Venturing into art...

Hear ye, hear ye, good people of blogdom! I have an announcement to make. Today I made my first step into adulthood! Marriage, parenting, and home-ownership were all just baby steps compared to this Olympian leap.

Today I bought FIRSTHAND furniture.

No garage sale prowling, no Craigslist stalking. Nope, today Doug and I walked into some kind of American Furniture store (a warehouse, as it were) and we bought a NEVERBEFOREUSED sofa. We researched and debated and sat on so many couches my rear could detect the very color of a sofa before I laid eyes on it.

And by the end of Tuesday, we'll have our brand new sofa on display in our living room, sitting pretty. I'm pretty anal retentive about my furniture so no one will be allowed to sit on it for about a month, but you guys can feel free to LOOK at it any time you want!

So, being the good and faithful blogger that I am, I tried to find a picture of the sofa for all to see. But I searched and searched and my search turned up nothing, so I decided to do an artistic rendering of the newest addition to our family. Without further ado, I present you with my masterpiece...

Ta da! Isn't that something? I guess I have more than one talent to add to my repertoire! Now, uh, in case you were wondering, that little gray circle is my rug. And that thing with the Mr. Potato Head feet is Fable, and Fable is thinking in her little Fable head, "JUMPING! JUICE! SPILLLLING THINGS!!!!!" Because that's what her devious mind is plotting to do once I let my guard down. That's why no one will ever sit on my couch. I plan on teaching her that all furniture is for looking, not touching.

Well, anyway, not long after I breathed a sigh of accomplishment at finishing my painting, Doug leaned over and said, "Uh, hun, I found our couch online." He's annoying like that. So, I had him send me the photo so you could compare my rendition. What do you think?

I know, I'm amazing. Actually, just now I said to Doug, "I know, I'm frigging AMAAAAZING," over something totally unrelated to couches. And that's because my amazingness extends to things other than just furniture. It ALSO extends to bargain shopping (we got this couch for a screaming deal), craftiness, spawning, and as we all know, general attractiveness.

Now, before I sign off, I think it's worth saying this: I don't actually like that flowery pattern on the back cushions. But the awesome thing about this couch is that the cushions are all reversible so I can turn them around, which I will always do because, as I said I don't like that pattern. But I DO like the stripey pillows, which I realize now I forgot to add in my drawing. Ah, well. Artistic liberties and such.

Okay, anyway, talk at y'all later. Have a good night. And stay away from my sofa.

PS: Don't forget to post below for a chance at winning those AWESOME pins!

Lilac.

Last night, a dear friend watched the Fay for me whilst I whittled away the hours on bed rest. That's a good friend, my friends. As I lay dying of terminal boredom, Jes, her daughter Aspen, and Fable did all manner of crafty things. (Including painting with stamps made of carved potatoes! Who does that?!)

One is wont to notice all kinds of things while horizontal. (Keeeeep it clean, people. Jesus reads this blog.) First off, popcorn ceiling is the everyday Rorschach Test. I got a glimpse into my psyche last night as grinning circus clowns, old ladies with crooked spines, and stampeding horses emerged from my wall. That was a fun five minutes. Then I was back to having nothing to do.

So, I tossed and turned a little. Did some praying. Daydreamed about what my life would be like if I had longer hair (radically better, with far more fashionable montages). At about mile marker 2000, I decided to get out of bed. Who says bed rest needs to be literal BED rest? I mean, aside from my doctor and all.

I putzed around the house in my usual, albeit slower, style. Tidying this thing and that (read: moving it from one unorganized drawer to another). Starting a skein of crochet, only to undo it again. Went up the stairs for some reason, only to forget why when I reached the handle to the bathroom door. (How does a person forget what she intends to do in the bathroom? There are only so many things one can do in there; the options are easily exhaustible.)

Finally, I bunkered down in the black armchair in the living room. I sat in the quiet. I'm so shamefully bad at sitting in the quiet, either in my head or in reality. (Philosophy majors, feel free to quip that what's in your head should count as what's in reality. When you're done, call yourself a pretentious twit for me.) Truth be told, I didn't know what to do with myself without Fable around, yapping at my heels.

I've become so accustomed with multitasking, with putting on a puppet show with one hand and disinfecting the countertops with the other. At the end of a day filled with Legos and puzzles, meltdowns and "More juice, Mommy!" I am thoroughly exhausted and satisfied. I'm acquainted with that form of exhaustion. It's fulfilling, unlike the kind of exhaustion that camps in your bones when you're sick. This kind, the new and harder kind, makes me cry at the drop of a hat. Makes me need to rest in the middle of doing the dishes or having a conversation with my husband. It makes me restless and irritable, but somehow more contemplative.

I feel like a butterfly pinned down by the wings, under the giant lens of the Lord. It was C.S. Lewis, I believe, who said something to the effect of, "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world." Oh, Lord. Have I been deaf? Is that the root of this pain?

Lord, I prayed, let me hear you. Still me. Wrestle me to the ground as you did Jacob. Leave me with a wound, but don't leave me here.

Over the last week several doctors have lain me down, told me to prepare for the pain of a needle or of morphine coursing through my veins. But nothing has compared to this, the pain of holding still for the Lord.

