Lost In Oz

Airplanes with kids on them.

2011-11-04T05:15:00.000-07:00

My kids and I will be heading off soon and lots of airplane traveling adventures. I have traveled a bit with little guys, and am still struggling to find ways to make it super easy and smooth. That said, I have nailed down a few things that help. So here's my line up of helpful tips.
1. Bring enough nappies for a 48 hour period. Diarrhea always seems to happen on flights which means a million more nappy changes than one would expect. The more the merrier.
2. Wear travel friendly clothing. My travel uniform is thus- leggings, short sleeve dress, slip on shoes and cardigan. That way I am comfortable, but still look "pulled together" ish (for some reason people are more inclined to offer help if one looks nicer). But I do bring an extra t-shirt and leggings, as I've been pooed on enough to want to be prepared.
3. I try to dress the kids in track (sweat) pants, t-shirts, and jumpers (sweatshirts). Layers are good. Sleepable clothes are good. Probably some people would like to put socks on their kids, but for me, it is only one more article of clothing that gets abandoned. Some slip on shoes for kids is the way to go. Canvas ones preferable to plastic, as they breath, and will keep their feet warm.
4. I no longer pack activities for myself, aside from a "wisp" toothbrush. Although, a magazine with pictures wouldn't go astray. But I've found that I don't have a lot of time to sit and read things other than children's books... to children.
5. I like to make little "flight" packs for the kids. They get to open new little packages, and the excitement can last the whole trip...
6. Microbead neck pillows. That way if you have a chance, you will be able to sleep relatively comfortably.

Anyone have any awesome car travel tips?

Why three is better.

2011-09-21T20:23:00.000-07:00

Three to fuss and three to fight.
Three to keep you up at night.

Three minutes to rest, in a week.
Three small people that seem to leak.

Three small people who laugh at jokes.
Three small people who laugh at pokes.

Three little friends who love each other.
Brother sister, sister brother.

Six little hands sneaking crackers.
3 little hands getting smackers.

A sister to care, a brother to show,
a little one to go go go.

If two is good then three is better.
Just, perhaps, a little wetter.

Survival.

2011-08-30T23:25:00.000-07:00

Our week without buying groceries was good. I was surprised by how much food we had. It required me to spend more time in preparation but I was amazed how well we were able to eat. We were even able to have people over, and bring a salad to share to a party. In fact we probably could have gone a few more days, although we were beginning to really miss fresh fruit and veggies. The interesting thing about this week, to me, was the extra stress I felt. I didn't feel like I could eat much due to fear of running out of food. I was thinking what it would be like to ACTUALLY not have any food to feed my kids. I am SO grateful that I can. I will continue to pray for rain in Africa, so that next year will be better.

That said, today sucked. I woke up early thanks to a blabbing baby, and have spent my day grumpy. To try to boost myself I made yo-yos with pink icing (recipe here: http://www.bestrecipes.com.au/recipe/Yo-Yo-Biscuits-L1544.html ) which turned out a bit dense and heavy but tasted alright.

Then during "nap time" in which one child napped, another yelled from his bed, and another watched a David Attenborough video, I made some little wire bird's nests (how-to here: http://justsomethingimade.com/2009/03/little-wire-bird-nests/ ). All up, I made two in 20ish minutes, and that does include some butt wiping, and drink getting and other services. I made one with a little "egg" the colour of each birthstone of my kids. How sweet.

Yesterday, which started similar to today, I sewed together a pair of pants that I had cut out of a bed cover I bought in India nearly a decade ago. I've been wearing them all day despite the fact that they are highly unflattering and are a very close relative of jammy pants.

Creating is survival for me. Everyone may spend the day in misery, with the house disappearing under the dirty laundry and crunched up crackers. But at least I made something from start to finish today, dammit. At least one little happy thing got made.

Sho... Habby makig. (that's me wishing you happy making while being really drunk, which I'm not, but thought maybe it would be funny to allude to, and then thought it would be really confusing hence this parenthetical statement.)

When I was hungry...

2011-08-22T00:44:00.000-07:00

I, probably like much of the world, have been deeply impacted by the images coming out of East Africa. The idea of women having to watch their children starve to death leaves an ache in me that not even a brownie can cure. I am generally out of the loop of news etc, much to my embarrassment, but this particular news tidbit somehow landed in my lap. Usually, I would be able to just get on the internet and donate some money, but this time it's a smidge tighter fundage wise and I didn't feel comfortable donating what I wanted to. SO, the kids and I scrounged through the house looking for coins. We made a slotted tub for our coins, and were able to get some money, as Leif pointed out, "Still, it will help." I was so excited that the kids could get into it, but really wanted to do something more. So Saturday night we began brainstorming. We landed on an idea to not buy any groceries this week, and eat only what we have. That way we can donate the money we have saved on groceries. In that way, at least we (or really I) have to be conscience of our food, grateful for it, and aware of it, possibly by it's scarcity. I am generally a haphazard shopper so there should be enough if I can be creative. Although, I have no eggs, little milk, few veggies, and little fresh fruit, I've got canned fruit, dried beans, and some frozen things. I am excited about this little journey and what lessons we may have in store.
Tonight we will be eating weed stir-fry... evidently clover is edible.

Seed Bombs

2011-08-15T23:22:00.000-07:00

A while ago I found some ideas for some guerilla gardening. Things like planting flowers in ugly places, pulling weeds that aren't yours, and sowing seeds to see what happens. One idea that I found that I have been desperate to try for a while with the kids was seed bombs. The basic idea is that you puree some newspaper, mix in some seeds, squash into a mold or roll into balls in your hand, and then toss around in unsightly fields.
Usually my ideas of creative things to do with the kids end up in me making it while they play outside, or a huge mess, or both. This idea was a raging success! They helped me pick out the seeds (although I nixed some of Leif's ideas of rockmelon and zucchini mainly because we wouldn't be around to see em.) We put in a rockery mix, Australian natives, and some forget-me-nots for obvious reasons. The kids loved squidging in the gooey papery mush with their hands. Leif helped me make the balls while Pip just played. The next morning we all went out in our jammies and threw them around in a derelict field. The kids loved throwing "bombs" and L was happily announcing to everyone we came across that we were making seed bombs. It was a rolling success, and I would HIGHLY recommend getting your children involved in guerilla warfare of this nature. (Get it? Nature Guerilla?)

Cloth wipes recipe

2011-08-04T16:46:00.000-07:00

I've been struggling to come up with anything I could blog about without pages and pages of bleck... And I have been wanting to share this recipe so it seemed as good a time as any to put up some tripe.
I love using cloth nappies. It's nerdy I know, but I love it. I have settled upon the most fabulous system for us, sweetpea pocket nappies. I bought some bamboo inserts and now only have to change the baby's nappy 2 times a day. Yippee! I only have one in nappies now (sorta) so my washing isn't too out of control. It only makes sense, if using cloth nappies, to use cloth wipes as well. The best system I have found is to fold a bunch of my homemade wipes (or face washers, cut up terry squares, cut up flannel, etc) in a container with tight fitting lid and dump solution on em. This way they are wet and ready to go when needed. Then they go in the nappy bucket along with soiled nappy or... ahem... undies. So here is the recipe, as I have tweaked it, for your wiping delectation.

2 cups warm water
1 tablespoon oil of choice (I love to use coconut oil as it has natural yeast fighting properties)
1 tablespoon of liguid soap
2 drops tea tree oil
*optional- 2 drops of lavender

stir it up as you pour over wipes. Mine can last up to a week before there is even a hint of mustiness thanks to the tea tree oil. Make sure to keep the lid on it when not in use.

Women and The Man's Problem.

2011-06-04T21:49:00.000-07:00

Sex is generally referred to in Christian circles as a man's issue. Preachers will proclaim loudly and with gusto that avoiding inappropriate sex is a man's issue, and women struggle with... umm... not sure... um jealousy maybe? I grew up thinking that women shouldn't want sex, or have a sex drive, and that there was clearly something wrong with me if I did. Girls are told that if we could only dress modestly then the boys won't think about sex. The idea is that men want sex, women don't, and that sex is dirty, secret, monogamous, and uncomfortable to talk about. Pious women don't mention it, want it, and will cover every bit of flesh so as to keep men from the same evil. Maybe, if women can get their necklines high enough, their skirts long enough, their pants pleated enough, that no one will think about sex, ever.
Maybe someone needs to remind these pastors that just as men were made in the image of God, so women were. That just as men are emotional, physical, psychological and sexual beings, so women are emotional, physical, psychological, and gulp, sexual beings. When men preach and make comments about how it is a man's issue, he alienates 1/2 of his congregation ostracising her from help. I am, of course, making the assumption that sex IS an issue for women. Of course a woman's sex issue is different from a man's, but not non-existent. Women cheat on their spouses, feel disappointed in their sex lives, feel "pent-up", desire sexual attention, fantasize, etc. Maybe christian women need to be discussing sex more. Girls need to know that they DO have a sexual self, that they MAY find that they want to have sex, that they MIGHT enjoy sex when it happens. Girls/Women need to have the conversation. And maybe within earshot of a preacher. If we don't know each other's stories and issues how can we help each other? How can we help the lonely and frustrated married women who finds a man who wants her attention? How do we help the teenage girl who gets a new boyfriend and discovers that she does want sex? The discussions are nipped in the bud as soon as we are told our "issues" are real.
This is a very non-organized rant. But I would love discussion on the topic. This is obviously from an Evangelical-Christian perpective, but I would LOVE perspectives from all sides. Let's talk about SEX!

The Stay-At-Home Shame

2011-05-19T22:11:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been on a tyrade about the stay-at-home gig. People are not acknowledging enough, obliging enough, or even proud enough of me or whoever they know who stays at home. I have bellowed on and on about how the stay-at-home housewife is the shame of society. That if I could only "Contribute to society" enough then I could be of some value. I could label myself by that noble venture, and leave the humiliating kid wrangling to someone else. I could even get acknowledged on Women's Day, because I'm so "successful". If only I had it all, a thin body, a burgeoning business, CEO of some NGO, and a mum of the fashionable 2ish kids, people would "ooo" and "aahh" about how I've got it all, the SUPER-MUM. Our celebs, the icon of "Super-mums", are people who burst babies forth from their perfect, unmarred bodies, then show up the next day for their runway show or movie. The rest of us who don't escape our jammies due to sleepless nights and days, dealing with our own children have a lot to live up to.
In the midst of this angst, I have realized how ashamed I am of my own job choice. I introduce myself as "just" a stay-at-home mum, awaiting the sound of crickets. I don't acknowledge my job enough, nor am I obliging enough to what I do. Being a mum of three is a choice that I made. I decided not to abort two surprise pregnancies, so I ended up with 3 under 3, an amount of children that seems preposterous to many sales clerks, and an irritation to everyone else in the shops. I feel the need to apologize for living, all the while resenting everyone around me for "making" me feel like that.
So, I am now beginning my journey toward accepting the true and inherent nobility of the job I do. It is a worthwhile one. I am raising my own children, doing the hard-yards, being bored sometimes, stressed other times, lonely, and tired at all times towards a noble end. I am doing it because it's right, because it's the best thing for them. It's the best thing for me. I've been given children, and it is my duty, privilege, and honour to raise them. I, and not some child care center, am meant to be the catalyst, good or bad, to help them become who God wants them to be. To teach them to love humanity, live with humility, and serve a mighty God. After all, that's a pretty big deal. So, Hello, I'm Erika and I am a stay-at-home mum. What are YOU doing to change the world?

Christmas- The real deal.

2010-12-05T17:10:00.000-08:00

Christmas time is a bit of a conundrum. We all are filled with longing for things... not quite sure what "thing" it will be this year that will fulfill our wildest dreams. Of course, we won't get it (because we never knew what it was anyway), and we'll inwardly grumble about getting yet another pair of grandma's homemade socks that aren't the same size or colour.
We stuff ourselves cross-eyed with food and roll around in the lush decadence of the season. Drunk on cheap wine, frothing at the mouth with eggnog, loosing teeth to the fudge, and packing on kilos, increasing our pant sizes by 3 or 4.
All the music, which begins to haunt our shopping centers in early October, is about how magical and wonderful Christmas is. And about a Silent magical night many years ago that something(if only I could remember what?) happened. And how it's a wonderful, joyous time. It's a time for families to skip around together carrying hams, for friends and neighbours to come together and hold hands and sing and smile and sprinkle glitter into the air.
We fly from shop to shop spending millions of yet un-earned cash on frippery. A dolly for mom, and skateboard for gramps, and some reduced-price tea towels for hubby. Maybe the kids can get another electronic gaming console to add to the 4 they have already. Maybe the "fit" one so they'll get some exercise.
By the time the glorious day arrives, and the presents are stashed under the tree which has been decked out in this years latest teal baubles, we are haggard and harried. In debt, fat, and tired. And why do we do all these magical and wondrous activities? For fun? Was there ever a purpose to all the expense, the faux magic, the red and green? If it is, it's been buried somewhere beneath 5 meters of santa wrapping paper.
Is it really the way to celebrate the birth of a homeless, religious fanatic? Is it really the way to celebrate a teenage mother giving birth in a stable? It's hard to find the real deal in all the fudge-covered lust, tinsel covered avarice, and sparkling debt.

But here we are, in a season of juxtaposition, celebrating the birth of our rebel Saviour and homeless KING of the UNIVERSE. So Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Grief

2010-09-16T15:40:00.000-07:00

When someone old dies, we don't grieve so much for all the things they weren't able to do. We are glad that there is no longer pain and the chronic irritations of an aging body. We are glad that they are with their loved ones who have gone on before. SO glad that they are finally at rest.

When someone old dies, I think the grief is more about what wasn't done. All the "I love yous" never spoken, all the time never spent, all the cards never written, the phone calls never made.

I've pulled my head out of the sand of my PND and have discovered someone that I loved very much is gone. I ache for all the things undone. The photo book I had in mind to make... undone. Now it will never be seen by the eyes it was meant for... All the phone calls I never made. I didn't say I love you enough. I didn't go to Chicago while I was in the states. He will never see my babies in person... because I took for granted my time. I selfishly left people who have loved and cared for me, unconsidered.

I will not be able to hear "Yallo" when I call. Grandpa's tired and tremulous voice will no longer be there. The way he called my Grandma "Soph" although her name was Jean. There is no one to call me "peanut" or sing silly little songs to me.

He was truly a good man, and I look forward to running with him again. someday.
But right now, I am just so sorry.

I'm so sorry. I really am, really sorry. I wish...oh how I wish I could change things.

Home

2010-09-14T15:32:00.000-07:00

Being an American in Australia was a relatively painless transition. I had a few months of culture shock, and will always be a little on the "outside" but only a little. But yesterday I was reminded how truly far away from "home" I am. My grandfather died. He's the only one I had, and now he's gone. I feel each mile that separates me from the family that knew him. I desperately wish I could be there to cry with them and swap stories. I am alone in this country, and feeling, for the first time really, my foreignness.

