my mother's day confession

One of the rules of living in Ireland is that when the sun is shining you drop what you're doing and go outside. So here I sit outside on my laptop with Eogan Heaslip playing and a cuppa in hand. It's a beautiful day and the Vitamin D I've been taking seems to be taking effect-thank God. The climate here is similar to Vancouver, Canada, to give you an idea. Apparently though, Vancouver has us beat by 17 inches a year in rainfall! You poor Vancouverites.

Here in Ireland Mother's Day was this past Sunday, not in May as it is in most other countries. I've been meaning to post about my Mother's Day, but have not been in the right frame of mind to do so until now. Here is what I'd like to say to this day:
          Dear Mother's Day:
     I was thinking that instead of coming predictably at the same time each year, you could choose a different, random day and tell only the husbands/fathers/children so that the mom's would be surprised. That way there is little time for unmet expectations and unrealistic ideals that we, as moms, conjure up in our heads. It would also be a lot easier on the men who, undoubtedly every year and not for lack of trying, end up feeling like they didn't quite measure up. It's our issue, I know, but Mother's Day, if you could help us out that'd be great.
                                                                       Sincerely, a Mother

Wouldn't that be nice? Sure it would. But reality is that I'm a child to my mother, so I would know when the day was coming in order to surprise her. Bummer. Maybe each family could individually choose they're own surprise Mother's Day each year. Probably unrealistic also. So what am I left to do? Change. It's just that simple. On days like Mother's Day, Valentine's Day and my birthday each year, instead of enjoying the day for what it is, I'm reminded of my own failures. Most times I want to blame all those around me, but when it comes down to it, these are my problems and no one else's. Here's my issue: setting unrealistic, unattainable expectations that I fail to communicate. It's like I expect those around me (Ben mostly, poor soul) to read my oh-so-fickle mind at each passing turn and make adjustments accordingly. [the sun went behind the clouds-again. I'm going inside now. boo.] I know this about myself, but it seems that every time I'm faced with the choice of how to respond, I end up choosing the wrong response. So this Mother's Day it happened again and I chose wrong again. I knew it too. I said to myself, "This is a choice. I can leave it and be grateful for what he has done (got the kids up, fed, dressed) and join him for breakfast (yes, my sour attitude happened only two hours after I woke up) or I can stew and breath heavily and close doors a little louder than normal and go seclude myself and make him feel like garbage." Which did I do? You guessed it. The unChristian choice #2.

So we got everyone ready to go to church in silence and were meant to go worship. ha. Isn't it funny how God sets us up? How can I worship with bitterness in my heart? I can't! I guess if I was being hypocritical and worshipping Him in Spirit and lies (instead of truth,) but I wasn't about to do that. There we sat, the kids in between us in what seemed a huge chasm, and we worshipped. God is so tender isn't he? He was gentle with me and helped me see what I already knew: He and Ben both cherish me above rubies, above gold, above riches. I am their prize. They would do anything for me and have already laid their lives down for me. Their hearts toward me are unmatched in affection and love...it's up to me how I will receive it. Will I always be saying, "You're not enough" or will I be humbled and grateful, keeping at the forefront of my mind all they have sacrificed for my happiness? Even as I'm writing I'm reminded of my foolishness in how I treated Ben in my heart and with my actions. For myself, (I'm sure none of you can relate) I found a problem in my idea of Mother's Day this year. I found myself desiring a break from everything: kids, cleaning, cooking- basically everything included in the word 'Mother.' When, in actuality, the truth is this: These are the things that make me Mother. These are the things that give me the ticket to experiencing this wonderful day that someone, at some time, set up to honor Moms. How much more ungrateful could I be? My kids are my joy, my delight-why would I want to escape that? Sunday was a lasting eye opener to my own selfishness and sense of entitlement, Lord forgive me.

For all you moms reading this from America, this gives you approximately two months to prepare your hearts of gratitude for what you are about to receive and experience this Mother's Day. I hope my day of failure can inspire you to love fully, remove expectations, and cherish the moments you have with your family that day. And one more note. Let me just say, that if your kids let you down or your husband forgets to make it a special day-or forgets it's Mother's Day entirely, know this: what you do does not go unnoticed by Father God and he has given your kids to you because he trusts you and knows that you are His best choice to raise and nurture them. Your heart for your kids is His heart and he's grateful for all you do. They are blessed (and so is their dad) to have you as their mama.

please note this was before Ben shaved his mustache. ewwww.

