I'm a Believer

Me = urgert, passionate, busy

Him = meticulous, controlled, calm



North and South



When we first got married I would tease him that it took him forever to wash the dishes...Gently tease because a girl would be a fool to critize a willing helper.

He, in turn, would tease me that I always missed stuff on the plates. The jest was only fair at that point...and true.



So we comprimised:
I wash the dishes quickly, and when he rises them, he'll send them back through if they don't pass the sanitation test.
Final Product:
Clean dishes real fast.



But I'm always getting things done fast. (Not always well, but fast)
And when yesterday came around, I was tired down to my soul
and it was only Monday.

I was sure that I had hours of work to do.
But I went to bed anyway.
Appartently my soul is a stronger force to be reckoned with than just my body.
My soul demands sleep while my body just suffers (that is until my soul pipes up.)



When I woke up this morning, I told myself NO MATTER WHAT
I will not be frantic today.





"Like Paul," I said.
"Try to be like Paul today.
See if it really works."
Because I've had my doubts...



10 minutes before school started:
"Hey, Rebekah, how are you?"
"Fine, you see, I am exerting every possible ounce of self-control I possess because I promised myself I would not be frantic today. How are you?"
Everything that HAD to be done before school started, got done.



A parent came in unexpectedly to observe.
No stress.
Okay, fine, that was a lie.
There WAS stress.
A lot.
But not as much.
Not as much stress (Brain Reagan voice again)



Couldn't find something for a lesson
(organized people shouldn't RE-organize too much.
It gets confusing.
I couldn't remember WHICH logical thought I used when I last made the decision about where to put that one thing away.)
But I stayed calm.
With the help of a minor Godly intervention,
I found it,
because I was still enough to hear the revelation.



And that belt/ girrdle/ stirrup/ tourniquet/ thing that makes the car keep working...
It broke.
Enter obscene amount of money here ---> $______.__
And it's okay.
Not peachy.
DEFINITELY not peachy.
But okay.



Because I hadn't been frantic so far.
Why start now?



And I have this feeling,
inspite of previous doubt,
That Paul's right on this one.
But the question remains,
Am I tough enough to try it again tomorrow?





And this has nothing to do, whatsoever, with my thoughts today except that Grandma B is the bomb.com.

I never saw a cuter witch. Though little Cousin Hailey was tough competition. Mother's bias, you understand.

I just really wanted to show you these...

See my tiny girl right there?


Some people have a gift.


My friend, Kristine (LuckyLimePhotography), shared hers with me, and now we have this beautiful part of our lives captured forever.

It still amazes me that my body did that.

And I can't wait/could wait forever/but mostly can't wait to do it again.

But I'm still pretty okay with waiting.

Maybe you know what I mean.

No, that's not just the photography.

He really is that good looking.


And, I'm still okay with waiting...for now.

Coulda. Shoulda.

I am not always sure these days what goes on my

Could Be Doing List

as opposed to my

Should Be Doing List.

It's tricky.

But rest assured.

I am ALWAYS DOING.

Sleep is viewed, foolishly, as an option.

WHY? WHY? WHY?

My day is full of prioritizing and re-prioritizing because what I thought an hour ago was a "had-to-be-done-thing" didn't actually get done. But that was then and this is now, and it's no longer the thing that has to be done. Except it does. Only not as much. Not as much need-to-be-done. (And that line can only be properly voiced if you have inserted the Brian Reagan skit about Cherry and Grape Favorites, keeping the tone and changing the words. Not important. Moving on.)

The point is, it's tricky.

All this juggling.

But sometimes, it's not. Because sometimes there is only one ball to juggle. And you named her Grace. Because Grace means strong, (and a million other things) and that's what she is. Your strength (and a million other things.)

And sometimes you pick her up from her Aunt's house because Daddy was at the dentist. And

the minute you see her, you know all she needs is a nap.

So you take her home. And love her up. And swaddle her like a tiny mummy because that's how she likes it. And you kiss her ears and nose and mouth and cheeks and head.

And then do it once more just for love.

And lay her in her tiny bed.

To sleep.

Because that's what she needs.

And then.

She screams.

A desperate yell.

You rush to her.

Pick her up.

And she immediately drops off to sleep.

Right there in your arms.

And a smile crosses your lips.
And a sigh rests your soul.

Because your Grace didn't just need a nap.

She needed to be Home.

And YOU are her Home.

And the privilege of being that tiny girl's Home fills you with gratitude (and a million other things).

So you sleep.

Together.

This time,

it's not an option.

And the Could Be Doing, and Should Be Doing Lists are perfectly clear.

You could be, and you should be, and you are

Home.

I. As in Me.

Yep.

I am still here.

But when I think about that I--- I realize how much it's changed.

That I has been stretched, molded, expanded, grown, and loved.

And that I teaches school, so that I has probably been hated for at least a few minutes, too.

But that I has a way of winning 'em over, so it's likely they were very short minutes.

Hopefully.

I sit here though---as this changed I---trying to conjure up something meaningful to say but the truth is, I'm worn out. All my creative energy has been used up today. But I had it this morning and it was used up on good good people. So I think that it's okay that it's used up.

One of those good people did get pretty mad at me today.

10 year olds aren't always reasonable---but lots of times they are, so I don't hold it against them. Usually. Besides teaching is good practice for mom-ing. Nothing like the real game, but remarkably good practice just the same.

