Glad Not to Be a Skink

Yeah, it's been forever again and I've got all sorts of news and notes I could be updating everybody on ... but instead I'll just share this little thought I had while watching a nature show on Australia with the family the other day.

Praise God I'm not a skink!

Did you know that baby skinks (who often come in pairs) can weigh up to 40% of mama's body weight?

In human terms, that's like giving birth to a set of two-year-old twins.

Ouch.

Guilty Pleasures

Once upon a time, before I married Adam, I eschewed reality shows as the (mostly) mindless foolishness they are. I saw how the landscape of television had changed since the advent of Survivor and I wasn't impressed.

I can't recall exactly when I discovered that Adam is a bit of a reality series junkie. It may not have been until after we were married. He likes Survivor, American Idol, The Apprentice, Hell's Kitchen, The Bachelor, and probably a dozen more that I can't recall just now. I scoffed. But then I started sitting down to take a look at some of them.

Now, I still can't stand The Bachelor or Survivor, but I'll actually sit contentedly through an episode or two of The Apprentice, and Hell's Kitchen can be quite a bit of fun. I used to watch American Idol regularly before Adam started working nights (and my favorite judges all left the show).

I'll even confess through a sheepish blush that I've actually been counting down the days until Dancing with the Stars came back on for their 14th season, which is only 3 or 4 more than I've watched. The season premier aired last night. I haven't seen it yet, because Adam had to work, so we'll be watching it tonight on Hulu.

I'm not entirely sure what the appeal of the show is. I just find something refreshing about watching usually-pampered celebrities having to work at something that (amazingly, every season) is so much harder than they were expecting. Nobody really wins anything--there's not a cash prize or a charity donation or anything more than a goofy trophy and the privilege of saying, "I won."

It's purely entertainment. Then again, maybe that's what's so appealing. No one has their life changed with a huge influx of cash or a dream job, yet almost everybody talks about how being a part of the experience taught them something about themselves they'd never known before. And if that's not enough, there are lots of sparkly costumes every week.

And, I mean really, what could be more fun that watching macho football players becoming self-actualized while dressed in hot pink sequins?

Fruit

When I was a kid, my grandmother had a small wall hanging in her bedroom. It was a collection of tiny wooden plaques attached to one another like a long train heading up an imaginary track next to the door frame. Each piece of wood had a single word painted on it, "love" and "joy" and "peace" and some others. It was years before I connected that decoration with the verses from Galatians 5.

The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.

I read that list again this morning as part of my devotional time. I realized with dismay that my life more closely resembles the previous verses most of the time. Paul pointed to actions which make our focus on our own pleasures painfully obvious:

... hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions and envy ...

And yet, it doesn't have to be this way. I looked at the "fruit of the Spirit" verses again. What would my life look like, I considered, if I were to truly allow God's Spirit to shine through me?

Living my life with Christ at the center, I have the power to

• care for myself and others with God's own heart
• delight in God's attention to every detail
• recognize that God holds me by the hand, no matter what my circumstances
• relax in God's perfect timing
• make life easier and more pleasant for those around me
• choose God's best in every situation
• remain true in my commitments to God, to myself, and to others
• temper my anger and my frustrations with God's grace
• be deliberate in my actions and reactions

Frankly, that sounds like a much nicer life to live than the one I'm generally inhabiting. Which makes me question, why don't I simply allow God to work His power in me, all the time? Instead I'm continually giving my heart to Him only to wrest it from His hands, screaming like a two-year-old, "Mine, mine, mine, mine!"

What exactly is it I think I'm gaining?

Complaint?

I have this grievance to air. Well, it's not exactly a grievance. I'm a bit perturbed by it, but it's not all a bad thing. It's hardly a catastrophe or anything. Really, it's more of an annoyance than a complaint. Even then, the issue has redeeming qualities.

Maybe I should just start at the beginning.

