Take a pit stop

*Originally posted February 22, 2007

Wonder what Lent really is?

Here's the analogy that I used with my kids:

Remember in the movie "Cars" when Lightening McQueen gives up his chance at victory because he fails to see the need for a pit-stop? Remember how his tires blow out in the final lap because he didn't take the necessary break to replace them and get tuned-up? That's what lent is for Christians.

It is a time to jump off of the race track of life and pull in for a pit-stop for some much needed maintenance. It's admitting that we can't do it alone. It's saying to our Crew Chief that the sacrifice He made for us did not go unnoticed and through a few small sacrifices of our own we wish to acknowledge His suffering on our behalf.

It's about pouring the Word of God into our tanks and siphoning out some of the world. It's about rotating our priorities. It's about changing the thick, sluggish habits we've allowed to overtake us and replacing them with fresh new ones that will help us run more smoothly with those around us.

Many who misunderstand the purpose of Lent see it as some ritual used by instituted religions as a means of attaining merits, or a way to stock pile good deeds in hopes of achieving Heaven. That is so wrong.

It has nothing to do with our deeds and everything to do with His. Our sacrifices, no matter how large or small, could never merit us the sacrifice He willingly offered. Lent is a time to pray, "beyond my acceptance that I can not earn my salvation, I want to show my thankfulness in a tangible way. I want to sacrifice and take on things that have become challenging for me and stand in the way of my spiritual journey. I want to join my small suffering with the suffering of the cross and offer them as a sacrifice to you, Oh Lord, that you may turn my sorrows into dancing!"

Some things I am not

I am not especially patient. With others or myself.

I am not crafty. I am 'creative' in idea, but principal and practicality...not so much.

I am not self-disciplined in most cases. There are the rare exceptions, but they are both rare...and an exception.

I am not soft spoken. That is the nice way to say that I yell. I tend to raise my voice level to match the level of chaos I am feeling. You can imagine that sometimes that can get very loud, and is very counter-productive. I get that, but it is a constant struggle for me.

I am not extremely kind. I shudder just writing this because how stinkin' horrible does that sound? But I have come to realize that I do not come across as neither kind nor gentle, most of the time. I tend to focus on what I have to do and forget to be kind and loving in the process.

I am not especially soft-hearted. Sort of goes along with the kindness I think. Certainly I can be soft-hearted to causes near and dear to me, but outside of that I can be quite rigid.

I am not thrifty enough. I once was better but now have become lazy and taken the easy route often over the thrifty one. In an economic meltdown, it is a necessity.

I am not forgiving. Not to the degree at which I should be. I tend to hold onto memories if not grudges and have difficulty forgiving completely.

I am not an apologizer. When I have wronged someone I kind of wait it out instead of readily offering my apology. I think that time will make them forget how much of a butt I have been, and then with time I will win them back with my wit and charm, yeah as Dr. Phil would say, "How's that workin' for ya?".

Why did I just share many, certainly not all, of my character flaws with you? Well, I guess that you can consider it an open examination of conscience.

With Lent here, there is much in the life of Heidi that needs work. These are just some of the areas that I plan to offer with the ashes of Ash Wednesday. In hopes that through my offering up of these sins, vices, and flaws, that God will work steadily to change me.

Thankfully it is not by my might, nor by my power, but by His Spirit that change and conversion happens.

I am not able to do it alone. Thank you Jesus, that I do not have to.

Star of the day, has this to say...

On the Friday prior to Ms. Olivia's birthday, I came to the classroom with my two willing helpers to bring treats for her and her first grade classmates. Wanting desperately to follow the encouraged healthy food/snack guidelines I had suggested to Olivia that we do something fruity, you know grapes, crackers and cheese? She came up with chocolate covered strawberries, crackers and cheese. Come again?

We have NEVER eaten chocolate covered strawberries in this house, not even once. I do not think we have eaten them in any other house either...but since it followed at least portionally the healthy guideline, and I use only DARK chocolate and we all know the health benefits of that, I figured that it would work. Even if it was way more work than I had planned for myself.

So we came with our treats. As part of the special day, Olivia is the 'star of the day' and while the rest of the class eats their treats they can ask her questions. Most of which make absolutely no sense and have no possible answer. However, one little boy chimed in with, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Liv paused only briefly before saying, "Um, I just want to be a stay-at-home mom."

I will pause for the collective blog "ahhhhh".


