Christmas Tree Day

I've been telling June all week that we are getting our tree Saturday morning.  Now that it's the day before, we've been talking about it all day long.  We like to go to Cracker Barrel for breakfast, then make the trek to Roopville, accidentally drive into Alabama, then back into Georgia to our beloved-favorite Christmas Tree Farm.  It's a nice way to kick off countless hours of frustrating tree-situating and happy decorating.   

I started remembering last year, Abigail's first Christmas, and the breakfast we had.  

June was so excited to be at "Crackel Barrel" and to peruse the gift store.  John and I were excited because eating at Cracker Barrel is a once-a-year treat, and eating out at all is a rare thing for us.  Abigail was sleeping happily in John's arms (she has always fit especially well there), and we were sitting at the table closest to the massive fireplace, which thankfully was housing a blazing fire.  There were older couples all around us, and they all spoke to us, but mostly to our girls.  Understandably.  We ate our deliciously hot breakfasts, laughed together, colored all over the kid menu, swapped kids between our laps several times, and just soaked up the peaceful time we had together on a Saturday with no work, no stress, and no obligations to meet.   

Breakfast consumed, it was time to go find our Christmas tree.  John flagged down our waitress for the check, who proceeded to tell him that it had been taken care of by a couple that had left a few minutes before.  After we managed to speak, we asked who in the world it was, and she pointed to their empty table.  It had been a couple probably our parents' ages who had talked to our girls, picked up fallen crayons and dolls, and even helped us mop up a mess of spilled orange juice.

John bolted out of his chair and jogged into the gift store looking for them.  He searched the parking lot, too.  They were gone, and we hadn't been able to thank them.  Thinking back to that, it still chokes me up to think of the kindness.  The waitress told me they had wanted to cover our check because we touched their hearts in the way we were with our children.  I had no idea the impression we made, but the way they touched our hearts has stuck with me ever since.  I hope we find ourselves sitting next them at Cracker Barrel in the winter one of these years so we can finally say a proper thank-you. 

Just Tuesdays

I haven't been on here in soo soo long.  I sometimes wonder why I have a blog if I'm not using it.  Maybe it's just for days like this, when my thoughts seem to want to come OUT of my head and onto the screen.  I started going to a bible study last Tuesday.  This may not sound like some huge-ish deal to you, but I've never ever been to one before.  Yes, I grew up going to church, and yes, that church did offer bible studies.  I just didn't make the time/wasn't interested.  Horrible of me, I know. BUT, I'm going to my first ever now.  Ironic part?  It isn't even at my own church.  It's at my daughter's school.  There was a flyer in June's school folder giving information on an upcoming bible study with FREE childcare on Tuesday mornings.  And thanks to my sweet sister-in-law's excitement, I decided to go.  I'll be honest, the first shindig wasn't quite what I'd hoped.  It's a Beth Moore bible study (with the way people talk about her, I figure no explanation necessary), and I'd never read anything of hers, or heard her speak.  I sort of wish someone would've prepared me for the..the loudness coming out of that tiny woman.  Look, she's got big hair, weighs maybe 110 lbs, and SHOUTS.  If you know me, I don't really like a lot of loud.  Sometimes I unconsciously shush crowds in public.  Needless to say, I was holding back a lot of shushes during the first video.  I wasn't paying attention to what she was saying, I was watching her hair NOT MOVE an inch the entire time she flitted around, and the volume of the lady distracted me from the study.  Ok, I let those two things distract me.  Anyway, after that rough introduction to a Beth Moore bible study, I wasn't sure exactly how I felt about it.  But I came back this week bearing 47 hot, fresh-from-the-oven biscuits and jam.  I made 50, but June and Abigail smelled them.  They are my biscuit babies and would gladly live on crisco, flour, and milk.  

Today was quite a bit more eye-opening.  Her hair was still big, but what she was talking about just kept hitting home.  The title of the study is Fruits of the Spirit.  A pretty generic, christiany name that I didn't really realize the meaning of.  But now I do.  And now all I can think about today is the Spirit in me and what it has helped me do since I was 11.  I don't think I ever really appreciated all the work and effort God has put into guiding me and forgiving me.  Because, trust me, I take a lot of work.  Ask John.  Or read my last blog.  I need some strict guidance to get me down the right road every morning when I wake up.  Because most days I don't go down the right road.  Actually I haven't had a really great day in a long time.  I have consumed myself with how many hours Abigail sleeps (or doesn't), how many days John is gone every month, how much money we don't have to do the things I want to do, and how much happier our family would be if...fill in the blank, but it's not something we already have or already do (of course).  But after reading my bible (I kind of just want to say it again, because it's still such a novelty to me) But after reading my bible, I know what my problems stem from and now I have an idea of how I can work on them a little every day.  No need to go into details, especially since I hear Abigail waking up, but I am happy that I'm doing my first ever bible study, reading my bible, and seeing the parallels between all those people Paul talked to and myself.  Abrupt end, baby calls!