You see, a couple of years ago I bought a pair of sweatpants. I needed something a little roomier than my usual size (as you do when you're six months pregnant). They fit fine and I wore them for the rest of my pregnancy and for quite some time since. All was well.

Then this past summer, I really made a go of the whole low-carb diet and I started to drop some serious weight. In fact, as of yesterday, I'd lost more than 90 lbs since I'd bought those sweatpants.

Only, I wore those pants yesterday. Out of the house. Same pants: no pins, no stitching. Granted, they were roomy, but they weren't falling down around my ankles.

Which brings us to the crux of my quasi-complaint. On the one hand, it's fabulous that I've been able to continue wearing the same clothes as I've been losing weight. I certainly can't be running out to replace my whole wardrobe every 15 lbs, so the fact that this one pair of sweats has lasted me all this time is really a good thing.

On the other hand, it's a little disheartening that I've lost nearly 100 lbs and I'm still wearing the same pants!

Chocolate

(noun) A substance developed to help one get through those days when considering statements such as, "Gee, maybe we should have just adopted a puppy."

ex: Just hand over the chocolate and nobody gets hurt!

Notes from a Busy Household

I must have started half a dozen posts in the last month and a half. Not a one of them made it far enough along to bother with the bright orange "Publish" button that mocks me from the top of the page.

Life moves so fast sometimes. Do you suppose I've seen that Matthew Broderick Super Bowl commercial too many times? It's one of the few I really liked. As I watched most of them, I felt like I must be outside the targeted demographic because of my age. Or my gender. Or maybe my species.

It seems like I've hardly had a moment to myself since before Christmas, with the exception of a few that were very carefully carved out under heavy guard. Extra special thanks go to Adam for helping carve and guard! I'm sure I'd have gone completely round the bend without them, rather than just most of the way, holding on for dear life.

So what have I been busy doing, you ask? Well, I put 17 items on my Big To-Do list last month. As of this morning, 11 of them are done.

For the last several weeks, I've been:

• Finishing mittens for Ian, just in time for the weather to get all warmish again. On the plus side, they're adorable, even if all they're doing right now is dangling from the sleeves of his coat. I did make notes while I was working on it, so I'm going to try making a pair for Rosi as well and actually writing up the pattern before the end of winter. (Mental note: update list)
• Writing out three grocery lists and bought enough food to keep us all fed.
• Doing our taxes and submitted them online. Hooray for Free File at irs.gov!
• Developing a lesson plan on the history of Jane Goodall's Roots & Shoots program
• Writing a scientifically accurate story of how a snowflake grows and practiced making snow paint out of various ingredients. (For the record, I thought the shaving cream version had the best effect given the cost and effort involved in making the paint.)
• Updating my resume. Again. I think I've finally got it the way I want it now.
• Revising my professional profile. If you're not familiar with the term, that's a one-page overview of my career history, skills and qualifications, and what I'm looking for in a new job situation. It's sort of like a mini-resume, but is specifically designed for networking purposes.
• Becoming a member of a new church. Well, the church isn't that new, but we've only been going there for about 6 months. It's nice to have a church home again, but it's really not helping at all with the being-less-busy thing. It's a good busy, I know, but sometimes I just want a day off or three. (Another mental note: Don't forget to send that e-mail about the VBS planning meeting next week)
• Figuring out where to donate a batch of recycled heart crayons so that the next project we're doing with the Roots & Shoots group will actually be useful to some kids other than ours. We're donating them to the local Ronald McDonald House.

Add to that all the normal everyday stuff like cooking and cleaning and making sure the kids bathe regularly, learn some new stuff, and don't kill one another. Or their father. Or me.

And, hey, what's going on with my blog design? I didn't authorize a blue stripe down the middle of my sidebar! Now I'm going to have to mess with that again (attempting to make yet another mental note).

***ERROR: THERE IS INSUFFICIENT SYSTEM MEMORY AVAILABLE IN RESOURCE POOL 'MIND' TO COMPLETE ACTION.***

Oh, dear.