Goodbye Grandpa. I am so sad you are not in this world anymore. But I am thankful that you can finally rest. Your days of dreaded physio are over. No more worrying about sugars and steps. No more having to navigate the world with a cane or in a wheel chair. I loved you... although not very well. I'm sorry I took for granted your final days.

Points of Gracious Humanity

2010-09-05T15:31:00.000-07:00

I recently traveled back to the US with my 3 little guys. Along with me, was my intrepid teenage helper, Jane, who helped entertain the kids during the 24 hours of travel to and fro. There are so many stories I could tell from our trip, the thorough unhelpfulness of United, the amazing feeling of coming "home" to summer and family, the opening up of the spirit in the wide skies of CO, etc etc, but I decided to write about the 4 people who truly shined on our trip.

Jane and I were outnumbered from the get-go. That we knew already. So she would shepherd and herd the older two while I fumbled boarding passes and passports with Asher in the front carrier. All was well until we got on board. The older two fell to sleep a few hours into the flight and slept for a good long bit, but the baby, who struggles to sleep unless conditions are right, struggled to sleep, as conditions weren't right. The floor bassinet provided was conveniently made too large to put on the floor. Asher doesn't sleep very well being held. He was becoming more and more miserable as he was WAY overtired, and I was in tears as I was over-tired too. About 6 hours in, I was fighting rising panic that he wasn't going to sleep at all... At some point in my delirium Ken and Bess sitting catty-corner to me offered to hold Asher for a bit. I gladly accepted. I rested my arms and shoulders... for 6 hours. I glanced back again and again to see Bess holding him gazing down as mother's do. I kept asking if they wanted to hand him over, and they consistently declined. Even after 6 hours, as we were heading towards descent, they seemed reluctant to hand him over. Asher slept the whole time, and I was even able to rest a bit. God Bless you, Bess!
Our time in CO went fast and wonderfully. We played in the sun and the kids wore next to nothing and played in my parent's fountain. It was great. But I lived in terror of the return journey, dreading, once again not being in a bassinet row, and dealing with the money grubbing United Airlines.

True to form, United was not helpful once again, but we sat next to Sonya from Denver to LA. She asked to hold Asher, and was so friendly the kids were lining up to talk to her. We exchanged information after the flight and I have heard from her since.

Our La to Melbourne besty, was Jenny. She listened as the kids jabbered away at her from between their seats. She chatted back to them. Leif was excited that she didn't have to be a stranger anymore.

Perhaps if United had been more helpful, or if we had had more comfortable seats, those people would not have shone so brightly. They generously touched our lives and I will be forever grateful that, instead of running scared, they jumped in the foray with us, and made the trips bearable. Despite everything, they left us with good memories of a difficult time.

Confessions of a stay-at-home something

2010-07-24T21:00:00.000-07:00

The truth is I've been battling post-natal depression. I have been depressed before, but didn't recognize it this time. I am ashamed to admit I spend my days counting down the minutes until Chad comes home so I can tell someone who cares that I am tired and want to go to bed. I cry nearly every day, and spend lots of delicious time feeling sorry for myself (while fully acknowledging that I have it pretty damn good). I have no room for anyone else, even my children, and feel unable to cope (although it has been pointed out to me that I am coping). Fortunately, some days are better than others, some days I can shower and smile and care. But others I am barely able to get through without screaming and crying. I am disconnected from my emotions, and feel that I am being demanded to perform far beyond my abilities. I should be able to feed the kids, get a bit of laundry done, dress myself and them, and make it down the street to the park. Yet, some days, that is an unimaginable task.

I feel keenly that my children should see me as a functional adult, I want to be molding and shepherding them, that is the entire reason that I stay home with them. But I am aware that the person that they see now is someone who is hanging on by a fingernail. I want to change something but feel incapacitated to do anything. I know I should be loving and caring for people around me, my neighbours, my friends, my church-mates, but I can't seem to carry anyone else. I feel crushed beneath the weight of the constant demands of the people I've made.

So, I suppose, I am writing this as a justification for my failures. I don't want to be doing any ministry. I just want to survive. I don't want to line any more jobs up for myself, I just want to make it through today. And hopefully, the cloud will lift, and I will be able to do more than just survive. Hopefully, someday soon, I will be a person I can be proud of. But it's not today.

The Notable Faith of Enoch

2010-06-12T21:54:00.000-07:00

In my new attempt to read through the Bible, or at least to read the Bible regularly, I stumbled upon a character that had escaped my attention before. While doing my obligatory reading through the boring ol geneaologies, I read about a man named Enoch. Enoch was noted as walking with God. It says very little about him apart from that except that he walked with God and he didn't die because God took him away. It never mentions how many hours he spent in his daily devotional readings, or how many times a day he bowed in holy prayer. It doesn't mention whether he was a glorious preacher of a church of 10,000, or if he was a missionary in the outer regions to a people who only had gourds as clothing. I have been stewing about him for days now. How does someone walk with God in such a notable way? All it says is that he walked with God. So whatever it was that he did, whether it was being a Doctor, or a teacher, or a preacher, or just some boring old stay-at-home mom... ahem... dad, he was noted for his walk. A walk of faithfulness to his creator God.
I went to a party yesterday, and invariably the question was asked "SO, what do you do?" and invariably my answer was "I stay at home with my 3 kids!" and, invariably, the silence ensued. There was a time when I would feel a sting of shame, after all, I made a fuss about their boring real-estate careers. I know, however, that although my current career may seem boring (it is not) it is not the sum of who I am. I like to create, I like trying to be "green", I like home made things, I like getting recipes (although I will never use them properly). And above all, I am a believer of and in Christ.
Someday, it will be different. I may become some famous Doctor who cures people by blinking in their general direction, or I may change the rotation of the world with my mediocre sewing skills. Whatever I do, I will be a Christian, a follower of the creator God. Enoch and I share the same God. My prayer is that some day, my epitaph will say the same, simply that I too walked with God.

Believing the Samaritan Whore

2010-05-24T16:41:00.000-07:00

I was recently challenged by a friend to use some of my Facebook time to read the Bible. I have tried successfully twice now. One of the passages I have read is John 4. It tells the story of Jesus, a clean Jew, speaking to a dirty, slutty Samaritan woman. Jesus, the religious fanatic, the feminist, speaks to a woman his religion would forbid. As I read, and re-read this passage, more and more things stuck out to me. Not only was this woman a "woman", she was a woman that most people, whether Jew, Baptist, or Apiscopalian, would not speak to. She was lurking in the muck of society. She was not allowed to draw water at the same time as the other ladies. She was dirty in a people considered dirty to a Jew. Yet, Jesus, unashamed, speaks to her. He asks her to get water for him. That would be like asking a pig to share his slop. She acknowledges this with a surprised,"Why do you ask me this, since I am a Samaritan woman?" He wastes no time in his theological parlance. He tells her to ask him for the "water of life". She misses it a bit at first, but it doesn't take her long to get on track. In the course of their discussion (Yes, He was talking theology with a whore) He points out to her that He knows who and what she is. This seals the deal. She knows who He is. She drops her water and runs into town, into a town in which her story is no secret, and pronounces the coming of the Son of God. People believe what she has to say, and come to speak to this strange Jew themselves. It doesn't take long for this crowd of half-breeds to believe Jesus for themselves. They beg Jesus to stay on in their sty, and He easily agrees. Jesus is so willing to defy His current trend of religious beliefs for the love of PEOPLE. Jesus loves Samaritans, He loves me, He loves the people of Melbourne, and even the people of the Western Suburbs. He is not a discriminator. I have realized that I am a racist, supremacist, bigot. I judge people based on their attire, skin colour, and cigarettes. Who is ever going to see Jesus through me? I have realized that I, too, need to follow the Samaritan woman. It's my turn to race after her to the feet of my beloved egalitarian, to sit at his feet and see through His eyes.

To tie or not to tie

2010-04-27T23:16:00.000-07:00

So, with the advent of a 3rd person in our family the big discussion has begun. Is this the last of little additions to our family? Before Asher was ever conceived I knew we were missing him. I have not had any similar revelations about a new addition... in fact I sort of feel DONE. I am pretty sure I am at maximum capacity with 3 small ones. I am thoroughly looking forward to losing my baby weight, and getting back to looking fabulous. I can't wait to get rid of those stretched, space consuming maternity clothes. But, I feel like surgery (for him) is so final. I am not sure if I feel comfortable making such a major decision. However, since 2 of our children were conceived unplanned, and with my personal intolerance to "the pill", it seems that surgery is our most reliable option. It's final. So, now we have to decide what "final" we want. Another little addition, or none... it seems that both could spell DOOM.

Post-Partum Essentials

2010-04-11T23:03:00.000-07:00

It's day 3 after "the Bear" has entered the world, and I wanted to jot down a few things that have been super beneficial to me in recovery.
#1- A supportive, and loving hubby. Absolute necessity!
#2- Food. Whether made for you or before-hand by you, it's so important to have a lot of ready made food around.
#3- Metamucil or something similar. Along with a stool softener.
#4- Panadol, Tylenol, and/or Ibuprofen. Just takes the edge off.
#5- Tubigrip or some control wear. I totally feel like my abdomen has been blasted away, and the tubigrip has saved my back.
#6- Satiny jammies. At least bottoms. Makes getting in and out of bed a million times more comfy. No sliding stitches around on sheets.
#7- Piles of cheap Homebrand Super Pads. Great for the first few days. Useful for C-section protection, and cheap enough to change hourly.
#8- Water bottle. Full please.
#9- Pillows. Pillows. Pillows.
#10- Ice pack. For sitting on while feeding, or for stuffing down shirt for a little nipple relief.

I also treated myself to some goat's milk soap before getting into the hospital and find it fabulous for the sorer bits. It cleans so gently. I also like it on my face.
Also, a big jug of cranberry juice won't go astray, as it's good to be a little preemptive with other discomforts.

Here's to babies and their glorious entry into the world!

Power in weakness

2010-03-13T20:23:00.000-08:00

This week was a rough one in parenting land. My daughter, the princess, was sick. She whinged all day, and cried all night. She exhausted all our collective sympathies in the first day. My son, has been stricken with the terrible 3's. Some weeks are better than others, and this one was a rough one. I think both children are getting the pre-baby freaks, and desperate for us to prove that we will still love them when there is a new baby around. Leif is also dropping his one and only nap, and is therefore usually quite tired. On one particularly rough day, after herding my kittens into and around the Dr.s office we were called in. Piper had no symptoms of anything but a virus, or urinary tract infection (which she did have). The Dr. pointed out how "brave" I was. At first I didn't know what she was talking about. Then it dawned on me she was referring to my enlarged abdomen, which obviously held another "one". I stammered something unintelligible, like "Oh, yeah, blifp durbit", which had a meaning as confused as it sounded. Then we headed over to pathology to get a pee bag for my little princess. There the nurse also pointed out how busy I would be. I again nodded knowingly. At this point, I was exhausted from little sleep, and a 20 lb ham who needed to be carried everywhere due to her illness. I was near tears at the constant reminder of how much BUSIER I was going to be. We headed out from there, pee bag intact, to the grocery store for a few items. At the grocery store, the cashier remarked how busy I was going to be, and again how "brave" I was, as if my swollen belly was something I obviously acquired will wind-sailing to the moon. There was no confused mumbling here...just a subject change. After our groceries, I had to take a peek at the pharmacy for one or two more items. Once again, I was graciously reminded how much work was ahead of me.
I got everyone home, sweating and hungry. I fed the masses, changed nappies, inflicted toilet time, wiped bums, unloaded the groceries, read books, and put to bed. I tried to nap, but my sleepless toddler was not sleeping today, and the ol' late term heartburn was setting in anyway. I made it to 4 pm that day, and broke down in uncontrollable sobs. Is there nothing good about being a parent? Do we simply survive it until we can move on? Am I going to fall apart having a 3rd baby? Can I keep it up day after day?
A lovely lady had sent me a sermon, so after I called Chad to come home ASAP, I put on the sermon and listened as scripture was read. It was the passage about God's power being shown in our weakness. I felt so weak, and yet somehow picked up and carried by a God who is bigger and stronger than I. Even though I didn't plan #3, God had. He looked at me, a haggard, but loving mum, and thought I could do it, so BOOM! Here comes my badge of "bravery". I felt so encouraged that God knows how fragile and weak I am. He knows even better than me, how I am failing. But He is strong, and He is wise, and He is the creator of my fabulous little family. So I curled up in the arms of my maker, and trusted Him to get me through another day.

In Pursuit of Pretty

2010-02-19T13:28:00.000-08:00

Lately, I have been hounded by the question "Is it important for a woman to FEEL beautiful?" Sounds like a simple question. Maybe it is to some, but beauty is something that has confused me for years. I feel like I'm the only girl in the world who is still dealing with this subject. Like I should have dealt with it at puberty. I don't think that the Bible has any opinions. So I feel lost. I don't feel pretty, but I have felt pretty sometimes.

Growing up and even into college, I was terrified that people would think I was trying to be pretty. As if I was trying to be something I wasn't. I wanted to be comfortable with the fact that I was not. I felt like a bit of a joke when dressing up. Again, it was like people would see through my facade and realize that I was just a plain or even unattractive girl being a try-hard.

My husband tells me daily that I am beautiful. I know he means it because if he doesn't say it with his mouth he says it with his eyes. And sometimes there's lust there, and sometimes it's just that he sees me as beautiful. He will say it in the morning and he will say it when he comes home from work. It doesn't really matter what I am wearing or how horrible my hair is or whether I have make-up on or not. One would think that would be enough.

But sometimes I still hear the boys in High school laughing at me for being ugly. I hear that boy in grade 8 say "she was ugly before... she's even uglier now" referring to a change in my hair color. I see that car of boys barking at me. And then I feel that maybe I don't have the right to feel pretty. I have never been "the pretty one" but the ugly friend, the side-kick, the funny girl.

Funny how, at 30, those voices are as loud as they ever were.

But, at 30, I think I should be over it. I have made 3 kids, a very womanly feat. I am symmetrical. My body functions mostly like it should. And I have a husband who thinks I am beautiful, and he sees me more than I do. So I have been wondering how important is it that I feel beautiful/sexy/pretty? Part of me thinks it may be worth the journey. Part of me doesn't want to try. I don't want to care. I want to just be a good person and allow that to satisfy. Some days it does, others I'm not a good person, or it doesn't make a difference.

I always look like me. I assume I always will. I'm just not sure when that will cease to be a disappointment.

Either Or

2010-02-14T19:02:00.000-08:00

Just a quick note to share a little thought that is constantly rolling around in my mind. I have been frustrated at the way I hear many modern married people talking about children. Many claim that they "need" to get financially stable before starting a family. I am not against this, of course. Children are expensive, but not as expensive as some think. They don't need to have the most modern stroller, or the $5,000 play equipment. Also, financial stability has nothing to do with "Dad" buying that new boat first. It makes me crazy when people say they want to travel first. I can totally understand if you have never traveled, your first trip to Papua New Guinea would be quite hampered by little guys. But there are opportunities to travel with children. Children can make a travel experience richer.

