Lately, our Sunday routine has gone like this: try a church, try a breakfast, look at open houses. I really enjoy this routine because we need to find a church, we need to know who in town has the best breakfast, and I am nosy and like open houses. Oh, and we need one of those too.
Anyway, I want to focus on churches here. Of course, we have kind of a short list of possibilities. It would almost be easier if we had both been raised in the same denomination and that denomination was one that teaches that they are IT. Thou shalt not attend any other brand of church but me. Well, ok, it wouldn't actually be easier because I couldn't belong to a church like that, because, well, darn, the whole thing is cyclical, and that leads to the list of qualifications:
Must be completely ecumenical. Must be accepting of all lifestyles and leave the judging to God. Must offer communion every week. Must have lots of young children. Must like children.
Must like children? What kind of church wouldn't like kids? Well...
So, a couple weeks ago we tried an Uberchurch that people just rave about. Now, don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't like contemporary praise worship, it's just, well--I'll get there in a bit.
So, there is special parking for "1st and 2nd time visitors only." Ok. Nice--except someone met us, literally, in the parking space to usher us inside and show us around. Some would say this is welcoming and helpful. Others might think it's a tad over the top. I guess it depends on whether you like to stand out as a first-time visitor in a crowded auditorium (I'm sorry, I mean Worship Center, not sanctuary) of 1000+ people, or if you prefer to be somewhat anonymous, but our guide was very nice and friendly. He showed us where to sign Ainslie into the children's center and obtain a security number for her. The only shadow passed over our guide's face when we said Ainslie would sit with us, this first time, because that is what she is used to. He quickly showed us the cry room, just in case.
Once we sat down with our glossy brochure (not a mere bulletin) we understood. On the back it states that, "Main worship is not designed for children." Hmmmm.
Ok. Soon, the lights were dimmed and the show began. So here's where I get into the whole Praise thing. I like it. Within reason. Our current church in Chicago offers a choice of traditional or praise services and we attend both. I don't think, however, that a show, in which people are constantly just *performing* is the spiritual experience we are looking for. It also really bothers me when church is held in a Worship Center that looks remarkably like a theater (and that was my major so I'm pretty keen on what one looks like) and has NO CROSS visible. That really bugged us. I mean, what is the POINT?
Then, the kids issue. Worship is not designed for children? On a purely practical nature, how do little ones learn what is expected of them if you don't take them places? Ainslie is certainly not perfectly quiet in church, but she's pretty good for a 2-yr old (most of the time) because we've always taken her. On a more important note, though, HELLO? No kids allowed? Craig thinks it is because the actors and singers don't want their show interrupted. One more thing on the kids. I'm too Protestant to be a proponent of infant baptism, but that is another post. I do, however, like the idea of Baby Dedications. So, this couple comes down with their infant (don't know how they got the kid through security) and the pastor basically says, "Welcome to parenthood. Now sit back down." Of course, he was probably tired after his 40 minute one-man show--sermon. No "Let us welcome this child into our fellowship." No, "Let us guide this child..." etc.
Anyway. Not a great fit for the Wilson family.
This leads me to something else I've been thinking about for a few years. Is the whole Christian Experience different for someone who finds God as an adult than for someone who is brought up in faith? It seems like people I hear speak who find God later in life are more full of wonder, or something, and I think that is great. I guess when you grow up knowing Bible stories and understanding who Jesus is, it maybe isn't as exciting as discovering Him later? Not that my faith isn't renewed, tested, and twisted from time to time, but I just have been thinking about this. The part of this that bugs me though, is the claim of being a Born Again Christian. By baptism, we are all born again, and I don't think there is any special distinction for being more born again than someone else. That just bugs me.
Ok, so I will close with a genuinely happy thought, and I'm not being sarcastic. I have always thought it a particulary neat trick of God's that He gave us minds, and therefore we *can't* really all worship Him in the same exact manner. I do think it's great that we are able to find Him and worship Him in a way that is meaningful for each of us.
Meanwhile, for Craig, Ainslie and I, back to the short list.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Sunday, July 16, 2006
You know it's going to be a long day when...
"Mommy! My toes are pink!"
These are the first words I heard from Ainslie yesterday morning. I thought she said her nose was pink, so I rushed across the hall, thinking maybe she was having a nosebleed. Nope. She had somehow reached a little makeup bag that I keep in that room (I like the light and she can play while I get ready) and had painted her fingernails, toenails, arms, legs and nightgown OPI Bubble Bath.
She also drained a liquid eyeshadow, painted the case to my blush and unscrewed the lid to my mascara. Mercifully, she didn't actually open the mascara. I didn't know whether to punish her or laugh, she looked so proud of herself, yet she had that gleam. Of course she knew better. As for how she reached the darned thing, I still can't figure it out. Apparently she's been watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The worst part is, for a 2-yr old, she did a pretty decent job on her nails.
The killer was, when we went downstairs, she told her grandpa, very seriously, "Grandpa, I'm a mess."
These are the first words I heard from Ainslie yesterday morning. I thought she said her nose was pink, so I rushed across the hall, thinking maybe she was having a nosebleed. Nope. She had somehow reached a little makeup bag that I keep in that room (I like the light and she can play while I get ready) and had painted her fingernails, toenails, arms, legs and nightgown OPI Bubble Bath.
She also drained a liquid eyeshadow, painted the case to my blush and unscrewed the lid to my mascara. Mercifully, she didn't actually open the mascara. I didn't know whether to punish her or laugh, she looked so proud of herself, yet she had that gleam. Of course she knew better. As for how she reached the darned thing, I still can't figure it out. Apparently she's been watching Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. The worst part is, for a 2-yr old, she did a pretty decent job on her nails.
The killer was, when we went downstairs, she told her grandpa, very seriously, "Grandpa, I'm a mess."
