It Doesn't Get Better

Than this:

Midnight Writings

Littles is getting out his wiggles next to me while I drink my orange juice, and I thought I'd type up last night's journalling:

It's three in the morning, and I can't sleep for thinking about the goodness of our Lord. We get Little's last cast off today, and it has been a journey. As his little foot has been reshaped, both through gradual casting and the more dramatic (and, consequently, more painful) surgery, I think of the verse in Romans which calls us to not be conformed to the pattern of this world but to be transformed into the likeness of Christ. Just as Little's foot has been reshaped over the last three months, so have I been challenged and pushed into Christ's mold. And so, at the end of this beginning (we still have many months of braces and a lifetime of dealing with this foot), I want to declare the goodness and power of Christ Jesus in our lives.

Some may ask, "If God is so good and so powerful, why did he allow your little boy (who has never done anything wrong) to be born with a misshapen foot that can't do the job it was intended for?" But I see in this a bigger purpose. Scripture tells us that God knew us before we were even formed in the womb (Psalm 139), and I can only conclude that Littles was fearfully and wonderfully made. So I'm holding on to my belief that God knows every one of the Little Man's days and that He doesn't mess up! I hope that because of this foot, Littles learns gratitude for the good doctors and nurses who cared for him. I hope he learns gentleness towards those around him who are far worse off. And most of all, I hope his foot reminds him daily (hourly!) of his need for Christ, the Great Physician and Perfecter of All Things. In Little's weakness, may Christ be seen in all His strength. There is nothing more beautiful than a need for Christ that drives us to His throne of Grace, and I believe that God loves the Little Man so much that He didn't want him to miss out on a lifetime with Christ.

In that spirit, let me proclaim once more: I am a sinner in need of the loving and perfect God who graciously gave up His own son to save my soul for all eternity. I could not pay the price for my sin, but Jesus did. And because of Him, I can spend forever getting to know the beauty and majesty and perfection of the almighty God. I pray the same for Littles and for all those with whom we came in contact. This is good news. May I not be remiss in sharing it.

PS

First family photo.


Thought I'd share. :) msf

Return Triumphant

I wouldn't be sitting down to write this blog if the Man wasn't on base inprocessing, but since he is, and I have time, I might as well write.

I'm currently sitting in the recliner admiring the tulips and daffodils that are festooning our humble abode while wearing an apron that is absolutely covered in flour and biscuit dough. Can I just say, I love wearing aprons. It's like having a gigantic napkin that doesn't fall off your lap. I've spent the morning hanging out with Littles and prepping for lunch which will happen if the Man ever gets home. I have my doubts. But it's nice to be looking forward to him actually being home instead of just looking forward to a skype date.

The Man got in on Sunday, and from now on 28 March will be celebrated annually and exuberantly in the Friz household. It took the guys forever to get their bags, and since they had to go through customs, we (on the other side of the customs' doors) waited with increasing impatience. I got out my jitters by pushing the stroller back and forth ceaselessly and by tricking myself into thinking that the next time the doors open it was going to be him. Naturally, the Man, being the Man, was the very last one to come through the doors since he had to make sure everyone had their bags and no one was left behind. I love my husband, but sometimes I wish he wasn't so responsible and servant-hearted. I mean, come on. Be a little selfish, man! And when he finally made it through the doors, it seemed like there were dozens of people between me and him and half of them wanted to shake his hand. But then he was there, and we were hugging, and I was picking up Littles to show him to the Man, and I was trying not to cry (because tough girls don't, obviously), and it was pretty much mind blowing.

After all the gear had been loaded onto the buses and the Man was free to go, I realized that I had absolutely no clue how to get back to the parking garage, which was kind of entertaining. We wandered around BWI for a shameful amount of time before I finally manned up and asked for directions. And we drove home on the Baltimore-Washington and spring was finally worth being fully appreciated because he was home.

Anyway, since then it's just been us, and it's been grand. The Man is a great dad already, and I personally think Littles likes him better than me, but I guess I can deal with that. And evidently, Littles is fatter in person than he is in the pictures, but if that's the only thing I failed to communicate through email/skype/facebook/letters/packages, then I'm pretty proud of myself. And home is still home and the Man is still the Man even if there is a lot more baby paraphenalia strewn around and my husband is significantly skinnier than he was when he left.

On that note, I just got a text from the Man that he's leaving base, so I'm going to go put the meatloaf in the oven so that I can fatten him up again. Evidently I like my man rolly.

Gratitude Cast

This week we celebrated the end of the serial casting by having Little's heel cord surgically lengthened. In honour of the beginning of the end (he goes into a brace after this), I made a gratitude cast for Littles (his last cast will be a welcome home cast). We have "thank you" written in the obligatory English and then in Indonesian (and Indonesian slang), Spanish, French, Arabic, and Chinese. We believe in multilingual children in our family.

I wanted a gratitude cast for this one because there are so very many things I'm thankful for at this point.

I'm thankful for the wonderful job that the doctors and nurses did at Children's. I'm thankful that this was such a fixable problem. I'm thankful that Littles will be able to walk and run and play, thanks to the great medical care we received. I'm thankful for the support I've gotten from friends and family and my wonderful husband, and especially for my mother-in-love who talked me through all the minute details of the procedure and listened to me process during multiple phone conversations. I'm thankful for our GPS that helped me figure out downtown DC until my sense of direction finally kicked in and I began to feel like a competent driver once more. I'm thankful for insurance that keeps us from spending thousands of dollars and that my name is not Geneva Noreen (whose bill came to my house yesterday and scared the living daylight out of me). I'm thankful for the many ways I learned to make this fun instead of frustrating.

There's a lot that I'm thankful for, not the least of which is that the Man is coming home a week from tomorrow. And that is just pretty cool.

Kewpie?

A couple weeks ago, I was informed by a friend of mine that Littles looks like a Kewpie doll. Not knowing what a Kewpie doll is, I didn't know whether to say thank you or sic Oswald on her. So I looked it up. And I have to say, the similarities are creepily present. I mean, less creepy than if I'd been told Littles looked like Chucky, but still kind of creepy. Dolls in general can be kind of creepy. (The number of times I've used the word "creepy" in this post is creepy.) At any rate, I'm posting a picture of a Kewpie doll and a picture of Littles to commemorate this moment forever. Random fact about Kewpie dolls: Anne Frank had one.

Kewpie doll. Yes, they live in nudist colonies. Just kidding. If you need more information on Kewpies, wikipedia has a terribly instructive article.

Littles. Slightly better clothed and refusing to smile for the camera, but I can totally see it!

Springing Forward Enthusiastically

Okay, how cheesy is this:

This is the first time I've ever been excited about the loss of an hour due to daylight savings. Why? Because it means one less hour that I have to wait for the Man to come home. Normally, all it means is one less hour of sleep, but not this year! This year, I'm reveling.

And on that note, I should probably go to bed, since I'm still going to get one less hour of sleep, in spite of the revel...