Noticing.Eleven

  1. Rain, rain, go away. Come again when you’re warm and fat and all dolled up with thunder.
  2. No mud, no lotus :: no cream, no coffee.
  3. Thinking about the difference between expectation and hope.
  4. She’s been waking up crying. It’s anguished but not urgent–more mad about being awake than needing anything. It’s the change from cheerful, excited babble that makes me sad. I wonder if it’s an extension of the toddler attitude, a pissiness so chronic it comes out in her sleep.
  5. Devotionals is the hardest writing I’ve ever tackled. The required combination of brevity and impact is so counter to my style that it feels impossible. But I refuse to break. I am called. Asking for help. Trying again.
  6. Flex room.
  7. Gym days are mini getaways. Cardio, moving my body for no other reason than to move, feels good. Still have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to weights, though.
  8. I hate asking other parents to watch my kid because I can’t (won’t?) return the favor. But needs must. Grace is required on both ends.
  9. You read night time books. I have to blog.
  10. INFINITY WAR

Noticing.Ten

  1. Red sky in morning….
  2. There they are. The lines at my throat that announce the thinning of youth, faint to anyone else, deep crevices to me. I think about my mother’s skin, her face and hands. How beautiful she has always been to me as she ages.
  3. Still no grey hairs, though.
  4. Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. — Zen proverb
  5. When David was anointed king of Israel, he didn’t storm the palace and demand the throne. He went back to the pasture to tend his sheep.
  6. She does great in the car for the first 45 minutes. Then we hit gridlock and the handle flies off. She’s fine once we start moving again. Basically the same as everyone else driving into Toronto in the morning.
  7. The science center is almost too much for her to process with the flashing lights, moving parts, and kids everywhere. She staggers from exhibit to exhibit in the kids’ area, not engaging with much but interested in everything.
  8. It me.
  9. This unending sickness has moved into the empty spaces of my skull. I’m sure my face is tearing off every time I bend over.
  10. Accepting that while it may be my circus, it’s not my monkey. Peace, rest. Tomorrow will be filled with new grace.

Bonus:

Noticing.Nine

  1. My entire morning writing is taken up with prayers of releasing. My resentment, my hurt, my exasperation at problems nurtured too long. This burden is not mine to carry.
  2. I decide to give him his birthday present early. He’s got a hard day ahead, and he’ll need it. I’d wanted to commission a calligrapher but designed it myself instead for the worst reason (money). Ignoring that evil voice that tells me it’s worthless because I used a computer.
  3. Rak chazak: be strong and courageous.
  4. Listening to the radio argue about the audio version of The Dress. Mackenzie won’t stop saying Laurel.
  5. I’ve never been more consistently angry with someone in my life than I am with her in this season; I’ve also never enjoyed her company more.
  6. I don’t know how to handle it when friends leave before you’re ready, either, baby girl.
  7. Yes, I want to have a date night to see INFINITY WAR. No, I don’t want to try to find a sitter for tonight at 5pm and meet you at a theatre on the edge of town for 7.
  8. Loving seeing all these people I love doing their own Ten/Noticing lists. Introspection is such a delight to observe.
  9. Tea.
  10. Let’s see how many half-finished things I can finish in this twilight space between bedtime and hometime. Three on deck: one down, two to go.

Noticing.Eight

  1. Her foot is stuck in the crib slats. Four injuries in four days. I’m mad at myself for being mad at her.
  2. The smell of sawdust and fresh paint. The clatter and whir of tools. The physical space is taking shape around me as I try to shape the space inside.
  3. There’s nothing happening that merits a real post, which means it’s time for actual material, to start writing up the idea snippets I’ve tucked away for two years. Resistance is heavy and high. Who am I to say ________?
  4. There’s never enough time. Or I’m not using it right. Or both.
  5. Stop crying. Say good things. People are going to think you’re depressed.
  6. Are you?
  7. I half-finish two things: a blog post and a Compel lesson. That counts as finishing one whole thing, right?
  8. “Doctor Mackenzie wants to cuddle.”
  9. It’s a perfect night to sit outside by a firepit and drink beer and talk until you run out of firewood. Not that I’m doing that, but it cheers me to know soon every night will be like that again.
  10. How do two and a half people make so many dishes?

Noticing.Seven

  1. The tangy scent of ozone and a whiff of thunder as the sun rises. Summer is coming.
  2. Weeping over God’s both/and-ness
  3. Her lip is swollen like an overfed tick, her gums purple. I don’t let my face betray how bad hers looks. Inside, I’m sobbing. She’s smiling like nothing ever happened.
  4. Please don’t let this be her first dentist visit.
  5. She chokes on cereal at school. I have to bend her over, pound her back as her face gets red and no sound comes out. The soggy square plops onto the tile. She cries, I soothe. I know if I cry, too, someone will soothe me–they understand–but I don’t. I don’t think I’d be able to stop.
  6. I hate how often I let what’s urgent override what’s important.
  7. The doc says she did a number on her mouth but will be fine. She praises her for how wonderfully she pays attention. I feel weirdly proud.
  8. Too much. Today, it’s too much.
  9. I didn’t forget. (See above.)
  10. Tomorrow: freedom.

Noticing.Six

  1. My morning quiet time seems to expand and contract based on the worthiness of how I’m spending it.
  2. All signs point to Matthew.
  3. “Earth’s crammed with heaven,/And every common bush afire with God” — Elizabeth Barrett Browning
  4. School or library? Library or school? Why not both?
  5. We stand at the front of the classroom excitedly talking about seasons, timing, and how you know when to move on. God’s name drops several times. I feel other women’s eyes on us. I wonder if they’re annoyed or interested.
  6. I wish I had as much time now as I did when I thought I was busy.
  7. I take off the case, filled with grime and lint and probably boogers, for the first time in six months. The phone suddenly is delicate and smooth and tiny in my hands. I love it. But I can’t be trusted—back it goes.
  8. IKEA: a potty seat, an ice cream cone, and thou.
  9. I hear her skull crack off the floor while I’m making dinner. Crayon-red blood oozing between her teeth and dripping everywhere. Screaming. I have no idea what to do. Where’s the manual for this thing?
  10. Funny how the bad 10% in an otherwise good day (90% is still an A) convinces me I’ve failed at momming today.
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