Sunday, August 28, 2011

 Today you are 30 years old.


I met you when you were 21; I was only 19.


We were just babies.


And now we have a beautiful 2 year old baby (he will always be my baby)


7 years ago today we were married in front of 100 of our closest 
   and most dear. 


I can not image 1 day without you.
ily

We Like To Keep Our Play-Dates Educational

Saturday, August 27, 2011


Get Your Hands Dirty

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Hailed a possibly "one of the most important pieces of fiction since To Kill A Mockingbird, " by NPR.org:
The Help by Kathern Stocket.

This book is such a hot-button topic right now, 
and since my friend Holly just wrote a great post and got me thinking, 
I thought I would jump on the bandwagon too.

A lesson from The Help.

Like most good novels there is a hero and a villain. Most would say that Skeeter, the white gal from a wealthy Southern family, is our hero (although I would argue that the true hero is Aibileen). Her childhood best friend, Hilly, plays the villain. 

We all love Skeeter because she's the game changer, the visionary, the crusader, the activist. She jumps the tracks and crosses the racial divide. She immerses herself in the lives of people who are different than her. Burdened by injustice she doesn't just sit around waiting for things to change she "is the change [we] want to see in the world" - she does something about it. Yes, we all want to be Skeeter.

No one wants to be Hilly. Self-absorbed, prejudiced, narrow-minded, racist. Hilly's treatment of black men and women makes us cringe. We can not believe someone would be so calloused. Yet, Hilly is not all terrible. She's supportive or her husband, attentive to her children, and she works to aid the poor. Remember the wonderfully ironic scene where Hilly puts on an elaborate benefit to raise money for the poor starving children in Africa. She does care about the black children; she just doesn't want them sharing her bathroom. 


I want to be the hero in the story; I want to be Skeeter. However, if I'm truly honest more often than not I act like Hilly. Christ, my education and a decent socio-economic standing have taught me to recognize and reject blatant racism, so in that way I do differ from her. But, when it comes to being a hands-on, get-dirty, game-changer we tend to be more similar than I like. I don't want to go across the tracks; I just want to send my money over there.

It's comfortable here in my middle-class white neighborhood. The world is a distressing place. I am empathetic and burdened by poverty, disease, and injustices but I would rather not see them up close. Instead I'll keep a comfortable distance, and yet appease my cushy-life guilt, by sending a monetary donation. 

Let me give you an little example. God has been reminding me that poverty, pain and injustice are not just foreign problems. So recently I began volunteering at a crisis pregnancy center for homeless, pregnant women in our area. The director of the center started me off with a simple task - once a month I make dinner for all the girls in the house - with the intention that hopefully I will make a connection with one of them more personally. Now, in order to connect with the gals I need to actually spend some time with them. The director suggested I cook the meal in their kitchen and then sit down to dinner with everyone. Great idea, right? Except, I haven't actually done that yet. 

Instead I've just dropped the already-cooked meal off, said "hello", and then bolted. My excuse has been that since the ladies eat early I don't have anyone to watch Landon. Lets be real, I haven't actually tried to look for a babysitter. Why? Because I'm afraid. I'm scared to "cross-over" so-to-say and immerse myself into their world. They are in a desperate situation, most of them recovering substance abusers with backgrounds completely different than mine. It's so much easer to drop off my donation and leave. Stay in my bubble and avoid the yucky stuff: the drama, the pain, the hurt. Yet I know that my donation isn't really going to change anything. It's nice to eat a hot meal but lasagna typically doesn't alter the course of someones life. Relationships change people. Actually: Jesus in relationships changes people. (Believe me, I'm not saying that I'm awesome and I'm going to "save" anyone) 

God's really been working on me in this area for the past two years. I don't want to stay in my bubble forever. I'm afraid that if I do I really will become a Hilly with a narrow, concrete world-vision. Instead I want to get in the game, so that I can help to change it. Our family's decision to adopt is one step in this direction. We want to be Jesus not just preach Jesus. But, as you can see from the above example, I still have a looooong way to go. 

Obviously I don't think there is anything wrong with monetary donations. Great causes need both works and wealth. And there are seasons in life when we need to rest, recovery or repair before we serve others. But I wonder what you think: generally are we too eager to open our wallets and send our money rather than sending ourselves?



Friday, August 19, 2011

I seriously thought I was such a good mom this afternoon when, while driving home from the zoo, I pointed out all the tractors on the side of the road so Landon wouldn't miss them. Apparently I tooted my own horn a bit too early:

"Ummm, mom. No. Those are diggers."

Digger vs Tractor
My mistake!!

I am hard pressed to tell the difference between a mini-van and an SUV so you can only image how uneducated I am in the realm of heavy machinery/farm equipment/construction "stuff". And really, I could care less. But because I love my boy I'll be borrowing his baby books with the pictures and labels of different tractor types. Some of those books are so detailed I think they were actually written for the clueless mothers of automobile-minded boys.

