The (Not Quite) First Bath

Adele's first bath. Except it isn't. The first was in the sink. My hands were full of squirmy, slippery baby and couldn't handle the camera too.

The second was in the tub. She promptly spit up all over herself in the towel.

This is the THIRD bath. It was relatively uneventful. Except that I *still* couldn't hack the camera AND merbaby.

So, technically, it isn't of her BATH-but her "after-bath dry off".

Just close your eyes and pretend with me, that I am super woman with tentacles for arms and that these photos are of her first bath. Imagine the cute sudsy-ness of the bubbles; smell with me the lovely aroma of Johnson and Johnsons, picture the red skin of a perfectly contented baby as warm water soothes her from a super-soft baby washcloth.

On second thought~ don't close your eyes. Because then you can't see the photos, or read the words I write. Just IMAGINE, then.

Just do me a favor and don't imagine this:

Oh yeah. She's mad. Don't imagine a screaming baby. No, no. Because screaming babies just don't exist in blogland (or my home, for that matter.)

Don't imagine a Mama on her hands and knees with a Panda shoving her further and further from the swimming, screaming baby because "Me see, Mama!"

Nope. These things just don't happen in MY home.

Then, put the thought out of your head that said screaming baby would become even MORE angry-and show it. No. Babies love baths. They love the warm water-the sounds, the feelings. After all, they lived in it for 9 months. You'd THINK babies would revert back to the womb-love, their first home. But, Noooooooo...

Babies can't stay mad forever, though. They are relatively easy to please, because they give up pretty easy. After all, they have no control of anything. Imagine that. Being hungry and not being able to do a THING about it? Being cold-and mean "big" people tossing you in a tub whether you gave them permission or not? It's tough being a baby. Really tough.

And God made babies VERY forgiving. Yes Bunkin, I adore you too.

So does your "big boy brudder" who, come to find out posesses the "magic" in his kisses, too.

There now. Aren't you charming, Miss Adele?

I will just pretend you looked this contented and cute the whole blissfully long bathtime. You loved every minute of it. I remember it so clearly. You cooed, and smiled, and thanked me when I was done.

But then again, not quite.

Grandpa Bear

The "PoP PoP" sound of the John Deere has turned into the "crackle pop" sound of a woodstove.

For six years of wedded bliss, I have frozen my patooti off in our home in order to save on expenses in wintertime. For six years, Matt and I have LONGED for woodheat.

But renting, always renting, prevented us from doing anything.

I had hoped that, since moving to a more permanent location and settling in for a LONG (lifetime, Lord willing) stay here, that a woodstove would not only be something to look forward to-but something to get. Right away.

But then~ construction. Unpacking. Trying to keep my head and pocketbook above water, time passing all too quickly~ Matt and I realized that woodheat wouldn't be possible this year. There just wasn't enough time to put up a chimney, find a stove, and (cough, cough) PAY for it before the cold set in.

But then, wonderful Craigslist, found us a cheap stove AND sold Matt's tractor all in the same week.

The money from the tractor was enough to buy the stove AND all the chimney supplies. In cash.

The TIMING was perfect too, Matt was able to devote an entire week to installing the chimney (Which required cutting up through three floors!), getting the stove in working order, and splitting half a seasons worth of wood when he took off the week after Adele's birth.

Of course, it couldn't have been done without the wonderful help of his father. He worked from sun-up to sun-down, nearly every day of the week, right alongside Matt. Matt just couldn't have done it alone.

God provided the time, the money, and the manpower to get the job done-when we had finally let go of the notion.

Amazing, isn't it?

The Lord works all things out so wonderfully well. I don't know why I still get surprised at this, since it has been true my entire lifetime.

The newest daily game is to see just how high I can get that thermostat to read. Perhaps 65 doesn't seem all that grand to some, but considering 58 is what we are accustomed to...65 is incredibly comfortable. And that 65 comes from wood priced only with sweat.

