Oil in my lamp

 Channeling my best circus act, I twist and stretch my right arm over the car seat while trying to keep one on the steering wheel. One eye on the road, one eye trying to find the bloody pacifier. I feel the pink rubber, then blindly search for the screaming mouth, all while trying to avoid crossing the center line and having the semi-truck driver following my mini-van-of-fun call the police on the clearly intoxicated driver. While the pacifier contortion act is finishing up,  a blue pen is stolen from the one who clearly can't live without the blue pen because it is desperately needed to finish coloring the beautiful picture inside the library book. At least her gum isn't stuck to one of the pages again. I switch from circus performance to mediator, and apparently the switch is an ineffective one as the screaming escalates and I am waiting for the windshield to break at the new decibel. I give up trying to mediate, and reach for the glove box. McDonald's napkins tumble out as I grasp another pen. I toss it to the very back of the van, hoping some little hand will grasp it.

As the volume decreases, I hear the song. It's a kid's CD. Of course, it's a kid's CD.  It's just more noise at first, and then without thinking I find myself singing along to the familiar words:

Give me oil in my lamp, keep it burning, burning burning. Give me oil in my lamp, I pray. Give me oil in my lamp, keep it burning, burning, burning. Keep it burning till the break of day. 

 We eventually made it home that day. And I managed to get lunch fed to all three, and when I didn't know if I would make it to naptime or through the next tantrum I felt a prayer rising to my lips: Give me oil in my lamp, Lord. 

And isn't that the prayer of adulthood?  

When our job is on the line,
when our kids are sick in the hospital,
when our marriage seems on sandy ground,
when the baby won't sleep,
when our friends need us to walk with them through hard stuff,
when the hard stuff shows up in our own life,
when you have three kids, ages 4 and under, that you're responsible for,
when someone challenges your faith,
when a parent dies,
when you're not sure where the money will come from, 
when you're just so tired,

Lord, keep it burning till the break of day. 

It makes me think of the story of Elijah and the widow in 1 Kings 17.

⁷ Some time later the brook dried up. It hadn’t rained in the land for quite a while. ⁸ A message came to Elijah from the Lord. He said, ⁹ “Go right away to Zarephath in the region of Sidon. Stay there. I have directed a widow there to supply you with food.” ¹⁰ So Elijah went to Zarephath. He came to the town gate. A widow was there gathering sticks. He called out to her. He asked, “Would you bring me a little water in a jar? I need a drink.” ¹¹ She went to get the water. Then he called out to her, “Please bring me a piece of bread too.”
¹² “I don’t have any bread,” she replied. “And that’s just as sure as the Lord your God is alive. All I have is a small amount of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I’m gathering a few sticks to take home. I’ll make one last meal for myself and my son. We’ll eat it. After that, we’ll die.”
¹³ Elijah said to her, “Don’t be afraid. Go home. Do what you have said. But first make a small loaf of bread for me. Make it out of what you have. Bring it to me. Then make some for yourself and your son. ¹⁴ The Lord is the God of Israel. He says, ‘The jar of flour will not be used up. The jug will always have oil in it. You will have flour and oil until the day the Lord sends rain on the land.’ ”
¹⁵ She went away and did what Elijah had told her to do. So Elijah had food every day. There was also food for the woman and her family. ¹⁶ The jar of flour wasn’t used up. The jug always had oil in it. That’s what the Lord had said would happen. He had spoken that message through Elijah.

  Did you catch that? "I'll make one last meal...after that, we'll die." That is heavy. This woman was done. She had accepted she had nothing left and not only was her own life going to be over, but every mother's worst nightmare was coming true for her as well-- she couldn't even provide food for her child and he would die too. And then here comes someone asking her for some bread! She knew she didn't have enough to survive another day, and yet she trusted this prophet and his God.

And the flour wasn't used up. The jug always had oil in it. 

To me this story doesn't mean that we won't lose the job or the sickness won't come. To me this story is a reminder of daily trust in a faithful God in spite of our circumstances.

This widow couldn't open the door to her pantry and see all the oil that the Lord had promised her. She didn't have an Amazon Prime receipt of what was going to be delivered.  She just had to trust it would be there, and that it would be enough to sustain for one more day.

And then eventually the rain came.

Would I have that kind of faith? I can't even seem to make it to bedtime some days and simply trust that God will give me enough energy for the next day.

But in the midst of these very full, often chaotic days, I hear my God saying, "The flour won't be used up. The jug will always have oil in it."

