He's Here, He's Gone

I was so excited to have Christopher home for Thanksgiving, you'd think I would have taken at least one photo. But nope! I don't have a single one of Thanksgiving or the other 2 days he was here. I'm not sure what happened to those plans for taking that perfect family photo for Christmas cards. All I can say is, we were too busy just enjoying the moment. Anything else would have required too much thought and effort. Sometimes you just take the down time and make the most of it, and we did.

Wordless Wednesday

For more Wordless Wednesdays, go here.
(I'm not very good at wordless. The story follows.)

Thanksgiving Memories

It was my first attempt to make an entire Thanksgiving meal on my own, and my inlaws were coming to visit. I only had 2 children, but I worried how it would all come together. Preparing for houseguests was stressful enough, but compounded by a toddler that loved making messes coupled with Thanksgiving and all of the trimmings, I felt more than overwhelmed. I wanted so much to provide a comfortable, relaxed home for my inlaws, along with a delicious meal enjoyed in the company of well-behaved grandchildren.

They arrived the day before. I stayed up late that night, after everyone had gone to bed, baking pies. I must have been tired, as I didn't hear my children wake before me. How must that look to the grandparents? A mother who doesn't get up and have breakfast waiting for her children? I dressed quickly and went to the kitchen. There stood my little boy.

"Yum, yum! This is good Mommy."

He was covered in orange and was eating the middle of both pumpkin pies. This was before digital cameras, but I doubt I would have grabbed the camera. I started to cry.

Thankfully, I have the best inlaws in the world and should not have worried. In fact they probably cooked more of the dinner than I did. They were such a help and so encouraging. After that I never felt I needed to impress them. They'd had 5 kids and understood little boys enjoyed eating pumpkin pie. Somehow, when you are a grandparent you don't stress over those things. That is why when 18 years later I awoke to find Mr. Ethan eating the middles of the pumpkin pie, I grabbed my camera. I love being a grandparent!

The Car Story

(Part Two)

After the neighbor confirmed our suspicion that John was indeed spying on and following Elisabeth we weren't sure what to do. Elisabeth tried to reassure us that John wasn't that bad. She said she thought he really cared about her but had some jealousy issues but she could handle it. Because they had so many classes together at school, she felt if they could remain friends at some level the situation would be easier to manage. She spoke with the school counselor.

We didn't hear much about John for awhile, but that was probably due to Elisabeth trying to keep us from worrying. One night she was at a friend's house and John began calling. After 20 or so calls that went unanswered, she turned her phone off. John showed up at the house and said he wouldn't leave until she came out. Her friends convinced him otherwise.

A week later, Elisabeth spent the night with this friend. When she awoke, she found the damage to her car. She phoned us and she phoned a friend at church to say she wasn't going to make it. Within an hour John called. He was at church and had "heard" what happened from Elisabeth's friend. Once again, he seemed to have more information about her car than what she had shared.

After speaking to others, Elisabeth found out that John had been at a party the night before. Mutual friends of theirs admitted John had expressed anger towards Elisabeth at the party. But nothing could be proved or substantiated regarding who damaged the vehicle or at what time John left the party. Others that had been at the party told Elisabeth privately some things, but because they had lied to their own parents about the party and where they'd spent the night, none were willing to come forward with information.

That is pretty much the end of the car story. The car has new tires and a new windshield, but the rest of the damage is still there. I'd like to say that was also the end of the stalking behavior of John, but it wasn't. We were so thankful when after graduation he went to another state to play football. He came home over the summer, which is why we become concerned with circumstances like this. Once the school year began, we relaxed. Elisabeth started back at the local community college. Imagine our shock when after her first day she was walking out of class and John was walking into the same class.

Update

Quick tooth update: Wednesday morning the dentist said he could put another cap on Ethan's little piece of a tooth. The good news, they could do it right then and did NOT have to put him out to accomplish the task. Forty-five minutes later, he came out crying, but his tooth was fine. (They don't let parents, or grandparents back with the children.) I held him for a few minutes and then he was happy.

Once home he acted like nothing ever happened...well, until about 3 hours later. He had a funny look on his face and we noticed that he was missing his new tooth.

On Friday, we will go to the dentist and try again.

The Car Story (part 1)

(Part One)

I was waiting in front of the school when she walked out. Hmmm...was that guy walking with her? Elisabeth opened the car door.

"Mom, can you drive John (not his real name) to the corner of the shopping mall? That is where his grandpa picks him up."

"Sure."

