I come out of quarantine to write to you today. Pretty much since Christmas it's been one bout of sickness after another. Sure, we've had small pockets of good health here and there, but for the most part one or all of us has had some sort of bug. Thankfully, it's been nothing serious, but our house has definitely been more chaotic than usual as we struggle to keep our heads above water in this germ infested pool.
There is a huge pile of laundry in the bedroom and one load that's been sitting in the dryer for three days. There is a stack of dishes by the sink, food smeared all over the floor. Isaac's latest thing is to continually "reorganize" the front hallway, so it is barely passable because of all the shoes, hats, and mitts scattered everywhere. We haven't seen the main set of car keys for two days (another one of Isaac's latest things: he takes them and tries to stick them in keyholes). Top it off with a deluge of dirty kleenexes and you've got an idea of what we're living in.
Last night I crawled into bed only to be greeted by a bumpy, scratchy sensation. Of course. Earlier in the day Isaac had been bouncing on our bed, eating a triscuit (my fault, for letting him).
Sometimes the continual mess makes me feel like I'm going to lose my mind. Everything has either been hidden by Isaac or hidden from Isaac, so I can never find anything. Some days every other step crushes a cheerio and there are no matching socks and Isaac literally follows me around and untidies everything that I try to tidy. It can be gut-wrenchingly frustrating.
But last night, as I brushed the triscuit crumbs off the sheets I remembered (for once) to be thankful. Even with all of our colds and flus, we have no serious health problems. We have never had the terrifying experience of rushing our child to the hospital for an emergency. And our house is a mess, but it is made a mess by such a charming little man that sometimes I think my heart is going to burst. I am so thankful that God has given us our little monkey. I am so thankful that he has the health and spirit to turn our home upside down everyday. Last night I realized that triscuit crumbs in the sheets are a very, very small price to pay.
Tuesday, 22 January 2013
Monday, 31 December 2012
foggy head and Happy New Year
Our munchkin came down with a cold on boxing day and I soon followed suit. Sean's week off work, therefore, consisted in taking care of his two sickies.
Today was Sean's first day back at work, so Isaac and I were left alone in our mutual sickness. My head is still foggy so I won't write much, I just wanted to say something about love. Whenever Isaac and I are sick at the same time it always challenges my idea of love. It's just plain hard to give him all the love and attention he deserves when I'm not fully functioning myself. Sometimes it's actually painful. Sometimes I want to cry. Sometimes I do cry. It's the Cross. I'm now getting too sleepy and foggy to coherently connect all the points I wanted to make but it was something about God loving us. A lot.
May His love bless you and yours this Christmas season and bring you health and happiness in the New Year.
Today was Sean's first day back at work, so Isaac and I were left alone in our mutual sickness. My head is still foggy so I won't write much, I just wanted to say something about love. Whenever Isaac and I are sick at the same time it always challenges my idea of love. It's just plain hard to give him all the love and attention he deserves when I'm not fully functioning myself. Sometimes it's actually painful. Sometimes I want to cry. Sometimes I do cry. It's the Cross. I'm now getting too sleepy and foggy to coherently connect all the points I wanted to make but it was something about God loving us. A lot.
May His love bless you and yours this Christmas season and bring you health and happiness in the New Year.
Friday, 14 December 2012
my marriage to a Hobbit nerd
Last night Sean and I had a rare date night and went to the premiere showing of The Hobbit (it was great; we loved it. If you're a fan you should go see it, pronto). We weren't sure how busy it would be and wanted to be sure of getting good seats so we arrived two and a half hours early.
There were only five people ahead of us in line. One of them had a tattoo in Elvish on his arm.
As we sat there chatting with our new found Hobbit friends I realized something. I had been suspecting it for some time. As the premiere approached, Sean's daily visits to fan sites and meticulous watching of every trailer, clip, and tv spot tipped me off, but last night confirmed it. I am married to a nerd.
