Away In A Manger

"Away in a manger, no crib for his bed..."

This song is stuck in my head. I don't recall when exactly I learned this tune, but I think I know where. When I was six years old, my family attended a small Baptist church in an equally small town. The children gathered in an upstairs room, for Sunday School, all ages together. There were 10 of us on a good day. We sat in little wooden chairs painted in soft, pastel blues & yellows. Mrs. Noel was our teacher. She also played the piano. Quite possibly, she is the one who taught me the song.

My Sunday School teacher was a lovely lady. I loved her bleached-blond bouffant hair & the tiny, white pearls she wore every Sunday. In my eyes she was beautiful. I was equally impressed with her soprano voice. I wished to be just like her.

After hushing the children, Mrs. Noel would turn towards the piano. Sitting poised upon her swivel stool, she'd majestically sweep her arms out and upward. That was our cue. Feet shuffled, chairs banged, as we sprung to our feet. As quick as lightening, her long fingers pounced upon the ivory keys. Her lovely voice rang out as the piano resounded in a rousing, yet melodic symphony. I was sure we were floating up to heaven as the vibrations rocked the floorboards tickling my feet. We Hallelujahed, sang Deep & Wide. We Burned with Oil, held out our Little Lights as they Shined & never hid them Under the Bushel.

At Christmas, the songs changed. When we sang Away in a Manger, the room became quieter. Even Charles, Mrs. Noel's son stopped poking and pinching. We stood quietly. My eyes were misty as I imagined no crib for his bed, the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay. I was not quite sure what the cows did when they were lowing, and I was amazed that there was no crying from this baby. But how could he be looking down from the sky at my cradle? I was lost in imagination.

I still get lost in the song. It's different now. I think about Mary, sitting in a stable amongst the animals. The odor of manure, mixed with fresh hay fills her nostrils. She lays her newborn baby into an eating trough to sleep. This isn't any baby. It is the son of God. Mary, a teenage girl, sits pondering what has happened. God has spoken to her about this child, conceived while she was a virgin. Did she ever imagine he'd be born in a barn? Did she wonder if he would be a carpenter like Joseph?

I don't know what happened to Mrs. Noel, the Sunday School teacher who I aspired to be like. I am not an accomplished pianist, nor can I sing the notes she did. But I hope I never tire, or lose the wonderment of Christmas or the songs about the birth of Jesus. It is my desire carry her same enthusiasm. I hope to spark the imaginations of others, especially children, so that they too are intrigued and interested in this baby's birth, far away in a manger.

Merry Christmas

My computer has been hijacked. Not sure when I'll be back. Don't have time to delete the hard drive and reinstall everything right now.

Merry Christmas!

Wordless Wednesday

Bah Humbug!

I feel like a Christmas failure. Each year I tell myself I won't procrastinate, I will not be in the stores shopping for gifts the week before Christmas. But that is exactly where I am. But guess what? I figured out why I do this.

I hear tales of others who buy early, wrap early, bake, ship, entertain...and I've thought a time or two, "I could be one of those people." Not. I suppose it is my inner child who likes to play and have fun. Whenever I buy a gift for somone, I am excited to give it. I can't wait. If I purchase presents too early, I will give them early. I bought some presents this week and already gave 4 of them early. Ugh!

Oh, and what child doesn't enjoy stamping and making stencils? Doesn't this look like fun? This is my bathroom rug, a sprinkling of baby powder and a couple of hands. Why do kids love playing in powder so much??? I guess because the mom does things like this. (Dad, I promise my girls will never have a powder war at your house again.)

Please?

I heard commotion in the kitchen. I'd gone grocery shopping, but hadn't put away the dry goods yet. It sounded like Ethan might be helping. I came into the kitchen to find him at the table. A wooden spoon in one hand and brownie mix, bowl, and cake mix, on the table. How could I say no?
















I convinced him we didn't need both boxes, and I helped him choose the brownies.





















Do you think he'd like a kitchen set for Christmas?

 

Thank-you, Thank-you, Thank-you

I need to say thank-you, to two gentlemen. (Or were they?) I don't know who they are or where they came from. I didn't ask their names and barely saw their faces. They appeared within 2 minutes of my car spinning 180 degrees and landing just off the side of the road.

I didn't hit anything, but the car was stuck in the snow. I tried going forward, then back. I was only successful at wedging us deeper in the slush and ice. Hilary looked at me and I at her. I was glad she hadn't been driving. We both reached for our cell phones.

Outside the window, I saw a truck stop on the shoulder of the road. Two men got out. I rolled down the window. Brrr....it was 21 degrees outside. One man asked if we were stuck. The other walked to the rear of the car to take a look. Then without speaking, they backed their truck up next to us, hitched a chain, and pulled us up out of the ditch. I offered my thanks and cash, but they both refused and waved me along, as they placed the tow rope in the back of their pickup truck. Good Samaritans they were, (or were they angels?) Thank-you! Thank-you! Thank-you!

Do you know what the truly amazing part was? Before I left to pick Hilary up from practice, I grabbed a light weight jacket. But before I took another step, the thought hit me, "what if you were in an accident? Take something warmer." I went to the closet and took out my heavy winter coat. I knew Hilary didn't have her coat either, but I remembered hers was in the back of the car. I know, I didn't even get out of the car so why did I need that coat. Plain and simple, I believe that little voice was the Holy Spirit letting me know ahead of time to be prepared. It is God's way of reminding me that when I am attentive to Him, I can rest assured that He knows what is happening even before it happens. Nothing takes Him by surprise. He is right there with me in the blessings and in the hard times.

