Jodilightful!

(Enter the cheering powers of a sippy cup of milk…)

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

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Each year the Awana club that Pippa and Romilly go to holds a “grand prix” car race instead of club one Wednesday night.  The 3-4 year old “Cubbies”  are (wisely) excluded from the competition, so this was our first year to get involved now that Pippa is in the “Sparks” age group.

To be honest, I hadn’t given the whole thing a moment’s thought until a couple weeks ago when we dropped the girls off and there was a table full of “car kits” available for $5 each.  I saw some pictures of last year’s race.  Clearly some kids had gone all out, but there were also plenty that were just decorated blocks of wood on wheels.  That, I thought, we could probably manage.

We paid our $5 and I had an inkling of a thought at the back of my mind: Maybe I’ll even call my dad and see if he wants to help.

The Sunday before race day rolled around, and Trevor asked, “Are you going to call your dad?”  I called, and he happened to be free that afternoon, so we bundled the gang into the van and made our way over with our $5 block of wood and wheels.

This will be great, I thought.  My dad, a builder, will have the tools to cut a car shape for Pippa, then during the week we can decorate it.  She’ll paint it pink and purple with lots of flowers.  Maybe there will be stickers or glitter, hearts, bunnies, ponies – whatever she wants.  The sky’s the limit!  We’ll have fun just participating in the whole event.   It’s not about winning, after all.

Clearly, I have never met my dad.

I should have known I was in trouble when the first words out of his mouth when introduced to the block of wood and wheels were, “I wish you could have gotten two of these!”  Still he was acknowledging that this block of wood with wheels was Pippa’s, not his to turn into a ‘57 Corvette or whatever other car he’s dreamed of owning since he was eleven years old.  This was hers.

Perhaps the photos, in chronological order, best show the chain of events from that moment on.

Scene 1: The designer at work.

Scene 2: Carved by Pop-pop, now to add the details.

Scene 3: Solo painting... for now.

Scene 4: "Here, let me just..."

Scene 5: "Why don't I just..."

Scene 6: The Master, happily at work.

To be fair, the only thing that Pippa felt strongly about was painting a little person inside the car, which she did (though Pop-pop touched it up with black paint afterward to create a neck).  The red was also her choice.

The tapered nose, headlights, taillights, hatchback rear window, lubricated axles, and *dual exhaust* were not so much her ideas, but then, she didn’t object either.

On the night, Pippa was very focused on winning.  I was mentally preparing myself for lengthy philosophical discussions about the importance of showing love to the winner and celebrating with them.  We were going to lose cheerfully and be thankful for a fun night surrounded by family and friends.

Until she started winning.  And winning.   And winning.  Pippa’s car was raced seven times and won five of its races.  It was nuts.  My dad was like a school boy.

At first we thought she had placed, but in the end, she narrowly missed getting one of the trophies.  We’re pretty sure she came in 4th place out of about 30 cars.  I was thankful for the defeat, lest next year’s Grand Prix be a set-up for major disappointment and drama, but I was thrilled for my little girl to go home smiling and feeling like she had done really well, and *almost* won.

As for pop-pop, after an evening of talking shop with all the other Grand Prix dads, I’m pretty sure he has a master plan for next year’s car.  And I don’t mind if it wins, as long as it can have pink flowers all over it.

We are so thankful for our dear friend Megan (and her craftiness!).  Plus the fact that we only see her every few months means we always have somebody’s birthday to celebrate!

(Oops, I do have *four* daughters… I guess you can tell which one hasn’t been that into having her picture taken lately!)

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Edinburgh Mommy Friends Reunion, August 2009: Emily and baby Rosie are smiling left of center at the back.

A guest post by Emily Luehrmann of Em’s Musings (check out her blog – her three little ones are just scrumptious!)

Well, if you read this post, then you had to know by the title that I didn’t write this MoJo!  (By the way, thank you all so much for the tremendous outpouring of wisdom and encouragement in the comments.  Some ideas have already been implemented, and more will be, I hope!)  Orderliness is *not* one of my strengths, but it is an area in which I’m seeking to grow.  My dear friend Emily and I have been discussing all things homemaking for as long as we’ve known each other (since we were fellow expats and new mommies in Edinburgh 5 years ago).  She is a great example to struggling housekeepers like myself!    Since the whole “Joy in Mothering” series was her idea, I thought it would be wonderful if she could write a post to fill in in one of my major areas of weakness.  With absolutely perfect timing, here are her thoughts.

* * * * *

Getting the shot: June 2006, Trevor's visa interview in London

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The Original - June 2006

2nd Birthday Edition: February 2008

4th Birthday Edition: February 2010

*A Google image search for “Romilly” turns up our street sign photo on the very top line.  Does that make us famous?

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Our third birthday in as many weeks…  last but not least:

A Very Happy Birthday to my sweet husband!

Every year, Trevor’s birthday poses a dilemma: what do you get for the man who really, really, really doesn’t want you to spend *any* money *at all* (because,  let’s face it, it’s his money you’d be spending anyway!)?  And every year, the answer is the same: not very much.