It all happened just in time, too, last night was our first "big snow" and ice storm.

But we are snug and toasty inside.

Matt ran out of vacation time before he ran out of jobs to do; he never got to boxing the chimney in. That will come, no question, but for now I don't mind terribly the fact that our home looks like the set of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Because after all, after six years of pining away~ warm toes and nose tips makes all the difference in the world.

Once upon a time, there was a boy

A boy who enjoyed rebuilding an old stonewall more than partying,
who chose to work on surrounding dairyfarms rather than play football,
who spent his money and his time on tractor pursuits instead of female pursuits.

This boy grew into a man. My own.

When he was in highschool, Matt saved up and bought himself a tractor to restore. Which he worked on in the spare moments that weren't spent in school, earning the honor of Eagle Scout, building a Stone wall, marching in band, and working on dairy farms.

He was a productive little buggar, my Mattie.

He did a good job too. More than a decade later, his green and yellow sheetmetal still shines, a prize trophy of his hardwork those days long ago. But there it sat. Quiet. Cold. Covered with an old sliding barn door. Still.

Matt made the decision to sell it recently. A man decision, not one made by a boy. A boy would still want that trophy-but the man saw more important matters needed tending to. The boy would see the glisten of green and hear the "Pop Pop" of the engine and not want to part with it. The man saw only a lifeless, still piece of equipment.

The man chose to close a chapter in his book and write a new one. He chose to say goodbye to a piece of his past that was still and silent, in order to open up for his family a working, usable future.

He was proud of his decision, and I was incredibly proud of him. But still, it was hard for me to see it go-to see that piece of his childhood drive off to start a new chapter in someone elses' life.

Thankfully, not so for Matt.

Now, what exactly did the selling of his John Deere provide for our future? THAT, my friends, will have to be shared another day.

But it's Big news.
That makes me feel all warm and toasty inside.

(And Matt, too.)

Thank you Mattie, for providing so well for your family.

You bless us with your wisdom and by the strength of your hands.

tasty

Are you sick of baby pictures yet?

I know. I am obsessed. I realize it is a problem, and am trying to get help for it.

Here is a welcome change of pace...food.

I have about 30 pounds to lose---and that is hard work. Way more difficult than say...ignoring the problem and chowing down.

In fact, maybe losing weight isn't the only option. Maybe...there are OTHER, better options. Like say...

Helping the world to GAIN 30 pounds.

Yeah. That is a WAY better solution.

So, here ya go.

Last night I made this Cheddar Sausage Strata. My first Strata experience ever-brought about by the abundant excess of bread I had no idea what to do with.

It was so delicious, and SO easy I am raving about it even today-and am giddy enough to want to share it with you all-even while laundry is waiting to be folded and thank-you notes need to be written.

It is really delicious. And good for you too. Minus the sausage. And bacon. And nearly a dozen eggs worth of cholesterol. And nearly a loaf of carbs.

Oh...but what incredible carbs they were.

In covenant

Adele had a very special day yesterday. The day of her baptism.

As I stood in front of the church, confirming my belief in the promise of the covenant and vowing before witnesses to raise up my child, teaching and training this child in the ways of the Lord,

I felt wholly inadequate to the task.

There is no more transparent a time, though, that allows me to see so clearly that though I fall short... Daily. No, more so...moment by moment... God's grace is sufficient. Adele was His child first, not mine. He has not only a plan for her life, but a way in which to get there.

I pray He will guide and direct my steps, as such a monumental task stands before me.

Someone elses' junk

Like the dress?

I bought it at a yard sale for a quarter.

Yes. 25 cents.

I bought the other three baptismal gowns they had for sale too.

I like the thought that each child will have their own special gown that I can hand over when they are grown, and the thought that maybe someday I will get to see my grandbabies in the outfits their parents wore. Wouldn't that be marvelous?

25 cents may go a very long way...

It should be a crime...

to have

LIPS this

perfect.

in harmony

Previous baptisms have included all our families~aunts and uncles, grandparents, and my Oma and Opa.

