First Night

Yesterday was another gorgeous spring day here (sorry, Ann-Marie). Thursdays are always busy for us because Lucy swims in the morning, then we rush home, eat lunch, and head off to school. I had tons of things to do--the usual: lots of laundry, clean the house, work some more on the two bedrooms--but since it was so nice, after school I decided to teach the girls how to play hopscotch instead. I've sort of forgotten how myself; I just remember that there are boxes, and you toss a rock, and you hop, so we improvised. (The beauty of it being neither of them had ever even heard of hopscotch.) Lucy did really well at it, and what Elaine lacked, she made up for in enthusiasm. She especially liked the part where she could throw rocks. Then she would hop around the patio at random. She finally grabbed a piece of chalk and settled down to draw awhile.

Then, because they were still playing out back and I don't like them to be outside and out of my sight, instead of working on cleaning I stayed in the kitchen and made some apple bread. So even though I didn't get things done that I needed to, I played outside with my girls, and our house smelled delicious inside. I think those are the kinds of things they'll remember more, so I'm not too worried about it.

Later on when they were inside, I did start work again on the upstairs bedrooms. I finally got all of the books organized (in our house, that is a big job), and lots of things put away. Darren came upstairs and checked in, so I asked him to help me move the changing table out (we haven't used it as a changing table in ages. It sits there, collecting dust and random toys) and the dresser over. That motivated him to go up to the attic, bring down Elaine's twin bed, and set it up. Both girls were so excited: Lucy kept saying, "My room is all different! I can't wait until Elaine moves in! Can she sleep here tonight?" and Elaine just bounced around, getting in all of our way. We said, no, let's wait until the weekend (we thought we might try a nap as a trial run in the new bed), but somehow for better or worse, Elaine slept in her new big girl bed last night.

They were too excited, both of them, to settle down at first, but they finally went to sleep listening to "Betsy-Tacy" on CD. I left for work at 5:30 this morning and never heard a peep from either of them all night. I can't believe it. It all happened so fast I've hardly had time to be sad about it, though deep down inside I am trying not to think about the fact that I will never have a baby in a crib again.

Darren is thinking he might like the furniture arranged a different way, and I still need to hang both of their quilts, so I should have pictures by Monday. I'll also have pictures of the guestroom, which is a total disaster right now. I'm going to keep it that way for pictures, kind of like they do in extreme makeovers, so when it's done the contrast will be startling (hopefully).

Happy weekend!

The Great Clean-up 2008

Something about Spring makes most people want to clean, I guess. It's so nice when you can finally throw open the windows and let fresh air in. I got the May issue of Martha Stewart Living yesterday, and it was all about color and rearranging your rooms for the Spring/Summer season. In the spirit of that, we'll be moving Elaine into Lucy's room this weekend. Into a big girl bed. We're still keeping the crib up for a little while in her current room so we can see how it goes.

When we put Lucy in a big girl bed for the first time (she was the same age Elaine is now), we set her in it (she couldn't climb up on it herself), she laid down and said, "I go night-night now," and that was it. Up until last year, I would hear her call every morning, "Mom? Can I get out of my bed now?" Somehow we're not expecting a repeat of this experience with this one, fondly known as Pistol-Packin' Polly.

So I've been cleaning out Lucy's room to prepare for another little person. I went through all the books on the bookshelf yesterday to box up ones we never read (I got two large boxes full). We need room for more advanced books for Lucy and all of Elaine's favorites (that currently reside on the floor of the guestroom).

When I saw my dad this week, I called him up to the guestroom and said, "How hard will it be to remove this wallpaper?" "Terrible," he said. "I'll do it. Just let me know when to come over." (I had a conversation with some friends last night about what exactly I'll bring to the table when my kids are grown up since my parents do all this stuff for me now!)

We're not the only ones cleaning. Over the winter, some squirrels decided that the soffits underneath our eaves would make them a wonderful condo. We've spent months being woken by them scrabbling around in there. Last weekend, Darren and his dad gave them their eviction notice. Darren boarded up the opening where they were getting in. Somehow...they didn't take it very well.

I wanted them dealt with completely humanely and painlessly, but hello. That varmint is chewing up my roof. Let's see...I'm holding my mortgage and home equity in one hand and this pesky squirrel in another. Sorry, St. Francis. His time is drawing nigh.

Lastly, Elaine herself is in a cleaning mood. The other day she came in my room and gave me a handful of wet jewelry. "I wash it for you, Mom!" she said happily. I have a tendency when I take off my jewelry to leave it on the windowsill in the bathroom. I guess she's gotten tired of just washing her hands and My Little Pony's hair and moved on to a necklace and some earrings. I made a mental note to stop leaving jewelry on the windowsill. I guess it's a hard habit to break because the other evening I came into the bathroom as she was washing at the sink (she was about to take a bath. It's very important to wash our hands first.) I happened to glance into the sink and saw my wedding ring circling the drain.

I'll be back soon with all sorts of "before" pictures of the girls' rooms. Then I'll take some "during" ones and (hopefully soon) "after" ones. I know you just can't wait...

A Baffling Day

Something startling and unexpected happened yesterday. I spent five dollars and twenty-two cents at Target. $5.22. That's it. I went in to Target on my lunch hour because we're almost out of baby wipes (I of course buy the soft, scented Target brand). And I bought them. And they cost $5.22 including tax.

I've never done that before. I seem to make numerous Target runs per week, and each time I drive into the parking lot that big red bulls-eye makes my heart beat a little faster. Then I get in the door and smell the delicious Target smell--a combination of fresh popcorn and merchandise made in China--and I fall into that wonderful Target-induced fugue state in which I just meant to buy a birthday card and maybe some wrapping paper, and I end up spending $89.54.

Because....look! Or even, behold!! There are things like this. And this. And this! And there's also this, which I have my eye on for when we redo the guestroom. There is also the $1 spot, where I've probably spent more money than in any other department. Make no mistake--Target's dollar section is earning them big bucks. At least once a year, it is filled with Asian-themed merchandise, which I am compelled to buy by the bagful. And don't even get me started on their house brand of food products, Archer Farm. If anyone is wondering, the vanilla scones are out of this world. My dad, who makes scones from scratch, wanted my recipe when he tasted them.

Before Elaine was even two, whenever we would even drive by our local one, she would look out the window and say, "Tawget." It made this mother's heart so proud. When I eventually finalize (read: pay for) my will that's sitting out there at Legal Zoom, I plan on adding a codicil that states: if I die while grocery shopping, my family and friends must first move my body to the nearest Target because I do not want the ignominy of dying at Super Wal-Mart.

I don't know what went wrong yesterday. The whole store was bursting with spring merchandise. And all I could come up with was a package of baby wipes. It's never happened before, so I hope I haven't truly lost my lovin' feelings or anything like that. It had to just have been an off day.

After work I picked Elaine up from daycare. She was sitting in a circle with the other kids and her teacher, Ms. Sylvia, in the back of the room. She never saw me come in, so I sat down and watched her for awhile. She had a Baby Bop book of colors and shapes and was reading it to the rest of the class.

It is a long drive home for us, but she usually doesn't start complaining about it until around 3/4 of the way there. She had a Frog and Toad book (that's her new thing) and was reading that in her carseat most of the way.

She is also a backseat driver. This must be inherent in some people, because none of the rest of us are this way. She would read her book, then look up and comment, "Be careful, Mom," and then, "Both hands." (I hate driving with both hands.) I would surreptitiously slip one hand off after a little while and hear again, "Both hands, Mom." I haven't gotten this much feedback on my driving since Coach Fenton in Drivers' Ed. when I was in 10th grade.

We also love to listen to music of course, but Elaine will say, "It's too loud, Mom." Now, if she didn't look so much like us, I would think there was some mix-up at the hospital because what child of mine would EVER think the music was too loud? Possibly she has some inner ear disorder. I should look into that.

I checked to see if the moon was full last night--maybe that could explain the bizarre Target experience and my daughter who prefers soft music. But it wasn't. So I dunno. Any ideas?

