The scan

We had our second ultrasound yesterday, the one where we get to find out if we're having a boy or a girl and where the experienced technician looks for any problems with the baby. I had to pee like you wouldn't believe, and was planning to do so as soon as we walked in, but to our surprise the technician was there waiting for us and ushered us right in. I said, "If this is going to take longer than about five minutes I'm not going to be able to hold it," and she said "Let's just have a look." So I lay on the table and forgot about my bladder as I watched this little babe curled up in my belly. I choked back a sob and let the tears roll down my face as she showed us a four-chambered heart beating away. It was a mixture of relief, as the anxiety I didn't quite realize was sitting under the surface melted away, and of joy, and of deep sadness as my thoughts drifted to Will and what my friends must have been feeling as they watched their baby's two-chambered heart struggling away. And then, as if reading my thoughts, she focused in on the face and said, "There's the lip, you can see it's perfectly formed, there's no cleft." And she showed us two legs curled up to the chest, and two arms, one of which was scratching the head, and a head and belly that were all perfectly formed. I lay there feeling so undeserving of such a precious gift, and so thankful, and so sad.

As we walked out to the car Tim said to me, "Why is it that in order to experience the greatest of joy you have to open yourself up to the most horrific pain?" I think it's because we live in a world where God is present, but He's not in charge. At the moment Satan or the devil, or evil, or human nature, or whatever you want to call it, is the ruler of this world. But when God comes and takes charge, life will be so dramatically different, we won't know what pain is. I find that so hard to imagine. But it's what I hope for.

As for Hattrick...if you want to know whether it's a boy or girl, you'll have to ask me. I don't think I'm ready to post that info for the world to see.

Another conversation with Cerys

This conversation actually happened about a week and a half ago, so it's very old news, but I've been wanting to post it since then, and I have a morning to myself while the girls are at Costco with their daddy, so here goes.

Tim: Cerys, have you noticed that Mommy's belly is getting big?
Cerys: (Nods)
Greta: Do you remember the last time Mommy's belly got big?
Cerys: (Nods)
Tim: What was in there last time her belly got big?
Cerys: Um, toast?

The real meaning of Christmas

This is the story of a boy who had a Christmas wish.
His dad wanted him to be the happiest boy at Christmas time.
And to make him the happiest boy, he knew exactly what to do.
He reached up high and got hold of the Christmas wish.
And took it to a place where Christmas wishes come true.
(Scalextric GT Racers Set £99.99)
Don't Christmas shop for it. Argos it.


Click here to view this ad from Argos, a UK store that has EVERYTHING. You go in and it's pretty much just a big room with catalogs scattered around the edges. You go look in the catalog, write down the number of what you want, take it to the teller where you pay and then go wait for someone to call you up to collect what you've just purchased. I don't know that we have anything like that in the US.

This ad makes me want to spit. Not that I'm surprised at the materialism of Christmas. That's what Christmas is about, right? It's just the blatant statement that toys make kids happy. That getting everything they want makes kids happy. Haven't they seen A Christmas Story? You'll shoot your eye out!

I won't go into a long speech about the evils of Christmas just now. Another day, perhaps. For now I'll just leave you to enjoy this lovely ad.

Oops

I totally missed it. I somehow thought it was today, but no, it was last Sunday. A very happy, though belated, first anniversary to Mr. and Mrs. What should have been a wedding gift, and then was to become a first anniversary gift, and is now just embarrassingly late, should arrive this week. :) With much love, to one of the greatest men Tim and I know, and to his wife, whom we long to know better!

All by Myself

Tonight I am feeling incredibly sad, as my husband is leaving me and the girls for a week to go do business in California. My lovely father hired Tim's company to do the marketing for Gelato Paradiso. So Tim and his partner are off to the States to get the grand tour of the stores and come up with a brilliant marketing plan that will get them ready for franchising. Which leaves me to be mom and dad for the next eight days. With a chest infection and out-of-control hormones, I'm feeling completely ill-prepared for the challenge. Not to mention the fact that I'm green with envy that Tim will be in California visiting MY family. I want to go too! Boo hoo.

Grosser than Gross

Remember those old jokes? They were popular when I was like 8. The point was to try to gross out your friends, which I don't actually think is funny, but hey, I guess I did when I was 8. The one that I remember is "What's grosser than finding a worm in your apple?" And the answer is "Finding half a worm."

So, I've got a new one, which is the mother of them all, and it just so happens to be true: "What's grosser than changing a poopy diaper?" Answer: "Changing a poopy diaper and then seeing a little opaque worm crawl out of your daughters butt!!!" EWW!

Yes, that's right, Addien has pinworms. And seeing one actually crawl out of her was by far the grossest thing I have ever witnessed. The worst part of it is that everyone in the family is being given a dose of anti-worming medicine, except for me because I'm pregnant. So even though I don't have any symptoms of infection, it's possible that I'll be harboring these little beasts for the next six months, and that really is grosser than gross.

Arghhh!!!

I just spent about 40 minutes writing a post about March of the Penguins. And it's gone. Gone, gone, gone. Arghh!

Waiting for the Sun

The sun is shining brightly here in Bedford today, which is a nice change. That song by The Doors, Waiting for the Sun, is running through my head. Even though it's there outside, metaphorically I still feel like I'm waiting for it. It's been a rough few months. Leaving California in August was so hard. I miss my family too much to bear sometimes. And then shortly after we got home Will died. The grief of that mixed with the worry and the sadness at being too far away from our friends overwhelms me at times. And we moved, which was a good change, but hard work. And on top of that I've been going through progesterone poisoning with this baby. I'm so thankful to be able to get pregnant and have healthy babies, but I can't help not liking the first couple of months of feeling sick all the time. There's a lot of good in my life, and there's a lot of sadness too. Right now I feel like the sadness is winning out over the good, and then I think, "You ungrateful git."

