Fun times abound around here with a toddler just bursting with language development and a baby trying desperately to increase his mobility along with their two schoolgirl sisters.
Mighty Mouse is speaking in short sentences and two word phrases these days. He says things like "garbage can", "Mommy bed", "Daddy bed", "Baby fweeping (sleeping)", "sooting, dead deer (shooting dead deer)",
Mighty came up with a game that he plays with any of us who he can catch at the moment. It is called "Ice Cream". I'm wondering if Grandpa Bob had anything to do with this. We are supposed to knock on his door (or dresser or wall - anything wooden) and ask for ice cream. He then says, "Yeah!" and runs over to his ice cream store (behind his chair in his bedroom). Then we ask "What flavors do you have?", and he answers with "Yellow!" or "Green!" or "Hot!" or "Fork!". I suppose yellow and green are obvious, though I'm not sure what they taste like (lemon and pistachio?), but the 'hot' ice cream I have yet to figure out. "Fork" means that I'm not supposed to lick it like a cone but instead eat it with a spoon. We do this over and over and over.
Mighty has another game. He takes the longest Lincoln Log he can find at the moment and announces, "Sooting!". Then he goes to find either his giant giraffe/goat (it depends on the moment what the kids decide it is) or one of his brother's little duckie stuffed animals. He lines himself up with the animal of choice, points his "weapon", and says, "pht!". Then he stops for a moment, runs up to the animal, checks it, and announces, "Got it!". He's started dragging Gertie the Giraffe Goat away....he says she's "sweeping" (sleeping). So I know he doesn't completely understand the hunting idea yet, but it certainly is hilarious to watch him play it. He did see Mike's deer in the shed this year. Hanging. He hugged it and said, "oooooooh". Oh dear. Yeah, he hugged it repeatedly. And then I washed his sweatshirt. It is so easy to love this little, tiny man.
Did I say "little, tiny"? Hm. We've started calling Mighty Mouse "Thor Boy". Tonight he was in his room while I fed Manly Mouse in the rocking chair in there. Thor Boy stood on his bed (his mattress is on the floor) and then fell down on his face in a plank position. He did this repeatedly, giggling everytime his head would hit his pillow. A few times he'd get too close to the wall at the head of his bed, so I'd tell him to move back. Soon that became part of the game with him purposely standing too close to the wall and laughing as I said, "Noooo, move back!".
Sunny won the number game today (pick a number between one and ten, closest to the one I chose gets her wish), so she got to make a receiving blanket with me tonight. The girls were both so very excited. We bought flannel fabric on Sunday; I try to refrain from shopping for anything other than groceries on Sunday just because I don't like it to become just another day where we run around all crazy-like, but this time I made an exception. So we bought the fabric, and the Laughing Lumberjack who appears every morning in December now (think Elf on the Shelf, but with a Toomey twist) announced this morning that the sewing would begin tonight. We are making blankets for newborn kits that the church is packing up for mamas throughout the world who have nothing. Literally nothing. Not nothing the way we over here have nothing. But honestly, truly, having their baby on a dirt floor with no blanket to wrap him or her in - that kind of nothing. The girls are horrified that babies face those circumstances (we should all be), so they were ridiculously, amazingly, over-the-moon excited about sewing these blankets with me. Sunny's turned out quite nicely; not perfect, but it's soft and sturdy, and some baby will feel loved wrapped in it. Miss Mouse will hopefully get to do hers tomorrow, and then I have one to "whip up" (we hope) myself....my sewing skills and the words "whip up" don't necessarily always go together. But it was fun tonight sharing my semi-skill with my daughters and knowing we are doing something loving for a mama and baby who might not feel much love or softness in their lives.
Manly Mouse is desperately trying to get more mobile than he is. He's quite good for 7.5 months - he can sit sturdily, although he does do a face plant if he gets too distracted and his head overbalances his body; he can flop to his belly purposely to get closer to a toy or object of desire, and then he can sit himself back up from his belly. This works best in one of the carpeted areas of the house; I'm sure if he could he would tell us we could have waited on our kitchen project a bit and left him some nasty carpet for traction. I think he'll forgive us.
