quick-like before april is gone

My goal was to write eight blogs this month -- I know, lofty considering my track record so far this year and obviously not gonna happen, people.

But, I'm telling myself, you can turn four into five if you just go for it right now and write something.  Don't put off writing for one more day just do it.

So, what's going on round here...?

Well, you may have heard a rumor about how my flip phone got killed.  It was a significant day because for every bad thing I've said about smartphones and every time I've announced how cool my flip phone made me, the day I actually joined the twenty first century was bound to be a significant day.  Actually it was the next day when I sauntered into the Verizon store and demanded my very own iPhone (or something along those lines).  And I am not proud to say that I was 100% addicted the moment my new golden device touched my palm.  I don't think I have touched my real camera once since then, and I don't even know what my kids look like in 3D anymore because I only see them on a screen.  It's so dang pretty and I'm pretty much in love.

Now I'm instagrammin' (probably a little too much -- what are the rules??) as you may have seen over there on the right somewhere.  I've also got a new little gig working with Sally Lloyd-Jones (yeppers, the author!) doing all sorts of new fancy things like tweeting which I am most certainly still trying to get a handle on.

So yeah, I'm basically a whole new person  since I last wrote.

I haven't really the time before April ends to export and upload photos and all that business, but you can follow me on instagram to see what we've been up to.

And I can leave you with this -- a link to Sally's site -- because if you don't own the Jesus Storybook Bible and Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing, well you really should.  And I'm not just saying that because we're besties.

G'night + happy May!

last day of the year

I've just not been in the mood this year, folks.  But I love this little bliggity blog and all that it is for me -- a journal of the little details of life that are sure to be forgotten and lost if I don't record them somewhere, a way to share the cuteness with family far away, a little bit of release and self-therapy, something to do with the photos I take every day or a reason to keep taking them -- so... here goes.

It was a big New Year's Eve around here!  Owen did his second consecutive poop on the potty (getting number two to splash down has been an ongoing challenge), and Bob lost his first tooth!  I had been naming all the ways that the tooth could fall out before midnight, and then what do you know, it happened.  Bob was messing with the tooth while snuggling his blankie and playing duplos with Owen and Maisy and suddenly, "Um, I'm sorry to tell you, but--" and I turned around and there he was holding it out in his hand, licking a little drop of blood off his lip.  He put that first fallen piece of his mouth's babydom into an envelope which he lettered "TOOTH" and at bedtime he snuck it under his pillow.  Bob had high hopes of staying up until midnight this year but instead we had an extra silly silly time and cheered Happy new year! at 8:00 before settling into bed.  I promptly forgot about the tooth until after Bob had woken me up in the morning, but I was able to save the magic by suggesting that he had checked under his pillow when it was actually still night and asking him to put something away while I ran upstairs and made the switch.  A note and 50 cent coin were then discovered with much excitement.  And so we entered the new year.

I technically stayed awake into 2015, but I was upstairs getting Maisy back to sleep and then I fell asleep too and didn't make it back down until Ben and our one guest had retired as well.  No exciting party tales.

The "New Year" doesn't really stir all that much emotion in me.  Because if you want to change something about your life, there is absolutely no reason to wait until January to do so.  January isn't exactly the most inspiring time of the year for me; it is cold and dark and there is still a whole lot of winter ahead.  But that's not to say that I'm immune to reflection, and 2014 was a bit of a difficult one I guess.

Is it possible for one year to simultaneously be the best and worst of your life thus far?  I think: yes?  I can see so much blessing this past year: a cozy home in a beautiful place, a loving hard working husband, two sweet sons, the welcoming of our precious daughter, health, a productive garden and always enough food.  Really, life is good.  I'm really lucky and not complaining.  And yet, my heart has been heavy.  Heavy, heavy.  There have been some heavy, heavy thoughts weighing on my heart and mind ALL THE TIME.  Heavy.  That's the only word.

In the true fashion of a long line of feeling-suppressors, I've been mastering a combination of numbing and bottling up my dark thoughts, to the point where the resulting mass inside me may have been crushing my heart a little bit.  Which finally led to a recent spewing of truths to a couple of trusted individuals, which was not easy for me, but which I've realized was completely necessary.  (I heard all those whiches but I'm rolling with it.)  We can't battle our demons alone.  We can't.  We need to bring them to light and let someone say, "Wow, that is a lot for you to carry, you need to drop that load right now."  And we need to cry and let it out and just feel up the feelings sometimes.  I need to afford myself the same grace I try to extend to my children -- that feelings are a-okay and we need to let them out, not lock them in.

