Breakfast For Dinner

Tonight we had breakfast for dinner. Seriously. We had eggs with sausage and pancakes. Stephen had a cup of coffee. And I think Abigail might have been a little confused.

I love moments like this. When I can step away from the normal stride of life and be delighted by simple changes, like breakfast for dinner. I remember as a child having foil wrapped Ding Dongs with candles and party hats in the middle of the night. My parents had called it a "midnight party." In reality, it was only 10:00 p.m. but my sisters and I didn't know any better. All we cared about was that we were asleep, and now we were awake and about to eat a dessert. It was so wonderful. 

My sister Heather was born on March 17th, St. Patricks Day. My mom would really get into it. We would always have pancakes for Heather's birthday, and without fail, they would always be green. My mom would even dye the milk green. We were so serious about it, that we would all prepare the night before, ensuring that our green p.j.'s would keep us from getting pinched. And of course, I had to learn the hard way that boys like to hide their "green." I think I was 12 the first time my cousin Johnny punched me in the arm for pinching him while he was wearing green underwear. 

April Fools day was always lots of fun, too. Mainly because we could get away with telling lies and insults as long as we said "April Fools" at the end. The practical jokes were limited to the imagination of sheltered girls, so the toilet always had plastic wrap on it. Sarah once did a slight variation with Vaseline, it was a joke to say the least. Sometimes they pranks didn't go so well. My mom filled frozen pops with colored water, but my dad didn't find out till June... One of my sisters told my mom she was pregnant, which led to hysterical tears and then anger... And then there was the time I was working at Starbucks and scared one of the managers... Good times. At one point my mom had to put a limit on the jokes as some of the remarks were more cutting than fun.

I love that I get to start new traditions with my girls. The fact that we got a Christmas tree this last year was a total thrill. And watching Abigail attempt to pick up a pumpkin that weighed more than she did, made my sides ache. Breakfast for dinner is just one of the many things I hope my girls will fondly recall when their older. It will probably take a while, as I am sure that they will be embarrassed of my as teens...

I just put Abigail down for the night, and Rachel went down about 15 minutes before she did. I am reminded of another tradition we have. Some would call it a nightly routine, but it means so much more than that. Before we put the girls to bed, I(or Stephen) will take them around to give everyone good night kisses. And then, as we quietly slip into their dimly lit rooms, we pray over them. I have no idea what Stephen prays... I pray the same prayer my mom used to pray over me.

"Dear Jesus, Thank you for my Abigail. I love her very much. I pray your blessings on her tonight as she sleeps. Give her good and pleasant dreams. I pray that she would come to know and love you at a young and early age. May she follow you all the days of her life. Help her to be a good big sister to Rachel. And help Daddy and I to be good parents for her. We love you. In Jesus' name, Amen."

Its very simple. A prayer that a child could remember and recite. There are of course a few add ins from me, but its the prayer I remember from my childhood. I can not recall a lot from my early years, but I remember every word that she would pray over me. It was sacred. Well, I guess it still is. I hope my girls grow up with more than just traditions and silly memories. I pray that they would look back on our nightly routines and see God in their lives. 

 

Fear

Daddy. I used to hate that word. I would only use it if I thought it would increase my chances of obtaining the item(s) I was asking for. Daddy is a term of endearment. And quite frankly, I didn’t feel that way. You could classify me as one of the many grown-up children who has “father figure” issues. I have been to enough camps and conferences to know that God desires to heal this issue for good in me. But being wounded by a parent is not your typical forgive formula. Parents are always coming up with new ways to remind you of the past pain they have caused.

 

I am only reflecting on this right now, because my dad is in surgery. He has had a round ball growing in his stomach for around two years, and had adamantly refused to have it looked at. He finally did, as you have probably already guessed, and is now having his grapefruit sized hernia removed. Talk about procrastination, right? It brings many mixed emotions for me. The men in my father’s family don’t live very long. They usually get cancer and the sudden decay is more than anyone can take. I am very relieved that it is just a hernia… and irritated at the same time. 