Once inside, Elisabeth introduced us. "This is John. He used to go to our school, but moved away. Now he is back." He was pretty quiet in the car, but then we didn't have very far to drive. After he got out, Elisabeth told me how he and his mother had moved away. She was a single mom and had a boyfriend in another state but it hadn't worked out and John was back. She told me he didn't really have any friends, so she was trying to be nice to him. I was proud of my daughter for reaching out to the new kid. I'd been the new kid at school, so understood how difficult it could be making friends. I hoped it wouldn't be too difficult for him since this was a Christian school.

Over the months, Elisabeth often talked to John on the phone. Because she was a cheerleader and he was a football player I began seeing him often at school events. He and his mom also attended our church. But the more I saw him the more uneasy I felt. There wasn't any one particular thing that stood out as unusual, but there were some little things that I found bothersome. John never seemed to look you7 in the eye when he talked to you. Too often I'd find Elisabeth arguing with someone on the phone. When I'd ask, she was always talking to John.

The following school year Elisabeth ended up with the locker furthest away from classrooms. The school had grown so much, it had begun using what were previously locker room lockers as regular lockers. John offered to let her share his locker and unwisely she agreed.

John asked her to go to the Homecoming Dinner that October and so they went together. Shortly thereafter, although not dating, John began to become very controlling. He would call and harass Elisabeth over who she spent time with, where she'd go and even her phone calls. He figured out her 4 digit password and began retrieving her phone messages. He'd take her phone & read her text messages. She was eating at McDonald's before cheerleading practice one day. He showed up (how did he know she was there?) and began yelling at her because a male classmate was sitting with her.

Michael and I spoke with Elisabeth about how unhealthy this relationship was and that she needed to distance herself from John. She agreed, but found it increasingly more difficult to separate herself from him. Even with not sharing a locker, he still knew her locker combination. They attended the same youth group, she was still a cheerleader and he a football player and they were in many of the same classes at school.

Being a part of the same Christian community, we tried to cut him some slack. But over time, it became apparent that his behavior resembled that of a stalker. Too often he had information about Elisabeth that in order to know certain things meant he was no doubt following her, watching her every move.

One day one of my neighbors came over and asked if I had a minute to talk. She explained that she'd been sitting on her porch one day and saw Elisabeth drive past. Shortly afterwards she saw another car. Instead of driving down the cul-de-sac, it had turned on the street directly in front of her house. After pulling just beyond some bushes, she said she watched as a young man got out of the car. He walked down the street just far enough so that he could see our house from his vantage point without us noticing him. She said he stood there watching for quite some time. She was quite bothered by this, so got up from her chair and began walking towards him. As she got closer, she called out to him. According to her, he turned, saw her coming and ran back to his car, got in and sped off. She described John and his car quite accurately.

(I see I'm going to have to share this story in parts, so "to be continued...")

Interruption

My unforeseen interruption came last night. I was finishing up the dishes when the phone rang. Christina was on her way to class and noticed Ethan's front tooth was missing. Normally this would be one of those memorable firsts that we grab the camera to capture a photo, but not this one. Like his Gramma, Ethan's two front teeth are not quite real. Although his look pearly white, unlike mine did when I was growing up, the backs of them are the unmistakable shiny silver variety-only one was missing. She'd put a call into the dentist and they could get him in first thing this morning. After class they would drive up and stay with us. She wouldn't have the long drive early in the morning. What I'm saying is: I'm going to the dentist with Ethan this morning, the "story" will have to wait.

After the phone call, I double-checked the calendar to make sure it was my night to pick up the girls from Poms. Yes, November 14th was my day. While driving that date stuck in my head and I remembered why. Exactly 5 years earlier on November 14th, Christina came to me to tell me the news. I was going to be a Gramma. It was quite a shock at the time, as it was totally unexpected. I don't have time to share that story either, but will direct you to an earlier post that mentions this time. Oh, and maybe I WILL take pictures of the lost tooth.

(For some reason, I cannot get just that one post to come up in the link. It brings up a whole page-maybe something to do with not switching to Beta yet? The story is "UNEXPECTED" partway down that page.) Nevermind. I will just repost it.

UNEXPECTED

Two days ago, I ran into Barnes & Noble for a last minute gift. I was sending out a Christmas package to my parents and it needed to go out that day in order to make it in time for Christmas. But I can never go into the bookstore without stopping in the children's section, or browsing through the clearance books.

I picked up a copy of Billy Crystal's "I Already Know I Love You." I read a page or two, then flipped a few more pages. Without warning, my eyes began to fill with tears. I blinked to hold them back and felt a stinging sensation. The author described the anticipation of waiting for his grandbaby, how he was looking forward to playing peek-a-boo, taking him to his first ballgame. I turned to the last page.

