I am actively choosing naivete.

It’s in direct opposition to my desire to know-it-all and to be all for my daughter. Or perhaps it’s simply an all-or-nothing cop out due to my perfectionistic tendencies. Whatever it is, I am rarely opening my books on baby milestones (“should be crawling by 10 months”, whatever!) and I am choosing to ignore all the mushy, gushy how-to books on making your child a genius and/or well-rounded.

Why do we need these books????

I completely believe that if you’re intelligent and caring enough to be reading the multitude of how-to parenting books, then you’re probably doing enough for your child as it is. Whenever I start feeling burdened by the reality that I am NOT reading much of this literature, I consider mothers like Ma Ingalls, Abraham Lincoln’s mama, and Mrs. Alberta Luther King. They did alright, didn’t they? And I’m fairly certain they weren’t reading texts filled with suggestions for updated, gentler lyrics to old nursery songs or books on all the intricacies of baby massage. I mean really, do we actually need to learn all that stuff?

There’s a lot of pressure (might be perceived, might be real) to be a good parent. If you listen to all the voices out there, or simply read many of the parenting books, then you’ll feel great pressure to meet all the standards of “well-roundedness.” But folks, meeting those standards is simply not possible.

So I choose naivete.

I know enough to be confident in my skills and I know enough to know when to seek help as a parent, be it in a book or a friend. I know I want Livia to listen to all kinds of music — so we listen to jazz and rock in the car, to bible songs and folk music in the kitchen, to Hadyn’s Creation in the living room stereo, and of course to my own voice at bedtime. I know I want Livia to love reading — so books are everywhere in our house. We read them, she eats them and pats them. I know I want Livia to feel texture on and play with all sorts of objects — so she snatches up leaves on the front lawn, bangs tupperware on the kitchen floor, smears her hands in mandarin oranges and yogurt, grabs my necklace whenever possible. All this I know. For my own sake, I’m ignoring the books. So Livia doesn’t crawl at (almost) 11 months. So what?

[Disclaimer: My mother is a public health nurse who has spent many years testing children’s developmental skills. Jeremy and I attend all well-baby/pediatrician checkups faithfully. So for all y’all in Blogland who don’t know me well, let there be no concern about Livia’s welfare… We’re certain she’ll be moving around the house soon enough, in her own timing.]

Geehsh Louishh. I’m trying out these Professhional Shtrengsh Cresht Whiteshtripsh and I made the mishtake of putting them on during daylight hoursh. Unfortunately, a friend’sh hushband shtopped by unexshpectedly and I’m absholutely shure I looked like a moron. Shilly me.

Four years ago, I did lots of hanging out with Jeremy’s buddies and their wives (now women who are my close, close friends). There was one child, a small boy, between all of us young couples. We’d play cards or board games together, sometimes grilling on someone’s back porch or going for walks together. Fast forward to April 2, 2005. Scene: the Runza Rex playground. Occasion: a birthday celebration for four year old twins. Volume: very loud and sometimes screechy (Livia contributed to the screechy part). Collective number of children: 8. Moment number one of “how did I get here?”.

Twelve years ago, a 16 year old Jami Smith and I laid on the ground under the pine trees at Horn Creek camp listening to Depeche Mode on Jami’s walkman. She, crazy-in-teenage-love for another camper that in my memory looks like a young John Travolta, and me, thrilled with my first PYA experience. We became fast friends and then pen pals for the next several years before drifting off to our different and separate lives. Fast forward to April 3, 2005. Scene: the Zion infant nursery. Occasion: a typical Sunday morning, both of us with babies on our hips. Conversation: crawling (or lack thereof), baby shoes and children who refuse to eat. Moment number two of the “how did I get here?” game!

So how did I get here? I HAVE NO IDEA.

Something’s wrong with our blog right now. Hopefully it’ll be fixed soon.

You know how you never notice when your body is feeling good, or even just feeling normal, and then when something goes wrong it’s all you *can* notice? Well, that’s my life in the past two days. My joints have been doing fabulously in the past several months. I’ve been able to walk normally and do all my everyday activities without pain. I completely weaned off the prednisone several weeks ago with minimal aches and pains — praise the Lord! Yesterday morning I woke up with some swelling in my right foot. It’s a reminder of how good things have been recently… and how much I’ve enjoyed feeling good again. The physical pain is no fun whatsoever, but the psychological pressure if even more overwhelming. I’m pretty scared of my body flaring up again and having to experience all I went through a year ago. If you think of me, please pray that God, the Creator and Healer, would heal my foot today — and that I would trust in the Lord’s future goodness and grace, as it will never fail. Thanks, friends.

