What's the point of a blog, if you can't use it? That's what I thought, so I'm taking this opportunity to let you know that I'm selling several items on ebay through an iSold It! center. I've linked to each item on my sidebar, but I wanted to mention some things:
1. The Pottery Barn bedding set was Grayson's. It has a crib/toddler bed quilt, two crib sheets (not Pottery Barn but the colors matched), a mattress cover, a PB regular-sized pillow sham, a PB decorative pillow cover, a dust ruffle custom-made from two Pottery Barn ruffles, a window valance that matches, and a Pottery Barn matching lampshade. It is all in very good condition.
2. The Medela pump is a Pump 'n Style I bought after I had Addison, a little over a year ago, when we knew she'd need heart surgery. It has been used fewer than five times; that girl never did take to a bottle! It has all the stuff that comes with it, including a factory-sealed bag of tubing and the other parts that come into contact with skin. It's in like-new condition and even with the shipping charges is a fraction of what it costs new. If it weren't mine, and I were having another baby, I'd buy it!
3. The HotSlings baby sling is brand new. Addison hated it. I gave it to Bridget to try, but her baby hated it, too. So it has technically been tried on twice but never actually worn. :)
4. The baby scale is a good price, but to be honest, I think it's crazy that the iSold It! center is charging $20 for shipping. I bought the scale new for $45 when Addie was a newborn, and used it until recently--it's great for peace of mind when you have a preemie or a slow gainer. It weighs up to 44 pounds, and measures 1 ounce increments. If you want it, but agree that spending the cost of the scale on shipping is nuts, email me, and maybe we can work something out after the auction is over!
I wish I were a fast enough knitter or a good enough seamstress to be selling hand-made items on etsy--that's much more charming than listing a used breast pump on ebay. But I'm not, and I need to get these things out of my house and couldn't bear to just drop off things attached to Addison's babyhood at Goodwill. (Scratch that, I happily got rid of her swing, saucer, and other big stuff at Goodwill, but the pump and especially the scale are near to my heart because they're from such a difficult time.)
Anyway, there it is. My own advertising on my blog. Please go buy my stuff. :)
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Getting It Done
You know how you feel after Christmas, when you realize that your house is a mess, your checkbook is a wreck, and you don't have any clean underwear? So you roll up your sleeves, make a list, and plunge in, hoping to reclaim control and make everything charming and organized by 5 p.m.? Maybe that's just me.
But that's me today. My parents head back to Pennsylvania today, after a 10 day trip, so I'm rolling up my sleeves. I don't have any groceries (and the thought of going to get some makes me want to weep), not a single Christmas decoration has been taken out of the attic, and I have no idea if there's any money in the bank or not. So I've got a little work to do!
It's nothing that a new vacuum bag and a few Diet Cokes can't handle, though. So, not that you can tell from my blog, when I come back tomorrow it should be with clean laundry, some meals planned out, and a balanced checkbook. And that's good, because I have about 10 things left on my list of gifts to make, and once this house is clean, you'll never find me without a pair of knitting needles or a pincushion in my hand! If only I could pause life for a week, so I could get it all done without 15 million interruptions, dirty diapers, a teething toddler, a naughty preschooler, and a holiday-hyper kindergartener in the way. Sheesh, it's the least they could do, since the majority of the gifts are for the kids! (Wait until I find my camera--you are going to die when you see the dotty chicken and three little pigs knitted set I made. Sometimes I just go and look at them, they're so fun! Way to go, Susie!!)
I'm off to clean; I hope your Tuesday is a happy one!
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Monday, November 26, 2007
Decoration Motivation
I don't want to scare anyone, but in one month the Christmas tree will be empty, the trash cans stuffed full of discarded wrapping paper, and the return lines at Wal Mart and Toys R Us and Nordstrom's will be forever-long. Ouch. So much to do, so little time.
Except I don't plan on being hurried this year. I say that every year, and I'm notorious in my family for mailing packages a month late, but I'm really trying this time. I have each gift carefully planned, except for Chris', because his require the most thought on my part. Everyone else, though, is written down in my little notebook, ready to be crossed off when the gift is finished. Unfortunately, I'm making almost everybody at least one gift, which means I'm going to have to forfeit either sleep, meals, or cleaning to get them done. Guess which one will go.
On the other hand, the decorations are still up in the attic, and I'm just going to be honest: I hate decorating for Christmas. I love undecorating, and that probably makes me unAmerican, but the thought of crawling around in the attic and pulling out a multitude of enormous bins full of stuff that has to be artfully arranged, only to stuff it all away again in 5 weeks makes me itch. If it were up to me, I'd only have a tree and a decorated mantle. But I live with Father Christmas himself, so we compromise on decorating every room, including mini trees in the kids' rooms, and even in the bathrooms. How that's a compromise, I'm still figuring out.
This year, I'm on a quest: stockings. I have my stocking from my childhood, made by my Aunt Barb, but it's on its last leg. Chris' stocking has been handed down to Caiden, so now he has a stocking once designated for the dog--you know, pre-children. Funny thing is, we don't even have the same dog anymore. Grayson's stocking is an embarrassment--it says Baby's 1st Christmas 2004, and it's as ugly as dirt. Addie has a cute stocking, but her pink velvet clashes enormously against the rest. And since the mantle is the only thing I really care about, I have to make an improvement. Seeing as I'm already sewing a puppet theater, a multitude of matching pajamas, some cluches, handbags, and Christmas dresses, I don't have time to make stockings. I'm willing to give up cleaning, but certainly not sleeping or eating!
So--and wait until you hear this one! Bridget told me she was insanely jealous--Chris and I are going to Canton for the entire day Friday! If you're not from Texas, the word "Canton" doesn't evoke any warm fuzzies for you, so I'll help out: Canton is the site of the largest flea market in the world, if I have my facts straight. It has five covered pavilions that are each the size of at least a football field, filled with vendors down both sides. Chris thought it was all flea market junk, and there is certainly that on the outskirts, but everything under the pavilions is brand-new. You can buy high-end furniture, have flower arrangements made, personalize boutique clothing, you name it. I have a friend who almost entirely decorated her (super expensive) home from trips to Canton. And the food there is famous: foot-long corn dogs, grilled corn cobs, enormous turkey legs, funnel cakes. It's fair food, and who doesn't love fair food? Top it off with the fact that there are so many crazy women at Canton who bring their dogs and wear them in dog-style baby carriers on their chests or push them in doggie strollers that even without the corn dogs, Chris'll have a blast going just to people watch. I'm supremely proud to be the only member of the club (What club? I don't know; I just made that up. It's the club consisting of me, Bridget, and Brittani.) whose husband has willingly gone to Canton.
