My friend Randy and I were talking photo apps recently and he told me about a photo booth app that takes multiple shots in a strip and he’s all, “Here! Lemme show you how it works!” and points his iPhone camera at me, and as the camera clicks away at the four shots he’s all, “Yeah. You know how this works.”
I have to admit, I’ll miss my little guy.
I love to follow the trail of his questions back to what he’s thinking about. He’s always thinking, surmising, turning it around in his head, trying to make sense of it… and expressing hypotheses.
“Wook at that!”
“How does…?”
“What if…?”
“Would anyone like a…?”
“COME SEE THIS!”
To Thomas, everything is amazing and should be experienced with someone else. Movies! Snacks! That cool wock on the gwound! You have to have/taste/see this!
I had the most peaceful, productive day in three months with both my kids in school, but passing this milestone still choked me up a little.
The other night we took the kids to Coulon Park after dinner to ride their scooters along the lake. The goal was to wear them out spend quality time together as a family, and once Thomas stopped screaming that he wanted to go to the playground, this was accomplished.
Of course Ruthie had to bring her sparkly pink purse. Where else was she to keep the sparkly pink lip gloss?
What I love about Ruthie’s fashion sense is the Skater Girl Princess Mashup: the tunic, stretch pants, and Converse AND the sparkly pink lip gloss and bag.
Going one way or the other is fairly predictable. But combined? THAT’s the stuff legends are made of.
This is not my giant bucket of peas. This is my neighbor’s giant bucket of peas. She is the better gardener, as indicated by her giant bucket of peas vs. the brown and shriveled leaves on my bean and strawberry plants.
This happens to me every summer – we go on vacation late in July, and by the time we get back my motivation to bring forth life from the dirt wanes.
Isn’t this a sweet, Little House on the Prairie kinda moment? What is it about these moments that are so easily instigated by other people, but HEARTILY REJECTED were I to be the one who says, Hey! Let’s sit down and shuck these peas together like one big happy family!?
My kids start school a week from tomorrow, and I have mixed feelings about this.
Oh who am I kidding – I’M ECSTATIC!
Despite my previous whining, it’s been a good summer. I feel satisfied that I worked well and played well, yelled a little less than usual, and occasionally swept under the dining room table.
We set the bar high around here.
This is what I do for work – I produce animated videos like this one. In fact, this animation for Circle Street was my first solo project, back in February.
I work from home – mostly in our basement office, sometimes at the dining table, occasionally in my thinking chair. I work part time while the kids are in school, and during the summer I have an elaborate schedule of day camps, VBS programs, and babysitting swaps to keep track of.
Working from home has its pros and cons. It’s always there and the boundaries between work and play can get blurry sometimes. I find if I don’t leave the house with the kids during my off hours, I end up getting sucked in to email threads or answering my phone or otherwise getting distracted from family life.
But the advantages of working from home far outweigh the challenges – I have no commute, I can transition quickly between work and play, and I can do my laundry (theoretically) between tasks.
The best thing about working from home, though, is my kids get to see what I do. They see what I’m creating – the illustrations, the rough animations, the edits – always asking questions.
Recently Bryan took Ruthie on a daddy date, and he asked where she’d like to eat lunch.
“Sushi Palace!” she yelled enthusiastically.
Bryan looked at me, perplexed. “Where’s Sushi Palace?” he asked.
“It’s the fictional restaurant in my Circle Street animation,” I said proudly.
Ruthie’s connection to what I do all day long is the culmination of all the decisions about work, life, and community Bryan and I have made over the last four or five years. Finally, the tree fruits.
Work is not just somewhere I go, a place that takes me away from my family & gives me a paycheck. We worked work into the DNA of our family. Work works for us, not the other way around.
It is a long-established fact in the ZugHaus that I have Eeyore tendencies – I moan and whine about whatever inconvenience befalls me in the moment. But the truth is, my Eeyore moments are growing few and far between as I wake up to the realization that I am one very fortunate wife and mother.
My life is a both/and of hard work and God’s blessing, and I’m very, very grateful.