Manly has outgrown his little teething bracelet. I didn't know children did that. I definitely didn't know they did that at 7.5 months. My chicken-legged little boy has become a "Thor Baby" reminiscent of his big brother. He's going through a very mommy-oriented time, which can be tiring on the one hand, but I will eat up every moment of it. Soon he'll be running off to explore, and these days of sobbing, sad baby comforted simply by my picking him up will be memories. And my arms will be weak and flabby then (tongue in cheek there....).
Anyway, we've almost finished our first semester, and those are just a few of the activities that have been going on at our house-o-fun. We're so enjoying our new kitchen/living area; there just aren't words to describe how functional it is now. We're enjoying each other's company even on these long, dark winter days.
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Ten Years in the Making
Ten years ago, Mike and I bought a framed, baby/child backpack. We bought it because we were expecting a baby, were super excited, and planned that we'd be taking that baby with us on our hikes, even if that meant our hikes had to decrease in length a bit. We totally expected to include that baby in the activities we enjoyed together.
And then we didn't get to include that little baby in anything.
And somehow, as I wrote in Hope's baby book about all the things we had planned to share with her....I packed away those plans on a shelf in the back of my mind. Filed them away in a box and let the dust start building.
With excitement and joy we welcomed and brought home Miss Mouse, and then Sunny, and then Mighty Mouse, and now, lastly, Manly. But in all those years of enjoying babies and toddlers and preschoolers and schoolchildren, some of those dreams of mine stayed in that box on the shelf in my memory. We didn't have much of a chance to just enjoy Miss Mouse as a baby - we were focused on the move we'd made, Mike's new job, my loneliness in my new(ish...."new-ish") community. And as I fully enjoyed learning who these little people were, I forgot that part of why we'd wanted these little people in our lives in the first place was to be able to share who WE are with THEM.
Surely, we've done that in other ways. Mike hunts; the kids know all about hunting. Mike has done running events; the girls remember jogging with me in the jogging stroller. We share stories of our childhood, our grandparents, our memories. But for a long, long, long time, we just didn't have time to do much "fun" extra activity. Mike was head over heels into his work; I had the bright idea to start a home business (I don't recommend this to stay-at-home moms whose husbands work as many hours as mine does.....at least not if they have more than one child, anyway). There was literally hardly time to breathe let alone shake the dust off that framed backpack and even think about using it.
Well, today was the day. We (I) couldn't stand the dust in our house project anymore, so after bare bones schoolwork was completed, after our morning walk, after our lunch-on-the-patio, we packed up and headed out.
And then we didn't get to include that little baby in anything.
And somehow, as I wrote in Hope's baby book about all the things we had planned to share with her....I packed away those plans on a shelf in the back of my mind. Filed them away in a box and let the dust start building.
With excitement and joy we welcomed and brought home Miss Mouse, and then Sunny, and then Mighty Mouse, and now, lastly, Manly. But in all those years of enjoying babies and toddlers and preschoolers and schoolchildren, some of those dreams of mine stayed in that box on the shelf in my memory. We didn't have much of a chance to just enjoy Miss Mouse as a baby - we were focused on the move we'd made, Mike's new job, my loneliness in my new(ish...."new-ish") community. And as I fully enjoyed learning who these little people were, I forgot that part of why we'd wanted these little people in our lives in the first place was to be able to share who WE are with THEM.
Surely, we've done that in other ways. Mike hunts; the kids know all about hunting. Mike has done running events; the girls remember jogging with me in the jogging stroller. We share stories of our childhood, our grandparents, our memories. But for a long, long, long time, we just didn't have time to do much "fun" extra activity. Mike was head over heels into his work; I had the bright idea to start a home business (I don't recommend this to stay-at-home moms whose husbands work as many hours as mine does.....at least not if they have more than one child, anyway). There was literally hardly time to breathe let alone shake the dust off that framed backpack and even think about using it.
Well, today was the day. We (I) couldn't stand the dust in our house project anymore, so after bare bones schoolwork was completed, after our morning walk, after our lunch-on-the-patio, we packed up and headed out.
See that smile? This poor girl was so beside herself about not being allowed upstairs in her own house this morning that she pouted all the way out to the state park we visited. And then she quickly got over it and enjoyed herself.
They enjoyed themselves thoroughly!
Very thoroughly.
Sunny wanted to pose for a fancy picture. No, I asked her to let me take her picture, so she proceeded to the fancy pose. Oh, fancy girl.
Can you tell how pleased Sunny is to be photo-bombed?!
There we go.
