Oh Poo

This post is mainly written for my sweet and sassy friend Adrienne. She once confessed to me that she secretly (sorry Aige, I guess the secret is out) wished little mishaps and misadventures on me because she loves reading and/or hearing my over-dramatic and ridiculous recounts of them. 


So recently I was changing Lyric's diaper, a very poopie and fully loaded diaper, and it was just like any other changing--at first. Like any other changing because Lyric squirmed and half-rolled over as I attempted to clean and re-diaper him, as usual I had to put a toy right on his chest, forcing him to lay straight on his back to play with it. All went well...a diaper change success! Then something happened (and I don't say "something" because I am trying to build your curiosity, I honestly don't remember what exactly happened) I must have gotten a phone call or had to answer the door or sign for a delivery....something that required me to quickly wrap up the dirty diaper, abandon it, throw up the baby gate, and walk away briefly. After what could have only been 30 seconds, I walked back over to Lyric and saw him sitting up and so alert, cutely playing with a toy with all his concentration. At first I couldn't see what toy Lyric was playing with because of an ottoman thingy that was just barely disrupting my line of vision. Then, as I walked up close to Lyric and the presumed "toy," I was horrified. Lyric had unwrapped the dirty diaper (ok, yes..I know, at this point you think I am both a disgusting individual for leaving a dirty diaper on my floor and a horrible mom for leaving the diaper not only on the floor, but within reach of a child....try to push past those feelings), not only had he opened it, but he had discovered his very own homemade creation....poop. At this point he had two fistfuls of poop that he was watching himself squeeze and mold like play-dough. Oh and I should mention that our dog Max was totally in on the action, but he was much more concerned about the diaper full of free...food. Thank you God, Lyric had not thought to taste his new play thing. I rushed over and picked Lyric up carrying him outward and trying to hold his hands away from his mouth. Immediately went to the sink to wash the poop out and off of his hands. I hesitated...what would be worse? Switching venues thus delaying Lyric's hygienic needs for a moment and going to a bathtub or at least a bathroom sink to rinse away poop...or to take care of this where I am, the kitchen...a place where food is prepared and cooked but allowing me to clean my son as quickly as possible??? I choose the second, and found that washing the hands of a 7 month old who doesn't want them washed is near impossible. I must have washed his hands 20 times before I got all the poop out of every crevasse. Then it was my turn. And then back to the carpet and the dog.

We recovered and none of us got worms from our poop interaction, which...now that I think about it, is probably a miracle of sorts. So... I will leave you with this sentiment. No matter what comes up, no matter what distractions, no matter what emergency, always ALWAYS throw the dirty diapers away first.

green under all this gray

I find myself hesitating to use gardening as an analogy or metaphor in this blog, hasn't it been done enough? But I absolutely cannot hold my compulsion to rejoice out of pure desperation for spring. Warm days have come and gone and since been forgotten with no notion of spring in my mind. But this weekend I made amateur attempts to garden in warm weather. Our flower bed was completely covered with ugly browns and grays (usually my favorite colors in clothing, but not so much for nature) I found myself thirsty for more green with each new leaf and bloom that appeared.

This year, I needed spring. No, you don't understand...I needed spring. I needed to see the life and hope and newness of the green after a long desolate winter. I needed to see that He can and does make all things new. I need to see that for every winter comes a spring. Each of those winters with its unique snow flakes and blizzards and each spring with its new surprises and colors and smells. I could cry just thinking about the promises of spring. With every pile of dead winter plant carcasses I pulled out of our garden, I could breathe a little more. I experienced more freedom with each fist full of muck that disappeared.

Thank you for spring! I can dance again. Healing is in your hands.

Tattoo Taboo?

Recently there has been some talk of tattoos around us, friends getting them, parents asking about them, and brides covering them up. It made me realize, I haven't really shared my tattoo story with many people.

