More Jury Duty

So I had this nagging feeling. It gnawed at my stomach. So yesterday, I drove Michael's car to jury duty. He asked me why. I told him I didn't want anything to happen to my car. His car is more than 10 years old. He assured me mine would be fine.

I could see my car from the jury room. I checked on it every chance I could. My fellow jurors laughed.

"Is it still there?"

"Did it drive away without you?"

"Ok, your car must be new." I told him no. But I did ask him to find the cutest car in the parking lot. He immediately picked mine. We all laughed.

At the end of the day, I went to the parking lot. Here is what I found:

The whole front bumper will need to be replaced and probably the side panel too. And you know what? I didn't cry one tear. But I wanted to.

Back to jury duty tomorrow.

Juror Number 13

So, that's me. Number 13! Since I can't actually talk about the trial, I wanted to share that I was prepared for this. Almost as soon as I received the jury summons, I was fairly certain I would be picked. Don't ask me how I knew, I just did. I sensed God was speaking something to me, I just didn't know what.

I suppose that is one of the reasons I went shopping last week. Attire for jury duty is casual business wear. Not knowing exactly what that meant, I did read the words "no jeans." Basically, my wardrobe is nothing but jeans with an occasional dress thrown in for church or other event. I managed to put together several outfits.

I had moments where I thought "how silly this is. I am going to get dressed up, drive downtown, only to be coming home a couple of hours later. No trial, nothing." Nevertheless, something deeper inside of me continued to make plans. I pulled a pot roast from the freezer, to put in the crock pot, so if I didn't arrive home until after 5:00p.m., dinner would be ready.

As I, and 61 other prospective jurors sat in the room and were given the instructions for the day, I kept thinking I was going to be the 13th juror. As far as I knew, there were only 12. But as the woman in charge continued her explanations, she announced there would be 12 jurors and 1 alternate. I thought, yep, that's me!

At lunch, when all 62 of us left, I found myself wondering what to do. I am not an overly social person and am quite content to sit alone to eat. I had a book. But again, there was a nagging not to. Both the person ahead and behind me in line at the sandwich shop in the building across the street were potential jurors. We'd been given strict instructions not to mention anything about the trial, even though we were not yet jurors. What were we to talk about? After getting my food, somehow these two had already sat together, so I asked if I could join them. I had a feeling the three of us would somehow end up on the jury, even though I hadn't noticed either of them before in the courtroom. I only knew they were potential jurors because of the bright yellow buttons we were required to wear.

A couple of hours later, 31 potential jurors were seated. I was number 18. As the process continued, people allowed to go home, others dismissed, until we were down to the remaining 31 with only a handful of others left on the benches. The Attorneys were then allowed their peremptory challenge. As this process began, jurors were no longer pulled from the bench to take the empty seats. Instead those jurors with higher numbers were called by name to fill the vacant spots. I realized that those who ended up in the 1-13 spots would be those on the jury. I waited for them to choose to dismiss juror 13. When they finally did, I waited for my name to be called. Only it wasn't. Someone else took that spot. But she was also the next one eliminated. Then my name was called.

Have I mentioned 13 is my favorite number? Ok, it's no doubt because I was born on the 13th. But look at the 12 disciples and Jesus. Thirteen. It's as if whenever 13 shows up, so does He. I like that.

As it turns out, I'm not the alternate juror. Well, maybe I am. The Judge said it will be kept a secret to ensure all jurors pay close attention to the trial-which is supposed to last 3 days. I believe God is speaking something to me, but I don't feel that I'm to share it. He HAS to be. Oh, my fellow lunchmates? Yep, they made it on the jury too.

To some this all may sound silly. But it is a reminder to me, that if we will listen, God has a way of preparing us, speaking to us, guiding us. Everything won't be so specific, but at times it will. That is an aha moment for me, when I see He is trying to get my attention and I really need to listen.

Ketchup or Catchup

I have a lot of catching up to do.

I believe I mentioned I don't multi-task, and I'm not even sure I can call it that. I am single-focused. That means if I'm busy with one thing I can't even think about the next event until the first is over. Christopher asked me last week how the Rehearsal Dinner planning was coming along. I said, "I don't know." Ask me next week when graduation is over.

