Blake is happy, what we want, appreciating mothers

I think my daughter is in the throws of the post-partum blues. We’ve talked about it so I think I am safe to mention it. With the additional demands of two young children besides the newborn, there is a heightened stress that she seems to have avoided in recovery from past pregnancies. But when it got her this time around, it got her good.
She tells me she was deep in the throws of emotional collapse, sitting on the couch feeding the suckling child when my three-year-old granddaughter snuggled in beside her, she was crying, rather is should say weeping and wondering how she could have seen herself as the “mothering” sort.
I am here to swear that if ever any of my children was given the gift of “mothering” it is this child, but I have five daughters and will have two daughter-in-laws, so let me be careful here. My daughter Cori is my oldest female child and was born the middle child with all the classic tendencies of that spot in the birth order. She maintained those nurturing, mothering tendencies after we adopted children years later.
I am only saying that she is well-practiced, well-suited to the task and whole-heartedly committed to it, perhaps to the point of obsession, but she, like all of the rest if us, is no match for hormone overload.
As Mykenzie, who inherited her mother’s gift crowded up to her crying mother, she simply asked “Mommy, why are you crying? Are you sad?” Yes, I’m sad! You are disobeying and Grant is whiney because he is sick. So you are sad because I have to punish you, Grant is sad because I cannot hold him all the time when he is feeling bad. Everybody is sad. That’s why Mommy is crying.”
“But Mommy”, she quickly pointed out, “Blake is not sad.” They both looked down at the baby who had just gotten his fill and he was smiling at his Mommy with the expressive innocence found only on faces that small, which made his mommy cry even more. Mykenzie couldn’t see but the tears were completely different now. I wasn’t told, but knowing my daughter and her mother, I’m sure she got a kiss for her insightful observation.
My daughter wants what she has. She may want it under different circumstances than what she is experiencing right now, but the years will bring that to pass. These little hardships will be so overshadowed by the laughter to come, that if they are not captured in print, there will be no remembrance of them. That is as it should be.
As we were listening to the three kids we had the other day interact we heard one say with obvious sincerity, “My mom is the greatest!” One of the others made a questioning face; it was almost one of those Art Linkletter faces and my wife challenged her to speak up. She did not want to say.
Now we were in an awkward situation. It is not like we could let the unspoken challenge to such a statement stand without some defense or rebuttal being offered. Reluctantly the child confessed, “Well, it’s just that one time I was going to the bathrooms just as you mother was coming out and she really stunk it up.”
“Yeah,” It was acknowledged, “She does that.”

What they hear, almost bilingual, Calling Mama Kim

In another “It’s not what you say, it’s what they hear” segment, one of our friends who works at the church we attend discovered she had misplaced her keys. We live very close to the church so she called us on her way to work there and asked if she could borrow our key so she could get in the building. She told us later that she was explaining to her daughter (eight years old) that she would make a copy of the key so she would not have to keep ours any longer than necessary. This proved confusing to her daughter and she asked her mother, “How is that going to work? A copy is only going to be paper?”
We took JC, Jake and the young girl mentioned above to the pool today; an activity that is nearly as much fun for the kids as it is for Mama Kim, who, by the way, is getting a pretty good tan. The boys and I jumped right in but the girls were a little longer getting up the courage to brave the not-so-warm water. Eventually everybody got wet and started having a good time.
I always finish first – about an hour does me; not so for everyone else that was there, Mama is good for the better part of the day, but she limits the kids to about two hours to keep them from the possibility of burning. Though the water was not exactly warm the temperature was about 95F and the sun was very bright, so it is a good plan.
It is fun to see and hear the silly interactions of three that young, silly games, silly stunts and silly competitions. I usually only half listen to the kids but Jake was especially inventive today and one of the competitions ended up being doing flips underwater. I think he maxed out at eight though there was a suggestion that he could do ten if he could hold his breath long enough. But for some reason he began running along the edge of the pool yelling, “Ola Espanola!” pronounced correctly even though I can’t spell it properly on the keyboard. I probably noticed it more because there was a Spanish speaking family swimming with us today.
On the downside, I tried counting the number of times Mama Kim was called by name in the final minutes we were there. When we announced that it was time to leave the activity level kicked up a couple notches and understandably Mama Kim had to witness every flip, splash, dive and trick being done. I stopped counting at sixty. I suppose that is not too overwhelming when you consider that it is only twenty times per child. That is took place in only fifteen minutes staggers my mind.
She loves it. So do I.

