Merry Christmas!

We have had a lovely Christmas, and wish you all a merry one as well, whether you are celebrating the birth of our Lord or abstaining from the pagan celebration of the winter solstice, I hope you've had a wonderful day.

We started our celebrations yesterday at 4:00 by attending the local Anglican church's Crib Service. The girls were entertained by a very sweet reenactment of the birth of Jesus, which they joined by barging onto the stage to sit with the angels, and Addien managed to lead several other toddlers in an impromptu performance of pushing the manger halfway across the stage. About three-quarters of the way through Cerys loudly announced that she was hungry and ready to go home, so we bundled up and made our way outside. As we strolled through the town centre, the girls oohed and aahed at the lights, and Macy slept in my arms. We arrived home to a brilliant feast of cheese, salami, peking duck spring rolls, and various other vittles laid out by Katy. After a quick bath, we came down to open our Christmas Eve pajamas, and tried to settle in to A Muppet's Christmas Carol, but quickly realised that that's a few years on for the girls and so settled for a game of Simon Says. After settling the girls down for the night, we enjoyed Raider's of the Lost Ark and decided we were too tired to make it to the midnight carol service and headed for bed. (Well, I did--Katy and Tim stayed up until the wee hours of morn watching Bleak House and searching the internet for cheap housing options.)

This morning we slept until 8, opened some small gifts, and feasted on pancakes and sausage while discussing the finer points of Jesus' birth (Jesus was born in a barn, not a field, in Bethlehem, not Bedford). The morning was spent napping, bathing, and gorging our eyes on Chitty Chitty, Bang Bang and countless episodes of Charlie and Lola, both gifts for the girls. After an Indian takeaway at 1:30, we all headed for the park to burn off a few calories and tire out the girls so the grown-ups can enjoy an early night. The early evening saw puzzles, more naps, and mugs of hot vanilla. Somewhere in there Katy cleaned the kitchen and got in a load of muddy laundry. And now we are catching the last few minutes of The Polar Express while Macy practices her army crawl.

A very merry Christmas, indeed.

A Guest Appearance

My sister Katy is here visiting for the month, and I thought her first letter home was worth posting:

Hello everyone!

I've arrived safely in the UK, having experienced only minor turbulence during the 11 hour flight over, mostly due to the tossing and turning of my nieces as they tried to find a comfortable position for sleeping in my lap. I am proud to say that I only had to ask Greta to hold my hand once while on the plane, during takeoff, and not again for the duration of the flight. Every good thing anyone has ever told me about Virgin Atlantic is true: free alcohol, free movies on demand, and unbelievably courteous flight attendants who are willing to hold an infant while you're dealing with the two toddlers in your party. I'm really looking forward to watching Superbad (and Pirates 3 and Harry Potter 5 and a bunch of angst-ridden Indie films) and drinking a bottle of wine on the way home, but while chaperoning three little girls on the trip over, 8 episodes of Dora the Explorer and loads of spilled orange juice were as close as I got to taking advantage of the amenities on board the plane. <> We lost an entire day in transit, leaving from LAX in the night and arriving the following evening in Bedford, with three tired little girls and 12 million pieces of luggage in tow...Greta and I have only now gotten around to putting our arms back in their sockets.

At 11 p.m., we arrived home from the airport to Greta’s tiny house (everything seems to be in miniature here…the average refrigerator for a family of 5 is the size of my dorm-room mini-fridge). I finally got my glass of wine, fell asleep on the first page of a new book and woke up at noon on Tuesday. The first order of business was to reunite my nieces with their playmates, so we spent the day drinking highly caffeinated tea and visiting with Greta's friend Emma and her two children, Kate and Isaac, who delighted me with their cockney accents, which are even thicker than those of my nieces. My brother-in-law opened a bottle of my favourite (this version of WORD keeps denying my attempts to spell the word ‘favorite’) wine with dinner (a dish the Brits call 'Bubble and Squeak'), which made the experience of waiting for the jet-lagged girls to tire themselves out and fall asleep a bit mellower.

Yesterday, I became ecstatic at hearing about a proper coffee shop in Bedford and demanded that my sister drive me there. So, we packed up the girls and two hours later, after getting dressed and having a snack and putting on coats and mittens and taking them all off again to go wee and putting them all on again and buckling the girls into their car seats, were on our way. Once there, we ordered our drinks and let the girls flirt with the barista, who happened to be a really good-looking Frenchman. We settled into a table outside, and before I had taken my first sip, Greta downed her latte in a single gulp and started packing up the kids again. I’m learning more and more on this trip that sitting and sipping are luxuries not to be had when you’re the mother of three.

