Category: being a friend

Blankey

I love the way she loves on her blanket; kneading at him, stroking the soft satin beside her face as she rubs her eyes.

It happens the same every time, a little rocking for a minute or two, a kiss on the forehead, laying her down, her turning to the left as she rubs her eyes and loves on that blanket.

Sometimes she reaches her hand out for me to pet her head a little, beckoning me to help her settle in for a few minutes. And when she’s done with the petting, after only a short time, she turns to the left, rubbing her face into her dear friend’s soft love.

She wasn’t always a blanket baby. Blankey came in after he came.

She had figured out how to put herself to sleep. And sleep hard. For seven to eight hours straight hard.

And then the phonecall. And then the addition of our little crier.

He’s gotten better now. He’s sleeping four hour chunks now.

And then she got worse.

Conditioned to wake up. Conditioned to need more. Conditioned to be overly tired.

And then came blankey. He was added in at first when snuggling Mommy. He had been a nice addition to the top of the diaper bag. You never know when the wind will pick up and you’ll need a shield. Or a room will be a bit too cold for Ms. “Running Cold” baby girl.

But he took on new meaning. Joining us during mealtimes. Snuggling in amidst the comfort. And then he joined in at play time. Peek-a-boo was so fun! And he started to taste good.

Then came his normalcy at night time. Until we find ourselves today with our beloved friend.

And while there are still many times of unworking the effects of her adjustment to Little Man’s sleep interruptions, blankey has become a constant. An expected. And a friend amidst the nightly changes and adjustments.

And I love the way she loves on him. Snuggling into her dear friend.

And I am thankful… so thankful.

She loves him.

And I love my little Linus.

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P.S. Don’t be worried, she has her pacifier in and plenty of air circulation in there. I check. 😉

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Screentime

I can’t tell you how many conversations have been interrupted by emails and text messages on someone’s web-accessed phone. It’s that awkward moment of wondering when they’ll come back and wondering why your live interaction was not a priority over suspendable communications.

 

It’s that little hurt of not being important enough, even though you made the time to make them important enough.

 

Sometimes I miss the instant communication I think I could have with text messaging, but then I remember those moments and am happy it’s out of our price range on our phone plan.

 

This is an add for a particular day this past October when we were to “disconnect and enjoy”. But I think this message applies every day that we have iPads, iPhones, blackberries, texting phones, and computers. The computer’s my balance challenge so I’m not out of the loop here.

But I’ve never found putting an electronic on hold to delight in the reality of now to ever be disappointing.

 

Life’s happening out there… and we’re missing it in exchange for screentime.

 

4

When the Answer is ‘No’

I’m not even sure where to start these swirling thoughts. It’s a lot to still take in.

I got a phone call a few months ago and we all celebrated quietly. We didn’t want to the news to slip out, but we were joyful at the life conceived after a hard run.

My dear sister in law had already lost three, two in a row and the most recent’s surgery still fresh on our minds. And then the news came. And we rejoiced quietly, so as not to announce anything before passing that first trimester window.

Things were trucking along, with understandable conversations of laying anxiety at Christ’s feet. For those of you whom have ever miscarried, you know that passing the last miscarriage date feels more secure… it’s like a deep breath can happen more freely.

And with the close of the first trimester, we were excited to see our prayers being answered favorably. Thanks be to the Giver of life who knits our very fragile selves together in the dark, quiet comforts of our Moms.

Then all at once she felt something was wrong. She told me of the multiple attempts from nurses and even the doctor to find little one’s heartbeat. I remembered that drop in the pit of my stomach when the same thing happened to me. She knew the baby was gone.

With another surgery scheduled, the healing phase begins again. Only this time with the hurt of having more children in heaven than here. We’re left with the ‘why’s to lay at His feet. And why four? The hurts. And the questions that we fight to keep from eating away at our sanity. Faith  is not shaken, but hurt is inevitable. Loss. The grief season.

So what are you supposed to do when the answer is ‘no’?

Again.

You hug each other
and hold each other
you come over to distract
and bring dinner
You pass off the baby when she needs snuggle therapy
And keep the baby quiet when she needs to forget
You listen
and listen
and listen some more

You hurt with her hurts
And cry with her crying
And you laugh with her laughs
because life still has joy
You go for walks
and drives
and celebrate what He has given her
with an arm around her at what has been taken away

And you both stand in the hope of Christ
a Hope that heals the soul

a Hope that breathes peace into the mind
and calm into the depths of the pain

a Hope that offers Life
when death seems to surround us

He is that Hope
and that Perfect friend

And so you just pray Him over her

because He is everything she could ever need…

… to heal.

… and to thrive through this storm.

– Love her so.

– to God be the glory. Forever. And Ever.

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