Stuff to Do

In this season, I wait. I wait to meet our newest family member, I wait to figure out how we will all blend to make a complete picture. I feel this need to organise everything RIGHT NOW, to know all that is unknown. I wonder if I will be enough for everyone, how I will spread myself even further. It's not a question of love. That part is easy enough. Of course I have enough love. But time, that is trickier. Perhaps it's a question of time management. After all, we are all given the same amount of time in a day, so maybe the challenge is how I choose to use the time given to me? Of course I'm busy. Of course I have my hands full. But I don't see it as something impossible. Will I always get it right? Nope. But I will love my family, as well as I can, for as long as I can. It's why I was put on this earth. To love. And the fact that I've been given so many people to love speaks to that. They are my paparazzi, for better or for worse. I am more desired and in deman...

I was reminded this morning of a statement that I've encountered, in various forms, many times over the last few years. "God doesn't call the equipped. He equips the called." Another variant I've seen is this: "God doesn't ask so much about our ability as He does our availability." It is easy to feel ordinary when my day consists of preparing food that may or may not be eaten, wiping bottoms, shuffling people to various locations, washing dishes, vacuuming floors, and scrubbing toilets. It's easy to get stuck in a rut of "why does it matter, no one cares or even notices what I do, poor me" each and every moment of each and every day. Want to know a secret? It matters. It matters because I was called, equipped, and chosen. Not someone else, but me. And you too. So the next time you might feel like you're insignificant, remember that you are chosen to be who you are, where you are, when you are. You are the only you there is, and that...

I've been pondering this question today. The short answer is that a long time ago, possibly in my teens, I gave up on my dreams, and adopted ones that belonged to someone else. Dreams that were more realistic. Which makes them less like dreams, I suppose. So how do I get back to a point in life when I know what my dreams are? I'm talking about the dreams that exist only for me, and not the dreams that I think I should have because someone else I admire has that dream. Don't misunderstand. I love my family, I love my life as a wife and mother. I strive to do those things well, and I enjoy them immensely. But those things are not the things that drive me. It is what I do, but not so much who I am as an individual. I started by examining what my gifts are. Singing, writing, and cooking came immediately to mind. Doing any one of those three things can make the outside world disappear. I am focused, steady, and at my absolute calmest when I am doing them. Then I thought about ho...

It's Saturday morning. I was awake at 5:37, making a bottle and a cup of coffee. Once upon a time, I would have been horrified at the thought of being awake that early on a Saturday morning. Part of me still rebels, hoping against all hope that I'll get a reprieve and be able to sleep in. But a larger part of me relishes these quiet moments. The moments when I am free to sit, pray, read, plan, think, and just be. When no one is shouting for me to Come.And.Wipe.My.Bottom. When the sound of children's television is absent. When the only thing I can hear is birds, waking up for the day, the light snoring of my baby, some cars on the highway (very faintly), and the sound of my own heart, faithfully beating out the rhythm of my life. I love my life, and I wouldn't trade it for another. I wouldn't trade the poo-splosions, the tantrums, the workload, the broken sleep, the inability to remember if I've showered recently, the neverending cycle of housework, the complete ...

I have two mothers. First, there's the woman who gave birth to me, and for the first 19 years of my life, was the only mother I knew. Her part in my story isn't finished, though she might pretend otherwise. I hope and pray for reconciliation between us, but that is entirely up to her. Then there's the woman who became my mom when I was 20. The woman who had many 'bathroom chats' with me, about life-altering decisions. Don't ask me why they always occur in the bathroom, they just do. She taught me to drive. She's the mom who walked down the aisle with me when I got married the first time, the one who was there for me when it all fell apart. The one who traveled to Texas to help me start rebuilding my life. The one who was generous enough to open her home (and heart) to my new boyfriend (and now husband!), and was there to celebrate my marriage to him. She was there to celebrate with us when we fell pregnant the first time, and a short time later, she dried my...

But It is my family, and at this point, you don't get to decide how many babies we have. I may not have wanted this child before, but I'll fight anyone who says he or she shouldn't be born because the world is overpopulated enough. Maybe it will be hard - and maybe it won't. Maybe the birth will be hard - and maybe it won't. Maybe we'll have a boy - or maybe a girl. Maybe this, Maybe that. In the light of reality, all those 'maybes' don't matter to me. The reality is that this child is here, he or she is loved, wanted, and cherished, and today, that's enough. I refuse to worry about 6 months from now. It's pointless. And maybe, just maybe, that's the way it's supposed to be. XO, Sarah

May be. I hope that May will be a month of gratitude. Of waking up each morning and thanking God for every single thing in my life. From the breath in my lungs, to the smell of wet dog in my bathroom. From the little people who call out "Mooom, come wipe my bottom!?!?", to the sound of my baby 'talking' to her toy squeaking chick. From the desperate hunger for fast food that turns into nausea when I actually eat it. From the sun rising, to the moon which takes its place. That I would be more aware of the world around me, and more thankful for it. That I would SEE more, FEEL more. BE more, and DO less. That I would notice small things, and appreciate them as big. Thanks for listening, Sarah