Arts and Crafts

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!

Ephemeral Art

When I was in college, one of the required courses was a four-part humanities series. For three semesters we studied pretty much all of recorded history with a focus on the arts, while the fourth provided a more hands-on experience as we each designed and created our own art projects and present them before the class.

During the fourth semester, I was first introduced to the concept of ephemeral art. If you're unfamiliar with the term, it basically means art that is designed to be temporary. It covers a broad range of types, everything from ice carving to face painting to sand castles to fire sculptures that burn up as they are displayed.

I was reminded of my general amazement with the genre this morning when I found Rosi drawing in the condensation on the back window.

Being the amazing educational facilitator I (occasionally) am, I immediately turned her play into an art lesson. As part of our study, we looked at collections of ephemeral art online. Some of my favorites were by Richard Shilling and Andy Goldsworthy, who do something called "land art" or working outdoors with primarily natural materials which then may erode or decay naturally. Be sure to check out the links; both of these guys do some really incredible stuff!

Photo by Mike and Kirsty Grundy [CC-BY-SA-2.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Genius

I got this quote in my e-mail the other day. I really like it.

Everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.

attributed to Albert Einstein

Ironically, there are a few fish living in Africa and Southeast Asia that do, in fact, climb trees. Still, I bet they're better at swimming.

Finally, It Makes Sense

Ever since I first discovered it, some five years ago, I've thought the Tunisian crochet stitch was pretty cool. Both of my long-time readers may remember this Tunisian stitch satchel I made for my niece, lo these many moons ago.

More recently, I found instructions for the Tunisian Knit stitch in a stitch dictionary I'd gotten. The resulting fabric is such a neat knit-like look, without all the trouble of actually having to knit. The only problem was, the instructions provided in that particular book were not very clear. I tried and tried and tried, but just couldn't figure out quite where to place my hook to get the neat chained-stitch effect.

This week's Crochet Me newsletter features a tutorial on the Tunisian stitch, including a diagram of Tunisian Knit showing exactly where the hook goes. I tried it out and, whaddaya know, it worked exactly like it's supposed to!

I can totally see this as a cuff to a sweater or a mitten. Maybe I'll start a pair of mittens for myself, now that the winter weather has actually arrived in Sioux Falls with a half inch of snow dusting the ground. Or maybe I should complete some of the UFOs cluttering up the top of my piano first ...

Two Things I Learned on the Water Slide

How the heck did it get to be December already? My parents weren't kidding about time moving faster as you get older!

A couple of weeks ago, Adam and I celebrated our birthdays. My in-laws' gift to us was a couple of nights at a local hotel with an indoor water park. Alone time and uninterrupted sleep being rare and precious commodities in our house, we decided to spend our days together with the kids splashing around in the pools and water slides, then each of us took one evening and overnight to stay in the room alone.

I didn't end up spending my evening alone. In fact, I picked up my 19-year-old niece to go for coffee and we spent the next several hours talking about everything from college to boys to Christianity to the Occupy Wall Street movement. Finally, as midnight was approaching, I decided I'd better take her home, lest she turn into a pumpkin.

After a lovely full night's sleep without anyone bumping into me in bed, I took a few final rides on the 160-foot water slide before checking out. God used that opportunity to teach me some important lessons.

1. It's okay to have fun by myself, in fact, it's necessary
Rosi and I had had a blast riding the water slide together our first day at the hotel. Unfortunately, they had to close the slide for maintenance the afternoon of the second day, so she wasn't able to ride on it again. We splashed around in the other pools (there were three total, plus two hot tubs) and slid down the kiddie slides with Adam and Ian.

After discovering the big slide was open again the next morning, I thought about picking up the kids for a quick visit. But, I figured by the time I drove home, we got them ready to go, drove back to the hotel, and actually were ready to use the pool, it would be nearly time to check out. So I went down the slide a couple of times on my own, thinking about how much fun Rosi would have had if she were there, and feeling a bit guilty that she wasn't able to experience it with me.

