learning-value-time

Nap time at last; time for tea!

I filled my mug from the cold pot, popped it in the microwave for a couple of minutes and waited impatiently for that soul-refreshing experience that is my nap time cuppa ritual. With a cheerful double beep, it was done.

I reached for the milk but, this is awkward, I’d been a bit heavy-handed in my hasty pour and there was really too much tea in the cup to top it with my desired dash of dairy.

I tried anyway – administering a tiny, clumsy plop and the skimpiest of swirls, but the cup was too full to move.  It was a sad moment. Reluctantly, I admitted defeat, decanting teaspoonfuls from the full cup down the drain.

The ritual had lost much of its magic; its flow. I mean the tea was still alright but the experience as a whole was just unsatisfying.

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in Faith, Family Life

Learning Like a Child

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learning-like-child

I’ve been teaching a 3-year-old the New City Catechism.

It was a supposed to be a lesson for her. I was going to systematically go through the questions and answers that explained our faith so that she would be a well-learned member of the church. I imagined that she would hide these little answers in her heart and when she was old would be able to recollect these little truths hidden inside.

But I am the one who is learning.

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mother-didnt-breastfeed

A lot of things failed to go to plan in the weeks surrounding my son Jackson’s entry into the world.

I hoped to go into labour at 41 weeks. Yes, I actually hoped to go past term, purely because we needed that time for our nursery renovation.

I hoped for a birth story like all my friends’: the requisite number of hours of labour, an epidural at just the right moment, and a modest amount of pushing, with little to no tearing, thank you very much.

I hoped to shed a few tears. I hoped for immediate skin-to-skin contact, for a photo of our new family of 3 mere seconds after baby’s first breath of air.

I hoped to breastfeed.

What I got was far beyond what I ever could have predicted.

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discussing-money

I remember as a child being told, “We can’t afford it.”

I’ve heard myself say to my children, “We can’t afford it.”

It confounded me when I heard it and I didn’t feel right when I said it, so I made a conscious decision to stop saying it.

I thought more deeply not only about what information I was passing on, but also what attitude and what picture of a relationship with money I was modeling.

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blessing-cleaning-toddler

I hate cleaning.

Don’t get me wrong: I love clean.

I grew up with a mother that knew how to clean thoroughly, spot the cobwebs that were invisible to the naked eye and throw open the windows to top it off with a fresh breeze. Coming home after a Mum Clean was refreshing and completely taken for granted.

But I am wired differently; I fight against my cluttery personality every day, as well as the part of me that says, “I’ll definitely do that later.”

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acting-toddler-growing-boss

We’ve all been there. It’s almost nap time but for some reason, we’re buzzing through the grocery store trying to grab a few items. That’s when it hits. The terrible twos. The toddler who was so sweetly holding your hand is now laying on the ground screaming, kicking their feet, angry about what, you’re not quite sure. The struggle continues either until you make it through the line, into the car, and finally to their bed or when you give up and let them have that *cookie, action figure, pack of gum, etc.*

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banishing-bitterness

I never need to look far for bitterness to come calling.

Something will happen, or someone will rub me the wrong way, and without thinking I snap my fingers and bitterness comes running over, wrapping me in a bear hug and covering every bit of me.

But bitterness is not my friend. Bitterness doesn’t comfort me; she doesn’t make me feel better. She doesn’t serve me at all. She clouds my brain. She taints my colour. Bitterness actually grasps hold of my heart and twists it, forcing me to respond to things in ways that I usually wouldn’t. She takes my tongue and pushes words from me that I don’t usually find myself saying. She even invites her friends Jealousy, Offense and Righteous Indignation in, chuckling “Come on guys, it’s party time!” So what kind of self-destructive person am I, that I would cry out “Bitterness! Come to me! Let’s wallow together!” – knowing that she’s going to make me feel worse, not better?

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beautiful-simplicity-daily-habits

Morning or night person,

routine-driven or spontaneous person,

melancholy or sanguine person;

we all have a unique blend of characteristics that shape how we live out our days. Whichever of these we are, whatever it is we do, it’s important to take stock and reflect if what we’re doing is working for us.

Every now and then I begin a new habit, sometimes to replace an old one and sometimes to add to my current ones. Being intentional about my habits helps me to spend my days the way I want to spend my life.

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value-mum-friends

When you become a mum, you get to join a highly populated community of seemingly isolated people.

Hear me out. It’s a good thing.

Motherhood is a crazy, intense mixture of being opened up to a wonderful society of women who have given birth and are available for support, advice and encouragement… while simultaneously beginning a journey that is actually just about you and your child, slogging out the everyday together as you learn how to function as a new family unit.

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case-self-care

Self-care has become an idol for many of us. Don’t get me wrong: we absolutely need to care for ourselves. Our bodies are a temple of the Holy Spirit. Neglecting that temple would be wrong. So yes, we need to care for it. But more than that, we need to pour ourselves out in love and honor the call of the Holy Spirit.

I am the first to take time to binge watch on Netflix in the name of self-care. Make-up is a passion of mine. I can spend hours pouring over a book while my kitchen sits dirty. Neglecting myself is not something I’m likely to do. Neglecting those around me is.

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