I am so looking forward to spring (my favorite season of all). Our current mild temps have me longing for days of warm breezes where I can sit on the front porch and soak up the sun all afternoon. Can’t wait to clear the dead brush from the gardens, spread a little mulch and make daily checks for green buds on the bushes. Crocuses will come up first, then daffodils and tulips. The neighborhood will be buzzing with children playing, college students and downtowners biking to their destinations and young men who play their car stereos too loud. We’ll invite the neighbors over for drinks on the porch and we’ll get to see other neighbors for the first time since winter.

Ahhhh…

Can’t wait for spring.

Dooce today cracked me up and reminded me of a recent exchange in my own house.

Jeremy: [while patting chest] Livia, who am I?

Livia: Da-dee.

Me: Who am I? [while thumping on my own chest]

Livia: Nana.

Me: [dejected but determined] No… Who am I? What’s my name?

Livia: Da-dee.

Me: [definitely dejected] No, no, no! I’m MAMA!! [thumping away furiously, thinking of all the diaper changes and bottle feedings completed with intense love and devotion]

The next morning…

Livia: [in crib, greeting me by patting her own chest] Mama. Mama. Mama.

Me: Close enough.

**Note: this child has been saying “Mama” for over a year now and definitely knows that I am her mother. Perhaps that’s why our little conversation drove me a little crazy.

SHE WALKS!

Woohoo! Hallelujah, praise the Lord. My child WALKS! First three steps, from Grandma and Grandpa T’s hands to my arms. Jeremy walked into the living room just in time to see the big event. Then she took five steps, and later seven, with a pause in the middle and continued on without even falling down. Come to think of it, she didn’t hit the floor once. Our cautious kiddo isn’t really a faller. But now she’s a walker! Yay, Livia!!

Elisabeth Elliot’s A Chance to Die

I started off not enjoying this book at all. Elliot’s verbose descriptions, perhaps encouraged after reading so many of Carmichael’s no-doubt wordy paragraphs, and the slow pace almost shut down my efforts. But I was very interested in the subject matter and eager to learn about the work of Amy Carmichael in India. I ended the biography impressed, and more than a little bit challenged, by the missionary’s all-consuming desire to serve the Lord.

Dancing with the Stars

I missed the summer installment of this show but, in a tired moment last night at 8pm, caught the new season premiere. Ballroom alone can’t hold my attention; pairing a “celebrity” novice with a professional however can. Livia even caught the excitement and swayed and clapped with vigor on my knees. Who knows? Maybe she’ll be a dancer someday. If she is, we’ll put Nana in charge costuming in order to maintain a proper level of conservative dress. (I discovered in a phone call that Mom didn’t so much like some of the skimpy outfits.)

Drunkard’s Prayer, Over the Rhine

This album is so so good, so so rich and full of beauty. Almost everything on my iPod is getting ignored for OTR these days.

Sleep

Thanks to Baby Tylenol Cough and Cold, Sesame Street (which got me about 15 desperately needed snooze minutes yesterday morning), my mom (who graciously provided about an hour of naptime yesterday afternoon), and God (who answered prayers in the affirmative last night). Yup, my poor babycakes has a yucko cold.

The Broker, John Grisham

Andrew left this one behind at my folks’ house, so I snagged it and read it voraciously in about three days. Intellectuals can poo-poo Grisham all they want—I love his stuff. For me it’s the novel equivalent of watching the DVD version of LOST. I get so far in mentally that I end up falling asleep at night rethinking that evening’s adventures. Good stuff.

As my husband noted yesterday, even when our baby smells like baby spit we still love to kiss her because she just smells like her. Today we enjoyed another special Livia odor, the clean baby smell. Love that Baby Magic!

I just can’t get enough of the baby lovin’. Even after a hard day of toddlerness, I love this kid to bits and pieces.

Goodbye, 2005. Hello, 2006!

Jeremy and I greeted the New Year last night under the disguised personas of “Wey” and “Mary” from a murder mystery game. Truthfully, it was one of the most entertaining New Year’s Eve parties ever. While I delighted in dressing up and Jeremy seemed to dread it, we had a great time eating loads of delicious foods and working through the murder mystery scene by scene. Cranium was cracked open a few minutes before midnight, interrupted by a bit o’ kissing, then continued until around 2am. In many ways we are indeed old fogies—but last night proved we haven’t succumbed entirely yet to old fogeyism… I was grateful for good friends and good fun for ringing in ’06.

I spent some time yesterday, at perhaps the longest brunch known to man (or really, woman), reflecting on the last year and looking towards God’s providence in the new one. And as I sat down this evening to type up a blog post, I decided to crack open my recently-neglected journal and survey the year. Well, survey says (!) 2005 had its rough patches. Relationally, it was a year of transition. Friends moved, friends married, friends moved again… and some stayed as neighbors. My best friend and I celebrated seven years together and, in the process, discovered no seven year itch and a definite seven year rut. Suffice to say, many lessons on love (specifially, the five languages of love) have been learned in 2005. In many ways I’ve come into my own as a mother this year, and my relationship with my daughter has stretched me in more ways than I ever imagined. Honestly, I’ve never loved anything as fiercely as I love my little family. Physically, this past year was a doozy. I came into the year having struggled with arthritis for over six months and confident I’d somehow shake the condition entirely. But that was not to be; it was not the cup God has apportioned me. It wasn’t until September that I discovered I had rheumatoid arthritis and with that discovery (I call it a discovery because my dear doctor and nurse had been calling my arthritis “RA” for months without telling me!) I had a lot of issues to work out emotionally. It feels as though the first nine months of 2005 were given in preparation for the RA diagnosis—important lessons were learned in that time, lessons that helped me deal a bit easier with this particular hardship.

So here I am. Still blogging, still sharing life at the Prairie Box, still writing this post because I can’t figure out a decent way to end it. How do you end a review of a difficult year? By reviewing what is true… Excerpted from my journal in March of ’05:

Question: What lessons have I learned in the last year?

• God is faithful and just
• He is close, present, at all times
• He hears me
• He comforts me
• He sustains me
• He sees the masterpiece of me (Joni Eareckson Tada)
• He blesses, continues to give good things

Amen. Welcome, 2006.