Archive for February, 2011
Art Takes Residence
A torrent of words and sketches
have shacked up in my chest.
Poem them, story them, call them wretches-
If I art them, will they let me rest?
A relentless slideshow and ranting wordsmith
are spinning on my hamster wheel,
they call themselves real and my real job myth.
Pastel them, design them, film them from my head,
Cut them, collage them, glue them last to best.
Can I hope, is it possible, skipping past the dread,
If I art them, do you think they’ll let me rest?
Illustrated by 10 year old Mookie
All in the Timing
“The right word at the right time is like golden apples in silver jewelry.”
My eight year old read this verse aloud from her study of proverbs.
The right word. At the right time.
I remember hearing a similiar sentiment at a marriage conference many years bag and it occurred to me then that to begin a serious talk about a potentially flammable subject with my husband at 11:30 at night, when he was dead tired, lacked wisdom. To be sure, he would enter dreamland peacefully while I stewed into the wee hours of the morning. It was not a time of the day that his heart was open or my heart was listening.
Having scaled back considerably on the witching hour debates, I still foolishly, anxiously, impatiently dribble words out of my mouth at the absolute wrong time.
Often it’s not only the timing, it’s the actual words themselves that sail loosely without an anchor.
I’d like to be so much more careful, stingy, with my words. I pour them out like expired milk, stinking up the place with advice that’s not asked for, complaints or criticism instead of praise, venting that borders on gossip, nagging that makes even me tired of myself.
I’d like to say less and make each word a small sapphire of truth or one sentence a string of pearls bound with encouragement and praise.
And I’d like to know how to hold those pearls patiently until the table is set and the candles lit, rather the burst in when everyone’s bustling around and stressed out over cleaning the house.
Tonight our 10 year old read her chosen proverb of the day,
“…When she speaks she has something worthwhile to say, and she always says it kindly.”
Now that’s a word worth speaking.
My Best Kept Secret
Celebration of Warm Day
Things to Do if You’re a Sassy, Swaying Skirt
Don’t hibernate in the corner of the closet any longer,
It’s time to jump hangers, you deserve it,
you’re a sassy, swaying skirt!
Display your fanciful colors as proudly
as the dandiest peacock.
Tempt her away from those winter jeans.
(they’ve got the blues anyway).
Recline on a picnic blanket, edges grazing the dirt
and who can stop you, you’re a skirt!
Billow comfortably on the couch,
Legs and books loosely crossed.
Encourage a twirl for natural air conditioning,
your person’s calves flash pink, but you can do it
you’re a skirt!
Help her skip a little more than step,
a secret smile, just you and her.
Now, stick around a while.
The Surprising Gift
I stood at the sink rinsing dishes from lunch. Behind me the kids were working on school, a simple project that I had not thought of specifically as an art project. But an hour later they were still drawing, detailing and eventually I had to stop them so we could move on to the next assignment.Jokingly I said, “You guys have to stop liking art so much.”
Mookie, our ten year old, shot back, “Mommy, that would be like telling us we have to stop eating!”
She’s mostly serious. And my delight at this shared passion in our family re-forms itself into thankfulness.
I’ve been noticing the gift of enjoying each other’s company this week. On sunday we were piled in the church service, not like individual dominoes, but more like 5 that had already been tipped with a finger(the baby was in her class, hence, the five). Mr. Darcy and I squished together with a Jellybean leaning on one side of me, a drummer boy piled onto Mr. Darcy lap, and Mookie reaching around her dad to hold my hand.
I’m not trying to create this ingratiatingly sweet picture of perfect family love. The moment came at the end of the week that included yelling(me), crying(some of them), sickness, a baby’s new skill at screaming, and the general challenges that come with six sinful people under one roof. Even as I write this I can hear Mr. Darcy working out a problem amongst the older three, with serious protest from the 8 year old. Which confirms my suspicion that the love that binds our family together has little to do with a problem free life or perfect parenting(as if either even existed).
Regardless of the daily challenges, it seems we really like each other. The kids get me all day and still they complain when I leave the house for an errand or coffee in the evening. On the days that doesn’t drive me crazy, I’m floored that they actually want to spend more time with me.
I think the biggest attributes to this gift have nothing to do with anything we’ve done to earn it. I see God’s hand of design in this thing called family and in the individuals who compose it. And I see His Holy Spirit constantly at work to bring forgiveness and acceptance.
From our end I hope they also feel their own value in our larger group of six. Seriously loved and secure even on the days that go wrong, wrong, wrong.
And this week, like the comment from my daughter at the top, I’ve noticed shared experiences and passions drawing us together.
Usually within a day or two you’ll find us:
Working on an art project(while Mr. Darcy is at work doing his own graphic design art).
Reading, Reading, Reading. Mama reading to kids for school. Kids reading on their own during rest time. Drummer boy reading to us so that he can read on his own. And the baby walking around demanding books to be read that very moment.
Inventing stories. Mama writing them, kids writing and telling them.
Delving into history(which has not always been a shared joy by yours truly, so I suppose we’ve also influenced each other). That’s right, the kids always call for another round of whatever chapter book we’re reading in history, but we’re now that family that watches Documentaries for fun.