My handsome young gentleman.
Miss Mouse took our picture to prove that I really was here!
Go Bison (hat)!
How I wish this were in focus. I'm afraid Manly's face says his opinion, but he was just a sweet, little trooper. I attached a little turtle toy for him to chew on, and he just chewed away the whole hike. Sweetie.
She dances.
They were skipping - sometimes hand in hand.
Sunny: "Take a picture! Take a picture! I found a cat-tail!!!! By the side of the road! I didn't do anything wrong to pick it or anything! I found it! I found it! Oh, look, it's exploding. Take a picture anyway!!!!"
Miss Mouse: "Yeah! Take a picture, and we'll threaten Grammy with it!"
Apparently they've gotten the idea that because Grammy does not want a cattail in her house - because she's constantly afraid it will explode while sitting in a vase on her kitchen table, which it potentially could - that she's somehow afraid of exploding cattails a.n.y.w.h.e.r.e.
Yet another attempt at a photo of all four. I love this one for the personalities that are shining through.
I love this one because it's pretty good of everyone. My sweet girls, my busy, funny little boy, and my sweet baby boy.
And then this is what happens when you try just about three photos too long. At least Manly's still pretty content!
What a great day. Manly cried on the way home - fairly hard after we hit our second detour of the evening, too. We stopped and gave him a break. We re-routed ourselves. We arrived home tired to a dusty house. But I've already promised another trip out next year, a longer hiking trail, and a picnic, and I'm told they "can't wait"! Ten years. I'm sorry I waited so long, but this afternoon was fully worth the wait.
Delicious Bragging
So, I'm going to spend this post shamelessly bragging about the delectability (if that's even a word) of my youngest. He's yummily deliciously sweet. This little guy's baby book is less filled out than his siblings' books; he sometimes has to cry while I get someone else a drink or some food; in some ways I feel like he's getting the short end of the family stick. Then I realize that while he's crying, waiting for Mama to get done with someone else's immediate need fulfillment, he's generally attended by at least one older sibling. He's drooling like a sieve, and his sisters and brother think it's hilarious when he bombs them with a big glob of drool! Especially Mighty Mouse thinks that is the funniest. I don't read to him as much as I read to Miss Mouse, but he has three readers in the house all day with him whereas she had only one. I think he's getting a different type of family experience than his siblings did, but he's one happy, sweet, loving little baby. Hopefully that means he's reflecting what he feels in his life because we love him like crazy!
Friday, September 26, 2014
Seasons
The girls have been eagerly peering out their windows each morning, checking to see if there are enough leaves in the yard for a pile. Miss Mouse has said she plans to take Ken's "machine" (it's a push-raker on wheels with a bag attached) and gather "all the leaves in the neighborhood".
Sunny asked me today on our way home from an errand if we could pick up some more milkweed. Understandable, because who could resist trying to recreate this, just one more time:
Sadly, I explained that the time had passed for these moments
And that the raking and crunching of leaves would need to take place of the awe of God's marvelous process of metamorphosis.
It's the changing of a season around here. Within the span of two years,
these little feet don't fit in these boots anymore.....but another little pair of feet do.
This little family has turned into this little family:
And I'm in love with that, and in awe of that, and in terror of how fast these seasons of our lives are flying by.
Many, many years ago, it became apparent that I am not one for whom change comes easily. My parents discovered it first; my poor husband slogged with me through several major life changes that piled up at once a few years ago. Something in me has always rebelled against change and clung tightly to the feeling that it is wrong and frightening and that the unknown is not exciting as much as it is to be feared. I love security and familiarity and comfort. Love those feelings. Perhaps too often I unintentionally worship those feelings.
Last week, we said a final goodbye to the hardest-worked pair of hands in this photo.
Beyond the changing of the weather seasons around here, this is what got me thinking about seasonal changes. Saying our final goodbye to my Grandma, this was the changing of a major life season. As I walked Manly Mouse to sleep in the basement at my Grandma's house, it was hard to believe the "season" of my learning to dance to a Charlie Pride record on my Grandpa Don's feet in that same basement family room is over. The season of making what we called "mud pies" in Grandma's kitchen (they consisted of anything I wanted to grab out of the refrigerator, combined with any spice I chose, combined with an egg and then baked into a pie form) and then waiting for Grandpa to take a taste and compliment my stellar cooking - that season is gone. It's been gone for a long time, of course, but now, with both my Mom's parents relocated permanently to their Heavenly home, now that season of even having grandparents is finished. It was a wonderful season with so many memories.