As I climbed up out of the pool after my second or third ride, the thought occurred to me that I didn't need to feel guilty because I wasn't doing anything wrong. Not only was it good for me to be having fun on my own, but it was important. Nobody can be having fun all the time. In this broken world, at any given moment someone (probably lots and lots of someones) are hurting or hungry or afraid. If we limit our own enjoyment of life to only that which can simultaneously be enjoyed by everyone else, we're not going to enjoy anything.

I don't mean to suggest that we shouldn't do what all we can to help those who are hungry or hurting, but not enjoying the pleasure that is in my life, because everyone else can't share it with me, simply leaves me miserable without offering any benefit to anyone.


2. Trusting the one who designed the course makes the ride a whole lot more fun.
Prior to this hotel stay, the last time I'd gone down a water slide was not a good experience for me. That slide was completely enclosed so I couldn't really see what was coming next. I ended up off balance, landing in the water on my belly and hitting my elbow on the end of the slide.

With those memories at the forefront of my mind, I was feeling pretty cautious the first few times I rode down this new slide. I kept my hands pressed against the sides to slow myself down and help stay upright. As I continued to slide, I started feeling more comfortable with the ride, but I still worried that if I didn't hold on, I'd start going too fast or tip over to one side or suffer some nasty accident--160 feet down looks awfully high from the top!

After about a dozen rides, it occurred to me that any water slide designer worth his salt would naturally design a slide that's really difficult to fall from. Furthermore, any park that installs a slide would have a vested interest in the safety of the riders, if for no other reason than because injuries are bad for business.

Finally, I gathered up the courage to let go, just sliding down with the water and not worrying (too much) about losing control or falling off. My last couple of rides were definitely the best ones of the whole visit. I wasn't tense or worried. Splashing from one side to the other as I rode around the curves was fun rather than scary. Believing that the creator of the ride knew what he was doing and trusting that he had it all worked out to keep me where I was supposed to be allowed me to appreciate the topsy-turvy feeling, smile at the rush of wind in my face, and anticipate the splash at the end.

Excrementalism

Apparently, I wasn't the only one pondering crap this past week. Christine put up a thought-provoking post There is no healing without poo. Go on over and read it, I'll wait.

(humming to self)

Quite an epiphany, right? And it makes so much sense. You have to let the bad stuff out so the good stuff has space to fit in.

Over the past few years, two different friends have had babies diagnosed with "imperforate anus" a condition in which the anus is closed or smaller in diameter than it should be. For one friend, the diagnosis came after her newborn wasn't nursing well. She explained it this way, "He wasn't wanting to eat because he wasn't able to poop very well, so he was feeling full."

I think that's true emotionally as well. When we don't let the poo out, we aren't able to receive the nourishment we need. There's no room to experience love, joy, peace, and all the rest of it.

Something to think about the next time you visit the loo.

Love and Bullshit

If you are related to me or you've read some of my previous posts on the issue, you already know I grew up in a family that didn't have a very good understanding of what love truly means. While I was taught that God is Love and my parents loved me no matter what, I didn't really get it. Love, for me, was a matter of usefulness. If I could do something for you, you would love me. Now, that might be anything from balancing your checkbook to making you feel special, but in the end, it all boiled down to my own efforts.

Sometime about college, I started to gather more information on the whole idea of God's grace. I mostly got it, I thought. God loves us because He made us. Even though I didn't do anything special for Him, He still thought I was pretty nifty because He'd created me. That seemed to make sense. Being the crafty sort myself, I could see liking something I made, just because. Yet, I couldn't help but think He'd love me more or better if I did more for Him.

Life went on, and I met Adam. I may not have shared this before, but he is the only boyfriend I've had. I never personally dealt with the whole concept of romantic love before, except in wholly one-sided, imaginary relationships. He told me he loved me just for me; I thought that was pretty cool. Still, especially after we got married, I could see that there was some benefit for him in having me around. And vice versa, of course.

