God put a deep and powerful love for this child in my heart. At the end of a long day, even at the end of the worst day ever, I think about this little face and my heart jumps a bit. Parental love is intense and beautiful—and I praise God for letting it overcome all the crap we’ve been through by the time bedtime rolls around.

I praise him for this love, and I praise him for his love. Someday he’ll redeem even our good things, like my love for my child, and make it perfect. That day will be something to behold.

This morning Livia woke up and wanted to write a Valentine for Haiti. She told me it would say this, “I am sorry your whole family died. I hope you love me. Love, Livia.”

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[Written on another day…]
Liv has just returned from time-out for disobedience. She returns to her kitchen stool and urgently calls me. “Mama! Mom! Mom! You need to come look at this!!”

I put down the soapy dishes and walk to the stove.

Liv points to the rounded pound of ground beef I’m browning, “Is it a brain?” and then she declares, “It’s MASTY.”

I got a good chuckle out of the masty brains, that she then admitted smelled good.

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Livia’s Reminder Note to Self:

Photographers should not take pictures of people when they are naked. It is rude.

Recorded on a piece of newspaper after kid camera incident with mom in the bathroom that morning.

Livia is becoming surprisingly efficient at applying face paint. I’m trying not to plan her future career based on the whims of Liv-at-five, but still. Wouldn’t it be cool if she worked in the movies someday? She could get her mom onto the set to watch the action. She might win an Oscar for makeup. You never know.

These are the ramblings of a tired woman on a Friday night. I can hear car doors slamming for a movie and game night next door (no, not there, a tired woman lives at that house too). I feel very unhip and old and boring at the moment. Blogging on a Friday night. BLOGGING. Oh well. Hope these shots entertain you on a Friday as well.

I present: The Many Faces of Livia.

Oooo. Scary.

And sweet.

Super silly.

And serious.

Give my kid a coloring book and a brand new box of Crayolas and… nothing. Girlfriend does not like to color paper.

Give her a mirror and a brand new box of facepaints and… hello, Sweet Cheeks! (Papa calls her “Sweet Cheeks.”) Livia is all about physical art. She’ll pass on the 2-D, but anything with a bit of texture under her fingers excites her.

Part of the challenge of parenting—and I think this is universal—is figuring out your child’s unique, God-given personality. What makes her tick? What excites her, frustrates her, encourages her, pleases her? I could sit and color for hours on end, even as an adult, but when I press my child to do it, it’s a challenging endeavor for both of us. I want Livia to glorify God in all things. I want her to be the very best Livia Tredway she can be. I want her to grow up knowing that I am proud of her, that I enjoy her, that I will stand behind her and encourage her—even if she’s pursuing activities that I have very little natural interest in.

For today, though, Liv is into face paint. And that’s something I can get into.

It’s been a heck of a day with my five year old. Personal apologies go out to the patrons of the Coffee House this evening who were witnesses to, first, the screaming fit of my child, then second, the lugging of the aforementioned child’s body out the door by one p’oed mama.

Apologies also to anyone in the downtown parking garage who may or may not have heard me say something like, “If you don’t start walking now, I will leave you behind.” I wouldn’t have done that, I promise. But only because they, too, wouldn’t have known what to do with a 5 year old tantrum-thrower either. Kidding. I’d never leave her behind and darn it, I shouldn’t have said something like that. Argh.

We get home—finally!—and the behavior improves only marginally. She sits on the antique coffeetable, feeds the dog her prime rib dinner and tells me more than once, “No way, Jose.”

Many time-outs, scoldings, and toy removals later, and it’s bedtime. At one time during the bedtime routine, I have to walk away in order to gather my wits and not lose control of myself. Upon returning to her room, she sees that I am nearly crying in exhaustion and sadness and thus commences a conversation about the softness of one’s heart. She is sensitive. She is sad that mommy is so sad.

She tells me that the top parts of her heart (I imagine she’s envisioning a literal heart shape) are soft, but that the bottom grew hard and broke off. It fell off somewhere inside her, but Jesus went in through her nose, took some snot and put her heart back together. With snot. Then wiped the snot off after her heart was repaired. Problem solved. The whole heart is soft now.

