{pretty, happy, funny, real}

Good morning!

Firstly, let me assure my needle & thREAD friends that I haven't abandoned sewing and reading posts altogether. There are just so many ways to say, "I'm taking tucks and adding snaps to costumes of dancers you don't know. I can't show you pictures of them wearing the costumes because they're not my children and I can't really photograph them put them up on the web."

So, when I sew, I'll let you know;-). Look for needle & thREAD to return to this space a week from Saturday. 

Now, on to my first ever edition of {pretty, happy, funny, real}.

{pretty}

Sarah has a lovely knack for remaining oblivious to the mess she makes around her while still taking care to make beautiful her immediate space, if only for her own enjoyment. She sat down to do her "work" the other day and promptly got up again. Stepping around strewn papers and markers on the floor, she made her way to the vast jar collection that doubles as our drinking glass stash. She went out to the yard (which is a benevolent benefactor bearing all sorts of perfectly beautiful yellow weeds) and she gathered herself a bouquet. She brought it in, placed it on her table, and went on with her work.

I want to be like her.

I want to value the mess of a work in progress and not make excuses for the fact that --to someone who doesn't know the backstory--it just looks like an untidy testimony to failed housekeeping. Sometimes, in a house with lots of people coming and going and doing important things, the things visible look like a mess. It's the invisible things that are blooming beautifully. A fistful of flowering yellow weeds pulled from the back lawn aren't just pretty. They're beautiful--in the most genuine way I know.

{happy}

I'm happy to tell you that I have grand plans to host a Summer Book Club right here. With you! I've spoken with Auntie Leila and we're brimming with ideas for ways to make The Little Oratory come alive in your homes this summer. We're planning a weekly study, complete with link-ups to your blogs. We'll have podcasts every week for you with Auntie Leila-- and then, I'm going to also share some thoughts via podcasts with other women who bring this haven of holiness into their homes. We'll have giveaways and challenges and plenty of practical encouragement for you.

Next Wednesday, I'll be back with a proper introduction and some thoughts about mentoring and mothering and making home a place of soft landing and spiritual fortification. Until then, just know I'm giddy-happy to be planning this summer adventure. Oh, and buy the book (or here). You'll want to read along with us;-).

{funny}

This week's funny went down like this:

Mama (or is it Nona? I don't know--conversation spans generations), holding Lucy: I think Lucy is the prettiest current girl baby in the whole world.

Karoline: Yeah... Wait, WHAT? The prettiest?

Mama: The prettiest current. I was very careful not to say ever. Did you notice that?

Sarah: I think she's the prettiest baby EVER. First, Lucy. Then, me. Then, you, Karoline. You're third after Lucy and me.

Karoline (indignant): I'm not third. Lucy, what do you think? Are you the fairest of them all?

Karoline just happens to be snapping pictures with my iPhone as she asks. And Lucy says:

#1

{real}

This is really what my living room has looked like this week, only more--much more. As we've sorted and sprayed and fluffed and repaired costumes just unpacked on Tuesday (took awhile to get my legs under me after the weekend that was) to get them ready to go tomorrow, I've just sort of given up and let the girls take over the front room. It's fine. Next week, perhaps life will return to normal. Whatever that is. It's been long enough away from normal and enough has changed forever that perhaps next week begins the new normal.

Then again, the washing machine keeps blinking F02 and refusing to do what I tell it. Life can never be normal in a household of 9 when the washer isn't working properly.

I'll be clicking over to Like Mother, Like Daughter to peek in on other {pretty, happy, funny, real} posts. See you there?

Doing Mother's Day in a Big Way

When we were little, my sister and I played "House" all the time. We'd have our dolls and put our imaginations to setting the scene. She'd page through the Ethan Allen catalog and always pick the best rooms for herself. She'd assign me the other rooms (and really, there were no bad rooms). Let's pause here: what does it mean that we couldn't play house without the imaginary interior design element? We'd pick our husbands. She always got Donny Osmond and I got Jay. And then we'd scoop up the dolls. I always got more. I was willing to give on the house and the husband but I didn't relent on getting the most babies.  

When my little girls play House, they don't call it "House;" they call it "Babies." I think I like that better. But whether you call it House or you call it Babies, I have noticed that rarely do little girls pretend to be the mother of teenagers. Nor do they pretend to be grandmothers. I don't think I spent much time imagining what this stage of life would look like. Never, in my wildest imagining could I imagine what the last week looked like.

