Words Fall Through Me

Yes. It looks like a prom picture. Our babysitter, aka our nephew Anderson, took this photo before we headed off to a Valentine's Dance put on by some of our friends. And yes, I am wearing a corsage. Kind of dorky, but I just loved being one of two ladies at the dance with a corsage. (Because you just know how I love to be envied.)


And to say I shook my tail feather would be a gross understatement. There were certainly times when Sloan would whisper into my ear, "Remember we have to see these people tomorrow morning at church" and at least twice I heard the phrase, "Holy cow, look at my spiritual leader dance." Umm, well. It took my momma nine months to make it, so hell yeah, I'm gonna shake it. Four (or was it five?) glasses of pink wine helped.


But more than because I had that awesome high of just getting my groove on with my buddies and husband (not necessarily in that order), I had a wonderful time Saturday night. I am still a bit hungover from the thrill of it all.


There was a moment Saturday night that simply reflecting on makes my eyes water. Sloan and I were dancing to "Falling Slowly" from the Once Soundtrack. And despite the fact that we were in the middle of a crowded dance floor, really, it was just us. My head was buried in his chest, eyes closed, and he pulled my hand to his face and kissed it. He started to talk to our good friends, Shannon and Hatch, and I had to tell him to shut up because he was missing it. Missing that as my breathing slowed I was remembering. Remembering that I was home. In his arms.

My wandering heart safely moored.

There is nothing quite like being his. That sense of belonging. That sense that when people say his name it is just natural to include the "and Elizabeth" and vice versa. No longer were we separate, but two people who were created to be together. Not two halves coming together, as in 'my better half'--but two wholes coming together to make one new thing.


For once, I am at a loss for what I felt and feel for my Valentine. My sweet Sloan. So I will borrow words from the great poet, John Donne---

If they be two, they are two so

As stiff twin compasses are two ;

Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show

To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,

Yet, when the other far doth roam,

It leans, and hearkens after it,

And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,

Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;

Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And makes me end where I begun.

Merry Freakin' Valentine's Day

I'm pretty sure I was wrong.

(Note to self--don't blog in the midst of being pissed off, repenting of being pissed off, and then being pissed off about the fact that you're pissed off and having to repent in the first place.)

Valentine's can be kind of cool. Particularly when you get to sleep in and are brought this to wake you up.

(If you can't tell--that's Hot chocolate with a marshmallow heart floating in it.)
And then you go downstairs to a clean kitchen smelling that lovely bleachy smell and see this on the island.

And then you get to receive kisses from this little guy--

Sucks to your asmar, Valentine's Day

I remember when I was single and I thought Valentine's Day sucked. And it did. But when you are single, it is like the world gives the right to raise your fist and yell "Sucks to your Asmar, Valentine's Day!"

But it kind of sucks when you're married sometimes too. Don't get me wrong. I love my husband. But my sinful nature has me wanting him to worship me and plan a romantic day centered around roses, chocolates, no messy diapers, and oodles of surprises that are too wonderful to even imagine. And let's face it, even if I were to have a day with all of those things, I would still be left unsatisfied.

And I know that.

Recently I've been convicted of the fact that I seek too much life from Sloan. That I expect him to be my source of joy, validation, identity. Apparently, he has not gotten this memo that he is to be my god. I have set him up to fail miserably. Yucko.

And so once again I'm repenting. Bluh. Repenting of seeking from others that which only God can provide. From polishing my golden calf of a husband and then getting angry when my idol does not behave as only God can. Bluh.

But...

Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the worst. But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on him and receive eternal life.

1 Timothy 1:15-16

The things I know

I've been doing a lot of yard work lately. On Monday, I was ticked at Sloan so I decided to rake leaves until I cooled off. I raked for four and a half hours. What, you may ask, had Sloan done? (This is really embarrassing.) He was nauseated and decided to take a nap. And I was mad. Literally, I'm raking and raking, thinking, "He is gone so much with his job and when he is home, he gets sick. He should be out here raking leaves with me. How dare he sleep while I slave away." That poor poor man. It is only fitting that later that night I was so sore I needed help changing into my pajamas. And I've continued to rake and bag each day since. I've even added cutting limbs off trees and I must say, I'm quite fond of manual labor. Who knew?

