Who Cares

Yesterday, as we all decided to venture to Gabriella's dress rehearsal, breaking the "No small children rule," we were in our usual state of chaos.  It doesn't matter how early we start to get ready for something, we always end up late.  It was at the exact time we needed to leave (3:15) when Genevieve decided to spit up all over my dress...almost.  With my usually slow reflexes, I was surprisingly fast and caught it all in my hand.  Score!  

As we made our way to the rehearsal site, Gabriella informed me she had found a little white thread.  Turns out that little thread was part of a bigger thread connected to her tights.  The result:  a huge, gaping hole in her tights right in the middle of her leg.  With her hair only partially fixed (because I didn't have time to find the required bow) and the torn tights, I was afraid we might get dirty looks.  I could just hear the other dance moms. Look at that poor little girl.  Doesn't her mom know what dress-rehearsal means?

Rewind to Tuesday night.

After dinner, Rick and I took the girls for milkshakes.  Rick's allergies have been bothering him, so we ended up enjoying our milkshakes in the car at the park.  We rolled down the windows, sang along to Bob Seger's Night Moves, which may or may not have been appropriate lyrics, but he does sing, "Sweet Summertime," and that seemed to fit.  Marielle said, "Ma-ma," while Genevieve said, "Da-da!" We watched a man in a suit fly a remote control airplane and we slurped our shakes down to the very last thick drop.

Rewind to last Saturday.

With rain in the forecast, we ventured to the fair.  Gabriella wanted to ride a helicopter ride that went in the air.  I kept saying to Rick, "You know she will be afraid.  As soon as the ride starts, she's going to freak out.  Let's just eat and play games."  Sure enough, Gabriella walked right up to that helicopter, held firmly onto the wheel and soared through the sky, waving only briefly so she could keep that secure grip.  Marielle and Genevieve waved proudly at their big sister and I teared up...realizing what a hard time I have letting go.  Anywho, we ordered hotdogs, hamburgers, corndogs, 4 orders of french fries, 2 pickles and tried to win a cake or a doll to no avail.  We ended our fair trip playing BINGO, Rick getting every possible number he could and still NOT being able to win.  That deserved a prize in itself.  When we got home, we all went to bed.  It was 7:30.

Back to last night.

So there's Gabriella up on stage.  Her little family rooting her on.  Marielle and Genevieve loving the movement and music.  Rick steadying his hand on the video camera and me...jumping from row to row, trying to get the best shot in stage lighting, which by the way, is impossible.  The music played and I don't think Gabriella remembered one thing in the correct order.  When she was supposed to kick, she twisted.  When she was supposed to, "Upside, heel, upside down, heel," she was twisting!  All the while, the only thing I wanted to do was to stand in the chair and yell out to the audience that was only half paying attention, "Do you see that one?  The one with the hole in her tights not doing the routine that she was taught?!  She's mine! She's mine!"  Looking at my family in the back of the auditorium, I thought, They're mine.

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And so who cares that Rick's car's engine blew up and it's going to cost $6200, so we have a ginormous paper-weight in our garage?

And who cares that our only car has a whole in the tire and we don't have time to get it fixed, so we just keep pumping more air into it?

And who cares that we've got a small amount of time and an even smaller budget to find a van so Rick isn't left here without a vehicle when I go back to school?

These are the things that weigh on my mind, but lately, in the midst of milkshakes, helicopters, failed BINGO attempts, and dress rehearsals...

I find myself thinking, "Who cares?"

Maybe I should, but I don't really. I've got other things on my mind!

I hope that you have already started seeing God in your summer and that He's helping you know when to say, "Who cares?"

Love,

Mary

 

 

Mismatched Socks

Yesterday, as we were about to leave for a family trip to Target, Gabriella made a grand entrance into the foyer, announcing that she was ready to leave.  In a dress that was a tad too short, wool shoes that barely fit because they had seen their prime during colder months, and mismatched rockstar socks, she was surely a sight.  So proud of what she had put together, I couldn't help, but be proud too.  After all, she is getting better at dressing herself from head to toe...a clear sign that she is growing up.  Tear.

I must be honest, though.  For a second (ok, maybe longer), I thought about asking her to change.  Having this thought cross my mind made me check myself.  Why would I ask her to change?  What would be the purpose? At what point in our lives do we stop feeling confident in mismatched socks and out of season shoes?  At what point in our lives do we learn to care about what others view as acceptable or appropriate?  

For example, I have stayed away from public pools for a long time...since I had Gabriella.  For those of you that keep asking me to join you, now you know why.  :)  My fear is that someone might see that I have not been able to have three children and maintain my early 20s weight.  Shocker.  Why do I care?  Why does it matter?  Why can't I wear the things that make me self conscious with the same kind of pride that accompanies GG as she wears mismatched socks?  Ugh.  I wish I had that kind of confidence.  The kind of confidence a 3 year old has...