I know that kids take their toll on parents. But life doesn't end when one has kids. It's just that it is a changed life that begins. A life full of the wonder of little things, a slower life but a richer one. Every new phase brings it's limitations and freedoms.

My life did not end when my son was born. I like to think that he has only enhanced my life. He changed it, for sure, but I didn't die. I still have plans, too, for a time when after this very brief period of certain limitations.

Navigating in threes

2010-01-19T22:44:00.000-08:00

Upon reminiscing, last year was a hard year. Black Saturday kicked it off. Then we proceeded on to issues closer to home. The threes. In a stroke of parenting "genius", Hubs and I decided to toilet train, put the kids in the same room, and teach Leif to dress himself all at once. Never were there born "wiser" people than us. Kids sleeping in the same room lasted only one month, but began a series of months where no one slept more than a few hours. Three months into toilet training, after many more episodes and screaming and bribing and yelling and fit throwing (by both parties, I am ashamed to admit) I reluctantly threw in the towel. Evidently, when baby #2 starts to crawl that can be a very traumatic time for baby #1. Well, guess who started crawling around our toilet training time. Yikes! So we kissed goodbye to this milestone. So exhausted beyond words, due to #2s lack of sleep, and #1s lack of cooperation, I had my first moments of crying to go back to work. After a while, we started sleeping again, and not worrying about doing anything in the toilet, things settled. Although Leif's behaviour became more and more...um...volatile. I put it up to the recent chain of events, and consistently made excuses for him. "He's tired", "he's got a sore bottom", etc. That was a year ago now. He has been getting more and more "tired". I realized the other day that, all this time, I have been dealing with a little boy who is learning his way through this world. Learning that he can say "NO!" and have power to ignore, or claw, or scream, or tantrum his way to achieve his will. He's learning he has a will. I guess I'm learning it too. Not a lesson I'm a fan of. This has been a very rough year in toddler land. I only hope that the 4s aren't worse.

The Outsider

2009-12-03T22:26:00.000-08:00

i am listening to Christmas music these days. feeling sad and lonely. i miss the snow and the scents and the general atmosphere of the "magic" of christmas that exists only in the northern hemisphere. feeling like i have to force the sensation of "christmas spirit". being pregnant and caring for two little ankle-biters, i am feeling more and more left out. rarely are we invited to eat at anyone's home, or even to dine out with them due to the complications of needing to safely and humanely tie down two tornadoes of destruction. not blaming anyone... just the truth. feeling further and further from humanity in general... and not sure that i want to put in the work to inch my way back. i'm tired and feel like an alien. which i am. the more i know of australia, the more i realize the nuances of our cultural differences; being american, myself. somehow i feel like i will only ever be half in half out, because i will never think like an aussie. my mind will always be american at the nubs. i am far from my family and, in this season of joy and silent nights (i defy you to find a christmas album that does not have that meaningless song on it) i am so aware of the distance.

somehow the ache of homesickness brings Emmanuel closer. God with us. in this season of consumerism and "getting" there is One, silently, patiently, and oh so beautifully present. He was an alien too. He was far from his home. He wandered aimlessly, sometimes hated, and sometimes loved to tiny little pieces of giving, just as a mother of a toddler who can rattle off 15,000 demands in 30 seconds flat. the God who made the world, felt sad and far away. He too was exhausted by the never ending stream of demands on Him. He felt alone, far away, and friendless. He, too, was never far enough, fast enough, high enough. He, too, cried alone.

And because He did, i do not. His hand is on the shoulder of this alien. The God with us. God with me.

tonight my son looked at me and said "mom, i love you because you are good."
Emmanuel, i love You because You are Good.

Monster Madness

2009-11-16T00:27:00.000-08:00

I have a few friends who are pregnant now with their first babies. There is something so thrilling about the first pregnancy. I suppose it's because it's all new. There is more energy and brain cells to put into contemplating the life change that is about to come. I remember in my first pregnancy, I touched my belly all the time, and felt I was "showing" much earlier than I really was. I tried really hard to listen to people's stories about becoming parents for the first time and use those stories to prepare myself. I thought that maybe the lack of sleep would be my biggest transition, and was curious how I would handle it. In the end though, the real surprise was not so much what happened in my life, but what happened to me. As soon as I saw my son's periwinkle body there awoke in me a monster that I had not been aware of. I had a keen sense that, if needed, I was capable of superhuman feats to protect my son. I KNEW that if there was a threat, without a blink, or even much effort, I could rip someone's head from their shoulders. I never anticipated the "Monster Mom" effect, and could hardly believe that something so potent could be fueled by a love so new and painful. All of a sudden, my heart was ripped from my chest, and tied to the wrist of this little being who was careless of it. My sense of protection is as much for him as for myself. If something happened to my children I would not continue to breath. I never could have anticipated how intrinsic to my life my children are.
I know now that the lack of sleep goes on for years after they have begun to "sleep through". The Monster always sleeps with one eye open. I wake now worrying and wondering if someone, tonight, is going to try to snatch them from their beds. I worry about their eating and activities. I know, all too keenly, that my sleep will never be what it once was. When they are teens, I will lay awake wondering if I am loving enough, or firm enough. I will ponder in the depths of the night what they are up to while at a sleep-over. The rest of my life will be deprived of the once energizing sleep, and will be energized instead by the Monster. The Monster itself is fueled by a bottomless pit of this new painful, potent, and powerful love. It is not the "love" of Huggies commercials in glowing white rooms, and adoring smiles (that's only a minor part.)No no, it is a dark and lurking, sometimes ugly love. A Monster love. It's the kind of love that only God could fill a mother with. So, I guess maybe God is a Monster Mom too. His dark and lurking Monster love weeps with us, and for us. He is obsessed enough to count our hairs, and catch our tears. He never slumbers, and He watches our every move day and night. The Monster Mom in me is comforted to know that, even if my super-powers are not enough to protect my children, they are guarded and watched by an even more powerful, and obsessive Monster God.

An Attitude of Gratitude

2009-11-02T18:32:00.000-08:00

I am naturally a very negative person. I like to think it's "realistic", as all of us pessimists would say. If something bad happens in a day I will usually define my day as "sucky". As a pessimist, I tend to fear the worst and dread the best. But 12 years ago, God rained a little irritating sunshine into my miserable existence and ever since I have been doing battle with a perpetually positive and perky individual. She stormed my life with her cheer and constant annoying habit of finding something good in everything. She was a Pollyanna to my Grinch. What I have at times thought of as "fake" I have now realized in simply innate in her. As I put my energies into twisting everything into being a "sad reality" she puts her energies into finding the "good in it". In the 12 years of knowing her a little of this pleasantness has gratefully begun to colour my thinking. As I began to realize that things are how we choose to see them, I have realized that my reality is as real as hers and her reality could be mine if I was willing to put the energy into it. I have found myself at times thinking, "How would Becca think about this?" I have even startled myself by actually choosing her thoughts over mine. I find more and more I WANT to think positively. I WANT to see the good in things. I WANT to be grateful. I have spent so much time miserable that it is so easy to go there, but part of me is caught up in the sunshine and wants to stay there. I hope that more and more of me will get dragged there, and that I can begin to see things with the glorious "attitude of gratitude" which I believe is a Biblical view of the world.

I have begun to ask God to show me things to be grateful for. I don't want to miss even the most minute things, and so far I have seen with new eyes the tap in my house that provides me all the water I need. It is drinkable, and can be hot or cold on demand. I have seen with new eyes the roll of toilet paper that is an absolute luxury. I am so grateful to have decorations in my house that are an absolute ostentatious display of the wealth of our household, but, I think, make it a beautiful little home. Even on my hard days with the kids, I am so thankful that I have them as I know too many people who have not been able to keep theirs.

Many times this gratitude is of a forced and concerted effort, but I think it is enriching my life and makes it no less "real". I am so grateful for my beautiful friend who has seen my in my most monster-ish form, loved me anyway, and was bold enough to force me to see some of her reality for myself. Although I have been a storm cloud in her sky many times, she doesn't hold this against me, and has even thanked me (yes, it's true) for being an influence in her life. I think God grants us friends like this to colour our lives for the better, but I hope never to diminish her light. I am grateful to have someone show me the way to a new perspective, a holier perspective, one filled with more light and more beauty that I ever thought my grumpy little self could manage.

Yummy Mummy

2009-10-03T22:43:00.000-07:00

I was flipping through a magazine the other day full of expensive things that one may choose to purchase for their impending little one. As I flipped I came upon an advertisement from MILK. It featured a perfectly tanned, non-stretchmarked "sexy" body of a pregnant woman advertising maternity undies and bra. Initially, as one is supposed to, I thought, "Oh she's beautiful. If only I had those undies." Then I pictured my pregnant body in reality; a glowingly white, alien brains for a belly, flabby thighs and arms, and general puffiness kind of body. I felt a flush of shame, (also, I think, the general intent of those ads). Then, I felt raging anger. Here I am, in a time of my life when growing larger is entirely out of my hands, it's a good thing, a sign of my miracle and gift to be able to carry another little Loftis, feeling shame that I am "ugly". Now there is a reason I no longer read Cosmo, or any of those other "10 ways you're too fat and ugly" magazines. I realized a long time ago that that is never going to be my reality. That looking at how fat and ugly I am has never helped me to be more beautiful or thin. I have also avoided parenting magazines for the same reason. I get so tired of being reminded how I don't measure up. My children are not potty trained by the time they are 6 months, in fact, my 16 month old is not even walking yet (pause for shock) and my 3 year old is not toilet trained yet.

In reading that magazine and seeing that image, I felt like my safe place, my feeble self-image and confidence had been invaded. It made me angry that once again, I was not measuring up. Once again, even in the midst of pregnancy, I was too fat and ugly. Then it dawned on me, I AM fat and ugly. Pregnancy is not sexy. I have NEVER seen a pregnant woman and thought to myself "Wow! She's so sexy!" I mostly look and think that "Oh, She looks cute for being pregnant." Pregnancy mutates our bodies, it damages bladders, causes yeast infections, dental decay, nose bleeds, stretch marks (which by the way are NOT the cause of a lack of hygiene, but simply genes which some of us are lucky enough to have been given), flabby bellies, hemorrhoids, and a myriad of other very UN-sexy things. Pregnancy does not make me feel beautiful, and definitely not sexy.

Pregnancy has, however, given me many things which make me value even this fat and ugly time. I have been gifted with two children, and two healthy pregnancies. Pregnancy does make me feel feminine, as I defy any real man to bear a child. I have come to appreciate my femininity and role in my world, thanks to my super-human ability to make people from nothing but another cell. So although I have failed in so many ways, I can make people. And that's pretty awesome. My maternity undies campain would include swollen women with stretch-marks, pregnancy pimples and capes! Super hero capes! Because pregnancy is not sexy (we all know that) but it is SUPER human!

Top Ten Baby Must Haves

2009-09-17T04:29:00.000-07:00

Okay, there are probably not really 10 must haves of anything in the world, but in our materialistic culture, there are lots of things that are convenient and great to have when bringing home little people. So, with that little aside, we westerners shall indulge in a little "Top Ten" baby must haves.

1. Baby carrier- This is my personal #1. I am a huge proponent of baby carrying, it's a great way to bond with baby and get some things done while baby is happy. There were several brands mentioned on my FB request for ideas so here they are: Kozy wrap ( a bit of a twist on a mei tei carrier), moby wrap (personal fave... wanna make your own? I can tell you how!) Ergo carrier, or Baby Bjorn.

2. Stroller- I think it is great to have a slim, easily handled, multi-position stroller that will allow for a toddler seat. Especially as babies are a little older, they are able to eat snacks and look at the elephants without having to worry about Mummy's hair getting in their bikky. Mum can go on long walks without having to visit the Chiropractor after, and everybody gets some good fresh air.

3.Port-a-cot (pack and play)- A fantabulous way to keep little newbies safe from their older siblings. Great for naps away from home, too. Just be sure to bring the smelly blanket from their bed.

4. Velcro-swaddling blanket- This one was recommended on FB again as a big fave for newbies. Keeps baby tucked in their blanket with no escaping. Show 'em who's boss from the very beginning. (Insert evil chuckle) Never used one myself.

5. Baby monitor- Depending on the size of your house, this could be the difference between boring hours spent outside baby's door, and actually getting something done... like brushing your teeth.

6. Breast-pump- This is quite a handy little thing to possibly assist in staving off mastitis (be sure to fully empty breast, and use at the same time everyday!) and also a great way to boost supply. However, I have one that requires 2 hands and I would definitely recommend one that is only one hand or no hands!

7. "Baby Love"- Or some great reference book. It is invaluable to have a book at the ready to give you some tips in raising your little monkey, everything from feeding (bottle or boob) to rashes. "Baby Love" was given to me while Leif was in the hospital and the pages are browning with referencing. It is moderate in opinion and gives many options and solutions all the while empowering Mummy to make wise choices. A great buy!

8. Baby aspirator- I have a baby booger sucker, a.k.a. aspirator and I'm so glad. My fingers don't fit...and I don't want them to.

9. Thermometer- The best ones are the ones that are quick and involve as little skin contact as possible. I have two under-pit-up-the-bum-sit-still-for-20-minutes-add .5 thermometers. Needless to say, we have not had any accurate temperatures measured in this house. Spend the $80 and get a good one... Don't do as I do.

10. Baby sleeping bag- these are great to keep little guys warm during the cooler months without having to worry about blankets. I found these to be fabulous until the kids begin on their journey towards independent movement. Then the bottom can be snipped off to make a nightgown.

Additionally mentioned, are things like "boppy pillow" a curved breastfeeding pillow (highly recommended, although in Australia these are common shaped pillows and not called "boppy" which is a very embarrasing name), baby book (need to get me a couple), baby swings or rockers, and dummys or pacifiers.

All this said, there is very little that is essential for babies but food, drink, and cuddles. So no need to panic if you can't afford the $10,000 stroller that has a cup holder, or the baby monitor that electronically reassures you baby is still living. Children have survived for decades, possibly even further back than that, without velcro swaddling cloths, and polar fleece sleeping bags. We will just sit back and relax with our Boppy pillows in position and Kozy wrap at the ready and be grateful what a great age we live in that luxury allows us such fabulous things for our kids.

Heartbeat

2009-09-03T20:46:00.000-07:00

At the ultrasound on Tuesday morning, I saw my little rice grain, thriving and healthy. Right where a little baby should be. All is well, and the previous pain was obviously something not related in a harmful way to this little nugget. The little guy had a heart beat (oh what a glorious thing to behold!) that was strong and perfect. It struck me, how much I truly love this little creature. I have only just become aware of it's existence, and I LOVE it. I was devastated at the vague suggestion that there could be something wrong. The mere thought of it sent shudders down my spine and immediate tears to my cheeks. It is a strange but wonderful thing to be so tied to a person who is a big as a rain drop. A love like that is not an earthly love, as any mother can attest.

