Weary

I have a lot to do in a short period of time. I have no energy to do it with, and thus no desire. Sleep eludes me. I feel quite overwhelmed. If you think of it, send a prayer up for me.

Looking Back, Looking Forward

In reference to what it was like when I first moved to America, I was recently asked, "What were some things that took getting used to?"

I've been pondering this. There are the obvious things:
+ you drive on the other side of the road
+ your light switches go the opposite way off/on
+ you all have accents (yes all of you)
+ the money is different, and in different denominations
+ your slang is different
etc.

Then there are the more subtle ones:
+ social politeness nuances that offend people before you know they exist
+ finding that most everything at the grocery store has the same name but random small items you need but can't find for months don't, until by accident you discover they've been sitting under your nose all that time disguised as something else
+ realizing that for some reason my accent and the various other accents have trouble understanding each other, even though we know we're all speaking English. it's frustrating for them as much as for me, because they're expecting I'm American
+ random car styles, house styles that have the same name look completely different
+ going into a situation that seems familiar, but finding out part way through a process or tiny aspect is different, throwing you off and making you feel small, stupid and foolish, because it is inevitably followed by an annoyed look, a sarcastic comment, or some other belittling gesture that lets you know exactly how dumb you are for being in your mid-twenties and apparently unaware of a very adult thing
+ having your lack of friends and family, job, church and independence reveal every possible insecurity you have, often to people who don't care about you, as you have to slowly over many years piece back together all the parts of your life thrown open wide by marriage, moving and subsequent grief and loneliness
+ being afraid to go outside because stepping outside your door will only show you again how unfamiliar it all is.
+ being brave enough to step out your door, only to find yourself rejected
+ not being able to recognize yourself
+ constantly feeling like for every step forward, you take two steps back
+ having questions on why people do things the way they do, without being able to find reasonable answers
+ making all new friends, sometimes with people you HAD to befriend
+ going without platonic hugs

I'm sure there are more, but my brain is wrecked.

Oh, and I promise this is not a pity party - and to that end I'm considering disabling comments on this one because I don't want people compelled out of pity or compassion to write something in return. Ok, I've thought about it, and I won't disable them. Just please don't write me because you feel sorry for me ok? I'm just answering the question, as much for that person as for myself, because I am reaching or perhaps have reached something of a turning point, where I feel like I can say these things and realize they are a part of me - a significant part of me - but I'm getting over it. It's time to get over it.

Of course, I say that now and 2 or 3 months from now I'll probably hit some situation and think, "wow, I didn't think that would affect me" or "wow, I thought I was over that", and feel disappointed in myself.**

On a brighter note -

Things I am looking forward to about going back:

+ driving on the right side of the road
+ seeing my family
+ seeing my friends
+ sausages in bread, tasty cheese, instant coffee and biscuits, peter's ice cream, custard in a carton.
+ fish and chips, sausage rolls, chico rolls and dim sims
+ familiar grocery stores
+ my kids staying in the house I grew up in, taking them to places dear to my younger heart
+ funky other little stores that I can't get here
+ having my rings re-dipped in the right carat gold
+ wandering downtown and being a grown up again
+ the Wok-on-Inn
+ passionfruit gelati
+ Guruva
and last but not least,
+ seeing my little sister get married


**It didn't take 2-3 months, it happened tonight.

"Date Night"

I wish it wasn't called this. It sounds so arranged. Like Tuesday I do laundry, Wednesday I vacuum, Thursday is date night.

Well actually Tuesday was date night. We went to BJ's and had a roy rogers and a mini pizza each during happy hour. For those of you who haven't gone there with us during happy hour, happy hour = cheap food.

Can I just say I had a fantastic time? I know you'd probably expect that I should, given the company, but sometimes date nights can seemed so forced. I sit there feeling a bit like, "ok, what are we going to talk about? i can't talk about the kids soooooo.... that leaves, oh right, nothing." I often feel dull and uninspiring on date nights.

But this was different, and I want to say it was because we were both making an effort, only it seemed so effortless, like back when we really were dating, before getting married and it getting all weird ;) We laughed, and joked, and enjoyed each other.

One of the things (among many things) that we talked about was the way we ended up together in the first place... given the circumstances in each other's lives, how remarkable it was how it all transpired. How divine really. And I've been thinking about something he said, about how he felt the day we "broke up" - the day I realized he liked me like that. How could I ever have doubted his intentions? And yet I was so oblivious.
The question struck me last night as he crawled into bed and came and wrapped his cold feet around me to get warm (something which I love by the way) if I'm still oblivious. Am I still so distracted by the children, the house, what I love, what I don't, how hard my day was, who I talked to, my struggles, my hopes, my failures, that I'm still oblivious to how much he loves me? That in the midst of my life, he likes me like that.



There was a hug offered to me last night, the value of which I underestimated. There was a listening ear recently that I abused. There's been time craved that I've been too dismissive of.

Somehow I think that even after 6 years, I'm still as dense as I was.

I want to change that.

The Beginning of it All

Did you know my mother suggests that my incessant watching of the old Mickey Rooney series "Andy Hardy..." is one of the reasons for my wanting to live in the US since I was a little girl?? It was a lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

We found a free one on On Demand tonight. Andy Hardy Meets the Debutant.



I love that they use words like "cogitate".

Blast from the past...

So I'm Taking The Plunge

I'm going to do cloth diapers. ("Nappies" I hear my mother correct in my head)

After three years of being having to go every two weeks and spend money on something that got pooped on and thrown away, now I am going to spend one amount of money, not have to duck out at odd times for diapers, but somehow I'll still end up with something that gets pooped on, only not thrown away... ok so why am I doing it?