I'm not thinking about it today either. I am at the U.S. District Court House. As a prospective Juror, I have to be downtown by 7:00a.m. I am not normally even dressed at 7. Sarabeth is off to London, so I'm supposed to be taking Hilary to school at 7:00. But instead, I have left at 6:30a.m.

After the energy I am putting forth and the sacrifices I am making, I hope I get to sit in on a trial. If I come home after all of this without performing my civic duty of being a juror, I will be sorely disappointed. Or maybe just sleeping.

Finish Well

Sunday was the Baccalaureate.

Monday-Tuesday are Finals

Wednesday is the Senior Banquet

Thursday the Senior Picnic

Friday Graduation Rehearsal

Saturday-Graduation

Sunday-Sarabeth flies to Phoenix

Monday-Sarabeth is off to London

My 4th child is graduating from high school. This week will be filled with nostalgic moments. Tomorrow I will pack Sarabeth's lunch for the last time. I will say good-bye to lunch boxes forever. (Hilary will only use a sack for lunch.) I always knew she'd carry one through her senior year. She chooses to walk her own path. Today she wore the same outfit to school that she wore the first day of her senior year.

Sarabeth, you have finished well!

Last Saturday I was supposed to fly to North Carolina with my mom-in-law to visit her oldest daughter. MaryAnn's husband had phoned late one night after she'd gone to bed. His wife was to receive a prestigious award at church. What a sweet man to invite her mother to come be a part of this event. MaryAnn would be surprised and I'd get to be there all of the fun.

Instead, I learned what Atrial Fibrillation is. No, not personally, my via mom-in-law. We had to cancel the trip.

A funny thing happened though. On Thursday my mother-in-law called to thank us for the beautiful fruit arrangement they'd received. Only we didn't. She said but they'd received a card and it had all of our names on it, even our soon to be daughter-in-law and Christina and Ethan.

What a fun idea! Send gifts bearing the name of someone else.

We received another call. A mistake had been made. With all of those names on the card, she'd just assumed Michael and I were on it. We weren't. My kids had gotten together and sent it just to brighten her day. And they hadn't even mentioned it to me.

I do like the idea of sending gifts under an assumed name.

Some Days Are Just Sad

Tomorrow will be a happier day. I think it is ok to have a down day once in awhile. After a sunny day in the 70's yesterday, it is a bit gloomy here. It began raining, snowed a bit and it gray, cold, and damp. Certainly a good day to get some things accomplished inside.

I need to put my scrapbooking supplies away. I'd been searching for a photo of my mom and me. I wanted to post one for Mother's Day. I found 3 or 4 from the past 25 years. It seems it is usually my mom or I that takes the pictures. I vowed to get more soon. Here is the most recent one with my mom and dad:



Ethan was here for a few hours on Mother's Day. He had a rough week. I noticed he found my photos. Thankfully, I noticed 40 or so that he'd thrown in the garbage. He also found my fancy scissors and pens. One photo I found of both my mom and dad was ripped in half, as were a number of other pictures. I don't blame him. These things happen. I don't feel very motivated to reorganize and put things away though. I'm afraid of what else I might find.

Remember when I posted how excited I was for Ethan to attend the Autistic school? That was in December and he didn't actually start until April? I posted about how the school wouldn't pay for the the summer and if Christina couldn't come up with the difference they wouldn't accept him? Did I tell you that thanks to the tax stimulus rebate and such the money was available? Yesterday she found out it didn't really matter. The school has "changed their mind" and won't pay for him to go in the Fall, even though they had verbally said he was approved beginning last November for at least a year. Instead, he gets to attend school for a mere 3 months.

I don't understand how they can deny him. Why open the door to watch him blossom for a few weeks, then slam it shut in his face? What a crushing blow!

I'm sorry. Sometimes it is just that kind of day. But if any of you happens to win the lottery and begin feeling very generous, I know a little boy who would love to keep going to school.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Who was that crazy lady riding down the middle of the street in a homemade go-cart? Built with her 9 year old son, it sure was fast. She crashed and burned at the bottom of a hill, grinding gravel into her knees. Walking home, the enthusiastic boy raved about how cool it was, while his mom limped along, blood running down her legs, dragging the cart behind her.

That was my mom.

Many times I've waited to hear an important speaker. But their introduction gets in the way. By the time the announcer has rattled off her many titles, education, accomplishments, & virtues, my mind has wandered. I lose the awe with which I've come to hear this person. A list can't capture the essence of the person. I want to tell the announcer to stop and let the person speak so I can decide this person's greatness for myself.