A Tea Party and Other Things

This weekend was the Ladies' Spring Tea at church. I was asked to help with the planning and execution of it. I don't go out very much, especially not in the evening, but this week I was out three nights: two for the tea and one for dinner with a friend. I feel like I spend so much time with the girls and they are always in my thoughts, so it kind of surprises me when they attach themselves to my leg as I am going out the door and wail, as if I'm one of those mothers who appears on Dr. Phil because I keep going to raves and taking Ecstasy or something while the children forage for food at home and fold all the laundry. (Not that I know really anything about Dr. Phil and his show. That's just conjecture.) But I managed to get out all three nights with a minimum of scarring to either of their psyches.

Darren went a very long way in helping with that. On Friday night when I left to make cookies and favors for the tea, the three of them were busily making pizza. Later he told me that he let them climb up in one of the wing chairs in the living room, eat pizza and ice cream sandwiches, and watch "The Waltons" on DVD. I think they went to bed about 2 1/2 hours after their regular bedtime. I'm surprised they don't want me to go out every night!

Saturday was the tea party. The food and tea were delicious. We had some cold drinks too--someone brought homemade lemonade (very good), and I said I would bring raspberry cordial (like Anne and Diana Barry had in "Anne of Green Gables." I also threatened to "accidentally" bring current wine like Anne served and Diana got drunk on). There was a special table for just the little girls--there were three of them--they had pigs-in-a-blanket, peanut butter and honey tea sandwiches, and their own tea set.

On the center of each of the "grown-up" tables was a straw hat, some ribbons, and rose petals. Our assignment as a table during the tea was to decorate the hat with whatever was on the table or in our purses. Then the little girls would model the hats and choose their favorite. After that we had a speaker, Janet Pauley, who spoke on the Lord's Prayer.

Lucy and I went to the tea and had a great time together. Elaine loves tea (and food) but is still a little young for that kind of event. So, Darren came through again. He and she had a Daddy-Daughter day: they had lunch at McDonald's (her favorite) and went over to Farm-n-Fleet to ride on the tractors (also her favorite). (She's a big-time Daddy's girl!)

So...a full weekend for all of us! Here are some pictures...


Homemade pizza...



Couch potatoes...


A portion of the main tea table...


An individual table with the famous Kathi "Mrs. Pope"--Lucy's beloved Sunday School teacher and babysitter (in blue)



The little girls' table...



Modelling the hats...


Conferring among the judges...



Mama and her girls...

P.S. A big thank-you to Becky (the lady in red who was the arbiter of the hat judging) who planned and organized the tea. It was beautiful!

A Letter

If you haven't checked Audrey Caroline's site in the last few days, you must read this.

Siblings

I never had a sister, just an older brother. I sometimes thought I might like to have a little sister (I never really wanted a big sister), but it wasn't an overwhelming thought or anything. My brother was (is) cool. We're two years apart, and we walked to school together, took swimming lessons together, went trick-or-treating together, went up in our rooms and talked about how unreasonable our parents were together...the usual. I guess in all sibling relationships, the older one is bossy and superior and the younger one is the pest, so...guess which one I was. I would trail after my brother and his friends because what they were doing was so much more interesting than anything I was doing, and they would tell me to run along, they didn't want any Girl Scout cookies today, guffaw loudly to each other, and I would go in my room and cry. So, you know, a totally healthy, normal brother-sister relationship.

It's very similar with my girls but more intense. It is so much fun to watch all the love between them. Each day when Lucy gets up, I hear Elaine yell from her crib, "Luuuuuuucccy! Luuuucccy [insert our last name here]!!" like there was some other Lucy in the house and she wanted to make sure she gets the right one. Then Lucy will run in her room, and she climbs in the crib with her, and they jump up and down, pretending it is a bouncy castle. (This is the only bed I'll allow them to jump on, so they make the most of it.) Then I get them dressed for the day, and Lucy tells Elaine, "You look just darling, Elaine!" and Elaine says, "You're cute, Luce!" We go down to breakfast and I usually have to referee who gets to pray first, but then they hold hands and sing, "God Our Father" and each say a prayer (like Elaine's yesterday, "Dear Jesus, thank you for this apple bread, Amen" to which Lucy adds, sotto voce, "Even though it's banana bread, Amen."

When I pick Elaine up from daycare, the first thing she usually says is, "Wanna go see Lucy. Where's Dad?" She loves to ride along when I take Lucy to school. As for Lucy, she's been learning the verse, "My dear children, love one another not in word or in tongue, but in truth and in deed" (which is actually kind of hard to learn!), but I've been trying to catch her in the act of doing loving things for Elaine and making a big deal of it, telling her she's loving in truth and in deed, so she's catching on and wanting to live that way more and more. The other day when Elaine melted down about something, Lucy ran and got her (very cool) homemade alphabet flashcards and showed them all to her, even letting her touch them (very sacred).

But the older-younger sister dynamic is still there. This week in particular, since we've been indoors so much, all the antagonistic behavior has been basically festering in the Petrii dish of our house. No matter how many times I try to go over the ideal of, if someone's toy or doll is lying there innocently, it's still courteous to ask the owner, "Do you mind if I take a turn with this? Then I'll give it back" before just picking it up (such as the Hello Kitty phone that I recently found down between the seats in our car. Since its rediscovery, it is a precious, sought-after item). Lucy is really only fair to middling at this, and Elaine is frankly terrible. She's sort of your essential two-year-old and lives by the Teddy-Roosevelt-walk-softly-and-carry-a-big-stick philosophy of sharing. As Lucy said to her yesterday, "Elaine, I try and try to be kind to you. But sometimes you're just wicked. And rude." (Which...wouldn't you totally love to be able to say that to some people in your life? I know I would.)

The whole bickering-sharp scream-crying-running feet-"Mom, Elaine hit me!" "Lucy did it!"-lather, rinse, repeat cycle we've been on this week has really been wearing on me. And the funny thing is, their worst fear and punishment is to be away from each other. All I have to say is, "Do you two need to be separated?" and they straighten up immediately (for a few moments).

I know this is absolutely nothing unusual. And actually, their love for each other outweighs their fighting by far. But I would say they have a typical sister relationship. I read in a book on creative discipline about a mom who, when her two pre-teen daughters were fighting yet again, finally said, "All this fighting is definitely NOT music to my ears. I want both of you to go in the bathroom and don't come out again until you've put your fight to music. Then come and sing it to me."

That is absolutely brilliant. I (almost) can't wait to try it when the girls get older. I can't wait to see what they would come up with. I'm guessing some sort of symphony with several movements and at least one intermission.

In Case Anyone Was Doubting Me About the Rain...

And there are "heavy rains" predicted for this evening. As opposed to the light ones we've been having...

A Rainy Day

I woke up this morning thinking, "T. S. Eliot was right. April really is the cruelest month." It's cold and gray and rainy here. AGAIN. That immediately put a damper on my spirits as did the fact that the girls were up at 6:30 a.m. and ready to bicker over some doll clothes. And bicker over Cinderella underwear (which is funny since only one of them even wears underwear). And bicker over magic markers. Are you seeing a theme here?

I came downstairs to check the paper online (usually the news is so depressing to me that I just skip to the 7-day weather forecast. Which is also depressing right now.) Then I checked some of my favorite blogs and came across this post from Alysa at Little Things in Life. I laughed and laughed--definitely one of those "It's funny because it's true" things.

Sometimes I read this parenting guy, John Rosemond, and I certainly don't agree with all he says, but he's got some good advice. But one thing he said made me almost throw his book in the garbage and it was that today's parents are such whiners about how parenthood is hard. It's not hard at all! Yeah, I'm guessing he didn't let his wife proof that copy before it went to the publisher.

