Fifty-Second Step

Whew, I didn't realize I left the blogosphere on such a heavy note. :) Lately we're purging the house. This started because of listening to Dave Ramsey too much--he has inspired us to get rid of debt once and for all. And not to pay for our house 3 times over (not that we're planning on being here that long, but only like 40 bucks goes to principal each month? Silly!). So we each listened to Total Money Makeover on our ipods (would Dave approve?) and tried to come up with solutions and get "gazelle intense." We don't have car loans to knock off by selling a vehicle, or any school loans. This seems like a good thing, but with our budget so tight and only one income, it seemed the only solution to start getting ahead of Chase Bank (where we have a little bit of debt, not getting bigger, but not going away--it doesn't magically go away, did you guys know that?) was, "What can we sell??" And I became determined to have a yard sale before the snow started falling.

I know that the basement has needed truckloads hauled out of it for a while now. But this yard sale on Saturday has given me extra incentive. Plus we want to make a play area in the basement for the kids, and a "craft" area for me so I can pretend I'm crafty (and keep my unfinished projects in one place at least). Haha. I'll let you know how it goes!! It is hard to let God continue to break "the comfort of stuff" that I've had since childhood--if things are chaotic around me, I always have FOOD and my STUFF. That worked when my metabolism was high and my grandpa was sending me money for my checking account. Not true anymore for either of those. :) I'm a grown-up now, in theory, and with Christ's help I can let go of those things that bind me. Heaven knows I'm not enjoying stumbling over boxes of kids' clothes, my saxaphone from 5th grade, random babyproofed decor that got sent to the basement (go to your room, vase from Arizona! We like you but you're too expensive to be a drum!), a desk I was saving for when we homeschool next year but I just realized is backwards (has the desk BEHIND the seat, must have been pregnant when I got that) and rotated-out toys that have never gotten rotated back in. Not enjoying it one bit, precious. So I am cutting the cord. Bye bye, stuff we don't use. Hello, more room for the people who matter, and hello, more space to breathe! It's like on Matrix where he takes a deep breath and "warbles out" the space around him like it's breathing too--I just picture our house taking a big breath (whoomp) and letting it out after we're done. I certainly will. And I'll slick back my hair too, and wear ratty clothes, and answer my landline phone frantically...

Fifty-First Step

Posting a poem. From that college project I found. I was studying religious poetry, specifically urban religious poetry. Only at a liberal arts school, baby. I think this poem is in some form that I don't remember, it's kind of sad I can relate to it still, disclaimer, disclaimer. But I am further now in my healing, praise God.

Here it is:

For Whom the Lord Loves

"Do not reject the discipline of the Lord." -Prov. 3:11

"But they lie in wait for their own blood;
They ambush their own lives." -Prov. 1:18

I spat out the Lord's reproof, wholly
to find that he stretched out a hand
armed with warm blood, an absence.
How many times would I withhold

this life already given? He held ground
that had never been broken, for lives
that before had only beheld Him
thickly, for no real length of time.

To be able to stare--is that what
I have been wanting? Yes, of late
I have looked directly ahead. Yes,
the Lord loves to correct me,

His delight, one dug from the grave,
writhing. But I am kept from wisdom
by hands and feet clumped together
under one name, streets loud with shame

and my neck red as I about face
Him, covered in devices, my own
derision. Have I kept sound wisdom?
Am I lying in wait, my blood rushing?

Fiftieth Step

Woo hoo! This is the 50th step celebration. Watch out, this is also the potential spewing of everything I have been waiting to spew for 8 weeks. Abriana is 8 weeks old at 11:41 tonight, and despite facing some nursing challenges and strange sleeplessness (the eyes popping open after nursing so long I'm sure she's knocked out), my most common name for her is "sweetheart." "You're such a booper scooper" (and then chomping on her cheek) seems to be the next most common phrase, a slight variation of Clarissa's name (scoopy doo) and less like Charlie's (schnookie boy).

Sweetheart is unpredictable and often chomps still with nursing, but I do still love her so. I often wonder if others really think she's cute, or just think she's "small" and therefore, in the cute category. It doesn't really matter; I think she's gorgeous. Just a little pimply right now, and her eyes can still get a little goopy from slight tear duct blockage. Looks a lot like Clarissa but with darker hair, especially when Daddy holds her and she turns her head facing out and her hair is sticking out about 2 inches past her head in that Don King fashion. That is just like Clarissa's Christmas picture that we sent out, but Abriana will not be getting anything sent out, except electronically. She has been lucky to at least get a Facebook posting with some pics. You can also check out our website for a link to some pics, for those who have the address. I won't post the address here because this is a public page. Sorry, folks. I am still trying to get the camera downloaded to get some more current ones out there. It has been fun to see God enlarging my heart as we welcome each child--emotionally I feel better able to love a new baby than ever, even as crazy as things are. I look back on the postpartum time with Clarissa and still see a lot of healing possible; I shudder inside and at times feel sick when I think of how hard that was. When I compare it to Abriana, I feel blessed, clear-headed, and only overwhelmed 25% of the time compared to 100% with Clarissa. :) Maybe 50% overwhelmed with the house though.

