Finally

Tomorrow is the last day that my sleep will be interrupted by beep, beep, beep, beep. (At least for awhile.) Friday is the official first day of summer vacation. Ahhh...to be able to sleep a bit longer, to not be so rudely awakened. I look forward to staying up late with the kids talking, playing Monopoly all night, or late night runs to Taco Bell or Starbucks. Relaxing dinners out on the deck where much laughter is heard and nobody rushes off to finish their homework. Instead we can take our evening walks around the neighborhood, breathing in the scents of lilac bushes, seeing the lush green of the grass and trees, hearing the gurgling water in the many streams, taking in the beauty of God's creation.

Summer, my most favorite season of all. As you can tell, I am not one of those crazy parents who signs their kids up for the many activities that some think are necessary. I've never believed it was a good thing to put my kids on a swim team. Why would we want to go to practice every morning and be at swim meets at 6 a.m. on Saturdays? Nor have we ever spent hours and hours at endless baseball games that run too late into the evenings. To some, these things are what they look forward to and what marks the beginning of summer. I look forward to lazy days. Didn't God design a dy of rest when he designed all of creation?

Alright. What was someone thinking when they wrote on my calendar, that Friday, my first day of leisure, "Pom Practice-7:00a.m.?" Ugh! That means not only will my sleep be broken by an incessant beeping, Hilary will need to be at the school a half hour earlier than on school mornings. And it is a 20 minute drive. I love summer.

S is for...

Along with Owlhaven Mary, I'm playing an ABC game y'all may have seen floating around. She has assigned me the letter S.

Ten Significant Words Beginning With S.

1. S is for Savior. I was born-again back in 1984 and my life has been forever changed.

2. S is for Sunday, the best day of the week.

3. S is for Sweetheart. That would be Michael, the sweetest man in all the world. The one who puts up with my tossing and turning at night and all of my crazy ideas.

4. S is for Sarabeth, my number 4 child. Sarabeth will be seventeen next month. She has grown into a very sensitive, smart young lady with a great sense of humor. Sarabeth is also the most shy of all my kids.

5. S is for Son. Christopher is my sunshine on a gloomy day.

6. S is for Seven, the number in our family. It is through my husband and children that I have become who I am today.

7. S is for Socks. I can't sleep without socks on my feet. It doesn't matter how warm or cold it is, even in the middle of summer. I wear socks to bed.

8. S is for Seasons. I get bored if things are always the same, so I love the season, whether the seasons of the year or seasons of life. So far the season of life that I'm in at the time, is always my favorite. I hope I can always say that.

9. S is for Surprises. I love surprises. No, not the kind that awaken you in the middle of the night, or something wet you step in while wearing socks. I also so enjoy it when I can do something special for someone else as a surprise. Something meaningful to make one smile, something totally unexpected. (Pleasant surprises have to be gifts from God.)

10. S is for S2000. Yep! That is my sunny, yellow, Honda convertible that Michael gave me for my birthday this year. The best times are driving it in the warm sunshine with him. Fun in the Sun.


Want to play this game? Email me, and I'll assign you a letter! Then leave a comment so others can see your top ten.

MEMORIAL DAY

May we always remember...



May we never forget...

Disrepect

I've been a little shocked lately at the disrespect that is so prevalant between parents and mostly teens. The part that concerns me the most is the disrespect I see from the parents. The parent then looks for a sympathetic ear when the teen doesn't do his chores or pay attention to anything the parent says.

Here are some recent examples that I've taken notice of: A mother (who shall remain annonymous) was chiding her daughter for not completing a chore.

"What is wrong with you? I told you to clean the kitchen. Do you think you are the only one in this house that is important? Don't ask me to take you to practice. If you won't do what I want you to do, I won't do what you want me to do."

This same mom turns to me and says, "My daughter doesn't show me any respect, so I'm going to make her life so miserable that she will learn to respect me."

Does this mom realize that she sounds like a 5 year old, throwing a temper tantrum because she didn't get her own way? The message she just spewed at her daughter is, "You are dumb. You are not important. I don't respect you because you don't respect me. (Reminds me of 2 little children playing. One gets mad and takes their toys home so the other can't play with them.)

By resorting to childish behavior, this mother has reinforced the same behavior in her daughter. So why does she think her daughter should be more mature, rise above the way she is being treated and show respect for the mother?