The art of hiding behind a humor of sarcasm, while perhaps making me amusing to be around at times, hasn't exactly fostered a host of lifelong connections with other vulnerable human beings.  And that right there, that's been another lonely realization to come to terms with.

In the fall of 2013, I lost a friend.  She didn't die, she just stopped calling, but it almost felt like I was grieving a death.  Or a breakup perhaps.  It was like being broken up with, but not even told.  My girlfriend, my one local friend that I actually saw regularly, explained that she was "maxxed out" at the moment and that was that.  And it hurt so much.  And I started to realize -- and all through the next year the realization sunk in deeper -- that somehow, 30 years in, I had no friends.  (Not true; I have two or three, or four if you include my husband!)  I've always felt like I had friends, never felt hated, everyone has always been friendly to me, and yet it's clear now that my high school Spanish teacher was right -- these people that you think are your friends are not really your friends, and you will have only two or three real friends that last in your life.  We laughed at her, my "friends" and I -- ha ha! we have dozens of best friends and always will!  Well.  I can't even remember the teacher's name but I remember that one conversation vividly.  And you know, it gives me some consolation knowing that I'm not alone, even if facebook and tweeter and instograham can make it seem like I am.

I know now that real friends are the ones who, when you finally let down your guard and say I need you, they come running.  Like, right then.  That same day.  And I know now that I am very lucky to have even a couple of friends like that.

I think, this new year (see here I am getting on the bandwagon after I already declared that I don't do that sham!) I'd like to let myself be a little more vulnerable.  I'd like to meet a new friend, and actually open myself up to her so that she can do the same, and also I want to really be there for the people I know, and tell them so, so that they can call on me and know I'll come running.

Boom.

And now I can (hopefully) get on with my regular lighthearted record keeping, and do a massive recap catchup, and move on into this new year with self-forgiveness and acceptance and grace and trust in God that all will work for good if I seek Him.

seized, hurled and bound

You know like when...
You work hard on something and then it's hated, or
You finally pay off your car loan and then you need a new "sway bar" whatever that is, or
You have plans to see friends you really miss but your kids get coxackie virus, or
You're missing someone who is gone, or
Your innards can't handle cheese anymore, or
It's the start of another LONG winter, or
Your son isn't growing fast enough, or
Your daughter is born with one hand?!

You know those times?

Last week was a totally crappy, anxiety filled week.

On the worst day, our reading from "Thoughts to Make Your Heart Sing" by Sally Lloyd-Jones brought me to sobs.

And sometimes we don't understand what God is doing in our lives either.  It may even look like God is hurting you.  But you can trust your Shepherd, who loves you.  He carries you close to his heart.

jam and other great and unsearchable things

I've been trying for days to write.  I don't know why a simple post about making jam is giving me such trouble.  Making jam, you say?  Yeppers, I'm a jammer now.  Why does this jamming feel so significant?  How many forms of the word jam can I use in one paragraph, jamnit?!

For one thing my new jamness means that I'm turning all domestic in my motherhood and old age (I'm on the cusp of being 30 for goodnessake!)  I bake banana bread, I cook like crazy, and I make jam.  It also means: I have no friends.  (I have friends in my heart, just not in actual real life.)  Not much on the agenda, so it's not much trouble fitting a three hour jam session into the schedule.  And also: I miss my Gram terribly.  The worst times are when I drive or stop by and no one is home, and I wish desperately that she was there to share a cup of tea and my troubles with.  I stand in the kitchen and note which things have changed, and which have stayed the same.  My grandmother, Gram's daughter, lives there now -- and I get mad, because she still has to work so hard, and she's never there to just be there and be Gram.  So I guess doing these simple tasks, like stirring jam bubbling in a pot and pouring it into jars (or gardening -- I'll get to that), connect me to her in a way that helps me feel a little bit better about all of it.

