by Matt Mooney on May 9, 2012
We are all heading tomorrow to the place that produced my favorite person- Lake Providence, Louisiana. I am not sure that ole LP is ready for the circus that is us, but we are coming nonetheless. Ginny & I are undecided as of yet on whether or not we are excited about this trip- as these feelings can only be sorted out in the 20/20 vision that is hindsight- once we know if those three rascals slept a wink or not in the pelican state.
If you came looking for evidence that there is a god and he is good, we will be flying.
To the faithful bloggy few:
- My grass is growing like Eden. So much so, that I spent hours this weekend tilling up more of the yard and spreading seeds in other areas.
- No peppers. Ginny’s garden looks great to me, but she is losing sleep over bugs, my invading grass seed and washout rains. She wants that Doe’s steak so bad she has stuck with it, but her confidence is waning and I must say that the peppers are definitely the worst looking part of the whole garden.
- We have scheduled an eye surgery for Lena in July in St. Louis. She is doing great, and kisses us now upon request. Thus, this dad has all he needs for eternity. She kisses me. Not as much as she kisses Ginny. But who can blame her?
- Anders’ words are picking up, but that doesn’t mean we can understand him any more than when he didn’t have them. He & I talked for 7 minutes a couple nights ago about turkeys; however, upon further review by his only language peer (mom)- apparently we talked for 7 minutes about cookies. He has the hair I always wanted, and is nice when he is not mean.
- Hazel is growing sweeter by the moment. She puts up with so much crap from Anders, that I am pretty sure that my next lesson for her will center on fine tuning her left hook. She loves well, and everything is exciting and fun. She gets this from her mom, and I hope it never leaves….and if you’re gonna be that person that rolls their eyes and starts to talk about teenagers, then leave or shutup or both. I am enjoying what I am getting and I am naive enough to want to stay.
To all you mothers. And I am well aware that such an address covers the vast majority of my otherwise very man-friendly blog.
Just a couple of reminders:
- Everything is a season. Nothing is here to stay. All is fleeting. So, take it in and pray for the gift of seeing the good in all of it. All- that without answered pleas- can be seen as anything but beautiful.
- You will not be perfect and your children will thank you for it, as they learn to fall back on the models of forgiveness and grace that you displayed through your own life. Perfection is a lousy pursuit. Above all, love well. Doing so is a pursuit worthy of letting perfection tumble and fall.
And to the two mothers dearer to me than the rest.
Mom:: You are a servant. Each passing year you find new ways to show me how love operates for its recipients. So much of who I am is bound up in you. And, these are the parts of me that I never apologize for.
Ginny:: I am humbled to watch you mother. After 10 years of marriage and having walked through more than most in our decade chocked full of life together….you have amazed me anew this year with your pursuit, love and care for Lena. Watching you balance those three, while missing that one, leaves me looking for the sidelines. Who wants to play beside Jordan? I am certain to look foolish at your side. God has gifted you uniquely for the days we are living. Thank you for your grace as I stumble to catch up to your love and example to our children.
by Matt Mooney on May 2, 2012
Last week we celebrated Ginny’s birthday, as well as our 11th anniversary, with a trip to St. Louis that just happen to coincide with Lena’s doctor appointment at said location. At least that is the version proffered for the romantics. For the more practically prone, we went to the doctor in St. Louis and snuck in an expensive meal to acknowledge the date on the calendar. It’s all a little better for the romantics don’t you think?
Life in the newly-expanded, ranch style residence we call home is precious these days. I am not sure the casual observer would handpick this adjective; but I do.
There is singing, only to be outdone in volume by the crying.
There are trucks, blocks and train pieces that Anders needs to pick up, but won’t.
There is a dollhouse with all if its tiny, plastic accoutrements; brought to life daily by the imaginative mind of Miss Hazel.
There’s a stander, wheel chair and quite an assortment of toys that blare music and light up- the wake left by Lena.
There are constant epic battles over whatever we have one of.
If Hazel picks it up, then Anders suddenly wants it with a ravenous passion matched only by those who paint their bellies for NFL games.
There are the stall games played by Hazel every night in order to fend off sleep; ones displaying a level of strategic genius on par with Bonaparte.
I need a drink. (kindly oblige. tuck in. 3 minutes in bed & up)
Why did God make people? (pray with her. tuck in. 4 minutes & up)
I do not know how to sleep. (refuse to go in room. make a threat & shut door. 1 minute in bed & up)
My lovey is hiding, can you help me find it?
(forget what it was I threatened. search for 5 minutes for the lovey- knowing she hid it. go find Ginny. make a wrestling tap out gesture while yelling, “your it; Napolean is still up”.
There are our apologies offered to the sweet teacher telling us that Anders pushed a kid in his Mother’s Day Out class this week.
I was reminded this week that it all goes so fast. Life does not have a pause button, and whatever you call life today will be but a memory all to soon. This is a memo one might think would be emblazoned in permanent marker across my forehead. A truth that I, of all people, should not need to be reminded of. But I do need to be reminded.
Every chance I get to slow it down in my mind, to see it for what it is, affords me the opportunity to be thankful. Otherwise I am left in perpetual motion, taking much for granted and blinded to the truth of these moments; they are fleeting.
