Interruptions

None of us knows what today holds. I can look at my calendar or my to-do list and see what is scheduled, but how often is that a true picture of the day? Saturday I blocked off the entire day for the big Homecoming Game and Dance two of my girls were planning to attend. It's a good thing. It took the entire day. (Wish I could post a picture of the two of them together, but the timing was off and we had to rush out the door with one to get to the festivities.) I was exhausted by 8:00p.m. My girlfriend called; the one who helped so much getting the girls ready. She wanted to go to a movie. All I really wanted to do was rest, but went anyway.

Sunday morning I get a call, "Can you come get me ASAP?" I was still dripping from the shower. I don't like leaving the house with wet hair and no makeup, but I did. I could tell from my daughters voice something wasn't quite right. Apparently, she'd awoke with violent protests originating from her stomach. I wish she'd warned me BEFORE I left the house. I would never have taken my, never-been-vomitted-in car.

On Monday, I was a bit behind from the weekend. This is also my grocery shopping day. Michael had a 9 a.m. Dr. appointment that I agreed to go to with him. Walking out the door, my cell phone rings. It is another daughter. I missed the call, so phoned her back as we were driving. I hear a quivering voice, "What are you doing?" I quickly give her the details and ask what is wrong. "How soon can you get here? I am going to the ER and I need someone to take Ethan." I told her I'd be there as soon as we were finished at the appointment. Why is it when you are in a hurry the doctor is running an hour late for his first appointment of the day?

I look at my calendar for today. I need to add grocery shopping to the list. I don't know what today will hold or what phone call I may get. But I know the One who does. And if I listen, I will be prepared for interruptions. I need to pay attention to the little promptings that in retrospect I will see the pieces of the puzzle fitting together. Saturday I left a towel in my car that I needed on Sunday. Last week I made an extra pan of enchiladas and put it in the freezer. It made a nice dinner when I wasn't here. I normally don't freeze that last bit of roast beef, but I packed 2 lovely sandwiches into lunch boxes this morning. If I am attentive to that still, small voice, I can have peace in the midst of the storm.

Toast & Water

"Here he comes again, your toast and water." The waitress smiled. What was with this man who'd been in 4 times in the past 2 weeks? Surely he did not come in for the food. His order was always the same, whole wheat toast and a glass of water. Fifty-three cents. He'd drop a dollar on the table before leaving. He asked to sit in her section each time, so she'd pretty much figured out that he came in just to see her.

Today she didn't feel much like being social. Her baby was sick. She couldn't afford to take time off. She dropped her off at daycare feeling guilty. Her daughter had cried when she pulled her out of bed and tried to dress her shivering body. Probably running a fever. She shook those thoughts from her head as she approached the table. She mustered up what she thought was a pleasant voice, "hi, how are you today? Toast and water?"

"No, I think all have a couple of eggs." Taken back, she asked, "how would you like those cooked?"

"Hmmm...I don't know. Just a couple of eggs."

Maybe if she'd been in another mindset, she would have put his order in with Over Easy written down. She herself despised eggs with any hint of yellow liquid. But maybe he didn't like scrambled and if someone had given her a runny egg she could not have gagged it down. She was an emotional wreck and was not in a place to make decisions for someone else.

"I have to tell the cook how you want your eggs."

"Alright, how about poached?" Poached? Poached? Ugh! She wanted to tell him that poached eggs were awful, that they took longer to cook, that waitresses hated waiting for poached eggs.

She smiled weakly. "Ok, I'll get that right out." He grinned back at her. She wondered who he was and why he seemed interested. It certainly wasn't her sweet disposition. She wanted to tell him, "I am married, I have a child, so please don't bother coming back." But truthfully, her marriage was over and she knew at some point she would be interested in dating again. For now, she had way too much stress to even think about it and nothing left emotionally to give. Besides, it wasn't as if he'd asked her out on a date. No, the only thing he'd done was frequent the diner. She had nothing to say to him.

"Here you go, hope you like your eggs." She slid the plate of poached eggs towards him.

"I was wondering. How would you like to go to Prescott? We could take my plane and fly up there for lunch."

(To be continued...)
Part Two

Power Ranger

I don't know much about Power Rangers, but I do know one little boy who thinks he is one.

Again

She did it again. My 3rd child received another speeding ticket. Let's see, that makes 3 total. I admit, it was probably my fault. I was the one who sent her to pick up her sister that night. I thought she'd learned her lesson after the first ticket, and then the second. I foolishly believed that the money she spent on those tickets would mean something to her, as well as our trip to court. Apparently not.

What now? I figured I needed to do something as her right foot must be very heavy while driving. But wait. This child is 19 years old. I realize she still lives in our home, but my guess is if she hasn't figured out that driving too fast is not a good idea, that anything I might do to try to force the issue is probably a waste of time. When I was 19, I was married and parenting my firstborn. I was at the point in life where I was thinking about teaching my child right from wrong and why it was important to follow rules and laws. I think there comes a time in every parent's life where we need to step back and allow a child to make choices-even when they are not making wise ones. That doesn't mean we don't talk and discuss the issues. But it does mean I am going to allow her to continue on her merry way and speed if she so chooses. I cannot hold her hand, or ride along in her car and make sure she does everything my way, or even the right way. At some point, she has to be responsible for herself.

Sigh.

It is not easy to give freedom.

Blunder

Oh, I completely forgot about my blunder this weekend. We experienced an unusually chilly day. Last week we found out our heater is no longer working. The beast is scheduled to be replaced in October. In the meantime, the basement was quit chilly. In my brilliance, I realized it was a perfect time to clean my downstairs oven. During summer months, my ovens are not run on the clean cycles. It is too hot. But what a great way to warm the downstairs during this cold snap.

Truthfully, I cannot remember when I last cleaned it. I rarely use this oven, so it doesn't get that dirty. (Well, it did look like someone had spilled a pizza in there.) I tried to switch the lever to the lock position so I could set the timer to clean. It wouldn't budge. Oh no, I must be doing something wrong. I no longer have a manual for this darn thing. It is older than dirt. I mean, seriously. It is Harvest Gold in color. That should tell you something. I don't think I could look this one up on the internet.

I was competely befuddled. Then I noticed atop the stove were the cleaning instructions. 1. Lock Oven. Grrr...that is what I was trying to do. Oh, there is a release button. It still did not work properly. 2. Raise glass door shield if your oven model is equipped with one. Well, I didn't have one of those, at least I'd never noticed on previous cleanings.

I opened the door to see where the latch was supposed to hook. It seemed jammed. I stuck a spoon in it, jimmied it a bit, and somehow the door locked. Woohoo! I set the timer for the start and stop time and off I went. I was very pleased with myself for finding a way to warm the downstairs. When it was finished, I'd open it up as soon as I could and that hot blast of air would permeate the entire downstairs.

Sometime later in the day, Michael mentioned to me that the oven door downstairs was broken. What? How could that be? But upon inspection, it certainly was broken. When I was messing with the door, I'd noticed what look like it could have been a shield. But for the life of me I could not imagine how this shield could be raised. There were no levers or buttons or secret compartments. Upon opening the door, though, there right in front of me were levers to raise the shield to keep the glass window from breaking. I feel pretty dumb now. Oh sure, the downstairs is warmer, but it would have warmed by today anyway. It is over 70 degrees and tomorrow it is forecast to be in the 80's. But there is a bright spot. I think it is time to say adios to my lovely Harvest Gold oven and hello to a nice stainless steel one.