AS I gazed at the beautiful sight on Tuesday morning, with tears running down my cheeks, I ached for all the children with heartbeats who will never see the world. My child is well within the range for an abortion, and could easily be sucked out, with nary a thought from any party. A woman even said, "They aren't really people until the 3rd month." Our government doesn't recognize their "person-hood" until 6 months. But I saw the form of MY child, and I saw it's heartbeat register on the screen and there is NO ONE who will convince me that that being is not a person. It is not a "person" because I want it, it is a "person" because it has a heart beat. However, he/she will see the sun, because I DO want it. Evidently in our very civilized society, people are only people who are wanted people. The unwanteds should have their brains sucked out, or their bodies dragged apart.

I am so grateful that I get to keep my little person, and that it wasn't taken from me. And I continue to pray that the sad practice of infanticide will end in my lifetime and that worldwide, civilized societies will take up the cause of children, great and small.

In the way you look

2009-08-30T22:04:00.000-07:00

Saturday I went to the Dr. with lower abdominal pain. It was not excruciating, but was of concern since I am pregnant. In the two days that have passed there have been major upheavals of positivity swinging back to "freak-out". Everything could be normal. There could just be a cyst... or it could be catastrophic. It could be ectopic. I can tell myself it will be fine, and I can sit on that for a couple of hours... but then the thought sneaks in that maybe I will lose this baby. And then the hysterics begin, and once those are over I am able to talk myself back into a state of calm. I'm embarrassed to be so emotional, but then remind myself that there is so much at stake. Not only will I definitely lose the baby, an ectopic pregnancy will surely effect my chances to have children in the future, and if not found before it ruptures I could bleed internally and inch very close to death. Sounds a bit dire, but then everything could be fine. Oh I'm sure it's all fine... but what if it's not.
I have spent some time, however thinking things over, and have come to the conclusion that I have many things to be grateful for. For one, I have two glorious children. Not only are they perfect specimens of cuteness, but they are enjoyable to be around. I am grateful that for the 7 weeks of this pregnancy I have been able to take everything for granted. I have not been petrified that things will go wrong, as my other 2 pregnancies progressed perfectly, and my daughter was born without a bowel disease, and so the thought had not even crossed my mind that this little rice grain might have it. I am so glad that I got to enjoy the first 7 weeks with this little person, and if I am not able to keep it (sob coming on) than I am thankful for that time.

This Wonderful Life

2009-07-13T23:02:00.000-07:00

I recently read an article by a person who referred to herself as a "Non-Breeder". Her article was a recounting of various stories she has collected from friends of the "gore" of motherhood, the long and painful pregnancies followed by long and painful labour followed by long and painful months of sleeplessness, puke, poo, etc. Her well written and humorous article relieved a bit of the sting I felt as being referred to as a "breeder" and it reminded of the importance of proclaiming the beautiful things of parenthood. I am passionate about parenting. I am passionate about the importance of children in the world and about people not being afraid to have children. So, instead of a tyrade about how children are not appreciated in this child-hating society, I decided to list off my top ten reasons why my children are great.

1. They have taught me about God in a way I never could have experienced Him. I know that God loves me more than I love my children...that's a lot. It's so much that it almost hurts to think about.

2. My children have taught me to find delight in the most broken things. Leif's favorite thing in the world is "treasure" (what I call rubbish) that he finds on the footpath. Who would have ever looked at that used straw and thought "Fun!"?

3. My children have taught me the amazing power of a cuddle. One voluntary snuggle from Piper and my day is a miracle.

4. My children have offered me the satisfaction of living for something bigger than myself. If i do a good job now, just imagine the incredible impact that 2 healthy God-fearing, human-kind loving people can do in this world. I've multiplied any impact I could ever have had.

5. My children have reminded me that imagination has no bounds. We regularly have tea flying over our house, or Willy (most noted for his movie "Free Willy") visiting us in the park, or water horses left on the ground everywhere. My world has never been so colourful or fun.

6. There is NOTHING in the world so amazing as kids giggling. Nothing.

7. My children have helped me to know myself better. I never thought I could have made it nearly a year without sleeping a whole night through, but I have, and am a stronger more worthwhile person because of it. My understanding and sympathies have deepened. I have my kids to thank for that, as nothing else on earth would have survived me in that state.

8. My children have helped me take my husband less for granted. He is an amazing father and I LOVE watching it.

9. My children have gotten me out of awkward social engagements. Let's be honest here, if you have nothing to talk about, the kids are always there either being "cute" or just needing to go to bed.

10. My children get me out of bed at a reasonable time every morning and make each day unique.

I adore my children. I love being a parent, and although it may be a little "boring" or " mindless" to some, I find it a stimulating job that will only last for a few short years.

No Help, Thanks.

2009-06-15T16:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my worst (or best) day in a very long string of bad days. My children tag team all night and it has been getting more and more difficult as the months drag on and the glimmer of hope I once had is fading. I am tired to put it mildly. I proclaim on a daily basis that I can do it no longer. Yesterday, I meant it. I was literally at the end of myself, my mind was racing to find a way out, a way to fix it, a way to change...and I was coming up with nothing.
Having confessed my desperation to my amazing sister-in-law at playgroup (which was quite enjoyable) she concocted a plan to help. It was a plan that involved sacrifice on the part of several people. As she told me her idea I was tempted, as dictated by my deep cultural regulations, to say "No, no. I'll be fine". We both knew, however, that aside from accepting help, I had no hope of making it another minute. I could only nod with both touched and humiliated tears streaming. She arranged for people to come and sleep with my kids so that hubby and I could sleep a whole night through.
I have accepted help in the past, a lovely girl from my Bible study watched my kids for a whole day while I did whatever I needed to do, my in-laws have watched the kids as well; but there was something particular about this time. The level of sacrifice was so great and in my normal state I would never allow people to do something like this. As I thanked them, they all said,"It's no big deal." But it is. It is a big deal to be willing to stay up all night with someone else's children. What they meant was, "It is a sacrifice I am willing to make because I love you." And as much as it hurts my pride to need help in the first place, it feels good to accept help and love in the sacrifice of another. I've allowed them to have a measure of power in my life, and in the end that is what real relationship is all about.
I feel like that night of sleep, given so graciously, is enough to help me carry on a bit longer. I have hope again. And I feel I have learned a huge lesson in what it means to love, help, and be helped. So, help? Yes, thanks.

Beer Lahai Roi

2009-06-14T19:36:00.000-07:00

You are the God of Hagar, The God who sees...
Do You see me? As I weep on my knees...
Do You see me? As my fatigue grows fangs
Do You see me? As my list of victims grows

I am beyond myself by miles. Do you see it?
Did You know I can't take another step? But you demand it.
Did You see me stumble? Did You watch me fall?
I know You know it all... Did You know that?

Why do You make us wait? The waiting is killing us.
We wait for a time when things will be better, when night again will be friendly.
We wait for a time when things will change, when You will storm in, sword blazing, and save us.
We wait to sleep.

Oh God. The God who sees. See me.

The Story of my Life

2009-04-30T22:15:00.000-07:00

My Brightest Diamond, an album given to me by a friend, is filled with highly personal songs. The singer screams about pain of loss, but also the beauty of it too. It made me wish that I could write an album just simply as an outlet for the things in my life that still haunt me. So, since I am not a song writer, I came up with some titles for an E.P. Of course it is not entire, just a work in progress. (Damn, I really wish I could write music.)

Blackhole of Years- A moody and despairing depiction of my years spent in the utter lost-ness of depression and suicidal tendencies.

True Love (Buttercup's Ballad)- A tender melodic description of my first encounter with real love in my soul mate, Chad.

The Artist's Widow- An angry recounting of my most painful introduction to being married to an artist.

My Beautiful First- An emotional song of the beauty, joys, and fears of the first pregnancy.

F*** U Hirschsprungs- (Not sure how I would get "Hirschsprungs" into a lyric, but with a little dedication, anything can happen) An orchestral raging about my first introduction to Neonatal units, diseases, and the aftermath. My son was born with Hirschsprungs disease, and we still battle many of the effects of it.

The Girl- A fun, and sunny song about how my daughter has stormed my life with her cheery disposition and has forced me to face myself and my view of all things "girl".

Where Does It Stop?

2009-03-15T00:53:00.000-07:00

This morning a woman stood up in church and shared her story of losing her little son at 23 weeks gestation. She shared her agonizing and grief, her deep hurts and questions, and also her deep and abiding peace. Later, I spoke with a woman who lost her son in the recent fires. Another friend recently went to her mother's home country to bury her grandfather, and still another is battling an eating disorder. After my conversation with the grieving mother, I spoke with a friend about sex trafficking in Melbourne. I felt crushed. My heart is overwhelmed by all the pain and suffering in the world. I have carried it around all day and, honestly, I am crushed by it. I feel powerless against it all, and I don't want to know any more. I try to avoid the news in order to shield myself from the mighty weight of the world. But I do want to help. I so desperately want to fix everything for everyone. I want to save all the victims, and be understanding to the misunderstood. I want to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. But where does it stop? I am not able to do it all. Even with all the money in the world I can not fix it all. What is my role and responsibility? I crave to be bigger, more powerful, more influential, more energetic, more capable...but I am not. I am only me. So now, I suppose I will just weep. I am not able to do more.

A Moment

2009-03-10T19:30:00.000-07:00

This morning, I had a mommy moment. I had packed the kids, a blanket and some breakfast to head out to the park for a brekkie picnic. My son inhaled half a piece of toast and then set about burning it off. He raced around the park with a huge grin on his face. His fuzzy little hair billowed around his head while he was yelling his running commentary about everything he did. All the while his pink face shown with his delight. As he raced, my precious baby girl busied herself investigating rocks and tiny plants. She dragged her little body as fast as she could to get as much rock matter in her mouth before I caught her. As I watched my children enjoying themselves, just reveling in their experiences, my heart surged with love for them. It flowed out my eyes as I gazed at my amazing kids. How is it, that I, of all people, could be abundantly blessed to have under my protection such amazing people? My blessings are too many to number.

Breastfeeding

2009-03-03T14:38:00.000-08:00

Although I have already steered one child through baby-hood and should be an old pro, I feel way out of my depth with my second. Unlike her brother, she is a nature baby. She will take no dummy, she was solely breastfed, and came out the right hole. Also, unlike her brother, she struggles to gain weight properly and is very tiny. I was led to believe that breastfed babies are the healthiest, but all I have found is exhaustion on behalf of all of us. It seems that Piper has never really gotten enough and so she doesn't sleep well through the night. Breastfeeding is a beautifully emotional experience, and is intimately connected to my sense of myself. We bonded beautifully thanks to being able to breastfeed. She never really had any latching problems, but I have always struggled to make enough. I assumed that once she was eating solids that all our problems would be fixed, but as I relaxed about it, I made even less. As I have wrestled with whether to bottle feed or breastfeed I have become more and more obsessed and confused and not a little hormonal. I wonder now if the benefits of breastfeeding have actually outweighed the benefits of bottle feeding. Leif was a robust baby, despite his disease, and my little nature baby is still battling to gain weight and develop.
I have felt a little misled and disappointed. Piper at 7 mos is smaller than her 5 month old cousin (who was lucky enough to be breastfed and get sufficient amounts!) I adore her fat counter-part, but it always makes me a little sad. I wish that I could have made her fat too. Now that she is nearly entirely bottle fed, I hope that she can give up her battle to get enough food and just focus on sitting up and crawling!

A Woman's Glory

2009-02-26T18:34:00.000-08:00

I have, for a long time, like most girls, struggled with my appearance. I was always too fat and didn't have the defined chin and cheek bones I craved. My true bane, though, has always been my hair. I decided that this year would be the year that I would really tackle my insecurities and do something I have always wanted to do, so on January 1st I shaved my head. This year, I decided, would be the year that my self-loathing would stop. After all, I have had a daughter and it would break my heart to hear her say things about herself that I say about me. I need to show her and my son the way. My hubby also reminds me that it would be good for him too. So, I have set out on my adventure of self-acceptance.

I would love to proclaim that I am well on my way and that I am learning to "inhabit" my body. I would love to say I have found a way to accept my thin and lifeless hair, but indeed I feel as far from these things as ever before. I feel frustrated that I can't accept what God has given me and just say thank you. I wish I could not think about it.

Since having had my daughter I have not lost a single kilo, and will not be able to try until she is fully weaned. On some level I am thankful to have this experience as a larger person. I realize that this is God's gift to me to be less judgmental and to learn to accept this gift of my body, the one that He chose to give me. But at the same time, often I just feel like I am wearing a fat suit. I hate dressing it everyday, I despise buying clothes that fit it, and I hate looking at it in the mirror or pictures. I wonder if this is how all overweight people view themselves. Trapped in a body that does not represent them. Somehow I am determined to find a way to make my fat suit fit me, without waiting to lose the weight.

So, although having no hair has allowed me a slight reprieve from the hair issue (which will be sure to resurface in a few months though I feel fabulous without it now), I can't seem to leave my fat suit behind...and it certainly won't shave off on our budget. I'm not really sure that I want it to. Otherwise how will I ever hold someone's hand as they go through the journey of self-inhabiting?

2008-12-09T21:08:00.000-08:00

Christmas.
Ahhh yes. Ho ho ho and so on. I saw a massive blow-up Santa on display at my local Target and it continually was falling over and "attacking" people as they walked past. When it was set right, I noticed a sign that said "Buy me, I'm only 79.99" and I thought, "Now there is the true meaning of Christmas."

I find myself battling more and more with what Christmas is. Let's face it, Christmas is about the presents. It is about getting and giving. We've heard the same 5 Christmas songs done in rock version, and in folk version, and in hip-hop, and alternative, and then back to rock so many times that we don't even hear the words...not that it would mean much to us if we did...(Consider "Silent Night"? Would a 13 year old girl really be delivering a baby silently and calmly? Hard to imagine.)

It's time to face up to the fact that Christmas is more about the $79.99 killer attack Santa than it is about Jesus.

However,
Christmas is one of the only times that we talk about Emmanuel, one of my favourite names for God. It means "God with us". I get a little choked up even now writing about it. I can't help but remember the story of Hagar, who wept as she had been given to her master by her mistress to bear a child. Dutifully she bore a son. She was then cast out in an unloving manner by the pair that had done it. In her agony God came to her. He was her Emmanuel.

So even now as expectations run high for Christmas-you know, the happy family, the good feelings, food, and pressies- while depression is rampant and disappointment is high, Emmanuel is here. He cried, and was overwhelmed. He was disappointed by friends and had nothing. God with us.

But I can't help but feel that this Emmanuel has very little to do with the 79.99 killer attack Santa (just an hilarious side note, it was once pointed out to me that by jumbling the letters of Santa you come up with...well "satan")

Our Emmanuel did not come for us to have presents, but to have life. Sometimes it's easy to get that confused.

Seconds

2008-11-12T13:07:00.000-08:00

While I have a few seconds, I'm going to discuss the fate of my second. Sadly, my daughter came second. I wish that both of my children could have been first. I wish both could get me all to themselves, get carried around all the time, have nap time on mommy, and get all my energies. Sadly, the second gets the exhausted, half glazed, yet still loving eye of her parents. She doesn't get picked up the minute she cries, and her nap times must be taken alone. Since her brother can run faster and climb higher he gets more attention than she (for right now) and sadly has to lay on the floor alone while mommy "saves" her brother yet again from some dangerous and/or disastrous situation.