Today we froze our bums off at the town square, which is an enormous outside mall/market closed off to vehicular traffic. I learned about ordering in grams and paying in pound notes, and watched my nieces eat bangers wrapped in puff pastry…hmmm…Everyone was crying by the time we left the square; the girls were too cold and too jet-lagged to walk another step, so once we got home, they went upstairs for a nap while Greta and I delved into the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice for perhaps the 27th time since we’ve been sisters and enjoyed yet another cup of tea.

It’s been so nice getting to hang out with my sister, who lives altogether too far from home; though, it’s quite something to see Greta at work in her own home. She is absolutely tireless in her enthusiasm for taking care of her girls, and my brother-in-law is the same, coming home from work every night to have a dance-a-thon with Cerys, Addien and Macy before ever sitting down to rest.

I’m really looking forward to going to London in the near future to view the Tate Modern, which comes highly recommended, and hopefully meeting up with some of the Brits I met over the semester…We’ll see. In the meantime, I’m looking forward to loads of email correspondence to remind me that there are conversations to be had revolving around topics other than Winnie the Pooh. I miss you all and hope you’re having a fantastic holiday back home! That said, I’ve just been notified that it’s time for another ABBA-accompanied dance extravaganza with the nieces…

Cheers,

Katy

Norman Rockwell at Sears

We tried to get our pictures taken two days after arriving. Don't ever try to take three kids under four to have their pictures taken when they're trying to get over an 8-hour time difference. You might end up with your picture on the front of the Saturday Evening Post, which is where this one belongs.

On Fear, Trembling, and Anxiety

I thought I got it. I thought I'd managed to survive a personal tragedy without shaking my fist at God. I smugly thought I was okay, reconciled, far from bitter. Until a mini-crisis arose, and all the niggling fears and lies came wriggling to the surface like so many maggots feasting on rotting food.

What I realised this week as I listened to this preach and tried to pray for my baby girl who is about to go through quite a simple operation is this: My paradigm shift that came as I tried to reconcile a God who is good who also allows babies to die became a new world where God is far away. He is good, but only concerned with the bigger picture of preparing a Church fit to be his (metaphorical) Bride. He's not interested in the little things like babies' surgeries and mothers' worries, and so as I tried to pray, tried to release her into His grip, the thought that wouldn't go away was, "This is pointless. He just doesn't care."

My new God is good. He is loving and kind, but these little details are too small for him. He has bigger fish to fry, and afterall, what doesn't kill us only makes us stronger. And if it does kill us, there's always eternity.

I'm not really sure how to come back to reality. Or is it possible that this is reality? I can't believe that this new God is an accurate portrayal of the God described by so many as a friend, a comfort, a refuge, a shepherd who looks for his one lost sheep. And yet deep in the recesses of my heart, and bubbling out onto the surface, I am cold and scared and feeling I must be too insignificant to grasp the attention of the Almighty when I ask him to take care of my baby girl.

God, forgive me for my smugness. Forgive me for trying to gloss over, rather than walk through, pain. Keep teaching me who you are, and never let me think I've got you figured out. You're too big for that. But as Nichole eloquently prays, Great God, be small enough to hear me now.

Another Cake Decorating Feat

I set myself a high bar with the last birthday, and I don't think I was on the same par this time. Still, I was quite pleased, and so was my beautiful princess. Not that you can tell by the look on her face, but she was smiling on the inside.

Macy rolls over

My blog is turning into an arena for showing off my kids. Not at all what I initially intended, but one more step in accepting the fact that I am a full-time mom, and that means that for the time being kids are what I have to talk about. So, this is Macy rolling over for the first time. Hooray for Macy!

Happy Birthday, Beautiful

My little girl is two today. Happy Birthday, Addien!

Theology

My theology these days is murky at best. I don't know if I believe in hell (or some other form of punishment) or complete redemption for all mankind (whether they like it or not). I don't know if I think it's important for all Christians to go to church every week. I don't really care if people use the f-bomb to express their emotion. And I really don't think it's that important to know what I believe about creation and inerrancy. No, I've decided to go with Bill Johnson on these and say "I don't have dogs in those fights." Rather, I'm trying to cope with the everyday demands of three little ones and gleaning what I can from those interactions.

I've recently rediscovered a cd that I bought for the girls, and we've been listening to it in the car. One of the songs asks, "Mr. Cow, how do you say to the Lord, 'I love you'?" To which he replies, "Well, I stand around in the field all day and it gives me plenty of time to say, 'Moo, moo, moo.'" It may sound funny, but that song gives me a lot of hope. Because I don't get much time to "spend with the Lord" these days. I'm too busy answering cries for Mommy to get much time at all (see dramatic decrease in blog posts since Macy was born as corroborating evidence). This song reminds me that I am worshipping God every time I do my normal tasks that he's assigned me. Changing the world one diaper at a time.