The thing is, I don't think I realized how much of a nerd he was when I married him. I thought he was a "movie buff." I now know that "movie buff" is just a code word for nerd (just a warning for all you single ladies. Beware!).
All of this has had me thinking about the mystery of the human person. We are made in the image and likeness of God, which gives us greater depth than we can ever know. We grow, we learn, we change. Every day. Until we die. Which means that no one can ever really be boring. If we find someone boring then we're not looking closely enough.
I've also been reading about the temperament types: four categories that explain the natural inclinations and tendencies of different types of people (The Temperament God Gave You by Art and Laraine Bennett). I find it extremely interesting and helpful to some degree, but I've begun to notice something. It's pretty easy to pigeonhole people that I don't know very well, but the better I know someone the harder I find it to fit them into a category. Sean is the most difficult by far. When I think of all the different sides of him that I'm getting to know I find it almost impossible.
After pulling my hair out over it for a little while I've realized that it doesn't really matter. Because people don't ever fit neatly into categories. If they do then it's probably because, again, we're not looking closely enough. Take the categories for what they're worth (because they are helpful when used properly), and then forget about them and just marvel at the beauty and complexity of God's creation.
Two and half years ago I didn't know that my soon to be husband was a big ole' nerd in hiding. Now I know. And that's awesome. It's amazing that after two and a half years I'm still only scratching the surface of the mystery that is my husband. Every day, if I make the effort, I can find a little bit more of him to fall in love with.
There were only five people ahead of us in line. One of them had a tattoo in Elvish on his arm.
As we sat there chatting with our new found Hobbit friends I realized something. I had been suspecting it for some time. As the premiere approached, Sean's daily visits to fan sites and meticulous watching of every trailer, clip, and tv spot tipped me off, but last night confirmed it. I am married to a nerd.
The thing is, I don't think I realized how much of a nerd he was when I married him. I thought he was a "movie buff." I now know that "movie buff" is just a code word for nerd (just a warning for all you single ladies. Beware!).
All of this has had me thinking about the mystery of the human person. We are made in the image and likeness of God, which gives us greater depth than we can ever know. We grow, we learn, we change. Every day. Until we die. Which means that no one can ever really be boring. If we find someone boring then we're not looking closely enough.
I've also been reading about the temperament types: four categories that explain the natural inclinations and tendencies of different types of people (The Temperament God Gave You by Art and Laraine Bennett). I find it extremely interesting and helpful to some degree, but I've begun to notice something. It's pretty easy to pigeonhole people that I don't know very well, but the better I know someone the harder I find it to fit them into a category. Sean is the most difficult by far. When I think of all the different sides of him that I'm getting to know I find it almost impossible.
After pulling my hair out over it for a little while I've realized that it doesn't really matter. Because people don't ever fit neatly into categories. If they do then it's probably because, again, we're not looking closely enough. Take the categories for what they're worth (because they are helpful when used properly), and then forget about them and just marvel at the beauty and complexity of God's creation.
Two and half years ago I didn't know that my soon to be husband was a big ole' nerd in hiding. Now I know. And that's awesome. It's amazing that after two and a half years I'm still only scratching the surface of the mystery that is my husband. Every day, if I make the effort, I can find a little bit more of him to fall in love with.
Thursday, 22 November 2012
parenting books
Does anyone else completely freak out when they read a parenting book?
I pick it up and start to skim. This looks interesting. Wow, a lot of this sounds like what we're doing already. Wait a minute! I'm in the section of things that you're not supposed to do! Oh no! We're not nurturing enough...or maybe we're too nurturing and not spending enough time teaching him how to play pat-a-cake. Uh oh, he's not eating enough solids...or else he should be exclusively breastfed until he's two. If he doesn't get enough sleep his brain won't develop properly...but if we sleep train he'll grow up to be a sociopath ...aarghhh.