I know that it was probably his own crippling fear that caused him to delay looking in to this matter sooner. But why didn’t he? Doesn’t he want to be around to see his grandchildren grow up? Or even witness the grandchildren yet to be born? Like I said, it’s probably fear, but all I can hear is selfishness. I do want him around, but ironically, on my terms. I want to be able to understand him, and be able to explain him to my kids. I dread the day my girls will ask why Grandpa and Mimi aren’t married. What do I say? “Yes girls, that’s right. Grandpa chooses to not get married. Yes girls, God doesn’t like it…”  I know this so well, because I have already had those conversations with him.

 

As a teen and even up until recently, I thought I had to be ok with him in order to be in relationship with him. Like everything had to be perfect. But it is far from that. I am now learning to be in relationship with him the same way God is with me. Yeah, I have majorly goofed up, quite a bit actually. And no, things are not perfect. But God loves me and desires to be in relationship with me, even in the midst of my imperfection. When I start to think of my dad as just a man, it’s a lot easier. My expectations always run a little high… 

Daddy is now a wonderful word. Last week, Abigail was naming the people in a family photo. When she came to Stephen’s face, she uttered the words “my daddy.” I cried. Who knew that it would take this long to finally be at peace with calling God “daddy?” Now I get the mean of “Abba Father.” I have heard the words plenty of times, in great sermons mind you. But it took Abby saying them for me to finally get it. And I want to get it. I want to barely whisper “my daddy” with my head tilted and a slight smile across my face. It was beautiful. 

Pray for my Dad. He is scared. He didn’t decide to let his kids know he was going into surgery until 20 minutes before he went in. Fear can be more crippling and damaging than we realize. It can keep us out of relationship with those we long to be close to.

Just One Of Those Days

The day did not start off well. If you count the fact that I was in bed at 9:30 p.m. then sure, ok, it started off well. But then at about 11:30 p.m., not even before yesterday had officially ended, my day began. Rachel is teething. Any mom who has endured the infant years will not have to read any further. The word "teething" says it all. For those of you who have not yet been blessed with children, I shall do my best to explain. (Without complaining too much.)

Teething is the milestone that every new beaming parent greatly anticipates. Teething signals the soon appearance of teeth. And teeth, my friends, are very exciting. They compete with the same level of excitement as rolling over and sitting up. There is nothing quite like the anticipation of that first tooth to grace your baby's gummy grin. 

Nice commercial, right?

The truth? Teething is the milestone that signals the beginning of drooling, gnawing, crying, and your sweet baby refusing to be comforted. Nothing makes them happy, or at least not for long. And may the Lord bless you, if you are still nursing! Seriously, I was up every two hours last night with Rachel sobbing hysterically. It reminds me a lot of the early, newborn days, however, I could feed her and she would stop. There is nothing that stops the crying. And they continue to cry and cry and cry, until they have exhausted everyone in the house. And then they cry some more. Then finally, they loose their breath, have left no energy to spare, and fall asleep for 20 minutes, 2 hours max. And then, my dear friends, it begins again.

Needless to say, I am tired. Stephen also did not wake up on time, which then lead to my recruitment of preparing his breakfast, coffee, and lunch in a total daze. I was pathetic. Then my sweet Abigail awoke with her cold, going on day 3, and added to the drama of the constant crying. It was pure chaos. Abby got her hand stuck in the baby wipes container, and proceeded to run around the house crying and waving the box frantically in the air. Its so hard not to laugh at such a sight, but her tears helped me maintain composure.

I don't know how it happened, but I did make it to the youth office today. I was only there a couple of hours, but I felt like I could not get anything done. Even now, I have been home for a little over 2 hours, and I still feel like I haven't quite gotten settled yet. I needed to get so much done this afternoon. There is a beautiful list of all the things that needed to be accomplished this fine day. Instead, the list is not completed, not even half, AND it is sitting in the drawer of the youth office. Way to be productive, Liz. 

