And the verdict is...

Since it is MY BLOG and all, I thought I'd share MY perspective on this Netherlands pitch before giving you the verdict. No cheating! Do not scroll to the bottom of this post to find the answer. You'll get there soon enough.

My mom was here for the week before and during the pitch, and rather than having an extra pair of hands for the week, my mom just replaced Tim around the house and with the kids for the week, since he was working until the wee hours of morning on this pitch and then was gone for two nights to actually do the pitch. The girls and I sacrificed hours with Daddy to do our part for the elliottyoung empire, and so we (well, I) were more than a little anxious about the outcome. If we won, would that make the hours of single-parenting worth the effort. Would our kids benefit more from us winning than from having their daddy around for those evenings he was at the office? For the last two and a half years we have been making these sacrifices in an effort to grow a business that we hope will support us until we decide to retire, and periodically we reassess and ask if it's all worth it. Would it be better to settle for a lower income in exchange for more time with the kids and with each other? Then the sacrifices would be fewer trips to the States and holidays closer to home, and no meals out ever, and a smaller house, and less flexible time working from home. But would those be better than sacrificing time with family? We seem to ask these questions every few months, or every time the work load demands longer hours than normal, and each time we decide to give it a bit longer and see if things level out. For now our kids seem happy with the amount of time they get from Disco Daddy, and Macy did say "dada" before she said "mama" so she must be seeing more of him than it seems, and I am capable of doing dinner and bedtime by myself a couple times a week as long as I get my date with my husband on a Thursday, so we're sailing through, for now.

And things are getting exciting. I've watched my husband grow from a guy who decided to try running his own business with a mate, when he thought he'd give this a try and then perhaps dabble in some other things, like limo hire and a coffee shop, to the director of a well-respected marketing firm with prospects of venturing into publishing and marketing consultancy. His business sense and God's provision have grown the company from a team of two part-timers to two directors with four full-time staff, a free-lance artworker and a part-time accountant. Clients include the largest pharmaceutical supplier to the NHS (the national health care system) and the largest exhibition company in the world. At the pitch they made Ogilvy look like amateurs. And they won the biggest client they've ever had. That's right, they won!!!!

I am so proud. I would have been proud, regardless, because I know Tim and Dan worked hard and did their best, but the sweet taste of victory is fresh in my mouth, and my heart is swollen with admiration for this man who started with a couple of little jobs and a vision and turned it into a successful business that is supporting his family. Well done, baby.

Another one from the hubby

Because my computer crashed, and then the computer on loan from work was taken back for the new employee, and because Tim has been working on his computer night and day on the pitch described in the following post and subsequently on taking care of the clients he neglected during said pitch, I have been computerless, and so my hubby has been posting more than me on MY BLOG!! But really, I'm happy to share. As long as he keeps saying nice things about me. And so long as he finishes the post that he made me take down last week before he asks me to post another one. And so long as he wins said pitch and makes us enough money to buy me a new iMac. And maybe a nice weekend at a spa.

Without further ado, I give you Tim.

Perhaps I should get my own blog. But then, I'm not the one with an international fan club, so nobody would read these epistles. Can't have that!

The joy of setting myself up for disappointment

I hate waiting. I pretty much hate waiting for anything - let alone waiting for the verdict on whether or not someone wants to pay for the sacrifices of my heart, soul, wife, and children.

Tomorrow, with a spot of luck, I'll be put out of my misery one way or another. Tomorrow I discover if a prospective client in Holland prefers my company over three others. If he doesn't - then several weeks of stress, Ibuprofen, caffeine, family neglect, sleep neglect, current client neglect, and generally everything that's good for me neglect... will be flushed into a Dutch sewer. I've lost count of the number of pitches we've taken part in since starting the company a little under four years ago - and while I know that we've won way more pitches than we've lost, for some reason, this particular pitch has gotten under my skin.