On Wednesday, Nicholas played a State Cup game about an hour away. It was a big game against a big team. Patrick and some friends came up from Charlottesville to cheer him on. Because that's what we do in this family; we show up. So, Nick was no doubt the only U-13 player ever to be warmed up by two members of the U-17 National Team, a 2nd team college All American, and the High School Player of the Year. Best of all was a little huddle in the goal before the second half--Patrick and Stephen offering last minute advice. Nick was just coming back from being sick. He didn't play the first half and his team was down 3-1. They came back to win 4-3. Very big deal. 

On Thursday, we went back to the eye doctor. I'm grateful that our twice a week appointments at the opthamologist will be scaled back to once a week.

Back at the dance studio and home in my dining room, I sewed and sewed and sewed. Costumes that were too big. Costumes that were too small. I found my happy place in a dressing room at the studio, stitching a little love into a lot of lace and tulle.

And I stole some time to go over and just hold Lucy. She changes every day and it's hard to stay away. I'd really like the world to stop so I could just sit and inhale her. But I remind myself that she's got a mama for sitting and inhaling and I try to avoid being overbearing. I knew we'd be gone for the weekend, so I hopped over there with the little girls, brought dinner, tidied up, folded sweet tiny pink clothes and got to have a little snuggle.

On Friday, the plan was for Mike to take the boys to Delaware for soccer and me to take the girls to Baltimore for a weekend dance competition. Just as I crossed the threshold of the hotel, Bobby called. When Bobby was 16, he was drafted by Major League Soccer to play in DC. He was living far from home, pretty much on his own, and MLS had never drafted a kid in high school before. Everyone was sort of making it up as they went. Bobby came and schooled with us--actually, Bobby became one of us. So, now, 14 years later, when his wife was pregnant, he reminded me that I missed his wedding because I was on bedrest and he pretty much begged me to be there for the birth of his son. He didn't have to beg. I wanted to be there. But I was really worried about the details. Sloane was due smack between two out-of-town dance competitions and State Cup.

Where would I be when he called? How would I get there in time? Could I go to him and not let anyone down at home? 

So, I'm walking through the hotel lobby and my phone rings. I see it's Bobby and ever calm and gracious, the first thing I say upon answering is, "No way. Really? Now?" 

Really. Now. She's in active labor 4 hours north in New Jersey and it's just rush hour in Baltimore. 

I checked my girls into the hotel and I called 3 dance moms. 

You know all the things you think you know about dance moms? Let me share something different.

Dance moms are good friends who know the minute you send the text "Sloane is in labor" that you are leaving and you are entrusting your children to them for an undetermined amount of time. And they are fine with that. 

Dance moms will settle them into their room, buy them dinner, and go to the drug store to replace the eye medicine tucked safely in your purse on the way to New Jersey. 

Dance moms will call their parents (who happen to live in New Jersey) and get you up-to-date traffic and construction information. They will coach your drive, knowing full well that you hate to drive and New Jersey terrifies you.

Dance moms will make sure the girls get up and out on time, feed them breakfast, text you updates, and all around ensure that you know your girls are in good hands. 

Mary Beth is an honorary Dance Mom.

I arrived in New Jersey without getting lost even a little bit. I managed to talk my way into Sloane's room. And I knelt down in front of her and talked her through the last half hour. I was there to witness the most amazing thing on the earth.

Shower upon shower upon shower of pure grace.

I stayed with them and enjoyed the glow of those precious hours right after the hard work is done. 

Then, I drove back to competition. I got there in time to see Karoline dance all her group dances. 

I got there in time to catch Katie and pull her on to my lap and let her sob her heart out after she improvised her whole solo because she was so sick she couldn't remember her choreography.

I got there in time to sleep a little before Mother's Day.

And on Mother's Day morning, I walked with my friend Nicole to get a quick breakfast for the girls (no breakfast in bed;-), and then I settled in around 7:15 AM for this:

If only.

Please God, I want to be who she sees me to be. 

It's wilder than my wildest imagining.

 {Many thanks to Riley Stadick, dance brother and backstage videographer.} 

Gathering my Thoughts

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I find myself:

::noticing God's glory

Mike and the boys really got after it yesterday in the yard. I need to follow up all their hard work with a trip to the herb store. It's time to get some things growing.

