says me

She Looks To Me

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 13:06:27 -0700

Mallory got a library card today. Very exciting times.

She chose a book on her own and was quite pleased to be so big and capable. But then, as she put her book and library card on the counter and was kindly spoken to by the librarian, my sweet girl suddenly found herself just a bit outside of her comfort zone. She’s newly self-conscious and wary of strangers and strange places, and is often compelled to grab my leg or hide behind me when addressed by someone she doesn’t know. Even when we talk about it beforehand and I’m certain I have thoroughly prepared her, she is often gripped with an awkward shyness and won’t speak to, or even look at, whoever is attempting to communicate with her. Up till very recently, shyness has not been one of her defining character traits, so it’s new territory for the both of us.

And I confess that I have found it challenging to balance wanting to comfort and assure her, while at the same time encouraging (insisting on?) good manners. I don’t allow her to hide behind me. She’s too old for that nonsense. So instead, she grabs my hand with both of hers and smiles widely--nervously--while looking right into my face. She knows she needs to look at the librarian and respond to her, but it’s taking all of Mallory’s four-year-old self-control not to hide, and she’s looking to me for acknowledgement of the step in the right direction she has bravely made.

Mommy moment of truth. I have a choice here. I can either express frustration and disapproval that she is not doing the make-eye-contact-and-respond thing we’ve discussed at length, thereby adding to her fear, stress and insecurity... or worse, I can begin a power struggle by attempting to force her to speak... OR I can pause, smile back at my daughter, meet her where she is, and let her know that I do see the effort she’s making. As she looks to me in those moments, I can choose essentially to abandon her by my displeasure, or I can edify and equip her little self by showing my delight and confidence in her and assuring her that I am still her safe place, and that I believe she is entirely able to do what I’m asking of her.

Because ultimately it’s not about her doing. It’s about her being.

She looks to me, and I realize that I’m somehow a mirror for her. She sees for herself, and within herself, what I show her by my countenance, and to a lesser extent (I think), by what I say.

As she eagerly searches my face, still holding my hand, I whisper, “You’re doing great. Tell her ‘thank you’.” She relaxes a little. I can see that she’s thinking.

Her eyes dart to the librarian and still smiling, she says, “Thank you.” Her eyes are right back on me, wanting a final connection, an affirmation. She whispers, “Did I do it?”

I tell her she did, and later I’ll tell her again while casually mentioning that it’s a nice choice to show kindness by being friendly.

She exhales, smiles with genuine happiness, grabs her book and skips ahead of me to the door.

Win-win.

Mallory is a tender-hearted little girl, and I want to be one who lovingly shapes her as she grows, not one who bruises her soul when her process takes her off of my chosen path. I want to nurture her, not harden her. She will not always look to me, at least not like she does right now. And as long as she does, Lord Jesus help me reflect first and foremost Your amazing grace, unconditional love, and absolute acceptance. You remind me that true, loving discipline is training and teaching and walking alongside; not a formula, not mere punishment.

I pray that I would never get overly concerned with what I can compel my children to do outwardly, or unintentionally instill within them a burdensome reliance on meaningless obedience, obligation, duty and law... but that I would see them through Your eyes, desiring that their hearts be worshipful, compassionate and free to be who You created them to be, regardless of the missteps we will all make along the way.

Gracious LORD, as You have been so gentle with me, help me parent with gentleness.

Yesterday she didn’t have a library card. Today she does. Tomorrow she will be all grown up. It’s the little moments, the little interactions, the little glances, the little comments, the little teachable moments that will add up to become her history. I love sharing them with her. I’m humbled to have been entrusted. I’m desperate not to blow it. I need Thee every hour.

Untitled

Tue, 16 Jun 2009 14:51:16 -0700

Writing is one item on a relatively short list of things I love to do. In junior high I wrote (bad) poetry. In high school, college and grad school I wrote research papers, reflections, synopses, essays and the occasional short story. I write letters, and sometimes I blog. I’ve avidly journaled since I was nine. Having never taken a writing class, and having no skill whatsoever at creative writing, I don’t presume to be a writer, in the official, admirable sense. Though, technically, I am one who writes, and therefore, a writer, I just can’t bestow upon myself that title of honor, although I do delight in the practice. It’s the process that I love, whether it’s for an academic assignment (not lately, of course) or scribbling on a napkin as I struggle to verbalize nebulous thoughts about something that is weighing on my mind. It is so satisfying to be able to say what I mean, carefully choosing and combining words, and then feeling that the thing I needed to express has been delivered, if only for my own eyes. A prayer, an observation, a memory, a conversation, a hope... For me, writing makes things so. My memory is entirely untrustworthy, and there are so many things I want to remember. So I document, chronicle and jot the story of my life, not so that it will be preserved for posterity, but so it will be preserved for me. So I can look back and clearly see at least a portion of the road behind that has led me to now.

So like I said, writing is on my short list of true pleasures. It also happens to require a good deal of thought, time and presence... three items on a very long list of things I’m lacking. Currently, the extent of my writing consists of countless lists of things-to-do. Or as I sometimes think, things-I’m-not-getting-done. Anyway, it’s not doing the trick.

The absence of the process and consequent perspective I get from writing feels like deprivation on a soul level; unfinished; unfulfilled; isolated.

I’ve got to figure out how to get unblocked.

i heart facebook

Wed, 25 Mar 2009 18:32:21 -0700

That’s right. I’m slowly but surely warming up to Facebook. After much reluctance, snickering and intimidation, I’m really enjoying it... if only for little treasures such as this photo. This is Clint and our friend Stretch, we believe taken in June 1995 up at Pine Summit in Big Bear. Can you believe how YOUNG my husband looks here?? So freaking cute.

Stretch had this picture on his profile... an old friend I haven’t seen in... 10 years?! He towered over me at 6’4” or 6’6” or something and used to call me Mary Button Bean. These man-children were two of my favorite friends back in the day. So fun. Oh, and Stretch’s name is actually Jason. But I only ever knew him as Stretch. I’m not sure if that would still fly today, all these years later, but it would feel so awkward and strange to call him Jason. Still, if and when we meet again, it just might be the appropriate thing to do. He and Clint met as 13 year olds, so calling him Stretch when we were all at Biola was weird for C. Funny.

Anyway, I lied. Treasures, such as this picture, are just a bonus. The reason I’ve come around and am beginning to appreciate Facebook is for the reconnections I’m making with old friends and the ease with which I can touch base with new ones. Granted though, I don’t spend much time online, and I don’t make as much contact with friends as I’d like. But for all the criticism Facebook and sites like it receive about being impersonal and substituting blurbs and IMs and quiz results for actual relationships, for me it’s relational progress! It’s a nice and easy and realistic way for me to begin to build upon friendships I forsook once the twins arrived. To catch up, share memories, make plans, and get connected to something outside of my four walls. In lieu of a social life, yet in an attempt to rebuild one for myself (and my offspring), Facebook is proving to be a helpful and encouraging tool. Of course, I can’t fail to mention my deep love and gratitude for the three friendships I’ve actually been able to maintain this whole time, without help from Facebook. You know who you are. :) And I must also confess that I’m mystified by Facebook’s structure and tools... I’m the most basic user ever. Still, it’s warming my heart to get sweet messages from childhood friends. Can’t beat that.

Plus, if and when I feel like it, I can take a quiz to find out which Disney princess I am. Or which Muppet. Or where I should be living. Or which 80’s band I am. Oh, yeah. I’m looking forward to my first quiz and will keep you posted.

The magic of Facebook. I’m into it.

Handmedowns

Tue, 3 Feb 2009 10:41:11 -0800

As the firstborn in my family, I was generally the one who provided handmedowns; I didn’t receive them. There was a family with four daughters up the street from us when I was little, and between 1983 and 1985 I remember a couple bags of clothes that came my way, and out of those bags I remember maybe five items that I kept (and loved), but other than that I pretty much got everything new.

So it’s all the more fun for me now that I’ve shamelessly positioned myself to inherit discarded treasures from my family members. Just about all of our furniture was handmedown/on-loan Harding and Phillips stuff when we got married, and we still have my grandparents’ kitchen table, chairs and barstools... my parents’ first china cabinet and dining chairs... the dresser that was in Katie and Annie’s childhood room... and my vanity was actually my mom’s when she was in high school. Now that my siblings are older, I’ve also managed to inherit some of their goods. You may remember the beautiful desk in my cubby...? That was Annie’s. We also have Annie’s old couch, a.k.a. The Annie Couch, a funky, chunky end table/cabinet from her that holds all of our photo albums, and Mallory sleeps in a bed that Annie donated. Yes, Annie’s been generous.

My sister Katie has been, too. In 2001 when we moved into this house, as a housewarming gift she gave us a quilt of hers that I had always admired--now on Mallory’s bed. And then there’s The Gilman (see photo). It’s the chair that Katie picked up for free off the sidewalk on Gilman Avenue when she first moved to Seattle back in 2004, and it’s the chair I snatched as soon as it was up for grabs when she got married and moved in with Tim last summer. (“So, um, Katie... are you taking The Gilman to Hanford??”) I love this chair. However, it came with a defect. Its back was completely shredded, thanks to what I suspect was years of sun exposure in some wonderful old lady’s sitting room in Magnolia. Anyway, the rest of the chair is in excellent condition, so it worked to have it in a corner... but then we decided to move it out front, which meant I needed a plan for re-covering the back, which brings me to another generous donator, my mom-in-law, Jessy!

Jessy is a gifted, and therefore busy, seamstress, who has been kind enough to pass some beautiful remnants my way over the years. I re-covered the seats on our dining chairs with some fabric from Jessy, and I’ve used lots of other scraps in various random artsy-craftsy ventures. In this case, I asked specifically if she had something that might work for The Gilman Restoration Project--I was hoping for something floral or swirly that included the turquouse-y color, preferably with some red thrown in--and what Jessy found in her own personal fabric store (I mean attic) was PERFECT. My only thought when Clint brought it home (after he and Mallory spent the weekend in Oceanside) was that I wished there were some way to distress it or fade it a little... just so its boldness, intensity of color and sheen wouldn’t be in such stark contrast to the dull, worn, vintage look of The Gilman. Still, I was thrilled with it. Truly. It was perfect.