So I sat here {at my new principal's desk -- scored for free at the school and refinished and looking mighty serious and beautiful} for an hour the other night, trying to write about jamming.  Trying first to sort out the thousand thoughts clouding my brain -- trying in particular to disperse the dark, heavy ones menacing my mind lately.  Thoughts and feelings like this, what I did manage to write the other night:

I'm in the middle of the ocean swimming in all of my clothes, and I'm asking myself: Why did you think it would be a good idea to jump off the boat?  And why didn't you take off your jeans and boots and that heavy sweater?  The fact is, I've become exactly who I didn't think I wanted to be.  I've failed.  In so many ways.  Some of them, I know where I went wrong.  Others, I have ideas, but I honestly do not know.  And the worst feeling is: it's too late.  It's all done, there is so much I can't change, and I've pretty much screwed everything up.  At one time I really believed I was someone special, destined for something great, a part of God's plan.  And actually, I still believe that I was.  But then I ignored God's voice too many times and strayed off on my own path and now I'm way out here -- and I can bushwhack in the right direction, but I'll never reach the destination I was meant to.  And that is one dark, heavy feeling.  I think I am good at being a mom, and it's the most fulfilling role I've played.  But maybe that's the only thing I really am good at.

Since this is my online journal, for everyone to see, and since I'm not very good at putting my real feelings out there for others, I'm very tempted to delete that paragraph and move along, but I think that maybe... we all struggle with doubt and feelings of failure?  We all question whether the choices we've made, big or small, were the right ones.  Maybe we all feel a little (or a lot) overwhelmed by life at times.  Maybe just the fact that I'm pondering all this means that I'm closer to the right path than I think?  And maybe I just need to get out of my head and make some jam.

Life is throwing some big questions at me lately, and I've been frequently meditating on this scripture:

Not, "Call to me and I will tell you everything is okay and all of your troubles will disappear," but "Call to me and I will tell you great and unsearchable things."  Whatever they are.  (And by meditating I mean listening to it a lot on Spotify via Seeds Family Worship and taking the words to my heart.)

Some photos of our berrying at Gram's and jamming at home...

A pre-pick picnic:

Black caps.

Owen puts two or three berries into his bowl, then promptly eats them so that it's empty again.  

Bob is a little better at collecting them, but he and I shared a bucket and I suspect I would have filled it a lot faster if he wasn't sneaking handfuls into his mouth.

Red currants and blackcaps.

Currants on the bush.  We picked a lot, but the bushes were still full.  Then the next day the mama turkey and her babies found them and they were all gone.

Nuts and berries: the perfect snack.

Bobby was an excellent de-stemmer for the first batch of jam.

Owen, too, took berries from stems, but he ate them all.

Making jam turned out to be incredibly easy.  Just put the berries in a pot, mash, add sugar, heat on medium while stirring in the sugar, then heat on high, stirring frequently until the berries are seeming jammy (until you dip in your spoon and the last bit of liquid sheets off instead of dripping).  Then pour the jam into sterilized jars (boiled for five minutes).  I save my store bought jelly jars and lids because we use them as drinking glasses, but it also meant I had them on hand for this.  Not sure how long the jam will keep this way, but no matter for us: we eat pb&j like it's going out of style.  Mine came out a little thick, but not in a bad way.

You saw the finished jam in the jars above.  Here it is in action.

And, FYI, pb&j is even better with fresh hot jam.  Duh.

boys and guns

What is it with boys and their guns?  It's born in them: they love weapons.  I remember the first time Bob saw a few of the neighbor boys playing with their toy guns and asked, "What are they doing?  I want to play that!"  Oh dear, I thought.  For the most part I've had a Mr. Rogers type philosophy on the issue: guns and weapons equal violence and violence is not to be encouraged.  I don't really want my boys running around pretending to shoot everyone.  And yet, banning weapons doesn't do a thing.  A stick is a gun; a bubble wand is a sword; duplos are good for building one thing: pistols.

