Our anniversary: of nerdyness, practicality and beauty

Oh yes, it is all quiet in the house. And I am taking advantage by writing up a few posts for this poor blog. Ah, I know I have neglected you, but with the retreat coming up as well as my anniversary, I just have barely been near my computer.

I could start about the retreat, which was fabulous and deserves it's own post, but instead, I will start with the most important; my husband. My wonderful husband and I celebrated our fifth anniversary. This makes us mere newlyweds compared to some, but it is never the less a big milestone. It's our first 'big number' anniversary. Halfway towards the double digits. I have told you before about how I came to marry that wonderful man. And about our wedding. It should be pretty clear that I adore my husband.
Now do not get me wrong, my husband is a man with flaws (though honestly, I think he does not have that many). And sometimes I am uspet at things he does. Usually though, if I think about it for longer than five minutes, I usually find much worse things that I have done, which makes it less worth quarreling over. If something bothers me long term, I try to talk it out at a happy moment in a non accusatory tone. "Hey, I was just thinking the other day how much easier it would be if we would...." seems much more productive than "Why do you always leave your pants on the floor?" Especially as .. ahum... I sometimes too leave things on the floor that do not belong there. Like pieces of clothing. However I never do this when I am cleaning up. Putting your own laundry in the basket seems natural, even if it is laundry that should have been in there two days ago. Putting someone else's laundry in there seems like an injust chore, a deliberate inconvenience. Sounds like a sinful and self centered perspective to me.
My biggest challenge in my marriage (and especially in motherhood) is to develop a servant's heart. It is my bullet prayer throughout the day when I am feeling overwhelmed: God create in me a servant's heart.
But despite all that: my husband LOVES me. And I LOVE him. For our anniversary I bought him a Jedi bathrobe. The perfect combination of nerdy and practical.



He has been wearing it a lot and claims it is really comfy! In return, he gave me the Pentateuch volume of the St. John's bible. This gift is nerdy and beautiful. Proof that by now we know one another well. I love the St. John's bible. This is the first handwritten bible since the invention of the printing press. It is pretty expensive, so I am acquiring it one volume at a time. So far I have the gospels and acts, the psalms and now the Pentateuch.



The beauty of this handwritten bible is that, because of the smaller size and the handwritten text (photographed handwritten text of course), it invites you to slow down in your reading and savour the Lord's word, even if- with small children- you only get to do so in small doses.

We celebrated our anniversary with Bill's parents and the children. Then in the evening we went out for a simple meal, a walk along the beach and ended up talking a few minutes under the moon while sitting on a porch swing. The group of teenagers sitting in and around the porch swing next to ours made the moment not less romantic.
Five years. Not nearly long enough. I was so happy to read that Matrushka Anna celebrated her wedding anniversary (fourteen, much further along the path of wisdom than I am) just a few days ago. Her fourteen lessons are a word to the wise! I found myself nodding my head at each one of them. Number three is my particular challenge. There is that 'servant's heart' again.
I hope that as the years go, I will grow in wisdom, in wifeliness (the spellchecker claims this is not a word, but it should be), in patience, in sacrificial love, and in willingness to serve. I hope our love will grow stronger and deeper. After all, I felt as if my heart was ready to burst with love on my wedding day. Five years later, it has only expanded.

From Belgium, with love

I am back in the motherland for a vacation. My husband, two boys and I are staying at 'Ama's house', Ama being the name my oldest son gave my mother when Oma was still a bit too difficult. She likes the unique feel of it and has always remained Ama. His other grandmother is 'Mimi'. Again a unique name. I am more of a traditionalist myself and would have gone for the traditional oma and granma or gran, but who am I to insist on that when both Ama and Mimi are absolutely delighted.
Back in Belgium I am for now. While the weather has not been so kind, we have visited parks and wandered around the streets, seen the cathedral and the river and spend times on the tram as well as gazing at the trains on magnificent Antwerp, central Station.
I have so far kept myself from wonderful Belgian pralines, but succumbed to way too many fries, and a box of commercial chocolates. I am determined though to weigh a little bit less in two weeks when I return home than I weigh now. Living in South Carolina can sometimes give you a false image of what normal weight is. We are in the top five I believe, of the most obese states in the US, which is the most obese country in the developed world.
I remember when I arrived in the USA that I was shocked to see so many people THAT overweight. I was never a size zero, but I was slender and fit. Five years of driving everywhere by car and have too much food too easily available, combined with stress and children have done a number not just on my weight, but more importantly on my perception. Grabbing a cookie from the pantry is perfectly normal. Grabbing five cookies because you have not had luch, and emptying the sleeve later on is not. Not taking care of yourself because others take even less care is wrong. It's like boiling frogs, you adjust and adjust... without noticing and then all of a sudden you have gained twenty pounds and are wearing your maternity jeans 6 months aftr giving birth.

