giving thanks

This thanksgiving marks 7 years since David and I officially started dating, seven years since God brought a gift to me.  David is my balance, my support, my quiet in the storm.  In our struggles, while God taught us and molded us and shaped us, David stood by me, loved me, was strong for me.

I don't know if many would describe him as strong.  But he is so strong.  He is so patiently steadily strong.

This thanksgiving, I am thankful for him.

This thanksgiving is my second with my miracle Penelope.  With only one fallopian tube and two lost babies, God gave me my miracle.  She is funny.  She is beautiful with her big blue eyes and her expressive face.  She loves to read and observe the world around her.  She is a quiet and loving baby who blesses us with her life.

I don't know what my life would have been like with my two lost little ones, but I know that I love being a mommy for Penelope.

This thanksgiving I am thankful for her.

This thanksgiving marks my third without my mom.  I miss her.  I miss her vibrancy.  i miss her smile.  I miss her passion.  I miss seeing my dad's joy when they were together.  But I have my family here.  I have a peace that comes with working together, laughing together, cooking together.  I love my siblings, my dad, and my family.

I don't know how my mom would be doing had she survived, but I know that she has survived through her mark on each of us.

This thanksgiving, I am thankful for family and legacy.

This thanksgiving, I thank God for all of his blessings.  Those I see and those I do not.  I thank Him for the ways he works daily in my life, and I pray that he would open my eyes to His providence and love for me.

Stuff

A box of faded photographs, newspaper
Clippings of friends long lost,
Letters never sent, cards never received,
Letters never answered.
College notes from 1953 all scribbled
On paper-thin paper, brittle with age,
And a napkin.  A napkin about Columbus
And his fourth trip back and his poverty stricken death.
A summer college report card of C.

I feel her emotional poverty.
I feel her restraint, her fear, her hesitation
And I know I have never known the real her
And I wonder if anyone has.
And I wonder if she has.

This woman that life has beat up;
This woman that no one really sees;
This uprooted woman who has left behind
Herself in piles of paper and forgotten keepsakes;
This woman who raised my mother
But from an uncontrolled distance,
And was alive at her funeral and present, but so far away;
This woman who is not old, just ask her;
This woman who could not put her finger
On a positive memory;
This woman is my grandmother.

I do not throw her away when I throw away her things.
I throw away her shadow and her heartbreak.
I  hope that in her newfound garden
She will flourish.  I hope but do not expect,
Because I know that while she is a beautiful flower,
She is forever broken inside.

Summer

When I tell people I am a teacher, their usual first response is "wow!"  When I tell them I want to be a stay at home mom, their automatic response is, "well, at least you get the summers off."  While I couldn't agree more, it does bug me a bit.

I want to stay at home with my daughter.  I want to love her.  I want to raise her.  I want to be there when she needs discipline, when she doesn't feel good, when she is having a hard day.  I want to take care of cleaning the house, cooking dinner, managing our finances.  I want to "socialize" my daughter by setting up play dates with other children.  I want to explore everything she does and open the world to her so that she can learn.

I don't want her in daycare.  Or full time preschool.  Or in any kind of institution.  When the time comes for school, I am there, with her in tow.  At that time, I want to help the teacher... with parties, with prep, with field trips, with  (cough cough) grading.  I want my daughter, and any other children I have to know that they have back-up, that they can count on me.  I want to be able to consider fostering children, something I can't really do if I work outside the home.

I drives me crazy that there is such a fight against this.  It drives me crazy that women I know feel like it is somehow below them to care for their families.  It drives my crazy that moms out there are ashamed to say, "yes, I am a stay at home mom!"

I am blessed to be a teacher, to at least have periods of weeks with my daughter.  I am blessed to be able to go part time, for right now.  Although, that may end next year.  I am even blessed to have a group of family and friends who watch Penelope right now.  I just wish that our society would see the value of motherhood.  I wish they would stop trying to push mothers to leave their child in a daycare center, and I wish that there was some way, any way, that I could do this full time.

Generations

I have a picture of myself hanging on the wall.  Well, I guess there are quite a few of them.  But in the one I am thinking of in particular, I am about a year old, standing in front of my dad, my little hand stretched out in his big one, feeding a goat.

We went to the Orange County Fair today, and we took this picture.  Penny is about one, standing in front of her dad, her little hand stretched out in his big one, feeding a goat.

I love it.

Little Cute Moments

"Can I have a kiss?" and she leans in, mouth open, and kisses me on the lips.

I am in the swimming pool, and she is pouring little shovel fulls of water over my head from a bucket on the side, laughing hysterically at each one.

"A baby kangaroo is called a joey." Bounce bounce bounce goes my knee.  Flap flap flap go her arms.

"Say more.  What do you want?  Tell me what you want."  "moe!"  And she claps with pride as she realizes that she said it, not signed it.

I wonder where she is, and peek around the corner.  There she is, waiting, looking, hoping I will see her at the bottom of the stairs.  As soon as I do, she squeals and high-tails it up as fast as possible in a very precarious game of tag.  Good thing the gate isn't open often.

We eat blue cheese.  Or brie.  Or pepper jack.  Or goat on crackers before dinner, and she wants some, and asks for more, and does a little dance when she gets it.

"Mampa!" "Niy niy niy." "Moe!" "burrrrr" she speaks, and we listen.

My little Penelope.  I love that girl.

family. money. aging. children. preparation for the future. blech.

If there is anything that has been impressed in me more and more over the last few weeks, it is that when things are difficult, it is even more important to face them, to share them, to deal with them.  I have always felt that way.  Challenge has always stoked a fire in my gut, has always caused me to gain determination.  But I never, never want to put myself into a place where I limit my options.

I love my grandmother, but her stubbornness and embarrassment over her personal decisions have made it more difficult for everyone to deal with.

I will not hide myself from my family.  I will not hide my successes and failures.  I will not.

Away

David and I just had our first weekend away from Penelope.  Okay, Weekend might be a bit of a stretch-- it was actually just under 24 hours.  It was wonderful.  We stayed in a hotel, went to Cheesecake factory, and went to Glen Ivy; oh how I love that place.  Maybe I'll quit my job and just go there every day.

Yeah, go ahead, say it.  YEAH RIGHT!

Anyway, it was a blast.  We both could sleep with both ears closed instead of one listening for miss P.  I truly enjoyed being wife for a day, and having my husband for a day.

Of course, I missed my daughter.  Of course I missed seeing David taking care of her and playing with her, but I love my wonderful husband and cherish us, and am so grateful that there was someone (uncle Greg) willing to watch her overnight so we could just be two for a brief moment.