Thankful Heart

And the list continues ...

• Completing one study, and anticipating new horizons, new ways to stretch my mind and heart.
• Little girl putting her Papa and me in stitches of laughter at the dinner tables (did you know that, to a toddler, "multitudes" sounds like "toot"?)
• Toothless smiles from an interrupted nap
• Soft blankets and cuddly stuffed animals, a little girl and her best friend, dragged along behind her by the tail
• Book discussions with good friends
• Thrill of seeing a long-drawn-out story nearing completion.
• Seeing that needle on the scale finally, finally drop, slowly but surely
• Phone conversations with family, staying close in heart if not in person
• Fellowship with the Family of Christ, a change in sleep schedule allowing me to attend service.
• Planning a dream trip for (hopefully) next fall ... joy in seeing a long-hoped-for goal nearing reality.
• Sister to help with fashion dilemmas
• Smiles and laughter with my husband, my best friend ... serious conversations breaking into humor with one twist of thought
• Cooler temperatures and sunshine, a blessed combination
• A new week, a fresh start, new chances to see God in the everyday.

Let all creation praise his holy name!

Thoughts on Ruth, Pt 1

Yesterday, I finally finished my study of Ruth. I don't even remember how long I've been at it ... but it's probably been close to a year. Rather embarrassing for a four-chaptered book. In my defense, pregnancy, moving, and then having a baby, all make for quite legitimate interruptions.

For such a short book, there's a surprising amount of rich theology one can glean from Ruth. The concept of hesed is woven throughout--a concept that is surprisingly hard to define. I've read it as loving-kindness, loyalty, covenant faithfulness, and simply undefinable. Michael Card puts it best, I think, when he calls it a concept that can only be truly comprehended when it is enfleshed in the person of Jesus Christ.

As with most difficult concepts, we understand hesed best through its outworking, not through a dictionary definiton. In Ruth's behavior to Naomi, in Boaz's to the widows, even in Ruth's to Boaz, the picture comes together and we start to understand what this hesed is all about ... we can see Yahweh showing his hesed by working through humans.

In fact, Robert L Hubbard, in the commentary on Ruth I used, summed up the book in one pithy sentence:

"God uses the faithfulness of ordinary people to do great things."

I, however, while fully appreciating that point, would disagre with him that that is the main point.

If I were to give the book a theme song, I would adapt one from The Hunchback of Notre Dame (terrible movie, by the way):

"God helps the Outcast"

More thoughts to come ... I will probably be posting from my notes on Ruth for a while.

Gracie, Three Months

Just thought you all might enjoy some pictures of Gracie at three months ...

"What do you mean, I'm too little to crawl?"

A little blurry, but oh, how I love that smile


She always has a smile for Papa


I think the folded hands make her look like a little philosopher.


She snuggled in so sweetly, and they just had one of those moments that stays in your heart forever.

I can't believe my baby is three months already!

Because I told Cathy I'd blog about it ...

So, yesterday I made yogurt for the first time. It was fun, and super easy. I was almost flabbergasted when I took it out of the fridge yesterday afternoon and lo, it was really and truly yogurt!

I let it sit the recommended four hours, but I think next time I'll try more like five or six. It wasn't quite as flavorful as we like--not quite as rich--so I'm hoping letting it set longer before I refrigerate it helps with that. (By the way, I never noticed until my sixteen-year-old cousin pointed this out, but do you realize we put a "d" in "fridge" but not in "refrigerator"? Can anyone tell me WHY?)

Something about this time of year just makes me want to do all kinds of homey projects. The other day I pulled out Gracie's quilt and started working on that again. I'd like to have that finished before we move her from the bassinet into the crib! I also want to make a twin-size quilt for Joy when she moves out of the crib and into her "big girl" bed.

I can't wait to pick apples and make applesauce and apple pie filling (which I just found out recently I can freeze instead of can, and my life has become so much easier). I love to make soups in the fall, and homemade bread, and my grandmother is going to send me her recipe for homemade cream cheese (YUM).

I made biscuits this morning for breakfast for Joy and me (which Joy calls "biskies" which is so cute I think it might enter our vocab, like "nola" for granola).

Cooler mornings and evenings (through chattering teeth this morning as I huddled in a ball under our summer covers on the bed, I told Carl he could turn the fans down before leaving for work) = Homemaker Louise!