So Friday my entire purpose will be to find stockings for the family. They need to be handmade, so I can lie and say I made them, personalized, tasteful, and complementary as a whole. I have to keep that at the front of my mind, because when I get to Canton, the sight of so much stuff makes me forget what I'm coming for. Oh, and I need bows--Addie throws her bows off everywhere we go, and her hair is so long the poor thing can't see without one to hold her hair back (And she eats the small clips I get at Wal Mart), so I need to restock. Bows come cheap at Canton. Another perfect reason to go.
Chris and I have hired our sitter to come spend the entire day, and we'll drive off for 10 hours of shopping and eating. I can't even believe he's going. It would be like if I begged to go on his annual alligator gar fishing trip. Except that's never, ever going to happen. I'm so excited at the thought of a full day with just my husband (and thousands of crazy-dog-wearing-ladies), that I'll even cheerfully pull the bins down from the attic this week and get the house decorated. Now, if I could only come up with some other motivation to help me get the gifts actually made, wrapped, and mailed, that would be great.
Except I don't plan on being hurried this year. I say that every year, and I'm notorious in my family for mailing packages a month late, but I'm really trying this time. I have each gift carefully planned, except for Chris', because his require the most thought on my part. Everyone else, though, is written down in my little notebook, ready to be crossed off when the gift is finished. Unfortunately, I'm making almost everybody at least one gift, which means I'm going to have to forfeit either sleep, meals, or cleaning to get them done. Guess which one will go.
On the other hand, the decorations are still up in the attic, and I'm just going to be honest: I hate decorating for Christmas. I love undecorating, and that probably makes me unAmerican, but the thought of crawling around in the attic and pulling out a multitude of enormous bins full of stuff that has to be artfully arranged, only to stuff it all away again in 5 weeks makes me itch. If it were up to me, I'd only have a tree and a decorated mantle. But I live with Father Christmas himself, so we compromise on decorating every room, including mini trees in the kids' rooms, and even in the bathrooms. How that's a compromise, I'm still figuring out.
This year, I'm on a quest: stockings. I have my stocking from my childhood, made by my Aunt Barb, but it's on its last leg. Chris' stocking has been handed down to Caiden, so now he has a stocking once designated for the dog--you know, pre-children. Funny thing is, we don't even have the same dog anymore. Grayson's stocking is an embarrassment--it says Baby's 1st Christmas 2004, and it's as ugly as dirt. Addie has a cute stocking, but her pink velvet clashes enormously against the rest. And since the mantle is the only thing I really care about, I have to make an improvement. Seeing as I'm already sewing a puppet theater, a multitude of matching pajamas, some cluches, handbags, and Christmas dresses, I don't have time to make stockings. I'm willing to give up cleaning, but certainly not sleeping or eating!
So--and wait until you hear this one! Bridget told me she was insanely jealous--Chris and I are going to Canton for the entire day Friday! If you're not from Texas, the word "Canton" doesn't evoke any warm fuzzies for you, so I'll help out: Canton is the site of the largest flea market in the world, if I have my facts straight. It has five covered pavilions that are each the size of at least a football field, filled with vendors down both sides. Chris thought it was all flea market junk, and there is certainly that on the outskirts, but everything under the pavilions is brand-new. You can buy high-end furniture, have flower arrangements made, personalize boutique clothing, you name it. I have a friend who almost entirely decorated her (super expensive) home from trips to Canton. And the food there is famous: foot-long corn dogs, grilled corn cobs, enormous turkey legs, funnel cakes. It's fair food, and who doesn't love fair food? Top it off with the fact that there are so many crazy women at Canton who bring their dogs and wear them in dog-style baby carriers on their chests or push them in doggie strollers that even without the corn dogs, Chris'll have a blast going just to people watch. I'm supremely proud to be the only member of the club (What club? I don't know; I just made that up. It's the club consisting of me, Bridget, and Brittani.) whose husband has willingly gone to Canton.
So Friday my entire purpose will be to find stockings for the family. They need to be handmade, so I can lie and say I made them, personalized, tasteful, and complementary as a whole. I have to keep that at the front of my mind, because when I get to Canton, the sight of so much stuff makes me forget what I'm coming for. Oh, and I need bows--Addie throws her bows off everywhere we go, and her hair is so long the poor thing can't see without one to hold her hair back (And she eats the small clips I get at Wal Mart), so I need to restock. Bows come cheap at Canton. Another perfect reason to go.
Chris and I have hired our sitter to come spend the entire day, and we'll drive off for 10 hours of shopping and eating. I can't even believe he's going. It would be like if I begged to go on his annual alligator gar fishing trip. Except that's never, ever going to happen. I'm so excited at the thought of a full day with just my husband (and thousands of crazy-dog-wearing-ladies), that I'll even cheerfully pull the bins down from the attic this week and get the house decorated. Now, if I could only come up with some other motivation to help me get the gifts actually made, wrapped, and mailed, that would be great.
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Going
Saturday, November 24, 2007
The Bow
It's a happy Saturday morning, a cold drizzle falling on the porch roof like tiny bullets, and wind whistling down through the fireplace. I'm in pajamas and a hoodie, listening to soft Christmas music and enjoying a few minutes of quiet before the house wakes up. Thanksgiving dinner leftovers are in the fridge, and there's a case of Diet Coke in the garage, already cold and ready for a glass of ice.
There's something about the little pleasures in life--winter tiptoeing in after a long, hot summer, or a few stolen minutes of serenity curled up in a favorite chair in the dark morning--that make all the other mundane or difficult moments softer. I'm thankful, of course, for all the "big" things, like family and health and freedom, but this morning I'm reciting all the little things I've been given that wrap up the package of my life with a bow.
On a morning like this, it's hard not to be thankful.
There's something about the little pleasures in life--winter tiptoeing in after a long, hot summer, or a few stolen minutes of serenity curled up in a favorite chair in the dark morning--that make all the other mundane or difficult moments softer. I'm thankful, of course, for all the "big" things, like family and health and freedom, but this morning I'm reciting all the little things I've been given that wrap up the package of my life with a bow.
On a morning like this, it's hard not to be thankful.
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Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Happy Thanksgiving
I'm currently having writer's block, which is a good thing because I have enough to do that I'd just feel guilty for writing, anyway. Vegetables to chop, cinnamon rolls to rise, a house to clean, and a brick hut to knit, all today! We'll be making our annual drive through the beautiful countryside to pick up our smoked turkey, and my parents are arriving tonight for the holiday. Tonight a cold front is also arriving, much to my extreme happiness. It was 84 degrees yesterday, and I wanted to stand out on my sidewalk and shout, "Texas! You are not California! You are not Hawaii! You are not Florida! Get it together and GET COLD ALREADY!" And now it is. How's that for results?