Several reasons. But I'm not going to go into that, because this isn't a passive aggressive personal vendetta thing. I'm no cloth nappy nazi.

I'm just excited for this change, for my kids, for me, and so happy that I don't even mind the extra laundry.

For those of you curious, there are many convenient options for cloth diapering now... it's definitely not the cloth diapering of my mother's generation, although after weighing all the options I've chosen a route that isn't too far off. I'm doing all cotton and wool.

Just an FYI "I'm excited".

We were at Joann's and I asked Amelie how her pretzel was...

and she replied to me, very clearly, "hmmm, I've had better."

Well an older lady who was walking out the door near us stopped and asked me, quite amused, "I'm sorry, but did I just hear your little girl say 'I've had better?'"
"Yes, you did," I replied, a little embarrassed.
"Oh my," she said, and turned to her friend, and I could hear them talking and chuckling to themselves over it as they left the store.

Trying To Be Brave

It has been a long, long time since I have had such a period of stirring creativity, and creativity that doesn't disappear at the first sign of a hurdle.

I don't know if it was recent events, or just a turning point, but I think I can honestly say I've not felt like this in about 4 1/2 years.

And yes, for those of you smart enough, that's how long I've been married.

I assure you, my lack of creativity, or its brevity when it's shown up, has not been R's fault. I promise. If anything, I think he's probably been the one person who has believed in its existence, despite a drought of evidence so convincing that even I believed it had disappeared forever.

A friend, I believe totally prompted by God, put a book in my hand last Friday night - Life Artist by Ali Edwards. She said she thought it was "me". It's a scrapbooking book by an amazing artist - Ali Edwards, who takes scrapbooking beyond glue and paper and sparkly things. Her life philosophy is very much like mine, she is a story teller like me... she seems to see things the way I do. It is comforting to feel like I'm not alone in my sometimes disorganized mental polaroids and journals.

The timing has been perfect. I sit and feel like I'm sitting down to a banquet table. I'm starving and yet cannot eat my fill. I read and read and yet there is still more I cannot absorb. I love that feeling with anything... that feeling of complete saturation, and yet craving more... knowing you can have it when you need it... complete satisfaction. There are only two other books I have ever felt that with. The Bible, The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera, and now this scrapbooking book. (Eclectic, 'eh?)

All this stirring, not just idle stirring, not just dreaming but now doing. Looking with satisfaction on a clean room, a completed craft, my smiling child, a new discovery about myself. Finally feeling reconciled in so many areas that have previously only known dissatisfaction and contention.
What is this change? Not the "magic answer" that R says we all hope for but doesn't really exist... or does it?

Perhaps it is both hard work, and that mysterious, mystical, undeserved answer.

"And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, hope. Now hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us." Rom 5:3-5

Because I've realized again, as I pray for a dear friend whose mother has cancer, that God did not promise me the "princess" life that so many proclaim. There is no glory for myself, no guaranteed perfection in this earthly life. I am not entitled like I was taught at church as a teen. He has told me to expect suffering and persecution - those things are a promise and I have tasted a little. Anything I have that is better than that, is such an obvious manifestation of an abundance of mercy and grace, that I am giddy with a happiness that lets me rejoice at the most simple moments of my day. Things that may seem dull to others make me deliriously happy.

I am also finding that if I make the distasteful things smaller in my mind, they can pass by without wounding me so. I can use them to bolster the things I crave. I can give myself the gift of knowing I have been obedient, instead of bucking against the instruction and subsequent discipline. I can obey because I love Him who requires these things of me.

And so I move on. I have a new courage. I will be brave, and creative, and rejoice in the smallest things, and celebrate my life and love and give generously of myself to the ones around me. And I can do it all because He first loved me.

Daily Bread

When I was a little girl, we lived in Townsville. It's way up on the north east coast of Australia. Think Florida like. Humid, tropical, giant bugs and ripper cyclones that destroy entire towns... that kind of thing.

I have many memories of that time, which is unusual for some people. My first memory is from that time. I was 2yrs and 9 months (a milestone which I eerily realized Amelie has reached). Clear as a bell. I got in trouble for putting my hand in the ice pit at my father's workplace Christmas party. I just loved the feeling of my hand going in under the ice cubes, so dreamy and divine, but apparently wrong. The man dressed as Santa gave out barbie dolls that year. I didn't get one. But I did eat ice cream. I think it was Pixie, the ones that came in little cups and you eat it with the little wooden stick. I think my mother fed it to me.

Anyway, one of the other memories I have is of my mother making bread. She was like mother earth to me. All things good and bountiful and womanly I saw in my mother. She would make it and set it in this giant (or what seemed giant) maroon coloured tupperware bowl, and put a tea towel over it and set it on our front porch step to rise in the sun. I remember playing outside and seeing it sitting there and knowing there would be fresh bread for dinner that night. I remember that peeling back the tea towel when she brought it inside was like hoping for Christmas, and finding the swollen dough inside had grown was like finding treasure.

So, in my never ending project of getting it all together, I found that on Friday I was able to enjoy my clean house so much that I baked bread with Amelie. It has been a long time goal of mine to start baking my own bread. There is something so deliciously homey about it, not to mention that the eating of fresh baked bread and butter is one of the smallest yet greatest experiences known to man. It is as universal as love.
Amelie was very excited, but as per usual, loses interest after she is not able to interact as much as she'd like. Too much for her not to touch, too little to keep her interest. Even measuring and stirring is a little dull for her. What facinated me the most took too long for her... I love the way you put the yeast into some warm water with a little sugar, and the yeast comes alive. R says it's like playing God. It starts bubbling and giving off the most unique odour - both delicious and offensive all at the same time, and yet you can't stop wanting to smell it.
Well, it was that very smell that brought all those hidden childhood memories flooding back, and the weight of the nostalgia made me just want to sit and remember. But I pounded that dough, until it was stretchy and smooth, happy just to have those memories at all.
I was covered in flour, surrounded my music and memory, my children sleeping and playing and I was happy as a clam.
Brought a little extra delightful meaning to "give us this day our daily bread".

