Doing life together

Yesterday, my sisters-in-law Jenny and Kristen and I ran the Mother's Day 5k at Magnuson Park. It was my first 5k (except one in college that I mostly walked). I was nervous because I hadn't done any training in the weeks leading up to the race and I was pretty sure I would have to walk part of it. Jenny and Kristen had both been running several times a week and Kristen ran a marathon a year or so ago, so I wasn't feeling confident. Going into it I had no expectations for myself. I just wanted to finish and not come in dead last. I was happy to let them go ahead of me if I had to walk, but Kristen was pretty insistent that we stay together. As we approached the first curve we saw Bryan, Kyle, Jeff, and our seven collective children cheering us on. Once we got going we actually got into a pretty good groove. I focused on breathing and pushing off with the balls of my feet to propel me forward. Around mile two I felt like I could run forever. The time went much more quickly than I thought it would, and when we got tired and felt like walking, we encouraged each other to keep going and adjusted our pace to accommodate each other. We rounded the last curve and saw our families waiting for us. The looks on the kids' faces as they saw us was priceless, this mixture of surprise, recognition, excitement, and relief all emanating from their tiny bodies. Then we ran the last few hundred feet through a tunnel of people and cameras and crossed the finish line together. It was a wonderful feeling.

Jenny said that when she finishes running and looks back on it in her mind, she remembers herself floating rather than running. I loved that image, the three of us floating alongside Lake Washington in a sea of women, encouraging each other and focusing our mental and physical energy on a common goal. This is such a great metaphor for motherhood, and really for life in general. I have the tendency to let myself feel isolated at times, but when we come alongside each other in companionship and in encouragement, in suffering and in celebration, when we help carry each other's burdens and share in beauty, everything is better. 

Last week I spent the afternoon at Joey's house with her and Bridget and our seven kids. We lounged on a quilt under a lilac tree in the sunshine while the older kids played in the sprinkler and the babies sat on our laps. We sipped limonatas and reminisced about our own childhood summers. In the evening we put the babies to bed and our husbands joined us for dinner around the fire pit. It was one of those magical spontaneous days that we couldn't have planned any better. It made mothering feel so much easier because we were together. 

As Bryan and I continue dreaming and talking about buying a house, we go back and forth between wanting to get a big house with acreage farther out of the city and finding something with a smaller lot in town so we can be closer to family and friends. It's tough because we want room for our kids to roam and explore and we want to grow vegetables and raise chickens, but it's expensive to do that in the city. And we want it to be easy to get together with our loved ones, but it would be much more difficult if we lived out of town. And because we want to be engaged in our community, if we moved out of town we would have to start over — new church, new friends. I'm up for an adventure and I'm pretty confident that I could make new friends, but I am heavily invested in the friendships I have now, and I'm not keen on leaving them. 

So I'm praying and hoping for the perfect house to come along at the perfect time: A charming craftsman or farmhouse with high ceilings and vintage touches, a rocking chair front porch, a peak-roofed attic space for my writing desk, and a big backyard with fruit trees and room for chickens and a vegetable garden in the Greenwood neighborhood, all for a price that allows us some breathing room. I know they exist, so if you know of one for sale, let me know!

On a final Mother's Day note, I've learned that what I desire most from those closest to me is to feel heard and known. My mom went to the women's retreat with me a couple of weeks ago to help me with John, who is still nursing and couldn't be left at home. On Saturday night we sat in our hotel room with a bottle of wine talking, and I started sobbing about feeling like a horrible mother and that I was damaging my kids and how I felt inadequate to deal with the atrocities in the world, like human trafficking, and on and on, just spilling my heart out. My mom sat next to me and rubbed my back and told me I was being too hard on myself and that she would love to help out with the kids more. It was such a gift to have that time with my mom, to connect with her again in that way, to feel like her daughter, loved and known. I want to do that for my kids. I want to be present with them, turn towards them, listen to their hearts and give them comfort. It's so easy to get distracted, but I pray that God would give me ears to hear and eyes to see the beautiful creatures they are and send them out into the world feeling secure, confident, and loved so they can love others with their whole hearts. Luckily, I have many people who love me and are helping me be the best mom I can be. I'm so thankful that I'm not alone.

