A Worthy Life

inspired

Getting lost in an old part of town on Sunday took us past a flea market I have wanted to visit for forever now! Mostly overpriced antiques and a truckload of vintage Barbies (anyone have $200 for an original 1970's barbie??) inside but a few cheaper (read: junkier) vendors outside. An old fan caught my eye but wasn't the right color. Another one, smaller, the perfect color was found a few moments later...hallelujah! I had to drudge up every coin in my wallet to pay for it since my husband, conveniently, had no money. One $5 purchase was forgivable in his eyes but the hundreds of vintage books and jewels I wanted to bring home later was in-con-thieve-able (sorry, that's my best Princess Bride impersonation!:}.

Since beginning my search for vintage inspired pieces to re-do our master bedroom in a modern/vintage theme, this is my second purchase and so far each was serendipitously made in St. Louis, MO...the same place I was made! ;) Now that I'm gaining momentum in the design of the room, I'm just waiting for the hubs to find inspiration to paint the room!

Honey, I found an extra $5 in my wallet...nothing like cold, hard cash for a kick in the pants, eh?! ;)

a repost of a repost-post

I'm over here again today. Nothing new though, just sharing one of my favorite posts with a new audience.

having spent all, to sleep

We are almost at the end of another work week. Which, now having said so, I understand it to be quite the anomaly. No one's work, the means of their survival, is hardly ever really done, a mother's work especially so.

I have put my children to bed almost every night this week on my own, due to various circumstances that have kept my husband from being where he would most like to be at the day's end. In bed usually by 8 but their calls to mama, their requests for drinks, their cries accompanied by psychosomatic rumblings of their "starving" bellies linger for much longer than I would prefer. I have spent the day hearkening to their calls and at the end of it, I am truly spent.

Exhausted by the sudden deluge of friends ringing our doorbell from the time school lets out, right through our family dinners, and continuing until I answer it alone, the kids having already gone to bed. Exhausted because of the onslaught of troubles, hurt feelings, and worrisome conversations these acquaintances have brought about. Turning one neighbor against the others, turning sister against sister, the education of private matters by their immature understanding and coarse vocabulary of children with older siblings.

I have chosen to educate my children at home and were you to glimpse in through the windows of our house you would see us engaged in the learning of arithmetic and language, science experiments and reading, all the while conversing and answering any and every question that comes to my students' minds. But even we have after-hour work to do.

By definition, all of our school work is homework. But by parallel to the commonly understood meaning, our homework begins after hours, when the advanced levels of character building and responding to peer pressure really begins. Over the last few weeks, many teachable moments have arisen from questions raised or situations poorly handled while in the company of their friends.

So many, in fact, that we are pulling back from time spent with friends. Yes, I am one of those mothers who believe the supreme influence of my young children should be those within their own home. Yes, I have sheltered them, excessively in the minds of many, by keeping them home for school. Yet, vulnerable as they yet are, they are succumbing too easily to the meanness of the streets and the sassy attitude of their peers.

Mind you, we are not anti-socializing them completely. They will still have plenty of hours spent with friends, having understood definitively our expectations of them: respect of property, respect of adults, respect of families' dinner hour, and respect of people, no matter how tiny or young they are. But on the nights and hours which we reclaim as family time, it will be spent forging lasting bonds with siblings, learning how to be loyal to each other, all four learning how to stand against negative influence as one, rehearsing wisdom that will counteract the folly taught by their peers. Making home such a wonderfully warm place to be that they desire to spend their time there.

It will be spent in the giving and exhausting of ourselves in the service of each other. Because at night's end, I don't want to be too tired to pray with them, too spent to spend time pausing at their bedsides to stroke the hair from their eyes, or too discouraged to think that any of what I've given today will do them any future good. 

At the end of the day, I want to be comforted knowing that I have given all and spent all for their sakes. And having done all, to sleep.

springing out of winter

Today I took the kids to a symphony/ballet performance. You know, trying to expand their horizons, give them a taste of the finer things in life. I even offered an added cultural experience by finding a nice place downtown to eat.

They wanted the show to be over five minutes into it and they demanded pizza afterwards. Children, may this be a memorial to you in your future's past that I tried my darndest to civilize and refine you but you weren't having it. You probably get that from your papa. (hello, babe!)

