Tag Archives: Tuesdays Unwrapped

Gentle nudges

Today marks two weeks of sobriety for me.

Two weeks worth of being present.

14 days of gentle nudges each morning from Him, telling me that I can do this, that I’m worth it.

I might not always talk about it, or write about it, but my sobriety is always on my mind. It is a constant choice to be made. Me, and my family, over the bottle.  And with those gentle nudges, the choice is getting easier to make. I’m not second guessing myself, I’ve admitted the problem, and there is no turning back.

I still feel like I’m flailing at times, trying to keep my head above water. Yesterday Fynn broke my glasses… and I could barely handle dealing with changing my day around to head out to order new glasses… and then I found out that I had to have an eye exam because my last prescription was only good for one year and not two… and between adding up the $$ in my head, and subtracting that from a bank account that is vertically challenged… my mind just kept spinning.

And it still spins. But I feel like I always have one foot planted on the ground now, instead of dealing with the drunk spins even when I wasn’t drinking. Because I was starting to feel those spins constantly. My life was teetering on the edge of that slippery slope… where you stand in the liquor store for one little thing, and wonder how you could sneak a few extra bottles in without being caught. For an emergency.

That was one of my moments.

And the gift was the gentle nudge pushing me out the door, without the secrecy.

Those nudges… those are my gift that I’m unwrapping today. They sing me to sleep now, quiet lullaby’s of hope and grace. They stay with me through the day. Helping me chose sobriety.

I will forever be thankful, and humbled, that God’s grace is present in nudges.

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Please visit Emily at Chatting at the Sky for more Tuesday’s Unwrapped. You’ll find simple moments and simple mysteries unwrapped in everyday life. Enjoy!

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Unwrapping Tuesday Morning

This morning we had plans.

To get up early, get ourselves and the kids ready, and go vote as a family. There’s an election today in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and we have every intention of letting our voices be heard. We both feel strongly about our right to vote, and want to pass that on to our children. I personally still get giddy whenever I enter the polling booths. I love it. I love the sense of community, how empowering it feels to slide the ballot into the take-your-ballot machine {it was a long night… I can’t think of the name…} In any case, I love to vote. And since I love my country, I vote whenever I can.

But this morning, we have a sick little girl who didn’t sleep all that well. She tried to snuggle early morning hours away in between her mommy and daddy, though I don’t think sleep was really involved from about 4:30 until maybe 5:30’ish. Fynn came running in to wake us shortly after 6, and Lucas quietly got out of bed and left me with the sleeping sniffly pink fleece clad girl cub.

When she’s sick, she’s softer than normal. Her cheeks take on this glow {yes, I’m aware it’s the flush of fever…} and it’s all I can do to hold myself back from rubbing my cheek to hers as she sleeps. To warm my cool cheeks. To feel her breath. To love on her like nothing else.

At 7:30 Lucas came in. Whispered that it was snowing. Asked if we should let her sleep. With me.

I nodded.

Half an hour later he came in to say he was leaving, and Paige woke up at the sound of her daddy’s voice. Fynn came back in, climbed up in bed with me and my girl, and welcomed us to this snowy morning. Lucas kissed us all goodbye and headed out the door to perform his civic duty on his own today.

Mark my words, I will get out to vote today. If I’m feeling adventurous it will be this afternoon with the kids, possibly still in their jammies and dawning winter hats. But most likely it’ll be this evening after Lucas comes home. I’ll grab my coat and keys, kiss three sets of cheeks and head out myself.

This morning I took the cues. This morning was meant for smelling sweet toddler morning breath, for carefully sipping hot tea with a lap full of pj wearing kiddos, for gazing out at big fat snowflakes. This morning was meant for us, and we oblige and unwrap it carefully, savoring every last bit.

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Please visit Emily at Chatting at the Sky for more Tuesday’s Unwrapped. You’ll find simple moments and simple mysteries unwrapped in everyday life. Enjoy!