Dates

Look at this little gem I found:



Why yes, it does say Sell By Feb 27. No, there isn't a year, but I'm pretty sure it was '06. Now in all fairness, I do have 2 refrigerators. The one downstairs is used mostly for keeping beverages cold, but also as an overflow when I have the main one stuffed. I do recall oh so long ago, a meal where I was sure I had sour cream. I searched and searched and never did find it. Well, I DID find it, but 7 month later. But this happens regularly at my house. Yes, if I was better organized this wouldn't happen with such frequency. Here is another example:



In case you can't make out what is in my pantry, I will tell you. On 6 different shelves you will find Rosarita Refried Beans. (And yes, having a large family it would be more cost efficient to buy the larger cans, but they don't fit neatly on these tiny shelves.) There isn't any organization, which translates into lost items.

If I had larger shelves I could label, alphabtize and really be organized. But in this pantry I have to put things where they fit. (Ok, no real excuse as to why the beans can't all be near one another, but I do like seeing the variety on each shelf.) Doesn't seem so boring.

With Child

I was reading a new-to-me blog by Ginnie the other day and a familiar one by the Questing Parson. Their memories brought back to life some of my own.

It was nearing Christmas and I was 32 weeks pregnant with my 3rd child. The hustle and bustle of the season was wearing on me. The focus was not on the true meaning of Christmas but the just busyness of a holiday. On that particular morning, I was up extra early. I was determined to have some quiet time before my children awoke. I needed that quiet.

Even though I shivered in the cold morning air, I opened the drapes to the big picture window. As early as it was, it appeared to be light outside. I stood there in amazement. Snow had fallen overnight and the grass and trees were blankets of white. The sun was not up yet, but the snow glistened in the moonlight. It was one of those moments I wanted to share with others but didn't dare move for fear of missing out on it.

After a bit, I cozied myself into an overstuffed chair by the window to spend some of that quiet. I asked the Lord to help me keep the stillness inside so I could reflect on the true meaning of Christmas. I began to think of the birth of Jesus. Was it a cold night when his mother gave birth outdoors in a stable? I wondered at her thoughts about her child as she neared the end of her pregnancy. Being with child myself, I knew the hours spent thinking of this baby. What would she look like, would she be all girl wearing lace socks and frilly dresses or would she be more of a tomboy preferring to stomp in puddles in mud-stained jeans?

How did Mary deal with thoughts of the awesome task before? She was to raise Jesus, the Son of God, God himself. Did she worry about the mistakes she'd make? No parent is perfect. Even if her little boy was without sin, that didn't mean being his parent was easy. She would have sleepless nights, her baby would cry. It was her responsibility to teach him right and wrong, to guide and direct him ultimately train him up and he would be the Savior of the world. I was completely overwhelmed at the thought of what it would be like to be the mother of Jesus. The task was daunting. Just as I was imagining my inability to perform this duty the words of Jesus flooded my mind:

"Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

The gravity of it pressed in on me. I could not move, I could hardly breathe. My child, each one of my children, was no less important than Jesus himself. Being a mom and raising my children right was every bit as serious as it was for Mary to parent Jesus. I sat there for a good long while. I was only pregnant with my 3rd. I wasn't even aware that I would be blessed with 2 more precious children. At that moment, 3 was almost terrifying.

But then, just as the snow had blanketed and softened the outdoors, the Lord's presence enveloped me. I knew I was not alone in this task. I was partnered with God. He already knew everything about my unborn child and what she would need for her future. I would surely make mistakes, but by taking the quiet times with Him and silencing the noise around me, He would show me how to be the parent my children needed.

Clothes

Michael walked into the kitchen wearing one of the new shirts I'd bought for him.
"Did you wash this shirt?"

"Yes, I did." After I'd purchased this shirt for him, he informed me that he didn't care for it. Was he unhappy that I'd washed it so it was now unreturnable?

"Did you iron it?"

Well, I touched it up a bit with the iron. It is a wrinkle-free shirt so it didn't require much ironing. That is why I bought it." I was feeling the need to defend myself.

Michael laughed and held up a shiny, metal object for me to examine. "Well, I found this in the sleeve. I wonder how it survived being washed and you didn't see it when you ironed it."

Ah, it was one of those lovely little straight pins they put in men's shirts. I wracked my brain trying to remember if I'd ever purchased an article of clothing that came with so many little pins. Wait a minute, why do they do this with men's dress shirts? Why do they come in those plastic bags all neatly folded and pinned in place with stiff cardboard to help them keep their shape? I cannot think of any women's clothing that is kept as such. Folded and packaged shirts are not designed to be tried on while shopping. And then I got it. That was the whole point.

Men can walk into a store, know that they are a size 15 or whatever, (based on their neck size.) They stand in front of the display and all they need to do is pick out their desired color. Everything else is done for them. Now correct me if I'm wrong, but men come in all different shapes and sizes just like the ladies. So how in the world can they just pick up their size, never having tried it on and only have to deal with their choice of color and/or pattern? How convenient is that?

For those who don't know it, I am not a born-to-shop woman. Wouldn't life be grand if I could walk into a shop, have my pick of shirts based only on color/patter design and my neck size? I have no idea my neck size, but I cannot even imagine clothing manufacturers getting together and using the same sizing charts. I don't think it is possible. That is why the female gender has to try on their clothing before purchasing it. We have to hunt for our clothing, not unlike the cavemen of old who hunted for their daily food. Shopping is no easy task and trying on clothing in various sizes wastes so much time. I want my clothes folded in neat little bundles, laid out for me to pick the best color. I'll even wear the neckties that so many men complain about. Just give me perfect sizing no matter where I shop. I could learn to enjoy shopping and be in and out the way most men shop. I'll deal with the occasional missed pin that manages to escape unpacking, washing, drying, and even ironing. And if I get blood on my shirt from that forgotten pin and it is permanently stained, I won't mind going shopping for a new one.

Continued

(Continued from Sunday)

At the end of horseback riding I took Ethan out for a burger and fries. As we pulled up to Carl's Junior, he excitedly began to chatter and wave his arms. It was obvious that this was one of his favorite places. Inside I wondered if I should get him the kid's meal with chicken or a cheeseburger. I asked him as I normally would and briefly listened to his chatter, trying to decifer if he was actually saying something or just making happy noises. I ordered him the burger.

We found a place to sit and I opened up his food. He immediately began munching on french fries. Sometimes Ethan needs help with his food, but tonight it looked like he was going to manage just fine. I watched him. He seemed so very pleased, grinning as he looked around. It was as if he was wanting to tell others around us, "hey look, my Gramma took me out for french fries in her car, and I just got back from horseback riding, life is good!"

I noticed him watching me eat my cheeseburger. He then proceeded to pick up his and try to hold it the same way. When I'd take a bite, so would he. I took a sip of soda. He fumbled with his burger and grasped his cup and took a drink also. Cola dripped down his chin.

