Bug's Life

*If you are my husband, please stop reading now*

Okay, now that Chris is gone, I got a little story for you. As Carolena would say...
Once upon a time, long long ago, there was a viking girl. That girl was me!
And that is where our tale begins. Years ago when Chris and I got married and moved into our first apartment I was set on getting some houseplants. "They are so cozy!" I said. "Nope, they'll bring bugs" Chris would reply. "It will add some homeiness to our apartment!" I would argue. "Please don't get houseplants" he would say, "they'll have bugs."

This back and forth went on for years. I would talk about bringing some beautiful plants into our apartment, and Chris would offer to plant something new into an outdoor pot. I would gaze at the indoor plants in Home Depot and Chris would beg me not to get one, all the while concerned about the amount of bugs that would thrive in its soil.

A few years ago a friend invited me to a girls' get together to have dinner, play games, and do a gift exchange. After some swapping of gifts I arrived home with a beautiful potted croton, and much in the style of the father in A Christmas Story, I placed it front and center upon our kitchen counter. We've had that plant there for a few years now. It's grown and been repotted and will soon outgrow it's current location. Perhaps when Nils gets over his "eating cat food and anything that looks enticing" phase I will move it to the floor. But for now, it still resides above our kitchen sink.

A few weeks ago I placed a jar of honey near the sink after rinsing off its ever sticky sides. Later, I noticed what appeared to be an entire colony of sugar ants feasting upon my honey. Our kitchen is no stranger to these sugar loving munchkins so I followed their trail... right into my plant.

oops.

Hard-hearted Harbinger of Haggis

I've been trying to figure out how to incorporate some Scottish heritage into our household, and Christmas seems like such an easy time to bring in the traditions of our forefathers. Julekake on Christmas morning and a string of Christmas heart baskets across the tree have always been staples for my God Jul. So, I thought this might be a great time of year to celebrate our Duncan name and find some good Scotish traditions to incorporate into our home.

The problem is... the only thing I can think of is to serve haggis. And the problem with haggis, of course, is that it's not boudain. 

Perhaps we'll just start buying some Clan Duncan Tartan items instead and Carolena can keep pretending to be Merida.

A quick Google search for "Scotish Christmas traditions" led me to a page that mentioned the term "rowdy celebration" so I guess our Duncan Clan already does incorporate my husband's and children's Scottish heritage into our Christmas! Done and done.

Harriet: "Do you actually like haggis?"

Charlie: "No, I think it's repellent in every way. In fact, I think most Scottish cuisine is based on a dare."

When Life Lobs Citrus

As the old saying goes, when life hands you lemons, make lemonade.

Well, life lobbed a few grapefruits at our heads in the last six months. So much for gently handing out lemons, eh?

It's been a rough couple of months in our household, but somehow Thanksgiving marks a turning point. It might be an arbitrary turning point, but we'll take it nonetheless. We're focused on giving thanks rather than crying or biting people's heads off (okay, okay, so Carolena and I are the ones who do those two things around here more than anyone).

We have so much for which we give thanks and I choose to focus on those things. Two beautiful children, good health all around (praise God), and more comforts in life than many can even dream of. Friends and family to love and be loved by, a pantry stuffed with food, an incredible church, food, toilet paper, running water... and love love love.

I say, when life starts throwing citrus, buy rum and share it with the ones you love.

In Sickness and In Health

Last week was perhaps on of the most worrisome and stressful times of Chris' life. Being the good wife that I am, I had his favorite meal on the table, a clean home, a glass of scotch, and two sparkling children waiting for him when he arrived home each evening.

Wait. No, that's not right.

I was the wife who in the course of a week pulled a back muscle, got a migraine so horrible that I literally couldn't get out of bed until noon one day, gave up caffeine cold turkey, and then caught (Caught? Is that the right word?) an infection that is so insanely painful which then resulted in flu like symptoms. So basically, Chris came home to a hunched over troll woman who could barely get out of bed every single day.