What 28 years together represents

Not too many weeks past a young man we know fairly well told his equally young wife that he thought a monogamous relationship was a waste of a true mans time and a restriction on his potential and virility. To argue against that is a waste of time because such an expression of sinful indulgence and wanton selfishness will prove him wrong with quick and painful clarity. His wife and two young children will recover from the pain long before he is able.
But on the positive side of the argument, what does it mean that I am celebrating twenty-eight years of marriage; twenty-eight years of commitment to one and only one woman, sexually and every other way? It means, for starters, that our relationship is far deeper than using each other to satisfy our physical needs. (As much fun as that is there will always be twenty-three hours and thirty minutes left in the day.) There are times when our love life has been a struggle and our physical intimacy has suffered at the barrage of demands of raising seven children, keeping a home and job, serving in the church and keeping in touch with friends and family.
There have been times of disappointment and discouragement brought about by life in general but also by bad decisions, the consequences of which we have had to live with and work through. But in those times I did not blame her and she did not blame me. We stuck together, struggled together, worked hard together, prayed together and found that the sacrifices of our commitment to each other and to God are continual, uninterrupted, sometimes monotonous, but abounding in the rewards they bring through engendering an intimacy that is far more than physical.
There is such a wealth of memories – good and bad – stored within our two hearts and minds after twenty-eight years together that it would take several volumes to begin to share even some of them. Private jokes, secret smiles, understanding looks and wordless expressiveness are all a part of truly knowing the person with whom you share your life.
Such emotional, spiritual, and physical intimacies come only through trust, which can only come with time; time spent together. It comes from being happy with that person just as they are; thrilled that they love you just the way you are, which, by the way, includes all the extra baggage emotionally, spiritually and physically speaking that come with our unique individual personhood.
I love everything about my wife because I choose to focus almost exclusively on those things that I really do love about her. Ask me for positives and I can spend hours sharing them with you. Ask for a negative and it will make me feel guilty and uncomfortable to even try to think of one. After all, there are so many negative things that I bring to our marriage and I know she overlooks every one of them, why should I violate that sacred trust?
In the past few years our love has grown to a profoundly unexplainable depth rooted in the faithfulness and self-sacrifice characteristic of couples whose commitment has stretched over decades. I have no fear of my needs being met, my wife is occupied with that thought continually and there is no more pressing matter to me than to meet her needs; each of us deferring to the other so consciously that if ever there is a selfish moment where I put my needs ahead of hers, I know that she will go without. Is that love? I think so.
That sad young man will wake up one day and realize he has nothing to show for the path he chose. Sadder yet, he will have no one, either.
For my part, I’ve got my wife right where she wants me and I love it that way.

