2151. Early morning noises: Sam's door creaks open, Vava's door quickly follows. "Good morning darling, you okay?" ♥
2152. Sam saying sorry unprompted to Patrick for screaming in the car.
2153. Vava eating chips with a polite "thank you" after each one.
2154. Vava waving bye to me, and then waving bye to the baby in my belly.
2155. The kids napping for FOUR hours.
2156. A cozy afternoon nap for us too.
2157. Chatting with our neighbours.
2158. Sam being so excited to drive over the bridge every single time.
2159. Killing the to-do list.
2160. Laughing at hilarious Patrick.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
2151 to 2160
Friday, May 30, 2014
2141 to 2150
2141. Sam and Vava playing in the yard.
2142. Hanging out with mom friends.
2143. Timbits and kisses.
2144. Fun music on the radio.
2145. Telehealth.
2146. A picnic in the warm afternoon.
2147. Sam showing off his splint to kids at the park.
2148. Vava cuddles.
2149. Lounging in the evening with my one true love.
2150. Laundry fresh off the line.
2142. Hanging out with mom friends.
2143. Timbits and kisses.
2144. Fun music on the radio.
2145. Telehealth.
2146. A picnic in the warm afternoon.
2147. Sam showing off his splint to kids at the park.
2148. Vava cuddles.
2149. Lounging in the evening with my one true love.
2150. Laundry fresh off the line.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
2131 to 2140
2131. Sam and Vava chasing bubbles in the sunlight.
2132. Sam chasing his shadow on the way to the park.
2133. Soft new sheets via Amazon.
2134. Birds swooping and chirping.
2135. Vava wearing her hat in the sunshine (I think she's finally learning that it's nonnegotiable).
2136. Both kids wanting to snuggle with me before bedtime (it's usually Patrick)!
2137. Yummy supper that I could kind-of taste.
2138. An unexpected email from an old friend.
2139. Happy news for people I love.
2140 Watching The Lion King music vids.
2132. Sam chasing his shadow on the way to the park.
2133. Soft new sheets via Amazon.
2134. Birds swooping and chirping.
2135. Vava wearing her hat in the sunshine (I think she's finally learning that it's nonnegotiable).
2136. Both kids wanting to snuggle with me before bedtime (it's usually Patrick)!
2137. Yummy supper that I could kind-of taste.
2138. An unexpected email from an old friend.
2139. Happy news for people I love.
2140 Watching The Lion King music vids.
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
2121 to 2130
2121. A husband who says "enough is enough; go to the doctor."
2122. And holds me close while I shiver sick in the night.
2123. Family who pray for me.
2124. A peaceful morning with my sillies.
2125. The blue sky, green leaves, warm sunshine at the park.
2126. Patrick coming home on his lunch break and putting the kids down for naps.
2127. Talking with my mama.
2128. Patrick sending me upstairs to rest while he manned supper-to-bedtime with the kids.
2129. Sweet snuggles with both kids before they fell asleep.
2130. A good shower and ahh bedtime.
Monday, May 26, 2014
2111 to 2120
2111. Sam finding grass in my hair and gently extracting it. "No worry mama, I not pull your hair." ♥
2112. Vava devouring salad at supper.
2113. Patrick washing dishes.
2114. Finally being able to eat at suppertime, after a day full of freezing.
2115. Chatting with my sister to start the day.
2116. Sam telling me about his day before bed.
2117. Snuggles with my fresh-from-the-tub loves.
2118. Hot hot sunshine and blue skies.
2119. Vava saying goodnight to the baby.
2120. Having energy to scrub some walls & windows.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
2101 to 2110
2101. Sleeping in this morning.
2102. Sam's hilarious wake-up call: he comes into my room with his toy pterodactyl screeching, smiles sweetly at me, says goodnight, and leaves, locking the door on the way out.
2103. Coming downstairs to find Patrick hanging clothes on the line.
2104. Vava so excited to wear a dress.
2105. Sitting next to a sweet old lady at church.
2106. New, much-needed gorgeous sunglasses.
2107. Sam & Vava being so excited to see the kites at the kite festival.
2108. Vava calling kites "cats".
2109. Making homemade yogurt drinks for my tired, napless babes.
2110. Patrick's comment when we were watching Nanny 911 ... "this gives me so much hope that we're doing something right." ♥
