While my sister in law ran to Walmart to get some much needed supplies for our afternoon of sewing and then the supper we had to plan for the evening, I took charge over the 4 kids while she did the quick errand. Their ages were 5, 2, 1 and 1.
What do you get when you have 4 hungry, half starved, thirsty, tired and famished kids? A fun lunch. Slightly crazy though.
While Vicki finished making the sandwiches before she left, we were greeted at the door by two smiling children holding two dandelions that had not yet blown their seeds. Before I could stop the two year old, dandelion fuzz was all over the kitchen floor as he happily blew away. Vicki handed me the broom and I shielded off the advancing one-year-olds while quickly sweeping up fuzz that only wanted to scurry and scatter all over the floor like a thousand little fleas. Meanwhile, the one-year-olds were enchanted by the broom.
As we began lunch, the two older children were happily sent outside to eat. After coming in for more food and then going back out to their ongoing picnic, us moms were alarmed by the wail coming from outside. Upon finding the injured child who was rendered speechless because of the sandwich in his mouth and the wails that permeated his vocal chords, the 5 year old told us he fell off the step. Just so you know, our back steps are more than able to hold 2 children and could easily hold a whole quiver of young. But, nope. A little bottom slid too close to the edge of one step and fell off the side. As if the rest of the step wasn't good enough to sit on. WHY?
Children have a knack for always asking 'why' but I think that it's the moms that deserve the privilege of asking and knowing why sometimes.
After lunch, an energetic one-year-old robustfully shredded an old phone book while the other one-year-old looked on and sampled some of the pieces. The two-year-old wailed at the dilemma of a phone book being destroyed and repeated in unneeded tones in a very high decibel, "Gee, Gee, GEEE, GEEEE, GEEEEEEEEEE, GEEEEEEEEEEEE...." (the pet name of the one destroying his beloved phone book) while sorrowfully looking on at the destruction happening before his eyes. I assured him we could get another phone book while quickly attempting to remove the paper from mouths that would otherwise need the hymlick maneuver, or "hemlock" maneuver as my husband calls it.
After settling that issue, I gave the girl one-year-old milk from her bottle but of course the boy one-year-old coveted it with much anticipation as he looked on to her enjoying the banquet of bottled milk. I brought him his juice bottle which he happily took but the girl decided SHE needed the juice instead. That desire was transformed by the tight fists and loud wail and scream. In other words, a temper.
As I dealt with that new set of problems brought on by the obvious temper, she would immediately respond with sign language when I asked her if she was "all done" being fussy and then if she wanted "more" juice. It was amazing and rewarding to see her level of joy sky rocket when I could tell just by looking in her face that she knew mommy understood her fully. And to think she didn't have to scream to get what she needed. Wow. What a revelation for a one year old. If only she knew the whole language of signing we could eliminate a lot of unneeded and unnecessary and unprofitable and unwanted fits.
I noticed that usually the only reason a child would go outside was to just turn around and come back in. I'm not sure if they were just checking to make sure the sky was still blue or that there was still grass in the yard, but they were only out long enough to turn around and come back in. It made for many opportunities for fingers to get smashed in the door so I had to be on a constant look out everytime the door moved. There was usually an audience waiting to get through the door so I was definitely wise to be on guard. This is another riddle that has me puzzled and I would just love to know why there is fun in coming in and out, in and out, in and out....
When the older two decided to go outside, I thought I'd get a break. Don't ask me why I thought I'd get a break because when it comes to children, outside and doors, there is no rest for the weary mother. This time, I got a dress up party around the coat tree instead.
The kids tried several different coats on before deciding on which one to wear outside. As the coat tree swayed and rocked, Landon settled with his own coat but Tierra (5) had to wear one of mine. It was warm enough to go outside without a jacket but I guess it didn't matter to them. Tierra was quite content and happy with her sleeves rolled clear to China just so her hands could poke out and her skinny little legs sticking out from the bottom of my coat that hung past her knees.
They were only out long enough to check the color of the sky so I'm not sure why there was need for a coat in the first place.
It was a dilemma for any of the kids to go out or come in because everytime a door would open, both one-year-olds would make a fast dash on hands and knees or fat little feet to get to the door before it shut again. It was as if they were both in an evacuation mode. Try shuffling two babies, a two year old and broom with fuzz all over the floor while the 5 year old simply comes in the house.
I was surprised at the complication set before me when one member of my flock would make a move that attracted the attention of the rest of the group. One could simply look out the window and the whole gang would get roused. And when one would actually go outside, the rest of the kids would attempt that as well. Since going out the door would automatically garauntee the catastrophe of coming in the door right after, each latch of the door handle brought two waves of excited children around the door. I finally started locking the dead bolt and was thankful that my attempt worked.
Landon's latest word combination is "diaper shape." When he needs to go to the bathroom, he starts panting, "diaper shape, mommy, diaper shape." It means diaper 'change.' After we "shape" his diaper, he's happy. Just after Vicki got back, he had to have a diaper shape. But he would only let Vicki do it and made a desperate attempt to keep the wipes close to her when I was cleaning him up... "NOOO, Veeki diaper shape..." he would say when I'd reach for another wipe.
Soon it was time for all the babies to get their diapers shaped so they could go down for naps. I was surprised at the level of quietness that was in our house while all four children slept and we worked on a sewing project. It was a pleasant time to sit back and relax and actually get something done besides sweeping fuzz, swiping paper out of mouths, organizing juice bottles and shaping diapers.
Though it may seem like just another day, I have to wonder sometimes if it really is. Each day can flow into the next without any real change in routine --or catastrophe as it seemed today-- but is it maybe more special than it seems? Each moment, each hour, each day is filled with opportunities for teaching, training, loving, caring and many pauses to take time out for, as Landon would say, a diaper shape.
What a change in perspective comes when we take just another day and live it as if it's our last. And a transformation comes when you treat each diaper shape that way too.
Monday, May 1, 2006 (couldn't get this posted until today.)
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Peace and Offense
Great peace have they which love thy law; and nothing shall offend them. Psalm 119:165
It seems that in the midst of adversity, I tend to naturally resign myself to desire to not feel or be offended, as if by choosing to not be offended I'll have an incredible peace and my love for God's law will increase and abound.
But, I've found that the verse doesn't mean that at all. Choosing to not be offended will not give lasting peace nor will it give a greater love for God's word. The process is layed out clearly like this:
1. Love God's Law
which will enable you to...
2. Exemplify A Peaceful Life
which in turn will bring the ability to...
3. Live Beyond Offense
This "battle plan" must first be enacted before the need arises to practice this. You can't go into a difficulty without first being prepared and expect to come out living a peaceful and pleasant life amidst adverse and contrary situations without first instilling a love for God's law.
If you are content that this verse is already attained in your life, examine your natural and first response to opposition. Are you easily offended when someone speaks ill of you? Do you believe you have a right to be offended when you are treated wrongly? Is your first response to false accusations one of frustration and hurt? When in the face of wrong and lies spoken against you, is it peace or feelings of being offended that shroud your countenance?
It's not sin to feel hurt when someone treats you unfairly but it's not right to dwell on that hurt and to justify yourself to others even when you are truthfully in the right. When you can turn around and speak ill of the person wrongfully accusing you, you are no different than the one wrongfully treating you. You are no longer innocent. You are guilty. Like the saying goes, two wrongs never make a right.
A love of God's law brings peace that prevails in the midst of difficulty and strife.
A love for justice and retaliation brings frustration and strife and a circle of never ending confusion and wrong.
It is important to remember as a follower of Christ that the motive to see the end to the wrong being lived out in another Christian, must be prompted not because I want justice on them but rather because when sin is reigning in a believer's life, it is a sad and scary thing. That thought alone should compel me to restore them back to Christ despite my feelings of hurt and despair. To do what I can to provoke them to love and good works.
1. Love God's Law
which will enable you to...
2. Exemplify A Peaceful Life
which in turn will bring the ability to...
3. Live Beyond Offense
This "battle plan" must first be enacted before the need arises to practice this. You can't go into a difficulty without first being prepared and expect to come out living a peaceful and pleasant life amidst adverse and contrary situations without first instilling a love for God's law.
If you are content that this verse is already attained in your life, examine your natural and first response to opposition. Are you easily offended when someone speaks ill of you? Do you believe you have a right to be offended when you are treated wrongly? Is your first response to false accusations one of frustration and hurt? When in the face of wrong and lies spoken against you, is it peace or feelings of being offended that shroud your countenance?
It's not sin to feel hurt when someone treats you unfairly but it's not right to dwell on that hurt and to justify yourself to others even when you are truthfully in the right. When you can turn around and speak ill of the person wrongfully accusing you, you are no different than the one wrongfully treating you. You are no longer innocent. You are guilty. Like the saying goes, two wrongs never make a right.
A love of God's law brings peace that prevails in the midst of difficulty and strife.
A love for justice and retaliation brings frustration and strife and a circle of never ending confusion and wrong.
It is important to remember as a follower of Christ that the motive to see the end to the wrong being lived out in another Christian, must be prompted not because I want justice on them but rather because when sin is reigning in a believer's life, it is a sad and scary thing. That thought alone should compel me to restore them back to Christ despite my feelings of hurt and despair. To do what I can to provoke them to love and good works.
My feelings of hurt and the reason I'm offended are unimportant and fickle in the face of the realization that a soul is at stake when sin is being allowed to reign it. No matter how unjustly I'm treated, I should be driven to change things for the better not for justice's sake but rather for the sake of their soul.
My reason for restoration should be motivated by a love of God's law coupled with peace and untainted by offense. My rights to defend and be sympathized over are merely feelings of self pity and entirely based on the mentality of worldly philosophy. A society governed by Satan should not be the example I follow.
When I pursue my rights, I become wrong.
When I "rightly" proclaim another's wrong, I become wrong.
When I justly punish wrong, I'm doing wrong.
When I replace wrong with right, then and only then, I am right.
If God's law is the love of my life, I will be living a life conditioned to dwell in peace and with a desire to see others do the same.
Home Again
We made is safe with no set backs. Our time with family was wonderful and we have many memories and pictures to share. I'll upload the pics soon and get a more decent update. For now, just thought I'd let everyone know we're safely home again. Thanks for your prayers.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
No Blogging For Awhile
We're leaving shortly on a trip to Ohio to visit my sister in law and her family. We'll meet a new nephew (Elijah Morhart) and mingle with Grandparents, inlaws and some of our inlaw's inlaws. Hopefully I'll return with lots of pictures. Pray we have a safe trip and an enjoyable time filled with fellowship, fun and health.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Let Patience Have Her Perfect Work
Ugh.
I'm going to rename my children and give them all the middle name "Patience" so that I will remember the key ingredient to being a mom: patience.
"Landon Patience, I told you not to..."
(think patience, think patience, think patience...)
"Janae Patience, you were told to..."
Today has been especially challenging to remember how important patience is. To forget even for a moment the importance of that virtue, can wreck havoc for all.
I'm thoroughly convinced that my darling children have launched a campaign to evaluate the accurate amount of patience their loving mother has. Indeed, the trials inflicted during recent events, have been motivated only to see the level of patience her gracious being possessed. I'm not sure if they will impeach me as the guardian and mother of their life but hopefully if I pass their test, I will not have to find out if they indeed plan to elect another mother.
And if they do find another mom, a day like today makes me think that it wouldn't really be all that bad for me. But, the poor new mom!
The male population of my children began the first trial today. He decided he didn't need his diaper changed when he got up and that we would only have chips for breakfast. There was also supposed to be a surplus of juice in his cup.
To top it off, there was no reason why he couldn't disturb the peace of the then peaceful and sleeping occupant of the female quarter in the upper end of our village. No whispering allowed. And definitely not right outside the sleeper's door.
