A Worthy Life

the princess and the frog

It was the pre-dinner show. With the mantel serving as the temporary theater's marquee, we were treated to a surprise matinee of The Princess and the Frog.

She, the eldest, had designed the props and costumes and then enlisted the participation of her younger sister, a willing accomplice.

With paper crowns askew on their foreheads, they delighted us with their reenactment of the fabled tale.

The next day, it was to be my turn. Wanting to kill two birds with one stone, I donned my wedding dress which has been a frequent request of late. With jewel encrusted crown taped to my forehead, I took my seat atop my porcelain throne.

My froggy prince bent low on leaping legs and demonstrated his love for me by giving me every woman's desire, a pedicure.

We kissed. He transformed. And from that moment, we were in love forevermore!

help me help them

We live in a me-first world. If I see you in need, sure I'll help. But first, help me help you.

Yesterday we once again began our bi-monthly visits to our friends at the nursing home. Ready to help brighten the day of the lonely souls inside, we put on our smiles and warmed up our vocal chords.

Upon entering the front door, we were surprised to find our coordinator off for the day, with no word of warning. I was a little disgruntled. After all, it was out of the goodness of my heart that I get four kids dressed and bundled this early in the morning. And gosh darn it if I wasn't going to cheer up some soul.

A few phone calls placed by administration and news came that we had a new assignment. We were being sent to the basement where we were greeted by the welcoming eyes of a handful of residents. A couple of tables were surrounded by a few hands, each dipping into a centerpiece of tuna and egg salad.

Within moments, we were given a table of our own, complete with a dollop of margarine and salad. Our mission, should we choose to accept it, was to spread butter on each slice of bread and close two over a spoonful of tuna/egg salad.

We set to work, none of us too happy to be doing such manual labor. We were here to sing and to play games, those were our gifts and that was our preferred offerings.

The kids were curious as to why we were doing this. I put a smile in my voice and replied that we were here to help in any way we could and today we were making these nice people some lunch.

My sing-song of encouragement was interrupted by one of the staff. Actually, we were all working on a monthly project that the residents undertake. Each month they spend a morning making sandwiches for the homeless, picked up and delivered by the refrigerated truck of the Mission.

Corrected and humbled, I took in the faces of our friends around us. A mostly forgotten group of people, they were still finding much to be grateful for. Sure, their own children hardly visited and they rarely saw a new face or even got to step outside. But they had a roof over their head and three warm meals a day, distinctions which were not shared with the forgotten people on the streets.

We were here to help them.

Their only request that day was to help them help those.

the very definition of insanity

in⋅san⋅i⋅ty /ɪnˈsænɪti/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [in-san-i-tee]: doing the
same thing over and over again and
expecting different results.

And beside the definition, this picture:

Every day I rise to accomplish the tasks before me. I empty the dishwasher and at the end, a feeling of accomplishment. I stand back and admire the cavernous appliance, thinking that next time I awake the job will be done for me, mysteriously by some nocturnal elf.

I sweep and vacuum the floors, thinking with some pride that I have set the rooms aright. I've spit shined the floors and once and for all the floors are clean. And, of course, will stay that way.

Frustrated at the peaks of laundry I must summit before entering my bathroom, I put in a few loads, washing, drying, and then to folding. Finally there is no more to do.

The cupboards are fully stocked and dinner is just a few ingredients away. My family is fed another day, satisfied bellies make for satisfied kids. Another to do is done.

At the end of the day, I breathe a sigh of relief that I have made it through another day. The house and it's inhabitants are cleaned and cared for and at last I can rest knowing that, having given my best, it is enough.

Yet I awaken to a very different world. I scratch my head, wondering if I only imagined the clean home of yesterday, and begin to question my sanity. How is it that the same duties await me again today? No nocturnal elves on hand, only diurnal creatures who leave their trail of clothes and crumbs behind each step they take.

So, I do the only thing to be done. I do it all again, still harboring some fantasy that perhaps this time things will stay the way I right them. I do the same thing over and over and over and over again, expecting that perhaps this time things will stay finished, fixed, and flawless.

Your honor, at this time I would like to enter my insanity plea.

But wait, a moment please for my defense.

I pose no threat to others, I assure you. Oddly enough, the monotonous repetition I cycle viciously is for the good of others, for the welfare of those within my keep. What appears to be incompetency of mind is quite honestly a competency not rare in many a mother. I understand the responsibility I have been chosen to undertake and yes, even so there are times I must needs call on every capacity of my intelligence to remind myself that all of this is not for naught. The dizzying spin of perceived triviality actually renders me a very capable woman and produces an environment of security and comfort wherein my charges may flourish and become.

While my behavior may appear trite and purposeless, perhaps it is only because you are viewing my success in days. Although I realize that what I do may not shake the foundations of the world today, let me assure you that what I do today is laying tomorrow's foundation in the lives of my children, the effects of which will continue to rumble long after I am gone.

So, yes, your honor. To the charge of insanity by this definition, I plead guilty.

Guilty, for reasons of an insane passion and crazy love for those within my keep.

a preview of tomorrow's post

sing the blues...away

My daughter cannot sing to save her life.

(Luckily, I have three daughters so you'll never know whose vocal chords are so very un-gifted.)

I'm serious about this. I'm listening to her right now and feeling the vibration of her stomps and jumps trickle down the hall to me, seated here at my computer. She shouts more than sings. She screeches sounds, not exactly melodious notes.

Funny thing is, she's in time-out. Her speech this afternoon to her sister wasn't much prettier than her solo serenade. So she's missing out on an afternoon video and instead spending some alone time in her room.

And yet, she shouts. She would insist she's singing. But it's not the sounds or the perfection of the attempt that matters. What matters is her heart.