But as I've been raking and bagging and fuming and chopping, I've also been listening on my Ipod to this Parenting Class my pastor is doing. It is funny, enlightening, encouraging, and certainly helpful. And in the last class he stated that in order to properly raise and love our children, we have to know them. Their likes, their dislikes, their temperaments, their dreams, their gifts and their weaknesses. That we must remember our children are not problems to be dealt with, but persons made in the image of God who are to be loved and related to.

All this sounds well and good until I'm faced with this little guy who lives in my house who speaks in a series of clicks, babbles, and hand gestures. I liken it to having invited a tribesman to come live with me. Henry will look at me and be "talking" up a storm and I'll think, "Man, I'm usually pretty good at kidspeak, but all I got from that speech was "Woo woo yeah yeah doo doo choo choo wow."

But so far, this is what I know.

• Henry loves to do puzzles and is actually pretty good at them.


• He has excellent small motor skills. His fork and spoon skills are well above average for his age. He is also capable of devouring chicken pot pie with a fork and maneuvering his way around all of the vegetables.


• Also about food--the more flavor the better. Bring on the garlic. Bring on the peppers. He has attempted to drink salsa, and thinks that crab stuffed mushrooms are the best thing since bacon.


• Do not interupt him when he is drinking. The boy is a chugger. Were you to see him attack him sippy cup, you'd think he'd just been in the dessert. He'll chug down half of the cup, take a big breath, and then finish it off. It's hilarious. He'll probably win contests in college.


• Henry is not a people person. He's cool if you want to come play with him, but do not expect an invitation. He'd much rather play with his cars or his trains than talk to you. This trait will probably make him popular with the ladies.


• Henry likes things done properly. Each train engine must use it's proper tender. And he is well aware that Percy and Thomas do not use tenders, so please, don't attempt to give Thomas Edward's tender because that's just silly and will make him laugh at you. But he's cool if you want to mix it up a bit, and will even play with your crazy Henry engine, Annie, Clarabel, James tender configuration, but in awhile, he'll put things straight again. And if you really want to get in his good graces, put on the Thomas the tank engine show while he plays with his trains. He also enjoys pulling out the Thomas books and looking at them while the show is on. (But do not let the pulling out of all the Thomas books fool you. He doesn't want you to read them to him. He just wants to flip the pages himself and occasionally say, "Poop poop!")


• Henry has a wee bit of a temper. If you put him down for a nap when he is not ready, he will throw all of his animals and blankets out of his crib. Then he will remove his clothing. Then he will begin to tear the crib sheet off the bed. I'm just praying he never figures out how to climb out of the crib.


• Henry loves his daddy. He will crawl up into Sloan's lap and let him read his books over and over. His current books that we read non-stop are "Thank you Clifford", "Henry in the Tunnel", and "Go Dog, Go!"


• Henry thinks I have a beautiful singing voice. His favorite songs for me to sing to him are "Jesus Loves Me", "Jesus loves the little children", and "Beautiful Boy." But he does NOT like the songs "You are my sunshine", "He's got the whole world in His hands" or anything from the musical Oklahoma. (Sloan finds this last fact reassuring.)

But the most shocking thing I learned from Henry today was his willingness to obey even when it was obvious that he did not want to. I have no idea where he gets this from, as I have yet to learn this quality.

It was time to put away the trains and get ready for dinner. And he cheerfully put away the tracks, clapping for himself as each piece was tossed into the train basket. (Recognize that playing with trains means that we usually have about 10 trains out with their various tenders, cars, and accessories, in addition to the tracks and buildings.) But as it became time to put away Spencer, Sir Handel, and the beloved dairy cars, Henry started to cry. I looked at him and said, "Put the trains away, Henry." He pulled the engines up to his chest. I tossed James into the basket and said, "Good job, Mommy!" Henry cried, "No" and dropped the engines on the floor. "Put the trains away, Henry." And through his tears and his little voice chirping "No no no no no no" he bent down, and one by one, he put his trains in the basket. I have never clapped so loud for my son, nor have I ever been so proud.

Doing the right thing when you want to do it is easy. But to do the right thing even though it breaks your heart, even though it is inconvenient, doesn't feel good, and pretty much puts an end to a good time--this is beyond difficult. And I don't think I've ever done it.

But my little man has and it makes me wonder, who are you little Henry? And where the heck did you come from?