Another favourite points me to creation. "When I look at the trees blowing in the breeze, ooh ooh I praise You, Ooh ooh I praise you. When I see a bird up high, swooping in the sky, Ooh ooh I praise you, Ooh ooh I praise you. It's a wonderful world for boys and girls, such a wonderful world for boys and girls and we praise you Creator God." I love to watch my kids marvel at caterpillars and get excited about ants and squeal with delight at pigeons. God has indeed made a wonderful world for boys and girls.

I am content with this as my theology: God is good. A lot of stuff is bad, but God is good, and my job is to love Him and everyone who comes across my path. Selah.

Life after Will

It's been a year and a day since I got the e-mail that changed my life. "He died at 3:11 this morning. I'm overcome." As I sobbed like I've never sobbed before, as my heart broke for one of the dearest, sweetest friends I've ever had, as my faith for miracles crumbled and my joy in life momentarily vanished, my world shook. Months of prayer and hope seemed fruitless and empty. I still don't get it, I don't understand why, I hate that it happened the way it did. I want to see Will grow up, and even more I want to see my friends enjoying their son.

At the same time, I am grateful for Will.

Because of Will I learned to pray. I learned to believe that God is good, even when I cannot see his goodness, and to praise God even when I don't feel like it. I learned what it means to be desperate for a miracle, and to continue to hope after bitter disappointment. I learned to love, as I watched his parents give so selflessly during his life, and as I walked with them in their grief. I learned to battle through fear and doubt, anger and pain. And I learned to long for God's Kingdom to come in full.

When I think about my cloud of witnesses, who have gone before me and who spur me on to faith, Will is there at the front, cheering me on, cheering on his mom and dad and sister and everyone else who loved him, and telling us not to give up. Telling us that life is full of beauty that we need to look for, telling us that there is wisdom far beyond our understanding, and that there is love that will wipe away all of our tears.

Cerys singing

Happy Wanderer

This is our fearless Addien at Caswell Bay.

Macy cooing

Busy, busy, busy

I've never been so busy in all my life. College was nothing, the fast pace of DC living was a breeze compared to the never-ending demands of three under-fours! I'm not complaining, just stating the facts. Almost every day an idea for a post creeps into my thoughts and is quickly forced out again by a cry for milk, juice, diaper change, crayons, playdoh, story, song, ad nauseum. I went through a severe bout of post-natal depression, was miraculously healed, would love to write about it, but haven't found the time. I tried a half-dozen times to upload video to YouTube before realizing I needed to compress the file before I could do that, so much time was wasted there. Started running again and was amazed at how much it easier it is now that my pelvis doesn't feel like it's breaking in two. Went to the beach in Wales and had a marvellous time experimenting with living in community. And hundreds of other events and thoughts have occurred in the past month or so, but that's all I have time for at present. The blog is a bit of a catch 22 for me. I love writing, but don't feel like I have the time, but if I don't take the time, I feel frustrated. Oh the horror!

Reunion

This past weekend my high school graduating class had their 10-year reunion. I remember when my aunt Stephanie went for her 10-year reunion to Pennsylvania and she seemed so...not old...so grown-up. And now here I am...is it possible that I'm as grown-up as she was? The reunion committee sent out this picture of all those that were there on Saturday night, and I have spent a good portion of today obsessing over the picture.

I've known over half of them since we entered kindergarten in 1984. I haven't spoken to a single one of them since we left high school in 1997. And yet I am desperate to know what they've been up to for the last 10 years. I've been having conversations with them in my head all day, asking where they've been, when they got married, how many children they have, have they heard from so-and-so, etc. etc.

Several of those people were so badly made-fun-of and excluded during our entire schooling that I can't imagine why they would show up to a reunion. Are they there to prove that they have moved past their era of geek-dom. Were they so pure-hearted that they just didn't realize that people were making fun of them? Or does 10 years just erase all the hard-feelings they might have had?

The popular girls look just the same--picture-perfect in their attire, hair and make-up. The girl who has been overweight since kindergarten is still overweight and confident in herself. The goth girl is still goth. The stoner still looks pretty stoned. The boy we all thought was gay really is. And the high school sweethearts got married and organized the reunion. And other than putting on a few pounds here and there, almost everyone looks exactly the same as I remember them.

There are others whose absence got me thinking as much as the sight of others. Where are my two best friends, Anne and Sarah? Where is my high school boyfriend and his wife who still live in the town where we grew up? Where is Matt, the only friend I've kept in touch with since graduation, albeit very sporatically?

I was asked to send in a picture of me and my family for the reunion book, and I looked for the best picture of me I could find so that they wouldn't think I'm always as overweight and downtrodden as I look in the pictures since Macy was born. Why does it matter what they think anymore? But I found myself wanting them all to think I was doing well. That I'm not the snob they all thought I was in high school, that I was just extremely shy and insecure. I always felt out-of-place in school, and I found myself wondering if I'd still feel that way in that group. I wondered if they'd look down on me for not finishing college. Would they like my husband and think my kids are cute? What is it about a high school reunion that causes such angst?

