeling my track record is headed downhill. Yesterday Puddin' had already been on the potty 3 times before she'd been up 2 hours. Each stint takes 10-20 minutes and at least two books. The girl adores books so she milks each sitting for as many as she can get away with.

At this point we're going with a very low-key tactic that helps Puddin' get used to the procedures. We're still doing full-time diapering. For the time being I can get away with rushing her out the door but I think that'll only last a few more weeks.

So if you're expecting to meet me sometime soon, please pardon me if I'm a little late. We're probably in the potty.

Treasure Hunting

We're spending the long weekend cleaning out the workshop in our basement. It's supposed to be a utilitarian room for laundry, exercise, the tool bench, etc. Instead, it's a pile of accumulated clutter. Not the memories the weekend was created for but we can't replace the leaking water heater until we've made a path.

Much of the debris is from the years Stan was in the house before I came along. Tokens from his childhood and college years are mixed in with old cleaning and lawn care products. There are a number of boxes belonging to his ex-wife that we haven't yet managed to get her to take. These are not the giddiest memories to wade through.

Still, I love organizing. I love getting rid of clutter. It's wonderfully cathartic and the finished product is often dramatic. I consider a well-planned and organized room to be a thing of great beauty, even when there's a water heater in the background. Who knows, we may even end up on Antiques Roadshow.

Whatcha doing?

When I was in high school I thought a vocation was a particular calling. Here's a voice: "Come, follow me." My idea of a calling now is not: "Come." It's ... what I'm doing right now, not what I'm going to be. Life is a calling. - Rebecca Sweeney, an American who held a variety of jobs, including six years as a nun

I recently chatted with a friend I haven't seen in a while. She's pregnant with her first child and asked how I'm enjoying motherhood. The answer is that I finally get to be more myself than I ever have before. Sure, there are dirty floors, whiny kids, and endless laundry, but those things are in the midst of lots of rewarding moments.

I've been reading up on parenting "tweens" since Stan and I are sort of floundering out of our depths. There's been some interesting new info but mostly I feel gratified that we're doing well by our children. We're teaching them valuable lessons about relationships and their emotions, about how to take responsibility and solve problems. The call I once felt to teach is playing out as life moves on.

Each week I take part in planning worship services at our church. I'm part of a crew thinking deeply about who God is, why we worship, and how to meet the needs of the widest possible group of people. My tendency to think too much has a useful outlet and my brief stint at seminary is paying off.

Recently I played guitar in public for the first time ever. I was pretty sure I wasn't good enough, wasn't ready, but it turned out just fine. Even though there's plenty more work to do, little moments of practice and lessons have paid off so that the call I once felt to be a musician is more realistic than ever.

Sometimes I feel like I've lost my identity in the cacophony of voices at our house. Sometimes I wonder if being a happy stay-at-home-mom means that I've given up all ambition or sense-of-self. Culture tells me I shouldn't settle but I'm having far too good a time to listen.

Life is calling.

Candylicious

The candy party was a success. Monkey had a pretty good turnout, which was a stunning change from earlier in the year. The kids ran through most of the games in about an hour so I pulled out the cupcakes to buy some time. (We had simple swirl cupcakes, with the creamiest vanilla frosting I've ever made. Then the girls got to decorate with as many Jelly Bellys as their little hearts desired.) The last activity turned out to be the one that finally got them playfully engaged. It was also the only activity that was entirely my creation rather than something taken from an online resource. It was a nice little moment of pride after worrying the party would flop. (We gave them fictitious candy names. The teams had to decide what the candy would be like and then create a commercial for it.) Each girl went away with a bag full of candy - and a few non-edibles, which made Stan and I feel better. Monkey & Peanut were overjoyed to discover that they not only got goodie bags, but got to keep the extras, too. They've spent the past few dessert times ignoring all baked goods, blissing out on various sugar conduits. Thanks to World Market for some out-of-the-ordinary candy to go along with the staples, the novelty of which has increased their joy.

Mama got a bit of candy, herself, in the form of an impeccably well written mystery. Brat Farrar, which is part of a collection by Josephine Tey, was just the right end to the weekend. My only complaint is that the story couldn't have lasted a little longer. I've enjoyed these three stories immensely and will be searching out more by Tey and her pseudonyms.

Oodles of Rocks

We have oodles of rocks at our house. Big, smooth, pretty river rocks. I'd love them if there weren't so gosh darn many of them. Stan has been digging a lot lately, trying to finally kill the leftover roots from the holly bushes we took out a few years ago, and in doing so has unearthed a whole lot more rocks. I've been trying to figure out uses for them other than filling buckets.

I see decorated rocks for sale sometimes for outrageous prices. I suppose I could start decorating our rocks and see if anyone would buy them. My skills in visual arts aren't up to a commercial standard, though. Not to mention, I don't see myself learning to etch rock anytime soon. I've tried to pawn some off on my mother, who is more crafty than I am. She hasn't bitten yet, though. Maybe if I get her granddaughters to make the offer she'd fall for it.

One of the things I've done is create borders around some of our planting spaces. I haven't figured out the secret to making it pretty yet, but I'm enjoying the result temporarily. [I don't think Stan likes my rock border much so temporary might not last long at all.] It serves as a boundary so I know where to stop yanking plants and the young man from down the street knows where to stop mowing. All the grass-like stuff stays in the yard and the flowers and bushes are contained in the bed.

I'm working on carefully placing rock borders internally too. "I understand you're disappointed to see me rather than your mother. It's ok to feel that way, and it's even ok to tell me. It not ok to take out your anger on me." "I know you intended to do the job but you didn't. When you don't keep your promises it's hard to trust you." Each time I say one of these things, something inside me cries out "they're just kids - give them a break! Can't they have just one more chance?" I want to give endless second chances. I want to make life easier for them, even if it means I do more than my fair share. But I have to keep the parent-like things in my yard, and leave the kid-things on the other side for them to sort out.