(I'm also wanting to Write. I've found that being on a study schedule really inspires me--every time I sit down to study I think, Boy, I'd rather be writing. I told Carl that if I was on a writing schedule I'd be sitting down to write and thinking Boy, I'd rather be studying. Plus Cathy has a new AoGG story up on ff.net that is totally inspiring me to finish up my current Meg story so I can start on the third and final one.)

I think I'm going to have to stop sleeping to get everything done that I want to!

The Problem of Mothers

It's what they always said about me as a child: "She needs her space." "She needs lots of alone time." "She needs plenty of unstructured play time." (That last one was my mom talking to teachers in the two years I went to public school.)

I've always thought of having time to myself, with no expectations or requirements, as a necessity. And maybe, when I was a child, it was. The problem is that now, as an adult, I still assume that is something I require. And with a husband, two children, a house, and adult responsibilities, unstructured alone time doesn't happen very often.

I've been pondering the statement we all seem to hear from mothers, and to them, about needing time to just be them, time away from the kids. And I've swallowed it whole-heartedly, justifying my frustrations and looking forward to naptime and having such a hard time getting down on the floor and playing with Joy, by saying that it's too much to ask of me 24/7, with no breaks and no chance to just be "me".

Before anyone gets her or his hackles up, I'm not going into a pious diatribe now about how I've come to see the light and now dote on spending every minute of every day in service to my family.

But I do think that this idea of mothers needing time away from their children is a concept perpetuated by our society, and it is not--should not--be universally true.

Our society tends to ostracize mothers with children, especially small children. Almost the only place they are really welcomed whole-heartedly is with other mothers with small children. If we want to do almost anything in mixed company, it has to be without the children. Out for a meal? Even people at family restaurants seem to sneer at little children who can't sit perfectly still and perfectly quietly throughout the entire meal. Shopping? Have you ever tried to push a stroller in between clothing racks in the store? Ha! Church? Heaven forbid you try to keep your children in the service with you--it's nursery or nothing, baby.

So mothers feel trapped. And not only that, but the family dynamic as a whole has shifted dramatically. No longer do older generations share in the child-rearing experience. Unless you are so blessed to have a husband who works from home (or is a farmer), it is all on the mother. She is home, alone, all day with her children.

(This is, of course, about stay-at-home moms, not working mothers. I have no personal knowledge of working mothers, so I do not feel qualified to talk about ways in which they might feel trapped or stifled.)

I don't believe mothers were ever intended to have to "go it" alone. I am a firm believer in the old adage "it takes a village to raise a child." I think, if our society were more willing to accept children as everyone's responsibility--if mothers were allowed to interact with the rest of the world with their children, instead of feeling like it's either home with the kids or out without them--if grandparents and others of the older generation, and fathers, and aunts and uncles, were more actively involved in the child-rearing--

If, in short, our society completely changed the way it functioned, perhaps then mothers wouldn't feel so stifled at home with their kids. Perhaps the need for "me time" would diminish. Perhaps we would stop thinking of children as a burden to be borne for eighteen years and then FREEDOM, and more as what they are:

A precious blessing and a gift.

(And lest anyone worry about me hypocritically neglecting my two gifts to write this post, let me assure you that they are napping right now. The only thing I'm neglecting are the dishes, and they won't suffer for it.)

Weary

Seeing as how it is Monday, I should be writing a gratitude post. However, I am very, very weary and discouraged these days, and about the only thing I can find to be grateful for is that "this too, shall pass."

And I continue to pray that dying to myself will someday be less difficult.

Clearing the Air

Yesterday was one of those heavy, oppressing days where Things Happen. The weather glowered and grumbled and gloomed (how's that for alliteration, eh?), and finally broke with a marvelous thunderstorm that dumped gallons of water from the sky and cleared the air and made it fresh.

When Carl got home from work, he and I snarled and spat and skulked around each other, and finally ended with a blow-up that, while distinctly un-fun at the time, cleared the air between us and strengthened our relationship yet again.

In my family, we used to jokingly call arguments between Lis and Dad battles between King Kong and Godzilla--they rampaged around destroying things, and everything was fine and dandy at the end, while Mom and I fled for shelter.

(Mom and I didn't have battles--we simmered and boiled and stuffed emotions deep down because we were convinced that showing how we truly felt would only end in someone getting hurt--usually us.)

Anyway. I decided last night that when Carl and I argue, it's more like Luke Skywalker and Darth Vader. (Why does my spell-checker recognize "Darth Vader" as acceptable spelling but not "Skywalker"?) While hammering away at each other with lightsabers--not actually trying to kill the other one, you know, simply trying to use brute force to persuade the other to our point of view--we shout deep emotional revelations. Like "I am your father" and "You have a twin sister" types. Only not those specifically.