(Out of time, will have to finish this thought later.)

May

Am I the only one whose brain quits functioning in May??? Even when I write things down I forget. Yesterday I couldn't remember what I had planned for dinner and couldn't locate my menu plan. So I improvised with a meal meant for later in the week. At the last minute I realized I did not have olives. That is a main ingredient. So I ran up to the store in an attempt to get them and 2 other things I'd forgotten.

I was trying very hard to not browse. I tend to do that and come home with much more than I wanted. It is usually things we need, but it was getting way to close to dinnertime to be browsing. I grabbed the items and went straight to the checkout. Driving home I was so proud of myself for not getting distracted. That is until I was about to pull onto our block and realized I did NOT pick up olives. I'd gotten the other 2 items that could have waited until today. Grrr....so instead of pulling onto our street I drove back to the store.

I was sure glad I'd remembered to bring my water bottle with me, as it was very hot yesterday. When I arrived home, I gathered my purse, sunglasses and water bottle and went inside. Sarabeth asked me where I'd been. At that point I started laughing. She looked at me odd. I knew the reason she didn't know where I was, I'd left the grocery sack sitting in the trunk. Amazingly, I did get the dinner made and it wasn't midnight when we ate.

Crazy Pics

Some crazy pics because my kids like to goof off.

















Can you tell you who it is that like to goof off the most? Yes, somehow it is always the male species.

More Pics

Is it possible to get just one decent pic when everyone happens to be in one place? I doubt it. This is about the best family one we could come up with:



The kids without Ethan:



And here is my attempt at getting them all in a shot in the car:



Oh, and one last one of Christina and Ethan:



Tomorrow I will post the goofy ones.

Prom Season

It is prom season. For the past 9 years I've had at least one of my kids attending a prom, except this year. Not a one. I miss the fun of seeing the kids all dressed up. I always have a flash of a future wedding when I see them. (Scary.) But I don't miss the stress of buying dresses, finding and creating the perfect hair, nails, makeup, shoes....remembering two days before prom that a corsage wasn't ordered or running to the flower shop in midst of fixing hair to pick up the boutonniere.

In honor of the season, here are a couple of pics from previous years. (Sorry Christina, I didn't have one of yours as it was pre-digital cameras, but I will try to find one and scan it in.)


Christopher


Elisabeth

Ants

One hundred and sixty-four of them. Yes, I did count them. I didn't notice them at first when I was walking around on the laundry room floor. I was still wearing these slipper socks from the hospital. They have those fun rubber bumps on the bottom that sometimes feel funny when walking. So the extra crunches weren't initially noticed. After a bit I did notice and realized I'd been stepping on these:


I hate ants of any kind, especially ones that fly and are inside the house. I wasn't too happy about finding them. Of course in my wild attempt to sweep them onto the dustpan, I was knocking clothes off of hangers and onto piles of these ants. I would try to pick the clothing back up shake the attached ants off, only to land them in my basket of clean socks. So I amused myself by counting them as I picked them up.

Surgery Update

I actually came home feeling better than when I went into the hospital. I had IV antibiotics pre-surgery which, I believe, kicked out a sinus infection I was fighting along with the headache I'd had for days. I went in to have some uterine polyps removed. I found out today that 2 of them were "huge" according to the Dr. and he couldn't get those. He's waiting for the pathologist's report and I go in next Monday to discuss what's next. But I didn't have any of the previous side affects from anesthesia, for which I am thankful. Nor did I need to take any of the pain medication. This morning in my usual routine, half-asleep, I took my morning meds, including Allegra for allergies. Twenty minutes and a 1/2 a cup of coffee later, I realize I did NOT take Allegra but the Darvocet for pain. Hmmmm....I guess I did take pain medication, I just didn't need it.

Now I am going to share a gross factor, so anyone (especially of the male gender) will want to stop reading. For those who don't mind reading the gross details, continue on.

After this type of surgery, there is some bleeding involved. A pad is typically worn (of which females are very familiar.) Before dressing to go home, it seemed as if I was leaking. I asked the nurse who checked and said "no, the pad is dry." Okay, but I feel wetness. I find I am wearing disposable underwear, the kind the give you after having a baby. Fine. I get dressed and go home. Upon arriving home it still feels like something is amiss. Sure enough. I have blood on my clothes. I can't figure this out. The pads they give you are ginormous. Well, they are pretty useless when you find that they have been placed in your special undergarments with the side with the sticky facing up. The absorbent side is down and nobody ever bothered to even remove the plastic that exposes the sticky side. Made me wonder about who was caring for me when you can't even put a pad in correctly. (Hope I didn't offend anyone.)

