Snapshots with Actual Pictures This Time

Remember when Jesus told his disciples to gather up the scraps of bread after He'd fed the 5000 with just a few loaves?  Well, I think this must be why.  These are "The Crusts of 2011."  That's right.  I saved every crust I cut off of Nora's p b & j's this year.  And with it, we made stuffing for Christmas dinner.  Julie, if you are reading this, it's true that I probably saved about 7 bucks doing this, but it's not really about the money.  I think it has something to do with not overlooking the little things, that they add up to something useful.  And mighty delicious.  Mom, you know you make the best stuffing in the world, right?

This is my morning:  praying and study and writing.

There was this completely amazing cabinet sitting in the basement, so we moved it upstairs.  Nora got her own sewing machine for Christmas, so I foresee a lot of that in our future.  While most young folks where I grew up raised animals for 4-H, I sewed.  We were called the "Silt Silly Stitchers."  I didn't win any ribbons or anything, but I made a few completely embarrassing outfits to wear in middle school.  I'm sure that helped my popularity a lot.  And I mean A LOT.

While Nora was gone, I cleaned...everything.  Here's some laundry as evidence.  (Girls, you know to never dry your jeans unless you want to mistakenly think you've gained 15 pounds and grew two inches over the course of 5 days, right?  You'll be calling Weight Watchers and laying off the calcium supplements for no good reason.)

The last few days, I played guitar.  I have a cold, so my voice sounded terrible.   Luckily the nearest town is 7 miles away.  And now they know what was "dying" 7 miles east of them.

And in two hours, Nora will be walking in that door, and here's what she'll see.  If you were thinking that I'm just a little excited to see my girl after four days in the Louisiana bayous, you'd be correct.

A List for the Day

1.  Welp.  I'm ready for Nora to be home now.  Tomorrow night.

2.  The wind flattens itself against the brick house, roaring away in defeat.

3.  Laundry.  Sweeping.  Roaming the house.  A hot bath to cure a cold.

4.  When I pull the laundry warm from the dryer, I usually dump it on top of Nora if she's sitting on the couch.  My mom used to do this to us, too.  And when I tipped the basket over today and began to fold, I stopped and crawled under and sat warming there for a good while with my eyes closed like a cat in a diamond of sun.  And I remembered a doctor who passed me once when I was sitting in a wheelchair in the hospital hallway, and he asked if I was cold, and I said I was okay, but he went away not believing me and brought a blanket that had been warmed.  He draped it across my shoulders without saying anything, and the long brick corridor turned human again from this anonymous warmth.

5.  I was writing some poetry today.  Here is a little though I don't understand everything about it yet:

How she needed even this domestic miracle, the bread

Rising, to remind her to lift her head.

6.  [                                                                           ]

7.  Tomorrow:  Slow cooker apple sauce and a Saturday Morning Cake (on Friday).  Grocery shopping and poetry.  I'll have to buy plums...

Fragments

Books open on the dark, worn wood of the kitchen table                          Light in the kitchen cleaning the air doors open in the front and the back as the winter pretends spring and I research when to prune the apple tree and it isn't yet                         The slowness of a cold in the joints and curling up on the couch under the burnt orange afghan I made traveling over the Colorado plains one Christmas, the yarn looped over the rearview mirror a lifetime ago                             How I unraveled it, ten wound balls and crocheted it again with a tighter stitch last year when I was remaking myself and it took so much courage to undo everything              And she is in Louisiana driving under trees draped with Spanish moss and seeing friends I miss now thinking of it, but this is the season for this story and I don't have to understand everything that seems like a loss or a rebuilding       Plainsong and Little Heathens page turners as I remake the story as pictures in my mind and could it really be two years since I read a book straight through like those days when she was first born on the monitor and I held a book in one hand and her chest rising and falling in the other letting the days and pages turn until we were through it                    In a long time

I didn't see a single person                 So I played some songs and ate when I was hungry and slept when I was tired and at some point God asked me what active, consistent service looks like

And I was thinking that it might look a little like all of us treating the people and things God made the way God treats them               Or at least attempting to with His guidance                           And when I was scared one night, I put my hands together and felt the same presence I did when I gave birth and it was beyond anything I could name                     But it held my life like a rose holds a bloom and will always do so like strong arms unwrapping us safely into the deep water we fought to avoid and suffered because of it until we let go and turned our faces into the air above us still warm from when God breathed it

Q and A Session

Q:  With an evening to herself, what is the first thing a mom will do?

A:  Match the movies towering beside the television to their respective covers/cases.

Q:  After she's done with that, what will she do?

A:  Dust.

Q:  And then?

A:  Talk on the phone to her mom and her sister.

Q:  And how will that go?

A:  Fine, but the last time she engaged in a phone conversation that lasted more than 17 minutes was over 5 years ago, so she'll sound a little awkward at first, like a bird distracted by her own shadow.

Q:  Overall, how are things going?

A:  A text message (a friend sending prayers), a couple of phone calls (one from Nora wishing me a good night), and a matinee tomorrow with Mom and Mike to see War Horse--gifts at the right moment.

And you folks thought I was so tough....  (wink)   Love is my shield.

After the Kids are in Bed

Tomorrow Nora will be heading to her dad's to begin a four day trip to Louisiana.  I've always had a hard time with separation anxiety.  Yeah, I know...  When I dropped Nora off at preschool the first time, I was the one crying, hanging onto the door refusing to leave.  So this is kind of a big deal for me.  And for her, too.  I'm excited for her, for this adventure, for the time to see so many people who love her.  It's good.