Oh well. It works for us. The important thing is that we cleared the air, did away with any lingering resentment, and, Praise God, the week is over!

If Only I'd Decided to Become a Brain Surgeon

Once again, I am overwhelmed. Not in a good way, either. More of a despairing, tearing-at-my-hair, wondering-why-this-has-to-be-so-difficult, why-couldn't-I-have-settled-for-an-easier-career, type of way.

I did one final edit of my book--my novel that is Christian, and a romance, but not a Christian Romance--and brought the word count up to 60,000. I dug into my "extra cash" stash and came up with enough money to cover the fee for either Writer's Edge or Christian Manuscript Submissions. This morning I sat down to research which one would be better.

Come to find out? Neither is terribly likely to result in my MS getting accepted by a publishing house. It's simply yet another slush pile.

So, I am once again seeing that an agent is my best bet. The problem there is that agents are almost as picky about MSS as publishing houses. Plus they require an enormous amount of research in and of themselves to find a reputable one. I'm not good at that sort of research. I get--well--overwhelmed far too easily.

My goal for 2009 was to have three MSS out for publication. My children's MS is winging its way to the fourth publisher as we speak. My romance novel that is Christian but not Christian Romance is ready--but I don't know where to send it anymore. My plan seems to be crumbling. (The third novel is still in first draft mode--I have a complete outline and have almost finished chapter one, though!)

It's so discouraging. I don't mind working to get something published--I just wish the work was easier! Once I've gone through the work of writing, shouldn't the rest of it be simpler?!

ETA: After an hour-long conversation with my sister, wherein we both bemoaned how complicated and difficult our lives are, we have decided that the problem simply is that we're lazy. Darn. So much for complaining.

Fear and Relief

Shortly after writing Tuesday's lovely post about our beautiful little girl, I went into her bedroom to see if she was awake yet--as it was 10:30 and she never sleeps that late. She was, and smiled groggily up at me, and when I picked her up out of her crib, I nearly dropped her.

She was burning up, hotter than any human skin should ever be.

I ran downstairs with her in my arms and grabbed the thermometer, placed it under her arm while she writhed and cried, not understanding why Mamma was so insistent.

When the thermometer hit 100F and kept rising I didn't bother to keep going; I filled the bathtub with cool water and plopped her in, dumping cupful after cupful over her head, while again, she cried in confusion and pain.

I only took her out because Grace was crying in the swing and I needed to take care of her. So I gave Joy some strawberries and juice while I took care of Gracie. Then I filled up a plastic half-tote with water--one we had used just the day before on the porch, splashing around to beat the heat--and set it up in the living room, putting her in it where I could keep an eye on her.

Then I called Mom because that's what I do.

At this point we thought it was heat exhaustion from the crazy weather, the fact that we have no AC, and that Joy's room--our entire upstairs, but especially her room--was so hot and thick that you could hardly breathe in there. This is our first summer in this house, and it has never gotten this hot, so I had no idea her room could heat up like that. Trust me, we're getting a small Air Conditioner before next summer.

Anyway, Mom offered to drive the entire four hours down to pick us up, and then four hours back so we could stay with her and Dad, in an Air Conditioned house, with a cold pool out back, until the heat broke.

At that point Joy seemed cooler, so I said no thanks, but I reserved the right to change my mind later on.

Sometime around the middle of the afternoon, when Joy's skin was cooler to the touch yet her temperature was still 99F, I realized it was a fever. And, oddly enough, I was utterly relieved. Fevers I know, fevers I can handle. Fevers are a normal part of childhood. Overheating--not so much.

I gave her Tylenol and made a little nest of blankets on the living room floor so she could nap. I also moved Gracie's Pack'n'Play downstairs so she didn't have to sleep in the stifling upstairs.

The heat broke that evening, with glorious thunderstorms and rain, and we put an extra fan in Joy's room just to ensure it cooled down enough. I checked on her obsessively throughout the night, and by 5:00 AM, her temperature was back to normal.

We took it easy yesterday, just to give her a chance to fully recover, and today she's back up to full speed. I think the fever was a combination of that fourth molar trying to push the rest of the way through after the initial breaking of the skin, some minor dehydration from the heat, and maybe a little stomach bug. We're giving her Pedialyte still, to make sure she's hydrated enough, and I'm still keeping a wary eye on her.

