Thank thee for my family.
Thank thee for my good day.
Please bless that I can love everyone.
Please bless that everyone can be modest.
Please bless that Mikey will like playing with me better than playing his video games.
Please bless that Jesus can always be our King.
amen.
...I love sincerity in prayer...
Monday, September 21, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
finding joy
Long drives demand music variety. Which is how a hand-me-down John Denver CD ended up in the mix. And, days later I’m still thinking of the words to a not-so-familiar JD tune:
Joy was just a thing that he was raised on.
Love was just the way to live and die.
These words have me thinking about the role of JOY in the lives of my children; thinking of what I can do to make our day-to-day more joyful. So, even though it isn’t even close to New Years, a resolution I have made: find more JOY; find a way to make the work and the errands and the cleaning and the learning and the together time more full of joy.
Suggestions?
Joy was just a thing that he was raised on.
Love was just the way to live and die.
These words have me thinking about the role of JOY in the lives of my children; thinking of what I can do to make our day-to-day more joyful. So, even though it isn’t even close to New Years, a resolution I have made: find more JOY; find a way to make the work and the errands and the cleaning and the learning and the together time more full of joy.
Suggestions?
Monday, August 17, 2009
Monday, July 27, 2009
Table Manners
My siblings and I had a funny habit of singing at the dinner table. It is probably a genetic trait from my Mo-Tab mom, who upon hearing practically any word in the English language can come up with a song to go with it. Although, she’s not entirely to blame. My dad is a closet musician. He can play a mean guitar, harmonize with the radio and even lay a tune (or twelve) on the piano.
One evening, as dinnertime rolled around, the stereo was blasting the Les Miserables soundtrack. The music must have still been ‘in our souls’ because after we sat down to eat, someone bellowed out, “Red” from the song “Red and Black.” Dad instinctively sang, “The blood of angry men.” The volley continued, all of us singing the ‘reds’ and ‘blacks’ and Dad chiming in for the main lines.
Black
The dark of ages past
Red
The world about to dawn
Black
The night that ends at laaaaaaast!
We all joined in and held the last, triumphant note. Glory, in the dining room. {uh-huh} And, even more embarrassing because, I’m pretty sure, someone had a friend over for dinner. But, I can’t, for my life, remember who it was sitting at the table in utter confusion at our shenanigans.
It might come as a surprise, then, to know that at one point Dad declared a ban on singing at the table. A new rule. An absurd rule. A rule most families wouldn’t even THINK of creating. It must have been an out-of-your-mind moment for Dad, but the rule was made, nonetheless. Followed? Well, that’s a question for another day.
I’ve been thinking of this family rule lately, because I’ve got a not-so-closet musician in my house. She’s full of song, day and night, and lately has had a hard time getting any dinner eaten because it interrupts the ‘performance’ at hand. It is cute and infuriating all at the same time. Especially if the milk gets spilled during some hand action associated with the current lyric. I’m starting to understand the wisdom in applying a no-singing-at-the-table rule.
Dang, I hate it when Dad is right!
One evening, as dinnertime rolled around, the stereo was blasting the Les Miserables soundtrack. The music must have still been ‘in our souls’ because after we sat down to eat, someone bellowed out, “Red” from the song “Red and Black.” Dad instinctively sang, “The blood of angry men.” The volley continued, all of us singing the ‘reds’ and ‘blacks’ and Dad chiming in for the main lines.
Black
The dark of ages past
Red
The world about to dawn
Black
The night that ends at laaaaaaast!
We all joined in and held the last, triumphant note. Glory, in the dining room. {uh-huh} And, even more embarrassing because, I’m pretty sure, someone had a friend over for dinner. But, I can’t, for my life, remember who it was sitting at the table in utter confusion at our shenanigans.
It might come as a surprise, then, to know that at one point Dad declared a ban on singing at the table. A new rule. An absurd rule. A rule most families wouldn’t even THINK of creating. It must have been an out-of-your-mind moment for Dad, but the rule was made, nonetheless. Followed? Well, that’s a question for another day.
I’ve been thinking of this family rule lately, because I’ve got a not-so-closet musician in my house. She’s full of song, day and night, and lately has had a hard time getting any dinner eaten because it interrupts the ‘performance’ at hand. It is cute and infuriating all at the same time. Especially if the milk gets spilled during some hand action associated with the current lyric. I’m starting to understand the wisdom in applying a no-singing-at-the-table rule.