And that's just one of the reasons he had to vow for better or for worse.

Now let's get to the "for richer" part already.

Things the Book Won't Tell You

There are a million books out there on potty training. I'm sure they are all full of useful information like reminding parents about patience and rewarding good behavior and blah blah blah. Here is what the books will fail to tell you:

Potty training is a nightmare. A big poopy urine smelling nightmare.

Your child will relieve herself where ever she damn well pleases and then may or may not tell you where it was that she peed. You will only later discover these spots around the house when you do things like innocently lie down on the carpet in order to watch some tv. You'll tuck in the kiddos, grab a snack, and settle down for Shark Tank, when *WHAM!* just like that you're breathing in the sickly smell of someone else's day old urine soaked into the carpet.

Your child will lie.
They will lie all of the time.
"Why are your pants wet?" you'll ask. To which she'll reply, "I don't know."
"Did you teetee in them?" you'll prompt. "No" she'll insist.
She will then throw a huge screaming in your face trying to rip your eyes out of their sockets type tantrum insisting that her pants are just wet for no reason.

Your kid will poop in her pants on purpose.
Is it because she likes to? Is it because she knows it annoys you? Is it one small step in her giant harebrained scheme to slowly drive you insane?
Your kid will poop in her pants on purpose and then laugh about it. She'll tell you, "I think it's funny."

It is decidedly not funny.

The books won't tell you that your bathroom will start to resemble a men's convenience store restroom. No matter how many Clorox wipes you buy, you will feel like Britney Spears that time she walked barefoot into the gas station bathroom each and every time you go into yours.

So, there you have it. Happy toilet training! From our house to yours: good luck suckers!

Happy Mothers' Day

Last week my mother came to town to help us out during what was admittedly a stressful week. My mom watched our kiddos, helped with the laundry, and I even found one of Carolena's costumes was mended. She endured the sleepless nights that we have come to know as life. She ate leftovers with us and graciously took Carolena to school so that I could take a nap.

And then on Thursday she went to my sisters house 45 minutes across Houston where she did more of the same and watched as everyone in that household succumbed to a stomach bug on Friday morning.

That's when I called her, barely able to speak, and mumbled into the phone something like, "migraine. can't get out of bed. help." and she returned to my house.

Saturday morning she awoke to a small child sticking two fingers in her face and announcing, "I pooped." There was indeed poop. There was poop on her fingers, poop in her nighttime diaper, poop on her bedding. I am not sure if a monkey snuck into Carolena's room that night or not but there was even poop on the wall.

You can still see the tire marks my mom's jeep left as she took her full cup of coffee and sped away to the beach.

Lucky.

These are the events that led to Kelly and me on the phone last night talking about Sir Ernest Shackleton (because, duh, how can you ever not talk about him) and about how both of us realized this week that motherhood is never ending. My mom might not change our diapers anymore, but she still endures our sicknesses, our tears, and even our tantrums. Perhaps we should have reconsidered taking my mom to a college bar (Fitzwilly's) for mother's day one year.

Mom, next time you come to town I will serve you wine and cheese. We can find some time to watch chick flicks. We'll eat popcorn and escape to Goodwill. And I promise to not be the one to wake you up with poop on my fingers.

Well, at least not my own poop.

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Always look on the bright side of life... do do do do do do do
Always look on the light side of life...

There are times in life when the Chris Hadfield perspective is the way to go. Last week in Kroger artichokes were in the markdown bin. Two for a dollar... what?! I bought all of them (six) and ate two by myself as an appetizer that night. Win! I ate the last four the next night. Yes, four. Win! The Redbox gave me two free movies the same day. Win! We had pizza for dinner. Win! I watched a Christian Bale movie (American Hustle. Bales still got it.*) and drank wine while working on arts and crafts. Win! I didn't spill any of my red wine on the white project I was working on. Major Win!

*In my mind I'm yelling, "Bales still got it!" in the same vein as when Buster yells, "Mom's still got it!" on Arrested Development. hahha... I love that guy.