So I'm off for the week, to enjoy cold nights, hot cinnamon rolls, and a houseful of people I love. I hope your Thanksgiving is a happy one, but even if it doesn't have good weather, good food, or a houseful of people you love, I pray that you'll feel the love of the One who gives us all good things. Even without all the trimmings of a beautiful holiday, His love is enough to give thanks for. Happy Thanksgiving!
So I'm off for the week, to enjoy cold nights, hot cinnamon rolls, and a houseful of people I love. I hope your Thanksgiving is a happy one, but even if it doesn't have good weather, good food, or a houseful of people you love, I pray that you'll feel the love of the One who gives us all good things. Even without all the trimmings of a beautiful holiday, His love is enough to give thanks for. Happy Thanksgiving!
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Friday, November 16, 2007
A Symbiotic Relationship
In return for all the great mouse book suggestions, I have a solution for all you moms out there whose cars/minivans/SUVs/UFOs? carry the stink of McDonald's/Wendy's/Burger King + curdled milk in forgotten sippy cups + crushed Goldfish, raisins, and fruit snacks + that time you had to change your toddler's rotten diaper in the floorboard and it might have gotten a little on the carpet, but you still haven't told your husband because he'll go postal. (Was that the most discombobulated, rabbit trail sentence you've ever read, or what?) Here it is:
After you vacuum the vehicle and shake out the carseats (i.e. remove the main sources of stink), take a cleaning rag and pour a little bit of peppermint or tea tree essential oil on it. Hide it under the backseat (or middle seat, if you drive something with three rows), leave your windows down for a few minutes in the chilly fall air, then inhale.
You're welcome.
(And yes, I had to look up "symbiotic" to make sure I was using the right word. Dictionary.com had a lot of definitions for it, but I'm going with this one: "mutually beneficial relationship between two persons, groups, etc." That describes us--you give me book suggestions, and I help you eliminate odors, one car at a time.)
After you vacuum the vehicle and shake out the carseats (i.e. remove the main sources of stink), take a cleaning rag and pour a little bit of peppermint or tea tree essential oil on it. Hide it under the backseat (or middle seat, if you drive something with three rows), leave your windows down for a few minutes in the chilly fall air, then inhale.
You're welcome.
(And yes, I had to look up "symbiotic" to make sure I was using the right word. Dictionary.com had a lot of definitions for it, but I'm going with this one: "mutually beneficial relationship between two persons, groups, etc." That describes us--you give me book suggestions, and I help you eliminate odors, one car at a time.)
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Helping
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Hello Fall, I Love You
I have mentioned before that I live in Texas, and that Texas is hot. All the time. Well, mostly. Actually, this winter it was way colder than normal, and we hardly reached 100 degrees all summer long. So it was a rotten surprise when it got hot in September and stayed hot until yesterday. But today! Today it's nice and chilly. When the workers arrived at our house at 7 a.m. today, they were in Carharts. Carharts! You might be starting to get a picture of how much I love fall. I'm not sure I've ever written the word "Carharts" with an exclamation point before. Or at all.
Rambling. Sorry. Must stop rambling. But my fingers are cold as I type, and I'm having a hard time thinking because I'm cold. Cold! Hallelujah, I'm cold! Sorry. No more exclamation points. Trying to stop.
Back to my sort-of-point: it's cold here, which means it's officially Fall. In Texas, seasons don't behave according to the calendar. It was definitely not fall in September. Now it is. And this morning three men arrived to finish out our patio, so tomorrow night we can move back our chiminea and rocking chairs and roast s'mores while rocking away and inhaling the scent of wood chips. Bliss. I am so happy I'm obnoxious. However, I'm the only person in the house who's awake, so it doesn't matter.
And since it's officially cold now, I've ramped up my knitting. It seems like knitting and cold weather go hand in hand. Especially if I'm knitting gloves. Which I'm not. Sorry, rambling again. But no exclamation points. Anyway, I'm working on making the set "Three Pigs and a Wolf" from the Itty Bitty Nursery book by Susan Anderson for Grayson. I just finished the hut of sticks and have pulled out the red yarn to make the hut of bricks tonight. Grayson has a serious love affair going with "The Three Little Pigs." If I'd read it twice a day, he'd be thrilled. Since I won't, I'll just knit him the set instead. He'll love it. I'm also knitting Chris a scarf, but I'll be honest: I think it's boring. So I'm debating whether or not to go ahead and start working on something else, too. I have yarn for a beautiful coat for Grayson, and I want to make Caiden a few mice from the Itty Bitty Nursery book. We're reading "Mouse and the Motorcycle" and I'm trying to think of another fun mouse-type book to give him with the knitted mice for Christmas. Any ideas? (Besides Stuart Little.)
I just told Chris on the phone that I've been deliriously happy today. I got the go-ahead from my orthopedic surgeon this week to walk, run, leap, whatever. Yay! And today was the last day of co-op, and the children behaved well. (Sure would've been nice if they could've done that last week.) Yay! The patio is finished, my parents fly in tomorrow night to kick-off Thanksgiving early, and I finally finished Addie's Dotty Chicken (Another Itty Bitty Nursery creation. Go buy that book!) Yay, yay, yay! (Oops. Forgot about the no-exclamation-points thing) I'd love to post pictures but lost the camera, so I'll have to post a bunch when/if I find it.
So tonight as I wrap up this rambling mess without-a-point, I'm feeling extraordinarily happy to be greeted with Taco Bueno for dinner when Chris walks in the door, and we'll eat in the bed while watching The Office and Survivor. Once I've washed the guacamole and salsa from my hands--and quite possibly the duvet--I'll work on knitting a little brick hut and laugh out loud at the TV while sitting next to my best friend on earth. Tonight, life is good.
(But can I just mention that it's supposed to get warm again tomorrow?) Rats.
Rambling. Sorry. Must stop rambling. But my fingers are cold as I type, and I'm having a hard time thinking because I'm cold. Cold! Hallelujah, I'm cold! Sorry. No more exclamation points. Trying to stop.
Back to my sort-of-point: it's cold here, which means it's officially Fall. In Texas, seasons don't behave according to the calendar. It was definitely not fall in September. Now it is. And this morning three men arrived to finish out our patio, so tomorrow night we can move back our chiminea and rocking chairs and roast s'mores while rocking away and inhaling the scent of wood chips. Bliss. I am so happy I'm obnoxious. However, I'm the only person in the house who's awake, so it doesn't matter.
