Quiet thoughts

Since having children I crave quiet. I relish those moments when the kids are asleep or playing quietly in another room. The silence is peaceful. And restful. And very much needed for my soul.

It's funny because when I was single I would turn on noise. I never drove anywhere without music playing. I either had music or the TV on at home. I may even have been in the next room changing sheets but hearing the voices on the TV helped me feel not so alone. I was alone enough that I sought out activity and people and noise.

Now with a husband, three kids and a dog, I've reached my fill. I find myself turning off the radio in the mini-van. Choosing not to turn on the TV. And pulling out puzzles, Play-Doh or crayons when I've come to my zenith of boy-generated busy-ness. Even the sounds of the dishwasher, washing machine and dryer are too much at times. I'm constantly looking for moments in my day for quiet, alone time.

Yet, I admit, there's great fun in noise too. I love the loud laughing of my kids. The exhuberently told stories of the day. I love Legoland just as much as the kids do. And a great piece of music will get my feet moving, my voice singing, and my heart pumping. I still love the noise and commotion, but I get enough of it without having to seek it out now.

It seems that when I don't get enough of something I crave it. Maybe it all comes down to balance. A wise friend once told me that humans are always seeking balance in life. I keep pondering that and keep coming back to the truth of that statement in so many aspects.

As Madeleine L'Engle says, "We need both for our development: the joy of the sense of sound; and the equally great joy of its absence." Yes.

What our waiting room reading tells you about us

While at the orthopedic's office the other day, Jack and I didn't pick up the Sports Illustrated or In Touch magazines flung around the room. We're the types that take a book with us wherever we go. Our picks that day:

Me: Last Child in the Woods: Saving our Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder

Jack: How Am I Smart: A Parent's Guide to Multiple Intelligences

6/15/08: I recommend my read but Jack had some criticisms of his--didn't like the organization and thought it was too simplistic. He liked the subject; however, he's going to the get the original work from Gardner, actually so am I.

Mangled Mama

On Monday, I got the kids dressed in their casual finest, which means cute shirts and shorts with no holes or stains (and as any mama knows that's a feat in itself), and rushed them into the minivan to head to the mall to get some photos taken of the three of them as a surprise for Jack for Father's Day. The orange fuel light was shining when I turned on the ignition so I had to make a quick stop at the gas station.

At Arco I swiped my debit card, pushed the button for regular unleaded at $4.11 a gallon (yikes), put the nozzle into the tank and . . .

Took a trip to the ER.

Jack likes the version that I saw the price of gas and fainted, which gets a chuckle. But in reality I stumbled over the hose, fell on the asphalt and dislocated my left elbow.

OUCH!!!

Where has the year gone?

I just realized that I've been blogging for a year now. So, of course, I had to go back and reread my first post. That's my life. That's still my life. Plus a new baby, plus homeschooling, plus potty training, plus habit training, plus...

Happy Mother's Day

This is something a friend emailed to me and I was struck by the truth and commonality we that are moms share.

Before I was a Mom

I made and ate hot meals.

I had unstained clothing.

I had quiet conversations on the phone.

Before I was a Mom

I slept as late as I wanted

And never worried about how late I got into bed.

I brushed my hair and my teeth everyday.

Before I was a Mom

I cleaned my house each day.

I never tripped over toys or forgot words of lullabies.

Before I was a Mom

I didn't worry whether or not my plants were poisonous.

I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom

I had never been puked on

Pooped on

Chewed on

Peed on

Or pinched by tiny fingers.

Before I was a Mom

I had complete control of:

My thoughts

My body

And my mind.

I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom

I never held down a screaming child

So doctors could do tests

Or give shots.

I never looked into teary eyes and cried.

I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.

I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom

I never held a sleeping baby just because

I didn't want to put him down.

I never felt my heart break into a million pieces

When I couldn't stop the hurt.

I never knew that something so small

Could affect my life so much.

I never knew that I could love someone so much.

I never knew I would love being a Mom.

Before I was a Mom

I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside my body.

I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.

I didn't know that bond between a mother and her child.

I didn't know that something so small

Could make me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mom

I had never gotten up in the middle of the night

Every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.

I had never known the warmth

The joy

The love

The heartache

The wonder

Or the satisfaction of being a Mom.

I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much before I was a Mom.

--Author unknown

And this is why I struggle to keep my house clean... and I have young boys

Your Personality is Very Rare (INFP)

Your personality type is dreamy, romantic, elegant, and expressive. Only about 5% of all people have your personality, including 6% of all women and 4% of all men You are Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Perceiving.

How Rare Is Your Personality?

Our little leaguer

We have entered a new phase in our lives. Today was Owen's first day of t-ball. And he had a ball!

Ain't that the truth!