I've always been a strong supporter of the Chris Hadfield outlook on life.

So, for today:
When my mom mentioned that the smell we've been obsessing over smelled like "The Treasure House" we finally decided it has to be human urine (Carolena.... we're looking at you on this one babe). Chris steamed the carpet and a company is coming to clean our furniture and stain guard it today. Win!...?

Nils slept all night the last two nights (errr... rather... none of us went to soothe him). So, win!

It's 930 in the morning and so far caffeine weening is going well. Win! Yes, it's early, but we're taking the wins where we can get them around here.

This fall has been nuts. I'm dubbing today "reboot day." The furniture is getting cleaned, the huge pile of stuff to get rid of that is threatening to take over my room is getting shipped out of the house. We're rebooting around here. Win.

Nuggets from Nils

Nuggets from Nils
By Nils Morgan

Mommy is serving pizza for dinner?! It's your lucky day! Cram as much as that manna from heaven into your mouth as humanly possible. Your mouth is already full? Grab a piece and work to stuff it in there. Mommy will frown and say things like, "Nils, chew what's in your mouth" and other moronic phrases like that. Geeze, what do mothers know about pizza? Look down upon your tray like you are in a smart restaurant and it is the lobster pond. Carefully select another piece and gently pick it up between your fingers like the delicacy it is. Bring it up near your face, give your mother a wide pizza-filled grin, and then do your most impressive adorable dance as you sneak that next piece of pizza in there.

Speaking of delicacies, have you ever tried cat food? Or those cat scratching boxes? Mmmmmmmm boy. "If God dwells inside us, like some people say, I sure hope He likes catnip and cardboard, because that's what He's getting!"

If you go to Kroger chances are your mother will let you ride in one of the kids' car shopping carts. Woo!! Driving! Driving! Driving! When your big sister gets in next to you snuggle right into her. She will probably start screaming, "Nils is touching me!" at the top of her lungs and your mother will intervene. You'll get scooted over a tad, your sister will be reminded that it is okay for "they baby to touch her," and the cart car will start driving again. Wait just the right amount of time. You'll know when it's the right moment to do it again. Suggestions include but are not limited to the moment your mother picks up a gallon of milk in each hand or when the cart is stopped on an aisle of glass jars. When it's your moment, pounce on your sister again! Smother her with head snuggles and kisses. She'll freak out and jump out of the car. She'll insist on riding alone in the boring grocery basket part of the cart. The car will be all yours. Sweet success. Stretch your legs out across the seat and enjoy the ride.

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

A few years ago when I was pregnant with my firstborn I found myself on the phone with my sister, complaining about all of the annoying things people say to pregnant women. "You look so big!" Wrong. "You look so small!" Wrong. "Any day now?" Wrong. No matter what anyone said, unless it was "You look fabulous," it was the wrong thing to say.

After listening sympathetically to my woes Kelly responded, "Casey, people just want to be a part of a miracle."

And my head exploded.

She was right. No one knows what to say to a pregnant woman (except me: just tell them they look good and then shut your mouth). Everyone flounders and says stupid things. People reach out to touch their bellies. Everyone just wants to be a part of the miracle.

We say that the Episcopal Church welcomes you. What we don't mention is the caveat: the Episcopal Church welcomes you... until you start celebrating Christmas earlier than we have deemed appropriate and then people start to lose their shit.

Until recently, I would watch my neighbors string up their lights in mid-November and shake my head, "It isn't even Thanksgiving yet!" I would hear the carols playing in stores and roll my eyes, "Ugh, don't people observe Advent?!"

Last week we were driving home and passed a few houses decked out for Christmas. I inwardly cringed, but then I heard Kelly's voice echo in my head (how does she DO that?!), "Casey, people just want to be a part of a miracle."

People just want to be a part of a miracle.

People just want to be a part of a miracle and they are looking for it in the wrong places. Each year we put up more decorations and bake more cookies. We turn on the Christmas music a little earlier and watch just a few more Christmas movies. Those things are fabulous, and certainly fun, but do not in and of themselves bring us to the miracle of the incarnation.

