up to the sprinkle donut

lucy and i have this sweet saying between us. it goes, "i love you up to the sprinkle donut." lately, it has turned into, "i love you up to a thousand sprinkle donuts, up to all the sprinkle donuts in the whole world."

we have a thing for sprinkle donuts.

really, i don't even remember when we first started it. i know it evolved out of the book Guess How Much I Love You--i love you up the the moon and back, etc. . .and it's grown from there.

lucy blesses me each and every day with how much she adores me, just for being me. but the crazy thing is that had it been my choice, i wouldn't have a fifth child.

what i am saying is that if i had been given the choice, before i got pregnant, to have another child, i would have, without a doubt chosen to be done. four was enough, more than enough for me. i am really the most unlikely person to have five kids. believe me. people who have known me--before kids--tell me this. they are shocked. me too.

believe me, me too.

when i found out i was pregnant, again, i was not excited. in fact, i think i was in denial. i didn't tell anyone. i secretly hoped it would go away. i knew this could not be good for my life. i knew it was not my plan and so it could not be God's plan. two days later i was on a women's retreat, in a small group with two women who desperately wanted to get pregnant, who'd miscarried and were struggling with their broken hearts.

i shook my head at God. why would you give me more? take mine and give it to them. it is too much for me.

i kept imagining my life as a board game--like candyland--just when i thought i was making some progress to getting my life back--i got that damn Mr. Mint and got sent back to the beginning. i hate that game.

i kept thinking it would just go away. i went shopping and bought regular clothes. i got to wear them for about two months.

it wasn't until i saw the perfect outline of her body on the ultrasound, that i gave up the fight.

and this is how i know, undoubtedly, that God knows what i need and desire in my heart, more than i know myself--because i love lucy up to the sprinkle donut. up to all the sprinkle donuts in the entire world. and each night i put her to bed, i thank God He didn't listen to me.

Mr. Darcy

I entered a contest this week to win a beautiful necklace. The entry was, "what is your favorite Jane Austen novel?"

If you know me well, you know I LOVE Jane Austen. The contest started me thinking why I loved these romantic, unrequited love (till the last few pages) at it's best, novels. Pride and Prejudice is my favorite. I literally stayed up one night till 2a.m. in the bathroom (so I wouldn't wake up Steve) finishing it--and that was the second time I read it.

I have thought about it and I realize that I love these kinds of novels because they let me experience, vicariously, what I, as a married woman can only reminisce about--that time when I first fell in love--before anything was certain, before I knew he felt the same and just the sight of him made my heart pound and my hands shake.

I can't recreate that with my husband, not in it's pure form. I will never wonder again, "Is he going to kiss me?"

One night, after watching "Made of Honor", no Jane Austen but the same elements, I felt kinda sad. I had the realization that I would never feel that way again--the newness, the uncertainty, the little games played to be where he is. . .

But I am not stupid. I know that part only lasts a few weeks at best--which is probably why every movie and Jane Austen novel ends at this point.

And if the book continued, I'm thinking even Mr.Darcy would probably forget to close the bathroom door or pick up his towel off the floor. He and Elizabeth would probably argue over the bills or the new hat she had to have (shoes for us modern day girls).

And their love would grow and mature, the roots spreading deep into both their hearts--like mine has.

To enter, to to Lisa Leornard's page: www.lisaleonardonline.com/blog/

Splashin' Water Park

Emma is an amazing person. She has this gift for making something fun out of nothing. Popsicle sticks, paint and glue become a miniature of her own blue house. Yesterday a balloon and some pink party streamers became a volleyball tournament. She gets it from her dad. The vision to see what can be--just with a few items and a lot of imagination. Steve and I wonder all the time how this gift will work it's way into the woman she will become. I can't wait to find out.

Today it was a water park--complete with a concession stand, first aid supplies, and work shifts for each of the kids. They all fell in line. She can be quite bossy (who knows where that came from). But they all love to be a part of the magical places she creates.

All was going great--that is until Nate began acting like a boy. The girls cried, "Nate splashed me", "Stop Nate", "Mommy, Nate got water on my peanut butter and jelly", "Don't Nate", and on and on. Poor Nate. Really he can't help it. It was inevitable. He got kicked out of Splashin' Water Park.

I tried to explain to him that girls don't play like boys do. Of course he has heard this countless times but I am hoping that over a span of 18 years or so, it will one day make it into his brain. I am thinking that this will really save him a lot of counselling time one day when he gets married.

I am talking from experience, of course. And I am married to a guy who didn't have any sisters. He pokes fun, pushes my buttons, "splashes" me so to speak. All in fun, he says. He doesn't get it when I get mad.

Watching Nate today, I thought, "Wow, there it is. He just doesn't get it." What he thinks is funny, they think is annoying. When he is trying to play with them, they think he is trying to hurt them. They are speaking two different languages. The girls with their words, Nate with his hands (and any object near by).

I had to convince the girls to let Nate back in to Slashin' Water Park on a provisional basis. I told them to give him some slack. Emma laid the rules out for him. It bought him about fifteen more minutes. He tried.

I changed my tactic and said to the girls, "Boys don't play like girls do."

Maybe I'll get it into my brain too if I say it over and over enough.

Treasures

You can't make a three-year old be in a hurry.

I had this thought the other day as I pleaded and scooted and threatened Lucy into the car. I said ridiculous things like, "we have to be there in ten minutes," and "we can't be late, Lucy." Neither fazed her as she bent down to look at something in the grass and then pointed to an airplane overhead. My mind was set on the appointment I could not be late for. Hers was set on whatever happened to cross her path. A button in the grass, the book she found under the back seat of our Suburban, a piece of pretzel in her car seat--all she showed me with the enthusiasm of someone who'd just discovered a lost treasure. She laughed and squirmed as I tried to twist her into her seat--like it was some funny game we were both in on. I wasn't laughing.

Later, though, I had the thought. I can't make her be in a hurry. She is not thinking of time or appointments or late fees. She doesn't wonder what will happen next week, let alone a few hours from now. She is completely present in the moment. She can notice the button because her mind isn't occupied with a million other things. Me, on the other hand--it is like my mind is at least thirty minutes ahead of my body. I am thinking of the next thing and the next thing and on and on.

I was jealous.

I started wondering how many things I miss being in such a hurry through life and a bit annoyed with myself that I was trying to hurry her along with me. Had I lost the ability to appreciate the little details or was I just choosing to ignore them? I decided it was the latter.

And so, I have decided to slow down a bit and see the day through Lucy's eyes more often. You know, "stop and smell the roses" (sorry, I couldn't help it).

Who knows what treasures I might find.