Here is a group of people who were tossed together as kids into a tiny school system where we spent 5 days a week, 36 weeks of the year for 13 years playing and learning side by side, who went our separate ways after graduation and then chose to get together again for an evening to try to catch up on the last 10 years. It seems a silly tradition, but I'm sad I missed out on it.

Benched

I went to the doctor on Friday because I've still got this weird post-birth infection. I mentioned that I'd started running again, and she was quick to chastise me. "Unless you want to be incontinent for the rest of your life, you'd better not do anything more than a brisk walk until Macy's at least 12 weeks old. And if you get bored walking, do your pelvic floors." So I'm back out of the game. Thanks, Doc.

For you, Mrs.

Beef enchiladas with Grandpa's mexican rice

I'm not a measurer when I cook, so I've guessed at quantities.

Beef enchiladas

1 pound ground beef
1 onion, chopped
2 anaheim peppers, chopped or one small can of green chilies
1 small tub sour cream
3 cups mixed cheese (cheddar, monterey jack, colby, pepper jack, anything you want, really)
enchilada sauce*
6 flour tortillas

Brown the beef with the onion and chilies (if using a can, just add chilies after). Combine cooked beef with sour cream and two cups of cheese. Pour half of sauce into bottom of 9X12 pan. Spoon beef mixture into tortillas, roll up and put in pan. Pour remaining enchilada sauce over and sprinkle with remaining cheese. Bake at 350 for 30 minutes or until bubbly.

*I just use some tomato paste, add about a tablespoon of chili seasoning and some boiling water until it's the right consistency, but you can buy it if you'd rather.


Grandpa's Mexican rice.

1 cup long grain rice
1 T oil
1 onion, chopped
1/2 green pepper, chopped
1 T chili seasoning
1/2 tin of chopped tomatoes
1 1/2 cups chicken or veg stock

Fry rice, onion and pepper in oil until rice is opaque and onion/pepper are soft. Stir in chili, tomatoes, and stock. Cover and simmer over very, very low heat for 10-15 minutes until rice is soft.

Serve all with lettuce, tomatoes, guacamole, refried beans and sour cream. Scrummy.

Back in the game...sort of

I've envisioned hundreds of times over the last nine months lacing up my shoes and going for a good run. I have missed those endorphins, and I've especially missed the 30 minutes of guaranteed ME time--a respite from the constant cries for "Mommy" that I get all day long. So having gotten a clean bill of health at my six-week check on Wedneday, I rolled out of bed at 7:15 yesterday morning and ran out the door. Ten minutes later I was huffing and puffing, and my legs felt like lead. So I walked the rest of the way home. And today every muscle in my legs aches, and my right knee is creaking.

I know, I know, I JUST had a baby six weeks ago. But I was so disappointed. I'm in a lot worse shape than I thought.

6 week check

Macy had her six-week check today and was given a very clean bill of health. She slept through all the poking and prodding of the doctor but screamed her head off when the health visitor (Britain's answer the the pediatrician) stretched her out to measure her. She is climbing the growth curve for the length and head circumference and descending just a bit on the weight curve, coming in at just over 9 pounds. And in keeping pace with her sisters before her, she is going about 8 hours at night without a feed. Good girl!

At the six-week check the doctor inevitably asks what form of birth-control we're planning to use, which I always find a little awkward. But this time I needed some straight-forward advice since I've already managed to conceive on two types of birth-control. So she handed me a pamphlet of all my available options, pointing out which ones were better than others and commenting that the new female condom is really noisy. Yikes. Fun bedside reading for me tonight.

Note from Tim: What THEE hell is the female condom? Am I missing something? And why THEE hell are we discussing this on the freakin' internet??

What I've been talking about

This guy was able to sum up EXACTLY what I've been trying to put into words for the last year. I've thought so much about Jacob and Esau and how that translates to us settling for less than our birthright. This is the stuff I want to see happening, and I've found passion where I thought passion was dead. God is waking me up to some of the dreams he placed in me years ago.

Out of touch

Sometimes living in England makes me feel so out of the loop. For example, two years ago my mom sent me some pictures of her wedding reception, and my sister was wearing a skirt with a cute top and one of those oh-so-popular half-sweaters. Except I didn't know they were popular because they hadn't made it to the UK fashion scene, so I thought "What is she wearing?" Sometimes her fashion sense isn't with the norm, so I called my mom and was like 'What was Katy wearing?" to which she replied that that was what EVERYONE was wearing that year. Oops.

I felt that way again today when I read a comment on my flickr site: "I'm so cheesed." Could someone please explain what that means?

What's in a Name?

Macy Sue Davies.