"I'm going to be your grandpa, and I can hardly wait."



I was not prepared for the intense emotion that welled up from within. I turned the book over. The sticker read $16.95. I can't pay that much for a book right now. But I tucked it under my arm and walked to the counter to pay.

I busied myself with watching the people waiting in line. I chuckled to myself when I saw that there was an employee at the front of the line holding a basket. She was offering chocolate candy for all who'd been standing, waiting to pay for their books. (They apparently agree with me, that chocolate should be used as a stress reliever.) As I passed, I accepted her bit of chocolate.

The day was a bit chilly, so I hurried to the car. All the way I was mentally trying to figure out what else I needed to do after going to the post office. I was a bit undone that I always and consistently leave things to the last minute. But while I was pulling out of the parking lot, tears unexpectedly began blurring my vision. I swiped at my eyes with my leather glove. Not very absorbent.

What is wrong with me? I wondered. I do not cry easily. I've never been an overly emotional person. But here I was, still crying on the way home after picking up a children's book. I normally analyze things like this. I like to know what exactly triggers such a strong emotion. When I am very busy, or under stress, I can't say that I am always in tune with feelings. I like to stuff them until a time arises that I can figure out what and why I am feeling. Then I can deal with it and move on. Right then, I didn't have time.

I pulled off my gloves, grabbed a tissue, and dried my eyes again. I tried to focus on all of the things I needed to do, but I couldn't distract myself. And what was I going to do with this book anyway? I was going to give it to my husband to give to our grandson for Christmas. The image of the two of them on Michael's riding lawn mower settled into my thoughts. I cried harder.

When our daughter announced her pregnancy, it wasn't at the best of times. She had made a stand of purity and chosen not to even date through high school. Here she was, at 20, unmarried, telling us the news.

She had friends who told her it wouldn't be convenient to have a child and that she didn't have to. But like I, she values life. We were going to be grandparents.

When I arrived home, I picked up my bag of books and went inside. I tried to put the book aside, while I packed up the box I needed to ship. But I couldn't operate with tears under the surface, still stinging my eyes. So I got the book to present to Michael. I went to him, but found I couldn't speak. I just stood there, holding this book. I opened my mouth, but the only thing that came out was tears. I waited. This was too hard. I finally blurted out, "I got this book for you to give to Ethan for Christmas. I know it was dumb, but I did." I then retreated to my room to finish the package.

Why am I such a wreck? Because I remember when my daughter was pregnant. I remembered that although we hadn't anticpated being grandparents yet, I often imagined spending time with this new little one. I imagined things like baking cookies together, laughing. I bought lots of books to read to him. I thought of the times I'd answer his questions about why, and tell him about God who created him. But I never imagined that Ethan might not understand these things, nor that there would be so many unknowns. I didn't think that at age 3 I'd still be waiting to hear him say, "gramma."

Michael came in the room. He wrapped his arms around me and I cried into his shoulder. I told him I didn't know what I was thinking when I picked up the book and that I would take it back to the store. He said no. We sat in silence. Once again I dried my tears. "Do you think I should just give it to him, or what?" He asked. "Aren't you afraid he will ruin the book?" I told him it would be ok. He could sit and read the book to Ethan. It didn't matter if Ethan didn't understand a word of it. The words were still true. We DID wait with much anticipation for his arrival. We did and still do look forward to spending time with him, teaching him new things, sharing and experiencing moments together. It is just different than what we'd imagined.

Slashed A Hole

Do you know the song by Carrie Underwood "Before He Cheats?" You know, the girl who also sings Jesus "Take the Wheel?" The chorus of the song is:

And he don't know...

That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little suped up 4 wheel drive,
carved my name into his leather seat...
I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights,
slashed a hole in all 4 tires...

And maybe next time he'll think before he cheats.

Elisabeth hates this song. I don't blame her. Some of you already know the story, but for those who don't, here are the photos of her car.













The pictures don't show the full damage. Yes, all 4 tires were slashed, those "designs" were scraped into the paint on every door, the hood, roof, trunk, and side panels. Every window was scratched, as were both side mirros. Sadly, we'd removed the insurance on the car that would have covered this type of damage. We never dreamed we could have damage so extensive when there had not been an accident.

It has been just over 2 years since this happened. No one has taken responsibility for the damages. "My" version of this story will follow tomorrow, as long as I have no unforeseen interruptions.