Being a mom makes me love other kids more, too. It does.

I love them all more.

Because I know that some other mom like me is loving her kid, hoping the grown-ups that spend the day with the kid love her, too.

I'm the other grown up---And---I'm the other mom.

So I love those kids more.

For their moms. For me.

I didn't decide to.

It just happened.

Sometimes it's hard.

Working away from home.

It wasn't what I pictured doing, exactly.

At all.

But I'm sustained.

Just as I was promised in my heart I would be if I did this hard thing.

And you know what, I am happy.

Really.

Really I am happy.

And I am Really Happy.

I wasn't expecting that.

Also,

I am In Love.

With her.

And with him.

So maybe that's why I am happy. Really happy. Because when the day is done. They are mine. Still.

And even with all the change, the new I belongs.

She fits.

With them.

So----if your curious. Here she is.

And yes, that is my ultra-cool mom voice.

An Update

5 weeks old

A whole lot of very little has been happening lately.
And by that I mean that all of my time is completely engrossed in a very small array of tasks.

Feeding, changing, and sleeping a tiny baby.

Picking up the house, grocery shopping (occasionally), and checking up on the little rugrats that are currently running my classroom (which is relatively unharmed, mostly tidy, obviously busy with projects I designed (or stole from my dear friend Jessie) but smells like a different teacher.)

That's all I do these days.

OH!!!!

And sometimes I cook.

Sometimes.

(Sometimes I just wait for Paul to get home because that's the way we roll around here.)

Don't worry.

My lack-of-"wifely-perfection"-in-that-I-have-little-to-no-interest-in-preparing-food-but-NO-TROUBLE-eating-it has been thoroughly discussed with my doting husband.

He was well aware of my folly BEFORE he married me and to boot,

he LOVES cooking.

So this is a perfect arrangement for us.

In fact in a complete side note from the original intent of this post, when I "help Paul cook" I usually just do dishes.

He does what he's good at

and I do what I am good at.

Like I said.

Perfection.

The tiny girl is marvelous.

We have battled many battles both emotional and physical and the score as of today....

Trials - 4

Herricks - 5

So Boo-yah.

Reading one of my favorite blogs (cjane) the other day, she mentioned how loving your children can border on insanity.

Yes.

There is an ever present knowledge of the frailty of life when you have something that just the thought of losing leaves you with a weak stomach, a shortness of breath, a faint paralysis of limb.

I have so much to lose.

So much.

And it fills me with the most profound gratitude and humility,

and deep down,

horrific fear.

Fear of all the what-ifs, and could possiblies, and I-have-no-control-over-thats.

Fear that can only be met with faith.

That my sweet angel and her practically perfect daddy are mine forever.

And with that thought---and it is no "mere" thought, it is a thought that can only be believed when great spiritual work has been attended to---I go on feeding, changing, sleeping, cleaning, shopping, teaching, cooking (occasionally) and LOVING.

LOVING those two (and the many other magnificent people that I adore--if you think you're on that list, you probably are...if you think you MIGHT be on that list, you probably are)

with all that I have; trying to be more kind, more patient, more...everything that is good and better than who I am right now.

And thrilling more and more at the thought of collecting a few more tiny girls and boys.

Trailing Clouds of Glory

A Few Hours Old

She finally came.
Sandra Grace Herrick
August 11, 2010
11:18 p.m.
7 lbs. 14 oz.
20 in.
Mama's Eyes
Daddy's Mouth

And perhaps one day I'll write the story of her coming for others to read, but for now, the story is a very precious gift that to speak of it seems to undermine its beauty. So today I will hold it tightly and, as Mary so long ago, ponder it in my heart.

One Week Old

Happy Un-Birthday, Gracie

Your un-birthday was perfect Tiny Girl. Daddy went to work at 4 a.m. and I got a text from him at 5:15 a.m. to look at the sky. I wandered out to the back porch to watch electricity snag the blackened sky over and over again. The thunder shook you in my belly. It was magnificent, but not what you were waiting for.

A few hours after crawling back into bed, some of our favorite people in the world showed up, Aunts and Uncles and beautiful cousins and we sat around the living room and talked and laughed for a good long time, wonderfully happy to be a part of each others' lives. Eagerly hoping for you to join us. It was bliss, but not what you were waiting for.

So we went to Seven Peaks with Uncle B and Aunt A and J. The second we got there the rain started, then the lightning, so we blew that popsicle-stand and went to In-and-Out for hamburgers and fries. We laughed hard as Uncle B mandated that people over 45 who did not know the drill at said restaurant and ordered their hamburgers "animalized" should not be allowed to dine there. It was delicious and funny, but not what you were waiting for.

Daddy and I went to Walmart. I'm just glad of all the brilliant things that had happened yesterday, that's not what you were waiting for.

Late that evening curled up on the couch with a wonderful book, the rain plummeted down, the lightning scratched the sky, and the thunder rocked the windows. We opened up the whole house to the glory of that storm. I sat at the screendoor and watched the clouds curl in all different shades of blue and black, and joined my three great big tears with the rain, because of all the days I would have liked to have given you for your birthday, surely I would have picked this one. It was enchanting, but not what you were waiting for.

So the storm passed, and the trash from the burgers was taken out, and we're going back to a sunny Seven Peaks in just a few hours, and while I'm really quite content to wait, I wonder what is the glory that will bring you here to me that you are waiting for?