Ordinary Day {At the Library}

Back in March, when I saw that Renee, a blogger I've read for years and one who has inspired me multiple times, took her camera along when she took her kids (well, some of them) ;-) to the library, I decided to do the same.  After all, although a trip to the library might not seem terribly exciting, it is a significant part of the Fisher family at this stage of life; and I just know that when I'm an old lady (in about 50 years or so) ;-), I'll LOVE seeing these pictures and remembering what it was like to take my five children to the library with me.

So, here we go!

Every good trip to the library starts with the wall.

 This wall, that we often park beside.

The boys pretend that they're climbing it...

...then they tell me how dizzy it makes them feel to stand right beside it and look straight up.  

Something about those rows of bricks, I guess.

Anyway, after getting dizzy at the wall, we move on.

Down the street...

...around the corner...

...and to the library's entrance.

I'm grateful for boys who are eager to help, either by pushing Moriah in the stroller or pulling the cart we use to haul books.

First stop? The book return...

...where everyone pitches in to get every item out of our cart and into the correct slot.

I cannot tell you how big of a thrill it is to certain little people I know to push the button that makes the doors open automatically.

I also cannot tell you how many disputes we've had to resolve through the years about WHOSE turn it was and WHO did it last time and HOW OFTEN certain people get to do it compared with others.  Oy!  It got to the point where I would have to prep them on the way:  "There are to be NO arguments about who gets to push the buttons.  Child A will push the one for the outside doors, Child B will push the one for the inside doors, and Child C will push the one for the elevator.  GOT IT?"   :)

I'm immensely grateful that these days, there's--usually--enough maturity flowing around that we don't have arguments about this any longer.  Whew!

The older boys always opt to take the stairs on the way up; but I, because of the stroller and the cart, utilize the elevator.  Shav is often my helper, making sure we get to the right place.  :)

And then the fun begins...

 Let me pause for a moment to extol the wonders of this cart.  If I'm going a bit too far by calling it a life-saver, at least let me call it a back-saver.  When we first moved here and only had two children, I would take cloth bags along to hold the books we chose; but as we began to bring home more and more books each trip, my shoulders began to complain about the great weight they were forced to carry.  Enter the wheeled cart.  It, along with two other things, have mightily increased the ease with which I undertake library trips.

(Curious what the other two things are?  OK, I'll tell you.  First, keeping my youngest one in a stroller means that I know where at least one of my children is at all times; reducing the head count by one diminishes the stress of wondering what all they're getting into at any given moment.  Second, being able to reserve books online means that rather than making a big trip into the library every week, I can often pull up outside in the loading zone and stay in the car while one of the older boys runs in to pick up our reserved items.  Definitely a time-saver for me!)

 

 After we've chosen our books, we get to stop at the movie section and pick out a few--probably the most anticipated part of the trip for at least some of my boys.

 Waiting to go down...

When we got to the bottom, Shav wanted to go back up the steps so he could come down with his big brothers.

  They wanted to line up in birth order.  Fine by me!

 Everybody helps put the books and movies from the cart...

 ...to the desk.

 When you have 65 items checked out at a time, it makes kind of a tall tower(s).  :)

 On this particular day, the boys went into the foyer to wait.

 Clearly they were having a good time.

 We always admire this tall nutcracker by the circulation desk, especially because our much shorter nutcrackers here at home are some of my boys' favorite Christmas decorations.

 And then it's back to the van...

...where a mostly quiet ride home awaits as everyone savors new books to read and look at.

 I'm so grateful that the rhythm of our days--our ordinary days...

...includes regular visits to the library!

Surprises on Mother's Day

No, I'm not pregnant.

Since a title that includes both "surprises" and "Mother's Day" might lead some readers to imagine that a pregnancy announcement was coming up, it seems best to clear up that idea right away!  :)  But even without a positive pregnancy test, this Mother's Day did turn out to be a day full of surprises.

