Quote of the Day - "Little Faults"

"We confess our little faults to persuade people that we have no large ones." - Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Why exactly do some people feel compelled to tell others their faults - that they drive too fast, they don't read their scriptures, or (ahem) their little apartment is ridiculously messy? Is it like Francois says, that we are trying to convince people we don't have other, bigger flaws (cuz, by golly, we would have told you about them by now)? Is it because we don't want people to think we're unaware that our shirt is wrinkled or our car is dirty? Or is it because we hope that they'll say it's OK and then we won't feel guilty about being imperfect?

And if it's the guilt option, what do we do with that reassurance? Does it lift our spirits a bit as we keep plugging away at our flaws, or do we let it lull us into complacence ("If everyone else is OK with this problem, why should I bother fixing it?").

Perhaps there is no universal answer, and it just depends on the person. For my part, I think my most common reason for confessing my flaws is that I don't want to look like I'm holding myself up as a perfect example to people. Come to think of it, that's probably why I threw in the messy apartment comment in the first paragraph. I suppose I wanted to demonstrate that I'm not a superior person with all the answers, just a curious one with lots of questions.

Laundry in the Crib

It's been a crazy week. I somehow managed to schedule every possible appointment into four consecutive days, and consequently my domestic to-do list is now a mile long. Our apartment looks like it was hit by two-and-a-half tornadoes. Remember that "Deal with It Tomorrow" pile? Yeah, it's still sitting there. Sigh.

By contrast, I attended a Father's Day gathering today at my Aunt Lindi's home. We dined upon dilled salmon and mascarpone tarts while we admired the simple-yet-elegant centerpieces. It seemed a world away from the semi-controlled chaos that is my life . . . that is, until I went upstairs to use her changing table. When I reached the nursery, I found a disorderly stack of papers on the bookshelf (which I can totally relate to), and a huge pile of dirty laundry in the crib. When Aunt Lindi came up to check on us, she apologized for the clothes, saying she just hadn't had time to take care of them yesterday.

No apology needed--that pile of laundry was one of the best parts of the visit for me. Much as I enjoyed the food and decor downstairs, I think what I needed most was the reminder that even domestic goddesses don't live effortlessly immaculate lives. We're all fighting the same battles against piles and messes, with mixed success.

Quote of the Day - "Educational TV"

"I find television very educating. Every time somebody turns on the set, I go into the other room and read a book."

- Groucho Marx

Reflection on Six Months of Motherhood

At this time six months ago I was laying in a hospital bed, staring at a little, swaddled baby in the bassinet next to me. She had been part of my life for the last nine months, but I knew virtually nothing about her except that she seemed very curious about her new circumstances. As I watched her gaze intently around the room, I thought of a line from the Christmas carol Phillip and I sang at FHE the night before: "wondrous little stranger."

Truthfully, this new addition to our little family seemed like a stranger for the first few weeks. I'd never been one of those females that felt irresistibly drawn to anything in a onesie, and suddenly I found myself responsible for a little person I didn't know how to relate to. At first all she did was sleep (most of the day), cry (most of the night), eat (both), and dirty an astonishing number of diapers. Things that were formerly very simple, like running to the store for cereal, had now become prohibitively complicated. I still remember the time I went to Rite Aid and just carried her with me in one arm--no stroller, no car seat, no blanket to keep out the December chill, just some swiftly weakening new mom muscles. People looked at me like I was insane. I probably was.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Joy and I got to know each other, and I somehow evolved from an anxious, overwhelmed basket case into (of all things) a relatively capable mom. It's now hard for me to imagine a time when Joy was not part of our family. I've gotten used to my schedule revolving around hers, and to carrying two tons of baggage whenever we travel. I'm still amazed at how easily I learned to speak cutsie baby-talk and make an infinite variety of silly faces and sounds. I live for Joy's smiles and giggles, and I love lying on a blanket with her just watching the leaves sway in the breeze outside. When naptime is over, Phillip and
I sometimes have a hard time agreeing who gets to be first to go in and see her smile, and to give her a cuddle when we get her out of bed.

Joy may have seemed like a stranger to me when she arrived, but she's since become family in every sense. I feel so very grateful that the Lord sent such a sweet, patient little person to join our family. May we be as much a blessing to her as she has already been to us.

Joke of the Day - Zen Hot Dog

I heard this one on the radio today:

What did the Zen Buddhist say to the hot dog vendor?

"Make me one with everything."

Spinning at Huntington

I own a spinning wheel. Lest you doubt my veracity, here's photographic evidence.

Before you pick yourselves up off the floor, I should probably also mention that I belong to a spinning guild. Yes, such things do exist in the 21st century. Crazy, huh?

Mostly we just gather at some member's house each month to spin, chat, and eat. Sometimes we also give educational demonstrations, and today was such a day.

Our guild was invited to the Huntington Library's Herb Garden for their annual Fiber Arts Day. There were weavers, dyers, and us spinners with our wheels.

I actually brought a little drop spindle instead of my wheel, partly because it was more portable, but also because I wanted to show how people around the world spun before the spinning wheel was invented between 500 and 1000AD.

Ironically, I love guild meetings even more now that I'm a mom and have less time to spin. Seeing all the fun projects my friends are working on inspires me to try to fit a little creative time in among all my tasks and responsibilities. It does the soul good to create something now and then, whether it be a scarf, a scrapbook, or (in Phillip's case) a database program.

Dad Cards

I was shopping for Father’s Day cards today, and was a little troubled that so many cards I saw portrayed fathers as lazy, flatulent beer guzzlers whose lives revolve around golfing or their TV remote. There were a few sentimentally wholesome cards, but the vast majority I saw were sort of insulting to fatherhood and men in general. They were kind of funny, but kind of not.

I wonder what Freud would say about those cardmakers' parent-child relationships.

Bizarrely, one of the few cards that was funny without being demeaning was a Father's Day card from the family dog (there were at least a dozen Father's Day cards from dogs or cats--no parrots, alas).