"Wipe your chin Ethan." I told him as I pressed a napkin to his face. He took hold of it and rubbed it back and forth.

"Looks like that's a good dinner." One of the workers was cleaning a table nearby. "What's your name? He inquired of Ethan. Ethan looked inquisitively at him and held out his burger as if to say, "you want a bite?"

So far, I haven't found a one-size-fits-all answer when strangers begin talking to Ethan. If I say "his name is Ethan" will he continue to ask him questions, waiting for a response? Do I blurt out, "he doesn't talk." and leave it at that? Does this person already recognize that this is not your typical child and doing their best to just be friendly or are they feeling incredibly awkward right now?

"Ethan's enjoying his dinner very much," I responded. At that moment Ethan began to rattle off his own dialog of words. The young man smiled and walked away. It was time to go.

Now came the hard part. It was my duty to take Ethan to the sitter's. My daughter didn't finish class until 10 p.m. If it hadn't been a weeknight, it wouldn't have been a problem to keep him at her apartment until then. But with the 1 1/2 hour drive back home, I wouldn't get there until at least 11:30 p.m. and it would be after midnight before I crawled into bed. This would have to do.

When we arrived, Ethan did not want to get out of the car. Inside the house, he began to cry and clung to me. I waited with him for 15 minutes, hoping he would settle down. The sitter said she had never seen him so upset. I didn't realize this was his first time back at the sitters since summer break. I couldn't do it. I carried him back to the car and drove away.

I spent the next few hours playing Power Rangers with him. He seemed so happy. Yes, it was late when I got home and the next morning I was tired. But it was all worth it seeing the joy in that boy's face and hearing his happy sounds.

Great Day

I hopped in my little convertible and away I went. I questioned whether it would be wise to take my car, but I didn't have much choice. Nobody else was home, so my car would have to do.

It seemed like a long drive, but really an hour and half wasn't that bad. Besides, I enjoy driving in my car with the top down. Even on the highway at 75mph it is fun to drive. (Okay, maybe 80mph) Unfortunately, it was late in the afternoon and I hadn't anticipated the traffic, nor had I realized there would be so much construction. Since the car is not an automatic, it is much more of a challenge to read directions while driving. Something didn't seem right. I had turned off the highway going East, but the directions instructed I turn North. That is the direction I'd just come from. Was I really supposed to backtrack 6 miles??? That seemed like an extra 12 miles out of the way, but since I had no idea where I was going, I drove onward.

I checked my watch. I should have been there a half hour earlier. I was just thinking I was lost and might never get there when I saw the sign up ahead: Pikes Peak Therapeutic Riding Center. I pulled onto the dusty, dirt road.

I barely had a chance to say hello to my daughter before she had to leave. She had a class to attend. She said she'd leave the car seat by my car before her quick exit. I followed the path to the barn. Inside I saw 5 or 6 horses being led by volunteers. I searched the riders until I found him.

I knew he recognized me by the way he smiled. I think I was a distraction, because as they'd walk near the gate, he'd be looking around and not really paying attention to the instructions he was given.

An older gentleman stood nearby. He turned to me, "which one's yours?" I pointed to Ethan, "that's my grandson."

"The girl in the yellow shirt over there is my granddaughter," He spoke with such pride. I looked for the girl in yellow. At first I didn't see her. Then he continued. "She's been here since 6 this morning, so it's been a long day for her." It was almost 6 p.m. "But I've told her that she needs to give back. These kids riding the horses don't have the opportunities that she has and they need someone to help them. So she volunteers her time down here so the kids can ride.

Tears welled up in my eyes. I didn't know how to respond. I wanted to thank her. I wanted to thank him for his granddaughter's service and I was guessing he gave his time too. But I just stood there, overwhelmed at the generosity of this young lady. I finally found my voice again, "we all have something to give. Even these kids on the horses give. My grandson gives so much to me." He nodded. I think he understood.

I have been given a new perspective on life.
I have been given a reminder to never take anything for granted.
I have learned that true joy comes from the most unexpected places and that love can be understood in any language or no language at all.

Having Fun

The kids having fun:



My inlaws are here visiting this week. Now don't they look like they are having fun? We are having a great visit, I just wish they lived close so we could have fun year round.

ConeHeads

Adventure Pants

I don't recall exactly when it happened. But sometime during second grade, Sarabeth dubbed her light tan overalls her "Adventure Pants."

I do remember whenever she went on a class field trip, I encouraged her to wear something comfortable. Maybe I suggested a pair of pants with pockets; the overalls had several. She owned 2 pairs of overalls, but the light tan ones were the ones chosen most often for field trips, thus began the term "Adventure Pants."

From the time Sarabeth was young, she was very intense about everything. This meant that if she saw me pack a chocolate cupcake in her lunch in the morning, it was the beginning of "the best day ever." The rest of her day was set to be perfect in spite of anything that might happen. Conversely, if she forgot her homework from the night before, the "worst day of her life" would begin. It didn't matter if her teacher even noticed. Her mind was prepared for everything to come tumbling down. She expected the teacher to stay angry with her all day and nothing could possibly go right.

The day she came home and proclaimed her overalls to be her Adventure Pants was a good day indeed. From there on out, the mornings she put them on became almost magical. It didn't matter that it wasn't a day for a field trip, or that she didn't have a chocolate cupcake in her lunch. Instead, she expected fun. Her mind was set for an interesting day. She had an expectation. She knew something new and delightful was just waiting for her around every corner. She looked for it in everything she did. She returned from school with stories of little blessings that made up her day. It was usually her "best day ever."

That summer, we put the Pants to rest, but pulled them out again in the Fall. It was quite a disappointment when she found they no longer fit. I tried passing them on to her younger sister, Hilary. But she would have none of it. There was no way she was going to wear Sarabeth's Adventure Pants. I think I got teary-eyed when I gave them away. I never told Sarabeth.

Wouldn't it be nice if we all had a pair of Adventure Pants? We could put them on in the morning. This would place us on the road to adventure. We would spend our day in anticipation of blessings. We would watch and wait for the excitement to begin. We would appreciate the smallest of joys we might otherwise have missed? Go put on your Adventure Pants. Have the best day ever!

Lots Of Days

After 20 years, does it get any easier? Well, yes, yes it does. This is my 20th year, as a mom, sending my kids off for the first day of school. This is my 1st year of saying good-bye at the door. I didn't even have to get dressed. No waiting in morning traffic. No one's hair to fix. Nobody's shoes to find or put on their little feet. I only made 2 lunches. This is getting much easier.

Sigh. It won't be long and there will be no more 1st days of school. My children will all be grown and moved out of the house. It will be quiet. Maybe then I will appreciate the Fall. I might look forward to cooler morning temperatures, knowing I don't have to make a mad dash out of the house to get kids to school. It is possible that the changing colors will no longer represent the end of lazy summer days. The crunching of leaves underfoot won't be a reminder of the busy days and nights filled with homework, meetings, buying school supplies, and endless driving back-and-forth.

Instead, I will watch my own children as parents, begin the whole routine of raising their children.

