Family Time

With just nine weeks remaining until my estimated due date, I'm getting pretty excited about this baby.  Some days, nine weeks seems like an eternity . . . others it seems so close that I can almost feel my daughter in my arms.

I am already getting Patrick ready for the changes that will take place.  For instance, last night we ate at the table and we did not turn the television on once.  We both agreed that we will not be eating in front of the TV once the baby is old enough to join us at the table.  Stronger families come from spending time as a family and talking as a family than from families who spend most of their time together in front of the "tube."  That's just my opinion, but I was raised in that way; I am very close with my family.

Honestly, most nights Patrick gets home late, and we're both so tired that it's all we can do to just eat while on the sofa.  I must confess that it was nice to sit together (which we do do) and just talk over dinner last night.  Personally, I had fun playing cards after we ate, but that was only until I realized that Patrick was letting me win so that the game would end more quickly.  Disappointed, I informed him that he owes me another game--a fair game.  I really had thought better of him.  ;-)

Wasting My Life?

Last night, Patrick and I attended the joint senior piano recital of some friends.  While there, I ran into my old piano professor.  She did not exactly look thrilled to see me.  Perhaps she didn't recognize me (although we spent hours of one on one time together).  Patrick noted her lack of enthusiasm, and it reminded me of a conversation that I had with this professor just before I got married.

She wanted me to go to Germany and devote myself to the piano and the study of music.  When I told her that this would not be possible because I was getting married, she said something like, "Well, he should just give up his job and go to Germany with you.  My husband came with me to America . . ."  I think that she was rather disappointed to find out that Patrick would not be leaving his stable job to trek across the ocean so that I could study music abroad.

All of this made me wonder how many of my past music professors, could they see me now, would think that I am wasting my talent, my degree, and my life.  How many of them would be appalled to see that I am barefoot and pregnant and that my only musical outlets are singing to my stomach and my cat, participating in my church choir, and playing the piano for graduation ceremonies.  What would they think if they knew that 99% of the accompanying and playing that I do these days is for free?!?

I knew while I was in school that I never wanted to be a world famous performer, that I never wanted to be a recording artist, but I rarely if ever shared this with my instructors because I knew what they would think.  Not that I cared, but I didn't want to lower my grade merely because someone was upset that what I really wanted out of life was to be a wife and a mother instead of a dedicated artist.

Right now, I am living out my dreams.  I am a part of a wonderful church, and God is blessing my time there.  I have a husband whom I love and who loves me, and we are happy and blessed together.  In about two months, I will be blessed to hold my first daughter.  The only thing that I could  do without is all of the cleaning, but even that isn't so bad these days.  This is why God put me on this earth.  He knew the plans that He had for me, and my being at home was a part of those plans.  God doesn't see me as wasting my life--He sees it as fulfilled and blessed.

Don't get me wrong--I still love my music.  I have a gorgeous baby grand piano, and I love playing it.  Someday, I will teach my kids to play.  For now, though, I am making the most of the life that I chose and that God gave to me.  I'm not throwing away anything--I just picked what was most important to me.

Memories

I find myself wishing now, as an adult, that I had been a more faithful journal keeper in my youth.  Unfortunately, most of the memories that I committed to paper were of times when I was either angry, sad, or confused.  My journal, now hidden away yet close by should I need it, is an emotional roller coaster that details times past.  I do so regret not having chronicled the happy times now as well.  Yes, pictures do help to spark memories, and I have plenty of those.  They say that a picture is worth a thousand words; however, to me few things bring back a time more vividly than when I read what my pen has put to paper.

My grandfather is still alive.  This is the amazing miracle of which I spoke several posts ago.  He may not make it to see Natalie, but now there is hope where there was little to none before.  With the threat of his impending departure to glory, I have been dusting off old memories of times shared.  In all honesty, I have been hoarding thoughts of our precious times together because they make me happy.  They make me praise God for giving me so many wonderful things to hold in my heart.  I just wish that I had written them down so that it would not be such a struggle to recall all of them now.

One of my favorite memories surprise me because it was neither very spectacular nor should it have been very memorable.  For some reason, though, it stands out.

Poppop had an old, blue truck.  The seat inside felt like vinyl and had decorative little holes along the fabric.  Odors of grass mixed with Drakkar cologne would fill my nostrils whenever I rode inside the cab next to him.  It was not a particularly comfortable vehicle, but it was Poppop's truck.  (And yes, I cried when he sold it a few years ago and traded it in for a more modern truck)

One day when I was very young, we went for a little drive in the truck.  If I remember correctly, we were either sneaking away from Mommom or she was out running errands.  Regardless, she would not have approved of our little outing.  Why?  Because Poppop stopped for ice cream and THAT would have spoiled our dinner.  We sat in that old cab eating our little treat in total contentment as we drove along.

That's it.  That's all that I remember.  As I stated at the outset--it's not much.  However, when I think of that time, I have trouble remembering a happier, more carefree moment spent with my grandfather.

Projects--Yay!

I'm not ignoring my blog--really.  It's just that I've had just a wee bit more energy this week than I've had throughout this entire pregnancy so far.  I am accomplishing GREAT THINGS!  Perhaps they would be small things to you, but it feels so good to whip things into shape.

I finally got my storage room cleaned out . . . and that means that I was able to access the chest in the back of the room.  This chest is going to make an awesome toy chest once it is painted and re-upholstered.  Now that it is out of the storage room and has its contents neatly packed away in boxes (boy did THAT take forever!), I can focus the fun stuff!

Today, for the first time, I went to gently shove Natalie's little feet out of my ribcage for the millionth time (I'm a little sore), and I FELT A FOOT.  It was pretty cool.  One second it was there, the next she moved "farther up and further in," to quote C.S. Lewis out of context.

Laundry is in the wash, things are getting cleaned, and Patrick brought me roses AND daffodils last night.  Aren't I a blessed girl?