Sights & Sounds Sunday

(Things seen or heard in Colorado)

Silver Teeth

Mary, over at Owlhaven, wrote a post about scars. She asked others to post about their own scars. I didn't get it posted right away, so it is long past everyone else's post, but I'm going to post anyway.

Back when I was in the 4th grade, my family moved from one small town to another. We were the new kids on the block. We lived in this rented home with a cool ramp out the back door. I'm sure it was a wheelchair accessible door, but we kids found plenty of other uses for it. That winter, on a very cold night, we found that we could pour water down the ramp and it would freeze as it flowed. This created a spectacular downhill sliding surface.

This night, my parents had guests over for dinner. As soon as the meal ended and the adults were content to sit there and talk, we slipped out the back. We needed more ice on our slope. Bucket after bucket was poured until we had one of the finest ice slides. Then the fun began. We raced one another down the ice wearing the slickest shoes we could find. Only 2 kids could race at a time and my older brother and sister were quite competitive. I wasn't getting too many turns while they practiced and had opportunity to strategize the quickest way down. Finally it was my turn again.

Greg and I poised at the top of the slope. On your mark, get set, go! I was ahead for a split second, then my brother pushed ahead. With that push I found myself falling face first onto the ice. I don't remember much after that. I do recall blood dripping down and my sister trying to keep me from going to my mom so we wouldn't get into trouble. I think my other sister went screaming to my parents and the rest is sort of blurry.

My lip was split open and it hurt pretty bad, but my parents were more concerned with my missing teeth. Our company knew of a dentist who worked emergencies. After a couple of phone calls we were in the car, off to see the dentist. I came home with two new shiny silver teeth and a fat lip. The next day, my brother found my two front teeth stuck in the ice.

Truthfully, this isn't a scar, but I wore those silver teeth like a scar. When I smiled, people were blinded by the reflection off of those two teeth. That Christmas I sang, "All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth." And I sang it until I was 18 years old. I finished my elementary career wearing those tinsel teeth. I went on to junior high and high school, sporting that metalic smile. I endured much teasing and laughter because of this scar. At times I felt like a freak. But somehow, I believe it built compassion and tenderness into my heart. Scars can be character building. They can be a reminder of what once was, or we can embrace them, knowing our Lord also has scars.



(Honestly, it is difficult to post, but I had to include a picture. This was one of my school pictures from 7th grade.)

Tense

I am feeling tense this morning, and this is not normal for me. I do not like getting phone calls at unusual times and am wondering if this is the source of some anxiety.

It is 7:20a.m. and at this time yesterday I received one of those phone calls. Caller ID showed that it was one of my girls who'd left for school. What did she forget now, I wondered. (But for a second, there is always that fear that there has been an accident.)

"Mom, we ran out of gas on the highway. But don't worry, it was close to the exit and we walked to the gas station and got a gas can. Just thought I'd let you know."

My first thought was why is the 14 year old calling and not the 17 year old. The second was disbelief. You mean the car died, they coasted down the off ramp, walked to a gas station, bought a gas can with gas all BEFORE calling home for help?

Michael walked in as I hung up the phone. He felt bad about the girls running out of gas. He is notorious for telling Sarabeth "oh you have plenty of gas, you could go another 50 or 60 miles on that tank of gas." And she probably could have, if we hadn't drove it 50 miles on Saturday. Oh, and I was the one who filled the tank last, and forgot to reset the mileage for about 10 miles making it inaccurate. Guilt.

That's not to excuse the person driving the car, as if she doesn't know how to look at the gas guage. And she had intended to get gas on the way home from school. Instead, she had an unexpected adventure on the way to school.

I am proud of them for being able to handle the situation, but maybe that is why I am feeling tense. What if they were in an accident? Would they wait to call until after the police came, after they'd gone to the hospital? Can I know longer look at the clock and rest easy that they are already safely at school based on the time alone? Even though I was happy they handled it, I'm concerned that one of them might be afraid to call home when something happens that they perceive was irresponsible on their part. So they try to take care of it on their own to make us proud. I am left to wonder if they are sitting safely in school, or on the side of the road somewhere dealing with who knows what. Ugh! It isn't easy being a parent and knowing the right thing to do.

What Matters Today

This is what I woke up to this morning. After we'd gone to bed last night, Elisabeth went up to the store, bought flowers and a card. She'd written a lovely note thanking us for being there for her, especially during the tough times of high school and for loving her through them. (Have I mentioned how much fun teenagers are?) Sure there are bumps along the way, but you also begin to see their character taking shape. As you turn them loose, watch them struggle through mistakes, do the right thing, it is pure joy to a parent's heart. (And even more so as they move beyond those years and they make you ever so proud as you watch them become adults.) Thank-you Elisabeth.

