I flew out to North Carolina last Friday to visit Charity and Andy in their spring-fresh, academic-filled, adorably-neighborhooded town of Chapel Hill. It’s hard to know how to blog about such an experience besides relating it in the most shallow, obvious terms possible because I don’t know how to share publicly the depth of my relationship with Charity. Suffice to say, Charity is the closest thing I have to a sister as we grew up together since age 12. We actually got annoyed in high school by friends who’d see only one of us, then ask, “Where’s Charity?” or “Where’s Rebecca?” I think that was the point where we found a few non-mutual friends. Ha! As my beloved sister-friend, Charity knew it was high time for me to see her new home in North Carolina, where’s she’s lived with her husband for almost four years now.

Andy and I conspired via email, surprised Charity with news of my visit a few weeks ago, Jeremy graciously let me go, and I hopped on a plane for a wonderfully relaxing weekend.

The photo above is my favorite of Charity and Andy. I think it captures their cozy, sweet marriage. The one below cracks me up and makes me happy. Who wouldn’t be happy her friend found a great guy who dips and smooches her in the front yard, not once but twice for the camera?

The final pic is proof that I actually visited Chapel Hill. There are red buds and dogwoods blooming nearby a quaint little stream in the background. Today it snowed in Lincoln. ‘Nuff said.

I stepped away for awhile to smell the daffodils.

More photos and stories of my trip will be posted in the next few days.

Yesterday was awesome. The weather was phenomenal, Jeremy was finally feeling healthy again, and my little family played and worked together all day long. Lovely.

I’ve been interested in Barbara Kingsolver’s Animal, Vegetable, Miracle for some time now. Finally I checked it out from the local library and, now that I’ve completed the spellbinding page-turner The Game of Kings, I am knee deep (or perhaps ankle deep is more accurate) in the story of the Kingsolver-Hopp Family’s year of eating locally. On this first day of spring, I find myself nodding in recognition at the author’s description of her own spring thaw: “I’m a soul on ice flung out on a rock in the sun, where the needles that pierced me began to melt all as one.”

As a mom, I couldn’t help but laugh when her youngest daughter, on the following page, refers to jonquils as tranquils.

There went the last of the needles of ice around my heart, and I understood I’d be doomed to calling the jonquils tranquils for the rest of my days. Lily is my youngest. Maybe you know how these things go. In our family, those pink birds with the long necks are called flingmos because of how their real name was cutely jumbled by my brother’s youngest child—and that was, yikes, twenty years ago.

So will we always call worms cutie pies after Liv’s pet phrase?

**Though I highly recommend The Game of Kings, the first in the Lymond Chronicles by Dorothy Dunnett, I should include a warning: it took me a very long time to get invested in the story. The only reason I pushed through was that Bryonie and Haley loved the books—so I knew the novel deserved my full attention. Though the first half seemed beyond my reading skill and I felt fairly lost, my perseverance was rewarded by the fast-paced, intriguing story-telling of the latter half. Now I’m off to find book two in the series.

The requisite crocus shot, evidence of our excitement regarding the world’s bursting from a brown, desolate wasteland into an eye-pleasing landscape of purple and gold and green. Livia, newest Tredway gardener extraordinaire, discovered the first flower of spring.  

I had grand visions of how life with a child would be before, of course, life with the child actually began. One of my objectives was to never be one of those moms who hovered nervously in the house after putting their baby to sleep. You know, the ones who talk in hushed tones so that any visitors feel guilty for speaking above a whisper. I had heard friends say, “Oh, during naptime I run the vaccum, talk on the phone, do whatever just so my baby gets used to sleeping with noise!” I prepared myself for a child that would sleep through the loudest storms of a Nebraska spring, a baby that would catch all her zzz’s while guests partied loudly one floor below her nursery.

And it kind of worked that way, for a little while.

Livia took easily to a schedule and even easier to sleep when she was an infant. But around age three everything changed. She became very particular about her surroundings (no more sleepovers at Nana’s) and even began to wake up for hours on end in the middle of the night. Fast forward almost two years and I realize how easily patterns are set. Our rituals today look absolutely nothing like those fantasies I had in my pre-mom days. And while I sometimes value those notions of late night guests, friends staying over until all odd hours for food and games and chatting, I have to admit, I like the way things are now.

I’ll chalk up the change to very active days. Our daytime schedule involves answering the ever-present question, “What are we going to do for fun?” Whether the the fun is play-dough, baking with Mommy, or a playground visit, I’m ready for fun of my own by 8 o’clock every evening. Apparently my definition of “fun” has also changed since pre-mom days. It’s now expanded to include alone time, something I used to consider very un-fun. While I still enjoy having people over in the evenings, I kind of need them to leave by Liv’s bedtime. After exuding so much energy in taking care of her, I usually don’t have a lot left over to dish out. And that’s okay for now.

Besides, when I do want to interact after 8:00pm (that is, with folks other than my husband who is perfectly content to curl up on the couch with a good tv show) it’s a special night out. Leave the kid with a babysitter, put on something sparkly and hit the town. It’s a reminder of who I am apart from Mommy, and boy does it feel good.

So I guess I’m saying, yes, it’s true, I’m something of a hovery, whispery mother come the moment my child’s head hits her pillow. Forgive me… It’s just that I don’t want her to wake up because I’m having so much FUN.

