Numbers Two and Four

  

 

Back when we were in negotiations about having a fourth child*, Mr. V and I used to joke that we would only have a fourth if we knew it would be a girl with David’s disposition.

(*Negotiations mainly included me saying, “Another one baby, pleeeeease?” and Mr. V looking at me like I had three heads.)

We didn’t exactly decide to have a fourth baby, but she sprang into our lives nonetheless. And she is a girl. And an awful lot like her brother, David. 

(In case it’s been so long since I wrote about them you have no idea who I’m talking about, our kids are: Libbie [9], David [7], Joshua [5], and Hannah [22 months].)

While Libbie and Joshua seem to have sprung out of the womb independent and feisty, David emerged already a middle child, somehow. He was a difficult baby, but a shockingly easy toddler, happy to retreat to his bedroom and play quietly for hours. He threw fits over very few things, although he has always been on the more sensitive side and cried often. He nursed until he was 20 months, and possibly only stopped because I was pregnant with Joshua.

Now, at 7, David is still pretty quiet, happy to be playing by himself on his tablet or reading a book, and is often tugged back and forth between the more demanding Libbie and Joshua. He has the wild streak of a young boy, but his general temperament definitely feels like a middle child. (Whereas Joshua, although a middle child technically, seems to fit more into the role of youngest that he occupied for 3.5 years.) 

It’s struck me as funny the ways in which Hannah and David are alike. She doesn’t have that introverted temperament that we wished for, but it’s the smaller things that are striking. They both look more like my husband, where Libbie and Joshua are pretty much my mini-mes. They share a passionate love for fruit. Hannah also nursed well into toddlerhood; I had to cut her off because I went on a new antidepressant, and she was just shy of 21 months and still asking to nurse a LOT. They’re both tiny. They don’t laugh at EVERYTHING like Joshua, but their giggles are well-earned and infectious.

And Hannah LOVES her David. When he is there, she’ll happily ignore Mommy and Daddy to sink into his lap and demand he read her a book. Hold my hand in the parking lot? Not a chance. But David’s hand is just fine. They have a few phrases that David will repeat to her many, many times just because he knows it makes her laugh. And she shares his adoration for Captain Underpants. (Really, toddlers should not know the word “underpants,” but mine sure does.)

It’s sweet to see all of her relationships with her siblings, and this one seems extra-special. I hope David is always looking out for his loving little sis. 

Our Island

 

The people behind me in the line at the grocery store have been coming to Tybee Island for 14 years.

“We informed our children we’re spending their inheritance buying a house here,” the man told me, a smile in his eyes. I understand completely. I’ve all but begged my own parents to spend my inheritance buying a house here.

It’s a magic place, one that now holds five summers’ of memories for us. When my husband and I first chose Tybee for our tenth anniversary getaway, we didn’t know how it would capture our hearts. From the simple, cement-floored ice-cream shop where we first ate a burger, to the pastel-colored cottages that line the narrow roads, to the always packed IGA grocery with aisles too small for two carts to fit through, Tybee’s charm is in the small things.

I’m sitting on a wraparound porch, looking at palm trees, and somehow the island breeze and sound of cicadas enchants me. My feet are bare and still slightly sandy, even after a shower. Bikes pedal down the roads, sometimes with children attached in trailers behind. If there are college kids and parties going on, I never hear them.

I rode the waves on a boogie board with my 9-year-old daughter today, and collectively we decided we didn’t need screens for a happy summer. All we need is family, the ocean, sand in our toes, good books, and fresh seafood.

It’s year five of our trip here. We almost didn’t come this year, as we’re taking another trip later in the summer to the East Coast. But no one could imagine a year without Tybee.

The Joy of Reading Aloud

 

This is the year we started to take reading aloud seriously. 

It’s not that we haven’t always, always, read aloud to our kids. It’s been our practice to do so every night before bed as long as they’ve been able to sit and listen. We’ve had months and years where we read Bible stories. Times when it was picture books. And lately – for the last year plus – we read the entire Harry Potter series. (We finished last weekend!) 

But after an episode of What Should I Read Next?, where a mother and college-aged daughter talked about their reading times together, I decided maybe a little extra reading was exactly what my daughter and I needed. 

She turned 9 this past fall, and our relationship has always been a little challenging. We both have hot tempers, and it felt like we were having a lot more fraught times than tender ones. We needed some one-on-one time, and with six people in the house that can be hard to come by. So one afternoon I asked her to come to my room and just let me read to her. 

She fought it. She thought it was a trick, I suppose. But, her trust won, she gave in. We started reading Frindle by Andrew Clements; it was new to both of us, and we were charmed. 

