Am I repeating myself?

Ok, so I'm hitting the other side of 30 in a matter of a couple of weeks (other side meaning 36) and 40 is looking closer than ever.  And I am wondering, do I repeat myself to much?  I am always telling my dad, "yeah, I heard this one already."  But staring someone completely in the face with my undivided attention I am starting to second guess myself...scary thought.  I begin my sentences with "I may have already told you this, but..." or end my conversation with "Did I already discuss this with you?"

I believe this has nothing to do with age, but with the fact that I have four children.  I know I repeat myself with them what seems like a thousand times.  Put that away when you are through with it.  Remember to put the seat down, flush the toilet and wash your hands.  Be quiet.  It's time for bed.  Stop talking and go to sleep.  Stop talking and go to sleep.  STOP TALKING AND GO TO SLEEP, Did I already discuss this with you?  I'm gonna stop blogging now and hopefully go repeat myself for the last time tonight.

It's that time of year...

Every season since we moved here I have had to rotate my family's wardrobe.  This week has been unseasonably cool and so I have been digging into the plastic containers to find long-sleeved shirts. This is a sure sign that tank tops, sun dresses, shorts and bathing suits are on their way to the bottom of some dark container where they won't be seen for at least nine months.  

Even though this December we will be living here for seven years, I still find the concept of rotating clothes extremely foreign.  Growing up in sunny Florida, everyone owned a couple pairs of jeans and a couple sweatshirts and we kept them in our bottom chest of drawers where they might be worn a couple times a year.  It has become at least a two week ritual to expel one season's clothes as they go through the wash and to slowly add the next.  Of course, after I have switched everything over we will have an "Indian Summer" couple of days or a cold front pass through.  This means that there will be a couple pair of shorts tempting my children in mid-October to be worn. 

The other sad thing about living up in an area of the country where there is truly four seasons is the fact that I can't wear flip-flops all year round.  My feet love to be free.  They prefer to breath in comparison to being smothered by thick socks and unpleasant feet restraints (shoes).  I hold out as long as I can, but when my toes start to get hypo-thermia, I cave into wearing real shoes.  I have a friend that also finds this a dilemma and together we pay homage to our fond flip-flops about the same time each year.

So there is a feeling in the air....the ritual is nearing.  I always look forward to putting the winter away and pulling out the spring, but it is sorta sad putting the summer away for the fall. So I pray...Indian Summer days, please stay!!! 

 

A Heart at Home

The first year we lived in Illinois a friend at church invited me to a conference called "Hearts at Home".  My motivation in going was more to get to know the women that went that weekend, but came home a renewed mother and wife.  When I haven't had a newborn, I have tried to make it a priority each year and have tremendously enjoyed the fellowship and encouragement I receive about being a stay-at-home mom.  The attendance is over 3000+ mothers.  Some moms work outside the home that attend, but we all have hearts that are at home.  There are lots of seminars that are beneficial like "Keep your ducks in a relative row" or "Nuturing your child's spirit".  Then there are funny sounding ones like "Peanut Butter Motherhood" and "Chocolate kisses for couples" (I'm gonna end up a Reeses Butter Cup!). I always come away from the conference with a new sense of validation for the decision to stay in the home to take care of my family.  I also enjoy the girl time with my friends and the laughter and banter that comes along with spending 24 hours with people you enjoy.  So tomorrow we leave at 530 am, I'm not a morning person; but its definitely worth the lost hours of sleep.  

Glen loves for me to go too, he says that he can tell it recharges me.  He's right.  There is something about the power of motherhood that resonates when all these women come together to say that God, their husbands and their children are their priorities.  There are some very funny stories about being a mom and there are some very serious and often sad stories about being a mom.  It's just very inspiring.  

Sometimes being at home can be mundane and repetitive.  You are always cleaning the same stuff and you don't always see the reward of your hard work.  There are a lot of domestic aspects most moms would give up in a heartbeat.  But then again you get paid with hugs and kisses and "peas" and "tank toos" and that is priceless.  Every mom deserves a break and a recharge and this is one of mine.  So can you tell I am really looking forward to the weekend.  My whole family reaps the benefits of me having some time to feed my soul. 

Foreign Language Master

I often regret not paying more attention in Spanish class during high school and college.  I even regret more that I didn't speak Spanish more often than English while I was actually in Spain.  I understand the language when someone is speaking it, well when they speak it slowly.  I can read it better than I can speak it or interpret it.  So where does that leave me?  

I find myself starring in awe at people who have mastered foreign languages not excluding sign language.  I marvel at their abilities to dissect pretenses and transpose verbs.  I love watching people interpret hands moving and their ability to converse with each other.  

Then today it hit me... I speak a foreign language besides the limited Spanish I thought.  I speak the language of Motherhood.  It's a lesser known language, but a legitimate one none the less.  Ethan, my four year old; spits out words like "troken omote" and I actually know what he is talking about.  He is explaining to me that when he is old enough to drive, he will have several race cars that all operate on his special "remote control".  And when Lydia says "oooohhhhhh piiiiittttty" she's actually telling me, "Mother, that is the most beautiful thing I've seen in the last 20 seconds".  And even my eight year old gets a little tongue-tied with "Moody Theater", but I don't mind I actually know what he means.  Evan is a whole different story.  Glen and I often think he is from another country with his very adorable accent.  He sometimes throws me for a loop... his words and I often hit the language barrier, but in time I eventually figure them out as well.

So all this time I have been full of regret, not retaining all that I learned in college.  I have felt bad that my dad paid good hard earned money for my education.  But then I remember that I know what "troken omote" means and my regret turns to anticipation of the next big challenge one of my children will send my way.