first day of preschool
back to ballet
emberleigh-na ballerina
Category Archives: Emberleigh
sweet torture
The weather has turned chilly again.
But the dancing goes on.
Ode to Chaos
You heard me.
“Without oxen a stable stays clean,
but you need a strong ox for a large harvest.”
Proverbs 14:4
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Thank you for the mess.
My work is never done.
Thank you for the mess.
It means I’m not alone.
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Thank you for the mess.
The littles count on me.
Thank you for the mess.
It means my heart is full.
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Thank you for the mess.
The snot, the tears, the crumbs.
Thank you for the mess.
It means that life lives here.
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Thank you for the mess.
I’ve stubbed my foot on castles.
Thank you for the mess.
It means we’ve time to dream.
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Thank you for the mess.
Help me, Mommy, please!
Thank you for the mess.
It means they trust in me.
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Thank you for the mess.
And hands and feet and mind.
Thank you for the mess.
It means I’ve what I need.
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Thank you for the mess.
For burdens, cares, and dreams.
Thank you for the mess.
It means that I’m alive.
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Thank you for the mess.
We’re making memories.
Thank you for the mess.
It means that love lives here.
sometimes we have daughters
and we love them so much.
sometimes they ask us for things that seem absurd
but we are ok with that because we know them.
we know their little minds
and their little hearts.
while we care for their tummies and keep them clean
we also care for their minds.
so when they ask us for silly things
we do our level best to make them happy.
if it’s not going to hurt them
what’s the harm in doing something odd once in awhile?
Blonde curls and blue eyes made a request. Months ago. ”Mommy, you gotta make me a Spiderman dress.”
“Honey, that’s not how you ask.”
“Please, please, please! I neeed a Spiderman dress!”
Such a feat is not a walk in the park. Because walking in the park doesn’t involve WiFi. Or PayPal. Or sewing machines.
In all seriousness, most material adorned with the beloved arachni-hero is either fleece, flannel, or quilting squares. Finding woven by-the-yard cotton is no simple matter. Fabric.com to the rescue. For a mere pittance, I purchased 1 1/2 yards of the most beautiful licensed material. And 1/2 yards each red tulle & glitter baby blue tulle. Because red and blue are Spiderman colors, homies. And I was not about to do this half-assed. Making a garment of these specifications is not something one plays around with.
The thing is, Little Blonde Princess is not little in emotion, expression, or action. If her mama is making a present for her birthday, albeit early, this can’t be just any dress. Full skirted, puffy sleeved, and tulle. All. Over. The place. Ribbons. Bows. Drama. Flare. Flounce. It’s also for Halloween. And probably every Sunday until the cows come home. Or she outgrows it. My educated guess is the latter. Darn cows aren’t known to return very often. I’m not anticipating the gown being handed down gently to Molly, so I’ve already begun searching for a clear box in which to preserve and display the collector’s item once it’s usefulness as a princess garment is history.
pretty enough for the ball?
it's a princess spiderman dress
spin around for the camera, e.
that's enough pictures, mommy.
hey look! i got tomatoes from that box.
The Flipside of Dark
The long breaks are because I’m busy.
Sometimes this is true, but more often than not, I am lying to you. I am lying to myself. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I want to be depressed. I want to wallow. I want to be dragged down and sucked into the vortex of my own mind and over-agonizing thoughts. While it hurts like hell, the slowly numbing pain is easier than fighting. It’s simpler than pushing aside the black-out curtains of despair and stepping into the clarifying light. I don’t like the light. It shows me who I am. It reveals the truth from which I love to hide.
I adore the light. It means hope. It makes my steps visible. It allows me to see the care around me.
I have always been a bit mystical, if you will. Which wars with the intensely logical side of me. It confuses my cynicism. I do not like that because my cynicism is keeping me safe from my life. Until it is my life and I’m drowning in my own murky angst.
Whatever you want to call it: mystical, magical, aware of the bigger picture, imaginative, fantastical, I have it locked away in the tower. I let it out to play at library hour, where I pretend it is all fiction. I tell myself and the world that I don’t believe in it.
But believe I do! With the persistent part of me that loves the light and will not be banished by my fear.
I grew up hiding the knowledge in my heart that I my name had a purpose, a reason for belonging to me.
- “Bright”
- “Radiant”
- Something to do with the moon. Which we all know reflects light. And makes some people crazy when out in all it’s glory.
All joking aside, it’s part of what helped me to survive the battering years of judgmental oppression. I’m returning to my childhood belief that God, in His ultimate wisdom and bottomless affection, gifted me with something that could not be taken away from me unless I chose to give it up.