In other news, we've planted our first garden. It's still on our kitchen counter where the seeds are waiting to grow up into seedlings whereupon they become shoots until they become plants...but you get the idea. My husband is beyond dubious, especially when he learned what the organic, mushroom compost is costing him, but as usual believes in me and lets me try, try, and try again. Hopefully we get this one on our first try. Kinda like our first baby...born 9 months to the day of our wedding.

We're booking our first official vacation to somewhere other than Grandma's House or The-Home-of-Our-Good-Friends or Those-People-Who-We-Met-That-One-Time-And-Exchanged-Brief-Pleasantries-With's-House. Yay for us! If everything goes according to plan (ha!) we'll be heading to Virginia Beach to fulfill my promise to my children to one day show them the ocean. I'm having a hard time deciding on our beach rental though. I want at least the luxuries I have at my own home but would rather not pay three times the entire monthly total of my mortgage to do so. Grr.

We finally got word (four months later) that Ali got our package! I cannot express adequately the joy that over-flooded my heart to hear her tell how each item will be put to good use. Just goes to show that little is much when God is in it. He takes our little sacrifices, our meager offerings, and turns it into gold, or in this case, sock puppets and a suit-alternative for little Maurius.

With spring in the air, I am running again. Or, run/walking as is my standard. Feels so good, except when it hurts so bad! And I'm breaking out my list of projects to do and for the past few months have been buying up the necessary tools/paints/accoutrements for the various jobs. Now if only the project elves would show up and do the jobs I would be very happy indeed! To my credit, I did do one: paint our fireplace mantel white. One down, 126 to go. Oh, have you heard of the blog Knock Off Wood?! Don't go there unless you want another 978 projects added to your list. I can't wait to build my outdoor table and West Elm-ish chairs! And if my gardening fails this summer, I can always turn one of my raised garden beds into a sandbox!

dra.ma:ma

I've been asked this question a lot lately:

"Where do your kids get their crazy dramatics?!"

I'm giving the inquirer the benefit of the doubt by assuming they perceive this as a positive attribute and am proud to deflect fault back on me, the drama mama.

My kids will tell you I tend towards excessive expression, rarely answering any question with a simple 'yes' or 'no' and seldom still without acting out my (always wise ;) answer in dramatic fashion.

Sometimes I wonder what my kids really think of their mama...

But mostly I'm determined to approach every aspect of life, even it's toughest of questions, with a air of joy and delight. There is so much in a young child's life that has the potential to raise fear in their hearts, especially upon introduction to new concepts as yet unknown to them. So much more so in my own heart and mind that has access to media reports on the economy, the volatility of our world, the instability of wicked people, the health concerns on the rise, and the escalating immorality and the self-obsessiveness of the age that we live in. We are bombarded, both mother and child alike, on every side by things that will give us pause, to inflict upon us a woeful response.

I was reminded recently of a woman well-known and well-respected in the Bible, of whom it was written: "Strength and dignity are her clothing and her position is strong and secure; she rejoices over the future; she laughs at the days to come; she smiles at tomorrow." (Proverbs 31:25)

That's who I wanna be: a woman who looks at the uncertainty of tomorrow, understanding in some measure her inability to protect herself and her loved ones from it's challenges and trials, and yet laughs! A laughter born not of a indifferent attitude or the maniacal cackle of one who has already succumbed to the fears and anxieties of the present. But a laughter bubbling up from a heart that has her hope set on God and His promise that He is working, and that for the good. A woman who prepares for tomorrow in wisdom and diligence but having done all to rest on His promises that He will keep, He will provide, He will honor, that He reigns.

Perhaps my approach is a little unorthodox. That's what I'm assuming anyway from the concerned looks observers cast my way when they overhear me chatting with my children. Perhaps they worry that my exuberance and my passion for raising my children is a little like me, slightly bizarre, with a touch of complete unpredictability.

I'm ok with that. Because, really, what's more bizarre and unpredictable than this mad world we live in?!? At least I'm readying for tomorrow, by tuning up my laughter today. Trusting that I'm preparing by example my own mini drama queens and king to do the same.

love (v.)

Imagine if I confessed to you that I didn't love my husband.

If you don't know me you may wonder what he did.

If you do know me you may be asking yourself what I did...this time. ;)

If you happen to know my husband, well, everyone loves my husband.