I suppose in some ways, coming second has it's benefits. She has more people to get in her face, and she has a built in play partner. She has an older brother to fight for her and fight with her. She has someone to show her the ropes and, hopefully, a lifetime friend.

So, while her mother may forget her birthday, she has a big brother. And that might just make up for it.

the fashionister

2008-11-06T18:19:00.000-08:00

At 2 and a half my son has very definite tastes about what he wears...he even has definite opinions about what I wear. Yesterday he began his day in leiderhausen, then we changed him into his "work" suit, and finished off the day in a T-shirt with shorts. When he's not wandering the streets in a bathrobe with jeans and gumboots, he's donning his batman jammies that are very nearly too small. But his most favoured attire is a Spiderman costume that he received from some friends. He wears this suit until it is so covered in dirt that it is barely recognizable as Spiderman. Not only is his Spiderman suit great looking, it also adorns with him magical powers. He is now able to "shoot" webs from his hands. He has climbed great heights, and not even our 6 ft. fence out back was able to deter him from greeting our neighbours (who, needlessly, to say were quite surprised to see his fuzzy little head peeking over the fence.)
I love it that his hero is a good guy and saves people. I don't know what I'd do if his super hero was Doc Oc...but is it to much ask for a super hero who takes naps, doesn't throw his food on the floor, and doesn't hit his friends on the head?

Babies and death

2008-11-03T02:23:00.000-08:00

I have been reminded again about the fragility of life. As more and more friends are losing babies, either by miscarriage or "freak genetic accidents" I find myself filled with the "why God" dilemma. While my son was ill, I took comfort in knowing that God was big and capable. I was able to rest in His love. It didn't mean that seeing my tiny little son sick with tubes everywhere didn't hurt more than childbirth, it just meant that the God of the universe was aching with me. And I rest in knowing that my good friend whose baby died due to a "freak genetic accident" is also not grieving alone. And my many friends who have "miscarried" (such a crappy term for the death of a baby) don't grieve alone either.
But, since the abortion bill legalizing abortion up to 24 weeks for any reason was passed, I am wondering more and more about why God would take the children that are wanted. Why are so many wanted babies dying? Why would He allow/cause this to happen? He is the one solely in control of the lives of these little ones and yet they are perishing and He does nothing...but weep. Forgive me God, but I don't want tears, I want these babies back. It feels so unfair that He has allowed abortions, but has taken the lives of so many babies that are loved by their parents. Children should not die. Caskets should not be made any smaller than 5 feet long, there should not be in existence a Children's Hospital, refuge, or safe-house. Children should be safe and loved, and be able to live from conception. So this is my petition to a God whom I KNOW loves us, Thank you for sharing our grief, but can we have Oliver, Amelie, Peme, Little McNaughton, and Tiny Rushworth back please?

Zoolander In Real Life

2008-10-29T21:07:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking a lot about appearance lately. Since having baby 2, I was hoping that since I am breastfeeding that my weight would fall off, as it seems to for everyone whom I chatted with. It has not been with the case for me, though. I am working harder than ever to lose it, and get fit, but find that the weight is stuck. I was never a person to struggle with weight and so I find quite a challenge to dress my new larger body (how do you dress up a fat suit.) I am truly uncomfortable being the weight that I am, not just in moving it around, but in trying to feel like a woman for my husband.

On the same token, I have read a few articles berating people who become parents. The articles bring up, as an irritation, the "daggy" appearance of these parents. I felt this keenly, as I am one of those "daggy" parents. Many days I have to choose between eating breakfast and showering. Since the benefits of breakfast outweigh the benefits of a shower, I am usually fed, but not "done-up". I regularly feel very self-conscious in my greasy pony-tail and chubby belly, and, with a red face, recall the articles I have read, and am aware that I am simply proving their point.

Then it occured to me, that one of the many beautiful things about being a parent, is gaining the understanding that life is so much bigger than the way you look. There really is so much more to life than being really really ridiculously good looking. (I wrote these wise words on my mirror...)

(Hope you enjoyed reading something new Michelle)

Valentine's Day

2008-02-13T23:36:00.001-08:00

I don't often brag about my husband. It's not often that positive things escape my lips. But I after spending an afternoon with a friend whose heart is hurting over relationship stuff, and making valentine's day cards with friends, I feel overwhelmed with love for him. I couldn't begin to list off all the things that amaze, astound, and ennoble him, but I can make a pathetic beginning. He is an amazing father. He comes home from work and immediately gets into playing with his son. They have a special "teekle" time, as Leif calls it, and also there is some light wrestling involved. Leif giggles for his father like no one else. Chad loves us both, and we are his first priority. He demonstrates this by asking for my opinion on any extra activities.

Chad is an amazing person. He loves and cares for people. When a dear friend of his was going through a divorce, Chad was hurting to heavily that he was ill for a few days. Chad works as a counselor at his school and frequently carries the weight of the many hurts that he hears about. He doesn't say much about it, but it shows on his face, especially when really selfish parents are involved.

Chad is an incredible husband. He brings me flowers on bad days, and lets me lay around when I don't feel great. He cleans the kitchen better than I can, and always helps me hang the laundry when he's home. He works his rear off so we can have enough money to cover our expenses plus some. More importantly than all that, he's gorgeous.

I love my husband. I could write for pages and never say enough.

Left Behind

2007-10-18T22:14:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I have blogged, I know. It's not been for lack of thoughts or inspiring insight, just simply the lack of time. Even now as I write this, the household tyrant may rise and demand a bloogyia (book) to be read to him...more like help open for him...So quickly on we go.

I traveled to the states recently with Leif while Chad went on a missions trip to Thailand. I had a great time, mostly, and Leif traveled well, mostly. A week before we were to leave the states Leif came down with croup, and so he was rushed off to emergency (with a 100 million dollar bill), since breathing, being a vital function, was becoming increasingly challenging for him. He was given some medicine which helped amazingly, thank God. The rest of the week was spent at home, fun plans canceled. The baby was ill.
Meanwhile Chad and associates were building a facility in northern Thailand at a children's home. They played with kids, built, and overall, just poured their hearts and lives out for these at-risk Akha kids.

Meanwhile, I was still holding a sick baby.

When we all returned home, it was a happy reunion! Leif was happy to see his daddy, and daddy was happy to be seen by us both. We traded presents, and hugs, and stories. As the stories came out, more and more I began to feel left behind. It is a drive of mine to do something big in the world. I want to make a change, and feel like I'm having an impact on my world. The more stories I heard the harder it became. I hadn't been able to go due to the tyrant. And I began more and more to ponder the things I couldn't do due to the tyrant. I began to feel more and more left behind. But less in a best-selling book kind of way, and more of a sad will-I-ever-be-anything kind of a way. I began to realize that I was being left behind in millions of aspects of normal life. Long walks of exercise being infringed by a child who wants to walk and no longer happy in the pram...a house that is maintained in an embarrassing mess due to his need to destroy mum's neat-ing handy work...studies left undone due to a brain that is coming undone...and a sense that more and more I am being expected by society to do more and more since I don't have a real job. Yet here I am, failing and definitely behind.

Days after me personal "Left Behind" saga had begun, I opened up a book, with no intention of really reading it. It just so happened to be a page on young missionary mums and what their job in ministry is. And to my amazement, I read what I already knew and believed in my heart. That missionary mums, along with regular mums, will find that their greatest contribution to the world, while their children are growing, is being an available mum. I realized that holding the little tyrant while he was ill will be looked on with as much favour from my heavenly Father as my husband's efforts in Thailand. I am reprieved.

Heroes

2007-08-12T02:08:00.000-07:00

This weekend I was afforded the opportunity to hang out with some of my heroes. Susan Brown, Joy Kilpatrick, Noela Harmer, Jan Steane, and my mother in law Tammy Loftis have long been some of my favourite ladies. They are people that I admire, look up to, and highly esteem. Janet is single mother who has raised 3 amazing kids and works full time. I have though of her often...particularly before Elevator Camp when I felt quite on my own... Joy is very like my mother on many ways (mother happens to be another hero) in her cheeky humour and...well...she's just Joy. What can I say? Noela works quietly on the sidelines, serving faithfully and joyfully. Sue is encouraging and funny. Always has word pictures or images to understand things. My M.I.L. is tender and concerned...I was so lucky to spend time with this bunch. So lucky. I was even able to meet some new heroes I hadn't known before the weekend. Jeanne, the speaker, is intelligent in EVERYTHING and yet still has the capacity to chat and laugh (always a surprise to meet someone so wise who also laughs at silly jokes). It was an amazing time of life-learning. I know I have returned changed. I missed my little man and my big man,though. Upon returning home, I held Leif...boy-stink never smelled so good.

A Week At Camp

2007-07-08T03:40:00.000-07:00

I wonder if his parents know before he was born. I wonder if they considered aborting him. They certainly would have been given the option. I'm sure they cried when it became apparent; the tell-tale eyes, the expression...Down-syndrome. Yet there he was, for a whole week of camp, surrounded by 200 other people. Every meal he served, taking the loathsome task of scraping the plates, serving those around him. When the week ended, everyone knew him. He was marked, not by the obvious genetic malformation, but by his servant's heart and the way he worshipped his God. The lives of all who attended the camp will forever be changed by this Christ follower.

When I was pregnant the first thing asked of me was whether I would abort if my child had Downs Syndrome. I said no, but thought about it over and over since...Since meeting this teenage boy, I will wonder no longer. I think his lesson will resound longer than any other teaching at that camp.

The Little Things

2007-06-03T22:49:00.000-07:00

In life it is the little things that we do for each other that can make the biggest impact. Someone recently handed me some movie tickets with a little note, and it meant the world to me. I've made an attempt at listing a few little things but I would LOVE to read any ideas anyone else has...

1. Write a note, unexpectedly, letting someone know what they mean to you.
2. Stop by their house with some flowers.
3. Call someone up just to see how they are.
4. Make someone a meal (a personal fave)
5. If someone has a new baby, offer to hang out for an afternoon so mum can sleep.
6. Ask someone out to coffee
7. Mow your neighbours's nature strip.
8. Bring an interesting tea blend to someone to try out.
9. Make up CD especially for them.
10. Bring tubs and give someone a foot bath (it makes it less awkward if you join in too!)
11. Leave someone a comment on their blog.

An Apology

2007-05-29T15:26:00.000-07:00

In my last blog I think I may have misrepresented what I've been feeling. I described a dying that I have only really come to realize. I meant death in a death to life kind of way. I think if pieces of me weren't dying or slumbering I couldn't be the mother I strive to be. Selfishness and even some of my more "important" pursuits have had to die in order for the mother-me to live. Now maybe some day I can study nursing and help AIDS orphans in Africa, but until then I am a super-hero mum, saving my child's life from his daily attempts to take it. I am glad to be able to stay home, but some days I get tired...( just a side note, I have a song for every bodily function, can you say the same?) I think that, as believers in Christ, our daily transformation can be tiring. As a mother, that transformation is excelerating. I have that daily battle of the dying me and the new-to-life me...and it wears me out and so I write blogs about it.

By the way, Congratulations Simon and Michelle on your new baby.

Just hangin out at home

2007-05-28T03:41:00.000-07:00

I was speaking with someone the other day who asked me what I was up to. She answered for me,"Just hanging out at home?" I was speechless. I guess in some way she was right, in other ways, she was outrageously wrong. My job is a full time mother. No wait, I am working...ummm how many hours are there in a week? Well, I am working all of them. Every second of every hour I am on call. When I'm not on call, I'm on duty. I guess maybe it would be more impressive if I was in an office, or a surgeon. But no, I'm just at home. Just hanging out...(grrrr)

Lately, I've been burned out from working all the time. I'm running on empty...I have realized since my five minutes of aloneness previously described that I have died. I read a blog by a friend on mother's day discussing the life and death that lives side by side in a mother, and somehow it irritated me. I don't like death. I don't want to know that I look like death, or seem in any way dead. Yet in so many ways, I am. I have surrendered so much more than I ever thought I could. My old me is dying slowly and sometimes painfully. The things that used to make me excited don't anymore. I am forgetting what those things were. In some ways, it breaks my heart, and I wonder if I will find that person some day when I'm not on call 24/7. Some days I feel more dead than alive. Growing up my mom always said that raising children is about moments, that you survive moment to moment. I think it is those moments that make me alive...and so I am alive...but also dead.

A Piece of Me

2007-05-20T04:19:00.001-07:00

A few days ago, I was alone. it only lasted for about 5 minutes, but I was alone. I stared down at the ocean below at dusk. There was no one around, no baby hanging from my pant leg, no messy house beckoning, no dinner to make, no one around. The kind of mystical aloneness where magic happens. I saw myself, just a glimpse, in a wave which was gone and another wave replaced. It was beautiful.
I was shocked how amazing those 5 minutes were. It made me realize how much has been surrendured in the rearing of a child. In some ways the waves showed me my life of permanent carer for a fit-throwing toddler who's too damn cute to punish. I realized with brutal reality that in order to have 5 minutes of sheer blissful aloneness, I will have to travel 3 hours on a rainy day in a tour bus. 5 minutes in which my pants are not being pulled down by my child, when I don't have to pack a nappy bag to step out of doors, when I don't have to punish a child whom I love so much it hurts, when I feel like a real person...and I can breathe...if only for 5 minutes.

The Man with Issues

2007-05-10T15:16:00.000-07:00

We all the know him. The man who will email you luxuriant emails, he'll pray for you and tell you how much he appreciates you.He'll show you around, take you to his place, kiss you...he'll talk about a honeymoon...Then he drops the bomb. He's got issues. He won't be missing you because he's got issues. The poor man. He's got issues.

A *statistic I heard, probably on the scandal scoopers "Today Tonight",states that every 5 seconds a man is saying to a woman "It's not you, I've got issues." Every 5 seconds a woman's caretaking response is being triggered and having the opposite effect intended. Now, he is not rid of the woman he was planning to scare away by his shocking pronouncement, he has found himself a soldier who will battle all sorts of abuses to help him through his "issues". (Notice that what the issues are, are never really defined. They are simply stated "relational issues") So now, the man really does have issues. His poorly planned tactic has landed him in a heap of poo. His "honesty" has gotten him nowhere.

I would reccomend that the real truth is always the way to go. Claiming "issues", as we've seen, will backfire. However, if a woman is told that the man no longer is attracted to her, it hurts and makes her angry, but she will leave the man well the heck alone. And be better off for the truth.

So, please, we all have "issues" of one kind or another. If he really liked you, he would be willing to surmount those issues. If he's not that into you, well, we all know where that will lead...don't we. So leave him alone, the man obviously has issues.

*Note-Statistic heard is a complete and total fabrication.

