Archives for December 2005

1. I awoke at 3:00 this morning because I was slightly warmish. Broke out a new Bible Study, worked on some menu planning for the next few weeks and tried to chit chat with Paul. A little before 6 there was a great shrieking from one of my children who had wet the bed. I threw in a load of laundry, made up a new bed and tucked the wetter back in, then FINALLY fell back asleep myself.

2. Awoke again after 8 to the sound of war seemingly outside my door, which was my children eating breakfast and Paul correcting them. They were actually in the kitchen. I lay numbly for a little while longer while they whirled and raged around my bed. If I had had the strength I definitely would have put them in a big basket.

3. Early this afternoon we were on a break from school: Eden was keeping me company while I cooked, the big kids were studying animals on the computer and soothing Christmas music was playing. It was the sort of moment that mothers fantacize about – the house was full of tranquil industry.

I need to dash as a little girl just threw a play phone at her brother because he was grabbing her blanket.

This is me kept on my toes.

I awoke this morning at 1:10. Our billion dollar dishwasher was beeping the change of a cycle. Why? I really wish I knew. The funny thing is the hype is all about how quiet it is, which it is when washing the #%^*&! dishes but when it is going into the dry cycle it starts a series of louds beeps, then when it is finished, same trio of noises. If you don’t turn it off it continues to beep a couple more times.

Does that make any sense? It’s like creeping into a sleeping baby’s room to retrieve something, only to start shouting in the doorway, “I did it! I got the stuff! I was soooo quiet! Yippee!” Stupid and annoying, especially at 1 in the morning. So I read, then wrote, then read some more, then finally fell back asleep after 5. Right around six, I sort of awoke again to wake Paul, I wasn’t exactly sure why. As he stumbled out of bed I heard knocking and realized that was what awoke me and thought it was C. Riley. Then it came again very loudly and I figured someone was at our door. I peeked through the window to see two men. One had a flashlight and was turning the doorknob.

“Who is it?” I asked quite calmly.

“It’s the sheriff.”

I stepped away from the door and called to Paul who was wandering around in the kitchen wearing only boxers. “It’s the sheriff.”

“Let me get dressed!”

“Planning on it.” He made for the bedroom to pull something on.

“I’m waiting for my husband,” I called to the men.

“That’s fine.”

“Is something wrong?”

“One of your garage doors is up and the light is blinking.”

“Oh.”

Paul came out, dressed now, and went to the back door which opens to the garage. They quickly discovered an icicle (Christopher!) had fallen in the path of the door. When Paul came home the night before the door must have hit the icicle which tripped the safety device and sent the door back up. It had been up with the light blinking all night. Someone driving by this morning had thought it strange and called 911. I stumbled back to bed while Paul, per the sheriff’s request, took a look around the garage to make sure everything was OK.

It was and he was soon snuggling in behind me. As I drifted back to sleep I thought about the series of events and noticed something: I had never been afraid.

Now some of you brave people in the audience are thinking, “What’s the big deal? Paul was there.” True, but up until a few months ago I lived in fear. Worry was my frame for life. Fear was my reflex. Anxiousness was the norm. The worst of it is that for the most part, I was unconscious of it. I knew I was a nervous nelly when I was alone at home, but I couldn’t see that being fearful was the way I responded to everything. I am grateful that God wasn’t satisfied with me accepting this instead of his perfect love and so He began to convict me. He gave me eyes to see and ears to hear.

As I began to recognize the fears that consumed me and repent choosing them instead of trusting Him, a longing welled up within me to be fearless.

These past months I have begun to experience a freedom and a peace that I have never known. My reflex slowed and then this morning I noticed with sleepy joy that it didn’t even respond when it was reasonable for it to do so.

Lying in bed this morning I realized that as I walked to answer the loud and intense knocking, what I felt was curiousity. I just wanted to know who was there.

The Bible says that “Jesus stands at the door and knocks.” This is a metaphor for our hearts, for our lives. He wants us to let him in, to make room for him. This year I have been shown time and time again the idols and wrong agreements, the covers under which to hide and the outright lies I have allowed to clutter up my heart. But these things don’t satisfy me anymore…they never did. And so I am sweeping my heart clean. I am “preparing Him room”. It is a good time. I am opening my arms wide to receive more of Him, to receive all of Him.

I want Him all.

I started a post about my anniversary on Sunday and then finished it up early this morning. I forgot to change the time stamp of the post. Blogger won’t let me correct this. Please scroll down for my latest post.

If anyone would like to come on over and do about seven loads of laundry (I’ve already done two), make dinner, clean a mudroom, educate a couple of kids, nurture a toddler and keep an eye on her bladder, empty the dishwasher, run someone to the doctor, make a trip to the hardware store, put clean sheets on four beds, straighten up the living room, clean out the fridge and write a beautiful and stirring book on motherhood for me, that would be really great.