So the other night, I finally got around to re-backing the chair, and as I was ironing, I noticed that the “wrong” side of the fabric just happened to be the fulfillment of my wildest Gilman dreams. It’s still super colorful, though not as bright as the “right” side. I don’t know what you call it when something that’s already perfect becomes more perfect, but that’s what happened. I feel like it just GOES with The Gilman, and I love it. You can see it there, unprofessionally stapled to the back of The Gilman, which is now proudly positioned by our front window. Ta-daaaa! Obviously, it isn’t the best upholstery work you’ve ever seen, but it’s doing the job, and I’m happy with it. I’m going to make some matching pillows soon... a couple for the Annie Couch, one for the family room... the possibilities are endless. Ha!

It’s silly that such a little thing as pretty, not-too-vibrant-but-still-perfectly-colorful fabric on the back of a handmedown chair full of character and sentimental value can give me such a feeling of contentment... but I’ll take it! It’s the same feeling I have when I’m sitting in Grandpa Jack’s chair at Annie’s desk in my cubby. Or when the house is quiet at naptime. *sigh* Good feeling.

THANK YOU, beloved family, for all of the generosity in all its forms over all the years. We’re so blessed by you!

Betty When You Call Me You Can Call Me Al

Wed, 21 Jan 2009 09:52:56 -0800

When I was in elementary school, I went through a very short-lived phase where I wished my name was Samantha. My Mom made matters worse when she said that Samantha had been on the short list when she was pregnant with me, and in fact she called me Sam in-utero. Ah, so close! For about a week I was convinced that my life would have been perfect if my name had been Samantha. Why, oh, why, did they decide to call me boring ol’ Mary??

Happily I got over my disappointment quickly, and have been quite content with my name since then. The story goes that when it came down to it that blessed September in 1975, my parents were torn between Mary and Amy, but when I was born and my Mom saw my dark hair, she knew I was Mary. Amy would have been fair-haired. Growing up, my best friend was Mary Kay, but aside from her I’ve only known a couple of Marys. Statistically, that’s pretty remarkable, as Mary still tops the list of girl names in this country. So even though my name is technically as common as they come, it doesn’t feel that way to me.

It really is a good name. I’ve often read and been told that it means “blessed”, as in mother of Jesus, but really it means “bitter” as in Naomi saying, “Call me Mara” in the book of Ruth after her husband and son die. Bitter works for me. Plus it’s in like a million songs and nursery rhymes. Quite contrary... little lamb... why ya buggin’... Always fun. And on a sentimental note, I’ve been dubbed the sweetest variations of Mary by my siblings in their toddler years. Bobby called me Mer-Mer... Katie called me Wowie... Annie called me Mehwie. Precious, precious, precious.

I like the way most people say my name. Mary. Don’t you just love being called by name? I appreciate that Mary is a name that is extremely difficult to mispronounce. Also, if I’ve just met someone, and they call me Mare, I like that person instantly. But it can’t be forced. Mare either rolls off your tongue or it doesn’t, you know? It never lies.

So the other day, I was talking to Mallory (who sometimes calls me Marem--LOVE), a girl who has more nicknames than any four year old should, and she said, “Sometimes people call me Mal, but I like being called Mally.” I was so surprised that she expressed this preference, all out of the blue and matter of fact, like she’d been thinking about it for a while.

I said, “Really? You like Mally better than Mal?”

“Yes, I do!” 
“Really?” She gets called Mal ALL the time.

“Yep!”

“Do you like it better than Moopers?”

“Yep! I like Mally the best.”

And now I know something about that sweet girl that I didn’t know before.

The funniest part of the story, in my opinion, is when I told it to my Dad... his response: “I should tell her that when I was a couple years older than she is, I wanted to be called Larry.” I almost fell down laughing, picturing little circa-1955 Bobby Harding wishing Pat & Jack had named him Larry.

Guess we all go through it!

I can only imagine what Sky & Lola will have to say about their names when the time comes...

Struggling

Sun, 18 Jan 2009 10:12:20 -0800

Let me start off by saying that I successfully tackled my vanity. Didn’t want to leave anyone hanging on that one. It’s all cleaned out and organized, and I have a grocery bag in our office that’s full of rejected cosmetics. Lovely. Which reminds me... several years ago I was invited to a “make-up party”... you bring any make up or nail polish that you aren’t into anymore, everything goes into a huge pile, and then it’s a free-for-all. Oh, and there’s pizza and drinks and a chick-flick. Totally up my alley. It might not be the most hygienic operation, but if you keep the guest list small and limited to people you know really well--and if you avoid mascara swapping--then I think you’re safe.

Anyway, back to my original thought... I’m feeling so weary... and heavy-laden. Jesus, I need You! I think to some extent it’s probably just the nature of the intense and high-demand season we’re in right now with a 4 year-old and two 2 year-olds. Being with them all day... I love it. I really do. It’s where I want to be... and it’s wearing me out. A little. This week. Isn’t it strange how something can be so blissful and stressful all at once? My delight in my homelife overfloweth... and I could really use a day off. But just one. :)

There’s so much going on in my little sphere that I’m not really at liberty to blog about, which in part explains my long absence... I’ve missed doing it, though, and I appreciate the few of you who are out there and have encouraged my return.

In general, I’m hoping to find a new rhythm soon. And some rest.

But now I’m off to fold laundry and referee my beautiful, napless, possessive, stuffy-nosed daughters as the afternoon saunters toward evening.

Will be back soon with some cute kid stories. Stay tuned.

New Year’s Resolutions

Tue, 30 Dec 2008 14:12:56 -0800

Surely this will come as no surprise, but I’m terrible at New Year’s Resolutions. I vividly remember giving up on them in 1985.

HOWEVER, I do intend to makeover the website and get in the habit of blogging again.

And I just wanted to put that out there.

Also, I plan to attend to my vanity. The one in my bedroom. I need to get rid of at least half of what’s in there, give it a good cleaning and reorganize. Hmmm... guess that’s could also be said of my other vanity... well... only God can effectively chip away at that beast. I pray that He does.

Happy New Year, peeps.

In the Beginning

Tue, 23 Sep 2008 15:33:07 -0700

Today, Mallory brought home a special prize from pre-school. It was a little box of four crayons, and she earned it by reciting her memory verse.

I was unaware that she had a verse to memorize, but that didn’t stop her.

When I asked her what the Bible verse was, she got shy and didn’t want to say it. Finally, I got it out of her.

“Genesis 1:1. In the beginnnnnning...” (shy smile)

In the beginning... what happened in the beginning, Mal?

“In the beginning, God created!”

Yes He did! Wow, Mallory! That’s wonderful!

A couple minutes later we’re sitting at the kitchen table, and she’s coloring with her new crayons, and I’m so excited that a tiny piece of God’s Word has made its way into her sweet little self. Though she’s been in Sunday school, and we certainly talk about God the Father and Jesus and the Bible and pray together, she just hasn’t seemed to “get it”. Yet. At all. Yet. It’s just not stickin’. Yet. I mean, she knows some basics... God created everything that was created, including her, He loves her, He hears her... but she’s super literal and remains stuck on questions like “Does God have bones?” and “Does God have a car?” (that one’s usually in response to discussions of his omnipresence). So the fact that she had memorized part of Genesis 1:1 and believed it and knew that it was from the Bible had me all breathless and praising God.

Mal, what does it mean that God created?

“It means God is good!”

Well, He is good, but to create means to make something...

“Oh! In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth!”

YES! That’s the whole verse! And we repeated it a couple times together.

And then she did it by herself, “Genesis 1:1. In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth...” (mumbling) “...and to the republic... mumble-mumble stands...”

Classic, right?

And so this is the beginning of a whole new world for Mal... God bless her!

Z is for Zany Good Fun

Tue, 16 Sep 2008 17:43:58 -0700

Ever see the Looney Tunes where Daffy Duck is Robin Hood and Porky Pig is Friar Tuck? It’s one of--no, I daresay it is THE most brilliant cartoon in this history of the world. I’ve seen it at least a thousand times and it still cracks me up.

The singing...
Ooooooooooooooooh, join up with me,
So joyous and free,
And away to old Sherwood, hie!
For I'm Robin Hood,
And I'm very good,
At avoiding the Sheriff's eye.
So, we'll trip along merrily
O'er the green swards so gracefully
To trip and trip and trip and trip and trip it up and down
To trip and trip and trip and trip and---whoa, whoops, trip, trip it....pbtths...

The lines...
"Ho ho, very funny; Ha ha, it is to laugh."
(and one of my very favorites of all time:) “Zoikes and away!!...” (He starts out with “yoikes”, but after he hits the fourth tree, it’s a slurred “zoikes”. THE BEST.)

The buck and a quarter staff...
"Ho! Haha! Guard! Turn! Parry! Dodge! Spin! Ha - THRUST!"

You really gotta admire that duck’s tenacity. I feel that I can really relate to Daffy these days.

Some of my all-time favorite childhood memories involve watching Looney Tunes with my sibs. Duck Dodgers in the 24-1/2 Century... “Kill da wabbit, Kill da wabbit...” Haaahnsel and Gretel (“Haahnsel?” -blink-blink- “Haahnsel?!”). Call it a weakness. This is a closeup?!

The laughter. The quoting. Zany good fun indeed.

Mallory hasn’t met Daffy and company yet, but I think the time is fast approaching. I think she’s about old enough to appreciate the genius that is Marvin the Martian. Her birthday was Sunday and she’s having a party this weekend, which gives me time to track down a DVD...

...ok. Off to Amazon.

Y is for Yesterday

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 00:27:54 -0700

I found this on eBay.

You are looking at an original, 1980 Strawberry Shortcake Lunchbox. It’s “vintage”... and apparently I must be too, because it is the exact same one I carried to kindergarten.

Eventually it was replaced by something plastic and became my official crayon-holder, and then it held other odds and ends, and then it disappeared... unless my Mom still has it...??? Do you, Mom? Because if you do, you have to let me know before I bid on this one.

Anyway, yesterday I bought Mallory her first lunchbox. As I stood in the aisle at Target, my eyes scanning the picked-over shelves of high-tech, insulated, canvas and velcro, futuristic options, I felt a little flabbergasted that my firstborn is old enough to require a lunchbox.

The preschool she attended last year suddenly closed shop a few weeks ago, leaving us (heartborken and) scrambling to find a suitable replacement. La Cresta was really one of a kind, and I’m just thrilled Mallory got to experience it at all... and we will miss it!