But this got me to thinking, what am I doing that counts? Did I do anything today that made a difference? So, I wanted to put out a challenge to anyone who reads this. Today go above and beyond in some small (or big) way to make a difference in someone else's life.

That might mean sending a text message to remind someone you love them. Or when that kid spills her milk for the 3rd time instead of yelling like you want to, you lean over, kiss her forehead and tell her it's ok and that you are so thankful you get to be her mommy. Maybe you are standing in line at the grocery store and get in the absolute slowest line. The person behind you is muttering unkind things under their breath so you let them go ahead of you and say something kind to them-or to the checker who is going as fast as humanly possible (or maybe is just taking their time.) While you are going about your day, whether it is planned or something that happens spontaneously that you think of because of this challenge do something that counts. Then come back and leave a comment about what you did. (Or put it on your own blog and leave the link.)

Let the count begin!

Brian

Elisabeth met Brian at work when he began coming by the house. He seemed like a nice enough kid. It was difficult to get to know him because he usually didn’t arrive until after 10 o'clock at night. I know teenagers often keep late schedules but I became increasingly annoyed that he came over so late. Elisabeth was 18 and she had graduated from high school, so I chose not to say anything.

We didn't see Brian for a while. He took a job at a ski resort for the winter. Occasionally Elisabeth would mention his name, but nothing significant. Sometime in May Brian came over again. He had moved back. I asked her what he was doing now. Would he be going to go to school in the fall? Did he have a job? Elisabeth wasn't sure. His late night visits began again. I found myself getting irritated that he rarely came over during the day, just at night.

One night as I headed to bed, I stopped to preset the coffee and layout the lunches for the next morning. Brian had just arrived and he was sitting at the kitchen table with Elisabeth. I overheard their conversation.

"Your eyes are red. Have you been crying?" She asked.

"It is just wrong that a kid has to put his father to bed every night." Brian put his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes to keep the tears from falling.

Brian's dad has Lou Gehrig's disease or ALS. Brian's mom and dad are divorced and much of his father's care falls to Brian. His dad is wheelchair bound and requires help getting into bed. Brian isn't free to leave his home until his father is safely tucked in at night.

Yes, it does seem wrong for a kid, or teenager to have to put his father in bed at night. Not every teen that stays up late does so by choice.

Pumpkins

Pumpkins





(For more Wordless Wednesdays)

Halloween Memories

My mom was so cool about making costumes. I was blessed with creative, imaginative, homemade costumes every year. Somewhere there are pictures to prove this, I just wish I had them.

When I was in second grade, my mom decided my younger sister and I would be martians. I loved the idea. Nobody in my class was ever dressed the same as me. I was unique. My sister, on the other hand, wanted to be like everybody else. I think she wanted to be a ballerina. There were probably 7 ballerinas in my class that year. (All of the lucky girls who took dance classes, and whose parents were not as creative.) I,unlike anyone else but my sister, had this pointy-hat, green polka-dotted, space kind of outfit. It was cool. Mine was green. Laurie's was pink. Somewhere there is a picture of us together. There I am in all my glory, and there my sister is, arms in the air, toes pointed with one leg up in her most ballerina kind of way while wearing this martian space suit.

Makes me wonder if she remembers this. Could have been one of those childhood traumatic experiences for her, while I have nothing but fond memories.

Batteries

I walked in the room to see Michael pulling my cell phone from my purse.

"You caught me," he said matter-of-fact. Then proceeded to remove my battery.

"So what are you doing?"

"My battery is dead, so I'm swapping it for yours."

Ah, since he was golfing he needed a freshly charged battery and I have no where to be so I can stay home and charge mine. But today I had a lot of errands to run...sigh. I have no life.

A few days ago I plugged my phone into the charger and it didn't work. "What the...my charger won't work."

"Oh yes it does." (This response from my daughter Elisabeth.) "You just have to hold it just right, and move the cord like this until it starts charging."

"And you know this why?"

"I swapped chargers with you."

Oh, I see. The charger works perfectly fine for someone who has no life and can sit and play with the cord until it is working. But for someone who has places to be and doesn't have time....sigh. I have no life.

So what was I doing this morning with my freshly charged battery? I was swapping it out for Hilary's dead one. She, in her most generous way, loaned her charger to a friend who'd left hers at someone's house. She assumed since we have 5 of the same phones and chargers here, it wasn't a big deal. She's right. The mom volunteered her battery without even being asked, since she has no life.