To begin with, our original plan was to drive north on Sunday to worship with a congregation of dear loved ones in the DC area; but when I logged onto Facebook late Saturday night and discovered that the parents of a college friend, Katie, were traveling from New York to Tennessee but had had car trouble and were spending the night in my town (really? my town? out of all the possible places they could have broken down between NY and TN, they ended up here? what a "God-incidence"!) but needed a ride to the airport to pick up a rental car the next morning, it didn't take but about half a second to realize that that was what God wanted us to do on that day.  So we cancelled our plans to head north and instead headed out to retrieve two people we'd never met before so they could get a car.  Dave and Kathie were delightful, and I enjoyed chatting with them, then especially appreciated our prayer together before we dropped them off.  I wouldn't mind a bit if their travels brought them our way again.  :)

Well, after that, since it was too late to make the trip up to DC, we decided to head west just a short distance from our house and attend the Sunday morning service of a Russian church.  Jeff has a number of Russian customers in the barbershop and has formed friendships with some of them, and this particular family had often invited Jeff to come to a service at their church.  This was our chance.

It was a little bit like stepping into another world.  Everything was in Russian, and the familiar words and cadences of language swept me back to the time when we lived in Israel and had many close friends who were Russian.  (Sidenote: when we lived in Israel, I learned how to type in Russian, because our congregation was revising our songbooks, and I had the very fun job of being the typist.  Sadly, even though I could type the Russian letters, I couldn't actually read or speak the language...except for a few words, and even then my pronunciation was atrocious.  In fact, at a certain point in one of the songs we sang during worship, the ladies kindly told me I should probably not sing so loudly because the way I was mispronouncing the words actually made it mean something entirely different--something not nearly as good as the intended meaning!  Over and over, they tried to demonstrate what I was doing wrong; but the thing was that I couldn't even hear the difference between the correct way and the way I was saying it.  It's awfully challenging to correct an error if you can't even discern it!  But it does make me laugh to remember that conversation.)  :)

Well, where was I?  Oh yes, in a little country church just west of here, listening to the fascinating Russian language...

It wasn't until a few minutes after we had walked in, attracting curious glances from everyone, and sat down on the left side of the sanctuary that I noticed that the congregation was segregated: men on the left, women on the right.  I hurriedly asked Jeff's friend Victor if it would be better for me to move, and he assured me that there was no need for that; sometimes the families sit together, especially if the dads want to help the moms, for example, with their little children.  Which begs the question: what about Sunday school?  There wasn't any.  All the children--and there were a lot of them!--were part of the main service, although there was some coming and going during the service, as needed to take care of the little ones.  In these two regards, it felt very much like an Old Order Mennonite service!

Victor was our translator, and he sat behind us and did an admirable job of helping us understand what was going on--except for when he needed to go and participate in the wonderful music.  I enjoyed the vibrant, hearty singing very much; and my boys looked at me with some amazement when they heard me singing along to two of the songs.  No, I had not been given the gift of speaking in tongues at that moment.  As a matter of fact, those two songs were "Great Is Thy Faithfulness" and "Blessed Assurance," and I was, of course, simply singing them in English.  :)

It just so happened that a very special treat awaited us.  Some members of a sister congregation in New England were visiting and had joined with some of the local members to form an orchestra.  Well, when I think of orchestra, I think of violins and cellos and flutes and so forth.  This, however, was a very different kind of orchestra, comprised mostly of balalaikas and domras, but also including an accordion and a few other instruments.  (For an idea of what we experienced, you might want to click here to check out this Russian folk orchestra.  Isn't that the coolest thing??)   I was enthralled.  :)

The part of the speaking that stood out to me the most was an older man telling of his experiences years ago in the USSR.  He had become a Christian and was also teaching a class of children about Jesus, which was strictly forbidden.  While being questioned by the KGB, a tray of needles was brought out and shown to him to suggest to him what would happen if he clung to his beliefs in Christ; but even though he was young in his faith, he stood firm.  Eventually there was a disturbance of some sort in another office, and all the guards from his office went to the other one to find out what was going on and to help in that situation.  When one returned, he told this man that he was free to go.  As he walked out the front door of the police station, there was his mother, fervently praying that he would be true to the faith and would not give in to their threats and torture.  What an inspiring and convicting story to hear on Mother's Day!