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Where are the Olympics in 2020?
If you avoid reading blogs where people brag about their kids without restraint or respect for basic decency, you'll want to skip this one.
Ainslie is so STRONG. Seriously. She is the best in her gymnastics class (and the youngest, by half a year from the next youngest kid), and today, we made up Tuesday's class since we were all recouping from the ER nightmare on Tuesday and guess what? She's the best in this class too.
In Chicago, her class was mostly large motor play with some gymnastics thrown in; this one is much more focused on actual gymnastics skills. At first I was put off and was all set to try another place here in town that seemed to do more of the singing and games and stuf, but she loves this class.
Today on floor, they worked on forward and backward rolls and straddle rolls. Ainslie does forward rolls by herself all over the house, she does the backward ones with just a little push, and although they do the straddles on a wedge in class, she just needs a little push. They also worked on handstands (aka Donkey Kicks) and again, Ainslie kicks up high and understands supporting herself with her arms. She is the only one who will start from a standing position, arms over her head.
On beam, she is the only one who can walk forward and sideways with no help, and today they did forward rolls on the beam. Of course they were heavily spotted (ok, carried, lol), but Ainslie was the only one who was Beaming after her turns. She is also the only one the teacher lets 'dismount' (ok, jump off the end of a practice beam) all by herself.
On bars, once she is jumped up and hanging from the bar, she can swing her own feet up, either in a pike or a straddle, and she will swing herself. The teacher counts while the kids hang and Ainslie hangs way longer than the others (like 4-5 seconds longer) AND she counts with the teacher, lol.
My favorite thing, though, is that she is getting better at participating in the class. This is the one area where she has certainly acted like the youngest, but this morning, she only had one outburst of wanting to do something *else*, she mostly listened and did what she was supposed to do.
I'm just so proud. I've been blessed with a child who is strong and smart (and gorgeous!) and good at everything she's tried so far. I hope we can encourage her the right way to be the best at the things she really likes.
If you are about to gag on all this bragging, let me temper this whole nauseating post by saying that we went to the Y afterward and my Super Pottytrained Child had a poop blowout in her new unitard, and had to wear some yucky left-in-the-nursery-at-the-Y donated dress and a Buzz Lightyear Pullup home. Nobody's perfect.
Ainslie is so STRONG. Seriously. She is the best in her gymnastics class (and the youngest, by half a year from the next youngest kid), and today, we made up Tuesday's class since we were all recouping from the ER nightmare on Tuesday and guess what? She's the best in this class too.
In Chicago, her class was mostly large motor play with some gymnastics thrown in; this one is much more focused on actual gymnastics skills. At first I was put off and was all set to try another place here in town that seemed to do more of the singing and games and stuf, but she loves this class.
Today on floor, they worked on forward and backward rolls and straddle rolls. Ainslie does forward rolls by herself all over the house, she does the backward ones with just a little push, and although they do the straddles on a wedge in class, she just needs a little push. They also worked on handstands (aka Donkey Kicks) and again, Ainslie kicks up high and understands supporting herself with her arms. She is the only one who will start from a standing position, arms over her head.
On beam, she is the only one who can walk forward and sideways with no help, and today they did forward rolls on the beam. Of course they were heavily spotted (ok, carried, lol), but Ainslie was the only one who was Beaming after her turns. She is also the only one the teacher lets 'dismount' (ok, jump off the end of a practice beam) all by herself.
On bars, once she is jumped up and hanging from the bar, she can swing her own feet up, either in a pike or a straddle, and she will swing herself. The teacher counts while the kids hang and Ainslie hangs way longer than the others (like 4-5 seconds longer) AND she counts with the teacher, lol.
My favorite thing, though, is that she is getting better at participating in the class. This is the one area where she has certainly acted like the youngest, but this morning, she only had one outburst of wanting to do something *else*, she mostly listened and did what she was supposed to do.
I'm just so proud. I've been blessed with a child who is strong and smart (and gorgeous!) and good at everything she's tried so far. I hope we can encourage her the right way to be the best at the things she really likes.
If you are about to gag on all this bragging, let me temper this whole nauseating post by saying that we went to the Y afterward and my Super Pottytrained Child had a poop blowout in her new unitard, and had to wear some yucky left-in-the-nursery-at-the-Y donated dress and a Buzz Lightyear Pullup home. Nobody's perfect.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
When the Dog Bites
Well, I can still say we haven't had an ear infection yet, but I can't say we've never been to the emergency room. Devid bit Ainslie last night. He was unprovoked, just irritable.
She is fine, and there should be no scarring. He got her right under the eyebrow, a nice deep puncture on the upper cheek and tore a little flap on the top of her ear. Devid will no longer be living here.
Ugh. I held her in the car (flame if you want, I'd do it again), and told her that the doctor was going to fix her boo boos. She told me "My ace urts" a few times and then started singing, "I'm Not Perfect." Made me cry. Oh, Lord, Thank You for this not being worse, thank you for her eye not being torn. I carried my bloody child (I didn't realize I had dried blood down my face and neck too) into the ER wearing only her underpants (I did have clothes for her in the diaper bag, thank goodness) and other people in line to check in let us go ahead--I guess we looked pretty pathetic.
Once they got her vitals, we were put in a little ER room and the wait began. By now, the wounds were pretty dried, and Ainslie was enjoying the bed "ride", going up and down. As doctors and nurses came in to check her, she spoke up and was such a little trooper. One funny moment was when a nurse asked if she could see her ear, and Ainslie pointed to her ear, and said, "it's right Here!"
Finally, she was wheeled into a suture room and this is where it got hard for everyone. My poor girl had to be IV'd and hooked up to all sorts of monitors and then they gave her morphine and some other stuff to knock her out. Too bad these medical professionals didn't know who they were dealing with. Ainslie doesn't go to sleep until she's good and ready to go to sleep, and despite all the drugs (and the local she was given) she didn't go to sleep until after we got home.