And so, I finally did some musing. In a silent house, in the space inside a whirring mind, I settled-- as much as I know how. Minutes passed, but they felt much longer, as if the Lord were stretching them to their fullest. To think of all the minutes in a day, and how few of them I spend before the presence of God... no wonder it hurt so much.

My time alone came to a close. I heard Jes and Fable approach the door. Finally, my sweet, sticky distraction was home. It's indescribable, the way her rosebud mouth and forever curly hair warms me up from the inside. The warmth was almost unbearable within the walls of my freshly scrubbed heart.

Fable trotted up to me, as she always does, in the the style that so reminds me of a baby beagle tripping over his ears. Sometimes I just want to hold her so much, I can't help but scoop her into me. When she is 16, I will still be pulling her into my arms, despite her protestations.

This time, though, the singularly most amazing thing happened. Fable held out her hand to me.

"Here go, Mommy." And just like that, the Lord came rushing in to mend the wound. Clutched in her tiny, sweaty palm was a thick shoot of lilac.

My first ever flower from Fable. It smelled so good to me.

I found a glass for it, but by the time I filled it with water, Fable had all but demolished the poor thing. No matter-- none at all.

With all the pride and thankfulness in the world, I put the dilapidated petals and naked stem into the glass. It sits now on my dining room table, proudly displayed for all to see.

Today I don't feel so raw. Not much better physically, truth be told. But no worse. And my spirit? It has rarely been better or healthier. I suppose this whole blog started when I realized that I sit here, in this dilapidated state, proudly on display for *my* Father.

There's no better place to be.

Pooh Bear Can't Touch This.

Photo blitz! Turn down the lights and turn on the disco ball. These photos are of one of my favorite family bonding outings in the history of family. Well, this family, at least. Meh, probably your family, too. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...

Fable's First Movie!

Now, if you're an astute observer, you've probably noticed by now that this is not a photo of my child with popcorn in hand, gearing up for her first movie. What this IS is a photo of my child in a diaper, throwing her head back in wild exultation as her daddy narrowly avoids getting splashed in the face. Read on, confused friends. Read on.

A few weeks ago, we hitched up the horse and buggy and went into town to see Fable's first theatre movie! We didn't really know what to expect from her, since she's as unpredictable as a toddler running on a full tank of Juicey Juice. (I s'pose that's always sort of true for her, given that she's a toddler normally touting a juice box...) We *intended* to see the new Winnie the Pooh flick. You know, the one all the teenagers are flipping out about. I say that we *intended* to see it because Fable had developed an entirely different agenda by the time we got there. About ten minutes into the movie, she decided that she was going to sit on the floor. After the allure of that wore off, she decided she was going to take that opportunity to try drinking from a can of smuggled soda, which has never gone well in the past-- let alone in a dark movie theatre. Things pretty much spiraled downhill from there. There was running up and down the stairs. There were whispered promises of candy if she would sit still. There were scowls from the family in front of us-- which, might I add, consisted of three adults and no children. Explain to me how that's normal. Anyway, there were tears. My, how there were tears! It all came to a head when Fable *demanded* that I put her in time out. I kid you not. The exchange between mother and daughter went something like this:

F: "Mommy, outside!"

M: "Fable, no, we have to stay in here and watch the movie!"

F: "OUTSIDE!"

M: "Fable, do you need to go to time out?"

F: "Mommy, Bebo need to go time out. Bebo need to go outside."

And so now you see how I set myself up for that one. With about 15 minutes to spare, Doug granted Fable's wish. He took her outside, leaving me in peace to watch the final riveting moments of Pooh Bear's great adventure. But apparently the fun to be had was waiting for me outside, where Doug had stripped Fable down to nothing but a diaper and was merrily frolicking in the fountain with her. Doug, if you're reading this, yes I outted you for frolicking.

See how much happier we all are when we keep it simple?

I was trying to convince her to run into the water, but she thought it wise to keep an eye on that thing.

See how I'm kiiind of trying to force her to go in there? I thought it would be funny if the fountain spurted up under her foot. Doug reminded me just then that she's about 20.5 pounds and the pressure of the fountain might just blow her away. I also thought that was kind of funny, but my sense of responsibility kicked in aaaaaand...

And there she goes! Off in the opposite direction! This game consisted of running up to the fountain, taunting it like a two-year-old is inclined to do, and running away gleefully.

So, that was our adventure. I can't say it compared to Pooh Bear's, though I'm sure his didn't end with him running about in a diaper. At least that's not the Pooh I grew up with, anyway. I thought it was a good way to spend the weekend. And if we didn't have a toddler, this *PROBABLY* wouldn't have happened!

Stay tuned for tomorrow's picture blog on a topic I haven't decided upon yet!

Mother's Day

Being a mom to Fable Elaine has offered me a moment of pause to consider the last two years. One day my daughter's chubby little fingers will reach for a marker to scrawl her first Mother's Day card. One day I'll open my mailbox to find her love waiting for me there. And one day in the distant future, I'll receive my first Grandmother's Day card.

My prayer is that each and every year, my love for this child will grow exponentially. On this day, I am honored to be Fable's mother. It's the highest compliment, the most humbling duty, and the greatest joy I've ever experienced. Fable is too young to sign her name on an effusive card or even understand what it means that I'm her mother. But I understand. And I hope I never crave her thanks. Instead, I hope that this time every year, I turn to my Savior, the God who gave me this sacred gift, and thank HIM.

Praise the Lord today.