And I've prayed for her safety and thanked God for listening.  And there is nothing more that can be done than to be sure to pack a few snacks and send her with all my love and excitement for her.

As for me, well...

I'm sure many of you can relate to the "scary silence" of a moment to yourself.  Most moms don't get this time unless they stay up until 1 AM reading, watching TV, canning...

And I wonder what makes me more nervous:  Nora traveling or being by myself.  Will I be sad?  Scared?  Anxious?  Will I get anything done?  Will I eat too much?  Sleep?  Not sleep?

I hear one version of motherhood saying, "Hey, no biggie.  Four days.  That's nothing.  Maybe you can finally clean behind the oven, maybe write a book or something.  You'll be fine..."

And the other:  "I can make it.  I can make it."  And this version is pacing and staring at the clock and marking big X's over the days as they go by.

I know it's not healthy to live for someone else.  At the same time, I'm a mom.  If you look in the job description, it states in no uncertain terms that you will be "living for someone else."  This is the "put others before yourself" boot camp.  This is where God teaches you how to be number two in your life for once.

So, maybe I'm a little nervous about what all that time will feel like after five years (and nine months) of being with her everyday.  I guess I'll just do it and find out.  And try to remember to:

Approach this time as a gift and Nora's travel as a gift.
Get some stuff done.
Grapple with that lesson, the one Jesus has to teach me continually.  Don't worry.  Have faith.

I've said it once and I'll say it again:  This mom business is not for wimps.

(And I appreciate any prayers you want to throw this way for Nora's safe travels!)

Use My Hands to Use My Heart

Note to Mom:  Please don't read this blog.  One of your Christmas presents is mentioned.  Love, Lisa.

Now that grades are in, I've been busy doing crafty/crochet things.  Here's the latest:

1.  A new scarf for Mom.  I'm really excited about the ruffly effect I was able to get on the edges.  (Yes, it's supposed to look like that.)  Nora and I made a rose by burning polyester silk fabric and layering them together.  While you can't really tell from the picture, they look delicate and lovely.

2.  Homemade goodies for the gals at Nora's preschool.  Felt flowers and gingham gift bags.  I had everything on hand from trips to et. cetera.  We're making do and loving the fact that "limitation equals generation."

3.  I may have shelled out a couple of clams for my new kindle, but I'm not paying 30 bucks for a cover. So, here's the crocheted solution.

Hoping your days are filled with good things for good hands.  Love, Lisa.

In Search of the Master Gardener

Mom calls with a suggestion (a challenge?).  "You know, they offer classes through the UNL extension office, so you can become a master gardener."

I'm trying to unload the dishwasher and cook some mac for Nora while rifling through my internal "to-do" list for the day.  "Oh, yeah?  Hmmm."

Now Mom is going to the website and she's reading the information to me--ALL the information, including special notices for people who live in other counties--counties we don't live in.   Mom is VERY thorough when it comes to covering all the details.  It's obvious that she's excited about getting me involved in these classes because she "thinks [I] would really love this."

"Well, if you send me a link, I'll look it up."

"I just can't seem to find when or where the classes are taking place."

Nora starts pulling on my pant leg, the water is boiling and I'm holding all eight of our plates.  I'm imagining what a "master gardener" looks like.  Pretty nerdy, to be honest.  Or maybe I've got the wrong idea.  Maybe once you become a master gardener, purslane and crab grass and bindweed respect you and your "comfort zones."  You don't even need to pull them or spray them with anything.  They just know you're a master gardener and take their party elsewhere.  For some reason in my mind, I'm wearing a tall pointed hat, like a wizard, and I carry a hoe instead of a staff.  When I walk into the garden, I understand what the toads are saying.  Mosquitos respect me.  Grasshoppers stop eating my broccoli.

And I'm kind of liking this idea now...  The power.  I need master gardener power.   And then she says it:  "And who knows who you'll meet there."

"Wait.  What, Mom?"  I honestly wasn't even thinking about that.

"I don't know, Lisa.  I just think you might need to start doing a few things for yourself."

Hmmm...but what is that?  I mean, moms feel like their children are an extension of themselves, so getting up in the middle of the night several times to get a cup of cold water for your kid is like getting yourself a cup of cold water...at 3 AM...when you're sleeping...and not at all thirsty.

Okay.  I'll admit I'm a bit ...fatigued...cranky...lackluster...  I know I'm not living in a state of hope right now.  I understand that.  I understand that I'm simply doing what it takes to make it through the day because the day is full of sufficient worries.  I take Jesus seriously when He says not to worry about tomorrow because if tomorrow is as full as today was, then I'm going back to bed.  Or...getting out of bed.  I don't even know when I'm supposed to be asleep, to be honest.  I am a mom, a woman carrying an invisible, blinking, neon sign that says "Open 24 Hours!"

I am a working mom.

And don't get me wrong.  You know I love this girl and this job.  You know I love this life, these blessings.  But maybe all this work and worry ends with a point like the kind you find at the top of a master gardener's hat.  And maybe I've been picking up all the wrong crap to carry around, the kind you can't fertilize with.  And, folks. that's my sack of (shut your mouth) I'm talking about, the one I carry around because it helps me feel sorry for myself, helps me make excuses for not doing things I'm scared of doing (writing, going out, singing a song I wrote, living in JOY.)

Uh!!!!!!!  I'm so tired of that other lie:  Life is hard.

Get lost, liar.  I've been born into that other life, and I'm not worried because it's not mine to defend.  If it were, I'd be screwed.  I know the real Master Gardener and He knows how my garden grows.