She's finally here. After months of waiting she arrived Wednesday morning, May 16, at 10:46 am weighing in at 7lb 6 oz. She has a flock of thick, black hair, eyes that are a beautiful shade of blue that looks like it might turn green, and she is perfect. She fit right into family life, eating, sleeping, and allowing her sisters to stroke and cuddle her. She loves to cuddle up tight into our necks, but she's equally comfortable awkwardly sat on Cerys' lap with her head sort of hanging off to the side and her legs splayed out in front. The only things that upset her are having her diaper changed and her sleep interrupted, which in both cases causes her to scream until she is comfortable again.

But the name. Macy Sue. Sue is after our dear sister-in-law Sue Davies. We liked the idea of using family names as middle names, and Sue was the obvious choice. Sue is married to Tim's brother Jon, and she is fun and affectionate and we love her very much.

Macy is a bit more complicated. Officially it is a name derived from the old French word for weapon. It is also thought to be descended from the name Matthew, meaning Gift from God. For us, though, it is an algamation of the names Mike and Stacy, two very dear friends whom we love and admire. In naming our daughter Macy we hope to honour them and also speak into her life some of the characteristics we so appreciate in them. Namely, their ability to love, encourage and serve others with everything that is in them.

Due Date

Does this look done to you?

38 weeks

I'm actually 39 weeks and 2 days, but these were taken last weekend.

Happy Anniversary

My husband whisked me away for the night to one of our favorite pubs last weekend. We had a lovely dinner and stayed in a cute little chalet behind the pub. We will have been married for five years this month, but he thought it best to celebrate a month early before baby comes.

Close, but not quite

I woke up yesterday morning at 5:45 with the strange sensation that my belly was trying to implode. Tight, heavy, hard to breathe. I remembered that feeling as the way both of my other labors started and so smiled to myself and tried to go back to sleep. But by 6:00 I was excited and needed to get up. I made myself a cup of raspberry leaf tea and called my mom to calmly say that my contractions had started, but that with Addien I had contractions for a couple of days before I actually went into labor, so I wasn't getting too excited. Then I called my sister to tell her the same thing. I decided to go for a walk, since that will either really get things started or make them totally stop. By the time I got back an hour later I knew I wasn't going to be heading for the hospital anytime soon, but I was uncomfortable enough that I had to cancel my trip to see my friend Alicia in Cambridge. Since the baby is back-to-back I also called my friend Peggie, who used to be a midwife, to ask her to feel if the baby had turned yet. She hadn't. By 9:30 contractions were completely stopped, and I was more than a little disappointed, so the girls and I watched two feature-length films and spent the day feeling rather sorry for ourselves. But we had a nice time doing it. And today I'm very glad that I didn't have the baby since I came down with a nasty cold late last night and spent today feeling terrible. So we're happily waiting.

For Better or for Worse

Tim pointed out to me the other day that in our marriage vows we promised to bear with each other for better or for worse. In other words, we promised that whether we were better off together or worse off together we would stick together. What a promise to make! So that got me thinking about whether I'm better or worse off with Tim as my partner. And thinking about that made me realise how incredibly blessed I am to have Tim as my husband. He is such a wonderful man, and I love him more as the days go on.

He is the funniest person I know. It is so great to live with someone who can make me laugh.

He is a deep thinker and feeler, and he is unashamedly open with me about how he's feeling and what he's thinking, a real gift if you go by the Mars Venus theory.

He is a hard worker, both at the office and at home. He had the ingenuity to start his own marketing firm, which he has with God's great blessing grown to a business with revenues of almost a half-million pounds annually in under three years. When he comes home from the office he puts aside his need to replenish his introverted soul and has a dance-a-thon with his girls and does the dishes and tidies up before sitting down to care for himself.

He is creative and resourceful and unafraid to take risks. Hence our nest-egg property in Bulgaria.

He protects his family. Despite the fact that he's shorter than most men, I feel so safe with him because he's not afraid to stand up for his family. He made the tough decision to sell our house on Battison Street at a loss in order to move our children to a safer neighborhood.

He has a great faith and loves God. And even though he's been disillusioned by church and hardline fundamentalism, he is passionate about Jesus, and he inspires me to think and to act in faith, particularly when it comes to asking God for healing.

He takes care of me and encourages me. When I've had a long day with the girls, even though he's had an equally long day at the office, he tells me to sit down and relax while he tidies the house, sticks on another load of laundry, and does whatever else needs to be done. With each pregnancy I've gotten more stretch marks, which make me feel unattractive, but in his loving way he just tells me that they remind him of the children I've given him and that makes him love me more. What a wonderful thing to say to a wife.

While he is by no means perfect, he is absolutely perfect for me. I am so grateful I made that vow because I am definitely better off with him.