Thanks goes to...

Stephanie Thompson for the Heima pictures, taken on her camera phone. You should see what that girl does with a real camera! She has the most stunning awesomeness!

I'm writing this now so I don't forget how this feels...

So we went to see "Heima" (Hay-mah) tonight. The showing where Sigur Ros came and did an acoustic set first.

... and I'm stumped. As Ryan and I agreed, "There are no words."

But I do want to at least try and let you know why there are no words. It will be a vain attempt.

To give some history, as I realized about two thirds of the way through, this is exactly what God does. Right when I feel like I am at the brink, there is a breath, a beam, a whisper, and there is a reprieve. Why did I think that this time there would be none? There are times when you grieve so, your soul shifts to this place where no words, no touch, no bible verse, no hymn can possibly reach you. The only way I can explain it is a plane where you are completely desolate and alone, and, confronted by your maker you do battle - not with Him, but with yourself in light of Him. Like Jacob's wrestling with God. Yes He fought God, but I believe there was an aspect where (as he was confronted by his worst fears and insecurities) he was also wrestling with himself, and sometimes the only safe place to do that is in full sight and supervision of Him who understands and can break us best. This place is very private, and as much as we might crave the understanding of others, no one else can or should be able to understand it, as it is solely between you and God.
And like He did before in my life, as I was crying out to Him in only ways He could understand, He gave me this:

I was standing in line alone, in the cold, wondering. Life in this strange place, how far I was from home, how strange it was to be here, in this line, surrounded by strangers - interesting people, funny people, and my how different we all are. Girls trying too hard, guys feeling insecure but acting brave. The butchest looking man sucking on a lollipop. The people getting high in front of me in the line. Cussing, coolness, and the crazy man with his hands down the front of his pants. The awkward five street intersection where, if one thing went wrong, a chain reaction could occur and some car would go veering off up the curb to the corner where I sat and end this whole bizarre train of thought - but I didn't want it to end squashed against the wall of a vacuum cleaner store that sold dusty pink and purple dysons.

When we got inside there were ten identical women draped in gold fabric staring down at me from the walls, and I realized my fly had been down since I left home. I'm such a dork.

So,

You have to know something about Sigur Ros fans. They're insanely passionate. I don't know a one that isn't. I think that's because Sigur Ros' music resonates so deeply with people, it strikes chords deep in your psyche that unravels you. It, if you let it, reaches into you and draws you up to adventure through the most incredible aspects of your life, views you may have never seen in yourself, stunning to behold. I think that's what art is really supposed to do. Beauty, yes, Creativity, yes... but this emotional journey, this exploration of everything. The perfect, glorious reflection of deep, hidden and unspoken things... that is why when confronted by art at its best, there are no words. So, with music like that, what might the documentary hold? The room held its breath.

I had prepared myself for the fact that "Njósnavélin" wasn't in the film. That was ok, it had been a long time since I'd listened to it. For those of you that don't know, I can't listen to it very much because it is so special to R and I. It is "our" song. I walked down the isle to it.
But they start the acoustic set, which was just amazing... a piano (big black baby grand) a guitar, a bass guitar and a drum kit.




Stunning sound, and then the third song comes up.. and it's "Njósnavélin"... and hearing it, the warmth of the low drum sounds with the beautifully rustic sounds of the acoustic guitars, and the perfect twinkling of the piano and I just start weeping... weeping and weeping. I had tears dripping off my chin. It was beauty.

And then Jón says, in that remarkable Icelandic accent of his, "Tank you. We hop you like da film."

Some people laughed, in such a way as to say "Are you kidding? How could we not??"

And then it started. Let me just say, I can't "review" this film like a critic, although I defy any reasonable man to be able to find fault with it. It's so carefully and meticulously pieced together. I say "film" but it's actually a documentary, a bit of a look at when the band went back to Iceland and did free an unannounced shows for people all over their home country. Heima actually means "Home".

As a whole, it's a breathtaking experience. Breaking it down, it's music, photography, and film all brought together to lead you through an exquisite series of glimpses... Iceland is an incredible country.. the people incredible, the music incredible. There were so many fine details I did not want to close my eyes even to blink, for fear I would miss some glance or look or moment of stunning story-telling.
Because a picture really does speak a thousand words... So for every picture, the words - how many volumes of them after the film was done? - meant that there was nothing that could be said.

I could only shake my head, grateful (but not surprised) that as the end credits rolled, there was complete silence. Not one person moved.

(but then, when asked if I liked the film, I responded like the socially awkward idiot that I am and very sarcastically, "No, I hated it. I thought it was the worst film ever." Why oh why oh why do I do that to myself..? Magical one moment, moronic the next. My gracious husband tried to lend a hand to save me from myself, but with that one there was no going back. All in a silly attempt to try and fathom my own journey and protect myself from the recent rawness.)

Even so,

As I had said earlier, about two thirds of the way through, realizing that every cry I'd uttered had been answered I started weeping again. Oh! The love that would reach down to some dorky, awkward girl with her fly down, writhing in her own wretchedness and begging, in the midst of her despair, for something better... that is an amazing love... love that transcends. At the end of my struggle my wounds were soothed, my tears wiped away, my bruises bandaged, my hoarse voice calmed... and instead of chaos and ugliness, there was peace and beauty. He knew the perfect thing. The one thing that would reach me when nothing else could.

That love is worth everything.