I won't say it was a full day of failure though, because I was able to change my tune by the time church was over and I allowed the Holy Spirit to mold me a little more (hopefully!) After a wonderful lunch with many from the church at a nice restaurant we went home, put all the kids down for naps and Ben and I snuggled on the couch to watch Fried Green Tomatoes. After naps I opened my presents-they were so thoughtful! From Ben I got a set of MAC makeup brushes I'd been hinting at from eBay (which, we later discovered, were knockoffs. ugh.) and from the 'kids', my favorite rice cakes with orange yogurt frosting, a huge chocolate egg, and a decorating magazine I can't wait to look through. Not to mention the unsolicited artwork Titus made for me on his leap pad that morning with a heart and 'mom' written on it. Melt my heart. As I'm writing he said through the window, "I put something super special in the mail for you..." I went to see what it was and he had dropped a tiny daisy through the mail slot on the front door. These are the moments I'm reminded of how much I have been given.

Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her. Prov. 31:28

the bank house...an unexpected treat

Since we've arrived in Ireland we have visited several cafes and restaurants, as we are in the habit of doing- especially when in a new place. And what we have come to find out is that, most of the time, we are pleasantly surprised. We have also decided that our dream job would be to visit restaurants and do reviews of everything the foodies miss...service, ambiance, style, congruency, decor, comfort, etc. We would talk about the food too, of course, but that would be just a piece of the whole experience.

One of the many benefits of living with people is that-if we're not too exhausted- after we put our kids down for bed, we can leave (if the other two parties in the house are staying, that is. Don't go calling CPS on me here.) Tonight was one of those nights. I put a decaf Barry's tea bag in my jacket pocket, and off we went. Usually we would walk down to a pub, as they are the only places open in the late evenings. But tonight, because it is Friday, a few other places were open-with real live people inside. One of these places is called The Bank House. We had been inside several weeks ago on one of our walks and I fell in love with it instantly. It's your classic historical estate- big rooms, high ceilings, fire places in each room, beautifully decorated. I guess if you pictured an old estate with the room's decor still intact, nicely set tables, and a fire in the fireplace, this would be it. On the weekends they serve tapas and are open later, so we went inside and found that they serve Mexican, yes, I said Mexican food! (the likelihood of finding Mexican food in Ireland is the same as finding a pair of designer jeans at goodwill: exciting!...and unlikely) We will return another time for nachos and a burrito, but tonight we had room in our tummies (and our hearts) for some wings...I had every intention of just going out for tea and maybe a scone or light dessert, but when we saw wings on the menu our hearts started fluttering and we felt weak in the knees. We sat down at a cozy table next to the fire, ordered named wings, and started our cribbage game, when, all of a sudden I realized Ricky Martin's song, 'Bailamos' was playing. Remember how I mentioned congruency earlier? Well, unfortunately, this evening, the Bank House did not score high in that category. I was saying to Ben, "Just imagine what would be going on in our insides if, instead of Ricky Martin and the Latin mix, jazz music or Diana Krall was playing right now?" It would've been aMAzing. oh well. (side note: we've been hearing Mr. Martin's music quite a lot around town, so either he is making a major comeback in Ireland or he just never left. Honestly, it's hilarious the music I hear when sitting down for a meal or grocery shopping. Mostly mid to late 90's pop music...at least I know all the words I guess?)

Anyways, back to our date. The wings were delicious! I was a little apprehensive to try the bleu cheese dip because we'd had a bad experience at a different restaurant in town a few weeks ago (it was warm, watered down, and tasted like a farm. yuck.) But this was so yum. After I schooled Ben at a game of cribbage, I ordered hot water for my tea and a very very tasty chocolate biscuit (Irish for "cookie") cake. Sounds gross, right? that's why I had to take a picture. But the picture turned out horribly, so I borrowed this one.  Ben and I were both delightfully surprised at it's yumminess...the one we ate also had marshmallows- a nice added bliss. As we were sitting there, enjoying our moment, Ben says, "You're in heaven right now," then gestures to my tea, the dessert, and...his mustache. yuck. I told him that until he trims it to match the length of the rest of his beard the only kisses he's getting are from Eden at this point. we can hug and snuggle all he wants but I'm not kissing the stache. no sir.

