Another Day, Another Flood.

We just flooded our second bathroom in less than a month.

The first was a surprise when I got home from a trip. "Guess what happened while you were gone Mom? Lucy overflowed the sink!"

The second was a different kind of bathroom flood - I'll spare you most of the details, but this time it was not the sink that overflowed, if you know what I mean.

When we moved into this house, all the bathrooms were carpeted in a light-beige (although maybe it was originally white) carpet. But given how much money we spent moving in and how we have really been trying to stay true to the "if we don't need it we don't get it until we have our financial goals met" model, the carpet was set to stay on my bathroom floors for at least a couple of years.

Do you ever have those prayers that you wonder if should really bother God with? I do - like "please let me get a close parking spot for school pickup today," or "if you could help me get this dinner on the table without burning it, that would be great." Well the older I get, the more I believe that no prayer is too small, because He answers so many of my insignificant requests. The lesson I'm learning though, is to be careful what you ask for....

Many times I can remember mentioning to God that it would be nice to have new floors in the bathroom someday. Someday. I didn't mean for our two-year-old to turn on the sink and leave it running until it dripped three floors to the basement. I didn't mean for our three-year-old to put almost an entire roll of toilet paper in and cause an overflow during what was supposed to be my nap time. But once I sopped up the mess, ripped out the carpet and sat back and thought about it, I looked up. "That's not really what I meant God - I could have waited another year or two and missed out on cleaning up that grossness."

I know you could argue that God has nothing to do with my bathroom floods, that it's just all circumstance. But I've seen too many of my prayers answered in unexpected ways to believe that it's a coincidence.

There was a time when a flooded bathroom would have sent me into mini-despair because of the money it costs and the stress that comes from an unexpected house project. But today I recognize that God doesn't answer my prayers in the way I think He should. He just answers them. It's taken years for me learn to recognize Him, but I choose to see God in these little things, because then He is easier for me to find during the really hard times. If I can spot Him in my flooded bathroom, then I know better how to find Him when the truly dark times arrive.

It is in the silence that I hear His voice, but I can see His fingerprints all over the messes of every day.

The jig is up.

It's the end of an era. Today, Rachel figured out the truth about St. Nicholas and/or Santa. To be fair, she's been suspicious for a year or so but after this morning, she is no longer on the fence.

Back story: We have never lied to our kids about the existence of Santa and St. Nicholas. We told them that Santa was actually created from a real person and we've told them who St. Nicholas was and every time they ask about Santas they see around, we always tell them it is a person in a costume. Still, they wanted to believe in the magic and we just decided to let it runs its course. It's so fun to see their eyes light up, to listen to the stories they create and let their imaginations run wild. Plus who wants to be the one to tell a little kid that their fantasy isn't real? So we just let it last as long as it could.

Anyway, St. Nicholas brought all of my children socks on his feast a couple of days ago. They were pretty over the moon about these new socks - you would have thought we lived in poverty and my kids don't get their basic needs met, because on the morning of St. Nicholas Day, there were cries of "yeah socks! I have been wanting these for so long! I can't wait to try them on!"

I have a feeling we won't be able to ride that gravy train for too many more years before we start hearing "seriously? socks?" But for now, we're living it up and letting them believe that socks are the kind of thing you ask for for Christmas.

Well, this morning, Jonah was wearing his prized new socks and wanted to go out and get the paper.

"Put on your shoes," Gary said. "I don't want you to ruin those new socks I...." trailed off into silence.

Jonah didn't notice, but Rachel looked up from her toast.

"What?!" she said. "I knew it!"

Gary tried to change the subject. "You see this awesome hotel in this magazine Rachel? Can believe how enormous it is?"

Rachel looked at me and rolled her eyes. "He's trying to change the subject, but it's not going to work. I know. Did you hear that Dad?"

"I'm ignoring you," Gary said from behind his magazine.

"Doesn't matter, I figured it out," she said and smugly finished her toast. "Pass the comics please."

She has no idea of the enormity of the moment for me. But I guess eight years was a pretty good run for Old St. Nick.

Rachel, Christmas 2005. Eleven months old.

My first post.... I am only eight to ten years behind the trend.

Ever since I began my love affair with Facebook, I have taken personal joy in posting funny/embarrassing things that happen to me and to my family, and recently people have asked me about doing a blog. I have long thought that blogs were pretty self-centered and wondered why anyone would want to read someone else's musings and personal insights, but to be honest, I am trying to put off sewing the five blankets I decided to make for Christmas. So here it is - the day I start my blog. 

 

I am a person of order and quiet. I like things a certain way and I like the appearance of perfection. It has long been a blessing and a curse. I appear put together to the outside world, but inside is a constant comparison, a feeling that there is always more to be done and a fear that others will see that I am not perfect and then .... well then what? Stop being my friend? Judge me? Realize I have flaws? It's ridiculous. So in my perfect, ordered world, God saw what I needed, and I fell in love with a man who is constantly late, loves change, and is almost never quiet. He is spontaneous, outgoing, and pushes the boundaries of social propriety. But he is also funny, generous, charming and quick to forgive. 

I remember our very first fight... we were putting up a Christmas tree together in the house we had just bought. I wanted an angel-themed, blue and silver tree and Gary wanted to put up all of his home-made, paper, and mismatched ornaments from his childhood. I cried, I insisted, he didn't back down. I was convinced the tree would look ugly, he didn't care. He wanted all of those old ornaments on our tree. At the time I was absolutely positive he was wrong, now I know it was me. 

And then God sent me four children in seven years. Children who throw tantrums and pick out their own clothes. Children who say embarrassing things in public and refuse to wear the perfect outfits I pick out for them. But who are amazingly brilliant, loving, funny and adorable. And as my life became busier, my rules became impossible to maintain, and I began to see that most of the things I worried about didn't even matter. It only took eight or nine years, but I began to embrace that chaos was a part of my life. And even though there are days when the only thing I want is perfectly clean, quiet house, this life I have is the best life I could have imagined.

It's true, now my carpet has stains, my ceiling fans are dusty, my children leave the house in mismatched and sometimes dirty clothes, there are days when half-naked toddlers answer my door, and almost all of my dishes have chips in them, but at least I can laugh at the madness, find peace in the noise and realize that nothing is perfect, and most certainly not me.