I do not expect everyone who sees this will have the same experience I did. If you love Sigur Ros then you will probably find this film holds a special place in your heart. This experience was just God's gift to me - a respite in a life that is groaning for His return...

But what I do want to encourage you with is this:

Even if you feel like there are places in you that can't be reached, ask Him to reach them, because...


He loves you

He loves you

He loves you

Recently

Wow, I am so delighted that so many people have commented to me about the blog! And said such lovely things too, thanks everyone! It definitely motivates me to keep going.

Someone said I need more pictures on my actual blog. True dat, and there was some coming with my little halloween blog (saved but waiting for pictures to upload).

So here are some to tide you over...

Trunk or Treat

(note: this is just my own journey and thoughts and ramblings, please remember that before i find my inbox filled with hate mail. i'm not trying to destroy anyone's childhood memories here, just trying to figure out how to live and raise my kids in this crazy world.)

I kinda wound up at our church's one last minute and under a mild protest (because by the end of yesterday I was wrung out. I have a fervent dislike for days like yesterday).
I still don't know what to do with the whole Halloween thing here. Is it a cultural thing for me, and if so, is it exempt from biblical examination like so many Christians think? I've read article after article and I still don't know. Some seem to be full of excuses, "this is bad BUT.." or some kind of weird "we'll just do the 'christian' version of whatever they do" or "just preach the gospel". Nothing seems to jive with me. I've held my daughter, trembling with fear at the store because of the images and sounds around her, trying to talk her out of a conniption, and the most sincere explanations sounds hallow to me.

Anyway, I'm trying to come up with some kind of balance... the whole in the world/not of it thing. In the end there were some stores I just could not take her to, she would freak out so much. And that wasn't some kind of religious stance (I still went to those stores, just without her). It was a mothering stance. I couldn't keep putting her through that when she clearly did not have all the mechanisms to deal with it. I did try and use it as a teaching tool, and we learned some lessons, but some of the bigger lessons she isn't ready for and so I felt it best to protect her, rather than make her tough it out. (and by tough it out I mean trembling, crying, hysteria to the point of choking and almost throwing up).

One of the stores, and I won't mention it by name, had halloween stuff up from September 1st. In the beginning it wasn't too bad, but in a couple of weeks they had a soundtrack going that sounded like Saw III. I'm not kidding, it was gruesome. In another couple of weeks, they had another track running over the top of the other one. It was of a man making noises like he was being smothered or choked, crying out for help, sobbing in despair as (it appeared) he was being murdered. And this was a craft store.

Should I have written a letter to the manager? I hate to be one of those people, but I did feel that was going a bit too far.

Now they're playing Christmas HYMNS!!! Saw III to Christmas Hymns... incredible.

Anyway, the girls dressed up as fall butterfly princesses. It was a bit of a last minute mish-mash, but I'll put some pictures up.

I was curious about our church's trunk or treat. I wanted to see what the deal was. One thing I liked was that people did some lovely themes to decorate their trunks, like butterflies and fall. I was a bit disappointed to see spooky themes on others. Amelie was very uncertain about it all, but seemed ok once we weren't around those ones. Some of the teenagers costumes were also scary, and I wondered about that. They had a cake walk and a few other games.
I had read articles talking about how trunk or treats, or church events for halloween could used as evangelistic outreaches, but honestly (and I am not trying to bag our church at all) it just felt like a 'safe' place to do all the regular halloween stuff. I don't want to see that. If church desires to be different from the rest of the world to draw others to Christ, you have to BE different. Not just a sanitized version of whatever the others are doing.

So I'm thinking, how could our church do this differently? What could stay the same? I don't want to be a halloween nazi, but at the same time, this holiday really bothers me. How do I teach my kids some balance in this wildly unbalanced world?

Comments, thoughts, how have you figured this out?? Would very much appreciate your opinions...

In the meantime, (and give all of the above) here are photos of my hypocrisy...

Etsy and Other Things

And now for pictures.

Because I have Amelie's birthday and Christmas all at once, I feel like she gets a lot of gifts at one time, and she hardly understands the concept of one minute, if time at all, so explaining it to her is nigh impossible. It is kind of fun though. I have been trying to find things that will amuse her, and amuse me (the frou frou girly stuff). I found these two items on Etsy (where you can find anything! if you love cottage industry, you'll love this site!), and I am so excited!!

Black and White (bottomless) Tights/Leg Warmers!



Skirt




And I really think she's up to this:




But my hunch is she'll be too big for it in another 6 months to a year and someone else will probably want one too. Do I just get two for Christmas? Kind of expensive. What's your ideas?

Follow Ups

So, Amelie is yet to actually do anything whilst sitting you know where. A repeat performance of random self-imposed potty sitting occured this afternoon and whilst it was mysterious to see, I kept my mouth shut about it and didn't show up until she requested a clean diaper.
"Did you do anything?" I asked, knowing full-well she didn't.
"No, I didn' poop. I did a wee-wee, and then Jenny went to lunch."

(I still don't know who Jenny is, or how she managed to creep into that sentence).

I promise my blogs won't always just be the latest cute thing my kids have said. Although that line above, I'm sure, is going to haunt her most of her life. It's just struck me lately just how imaginative she can be, and now that her vocal power is in full swing, she's become so incredibly entertaining. She has, of course, been insanely cute ever since she was born, so adding wordage to her list of charms didn't hurt at all. But for some reason, over the past week or so, her imaginative story-telling has bloomed. She tells stories constantly. At home, outside, playing by herself, telling stories to Imogen, and (the most embarrassing) to anyone at the store who happens to stop long enough to get an earful. What can be difficult about it, is that sometimes people don't realize what she is saying is made-up, and I feel like I constantly have to keep saying, "she's just telling a story".