And since it's officially cold now, I've ramped up my knitting. It seems like knitting and cold weather go hand in hand. Especially if I'm knitting gloves. Which I'm not. Sorry, rambling again. But no exclamation points. Anyway, I'm working on making the set "Three Pigs and a Wolf" from the Itty Bitty Nursery book by Susan Anderson for Grayson. I just finished the hut of sticks and have pulled out the red yarn to make the hut of bricks tonight. Grayson has a serious love affair going with "The Three Little Pigs." If I'd read it twice a day, he'd be thrilled. Since I won't, I'll just knit him the set instead. He'll love it. I'm also knitting Chris a scarf, but I'll be honest: I think it's boring. So I'm debating whether or not to go ahead and start working on something else, too. I have yarn for a beautiful coat for Grayson, and I want to make Caiden a few mice from the Itty Bitty Nursery book. We're reading "Mouse and the Motorcycle" and I'm trying to think of another fun mouse-type book to give him with the knitted mice for Christmas. Any ideas? (Besides Stuart Little.)
I just told Chris on the phone that I've been deliriously happy today. I got the go-ahead from my orthopedic surgeon this week to walk, run, leap, whatever. Yay! And today was the last day of co-op, and the children behaved well. (Sure would've been nice if they could've done that last week.) Yay! The patio is finished, my parents fly in tomorrow night to kick-off Thanksgiving early, and I finally finished Addie's Dotty Chicken (Another Itty Bitty Nursery creation. Go buy that book!) Yay, yay, yay! (Oops. Forgot about the no-exclamation-points thing) I'd love to post pictures but lost the camera, so I'll have to post a bunch when/if I find it.
So tonight as I wrap up this rambling mess without-a-point, I'm feeling extraordinarily happy to be greeted with Taco Bueno for dinner when Chris walks in the door, and we'll eat in the bed while watching The Office and Survivor. Once I've washed the guacamole and salsa from my hands--and quite possibly the duvet--I'll work on knitting a little brick hut and laugh out loud at the TV while sitting next to my best friend on earth. Tonight, life is good.
(But can I just mention that it's supposed to get warm again tomorrow?) Rats.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Clarification
I've noticed that when I wrote about my Day of Shame, several people commented that they're glad to know I have normal (aka naughty) children, and that previous to the post, they thought we had our act together, that we spent our days being domestic and dignified and graceful. Well, maybe not graceful, because clearly I'm not. But this is what I have to say to those of you who thought just because I can knit, my children are models of good behavior:
HA HA HA HA HA!
I've also noticed that nobody who wrote that knows me in real life.
There's a blog I read almost daily. The writer has a handful of children that she homeschools, her house is charming beyond words, and she makes Martha Stewart look borderline-talented. Even the photography on her blog is amazing. I love reading it because I steal all of her ideas for cooking, cleaning, and decorating. But I have to confess: I often come away wondering what it's really like inside the four walls of her (super-charming and beautifully decorated) home. She posts mostly about what is being made, or baked, or thrown (as in parties, not tantrums) in her life, not about toddler tempers and teenage attitudes. But nobody's perfect, and even in a house as graceful as hers, she has to have days that just stink.
Prior to breaking my foot (Okay, technically it was the toe, but "foot" sounds better than toe, and since I did have surgery, I think I can safely say foot.), I had been posting mostly about the lovelies in our home and family. Lovely knitting. Lovely sewing. Lovely decorating. And I reveled in it because last year at this time I don't think I even decorated for fall--I was still spending a good portion of each week sitting in specialists' offices with Addie. We were in pure survival mode then. But this year has been (mostly) good, and we've spent our time planting trees, enjoying the new patio, roasting s'mores in the backyard, and enjoying a more normal routine. I've learned to knit and sew, and in the last two weeks Chris and I have cleaned closets, the attic, the garage, fixed a multitude of broken things around the house, and taken several loads to Goodwill. The house is clean, organized, and decorated.
Now. Let me get back to my point: I can write about all of those nice, lovely things and still be 100% true about our life here. At the same time, could I also mention that two of my children are in "stages," with one of them fast-approaching one? And my family room carpet is so stained from dirty little feet that Chris and I are watching our bank account dwindle, just trying to think of good options to replace it? And that the patio isn't finished? And that I dread going to the doctor this morning for my final x-ray, because my children are absolute nightmares to take to the doctor? And should I also point out that I've been at the same weight since postpartum and don't have the drive or discipline or whatever to lose 5 pounds? Or that I've been struggling to make dinner, despite my meal plan? How about the fact that my checkbook still isn't balanced from October, and I keep putting it off and know that it's going to be bad, bad, bad when I finally balance it? (Because as much as I hate to balance, I love to spend.)
That's all true, too. Our life and family is a glass--half full or half empty, it depends on the vantage point. My kids are normal. They're precious and maddening and messy and quirky. I am normal. I lose my temper and speak before thinking and get lazy. We're not running a very tight ship around here lately, and with a toddler, a preschooler, and a 6 year old, two of them being rowdy boys, it's never going to be one. I'm just doing well not to jump ship. I have the same struggles every other wife and mother does, and while I may be in a "post-about-knitting" mood, that doesn't mean I don't occasionally want to jab somebody here with those knitting needles.
All of that to say, I just want you to know the whole picture in case you never come to our house and attempt to have a conversation with me while my children are bouncing off the walls. So when I write about knitting or sewing or cleaning, picture me doing those things while humming loudly to drown out the sounds of The Backyardigans, sibling rivalry, and toddler tempers. You'll have a lot more accurate picture of our life here. We're not called "In the Midst of It" for nothing.
HA HA HA HA HA!
I've also noticed that nobody who wrote that knows me in real life.
There's a blog I read almost daily. The writer has a handful of children that she homeschools, her house is charming beyond words, and she makes Martha Stewart look borderline-talented. Even the photography on her blog is amazing. I love reading it because I steal all of her ideas for cooking, cleaning, and decorating. But I have to confess: I often come away wondering what it's really like inside the four walls of her (super-charming and beautifully decorated) home. She posts mostly about what is being made, or baked, or thrown (as in parties, not tantrums) in her life, not about toddler tempers and teenage attitudes. But nobody's perfect, and even in a house as graceful as hers, she has to have days that just stink.
Prior to breaking my foot (Okay, technically it was the toe, but "foot" sounds better than toe, and since I did have surgery, I think I can safely say foot.), I had been posting mostly about the lovelies in our home and family. Lovely knitting. Lovely sewing. Lovely decorating. And I reveled in it because last year at this time I don't think I even decorated for fall--I was still spending a good portion of each week sitting in specialists' offices with Addie. We were in pure survival mode then. But this year has been (mostly) good, and we've spent our time planting trees, enjoying the new patio, roasting s'mores in the backyard, and enjoying a more normal routine. I've learned to knit and sew, and in the last two weeks Chris and I have cleaned closets, the attic, the garage, fixed a multitude of broken things around the house, and taken several loads to Goodwill. The house is clean, organized, and decorated.
