Where I'm From From--Anniversary Edition

I am from a 13-year-old girl in a brown turtleneck and tweed skirt who somehow caught your heart forever.

I am from ooey gooey bars in your locker, from state championships in Charlottesville, and from apple fritters at the Dutch Pantry.

I am from a perfect Homecoming Dance and a perfectly awful Senior Prom.

I am twenty years from a sun-dappled autumn afternoon when you slipped a ring and a promise on my finger. I am from a wedding a year later, another ring, and more promises--always kept. I am from more time in my life with you, than without.

I am from hours and hours of long distance telephone calls (harbingers of things to come) and regular treks up and down 29, wearing your ring on my finger and a song in my heart.

I am from the a little dollhouse on Donegal Lane, full of cottage charm, lots of dreams, the epitome of “cozy.”

I am from the basil on the deck, impatiens (better known as “poppers”) in the front, a swingset in the tiny backyard. From stolen kisses at Lake Accotink to Pohick Valley Stream park outside our bedroom window, deer in the morning and a rushing creek after the rain.

I am from five anniversaries spent nine months pregnant, from Michael and Christian and Paddy and then a girl named Mary Beth. I’m from the “twins,” Stephen and Nicky, from Katie Bean the family queen, and a little miracle girl we can’t wait to meet.

I am from early lessons in “in sickness and in health.” I am from an IV push with wicked red fluid that made my hair fall out; raging fevers and no white blood cells; and you, always you, right there by my side.

I am from giggling children in tickle jail to “go far post” to “Love you Forever” every night into your cell phone since she was able to warble the words.

I am from far too many teary goodbyes, sweet, memorable reunions and everything in between. I’m from no honeymoon. I’m from Christmas in Hawaii, to a pilgrimage to Chicago to lay it all at the feet of St. Therese, to American Girl Place with our ladies, to filet mignon and fine art in Florida (just us this time—oh, and great Aunt Ida;-)

I am from twelve years of Campus Ministry at the best CCM in the world, Mass in the Lecture Hall, groundbreaking for the chapel, seven (eight) Fr. Bob baptisms, the excruciating pain of the local mission, the comfort of St. Veronica.

I'm from midnight rides to 4 different hospitals and quick labors and deliveries, from craving watermelon in January to “needing” Pho in July, from three precious babies waiting in heaven, to 76 total months of pregnancy (but who’s counting?).

I’m from humming nebulizers all night long, butterflies over stitches nearly always. From chiropractors and orthopedists and orthodontists. From the first time we sped to the hospital with a child who couldn’t breathe to the time you cut his finger with the hedgeclippers.

From buzzcuts in the summer and curly-haired Christmas pictures.

I’m from watching Michael take the PK and breathing again when he makes it this time, from crying when Mary Beth danced Clara, from blushing in the heat while people marvel over Paddy’s footskills, not knowing that he belongs to us.

I am from Christian’s perfect Little League Season, coached by you. I am from sending you all out to play family soccer and counting the minutes until I hear the latest competitive squabble.

I'm from finding Nicky's blinking and repeating very endearing and being amazed at his number sense.

I am from very late nights when all is quiet and the heartfelt conversation murmured in a hush, lest someone wake and come to sleep in the middle.

I am from seven nearly identical baptism pictures on the wall in the hallway (with space there for new additions), from seven birth announcements framed at the foot of the stairs,seven christening candles. I am from a hope chest filled with notes from high school, wedding shower mementos, teeny-tiny hospital baby bracelets, a few stray bald chemo pictures I can’t deny but don’t care to remember, programs from dance recitals and remnants of soccer tournaments, and hope—hope that our tomorrows are as rich and filled with love as our yesterdays.

I remember...

I remember the first day I met him, the first day of college. He was wearing a blue polo shirt that made his eyes twinkle. I would later learn that they twinkled all the time. His name was Patrick--never Pat. He lived right below us and he looked like Tom Cruise. No kidding. This was shortly after Risky Business was all the rage and looking like Tom Cruise gave you some notoriety.