In the new Charlie and the Chocolate Factory film, Violet's mother goes with her to the factory, and she says to her "Eye on the prize, Violet. Eye on the prize." And isn't that really what Paul says to the Corinthians? Keep running the race. So, I'm wondering, What is the prize? What is it that I'm running for. Jesus' triumphant return? The end of my life? The full realization of God's Kingdom? Is the prize supposed to make all the crap that I'm feeling right now just disappear? Should I be so focused on the end that none of the temporal stuff matters? How does that work?

Tim and I were talking the other night about our lives and about the emergent church and about fundamentalism, and it was one of the best talks we've ever had. But it left me feeling like maybe I've never really seen Jesus, not really. Because if I had, if I really believed to the depth of my soul that the Creator of the entire universe, the Word of God, came to the earth in the form of a baby born into a dirty cattle trough, and that He then lived to teach us how to live and then died on the cross in my place, wouldn't my life look a lot different than it does now? Wouldn't I be a lot more focused on carrying on his work and not so focused on making sure my needs and wants are met?

I feel a bit stuck. My life doesn't look the way I want it to. But I feel pretty powerless to change it. I don't really know what to do. I'm just waiting.

The World's Worst Blogger

Yeah, that's me. I was never good at journalling. I'd be pretty consistent for a few weeks and then disappear for months at a time. I hoped I'd be a bit different when it came to my blog, but thus far the pattern has been pretty similar. Granted, this last disappearance was due to moving and my computer being shut up in a box for three weeks. And me throwing up nearly every day for about 6 weeks. But even so, I'm a bit annoyed with myself for being so inconsistent.

So. what's been going on with me? Well, I got pregnant with baby number 3 about 12 weeks ago and have been sick for about 8 weeks now. Very exciting and yet not very fun at the same time. We had the scan, and all seems well. Say hello to Hattrick Davies.

We moved to a village outside of Bedford called Clapham. It's quiet and clean. We have a big back yard and modest front yard, and it's a much brighter, more nicely laid out house. It's taken some getting used to. I miss being able to walk into town and being able to see my friend Abi whenever I feel like it. But I do like the house and the neighborhood, and Tim absolutely loves it.

Addien turned one, and isn't she a beauty?

I read Rees Howells, Intercessor. And I was amazed. This man really seemed to know the voice of God. He compared hearing God's voice to knowing the sound of your mother's voice. And I thought, man I've got a long way to go.

I made my first Creative Memories sale, followed by seven more. I placed an order today for just over 300 pounds, and I managed to make a loss of 4 pounds. Ouch.

And I took my first driving lesson, which I found scary and intimidating. The instructor is lovely, but I realized that I have a long way to go before I can pass my driving test. Roundabouts are still scary, I still have no concept of how close I am to the cars to my left, and learning to switch gears and indicate with my left hand is going to take a while.

So, that's been me for the last month or so. I've been challenged to write more about theology/philosophy/emergent stuff, and so I've been thinking about that. But so far I don't think I have much to say. Check back in a few days.

A Prayer from Cerys

I just put Cerys down for a nap, and this is what she did while I was making her bed (she's taken to ripping the sheets off her bed every morning so she can make a tent with them. A tent being her wrapping the sheet around her head and body, curling up into a ball and saying, "look, Mom, I'm in a tent!" So I have to re-make her bed every day before naptime and before bedtime. But I digress...)

Cerys to Pooh bear: "Let's pray." Then she kneels down next to her bed with Pooh bear on her lap and says, "Jee-zsus, pray for Mike and Stacy that they not be sad." Then to Pooh bear: "Oh, you don't want to pray? Okay. Ay-men."

She's been pretty concerned about her pals Mike and Stacy since I went away for five whole days. Every day I was gone I would speak to her on the phone and she would say, "You still with Mike and Stacy? They still sad?" Her two-year-old mind can't quite comprehend what they're sad about and that they'll be sad for a long time, so it's a simple prayer "that they not be sad." Its sweetness cuts me to the heart.

Understanding God's goodness

I've really been struggling with the concept of God's goodness this last week. I have always counted my blessings--two healthy, beautiful children, a loving husband, a "normal" life not badly affected by what could be termed a rather dysfunctional childhood, healed relationships with my mom and dad, Tim's growing business, wonderful friendships, unexpected gifts, etc.--and said "God is so good." And of course He is. But the death of Will caused me to do a bit of a double-take because I was so convinced that God, though not performing the great miracle so many of us had asked for, was indeed performing little miracles every day by giving Will breath, better-than-expected growth and development, and an approaching surgery that would bring relief for his overworked heart. Will's death has not made me question whether God is good, rather what my understanding of that goodness is. Because if God being good can be somewhat measured by the many blessings in my life, then does it not stand to reason that the loss of Will was an act of God's cruelty? But I don't believe God can be cruel, so what then? Was Will's death an act of God's goodness? How is that possible? His indifference? Surely not. His big-picture view that allows him to sacrifice one for the sake of many? I have no idea. It's all bigger than I can comprehend.

So here I am trying to be in relationship with this God whom I love but don't really "get". And I start to think, well maybe God's more about character and kingdom building than He is about personal circumstances. But then I think about Him caring for the hungry throngs that followed Him and miraculously providing them with superfluous food and raising Lazarus from the dead and that little girl, too. He definitely cares about circumstances. But maybe He's powerless to fix some things that are the result of Satan being the ruler of this world. Maybe Satan and God had a little discussion about the Stavs the way they had about Job and God said, "Yeah, give them your best shot." Somehow that seems a bit far-fetched to me. But maybe. Or maybe disease and death are just part of creation groaning knowing that right now it is totally at odds with God's perfect kingdom, and God not stepping in is just a way for Him to remind us of what we should be hoping for. The point is, I just don't know. And I probably won't know until I'm rid of this flesh.