I think I’m gonna die, Dinner with Mama

On the way home from helping out at the rummage sale our church was having, one of the young ones we watch looked up at me and with a sincerity known only to those of that age stated, “Papa Tim, I think I am gonna to die.” (I admit having to resist the urge to assure him that we are all going to die at some point but it is a little too early for him to focus on that.) “Really, what makes you think so?”
“I have a lot of booboos and if you have a lot of booboos you don’t get to grow up!” “Show me one of your booboos.” He promptly showed me a fresh scrape on his knee. (I had to put on my glasses to see it but it was very significant to him.) I just wanted to clarify that we were talking about physical injuries and not poor judgments. He is only five years old, but you never know what they can be capable of understanding.
“You’ll be fine” I assured him. “I had bigger booboos than that and look at me now.”
“So even with booboos I still get to grow up?”
“Yup.”
“Thanks, Papa Tim.” It is always nice to be able to help.
Mama and I went out for our anniversary dinner last night. The actual date is Sunday but since I am working nights this weekend, we went a little early. It was a delightful evening. We had been talking about places to go out to eat, but had not settled on anything particular until Mama remembered the pastor talking about PF Chang’s; a fancy Chinese restaurant in Princeton. We pass it every time we travel down Route 1 to the airport in Philadelphia and have never eaten there, so we went.
We had been told it was expensive, but it really wasn’t. The food was the best I have ever eaten and it was nothing like I have ever eaten. The egg drop soup was so different from anything I have had that I think I could make a full meal of it and be perfectly satisfied. We asked to be seated on the patio. It was about 84 degrees with a slight breeze, shaded, covered seating, bright enough to enjoy but not too hot.
The meal was not rushed so we had plenty of time to enjoy the evening and the food. It was only forty five dollars for the two of us for soup, appetizer, two entrees and a mini dessert. After the meal we walked to a nearby store that caught our eye and found it was attached to a mall we had no idea was there.
Mama bought some baby cloths and I bought a brass key organizer made in the shape of six little piggy butts with the tails curled to hold key rings. That kind or clever, unusual thing suits us.
Twenty-eight years later, she’s still the one.

Preacher boys, A good night’s sleep, Home?

We got back to New Jersey in time to unload the car and make it to the evening service at church. It was Teen Takeover at Somerset Bible Baptist. Several of the young teenage boys in the church had been asked to prepare a sermon for the event. There were four in all and they each did a good job on the sermon-ette they gave. I am glad we made it even though we were worn out.
The third boy to deliver his thoughts looked at his fellow preacher boys and asked, “Did you guys feel like your heart was about to explode?” But he carried on and read a scripture, asked a couple of piercing question and began to pray. When he lifted his head after the prayer our youth pastor began walking up to the platform thinking he was done. He stopped, quite embarrassed and asked, “You done?” The poor young man at the pulpit froze and stared wide eyes at him. “You’re not done?” our youth pastor asked. The younger preacher-in-practice made only the slightest wiggle of his head from side-to-side to indicate that he was indeed not done. Both were now quite red faced. “Well, then, preach on.” And after the laughter died down he did just that.
I realized when Mama and I got back that I preferred the drive straight through I had made with Seth. It actually seemed like less hours in the car and the trip seemed to be over so fast. I will have to try that with Mama some time to see what she thinks.
I also realized when we got back to our own bed how poorly I had been sleeping at my daughter’s house. There was nothing wrong with the accommodations and my daughter and her husband are always very gracious hosts but I worry that the daybed I usually sleep on is not built for someone my size and may not hold up.
I guess Mama and I just like our own bed. We both slept very soundly and were it not for the fact that we had to get up early to meet Jake and his mom, we probably would have slept much longer. But we got a full six or seven hours of sound sleep; more than on many of the previous nights. That having been said, I would not trade those nights for anything.
As we crossed the state line into New Jersey I realized that we were near our destination, but I did not feel like we were home. It is where we live and work, where we go to church, but a strong sense of disappointment about not being able to move to Hot Springs set in and it has been hard to shake. Going to work on Monday evening only reinforced the overall mood.
God is still blessing us here. There is still work to do. We are needed by the church and many of the families we regularly interact with, but there are still those far away from us who need us also; those for whom we would like to be more available. It is hard to resettle into the daily and weekly grind of our lives here when we were so close to what our hearts longed for. The real blessing and answer to our prayers for direction is that God gave us a very clear answer regarding the job change. It was “No.”
I don’t like that answer any more than my kids do.