There Is A Difference

Whenever I hear someone say the only reason boys and girls are different is because parents raise them that way, I just laugh. Only a fool would believe that just because you give boys dolls to play with or trucks to girls that they will act the same.

The first time I noticed a difference was when my 5 year old daughter and almost 2 year old son were playing on the swingset. Christopher was holding onto a swinging rope. He held it out to his big sister and said, "Here Chrisnina, your turn." As she reached for the rope, he immediately pulled it back laughing. "Hey, you said it was my turn. Hand it to me."

"Ok," he responded and held it out again. But just as it was almost in her grasp, he snatched it back laughing harder. I could hardly believe he knew hot to tease and he wasn't even 2. He did not learn this. There was something inborn that told him this was a very fun game to play with girls.

You see this behavior in boys once again around puberty when they start noticing girls. The female counterpart still does not find this teasing amusing and cannot figure out why a boy would tease. I was trying to explain this to my 8th grade daughter.

"Boys usually tease when they like a girl. Yes, they sometimes tease just to be mean, but most often it isn't because they hate you but it is their way of being affectionate. I know it is crazy, but don't let it hurt your feelings. Try to ignore it."

Ok, so it was dumb advice. But it is so hard to get them to understand that they are wired differently than boys. Boys view the world one way and girls another-it never changes. It is good. And no, it doesn't have to make sense.

Tomorrow

This time tomorrow, I will be at the hospital preparing for surgery. I am not worried or stressed about it, but later I might be. It will hit me when I get up and cannot have a cup of coffee. That will tend to throw my whole morning off and remind me that something is different. It is outpatient surgery, so I am planning to be back home tomorrow evening. And I expect to be fine by Wednesday. Is that asking too much?

How Does That Happen

Yesterday I spent over an hour writing a tribute to my mother. When I went to publish it, poof! It disappeared. I have yet to try again to put my thoughts into writing.

To me, written words are to be cherished. Spoken words can be forgotten, but once written down, they are forever. It's true that hateful, angry words spewed off of one's tongue are usually etched into a memory, but it is the soft, meaningful words that can be lost. I'm one of those who would still prefer an old fashioned, hand-written note to a phone call for just that reason. The tribute I typed here for my mom was to go into her card after I wrote it. So I will definately try again. Sigh. Happy Mother's Day Mom, and to all of the other moms too!

Weight Loss

I've been wanting to lose weight for some time. Diets have been started and stopped many times. I thought it would be so much fun to have dramatic before and after pictures. The hard part is always taking the dreaded before pics. I wanted to look my worst so I could later look great. At the same time, I dispise those before/after photos in which a woman has no makeup, bad hair and sweats, while the after photo shows a perfectly manicured one. I want to see the before fat, but not someone totally unkept. (And I really didn't want anyone else to take the picture and see how awful I really looked, as if they hadn't noticed. Sheesh!)

I don't believe I ever got my worst photo. Oh, I have plenty of very bad ones where I look horrendous, just none which shows enough flab. I've been working out and wanted to show muscle definition in the after photo.

I don't have those photos yet, but I've lost almost 20 lbs and still losing. I'm so excited. Michael has lost 22 lbs. Why didn't we take a fat photo together? Oh well, I'm going to be happy with the new slimmer us with or without the photos.

Cheesecake

I made a cheesecake yesterday. The recipe called for a liqueur. Not being very knowledgeable in alcoholic beverages, I ventured out to find one. I needed such a tiny amount and all I found were huge bottles. Then I happened upon this cherry syrup:

The little hat caught my attention (no doubt the marketing ploy.) I picked it up and went to pay for Milady Cherry Liqueur. She did indeed look like a little lady wearing the hat. At the checkout counter I found some small bottles of liqueur, but at this point, I just could not put back this cute little Miss.

After making the cheesecake, the bottle was sitting on the counter. My daughter was helping me clean the kitchen.