Just last week I told someone that I don't feel like what I'm doing right now is something I could sustain very long; if I didn't know having three small children at home were for just a season and I thought it was for indefinitely I don't know what I could do it. But this bible story reminds me: I can't. God will. 

And so if you see a van careening down the highway, things flying around inside, and children screaming, listen a little closer and you'll probably also hear my new song these days: Give me oil in my lamp, I pray. Give me oil in my lamp, keep it burning, burning, burning. Keep it burning till the break of day. 

And if your flour and oil seem to be running out these days too, feel free to join me at the chorus.
 

It's who I am

It's quarter until nine and Becks is saying "All done" and then immediately covers her face with milk-sticky hands and I have to play the "I-need-to-wipe-Becks-up-but-don't-know-where-she-is" game. I move over to the sink to make my coffee when Blythe peeks her head around the corner and says, "Mom, you have to come to the place to pretend to buy some ice cream." And I'm thinking, "Can we pretend that Mommy gets dressed? And has her cup of coffee?" But before I get that out of my mouth [or buy my pretend ice cream] screams have broken out over who gets the harmonica. 

Before I have a chance to break it up, it's over and Blythe has found a plastic carrot and is telling me to "pretend you see a girl walking by you eating a carrot and she isn't talking to you but she's talking to her friend Becks, and you say, 'Talk to me!'" And then all of a sudden I am pretending that she "is Stacy and that Becks is Coach." And don't you know, Becks won't follow the rules of the first-born which is causing issues and for-the-love I am still in my pajamas! 

I finally get the girls in the bathroom to brush their teeth and Becks "brushes" and insists on more "toothpash" and then "brushes" and insists on more "toothpash" and then brushes and insists on more "toothpash" and I say no more and she screams until she is consoled with a little more water on her toothbrush. Blythe, meanwhile, is done brushing and gets the idea to set up a store and while I'm finally finishing my hair [read: putting it in a messy ponytail] she brings me a purse and some pretend money and tells me the store is open.

I manage to make coffee and "buy" it at the store, but only after Blythe is screaming because "Becks wants my cash register but I WANT it, and I CAN'T share because I NEED it but Becks wants to take my cash register..." tears. fits.

I buy my coffee and some ornaments from our tree and promptly remember the load of wash I started yesterday that is still sitting in the washing machine. So I throw in some of those scent booster things and run a rinse cycle. When I close the door to the laundry room I notice the pencil scribbles on the door--- one of three doors that was marked by artistic Becks--- and make a mental note to come back to it.

I then happen to glance under the kitchen table and Lord have mercy on my soul for how disgusting I let that get. There are two spoons tossed haphazardly and an undisclosed amount of cereal and two peaches cemented to the floor. I ask the girls, "Do you want to play Cinderella and scrub the floor?!" Because they are three and one and this works for now, my floor gets flooded but also cleaned as I follow them around with a huge towel. 

This also means by quarter after ten the girls I had somehow managed to get dressed are now naked again because their clothes are sopping wet.

Some days are easier to embrace than others. Some days I can step on another cheerio and mash it into my living room carpet and continue in my game of hide and seek. But most days I struggle with embracing the chaos and the mess. If I just didn't have to keep the house clean, I could really enjoy this time with the girls. If I just didn't have to think about what to make for supper, I could go for a walk right now. If they could just stop needing me every blessed second and I could drink my coffee in five minutes of silence, then I could face this day. 

The truth is, even if I had a cup of coffee that was still hot when I finished it, and even if I could get ready all at one time without needing to stop for twenty different little things, and even if my house was clean and I perfectly focused on the girls, I couldn't face the day. I couldn't face a single day without Jesus. His kind of love embraces the imperfect, the distracted, the flawed. His kind of love looks past the mess. His kind of love allows me to be okay with the crazy role I'm in right now.

It is exhausting work. Physically. Emotionally. The whole gamut. Sometimes I just want to have an adult conversation instead of pretending to be a turkey.

And then this afternoon when I felt like everything had been spent, and Blythe wasn't even being naughty but I was out of patience, I thought about the Chris Tomlin song, "Good Good Father". In it he sings You're a good, good father-- it's who You are.... And I am loved by You-- it's who I am. It's such a simple truth but everything hinges on that. He is good. And I am loved.

And so, even after a morning of scribbled on doors and wet floors and exhaustion, I sat down with Blythe on her bed and I looked into her big brown eyes and I said: Blythe, did you know I really like you? And a smile spread across her face. I like how you have such a big imagination and can pretend all sorts of things. I like how you love your sister and include her when you're playing. I like how you are kind to other people. And I like how you can make me laugh because you're so silly. She was beaming. And then she gave me an example of one time she was kind to someone, and then she made a silly face to make me laugh.