One of the overlooked aspects of Christmas is that the Church stole a lot of our Christmas traditions from others. Sure, the incarnation part is significant to say the least and wholly ours, but the huge winter party complete with tree trimming - that was originally pure paganism. No one even knows when Christ was born. We took some traditions from "the world" and work to make them holy. It's kind of our thing.

So why do we get so worked up when people start celebrating too early? People just want to be a part of a miracle. Plus, get ready... not all churches observe Advent. Gasp! Perhaps, instead of blasting them on Facebook and shouting about how it isn't Christmas yet, we should offer them grace. Perhaps we should stop worrying about the world stealing our Christmas celebration (much of which we conveniently forget has always belonged the world) and instead work to make this time holy. Why don't we work to celebrate Advent and Christmas in such a way that people look at us and know that there is something more going on then just a big winter celebration?

It is easy to point out the problems with modern Christmas. It is difficult to find solutions. Nonetheless, here is what I propose:

• This year, let's focus on holiness. Instead of being annoyed with others and the frantic Christmas present buying and all of the excess, let's focus on silent nights. Holy nights.
• This year, let's forget about that damn Elf on the Shelf. Everyone knows that Santa does in fact bring presents to the "bad kids" - let's stop the b.s. on that one and instead teach our children the truth: Santa brings presents to everyone because all kids are actually good kids.
• This year, let's not worry about what others are doing during Advent. Put up your tree, sing Christmas carols, do all that jazz in December. But then... celebrate Christmas. Celebrate the twelve days of Christmas (they start on Christmas Day!) with acts of love and charity. Christmas is so much more than celebrating Jesus' birthday. It is celebrating incarnation, the moment when the Creator stepped into his creation. We are an incarnational people. Let's celebrate Christmas by being just that. 

My plan for our family to celebrate Christmas this year is to set aside the 12 days of Christmas as days to reach out to others in love and charity. Days to focus on being incarnational people. I plan for us to have projects for each of the days of Christmas to make it a time that is holy. Cookies for the garbage truck driver, food for the food bank, bird seed scattered to the birds, each day we'll find a way to bring peace, comfort, and joy to the world during this season.

This year when I see people celebrating Christmas "too early" or in ways that I think to be shallow or irreverent, I will remember that people just want to be a part of a miracle. People just want to be a part of the miracle, so let's shower them with tidings of comfort and joy.

Coffee or Wine? A Mom’s Guide to Drinking on the Job

Situation One: That Smell 

You come home to a smell. A smell. A smell that can only mean there is a dirty diaper shoved under the couch, raw meat forgotten in a grocery bag, or possibly a dead racoon in your bed.

-          You find the source of the smell.

o   It’s alive.

§  Drink caffeine. Start the percolator and look up the number of an exterminator. Grab the kids, grab your coffee, and hide from the smelly thing living in your house.

o   It’s not alive.

§  Throw it away… preferably in the neighbor’s trashcan when they aren’t looking. Then Febreeze the hell out of your couch and reward yourself by lying down with a glass of wine.

-          You can’t find the source of the smell.

o   Ah! Where the hell is it coming from?! Empty all of the trashcans and scoop the litterbox. Then, give up, light some pumpkin spice candles, and open a bottle of wine.  

Situation Two: Feminine Mystique  

You suddenly realize it’s been an insanely unacceptable number of days since you last bathed. You glance in the mirror and notice that your hair is now made up with what appears to be an accumulation of baby spit up, oatmeal, and... is that last night's dental floss??

-          It’s 10 am

o   Remove floss, put on a hat, choose coffee.

-          It’s 10 pm

o   Bubble bath with wine and a good book. STAT.

Situation Three: Who needs sleep?

The baby is supposed to be sleeping. She has a full tummy, a clean diaper, and has been sung to and snuggled and rocked. All of these things are true and she is still screaming. There appears to be nothing wrong and you are at your wit's end.