Eating and other tedious activities

2007-05-07T15:21:00.000-07:00

If there was one thing I would eliminate from the various needs of humanity it would be the need to eat. Eating is a tedious activity that begins with the loathsome trip to the shops. Buying up items that will either go off in your fridge, having been bought with good intention, or possibly worse, they will need to be boiled, baked, shredded, peeled, or mashed into a meal. You get the food home and then spend an hour trying to get it all put away while a toddler is trying to "help".
Food preparation is an all day activity. It starts with breakfast, that ends up leaving a wonderfully clean kitchen a mess that stays that way all day, because as soon as the dishwasher opens, there is the same toddler to "help". Lunch begins soon on the tails of the breakfast that is still not been totally cleaned up, and lunch leaves it's mark. As soon as the cheese and crackers from lunch have been put away, it's time for the toddler's snack, which usually ends up mashed into tiny bits by the "helpful" toddler and tossed onto the floor to be consumed at a later date. Once the snack has been cleaned up, it's time for dinner preparation. Which, having been pondered all day as to what to have, various ideas being shot down by the man of the house though no ideas contributed on his behalf, ends up being some mish mash of something "healthy" which will take at least an hour and a half from start to finish. That entire hour and a half beign spent with a toddler attached to my knee-caps, who has ceased to "help" and is intentionally just being a nuisance.

So what's for dinner? Pizza anyone?

Abortion

2007-04-20T19:55:00.000-07:00

In order to write this post I took a peek at the Planned Parenthood site. There you will find loving open arms who will happily encourage you as you plot the murder of an inconvenient "fetus". They phrase things so beautifully...it would be easy to be sucked into that death trap. They warn the reader about "anti-abortionists" who "claim" that there is such a thing as "post-abortive depression" which is similar to Post-natal depression. They claim that most women feel relief once the abortion is complete. They attempt to salve any fears and calm any quaking. In the list that they have describing why women have abortions, women who don't want their babies is number one on the list. Later as they are describing what occurs in the abortion, they point out that the fetus doesn't (probably and most likely, as far as they know) feel any pain until after 28 weeks gestation, so be sure to get the abortion before that time. Interesting, as far as I know cancerous tumours don't feel individual pain at any point in their existence and I don't think anyone would feel the need to have that pointed out.

I find it disgusting that in a society that claims to look out for the rights of children there is the legalized slaughter of children. By showing a concern about the pain of the fetus, Planned Parenthood betrays themselves. If a pregnant woman is murdered and her fetus dies as well, that is tried as a double homocide. Interesting that if the baby is wanted it's a baby from the time is conceived. If it is unwanted, it is a fetus and can be carved out at your earliest convenience. Dear child you have rights only as long as you are wanted.

I feel the weight of millions of babies that are defensless and the one person that thay have to defend them has the legal right to have them carved or sucked into a million pieces. Some mothers have the legal right to have their babies heads smashed as soon as it appears...What are we to do against the tide of all-consuming societal hedonism? I would brandish a sword if I could to defend the defensless. I know it wouldn't help. I ,myself, am an undeniable hedonist. I pity women that are sucked into the lie that infaticide is okay. I desperately wish that there was something to do. As a believer in Christ, it is my duty to care and to love. I don't hate the women that use this means to return to a life of immediate normalcy, but I don't think that there are many women who go through it unscathed. Every woman is marked by her children whether they survive or not. A death is a death. It grieves me that Planned Parenthood will not acknowledge that the murders that they help commit will have an effect on a woman.

Someone to blame

2007-04-18T22:42:00.000-07:00

I heard about the Virginia Tech killings when my broken hearted father called me. He delivered the sad news with a slight quiver in his voice. I knew he was thinking of all the dads who wouldn't have their "babies" coming home for the summer holidays. A grief that parents don't want to even try to comprehend.
The situation is bad. One of the things that makes me saddest is the desperation of the media to find someone to string up. Who is to blame for tragedies such as this? How could anyone have known? Did his right to own a gun really have any impact on his intent? Doesn't it seem like he would have been a able to get a gun whether they were legal or not? Drugs are illegal and yet they are used prolifically, if someone really wants them. Would that really have made any difference at all? Do the grieving families really give a crap about the politics of gun control right now?
I wish that the families could be left to grieve without being caught up in a blame game. Their grief will not be eased by knowing that the university stuffed up and that the police stuffed up and that someone is getting fired for not having given Cho counseling. They are suffering deeper than any of those issues can touch.
The media manipulates our shock, grief, and outrage at the depravity of man by channeling our emotions into their own agenda. "See what the guns do?" they say. But guns didn't do it. Whether guns are legal or not, people would still die by them. Banning guns is the issue of the media, the issue of politics. Once again, the media is heartlessly using heartbreak to create controversy at a time when tears would suffice. They care about nothing but the political party they are serving at the time.

My prayers are with the families that are grieving this terrible loss including Cho's family. May it never happen again.

Parenting and such thereof

2007-04-10T18:51:00.000-07:00

You plan for 9 months. The day comes and your plans are shot to heck in beautiful sparkles of unknown-ness. All of a sudden your heart is ripped from your chest and tied to the wrist of a tiny little clueless bundle. He grins and you hurt with the beauty of it. He rolls for the first time and nothing matters in your world but that one masterful acheivement. He hurts and you experience pain beyond your wildest imaginings. He reaches for you and there is nothing but softness and warmth and baby-scents in the air. Parenting is unfathomable beauty and pain bound up in one little uncontrollable being. You can guard and protect him, but only a little. And so the wound in your chest never heals...Your heart will never return...and there's nothing you can do about it.

Breasts in Public

2007-04-03T15:06:00.000-07:00

I read an article the other day discussing women's right to breast feed in public. Evidently there is yet another group of people who are standing alone against public opinion. Some women are demanding that they have the right to breast feed in public because it is "natural" and because breast feeding is best for the baby. I don't argue that breast feeding isn't natural or even that it is best for the baby. However, I don't think that women should feel comfortable letting thier girls hang out anywhere they feel like. I'm not against breastfeeding in public. It can be done modestly and in a way that does not make everyone around feel desperately uncomfortable. I once witnessed a yummy mummy as she exerted her right to breastfeed in public while wearing a flesh coloured tube top she let her breast hang there, unattached to a baby, for a whole minute while chatting to her girlfriends. She was facing the restaurant. I was very uncomfortable with it. If she had even pulled her top up while she chatted it would have been fine.

Now the argument that women should be able to breastfeed like that in public simply because it is natural is a ridiculous argument. Vaginal discharge is natural, normal, and healthy. But I still wear pants and underwear. So sporting baby feeders like an accesory because it is normal and natural and healthy is silly. All a woman has to do is endeavor to be covered when the baby is not attached. It that too much for those of us in the general public to ask?

So please, breast feed, because as we all know Breast is Best, but maybe just pull up that tube top in between times.

In Defense

2007-03-25T18:40:00.000-07:00

I am a stay at home mother. I do it because my mom stayed at home with us and I really valued that. I do it because I think it is best for Leif. And, yes, I think it is best if all mothers can stay home with their children. Leif went from sitting to standing in a second and I missed it because I was looking away, how much more would I have missed if I was away the whole day? I find parenting a challenging role. Someone asked me if I wanted a part-time job for some stimulation, and I answered that I had all the stimulation I needed. Which is true. If I wanted a break from stimulation maybe I'd get a job. (The woman who asked me this worked in administration in a hospital...I almost asked her if she needed some outside stimulation...) Life would be so much easier if I only had to worry about me for a solid portion of the day...Just to leave the house for a minute I have to change a nappy, make sure he's fed, make sure I have a bag of stuff to have on the ready, make sure that bag has all the stuff that I might need in it, I have to make sure I have my wallet and keys, and then we're off...but wait, something smells...let's start all over. And I love it. I'm so glad that I can be here with him. But some days I do need a break from all the stimulation.

Meandering

2007-03-22T21:25:00.000-07:00

I want to change the world. I want a lot of people at my funeral. I want it to be said of me that I was "Barnabas" a "son" of encouragement. I want to go to Africa. I want to learn to make stain glass windows, and sew. I want to relearn all the higher level maths I used to know. I want to be willing to help, sacrificially (and learn how to spell.) I want to learn another language, fluently. I want a little girl. Boy would be fine too. I want to be patient, and wise.

I love my son, I love my husband and my family. I love my God. I love my God.

I love freedom. I am grateful beyond words for my friends.

I am nearly 28 but still feel like I'm 17.

I get sad sometimes that I'm so far from my parent's and siblings. Abused children around the world break my heart.

Parenthood

2007-03-06T18:41:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time. I've thought so many things that I wanted to blog, but never the chance. Now, here I go. I've seen amazing things since my last post (whinge) and have come back to this country changed. I suppose if you are traveling like you should you should be changed. I realized going home, that since leaving the U.S., my home country, that I have now rendered myself homeless. The U.S. is not as easy as it used to me. I am a foreigner in my own country. I am a foreigner here as well. What's a girl to do? It's a little bit freeing, but also a little sad. I have no where to really belong. No where that is really home. Who knows what God will do with my new found homelessness.

I've been learning so much about parenthood latetly. I have a child now who is capable of independant movement. Help God! Leif is busy. He used to snuggle, now he makes sure to maintain an elbow firmly planted in my chest in the case that I try to sneak a cuddle. He laughs when I try to tell him "no". I suppose if I spoke to him solely in raspberries he might understand. He seems to have developed a highly complicated communication system based on raspberries. Depending on how his brow is furrowed, his body positioning and the length of the particularly raspberry it could mean, "hey give me more of that" or "Um, did I ask you to change my nappy?" Leif is getting a new batch of teeth, well, that's my guess anyway, so he was up all nite in misery. So was I. Leif joined Chad and I in bed last nite, and it seems like we have a sleep crawler on our hands.

With Leif's new levels of activity and his lack of naps during the day, I get nothing done. I feel a little frustrated creatively. I have so many projects lined up to the end of time. Chairs to be refinished and painted, walls to be painted, paintings to be painted, jewelry to be made, Bible studies to be done, lessons to be planned, rooms to be reorganized...

I'm tired.

Parenting is not for the feint of heart. Don't think I spelled "feint" right.

Over and out.

Guilt...A New Kind of Blanket

2006-11-19T18:24:00.000-08:00

Funny how the post preceding this one is so pleasant to read...so true, yet not my current state. No, within minutes of acknowledging my surge of gratitude I am plummeted into a sea of a different emotion. Guilt. Chad, Leif and I are going on a wham-bam-thank-you-maam kind of trip to the US. I have dreaded planning it because I knew that we would not be able to see all the people that we want to see...We've had to prioritize and that always means unhappiness. So, now our trip is planned and of course people are unhappy with the results. Some are more merciful than others in their unhappiness. I have been accused of a gammit of things...
My guilt is keeping me up at nite and it's spreading to everything. I can't eat anything without feeling desperately guilty about my bad choice in food, too much sugar, not enough veggies. I don't exercise enough and spend too much money. I don't spend as much quality time as I should with Leif...or do I spend too much time with him?
I feel squashed by it. I know that it's not good or even justified, but how do you get out of it? I want to run and hide until May...
I want to get on hands and knees and beg for mercy and understanding. I know that people want to meet Leif and I wish that we could see everyone and spend a lot of time with everyone...but it just can't be. It's funny that once you have a kid everyone wants a piece, they don't give a flip about you when you're just you, but once you get a little one...Well, that's when you're important...well actually, the little one is important... And why do we have to go to everyone? Why can't they come to us? We sacrificed a lot to get there...Why can't people see and understand that?
So...MERCY! Please!

on the flip, i'm very excited to see the people we do get to see.

I wonder if Abraham felt this way? He as called to a foreign land and went...I wonder if he yearned for home, and they yearned for him with frustration that he left...

In my defence, Chad and I were called to Australia. It has been confirmed again and again that this is where we should be. I miss my family...can't wait to see em...just hate that we're so far. I'm not sorry that we left.

Blah blah blah.

So sorry to anyone reading this.

Change

2006-11-07T15:00:00.000-08:00

I am changed. I am not what I once was, and I am so grateful. I watched someone die and as I had my hand on her shattered shoulder God was tearing down my walls. I feel I have become capable of so much more gratitude than ever before. I have watched a friend grieve the loss of her little boy...never getting to hold him...and in my heart another wall went down.

I feel so full of thankfulness sometimes that I find it overwhelming. The old me was bitter and jaded...a whinge and a sook...so full of self pity that I could see no one outside. But I think that God is changing me...and I'm so grateful.

Daily I feel overcome that I have been allowed to keep my little boy. I don't know why some can and why some can't...but I did. Daily I thank God with tears in my eyes that I can keep him, even if it is just for know. I find myself thankful for so much more though. I am thankful to have a husband like Chad, and a friend like Rebecca. I am thankful to have parents like mine, and in-laws like I have. I am thankful for my church, and that building. I am thankful that I can walk, and that I can think clearly (sort of). We get sun, and sometimes rain...there are beautiful little birds that fly around in the park next door...

To whom much is given much is required. I mark myself as one to whom much is given. Lord help me to do what You require.

May it not take a death for you to reach a state of gratitude.

Dancing With The Drunk Man

2006-09-28T23:09:00.000-07:00

I went to my brother-in-law's concert at a pub on Thursday nite. His band was playing a 9 pm. There in the front was a man who had obviously been hitting the boos quite hard long before the concert began. At first I found him funny...but then some guys from the crowd started playing with him. They were dancing around with him and kinda teasing him the way one would with a dog or pet monkey. My heart broke for him. He was the side show entertainment, the dancing drunken fool for an entire room and younger watchers. It made me wonder what this man was running from. What would have driven him to the place where he needed to be totally drunk on a Thursday nite?
As a side note: Todd's band "Rogue" is quite good and worth a listen for anyone interested.

WAR

2006-09-24T05:24:00.000-07:00

War makes whiners of some and heros of others. My only hope is that when this is all over, we will recognize who is who.

Great News!

2006-09-19T03:27:00.000-07:00

Now, at nearly four months since my beautiful little son was born I can zip and button jeans that I used to wear in my pre-pregnant days! (The fact that they are almost too tight to breath is only a side note...they button!) Whooeee!!!!

Proof of a Woman

2006-09-12T22:45:00.000-07:00

I think that childbirth is the ultimate proof of a woman. Is she strong enough to bear the pain? Or will she break down under it and demand relief? Will she be able to stand up? How well a woman does in childbirth is a test of her mettle...Or so it seems. Her character is demonstrated, her self will, her physical strength. All are tested to the fullest. Maybe that's why a Caesarean is such a disappointment. You never get to be tested in such a fearful way. I, like many women, have wondered how I would have held up. Would I have swore a blue streak, would I have screamed, would I have demanded pain relief? I may never know how I would do...I may never have the chance to prove myself in that way...However I feel like I have let everyone down.
Before I knew I was going to have a C-section I had told someone that I was willing to have an epidural and they raised their eyebrows at me...as if to say "Oh really, so your one of THOSE kind of women." But now, I have not only chosen to have an epidural, but I also chose to have a C-section. Nevermind the surrounding circumstances, I chose to have a C-section...and now I wonder...Am I really one of those kind of women?
(Secret confessions: I actually looked forward to my C-section...I knew the date I was going to meet my little person.)

