This morning when Penélope and I were having our little worship time (we listen to worship music and sing and dance along). Today Penélope thought I should have a dancing partner. She handed me a tiny felt chicken, that goes with her felt farm. It's less than an inch long. Her partner was a little felt cow.
With the tips of my fingers I clasped the chicken's beak and feet and Penélope held on to the cow's hooves and we danced and danced. A little later she let go of the cow and raised her hand and exclaimed over and over again, "sesse BOM!!, sesses BOM!!!" (Jesus is good!!! Bom is Portuguese for good).
I'll dance with a little chicken any day.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
I've been tagged...
This past Monday I was delighted to discover that I had been tagged by my Aunt Linda! I guess that means that I say 10 things about me that you may not know then tag 10 of my friends. So here it goes:
1. I have two kids, a boy and a girl who I adore.
2. Besides being a mom I am a working actress.
3. I've been skydiving.
Wait a minute....that's someone else.
1. I don't like bananas.
2. In high school I told a new student that my name was actually, Luca, but because I was so embarrassed by it I called myself, Michelle. I made her promise never to tell anyone. I assumed she knew I was joking. Several months later, we were on the beach and I spelled my name in the sand. She asked me why I didn't write my actual name, Luca, since no one else we knew was around. After convincing her that my name was NOT, Luca, she was gracious enough not to be upset with me for my silly joke and was actually relieved since all the while she had been feeling badly for telling her parents my "real'' name! Needless to say I was the one that felt really bad and really stupid.
3. I spent one week trekking in the Himalayas in the country of Nepal.
4. I don't watch scary movies.
5. I dislike amusement parks because I get horribly frightened.
6. Two things that can make me growl: brushing my hair and opening jars. I'm afraid my husband could come up with several other ones. But it's fun to pretend that I only have two. I find that it paints a better picture of me, one that I enjoy looking at.
7. I love U2.
8. As a teenager, I had a short-lived music career in Brasil in my parents band: My first song hit #1 on the Christian music charts in a couple big cities. I was asked to record with another artist which eventually lead to performing on national TV. The biggest audience I ever performed for was 20,000 people. That sounds kind of cool and it was. But most of the "career" involved traveling (often getting very lost) to little towns around Brasil carrying equipments to and fro the bus, playing on top of flatbed trucks on a street corner, singing with a smile on my face while large insects flew up my skirt and then trying to make it look like I was doing some awkward dance moves, having drunks yell at us while we played and on and on I could go....
9. I love listening to National Public Radio.
10. As a teenager I thought about music so much and sometimes I slept under our baby grand piano.
Now I tag, Rosie, Kristi, Janet, Ana Carolina, Vivian, Susie, Luca, Melvin, Burt and Ernie (some I made up).
1. I have two kids, a boy and a girl who I adore.
2. Besides being a mom I am a working actress.
3. I've been skydiving.
Wait a minute....that's someone else.
1. I don't like bananas.
2. In high school I told a new student that my name was actually, Luca, but because I was so embarrassed by it I called myself, Michelle. I made her promise never to tell anyone. I assumed she knew I was joking. Several months later, we were on the beach and I spelled my name in the sand. She asked me why I didn't write my actual name, Luca, since no one else we knew was around. After convincing her that my name was NOT, Luca, she was gracious enough not to be upset with me for my silly joke and was actually relieved since all the while she had been feeling badly for telling her parents my "real'' name! Needless to say I was the one that felt really bad and really stupid.
3. I spent one week trekking in the Himalayas in the country of Nepal.
4. I don't watch scary movies.
5. I dislike amusement parks because I get horribly frightened.
6. Two things that can make me growl: brushing my hair and opening jars. I'm afraid my husband could come up with several other ones. But it's fun to pretend that I only have two. I find that it paints a better picture of me, one that I enjoy looking at.