I'll probably need the dinosaur books too. I'm not sure how long "long-neck", "three-horn" and "sharp-tooth" are going to cut it.


what really matter

Thursday, August 11, 2011

The past few weeks I've really felt as though Landon and I are a ranging ocean storm. And he's the wind and I'm the waves; or maybe I'm the waves and he's the wind. Either way the two of us together is creating turbulence, white caps, and drowning victims. (Actually, I'm the drowning victim.)


I don't know if it's because he's cutting all four 2-year old molars at once.

Or if it's because he is 2-years-old.

Or if he's a particularly strong willed child (I have no one to compare him too so I'm not completely sure).

Or maybe something is just wrong with me. I mean - there is only ONE of him - so how hard should it be??? Friend are always warning me how much harder it gets when there are two or more; and women have multiple children all the time; so why do I sometimes feel like I'm sinking to the depths of the sea and I'm being strangled by 1 tiny, two-year old piece of sea kelp?

Two days ago, after a particularly challenging morning, Landon and I were driving to his gym class and in the front seat I was silently suffering a case of negative thoughts:

What am I doing wrong?
Why won't he obey?
Should we even have more children?
Am I failing him?
etc.
etc.
etc.


From the depths of my self-doubt I heard a tiny voice from the backseat.

Mommy?

Yes, Landon.

Jesus loves me.


Yes, Landon.  Jesus loves you very, very, very much. Even more than Mommy and Daddy love you, if you can even image that!

And Mommy loves Jesus.


Yes

And Daddy loves Jesus


Yes

And Landon loves Jesus, too.


My sweet, wonderful, challenging boy
A life preserver in the storm. A rescue boat when lost at sea.

Thank you, Lord. You knew I needed that, didn't you.

He might not put his shirt and shoes on when I ask him. He might run away when I tell him to come. He might require what seems like constant discipline. He might have a terrible little temper and a strong-as-iron will. But you love him. And really, he's no more sinful than me. (actually he's much less sinful.) And you love me too. And we love you

And, at the end of the day, that's all that really matters.

I RUN TOO FAST

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

I absolutely love the fact that Landon and I can have full back-and-forth conversations now. His vocabulary and understanding is growing daily. Although he still gets some things messed up. Instead of using the word "too" he uses "so".

Throughout the day I hear a lot of:

"I too hungry Mommy. I too hungry."

"I run too fast!"

He's all boy


He's also a smart little bugger. The other night he was fussing and complaining at the dinner table. Frustrated with his bad behavior RJ walked Landon to his room, told him he could finish fussing by himself and when he was ready to have a good attitude he could come back to the table. RJ walked away and we could hear Landon in there whimpering a bit and getting out the last few complaints and grumbles. Once he was quiet we invited him back to the table. He climbed back into his seat and acted quite pleasant for a few minutes.

Normally we expect him to ask to be excused to leave the table and he has to wait until we both give him permission before he may get down from his seat. Shortly after returning from his fussing episode I saw his little eyes light-up: without a word to either of us he scrambled out of his seat and headed to his room. Before RJ or I could remind him to come back and ask for permission he unabashedly looked over his shoulder and announced: "I'm going to go do some more fussing. I'll see you guys later."Then marched into his bedroom and began playing with toys!

Sunday, August 7, 2011

These are RJ's favorite jeans.

He got them about 6 months ago at the Levi's store in Santa Barbara. When the weather isn't too hot he wears them probably 3-4 times per week.

They've been washed twice (maybe three times) in 6 months.

That's about 45 wears between washes. (!!)

He's tried to explain to me that this particular denim is meant to go unwashed for long periods of time. 2-3 weeks between laundering I understand; you don't want the jean to fade, you want it to fit to your body, etc. But 2-3 months? Really???


Then last week I was reading Jeanette Wash's Half Broke Horses and I cam across this quote:


"Levi's we didn't wash at all. They shrank too much, and it weakened the threads. So we wore them and wore them until they were shiny with mud, manure, tallow, cattle slobber, bacon fat, axle grease, and hoof oil, and them we wore them some more. Eventually, the Levi's reached a point of grime saturation where they couldn't get any dirtier, where they had the feel of oilskin and had become not just waterproof but briar-proof, and that was when you knew you had really broken them in. When Levi's reached that degree of conditioning, they were sort of like smoke-cured ham or aged bourbon, and you couldn't pay a cowboy to let you wash his." 



I get it now:
RJ's just a cowboy deep down inside. 



Monday, August 1, 2011

We just returned home from 7 days in Yosemite filled with adventures, waterfalls,
critters, bike rides, friends, camp food and swimming.

Now it's recovery time and massive loads of laundry.
I'll check back in as soon as I emerge from the piles of grimy clothes 


Two Cent Sparrow.
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