As peace talks were negotiated in the lower part of town between the violator and the law enforcement, the rest of the town began to stir. As the occupants of our village began to mingle, the sun just couldn't seem any brighter. An unusual nostalgic peace was over all.
That was until the first mob broke out.
Meal arrangements were in order and a certain member of our village was dining respectively in her assigned area. Apparently, the contents of her cup were thought by a male citizen to be an unlawful substance. From the reports gathered by those investigating, the citizen's evaluations were made merely based on the color of the victim's cup which thus resembled apple juice which we all know only goes to those over the age of 2.
Law enforcement agencies were able to suffice the suspect with simple audible evidence that the cup was filled with water. We believe that later on he examined the contents of the then discarded and neglected cup and found our words to be truth.
As the day in our town progressed, another urgent disaster took place.
From the reports that came in, the victim was robbed of his one and only set of keys and the thief made their speeding escape on hands and knees. The stolen item was found in the suspect's mouth.
Negotiations were made and all parties from both sides were content to go their separate ways in peace after the missing keys were restored to the victim.
While the high ranking official dined with the male occupants of the town, a resistance to all authority in regard to food rations soon was evident. A series of negotiations resulted in no further communication or success in proper feeding of the entire male population and the violator was peacefully banned to their respective section of town in order to arrange for necessary deliberations on their part to cooperate with the law. A mild punishment of only water was the single company of the suspect.
Swiftly, arrangements were made evident that the whole of the male resident was willing to make the effort of dining in peace with the rest of the town. Case closed peacefully. Water was replaced with authentic human companionship. (aka: mom)
The high ranking law enforcement requested all man power to report for duty to the department where an unofficial kleenex needed to be extracted from it's receptacle and moved to a necessary location. All parties in that union went on strike and demanded release from the request.
The kleenex demand was in place considering the evidence of extreme excretions called for at least the company of a singular tissue but upon the unexpected strike, law enforcement went to the task of investigating the cause of the job strike and found no reason for a mandatory cease from labors. As a proper search continued, a needed consultation of the high ranking official with the head authority (aka: dad) of our town was underway. Delegations were made and set until an unfortunate disaster broke out.
Investegators found extensive property damage in the area where the kleenexes were safely stored. An almost entire collection of tissue, was dismembered and scattered throughout a certain section of our village. The suspect was at the scene and soon arrested for further interrogation.
As negotiations were set, the suspect was found guilty and apprehended. All available officials (aka: mom), began the clean up process and the kleenex collection was soon restored.
During these series of events, an unusual epidemic broke out in the female population of our town. There was extreme unrest and lack of peace as the wails of strong vocal chords permeated the walls of our village. No peace talks were activated as the suspect was willingly violating the peace and desired no available negotiations. Evidently, whatever was lacking, soon came to restoration.
For the stability and furtherance of peace in our town, a siesta was soon in order. 100% of the population resisted the mandatory rest period but soon willingly accepted sleep when their wails for release fell on unsympathetic ears.
As the impending shadow of sleep swiftly swept over the wailing population, peace again reigned as sleep stole wakefulness away. Whether or not the accurate number of sheep are counted in the clouds of rest, at least the accurate amount of the population is counted for and sufficiently tucked away. In peace.
At last, this high ranking official can feel the thrill of feeling patience since as she types here, there are no twinges of frustration in her gracious being. But wait, am I really being patient if there's no reason why I have to choose between patience and frustration right now? Patience can only have her perfect work when those able to extend patience choose to be patient.
The end result is a peaceful authority. (aka: mom)
I'm going to rename my children and give them all the middle name "Patience" so that I will remember the key ingredient to being a mom: patience.
"Landon Patience, I told you not to..."
(think patience, think patience, think patience...)
"Janae Patience, you were told to..."
Today has been especially challenging to remember how important patience is. To forget even for a moment the importance of that virtue, can wreck havoc for all.
I'm thoroughly convinced that my darling children have launched a campaign to evaluate the accurate amount of patience their loving mother has. Indeed, the trials inflicted during recent events, have been motivated only to see the level of patience her gracious being possessed. I'm not sure if they will impeach me as the guardian and mother of their life but hopefully if I pass their test, I will not have to find out if they indeed plan to elect another mother.
And if they do find another mom, a day like today makes me think that it wouldn't really be all that bad for me. But, the poor new mom!
The male population of my children began the first trial today. He decided he didn't need his diaper changed when he got up and that we would only have chips for breakfast. There was also supposed to be a surplus of juice in his cup.
To top it off, there was no reason why he couldn't disturb the peace of the then peaceful and sleeping occupant of the female quarter in the upper end of our village. No whispering allowed. And definitely not right outside the sleeper's door.
As peace talks were negotiated in the lower part of town between the violator and the law enforcement, the rest of the town began to stir. As the occupants of our village began to mingle, the sun just couldn't seem any brighter. An unusual nostalgic peace was over all.
That was until the first mob broke out.
Meal arrangements were in order and a certain member of our village was dining respectively in her assigned area. Apparently, the contents of her cup were thought by a male citizen to be an unlawful substance. From the reports gathered by those investigating, the citizen's evaluations were made merely based on the color of the victim's cup which thus resembled apple juice which we all know only goes to those over the age of 2.
Law enforcement agencies were able to suffice the suspect with simple audible evidence that the cup was filled with water. We believe that later on he examined the contents of the then discarded and neglected cup and found our words to be truth.
As the day in our town progressed, another urgent disaster took place.
From the reports that came in, the victim was robbed of his one and only set of keys and the thief made their speeding escape on hands and knees. The stolen item was found in the suspect's mouth.
Negotiations were made and all parties from both sides were content to go their separate ways in peace after the missing keys were restored to the victim.
While the high ranking official dined with the male occupants of the town, a resistance to all authority in regard to food rations soon was evident. A series of negotiations resulted in no further communication or success in proper feeding of the entire male population and the violator was peacefully banned to their respective section of town in order to arrange for necessary deliberations on their part to cooperate with the law. A mild punishment of only water was the single company of the suspect.
Swiftly, arrangements were made evident that the whole of the male resident was willing to make the effort of dining in peace with the rest of the town. Case closed peacefully. Water was replaced with authentic human companionship. (aka: mom)
The high ranking law enforcement requested all man power to report for duty to the department where an unofficial kleenex needed to be extracted from it's receptacle and moved to a necessary location. All parties in that union went on strike and demanded release from the request.
The kleenex demand was in place considering the evidence of extreme excretions called for at least the company of a singular tissue but upon the unexpected strike, law enforcement went to the task of investigating the cause of the job strike and found no reason for a mandatory cease from labors. As a proper search continued, a needed consultation of the high ranking official with the head authority (aka: dad) of our town was underway. Delegations were made and set until an unfortunate disaster broke out.
Investegators found extensive property damage in the area where the kleenexes were safely stored. An almost entire collection of tissue, was dismembered and scattered throughout a certain section of our village. The suspect was at the scene and soon arrested for further interrogation.
As negotiations were set, the suspect was found guilty and apprehended. All available officials (aka: mom), began the clean up process and the kleenex collection was soon restored.
During these series of events, an unusual epidemic broke out in the female population of our town. There was extreme unrest and lack of peace as the wails of strong vocal chords permeated the walls of our village. No peace talks were activated as the suspect was willingly violating the peace and desired no available negotiations. Evidently, whatever was lacking, soon came to restoration.
For the stability and furtherance of peace in our town, a siesta was soon in order. 100% of the population resisted the mandatory rest period but soon willingly accepted sleep when their wails for release fell on unsympathetic ears.
As the impending shadow of sleep swiftly swept over the wailing population, peace again reigned as sleep stole wakefulness away. Whether or not the accurate number of sheep are counted in the clouds of rest, at least the accurate amount of the population is counted for and sufficiently tucked away. In peace.
At last, this high ranking official can feel the thrill of feeling patience since as she types here, there are no twinges of frustration in her gracious being. But wait, am I really being patient if there's no reason why I have to choose between patience and frustration right now? Patience can only have her perfect work when those able to extend patience choose to be patient.
The end result is a peaceful authority. (aka: mom)
Monday, April 17, 2006
Prayer Request For Gram'a
Today we found out that the never ending testing, scans and blood work my grandma Norma has had recently have finally come to a conclusion: Lymphoma of the Brain.
We have no clue as to what the prognosis is or what long term effects may be involved at this point. Please pray for healing and wisdom as Gram'a (as she always signs her cards to us) faces decisions and choices that need to be made. She is a young 70 year old, grayless, spry grandma and quite energetic. The most of her health problems have only been arthritis in her hands.
As we take this unexpected and sad piece of news, we are challenged by the reminder that life is short, death is certain. No matter the quality of one's health, life on earth is never guaranteed. This disease may only be a minimal thing if it can be treated appropriately or she may be in for a long trial. The unknown is all we know right now. Please keep her in prayer.
We have no clue as to what the prognosis is or what long term effects may be involved at this point. Please pray for healing and wisdom as Gram'a (as she always signs her cards to us) faces decisions and choices that need to be made. She is a young 70 year old, grayless, spry grandma and quite energetic. The most of her health problems have only been arthritis in her hands.
As we take this unexpected and sad piece of news, we are challenged by the reminder that life is short, death is certain. No matter the quality of one's health, life on earth is never guaranteed. This disease may only be a minimal thing if it can be treated appropriately or she may be in for a long trial. The unknown is all we know right now. Please keep her in prayer.
Gram'a and Janae, Christmas 2005
The Missing Checkbook
This time when something went missing, it wasn't Toby that misplaced but rather me. Or at least, so I thought.
I remember setting the checkbook on the counter Saturday afternoon and then forgetting about it. I knew I must've had to put it somewhere though; like tucked in a safe drawer, set on a desk, under a stack of papers or left in my pocket. But it was no where.
I told Toby before he left for work this morning that I would find it in no time. I think I was consoling myself more than him. I mentioned that it had to be around here somewhere and no way could've Landon taken it.
Why would he want to play with a checkbook anyway?
Toby gave me the don't-put-it-past-that-two-year-old look.
That look motivated me to glance into the playroom and what should I find but something other than toys...
At least Landon's way of using the checkbook doesn't hurt us financially. Yet.
The charming culprit
I remember setting the checkbook on the counter Saturday afternoon and then forgetting about it. I knew I must've had to put it somewhere though; like tucked in a safe drawer, set on a desk, under a stack of papers or left in my pocket. But it was no where.
I told Toby before he left for work this morning that I would find it in no time. I think I was consoling myself more than him. I mentioned that it had to be around here somewhere and no way could've Landon taken it.
Why would he want to play with a checkbook anyway?
Toby gave me the don't-put-it-past-that-two-year-old look.
That look motivated me to glance into the playroom and what should I find but something other than toys...
At least Landon's way of using the checkbook doesn't hurt us financially. Yet.
The charming culprit
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Why God Thought Men Shouldn't Be Alone
As Toby collected the means necessary for work today before heading out the door, he was delayed by the inconvenience of a lost tape measure. I could tell he was looking for it before I even knew for sure it was missing.
I quickly and silently began to rummage around the office in a desperate attempt to replace his loss with the missing item.
It was no where to be found.
I ran to the play room and looked through Landon's trucks, checked on the couch and glanced in the kitchen. Still missing. I knew I was guilty.
Toby was trailing behind me and I was smart enough to know that he was probably correctly assuming I had played a part in it's misplacement.
I finally confessed: Landon was playing with it yesterday.
Hoping I could hand him the tape measure before I ended my confession, I hurriedly searched through the toys once more, checking inside a large semi-trailer for the missing item assuming it was a perfect place for a smart little boy to put a special toy. Nothing.
