Home again.

The hardest part of having a husband home from a deployment is learning how to share space again. For four and a half months (by far the shortest deployment out there, ask any military family), my tiny little house has been my own. My floors have been clear every night, all the toys picked up, all the clothes in the hamper, and all of my minimal electronics confined to one tiny table in a corner of my room. The only thing I've had to trip over is my daughter's dolly stroller and an occasional block tower. The house felt almost spacious. Now that Seth's home, in the midst of my elation, I find myself tripping over his stuff, bumping into him at unexpected moments (not always unpleasant), and generally being aware that there is another full-sized body in my house. It's like being a newly-wed all over again.

But he's home! Our final foray with the Navy is over, and we are looking forward to new things. No more lonely nights or departure dates. No more pensive waiting for an email that might not come for another week. No more taking stock in the life around me and throwing my hands in the air because it's just more than one person can handle. From now on, I'll throw my hands in the air because I'm trying to handle life in tandem with another person, and I'll always be grateful that that other person is around (You can call me on that if I start complaining ten years from now).

Boogaloo is delighted to have Daddy home, but like me, she's a little jealous of her space. She seems to think it's a crime for Daddy and Mommy to talk to each other. She may talk to us, and we may talk to her, but when we talk to each other, all sorts of attention-getting techniques come out. But she knew her daddy when he got off the plane, and she ran right into his arms and climbed all over him.

Sharing her with him is a little weird too. Suddenly I have another person to keep discipline, wipe bottoms, clean up messes, and get snacks. I don't have to go running to her nearly as often. I'm immensely grateful for the freedom, but for the first few days, I kept twitching in her direction every time he went to her. I felt like he was doing my job, when in reality, I've been doing both of our jobs on the homefront, and he's been doing another job and a half altogether somewhere out in the middle of the Pacific.

In about a month we will be a civilian family. Seth has begun looking for work in earnest. We are fixing up our house in case we have to move and probing every corner of the job market so we can stay. Soon we'll be getting used to a set schedule, two weeks of vacation a year, consistent weekends, and years and years of time with Seth doing the things that brought us together in the first place. Lord willing, he'll be here for the birth of our other children, for birthdays, anniversaries, graduations, and glorious sunsets. We've mastered the art of living apart. Now we get to study living together.

Watching God work behind the scenes in spite of me.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you've been worrying about something important, something beyond your capacity but very necessary, and then God shows you that he can take care of it as well without you as with you?

I was worrying about a fundraiser that I am helping to put on for our local Pregnancy Resource Center. I am the head of the underwriting committee, so it's my job to round up the funding for the fundraiser. I had put about two weeks into it -- making lists of churches to call, recruiting callers, writing scripts -- at the expense of some household things. I hadn't even talked to my church yet because I was focusing on the big picture, and quite frankly I didn't want to give the council anymore money woes.

Then I realized that my husband's homecoming date was closer than I had realized, and I had to switch focuses and take care of those household things. And I worried. I positively fretted. I had set deadlines, and I knew I wasn't going to meet them. I couldn't possibly fit anything more into my schedule. It was one thing or the other.

Then sitting at Bible study this morning, one of our deaconesses turns to me and says, "Oh, by the way, we're going to make your fundraiser the subject of our next special offering. I thought I'd do it even though you didn't ask (because I should have asked right away), and I'm going to need some information to make a powerpoint slide so people know what we're giving to."

So God is good. And I'm a goof.

Letter to my daughter, seven years in the future

The Internet is abuzz over the 10-year-old model who is posing for French Vogue in very adult interpretations of beauty. I wonder what that line of work must be doing to her sense of self. If she's the epitome of beauty at age ten, how will she live with herself at age 20? She won't have this complexion, muscle tone, and figure once puberty comes. She might be equally beautiful, but she'll never be that again.

I suppose a wise mother would know how to keep it from going to her little one's head (though I question about the wisdom of putting a child in that situation at all) and so I started thinking: someday, my little one is going to be 10, and the world isn't going to spare her these pictures of beauty and sexuality. The influences point at a younger audience every day. She's going to want to dress like the girls in the magazines. However much I try to keep things around her age appropriate, the time is going to come when she wants something she shouldn't have in the name of being sexy or beautiful.

Dear Sweatpea,

You know that I love you and want what's best for you. You know I think a lot about things, and I've learned a lot of things. So it is with every ounce of motherly feeling, experience, and intuition that I say, I don't care what's on that magazine cover. You don't need to dress that way, and you may not.

I know that the picture on that cover is pretty, and that girl looks really sophisticated and grown-up. I know that some of the kids in your class are wearing make-up and trying to attract boys. They all want to be pretty and sexy and grown-up. A lot of people around you are talking about sexy, but that's not who you should be right now. You are ten years old. You may feel very grown up, but you are still a child, and your father and I have worked hard to maintain this wonderful innocence that you have.

Sexy is something that comes with time. As you get bigger, parts of you are going to change. You'll begin to feel like a different person in some ways. You'll feel powerful new feelings and have big new questions. You'll worry about them. I will help you understand them. You will even get excited about them and enjoy them, and that's good, but only in their proper time and place.

At your age, you should be thinking about friends and school and books and slumber parties. You should be begging me for riding lessons or drama classes or permission to go to the pool with your friends. There is a whole wide world to learn about. There are penpals and science camps and unicorn backpacks. You should not be thinking about sexy right now.

You don't have to think about sexy because you're beautiful. You've always been beautiful. Ever since you were born, people have been saying how beautiful you are. And you have a kind, friendly, helpful, curious, contented spirit that makes you a wonderful person to know. These are the gifts you should focus on. The others will come on their own.

And once you start thinking about sexuality, you can never really get it out of your mind. I know this from experience. Sex is a powerful idea, and you have to have other big ideas and hopes and dreams to make sure it doesn't take up more room than it should. You have to know who you are and who God is and what sort of life you want so you can channel all those feelings and questions in the directions that they should go. And those concepts take time to develop and understand.

I know you want to be pretty like the girl on the magazine. I know you want to fit in, and we'll do our best to make sure that you can dress like your friends. But there is a very special part of you that it's my job to protect, so sometimes I am going to say no. No, you may not go that party or that movie. No, you may not buy that shirt or listen to that song, and yes, I am going to read that book before I decide if you may read it. That's my job. I'm your mom, and I want to see you grow up as happy and as healthy as possible. I do what I do because I love you.

Mom

Reflections of the way my mind works in the little person sitting next to me.

Conversation with my daughter at the dinner table:

Boogaloo: "Mommy, pease."

Mommy: "Please, what, sweetpea?"

Boogaloo: (holds out her slice of bread) "Honey." (thoughtful pause, face lights up) "Honeeeyy. Where's my supersuit?" (different voice) "What?" (original voice) "Where's my supersuit?" (second voice) "Why do you need to know?" etc.

Mommy: (in her head) You should not have made that jump so quickly, kiddo. That is way too much like mommy thinks. This does not bode well.