He had a girlfriend at home. When she came to visit, she stayed with me. (I think Patrick did this to make a statement to my roommate, who really wanted that girlfriend out of her way;-) My heart was 2 hours away; when I need a "duty date" to some function or another, he obliged. He wasn't a typical fraternity guy. Instead, he liked to shake things up a bit. So he started his own fraternity that first year.

His brother was in the cast of the then-hit TV show Dallas. We had Dallas parties in his suite every week. He talked about his parents all the time. And always, always, he made it very clear that when he was finished with this southern institution of education, he was heading home to New Jersey to work in Manhattan.

And he did, because if anything defined Patrick Sean Murphy, it was his strong will. Patrick loved to play basketball at the rec center behind our dorm. It didn't matter that he was only 5'9". He had that will--he willed himself to play tall. And he had quite the three point shot.

He also had a very strong sense of justice. The only argument we ever had was when he thought I'd overstepped the rules of sorority rush in a private conversation with his girlfriend (who eventually came to UVA too). In the end, I won that argument (which still amazes me) and he understood that I was careful not to break any rules, while still offering a sounding board to Cindy. I remember the conversation so well because I remember the sting of his disapproval and how much it hurt to think I'd let him down. And I think of the conversation often even now. If sorority rush rules evoked an impassioned discourse from him, what would he think about the people and politics that took him from his family? What would justice look like to Patrick Murphy?

He was the father of two children and a devoted husband on September 11, 2001. He died that day in Manhattan.

I remember you, Patrick. I see you holding court on a late summer day in 1983, on the hill in front of Balz, directing directing traffic, making every other nervous first year student laugh at their very nervousness, and I see you twinkling, always twinkling. Rest in peace.

Tribute to Patrick Sean Murphy

Bedrooms and Babies...

It was midnight dance of sorts, that four-times-a-night shuffle I learned to do eighteen years ago. Awakened by the cries of my firstborn, I'd stumble to the bathroom to wet a washcloth with warm water. I'd take it to the nursery and lift the baby from his crib. I'd pass the rocking chair on the way back to my bed. (It was too big for me, it turned out, and I never used it.) I'd nurse the baby on one side, change the diaper, nurse him to sleep on the other side and then carry him back to the crib. I'd dump the wet diaper and washcloth in the diaper pail and crawl back into bed for an hour and half of sleep before repeating the dance. If I lucked out. More often than not though, Michael wasn't too happy about the transfer back to the crib and I'd have to nurse him to sleep again sooner than later.

I was committed to attachment parenting; it was the logistics that weren't working. So, desperate for sleep, we tried some things. We wedged the fullsized crib into our tiny bedroom. He hated the crib. We took the side off the crib and anchored it to our bed. He still hated the crib. I slept in the crib with him next to our bed (I was much lighter then;-). He slept; I didn't. Finally, we ditched the crib and put him between us in the bed.

When our second baby was born, we didn't even put up the crib. By the fourth, we'd given it away. Over time, our nighttime parenting and our bedroom design and decorating have converged. Furnished entirely with gifts and hand-me-downs, no other room in our house speaks so much to our lifestyle as our master bedrooms does.

Two summers ago, my aunt moved out of a large house and into a smaller one. She called to tell us that a van was coming to our area to bring some things from that house to a friend of hers. She said she had a few other things and asked if we would like them. Not sure at all what we were getting, we said we'd take whatever. Mike was out of town the day the truck pulled up and it was rather like reality TV to stand at the truck's door and make decorating decisions as previously unknown pieces were unloaded and carried into my house.

A massive desk ended up in the sitting area of our bedroom. I wasn't sure its purpose (and I still don't know), but there was no place else for it and I had vague plans for a desk all my own. It's so huge and was so hard to get upstairs, that whatever we do with it, it's going to stay right there.