I felt my cheeks redden a bit, and my heart swelled up a few sizes. But before I could possibly begin to feel pride or satisfaction, she quickly followed it up with, "so that I can watch television all day long."



Say what?

The lovely and very tactful Mrs. J, sensing my sudden drop in spirit, said quickly, "I'm sure that your mom does much more as a stay-at-home mom than just watch t.v. all day, Olivia." Not missing a beat, Olivia replied, "Yeah, she treadmills too."

There you have it folks. The life of a stay-at-home mom defined by a seven-year old.

I guess it is a good thing we are turning the television off for lent.

Reconciliation Humor

**Update: Reconciliation is also commonly known as confession. Second graders receive this Sacrament prior to receiving the Sacrament of first Holy Communion, which he will be receiving in May. So in short, it was Nicholas' first EVER confession. A very special and amazing experience for all of us!
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Nicholas: "Mom, are you and dad going to cry at my first reconciliation today?"

Mom: "Only if I hear Father yell, 'YOU DID WHAT?' from behind the screen."

Nicholas: "That is not funny mom!"

Mom: "Maybe not, but definitely possible."

Olivia Mary

*Olivia's birthday is tomorrow, the 21st, but due to circumstances I can not change, I nor Chad will be able to spend the day with her. So I am posting this today, and wishing her a beautiful birthday weekend!

Olivia's labor and delivery was not an easy one. Wait, that may be too great of an understatement, for a known exaggerator like myself to make. My labor and delivery with her was extremely difficult. Which led me to believe and in fact prepare myself for yet another 'challenging' baby this side of the uterus. But that assumption could not have been further from reality.

Olivia arrived in a surreal aura of peace and tranquility and has for the most part done her best to remain that way. Obviously the three other people she calls siblings do little to encourage that peace and tranquility most days, but if left to her own devices she is gentle, loving, quiet, and altogether a joy to have around.

I watched her walking out of the school earlier this week as I waited for them in the van, I got a catch in my heart and my eyes filled up with unexpected tears. My little girl is going to be seven?

In so many ways, my children, due to their roles as big brother and big sister, always seem older than their calendar years. I am well aware that they are expected to shoulder responsibilities that not only do not come to some kids at such a young age, but possibly never at all. They experience less of the coddling from parents and enjoy more sibling interaction. It is just the way when mom and dad are outnumbered. But as I watched her skipping out of the school building, pony tail flying in the wind, snow pants draped over her shoulder and backpack shrugged tightly on back, I was astounded at the image of what was and now what is.

I know, I know...she is JUST seven. Still a little girl. But gone are the pudgy signs of toddler hood. Gone is the need to have mom right by her side. Gone is the apprehension of trying something new with someone else. It has skipped away just as she has skipped out to me.

None that know her could argue differently than that she is kind hearted, soft spoken, and genuinely caring of others. She has been a breath of joy and peace to our lives since her arrival and we consider ourselves blessed to have her in our lives to bring that peace and joy into all of our future activities.

I love you Olivia Mary. Happy birthday baby.

The great mom I want to be...

Once in a while someone says something incredibly silly to me. Something along the lines of, "You are such a great mom." I know that most of, if not all of you, have heard the same thing in some variation or another.

Here is the thing though, instead of that bringing out an overwhelming sense of pride and accomplishment in me, validating all that I attempt to do here on a daily basis, it almost immediately causes me to reflect on all that they do not know.

Sure, if seeing me haul my four rug-rats blessings into church each week and seating them as close to the priest as possible qualifies me as a great mom, or if watching me calmly direct them through the supermarket without grabbing any ears or making any inaudible threats qualifies me, or if feeding them a home cooked meal most days of the week qualifies me, or if letting them comb my hair with their hairbrush even though it leaves me looking like Janice Joplin qualifies me, or if running to the school to retrieve them just hours after dropping them off because they are sick qualifies me, or any number of the daily things that EACH AND EVERY one of us do, is what qualifies me, then I can accept that praise, I guess.

But what those who make such statements do not know, is that some days I completely tune out my three-year old's request to play trucks because I simply have no desire to. Or that many mornings I have already yanked the hairbrush unlovingly through my four-year old's hair before I have thought to kiss her good morning. Or that some days I become snappy with my six-year old's attempts to read when I think she is not trying hard enough. Or that some days my eight year old drives me to the point of yelling, a sure sign of my character flaws not his.