It would be irresponsible to ask my Opa to drive down (With Alzheimers, for the good of himself and others on the road, he should have been out of the drivers seat long before this...) and so, for the first time, they were not present. That was a very difficult adjustment for me to make. I felt the void they left behind.

Not only that, but circumstances prevented other family members from attending too. Aunts and Uncles, and even nearly my Mom and Dad.

Matt feels strongly that there is no good reason to postpone baptism and I tend to agree, wholeheartedly. This time, however, it was difficult for me to stand my ground, wanting very badly to postpone it a week so more could share in the day. But Matt was right: what's the difference of postponing a baptism one week versus one month all so that more guests could attend? Baptism, he said, is not ABOUT the guests...it's about Adele. So, he held firm-and I mostly moped.

That is why it was even more meaningful to see my Mother's face on Sunday morning. She had left her brood (minus two) with my Dad, who was unable to come and made the trek all by her lonesome. To a church she had never been to before. To a service that is nearly twice as long as her own. With two children in tow.

As we sat praising God with song, just two chairs away from one another, our voices rang out, the smoke of song sacrifice, wafting and dancing toward the heavens in harmony and I realized how very much it meant to me to be hearing her voice beside me. How very much her presence meant to me. I am forever grateful that you came, Mom, and that you shared in our Adele's special day at a time when I needed it most.

the Papa

So very much has happened this past week and weekend, and I so very much long to share it all.

Yet, tasks more important beckon me as I am am recovering and trying to adjust from a week full of Mattie to no Mattie at all.

Matt took all of last week off in order to use up vacation time without losing it-and I became very spoiled.

Now, I miss him more terribly than ever before and the space which he occupies, now empty, echoes even louder until his return this evening.

I guess today I am especially thankful for my incredibly long to-do lists...they are a good diversion.

When I need it most.

A whole week

This very day a week ago, my life changed. Forever.

About this time, Matt had left me at the hospital to rest while he rounded up our children-and I was able to bask in my new, amazing little one.

I was in my happy place.

A week later, in my own home, on my own bed; surrounded by loves (and laundry!) , I still am.

I don't generally write return comments on my blog unless a specific question is asked, generally because I don't go back and check for return comments on OTHER peoples' blogs and would hate to waste what little time I have on the computer doing something futile. I fear at times, though, that because of this, I don't adequately express my gratitude for the friendships that have been kindled and the thoughtful words poured out on my behalf.

Each kind word uplifts my soul.

Each understanding ear brings me from my own solitude.

Each moment given to me, in typed words or kind gestures, warms my heart.

Each comment is cherished, VALUED.

I appreciate so very much all of you who have shared in my overwhelming joy at the birth of our daughter. The moments you took to write sweet nothings for her (and I) mean so very much to me. I have read, and reread those heartwarming comments often and appreciate all the prayers and joy you have offered up on our behalf.

Thank you for sharing in my life and for sharing in yours as well.

I appreciate you all so very much.

Santa, revealed

A wide-eyed girl, asking pointed questions in the backseat. Trusting, completely, that my answer is truth~ that my answer is solid, good and right. Earnest and intent upon my words, she sits waiting. No doubt enters her mind at all that I will lead her astray~ for what I say is how it is-plain and simple.

Children retrieve in their minds what you first put there. Being a parent is a powerful thing. We are, in essence, brainwashers. Children never doubt you-only trust and believe. We can learn much from them, and for these reasons are called to be like them.

The power I hold in my hands; the dark eyes peering at me with absolute trust makes me waver.

Santa Claus.

As a child, I LOVED to believe in Santa Claus. Nothing thickened the air with anticipation as that jolly elf did, nothing could compare to the lying awake in hopes of hearing a tinkling upon the roof. I adored Santa Claus~and even when I realized that he wasn't real, I was thankful for the magic and wonderment that was added to the season because of his story. I *still* like to think of it.