I didn't share any memories at Grandma's funeral. My sister, my braver, more outgoing sister, did. The girls asked why I hadn't, and all I could explain was that if I once started to share, I'd never have been able to stop (they giggled at the thought of their Mama taking up the entire funeral time with stories of mud pies). Plus, I can write it out a lot better than I can say it, I told them.
My Grandma thought - or portrayed that she did - that I was more perfect than anyone else will ever think I am. No one will ever think - or pretend to think - that I am as perfect as my Grandma thought I was. When it came to decisions in my life on whether to go down one road or another road, it mattered to me to be the person my Grandma thought I was. She knew me well, too (which means I know she knew my imperfections and just refused to dwell on them!). When we were expecting Hope, she asked me about my professional plans after the baby arrived. I gave her - the woman who lived her life focusing on caring for others in her home - a very educated answer about how important it is for women to be in the working world and model a professional life for their children and how it would make the baby far more well-adjusted to be cared for by a daycare than for me to stay home with the baby - and so on and so forth. She didn't argue with me; she didn't get defensive even though I'd subtly insulted her entire life's work. She just said, "I wonder if you'll still think that when you look into that baby's eyes." Here I am, ten years later, still staring with wonder into the eyes of my children for whom I happily committed career suicide.* And she and Grandpa and my Papa - all the grandparents I knew - loved me and my sister. So to be entering now into a season where their love, though it still exists, is removed to a different realm entirely - that's a huge season to be bidding farewell to.
So while I've been reflecting on the ending of the season of grandparents in my life, I've been reflecting, also, on the other seasons that have come and gone. I remember with fondness a season where Mike and I walked Hubert together every night after I got home from grad school and he from work. There was the summer that the girls and I spent many, many days at the splash pad, squealing at the touch of the freezing water on 90 degree days. There was the next summer, expecting Mighty Mouse, reading snuggled together with the girls for hours in our central air conditioned house most afternoons to beat the summer heat. There was the season of Mike's sabbatical where the girls and I attended almost every library program offered because Daddy was home to have Mighty Mouse during naptime. There was that first season of dance for the girls where I got to spend time with one girl while the other danced, and I and whichever girl was not dancing walked the halls humming tiny-baby-Mighty Mouse to sleep and then quietly enjoying each other's company. There was the season of the daily, morning, jogging stroller runs when I learned to enjoy running more with company to point out flowers and birds to than alone. None of these seasons have been perfect; none without some amount of painful memories to accompany them. But they've all been good. There is love and joy embroidered into the memories of all of these seasons.
Maybe that's what has struck me the most in my reflecting. All these years, as the seasons of my life change, I've been focused on the ache for the season that was. Far too often I've missed the season that is.
Right now, it seems like I'm in the season of chaos. Our trip to my Grandma's funeral was chaotic. It would have been utterly impossible without the wholehearted assistance of my mother-in-law, who rode 840 miles with the five of us, and signed herself on for free as my nanny for three days. Our trip two weeks ago to my sister-in-law's wedding was equally chaotic and would have been equally impossible without the nanny service of my own mama. We've had screaming tantrums in the middle of a mall (and believe me the acoustics in a mall are grrrr-eat!), a toddler jumping down flights of stairs, sleepless nights galore, a gassy baby, cranky schoolgirls, and.... I could go on and on. Or.....I could remember the fun we had on the boat where I got to see my husband perform the ceremony where my sister-in-law married my new brother-in-law, the lump in my throat as I watched my two sweet girls walk down the aisle looking like princess-flower-girls, and the happiness I felt, yet again, getting together with my husband's cousins, who are all just spectacular people raising spectacular children, and the beauty of the pink and white flowers on my Grandma's casket (they were perfect and they were just sparkling in the sunshine), and how special it was to hear other people (who were apparently braver and more outgoing than I) talk about their memories of my Grandma, and how ridiculous it was to have a toddler and schoolgirl in the backseat screaming in pain because they couldn't get the setting sun out of their eyes (which necessitated a quilt being hung across the front window - which I then peeked through to drive....in oil country....), and my mother-in-law's hairstyle in a 45 mph wind on the way home, and bursting into tears when I accidentally called my Mom "honey", just like my Grandma would have accidentally done when Laura and I were both talking to her at once and then Mom joined in.