I came home the other day to this freshly painted line on the street in front of our house, and I cried.
For seven years we’ve laughed about this line. The city comes every few months to repaint it all the way down our street, but because our car is always parked out front they just skip around it, leaving it faded & scraggly in front of our house.
Every so often in the midst of my amazing life, something seemingly insignificant happens that reminds me that Things are not as they used to be, and this sparkly white line in front of our house is one of those things.
I grieve transitions deeply. No matter how fabulous it is, a transition means something is different, and inevitably something is lost. I struggle to live in the moment and enjoy what I have without looking back at What Was.
For some reason when I saw this line it represented everything we did last summer when I wasn’t working – long days at the beach, free movies at the theater, and blueberry picking every week. We’ve done plenty of fun things this summer, too, but sometimes I catch my self thinking, it’s just not the same.
I know I’m being completely irrational since this line could have appeared while I was at the grocery store, but because it appeared while I was gone all day working, this new line carries some weight. It’s a monument to the next chapter in the ZugHaus.
Welcome to the neighborhood, Sparkly New Line.
dirt & bows
Yesterday I spent the evening weeding my much-neglected-yet-thriving tomato plants. Yes, like my great hair, friends are jealous of my tomato plants. They are AMAZING. Do you see them there behind me? Nearly UP TO MY HEAD.
So anyways.
I was weeding, and Bryan was reading, and the kids got a bee in their bonnet to make a party. So they dragged out a bunch of snacks and decorations and spent the next hour beautifying.
(ignore the scraggly lettuce – not as awesome as my tomatoes)
And then Thomas declared it was a costume party. As you can see (top), I came as the Dirty Gardener, which was not a satisfactory costume, according to Ruthie, until she added the bow. Bryan KILLED as Bumblebee. Thomas was, of course, Batman, and Ruthie a Princess (we embrace our gender roles).
After Thomas ensured there were trash cans for all our party trash (he’s hospitable like that), he appeared outside with Bryan’s iPhone and docking station declaring, “WE NEED SOME MUSIC FOR THE POW-TY.”
So Bryan put this song on repeat and we danced in the back yard.
The End.
crosses
Oh Christian sub-culture, I know you mean well despite your fumbled execution.
This week I’m hosting a children’s Bible camp in our back yard, led by teenage girls. Ten kids and four teenagers are chanting Hebrews 9:22: “WITHOUT THE SHEDDING OF BLOOD THERE IS NO FORGIVENESS OF SIN!”
Which sounds like we are sacrificing a rabbit on my fire pit.
Tonight I feel awake enough to relax without dozing off, but I’m also feeling antsy and don’t know what to do with myself.
Do I work? Do I organize something? Do I watch tv?
HOW DO I RELAX??
“DOH!”
I’m co-hosting a baby shower tonight at a friend’s house. In the planning, I offered to create a hand made paper garland and bake a dessert, in addition to collecting up other various supplies and running errands for the event.
What was I thinking?
I didn’t create hand made paper garlands or bake desserts even when I wasn’t working! If you’ve been to my house you know I barely push a broom, much less get all Martha Stewarty.
Yet for some reason I feel this pressure to perform as a mother, to just make it work – as if Tim Gunn checks in on me every hour to see how the hem of my life is coming along.
(It’s fraying, Tim! Absolutely FRAYING.)
Last night I sent my friend a frantic email announcing I would instead be bringing store-bought streamers and dessert. As a fellow over-achiever, she completely understood.
Can admitting failure actually be a big WIN?
In life with Ruthie, every morning is a do-over. No matter how bad it was between us yesterday, today is our Memento moment – we just don’t remember.
Almost every morning Ruthie wakes up around 5 or 6. Many times she’s like a bathroom light switch – ON and a little too bright. But lately – ever since we got this new down comforter, actually – she pads into the room, silently slips into bed with me, and sleeps in the spot her daddy just vacated.
It’s always our best moment together.
I’ve been married to this guy nine years as of last week, and I’m pretty excited about that. He’s a great dad and pastor of our home, and the hardest worker I know.
