Another weekend in the books. The baby has been pretty cranky, demanding to be nursed or held pretty much all the time. However, he is very cute!
I did a few non-baby things. I logged a 5.1 mile run on Saturday morning, which made me feel more confident for the 5-mile race I signed up for two weeks from now. My husband and I went out for a quick dinner on Saturday night. Of course we talked about our housing conundrum most of the time, but hey. I worked on an Empire State Building Lego kit with my 10-year-old, and did some coloring with the 8-year-old. My husband took the four big kids to the Cub Scout Pinewood Derby race on Saturday morning. The 5-year-old won the open division, and was so proud of his trophy. He kept insisting it was real gold, and I have shushed the other children who keep trying to tell him otherwise. My husband also took the big kids skiing on Sunday afternoon. I was hoping to make it to a concert at my church then, but the baby was so fussy that I just didn’t dare bring him with me. So I didn’t go.
I did, however, sing in the morning service. The choir sang Ralph Vaughan Williams’ Lord, Thou Hast Been Our Refuge, which combines Psalm 90 with Isaac Watts’ hymn O God Our Help in Ages Past, which is itself a version of Psalm 90, set to meter. I sang in the semi-chorus; we also sang the Watts hymn as an actual congregational hymn. Time features rather prominently in both, so it’s not surprising that the sermon was on time. I got a few funny glances from fellow choir members as the pastor started recounting the 50,000 books on time management on Amazon. In part, the idea was contrasting this worldly view of time with the psalmist’s. Fortunately, I could quickly point out to my fellow choristers, thanks to Google Books, that I quote Psalm 90 in Off the Clock. “Make us know how few are our days, that our minds may learn wisdom.”
These days with a newborn are a bit like Watts’ “ever-rolling stream.” The hours of feedings can blend into each other. It would be very easy for them to “fly, forgotten as a dream dies at the opening day.” This is one reason I have been grateful for the discipline of keeping a time log. Time spent is in the past; it will never return. But for me, it is less forgotten than it would be, and that is something. Some day I can look back on this weekend and see the run, the dinner, the Legos, the singing. I’m not sure if that will teach my mind wisdom but it does make me aware of the days.
In other news: In my February “Just a Minute” newsletter I asked for a few test readers for my NaNoWriMo novel, The Norwegian Secret to Enjoying Winter. I am flattered that many people responded. I’m sorry I haven’t answered all the messages — please know I am working my way through them!
Photo: That face!