7. I love U2.
8. As a teenager, I had a short-lived music career in Brasil in my parents band: My first song hit #1 on the Christian music charts in a couple big cities. I was asked to record with another artist which eventually lead to performing on national TV. The biggest audience I ever performed for was 20,000 people. That sounds kind of cool and it was. But most of the "career" involved traveling (often getting very lost) to little towns around Brasil carrying equipments to and fro the bus, playing on top of flatbed trucks on a street corner, singing with a smile on my face while large insects flew up my skirt and then trying to make it look like I was doing some awkward dance moves, having drunks yell at us while we played and on and on I could go....
9. I love listening to National Public Radio.
10. As a teenager I thought about music so much and sometimes I slept under our baby grand piano.
Now I tag, Rosie, Kristi, Janet, Ana Carolina, Vivian, Susie, Luca, Melvin, Burt and Ernie (some I made up).
Monday, March 24, 2008
I Have A ''Flipping Channels'' Issue
I was flipping the channels like it was my last day with my proverbial remote, when I heard the song of a bird outside. It was around 10:30am this morning and I was still pathetically dressed in my PJ's. Normally, I would have acknowledged that to be a pretty sound and gone back to flipping channels. Today was different. I wanted to experience the beauty for a bit longer. So I opened the heavy sliding glass door to my porch, hugged its frame and rested my head on it. My body became still as I listened. I felt my skin becoming cold from the early spring breeze, but I didn't mind. Within 3 or 4 seconds I realized that there were several beautiful spring songs being sung.
You see, a few days past I discovered that I have a "flipping channels" issue. It hit me when I listened to a conversation between Krista Tippett from "Speaking of Faith" on NPR and Jean Vanier, Canadian philosopher and founder of the L'Arche communities for mentally disabled people. He is now 89 and has spent his life devoted to the outcasts of society. I first heard about him through reading Henri Nowen's In the Name Of Jesus (a must read). The entire conversation they had is worth listening to, but the point that found a home in my heart was when he said, "the big thing for me is to love reality, and not live in the imagination [of] 'what could have been,' 'what should have been,' 'and what can be.' [But] to love reality and then discover that God is present...to be a friend of Jesus."
I often feel like I live in the imagination of "when my daughter will be sleeping better through the night," or "when I lose the pregnancy weight" or "when that project is done" etc, then I will feel fill-in-the-blank or do fill-in-the-blank or be better at fill-in-the-blank. What happens then, is when the wonderful is being lived I don't stop to notice it, it's like I never even experience it. It reminds me of watching TV with someone who just can't stop flipping the channels like they have a nervous twitch or something. It's scientifically impossible to discover if there is anything good or bad on.
The ''flipping'' issue began to dawn on me the other day. Christopher and I were driving home from somewhere at night and the full moon was out. It was hugely round, overwhelmingly so and still low in the sky. It made my chest fill with marvel. Yet, because we were driving I could only get second-long glances at it between the trees and the skyscrapers. Yet here was a gloriously beautiful reality right in front of me that I didn't have to pay to see, it was without pretense or demand, it was just there, naked for me to see. But it did require me to stop. Stop. We didn't, we just flipped right by it.
It's hard for me to stop sometimes, whether it's in midst of beautiful reality or ugly reality. It's rarely convenient. Often times, it's just plain painful. How can I love reality if reality happens to suck, quite frankly, today or over the past couple of years? Maybe, it's only when we stop flipping the channels that we can finally see that Jesus is there, even in the muck and pain. I don't know how to do this exactly. I wish I just knew how and didn't have to learn how. I don't always like to learn, because that implies that I'm going to make mistakes along the way. I don't like that.