One funny thing we learned, and that is that Ainslie is a loving drunk. We had to wait an hour after the stiches to be released so her vitals could be monitored and my little 2 year old was high as a kite. As she lounged in my arms, she told me she loved me, then she told Grandma she loved her (Daddy was out getting the Rx for the antibiotic filled), then a man wandered through on his way to another room and Ainslie says, "I love you, Man!" I told her she was loopy and she says, "I love loopy." Frankly, I could use some loopy right about now.
Today she is fine. Everyone else's nerves are pretty shot, but she is fine. Thank God. I realized that I don't love dogs all that much. I've decided that once Lily is gone (and Lily wouldn't know how to bite someone) there will be no more dogs in our nuclear family until all kids are at least 10 or 12 years old. I'm not going to listen to another small child scream, "Mommy! Mommy!" so pitifully while they are having holes in their face stitched up.
She is fine, and there should be no scarring. He got her right under the eyebrow, a nice deep puncture on the upper cheek and tore a little flap on the top of her ear. Devid will no longer be living here.
Ugh. I held her in the car (flame if you want, I'd do it again), and told her that the doctor was going to fix her boo boos. She told me "My ace urts" a few times and then started singing, "I'm Not Perfect." Made me cry. Oh, Lord, Thank You for this not being worse, thank you for her eye not being torn. I carried my bloody child (I didn't realize I had dried blood down my face and neck too) into the ER wearing only her underpants (I did have clothes for her in the diaper bag, thank goodness) and other people in line to check in let us go ahead--I guess we looked pretty pathetic.
Once they got her vitals, we were put in a little ER room and the wait began. By now, the wounds were pretty dried, and Ainslie was enjoying the bed "ride", going up and down. As doctors and nurses came in to check her, she spoke up and was such a little trooper. One funny moment was when a nurse asked if she could see her ear, and Ainslie pointed to her ear, and said, "it's right Here!"
Finally, she was wheeled into a suture room and this is where it got hard for everyone. My poor girl had to be IV'd and hooked up to all sorts of monitors and then they gave her morphine and some other stuff to knock her out. Too bad these medical professionals didn't know who they were dealing with. Ainslie doesn't go to sleep until she's good and ready to go to sleep, and despite all the drugs (and the local she was given) she didn't go to sleep until after we got home.
One funny thing we learned, and that is that Ainslie is a loving drunk. We had to wait an hour after the stiches to be released so her vitals could be monitored and my little 2 year old was high as a kite. As she lounged in my arms, she told me she loved me, then she told Grandma she loved her (Daddy was out getting the Rx for the antibiotic filled), then a man wandered through on his way to another room and Ainslie says, "I love you, Man!" I told her she was loopy and she says, "I love loopy." Frankly, I could use some loopy right about now.
Today she is fine. Everyone else's nerves are pretty shot, but she is fine. Thank God. I realized that I don't love dogs all that much. I've decided that once Lily is gone (and Lily wouldn't know how to bite someone) there will be no more dogs in our nuclear family until all kids are at least 10 or 12 years old. I'm not going to listen to another small child scream, "Mommy! Mommy!" so pitifully while they are having holes in their face stitched up.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
File under: Everyone Should Be More Like Me
Last I checked, air conditioning was invented to keep people more comfortable during hot summer months, not to kill them slowly during the summer by causing their bodies to adjust to a metabolic rate found only in hibernating bears. Don't get me wrong, having grown up in the middle of the midwest, I would never buy a house without central air (or a basement, but that's another post) but ple--ease. It seems the further south you go, the colder people keep the AC. I've noticed, being a whopping 200 miles south of Chicago, people in Springfield seem to favor a temperature in restaurants that completely negates the concept of a hot meal. I'll admit, I'm a Woman Who is Always a Little Cold, but Craig, who is always warmer than I am, had his winter pajama pants out the other night. We went to our Vacation Home in Chicago last weekend and revelled in the thermostat set at 76.
I was in Florida last week and really, people, must you overcompensate so? My hotel room's thermostat was set at 60. I LIKE summer. If I liked being that cold, I'd move north, where they don't have central air.
I was in Florida last week and really, people, must you overcompensate so? My hotel room's thermostat was set at 60. I LIKE summer. If I liked being that cold, I'd move north, where they don't have central air.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
In Honor of Jacob
It keeps hitting me. Something is terribly wrong today. A friend whom I’ve never met in person, yet feel so much love and empathy for, is going through the worst thing I can imagine today, and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. This isn’t one of those “oh, how horrible” things that you hear about and then forget, this is truly the most frightening and incredibly unfair ordeal I’ve ever had a friend experience.
The only reason I’m even writing about this today is because I feel I must somehow mark the day, although nothing I write will come anywhere close to expressing the grief I feel, and the overwhelming darkness of days I know are to come for her and her husband.
Saying “I’m sorry” sounds so woefully inadequate. “It’s God’s will” isn’t what anyone wants to hear today. I honestly don’t think there are words that can make it even a little bit better today. Maybe in days to come, but not today. There simply are no words.
Jules and Brian, I hold your sorrow as my own as you welcome sweet Jacob Daniel briefly into this world, as you hold him and love him, and wipe your tears. If love could fix it, he would be healthy and whole and with you the rest of your life.
The only reason I’m even writing about this today is because I feel I must somehow mark the day, although nothing I write will come anywhere close to expressing the grief I feel, and the overwhelming darkness of days I know are to come for her and her husband.
Saying “I’m sorry” sounds so woefully inadequate. “It’s God’s will” isn’t what anyone wants to hear today. I honestly don’t think there are words that can make it even a little bit better today. Maybe in days to come, but not today. There simply are no words.
