I’m always waiting for the perfect setting to begin writing again. It usually has something to do with a warm cup of coffee, sleeping children, and inspiration flowing through my mind and fingers. As it turns out, I rarely have any of these things. Or rather, I have them, just sporadically through out my day and night. Never at the same time.
But lately I’ve been working and praying towards training myself to not need to have the perfect conditions for life, but rather utilizing the time I do have. This morning, I’ve been up early, the littles have meandered down the stairs slowly, and are happily eating their breakfast, playing with puppies, and watching cartoons before the day really begins. My coffee might be cold, and the littles awake, and nothing is really urgently on my mind to get out, but I’m going to take what I can get.
So here’s to renewed goals of imperfection. To not expecting life to provide me the most ideal situations. To happily accepting what is what it is. And to my cold cup of coffee. Thank God for abilities to reheat.
Alright, so I’m sick. The kind of sick where I hear the little screaming down stairs and the general upset of a house with a mamma sick, and I rolled over and went back to sleep. In fact, I’ve slept most of the day. Only to be coupled with the fantastic pregnant feelings that come with dehydration from the flu–see braxton hick contractions.
No fun man. No fun.
I realize I made numerous promises on my blog about posting about experiments and classes on women in society. It’s been about three weeks since I made those promises. And about three weeks since I posted last.
Real sorry about that. I told you you shouldn’t trust me and my writing these days.
The class is going well though. I’ve been really grateful for the friends who have responded to my original survey. It’s come handy in class.
The littles and I have continued to experiment. Making things like Oobleck, and I’m all sorts of excited about making a volcano soon.–it all ties in with the countries they are researching.–go mamma go.
Okay, enough about me. Or maybe it’s time to nap again.
We also got puppies. Surprised you didn’t know that.I love being 7 1/2 months pregnant and getting two puppies.–I may think I’m a bit crazy but I really am excited to have these pups. They’re what our family has been looking for, for a while.
We rocked 2011 in ways no other year could be rocked. I’ve spent a lot of time looking back at the year over the last couple of days, and I just want you to know that the Brindle Tribe took 2011 to new levels and new heights we had never been before.
- We started the year headed west. I fell in love with the south west, and we found our toes in the Pacific Ocean for many of us the first time ever.
- I started training for a marathon
- I stopped training for a marathon and began to bake a baby in my belly instead
- one of us turned one, successfully.
- Our bus found it’s final resting place in North Field Minnesota–it was a sad day, but we soon saw what the Lord was doing through it
- a 6 year old birthday was spent at the Mall of America, where roller coasters were conquered and a new era of childhood began.
- Not to be outdone, shortly after a 4 year old birthday was spent.–in pink. as it should be
- greater responsibility was bestowed on Josh and I. The Lord is good.
- a beard of 7 years was shaved off.
- We found ourselves at home more permanently at the end of the year.–in fact, when we’ve tried to leave it’s been quite difficult. A season at home is good.
For a fantastic slideshow, worked on way more then a small blog should really do, please click this link!
Here’s to 2012. And Rocking it just as hard.
Every now and again as a mamma I have this terrible thought. What if one my littles choses to make rough choices when they grow up? What if they things they decide to do hurt them? How will my mamma heart react?
They didn’t lie when you hear how having a little is like having your heart walking around on the ground. It is the most rewarding and painful experience I have ever endeavored on.
Right now the issues are little fights between sisters, not wanting to go bed when it’s time, wanting cookies for breakfast, you know, that sort of thing.
What do I do as mamma when the issues become destructive? Will my heart be ready? And in all my searching, and thoughts, I fall on one answer.
He alone can guide them through. He alone can guide mamma through. He alone can mold me into the example and mamma I need to be to encourage, listen, guide them to be the women He has created them to be. It’s a hefty thought for a mamma, and I know the conclusion is Jesus alone.
May my littles always know His love and grace. May they ever be drawn to Him and His presence, and when the decisions get tough, Lord may you protect them, and give them the wisdom to make the least destructive decision.
I think I might do something normal today. Like make yogurt. Or bread. That sounds fancy and fun.
I’ve successfully moved various pieces of furniture around, to make it look like I’m attempting to vacuum or rearrange things. It makes me feel better about my lack of motivation.
I’m pushing myself to write. I want to feel motivated and inspired.
I’m putting one foot in front of the other to clean bathrooms and do laundry. Learning the art of the crock pot.–would you believe that 7 years, and a lot of community meals later and I’ve never really used a crock pot for anything? I am crock pot illiterate. And I think learning the ways of the crock pot will make my life that much more easier. if you have a great crock pot recipe, feel free to let me know.
I’d like to give my midwife a call. She had a scrapbooking project for me–not that I scrap book, but I told her I’d love to do it–and I’d like to send some posters for birth photography. Which in turn would kill two birds with one stone, I really do love birth photography, and a side sweep at the opportunity to sit under her as my lofty goals of midwifery still float around my head. Maybe now that we’re home, now is the time.
rather then yogurt. I’m heading for lunch. how about tuna fish? great idea.
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I like birth. It’s the thing that makes me soft. And I mean, I try to hang with a tough outer shell, but when it comes to birth I go soft. I can’t explain it, but if you’ve had a … Continue reading
Once upon a time, I married a bearded man. We moved from Indianapolis Indiana and began an adventure. It started out rough. Because good adventures aren’t really good adventures if you don’t have adversity. And I’m not sure whether to start at the beginning of adventure, or jump in mid way. There’s so many stories to tell of adventure, I get combobbled thinking about where to begin.
Because I don’t want to start with the bad. I want to start with something along the lines of, “We were used to open a coffee shop that turned into an awesome music venue. Strike that, there were TWO! A school birthed out of it! We drove in a bus across the country. 25 states in one year!”
But like I’ve already mentioned, good adventures aren’t good adventures with out adversity.
In October 2004 only five months after marrying my bearded husband, we set off from Indianapolis, Indiana for an adventure in the north. We had a sporty Volkswagen wagon, we wore cool shoes, and my nose was freshly pierced. Not to fail to mention Josh’s beard was about a foot shorter. We were so hip, God had even called us to start a hip cool coffee shop. We left with a business plan to beat the bank. With plans for Ikea furniture, and a top of the line espresso machine. Needless to say, we were awesome.
I should have known things wouldn’t go the way we planned when the week before we were leaving our sporty little car got in a wreck, and we both had to drive seperately up to Michigan. I, with my brother in our penske rental truck, and Josh a week later, while the car got fixed.
We got there. To Michigan that is. We got there and moved into our fantastic lake house that a couple at our church had given to us to live in, rent free, for the first 8 months.
To Be Continued…