I am feeling very emotional today, a bit sad and low, like I'm just looking for something to cry about. I have found some things. It's terribly disappointing to me to get through a weekend and not "go anywhere fun." To start another week without getting out as a family (which I am dependent still on Robert for in some ways--it's hard to get anywhere myself with all 3, especially when she may not nurse well and I have to come home to have a good session) is pretty depressing. It's like, "What's the point? I just have to do another week of the SAME THING." I muscled my way through and got us to go to a fair last Sunday, which was comically small and not worth the 1.5-hour drive, so this weekend I was humbled and only flashed the "Go!" section at Robert and dreamed aloud about all the (free) things we could do, but did not push anything through. So nothing happened. If I am not the master of my destiny, why does it feel like I have to push and push to get fun into my life?? Why does it seem so hard to get together with friends--with other moms or with other families on the weekend? Where's the spontaneity? I feel like I don't know where to begin, because don't want to get too much on the plate but want to start somewhere.

A baby step. I tried to get up the courage to invite someone to go walking with me during Thursday school but chickened out with two different people because with one I was "sure she already had plans for that morning" and with the other I lost her in the shuffle and never got to ask. Need to plan in advance I suppose. And need to decide if Charlie is really "ready" to go there, when I am pretty sure he's not and I only want him to do it if it's fun for him--with us planning to homeschool, it's not like he has to get used to a classroom environment and getting shuttled from place to place. They said he had the hardest time (cried and cried) during "transitions," and when he wouldn't participate and had to sit in a chair. That makes me so sad!! Getting corrected by new people is so hard for a sensitive little boy--so hard for anyone, because I STILL remember the mortified feeling of getting corrected. Plus he is not completely potty trained, by any means. I was telling a dear friend that I basically potty train on Tuesday and Wednesday before Thursday school, and then leave it alone the rest of the week. It's mostly me, not much effort or initiation on his part unless it involves a prize or McQueen underwear. I just feel like if we take him out, halfway through the year he'll feel sad and left out (or I will feel sad at the Christmas program, or like we failed somehow), and it's more efficient to have two in and one out--it would be a lot of effort to get there, with just Clarissa benefiting. But she loves it.

Yesterday I did something productive though, even if it wasn't so fun. I started to clean out the basement, and got dust in my brain I think. Was so foggy today, and my nose feels choked up and my eyes are red and raw. Not happy that I passed these allergies on to my little boy (and food allergies to maybe all my kids), who is currently wheezing a little due to his slight asthma whenever he gets a cold virus. If he runs, he starts coughing and worrying me. How do you tell a 2-year-old not to run? Anyway. In the basement I found my poetry project from my senior year in college, and one of the lines is "Smite me. I am not being honest." I so admire my dear friend who is so real and open in her blog, and love reading it. I was crying tonight while reading it, because she's so special and I hadn't read it for a while. I love getting to know her even more through this unique voice into her life. I have been reevaluating what to do here, since daily posting is a major thing of the past--even monthly posting, judging by my last blog date. :) I do want to share our life with people, and the things I'm learning. So I'll just keep to that as my focus. I don't have beautiful crafts to show you or amazing parenting adventures, but I have real struggles and real victories. Laughing with my kids tonight and pretending they were babies honking my nose was a victory for me. Last night I was thinking, after reading a historical fiction book by Lori Whitstone? about Dakota Indians, if I were to get a Native American name for bravery that I would be totally proud of, it would be Loves Children. I am not there yet. I love certain children whose families I know and love, but am generally still afraid of the child population in general. Not in a freaked out phobia kind of way, but in an apprehensive, keep my distance kind of way. Cleaning out the basement of my life (I think I'm borrowing that image from a friend; you'll just have to trust me that she doesn't want to be quoted directly) means clearing out what being a kid meant to me, and the fear I faced. Life was unpredictable, and being a kid was dangerous. So I valued acting like a grown up. Now I want to learn how to be a kid again!! Lord, help me. It's hard to let go of the stuff that weighs me down. Being in slavery to things, the feeling that my stuff was what I had to cling to growing up, is not necessary anymore. And the feeling that only "serious" things are important. I want to make a playroom for my kids down there. And for me.