The question then becomes, "Am I okay with not knowing?" Am I okay with saying, "God I don't really see where your goodness fits in here, but I believe in it anyway." And it's one thing to say that now, but will I be able to say that if one of my children ever dies? It's a scary thought. For me, these are scary times. But they're also exciting times. Because I feel like I'm having to press into faith harder than I've ever pressed before. I'm having to let go of some ideas that perhaps were inaccurate or even wrong and just ask God to teach me. I'm in a place of longing and wrestling and waiting. And I think that yes, at least right now, I am okay with it. As long as God's okay with me screaming "WHAT?" when the not knowing gets to be a bit much.

Grief

I'm having trouble coping with this grief. I feel like I need a day to just lay in bed and cry. But as so many have noted, the clock keeps ticking, the daily grind continues grinding, and people here in Bedford just have to keep going. And people in the US have to keep going to. There are doctor visits, money to be made, laundry to do, dinners to make, children to play with, floors to scrub, dishes to clean, ad nauseum. And through it all in the back of my throat is a little catch and tears sting the fronts of my eyes as I don't know quite how to return to life as normal. I have never been to anything so sad as Will's funeral. I will never get the sound of Mike's sobs as he looked at his son's casket out of my ears. I will never get over the feeling of sheer helplessness as I watched Stacy silently cry throughout the weekend. So I just keep going back and watching the slide show and reading the eulogy and the homily and trying to process this weight and wondering how I'm going to relate to this God whom I don't understand. But as Peter said "Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life." So though I don't get what He was thinking when he didn't swoop in and rescue Will in the way I would have chosen, He's all I've got. And so I cling to Him. And carry on.

A Prayer for the Stavs

Will is gone. And my friends are mourning in a way I cannot comprehend. Holy Spirit, comfort as only you can. Give hope. Give courage. Give Ella the love she needs. Give us the wisdom and compassion we need to mourn alongside our dear friends. Be our light in this darkness. Intercede with sighs too deep for words. Father God, we cling to you.

The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on rock. Mt 7:24

Uncommon Friends

I was beyond pleased the other day when I noticed on my good friend's blog that I have been listed as an Uncommon Friend. Think of the person you most admire in the world and then imagine them listing you as a friend on their blog and you will know how I feel. The Stavs are my heroes. Their generosity, faithfulness, grace and courage inspire me daily. I got to talk to Stacy today, which made my day. I just love her honesty and encouragement. What fantastic friends. And what an honor to know that they count me as a friend, too.

It's weird writing something like that knowing that they're going to read it. Because maybe it might come across as insincere. But in all sincerity, I love the Stavs. And they ought to know it, so there.

10 Reasons Why Getting Burgled Sucks

1. Your child incessantly asking to watch Lion King and you having to reply that she can't because the mean boy came and took her DVD player. (Perhaps this should also go on the list of reasons why you should never introduce children to tv.)

2. The wasted hours on the phone with the insurance company.

3. The horrible feeling of knowing that you may have to look your neighbor in the eye whilst giving the testimony that may land him in prison for a long time.

4. Equally horrible to have to see his mom knowing that you are putting her son behind bars.

5. Giving statements to the police for 4 1/2 hours in an uncomfortable chair and not being offered tea, coffee, or snacks.

6. Having silver finger-printing dust in various places of your house that annoy you, but not enough to make you just clean it off.

7. Feeling a little unsure of whether you are being watched when you enter your house or walk past a window at night.

8. Having to use an old-fashioned phone with a cord, making it impossible to multi-task whilst having a conversation and nearly impossible to get to the phone in time to answer it.

9. Not knowing whether things that you can't find have been stolen or if you just can't remember where you put them.

10. The general feeling of annoyance I've felt since arriving home from a very wonderful vacation.

Our friendly neighborhood burglar

Tim and I sat down to watch a movie, "Walk The Line", on Monday afternoon after settling the kids down for their naps. As Tim tried to put in our security code for the pay-per-view, it was declined. So he tried it again and again it was declined. So he yelled to me "Hey Greta, isn't our security code 1234?" and I replied "I think so, but try 0000. I can't remember but it's definitely one of those." We hadn't bothered to change the generic code it came with. That was declined too, and so Tim realized that Sean had changed our code. I thought "No way, why would he do that?" but he was outside in the street in his usual fashion, so Tim yelled out, "Hey Sean, did you change our security code on our NTL box?" and Sean replied "Oh, yeah, sorry, it's 2580. But I didn't do nuffink wiv it, I just changed it. 2580. Sorry, mate." At least he's a helpful burglar.

Sean Valjean Part 2

While we were enjoying our holiday in California, Sean noticed that we weren't coming out to ask him to turn down our music every day. He asked Kat, our friend who was watching the house for us, where we were, and she vaguely replied that we'd be back in a couple of days. He must have been watching her whereabouts pretty closely because he realized she wasn't actually in the house Wednesday night, so he decided to bring a friend and crowbar our back window open. He stole all of our change (about £20), our VCR/DVD player, our cable box, our phone handset (but not the base), Tim's work keys, and my mobile phone. He broke the lock on the window, one of the slats on the blind, and our wooden structure in the back garden. We assumed when we found out that it was Sean, but we couldn't prove it. The police dusted for prints with no luck. On Thursday Tim pulled off a list of numbers that had been called on my phone since it was stolen and he called some of them asking if they'd seen Sean. Sean had called the police, his doctor, and a friend who confirmed that he knew Sean but hadn't seen him in a while. Tim stopped calling when he got to the sex lines that had run down my minutes. We handed the list over to the police for further investigation.

