The other day we slathered (real word?) on the sunblock and went for a picnic at the park. It was Carson’s first time there to try out some of the play equipment, rather than just sit in the stroller for a walk. He seemed to like it pretty well, even though all he could really do was sit there. A little girl came down this slide next to him and they chatted to each other in gibberish for a bit…pretty cute.
A while back, I came across a template for a poem that was really cool. It took me a while to find bits of time to work on it, but here it is. I’ll probably think of a ton of things to add and change, but here is my first draft. It may be obvious, but this is dedicated to where I came from: Mom, Dad and Mike. If you read this without getting a little choked up, then I recant it all–I must not be related to you.
Where I Came From–Jennifer Bunch Tompkins
I am from Douglas firs and Super Mario Brothers. I’m from Psalty, Five Mile Creek and Ramona Quimby.
I am from the fourth house on the left, the cul-de-sac, from rooms kept cool in the summer by fans and closed blinds. I am from a true wood-burning fireplace.
I am from the roses and hydrangeas, from Veda, Trillium and Mirror.
I am from year-by-year collages in the hallway and toothbrushes in the kitchen; from Carters and Mulkeys and Helphensteins.
I am from quick to laugh and easy to cry, smart and smart-aleck; from photographs as a second religion. From hanging on and letting go. I’m from “obnoxiously functional.”
I am from road trips and hiking trips and “we’ll take as many breaks as you want but we’re not carrying you.” I’m from “TV coins” in the jar for every hour I’ve read.
I am from Winkie and Jesus, Sunday school and VBS; from faith as a lifestyle, not just a label. From Turner and WiNeMa and PCCofHIU. I’m from education as a value and an honor, not an obligation.
I’m from the incomparable Pacific Northwest and Southern California perfection; from Minestrone soup and home-made caramel corn. I’m from McDonald’s as a treat, not a routine.
I’m from a plastic cup flushed down the toilet, a moon drawn on the bathroom door and a knee injury in racquetball. I’m from tole-painting and hand-sewn dresses, from chocolate pudding as finger paint. I’m from Q-tips as a daily delight!
I am from scrapbooks, from nostalgia and movies. I am from expressive and unconditional love, and vocal pride and unhesitating forgiveness. I’m from a place that shapes my history and my future. How could I ask for more?
You know, all of the child psychologists and baby books tell you not to bother comparing your child to other children. It will lead to unnecessary disappointment or unrealistic confidence. However, I couldn’t help but post this recent picture of Carson, which reminded me of a recent picture posted by my BFF’s the P-jaks. Now, I know Elliott has been reading “Seven Seasons of the Man in the Mirror,” but as you can see, Carson is really working on restoring his spiritual passion, and he’s only 8 months old. (Not to mention the PD Life in the background. Please ignore Bridget Jones.) Maybe our godly young men will someday attend Corban college together. You know, now that they took “Baptist” out of the name. I KID!
Several years ago, my mom told me about something she read. It said that one should try to find small delights everyday…things that make you smile. The author called them TJ’s: Tiny Joys. So, since then, she and I have often shared with each other a “TJ” that we had experienced. (Sidebar: this acronym was truly challenged for me last year when I had a student named TJ who embodied the negative aspects of Dennis the Menace, Sid fom Toy Story, and Willie AND Nellie Olsen from “Little House On the Prairie.” I kid you not.) Since having Carson, he gives us so many TJ’s everyday that it’s impossible to even count. My favorite today was when he sat next to me on the couch chattering away happily to himself with all kinds of chitchat and playing with the newspaper. You don’t realize what a wonderful thing this is! He was PLAYING with the paper, not trying to EAT the paper. Moments like this so far outweigh the TF’s (tiny frustrations) and MF’s (major frustrations) it’s not even close. Here’s some recent pictures of the boy on the go. Couldn’t love him more.
Water is an interesting element, and it is so fun to watch a little (almost) 8 month old comprehend its characteristics. What is this getting in my face when I slap my hands vigorously up and down? Why can’t I grab that long stream they keep putting right in front of me? But the biggest question is….why do I have to put my clothes back on?
This Auntie is our shoe queen–she likes to supply Carson with all the latest adorable and trendy shoes. I love it! I find I have the most trouble with Little C’s socks. His entire outfit for the day is determined by which sock I can find that a)has a matching partner and b)doesn’t look like an anklet or c)doesn’t come off in five minutes. If I ever start a baby line of clothes, the first thing I will make is some good socks!