Bubbling up from her heart of contrition is joy. Pure and free. She could be sulking and holding on to deeply rooted bitterness at a mother who is so inhumane that she disciplines her daughter, refusing to listen to this woman's words of rebuke. But she doesn't.

She chooses joy.

Even if at the moment she didn't feel joy or even if she didn't really want to accept the consequence for her words, she choose to put some music on and dance her blues away.

I couldn't say exactly when I heard her blues melt into vibrant yellows of sunshine, but I'd venture to say it was somewhere between the first and second half-notes. Chased away perhaps by the dreadful sounds emitting from the soloist's throat or drowned out by the effervescence of a spirit gone happy. But nevertheless, gone.

Swallowed up in a symphony of joy.

saturday evening blog post

Joining in over here, where all kinds of ladies contribute to a compilation of their favorite September posts.

I chose the post "perspective"  because it  highlights a real turning point in my life. This personal experience caused me to take a step of faith, test the waters of insecurity and inability, and wait and see if my God would really come through on His promises.

Well, what are you waiting for?! Hope on over there for some great reads!

a morning dance

when life gives you lemons, a good friend makes you beef stew

Monday morning I awoke to the pounding of my independent-breakfast-maker and eldest-early-riser on the stairs and her shrill observation.

"Mama, mama! There's popsicles leaking all over the basement!"

Not one to panic, I did the next best thing. I almost panicked.

From that one clue, I knew she had gone into our storage room for a new bag of milk and found something amiss with the fridgerator.

Sure enough, red streams traced streaks across the white door and puddled in a bloody mess on the floor. Thankfully, she assumed it was popsicle. A taste test would have proven her wrong. Thawing meat from the freezer bled it's juices out the freezer door left cracked open for days.

Good morning to you, too, my groggy brain muttered in protest to the piles of thawing corpses that greeted me with chilly breath. The freezer was packed full of the remaining portions of our share of half a cow and two full bags of chicken. More than half of them in some stage of thawing.

Immediately I knew what I'd be doing that day, all day. Cooking, grilling, baking over 30 breasts of chicken, some thighs, and 6 lbs. of stewing beef. Wanting to salvage what I could, I offered some free meat to a friend.

Sure, she'd take some chicken, and what did she owe me? Owe me?! Woman, you are doing me a favor by taking off my hands even a portion of the work cut out for me and earning my gratitude by saving the lives of a few feathered friends, even if they were already dead.

Turns out, she did one better. No, she did one trillion better than that. She took all my stewing beef and a few spare carrots, a bunch of celery, and two cans of stewed tomatoes and made two heaping and delicious stews.

And gave me back all of my 6 lbs. of beef, spare carrots, celery, and tomatoes all cooked up in two brimming pots of deliciousness! Save a bowl or two she guiltily admitted to allowing her husband to eat.

Now, we've all heard the old adage that when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.

But how few of us teach our children that when life gives your friend lemons, you help share their struggles by making them beef stew?!

That's a life lesson I'm taking notes on, and one I'm so glad to have received from a thoughtful and generous friend! Did I mention how much I love you, Katharina?!

happy mother of children

I stumbled across this in my Bible the other day, next to which was written: the so long desire of my heart! ....

He makes the barren woman to be a homemaker and a

joyful mother

of children. (Hallelujah!) Psalm 113:9

dress-up dina

My girls and boy were without their mother for a few hours last night. After a dinner of dosa and tomato chutney at my in-laws, I left the kids in capable hands for a night out with good friends and stunning Stella and Dot jewelry. Enjoying myself way too much, I stayed out past my pre-authorized curfew.

When I finally came to claim them past their bedtime, my kids were sure to impress upon me their disapproval. Their interrogation was immediate.

"Where were you?"

"Who else was there?"

"What were you doing?"

"What took you so long?"

Trying to break it down kiddie style, my only defense was that I was having too much fun playing and couldn't pull myself away. This they could relate to. Every time we meet up with friends and departure time draws nigh, the 5 minute warning rings out. "Five more minutes, guys. Then it's time to go!"

As every mom knows, every '5 minute warning' if followed by the '5 minutes more' plea. And, because most moms know by now to build in a cushion of time allowing for such pleas, they are (usually) rewarded with their five minutes more.

So, my defense played out a little like this:

"Mama Dina and Dress-up Dina were having a great time - great laughs, great food, great friends. Mama Dina kept a close eye on Dress-up Dina, reminding her often of the time. Dress-up Dina was having a ball, pretending herself the great Cinderella adorned in free jewelry her fairy godmother had loaned her. Each vintage inspired piece was better than the next. The earrings, the necklaces, and bracelets, oh my! Each guest admired the pretend princess and in turn the pretend princess oohed and aahed over each piece her friends tried on, theirs too borrowed from our shared fairy godmother. We complimented and critiqued and laughed and laughed some more.

"Mama Dina quietly spoke up. She gave her 5 minute warning to Dress-up Dina and Dress-up Dina pleaded for 5 minutes more. Then, another 5 minutes and then another. Finally, Mama Dina had had enough. She picked up Dress-up Dina, grabbed her wallet, phone, and keys and placed her in the car to bring back here to you.

"And, here, my fine folks, I am."

A simple explanation with nothing but the facts. But explained in a way each munchkin to relate to. Understanding the pain of pulling oneself away from such fun, each silently forgave me as their questions faded into quiet snores from their seats inside my giant pumpkin carriage.

With Mama Dina in control of the horsepower, Dress-up Dina relived her magical memories and dreamed of how proud her Prince Charming would be once he found out that she didn't pay the $372 required to bring her fantastical jewelry home. 

Because of the wise choices our pretend princess exercised throughout the night, they were all sure to live happily ever after.