Quickly we realized the afternoon reading time was probably not going to work most days for our family, but I turned to reading just to her before bed. We’ve traveled through Ramona’s Oregon, Pippi Longstocking’s crazy home, the dollhouse home of a family of mice, the fantastic world of Arlo Finch, and more. 

Some time during these nights, I suggested my husband read to our sons, who share a room, during this same time. Their books are vastly different, but also much beloved; my husband is mainly trying to hook our 7-year-old on new series that he can devour. (And it’s worked!) 

We have loved this, and it’s been a wonderful point of connection for us with the kids. I feel closer to my daughter than I have in a long time, and the fact that I can simply mention that I see her “tattletale cloud” and it makes us both laugh is delightful. (And she loves that her brothers have no idea what we’re talking about. It’s a Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle’s Magic reference.) 

I didn’t really understand it all, though, until I started to devour The Read-Aloud Family by Sarah Mackenzie. Her thesis is that reading aloud to kids, all the way until they leave the home, is the best way to create family connection. Reading aloud is proven to improve grades, writing, and more, but her first point is that it makes a family culture. You have a whole series of “inside jokes” and references. You have stories to discuss and love and reread. 

It clicked for me. I love having those points of connection. Talking about books is basically my favorite thing in the world, and to do it with my kids makes my life so much more enjoyable. Our memories of reading Harry together will last a long time, and I’ll remember how much the kids enjoyed running around putting unforgiveable curses on each other when they are far past that phase. 

I love that my 9-year-old wants me to come to her room each night and read to her. I hope we’ll keep doing it another 9 years, until she graduates. And maybe even past then. 

It’s our own family book club, and I treasure it.

Love Loss Hope Repeat.

source: Craighton Miller

I’ve never lost a son, but I know two women who have. Both dear, both young, both undeserving of that kind of pain.

In One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp writes that perhaps those tears in the canvas of our life ― the places where we are raw and hurt and wonder Why God? ― are the places where we can see Him most clearly. If we choose. I think those are also the places we can try to patch up with tar and feathers, using scathing words against the One who allowed those rips in the first place.

I think of another mother, a very young one, who wondered why she was going to have a son. I have been there, although unlike Mary, I was not a teenager nor unmarried. But I’ve flipped those flashcards around in my head, too: Why me? What am I going to do with a son? Am I ready for this? Will I ruin him? Scar him for life?

Those perhaps not rips but puckers, places where we’ve doubted the goodness, the grace, the all-knowingness of a Heavenly Father.

We have a second son, a Compassion child, who lives in the scattered islands of the Philippines. Does his mother wonder, too? Why so many? Why so little to work on? Is she embarrassed to have to reach out to help support her children?

All different tears in varying stages. I’m sure at one time or another, we’ve all asked the same questions in different wording, different languages.

Do we see God in the pain? I imagine my heart with tiny pin-pricks straight through, some larger than others … and a flashlight shining from behind, revealing stars. There’s something about stars, isn’t there? Hope. Vastness. Waves of feeling the universe.

I want to swim in the pools of light instead of hiding in the shadows. Finding myself closer to the Comforter, the Giver, whether I feel He is those things at that moment or not. 

Because He is in there, somewhere.

At Christmas, I miss those two unknown men who were lost, my uncle and brother-in-law. I reflect on the hurt of their mothers. And I pray extra-hard that God will seep through the holes and continue to heal, twenty or forty years later, with the promise of glory-to-come.

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For Libby

I don't want to be a grown-up
when it means having to grow up,
to do things like bury grandparents,
sort four people's laundry,
feel pain over a credit score.

I thought I'd feel grown-up
when I was married
when I had a baby
when I had two.

Inching near thirty, I wonder
Do you ever feel grown up?
I wish that I could ask her
if, at 80, laying on her death-bed
did she feel like a grown woman?

Or still like the young auburn girl
who swung do-si-do
married a dashing veteran
raised babies with chicken-on-the-bone.

I hate myself for not asking
for more of the story,
and I hate myself for fearing
that she wouldn't remember.

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Faithfully My Name is Called Each Night*

For many years but especially since I had children, I've asked my parents many times what they did to me when I was a teenager. What did they do to make me not ever want to do anything bad?

I'm not saying I was a perfect or model teenager. But I never fell away from my faith in a drastic way, I did not smoke or drink, or have sex, or really even have a great desire to do any of these things. Yes, I did have the first-child syndrome of wanting to please my parents immensely. But I know many oldest children who did not take the narrow road.

For years, my parents would respond that they had no idea what they did. My mom tended to credit our youth pastor. Sometimes they claimed that strong-willed chilren became teens who didn't bow to peer pressure.