The last time I was as scared as I was Tuesday was when Joy got croup when she was about seven or eight months old, and I didn't know what it was until we took her to the chiropractor, who not only diagnosed it, but also helped her to a speedy recovery by an adjustment (we love our chiropractors). I was so thankful for my mother, who endured my panic-stricken calls every hour or so and talked me through it all, and never once told me to calm down, I was over-reacting.

And above all, I was--and am--thankful to God, for protecting my Joy and getting us through a frightening and potentially dangerous time.

And now I am really looking forward to the weekend. Tuesday drained me of all energy, though I did muster up enough last night to whip off a Narnia one-shot.

This motherhood gig is exhausting.

Love Post, Pt 2

She changed our lives irrevocably from the moment we stared at that positive pregnancy test; shock, joy, and terror struggling for dominion in our hearts.

We weren't sure any of us would survive those first few months of jaundice, colic, sleeplessness, and constant wondering what we were doing wrong ... if we were doing anything right.

As she grew, we grew.

She changed us from a couple into a family.

She is exuberant in both happiness and sorrow, with no middle ground.

She captivates a room from the moment she enters, without ever saying a word.

When she is tired or sick, she snuggles up close, her stuffed Eeyore from Aunt Lis clutched in one hand, and melts her way into my heart.

She will decimate an entire stack of clean laundry to get at her snuggly blanket at the bottom.

She will occasionally decimate an entire stack of clean laundry just for the fun of it.

She loves to sing, loves to dance, loves to watch figure skating with me.

Along with her musical side is her practical side: she analyzes everything before attempting something new. She sizes up people before speaking or smiling at them. Sometimes you can almost see her brain figuring something out.

She gets that from her father; her mother is more of a "jump right in, sink or swim" type of person.

She adores her baby sister, patting her head and kissing her at every opportunity.

She is my chum, my companion, my right-hand man (girl).

She is growing and changing every day; I sometimes (often) feel I can't keep up.

She has brought more joy, more frustration, more tears, more laughter, and more love into our lives than we ever thought possible.

God knew we needed her before we did, and we will never stop thanking him for giving her to us.

Our Joy


Part 1 here

By the way ...

Put something up on my poetry blog for the first time in ages, if anyone is interested.

Summer Memories

Practicing Joy

Working off very little sleep, due to the unexpected heat wave this week (unexpected to me, anyway--I've adjusted quite nicely to the cooler, rainy weather we'd been having all summer), with a tendency to feel disgruntled. Thanksgiving is definitely in order for an attitude adjustment today!

• Little girl splashing in water, beating the heat in her own way.
• Fourth molar finally, finally breaking through, thank you Lord!!!!
• Gracie taking a bottle without any hesitation--I think she thought it was a pacifier with an unexpected treat (she'll probably be very disappointed the next time she uses the pacifier, wondering where the milk is!).
• Family dinners around the table again, at long last, followed by a chapter of Scripture to end the meal.
• Editorial help from Mom on the query letter for my children's book (publisher #4!)
• Smiles lighting up Gracie's entire face--such joy radiating her entire being; I've never known such a happy baby.
• Fans to keep us cool during this heat spell; avoiding the use of AC thanks to an overall cooler summer.
• Interesting and enjoyable studies in my history books.
• Seeing God's beauty in the seemingly simple story of Ruth.
• Joy's love for books, already established and growing!
• Restful times as a family, chances to simply grow and live and love.
• Learning and pondering what it means to be a mother. (More to follow on that concept when I've pondered it further.)
• Anticipation of fall!

What are you thankful for today? Visit the Gratitude Community to see what others have to say!

Memory

That little blond girl looking pensive? That was me, age four.

Flower girl in my aunt's wedding, twenty-three years ago.

(That's my sister on the other side. She was the junior bridesmaid, age seven.)

We were so darn little. And cute! And sweet! It's a shame what happens to children as they grow up ...

Happy 23rd Anniversary, Aunt Lisa!

I used to have a brain

Gracie woke up wanting to eat at 6 this morning. After feeding her, I put her back in her crib and went back to sleep myself. I was only going to doze until 7:30, since I hadn't fallen asleep until close to midnight last night.

Then I found myself opening my eyes at 8:00 ... and then I blinked, and somehow it was 8:30.

!!

Thankfully, Joy loves sitting in her crib, dangling her feet through the slats, and watching the cars go by outside, so she was not at all upset about being gotten up an hour later than usual.

I, on the other hand, am still groggy from oversleeping.