And I didn't say those things to her so she would like me and forget about all the rotten ways my heart had spewed that day; I said those things because I have a good, good Father who loves me despite it all. I said those things to her because that good, good Father calls out good things in me that I sometimes can't see for myself. And I said those things because I want her to know that love of the good, good Father, even when my lack of love may get in the way. 

discovering my identity between cardigans and diapers

Three years ago I decided to hang up my cardigans for awhile in order to stay home full time with Blythe. The decision did not come easily. It felt like a loss. But I knew, for me, it was the right decision for that time.

And I foolishly thought because it was the right decision that it would be the easy one. 

It wasn't. That first fall when I sat with my 4 month old and watched the yellow school bus roll down the street, tears jetted down my cheeks, splashing onto Blythe's happy face. I held her tightly, whispering to myself that she was enough. But all day I thought about my other kids, the ones in the plastic chairs and their fresh new-first-day-of-school clothes. I thought about them walking into "my" classroom where someone else was in front of them putting on the big first-day show and dance.

I didn't allow myself much grace to grow into this new role. I thought it would come easily and naturally and that teaching would seem like such a secondary thing. But my days were long. And lonely. And tedious. I would have ideas for something to teach and I'd get excited and think I needed to go write it down...and then I'd realize I wouldn't be back in the classroom for awhile.

I foolishly thought I hadn't wrapped up my identity in what I did for a living. 
But I had.
"I'm Kelsey. I'm a teacher."

That first year when I met someone new I would say, "I'm a stay at home mom now, but I used to teach High School English." I'd almost shout it at them in hopes they would look past the stay-at-home-ness of me. If they just knew what I was capable of! I would think. I can do more than change diapers and sing lullabies and nurse. I can freakin' mold minds and get kids excited about reading and poetry! 

The truth is, I didn't feel like I was enough without teaching.

Years ago when I mentioned wanting to stay home with my kids in the future, a colleague nearly shook me and said, "You're too good of a teacher to waste yourself on being home." I told myself it was a lie and went on. But those words buried deep in my bones.

And I foolishly felt like I was wasting myself because I just had too much to offer outside of my home. 

It took a long time, but slowly I learned something that changed everything:
I am not what I do. Or don't do. 

I know, right? It's so simple. And I've heard that a million times and thought I believed it. But when it came time to really believe it, I didn't. My identity was so wrapped up in teaching. And in being good at teaching.

Once I broke through that, and embraced my role as a stay at home mom, the same thing happened. My identity was wrapped up in motherhood. And in being good at motherhood.

But finally in the past year I feel like I've broken through all of that [though I know it's not for good, because I'm trying not to be foolish anymore]. I feel like I've finally realized my identity is not at all wrapped up in what I do. That's just my role. And roles are constantly changing. If I am my role, I lose me. 

My identity is in Christ. This does not change with what I do, or even with whether or not I'm good at what I do. It simply is. And will always be.

And most importantly I am realizing that this identity is eternal. In heaven I will not be a teacher or wife or mother. And though it is nearly impossible for me to wrap my mind around this next fact-- I won't care that I am not a mother, wife, or teacher. All I will want is Jesus.

Staying home was the right decision for me. But it required some growing pains-- some letting go and some grace for myself. There are still times I struggle with "not contributing" and "not using my degree" and lots of other "nots." But these days I'm just trying to bring a little more of heaven to earth by being lost in Christ. And when I do that, when I make that decision every day, I love getting to do what I get to do.

Being a teacher will never be enough.
Blythe and Becks will never be enough. 
But Christ? He will always be enough. 
And in Him, I am enough too. 

why I still [try to] put on makeup

I stay home.

[^^^^Post coming soon about why that used to be, and sometimes still is, so hard for me to say.]

This means a lot of days, especially in the winter, I never leave my house. If I do it's to run errands or take a quick walk or something. And who needs to look good to do that? I could wake up and never get out of my pajamas and no one would know.

This winter I think I wore the same sweatpants and sweatshirt* for 4 days straight. And by 4 days I mean 8 days. I maybe showered in there somewhere and put them back on, but it's all very muddled at this point.

the sweatshirt I've worn all winter

And then I thought about it, and realized I should maybe take the two minutes necessary to change my clothes each day. Throw on some jeans. I thought I should maybe change my clothes for the same reasons I do my makeup most mornings:

myself
my husband

The first one is less important to me because I don't have much time to look in the mirror and really don't care if I have makeup or jeans on. But since I started staying home nearly three years ago, I've noticed the days I put on some eyeliner and select a clean shirt to wear, I feel more awake; more alive.