I think that over the past two years my general capacity for life has stretched far beyond what I've ever thought capable of. Much more than in myself, I see it in my wife on a daily basis. The past few months, for example, have been hellish for us - with at least one child (if not, one adult) continually sick or restless resulting in broken sleep for approximately 99% of the time since before Christmas. The night shift is largely (though not totally) borne by Greta, and while she's very tired most of the time, she's like some freakin' mother machine that (provided she gets some regular fuel by way of food, water and some rest snippets) can withstand extended periods of being pushed far and away beyond the manufacturer's recommended limits. On one hand, I watch her in proud awe. On the other, I know that she's no advertisement for anyone who's a little worried about whether they should become a parent of three young children lest they find that their lives are entirely taken over by such a project. Pah! (sarcastic sneers from me). Those who can't take the heat need to consider fail-safe contraception. A picnic it ain't. But if you have ever considered having the rough edges knocked off you good and proper and be forced to grow up into a real grown-up by way of exponentially increasing responsibility, then let the love flow, or adopt, and dive into the game. So... as I take a regular peek at Greta's 'this is how much I've grown this afternoon' chart, it makes me think about how much I'm also changing and growing. I can't see it quite as clearly as I see Greta's evolution, but I can EASILY see that this time last year I shared a shell with someone who ain't nuthin like the person I'm currently sharing it with. The responsibilities I'm carrying right now have recently come close, a few times, to knocking me flat on my arse (ass). A year ago, they'd have definitely knocked me on my arse (ass), and stomped me several feet into the dirt, and squished my face, and laughed while doing so. So... seeing change more clearly, albeit on something like an annual scale, also means that I see my boundaries more clearly - and when I'm invited to tender some work to a new client I'm getting an increased knowledge of just how much of a sacrifice that person, or persons, is/are asking of me and my family. And, since my capacity is increasing, so is the quality and thoroughness of my work. And, so is my awareness of all this. And it's this heightened awareness that has meant that this last pitch has, well and truly, dug its claws deep into my soul. All parties concerned put their hearts into this most recent piece of work - my business partner even sent his family to his in-laws for a week so that we could get it done with particular pride. In short, on one hand we've set ourselves up for disappointment on a scale we've never done before. On the other, within 24 hours of writing these words I could receive news that our proposals have been accepted, which will mean that the business will be taken forward, overnight, almost twice as far as we've managed to push it within four years.

This time tomorrow, I'm either going to be crying, or I'm going to be cracking open a bottle of champagne with my wife. We may even have one each.

And here's the point of all these musings... whether we win or lose, I never again want to meet a new client where I don't hand over my heart and soul. I don't mean that I want to pull out every possible stop available to me and risk driving my family and/or me over the edge - but I do mean that a standard's been set that unless I'm proud to the point of 'this is going to hurt real bad if you reject it', then I don't want to give it. Anything less is beneath the standards of my business, and beneath the value of the fee that we'll be charging for our work.

There have been plenty of pitches in the past where I've thought 'ah well, it doesn't matter that much if we lose', and I now feel ashamed that I ever thought that. They should all matter. And I should feel pain if rejected. And if rejected I should pray for speedy healing so that I can get back on my bike and try again. And if we win, it'll make the taste of victory all the more sweet. And oh... I love sweet things!

Here endeth whatever it is I'm trying to say.

Amen.

To snip or not to snip...

For the first time in 4 years and 9 months I am not pregnant and I am not breast-feeding.

I was sure after Macy was born that I was done having kids. I didn't want to go through any more progesterone poisoning, labor pains, middle of the night feeds, two-hourly feeds during the day, two-hourly diaper changes, having to be the one to get up to feed the baby first thing in the morning, choosing a name, postpartum depression, hormone swings, any of it. I was looking forward to getting to the stage of life where I had three young ladies who could sit and eat a meal without me having to get up, so that in effect I was going to have my first hot meal with children in four years. I was looking forward to having all three kids in forward facing car seats. I was enjoying the fact that they are all old enough to move around by themselves, to come to me if they need something, that they all play really nicely together, and that life can only get easier now.