I'm sure thousands of other women all over the world have children just as delightful, but that's ok. I just figured if you're reading this, you'd also be able to relate to my own delights.

In other commentations...

Imogen broke my blue pot, but it was my own silly fault for not removing it from harms way.
Ryan is dressing up for work tomorrow. I'll try and snap a photo tomorrow morning while he's not looking.
I'm making up 6 boxes of TJ's mac and cheese. I have no idea how Ryan's going to get it to work tomorrow.
Outside the kids are having the time of their life, however in my short-sightedness I failed to see that my precious patio space, to them, is just another place to store their toys.

Completely Out of the Blue

After months and months of coersion, bribery, begging, treats, stickers, messes, and the final conclusion that it wasn't about her, that I was failing as a mother because my almost 3 yr old was still in diapers...

We come downstairs, and I put Immi in her high-chair and I notice Amelie is stripping off her pj's and muttering something about the potty.
"Do you need to go on the potty?" I ask her.
"No, I jus' need to poop."
"Okay."
She runs in her diaper to the bathroom, grabs the seat, and starts arranging it til it fits on the toilet.
"You need a hand?" I ask.
"No, I do it."
"Okay."
She strips off her diaper, and tries to roll it like I do, but has some trouble figuring where the stick tabs are.
"Need some help?"
"I don' know how," she says.
So I show her how I roll it and let her stick the tabs down. Then she clambers, limbs askew, onto the toilet. This is a long and somewhat painful looking process.
"You need some help?"
"No, I doin' it."
So she's sitting there, buck naked.
"You want a book?"
Shaking her bed head, "No."
There is an awkward moment.
"Sooo, I'll just go get Imogen organized and then I'll come back?"
"Ok." Then "You orgize Immi."

And that was that.

A conversation overheard... by Amelie

Da cricket, it's tiiiiiiny.

The cricket's talkin' to me...

It's holdin' its mama, cos it's so tiny...

I hear it!

It's holding its tutu. It's in its mouf. It's poopin'. With da frog.

We can't stop da b'loon. Not wif hoppin'. It's all gone. I put it on da floor.

Uh oh. Uh oh. What we gonna do? Uh oh! It's hold together. Yes it is. She's eatin' the dragon. She's eatin' it. Aaaaah! Alli, it's huuuuge! What we gonna do? Maybe.... uh oh, what's wrong baby? Mama's chasin'. It is?? Yeah, Mama's chasin'.

I hear da frog, Mama! I hear da frog!

Misc.

I have felt rather uninspired this week, probably because I have had more sleep and less time to dwell. Sleep deprivation really is the food for senseless and inane ramblings.

Last night we were saying good bye to guests, and there was a beautiful old red flat bed truck, you know the style that's very rounded? The engine growls like an old dog, and there is a romantic/nostalgic thing with it I just can't shake.



The patio is basically done!




Now the kids have a little space to play outside. We just need to do the frou frou things, put up a trellis, a vine of some kind (we're hoping for a fruiting passionfruit vine), maybe a little bistro chair and table set, and eventually some kind of fancy schmancy barbeque, which will probably take months and months to research (and save up for!), but eventually we will get the perfect one. I put all the coloured pots I had found for cheap at the beginning of spring out there, and it brightens up the area.



Maybe some 'erbs? I was also thinking of maybe a few bulbs in a big pot. Any suggestions?

another artist i like:

Lindsay Brackeen

A Day of Cute

Amelie broke a piece on her toothbrush, and asked for a band-aid for it, which I happily complied with. Later I heard her singing this song, to the tune of the ABC song.

"A, B, C, D, E, F, G...
A ban-deed fix'ed my toofbrush."


Later, Imogen was sitting down for a snack while Amelie wandered around. Immi sternly scolded her with:
"Ah-me! Dit down!!"


I keep creating ways to make Amelie say "noodles". She pronounces them "nerdles".

canyon country fire about to consume our home

this is by a couple at our church, most of you will know who they are

Weekend...

This weekend was great and not so great.

Great: patio progess (almost done!) and clean house.




Not so great: fires. lots and lots. bad.







I was sad the colours didn't translate so well, it as a bit darker and a lot more eerie. Everything looked bruised. I half expected a vampire to leap out and fang me. Or for the end of the world. Not so lucky on either count.

Scrapbooking is not for weenies and Raging Cynicism

I don't have that much gear.

No, let me start at the beginning. I never wanted to scrapbook. When I envisioned scrapbooking I saw long denim skirt-alls, appliqued blouses two sizes too large with puffy headbands that actually matched one of the fabrics of the applique. Maybe a head scarf or two... maybe a couple of large square lace collars. I saw women whose lives were so boring, pasting little pieces of paper on other pieces of paper was fun. I saw a major recession back to pre-school, like they'd joined their kids entertainments.

I was wrong.

Now, like knitting, it has turned the way of the hipsters, with more bling than a 50 cent show and definitely (in my circles) a clear lack of skirt-alls. I started scrapbooking because I wanted to meet and get to know the women in my apartment complex who get together occasionally to craft. They were the ones who opened my eyes to a completely different world, which, when governed by the idea that it's all going to burn anyway, let's you create (something I rarely get to do these days unless I'm producing offspring) and remember (something else I have no time to do unless it's reminding myself to start dinner).

It's my only hobby. That is something I hesitate to admit for fear I do fit into the above categories of "my life is so boring pasting little pieces of paper on other pieces of paper is fun" and "I've had a major recession and only enjoy what my kids enjoy".

If this is my only hobby, has my life really become this dull? I mean, I love scrapbooking. My pages are fun and interesting (I think). I'm getting better every page I do. I feel like it helps me focus on all the good things I have in my life and I'm more grateful and content after I scrapbook a page. I pray for the people in my photos when I scrapbook. It's a peaceful time (for me) and an all too rare time of contemplation and creativity. It's the only time like it I get in my life. That is very satisfying.