I happen to be a bit of a perfectionist, so my approach to parenting has been to research everything to death. There is truly a sea of advice on the internet and in parenting books, a lot of it contradictory. The problem is that every child is different, every parent is different and every situation is different. How can any parenting book have all the answers? How can any google search for "parenting tips"even scratch the surface of decision making that goes into parenting? There are thousands of great parenting ideas out there, and sometimes I get myself worked up thinking that we're failing miserably if we don't do them all.
When I skim through a parenting book and panic starts to set in I'm gradually realizing that I need to take a step back, a deep breath, and remind myself that we are not perfect. It's one of the great tragedies of parenthood that I can't be perfect for my sweet, innocent Isaac (short of sainthood, of course, which is a work in progress). As inevitable as it may be, it actually breaks my heart to think that our sinfulness will affect Isaac for the rest of his life. We are not perfect, our parenting is not going to be perfect. Sigh. We're just doing the best we can with the information that we have.
The solution, like so many others, lies in prayer. Prayer that, through grace, we'll raise a holy, happy little man, in spite of our faults. And prayer that through parenting we'll have the grace to grow ever closer to God and to sainthood.
I pick it up and start to skim. This looks interesting. Wow, a lot of this sounds like what we're doing already. Wait a minute! I'm in the section of things that you're not supposed to do! Oh no! We're not nurturing enough...or maybe we're too nurturing and not spending enough time teaching him how to play pat-a-cake. Uh oh, he's not eating enough solids...or else he should be exclusively breastfed until he's two. If he doesn't get enough sleep his brain won't develop properly...but if we sleep train he'll grow up to be a sociopath ...aarghhh.
I happen to be a bit of a perfectionist, so my approach to parenting has been to research everything to death. There is truly a sea of advice on the internet and in parenting books, a lot of it contradictory. The problem is that every child is different, every parent is different and every situation is different. How can any parenting book have all the answers? How can any google search for "parenting tips"even scratch the surface of decision making that goes into parenting? There are thousands of great parenting ideas out there, and sometimes I get myself worked up thinking that we're failing miserably if we don't do them all.
When I skim through a parenting book and panic starts to set in I'm gradually realizing that I need to take a step back, a deep breath, and remind myself that we are not perfect. It's one of the great tragedies of parenthood that I can't be perfect for my sweet, innocent Isaac (short of sainthood, of course, which is a work in progress). As inevitable as it may be, it actually breaks my heart to think that our sinfulness will affect Isaac for the rest of his life. We are not perfect, our parenting is not going to be perfect. Sigh. We're just doing the best we can with the information that we have.
The solution, like so many others, lies in prayer. Prayer that, through grace, we'll raise a holy, happy little man, in spite of our faults. And prayer that through parenting we'll have the grace to grow ever closer to God and to sainthood.
Friday, 9 November 2012
awesome strangers at Mass
This morning I took Isaac to Mass. I love going to daily Mass. Or perhaps, to be more honest, I love the idea of going to daily Mass. Participating in Holy Mass is nothing short of the greatest thing that we humble human beings can do. I believe this to be true. And yet...
By the time Isaac and I are bundled up for the walk--racing to get my coat on before he gets up too many stairs, pulling him off the stairs to his screams of protest, digging through piles of laundry to find his missing sock, deciding that no one will really notice if his socks don't match, trying to get his coat, hat, mitts, and boots on while he takes all the shoes off the shoe rack--I'm already tired. By the time I've struggled out the door with the stroller in one arm and Isaac in the other I feel like my arm is going to fall off (the one that's holding my 28 lb baby). Then there's the Mass itself.
Sometimes I see babies in church who are content to sit in their parent's arms and watch as the Mass proceeds. If they get restless they flip through one of those adorable baby bibles. If they get tired they rest their head on their parent's shoulder.