-     It’s bedtime 

      o   Place the baby in the crib, tell her you love her, and leave. She won’t hurt himself crying. Turn up some jazz music, go to the other side of your house, and open a bottle of wine. Check on the baby in a little while.

-      It’s naptime.

o   Damn girl. That sucks. It's going to be a long day. Coffee. Choose strong coffee.

Situation Four: The Cement Mixer

You forgot the golden rule of kitchen cleanup and allowed oatmeal to dry on your floor, chair, table, and ceiling.

-          It’s 10 am

o   Start the coffee. And you might as well heat up some water while you're at it. You'll need some scalding hot water to tackle that shit.

-          It’s 10 pm

o   Grab a bottle of wine and turn off the kitchen light. Let tomorrow deal with tomorrow. That's Gospel. Err... kind of.

Situation Five: It’s a Bird! It’s a Plane! It’s Supermom!

You had a perfect put-Mary-Poppins-to-shame kind of day. No tears were shed, no diapers were blowouts, all food eaten was healthy. No one threw a tantrum, you went grocery shopping and made dinner. Kids went to bed easily and on time. There was not one mishap or Plan B needed.

-          This really happened.

o   Congratulations! You are a world class bullshitter. You even convinced yourself! Reward yourself for being such a great liar by opening a bottle of wine. Unless of course you’ve been drinking wine already, which would explain your ability to believe this actually happened, in which case... perhaps brew some coffee.

               -           This didn’t really happen.

o   Yep, that sounds about right. Find something single malt. Or rum. Even Mary Poppins got some rum punch at the end of the day. It was the rum that kept her from completely losing her shit.

The Cat Came Back... He Just Wouldn't Stay Away

The other day Chris and I were standing at our respective sinks brushing our teeth while the kids hung around in our bathroom. Chris began telling me about an NPR story he heard recently about research showing that over enough time house cats actually do eventually drive people insane. I continued brushing my teeth while staring blankly into the mirror before me.
"Yes," I replied, "I am familiar with that."
"You heard that on NPR too?"
"No."

It all began way back... such a long long time back...
When Chris and I got married Max was not thrilled. In fact, one might say that he was pissed. That certainly seemed to be the case when it came to anything of mine left around that he could urinate on. So, we purchased bottle after bottle of hydrogen peroxide and, for a short time at least, I got better about not leaving things around for him to pee on.

One day soon after that I came home to find my cell phone cord had been chewed to bits. I thought only dogs did stuff like that. Clearly, Max felt I was infringing upon what had once been his raging bachelor pad. Eventually, after many afternoon naps together, Max came to accept that I wasn't going anywhere.

And then we brought home Olive.

"Yes," I replied, "I am familiar with that."

Our cats are slowly (or not so slowly?) driving me insane. There is always a phantom smell of cat pee (where is it?!), shredded door frames, and the constant threat of being suffocated by cat hair. These things alone, I can live with. But the cats realized that wasn't enough, so they've upped their game.

Olive has taken to walking s-l-o-w-l-y in front of me everywhere I go, darting and dashing when needed to stay just in front of me. "What? The baby is crying? Follow me!" cries Olive as she walks at a snail's pace lacing her body through my legs as I attempt to get to Nils. She employs this tactic anytime I head toward our bathroom too. Olive, like my children, believes that I should not be allowed to go into the bathroom alone.

Max concentrates his new efforts on ensuring sleepless nights. Just when Nils has settled down I feel the weight of daggers bearing a 20lb cat walking up and down my body. Max walks around on me periodically during the night preferring to then settle down in such a way as to take up my entire bottom half of the bed. He sleeps a little while until his internal alarm clock alerts him to the fact that it is time to jab me in the throat with a paw or lick me repeatedly.