Only recently did my dad finally respond, "Well, your mom prays. A lot."

My college. My husband. My children. My ability to stay at home. All things I know my mother has prayed fervently over.

Mom is a bit of a worrier ... but she turns that into prayer, the right solution for worry. And I believe she's taught me to do the same thing. Every joy, every pain, every struggle, almost always my first reaction is to speak to my Jesus.

Oh, how glad I am that He always listens.

One of the most important things I've ever learned is that if it concerns me, it concerns Him. He loves me that much.

And I believe it's a lesson my mother taught me well.

Title is from the song "Mama's Prayers" by Elizabeth Cook, whom I love!

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10 Things That Help Me Survive Pregnancy

Well, friends, I am getting down to the wire (I HOPE!). On Wednesday I will be 39 weeks. Most of the time I feel like death. It is not a pretty picture.

But on a happier and hopefully helpful note, here are ten things that help me survive pregnancy. Whether you're a happy preggo (and thus I hate you) or more on my side of "my body hates being pregnant," these essentials can help you make it all 40 weeks!

1. Snoogle

 

I have intended to write a poem/haiku/ode to my Snoogle, but as that hasn't happened I will just say this is the ONLY way I generally sleep during pregnancy. The piece that goes between your legs helps align your back, and it gives me something to cuddle with. I don't know why it's magical, but it is!

2. Once-a-month/batch/freezer cooking

Although doing a complete once-a-month menu is nearly impossible for me when I am pregnant, I have done several mini sessions that help me keep the freezer somewhat stocked. It's totally worth a few hours' work to have meals for a week or two!

3. Decent maternity clothes

I literally have six of this shirt at this point (all different colors). So even if I can't find any maternity pants, I have tops. For me, these particular shirts are comfy, not revealing, and actually cover my belly, even when I am full-term. And ... let's just say the length seems to balance out "the girls" when I am nursing as well.

4. My mom

My moms flies from Philadelphia to wherever I am several times when I am pregnant, and she's coming WEDNESDAY!!! to help me not kill take care of Libbie and get my house in order. She's also mentioned stocking my freezer with meals from my Whole Foods in a Hurry menu. I don't know what I would have done without her when I had Libbie, and I hope she will be right there in the room when David is born, too!

5. My sisterchicks

These girls have put up with a lot from me over the last several months, and they haven't yet blocked me from our Skype room. One of them is always there to give advice or just a listening ear to my latest complaint. I love you, girls!

6. Good bath products - I am a bath junkie, even during my "regular" life. But during these last few weeks of pregnancy I could basically live in my bathtub. It is a big jacuzzi tub, although I don't use the jets. But I fit in it, so that's nice. And nice bath oils go a long way to making a girl feel good and less like a hippo. My best friend got me this pregnancy bath set from Uncommon Goods for an early Christmas present, and I love the milk bath and oils!

7. PBS

I do not love the amount of TV that Libbie is now accustomed to watching. But there are days--especially lately--where I just cannot get off the couch. (And at the beginning when I was super sick, it was the same.) I have an appreciation for PBS now! Libbie likes Sesame Street, Curious George, and Sid the Science Kid. We watch Play with Me Sesame almost every day (from PBS Sprout) and an occasional Chloe's Closet as well.

8. Sonic

I hate to even admit this, but nothing tastes better than an icy-cold Sonic drink during happy hour when you're pregnant. Especially when there is nothing in the whole wide world you want to eat. Cranberry limeade is my drug of choice.

9. A really good child.

Libbie does drive me crazy some days, but seriously? She is SUCH a good kid. She plays independently. She doesn't throw temper tantrums, usually. She helps me get things and throw things away and puts away her toys ... if asked. For being just 2, she is actually helpful, caring, and sweet.


10. What helps you survive pregnancy? I'd love to know for next time oh please help I can't even think about a next time.


Added to Top Ten Tuesday at OhAmanda.

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A Few Awkward Pictures ... and Oh, Happy Mother's Day!

Happy Mother's Day to my mom, who put up with me as an insanely precocious child ...

... a shy, painful teenager who wore fanny packs ...

... and as a wacky, medicated adult who still calls her mommy and cries because she wishes Mommy lived closer ...

(image by Leisa Hammett)

It's a good thing I gave her a really cute granddaughter to make up for it all.

Happy Mother's Day!

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Where Are You From?

As a transport to a new city, the question I get asked constantly is "Where are you from?"

I hate, despise, and detest all forms of the question. Because really, how much do they TRULY want to know?

Short answer: I lived in Nashville for 5 1/2 years.

