Tag Archives: love

Mother’s Day Planter 2016

Each year for the past several I have filled my mom’s outdoor planter for Mother’s Day. Here is this year’s planting process and result.

I cleared all of the old growth and dead leaves, including two snapdragon volunteers from last year, out of the pot.

I cleared all of the old growth and dead leaves, including two snapdragon volunteers from last year, out of the pot.

I planted a tall spikey plant in the middle for height.

I planted a tall spikey plant in the middle for height.

Three red geraniums were planted around the spike.

Three red geraniums were planted around the spike.

The two yellow snapdragons were returned to the pot. We shall see how they do!

The two yellow snapdragons were returned to the pot. We shall see how they do!

Two trailing plants with blue flowers were placed on each side of the pot to spill over the edges as they grow.

Two trailing plants with blue flowers were placed on each side of the pot to spill over the edges as they grow.

Some trailing ivy and vines were placed around the edges to grow and spill over the side of the pot.

Some trailing ivy and vines were placed around the edges to grow and spill over the side of the pot.

A small surprise from last year was re-placed in the midst of the plants with the reminder to bloom.

A small surprise from last year was re-placed in the midst of the plants with the reminder to bloom.

This is the view from above.

This is the view from above.

It is always fun to choose plants each year, to design the arrangement, and to watch the flowers bloom and grow all season.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom! You are one-of-a-kind, and I love you so much.

Friendship Friday ~ Holding Down the Fort

Sometimes being a good friend to your spouse means holding down the fort so they get some time and space away. Holding Down the Fort is really hard for me. In my world of longings, one of the deep ones is longing for time to just be off.

I would love for space to not be in charge all most of the time. I have been in charge for all most of my life, and responsibility is wearing and wearisome.

I long for the day when my husband’s time away means my own time alone here in the quiet, not shouldering the weight of solo parenting. I long for the day when we can go away together without requiring what feels like an act of congress to make it happen.

I realize that many readers long for a spouse or for a child or to not be solo parenting all of the time due to death or divorce. We ALL have our longings, our hard stuff, the things we wish would pass, the do-over desires.

Since this is my blog, I am writing about my struggle to be a good friend to my husband. He needs time away with friends to be refreshed. And, really, this time away isn’t totally his, because it sweetly lined up with the weekend that our son is playing in the Virginia All-state band concert at George Mason University. He will be able to catch the concert tomorrow and spend quality time with his son on the ride home.

So while he hangs out, I hang on. That’s how we roll. He has done it for me more.

But it doesn’t make it easy. It’s always more fun being the one heading off in the car up or down the interstate, leaving on a jet plane. It’s always the most fun taking off together.

Left behind looks like agonizing over how much screen time is too much while trying to maintain sanity. It is having to stand hard ground alone. It’s breathing in the vapors and fumes in the air that seem to only be released when spending quality time around Mom. It’s negotiating the strife solo and dealing with the dog.

It also looks like making memories and learning to relax and being thankful for middle school lock-ins, reducing responsibility by one. It looks like being content with the space that I do have and resting in the fact that while tweens have needs, at least they sleep at night!

 

Arranging

I had forgotten how much I enjoy arranging flowers.

Then Steve brought these home for me.

flowers

Just because.

It is going to snow. A lot.

So they say.

The weather models show a perfect storm ready to be unleashed on the east coast.

So we wait amongst the flurries.

Steve did the Costco run on his way home from work.

He came home with flowers for me to arrange and enjoy.

flowers

And a thorn only pierced my skin once.

Love Is Time Away

A few weekends ago, Steve and I took some much-needed time away together, with the holiday season in full swing. The timing was not ideal, but is it ever? As I type this line, I am transported in my mind to twenty-four years ago when we were saying, I do, at a time that was less-than ideal.

Today is our twenty-fourth wedding anniversary and the twenty-ninth anniversary of the season when we met.

There is a backstory to our time away, and while I could post pictures of festive decorations and divine cheese platters and gush about the reflexology treatment and hot-stone massage that my darling booked for me in advance, there would be much missing. There would be a glaring omission of the reality that we had to fight hard for this time and were almost taken down for the count.

That, dear reader, is the part that I want to share with you. Reality.

The story began last fall, summer, even, when my dearest asked our firstborn and her husband if they could spend Labor Day weekend with the kids so that we could go away together. Three nights alone seemed an incredible luxury. I was looking forward to it desperately.

When back-to-school life got full and pressures started bearing down, a voice inside reminded me that it would be worth it all when we were away. I could work really hard to get the school year going and then relax into the long weekend, emerging refreshed and re-connected with my partner in the midst of all of the madness.

We were both so caught up in our duties and responsibilities that a glaring omission happened. We failed to book a destination. This reality struck the week before we were to go away, when a painful conversation took place, leaving me feeling let-down, hurt, and angry.

Festering heart wounds that I thought had been dealt with, broke open and began to ooze painfully. I spent time trying to figure out a kind, yet honest, way to express my deep disappointment.

Too often I have offered a quick, That’s okay! or It’s no big deal! to things that were NOT okay and WERE big deals. It was a new path for me to sit in the hard place of feeling my feelings without minimizing them and of hurting without accusing my partner in anger. It was a struggle not to lash out at the one I love while in pain.

After these honest conversations, Labor Day weekend found us dog-sitting so that our daughter and son-in-law could go camping. We stayed at the house laboring, as usual. It was not the weekend I had envisioned, and I felt hurt and disappointed.

Steve quickly arranged for the next available time that the married adult couple could come and stay for a weekend. It was months away in December, but just having a date on the calendar was encouraging.