As Toby began to tell me that the tape measure is not a toy and that Landon shouldn't have had it and that I better make sure he doesn't get it again and that he should be reminded not to touch Daddy's things and that he should know better than to take it, I interrupted his exhortation with a request to open a stubborn door, my last attempt to search for the tape measure in the playroom.
It wasn't there.
When Toby resumed his well meaning encouragement to me that the tape measure isn't something Landon should play with when he finds it on Daddy's desk, I knew the moment had come to make a full confession.
While heading out the doorway and up the stairs to Landon's room, I meekly mentioned in passing that I had actually given the tape measure to Landon to play with.
Thoroughly puzzled by my actions in doing so, Toby shockingly asked why.
Seeing now how unfortunate it had been that I had given Landon Toby's most used construction tool, my intelligent answer was, "I don't know."
It seemed to set Toby's mind at ease that Landon hadn't actually used the freedom to locate, extract and displace his tape measure but rather that his wise and prudent wife had generously given the important tool to his two year old son to play with and do with as he pleased. I think it's easier for Toby to think about requesting his wife not to do something again while being unsupervised than it is to expect his young son to obey and remember what is off limits and what is not. I think something with age helps a person to remember boundaries.
I happened to browse through the office once more in one last effort to find the tape measure before Toby left for work. I had about given up. Actually, I had given up and finally decided it was gone when I bumped my foot against something cold, shiny and it seemed to have a tape measureish feel.
There, under Toby's office chair, was the missing tool. I was speechless upon finding it so immediately began to rattle off all kinds of shocking statements. Something about feeling speechless always makes me talk more for some reason.
I quickly told Toby I found the tape measure but he seemed reluctant to believe me. He was already at the door and probably assumed it was a well used tactic to get him to delay his departure that much longer.
He was especially skeptical when I informed him that the tape measure was in the office. And he seemed entirely unbelieving when I let him in on the fact that it was under his chair.
It was interesting how the guilt I had felt for giving the tape measure to Landon quickly dissipated and my actions were justifiable since he hadn't entirely misplaced it afterall. The tape measure was still in the office and it was still on Toby's side of the office.
I charged him with the responsibility of the one who should've found it since it was in his office, under his chair and it was his misplaced item. He contended that I had looked in here too so therefore his actions of not finding it were justified since I was as guilty as he.
But we all know that Toby has a comical reputation for losing all his possessions and if it wasn't for his patient little wife, Toby would probably go to work bare foot most days.
Which reminds me of another story... after going a few days without a certain pair of work shoes that are especially worn for certain jobs, Toby happened to find his long lost footwear in, of all places, the closet with the rest of his shoes. Mind you, had I not been the person retrieving a pair of her own shoes while preparing to leave for the evening, the closet door probably would've stayed closed for who knows how much longer.
To top this illustration off, I seemed to especially remember wisely informing Toby the day the shoes went missing, that I was pretty sure they were in the closet. But, who would think to put shoes in a closet of all places? I assume he had precious time that couldn't be wasted so therefore looking in a closet for something that actually belonged in there, was just not something that could be done at the moment.
Either way, as he headed out the door and down the steps this morning, I cheerfully reminded him that I fully know why it took him so long to find a wife. At least that was one thing he couldn't argue with me on.
I quickly and silently began to rummage around the office in a desperate attempt to replace his loss with the missing item.
It was no where to be found.
I ran to the play room and looked through Landon's trucks, checked on the couch and glanced in the kitchen. Still missing. I knew I was guilty.
Toby was trailing behind me and I was smart enough to know that he was probably correctly assuming I had played a part in it's misplacement.
I finally confessed: Landon was playing with it yesterday.
Hoping I could hand him the tape measure before I ended my confession, I hurriedly searched through the toys once more, checking inside a large semi-trailer for the missing item assuming it was a perfect place for a smart little boy to put a special toy. Nothing.
As Toby began to tell me that the tape measure is not a toy and that Landon shouldn't have had it and that I better make sure he doesn't get it again and that he should be reminded not to touch Daddy's things and that he should know better than to take it, I interrupted his exhortation with a request to open a stubborn door, my last attempt to search for the tape measure in the playroom.
It wasn't there.
When Toby resumed his well meaning encouragement to me that the tape measure isn't something Landon should play with when he finds it on Daddy's desk, I knew the moment had come to make a full confession.
While heading out the doorway and up the stairs to Landon's room, I meekly mentioned in passing that I had actually given the tape measure to Landon to play with.
Thoroughly puzzled by my actions in doing so, Toby shockingly asked why.
Seeing now how unfortunate it had been that I had given Landon Toby's most used construction tool, my intelligent answer was, "I don't know."
It seemed to set Toby's mind at ease that Landon hadn't actually used the freedom to locate, extract and displace his tape measure but rather that his wise and prudent wife had generously given the important tool to his two year old son to play with and do with as he pleased. I think it's easier for Toby to think about requesting his wife not to do something again while being unsupervised than it is to expect his young son to obey and remember what is off limits and what is not. I think something with age helps a person to remember boundaries.
I happened to browse through the office once more in one last effort to find the tape measure before Toby left for work. I had about given up. Actually, I had given up and finally decided it was gone when I bumped my foot against something cold, shiny and it seemed to have a tape measureish feel.
There, under Toby's office chair, was the missing tool. I was speechless upon finding it so immediately began to rattle off all kinds of shocking statements. Something about feeling speechless always makes me talk more for some reason.
I quickly told Toby I found the tape measure but he seemed reluctant to believe me. He was already at the door and probably assumed it was a well used tactic to get him to delay his departure that much longer.
He was especially skeptical when I informed him that the tape measure was in the office. And he seemed entirely unbelieving when I let him in on the fact that it was under his chair.
It was interesting how the guilt I had felt for giving the tape measure to Landon quickly dissipated and my actions were justifiable since he hadn't entirely misplaced it afterall. The tape measure was still in the office and it was still on Toby's side of the office.
I charged him with the responsibility of the one who should've found it since it was in his office, under his chair and it was his misplaced item. He contended that I had looked in here too so therefore his actions of not finding it were justified since I was as guilty as he.
But we all know that Toby has a comical reputation for losing all his possessions and if it wasn't for his patient little wife, Toby would probably go to work bare foot most days.
Which reminds me of another story... after going a few days without a certain pair of work shoes that are especially worn for certain jobs, Toby happened to find his long lost footwear in, of all places, the closet with the rest of his shoes. Mind you, had I not been the person retrieving a pair of her own shoes while preparing to leave for the evening, the closet door probably would've stayed closed for who knows how much longer.
To top this illustration off, I seemed to especially remember wisely informing Toby the day the shoes went missing, that I was pretty sure they were in the closet. But, who would think to put shoes in a closet of all places? I assume he had precious time that couldn't be wasted so therefore looking in a closet for something that actually belonged in there, was just not something that could be done at the moment.
Either way, as he headed out the door and down the steps this morning, I cheerfully reminded him that I fully know why it took him so long to find a wife. At least that was one thing he couldn't argue with me on.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
The Anchor Of Life
Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast... Hebrews 6:19
Picture a vast, majestic ship on the ocean. It stands alone.
It holds a varied sampling of beauty unidentical to the water's blue grey solitude.
It stands out as a single silhouette on the entire horizon. Completely disconnected to safe harbors.
It shows an image of vulnerability. It shows a structure without a foundation. A building that rocks and sways. Without it's one special tool, no matter how beautiful and intricate it's design may be, a person would be stupid to embark on a journey within this extravagant vessel.
Without an anchor, a ship is a dangerous place.
So is our life on this earth when we do not have an Anchor on our ship when we set out on the sea of life.
Without a anchor, any wind of doctrine, any currant of ideas, any direction our ship is tossed towards, would allow our ship to drive unrestrained to any destination in our horizon.
Just as God is far away in the heaven, so is our anchor when it is firmly fastened to the sea bottom. A passerby, a fellow friend, a watching neighbor, a well meaning relative, cannot see the Anchor when they watch our lives headed towards a coming storm.
But that anchor stands secure and is as real as the ship itself.
But, equally so, a strong Anchor and a capable ship can do no good without a strong rope connecting the Anchor to the ship.
Without prayer and without a healthy prayer life, God can do us no good in anchoring us in His will if our connection to Him is weak.
You won't use a simple rope to fasten your anchor to your ship. You condition yourself to remember that in the midst of a storm when you throw your anchor into the water, the thought of seeing the rope snap as the anchor heads to the bottom of the sea will be a moment that can ultimately change the course of your life forever. The eventual termination of your trip may end in a fatal way.
You'll need a rope (or a chain) that meets the criteria of the size of the ship to the size of the anchor. You won't be able to wait until the storm comes and then decide whether or not that rope is safe; a wise man is prepared.
So must our prayer lives be conditioned to face the storms that come our way in life.
The hope we have in God is an Anchor to our souls. It drives away fears. It quenches discouragement when standing alone. It eliminates any need to put our trust into anything else but God. It is steadfast. Immovable.
Prayer is what connects us to our Anchor. Without prayer, a Solid Anchor and a Christian life are insufficient if we don't have the means of activating our Anchor.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
New Baby
I'm feeling rather nostalgic and reminiscent today. Especially about motherhood. It could have something to do with the fact that both of my darling little babies have unanimously chosen to nap at the same time today.
How sweet it is to tip toe from one room to the next and admire their cherubic little faces as they lay nestled, resting in their beds. Not only is there one little angel but two that can be admired at the same time. Now that is refreshing to this mother! To experience the more "romantic" side of motherhood is at times a rare occurrence considering the needs and demands of children are often precedent over the sweet and touching moments of their presence.
This case of nostalgia could also have something to do with the fact that Toby's sister had her first boy (second baby) early this morning. When Sarah called this morning with the news, I could hear the exhilaration and joy in her voice as she told me the news of his birth.
I immediately thought back to the morning after Janae was born and how excited and energized I felt. I wanted to call everybody and would've even called the President had I had his number in my cell phone. I was on a thrilling high and wanted to share my excitement with the whole world.
I'll never forget sitting in the hospital bed and cupping Janae's soft and hairy head as she lay sleeping in my arms after getting her tummy filled. While Toby slept on into the morning, I was well revived after only a short nap following her birth. I bounded all over the room fixing my hair and primping my robe and then delving into my generously packed diaper bag and pulling out an entire wardrobe of clothing for my tiny baby girl.
I fitted her up with a delicate flowered sleeper, tiny lavender socks and then swaddled her in a feminine little blanket. I topped her off with a delicate bow in her thick, dark hair and then just sat there and looked at her.
I felt no pain, no distraction and no discomfort. I was like a little girl playing with my doll and felt about as carefree as a young girl does in early childhood.
Just hours after Janae was born
All dressed up for the first time
It's weird how babies do such unbelievable things to you. The pain and agony and sleeplessness and fatigue they cause all continually go by unnoticed and unregretted. To observe the complete surrender a parent has for this tiny little person, is almost worth defining as plain stupid because of the total captivity the parent puts themselves in through the entrance of their tiny baby into this world.
Jobs are forsaken, sleep is given up, friends are neglected, spouses are denied, food is unimportant, health is laid aside, schedules are destroyed and a life of prediction and plan is replaced with one of unknown and indefinite days.
It is truly amazing how a parent chooses such a life and calls it fun and enjoyable. All for a tiny baby.
This quote by Elizabeth Prentiss was so fitting for my thoughts today...
Here is a sweet, fragrant mouth to kiss; here are two more feet to make music with their pattering about my nursery. Here is a soul to train for God; and the body in which it dwells is worthy all it will cost, since it is the abode of a kingly tenant. I may see less of friends, but I have gained one dearer than them all, to whom, while I minister in God's name, I will make a willing sacrifice of what little leisure for my own recreation my other darlings had left me. Yes, my precious baby, you are welcome to your mother's heart, welcome to her time, her strength, her health, her tenderest cares, her life-long prayers! Oh, how rich I am, how truly, how wondrously blest!