Starting on September 2nd, Mal will be attending a fairly large preschool at a local church, two days a week. It’s much more academic and structured than what she’s used to, but I’m sure she’ll love it. Where her former preschool was built on a developmental philosophy of learning primarily through cooperative play, this one is books and worksheets and serious business, although I am assured that she will still do a lot of playing, singing and art. I have absolutely no worries about her “kindergarten readiness”... she’s in great shape, and according to her Auntie KK, former kindergarten teacher, Mallory is more advanced than some of her students were at the end of the year. So I’m mostly praying about the friends she will make. She is such a social little thing, and she really wants some friends who aren’t 20 months old... or 32 years old. Can’t blame her there. I confess I have not been good at getting her some friends.

Another difference: Her former preschool was only two hours, 9:30-11:30, this one is 9:30-1:30, hence the fancy lavender lunchbox with butterflies and flowers and insulation, which will, one day, be vintage, too.

Exciting times for our Mal-Gal! I could laugh and cry thinking about her upcoming adventure... I think I’ll do both.

X is for XXIII & XXIX

Tue, 19 Aug 2008 10:55:07 -0700

I am SO into the Beijing Olympics, it’s ridiculous.

This is a real surprise to me, because I haven’t been captured by an Olympic Games since 1984... the Twenty-Third Olympiad in Los Angeles. To start with, I felt connected to the whole thing because, after all, LA was just down the street and over the hill. And I vivdly remember Carl Lewis’ debut and first learning of Jesse Owens’ amazing 1936 performance... I remember how Mary Decker’s fall broke my little girl heart... I was thrilled when Jurgen Hingsen did a spontaneous backflip after a successful pole vault... and I, along with every just about every other schoolgirl in the country, fell in love with Mary Lou Retton, the 16 year old girl wonder from Texas, and figured if I got started with lessons right away, that could be me in 1992. I was swept away.

That was the only summer that my brother and I celebrated our birthdays with one party. He turned six on August 7, my Mom was due with Annie on August 27, and I would turn nine on September 6. Our birthday parties were always separate, but with the baby coming, Mom had the foresight to know that I wouldn’t have a birthday party unless it was early, and thus she conceived the brilliant idea of a combined, Olympic-themed party, and it was awesome. Bobby and I got to decorate our own cakes with red, white and blue frosting. The pictures are precious.

I saw “Nadia” that summer and for the first time had a sense of, not just my country, but the world.

Since 1984, I’ve attempted to connect with the Summer Games, but to no avail. They just didn’t grab me. Olympics, shmolympics. Although Dominique Moceanu’s floor routine to “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” in ’96 was pretty fantastic.

But then I saw a bit of the Beijing Opening Ceremonies... my interest was piqued.

And THEN I saw Jason Lezak’s supernatural finish to the 4x100m freestyle. Alone in the family room, late, late at night, I was cheering and clapping and wide-eyed and blown away and giddy. And I was hooked. And you know the rest... right?

Last night, Bob Costas did a funny little segment toward the end of the broadcast about how scads of Americans at home were complaining to NBC about the sleep-deprivation that has accompanied being a faithful watcher of the Games this year. It was cute, and it made me feel even more a part of this amazing Olympiad, because of course I’ve been staying up late so as not to miss the exciting swims, finishes, finals, etc. And by the way, have they all been this good? Let’s see... after LA there was... Seoul, Barcelona, Atlanta, Sydney, and Athens... were they all this exciting? Was the coverage this entertaining and personal?

I don’t know what it is, but there’s something speical about Beijing 2008. At least for me. And I don’t think it’s just Michael Phelps. But I’m loving it.

W is for Word on the Street

Wed, 9 Jul 2008 22:27:10 -0700

Sometimes on Sesame Street, the show begins with a monster (Murray--he’s newish) introducing the “Word on the Street” for the day. So far we’ve seen apology, frustrated, expert, gigantic, lazy, amazing, newspaper, pumpernickel and pretend.

Mallory is totally into the Word on the Street. She likes understanding the definition of each word and applying it to her experience. For instance, upon hearing that gigantic meant huge or really big, she used it to describe her Daddy. I like them because they have celebrities on in little skits to act out the words. Super cute.

So at dinner tonight, she accidentally spilled a little milk on the floor, and after Clint cleaned it up for her, she said, “Thank you, Daddy.” And then she looked at me and asked, “Was that an expert?”

I said, “You mean Is Daddy an expert at cleaning up?”

And she said, “Nooo... I mean was than an apology?”  And I said, “Well, you said ‘thank you’, which was nice, but an apology is when you say you’re sorry.”

And she said, “Oh, right. That’s it. I’m sorry, Daddy!”

And he said, “That’s ok, Mal, and you’re welcome.”

And then she said to me, “I forgot what’s an expert?” (Direct quote.)

And I said, “An expert is someone who knows a lot about something.”

And she said, “Yesss...”

And I said, “What do you know a lot about?”

And she said, without skipping a beat, “My blanket!”

Precious.

I said, “You ARE an expert on your blanket! Wow! Anything else?”

She nodded and said, “Blowing bubbles.”

And I said, “Totally. You’re amazing.”

V is for Vanished

Tue, 8 Jul 2008 13:26:06 -0700

Yes, I disappeared for a while there. Again. But I’m back. This is becoming a bit of a pattern, isn’t it?

My sister’s wedding was this past weekend, it was amazing (and those were the flowers), and now I have nothing to do but care for my family, put my house back together, and blog.

So keep a weather eye.

U is for Ummm, What Day Is It?

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 10:20:09 -0700

Well, I know it’s not Father’s Day anymore... but here’s a precious picture of my incredible husband in full SuperDad form. My girls couldn’t hope for a better man to father them on this earth. Steadfast. Loving. FUN. The best! We love you, Clint!

- - - - - - - - -

So really, where does the time go? Between my general distractedness (not a real word, I know) and full hands and sudden onset writer’s block, I’ve really let this poor blog go, haven’t I. I’m not exaggerating when I say that most days I don’t know what day it is. It’s amazing how they all sort of blend together.

Saturdays are easy to identify. Clint gets to stay home. So Saturdays are sort of my north.

And I really can’t believe we’re already half-way through June! Things have been hectic, but good. I’d really love to stand still for a little while, but apparently I’m not in that season.

I’ve missed keeping the ol’ blog updated. It’s so weird how something that comes so easily and is such a pleasant and satisfying outlet can suddenly morph into something challenging and stressful. I have no idea what happened... it’s like all of my thoughts just evaporated. Scary. I can’t count how many times I’ve sat down at the computer with the intention of writing, and then drawing a complete blank, time after time. My hope is that this little ramble will get the ball rolling for me again. I know there are a faithful few of you still out there checking this silly thing... blessings on your heads!

More to come. Soon. Hopefully. We’ll see.

T is for The Husband’s Mom

Sun, 11 May 2008 21:57:07 -0700

My mother-in-law is a devoted, creative, stylish, multi-talented, incredibly smart, disciplined, generous, thoughtful, did I say creative?, hard working, well read, lover of God, lover of her family, clever, hospitable, servant-hearted, genius with a sewing machine, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful woman... who just so happened to raise one phenomenal son.

There they are together in the photo above, when Jessy was a brand new hot mamma and Clint was just a wee little thing.

Such a fabulous picture. Such a fabulous woman.

Happy Mother’s Day, M.O.M., with love!!

S is for Sincere & Spontaneous

Sun, 11 May 2008 20:07:00 -0700

On Wednesday I was asked to participate in an interview for a Mother’s Day video for our church. My immediate reaction was to feel totally honored--on behalf of my Mom as well as myself--and I accepted the invitation, even though I have marshmallows for brains and felt quite insecure in general about my recently deficient verbal abilities, and about being filmed. (Historically, the taped interviews I’ve seen at church are extremely, extremely close-up. And the screens upon which these images are projected are extremely, extremely huge. You get what I’m saying. Yikes.)

Anyway, I said yes. And the lovely gentleman running the show--I’ll call him Stu--really wanted my responses to be sincere and spontaneous, so he didn’t give me any heads up at all on what kinds of questions he’d be asking in the interview. I understand what he was after, but I also know myself, which made me nervous. Hello, my name is Mary, and I’m an incoherent rambler. I knew the topic was going to be my Mom, obviously, and I spent the afternoon reminiscing our relationship, which, by the way, was a hoot. I’ve had such a fun life and an awesome Mom. But I was unprepared for Stu’s specific questions, and for thirty minutes I rambled my way through my answers, sounding like an idiot, forgetting questions midway through the some random string of words, apologizing incessantly for my scatter-brainedness, thinking out loud for miles, instead of thinking silently and then responding with a sincere, spontaneous, concise and pithy sentence or two... I was super self-conscious, searching for words, sounding like a crazy woman, and the worst part is that as I was walking out the door, literally, the whole interview (all five questions) flashed before my eyes, and I realized that, even with all of my talking, I didn’t answer any of them the way I would have in a normal context. It’s not that I wasn’t honest... I was just so distracted by the lighting and camera and microphone and my bangs falling in front of my glasses and Stu and keeping my hands from fidgeting all over the place, that I didn’t spit out the truest, realest, bestest words about the woman who is my Mom. Actually, I have no idea what I said, but I know what I didn’t say whatever it was the way I wanted to.

So I’m going to do it here.

First off, Mom, I’m sorry if anything you heard this morning at church was anything less than brilliant, flattering, and wonderful. And now, I give you a sincere, but mercifully less spontaneous, abbreviated rendition of my Mother’s Day interview. (Stu’s lines are for real, by the way... not verbatim, but for real.)
....

Me: So how many people are you interviewing for the video?

Stu: Hopefully three or four. The staff wasn’t sure who we should talk to, so I just said, ‘hey, let’s just think of some great moms and then talk to their kids.’

Me: Wow! What an honor! Aww.

....

Stu: What are some characteristics of your Mom that you admire?

Me: Barb Harding is an amazing woman, but if I had to narrow it down, I’d say I most admire her faithfulness in prayer, her ability to exhort and encourage with great love, her honesty, selflessness and humor, her incredible energy, and her absolute devotion to and delight in the Lord and our family. She’s authentic and generous and fabulous and really knows how to rejoice with those who are rejoicing and mourn with those who are mourning. I also admire the way she makes her house a home. And her adorable pixie haircut.

Stu: How would you say that your Mom has influenced you?

Me: She’s my Mom, Stu... how hasn’t she influenced me?! Most profoundly, though, I would have to say the way she trusts God with her children, loves us unconditionally, and has always been honest and open with us about her own struggles and walk with Christ. Also, she sings all the time, and I find that I do that, too.

Stu: What qualities make a good mother?