Things need to change. I do not have the time or the mental energy to do a complete haul over fitness program, but I need to start with awareness. I need to start with small measures. Ten minutes of fittness a day when I get back home. And leave off the cookies. As everybody knows the diet that you will start after new year or after your birthday has much less chance of being successful than the diet you start now. So because of that, I started two days ago, not as much with a diet, but with more awareness. I am grabbing my needles in the evening instead of a chocolate (or three, or four), and if I absolutely must have a snack, like this morning when one of the children had eaten half my breakfast, a piece of fruit is a better choice.
Now hold on tight, I want the more slender, healthier, and more positive me back. And I am going to do something to get it!

Where are our real rolemodels?

Lately, I have been on my soapbox a bit on this topic. I try not to repeat myself too often, but now and again I see a post out there in blogland that just makes me return to it. I usually try and post a reply on the blog itsself and am always pleased to see that I get a gracious reaction. Recently one of my blogreplies seemed to have turned in a little post by itsself, so I just copied and adapted it slightly here for your delight. *chuckles* I promise I will get off this soapbox soon.

Many of us, young homemakers (I've been married almost three years, have a wonderful young son of 18 months) have no rolemodels for what being a homemaker is. We fall on oldfashioned TV shows or blogs by default because we were not raised to be homemakers and often didn't even expect to be one, until we became convinced of the great value that lies in staying at home and raising our children.

But we really don't know what to expect or where to begin. So then we are going out to look for people to model ourselves after. And looking for encouragement we only find those oldfashioned TV shows or sites and blogs that extoll the virtues of homemaking. Now we come to my little petpeeve. A lot of blogs, especially in the conservative Christian circle that I love, seem to believe they still need to prove their point on how worthwhile and wonderful homemaking is. They also often get the advice not to complain because otherwise 'the others' might tell hem that they are unfulfilled and need to look for a job. And so, they leave out the 'hard stuff'.



So there we come... new homemakers... and we see as our only model before us these seemingly perfect women who do creative projects at home with their children, who show us pretty pictures of the flowers in their garden, the organicly grown vegetables and homemade food that they feed their children and we are still at the beginning of a learning curve with no one to look up at but the seemingly impossible to attain ideal. They seem to be scrapbooking, knitting, quilting, finishing projects and keeping up with the lately published good books as well.

With a child that didn't sleep and refused to be put down until he was nine months old, I was ready to scream in overexhausted pain and frustration at the next person who told me to 'enjoy this time because they are only little such a short time'. I used to have intelligent conversation, but I was so utterly tired that I couldn't even find words anymore to express my thoughts. The simplest words like 'fridge' 'food' 'spoon' 'diaper' escaped from my brain. And I thought it would never end.
Everyone around me (on blogs or sites that encourage homemaking) seemed to be doing homeschooling phonetics, while spinning a laundry basket on one hip, humming classical music for the todlers that adoringly watched or tried to help, rocking a baby cradle with one foot and patiently reading the gospel to a teenage daughter. So it had to be just me, right?



Where were the tales about the screaming baby that I seemed to have? The sleep deprived nights? The fact that it is okay not to enjoy certain things as long as you do them with love? I saw the posts about frugality and lovingly restored cabinets. But where were the stories about the todler who ued the five seconds you needed both of your hands to close the pot of varnish to get in trouble and ruin the finish of the cabinet as well as your skirt?
Where were the stories of the lovingly heartshaped made toast with strawberry jam you made when you finally found the energy to do something that seemed like a creative, pretty project? And the story of how that toast consequently got turned upside down on the carpet, which you halfway expected, but then somehow also was rubbed in there and on you five minutes before your husband came home. And while you just had tidied up the floor, the usually well behaved child that you love more than life itsself used the time that you were scrubbing the carpet to dump all his blocks, get sixteen books out and pull three magazines from the couch, which he consequently started to shred?




I wanted to hear those stories. I needed to hear those stories to know that I was not alone. I was at the verge of just giving up. Clearly some women were not good at mothering, some, horribly pathetic women were not equipped to be a stay at home mom, and I was one of them! Which made me feel both guilty and a failure. I stuck with it, and now I understand that those blogs present a false picture. Yes, homemaking is wonderful, but it IS also frustrating, just like a job. Except that it is more. It is a vocation. But whether you go to library story hour or have to read "Maisy takes a bath" or "Jesus loves the little children" sixteen times... neither of those will be intelectually stimulating every day. You will now and again feel bored. And that IS okay. It doesn't have to be all sunshine and roses everyday, because suffering (even small sufferings like handprints on newly washed windows or not finding five minutes to sit down for a cup of tea) is part of life. Just like the wonder of a little body snuggled up close to you is part of life. And it has it's own value in refining you and making you a better person. But talk about the struggles please as well as the refined part.
There are wonderful days in which everything falls into place. And there are picture perfect moments to write about and enjoy the memories of. But there are also the many, many moments where things seem to fall apart.



