Aikido
Sunday, November 15
Saturday, September 12
Photo Play
I'm worried my subject matter may becoming repetitive. Maybe we can count this as make-up for all the extended periods I failed to post. Today was a quiet day at home, but we did manage to get outside for bubble-play!
Noah hates messy. This is after he fell in the mud.
Toes!
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Tuesday, September 8
Tuesday Ten
It's already Tuesday?! Love the three-day weekends!
Jared staying hooommme with the family, instead of having to visit the lab; the zoo membership our rockin' friend Kristi gave us; goof-ball amateur play with the camera, on the dashing-est subjects imaginable; home-grilled fajitas and whole-wheat tortillas; sharing homebrews with the husboo; Noah's first family portrait drawing (we're all bubble-heads, of course. I have hair, Jared doesn't. Noah has a little. Braeden is the only one who gets arms); constant and welcome thoughts of a certain little girl (!); cool-ish (or okay, simply just not hot) weather; email chat with my mother-in-law; providence of Tuesdays evening out.
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Saturday, September 5
Saturday Play Photos
Weekends are kind of a new concept around here. Today we hit Discovery Green for some Saturday playtime....
"Love one another with brotherly affection..."
Haha! Couple o' hams.
More haminess.
Splashes!
Exhibiting the characteristic cautious approach.
(Where did he pick that up? I mean, with me being such a daredevil and all...)
Discovery Green, you are so cool. We'll be seeing you on another spiffy weekend.
"Love one another with brotherly affection..."
Haha! Couple o' hams.
More haminess.
Noah, 4 yrs. You are somethin' else, kiddo.
Splashes!
Exhibiting the characteristic cautious approach.(Where did he pick that up? I mean, with me being such a daredevil and all...)
Discovery Green, you are so cool. We'll be seeing you on another spiffy weekend..
Wednesday, August 26
Last Health Post, This One From the Heart
One of the things I've picked up on from medical personnel is frustration regarding the Medicaid system. I heard a doctor say she struggles to pay off student loans while working at a county hospital, yet treats Medicaid patients frequently sporting manicures, SUVs, and designer accessories she can't begin to afford. Our own pediatrician stopped receiving Medicaid patients after he grew weary of what he perceived as abuse of the program. I don't offer numbers, but I feel sure that an unfortunate percentage of participants aren't in it to jump-in-jump-off as resolution to a crisis; it's a crutch for the long haul, which denies everyone, including them, in the process.
With medical bills, it may easier to attempt justification: health insurance premiums are expensive, as are doctors visits and medications.
But bring it down to groceries. We all need blow money. Whether it takes form in a casino trip, a bottle of wine, or a pack of Trident, we all need the capacity to spend for indulgence. I feel like I already measure that constantly. Beans and rice and veggies, or stop the cart at the butchery? Bottle of wine: misappropriation of funds, or necessary investment in marital relax-and-talk time? Are the clothes truly a justifiable expense?
This is not pity-talk. Anyone who cares to watch their cash flow has these inner dialogs, just about varying purchases (yacht, or no yacht?). The thing is, if I pad my income with your taxes, all the sudden that gift I wanted to give, or the Tuesday-with-friends panini, or the book, seem like deceptions, "little white lies". It turns into a battle of my conscience. Gucci purse? Some welfare recipients don't see that as a 'No'. All I have to do is fill in the blank with my personalized list.
Secondly, and finally, feeding people has become meaningful to me. It started with learning to cook after I left my job to stay home. It grew (and grew) with CARES. Feeding people is personal. Sharing meals is an effective way of welcoming people, extending fellowship, honoring them. The symbolism spans cultures, religions, generations. Jesus ate -- and ate -- and ate (and drank, but oops, that's another discussion) with people so much that he was called a gluton. I think I would feel defeated if I stopped giving my kids meals from my hands. My Jewish pediatrician would probably laugh to hear me say so; he once told me that the maternal equating of feeding with loving begins with breastfeeding, and never fades. I had a friend in high school whose Lebanese mother would cook after-school feasts for us, delivered with the "You're too skinny!" line of love. It's a primal love language, and I'm caught in the current.
I think I've exhausted the topic. Motherhood is a powerful force, giving fierceness to the most mundane issue you can probably try to relate to child rearing. Mommies have strong opinions. It's hard not to, but the goal is to keep listening, keep growing.
.
With medical bills, it may easier to attempt justification: health insurance premiums are expensive, as are doctors visits and medications.
But bring it down to groceries. We all need blow money. Whether it takes form in a casino trip, a bottle of wine, or a pack of Trident, we all need the capacity to spend for indulgence. I feel like I already measure that constantly. Beans and rice and veggies, or stop the cart at the butchery? Bottle of wine: misappropriation of funds, or necessary investment in marital relax-and-talk time? Are the clothes truly a justifiable expense?
This is not pity-talk. Anyone who cares to watch their cash flow has these inner dialogs, just about varying purchases (yacht, or no yacht?). The thing is, if I pad my income with your taxes, all the sudden that gift I wanted to give, or the Tuesday-with-friends panini, or the book, seem like deceptions, "little white lies". It turns into a battle of my conscience. Gucci purse? Some welfare recipients don't see that as a 'No'. All I have to do is fill in the blank with my personalized list.
Secondly, and finally, feeding people has become meaningful to me. It started with learning to cook after I left my job to stay home. It grew (and grew) with CARES. Feeding people is personal. Sharing meals is an effective way of welcoming people, extending fellowship, honoring them. The symbolism spans cultures, religions, generations. Jesus ate -- and ate -- and ate (and drank, but oops, that's another discussion) with people so much that he was called a gluton. I think I would feel defeated if I stopped giving my kids meals from my hands. My Jewish pediatrician would probably laugh to hear me say so; he once told me that the maternal equating of feeding with loving begins with breastfeeding, and never fades. I had a friend in high school whose Lebanese mother would cook after-school feasts for us, delivered with the "You're too skinny!" line of love. It's a primal love language, and I'm caught in the current.
I think I've exhausted the topic. Motherhood is a powerful force, giving fierceness to the most mundane issue you can probably try to relate to child rearing. Mommies have strong opinions. It's hard not to, but the goal is to keep listening, keep growing.
.
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