As I try to share about my own mom, very quickly I see the same pattern. She is multi-talented and the list grows the longer I write. Each time I stop. I don't want others to quit reading because she sounds way beyond everyone else, a superior being. But I want to share that she is Mom to 4 kids, 14 grandkids, 2 great grandkids, to share er adventures in life, education, accomplishments, generosity, intelligence...but I become that announcer.

To simplify, as I read about the Virtuous Woman, I see my mom.

A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds.

A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.

Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.

She brings him good, not harm,
all the days of her life.

She selects wool and flax
and works with eager hands.

She sees that her trading is profitable,
and her lamp does not go out at night.

She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.

She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.

She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.

Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:

"Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all."

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

Honor her for all that her hands have done,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you!

A Little Something I Found

I ran across a Christmas letter I sent out in 1999. Every year when my children were young, we'd take the obligatory family photo. I'd try to write a little something about each person and send it off with the photo and Christmas greeting. Somewhere along the way, it became too much. I missed a few years, didn't even get cards out, let alone a photo taken. I tried again in '99. We'd celebrated my inlaws 50th anniversary so we did have a photo. But what was I thinking???

I wrote this post about a Christmas letter from 1970 that my dad found. After sharing it Gretchen had commented "Any chance you'll try to write some new poetry?" This is why I don't:

Twas a few nights before Christmas and all through the house
No one was quiet, Eeek! The cat's got a mouse!
Michael's been working the computer with care
Building a web page for sports everwhere.
The house is a bustle with children and dog,
Two cats, six gerbils, a fish, and a frog.
Christopher's off with lacrosse stick and ball,
This year in high school he played football.
Christina graduated and went to CSU
She's home now, recovering from Mono and flu.
Elisabeth's homeschooled, but still goes to choir,
She's also involved in the youth group, "On Fire."
Sarabeth just finished her part in a play, and
Represented her school in a speech meet one day.
Hilary's in Brownies and loves to run,
Ran the mile in P.E. and won just for fun.
Joanne has to shop and doesn't have time
To be real clever and keep trying to rhyme.
So we send these greetings to all we hold dear,
May your home be filled with holiday cheer.
And may you be blessed by the Father above
Who sent His Son Jesus to show you His Love.


What was I thinking? And why did we take pictures at the very end of the day when nobody looked their best? Oh well, maybe I didn't really send this out. Maybe it was like so many of my other started but never finished projects.

So instead I embarrass myself and post it here.


It's fun to look back. And this my friends, is why you don't read poetry on my blog. So there you have it Gretchen. I guess I did try to write some poetry in my adult years.

School Project

Hilary had a Spanish project she needed to work on over the weekend. It was one of those group efforts that all parents dread. (Ok, maybe just me.) It requires having the bunch at my house with me supervising, which I don't do well. This often results in one or more kids lingering around because their ride doesn't show. I end up feeding them dinner, then driving them home. Or, as was the case this day, I drive 20 minutes one way to drop my daughter off at another kid's house. She stays a couple of hours, then I pick her up. I lose over an hour and a half out of my weekend driving her around. I should get an 'A for effort.

As I drove Hilary to meet with her 4 male partners, I encouraged her to keep the guys on task. It isn't that I think teen boys goof off...well, yes I do. "Don't let them get distracted by other things. If they do, gently remind them that you really don't have a lot of time. Help them stay focused."

I didn't go to the door with her, just waited until someone answered. After the 20 minute drive home, I began preparing dinner. I hear my phone jingle a text message. It's from Hilary.

"Kyle almost just sliced his thumb off trying to cut this thing for his mom so we are at the emergency room doing our project."

"What???" Was my first response.

I then message her back (why don't I just call???) asking if I should pick her and the other boys up & bring them here to finish the project. Nope. She assures me everything is under control. What, and miss all of the excitement?

I couldn't help but wonder what in the world I would have done if this had been my child who nearly sliced her thumb off. I can't imagine dragging a bunch of teens with me for that trip and having them sit in the waiting area to work on their project.

I then receive a picture message of the bloody wound being cleaned up. Nice.

I text Hilary, "Are you in the room watching Kyle get stitches?" Well, duh. She simply said yes.

Kyle's parent was a much better superviser than I. They did almost finish their project.

