Once upon a time there was a pregnant woman who moved house and then had a 50 hr. work week. That sums up my week. But it's been pretty good, despite tiring (and painful at moments...like right now).
So, last Friday I packed up my kitchen (when I say "I", I mean, James, Tracy the amazing, and I), drove it 5 minutes, and unpacked it. The next day, we ("we" meaning James and other helpful man-friends, Hilary, Mom and Tracy the amazing again) treated the rest of our belongings in like manner. The move went pretty well, from my perspective, which was mostly as a box-director and unpacker. Then, Sunday, I worked a 12 hr shift. All-in-all, perhaps one of the busiest weekends of my life. Have I mentioned that I'm 33 weeks pregnant (Speaking of which, one of the baby websites that provides a count-down to your due date just told me that I should have a baby in 45 days. FORTY-FIVE DAYS!!! Yikes.)?
This week has been craaaazy. I have done a poor job of managing the schedule for the two separate parts of my job (group home/teaching), which resulted in me realzing on Tuesday that I was scheduled to work over 50 hrs, which is not allowed. Also, we had carpet installed on Tuesday (yay!), but up until then we were sleeping in the living room, surrounded by boxes of stuff. Bedroom finally moved on Wednesday, which was excellent (and BEAUTIFUL!). After two years of waking up to the ugliest wallpaper known to mankind, it has been SO nice to wake up to a pretty room. With nice squishy carpet on the floor. And a bathroom a mere 10 feet down the hall, rather than on the other side of the house (although my old neighbours may miss the naked dash through the living room and kitchen that I made an a regular basis; I never have been good with curtain-closing).
Think living with an over-scheduled, pregnant, just-moved-and-living-out-of-boxes woman sounds like fun? James would tell you otherwise. It seems that even a saint has limits, as I discovered at about 10:45pm Wednesday night when he firmly declared "I'm going for a walk." Oops. Note-to-self: learn when to shut it (my mouth, that is).
James took packing tape and flyers saying "LOST: House Cat" with him on his walk. Our cat, who has always come and gone as he pleased, left Saturday morning from the new house and has yet to return. I'm feeling sad and guilty and like a bad pet-owner. In my defense, last time we moved, he found the new place no problem, so I just assumed that, 2 years later, he'd still be as smart. A couple people have tipped us off to look-alike cats, but Monty has yet to appear. We've also checked the old house daily, as it's not that far away. I think some well-intentioned person, wooed by Monty's good looks, adopted him. Which is better than something bad happening to him, but makes me sad to think about 'cause it's less likely that I'd get him back, if that's the case.
Today has been the first day this week that I didn't have to be anywhere before 4, which is when I was scheduled to work. I've done some laundry, some unpacking, made the living room look like a living room, and had my sister over for lunch, which was all good. I'm supposed to be working 4-11 tonight, but at about 2:30 I turned and had a sudden awful pain shoot down my back and leg. I've had managable sciatica for the past couple of weeks, but this doesn't fall under that heading. I pretty much couldn't walk. Called into work, said, if I really need to, I could come in, but probably wouldn't be much help. They called in a staff from another house, but it's not an ideal night to not have familiar staff. My manager was going to make some more phone calls, and let me know in a half hour...that was an hour ago. So, I'm sitting, wondering whether or not I should try to get comfy for the night or gear up to go to work.
So, that's my week, in a nutshell. Lots has happened, and most of it has been good, but, man, will I be glad when my 12 hour shift is over tomorrow night...(and when I can walk again).
Friday, October 23
Tuesday, October 13
Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Cookies
I've had a couple people ask about the recipe for these babies, which is one of my fall favourites, so I thought I'd post it for all to enjoy. I'm eating one now. Mmmmm.