Some days, its easy to accomplish the tasks of mommydom. Today was not one of those days. Its like my whole world has to come to a screeching halt when the girls are sick. Seriously, if moms got paid, we should get overtime when the kids are sick. (And double when they are teething!) Its a thankless job, one only a mom would do.

Romance Me...

Romance... I never thought that I would find that word hilarious, but I do. Anyone with young children and a couple of years of marriage under their belt would agree. When is there ever time for romance with little ones screaming "MEEE" at the top of their lungs?

Romance has always been a topic that Stephen and I don't really see eye to eye on. We have very difference definitions as to what can qualify a person as being romantic. Our conversation will follow something along these lines:

Liz- "Stephen, your not very romantic."

Stephen- "I am too romantic."

Liz- "Name something that you have done that's romantic."

Stephen- "MY PROPOSAL."

Liz- "Something more recent."

Stephen- "I don't know, I can't think of anything right now."

Liz- "Exactly. If you can't think of anything, its been too long."

Stephen- "I'm sure I've done something recently."

Liz- "Yeah, but was it intentional?"

Seriously, we have this same conversation, like once a month. It never really goes anywhere. Its basically me expressing my desire for more, and Stephen expressing that he currently doesn't have the capacity to. 

The truth is, we are not unique in feeling at odds with what we expect out of our relationships. The fact that we talk about it, is a HUGE step that most couples won't even take. But its the next step of actually doing SOMETHING that's the trick. There are soooo many good excuses. And we use them everyday to get out of one thing or another. Some are completely valid. Like a sick kid (Abby is currently not feeling well, and there is very little I can do to help her or anyone else for that matter.) or the weather (Ah, another favorite of mine!). But at some point you have to get beyond the excuses.

Stephen and I are both abstaining from watching television shows, each for different reasons. And to my surprise, we are talking more! It's a big shock, I know. We still will watch an occasional movie together, but the conversations that actually are causing me to wonder into deep thought are becoming a regular occurrence. Mind you, it also greatly helps that we are now getting to see each other more than 3.5 hours a day (and 2.5 of those I was asleep). This unemployment thing is turning out to be great for my marriage. Who would have thought?

Last night, we had one of those spontaneous conversations. It was amazing we talked for a couple of hours. About life, love, ministry, humility, our future... It was sooo good. Like better and more rich than the flour-less chocolate torte at P.F. Changs. It was true romance. We sat at the kitchen table with our tea filled mugs being open and vulnerable about the areas in our lives that we try so hard to seem competent at. I left the dinning room feeling giddy and inspired.

Its been a long time since Stephen and I have talked like that. Not because we don't want to, but because we haven't been able to. You can't force conversation to be saturated with intimacy. We have had plenty of good talks since we have been married, but the quality of last night reminded me of the early days of our courtship. The long walks through Old Town Pasadena, the endless drives to Camp Cedar Crest, and the hours upon hours at the local Starbucks. Yeah, parenthood doesn't grace you with those opportunities. But last night, it was magical.

Corny, I know. But as a result of last night, I found myself inspired in the other areas of my life. Its like I received permission to be creative, and to be a little bit more of me. Strange, but spending some quality time with Stephen actually reminded me that there is more to me than diapers and dirty dishes. I am also tempted to throw out the cable antenna, but I don't think Stephen will go for it with baseball season quickly approaching (Go Yankees!).  

So to my dear friends, turn off the TV, and allow yourself to drift into meaningful conversation. It could be the boost of romance that you need.

Packing...

Last night I officially started packing. I hate packing. Its so frustrating. If you have ever had to pack with small children around, than you know my frustration.