Long answer (deep breath):

Well, I was born in Dayton, Ohio. I lived in Indiana. I grew up in Richmond, Virginia--no, not Richmond, Indiana, or Kentucky, or anywhere else. Then my husband and I moved to Nashville after college.

Mr. V was born in Pennsylvania, grew up in South Carolina, then his parents moved back to PA but he never really lived there.

Them: "Oh, so your parents are in Virginia and his are in Pennsylvania?"

Me: Oh, no. My parents moved to Pennsylvania about four years ago, and they lived really near my in-laws, but now my in-laws live in North Carolina. And my dad has no idea what's going on with his job, so only God knows where they'll live in a year.

Oh, and we go to Dayton for Thanksgiving. All of my grandparents and many of my other relatives live there.

Them: "Um, OK. See ya later!!" (rushes off hurriedly)

It's not THAT confusing, right?

Heh. Some days I wish we had grown up in the same place, all of our families still lived there, and this was an easy situation to explain. But we're Modern America, and I'd never trade in any of my life experience, no matter how crazy it is. I choose to believe it makes me well-rounded.

:)


Does anyone else dread being asked this question?

Click on photo for source.
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The Art of Losing is TOO Hard to Master, Elizabeth Bishop!

I can picture her, red curls, wide a-lined skirt, a farm girl turned city girl turned who-even-knows at Ohio State. He's an older student, returned from the war, dark hair, light eyes, a twinkle of mischief as he calls the square dance, trying to trip up the frantic dancing adolescents.

She's approached and consents to a dance with someone who subsequently trips all over himself. She's too nice to point out that he's stepping on her feet and trying to promenade the wrong way. From the corner of her eye, she notices the man calling the moves eying her, one eyebrow raised at the jerky movements of the young man at her side.

His time up, he meanders to her side, cutting in deftly and leaving the bespectacled two-left-feeter to the side. They twirl, allemande, bow.

Breathless, he gets her a glass of pink punch and asks her to take a walk outside. He boasts of war stories, of snatching a Nazi armband from the inside of a German church, of fixing tanks and reading books in French. He's going home to see his mother this weekend for Easter (oh so gentlemanly), but he'll meet up with her at church on Sunday night.

Oh sure, she thinks. She's heard that one before. She rolls her eyes when he's not looking and goes on with her holiday weekend, observing the holy holiday and sunny April with fellow students. 

She's standing in the pew, singing, and feels a presence slip in next to her. It's him. He came! Her heart skips a little beat and she listens to his strong tenor voice mixing with her sweet soprano.

They are married in November.

*

After visiting with my grandma this weekend, who is likely dying, I could think of nothing but this sweet story she shared of how she met my grandpa. We lost him in June. To lose her will be devastating.

If you don't know the poem I'm referencing in the title, you can read it here.
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Give Us This Day

It is a huge kitchen. Grandpa's cactus display is under the window, next to Grandma's collection of decorative spoons. Grandma has everything in its exact place: all of the cups and bowls, the Grapenuts in a see-though container in the pantry, the "Give us this day our daily bread" cross-stitch on the wall. There is a pile of the Dayton Daily News on a stool under the light switch.

The linoleum floor is fun to slide across in socks, much more than at home, because Grandma never gets angry with you for doing it. And you slide right into the counter with the candy jar. With 15 grandchildren running around the house at various times, the jar needs constant refilling: Werther's, root beer barrels, peppermints, caramels, and cinnamon discs all take their turns jumping in and mostly out of the big glass container.

Most of our conversations take place at the large, oval table, which fits four rolling chairs perfectly. Why rolling chairs, with that many kids around, is beyond me; but they never ceased to amuse me and always earned me a reprimand from one of my parents. At dinner, my little sister Ashley and I were placed in boring folding chairs, while the adults got to savor the entertainment of the rolling ones. What fun could they get out of them? Their feet touched the floor.

Sometimes the table was spread with newspapers, other times with an array of food that one of my grandparents--never both--had spent all afternoon preparing. When I was there, it was often Grandma's lasagna; the dish never tasted so good when made by someone else. After a few years of having dinner on the couch while watching "Supermarket Sweep" with my parents and sister, eating at a table was a delicious treat, where discussion could be shared and we got to pray before we ate. I was often asked to pray by my parents at my grandparents' house, and there has not been one time that I have prayed aloud when Grandma hasn't said, "Maybe someday I'll be able to pray out loud. I'm just too scared."

Although Grandpa helped cook in this linoleum paradise, it was Grandma's domain. She knew every fraction of an inch, which pot was used for which dish--sometimes taking it to the extreme. One Black Friday, my mom, sister, and I returned to collapse at the kitchen table with our bags just to encounter my dad frowning and grouchy, grumbling under his breath. "She wouldn't let me touch anything," he murmured to my mom. "She followed me around the kitchen." Mom just laughed.