And when my husband made comments one day when I was wearing jeans and a "nice shirt" [< that's a relative term. My nice shirt was a solid color long sleeve v-neck] about how great I looked, I thought maybe HE deserves a little more of an effort from me too.

So I still apply some mascara. I put on some blush. And I've been trying to make more of an effort to get out of my sweats. Now let me explain this: I don't put my worth in how I look, but I think it is worth  it to look nice for my husband.

It's easy to not care. It is E.A.S.Y. And it is nice to have that option. BUT, stay-at-home-mamas, let's put some effort into how we get ready for our day for our husband's sake. He goes to work and, for most jobs, is probably surrounded by women who aren't wearing their slippers and who forgot to put on deodorant. He should be refreshed by the sight of his wife when he comes home**.

Please don't start wearing high heels around the house. Or, if you do, please start a blog and tell me ALL about it.

I try and get my makeup on, as simple as it is, and I try to brush my hair or put it in a fresh ponytail [you know what I mean by fresh-- NOT the one I slept in last night, because I have been known to do that], and I try to put on "real" clothes. Not because Brent has ever made me feel less-than when I don't, but because I love him. I want to always pursue him and flirt with him and look nice for him.

My marriage is important enough to put on make-up.

*I'm still wearing that sweatshirt today. So, you win some you lose some. [I just looked and it's on clearance at Kohls right now. Go buy one. You're welcome. ]
** Sometimes this happens about 10 minutes before he walks in the door, but he'll never know ;)

Other stay at homers out there: what do you do to help "break the rut" and make yourself feel among the living most days? 

getting in the boat

Today I watched my oldest daughter dance and sing, and saw my younger one flap her arms along with her, sqwauking away.

And I felt it.
I viscerally felt time slipping away.

The other day we were at my parent's house and Blythe found a Popple*. My mom and dad had given it to my older sister when she gave up her pacifier. And all of a sudden here I am, with an almost three year old who sleeps at night without her very own"paci." How does time trick us?

In one moment it can absolutely stand still.  Like this scenario: I am trying to get lunch ready, Becks is crying because I can't spoon feed her while heating up chicken nuggets for Blythe, who just informed she has to go potty. I know Brent will be home at noon, and it is 11:50. But I'm pretty sure it has been 11:50 for half a century. 

I was updating Becks' baby book the other day, flipping through to locate all the blank pages I hadn't filled yet: but there were so few blank pages left.

The other day Blythe said, "I'm not too big. I'm just a little big." But she is so big. Half a second ago she was just a squirt, signing more and please, and if she's not that baby than surely she is the little girl squealing for Elmo. But she's not. She's almost three.

And as I watched her spin and sing and give so many facial expressions, it was one of those moments that I wanted to grab tightly. I felt so nostalgic for that very moment I was living, as if it had already passed.

I'm not one to wish the days away, but I'm also not one to always cherish them like I should. I'm ready to be done nursing. I'm ready for Becks to eat on her own. I'm ready for Blythe to be able to wipe her own "bum bum". But in my readiness for what's next, I don't often feel the day I'm in.

Today Blythe grabbed an old frame for a mirror that was broken and waiting to be taken out to the trash. She laid it on the ground and got "in it" and said it was her boat. She informed me she was floating to M-ville [our town]. I wanted to get the last load of laundry done while Becks was napping, but instead of informing her that M-ville wasn't a port city and crushing her adventurous heart, I hopped in. And we pushed off and set sail.

So often I choose the laundry. And that is why that moment today hit me in the gut: these days are almost gone, and before I know it I will be letting Blythe's child borrow the bike we gave her when she gave up her paci.

 My days are hard sometimes. This mothering thing is brutal. But it's also great and fleeting. It's good to have moments that remind me I need to get in the boat more often.



*

if you weren't a child of the 80s, this is a popple.
source

this day

First, I have to say thank you to everyone who is helping me with my shoe wearing problem. You're the best.

I was folding laundry [way, way, way too much laundry that has sat in my mudroom for WEEKS!], and sorting out papers for taxes and listening to the non-noise of my girls napping [which hasn't happened in WEEKS either! It was awesome]. As I sat amongst little socks and Frozen panties, and 1099 forms, I started thinking about life. Where was I on this day last year, or the year before? Though I don't know exactly, it was probably something like this:

Last year I was enjoying my simple days with a very talkative and fun Blythe with my second daughter growing like a weed inside of me. I wondered about what Becks would be like, if "Becks" was the right name, how my days were about to change, and getting ready to transfer Blythe to a big girl room.