 

Abby likes to help. It doesn't matter what I am doing, she wants to help. This includes diapering Rachel, making dinner, laundry (which is counterproductive), training the dog ("sey" for stay and she can very clearly say "out!"), and of course packing. Now I have yet to recruit her services for this round, but I remember how helpful she was last time. She would put dirty laundry in boxes, and take various items out when I wasn't looking. Needless to say, I had to ship her off for two days, to the delight of her Grandma, so I could get something done! Even with Abigail not around, the emotional toll on a 4 month pregnant woman was great. Thankfully, that is not my current status.

 

I have resolved to pack a couple of boxes each day, in hopes that this gradual approach will avoid the need to evacuate the babies. The trouble with this is that it prolongs the emotional processing that accompanies packing, and honestly, trying to evaluate the items that I won't need for another 2 months is quite difficult. Stephen's family will be visiting in mid-February, so I want to keep out all of my nice dishes and glasses. You know, the stuff I only use for company. And all of that stuff is usually the first to get packed. I would pack all the extra linens, but we need those. I did manage to pack half of the girls toys, and immediately I started to worry about the girls' cousins having enough to play with. 

 

Abigail noticed that there were toys missing this morning. She walked around her playroom like she was lost. Rachel didn't care. She is too little to care, and I left her favorite toy out. She is content. Rachel doesn't have the attention span that Abigail does, which is none. Abby truely is Stephen's daughter. Its like the additional space gave her even more of a reason to run around screaming this morning. And she decided to include the puppy in her game. Not to helpful, if you ask me. 

 

I have given serious thought to packing clothes. But I live in PORTLAND! When we first moved here, someone told me that if I didn't like the weather, wait 10 minutes, it'll change. And they were right! It's not like we own a lot of winter clothes anyways. Our winter attire consists of layering our summer and California "winter" clothes creatively, so that we can stay warm. I actually layered 3 tank tops yesterday with a sweatshirt. I'm doing the best I can without buying a new wardrobe. Abigail is also going through a "naked" phase. The more layers on her, the more likely she will stay clothed. We are starting to fid her completely undressed in the morning. Oh, the joys of parenthood!

 

Thankfully, we were not too eager to throw out or redistribute our moving boxes. I had told Stephen that we spent a lot of money on those boxes, and you never know when we might need them. Oh brother, if I would have known, I would not have unpacked... Ok, maybe I would of. I definitely would not have spent all that time painting downstairs when I was pregnant... Ok, I probably would have. (There are very few things you can talk me out of when I am pregnant.) But even with all the boxes from last time, we still need more. Adding a child to the family immediately increases the clutter. And we have two daughters. Girls by nature come with accessories.

 

ARGH! I hate moving. Stephen is sending me like 20 emails a day. Each with links to a Craig's List post of possible rentals. I have actually considered blocking him. It is starting to look a lot like "spam." (I love you too, honey.) As awful as it sounds, nothing is what I want. (I am such the consumer.) I keep looking at these places going "Do I really think that living room can handle a screaming Abigail with a Havana chasing her?" Or how about the fact that I want space for when our families come to visit us? And being out in the middle of nowhere isn't conducive to youth meetings either... Does the perfect home exist?

 

I drifted from my normal reading guide and stumbled upon Psalm 84. Its amazing. If I would have read this on the date scheduled, it would be in September. But here we are in late January and I am finding myself strengthened by words about birds and their nests. Its not like I haven't noticed the verse before, I have. It's just this time it was personal. I want a place to raise my kids. And as much as I want to cater to the needs of a hostess, I really just want to be close to God. I want the peace that comes from constantly being in his presence. I want the security of being within the walls of his house.

 

The cynical part of me doesn't care where we move to. We would have to leave it within 13 months anyways... But the hopeful part, just wants someplace where we can get settled. A place where my family can find its rhythm. Where the girls can go to a nearby school, and God willing, have more kids. (A boy would be nice.) A home that we can welcome our community into, and a place that reminds us of God's hand on our lives. Too bad that's not a post for Craig's List, right?

 

All that to say, please keep the Gomez Family in your prayers. Its hectic over here...

Timing...