Saturday, May 24, 2014
2091 to 2100
2091. Patrick waking up happy and energetic.
2092. And taking us shopping.
2093. And buying us lunch.
2094. And taking us to the park.
2095. And doing the laundry.
2096. And holding my hand.
2097. And kissing our kids.
2098. And tucking Vava into bed.
2099. And tucking Sam into bed.
2100. And tucking me into bed. G'night!
2081 to 2090
2081. I bumped my head getting out of the car. Sam's voice "you okay mama? Baby moving lots?" ♥
2082. One-on-one time with Vava while Sam napped.
2083. Kids eating ice cream cones for the first time this year.
2084. Hot sunny day.
2085. Patrick making a fire in the backyard.
2086. Vava eating the spiciest Ragin' Ranch chips with bliss.
2087. Hearing sweet boy's heartbeat.
2088. Tiny leaves unfurling on our tree.
2089. Having supper on the deck.
2090. Daylight at 10pm.
Thursday, May 22, 2014
2071 to 2080
2071. Waking up next to my favourite person in the whole world.
2072. Morning kisses from my kids.
2073. Baby boy doing somersaults.
2074. My parents being awesome.
2075. Patrick putting out the garbage for me.
2076. Timbits making a frustrating morning better for my patient kiddos.
2077. Sunshine this afternoon.
2078. A kind lady in the waiting room.
2079. Sam being so proud of his splint.
2080. A soft bed at the end of the day.
Not Perfect
I was putting Sam to bed a few nights ago, and he pointed at his sheet in distress. "Not perfect, mama, not perfect!"
His choice of words made me laugh. His bed is never, even fresh from the laundry, perfect. Smooth & tidy is our goal, and even those? Toddler smooth. Toddler tidy. Before he falls asleep, his sheets are usually untucked, stray blankets slip to the floor, pillows find themselves at the foot of the bed. Ahh, just the way he likes it.
But I do the same thing. When things don't go the way I plan, I grab God's hand and cry "not perfect! Not perfect!"
And he's probably laughing, because obviously.
And I keep expecting situations and people to live up to this impossible standard I imagine should exist. It's like I forget that heaven comes later. Every day I wake up and have to come to terms again with the fact that I live on a planet full of sinners and acknowledge that things go wrong. When things are hard and the car breaks down and the furnace breaks down and my temper breaks down its not that God has it out for me or that He's unkind and is sending a bunch of difficulties because He doesn't like me.
Things go wrong because creation is bent.
Things go wrong because sin is.
Things go wrong.
And we're all nodding because we all have this expectation that echoes from a perfect eternity in our hearts, this innate understanding, a sense of rightness and an appreciation of beauty and peace. And the sudden surprise of disappointment when things go wrong is the dissonance, the harsh clang of reality bumping up against expected perfection.
"Not perfect!" we cry, distressed.
And God, being God, takes that imperfection and makes it the hiding place of loveliness.
In poetry, in music, we get it. When the creator deliberately inserts dissonance into the art, we pay attention. There's something beautiful hidden here. There's another layer of meaning to unfold, some secret to discover, something worth finding.
That not-perfect? It's the gap where there's enough space for grace to meet us. With perfect, we don't need grace. But imperfect? That's where grace blazes.
I am and do a whole lot of non-perfection. You'd think it would make me more understanding and tender towards others, but instead I find in myself a tendency to judge. To point and murmur "not perfect." At you. At myself.
And my sister or my husband or someone who loves me nods and shrugs and loves me anyway and I realize it's not exactly a surprise. Nobody - nothing - in this world is perfect. Human history is just bad guys and Jesus. Anything good comes from Him.
But somehow I try and try and still the sheets come untucked and I misspell a word and forget garbage day and my house smells old and my car creaks and I think I left the laundry in the washer again and
Not perfect!
Grace hears the "not perfect" and laughs. Grace doesn't expect perfect. Grace doesn't expect.
Grace receives what is.
Toddler-smooth and toddler-tidy and toddler-untidy too.
My heart longs for heaven, for the day when work produces its intended result and isn't hindered by
my own clumsiness or someone else's. For the restfulness of perfection and beauty and rightness. But right now, I'm going to work on soaking in grace. On expecting imperfection from everything and everyone but Jesus. On receiving the wrong things, the cacophony, the interruptions ... and loving it, instead of pointing and shrieking "not perfect."
Because ... obviously.
His choice of words made me laugh. His bed is never, even fresh from the laundry, perfect. Smooth & tidy is our goal, and even those? Toddler smooth. Toddler tidy. Before he falls asleep, his sheets are usually untucked, stray blankets slip to the floor, pillows find themselves at the foot of the bed. Ahh, just the way he likes it.
But I do the same thing. When things don't go the way I plan, I grab God's hand and cry "not perfect! Not perfect!"
And he's probably laughing, because obviously.
And I keep expecting situations and people to live up to this impossible standard I imagine should exist. It's like I forget that heaven comes later. Every day I wake up and have to come to terms again with the fact that I live on a planet full of sinners and acknowledge that things go wrong. When things are hard and the car breaks down and the furnace breaks down and my temper breaks down its not that God has it out for me or that He's unkind and is sending a bunch of difficulties because He doesn't like me.
Things go wrong because creation is bent.
Things go wrong because sin is.
Things go wrong.