A Good Friend

This morning my dear, dear grandson woke up with a terrible diaper rash. He was screaming, my daughter was in tears not sure what to do. We promptly put him in a bath with baking soda. The crying stopped, the tears vanished. At the moment, he is having his 4th bath today. As I pondered the situation as a whole, I became very thankful for little things in life.

Sixteen years ago, a friend and I stood in my kitchen. My baby daughter had a diaper rash and was screaming. I felt so helpless. My friend told me to give her a bath in baking soda. I was doubtful. "Won't baking soda, like salt, sting and burn?"

"No," she replied. She began to make my baby a bath in the kitchen sink, while retrieving the baking soda from my cupboard and mixing it into the warm water. What a relief when I set her in the sink and her screaming immediately stopped.

Many years later, this helpful advice of a friend was soothing yet another baby. How many people have come into my life and deposited wisdom, advice, and so many other things that have made a difference? So many who are no longer in my life, but just passed through, and others who are still so very dear to me. I thought of the lady who taught me to make homemade bread and how to "properly" knead the dough. Recently, I had to borrow my daughter's car to take another one to school. I was so thankful for the person who taught me to drive a stickshift...And let me tell you, I have a much better perspective today. I am so thankful for all of the people the Lord has brought into and out of my life. And I am thankful for all of you who have shared your lives through the internet-bringing a smile, a laugh, a tear, a word of wisdom...so much. I am so blessed. I hope you will take time today and remember how blessed you are by the people who have touched your life.

(I ran across this in my drawer. I wrote it 3 years ago when I was writing out a Christmas card to the friend who mixed up the baking soda bath. So I decided to share it here today.)

Scented

As I sit typing on my keyboard, I find myself wanting a big cinnamon bun. MMmmmm...I breathe in and catch a faint scent of that delicious cinnamon. I get back to what I am working on, when it seems that warm cinnamon fragrance wafts by my nostrils igniting my senses and making me hungry again. Where is that enticing odor coming from? Me.

I keep a sugar bowl filled with a mixture of sugar, powdered sugar, and cinnamon. I make big, thick slices of french toast and sprinkle this on top. It tastes better than a freshly baked donut. I was looking for something in the cupboard and moved the sugar bowl to the top shelf. Somehow, it came tumbling out. In my attempt to catch it, I managed to not only miss it causing it to crash and break, but the grainy sugar went down the front of me and down my blouse. Like I mentioned, I can still smell cinnamon, along with feeling an occasional sticky spot. I think I'm going to make cinnamon rolls for breakfast tomorrow.

Bored

I was at the store and one of my kids sent a text message to my phone. This is what it said:


He's bored without you!

Yes, that is Michael, my darling husband. Looks like he fell asleep in the chair. I guess he really did get bored in my absence. See? I told you that we have fun when we are together and he must have missed me terribly to fall asleep.

Color

I am fascinated by colors. Just like music, colors create mood, ambiance. There just seems to be life in color. Could it be that we were each created with our own special color?

Could it be that:

I am yellow. Michael is red. Together a fiery sunset orange. The colors are so blended, you can no longer tell where the red, yellow, or orange begins.



Do you see where I am going? Yes, we are each a very unique color but were created to blend when we are married. As in the sunset, there are distinct colors, but the end goal is to see the blended color all as one. We are still unique, but in our marriage what God is trying to reveal to the world is the orange. Sometimes I want to be just yellow and I resist. But life is so much better in the blended part.

"For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh; so then they are no longer two, but one flesh." (Mark 10:7-8)

Happy 22nd Birthday

Happy 22nd Birthday to Christopher (a little late)

While in Arizona we celebrated Christopher's birthday. I've been a little slow updating, but still wanted to make a Happy Birthday post.

I figured out the other day, son, that you are exactly half my age. This is the only year that this will be true. I also figured out, that means you are the age I was when I gave birth to you. So happy 22nd!

I remember when you had already mastered the art of teasing your sister before your 2nd birthday. I knew right then and there that boys were wired differently than girls.

I remember when you wanted Nickelodean shoes. They were bright red. The next day you came home from school and said they didn't fit. I took you back to the store and the gentleman rechecked them. Then he turned to you and queried, "you don't really like these do you?" Sheepishly, you admitted it was true. Someone at school had made fun of you and you never wanted to wear them again. I learned how powerful peer pressure was and how early it began.

I remember the first trip to the Emergency Room. You'd found some Advil in my purse you thought were M&M's and decided to munch a few. I should have known then, that as a mother of a son, I'd make many more trips to the emergency room. I learned wound care after stitches, how to keep a cast from getting wet, that broken collar bones look real cool on ex-rays. And I learned to pray quick prayers, with my heart beating wildly in my chest and finding I could be calm in an emergency.

I remember taking our first family photos and in every single picture you were making a face or silly pose. That should have been a clue that you had a gift for humor and we'd find ourselves laughing nearly every day at the dinner table as you regaled us with tales.

I remember the phone calls from girls that I sort of freaked out about. I was more than shocked that 6 and 7 year old girls knew how to flirt. I learned that even boys needed to protect their hearts.

I remember when you were in the 6th grade and I walked into your school. You wanted to die of embarrassment and tried to slide under the table. I was learning that little boys grow up and needed space of their own.

I remember in high school when you'd wrap your arms around me and give me a hug-even out in public. I learned that it was ok to be your mom again.

I remember how appreciative you were about everything, from telling me "you're a good cooker" as a preschooler until...well, it continues. I learned you are very articulate in expressing your gratitude in even the smallest things, but also how important words are to you. I hope you will always have people in your life who value and appreciate you for all that you are and express the same appreciation you so freely give. There is so much more I could say, but since this isn't a book, I'll just say thank-you for being the kind of son any mom would be proud of and yes, you are my favorite son!

Therapy

My grandson, Ethan, has started horseback riding therapy. I am sure there is a more official name, but it is riding a horse. He has been very motivated and within the first few minutes began signing "walk on" to the horse since he can't say it. He doesn't have his glasses this week as he fell and broke them, but doesn't he look so very proud of himself?

I am so thankful for God's creation. Ethan loves animals and the first time he crawled was trying to reach the dog, as were his first steps. The first word he signed was "dog." I'm hoping one day he can get a service dog to be his constant companion. I know that would be heaven for him.

True Story

In case anyone was wondering, the previous two posts are true stories that happened 30 years ago. The girl was left wanting to be clean and whole, but also desperate for someone to love her and find worth in her. Unfortunately those two desires seemed to conflict with each other. The more she did to try to obtain love, the more unlovely she felt, the more broken and hurt she became. It created a downward spiral in her life for 8 years. By the time she was 22, she was married to her 2nd husband and expecting her 2nd child.

She'd attempted to pray but found the door to heaven tightly shut. (She didn't realize that in order to open that door she had to go through with Jesus.) She went to her former pastor. He didn't seem to have a clue how to help. His answer was for the girl to think of a book in the bible. (She wished that somewhere along the way she'd memorized the books of the bible, because outside of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, she couldn't think of any other books.) She blurted one of them out and picked out a number. Together they read the passage of scripture, but none of it seemed to apply. The pastor was looking in the right direction, but had nothing real to offer her.