Ingredients:
4 c. all purpose flour
2 c. sugar
2 tsp. ground cinnamon (I'd add more...and maybe some nutmeg)
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp salt
16 oz pureed or canned pumpkin
1 c. vegetable oil
2 eggs
2 tbsp milk
2 tsp vanilla extract
2 c. semisweet chocolate chips
1 c. chopped walnuts (if you want)
In a mixing bowl, combine flour, sugar, cinnamon, baking soda and salt.
Add pumpkin, oil, eggs, milk and vanilla; beat on medium speed until well mixed.
Stir in chocolate chips and nuts.
Drop by tablespoonfuls onto greased baking sheets.
Bake at 375 F for 13-14 minutes or until edges just begin to brown. (I find my edges begin to brown closer to 8-10 minutes...)
Cool for 2 minutes; remove to a wire rack to cool completely.
Enjoy!
The batter for these guys is really gloppy, and they are deliciously soft when done, and so can be deceiving to tell how finished they are. Don't worry if you're spooning runny stuff onto the pan, as long as it sort of stays together, and watch closely to see when they're done on the bottom, 'cause they can look deceivingly "un-done".
Tuesday, October 6
This day is brought to you by the letter 'P'...
...and was pretty much perfect (perfect - a p word, see?)
I was reflecting on the greatness of this day, and was surprised by how many things in it started with the letter 'P', and figured that was worth sharing. I'm annoyed that I left our camera at the other house, because a bunch of these things could be way more fun with pictures (what! another great 'p' thing!). I may in fact repost it with some tomorrow when I have the camera.
Pickles with Mom
Mom came over to our new house this morning and helped James and I make a batch of dill pickles, which are one of my most favourite things in the world. We have now canned in our new house, and it has the piano in it (WHAAAT piano! a 'p' word! this is getting eerie), which I think makes it home. Pickles and pianos - honestly, what more could you want in a home than music and homemade edibles?
"Putzing" with Mom
Is putzing a real word? Part of me wonders if maybe it's one my family has made up...anyway, to "putz about" is to take your time enjoying pretty things, often in good company, where we come from. Mom was driving me to my in-laws to borrow a car from them, when she exclaimed "We haven't eaten! You need food!" I reminded her I was about to go home and get lunch...but we ended up at the lovely organic crepe and fair trade coffee restaurant on Locke St, and of course passed a few lovely stores that needed visiting between the car and the restaurant.
Parents
Ok, so obviously Mom has come been covered. James' parents graciously shared their car with us today, as they do on a regular basis, and it makes our lives SO much easier. Um, and I have I mentioned that my house looks great because it has been painted top to bottom by my crazy wonderful father? We are so blessed to have such awesome parents.
Pam is our real estate agent, who came by today with the papers to sign because we finally SOLD OUR HOUSE!!! What a relief! Um, did I mention she also brought a beautiful housewarming present? If you're looking to buy or sell a house, I give her the most high recommendation I possibly can.
Pea Soup
Ok, so, I don't actually really like pea soup. But I do like that I have a husband who cooks, and is a pretty good cook, and a good planner when it comes to food. I came home today to a crockpot full of pea soup, which will be frozen for James' lunches/last minute dinners. Better than the pea soup is the partner. :)
Potent Pumpkin Spice Smells
Last week when I was in Brantford I stopped in one of my favourite little shops, Serenity, and bought those little waxy things you melt above a candle and my house smells amaaaazing. I'm enjoying a quiet night of tidying, listening to good music, and the lovely good smell of this stuff, which the owner of the shop makes herself.
Pregnancy!
I can hardly believe that 9 months has become 9 weeks. I'm getting pretty darned excited about this babmino coming, although I had a total space cadet moment this morning, sitting at the computer, and I looked down at one point and was actually startled by my belly, and wondered for a sec how/when I got fat. Then remembered that it's not fat. More random is the fact that I was researching diapers while this occurred. Oh well.
Point Made?
P has been good to me today. I'm feeling pretty blessed by the goodness in my life. Any linguistic trends in your life lately?