If that title doesn’t get you to read this post, I don’t know what would. I was SO excited about how many people commented on my dog conspiracy theory. I truly didn’t know that many people check up on me every once in a while. I love you guys! Then I started getting sentimental and thinking of songs (as I do when I get sentimental) and thought of several, including “What a wonderful world” I think it’s called. You know, someone sings a boring version of it on American Idol each year. “I see trees of green, red roses too, yada, yada….” Then I realized, I don’t really know the title of the song. Obviously, I don’t really know the lyrics. I don’t really know who sings it. I thought it was a cute, rotund, older black guy. Armstrong? Louie Armstrong? Which reminded me of Lance Armstrong or some other Louie who is a rotund WHITE guy who doesn’t sing but does off-colored comedy. (And something about a cartoon version?) Perhaps I should have called this post “Stream of consciousness.” Anyway, back to the black singer guy: is he the same one who plays trumpet and puffs his cheeks WAY out? I only remember him because he had a cameo on The Cosby Show one time. All this to say: I love you guys! Oh, and because we still don’t have the camera in our posession to post pics of Carson, here is an older pic because no one should go long without looking at my cute baby.
First of all, good news: the camera has been found. FYOOSH.
Seconldy, a very wise man is coming to our church this weekend to talk about the fallacies of the DaVinci Code. Trent and I decided we would both read the book before that message so we could comment on it with some authority. I’m about halfway through and I just got to the part that I think is most objectionable to Christians and Catholics: Jesus was not the Son of God, just a nice guy who had a child with Mary Mag, the Bible is just some stories put together by the church to cover this up, etc. It made my toes curl and my jaw was set pretty tight…it seemed to go on and on and on. But as a Christian, it is obvious to me that this is fiction. I can see why there would be problems if this was “taught” or pronounced as truth. To be honest, I haven’t been that impressed with the book from a literary aspect anyway. I’ve found myself getting a little bored at times. In my opinion the author has an overly loquacious way of describing every little symbol and room and piece of furniture. I skip ahead half a page and nothing’s happened in the plot. I’m interested to hear what Dr. Lawson says about it.
But onto more trivial conspiracy theories, I am convinced that dogs send a telepathic message to each other to warn them about people who don’t like dogs–ie: me.* We just got new neighbors and they have a dog who likes to bark when I have had no sleep and can finally take a 30 minute nap. Grrrr. My camping friends can testify to the time a stray dog came to our fire on the beach, and out of several blankets, coats and chairs to choose from, this dog peed directly on MY sweatshirt. I think they are all in cahoots.
*Disclaimer: I almost always love dogs that belong to people that I love, ie: Lilly, Sunny, Maddie, Riley, Molly. (Do all dogs end with the “ee” vowel?)
I have two things to say. First, I am FREAKING out because I can’t find my camera. It has been almost a week and I haven’t taken any pictures of Carson and he is starting to crawl! We’re going to have to break into the savings account if it is lost, because I can’t really function without my digital camera.
Secondly, and back to the topic here, I realized this morning as I was requesting a $40 fill-up at the gas station that I have (and I think you all have) different “voices” used for different purposes in life. There’s my Gas Station voice: “Hi-ee! Could you fill it up with regular unleaded please?” in a high-pitched smiley way like I’m Rebecca from Sunnybrook Farm or something. This is similar to my Work Phone voice. Then there’s my Cathing Up With Old Friends voice, which is sassy, lower pitched, and super fast, with a lot of “ifyaknowwhatImean’s” thrown in for humor. (Secondwind, I’m thinking of you here.) Then there is my Worship Leader voice, which I try to be slower, more thoughtful, normal pitched and contemplative. (I know that’s reduntant with thoughtful, but that’s the general feel I can recall as I look back on my stage voice.) I also have a Carson voice, which, contrary to some baby-talk, does not substitute w’s for r’s or l’s. (ie: goodness gwacious my sweet wittle baby). It’s just kind of high, very repetetive and pretty much is a string of questions I know he won’t answer. “Is that a bird? Do you see the bird? What’s the bird doing? Do you see the bird?” etc. When I was in the classroom, I had a Teacher voice. It was (I like to think) firm and LOUD with eyebrows frequently raised. I’m sure there’s more. So, do share…what “voices” do you have?
We had a good Easter. It was a very busy weekend for me at church, but I always enjoy this day because it is such a celebration. This year was fun especially b/c we got to dress Carson in cutsey dress clothes. Thanks so Auntie Tara for the tie and suspenders outfit. Obviously, we waited a little too long…it was a little small, and he didn’t keep the shoes on long, but he was a big hit at church.