Yummy Mummy

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

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

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

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

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.

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.