Two years ago I was celebrating the fact that I was almost done nursing Blythe, yet finding it hard to believe I had an almost one year old on my hands. I was finally accepting my new role as a stay at home mom and missing my days in the classroom a little less.

Three years ago I was grading To Kill a Mockingbird tests and teaching The Great Gatsby and creative writing and preparing for ACTs and finalizing my decision to stay home with my first daughter when she arrived. I was busy making sub plans for the last month and a half of school and growing anxious about delivering a child.

Four years ago I was probably on a bus somewhere to some basketball game, as I was the assistant coach. It was month six of coaching for me and I was exhausted. I was also really enjoying my sophomores and juniors.

Five years ago Brent and I were looking at the very real possibility of moving back to Missouri and saying goodbye to all of our wonderful friends in Louisville. It didn't seem real and it was all happening  so quickly. I was cooking meals in a small one bedroom apartment, and enjoying the second year of our marriage.

How does all of that life happen in just five years? We've moved. We've had two babies. We've fallen into and out of new roles. And as I stacked up the folded t-shirts into the laundry basket to deposit in the correct bedrooms, I realized that in five years I will have an almost 8 year old and an almost 6 year old.

Sometimes looking back makes you look forward. Which makes you appreciate sitting in the midst of lots and lots of laundry that needs to be folded.

a day at the spa

This morning I laid Becks down for her morning nap, built a quick fort for Blythe and deemed it a "library", and then headed for the shower. Sometimes five minutes alone in the shower is equivalent to the joy of sitting down to eat a handful of Oreos with some whole milk. And today I was super pumped at the prospect.

I quickly warmed up the bathroom and jumped in. No sooner had I pulled the shower doors closed than a brown-eyed two year old rushed in and urgently informed me she needed to use the potty. Okay! I dripped water mercilessly all over the floor and helped her up. She went. I wiped. And off she galloped.

I began scrubbing my hair and heard the door creak open again. "This is a nice shirt Ellie give me." Yes, it is. Yes, it is. And she was off.

I was rinsing the shampoo when she poked back in to inform me her library was "really good, Mom."

I don't even think she made it ten feet away after that because she was quickly back with a troubled look on her face, informing me she needed to go poopy. I slid the door open, ready to get the floor wet once more, when the panicked face disappeared and she said, "Oh. No. There isn't poopy there," and skipped out once more.

While washing my face she brought me an animal cracker.

While washing my arms she felt the need to return and discuss human anatomy.

While standing under the hot water at the end of the shower, relishing in the brief solitude, she opened the door and mumbled something I couldn't understand before leaving again.

I turned the water off, grabbed my towel, and while drying my hair the door opened and I heard a muffled, "You're rubbing your head, Mom. That's silly." 

I realized I had taken my lotion into the living room the day before and asked her to fetch it for me.

Waiting for the lotion, I wiped up the floor. Finally she came in…and handed me a broken tea cup and insisted I fix it. I told her I would, and reminded her of her lotion mission. A few minutes later she came back with the pink Johnson and Johnson lotion from her bathroom. Which is kept high on the counter. What?! How did she get that? "I jest climbed up there." I had no idea she could do that. I gave her specifics on where the lotion was located and sent her back out. After a few more minutes I went and got it myself, since she clearly didn't understand my directions and was rummaging around in my bedroom. Valiant effort though.

All of this in around 15 minutes or less.

I'm telling myself that someday when I'm showering for 20 minutes in absolute quiet I'll long for the days those brown eyes kept appearing at the door. But it's kind of hard to fathom that right now. :)

Annnnnddddd PLEASE come back on Monday for a really fantastic giveaway opportunity! I can't wait to show of this shop and these goods. If you love vintage and words and stories and cool people, then this one is for you! Have a great weekend.

what has changed

Today when I had to use the restroom,  I had this thought:
Obviously life changes in BIG ways when you have children, but it also changes in a million little ways that you eventually forget were ever not normal for you and they become second nature. 
Yes, I think in run-on-ish sentences. Don't we all?

So here are a few of those millions of little ways my life has changed since March 23, 2012:

- I rarely set an alarm because MOST days my kids will wake me up well-before I need to be anywhere. 

- A "productive day" happens when I get both kids asleep at the same time for naps and bedtime. Bonus if they have both gotten a bath at some point during the day. Triple bonus if I had a chance to vacuum and/or do a load of laundry. 

- I don't shut the bathroom door. Ever. It's always open. And when I'm at someone else's house, I almost forget to close the door every.single.time. 

