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This is a random blog post about nothing in particular, certainly nothing important, but things that have crossed my mind today.

First, I stayed in my pajamas all day today.  It was just one of those snowy, foggy Colorado days that gives you permission to stay comfortable and if possible, sit by the fire and read.  Since the last two are not possible with the two babies, I went with the first. (Also, I didn’t realize until the end of the day that not only had I worn my pj’s all day, but my shirt was on inside-out.  Awesome.)

Second, Mary is now on top of the manger, and I confessed to Philip that Callie Grace may have Catholic tendencies. For my dear Catholic friends, I mean this in no negative way, just an observation.

Third, staying at home with your children is so incredibly harder than going to work.  This could actually, and will one day be, the topic of it’s own blog post, but unless you’ve done both, you’ve no idea how hard it is.

Fourth, Callie is getting very creative and a little manipulative in trying to avoid naptime and bedtime, with comments like, “I snuggle with mommy on couch?”, and sending me on endless errands for one item or another that MUST be in her crib.

Fifth, Justus just figured out today how fun it is to throw his papish (pacifier.  Callie calls it a papish.  She might also have french tendencies) over the side of the crib and holler until mommy comes to get it, and then start giggling when I walk in his room.

Sixth, hardly anybody knows just how funny Philip is.  Last night after church, we were so tired, and Philip’s in the kitchen making dinner, while I am, as usual, reading.  I hear water running for awhile and then I hear Philip say, “Let’s be honest, this doesn’t really work, does it?”.  I look up to see him running an unopened bottle of ketchup under hot water, trying to get the cap loose.  First, I’ve never heard of doing such a thing and apparently it doesn’t work, but it was the tone of his voice that made me laugh so hard and for so long that my stomach muscles were sore today.

Seventh, because it’s almost my birthday weekend, Philip watched an entire episode of How I Met Your Mother with me.  After he made me this great dinner.  Seriously, I’m crazy spoiled by him, and our marriage is proof that the biblical idea of the man as the head of the household and the woman as submissive to him really, really rocks for the woman.  If she has the right man, of course.  (Did I just lose half my blogging audience with this one?)

Eighth, in return, and also because it’s weirdly fascinating to me, I watched an episode of The Walking Dead with him.  He has bruises on his arms and told me repeatedly that none of the main characters died in this episode.  By repeatedly I mean like 20 times.

Ninth, I’m just beginning to understand that when you have a conversation with someone who doesn’t have a biblical worldview and you do, you might as well be talking in another language to each other.

And finally tenth, I get to spend the entire afternoon and evening alone tomorrow with Philip, as Stephanie will have my babies tomorrow night, and I’ll have her precious almost 3 year old daughter Charleston Saturday night, which works out well, since Callie and Charlie call each other best friends.

I feel like Barney from HIMYM by saying this, but how awesome is my life?!?

Tonight, in our Wednesday night service with the kids, I read them a story about a man who lived 200 years ago as a slave in Jamaica.  This man had been given a small part of the New Testament by his mom, but it slowly got so worn out it wasn’t readable.  So after learning that a missionary in another city was selling entire copies of the bible, this man, probably in his 70’s, walked 200 miles in the heat and rough terrain to have his own bible.

Sometimes, when I’m in the living room and my bible is in my bedroom, I forgo my devotional altogether.  It’s maybe 20 steps away.  I’m 32.

As I’m reading the story to the kids, a feeling of self-loathing comes over me, threatening to choke me.  At times I wish so much that I was living in a time or in a land where it took real sacrifice to live a Christian life (but also magically there were no bugs and always running water).  I know what I want to do, and empathize so much with Paul that that which I don’t want to do, I do.  I despise the laziness in myself, and feel an overwhelming sense of need to make swift changes now, while it is still called today, or I will wait and keep putting it off until the kids are older, and I’ve lost those precious few moments of opportunity to really mold them by example.

Of course, it does take real sacrifice to live as a true Christian here, doesn’t it?  How does one live simply, modestly, serving others and counting it a joy to suffer for Christ in this weird environment where everything moves at the speed of light and revolves around money, influence, worldly security?  How does a person now, here, desire to read the bible so much that they would sacrifice something truly important to them for that opportunity?

And my fear is that I will be like Elizabeth Bennett’s father in Pride and Prejudice, after he’s let his youngest daughter make a fool of herself.  He basically tells Lizzie that he’s embarrassed by his actions and humiliated, but told her not to worry, those feelings would pass by the morning.