Friday, September 25
A Recommendation
I am so excited to have just discovered www.lastfm.com It's a music website that allows you to put together a library of artists that you enjoy, and will play you a personalized "radio station" based on your taste - brilliant!
They give you a 30 track trial, and after that it's $3/month - which so far, I think will be worth it. They also give you the option to "love" or "ban" certain songs, so if one comes up that you'd like to hear more often, or never again, you can have that degree of control. It also gives you recommendations of other artists you might like based on the ones you've entered already.
Wanna see what I've been listening to? Here's my profile.
They give you a 30 track trial, and after that it's $3/month - which so far, I think will be worth it. They also give you the option to "love" or "ban" certain songs, so if one comes up that you'd like to hear more often, or never again, you can have that degree of control. It also gives you recommendations of other artists you might like based on the ones you've entered already.
Wanna see what I've been listening to? Here's my profile.
Monday, September 21
"These are the people in your neighbourhood..."
...in your neighbourhood, in your neigh-bour-hood, oh these are the people in your neighbourhood. They're the people that you meet, when you're walkin' down the street, the people that you meet each day."
Where in my childhood is that song from? Some TV show, I think, although I can't totally remember. Mr. Rogers? I just remember him singing "Won't...you be....my neighbour?" If you have any leads on that one, I'd be thrilled.
Back to the topic at hand. Neighbours.
James and I got our new house last Wednseday (YAHOOO!!!!) It's amazing to me how block by block, every little mini-neighbourhood has its own little community culture. The street we're on now is a keep-to-yourself, cut your grass regularly and don't bother anyone street. There is one neighbour who says hello to people, but other than Dave the wonder-neighbour, I don't know anyone else, and we've lived here two years. Ok, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. I know the name of the reclusive woman who lives next door, and have had maybe 2 brief conversations with her, and I know the name of Steve, the single dad who lives across the road and down a bit, who bought James' old guitar from us for his daughter at a garage sale we had in the summer. That's 3 people in 2 years. I'm sure there are reasons that this culture has developed, and I'm sure I don't help it any by being shy (although I do TRY to smile and say hello - I just have a hard time jumping in with my "Good Morning!" when people won't even make eye contact. We struggled with this in our condo too.)
As we were preparing to get the new place, I said to James "We have to do a better job at meeting our neighbours this time! We need to be upfront and introduce ourselves at the first chance we get." It was agreed. We would be pro-actively neighbourly.
We didn't need to.
Within a few hours of getting our keys, we were chatting with Isabella and Frank, an older Italian couple who have lived next door for 45 years. The friendly Spanish family on the other side told us about how she was expecting when they bought their house, and that she actually gave birth on the closing date (I'm so glad that's not me...oy). Crystal from two doors down said hello and if we ever need anything, she's at #84 (ironically her son's name is what we picked out for our boy's name, and then I saw somebody's baby pictures on facebook with that name - and I thought it was fairly unique! grr.). Mike and Debbie and little Keyana from across the road wandered over and welcomed us to the neighbourhood, told us they really like it and hoped we would really enjoy it. The neighbours mingle and gather to chat in one another's driveways, kids are playing ball and rollerblading up and down the street. It's lovely.
I am so excited to have "real" neighbours, although it certainly takes some getting used to. Anything outside takes a little more time when there's always someone to say hello to. I think that's good - and I think the time to build those relationships is well spent. I just need to adjust my mindset about running out to the shed - if Isabella's in her garden, I just might be out there for awhile.
Where in my childhood is that song from? Some TV show, I think, although I can't totally remember. Mr. Rogers? I just remember him singing "Won't...you be....my neighbour?" If you have any leads on that one, I'd be thrilled.
Back to the topic at hand. Neighbours.
