When I was in college, I had a goal to give any guy who asked me out (as long as he wasn't an obvious creep, that is) one chance. I figured I owed him at least that before writing the possibility of "us" off completely. One date to see if we had anything worth pursuing. Turns out my first impressions were seldom inaccurate, though I did encounter a few pleasant surprises where a guy I thought would probably be a total dud was, in fact, the reverse.
A few weeks ago I thought I'd give preserving my own apple pie filling a whirl. I was rather optimistic. Falsely optimistic. Two jars broke, six others didn't seal up properly, my kitchen was a total wreck, and now I'll be consuming apple crisp for breakfast, lunch and dinner until I use up those unsealed rascals. Four hours of slaving over what turned out to be only eight successful jars of apple pie filling - total waste of time. At least in college, I had 3-4 fours to spare to discover that a guy was, indeed not my soulmate. But now? Four hours is precious. Apple pie filling and I are not meant to be together.
The next prospect? Applesauce. Wish me luck.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Four.
Rachel got to celebrate her birthday this year for the first time with friends. Our little princess chose the likes of Ornithomimus and Stegosaurus over ponies and princesses. That's our Rachel. We went on a hunt for dinosaur eggs, dug for fossils, played dinosaur memory, pass the parcel (a must-have at every party my girls throw), ate cake and partied hardy. What I most love about Rachel at age four:
1. Her smile - she's a knockout!
2. Her boundless energy and willingness to work/help around the house.
3. Her independence - she wants to do everything for herself. Very helpful when one has a 5 year-old who wants everything done for her.
4. Her brains. We've got another genius on our hands here. She amazes me with her counting and assembling puzzles abilities.
I can't imagine our family without this indispensable third child of mine. Happy Birthday Rachel!
5. Her resilience. Tim keeps teasing her that the permanent bumps on her forehead from the repeated falls she endures will grow into a couple of horns. She doesn't laugh too much at that. But she does keep picking herself up.
Apple pickin'.
I daresay Lily has found her calling in life. Until our apple-picking adventure in early this month, she and work were mutually exclusive. So nice to see its possible to disguise work by calling it tree-climbing. Any ideas for new names for folding laundry?
Gratitude.
I wrote the following post in May. I'm deciding to publish it now.
Recent experiences and discussions with Tim have fostered an ongoing conversation in my head about gratitude. It is something I try hard to teach my children. You see, "the grass is greener" mentality carries with us into adulthood, if we don't suppress some of our urges to declare the unfairness of life in favor of gratitude. We can find ourselves drowning in a well of self-pity, which, let's face it, is downright depressing. All of us have circumstances in our lives that are beyond our control. Would we have chosen them? Probably not. Have we learned from them? I hope so. Is the end result good? I think it can be. But only, only if we are grateful.
I can think of a number of trials I've experienced, none of which I would have signed up for, had I known the pain they would cause me. I cried, I grieved, I felt I'd been dealt a bad hand. Was it wrong for me to feel that way? Absolutely not. Under the circumstances, I was completely entitled. But, at some point, the grieving can turn to bitterness, if we fail to see past the challenge itself and experience the healing and learning that is possible. It all chalks up to an attitude of gratitude.
I have two brothers who died prematurely - one of complications due to Muscular Dystrophy and the other because of a drug overdose. I hate to compare the two, but I can't help but see the vast difference in attitude that guided the choices they made and, really, the quality of their lives. One brother was born with an incurable disease that would cause his muscles to progressively deteriorate and eventually contribute to his passing away. The other, blessed with intellect, charm, good looks, and talent, all squandered away largely because of poor choices. Which is kind of my entire point. It's not the circumstances that determine our quality of life, it is our choices. And yes, we can choose how we feel.
When people are going through difficulties, I pray for them, I feel for them, I get it that gratitude might not be the first thing on their list (although, remarkably, in many cases it is). Sometimes, even the mere thought of a particular trial in my life brings the tears rushing forward and makes me wish it didn't have to be so. And yet, it was. My choice lies in my focus. Do I lament what I don't have (and over which I have no control)? Or do I move forward in the knowledge that this life is meant to be experienced and the level of my happiness is determined by me? It's liberating, really.
Have I got this principle down? Absolutely not. I have a suspicion that I am only barely aware of the multitude of blessings being showered down upon me daily. Much like my children give little thought to who keeps the house tidy when I'm not nagging them to do it or how breakfast and dinner magically appear on the table. Most days they simply wonder why mom's so militant about chores and why they have to make their own lunch when all their friends eat school lunch every day. No doubt most of us appreciate less than a fraction of the blessings life has afforded us. But it is what I strive for. And what I choose to teach my children. As their primary nurturer, I can maintain an open dialogue and allow them to "feel" anger or hurt or frustration when things go wrong. But as their teacher, I can also suggest to them that dwelling on the negative for too long contributes little to one's happiness.
The Hiding Place is seriously one of my all-time favorite books. I refer to the principles it teaches again and again. I figure if Betsy can thank God for the fleas (in a concentration camp, no less) I can thank Him too.
Recent experiences and discussions with Tim have fostered an ongoing conversation in my head about gratitude. It is something I try hard to teach my children. You see, "the grass is greener" mentality carries with us into adulthood, if we don't suppress some of our urges to declare the unfairness of life in favor of gratitude. We can find ourselves drowning in a well of self-pity, which, let's face it, is downright depressing. All of us have circumstances in our lives that are beyond our control. Would we have chosen them? Probably not. Have we learned from them? I hope so. Is the end result good? I think it can be. But only, only if we are grateful.