Elijah Jan Morhart
How sweet it is to tip toe from one room to the next and admire their cherubic little faces as they lay nestled, resting in their beds. Not only is there one little angel but two that can be admired at the same time. Now that is refreshing to this mother! To experience the more "romantic" side of motherhood is at times a rare occurrence considering the needs and demands of children are often precedent over the sweet and touching moments of their presence.
This case of nostalgia could also have something to do with the fact that Toby's sister had her first boy (second baby) early this morning. When Sarah called this morning with the news, I could hear the exhilaration and joy in her voice as she told me the news of his birth.
I immediately thought back to the morning after Janae was born and how excited and energized I felt. I wanted to call everybody and would've even called the President had I had his number in my cell phone. I was on a thrilling high and wanted to share my excitement with the whole world.
I'll never forget sitting in the hospital bed and cupping Janae's soft and hairy head as she lay sleeping in my arms after getting her tummy filled. While Toby slept on into the morning, I was well revived after only a short nap following her birth. I bounded all over the room fixing my hair and primping my robe and then delving into my generously packed diaper bag and pulling out an entire wardrobe of clothing for my tiny baby girl.
I fitted her up with a delicate flowered sleeper, tiny lavender socks and then swaddled her in a feminine little blanket. I topped her off with a delicate bow in her thick, dark hair and then just sat there and looked at her.
I felt no pain, no distraction and no discomfort. I was like a little girl playing with my doll and felt about as carefree as a young girl does in early childhood.
Just hours after Janae was born
All dressed up for the first time
It's weird how babies do such unbelievable things to you. The pain and agony and sleeplessness and fatigue they cause all continually go by unnoticed and unregretted. To observe the complete surrender a parent has for this tiny little person, is almost worth defining as plain stupid because of the total captivity the parent puts themselves in through the entrance of their tiny baby into this world.
Jobs are forsaken, sleep is given up, friends are neglected, spouses are denied, food is unimportant, health is laid aside, schedules are destroyed and a life of prediction and plan is replaced with one of unknown and indefinite days.
It is truly amazing how a parent chooses such a life and calls it fun and enjoyable. All for a tiny baby.
This quote by Elizabeth Prentiss was so fitting for my thoughts today...
Here is a sweet, fragrant mouth to kiss; here are two more feet to make music with their pattering about my nursery. Here is a soul to train for God; and the body in which it dwells is worthy all it will cost, since it is the abode of a kingly tenant. I may see less of friends, but I have gained one dearer than them all, to whom, while I minister in God's name, I will make a willing sacrifice of what little leisure for my own recreation my other darlings had left me. Yes, my precious baby, you are welcome to your mother's heart, welcome to her time, her strength, her health, her tenderest cares, her life-long prayers! Oh, how rich I am, how truly, how wondrously blest!
Elijah Jan Morhart
(Jan is the Haitian form of John and is pronounced "Jahn.")
9 pounds 4 oz. 21" long
Born at 2:55am April 4, 2006
Monday, April 03, 2006
Here I Stand
With the responsibility of a husband and two kids and all the daily tasks that fill my time as a wife and mother, I find it all too easy to let my walk with God exist but not grow. It's so easy to shift into a survival mode and not a thriving life style of growing in grace and the abundance of scripture.
I was thinking recently about Job's wife and how she told her husband to curse God and die. I wondered what ways I encourage or discourage my husband.
Obviously Job's wife didn't have a very close relationship with God but maybe she never knew that. Maybe she had convinced herself so strongly in her right to feel and say the things she did, that it didn't even dawn on her that a true follower of God does not speak such discouraging things.
Especially to one's husband.
In the end, God blessed Job with another batch of children equal to the ones that perished. It never says that he gave him a new wife to bear all those children so for all we know, that lady had to deliver a total of 14 babies. We all know children are a blessing but we can also agree that enduring pregnancy and childbirth, definitely does not feel like much of a blessing.
Multiply that 14 times and add age to it as well and let it happen to a sour old lady. Definitely not the picture you'd see on the cover of a baby magazine.
Job being one of the godliest men in Scripture, you'd think for sure he'd have a remarkable wife. One that knew God's word. One that encouraged others. One that lived for God. One that watched her tongue.
Instead, he had just a plain ole' woman like me. She was nothing very special nor did she have any hard to attain spiritual traits. She was just a mom and wife.
Certainly, being the wife of Job would've made that little lady a bit taken back by the things she said and did and the way she thought. I mean, she's married to a man of God. A man who's life story that is put in the Bible and is there for future generations to read.
But, nope, she just spouted off the first thing that came to her mind. She thought it, so she said it. She didn't care if it was right or not. For her, life was fair. Or at least it should be.
While Job sat in a pile of ashes and scraped himself with broken pieces of pottery, hundreds of gaping sores oozed from his body. All his finances had been destroyed as was his house and farm. His kids were dead and strangers had consumed his property. His health was failing. Life couldn't get any worse.
At a time when a man needs support from his wife, it's when that man is having a bad day. And Job was having a very bad day. While he sat suffering and scraping himself, who should come to him just then but his dear little wife...
"Are you still retaining your integrity?" She spouted at him from a distance, repulsed by the stench and site of his sores. Men are so stubborn, she was thinking in the back of her mind -- at least that seems logical that her thoughts were following that pattern because of the thing she said next:
"Just curse God and die," were her concluding remarks.
What foolish words from the wife of one the wisest men in history. You'd think Job's wife would've had more discretion for the way she acted. If she would've had just a run-of-the-mill husband like everyone else had, her response would've been more acceptable, if a wife's negative response is ever acceptable. But to talk like that to a man who is listed in the Bible? Unthinkable.
But, to Mrs. Job, she did have an every day husband. Her husband was the kind that left dirty socks on the floor, the kind that read books all the time, the kind that forgot to empty the trash, the kind that had little quirks like pop fridges and itchy backs. To her, Job was like every body else's husband.
She didn't know he was special and she didn't treat him as such.
She didn't know God called him a perfect man.
She didn't know that her husband was a one-of-a-kind man and the only like him in all the earth.
She didn't know he was considered upright.
Yeah, she knew he was a nice guy but he had his faults too. To her, those faults were obvious.
I've been challenged to think about my response to my husband in even everyday things. Do I encourage him? How do I discourage him? When Toby has a bad day, do I encourage him to throw in the towel and give up?
Or do I support him and bless him with the knowledge of knowing that though all the world is against him, at least I'm still on his side.
No matter how busy and active a young wife is, there is never time to NOT seek God's direction and wisdom for each day.
Here I stand with a new resilience to pursue the higher way. Though to me, my husband is "just" nice guy and not popular or famous, my response and actions towards him need to be motivated with an air of loyalty, honor and respect. I'm the only woman in the world that can give him the respect he needs and deserves. I'm the only one that can encourage him. I'm the only one that can discourage him the most.
I never want to leave an example to younger generations of having an indifferent and ungodly support to my husband. Unfortunately, we have Job's wife as that example. And her example is more than enough.
"But He knoweth the way that I take: when He hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold." Job 23:10
I was thinking recently about Job's wife and how she told her husband to curse God and die. I wondered what ways I encourage or discourage my husband.
Obviously Job's wife didn't have a very close relationship with God but maybe she never knew that. Maybe she had convinced herself so strongly in her right to feel and say the things she did, that it didn't even dawn on her that a true follower of God does not speak such discouraging things.
Especially to one's husband.
In the end, God blessed Job with another batch of children equal to the ones that perished. It never says that he gave him a new wife to bear all those children so for all we know, that lady had to deliver a total of 14 babies. We all know children are a blessing but we can also agree that enduring pregnancy and childbirth, definitely does not feel like much of a blessing.
Multiply that 14 times and add age to it as well and let it happen to a sour old lady. Definitely not the picture you'd see on the cover of a baby magazine.
Job being one of the godliest men in Scripture, you'd think for sure he'd have a remarkable wife. One that knew God's word. One that encouraged others. One that lived for God. One that watched her tongue.
Instead, he had just a plain ole' woman like me. She was nothing very special nor did she have any hard to attain spiritual traits. She was just a mom and wife.
Certainly, being the wife of Job would've made that little lady a bit taken back by the things she said and did and the way she thought. I mean, she's married to a man of God. A man who's life story that is put in the Bible and is there for future generations to read.
But, nope, she just spouted off the first thing that came to her mind. She thought it, so she said it. She didn't care if it was right or not. For her, life was fair. Or at least it should be.
While Job sat in a pile of ashes and scraped himself with broken pieces of pottery, hundreds of gaping sores oozed from his body. All his finances had been destroyed as was his house and farm. His kids were dead and strangers had consumed his property. His health was failing. Life couldn't get any worse.
At a time when a man needs support from his wife, it's when that man is having a bad day. And Job was having a very bad day. While he sat suffering and scraping himself, who should come to him just then but his dear little wife...
"Are you still retaining your integrity?" She spouted at him from a distance, repulsed by the stench and site of his sores. Men are so stubborn, she was thinking in the back of her mind -- at least that seems logical that her thoughts were following that pattern because of the thing she said next:
"Just curse God and die," were her concluding remarks.
What foolish words from the wife of one the wisest men in history. You'd think Job's wife would've had more discretion for the way she acted. If she would've had just a run-of-the-mill husband like everyone else had, her response would've been more acceptable, if a wife's negative response is ever acceptable. But to talk like that to a man who is listed in the Bible? Unthinkable.
But, to Mrs. Job, she did have an every day husband. Her husband was the kind that left dirty socks on the floor, the kind that read books all the time, the kind that forgot to empty the trash, the kind that had little quirks like pop fridges and itchy backs. To her, Job was like every body else's husband.
She didn't know he was special and she didn't treat him as such.
She didn't know God called him a perfect man.
She didn't know that her husband was a one-of-a-kind man and the only like him in all the earth.
She didn't know he was considered upright.
Yeah, she knew he was a nice guy but he had his faults too. To her, those faults were obvious.
I've been challenged to think about my response to my husband in even everyday things. Do I encourage him? How do I discourage him? When Toby has a bad day, do I encourage him to throw in the towel and give up?
Or do I support him and bless him with the knowledge of knowing that though all the world is against him, at least I'm still on his side.
No matter how busy and active a young wife is, there is never time to NOT seek God's direction and wisdom for each day.
Here I stand with a new resilience to pursue the higher way. Though to me, my husband is "just" nice guy and not popular or famous, my response and actions towards him need to be motivated with an air of loyalty, honor and respect. I'm the only woman in the world that can give him the respect he needs and deserves. I'm the only one that can encourage him. I'm the only one that can discourage him the most.
I never want to leave an example to younger generations of having an indifferent and ungodly support to my husband. Unfortunately, we have Job's wife as that example. And her example is more than enough.
"But He knoweth the way that I take: when He hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold." Job 23:10
Saturday, April 01, 2006
HA! At last they aren't telling me it's a Wisconsin accent I have....
Upper midwestern sounds a bit tamer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your Linguistic Profile: |
| 75% General American English |
| 15% Upper Midwestern |
| 5% Midwestern |
| 5% Yankee |
| 0% Dixie |
What Kind of American English Do You Speak?
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Pain Is Such A Pain
I never thought pain could be such a pain. I mean, I never thought it would be such a pain to have pain.
Okay, I'm totally not making sense here. Sorry. I'm kinda a pain right now. I mean, I'm kinda in pain right now.
I've gone through two labors and deliveries with no meds or cheat codes. When I play a game, I play it to play it; not skip to the end.