(A P.S. For those who are curious, no I did NOT make the game Friday night. It was one of those fierce debates that goes on in my head and when I finally decided to go I began to second guess whether I'd REALLY make it in time. By the time that wrestling match was decided, I knew I would be late. To make up for it, I stayed at the performance on Saturday for 5 hours, even though the girls dance was only 3 minutes long.)

Sigh

I'm sitting here, listening to Christmas music and feeling incredibly guilty. Christmas music???? Yes. Two days ago I saw my neighbors Christmas lights going up, so I figured if they could put their lights up, then I could listen to music. No, they aren't for Halloween. These are CHRISTMAS lights. They have this sweet deal. A company comes out and puts them all up for them. Then sometime after Christmas they bring their trucks and ladders and take them all down. They even store them during the rest of the year. I have no idea how much it costs, but sounds pretty sweet if you ask me. So, as I said before, if they can have their Christmas lights up, I can listen to Christmas music.

Oh, you want to know why I'm sitting her feeling guilty? No, no, it isn't because I don't have my lights up, or because I'm listening to Christmas music before Halloween. No, not anything like that. It is Friday afternoon. Hilary is at a football game and I am not there. I try not to ever miss my kids games. (No, she doesn't play football.) But she is on the Pom line and they perform during half time.

So why am I not there? Well, I could say that it is because I still am not feeling well, but when does that ever stop me? Maybe it is because they've been doing "mini-poms" all week. That is where younger girls come and the Poms teach them a dance over several days. They then perform at the football game. So technically, Hilary isn't really performing. She is dancing with them, but it is a simple dance and really for the younger girls and their parents to come watch. (We went to many "mini-cheerleading" performances when my girls were in elementary school.)

I know, I should be more supportive. But tomorrow Hilary has an all day competition that I will be at for her. Doesn't that count? Can't that count for a football game too? Shoot! If I leave right now, I can still make half-time and see her perform. I better get off the computer and get my shoes on. I don't like feeling guilty.

Behind

Well as you can tell, I've been behind in blogland once again. I was getting so tired of myself, I finally broke down and went to the doctor yesterday to get treated for this sinus infection. I am hoping in the next couple of days I will feel "normal" once again. I have several posts begun and saved that I WILL get to. For now, you have to enjoy Colorado with me. The first photo was taken this morning. The second this afternoon. Notice the sunshine (it is the same tree and hedge.)





Did I mention that I LOVE Colorado???

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday (a bit late)

Yes!

Yum

Mmmmm...Delicious

I didn't get to sleep in this morning, but as the sun began to come up the freshly fallen snow glistened in the light. Every tree was covered in sparkling white-just beautiful.

The carpool didn't show up, so I had to quickly dress and make the 40 minute roundtrip drive. But when I arrived home, I met the Fed-Ex man bearing gifts. I quickly opened the package to find some of these:



Six huge mouthwatering brownies and a bag of coffee beautifully wrapped with a note reading,
"A Surprise Treat! Take a well deserved break. Love, Mom & Dad"

Now is that a delicious morning or what? Brownies and coffee for breakfast in the peace and beauty of newly fallen snow. Just had to share.

P.S. Thanks Mom and Dad! And if anyone is interested in these delicious brownie gifts they come from Fairytale Brownies Mom has sent these before and they also have coffee, hot chocolate and everything is scrumptious. They come beautifully wrapped; makes you feel like royalty. I should have taken a picture of them. Try them out if you want to surprise someone with an exquisite chocolate treat.

Wake Up

Beep! Beep! Beep! This is my alarm clock so rudely interrupting tranquility of the early morning. I despise being awakened by anything other than the sweet whimpering cry of a newborn babe, soft caress or warm embrace. Several years back, when I was no longer awakened by gentle, child noises, I set out to find a kinder alarm clock.

A clock radio. I do love music, so I could awaken to the soothing sounds of jazz, a melodic country jig, a powerful praise to the Father-any radio station I pleased. Unfortunately, this did not prove to be a peaceful move. We live near a beautiful mountain. It makes for a lovely view, but blocks out many radio stations. Too often I awakened to white noise or "snow," or those old enough to remember. It was was produced when television stations would sign off at night. (Yes, for you young ones, there was a time in the wee hours of the night that one could turn on the idiot box to find nothing but fuzz on their screens-signaling a time for activity to cease.) This static noise was not the wake up call I desired, so I returned to the beep.