The last 5 years have been difficult. My husband & I just celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary on the 10th of September. While I love him and would not give up our life for the world, being married is like laying a plain sheet of paper over a rough surface and running a crayon over it. The damage stands out in glaring relief and what was once perfection now bears the marks of who you really are. When you grow up with the warped and twisted philosophy that yours is the only family to whom God has given His ultimate truth, it both tears you down and builds you up. Problem is, that the wrong things are destroyed and the wrong things are enforced.
So God in His perfect foreknowledge gives us very small and infinitely valuable trinkets. Nuggets of encouragement to sustain us.
- I am bright in a dark home.
- I am radiant in the midst of parental abuse.
- I can shine though each child is pitted against the other.
- I am reflecting the light of a Creator though my ‘disposition is terrible’.
- I am loved when I’m alone even in the crowd.
- He sees what I will be despite what I am now.
“God sets the solitary in families.” (Psalm 68:6a)
“God is Light, and in Him there is no darkness at all.” (1 John 1:5)
Adulthood happens and with it comes reality. We lose the magic of being a child and seeing things for what they are. We lose the hope that a brighter future is ahead because we’ve reached the future and it is not shiny like we dreamed it would be. We’re growing older and what’s ahead of us gets shorter and shorter, ever narrowing the field of possibilities.
And then we acquire adult acne and weep in the mirror because the only thing we had left is now marred. No, really. I’m annoying. Incapable. Aggravating. Damaged. Stubborn. Mental. Etc. But for 5 minutes a stranger could look at me and kinda think I’m cute.
That’s gone. Vanished. Inflamed. Cystic.
A minor deviation from my carefully restricted diet and cleverly regimented beauty routine resulted in angry, aching facial breakouts.
Having reclaimed myself from paralyzing insecurity, the kind incurred by floor length khaki, I claimed a measure of pride in my “up by the bootstraps” success. I considered myself marginally tough.
I’m a jellyfish.
An oozing mass of self-pity.
This is what God has to say to me:
“God… has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ.” (Ephesians 1:3)
“My old self has been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. So I live in this earthly body by trusting in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” (Galatians 2:20)
“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.” (James 1:17)
So, I’ll wax a bit mystical.
Levi: joined, attached.
When I look at my son, or he looks at me and says, “Mom, are you crazy?!” (just happened), I remember that I am united with Christ. So I have everything I need. Simply because I am united with Christ. All of that. Every spiritual blessing.
Emberleigh: a smoldering meadow.
Matthew 12:20 – “a bruised reed he will not break, and a smoldering wick he will not quench.” (or the story in Judges 15 of Samson setting a field on fire?) But no matter the weakness of the flame, He’s promised not to put out the tiny spark of hope I carry inside. In fact, my all-time cherished portion of Scripture is this: “For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6) I see destruction and damage. He sees fruitfulness and worth. And I see a possible tattoo…
Molly: bitter.
It’s in the bitterest of times that the sweetest things can be born because that’s when I’m at my most dependent on the life of Creator. “So is it with the resurrection of the dead. What is sown is perishable; what is raised is imperishable. It is sown in dishonor; it is raised in glory. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. If there is a natural body, there is also a spiritual body.” (1 Corinthians 15:42-44) ” The Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you…” (Romans 8:11)
Bringing me full circle to “every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ”.
While I still feel the pain, I can be thankful for the dark, for it lets me understand the Light more fully. I embrace the pain for the healing it brings. A surgeon’s scalpel and not a butcher’s knife. A gardener’s pruning shears and not a vandal’s axe.
I hold onto the light. Because it’s a gift.
I write through the tears because He meant for me to shine. Even if He’s the only one who sees the spark.
leaves, stems, tulles
my husband ❤’s documentaries
Moo
I been gone a long time, huh, folks? I been busy with my life. I bet none of you know what that’s like, do you? Ha!
I been busy quitting my job. And being full time at my other job: mommying. O, it’s so a word, yo! I been busy detoxing from undieting in SoCal with the out in-laws. My poor, battered, steak-fed body was buffeting my scattered, fragile, vegan-longing mind. (Disclaimer: I still use deodorant and toothpaste, neither of which are Tom’s of Maine.) This healthy, from-scratch deal is a little timey and brainy starting out. But it feels so good! I am apparently becoming un-allergic to some things because my insides are cleaner. Which is good because I am fed up with allergies. Actually, that was the problem; I was unable to be fed up with them. I so funny! ahem…
Howevs, despite switching back to my rabbit-esque eating habits, I felt icky. Believe me, icky is the word for it! And sluggish. As well as, unable to keep thoughts in my head. Or handle the simplest of situations with any modicum of emotional rationality. Which I had determined through the preceding months’ culinary experimentation as being symptoms of processed food and flour & sugar of the white persuasion.