"Yes," I replied, "I am familiar with that."
"You heard that on NPR too?"
"No," I said as I brushed my teeth and watched Olive's cat hair blow across the room like a tumble weed while she wrapped herself around my legs and Max sat crying next to a full food bowl. The smell of the cat box filled the air of our bathroom, just as it always does. I continued brushing my teeth, staring into the mirror before me. My skin was pale. My hair was wild. My stare was blank. My mouth was foaming with toothpaste.
"Yes," I replied, "I am familiar with that."
"You heard that on NPR too?"
"No, I'm living it."

Boo Hoo... and... Moo

Carolena's school is collecting canned goods for a local food bank. She came home with a note from the teacher asking for each kid to bring something to add to the bin during chapel. So, I took my little Carolena grocery shopping for the food bank. This should not have been new to her as we have a collection bin at church that we add to, but, nonetheless, this was the particular day that it hit home to Carolena that she had no idea what was going on.

"Why?"

I am asked that question 50,000 times a day. "Why?" she asked as we choose our items. As I began the process of once again explaining the food bank to a three year old I was suddenly over come with the beauty of it all.

"Well," I replied, "we have enough food in our house right now and we have enough money to buy some more. We are going to pick out some things that we think other people might like... oatmeal, salt, seasonings, muffin mixes... then you can bring them to the donation bin. Someone will come pick up all of the food and bring it to a really big pantry. All of the food will get sorted onto the shelves. Then, if someone finds that they need more food in their house and they don't have enough money to buy some right then, they can go to the food bank and pick out things that they would like to bring home for their family to eat. When we share then everyone has enough."

And then, as per the usual, I teared up (I'm 10 months postpartum, give me a break).

Later that same week a newsletter from the Mother's Milk Bank, an organization I love greatly, arrived in the mail.

"When we share then everyone has enough."

These words ran through my head once more as I read about a few of the infants who are current recipients of the milk bank and the good work that the staff there is doing. And I wept once more.

When we share then everyone has enough.

Heredity

Nils Morgan 2014

 Carolena Michele 2012

Casey Carolena 1984

As Carolena would say, "Yep. That's how we do it."

W.O.W.

Words of Wisdom
By Carolena

Every time Mommy asks you to tell someone "your news" scream out as loud as you can, "I poop on the potty now!" All of the adults will suppress giggles and commend you on your accomplishment. Mommy will probably remind you of some other boring more current "news" that she expected you to share. Hmph. Mommies. What do they know about news?

Poop on the potty. But poop in your panties as often as you feel like it. Mommy will wash them anyway, and it's good to keep her on her toes.

Sometimes, just every so often, push your younger sibling down. Wait until the prime moment when he is crawling or cruising by and then BAM! knock that guy over. Send him rolling. Do this just often enough to remind everyone of who the real boss is around here.

W.O.W.

Words of Wisdom
By Carolena

Moms prefer to start the day by jumping out of bed in a panic. It really helps to get their blood flowing. Screeching "There's a lizard on my pillow!" or climbing on top of Mommy while she's still snoozing to announce, "there's blood on my finger" are two great ways to help your mom start her day on the right foot.
*Mommy note: There was in fact an anole on her pillow. The blood turned out to be a booger. Awesome.

If you need something done by an adult order Mommy to do it. "Open this for me," "Give me that," and "Wipe my hiney" are great examples of how to speak to moms. Mommy will probably respond with some asinine comment about how she can't hear you when you speak like that. She will insist that she can only hear and respond accordingly to things asked politely. She wants you to say things like "Mommy, will you please open this for me?" I think deep down Mommy actually believes she will win out on this and that eventually she won't be bossed around by her children. Mommy thinks that someday her persistence will be rewarded with you asking politely the first time instead of demanding what is rightfully yours! Aw, isn't that cute?

Mommies like to multitask. For instance, if Mommy is nursing the baby that is a great time to bring her your shoes and socks. Even though you know how to put them on by yourself, throw a tantrum and insist that Mommy do it for you. Ugh, it's not like she's actually having to do anything while the baby is eating. When Mommy is tying your shoes and the baby is distractedly eating while watching you get dressed you'll know that's the prime moment to tell her you need help to go to the bathroom.