Last year, a certain big number that ends in a zero came and went with very little fanfare (I had just given birth four days earlier, remember).  This year, so far, hasn’t been much more fanfare-filled than last.  Sigh…

We just hope  that he knows, in spite of the lack of fuss (which he says he doesn’t want anyway), that we love him more than anything.

To the one and only man in all of our lives: you are an amazing husband, father, leader, provider, and all-around wonderful guy to have around.  We are so blessed to have you, and we thank God for you *every* day.  Happy Birthday!

I am not domestically inclined.  There, I said it.

I don’t know whether it’s nature or nurture or both, but I am a messy girl, and after years of trying to change (I started receiving FLYlady’s emails when I was pregnant with Romilly in 2005!) I still struggle to maintain even the most basic level of order in my home.  Sometimes I catch glimpses that there are advantages to being the way I am, that those who have the “neat freak” gene do not always count it a blessing.  But mostly, I just wish I were doing a better job of serving my family in this area.

I was no better at keeping my home tidy before I had children, though well-meaning friends and family are always quick to offer my four little ones up as an excuse for the state of my house, but now there is an increasing sense of urgency to the matter.  How can I keep my girls from ending up like me?  When I see the horror in Pippa’s face when I ask her to tidy up the playroom, or hear the desperation in Romilly’s voice when putting all the doll clothes away is “Just too much, Mommy!”, I see and hear myself!  How can I train them to pick up after themselves, when I don’t consistently do it myself?  How can I teach them what I just haven’t learned yet?  The situation is getting pretty dire as more and more little girls graduate to mess-making age around here.

This  passage has been staring me down for quite some time now.

Proverbs 6:6-11

6 Go to the ant, O sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise. 7 Without having any chief, officer, or ruler, 8 she prepares her bread in summer and gathers her food in harvest. 9 How long will you lie there, O sluggard? When will you arise from your sleep? 10 A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest, 11 and poverty will come upon you like a robber, and want like an armed man.

When I have read it,  it has always said something like this to me:

Hey Jodi, look at all these other women who keep their homes immaculate and their laundry folded and put away all the time!  They do it every day, not just when they’re getting ready for a birthday party.  When they pull out their vacuum cleaners, their children do not ask them, “Mommy, is somebody coming over?” They scrub and bake and even garden (which people think you do, but it’s actually your husband who does all the work), all while you sleep in, or maybe play on the Internet for a few minutes hours on end.  Those women are so. much. better than you!

But of course, whatever voice that was that I was hearing, it was not the voice of my gentle, loving Lord.  What I had never noticed about these verse before  few weeks ago, was this part:

Go to the ant… consider her ways, and be wise.

I wasn’t reading what these verses actually said.  The answer has been right there all along: Go find “those women” and see how they do it.  Learn from them!  I don’t have to stay a sluggard, I can be an ant, too!

So, this is where you come in, ant friends.  You know who you are, you who basically have things under control.  If your laundry spends most of its time clean and folded in its proper place, and you know, for instance, that you are supposed to clean under your microwave at least every once in a while, I want to know what makes you tick!  (Advice is also more than welcome from recovering sluggards: you are an inspiration!)

• What motivates you?   Does the mess just drive you crazy or do you have to make yourself clean up?
• Have you always kept your home in good order?  If not, was there a gradual process of improvement or a sudden Ah-ha! moment that changed everything?
• What habits have you found most helpful in this area?
• Is there a spiritual element to it?  A key verse that might help me see more clearly that it’s important to God that I keep my home neat and clean?

I want to be able to serve my family better in this area, and I think I’ve been taking baby steps in the right direction, but if there are more secrets out there, I want to know them!  I want to teach them to my daughters so that they can enter life more prepared than I was for how messy life really is.

Wisdom?  Please?

As I brought my tiniest girl downstairs this morning, early, before her sisters were up, I remembered doing the same thing with her a year ago today (shh!  Don’t tell my midwives, I was supposed to stay in bed for three days.  Who does that?!)

A year ago this morning, I gazed for the first time on this person I now can’t imagine our lives without.  For some reason I feel more nostalgic and reflective of this first birthday than I remember being with any of the others.  Maybe it’s because all of the events of that day and the night leading up to it happened right here in our home.

As I sat with her on the sofa this morning, I remember so vividly being in exactly the same spot a year ago, when she was first fully opening those giant eyes, and wondering ‘Who are you, little one?’  And I remember her looking back at me, in that way that only a newborn can, as if to say ‘Silly Mama.  I’m your Juniper, and I’ve known you all my life.’

This morning, she was full of smiles and giggles and silliness, and had little patience for my  nostalgic ramblings.  She was off crawling and exploring and looking for adventure, reminding me that she is no longer little enough for me to cuddle and stare at to my heart’s content.

She has grown into her eyes a little, though strangers still call her ‘Bright Eyes’ everywhere we go.  And she has grown into our hearts in a way that catches me by surprise every time it happens.  Was there really a time before we had our Junebug in our lives?

Happy first birthday, precious baby girl!

(Lindsay, I’m working on a picture of all four girls in their shirts for you.  The littles were napping for this shoot.  We love them – thank you!)

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Every once in a while, something magical happens and they all smile perfectly at the same time, and I catch it.  Tickling helps the odds considerably.

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