The truth is, it's easy to love my husband. Except when I'm just not feeling it.

During our courting days, I struggled to imagine a day that I could ever confess that I didn't feel love for this man I was so sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Our communication was great, my only complaint was he always wanted to talk. I was so sure our marriage would be one marked by sufficient, if not excessive, communication. His devotion was palpable, I would sometimes catch him gazing at me with supreme satisfaction with a look that made me fell worthy of adoration. When I was down, he was my upper. When he was down...scratch that, he was currently residing on Cloud #9.

Prior to our wedding, we read all the right books meant to prepare us for marriage. Post-wedding we kept up our communication, in part with help from our commitment to be t.v.-free for the first year, although I began to outpace him in my endurance.

I was well versed on the idea that love is not a feeling but even I was shocked when through the course of those early months my feelings began to vacillate. My love from the night before was soon evicted by my frustration and growing anger at the differences that began to affect my life. Us two becoming one was really starting to cramp my style.

But through the ups and downs of any marriage, of two imperfect people journeying together in an imperfect life, I'm grateful that our love is so much more than a feeling.

It's commitment, it's choosing, it's confessing.

For us, our marriage is forever. Not because we believe ours is a superior love or because we imagine that our love is impenetrable. It's because we know that within the heart of our spouse lies a commitment to our earlier vows and before our God that we were joined until death do us part.

It's choosing to love, choosing not to dig deep hoping for a feeling, but digging deeper still to choose to demonstrate love even if the recipient isn't necessarily deserving of it. Loving because of the beauty and the promise you believe lies within, choosing to see beyond the offense of the moment.

Every story has two sides, his and hers and the truth. Understanding that there is always the possibility that I might be wrong, the question is whether I am willing to humble myself even when I'm right. Forgiving even before an apology, confessing my regret for speaking my point without sensitivity. 

Tomorrow we'll celebrate our commitment to choosing love for 9 years. After all these years, I'm still willing to confess the truth:

I love my husband.

If you don't know us, you won't have bore witness to our beginnings and the growth and depth that has followed.

If you do know us, you know we are the poster children for marriage, of the most average and ordinary but truly blessed variety.

If you know my husband, well, you'll have some insight on why he makes up the better half of a great partnership.

To my husband, some days my head still spins with the idea that you choose me, that God choose us; that this life, that the lives of our children are ours to experience together. I'm so aware of your love, so humbled by your example, so desiring of your companionship. Trusting that we've still such a long, long ways to walk as one together, I'm slipping my hand into yours and tightening my grip, expectant to see what lies before us in yet another year.

expectant mothers only

I've been pregnant for roughly 43 months of my life. Pregnant and wanting nothing more than to go find the rest/washroom once I made my way into the supermarket after hauling a few kids through a busy parking lot that I had to park at the far end of. Those were during the days when political correctness, I assume, was having its identity crisis.

Do woman really want convenience and compassion based on nothing more than what's between their legs, or rather more to the point, what's about to pass between those legs? Women have marched against gender discrimination so is it now permissible for them to benefit because of nothing more than what their gender alone can do?

I digress miserably when my only point was that in those early days Expectant Mothers Only parking spots had yet to be birthed. (pardon the pun)

I was oft pregnant but not always expectant. I mean, at one point I was tooling around with an 18 month old on one hip and a 3 month old on the other while another grew between the two. Excited, um, not so much. Looking forward...to what? A third butt to wipe?

Harboring at times such bitter thoughts I felt I was abusing my privilege by parking in the designated spot. The sign always bore the silhouette of a thin woman pushing a baby buggy, not one depicting a waddling, swollen woman with an infant seat over one elbow and jerking along a toddler or two in tow.

The mental debate began in those days when I had every right to use it but somehow felt the need to prove how well I could do on my own, yanking toddlers, infants, and fetuses from the far reaches of the lot.

It continues today, albeit altered now to my advantage.

Expectant mother? Darn right! I've got big dreams for my kids, all of whom are wiping their own butts (mostly) now and able to trot along beside me on their own two feet. My heart is pregnant with desires and anticipation for my young ones, longing for the day when their personalities and strengths and abilities give birth to meaning and purposes greater than themselves.

Mother? Check. Expectant? We've already been over that.