Later that day Tim went to say hello to Sean, who was standing in his doorway. He treated Tim with total distain, which is unusual. Sean's usually quite friendly with us. When Tim said, "did you hear someone broke into our house?" Sean said, "Yeah, and you automatically assume it was me, right? I didn't do nuffin." Tim said, "I don't know who it was. What makes you think I think it was you? I didn't say anything like that." Sean replied "Well, you're treating me like I did it." Tim said, "I came over to say hello. How have I treated you?" It's amazing what guilt can do to perception.

The police had canvassed the neighborhood asking for witnesses, so everyone knew we'd been burgled, and later that night Sean's mum, Laura, came by to ask what had been stolen. We watched her get increasingly agitated as we described all the missing pieces. We weren't surprised when 20 minutes later she came back to tell us that it was Sean who had robbed our house--she'd seen some of our stuff pass through her house, but he had lied about where it came from. What did surprise us was her total loss of composure as she cried and told us how ashamed she was that her son could do something like this to the people who had been so kind to her. Her whole body shook with sobs as she counted off the ways we had served her and told us that she didn't know how we could even let her into our home. Tim and I didn't know what to do. We were so touched by her obvious care for us, but also so sorry that she felt such guilt and shame over something that was out of her control. We tried to reassure her that we felt no malice toward her (or Sean for that matter) but she was not easy to console. I did get to pray for her before she left, but I didn't see any obvious relief from that.

While she was there, I went to speak to Sean to ask him for Tim's keys. He said "My mom's over there talking shit. I didn't do nuffin." To which I replied, "Sean, don't bother lying to me, I know it was you. Please just give me the keys back, and if you don't want to give them back now because you're too embarrassed to admit you did it, would you please slip them through the letter box by morning? Tim needs them to go to work." He just rolled his eyes and muttered something about "bustin up this street."

Laura left at about 10:00, and Tim and I went to bed only to be disturbed about 15 minutes later by a knock at the door. I went down to find Laura asking me to come to her house so she could show me something. I went over and found her mother sitting there. She told me she had my cable box. Sean had given it to her and told her it was a way to get free tv. He made up some story which she believed, but she was so very apologetic and offered to get it for me. I told her thanks but I had to get to bed and I'd come by in the morning for it. Laura then handed me my handset, and I turned to Sean and said, "Now can I have the keys." He told me he'd thrown them in a bush and would have to get them for me in the morning. I told him I'd be there at 7 am and he better be ready or I'd come get him out of bed. As it was, Tim went to get him and he was ready buy couldn't find the keys.

We've called the police and have decided to press charges since this is now the third time Sean has stolen from us or damaged our property (the car window, my bike and now the burglary) but the officer on our case won't be available until Tuesday. So Sean is taunting us from across the street, blaring his music, smoking his pot, and generally being a pain in my butt. The weird thing is, I really love this kid. I feel sorry for him. I see the pain in his eyes and the total lack of direction in his path. I want to help him, but he has no interest in helping himself. I've had a couple of serious conversations with him about my shock at his total disregard for me and Tim and our children. I've told him I want good things for him, but I can't help him if he continues to make such bad choices. He can't even look me in the eyes.

I could go on in detail about our conversations and my feelings, but this is the real dilemma: What do forgiveness and justice look like in a situation where there is no remorse? How can I be reconciled to Sean, who I can't trust? And what is the best thing for Sean...is it prison or is it chance after chance after chance? I want to do what's right for Sean. I just wish I knew what that is.

I'm back

I had a fabulous holiday in California, and I didn't touch a computer while I was there. Okay, maybe once or twice to get directions to our hotel and rent a car, but no e-mail, no blogging, no on-line bill payments.

The problem with blogging is that everything is now a potential post, but I don't have the time to post even a tenth of what I think and so there's a constant frustration in my world. But it's really nice to have fans who miss me while I'm gone. Really nice.

The week before we left Tim worked a whopping 80 hours, and so I was a single mom for the week working to get a family of four ready for a 3-week trip, sorting out husband's travel papers, doing laundry, choosing toys, packing bags, organizing hotel rooms, etc. while still feeding, bathing, chauffering, and loving my little girls. By the time we got to CA we were in desperate need of some TLC, which Tim got and I sort of got. We had a nice first week relaxing by the pool, but Tim got a lot more sleep and alone-time than me since I was excited to be with my family and running on adrenaline, and I hadn't stayed up until 2-3 in the morning every night for the previous week. But it was payback time when we got home--I've stayed in bed until nearly noon and napped in the afternoon every day since we got back!

Some highlights (and low-lights) of the trip:

LOW: When arriving in Chicago after 10 hours of travel, Tim was held up in Customs for an hour and forty-five minutes. Since we had only 2 hours to get to our next flight, this was more than a little nerve-wracking for us. The mean Customs man cut the corner off Tim's Green Card, rendering it completely invalid, since he is not a physical resident of the US anymore, and he fined us $165 for travelling on an invalid Green Card, even though we had just paid $170 to get a Travel Letter from the US Embassy explaining that we were okay to travel on an expired Green Card. After many tears (on my part) and hoop-jumping (on Tim's) we raced through O'Hare airport to our next flight and made it just in time to stand in an enormous line of people waiting to board our plane, which was undergoing carpet replacement after a passenger on the previous flight had vomited all over the rear cabin. Thank God for air-sickness!

HIGH: Lounging by the pool with my husband and two girls every morning for nearly a week. Cerys loved jumping in, with and without waterwings, and she learned to swim, which was amazing. She's like a little fish!

