Blast from the Past: Lyddie Roo

One year ago, this was my baby girl. Sweet, snuggly, smells so good. Precious.




Now my baby girl thinks she's big enough to put ornaments on the tree.

Sweet, Snuggly, Independant, Throws temper tantrums. Precious.

Back to Blogging

I'm ba-aa-a-ck! At least for today. Getting ready to go Christmas for the 5th time this year, but wanted to quickly check-in and say
Hi!!!!

Nope, I didn't drop off the face of the planet

Yep, I've been a little busy.

Here's a quick rehash of the past couple weeks:


We've been celebrating Christmas, baking Christmas, eating Christmas, wrapping Christmas, photographing Christmas, opening Christmas, singing Christmas, and recovering from Christmas.

I set out with great plans to not be "busy all the season" or "frantic" or "wrapping till wee hours of the morning".

I was not totally successful. Somewhat, but not totally.

But now I'll be back to blogging again.

Hope your Christmas was as Merry as ours!

And I promise a Redneck Reality Post later in the week that is sure to further open your eyes to another world. . . .

Which do you like, the full color or the de-saturated picture?

An Awakening Talk

Claire and I were discussing books today. The topic started with a "Why?" question about my not letting her check out a book from the library. We were comparing the values presented in different kinds of books, protecting our eyes from books that don't honor God, making sure what we read pleases God and aligns with what we know is right.

This particular book she wanted has a lot of magic in it. I'm not anti-magic. But I wanted her to know there are people who use the concept of magic to do things that directly oppose God. This was her reply,

"Momma, the book I wanted doesn't have that kind of magic, it only has magic about traveling to different times and solving mysteries. Times like the 1980's!"

I couldn't further discuss with her because my mind couldn't wrap itself around anything more than my daughter truly believes the 1980's are sooooooo in the past. Just one step after dinosaurs and one step before pyramids. The 1980's. The cradle of my elementary years has just been thrown into the archives of distant history with the fall of the Roman Empire and Custer's Last Stand.



How'd I get to be a grown up so fast???!!!!!!

My New Motto

I'm a loud kind of person. Who I am is loud. I like loud colors and I like loud music and I generally talk pretty loud unless I'm trying really hard to pay attention to the others around me.

But though I'm loud, I haven't been characterized by yelling at my kids. Until the New Old House. It's just crept in and over the past two months I've come to realize I've been yelling. Yelling, "IT'S TIME FOR DINNER!!!!" Yelling, "IT'S TIME TO PUT YOUR COAT ON AND GET IN THE VA-AAAN!!!" Yelling, "CLAIRE, PLEASE GET LYDIA OUT OF HER BED AND BRING HER DOWNSTAIRS!!!!"

It's not that I'm angry or frustrated, it's just that we're occupying three floors and I'm trying to be heard. And here's the kicker: Once my family got used to the yelling, the yelling becomes the new base-line volume. Everything else has to be louder than that!!!! So the kids talk louder, the kids play louder and then I have to be even louder to give out instructions!

Also, the adorable, lovely children find it commonplace to start yelling, "Mom?! Mom?!!! MMAAOOOMMMM!! MOMMY?!!!!! MOM!!!" from any room of the house at any time. Even if they know where I am, they still choose to just start calling instead of coming to where I am.

It's become a really vicious cycle, that I've been hesitant to actually deal with. Because . . .HOW am I supposed to deal with it?

These are the other rationalizations since my awakening:

1. I'm trying to be heard. Did I mention that?
2. If the kids are playing loudly upstairs, I have to be louder to get their attention
3. It's 35 steps from my kitchen to the playroom on the 3rd floor. 35 steep stairs.
4. I remember my Mom calling for me in her sing-song-y yelling voice and it never bothered anything.
5. What else am I supposed to do?! Go find them and speak to them in a regular voice?

Bingo. I've got a new motto.

Move Your Feet, Not Your Mouth.

Really, truly, honestly the heart of the yelling is laziness. And lack of self-control. And bad habit. And laziness.

So I've been working my Motto: Move Your Feet, Not Your Mouth. There's no way I'm going to sit here pounding on my keyboard and blog to you that I've got victory yet. Oh no. Not yet. But improvement? Yes!

Move Your Feet, Not Your Mouth.

This changes so many things. For one, it's changing my weight! Call it coincidence or a fluke or whatever, but in the past 2 months, I've lost 5 pounds. Because if you had to walk 35 stairs, every time you wanted to tell your kids to come to the table or brush their teeth, or it's time for chores, or go play outside . . .I think you'd lose 5 pounds in two months, too!

I don't assume everyone to have the same laziness, self-control, loudmouth issues I have, but if you're like me and if any of this post has started churning something in your spirit. I've got a few words for you.

Move Your Feet, Not Your Mouth.

It works. You'll notice the change in household volume and in the waistline of your jeans.

And if I get 15 people to join my campaign we can have really cool T-shirts printed up and start a worldwide phenomenon!

Twins at Play

If you had 5 Year Old twin boys, you'd make them play outside every day. At least I think you would. Because that kind of energy and noise, while it is wholesome and delightful, needs an outdoor arena.