When we sit at the table, Grandma and I are always across from one another, a physical remembrance of the difference between an "eternal optimist" and a woman barely 65 who is mourning her own death in advance. One week, she is complaining about the stacks of pictures they bring back each year from their summer work at Yellowstone National Park.

"You kids will just throw them away when we die anyway," she fusses to my mom. "We should just do it for you now." Mom sighs and ignores her, and I stifle a laugh. After years of being teary when Grandma and Grandpa would yell at each other, I gave it up and allowed myself to be amused by their self-imposed misery. That same afternoon, I drag out a new discovery to the kitchen table: a box of old pictures from the cabinets in their pink guest room.

Shuffling through the old photographs and scraps of newspaper articles, I am astonished to find a blown-up picture of two teenagers sitting on a car hood, glowing in the sun and looking like 1940s movie stars.

"Grandma!" I hold up the photo, and she gives it a quick peek. "Was this you?"

"Aww, gawsh. We were kids. Our senior picnic." She goes back to the salad for dinner, chopping carrots with the same gentle motion as always.

I can't stop staring at the picture. "You look so glamorous! Grandpa was a hottie!" Grandma blushes. "Can I have it?"

She looks perplexed that I would even ask such a thing. I can see her mind split in half: one on hand, it is a piece of trash from her childhood; on the other, she sees a glimpse of herself in the years before her son died and she lost that sparkle.

"Well, I mean, you probably don't want it, since you're going to die soon anyway," I smirk. Mom laughs. Grandma's jaw drops.

"You asked for that," my mom says. Grandma's can't speak; she just continues slicing the carrot slowly.

I gently put the picture back into its resting place for a few more years, and then run across a smaller version of the snapshot. The wallet-sized photo goes in my purse, to be displayed in my dorm room: my movie-star grandparents. I look at Grandma with a twinkle in my eye and smile. She isn't just a caricature of a housewife, or a diabetic grandma; she is and was a person. A beautiful young woman in love, just like me. As I look at the picture again, I can see little pieces of my reflection in her black-and-white photo.

__
I wrote this in college while in probably my favorite class of all time, Creative Nonfiction. Just came across it and still liked it! So here it is with only minor editing.

Linked up to Your Life, Your Blog.


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The "Oughts"

My friend Ashley did a beautiful recap on Facebook of each year of the "oughts," 2000-2009. The end of a decade. Wow. As I watched this video from Newsweek last week, I realized that although I "grew up" in the 90s, I became a grown up this decade!

On New Year's Eve 1999 I was just 17, a senior in high school. I celebrated at church with my youth group and watched Ten Things I Hate About You.

On New Year's Eve 2009, I am 27 and grateful to not be 17. I have a husband and a gorgeous-beyond-belief-still-can't-fathom-that-she's-mine daughter.

More for my benefit than yours, here's what my decade has looked like.


2000
Graduated from high school at GSGIS
Went on a mission trip to the Blackfeet Indian Reservation in Montana and saw the amazing Glacier Park
Started college at the University of Richmond
Met Michelle, the truest soul friend a woman could have
Made stupid mistakes when it came to the male species
Met Mr. V in December when we visited a church together
Joined the Baptist Student Union

2001
Sang "professionally" at a community church and wrote a few songs
Was a summer missionary with IMPACT Virginia
Spent a whole lot of time watching movies in Dennis Hall
Started dating Mr. V on November 5
Realized a great love for literature while taking "Great Novels" class

2002
Became Worship Coordinator for the Baptist Student Union
Interned at The Religous Herald newspaper and wrote, researched, and edited many pieces
Studied abroad for 6 weeks in Beijiing, China, while Mr. V was doing research at CERN in Switzerland
Went to Mr. V's parents' house for the first time
Spent Christmas at Disney World where my sister and dad almost killed each other

2003
Was immensely surprised when Mr. V proposed at our Junior Ring Dance--and I, of course, said yes!
Spent the summer doing...something that I can't remember!
Proudly saw my sister graduate high school and start at Mary Washington College (now University of Mary Washington)
Was in Amanda and Darin's wedding Thanksgiving weekend
Became president of the BSU
Lived with Michelle in an on-campus apartment next door to Mr. V, Dan, Dan, and Van
Went to my Uncle Steve and Debby's wedding in December

2004
Finished planning my wedding
Graduated from UR cum laude with a major in English and minor in Chinese
One day after graduation, came to Nashville with Mr. V to find an apartment
One day after that, my daddy's best friend died of liver cancer
Worked for a month for a bankruptcy lawyer
On July 31, married my best friend and had a gorgeous reception at the Science Museum of Virginia, then honeymooned at El Dorado Royale in Mexico
Two days after we got back, moved to Nashville
Joined Forest Hills Baptist Church in October
Started at LifeWay as a universal customer service rep on November 1