Such is a suitable justification for tonight's use of the Expectant Mothers Only spot when I had to haul a sleeping toddler over my shoulder through the pouring rain and into the supermarket, right?

I mean, what pregnant newbie mother in her right mind would be out on a night like tonight??

Only a seasoned mama with now four mouths to feed who credits tonight's sprint as her recommended daily cardio.

i'll be (un)dammed

My sister used to accuse me of holding it all in. Tears or laughter. I was a formidable dam of composure, keeping check over all my emotions.

I guess I figured that if no one knew my greatest, well, anything, there was little grounds for judging me on whatever made me happy or brought me sorrow. I wasn't sure I was the average normal and certainly didn't want to provide evidence that I might be different. Being in control made me believe I was in control. My problems were my problems, my savior would be me.

I've gotten over myself since then. Realized that being completely self-sufficient is synonymous with being self-absorbed, that by keeping it all in I was keeping others out. 

I've learned that my joys and problems are the same as yours. That by sharing more of myself with others confirms how averagely normal I am. How surprisingly human I am.

Since I've breached my dam pride, a formidable fountain of laughter has burst forth. In the confidence of friends, I let my guard down and let my sorrows out. Bubbling up and out have come all my insecurities and with them my fears of rejection.

Instead of rejection I've discovered companionship and intimacy. Letting others in has lifted me up, replacing pride with confidence. Exchanging life as a lone ranger for feeling at home on the range.

Sometimes maybe even too at home and comfortable.

Just ask my sister. I think she'd rather I'd save somethings for myself. ;)

take the key and lock 'em up

I'm thinking about never letting go of my kids.

I mean, yes, the experts all agree that we need to let them go, need to let them grow and experience and all that stuff.

But is that really necessary??

What about my needs, what about the fact that I love my children, love being with them, love having them with me? What about all the fun we have together, all the ways we grow together, all the things we experience together?

What about the convenience of dropping them off to play with friends who just happen to be the children of my friend? What if I like dropping them and then sneaking off to join their friends' mother on the front porch for a few cups of tea and chatting about how beautiful this life is? What if I want to learn what they want to learn? Can't we learn together? 

What if I am the best basketball, volleyball, skateboarding coach for them? What if I have infinite patience and limitless energy and boundless creativity and can be all they ever need or want?

Oh, yeah. There's that.

Well, at least I can hold on to them when I'm not letting them go.

There's still that.

the snake whisperer

It happened right after I had sent up a prayer of praise to my Father.

I was walking along with my family, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. The trail before us was still scattered with the remnants of winter's bitter grasp, dead leaves and fallen twigs crunching under our every step. Here and there a few flowers dared bare their beauty among the evidence of decay all around, life springing forth from death.

The sun coaxed the added layers off our backs and we raised our noses to breathe in it's rays. Laughter and bursts of exclamation was the soundtrack to our walk.

"Thank you, God, for the beauty that reveals the artistry of your Hand. Thank you for the eyes to see it, the legs to journey through it, the lungs to breathe it all in. The blue skies, the color bursting forth from naked limbs, the evidence of a Creator. Thank you for the joy that thrills my heart, that brings delight to me and my family as we observe...You."

I had thought about asking that He allow us to another snake, just like the one we had seen the first time we discovered this path. That's when I sorta just chuckled to myself, asking myself, "what, Dina? this isn't enough for you?!"

And that's when I heard it.

What exactly I heard I can't describe. A rustle perhaps, but then I'd heard those all along the path. With my kids running on ahead, I was listening. Hoping. Waiting that just maybe, God would answer my unspoken desire.

I turned and saw it there. Slowly moving through the underbrush was my snake. I whispered excitedly for the kids to come over so we could marvel together.

Later on, I lagged behind again. Thinking that I might have a gift. A gift for conversing with snakes.

Another rustle and another snake. Again, it wasn't much of a noise. Just a small inkling to turn around and look.

Heading back to the car, I smiled as I sent up another prayer. So many analogies, so much symbolism in what God had just allowed me to experience. The path of life, the wonder and distraction of beauty all around. A prayer, the silence amidst the noise of scurrying feet. My heart's desire, though unspoken, was known. His answer wasn't in everything else all around, though His presence was certainly felt. His answer came quietly, in the stillness.

And I heard it because I was willing to lag a little behind the rest, conversing with my God, waiting for His whisper.