But then we went for the vasectomy consultation, and in the same week Macy stopped breast-feeding, and all of a sudden my hormones are freaking out, and I'm freaking out, and I'm thinking, "Life is great. I could totally have another baby." I all of a sudden think that maybe I'm not ready to leave the baby phase yet. I love Macy's age. From about 6 months to 18 months is the most irresistibly cute age, in my opinion. Sure, all my girls are still cute, but that age is when they are smiling, giggling and interacting but not yet able to be naughty. Fantastic. Am I really ready to see the back of that? I'm remembering now how much I love being pregnant. Apart from the first three months, I love the anticipation, I love telling people and seeing their reaction, I love feeling the baby move, I love the way my body looks when by belly is so big I don't even notice how big my ass has gotten. I love the midwife visits and counting time in weeks and appointments. I even love people touching my belly. I love actually giving birth and seeing the purple, swollen, mess of a baby that only a mother could think is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. I love the adrenaline rush I get and that lasts for about six weeks after birth. And I love watching that baby become (thus far) a little girl. Ooh, I just love every bit of it. At the moment. I remember very clearly saying to people in the last six months, "I am so ready to be done with the baby phase. I really need to keep a journal to remind myself of how hard this has been this time so that I can't say 'it wasn't that bad.' a few months down the line." But I didn't keep the journal, and now I really can't for the life of me remember a single part of it that I didn't love and wouldn't be ready to do again.

I just don't know what to do! I'm not good at indecision. Mr.t pointed out that Tim and I just make decisions and don't look back. And he's right. That's what we do. So this feels really weird to not know the way forward.

Yet another guest appearance

After nearly six years of marriage, I can almost always tell when Tim is kidding, but occasionally I take him seriously when I shouldn't. So at his request, I have removed this post for further editing, since he didn't want me to post it just yet. Even though he said he was. But that's Tim.

Not for the Faint Hearted

This is not for the faint hearted. It may be hard to hear, particularly for those who love me. It certainly was hard to say. But good to humble myself. Praise be to God.

Offended by Jesus

Matthew 11:2-6 and Luke 7:28-23 give almost identical accounts of John the Baptist sending some of his disciples to ask Jesus if he really was the Messiah or if they should look for another. I never gave these passage much thought until I heard Bill Johnson speak about them, and what he said gave rise to all sorts of thoughts. I cannot take credit for the idea, but the uncensored meanderings are mine.

John the Baptist had seen the Holy Spirit descend on Jesus like a dove and a heavenly voice declare that he was the Son of God, and yet he needed reassurance that Jesus was in fact the prophesied Messiah. Jesus replied that he was healing the sick, the lame, the deaf, and that "Blessed are those who are not offended by me." What a strange thing to say. Bill pointed out that Isaiah prophesied that the coming Messiah would amongst other things bring freedom to the captives. And where was John? Stuck in prison. So if this Jesus really were the Messiah, why was he allowing his biggest fan to rot in prison? I imagine John, being human and probably not terribly enjoying his stay in prison, sent his disciples not only to find out if Jesus were really the Messiah, but also to gently remind him that "Hey, I'm stuck in here, and it's your job as the Messiah to get me out." Jesus reply was heartbreaking. "Blessed are you when you are not offended by me." In other words, "I'm not getting you out, but stand by your faith in me anyway."

Hard. Impossibly hard sometimes. I think about the times I've been offended by Jesus because he hasn't done what I want him to do. I hated him when my parents got divorced. I thought it really out of order that he would (seemingly) answer prayers for their reconciliation only to allow them to divorce again within a few months. At the time (I don't feel this way anymore) I thought it would have been easier for them to have died than to have hope restored and subsequently crushed. I was terribly offended when Will died. I could not have imagined better parents and more worthy people than the Stavs, and their life was ripped away from them. The prayers of hundreds of people were ignored, and it seemed even scorned. And though I didn't hate him, I boxed him up and put him on a shelf and said, "You must not care about these things, so I'm not going to talk to you anymore about them." And I ignored him until Macy got her hernia and I really needed him again. Then I prayed and prayed and prayed, and I went to someone who God has used to heal people from incurable diseases, and I felt what I now know was Macy's ovary retreat through the hernia back into place, and my heart lept and then fell again when the ovarry reappeared the next morning. And I told myself at that point that I was not going to be offended, if it killed me, because God is just too big for me to understand, and if I understood him he probably wouldn't be God anymore. And the night before Macy's surgery, as I prayed for comfort and peace and help, I came to that strange place that the Bible refers to as the "peace that goes beyond understanding" and realised that even though Jesus hadn't healed Macy, he does care about her, and he does love her, and he was very aware of my anxiety and pain, and that he wasn't going to fix it but he was going to be there with me through it, and that had to be enough.