Jules and Brian, I hold your sorrow as my own as you welcome sweet Jacob Daniel briefly into this world, as you hold him and love him, and wipe your tears. If love could fix it, he would be healthy and whole and with you the rest of your life.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Everything I need to know I learned from my Trike
As Ainslie and I were outside riding bikes this morning, I thought to myself that many of life's lessons are learned through learning to ride a bike: protect your head, turn toward the direction you want to go, and push hard over the bumps. As I was standing there, pleased with my profound thought, Ainslie was what seemed like miles in front of me, peddling, laughing and yelling, "Byebye, Mommy, A-nee go byebye by my Elf!"
Why am I teaching her these things again? So she can go byebye by herself? I don't think we'll be riding bikes much more. She's far too young. :-)
Why am I teaching her these things again? So she can go byebye by herself? I don't think we'll be riding bikes much more. She's far too young. :-)
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Home is where you live with your own little family.
You never really know what you have until it's gone. So true. I never realized how much I love my bath mat. It's just a plain purple rectangle, but now that I don't have it, I miss it. Same goes for my favorite morning coffee mugs, my outdoor furniture, and my dresser, in which I have 4 luxurious drawers all to myself.
Living with other people, even other people who love us and have bent over backward to make us comfortable, is wearing thin. My phone just rang with an agent wanting to show our house. PLEASE let this be it! It's not that we are unhappy, it's just, well...we need our own house. I want to plan paint colors. I want to lovingly decorate each room. I want to get into a routine in our new town and start to put down roots and make some friends. It's just harder when you don't even have an address to give people. Sigh.
Of course, things could be so much worse. We could be renting an apartment and paying a mortgage, or worse, Craig and I could be living apart full-time, so I feel like a whiner for whining, but we need a home for our little family. It is exciting, wondering what lies ahead, but it is really starting to be time for things to start happening.
Maybe this is it? The people are coming to look at 12:30. By 5:00 we could have an offer. Hypothetically.
We have a Broker's Open Thursday too.
Wish us luck?
Living with other people, even other people who love us and have bent over backward to make us comfortable, is wearing thin. My phone just rang with an agent wanting to show our house. PLEASE let this be it! It's not that we are unhappy, it's just, well...we need our own house. I want to plan paint colors. I want to lovingly decorate each room. I want to get into a routine in our new town and start to put down roots and make some friends. It's just harder when you don't even have an address to give people. Sigh.
Of course, things could be so much worse. We could be renting an apartment and paying a mortgage, or worse, Craig and I could be living apart full-time, so I feel like a whiner for whining, but we need a home for our little family. It is exciting, wondering what lies ahead, but it is really starting to be time for things to start happening.
Maybe this is it? The people are coming to look at 12:30. By 5:00 we could have an offer. Hypothetically.
We have a Broker's Open Thursday too.
Wish us luck?
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
On the right side of the law
One of Ainslie's favorite ways to pass the time in the car (once she's already removed her shoes) is to try to unbuckle the chest clip on her carseat. Exasperated, I told her that if she takes those straps off and a policeman sees her, Mommy will have to go to jail. That has elicited a very serious "no policeman gets me" every time I buckle her in now.
So this morning, she was watching me get dressed, and as I was adjusting a bra strap, she delightedly announced that no policeman will get Mommy! I had my shoulder straps on, you see. Whew.
So this morning, she was watching me get dressed, and as I was adjusting a bra strap, she delightedly announced that no policeman will get Mommy! I had my shoulder straps on, you see. Whew.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Happy Birthday!
Dear Ainslie,
I have been composing parts of this letter to you in my head over the past few months, and now I'm afraid I'll forget something. You are two years old, although you've been telling people you are two for a couple months now. When we try to tell you you're still one, you correct us, saying, "no, two!"
Speaking of the things you say, holy cow, you're a talker! I am so proud of your verbal skills. Before your 15-month check up I counted about 60 words in your vocabulary (although only I could actually understand many of them) and now, well, you pretty much say whatever you want, and you make complete (if not 100% grammatically correct) sentences. Some of your special Ainslieisms include "buttcakes" for "cupcakes" (this is my favorite), "Goosh" (an elision of "goldfish"), and "uggleuggle", which means you want to "snuggle-wuggle." That one melts my heart.
You are a sweet, sweet girl, and you tell us you love us out of the blue. That said, you have a keen sense of humor and a good dash of mischief in you. I wouldn't have it any other way. You love to try to stay up just a "dittle bit" longer each night before bed with promises of needing to potty one more time (you use the potty already!) or wanting to read books (you know we have a hard time saying no to those 2 particular things.) Yesterday, I overheard you chanting your own version of the Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear jumprope chant. You version apparently goes (and this was all on your own...)
Teddy Bear, teddy bear turn around,
Teddy bear, teddy bear touch the ground,
Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn out the light,
Teddy bear, teddy bear...stay up!
You are such a little helper. You follow us closely, and must do everything we do. It never occurs to you that some jobs may be too big---unless there is something you don't want to do! You love to play with the kids on the block, and though you are almost the youngest, you try to do everything the bigger girls do. You are the only 22 month-old I've ever seen do straight somersaults all by herself. Speaking of gymnastics, you also will hurl yourself to the floor or grass, stick one leg up and proclaim that you are doing a cartwheel. You are truly the reason monkey bars are thusly named. I can't believe how strong you are and how you can climb!
You love to go to the park, you love to run, and you love to dance. Many nights we will put music on and the three of us will dance like fools. You also love to play "Ana-eena", which, according to you, means you have to put on a dress, because everyone knows ballerinas need nice full skirts. I have no idea where you've seen an actual ballet, but you leap off one leg, and do your darnedest to spin in the air.