It started to bother me, the fact that I couldn't quite identify what exactly love is. Not that it kept me up nights worrying, but periodically, in passing, I'd remember that I couldn't pinpoint real, true love, and I'd feel bad about that.

Earlier this year, Adam and I had to work through some really serious issues in our marriage. We needed to have a conversation that I hope never to have again, deciding whether or not we were willing to move forward in our relationship or if we would just walk away. Obviously, at the end of that discussion, we chose the former. It was a good choice.

I was thinking about our talk last night and sharing with Adam how glad I was we'd come to the conclusion that we are worth fighting for. Even as hard as some parts of the last few years have been, I told him, I would rather be working through the mess here with him than be somewhere else on my own, having avoided it altogether.

I've known for several years that I'm what's called a "verbal processor," which is just a fancy way of saying that I think about things best by talking them through. Frequently, I'm not particularly aware of my thoughts on a subject until ideas fall fully-formed out of my mouth.

Yesterday, for the first time, I realized I finally have a grasp on the whole love thing. It's not about how useful it might be to have you around. It's not whether or not I had anything to do with your being. And, contrary to what Erich Segal proposed, love certainly hasn't meant never having to saying I'm sorry.

Nope, stripped of flowery sentiment, I have discovered that love simply means I'd rather be mucking out the stable with you than riding in the rodeo without you.

Already Saved by Grace

Because I couldn't write it any better, I want to direct your attention to a great post from At a Hen's Pace this week called Unhealthy Guilt. For anybody who grew up with a cloud of "I'm not good enough" surrounding them, I highly recommend a read.

Why I Love My Husband

I'm not feeling so hot today. I woke up with a migraine and construction workers outside my window hammering something into the new sidewalk they've spent the last two days building. Why they felt the need to start work at the crack of dawn (or 8:30 AM), I don't know.

Today was payday, which means sometime overnight bigger numbers suddenly appeared after the dollar sign in our online checking account balance. So Rosi and I went grocery shopping. Of the 22 advertised sale items on our list, 4 were not available. I won't make you do the math, that's more than 18%. Nothing like spending 5 hours creating a nutritionally balanced weekly menu full of fresh ingredients and visiting multiple stores to find the best prices, only to find oneself unable to buy nearly one-fifth of it. That's more than a day's worth of meals!

Those were the lower points of this morning, though. Today was actually a pretty decent day, overall. While we were out shopping, Adam and Ian cleaned the whole house and did all the laundry. I made lunch when I got home, but before I had a chance to do the dishes, Adam rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher for me.

Later this afternoon, even though he's not yet had any of the alone time he's been craving this week, he gave me a couple of hours to take a nap. He even changed the poopy diaper I would have otherwise been stuck cleaning up right before naptime.

And while I appreciated everything he did today, the actions are really just a reflection of the fantastic man Adam is. He's caring and thoughtful and loving and goofy and gentle and strong and devoted and considerate and faithful and patient and accepting and sincere and fascinating and about a thousand other wonderful adjectives I could choose.

Thank you, my love, for today and for everything you did for me. Thank you even more just for being you and being willing to love me for me.

Evil Sucks

I had a disturbing dream just before I woke up about someone trying to hurt my kids. This morning I'm feeling pretty disgusted by the presence of evil in the world.

I've got it pretty good. I recognize that (most of the time). Overall, I live in a peaceful place. We have clean water and abundant food. We are free to worship God, or the god of our choosing, or no god at all, in pretty well whatever manner we see fit. We have access to educational opportunities aplenty. World-class healthcare services are practically on our doorstep.

And yet, we are also surrounded by disease, selfishness, destruction, and pain. People choose to hurt others because they can. Or because they don't care. Or because they just don't think.

So many people work so hard to make the world a better place to live. Yet so many others do nothing, or even actively work to make life more difficult for others. I'm having trouble today with the dichotomy.