So why do I feel so boooooooring?

Is it just that I need another hobby? Other outlets? A part-time job? Am I not content enough in the "Christian" female ideal of "raising my kids is the only outlet I need"? I've never fitted the whole 'wifey-mothery' mold, which is about as uncomfortable as you can get in most Christian circles, and it's not like I'm dying to leave home and get away from my children, but there never seems to be a comfortable place for me to rest. (Why I have to label it I don't know, but that does tend to be my personality. You know: categories, labels etc, i crave order in my brain, if not enough in my life)

Subsequently, I seem to be too Christian for the arty people, and too arty for the Christian people. To liberal for the conservatives, and to conservative for the liberals. I love hard-core scrapbooking, but I hate crafts.

There is no clique for me. Which is logical and stupid all at the same time. Why would an arty person want to be labeled, and why would a labling person want to be creative?

Have any of my friends noticed I have such serious personality issues? :P

Anyway, this was going to be about the fact that I don't have that much gear for scrapbooking, and yet it's heavy to lug around and I often need at least one other person to help out, and that if you take your time and do a good job it takes a lot of concentration and a lot of thought and a long creative process (if you work on it like I do) and that can be pretty hard core sometimes. So you need to be physically strong, mentally strong, and emotionally strong to scrapbook. (I think, although now that sounds a lot more 'weenie' than I'd envisioned in my head.)

::Now on to the raging cynicism part::

But then I come home to a house that looks thrashed. Really it's just that the kids and I cleaned the kitchen of toys three times today (something that, to look at it, seems absurdly unlikely) but right before my husband got home they pulled out the toy box again. Also for the last three days they've played dress ups with my clean laundry, and I've folded it four times (that was on the first day) before I gave up and let them play with it because it was one activity they didn't fight about. It discourages me that two activities gone awry can depress me so much. Stupid things, small things that combined make me look (and subsequently feel) lazy. And of course, it's only when things are at their worst that you have unexpected guests see your house. They never seem to come when it's clean. (And believe it or not those of you who've seen my house, it does actually look clean, just not when you chose to come over). I'm tired of making excuses. "Oh sorry, the kids were playing" or "I'm sorry, we're in the middle of a project" or "I'm sorry, I've been busy taking care of sick kids for the last 5 weeks, haven't left the house in 2, haven't showered in 3 days and I feel like crap today... oh and I'm PMSing so just don't look at the mess." Even if it's true, and "life". Tired of it.

I look at these two, small, stupid activities strewn about my floors. They would probably take me 20 minutes (right now in the wee hours of the morning) to clean up. Thing is, within 10 minutes tomorrow, it'd look like this again. Do I really want to clean something up, that in 6 hrs will disappear, and while it's clean no-one can appreciate.

A better woman would say yes. Yes! Go take 20 minutes and just do it. Do it for yourself, do it for your family, do it for the Lord.

I am not that woman. God bless you, if she is you. You're a better woman than I. And I wish I could toggle that switch in my brain that keeps me from being you, so I'd fit in, stop making excuses, and finally have a perfectly clean house. All the time!

You try as hard as you can...

...not to let your kids watch too much tv, expose them to the wrong media, let them see too much advertising... and what happens?

Your two year old gets obsessed with this guy:



Ok, so she's nearly 3, but this has gone on long enough! Every day I hear Caillou, Caillou, Caillou... I have his theme song running over and over in my head. If I tell her she can't watch him, she actually breaks down and cries! I'm talking wails that would move the heart of God. We do do days without tv at all, but all day (on those days) I hear about 100 times (and I'm not exaggerating) "Mama, ki have some Caillou."

Egads! If I were literally pulling out my hair instead of figuratively, I would be as bald as that little chap.

I suppose I should be grateful that as far as obsessions go, the object of this one is relatively harmless (I say relatively because I do screen all episodes and there are some that are off-limits in our house). So there is that. She could have a thing for Barney (something I've been able to hold off so far).

Anyway, just for kicks you can go to one of Amelie's all time favourite places. "Mama, ki see Caillou on the peter?" What, you say? Exactly. Took me a few days to figure that one out. It's Caillou on the computer. Anyway, if you go to this site, pick an icon and the play with a grown up options and it will take you to a room. Pick the dollhouse, and you will enjoy Amelie's favourite activity (aside from watching the show). When you're done, click on the little girl's head and you can see little people in the dollhouse. That's her favourite part.

Enjoy!!

Long Way Round

So I found this show called "Long Way Round" on tv, and we've been watching episodes as they're made available on our free cable.

Pretty amazing. I don't know what is more interesting to me, the countries, the people, their friendship, the lessons they learn. I usually hate reality tv, (ok that's not quite true - but I won't tell you where I usually am on wed nights at 8pm), but this show actually seemed to have some substance (unlike the other one on wed nights that I may or may not watch).

Apparently going across Europe, Russia and around the world wasn't enough. Now they're going down through Africa too. These guys have cajones! (Can a wee little white girl say that?)

Anyway, they're very very er... brave.

And in my reality tv defense, most people have at least one superficial vice... so what's yours?

Sigur Ros - Glósóli

This has cheered me up over the last few days...

For those of you who don't know...

there is a tiny part in my brain that is actually retarded. It's a kind of social/creative/smart part, that is easily flummoxed and connected to all kinds of other parts of my brain that want nothing to do with this outcast clump of cells. Why do I bring this up now?

It's late. What better reason? I'm up with a cough that only gets worse with cough syrup. I've been sick for over a month, and I have no filters in my brain right now. (Okay maybe some, but most are trying to sleep).