Now. Let me get back to my point: I can write about all of those nice, lovely things and still be 100% true about our life here. At the same time, could I also mention that two of my children are in "stages," with one of them fast-approaching one? And my family room carpet is so stained from dirty little feet that Chris and I are watching our bank account dwindle, just trying to think of good options to replace it? And that the patio isn't finished? And that I dread going to the doctor this morning for my final x-ray, because my children are absolute nightmares to take to the doctor? And should I also point out that I've been at the same weight since postpartum and don't have the drive or discipline or whatever to lose 5 pounds? Or that I've been struggling to make dinner, despite my meal plan? How about the fact that my checkbook still isn't balanced from October, and I keep putting it off and know that it's going to be bad, bad, bad when I finally balance it? (Because as much as I hate to balance, I love to spend.)
That's all true, too. Our life and family is a glass--half full or half empty, it depends on the vantage point. My kids are normal. They're precious and maddening and messy and quirky. I am normal. I lose my temper and speak before thinking and get lazy. We're not running a very tight ship around here lately, and with a toddler, a preschooler, and a 6 year old, two of them being rowdy boys, it's never going to be one. I'm just doing well not to jump ship. I have the same struggles every other wife and mother does, and while I may be in a "post-about-knitting" mood, that doesn't mean I don't occasionally want to jab somebody here with those knitting needles.
All of that to say, I just want you to know the whole picture in case you never come to our house and attempt to have a conversation with me while my children are bouncing off the walls. So when I write about knitting or sewing or cleaning, picture me doing those things while humming loudly to drown out the sounds of The Backyardigans, sibling rivalry, and toddler tempers. You'll have a lot more accurate picture of our life here. We're not called "In the Midst of It" for nothing.
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Thursday, November 08, 2007
Where's the Hole in the Ground When I Need It?
Evidently I am very prideful in my parenting abilities and needed some humility.
Or I'm a target for cosmic humor.
When I woke up this morning I had a long quiet time, reveling in Christmas music, coffee, a good pen, and absolute peace.
I got the kids ready in record time, got in a talk with my mom while driving to the church, and ushered our little family in the building for our homeschool co-op. Life was good.
Then we started chapel. Each week a family from the co-op group sits on the stage and introduces themselves, and then the entire group gathers around and prays for them. It's touching and sweet every week. But this week was our turn, and it all hit the fan.
I should've known it wouldn't be good; Caiden has been asking when it would be his turn to talk on stage for the last 8 weeks. He told me last night he was all prepared for questions from the audience. What happened to stage fright? Lord have mercy.
We got on the stage, and I started with my little spiel. "We're the So-and-Sos, we've gone to the church for 9 years, my husband's a pastor here," etc., etc, etc. I sounded cool and collected, despite covertly breaking out in a sweat, until I noticed eyes in the audience focused somewhere behind me.
I sneak a glance and see the boys at the back of the stage, fighting over the microphone. Addison is swinging her legs and twisting in my arms, so I put her down to wrestle the microphone from the boys. I can't quite reach Grayson, and since he has elbow issues, it's out of the question to wrench him back to his seat. The sweat starts to gain speed. Caiden comes to the front, ready for his turn. "I'm Caiden, and I'm six, and I love Army toys and dinosaurs and jumping on the trampoline and I can do really cool tricks like this." And he jumps off the stage and starts mimicking trampoline moves on the floor of the auditorium. I hiss at him, away from the microphone, to get his skinny tail back up on the stage and sit down, all the while trying to remember to keep an eye on Addison, who is being wrestled to the ground by two little girls, and Grayson, who is Lord-knows-where doing Lord-knows-what behind me somewhere on the stage.
Realizing we're a train moving quickly downhill, I mention that the two little ones are only 19 months apart, which is why we dropped out halfway through co-op last year, and that we still really haven't quite got it together. You know, just in case anybody in the audience hasn't noticed.
I reign in Caiden, who has happily--and loudly--resumed his speech. "And I asked Jesus into my heart when I was 3 or 5 or 4 or something, and did I mention that I like bugs? Because I really love them a lot, and I have pirate toys, and ..." and I cut him off and finally yank Grayson into my lap to do his part: "I'm Grayson and I love the Army toys too." And he wrenches free and crashes into the easel on the stage, where it wobbles precariously but stays up. I breathe a sigh of relief but then groan when the head of co-op asks the audience if they have questions.
Of course they do.
One sweet little girl asked where Addison had her heart surgery, and for the life of me I can't remember the name of the hospital. I stare blankly into the spotlight, trying to remember if I even have a name, and the humming sound of parental failure is pounding in my ears. Caiden and Grayson are again out of reach, jumping and wrestling and knocking things over on stage. Addison is trying to escape the room, and I'm silently praying for the proverbial hole in the floor to open up. And swallow my children. The entire audience is staring at us, entranced, like we're a train wreck. It's irresistible.
Then they gather around us to pray, and I'm feeling the desperate need for prayer more than ever, when somebody who didn't actually come from my body accidentally hit the leaning easel, and it crashes, in slow motion, into the back of the stage, smashing a large tear in the backdrop. There's no point in saying it wasn't actually us, because who'd believe me? We all stare in horror, and then Caiden gets the giggles. I give him my meanest-mommy-ever look that I have saved up for over six years, hoping to freeze him in his tracks, but it fails marvelously. As I whisper death threats in his ear, I decide Grayson's elbow isn't that important anyway, and use my free hand to grip him with the Death Grip, all the while using the failed evil look on him. It works only marginally. I barely hear the words of prayer, and am too defeated to try any of my own. I am shamed beyond words.
After the prayer the parents and children exit quickly, and I heave Caiden and Grayson to their chairs to give them my sternest lecture in "All Things Grieved and Disappointed," and "I Might Even Use Your College Funds to Send Myself on a Cruise because You Clearly Do Not Deserve to Go to College." After threatening them within mere inches of their lives, I send Caiden off to the kindergarten class. He skips the entire way, instantly shedding the lecture. I look at Grayson, hoping to see remorse. Nope. Only blue eyes.
I sigh, head to the class, and consider putting on my sunglasses inside, to hide my humiliation.
And then: grace. The ladies in the room know I'm near tears, and possibly near abandoning the children in the church parking lot, and are quick to tell me how they've both had rotten days this week with their own kids. Nobody tells me what book to read, or what method to use, or how I need to be more firm--or more gentle--or more consistent--or to pray more. They just tell me they're sorry I'm having a bad morning, and aren't little boys something else?, and would I like some chocolate? I try my apologies to other ladies later on, only to hear, "Didn't you see my kids when we had to talk for chapel? They were terrible. I was horrified!" Nobody blinked twice, and nobody voiced any concern over the fact that I am the one raising these hooligans, and nobody even made the old joke about preacher's kids.
It doesn't erase the mortification of the morning, but having friends like that comes close.
The next time I'm tempted to give a sideways glance to a mom whose children are kicking and screaming in Wal Mart, or are hitting toddlers on the jungle gym, or are smarting off, I'm going to remember my Day of Humiliation and pull a Snickers out of my purse instead.