Come see my troll, Blake isn’t perfect after all

Grandpa and Victoria related a story to us as told by a man at Gospel Light Church. There was a pastor’s wife that had befriended an old gentleman in their church. He was one of those individuals that needed some special oversight in order to live by themselves. It was her habit to take him several times a week on errands so he could provide for his most basic needs. She made sure he had things like tissues, toilet paper and toothpaste since without her help he probably would not think of these things.
One week she had been very busy with church and family and realized that she had neglected to stop by his house to check on him. Just as she was about to call him, her phone rang. She recognized the number, answered apologetically and was about to explain why she had not been over sooner when he blurted out, “Come see my troll!” and hung up. A little worried and confused, she headed out immediately.
When she got to the house she found the poor man in a state of agitated excitement. All the living room furniture had been piled against the bathroom door on the other side of the room from the entry. Things were a mess to say the least and she began to assume that some significant emotional episode had overwhelmed him and was considering calling for medical help. However, she soon realized that other than his insistence that he had a troll barricaded in the bathroom, he seemed perfectly in control of his faculties.
With much persuasion she convinced him to put the room back in order and helped him relocate all the furniture stacked and shoved into the corner against the closet door. The couch, chairs, lamps and tables were all back I place when they slid a large china cabinet away from the door.
When the door was opened, out walked a midget that had been forced into the bathroom three days earlier.
He explained through his fury that he had been selling books door-to-door when this “kook” had unceremoniously picked him up, tossed him in the bathroom and locked him in. He gathered his merchandise and stormed off. She could not think of anything to say. Her ward simply stated, with some degree of satisfaction, “Told you I had a troll in there.”
After some speculation that we had the perfect grandson, it has been decided that he is, after all, pretty normal. Though he has to be waked to be fed, rarely protests when he is held by his siblings, sleeps well through the nights, and lays comfortably for long stretches in our arms without the slightest expression of irritation, he does not like to have his picture taken by professional photographers – especially when he is unclothed. But at less than two weeks old, he is allowed to protest against whatever he wants.
In my book, he’s still pretty close to perfect…in spite of what those who are around him all the time might think.

Wild fishing, eating too much, Grandpa and Victoria

When my daughter and her husband brought the grandchildren over to meet us in Arkansas, we discovered that Mykenzie really likes fishing. With that in mind we bought her a fishing pole as a birthday present. Naturally we had to put that pole to use when we visited in Florida this past week.
Her daddy and I both got licenses so we could legally fish with grandkids and we picked out a spot close to their home; one that would provide some easy access with a safe approach to casting our lines in the water. My son-in-law knew of a park with access to a backwater area on the Blackwater River.
It was a great spot, part of a park with a playground and a large picnic area. It offered a well-built wooden walk along the river and other than being fairly high above the water without any restraints on the water side of the walk it seemed perfect. We would have to be careful, but otherwise, we could make it work.
We sat down and got the poles ready, a process that took most of the enthusiasm out of the very young fishermen, and finally cast out into the deep to see what surprises may come to us.
We were only there about twenty minutes before the grandchildren lost interest, but the park was nearby and we fished on as they went to play. It was only after about another half hour that we began to question whether what we were seeing in the water straight ahead of was really an alligator; turns out it really was.
That turned out to be a little too wild for the mother’s in our group so daddy will have to find another spot to take his budding anglers.
I asked Mama why it is that we always seem to eat too much when we are on vacation. But it does seem that way. We are anxious – well maybe not – to check our weights when we get back home. That is the unpleasant side of a pleasant vacation.
Grandpa and Victoria are on the way. She managed to get sufficient time off of work to make the visit and Grandpa came as protector and chaperone – of both her and the car: besides there was a brand new great-grandchild to see. I am not sure how long it had been since he held one so very small. I know it has been a long time for me, probably since I held one of the twins we watched so many years ago in Victoria, TX. They are both in their teens now.
I was a pleasure to be able to quiet the baby when he began to fuss. With one that new, it is a walk of discovery every day to find what they need and want from those of us not nursing them.
It’s part of what makes life good.