::listening to 

birds chirping outside my front door. My friend Courtney noted yesterday that birds know no other way to greet the day except in song. We would do well to take our cues from the birds.

::clothing myself in 

Pajamas and Patrick's letterman blanket. It's itchy but I'm too cozy to move to a more allergy-friendly fleece. Besides, I miss him.

::talking with my children about these books

We are still reading Civil War books. Gripping illness and babies being born have delayed our planned field trips.

::thinking and thinking

About being alone. There are very few women who have nine kids. There are even fewer who have nine kids and the youngest is five and they are also grandmothers. 

 There is a palpable shift, even in online communities, towards encouraging women to seize all the opportunities that await them outside the confines of home and family. That's someone else's life. I'm still finding that even adequately meeting the needs of my people and their varied commitments and relationships is more than I can do well most days.That other stuff? Out there? I can't even begin to go there. At least I can't and still do this even close to well.

Way back in the beginning of this life together, my husband and I heard a calling to cultivate the lives entrusted to us and the space He so graciously granted to the glory of God. More than 25 years later, that calling remains the same--only it's way more complicated and demanding. 

Interestingly, the support for wholehearted mothering and homemaking seems to have diminished just as my family has grown and the challenges multiplied. It's curious to me that the same faith community that so vigorously promotes openness to life expresses a vague condescension towards those women who must dedicate themselves wholeheartedly to the care of those lives in order to faithfully fullfill the vocation to motherhood. Not sure what's up with that, but I am assured that God is faithful, that He called us, and that He walks with us still on this journey.

::pondering prayerfully

“During the day we practice what we have resolved to do in the morning. We also have to bestir ourselves to expressions of love, gratitude and humility toward God, ask Him for as many graces as (we) may need. Let us always remember that God is our Father, and we are His children.” ~St. John Bosco

 

::carefully cultivating rhythm

As we head into soccer tournament and dance competition season, it becomes increasingly difficult to keep the extra-curriculars from overtaking the academic necessities. We lost so many days (and our spring break) to illness. It is imperative to stay disciplined in these final spring days.

::creating by hand

I have been up to my eyeballs in all sorts of dance costume alterations. I love to create in a dressing room with a grateful girl. I really do enjoy getting to know these girls (and a handful of boys) and being a part of the hard work that goes into this art. These are the people who fill my daughters' days; I am privileged to know them well.

I'm eager to make a quilt soon, though.

 ::learning lessons in

What matters most. I loved the Restore workshop. It was by far my favorite thing to have ever done online. Someone recently noted the quiet here on my blog and asked if Restore had burned me out. (Ultimate irony, right? Being burned out by the burnout workshop?) The reality is that Restore was written in February. I wrote 90% of it before opening registration and I blogged here and actually was brimming over with creative ideas. So, no, the workshop didn't burn me out, nor did it take me away from here.

What took me away was living the spirit of this blog. We faced some sad burials. My kids were sick. Even my kids who are bigger than me needed me. I traveled back and forth to Charlottesville. I came home to the same serious infection here. What came with it was mountains of laundry every day for weeks on end (every fiber they touched had to be washed every single time), children who needed continuous care, a total disruption of the regular rhythms of our home.

And then I also got to spend sweet, thoughtful, irreplaceable hours walking and talking with Kristin in the weeks before Lucy arrived.

I wondered often how other people manage such things--people who have many commitments  outside their homes. I wondered often, but I didn't often wonder long; I was too focused on doing the work of being mom and making home to have much time to ponder the philosophy of it or to write about it.

I write in the margins. It's what I do. And some seasons there are no margins at all.

::encouraging learning 

We haven't finished our math for the year. Why is it always math that's the issue? We will do math all summer long...

Yay.

::clicking around

Hah! Not much of that happening. 

::begging prayers

For people who are lonely and feel forgotten.

For people anxious over health tests.

For Elizabeth DeHority and Lisa Tobin.

For new mamas and the babies they love--and for mamas who will meet their babies any moment.

::keeping house

I'm going to be doing some furniture rearranging this week. My sister is sending some treasures my way. My big boys have some apartments to furnish. It could look like a warehouse around here for a few weeks as we sort things out. In the end, I like what's going to happen.