And to end things and totally change the subject, and to keep you updated on my Little People Nativity Set, I discovered that Callie is hiding M&M’s inside the manger, which has a removable top.  Surely there is a theological message in there somewhere.

I have been much occupied in the last few days on the topic of identity.  A dear friend of mine just recently married another dear friend, and we had a quick discussion through email of the difficulty of  her accepting his last name.  This was never an issue for me, in fact it never occurred to me at all, except the sense of relief because Meade is so much shorter than Stanford.  However, my friend is combing carefully through her reasons for hesitancy, and for those who know her, I suppose one good reason is that we will soon see her name in print.

I have been pondering this, and as I have decided that every issue we encounter is a spiritual issue, I went to the bible for an answer regarding my identity.  Luckily, (Philip hates when I use the word luck, but sometimes no other word seems to suffice), my memory verse for this week is “I have been crucified with Christ.  It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.  And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.  Galatians 2:20.  (Incidentally, I go around the house repeating my memory verse over and over, and so Callie likes to practice with me.  So precious.)

Identity is a tricky thing for a woman, and I think things are only going to get worse.  I certainly thought that at the age of 32, I would know exactly who I was, and yet… and yet.  But here it is, plain as day, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.”  Now, that will take a lot of time to flesh out, and I should probably ask Philip to blog on that one, but still, it does simplify things, doesn’t it?  Henri Nouwen, one of my favorite authors of all times and someone I’m certain would have been my best friend (I do like to imagine), says in his book, The Way of the Heart, “As we come to realize that it is not we who live but Christ who lives in us, that he is our true self, we can slowly let our compulsions melt away and begin to experience the freedom of the children of God.”

I’m sure I will write more on this topic later.  In fact, I think I could write an entire book on the subject.  But right now  I have to go re-arrange the Little People Nativity set again, since now it is the baby Jesus who is on top of the manger, and Mary is apparently eating straw.

You know how you have those days where you feel, well, brilliant.  You see your diploma hanging on the wall.  You’re able to answer tough questions, you feel intelligent, and that it is well worth people’s time to come and ask you for your advice.

Today was not that day for me.  I suppose it’s good to have those days to keep you humble (although if one thinks they are humble I suspect they are not humble.  And by one I mean me.)

We just watched the third installment of the PBS version of Sherlock Holmes.  I confess to not understanding an outstanding amount of it, yet loving it at the same time.  That rather screams stupidity, don’t you think?   And then, in my new and wonderful book on Bonhoeffer, I can only take in about a chapter or two at a time, and the author, bless his heart, will make statements in another language, and then forget to translate them, or assume that any fool would be able to.

I also got asked a very interesting and important question by a friend, and I had no idea how to answer it properly.  I asked Philip’s opinion, which he gave eloquently and intelligently.  I then asked him to email me word for word what he just said, which brought laughter from him, and none from me, which just so happens to occur frequently.

To add insult to injury, Callie, still in her “What’s that?” phase, asked me what an animal in one of her books was.  I could not for the life of me remember!  To which she answered, “Daddy can fix it”.  That is her standard answer for everything around here.

So I’m headed to bed, thoroughly disgusted with myself.  I expect it to pass by morning, as I am especially claiming the promise in James tonight that if anyone should lack wisdom they should ask for it.  Of course, knowing what I know of God, and knowing for certain that He has quite the sense of humor, I’m sure He’ll work the wisdom out in me in surprising, brilliant, humiliating, and awesome ways.

Today some of the women of the church met for coffee, picked up the names of our secret sisters, and set out for a day of shopping.  It all sounds innocent enough, except that my new bosom buddy (sorry Nita, it stuck) and I set out for Mardel’s and Hobby Lobby.  These are dangerous locations for me.  Sort of like a crack house.  I mean for crack addicts, not for myself, having no addiction to crack whatsoever.  Just to be clear.

Mardel’s is this marvelous, huge Christian bookstore.  As we are walking in, chatting away, I see it sitting on a shelf right in the front of the store.  My heart stopped and I might have started hyperventilating.  Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy. All 591 glorious pages of it.  However, it’s still in hardback, I’ve blown past my book allowance so fast, I’m into my allowance for 2011.  And then I see my saving grace – a lovely, red, 50 % off sticker, making the book 15 dollars!  In my defense, I did try to call Philip and run this past him, but I got no answer, and took that as a sign that it was meant to be.  The rest of my purchases need no explanation, mostly because I have no explanation, except that I saw a really cute notebook, and while I forgot to mention this in my addiction blog, I am indeed addicted to notebooks.

It should also be noted and praised that I went through Hobby Lobby without making a single purchase.  I am learning some self-discipline, it just deserts me altogether in a bookstore.