She went to see another pastor to confess all of her sins, hoping to find forgiveness. Again, she went away empty. She tried to read her bible, but everything seemed a blur. The girl was losing hope fast. She visited several churches. In one, they pinned a giant ribbon on her dress with the word VISITOR printed on it. She felt like a prize at the county fair. At least she couldn't blend in that day. During the service she blushed when all of the visitors were told to stand so everyone could see them and greet them after the service. When it was all over, she sat in the car with her almost 3 year old. Tears ran down her face. She couldn't believe nobody, not 1 single person had introduced themselves or even said hello. She was ashamed. She knew why they didn't talk to her. They thought she was an unwed mother and pregnant again. They knew her shame and nobody wanted to be around her.

But this story has a happy ending. The girl ventured out one last time. She visited one more church. The people were very friendly. Towards the beginning of the service, the Pastor instructed everyone to greet those around them. Feeling very awkward, the girl just stood there, until she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned around and a boisterous woman grabbed her and hugged her tightly to her chest. She didn't let go right away. She hugged her longer. Finally she pulled back. "Hi, I'm Carol! I am so happy to meet you. I am so glad you are here, and aren't you the most beautiful pregnant lady I've ever seen." After the service, the two exchanged phone numbers. Carol invited her over for coffee. Within the month, not only were the two good friends, but Carol shared with her the secret to feeling clean again, how much she was loved and the answer to her loneliness. She explained the simplicity of the gospel message and I was born again.

I was given a new identity. The slate was wiped clean. I was no longer bound to the shame of the past or desperate for love. I became a beloved daughter. I am a partner with Jesus and nothing can separate me from His love. Twenty-two years later, He still loves me. He still amazes me beyond words. Our relationship has taken some adventurous twists and turns. I learn new things about God all of the time. The relationship grows the way all relationships do, by spending time with one another. I enjoy sharing the secrets and desires in my heart, my burdens and cares. I've learned to listen to Him share the same. And the funny part? The more I let Him get to know me, He still loves me the same. The more I know about Him, the more I love Him.

PART TWO

The summer before high school, Barbara moved to a nearby town. The girl still didn't have a lot of friends. Her parents would sometimes allow her to spend the weekend with Barbara. During one weekend the girls, as usual, hung out at a nearby bowling alley. That was where the girl met Joe and Kevin.

At first the girl did not care for them at all. They were obnoxious and crude and talked awful. But because there wasn't much to do at Barbara's and her parents didn't care what the girls did, they ended up spending quite a bit of time with Joe and Kevin that weekend. When the girls finally decided to go in that night, Joe leaned in and kissed the girl. She went away feeling very strange. Why did he kiss her? Did he like her? And what kind of kiss was that? She'd never had attention like that from any boy. It was sort of exciting, but very scary at the same time. The girl went to sleep with a mix of emotions.

The following week Joe asked her out. She was only 14 and Joe was 17, but she begged her father to let her go. It was just a drive-in movie and Kevin and Barbara were going also. It took some doing, but she convinced her father to let her go.

Joe and Kevin picked her up at the appointed time. As they drove towards the next town the girl was excited. She'd never driven in a car without an adult. The boys were smoking and kept offering it to the girl. She knew they weren't smoking regular cigarettes. She was afraid Joe wouldn't like her anymore if she didn't do it. He would think she was a baby. Joe pulled the car over and switched places with Kevin.

"When are we picking up Barbara?" The girl asked.
"She can't make it. We are stopping by another friend's house." Joe sat next to the girl and began to kiss her. She began to feel loved. But the feelings quickly began to disentigrate into confusion when Joe began to talk about having sex.

Back when she was in confirmation class, the pastor had discussed the ten commandments. They discussed how to say no to someone who wanted to have sex with you, give you drugs and such. But the girl was totally unprepared for this. She'd imagined walking down the street and some hoodlum asking her if she wanted to do drugs. She imagined herself emphatically telling him no. She never thought it would be someone she wanted to like her. She also had no idea she would enjoy kissing a boy when the subject of sex came up and she'd have the same confused feelings.

Finally, when she could manage the pressure no longer, she blurted out, "I can't do those things. It is Saturday night and I'm going to church tomorrow." The boys laughed.

The car stopped on a dark street and the 3 kids went into the house. There was a party going on with no adults in sight. The air was hazy with smoke. The girl knew the smell well enough to know it wasn't just cigarrette smoke. She sat on the couch with the boys. She was made fun of by others there when Joe told them she wouldn't get high with them. Several of them blew smoke in her face, trying to get her to inhale. She was beginning to feel light-headed and was trying her best to figure a way out of the situation. She looked around for a phone. Maybe there was a phone in a bedroom. She could ask to use the restroom and sneak in and call her parents to come get her. But the girl had no idea where she was. She didn't know the address or even the street name or whose house they were at.

She was feeling so disoriented and scared. She envisioned the next day's headlines in the newspaper: Girl dies from smoking pot. Her parents would think she used drugs and would be disgraced even though it wasn't true. The girl excused herself to go to the restroom where she thought she might be sick.

When she came out, the house was quiet. Nobody was there except Joe. "What's going on?" She asked. "They all left for a bit. Come in here, I want to show you something." Joe took her into another room and closed the door. It was then the girl realized his intentions. "Please Joe, I don't want to do this. I want to go home now."

Joe persisted. He ignored her pleas. She tried to hang onto her clothing as he forced it off. The girl wondered if she could escape and run out the door. Where would she go? How could she get help? She knew none of the kids who'd been there would do anything about it. If she only knew the neighborhood, or where someone lived that she could trust. But she still had no idea where she was, except in another town on a dark street. She began to cry feeling totally helpless to break free and also from the physical pain and burning.

After awhile, she knew it was over. Joe got up and left the room. The girl quickly pulled on her clothes. She saw blood on the bed. She'd never felt so dirty and used in all her life. Now who was going to love her? Nobody would want her. She would be destined to marry Joe since he was the one who ruined her.

The house filled with noise again. The girl saw Kevin and asked him if he'd take her home. He did. The girl never told her parents what happened. She was too ashamed. When she'd begged her father to let her go out with Joe, she'd asked, "don't you trust me?" How could he trust her when she let this happen? It didn't matter that she'd had no way to imagine the situation she'd been in, but it was her fault anyway. So the girl began high school feeling like damaged merchandise.

PART ONE

She'd always been the quiet type, very shy, but an excellent student. She was one of those annoying girls that when she did open her mouth, it was usually correct someone's grammar. Her family had moved 3 times in 3 years and she hoped that she would finally make some more friends in Junior High School.

At the end of sixth grade, she'd learned a lot of things. You didn't win popularity contests by pointing out grammar mistakes. In fact, those with the poorest grammar seemed to have lots of friends. Her school was sometimes a scary place. There were some very mean girls who threatened her regularly. How was she ever going to fit in?

That summer a new family moved in just a few doors down. They had a girl who was just 1 year older. Her name was Barb. This family wasn't like any she'd met before. Lots of people of all ages lived at this house. She found out the mom had been married 4 times and most of those living in the house were brothers and sisters from all different dads. Barb's older siblings often had boyfriends of girlfriends spending the night. She wasn't always comfortable at Barb's house, but she was intrigued with the all that went on, especially the parties that they hosted.