Me and Amy Winehouse ain't going to rehab

This post is an EJ & Henry first. As I type, we are driving down 360 en route from Richmond to Greensboro.

At first, I was driving as Sloan has already driven some 700 miles already with his job this week. But I had him working for me on the laptop. He changed my facebook status for me, and then proceeded to read out every body's status changes, complete with comments. I was about to have him go through my notes to see about other people's "25 random things" lists when I realized I have a problem. I was itching to be at the keyboard. Pointing to things on the screen for him to click on as I took us 65 mph down the road.

I think I'm addicted to the Internet. (And I'm pretty positive I'm a bad driver.)

I liken my driving next to Sloan while he facebooked to a recovering alcoholic walking into a bar. Needless to say, we had to pull over and switch places. I'm not quite ready to start working on my 12 steps.

Myself when I am real

I'm pretty open about things. This is no shock. But those of you who know me understand that there are things I hold close to my chest. There are things I hesitate to confess for fear of what you'll think of me. Things I hesitate to confess because of the ugly truth they reveal. And sometimes there is no point in putting your ugly out on front street. It's not a matter of keeping things a secret, it is a matter of , no--it is a matter of keeping things secret. And sometimes, the person I most want to keep things secret from is myself. (Strange, huh?)
But I'm going to share my ugly. Not because it is any of your business. Not even because it may be helpful to you in some way. But because I need to let go of it. I need to bring it out in the light, confess it, repent of it, and hopefully, turn from it. And I need this public domain to hold me accountable.

I find my identity in Henry. In being his mom.

On the surface, this seems natural. Healthy even. It is a part of my identity. But it is shameful that I place this burden on him. To derive my worth from his mood, behavior, actions, cuteness. I take great delight in myself when he clasps his hands to pray whenever someone says "Let's pray." I take pride in his laughter, because I tell you, hands down, he has the best laugh around. And for some reason, I also take pride in the fact that my son has giant feet. I mean feet so big that on a regular basis people comment on his big feet. (How I think I am even remotely responsible for this, I do not know.)

But the flip side of this is ugly. When he misbehaves, I'm more concerned about what you'll think of me as a parent than I am about the fact that my son is disobedient. And what is even more heartbreaking, is that this also causes me to constantly compare Henry to other kids. And so when he doesn't talk as much as other kids, I feel ashamed. And when he doesn't wave to everybody in the parking lot, I make excuses. Joking that he must be a snob, when really, I wonder why isn't he waving at people. And I feel embarrassed. I try to push this down, but the god awful truth is that I've allowed my identity to become so wrapped up in Henry that the only thing he can do is disappoint me. Identity giving just ain't a kids job, so how can he not fail at that? I'm setting my son up to fail. What sort of mother does this?

Henry, dear Henry. Please forgive me.
Lord, have mercy on me, a sinful mother.

Henry explora obediencia

Dora was a hit!

He wasn't afraid of anything. He clapped, shimmied his shoulders, shook his star. The best part was that he sat in my lap the whole time. Of course, this is because this was the day I discovered he has decided to make up for all of the meals he missed last week with the stomach bug. So he had to sit on my lap to eat his baggie of cheerios, baggie of yogurt melts, baggie of chocolate bunnies, baggie of raisins, and 2 dum dums. Praise God I thought to pack snacks. (Since then he has had to be fed pretty much every 2 hours or there are serious melt downs.) Unfortunately, the Dora show has caused me to be in a perpetual state of singing, "Dora Dora Dora the Explorer!" I'm driving myself crazy. He also enjoyed his Diego doll that we got at the Dora meet and great as well. He sits it on the floor next to him and then shows it all of his trains. Sometimes the trains even use Diego as a hill.

More importantly, though, it should be noted that Saturday afternoon, Henry obeyed me twice! This is HUGE! He now consistently, upon being told to put up his trains, puts his trains in their basket. The rest of the toys, he doesn't touch. I think this may be because the trains just go in a giant open basket on the floor, while the rest of the toys have tubs they go in on shelves. Also on Saturday, he put away his crayons without having to be asked. I find this remarkable. When I told Sloan about it, he commented, "Wow. I don't even pick up after myself without having to be asked." No, Sloan, you do not. I've been meaning to talk to you about this...