Broken again

I'd like to think that I'm mature enough in my faith to join with Mary in saying, "Be it done unto me."  That is, that I would accept the gifts God gives as they come, and not desire any other gift or blessings in life than the ones I have been given.  After all, I have been blessed richly with many gifts, including a child-a son!  A healthy, well-behaved, intelligent, polite son.  He brings joy to me and my husband; he is the delight of his grandparents.  He charms the elderly and young alike.   I'd like to think I am content with this, my family, and spend my days rejoicing in the blessings of the Lord.  Most days, I am content.

Still, so many other days, the longing for another child overwhelms me in a flash, and my joy is turned to mourning.  The grief is so deep my stomach caves in on itself, and I am consumed.  I yearn to bear life again, to feel the quickening and eventual weight of a child in my womb, and to memorize the features of a newborn child sleeping in my arms.

Perhaps I ought not be taken by surprise at how quickly a pregnancy announcement or newborn's photo can bring on this sudden change; and yet, I am.  Just when I think I have learned to be content, I find myself desiring more, weeping over my brokeness, and wondering why.

New Tricks

Had you told me three years that I'd be playing the piano for one the services during Holy Week at the church of my husband's first call, I would have laughed.  Three years ago, I didn't have a piano. Three years ago I couldn't play a single hymn. Three years ago, I wasn't able to envision a life without an infant clinging to me.

How things have changed.  Last year, my cousins gave us great-grandma's upright piano.  A few months ago, I started practicing hymns.  Somewhere in all that time, the infant grew up to be a much-less needy preschooler.  So I let him sit with someone else during the service, and I played for Good Friday.  And I'll play again for Sundays.  Maybe once I stop hitting so many wrong notes, I'll even learn to get my feet in the mix and give the organ a go.

Seed catalogues make me drool

In an effort to ignore all the snow I've seen in the last two weeks, I've planted seeds.  132 of them, to be exact.  One seed for each pod of an egg carton.  Mostly marigolds, but also several tomatoes, and a few ground cherries. 

I've also planned my garden plots, ordered (more) seeds, and started thinking about gathering all the recipes for all the canning I'll be doing this summer. 

Next week, I'll be building a trellis for peas, and sowing carrots.  Loads of carrots.

Preschool avarice

During one of his days at preschool, my son was prompted to make a New Year's resolution.  The teacher wrote up each child's resolution on a special paper, and posted it on the bulliten board.  Curious to know what he had said, I spent some time reading the board.  All of the kids decided they wanted to learn something- perhaps tying their shoes, writing their names without help, helping mom and dad with dishes or laundry- all of them, that is, except my son.  He doesn't want to learn anything.  He wants to "read more train books, and buy more things."

Sigh.

Advice from the other side

I met a dear woman at a pancake feed this past Sunday.  I am grateful to her for sharing with me some of the wisdom she had learned from her days of child-rearing.  I would do well to remember it.

"When your children are doing something that makes you want to die, turn your head; you'll feel better."

Indeed, I will feel better.   We all will feel better.

Merely bragging

As much as I'd like to have another kid running around my house, there are some good things about only having the one- such as having the time to work on something so amazingly awesome I'd play with it myself when he wasn't looking.




And I thought the guitar I made was cool.

All of the buildings were hand appliqued, the rest was done on machine.  I even attatched a pocket so when it's rolled up, the cars have a place to be stored.  Of course, there's a train depot, because in this house, trains rule.

I suppose I ought to point out that the gas pumps and car wash (the red strips in the bottom left are the "brushes." They didn't get smoothed down for the picture.), were not my idea.  I found them somewhere (or everywhere) on the great world-wide-web, but I can't determine where they originated.

50 Shades of Weird

Well I've gone and done it.  I took time today to write out preschool objectives for math and language arts, and started drafting lesson plans for next week.  Guess this means I've officially joined yet another "weird" circle- "The Homeschoolers."

Feel free to ignore me next time we're at the grocery store together.