Me: Well, what worked for the Harding family, and what I hope to bring to my own family, include ENJOYMENT of her children, REALISTIC expectations of her children, HONESTY, FLEXIBILITY, BALANCE, whatever is the OPPOSITE of the need to control her children, a lot of LAUGHTER, a lot of SINGING, and DEPENDENCE on the LORD.

Stu: Finish this sentence. My Mom wasn’t perfect, but she...

Me: (thoughtful pause) My Mom isn’t perfect, but she used to do this hilarious sort of tap dance past our bedroom doors, and IT was perfect. Every time.

R is for Relaxation Therapy

Tue, 6 May 2008 17:37:07 -0700

Sometimes I’m overcome with a compulsion to complete a project. My day in/day out activities are incredibly predictable and ongoing, and while they keep me busy, they rarely have a clear end. So every once in a while I just have an itch to create something from start to finish in a single shot. It might be a small project involving photos... or correspondence... or cleaning something with ferocity and absolute thoroughness...

Last week it was to make the bag you see above. I call it my Bolsa Chica Bag, named for the beach in SoCal where I frolicked and cavorted with friends from my youth group every summer from 1990-1993. See the plaid in the patchwork? It’s from a shirt I wore back then. Loved that shirt. Anyway, on Wednesday, after thinking on it for a few days, I felt compelled to whip up a tote, complete with a lining made from an awesome Ikea rug I’ve had stashed away for years. Never mind that I’ve never whipped up much of anything of its kind before... the bag was simply meant to be. Much like Michelangelo freeing the sculpture he saw from within a slab of marble, I was a mere tool in the hands of a greater power. I couldn’t mess it up. The Bolsa Chica Bag had a date with destiny.

Which is a good thing, because once the compulsion takes hold and I enter the zone, I have a fatal flaw. You know the old saying, “measure-twice-cut-once”...? Well, I don’t measure at all. I just go for it. I cut left and right and sometimes with my eyes closed. Luckily, this time, the flaw wasn’t totally fatal, and even though my Bolsa Chica Bag is full of flaws, I totally love it, because they’re my own precious flaws, all sewn together in a sea of my happiest colors and feelings.

The Bolsa Chica Bag is currently carrying the Beth Moore study I’m doing with my sisters, my Bibles, and a cute little springy plaid zipper pouch full of pens.

It’s silly when I think about it, but this little project did me a world of good last week. It was like a vacation, a nap, a thunderstorm, and a sweet dream all in one crazy night with fabric strewn everywhere, my sewing machine whirring away, and “Law and Order” on in the background. And in this case, with this funny project, I’m happy to have an imperfect patchwork reminder of whatever undefinable goodness it was for me to work on it.

Q is for Quoth the Raven

Mon, 5 May 2008 14:55:33 -0700

I don’t know what to say about this really, but I love Poe’s “The Raven”. It’s been on my mind lately, and I just found an MP3 of Christopher Walken reciting it, which was so incredibly perfect. Such a great poem. Beautiful to hear, haunting, easy to relate to... sort of. I think of the raven as the representation of lies we believe. Lies I believe, although I do not set out to do so. I do not intend to be deceived or oppressed by something that is not true, and do not mean to entertain a word brought to me by some unfaithful, unknown source. And actually, the raven’s “nevermore” is both true and false. Personally, rather than fly into a tizzy of despair and sink in the shadow of the raven sitting on my chamber door, I think I’ll try to leave the room. Figuratively speaking. Or literally. Whichever.

Though I’ve never been much into poetry, I do have some favorites. Mostly English and American classics introduced to me in school. Cliche? Oh well.

If anyone is still out there reading this and has a favorite poem, I’d love to know what it is. It would be fun to expand my horizons a little bit this week and read some awesome poetry.

P is for Propriety

Thu, 24 Apr 2008 13:15:35 -0700

Strict table manners aren’t a huge priority in our home, although there are a couple basic courtesies we do value and enforce, one of which involves chewing with mouths closed.

So here’s the scene:
Mallory takes a bite of her dinner, chews a couple times, and then starts to speak.

Me: Mal, please finish chewing before you talk.

Mal: Ok, Mommy. -chew, chew- I will. -chew, chew- I know I should do that. -chew, chew- I’m going to finish chewing first. -chew.- And then I’ll talk. -chew- Yes, that’s good! -chew, chew, chew. swallow.- I did it! Now I can talk.

Me: Thank you! What did you want to say?

Mal: Long pause. Hmmm... what did I want to saaayyy?...

End scene.

The funny thing is that she really isn’t trying to get away with something or be defiant. She’s so stinkin’ verbal, that this is honestly her way of processing and submitting to my request. She narrates. With great expression. It is hilarious and a huge challenge for us, her parents, not to crack up. In the end, Clint or I will just say, “Thanks, Mal! It’s so polite to swallow your food before you talk!” And she’ll agree.

So there’s a Mallory story for you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long. Revisit the M & N posts for a refresher on where I’ve been... and keep praying for O to arrive.

Gotta fly. The Destroyers (a.k.a. Sky & Lola) have uncovered a great secret--a certain toy shelf of theirs backs up to a ridiculously placed kitchen cabinet... a cabinet that you have to walk quite a ways out of the kitchen to access. I forgot it was there until recently. Anyway, said toy shelf is now in the middle of the room, the girls have opened their thrilling discovery... and they’re about to pull a few incredibly dusty pyrex dishes onto their precious little toes.

O is for Overlap

Sun, 6 Apr 2008 22:57:05 -0700

Blessed overlap!

I perceive that the time is quickly approaching when Skylar and Lauren will push back and extend their morning nap, thus completely eliminating their afternoon nap, the end result being a substantially lengthy solitary nap, at least an hour of which will overlap with Mallory’s beautiful daily nappity-nap-nap.

Ergo, by my calculations, within a month or so, I’d guess that I will be alone, unaccompanied and solo between the hours of 2 and 3 o’clock... quite possibly until 4. Dull moments for Mommy to fill! I’m so excited.

N is for Never a Dull Moment

Fri, 4 Apr 2008 13:45:31 -0700

My wise and wonderful Mom once gave me an amazingly appropriate visual illustration to affirm and give a bit of humor to the challenges I was facing as a new first grade teacher... she likened certain aspects of my job to corralling marbles on top of a hill.

It was a satisfying simile then, and is even more so now as I’m home day-in and day-out with my daughters. These three miniature people are constantly on the move, often in different, non-approved directions. If you picture little supercharged marbles on top of a hill, and then picture me attempting to keep them all close and safe whilst allowing them freedom to explore and play and learn and grow, all without the benefit of an electric fence or cattle prod, then you have a pretty good picture of my life. Even when they’re all in the same little bit of space, of course the watchfulness is absolutely necessary, lest you look away a moment only to find Mallory lying on Skylar or snatching away someone’s toy, or Lola eating some non-food item, or the twins removing trash from the trash can (impressive display of teamwork with that one)... There is very little stillness when these girls are awake... truly, never a dull moment.

And as fun and precious as they are, and as blessed as I am to be with them throughout the day, I really miss a good dull moment every now and then.

One day I know I’ll look back on these crazy days with great nostalgia and affection, quietly longing for my cuddly toddlers and remembering how I enjoyed hilarious conversation with my precocious three year-old Mal. (Mal, eat some of your turkey. I ate my strawberries and my pickle and my chips and my delicious chocolate milk. Yes you did. Now please eat some turkey. Did you know it makes you strong? Strong? Yep. But I am strong already. she shows her muscles. Yes, that’s true. And the turkey will make you even stronger. Oh... like a real cowboy. ?!?!) I’ll miss the simplicity of life before school and sports and carpools and lessons and places to be. These are the things I tell myself when I feel that I am -not- cherishing today. When I think a dull moment would bring me some satisfaction that I’m missing.

Though I sometimes believe I’ve lost my marbles, I’m so thankful for the three colorful and shiny ones that grace my days and bring such life to our home.

M is for Marshmallows Where My Brain Should Be

Thu, 3 Apr 2008 13:34:50 -0700

I am not a pretty sight, people.

There’s no good reason why I’m so out of it, but I am SO out.of.it! It’s been how long since I blogged? And I had such good intentions for writing everyday... I don’t know where the time’s going or what I’m doing with it as it passes me by.

All I know is that I’m not all there. Or here. Whatever. A couple fries short of a Happy Meal, as they say.

To illustrate... Several days ago, Clint and I were so late for the evening church service (thanks to unusually sad, teething toddlers and unfortunate hair styling challenges for me) that we skipped it entirely and went to dinner instead. Afterwards we went to the grocery store for some necessities, and as I was saying something about the twins, I could not for the life of me summon Skylar’s name. After stuttering and stammering for a while and just wanting to get on with whatever I was going to say, I referred to her as “the child who takes a pacifier”. That about sums it up. Marshmallow Brain, her loving husband, and their three beautiful and beloved children, The Big One, The One Who Takes a Pacifier, The Other One.

Forgetting words, distracted, slow-moving. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear my thyroid wasn’t working properly. Oh wait... no thyroid. Right. And I can’t help feeling like I’m missing out on everything, even though I’m right here. So weird! I imagine that this is what a coma might feel like, except I’m awake and taking care of my household. Or trying to. I hope I snap out of this soon.

Meanwhile, I’ll take metaphoric marshmallows in my head hands down over metaphoric bricks or poop or jackhammer or nothing or a monkey. Soft, sweet, benign. That’ll do. Until my brain comes back from wherever it’s been, of course.

L is for Late

Sat, 22 Mar 2008 13:03:58 -0700

I’m what you might call a night owl. Since adolescence this has been the case. After 9 or 10 o’clock, I perk up and become crazy productive, inspired, etc. My ideal schedule would be to go to bed between 1 and 2 in the morning, and then sleep until 9 or 10. However, as you well know, the real world operates on an earlier schedule, so if I choose to indulge my late night tendencies (which I sometimes do... but rarely much past midnight) AND exist in the world (which I must), I will inevitably be tired. Now it would make sense to assume that my love of sleep would outweigh my desire/compulsion to stay up late, but this is not so. Nighttime is the only real time I have to myself, and I absolutely cherish it. I. cherish. it.

But as it turns out, being a night owl to the extent that I am prone to be one doesn’t just make me a little tired, it makes me a lot tired, which makes me a less than awesome wife and mom, which adds stress to my already stressful life, which zaps what energy I do have, compromises my immunity and metabolism, and makes my hair fall out. The choice is clear: I need to go to bed at a reasonable hour, sacrifice the context in which I feel most like myself and accomplish the most, grieve the loss of the alone/quiet time, and trust that God will provide another time and place for solitude and the productivity born out of awesome focus and no distractions. I know I’ll end up feeling better overall, but it’s a sad thing nonetheless. I really wish I could have my cake and eat it too in this case... stay up late, be productive, etc., AND wake up refreshed with my family, energetic and ready for the day.

