My Blog

Finger foods

Thu, 18 Mar 2010 16:29:14 -0700

If you know me, you know that I am terrified of choking and have often sworn that Thomas would eat pureed foods until he was five. Okay, I was joking, sort of. But the book says finger foods start at eight months. So.....here we are.

He has eaten rice crackers (Baby Mum-mums - He loves them.) And Baby Puffs, basically like Cheerios, but guaranteed to melt in his mouth for paranoid moms like me. I have tried giving him little pieces of banana. But they are slippery and I keep giving him small pieces because I don’t want him to choke, which makes it very hard for him to get them to his mouth. So, today we tried broccoli. It went great. No choking. I think he may have actually gotten five or six pieces in his mouth during the time I ate my whole sandwich. Not a very fast process. Let the messiness begin!

A Psalm

Wed, 17 Mar 2010 16:20:10 -0700

I read this this morning and thought I’d share.

“My Amanda was one of the dreamiest, most tenderhearted toddlers you can imagine. I often stooped down to talk to her so I could look her right in those big blue-green eyes. Every time I squatted down to talk to her, she squatted down, too... and there we’d be. The gesture was so precious I always had to fight the urge to laugh. I dared not, because she was often very serious about those contemplative moments between the two of us.
Of his God, the psalmist wrote, “Your right hand sustains me; you stoop down to make me great” (Psalm 18:35 NIV). The Amplified Version says it this way: “Your gentleness and condescension have made me great.” I don’t think the Scripture applies to us in the modern world’s terms of greatness. I think it says of us, “You stoop down and make me significant.” Yes, indeed. And when the God of all the universe stoops down and a single child recognizes the tender condescension and bends her knee to stoop as well, the heart of God surges with unbridled emotion. And there they are. Just the two of them.”

John by: Beth Moore

Celebrate

Mon, 15 Mar 2010 16:07:00 -0700

Today was my friend, Debi’s, last radiation treatment for breast cancer. She is currently cancer free. As Christians we are commanded to mourn with those who mourn and rejoice with those who rejoice. And today was a day for rejoicing. As we drove to her last appointment, the sun was out, the cherry trees were in full blossom, it felt as though all of Portland was rejoicing with us. We had made plans for dinner out and flowers that evening. The nurses wished Debi well and said only Thomas had to return tomorrow so they could keep getting their baby fix.

We walked down that hallway a final time. We were met by a grown, but young man in a wheelchair moaning and weeping. He was in so much pain. It stopped us in our tracks. We didn’t know what to say - just looked at each other. Our smiles abruptly stopped. It was a stark reminder of what could have been. Cancer can mean death. It does mean death for so many. My heart was filled with sorrow for this man and at the same time filled with gratefulness for Debi. I don’t understand. Pain for some, healing for others. We live in a broken world.

Debi and I and many friends sat around the table that night. There were many smiles for Debi - much rejoicing. I looked around and wondered how many really understood what we were celebrating. Perhaps some. Some, I’m sure, have a cancer story of their own. Some, thankfully not. Sometimes it’s nice to be innocent. But I thought of the man in the wheelchair and the cancer stories in my family. And I squeezed my squirmy son a little tighter. Thank-you, God, for these precious days.

Chatting

Thu, 11 Mar 2010 15:58:38 -0800

Thomas has been very quiet, but he’s starting to make consonant sounds. Today I caught him jabbering away.