HIGH: Getting to hang out with my sisters. We have so much fun together, and it was great to get some face time.

HIGH: Eating Gelato Paradiso. www.gelatoparadiso.net Yum. And Cheesecake Factory, and Claim Jumper, and Ruby's, and Baja Fresh, and I think I gained a few pounds when I was there!

HIGH: Seeing my extended family. My little cousins and aunts and uncles are so much fun, and I haven't gotten to spend any real time with them in a couple of years, so it was wonderful to be able to relax with them for a few days. And getting to see my grandma, whom Addien Lila is named after.

HIGH: Anna's wedding. She was a beautiful bride, and she married a wonderful man. The reception was a great party, and her in-laws are better than anyone could hope for. What a wonderful event. Oh, and Cerys was the cutest flower girl I have ever seen.

HIGH: Meeting my nephew, Charles. What a cutie.

HIGH: My kids were amazing on both flights. They are so incredibly well-behaved and so wonderfully sweet, I couldn't be prouder of them.

LOW: Coming home to a gloomy, rainy England sky. And crying on and off all the way home because I miss my family so much.

HIGH: Kids sleeping through the night and until at least 8 every morning since being home. Yes.

LOW: Being burgled while we were away. See next post for more details.

It's nice to be back, although I do really miss my family. But it's nice to see my friends, and sleep in my own bed, and watch my girls explore their home and reaquaint themselves with their toys. And it's nice to be back online.

Conversations with Cerys

I put the girls down for bed tonight at the normal bedtime of 8:00. At 8:30 she called me to say she needed to go to the potty, so after arguing about whether she really needed to poo or if she just didn't want to go to bed, I was convinced that this was the real thing and we headed downstairs. Twenty minutes later we got back upstairs after she did one of her man-sized poos in the toilet. Tim and I are not sure where she manages to keep such large amounts of waste, as she's quite a tiny thing, and we sometimes call eachother in to say, "Look at this!" I attribute it mostly to the fact that she eats about 5 pieces of fruit a day. Here are some snippets of the conversation we had while she was sitting there:

Greta: "Cerys, Mommy is going to be really cross if you don't really have to go poo and we go all the way downstairs."
Cerys: "Oh, I know."

Greta: (After she has pee'ed) "Are you finished?"
Cerys: "No, I almost finished. I need to go poo."

Cerys: (after seeing me rub my eyes) "Are you sad?"
Greta: "No, I'm just tired and ready for bed."
Cerys: "Oh, are you a bit tired? Needs to go to bed?"
Greta: "Yeah. Are you finished?"
Cerys; "No, I almost finished, again."

C: (Pointing through the bathroom door, through the kitchen, to a painting hanging on the far side of the lounge) "Look, Mom, there's a horse."
G: "Where? I don't see a horse."
C: "Over dere"
G: (seeing where she's pointing) "Oh yeah, on the painting?"
C: "Yeah, dere's a horse."
G: "Are you finished now?"
C: "No, I almost finished, again."
G: "Mommy's going to count to 10, and then we're going back upstairs, okay?"
C: "Oh, alright. Sounds good."
G: "1, 2, 3....10 Okay, are you done?"
C: "No, I jus going poo."
(And, to my amazement, she really did still have to go)

C: Oh, are you doing the dishes?
G: Yeah.
C: You doing Cerys' plates?
G: Yeah.
C: Oh, dat's very clever.
G: Thank you.
C: You doing spoons and knifes?
G: Yeah.
C: Oh, you're very clever.

C: I very tired. I have to be quick. I need to have to go back to bed.
G: Yeah.
C: You need to go back to bed? You very tired?
G: Yeah. Are you finished?
C: No, I almost finished, again.

C: Mom, I need some water.
G: You can have some water when you're finished.
C: I all finished.

While washing our hands:
C: You wash your hands too? You go potty and wash your hands?
G: No, I just had to wipe your bottom, so I have to wash my hands, too.
C: Oh.

G: Okay, up to bed.
C: I need some water.
G: What color cup do you want?
C: I need to choose.
G: (Handing her a stack of one blue and one green cup) Okay, choose.
C: (Pointing to a different stack of two orange cups) No, I need to choose the orange ones.
So I hand her the orange ones, she takes one in each hand, holds them out, looks at them, sizes them up, moves them up and down as if weighing them, then chooses the orange one in her right hand while handing me the identical orange one in her left)
C: Dis one.
G: Okay (puts the other back on the shelf)
C: My do it.
G: Okay (holds Cerys up to get her own water in the cup)
C: (after taking two sips) I all done.

I wish I had a tape recorder with me to catch the inflections and accents. She is such a funny mix of English and American. She's so precocious. She's so lovely. She's so aggravating. And she's so MINE.

Tears

I've been doing a lot of crying lately. I don't know if having children has naturally made me a more empathetic person, or if the Holy Spirit is prompting me to pray by having me feel other people's pain, but whatever the cause, I cry on a regular basis these days. It started when my friends the Stavs announced their pregnancy. I burst into tears of joy at the thought of my good friends finally getting pregnant (with twins!) after nearly a decade of trying. I cried harder a few months later when we thought they had miscarried and harder still when we found out that their little boy had severe heart defects along with a cleft palate. I cried every day for the month leading up to their birth, anticipating the death of their little boy and just not knowing how they were going to survive. Little Will didn't die, in fact he's doing quite well after a successful heart surgery, but I still cry for them as they watch him work to breathe and eat, and I cry tears of joy when I see pictures of their healthy little girl and the four of them as a family. I cried when a friend relayed to me some painful childhood memories that she's working through and cry when I think about the damage done to her self-esteem. I cried when another friend told me about some marital difficulties she's going through and again when a different friend relayed some dissapointments she faced and how they made her question her faith. I cried Saturday when my little girl was in pain from the thrush in her mouth. I cry when I'm lonely for my family, when Hubby and I have an argument, when I feel too tired to get through the day. I find it amazing all the different things that will set me off. I never used to be like this. How do tears manage to express so many different emotions so adequately? Pain, frustration, sadness, joy, anger, disappointment. Crying over death and new life, marriage and divorce, in grief and with joy. Thank God for tears, which help me to connect with and care for my friends, to let go of pain I would otherwise hold too close, and to express emotions that I can't convey in any other way.