Nita, should you be reading this, I had a fantastic day, and have now placed you in the category of people who know too much about me, and it’s only going to get worse.  Or better.  However you view it.  🙂

Lately I’ve had a tendency to blurt out things at odd times.  It all started shortly after I moved here, and I was in Starbucks, hugely pregnant and emotional.  The lady handed me my chai tea, and I started crying and saying, “I’m just so tired!”.  She looked at me sympathetically, but still charged me for the tea, and I’m pretty sure warned her boss about the crazy woman weeping in one of the big comfy chairs.

You know how when you meet a new couple or a new friend, it’s almost like you’re trying to win them over, to impress them with your wisdom and wittiness.  Instead, I seem to want to get all the weird things about me out of the way first, and then see if they are still interested in being my friend.  Or acknowledging my existence.  Tonight we had a couple over who I feel certain will be dear friends of ours – if I have not scared them away.  Over the course of the evening, I told Nita that I sometimes left dishes in the dishwasher for multiple cycles until they get clean, instead of taking them out and cleaning them myself.  I admitted to letting my children wear the same clothes days in a row.  I ate a ridiculous amount of oreos in front of her.  I admitted my love for How I Met Your Mother.  This may seem strange, but I realized, I’m tired of not being authentic Andi, and frankly I stink at it.  The real Andi is awkward at times, always looking for a reason to laugh, and is, again, watching an episode of Christy as I write this.

And then it occurred to me how often the authentic Andi goes missing during conversations with God.  Not that He’s not aware of her, but I sure can fake it, even in my mind, when I’m talking to Him, which does prove that you can actually lie to yourself.  Here I was, willing to tell Nita about my crazy obsession with books, but I try to hide from Him my willingness to let books be an idol for me.  It comes so easily to me, to try and fool Him.  Thankfully, not only does He love me, but He is also in possession of a great sense of humor, and uses it often to teach me lessons.

By the way, Nita is teaching me to cook.  She must love me after all and considers me her bosom friend.  (Sorry, somewhere in there Anne of Green Gables came into the conversation, and she takes up residence in my mind for a few days.)

My two babies are down for naps in their separate rooms, however in the span of a day they seemed to have come up a with a secret language, because they are talking back and forth and cracking each other up.  This does not bode well for the days and years ahead.  (It sounds like they’re playing olly olly oxen.  I have no idea how to play but it’s fun to say and maybe they think so too.  Or maybe it’s their codeword.  Or maybe I’ve been around babies too long and am in need of sane, adult conversation.)

I have never thought that I would be one of those parents who wouldn’t allow their children to watch TV.  I watched it as a kid, and I’m fairly certain that I turned out quite decent.  However, I’ve felt very convicted in the last few weeks to turn the TV off.  At first this was hard for Callie.  She loves her Barney and the Wiggles.  She likes the Sprout channel.  These are all good shows with good morals.  But I just felt that we needed a change, and so off the TV went.  For a few days, Callie seemed to be at a bit of a loss as to what to do with herself.  And then she got over it and started playing, really playing.  And on top of that, she became incredibly easier to manage.  She was happier.  She was calmer.  She’s started playing with her brother.  We have Christian music playing a lot, and she shocks us by how much she can sing along.  She’s more into her books.  And then there are moments of silence that seem to calm all of our spirits.

Now, I’m not banning TV for life, and in a few short days, the Wiggles Christmas video will make it’s annual debut.  But this has been so rewarding for all of us.  Granted, it does make more work for me, because I have to find things to entertain her.  But, I’m a stay at home mom.  It’s sorta my job to do this.  And it has made my relationship with Callie stronger, and given me many more opportunities to teach her things, as she has entered the “what’s that?” stage.

Anybody have thoughts or experiences, one way or another, on this topic?

Last night, after Philip got home, I decided to go out by myself to one of my happy places.  I mean that literally, not figuratively.  My top two happy places are a bookstore, and Starbucks, so the fact that I was headed to Barnes and Noble made it a very special night and me a very happy girl.  On the way out of the door, Philip said, “Andi, you don’t need to buy any books, you’ve got tons you haven’t read yet.”  This was of course a token expression, since the minute I walked back in the door, he asked casually, “What did you buy?”, with no surprise whatsoever when I answered, “Only two books.”

That was only one part of the night that made it fantastic.  The other one caught me by complete surprise.