Parenthood is hard. Not only is it hard labor physically, it tests every single area of your life. You thought you were patient? (Well, I never did, but some people might have.) Not anymore. Alysa wrote about the frustration of her daughter insisting on tying her shoes even though they were late for school, and I felt like screaming out loud with impatience just reading it. Hypothetically, of course I want my children to learn all their skills and be independent. But every time I hear "My do it MYSELF!" or "Mom, I can do it, I promise I can" I just feel like groaning because I know we're going to be here for ages. It's like, not only are they putting on their shoes and socks, they're doing it underwater. Using chopsticks. While I shift from one foot to the other thinking, HURRY UP. GET IT DONE.

In addition to taking care of the children, there are all the mundane tasks around our house. Cleaning the bathroom. Changing the sheets. Sweeping the kitchen floor 782 times a day. My personal nemesis, laundry. It is NEVER done.

I was a missions major at Moody Bible Institute. Specifically, urban ministries. I served as a voluntary staff member at an inner city church. Several days a week I went into one of the worst ghettos in Chicago and served--co-running a tutoring program, teaching Sunday School and children's clubs, mentoring high school students--even though it could get very discouraging there, it was a fantastic, challenging, life-changing experience. I have a heart for stuff like that. Right now, I'd love to go to South Africa and work at God's Golden Acre. I'd love to go to Russia and Ukraine, working with adoption agencies. I'd love to go to China and do...whatever. Sign me up.

What I would not like to do is go fold my laundry and referee bickering. Yet oddly enough, right now that is what I am called to do. Sometimes I think, "Where's my ministry? How am I going to get that 'Well done, good and faithful servant' if I'm not really doing anything important?" Then I am brought up short by a quote I have memorized from this: "Look around the breakfast table. There's your ministry."

There is a book I go to again and again for help and encouragement. It's called "Stepping Heavenward" by Elizabeth Prentiss. It's a journal that was written in the 1800s and covers the life of a woman from her 16th birthday until she is near death in her 40s. I can hardly believe it was written that long ago because each time I read it, I think I wrote it myself this morning. She writes of the grueling work of being a wife and mother and keeper of a house, all while "stepping heavenward." One of my favorite parts is near the end, where she makes an astonishing discovery.

"Instead of fancying that our ordinary daily work was one thing and our religion quite another thing, we would transform our acts of drudgery into acts of worship...'I only wish I had understood this years ago,' I said, 'I have made prayer too much of a luxury and have often inwardly chafed and fretted when the care of my children made it utterly impossible to leave them for private devotion. I have reasoned this way: Here is a special demand on my patience, and I am naturally impatient. I must have time to go away and entreat the Lord to equip me for this conflict. But I see now that the simple act of cheerful acceptance of the duty imposed and the solace and support withdrawn would have united me more fully to Christ than the highest enjoyment of His presence in prayer could."

More than anything, I want to put this into practice. It is hard. I want to do exciting things for Jesus, not some of the cruddy junk He's given me to do. But I have to take a look at myself and wonder why I want to do those exciting things. For me? So I feel good? So I get some glory? So I feel I have accomplished something?

Here's my earnest desire: when I am frustrated with my children, I pray for the grace to speak loving words to them and show them the right way to act. When I am faced with all the chores and responsibilities that are unappealing to me, I want the grace to think, "As much as I love these people around me, my family, I'm not living for them. I'm living for You. If washing this floor brings You glory, then that's how I'm going to wash it!"

So yeah, this is a rainy day. We're stuck indoors. In fact, I've got to stop writing soon because I hear some screaming upstairs. Then I need to clean my kitchen. And I think 3/4 of our clothes are lying on the laundry room floor, waiting to be folded. But I've been listening to this great song, and I think I'll sing it while I'm working:

Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings You glory
And I know there'll be days when this life gives me pain
But if that's what it takes to praise You:
Jesus, bring the rain

It Is Well

I feel like I need to put some sort of disclaimer onto this post. I'm so thankful and frankly amazed that people take time out of their day to read anything I've written, so I certainly don't want to hurt or offend anyone if I say something that is contrary to an idea they may hold dear. But when all is said and done, at the end of the day, I'm writing this blog as a journal for my daughters so they'll have a written record of who they were as children, who I am as their mom, and some of the important things I want them to know.

That being said, I spent most of yesterday thinking about and praying for the Smith family and the delivery of their baby, Audrey Caroline. She was born at 4:30 in the afternoon, was loved on by her parents and family, and died at 6:45 p.m.

Two things really stood out to me yesterday. One was that even though I read a story in the Tribune about yet another Christian acting the fool and the accompanying bad press it brought, and the posturing and arrogance on the theological blogs I read sometimes were still alive and well, there was a little corner of the world where total strangers gathered around via the Internet and cried and prayed for a family and a baby who got to spend only 2 hours and 15 minutes in this world. I read all of the Smith's blog updates throughout the day, and I got chills reading all the comments: "Praying in MD" "Praying in England" "On my knees in Indiana" "Crying and praying in TN" "Praying for you all the way in Iraq" and on and on, hundreds of them. Then when Audrey was born--oh, the bittersweet joy and all the comments praising God for her loveliness and the few moments God allowed her parents to love on her. I just kept thinking, "THIS is how Christians should be."

The other thing that stood out to me (and here's the part where it might get touchy) is that some people say things they probably shouldn't when someone dies. Believe me, I'm sympathetic to it because it's the rare person who really knows what to say. But it seems when death occurs, sometimes people have some very erroneous theology they use for comfort. Many, many people commented on Audrey's total healing (which we praise God for). Many, many people commented that Audrey is now with Jesus (a praise that is so great it almost cannot be articulated--though I often hesitate to voice it to a grieving mother since frankly I think the mother would much prefer her baby to be safe with her). But many people also said things like, "God needed a little red-haired angel tonight" or "God wanted another angel in heaven." That is unbearably sad to me (and also biblically inconsistent with the personage and work of angels). The thought that our loving Heavenly Father would somehow take some mother and father's child because He "needed" a new angel (to add to the myriads of myriads at His disposal)...well, that just breaks my heart.

The truth is that suffering is a constant in this world, and sometimes it is a mystery. Some suffering we'll never understand until heaven. I certainly can't understand the death of a dearly loved little child. I can't make sense of it, can't wrap my head or heart around a reason for that kind of pain and agony.

One of Selah's signature songs is the hymn "It is Well." It's on three of their albums, and they sing it in each of their concerts. If you're not familiar with the hymn or the story behind it, it was written by a lawyer named Horatio Spafford. He and his wife, Anna, lived in Chicago in the mid-1800s. Their 4-year-old son died from scarlet fever. Then many of Spafford's business interests were burned in the Chicago Fire. Deciding that the family needed rest and vacation, Spafford sent his wife and four daughters, ages 18 months to 12 years, to England. He would follow them later. During the voyage, the ship Anna Spafford and her daughters were on collided with another. It sunk in 12 minutes, killing 226 people. Horatio received a telegram from Anna with two words: "Saved alone."

Horatio sailed from America to England to be with his wife. During the voyage, the captain came and got him, telling him that they were then passing over the area where the ship had sunk and his precious daughters' lives were claimed. Horatio Spafford went to his cabin and wrote the words to a hymn that has comforted untold thousands of grieving people since: "When peace like a river attendeth my way / when sorrow like sea billows roll / whatever my lot / Thou hast taught me to say / It is well with my soul."

The great mystery of suffering is that God can redeem suffering and use it for His glory and our good. We will still bear the scars of it, but in our greatest pain and darkest night, we can still praise Him for who He is.

While I was driving home from work yesterday, Angie Smith was delivering Audrey. As a fellow mother and sojourner on Earth, I was crying and praying for her, suffering alongside her. I felt an overwhelming need to not just be silent but to actually vocalize something to God. At that time, I was listening to Selah's "Hiding Place" album, and the song "All My Praise" came on. I lifted up my voice and sang through the tears. You can go to Audrey's site, Bring the Rain, scroll down to the music section on the lefthand side, double-click on "All My Praise," and hear Audrey's daddy sing it for yourself. This pretty much says it all.