Dang, I hate it when Dad is right!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Images
I've been 'home' for a few weeks, rediscovering the old and noticing what's new; immersing my kids in their roots. Dal and Kate are at the age where they can grasp the concept of the progression of life and are interested in how things used to be when Mom was little. We've looked at old photos, played with old toys and talked about things as they were when I lived here.
While visiting Grandma Great, Kate found a picture of my mom in her early twenty's: long, straight hippy hair, full cheeks and lips, dark brown eyes. She insisted it was Mommy in that picture (what a compliment!). It took a lot of convincing for her to believe it was Gram.
***
The other day, as I zipped down the hall, I glanced in a mirror as I passed. The image jolted me to a stop. The mirror was angled in such a way that I could see my reflection and, at the same time, see the reflection of my wedding photo hanging on the wall behind me. Eyes darting back and forth, I noted new forehead wrinkles and longer hair, same crooked teeth and smile. Me then. Me now.
***
I pulled an album off the shelf labeled "1982-1988." Dad didn't take so many pictures back then. With kids on either side, I laid the book on my lap and we slowly flipped pages, looking. My kids wondered at the different clothes and funny hair. Reactions included, "I see Maryn's face!" or "That looks just like Kate!" "Is that really Grammy? She looks very different!" And, as I closed the back cover, "Mom, those pictures were from a long time ago, huh?"
***
Later, as we were loading up in the car, Kate jumped in the van. I buckled in Baby. And, before I could get in my own seat, Kate put her face close to her backseat window and called to me through the glass. I put my face up to the outside of the window to hear what she had to say. Her smile greeted mine as I strained to see beyond the tinted glass. If I moved my eyes just right, I could see in; see her. If I gazed a different way, I saw my own reflection. Two images, in overlay. A glimpse, a shadow, of then and now.
***
It has been fortuitous but heart-breaking that my trip home was this month. 86-year-old Grandma fell soon after we arrived, and over the past two weeks her physical condition has improved, but her mental capacities have wavered. She isn't the same woman I've adored and admired and have tried, for a lifetime, to emulate. She is old and confused; unaware; weepy; void of expression. I haven't seen her laugh lately. When I look at her eyes, they often look through me or away from mine. I'm afraid we are losing her. But, I'm more afraid that my warm and sunny memories of her will be overrun by these new cold, gray images. Images of a woman I don't know; eyes I don't recognized; a voice devoid of Grandma.
***
After the kids grew tired of old photos and stories of "back then," I pulled down one more album: "1976-1981." I fingered pages until I found what I was looking for. Fall 1977. Young and skinny twins hold up chubby baby girls, posing in front of a Washington, DC memorial. Me and Jodi. "Twin" cousins, first born babes. We were on a trip to meet Grandma and Grandpa: missionaries in DC and lonely for family. I gazed at a snapshot of Grandma and me. Her eyes were bright, her smile contagious. She was young and active, fun and energetic. I'm sure I loved her instantly. This is the image I want to keep. This smile. These eyes. This Grandma.
Maybe if I look closely at her now, I can overlay this long-ago image and see the woman that she really is.
While visiting Grandma Great, Kate found a picture of my mom in her early twenty's: long, straight hippy hair, full cheeks and lips, dark brown eyes. She insisted it was Mommy in that picture (what a compliment!). It took a lot of convincing for her to believe it was Gram.
***
The other day, as I zipped down the hall, I glanced in a mirror as I passed. The image jolted me to a stop. The mirror was angled in such a way that I could see my reflection and, at the same time, see the reflection of my wedding photo hanging on the wall behind me. Eyes darting back and forth, I noted new forehead wrinkles and longer hair, same crooked teeth and smile. Me then. Me now.
***
I pulled an album off the shelf labeled "1982-1988." Dad didn't take so many pictures back then. With kids on either side, I laid the book on my lap and we slowly flipped pages, looking. My kids wondered at the different clothes and funny hair. Reactions included, "I see Maryn's face!" or "That looks just like Kate!" "Is that really Grammy? She looks very different!" And, as I closed the back cover, "Mom, those pictures were from a long time ago, huh?"
***
Later, as we were loading up in the car, Kate jumped in the van. I buckled in Baby. And, before I could get in my own seat, Kate put her face close to her backseat window and called to me through the glass. I put my face up to the outside of the window to hear what she had to say. Her smile greeted mine as I strained to see beyond the tinted glass. If I moved my eyes just right, I could see in; see her. If I gazed a different way, I saw my own reflection. Two images, in overlay. A glimpse, a shadow, of then and now.