April

Where did April go? Tomorrow is the 21st. Today I have three weeks until d-day. What?! How did that happen? Chasing after my two darling girls, I have not had time to contemplate the fact that in just three (or five or zero) short weeks we will be a family of five. How exhilarating and scary. So much to do--place for baby to sleep, new carseats installed three across in the backseat of the car, clothes out of the loft, decide on a name. Oh, the name! We decided on Cerys before I was out of my first trimester. Addien was supposed to be Charley until about a week before she was born, and this one will be lucky to have a name by the time we have to register her birth at six weeks old. Meanwhile, Tim is working like a mad man trying to finish end-of-year billing, finish off well for a client we just lost, and praying that Dan's wife and I time giving birth so that both partners aren't on paternity leave simultaneously. In the next three weeks I'm hosting an all-day Creative Memories event, attending another all-day CM event, conducting a CM parents' evening for a local nursery, hosting friends for a gourmet dinner, steam-cleaning the carpets, baby-sitting my friends' two kids for a full day, and trying to make it to Cambridge for one last visit with Alicia before baby comes.

As Dory says, "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. What do we do? We swim."

Mary and the Alpacas

After we left Blenheim on Monday, we went to Tetbury, where Mary will be working on an alpaca farm for the next two weeks. What was supposed to be a favor for a friend--bringing Mary to her next destination on her two-month tour of England and France--ended up being the perfect ending to my already wonderful day. I enjoyed a homecooked meal in a kitchen as near to my ideal as I have ever seen, more excellent company, a good night's sleep in a cold room under a heap of blankets, a delicious breakfast, and then a little farmyard adventure before heading home. Our hosts, Ben and Georgina, were welcoming and lovely, and the house where she will be staying was almost beyond belief, both in its size and its character. Built several hundred years ago, it boasts 22 rooms which are decorated with splendid wallpaper and a clutter of old pictures and prints. It has never had a shower installed, so Mary will be bathing in a Victorian tub. The doorways are massive, and the rooms are drafty, but there is something so warm about the house, Mary and I just couldn't believe her good fortune.

The alpacas are wonderful creatures. They look a bit like llamas with sheep's wool. They are raised for their fibre, which is luxuriously soft, and also as show animals. Tuesday morning we got to help catch a baby who had been born two weeks prior so that Ben could remove its blanket, which it had already outgrown. The house is set on 150 acres of beautiful countryside bordered by a river. I am trying to contrive a way to get an invitation to stay with Ben and Georgina for a longer time so I can enjoy their company and country setting again!

Blenheim Palace

I had the most wonderful day on Monday. I went to Blenheim Palace with my good friend Mary, who was visiting from the States. Besides being in excellent company, I enjoyed the scenery, the architecture, the weather, the food, and the rare luxury of uninterrupted conversation. It was truly a day of bliss. I got to see a black swan. (Nobody but my mother will probably understand what a thrill that was for me.) I enjoyed a picnic overlooking a beautiful lake. I went on a very well-presented tour of the palace and then savored afternoon tea while looking out at one of the palace gardens. And then I wandered through a secret garden before heading off to the alpaca farm where Mary will be staying for the next two weeks (see next post for more details). Monday rated as one of my top ten best days ever. Thank you, Tim, my wonderful husband, for making it possible.

Belated congratulations

You wouldn't believe this story if it happened on a soap, but it really happened to my sister:

Heidi had Charlie in May of 2006. He was a healthy baby boy. The following September she called her doctor to say that she'd had a period but then had skipped her next one--could she be pregnant? Her doctor assured her that since she was on birth control she was not pregnant, that her hormones were still just sorting themselves out and she was fine. In December when she started lactating she knew her doctor had been wrong, so she called to make an appointment for an ultrasound. They couldn't fit her in until January, and when she did go they told her she was already six months pregnant! She and her partner decided they wanted to get married before their second baby arrived, and so they started planning a wedding for February. But there were complications in the pregnancy, and so they had to induce labor on Friday, February 23, the day before the scheduled wedding. Heidi got an epidural, started pitocin, and then got married in her hospital bed to Kevin Young.

Baby Carly was born a few hours later, seven weeks early, weighing in at just under 5 pounds but breathing well on her own.

Congratulations, Heidi and Kevin!

A good word

I love the word "cheeky". It's such a British word, and it has so many different uses. For example:

When Tim uses the bath salts that he bought for ME in America, that's pretty cheeky of him.
And when I say to Addien "come here" she looks at me, starts laughing, says "cheeky!" and runs away, letting me know that she's being cheeky.
When Cerys talks back to me I say, "Don't be so cheeky."
And when she says something particularly precocious I say, "You cheeky monkey."
If I'm going to ask for a particularly big favor or ask something that may be considered a little too personal I'll say, "I have a cheeky question."

If I ever move back to America I'm definitely going to introduce it into the American language.

A Guest Appearance

Thanks for the inviting me to be a guest on your blog, Greta. Happy
to be here. Where do I clip this microphone? Tea? Can I get some tea
with this big wedge of cake? Ok, what do you want to know? Right.
Yeah. Sure, I'll talk about that - but hand me some more of that cake
first...