James and I got our new house last Wednseday (YAHOOO!!!!) It's amazing to me how block by block, every little mini-neighbourhood has its own little community culture. The street we're on now is a keep-to-yourself, cut your grass regularly and don't bother anyone street. There is one neighbour who says hello to people, but other than Dave the wonder-neighbour, I don't know anyone else, and we've lived here two years. Ok, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. I know the name of the reclusive woman who lives next door, and have had maybe 2 brief conversations with her, and I know the name of Steve, the single dad who lives across the road and down a bit, who bought James' old guitar from us for his daughter at a garage sale we had in the summer. That's 3 people in 2 years. I'm sure there are reasons that this culture has developed, and I'm sure I don't help it any by being shy (although I do TRY to smile and say hello - I just have a hard time jumping in with my "Good Morning!" when people won't even make eye contact. We struggled with this in our condo too.)
As we were preparing to get the new place, I said to James "We have to do a better job at meeting our neighbours this time! We need to be upfront and introduce ourselves at the first chance we get." It was agreed. We would be pro-actively neighbourly.
We didn't need to.
Within a few hours of getting our keys, we were chatting with Isabella and Frank, an older Italian couple who have lived next door for 45 years. The friendly Spanish family on the other side told us about how she was expecting when they bought their house, and that she actually gave birth on the closing date (I'm so glad that's not me...oy). Crystal from two doors down said hello and if we ever need anything, she's at #84 (ironically her son's name is what we picked out for our boy's name, and then I saw somebody's baby pictures on facebook with that name - and I thought it was fairly unique! grr.). Mike and Debbie and little Keyana from across the road wandered over and welcomed us to the neighbourhood, told us they really like it and hoped we would really enjoy it. The neighbours mingle and gather to chat in one another's driveways, kids are playing ball and rollerblading up and down the street. It's lovely.
I am so excited to have "real" neighbours, although it certainly takes some getting used to. Anything outside takes a little more time when there's always someone to say hello to. I think that's good - and I think the time to build those relationships is well spent. I just need to adjust my mindset about running out to the shed - if Isabella's in her garden, I just might be out there for awhile.
Wednesday, September 2
A Confession
We put our house on the market last week. It was a crazy busy week of painting, cleaning, organizing, and dealing with all of those little things that you think "I'll get around to that someday..." (like the missing piece of trim in the front room) and all of the sudden you need to do it, ASAP. But, it all got done (thanks to endless hours of work by my Dad, help from good friends, and a husband who came home from work, to work almost every day). It looks pretty darn nice around here, if I do say so myself. Last night I sat in my magazine-perfect living room with some candles lit and thought "this will be kind of hard to leave..."
Because we're trying to sell the house, Charlie-dog has been living with James' brother and sister-in-law. That way I don't have to vacuum twice a day, and scramble to find somewhere for him to go when our agent calls to say someone would like to see the house this evening, when James and I are both at work, neither of us able to get the dog out of the house.
Here's the confession:
I don't miss Charlie. I like not having a dog around.
It's been nice not to have to carry around a lint roller and de-dog myself every time I get out of the car; nice not to have to vacuum daily, nice not to have to feel guilty about being too busy for walks, nice not to push past a large, furry, four-legged friend with an armful of groceries.
I mentioned this to James this morning. He was appalled.
"But! But!...you like Charlie more than you like not having him around! You must!"
I don't know if I do...
I do love Charlie. He's a great dog. In fact, it's been said by a couple of people that if Charlie didn't shed, he'd be the perfect dog. He's friendly, fun to play with, and obedient. But he's sooooo hairy. And big. And...you get the picture.
(ok...so, I might miss that happy face and wagging tail greeting me when I come in the door. Maybe just a bit...)
Because we're trying to sell the house, Charlie-dog has been living with James' brother and sister-in-law. That way I don't have to vacuum twice a day, and scramble to find somewhere for him to go when our agent calls to say someone would like to see the house this evening, when James and I are both at work, neither of us able to get the dog out of the house.
Here's the confession:
I don't miss Charlie. I like not having a dog around.