I believe that God has wisdom far beyond my understanding. I really do. Still, today (like most days) I just can't imagine WHY free will was the best way to create people. Would the world really be worse off it we simply couldn't make bad choices? Really??

September 11th

I wasn't going to write anything about today. I don't have any extraordinary memories of that day 10 years ago. I wasn't in New York or Washington at the time. No one I knew was involved in the tragedy. I didn't figure I really had anything to add to the national discussion.

And yet, as the day has gone on, I find myself choking up. I remember where I was, what I was doing, the thoughts I had. I may not have any special insight to offer, but I thought I'd share my story.

It was an average Tuesday morning. I was driving along the Kennedy Expressway headed to work. I had on the radio and the hosts were talking about a news report I'd just missed that said a plane had flown into one of the World Trade Center towers. Only half listening as I battled the morning rush, I figured I must have heard wrong. Maybe they meant a small private plane had somehow gone off course and clipped an antenna or something. Just then, they broke into the chatter to report that a second plane had hit the second tower. A cold chill went down my spine. One plane was likely an accident. Two planes had to have been planned.

I got to the office and found everybody clustered around the TV in the break room. I watched a replay of the crashes. And another. And another. After a dozen times or more, I went to my desk and switched on my computer. I couldn't watch it again just then.

Sometime after I'd cleared out my e-mail inbox, my boss walked past carrying the TV into his office. He came back out and announced that anybody who wanted to watch was welcome to come in and do so. I went in a while later. I was just in time to see the first tower collapse. I sat with several of my coworkers watching more replays of the planes crashing into the towers and the Pentagon that morning.

Interspersed were scenes of people on the streets of New York stumbling and running through the confusion and the rubble, some with injuries, many with cloths tied over their mouths and noses to keep out the dust. I couldn't believe I was watching live footage of New York, of anywhere in the US. I thought it looked like news reports from the Middle East--all dusty and messy and war-torn.

After the second tower fell, my boss announced that anyone who wanted to go home and be with their families was free to do so. I thought about leaving, but wasn't sure where to go. I lived alone. I had some family in the area, but nobody I felt a pressing need to see.

I thought about leaving and just going home or driving around, but decided I really didn't want to be on my own. I stayed for a while, continuing to watch the news, listening to other people talk about what had happened, not knowing what to say myself.

I thought about the previous attempt to knock down the towers. I was in high school at the time, living in New York, just an hour north of midtown. I had a friend from church who worked in the South Tower. I remember watching the news in my living room that afternoon, wondering if he was all right.

I thought about how that attack was scary, but hadn't been terribly successful. I considered with wry irony that the second attempt had gone so much better for those who'd planned it.

Eventually, I went to my aunt's house. I spent the night there and we did silly normal things like make popcorn and watch old movies. Then we went to bed and pretended that so much hadn't changed.

Happy Labor Day*

In honor of Labor Day, let's talk about some of the hardest work women do. Adapted from We are THAT Family.

How long were your labors?

I was in active labor with Rosi from around 1:00 AM until she was born just after 8:00 PM, so about 19 hours.

Active labor with Ian came and went. Counting from the time my water broke the first time, it was 4½ days before he was born. Counting from the second time my water broke, it was about 28 hours before he was born. Counting from when they broke my water in the hospital ... well, actually, I don't remember exactly when that was. I was in hospital for a total of about 20 hours before his birth. And I have the unique distinction of being the only woman my midwife ever heard of whose water broke three times during the birth of a single baby.

How did you know you were in labor?

With Rosi, I woke up in the middle of the night in pain. I didn't think I was having contractions, but Adam timed them at 2-3 minutes apart.

I woke up about 6:00 AM a week before Ian was due and felt like I really needed to go to the bathroom. I thought I hadn't quite made it, but when I turned on the light to clean myself up, I saw that the fluid was pink and realized my water had broken.

Where did you give birth?