Comments

I was so surprised this morning to find that I had a whopping FOUR comments in my inbox! And then I realized it was just a slimy salesman playing on my emotions to get free advertising space. Thanks a lot.

From: "Anonymous" Add to Address Book Add Mobile Alert
To: greta_davies@yahoo.com
Subject: [Changing the world one diaper at a time.] 7/01/2006 02:07:25 AM
Date: Fri, 30 Jun 2006 18:07:27 -0700 (PDT)
This site is one of the best I have ever seen, wish I had one like this.
»

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Posted by Anonymous to Changing the world one diaper at a time. at 7/01/2006 02:07:25 AM

A new job and a new recipe

I decided this week to become a Creative Memories consultant. The prospect of getting my scrapbooking supplies at cost won over fears of being perceived as a slimy sales person with a too-bubbly persona. So I signed my consultant agreement, handed over my 95 pounds sterling, and am waiting for my box of goodies (including the exclusive Daisy album) to arrive in the post. I went to a training meeting on Tuesday night to get an idea of what I was signing up for, and I was more than a little amazed to see British women HUGGING each other, and squealing with delight when greeting each other. I thought those sorority-girl greetings were only for American women, but apparently it is a Creative Memories phenomenon. Though I shuddered at the thought of going to workshops and being around such girliness whilst in the States, having been here for two years living amongst stoic protectors of personal space, I really enjoyed the unchecked expressions of delight these women showed to their friends, even if they were a little cheesy.

In other news, I made rhubarb crumble ice cream last night. I actually started early in the morning and burnt the first batch of crumble. Then I made another batch while the girls were napping. Then I mixed the cream and rhubarb at about 7:00 and did the first churning at 10:00. Had I read the recipe correctly I would have waited to mix it until this morning, but as it was I had to set my alarm for midnight to churn and fold in the crumble. We'll be having it for dessert tonight. Yum.

Totally Organic

I've started ordering these organic vegetable and fruit boxes that are delivered to my door each Thursday. I did this mostly to save wear and tear on my stroller, which was being loaded up well beyond its recommended weight limit each week at the grocery store, but also to challenge myself to eat more "good for you" stuff, and because "organic" is becoming such a catch-word out here that I thought I better join in and keep up my street cred. We've only had two so far, but I don't think I'll ever look back. How did we get to the point as a society that we thought the stuff sold in supermarkets was good? I didn't even realize how awful the stuff I was eating tasted until I dug into this heavenly spread. Carrots that are so sweet and crunchy I will eat them straight from the bag without ranch dressing, apples that aren't shiny and are sweet and juicy, oranges that are succulent, potatoes that have the most amazing flavor. I didn't even know potatoes had flavor before I tried one of these! And I'm also being introduced to new and exciting vegetables that I've never heard of before, such as kohl rabi. Raise your hand if you know what that is! And watercress (I knew what it was, but the challenge is what do I do with a huge bag full?) And gooseberries. It's all very exciting. I've also started getting the organic eggs, which are so full of flavor and have the most beautiful yellow yolks, and organic yogurt, which is creamy and delicious. I'm such a foody, I can't believe I didn't jump on the organic bandwagon before. Flavor, flavor, flavor. I really can taste the difference, and I somehow feel healthier just having the stuff in my house. So now I'm trying to find other things that are organic. I picked up organic baked beans yesterday, and I want to try some organic chickens. We'll see how my wallet copes.

Avoiding

I should be downstairs preparing the biblestudy for tomorrow's women's group that I am leading. But instead I'm up here checking my e-mail, checking Mike's blog to see what's up with my favorite twins, checking Matt and Dawn's blog, and now writing on my own. Doing the biblestudy will be life-giving. We're going through the gospel of Mark and I'm learning a lot. I feel like I'm starving a bit because we were on holiday last week and I didn't open my Bible once. But for me spending time with God is like exercise. When it's done I feel so alive and refreshed, but beforehand I can think of a million other things that would be easier. And when I don't do it for a few days it's a lot harder to get going again. As a follower of Jesus I know that communication with him is key to living the life I want to live. Just like I know that if I eat several bars of chocolate in a day I'm going to gain weight and feel sluggish. But I often avoid the former and do the latter. What a mess I'm in. This flesh is getting me down.

Spontaneity with Children

It was Friday afternoon. The weather had been fabulous for the last couple of weeks, and I was itching to go to the beach. Bedford is as far from the ocean as it is possible to get on the British Isles, a point of great disappointment for this beach lover. Tim came home from work at around 4:30, and I said, "What do you say we pack up the kids and drive to Wales for the weekend." To my surprise and delight he responded with an "okay" and at 8:22 we were in the car on our way. Less than four hours to get a family of four out the door for a 5-day trip--not bad. We had a fantastic day at the beach on Saturday. It's been cold and rainy every since, but it's so nice to know that my ability to be fun and spontaneous didn't go away when my second child arrived.