The transition will be tough. And I know it will be so worth it. Just had to document my pouty lip on the subject.

K is for Keeping That Door Open

Thu, 20 Mar 2008 23:30:10 -0700

I heard once, probably on some ooey-gooey daytime talk show, an extension of the theory that one’s home is a profoundly reliable reflection of oneself. It was something along the lines of how it is actually the area in your home that you don’t want anyone to see--what lies behind the door that stays closed, rather than the area you take the most pride in--that most accurately represents your state of being, state of mind, innermost soul, something like that.

For me, at this moment in time, my room of shame is the office. More specifically, it is my own little space in the office, known as the Cubby.

This afternoon I had a friend over, and in preparation for her coming, I scrambled around to pick up the house a bit, thinking she might want the grand tour, this being her first visit to Casa de Phillips. It was incredibly satisfying to survey a basically clean homestead prior to her arrival. Beds made, toys more or less where they’re supposed to be, washed surfaces, swept floor, etc. Although, of course, I didn’t get around to the office. Briefly, I contemplated keeping that door closed. My Cubby is ridiculously cluttered with stacks of books, receipts, mail, photos, and all kinds of cutesy nonsense that I don’t want to throw away but have managed to avoid attending to for going on a year and a half. There’s no mold growing, no insects or rodents, no rancid smells... it could definitely be worse... but it isn’t what I want it to be, which causes me to feel reluctant about showing it to anyone. Instead of being a neat, organized and functional Mary-space, it’s cluttered, neglected, and the opposite of functional, unless you count how masterfully it’s housing the hodgepodge and mishmash of sloppy stacks and whatever else is in there.

I’ll spare you the Oprah moment where I take all those adjectives and apply them to myself, tears pooling in my eyes, head downcast, voice aquiver. (Ok, so it doesn’t really make me cry, but I do identify with everything I just wrote... I certainly feel cluttered, a tad dysfunctional, and that I’ve neglected some important self things.)

Instead, I’m happy to report that the good news is that I’m choosing not to be overly chagrined about my Cubby. Sure, we’re both (my Cubby and I) a little on the fritz, but it’s for good reason. Or reasons. Reasons that can be seen in every other room of my home. Reasons who are hilarious and sweet and wonderful and thriving. Given the choice (up ‘til recently it really has felt like an either/or), I’d rather have a cluttered Cubby and a happy family than the other way around. And the last thing I want to do is pretend my cluttered Cubby doesn’t exist, metaphorically speaking. It is what it is, and it’s full of potential. So I’ll keep the door open, literally and figuratively, and I’m confident that in doing so, the road back to neatness and functionality, however long, will be blessed by the company I’m keeping and the balance and encouragement honesty brings.

So how about you? Any areas in your home that are making you cringe at the moment? We can start a support group.

J is for Jumbled Thoughts

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 12:15:18 -0700

In the absence of something specific to write about, here’s a peek at the ramblings of my mind at the moment.

The house is clean, the twins are napping, Mallory is playing happily, and I’m thinking about Easter baskets. I need to do my Bible study, organize the baby book supplies I’ve been accumulating for the last 15 months, produce said baby books, clean out Mal’s closet, run some errands and fold laundry. And strike a dinner plan. I’m wishing I had confidence in my gardening abilities, because I’d love to see some prettiness in my backyard, which reminds me that we need to replace the sand in the sandbox, as a neighborhood cat made it her litterbox last week. Gross. Clint’s been working like crazy in the yard, clearing weeds from the beds and getting them ready for planting... mulching, raking, removing roots... He wants us to try an herb garden, and I’m thinking veggies, too, but again, totally intimidated. Our redwoods are dead. I’m woefully behind in my personal correspondence. My cough is much better, but my sinuses feel like they’ve been filled with plaster. Yesterday when I was eating an apple I had a sharp, repetitive pain in my jaw. On the same subject, my bottom teeth are becoming really crooked and I think my open bite is returning, but the last thing I want to do is revisit my relationship with the orthodontist. It was a long run the first time, goodness knows, and one stint with braces was quite enough for me, thank you. Last night we went to a St. Patrick’s Day party, had green eggs, green tortillas, green chips, green punch and green desserts. Everyone wore green, which is a good thing in my book, but one guy informed some of us that protestants are supposed to wear orange on St. Patty’s. Who knew? I’m glad we’re building new friendships. But I’m a bit dismayed to find myself conversationally-challenged, as I seem to have become one of those people who has nothing to talk about except their kids. Maybe I should make it a point to make a list of grown-up discussion topics before I enter the outside world. Preparation, you know. I wonder what to use on my shower doors to get rid of the hard water streaks. Did I take my vitamins this morning? Tonight I’m going to paint Mallory’s little wooden chairs to match the table I painted way back in September. I hear Lola. My hands are really dry and I miss my sibs... haven’t seen them in a couple days. Mallory just said, “Mommy, I’m not sick anymore. I just have a cough and a burp.”

And there you go.

I is for Irritating

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 23:39:10 -0700

I’ve had just about enough of being sick and am completely irritated that this cough/cold nonsense is holding on so long. Can’t keep a thought in my head because the coughing is violent and painful and hurting my brain, thus the absence of any blog activity (among other productive endeavors).

So depressing.

Hopefully I’ll be right as rain very soon, back in the rhythm of my life, website included.

H is for Hijinks and Other Words I Like

Sun, 9 Mar 2008 22:46:40 -0700

Though my vocabulary is far from stellar, I’m a big fan of words and there are some in particular that I love having a reason to utter. They’re nothing special, but they tickle me a little. Hijinks is one of them. I also enjoy Tuesday, pedagogy, superfluous, persnickety, savvy, arduous, scoop, scalawag, audacity, DiCaprio, pup, chrysanthemum, scandalous, cosmic, benign, slowpoke, clandestine, bamboozle, popcorn & shmoopy. And festivus, of course.

I irrationally dislike some words, too. Cocoa, sofa, data, ointment, and morsel come to mind.

Please note that I’m only talking a about the words themselves--how they sound and roll off the tongue. Not meaning. Those lists would look very different.

And now you know something about me that you didn’t before, so Happy Sunday to you. Just trying to get back in the ol’ blogging groove. Leave me a word you like, if you like.

P.S. The picture has nothing to do with words I like, but it does show a person I like. It’s me and my friend Laura, long long ago when we were children... almost exactly thirteen years ago, Oh.My.STARS. Random, I know, but I just came across this pic and am looking forward to hanging out with L this weekend and couldn’t think of a picture to go along with this post. So there you go.

G is for Good

Fri, 7 Mar 2008 15:24:21 -0800

We’re all feeling much better. Not 100%, but good. Or well. Well.

I can’t believe it’s Friday! The week gone by was a blur, and as I look around, I’m pleased that the house isn’t the disaster zone it should be. Good!

Other good things...

...yarn. Yarn is good, and I want to learn to knit and crochet. I have at least two willing, capable teachers... it’s more a matter of whether or not I have the mental capacity. Anyway, in the meantime, until I’m making scarves for everyone I know, I love yarn and think it is good. (P.S. The stuff above is called Taffy Yarn, made from recycled t-shirts. How cute is that?!)

...our small group! We are loving this new-to-us group of couples from church and are blessed and excited to be making some new friends. They’re awesome. Down-to-earth, open, funny. Thank you, Lord!

...the Hardings who willingly and lovingly babysit so we can get out of the house for said small group (among other things!). Amazingly, brilliantly good.

...chips and salsa. So good.

...the twins’ morning naps... nice and long. And they’ve been sleeping so well at night, together in the same room for the first time since they were three months old, which gives us back the office, which is so very nice to have back. Very, very good.

...Mallory’s attitude. She hears a lot of NOs, is constantly being corrected and restricted in her play with Sky & Lola, doesn’t get out nearly as much as she should, and has a crazy woman for a mom, but she is the most precious, helpful, sweet and positive little soul. I adore her. Good, good, good.

...the weather. Nice and springy. A little too warm for March 7, but still good.

...my Mom-in-Law’s birthday is today! She’s a fabulous Mom and Nana, and we get to see her and Grandpa tomorrow! GOOD (and yummy, because we’re going to Uricchio’s... and fun, because there will be presents... and entertaining, because we’re going to watch “Spiderman 3”... and blessed, because how could it not be?!)!

...my husband. He is simply light-years beyond good.

...ok, I’d love to keep going with this, but afternoon naps aren’t as good as the morning ones, and I hear Skylar yelling through the wall. Not so good.

Sicky Poo

Sun, 2 Mar 2008 19:15:19 -0800

Sick, sick, sick. We’re all sick. Except Clint. He was sick last weekend.

Such a drag.

F is for From Down the Hall

Thu, 28 Feb 2008 22:08:22 -0800

When she was on baby food, Mallory was all about eating her vegetables. Since then, however, she’s pretty much anti. Her cousin Scout happily eats carrots, peas, broccoli, sweet potatoes... and I bring this up sometimes in an attempt to manipulate Mal with some pathetic form of reverse psychology or peer pressure or something, into eating her own veggies. “Everyone eats vegetables, Mal! Scout loves veggies! Did you know that veggies make you smart? and pretty?! All the princesses eat veggies! Veggies are so delicious! Scout eats veggies...” You get the idea.

It’s been to no avail. A natural born relativist, she’ll agree enthusiastically with everything I say and then reply, “But broccoli is not good for me.” Thank goodness for the broccoli extracts in her vitamins. Shhh.

So today, after going potty, Mal asks Mimi (who accompanied Mal to my bathroom to keep her company) if they can look at the Cinderella on the back of Mal’s panties. They’re funny panties--a huge Cinderella face smack dab on the rear. This was a new one for Mimi. Mallory, standing with her back to my full length mirror, turns her head to admire her favorite princess.

“See, Mimi? Cinderella’s on my bod-yum.”

“Well yes she is...” Mallory is a major talker, and they chit-chat more about the Cinderella-bottom phenomenon as Mal gets her pants back on, and I’m laughing because it’s a conversation I have with Mal several times a day when she wears those particular Cinderella panties, and it feels like such a normal conversation until I hear her having it with someone else.

And then from down the hall I hear Mallory’s little feet coming back to the living room and to wrap up the princess talk she concludes with, “...and Cinderella eats a LOT of broccoli.”