Ten on Ten :: April 2013

A repentant response to 7

I have so many ideas rolling around in my head right now. I am hopeful, inspired by beauty, and filled with expectancy in ways I haven't been for a long time. It's an exhausting and difficult season, for sure, raising two little kids who rely on me for EVERYTHING, but there are such desperately sweet moments sprinkled in that I sometimes think my heart will break. Like spending Wednesday afternoon soaking up the glorious sunshine in the front yard of Joey's new home, sipping St. Germain cocktails and watching our daughters twirl in the grass and chase bubbles. Or like getting out to a coffeeshop in Ballard this morning for my first ever I'm-actually-taking-myself-seriously-and-paying-for-childcare-so-I-can-write writing session. Or like Amelia telling me, "Mom, you're so beautiful. I love you," for no reason and falling asleep next to me while I read yesterday. Or like snuggling with John this quiet afternoon because Amelia's at a cousin sleepover and I get him all to myself.

We spent Saturday egg hunting at our friends' Bellingham farm, where Amelia rode a pony and there were such foodie delights as barbecued oysters and jalapeño peanut butter bites wrapped in bacon and topped with jam. There were so many people and so many kids, the sun was shining and we talked and laughed with old friends from far away and the kids roamed the land and it just could not have been more perfect. 

We went to an abundantly joyful Easter service at church Sunday morning. We hadn't been in a while because our kids have been sick almost every week. When I've been absent from church and then return, I typically experience one of two things: Either I feel itchy and cynical and uncomfortable or I break down in tears. This was a tears kind of Sunday. We sang the song that goes, "You make beautiful things, You make beautiful things out of the dust. You make beautiful things, You make beautiful things out of us." I love that song. It gets me every time. I'm almost crying right now just singing it in my head while I type. My dad and stepmom joined us and invited a couple they met through the running group that meets Saturday mornings at our church. This couple had never been to church before but came anyway, and because of that I was hyper aware of every word that was said and every song we sang, and while I know our church isn't perfect, I feel confident that the message that comes across is going to be welcoming and powerful. I should invite people more often.

After church we had brunch with the fam, went home for naps (everyone except me—I still can't turn my brain off during the day), and then went to my dad's for barbecued burgers and an outdoor fire with hot cocoa and flannel shirts. Amelia ran around in the grass until she was out of breath and we relaxed into the day like it was a bean bag chair.

With Monday came a new week and a new month and it really feels like Spring. I'm reading Jen Hatmaker's new book 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess, which my college roomie and soul kindred unexpectedly sent me in the mail (that's just the way she rolls). This book could not have come at a more perfect time for me. If you're not familiar with the concept, Jen chose seven areas of her life that needed some pruning (Food, Clothes, Possessions, Media, Spending, Waste, Stress) and fasted from them for one month each. For example, the first month was food, so for the entire month she only ate seven things. For clothes, she wore seven items of clothing exclusively for a month. In the third month, she gave away seven possessions every day. She fasted from seven forms of media in the fourth month. She only spent money at seven places in the fifth month. She adopted seven green lifestyle habits in the sixth month. And she observed seven sacred pauses in the seventh month. 

Some of the gals in my writing group were talking about cleanses and detoxes and restricting or eliminating sugar or dairy from their diets. I mentioned that I'd rather not worry too much about what I'm eating, but just eat in moderation, and that I had no desire to restrict or eliminate things from my diet. Alisha made the observation that some people are extremists and some people are moderates and the two will never see eye to eye. I realized that I am NOT an extremist. I can rationalize almost anything, and so normally I would not be drawn to a book like 7 where it's all about fasting, restricting, and eliminating. I love food. I love clothes. I love planning parties. I love decorating my house. However, the point in Jen's book is not discipline or health for their own sake, which can become a form of pride, but instead her emphasis is on reexamining our lives in light of who Christ is and what kind of life He has called us to. We're not merely consumers. Instead, we have been invited into adventure, relationship, and yes, peril, but how much more exciting and fulfilling and meaningful than just working to buy more stuff? So she fasts and she listens to what God is saying and she learns a lot about herself.