It's always a joy watching how our children develop their language
skills – seeing them work hard at watching, learning, and then having
a crack at putting associated sounds into practice. The joy they
experience when they get it bang on, resulting in the turning of
smiling heads and cheers of 'hurray!' from their close family
members... ah good times. good times.

What's even more of a joy is when they don't quite hit the target,
but are convinced that they have. This takes a little longer to
'correct' since, as far as they're concerned, it's a done deal.
They've already moved on to the next challenge. And not that we want
to correct, cos it's so darn cute.

For example:
Swiper the Fox is a very naughty character from Dora the Explorer
who's always trying to swipe Dora's stuff. Sometimes he gets his
loot, but most of the time he's rumbled by Dora and her best friend
Boots who see the fox with just enough time to chant thrice 'Swiper
no swiping', which results in the foiling of Swiper's horrid plans.
Swiper's response to this outcome is always the same, he clicks his
fingers and yells 'Oh ma-a-a-a-a-n!'.

For the past couple of weeks, when we pray at the dinner table to
thank God for the day we've had, and for the food we're about to
enjoy, we all hold hands to pray. Cerys loves the bit where Greta or
I say '... in Jesus' name' since that's her cue to yell 'AMEN!'
Addien, of course, joins in unison with a hearty lung-filled 'Oh ma-a-
a-a-a-a-a-a-a-n!'

VERY good times!

Tim

What I Do

If I were to tell about my day it would go something like this:

I woke up this morning with Cerys shouting "MOMMY! I NEED A WEE WEE!" at the top of her lungs. I struggled to get my belly out of bed and went to get her and Addien up. I do love that part of the day when they're so happy to see me, and I to see them. Cerys peed, I helped her get her pajamas back on, and then we went down for breakfast. I made milk, got juice, toast and cereal and settled the girls down for their food and quickly make something for myself as well. We said goodbye to Tim as he cycled off to work, and then we went upstairs to get dressed. I changed a diaper, helped Cerys choose her clothes, tickled Addien as I got her dressed, played peekaboo, watched Cerys do her chalking on her blackboard and admired the "sun" that she drew. Then we went downstairs and headed to playschool where I dropped Cerys off and then headed to the grocery store with Addien. I did the shopping while trying to keep Addien entertained in the trolley. When we got home I got the groceries and Addien in the house and raced upstairs to empty my bladder, which has been pushed upon until it is apparently the size of a pea. I quickly checked my e-mail since Addien was quiet downstairs, but to my dismay found that she has found the carton of eggs and broken two of them and was sitting in a puddle of egg with some nice yolk dripping out of her mouth. Hoping that she wouldn't get salmonella, I picked her up and put her in her second outfit of the day just in time to head out to get Cerys from playschool. Upon arrival back home I made lunch, finished putting away the dishes and cleaned the kitchen then put the girls up for their naps. Somewhere in there I changed another diaper and put Addien in her third outfit of the day since her bib didn't catch the spray of tomato seeds from her lunch. I balanced the checkbook, did some laundry, ate a couple of cookies, read my Bible, checked my e-mail again, talked to my sister Anna and snoozed on the couch until Cerys decided it was time for her to get up. Then we watched some children's tv, I did some ironing, got dinner ready and got Addien up from her nap around 4. We had a snack, did some puzzles, sang some songs, hung up the laundry, tidied up the toys, greeted Daddy at the door around 6, ate dinner, gave the girls a bath, put them to bed around 7:30 and then collapsed after doing my third lot of dishes of the day.

Not the most captivating of stories, I admit, but it's what I do. And most days I really love it. I can't imagine doing anything else. Sure, it would be nice to have a tidy little list that I could cross off and get a real sense of satisfaction for jobs well done, but I'd miss this messy little life of endless runny noses, dirty diapers, copious demands for drinks and songs, and children clinging to my legs at the most inopportune times. I have to remind myself of that on days like today when I think I can't cope with one more monotonous, unnoticed task. I love my life. I really do.

A Cake Decorating Feat

I am so proud of the birthday cake Anna and I made for Cerys, I just had to post it. Cerys really liked the movie "March of the Penguins" and this cute little show out here called Pingu that's all about a little penguin. So she chose a penguin cake. Check it out.

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl

My baby turned three today. Happy birthday, Cerys Anna.

A Song that Taught Me this Week

God in my living
There in my breathing
God in my waking
God in my sleeping
God in my resting
There in my working
God in my thinking
God in my speaking

Be my everything
Be my everything
Be my everything
Be my everything

God in my hoping
There in my dreaming
God in my watching
God in my waiting
God in my laughing
There in my weeping
God in my hurting
God in my healing

Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me, the hope of Glory
You are everything

Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me, the hope of Glory
Be my everything

Grammy

My grandmother died last month. It's taken me a while to figure out how I feel about her passing. She was my mom's mom, affectionately known by me and my sisters as "Grammy". I cried a little when I got the phone call from my mom, but I struggled to understand how I was feeling. I think I felt more like I should be sad rather than actually feeling sad. I felt bad for my mom because it's hard to lose your mother regardless of your relationship with her. And I felt lonely since I was so far away from my grieving family. But I didn't really feel sad for myself.