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Life lessons from a three year old

Monday morning we walked into the pediatrician’s waiting room. All I could think of was a post written by a lovely blogging friend about the craziness in waiting rooms. I was prepared for snotty children, for coughs and flu masks, for grandmothers wanting to pinch Paige’s cheeks. I was not prepared for what happened.

After we settled and Fynn ran over to the gigantic germ table bead maze table a mother with two blonde haired toddlers parked her double stroller next to us and let her kids free. Her daughter looked about Paige’s age, but I could place an age with her son who quite obviously had Down Syndrome. I guessed somewhere around Fynn’s age, but wasn’t quite sure.

I watched as the mother held her breath as her babes started mingling with Fynn and a few other bigger children. The bigger kids looked at her son a little funny and gave him extra room, some moved away completely. They knew there was something different about him, and they weren’t sure how to react. How to talk to him. How to play with him.

My son, my wonderfully caring son went right up to the little boy and started playing next to him. They played with the beads together, laughing and coming up with their own games. Together. In minutes they were chasing each other around the waiting room on hands and knees, engaging each other in the common ground that three year old boys have. Because it turns out that these two boys  were born just weeks apart.

As the boys played I asked his mother how old her children were. She went on to explain how her son had just turned three, and her daughter was 16 months {sounded vaguely familiar!} At this point she sighed a breath of relief and her eyes softened. They were no longer as cautious and protective as at first. We talked about the kids names, how her daughters was a name that I would have loved to have given, but it was vetoed. We talked about having our hands full being mothers of two little ones so close in age. We talked about how her son will be starting school in a few days, and how nervous she was. How three is such a huge age. Potty training, independence, strong wills. We talked like there was no elephant in the room. Because there wasn’t. By that point it was just two mothers, and four children.

My son saw the little boy for who he was, not just a child with a chromosomal disorder who looked different. My son taught me {a woman who worries so much about offending that often will just look the other way…} that we are all alike. That we all like to get down on our hands and knees, enjoy friendship, and find common ground. We all have common ground, no matter our how different we might look or act. Our hearts are all made up of love. Our hands ready to give and receive friendship.

My son, it turns out, might be the wisest soul I know.

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Please visit Emily at Chatting at the Sky for more Tuesday’s Unwrapped. You’ll find simple moments and simple mysteries unwrapped in everyday life. Enjoy!

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Remembering the reasons

The last time we moved {almost two years ago} we didn’t unpack our numerous boxes of books. Our reasoning? We cannot have bookshelves with toddlers without anchoring them to the walls. And we didn’t want to do that… because we didn’t think we’d be here that long. Oh and space, we have no space for bookshelves.

Fast forward to knowing we’ll be here for three years total.

I miss my books.

So over the weekend I went searching through hundreds of books for one or two in particular. I went through every single box, because {of course} the specific few I went looking for were in the last box, in the way back of the second thoroughly disected closet, under about six other boxes. In the process, I found about a dozen others that just had to be brought out. Some were mine, but most were my husbands. You see, between my Political Science degree with an English minor, and his English major, we have quite the collection.

Through a closet and two rooms  I called out “Hey, how was Gandhi’s autobiography?”, “did you know you had so many of Kerouac’s books?” and I might have muttered something along the lines of “how many works of Shakespeare can two people possibly own?” They all took me back.

All of those books played an instrumental role in the story of Corinne & Lucas. The first time I saw his apartment I was in love. It was perfect. It was located on a gorgeous street in a historical old New England town. He resided on the top floor of a renovated house, centuries old, with angled ceilings and tiny windows. A view of the street, without the noise, where you could see the snow on the town common accompanied by dog walkers and couples taking a brisk February stroll. But while it had all the staples of a bachelor pad {you know… dvd’s, video games, bare fridge, the just cleaned for a date smell…} it also had books. Rows and rows of books.

