A Time to Laugh

So says the hubby. This is definitely a repeater: Rachael Ray’s Chicken Club Salad with Guacamole Dressing.

From Joel Carpenter’s Revive Us Again:

“Keswick perfectionism, for all its sweet demeanor, could prompt people to be very hard on themselves in their quest for holiness. And once they felt they had entered the ‘higher Christian life‘ they could be extremely judgmental toward more ordinary Christians. Assurance of this personal spiritual victory apparently gave Trumball a similar certainty of his doctrinal and ethical rectitude and helped justify his merciless attacks on those whose views differed from his own. The surrendered life’s perfectionist ideals could be twisted to support the sanctimonious debates over doctrinal details and the personal rivalries that marked so much of fundamentalism’s internal affairs.

“Perfectionism also could turn community life into an emotional pressure cooker. Earnest young people might be directed by their counsellors at church or in Bible School to see the inevitable friction in their personal relationships as evidence of insufficient surrender. The same might be told them about the conflicts many felt between their natural desires and abilities and their ‘call’ to a particular field of service. At its worst, ’surrendered life’ teaching could be twisted to provide those who held power with a self-righteous cover for their meanness and a tool for manipulating their followers into submission” (85).

My two wonderful boys.

I have a baseball cap. It looks simple enough. It’s hot pink with a kelly green South Carolina logo. :sc: I bought pink because . . . well, I really like pink. And that way my men know it’s mine. “Mommy yike pink?” :kid:

On first glance, I look just like a Southern preppy slouch. When you see me wearing it, you know that I didn’t fix my hair or my face. You know that my last shower was the previous night with a wriggling baby slung to me. But you also know that my dog has been walked, my toddler chased, and my baby jigged.

When you see me wearing it, you know that I won’t be shopping or dining out that day. I won’t be wearing a skirt, contacts, or “product” in my hair. You know that I’m probably wearing nothing more fancy than two pairs of blister-resistant socks, red capri sweats, and a Mary Englebreit “Bloom Where You are Planted” tee. But the poop has been scooped, the bubbles blown, the neighbors greeted, the lawn watered, the wading pool reinflated, cleaned, and filled. I’ve played soccer with the pup, “freeze” with tot, and patty-cake with the babe’s feet.

When you see me wearing it, you know that I probably got to pick up the kitchen, unload the dishwasher, vacuum the rug, and bathe the dog. You know that I probably will get 40 winks when for a brief moment there is an intersection of toddler and newborn rest.  You know that I will see more than my share of Blue’s Clues that day. You know that I tried (and failed at) a new Rachael Ray recipe.

When you see me wearing it, you know that I won’t be greeting my hubby June-Cleaver-style with shirtwaist starched and pearls glimmering. But you also know that we will all greet him at the very least with faces well-scrubbed and with intended squeals of welcome.

Yes, that’s what that baseball cap means. It means that for today I’m fully a mommy and wife and that my beauty is not at all in my mascara wand. It’s in a sleepy and satisfied snuggle on the couch with this wriggling family of five.

Whenever I hear my Dad pray or my Mom read a story, there’s a calm that instantly rests inside. I don’t even hear what they’re saying. I just hear peace in the lilt of their voices.

I got to see the hard-wiring for that aural bond installed on Sunday. Grant joined us for the congregational singing since there was no formal choir that morning. And Gavin was enthralled by Grant’s singing “This is my Father’s World.” He was totally riveted and lunged toward Daddy and was only content when he nuzzled Daddy’s shoulder.

Another human example of how gently God parents us.

My Shepherd will supply my need:
Jehovah is His Name;
In pastures fresh He makes me feed,
Beside the living stream.
He brings my wandering spirit back
When I forsake His ways,
And leads me, for His mercy’s sake,
In paths of truth and grace.

When I walk through the shades of death
His presence is my stay;
One word of His supporting grace
Drives all my fears away.
His hand, in sight of all my foes,
Doth still my table spread;
My cup with blessings overflows,
His oil anoints my head.

The sure provisions of my God
Attend me all my days;
O may Thy house be my abode,
And all my work be praise.
There would I find a settled rest,
While others go and come;
No more a stranger, nor a guest,
But like a child at home.

I was that damp mom with the hairied smile bustling past you in the mall strolling my tot and slinging my babe trying desperately to calm the latter from the trauma that was the car ride over.

I was the one giggling madly at the duster at the Picture People in the hopes of relaxing my disequlibriated and shy toddler.

I was the one that the Glamour Shots coupon-pusher refused to make eye contact with (she refused to look at me!) because, I s’pose, I didn’t fit the Glamour Shot demographic. I’m trying to decide if that’s a compliment. I’m pretty sure it is.

I was the one befuddled in the Build-A-Bear Workshop. What is with that store? They take themselves so seriously. A 20-ish surfer dude was there buying a Pink Sparkles Bear obviously for his girlfriend, and the salesman was explaining the process to him in the same way he would for a tween girl. No, he doesn’t want to put a wish in there. No, he doesn’t need to give the bear a faux air-bath. No, no, no. Just cart him over to the PCs where he’s comfortable. We did leave having purchased a bear cell phone which Isaac uses to call the Berenstain Bear family.

I was the one at Chic-Fil-A that several kind souls helped with picking up the dropped straws and pushing that unwieldly Twin Shift. Bless those dear people.

I was the one at the Picture People buying every single last pose of my boys. How could I refuse?

And I was the one all sprawled out on the floor of a dressing room in Dillards feeding my Gavin while my Isaac stroked my cheek and said, “I’m so proud of you, Mommy. . . . You’re a very good listener.”

Can you ask for more?

This Wordpress stuff is great. I’ve got a new jazzy theme that you can switch around if you like. And I even have a set of my own silly smilies. Look who’s joined me! :lucyb:

Comment and let me know you’re here. :tiphat:

If you ever wondered what it was like to be three years old in South Bend, Indiana, in 1971, this is a glimpse.

I remember those clothes. And the bean bags. And this wallpaper. And I inherited a bedroom in Tulsa that looked like this. I remember seeing these things. Thankfully, I don’t remember this at all. Did you have slippers like this too?

But I don’t know what a Lemon Frog is. Do you?

We finally conquered the letter “I” today. We made letter Is out of popsicle sticks (no glue required). We found Is on our morning walk. We made Ice cream (chocolate sorbet actually since we’re dairy-free). We played Instruments with Mr. Welk. We watched a silly show about an Island and Imagined the Skipper, Gilligan, and Mr. and Mrs. “Owl” joined us for dinner. And we Investigated the “Hundred-Acre Wood” behind our house.

I’m just now starting to get in my groove. It’s feeling like play.

When I’m scooping (dog) poop, slinging the wee one, leashing the dog, and singing “Deep in the Hundred Acre Wood” for Isaac — all at once — I know that mama-multi-tasking. Yesterday I held a sleeping babe and pitched and hit baseballs all at once. My gym teacher said that softball was important way back when. She was right.

We “mow” the lawn with our bubble mower and follow the same lawn rituals as Daddy. We make gargantuan bubbles with our new bubble sword. We play “Freeze” and “Follow the Leader.” We make pom-pom “gardens” on a paper plate for Jimmy from H.R. Pufnstuf. We throw sand. We find sticks. We pick dandelions.

All in all, we play. :-D