The thing is, my grandmother wasn't a very nice woman. I won't go into detail because it's not my story to tell, but she was not nice to my mom, and my mom was scared of her well into adulthood. I was scared of her as a little girl, and so were my sisters. As we got older and she got older, she softened a little, but by that time she was in a nursing home and we didn't get to see much of her. She loved to call people "dummy" after they had walked away from her, and the care staff at her home had documented abuse from her throughout her stay. She didn't have any friends because she didn't like anybody. She complained to my mom about having to live in a home, but she refused to do any of the exercises that her physical therapist prescribed for her after hip surgery, so she was confined to a wheelchair for the last decade by her own choice. Her favorite saying was "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all" which was a mantra she did not feel applied to her.

Towards the end, she grew more and more meek. She suffered from severe dementia, and sometimes didn't even recognize my mom. She would ask for Charlie, her second husband who died almost 10 years ago, and Frank, my grandfather who died before I was born. She was convinced that she was 100 years old, and she was tired of living. My mom saw her for the last time three days before she died, and my mom asked her if she knew how much my mom loved her. She replied "a bushel and a peck" which is what she used to tell my mom as a little girl. I'm thankful my mom has that sweet scene as one of her last memories of her mom.

I wish that I had more nice things to say about her, but she didn't give me much to work with. I wonder how she felt in the end, looking back on her life. She had no friends, not a single person other than her immediate family who wanted to spend time with her. What a sad ending to 83 years.

But still, I loved my Grammy. And I hope she is resting in peace now.

Miss Daisy hits the road

Since getting my driving license I have been out and about entirely too much. All of a sudden my new found freedom has seen me traveling to Milton Keynes for unnecessary shopping trips, learning to use my automatic cooker so I can go visit a friend while dinner is in the oven, running around town delivering Creative Memories products instead of just sticking them in the post, and generally doing way too much just because I can. This has left my house in a state of disorder which has not been seen since Battison Street. Tim commented yesterday that it's amazing how I did without a car just fine for two and a half years, and now when he says he might want to drive to work today, I reply that I need the car.

It was a lot easier to walk and be concerned about the effect of carbon emissions on the environment when I didn't have the opportunity to drive short distances. It's a much bigger challenge to choose to leave the house ten minutes earlier in the morning to walk to play school and still get Cerys there on time than it was to leave on time when I didn't have a choice.

And while I had gotten used to feeling a bit lonely during the week and spending most of my time with just me and the girls, which did wonders for the state of my house, now I feel the need to zoom off for an afternoon visit on most afternoons.

Once the excitement wears off I'm sure I will be able to find a balance of good housekeeping and fun activities. But perhaps we'll leave that until after Anna goes home because I've got all sorts of fun things planned for her!

No Longer Miss Daisy

I passed my driving test today. Yeah!

My babies

Cerys started at her new playschool yesterday. I remember my mom taking my picture on my first day of school when I was five. Cerys is only almost three! But she's only going two mornings a week, and she really loved it yesterday. We got there early so I could take her picture without being seen, but some other parents got there early too, and so I had to overcome my embarrassment to snap a shot for posterity.


I snapped this shot Saturday morning. Addien is such a little ham!

A Prayer

Almighty God,

My friend Wendy has just been told that she has a tumor the size of a soccer ball on her right ovary. She's 28, and she's never been married. She'd like to get married one day and have kids. But she's got this tumor, and on Monday a team of surgeons is going to cut her open and remove the tumor, and if it's cancerous, they're going to remove her entire reproductive system. She's asked me, and a lot of other people, to pray. But the thing is, I don't really have the faith to pray. You and I both know that you could heal her, but you're the only one who knows if you will heal her. And unfortunately my experience of late tells me that though you could, and though you may even want to, you probably won't, and so I don't really feel like praying for her just to be disappointed. I'm sure this is the wrong attitude, but I'm also sure that you'll give grace and bring me around to the right one all in good time. So for tonight, here is my prayer: Lord, I believe, help my unbelief, and save Wendy from the pain of a hysterectomy and from any future need for cancer treatment, and please do it despite the fact that I don't really think you will. Amen.

A New Year

I don't know Ryan and Holly, except from what I've heard from my friend Mike, but they asked a great question, and I hope they don't mind me stealing it.

Three words to describe 2006:

Growth
Longing
Hope

Three words I think or hope will describe 2007:

Peace
Fruitfulness
Passion