I don't know who (if anyone) reads this blog, and I don't know if those who do will find this at all relevant, but I am going to say it anyway.
I have always had many friends and acquaintances, all of whom are very involved in their work, their churches, their children's activities, their friends lives and their families. It seems that most people I know have these many areas where they spend time and energy. These same people seem to have relatively clean houses and food in their refrigerators, from what I have seen. They seem to have the time to shower and make themselves presentable before they do most of the things that they do. They seem mostly peaceful, only sometimes hectic and too busy.
Why is it that I, who stay at home with my children all day and have idyllic picnics in the yard and clean my kitchen or do other chores while I watch them play outside; I, who only am involved in church enough to show up on Sunday mornings, why do I find it so difficult to find the time or energy for anything else? Our trips to the library or children's museum are few and far between. I don not often do "playdates" with other moms, because then when would I do dishes, or go to the grocery store, shower, clean out my daughter's outgrown clothes from her drawers, or do whatever else I need to do in the mornings before naptime? Why do weekly commitments scare me to death with their threats of taking over my life?
Perhaps that is over-dramatic. But my one weekly commitment is church on Sundays, and that seems to be all the structure I can handle. Anything more, and I feel overly tied-down. My time and energy only seem to carry me through the very basic activities of a week where we have no plans or obligations. When I try to explain this to friends, they have asked if I am depressed or need help. Is this normal? Am I doing something wrong that is making me have no time or energy for anyone but my own family? How do other people have time to have weekly play dates and regular trips to the library, and volunteer at church and everything else they do?
03 May 2015
23 April 2015
The more time goes by, the more I am learning to be happy with life being a process, instead of some stagnant state of "perfection" dreamed up by my vanity. Some processes I am focused on right now are my house (and possible garden), my wardrobe (making it minimal, functional and interesting to me), makeup (always), making music and of course my lively littles (wardrobing them, picnicking with and otherwise parenting them.)
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It seems I write a blog post about every two years now. That seems to be about how often I have actual thoughts these days. The truth is, the last few years have been a tiring time of having babies and moving to a couple of different places. Now that we are settled in our 1970's house, which I hope to slowly renovate/decorate, I think I would like to share my thoughts and projects again. And typing feels good on my fingers.
Have a great weekend!
It seems I write a blog post about every two years now. That seems to be about how often I have actual thoughts these days. The truth is, the last few years have been a tiring time of having babies and moving to a couple of different places. Now that we are settled in our 1970's house, which I hope to slowly renovate/decorate, I think I would like to share my thoughts and projects again. And typing feels good on my fingers.
Have a great weekend!
25 April 2013
This is not a very happy post for my first one back in a really long time. But today my heart was broken a little bit more than it ever has been, and I needed to write about it. This post is not for the faint of heart; I am going to be brutally honest about my feelings and what I saw. On the other hand, maybe you've had all these thoughts and feelings, too. It might even seem trite to some.
I've followed the on-going Kermit Gosnell case at a safe distance meaning, I know about it and feel the horror of it, and of the media refusing to make it national news, but I cannot bring myself to always read what does come out about it, because of how sickening the whole thing is. I do read some, because I feel that the babies who were killed deserve to be known about and remembered. I avoid the more graphic things because I already feel sick at the vague, foggy idea of ending a baby's life, without the graphic details that I can all too easily imagine.
Today is the day that I saw a too-graphic picture and got sucked in. I looked at their faces, their cold, little unnamed faces lying in the trash. I saw the close-up of the neck wound that killed them after they were born alive. I read that one mother watched while her baby was killed that way. I am sure it was the most shocking and wrenching moment of her life. I am sure nobody told her an abortion would be like that. I am sure she was told it would be safe and harmless, and that she was only having a mass of tissue removed. Her baby, like the others, turned out to be a real baby, and struggled to survive until the cruel moment when the nurse ended it's little life. On it's birth-day.
The torture that must drive any woman to abort her baby must be nothing compared to the torture afterwards, especially for that mother I read about. The hurt I felt just reading about it was so overwhelming, and I have not walked in her shoes or had the life she had that must have made her feel that there was no other option for her baby.