I am sure that many more situations will arise though the course of my life where I could be offended by Jesus, by his inaction, by his seeming indifference, by his silence, by people who claim to follow him but who don't love. But blessed are those who are not offended by him. And so I pray that I will make the choice, every day, to not be offended, and to continue to hope for his Kingdom to come. To see him as perfection and to not allow my personal feelings and perceptions to cloud that truth or to box him into my own experience. We see now in part, but in the future we will see him fully, and all this muck will be removed, and that peace of God will become understanding.

Lent

I don't pay much attention to the other parts of the Church calendar, but for some reason I find Lent very intriguing and motivating. Forty days set aside for a kind of fasting. When I was younger it was something we made fun of, with all of our Catholic friends giving up brussels sprouts and cabbage as their act of sacrifice. But as I grew older and was introduced to some people who actually made use of the practice as a way of growing closer to God, I started to appreciate that perhaps our Church Fathers weren't as legalistically religious and as I was brought up to believe. Perhaps they saw some actual value in spending forty days with a constant physical reminder of our need for a saviour and in spending that time in closer communion with that Saviour.

And so I began the practice of giving up all sugar for Lent. I did that for three years running, and found it incredibly difficult, as I have the biggest sweet tooth known to man. I spent the first few days in agony watching every donut, every square of chocolate, every custard cream biscuit, every bit of ice cream pass through the lips of anyone around me, wanting to reach down their throats and grab it for myself. Gradually the cravings decreased until by day forty I had sworn off sugar forever since I was by then feeling full of energy, having gotten over the highs and lows of daily sugar intake. But by April I had given in to the urge for a taste, by summer ice cream was a staple in my diet, and Christmas brought a gorging on chocolates, cakes and cookies. As another Lent rolled around I vowed to give it up again, and the cycle started again. After Christmas this year I decided to pray for some self-control, having gained nearly ten pounds in America and by eating the cookies sent home by my mom and AJ. The weight is off, and for the first time in my life I feel able to eat chocolate as a once-in-a-while treat rather than as a daily indulgence. Three years of discipline followed by gluttony conclude with the grace of some answered prayer. Is that what Paul meant about working out my salvation?

This year I didn't feel the need to give up sweets, and so I struggled to think of something that would be both sacrificial and life-giving. I came up with sacrificing sleep. Not all sleep, but a little sleep in the morning. Rather than starting the day with the children dragging me out of bed despite my protests, I've decided to greet the day before the kids wake up and spend some time with God, with my own thoughts, with my iPod and running shoes. Anything to take charge of my day rather than letting it steamroll me. Here I am on day three, a bit groggy, but trusting that the Redeemer will take my small sacrifice and bring life.

Tooting my own horn

I realise that this post will officially class me as a jogger, not a runner, but I don't care.

4 miles, 40 minutes. I am so proud of me.

All my byself

Addien is actively asserting her independence as often as possible these days, and our favourite saying around the house has become, "I do it my byself!"

Contentment

According to Easton's 1897 Bible Dictionary:

CONTENTMENT
a state of mind in which one's desires are confined to his lot whatever it may be (1 Tim. 6:6; 2 Cor. 9:8). It is opposed to envy (James 3:16), avarice (Heb. 13:5), ambition (Prov. 13:10), anxiety (Matt. 6:25, 34), and repining (1 Cor. 10:10). It arises from the inward disposition, and is the offspring of humility, and of an intelligent consideration of the rectitude and benignity of divine providence (Ps. 96:1, 2; 145), the greatness of the divine promises (2 Pet. 1:4), and our own unworthiness (Gen. 32:10); as well as from the view the gospel opens up to us of rest and peace hereafter (Rom. 5:2).