Later on, after I heard the songs of the birds, my baby made the very opposite kind of sound: a tantrum. She didn't want to go down for her nap without being rocked. So she decided to throw an ugly fit that lasted about 10 minutes (which any mom out there knows that it's a solid hour's worth of emotional energy spent) until she laid down quietly and fell asleep instantaneously. Usually, I would quickly exit the room like I had some super power of disappearing at will. But today I decided to stay there at least for 10 minutes. I buried my lips into her milky soft cheek. I could smell a little spaghetti sauce that didn't get wiped up after lunch. I put my cheek against her nose to feel her warm breath on my skin. I laid my head on her chest. I felt it move up and down to the rhythm of her breathing. I could hear her heartbeat, steady and strong. That used to be the only sound I could hear her make when she was still in my womb and only at the midwife's office... It still sounded just as beautiful. I realized Jesus was there, too. The 10 minutes flew right by...
You see, a few days past I discovered that I have a "flipping channels" issue. It hit me when I listened to a conversation between Krista Tippett from "Speaking of Faith" on NPR and Jean Vanier, Canadian philosopher and founder of the L'Arche communities for mentally disabled people. He is now 89 and has spent his life devoted to the outcasts of society. I first heard about him through reading Henri Nowen's In the Name Of Jesus (a must read). The entire conversation they had is worth listening to, but the point that found a home in my heart was when he said, "the big thing for me is to love reality, and not live in the imagination [of] 'what could have been,' 'what should have been,' 'and what can be.' [But] to love reality and then discover that God is present...to be a friend of Jesus."
I often feel like I live in the imagination of "when my daughter will be sleeping better through the night," or "when I lose the pregnancy weight" or "when that project is done" etc, then I will feel fill-in-the-blank or do fill-in-the-blank or be better at fill-in-the-blank. What happens then, is when the wonderful is being lived I don't stop to notice it, it's like I never even experience it. It reminds me of watching TV with someone who just can't stop flipping the channels like they have a nervous twitch or something. It's scientifically impossible to discover if there is anything good or bad on.
The ''flipping'' issue began to dawn on me the other day. Christopher and I were driving home from somewhere at night and the full moon was out. It was hugely round, overwhelmingly so and still low in the sky. It made my chest fill with marvel. Yet, because we were driving I could only get second-long glances at it between the trees and the skyscrapers. Yet here was a gloriously beautiful reality right in front of me that I didn't have to pay to see, it was without pretense or demand, it was just there, naked for me to see. But it did require me to stop. Stop. We didn't, we just flipped right by it.
It's hard for me to stop sometimes, whether it's in midst of beautiful reality or ugly reality. It's rarely convenient. Often times, it's just plain painful. How can I love reality if reality happens to suck, quite frankly, today or over the past couple of years? Maybe, it's only when we stop flipping the channels that we can finally see that Jesus is there, even in the muck and pain. I don't know how to do this exactly. I wish I just knew how and didn't have to learn how. I don't always like to learn, because that implies that I'm going to make mistakes along the way. I don't like that.
Later on, after I heard the songs of the birds, my baby made the very opposite kind of sound: a tantrum. She didn't want to go down for her nap without being rocked. So she decided to throw an ugly fit that lasted about 10 minutes (which any mom out there knows that it's a solid hour's worth of emotional energy spent) until she laid down quietly and fell asleep instantaneously. Usually, I would quickly exit the room like I had some super power of disappearing at will. But today I decided to stay there at least for 10 minutes. I buried my lips into her milky soft cheek. I could smell a little spaghetti sauce that didn't get wiped up after lunch. I put my cheek against her nose to feel her warm breath on my skin. I laid my head on her chest. I felt it move up and down to the rhythm of her breathing. I could hear her heartbeat, steady and strong. That used to be the only sound I could hear her make when she was still in my womb and only at the midwife's office... It still sounded just as beautiful. I realized Jesus was there, too. The 10 minutes flew right by...
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Where It Rains in December
It rains in December where I come from. Not the kind of rain that makes your eyes sad, but the kind that drips warm water on your head. As a kid I remember loving the feeling of warm wet sidewalks on my bare feet, then walking my feet on the grass, thin but wide blades of grass.
