"Baby dry"

This post is dedicated to my wonderful Aunt Peggy, who supplied me with a whole CASE of "Baby dry" Pamper's diapers. Thank again, woman. You are awesome. :)

So the irony of Pamper's "Baby dry diapers" is that, should your little boy baby somehow wriggle his little boy baby parts out of the "Baby dry" diaper in the middle of the night, both baby and the mommy sleeping in close proximity turn out to be not so dry...much less "baby dry". However, the "Baby dry" diaper, did remain "Baby dry".

So...I wouldn't so much call it false advertisement, so much as it is just a little misleading.

Funny thing is, when you're awakened at 3 am and have a six week old baby, there are very few things that can persuade you to actually pursue consciousness and get up, other than the before-mentioned six week old baby.

So when I suddenly awoke at 3 am this morning and noticed that the front of my t-shirt was all but soaking wet, I thought perhaps I had been sweating in my sleep...yeah, kinda gross. But baby hormones do strange things to one's body, so it was totally a possibility.

It was only when I got up three hours later that I realized the baby was soaking wet also. And when I removed the wet outfit, realized that his little boy part had somehow worked its way out of the now half-removed "baby dry" diaper. Tinkle. I slept in a puddle of tinkle long enough that it was completely dry by the time I got up...

Mommy sleep...it is hardcore dude.

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And the rain, rain, rain came down, down, down.

I love the rain.

On a lazy spring day with a good book and a cup of coffee, a good rain is the cherry on top.

I could sit at my kitchen table and look out the window for hours, watching the droplets of water slowly fill the uneven cracks in the warm, steamy concrete. Even the kids become lethargic, nibbling at a snack and draping their little bodies across one another on the couch while they halfheartedly watch Kipper.

Ahh. Life at it's best.

But rain... on a day when you have to load two young children and a newborn into the minivan in their Sunday-best, then unload and run them into the Sanctuary--screaming and dripping, then have them sit still and quiet through an hour and a half of worship--still wet and now cold, then repeat the whole process on the way back to the house...

Awful.

I'll go so far as to say that I feel personally offended that God would have it rain on me on a day like this.

I mean...why? What did I do to deserve this?

Of course that is ridiculous, but I'm just being honest.

My life as of late feels much like this example of a rainy day. I'm tired and frantic and unorganized and just dripping with self pity. And the storms never stop.

Seminary life is no joke.

We have been met with the storms of financial instability, the rain of depression and hopelessness, and the slow trickle of insecurity of the call to be here. The rain of attack from Satan on our marriage is violent and never-ceasing. Our hearts are so saturated by the rain of life that it overflows, no--we pour it out--on our children. They're flooded with our anger and impatience in discipline, our disinterested and distracted interaction, and an overall sense of anxiety and restlessness.

And what is my reaction?
Why? Why God? Why me?

I like to play dumb with God. I like to look up to the heavens with my lip jutted out and pretend that I think this rain is a sign of His disappointment in me.

But I know better. It's quite the opposite. These trials are not made for hearts of stone, but hearts of flesh. Hearts that need to be broken, and humbled and made dependent upon Him.
Must I really be so sanctified? Yes.

Paul writes, "So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Cor 12

Oh, what comfort is derived from remembering this!

I know that the rain that floods and drowns my soul is the very same rain that gives life. Without rain, we would wither and die. And I take hope in the verses of Mathew that promise that though the rain never stops, God will sustain me if my hope is set in him.

"Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock." Matthew 7:24-25

Like a man thrown overboard, tossed and turned by the waves, weary and exhausted by the struggle to climb back on ship, I seek refuge in Him. And He delivers me. My joy is made new, for my joy is in Him. And maybe my lungs will continue to sting and ache from the battle in the sea. Maybe the rains will return. Maybe I'll fall back in to be tossed and turned and faced with destruction. But if so, I will give Him praise for reminding me of my weakness...and His Power that is made perfect in it.

I love the rain. Pin It

Happy New Years!

Today for lunch as I was dropping hot dogs into boiling-lava-hot water, Graysen meanders up to me and asks casually, "Mommy, what are you making?"

To which I reply, "Oh I'm just making you some lunch. Hot dogs and mac and cheese...yum!"

Graysen wrinkles her nose and paces back and forth across the kitchen floor. She stops, asking with a gulp, "Mommy...Is this hot dog and mac and cheese soup?"

