Come, Emmanuel

Today is the first day of Advent, a season of expectant waiting and preparation in the weeks leading up to the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ. As we did last year, we will prepare our hearts during this season with the lighting of an Advent candle each week and a Jesse Tree study each day. May this time be a blessing to us all.

O come, O come, Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel

O come, Thou Rod of Jesse, free
Thine own from Satan's tyranny
From depths of Hell Thy people save
And give them victory o'er the grave
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel

O come, Thou Day-Spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death's dark shadows put to flight
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel

O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel

O come, O come, Thou Lord of might,
Who to Thy tribes, on Sinai's height,
In ancient times did'st give the Law,
In cloud, and majesty and awe
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel

Emmanuel, Jesus Christ, desire of every nation, Savior of all peoples, come and dwell among us.

Mmm

Today was a good day.

I spent the day in (clean!) pajamas.

The baby clothes are all washed and ready to go.

The boy and I painted some Christmas ornaments for the tree.

I'm pretty sure the baby is no longer posterior (for the moment, anyway).

A midnight shower with my husband is currently being followed by tea (for me) and apple cider (for him).

It was just...nice.

Children Learn What They Live

If a child lives with criticism,
he learns to condemn.

If a child lives with hostility,
he learns to fight.

If a child lives with fear,
he learns to be apprehensive.

If a child lives with pity,
he learns to feel sorry for himself.

If a child lives with ridicule,
he learns to be shy.

If a child lives with jealousy,
he learns to feel guilt.

BUT

If a child lives with tolerance,
he learns to be patient.

If a child lives with encouragement,
he learns to be confident.

If a child lives with praise,
he learns to be appreciative.

If a child lives with acceptance,
he learns to love.

If a child lives with honesty,
he learns what truth is.

If a child lives with fairness,
he learns justice.

If a child lives with security,
he learns to have faith in himself and those about him.

If a child lives with friendliness,
he learns the world is a nice place in which to live.

WITH WHAT IS YOUR CHILD LIVING?

Dorothy L. Law, 1959

Such a little thing

When we first moved into our new place, my least favourite thing about it was the kitchen. If you can call it a kitchen. More like a hallway lined with appliances and one itty-bitty square of counter space. I could live with pretty much everything else in the house, but that kitchen? I couldn't even begin to imagine how I could cook proper meals in there.

Funny how things work out. I never expected it, but having a small (small, ha! tiny!) kitchen has not only been bearable, but it's finally forced me to smarten up as far as cleaning that area of my home goes. The kitchen has always been my weak point. Yes, I'm one of those people who would shove all the dirty pots and pans into the oven before someone showed up at the door. The dishwasher tended to be slowly emptied through use rather than intention - and then filled back up and immediately turned on when those clean dishes ran out. I'd dig in and clean up when I could force myself to, but in no time it would be out of hand again. A bigger kitchen simply meant more room to stack dirty dishes, more time to procrastinate while the mess grew, more counter space to fill up before I ran out of room, more opportunity to feel overwhelmed by the mess and choose to put off cleaning it for "just one more night". I'd do it tomorrow. Really.

Now? I couldn't let the kitchen get to that state if I wanted to. There's just no room. It's either keep the kitchen tidy or not cook at all. It also did terrible things to my mental state in those early days of living here, waking up to a cluttered and messy kitchen and not being able to ignore it like I could in a bigger place. I was grumpy, I was frustrated, and of course it must be my husband's fault, since he chose a house with such a ridiculously small kitchen.

So I switched back to a habit I had tried (and failed) to develop several times in the past - spotless kitchen before bedtime, every night. This time, though, the habit stuck. And wow, does it ever make life easier. Who knew?

Cleaning food off a pot I used that evening takes a matter of seconds; scrubbing the same pot that has sat out for a few days involves much soaking and scrubbing (and is just plain more disgusting). Keeping up with the dishwasher means having an empty surface when I need it, rather than having to clean off a space before cooking dinner or baking cookies. Dealing with only one set of dishes and pots requires a few minutes of my evening; days' worth of dishes require an exponentially larger chunk of time to get on top of. And those few minutes in the evening mean I get to wake up to a clean kitchen every morning, which leaves me feeling far more calm and peaceful.