2005
Adopted Chester, a cocker spaniel puppy
Learned what it meant to be a wife, helpmate, and real friend to my husband
Visited our home in Virginia for what I didn't know would be the last time in May
Let God break down some things in my life through the Believing God journal
Hosted Thanksgiving for both sides of the family in our apartment in Nashville
Spent Christmas in Dayton with my parents, sister, and extended family

2006
Sang in the Broadway Revue at church
Traveled to Thailand for 2 weeks to do tsunami relief
Started my job as a copy editor in Leadership & Adult Publishing for LifeWay
Bought our first home
Began volunteering weekly at Cottage Cove
Did Believing God study taught by the amazing Shawn Lantz (and with Tammy and Angie and a few other women I adore)
Started this blog in July as a weight-loss journal (that lasted about 3 entries and I never lost any weight)

2007
Sang in the Broadway Revue again (big role: Evil Stepsister from Cinderella)
Had a small meltdown about turning 25, but spent it very nicely at Maggiano's with Mr. V and our dear friends Jake and Nicole
Led, edited, and wrote the leader guide for No Other Gods Bible study
Trekked to PA and VA for vacation and went to Elise and Jesse's wedding
Was able to truly forgive several people after MANY years of anger
Traveled to Brazil for a very strange but incredible mission trip
Visited St. Louis with Mr. V
Was in a terrible and scary car accident on October 30
Started trying to conceive but dealt with an anovulatory winter


2008
Officially diagnosed with PCOS
Found out I was pregnant on February 19 and spent nine months enjoying and hating the bumpy ride of pregnancy
Went to Colorado with work
Went on a cruise with Mr. V
Found out we were having a baby GIRL
After 36 hours of labor, welcomed gorgeous baby Libbie into our life
Learned the insanity and heavy weight of a mother's love, as well as the incredible joy
Enjoyed 10 weeks of maternity leave
Took the Great American Road Trip for Christmas

2009
Loved on my baby girl immensely
Went to Blissdom and began to take the blog thing a little more seriously
Went to the funeral of a friend's little brother, who died in Iraq
My best friend's mother died of ovarian cancer
Celebrated 5 years of marriage to my husband
My grandfather died
Experienced a much more difficult year than I had anticipated
Spent four months as a single mom
Had a house on the market for six months+
Prepared for a new life in Chattanooga as a work-at-home/stay-at-home mom
Loved my work as production editor for LifeWay Small Groups/Serendipity
Celebrated Libbie's first birthday and all her firsts
Spent Christmas in North Carolina with Mr. V's family
Spent WAY too long writing this recap!

Media that affected me this decade:
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia-Marquez
This Time Around by Hanson, in particular the songs "This Time Around" and "Dying to Be Alive"
First by Carl Cartee
The Birth of Venus by Sarah Dunant
The Bible
Tara Road and Circle of Friends by Maeve Binchy
Many, many musicals and their songs

Goals and hopes for the next decade:
--Be healthy. Lose weight, eat whole foods, exercise, and teach Libbie these habits.
--Have three more children, biologically or through adoption
--Do more attachment parenting. Be a wonderful mother to Libbie and other children.
--Volunteer.
--Continually strengthen my relationship with my husband. Be his helpmate. Support him.
--Really make our home a haven, wherever we are. Learn to clean, whether I like it or not. Make home a warm, calm environment where my children can welcome friends, we can host on the spur of the moment, and my kids aren't worried about just being kids.
--Grow closer and closer to Christ. Read the whole Bible, multiple times. Serve in His name. Have family Bible study.
--Establish a successful career as a freelance writer. Finish writing my chicklit novel.
--Teach children (not just mine) a love for missions. Go on a family mission trip. Share my faith continually. Help others to grow in Christ.
--Live with purpose and without fear.

Well, if you've made it to the end of this monstrous post, you must share. What are some of the highlights of the "oughts" for you? What are some goals for the next decade?

I'm Still Alive!

I promise!

We were in North Carolina at Mr. V's parents' home for the last few days. Libbie had an exhausting time of opening presents and being loved on by her grandparents, aunt, and parents all at once!

It was nice. Although I can assure you 100% that I will never, ever play Scrabble Slam with Mr. V again.

I think the best part was sitting down and having a great talk with my sister-in-law yesterday, whom I rarely see.

And I am OH SO GRATEFUL to my parents and my in-laws, who bought me an iMac and Adobe InCopy so I can work from home some.