Even before I got to the chapters on clothes, possessions, and spending, I was feeling convicted about the casual way I drop money on myself and the unnecessary things I bring into my home. I feel crushed under the weight of the accumulation of stuff we have, even in a small space. I was getting little highs from online shopping, from the powerful feeling I got from walking into a store and being able to buy almost anything I wanted. I was hiding from the insecure 13-year-old girl in high-water jeans, the girl who I still feel like I am sometimes, mortified by not wearing the right clothes and fitting in with the cool girls. But my identity is not in what I wear or what I have, not even remotely. So I'm pruning. I'm restricting. I'm eliminating and lightening the load. And when I feel the need to indulge myself, I'm going to pray for strength and I'm going to pray for those who don't even know where their next meal is coming from, because while I'm preoccupied with that new Anthro maxi skirt, someone else is hungry and hurting.

As Bryan and I dream about buying a house, we've talked about location and size and style. We've talked about a mother-in-law apartment and RV parking and a big back yard. I have a Pinterest board with all my decorating ideas. But until yesterday it didn't occur to me to really, specifically ask God what He has in mind for us. I don't want to mistake our dreams and desires for God's will. I've done that in the past and it hasn't turned out well. Our dreams are powerful, and in the right circumstances, I think God honors them. In 7, though, Jen pleads with the American church to consider the orphan and the widow, the homeless and the trafficked, the lonely and the suffering. How do we incorporate that into where we choose to live? We already live in a relationship-starved condo building. What if God asked us to stay here? Not in this condo, but here, in this neighborhood, in this sidewalk-less, ugly, nowhere-to-walk-to-except-7-Eleven residential no-man's land. Would we say yes? I don't know if that's what God is asking of us, but I keep reminding myself that God's story is so much better than anything I could ever dream up. If I obey Him I open myself up to adventure and meaning and relationship. Shopping and TV and living in the cute neighborhood, while not bad in themselves, are no substitute for that.

And that's why I'm hopeful. I've been given the opportunity to pause, to examine, to pray, to listen, and ultimately to choose based on obedience rather than desire. My desires change all the time, but God is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. That feels like freedom to me.

Hospitality: An answer to prayer

I'm sitting here in my favorite spot in the whole house eating Cocoa Krispies and relishing the warm glow and satisfaction that comes from hard work. I've spent every spare moment for the last three days cleaning our condo and it feels so good to be in a fresh space. I didn't start this week with the intention of organizing my heart out, but it all started Monday when my mother-in-law came over to hang out with the kids so I could run some errands for the annual tea at church this weekend. I just went out to get tissue paper and fishing line, but three stores later I also came home with a new lamp, its curvy shape and delicate mercury glass calling to me from the lighting department at Lowe's. I brought it into its new home in our bedroom and instantly felt energized to start picking up. Our bedroom usually becomes the dumping ground for the stuff from other rooms that I don't know what else to do with, like that box to give to Goodwill or Bryan's shoes. I started in the corner where the lamp was to go and worked my way out. It got so tidy that I even vacuumed! 