The loss of Eliot has made me somewhat of a softy. I often repeat a peculiar routine with my kids: I hold them tight, I close my eyes, and I take them in. I smell their necks; I feel the weight of their miniature bodies on my lap. I think deep down this routine stems from a deep reservoir of fear that there will be a day when these snapshots from my senses will be all I have of them.
I have lived that. I am living that.
It is not a fear to be fought or overcome. At least a sliver of this fear is to be welcomed. Some of it, I believe, is of the healthy variety. A fear reminding me that each moment is a gift. A fear that leaves me gasping with the awe of absolute thankfulness- not breathless with dread.
The world moves so fast and carries us along with its rising tides. Clarity comes when we slow down, when we swim out of the current and take a seat on the beach and see things as they are… precious.
by Matt Mooney on April 23, 2012
I am a father. A man. Who went fishing this last weekend in fact. I like meat (although salads more, but also meat).
With that backdrop of secure man-ness, I wanted to recommend a book that my friends recently put out. These are not digital, pretend friends. These guys are really my friends. I remember a phone conversation with Seth when he had no idea what to do with this idea for a gift for his wife, Amber. I am glad he figured it out. Parenting is tough. If you find something that encourages you in that journey along the way…spread it.
Men, it would make a great gift for your wife and then you can sneak glances at it when she’s not around. For public reading, you may want to slide the Ipad into a Sports Illustrated or Grilling Monthly or something testosterone-y like that.
Check it out. Good people. Great project.
Mother Letters
by Matt Mooney on April 19, 2012
It’s a funny stage we’re in these days. I use we to refer to the arm-candy calling me hubbums (Ok, she has never actually called me that, but we can all agree she should). Candy & I are making it these days. I blogged a few days back about how the transition has been hard on the ole marriage….blah, blah & a bear pees in the woods. Of course it has been hard. In effect, we have had 3 children in three years and functionally they all live like 3 & unders do- which to the unschooled can basically be translated into the following:
- They are currently unable to meet pretty much every need or desire that crops up, and oh how they crop up, like a bountiful field of sunflowers- or like manure in a cow pasture- if you’re prone to a dark side.
- They actually are completely unaware that the world does not revolve around the mass that comprises their little miniature man & woman bodies.
- They are so beautifully innocent while simultaneously capable of exhibiting parades of selfishness and outbursts of atrocity- ones that leave you sifting through every long-lost relative, trying to finger point the black sheep whose DNA must have leaked into their gene pool.
- Somehow just a smile from one of these rascals is more than sufficient to overcome the frustration, and it leaves you only to wonder if someone could love you like you love them.
I use hard more more like math is hard or kind of like juggling cats is hard- or seems like something that would be hard. In all fairness to cat jugglers, I have never tried. I guess using the vague term hard is just my way of admitting that I do not know how to do it all. I do not know if I am enough (this is not a plea for you to enter comment upon comment telling me how great I am- although, by all means, do go ahead).
And this is where it gets so tricky. Because I want a life that outshines my capabilities. A life lived beyond the means of Matt. But I don’t want to struggle. I don’t want to face my own frailty. I fight like hell before throwing up my hands (middle fingers optional), facing down my own inadequacy and bowing my head to ask for help.
How pathetic. To want a life lived to the full, but to not accept nor desire in any way a life that endures inherent hardship.
I am striving to accept it all as it comes. It’s much better that way. It all comes regardless.
I have been most overwhelmed with the beauty of life when I have been most overwhelmed with life.
When the heat of life cranks up, I am tired, thirsty and seared.
But always upon deeper glance I see that it is not me that is burning; rather it is my idea of perfection.
God burns the ideal me in effigy and pours out His love on my insufficiency.
by Matt Mooney on April 11, 2012
Here are a few pics of some goings on around our house lately. I don’t post photos often, so when I do, I guess I sort of unload.
DOOR:: When we recently built the addition to our house we did not put a door on the downstairs hallways to the room we built for Lena. Because we had built the hallway larger as to accommodate a wheelchair and because the door opened into what is our living/dining room area, we knew we did not just want to put a really big, normal door there. However, we did not know what to do. After coming home with Lena and having to not flip on lights at night- due to the fact that her room still did not have a door, we came up with the following solution.
the hallway
painting
Pedro & Paul
viola'
Basically, it’s a big wooden board from Home Depot that I painted with chalkboard paint; hung up with real-deal barn door hardware. It really works for the space, and I am quite proud of it. I am not handy and typically my more eclectic ideas (such as “I know, let’s make a huge chalkboard and hang it like a barn door”) meet a harsh death upon discovering the amount of work, tools and handy-manness required to build the bridge from idea to reality. But this one happened, and it did so splendidly. Therefore, you can expect at least 10 unrealistic ideas in the near future with me pointing to this in order to bolster my case for legitimacy.
FAM:: Our friend and fellow 99 Balloons staffer, Blanca, recently took some family pics. She deserves a medal for the patience it took to get these…but what a crew.
rascals
PARTING SHOT:: There’s no sufficient description of these, but they had to be included. To the woman who’s leg is below, did I ask you if I could post this on my blog? Well, I meant to.
Johnny
SuperMom