All My Praise

I will follow You through green pastures
and sing hallelujah to Your name
I will follow you through dark disaster
and sing hallelujah through the pain

Even in the shadow of death,
I will praise You
Even in the valley I will say:

Holy, my God,
You are worthy of all my praise

You are seated on your throne in heaven
And You see all of us down here
You have promised You will not abandon
So I shall not fear

Even in the shadow of death
I will praise You
Even in the valley I will say:

Holy, my God,
You are worthy of all my praise

You made every star
And You taught it how to shine
You knew my name before there was time
Oh, this is just part of Your glorious design!
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Holy, my God
You are worthy of all my praise

4:7

Please pray for this dear family today. Wow.

And one more thing...

If you would like a really, really good laugh this Friday, here's one.

Busted

Here's something I've noticed as my children move from babies and toddlers to pre-schoolers (oh, don't even get me started. I finally took the bumpers out of Elaine's crib yesterday as a way of easing myself into the fact that she'll be in a regular bed soon--and also because they needed washing--and almost burst into tears). They're much more astute and aware of what's going on. That may seem obvious, but when they're babies you can just sort of live life like you always have (with the exception of getting any sleep). You can eat what you want, watch what you want, whatever.

Not any more.

The other night, Lucy got out of bed for some reason (very rare). She came downstairs to the living room where Darren and I were eating dinner and watching NCIS. (Which, in my humble opinion and even surpassing House, is the greatest show on TV. It fulfills almost all of my personal TV needs. It is funny and has quick dialog. There's a murder every week. There's no character I really dislike. And it adheres to my #1 TV rule: it has Mark Harmon in it.) So Lucy saw us sprawled there and demanded disapprovingly, "WHAT are you guys watching? And WHY does it have guns in it?"

Then the other day on the way to church she piped up from the backseat, "Uh, Mom? I can smell that you have jellybeans in your mouth up there. Can we have some too?"

You can't really get anything past Elaine either. When Darren went out of town a few weeks ago, he brought the girls back a big sugar cookie decorated like an Easter egg for each of them. He got home on Sunday night right as they were getting into bed, so he let them look at the cookies but explained that they couldn't eat them until tomorrow. That went over OK with Lucy, but not Elaine. She cried herself to sleep that night. In the morning I got her up at 5:15 since that's the day she goes to daycare. Usually she greets me or asks where Lucy is or talks about seeing her teacher at school. But that day the first thing out of her mouth was, "I want my cookie now."

Even the classic parent-kid diversion tactic is waning on her. You know the one I'm talking about--where they're just not taking no for an answer and you're too tired for a fight but you're still not giving in so you say, "Hey, look! There's a squirrel in the backyard!" just to get them to forget about it. I do this in the car too when they're holding one of the many things they've brought along (sidenote: this drives me CRAZY. Apparently the 51st Airborne Division can jump out of a plane and land in a field with a backpack and a gun, but our family needs two Strawberry Shortcake DVDs, some crayons, a baggie of Cheerios, 14 Polly Pockets and their clothes and shoes, Rabbie, and a sippy cup just to go to Logli). Anyway, they invariably drop or lose one of their precious items on the way and start wailing about it, and I just say "Listen to this great song! Let's sing!" or "Hey, maybe you can ride in that green car when you get to the store!"

Now that I think about it, it is sort of insulting. Like, if I lost something really important to me in the car such as my contact or a peanut M&M or something and I tried to get Darren to help me and all he said was, "Oh! Look at all the balloons at the Ford dealer!" But...you gotta do what you gotta do.

He and I are planning our first no-kid vacation since October 2002 (not that I'm keeping a record or anything). Nothing super adventurous, just Door County, our favorite vacation spot, with or without kids. Before Lucy was born, we always stayed at this beautiful place (which has a No Children policy). I highly recommend it. This time though, we're planning to stay here. We've been debating back and forth, do we want to go in April or May? May because the weather will be nicer and it's our anniversary, April because it costs less and it's NOW.

Last night Darren was upstairs, and I left the girls eating their supper and sneaked up to talk to him. And rest. I curled up in a ball on the bed and said, "Maybe they just won't find me." A few minutes later I heard footsteps thumping up the stairs, the door creaking open, and "Mom? What are you doing up here? Why are you sleeping? Wake up!" and "Mom. Mommy. Up." Darren got them organized to take their bath and get ready for bed after that and through the din I heard him call down the hall, "Get Churchill Inn on the phone. Tell them we'll take both April and May."

Edited to add: I read over this blog entry a little bit later. And you know what's pathetic? That last paragraph is EXACTLY how I treat my mom. Still. I go over to her house and hunt her down until she stops whatever she's doing and pays attention to me. So I guess the moral of this little story is: Payback's a trip.

Overheard: Song from the Crib

"Jingle bells, jingle bells, for the Bible tells me so!"

Photo Evidence of Why I Became a Parent

This morning I had one of my occasional little forays into the adult world (outside of work). No, not a gallery opening or a spa day (a quick note here: must be getting tired this afternoon. I first typed "spa day" as "spay day." Definitely not. Then I typed it as "spy day." Certainly more appealing, but still wrong.) Anyway, I had a doctor appointment. For the last several months, I've been experiencing a lot of dizziness, headaches, and (abnormal) fatigue. I have annual labwork I have to have done anyway, so I thought I'd go to my internist for a consultation too. I didn't really mind because I like my internist, and also I get to ride 75 miles in the car all by myself. Oh wait, but first before I left, I remembered that today was Lucy's teacher's birthday, and the kids were all supposed to bring homemade cards. Of course we had no construction paper, so I did my best glueing typing paper and wrapping paper together. It was a thing of beauty; a joy to behold.

I took my old car to the doctor, which I sort of fool myself into thinking is cooller than my mom-mobile I usually drive because it is a stick shift and goes fast but really isn't because it's six years old, has two carseats in the back, and hasn't been cleaned out since the beginning of winter so it's more of a dumpster on wheels. Nevertheless, the stereo works wonderfully well, and I drove along on this beautiful spring day, listening to Chicago and singing "You're the Inspiration" at the top of my lungs (at this point, nine of my readers are scratching their puzzled heads, but I better get an "amen" from Alysa).

I get to the doctor's office, tell him all my symptoms, and say that I've looked it up on WebMD and diagnosed myself with MS but I thought I'd get his professional opinion while I'm here. One of the reasons I heart him is because he didn't immediately ask, "Do you think you might be pregnant?" If he had, I would have taken my hypothetical pistol out of my purse and dropped him right there. But he didn't. He asked me a lot of other questions and did a bunch of looking around and fun tests like pushing me backwards on the table and turning my head really fast. Then he told me that in his professional opinion I don't have MS or a brain tumour, but I do have something called "benign positional vertigo." As far as I can tell, that's fancy doctor-talk for being dizzy a lot. But he gave me a prescription if I have a sudden attack (I'm going to start calling them "spells" instead of attacks. That sounds more Victorian. I plan on having the vapours sometime too).

Then he said that if it gets markedly worse in the next couple of weeks, he'll do an MRI. I said I definitely do not want an MRI because I watch House, and if I get an MRI either my head will burst open in the back, I will bleed from my eyeballs, or the intense weight of my body will destroy the MRI machine. So, take your tube of doom away from me, Dr. Blonsky. He said he didn't watch House, but he did like the idea of taking a lot of Vicodin and then coming to work, which made me laugh. And then made me feel a little uneasy. After that, an 11-year-old Asian boy drew my blood, and I went happily on my way.

This afternoon (if you're wondering if I'll ever get to the point of the title of this post), Elaine and I went to the Spring Buzz at Lucy's school. These kinds of days are, as my mom always says, my reward. The kids acted out Eric Carle's The Hungry Caterpillar and sang some bug songs and Resurrection songs.

There. Isn't that the cutest bug you've ever seen? I would totally let her hang out in my bathroom anytime with all the other ladybugs.