Jeff helped tremendously with Moriah while we were sitting in the pew, but towards the end of the service she got fussy and I carried a not-so-silent Moriah out of the sanctuary into an adjoining room.  And then a dear, sweet Russian grandma hurried to get a homemade cream puff and handed it over with a big smile to Moriah.  A little later, she brought over a few more pastries.  God bless grandmas everywhere--especially Russian ones who might not speak my language but who know how to comfort with food!!  :)

I knew we were somewhat of a curiosity, and I got a kick out of some of the children who would turn and look at us; then when I looked at them and smiled, they would quickly smile and turn away.  After a few minutes, they would turn and look again.  So sweet.  :)

After the service was over, people came up to us to greet us warmly; and they urged us to stay for the meal they were having together--an offer we appreciated very much and probably would have accepted, had it not been for the fact that it was Mother's Day and we wanted to eat with my parents.  We somewhat regretfully said goodbye and left with fond memories of an entirely different worship experience.  

Then we came home, fixed tacos, set out the Celebrate plate for my mother, gave her two cards (the grandkids wanted to give her one, too!), then ate together around our kitchen table as a family of nine.  I should mention that earlier in the day, the boys had given me a homemade card, and Josiah told me that he had a surprise for me.  It turned out to be a cute little wall hanging that says "Children are for hugging."  He had seen it, chosen it, and paid for it all by himself.  You won't be a bit surprised to hear that I cried when he gave it to me!  :)

After lunch, I got my wish of a long, luxurious nap on the couch, and the boys splashed around in our pool with Jeff--their first dip in the pool this year.  Later that evening, Moriah and I participated in another first when we went down to my parents' house to help go through some of my mother's clothes that don't fit anymore so we could get them ready to donate.  While Moriah explored around from room to room and played with the toys in their toy cabinet, my dad kept an eye on her, giving me a chance to help my mom try on a bunch of clothes to see what we should keep.  My mom had such a joyful spirit about it.  "It's so much fun to do girl things," she said often.  :)

Mother's Day of 2014 wasn't what I expected it would be, but it turned out just exactly right.  Although it's unlikely I'll have another one like this, I'll certainly treasure the memory of this one!  :)

And now, is it possible to have any kind of significant day without taking pictures?  I thought not!  :)

How about a blurry selfie to start?  :)

Moriah's dress was a gift from Jeff's mom--one of the yard sale finds that she's famous for.  :)

Setting up a backdrop to take some group pictures...can you tell Moriah was getting tired?  :)

When I posted this picture (below) on Facebook, I wrote this:  "Every year I think SURELY I'll get one 'good' picture with my kids on Mother's Day.  Every year I end up with something like this.  And you know what?  I wouldn't change a thing.  :)  Turns out these kinds of pictures might just be better than a 'good' picture any day."  ;-)

Hmmm...I'm not sure what Tobin was doing here.  Maybe having a conversation with an empty rocking chair?  :)

Time for "the girls" to have our picture taken!

I love how it looks like Moriah is having a meaningful conversation with Grandma.  :)

Mother's Day was a poignant reminder, like it always is, of how blessed I am to have the mother God gave me...

...as well as the children He gave me to make me a mother.

I'm the white stuff in the middle of this three-generation Oreo of blessing, and I couldn't be happier about that!  :)

(Almost) Wordless Wednesday {Moriah's New Favorite Lap}

 

~ Moriah's new favorite lap happens to belong to Megan (the violin teacher of Josiah and David) who came over for dinner yesterday.  :)

On Mother's Day {My Mother's Dresses}

Talk about bittersweet.