"What is this little hat for?" I told her it went on top of the bottle and I supposed that she could throw it out as it wasn't necessary to save it. But before doing so, I wanted to show her how cute it was and put it back atop the bottle. At that point, there is no way I could throw it out.

"You know, if you girls were still little, I'd give you this hat for your barbies." Sarabeth responded, "Yeah, Mom, I know. I was just thinking the same thing." Immediately we were both transported back to Barbie Land.

Growing up, I had the best dressed barbies. My mother and grandmother would sew or knit clothing for them. The outfits were coveted by all of the neighbor girls and friends who had the privilege of playing barbies at our home. My sisters and I were so inspired that we spent hours ourselves creating our own clothing for them when we learned to sew. I don't think we played dolls as much as we made clothes and just dressed them.

My oldest 2 daughters had the privilege of playing barbies while my grandmother was alive. Once again, my girls had the most fashionably dressed dolls around. They too spent time creating clothing, even when it was just cut-out fabric with holes for arms and string tied around the waists. (I did not inherit the seamstress genes.) But in all those years, I don't recall ever having hats to complete an outfit. This hat would have been to die for.

Chatty

I learned yesterday that it is best to avoid certain individuals who can't seem to speak without using hand gestures. I had to have my blood drawn and I made the mistake of being chatty to the lab tech. She got the needle in my arm and I must have said something that stirred her emotions. She reacted by trying to say something with the hand waving technique, completely forgetting that her hands were busy with a very sharp needle in my vein. She instantly realized it was a bad idea and apologized while digging around to find the vein that escaped. Next time I have to have my blood drawn I'll either be very quiet or run the other way if I notice a hand talker.

Glasses

Here are the new glasses! This was taken after we made cookie dough and Ethan is in the midst of devouring as much of the dough as he can before the cookies are baked.

Ethan's Glasses

Christina called me.

"Mom. Ethan has to get glasses."

"How can they tell? How do they figure out what a child needs when he can't tell them?" My curious, a bit skeptical of their accuracy, brain wants to know. I'm wondering what I would end up with if I had my eyes examined without the "which looks better, A or B questions.

"Mom, I don't want him to have to wear glasses. How am I supposed to get him to wear them?"

"Oh, I think he will like them. Remember how much he loves to put on those safety goggles?" I'm trying to be positive while walking through the grocery store talking on my cell phone. I hadn't noticed the pain in her voice.

"I really didn't want him to have to wear glasses. Why can't Ethan get a break? He doesn't need one more reason for people to stare at him." I suddenly realized what she was saying and could hear tears in her quivering voice. "Not very many 3 year olds wear glasses. When they do, people stare. I just want him to look cute so he is more accepted.

I stopped walking. I didn't have an answer. I'm standing in the middle of the grocery store with tears welling up in my eyes. I want to hug my daughter. I want to hold my grandson and make things better. I know wearing glasses isn't the end of the world. I want to tell my daughter the plus side of the glasses, that Ethan will enjoy life more. We won't see him crossing his eyes when he tries to focus. But at that moment she isn't looking for answers. She just needs someone to hear what she is feeling and to understand. When there are no words, communicating via telephone falls drastically short. So I stand there hugging my phone, with no words coming out. I hope she understands the meaning.

When it rains it pours

I hadn't cleaned out the refrigerator in over 2 weeks. Ick! I probably would have put if off a bit longer, but I could not cram a single more thing into it. It was grocery shopping day and so it was a necessity.

I began emptying plastic containers of tidbits of leftovers. Nothing was growing anything furry, nor did I find anything unrecognizable. (I'm doing better people.) But why did I save 1/4 cup black beans? It's not like one of the teens is going to open the fridge, say "yum! black beans," open the lid and have a snack. Thanks to my temperamental garbage disposal I emptied the containers into the trash can. I found out the hard way once, after cleaning out my 'fridge. I poured the leftover down the infamous garbage disposer. Afterall, isn't that what the name implies? Not sure if it was the true culprit or the pipes that regurgitated, but the stuff did NOT go down. Two hundred dollars later, the plumber asks if I had just cleaned out my refrigerator. "How did you know?" I queried. Apparently, it happens all of the time. But I've been diligent ever since.