Things were rolling along smoothly. A non-refundable, non-transferable location was booked in Williamsburg, and Christmas Town tickets were purchased. Planning was enjoyable, and we were communicating. I had requested an entire Friday off to have a leisurely morning to myself before stealing away together.

I was picturing it in my head, and it was BEAUTIFUL!

Then things started to happen. Plans began to shift and change for honest reasons. Human error in communication caused the wrong weekend to be booked. We could still go away, but the child-care factor became much more labor-intensive and complicated.

I did not like the revised plan I was hearing. It felt forced and overwhelming and exhausting. Much complicated planning needed to happen just to arrive at our destination. It was not as I had envisioned. To top it off, the night before our planned departure, Steve became ill. He took to bed in a manner unusual for him unless it is serious. It was serious.

I was left in the nebulous unknown of wondering if I should continue to pack children to take to their siblings instead of having siblings come to them. I wondered if we would be able to go away at all.

Frankly, I was finished. Tired. Done.

My day off dawned, not as I had planned. It found me driving kids to school instead of rolling over for a little more sleep. After the drop off, I checked in with Steve who was not sure how he felt and did not look great.

Our revised plan had been to drive two cars to drop the kids with their adult siblings in Richmond on our way to Williamsburg. That would leave a vehicle for them to drive back to Harrisonburg that would fit everyone. Steve didn’t look up to the driving challenge. I was already less-than-thrilled with that idea BEFORE sickness crept in.

Let’s just not go. This is getting ridiculous. When are we going to read the sign that says this is not a good idea? What else has to happen?

We had until 11:00 to cancel the massage appointment he had booked. He wanted a little more rest, leaving me to make a teary call to my sister to help me process. She helped me sort out my heart, and when we hung up I realized that I needed to try.

Trying looked like seeing if there was any way to have the kids cared for here in town overnight instead of having to drive them to Richmond. The Richmond connection could drive themselves here the next day and hang out until we got home.

I reached out to friends and family who were able to say yes. While Steve slept, I arranged and drove around and packed up and picked up and dropped off. When he woke, I presented the new plan, which I think was plan d by this point. The kids were accounted for, he could sleep in the car while I drove, and we would at least be away, alone together.

If he felt better, great. If not, he could sleep while I read, addressed Christmas cards, wrote, did yoga, got a massage. We could watch movies or listen to podcasts together. It actually wasn’t looking too bad!

The bottom line is that we were able to go away, but it wasn’t easy.

We listened to podcasts together in the car. After a night of rest, Steve felt well enough to walk in the woods while I experienced a restorative massage. We ate at The Cheese Shop in downtown Williamsburg and walked around Merchant’s Square. We napped and relaxed. I didn’t write any Christmas cards. We didn’t make it to Christmas Town.

Our time together was too short. It always is. But it happened.

It was worth fighting for, because love is.

us

 

Marriage

This first day of November, when thoughts turn to thanks, I’m thankful for my marriage.

Thankful for a partner to journey with through life. Thankful that he is willing to help carry the baggage we bear together and to help examine the contents we’ve packed down tightly.

I’m thankful for the moments when we connect and for the hope we hold to in the moments that we don’t.

I’m thankful for choosing to carry on through the hard, when a lot of the time just feels hard. For the vows we made and agreed to keep.

I’m thankful for seasons.

I’m thankful for love and laughter and commitment.

I’m thankful for grace.

I’m thankful for us.

Just thankful.

Love

Wisdom remembers the meaning of marriage,
It knows what happens when hearts go astray.

The warning is written to read and to ponder,
For those who consider walking away.

A gift and a blessing to be someone’s fountain,
To captivate, satisfy, receive, and be loved.

The heartfelt devotion of a steadfast marriage
Is none other than a grace from above.

~thoughts on Proverbs 5~

Mommypancis

Have you ever wondered about my screen name? Have you even noticed it? Sometimes I get asked about it by those who wonder how it came to be. What’s the story? It has to do with a ten or eleven year old girl and her baby brother.

I was ten when the baby boy of our family was born. That was thirty-four years ago. Thirty-four years?!

I remember that baby boy. He had a rattly sound when he breathed due to a floppy epiglottis. I had one when I was born, also. We had that in common, separated by ten years. I loved holding him, playing with him, and watching him grow.

Siblings

When he was a toddler I remember thinking he was the cutest thing. Maybe it was because I was growing up and becoming more maternal. Maybe there was now enough distance between me and a younger sibling that he wasn’t viewed as a threat for attention. Maybe I understood that he was a baby. The baby.

I gave him a nickname. Gregorypancis. Pronounced Greg-o-ree-pahn-sis.

I don’t know how or why it came about. It just did. I give the ones I love nicknames, just ask Beatrice, Kippy, Mabeccabo, Kierbear, McTirkle, Coco, Roo, and Maemo (Little Mae).

Fast-forward to the internet age and the advent of AOL and email addresses. When I set up my first email account and was looking for a screen name that didn’t need a number in the thousands after it, I thought, mommypancis. Mom-me-pahn-sis.

NOT mommyPANICS, though she often does.

I was in the thick of being mommy. It was available. Whenever I need it, it is there. It’s me. Mommypancis.

Mommypancis

This is the face of Mommypancis, designed by my firstborn girl. With Maemo, of course. Can’t you tell?

And what about that little Gregorypancis?

Gregorypancis

He is a Daddy who will meet his little one face-to-face in a few short months. Babypancis will make an appearance in late November. I am thankful.

Happy Birthday, Little Brother! I love you much.

And, yes. I DID sew that orange and blue patch pillow in fourth grade. That is another story in itself, but the fact that it graces my baby brother’s toddler bed attests to the love and affection I had for him. Still do.