You see, the list of what disqualifies me is so much greater than the list of things that make me a good mom. All those things that make me a good mom...that is the easy stuff. That is the daily loving and living that comes naturally. It is in those moments of stress and fatigue that my true mothering is revealed. And it is not very pretty, and most certainly deserves no recognition.

Thankfully both God and my family are much like the unknowing complimentor mentioned initially. They see only the good things. Both God and my family are aware that the ugly exists. But they love even though they have not always been shown love. They forgive even when they have been hurt.

Each and every day I strive to be that good mom, from the inside out. But it is a daily decision for me. Each day it is putting one foot in front of the other in exhaustion and sometimes discomfort. It is a choice to put the needs of those around me at a higher level than the needs of myself. It is a path that often leaves me feeling overwhelmed and unsuccessful. But it is in the constant trying that I hope makes me a good mom. The never giving up. The hope for better.

A full and gratifying weekend

Did you receive all that your heart desired for Valentine's Day? I consider it a success in that I did NOT receive any waxy chocolate candy. That is a cause for celebration right there.

In fact, my husband got me one of those gifts that surprise the heck out of a girl. No, not a diamond pendant or anything. It was simple. Very simple. But he had heard me mention wanting one, which usually goes in one ear and out the other, and he came through. Luckily for him, the downtown shops here in our town, which are just mere feet from his office, are equipped with some of the most unique and life saving gifts. I am not diminishing the gift. It was one the simplest given, yet because he was thoughtful, I will remember it the most.

We took the kids away for the weekend on a short ski trip to Mankato, Minnesota with Chad's brother's family. We headed out Friday and came home Sunday. It was FULL. It is so tough to try and teach the kids to ski with me unable to contribute. I am the master of hot cocoa and snacks though in the lodge. It is tough, however, to stay put and just watch. Especially when I know that Chad's hands are full, very full. They all took some major warming up to the idea again, but once Nicholas gained his confidence, he was a champ. The girls are still learning all the basics and Chad has to stay with them 100% of the time. But someday they will be happy that we gave them this opportunity to learn as kids, instead of looking like a big bumbling boob as an adult...much the way that I did!

We have some big events forthcoming this week. But I will share about those at another time.

Happy Tuesday, that feels like a Monday!

I love the way you love me....

I wanted to say something really inspirational and moving about the love I have in my husband. I wanted to eloquently tell you of how deeply and intensely he gives of himself to not only me but his entire family. I wanted to capture in mere words what he is able to give in every breathe he takes. I wanted to give specific examples of his unwavering faith and deep commitment to Christ.

I wanted to say so much with my words. I wanted to use the talent God's given me, to accurately and poignantly define the love of my life. But words are failing me. I can only say, in the words not written by me but by that of a country songwriter, but resonating in my heart nonetheless, I love the way that you love me, Chad.

Nicholas David, I love the way that you love me. You show your love for me every day in your willingness to find the need that I have and in doing all that you can to meet it.

Olivia Mary, I love the way that you love me. Your quiet spirit is not about grand gestures and loud expressions of love, but in the simple notes left on my pillow.

Katharine Anne, I love the way that you love me. Sometimes a whole day can pass without the words, "I love you, Mommy" ever crossing your lips, but I can see it in your smiling eyes every time that I look at you.

Andrew Chad, I love the way that you love me. You have no fear of openly showering me with your love through wet kisses to the cheeks and squishy bear hugs.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Small Successes

I am participating in Faith & Family's "Small Successes" Thursday post. The idea is to recognize the small things (three of them) that we mom's accomplish in our week. Instead of being overwhelmed by the enormity of what goes undone. And in a week when I feel like my head has spun 360 degrees, my sleep deprivation is at an all time high, and I have meeting upon meeting to prepare myself for, this idea rung true to me as I sat feeling sorry for all that I had not yet accomplished. So here goes:

1. I have read two complete "Magic Treehouse" books to my four children. Well, I guess baby five in utero, has reaped the benefits as well. Some days sitting down to read seems impossible, but I have forced myself to take the time to spend with them and the results are priceless.

2. It is Thursday and my family has not gone out to eat yet this week. That means that I have cooked meals on most days or enjoyed left-overs from the night before, and we have avoided the temptation to eat out too often. Believe me, as a pregnant mom who is not hungry until she is TOO HUNGRY...that is an accomplishment!