Well, she may not be motivated to eat ‘em, but at least I’m making an impact with the veggie talk on some level, albeit a comedic one. I’ll take the laughter as good medicine and she’ll take her vitamins and really, who could ask for anything more.

E is for Enunciation

Wed, 27 Feb 2008 10:56:00 -0800

I love Mallory’s voice. I love its timbre. I love its sweetness. I love when she sings, talks, and laughs. Not so wild about whining and fake cries or yelps, but in general, her voice is music to my ears. She enunciates her consonants, which I think is totally charming, and I’m finding myself doing the same, thanks to her influence. My whats have a solid (but not sharp) T at the end now. WhaT. Don’T. ThaT. ClinT.

As she’s growing at such a rapid rate, I know that before I know it, she’ll be done with the little speech impediments that I have come to adore. The little lisp that inconsistently shows up is so precious, but it will be gone soon. My favorite of her speech pathologies is how she interchanges her F’s and S’s. It might appear to be random at first, but it’s actually very specific. She does just fine with the S’s in Scout, Skylar, silly, sister, sweet, school, Sunday, Saturday, soap... sunshine. But words that begin with SP or SM are pronounced by Mal with an F. The itsy-bitsy fider climbed up the water fout... Outer space is outer face. I’m so smart is I’m so fart. Smile is file, smell is fell. (“Mommy, what do you fell like?... You fell like Mommy!” or “This baby fells like poop.”)

And on the flipside, words that begin with F get a bonus S at the beginning. The sfidge is on the sfoor. (The fridge is on the floor.) I wanT to play ouT sfronT. (As opposed to out back.) There are exceptions to this one... face is face, fall is fall, funny is funny.

There are more mix-ups, but these are my favorites... or shoud I say sfavorites (actually, she says this one correctly now).

Hate to be abrupt, but I must go. Off to rescue Skylar, whose voice is, at the moment, incredibly unpleasant and requiring my attention. It’s ok... in a few minutes she’ll be saying her long, low “hiiieeeeye” over and over. Another voice to love.

Thank Goodness for Rick Springfield

Tue, 26 Feb 2008 22:58:15 -0800

Teething is rough. Just ask Skylar & Lauren. They WANT to be happy. They WANT to enjoy doing their little twin zombie/toddler walk around the free spaces of our home, chasing Mallory around, playing with this and that, opening and closing their kitchen drawer... However, small, sharp objects are attempting to penetrate their sensitive gums, making my sweet girls fairly miserable. At least I assume it’s teething. The frantic cries, the gnawing, the drooling... what else could it be? Rabies? Nope. No froth. Teething it is.

After boycotting their afternoon naps, Sky & Lola were so fussy today. It was a challenging afternoon stretch. The only thing that distracted them from their misery was Rick Springfield singing “Jessie’s Girl” live on Oprah. What a glorious three and a half minutes. It was hilarious. Both girls stopped dead in their tracks, mid-whimper, and were absolutely fixated on the man. Following the performance, they were a bit more relaxed. Less yelling, more whining. Skylar would walk up to me and hug my leg (or rest her head on my knee if I was sitting) and in her low voice say ‘hi’ over and over. “Hiiiieeeeye. Hiiieeeye.” She’d pat my leg. I’d hug her. So cute. And Lauren would walk up and just look at me with this desperately furrowed brow. I’d put my hands on her cheeks and hold my face close to hers. This would usually make her smile.

They’re such precious girls, even when they’re miserable.

Mallory, too, of course. (Precious, not miserable.) Clint mentioned today that she’s three and a half (or will be on March 14), and I almost cried. That half seemed so sudden! She’s getting so big! By the way, I disagree with the whole Terrible Twos business. Two was a breeze, a walk in the park. Three is a challenge. The best way I can describe it is that she’s discovering her power, and now our parenting involves helping her learn to wield it appropriately. She now knows that Mommy doesn’t really have eyes in the back of her head, she knows that her sisters can’t speak for themselves, she knows she doesn’t have to tell the truth. Case in point, last night, Clint and I left the dinner table to put the twins to bed. We thought they’d play happily until we were done eating, but they were unraveling, and unfortunately, Rick Springfield wasn’t around.

The babes are sleeping in the same room again, so we had to put them down together, rather than one at a time, leaving Mal alone with her whole wheat pasta and meatball for a few minutes. Here’s what happened when we rejoined her.

Clint: “Mal?”

Mal: “What.”

Clint: “Did you put pepper on Daddy’s food?”

Mal: (Pause) “No.” (Staring into space. Totally flat delivery.)

Clint: “Mallory, I think you did put pepper on my food.”

Mal: “Yes! I did!” (She almost said it like, “Oh yeah! I forgot!”)

Anyway, you can imagine the rest of the conversation. Don’t put salt and pepper on people’s food... It’s important to tell the truth, tell what really happened... etc. It was sweet and kinda funny and harmless, and she was contrite. So novel, though! You could see the word “truth” stump her. She sorta got it, but not completely. (We’ve had conversations that go along the lines of, “Mallory, can you tell me what happened?” And she says, “What happened?” Hmmm. Does the question really not compute, or is she that brilliant at diversion and avoidance tactics? Time to bust out the child development books for a refresher on this age.) She is such a thoughtful and kind little person. No doubt that she was trying to improve our dinners, not sabotage them, with the pepper. I love her and love being with her, although I wish I had more energy to give. (Random aside.) It’s mind-blowing to think about the little interactions we have all the time adding up to the single-most influential human relationship in her life. All the little corrections and silliness and tasks and play. So this is parenting!

By my calculations, next year should be easy-peasy with two two-year-olds and a four-year-old. Two three-year-olds the next year... uh-oh (Skylar’s first word, by the way)... but by then I’ll be a pro, right? At least everyone will be done teething.

D is for Don’t Know What to Write About

Fri, 22 Feb 2008 10:32:50 -0800

But look at these crayons... can’t you just smell them? I love crayons. To this day I love coloring. Mal’s not super into it, but I think that’s just part of her age and stage... she’d rather be DOING something. Maybe it’s personality. I don’t know. But I love it when she feels like coloring. Really want to build on that.

If I were a crayon color, as a recent email quiz asked (how existential), I’d be dandelion. Part of me wants to say olive green, but that’s the depressed part. I’m definitely more dandelion.

And if I were to put them in a box, Clint would be midnight blue, Mallory would be brick red, and I’m not settled on Skylar and Lauren yet... something purpley or maybe turquoisey for Sky and orangey-melony for Lola feels right , but I’m not sure, because I’m still getting to know them.

I hesitate to pose the question, as I’ve been getting so few comments lately, but I just can’t help muself, so... What color are you??!

C is for Confused

Thu, 21 Feb 2008 13:17:52 -0800

I remember it vividly. Thirteen years old, wondering why the cool boys weren’t toilet-papering MY house along with the other girls’ houses... feeling a little jealous, a little bashful. And then one Saturday morning, I wake up to my Dad telling me I had a mess to clean up out front. It had happened! I’d been chosen, deemed worthy!! And here’s how I felt as I walked out the front door and onto the grass: flattered and humiliated. For the life of me, I couldn’t decide if the fun of my vandalized front yard (I think TP-ing is technically vandalism, isn’t it?) outweighed my embarrassment, because I felt both. The real word is ambivalent, but it felt a lot like confusion.

As it happens, this bizarre sensation of simultaneously feeling conflicting or opposed emotions was not a merely adolescent experience for me. I’m ambivalent a lot of the time. Have a lot of love-hate relationships. You might be wondering if one such as myself might benefit from therapy, to sort it all out. Well, truth be told I’ve had my share of counseling, and as far as my ambivalence goes, I’m satisfied that it’s toward things or situations, not people. I don’t think there’s a cure for it, but it’s good to talk about it when I feel it spiraling in my head and I want to laugh and cry, or scream and sleep, etc.

Lately it’s along the lines of feeling completely cooped up and suffocated at times, while also LOVING that I get to stay home with my girls. Antsy and content all at the same time. Nothing particularly dramatic, thank God, but there it is.

By the way, this painting is called “Very Confused Mom”. She looks a bit more crazy than confused, but I love the hands.

B is for Berries

Tue, 19 Feb 2008 00:12:19 -0800

My husband loves berries. He loves when they’re in season and he can buy them fresh for the smoothies he makes in the morning. Frozen ones do the job when necessary, but he goes nuts over the good stuff. This evening he shared some fresh strawberries, blueberries and blackberries with me, and it made my day.

He could have said, “Get your own berries, woman.” or “But I only have two bites left.” Instead, he put together a delicious bite for me and smiled as I savored it. You know how some people strategically save the best bite of a meal for last? Clint did that with his bowl of berries, and then he happily gave it to me. He is a man who takes great joy in sharing things with his wife, especially his favorite things... so much so that for years he would actually get sad when I wouldn’t want a taste of some amazing coffee drink he’d concocted, or if I tasted it and didn’t like it, which of course I never did. I really do not like coffee. But I loved the berries.

I suppose sharing dessert berries alone wouldn’t be such a big deal, but add that to the list of amazing, selfless, encouraging, helpful, and often thankless things he does around here, and it’s the cherry on top. Or the berries on top. Anyway, it’s sweet and generous and I love that he loves to share with me.

A little shmoopy, I know, but they were really good berries. And he’s a really good man.

infantswim.com

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 16:46:52 -0800

Thanks to my friend Amy for posting this link on her blog today...

http://www.childdrowningprevention.com/index.html

I come from a long line of swimmers, especially on my Mom’s side. No olympic medals or anything (although my brother did hold a record at his high school for breaststroke for YEARS... might to this day, not sure), but for the Harding kids it was lots of swim lessons starting at a very early age, swim teams, swim meets, entire summers spent in the pool, etc. That our kids are water safe is a HUGE priority for us... however, I had no idea anything like this was possible.

Check it out. This is a true life-saver.

A is for Amendment

Sun, 17 Feb 2008 23:16:13 -0800

Blogging everyday isn’t as easy as I thought it would be, so I’m amending my declaration of intent to blog daily... I’ll TRY to blog everyday. How’s that. Some days just come and go in a flash, you know? And as we know the last thing I need is to set myself up for failure. Especially potentially consistent and repeated failure. So, I’ll do my best and there you go. Here’s something fun... for the days when I am blessed with computer time, I have borrowed a great idea to prevent me from sudden onset writer’s block. In the absence of a topic, I’ll use the alphabet as a guide or prompt or whatever.

Won’t it be exciting to see where the ABC’s take me? I know I’m looking forward to it.