- Multi-tasking while driving has become even more necessary [and dangerous]. 

- I sing WAY more. 

- I make WAY more animal sounds and hand gestures. Okay. Maybe not the hand gestures. I did that before kids too. 

- Getting myself "ready" for the day, even if I have to get "dressed up" for something, is way less important and I have to stop what I'm doing about ten times. It's amazing I haven't ever left the house with only one set of eyelashes properly masacara-ed [yet]. 

- I worry more about having fruits and vegetables around. 

- I wear functional shoes. 

- I wipe up WAY more bodily fluids. 

- I sometimes go days before I remember I haven't even gotten the mail. 

- Did I mention I never shut the bathroom door? 

- When I'm away from my own children and I hear a baby cry, I automatically think it is my child, and then remember they aren't with me. 

- I light more candles because, you know, the bodily fluids. 

- I write less but document more. 

- I get many, many, many more hugs and smiles and sloppy kisses.

- I color and create more. 

- I laugh more. 

- I cry more. 

- I hurt and fear in ways I never knew possible. 

- I dream in ways I never knew possible. 

- I am so excited to sleep. [Okay, probably hasn't changed much]

- I never knew I could get so happy to see a baby poop [both my kiddos have been constipated as babies]

-I often don't turn the radio on in the car when I'm by myself.

- I eat a lot more animal crackers. 

- I find trips to the grocery store or visits to the doctor by myself cathartic. 

But mostly my life has changed because

I feel like my heart is beating in two different little bodies. 

a day in the life [updated]

About a year and a half ago I wrote a little post about what my day looks like. I realized that has changed a bit, so here is my updated version of "a day in the life", for those of you who are even the slightest interested:
Pictures are not all from one day.
This all happened yesterday. 

7:20: Roll out of bed, re-swaddle Becks, lay her back down. I crawl back in bed.
7:50: Brent comes and tells me goodbye. I fall back asleep.
8:02: Blythe starts calling for me and I go get her out of bed. Hug on her. Wake myself up. Realize I need to wake up Becks to feed her for the day.
8:05: Wake up Becks with the help of her sister.
8:06: Turn on "Curious George" for Blythe and sit down to feed Becks.

8:15: Change Becks' diaper and put her clothes on for the day. Head to living room. Blythe proceeds to kiss all over Becks and talk to her and lay on her and sing to her.

8:20: While Blythe finishes "Curious George" I change her out of her pajamas. It's not even 9 oclock, so we are doing pretty well! :) She fights putting on her pants. I explain, yet again, that we have to wear pants in case someone comes to our house; you can't run around naked all the time.
8:28: Becks is happily playing on her playmat, Blythe is finishing her show, I sneak in laundry room and find some shorts and tank top to throw on [they are still in laundry baskets because I never fold clothes anymore].
8:40: Pour a bowl of Mini Wheats for Blythe, talk to Becks a minute or two, then go in bathroom to throw hair in ponytail and brush my teeth. Blythe hollers for me, I check on her at table and talk to Becks on my way back through living room. I rub some tinted moisturizer in, swipe on a little mascara, and call it good. I'm just going to sweat it off at practice.
8:50: Pick up Becks, sing her some songs. Carry her with me to kitchen.
8:55: Wipe up Blythe and help her down.
9:05: Help Blythe go potty.
9:08: Hold Becks while playing Play-do with Blythe.
9:28: Take Blythe potty again. Clean up her potty. Wipe up bathroom sink and counters while I have clorox out.
9: 37: Becks is tired. I swaddle her, I shoo Blythe out of her room but not before she sneezes and startles Becks back awake. She leaves. I sing Becks Amazing Grace and lay her down.
9:42: I put some bread in the toaster, and Blythe tells me she wants to make coffee. We make coffee and she barely spills any grinds-- bonus! While I stir in my creamer I send her to living room to get our quiet time blanket ready.
9:55: Blythe and I have our quiet time. I read mine while she reads and writes in her notebook, then she chooses to read about Jonah together. Then we pray.

10:05: Break from quiet time to potty.
10:18: I get my new book out to read and she picks a couple books and we read together. She doesn't want to read as long as I do.
10: 23: Blythe has a meltdown because she wants to look at my phone "pone" and I told her she has to wait awhile. Meltdown ends in timeout.
10: 26: I try to think of a way to teach her to stay focused on an activity for a little while. I set my phone's timer for 3 minute intervals and we play with one thing, then when timer goes off we move to the next.
10:29: Blocks.
10: 32: Play-doh.
10: 35: Puzzles
10: 38: Dora coloring book.

