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

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