For the Record

"I was grumbling out loud about shoveling our driveway," says my husband a couple of weeks ago after coming in from the cold, "when I realized how great it is that we have a driveway." (after condo living for the length of our marriage, we are first time driveway owners) "So I'm not going to grumble about having to shovel, I'm going to be glad we get to."

Because he's that kind of guy. 

I've since been in charge of shoveling and also in charge of adopting his attitude. 

By a series of miracles, after many years of living in a cramped space (800 sq ft to be exact) with us and two kids, we find ourselves in Michigan with my husband’s dream job and my house I never thought to dream of because it was so far from what I imagined was possible from my view at 800 sq ft.

So now that we are here, much more sq ft later, I desperately want to savor the “this is amaazing” view. Because I know soon enough I will forget what it felt like to see my entire house from the love seat (because an actual couch was too long to fit in our living room.) And what was once new will seem annoyingly out of date. 

Without choosing my vantage point, driveways will easily become be an annoying shoveling necessity rather than a gift for boys to ride bikes up and down and extra space will be come a drag to clean.

So I am putting a stake in the ground and choosing otherwise.

For the record, I am choosing to not complain about any of the inconveniences that come with our upgrade. I’m not going to complain about having to walk up and down flights of stairs to do laundry. I am not going to groan when our bathroom leaks again.  I'm going to count my blessing as I rake leaves in my yard because I have a yard. 

Since we have been married we haven’t had cable (I know, I know - ridiculous, anormal us). So I always found it ironic when people would groan about the cable being out and needing the cable guy. Which sounded eerily familiar to my recent groan about the repair man re-returning to fix our gorgeous new bathroom.

Pity you for having cable. Pity me for my nice new bathroom.

So, should you happen to hear a squeak of a whine or a full blown moan over the difficulties of living in a gorgeous, old, fixer-upper house, please, call me on it. I mean it. 

 

Winter in the Gardens

Last month I determined to befriend Winter.  I am surprised to admit, these many weeks later, that I actually have been liking the season.  I don't know if it has been my determination to notice Winter's gifts or the fact that the snow that has been on the ground the last three weeks straight keeping the days from becoming too gray.  Either way, I'll savor the enjoyment while I can.

 

Today the boys and I went for an adventure at Meijer Gardens.  Bird Watching, snow catching, ice sculpting, hot chocolate, wood carving toy makers, cozy indoor storytime, and making bird feeders.  What wasn't there to love?  (Besides my frozen fingers).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And we even peeked at what spring will hold in just a few short weeks - lots of chrysalis' waiting to hatch into the indoor gardens.  Do come visit us in March or April to see them hatched!

 

 

Stunning Children's Book

 

I have a post in the works about some of our favorite books, because few things help me maintain my sanity more than actually enjoying reading to my kids, just as few things kill my sanity more than being mommy guilted into reading yet another Dora or, even worse, Backyardigans book (most pointless kids' show/book series I have yet to come across). 

So stay tuned. In the meantime, I have been too antsy to wait to share this amazing book.  Good things beg to be shared, and this is one of those things. 

The book is: "Moses: When Harriet Tubman Led Her People To Freedom" by Carole Boston Weatherford.

I simply. love. it.  

 

We checked this book out of the library a year ago, and I cried through almost the whole thing.  I finally used some amazon credit to add it to our collection and again cried as I read.  A.mazing.

The story is, as the title suggests, of Harriet Tubman's plight to freedom from slavery.  It is one of incredible faith and deep dependence on God as Harriet experiences the fear of leaving the south and then risks returning to bring others out of slavery into freedom.

I originally pulled the book off the library shelf because of the stunning cover and illustrations and because I wanted to begin to introduce my son to some of the injustices in the world, in an age appropriate way.  This definitely fit that criteria.  But I purchased the book for more than that.  I purchased it because it speaks to me.  I can't think of another single children's book besides this one that I close the book and beg Oh Lord, let me trust you more.  The book is filled with prayers Harriet utters to God and his voice in return to her as he directs and strengthens her.

The book suggests ages 5-9.  I first read it to my son at four and found it perfectly appropriate, although at that age a lot of it likely went over his head.  At five he was very eager to know if she would be able to escape. 