Cleaning your house while your kids are still growing is like shoveling the sidewalk before it stops snowing.
--Phyllis Diller

Gift From the Sea

I've been feeling the need of late to refocus on myself and, as a result, be more of what I want to be for my family. During this final trimester of pregnancy, I've been having trouble getting to sleep. So, of course, during the day I'm low on patience and energy. I have a long list of things I want to get done in the house before the baby arrives. I've been snapping at my children, neglecting my husband and at a loss of who I am in the few quiet moments I allow myself. I haven't been taking the time to refuel myself. Definitely in need of an interior makeover.

Partly because of this, I choose the classic Gift From the Sea by Anne Murrow Lindbergh for our book club pick this month. At the time she wrote this book, Anne was a busy wife and mother of five. She went to the beach for a couple of weeks vacation by herself and mediated on what the different types of shells she collected on the shore illustrated in a woman's life and roles.

This little book is packed with wisdom for women of any age and time. In fact, the first time I read this book I was amazed that a book written fifty years ago was just as applicable today. This is one of those rare gems that you glean new insights each time you read it. I want to share a few highlights that particularly resonate with me at the moment.

But I want first of all--in fact, as an end to these other desires--to be at peace with myself. I want a singleness of eye, a purity of intention, a central core to my life that will enable me to carry out these obligations and activities as well as I can. I want, in fact--to borrow from the language of the saints--to live "in grace" as much of the time as possible. I am not using this term in a strictly theological sense. By grace I mean an inner harmony, essentially spiritual, which can be translated into outward harmony. I am seeking perhaps what Socrates asked for in the prayer form the Phaedrus when he said, "May the outward and inward man be at one." I would like to achieve a state of inner spiritual grace form which I could function and give as I was meant to in the eye of God (pg. 17-18).

When one is a stranger to oneself then one is estranged from others too. If one is out of touch with oneself, then one cannot touch others (pg. 38).

Certain springs are tapped only when we are alone. The artist knows he must be alone to create; the writer, to work out his thoughts; the musician, to compose; the saint, to pray. But women need solitude in order to find again the true essence of themselves (pg. 44).

But neither woman nor man are likely to be fed by another relationship which seems easier because it is in an earlier stage. Such a love affair cannot really bring back a sense of identity. Certainly, one has the illusion that one will find oneself in being loved for what one really is, not for a collection of functions. But can one actually find oneself in someone else? In someone else's love? Or even in the mirror someone else holds up for one? I believe that true identity is found, as Eckhart once said, by "going into one's own ground and knowing oneself." It is found in creative activity springing from within. It is found, paradoxically, when one loses oneself. One must lose one's life to find it. Woman can best refind herself by losing herself in some kind of creative activity of her own. Here she will be able to refind her strength, the strength she needs to look and work at the second half of the problem--the neglected pure relationship. Only a refound person can refind a personal relationship (pg. 60-61)

He happier, she's less so

This headline in The New York Times caught my attention. So, after all our efforts to grant women equal rights, we've ended up more stressed. Read all the way to the end and you'll see why I want the author to come to my house.

Piano lessons

You would think with all the money my parents spent on music lessons and the years of practice I put in, that I would be a pretty decent musician. Not so! I took organ lesson from the age of 9 until I was about 17. Then I took a quarter or two of piano in college, and almost a year's worth of piano lessons sometime after I was married and while I was pregnant with Owen. I used to think that he's musicial because I played the piano while he was in utero, but a couple months of Kindermusik convinced me otherwise.

Anyway, since having children I've hardly had a chance to practice. Whenever I've tried, little fingers find their way to the piano keys and bang away. Or worse, they pull down the lid on their mother's fingers.

Today while browsing the book aisle at Costco I came upon The Library of Easy Piano Classics and decided I'm going to practice again. Afterall, there is more music in the world than Vegietales jingles. I bought the book.

I am extremely rusty. This arrangement of Debussy's Clair De Lune is easier than the version I used to play and I can't even get through it. How sad is that? Still, I'm going to try. I'll never be a great pianist, but if I can passably play most of the pieces in this book, I'll be happy.

Do you have a sgtrane mnid too?

fi yuo cna raed tihs, yuo hvae a sgtrane mnid too

Cna yuo raed tihs? Olny 55 plepoe out of 100 can.

i cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it dseno't mtaetr in waht oerdr the ltteres in a wrod are, the olny iproamtnt tihng is taht the frsit and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it whotuit a pboerlm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Azanmig huh? yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt!

Our backyard Fourth of July blowout

Me without children

Here I am relaxing in a serene spot at the B&B we stayed at in the Okanagan Valley. Jack and I (That's right, just the two of us. It doesn't happen often and it was wonderful!) spent a lovely long weekend there to celebrate the wedding of some good friends. I'd rather post a photo of me immersed in a novel, something that I actually spent more time doing and actually preferred. But that photo was embarassingly ugly. So my vanity wins out and you see me painting my toenails rather than educating my mind. Sigh.

The view we soaked our souls in. The very same one I enjoyed from the wicker chair above. Now I know why the license plates advertise, "Beautiful British Columbia."