Or I'm a target for cosmic humor.
When I woke up this morning I had a long quiet time, reveling in Christmas music, coffee, a good pen, and absolute peace.
I got the kids ready in record time, got in a talk with my mom while driving to the church, and ushered our little family in the building for our homeschool co-op. Life was good.
Then we started chapel. Each week a family from the co-op group sits on the stage and introduces themselves, and then the entire group gathers around and prays for them. It's touching and sweet every week. But this week was our turn, and it all hit the fan.
I should've known it wouldn't be good; Caiden has been asking when it would be his turn to talk on stage for the last 8 weeks. He told me last night he was all prepared for questions from the audience. What happened to stage fright? Lord have mercy.
We got on the stage, and I started with my little spiel. "We're the So-and-Sos, we've gone to the church for 9 years, my husband's a pastor here," etc., etc, etc. I sounded cool and collected, despite covertly breaking out in a sweat, until I noticed eyes in the audience focused somewhere behind me.
I sneak a glance and see the boys at the back of the stage, fighting over the microphone. Addison is swinging her legs and twisting in my arms, so I put her down to wrestle the microphone from the boys. I can't quite reach Grayson, and since he has elbow issues, it's out of the question to wrench him back to his seat. The sweat starts to gain speed. Caiden comes to the front, ready for his turn. "I'm Caiden, and I'm six, and I love Army toys and dinosaurs and jumping on the trampoline and I can do really cool tricks like this." And he jumps off the stage and starts mimicking trampoline moves on the floor of the auditorium. I hiss at him, away from the microphone, to get his skinny tail back up on the stage and sit down, all the while trying to remember to keep an eye on Addison, who is being wrestled to the ground by two little girls, and Grayson, who is Lord-knows-where doing Lord-knows-what behind me somewhere on the stage.
Realizing we're a train moving quickly downhill, I mention that the two little ones are only 19 months apart, which is why we dropped out halfway through co-op last year, and that we still really haven't quite got it together. You know, just in case anybody in the audience hasn't noticed.
I reign in Caiden, who has happily--and loudly--resumed his speech. "And I asked Jesus into my heart when I was 3 or 5 or 4 or something, and did I mention that I like bugs? Because I really love them a lot, and I have pirate toys, and ..." and I cut him off and finally yank Grayson into my lap to do his part: "I'm Grayson and I love the Army toys too." And he wrenches free and crashes into the easel on the stage, where it wobbles precariously but stays up. I breathe a sigh of relief but then groan when the head of co-op asks the audience if they have questions.
Of course they do.
One sweet little girl asked where Addison had her heart surgery, and for the life of me I can't remember the name of the hospital. I stare blankly into the spotlight, trying to remember if I even have a name, and the humming sound of parental failure is pounding in my ears. Caiden and Grayson are again out of reach, jumping and wrestling and knocking things over on stage. Addison is trying to escape the room, and I'm silently praying for the proverbial hole in the floor to open up. And swallow my children. The entire audience is staring at us, entranced, like we're a train wreck. It's irresistible.
Then they gather around us to pray, and I'm feeling the desperate need for prayer more than ever, when somebody who didn't actually come from my body accidentally hit the leaning easel, and it crashes, in slow motion, into the back of the stage, smashing a large tear in the backdrop. There's no point in saying it wasn't actually us, because who'd believe me? We all stare in horror, and then Caiden gets the giggles. I give him my meanest-mommy-ever look that I have saved up for over six years, hoping to freeze him in his tracks, but it fails marvelously. As I whisper death threats in his ear, I decide Grayson's elbow isn't that important anyway, and use my free hand to grip him with the Death Grip, all the while using the failed evil look on him. It works only marginally. I barely hear the words of prayer, and am too defeated to try any of my own. I am shamed beyond words.
After the prayer the parents and children exit quickly, and I heave Caiden and Grayson to their chairs to give them my sternest lecture in "All Things Grieved and Disappointed," and "I Might Even Use Your College Funds to Send Myself on a Cruise because You Clearly Do Not Deserve to Go to College." After threatening them within mere inches of their lives, I send Caiden off to the kindergarten class. He skips the entire way, instantly shedding the lecture. I look at Grayson, hoping to see remorse. Nope. Only blue eyes.
I sigh, head to the class, and consider putting on my sunglasses inside, to hide my humiliation.
And then: grace. The ladies in the room know I'm near tears, and possibly near abandoning the children in the church parking lot, and are quick to tell me how they've both had rotten days this week with their own kids. Nobody tells me what book to read, or what method to use, or how I need to be more firm--or more gentle--or more consistent--or to pray more. They just tell me they're sorry I'm having a bad morning, and aren't little boys something else?, and would I like some chocolate? I try my apologies to other ladies later on, only to hear, "Didn't you see my kids when we had to talk for chapel? They were terrible. I was horrified!" Nobody blinked twice, and nobody voiced any concern over the fact that I am the one raising these hooligans, and nobody even made the old joke about preacher's kids.
It doesn't erase the mortification of the morning, but having friends like that comes close.
The next time I'm tempted to give a sideways glance to a mom whose children are kicking and screaming in Wal Mart, or are hitting toddlers on the jungle gym, or are smarting off, I'm going to remember my Day of Humiliation and pull a Snickers out of my purse instead.
Labels:
Loving
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
A Few of My Favorite Things
Because I love products, I am always thrilled when I hear a friend giving something I've never tried before rave reviews. It occurred to me tonight that I should share the wealth. So, in no obvious order, here are a few of my favorite things: (Feel free to imagine me singing like Julie Andrews.)
1. Coffee: Starbucks French Roast with Coffee-Mate's (liquid) Hazelnut creamer
2. Online service: buying stamps through USPS. No waiting in line behind the lady with 38 packages. Also: I love the USPS kiosk that has automated stamp-selling and package-mailing. It works like an ATM and rarely has a line.
3. Flats: Shoes by Steve Madden.
4. Perfume: Kenneth Cole Reaction for women (Sorry; I couldn't find a link.)
5. Toothbrush: Oral B's Sonic Complete. It was expensive, but it's worth it. The first time I tried it, I thought I'd throw up from the vibrations, but I've adapted.
6. Kids' athletic shoes: New Balance
7. Fabric store online: Hancock's of Paducah
8. Knitting store online: PurlSoho. They ship out super fast!
9. Dishes: Pfaltgraff's Filigree. The white goes with everything, and the filigree detailing makes them pretty by themselves, too. They also come in a Christmas edition, which completely sold me.
10. Houseplant: Philodendron. Can't kill 'em.
That's it for now. Happy shopping!