If you are in the market for other books of this same genre, I would also highly recommend Henry's Freedom Box, the true story of ex-slave Henry Brown mailing himself to freedom.  It is very different in style than Moses, and void of the deep spiritual message, but I found it to be a page turner for my boys and absolutely perfect for an introduction to this time in history.  Because of the absurdity of mailing oneself, we were able to enjoy the silliness while also introducing the difficulties of a serious subject. 



So enough said.  Check them out and let me know when you have (mostly so I can finally say to someone about Moses, 'Didn't you just love it?').

Save a Buck, or $64

Last week the four of us were able to enjoy a Grand Rapids Griffins Hockey game, completely free (well, plus $8 to park), compliments of the library.  Did you know libraries do this?!   This is a new revelation for me.  When I went to pick them up from the library, the librarian passed me over four genuine tickets with a face value of $16 each.  She could have handed me a $50 bill and I would have been almost as thrilled!  

 

I don't know what I was more excited about, the game or the free tickets.  Yeah, probably the free tickets.  That and a fun excuse for the four of us to go out mid-week.  Not to mention, we live an amazing ten minutes from the stadium.  After living my entire life in the spraaaawled suburbs of Chicago where nothing is ten minutes away, this is nothing short of miraclous. 

 

Chuck Jr. and III enjoyed the game, I enjoyed them enjoying the game, and Nolan, well, Nolan requested to go home and go to bed.  Crazy kid. 

 

So we wandered around and entertained ourselves with the stadium camera. 

 

 

 

Grand Rapids residents check out this link for free library passes to local museums and events.

If you don't live in our fabulous city, check your local library to see if they offer cultural passes.  It just might be worth the ask. 

Brave Mommas

For Mine

This week my reading of the blog article "Brave Mom's Raise Brave Kids"  intersected with my own mom's posting of the following photo.

She's visiting the slums of Nairobi, Kenya this week, stepping into conditions worse than most of us will ever see.

 

 

Her caption: "A micro loan recipient that we met today."

 

It's no wonder this mommas's brave son (who also happens to be my amazing brother) has planted himself in the garbage dump/slums of Guatemala, changing lives of children who have nothing.

 

"Scared moms raise scared kids. Brave moms raise brave kids," writes Jen Hatmaker, author of the aforementioned blog. 

When I was 15 years old my aunt returned from Romania with stories of holding orphan babies and I knew I wanted to get out of my suburban life and rub shoulders with lives much different than mine. 
Not much later, I responded to a catalog in the mail {before internet, people} and signed up to ship out to West Africa for a month of my summer.

I was fifteen.  My mom didn't blink an eye.  I couldn't even drive a car and she let me climb aboard a plane and head to the other side of the world for a whole month without a soul either of us knew.

To this day I don't know if that was hard for her.  Or if her friends called her crazy.  But I realize now, two kids later, that she was brave. 

I wrote one of the wisest moms I know this past week for some parenting advice. 

I am mom to two sons with opposing personalities, and one happens to be scared of, well, everything.  His first soccer game he ran the opposite way of the ball.  No joke.  His first month of preschool he refused to talk to the teacher.  He is scared of the movie theatre.  For real.  I have forced him to order his own food at McDonald's and you would think I asked him to jump out of an airplane.

So, needless to say, I don't aways know what it looks like to teach this child to be brave. 

Her advice:  " Don't let your fears lead you. Fear is a liar."

Scared moms raise scared kids. 

A dear friend of mine fought her anxiety as she brought her tearful son to kindergarten, knowing better than to give in to her own fears or her son's.

Another friend opted to homeschool her son for the year, and fought fears of "what will everyone say" as she made an unconventional choice.

Two differing decisions, both brave as far as it relates to raising five year olds, as both moms chose what was best rather than what was easy.

I still have little ones who have yet to face dangers more serious than an unfamiliar classroom, but I've always wondered, where the heck was David's mom in this scene and if I were her, would I let my son step into the fight? 

It's one thing to say "The battle is the Lord's" when your own life is at risk; it's another thing entirely when your child's life is at stake.

As mommas, when do we protect, when do we release?