I have fallen off the blog bandwagon. (Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!) The last week has been a busy blur of events and, just so you know, blogging isn’t the only thing I haven’t been doing. The laundry has been piled high, the dishes in my kitchen still haven’t figured out how to wash themselves, and the dust bunnies were swept up just moments before carrying out a revolt. What can I say? Such is life.

I’m grateful for the activities God has tossed in my lap in recent weeks. Some time ago I prayed that the Lord would open doors for me to use my gifts—and boy has He done so! I’ve been doing a little writing for upcoming church newsletters regarding our capital campaign. These articles have really challenged me simply because I haven’t written formally in some time. I also was blessed, and again challenged, by taking photos for the capital campaign video. Zion is preparing to build a Children’s Wing, the campaign is called “Let the Children Come,” thus my picture-taking was especially enjoyable as it involved lots of adorable chilluns.

“Kids” might just be the new general theme in my life. Right now I’m finding great comraderie with other mothers. In fact, the support I’ve found with other moms has been crucial to understanding my new self in the past several months. I assisted a friend in throwing an Easter party for our mom’s group last Friday—and it was a blast. Lots of work, but fun nonetheless. Within two hours our kids (from six weeks old to four years old) painted paper eggs, conducted a rapid-fire Easter egg hunt, hopped like mad bunnies in the living room to Veggie Tales tunes, and ate lunch from adorable brown bunny sacks. The funniest incident of the morning was a toss-up between the mosh pit bunny-hopping (you should’ve seen the little ones jumping and giggling like crazy) and the moment the older girls tattled that Luke, the only boy, had his pants off. It was a riot.

So I’m back in Blogland once again. Reading up on Megan’s move to our old stomping grounds, praying like crazy with my whole heart for the Rice family, trying to keep track of who is where this weekend in the Charity/Andy long-distance romance, and enjoying the thoughts and considerations of other soon-to-be-married friends.

It’s good to be back.

On March 9, 2003, I posted my first blog entry. 327 posts and 2018 comments later and The Prairie Box is still alive and kicking.

It’s hard to remember my reasons for not wanting a blog back in 2003. My web designing husband knew it would be the simplest way for me to update our website and yet I really fought the notion of blogging. I was scared I’d reveal too much personal infomation (and I have) and that I’d reveal my foolish nature (and I have) and that I couldn’t keep it up… but I have. Heh. Despite the pitfalls of self-exposure to the world wide web, I’m really glad I’ve had this creative outlet. I’ve made new friends within Blogland. I’ve been able to share some talents God has blessed me with. I’ve actually learned quite a bit about my own personality, flaws and all.

It’s been a good two years.

1. Favorite ice cream combo (think Coldstone or sundae)
2. Favorite non-breakfast item to eat for breakfast
3. Favorite dip
4. Favorite thing to dip
5. Favorite of all Mom/Dad’s homemade meals
6. Fast food or restaurant you’d miss most if you had to move
7. Best foreign food
8. Best fondue
9. Favorite summer fruit
10. Favorite thing to eat off the grill
11. What you’d eat right now if you could

I am munching on Saltines and a banana as I surf this morning because I’m slowly healing from a nasty virus where the bathroom and Gatorade were my best friends. I know where I got the dreaded bug from (thanks, Cutlers!), so I was prepared in advance, at least as prepared as one can be for such things, for the 24 hour onslaught of illness. It has been a long time since I have felt so horrendous! I apologize in advance to the numerous family and friends I may have infected and, in the meantime, I offer this advice: stock up on Gatorade and find childcare if you have little ones at home. Jeremy has been an exemplary husband — two solid days of baby-caring and wife-tending. He and Livia got in some good quality time. She seemed kind of disappointed when he left for work this morning. Anyhow, happy days are here again! I can surf. I can eat (sort of). And today’s sky is blue.

I love this pic of my Dad and Livia. Hope you like it, too.