I have all sorts of brilliant posts chasing each other around in my head ... but they will have to wait until next week.

Instead I will cheat and leave you with some pictures of my adorable girls, in lieu of a "real post.

Little Pooh Bear, ready for our weekly library trip

Joy enjoying her favorite milk-and-orange-juice

Little Mischief Face!

Pure Sweetness

And Things That Go Bump In The Night

You'd think I would have learned by now.

I started reading Agatha Christie when I was about twelve. I started with The ABC Murders. For the record, that is one of her creepier books. I should have started on The Secret Adversary, or The Man in the Brown Suit, or ...

Well. That's a list that could go on. Suffice to say, despite the fact that I still had problems with nightmares, I loved Christie's books and managed to read every one that Mom owned within a year. And then I started collecting my own.

I did learn one very important thing, however, right with that first book: Louise Should Not Read Creepy Books At Night.

(Along with this goes Louise Should Not Watch Star Trek Movies or Episodes Featuring the Borg at Night, Especially When She is Alone in the House. Anyone care to guess how I learned that one?)

Having learned this the hard way, you might think the lesson would stick.

It didn't. Fifteen years later, I still end up huddled on the couch at 11:00 at night, having finally finished the latest Inspector Rutledge book I borrowed from the library, absolutely terrified to turn off the light and go upstairs. In the dark.

If I hadn't known that my warm, solid, safe husband was already asleep in our room, I might have spent the night on the couch, with the light on, hoping to hear the baby when she woke up for her middle-of-the-night feeding.

I don't watch horror movies. I don't read horror books. I do, however, have a weakness for really well-written murder mysteries. (And Star Trek episodes and movies featuring the Borg.) I firmly believe that anyone who aspires to write should read Dorothy Sayers; she is one of the best writers I have ever found, in any genre. And the first time I read Gaudy Night I had chills.

Most of Ellis Peters' Brother Cadfael books are fairly light, but every now and then I come across one that makes me shiver.

Christie I've already mentioned. (Can I just take a moment to say how my taste in detectives has changed? When I was twelve, Poirot was my favorite. When I was a teenager, it was Tommy and Tuppence. Now, it's Miss Marple, although I still love the Beresfords.)

Most of the other mysteries I read are frothy--the Cat Who books, Mrs. Pollifax, the occasional Amelia Peabody (and before anyone gets offended, I mean "frothy" in a good way--in a light-hearted, I Can Read These Books at Night but They Are Still Well-Written way).

Then Laura introduced me to Charles Todd's Inspector Rutledge series, and I have been delightedly shivering my way through each one. They're phenomenally well written, so much so that at the end of each I have to blink and remind myself that I am not in Cornwall, or Dorset, or Scotland, or wherever each one takes place (hence the creepy factor--I am so fully engaged that I can't quite convince myself that the murderer isn't somehow lurking, ready to take me out, too, now that I know of his guilt). I like them so much that twice now I have stayed up late reading them because I just can't bear to put them down.

Whoops.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need some coffee.

Multitude Monday

Monday mornings tend to leave us cranky.

Actually, they tend to leave the girls cranky. I like Mondays. Or I do until constant whining and fussing get on my nerves and I wish it was Friday so that soon Carl could help me deal with them. Which usually happens around 9:00 am.

But for me personally, I've always liked the start of a new week, a fresh chance, five days to explore and accomplish. Even when I was working (I worked every Monday morning except the occasional holiday, sick day, and vacation, for eight years) I liked Mondays.

Joy and Grace, however, seem to take a full day to recover from the weekend. Maybe they just miss having their Papa around all day (that is one aspect to Mondays I don't like). Whatever the case, Joy woke up whiny, and didn't stop until she had three pieces of homemade bread in her belly. Grace was happy initially, but got tired and then refused to sleep when I laid her down for a nap. She's still crabbing, actually.

Anyway.

Carl and I have recently taken Sunday evenings as our set-aside time to pray for our family, specifically our girls. One of the recurring themes that keep coming up in our prayers is that we be setting a godly example for them in our own lives.

Which is why, instead of random gratitude posts whenever I feel so inclined, I am following Holy Experience's lead and setting aside Monday for thankfulness. Maybe in this small way I can start living an example to my daughters of starting their weeks with gladness rather than discouragement.