Yesterday evening I took my daughter and walked down to my parents' house to help with a project that my dad has been requesting my assistance with for a long time: sorting through my mother's clothes to figure out which ones fit and then getting rid of the ones that no longer do. My mom has gained some weight and "thickened" (my dad's word)  around the middle, and some of her clothes just weren't working well for her anymore.

The sweet part of it was that my mom was so agreeable while we were sorting through her clothes. I had her try on lots of things, and she smiled and commented (repeatedly, of course) on how much fun it was to do girl stuff and how nice it was to have her sister (she often seems to think I'm her sister) there and so forth. We talked about how nice it is to have clothes that feel good, and how bothersome it is to wear things that are too tight. I learned the best way to help her get a dress on and her arms in the correct holes; and it made me wonder if, in the future, I'll need to dress her. (Someone will, I'm sure, although I'm not sure how far off that time is.)

My dad had the brilliant idea to use a black trash bag for the clothes we'll take to the thrift store, and I knew that once I got an article of clothing in there, Mother wouldn't see it or think about it again; so while she put clothes on and off, I slipped things in there--most of which she readily agreed to pass on to someone else, but a few that she seemed to think she should hang onto.

I didn't have time last evening to go through all of her clothes (there are dresser drawers and a spare closet still to sort through), but we made a good start, and I walked back up to my house lugging a FULL trash bag of clothes...and I left a newly-organized, everything-in-here-actually-fits-Mom closet for her--and more importantly, for Dad who lays out her clothes every day.

After I got all my children in bed, I took the clothes out of the bag to go through them again, checking all of the pockets, etc. before we donate them. That's when the bitter part hit. They're just clothes, I know. Just pieces of cloth. Pink linen weave. Navy blue squares on a white background. A pretty flowered design on a blouse. Just cloth. But they were MY MOM'S, and I remember her, when she was more capable in mind and slimmer in body, wearing them...and now she won't anymore.

It's not that I mind that she's gained weight--I don't at all! As a matter of fact, I think a lot of it has come from the coconut oil mixture that she takes to help provide food for her brain (there's a much more scientific explanation for it than that, but you'd have to ask my dad to hear the details because I never can remember!) . But it's as if the weight gain is an outward symbol of the ground she's lost on the inside. And when I think about her getting rid of these clothes because she'll never lose this weight, it reminds me that she'll never regain her mind. She'll never wear those clothes again. This is a one-way street.

So many times when I pulled a blouse or a dress from her closet for her to try on yesterday evening, she would exclaim, "Oh, I like this one!"

"Me, too," I would tell her. "It's so pretty."

Only now, it will be pretty on someone else.

For the first time, I think I know what it feels like to go through someone's clothes after he or she has died. They're just clothes! But really, they're so much more than that.

Last night, as I finished the job of getting those clothes ready for the thrift store, I thought, "Whew, that was hard. But thank You, God, that I still have my mother here. I can still hug her. I can still tell her I love her. I can still watch her delight as she interacts with my children. Her clothes may be different, but she's still here."

I am grateful.

Blessed to Have Her

You'd think with the long, luxurious nap I had this afternoon, I'd be able to stay up really late tonight and finish the longer post I'd started for Mother's Day, but not so.  Before I fall asleep sitting up and fall over and hit my head on the edge of the desk and start bleeding uncontrollably and have to go the emergency room for stitches (no, I never imagine the worst case scenario - why do you ask?) ;-), I'm going to do the responsible thing and take myself off to bed.

But not before I share just one of my favorite pictures from today.  :)

Let Me Count the Ways

If I were forced to answer the very difficult question, "What one marriage book has had the greatest impact on your marriage?", I would have to say, "The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman."  Maybe because of its simple yet profound message, maybe because of the timing of when it was given to me (at my bridal shower) and when I read it (very early in our marriage), or maybe because of its inherently practical nature--for whatever reason, that book changed me, changed Jeff, and changed the course of our marriage.  