Clergy Spouse Confessions

Most Sundays I've got the single parent in church thing down. Aunt Panasonic babysits Carolena while I get ready to leave the house. Carolena and I go to Sunday School and Nils happily plays in the nursery. We all manage to sit mostly quiet in our second from the front pew and there is usually only limited calling out "Daddy!" And, honestly, it reaaalllly helps that I have my "church wife" in the pew next to me each week.

But in honor of yesterday...

When you see me on a Sunday morning and I'm wearing a dark shirt with a hole directly over my light colored bra, it's because I didn't notice until arriving at church.

And because some days there isn't enough coffee to get us all out of the house on time and everyone well dressed in clothes that don't have mystery holes that seem to appear right when we get there. There just isn't enough coffee in the world.

When you see me on a Sunday morning and I'm ignoring my children as they crawl all over the back of the church and the three of us take up more than one entire pew and we have toys and books and cracker crumbs everywhere, it's because we are at church all of the time. In fact this might be our third time at church in as many days. We are insanely comfortable in God's house.

And some days I am just surviving.

When my children are giggling and making happy noises (or loud grunting noises as the case may be... Nils we're looking at you buddy...) and you glance over and I seem to not even notice the ruckus my family is making, know that I do notice. I just don't care. At least they aren't fighting or crying. You might mind the noise. I know I have in the past. But in present day I'm just thankful that I'm in the pew (or wandering around somewhere near it chasing a busy crawler). I'm thankful that we're there and I have to leave it at that.

When you see me on a Sunday morning and I am holding a 30lb baby on one hip, have a huge bag overflowing with toys on the other arm, and a three year old clinging to my leg (or running full speed ahead for the donuts), don't wonder why I look frazzled and tired. Please don't ask me a question about what time something starts or what the youth group might be doing at their next meeting. I don't know the answer. I never do.

When you see me on a Sunday morning and I seem distracted or tired or frazzled... it's because I am.

But we're there.

There was a time when I sat in the pews and enjoyed the quiet before the service. There was a time when I knelt during the confession, stood during the creed, and faced the gospel procession. I'd like to say there was a time when I arrived at church in a shirt without a hole but that's pushing it a bit too far, don't you think? It's supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

Now my worship looks different. It takes the form of holding children and rocking babies. I worship standing more often than not because kneeling with a 10 month old is not feasible. I sing about half of each song but the half that I get to sing is sung loudly and joyfully... and my little grunting Nils sings along. The other half is spent wrangling cats my children and praying that none of us have to use the bathroom. The three of us in one stall is more than I can handle some days. I stand for the Eucharistic Prayer. The choices offered in the BCP are to kneel in penitence or stand in the joy of the Resurrection. At this point in my life, I choose joy. So I stand.

I realize that my kids and I are incredibly distracting in church. But, I'm doing the best I can. My worship is that we are there. Nils might not have shoes that fit, Carolena may have crazily ripped out her hairbraid in the middle of the service, and my shirt might have an unsightly hole... but we're there. My worship these days is about presence. When I say to Carolena, "It's Sunday. What do we do on Sundays?" and her resounding happy answer is to cheer, "church!" I know that our sometimes chaotic loud disruptive worship is in fact holy.

Mmmmmm Donuts...

Here's a little song that I wrote. 

You can sing it note for note. 

Donut worry. 

Be happy.

You are Loved, You are Loved, You are Loved They All Say

Tonight Carolena, Nils, and I were hanging out in Carolena's room when she suddenly tossed a book my direction. "Read this to us" she demanded.

And that is how I found myself choking back sobs reading "Wherever You Are: My Love Will Find You" as my two children peacefully played ignorant to my tears.

As Nils chewed on the puzzle pieces that Carolena will undoubtedly soon discover and cry over and Carolena emptied a doll crib and tried to get in it, I read...

"I wanted you more than you'll ever know so I sent love to follow you wherever you go..."