April Fool's

This is the first year we've really been all over the April Fool's thing. This morning Lucy told my mom there was a big scary monkey in the dining room. She told Darren that there was a wild turkey out in the front yard. She told me there was peanut butter and honey all over the kitchen floor (and this is an April Fool's...how?)

I tried to get her to play a (nice) trick on Mrs. Hogan, but she told me, "I don't think I should do that. That would be disrespectful to my teacher." I guess I'll just have to wait until Elaine gets to pre-school. I know she'd be up for it. I'm guessing there'd be Palmolive involved too.

For supper, we got to eat ice cream first and drank milk that apparently came from a blue cow. Then there were green caterpillars to eat as well.

(Please ignore the disaster on the counter behind her.)

(A caterpillar with a bite out of it...)

Darren wanted to call his parents and have the girls play a trick on them. He was standing in the kitchen, deciding what they should say. The first suggestion was that we're moving away. Then he said, "I know what they can say--'We're having a little brother!'"

Me: "Don't. even. go. there."

A Recent Quote Collection

The setup: Praying before breakfast

Me: Whose turn is it to pray first?

Both: Me, me!

Me: I heard Elaine's voice first. OK, Elaine, you pray.

Elaine: Dear Jesus...Lucy, don't eat your stuff.

Lucy: I'm not eating anything!

Elaine: Dear Jesus...Lucy's eating yogurt, Mom.

Lucy: Mom, I promise, I'm not.

Me: Elaine, just go ahead and pray.

Elaine: Dear Jesus, thank you for my stuff. Thank you for my yogurt. Amen.

----
The setup: Getting Lucy all dressed up for a party. When she's all done, I like to say, "Ohhhh! You look so lovely!"

Lucy: Mom, when I'm all done, could you please not gasp? I like when you say I look nice, but I don't like the part where you gasp. It really concerns me when you do that.

----
The setup: The breakfast table. Elaine is a grouch, as she usually is on Tuesday mornings.

Elaine: Want more. (She says "want" like "mont." Now Darren and I do it all the time too.)

(ignoring silence from the rest of us)

Elaine: More. More cereal. This (pointing at box of cereal).

My mom: You need to put a little pizzazz and manners into that request, Lady Jane. (I love my mom.)

Elaine: Mont more! (That wasn't really the pizzazz we were looking for.)

My mom: How about "More honey Chex, please?"

Elaine: (stony silence)

My mom: I think you can do it! I think you can say, "More honey Chex, please!"

Elaine (continued stony silence)

My mom: Can you say just one word--'please'?

Elaine (in soft little voice): Just one word, please.

A Good Measure

When I was a little girl, I loved to bake with my mom. She would let me sift flour and carefully crack eggs and add vanilla. One of my favorite parts was when we put brown sugar in a recipe. Mom taught me that you couldn't just scoop up brown sugar and dump it in, you had to pack it down into the measuring cup--that way you could get a lot more in. At some point in time, she taught me the verse, "Give and it shall be given to you; a good measure pressed down and running over into your lap." She explained that if we give our little bit to God--our money or time or talent--that His return to us will be so great; it's like that brown sugar, packed down until it's spilling out over the cup.

This weekend was a pretty typical one--busy, lots of stuff going on, lots of responsibility for me--but nothing unusual for probably any ordinary mom. I had a lot of errands to run after work on Friday, and I've got a number of books in my "queue"--both to read and some to review. In fact on Friday night I wanted Darren to take a picture of me because, while I usually have two or three books I'm reading at any given time, that night I was sitting in bed with one book open on my lap and another in my hands, reading both of them.

Saturday morning I got up and got Lucy ready for a birthday party at 10. It was a dress-up party, so here she is:

While she was gone, Elaine and I went to a greenhouse to get a gift certificate for my dad whose birthday is the 30th. He and my mom were coming over at 1:00. Then my mom and I were going to a play. (It was fantastic--a lost Agatha Christie play called "A Daughter's A Daughter," and I think it is the first time it has ever been performed.) Before they came, I had to give the house at least a rudimentary cleaning since it was a disaster (I don't know how it got that way. It was just immaculate for Easter.) By the time Elaine and I got home, it was time for me to pick up Lucy from the party (which was about 1/2 a block away). I ran over and stayed for maybe 10 or 15 minutes.

We walked in the back door, and two things registered with me instantly. One was that it smelled really good, as if someone had just cleaned the kitchen. The other was that Lucy ran in the dining room and demanded, "What's Elaine doing in the naughty chair?" I walked in the kitchen and saw Darren standing there, trying to figure out what to do for Elaine had taken the opportunity in my absence to decorate the kitchen with 3/4 of a bottle of Palmolive. This is her, telling me she's sorry. You can see she is filled with remorse (note the Palmolive on her outfit).

I eventually got all of the downstairs straightened up and just gave up on the upstairs and closed all the doors. My mom and I left for the play, and I spent the ride (after accidentally running through a red light) chattering away to her about the morning and how I hadn't wrapped Dad's present yet, and my work, and oh, I had made the ice cream pies for dessert but I hadn't gotten any of the topping on, and the books I was reading, and also how I needed to make something for the church potluck tomorrow and on and on. When Lucy does this kind of thing to me, I call it "4-year-old stream of consciousness." When I do it to my mom, I prefer to think of it as Joycean, but really? it's just 38-year-old stream of consciousness.

When we got out of the car and were walking across the parking lot, my mom said to me, half laughing and half serious, "Honey? Do you think you have too much of a life? I used to worry about you because you might not have had enough of one, but now I think you might have too much life!"

Then we laughed and laughed.

I thought about it though throughout the day. She's right. I do have too much of a life. Most days I feel like I'm barely keeping my head above water. I am a person who loves quiet and serenity and peace and order. I need a lot of time to myself in order to read and just think about ideas and just be. I'm an introvert. But now my life is filled with disorder and multi-tasking and running and crisis control (case in point: this afternoon Elaine wanted to go upstairs and see Daddy who was taking a nap. The next thing I knew, I heard piercing screams. She had fallen off the bed and cut the corner of her eye and hit the back of her head--now she has a big knot that matches Lucy's).

As I was thinking of my too-much life, I remembered how it used to be. The days I had all the peace and quiet and order I could ever want, and what I really wanted was a baby of my own. I didn't know if I could or would ever have one. The hard times I have spent either searching for a job or working at a job I hate. The two years we spent here after we moved completely alone and not knowing anyone, never meeting people and not having a church or friends.

I tried as much as I could to give what I had, my hopes and dreams and wishes, to Him. And this is what He has given me--more than I can hold, brown sugar packed down to keep fitting more into the cup. Yes, sometimes it IS a too-much life. But I am loving this life, all of it, as it spills over into my lap.

Hypothetically Speaking

Here is a "conversation" (aka argument) that I hear almost every day as of late.

"Lucy, I play de piano. You play de organ."

"I don't want to play the organ. I want to play the piano."

"No, you play organ."

"But I don't want to! I really want the piano."

(outraged screech) "Play organ, Lucy!"

"Moooommmm, Elaine says I have to play the organ, but I want to play the piano."

"Will the two of you just relax? You can both play the piano."

"But she's telling me I can't."

"Lucy, she's 2. I said you can both play the piano. Elaine, you need to simmer down."

"Elaine, I'm playing the piano too BECAUSE MOM SAID SO."

"OK, Lucy. You can play piano. Me too. Mom, you play de organ."

"All right. I'll play the organ, you both play the piano, and we'll all sing."

And the argument is lost in the happy noise of instruments and voices.

Wait. Did I mention that the location of these arguments is our car? And that we own neither a piano nor an organ? And that the instruments we are referring to are, in fact, the girls' laps and the car steering wheel?

*swoon*

I'm sitting here checking my email and reading the Tribune. Lucy's in the living room watching Curious George because, when I took her to urgent care last night for the big lump on the back of her head she got from falling on the ceramic tile floor, the doctor discovered she has strep throat (her head is fine). There is basically no food in the house--grocery shopping is on the agenda today. Consequently, Elaine had mandarin oranges and teddy grahams for breakfast. She watched me at my computer, got down from her own chair, climbed up on mine, and plopped down beside me.