***
It has been fortuitous but heart-breaking that my trip home was this month. 86-year-old Grandma fell soon after we arrived, and over the past two weeks her physical condition has improved, but her mental capacities have wavered. She isn't the same woman I've adored and admired and have tried, for a lifetime, to emulate. She is old and confused; unaware; weepy; void of expression. I haven't seen her laugh lately. When I look at her eyes, they often look through me or away from mine. I'm afraid we are losing her. But, I'm more afraid that my warm and sunny memories of her will be overrun by these new cold, gray images. Images of a woman I don't know; eyes I don't recognized; a voice devoid of Grandma.
***
After the kids grew tired of old photos and stories of "back then," I pulled down one more album: "1976-1981." I fingered pages until I found what I was looking for. Fall 1977. Young and skinny twins hold up chubby baby girls, posing in front of a Washington, DC memorial. Me and Jodi. "Twin" cousins, first born babes. We were on a trip to meet Grandma and Grandpa: missionaries in DC and lonely for family. I gazed at a snapshot of Grandma and me. Her eyes were bright, her smile contagious. She was young and active, fun and energetic. I'm sure I loved her instantly. This is the image I want to keep. This smile. These eyes. This Grandma.
Maybe if I look closely at her now, I can overlay this long-ago image and see the woman that she really is.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
an extra mile
We scooted into a booth for a quick Pei Wei dinner in Golden, Colorado. My children and I were hot and hungry after a day of museum-going and site seeing with grandparents. I had just finished a twelve day stint of scout-camp-induced single motherhood, and although I didn't have a husband home yet, I had the next best thing: Grammy and Papa! And, now I had a full tummy and a fortune cookie in hand. I cracked it open and laughed out loud as I read:
"The love of your life will unexpectedly appear before your eyes."
"Wouldn't that be hilarious if Chad really showed up somewhere?" I said to my parents. Even though we'd tried our best to make our summer schedule jive, it ended up that Chad had scout camp and I was heading to Utah with my parents, and we weren't going to see each other for a whole month! Like ships passing in the night, I left home on Monday and he was coming home Tuesday. "We can talk on the phone once he's back in town," I'd consoled myself. Unsuccessfully.
After our dinner, we dropped Grammy and Papa off to go to a concert and the kids and I settled in for some hotel swimming and bedtime. Then, the phone rang. Chad! I answered and said, "Are you at your base camp? Did you manage to get a cell phone connection?" His answer: "No, I'm home! Where are you?" A few directions and a speedy 60 minute ride later, Dal and Kate were running in jammies through the foyer of the Holiday Inn with Daddy's open arms in sight!
Sweet reunion!
I couldn't stop the smile or the tears. Together is where we belong.
I sent a text to my dad while he was at the concert: "Don't underestimate the power of the cookie." Fortune cookie or not, I feel 'fortune'ate to have had the "love of my life unexpectedly appear before my eyes" and know he's mine forevermore!
Post Script: The "unexpected appearances" didn't stop at the Holiday Inn. Chad also made a surprise visit to Utah for the 4th of July weekend, catching up with us at Bear Lake! What a guy!
"The love of your life will unexpectedly appear before your eyes."
"Wouldn't that be hilarious if Chad really showed up somewhere?" I said to my parents. Even though we'd tried our best to make our summer schedule jive, it ended up that Chad had scout camp and I was heading to Utah with my parents, and we weren't going to see each other for a whole month! Like ships passing in the night, I left home on Monday and he was coming home Tuesday. "We can talk on the phone once he's back in town," I'd consoled myself. Unsuccessfully.
After our dinner, we dropped Grammy and Papa off to go to a concert and the kids and I settled in for some hotel swimming and bedtime. Then, the phone rang. Chad! I answered and said, "Are you at your base camp? Did you manage to get a cell phone connection?" His answer: "No, I'm home! Where are you?" A few directions and a speedy 60 minute ride later, Dal and Kate were running in jammies through the foyer of the Holiday Inn with Daddy's open arms in sight!
Sweet reunion!
I couldn't stop the smile or the tears. Together is where we belong.
I sent a text to my dad while he was at the concert: "Don't underestimate the power of the cookie." Fortune cookie or not, I feel 'fortune'ate to have had the "love of my life unexpectedly appear before my eyes" and know he's mine forevermore!
Post Script: The "unexpected appearances" didn't stop at the Holiday Inn. Chad also made a surprise visit to Utah for the 4th of July weekend, catching up with us at Bear Lake! What a guy!
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