A very comfortable armchair worked well in that space, too. The picture above it came off the truck and I knew immediately that I wanted it within sight of my bed. It is an Asian mother and two children. Before this baby was conceived, we were prayerfully discerning a Taiwanese adoption. When the picture arrived, I knew it would be a constant reminder to pray for Taiwanese women and babies upon awakening and before I went to sleep. Even though the adoption plans were set aside, the prayers continue.

The dresser for the new baby was rescued from Bobby's house before he left to play in England. It was falling apart and Michael rebuilt the back. It will serve nicely as both clothing storage and a changing table. The nightstand next to it is from a set my mother bought us when we were married. We moved it away from our bed to make room for baby's bed. Here it holds a stash of diapers and wraps.

And then there's the glider...I am so looking forward to having a rocking chair that's made for a petite person! My sister generously provided both glider and ottoman for the baby. She said that everyone assumes you have everything by the time you get to eight, but sometimes there something you never indulged in that will make this time extra-special. I am looking forward to spending time here. My girls have already filled the side pockets with their collection of First Little House books. And the little touch of pink, the piece that really says "Baby Girl," is the quilt, a gift from Donna Howey.

The baby will sleep right next to me in a co-sleeper purchased by grandparents four years ago for Katie. My mother updated its cover and bought leg extensions so it would work against our new king-sized bed (yet another piece of furniture that came off that truck). I love my co-sleeper and the midnight dance is completely eliminated. A small table my mother found in Amish country sits at the foot of the co-sleeper with a basket of nighttime diapers and wipes and my CD player. No need to get out of bed at all--just reach over, nurse the baby and leave her sleeping in her bed. Diaper changes are bedside business too. There is something to be said for the lessons of experience! Maybe they'll compensate for the fact that I'm forty, have seven other children to care for, and much less energy than I did at 22.

The hope chest was an engagement gift from my father. It survived a flood in my mother's house before I was married and my father-in-law rebuilt the bottom. The baby's scrapbook sits upon it and I sincerely "hope" to work on it in a timely manner.

Though most of our books are shelved in our library closet, each bedroom in the house has a bookcase for special books. Mine is no exception. I loved this bookcase in my parents' house growing up and I think it's perfect in this corner of my bedroom.

When the baby is about a year old, she'll move to the "Rose Princess" room.

There, she'll find a dresser, rescued from my father's storage space and a closet festooned with flowers. The doors kept falling off, so I took them down and hung a curtain and some tulle.

The desk was a hand-me-down we painted (and need to paint again). The bed belonged to the set in my room but belongs to the girls now, who love to sleep together under the canopy. And the bookcase? The bookcase I actually purchased because I just couldn't walk away from it.

I have no idea how the baby will fit into this room, but it's a decorating project that could make for some summertime fun--next year!

Loveliness of Bedrooms

Remember that Kim, at Starry Sky Ranch, will be hosting a Loveliness Fair of bedrooms (master bedroooms, kids' rooms, guest rooms--whatever you want to share) tomorrow. Send some pictures her way today!

Our Freedom

I think that we don't often stop to consider how blessed we are in this country to be allowed the freedom to educate our children at home. Even in those states where we have to jump through way too many hoops, we are allowed to discern what is best for our children. I received an email recently from a friend who is temporarily living in Germany. She was asking us for prayers. In part, she wrote:

If you have a few minutes, I wanted to ask for your prayers over a serious situation in the city of Hamburg. A German family here has been trying to homeschool their six children. The authorities have now arrested the father and an application is in to take custody of the children which would apply in all the EU countries. From what I understand they are strong Christians and have been trying to fight the German laws in order to homeschool their children for several years. The father even attended the university here and got a teaching degree in order to try to make it work. Here is a news account.
It was difficult for us to read because it shows how serious the problems are here in Germany, especially with the mindset of the authorities.

So, if you could say some prayers that would be great. We feel so sorry for parents who want so much to not have to send their children into the German school system here but have no choice.

And add a prayer of gratitude for the many freedoms we have...