I wanted to have both my kids at home. I saw a homebirth midwife while I was pregnant with Rosi until about 30 weeks when my midwife strongly recommended I transfer care to a hospital-based practice because of continued high blood pressure readings (she could not legally attend me at home if I was hypertensive and she felt it would be beneficial to have time to get to know another care provider before birth). I had Rosi at a hospital in Illinois, with no blood pressure issues at all.

With Ian, I planned to give birth at a private home just across the border in Minnesota because my midwife cannot legally attend home births in South Dakota (see my post Why Drive to a Homebirth?). Unfortunately, complications during his birth required going to the local hospital in MN, then transferring to another hospital here in Sioux Falls.

Drugs? C-section?

Both labors were augmented by Pitocin. During my labor with Rosi, I considered pain meds shortly after they started the Pit, but decided against them. I pushed her out about three hours later.

While laboring with Ian, I chose to have an epidural a couple of hours before he was born in a final, ultimately unsuccessful attempt to avoid surgery. He was born by emergency c-section.

Who attended?

I had a Certified Nurse Midwife at Rosi's birth, and Adam was able to catch her as she was born.

I was seeing a Certified Professional Midwife throughout my pregnancy and most of my labor with Ian, and the plan was for Adam to catch again. In the end, the on-call OB did the honors in the OR.

Want to play? Answer the above questions in comments or on your own blog.
Did you adopt? How long did you wait? How did you find out your child(ren) would be joining your family? When/where did you meet? How was the adoption arranged?
Not a mom? What were the facts from your own birth?

*I really tried to think of a post title that would be some sort of spin on Love's Labour's Lost, but couldn't quite manage it.

Ten Hundred Million Years

Rosi has a typically childish notion of time. That is to say, she really has no concept of how long an hour, a day, or a year is. When something hasn't happened soon enough to please her (generally the instant she suggests it), she'll complain that it's been hours or days or even "ten hundred million years" since she first asked and she can't possibly wait any longer.

After she made such a comment the other day in the car, I explained to Adam my theory as to why time moves so much faster for Rosi than for the rest of us: in her universe, everything revolves around her. Since she's so much smaller than the sun, it all goes by that much quicker.

Meanwhile, it's been positively forever since my last post. We've been doing our best to keep ourselves occupied here, so let me give you a bulleted list of what we're up to these days.