I confess that when I see those babies my thoughts are not always holy. Because Isaac has never been one of those babies. I don't want to imply that he's "bad" in church. He's usually very happy to be in a new place with lots of new things to look at and touch. What he is not happy about is having to stay still. So he doesn't. We can't let him roam free, but he's pretty much in constant motion in our arms. He leans forward for the hymnal, but it's not enough to just touch it. He has to stand in my lap so that he can touch it from a better angle. He then has to tell everyone in the church how happy he is to be standing on my knees (in his own language of course): "do da dee doe-DAH, doe-DAH." You get the idea.
This morning, by the Consecration, he was getting restless and I was getting tired of his squirmy-ness, so we went to the soundproofed children's room where he could have a little more freedom and I could (hopefully) concentrate a little more on prayer. I had forgotten that his favorite part of the children's room also happens to be the least soundproof: the door. He can reach the handle and pull on it making the door rattle and he loves to knock on the glass panel. There I was, trying to follow the Mass and at the same time wondering how much of Isaac's noise was audible outside and trying to figure out a way to stop him without making him upset, when a man approached the door.
I recognized him as the old gentleman with the cane who always comes to daily Mass and sits at the back. He had always seemed friendly but all I could think was, "Oh no! He's going to tell me that they can hear Isaac banging on the glass and that I should restrain my child."
I opened the door for him and smiled weakly. He said, "I just wanted to mention..."
Here it comes, I'm about to get an earful.
"I just wanted to mention that I think mothers are the most important people in the world. I really mean it."
"Thank you." I was so touched my eyes welled up a little. "The most important people in the world." What a humbling compliment. What beautiful recognition of the sacrifice, the hard work, the joy and heartache of being a mom.
At the end of Mass we were back in our pew and getting ready to go. Many of the people walking by stopped and said hi to Isaac. One lady commented, "I just love hearing little ones at Mass. It's not often you hear them at daily Mass." When I said that I always worry he's being too loud she protested, "Oh no, he was so so good." Once again I was touched.
You see, since we moved here and I started bringing Isaac to daily Mass when I've had the chance, I've been afraid of what people think of us there. It's not a young parish and daily Mass would be so peaceful and so quiet apart from Isaac's many noises. I'm always afraid of being disruptive and of being judged on how I "handle" my baby.
Lately I've been pretty slack on going to daily Mass. With all the winter gear to put on, it's a lot of effort to get there. And Isaac has been harder and harder to contain during Mass as he becomes more mobile. Sometimes by the end of Mass I'm frustrated and feel like I haven't really prayed at all. Some days it just doesn't seem worth it (which is a sad and horrible thing to say).
Today I really felt that these strangers were being Christ to me. With a gentle nudge Jesus was reminding me that it may be difficult but it IS worth it. Prayer is worth it. Being a mom is worth it. My wiggly one year old is a precious little person worth all the time and effort and LOVE that goes into feeding, clothing, cleaning, and entertaining him. It's worth all the lost mittens and last minute diaper changes it takes to make it to daily Mass when possible.
Thank you, strangers, for being awesome today!
By the time Isaac and I are bundled up for the walk--racing to get my coat on before he gets up too many stairs, pulling him off the stairs to his screams of protest, digging through piles of laundry to find his missing sock, deciding that no one will really notice if his socks don't match, trying to get his coat, hat, mitts, and boots on while he takes all the shoes off the shoe rack--I'm already tired. By the time I've struggled out the door with the stroller in one arm and Isaac in the other I feel like my arm is going to fall off (the one that's holding my 28 lb baby). Then there's the Mass itself.
Sometimes I see babies in church who are content to sit in their parent's arms and watch as the Mass proceeds. If they get restless they flip through one of those adorable baby bibles. If they get tired they rest their head on their parent's shoulder.
I confess that when I see those babies my thoughts are not always holy. Because Isaac has never been one of those babies. I don't want to imply that he's "bad" in church. He's usually very happy to be in a new place with lots of new things to look at and touch. What he is not happy about is having to stay still. So he doesn't. We can't let him roam free, but he's pretty much in constant motion in our arms. He leans forward for the hymnal, but it's not enough to just touch it. He has to stand in my lap so that he can touch it from a better angle. He then has to tell everyone in the church how happy he is to be standing on my knees (in his own language of course): "do da dee doe-DAH, doe-DAH." You get the idea.