Labor is by far the worst most horribly painful predicament any person can be in but delivery tops them all. Yet no matter how awful L&D are, it's still not that bad because you know there is a purpose for all that pain.
But, when you have pain and there is no obvious reason for it, you begin to wonder what is evolving in your body.
Once I had my first gallbladder attack just days after my first delivery and my first labor of my first child and that pain even topped L&D. Yet, once I knew what the pain was (a miniscule stone traveling merrily down a fine, narrow passage -- no biggie), what was causing it (pregnancy hormones and butter on my bread -- no biggie either) and that it indeed could end eventually (30 minutes tops), I braced myself and handled the pain like a brave, wounded, soldier.
And then the pain ended. It returned several times but it always ended. As long as it always ended, it didn't bother me as much as it would've had it not ended for once. That would've been bad.
It's weird how the onset of pain can come on us.
Like the other morning. I got out of bed and began to make my bed like I do every morning. Some mornings, Toby is there to make the bed with me but this particular morning, he happened to not be in the room. I think he likes to sneak out of bed before we partake in our solemn tradition of sacredly replacing wrinkled sheets and comforters with an attire that is more fitting and attractive on our bed. Toby always argues that there is no use in doing something that is just going to be redone at the end of the day. Though I agree that there may be some logic to his thinking, I counter-argue with the fact that laundry has the same predicament. With that said, he speechlessly and defeatedly makes his side of the bed.
So, like I was saying, I was making our bed one morning; nothing real exciting or excruciating. Suddenly I felt an ache in the lower right portion of my back.
I mused over my finding and attributed it to the fact that I was coming down with a bladder infection (sorry for having to include that disgusting fact but it really is a fact). I chalked it up to the fact that I had dealt with strikingly serious signs of a UTI all night and maybe I indeed did have a problem that needed to be treated.
Before I even got out of my room that morning, I knew I was in pain for a bad reason. By that evening, I was on the miracle pills prescribed by my doctor and totally pain free at last. It was wonderful to see the sky so blue and the grass so green again. Wait, I think it was dark out by then so I guess the sky wasn't exactly blue, but you know what I mean.
By the next evening, the pain had returned though not as intense. It has remained returned ever since and has increased in intensity at varying intervals. And I have no idea why or what is causing this.
So, this is the end of my pain story although the pain still has not ended. It's strange how the unknown makes things harder to understand. Even things like pain are increased when we don't know the reason for it. I've had headaches and stomachaches worse than this -- even backaches that were worse, but they always had a reason. This one leaves me clueless.
Well, this is a totally pointless post and probably quite a pain to come to by blog and see it updated only to have it end in such a painstaking way. I guess that's life though. You never know when something will end up being a pain!
Okay, I'm totally not making sense here. Sorry. I'm kinda a pain right now. I mean, I'm kinda in pain right now.
I've gone through two labors and deliveries with no meds or cheat codes. When I play a game, I play it to play it; not skip to the end.
Labor is by far the worst most horribly painful predicament any person can be in but delivery tops them all. Yet no matter how awful L&D are, it's still not that bad because you know there is a purpose for all that pain.
But, when you have pain and there is no obvious reason for it, you begin to wonder what is evolving in your body.
Once I had my first gallbladder attack just days after my first delivery and my first labor of my first child and that pain even topped L&D. Yet, once I knew what the pain was (a miniscule stone traveling merrily down a fine, narrow passage -- no biggie), what was causing it (pregnancy hormones and butter on my bread -- no biggie either) and that it indeed could end eventually (30 minutes tops), I braced myself and handled the pain like a brave, wounded, soldier.
And then the pain ended. It returned several times but it always ended. As long as it always ended, it didn't bother me as much as it would've had it not ended for once. That would've been bad.
It's weird how the onset of pain can come on us.
Like the other morning. I got out of bed and began to make my bed like I do every morning. Some mornings, Toby is there to make the bed with me but this particular morning, he happened to not be in the room. I think he likes to sneak out of bed before we partake in our solemn tradition of sacredly replacing wrinkled sheets and comforters with an attire that is more fitting and attractive on our bed. Toby always argues that there is no use in doing something that is just going to be redone at the end of the day. Though I agree that there may be some logic to his thinking, I counter-argue with the fact that laundry has the same predicament. With that said, he speechlessly and defeatedly makes his side of the bed.
So, like I was saying, I was making our bed one morning; nothing real exciting or excruciating. Suddenly I felt an ache in the lower right portion of my back.
I mused over my finding and attributed it to the fact that I was coming down with a bladder infection (sorry for having to include that disgusting fact but it really is a fact). I chalked it up to the fact that I had dealt with strikingly serious signs of a UTI all night and maybe I indeed did have a problem that needed to be treated.
Before I even got out of my room that morning, I knew I was in pain for a bad reason. By that evening, I was on the miracle pills prescribed by my doctor and totally pain free at last. It was wonderful to see the sky so blue and the grass so green again. Wait, I think it was dark out by then so I guess the sky wasn't exactly blue, but you know what I mean.
By the next evening, the pain had returned though not as intense. It has remained returned ever since and has increased in intensity at varying intervals. And I have no idea why or what is causing this.
So, this is the end of my pain story although the pain still has not ended. It's strange how the unknown makes things harder to understand. Even things like pain are increased when we don't know the reason for it. I've had headaches and stomachaches worse than this -- even backaches that were worse, but they always had a reason. This one leaves me clueless.
Well, this is a totally pointless post and probably quite a pain to come to by blog and see it updated only to have it end in such a painstaking way. I guess that's life though. You never know when something will end up being a pain!
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
My Love Language
The Five Love Languages
My primary love language is probablyWords of Affirmation
with a secondary love language being
Physical Touch.
Complete set of results
| Words of Affirmation: | 10 | |
| Physical Touch: | 9 | |
| Receiving Gifts: | 5 | |
| Quality Time: | 4 | |
| Acts of Service: | 2 |
Information
Unhappiness in relationships, according to Dr. Gary Chapman, is often due to the fact that we speak different love languages. Sometimes we don't understand our partner's requirements, or even our own. We all have a "love tank" that needs to be filled in order for us to express love to others, but there are different means by which our tank can be filled, and there are different ways that we can express love to others.Take the quiz
The Men Language
Before I got married, I figured just as long as I married a guy that spoke English, I wouldn't have to become a bi-lingual person. Not that I don't think it would be cool to speak 2 languages, it's just that I never thought I'd have to learn another language if I married someone that spoke English.
I was wrong.
Toby happens to know a large percentage of 4 languages: English, Spanish, Creole French and Men. I'm not sure which one he majors the most in but I know for sure it's not Spanish or Creole. He can also say "shut up" in all four of the above languages as well as in 3 other foreign tongues. He's a well rounded speaker, if I do say so myself, but I'm lucky to understand English let alone an entire new language.
Except for the Men language. I've learned that one pretty well.
If you're single and reading this, you're probably puzzled by the "Men" language I listed above. If you're married, you probably already have the rest of this blog written in your head so therefore have skipped to the end of this post and are on to reading other things. In either case, the Men language is worth discussing because of the intricate details of this mysterious and delicate tongue.
One thing I'll clear up right at the start is that the Men language is not just spoken and understood by the masculine population of our society. It is a well rounded and easily adjusted to dialect that most anyone can learn to communicate in -- whether male or female.
Although, I will say that the sooner you understand this language, the better.
For instance, when a man says he is not hungry and it happens to be supper time, he isn't saying he doesn't want to eat. A woman that understands the Men language will take this cue to mean that he wants to pick out his food for supper. And a wise woman will have a detailed list of food in her cupboards, pantry, fridge and freezer and will present the choices in an organized manner.
If he still says he's not hungry, all you have to do is gently pry a bit deeper. Then, he'll say, "If we have a frozen pizza, just make that."
You've just hit the jack pot.
If you don't believe me, make the pizza, cut it up and only take one piece for yourself. You won't have to worry about left-overs because the man who said he wasn't hungry 20 minutes ago, is ravegly consuming his dinner.
When a man says he is tired, he strongly means all three of those words: he is tired. End of story. That doesn't mean he wants to go for a relaxing walk, or that he wants to take a long, hot bath, or that he wants to snuggle with the kids on the couch and it definitely doesn't mean he wants to go shopping tonight and wait in the car and nap while you quick run in. It only means that he wants to go to bed and will actually completely and fully go to bed right then. You'll be lucky to get him to take his work pants off before slipping between the white, clean sheets. So don't even mention a shower.
If you ever have limited pantry space and mention to your man that you can't even take some of the groceries out of the bag because there is no shelf space, don't expect your Mr. Fixit to plan on building you a bigger pantry next Saturday.
But, if you say that you need more shelves built in the pantry, plan on your Saturday being booked with household repairs. You won't even have to say, "Please build me some shelves" because men who actively use the Men language don't need to be begged with polite manners when you make a need known in an obvious way. ("I need shelves built.")
If you want the lawn mowed because it's been 6 weeks since your man mowed it last and you fear that you may need to rent a combine in order to harvest the foot long plants growing where your grass used to grow, never say to your man, "the grass is getting really long" and expect him to pull the mower out that evening and get the job done.
But, if you say, "You'll need to mow the grass tonight, honey," he'll get to the job before even bringing his lunch box in when he gets home from work.
If you want to skip out on making supper and you casually hint that maybe it should be "hubby cooks supper" night, don't expect to get out of making food. Men totally don't get that hint. They also don't get it when women say that they don't feel like cooking tonight. Men just assume that whether you feel like it or not, the job always gets done.
But, if you want results, you have to say, "Honey, do you think we could go out for supper tonight?" You'll be getting the kids ready to leave in short order and supper will be the last thing you'll have to worry about that night.
Men are straight-forward-don't-beat-around-the-bush kind of people. Women are sissies. We can't seem to make up our minds about anything and have this uncanny way of pussy-footing around everything. And then we sit their and complain and pout that our husbands don't understand us or care when really, WE don't understand them.
Like when I tell Toby that the kids are up from taking their naps, all I get is the sound of another page turning in the book he's reading.
If I say, "Honey, you can get the kids out of their beds if you want," he'll not even finish the paragraph he's reading and have both of the kids downstairs in no time.
Then if I say, "Did you change Landon's diaper?" and expect him to take that cue to mean, his diaper is wet, please change it, I'll be one frustrated woman.
But, if I say, "Can you change Landon's diaper please?" I may get a debate (most men loath soiled diapers) but I'll at least get a response of some kind.
Just this afternoon, I wanted to know when to have supper ready for this evening. I called Toby and asked when he was coming home from work. He acted as if I was blaming him for doing something wrong by being gone to work today or that I was expecting him home right then.
"I just want to know," I said, trying to help him see I wasn't accusing him of neglect or anything. He also needed to know I wasn't expecting him to come home right now.
He hemmed and hawed and sighed and groaned and wondered.
Finally he pin points a time and I hear, "Anywhere between five o' clock and six thirty."
Now, if I didn't know Men language, I would stew and worry and wring my hands in frustration because I wouldn't know what anywhere between five o' clock and six thirty means.
But, since I happen to be well skilled and versed in this mysterious Men language, I know full well that Toby won't be home until after seven o'clock Central.
And I won't be hurt or feel abandoned or mis-lead when the clock is far past six thirty and still no husband. Because, time is another thing that you learn to understand different as well when you live with a man that uses Men language.
I bet you didn't know there is more than just the Central Time Zone in the mid-west, did you? When you live with a man, you learn to tell time in whole new way.
And the sooner you learn that time, the less suppers you will burn.
Later...
At 4:40pm, I called Toby to see if he had another time pin pointed down when he was coming home.
You see, men have this ability to alter and change their schedules in short notice and without regret. Woman have this ability to conform. Yes, we honestly have that ability somewhere. When I find it, I'll let you know. Because for now, I'm scrambling to get supper ready in 10 minutes.