My new years resolution-suggestion of Graysen...buy a cookbook.

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A Morgan Christmas- Part Two

So this morning I broke out the magical-Santa drinking a bottled coke- snow globe, and I finally got that whisper-y "WOW" out of Noah that I've been looking for.

Tough one to crack, that one.








We then had some yummy homemade muffins, grits, and beanie weenies.

The muffins were a hit with Graysen.






And when we were all full (of heartburn...Oh, wait. That was just me.), Daddy showed the pups how to hang ornaments on the tree.









And here's the finished product.

It's just oozing Morgan. Seriously, you should see it up close. It's the perfect combination of color, light, and Christmas-tackiness.




So to sum it all up in a cliche...

New lights....$30.00

Tree....$40.00

My totally awesome wreath, complete with gaudy peacock feathers....Priceless, baby.

That's right, I made her myself. Isn't she a beauty?

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A Morgan Christmas: Part One

Brandon and I have a real talent for squeezing Christmas trees into impossibly tight spaces...often, we try to do it in the rain as well- just to add a little extra challenge. Wouldn't want things to get boring!







After Putting up the tree (see background image), Brandon decided it would be the perfect opportunity to make eggnog...with Graysen.

Peas in a pod, those two...













Snuggle Picture...you know, for posterity.











Upon finishing the tree's lights, Graysen took a step back in awe and whispered, "Wow, it's...perfect!"









Noah's response? Well, he cried...but I'm sure it was just because his heart was too full to hold it all in.

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That's life, Kid...

Okay, this is a little beside the point, but it's cold outside!!!

Catch the excitement?

Anyway, Gray and I went outside for about 5 minutes earlier so that she could have a little social interaction and enjoy the sunshine.

Well, three minutes into her shivering, windblown fun, a pack of the neighborhood kids group together around a massive ant bed and begin taunting the ticked off ants.

Graysen, who really isn't sure what all the fuss is about, giggles and runs along with them, oblivious that this choice could have consequences.

* I'm going to pause here and acknowledge to you that I am an overbearing, overprotective parent who refuses to let her children learn lessons "the hard way". So, judge me. Whatever.

Anyway, so as the group migrates to the ant bed nearest my perch, I call out to Graysen.

I then proceed to lure her inside with promises of juice and a quick discussion.

After giving her juice, I begin to bargain with her..."Gray-gray, it is super cold outside and your friends are being a little reckless, do you think maybe you'd like to wait until your best friend wakes up from her nap and invite her over?"

She pauses to look at me. "Yes, but I want to play with my other friends too."

Did I mention her methods of negotiation have almost surpassed mine?

I reply, "I know, love. But your other friends are playing in an ant bed, and when those ants get mad they're going to jump on your friends and bite them really hard! Don't you think that's a bad idea?"

Graysen's forehead creases as she carefully chooses her next words..."Hmmm...yeah...that's not berry smart."

"You're so right, it's not." I smugly reply.

Her face lights up like a light bulb, "I need to go tell my friends not to play in the ants!"

"That's okay, Gray."

With even more enthusiasm, she replies, "But Mommy, I have to!"

Well of course this is long after I have warned the gang of ant killers against provoking "biting" insects, so I take a breath and think out my next move..."Well, Graysen...I don't think that your friends are going to listen to you."

"But, why?" she replies.

"Because baby, they think that playing in the ants is fun, and they don't care that they may get bitten."

The look of deep concentration returns to her face, "Well..." she pauses again, obviously feeling a little confused and defeated, "that's not berry smart either."

I nod, encouragingly.

She slumps down into the couch and picks up the t.v. remote, disillusioned for the first time by the senselessness of human decision-making.

Life lesson #1, Kid.

You almost made it 4 years.




Happy Birthday to my Graysen, who turns 4 this Sunday! :) Pin It

Dinner Guest

Tonight we had a dinner guest.

Batgirl. In person.

That's right.

We were told she would not be removing her mask for dinner, and we were to call her by her real name, Batgirl.

We were so honored to have her join us that we didn't argue.

I was relieved that I had prepared one of my best meals- Morgan soup, and Batgirl seemed to thoroughly enjoy it.

We ate politely and quietly until Batgirl turned to me, face tight with fervor, and said "Bats don't eat vegetables. I need more meat."

Cough.

I apologize. It's just that I've never had a bat for dinner... Pin It