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“Here, Mama. Dass fo you.”

I was still in bed when Eden handed me the lid belonging to a little pot that Lydia had made at church out of playdough. It had hardened and was quite sturdy, but I knew it belonged to the Bird and had been absconded by the Bean.

I took it for a moment and then handed it back to her, “Honey, that’s Lydia’s,. You need to put it back.”

She stood there, sucking her thumb just looking at me and then finally said, “Daddy said, ‘Sank You.'”

From which I surmised that the pot, itself, had been given to Paul. I shouted into the next room, “Did Beanie give you a little pot made out of red playdough?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s Lydia’s.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Would you put it back in their room?”

About twenty minutes later the girls came back to our room with some things held behind their backs. A little package wrapped in toilet paper was handed to Paul, “This is from Eden,” Lydia informed us as it was unwrapped.

It was the playdough pot. Apparently Lydia had given it to Eden to give to us and she delivered it immediately instead of waiting for wrapping and ceremony. I effused joy and gratitude and Eden smiled proudly, “Yo welcome.”

Lydia gave Paul a velvet jungle scene that she had colored in herself. I was presented another small package, also in toilet paper, and opened it to find three bracelets.

“Grandma gave them to me from the stuff she got from Millie, but I thought you might like them.”

“I do. They’re beautiful.”

A proud smile was on Lydia’s face too.

“Paul, I am so thankful we have too such generous and wonderful girls.”

Paul took the torch and continued to wax gratitude for our lovely daughters and we watched their smiles widen until their eyes crinkled shut.

Later I pulled Eden onto my lap, “Honey, I didn’t know Lydia had given you the pot to give to us. I am so sorry I didn’t thank you earlier. Will you forgive me?”

She assured me, “Dass OK” and forgave me.

Whew! What parent wants to reject half the gift of a two year old? Fortunately the other half was received in ignorance with gratitude.

We all went out for breakfast which was relatively relaxing and fun. When we got home we threw Eden in bed and packed a bag for her and Lyida. The girls left for their sleep over with Paul’s sister after Eden’s nap. Einstein’s Protege was invited to sleep over at my Mom’s but she had an all day training and I thought to call her and firm up plans fifteen minutes after it started. I knew it ended in the evening, but I wasn’t sure how late. After some thought I came up with a plan.

“What if we take Christopher out to dinner with us and then check to see if Mom is home when we’re done? The biggest thing for me is being able to sleep in tomorrow and I think it would be fun to go out with him.”

Paul agreed. We decided to do some shopping then come home and clean up for a romantic dinner – with Christopher.

On the way to the first store, we discussed when we might make it to the restaurant. Paul knew, “On a Saturday night if we don’t get there before six we are looking at a really long wait.”

I pointed out that it was then 4:00.

“Well, how long do you plan to take shopping?”

He knew all the stores on our itinerary. He had helped me compile my extensive and varied lists. In one store alone, I was hoping to purchase some groceries, tights, shoes and a hot air popcorn popper as well as make some returns. He knew this and yet he thought we might make it through two other stores with their exhaustive lists, home to clean up, then back downtown and parked before six.

Twelve years and we have only scratched the surface of the mystery that lies between us.

At 5:36 we had made a brief sojourn into T.J. Maxx, picked up a snack to fortify all of us at Taco Bell and made it through the bowels of Home Depot. Buckling up I noted that we were then officially married twelve years. “Our wedding was at five, right?”

“In the picture of the clock on the bank,” it was taken when we were walking across the street to the reception, “it says 5:29.”

“Oh then we are definitely married, now.” And we kissed.

Almost two hours later we staggered out of Meijer, a gigantic grocery/discount department store, having walked miles, climbed ladders and sent employees to back rooms to search for missing items, having made and received phone calls that were equal parts whining and good natured teasing, having (two of us) stopped for ice cream cones and devoured them while we shopped, having contemplated abandoning our cart (one of us) and fleeing outside empty handed, eventually we returned and bought ALMOST everything we needed.

At home we showered and spiffed, packed up the boy and then spent thirty minutes looking for my high-heeled boots because, “I can’t go out for a romantic dinner with you…and Christopher wearing my snow boots!” After breaking a sweat covering the mudroom, our room, the laundy room, the living room, the front entry, the girls’ room, God help me – the boy’s room, the school room, passing Paul in doorway after doorway as he covered the same ground, he found them tucked in a cupboard in the bench in the mudroom where I knew I had put them, the room, that is. I had no idea about the bench.