floating

I have been reading blogs for the last few minutes by parents who have many children, who are adopting, or who have already adopted.  I rarely take the time to read or write blogs (obviously), but just wanted to sit down for a while, and read.  In reading through the lives of all these brave, wonderful, Godly people, I am beginning to see a part of myself that I do not like.  Trust me, there are fifty thousand things about myself that I don't like, today I just recognized another one to add to the list.  You know, the list.  The one entitled "Here Are The Things I Need to Change in Order to Be Perfect".  Reading about all those people with all those children and more on the way made me realize what a coward I am.  I mean, sure, my husband and I have always talked about having lots of kids, and adoption and how cool that would be, but we never really dove any deeper than that, like what it actually TAKES to be the person for that.  Reading about the behaviors of adopted children and the patience you need to deal with that, and the waiting!  And good grief, the money that it takes.  It all seems so big and scary to me now.  I am a messy, disorganized, LAZY person.  I'll admit it.  The lazy part is what gets me the most.  I can go for days and days at full speed.  My house will be spotless, the clothes will be clean, and I'll sit down with my kids to make crafts.  I'll shower every morning during naptime and eat the right things (mostly, kind-of-sort-of), and get the errands run.  And then, I just stop.  Suddenly my house is a mess, there aren't any clean forks, and I honestly just don't really want to get up from the couch.  I suddenly feel as though I'm trudging knee-deep in sand with everything I do.  A shower every day?  Insurmountable task.  Clean laundry?  Good luck finding any.  It's frustrating.  It's annoying.  But most of all, it's embarrassing.  How is it that every month or so I become so lazy?  I HATE it.  And it's during these down times that I think, I'm just not the greatest mother or wife.  I'm not organized or patient or energetic or BRAVE enough to have lots of kids, or to adopt a child, or live in another country.  That's what I was thinking a little while ago as I read those blogs.  Wow, what great, strong, beautiful mothers.  What amazing, Jesus-loving families.  I don't know if I have what it takes to do what they do.  I know some people will say, "try slowing down and doing everything with moderation.  Don't go so overboard that you run out of steam in cycles."  Trust me, I HAVE noticed the pattern.  It's very simple; I overdo it, and then I under do it.  But that is the story of my life, so I guess I don't really know how to put moderation into practice.  I tend to go into things with gusto.  I will be extraordinarily enthusiastic about making plans, extremely passionate when I fight (not a good thing), and very, very afraid when any seed of doubt has been planted in my mind.  And I can be the best couch potato the world has ever seen.  So.  Needless to say, I am very unhappy with these qualities I see in myself.  Don't take this the wrong way, I don't think I'm some terrible mother, or bipolar for that matter, I just know where my sins are.  And I'd really like to fix them.  But it IS a little disheartening when I've seen this pattern in my life since I was like, 6.  Someone once told me that I was "the cheeriest pessimist" they'd ever met.  I know I'm not a murderer or a thief, but these little things are not so little when they are hindering me from getting closer to God.  It's hindering me from being a better mother, wife, person.  Surely it's hindering me from what God is and will be calling me to do.  I don't even know what it will be, but perhaps it is adoption, or some other huge thing?  What then?  I'm letting these ridiculous little things keep me from serving Him?  I know this is a boring, uneventful post, but I want to purge myself of all this filth and start fresh.  I want take care of my house the way I should, I want to play with my kids more frequently throughout the day, I want to teach them something new every day, and I want to be more open to whatever it is God wants for me, and geez louise, I want all the laundry put away.  So, if you wouldn't mind praying that I have less "down" days, that I put moderation into practice, and that I get rid of that unnamed fear that has gnawed at me and hindered my whole life, I'd really appreciate it.  Oh, and maybe throw in a word or two about a laundry miracle?  Thanks.

a breath away

little girls, i just can't get mad when i find plastic ponies on my toilet wrapped in toilet paper, markers with no lids squashed down into the seat cushions, blankets in the bathtub, or food in my bed.  i can't be upset when i go to bed exhausted, because i have chased you two around all day.  i cannot be annoyed when i hear whining or fussing, or when i hear a crash, smash, or crack.  i just cannot be exasperated when i hear "why"  a hundred thousand times in that tiny voice of yours.  i cannot be upset about these stretchmarks on my body, or that i have a different shape now.
because one day, those ponies will be in a box covered in dust, the toilet paper will be intact, the markers in a drawer, blankets in the closet.  there will be no food hidden under my sheets, and i'll no longer be woken up by "morning, mommy!  can i have some juice?".  i won't be chasing the sounds of your bare feet pitter-pattering across the floor, or listening for the tell-tale sound of a sad little girl, or one who's broken a piece of china that cannot hug me back.  i'll have no little child to make me think carefully about my answers to "why".  these stretchmarks will stay with me, remind me of how it felt to carry you in my womb for nine months, to feel your kick like butterfly wings.  i will love them for that alone, knowing that it was my body that kept you safe all those months.  little girls, you will not stay little forever, but i promise you, the depth of my love does not change when you grow up.  and i will cherish all these little everyday things, because the day that they are gone is only a breath away.