This morning, by the Consecration, he was getting restless and I was getting tired of his squirmy-ness, so we went to the soundproofed children's room where he could have a little more freedom and I could (hopefully) concentrate a little more on prayer. I had forgotten that his favorite part of the children's room also happens to be the least soundproof: the door. He can reach the handle and pull on it making the door rattle and he loves to knock on the glass panel. There I was, trying to follow the Mass and at the same time wondering how much of Isaac's noise was audible outside and trying to figure out a way to stop him without making him upset, when a man approached the door.
I recognized him as the old gentleman with the cane who always comes to daily Mass and sits at the back. He had always seemed friendly but all I could think was, "Oh no! He's going to tell me that they can hear Isaac banging on the glass and that I should restrain my child."
I opened the door for him and smiled weakly. He said, "I just wanted to mention..."
Here it comes, I'm about to get an earful.
"I just wanted to mention that I think mothers are the most important people in the world. I really mean it."
"Thank you." I was so touched my eyes welled up a little. "The most important people in the world." What a humbling compliment. What beautiful recognition of the sacrifice, the hard work, the joy and heartache of being a mom.
At the end of Mass we were back in our pew and getting ready to go. Many of the people walking by stopped and said hi to Isaac. One lady commented, "I just love hearing little ones at Mass. It's not often you hear them at daily Mass." When I said that I always worry he's being too loud she protested, "Oh no, he was so so good." Once again I was touched.
You see, since we moved here and I started bringing Isaac to daily Mass when I've had the chance, I've been afraid of what people think of us there. It's not a young parish and daily Mass would be so peaceful and so quiet apart from Isaac's many noises. I'm always afraid of being disruptive and of being judged on how I "handle" my baby.
Lately I've been pretty slack on going to daily Mass. With all the winter gear to put on, it's a lot of effort to get there. And Isaac has been harder and harder to contain during Mass as he becomes more mobile. Sometimes by the end of Mass I'm frustrated and feel like I haven't really prayed at all. Some days it just doesn't seem worth it (which is a sad and horrible thing to say).
Today I really felt that these strangers were being Christ to me. With a gentle nudge Jesus was reminding me that it may be difficult but it IS worth it. Prayer is worth it. Being a mom is worth it. My wiggly one year old is a precious little person worth all the time and effort and LOVE that goes into feeding, clothing, cleaning, and entertaining him. It's worth all the lost mittens and last minute diaper changes it takes to make it to daily Mass when possible.
Thank you, strangers, for being awesome today!
Friday, 21 September 2012
these baby days...
It's true that mothers are always worried. I have discovered in the last year that I am no exception. And since Isaac has, for the most part, been healthy, happy and thriving I've had to invent things to worry about. For example: should he be eating more solids? Or maybe he's eating too much and not nursing enough? Is it normal for hair to take this long to grow in?
The big worry monkey on my back tends to be milestones. Shouldn't he be sitting, crawling, standing, talking by now? I am very sad and very ashamed to admit that I'm one of those mothers who thinks her baby should be some kind of prodigy. It's something that I struggle with. He IS my beautiful, amazing prodigy child no matter when he hits his milestones. I'm torn between loving him so much and savoring these fleeting baby days, and wanting him to achieve at the same pace or faster than other babies his age.
The next big milestones for him are walking and talking. He's coming up to a year old, the age I had in my mind as the time when he would start doing these things. And he is actually. As I read this to myself it sounds utterly ridiculous because he is pulling up and getting better and better at cruising along furniture, and he says Mama and Dada (somewhat randomly, but still) and tries to repeat sounds that you make for him. So he really is well on his way for an almost-one-year-old.