She noticed her friend Barb didn't have perfect grammar, but instead of correcting her, she decided to learn from her. She spent the entire summer learning slang and cute deviations of grammar that she knew would make her teachers cringe. And if used correctly, she could enjoy the laughter from other kids when she spoke inappropriately. This would surely win her some friends.

At the same time, the girl was attending a Lutheran Church. She was at the required age for confirmation classes. A new Vicar was teaching the Wednesday night class. One night he just could not take the antics of the kids any longer. He damned them all to hell and walked out on them. The group of seventh graders sat in stunned silence. Some of the rebels snickered. The girl had a hard time believing a grown adult would completely lose his composure and scream something like that at a bunch of kids. Sure the kids had pushed the limits, but weren't adults more mature than that?

She was under the misguided assumption that adults were intelligent, responsible, always did the right things. So this new world she was seeing was very confusing. Barbara's parents had parties, smoked, drank and even smoked pot. The girl began to wonder if her own parents just weren't aware of some things in life. Maybe these things weren't as bad as her parents said they were. Maybe it was just because they'd never tried them. Maybe that was it. Why else would adults party that way, or the Vicar scream at them that they were all damned to hell in a church???

The girl learned a lot in those few short years. She smoked her first cigarette and ditched school. She had her first beer at a church youth group function and got drunk for the first time. A lot happened before she ever started high school.

Christmas In July

Growing up I looked forward to Christmas with great anticipation. By the time my parents were 24 and 25 years old, they had 4 children. It wasn't that they started any younger than others in their generation, but they did have 4 children in 4 1/2 years. (My mom likes to say 5.) Consequently, money was tight. I don't know how they managed, but Christmas at our house was magical.

Back then we didn't have gadgets and electronics to fill our time. We played with and enjoyed simple things. One of my favorite things was listening to music-especially while my dad played along on his steel guitar. It wasn't often, but sometimes he took me in his arms and we danced. I was not one of those little girls like my sister, who desired to take ballet and tap dances. No, I enjoyed dancing with a partner. One particular occasion my dad attempted to show me the foot moves of a dance. I'm sure being so young, I wasn't getting it at all. So he told me to just place my feet atop his black leather shoes so he could better show me. I placed my chubby bare feet atop his warm shoes and we glided and swung around the room. It was glorious!

After that, all I wanted to do was dance. For Christmas I asked for a big doll. Since I loved baby dolls my mom asked if that was what I wanted. No. I wanted a life-size doll, one as big as me so I could dance with her. Mom told me big dolls were very expensive and she doubted they actually made them that big. That didn't stop me from dreaming.

Christmas morning, as always, we were up before the sun. I think this was part of the magic. Walking out a bit bleary-eyed to where the Christmas tree lights sparkled and shined their glowing lights onto beautifully wrapped packages. There were always a few things left unwrapped that made it even more exciting. That morning as I rubbed my sleepy eyes I could hardly believe what I saw. Not only was there a stroller I'd long coveted, but sitting inside was a huge doll. I never thought that this gift might not be mine. I pulled the life-size doll from her chair and hugged her to my chest. My mom had lovingly made a doll nearly my size. She had blonde curls like mine made from brightly colored yarn. She wore a beautiful dress that I later found had a matching one made just for me. But the best part was that under her fabric shoes, my mom had sewn in loops of elastic.

I didn't wait to get dressed. I put my shoes on while wearing my pajamas, then slipped the elastic bands around them. My dolls feet rested perfectly atop my shoes the way mine had on my dad's. I wrapped my arms around her and we danced.

Attitude

I'm trying to have a good attitude, really I am. We arrived home late last night after an exhausting week in the Arizona Desert. Ok, we weren't camping out or anything, but I found it quite unpleasant driving across town in the middle of the day when it was 117 degrees. There was no such thing as sleeping in as it just gets too warm in the morning. I was so happy to crawl into my own bed last night.

I was awakened by an expected commotion. I tried to open my heavy eyelids, but no luck. The light was too bright. I lay quiet, hoping it would be dark again and the rustling around would be stilled. My darling husband finally informed me of the misfortune of my first morning home. Our bedroom shower was leaking. He had completely emptied the closet behind it, cut open the wall to get at the leak only to find it was a bigger problem. My ever-efficient man had already phoned a plumber that would be here within the hour. Not only did I have to get out of bed and dress before showering, I have yet to brush my teeth. I've been sitting here several hours feeling completely undone. The water is shut off so I can't even flush a toilet. It is Sunday and without water there is no way I can make myself presentable to attend church. (Sigh) This is one day I'm glad my girls are not awake yet. It was difficult enough on vacation for 5 females to share a small bathroom, but to have no bathroom to share is worse. If there wasn't a strange man in my bedroom, I'd crawl back in bed.

Adventure

Off for an Adventure. We must be crazy. We are taking a week's "vacation" to the desert of Arizona. Yes, it is July and insanely hot. But I have a son turning 22, (taking my grandson who will turn 4,) parents and inlaws to see, sisters, brother, nieces & nephews to visit. It is just easier for us to pack up and go there as much as I'd love to have them all here. I think they'd love Colorado too.

Scents

I can't figure out how humidity in the air can change the way things smell. I awoke this morning earlier than usual. My coffee wasn't set to brew for another hour so I manually turned it on and went downstairs to put in a load of laundry. When I walked back into the kitchen it smelled like Gramma's home. I make coffee every morning, so how does a bit of extra moisture in the air change the way it smells?

Growing up in the hot desert of Arizona, I loved the times we'd go to California to visit Gramma. She would also say, "don't forget to bring your sweater" before we left, but we never did. (When it is 100 degrees at 10 o'clock at night, one cannot imagine needing a jacket anywhere within a days drive.)

Mom and Dad would load the car on a Friday night and we'd wake up early Saturday morning at Gramma's. The air felt so much cooler and I was told it was because of the humidity and breeze from the ocean. Aroused from my slumber by the thick aroma of coffee, I'd sneak out of bed to be the first to greet Gramma. I'd shiver after pulling the covers off, and want to hop back under the blanket. But the scent of coffee was too enticing. Gramma was in the next room.

Long before I ever thought about drinking coffee, it made an impression on me. Getting that first hug, sitting at the table watching as she sipped from delicate china cups, there was something so warm and inviting in that kitchen. The air seemed thick and heavy with that dark aroma, it surrounded you as if it you were wrapped in a blanket. The sunlight would stream in through the glass doors, creating added warmth. I loved being at Gramma's.

When I awoke this morning after last night's thunderstorms, the air was cool and had that same thickness about it. The coffee hung heavily in the cool, misty air as I walked through my kitchen. I was drawn in and melted into memories of Gramma's house. I sure do miss her.

God Bless America

God bless America,
Land that I love,
Stand beside her and guide her
Thru the night with a light from above;

From the mountains, to the prairies,
To the oceans white with foam,
God bless America,
My home, sweet home.
God bless America,
My home, sweet home

by Irving Berlin


I remember growing up and actually singing this song in school. (gasp) Yes, it was public school. But my favorite patriotic song was Battle Hymn of the Republic, or Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory. This one I learned in Kindergarten. I didn't understand most of the words, but when it came to the chorus I clearly remember standing a little taller. I would sing a little louder. My feet would begin to take steps in place. I envisioned soldiers marching from battle singing praises to God. I felt strong. It was how I imagined David feeling after his battle with Goliath. I understood we lived in a free country, but it had been at a great price.

"Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Since God is marching on."



(If you want to see the complete lyrics and a bit of history, you can find them here.)

Email

Another email I received from my oldest daughter:

I have a boy.
For sure.

E was outside playing. He came "running" inside and was jabbering away. He was showing me some dirt pinched between his thumb and forefinger.
I was like "oh wow!" then I carried on about my business.
After a minute E set the dirt on the counter. The dirt then began to squirm its mangled insect body across my countertop.
EEEEEEEW!
I squished what was left of the bug in a paper towel and threw it in the trash.
I started to walk away but then E started yelling so I turned around to see him pulling everything out of the trash, looking for his bug.

Love

After I wrote Sarabeth's Happy 17th Birthday post, I received this email:

I don't know what led me to read your blog, I was bored, sitting here, nothing else to do. I smiled when I saw my picture there and "Happy 17th Birthday Sarabeth!" Then I got to reading. I've heard all of that before, that I was the velcro baby and everybody tried to help you. But something struck me differently this time, it actually made me cry. I'm thanking God as much as you, right now, for giving me to you because I don't think anybody else in this world would have treated me the same way, with the same loving patience as you did, and you still do. I hope, one day, I can be like you, with enough faith and perseverance to keep moving forward and overcome any task set ahead of me. I've been told that I'm a good writer and should keep that up, but I hope that I can write like you do, with the ability to touch people so strongly that it changes their life forever. And thank you for always being there for me and giving me the courage to press on. Without your unconditional love I know I wouldn't be half the person I am today. Thank you so much. I love you.
-Sarabeth
It is an expression like this that makes the tough years all worthwhile, the long sleepless nights, the tears, the prayers, and the stress. So if you are a parent to young children, or even young teens and wonder if you are making a difference at all, you are.

(P.S. Took Sarabeth to the airport this morning. At the moment she is on a plane flying towards her destination for the next 3.5 weeks. I will miss her but am thankful for today's technology and the ability to keep in close contact.)

Memories

I've noticed recent celebrations of Blog Anniversaries on several blogs. So I wondered to myself how long I've been at this. I checked and was pleasantly surprised. Apparently, today is my 1st Blogging Anniversary. Happy Anniversary to me.

I have kept journals for years. This isn't really a journal, but it is similar. I enjoy going back and re-reading journals to see what life was about at that particular juncture in life, what I was feeling/thinking, and to see if I've grown since then. It is also interesting to be reminded of things that would have been forgotten.

My very first post was regarding my 1st attempt at the Zone Diet. I failed miserably. I would not have guessed that both Michael and I would start it together 9 months later and be successful. (I have lost 25 lbs since that first post.)

I noticed my second post included pictures of a trip to the mountains. I did not remember that Sarabeth had requested that trip for her birthday as well as the one taken last weekend. And although I mentioned that we love going to the moutains for cookouts, I realized that was probably the last time we'd gone.

It just goes to show that our memories are not always accurate of the way things really are. Many will say this and a few will admit this, but what about our perspective? Most of us think our own perspective is the right one. Even as I re-read about struggles in my journal, I'm merely reading my own perspective on life. I'd much rather peer into it with God's eyes to see how He sees it. That would give me a much more truthful interpretation of how I am doing.

And writing this post, I learned that even writing things down doesn't necessarily prove accurate. As I went back to find the links to my first posts, I realized I was wrong. I went back to June and viewed the top post, but the first post was at the bottom of the page. So today isn't my anniversary at all. It was June 25th-Sarabeth's birthday. (Sarabeth, we share a special day!) And those were not my 1st two posts. Oh well, it is still good to look back.

Happy 17th Birthday Sarabeth!

Sarabeth is my 4th child. When she was little I received more unwanted advice from well-intentioned people than with any of my other children. It is a good thing I was not insecure about my parenting. Each child is different and the Lord is always there to guide and help me meet the needs of each individual.

In general, I parent my children the same. How hard is it with a baby? I love them and meet their needs through my sleep-deprived, bleary-eyed body with a mother's heart. I spend hours praying for wisdom and guidance as to what will help my child become all that He intends them to be. It seemed rather simple with the 1st 3.

But Sarabeth was different. She became affectionately known as the Velcro Baby. Nobody but I could hold her, not even her daddy. I could hardly run to the bathroom without her having a meltdown. On a rare occasion when she was napping I would plead with her father to let me run to the grocery store without taking her along. You see, she was such a cutie people were always stopping to talk to her as I'd push her in the grocery cart. Her immediate response to uninvited attention was shrieks. The strangers would then try to soothe her by touching her and talking to her further. At this point she would be clutching at my shirt as if her very life depended on it. It was sheer terror. Once-in-awhile her father would give in to my pleading as long as I promised to be back in record time. It didn't matter how long I was gone. I always returned to a red-faced man pushing a matching red-faced, teary-eyed baby at me as I walked through the door.

"You just need to leave her more often."
"How long can she cry?"
"Leave her with me and she'll get over this pretty quick."

I've never met so many baby experts in all my life. The advice continued well into toddlerhood and elementary school. I learned to just smile at the so-called experts as they'd throw out their solutions to my clingy child, all the while thanking God for His grace not to say something nasty back. Friends and family began to shake their heads at me, believing my child would never be normal.

To everyone's surprise, Sarabeth began to blossom into a very independant, well-adjusted young lady. Her quick-witted sense of humor evokes laughter from everyone. In 6th grade she left for a week to Outdoor Lab. Unlike some of my other children, she didn't ask me to come along. There were no tears as she said good-bye. The years of building security into her by letting her know I was there for her had paid off. It hadn't been my job to force her to stand on her own and be strong. By keeping her close and strengthing our relationship she developed the courage to do more than anyone thought possible. And isn't this what our heavenly Father desires for us?

Next Saturday Sarabeth will leave once again. This time for a month-long nanny stint in another state. I am so proud of how she has grown up. Happy Birthday Sarabeth!

Put It Back

She pushed her cart to the checkout and put her items up to be scanned. Her son was chattering away as he clutched a toy. It was obvious by his movements that something wasn't right. His speech was unintelligible. But he made happy sounds as he played with the toy.

"We have to pay for it now," the young mother told him. As she placed it on the counter, he began to grab for it and express his displeasure. "You can have it in just a minute." She kissed his forehead.

The clerk rang up the few items. The mother inserted her credit card into the machine.

"Do you have another card? This one has been denied." The clerk turned to the mother and boy.

"No, I don't." You could see the red in her cheeks as she blushed in humiliation. All the while, the boy was reaching for his new toy.

"I'm sorry, honey. We can't get it today." It was obvious that the boy did not comprehend what his mom was telling him. He did not understand why he couldn't have his toy back. His mother quickly swiped at her face with her hand to keep the tear from falling. She was a single mom and did not have any other money. "I'm sorry, let's go."

The boy began to cry and the mother couldn't soothe him. He just did not understand why the lady at the counter took his toy and he couldn't have it. His mom took him to the car.