10: 41: She chooses puzzles again.
10: 44: Doctor.
10: 47: Read a book.
10: 50: She wants to read more.

10: 52: Potty.
10: 56: Flashcards.
10:58: We hear Becks start to wake up, Blythe comes with me to greet her. Becks smiles great big for us.
11: 02: I finally let Blythe look at my phone as I sit down to feed Becks.
11:03: A knock at the door. Torri has come to play! Blythe runs out to play with her I finish feeding Becks.
11: 06: Torri helps Blythe go potty, then builds some towers with her.
11: 15: I burp Becks and change her diaper. We go out to see Torri.
11: 25:  Torri and I try to talk while simultaneously playing with Blythe and Becks.
11: 32: My mom sends me a text inviting us to have lunch at the local mennonite store with her and Torri and my dad. I text Brent to confirm that this will work for him.
11:38: Brent says that sounds great. I scratch plans to make lunch! Yay!
11: 45: Torri hangs with the girls a minute while I throw a few things in the diaper bag and locate Blythe's shoes.
11: 51: I chase Blythe and get her to put on her shoes.
11:53: Blythe has to go potty.
11: 58: I put Becks in her carseat and find a burp rag that is semi-clean to take with us.

12: 03: Brent gets home, gives Blythe a "chocolate diamond" [Hershey's Kiss] for not having and accidents this morning, and  I ask him to put her on the potty one more time before we get in the car [she doesn't go], I locate my shoes, and we pile in the car.
12: 14: We order our sandwiches.
12:15: I show Blythe where the potty is and tell her she can use it if she needs to go.
12: 18: I share my ham with Blythe and give her a fruit bar I threw in the bag earlier.
12: 25: Blythe needs to go potty! Only papa can take her.
12: 32: I order a pineapple/coconut smoothie. I don't even love pineapple, but it sounded so good.
12: 33: Brent convinces me he needs to buy some candy. Malted milk balls.
12: 35: I receive my smoothie and it's the best decision I've made all week.
12: 39: We get both girls back in their carseats, say goodbye to Torri who is leaving for college, and take off.

12: 41: I share a drink of my smoothie with Blythe.
12: 42: Becks falls asleep.
12:45: We pass a turtle in the road. I tell Brent we should go get it for Blythe's first pet [there is a whole story here about a turtle I once had for two days and loved when I was younger].
12: 46: Brent pulls a U-turn. I jump out and find the turtle in the grass at the edge of the road and carry it back to the van. We aren't sure what kind it is, and Brent says something about it pooping in the van.
12: 48: I decide to leave the turtle on the edge of the road.
12:49: I share a drink of my smoothie with Blythe.
12:52: We get home, I carry Becks in, Brent helps Blythe in and leaves for work again.
12: 53: I swaddle Becks, who woke up during the transition, sing her Amazing Grace, and lay her down.
12: 57: I find Blythe playing with her blocks, and tell her she can choose one more thing to do before nap time. She chooses play-doh.
1: 05: Blythe tells me it's time for nap! We pick up the play-doh and I put a diaper on her, and she picks out "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom" for her nap book.
1:12: I read "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom". She reads "Chicka Chicka Boom Boom" to me…twice.
1: 20: We pray. She requests "The Cross Song" [The Old Rugged Cross]. I sing.
1: 23: I lay her down.
1: 25: I write the first half of this post and notice a missed call from my college roommate.
1: 35: I call her back. She is at work and can't answer. I leave a voicemail.
1: 38: I get out my paint supplies and the huge canvas I have been working on for a friend who commissioned me to paint her something for her new office.
1: 40: I paint and paint and paint.
2:55: I notice the time and realize I need to get stuff picked up, get things ready for my mom who will be watching the girls this evening, and need to feed Becks before Katie, the awesome babysitter, gets here and I need to go to practice.
3:08: I wake up Becks and sit down to feed her. I type up some info my mom will need when she gets here to watch girls after practice and send it to her. I get to read a little of the book I'm almost done with [All the Light We Cannot See… it's excellent].

3:18: Katie shows up.
3: 20: I burp and change Becks and bring her out to Katie.
3: 22: I lay out pajamas and a bottle for this evening. I get in van and leave for practice.
3: 28: I get to practice. It's a million and 20 degrees.
3: 35: I do the ab workout with the girls.
3: 42: I regret doing the ab workout with the girls.