There's something to that expression, though my interpretation may be probably is different than the original. If I give God the very best of me, my days go so much better. And even when they don't, I lose my cool far less often. I am clothed in the full armour of God, and that's as well-dressed as anyone can hope to be! If I give God the last of me, like in the 30 seconds before I go to bed as an afterthought, my days tend to be awful. Truly awful. Well, not like Sodom and Gomorrah awful, but relatively speaking, it's not pretty. Think 'before' on an episode with Trinny and Susannah. I'm on day 3 of praying with my children in the morning, and reading them a bible story (though it tends to bring up questions that I'm not sure how to explain in a relevant manner), and through praying with them, praying for them, I find that I'm getting better at praying in general. I am also 'losing it' far less often, which is something I'm incredibly t...

Armour of God. Ephesians 6:11 - ???. The last couple of days, I've been reflecting on that particular passage, and how it translates to my daily life. Breaking it down into pieces, it goes like this: Belt of Truth: Without spending time in God's word, without clothing myself in His truth, I'm not surprised that my spiritual pants are saggy. Breastplate of Righteousness: Mine kinda looks more like a clean shirt than a breastplate, but I can tell you that when I got dressed this morning, I had praise in my heart. Shoes of Peace: Again, mine are more like sneakers, but I'm not surprised that we haven't had a peaceful household, because I tend to forget this one almost every day. Not today though, and it's showing! Shield of Faith: I confess. Mine is an apron. But when I put it on in the morning, I call it a shield, and as I tie that shield around my waist, I pray for a stronger faith, for a more childlike faith, for faith that will shield me from all the flamin...

I am me, which is okay. Though I could lose the temper tantrums (mine, not the kids') and I wish I were better at being a Christian, and I also wish I was the sort of mother who loves cooking and doing craft with her children. I'm not for the record. I find it extremely stressful, and it requires that I eat loads of chocolate (in secret) afterwards. But I digress. I love my family. Imperfectly. But I have a heart that desperately wants to serve them and love them, and I hope that God honours that, and not my mistakes. Which are plentiful. I want so much to be the woman God has created me to be. Not perfect, but better. More. I want to wake up every morning saying "Good Morning, Lord! " instead of "Good LORD it's morning?!?" I want to have praise in my heart and on my lips. I want to clean up spilled Sultana Bran and Rice Bubbles with a smile, because it won't be long before there are not spills to clean up. I want so desperately to actively seek God ...

You know, I’m like my dad. Always have been. I’m tenacious, which at times has been such a good quality to have. At other times, not so much. When a situation isn’t working, I tend to be oblivious, and continue pressing on with it, until it’s a big fat mess. I continue on with things long past the point when it would have been reasonable, nay intelligent, to quit. Like when I wouldn’t quit the Navy despite regular and unexplained chest pain and elevated (220 plus) heart rates during exercise, because I couldn’t bear to have people pity me. I wanted so desperately to succeed, that I was willing to sacrifice my own health and well-being to do it. Like when I tried to continue my life as normal after having my second child. That didn’t work out so well. Like when I get completely bent out of shape because things aren’t perfectly clean, and lose it because “No one cleans up after themselves!!!” Like when the girls are wound up and won’t go to sleep and instead of sorting out the prob...

by being a mother, of course! I think I've been looking at Mother's Day all backwards. See, I thought it would be a day off for me. Free of cleaning, cooking, poopy diaper changing, involving lots of sleeping, drinking cups of tea, putting my feet up while everyone else catered to my every whim. That is not exactly how it happened. What I'm trying to say is that Mother's Day, for me, is about celebrating my family, exactly as they are. Because they're mine, and what a wonderful gift they are to me. :) I wouldn't say no to a nap though... Thank you to my amazing husband who bought me a camping stretcher so I didn't have to sleep on the ground while camping last week. Thank you to my beautiful children, C, P, and M - for giving me so much 'mothering' to do. :) I love you all, and I hope that all you mothers out there have a very special day. XOXO, Sarah

My firstborn is just like me. She's clever, imaginative, more than a little bit 'spacey', very friendly, likes painting and other messy pursuits, has a hard time with finishing something before moving on to the next thing, and so on. To observe her, is to see me, 32 years ago. And at times, I find it exasperating. If I looked in the mirror, I'd see the exact same expression on my face that my mom used to have. I've heard myself saying exactly the same things to C that I remember hearing as a child. All through school, a recurring theme to my report cards was "has trouble focusing in class", and "does not finish work on time". I was always in my own private universe, and it was like no one knew how to get there. She is much the same. Occasionally, I get glimpses into her world, but most of the time, it's a place I neither understand, nor could hope to inhabit. My wish as a parent is that I learn to appreciate her for who she is, spaced outedne...

