nine months.
three quarters of a year.
only three months until he’s been alive for a whole year.
276 days old.
how how how how how how how?
Sometimes, he makes me burst out laughing. Other times, he makes me burst into tears. The common thread? He makes me emotional, you know?
But these emotions, all this love I feel for him, it just flows out of me. He walks by me and I have to squeeze him. He asks me for milk (Munt, pees?) and I have to smile. He’s got my love, no matter what.
He pushes all my buttons. He’s mischievous and snarky and sometimes he makes me so mad.
But this love. All this love just keeps on flowing.
I could write ten thousand posts about the love I have for this boy named Jack.
I love the way he walks up to me and says, “I yuv you too!” when he wakes up in the morning.
I love how tall and skinny he’s getting – his pants are roomy around the waist but too short for his long legs.
I love the way his cheeks get so rosy when he’s wrestling around with his daddy.
I love, love, love. Love him.
Us, unedited.
I have some laundry to put away but I’ve spent most of this morning just enjoying. Before the boys awoke, I enjoyed a few sips of coffee with Ryan. Then we made breakfast (and enjoyed some bacon) and drank more coffee. Ryan left for work and the boys and I have been spending lots of time sitting, playing, and singing the Itsy Bitsy Spider. My coffee got cold, but I’m thinking about pressing some more. You may have noticed that I enjoy coffee.
See? I’m enjoying. Just enjoying.
We got quite a bit of snow yesterday, but today, there is sun. Beautiful, bright-shining sun. To celebrate, I’m wearing a pink bandana around my head.
Today, I’m not planning on doing anything but enjoying. And celebrating. And singing. And reading and drinking coffee and soaking up the light.
My baby learned how to clap yesterday. This morning after he woke up, he was found clapping in our bed. I can’t believe how much I love him.
I just got a (new to me) laptop and I’m very, very happy.
I haven’t officially deleted my Twitter account, but I am stepping away from it indefinitely because I need to rid myself of all distraction. Maybe I’ll write more about that sometime soon.
I’m already planning my summer wardrobe. Sad, huh?
Speaking of – this morning, I got dressed in some of my favorite dark jeans, a canary-yellow tank top and a black v-neck sweater. Before I put on the sweater, I mourned the fact that I won’t be able to simply wear a tank top, jeans and sandals for a long, long time. Then I went upstairs and told Ryan I was mad about it. And he smiled at me. He gets me.
I made homemade chicken stock for tonight’s dinner. I love making meals stretch and it just so happens that I used the carcass from Friday night’s braised chicken to make tonight’s chicken stock. These are the things that make my heart sing.
That’s all for now.
As I emerge out of the dark stairway, I close the door quietly behind me and attempt to walk lightly down the next flight of hopelessly creaky stairs. After making far too much noise for 6:15am, I arrive at entrance to the kitchen. Ah, the kitchen. This is where my day begins. I rinse, I dry. I fill, I wait, it boils. I press the button, I wait, and in a few moments, the French press is clean, the water is boiling, and the coffee is ground. I pour, I stir, I wait. And then I press.
I go through the motions and it’s almost like my brain doesn’t even need to tell my hands what to do. My hands know what I need. My hands know how to help the rest of my body spring to life on these cold, dark mornings. It’s somewhat mindless, I suppose – but then again, my brain is too busy thinking to tell my hands what to do, anyway.
Thinking about today. What do I want to accomplish? Thinking about tonight. What will I actually succeed in accomplishing? Thinking about tomorrow. Come tomorrow, will I be the person I want to be? Thinking about next month. Next year. And years after that. Will I accomplish things? Will I be wise? Will my children love me? Will my husband adore me?
It’s not hope. I wish I could say it was, but it’s not.
It’s fear.
I stand in the dark kitchen. I hold my mug of steaming hot coffee and I may just stand in the same spot for minutes or hours or maybe just a few seconds. I’m paralyzed by fear. Not exhaustion. Just the fear of the unknown, the unable, the incapable, the what-ifs, and the almosts.
Fear is the opposite of hope. And yet, it structures my life and gives me clear guidelines: don’t go there, don’t invest in that relationship, don’t sacrifice, don’t dream, don’t assume. Live in fear. Live in predictability.
And just like that, I move forward. Unresolved, but still moving forward. I’m full of fear, I’m desperately seeking hope, and there’s some kind of invisible something that has clamped shut on me, like a trap, or a cage. I know what it’s made of and through the bars I can see where I’d rather be. But how do I get there? How do I get hope?
Who am I? Who will I be? Will I be lovable? Will I be loving? Are my dreams worth anything?
I know what hope is. I believe it exists and I long for its peace. I look for it the way an injured child seeks the comfort of her father’s embrace. I’m a bit frantic, and it seems that all is lost on me, but in the back of my mind, I know it’s there. I’m searching my surroundings and I’m seeking that place of comfort. It’s there, it’s there, it’s there.
And maybe it’s just a question of am I willing to try? Do I want it so badly that I’m willing to break out of this structured, predictable cage of fear? Will I open my heart? Will I choose vulnerability? Can I allow myself to be affected?