That’s not all.

After I pray my somewhat brief bedtime prayer, I hear this:

Dear God, thank you for sending Jesus to go up my nose and fix my heart with snot. Amen.

Now my daughter is asleep. My heart is soft. And I’m still not sure whether I need a stiff drink, a bunch of kleenexes for a hardy cry, or just a good night’s rest. I, too, thank God for sending Jesus to redeem my heart from hardness. I need Him, moment by moment, to fix my brokenness.

We were done with prayer time. We had been through several songs and I had perhaps one more tune before departing her bedside when she made a peep. I was one breath away from issuing the line in my sternest Mommy voice, “No more talking. It’s time to go to sleep,” when I heard this from my daughter:

Dear Jesus, thank you for the tent. It’s beautiful. Amen.

The tent is a frothy princess mosquito net device that we hung in Liv’s room today. It came all the way from the Free Store at seminary (where Jeremy and I used to shop in our basement after he had locked up the campus) via Brook who brought it to the Welsteads’ white elephant party last weekend. I was the only one in the room who even wanted the thing. And I’ll admit Brook told me, this is verbatim, that Liv would pee herself with excitement at this particular gift. So I picked it up, put it in the backseat of the car, and Livia found it today.

Brook was right. My kiddo LOVES it so much it merited an extra shout out to Jesus tonight at bedtime.

My heart is full.

“Game over, man!” the video game hollers when Livia’s round is over. She is sitting next to me at the dueling computers on my desk. Old iMac versus Mac Mini with the iMac serving in its retirement years as Liv-typewriter-and-game-console.

“GAME OVER, MAN!” Liv is pretty good at this game. So far she’s clicking away silently until now. She picks up on the lingo and begins shooting it back to the screen:

“Sweet, man!” my little girl starts to exclaim.

“Whatcha doing, dude?!”

“I’m gonna getcha, man!”

And then the clencher: “You PISSED ME OFF, man!”

Uh. Wait a minute! Hello! A conversation takes place in front of paused screens. Apparently, Livia doesn’t know it was an, ahem, inappropriate phrase. She can’t even recall where she got it from—and considering her elephantine memory, I believe her.

Corrected, she goes back to the game and I return to my own screen, both cringing and laughing inside, knowing full well where she could have picked up the phrase.

Little pitchers, big ears, yada yada yada. Ah, the life of a mom.

Last week was a whirlwind of work, housework and packing for Labor Day weekend.

This week involves re-entry into daily life after a wonderfully relaxing and refreshing weekend at the lake with four amazing friends. Before I left, Livia told me she would “focus” on being good for daddy over the weekend. And apparently her focusing paid off—she was great! But I fear I’m paying for my departure now, as my kid is offering up some really, really, really challenging behaviors. Sigh.

It was so good to have a weekend off. It is also good to be home with my beloved husband and beautiful kiddo.

More coming about my girls’ weekend…

Yep, this little face definitely charms me! I love my sweet nephew Noah and marvel at his new growth and expanding personality each time I see him. He’s talking now, with baby goos and ah-oos that mesmerize me.

Kristin wears Noah on her chest in the coolest baby wrap (what’s the name of this one, Kris?). It’s amusing to see something similar to a pregnancy shape, only there’s a baby snuggled close and sleeping just inside the fabric. Sometimes I forget Noah is there until I hear his waking cry. The wrap is a brilliant way to keep a little one happy and snugged tight.

I am not one of those moms who cry over haircuts. Or at least, I didn’t think I was until I took Livia into a local hairstyling school last Thursday. Looking for a cheap haircut and an immediate appointment, we waltzed in the college and sat in between a few empty chairs and two chatty elderly women receiving conversation and haircuts.

I told our stylist-in-training to cut Liv’s hair “just above the shoulders” and let’s just say the first slice of her scissors made me recoil in horror. After realizing that Livia was now getting more than our money’s worth, I did the only thing a people-pleaser like me could do in this modern age: I grabbed my phone and furiously texted my shock to my little brother.

And no, I did not tell the newbie stylist that I was not pleased. I kept that part to myself (and now everyone else I come in contact with, ha) because you know what? Liv looks really cute.