She'd never know that I want to be like her in that regard, though.  And I suppose if I'm being a good example of self-confidence and assurance, she never will.  It can just be our little secret...  hehehe 

I hate to think of the day when Gabriella starts matching her socks.  Until that day comes, I will gladly see God in odd, mismatched pairs that will adorn her feet and be a cause of her smile.

Love,

Mary

Listen

When I came home yesterday, the girls were all down for a nap. Rick was going out to run some Mother's Day errands, so I was left to a quiet house.

Hmmmm...

What to do, what to do...

I could clean...nah.

I could exercise...nah.

My ways to irresponsibly use my time are limited these days, so I walked up to each door of the girls' rooms and listened.  I soon figured out I didn't need to press my ear against the door. What was going on was loud enough to hear if I just sat down right in the middle of the hallway.

From the twins' room, I heard the sweet rhythm of breathing. From Gabriella's room, I heard the clickety clack of her doll house toys and that precious little voice acting out the roles of the pretend family (the Griswolds).  For the longest time, I just listened...

Click here to listen, too.

What a treat, to listen and hear in return those remarkable moments of life.  They are proof.  Proof that life is real.

Yet, for some reason, we choose not to listen.  We allow ourselves to be distracted.  We allow ourselves to be so busy we don't give ourselves the opportunity to listen.  It's a privilege really, but do we treat it as such?

 

Instead of looking for God this Mother's Day weekend, perhaps I will try listening for Him.

Love,

Mary

Coming Home

What if after a long day of shopping or even a short grocery trip, you came home and everyone in your house rushed to greet you as you walked through the door?  What if they applauded your arrival?  What if they kissed you and hugged you?  How would it make you feel?

I've noticed that each day when I come home from school, everyone seems so excited. They make a point to make a big deal of my arrival.  Maybe it's because Gabriella wants a new Hide-and-Seek buddy.  Maybe it's because Rick is happy to see someone that doesn't cry or pout when they don't get their way.  Maybe it's because the twins are just happy to see anyone.  I don't know what it is, but when I come home my family makes me feel like they missed me.  Truly missed me.

And I try to do the same for Rick.  Whenever Rick returns from errands or driving around the block to get away from the madness (I'm only partially kidding), I, too, try to make a big deal that he's home!  I encourage the girls to run (or waddle) and greet him.  I make a point to tear myself away from the latest Real Housewives episode to let him know I am happy to see him.  I mean, isn't that what we all want...to know that there are people that truly love being in our presence.  That's a good feeling to receive, but it's an even better feeling to give to someone else.

Rick snapped this picture of GG and me at the park the other day.  As I'm thinking about the whole idea behind this post, this photo came to mind.

I love the thought of coming home.  I love knowing what's waiting for me when I get there.  I love that for all the people who could care less if I'm around, there are four that think I'm fabulous...and I think the same of them.  I'm excited to see them.  I hear the garage when Rick's coming home and I'm like a little dog wagging its tail and scraping at the door.  It's sad, really...

But it's not.

I love coming home...and I hope you do, too.

My challenge to you is this:

Tonight (or tomorrow if it's too late), make the people you love feel overwhelmed by your excitement that they have come home. 

Love,

Mary

Significant

I've been trying to think of something significant to do with the walls in the girls' new playroom.  I don't just want to paint them.  I want to do something unique...something that means something.  There's just one problem, I am not artistic when it comes to drawing.  I feel pretty artistic when it comes to photography, but not with a pencil, crayon, marker, or paint brush.  It's just not my forte.

Significant...

When something has meaning...

It stands out from the ordinary...

 Marked by a moment, thought, or feeling that is worthy...

I want the the things I do, the things I say, even the stuff that's on our walls to be

significant.

As I was staring at the playroom walls over spring break, a thought came to me.  What if we used the main wall in the playroom as a canvas for our hand prints.   Whenever something significant happens, let's mark the occasion by placing our painted hands on the wall.  Let's date it, and as time goes by, our wall will change.  Those little hands will start to grow and who knows...maybe there will be more hand prints one day.  A wall full of our hands.  I thought it was the perfect idea.

So, on April 7, 2013, we all painted our hands yellow.  There was paint everywhere!  It didn't take long to figure out that 1 year olds don't like to open their hands, spread their fingers, and let you have your way. As a matter of fact, neither do 3 year olds!  None the less, we got our canvas started.  Before I wrote anything on the wall, Rick and I had the following conversation:

Me: What is today's date?