I could go on for days about all the ways in which you delight me. Just this morning, as we were walking Lily, you told me that you want a new baby girl. When I told you we need to pray for a new baby girl, you stopped, clapped your hands together and said, "Amen!" Amen, indeed, Monkeypants.
As far as I'm concerned, now that you are potty trained, you can stop growing up so fast. No matter if or when we get that other baby, you are my first, my oldest baby, and my special, special girl.
Love,
Mommy
I have been composing parts of this letter to you in my head over the past few months, and now I'm afraid I'll forget something. You are two years old, although you've been telling people you are two for a couple months now. When we try to tell you you're still one, you correct us, saying, "no, two!"
Speaking of the things you say, holy cow, you're a talker! I am so proud of your verbal skills. Before your 15-month check up I counted about 60 words in your vocabulary (although only I could actually understand many of them) and now, well, you pretty much say whatever you want, and you make complete (if not 100% grammatically correct) sentences. Some of your special Ainslieisms include "buttcakes" for "cupcakes" (this is my favorite), "Goosh" (an elision of "goldfish"), and "uggleuggle", which means you want to "snuggle-wuggle." That one melts my heart.
You are a sweet, sweet girl, and you tell us you love us out of the blue. That said, you have a keen sense of humor and a good dash of mischief in you. I wouldn't have it any other way. You love to try to stay up just a "dittle bit" longer each night before bed with promises of needing to potty one more time (you use the potty already!) or wanting to read books (you know we have a hard time saying no to those 2 particular things.) Yesterday, I overheard you chanting your own version of the Teddy Bear, Teddy Bear jumprope chant. You version apparently goes (and this was all on your own...)
Teddy Bear, teddy bear turn around,
Teddy bear, teddy bear touch the ground,
Teddy bear, teddy bear, turn out the light,
Teddy bear, teddy bear...stay up!
You are such a little helper. You follow us closely, and must do everything we do. It never occurs to you that some jobs may be too big---unless there is something you don't want to do! You love to play with the kids on the block, and though you are almost the youngest, you try to do everything the bigger girls do. You are the only 22 month-old I've ever seen do straight somersaults all by herself. Speaking of gymnastics, you also will hurl yourself to the floor or grass, stick one leg up and proclaim that you are doing a cartwheel. You are truly the reason monkey bars are thusly named. I can't believe how strong you are and how you can climb!
You love to go to the park, you love to run, and you love to dance. Many nights we will put music on and the three of us will dance like fools. You also love to play "Ana-eena", which, according to you, means you have to put on a dress, because everyone knows ballerinas need nice full skirts. I have no idea where you've seen an actual ballet, but you leap off one leg, and do your darnedest to spin in the air.
I could go on for days about all the ways in which you delight me. Just this morning, as we were walking Lily, you told me that you want a new baby girl. When I told you we need to pray for a new baby girl, you stopped, clapped your hands together and said, "Amen!" Amen, indeed, Monkeypants.
As far as I'm concerned, now that you are potty trained, you can stop growing up so fast. No matter if or when we get that other baby, you are my first, my oldest baby, and my special, special girl.
Love,
Mommy
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Random Observations from The Road
1. I doubt I'm the only person going through security at several airports with a pair of size 2T underpants in her purse. (Ainslie is daytime/pee trained! Hooray!)
2. Does anyone actually buy USA Today and read it if they are not staying in a hotel? Does anyone subscribe to it? Why?
3. The DaVinci Code is a fun work of fiction. Why are people so bothered by a work of fiction? Many of the people who are upset about The DaVinci Code seem to read and write editorials to USA Today.
4. If you know enough to take your laptop out before going through security, why don't you know to take your shoes off?
5. If you are in the back row of the plane you will never, ever make it out of the plane before the person sitting in the front row.
6. When you give the same presentation day after day, it really doesn't matter if you can't remember what city you're in.
7. Things really do get palpably different when you cross the West Virginia state line.
8. I miss my family.
9. Never reserve the class of rental car you actually want. Reserve the tiniest car you could possibly stand, because chances are they will only have bigger cars available anyway. Today I had an Aveo reserved. I'm driving a Taurus.
10. There are people everywhere worse off than you. Be grateful.
2. Does anyone actually buy USA Today and read it if they are not staying in a hotel? Does anyone subscribe to it? Why?
3. The DaVinci Code is a fun work of fiction. Why are people so bothered by a work of fiction? Many of the people who are upset about The DaVinci Code seem to read and write editorials to USA Today.
4. If you know enough to take your laptop out before going through security, why don't you know to take your shoes off?
5. If you are in the back row of the plane you will never, ever make it out of the plane before the person sitting in the front row.
6. When you give the same presentation day after day, it really doesn't matter if you can't remember what city you're in.
7. Things really do get palpably different when you cross the West Virginia state line.
8. I miss my family.
9. Never reserve the class of rental car you actually want. Reserve the tiniest car you could possibly stand, because chances are they will only have bigger cars available anyway. Today I had an Aveo reserved. I'm driving a Taurus.
10. There are people everywhere worse off than you. Be grateful.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Heart Transplant
Ainslie and Craig are spending the week in Springfield next week. Without me. I have to travel for work 2.5 days, and Grandpa is retired, so it makes sense, but...
She'll be fine. She'll have fun. I already can't wait until next weekend.
She'll be fine. She'll have fun. I already can't wait until next weekend.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Be Still
The title may imply this post is about the almost-2-year-old who lives here, and it would be an apt title; but this one's about me.
Mom and Dad have always accused me of being a "hardheaded kid" in terms of my stubborness and inclination, from a very young age, to do things my way, preferably by myself. Of course this personality trait has resulted in more than a few bumps and scratches, physically and otherwise.