And, really, if I think of those things, then I know this is not just a season of chaos. It is a season of being crazily in love with tiny, little people who depend on me for just about everything. It is a season of squeezing in a shower on the days I can at the times I can around feedings and changings and math problems and reading lessons and science projects and history stories and dishes and suppers and dishes and dishes and snacks and snacks and snacks (because these tiny people seem to be so very, very hungry all.the.time!).
Someday, no doubt, this season, too, will turn. And in some ways the new season will be easier because there won't be four people so incredibly dependent on me; I can already see that with the girls as they step away in independence more and more. But then that new season will bring changes with it that won't be easy; there's no doubt in that. And I know myself well enough to know I'll somewhat dread the change and will long for this season back.
So for now, I'm watching these leaves fall, reminding myself to cherish the memories of seasons past, to give thanks for them and for the people who made those seasons special, but also reminding myself to ride the wind of the Holy Spirit into the next season, to trust that God who can count each leaf swirling in the wind on this planet is also watching me, carrying me from season to season, encouraging me to share His love and share in His love right in the season that is.
*This statement was not made as an attack or criticism of working mamas. My intent is to show how well my grandmother knew me and somehow could tell that I was being called to be a stay-at-home mom.
Sunny asked me today on our way home from an errand if we could pick up some more milkweed. Understandable, because who could resist trying to recreate this, just one more time:
Sadly, I explained that the time had passed for these moments
And that the raking and crunching of leaves would need to take place of the awe of God's marvelous process of metamorphosis.
It's the changing of a season around here. Within the span of two years,
these little feet don't fit in these boots anymore.....but another little pair of feet do.
This little family has turned into this little family:
And I'm in love with that, and in awe of that, and in terror of how fast these seasons of our lives are flying by.
Many, many years ago, it became apparent that I am not one for whom change comes easily. My parents discovered it first; my poor husband slogged with me through several major life changes that piled up at once a few years ago. Something in me has always rebelled against change and clung tightly to the feeling that it is wrong and frightening and that the unknown is not exciting as much as it is to be feared. I love security and familiarity and comfort. Love those feelings. Perhaps too often I unintentionally worship those feelings.
Last week, we said a final goodbye to the hardest-worked pair of hands in this photo.
Beyond the changing of the weather seasons around here, this is what got me thinking about seasonal changes. Saying our final goodbye to my Grandma, this was the changing of a major life season. As I walked Manly Mouse to sleep in the basement at my Grandma's house, it was hard to believe the "season" of my learning to dance to a Charlie Pride record on my Grandpa Don's feet in that same basement family room is over. The season of making what we called "mud pies" in Grandma's kitchen (they consisted of anything I wanted to grab out of the refrigerator, combined with any spice I chose, combined with an egg and then baked into a pie form) and then waiting for Grandpa to take a taste and compliment my stellar cooking - that season is gone. It's been gone for a long time, of course, but now, with both my Mom's parents relocated permanently to their Heavenly home, now that season of even having grandparents is finished. It was a wonderful season with so many memories.
I didn't share any memories at Grandma's funeral. My sister, my braver, more outgoing sister, did. The girls asked why I hadn't, and all I could explain was that if I once started to share, I'd never have been able to stop (they giggled at the thought of their Mama taking up the entire funeral time with stories of mud pies). Plus, I can write it out a lot better than I can say it, I told them.
My Grandma thought - or portrayed that she did - that I was more perfect than anyone else will ever think I am. No one will ever think - or pretend to think - that I am as perfect as my Grandma thought I was. When it came to decisions in my life on whether to go down one road or another road, it mattered to me to be the person my Grandma thought I was. She knew me well, too (which means I know she knew my imperfections and just refused to dwell on them!). When we were expecting Hope, she asked me about my professional plans after the baby arrived. I gave her - the woman who lived her life focusing on caring for others in her home - a very educated answer about how important it is for women to be in the working world and model a professional life for their children and how it would make the baby far more well-adjusted to be cared for by a daycare than for me to stay home with the baby - and so on and so forth. She didn't argue with me; she didn't get defensive even though I'd subtly insulted her entire life's work. She just said, "I wonder if you'll still think that when you look into that baby's eyes." Here I am, ten years later, still staring with wonder into the eyes of my children for whom I happily committed career suicide.* And she and Grandpa and my Papa - all the grandparents I knew - loved me and my sister. So to be entering now into a season where their love, though it still exists, is removed to a different realm entirely - that's a huge season to be bidding farewell to.