I was well aware that I could purchase a CD clock radio. The problem is I was too cheap to do that. I figured I would wait for the price to drop. Eventually, it did. I began looking at them in various stores. But one day I happened across a clock with nature sounds. Ah, now this might work. It was actually cheaper than any of the CD alarm clocks, so I went for it. Chirping birds, singing crickets, bubbling water. It worked for a couple of days. But my grandson was fascinated by this new electronic device with big buttons and regularly changed my preferences. He also liked the big off button and I enjoyed a few times of sleeping in later than I should have. It found its way into the trash can beside the bed. (It didn't hold up well to the abuse it sustained.)

I'd waited long enough for pleasant early mornings. I bought a CD clock. Excitedly, I placed my current favorite disc into the slot. I then spent quite a long time figuring out how to work the blasted thing. There were 2 alarm options-his and hers I can only assume. Totally unnecessary. Michael has never used an alarm clock in the 23 years we've been married. Where was the snooze button? Ooops, that turns on the radio. That is the selection for which song on the disc I want to hear. Nap feature-when accidently set, the alarm goes off 20 minutes after laying down. I can adjust the snooze from 9 minutes to 20. Shoot! I just picked 6 p.m. to awaken. Grrr...the format was nothing like any of the others I'd had. How was I going to adjust this one in the dark if the need should arise? Could I tell late Friday night whether or not I'd turned it off so my one day to sleep in wouldn't be disturbed? Ugh!

It was not a wise thing to use my favorite CD. Too often I would play it during the day with the volume turned up so I could hear it better, only to find it blast me out of bed the next morning. Or I would swipe the disc for my listening pleasure while driving my car. Then there would be lovely white noise, or worse-silence. I began to believe there was a conspiracy. Possibly, someone was trying to tell me I really shouldn't awaken so early in the morning. Really, I must need my sleep.

But then, something funny happened. One morning I awakened to the rousing anthem of the Star Spangled Banner. I'd pulled my CD the day before and in its place was a new radio station that was tuned. Wow, now I could get used to this patriotic nostalgia. Guess what? They played it every morning. I still fumbled for the snooze button, didn't remember which buttons did what, but life was good.

This morning I hit the snooze as usual. When I heard talk coming from the radio, I hit snooze again and fell back asleep. The third time music was playing. I could not believe I had hit snooze more than once. What was I thinking? I do not allow myself enough time to snooze more than once. I hastily swung my arm over the edge of the bed to turn the noise off before Michael's sleep was too disturbed. What in the...??? The numbers were blurry but that first digit looked much more like a 4 than a 6. I began pushing buttons trying to figure out if the second alarm had somehow been set for this earlier time, or if mine had been changed. I inadvertantly turned on the CD, then the radio. I could not make any of it out, but as I became more awake, I realized that my alarm had not gone off at all. I had not snoozed 3 times, only in a dream. Ok, maybe it was a nightmare, but who dreams about their alarm clock waking them up? Apparently I do. This whole thing must be more stressful than even I realized.

Wordless Wednesday

(Copied from Heth piled under the laundry.)





(More Wordless Wednesdays at 5 minutes for mom)

A Good Friend

Have you ever used this great little product? It was my best friend in each of my pregnancies. It coats your insides to keep heartburn away. I drank it out of a little plastic medicine cup. Immediately afterwards I would rinse it and place it in the dishwasher. But in taking out the clean dishes I would find the little cup still coated with this magical substance and I'd scrub it again. I knew it was powerful stuff if it could withstand that level of cleaning, imagine how nicely it must coat my stomach.

Sunday night Sarabeth wasn't feeeling well. She'd performed the last night of her high school play "The Philadelphia Story." (She also learned she was allergic to stage makeup, but that is another post.) I decided what she needed was this lovely medicine to soothe and protect her insides, so poured her out a little cup. Upon returning to the kitchen, though, the bottle had disappeared. Oh my! I found an empty bottle next to a huge puddle of soft green liquid, seeping into and coating the wooden floor. Walking from the puddle were white/green, perfect little foot prints atop my dark red carpet. Oh it was sort of Christmasy, it would have made a lovely stamped wrapping paper. The sticky steps wound around the corner, through the living room, along the dining room, and back to the bedroom. Ah, my entire upstairs was decorated in soft green footprint motif. Knowing how great this product coats I will be enjoying this picture for quite some time. Never again will I buy a bottle of this minty fresh goo.

Text Message

Last week I received this text message:

Hey ma. Just wanted to say hi and i love you!

Aren't text messages the best? This one was sent by my favorite son. (Yes, I know I only have one, but he's still my favorite one.) Does it get any better than this? Actually it does. I thanked him for such a sweet message and he wrote back:

Well you were on my mind and i wanted you to know how much i appreciate you on a daily basis

Did I mention how much I love text messaging? (Thanks Christopher-YOU are the best!)