Seriously, he said he'd be home in 10 minutes.
So much for my seven o'clock theory...
(And men think women can't make up their minds. HA! We can't help it because we get it from living with them.)
I'll keep you updated though. 10 minutes in the English language and 10 minutes in the Men language don't always mean the same thing. 10 Men minutes very unlikely ever means ten, sixty second minutes. If that were the case, he'd be home at 4:50pm.
And that's in 3 minutes. (in the English language.)
Later still...
He came in the door at 4:53pm. Now I know that anywhere between five o' clock and six thirty can mean anywhere around five o' clock and six thirty.
It still could mean seven o' clock on another day.
I was wrong.
Toby happens to know a large percentage of 4 languages: English, Spanish, Creole French and Men. I'm not sure which one he majors the most in but I know for sure it's not Spanish or Creole. He can also say "shut up" in all four of the above languages as well as in 3 other foreign tongues. He's a well rounded speaker, if I do say so myself, but I'm lucky to understand English let alone an entire new language.
Except for the Men language. I've learned that one pretty well.
If you're single and reading this, you're probably puzzled by the "Men" language I listed above. If you're married, you probably already have the rest of this blog written in your head so therefore have skipped to the end of this post and are on to reading other things. In either case, the Men language is worth discussing because of the intricate details of this mysterious and delicate tongue.
One thing I'll clear up right at the start is that the Men language is not just spoken and understood by the masculine population of our society. It is a well rounded and easily adjusted to dialect that most anyone can learn to communicate in -- whether male or female.
Although, I will say that the sooner you understand this language, the better.
For instance, when a man says he is not hungry and it happens to be supper time, he isn't saying he doesn't want to eat. A woman that understands the Men language will take this cue to mean that he wants to pick out his food for supper. And a wise woman will have a detailed list of food in her cupboards, pantry, fridge and freezer and will present the choices in an organized manner.
If he still says he's not hungry, all you have to do is gently pry a bit deeper. Then, he'll say, "If we have a frozen pizza, just make that."
You've just hit the jack pot.
If you don't believe me, make the pizza, cut it up and only take one piece for yourself. You won't have to worry about left-overs because the man who said he wasn't hungry 20 minutes ago, is ravegly consuming his dinner.
When a man says he is tired, he strongly means all three of those words: he is tired. End of story. That doesn't mean he wants to go for a relaxing walk, or that he wants to take a long, hot bath, or that he wants to snuggle with the kids on the couch and it definitely doesn't mean he wants to go shopping tonight and wait in the car and nap while you quick run in. It only means that he wants to go to bed and will actually completely and fully go to bed right then. You'll be lucky to get him to take his work pants off before slipping between the white, clean sheets. So don't even mention a shower.
If you ever have limited pantry space and mention to your man that you can't even take some of the groceries out of the bag because there is no shelf space, don't expect your Mr. Fixit to plan on building you a bigger pantry next Saturday.
But, if you say that you need more shelves built in the pantry, plan on your Saturday being booked with household repairs. You won't even have to say, "Please build me some shelves" because men who actively use the Men language don't need to be begged with polite manners when you make a need known in an obvious way. ("I need shelves built.")
If you want the lawn mowed because it's been 6 weeks since your man mowed it last and you fear that you may need to rent a combine in order to harvest the foot long plants growing where your grass used to grow, never say to your man, "the grass is getting really long" and expect him to pull the mower out that evening and get the job done.
But, if you say, "You'll need to mow the grass tonight, honey," he'll get to the job before even bringing his lunch box in when he gets home from work.
If you want to skip out on making supper and you casually hint that maybe it should be "hubby cooks supper" night, don't expect to get out of making food. Men totally don't get that hint. They also don't get it when women say that they don't feel like cooking tonight. Men just assume that whether you feel like it or not, the job always gets done.
But, if you want results, you have to say, "Honey, do you think we could go out for supper tonight?" You'll be getting the kids ready to leave in short order and supper will be the last thing you'll have to worry about that night.
Men are straight-forward-don't-beat-around-the-bush kind of people. Women are sissies. We can't seem to make up our minds about anything and have this uncanny way of pussy-footing around everything. And then we sit their and complain and pout that our husbands don't understand us or care when really, WE don't understand them.
Like when I tell Toby that the kids are up from taking their naps, all I get is the sound of another page turning in the book he's reading.
If I say, "Honey, you can get the kids out of their beds if you want," he'll not even finish the paragraph he's reading and have both of the kids downstairs in no time.
Then if I say, "Did you change Landon's diaper?" and expect him to take that cue to mean, his diaper is wet, please change it, I'll be one frustrated woman.
But, if I say, "Can you change Landon's diaper please?" I may get a debate (most men loath soiled diapers) but I'll at least get a response of some kind.
Just this afternoon, I wanted to know when to have supper ready for this evening. I called Toby and asked when he was coming home from work. He acted as if I was blaming him for doing something wrong by being gone to work today or that I was expecting him home right then.
"I just want to know," I said, trying to help him see I wasn't accusing him of neglect or anything. He also needed to know I wasn't expecting him to come home right now.
He hemmed and hawed and sighed and groaned and wondered.
Finally he pin points a time and I hear, "Anywhere between five o' clock and six thirty."
Now, if I didn't know Men language, I would stew and worry and wring my hands in frustration because I wouldn't know what anywhere between five o' clock and six thirty means.
But, since I happen to be well skilled and versed in this mysterious Men language, I know full well that Toby won't be home until after seven o'clock Central.
And I won't be hurt or feel abandoned or mis-lead when the clock is far past six thirty and still no husband. Because, time is another thing that you learn to understand different as well when you live with a man that uses Men language.
I bet you didn't know there is more than just the Central Time Zone in the mid-west, did you? When you live with a man, you learn to tell time in whole new way.
And the sooner you learn that time, the less suppers you will burn.
Later...
At 4:40pm, I called Toby to see if he had another time pin pointed down when he was coming home.
You see, men have this ability to alter and change their schedules in short notice and without regret. Woman have this ability to conform. Yes, we honestly have that ability somewhere. When I find it, I'll let you know. Because for now, I'm scrambling to get supper ready in 10 minutes.
Seriously, he said he'd be home in 10 minutes.
So much for my seven o'clock theory...
(And men think women can't make up their minds. HA! We can't help it because we get it from living with them.)
I'll keep you updated though. 10 minutes in the English language and 10 minutes in the Men language don't always mean the same thing. 10 Men minutes very unlikely ever means ten, sixty second minutes. If that were the case, he'd be home at 4:50pm.
And that's in 3 minutes. (in the English language.)
Later still...
He came in the door at 4:53pm. Now I know that anywhere between five o' clock and six thirty can mean anywhere around five o' clock and six thirty.
It still could mean seven o' clock on another day.
As A Mother Careth For Her Children
Janae was clumsily attempting to crawl towards me this afternoon but the loose legs of her outfit were keeping her from making full strides. I could tell she was getting frustrated with it even though she wasn't hollering. Yet.
She had almost made it to me when she really started getting tangled. Her sounds of relief were so cute as I reached down and put my hands out towards her.
But, she surprised me.
Instead of just stopping where she was and putting her hands out, she made one last attempt to close the distance between us.
I put my hands closer to her. Just inches from her face.
She was excited about the prospect of sitting on my lap and her happy grunts and bobbing head showed her anticipating. Still, she worked harder against what was holding her back. She began to trip and slip. But, she wouldn't lift her hands.
Finally, in order to keep her pretty little face from smashing into the floor because of the way she was tripping and slipping, I put my hands under her arms and pulled her up.
With squeals of delight and relief, she snuggled into my shoulder.
I wondered how many times as a child of God, do I do that to my Father. How may times do I try to fix my problems before I go back to Him? How many times do I try to prove to myself, others and God that I can do things myself?
But by His grace, I too would smash my pretty little face into things more vicious than a carpeted floor. Thankfully, He too reaches for me and covers me with His love.
She had almost made it to me when she really started getting tangled. Her sounds of relief were so cute as I reached down and put my hands out towards her.
But, she surprised me.
Instead of just stopping where she was and putting her hands out, she made one last attempt to close the distance between us.
I put my hands closer to her. Just inches from her face.
She was excited about the prospect of sitting on my lap and her happy grunts and bobbing head showed her anticipating. Still, she worked harder against what was holding her back. She began to trip and slip. But, she wouldn't lift her hands.
Finally, in order to keep her pretty little face from smashing into the floor because of the way she was tripping and slipping, I put my hands under her arms and pulled her up.
With squeals of delight and relief, she snuggled into my shoulder.
I wondered how many times as a child of God, do I do that to my Father. How may times do I try to fix my problems before I go back to Him? How many times do I try to prove to myself, others and God that I can do things myself?
But by His grace, I too would smash my pretty little face into things more vicious than a carpeted floor. Thankfully, He too reaches for me and covers me with His love.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Quote Of The Day
This evening when I affectionately asked Toby if he loved me, he enchantingly drummed up a tone of voice that indicated he was in the most romantic of moods. He poetically inclined his tongue into an ever increasing volume of feeling and responded with,
"Does a toad love his own warts?"
(oh my, this is getting sweet...)
"Does a vulture love his own vomit?"
(I am thoroughly touched by now...)
"Of course I love you honey!"
Let me tell you, I was touched and never felt so loved in my life.
"Does a toad love his own warts?"
(oh my, this is getting sweet...)
"Does a vulture love his own vomit?"
(I am thoroughly touched by now...)
"Of course I love you honey!"
Let me tell you, I was touched and never felt so loved in my life.
Who Wears The Pants?
The absence of my husband's companionship the entire week he was gone, gave me new light and appreciation for the man I call mine. His little quirks, habits, tendencies and even what could be annoyances, have all opened up to a new perspective for me. And I appreciate him all the more because of what and who he really is.
Just before he left, I got a book from the library called, "How To Live With A Man" and the subtitles concluded the title with, "And Love It." Toby found it next to our bed one night and picked it up and browsed through it. His only comment was, "How would you like it if I got a book that said 'how to live with a woman?' "
I sympathized with his hurt feelings but assured him that if he got a book that at all related to some of the concepts of this book I had about living with a man, I as the woman would actually be made the happier.
The book fully addressed the need for women to let their men be MEN and to let them live happily in their own house. And not just to tolerate their habits and tendencies but to use their typical "that's-just-men-for-you" way of doing things, as lovely and positive aspects to your relationship and home life. It teaches you the importance of appreciating all the different aspects of your husband's character and personality.
Believe me, if I caught Toby reading a book that said, "How To Live With A Woman And Love It," I would feel like one special woman. From him reading a book like that, he'd make it so there'd be breakfast in bed every Saturday morning, surprise shopping trips every weekend, grilled supper every Friday night, romantic walks in the sunset, a vase of roses on my bedside table every time I had a cold, sweet text messages on my cell phone every afternoon we were apart and a back rub every night after he'd get home from work. Not that he doesn't already do all those things but you know what I mean.
One chapter in the book discussed the ways you can get even the most stubborn husband to change his style of clothing and even eventually change over his entire ward robe. I thought that idea was only possible for men who let their women rule the roost so merely read the chapter for kicks.
At the end of that silly chapter, I was blissfully renewed with hope and assurance that even the most submissive wife can tweak her husband's clothing habits to suit her own taste yet equally make him think he's still the one in charge of his dresser and closet.
Toby is not one to give much thought to the latest styles and trends typical for guys his age and stature. When it comes to clothes, he doesn't care. Or so he says. He doesn't like clothes shopping and doesn't really get too excited when I come home with a new shirt or pair of pants for him. I don't even get a thanks but I really don't mind because as long as he'll wear what I bring him, I'm happy. I've found that he does really care about what he wears although he'll rant and rave that he really doesn't give it much thought.