And we're all nodding because we all have this expectation that echoes from a perfect eternity in our hearts, this innate understanding, a sense of rightness and an appreciation of beauty and peace. And the sudden surprise of disappointment when things go wrong is the dissonance, the harsh clang of reality bumping up against expected perfection.
"Not perfect!" we cry, distressed.
And God, being God, takes that imperfection and makes it the hiding place of loveliness.
In poetry, in music, we get it. When the creator deliberately inserts dissonance into the art, we pay attention. There's something beautiful hidden here. There's another layer of meaning to unfold, some secret to discover, something worth finding.
That not-perfect? It's the gap where there's enough space for grace to meet us. With perfect, we don't need grace. But imperfect? That's where grace blazes.
I am and do a whole lot of non-perfection. You'd think it would make me more understanding and tender towards others, but instead I find in myself a tendency to judge. To point and murmur "not perfect." At you. At myself.
And my sister or my husband or someone who loves me nods and shrugs and loves me anyway and I realize it's not exactly a surprise. Nobody - nothing - in this world is perfect. Human history is just bad guys and Jesus. Anything good comes from Him.
But somehow I try and try and still the sheets come untucked and I misspell a word and forget garbage day and my house smells old and my car creaks and I think I left the laundry in the washer again and
Not perfect!
Grace hears the "not perfect" and laughs. Grace doesn't expect perfect. Grace doesn't expect.
Grace receives what is.
Toddler-smooth and toddler-tidy and toddler-untidy too.
My heart longs for heaven, for the day when work produces its intended result and isn't hindered by
my own clumsiness or someone else's. For the restfulness of perfection and beauty and rightness. But right now, I'm going to work on soaking in grace. On expecting imperfection from everything and everyone but Jesus. On receiving the wrong things, the cacophony, the interruptions ... and loving it, instead of pointing and shrieking "not perfect."
Because ... obviously.
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
2061 to 2070
2061. Banana pancakes with my love and our boogery kids.
2062. Vava wearing her bear suit and tutu around the house - simultaneously.
2063. Texting with my sis.
2064. Patrick taking Vava for a quick drive while I tried to help Sam nap.
2065. Getting the bathroom scrubbed early because Patrick was home all day :).
2066. Being married 8 years today!
2067. Homemade iced tea ... weirdly, it's the only thing I can taste with this cold.
2068. Kleenex with lotion.
2069. Vava's little cough sounding like a fox's bark.
2070. My reliable man, taking care of us all so well. ♥
Monday, May 19, 2014
That Moment
It feels really good.
That moment, when you're sitting outside with a cup of tea, and your hardworking husband is building you a composter (because you can take the girl out of Nova Scotia but you can't take Nova Scotia out of the girl) and he's tipped his hat at that one delicious angle.
That moment when he compliments a freckle on your ankle.
That moment when he confesses that he misses working with the toddlers underfoot because even though they slow him down, they're such good company.
That moment when the birds are singing and you hear the distant homesick cry of a seagull and you know what it means.
That moment when you can't breathe through your nose because you have a disgusting cold and your husband smiles at you anyway and says around the nail between his lips that you're beautiful.
That moment when you realize you're just like your dad because you are starting to get twitchy about the nails that might be lurking in the grass tomorrow to stab the kids' feet but you don't want to nag and then your husband gathers them up when you haven't said anything.
That moment when you quote your kids to each other because they're so hilariously repeatable.
That moment when he's wearing a Curious George bandaid on his hand to comfort an adhesive-wary three-year-old.
That moment when the baby kicks and rolls over, just to say hi.
That moment when you've been married eight years tomorrow and you can't think of any better realization of your vows and love on that day than the exact gorgeous life you're living right now.
Uh huh.
That moment? That's a really good moment.
Xo.
That moment, when you're sitting outside with a cup of tea, and your hardworking husband is building you a composter (because you can take the girl out of Nova Scotia but you can't take Nova Scotia out of the girl) and he's tipped his hat at that one delicious angle.
That moment when he compliments a freckle on your ankle.
That moment when he confesses that he misses working with the toddlers underfoot because even though they slow him down, they're such good company.
That moment when the birds are singing and you hear the distant homesick cry of a seagull and you know what it means.
That moment when you can't breathe through your nose because you have a disgusting cold and your husband smiles at you anyway and says around the nail between his lips that you're beautiful.
That moment when you realize you're just like your dad because you are starting to get twitchy about the nails that might be lurking in the grass tomorrow to stab the kids' feet but you don't want to nag and then your husband gathers them up when you haven't said anything.
That moment when you quote your kids to each other because they're so hilariously repeatable.
That moment when he's wearing a Curious George bandaid on his hand to comfort an adhesive-wary three-year-old.
That moment when the baby kicks and rolls over, just to say hi.
That moment when you've been married eight years tomorrow and you can't think of any better realization of your vows and love on that day than the exact gorgeous life you're living right now.
Uh huh.
That moment? That's a really good moment.
Xo.
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