I'm far from knowing that answer.  I'm wrestling through what that looks like in parenting my five year old, trying to determine what I am afraid of and not letting that dictate my decisions.  And I'm praying for grace in years to come as I know the decisions will only carry more weight with age.

My own mom looked for plenty of opportunities to coddle us - she's a mom, for goodness sakes, that is what moms do best, but I'm quite convinced I would not be who I am today if my mom had not been brave enough to let me step aboard that airplane as a fifteen year old.

So I'm adding to my grateful tree these two gifts, and I'm praying I would pass down a heritage of a momma brave enough to face a less than perfect world.

A Day in the Life

Who needs a gym when you can have your very own aerobic classes in your own home at the cost of canned goods and an old VHS?   

 

 

Shockingly, this day's class held their attention a full thirty minutes, which meant ten remaining minutes of me working out while the boys spilled juice all over the kitchen floor.  Nice.  Maybe a gym membership wouldn't be such a bad plan after all. 

Margin, or Lack of It

Mothering, life, my husband's schedule, over committing, whatever it may be, is kicking my butt today. 

I've got chores to attend to and no good reason to be writing other than a good old fashioned cyber vent.  That and an excuse to put my feet up and delay chores just a little longer.

I think I over committed this week and I'm irritated I can't do it all.  Can't race out of town and back into town, invite a new friend over for a playdate and expect to have the house pulled together on time, prepare home cooked meals, keep up with laundry, add a work-from-home commitment to my week, support a husband who is coaching mid baseball season (ie. looong work weeks), and add in a few extras, all at the same time.

Oh, and did I mention be an attentive mother for my kids?  Yeah, that too.

Since moving, this problem has been more rare than common.  I have, for the most part, had plenty of empty spaces to keep up with all that a mother is required to keep up with.  I can generally juggle potty accidents and temper tantrums and late nights from my husband without causing steam to come out my ears, because I have had plenty of margin to accommodate life having hiccups and kids being kids.

Prior to moving, falling on the couch at the end of the night was my norm.  I had a full (too full?) social life, lots of family commitments, a part time job, and a husband with very long hours.  I also had a one year old and, well, anyone with a one year old who doesn't fall on the couch exhausted at the end of the night must know something I don't. 

There are pieces I love of both lives.   The full one (without much margin) and the quieter life I have been living as of late.

I'm glad to have several social events on my calendar this week - life in Michigan has been eerily void of them.  But honestly, I'm a crappy mom when I have too much going on.  My kids are playing and I am adding up the number of minutes their mess is going to take to clean up.  They want me to read a book and I am barely paying attention to the words I am reading, much less them, as I am thinking of the million things on my to-do list.  And I can't say I was very pleasant at bedtime when all I wanted them to be was asleep. 

Ugh to me.  No snazzy conclusions tonight.  Just a little vent and back to my chores for now, where I may or may not have the energy to think about how I want to structure my life and how I can be a better mom.  Come to think of it, I will definitely not be doing that tonight.  I'm going to save it for another night when I have the energy and margin to do so.

Coming Home

We are home from a whirlwind of a weekend.  Our days jam packed with parties, people, laughter, and (mostly) content exhaustion.  I love our weekends in Illinois, back to the life we once lived.  And I love returning here.  I love it without thinking this time.  It has been slow in coming, loving returning, that is.  To what is becoming known as home.  To quiet spaces and a small family of four.  To the home we are creating, filled with reminders of what I value. 

Like our grateful tree, which I pass just after entering, reminding me to pick up my hammer and choose contentment when I might otherwise groan at the pile of suitcases awaiting me. 

It's February now, so we are clearing off our grateful tree, jarring up our named gifts, and making room for new ones. 

 

January, winter's wind and all, offered much to be grateful for, and we followed along most days with Ann Voskamp's Joy Dare prompts.

 

Some of my favorites include:

 

"an unexpected package"  (Because how stinkin' spoiled am I to have such amazing friends?  A hand stitched journal arriving unexpected.  A starbucks card sent to my mailbox just because.  These are the kind of friends I want to both keep and be.)

 

 

 

"uncle steven," occasioned by this prompt: a gift that brings laughter

 

 

"Daddy" ( Need I say more?)

 

 

And "Michigan," a truly unexpected gift that is better than I could have asked for.