1. Coffee: Starbucks French Roast with Coffee-Mate's (liquid) Hazelnut creamer
2. Online service: buying stamps through USPS. No waiting in line behind the lady with 38 packages. Also: I love the USPS kiosk that has automated stamp-selling and package-mailing. It works like an ATM and rarely has a line.
3. Flats: Shoes by Steve Madden.
4. Perfume: Kenneth Cole Reaction for women (Sorry; I couldn't find a link.)
5. Toothbrush: Oral B's Sonic Complete. It was expensive, but it's worth it. The first time I tried it, I thought I'd throw up from the vibrations, but I've adapted.
6. Kids' athletic shoes: New Balance
7. Fabric store online: Hancock's of Paducah
8. Knitting store online: PurlSoho. They ship out super fast!
9. Dishes: Pfaltgraff's Filigree. The white goes with everything, and the filigree detailing makes them pretty by themselves, too. They also come in a Christmas edition, which completely sold me.
10. Houseplant: Philodendron. Can't kill 'em.
That's it for now. Happy shopping!
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A Happy Morning
is started in the recliner, Christmas piano music playing softly in the next room. Steaming cup of coffee in hand, with journal and pen. The wind ruffles the turning leaves on the oak tree outside my window. It is quiet, and dark, and peaceful.
And then They wake up.
Now Noggin is noisily punctuating the air, not soft Christmas carols. I'm sitting at the kitchen table, spurring on a slow eater and breaking up Cheerio-as-missile battles. An almost-toddler shouts "Boo! Boo! Boo!" from her highchair, the preschooler spills his milk and then fingerpaints in it on the table, and the big boy "accidentally" makes noises I won't describe.
The day has begun. And it's never boring.
And then They wake up.
Now Noggin is noisily punctuating the air, not soft Christmas carols. I'm sitting at the kitchen table, spurring on a slow eater and breaking up Cheerio-as-missile battles. An almost-toddler shouts "Boo! Boo! Boo!" from her highchair, the preschooler spills his milk and then fingerpaints in it on the table, and the big boy "accidentally" makes noises I won't describe.
The day has begun. And it's never boring.
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Saturday, November 03, 2007
November
I distinctly remember sitting in my favorite chair the morning of October 1st, reveling in the first day of my favorite month. September was my favorite month, until we moved to Texas. Now I've bumped it back to October, since it's not uncommon to reach 95 degrees in September. In my book, that disqualifies it as a "fall" month. So I was sitting in the chair, breathing in steaming hot coffee, with my pen and journal in hand. I wrote about my love for fall, my excitement about being able to enjoy this one (Last year's fall was spent in a flurry of doctors' appointments for Addison, and I didn't enjoy it very much.), and what I wanted to do.
Ha.
I broke my toe five days later and out went my enjoyment of October. No walks along our favorite trail, crunching leaves and singing to the cows in the pasture beyond the white fences. No helping Caiden learn to ride his bike without training wheels. No early morning runs, watching the sun rise above the horizon and inhaling the scent of autumn. No coffee cakes, pumpkin pies in the oven, or cute brown boots. (Wearing one boot just doesn't count.)
And so went October, with me in the recliner for 15 hours a day, surrounded by chaos and surgical pins and a slight tang of mourning. I missed my favorite month.
And, then, Aha! It hit me this morning, as I realized I'm three days into my second favorite month, that the entire fall doesn't have to be a bust. I'm off crutches and able to walk, albeit very slowly with a limp and a surgical boot. We can't take walks around the neighborhood yet, but I'm certain it's coming, and soon. Caiden learned how to ride the bike, with the help of Chris and my brother (Thanks, boys.), and although I can't go crunch leaves along my favorite trail right now, last night I sat under my patio and breathed in the scent of woodsmoke while we made s'mores by firelight.
I read Kristin Armstrong's latest post at her RunnersWorld site, and I realized I'm not the only one who suffers minor disappointments and has to adjust. Last fall my father-in-law spent almost three months in the hospital with pancreatitis, and I thought of him often last month, wondering how he stayed sane in a dark hospital room during the most glorious time of year. An avid fisherman, he must've mourned the passing of fishing season. We all go through major heartbreak at some point in life, but I think the smaller ones can hit equally hard, because they blindside us. A broken toe shouldn't result in depression. I should get the crutches and get happy, right? Instead, I sat in my chair and mourned missing out on my regular life. And felt guilty the entire time.
Today, as I sit with a notepad and cup of coffee this morning, I realize that the month spans open, waiting for my imprint on it this year. Last Thanksgiving, I wrote a post that reflected on the year's events. It was ruminative and quiet. After the long summer and fall dealing with Addison's health, I wanted a quiet holiday season. This year, though, after a long, quiet summer and early fall, I'm ready to celebrate! I want to wake up every day and embrace it, rejoice in another start, and relish every moment. I want to walk at the park, run along the trail, make s'mores, bake pumpkin pies, eat too much turkey. I want to make construction paper turkeys with Caiden and Grayson, point out the constellations while allowing my boys to stay up too late, and plant fall kale and pansies. I want to live with gratitude, obnoxiously out loud.
I realized this morning that both big and small disappointments are bound to come, and I won't always be able to enjoy each day how I'd like. So on those good days, I have to enjoy the life out of them. I need to look at what I have, not what I don't, and live today all the way.
Happy November. Here's to a new start.
Ha.
I broke my toe five days later and out went my enjoyment of October. No walks along our favorite trail, crunching leaves and singing to the cows in the pasture beyond the white fences. No helping Caiden learn to ride his bike without training wheels. No early morning runs, watching the sun rise above the horizon and inhaling the scent of autumn. No coffee cakes, pumpkin pies in the oven, or cute brown boots. (Wearing one boot just doesn't count.)
And so went October, with me in the recliner for 15 hours a day, surrounded by chaos and surgical pins and a slight tang of mourning. I missed my favorite month.
And, then, Aha! It hit me this morning, as I realized I'm three days into my second favorite month, that the entire fall doesn't have to be a bust. I'm off crutches and able to walk, albeit very slowly with a limp and a surgical boot. We can't take walks around the neighborhood yet, but I'm certain it's coming, and soon. Caiden learned how to ride the bike, with the help of Chris and my brother (Thanks, boys.), and although I can't go crunch leaves along my favorite trail right now, last night I sat under my patio and breathed in the scent of woodsmoke while we made s'mores by firelight.
I read Kristin Armstrong's latest post at her RunnersWorld site, and I realized I'm not the only one who suffers minor disappointments and has to adjust. Last fall my father-in-law spent almost three months in the hospital with pancreatitis, and I thought of him often last month, wondering how he stayed sane in a dark hospital room during the most glorious time of year. An avid fisherman, he must've mourned the passing of fishing season. We all go through major heartbreak at some point in life, but I think the smaller ones can hit equally hard, because they blindside us. A broken toe shouldn't result in depression. I should get the crutches and get happy, right? Instead, I sat in my chair and mourned missing out on my regular life. And felt guilty the entire time.