Now, imagine that this was your child and your granchild.

Fun

We are NOT campers. In spite of this, one of our favorite things to do in the summer is having a cook-out in the mountains. Sarabeth's birthday is Sunday so she requested an early birthday dinner. And what do the girls do for fun?

Mountains

More pics from our cook-out:

Gosh, maybe we should actually try camping. This is Elisabeth and Hilary pretending to camp.

Hearts

What's In Your Heart?

What's in your heart? I know the "right" answer is Jesus. I was thrilled each time my kids could truthfully give the right answer. But this phrase has taken on a new meaning.

When Michael returned from New Jersey, he said he had something for me. He presented me with a lovely little black box with this inside:



It is a "What's In Your Heart" pendant. You purchase it empty, then fill with charms of your choice (according to how much you want to spend.) This is probably one of the single most romantic things Michael has ever done. He added our initials to it, chose a heart with my birthstones, a ruby for my son and grandson, and a diamond for my girls. How sweet is that? I was totally suprised and amazed.

Naturally, my girls each wanted one, so I went online to find information. Apparently these are just becoming popular. What made them popular was an actress from Desperate Housewives who wore one on a talk show. I've never seen the show, nor do I care to. But I am ever so happy with what's in my heart-both the pendant and my own.

Happy Dad's Day

Dad, remember when you took me and Greg fishing while my sisters stayed at home? I felt so important being able to go along with the guys.

Remember when you used to sneak up the stairs to catch us fooling around when we were supposed to be sleeping? I always heard you when your foot stepped on the one creaking stair. I'd immediately pretend to be sleeping while Carolyn would chatter away. She'd usually get in trouble and I'd listen while she vehemently tried to tell you I was really awake. You always believed the best about me.

Remember when you showed me how to play your steel guitar? My love of music developed because of the years spent listening to the whine and twang of that guitar. Hearing you play brought a soothing sense of security to my life. Music still does that for me.

Remember the Fridays we'd climb into the car and head off into the dark night? We'd make that 7 hour long drive to visit Grandad in California. It was often just the two of us and we'd drive back home Sunday afternoon. When I got my learners permit, you'd let me drive-even when you would be nodding off in the seat beside me. I knew you trusted me, even though I wasn't that good of a driver yet. I learned the joy and accomplishment of taking responsibility seriously.

Remember the times Grandad would call to see if you were driving up for the weekend? A few times you had to say no. Grandad would say he was going to die and hang up on you. When you tried to phone him back, he wouldn't answer your calls. I learned by watching you what it meant to love, honor, and respect your parents. After these calls, you'd turn to me and ask if I wanted to make the trip when nobody else wanted to. I'd say yes, and even though you were dead tired, we'd go. When Grandad said no, he didn't want to sell his house, even though we all knew he would never go home to live, you honored his request. When Grandad stubbornly refused to come live with us, you respected his wishes. It would have made your life so much easier if you'd just sold his house and forced him to move, but you didn't. Neither you nor I were big conversationalists, so the two of us would often sit or stand silently by Grandad's bed for hours at a time. I knew how much you loved us both.

Remember when you and Mom went to Germany for 2 years? I was a young mom with 2 children. You and I would write long letters back and forth. I am so thankful for that time. Our relationship grew. You related to me adult-to-adult. I was no longer a kid. You allowed me to grow up.

There is so much more, Dad, but I will pause here and say thanks. Happy Father's Day!

Seven Things I Say

A Meme

The Laundry Lady over at Under the Laundry Pile tagged me for this Meme. Since I've not been keeping up with my blog, I thought it'd be a good way to get going again. So here they are:

1. "Who wants to go to the store with me?...I'm taking "my" car."

2. "No, you can't go. I'm taking my car."

3. "Dear" (this has to be said dragged out, as in "deeeeeeear.") My kids told me once that I called their dad "dear." After vehemently denying it, I was caught red-handed later that same day. The reason I didn't think I said it was I suppose it isn't said very en'dear'ingly. I use dear when I am slightly irritated and yet trying to be nice. Otherwise, he is honey or sweetie-not dear.

4. "Dinner's ready."

5. "Who left the hair straightener on?"

6. "Did the mute button quit working?" Or "Can you turn that thing down?"

7. "I need a Starbucks."

I tag Supermom, Melanie, and Char.

Happenings

My baby is going to Washington D.C. tomorrow for 5 days. Yes, I realize she turned 14 recently. But something begins taking place in a mother's heart as she starts seeing big milestones in her youngest child. Two years ago she was in 6th grade. At the end of field day as I was trudging along after a hot, sweaty day, I realized that this was my very last field day. Is that possible? I'd been attending field day every single May for the past 18 years. I thought about the times of juggling multiple kids doing field day at once, running back and forth trying to catch important events of each child. Most of the time I missed the photos of the win and only got ones of them holding up a brightly colored ribbon.

Ok, if I was honest, I was a bit gleeful at the thought of no more field days. But there was still a twinge in my heart that they were over. I know that instead of field day, bigger adventures were coming up. So now here is Hilary getting ready to fly across the country for an entire week. I don't get to go and cheer her on, or take her picture as she is enjoying the sites. I will be at home thinking about her, praying for her, and hoping she grows from this opportunity and has fun.

So I'm off to help her pack for her trip and make sure she has everything she needs. Here are a couple of pics of hubby's flying experience.

Summer

Today is the first day of summer break. I just returned from the airport. My dear Michael will be gone for 10 days while I keep things on the homefront. I feel like this is the beginning of a new life. (No, not the 10 days without him, silly.)

Michael is renewing his pilot's license. When we first met (I should write about that sometime,) I was working at a small airport coffee shop, he had a plane. He'd wanted to join the AirForce to be a pilot, but his vision prevented it. So he went to work at a computer firm and learned to fly on his own. We married and began having children. When I became pregnant with our 3rd, we took the kids on a long flight in his 4 seater plane. It was after this, that Michael decided it was time to put flying aside for awhile. We'd outgrown the 4 passenger plane and could no longer afford this expensive hobby.

During this same time period, it was my desire to go on the mission field. I had a hard time envisioning Michael and I ministering together. But the one thing I could imagine was a Michael as a bush pilot. Our church financially supported a bush pilot who lived in Alaska. I loved hearing his stories and treasured them in my heart, all the while continuing to pray that this would be our lives one day. But as our family continued to grow, it seemed we moved further and further away from this dream. After several years, I quit asking God to send us.

This past year Michael watched several documentaries about pilots on humanitarian missions. His interest was sparked. One day it hit me. The desire to be a missionary came flooding back. I remembered the years of praying. Could we be nearing a time that Michael and I could go out in ministry? God hears each one of our prayers and always answers. Maybe this prayer was like that of Abraham and Sarah who didn't see their prayers for a son until many years past not only the time they asked, but past what was even probable. Sometimes our dreams are laid aside and forgotten. But they can be resurrected in a moment. I don't know if this desire will ever come to pass, but I am so very encouraged and excited to be reminded that God never forgets.

Michael's motto in life is "Keep the Blue Side Up." So that is what I expect him to do for the next 10 days. Keep the blue side up Michael!

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.