I've always sort of wished for an additional chapter in the book, however, centered around the theme of "it's not enough to learn to speak love to your spouse in his or her own love language; you also have to learn to 'hear' the love that he or she is speaking to you, no matter what language it's in."  For example, if a woman knows that her husband naturally shows love through acts of service, then when he does things like keeping the gas tank in her car filled up for her, she should "hear" that as love.  On the one hand, yes, it's important to, for example, communicate that "hey, my love language is quality time, so forget filling up the car with gas and let's just go for a walk together so we can have deep conversation!"  But it's also extremely important, in my opinion, to realize that many of the actions our spouses are doing are rooted in love and are an expression of that.  If I can learn to become bilingual or trilingual (or better yet, quintilingual!) in the languages of love--not just in showing love in all those ways, but also hearing love in them--then it will be easier for my love tank to be filled up, even if my spouse isn't loving me just exactly the way I would choose.  

Thinking about all of this reminds me of a quote from the play The Curious Savage by John Patrick.  (Side note: I don't have a clue where and when I saw this play, but this quote was indelibly etched in my mind that night, so much so that here I sit years later, writing a blog post about it.  Isn't it funny what sticks in our minds, when so much of what we hear and see blows away like chaff?  Anyway, the quote...)   

"People say I love you all the time - when they say, 'take an umbrella, it's raining,' or 'hurry back,' or even 'watch out, you'll break your neck.'  There are hundreds of ways of wording it - you just have to listen for it, my dear."

How does that apply to my life now?  In this very significant way...

It's relatively easy for a couple married nearly 17 years, who happen to have 5 children, to slip into the inevitable roles of Dad & Mom, Provider for the Family & Keeper of the Home, Chauffeurs, Gardeners, Housecleaners, Grocery-Shoppers, etc.  It's also relatively easy to forget the fiery, romantic love that drew the couple together in the first place.  But when the love letters have dwindled in number and the overnight get-aways to cozy little bed and breakfast inns have become impossible because of logistics, the love is still there.  And I want to notice it, because "you just have to listen for it, my dear."

Happily, that isn't too difficult of a job for me because Jeff's whole life practically screams love for me.  Sometimes I act like I'm deaf though, and don't do a good job of realizing how many things he does for me that show his deep, abiding love.  

Well, no more.  I want to start jotting down these moments that speak love--not every moment like that, of course--but some that stand out in my mind.  Because sometimes the heart needs to be reminded of these times.  :)

Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote a wonderful poem which begins, "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."  With apologies to her, I'm going to change it to "How does he love me? Let me count the ways."  I hope she won't mind.  ;-)

Here are some specific ways Jeff has loved me in the recent past--some big, some small.  All made me pause and say to myself, "He loves me!  He really loves me!"  :)

1. He reassured me about the future if I get Alzheimer's.  Since there is a fairly strong genetic history of Alzheimer's in my family, the possibility that I might someday get it is a recurring thought in the back of my head (one which I have to continually lay before the Lord, because I KNOW He does not desire for me to be consumed with fear about it).  Not too long ago, Jeff said to me, "Well, if you do get it, it will be OK.  This is what I'll do for you.  We'll do this...and we'll do that..." and on he went.  Earlier in our marriage, Jeff had joked that he would probably die before me so he wouldn't be around if I got Alzheimer's (and that's why we had all these kids, of course, so they could take care of me!) ;-); but it made me feel so loved to hear him say, "It's not a problem.  I'll be here for you.  I'll take care of you."

2. He complimented me on my cooking.  It's amazing how much a simple comment--"That was a great way to use up those turkey left-overs."--can communicate love.

3. One evening when we had planned a date, he was given the option to do something else but he turned that down so we could have our date (even when I told him it was OK, he could do the other thing).  Knowing that he wanted to spend that time with me made me feel very loved.