Today, as I sit with a notepad and cup of coffee this morning, I realize that the month spans open, waiting for my imprint on it this year. Last Thanksgiving, I wrote a post that reflected on the year's events. It was ruminative and quiet. After the long summer and fall dealing with Addison's health, I wanted a quiet holiday season. This year, though, after a long, quiet summer and early fall, I'm ready to celebrate! I want to wake up every day and embrace it, rejoice in another start, and relish every moment. I want to walk at the park, run along the trail, make s'mores, bake pumpkin pies, eat too much turkey. I want to make construction paper turkeys with Caiden and Grayson, point out the constellations while allowing my boys to stay up too late, and plant fall kale and pansies. I want to live with gratitude, obnoxiously out loud.
I realized this morning that both big and small disappointments are bound to come, and I won't always be able to enjoy each day how I'd like. So on those good days, I have to enjoy the life out of them. I need to look at what I have, not what I don't, and live today all the way.
Happy November. Here's to a new start.
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Thinking
Thursday, November 01, 2007
A Book Review: Mosaic
I've mentioned a time or twenty that I have struggled with the whole broken-foot thing. I didn't mention that I also was the lucky recipient of post-operative depression, which evidently is a real thing. A week after surgery I was as blue as the Texas sky. If you've ever been to Texas, that's really, really blue. I didn't want to read. I didn't want to knit. Or sew. Or stay up late. Or wash my hair (Thank you, Bridget.). And I didn't eat for several days. I just sat in the recliner and cried. I was miserable.
Thankfully, the fog lifted after about a week, and I started being happy to be alive again. But when I was still in the depths, I picked up Amy Grant's book, Mosaic, half-heartedly and only because I'd promised to do a review. After a couple of chapters, I was hooked. I think everybody in the world has heard of Amy, and she really came into the limelight when she and Vince Gill got married. So I was curious to see what she'd write about--would she mention Gary Chapman? Divorce? How her kids handled being part of a blended family? Or would she gloss over it all?
Mosaic is exactly what the title says--it's random pieces of her life, divided into sections. The book is written a lot like a regular person would write, with a storytelling voice, and there's a middle section of pictures spanning her entire life so far. The chapters are remembrances of a particular person or event in Amy's life that impacted her in some way. Some are sweet, especially one where she and Vince spontaneously visit one of Vince's biggest fans on her 90-something birthday. That chapter just made me like them. Some are spiritually encouraging. She writes about her morning routine of standing on her balcony and embracing the day. In it she confesses that she's not at all a morning person, and on top of that, she says what she weighs, and I loved her for it. And some chapters are emotionally honest. She writes about her lifelong struggle with depression, the experience of blending a family of teenagers, and dealing with the guilt and shame of marital failure. When I finished the last page (It took only two long baths to read the book.), I sighed, hoping for a sequel after a few more years. It's a quick read, but there are pieces of wisdom and encouragement in it that'll last.
So I asked my friend Lisa (Whelchel) Cauble this week if she knows Amy. She said yes, further cementing my theory that all famous people know each other, and also that the six degrees of separation idea is true. Amy and I are almost BFF now, separated by only one degree, you know? Anyway, I asked Lisa what Amy's like, and she said Amy is exactly as she portrays herself. She's friendly, she's real, and she's down-to-earth. I was so relieved, because while I've always liked her music, reading Mosaic made me like her and wish I knew her.
In the end, I was surprised how much I liked the book (I'm not a huge fan of non-fiction). It was warm, and honest, and encouraging, and I was reminded that no matter the amount of money, fame, or accolades (or lack thereof), we're all regular people dealing with the same struggles, but each of us has a remarkable story to tell. If you're looking for a Christmas present for someone and want to give something encouraging and Truthful without being overly preachy, this would make a great gift. And maybe you can sneak a read of it yourself, first :)
I have three friends who've reviewed the book, too, so please check out what each of them has to say:
Kristi at www.aboveallicouldaskorimagine.blogspot.com
Kristy at www.fourgreatboys.blogspot.com
Tara at www.serendipitoushousewife.blogspot.com
Thankfully, the fog lifted after about a week, and I started being happy to be alive again. But when I was still in the depths, I picked up Amy Grant's book, Mosaic, half-heartedly and only because I'd promised to do a review. After a couple of chapters, I was hooked. I think everybody in the world has heard of Amy, and she really came into the limelight when she and Vince Gill got married. So I was curious to see what she'd write about--would she mention Gary Chapman? Divorce? How her kids handled being part of a blended family? Or would she gloss over it all?
Mosaic is exactly what the title says--it's random pieces of her life, divided into sections. The book is written a lot like a regular person would write, with a storytelling voice, and there's a middle section of pictures spanning her entire life so far. The chapters are remembrances of a particular person or event in Amy's life that impacted her in some way. Some are sweet, especially one where she and Vince spontaneously visit one of Vince's biggest fans on her 90-something birthday. That chapter just made me like them. Some are spiritually encouraging. She writes about her morning routine of standing on her balcony and embracing the day. In it she confesses that she's not at all a morning person, and on top of that, she says what she weighs, and I loved her for it. And some chapters are emotionally honest. She writes about her lifelong struggle with depression, the experience of blending a family of teenagers, and dealing with the guilt and shame of marital failure. When I finished the last page (It took only two long baths to read the book.), I sighed, hoping for a sequel after a few more years. It's a quick read, but there are pieces of wisdom and encouragement in it that'll last.
So I asked my friend Lisa (Whelchel) Cauble this week if she knows Amy. She said yes, further cementing my theory that all famous people know each other, and also that the six degrees of separation idea is true. Amy and I are almost BFF now, separated by only one degree, you know? Anyway, I asked Lisa what Amy's like, and she said Amy is exactly as she portrays herself. She's friendly, she's real, and she's down-to-earth. I was so relieved, because while I've always liked her music, reading Mosaic made me like her and wish I knew her.
In the end, I was surprised how much I liked the book (I'm not a huge fan of non-fiction). It was warm, and honest, and encouraging, and I was reminded that no matter the amount of money, fame, or accolades (or lack thereof), we're all regular people dealing with the same struggles, but each of us has a remarkable story to tell. If you're looking for a Christmas present for someone and want to give something encouraging and Truthful without being overly preachy, this would make a great gift. And maybe you can sneak a read of it yourself, first :)
I have three friends who've reviewed the book, too, so please check out what each of them has to say:
Kristi at www.aboveallicouldaskorimagine.blogspot.com
Kristy at www.fourgreatboys.blogspot.com
Tara at www.serendipitoushousewife.blogspot.com
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Thinking
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