He's particularly picky about some things and no amount of persuading, begging, flattering or admiring can change what he likes and doesn't like. He just rolls his eyes and goes back to his book when I tell him how nice he looks in his new shirt or pants.
And when it comes to pants, he's unusually and alarmingly opinionated.
All our married life, I have striven to encourage him to see that men with his height and length must wear long pants. They don't make those pants for short people so obviously, those long pants are for people with above average height. Like him.
I'll never forget the first time I told him this. After I falsely assured myself he understood mine and the rest of society's stand on this whole deal, I went out and bought him 36" length pants, thinking the whole time he would really appreciate my efforts. I didn't think I was going out on a limb here, but it turned out, I went out on a very long limb.
Many of his pre-marriage pants were actually 32" length and for a man standing 6' 4", that just doesn't quite fit the bill. (or the leg, for that matter.)
After shopping forever for pants 36" long, I finally found a dusty pair at the bottom of the stack of pants in the far back corner of the store. It wasn't quite that primitive but I was surprised at the lengths I had to go to in finding long pants. I inwardly assumed that the reason he just stuck with 32" or 34" pants was because they were much easier to find.
I was excited about my find after searching for so long and at the first opportunity I had to entice Toby to try these pants on (he hates trying on clothes because as you remember, he doesn't care much about clothing), I snatched it up and kindly persuaded him.
Shocked and surprised were my feelings when he loosely shuffled out the door and unhappily modeled his pants for me. What I thought fit on the length, he thought was way too big. I realized that Toby didn't like his pants to even threaten to touch the floor so therefore, anything longer than capris, were not well suited to his taste.
I admitted the waist was too big but he overwhelmingly described in great lengths that by far the length was way too long. To me, the pants looked to comfortably brush on the floor when I cinched the waist up to where it should've been had I gotten the correct waist size. (It's amazing how much an inch can make.) I also assumed that with the usual pair of shoes on his feet, his pant's hem would narrowly miss the floor due to resting on the top of shoes. He stressed that it was great disturbance to walk on one's hem and therefore he would not wear such excessive amounts of denim on his pants.
"So, I have to take them back?" I asked with a lump in my throat.
"I'm not going to wear these," he assured me with a tone that said he was still the one who wore the pants in the family.
Having said all that, I was anxious to try the tips out in that book about changing my husband's pants size. In his great and terrible absence for a week, I used one evening to load up the kids and browse a shopping center that I heard had nice men's pants.
After searching for 2 hours at one store, I finally found a dusty pair of Levi's in the far back corner of the store. They were sort of that "dirty denim" look but didn't have any of those stylish holes and rips. They were made out of a dark blue denim and had faint high lights of brown in them ultimately giving them more of that dirty look but still staying very classy. They were very suave, handsome and manly pants and the exact style and size Toby needed. They even sported a classy "36" on the tag and I was overly thrilled about that number although somewhat discouraged by the number on the overly priced price tag the pants also sported. To me, it was worth it to pay for that extra 2" of denim though.
When Toby arrived home, I was just as anxious to have him try those pants on as I was to greet him with a kiss. The first opportunity he had, I made him try them on. He did and he actually liked them. He actually liked the length. I kept telling him they were "thirty-sixes" and he kept saying they looked nice. He honestly, actually liked them. I couldn't believe it and still can't.
I'm not sure what I did right about what the book said but whatever I did, worked. He's happy and I'm happy too. Not that I wasn't happy with 34" pants but to me a tall man should always wear long pants. Especially if he's my husband. I mean, everyone knows that even though the husband pays for the pants, the wife always buys them. What would people think of me when they saw my husband tramping around in high waters?
Hardly a day since, has he worn any other jeans except for those 36" Levi's. I'm anxiously excited about the prospects I may have to further his ward robe reconstruction although I will maintain a submissive awareness that at any moment, he may catch on to my advances and entirely disarm all my new found designing on his side of the closet. But I'll never forget the miracle of the 36" Levi's.
And even if he does catch on and authoritatively remind me who wears the pants around here, that's okay because I love learning how to live with a man. Especially one that wears such nice pants.
Just before he left, I got a book from the library called, "How To Live With A Man" and the subtitles concluded the title with, "And Love It." Toby found it next to our bed one night and picked it up and browsed through it. His only comment was, "How would you like it if I got a book that said 'how to live with a woman?' "
I sympathized with his hurt feelings but assured him that if he got a book that at all related to some of the concepts of this book I had about living with a man, I as the woman would actually be made the happier.
The book fully addressed the need for women to let their men be MEN and to let them live happily in their own house. And not just to tolerate their habits and tendencies but to use their typical "that's-just-men-for-you" way of doing things, as lovely and positive aspects to your relationship and home life. It teaches you the importance of appreciating all the different aspects of your husband's character and personality.
Believe me, if I caught Toby reading a book that said, "How To Live With A Woman And Love It," I would feel like one special woman. From him reading a book like that, he'd make it so there'd be breakfast in bed every Saturday morning, surprise shopping trips every weekend, grilled supper every Friday night, romantic walks in the sunset, a vase of roses on my bedside table every time I had a cold, sweet text messages on my cell phone every afternoon we were apart and a back rub every night after he'd get home from work. Not that he doesn't already do all those things but you know what I mean.
One chapter in the book discussed the ways you can get even the most stubborn husband to change his style of clothing and even eventually change over his entire ward robe. I thought that idea was only possible for men who let their women rule the roost so merely read the chapter for kicks.
At the end of that silly chapter, I was blissfully renewed with hope and assurance that even the most submissive wife can tweak her husband's clothing habits to suit her own taste yet equally make him think he's still the one in charge of his dresser and closet.
Toby is not one to give much thought to the latest styles and trends typical for guys his age and stature. When it comes to clothes, he doesn't care. Or so he says. He doesn't like clothes shopping and doesn't really get too excited when I come home with a new shirt or pair of pants for him. I don't even get a thanks but I really don't mind because as long as he'll wear what I bring him, I'm happy. I've found that he does really care about what he wears although he'll rant and rave that he really doesn't give it much thought.
He's particularly picky about some things and no amount of persuading, begging, flattering or admiring can change what he likes and doesn't like. He just rolls his eyes and goes back to his book when I tell him how nice he looks in his new shirt or pants.
And when it comes to pants, he's unusually and alarmingly opinionated.
All our married life, I have striven to encourage him to see that men with his height and length must wear long pants. They don't make those pants for short people so obviously, those long pants are for people with above average height. Like him.
I'll never forget the first time I told him this. After I falsely assured myself he understood mine and the rest of society's stand on this whole deal, I went out and bought him 36" length pants, thinking the whole time he would really appreciate my efforts. I didn't think I was going out on a limb here, but it turned out, I went out on a very long limb.
Many of his pre-marriage pants were actually 32" length and for a man standing 6' 4", that just doesn't quite fit the bill. (or the leg, for that matter.)
After shopping forever for pants 36" long, I finally found a dusty pair at the bottom of the stack of pants in the far back corner of the store. It wasn't quite that primitive but I was surprised at the lengths I had to go to in finding long pants. I inwardly assumed that the reason he just stuck with 32" or 34" pants was because they were much easier to find.
I was excited about my find after searching for so long and at the first opportunity I had to entice Toby to try these pants on (he hates trying on clothes because as you remember, he doesn't care much about clothing), I snatched it up and kindly persuaded him.
Shocked and surprised were my feelings when he loosely shuffled out the door and unhappily modeled his pants for me. What I thought fit on the length, he thought was way too big. I realized that Toby didn't like his pants to even threaten to touch the floor so therefore, anything longer than capris, were not well suited to his taste.
I admitted the waist was too big but he overwhelmingly described in great lengths that by far the length was way too long. To me, the pants looked to comfortably brush on the floor when I cinched the waist up to where it should've been had I gotten the correct waist size. (It's amazing how much an inch can make.) I also assumed that with the usual pair of shoes on his feet, his pant's hem would narrowly miss the floor due to resting on the top of shoes. He stressed that it was great disturbance to walk on one's hem and therefore he would not wear such excessive amounts of denim on his pants.
"So, I have to take them back?" I asked with a lump in my throat.
"I'm not going to wear these," he assured me with a tone that said he was still the one who wore the pants in the family.
Having said all that, I was anxious to try the tips out in that book about changing my husband's pants size. In his great and terrible absence for a week, I used one evening to load up the kids and browse a shopping center that I heard had nice men's pants.
After searching for 2 hours at one store, I finally found a dusty pair of Levi's in the far back corner of the store. They were sort of that "dirty denim" look but didn't have any of those stylish holes and rips. They were made out of a dark blue denim and had faint high lights of brown in them ultimately giving them more of that dirty look but still staying very classy. They were very suave, handsome and manly pants and the exact style and size Toby needed. They even sported a classy "36" on the tag and I was overly thrilled about that number although somewhat discouraged by the number on the overly priced price tag the pants also sported. To me, it was worth it to pay for that extra 2" of denim though.
When Toby arrived home, I was just as anxious to have him try those pants on as I was to greet him with a kiss. The first opportunity he had, I made him try them on. He did and he actually liked them. He actually liked the length. I kept telling him they were "thirty-sixes" and he kept saying they looked nice. He honestly, actually liked them. I couldn't believe it and still can't.
I'm not sure what I did right about what the book said but whatever I did, worked. He's happy and I'm happy too. Not that I wasn't happy with 34" pants but to me a tall man should always wear long pants. Especially if he's my husband. I mean, everyone knows that even though the husband pays for the pants, the wife always buys them. What would people think of me when they saw my husband tramping around in high waters?
Hardly a day since, has he worn any other jeans except for those 36" Levi's. I'm anxiously excited about the prospects I may have to further his ward robe reconstruction although I will maintain a submissive awareness that at any moment, he may catch on to my advances and entirely disarm all my new found designing on his side of the closet. But I'll never forget the miracle of the 36" Levi's.
And even if he does catch on and authoritatively remind me who wears the pants around here, that's okay because I love learning how to live with a man. Especially one that wears such nice pants.
Monday, February 27, 2006
Our Stay At The Bed and Breakfast
After a week of being apart, I planned a weekend get-a-way at a bed and breakfast for just Toby and I. We hadn't celebrated our anniversary the way we had wanted to (a get-a-way weekend) because Toby was down in Mississippi the weekend after the day of our anniversary. So, we decided to do it this weekend instead and it was so fun.
My sister Britt was here and graciously and patiently watched our kids. I had no need to worry or fear for them and actually had to pinch myself in order to remember to even think of my darling babies. It was so nice not to have to worry about little people for one night. I impressed myself with this ability to actually not worry about Landon and Janae for once.
It was during our first moments here that we learned of the sudden (yet expected) death of my Grandma Gayle. That certainly made it sad but I purposed in my heart to rejoice with the angels in heaven that at last my grandma was safe and sound with the One who has carried her for so long. Just thinking about her being able to breathe and walk again, brought a bittersweet joy to my heart. She is very sadly missed but I do not weep as those who have no hope because I know I will see her again some day.
Following our some pictures of our special weekend. There were so many details too impossible to capture on camera but we did our best to collect as many memories as we could. I hope you all enjoy this selection.
The Rogers House Bed and Breakfast Inn
Our room was the room at the very top of this side of the house.
The covered luggage drop off outside the door.
Coming up to the door.
Over view of the grand stair case. (Sorry it's so dark... the lighting wasn't condusive to pictures.)
Third stair way. (we were on the third floor.)
Area at the top of the last stair way.
Outside view just out our bedroom door.
Area out side our door.
Our door.
Overview of the bed area of the room.
Bathroom
Bathroom
Details of the room.