I felt that rain last night. My little sister called me from home, Brasil. She played me a beautiful song by a artist named, Vanessa da Mata. As the melody streamed across the oceans and peered out from my laptop, I felt as though it played a whole reel of old movies through my soul. It came into my chest and out my back. In those few moments I could taste the salty sea on my sun kissed lips. My nose could smell the fried snacks of coxinhas and pasteis in the hot air mixed with cigarette smoke. I could hear the music blaring from the cheap speakers along the store fronts and in the background I could hear the sad song played loudly from the gas truck announcing to the neighborhood that if you needed a new propane tank for your stove you better rush to the door. I never understood why the song had to be sad. And Portuguese being spoken all around me, I could hear it, it sounds more like a song. In the background, Vanessa was still singing the beautiful melody, her voice so soft and full of longing... Brazilian music is happy, nostalgic and full of sorrow all at once. I could still feel the December rain falling all around me...
It's a strange thing, really, not only to live far from home but far from family. I just put my Penelope down for the night. I wonder for a moment if she will know what rain in December feels like on her face...I remember that I cradled my little sister many a times in my arms. It's strange to think that you can spend every waking minute with your parents and siblings because you have no choice, then as adults hardly ever see them. My sisters still haven't met my baby. How could this be? All of my formative years were shared with my sisters and brother, yet somehow this part of my life cannot be adequately shared. My baby still has no idea what her aunties' kisses feel like on her cheek and how I just know they would know how to make her giggle...
Vanessa stopped singing and just like that the rain in December stopped. My eyes, though, still had big raindrops on them...
I felt that rain last night. My little sister called me from home, Brasil. She played me a beautiful song by a artist named, Vanessa da Mata. As the melody streamed across the oceans and peered out from my laptop, I felt as though it played a whole reel of old movies through my soul. It came into my chest and out my back. In those few moments I could taste the salty sea on my sun kissed lips. My nose could smell the fried snacks of coxinhas and pasteis in the hot air mixed with cigarette smoke. I could hear the music blaring from the cheap speakers along the store fronts and in the background I could hear the sad song played loudly from the gas truck announcing to the neighborhood that if you needed a new propane tank for your stove you better rush to the door. I never understood why the song had to be sad. And Portuguese being spoken all around me, I could hear it, it sounds more like a song. In the background, Vanessa was still singing the beautiful melody, her voice so soft and full of longing... Brazilian music is happy, nostalgic and full of sorrow all at once. I could still feel the December rain falling all around me...
It's a strange thing, really, not only to live far from home but far from family. I just put my Penelope down for the night. I wonder for a moment if she will know what rain in December feels like on her face...I remember that I cradled my little sister many a times in my arms. It's strange to think that you can spend every waking minute with your parents and siblings because you have no choice, then as adults hardly ever see them. My sisters still haven't met my baby. How could this be? All of my formative years were shared with my sisters and brother, yet somehow this part of my life cannot be adequately shared. My baby still has no idea what her aunties' kisses feel like on her cheek and how I just know they would know how to make her giggle...
Vanessa stopped singing and just like that the rain in December stopped. My eyes, though, still had big raindrops on them...
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
All By Myself
I got a call out of the blue from my dear sister-in-law, Cari, suggesting that I take my little one over to her house to play with her little ones. But this is the best part: while the little ones were playing she said for me to go out, all by myself!
So like a good little submissive sister-in-law, I obeyed.
I stepped out into the cold with delight, all by myself. First stop, Caribou coffee. I felt this moment begged for a splurge, so I got a Mocha. Everything looks better, smells better, feels better when I have a warm fresh cup of coffee in my hand. Second spot: window shopping. This kind of shopping is the best, no money gets spent but the itch for shopping goes away. I looked at beautiful things for an entire hour while sipping my delectable coffee, all my myself.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Cari.
So like a good little submissive sister-in-law, I obeyed.