I can think of a number of trials I've experienced, none of which I would have signed up for, had I known the pain they would cause me. I cried, I grieved, I felt I'd been dealt a bad hand. Was it wrong for me to feel that way? Absolutely not. Under the circumstances, I was completely entitled. But, at some point, the grieving can turn to bitterness, if we fail to see past the challenge itself and experience the healing and learning that is possible. It all chalks up to an attitude of gratitude.
I have two brothers who died prematurely - one of complications due to Muscular Dystrophy and the other because of a drug overdose. I hate to compare the two, but I can't help but see the vast difference in attitude that guided the choices they made and, really, the quality of their lives. One brother was born with an incurable disease that would cause his muscles to progressively deteriorate and eventually contribute to his passing away. The other, blessed with intellect, charm, good looks, and talent, all squandered away largely because of poor choices. Which is kind of my entire point. It's not the circumstances that determine our quality of life, it is our choices. And yes, we can choose how we feel.
When people are going through difficulties, I pray for them, I feel for them, I get it that gratitude might not be the first thing on their list (although, remarkably, in many cases it is). Sometimes, even the mere thought of a particular trial in my life brings the tears rushing forward and makes me wish it didn't have to be so. And yet, it was. My choice lies in my focus. Do I lament what I don't have (and over which I have no control)? Or do I move forward in the knowledge that this life is meant to be experienced and the level of my happiness is determined by me? It's liberating, really.
Have I got this principle down? Absolutely not. I have a suspicion that I am only barely aware of the multitude of blessings being showered down upon me daily. Much like my children give little thought to who keeps the house tidy when I'm not nagging them to do it or how breakfast and dinner magically appear on the table. Most days they simply wonder why mom's so militant about chores and why they have to make their own lunch when all their friends eat school lunch every day. No doubt most of us appreciate less than a fraction of the blessings life has afforded us. But it is what I strive for. And what I choose to teach my children. As their primary nurturer, I can maintain an open dialogue and allow them to "feel" anger or hurt or frustration when things go wrong. But as their teacher, I can also suggest to them that dwelling on the negative for too long contributes little to one's happiness.
The Hiding Place is seriously one of my all-time favorite books. I refer to the principles it teaches again and again. I figure if Betsy can thank God for the fleas (in a concentration camp, no less) I can thank Him too.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Thank goodness for Sunday Halloween.
We decided to skip the marathon trick-or-treating this year, being that Halloween was on a Sunday. Not to mention that the following day was school - poor teachers. Our kids really seemed to "get" the fact that we opted out of trick-or-treating not because it's bad or even an inappropriate Sabbath activity. It was simply a choice we made based on our gut feeling of how we wanted to honor the Sabbath. And it turned out to be a lovely family weekend. We attended a Friday night "trunk-or-treat". Then we spent Saturday enjoying a quintessential Halloween activity navigating the corn maze and hunting for just the right pumpkin. Sunday we attended church, carved pumpkins in the afternoon and turned off all the lights to revel in the glow of our jack-o-lanterns. And now for an unnecessary onslaught of pictures.
Is it just me, or does everyone walk away with WAY less candy than they hand out at trunk-or-treat? Who's getting all the goods, I ask you?
Rachel's got impeccable timing, she has. So does her dad. He took this right before impact.
Can you see the mark?
Another day, another meltdown.
And one with the flash, for good measure.
Is it just me, or does everyone walk away with WAY less candy than they hand out at trunk-or-treat? Who's getting all the goods, I ask you?
Rachel's got impeccable timing, she has. So does her dad. He took this right before impact.
Can you see the mark?
Another day, another meltdown.
And one with the flash, for good measure.
Yes, October really did happen.
And oh, what a wonderful October it was.
In recent years, fall has signified impending doom to me, a reminder that winter is on the horizon. I realize that is a depressing outlook on things, but that's what winter does to me, you see. But this fall blessed us with indian summer after indian summer. September and October and even into November have been glorious. A gift from above, if you will.
In recent years, fall has signified impending doom to me, a reminder that winter is on the horizon. I realize that is a depressing outlook on things, but that's what winter does to me, you see. But this fall blessed us with indian summer after indian summer. September and October and even into November have been glorious. A gift from above, if you will.
Arrrr.
Old pajama shirt + several thrift store finds + a few dollar-store accessories + a rummage through the dress-up box (thank heaven for little girls) + a two-week break from shaving (him, not me) + a couple of easy sewing fixes and whattaya got? Not too shabby for a couple of cheapskates going to a pirate party. We had a blast, by the way.
My little helper.
This girl is tough. She's only three for a few more days, and I'm convinced that she'll magically morph into an angel when 3:20 a.m. on November 17th rings in her fourth birthday. Okay, not convinced. But hoping... praying...living for the possibility.
However, difficult this third child of mine - she has a remarkable trait that I cling to when she's screaming at me behind a locked bedroom door about how I'm the stupidest mom ever and how she hates me and is gonna break the door down and come hit me. Yep, you read that right.
Okay, here it is. This little dear loves to help. It doesn't matter what I'm doing - weeding, cooking, cleaning, laundry, she jumps at the opportunity to pitch in. I can't pinpoint just what it is that motivates her to serve - an innate desire to please, a genuine concern for me (and others), or just an inherent work ethic - this girl is a workhorse at age three. Whatever the reason, she will go far. And hopefully, in the process she and I (another natural workhorse) will become good buddies. I love her - temper and all.
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