At 9:20, having found an excellent parking spot, we would later learn was illegal, we stood in the restaurant with our name on the list.

On the way there it occurred to me that Christopher might not know it was our anniversay. I shouted back, “Honey, did you know that today is Daddy’s and my anniversary. We have been married twelve years.”

“Twelve years!” He buried his face in his hands, “I forgot to make you a present. I forgot. I forgot. I forgot. I always forget that sometimes.” Paul and I exchanged a smile. Neither of us knew he remembered or thought to make us a gift – ever. Paul suggested he propose a toast over dinner.

The restaurant was really busy, it was a Saturday night and there were a lot of Christmas parties. We waited patiently in our different ways. Paul and I relaxed and looked around while Christopher lurked near the “hostess stand”(I am sure they have a hipper term for it, that doesn’t occur to me now). Paul and I watched him ease in closer and closer reading the list and checking everything out. He was quiet and respectful, smiling back when the girls working caught his eye. Normally, we would have been all over him, asking him to step back, maybe encouraging him to excuse himself for getting in their space. Perhaps it was the long day, the lateness of the hour or the fact that it is rotten to correct someone’s every behavior when you are having a romantic dinner with him, that gave us pause. So we just watched and giggled.

When Christopher’s Sprite and our Sangria arrived we held up our glasses and Christopher offered this, “It’s the 12th annilversery! CHEERS!” and then we all exchanged, “cheers” and clinked glasses.

Paul and I have talked about taking the children out to nice places one at a time in order to work on their manners and table skills, but we don’t have enough romantic dinners just the two of us. Our original purpose in taking Christopher out was not to assess him…but as he bent down to slurp out of his glass like some sort of armless refugee we saw that this was an excellent opportunity for some training. We both modelled how a human would drink. He watched with interest. “Would it be bad manners to drink the other way?”

Yes. Yes it would.

The restaurant was a “Tapas Bistro”. We ordered a couple of dishes to start us off. One that Paul always insists on are Blue Cheese Fritters, which are balls of blue cheese, rolled in some sort of lovely coating and then deep fried. Although they are small, they are so rich I can only eat half of one. Paul had one and my remaining half. Christopher scarfed down one and one remained. Paul asked Christopher if he would like it, who responded somewhat unclearly but we both thought he declined it. Paul was popping the last of it into his mouth when Christopher looked up with horror and said, “I thought that should be for me!” and burst into tears. The dude is no stoic, especially when he is feeling marginallized.

We took this opportunity to talk about the importance of being clear and how Paul would never have eaten if he had heard, “Yes please,” rather than a mumble.

We enjoyed the rest of our meal. Christopher sampled and enjoyed everything we ordered except for an errant piece of celery that almost undid him and an asparagus and artichoke dip that was, “dissgusting.”

He ordered ice cream for dessert and was so tired he wasn’t able to finish it.

A woman at a nearby table had some hip looking glasses and Christopher wanted to tell her. We said he could so he sidled over and waited for her to notice him. She looked up with surprise. “I like your glasses because they are cool.” She looked puzzled. Paul and I waited to let him speak for himself. She touched his arm, “What did you say?”

“I said, I like your glasses because they are cool.”

“Oh thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” and then he nodded slightly and smiled which is his ending punctuation to most social intercourse.

Paul finished his coffee, settled the bill and then we walked back to our car. It was very cold and the sky was spitting small flakes of snow. A light layer of it covered our van and the ticket on the windshield. We both groaned and I tossed it into the caddy between us and called my mom’s house. It was well after 11 and she was still not home, but my aunt, who is staying with her now, invited us to bring him over. After babysitting him one night and being frightened several times when he silently glided into the room after bedtime she dubbed him the “Stealth Bomber.” I assured her he was quite tired and would probably climb right into bed.

The minute we walked through the door he got his second wind, “You don’t look very tired!” she teased. He asked to use a sketch pad that my mom had. I gave him permission and he disappeared to my mom’s room. Paul and I chatted with my aunt while I set up a bed on one of the couches for Christopher. Mom arrived soon after and talked for a little bit about her day.

Christopher burst out of her room waving a large paper. He handed it to Paul. It was a picture of a strange looking bird, which he later identified as a parrot. It was perched on a bar and flapping its wings. A bubble barely contained these words, “Awk! Awk! I mean Happy 12th Annivisary!”

Turning it over we read, “to: mom and dan from: CHristopHER”

Paul pointed to “dan” and asked, “Who’s Dan?”

“Oops! I mean Dad.”

We thanked him heartily, hugged and kissed him, said our goodnights then headed home into the cold morning. It was just after midnight and our anniversary was officially over.

We are still celebrating.