And it all becomes clear: I have no choice but to love. I have no choice but to pursue relationship, accept change, embrace unpredictability and relinquish control. I must act with power and courage.
I will hang onto hope because there is no other choice.
For God has not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. 2 Timothy 1:7
Winter.
Winter in New York, winter in me.
And they color me.
Color me with belly laughter.
Color me with sweet.
If given the choice between a trip to the mall with an endless amount of money to spend on a new wardrobe OR a trip to an enormous farmer’s market with an endless amount of money to spend on incredible food, I’d choose the food. Seriously.
It sounds silly because yeah, technically, a new wardrobe would last me a lot longer and who cares that much about food, anyway?
The thing is, it’s not an issue of food-snobbery, but rather that food simply amazes me. I am awed by gorgeous green-striped tomatoes, multi-colored carrots and purple potatoes the size of my eyeball. The blue, pink and brown eggs dazzle me and I can’t get over the deep, dark amber color of the honey. The fact that God created these things and we get to eat them – well, it brings me to my knees. I cannot get over it.
The artist in me awakens when I’m surrounded by beautiful food. I want to mix my paints to the exact hue of that orange stem on the rainbow chard and I want to sketch the beautiful curves of those glorious eggs. The intricacy of the wild mushrooms, the enormity of the juicy, ripe strawberries – they inspire me.
Not only do they inspire me to paint (which is something I rarely have time to do with two little boys to tend to), they inspire me to cook, which is something I have to do, anyway.
I used to shop with specific recipes in mind. I had a list of ingredients and I was afraid to wander off into the world of spontaneous shopping. It’s not that I don’t have a budget, but nowadays, I build recipes off of what I can find at the market.
When I see a pile of golden beets or bunches of dinosaur kale, my heart sings. There are so many meals waiting to be created, and I just don’t care enough about a new wardrobe to miss the chance to partake in an amazing part of God’s artwork.
Well, folks, let’s do this then! I’m just gonna go ahead and dive right into it…
Now, I am painfully aware of the controversy of blogging about faith and specific beliefs. Inevitably, it always sounds close-minded because, well, it kind of is. If I choose to believe in Jesus as the true Son of God and Savior of the world, then that obviously means I don’t believe in other things.
Be that as it may, this is my blog and if my faith offends someone, they can simply choose not to read my posts. 
For the rest of you who are interested, I thought I’d clue you in on some recent developments concerning our Christianity.
Yes, we’re still Christians, and actually, just thinking about the whole process and how we got here is a little overwhelming, and I’m kind of intimidated to jump into it. One step at a time, I suppose.
Starting at the very beginning, let me just say that we’ve been wrestling through a lot of issues in the last several years. Our questions and concerns have kept us from really rooting ourselves in a specific church for far too long. A lot of it had to do with our personal discomfort and preferences. I like the worship here, but the pastor is BOR-ING. Or, The pastor at that church is such a great speaker but the lead guitar player for Sunday night service? Totally hate his solos. In addition to very selfish and silly reasons like that, we also had this niggling feeling in the pit of our stomachs: Is this it? Is this how it’s meant to be? Has it always been like this? Is it really supposed to be about what I like, anyway?
Those thoughts are only the initial reasons we began searching, and thus, ended up at the Orthodox Church.
In some ways, I wish we would have acted on our concerns much sooner. By the same token, I am so grateful we didn’t officially begin our “investigation” until after we moved because this season has been such a slow, intentional, thoughtful time for us and it just fits with what we mentally and spiritually chose to dive into. Does that make sense?
Because I am hesitant to try to explain Orthodox Christianity with my own words (undoubtedly, I’d do a poor job), I figure I’ll just supply some links to satisfy any curiosity.
What on Earth is the Orthodox Faith?
First Visit to an Orthodox Church: 12 Things I Wish I’d Known
The articles above are some of many of that I read through as we prepared ourselves to attend our first Orthodox Church service several months ago. Of course, even after reading what seemed like hundreds of articles to prepare ourselves, we still didn’t really know what we were getting ourselves into. We fell in love with the Church in a whole new way, and we’ve been attending ever since then (and are in the process of converting).
Surely I’ll write more on this whole topic, but I’ll leave it at that for now.
I’m absolutely committed to keeping this post from being “I’m sorry I’ve been missing, I promise to do this and that from now on, yadda-yadda-BORING!”
Let’s just pick up right where we left off, shall we?
…And uh, yeah, I don’t really think we left off anywhere in particular, so I’ll just jump right into the details that make up my life, right here and now.
Okay? Okay.
Somewhere in the middle of flus, colds, holidays and everyday life, we regressed in the area of morning routine. Not that we’ve really had any kind of solid routine since we’ve moved here, because putting the phrases “living here” and “normal life” together is like putting the phrases “wear a bikini” and “Time Square on New Year’s Eve” together. Anyway, I’ve noticed that my days have felt pretty hectic and though there are probably several contributing factors, I’m leaning toward the school of thought that says your days feel more ordered when you start them out right. In general, I think I’ve found that to be true. I’m sure you see where this is headed.