So usually, rain or shine, snow or hail, our twins get some outside time everyday. Now, I don't force them to (usually). But about mid morning I try to suggest something like, "Hey, you could go play baseball in the backyard now!" Or, "Go pretend the front porch is a great ship and you're at sea!" or "Do you want to see if Mr. Wilson's home?" Mr. Wilson is our neighbor. Seriously, that's his name. Just like in Dennis the Menace. He's of grandfatherly age and my boys just LOVE to "watch" while he fixes something in his garage or pulls weeds.

On this snowy day it didn't take much cajoling or encouragement or bribes from Mr. Wilson's candy supply to get the boys outside. They bundled up in snow pants, coats, gloves, hats, and boots. They're not quite practiced at it yet, so the whole process of just getting bundled takes at least 15 minutes. But by February they'll have it down to 4 minutes flat. Just you wait and see.



Since I didn't want to get cold, I mean, since I was diligently homeschooling and caring for my dear sweet baby, I tried to get some pictures through the window of my dining room. The dirty dining room window. I had to bump the exposure up on my camera a full step just to compensate for the grime!

What do you guess the boys did on this first snowy play day of the year? Build a snowman? Make snow angels? Snowball fight? Nope. Caleb climbed a tree.

And stayed in that tree 2 1/2 feet off the ground practically the whole time!

Luke was longing for some brotherly companionship or some space in the tree, I couldn't tell from my perch on the dining room chair wearing my slippers. But I think he said something like this, "Climbing trees is for summer time, Caleb! We only have snow for 3 months a year, let's do something with it."



I don't actually know that he said those things, but that's what I would've been saying if my twin brother wanted to climb trees on the first snowy day. And I'm pretty sure it's actually a lilac bush, but who's keeping track.

Once he finally convinced Caleb to come down to earth, bad things started to happen.


Caleb's coat got stuck. But I'm happy to attest that he did not throw a kaniption fit, or scream MOMMMMMMYYYYYY until I came to release him from his captivity.


Instead, he did the very 5 Year Old thing of climbing back up and fixing it himself. This is great improvement in self control.


Apparently, some people don't like, "Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes . . ."

And because I'm a really good Mommy, I had homemade hot chocolate waiting for them when they came inside. The same homemade hot chocolate that Vicki calls and asks me the recipe for every year around the first week of December. :) Your welcome, again, dear friend.

I Found My Prince . . .His Name is Daddy

The Daddy Daughter Dance brings millions of smiles around our house. A night dedicated to dressing up and dancing is pretty far up there on the list of Top Ten Things Claire Loves to Do.

This year's Dance was no different. After we primped and pampered and curled and cried (Hey, she's a girl and there was bound to be a little drama about something. This year, it was because the sash was too loose.) After all that, she had time to pose for a little photo session because her prince was still pampering. So I took some shots, but didn't see my daughter in them.

This looks like Claire, but it's not her.

(It is a picture of my stairwell without floral wall-paper, but still with nasty old carpet for those of you who wonder why I haven't posted any New Old House pictures for a while.)

Nope, that's not her either.

Almost, but not quite.



Nada.


Wait for it . . .wait for it . .


There she is!!

I knew she'd come out of that photo-taking shell if I just hung in there for a while with a camera glued to my face.
Then she went into "Posing Mode" and just couldn't stop.


Then her Prince arrived and carted her off . . .

(That's my baby girl eating dried up wall mud on the floor of the In-Progress back stairs.)

in his white chariot . . .

This is the stuff dreams are made of.

My Farmer Boy

I'm not really into labels for myself. I don't like to be labeled. Am I a pastor's wife? Was I a pastor's wife? Am I a photographer? Am I a Stay-at-Home or a Work-at-Home Mom? Am I a Christian? or a Believer? Are we a Homeschooling Family? Or just a family that is currently Homescholing? Gee, I can't figure myself out most of the time. I just like to be me. Why must someone label me? Why would they give me a name other than Jody?

HOWEVER, I LOVE PUTTING LABELS ON OTHER PEOPLE! I know. It's very hypocritical. It's not fair. But I love nicknames, and funny names, and names that tell stories and just names in general. (Did you know each of my twins has 4 names on their birth certificate? If you can name them and you are not a member of their family, you get 3 Gold Stars)

That was all just the introduction to this post about Farmer Boy. At least he is right now. He has all sorts of other talents not limited to pastoring, business and fatherhood. But for today he is Farmer Boy.


Look over here, so the people can see you, Farmer Boy!

"What? I couldn't hear you."

I said, . . . oh, never mind, now I can see you better.

It's takes a real kinda man to wear this outfit. A man who is so secure inside and out that he chooses to wear two hats at once just to stay warm. However, neither of them cover his ears. Hmmm . . .
And he doesn't need a coat. No. Coats are for sissies, not Farmer Boys. And if he wore a coat, it might cover up his camo overalls. And if one is going to the extreme of purchasing camo overalls, you better let people see them. (For those of you who live in towns bigger than 40, 000 outside of the Midwest, you need to understand that around these parts, camo is the new black. I'm serious.)


He sure does make a handsome, albeit, fashion-deficient Farmer Boy.

These photos were not taken today. Today it is snowing. Lots of snow. Very wet, fast falling snow. That pile of leaves they raked lookes like an igloo.

And because I'm opening myself up to correction of every form in my pursuit of holiness, if you have a nickname for me you can leave it in the comments. It's "Label the One You Love Week" here at Robinson Moments.