And I love books.

We sat and talked about different titles. I stole several minutes staring at the antique works and finely bound collections. The man had books. And he actually read them. He showed me albums of places that he’d been, told me stories of traveling through Europe alone, he came to life as he exposed his love of road trips, nature, and art. It wasn’t one of those first date shows, there was something so sincere and passionate about all that he had done, and all that he wanted to do.

I loved him.

And over the weekend as I got my answers to the questions I called out, “It’s good if you want to know what Gandhi ate” and “yes, I know” and even “did you say something?” I felt this warm fuzzy feeling that you get when you remember a forgotten reason. I smiled to myself several times looking through our collection. At points you could tell which one came from where, a definite his and hers; but the more years we’re together the more the divide dwindles.

I miss our books.

And I still love him.

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Please visit Emily at Chatting at the Sky for more Tuesday’s Unwrapped. You’ll find simple moments and simple mysteries unwrapped in everyday life. Enjoy!

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Round and round…

Round and round he goes

twirling and whirling

giggling

laughing

smiling

without fear that he can’t stop

without a care

round and round

speeds faster than he expected

but he still laughs

holds on a bit tighter

and when it stops

he stumbles with dizziness,  might fall

but he stands up, and asks for more

the merry-go-round of life hasn’t taken it’s toll on him

and for those of us who feel like we can’t go on

watch the boy who spins with no cares

and then smile, laugh, embrace the dizziness

and ask for more

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Please visit Emily at Chatting at the Sky for more Tuesday’s Unwrapped. You’ll find simple moments and simple mysteries unwrapped in everyday life. Enjoy!

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Blue markers

Nov 7, 2009 017

blue reminders of which way to go

sometimes on the right, the left

covered with leaves

rocks as confetti on the landscape

to stumble on

to slow us down

and though hidden at times

the marker is there

discomfort when strayed from, though not always obvious

giving in to the path, with its rocks and boulders, varying boundaries,

brings peace and solace

trust that it will lead to the destination

hope that He will lead

and He will

followed with sincerity and an open heart

a watchful eye to navigate the rocky path

He will lead through a blue marked, leaf covered trail

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Please visit Emily at Chatting at the Sky for more Tuesday’s Unwrapped. You’ll find simple moments and simple mysteries unwrapped in everyday life. Enjoy!

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Dinner delights

Dinner time in our house is like many others around the world.

Chaos.

I try to hold the kiddos off until Lucas gets home from work, but sometimes it’s not possible as their day ends shortly after he arrives at 6:10. We hurry through dinner just to head off to baths and book reading.

With the time change, there was no way to hold dinner off, snacks were just not cutting it. So as I was making pear cobbler (yes, I finally made it after Sunday’s debacle…) the kids were sitting down to their supper. They had balloons attached to their chairs thanks to a friends birthday party that morning, separate dinners (as one likes to eat what mom and dad eat, the other has been living off of grilled cheese and yogurt for two of his three years), and they chatted while they munched.

At first I didn’t pay attention, but after a while I started hearing animal names being called out by one, and animal noises retorted by the other. So I payed attention. Fynn was quizzing his sister. But it got better, he started responding. Their conversation went like this:

Fynn: “Sheep!”

Paige: “Baa baa!!”

Fynn: “That’s right Paige, baa baa, that’s right.”

Fynn: “Cow!”

Paige: “Mooo mooo!”

Fynn: “That’s right Paige, moo moo, that’s right.”

And they laughed belly laughs. And ate their food. And kept each other company through an entire child sized dinner. At that very moment, I stood in the kitchen and realized that this was what family was about. What motherhood was about. Even what the world was about. Belly laughs, good food, family and love. What more could one ask for?

November 2, 2009 006

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Please visit Emily at Chatting at the Sky for more Tuesday’s Unwrapped. You’ll find simple moments and simple mysteries unwrapped in everyday life. Enjoy!

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