I saw Christmas lights!  On November 2!  This made me so excited that I broke a rule I never break (I always break it).  I listened to Christmas music before my birthday.  Long ago, my parents set November 14, my birthday, as the first day that any Christmas decorations could come out and any Christmas music played.  This was wise of them, and I’ve tried to stick to it (not really).  In my defense, I listened to Andrew Peterson’s album, Behold the Lamb of God.  It’s not just Christmas music, but rather a story woven through the music of the plan of redemption and salvation.  It’s so beautiful and magical to me.  So that’s the only Christmas album I’m going to allow myself to listen to until my birthday. (Who am I kidding, we all know Bebo Norman’s Christmas album will be heard within the next 24 hours.)

Also, on a completely different and random thought, I’ve decided to keep a notebook with me at all times to write down things that Philip says. He’s not just awesome as a preacher and teacher at church, he’s awesome at all times.   He’s constantly amazing me with his insight, and my memory, let’s face it, is dreadful.  Sometimes I wonder why he bothers to even talk to me, since he is on a completely different level of intelligence.  For proof of this, read his blog and compare it to mine.  I’m certain you will find no mention of mice, Starbucks, or magical happy places in his.

Something happens to me when I get excited and committed to a cause.

I get really tired and decide I’d rather sit on my couch and read a book.

I swear, I think Satan slips something into my drink that causes me to lose all motivation.  Looking back over my life I can see this pattern happening again and again, and it’s a sad testament to my intellect that I’m just picking up on this.

I can come up with all kinds of excuses, and my dear friends, who don’t want my self-esteem to take a nose-dive, will agree, that I’m a busy girl, I’ve got two babies, one possibly a genius who is constantly trying to outsmart me, I’ve got a busy husband, and I’m a minister’s wife.  But when I take each one of those apart, there’s no good excuse left standing.  Yes, I have two babies who remarkably let me get, if I wanted to, at least 10 hours of sleep at night.  Philip is busy, but is constantly encouraging me to pursue what I am interested in.  And being a minister’s wife should only aid in my pursuit, not hinder it, since my causes tend toward evangelizing and assisting those in need (my other cause that is dear to my heart is to get children to read the classics.  I think there’s a better chance of the gospel spreading to all the world before that cause catches on).

So this is a call to prayer.  There are specific areas of ministry that the Lord has laid on my heart, and I need prayer that I will pursue these with a passion that only the Lord provides.  Also I suppose I need to pray over my beverages. 🙂

My kids are weird.  Truly, it’s not their fault, they had no chance of being anything else.  And this is all from my side.  Those who know me will agree.  Here is one example of their weirdness.  Callie Grace sleeps with a strange number of random things.  There are some staples, such as her blanket, bear, and papish (pacifier).  Usually she wants at least one book in the bed with her.  She’s asked for a certain purse that she likes.  Tonight she wanted her hairbrush with her.  She will also tell me exactly how she wants the temperature.  She will tell me to turn the heater on or off, and which fan she wants on, and which way she wants it pointed.  She’s two.

Justus is more simple so far.  He has two blankets, and he wants one on each side of him.  He has a few stuffed animals in there, and his papish.  But here’s his weird item: one of Philip’s socks.  A few weeks ago Philip was gone for a few days, and Justus found one of his socks and carried it everywhere he went.  Now it has to be in his crib.  Weird, right?

I will say however, that I am blessed beyond reason by the fact that Justus goes to bed at 6pm, and Callie goes to bed at 7pm, they sleep through the night and wake up around 7:30am.  Some of this was luck.  Most of it was determination on our part to get them on a good schedule so that Philip and I could have some time together.  They stick to this schedule well too.  Last night, at the annual Meade Halloween Party and Haunted House, there were probably 30 people mingling inside the house, kids running in and out, a haunted house going on downstairs with screams and such, and a 20 minute wait outside with loud kids waiting to get in.  And yet, at 6pm, Justus was done for the day, and went to bed, and Callie followed shortly after.  I promise, I do not use Benedryl to perform this miracle!  And yesterday, they both had an insane amount of sugar (I just am not going to be one of those mom’s that won’t let my kids eat candy, especially on Halloween!  I would have maybe limited Justus more, but someone (Uncle Peter) has a soft spot for my baby boy and fed him a Three Musketeers, and then Justus snuck off and ate a whole pack of skittles!  He’s 10 months old!  See, weird!).

Also, Callie came to me today and said, “Callie pushed me”.  Um… how to respond to that?

And to continue to update you on my dear friend’s Stephanie’s power of persuasion, I dressed as a cheerleader (pics on my facebook page)  and went through Philip’s haunted house.  What is the deal with that?!

I hope everyone had a fun and safe Halloween!