Reach Out To Touch Someone

I was late to church this morning, so sat in the back. At one point, we turn and greet those around us. I looked around. A couple with a small boy standing between them sat a row behind me and over several seats. I shook the father's hand first, then greeted the mom. The boy was looking down, so I bent over, placed my hand on his shoulder and said, "hey buddy, how are you today."

As he looked up at me, I noticed he had Down Syndrome. Without thinking, I swiped my hand across his face, wiping most of the drool dripping down his chin. The same way I've done with Ethan so many times. And just as quickly, I dried my hand on the side of my skirt. With Ethan, I am usually wearing a pair of absorbant jeans when I decide to whisk saliva into my hand. This skirt was not cotton. I stroked his hair, smiled and turned to greet the next person. But when I sat down, I was horrified.

Was it a faux pas to wipe drool off of someone else's child? Did I embarrass the parents? Except for when they were babies, I've never had a child that drooled. (A wet pillow doesn't count.) I imagined being back in church when my children were little. In the middle of greeting, an older lady pulls a wrinkled tissue from her purse and says, "here honey, let me get that big booger" and then proceedes to wipe my child's nose. No this didn't happen, but I would have been horrified. I would have thought the lady figured I didn't take the time, or didn't notice my young child needed to wipe her nose. I would be embarrassed.

I truly hope I did not embarrass these parents. It was not my intention. I hadn't even noticed the drool until he looked up. My movements were automatic, not something I thought about. Shudder. Anyone have any thoughts?

Oh Baby, part 2

Summer came early that April. As I walked along, the temperature was 89 degrees and climbing. This wasn't unusual for Phoenix. I was thankful for 2 things, no 3. One, that I wasn't pregnant in this heat. Secondly, that this doctor appointment was in the morning. Thirdly, for the precious 2 week old babe in my arms. Taking care of a newborn was a lot of work, but mixed with the exhaustion was an indescribable joy. Being a mom was the best job in the world.

The doctor's office was a mile and a half down the road from our apartment. I didn't own a stroller yet, nor a diaper bag. Since I hadn't gone anywhere, I didn't realize how handy a diaper bag might be. My steps were awkward and jostled my sleeping baby. I became increasingly uncomfortable. I'd squeezed into prepregnancy clothes that were too tight. Sweat began to trickle down my skin. Was my tiny infant hot too?

I felt bad about covering her with a blanket. I hoped since she wasn't exerting herself as I, that she didn't mind having the extra layer of the blanket. Besides, her skin was so delicate and thin I feared the sun scorching it. I'd had plenty of bad sunburns with my fair skin. Nobody used sunscreen. The previous year SPF 15 was introduced. It was touted as protecting and preventing sunburn. The claim was that one could stay in the sun for 15 hours and only receive 1 hours worth of the sun's harmful rays. I was afraid to try it. Afterall, I wanted a little color in my skin. And when would I be in the sun for 15 hours???

I held the blanket up and away from her skin so I could peer under it. This would keep her cooler but still protect her. Christina's downy soft eyebrows arched, but it seemed too much effort to open her eyes. She stretched her arms and tried again. I caught a glimpse of those baby blues as she squinted in the bright sunlight. Her forehead wrinkled. It smoothed, but her brow furrowed as her eyes scrunched tightly shut again. I could gaze at this miracle all day.

Thud! My heart raced. I'd accidently stepped off the curb and nearly fallen. A car whizzed past on the other side of the street. It scared me. What if I'd fallen in the path of a car with my baby in my arms? This was a fairly busy street. I realized I needed to watch where I was walking and not be staring down. The rest of the walk was with great determination to get there and fast. There were bigger dangers than the sun and heat.

May Day

My friend Heth has a great May Day tradition. Last year she shared about it, I was inspired. I remember back in Kindergarten doing the May Pole Dance. I don't remember ever celebrating this day any other time. I'm always looking for an excuse for any kind of celebration, especially if it involves treats to eat. But yesterday it was 82 degrees and the outdoors called to me. Often. (I have sunburned shoulders to prove it.) This morning I was thinking about those May baskets and candy. Now I have an excuse not to share this celebration with others. I can't take my car out in this:


Yes, that is snow. It just started about 5 minutes ago. Guess I'll have to eat the candy myself.
Happy May Day!

*Updated*
(An hour later, it is starting to stick)