Personally, I don't believe in coincidences. There is too much organized rhythm to the life that is all around us. As chaotic as life may be, I think that it is the strong undercurrent of rhythm that gives one of the greatest cases for faith. But that's a different blog...

Currently, at the moment, I am no longer working full time outside the home.  I have been using the term "unemployed" but a dear friend of mine quickly reminded (and affirmed) me, that being home all day with two babies is a full time job. I just don't get the luxury of getting a fiscal reward. Our current situation has also added the complexity of needing to relocate our family. All this sudden change, as you can imagine, has really caused Stephen and I to pause. Obviously, something in our approach is off. We have had to move 4 times now since we were married in April of 2005. Our context has changed, and our angle needs to be different. 

I can't help but wonder why I am not working full time in the midst of a moving transition. Is it just to have more physical and emotional energy to relocate? Or could it be something more? Could it be that this is more than just a shift in where and how we have been raising our family to something dramatically different? Are we not to pursue the typical avenues of finding a new home?

I'll admit, I have spent time recently entertaining the idea of being a stay at home mom. Mind you the term itself is a joke. Any mother who is able to not join the workforce becomes subject to the massive flow of errands. Even as I write, I am not at home. I am taking a break doing youth work at the church. I have spent more time out of the house this last week than I ever did working the graveyard shift. I actually love that I am able to have the mental capacity to give time and energy to the youth ministry. For so long, like the last year, it was only a once a week kind of deal. But being home during the day has given me opportunities that I have not had in a very long time. Its kind of exciting.

So what to do? Do we as a family totally downsize? Do we make adjustments that I do not have intentions of going back to work? Do we stop looking for a home that gives us the "most bang for our buck"? Do we sacrifice convenience for a price tag? It would be so much easier if we didn't have kids in tow... but than the sacrifices and rewards would be very different.

I love timing. It lets me know that there is meaning and purpose to all that is around us. That we aren't just going at life for the weekend or a summer vacation. All of this adds up to something, something wonderful and beautiful. And well worth the wait.

Brokenness

Pain is a very funny thing. Most people don't like pain, and go to great lengths to avoid it. But pain is a signal. It lets us know that something is off, sensitive, broken, or in need of adjusting.  It amazing that pain can give us great insight, when otherwise we would be unaware of the problem.

When I was in my sophomore year of high school, I had gone to winter camp the weekend of my birthday. Camp Cedar Crest was covered in snow, it was really quite beautiful. My cousin, who is 6 months older than I, had brought his snowboard and was enjoying the various steep inclines of the property. I had asked for a turn, and he agreed. No big deal, right? Except that I was ignorant of the needs for proper snowboarding. So when he offer me the board, but no boots, I really had no idea what I was getting myself into. 

During free-time that afternoon, I had an ridiculous amount of fun. I even considered looking into this snowboarding thing when I got home. It was after several hours of dragging the board up and down the hills that I finally retired, so that I might thaw out before dinner and the evening session. As my legs returned to a normal temperature, I began to realize the true impact of "snowboarding" all day in a pair of mere running shoes. Needless to say, my ankle swelled, and was accompanied by horrific pain. I spent the rest of camp and my sweet 16th birthday on crutches. Pathetic, I know...

It was the safe, warm, and non-threatening environment of the cabin that allowed me to feel and recognize the pain I was in. It was only then that I was able to start making things better, and work towards the healing of my poor ankle. Granted, the injury was self induced. But I had allowed someone else to lead me to believe that snowboarding in sneakers was a great idea. 

So why do I mention my horribly embarrassing "snowboarding" story? Well, last night I had a "safe, warm, and non-threatening environment" reveal that I still have a lot of pain. Stephen and I were sitting in Tim's office discussing the youth ministry. There should be nothing traumatic about that, but it was. I felt like I needed to guard myself, defend my reasonings, like I was under attack. But I wasn't. Not in the least bit. It just God using a meeting to reveal that there are some very broken places in my life. I have known that this area was sensitive, I'm not that oblivious. Honestly, I thought I was only suffering from a broken relationship, I didn't know that I had let it affect my relationships with other leaders as well.