The Weather in Wales

We've been in Wales since Friday night, and I only packed summer clothes for us, since it's June, and the temperature's been in the 80's for the last two weeks. I forgot that this is the UK, where the weather is never certain from one minute to the next, so when going on a weekend trip it's prudent to bring clothes for all seasons. Saturday we spent a gorgeous day at the beach. Sunday we went back to the beach, and I immediately took off for a run, which was fabulous, but I came back to find my husband and girls shivering with cold and none too happy about it. We drove home and have spent the last couple of days indoors since it's been rainy and in the high 50's/low 60's. Addien has had to wear her pajamas since that's the only long sleeves I brought for her. I didn't bring many toys for Cerys, since I assumed we'd be outside most of the time, so she's been watching too much tv and driving me a little crazy. The in-laws' house where we are staying (mam and dad are away for the week and kindly let us use their house) is not quite child-proof, and our days have been filled with "Cerys, honey, don't touch that. Cerys, put that down. Cerys, that's Nanny's. Cerys, get down from there." Poor girl. Of course, the only thing that has actually broken was broken by me, not Cerys. The clutziness that is Greta continues. Anyway, back to the weather...I don't know if I'll ever get used to there not being real seasons here. Summer is not necessarily warm, and winter is rarely very cold. The "rainy season" lasts from October until June. We are experiencing a "drought" which means it's only raining about twice a week this summer. California is looking better and better.

The World Cup

The World Cup in England is a very different experience to the World Cup in America. In America, soccer is almost an underground sport, and only the elite few are interested. Cool people like Tim Sparks set their alarms for 3:30 in the morning to go to the one pub in the area who is playing the game and charging a cover. Here every single store has England team paraphernalia displayed, and the pubs all show the games live. People roam the streets wearing England shirts and waving England flags, and people honk their horns when England wins. The excitement is kind of infectious. Just don't make the mistake of calling it "soccer". It's football, got it?

So, yesterday I was invited to some friends' pad for a 5:00 kick-off. We were going to eat tacos and watch the match (not a game, a match!) But I have two kids, and they have two kids, and Abi brought Owen, so there were 5 under-4's competing with the football. And dinner still needed to be made. I spent the first half in the kitchen grating cheese, cutting tomatoes, telling Cerys not to throw sand at her friends and trying to figure out why Addien decided it would be a good time to start preferring mommy to anyone else. Half time came and we served up. I spent the first 20 minutes of the second half trying to get Cerys to sit still long enough to eat, trying to figure out what to feed Addien since the tacos were too spicy for her liking, and trying to get a taco for myself. When I finally sat down with about 20 minutes to go, no one had scored, so I didn't feel like I'd missed too much. I watched for a few minutes with Addien in my lap and then realized that she was chewing on something she shouldn't be and looked to get it out. During that 5-seconds, Crouch scored the first goal of the match. Nice. I got to see it on replay. Mike was sure they would score again, so I settled in to watch again. I watched, was impressed with the fancy footwork, and then Leyton, the 3-year-old of the group, came and asked me a question. I don't remember what he asked, but in that 5 seconds that I made eye-contact with him the second goal was scored by England.

Apparently watching football and being a mom are not compatible activities.

I fell down

I got up to run this morning at 6:00. 6:05, actually, since I pressed snooze once. I was out the door at 6:30 and met my friend Sarah in the park for a lap before heading back home. (Cue Chariots of Fire theme music) I had run further and faster than I'd done before, and after the 30-minute mark I was feeling like I could go on for miles. But then (cue vinyl record screeching to a halt sound effect) I hit a grate and my right knee and both forearms hit the pavement and skid. Ouch. My runner's high was thwarted by the clutziness that is Greta, and I hobbled home licking my wounded pride and muttering profanities in my head while waving my hands in the air to try to stop the incessant burning caused by the roadburn.

Relief

I woke up this morning feeling so overwhelmed I really wanted to just stay in bed and hide under the covers for the rest of the day. There were several problems with that idea. First, it's like 80 degrees here and about 85 in the house, so getting under the covers was not an option. Second, I had two very cute little girls wanting to play with their mommy, making it seem quite selfish to just stay in bed all day. Third, I really needed to pee. So I got up and started the day. By 9:30 I was still feeling totally overwhelmed by the laundry, dishes, and tidying that needed to be done (yes, these are the things that overwhelm me), and the thought of going to playgroup was more than I could take. So I called my very good friend Abi who said she'd take Cerys so I could get some time to catch up. When I opened the door I realized the night had brought some cooler weather and so decided to postpone the housework and go for a run. And even though I still haven't done the stuff that overwhelmed me this morning, I feel much better. Thank you God for endorphines. And for Abi Sutcliffe.

Sean the pyro

Sean finally showed up for duty yesterday morning at 8:45. Forty-five minutes late, but at least he showed. When he didn't come Friday morning, Tim went and told him he had one last chance before we got the police involved. Sean apologized AGAIN for messing us around and explained that the reason he hadn't showed up yet is that he smokes weed and if he was at our house all day he wouldn't be able to do that. Are you kidding me?

So he came ready to work yesterday morning, and Tim started a fire in the back to help get rid of a bunch of wood that had been left by the previous owner of the house. Admittedly that was not the brightest move on Tim's part. Even less wise was to then leave Sean with a list of things to do and strict instructions to not add any more wood to the fire while we went out for a few hours. But hey, the Davieses are trusting folk.

Tim decided to ask a neighbor to check on the boy after about an hour, and Jon quickly called back to say "You better get back here." Sean had added ALL of the wood to the fire, and the flames were jumping several feet into the air, melting the plastic roof on our neighbor's shed and completely blackening the brick wall surrounding our garden. We discovered later that he had found an unopened bottle of lighter fluid and used about 90% of it to fan the flames.