But. You know, after all these years I just might be starting to understand that I am not in control. I am not the only person capable of doing the things I do. Most importantly, I do not have to worry about every eventuality the future holds. Some things are simply not up to me. With all the changes in our lives so far in 2006, I have really been praying for guidance, and more importantly, the ability to wait, listen, and follow. Wow. Funny how if I really try and do my part, God is doing his.
I have really been trying to slow down and listen to His directions, and to that still, small voice that tells me All Shall Be Well. Of course I'm still busy and overwhelmed somedays, but things really do sometimes work out if you just sit back and wait for prayers to be answered. I find myself furiously making plans, and then--listening--and telling myself to hold off just a couple more days...
I find myself more willing to let people help me, and guess what? Most other people are every bit as capable as I think I am. Go figure.
Thanks.
Mom and Dad have always accused me of being a "hardheaded kid" in terms of my stubborness and inclination, from a very young age, to do things my way, preferably by myself. Of course this personality trait has resulted in more than a few bumps and scratches, physically and otherwise.
But. You know, after all these years I just might be starting to understand that I am not in control. I am not the only person capable of doing the things I do. Most importantly, I do not have to worry about every eventuality the future holds. Some things are simply not up to me. With all the changes in our lives so far in 2006, I have really been praying for guidance, and more importantly, the ability to wait, listen, and follow. Wow. Funny how if I really try and do my part, God is doing his.
I have really been trying to slow down and listen to His directions, and to that still, small voice that tells me All Shall Be Well. Of course I'm still busy and overwhelmed somedays, but things really do sometimes work out if you just sit back and wait for prayers to be answered. I find myself furiously making plans, and then--listening--and telling myself to hold off just a couple more days...
I find myself more willing to let people help me, and guess what? Most other people are every bit as capable as I think I am. Go figure.
Thanks.
Friday, April 07, 2006
Random Ainslie Updates and Stories
This girl cracks me up. As we were driving to Missouri 2 weeks ago, she slept all of 40 minutes out of 8 hours. The rest of the time she talked. And sang. We ALL know our ABCs now. We also know that someday we will go on an airplane with Baby Ben to see Bo Bite and Pooh Bear. We also discussed the intricacies of birthday parties, which has been a popular conversation ever since 1. we made cupcakes for my mom's birthday and 2. It was Boots' birthday on Dora. We will each have 2 blue "butcakes" and sit in chairs. Ainslie will sit in a chair. Daddy will sit in a chair. Baby Ben will sit in a chair. Etc.
Who knew a Veggie Tales dvd could be such a diverse learning aid? Not only has King George and the Ducky taught us that selfishness is wrong, the Silly Song with Larry has uncovered a latent but prevalent interest in manatees. We look at the "amatees" on the computer at least once a day. Where do manatees live? Swimming!
I think it was Suzi who wrote something to the effect of you know when your child is approaching two because she is in a perpetually bad mood. Uh, yeah. Don't get me wrong, she is still usually so easy and fun, but the, "NO, MINEs" and the "NomommynomommynomommyNOs" will get to you.
A fire hydrant is a "lilypeepeepottymikepeepeepotty." In case this makes no sense to you, I once told her not to touch hydrants because doggies go potty on them.
She has learned to take most articles of clothing off. Not much luck getting them back on.
She loves dancing and movement songs/games. She sometimes will arrange her Little People in a circle and sing, "ashes, ashes, we all fall down!" We usually have a family dance party in the kitchen as we clean up after dinner.
I am amazed at her mind. She puts so many more things together and figures things out more than I expect her to. And the memory! She remembers everything--there is no way you can promise her something and then not deliver, she will call you out on it. If you tell her before her nap we will do something later, she wakes up asking for it. She remembers taking her shoes off in the airport when she flew in October!
She knows all her shapes (including trapezoid and pentagon) and colors, and she will include color and number in her description of nouns. She uses verbs and prepositions almost all the time now. She knows most of her letters and sounds and she counts to 10--and she actually counts objects.
In short, Ainslie is perfect.
Who knew a Veggie Tales dvd could be such a diverse learning aid? Not only has King George and the Ducky taught us that selfishness is wrong, the Silly Song with Larry has uncovered a latent but prevalent interest in manatees. We look at the "amatees" on the computer at least once a day. Where do manatees live? Swimming!
I think it was Suzi who wrote something to the effect of you know when your child is approaching two because she is in a perpetually bad mood. Uh, yeah. Don't get me wrong, she is still usually so easy and fun, but the, "NO, MINEs" and the "NomommynomommynomommyNOs" will get to you.
A fire hydrant is a "lilypeepeepottymikepeepeepotty." In case this makes no sense to you, I once told her not to touch hydrants because doggies go potty on them.
She has learned to take most articles of clothing off. Not much luck getting them back on.
She loves dancing and movement songs/games. She sometimes will arrange her Little People in a circle and sing, "ashes, ashes, we all fall down!" We usually have a family dance party in the kitchen as we clean up after dinner.
I am amazed at her mind. She puts so many more things together and figures things out more than I expect her to. And the memory! She remembers everything--there is no way you can promise her something and then not deliver, she will call you out on it. If you tell her before her nap we will do something later, she wakes up asking for it. She remembers taking her shoes off in the airport when she flew in October!
She knows all her shapes (including trapezoid and pentagon) and colors, and she will include color and number in her description of nouns. She uses verbs and prepositions almost all the time now. She knows most of her letters and sounds and she counts to 10--and she actually counts objects.
In short, Ainslie is perfect.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Walmart is not good for PMS
Most people who know me know that I despise Walmart. I think the corporation is a souless money-machine masquerading as a neoconservative, down-home, neighborhoods-first hero. Essentially, I think they are a big Wolf in Sheep's clothing. Oh, and I generally find the stores to be dingy, poorly lit, and organized as if someone Ainslie's age was asked what should go where.