What was the best part of your Christmas?

The Christmas Enchantment

It seems to me that young adulthood is the place where all the Christmas magic just plum up and left. Opened up a candled window, jumped right out, and is fleeing down the street to the home of people with elementary-school-aged children.

It perplexes me. The lack of decorations for the last two years certainly doesn't help. Last year, we didn't have room for a tree with the Pack-and-Play in the living room. This year, all of my decorations are in Chattanooga and I wasn't sure about taking up half the living room with a tree, anyway, with the house still on the market.

Somewhere along this week it struck me that I think the reason many people my age feel this lapse of Christmas enchantment comes from a loss of traditions. My growing-up years were absolutely steeped in Christmas tradition. The one year we didn't participate in those--we went to Disney World for Christmas--I felt a little lost. Much of the same way I do now.

Does it come back once you develop your own traditions with your children? I like to think it will. My parents always had the Christmas sparkle, the great belly joy as we decorated cookies, read the pop-up Night Before Christmas, and carried our gifts down the stairs on Christmas Eve.

But maybe my heart is too reliant on what Kelly called Santa Christmas? The decorations, the gifts, Santa Claus and Santa Clause, watching White Christmas while making cookies, and stirring a candy cane into hot chocolate? After all, we all know that the true Christmas lies in the nativity scene, with that tiny baby.


My favorite Christmas memories are, by far, Christmas Eve services at church, lighting the candle and singing "Silent Night," and reading the story from the Bible before going to bed on Christmas Eve. As Linus would say, "That's what Christmas is really about, Charlie Brown." But for me, sitting in the colored lights of a well-decorated tree facilitates the sacred, in a way. Wrapping presents makes me feel thankful for my newborn King. Seeing people with lit-up faces scurrying around, thinking of those they love, fills my heart with joy.

So perhaps the two can meet. The Christmas magic turns my heart toward the true Christmas Joy. And perhaps that's why I've felt at a loss for both for several years.

I hope as we build traditions for Libbie we'll focus even more on that Joy. And maybe, in these five days before Christmas, I'll have a little time to set my mind on capturing some this year.

It's All Relative(s)

When my sister and I were small, we lived with my parents in Northern Indiana, transported from my parents' hometown of Dayton, Ohio, due to my dad's job. Ashley was not even born yet when we made the trek to the little ranch house on County Road 19. We lived in Indiana until I was 8 and my dad was transferred to Richmond, Virginia.

When my mom was feeling lonely for family, she would pack me, Ashley, and a tape recorder with "Wee Sing Bible Songs" in it to go to Toledo to see her sister and our cousins. From Bristol to Toledo was a mere two hours and apparently worth having to listen to "The Lord said to Noah, go and build an ark-y, ark-y" sixty-two times.



If I remember right, the only time we usually trekked to Dayton was for Christmas. For Thanksgiving, we went to cabins all together with the large family clan. During the summer, we headed to East Harbor, Ohio, to go camping for a week and visit Cedar Point.

You know how far it is from Bristol, Indiana, to Dayton, Ohio?

According to the ever-credible and insanely helpful Google Maps, it's 4 hours and 10 minutes.

It's all relative, isn't it? To my mother, 4 hours seemed like a very lengthy drive when she had been in her hometown all her life, growing up and being wed and bearing a child within miles of her sisters and parents.

Nowadays, Mom and Dad drive from Philadelphia to Dayton probably three to four times a year, and to Nashville several other times (about a 14-hour drive). My mom, who until I was in college would not step foot inside an airplane due to a bad experience and fear, has flown to Nashville to see Libbie at least five times since her birth.

For Mr. V and me, it was nothing to make the 6-hour drive to Dayton several times a year from Nashville. But this time, with a child who cried hysterically in her carseat for 45 minutes because she could see her pacifier but not reach it, I'm beginning to see why my mom would drive 2 hours but not 4.

We scoff at the decisions of others, thinking they are being silly or irrational. I've laughed many times over my mom's hesitance to drive a mere 4 hours in the car. But now that I have my own small child in the backseat, I can see quite clearly: it's all relative.

There must be some kind of math equation: how much you want to see your relations – how whiny your child currently is / how many hours you'll have to spend in the car. Plus the square root of i.

Suffice to say, I will miss my parents at Christmas but if I had to make a 14-hour car trip with Libbie, I might have thrown myself out the window.

I hope your Thanksgiving travel and festivities were pleasant and warm! And there were no howling children in your backseat.