So until tomorrow... or whenever... buhbye.

My Brother Has Hazel Eyes

Sat, 16 Feb 2008 20:52:25 -0800

And all my life I thought they were green. However, we did some research, and by technical definition, they’re hazel. Green on the outside, brown toward the pupil. Beautiful, whatever you call them.

I’m not an expert on much of anything, but I felt pretty confident in my knowledge of the eye color of my immediate family members. Never occurred to me that I could possibly perceive incorrectly something so obvious. Mom, Bobby, Annie, green eyes. Dad, hazel. Katie and me, brown. Common knowledge. No brainer. Duh.

Just goes to show I can’t be sure that I know much of anything with absolute certainty based on my own perception. Gracious Lord, what a gentle means for humility today. What an unexpected, benign “No, Mare, you’re wrong. Here’s the truth.”

Makes me feel better about the adjustments I’m having to make daily--minute by minute sometimes--to what I’ve always “known” to be true and what I expect of myself. I always thought I knew what being a mom would look and feel like, all the wonderful, creative things I’d do all day long with my children, how I’d be energetic and inspired all the time... ultimately that I could gauge the quality and success of my wife-ing and mothering by arbitrary, self-imposed standards. What I didn’t know is that I would be at a permanent physiological and emotional “disadvantage” following thyroid cancer. I didn’t know we’d have twins and that my hands would so suddenly be outnumbered by my kids. I didn’t know I would battle such doubt and discouragement. I didn’t know that the very plans I made would be my downfall as I failed to rise to occasion after occasion. Turns out I didn’t know some pretty significant truths. Based on my perceptions, a lot of the time I’m doing a miserable job. And most of the time, I think I’m wrong about what God really wants from me.

The beauty is that my being wrong opens the door to light being shed on what is right. And true. It is always better. Always freeing.

I praise a God who does not change, who ordained all of my days, and who shows me what I couldn’t see before. My brother’s eyes didn’t change color, but I see them differently now. I still feel like a wreck half the time, my house is a mess, my kids watch too much “Curious George”, and my thyroid will never grow back... I’ll also most likely never sprout wings... but I’m seeing that my expectations of myself are mostly a waste of everyone’s time and that what God desires and commands should be more present in my heart and mind than anything else, my own desires and expectations included. I’m still me, and my circumstances are unchanged. But they look different. It is good to look around and see all the same things with a fresh perspective. Like sunshine through storm clouds.

Thank you, Father, for your loving correction!

Cluttered

Fri, 15 Feb 2008 20:18:06 -0800

If a cluttered house is the physical manifestation of a cluttered mind, then it’s no wonder I’m stressed out. Not sure which comes first, but I’ve got both. And it’s no surprise that I can totally relate to this painting.

Is it too soon for spring cleaning? Never is, I suppose. But that’s the point, isn’t it? The time is always right to do away with clutter. Believe me, it’s on my list.

I’m not complaining about the clutter. It just is what is this week. Sky & Lola are walking all over the place, which is a blast, but it requires an even higher level of vigilance on my part than usual. They’re so pickin’ cute... and fast... and top heavy. Mallory is as precious and delightful as ever. She loves helping me with everything and is thrilled when she can get her sisters to play with her. My family is over tonight--always fun. I’m working on two merrily-merrily cards. The clutter will just have to wait. But not for too long... because even though lots of good things are happening instead, de-cluttering is a high priority. For the benefit of my house and my mind... and everyone else around.

Tag

Thu, 14 Feb 2008 10:06:06 -0800

In the spirit of silly blog/email games and forwards, here are Seven Things You Might Not Know About Me...

ONE When I was seven my parents took me to see the movie “Annie” and I was completely swept away and wanted to BE Annie and so I was. For Halloween. We bought an Annie wig and an Annie heart necklace and my mom sewed a red Annie dress and I was in Annie heaven. The only bummer was that the wig was itchy. But my costume was so awesome that one of my second grade classmates thought that the real Annie had come to visit our school. Nice. I have always loved dressing up for Halloween, don’t believe in ever dressing up as the same thing twice, and have grand plans for future costumes... if we ever get invited to a costume party, that is. Or if I host one.

TWO Every chapter of my life thus far is encapsulated in my memory with music. That’s right. My life has a soundtrack... and usually a “main title” or theme song. For example, my soundtrack in high school included “Brown Eyed Girl”, a ton of Amy Grant, “Bridge Over Troubled Water”, some Voice of the Beehive, “MotownPhilly”, Madonna’s “Like a Prayer” album, Highlights from The Phantom of the Opera and Les Miserables, “More Than Words”, a lot of Rich Mullins and Steven Curtis Chapman, a smattering of awesome country songs, a few songs from “St. Elmo’s Fire”, and my main title was Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes”. Could go on and on with this topic... but I’ll leave it at that.

THREE I suffer from major stage fright ANYTIME I sing in front of ANYONE, stage or no stage. After all these years, I never cease to be amazed at how much better I sound when I’m singing in solitude than when I’m in front of others and how tight my throat becomes when I’m asked to sing ANYTHING, even if it’s something lame like when someone says, “Oh, yeah, how does that song go?” and all I need to do is spit out a couple lines till they recognize it. I do believe that my daughters are the only souls on earth--and MAYBE Clint--who have heard me sing at ease. And I suppose my parents when I was too young to be self-conscious.

FOUR My hair really is that dark. I’ve never colored it and have no intention to, especially assuming I go gray as handsomely as my Dad and late Aunt Kathy, whose dark hair I inherited. Salt and pepper all the way. At this point, I’m just hoping to HAVE hair.

FIVE I was class president my freshman year in high school, and I did a terrible job. My thoughts about the office didn’t extend much beyond campaigning, and I didn’t receive much guidance from our faculty advisor. Guess you’re just supposed to know what to do in those situations. Anyway, it’s sad, because the boy I beat would have probably done a great job, including having (and acting on) the knowledge that it’s the class president’s responsibility to organize the creation of a float for homecoming. Oops.

SIX Last month marked the 10th anniversary of the removal of my thyroid and the malignant tumor it was sporting. Next month will mark 10 years of being officially cancer-free. Interestingly, I don’t consider myself a “cancer survivor” because every doctor I saw would say over and over that my cancer was the most desirable one out there, so somehow (to me) it wasn’t legitimate... but cancer it was, and a survivor of it I am.

SEVEN Manicures and pedicures are nice, but I prefer to do my own nails because I’m way more of a perfectionist than the girl I’m paying to do it for me.

And now... consider yourself tagged! Ok, ok... you don’t have to give me seven, but tell me a little something I might not know about you... come on. Play.

An Update

Wed, 13 Feb 2008 14:55:56 -0800

The “Later That Day” shoes went back to Target. I think we all knew it was inevitable. Sweet as they were, they just weren’t me. I’m not a four-inch wedge kind of girl, period. And isn’t it a metaphor for life?... buying shoes? You know, choosing between what we can/can’t afford, wondering what we can (or want to) pull off, taking risks, being comfortable, being ourselves vs. projecting an image, dressing up, dressing down, function meeting style... My favorite shoes in the world are my cheapie flip-flops. Analyze that.

Anywho, to replace the delightfully springy Tiki wedges, I found these beauties and welcomed them to my closet. Two of each, of course. Flats. Super comfy. Totally me. I’m as giddy as one can be about shoes. I have long admired the silver glitter shoes for girls I’ve seen at Target and was pleasantly surprised to find these sparklies on clearance ($11, thank you very much) in grown-up sizes. And the brownies, well, what can I say? Also on sale, one pair remaining in my size, too cute for words.

-sigh-

And in other news, I’m feeling like the clouds have parted on my blue mood. Sorry for spewing my blahness here. It’s amazing how small my world feels sometimes, that’s all. On the upside of this latest depression, I’m turning over a new blog leaf... my goal is to write something everyday. I think it’s good for me. I especially enjoy choosing corresponding photos. And I especially, especially love comments. :)

God bless you, dear ones. See you tomorrow.

P.S. No more posts about shoes, I promise. At least for a while.

Only in the Central Valley

Tue, 12 Feb 2008 16:12:52 -0800

For a couple weeks a while back, Bakersfield had the joy of receiving rain and wind from a few passing storms, the effects of which resulted in absolutely gorgeous skies and all kinds of blustery goodness. While out and about with Mallory, I would comment on the beautiful weather (my favorite kind!), the snow-covered mountains in the distance, the cool winds, the showers, the glorious clean air, the deep blue of the sky, the beautiful clouds, and so on.

On the way to preschool this morning, while gazing out the window from her car seat, Mallory exclaimed, “Oh, it’s such a nice cloudy day!... but I don’t see any clouds.”

What an unfortunately dead-on accurate description of the valley sky today... except “cloudy” generally does not conjure images of brown. “Fog” is something else, and she knew it didn’t apply today. I didn’t have the heart to introduce “haze” to her vocabulary, so cloudless cloudiness it was.

Darn.

This, too, shall pass. Eventually. It always does.

Thanks, by the way, to my mom-in-law, for capturing this Central Valley sky on their way to visit last weekend. -sigh-

“Seattle, Seattle, I love ya, Seattle...”

Lonely

Mon, 11 Feb 2008 14:47:38 -0800

So I’m in a funk.

And while I seem to camouflage it in most aspects of my life, the fact that I’m feeling blue seems to be magnified here in the blog. It’s been challenging for me to write about anything without a sad or even cynical tone creeping in, without envy, without bite. Honestly, I haven’t wanted to write about my actual feelings, because I’m afraid I will sound as pathetic as I feel, and who wants to read that?! But there’s no escaping it, and if I don’t write about it here, I think it just might swallow me up today.

I feel so incredibly lonely.

Not husband or kids lonely. Those cups are full. They runneth over. And I’m blessed with the most amazing parents (on both sides!) and sibs in the world. It’s just that I’m feeling a little claustrophobic these days, and to be more specific, I’m pointedly and painfully aware that I’ve not done well at maintaining friendships--a reality that fills me with sorrow. Knowing and being known are so important to me, but I’ve become so isolated. My hands are constantly full and I’m always busy... and yet they aren’t, and I’m not.

And so begins the cry I’ve been needing for the last couple weeks. Bring it on.

I think tomorrow will be better.

Later That Day...