I long for a perpetually clean home, but my motivation and organization skills lag far behind my desire. In our small space, it's challenging to find a place for all the stuff that naturally accumulates when four people live here. I'm crafty so I have A LOT of paper, tools, and fabric that I've had for years but just know I'll use someday. Bryan is outdoorsy so we have skis in the living room, snow shoes and climbing gear in the closet, and a bike or two on the deck. Of course the kids come with their share of toys and games and books. The problem, however, is that I've used all of this as an excuse to not invite people into our home. This is something I'm not proud of. We've been spoiled by friends and family who invite us over for play dates and meals quite often, but we rarely reciprocate. Hospitality is something I so long to cultivate in myself. I've been praying recently that God would give me opportunities to practice hospitality even in this imperfect space. This has been on my heart for quite a long time, actually. I feel as if He's asking me to be a good steward of what I have before He entrusts me with more. We are aching for a larger home with a yard and more storage, and it's probably coming soon, but I want to be obedient to Him no matter where I am.

We live in a strange little building with quirky people, some of whom keep to themselves and prefer it that way, but others of whom are overtly friendly. Our immediate neighbors, Chris and Dorothy, are an interesting pair, but the more I get to know them the more I enjoy them. Every time we leave our place and amble down the hallway, John shrieking in delight and Amelia running and shouting, "Look at me mom! I'm running!", Dorothy pokes her head out of her door just to say hello. Amelia typically hugs her around the knees and John smiles big with his mouth and his eyes. More than once they've brought gifts over, most recently for Amelia's birthday—a pink monkey with velcro hands for her and a neon-rainbow-colored caterpillar for John, along with a card saying they loved them. All of this and I've never even invited them over my threshold. 

I was enjoying a delicious coconut milk iced coffee and the gracious hospitality of my sister-in-law Kristen this morning, telling her this exact thing, that I was praying for God to provide opportunities to be hospitable to my neighbors, when I realized I could invite someone over this week since I already planned meals out (another thing I long to do better). "In fact," I said, "I could invite someone over tonight! I already have dinner in the crockpot!" I had made a Cannellini Bean and Ham Bone Soup with Spinach, and remembered Dorothy once telling me she was from the South and loved ham hocks and greens. Here was a perfect opportunity! After lunch, Amelia and I went over and invited Chris and Dorothy over for dinner, which they accepted. I spent the afternoon picking up the rest of the house, taking the extra few seconds to actually find a place for things instead of just piling them back in my freshly-cleaned bedroom. It was so rewarding to feel prepared to welcome people into our home. This is at the heart of why I want to maintain a clean home. I don't want to be hesitant or feel embarrassed when people stop by unexpectedly. I know as moms it can feel overwhelming to keep a clean house and have a cake on the cake stand and have dinner ready every night, and I certainly am not perfect at those things, nor will I ever be. Ultimately, it's not about how clean and cute my house looks. It's about obedience to God and what He has called me to do—love my neighbor—but I want my home to be comfortable, and I do think having systems in place that make that easier to accomplish more often will allow me to be bold and extravagant in my inviting.

I remember a quote from Henri Nouwen that was on a sign at the Green Bean Coffeehouse where I used to spend a lot of time. It said, "Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place." I absolutely love that. It's not about me. But my offering can be a comfortable couch, a hot cup of coffee, a delicious meal, a listening ear. The rest is up to God (and thank goodness). 

Apothecary jar terrarium

I made a terrarium today. I'm decorating a table at the Secret Garden tea at church next weekend and want to do apothecary jar terrariums as the centerpieces. I love the idea of having a tiny little plant world in a self-sustaining atmosphere, especially since I kill all green things by neglect or ignorance. We'll see if these work. I modeled mine after some gorgeous centerpieces my friend Laura made for her wedding in upstate New York a few years ago. She laid white rocks and pea gravel in large vases and topped them with bright green moss she collected from her parents' land. I remember loving the juxtaposition of dark and light colors and the simplicity of the natural elements. That's what I tried to recreate here. I looked on Pinterest for a tutorial, then went to Sky Nursery for supplies. If you want to do your own, you'll need a drainage layer (I used white rocks and grey pea gravel), a horticultural charcoal layer to keep the soil fresh (definitely wear gloves when handling the charcoal), a potting soil layer deep enough to contain the roots of your plants, and then, of course, the moss. I planted one Selaginella moss and then surrounded it with preserved moss. I think it turned out really cute!