In telling people NOT to complain, there comes an image out there that no one can live up to. And those of us that are new to homemaking and do not have strong personal rolemodels of homemaking in our lives... we start to feel as if it is not for us, as if we can not do this and better just give up.
Now and again, I wish people would just complain about a bad day. People who have an office job complain too, so why would we be afraid to offer a real image of homemaking as a rewarding, sanctifying experience... that isn't always restful or easy or even pretty. I want to hear the bad stuff as well as the good stuff. I understand and admire a certain reticence in 'putting it all out there in all it's glorious misery' and I certainly don't advocate blogs to become a town crier for every little marital discontent or a constant litany of woes. But I want to know that I am not the only one who struggles. That I am not the only one who tries to colour with my little fellow to see him lose interest after two minutes and instead try to eat one of the crayons, or scribble on the tv. (As in my previous post on this subject, I refuse to believe I am the only one who has had that happen! *G*)

Good mom moments

Yesterday was a good day. One of those days in which you think: wow... I'm doing something important, and I am doing it well! There was not really something special going on, but the house was clean and I managed to keep it up during the day. I decluttered one cabinet, and took plenty of time to play with Joseph. We played with the puzzles and it hit me, wow... I'm doing well.
I am pretty uncertain about my mothering skills due to the difficult first months. These last four months now, there are more and more moments when I just look at him and see what a happy, healthy, loving little boy he is, and I realize that out of the depths of exhaustion, something beautiful must have happened. That by the grace of God, I did well.
Those moments are quite often ordinary, like the quick glimps of success in which I made my fifteen year old todler put all his blocks away before playing with the puzzle and mommy and little boy played a game of who could put the blocks away quicket. When my little boy grabs a book out of the book basket and comes with it to me to wiggle himself on my lap awaiting a story and a cuddle at times it takes my breath away. Of course there are also moments that I just wish I could get on for a few undisturbed moments with the laundry, or an email, but such is life.
When I looked around me yesterday, I felt so content and on top of things. A clean house, a happy husband, and a nice looking healthy meal for our boy. When I brought out the nice little plate with homemade chili with lots of vegetables, lean beef, beans, a little bit of salad on the side and nice strips of wholewheat tortilla, I felt SO good as a mother. I was on top of the world, just because the meal I prepared was healthy and pretty enough to put a picture on my blog.
After such a high comes reality of course in which Joseph dumped his bowl over the carpet next to his little table half an hour later in the thirty seconds it took me to go to the kitchen for a new portion of the chile for myself. After the great mom moment in all it's award show glory, there I was on my knees, scrubbing the carpet before the spots set, telling my todler 'no' in my sternest voice as he tried to smear whatever chili he managed to get on himself on me, while my husband was on the phone with my beloved mother in law.

Ah... mom moments. They come in all shapes and sizes!

Mantilla

A very kind lady just send me a vintage mantilla. She didn't feel it suited her, and thought I might like it. I LOVE it. While I grew up, I did not know anyone who covered their head during mass. Even my Polish grandmother didn't. It came as a surprise to me when a few years ago I just felt this... whisper inside my heart that kept talking to me about covering. I resisted for a while, but the Holy Spirit seemed to keep throwing me back to the thought by leading me to stories and sites about covering during mass.
For me, wearing the headcover in the presence of the sacrament is a private devotion. I don't think it's something that is obligated anymore. I don't come from a tradition of headcovering, I've never seen my mother wear one, and she is actually rather uncomfortable with me wearing one, which is why I 'eased into' covering, with broad hairbands and caps, and buncovers etc. I don't know how it happened but about four years ago, I just... started to feel called to cover. I hate using that expression because it sounds like a 'voice from the burning bush' experience that belongs in a dramatic movie. I just kept stumbling over the idea and it somehow took root in my heart. I often compare it to a devotion to the chaplet of Divine Mercy. I think it is a beautiful devotion, and some people feel atracted to it, called to it. Others feel more atracted to the rosary, the stations of the cross.For me it has many meanings. At the forefront, I think is the fact that what is most special and most Holy is often hidden from prying eyes. A veil is a symbolic way for me to put myself apart from the hussle and bussle of daily life and devote myself to God during the time I put it on. It's a sign for my mind and body that now I am taking on a different role. With little Joseph with us during mass, that's become even more important, because it is hard to focuss on mass while you are trying to prevent little Houdini from escaping.