A while back I read Wild at Heart by John Eldredge.  He gave me a new perspective to ponder.  He writes,

Capes and swords, camouflage, bandannas and six-shooters -- these are the uniforms of boyhood. Little boys yearn to know they are powerful, they are dangerous, they are someone to be reckoned with. How many parents have tried in vain to prevent little Timmy from playing with guns? Give it up. If you do not supply a boy with weapons, he will make them from whatever materials are at hand. My boys chew their graham crackers into the shape of hand guns at the breakfast table. Every stick or fallen branch is a spear, or better, a bazooka. Despite what many modern educators would say, this is not a psychological disturbance brought on by violent television or chemical imbalance. Aggression is part of the masculine design; we are hardwired for it. If we believe that man is made in the image of God, then we would do well to remember that "the Lord is a warrior; the Lord is his name" (Ex. 15:3).

... The universal nature of this ought to have convinced us by now: The boy is a warrior; the boy is his name. And those are not boyish antics he is doing. When boys play at war they are rehearsing their part in a much bigger drama. One day, you just might need that boy to defend you.

Ben and I still try to teach our sons:
Love people; help them, rescue them. 
Make others happy, not sad. 
Use your bravery to defend and not to harm the weak.

But as long as they are treating each other kindly and both having fun, I don't try to discourage their gun and swordplay.  I let them play out their daring adventures and dangerous battles undisturbed -- because this world needs brave boys who will become brave men to fight for what is right.

our christmas: 2012

We had a big pre-Christmas road trip planned but decided to cancel at the last minute because I have this bug of sorts that just won't go away.  Traveling for the holidays is fun, but sometimes you've just got to stay home.

Some Christmas-y stuff at our house...

 Bob has lights in his room...

and his own little tree with all of his ornaments plus some extras...

My four gifts for Ben: something you want, something you need, something to wear, something to read.

Ben's gifts for me: something to look at, something else, and something you got.  Oh, he's a funny one.

I put together a box of fun for Christmas Eve -- new matching jammies for the pups, a game, hot cocoa, the nativity play set Bob only gets to use at church, and the big item: a new camera that Bobby can use -- and brought it out just before sunset and snuck it under the tree.  Bobby could not stop talking about, "How did that big present just appear?"  Three year olds are so very fun.

We baked cookies...

Owie the Elf tried to erase our Christmas Eve family fun checklist...

We had some family over -- James, Nate, Erica, Mom + Tom, Big Gram, Bailey and Cassie for a bit...

Bobby took a LOT of photos (that'll have to be another story)...

This is his photographer JOY face...  That little munchkin is obsessed with "his" new camera.

Bob claims pink is his favorite color, and he was smitten with Bailey's sparkly shoes.  Here he is mid ballerina twirl...

"Thank you, THANK YOU, Uncle James for my new shoes!  They're good.  They're beautiful!"

We watched Elf, we ate and drank and were merry, we played a game maybe, and we set up Christmas for Bob and Owie.  Or should I say, Pupper and Wooden.  (Puppy names declared by Bobby.)

The bottom right is a little dark and blocked, but in front of Pupper's dog house are wrapped dog bowls and bones.

Tiny gifts from Santa Mouse tied with yellow ribbons and tucked into the tree...

Little pups asleep with visions of doggie bones dancing in their heads...

And -- Christmas morning!  When Bob came out and caught sight of everything he said over and over in all different inflections: "Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness!  Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness!  There's presents!  There's a dog house!  There's presents!  Oh my goodness!"

I'm hoping the bobcam caught this better but here are some moments, like reading the advent calendar...

Owen opening a present for the first time in his life...

Bob couldn't resist helping...

and showing him what was what, and generally just hogging poor Owie's ONE toy.

Some brotherly Christmas lovins...

Then Grandmother came over and we opened even more presents, and had birthday cake for Jesus.

"Hey, Mom, that's too bad Baby Jesus didn't come to our house."

We stopped up at Judy and Bonnie's for a bit.  "Ewica, do you want to come sit on this little bench with me?"  "I like Nate and Ewica.  They are my two friends."

 Then we went out to my Aunt Trisha's for a while.  I didn't really take pictures but we snagged a couple of family photos from Pepere...

And I took a few of these lovelies as well, although I didn't catch a single one without anybody talking...

When we got home we tried having a little candlelight book service under the tree, but some people just wanted to blow out the candles and try to drink them and clink the jars together...

... and so it made for cute photos but ended abruptly, and the pups were put to bed after a long, fun day.

Part two from the bobcam's view to come tomorrow {I hope}.

Merry Christmas, all!