3. I have completed almost all the necessary preparation work for our big upcoming school fundraiser, for which I am the chair. I thrive on being prepared, and although I can not control all that will present itself in the upcoming week, I feel confident that I am doing what I can to prevent unnecessary problems!

If you too would like to participate click this link to find out how.

Who needs underwear anyway?

I know, I know, some of you are thinking that I just shared more than you cared to know just in the title of my blog post. But before you jump to any ridiculous assumptions, let me assure you that I believe underwear to be a necessity. Most days anyway.

Recently, I was called into Andrew's bedroom at the end of the night to help him reach his pajama's out of his top drawer. Slowly, that's the way I tend to do everything nowadays, I made my way into the room and pulled out some flannel pants. As I gingerly bent down to pull off his top and jeans, I was a bit shocked to see that he had no underwear on. "Andrew, where are your underwear?" I asked innocently. "I'm not wearing underwears today mom." He just as innocently replied. "I can see that, but why and when did you take them off?" I inquired further. To which I received the response I had not expected, "Kate helped me get dressed this morning and I told her I didn't need any underwears today."

All righty then.

Do not even ask how we went the entire day without me realizing even ONCE that my toddler was walking around commando. On a normal day I assist him in the restroom a minimum of 12 times. How this one got by me is startling to say the least. My guess, sleep deprivation. And we say it's too harsh to use on terrorists.

I say what I mean. I mean, usually.

You know how as women we sometimes tend to say one thing but mean something entirely different? I know, this is shocking to you men, is it not?

For example, like when a man asks us a question that no man should ever ask his wife, "Did you want me to get you something for our anniversary?", and a woman responds with, "No, it is not a big deal."

And what she really means is, "Yes, I want a present that represents great thought and planning showing in intimate detail the level of your love and understanding of me. I want to open it and say to myself, 'I had no idea I wanted this, but it is exactly what I have always wanted', showing that indeed you know me even better than I know myself!"

You know, just simple little things like that?

Well, Valentine's Day is approaching. And inevitably some of our husbands will stupidly ask, "Are we getting each other anything this year?" And if your husband does not do this, please just play along, as I am a pregnant woman suffering from hormonal surges and I do not need the news that mine is the only unromantic one on the planet at this time!

If he asks such question, how do you respond? I have made it clear in the past that Valentine's Day means little to nothing to me romantically, outside of a day to try a bit harder to be forgiving, loving, patient, and thoughtful. But gift giving is and always has been a huge emotional let down. Because of my unrealistic romantic fantasies, I presume. So a little extra cuddle time before we roll out of bed, a cup of coffee poured thoughtfully for him as he heads out the door, a lingering hug and kiss and that's that. Really.

And even though many days of the year I may say something like, "No, really, I do not need a Mother's Day gift," this day I actually mean it when I say, "No, really do NOT get me some over-priced-soon-to-be-dead flowers, or some waxy-funky-filled chocolates, or some completely-unnecessary-and-altogether-uncomfortable bedroom wear!"

I mean it this time. I really do.

I lay it all down again....

I remember asking my closest friends how they just seemed to 'know' they were done. We have all heard women mention that feeling, haven't we? I had four kids and I will admit, I began to worry. Where was that 'feeling'?

Maybe I did feel it and just missed it. Maybe I would NEVER feel it. (Just call me a Duggar.) Doubt crowded my thoughts and worry settled into my heart. Why didn't I have the peace that others seemed to have about their family size? Certainly I had been told frequently enough that we should be thrilled with our 'two boys, two girls' family. Everyone else seemed to think we could or should be done, why wasn't I resigning myself to it as well? It does not take a genius to know that life would certainly be easier if I just felt it now and stopped having babies.

I struggled. For two and a half years I struggled. Certainly my cup was already running over. And the blessing of the four amazing people in our life would be enough for anyone to feel gratitude and thankfulness. I did not need another baby to feel fulfilled, validated, or loved. That was the constant battle running its course in my head and heart. Doubt hit me at every corner. Uncharacteristic feelings of insecurity about what others would think began to take on meaning that they never had in the past. Would our families wonder why? Would our friends think us crazy? Would community members question our judgement? Wouldn't it just be easier for EVERYONE if Heidi could just get that 'feeling'? It seemed that I was concerned with what everyone thought except my heavenly Father.