On January 4, Pastor Dennis gave the message "Better & Better & Better- A "Better" Year" and he spoke on the better including our finances, attitudes and expectations. Part of the expectations included the healing of broken areas in our lives. I really didn't think that this part was going to apply to me. But the "safe, warm, and non-threatening environment" proved that I so desperately need healing. I have let it go for so long, years in fact. I have ignore the subtle hints of it in conversation. I have created countless excuses for my disconnected attitude. Better finances, better attitudes, and better expectations. I have got to keep reminding myself...

This year, in the few weeks of its existence, has already proven to be interesting. At the moment, I am unemployed and our family is going to be moving, again. Of all the areas that I would want Jesus to intervene for me, this was not the place I was expecting. But it is the right time. Hopefully, I won't be on crutches too long. My ankle only needed a couple of weeks, and not that I am one to rush healing. But this year is going to be better. I can't wait to see all that it has in store.

Sleep...

Its a curious thing. The imbalances  in our children often reflect the inconsistencies of our own lives as parents. The most recent of these being my children's sleep patterns, their very unusual sleep patterns.

The normal things set their schedules off. Things  you would expect, different routines, visitors, and sugar. Lately, they have been shifting things around. Which is semi-normal for children of 5 and 20 months to do. However, with that being said, its the way they go to sleep and the quality that has shifted greatly.

Abigail, who is 20 months, has never had any trouble sleeping, now seems to never sleep when she should. And of course, this results in her wanting to sleep when she shouldn't. For example, asking to take a nap only 90 minutes from waking up is not normal. And its not like I am making her wake up super early, I will let her sleep in as late as 9 if need be.  When she is in her crib, I hear her playing at the most odd times. And trust me, there is nothing normal about playing at 11 p.m. and 4:30 a.m. 

Rachel, my sweet Rachel, is 5 months. Crazy shifting in her schedules is to be expected. However, lately, regardless of how tired she is, she fights it. With tears, screaming, and flailing body parts, she fights. She was sleeping through the night, and then, it stopped. Its like she figured out I wasn't going to work anymore and knew that if she cried enough, I would attend to her. Maybe she only caught on to this because we aren't taking naps together anymore. I will openly admit, when you can only get your sleep in small naps, the still nursing baby comes with you.

Truth be told, I am finally starting to get my own sleep life back on a normal schedule. This new season of being "unemployed" is providing sleep. Every night. Sleep is such a wonderful thing. I think that is why I am so puzzled to my children's resisting of it. But maybe their sleep patterns have been off for a while. It may be that I am only noticing inconsistencies because I am finally awake to see them. Its actually embarrassing to think about all the things I haven't noticed. And what's worse, is how long has this been going on for?

We all have moments when we feel like we have failed our children. That we have deprived them of something so fundamental to their development.  Even now, Abigail and I are at war. I have been trying to put her to sleep for over 30 minutes. Granted, she isn't at home, nor is she in a bed... but that has never been an issue before. Maybe once I finally catch up on my own sleep the girls will follow suit. Or maybe, this is just the beginning of many sleepless times our family will encounter.

May you find some rest, if not sleep.

Walks In Irvington

Its not often that I actually have a spare moment to have intellectual thoughts, let alone enough to give my mind a workout. But lately, I have been able to escape the house and its many chores on walks through my neighborhood.

I have taken many walks through the nearby streets. Long walks, short walks. Walks with the girls and walks alone. Walks with Stephen and walks with Havana. Walks to Fred Meyer and walks to the park. Walks to bring on contractions and even more walks to bring on contractions. Walks to get snow chains and walks to get coffee. Walks when I am angry and walks to put Abby to sleep. And walks that were not walks at all, as Havana dragged me through the neighborhood. There have been many, many walks. Each path and street reminds me of a previous time the way looking through a photo album can. I think that is why I enjoy my walks so much, for all the treasured memories I have on the streets of Irvington.

