She had clearly bitten off more than she could chew - the chipmunk cheeks were a dead giveaway.
(Miss M has a champion's appetite, but not a whole lot of teeth yet. I often have to remind her to "take little bites" or spit out a portion of the food she has shoved into her mouth.)
I was concerned she might choke, so I knelt in front of her and put my hand out to her mouth. "Spit it out," I instructed. My little girl looked at me, nodded her head and then proceeded to PRETEND to spit her food into my hand.
A smile formed at the corners of her full mouth and she began to walk away.
"Uh-uh", I scolded. "Spit out some of that food!"
Again, she toddled up to me, leaned into that outstretched hand and dipped her face as if she was surrendering obediently.
Again, my hand was empty.
I shook my head in disbelief and forceably fished the excess morsels from her lips.
"How can she possibly think I'd fall for that?" I wondered quietly.
The next thought that entered my head was so strong, it felt like I could almost hear God speaking it audibly.
"You do that to Me all the time..."
I've been having a lot of conversations lately about surrender. We all seem to know that we need to give our "stuff" to the Lord. To let Him deal with our issues, our worries, our pains, our fears, and even our good times. But I think that a lot of times, I end up biting off way more than I can chew and only pretending to surrender it to those Almighty outstretched hands when asked.
Sure, I go through the motions. I come before God in prayer. I ask Him to take my burdens. But then, I often turn on my heels having left none of it at the feet of Jesus. And without surrendering it, TRULY surrendering it all, I walk away ready to choke.
I wonder if God sometimes shakes His head at me in disbelief as I walk away leaving His hand empty of my troubles. Those Hands that are so capable. Hands big enough to craft the universe... surely there's room in those Hands for what I have to bring Him today.
And I know there's room in there for your stuff, too.
1 Peter 5:7 (Amplified Bible)
Casting the whole of your care [all your anxieties, all your worries, all your concerns, once and for all] on Him, for He cares for you affectionately and cares about you watchfully.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
And now it's 21...
This little Miss M is a chatterbox.
Her babbles and coos are nonstop.
At her lastest check-up, the doctor asked if she knew and used at least 10 words. I said that sounded about right.
But yesterday, I began counting how many words she actually knows and uses correctly. I was astounded as I tallied up at least twenty "things" my baby can say.
Her repertoire includes some basic stuff like:
Uh-oh, Mama, Dada, Up, Walker (the dog always gets top billing in a baby's first words!), thank you and bye-bye.
She also knows:
Duck, Paci (which sounds more like "sissy"), purple, cat, dog, and Minnie Mouse (MinMow), to name a few.
And with the amount of praise she gets each time she masters a new word, we shouldn't have been surprised at the pride on her face when she attempted today's new word.
It was lunchtime, and I asked her to pick up a piece of food she'd just spilled on the floor.
She paused, looked around at the whole family, and said as clear as day:
"NO!"
Stifling giggles as we watched Drew's mouth hit the floor, her daddy and I tried to correct her gently.
"Megan...we don't say that to Mommy!" I began.
"NO!" she stated emphatically, excited by all the attention.
"No Ma'am!", we scolded, outdoing her in force and stern looks.
The giggles had to be subdued once again when she "hid" from our frowns by squatting under the coffee table til the trouble blew over.
Tomorrow, I think we'll work on words # 22 and #23:
"Yes" & "Ma'am".
Which works out find since I'm still working on those with my nearly-six year old.
Her babbles and coos are nonstop.
At her lastest check-up, the doctor asked if she knew and used at least 10 words. I said that sounded about right.
But yesterday, I began counting how many words she actually knows and uses correctly. I was astounded as I tallied up at least twenty "things" my baby can say.
Her repertoire includes some basic stuff like:
Uh-oh, Mama, Dada, Up, Walker (the dog always gets top billing in a baby's first words!), thank you and bye-bye.
She also knows:
Duck, Paci (which sounds more like "sissy"), purple, cat, dog, and Minnie Mouse (MinMow), to name a few.
And with the amount of praise she gets each time she masters a new word, we shouldn't have been surprised at the pride on her face when she attempted today's new word.
It was lunchtime, and I asked her to pick up a piece of food she'd just spilled on the floor.
She paused, looked around at the whole family, and said as clear as day:
"NO!"
Stifling giggles as we watched Drew's mouth hit the floor, her daddy and I tried to correct her gently.