More details of the room. They still use those old radiators to heat the rooms and boy do they work.
Enjoying breakfast
We were served a delicious breakfast in two courses.
Toby relaxing on the love seat after his breakfast and coffee.
Me enjoying coffee in the morning after breakfast.
Toby checking out the windows. He was trying to find a way to sneak out of there. Or so it looks.
Thankfully, he gave up trying.
He used the stairs instead and took me with him.
What a wonderful weekend!!
My sister Britt was here and graciously and patiently watched our kids. I had no need to worry or fear for them and actually had to pinch myself in order to remember to even think of my darling babies. It was so nice not to have to worry about little people for one night. I impressed myself with this ability to actually not worry about Landon and Janae for once.
It was during our first moments here that we learned of the sudden (yet expected) death of my Grandma Gayle. That certainly made it sad but I purposed in my heart to rejoice with the angels in heaven that at last my grandma was safe and sound with the One who has carried her for so long. Just thinking about her being able to breathe and walk again, brought a bittersweet joy to my heart. She is very sadly missed but I do not weep as those who have no hope because I know I will see her again some day.
Following our some pictures of our special weekend. There were so many details too impossible to capture on camera but we did our best to collect as many memories as we could. I hope you all enjoy this selection.
The Rogers House Bed and Breakfast Inn
Our room was the room at the very top of this side of the house.
The covered luggage drop off outside the door.
Coming up to the door.
Over view of the grand stair case. (Sorry it's so dark... the lighting wasn't condusive to pictures.)
Third stair way. (we were on the third floor.)
Area at the top of the last stair way.
Outside view just out our bedroom door.
Area out side our door.
Our door.
Overview of the bed area of the room.
Bathroom
Bathroom
Details of the room.
More details of the room. They still use those old radiators to heat the rooms and boy do they work.
Enjoying breakfast
We were served a delicious breakfast in two courses.
Toby relaxing on the love seat after his breakfast and coffee.
Me enjoying coffee in the morning after breakfast.
Toby checking out the windows. He was trying to find a way to sneak out of there. Or so it looks.
Thankfully, he gave up trying.
He used the stairs instead and took me with him.
What a wonderful weekend!!
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
New Pictures!
Our last family picture until Toby comes home. This was taken just minutes before he walked out the door.
Daddy and kids...
Daddy and kids and new puppy...
Toby and I... a tender good bye kiss
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Upon hearing the sad tidings that Toby was indeed leaving for a week, my family thoughtfully came and visited me while Toby was gone. They left today but my dear sis Britt (aletheialiberty), has kindly stayed with me in Toby's absence. Just before my family left, we took a bunch of pictures. After they departed, in our attempt to make the day go faster (and thus bring Toby home sooner), we cleaned and rearranged the livingroom. The following are a collection of our day's happenings...
Grandma and Grandpa with all the grand kids...sorry about the shadows around everyone's heads...
Grandpa and his favorite granddaughter (and also his only)...
Grandma and her favorite grandson (her only, as well)...
Zack and Janae
Hannah and Janae
Levi and Janae
Tabby and Janae (poor Tabby was having a hard time leaving and had fallen into her usual dilemma of crying before they leave.... thus the tears)...
Hannah and Landon
Aunty Beemoo (aka, Britt)
Changed and transformed livingroom
(isn't that a pretty bouquet on the piano? that's what happens when you have an anniversary or valentines around here.)
And... my latest project upstairs. Finally got curtains hung a few weeks in the stair way and at last tied together a project that's needed to be done since we moved in 2 years ago. The curtains are a $3 (altogether) bargain from Walmart. Not sure if I dig the green bows (esp. the smashed one! should've fixed that before the picture) but that's all I had for now...
Daddy and kids...
Daddy and kids and new puppy...
Toby and I... a tender good bye kiss
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Upon hearing the sad tidings that Toby was indeed leaving for a week, my family thoughtfully came and visited me while Toby was gone. They left today but my dear sis Britt (aletheialiberty), has kindly stayed with me in Toby's absence. Just before my family left, we took a bunch of pictures. After they departed, in our attempt to make the day go faster (and thus bring Toby home sooner), we cleaned and rearranged the livingroom. The following are a collection of our day's happenings...
Grandma and Grandpa with all the grand kids...sorry about the shadows around everyone's heads...
Grandpa and his favorite granddaughter (and also his only)...
Grandma and her favorite grandson (her only, as well)...
Zack and Janae
Hannah and Janae
Levi and Janae
Tabby and Janae (poor Tabby was having a hard time leaving and had fallen into her usual dilemma of crying before they leave.... thus the tears)...
Hannah and Landon
Aunty Beemoo (aka, Britt)
Changed and transformed livingroom
(isn't that a pretty bouquet on the piano? that's what happens when you have an anniversary or valentines around here.)
And... my latest project upstairs. Finally got curtains hung a few weeks in the stair way and at last tied together a project that's needed to be done since we moved in 2 years ago. The curtains are a $3 (altogether) bargain from Walmart. Not sure if I dig the green bows (esp. the smashed one! should've fixed that before the picture) but that's all I had for now...
And finally, the grand finale...
Check out that smashed nose. Tha's what happens when you do a nose dive into a hard wood floor.
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
The Sad Tales of a Married Single Woman
This week has been the strangest week I've had since I got married. I feel neither single nor married but I know I have to be one of the two. Especially when I look at my kids and realize that some where out in the broad, mean world, there is a man who is the father of my darling babies.
If only that man would show up and prove to me that I am actually married and not single.
Toby is gone for the week. He left Saturday evening (the 18th) and will return, Lord willing, next Saturday evening (25th). He's down in Mississippi volunteering for Katrina rebuilding. We've never been apart even for a night so to have to take 7 lonely nights in at once, is quite a shock to this married wife.
We talk often on the phone but with cell phone minutes being as pricey as they are, it's hard to stay on the phone when you constantly are thinking about the minutes flying by. For the first part of the week, our phone visits were on average 3-4 minutes long which is quite a contrast from the 4 1/2 hours we spent talking on the phone when we were courting. Marriage sure can do something to you. Makes you see the serious side of life and how dangerous high phone bills can be.
I will admit that we do talk frequently now that we're headed into the middle of the week and our phone chats have improved to a lengthy, well rounded time of talking. But, it's still nothing like having him here! We're both so glad we only have 4 days left and then this heartbreaking separation will be ended.
For one, this whole ordeal with Toby being gone has given me a new fervor to pray for the those southern states when a hurricane is threatening to hit them. I used to just think that if people were dumb enough to live in the middle of hurricane highway, then they should live with the results of that natural disaster. You know, just pick their chin up when their houses blew away and maybe head to a more friendly climate. Like Nebraska.
My selfish thoughts of thinking people were dumb to live down there, have once and for all ended. I'm going to pray hard for those poor folks.
I'll admit that 99% of my reason for these prayers is because the last thing I want to have to go through again is to have my husband run off to such a state and put people's roofs back over their heads while I sit alone at home, 20 hours away. If hurricanes keep hitting the southern coast, he could easily make it a yearly tradition of volunteering every winter for a week at a time. If only I would've prayed for those hurricanes to stay away last year, I wouldn't be nursing a lonely, broken heart in a cold, dark bed every night this week.
In all truth, this ordeal has broadened my perspective of what life is like for many people that live outside of the four walls of my cozy life. Toby has told me about the poverty down there and the drastic change in culture that is so unlike our own comfortable world that to even imagine their lifestyle, would take more imagination than most of us our capable of. And then to realize that that's LIFE for those folks, would make it hard to comprehend that our own imagination is their actualy definite reality.
I'm thankful Toby has this opportunity to go down there and help out in ways he can and I've spent the majority of my week praying faithfully for him. It's like I can't breath without whispering a prayer. I think of him constantly too.
How much I have to be thankful for is another thing I think about all the time. It's like a never ending pulse going through my head that seems to get stronger everyday: you didn't realize what you had, until it was taken away. Even things like Toby's time he'd spend with computers and books, have all become things I cherish: I can't wait to see him sitting in the office reading a book or sitting at the computer. I'm beside myself with anticipation just to have him near.
So, my faithful readers and friends, I would be indebted to you if you would but pray for Toby until he gets back. I'm such a bad worry wart but that's nothing I'm ashamed of: without a little worry in ones life, there would be no intercessory prayer. At least for me that's true. God has to dangle over a cliff something I hold dear and it never fails to push me right to my knees.
Today I was thinking that even if Toby isn't with me, God always is. It was as if God impressed that on my heart and opened my eyes to the circumstance I'm in and made me realize that I have more to be thankful for than I could even try to realize.
If only that man would show up and prove to me that I am actually married and not single.
Toby is gone for the week. He left Saturday evening (the 18th) and will return, Lord willing, next Saturday evening (25th). He's down in Mississippi volunteering for Katrina rebuilding. We've never been apart even for a night so to have to take 7 lonely nights in at once, is quite a shock to this married wife.
We talk often on the phone but with cell phone minutes being as pricey as they are, it's hard to stay on the phone when you constantly are thinking about the minutes flying by. For the first part of the week, our phone visits were on average 3-4 minutes long which is quite a contrast from the 4 1/2 hours we spent talking on the phone when we were courting. Marriage sure can do something to you. Makes you see the serious side of life and how dangerous high phone bills can be.
I will admit that we do talk frequently now that we're headed into the middle of the week and our phone chats have improved to a lengthy, well rounded time of talking. But, it's still nothing like having him here! We're both so glad we only have 4 days left and then this heartbreaking separation will be ended.
For one, this whole ordeal with Toby being gone has given me a new fervor to pray for the those southern states when a hurricane is threatening to hit them. I used to just think that if people were dumb enough to live in the middle of hurricane highway, then they should live with the results of that natural disaster. You know, just pick their chin up when their houses blew away and maybe head to a more friendly climate. Like Nebraska.
My selfish thoughts of thinking people were dumb to live down there, have once and for all ended. I'm going to pray hard for those poor folks.
I'll admit that 99% of my reason for these prayers is because the last thing I want to have to go through again is to have my husband run off to such a state and put people's roofs back over their heads while I sit alone at home, 20 hours away. If hurricanes keep hitting the southern coast, he could easily make it a yearly tradition of volunteering every winter for a week at a time. If only I would've prayed for those hurricanes to stay away last year, I wouldn't be nursing a lonely, broken heart in a cold, dark bed every night this week.
In all truth, this ordeal has broadened my perspective of what life is like for many people that live outside of the four walls of my cozy life. Toby has told me about the poverty down there and the drastic change in culture that is so unlike our own comfortable world that to even imagine their lifestyle, would take more imagination than most of us our capable of. And then to realize that that's LIFE for those folks, would make it hard to comprehend that our own imagination is their actualy definite reality.
I'm thankful Toby has this opportunity to go down there and help out in ways he can and I've spent the majority of my week praying faithfully for him. It's like I can't breath without whispering a prayer. I think of him constantly too.
How much I have to be thankful for is another thing I think about all the time. It's like a never ending pulse going through my head that seems to get stronger everyday: you didn't realize what you had, until it was taken away. Even things like Toby's time he'd spend with computers and books, have all become things I cherish: I can't wait to see him sitting in the office reading a book or sitting at the computer. I'm beside myself with anticipation just to have him near.
So, my faithful readers and friends, I would be indebted to you if you would but pray for Toby until he gets back. I'm such a bad worry wart but that's nothing I'm ashamed of: without a little worry in ones life, there would be no intercessory prayer. At least for me that's true. God has to dangle over a cliff something I hold dear and it never fails to push me right to my knees.
Today I was thinking that even if Toby isn't with me, God always is. It was as if God impressed that on my heart and opened my eyes to the circumstance I'm in and made me realize that I have more to be thankful for than I could even try to realize.
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