My walks have been more frequent as of lately. Partly due to the energy level of a growing puppy, and simply because I have needed to be able to think. I can't focus at home. I can't hear my own thoughts over the volume of dishes, laundry, crying and Elmo's World. There is always something to occupy my mind when I am within these walls. It was yesterday afternoon, during nap time, and I was about to get some much needed sleep myself, when I bounded for the door. Sure, a few minutes of sleep would be wonderful, but instead, I chose to exhaust myself with Havana on a walk.

Walking with Havana requires a much quicker pace, ok, so its more like a run. But as I was attempting to train her to go at my pace, it really got me thinking about all the other paces I have taken since we moved here. It will be one year in March since we first got to Portland, and as we are looking for a new home, I really don't want to leave Irvington. Since we have been married, Stephen and I have never lived in one place for more than 13 months. I have no problem leaving the house, but maybe its all the walks that make the neighborhood feel like home. Its strange that the things that I have attached myself to are the paths where I know the unleveled spots. But I was able to slow Havana down, and really began to enjoy the path my life has taken since starting my walks in Irvington.

This last year has brought us Rachel, and she is nothing like I expected. We weren't expecting her to begin with! I honestly believe that pregnancy can give so much insight into the personality and new life your baby will bring. I was constantly in and out of active labor with Rachel, and even now at 5 months, she never knows what she really wants. Its like I have to argue with her to convince her she is tired. I already dread the quickly approaching teenage years. 

Havana, our wonderful labrador retriever was also introduced into our family. I am convinced that movies and books are written about dogs with similar beginnings like Havana's. She is one of the most sweetest dogs, and I have never seen a puppy so gentle with small children. I finally understand the sorrow that families go through upon the passing of a beloved pet.

The most dramatic result of these walks is myself, but maybe that's because I wasn't anticipating much change. Its like I am finally coming out of a dark ravine that has kept me hidden for so long. I have had difficulty in adjusting my sight. But in all honesty, I am glad to have gone through such a dark and lonesome path. At times it terrified and overwhelm me, but I am now able to seek and find peace in desperate moments. And as a result of that peace, I think I am finally entering into a walk filled with joy (and that's a new one for me).

Walks are good. Reflection is good. Even if it's only taking notice of how many houses have gone up for sale in the last six months. Inhale deeply and take those precious moments to think and make memories that will guide your future steps. 

Will My Kids Hate Church?

Ok, I know its a crazy thought. But I think every good parent struggles with giving their kids too much of a good thing.

Tonight we had Third Place, which is a monthly expression of our youth ministry at PDX4. With both Stephen and my involvement, the girls are in tow. Its not a big deal, really, we don't mind. But when we got home tonight, Stephen was gently kissing Rachel's forehead and earnestly said, "I hope you don't grow up hating church." It killed me. The idea that I could be the one to push my kids away from learning about God and experiencing community. 

We have talked about getting babysitters, but if the focus is youth ministry, its not really appropriate (or at least productive) to have our usual list aid us. We don't want our girls growing up bitter because of the amount of time they spend at church, we also don't want them acting like they own the place either! What to do! Its not like there are books on how to perfectly balance ministry and home life... if there were "pastor's kids" would not be a cliche. 

Even now, my kids act a little needy on Mondays. They are soooo out of wack after church on Sundays. Abby needs extra cuddle time and Rachel... well, she won't let me put her down! To be quite truthful, it can be really exhausting and kinda overwhelming. Don't get me wrong, I know that they are still babies, and they still need their momma... often. But, I do wonder about when they will adjust, or are they even supposed to?

Honestly, its probably really healthy that I am concerned about this. By engaging my mind in the ramifications, I am constantly making proactive choices. (Which is a miracle, because most of my parenting is reactive. I am still very new at this...) It is also very humbling to openly admit that I don't have the faintest idea as to what is best for my own children. No mother wants to say that she hasn't a clue as to what her child needs from her. 