She looked up at me with her great big grin (and dimples) and said (oh so casually in between munches, sort of like the Fonz), "Hey, Mama. I love you!"

It Is (Technically) Spring!

It really doesn't get much better than this. I'm sitting here at my kitchen island, drinking a cup of Earl Grey, and listening to these guys while the girls play outside. Did you hear that? While the girls play outside! It's sunny and kind of cold, but it's supposed to hit the exalted high of 55 today.

Because I spent last week blogging about Easter, I skipped over the first day of Spring. That morning though when the girls woke up I told them that something mysterious had happened. I had gone down to the kitchen, and apparently a visitor had come and left something for them. It was the Spring Bunny, and this is what they found at each of their places at the table.

(This is actually a picture of Darren's breakfast. Because what man doesn't need to start the day with a pink-frosted bunny cinnamon roll?)

The Spring Bunny also left them each a package of flower seeds to plant. (This was the day before the blizzard we got.) Maybe someday I'll have pictures to post of full-grown, flowering sweet peas. Hopefully they'll be more successful than the pumpkin we tried to grow (in a styrofoam cup) last Fall.

Here are my little spring bunnies:

Yesterday was the first day they really got to play outside. They came back in about 30 minutes later with streaming noses and a sand bucket full of their treasures, including dead raggedy pinecones (which are now "decorating" the kitchen table. That is a mother's love, for sure.) and pieces of concrete from our rapidly disintegrating patio (I drew the line at those in the house).

This morning the first thing they wanted to do was go back out again. This time they took their babies out for an airing as well.

They're back inside now because Shelley (one of the dolls) has fallen, hurt her knee, and "blood is gushing out." I'm in charge of triage.

Happy Spring!

A Great New Habit

The other night while the girls were getting ready for bed, we were hanging out in Elaine's room (oh and a little blog preview: this is soon to be Elaine's room no more. We're hopefully transitioning her to Lucy's room this week, so henceforth it will be known as Lucy and Elaine's room. Then we're going to redo her room into a guestroom. There will be tales of wallpaper removal! Paint chips! Choices of bed linens! Before and after pictures! Oh, the blogging possibilities are endless....) As I said, we were hanging out in Elaine's room, and Lucy sat down in Elaine's Maisy chair.

"Get out of my chair," Elaine demanded.

Lucy walked out of the room without another word, in search of her nightly Tic-Tac.

[A note of explanation: Lucy sucks her thumb. She always has. I'm sure she did it in utero. The majority of infant pictures I have of her she has her thumb in her mouth. I've never made a big deal about it, until lately our dentist has been giving us dire warnings. Now we're working on breaking this habit, and I can put all the blame squarely in Dr. Sullivan's lap so I don't look like a mean mom. When we first started talking about it together she told me, "But Mom, I need something to suck on. Can I have a Lifesaver instead?" So we settled on a Tic-Tac because they're sugarless (aren't they?), and I'm not worried about her choking on them. The success rate has been dubious so far because she faithfully sucks on the Tic-Tac, then when I check on her later at night, she's fast asleep with her thumb planted firmly in her mouth.]

Anyway, after Elaine said that, I told her, "Elaine, that was very rude. Your sister shares all kinds of things with you. You need to apologize to her." When Lucy came back in the room, Elaine said (kind of casually), "Sorry, Luce." Lucy said sweetly, "I forgive you," and then gave her one of her precious Tic-Tacs.

She turned to me and said, "Mama, while I was in my room I heard God say to me, 'You really should forgive Elaine. And then you should show her mercy,' so I gave her one of my Tic-Tacs!"

I looked at that little girl with her huge brown eyes, standing there in her fuzzy pajamas dispensing forgiveness, mercy, and Tic-Tacs, and I just had to give her the biggest hug.

I love her so.

Easter Weekend Pictures

Watching March Madness.....

Spring in the Midwest...

Decorating Easter eggs...

All dressed up for Resurrection Sunday!

Happy Easter!

(from "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe")

At that moment they heard from behind them a loud noise--a great cracking, deafening noise as if a giant had broken a giant's plate. "What's that?" said Lucy, clutching Susan's arm. "I--I feel afraid to turn around," said Susan, "Something awful is happening."

"They're doing something worse to Him," said Lucy. "Come on!" And she turned, pulling Susan round with her. The rising of the sun had made everything look so different--all colors and shadows were changed--that for a moment they didn't see the important thing. Then they did.

The Stone Table was broken into two pieces by a great crack that ran down it from end to end, and there was no Aslan. "Oh, oh, oh!" cried the two girls, rushing back to the Table. "Oh, it's too bad," sobbed Lucy, "they might have left the body alone."

"Who's done it?" cried Susan. "What does it mean? Is it more magic?"

"Yes!" said a great voice behind their backs. "It is more magic."

They looked round. There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.

"Oh, you're real, you're real! Oh, Aslan!" cried Lucy, and both girls flung themselves upon him and covered him with kisses.
-----

(from "Rainbow Garden")

The church was overflowing with people and full of Easter flowers. The Communion Table was a mass of huge daffodil trumpets, white blossom, and tulips, and the choir and congregation rose to their feet and sang as only the Welsh can sing: "Jesus Christ is risen today, Alleluia!"

Then Mr. Owen read the story of the Resurrection and how the Angel of the Lord came down and opened the tomb in raiment white as snow, and I thought of the Lord Jesus coming forth, no doubt in shining robes to match the Angel. To walk close to Him in the path of life, sharing His fullness of joy, one would need to be very clean and pure too. Janet was right; nothing dirty or soiling could stay near that radiance.

We rose again to sing the second hymn. Peter in the choir had a solo part in this one, and his voice, clear and unbroken, seemed to soar right to the roof:

Jesus lives! For us He died!

Then alone to Jesus living,

Pure in heart may we abide,

Glory to our Saviour giving,

Alleluia!

----

After that, I guess I don't have much to add except the words of the angel: "He is not here; He is risen! Why do you look for the living among the dead?!"

He is risen! He is risen indeed!

Good Friday

This year, since Easter is so early (the earliest it's been since 1817 my mother-in-law told me) it may be the first year ever I don't attend church on Good Friday. I hope that doesn't happen, but there's a winter storm warning, and 8-9 inches of snow is headed our way. A white Easter!

If indeed we are able to go to church, it will be similar to probably many services around the country and the world. There will be a processional with the cross. We will sing Good Friday hymns. There will be the lighting of the candles. We will read through the crucifixion account. We will take Communion. The bell will toll thirty-three times, for Jesus' life here on Earth. Tears will be shed. The candles will be extinguished. The cross will be draped in black as well as the communion table covered in black. We will all exit the church in total darkness and complete silence.

(from "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe")

A howl and a gibber of dismay went up from the creatures when they first saw the great Lion pacing towards them, and for a moment the Witch herself seemed to be struck with fear. Then she recovered herself and gave a wild, fierce laugh.

"The fool!" she cried. "The fool has come. Bind him fast."

They rolled the huge Lion round on his back and tied all his four paws together, shouting and cheering as if they had done something brave, though, had the Lion chosen, one of those paws could have been the death of them all.

And they surged round Aslan jeering at him saying things like "How many mice have you caught today, Cat?" Everyone was at him now. Those who had been afraid to come near him even after he was bound began to find their courage, and for a few minutes the two girls could not even see him--so thickly was he surrounded by the whole crowd of creatures kicking him, hitting him, spitting on him, jeering at him.

The Witch bared her arms and began to whet her knife. At last she drew near. She stood by Aslan's head. Her face was working and twitching with passion, but his looked up at the sky, still quiet, neither angry nor afraid, but a little sad. Then, just before she gave the blow, she stooped down and said in a quivering voice, "and now, who has won? Fool, did you think that by all this you would save the human traitor? Now I will kill you instead of him as our pact was and so the Deep Magic will be appeased. But when you are dead what will prevent me from killing him as well? And who will take him out of my hand then? Understand that you have given me Narnia forever, you have lost your own life and you have not saved his. In that knowledge, despair and die."

