I’ll be back

after the baby is born.

a reason

Jen at Conversion Diary wants to know if you’re ready to give a reason for the hope that is in you when someone actually asks.

Grandma

My grandfather was a cruel, violent, bad-tempered, unpredictable, near-genius of a man who has left his mark on his children.  Six out of seven of them have had failed marriages; at least three have suffered from mental illness; four or five have struggled with (and perhaps still struggle with) substance abuse and other addictions.  

At the time of his death, he and my grandmother were sort of separated – he lived upstairs in their one-family house and she and the children still at home lived downstairs.  I remember my aunts being terrified that he would come storming down during one of his rages.  To my knowledge he never did.

My grandmother felt trapped.  She had several young children, no high school diploma and no marketable skills that she could see.  She continued to live in her husband’s home in part because she had no where else to go but also because of a binding tie.  She continued to be as much of a wife to him as she could be:  she brought him meals, gave him medicine, cared for him when he was ill.  She was afraid of him, felt guilt for not being able to protect her children better, and still showed him compassion.  

She has told me that when he died, her primary emotion was relief.  She has had nightmares about him coming back from the grave to yell at her for changing things in the house.   Yet, she also feels some regret for not recognizing his mental illness and for not trying harder to get him help.  Part of that, I suppose is unnecessary guilt on her part and a kind of coulda-shoulda-woulda feeling that if only she had done xyz differently, he would have been better.  Maybe that’s a part of battered wife syndrome – I don’t know.  But she also just has a way of thinking better of people than they deserve.  Having often been the recipient of her undeserved favor, I try not to judge her too harshly for this “flaw.”  

For a few minutes a few days ago I could not remember my own telephone number yet the number that has not rung at my grandmother’s house in about twenty years came to me easily and unbidden.   My grandma turned seventy-nine this year. 

I’m not sure what else to say about all this.  It wanted to come out.  I feel like it’s unfinished though I’m sure I’ve said it before.  I’m just not sure this is anything but the beginning of the story.  I don’t know how it ends.

minute by minute grace

It’s one thing to pray for forgiveness and restoration after a fall; it is harder to stay in prayer when things are going well.  I want to lean on the Lord at all times, to rely on Him for the grace I need to keep walking.  Minute by minute I want to acknowledge Him in everything, knowing that without Him I can do nothing.  Everything I have is grace:  every breath, every new day, every dirty dish, every trial, every tear, everything.  Most often I try to walk on my own, fail, flounder, HIDE, repent, ask forgiveness and quickly try to stand in my own strength again.  

Leigh Ann wrote this about wilderness times and leaning on God through all.  

bloglines and naked ladies

I sent bloglines a message letting them know that I’m not happy about the mostly naked woman advertising a particular issue of a particular magazine.  It disgusts me that I have to quickly shut my computer if my kids walk into the room and I don’t personally like the come hither look she’s giving me either.  So, you know I received no reply from bloglines.  Anyone able to inform me of the alternatives so I can can stop using this service?

housework and husband

Well, work has been pretty good lately.  Feeling productive the past few days:  the laundry is caught up, I’m finally finishing a sewing project I started about five years ago, been de-cluttering the basement.  I’ve actually gone back to using one of these calendars/chore lists.  I don’t know why I ever gave it up.  I probably didn’t want to spend the eight bucks because I’m cheap like that, but it has really been worth it – both last year and this.  It has every chore on it that I can think of; daily, weekly and less often.  

I made the decision to order this year’s version after my completely rational husband and I had an argument about toilet paper and I said to myself ala Scarlet O’Hara, “I will never forget t.p. again!”

 

My husband thinks my newly (re)found productivity is due to spring finally springing… he’s probably happier not knowing about my Scarlett/toilet paper/I’ll show him/chore list operation.

If you like stories about people’s marital conflicts you would have loved the fight I picked about the length of my nails.  Basically, John doesn’t give a fig how I wear my nails (or hair or makeup or clothes) but I insist that he must give me opinions, so he’s taken to making them up.  He later confesses to the fakery just to toy with me.  I guess I know why my kids are stinkers.

He is risen!

God has a sense of humor

It’s snowing.

growing kids and vegetables

Jack is nearly through with the Sing, Spell, Read and Write pre-K curriculum.  He’s learned a lot this year, but I’m not sure it had anything to do with formal schooling.  We took a lot of breaks and there were weeks when we did no schooling at all except for reading, which I don’t count because it’s too much fun and is spread out during the day.  I was tempted to feel guilty about not being more consistent, but seriously, he’s four, and he’s doing fine.  He speaks well, has a delightful imagination, loves to “read” and be read to, makes artwork  and has ideas and questions that inspire me.  He teaches and explains things to his younger brother and wants to know how the baby in my belly is going to get out.  (Yes, we told him.)  Right now he’s making spears out of Tinker Toys.  We make time for cooking together, reading together, digging in the dirt, listening to music, playing with dough and scissors, glue and paper.  And we talk a lot.  He’s been helping me plant seeds for my square foot garden and keeps Harry from digging in it.  Among his “school” skills, he knows his letters, sounds and numerals.  He spontaneously adds things in his head just for fun.  

We’ve had more rain than sun for the past three weeks.  When I complained that the seeds I’d planted outdoors hadn’t sprouted yet, my husband asked in all sincerity, “Have you been watering?”  The other morning as it was pouring heavily, I joked to him that I was going out to water my garden.  Without missing a beat, he offered me the use of his umbrella.  He’s crazy but I love him.  

Hubby made me these two nice boxes from which the birds have been taking my beans and pea plants just as they germinate.  At least the radishes, lettuce and spinach seem to be growing unmolested.  Indoors, I’ve got some tomatoes, basil, pumpkins and cucumbers.  Jack planted some apple seeds yesterday and we wonder if they’ll grow and what we’ll do with them if they do.  

Harry is finally starting to talk – in sentences.  One of his latest is “Go way!” often yelled at a cat that is doing something it shouldn’t.  He is a great bear of a boy who climbs and falls and gets up for a kiss and then does it again.  I’m worried he won’t have any teeth if he keeps it up.  A few months ago he would see me sit in my spot on the couch and he’d crawl in my lap to nurse.  Now, before I even get to my spot on the couch, he brings me a book and says, “reeeed peas”  with a big, cheesy grin.  Then he says, “Mo reeeed peas, Mama.”  I’m in love.

When Mama Bears Attack

We went to the playground today.  A boy about five years old waited until Harry, not quite two, had walked past him and then gave him a shove hard enough to knock him down.  I said, “Excuse me!  Please don’t push my baby!”  Well, you would have thought I’d set the boy on fire the way parents (who were previously engaged in NOT minding their children) came running; breaking it up as if it were a fist fight and not even making their child apologize.  Unbelievable.  I’d been watching this kid on the playground because he was aggressive and bully-ish to begin with.  I guess I should send my kids to public school to make them as mean as the rest of the kids in the park.  I’m sorry, but I am mad.  I teach my kids to be gentle with little ones.  I teach them to give way when someone cuts in line.  I teach them to share and to take turns.  I watch them closely.  But I am ready to teach my kids to kickbox.  I am definitely considering teaching Jack that if someone hits him, to turn the other cheek, but if someone hurts someone smaller and weaker, he should put their lights out.