Anyways, its not like its going to be resolved anytime soon. There are still many years to come, and I am still growing up myself (another thing no mom wants to admit). But my mind is swirling and I can't think about much else right now...

A Rite Of Passage

I have been putting it off for weeks, well, months actually. I had bought a turkey from work a week before Thanksgiving, and since I had no intention of cooking it anytime soon, I stuck it in the freezer. And there it remained. There was those occasional comments from my loving husband, curious as to WHEN the turkey was to be cooked, but it remained frozen. Yeah, it was now January, and the turkey had yet to embarked on its journey to my oven.

That is until last week. And what a journey it has been!

My girlfriend Amber has been in town, and she had still not met the newest Gomez. So to remedy the situation, she was going to join us for a leisurely dinner on Saturday. And with our finances being what they are, we had not gone grocery shopping and there wasn't much in the fridge. Except a 16 pound turkey. And to her credit, Amber could sense the tone. It was more than just the typical "let's have dinner at the house so we don't have to pay for the unneeded tips and parking fees," but that a meal at home made more sense for our family economically. So when she learned the contents of our freezer, Amber so graciously suggested we have the turkey. Unfortunately, the turkey was not completely defrosted by Saturday. We had chicken. So the turkey was still not cooked, but sitting and awaiting its fate.

I don't care what the packaging says, that turkey did NOT take 2-3 days to defrost. If it had, I would have attempted to serve it to Amber on Saturday. No, my turkey took its sweet precious time. It was closer to 4 days, and even then I waited till day 5 just to be sure. So with it being the official day of roasting, I searched the internet looking for a recipe to follow. This should not have been difficult, but I seem to complicate the simplest of tasks. I finally found a recipe that seemed easy enough, and yet I still ended up adding "special" touches of my own.

It was sometime during the rinsing of the bird that I realized that I was embarking on to something I had never worried about as a single person. The ceremonial roasting of the holiday poultry is an honor and privilege usually reserved for the most experienced of the family women. I was encountering a rite of passage that I had not properly prepared for. I was truly grateful at that moment that my attempt would not have to be the subject of the family feast. It would not have to undergo the careful and merciless scrutiny of my family, or more embarrassing, my in-laws. The only person I would have to explain my unusual additions to would be Stephen, and he has learned to embrace that "resourceful" side of me. So I added the uncalled for apples and clementines. And because I was too cheap to buy the dry white wine needed for the basting, I used the 4 year old bottle of champagne that we received as a wedding present. (Thanks, Brittany!) I mean, technically it is white wine. Its not like it actually came from Champagne, France. I think its from California... Regardless, I thought it to be a better option than buying a new bottle for only a 1/2 cup of wine.

I did manage to get that big bird into the oven. (Not to be confused with Elmo's yellow friend...) And I soon learned that the turkey's packaging not only lied about the defrosting time, but also the cooking time.  But that's "ok." Luckily, we still had leftovers from two nights ago available for last minute consumption. I stayed up long enough to take the turkey out of the oven, and before I could even let the meat rest, I went to bed. 

I could only get a quick nap in before work. As a scrambled to get my coffee ready, I did manage to get the turkey in the fridge. So after a long night of work, my last night of work (that's a different blog), I came home and knew that I couldn't just let the turkey sit around the fridge. I decided to try it in the final minutes leading up to Stephen's departure for work. I don't know if its my father's lucky culinary genes, or that I used a recipe that was fool proof. The turkey was amazing! The white meat was actually moist and had flavor! It was a mid-January miracle! My husband's response was classic, well, with a twist. "It's still not as good as your dad's." Oh, well.

So why do I write about my turkey excursion? Because as busy moms we have so many new adventures, and very few celebrations over our conquests. We are required to try new things everyday and be resourceful with odds and ends. I hope that you find yourself smiling and celebrating the trials of today.