Little Big Man

Nicholas played his first travel soccer game at 8:00 this morning. It was 35 degrees outside. He's playing on Stephen's team, which is technically two years older than his age group. He begged to do this and he mostly holds his own. But he's still such a little guy. Actually, he's a huge guy, as big as the average nine -year-old and much bigger than Michael was at ten. Nevertheless, he's my baby boy. At halftime, they were up 3-2. Nicky played goalkeeper the second half. They lost 8-4. That's six goals scored on my baby, ladies. I wanted to cry. But I didn't.

Nick got in the car after the game and I tried as hard as I could to channel a good soccer mom--any good soccer mom.

Me: I'm so proud of you, Nick.
Nicky(raising his eyebrows): Why?
Me: Because you didn't cry out there. It was hard and you got discouraged but you didn't cry.
Nicky: Well, tears did get in my eyes, but I didn't let them out.
Me: That's because you're a big man. I think if I'd been in that goal, I would have cried. But you didn't because you are a great, big, brave man.
Nicky: Mom, you might think I'm a big man, but really, in that goal, I was a little boy. It was a huge goal.

It was.

Huge.

Morning Connection

The theme for this week's Simply Lovely Fair is "Staying Connected." Sarah asks how we stay connected to our husbands amidst the busyness of everyday life. I bring my husband breakfast in bed every single day. This did not begin as an altruistic gesture or even a conscious effort at connection.   My husband awakens hungry every morning and he tends to be a grumpy hungry person. One big, hungry, grumpy person mixed in with several small hungry grumpy people, cups of orange juice, the morning paper, a dog who needs to go out, and eggs on the stove and well, it wasn't pretty. So, I resolved to take the big guy out of the picture. I got the kids settled with breakfast one morning and took a pretty tray up to my hubby. I sat there in our bedroom and gave him my apparently undivided attention while he ate breakfast. (I was still listening for sounds of chaos from downstairs.) And then, I did it again the next morning and the next and the next. When the baby was born, that became time to nurse and chat. And when she grew old enough to be interested in food, she sat on his lap and ate from his plate. Now, this is her routine and when he's out of town, she won't eat breakfast. The three of us have some time alone together. Sometimes, we just delight in how dear she is. Other times, we discuss important things well over her head. Whatever the case, we connect.

I keep it fairly simple and the menu is usually the same: an English muffin, poached eggs, and a fruit smoothie. Occasionally, I add bacon or sausage. Every once in awhile, they enjoy leftover spaghetti carbonara or muffins from teatime the day before. But mostly, it's the same thing every day. I have the "making" routine down pat and everyone seems happy with the predictability. We begin our day together, in an oasis before the crush of craziness. Sometimes, other children wander in for a morning snuggle after they've eaten and increasingly, Karoline drifts away to play when she has had her fill of food. I remain (often stilling the small voice inside my head ticking off the items on my to-do list). And we begin the day together.

In praise of empty space

Empty space, even a little bit of it, is good to have. It is good on a practical level, in that if the attic or the closets are not full of things that are never used, it will be easier to get to the things that do get used. But empty space is good on a psychic and symbolic level as well. A primary objective of keeping house is to make room--room for connecting and reconnecting with other people and with the rhythms of individual and common life: meals, rest, work, play. As we make decisions about what to put in our houses and what to take out of them, we have the opportunity to make room in those houses for ourselves, for our fellow household members, and for guests. --from Keeping Home: The Litany of Every Day Life

Much of Lent was dedicated to creating empty spaces in my home. To read more about the endeavor and how this empty trash bag box significantly opened channels of grace, click here for this week's column.

What We're Listening to Today

This is required memorization this week. I'm not kidding!

From the Enchanted soundtrack.

The Rhythms of Housework

In my head, I have a half dozen or more posts about what I've learned in the past few weeks regarding homemaking. Probably, you know all my lessons already. I seem to be slow coming to these realizations, or at least slow in having them crystallize in my brain. I plan to share them all, if for no other reason than my primary reason in continuing to keep a blog is that my daughter has begged me to journal it all for her to have and hold someday. For now though, I am called by the beep of the dryer, the hum of the refrigerator, the silence of a vacuum cleaner whose work for the day is already planned. And so, I'm recording here instead, a snippet from my morning reading, which reminds me so well why I need plans, rhythms and routines in my home.

The rhythms of housework also provide a way to resist the relentless 24/7 pace of modern life in favor of something more suited to human embodiment and relationality. New parents are sometimes dismayed to discover that babies and young children require predictability to thrive. Children need a sense of when it is time to wake up, time to eat, playtime, naptime, bathtime, bedtime. Their parents, on the other hand, have sometimes been under the impression, encouraged by our culture, that a good life is one in which you act on impulse, not on schedule. No wonder parenthood comes as a shock to them: not only are they new parents, but there are also new to the creation of the rhythms of home. How much more conducive to the well-being of the household it would be, both before and after children, if housework and housekeeping were treated as an intrinsic and positive part of life in the body and community rather than as a set of boring and limiting chores imposed on you by parenthood. --from Keeping Home: The Litany of Every Day Life

I hope to have time later to think here about how clearing out clutter opens space for creating rhythms and encourages the keeping of those rhythms.    But now, the blinds beg to be opened to greet the day and the windy chill invites me to ensure that my children will awaken to the smell of hot chocolate and bacon. Many blessings to you this day!