Sharing God’s word in the evening. The girls sharing their proverbs study. The boy sharing his devotional. Dad sharing a good missionary read aloud.
I didn’t imagine what my family might be like when I had one of my own. But I don’t think I would have dared to imagine this gift.
This is love made up of holding hands, kisses from the boy, “Oh please stay!” from his sister, “Mommy!” our littlest one names me and rubs my face, and the pans of hot water added to my bath each night from Mr. Darcy.
The Story Served with Humble Pie
With four children, we get four times the personality, the laughter, the unique talents, the joy. We also get four times the germs. A friend once said to me that when one child gets sick, she’s tempted to make all of the kids lick each other so that they all get sick at the same time. I’ll admit I can see the advantages. You can let me know at the end of this story if you think I should have tried that strategy seven days ago.
It’s good that I didn’t get to write this blog post on day one or day three or even day five of the last seven days. I might have seemed smug, “We’ve had sickness before and it was bad, but look how we handle it now.” You would have been annoyed at me during your own snot covered days of survival with sick kids. Now I can tell the whole story, with the last bit of smugness washed away by day five and a half.
It started with the flu.
No let me go back.
It started with winter. That’s another prideful blog post that I might have written a few weeks ago, after the first few unusual bouts of snow. I was a little cocky way back then thinking how much better I was doing then last winter, when the long, bleak days drained all my patience and joy away by early January.
It’s this last stretch, when a few warm days taunt you, and then winter leaves you in the meat locker for another six weeks, that really tests your durability. The walls are smaller, tempers shorter, and the germs are having germ babies.
The setting is bleak winter. Enter the video camera.
The video camera?
The one the I dropped on my foot, which cut through my sock, which left a 3 x 2 bruise and my big toe wouldn’t touch the ground anymore because of the swelling. (Old school video camera, don’t picture a pocket camera.) It hurt, but we were laughing.
Enter the flu for child number 1. The first year in ten years that we hadn’t gotten flu shots. Eyes shiny and sunken, she was sicker than I’d seen her in about 6 years.
Enter the coughing, sick sister without flu symptoms but with a spurting, bloody nose. It was gross, still we laughed.
Mama hobbles around with a toe that won’t touch the ground. School anyone? We homeschool, if you didn’t know this, but at the moment the school teacher was doubling as the school nurse.
Enter the high fever for baby not yet two. Does she have the flu of her oldest sister or the coughy-but non flu symptomatic illness of other sister?
Fever sticks to her like a tongue to a frozen pole for about 3 days, around the clock.
Enter worry and sleep deprivation for Mama and Mr. darcy.
By day 5, the flu is resolving itself, the sun is shining and the big sisters are out playing after the germ-infected blah week. Baby still has the fever. Mama and Mr. Darcy need a serious nap.
“Jellybean’s nose is bleeding everywhere!” the boy rushes into the house. The same nose bleeder from earlier in the week has fallen and smashed her nose on the concrete and there’s a level two nose bleed. Blood on the face, the clothes, the concrete.
Still, after she’s mopped up, we laugh. She goes back into the sun.
Enter the boy, he’s left the perfect day to come inside, “I’m done playing. I’m going to go lay down.” The boy doesn’t ever come inside on a warm day without being coerced.
Mama gets a phone call on her way to the grocery story. “The boy’s temperature is 100.”
Is it the flu? Is it the coughy but non flu-symptomatic illness? Is it the myserious unknown fever of his baby sister?
Then he projectile vomits hard boil egg and accompanying fluids all over himself, his sisters, anything in an eight foot radius. Several times. Are you getting me? Chunks. Flying. Girls screaming.
Since I didn’t have to clean it up-I don’t like egg in it’s natural form much less airborne, I was still able to smile, a little. Mr. Darcy had taken on a slightly traumatized appearance.
An entirely new sickness? After 8 more episodes(thankfully not projectile, and thankfully less egg each time) encompassing the entire night of would be sleep, we’re pretty sure we have a new beast in the mix.
By five that morning, nobody was laughing. I’d stayed up from 3 to 7 without a hint of sleep. The baby still had a fever.
Enter the zombie period. The grocery shopping hadn’t been done. The attempt to vacuum the house that hadn’t been vacuumed in a month was abandoned and the goal was resized to wiping off the door handles with disinfectant.
School planning? If I could do it in my sleep.
Ouch, the baby just stepped on my sore foot.
How did it get to be day seven? Monday. The sun had taunted and left for the week. Mr. Darcy was home from work trying to pull us together for the week. I was in the doctor’s office for two hours to get a two minute swab for strep. I hadn’t mentioned the headaches or sore throat to you, I didn’t want to overwhelm you.
Enter Tuesday. 90% chance of rain. The four different illnesses have left just enough germs to sprinkle a cough and a runny nose to each of them. School is happening by the seat of our pants.
There has been some sleep. There has been some laughter. Some serious yelling. And hopefully some more sleep tonight.
So there’s the whole story. Cocky pride at how well we can handle a round of sickness abandoned on day five.
Oh, I did forget to mention the call to poison control?
disclaimer: truly, the Lord was working and healing and strengthening. this is less a story of complaint, than an invitation to squeeze each other’s shoulders and say, “yeah, i’ve been there.” an invitation to laugh.
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