Home again Home again

2006-08-28T01:14:00.000-07:00

We are home. Leif's surgery was Wednesday August 23. It was about 2-3 hours long. He was pale and swollen when we first saw him and remained that way for a few days. That was terrible. He also cried a whole new cry, and looked stoned out of his head. He was not himself. He was on a morphine drip...My little 3 month old son was on a morphine drip. Heartache. By day three, his morphine dose had been almost entirely reduced and Leif could focus again. He was still in heaps of pain...as you would be if your intestines were pulled out your ass. But his pain has been decreasing daily. The first spontaneous poo of his life was in the early hours of the 25th. It hurt him and was just bloody...but it's become more normal since then. We took a picture of a full nappy. He even does little farts! It's very exciting! We are home now. God has shown Himself mighty in this adventure. We prayed that Leif would not have a colostomy replaced. It was closed! We prayed that his IV would last the whole time. It did! We prayed that he wouldn't get any infections. He didn't. We prayed that he would have a quick recovery. He is!
Thank you to all who prayed...We were carried as on the wings of eagles in this time of great fear.

it's a small world

2006-08-21T19:41:00.000-07:00

" Then the Lord answered {Erika} out of the storm. He said: 'Who is this who darkens my counsel with words without knowledge? Brace yourself up like a man; I will question you, and you will answer me...' " Job 38:1-3.

There's a comfort in knowing that I am so small and and that God is so big. When I begin to complain to Him about my woes, He reminds me who He is.

I cannot keep you

2006-08-09T21:22:00.000-07:00

Dear Leif,
Soon you will have major surgery and they will take part of your bowel. They feel confident that things will go well...I wish I could feel that way too. I dread the idea of them taking my precious little man as I can only watch you be wheeled away. I wish I could protect you from all that they must do. I wish I could protect you from the days or weeks of discomfort. I wish I could hold your little hand as they slice you up...but Leif, I can't. I am powerless against what must happen. I must wait for years for them to come out of the surgical theatre and tell me that everything went...I must watch as you are given pain medication and no food for days. I cannot keep you from all that will happen. I will simply stand by helplessly in your pain. I cannot keep you from all this...Forgive me.

Post-natal Perfection

2006-08-01T04:44:00.000-07:00

I was thinking about Post-Natal Depression today. I am a major candidate for it and sometimes feel stirrings of said depression. It's interesting to me the rise of depression in our society. Compared to days gone by, we have everything a person could ask for. We are fed and clothed, and have amazing conveniences. We live longer and are taller and stronger. Yet we are more depressed than ever before. I think it is because we are in a state to desire perfection...in everything. We will tolerate no mistakes to be made. There are people who have made a living off of other people's mistakes, you'll find them constantly in court battling for cash because they slipped on a recently mopped stair...Gynecologists are being forced out of business because they are constantly getting sued for mistakes. For hundreds of years mothers and babies have died in the birthing process. Modern medicine has made it seem a safe process...but, thanks to Eve, it is not safe. In days gone by mothers were grateful to have a baby, the longer it lived the more amazing. We expect our babies to be born without pain, in perfect condition. We expect a special oil to take away our stretch marks and special pills to take away our fat.
I myself have fallen pray to this need for perfection. I get depressed at the size my belly still is and that I can't breast feed. I get depressed about my son's disease that made his first 2 weeks very near every mother's worst nightmare. (I say very near because, as with all mothers the worst nightmare is to watch your child slowly fade unto death.) I feel like our time with him in the beginning was stolen. I had to wash my hands before I could even enter the room he was in. He was cut out of me, and I was pretty much stoned out of my head for the only time we had "before" the disease. I expected a regular delivery with a healthy baby who would come home with me, and people would be so happy that "It's a BOY!" and I would feed him from myself. I suppose in many ways I needed it to be perfect.
So, I guess I don't really wonder too much why so many women are stricken down with such a paralyzing mental plague. We demand perfection and will take no less.

the many faces of Jesus

2006-07-13T17:37:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking a lot lately about what a faith with works looks like. I have contemplated the real meaning of God's love. I know that His love is almost foolish. It's the kind of love that gives even when He knows we are only using Him. His is the kind of love that does drastic things that we only mock or demean,"Oh! How sweet!" He asks us to love others in this same way. To be fools in love, and to love everyone.
I have been stricken with a new found fear that I have seen him naked on the side of the road, and said,"Go and be warmed" yet did nothing. I know I have seen him hungry and hurting and did nothing. In my piousness I could not give him a dollar when He asked. His many faces haunt me now as there is no going back.
While I was a freshman at Moody Bible Institute in Chicago I gave money to every homeless person who asked. Then as time went on I became more and more jaded, and felt that the most loving thing to do is to NOT give them money since I knew ALL of them were alcoholics and drug addicts...I lived in Chicago for a total of seven years. I walked past hundreds of people who asked me for money...I ignored them, justifying myself as I went that I really was loving them best by walking past...
Now their faces gnaw at my flesh. I am pained by my Pharisaical Christianity. I can not go back and fix it...I walked past Jesus hurting and desperate and NEVER helped. My self-righteousness helped no one, and hurt many, mostly my lover, Jesus. I now know that it is better to be thought a fool and love, than to be callous and self-protected. I pray that I could again be given the chance to love foolishly. I hope that this time, with God's help I will not fail.
I know that I will one day see the faces of all those I walked past. It will hurt and I will be deeply ashamed. I will see Jesus' eyes as his tears well up as He says,"Where were you when I was hungry?..." I know that His Grace will cover me...I hope His Grace will let me try again...

gratitude

2006-07-03T05:10:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking, is it real gratefulness to say,"Well, at least we're not as bad off as these people." One of Leif's nurses prompted this thought process by a comment during Leif's hospital stay. She was gently reminding us, as so many have, that he was not as bad off as some of the kids, but then she followed up by saying something about not wanting to use others misfortune to feel better about ours. I thought about that everyday as I wandered the halls of the children's hospital, so many disfigured and obviously sick children. So, is it true gratitude to God for me to say, "Ah well, at least Leif doesn't have a disease that will kill him. At least he doesn't have a painful and terminal illness." I wonder what it means to "give thanks" and have an attitude of gratitude in a situation like that? How do i "give thanks" that my son has a disease that demands major surgery? How does a woman who lost her little boy to a "genetic freak accident" give thanks? How does someone give thanks at the bedside of a 6 year old who is dying of leukemia? I praise God that Leif's condition will be manageable after his surgery and that he will not die from his disease. But what if he did have a terminal illness? How would I be grateful in that situation? I try as much as possible to grieve with parent's of children in worse situations, to grieve my own son's condition, and to praise God separate from worse situations...but it is very difficult to do.

Here it comes...

2006-06-26T20:23:00.000-07:00

I worry. All the time. Leif has a few little problems with his colostomy. I've been told that there are always a few little problems with colostomies. It's a comfort that these problems are normal, yet I still worry. I worry that Leif is sick. I worry about what could happen.
Leif is expected to have his major bowel surgery in less than 2 months. I worry about that. He is blessedly and blissfully unaware of the impending surgery. I worry that he will not survive the surgery or that there will be complications...
Can someone please tell me that all this worry is normal mother stuff? Will I still worry about him in 2 years when this is all resloved? I feel like it would be comforting to know that this is normal...then I won't resent his disease so much.

I love him so much it hurts sometimes. The idea of him enduring more pain is almost unbearable.

Good God revisited.

2006-06-15T22:51:00.000-07:00

So my son Leif Cole has safely entered the world. He was a good size upon birth 8.4 lbs. I couldn't be prouder. Less than 24 hours after he was born he started to spit up bile and was rushed to the Children's Hospital in the city. There numerous tests were done on him, and numerous needles were stuck in him. The next day he was diagnosed with Hershsprung's Disease, a disease of the bowel in which the ganglion nerves are missing thereby keeping the bowl in a constant state of contraction. Leif was quite sick and wasn't able to pass any faecal matter so he had to have a colostomy (a surgery in which the intestine is redirected to empty out of the abdomen, bypassing the effected bowel.) He has now been home for a week after 2 weeks in the neonatal ICU. He will need one more major surgery to bypass the bad bowel and make him able to poo out his rear.

Due to the amazing advances in medicine, his diagnosis is relatively benign. He is alive and healthy and will most likely live a normal life.

God gave him this disease. But God also prepared me for this during my entire pregnancy. God gave him the disease, but God also wept with me as Leif was given a new IV almost daily and had a tube inserted down his tiny throat. God wept with me and held me, as He weeps with all mothers over the injustice of life suffered by their children. During my pregnancy God constantly reminded me to pray that my faith would be strong enough to handle something bad happening to my son...and now God has provided me with a tiny faith able to cope with this. I can thank God for my gorgeous son, and that he is home with us now and that I get to be a part of his every moment in life.

I hope this makes sense.

The Egde of the World

2006-05-21T17:01:00.000-07:00

Tommorrow at roughly 8:30 am Melbourne time, Chad and I will be meeting our little stranger. We will see the eyes we have craved to see, and hold the little fingers we have tingled to hold. (and quite possibly the little uvula I have been less excited about seeing!) We pass from two to three.

There will most likely not be any action on this site for a while...

Movie Time

2006-05-17T16:58:00.000-07:00

I thought it was time for a lighter and fluffier sort of blog. It's movie time.

My top movies right now:
Royal Tenenbaums- A delightfully colourful movie about a truly messed up family. Although there is little in the movie that reflects my life, I find it somewhat refreshing. I can watch it again and again. The soundtrack is also noteworthy highlighting the talents of Niko, and Elliot Smith. If you haven't seen this movie, check it out. It is no longer a new release so it will be a cheap rent!

About a Boy- Not usually a fan of Hugh Grant (stuffy jerk-face) this movie is about a stuffy jerk-face, played superbly by Hugh himself (not much of a stretch) who discovers that there is life outside of himself by intereaction with a junior high age boy. This movie is also no longer a new release so will be easy and cheap to get your hands on.

Look Both Ways- This movie is an Australian film, with Australian actors, and in a VERY Australian tone. It is about grief and recovery; life after death. It is a beautiful and telling movie about finding peace and living after tragedy. If you are able to get your hands on it, it is worth it. It also has some really interesting animated sequences done by the director. A beautiful movie. Highly relatable, in a good way, if you have experienced tragedy of any kind in your life.

My Child

2006-05-12T13:42:00.000-07:00

I've been told that my child is breech and the safest way to deliver is by C-section. I've been given an approximate date. The edge of the world is now only a week away. Chad and I, hand in hand, will fall off the edge of the world, drawn there by this little one. There are moments that I feel so frightened that I can do nothing but cry, other moments I want it all to happen today. I can't wait to see the face of my little stranger.

I couldn't sleep last nite. I know it is simply one and many sleepless nites on behalf of this little person. I thought about the world and what a horrible place it is. The terrible things that could happen at any moment. But then I thought about all the beautful things that make up life. There are still birds in the sky, a huge and grand variety to be seen if one takes the time to look up. There is dirt to be rolled in, and rocks to find. I hope that I can help my Sprout to discover this world.

I want so many things for my child. I want this little person to have a love of literature and to have Chad's nose. I want this person to live in the world unafraid to try new things, to be daring and bold. I want my child to find the world fascinating and tell me all the things that he has learned with the wide eyes of wonder and excitement. Most of all, I want this person to have a desperate and passionate love of God. I want it to be this love that colours his whole world.

A Time To Grieve

2006-05-06T15:36:00.000-07:00

In the past month I have known 2 separate families devastated by one of the most unimaginable kinds of pain, the loss of a child. They both lost their little newborn babies within hours of delivery. Please remember Aaron and Nicole, and Eric and Randi in prayer. I think that the loss of a newborn can be such a lonely grief. No one but the mother's really have any memories of the child. Plus both Nicole and Randi have to deal not only with this loss, but also the usual baby blues, and all the other hormonal changes that occur.

My heart breaks for both of these ladies. Please pray for them and their families as you think of it.

Yet though He slay me...

2006-04-30T15:25:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I was going for a bit of a walk (waddle really) through my neighbourhood. As I walked I prayed that God would strengthen my faith. I asked Him to give me a faith that could praise Him and thank Him even if things don't go as planned, even when I was hurting. I want to have a faith that will be constantly strengthened by hardship, instead of smashed against the rocks and made weak. Forgetting that that is one of those prayers that will be immediately answered and tested, much like the prayer for humility and patience, I went on my merry way. Oh so proud that I was being so brave in my walk with God.

So a very little bit later I happened upon a house. Chad and I had been looking to rent a larger place to house us and our growing family. We had given up the search in finding anything with 3 bedrooms in our area and in our price range. I had gotten to a place where I had accepted staying here in our tiny little place, and honestly was not looking anymore. But this house came available right down our street (I love our street) AND it was 3 bedrooms, AND it had an Airconditioning unit, AND it was big AND it was beautiful. I had been ignoring it for weeks, but after the sign had been up for so long decided to check on the price, and what do ya know? It was within our price range! I went to check out the inside and it was home. I could feel it. It really seemed like God was blessing us beyond my wildest dreams. Chad and I applied...I tried not to get too worked up...We were rejected. I hadn't realized how fragile my little faith was and I was depressed for a few days over this little thing. I was so angry that God would tease me like that. (I think I still am a little.)

Yesterday, my diamond fell out of my ring. The diamond that Chad gave me and I have worn since getting engaged. My diamond with a little black dot in it, that sparkles anyway. I have no idea when it fell out, but being rather small, it would be impossible to find in any of the numerous places that I went. Again, I ranted at God for taking my precious diamond. Angry at Him for what has felt like a very disappointing time since being in this country, having had irreplacable things taken, opportunities not happen, jobs not gotten, houses not gotten, and now my diamond gone...

I have realized how weak and fragile my poor pathetic faith is. I have a chronic and slow burning anger at God that rears it's ugly head everynow and again. I know now that I need my faith to be made stronger. I have NOTHING to be proud of in that department. I am so weak. It seems so funny that it's the little things that can make us lose it. I still want a faith that will cling to the ankles of God. I want the faith to say, "Yet though you slay me, still I will trust in You. Even when I don't get the house I want, even when my diamond falls out of my ring, still I will praise You." I recognize now that I have a long and painful way to go...but maybe in the end I will get what I need the most, faith the size of a mustard seed.

Easter bunnies and Bloody nails

2006-04-20T14:57:00.000-07:00

I was struck this Easter by the sufferings of Christ. We watched the Passion of Christ on Good Friday and for the first time I realized that a huge part of Christ's sufferings was the lonliness and despair he must have felt. He was sold to his enemies by a friend. While He was aching with the weight of the knowledge of what was to happen his friends slept. One friend denied Him. I think I have become so immune to the story that I fail to see how painful this would have been. His own people rejected Him, and cried out for his death. This man had loved and longed for them. He was made fun of as He was beaten, insult heaped upon powerlessness. In any other person our hearts would bleed to hear such a story, but this man, well, it's just Jesus. In Sunday school we learn to say "He died for us" without any concept of what He went through. We're almost bored by the idea.
He suffered lonliness in a way that no person will ever experience it. God turned His back on Jesus too. God turned His back on Him at Jesus' utmost need for a friend. Jesus took on the weight of the world, all the hate and anger and abuse. He became the most disgusting vile criminal on that cross, and He was rejected by God, so that the most disgusting vile criminal can have a chance to truly live. No one else on earth is ever truly alone. God sees all of us and aches with us in our pain. He was truly alone to be with us in our lonliness. He experienced true pain to be with us in our pain.
Sometimes we wonder at God loving us. Either we complain that He doesn't love us enough or that He couldn't possibly love us in all we've done. I know realize that we join in the ranks of abusers when we question such love. "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends." John 15:13. There was no greater show of love for us than what happened Good Friday, and no greater show of completion than what happened the following Sunday morning.