Things this blog post is not:
1. a tactic to encourage or divert anyone from or for tattoos
2. a way for me to show off, although I do love my tattoo, its about my story
3. making a statement about others choices or motives for getting inked


 Right before Lyric was born I was looking for his life verse, and I wanted it to have a music reference in it. I wanted this reference, not because we love music in our family, but because I wanted Lyric to have the biblical and spiritual connection for the name we chose for him. When we were picking names, and we came upon Lyric, I personally loved it so much because I feel like life is a song of sorts and having Lyric was like putting words to our song as a family.

 In July, four weeks after Lyric was born, he was diagnosed with Pyloric Stenosis and had to have a minor surgery (you can read a past post about what exactly happened). During that time I clung to the verse Psalm 28:7 as my utter comfort and promise. Ironically, I had nearly forgotten that this was Lyric's life verse, I just knew that the truth within this particular verse was such a source of encouragement and strength when I felt that I had neither of my own. The verse says "The Lord is my strength and my shield; in him my heart trusts, and I am helped; my heart exults, and with my song I give thanks to him." Being a parent and feeling like this baby's life was completely in your hands, and then suddenly being completely and totally out of control and unable to prevent and protect your child shakes you to the core. I would never have wanted to go through this, to be with our teeny tiny baby in the hospital, but I would never trade it.  The Lord was so near and so strong. The way Austin tells the story of the day is almost humorous to me. I was unusually composed and unemotional, and Austin was (while still composed) definitely emotional. If only he had known at the time that I was repeating this one verse in my head over and over and over like a crazy person. (Oh and no worries, I don't have a heart of stone, after we left the hospital with Lyric I completely lost it).

Psalm 28:7 was brought to life because of Lyric's surgery, but it was it's content which was completely glued to my heart and mind. The Lord is my strength, yes absolutely true. The Lord is my shield, definitely had experienced that protection. In him my heart trusts, God had not been taken by surprise--even though I had. My heart exults, yes yes...he is worthy of rejoicing even when I'm scared, alone, drained, hurting, and exhausted. With my song I give thanks to him, both with my literal song and the song of our life and family.

So now you know the back story. The actual sentimental and personal reason why I was compelled to get a tattoo. I should also note that I already knew that I liked tattoos (since marrying a super hot guy with one himself), and I knew that when/if I had something meaningful enough for a lifetime, I would get a tattoo myself. For me, my tattoo is not art (even though I think it's pretty), it's not self expression (I mean kinda is...you can't totally avoid that when you permanently mark yourself), it's not an attention grabber by intention, it's my Ebenezer.

In 1 Samuel, God comes to the aid of the Israelites when they were in battle. Ebenezer means "stone of help" which was set up by Samuel in remembrance of the help God had brought them. (To get the full story, read 1 Samuel 7)

My tattoo is my ebenezer, a mark to remember what God is, was, and will continue to be.



And for the logistical side of things: I waited until I was out of my parents house and no longer under their authority (they were not big fans of the idea), I waited until I was married (my body isn't just mine, it is also my husbands, so I didn't want to do something permanent until I knew that the man I would marry would love it), and I waited until and only tattooed after I was sure that this was something that I would never regret.

Ok...now you have the full story.

Paige Newton Photography

Why blog?

So... previous to my last post I decided that I would be writing much more frequently in order to "exercise" my writing "muscle" so as to improve, to share the beauty and heartache of this life on earth with others, and, frankly, to bulk up my blog traffic.  And yet, here I am arriving "home" from an unexpected sabbatical....but that is another blog for another day.

So lately, I've been thinking of a...well I guess a mission statement of sorts for why I should blog. Why is it to important to broadcast my thoughts on the world wide web? What I came up with so far is that as my life continues to develop and grow and change, I learn more about myself and more about God and how the two collide and what that even looks like. I guess, I keep discovering that there are so many things in life that are kept quiet, some good and some more like secret land-mines. But how can we stay so quiet if God uses those things in such pivotal ways in our lives? No one can really warn you or prepare you for all of life's lessons...but shouldn't we rejoice together? Shouldn't we rejoice through the pain and heartache as well as through the marriage vows and first steps and all the goodness? We don't have to spill all the gory details of our happenstances, but shouldn't we share how the cross changes everything about them?

Well shoot, that ended up being a chunk of rhetorical questions instead of a concise "mission statement"...but hey it made the point...I think.