I stepped out into the cold with delight, all by myself. First stop, Caribou coffee. I felt this moment begged for a splurge, so I got a Mocha. Everything looks better, smells better, feels better when I have a warm fresh cup of coffee in my hand. Second spot: window shopping. This kind of shopping is the best, no money gets spent but the itch for shopping goes away. I looked at beautiful things for an entire hour while sipping my delectable coffee, all my myself.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, Cari.
Monday, March 3, 2008
He got rid of my lumps of clothes.
When Christopher and I got married I had a major goal to accomplish: to rid him of his "clothing chair." I had learned that as a single young man he had adopted a horrible tidy technique. He always kept a chair in his room devoted to clothes that had been worn, but were not in need of a good wash. Naturally, before long no chair could be seen, only an ugly pile of clothes.
As a good obsessive little wife, I told him that this was not acceptable once we were married. The first phase in this weaning process was that we would keep no extra chair in the room. And eventually, Little Miss Obsessive got her little way and the little ugly "clothing chair" was never to enter her little husband's life, and more importantly, her little obsessively organized home again.
Well, sort of....
8 1/2 years later...
When I was 9months pregnant I decided to paint my bedroom while my man was gone on a business trip. In the process of doing so, I managed to stuff so many things in the closet in addition to the many things that were already there. Of course the goal was always to reorganize the grand mess which I never did. (In fact, messes in general don't seem to go away.)
Instead, since then I've been developing and perfecting my own very well-thought out tidy technique. I call it, "clothing lumps." After a given set of clothes have outgrown their welcome on the floor near my bed and closet I lump them. What I do is, I make, cute little, OK, sometimes not-so-little lumps of clothes. The lumps can be comprised of one piece of clothing or a nice combination of several pieces. Once the lumps are formed I stuff and push them forcefully into my side of the closet. If I'm grumpy, I throw them in, to the soundtrack of my growling, huffing, puffing and complaining that I have no room, hoping they will land somewhere reachable.
Christopher was home alone for a couple of hours the other day while Penelope and I were out doing something, I don't know what. When I got home I noticed that all my lumps of clothes were gone--nowhere to be found! In fact, for my birthday he gave me a closet organizer, a phrase that I utter often while I'm putting my lumps of clothes away when I'm grumpy.
I ended up using the organizer in Penelope's room...but the plan is still not to have many more lumps of clothes until we get another organizer...I'm pretty sure Christopher has his fingers crossed.
As a good obsessive little wife, I told him that this was not acceptable once we were married. The first phase in this weaning process was that we would keep no extra chair in the room. And eventually, Little Miss Obsessive got her little way and the little ugly "clothing chair" was never to enter her little husband's life, and more importantly, her little obsessively organized home again.
Well, sort of....
8 1/2 years later...
When I was 9months pregnant I decided to paint my bedroom while my man was gone on a business trip. In the process of doing so, I managed to stuff so many things in the closet in addition to the many things that were already there. Of course the goal was always to reorganize the grand mess which I never did. (In fact, messes in general don't seem to go away.)
Instead, since then I've been developing and perfecting my own very well-thought out tidy technique. I call it, "clothing lumps." After a given set of clothes have outgrown their welcome on the floor near my bed and closet I lump them. What I do is, I make, cute little, OK, sometimes not-so-little lumps of clothes. The lumps can be comprised of one piece of clothing or a nice combination of several pieces. Once the lumps are formed I stuff and push them forcefully into my side of the closet. If I'm grumpy, I throw them in, to the soundtrack of my growling, huffing, puffing and complaining that I have no room, hoping they will land somewhere reachable.
Christopher was home alone for a couple of hours the other day while Penelope and I were out doing something, I don't know what. When I got home I noticed that all my lumps of clothes were gone--nowhere to be found! In fact, for my birthday he gave me a closet organizer, a phrase that I utter often while I'm putting my lumps of clothes away when I'm grumpy.
I ended up using the organizer in Penelope's room...but the plan is still not to have many more lumps of clothes until we get another organizer...I'm pretty sure Christopher has his fingers crossed.
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