So naturally, I enjoyed the play along with my own children. I never had to lie because the story was fed through books, sights, and all other manner of media and the children were too small to contemplate the truth of it. After all, isn't the story of Santa Claus the very same thing as reading a story about a talking pig? or a gnome and sprite filled forest?

But now. NOW. I have a five year old, asking me when Santa sleeps. How he knows when she is good? and all other manner of trivia. Before, those questions were answered with "How do YOU think he does it?" or "The story goes..." But now, girlchild who is growing up too fast, is not satisfied with those answers. Girlchild says "I know what the STORY says, but I want to know the TRUTH." And the word lingers in the air. She doesn't want to know the truth. I know her heart like my own, and know that she will be devastated when she hears it. But she deserves to hear it, true? Her insistence on "the truth" bites me. Truth is not a relative term. It simply is...or isn't.

Those same wide eyes ask me about Jesus. God. Heaven and hell. That same trusting heart yearns for answers and seeks them from me, wholly believing and trusting that I will guide and direct her in truth. And I have, and I do.

But I don't WANT to tell her the truth. I don't WANT to take away that childlike anticipation and excitement. I don't want her to be sad. Not to mention, to admit there is no Santa Claus will have me mourning my own magical, awe-filled childhood and her lack of it.

But how can one expect a child to believe you, unquestioningly, when they realize that you have lied about other things? If there is no Santa, who is to say you've been lying all along about Jesus too? Oh-it would break my heart-SHATTER IT-if doubt were to arise in the hearts of my children because of a silly seasonal tradition!

I go to bed, wondering, pondering my next move. I don't WANT to take Santa away from her sweet childlike imagination. But is the risk too great?

~~~~~~~

The next day, headlines are read at the dinner table. Newsprint comes to life as I read the words stamped coldly on inner pages of paper. A post-Black Friday horror story..sandwiched between Football players and glib editorials. A Walmart employee trampled-TO DEATH-by 2,000 Black Friday shoppers. 2,000 people acting more like elephants than humans, idolizing material goods more than people. A VCR, on sale cheap more valuable than human life. This is true for a stampede of two THOUSAND people. Not a single Samaritan in the bunch.

My heart drops to the floor as I read the words, and try to absorb them. My throat constricts in madness and deep grief. Oh GOD, how wicked a people we are! I am livid and filled with despair at the same time. What is WRONG with this nation? I know what is wrong-Sin. Yet-the perverseness of it still surprises me at times. The ugliness. The evil of it all. I want to shield my eyes and see only my sweet suckling babe, or my twinkly eyed loves.

What's worse? This news; horrible, tragic news isn't as important as a football player shooting his own foot by mistake, and takes a backseat to the commemorative Barack Obama paraphanalia now available. It isn't frontpage...it isn't "TAKE A LOOK AT YOURSELVES, people!" It isn't as newsworthy as the rest. It doesn't seem at all shocking.

We are on the brink of economic collapse and still, people are ravishing for 'stuff'. Meaningless STUFF. We don't think twice about killing our babies-yet stand picketing the rights of animals. Our children have Christmas wishlists that are longer than grocery receipts and we laugh, while we encourage their greed. Teenagers spend Thanksgiving curled in a chair listening to Ipods while great grandmothers sit alone, mouths silent of stories past. Togetherness means nothing because Miss Spoiled doesn't get a kitty. We worry more about flat-screened TV's or cellphones than we do the investment of time in the family.

Suddenly, I am sick. Sick with my own dizzying thoughts.

Where is He in all of this?

He is far FAR from this story. Forgotten. Abandoned.


And suddenly, it seems far easier for me to separate myself from this Santa Claus story, this tradition of the world.

I want to reject EVERYTHING that the herd of Walmart shoppers valued.

I REJECT the lists of WANTS. Shouldn't we be thinking of what we have already received, that victorious day so long ago and each day of our lives?

I REJECT trying to buy the love of others, or share my own love on the wings of coin and paper. The investment of time is the only one I choose to depend upon. Present economic state notwithstanding.

I REJECT the hustle and bustle in a time that ought to be quiet. A time that ought to be rejoicing in remembrance. Thankful in contemplation. Joyous in its stillness.

I REJECT the ignorance I give to my children when I tell them that "something" comes from "nothing". I want my children to understand that what they are given has VALUE. Value from the hardworking hands of Papa and Mama. That their gifts came with consequences. That Papa worked hard for the money to buy them. That my fingers worked hard to create them. That our thoughts and love for them came before the gift. They need to know these things, before any appreciation for the gift can even happen.

I REJECT that society tries telling my children (and me) what we need, or should want. My children will know that we value them wholly, and show it by very personal gifts. Not the latest from the toy catalog, but something that is wholly and wildly adored by THEM. I don't want society dictating ANYTHING to me, or my children. I want to be set apart.