The babies, though. I could not go on with my day after seeing their little bodies and faces and realizing, not for the first time, but somehow more painfully than usual, that they had no names, nobody knew who they were, ever. I could only sit on the living room floor sobbing for them, that they had such a terrible end when they should have been welcomed, named, warmed and bathed and loved. One baby boy looked so cold and lonely, especially. I couldn't think how to get up off the floor and stop crying for him, for all of them.
Finally I just asked God if he would fix it. He is God, who else could you ask? Who else would know what to do? I don't know what He'll do, but I do know that He is planning to do something. Someday He will put everything right. (See the whole book of Isaiah.) I find comfort in knowing that he is so kind that he even notices when a sparrow falls out of the sky, (Matthew 10:29) that he puts each one of our tears in a bottle. (Psalm 56:8) I guess he also puts each of those babies' tears into their own little bottle, too.
I saw this picture of my little baby boy, and I wanted all of the aborted babies to just be taken care of like he is in this picture- soft, warm, relaxed, comforted and loved- all of the things that they're not when they die.
But then I thought that actually, God loves them. He loves them all the time. He is much more heart-broken about their deaths than I could ever be, and I think that after they die, as cruel as that is, that He takes them and warms them, and gives them their own name that only He knows, and has known from before the beginning of time. (Revelation 2:17-- I'm not sure if that verse can be applied here, but maybe it can.) And He knows them, He knows who they are and who they were meant to be. Maybe He even gives them birthday parties. I do not have Scriptural basis for that last one, but for most of these ideas, I think there is.
I know there are many other tragedies in the world, and many hearts more broken than mine. This one hit me today even though it is something that I've cared about my whole life, and I just needed to share it. I do pray for everyone involved in the atrocity of abortion, from those who carry it out, to those who are hurt by it, to those who are trying to help.
I've followed the on-going Kermit Gosnell case at a safe distance meaning, I know about it and feel the horror of it, and of the media refusing to make it national news, but I cannot bring myself to always read what does come out about it, because of how sickening the whole thing is. I do read some, because I feel that the babies who were killed deserve to be known about and remembered. I avoid the more graphic things because I already feel sick at the vague, foggy idea of ending a baby's life, without the graphic details that I can all too easily imagine.
Today is the day that I saw a too-graphic picture and got sucked in. I looked at their faces, their cold, little unnamed faces lying in the trash. I saw the close-up of the neck wound that killed them after they were born alive. I read that one mother watched while her baby was killed that way. I am sure it was the most shocking and wrenching moment of her life. I am sure nobody told her an abortion would be like that. I am sure she was told it would be safe and harmless, and that she was only having a mass of tissue removed. Her baby, like the others, turned out to be a real baby, and struggled to survive until the cruel moment when the nurse ended it's little life. On it's birth-day.
The torture that must drive any woman to abort her baby must be nothing compared to the torture afterwards, especially for that mother I read about. The hurt I felt just reading about it was so overwhelming, and I have not walked in her shoes or had the life she had that must have made her feel that there was no other option for her baby.
The babies, though. I could not go on with my day after seeing their little bodies and faces and realizing, not for the first time, but somehow more painfully than usual, that they had no names, nobody knew who they were, ever. I could only sit on the living room floor sobbing for them, that they had such a terrible end when they should have been welcomed, named, warmed and bathed and loved. One baby boy looked so cold and lonely, especially. I couldn't think how to get up off the floor and stop crying for him, for all of them.
Finally I just asked God if he would fix it. He is God, who else could you ask? Who else would know what to do? I don't know what He'll do, but I do know that He is planning to do something. Someday He will put everything right. (See the whole book of Isaiah.) I find comfort in knowing that he is so kind that he even notices when a sparrow falls out of the sky, (Matthew 10:29) that he puts each one of our tears in a bottle. (Psalm 56:8) I guess he also puts each of those babies' tears into their own little bottle, too.
I saw this picture of my little baby boy, and I wanted all of the aborted babies to just be taken care of like he is in this picture- soft, warm, relaxed, comforted and loved- all of the things that they're not when they die.