Show Us Your Life: Thanksgiving Traditions

In my immediate family, we are pretty tradition-heavy. My family of 4--Dad, Mom, my sister, and I--had the Christmas traditions down to a T: we would go to Christmas Eve service, go out to dinner with the same people, come home, read the story from the Bible, read the Night Before Christmas pop-up book, bring down our presents ONE AT A TIME WHILE RINGING THE BELLS AND YOU BETTER NOT BRING THEM DOWN BEFORE CHRISTMAS EVE, leave cookies for Santa, and go to bed. In these post-marriage years for me, the traditions have relented a lot, by force more than choice. But it's good to establish our own traditions, too.

Anyway, Kelly's "Show Us Your Life" carnival theme this week is Thanksgiving Traditions. There have been a few years we've had to divert from the norm and host Thanksgiving in Tennessee--like last year, when we had a one-month-old--but for the most part our Thanksgiving holidays have a good rhythm.

We go to Ohio, where my grandparents and a lot of my extended family still live. On Thursday we have Thanksgiving with my mom's side of the family. The menu differs very little from year to year, and there's comfort in eating those same foods that we've had since I was a little girl: turkey, sweet potato casserole, scalloped corn, mashed potatoes, stuffing (and not that nasty cornbread dressing stuff they have in the South), deviled eggs, relishes, Grandma's layered salad, rolls, green bean casserole, pickled beets and eggs …

Did I mention we usually have 30+ people for this gathering? I have 13 first cousins on that side, many of whom are married and have kids. So all that food is not as unreasonable as it sounds! (And I didn't even start on dessert!)

We even have a traditional Thanksgiving dinner--leftovers from the lunch feast, plus baked beans, sandwich fixings, potato chips, and as much pie as you can get down.

The VERY NEXT DAY, we go to my dad's side of the family for our "Thanksmas." There our menu consists of turkey, fruit salad, green salad, the icky oyster dressing, green beans, sweet potatoes, Uncle Steve's special potato casserole, and lots of appetizers. Dad's side consumes olives like they're going out of style (ick). After we manage to let our stomachs deflate, we open Christmas presents and sing Christmas carols.

It sounds quite crazy--and it is. But the memories are so precious. This will be the first holiday without my grandpa, and I do fear the gathering a little. It's so easy to not think about the lack of his presence when we're not somewhere he's supposed to be. I'll be missing his strange questions, his demands for more cheese and pickles, and his adoration of my sweet little girl.

Do you have any quirky Thanksgiving traditions or strange foods your family eats? Maybe a favorite recipe? Let me know! Link to it in the comments if you have a post about it and I'll add the links to this post. And don't forget to visit Kelly's Korner for hundreds more posts on tradition.

Also added to Your Life, Your Blog.

Family Recipe Fridays: (Somebody's) Grandma's Mac and Cheese

A couple of years ago I had the privilege of working on a Bible study called No Other Gods by Kelly Minter (as I may have mentioned once or perhaps a dozen times on this blog). It was a new thing for LifeWay, both a young adult and women's study, complete with recipes and a Web site. I loved it and was so excited to throw myself into the project.

I led a test group for it, I wrote the leader's guide, I was the copy editor of course, and then I cooked every single recipe in the book. It took me a day and a half and then I served a gigantic and varied buffet to some co-workers.

And then I cried at the dishes.

Anyway, this macaroni and cheese was my favorite recipe from NOGs (although the black beans and brown rice are a close second!). We had a big family dinner at my grandma's apartment this summer the night before my grandpa's funeral and I offered to cook. I made apricot pork loin, salad, green bean casserole, and this mac and cheese. The family then decided I am never to show up without it again. So I think that makes it a family favorite.

Grandma's Mac and Cheese
from No Other Gods by Kelly Minter

1 lb. ziti or penne rigate
2 10 oz. bars of extra-sharp cheddar cheese (like Cracker Barrel brand)
1 stick butter (1/2 cup)
1 1/2 cups milk
1/4 cup Italian bread crumbs

Slice cheese to medium thickness. Slice butter about the same width as the cheese. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Spray a shallow 9x13 dish with cooking spray.

Boil the pasta for 3-4 minutes--you only want to cook it partially. Test by biting one piece: once you can leave an imprint of your teeth, the pasta is done. Drain.

Take the baking dish and place half of the pasta on the bottom of the dish. Dot with half of the butter squares and half the cheese. Add some of the milk--come up to about the pasta layer or a little bit above. Repeat layers once.

Put the dish on a cookie sheet to catch any overflow. Bake in preheated oven for 50 minutes.

After this, top the dish with Italian bread crumbs, then cook for another 10 minutes.

Happy Grandparents Day!

We are truly blessed that Libbie has four wonderful grandparents. Happy first Grandparents Day to you all! I love you all so, so much. Thank you for being generous and kind grandparents to our sweet little princess.