I thank God that He can handle our insecurities, fears, trust issues, and dreams far easier and with much less drama than we can ourselves. He did not come in a burning bush and tell me to have another baby. But He did indeed settle the storm in my heart and offer the peace that can only come with complete trust and faithfulness. I gave it all to Him. I stopped trying to control every aspect of my life through my own narrow perception of life, and trust God to supply my needs. Physically, emotionally, spiritually.

Some days I still wonder if our lives will ever resemble the somewhat normality that we had begun to experience. And just as quickly God reminds me that the answer to that 'wonder' is an astounding "NO!" What we will experience will far surpass anything we can imagine. The miracle of another life brought into this family will do little to normalize us, but much to bring us an even greater taste of His unending love.

It's all coming back to me...

Do you know how when your kids say or do something funny that you swear you will never forget it? Well, that is not working so well for me. Maybe if I only had one or two...but not so good with many. I remember scenarios but do not necessarily remember who 'done it'.

Thank goodness for blogger. As much as you all think that I write daily (or as frequently as possible) strictly for your entertainment, I do so mainly for the archival bonus of memory keeping. For example, remember that "Freakins'" incident with Kate a few Christmases back? Well, had I not written about it at the time, there is a really good chance that I would never remember which one of the kids said it.

Which brings me to an incident that happened yesterday. Andrew and Kate were being inquisitive naughty. They took it upon themselves to torment the cat. Why the cat does not just hide, scratch their little arms or bite them, I will never understand...but she does not. So after about two warnings to keep their grubby hands off of the cat they finally were punished on the third infraction. Punished with a little (very little) swat to the butt and sent to their rooms.

Fast forward to much later in the day when I was putting laundry away in the boys' room and doing some general clean-up while in there. I discovered poked under the bottom bunk a book that had been TORN UP. TORN UP, I tell you. Not the whole book, as it was quite a large book, but the front cover, back cover and several pages. I was livid. In a motherly livid way. Someone was going to get it and they knew it.

After asking the oldest three and seeing genuine shock and surprise on their faces, that led me to believe that the culprit may indeed be the sleeping angel currently dreaming on his bunk. Nicholas was furious. It was his book. He was outraged that anyone could or would do something so violent against him.

As I tried to calm him a sudden image and memory came back to me. One that otherwise would have remained lost for generations to come. A still life image came to mind of a time long ago when the boy that was currently the victim was then the culprit. I remembered coming into Nicholas' room after he had been sent to a time-out there, when he was just two or three, and finding him sitting in the corner by his books scowling menacingly at me with paper shred surrounding him. I was livid then too.

When prince charming awoke later and we asked him what had happened to his brother's book he admitted quickly that he had tore it up. When asked why, his response was identical to the response I received five years ago from yet another. "I was mad at you mommy, you panked me."

Oh to have been a blogger when Nic was little. Man oh man. Fresh material each and every day.

When daddy's gone, the seams come undone...

...even if it is just for two short days.

In addition to an unplanned visit to the clinic to address my own health yesterday, as I type this I have two little people lying in my bed taking turns with their chorus of barking and hacking.

Two are in school with little more than the bare minimum required for sleep, as they slept in rooms with the two that are currently trying to rest at home.

Between the hours of 12:30AM-2AM I was blessed to be able to close my eyes for some sort of rest. But from 2:30AM on when baby (well, he is still technically the baby) started his alarming dry wheeze/cough, I was quite certain that sleep was to be no more. So between getting up to distribute meds to two different rooms and doing all that could be done to settle the worried siblings while praying silently some of the night and audibly another portion, I am certain that a nap will be needed shortly.

Maybe...I will just crawl into the warm bed currently occupied by two little barking seals and settle in for a morning rest. Daddy we miss you.

Would you believe...?

That some days the only way I remember if I brushed my teeth or not, is by looking to see who's brush head is on still on the Sonic toothbrush.

That some days breakfast gets missed for me and Andrew (he of course has had his sippy of milk in the morning), and lunch seems so far away that we eat tweeners all day.

That some days cereal sounded totally unappealing at 7:15 am, but at 9:30 pm sounds scrumptious.

That some days 2:00 pm is the first opportunity I have made to take my shower, and by then I sometimes say, "What's the point?"

That some days I pick my kids up from school wearing slippers.

That some evenings I cook supper in pajama pants.

I'm okay with it. Really I am. I do not know how my kids may feel if I had to run into the school to pick them up and had my slippers on. And I am not sure how my husband feels about coming home for lunch to a wife that may or may not have had time to shower after her morning workout. But I am pretty sure that they are okay with it too.