But then I thought that actually, God loves them. He loves them all the time. He is much more heart-broken about their deaths than I could ever be, and I think that after they die, as cruel as that is, that He takes them and warms them, and gives them their own name that only He knows, and has known from before the beginning of time. (Revelation 2:17-- I'm not sure if that verse can be applied here, but maybe it can.) And He knows them, He knows who they are and who they were meant to be. Maybe He even gives them birthday parties. I do not have Scriptural basis for that last one, but for most of these ideas, I think there is.
I know there are many other tragedies in the world, and many hearts more broken than mine. This one hit me today even though it is something that I've cared about my whole life, and I just needed to share it. I do pray for everyone involved in the atrocity of abortion, from those who carry it out, to those who are hurt by it, to those who are trying to help.
18 September 2012
perfection = soap and cake
It is a perfect, cloudy fall day of soap- and cake-making. What could be better?
(I have always been obsessed with these cakes for the bazaar in Disney's Pollyanna.)
When I was pregnant with Alexander, I fell in love with the smell of soaps and cleaning supplies of every kind, an obsession that has not entirely left me now that he is 9 months old.
Today I made homemade laundry soap, two gallons of it! It is the easiest thing in the world, and costs one cent per load! My favorite moment by far, in all of the soap-smelling and stirring, (neither of which is really required by the recipe) was grating the bar of ivory soap with a cheese grater. The lovely sensation, the slippery ease and the pile of soap shavings, along with the increased soapy smell did my heart good.
I would have taken pictures, but in the moment, I forgot. Well, I did take one boring one, but the pile of soap shavings was already dissolved, so how much fun is that?
I also found this post about making cakes like the ones in Disney's 1960 Pollyanna. I will try to take pictures when I make that.
(I have always been obsessed with these cakes for the bazaar in Disney's Pollyanna.)
When I was pregnant with Alexander, I fell in love with the smell of soaps and cleaning supplies of every kind, an obsession that has not entirely left me now that he is 9 months old.
Today I made homemade laundry soap, two gallons of it! It is the easiest thing in the world, and costs one cent per load! My favorite moment by far, in all of the soap-smelling and stirring, (neither of which is really required by the recipe) was grating the bar of ivory soap with a cheese grater. The lovely sensation, the slippery ease and the pile of soap shavings, along with the increased soapy smell did my heart good.
I would have taken pictures, but in the moment, I forgot. Well, I did take one boring one, but the pile of soap shavings was already dissolved, so how much fun is that?
I also found this post about making cakes like the ones in Disney's 1960 Pollyanna. I will try to take pictures when I make that.
07 June 2012
It's a wonderful day when...
This morning we ate breakfast with my Mamma. She had a meeting in San Antonio yesterday and had to come see Alexander, who hadn't seen his Gigi since he was 3 months old!!! They were both so excited!
During a long nap, (not my own, just to clarify) I potted some sweet potato vine for the front porch, and generally cleaned up the yard.
We walked the library where we saw a book about goblins.
We had a good music time together.
Today was completely overcast almost all day long.
We went to Walmart and bought chocolates and a bikini.
And Steve and I had our first really good talk in a while.
Not every day is perfect, but some days are.
During a long nap, (not my own, just to clarify) I potted some sweet potato vine for the front porch, and generally cleaned up the yard.
We walked the library where we saw a book about goblins.
We had a good music time together.
Today was completely overcast almost all day long.
We went to Walmart and bought chocolates and a bikini.
And Steve and I had our first really good talk in a while.
Not every day is perfect, but some days are.
04 June 2012
23 May 2012
I can hardly eat muffins in an agitated manner, can I?
Mmmmm. Butter London paintnolish. :)
One of the best things about Glamorous Thursday was that I was able to ignore the impossible mess around me and just enjoy my day with Alexander and his blessed smiles and naps.
A robe from a thrift store might not seem the most glamorous thing to be wearing all day, but it is when the tag says two special words: Neiman Marcus. And I any day where you see the word "vogue", no matter where, becomes a little less mundane.
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Oh, here's the mess. A small part of it, only. I guess I thought it was glamorous too. It sort of is, isn't it?
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