The children did not see the actual moment of the killing. They couldn't bear to look and had covered their eyes.

----

(from The Jesus Storybook Bible by Sally Lloyd-Jones)

"So you're a king, are you?" the Roman soldiers jeered. "Then you'll need a crown and a robe." They gave Jesus a crown made out of thorns. And put a purple robe on Him. And pretended to bow down to Him. "Your Majesty!" they said. Then they whipped Him. And spat on Him. They didn't understand that this was the Prince of Life, the King of heaven and earth, who had come to rescue them. The soldiers made Him a sign--"Our King"--and nailed it to a wooden cross.

They walked up a hill outside the city. Jesus carried the cross on his back. Jesus had never done anything wrong. But they were going to kill Him the way criminals were killed. They nailed Jesus to the cross. "Father, forgive them," Jesus gasped. "they don't understand what they're doing."

"Papa?" Jesus cried, frantically searching the sky. "Papa? Where are you? Don't leave me!" And for the first time--and the last--when He spoke, nothing happened. Just a horrible, endless silence. God didn't answer. He turned away from his Boy.

Tears rolled down Jesus' face. The face of the One who would wipe away every tear from every eye. Even though it was midday, a dreadful darkness covered the face of the world. The sun could not shine. The earth trembled and quaked. Until it seemed that the whole world would break. That creation itself would tear apart.

The full force of the storm of God's fierce anger at sin was coming down. On his own Son. instead of his people.

Then Jesus shouted out in a loud voice, "It is finished!"

And it was. He had done it. Jesus had rescued the whole world. "Father!" Jesus cried. "I give you my life." And with a great sign He let Himself die.

Jesus' friends gently carried Jesus and laid Him in a new tomb. How could Jesus die? What had gone wrong? What did it mean? They didn't know anything anymore. Except they did know their hearts were breaking.

"That's the end of Jesus," the leaders said. But, just to be sure, they sent strong soldiers to guard the tomb. They hauled a huge stone in front of the door to the tomb. So that no one could get in.

Or out.

-----

Or as James Macdonald says, "Yeah, we'll see about that. Hey, don't read ahead!"

A very, VERY Good Friday to all...

Some Seder Night Pictures...

The Seder platter

The traditional four cups...and a sippy cup

The girls admiring the lamb cake their Manga made...you're not really supposed to eat anything with leaven in it this night, but we suspend that rule for dessert. It's a little perk of being Gentiles, I guess...

The Cup

Food is obviously an important part of the Passover celebration. The girls have been sampling the matzah bread today ("It's too crunchy, Mom. I don't like it."). There is also a lamb shank, a hard-boiled egg, horseradish, haroset (apples and walnuts ground up with wine, representing the mortar and bricks the Israelites made for the Egyptians), and parsley (representing life) dipped in salt water (reminding us that life is filled with tears). There is a good meal of roast chicken, roasted garlic potatoes, sweet carrots, salad, and cake (I'd like to start with matzoh ball soup, but I'm not a real Jewish mama and I don't keep chicken fat in my freezer, so I know I'd be making an inferior product!)

But the most important part of the meal and the ceremony are the various cups of wine (or sparkling grape juice since we have little ones). As in every element of the supper, each cup (four are drunk in all) symbolizes something. The four cups correspond with the four "I WILL" statements God made to the Israelites in Exodus 6: "I WILL bring you out from under the yoke of the Egyptians" is the first, the cup of Sanctification and Freedom. "I WILL free you from being slaves to them" is the second, the cup of Deliverance. (This is sort of fun too, because before you drink it, you get to dip your finger in it ten times and put a drop of wine on your plate each time to represent the ten plagues.)

After the two cups, the supper is eaten. Then the third cup is filled. This is the cup for the prophet Elijah. (In a traditional Seder, no one drinks from this cup.) When this cup is placed on the table, the children run and open the door for Elijah (the girls love that part!) At the end of the meal, everyone looks to see if Elijah has been, if the wine in his cup has gone down a fraction.

I don't know about you, but I never really thought or knew much about the meaning behind the Last Supper. I sort of just assumed that Jesus picked up a piece of bread on the table and a cup of wine and then made the statements about His body and His blood. That's meaning enough in and of itself, right? Not now though, for me. The book of Luke gives us three key words, and they are "After the supper." That is when Jesus picked up the cup. That is when the third cup is always served, the cup set aside for Elijah. Are you ready for what it is? It corresponds to the third I WILL statement: "I WILL redeem you with an outstretched arm and with mighty acts of judgment." It is called the Cup of Redemption. It is this Cup of Redemption that Jesus referred to when He wept in the garden, pleading that this cup pass from Him. But notice what He says afterward, "Not My will, but THY WILL be done." He knows that He must fulfill the I WILL statements made thousands of years before. After He wrestles with that in the garden, nothing more is said. He's ready to go straight to the hill. There He redeemed us with His arms outstretched. The mighty acts of judgment that we deserved were poured out on Him.

(from Rainbow Garden)

“Tell me about it,” said Mr. Owen at last. After I had told him everything, I trailed off miserably. It was all out, and what would happen now I couldn’t imagine, and yet strange to say my heart felt lighter.

“Do you want to hear how sin can be taken right away?” he asked. “It’s all here, written down for you.” I sniffed and nodded. I wanted to know so badly, but I still couldn’t say anything. So he read them aloud slowly, and I leaned against him and read them too—the verses I was to love so much later on, those verses written by an old man whose eyes had actually once seen his Savior hanging on the Cross.

“These things write we unto you, that your joy may be full…if we walk in the light, as He is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin. If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

“What does ‘confess’ mean?” asked Mr. Owen.

“Saying you did it,” I whispered shamefacedly.

“Yes, that’s right,” he answered, “it’s telling God about the sins you can remember and asking Him to take into account all you can’t remember and then believing that He laid them all on the Cross of Jesus and they were all paid for there. And then, because there is nothing between you any more, you can come straight to God and give yourself to Him to obey and serve Him forever. Would you like to do it?”

I nodded again.

“Then tell Him about it now,” said Mr. Owen. “Tell Him what you did, tell Him that you believe that Jesus has died so that it can be forgiven, and then thank Him for making you clean and leading you into the light.” So we closed our eyes, and he prayed out loud and I silently: “Oh, dear Lord, I want to tell you about the shell I stole and the lies I told and all the things I was so afraid and unhappy about. I am coming to You because Jesus died and You promised to forgive. Please wash me whiter than snow and make me Your own little girl. And come into my heart and make me brave and truthful, so that I can put right what I did. For Jesus’ sake, Amen.”

I opened my eyes and looked round half expecting to see some visible Presence standing near. As we walked back to the house, every far peak stood out separate and shining, revealed in the last light, and the clouds were flung like bright banners across the West. “Walking in the light,” I thought to myself, “that’s what it’s like—all gold with nothing hidden,” and I suddenly felt brave and strong and joyful…

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My girls are too young to understand all this yet. They know Jesus as the Good Shepherd. Lucy is just learning that the Good Shepherd actually gave His own life for all the sheep. I love to watch it dawning in her face and her mind. It breaks her heart to hear of His suffering and death. As a parent, I wish I could make all my girls' decisions for them. I wish I could just choose Jesus for them forever, and that they'd never waver. But I can't. It has to be a decision they each make for themselves, individually.

On Thursday night, when I hear Lucy's sweet, childish voice asking Darren the traditional question of the Seder, "Father, why is this night different from other nights?" this is what I will think of: Because He took my place. He got what I deserved. He redeemed me...with an outstretched arm.

The Bread

This Thursday night our family will celebrate with a Christian Seder meal. We've found that this ceremony lends itself to children's participation, and it has great meaning to us adults too. When we started it, I decided to do a little research into it. What I found has changed my life.

