View from the Prairie Box

Would you like to own an entire set of Babysitter’s Club books? Or perhaps you’ve been looking for just the right console television for your family room. If so, run, don’t walk, to the Zion Church Rummage Sale at 9th & D Streets here in Lincoln. The sale runs Thursday and Friday, 9am – 3pm (or so).

Despite the fact that I need to clean out my own basement and thus shouldn’t be bringing home any more “treasures,” I still came home from the sale with a several children’s books (including a hardback copy of The Velveteen Rabbit), a toddler snowsuit and a large basket for holding Livia’s books in the living room. $6 total — not too shabby!

The bridesmaids were tired (pronounced “TI-ERD” for more emphasis). Saturday was one long day and we girls were worn out from strapless dresses and strappy dress shoes, cold wind and chilly temps, sunburn and warm temps, little hydration due to port-a-potty fears, and lots of high emotion, mostly love for our dear friend getting married. It was one long, beautiful day. And by day’s end we were in desperate need of a hot tub.

This is where grace comes into the picture. A particular family, dwelling on a particular acreage south of town, graciously opened up one particular hot tub to a particular group of wedding-weary girls. The hot water initially burned our frozen toes, then warmed our bodies and spirits—and we stayed in the glorious hot tub for much longer than originally intended. But the grace didn’t end there. This particular family came home while the seven of us girls, beet red from the toasty warmth, were pretty much causing the deck to be flooded. A moment later, our host came out to greet us and then offered us drinks. Let me reiterate: We were lounging in his hot tub, using the restroom in his house, and then he offers us beverages to make us more comfortable? What graciousness! I want to say, who does something like that? But obviously, I know exactly who. Our beloved pastor Stu.

There was another moment of gracious behavior this weekend that startled me somewhat. I shouldn’t have been surprised by this one, however—I’ve grown up with it all my life. Though the wedding ceremony and reception were completed by Saturday afternoon, the festivities continued long after Charity and Andy left for their honeymoon. And for the available bridesmaids (and their families) still in town Sunday night, my parents grilled a summer feast, and lovingly served it to us. By Sunday evening all traces of extroversion had vanished from my being and I was a (barely) walking/talking zombie. But God bless my folks who whipped up grilled chicken and asparagus, corn on the cob and baked potatoes, salad greens and, to top it all off, COFFEE ice cream for us. Like the hot tub, the food warmed our bodies and spirits.

Graciousness. Hospitality. Love shown through very tangible acts. Joy given when it required the giver to go out of their way, to reach out beyond selfishness. Stu and Kelli were probably exhausted from the day’s events—actually, I’m certain Kelli, the wedding coordinator, was absolutely worn out. And my parents had to have been tired from the long weekend. But still, GRACE. Isn’t that cool?

Our girl, she is MARRIED!

I’m gonna go put my feet up and rest a bit. It’s been a beautiful day. Praise God.

In honor of the the coming celebration this Saturday, I’d like to gather words of encouragement for Charity and Andy. Married folks, what advice did you receive as engaged folks/newlyweds that you really appreciate? OR what advice do you wish you had received?

One of the best things told to me came from Angie Arms who had gotten married three weeks before Jeremy and me. During our reception she came up to me and told me to freeze frame this moment… Take a deep breath, look around and remember what this moment looks like, she said. En route to her honeymoon, she and her husband Randy talked at length about the wedding ceremony and reception and their perceptions of the details that had occurred. I loved this advice and used it on June 13, 1998, to help Jeremy and I make even greater memories of our wedding day.

Dear Livia,

Happy first birthday! There are so many thoughts flitting around my brain that I almost don’t know where to begin this letter. But I’ll try to record coherent thoughts anyway. A few days ago I watched some old video clips of you. When you were 2.5 months old, you were trying valiantly to lift your head. You were laying on your stomach and grunting away, as though you were an Olympic competitor in weight-lifting. Your face and body were so teeny and helpless. You had something of a crewcut for a hairstyle—short and tight on the sides and back, long on the top. You were so small, so beautiful, so YOU. And yet, I could see just a faint whisper of your personality, a personality that is so evident today.

Today you are such a full little being. You have a joyful personality, sometimes mischievous and rascally, and other times open and wholeheartedly happy. You have become a hugger, a snuggler, a head-resting-on-my-shoulder kind of girl. And though your daddy likes my hair both long and short, I’m considering leaving it long just so your sweet baby fingers can wrap themselves in my locks. You and I have developed a beautiful mother-daughter bond. I love being your chief comforter. And even though I greatly cherish my sleep at night, I still enjoy those 5:30am feedings that come up when you’re sick. They’re a special moment for just you and I, rocking in the darkness, no words, just bottle slurps, and lots of love and warmth between our two bodies. Though you’ll always be our little girl, these baby moments won’t last forever, so we enjoy what we have right now. We can tell you’re already on your way to being a toddler. Sometimes you look like such a big kid already, sitting up tall in the grocery cart or highchair at a restaurant, attempting to walk with our help or playing in the church nursery, or simply talking on and on in your baby garble.