Apparently, fasting is good for your liver. 48 hours minimum and no more than 72. If you can handle it (and you have someone to help you parent your small ones for the 2 days since the less energy expenditure required, the less cranky and/or prone to fainting you will be) the benefits are, well, energizing.
he loves... and i love him
So, I embarked on the no-food, clear-unsweetened-liquids journey. 57 1/2 hours and 6 pounds later… Oh, yeah! And broke the quick and speedy with a fresh fruit smoothie.
Oh, the energy! Oh, the hours and hours of getting things done with out that 2:30 feeling or the 5 hour energy shot! Oh, the deep sleep of a healthy me! And the waking up refreshed at the end of that deep, refreshing sleep.
I feel as if I could fly. Or clean out my kids’ rooms and do several loads of laundry after scrubbing the kitchen and dining room and rearranging the living room.
Which I have more time for since I’m no longer working at a paying, outside-the-home, reception job (which I enjoyed, btw). But I am a mom and I mentioned before that this involves mommying my 3 kiddos. And giving Jim more time to spend doing sales, with which income I purchase fresh produce and wheat berries. And name brand deodorant, cosmetics, and other various hygiene products.
And I have squishy, lovey, huggy, spastic, gorgeous, obnoxious, adorable babies, well, toddlers now really.
e - Lolly
And energy.
Maybe someday I’ll scrounge up enough time, space, and inspiration to sell a couple things on Etsy. Or whatever…
And I have discovered this new site, which I love.
I also miss my sister who has been gone all summer. And will be gone more as soon as she gets home. Jerk.
I think I’m trying to fit a month’s worth of blogging into this post.
P.S. What if I changed my middle name? It’s the most boring middle name in the history of middle names. I sincerely apologize to all of you who share my middle name. But, c’mon! It doesn’t even end with an ‘e’. For pities’ sake!
bland
egg
plain
bell
Name That Show…
and what’s my middle name?
‘basket-case’
The phrase should denote organization and the ability to compartmentalize.
Not so.
Just a bundle of crazy. With a myriad of loose ends.
In other news, I took my 3 kids to see Cars 2 in Temecula by myself on opening day. Wha?! After parking in the new parking garage (it was being built when I was here in September), I discovered that it was not the parking lot being built in September, but another altogether. I was hence forced to push a stroller carrying literally almost 100 lbs, several blocks to the more-than-massive theater. I was not aware that the Promenade at Temecula now resembles Victoria Gardens.
Well, it does.
Aside from my son defiling his shorts to avoid a potty break, and the subsequent TJ Maxx purchase, it went off with nary a hitch. My children want to marry Disney/Pixar.
Darling Angels
I took this victory as encouragement. A breakfast date with my kids at Mimi’s Cafe followed the next morning, during which time the small hellions made tremendous noise and had a delightful time devouring breakfast and several numerous sugar packets. A dear diner informed me that I am doing a wonderful job as a mother. How she gathered that, I will never know. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was a prophecy of the future.
Despite the frazzlement, the weekend was a success.
Don’t ask me why.
I have mom hormones and they tell me odd things.
Hi, Chubbs!
vacation’s a beach.
Have you ever taken 3 wild monkeys to Disneyland?
Me neither.
Just 3 toddlers.
All my princesses in front of the Castle.
The misery-o-meter tilted towards “dangerous levels of toxin” at a few strategic points, but the kiddos remembered so much from last year’s vacation that the magic buried deep in the bowels of my soul could not resist. Emberleigh’s face as she took in the Happiest Place on Earth reached into the future and mellowed any trace of frustration that would take place. Molly sat agog at the varying levels of amazement that are “Small World”. Levi’s sense of accomplishment at the defeat of Evil Emperor Zurg has repeatedly been relived in the 48 hours following.
Granted, Molly screamed bloody murder at the touch of Toy Story’s Jessie. Levi hid his heart in the depths of Jim’s armpit. On the other hand, Emberleigh’s embrace of the larger-than-life animated hero & heroine was sublime in it’s utter capacity of adorable.
Princess Spiderman & Friends
The beach also happened. The day before Disneyland. And since this is my blog chronology is not imperative.
the vacationing three
Jim & I got to go on a date.
To P.F. Chang’s.
Amen.
The food was delicious and I was (am) hott.
aloft
Being a mom is less about being prepared than it is about being resourceful.
Like washing carseat covers with hotel shampoo in the hotel shower the night before a 6-hour flight.
And being prepared to dry them with the hotel hair dryer.
And how many times they can use the word ‘hotel’ in an Android-powered blog post from said hotel room.