Sometimes I do it immediately after supper; sometimes I wait until the boy is asleep. But it's always done, every night. Dishes in the dishwasher, pots washed and put away, counters and tables washed. Common sense, I'm sure, for most people, but an entirely worthwhile new habit for me. The difference it makes is amazing.

I've actually grown quite fond of my little kitchen. Time to go fix myself some breakfast there - and thank my husband for choosing such a perfect home.

Wordless Wednesday: "Franklin!"

At least some things are consistent

I'm amazed at how different this pregnancy is from my first one. With my son, I was so sick and exhausted that I could barely function for the entire first trimester. If the shower was too warm, I got sick. If there was meat anywhere in sight, I got sick (my poor, poor meat-loving husband). If I could smell pretty much anything, I got sick. Basically, if I had to move, I got sick. I lived off of cucumbers and chocolate soy milk for a couple weeks because it was all I could stomach. Getting up and ready every morning took forever because I had to lay down every minute or two. I was so tired that I actually fell asleep at work while talking face-to-face with a client (mortifying much??). I had very specific food cravings (when I was able to eat) and even more food aversions. It pretty much sucked, in short.

The second trimester was great, and my husband especially appreciated the fact that I was suddenly very very interested in fulfilling my "wifely duties". So frequently, in fact, that he had to put a limit on it. Heh.

The third trimester was full of aching joints, waking up in the middle of the night unable to move, bad sciatic pain, endless heartburn, an insane amount of swelling, and a constant foot sticking itself up as high as it could in my ribs.

This time around, though, hardly anything is the same. I was quite tired and had some mild morning sickness off and on through the first trimester, but nothing at all like last time. The second trimester failed to bring the increase libido that my husband was so looking forward to. The third trimester was far less painful than last time. It's only been within the past couple of weeks, really, that I've got to the achy and uncomfortable point, but no swelling at all (my rings even still fit perfectly fine!), no foot in my ribs, and far less joint and sciatic pain.

The only things the same, other than an uncomplicated pregnancy? I was anemic, I'm GBS+, and the baby is posterior. Drats to all three of them. The first meant expensive iron supplements (Floradix), the second meant abx during labour (which I would have rather avoided), and the third meant ohmygoodness the awful awful back labour. I'm hoping to get this baby turned around before labour in order to avoid that again. Wish me luck. At least my floors will be spotless after all the scrubbing on my hands and knees, trying to turn the baby.

I'm very curious to see now whether this baby is a girl. The differences between the two pregnancies almost make me think it might be - but then again, lots of people have two children of the same gender and yet had very different pregnancies with each. Maybe it means nothing other than I'm pretty lucky this time around.

And hey, that's enough for me.

It's so frustrating when...

dinner takes four times as long to make as it does to eat.

And then you're left with a kitchen full of dirty pots on top of that.

Woe is me.

Ah well. At least the chicken pot pie was good (really good). As an added bonus, there are leftovers to eat later this week, one fully assembled pie in the freezer, and enough filling in the freezer to make a third pie. I'd say it was a productive evening in the kitchen, frustrations aside.

By the way, I reeeally suck at making pie crust. My SIL makes it look so incredibly easy. I have no such talent. Fortunately, my husband doesn't care what it looks like, he's just happy to get to eat it.

Speaking of, he's been really great lately as I near the end of this pregnancy. I'm big, I'm slow, I'm sore, I'm exhausted, and yes, I'm a bit more grumpy than I'd like to admit. He's helping wherever he can, trying his best to make me feel better, and taking care of the boy when I need a break. He's wonderful, and I really do need to remember to let him know more often just how much I appreciate him.

I guess the time and frustration spent making one of his favourite meals was worth it after all.