::crafting in the kitchen 

We had strawberries and asparagus yesterday. I dearly love spring. And summer? I'm so ready to cook from the Farmer's Market. Bring it.

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::loving the moments

Karoline and Nicholas had to wait a week after Lucy Shawn was born before they could finally hold her. For both of them, the wait was by far the worst part of being sick. They are both being aggressively treated by an eye specialist and we hope to minimize the longterm damage, but the active infection is finally gone from my house. (Nine, ten weeks later? I've lost count)

They were overcome with sheer joy when the moment finally came for them to hold the sweetest baby on the planet. I'm not entirely sure that Nick has actually seen her still. But the blurry baby sure felt good in his arms. There really are no words and even the pictures can't quite capture the elation.

::giving thanks 

for mostly healthy kids.

living the liturgy

It's still Easter! Every evening, during Night Prayer, Sarah marvels that it's still Easter. This is seriously the longest day ever, Mommy.

::planning for the week ahead

Trips to visit the opthamologist.

Some loving on Lucy.

Nick has a State Cup game midweek deep into the next county. We will sit in traffic for a couple hours before arriving at the game site. Those kinds of games don't usually end well. The home team has a ginormous advantage and this home team is formidable anyway. Your prayers for an exception to the rule would be awesome. This kid has had a ridiculously hard year and I'd dearly love for the tide to turn. He's healthy enough to play and he's eager. I'm kind of holding my breath.

Christian's birthday is Tuesday. He'll take an exam to celebrate.

Christian returns home Wednesday. Patrick will spend the summer in Charlottesville, regaining strength and endurace and, no doubt, preparing to come back to the pitch better than ever!

The weekend holds lots of soccer and dance. Karoline has missed three weeks of dance. When you're seven and not a little ADHD, three weeks is an eternity. She got back in the studio last night and did some good work. She's going to have to be very focused in order to remember all she's forgotten before she dances this weekend. And it would be really great if her peripheral vision were just a wee bit better. 

The week holds lots of organizing and orchestrating in order to arrive at the weekend both efficiently and peacefully. 

My mother is arriving towards the end of the week. She has a new great-grandchild to get to know.

I'm more than a little overwhelmed as I grid in everyone's everything. There will be lots of prayer. And maybe some coffee.

The Year the Tulips Bloomed Victorious

 

Last fall, in a cold shadow, we planted defiance. I was so angry at death. So angry again at cancer. So tired of funerals. I gathered my children in our front garden bed and I made a promise that even I wasn't sure was a good idea. 

Here's what we're going to do. We're going to take all these tulip bulbs--90 for the ninety years that Granddad lived--and we're going to bury them in the cold ground. In the spring, around Easter, they will bloom. In the spring, we are going to feel so much better than we do now and those new tulips will make us smile.

For twenty-four years, I've had a love-hate-fear relationshp with tulips. For the first fifteen years after my cancer diagnosis, I refused to plant them. Then, I decided that we are overcomers. We are tulip planters. Ever since, we've planted bulbs. 

This year, we went all in. They were planted too shallowly, planted by a not-quite-five-year-old. No doubt, some were planted upside down. I didn't go back and replant them. I didn't overturn the imperfect planting technique, didn't give in to my familiar need to control all things. I just let them be. It was a very harsh winter. Very cold and very snowy well into late March. Every once in awhile I would rehearse what I was going to say to my children when they asked why "Granddad's tulips" didn't bloom.

The shoots first started poking above the ground the week that Shawn died. That was, incidentally, the week adenovirus moved into my house for an extended stay. I texted my friend Nicole and asked what would come of them if we had snow again (we did). Surely, we hadn't buried deeply enough. Hadn't done it right. Surely, we were going to be denied the bright promise of hope and healing. She said they'd be fine. I doubted. She owns a landscaping company. I own fear. 

Spring came late.

All the flowers, all the flowering trees, the bluebells at Bull Run. They all came late. 

Easter came late.

And Lucy Shawn came late.

The whole world responded with a giant Alleluia!

It's April 29. There are tulips. And there is abundant life. 

~*~*~

 {We have an appointment for Nick and Karoline today at the eye specialist. Adenovirus lives on. Prayers, please?}

Lucy Shawn, Little Light and Love

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