During the Seder (which means "order"), four cups of wine are drunk (more on those tomorrow), and several pieces of unleavened bread are eaten. One piece of bread in particular is broken off, wrapped in a cloth napkin, and hidden. This piece is called the afikomen. It stands for the bread saved in their cloaks by the Israelite slaves--it represents servitude and freedom. The bread and wine are eaten and drunk throughout the ceremony, and in the middle a full meal is served. After the meal, the children participating in the Seder search and find the afikomen. After they find it, they are given a little present for it. Then it is broken and drunk with the third cup.

The gospels tell the narrative of Jesus sharing the Passover, which is known to us as The Last Supper, with his disciples. (Bear with me now, something interesting is coming!) Bible scholars believe that it is the afikomen that Jesus broke saying, "This is my body broken for you; do this in remembrance of me." After this Bread of Freedom is taken, nothing else is eaten that evening. Jesus was giving them (and us) a beautiful picture. Through His brokenness, through His servitude, we can be free.

We've had kind of an interesting year as a family. We discovered one of our friends was a pedophile, and we also got sort of involved with a con man (long story, not for this blog!) When I saw the newspaper article about our friend and his subsequent prison sentence, some sort of sick fascination propelled me to view the reader comments' associated with it. (I really don't know why I do this ever. I'm convinced that the reader/commenters on the Tribune are representative of the lowest common denominator of society.) It was so bizarre to read things such as, "Excellent. Another dirtbag white child molestor behind bars" and know that it was referring to someone I know. And when I ended up talking to a State's Attorney representative about the con man we met, she said, "He is a total piece of crap." Then I recently read an article in the paper about a man who murdered his brother for money, in cold blood. (We actually don't know this guy. Yet.) The judge said at his sentencing, "This is no hope for you."

I've been thinking those three people and those statements made about them a lot lately. Now, I am not like them at all. I am a nice mama with a good job who is a responsible member of society. I've had only one speeding ticket and one warning. I pay my taxes, and I don't steal other people's money. I'm kind to my neighbors. I go to church. I certainly don't harm children, and I've never murdered my brother or anybody else. I have (expensive) highlights in my hair, I use Crest whitestrips on my teeth, and I have a master's degree. Why, I'm pretty much your all-around dream citizen. No one would ever call me a "total piece of crap" or a "dirtbag."

But wait a minute. Scratch beneath my nice veneer. You will find someone hopelessly materialistic. Someone who has gossipped and slandered others many times. Someone who has held many grudges and taken offense at countless slights. I've cheated. I've lied. I've cursed. I've lost my temper. I've picked fights with my husband. I've hated. In elementary school, I joined in with the rest of the class as we laughed at poor David Reed, who repeated a grade and still couldn't read. (Something which, I would give all my money in the bank if it would buy me the chance to make amends with him.) I've stood aside many times and watched wrong being done, because I was too cowardly to do the right thing. I've laughed at things and people I should never have laughed at. My list could go on and on. Shame and a sense of self-preservation are preventing me from writing many of my other sins here. There are things I've done that I never want anyone else to know.

And after all that? I can easily hear the verdict being handed down on my own self, "There is no hope for you."

There is really one significant difference between me and those three men. It is this: I have thrown myself on the mercy of the court. I have confessed, broken-hearted, each of these things, all the others unprinted and unprintable, and any others I may have forgotten (I'm sure there are many). I have claimed His broken body as my own righteousness, the righteousness I could never possess on my own. And consequently? I am free. I am forgiven! There is nothing in the English language to convey the sweet grace and weightlessness of those words. I am by no means perfect. But I don't carry that guilt anymore (and by guilt, I don't mean sorrow. The sorrow over what I've done will only be eased when I get to heaven.) Today though--I live in freedom.

I wish I had a chance to say to those men, instead of the indictments that have been (rightly) passed down on them, the words of Isaiah 55 "Come, all who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost. Why spend money on what is not bread, and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to me, and eat what is good, and your soul will delight in the richest of fare." Despite what they have done, they could be forgiven. They, too, could live in freedom because of what He has done.

Thursday night, as my little girls seek and find the afikomen and eagerly claim their gift, as we all partake of the Bread of Freedom broken for us, it is yet another chance for me to be grateful for the indescribable gift He has given me.

Washing Feet and a Sweet Fragrance

I have to double up on posts tonight because I don't plan on being online on Good Friday, and I want to write about each day of this week.

Tonight we'll be reading the story of how Mary broke the expensive jar of perfume over Jesus. Then we'll read about how Jesus washed His disciples' feet before the Last Supper. We'll talk about what this means for us: how our gifts to Him should mean something and be costly to us and how we should be servants to others.

We're going to light a scented candle and smell its sweet fragrance. We're going to take sweet-smelling Easter lilies to some neighbors and maybe some elderly people from church.

(By the way, we'll be reading the stories from this. It's awesome. I highly recommend it.)

As always, when teaching my children, I learn myself. Do I go out of my way to give sacrificially to Him? (For me, this is less about money and more about doing things with which I may be uncomfortable.) When I am doing my jobs, particularly as wife and mom, am I grumbling and seething internally about yet more laundry or dirty dishes or am I emulating the King, who wrapped a towel around His waist, knelt down, and graciously wiped the muck from His students' feet?

As I smell the scent of lilies or as I change that nth diaper, I pray that my life is a sweet act of service.

Cleaning House

For Monday of Holy Week, we talked about Jesus driving the money changers out of the temple. Lucy had never heard that story before, so it took a little explanation. We talked about how the temple was like our own church, and what would happen if some people put a bunch of things to sell around and were mostly interested in making money instead of being in church. We didn't travel down that road of thought for too long, though if she were older we sure could have. It seems not much has changed in some churches since that time so long ago.

What we really talked about though was that church is to be a house of prayer. It's a special place. That's why we wear special clothes, but more importantly we act like it's a house of prayer. We don't run or scream or hang on the furniture or act like wild orangatuans in general (a moment of parental honesty here: this is a venture with which we've had fair to moderate success so far. But we're working on it.)

A corresponding activity that we could have done together but didn't because I didn't get home from work until 6 and then had to grocery shop (I have got to take this whole week as vacation next year for sure) was make soft pretzels together. This is a typical Lenten snack, and the pretzels (if you tilt your head and squint) resemble arms folded in prayer. I thought about having the girls do that with my mom today while she watches them, but my mom does enough for me without me rocking her world with bread dough, boiling water, a 4-year-old, and a 2-year-old. So, maybe next year!

However, in honor of Jesus cleaning the temple, Holy Week is also the time we spring clean our house. We deep clean from top to bottom, including pulling all the slipcovers off the furniture and laundering them, washing the baseboards, etc. (It takes AT LEAST this week, but we'll try to have it all done by Sunday.)

By the end, we'll have a clean house and hopefully a refreshed idea of church. I have to admit that I occasionally forget that--church is a place to worship, sing, listen to sermons, talk to friends, eat (a key component at the Baptist church I've discovered)--but primarily, it is to be a house of prayer.

It Looked Pretty Roomy For a Rabbit...

Shortly before we get to Elaine's daycare center, she and I drive through a residential area (the daycare center itself is in a commercial area. It's next door to a seedy-looking bowling alley and across the road from an establishment that bills itself as "Adult Fun" and another building that looks like a large, gray metal container called "Zebulon Adult Bookshop." Disconcertingly, the parking lot is full there, no matter what time of day we drive by, including 6:45 a.m. But I digress.). Anyway, the residential area is one of those that seems to decorate wildly for any given holiday. So we enjoy looking at giant inflatable turkeys or snowmen or what-have-you, depending on the season.

This morning as we drove through I said, "Let's see if we can see an Easter bunny here. Look out your window!" We drove a couple blocks, but surprisingly, there was nothing. Elaine was looking out the window intently though, and then I heard a hopeful little voice say (as she pointed at one of the identical-to-each-other houses in the subdivision), "Dere's da Easser bunny's house, Mom!"