BUT--they just built one exactly one mile from us. I resisted for over a month--but it was inevitable. When you are down to 1 cup of milk and half a roll of TP in the house and the weather sucks and you just made the much longer drive to Target yesterday, what are you gonna do? Now, today's visit wasn't my first. I am ashamed to say it was my fourth. Each time I've been in there I have left with roughly half the items on my list because they either didn't have such an inoccuous item as Suave hair gel, or the price was significantly higher than I pay elsewhere.
I digress. PMS both sucks and blows, as many of us are aware. Ainslie has taken to getting up at 5:45, I have cramps, it's the first day of Spring but a blustery, raw, 35 degrees and I'm generally disgruntled.
We enter Walmart. Amazingly, they had everything I needed, except a flagpole (our metal one literally blew in half during the wind storms last week--thank goodness it didn't break the window.) I even bought Ainslie some black patents because they were cute and significantly less expensive than anywhere else. Then we went to check out.
Tell me--why are some stores consistently slower on the checkout than others? Can you feel the hormones flowing yet? FIFTEEN freaking minutes in a line with 2 people with a moderate amount of items. Ok, we get out. Breathe. We get to the car. The wind is howling and I'm trying to get Ainslie out of the cold without damaging anyone's car with the cart. The *&^%^$@$#^% buckle on the cart is broken. It's freezing cold and I can't free my child from the shopping cart. Back in we go--by now I'm talking like a crazy cat lady in my outdoor voice about how much I hate Walmart. You know how everything is just that much worse when the progesterone is surging? Finally, we find someone to help us. Finally, she admits she needs scissors. Ugh.
Ok. Any store could have a faulty buckle. Between surges I can admit that.
BUT--they just built one exactly one mile from us. I resisted for over a month--but it was inevitable. When you are down to 1 cup of milk and half a roll of TP in the house and the weather sucks and you just made the much longer drive to Target yesterday, what are you gonna do? Now, today's visit wasn't my first. I am ashamed to say it was my fourth. Each time I've been in there I have left with roughly half the items on my list because they either didn't have such an inoccuous item as Suave hair gel, or the price was significantly higher than I pay elsewhere.
I digress. PMS both sucks and blows, as many of us are aware. Ainslie has taken to getting up at 5:45, I have cramps, it's the first day of Spring but a blustery, raw, 35 degrees and I'm generally disgruntled.
We enter Walmart. Amazingly, they had everything I needed, except a flagpole (our metal one literally blew in half during the wind storms last week--thank goodness it didn't break the window.) I even bought Ainslie some black patents because they were cute and significantly less expensive than anywhere else. Then we went to check out.
Tell me--why are some stores consistently slower on the checkout than others? Can you feel the hormones flowing yet? FIFTEEN freaking minutes in a line with 2 people with a moderate amount of items. Ok, we get out. Breathe. We get to the car. The wind is howling and I'm trying to get Ainslie out of the cold without damaging anyone's car with the cart. The *&^%^$@$#^% buckle on the cart is broken. It's freezing cold and I can't free my child from the shopping cart. Back in we go--by now I'm talking like a crazy cat lady in my outdoor voice about how much I hate Walmart. You know how everything is just that much worse when the progesterone is surging? Finally, we find someone to help us. Finally, she admits she needs scissors. Ugh.
Ok. Any store could have a faulty buckle. Between surges I can admit that.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
The best mirror
I don't think you can ever find a more accurate mirror than a toddler. Nothing will show you how you really come across better than a person with no penchant for deception and a straightforward sense of mimicry.
I never knew how my speech is cadenced until I heard Ainslie repeat things I say. I never even realized some of the things I say, and the way I say them. Apparently, in talking to her, I have a tendency to be redundant. I say this because she often says, "Yes, ok," or "Yes, uh-huh, " or "no, uh-uh." I must hesitate sometimes when deliberating her requests, because she's taken to answering with, "ummm..."
One funny anecdote. Last night I was getting her ready for bed, and every reply to me started with "ummm."
Me: Ainslie, do you want pink jammies or purple jammies?
A: Ummmm. Purple jammies.
Me: Which foot do you want to put in first?
A: Ummmmm. This foot. Right here.
Me: Ok, do you want to zip it up?
A: Ummmm, ok!
Me: Do all of your answers begin with Ummmm?
A: (deadpan) No.
The moral of this story is to be very, very careful. They watch. They listen. She attempts to do everything I do. I don't want to show her my impatience with running on Toddler Time, because I do not want her to immitate me being impatient with her. I do not want to be critical of her attempts at new things, because I do not want to see her hestitate to try. I do not want to criticize anyone's appearance (even my own) because I never want her to find fault with hers. Thank goodness she is also a quick mirror--so if I see myself making mistakes I can try to fix them quickly.
I never knew how my speech is cadenced until I heard Ainslie repeat things I say. I never even realized some of the things I say, and the way I say them. Apparently, in talking to her, I have a tendency to be redundant. I say this because she often says, "Yes, ok," or "Yes, uh-huh, " or "no, uh-uh." I must hesitate sometimes when deliberating her requests, because she's taken to answering with, "ummm..."
One funny anecdote. Last night I was getting her ready for bed, and every reply to me started with "ummm."
Me: Ainslie, do you want pink jammies or purple jammies?
A: Ummmm. Purple jammies.
Me: Which foot do you want to put in first?
A: Ummmmm. This foot. Right here.
Me: Ok, do you want to zip it up?
A: Ummmm, ok!
Me: Do all of your answers begin with Ummmm?
A: (deadpan) No.