Come in, sit down. Let's have a chat about identity. Specifically, as it relates to before and after marriage/offspring. Before I got married, I had this life. I had this great apartment, with matching towels, matching dishes, lots of framed photos on the walls, trips to the bookshop that almost always resulted in some novel or other jumping into my basket. I had a cat, who now lives with my mom. I loved beautiful things. Not expensive, necessarily, but beautiful things. I had girlfriends with whom I'd go out to dinner, or shopping, or what have you. I painted pottery. In short, it was fun, and largely carefree (although in a head-in-the-sand kind of way). For the longest time, I felt that getting married and having kids was the end of all that. Forever. I mourned (and sometimes still do) that life, that person, for she was now dead. And in her place was this new person, but I didn't know her. I still don't quite know who she is, and I'm still in a place where I...

I'm a sharer. I grew up in a family of sharers, and although I did not acquire this particular habit until adulthood, it is one I sometimes cherish, and sometimes regret. I often walk away from a conversation wishing I had not shared quite so much. But it just doesn't feel comfortable to hold it in. It's not me, and likely never will be. Tears, laughter, anger, disappointment, happiness - it all comes out at full-speed, with no filter. I am a firm believer that a burden shared is a burden lightened. But the flip side to that is that if I'm the one who's always expecting others to share my burden, then it probably gets awfully heavy for them, and at some point, they can't carry any more. So sometimes I need to be available to lighten someone else's burden. And I am, but not everyone is comfortable sharing their load. Which is totally okay, but I can't be there for someone if they don't let me. I want to be though. Yes, I've got issues, problems, a...

being two that is. Two years ago tonight at midnight, my labour started. And 20 1/2 hours after that, my big bad toddler came into the world, only she was a scrawny scrappy thing. I look at her growing and changing every second of every day, and I can't believe how blessed I am. I have doubts, to be sure. Doubts that I am worthy of being her mother. But then God reminds me that he chose ME and no one else to be her Mommy. And once the Creator of the universe says you are the right woman for the job, well, you kind of can't argue with that! Two years ago, this was my girl: And here she is today, in all her sassy glory: I could not have imagined that my tiny, tiny baby would ever grow into such a cheeky little girl. Her current favourite foods are chocolate, chips, cheese, black olives, lettuce, and carrot. Her favourite thing to say? "I want to". I know it's her favourite because she says it about 500 times a day! But you know what? Even when she makes me want to...

You know, one of the many things that just plain stinks about my dad being gone is that because my bio-mom isn't speaking to me, I now have no one to ask questions about what I was like as a baby. What was my first word? What foods did I eat? Was I always a pea-hater, or was it something I just picked up? Even though I've got my mom (stepmother who isn't at all a stereotypical stepmother, but rather the antithesis of Cinderella's stepmother), she didn't know me when I was a baby. So in a sense, I feel as though I'm an orphan. Like I've lost the first 5 years of my life, because I was too little to remember much, and now there isn't anyone I can ask. On a different note, we are about to enter a new phase of toddlerhood - toilet training. *Cue big tympani sounds* Charlotte is definitely not happy about poo. She had an accident in the bathtub the other week, and it really freaked her out - she tells me she is doing poo, but she also tells me s...

It never ends, this blessing called motherhood. Whichever the road we travel by, once we embark on this journey, we are committed to it for life. Here is to all the amazing mothers out there. When I first knew about you, I wasn't sure if I could love you, but God knew better. When I first knew about you, I was terrified that something would happen to take you away but God knew better. As days turned into weeks into months, I was so afraid to love you, in case you left us to go back to Heaven. but God knew better. Even as you were getting ready to come meet us, I wasn't sure if we could love you enough. but God knew better. The instant I saw your tiny face I thought my heart would explode into a million pieces of love and awe and wonder, all because God knew better.

I've been getting emails from friends, offering encouragement, which has been fantastic. I got an email from a particular friend, (you know who you are) that just pierced my heart. I have been so absorbed in myself, that I have stopped appreciating what a miracle it is to be able to carry a child in my womb. So I thought I would write down some thoughts, dedicated to my unborn child, and in honour of this friend.   +++++++++++++++++++++++++   You are forming, in the secret place where time means nothing, yet everything   I treasure our private times, the hiccups the nudges, like we have our own jokes between us   I long to meet you, kiss your feet, smell your head But I already know you, my miracle, my blessing   I've been getting to know you for a while now and soon our bond will include so many other people   Maybe it's selfish, but I don't think I'm ready to share you after all?   Stay where you are, for as lo...

Isn't it funny how we just exist, without thinking about what a miracle it is in the first place? One molecule different, and I wouldn't be here. Or maybe I would be here, but be a profoundly different person. If my mother hadn't been my mother, or if my dad hadn't been my dad, I wouldn't be me. My whole life would be different, and wouldn't be mine - it would be someone else's life. All the choices that I've made, good bad and extremely ugly, would never have been made. And it is tempting, in thinking especially about the bad choices, to wish that I had made better decisions. If I had though, I wouldn't be here. Even bad decisions can lead to good ends. That's the beauty of having the Creator of the universe know you by name. Only He can take a shattered life and put the pieces together to make something new, something beautiful. My life on this earth isn't perfect, and that's okay. It's the life that's meant for me...