Shabby Chic

I had purposed for days now to write a post tonight.  Wednesday evenings are generally when I have time to do that sort of thing, as the husband is in class until pretty late.  There are so many things about which I'd like to write, but honestly - I am so dadgum tired (just showed my Alabama roots).  The source of my exhaustion is my beautiful toddler.  And I can think of a thousand things to say to paint a picture of all that she does that so drain my body, my mind, my will at the end of the day; but honestly, why would I want to drain you, too, kind reader?  And as many of you are parents already, no words are needed, I'm sure.  So, instead, I will dedicate what little ability to form coherent thought that I have to recording (more for myself than anyone) a few of the things she did today that warmed my heart.

First thing in the morning, I get her from her room and bring her into bed with me.  Luke is usually still asleep for at least a short while, so we get this sliver of alone time, snuggling under my down comforter, where she waits patiently as I continue to drift in and out of sleep, smelling the perfume of her blonde, curly head.  When she's finally had enough of waiting, she turns around, puts both her hands on my face and starts talking to me.  "Mama sleepy?  I so sorry, Mama!  Mama, see my bear (pulls Birthday Bear out from under the covers)?  Mama, guess what?  I so proud of you!" And on and on, occasionally leaning in with her lips puckered so I can proffer my cheek to receive this precious benediction, and then the declarations continue.  And who could keep their eyes closed and ignore such a sweet morning song?

While I go through my start-of-day chores, she "entertains" her brother as they play on the floor near my feet.  Half the time, I'm having to make sure she doesn't smother him with something, but the other half, she is taking her most favored toys and not only showing them to him, but sharing them.  Not balking when his tiny fists snatch the items from her before she's ready, but watching him with a smile on her face.  As difficult as it's been for her since he's become more of a peer and less of a giant lump of immobile (nonthreatening) baby, I truly believe she enjoys this new phase where she can share with him all her treasures - and snacks.

As lunch was winding down, she and I were finished but Luke was still in the high chair.  I got up to get a cleaning rag and when I came back, Leila had climbed into my chair and was dutifully helping Luke finish his lunch.  She would lean towards him with a bean, to which he opened his mouth like a little bird, and she dropped it neatly in.  A few seconds later, she said, "Would you like more?  Say please!" and then she would give him another.  This went on for several minutes ("More?  Say please!"), as I watched from the kitchen.  These are the moments that got me through the chaos of bringing Luke home and navigating Leila's torrential emotions: the hope that before long he would be able to interact with  her and she would know the joy of finding a friend in her sibling.  And here we are, at the start of that gratifying journey.

  

Other things from today include many kisses, randomly breaking into song and giggling shyly when she realizes I'm listening, trying to help with the laundry, comforting Luke when he cries, sporadically breaking away from her playtime to wrap her arms around my neck and lay her head on my shoulder ... These are the kinds of pearls I value, the treasure I want to keep hidden away, never to be lost.  On nights, like tonight, when I'm feeling particularly shabby, I can take them out, adorn my heart with them, and adulate in the extreme honor of being her mother.

 

Order ... Harmony.

Those of you who have known me for any length of time know my background in Musical Theatre, and that despite the years it was a part of my life, there is actually very little of it that I enjoy, but my all-time favorite work is Stephen Sondheim's "Sunday in the Park With George."  It was inspired by the life of Pointillist painter Georges Seurat, and his most recognized piece, Sunday on the Isle of La Grande Jatte (1884).

I love this painting so much we had a copy of it commissioned for our home.

The story is too intricate and painfully beautiful for me to insult by trying to abridge it.  But during the song in which George is finally seeing the fruition of his hectic, passionate vision, the opening measures are underscored by a cacophony of noises from the subjects in the painting - which until that point had all been many random sketches, piece-mealed here and there from different visits to this park (nothing like what you see above); and the chaos of it all is accompanied by the orchestra in discordance with one another, as though each instrument were playing from a different score.  The maelstrom reaches a fever pitch until George enters and booms, "Order!"  And then the only sound you hear is the ringing of one note, like a bell, clearly calling everything and everyone to order.  The subjects obey.  George then, calmly yet powerfully, says what has been his mantra to himself while trying to complete his work, "Design ... tension ... composition ... balance ... light ... harmony. " As he speaks each word, the subjects silently, reverently, travel to their spot in the painting.  And as he softly sighs that last word, "Harmony," the last piece of the puzzle falls into place, and the instruments majestically soar in perfect ... harmony.  The masterpiece is complete.

The life of Georges Seurat is not one I would want to experience (it was filled with great pain, loss, isolation and misunderstanding).  But as chaotic as his circumstances were, as his brain worked, as his vision was, he knew that the only way to achieve harmony was through order.

