Gold, baby! Pure gold!

I teach my kids at home.  As hard as this path has been for me, there is one thing these kids and I have always done both well and enthusiastically: reading.  Good, solid, heart-warming, brain-stretching, eye-delighting reading.  From the time she could hear, Li'l Bit has loved chapter books just as much as picture books.  Gizmo and The Rascal are less accomidating to my lofty reading goals.  I distinctly remember loudly "reading over" an 18-month-old Gizmo as he slammed toys around and scaled walls.  I have had to convert to audio for most chapter books because my attention has to be spent keeping Gizmo and The Rascal in a listening state of mind.

So when I stumble across a new picture book that actually has meat to it?  I go bananas!  I gravitate toward books that recite scripture word for word or impart academic knowledge with ease.  Wonderful stories and beautiful illustrations never hurt--I love them with a passion--but I am tempted to pack every reading moment with pure brain protein.  (It's kind of a big deal that I'm responsible for their education.  See also, What am I missing?  Oh Dear God, what am I missing?)

My latest discovery was a total accident and I'm all like, why in the world did my teachers not read these books in class?!  The Rascal brings home all kinds of crazy stuff from the library.  My mighty mighty good man supervises library trips, and I simply reap the rewards.  This time she brought home this kind of hokey, old-looking book:

But then I opened it to read to the kids one day and I was awe-struck.  We were JUST memorizing the definition of a noun, and here is a fun, colorful book about all the different forms of a noun?!  And they are soaking up every single word I read out loud?  Sign me up!

So I'm on the Ruth Heller bandwagon.  She has a whole series on the parts of speech, and to make her even more amazing, she has other educational serieses!?  (Maybe she wrote a book on how to make series plural?)

For real y'all, go check out her author page and invest in some of these gems!  Great for your kids or great gifts of other little ones!!

Click here for her author page on Amazon.

It Bears Repeating

Call Back

If you have gone a little way ahead of me, call back--
'Twill cheer my heart and help my feet along the stony track;
And, if perchance, faith's light is dim, because the oil is low,
Your call will guide my lagging course as wearily I go.

Call back, and tell me that He went with you into the storm;
Call back, and say He kept you when the forest's roots were torn;
That when the heavens thundered and the earthquake shook the hill,
He bore you up and held you when the very air was still.

O friend, call back and tell me, for I cannot see your face;
They say it glows with triumph, and your feet bound in the race;
But there are mists between us, and my spirit eyes are dim,
And I cannot see the glory, though I long for word of Him.

But if you'll say He heard you when your prayer was but a cry,
And if you'll say He saw you through the night's sin-darkended sky,
If you have gone a little way ahead, O friend call back--
'Twill cheer my heart and help my feet along the stony track.

~author unknown.

In Retrospect...

I don't want to look back at pictures from my life and the first thought be about my weight.

Skinny.

Cuss word of all cuss words.

I just had a baby, and as much as that should cloud my judgement it has clarified it.  You see, I can feel as downtrodden about my physical appearance right now as I did days before Sweet Pea started forming, when I was the "skinniest" I'd been in years.

There is an obvious pattern here.  Basically, I feel incredibly insecure about my appearance, no matter what, at any given time.  You know, all the time.  But given enough time and distance--years upon years, I'll allow myself to look back and say, Dang, girl. You looked good!  And then ruining the moment I add on, If only you still did.

As mean as I am about my rolls and reflection, I feel just as empowered by my body's strength and vitality.  Lil' Bit was keeping me company while I was showering this morning--you know how lonely a hot, quiet shower can be when you're nursing and nurturing around the clock--and she asked when my belly would shrink back to normal, with a bit of a wince in her expression.  These moments are pivotal for my little women.  Will I wince as well, and plant a seed of insecurity in her own heart?
No ma'am, I will not.
Instead I told her that as silly as my belly looks, I love it.  It has held five human souls and that is probably the most incredible thing I will ever be a part of.  (And then we named our Heaven Baby, because she wants to have a name for when we think of him or her.)

My husband is incredible in this area.  After giving birth the first time.....once I realized my stomach would never look the way it did before....and I was only 22......and I hated myself....he amazingly, graciously swooped my delicate self-image into his arms and carried me over the threshold from barely-a-womanhood into motherhood.  For the first of a thousand times, he told me that he loved my belly because it brought Li'l Bit to our world.  That it was awe-inspiring, strong, a miracle, a gift.  Although I felt utter relief and gratitude that he was not disgusted by me, I couldn't see it.  I didn't get it.  For my own security I have since elicited his proclamation of adoration on numerous occasions.  But only now, after nine years and three more big, full-term babies, I think I finally agree with him.

Am I excited about losing the rest of this baby weight?
Yes.
Am I trying to do so everyday?
Yes.
But am I hating my body all along the way?
No.

I am taking almost every healthy step I can to care for this vessel.  It is very hard to care for something you hate.

I'll say that again:  It is very hard to care for something you hate.

I have actually been surprised by how smoothly these first few, ahem, dozens-of pounds have come off.  It makes total sense now.  Hating my body only lends itself to a vicious cycle of hunger, depravity, and punishment followed by over-indulgence, guilt, and shame.  It is not only unhealthy but also entirely unproductive.  Like a lot of women I have spent most of my years stuck in that cycle.  It's miserable, y'all.  I don't want to be there anymore.

I don't want to spend the rest of my life there.

This has been the first postpartum period in which I have truly appreciated and honored my body for what it has done for our family.  I am feeding it good things whenever it is hungry.  I am trying to lay it down whenever it needs rest.  I am slathering it with sweet smelling soap and flattering it with make-up.  I am adorning it with clothes that feel good and look good.  And as soon as my baby cooperates, I will take it to the gym and do that which makes all of me feel better--namely, that work-out-concluding visit to the sauna.

What's different about this postpartum period?  Why now and not before?  Well that, my dears, is a whole other discussion.  One I hope to find time for sooner rather than later.

But for now, I am proclaiming a new resolution:  when I look back at pictures from my life I want to see the souls, the life, the love, the events--the memories at the center.  Not my waist and number of chins.

By taking care of myself, I take my self out of the center.

You can just imagine the stretch marks this big girl caused.