"Megan...we don't say that to Mommy!" I began.
"NO!" she stated emphatically, excited by all the attention.
"No Ma'am!", we scolded, outdoing her in force and stern looks.
The giggles had to be subdued once again when she "hid" from our frowns by squatting under the coffee table til the trouble blew over.
Tomorrow, I think we'll work on words # 22 and #23:
"Yes" & "Ma'am".
Which works out find since I'm still working on those with my nearly-six year old.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
The Name Should Have Been My First Clue
My husband and I started a new fitness program this week. So that I don't appear as if I'm endorsing any certain product or company, I won't share which workout program we're doing.
I'll just say this. It's CRAZY. LOCO. NUTS!
This intense cardio workout has me practically (and sometimes physically) on my knees begging for the clock to run out. But it's day 4 and the screaming muscles are starting to settle down into just whiny muscles. I can handle whiny.
So, I am hopeful that the workout itself won't make me lose my sanity. I'm afraid, though, that the distractions I face while doing the workout may just push me over the brink.
For instance, yesterday I couldn't squeeze forty minutes for me into the day until about 8 p.m. My husband was at a church meeting, so I put the baby to bed and let Drew accompany me to the garage where I began the video.
Four minutes in, my son decided to join me.
Eight minutes in, he decided he'd rather watch. (He would just need to take my floor mat so he'd have a comfortable place to sit.)
Nine minutes in, Miss M began to cry from her crib.
The video was paused.
Twelve minutes in, Miss M awoke again. I used the "water break" to find her misplaced pacifier.
Fifteen minutes in, a mosquito bit me for the second time.
Seventeen minutes in, a sales call's shrill ring echoed through the house phone and office fax line.
Seventeen minutes, 10 seconds in, Miss M began to cry again.
The video was paused.
Twenty minutes in, Drew barely missed my hand as he circled my pathetic push-up attempts with his bicycle.
Twenty-three minutes in, he asked me question # 47 about what I was doing.
Twenty-six minutes in, I told him to go take a fourteen minute shower.
The video was paused (he's not tall enough to turn on the shower by himself).
Thirty-six minutes in, a sopping wet, towel-clad Drew asked me question #48 (which I refused to answer because he had a watch and knew EXACTLY how much longer Mommy was going to be).
Forty minutes later I was tired, sweaty and grumpy.
I don't know if any of it had to do with the instructor on the other side of that computer screen, but I'm thinking that this whole workout idea might just be an exercise in insanity.
I'll just say this. It's CRAZY. LOCO. NUTS!
This intense cardio workout has me practically (and sometimes physically) on my knees begging for the clock to run out. But it's day 4 and the screaming muscles are starting to settle down into just whiny muscles. I can handle whiny.
So, I am hopeful that the workout itself won't make me lose my sanity. I'm afraid, though, that the distractions I face while doing the workout may just push me over the brink.
For instance, yesterday I couldn't squeeze forty minutes for me into the day until about 8 p.m. My husband was at a church meeting, so I put the baby to bed and let Drew accompany me to the garage where I began the video.
Four minutes in, my son decided to join me.
Eight minutes in, he decided he'd rather watch. (He would just need to take my floor mat so he'd have a comfortable place to sit.)
Nine minutes in, Miss M began to cry from her crib.
The video was paused.
Twelve minutes in, Miss M awoke again. I used the "water break" to find her misplaced pacifier.
Fifteen minutes in, a mosquito bit me for the second time.
Seventeen minutes in, a sales call's shrill ring echoed through the house phone and office fax line.
Seventeen minutes, 10 seconds in, Miss M began to cry again.
The video was paused.
Twenty minutes in, Drew barely missed my hand as he circled my pathetic push-up attempts with his bicycle.
Twenty-three minutes in, he asked me question # 47 about what I was doing.
Twenty-six minutes in, I told him to go take a fourteen minute shower.
The video was paused (he's not tall enough to turn on the shower by himself).
Thirty-six minutes in, a sopping wet, towel-clad Drew asked me question #48 (which I refused to answer because he had a watch and knew EXACTLY how much longer Mommy was going to be).
Forty minutes later I was tired, sweaty and grumpy.
I don't know if any of it had to do with the instructor on the other side of that computer screen, but I'm thinking that this whole workout idea might just be an exercise in insanity.
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