It's been nice not to have to carry around a lint roller and de-dog myself every time I get out of the car; nice not to have to vacuum daily, nice not to have to feel guilty about being too busy for walks, nice not to push past a large, furry, four-legged friend with an armful of groceries.
I mentioned this to James this morning. He was appalled.
"But! But!...you like Charlie more than you like not having him around! You must!"
I don't know if I do...
I do love Charlie. He's a great dog. In fact, it's been said by a couple of people that if Charlie didn't shed, he'd be the perfect dog. He's friendly, fun to play with, and obedient. But he's sooooo hairy. And big. And...you get the picture.
(ok...so, I might miss that happy face and wagging tail greeting me when I come in the door. Maybe just a bit...)
Friday, August 28
All I Ever Have to Be...
Yesterday morning, as I was making breakfast, an Amy Grant song came into my head. I proceeded to sing it to James, who missed out on the gloriousness of cheesy Christian music in his adolescence. I then proceeded to dig up the tape and blare it through the house while I went through my morning routine. James proceeded outside to cut the grass where he would not have to endure my 80's Christian pop, complete with amazing drum machine beats, great synthesizers and a smattering of sickening cliches. Good times were had by all. Or just me.
By the end of the first side of the tape (hahahaha...tapes...with sides...so oldschool), I noticed a definite them of identity, and finding our identity in Christ and who he has made us, rather than in striving to be what we think we should be, or what others think we should be. Here's the lyrics to one of the songs that jumped out to me:
All I Ever Have to Be
When the weight of all my dreams
Is resting heavy on my head,
And the thoughtful words of health and hope
Have all been nicely said.
But Im still hurting,
Wondering if Ill ever be
The one I think I am.
I think I am.
Then you gently re-remind me
That you've made me from the first,
And the more I try to be the best
The more I get the worst.
And I realize the good in me,
Is only there because of who you are.
Who you are...
And all I ever have to be
Is what you've made me.
Any more or less would be a step
Out of your plan.
As you daily recreate me,
Help me always keep in mind
That I only have to do
What I can find.
And all I ever have to be
All I have to be
All I ever have to be
Is what you've made me.
A good reminder for me, as someone who has always struggled with seeking affirmation by being "good enough". It reminded me of a Henri Nouwen book I have been reading lately, The Return of the Prodigal Son (an excellent, excellent, excellent book - I highly recommend it). The book came out of Nouwen's meditations on the parable as depicted in a Rembrandt painting, in which the Father's arms lovingly embrace the returned son. In Chapter 2, Nouwen talks about the fact that a return implies that there was a previous leaving (34). He discusses how the son rejects his identity and goes looking for meaning and importance elsewhere, and says that we too are prodigals when we look for value and meaning outside of the embrace of our father.
I leave home every time I lose fiath in the voice that calls me the Beloved and follow the voices that offer a great variety of ways to win the love I so much desire. (40)
As long as I keep running about asking: "Do you love me? Do you really love me?" I give all the power to the voices of the world and put myself in bondage because the world is filled with "ifs." The world says: "Yes, I love you if you are good-looking, intelligent, and wealthy. I love you if you have a good education, a good job, and good connections. I love you if you produce much, sell much and buy much. There are endless "ifs" hidden in the world's love. These "ifs" enslave me, since it is impossible to respond adequately to all of them. (42)
Nouwen concludes saying
I am the prodigal son every time I search for unconditional love where it cannot be found. Why do I keep ignoring the place of true love and persist in looking for it elsewhere? Why do I keep leaving home where I am called a child of God, the Beloved of my Father? (43)
Why do I keep searching for unconditional love where it cannot be found? Why do I try to be things other than what he made me? I'm sure there are a multiplicity of complex factors, but there is one that really jumps out to me.