So tonight, I take advantage of our new phone scheme that lets me call Australia for free. So I talk to my mum, and hear about my family. They all got together last weekend for the 1st Birthday of my niece, whom I've never met. Tonight they're going out to celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday, and I won't be there to give her my present. I hear my father's voice and realize he isn't as young as when I left. Will I be surprised when I see he's aged? My mum talked to me about places that had changed, and some that hadn't, and how excited she is for me to be able to see all my old haunts. And I think about how my children are going to see those places I knew as a child and I feel suddenly old. She tells me about my grandparents being sick, and how she skipped church to try and minister to them this last weekend. About my sister's job grief and how badly she's been treated - oh and I got an email from her that just about made me want to cry I felt so bad. My poor sister whom I couldn't comfort. And then there's the fact that our dog, Connie, won't be there when I go because, as we suspected, she died while I was gone.
Then I talked to a friend of mine in Australia, because I wanted to give her our new phone number, and we talked a little while, maybe 30 minutes, before she had to go... because she has a lovely boy and her family needed her. And hearing how she's in this mum's group with girls who we used to go to high-school with - and I thought to myself how if I'd stayed, how I'd probably be in that group.

(What is it with these 'if's?)

But no I wouldn't because God put me HERE. In this place, in this time. HERE. And so I started feeling weird and homesick. R said, "What is homesick anyway?"
And you know what? I don't know anymore! You know why? Because THIS is my home. My family, my home. This is it.
So what is this undefinable feeling then? This longing for something that isn't mine, that might have once been, that is part of me but not anymore. I fear going home now, because I know it won't be the same, and the strangeness of it will make me want to flee back here, which apparently is home enough now. R says, "Why can't you just enjoy it for what it is?" And all I could think to say is, "What is it?"
All I know is I'll have that strange feeling of familiarity and strangeness, and me feeling like a stranger in it, like I don't belong anywhere anymore.
I think it was because my friend has a beautiful voice that conveys the accent so strongly that I can feel it coming back to me as I talk to her, and by the time I get off the phone I feel more Australian. But there was so much I wanted to ask her, so much I wanted to know, and the giddying effect on me was so delerious that I didn't want to let her go, and I think I made the whole thing more of a mess than it needed to be because I was feeling all woozy and "homesickwhateverthatis" and I realized how lonely I am for things of my own culture - as much as I've tried to assimilate and get over the embarrassment I felt about my own culture - I'm so lonesome for it. And just thinking about what a giant idiot I've been about it - the culture stuff, the homesickness, the desperate way I tried to keep my friend on the phone, the way I nearly cried when I found out I'd missed not only Beirut's show but also their Amoeba in-store appearance (see how retarded this is getting) well I just wanted to crawl into a ball of mess and cough myself to sleep.

Green Leaf In Drought - Isobel Kuhn Quote 1

Alone in the kitchen amid her drab tasks Wilda suddenly remembered two tracts. One was by A.B. Simpson entitled, "The 'If' in Your Life." The other was by Hudson Taylor on "Second Causes."
If only that letter had not come, inviting us here. What about the "if"? She got them and read: "'Lord, if thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.' And He could have been there; He was not far away. He knew all about it, and He let him die. I think it was very hard for that woman... I have come to think that there is an "if" in every life... It is something that God could have made different, if He had chosen, because He has all power; and yet He has allowed that 'if' to be there.
"I do not discount the 'if' in your life. No matter what it is... Come to the Lord with your 'if', and let Him say to you what He said to Martha. He met her 'if' with His 'if'! Said I not unto thee that IF thou wouldest believe, thou shouldest see the glory of God? The glory of God is to come out of the 'if' in your life...
"Do not be thinking of your 'if'. Make a power of your 'if' for God...
"Do you know that a light is to fall on your 'if' some day? Then take in the possibilities and say 'Nothing has ever come to me, nothing has ever gone from me, that I shall not be better for God by it...'
"Face the 'if' in your life and say, For this I have Jesus."

The second tract said: "The secret of Hudson Taylor's rest of heart amid such tempests of hate was his refusal to look at second causes... He believed it was with God, and God alone, he had to do." When his dear wife died, Hudson Taylor wrote, "If satisfied with His will and way, there is rest."

Ruth 3:18: Sit still, my daughter, until thou know how the matter will fall.



Do you have an if? Two, three? Do you look at second causes, instead of dealing directing with God? The answers to those questions made me very uncomfortable. I'm still processing.

I'm Such A Girl!

Option One



Option Two





Mary-Janes and Payless are a match made in heaven!

Hairclips & Housekeeping

So today I had a couple of errands to do and I took Amelie with me to the mall. One of the things I wanted to do was go to Gymboree and take advantage of a 50% off coupon I had, and raid their sales rack. Given that I have two girls, I feel a bit more like I can buy better quality clothing because I know that it'll see two kids, but I'm still a stingy queen of cheap and buy stuff uber discounted. (quick question, is "uber" too 1999?)

Well first we went to see the puppies, because it's a treat when we do that, and Amelie always has great stories about it when we get home. (Is that selfish, to take her there just because I want to hear her stories?) Anyway, seeing a living, breathing creature in the middle of the mall makes it feel a little less like it's sucking the life force out of me. She very much enjoyed the puppies. She saw one with a rather cute nose and it very much wanted to touch her. "I want it," she says in this innocent kind of way, which sounds more like she wants the joy of being with it as opposed to a demanding toddler kind of way. So I tell her, "pray and ask God to give mama and papa a house with a backyard and then we'll get you a puppy". (later on, R asked me if that was a good idea. what if God suddenly did give us a house, then she'd expect a puppy, and right now she's too young for a puppy. he's right. but 1. it reflected our confidence that God can do amazing things like that, and so comforted me instead of chastising me and 2. if God answered a prayer like that for her, I'll start getting her to pray for other things! and faith like that deserves a puppy. ok maybe not exactly but you get my drift).