What an amazingly unexpected date night we had tonight. I love my husband. I love wings. I love tea. And I just found out I really like chocolate biscuit cake. I'm going to sleep a happy lady.
ohhellodatenight

• Jean's Chocolate Biscuit Cake
• 250g (9 oz) milk chocolate
• 100g (1 stick) unsalted butter
• 5 tblsp whipping cream
• 1 tblsp golden syrup
• 400g (14 oz) packet digestive biscuits (or graham crackers)

Break the chocolate into squares and place in a heatproof bowl with the butter. Set over a pan of simmering water and allow to melt. Remove from the heat and mix in the cream and golden syrup-by hand this takes a few minutes. Finely chop the digestive biscuits and fold into the chocolate mixture. Using a white spatula, transfer to a 900ml (1 ½ pints) loaf tin that has been double lined with clingfilm as this makes the cake much easier to lift out. Chill for at least 2 hours or overnight is best; turn out the chocolate biscuit cake on to a platter. Leave at room temperature to set for about 20 minutes before cutting into slices and arranging on plates to serve. 
http://www.rte.ie/lifestyle/food/recipes/2012/0228/3043-jeans-chocolate-biscuit-cake/

Titus' First Day & My First Day

I'm finding that I'm having a hard time with my firstborn going to school for the first time, not only because I don't want him to grow up, but because I don't want him to be hurt. His little heart, although it may seem tough and untouchable, is as tender as a flower growing on the side of the highway. I see how he is affected by rejection or hurtful words and I can't help but want to protect him, shelter him from any possible interaction of that nature. My mommy heart is torn up inside to not be right there in the classroom watching his responses to the teacher's instructions, his ability (or lack thereof) to obey and sit still, the way he might interact with new classmates and them with him, to see if he is accepted and loved-is anyone going to know that he is really good at writing his letters or how much he loves his little sister? Is he going to fit in, or better yet, stand alone with confidence in the fact that he's unique? My heart is thrilled for him to have the chance to be in school and to learn. To make new friends and try new things. To be in a structured environment focused on expanding that little mind of his. I'm excited too, to spend some focused time with Zion in the mornings, to enjoy this small season we have left with him at home. Not to mention, the school is directly in front of our house, so unlike other mommies, I get to watch from a window up above during recess to calm my fears and see just how well he really is adjusting and how much the other kids have welcomed him in.

In contemplating whether or not to homeschool, one of the things I realized is that a homeschooling mom never gets breaks from her kids and I know I need breaks. But now that he's in school I want to march right over there and take him home, never to let him out of my sight for fear of what might happen.

Then I have a reality check: remember Rachel how you fought over what socks he would wear this morning and how his pants are too long but he won't let you roll the top for fear of someone seeing its state. Remember how, when we're home, every other minute he's asking if he can play on electronics or watch a show and that he desperately needed to get out of the house and into a place that would challenge him and give his mornings more purpose than I was giving him- a place called school. This is the truth of the matter. The other truth? I can't always protect him, nor do I want a 25 year old still living in my house because he has no social skills and is still breastfeeding because his mommy couldn't let go. No, this is not the life I want for him or for me.

It's just the first day of school and I'm dying inside, that's all. God is his true caretaker, most days I just think I am. He will guard and protect my baby. And on the off chance that Titus' heart gets wounded, God is the one who will heal it, not me. My job is to bring him to Jesus and to love on him and protect him as much as is in my ability to do so. And I will. Only 35 minutes until he's home. I've almost made it through my Titus' first day of school. I think this calls for a reward. Pavlova and a cup of tea sounds perfect.

Tell me about your baby's first day and what your heart was going through...

I'm starting a blog.

Here I am. New country, three kids and a husband in tow. I've wanted for a long time to have a place to share my thoughts, even if to no one in particular. A place to let it all hang out and speak-whether it be from the depths or from the shallowest parts of me. I'm hoping this can be a place of inspiration and maybe a few "oh, I'm not the only one!" moments. enjoy, and thanks for being here.