I have to be close enough to hear the voice of the Father telling me that I am the Beloved. I have to be still enough to allow him to embrace me. When I don't take the time to still myself, to settle into his embrace and listen to his voice, I am far more vulnerable to the voices around me that say "I love you if....", rather than the only voice that matters, that simply says "I love you." And once I have heard, and allow myself to believe, that I am loved, I can simply be, without striving. Now THAT is freedom!
(Stopping is counter-intuitive, especially in a culture that so values productivity, and beauty. I have to confess that, although I tell myself that of the things I need to do in the morning being in the presence of God is the most important, it usually comes after I've spent time in the mirror, and after I've tidied the house, and then I often don't have time. Perhaps more time with God first would make the other two matter less? My personal challenge in this area.)
By the end of the first side of the tape (hahahaha...tapes...with sides...so oldschool), I noticed a definite them of identity, and finding our identity in Christ and who he has made us, rather than in striving to be what we think we should be, or what others think we should be. Here's the lyrics to one of the songs that jumped out to me:
All I Ever Have to Be
When the weight of all my dreams
Is resting heavy on my head,
And the thoughtful words of health and hope
Have all been nicely said.
But Im still hurting,
Wondering if Ill ever be
The one I think I am.
I think I am.
Then you gently re-remind me
That you've made me from the first,
And the more I try to be the best
The more I get the worst.
And I realize the good in me,
Is only there because of who you are.
Who you are...
And all I ever have to be
Is what you've made me.
Any more or less would be a step
Out of your plan.
As you daily recreate me,
Help me always keep in mind
That I only have to do
What I can find.
And all I ever have to be
All I have to be
All I ever have to be
Is what you've made me.
A good reminder for me, as someone who has always struggled with seeking affirmation by being "good enough". It reminded me of a Henri Nouwen book I have been reading lately, The Return of the Prodigal Son (an excellent, excellent, excellent book - I highly recommend it). The book came out of Nouwen's meditations on the parable as depicted in a Rembrandt painting, in which the Father's arms lovingly embrace the returned son. In Chapter 2, Nouwen talks about the fact that a return implies that there was a previous leaving (34). He discusses how the son rejects his identity and goes looking for meaning and importance elsewhere, and says that we too are prodigals when we look for value and meaning outside of the embrace of our father.
I leave home every time I lose fiath in the voice that calls me the Beloved and follow the voices that offer a great variety of ways to win the love I so much desire. (40)
As long as I keep running about asking: "Do you love me? Do you really love me?" I give all the power to the voices of the world and put myself in bondage because the world is filled with "ifs." The world says: "Yes, I love you if you are good-looking, intelligent, and wealthy. I love you if you have a good education, a good job, and good connections. I love you if you produce much, sell much and buy much. There are endless "ifs" hidden in the world's love. These "ifs" enslave me, since it is impossible to respond adequately to all of them. (42)
Nouwen concludes saying
I am the prodigal son every time I search for unconditional love where it cannot be found. Why do I keep ignoring the place of true love and persist in looking for it elsewhere? Why do I keep leaving home where I am called a child of God, the Beloved of my Father? (43)
Why do I keep searching for unconditional love where it cannot be found? Why do I try to be things other than what he made me? I'm sure there are a multiplicity of complex factors, but there is one that really jumps out to me.
I have to be close enough to hear the voice of the Father telling me that I am the Beloved. I have to be still enough to allow him to embrace me. When I don't take the time to still myself, to settle into his embrace and listen to his voice, I am far more vulnerable to the voices around me that say "I love you if....", rather than the only voice that matters, that simply says "I love you." And once I have heard, and allow myself to believe, that I am loved, I can simply be, without striving. Now THAT is freedom!
(Stopping is counter-intuitive, especially in a culture that so values productivity, and beauty. I have to confess that, although I tell myself that of the things I need to do in the morning being in the presence of God is the most important, it usually comes after I've spent time in the mirror, and after I've tidied the house, and then I often don't have time. Perhaps more time with God first would make the other two matter less? My personal challenge in this area.)
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