Now who leaves a half-eaten individual pudding container with a spoon in it? Are we really so spoon deprived that she was afraid we wouldn't have any when she came back to finish it off? (Which of course, never happened.) Somehow in the midst of dumping garbage I managed to knock the can over. Out spilled the gooey, slimy contents all over the kitchen floor. That pudding container flew across the room flinging chocolate goo onto the cabinets. I tried to be thankful. At least the can didn't go down my carpeted stairs...wet coffee grounds are especially hard to get off that beige carpet. (Ask me how I know.) Why is my garbage can now protesting and regurgitating? Is the food that bad?

At this point Michael walks in with a gentleman to get an estimate on some work that needs to be done. I smiled and kept right on cleaning. I came across the last container. It was saurkraut. The odor was quite strong. I had just emptied the trash outside, so decided this one could go down the garbage disposal and hopefully the smell with it. I sent it down that grinding hole and tossed a small squishy orange after it hoping to mask the odor. I was finally finished. Off to the laundry room to attack the next chore.

That was when I noticed a strange scent. Walking into the laundry room it was unmistakable. There next to the washer, on top of my freshly folded clothes was saurkraut and water. Darn! It wasn't that nasty disposal afterall. It was the pipes that had it in for me. They were the true perpetrator in the food and water assaults. The floor was also swimming in water mixed with the earlier contents of my purging of the fridge. I had a doctor appointment in a half an hour and I did NOT have time for this. I won't bore you with how the rest of the day went, but after picking up kids, school meetings and such, I finally got back to getting that mess cleaned up sometime around 11p.m.

So this morning, I found a repeat of regurgitated water from my coffee maker on my counter. I wanted to cry. Something about water mixed with anything chunky has it in for me. It was my own fault. I forgot to put a filter in, so the ground clogged the hole causing the brown liquid to overflow onto the counter where I have the lunch and breakfast stuff laid out. I give! I will not try to mix any kind of food, grounds, or anything not liquid with water again. I will forever keep them separated and never contaminate a receptacle for water.

Extravagant Love

Extravagant: Given to lavish or imprudent expenditure
Exceeding reasonable bounds
Extremely abundant; profuse
Unreasonably high; exorbitant

So what does extravagant love mean? Growing up, I knew my parents loved me. When I got married, I hoped my husband loved me. When I surrendered my life to Christ, I was overwhelmed with the thought that He not only loved me, but thought of me and saw something of value. When you value something, you invest in it. You spend time caring for it. Nothing is too great a price to protect it. How many people feel lavishly loved? How many of us know what it means to be extravagantly loved?

Speaking with others, some mention intense feelings and emotion of love when they found "the one." While dating, they felt valued-that nothing was too unreasonable for the other to give in order to express that love. I can't say that Michael and I had an intense, passionate dating/relationship experience. Sometimes I look back and wonder if we even liked each other. We were both self-centered and protective of our hearts.

I did not feel treasured when we married, like I was so deeply loved he couldn't live without me. It was almost as if he just put up with me. Truthfully, he probably felt the same way. I spent years trying to be the perfect wife, hoping somehow I'd earn his undying affection. I came to understand that you cannot make someone love you. It is a choice on their part. Love cannot be forced.

Life has changed. Every day I wake up, the only way to describe what I am living is in Extravagant Love. Michael tells me the sweetest things. He'll say I'm the best thing that has ever happened in his life. He asks, "have I told you today that I love you," or "Did I tell you today how beautiful you are?" And when I look into his eyes, I can see it. He is passionate.

This passionate love is seen as he has lavished gifts upon me. Money is very important to him. He has always been frugal and only invests in what he believes will benefit him or something that will retain it value or increase in value. He does not waste his precious resources. Never has. For him to be so extravagant, shouts to me "I am worthy of his love." (Which of course I'm not. But I do feel like a rare gemstone that he is pouring everything he has into so it will keep its value and preciousness.)

I've been given a love I never believed would be mine. I cannot believe that after being with this man for 23+ years that I could love him more and more each day. I want to give this treasured feeling, extravagant love back to him. I want to share it with everyone I know and those I don't.

I believe this is just a glimpse of the love that God wants to pour out on me and you. When love is nurtured, it grows. It is like a tender plant. With proper care it will flourish and multiply. It will reproduce its own kind. It will bear fruit. And it gives back to the original source of love in its own extravagant way. I don't want to be a reflection of this love. I want to live it overflowing.