5:07: We decide to let the girls go early due to the heat. I rush home.
5:12: I say hi to Brent and Blythe [Becks is asleep again], and jump in the shower quickly.
5: 25: I pull my wet hair back in a ponytail, wash my pump supplies, find some shoes, mom arrives, and we tell Blythe goodbye.
5: 32: Brent and I get in the car and head to St. Joe to meet up with our small group.
5: 38: The air conditioner on setting three stops working, and we bump it up to setting four which is the only one that works now. Full blast. [Remember?]
6:14: We get to our friend's house, have some tacos, hang out. I check in with my mom occasionally.
8: 12: We get back in the car to go home.
9:03: We get home, I feed Becks. I swaddle her. I sing her Amazing Grace. I lay her down.
9:20: Brent and I finish watching a Netflix movie about Steve Prefontaine.
9: 47: We crawl in bed. I read a little more of my book.
10:15: Lights out.
11: 02: Becks fusses a bit and I go give her her paci.
The end.

*This day was a little busier than normal due to lunch out and having small group-- BUT that means I didn't make a single meal, so that's fantastic. :-) 

how to: some thoughts

It's funny, because I used to feel like I needed to preface every blog after a long-ish silence with a disclosure: Sorry I've been busy and neglected this space…ya da ya da ya da ["you ya-da ya-da-d the best part" anyone?], but right now in this season of two children, I just assume that anyone who has been in my shoes understands the silence. So I don't feel the need to preface it really. :) All that to say, we are definitely finding a bit of a groove again [except Blythe refusing her nap], so I'm hoping that blogging can return to a little more norm again soon.

After writing this post about the importance of exposing kids to nature, I've been thinking more and more about the "how tos" of parenting. I know what I want for my children; I know what I dream for their lives and characters to look like, but how do I get from point A in my head to point B in real life? The nature issue seems a little simpler to me-- open the door and make them play outside, show them how to play outside and create. But here are a few other things I've been thinking about:

How do I help them grow a deep and meaningful and lasting relationship with each other? The kind of sister-ship that is far-reaching and full of love and admiration and respect? The kind of bond in which they share laughs as children, clothes and friendships as teens, parenting and marriage advice as young adults, and hold each other through life's sicknesses and hardships and celebrate the chaotic beauties of adulthood together? I can't make this happen. Or can I?

And then there is the reading thing. How do I create a space in which they become book lovers, devouring words and pages and cracking spines and meeting new characters and places? Can they fall in love with the act of reading and taste the words on their lips? How do I show them that reading will make them notice more, create more, learn more, think more, grow more, be challenged more? I can't make this happen. Or can I?

And most importantly: How do I show them Jesus in a way that becomes personal for them? How do I teach them to love Him for themselves? Will they cling to him in the dark times, letting His light expose their weaknesses and His glory? Will they see that He is good and just and merciful, always? Will they understand the depth of His love, the height of His glory? I can't make this happen. Or can I?

But just like with nature, is it really just about getting out there with them? Showing them? Living it with them?

I want Blythe and Becks to have a close relationship. So do we just show them that, as a family, we enjoy spending time together? That we like to be with each other? Do I just let them see my relationship with Kali?  Do we just point them to each other when they are wandering? Do we let them explore life together, and create joint experiences for them? There is no formula for this, but is it just in the living life with them?

And books? Reading? I know I can model that. I know I can read to them and with them and near them. I can surround them with books. I can empty their shelves of clothes and toys and we can live on words! But I can't force them to like it. So do I just show them the beauty of books, and let them roam around the pages on their own, and let the siren call of the printed words do their magic? There is no formula for this, but is it just in the exposure and joy?

And Jesus. The stakes are high here. Is it just a combination of the rest of these? Do I open the door and let them romp around in His goodness at any opportunity? Do I just live life with Him, letting them see and hear and feel my journey with a good Savior? And do I fill their empty spaces with His love? Do I live like Jesus to them, with them, near them? Is it in the living life with Him, and in the exposure and joy? If I can introduce them, will they hear and see and feel and love for themselves?

It's a big thing, this mothering business. If I had a how-to manual I would probably just feel the need to rebel against it, but sometimes it might be nice to be able to turn to the chapter on "How to teach your children humility," or "How to foster a healthy world view in your children raised in a small-town." Right now my days sometimes feel stuck in the little things-- in the pick-up-your-toys and eat-your-veggies and go-pee-in-the-potty and take-your-finger-out-of-your-nose kind of things. But I know, in the little slivers of time between baths and meals and time-outs, there are also opportunities to teach big things. And I'm muddling through them. I'm trying. I'm exposing. I'm praying.

I'm just trying to creating opportunities to romp in the grass, to love a sister, to read a book, to see Jesus, just as I try to get outside, love my own sister, read my books, and see Jesus for myself.