World, meet Tobey the Snowman. He was quite a work of art. That is, until the sun finally made a puddle out of him.

Livia is the Master Name Giver. Not only does she give names to every doll, animal and snowman within arm’s length, she also remembers the names. Really, she should be writing this blog post as I can’t remember half of the names she’s assigned.

There’s the quintuplets: Nanny, Bobby, Jon, Violet and Strawberry. (Bobby and Jon are twins—Liv knows which is which based on a mud spot on one twins’ arm.) There are the Care Bears, both of whom earned cherished spots in Livia’s bed last night: Hammy and [first mommy memory lapse]. There are numerous others… Hamsty and Elsie, Paris and Luce the Bunny, Dorothy the female Betta fish and Nectar the neighborhood cat. Liv also gave names to Renae’s pregnant tummy prior to Simon’s arrival. There was Big Teeth if it was a girl, and Gooper for a boy. When I told her that Aunt Kristin is going to have a baby boy, her first question was, “What’s his name?” I explained that Adam and Kristin hadn’t picked one out yet and she piped up with, “I can help!” I bet you can, kid.

Of all the names Livia has assigned, Tobey is one most frequently given. For those who don’t know the real life Tobey, he’s our pastor and friend—and apparently Livia appreciates him so much she named a blond Barbie after him last summer. Tobey, native of New Jersey, meet your namesake Tobey, Barbie doll. Since that point, we’ve enjoyed numerous other Tobeys in the Tredway household… Tobey the toy pig, Tobey the caterpillar artwork from preschool, and finally Tobey the snowman.

If Flickr cooperates, I’ll post a pic of the real-life Tobey for some side-by-side snowman comparison. ; )

When I received the music for this week’s bulletin (I create the bulletins for our church Redeemer. And now I have to publicly take credit for all the errors… Yikes), I was excited the following hymn was on the docket. I love this hymn. Even without a powerful organ behind it, the melody and lyrics are incredibly stirring. I always feel like the roof is being blown off the church building in praise to our Creator when we sing this one, as though the worship is going straight through to Heaven, accompanied by the angels and saints from ages past.

We have a mighty God, worthy of praise.

Praise to the Lord, the Almighty

1. Praise to the Lord,
The Almighty, the King of creation!
O my soul, praise Him,
For He is thy health and salvation!
All ye who hear,
Now to His temple draw near;
Praise Him in glad adoration.

2. Praise to the Lord,
Who over all things so wondrously reigneth,
Shelters thee under His wings,
Yea, so gently sustaineth!
Hast thou not seen
How all your longings have been
Granted in what He ordaineth?

3. Praise to the Lord,
Who doth prosper thy work and defend thee;
Surely His goodness
And mercy here daily attend thee.
Ponder anew
What the Almighty can do,
If with His love He befriend thee.

4. Praise to the Lord,
O let all that is in me adore Him!
All that hath life and breath,
Come now with praises before Him.
Let the Amen
Sound from His people again,
Gladly for aye we adore Him.

Step 1: Find the park in question. This usually involves Mommy driving around previously unknown neighborhoods in Lincoln, Nebraska, saying things like, “No, we’re not lost. I’m sure that park is here somewhere. Let’s drive around the block again.”

Step 2: Let child loose in park. Eagle eyes, with the help of given clue, will eventually spot the post.

Step 3: Take rubbing of aforementioned post. This part gets a little tricky when Mommy tries to take pictures at the same time.

Step 4 (opt): Since camera is present, make child stand by post. Smile in amusement when four year old holds up the rubbing to complete the perfectly posed moment. Wonder when she learned to pose like this.

Step 5: Take advantage of God’s creation and the beautiful weather and climb a tree. Notice powdered sugar still caked around child’s lips. Be overwhelmed with Mommy Love for this little face, powdered sugar and all.

Step 6: Take advantage of the man-made playground and put imaginations to work. Socks should be removed in order to climb up slides from the ground.

Step 7: Rinse and repeat a bazillion times in the different parks of Lincoln, Nebraska.

Ma had a system. It went like this:

Wash on Monday,
Iron on Tuesday,
Mend on Wednesday,
Churn on Thursday,
Clean on Friday,
Bake on Saturday,
Rest on Sunday.

Apparently, Laura like baking and churning days best. I don’t blame Half-Pint a bit; baking days are always nice.

I’ve fallen into a routine of baking on Mondays, though I’m not sure why. (I like to bake, reason one, perhaps.) I was never more grateful for a Baking Monday than last week. When Liv was so sick the rest of the week—and we were all sleep-deprived—it was really nice to pick up a blueberry muffin for breakfast or eat a slice of toast for a snack. The truth is that I’m not at all organized when it comes to homemaking skills. I can be incredibly organized when it comes to working in an office or traveling or leading group projects, but home life is different for me. I value flexibility and the ease by which I can jump in the car and head for Target and Starbucks, so adherence to a strict cleaning schedule doesn’t exactly bring me joy. But I like to bake. And Livia likes to bake alongside me. So perhaps Mondays will turn into our baking day, and we’ll be able to enjoy the fruits of our labors the rest of the week.

The recipe for Grandma’s Banana Bread is up on Needs More Butter.

You know what? I do adhere to another day on Ma’s schedule… Sunday. Resting is so not a problem. We’ve got that one down.