I also planted a sweet little rose succulent in a jar, just for fun. I am in no way a gardener, so I have no idea how long these plants will last, but I love them!

Gruffalo Party

We had Amelia's Gruffalo-themed 3rd birthday party Saturday morning at the Fremont Abbey, the same place we had our wedding reception nearly four years ago. If you're not familiar with the book The Gruffalo  or the 30-minute short film, you are totally missing out. Bryan found the film on iTunes a while ago and we have been enchanted by the characters, story, and narration by Helena Bonham Carter ever since. For the past year, at every nap and every bedtime and many moments in between, Amelia has said, "Tell me a fox story!" to which we have sometimes happily and sometimes begrudgingly obliged. The fox is, indeed, one of the characters in the story, though not necessarily the best one. Regardless, we love that she loves foxes and dressed as a fox family for the party.

Shirts, clockwise from top left, are from: mylittlemookie, GnomEnterprises, bchildrenswear, darkcycleclothing.

My dear friend Bridget, of Bridget Beth fame, painted this gorgeous snowy fox watercolor that was one of the original inspirations for the party. I was determined to include it somehow and she graciously allowed me to use it on the front of the invitation. I deliberately left it bereft of text so it could be kept or framed. 

Guests were invited to the deep dark wood for a brunch featuring the gruffalo's and the mouse's favorite foods: Roasted Fox Ham Sandwiches, Scrambled Snake Eggs, Owl Ice Cream Yogurt Parfaits, and Gruffalo Crumble Coffee Cake, as well as adorable toadstool cupcakes using white chocolate wafers and chips for the spots!

These strawberry cupcakes are the same ones my mom made me growing up!

I used the Barefoot Contessa recipe for Sour Cream Coffee Cake, substituting full-fat plain Greek yogurt for the sour cream.

It was so fun to find the perfect details to tie everything together, from the birch tree straws, logs from my dad's woodpile, and the dried Craspedia, to the woodgrain wrapping paper, twig colored pencils, and downloaded font that echoes the cover of the book for the pennant birthday banner.

Each guest went home with a copy of The Gruffalo.

I found a printable gruffalo colouring sheet for the kids to color.

When the kids arrived they made headbands to masquerade as foxes, owls, snakes, mice, or even the gruffalo himself! 

Bridget and her son Harry got into the gruffalo spirit.

We sang happy birthday to Amelia, opened presents surrounded by curious little ones, and ended by watching The Gruffalo film. She received such thoughtful, incredibly generous gifts, and has been playing with something new every few minutes since we got home. 

Amelia's Aunt Rebekah made this gorgeous locket necklace after I mentioned Amelia wanted one!

I didn't take as many pictures of our guests as I would have liked, but I gathered a few from friends' Instagram feeds. It was so fun to have our family and such lovely friends there. Amelia shrieked and ran to give hugs when her cousins and friends arrived.

My dear friend and fellow writer Joey and her son Corin.

Joey's daughter Avonlea and Bridget's sons Finn and Oliver.

Finn and Avonlea.

The party turned out almost exactly like I hoped, but I had a lot of help. My mom came over the day before, watched my kids all day while I set up the party and went to an appointment, AND she baked more than 100 cupcakes. Steve and Paula came early Saturday morning to help set up and get all the food ready, as well as staying after to clean. Bryan's brothers helped put away all the chairs and tables afterward. And Scott and Bri saved the day by bringing the cable we needed to hook up the computer to the projector and play the film. It would have been a short party without you. Thank you!

At my nephew Miles' party a few weeks ago, Grandma Velma mentioned how much she enjoys the way we all celebrate our kids. I think that's something worth pursuing. Thank you everyone who came to help us celebrate our daughter! We think she's pretty great. 

Amelia accidentally let go of her coveted red and white polka dot balloon outside, so Bryan stopped and got her a whole bouquet of new ones on our way home.