The moral of this story is to be very, very careful. They watch. They listen. She attempts to do everything I do. I don't want to show her my impatience with running on Toddler Time, because I do not want her to immitate me being impatient with her. I do not want to be critical of her attempts at new things, because I do not want to see her hestitate to try. I do not want to criticize anyone's appearance (even my own) because I never want her to find fault with hers. Thank goodness she is also a quick mirror--so if I see myself making mistakes I can try to fix them quickly.
Thursday, March 09, 2006
One of the Big Questions
This has been weighing on my mind for months now, and I really don't know who to talk to about it.
Why doesn't Little Bear wear clothes? Mother and Father Bear both wear clothes, normal clothes, like you'd expect a bear to wear. Mother wears a dress and apron and Father wears a 3-piece suit, which makes perfect sense, since he is a fisherman by trade.
Once, we saw an episode in which Mother Bear was going through the attic and came upon Little Bear's baby clothes. Wait a minute! You mean they used to dress him, and then they stopped? Why? Given that most of the show's viewers are humans, and not bears, I wish the writers would address some of the finer points of Bear culture and garb. I'd just like to know.
Why doesn't Little Bear wear clothes? Mother and Father Bear both wear clothes, normal clothes, like you'd expect a bear to wear. Mother wears a dress and apron and Father wears a 3-piece suit, which makes perfect sense, since he is a fisherman by trade.
Once, we saw an episode in which Mother Bear was going through the attic and came upon Little Bear's baby clothes. Wait a minute! You mean they used to dress him, and then they stopped? Why? Given that most of the show's viewers are humans, and not bears, I wish the writers would address some of the finer points of Bear culture and garb. I'd just like to know.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Whine. Worry. When?
I used to think roller coasters were fun. Maybe it is just age, or a Type A personality that shows itself a little more all the time, but I'm sick of waiting for things. Show of hands: Who is good at waiting for the next phase of life to unfurl? C'mon, no matter how much you believe that you shouldn't worry and that things will be as they are meant to be, who is actually good at it?
Where has the girl gone who used to feel measurably more optimistic just singing along with "Something's Coming" from West Side Story? When did I start worrying so much? When did I start to believe that nobody can do things as quickly or as well as I can? Am I alone? Do we all do this?
Specifically, Will We Move? When? When can we fix the things that need fixing? Will we have another child? When? Will we be able to replace my car? When? Will Spring come soon? Will it rain tomorrow?
Do I KNOW that it is not my job to worry about these things? Yes. But. Well, c'mon...raise your hand!
Where has the girl gone who used to feel measurably more optimistic just singing along with "Something's Coming" from West Side Story? When did I start worrying so much? When did I start to believe that nobody can do things as quickly or as well as I can? Am I alone? Do we all do this?
Specifically, Will We Move? When? When can we fix the things that need fixing? Will we have another child? When? Will we be able to replace my car? When? Will Spring come soon? Will it rain tomorrow?
Do I KNOW that it is not my job to worry about these things? Yes. But. Well, c'mon...raise your hand!
Monday, March 06, 2006
I am That Mother
I am , unabashedly, That Mother. You know, the one who thinks her child is IT. Brighter, better looking, funnier, stronger, more coordinated, more advanced, more Everything than other children. I hate Those Mothers. I have wanted to slap Those Mothers, and here I find myself smiling and nodding when other mothers tell me that Ainslie is a good jumper for her age because she clears the floor with both feet, as I nastily think to myself, "and she has for months and months." I find myself feeling sorry for the moms of children who can not point out "Two birds on top" of the Shell sign as we drive by. I shake my head for the poor mothers with 21 month- olds who can not yet point out most of the letters of the alphabet and make the correct sound. How on earth do people parent children who are not good at pretending Kitchen, Baby Ainslie, and the Stuck Game? How hard it must be to get all the way through a shopping trip without someone commenting on your child's radiant beauty!
I am blessed and lucky. Ainslie has been nothing but easy, and we get each other. I think she even gets the competitive streak that I try to hide from her.
Of course being That Mother is not socially acceptable, and allowing Ainslie to act like That Child would be completely grotesque, but after waiting so long for her and having those painful years to plan all the experiences I wanted to give her, I think I'm somewhat entitled to some of my smug satisfaction in her perfection.
I am blessed and lucky. Ainslie has been nothing but easy, and we get each other. I think she even gets the competitive streak that I try to hide from her.
Of course being That Mother is not socially acceptable, and allowing Ainslie to act like That Child would be completely grotesque, but after waiting so long for her and having those painful years to plan all the experiences I wanted to give her, I think I'm somewhat entitled to some of my smug satisfaction in her perfection.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
On the Right Path
Do you ever have periods of your life when you feel you are Being Led? It's funny, me quitting my job was scary, but little monetary "good things" kept happening. I got a ton of consulting work last summer, then we got a sizeable escrow refund...then the crap hit the fan a few weekends ago up to and including Craig losing his job. BUT, again, I have some great-paying work, Craig is free to stay with Ainslie, we are getting a REFUND from the IRS (which has never happened in our married lives), and we are planning to move to Springfield.
I have so much to do to get this house ready, especially if Craig starts a job soon (he's already got 1 interview!) and I can't even start until March because I'm just not home, but I don't feel overwhelmed; I feel strangely energized.
I think we are on the right track here. I think we are making the choices we are supposed to make. Like my friend Tammy, I am re-reading the Mitford series, and oddly, I find facets of the story speaking directly to me. Phillipians 4:13, for Pete's sake!
I have so much to do to get this house ready, especially if Craig starts a job soon (he's already got 1 interview!) and I can't even start until March because I'm just not home, but I don't feel overwhelmed; I feel strangely energized.
I think we are on the right track here. I think we are making the choices we are supposed to make. Like my friend Tammy, I am re-reading the Mitford series, and oddly, I find facets of the story speaking directly to me. Phillipians 4:13, for Pete's sake!
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