~~~~~~~~

"Corynn, come here please. I'd like to talk to you about something. Something that will probably make you sad, but MAY make you happy." I say, and she walks into my arms. Waiting. Listening. Intent.

I tell her the TRUTH, about Santa~ and the tears flow. While warm tears race down her cheeks, I speak quietly, telling her WHY the truth needed to be said. I tell her that I want her to trust me always and know that I will never lie to her. That I worried, if I played along, she might one day think I was only "playing along" about Jesus too.

"But I LIKED believing in Santa, Mama!" she cries.

"But you CAN Corynn. You can pretend he is real just like you enjoy talking to and with your dolly-or that you find fairies in the woods. You can still pretend just like always before, and I can pretend with you if you like...but I wanted you to know the TRUTH. That it is just pretending. Some stories are make believe, and they are FUN to think about and pretend with. Some stories are true. And it's important we know which is which."

As my voice quietly soothes with explanation, I notice the sniffles dwindling . I tell her that it is Papa and I that fill her stocking each year. And that we do so because we love her. That the gifts tucked within we got especially for her because we knew she would like them and the giving of them gave us joy. The look on her face when she discovered them gave us even more joy. With that, a sparkle returns to her eyes for a moment and a smile plays at her lips.

Then, I turn it all around-to the very beginning. To where it started and where it ends. To where it ought to have been the whole time. Christ. Savior child. The greatest gift the world has ever received. I told her she had someone FAR greater than Santa Claus.

"Santa Claus, after all, is limited. He comes but once a year and IF you are good, will give you something you want.

God in INFINITE. He sees you everyday, and NEVER leaves you nor forsakes you. He doesn't come just one day a year but is EVER present. He not only gives us things, He gifts us things even when we are BAD. He blesses us even as we are so undeserving. But then, of course, He gives us things that are BETTER than what we want for ourselves...He surpasses our own expectations! He blesses us more abundantly than we could EVER ask for ourselves!" Cheeks are streaked with trails of tears now dried. I see joy again, bubbling from within. Then, we find ourselves sharing the gifts we have already received. Mentally writing the "Wishes Granted" list, sharing it with one another.

~ The birth of Jesus, our Savior, Redeemer and Sustainer in life. Miraculous child, Miraculous God.
~Our tastebuds. Food needn't have been sweet, or delicious-but God EVEN thought of that!
~Sunsets and snowflakes
~Smiling eyes and warming hugs
~Reading together
~ Legs- how HANDY they are!
~Minds that can create and learn and invent.
~The shape and colors of creation. Leaves. Flowers. Pumpkins. Stones. Acorn hats.
~Prayers answered.
~Each other, togetherness
~That mothers can make milk for their babies (that was one of HERS, by the way)
~the sound of giggling.
~A baby sister
~The sweet softness of her skin

By the end, we were both smiling and giggling, cuddled closer into one another than before; finding comfort and joy in one another and in the Giver of Joy.

Turns out, it's true: we have been gifted things I never would have thought to ask for. Any wishlist we may have created has already been far surpassed.