So:

• homemade bread toasted with butter for breakfast
• cooler nights and mornings heralding autumn
• neck squeezes from a loving toddler
• phone conversations with my father every Sunday night
• Joy's face scratch finally healing (Dad suggested lanolin, and it worked better than anything else!)
• toothless smiles from a happy infant
• watching in awe as Joy's vocabulary explodes further every day
• book conversations with dear friends
• starting a new study course--stretching my mind and abilities again, taking active steps to avoid motherhood mental stagnation
• watching in joy as my father's church keeps growing and expanding ... seeing what the Lord is doing through Dad
• running my fingers through silky golden-brown-copper (depending on the light) hair
• hot coffee with flavored creamer ... excellent quality coffee, a gift from my sister-in-law (who works at a coffee shop)
• seeing God's hand in my sister and brother-in-law's plans
• finding where our library hides--er, keeps--the board books; being able to bring new books home for Joy
• giving and receiving encouragement
  

Will you consider joining the Gratitude Community? It doesn't even have to be online--just a scrap of paper and a pen, and a thankful heart!

Love Post, Pt. 1

She has just recently added cooing to her repertoire of squeaks and squawks.

She'll lay on my lap after nursing and give me that beautiful grin, the one that lights up her entire face, the one that I can see even in the dark for her middle-of-the-night feeding.

She loves to look around, see the world. She has a terribly hard time falling asleep in my arms or her swing/bouncy seat, because there is to much to see. Naptimes require the crib!

She's learned how to roll from stomach to back and does it consistently now, looking thoroughly pleased with herself every time.

She "talks" to her big sister, who will lean over her and say in a soft, growly voice "Hi Baby," and Mamma's heart melts.

She hasn't quite grown into her elegant name yet, but has already picked up a plethora of nicknames, some used by Mamma and Papa, some used by Mamma, Aunt Lis, and Oma, and of course the ubiquitous "Baby" sister prefers. (Don't be surprised if I start calling her "Gracie" on here--she's the kind of baby who almost requires an "ie" after her name.)

She drools constantly, and spits up so much it's a wonder to me she is growing like she is--but she's a healthy, strong baby girl who eats like a horse.

She has the most beautiful cobalt eyes, a shade darker than her sister's (though the exact same shape), that express her every emotion already. Also like her sister, she has long, slender pianist's fingers and dainty feet.

She is joyful and content (except when she's tired, hungry, gassy, or needs changing, naturally), all sunshine and smiles.

She was planned by God, not by us, and we are so thankful for her. Our lives are richer for having her in them.


Our Grace.

Snippets

I am taking a quick break from cleaning to post.

Mostly because my kitchen is now swelteringly hot (or maybe that's just me after cleaning the oven and washing dishes) and I think I might faint if I stay in there too long at any given point.

I think I should move the fan from the dining room into the kitchen.

And call Carl to remind him to bring home frozen yogurt for dessert tonight.

On the bright side, the kitchen is the last room in my house needing deep cleaning. I'm planning on doing it all today (originally I was going to break it up into two days, but now I. Just. Want. To. Be. Done) and then I am Free! Free! Free! for the rest of the week.

You know, all two days of it.

Next week I am starting my Celtic study course. I was going to wait until September, but looking at the two books I have, I think it's better to start early, if I want to get it all done before Christmas. I am really looking forward to it (I even had Carl draw me up a schedule on Microsoft Excel--he was so proud), both because I adore history and haven't been able to study it much for the last year (Moving! Pregnancy! New Baby!), and because it should help with the writing.

Speaking of Christmas, I think I am going to try planning and purchasing presents early this year. Having two children makes waiting until December slightly less practical.

I can't wait to see Joy react to Christmas this year! Last year she was still too little to understand much of any of it, except the sled that Oma and Grandpa got her.

Ooh. I can't wait to go sledding with her this year. Not enough snow last winter.

The stink from my oven's self-cleaning cycle (yes, it was filthy enough that AFTER cleaning it manually, I am using the self-clean--I don't think it was ever cleaned in the eight years the prior tenant lived here before us) is wafting into my living room, reminding me that I need to finish the darn kitchen.

And hopefully prevent Joy from pulling any more wet laundry off my drying rack.

Happy Wednesday, everyone!

Just Living

We are back from Massachusetts.

We have no more trips planned this year.

I almost wept with relief when I got up this morning at that thought.

Maybe now, for the first time in the five years that we've been married, we can start to figure out what a normal life looks like.

Maybe now Joy and Grace can settle down and just live.

No more tests to prepare for, no more moving (hopefully--HA!), no more traveling; we have a good church, are making friends; we should not be getting pregnant again (God willing!) ...

For once, life can just be.

We can just be a family.

It's a wonderful thought.