First Date

Her head was pounding, she could barely swallow her throat was so sore. What was she thinking when she agreed to meet him for dinner? Partly she was curious. He seemed like a decent guy. She passed on the lunch invitation in his plane. She did not have that kind of time and wouldn't have been able to take off of work. If she'd gone on a weekend it would have robbed her of time spent with her daughter. No, meeting on her way home from work was about the only option and it wouldn't cost any extra for the extended childcare. If only she hadn't felt so lousy.

She pulled her car into the parking lot and looked around. He said he'd be in a white BMW. He was already there. She should have brought a change of clothes and freshened up a bit. In spite of wearing an apron, she'd spilled coffee on her pants. Her nose was stuffy and she couldn't tell, but figured she was wearing the scent of fried foods and cigarette smoke. He got out of his car when she pulled up. Darn! No time to even put on lip gloss or check her hair in the mirror. He was walking towards her.

He greeted her warmly, as if she'd just spent the last hour puttin on her best. She was glad the restaurant wasn't well lit. Maybe he wouldn't notice too much. She quickly took her seat as the hostess handed her a menu.

"Can I get you something to drink?" It felt a bit strange being on the other side of an order.

"Yes, could I have a glass of peach brandy?" She was hoping it would numb her aching throat.

"And for you sir?" The waitress turned to him.

"No thanks. I don't drink."

Stupid! It hadn't even occured to her that he might not drink. She was used to her husband who not only smoked and drank, but used drugs also. She wanted to say that normally she didn't drink but was only having the brandy because of her sore throat. But truthfully, she had been drinking lately. It took the edge off of her stress. She mumbled something about her sore throat and the brandy, but felt foolish. He seemed to have so much class.

They sat there making small talk. Her brandy arrived. It went down pretty smooth. Maybe she had been drinking too much. After a bit her throat was definately feeling a bit of numbness. In fact, it was feeling so much better, she thought she might be able to smoke a cigarette. There was a lull in the conversation, so she reached down into her purse to retrieve her smokes.

"Oooh, I hate that," he said looking across the room.

Turning her head that direction while still leaning over she asked, "what?"

"Women who smoke." Her hand was already moving the package up towards the table. Immediately she threw it back into her purse, but she'd already placed her lighter in her other hand. She sat upright.

"You don't smoke, do you?" he queried.

"Uh, no...well," she felt very sheepish. "Yes, I do. In fact, I was just reaching for my cigarettes when you said that." She laughed out loud. She didn't know what else to do. She certainly wasn't making a very good impression. When she got nervous she laughed-even at very inappropriate times.

"What's so funny?" He wanted to know. She wished she'd never agreed to this meeting. She hadn't always been this way. Nobody in her family smoked or drank. She'd only started because she'd been around it so much in her marriage. He on the other hand was thinking she was laughing at him because he was such a nerd. He'd never so much as tried a cigarette and wasn't even remotely interested in drinking and making a fool of himself.

The rest of the evening is just a blur. And that is how my first date with Michael began.

Down

I hope to be back up and blogging in a more regular, timely fashion. Somehow I managed to be under-the-weather. My brain is only functioning as far as being able to grab a box of tissues, along with some cold medicine, and prop my body up in a comfortable chair. I've been trying to catch up on reading some blogs, but can hardly manage to bring myself to comment. My brain must seriously be working out, diverting all its energy to healing. It certainly is not in creative mode, or even think intelligently.

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I awoke with a stye on my eye, a cold sore on my lip, and cramps. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I decided to make eggs for breakfast. Then I remembered that the night before I set some frozen chicken not-so-gently, on my glass stove top. It shattered and was going to cost over $500 to fix. So I threw some bagels in the toaster, but somebody left the toaster on high and they burned. I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

The men were coming to replace our heater. I was happy because we've already had some cold days. But I forgot to remove everything from the laundry room before they got there. I was still in my pajamas when they arrived. I hate having men working in my house and showering with no hot water.

It was my day to drive the carpool, only I'd made a mistake and it wasn't. I had to take Ethan home, which is a 3 hour drive, unless there is construction on the highway and it takes 4. We sat down to dinner at 6 to eat homemade soup, only it wasn't done. It was still chunky. I would have taken it out of the crockpot and put it on the stove, but what was I thinking? My stove was still broken. We ate the soup anyway, with cold bread. It was going a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

I'm going to bed. Tomorrow, I think I'll move to Australia.

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.