Fri, 1 Feb 2008 22:29:42 -0800

...after my pity-party subsided a bit (see last entry), Clint blessed me with a night off. He has been known to do this, and it’s always incredibly appreciated. So after the twins were down and Mallory was in the bath, I made my exit. I had a leisurely dinner at Rubio’s (chicken taco and fountain pop--delish) where I did some people-watching and caught up with belated birthday cards, followed by some Target Therapy where I just so happened to make the strangest impulse purchase in recent memory.

Even though I had to buy them a size too big because that’s all they had left, and even though I’ll probably trip and fall to my death in them, and even though I can’t rightly say exactly when or where or with what outfit I might wear them, the colors and blooms on these Tiki Floral Wedges With Bow (LOVE the bow) were calling my name.

So I bought them. It was as if a force beyond my reason and sense swallowed me whole. Seriously, I tried to walk away twice, but the Tikis wouldn’t let me go.

And I may very well return them tomorrow. Too bad they aren’t flats. We’ll see.

Anyway, I felt the need to end the day on a more pleasant note than I left it with Blog Envy. Impulse purchases, though irresponsible and certainly problematic when habitual, are basically pleasant, right?

When they’re few and far between??? Right?!

I also bought Mallory some new panties (Cinderella and Curious George) and a raincoat/windbreaker, a little something special for all three girls to be revealed at a later date, some sale clothing items (some of which are going back for sure), Sugar-Free Necco Conversation Hearts (made with Splenda, doncha know), AND I was GOING to buy some more LashBlast, but apparently I was totally right about that stuff, as it was completely out of stock. It is in fact the best mascara ever.

It was a fun little indulgent evening made even sweeter by my husband’s pleasant response to my return home, Target bags in hand and all.

Think I’ll practice walking in my new wedges before bed... I hear that’s the key for novices.

Blog Envy

Fri, 1 Feb 2008 13:28:45 -0800

**The content of this post has been deleted due to its annoying, self-piteous, and depressing nature.

Guess I’ve just been struggling a bit lately... and I lost sight of the FUN. Sorry, folks.

(Thanks, Laura & Amy, for the kind words... you’re precious.)

The End of an Era

Thu, 24 Jan 2008 15:07:14 -0800

Today I threw away the single most useful piece of equipment available for a new mommy of twins. For a mommy of twins who wants to nurse her twins, that is. The “EZ2 Nurse Twins” Nursing Pillow. This hilarious piece of furniture made it possible to accomplish what some people told me could not (and should not) be done. Thirteen months. Whew.

We received the EZ2 Nurse Twins pillow as a donation from an acquaintance whose twins had recently been weaned. I had intended to pass it on to some other ambitious woman when I was done with it, but I’m afraid it’s seen its last set of twins. When I attempted to remove the fabric for laundering, the foam on the inside literally crumbled. The sad EZ2 was falling apart. So I zipped it back up and opted for a dignified burial. Today it rests in peace wherever Varner Brothers dumps their collected garbage. It’s sad really. It deserved more. Then again, it is just a horseshoe of fabric covered foam. With a strap.

This topic has been known to make people squeamish, especially if they start visualizing, so I’ll wrap this up.

Here’s a nice subject change... Pray that Lola would stop spitting out everything she drinks from a cup. That would be nice.

Zoology Meets Anthropology in My House

Wed, 23 Jan 2008 15:18:52 -0800

I’ve never seen or been in close proximity to a...

...colony of bats... prickle of porcupines... gang of elk... troop of baboons... herd of sheep... pack of wolves... horde of hamsters... tower of giraffes... boogle of weasels... band of gorillas... skulk of foxes... bloat of hippos... business of ferrets... sloth of bears... party of jays... tribe of goats... barrel of monkeys... cackle of hyenas... rookery of penguins... span of mules... romp of otters... dray of squirrels... battery of barracudas... peep of chickens... troubling of goldfish... or blessing of unicorns.

However, I believe I have become something of an expert on the overpowering strength, astonishing cuteness, and overwhelming speed, reach, and volume of a SWARM of TWINS.

That’s right. Twins apparently travel in swarms. Who knew?! And our twins in particular aren’t even walking yet. But man-o-man can they crawl! Perhaps as they grow, their SWARM will evolve into something else, something more easily managed and corralled, like a nice PAIR. But in the meantime, it’s time to set up some serious barricades, brush-up on the deep breathing exercises, and choose not to tire of hoisting Sky & Lola up in tandem and relocating them when their curiosity leads them to forbidden places, such as the computer desk, my closet, or the bookshelves by the front door.

Don’t be fooled. They’re precious and sweet and all, but woe to anyone who is caught unawares on the floor. If they’re both happy, give thanks. If they’re both unhappy, watch out. Though harmless, the swarm of Sky & Lola can smother and climb and poke and pull like you wouldn’t believe. They also have deafening and paralyzing screams used in communicating with each other and in expressing all manner of thoughts and feelings. They leave in their wake a trail of drool and strewn playthings, their energy and stamina know no bounds, and they thrive on Cheerios. They are small in size but giant in just about every other way.

Luckily, they’re powerless against tickling and rapid kisses.

You Can Be My Wingman Anytime

Mon, 21 Jan 2008 12:37:39 -0800

What’s scarier than being catapulted in a jet from an aircraft carrier into the wild blue yonder? Well, according to my future brother-in-law Marine pilot Tim, the answer is proposing to my sister next to the catapult on an aircraft carrier. Happily, and to no one’s surprise, her answer was a blissful YES! And the Hardings prepare to add another strapping young buck to the family.

Tim and Katie were college sweethearts, kept in touch off and on over the years, and then turned out to be the best little love story any of us have heard in a while. I’m thrilled for them, and an extra special bonus is that Tim’s sister just so happens to be my dear friend Stacey (my maid of honor), and this union will make us official distant relatives! Ha!

Congratulations, KK & Timmy! It’s been a joy to see how God has authored this story and to be a part of the celebration of your engagement. I love you so.

P.S. For all you “Top Gun” fans out there... hate to break it to you, but apparently that movie is not at all a realistic depiction of military aviation. The flying just doesn’t work that way, the call-signs aren’t as cool, and they aren’t allowed to have hair as long as Ice Man’s. However, Navy guys do play shirtless beach volleyball every Saturday afternoon with Kenny Loggins blaring in the background. Go figure.

Sharing the Joy

Fri, 18 Jan 2008 14:11:33 -0800

Months and months ago my sis-in-law Lexie introduced me to what she believed to be the best mascara ever, and I told her she should blog about it. You know, pass on the love. The mascara was CoverGirl’s LashExact. I preferred the VolumeExact to the original, but Lexie was right. Best.Mascara.Ever. Love it. No clumps, no smears, good coverage. Relatively cheap. Perfect.

As far as I was concerned, my mascara searching days were over forever. I’d found the one.

But then I saw a commercial for this stuff. Chunky orange, see above. CoverGirl LashBlast. And I thought, Hmmm... another CoverGirl mascara... wonder if it’s as good as the perfect stuff in my vanity...

And since I can’t leave well enough alone, on my next trip to the grocery store, I swung by the makeup aisle and picked up this tube of eyelash bliss.

My friends, this stuff rocks. The brush is huge as far as such things go, and the lack of a tapered tip is a bit of a challenge at first when you’re trying to reach those baby lashes in the corners... but I’m in mascara heaven. It’s VolumeExact with a cherry on top. My mascara searching days are over forever. Again.

Ah, Lash Blast. It’s been the highlight of my sprucing-up routine, which, I might add, is often the highlight of my day. For some women, makeup is a hassle and a burden. The last thing they want to do when they’re feeling stressed or tired or whatever. For me, it’s like a sweet little pick-me-up and seriously improves my state of mind and attitude, without fail. Been like this since junior high. I don’t wear a LOT of makeup or anything, and it’s never interesting, fancy, or particularly colorful. Mascaras and lipsticks are my favorite... always looking for the perfect color, the perfect eyelashes.

But not today. Today it’s perfect as it is. My LashBlast, L’Oreal lipstick in Chocolate Truffle, and Physicians Formula powder. All drugstore brands, I might add. Gotta love that, right?

So, in conclusion, LashBlast. You’re welcome.  (See, Lex, you can blog about any silly thing! And I want YOU to whip up something about your new hoodie from Anthro. Inspire the world. Give us hope. Share the joy!)

The Year In Review

Tue, 8 Jan 2008 14:24:49 -0800

So I’ve run across a couple blogs where the authors posted tallies of their impressive accomplishments from last year. Number of resolutions kept, number of mountains climbed, number of rain forests saved, number of awards won by their children, number of continents visited, number of brilliant demonstrations of creativity, number of hours used wisely, number of life dreams realized, number of all kinds of good and admirable things.

Initially my feeling after reading said lists was total despondency. Shoulders slumped. Head down. Eyes closed. Soft sigh. Rather than feeling glad for the incredible productivity before me, rather than celebrating the fact that such people do in fact exist in this world and have the benevolence to grace blog readers with their mighty and wonderous deeds, and rather than simply applauding these humble superhumans, I felt blue about the stark contrast between their impressive, accomplished lives and my unimpressive, cluttered one . Taste the bitterness? What a pathetic admission. Boo-hoo. But then I thought, Hey--it might not be much on the surface, but it’s been MY year, MY life, and in my own funny little way, I’m proud of it, even though I personally sort of look and feel like cr’zap and am losing my hair and wear the same two and a half outfits constantly and would totally lose any impressive/accomplished year contest... but for what it’s been, what it required, and where it brought us, 2007 was awesome! Besides, it’s not a contest, it’s a blog. And I’m in a blogging rut and could really use something to write about, and, you never know, someone out there might still be checking in to read... (The thought carried on and and on and I ended up thinking about Pottery Barn.)

And so, without further ado, I give you my not-so-impressive tallies from the most recent year gone by (awesome accomplishments of Clint, Mallory, Skylar & Lola omitted).

5,516 diapers changed (more or less... and of course, I had LOTS of help with this one!)
1 child potty-trained
1 website started
35 blog posts
7 solo trips to Target
1 viewing of a movie in the theater
23 merrily-merrily creations
3 broken major appliances (I didn’t break them... it was just their time.)
83 oz. of Butt Paste (roughly)
100 meals from Rubio’s (give or take)
1,001 viewings of Disney Pixar animated movies
2 threadbare nursing bras (gross)
0 manicures
2 songs made up for inconsolable babies
44 post-preggers pounds gone
0 grown-up books read
4,058 digital pics shot

Not too shabby. :) Best of all, I have a fantastic husband, three beautiful daughters, a relatively peaceful home, loving family and friends, and a gracious, faithful, and merciful God. It was a great year to be in my shoes. Most days.

Happy New Year!