Tim was more than a little annoyed when he returned. But in the end, perhaps it was a good thing because it meant that Sean was under careful supervision for the rest of the day, and he and Tim had some good chats about work, football, and fire. At the end of the day he said to Tim that he thought he was going to be really bored working for us but that he'd had a great time. Fancy that.

He showed up on his bike a few hours later and asked if he could borrow a pound that he'd pay back today. He already owes us £130, so what's another pound, eh? Cheeky monkey.

Sean Valjean

My street is filled with hooligans. Most weekends, especially during the summer, a group of teenagers is out in the street drinking, smoking, fighting, and yelling at the top of their lungs. And the party usually goes on until the sun comes up around 4:30 or so. Two weekends ago, the shenanigans culminated in a chair being thrown through the back windscreen of our Peugeot. Tim and our good friend and neighbor John were in the living room at about 12:30 when the heard the glass smash. The next two hours were filled with police and different eyewitness accounts, all of them saying the culprit was Sean, the neighborhood troublemaker who lives across the street. This is the kid who decided to saw through the telephone wires on Friday night last summer, leaving the entire street without phone lines for all of Saturday. None of these witnesses were willing to talk to the police, since they’re all in trouble with the law themselves. Great.

Tim and I talked it over, and since we actually like Sean and would like to see him make something of himself, and since we also know that he has no money so asking for the £130 for the windscreen would be futile, we decided to confront him and offer him the chance to fess up and work off his debt in our back yard for three days in exchange for us not pursuing legal action. Sean agreed, and after a stern lecture from me on getting his act together, we decided that he would show up for work at 9:00 Tuesday morning. I had in my mind grand visions of this being just the thing Sean needed to get his life turned around. Three days of hard labor under the watchful but loving eyes of Tim and Greta Davies would turn this troubled teen into a bright young man ready to realize his potential.

Tuesday morning came with a note through our door saying he couldn’t make it because he had meetings all week with his parole officer. These meetings only lasted an hour or two in the middle of the day, but apparently he thought that was reason enough to not show up for duty. But he did pencil us in for all day Saturday and Sunday. Tim explained that we weren’t available Sunday and that he was okay to leave for his appointments in the middle of the day, so asked him to show up for work on Thursday. Sean agreed, but again on Thursday failed to turn up. Tim went and knocked on his door that afternoon and was told by his mother that Sean was ill in bed. I saw him Friday looking quite well and shouted over to ask if he was feeling better. Indeed he was. The sore throat that had kept him from leaving the house was miraculously fine on Friday. He assured me that he’d report for duty bright and early the next morning. But alas, no Sean. When Tim went to enquire that afternoon, Laura told him that Sean had been jumped the previous night. And sure enough, later that afternoon we saw Sean with a very bloodied nose and huge lump on his forehead. I didn’t bother to ask what he was doing out by himself at 12:30; just offered my sympathy and asked him to show up Tuesday instead. Tuesday brought another excuse—this time he was off to do neighborhood clean-up with other young parolees. This morning again brought a missed appointment because he was taken into the police station for questioning in a burglary. We’ve scheduled him for tomorrow morning. If he shows up I think I’ll fall over.

My hopes of transforming this boy are quickly waning, and I’m starting to wonder if we should have just let the police handle it. Apparently he’s never seen Les Miserables and doesn’t realize we’ve played the part of the bishop and he’s supposed to be Jean Valjean.

And so it begins

Right now my world consists of two little girls who are asleep but will be awake in a couple of hours, a sink full of dishes, a floor that needs to be mopped, a dinner that needs to be made, laundry that needs to be done, and groceries that need to be put away. My head is swimming with thoughts of things I'd like to do but probably won't manage to do today because my time seems to be sucked away by things like getting drinks of water, changing diapers, rescuing my 8-month old from sticking a week-old pea that she's discovered in one of the cracks of the floorboards into her mouth, telling my 2-year-old not to put the Lion King DVD into her mouth, putting stickers on her potty chart, etc. I often end the day and think "What did I actually do today?" And I don't often have a very satisfying answer. But actually, I'm okay with that. Because I'm trying as hard as I can to just be a really good mom and a really good wife and a really good neighbor and friend, and I'm asking God to help me to do those things, and I have faith that even though that's all I can manage right now I'm playing my part and somehow God's Kingdom is going to benefit.

Gettin' outta Dodge

I live in Dodge.

Actually, I live on Battison Street in Bedford, England, but my husband often says, "We've got to get out of Dodge" and sometimes I think he's right. We are often kept awake at night by neighbors having drunken brawls, the scent of marijuana often wafts through the street, and the sight of men peeing against the wall opposite my house often greets me when I open the door.

But more often than not, I think he's wrong. I love being near the center of town, and I love that I know my neighbors, even if they are hooligans. I love the diversity: I have Asian, Polish, British, Italian, and American neighbors. The boys down the street know that if they hit the ball over our fence 20 times in one day, I'll let them in to fetch it every time, and they bring me roses as a sign of their appreciation. The lady across the road knows that if she needs milk on a Saturday morning for her tea, she can come ask us. The old man who lives down the road asks in broken English, "You alright? Children alright? Husband alright?" every time he sees me. The men who run the shop down the road pinch my children's cheeks and give them lollypops when we go in. The lady who runs the other shop noticed that I've lost weight. The couple that runs the Chinese restaurant brought Addien a gift when she was born and brought Cerys their hand-me-down clothes. My friend Abi lives two doors down, and we are in and out of each other's houses almost every day. So, while I don't particularly love the grittiness, I don't know where else I could find community like I have here on Battison Street.

But the house is on the market because hubby really doesn’t think he can take it anymore. So far all our potential buyers seem to think more like my husband than like me though, and they don’t want to live in Dodge either.

My birthday dress

This is my birthday present from my husband. I feel like a very sexy lady when I wear it.