4. During that date night, he took a picture and posted it to Facebook--and I didn't even ask him to do it!  ;-)  That made me feel loved, that he wanted to share with the world that he was with me and that I was important to him.

5. One morning after our electricity had gone out several times during the night, he took the time to get our computers up and running again.  It was a rainy day, and he knew having working computers would help the day to go better for the boys and me.  It rushed him to get it all done that morning and still get to work, but I really appreciated it.

6. When my parents had car trouble recently and were stranded along the road, he immediately drove to where they were, stayed with them until the tow truck came (which took a LONG time), then brought them home--and not a word of complaint.  His kindness to them spoke love to me.

7. Almost always when he goes grocery shopping (which is pretty often), he buys a fresh pineapple, and not only that; but when I would like to serve it for dinner, I ask him to cut it up, and he does it very willingly.  Even if he's tired from a long day at work, he picks up the knife right away and takes care of that job for me.

8. He noticed my work in the woodshed and said, "The woodshed looks great, the best it's ever been."  That sure put a smile on my face.  He noticed what I did--hooray!  :)

9. A couple days ago, he brought home a special treat for me, a carton of fresh raspberries (food is the sixth love language, you know!) ;-)  And I ate the berries all by myself one night after the kids were in bed.  ;-)

10. He wrote an "I love you" message on a dry erase board on the kitchen table early one morning before he left for work which made the boys and me happy when we saw it.

11. He immediately said yes when I asked if I could have an evening out with some new friends; he didn't hesitate a bit but graciously gave me the gift of time away.

12. He's opening my eyes to some things a man does to protect the woman that he's with.  :)

Well, there it is, the first 12 items on one of the best lists I've ever made.  Reading through this list means that not only does my head know how much I am loved, my heart feels it, too.  And hearts that feel love can quickly give that love away.

It's a beautiful cycle.  :)

~ Jeff & I, in an Olive Garden restaurant in San Diego, sometime in 2001

First Harvest

I suppose if you want to be exact, the first fresh thing we ate this year that grew here on our ground would be the wild garlic tops that are abundant in our lawn in early spring and which Tobin and Shav picked freely to munch on as desired.  It left them with quite a case of garlic breath, but was probably extremely healthy; and I wouldn't deny them the pleasure of eating that stuff...but don't expect me to pick a handful and start grazing.  ;-)

The second thing eaten fresh around here would be dandelion leaves.  When the boys heard that some people use dandelion leaves for salads, they wanted to try it, too; and again, that was fine with me, although my memories of dandelion salad from when I was a little girl are anything but pleasant.  (I think I remember a bitterness to the taste?)

I'd have to ask Jeff, but maybe he has already used some fresh cilantro that springs up abundantly in our garden, or maybe he's chopped some new green onions from our garden for his ever-present salsa bowl?

All of that aside, the first thing that I harvested from this ground and used this year to feed my family was...

...can you guess?...

...RHUBARB!  :)

I was thrilled when Dad said the rhubarb is ready, and yesterday evening I was determined to make something with rhubarb that even my skeptical kids would like.  (They were willing to eat dandelion leaves straight from the yard, but they didn't want to eat rhubarb?  Makes no sense to me!)  ;-)  So I made this...

 Ah, yes.  A good old-fashioned rhubarb crisp.  Because as Jeff said last night while he spooned mouthfuls of crisp and ice cream into his mouth, if you add enough brown sugar, butter, and oats, anything tastes good!  :)

My strategy worked.  My kids liked the crisp, and now when I make other things with rhubarb, I'll be able to say, "Remember how much you liked rhubarb crisp?  I bet you'll love this, too!"  :)

Also of note: Tobin made a potholder last evening.

  We think it's the first time he's made a potholder himself, start to finish (although I did help him take it off the loom and finish the ends, because two sets of hands are better than one when it comes to that task.).

 He was pleased as punch.  (And would you just look at that adorable belly button sticking out there?!)

Maybe the next time I make this...

...I'll use Tobin's potholder to take it out of the oven.  :)