• I've been spending a lot of time cooking, thinking about cooking, reading about cooking, writing about cooking (I have 60+ recipes posted over at Low-Carb Real Food), and trying to take half-decent pictures of my food. And when I'm done with all that, I spend a few minutes eating and then the kitchen has to be cleaned up all over again. Cooking three meals a day at home makes for a lot of dishes!
• Ever since I made the doll for my contest winner a couple of years ago, I've been wanting to make another and work out my own pattern. I even went so far as to buy yarn for the project a few months back. Then I got caught up doing other things, and I've only gotten back to it the last week or so. As best I can figure, I'm about halfway done. I've also run out of stuffing, so I need to make a run to the store before I can finish any further. Originally, this doll was meant to be for Rosi, but she'd been begging for another doll who would close its eyes when lying down. We found one for 25¢ at a garage sale over the summer and it's been well loved by both the kids. Since Rosi has a new-to-her doll, I decided that once I finish this one, it will be for Ian. I'm shooting to make it a birthday gift, which means I have about 2½ months to complete the doll and make it some clothes.
• I've been homeschooling Rosi to a greater or lesser degree for about two years now. We've tried a few different educational philosophies, but the one we keep returning to is unschooling, or interest-led learning. I really felt like I was trying too hard last year, pushing her when she didn't need any pushing. This year, I decided we really needed some support and community in the homeschooling arena. A couple of weeks ago, we joined a local homeschool group. we've gotten together with them for a couple of activities already and it's been a lot of fun. I'm really excited about what's coming up in the next several months. Rosi is too. It's been difficult for her to maintain friendships when she doesn't see kids at school everyday. A few of our neighbors have kids, but most of them are younger. The one friend her own age that she'd made in our building moved out several months ago. We also haven't had a regular church we've been attending, so that hasn't been a viable avenue for ongoing friendships either.
• And speaking of churches, we actually visited one this morning that we'd all like to go to again. The people were welcoming, the message was solid and timely, the music was good, and I was really happy with the way they handled communion. I've been less than impressed with the way children are so often overlooked when it comes to communion. I understand that families and denominations have differing beliefs about who can take communion. But, in practice, I am very uncomfortable with the way my kids have been treated when we've visited some churches and have brought them up for communion. It is very rare to find a communion "policy" noted in the bulletin or announced during the service. At the church we worshiped in this week, however, the pastor invited the congregation to participate and noted that each family should determine whether their children should receive the bread and wine. One of the things I loved most about our church in Illinois was the recognition that we all don't agree on a lot of theological points--and that's okay. The Church is big enough for people to hold different ideas about baptism or communion or speaking in tongues. Those issues are not actually central to the Gospel and they shouldn't be treated as if they were. I'm excited to find someplace that makes a point of that right in the service.
• Ian is having his own version of interest-led learning. You might call it "toilet unschooling." For the past month or so, he's been pretty frequently asking to use the toilet. He's also gotten really remarkable in the way he can undress himself and take a diaper off, even when he's snapped into a bodysuit. So, I've mostly given up on trying to keep him dressed. I insist that he wear a diaper when we're out or while he's sleeping, but most of the time he spends the majority of his day running around the house without any clothes on. He uses the toilet more than not, and for those times when he doesn't quite make it, I keep a spray bottle of cleaner and a roll of paper towels handy. As an added bonus, I figure he's probably saved us about $15 in diapers so far.

Well, that's not everything we've been up to, but that's probably enough for one post. I will try to start updating with a little more frequency again. Maybe I can manage to post more like once a week rather than once a month. For now, I'm going to go catch up on some sleep!

Grateful

In the vein of thanking God for small favors, let me recount a tale for you.

Two weeks ago, Target had a sale on diapers, so I added yet another stop to my list of errands to run that day. Thankfully, our local Target is on my way to a couple of other stores I needed to visit.

I parked the car, walked inside, headed back for the baby department, and was confronted with a big empty shelf where the boxes of size 4s should have been. Thankfully, at the bottom of the shelf was a pad of raincheck requests which made it easy to print a raincheck right at check out.

Several days later, after the sale had ended, the kids wanted to go out for a drive. I suggested we take a trip to the store if they behaved well. They did, so we headed out to Target. I grabbed a cart and set a course for the baby section, stopping every few feet to redirect Rosi as she got distracted by the bright shiny things on display. Once we'd reached the diaper aisle, I was disappointed to find the gaping hole still there between the 3s and the 5s. Thankfully, both children were amused by a quick breeze through the back-to-school section (although Rosi could not understand why I wouldn't buy her a package of Tinkerbell book covers).

Another few days passed and we'd opened our last bag of diapers. I called Target and a very helpful employee told me they had the diapers I was looking for: 9 boxes on the shelf and 30 in the warehouse. Just to be sure, I questioned whether these were all size 4. She confirmed they were. I drove to Target again. I got a cart and headed for the baby section for a third time. Thankfully, a mass of women with toddlers hadn't cleaned out the diaper aisle in the 20 minutes since I'd called.

This morning, Ian woke up a bit grumpy. He didn't want to eat, he didn't really want to play, he was just sitting in Adam's lap complaining about life. And then he threw up all over himself, Adam, and the floor. Thankfully, he missed the computer which sat a few feet away.

After a bath and a clean set of clothes, Adam changed a yucky diaper and took him to bed for a nap. Some time later, they came out of the bedroom together. Ian in need of another diaper change and another bath. Thankfully, we'd just done laundry, so we had an abundant supply of clean clothes.

Thankfully, we finally have an abundant supply of diapers from Target.