Those of you who are close to me also know (aside from my love for this musical) that I struggle daily with order.  In some areas of my life, those in which I know someone is watching or something I would have to answer for - like in my job (previously) or in raising my children - I give my all.  But when it's something that's simply up to me to do or not do, and I only have to answer to myself, if I find it particularly unpleasant (cleaning, exercising, etc.), sometimes it just plain doesn't get done.  Not so I can just sit - Lord knows with two babies to care for I am always  doing something.  But I don't make the less-enjoyable tasks a priority.  And, God bless him, I have a husband who is too gracious to mention (or too busy to notice) when these things do not get done.  I will gladly trade the folding of clean laundry or the loading of a dishwasher for a half-hour on the floor trying to get Luke to crawl or dancing to Yo Gabba Gabba songs with Leila Grace.  But what about after they go to bed?  Well, to be honest, I would even more gladly trade my to-do list for an hour or two on Facebook or catching up on the DVR.  My reasoning?  I've earned it.  I work hard with the kids / some days they just completely wear me out / I never have a day off / I need "me time" / I need a break, too ... ad nauseum.  And yes, that may be, mostly, legitimate.  But the eternal conundrum lies in that that thinking makes me unable to truly enjoy the break.  In the back of my mind - heck, in the front of it! - is the constant clamor of what still needs to be done and what I should be doing instead.  I am notorious for should-ing all over myself, as the expression goes.  As in the song, it's like all the tasks are screaming out to me in their discordant tune - the phone calls to return, the correspondences to reply to, the pile of ironing, the stack of dirty dishes, the dustballs on the floor, the toothpaste muck in the sink, the food in the refrigerator that has now grown legs and is about to walk out on its own!  The longer I leave it, the louder it becomes.  Knowing this, knowing how twisted up inside I get over this, why do I allow it to get to that point?  Paul said it best in Romans when he mused, "I don't really understand myself; for I want to do what is right, but I don't do it.  Instead I do the very thing I hate." (7:15, NLT)   

I suppose this is part of life, the human struggle, especially for those who live as much in the flesh as I do.  I want harmony - I long for it.  Who doesn't?  But I always want to bypass the 'order' part.  And I don't think you can have one without the other (neither did George).  The funny thing, even for those as scattered as I am, we equally crave order, though we may not acknowledge it.  I believe even those who buck at the system and balk at authority and rules secretly crave orderliness.  I think God created us to desire order - it mirrors how He created the world; everything in its own place, its own time. All the pieces converging together in a symphony; one that can sound discordant to we who can only see so few things at once and think all it is is all we see and it's all chaos, random.  But if we could see the whole score, as God does, we would know how beautiful - how purposeful - it truly is, every minutiae, all there, all on purpose, to create his perfect composition.  Harmony.  

Why?  Because He loves us.  Because there's blessing in it.  He wants good things for us, and has already planned them ("For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future."  Jeremiah 29:11).  I know this.  So why am I so captivated by the very things that withhold harmony from my life?

I found myself reflecting on all of the things above as I was - FINALLY!!! - reorganizing the kids' clothes, taking out what they'd outgrown and replacing them with the pieces I've been collecting the last few months to (hopefully) last us through the next season.  I've had stacks of new and old clothes piled high in my room for well over a month now, in disorderly heaps that taunted me every morning when I woke up and every night before I fell asleep, and even in-between, during the day, as I was downstairs doing anything but taking care of them.  Despite all that I'd collected, I'd been concerned about the lack of a few key items: comfortable play pants for Leila, a jacket and sweater for Luke, as well as a Halloween costume.  Previously, I had hurriedly tossed outgrown items in their closets, thinking I would put them away properly later, and tonight, "later" had arrived.  In digging these strewn things out of Leila's closet, I discovered no less than five pairs of pants/playclothes that we had been given last year that didn't fit her then (hence their being shoved to the back) but are perfect now (thank you, Mom!).  And while pulling out the clothes tote that my sweet friend Laura Ashley loaned us for Luke, I was surprised to find a perfectly sized sweater and an adorable giraffe costume!  (Thank you, Laura Ashley!)  And because I finally finished organizing and putting away all our clothes, my brain has been free to help me compose a blog entry; something I've been wanting to do for over two weeks now, but couldn't because I was so muddled with all the 'should-ing.'   

These are simple things, and (understandably) not incredibly earth-shattering to those who are reading.  But to me, it was a dear reminder - the fulfillment of a promise - that there is blessing in order.  It is the path to harmony.