This Island Earth

2006-04-06T15:41:00.000-07:00

I have been desperately home sick lately. I feel so far from what my life was. Out-of-touch and distant. I feel like I'm watching as earth is getting smaller and smaller in an already too small window. (Not to mention I have stand far from the window due to an 8month pregnancy gut!) I miss my country and the culture. I miss good ol' American shopping and relative friendliness. I miss mexican food and Good Times hamburgers and shakes. I miss my family...and even at moments miss Chicago. As I feel further and further from the world I feel so overwhelmed with an astronaut's loneliness. A huge world and a little me, in a vaccuum.

My brother just left to go to Iraq. He'll be a body guard to higher-up Army officials. I wasn't at his going away party. I wasn't there to see him off on his bus trip to his body-guard training. I wasn't there. I called to say goodbye. I hadn't talked to him in 6 months. I hope that's not the last that I ever get to speak with him.

My beloved and only Grandfather is in the hospital again. He's been in and out and has had periods of being non-sensical. I can't be there to help him. I can't be there to help my Grandma. I can't be there. When I said goodbye to him the last time that I saw him I had this terrible feeling it would be the last I would see of him...I hope that I haven't seen the last of him.

I feel not so much like I'm on the other side of this Island Earth, but well and truly on another planet. I am able to keep radio contact as I drift further and further into outer space. Untouched and Untouchable.

Semi's and Small Victories

2006-03-28T14:02:00.000-08:00

We were heading off to church. Aleisha would follow my sister and I there and then we'd go shopping and maybe a movie. She had called her parents to confirm that the plans were alright. We got into our cars and headed out, waving and laughing at each other. My sister, Rachel the driver, headed out, turning left onto the little country highway. The highway wasn't busy, but if a car was coming it was coming fast since the speed limit was 75 mph. We were merrily on our way, but poor Aleisha got stuck there with some traffic and couldn't turn. Rachel and I looked back to see if we needed to pull over or if she could catch up. We saw it all through the rear view mirror; the semi, the scream of skidding tires, and a huge crash. Aleisha's car went skidding sideways and the semi finally stopped about a 1/4 of a mile down the road. Rachel immediately pulled over and we both went running out of the car. Rachel yelled at me to grab her phone so I ran back to the car. I thought Aleisha was fine. I thought I had seen her get out of her car. I couldn't find the dumb phone and ran to where there car was. By this point Rachel was in hysterics. I screamed at her to pray, to cry out to Jesus...There in the car was Aleisha. I approached her and started to scream her name, "Aleisha, Aleisha, come on Aleisha, come one Aleisha, open your *&())) eyes Aleisha!" There was by now a large number of people there. All of them saints. Someone came up with a blanket, I tried to wrap her in it without moving her. I stood there sceaming her name with my hand on her shoulder, watching her fade...She was turning blue and her head was bobbing. Someone had called emergency and they soon came up and took over. They had to pry open the car door and pull her out. Someone was saying Hail Marys. That prayer will always be very meaningful to me. So many people were there, wanting to help I could feel it. Her parent's showed up...We waited. It seemed like days that we were there. She died and I watched as a mother was told her only daughter was gone. "Not my girl! Not my Aleisha! No NO NO!"
That was well over a year ago. It made me realize that life is so short. We never know when our end is. I have developed a fear of cars. I have hardly driven since then, and a little rush of panic goes through me every morning as Chad heads off to work in our car. I have learned to trust in prayer as our only defense. Yet life must go on and I can't live with such fear. Cars have become a necesity of modern living. So yesterday I had a small victory. I have been needing to learn to drive a manual car, and yesterday I had a lesson. I felt as if I had summited a mighty mountain. I still have a long way to go until I am competent, but it was my small victory over fear.

O is for Oprah.

2006-03-21T19:37:00.000-08:00

I was watching Oprah the other day ( I am a stay-at-home house-wife) and on it was a re-run of this guy who had written a book called He's Just Not That Into You. It basically details for women signs that men put out when they aren't that into them. I discovered something watching the show. An answer to a question that had long haunted the halls of my heart. When I was a freshman I dated a guy and decided to love him. I'm sure all of us did as freshman, cause that's what freshman do. We dated for only a few months before the summer break where he headed home to Alaska and I to Colorado after a trip through Eastern Europe. The summer progressed and I didn't hear from him much. When I finally got a call from him, he had bad news for me. I got dumped! (Now if you have seen my picture you may be as surprised as I was that I could get dumped.) I never thought a little freshman fling could hurt so bad. That was over 8 years ago and I have since married a delicious man, but I still have always wondered why this guy broke up with me. Well, Oprah has answered my question! Alaska-boy simply didn't like me any more. The obvious signs were all there, but like a fool I waited for him to do the inevitable. In waiting, I got told a standard breakup line, "I need to focus on school. Maybe after school we can..." I have always wondered what he really meant by that, but no longer. It has taken me 8 years to realize the simple and basic truth. So, thank you Oprah for freeing me from this question that has ever plagued my existence! May this be an encouragement to any woman who has ever wondered.

Public Patience

2006-03-20T16:34:00.000-08:00

I have recently begun my antenatal classes. My husband and I went to the hospital where the classes are, sat there with 10 other couples wide eyed as we watched the video on labour. After our tea and sandwiches (we live in the country of tea-breaks) we toured the hospital and got to see the delivery rooms and then the rooms where women stay after they've delivered. Here is where my gripe begins.
I am living in a country far far from my home. I have given up good milkshakes for yummy cookies, and being able to use the word "fanny" with reckless abandon. It's very difficult to find a full-time job here, so I have also given up any earning potential I had. But, I have not yet felt the things that I have given up as keenly as I do now. Being pregnant in this, my foreign home, has brought me bags full of "surrender". I was ever so excited about socialized medicine when I got here and didn't have to pay for Doctor's visits...but now... I am a public pregnant patient. I had dreams of using a midwife to follow me through my pregnancy, someone who understood that I was a first time mother... I have no idea how one does it here. So I have surrendered that dream to a gruff and non-conversant OBGYN who answers "yes" by silence, and "no" with simply "no". Too many patients, no time for explanations...
Evidently my concept of my hospital stay, also will be "surrendered". Here you pay for T.V. and phone usage, you give birth in a single room but could get booted anytime after 4 hours after birth and transfered to a double or quadroople room with only a curtain between you and your neighbour and not even a door between you and the main hallway. Well, I am a public patient after all.

It's a Boy!

2006-03-15T19:45:00.000-08:00

The other day I was shopping and as I was checking out, the cashier asked me how many months I was. I told her that I was 7 months, to which she replied," Turn around, so I can see your belly." Confusedly I complied, expecting her to comment, as many people normally do, on whether I seemed big or small for 7 months. She surprised me by announcing that it was going to be a boy and telling me to come in when the baby was born to let her know.

I think it's so funny the amount of conversations that a pregnant belly begin. As a rule customer service in this country is not so friendly. They tell you your tally and then silently send you on your way. However, when you have a pregnant belly (if the cashier is female) the door it wide open to conversation. I've heard about women's friends who just had babies, their names and sizes. I've heard about thier own children or grandchildren. On my daily walk the other day a couple chatted to me about my pregnancy and I was reminded by the husband that I was now in the bad part of pregnancy. I'm frequently reminded about how painful labor is going to be (usually by men whom, I think, are fascinated by the idea of labour and how painful it is.) At church, my belly is patted and my size is ALWAYS commented on. There is queries about how I feel, etc. It's amazing!

I also find it wondrous at the things that people feel comfortable saying. One woman at church came up and told me how she thought I was just fat, but then remembered that I was pregnant. Hmmm.... Many people told me at the beginning that I was huge and would probably have twins, sending me into weeks of panic that twins were on the way. It's pretty incredible that something like pregnancy can bring a whole world of people together...or at least give us something to talk about for a few minutes.

A Few of My Favourite Things

2006-03-14T15:26:00.000-08:00

Milkshakes
Track pants
Cold days
Rainy days
Sprout wiggling
Chad (see picture and know why...hot.)
Milkshakes
Seamless undies
Oranges
Flowers
Comfy shoes
Bright green birds
Trees
Leaves
Evil white rabbits
Cereal
Milk

Good God.

2006-03-08T16:08:00.000-08:00

I work in this Children's Program at my church. I am in the year 2-3 class. This term we have talking about some attributes of God. We've covered Love, Peace, Patience, and Goodness. Last nite we learned about the Goodness of God. I have been thinking about the goodness of God for a while, but one thing struck me last nite as my friend, James, taught the lesson. Goodness as defined by God is much different than what it is as defined by us. One of the passages that James had the kids look up was Exodus 33:19-20 where God tells Moses that he may not see His (God's) face, but that Moses will see God's goodness pass before Him. No one may see the face of Goodness and live. It seems that there is a terrible and fearsome side to goodness.

One thing that has always been a comfort to me is the quote from The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe in discussing Aslan, the god in these books, "Safe! No, He's not safe, but He is good." I've always applied it to my own faith and have aspired to come to grips with a God that is not safe, but whom is good. Interestingly, this same "good" god, Aslan, in another book, The Horse and His Boy, is depicted delivering a little orphan boy to some abusive and reclusive fisherman, wildly chasing and frightening the horses, and attacking the girl in their little band leaving her with scars that will never go away. The reader discovers later Aslan's reasons for all of these things, and is set a little more at ease with him. I know that my God has these same fearsome capabilities. However we may never see His reasons for the things He does. My good God allows babies to starve in Africa, and children to be sold into sex-slavery in Asia. My good God allows hundreds of thousands of people to die in natural disasters. My good God allows 17 year old girls to die in tragic car accidents. My good God could at any moment, take my beloved husband from me. Yet, this same good God has allowed me to meet, fall desperately in love with, and marry my kindred spirit. This same good God has given me the wondrous ability to carry a child, my precious little Sprout. This same good God has sent people to Asia to rescue those little children sold into slavery, and to feed the starving in Africa. My good God, in His terrible goodness, sent His Son, whom He loved more than any human brain can fathom, to die a humiliating, gruesome, and painful death. In His terrible goodness turned His back on this Son whom he loved desperately, and left Jesus all alone on the cross as he was crushed by the weight of the world. His goodness did this to redeem me, and anyone who chooses to believe it.

God's goodness is so much deeper than what I like to see. I like to use the word "good" for ice-cream, and a cute outfit. God sees a much larger goodness than I ever will. The "goodness" of God is not a warm fuzzy thought intended to fill the human heart with nice things. It is a fearsome and awesome thing. It is simultaneously comforting and frightening. This is my good God. My terrible, good God.

Oscar Anyone?

2006-03-07T14:32:00.000-08:00

Did anyone watch the Oscar's? I was fascinated that they continually brought up the "out-of-touchness" with the common man, and the "bravery" of Hollywood to bring up so many issues that plaque our modern day society. George Clooney announced that he was proud to be part of the out-of-touch elite, stating that Hollywood stood up for blacks when the public, as a whole, did not etc. Hmm...

So it seems that this year Hollywood was bravely taking on society's view of homosexuals. A majority of films that were highlighted were about gay men. Are gay people still truly ostracized by society? Maybe I'm the one who is out of touch. Homosexuality is praised on many American sitcoms, lauded in magazines, and culturally sympathized with. So what would it look like if society accepted gays if they are not already?

I wonder if constantly being told that I am homophobic because I am a Christian, just as I am racist because I am white, may not have the reverse effect. When I first arrived a Moody Bible Institute many years ago as a freshman from CO, I was immediately informed that I was racist. Of course no one said that out right, but it was constantly implied. Now growing up in CO I did not interact with many black people, but I did not think that the few I interacted with were any less human than I. However after years of being in Chicago with the message that "white people are racist" I began to believe that I was...and maybe became so. Now, don't get me wrong, racism is a huge issue. It is addressed in the Bible as a sin. I don't want to be racist. I desire to love all people, equally. I want to see the soul of people and not their culture or skin colour or even sexual choices. I guess I feel at a loss. What am I supposed to do? I do not spit on people when they tell me they are gay. I won't stone them for such an admittance. I will not, however, celebrate their gayness anymore than they would celebrate my heterosexuality. I can celebrate them as a person, but I choose to separate everyone's sexuality from their personhood. I truly desire to love all people as Jesus commanded us to.

So if I am way out of line here, please, let me know.

Ramblings of Pregnancy

2006-03-06T17:50:00.000-08:00

I am currently about 7 months pregnant. I find myself in awe of the human body. Not only can a woman's body expand to some mutant size and shape, but during pregnancy a temporary organ is created that is the mixing ground necessary to keep the baby alive and the mother with the much needed hormones etc. Once this organ is no longer needed it is dispelled. Crazy. I feel a little like I'm a host to some foreign alien...which I guess I am. I can watch my belly move on it's own, and feel little feet and hands kicking and punching.

I have always been in love with the intricacies of the human body. From beginning to end we are a fascinating bunch. I'm amazed that we can think creative thoughts and that each and every person is imbued with their own personality, their own strengths and weaknesses, and their own way of processing thoughts. Even one misfiring nerve ending can have huge ramifications.

All pregnancies are truly a miracle. So many things have to go perfectly in order for it to work, yet is seems such a common occurance. Drug addicts have babies, young teens have babies, old women have babies...Each one of these, whether planned or wanted, is truly a miraculous event and achievement for the human body. I truly and deeply believe this, and although my pregnancy was not necesarily planned, it was definitely wanted, and yet I still flag in my wonderment of it. As stretch marks rake their way across what my husband called a "cute gut" and walking becomes less and less graceful, I get caught up in griping. (Even shedding tears for what will no longer be a "cute gut" but now an "alien head" gut covered with ugly purple scars.) I know that I need to stop and think about all that God has done in my body and that of my unborn child (we call it "Sprout"). As I write this, I am again astounded by this whole miracle. My child, my beautiful little "Sprout"...

Let's Begin at the Begin

2006-03-06T17:36:00.000-08:00

I am now venturing into the wide new world of blog. My dad would be so happy since I have been known to be a technophobe. I've been toying with the idea of doing this for some time now. So, now throwing caution to the wind, here I come. Just wait for all the wonderful things that will be said on this, my blog. You'll be astounded, awed and in wonderment at such a blog. The things that I have to say are truly worth reading, I'm sure you'll agree.

So welcome to the wonderful world of "Lost In Oz"!

Sit back, relax, and enjoy.