Giving thanks

We are moving in two weeks. AAAACK! Even though we have known about this for a long time, there are still some things you can't do until the last minute. Yesterday my to-do list had nineteen items on it and no, I didn't get them all done. (Of course, I've also been guilty of putting things on my to-do list after I've actually done them, just to pad my self-confidence.) I don't even want to know how long Michael's is, as he finishes up his residency and prepares to take his oral Board exam.

But boy, do we feel happy and blessed. Especially since we got to spend a few days with Michael's family last week.

Clara and Clark chowing down at the kiddie table.

 

Random playing in the back of the truck--hey, it's tough if you're 3 feet tall to make a slam dunk without a little help.

Michael showing off his stilt skills (yes, it's a big resume booster) with stilts he used to play with when he was a kid. 

I should be packing right now, but I find I excel at using the Internet as an avoidance tactic. Okay, okay. I'm going.

Something to tickle your funny bone . . . er, your wish bone

I love getting holiday books from the library for Clara. Things to Make and Do for Thanksgiving was pretty old school, and it had some fun jokes I thought I'd share in honor of the occasion.

Q: What kind of music did the Pilgrims dance to?
A: The Plymouth Rock!

Q: What happened to the Pilgrim who was shot at by an Indian?
A: He had an arrow escape.

Q: Why did the Indian chief wear so many feathers?
A: To keep his wigwam.

Q: What did the turkey say before it was roasted?
A: Boy, am I stuffed.

We're getting old . . . in more ways than one

My fabulous husband turned 32 years old on Monday . . .

. . . but he's still pretty enthusiastic about blowing out all those candles for an old-timer. (Or is that fear?)

And although I'm four years younger, apparently I am getting older faster, or at least my brain is.

Yesterday I took out our eggs to hard-boil half a dozen. After I took the ones I needed, I couldn't find the egg carton anywhere. I looked all over the kitchen, Clara's room, the sun room (office), the living room, and then finally found them in the pan cupboard.

Duh. I should have checked there first.

EVERY thing

I am struck by 1 Thessalonians 5:18--"In every thing give thanks."

EVERY thing?  Are you sure that's not a misprint? How about, "In the things that are comfortable and convenient and pleasant, give thanks."

 

During the Thanksgiving season, it's easy for me to make cute little handprint leaves and go around each night and list off a million things I'm thankful for.

 (Apparently the objects of our gratitude depend on our age.)

What is not so easy is finding gratitude for the things I would list off as "things that aren't fair, things that tick me off, things that shouldn't be the way they are."

And yet there it is in the scriptures. In every thing give thanks.

It has been tempting over the past 4+ years of multiple miscarriages and fertility treatments to become bitter. And let's face it, I have. I've cried, I've ranted, I've raved. It is all too easy to resent the other blogs I read of my dear friends rejoicing in their pregnancies and their talented, neurotypical kids. I've often thought, "You know what? I'm just going to quit this blogging junk because I can't handle everyone else's normal, perfect lives with their normal, perfect 3+ kids. I'm just going to cut myself off from everyone because that way I wouldn't feel so much pain. So there."

How's that for melodramatic and attention-seeking?

One of the more excellent books I read this year was recommended to me by my sister-in-law. Loving What Is by Byron Katie is all about accepting reality and embracing people and yourself and situation for what it is. And by accepting reality, I certainly don't mean giving up or not trying any more to change things that you don't like.

The Alcoholics Anonymous "Serenity Prayer" really says it all:

God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.

So here's the deal. I can't change the fact that my beautiful, lovely, sweet daughter was diagnosed with Aspergers and ADD. I can't change the fact that we don't have more children (not that we won't keep trying).

But here's what I can do:

I can change my attitude.

1. I can be happy that I have a beautiful, sweet, intelligent, funny daughter. Period.
2. I can be happy that she has Aspergers and use it to make darn sure that we are stronger, closer, smarter, and more faithful because of--or in spite of--it. I can be grateful it's not something much, much worse.
3. I can be happy that I only have one child. GASP! What?! Be a Mormon woman who is happy to only have one? Of course I don't only want one, but I can enjoy it instead of always feeling guilty and couching my every move in the concept of, "How on earth am I going to help Clara button her pants when I have another one?" or "Well, when we have another one, then we can start more family traditions," or "When we have another child, then I'll feel like we have a real family."
4. I can choose to slow down and remind myself that life isn't all about being productive and efficient and fast. I can embrace Clara's slow, sometimes devil-may-care attitude when it comes to getting places or finishing tasks and just give myself more time to get stuff done instead of rushing her because I'm running behind.
5. I can accept the days when I'm a bad mom and enjoy the days when I'm a good one.
6. I can accept the days when Clara is a stinkpot and revel in the ones when she's a sweetheart (the latter being more frequent than the former.)
7. I can learn to SAVOR THE SWEET MOMENTS. Live in them. Allow them to be imprinted on my memory.
8. I can choose to not apologize for things I have no control over and which are not my responsibility.
9. I can choose to stop worrying about what other people think and enjoy being myself.
10. And here's a novel idea: Instead of worrying so much about my own problems, which are absolutely MINISCULE, TINY, ITSY-BITSY, PRACTICALLY NON-EXISTENT compared to the truly life-shattering trials some people face, I can look to the Savior and stop worrying about me and instead think about how I can bless other people's lives. 

Because let's face it. When you get to eat breakfast and dinner with a handsome, rock-awesome husband and darling daughter to whom you've have been sealed for eternity, what's there not to be grateful for?

Going the distance . . . going for speed

Last weekend we drove back to Atlanta to see Michael's eighteen-year-old brother, Joseph, run in the state cross country race.

 I've only run a few races personally, but I think the common denominator among all races is that runners need port-a-potties. I have to say, though, I've never seen quite this many at one time. I guess if you are fast enough to run state, you deserve to have your own stall.

Clara and two of her cousins, Abigail and Clark. Clara and Clark appear to be in the awkward smile stage. Awesome.

We were happy to spend a short time with Grandpa and Grandma, too. Clara is so lucky to have such wonderful grandparents.

Joseph came in eleventh in state. Yeah, he's pretty fast. Considering the fact that I would have run the race over twice his speed, I'm just hoping our kids have my husband's genes.

Happy birthday today, brother--we're proud of you.

Clara-ty

MICHAEL: Clara, what's it called when your pants are falling down?

CLARA: A plunger's bum.



CLARA (whispering secretively in my ear): Daddy is more fun than you are.



ME (as we kneel by her bed, trying to get her in a reverent mode to pray): Clara, who are we talking to?

CLARA: Santa.



CLARA: I'm going to be a ninja for next Halloween. Boys are ninjas . . . but girls can be ninjas, too.

ME: Oh, okay.

CLARA: What are girl ninjas called?

ME: Ninjettes.

CLARA: I'm going to be a ninjette!



ME (as we "race" to get dressed for bed): I'm going to beat you!

CLARA: No, you ain't! (which comes out like "ant")


Can you guess where we live?

Six weeks

I looked at my calendar and realized we are moving in six weeks. I'm not sure how that happened. I've got to get my time turner back from Hermione, that thief.

We drove up to Harrisonburg again last weekend. We hunted for a house. I visited another elementary school. We hunted for more houses. We found one and fell in love. We made an offer. We scoffed at the measly counter-offer and walked away. (No, we didn't counter again, long story.)


And now we're still searching, now for a rental home, but still in a good neighborhood in a good school. We'll drive up again later this month.

Never a dull moment around these parts.