I didn’t start out as a morning person, but when you have kids, you learn quickly that the early morning may be the only time the house is completely quiet. The dishwasher isn’t running, little feet are laying motionless* in beds, and any adults who are awake will usually have the sense to keep to themselves as they pull out of the early morning stupor. At least, that’s what it looks like in my perfect world.
*By motionless, I really just mean that the children (and their legs) are not upright and moving/walking around. Because if you’re my husband or one of my children, your feet (or toes, or ankles…) never stop moving. Seriously.
Anyway, for as long as I’ve been aware of the bliss of early morning silence, I’ve happily staggered out of bed around 6 o’clock. Anytime before 6 just feels wrong, but if I sleep in past 6? It’s like sleeping in. Hate it. I’ll be honest and say that lately, with the awful nights of sleep (in other words, no sleep) we’re getting around here, I’ve been giving myself license to sleep in and somehow, I never seem to feel better. Time for change, I say!
I haven’t really nailed it all down yet, but the new routine will definitely include waking up at 6, morning prayers, dressing for the day, breakfast, and planning out the rest of the day.
And seriously, I know that sounds incredibly exciting. I’ll stop before I do something crazy like inspire you to do the same. Yikes.
Moving on…
I’ve probably said this 7 thousand times before but I’ve been examining the content of my blog, the purpose of my blog, and the potential of my blog a lot lately. I haven’t arrived at any conclusions, but can you help me? Even if you don’t normally comment (and I can certainly understand because I have a horrible lurking habit), I’d so love your insight on ideas for the direction I should take. Are there any topics you’d like me to write on more often? Ultimately, this blog is primarily for me, but the thing is, if it was only for me, I could just as well write all of these things in my private journal. So please, weigh in if you feel inclined.
Some topics I’ve been mulling over:
- Homemaking (cooking/baking and methods, cleaning, healthy products, simple living, decorating)
- Marriage and mothering (biblical, healthful approaches to all things that fall under this category)
- Our faith (how we arrived at Orthodox Christianity, our transition into the Church, stories about our process of conversion, the kids’ adjustments, and what we’re learning as Protestants-turning-Orthodox)
I have a lot of firm convictions on a lot of different things and truthfully, I always shy away from publishing posts about those things because I just don’t know if it matters.
Does it matter? I’m not trying to be needy – but…does it matter?
Time has been passing by so quickly. I’d definitely call this one of the most difficult seasons of my life, but it’s been a whirlwind. If I focus on the season as a whole, it’s like watching paint dry. But really? I keep looking back and thinking, “Well, that happened fast!”
Like today. My baby is eight months old. And two days ago? My other baby “turned” two-and-a-half years old. I still cannot believe it. Every day I can’t believe it. Where does the time go?
For the sake of documenting, I wanted to make note of a few (incredibly cute) things Forrest is doing with his eight-month-old self.
- He actually calls me “Mama.” Sometimes it’s a long string of “Mamamamamamama!” and other times, it’s just a simple “Mama.” I love, love, love it.
- He has one adorable little tooth. I can’t tell if the other one will pop up anytime soon, but honestly, I don’t mind waiting because this kid does not teethe well.
- He’s really, really grabby. I have to be so careful whenever I sit down/go near a countertop/all the time because he’s fast. He will snatch something up so quick that I’ll be totally unaware until I look at him and realize he’s gnawing on a glass plate. (Just kidding. But seriously. He’s fast.)
- He loves his brother. If Jack so much as smiles at him, Forrest cannot contain his excitement. He bounces up and down, squeals, and beams right back. People, this melts my heart.
- He can sit up now, but I still keep pillows around him (or I sit behind him) to make sure he doesn’t get hurt. He has a tendency to lunge himself toward a toy he can’t reach. I realize that this is a natural thing to do as he learns to crawl, but still, the lunging is a little scary. Today, he sat on his own and played with some toys for an hour. It was amazing!
- He still doesn’t eat solid food, and I don’t really have plans to start him any time soon. Or rather, I should say that I plan to start him whenever he sincerely seems ready (grabbing at food doesn’t necessarily mean he’s ready). He’s eaten sweet potatoes and bananas several different times, but he doesn’t really seem to care one way or another, and he nurses allthetime. So I’m cool with it!
- He prefers to be held by me. I love that, of course, but sometimes I do kinda sorta wish he’d be just as happy with his daddy so that I could catch a little break. Usually he’ll allow someone else to hold him if I’m not within his sight. If he sees me, though, it’s ovah. Oh well. I’ll soak it up while I can.
I’m sure he does a lot of other noteworthy things but at the moment, it’s hard to focus because MY THROAT HURTS AGAIN. Yeah. We’re on the mend, but there’s some lingering sickness and I’m just so done. Why won’t it go away?
I want to talk a little bit about Jack soon, too, but that will have to wait. I think I can hear my bed calling to me…