So on we went to Gymboree and boy did I make that coupon stretch. All my fellow clearance junkies -holla! I did you proud.

But there was one thing I saw that I didn't pay bottom dollar for... although it was still on clearance. I just couldn't resist and so to justify it, I'm going to give them to Amelie for her birthday (which is only 2 months away so I don't have to wait long).




She loved them, and so I can't wait to give them to her!

Also, I was very proud of myself. I spent way less than usual at the grocery store today. One of my goals right now, to reduce waste and focus on being a diligent budgeter is to buy less when I got shopping... seems logical right but here's the deal. Because of our car situation, I could only go grocery shopping maybe twice a month. So I'd try and buy a ton of stuff to last us 2 weeks or so, which is fine with things like cereal, or meat I can freeze, but you just can't buy produce and expect that romaine lettuce head to be as fresh two weeks later as the day you bought it. So I'm just going to have to figure out how to do this but here are my goals:

1. better meal planning. this way I can a) not be so stressed out when it comes to 5 pm and I have to think about food for the 10th time in the day and b) buy what we need for the meals we're having, and not a random cupboard crapshoot. won't always work perfectly, but hopefully...
2. buying less = spending less + wasting less

...so I feel better, not just about meal preparation, but also about the state of my fridge, and plugging the hole that (I feel like) keeps hemorrhaging money and food.

Sorry, that got even a bit too "housewifey" even for me. This really was just meant to be a post about how much I loved being with Amelie today, and that I got to buy her some fun, funky hair clips!

Imagine if praise and worship was like this...

#60.9 - 60.10 - Zach Condon feat. Kocani Orkestar - Sunday
Uploaded by lablogotheque

...especially the second song!

One of my favourite things - Silver Jewelery

friend of a friend of a friend blog surfing today and found this. Beautiful work!

Wooohooo!

I did not think my previous Sigur Ros experiences could be improved upon, but apparently they can!

Check out the trailer here!

And we're going on Sunday!! (My husband is THE MAN!)

If the trailer alone can make me teary, I have no idea what watching the entire movie will do. R will probably have to scrape me off the floor and carry me home in his arms.

(Which I guess wouldn't be such a bad thing, eh?)

Communion at Pottery Barn

On Being Pretentious

Somebody, (I won't say who because most of us know him), but somebody said something about blogs and soul sucking pretension.

He may be right. He may well be. But I just wanted to say, I do this because so many people who I care about and who care about me are far, FAR away. I've moved a friggin' country, and with the rate our friends move away... well let's just say you have to become uber diligent about keeping up, and sometimes a catch up call or letter doesn't cut it. IT can be just as soul-less as a blog. When you catch a glimpse of little things in someone's life, it becomes personal, and that is what I'm trying to do for my distant relationships in a genuine attempt to nurture what few relationships are afforded me.

So I hear-by give you all permission, if I get at all pretentious, to call me out on it.

How to feel "American"

sit on the floor in your living room, drink a starbucks latte, listen to radiohead, look at romantic getaways in far away destinations on your wireless cable internet, kill a spider, give your child cough syrup, feel American, feel proud, feel sick.

Happy Things

I don't know what blog to put this one in, it's kind of all encompassing...

We have a computer!



And internet!




And now I am here...

When Amelie first saw the computer, she exclaimed and pointed at the lid of it and said "Look, someone take a bite! On the apple!" It was quite humourous.

If I did another...

I'm thinking of making up a "happy moments" journal type thing, for every day. I think I need it. What do you think?

Sick Day (cont.)

A slow day, full of lazy photo-taking and seemingly fruitless googling. However, we did establish that baldness caused by stress is not permanent.

p.s. i'm having formatting issues with blogspot. particularly with photos. sorry if they're funky at times.

p.p.s. yes, their pj's match, and yes, i know i said i'd never put them in matching pjs but there are a couple of reasons for that. 1, the print and 2, they were super clearance at gymboree. price won over my priss.

We're all at home sick today

Amelie, Me, Imogen

Sweet Land

I just got done watching the movie. Worth a view I'd say. It's like photographs sometimes... lovely photographs of life.

The reason I mention it mostly, was because love stories that are born out of hardship inspire me to greater things. Suffering is not the end, it can be a comma...

They quote Keats - from Book 1 of Endymion

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Lately

Whitney's obtainment of some outstanding produce reminded me of my quest for healthier living, which I have been pondering of late.

Right now I am researching local produce, hobby farms, inner city gardens, milk delivery from local dairies, and how to start my own garden in the "backyard", along with my own compost heap.

Amongst other kicks that I'm on, this past week I have been trying to watch some good b&w films, as you may be able to tell from my recommendations to the right, whilst my kiddos nap, and I type. As a result, I suggest that these two men are rather dashing, and I like the cut of their jib.

For Naomi:

even if you've already seen this, it will cheer you tremendously!

News Hopping

ever do this some days? I did it on msn today, and found this, which explained a lot, and led me to this, which made me feel like I didn't have it so bad, which then led me to this, and that made me wonder what the world was coming to!


But earlier, R showed me this and that has kept me happy all day!

(I'm not so shallow, I just needed some cheering)

I don't know...

...why I dread it so, because bath time is so much fun!

love it, love it, love it

check her out: mixed media artist Julie Molina

Because I Can

add to R's job description: freelance editor and personal dj
add to my job description: image management co-ordinator

i was thinking today about apologies, and being bull-headed, and being friends

thank you rogue wave

header image kudos go to Steve Elkins

This one's for you Whitney...

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