Sometimes I worry that I should be spending more time trying to teach him things. On the other hand, he will learn in his own time and I just want to enjoy these last days of babyhood. He is his own person with his own ideas of what he wants to do or not do, not my little puppet. Of course, I'll teach him things as we play, because that's what parents do, but I will not push him into things he's not ready for.
In conclusion, I'm silly and I need to stop worrying so much.
The big worry monkey on my back tends to be milestones. Shouldn't he be sitting, crawling, standing, talking by now? I am very sad and very ashamed to admit that I'm one of those mothers who thinks her baby should be some kind of prodigy. It's something that I struggle with. He IS my beautiful, amazing prodigy child no matter when he hits his milestones. I'm torn between loving him so much and savoring these fleeting baby days, and wanting him to achieve at the same pace or faster than other babies his age.
The next big milestones for him are walking and talking. He's coming up to a year old, the age I had in my mind as the time when he would start doing these things. And he is actually. As I read this to myself it sounds utterly ridiculous because he is pulling up and getting better and better at cruising along furniture, and he says Mama and Dada (somewhat randomly, but still) and tries to repeat sounds that you make for him. So he really is well on his way for an almost-one-year-old.
Sometimes I worry that I should be spending more time trying to teach him things. On the other hand, he will learn in his own time and I just want to enjoy these last days of babyhood. He is his own person with his own ideas of what he wants to do or not do, not my little puppet. Of course, I'll teach him things as we play, because that's what parents do, but I will not push him into things he's not ready for.
In conclusion, I'm silly and I need to stop worrying so much.
Sunday, 9 September 2012
boys
I love my boys. I love that I can say that. I love that I can watch Sean with Isaac and swoon over my incredible boys.
When I was pregnant I think I secretly wanted a boy. I'm not sure why. There's just something so fun about them. I like to be feminine but I'm not really into pink or sparkles or princesses. I know that many girls are with me on this, but my nieces currently have a major disney princess obsession, so that's what I've been exposed to lately. Of course, I would have loved a little girl too and there are so many more cute things that you can sew for a girl that I'm excited for when we someday (hopefully) have a girl.
My mother-in-law, who raised 6 boys and 2 girls says that girls are more particular and boys are more laid back. Boys can be more of handful because they tend to be more adventurous but they're also easier to please in a lot of ways. If this is true then it's definitely a good thing that we had Isaac. We are a fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants kind of family right now. His adventures can be a challenge but he really is so easy going and flexible.
Anyway, I just had a swoon moment. We were trying to get Isaac settled down so we were playing with him on our bed. At this stage this means he'll look at a toy for thirty seconds, then lunge at one of us headfirst (in order to bite us...? Or give us kisses...?), use his head as leverage to get himself back up, repeat. Then Sean took Isaac to put him to bed and I just looked at them and thought--oh how I love my boys.
When I was pregnant I think I secretly wanted a boy. I'm not sure why. There's just something so fun about them. I like to be feminine but I'm not really into pink or sparkles or princesses. I know that many girls are with me on this, but my nieces currently have a major disney princess obsession, so that's what I've been exposed to lately. Of course, I would have loved a little girl too and there are so many more cute things that you can sew for a girl that I'm excited for when we someday (hopefully) have a girl.
My mother-in-law, who raised 6 boys and 2 girls says that girls are more particular and boys are more laid back. Boys can be more of handful because they tend to be more adventurous but they're also easier to please in a lot of ways. If this is true then it's definitely a good thing that we had Isaac. We are a fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants kind of family right now. His adventures can be a challenge but he really is so easy going and flexible.
Anyway, I just had a swoon moment. We were trying to get Isaac settled down so we were playing with him on our bed. At this stage this means he'll look at a toy for thirty seconds, then lunge at one of us headfirst (in order to bite us...? Or give us kisses...?), use his head as leverage to get himself back up, repeat. Then Sean took Isaac to put him to bed and I just looked at them and thought--oh how I love my boys.
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