So while I've been reflecting on the ending of the season of grandparents in my life, I've been reflecting, also, on the other seasons that have come and gone. I remember with fondness a season where Mike and I walked Hubert together every night after I got home from grad school and he from work. There was the summer that the girls and I spent many, many days at the splash pad, squealing at the touch of the freezing water on 90 degree days. There was the next summer, expecting Mighty Mouse, reading snuggled together with the girls for hours in our central air conditioned house most afternoons to beat the summer heat. There was the season of Mike's sabbatical where the girls and I attended almost every library program offered because Daddy was home to have Mighty Mouse during naptime. There was that first season of dance for the girls where I got to spend time with one girl while the other danced, and I and whichever girl was not dancing walked the halls humming tiny-baby-Mighty Mouse to sleep and then quietly enjoying each other's company. There was the season of the daily, morning, jogging stroller runs when I learned to enjoy running more with company to point out flowers and birds to than alone. None of these seasons have been perfect; none without some amount of painful memories to accompany them. But they've all been good. There is love and joy embroidered into the memories of all of these seasons.
Maybe that's what has struck me the most in my reflecting. All these years, as the seasons of my life change, I've been focused on the ache for the season that was. Far too often I've missed the season that is.
Right now, it seems like I'm in the season of chaos. Our trip to my Grandma's funeral was chaotic. It would have been utterly impossible without the wholehearted assistance of my mother-in-law, who rode 840 miles with the five of us, and signed herself on for free as my nanny for three days. Our trip two weeks ago to my sister-in-law's wedding was equally chaotic and would have been equally impossible without the nanny service of my own mama. We've had screaming tantrums in the middle of a mall (and believe me the acoustics in a mall are grrrr-eat!), a toddler jumping down flights of stairs, sleepless nights galore, a gassy baby, cranky schoolgirls, and.... I could go on and on. Or.....I could remember the fun we had on the boat where I got to see my husband perform the ceremony where my sister-in-law married my new brother-in-law, the lump in my throat as I watched my two sweet girls walk down the aisle looking like princess-flower-girls, and the happiness I felt, yet again, getting together with my husband's cousins, who are all just spectacular people raising spectacular children, and the beauty of the pink and white flowers on my Grandma's casket (they were perfect and they were just sparkling in the sunshine), and how special it was to hear other people (who were apparently braver and more outgoing than I) talk about their memories of my Grandma, and how ridiculous it was to have a toddler and schoolgirl in the backseat screaming in pain because they couldn't get the setting sun out of their eyes (which necessitated a quilt being hung across the front window - which I then peeked through to drive....in oil country....), and my mother-in-law's hairstyle in a 45 mph wind on the way home, and bursting into tears when I accidentally called my Mom "honey", just like my Grandma would have accidentally done when Laura and I were both talking to her at once and then Mom joined in.
And, really, if I think of those things, then I know this is not just a season of chaos. It is a season of being crazily in love with tiny, little people who depend on me for just about everything. It is a season of squeezing in a shower on the days I can at the times I can around feedings and changings and math problems and reading lessons and science projects and history stories and dishes and suppers and dishes and dishes and snacks and snacks and snacks (because these tiny people seem to be so very, very hungry all.the.time!).
Someday, no doubt, this season, too, will turn. And in some ways the new season will be easier because there won't be four people so incredibly dependent on me; I can already see that with the girls as they step away in independence more and more. But then that new season will bring changes with it that won't be easy; there's no doubt in that. And I know myself well enough to know I'll somewhat dread the change and will long for this season back.
So for now, I'm watching these leaves fall, reminding myself to cherish the memories of seasons past, to give thanks for them and for the people who made those seasons special, but also reminding myself to ride the wind of the Holy Spirit into the next season, to trust that God who can count each leaf swirling in the wind on this planet is also watching me, carrying me from season to season, encouraging me to share His love and share in His love right in the season that is.
*This statement was not made as an attack or criticism of working mamas. My intent is to show how well my grandmother knew me and somehow could tell that I was being called to be a stay-at-home mom.
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