And I thought of Nils, 10 months old, straining to see past me so that he could watch Carolena ride by on the carousel.

And I thought of Carolena, big enough to be on the carousel.

And for these things I give thanks. I give thanks always.

And then I thought of the love my parents have for me. And I give thanks. Always.

I wanted you more than you ever will know
so I sent love to follow wherever you go.
It’s high as you wish it. It’s quick as an elf.
You’ll never outgrow it…it stretches itself!

So climb any mountain… climb up to the sky!
My love will find you. My love can fly!

Make a big splash! Go out on a limb!
My love will find you. My love can swim!

It never gets lost, never fades, never ends…

if you’re working…or playing… or sitting with friends.

You can dance ’til you’re dizzy… paint ’til you’re blue…

There’s no place, not one, that my love can’t find you.

And if someday you’re lonely, or someday you’re sad,
or you strike out at baseball, or think you’ve been bad…

just lift up your face, feel the wind in your hair.
That’s me, my sweet baby, my love is right there.

In the green of the grass…in the smell of the sea…
in the clouds floating by…at the top of a tree…
in the sound crickets make at the end of the day…

“You are loved. You are loved. You are loved,” they all say.

My love is so high, and so wide and so deep, 

it’s always right there, even when you’re asleep.

So hold your head high and don’t be afraid
to march to the front of your own parade.

If you’re still my small babe or you’re all the way grown,
my promise to you is you’re never alone.

You are my angel, my darling, my star…

and my love will find you, wherever you are.

You are loved.

~ Nancy Tillman

Breakfast of Champions

At the end of the Q&A with astronaut Col. Chris Hadfield last night, a woman in the front asked him, "What, if anything, is left on your bucket list?" And Chris' response was phenomenal. I wish I'd recorded it, but lacking that ability, here is my best paraphrasing of what he said:

"I don't believe in bucket lists. I mean, the mere idea of a bucket list seems like a millstone dragging around someone's neck. Who wants to walk around with a mainly empty bucket all of the time? It would be like going trick or treating and having a bucket with like three pieces of candy in it the whole time. Depressing.

I choose to live my life in such a way that I celebrate all of the victories. I got out of bed this morning and thought to myself, "Hey, good job! You got out of bed today! I win!" I looked out the window and the sun was shining and it wasn't snowing. Another win. I sat down to my favorite breakfast of Cheerios and skim milk (henceforth to be known in the Duncan household as "The Chris Hadfield Special"). By the time it was 9 am I felt like I had already had a great day. I'd already won.

I don't want to be the person who lives each day going, "Aw man, I'm awful, I haven't even climbed Everest yet." I'm going to take every victory no matter how small and consider each one a "win." Who wants to base their success on whether or not they've been to Machu Picchu yet? 

So, to answer your question, sure, there are more things I want to do. Long-term goals. But I don't base my happiness or self worth on whether or not I accomplish them."

Starstruck

Last night I had the opportunity to go to a book signing of Col. Chris Hadfield (former commander of the International Space Station, hit youtube sensation, all around loveable Astronaut).

Guys, it. was. awesome.

He was signing copies of his new book, "You Are Here." It's a compilation of photographs of Earth that he took during his five months on ISS. He and his wife are giving all of the proceeds to the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinsons research. Yeah, he's pretty cool.

After he spoke for a bit about life on ISS he opened up the floor for questions and all two hundred (from my quick count) people's hands shot up. And he called on me! Moi!

I asked him to speak about what it was like to return to Earth after so long in space. He began by saying, "Think about your body. You heart is pumping blood five and a half feet... no... wait... five feet seven inches all of the time." HA! How awesome is that?! He said that the return to Earth was really physically demanding and that the first month was like the combination of a long serious illness and a horrible car accident and that he was nauseous all of the time. It was fascinating.

But the best answer came in response to the last question. A person in the front row asked what there is that could possibly be left on Chris Hadfield's bucket list... and his answer was phenomenal. It was a summary of how I try to live my life and was so great it deserves it's own blogpost.

To be continued...