According to Greta:

CONTENTMENT
a state of being okay with the fact that your greatest accomplishment today may be taking a shower. It is opposed to envying your friends who actually get days off; wanting anything for yourself, even your own breakfast; ambition for a career, or any sort of recognition for the mundane work you do every day; worrying about your children's health, safety, future, and anything else that is completely out of your control; and wishing you had been a little more careful with the birth control when you'd had the chance. It arises from deep within your soul, where you know that this is the life God chose for you, and that despite all your moaning you actually love being a mom and are in awe of the responsibility and blessing given to such an undeserving person. It comes from getting to the place where you don't need recognition because you know that you are doing Kingdom work in serving the very people Jesus said were at the center of his Kingdom (Matt 19:14).

Sleep

I miss the comfort of your sweet embrace
as my head hits the pillow and I surrender to your spell.
I miss the feeling of waking in the morning having rested in your arms through the night
in such a deep trance that not even dreams can wrest me from you.
You tease me with your company for a while,
but you keep leaving me when I need you most.

Dear friend, would you introduce yourself to my Macy?
Would you woo her as you have wooed me?
Would you be a friend to her as you have been to me?
For the better acquainted she becomes with you, the more you and I can be together.

And what a happy day that will be
when once again I wake in the morning
to find that you and I have made it through a night
with nothing separating us from each other.
And I can cheerfully say goodbye to you until night
instead of tearfully clinging to you as my children shoo you away.

New Year's Breakfast

This was my version of a French Toast Strata. Another one for you, Mrs.

1 loaf (1 kg.) Panettone, cubed
8 oz Wensleydale with cranberries
8 eggs
2 1/2 cups whole milk
6 T butter, melted (if you can find Cointreau butter, even better)
1/4 cup pure maple syrup

1. Grease a 3-quart rectangular baking dish. Place half of the bread cubes in the dish. Top with crumbled Wensleydale and remaining bread cubes.

2. Combine remaining ingredients and pour evenly over bread and cheese. Slightly press layers down to moisten, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 2 to 24 hours.

3. Bake, uncovered, in a 325 degree oven for 35 to 40 minutes or until the center appears set and the edges are lightly golden. Let stand about 10 minutes before serving. Serve with a dollop of mascarpone and maple syrup if you're feeling extra-indulgent, but it's pretty rich as is. Makes 6 to 8 servings.

Oh, so good. Mmm.

Peace, Fruitfulness, and Passion

Looking back on 2007, I came across the three words I used to describe what I hoped 2007 would be.

It was a year of peace. Tim and I got along so well this year. I feel like we really hit a stride in our communication. We lived in a peaceful neighborhood. We enjoyed peaceful sleep with a baby who started sleeping through the night at 12 weeks.

It was also a year of war. We fought depression. We fought fear and worry with Macy's hernia. Tim had stress at work.

It was a year of fruitfulness. Our third child was born. Elliottyoung grossed record revenues. The children grew. Addien learned to talk, Macy learned to move, and Cerys started preschool.

It was also a year of want. Tim worked too hard and wasn't home enough. I missed my friends and family in America. We spent too much time watching tv and not enough time working on our to-do lists. My stint with Creative Memories came to an end.

And passion. We celebrated our five year anniversary. I feel more in love with my husband every day. I was passionate about finding God in my everyday life. I was passionate about being a good mom.

I had lots of days that were just hum-drum as well. I struggled with feeling stuck in my life, feeling like everything is on hold until my kids are a bit older. I don't know where a lot my days went--they seemed to fly by without my participation.

I guess that's life. Full of light and dark, good and evil. That's what I learned in 2007. I learned to let some of my boxes go, to let some color into my black and white viewpoints. I found peace amidst turmoil, joy through sorrow, passion in mundanity.

For 2008 I hope for more of the same. I'd like to see my boundaries of faith, love, and grace pushed further open and to be challenged in those areas. I want to grow as a mom and develop my skills as a leader and teacher. I want to find one new thing to explore, either cooking or writing, I haven't decided. And I want to have joy. Much, much joy.

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

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.