What I did on my first day of Summer Vacation...

Today, on our first day of summer vacation, Luke and I played, rediscovered one another, and my time felt so free I could simply watch him. I must say he amazed me. Not that he's some super-toddler, but I find myself analyzing his personality. What does his reaction to the toppling of his blocks say about how he may handle disappointment? How does he wait so patiently for me to pit cherries when I know he's famished? Will his joy over acts of service carry into the future?

I learned so much from watching him today in two separate, but connected situations. First--while we were playing outside, he began a game of truck relocation; what made the game interesting is that he used the same method of relocation for each truck in the cycle. If he pushed one, he pushed them all, if he dragged one, he dragged each. It wasn't so much the routine in his work (play), it was how he got there. He fell into a pattern and then stuck with it. Determination, perseverance, and carefulness marked his actions. I know I can't say that for myself. From tiny ages (close to his), I will only accept perfection on a first try and refuse to try again if that's not achieved. He handled his mistakes and challenges with a grace I'm still learning to accept.

Later, we began a specialized swim lesson called Infant Swimming Resources (ISR). They aim to teach children to survive in the water to prevent drowning. After witnessing three screaming children struggle through the ten minute lesson, I was nervous. I wanted to encourage Luke, but I knew he'd sense the fear in a fake smile if he protested to that degree. But--he didn't. He giggled, choked on water, laughed, splashed, and did exactly what they asked him to do, but he also navigated through moments of fear, disappointments, and insecurity.

There's something to be said to this idea: "we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured out into our hearts..." (from Romans 5)

St. Patrick's Day 2009

Last night we took Luke to Main St. in Rock Hill for the St. Patrick's Day celebration. We need to do more stuff like this; just the other day I saw a couple who surfs on TV who were visiting South Korea (to surf) with their six month old baby. Envy isn't even the word--walking across swinging bridges next to mountains and temples and scenery so green it almost looks like a backdrop? I want that. Or do I...I'm a drill sergeant when it comes to naps and food (just for Luke...I eat all sorts of terrible things) and I'm sure they have to be a bit more laid back than me. And help--I bet they have help; surely the baby doesn't wait on the beach by himself as the catch the next wave. But I digress...

Luke loves music; it was my second favorite piece about watching him last night. The violin and guitar duo captivated him, and he danced, and clapped, and yelled in delight. He has a penchant for bluegrass, country, acoustic, and any live music. He's particular--loves Willy Nelson, but not such a fan of the Dixie Chicks. We discovered all of this one evening when he watched Neal Young enraptured on the couch, but handed the remote to Cory and whined when John Mellencamp began to play. Cory and I both love music (even if our tastes are different), and now I see that this can be a place for all of us to spend time together with something we love individually and collectively.

But that was only my second favorite part from last night. The highlight of the evening came when Cory ran into a friend of his dad's. They talked--about horseshoes, about his dad, about Luke--and this, this was the highlight of the night. Cory's dad died a week to the day after our wedding. He never met Luke. I see Luke's Poppa in him--when he plants everything he can find, when he sleeps, when he runs to the door to check on a suspicious noise. And here was a man who could look at Luke and possibly see that too.

A great St. Patrick's Day.

"...do not forget the things your eyes have seen or let them slip from your heart as long as you live. Teach them to your children and to their children after them." Deuteronomy 4:9b

The concept of "working mom" has been overdone. Discussed for too long, assigned too many buzz words ("mom guilt"), and entangled in conspiracy theories (recently heard a story about how working moms unknowingly assist formula companies because breastfeeding is unfairly limited in the work place). While we can discuss a myriad of issues, I know the difficulty I face in making large decisions like going away for the weekend or in committing to small things like coffee with a friend finds it's root in my desire to make up for the time I lose with my son while I work.

For instance, today's a snow day. I can finally catch up on laundry, possibly wash the kitchen floor, and vacuum the house. But I feel as if I should organize Luke's play for the day, stay by his side and pretend to be a mom who doesn't work. Yet, I don't know what that looks like. This is a new sort of pressure I'm feeling.

So here it is: the day after Christmas. A house destroyed. A car packed with gifts in the driveway. An exhausted child. Today, I want to tear down Christmas decorations; I have this intense desire to purge. Too much stuff! I feel as if we're bursting at the seams. And, as always, I want to do it all at once. THIS is housekeeping--and rather than being tied to gender roles, it's a basic human requirement. And so, today, I'm challenging myself to implement the following:

1. The pantry: I choose to buy food simply because it's on sale or it looks interesting or it might be good and the result is a pantry full of unused items. While it might be used eventually, I plan to only buy food that will be used within two weeks and fits with in a plan to use it. We don't eat random bits; we eat meals.

2. Intentional donations: Rather than bagging up loads of clothes and unwanted items and dumping them off at a random collection site, I want to donate intentionally. There are men's shelters who could really use Cory's older work clothes and suits from long ago. I'll solve some of the pantry issues by donating to a soup kitchen or food pantry in town.

3. Toys, toys and more toys: Right now, I'm unpacking from Christmas trips to grandparents' houses. Luke received a lot of practical things (clothes) and books (which are always welcome); but, it does seem as if he has more and more stuff--just like his parents. Today, I plan to buy (oops--another "thing") a big tub for half his toys. Each month, we'll cycle through some toys--preventing boredom AND over-stimulation.

4. Sharing: We have loads of things we no longer need. As we find items that can still be put to good use (like our bedroom TV)--I'll email friends and family and share with the first taker. Anyone need a casserole dish?

5. Put it back on the shelf: Just in the past 2 hours, I've put away six-yes, SIX, tubes of chapstick. But yet, when I check out at Target, I inevitably grab a pack "just in case." I must organize our house so that we know what we have and what we need. And then, I must not purchase items I'm not absolutely assured we require.


I'm hoping to reframe the way I think about running our house. The ironic thing in all of this is that neither my husband nor I are hoarders. We get rid of things on a regular basis and hate clutter. But I think we're both adjusting to three people living under one roof with a very generous family! And most of all, I underestimate the emotional toll too much stuff has on all of us. I want our family life and environment to be streamlined, orderly, and full of room to breathe.

Recovery

We are still in the throes of Luke's illness. The doctors warned us it would be hills and valleys and not the gradual climb to recovery. "Everyone" says babies are resilient, and that's certainly true; Luke popped back into himself yesterday and we rejoiced.

All sorts of other recovery must take place though--the laundry room could use some rehabilitation, I may have to resuscitate the pantry, and we're injecting some last minute Christmas runs into the day. More than those things, I'm finding it hard to "get back to normal." I don't know if it's the single-minded focus to the week ("Make my child better...") or the complete removal of every other aspect of life from the day. In all regards, life just feels mechanical at present.

A take away....because we're always looking for application...I will be there in some form or fashion when friends experience what we went through this week. I want to make my concern tangible.