I think this year has been the best year we’ve ever had, despite job loss, start-up life, and stressful money situations, and I know it’s only going to get better.
One night a couple years ago over drinks a girlfriend asked me how a woman like me could go to Mars Hill. There was a lot of sub-context exchanged in the asking, and it wasn’t necessary for her to elaborate on the question. I knew exactly why she asked it.
She’d read in Seattle’s alternative papers about Mars Hill and its hatred of women and its bigoted misogynist pastor, and based on what she knew of me and my relationship with Bryan she couldn’t fathom how I could subject myself to such teaching.
You see, there’s a verse in the Christian Bible that always riles up the ladies, whether they are part of the church or looking in from the outside. The verse is:
Wives, submit to your husbands as to the Lord (Ephesians 5:22).
We don’t like that ugly word, submit. It evokes anger and outrage in us because it sounds like we are not equals. The truth is we are equals. Undeniably. But different in ways that go beyond basic anatomy.
What often gets overlooked is the second half of this passage, the one that refers to husbands:
Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her (Ephesians 5:25).
In case you don’t know The Story, Christ gave himself up for the church by dying.
So Jesus doesn’t call his ladies to submit to dicks who think they’re God – or jackasses who treat women like shit – or lazy assholes who beat off to porn all day. He calls us to submit to a man who sacrifices himself to lead, teach, and provide for his family.
Benevolently.
I am married to such a man. And so, yes, I submit to him. That doesn’t mean I’m a weak, marginalized woman. It means I’m smart, because I picked a guy worth following.
Thanks for the great ride, baby.
Sorry for the blurry picture, but my phone doesn’t focus.
This dinner is yummy and super easy to make. It’s also perfect for taking on a picnic because it’s an all-inclusive dish you can make ahead of time.
Added bonus for me, is my picky eater kids LOVE it.
I don’t really have a specific recipe for this one as I kind of just throw it together. The key is to get the proportions so each bite has a perfect blend of chicken, grape, and almond.
Eyeball the following ingredients together:
Curry Chicken Salad
Chop the chicken into bite sized pieces, add to a bowl with grapes and almonds. Mix the mayo together with the curry powder and salt, then stir into the chicken. Chill. Serve.
Other things you can add or substitute: shredded carrots, raisins, brown rice, dried cranberries.
Tea Party Set By Ruthie
I have arrived at that magical parenting phase where I rarely have to get up off the couch. The kids want breakfast? Make some toast or get a cup of yogurt. Need a drink of water? Grab a stool and get the cup yourself.
But this new independence is not just about my laziness. It’s also about teaching my kids responsibility and giving them skills to take care of themselves (but it’s also about my laziness).
Ruthie is starting to want things. She wants fancy shoes, and her own phone, and longer hair.
But every piece of clothing she owns is on the floor right now, and the deck of cards is missing 23 cards, and the lamp shade has her name written on it in brown marker, and she never brushes her hair.
How can I give a phone to someone who never brushes her hair?
I want to control what she does and who she becomes, because sometimes being in control feels easier than trusting Jesus. At least in the moment, but not when it falls apart. So I do and say and think these crazy things to bend her to my will.
If I take away This, maybe she’ll learn. If I withhold That, maybe she’ll learn. If I say it fourteen times in three different languages, maybe she’ll finally get it.
I’m nearly forty, and I feel wise. Not know-it-all wise, but I’ve-been-in-your-shoes wise. Let-me-tell-you-a-story wise. There-once-was-a-time-when-I-dot-dot-dot wise.
I see that she is so much like me, and I’ve overcome so much to become who I am now. Refined by fire, as they say. I can’t wrap my mind around the next thirty-something years of her figuring it out – the detours, the missteps, the train wrecks.
But I did.
And she will.
Right?
Thomas treats any camera like it’s wielded by the paparazzi – any time you get one out he’s covering the lens, his face, or running for cover.
The boy is so against being photographed, we’ve taken to calling him Sean Penn.
But yesterday he was so proud of himself for spelling his name in sticks that I took advantage and asked if I could take his picture. Thankfully he forgot his prejudice for just a moment.
What a cutie pie!