We celebrated your first birthday party with close friends and family one week before the big day. The party turned out to be one we’ll never forget. Despite my attempts to control the barbecue—from coordinating balloon colors to organizing platters of food to decorating pink cupcakes—I could not, no matter how hard I wanted to, control the weather. Under a beautiful sunny sky we all huddled at Antelope Park in 57 degree weather. The wind cut through layers of clothing and those without warm coats were fairly miserable. And yet, to their credit, all our friends and family members stayed to celebrate YOU! The only person in attendance not celebrating you was you. And why was that? You had been drugged by your mother. Some well-meaning doctor the day before prescribed pseudoephedrine for your cold—little did I know it would snow you over during your first birthday party! Poor thing, you were so tired you could hardly hold your head upright and would cry if anyone tried to talk to you. Fortunately, on your actual birthday we were able to present you with a piece of cake and you, in true one year old fashion, smeared it all over yourself. At any rate, you had a very memorable first birthday party.

One year old. One year equals a surprising success for your daddy and me. Somehow we stumbled through masses of dirty diapers, untold numbers of bottles and formula canisters, more zerberts and tickles than we can count. In the past few days you’ve been learned to drink milk from a sippy cup—and boy are we proud! We can’t wait to see what this next year holds. We love you soooo much, Livia Raine. What a blessing you are.

Much love,
Mama and Daddy

**The pink blanket photo was taken by “Uncle” Jason during your birthday party. The smiley face pic was snapped by “Auntie” Renae the day before you turned one. Thanks, friends, for sharing these pictures!

I was cleaning out our spice rack today and noticed some expiration dates from 2002. Does anyone know how long spices can truly sit on the shelf? Most of them look and smell just fine…

After two trim jobs at home, Livia was treated to a professional haircut by the very lovely, very talented stylist, Carrie Nickeson of C&A Images (she also happens to be one of my closest friends). Carrie, mother to twin four year olds, perched Livia on an extra block in the hotseat, outfitted her in a baby smock, then gave her toys for each hand and voila! the cut was completed in no time. It was the cutest thing this first-time mama has ever witnessed. I must say I was proud that my 11 month old sat so still and was so patient. That’s the thing with being a first-time mother, you think every first experience, every first activity, is just the greatest thing ever and that your child is the most amazing being ever to walk the face of this earth. Livia will have successfully completed her first year of life this Saturday, so I think I’m justified in letting my buttons burst with pride. These “firsts” only happen once, right? And this kid is just so darn cute…

I stooped to a new level of low last Friday. I called my lawnmover “sexist.”

The accusation wasn’t without merit entirely. Several weeks prior I tried in vain to get it running and the darn thing wouldn’t start. Lo and behold, my father showed up and got the motor purring in no time. So last Friday I began the lawnmowing chore with a chip on my shoulder. And when I couldn’t get the mower going I pitched a girl-fit. Nothing frustrates me more than not being able to do a MAN’s job because I’m a GIRL. Stinkin’ sexist lawnmower!

In the middle of my rage, and my second attempt to get the mower running, my husband shouted out a new instruction and while my mouth blabbed on about how that wouldn’t work, the motor started. What in the world…? I instantly felt ashamed of my bad attitude and my negative lawnmover feelings and then I noticed a new problem. Somehow our duel speed, self-propelled mower turned into a push mower. Grrrr. I began internally lamenting arthritis woes and imagining the pain my elbows would be feeling the next day. After pausing to empty the mulch bag my dear husband again gave instruction. What’s that…? I wasn’t pulling the gear drive? So our mower is still self-propelled and I was pushing it just because I’m stupid? Yup. Lovely.

Turns out my lawnmower isn’t sexist. Turns out it isn’t in the habit of causing undue pain either. Turns out I need a few lessons in anger management and mechanics. Sigh. When will I ever learn?

The good thing is that I love to mow our little lawn. God gave us the perfect sized yard for us to tend and we really enjoy working on it. I mowed while Jeremy and Livia played on the steps. Jeremy then swept the walks and I deadheaded the old tulip and daffodil blooms while Livia tossed Cheerios around the front porch. Soon we’ll be putzing around a little vegetable patch, pulling weeds and examining the plants daily. And next time the yard needs to be mowed, I’ll be ready.

I’ve got the US Consumer Product Safety Commission’s website bookmarked on my computer for a quick update on infant product recalls. It’s a helpful site for parents to check out on occasion. I noticed a CNN article this morning on child chair recalls due to possible amputation of fingers when it collapses. Yikes.

There’s nothing like good old fashioned tiredness to keep one from blogging. So there, that’s my excuse. In a few short minutes I will nap in order to do other necessary daily tasks like bathe, fashion some semblance of dinner for my family, and carry on conversation without complaining. Livia, darling sweet girl that she is, is going through a version of separation anxiety which I hear will pass someday (please, God, let that be soon). The shrieks, screams, cries and grunts emitted from her teensy body can be a bit of a handful to reckon with. Besides this new stage, teeth #6-9 are emerging and causing all kinds of angst. Cold washcloths, 3 different teething rings, Hylands and Tylenol — yes, none of these can really cure Livia’s pain. Dull and dampen it, perhaps. In the meantime, Livia and I can both be found in our respective beds, sometimes with little tears in our eyes. Woe is us.

*Internet friends: Don’t read too much into this. Like Gloria Gaynor, I will survive… after I’ve had a nap, of course.