Rick: April 7th

Me: Ok, so I don't mess this up: 3-7-13

Rick: No! It's 4-7-13!

Me: Oh yeah!  I'm so glad I didn't write that!

So, I carefully wrote the date that marked the last day of a fun-filled spring break.  We all looked at the wall, high-fived its appeasing aesthetic and left it to dry.  

A few hours later, I stopped to notice how nicely the paint was drying and I couldn't believe it.  

Right there, as plain as day...

the incorrect date that wouldn't happen for 10 more days:

4-17-13!

After everything I did to make sure I did it right, I still did it wrong.  

In all of our celebrating...

In all of our finger-painting...

In all of the joy and chaos that defines who we are as a family...

I had written the wrong date.

 

But actually, I couldn't be happier that I did because now...

the very first (of hopefully many) finger-painted hands that will adorn our playroom wall have marked an occasion that instantly became even more significant.

I see God in the ways we fill our days, not the dates on which they happened.

Love,

Mary

Wanna Play Woo?

So Gabriella comes up to me the other day and in her sweetest voice asks, "Mommy, do you wanna play Woo?"  At first I was puzzled, couldn't remember a game called Woo. Then it came to me...

For the past couple of weeks, we have been getting used to our new house. We're finding ways to use our space and that includes running, jumping, spinning, etc.  We didn't have that much space before so it's kind of like going from a Smart car to a Suburban. Lots more room. One night after dance class, Gabriella asked me if I wanted to practice leaping with her. With our newfound room, I of course, said yes! Around the room we galloped and practiced leaps like gazelles. Each time I would leap, I would throw my arms up in the air and exclaim, "Wooooo! Wooooo!" When Gabriella wanted to play a game of Woo, this is what she wanted.

Tonight, we celebrated the twins turning 1. Is it even possible that we have survived this first year? It's been hard, but not as hard as every well-meaning woman who stopped me in the grocery while I was pregnant made it out to be. Sure, I've cried, been frustrated, felt tremendous pressure or fatigue, but maybe it hasn't seemed so bad because we've been playing Woo.  Maybe we didn't always call it that, but that's what we've been doing. 

When things are tough...when babies are crying, the phone is ringing, peas are boiling over on the stove, and GG is yelling, "I gotta go poo poo!" we start playing Woo. We throw our arms in the air and yell out, "Wooooo! Wooooo!"

Last night I was so tired. We were feeling the effects of a late birthday evening the night before, I had pictures to work on, lessons to plan, and a hubby that was falling asleep in the glider as I talked to him. GG came up to me and asked, "Mommy, wanna play Woo?" Really? Right now? When I am so incredibly tired. I mustered all the strength I had and said yes and we "Woo"ed all around this place! The twins were cracking up and it wasn't long before we all were. 

When I look back on this year...the twins' first year, sure I remember the tough spots, but whatstands out the most are those loving, exciting moments of Woo.

I hope you will consider playing. It's so much fun! And you know what...it won't be too long after you've started playing that you'll be sure to have visitor. I think someone once said that God loves a good ol' fashion game of Woo. (Actually, that's not true at all. No one ever said that, but it does have a nice ring to it, right?!)

Love,

Mary

It's the Walls

For real.  I almost forgot I had a blog.  Let's see, it's been 2 months since my last post and in those 2 months my family sold our house and moved into a new one!  Funny what life can bring.

As I've shared with people about the big move, everyone is so excited for us and, of course, asks for a description, or pictures.  While I am happy to oblige and appreciate the interest of others, here is what I really want to share about my new house, only I can't because if I went into this big shpill I would surely be looked at as crazy!

Our new home is an extension of us.  It's really like the 6th member of our family.  I could share with you details about flooring, square footage, and layout, but those aren't the things that personify this home.  

It's the walls.

If you think about your home...

big

small

fancy

ordinary

old

new

modern

traditional

There's something that all homes have in common and that is they have walls.  

Walls that are privy...

Privy to your joy

your tears

your worries

your hopes

your arguments

your frustrations

your celebrations

Your walls are there for it all.  Your home is there for it all.  Whether you realize it or not, your home starts to weave itself into your life, the memories you are making.  Maybe that's why I get so sentimental when I think about the places we've called home before and the place we call home now.  I know that when I look back on the special and ordinary occasions of life, I will remember where we lived.  Where we played.  Where we cooked.  Where we prayed.  Where we laughed. Where we played Hide-and-Seek.  Where we cried.  

Where we loved.

Where He resides.

So, no pictures for this post.  It doesn't really matter what it looks like.  

All that does matter is we're home.

Tonight, I saw God shining down on our new house as I came home.

Love,

Mary