I am thankful that He speaks to me in His quiet gentle way. All I have to do is listen. Sometimes I wish He'd yell to get my attention. But He doesn't. As I think about that very first Christmas, and the baby Jesus in a manger, I am reminded of the Lord's gentleness. I need to slow myself down, seek Him first, and listen. And I could stand to be a little more gentle myself.

A Christmas Gift

Kindergarten. A delightful time for a child to develop a love for learning. With new experiences unfolding, it's a time for best friends, reading books, recess & riding the bus with classmates. Kindergarten is meant to be a positive time in a child's life. This hasn't been the case for Ethan.

Ethan had a great summer and was making remarkable progress cognitively. We were excited for his Kindergarten experience to begin. He was ready to learn. His excitement at seeing the school bus the first morning was refreshing. A few days into his school year, the joy was gone.

It became painfully obvious that Ethan's teacher was ill-equipped for the job. She had no qualifications to work in Special Education, in fact, this was her first year teaching. At one point, she admitted taking the job in order participate in the "Loan Forgiveness Program," to pay off her student loans.

The class was chaotic. This teacher had no identifiable schedule for the classroom. No routine for the children to learn. One morning she might gather the kids for calendar time, the next day it would thrown in during the last part of the day. Ethan had disturbing behavior changes, along with other very concerning incidents. He came home with handprint bruises on his arm.

Because of his extra needs, Ethan's CNA worked with him at school several days a week, and was there to help him with lunch. She reported serious concerns with classroom activities. The following week, the school stated Ethan's CNA could no longer attend class with him. They also refused to offer him an aide to take over caring for his needs.

I can't tell you how many tears I've shed, or prayers I've prayed over this situation. I went to meetings with my daughter with the principal, school social worker, special education director, therapists, etc. on more than one occasion. It has been a nightmare.

The teacher was fired. A substitute brought into the class. Next, the preschool teacher was brought in as a temporary teacher, while they certified the new teacher. This teacher had been a consultant brought in to assess the situation. She was horrified at what she saw, having been a veteran of special education for 30 years, but recently retired. She took over as the new teacher the first week of December. She lasted 4 days, then resigned. Another substitute is the current teacher. The children in this class have lost the entire semester. Ethan has regressed. He not only missed out on anything productive his first semester of school, he lost more than an entire year of positive progress developmentally, behaviorly and cognitively.

This is unacceptable. I'm proud of my daughter. She has fought for her son, researched, made phone calls, attended meeting after meeting, sought out help from every imaginable place. As a single parent, she doesn't have the option of homeschooling or sending Ethan to a private school. On Thursday, she met once again with a team of "experts." She put together an amazing list of Ethan's needs, where the school has failed, what the law requires and more. She presented her information to all present at the meeting. The superintendant, who last month refused to give Ethan a full time aide, conceded. Ethan is now authorized to attend a private, autistic school-with a one-on-one teacher ratio. We are elated. Ethan has the chance to have a wonderful school experience. In a school that not only understands and accepts his disabilites, but he will attend a school designed spefically to work with his special needs.

What more could I ask for Christmas than this? We've been given a treasured gift for a very cherished child.

Life Is Precious

I wasn't able to attend church yesterday. I was caring for Ethan. He was sick all day Saturday. At 9:00a.m. Sunday, our Pastor sent an email, telling us of the shootings that had occurred on the church property at the YWAM (Youth With A Mission) Base. I'm sure most have heard of it by now, and the other shooting in Colorado Springs at New Life Church later in the day. So before I post anything else today, I will pray. I hope you will too.

My mind is slipping. It makes me afraid. I pride myself on having a very good memory. But this past week, I considered tucking the pride away with the Fall decorations.

The girls wanted to get a Christmas tree to put up, the day after Thanksgiving. Afterall, everyone does it. (Can we say peer pressure?) I was in the midst of a full-blown pity party originating from the wicked side effects of a particular medication. They asked if we could "pulease get a tree and decorate it the next day." Before my brain could process their request, Michael responded, "sure!"

I was shocked. Those words clearly, could not have come from my husband. He was the one who never wanted the tree up early. Once spruce trees begin to dry out, they drop needles like snow in a winter blizzard. Worse than the needle residue is sap dripping from the bark, right into the carpet. Another year, I overfilled the reservoir with water. The lovely metal stand rusted right onto the carpet. I haven't found anyone or anything that gets rust out of carpet. One year I tried to put the tree up while Michael wasn't home. It took 2 hours to saw off the bottom and then didn't fit in the stand. It tipped over 3 times before I finally sat their crying until he came home. It was always an ordeal to get our Christmas tree. Maybe Michael was just kidding about putting it up the next day.

"Really? We can?" The girls were pretty excited. "When can we go pick it up?"

"I can go downstairs now and get it right now if you'd like."

"What, you're going to chop one down for us outside?"

Now it was his turn to look puzzled. "No, I'm going to get the tree we purchased last year. Remember the tree we bought?

I was stunned. No, I was aghast. A fake tree? I never, in my wildest dreams ever, did I want, nor would I have purchased a tree that came in mulitple pieces and smelled of plastic. I honestly did not remember this.

As we talked about it, hints of a memory began to emerge. I remembered the classic procrastination of getting a tree. When we finally went to pick up our fresh Douglas Fir, the lots were empty. There wasn't even the more expensive kind we'd had to purchase because of our late purchasing and the cheaper ones were gone. In all our years, I don't recall seeing nothing left. We drove around town. We hit 3 or 4 empty lots before giving up. Sometime after this, in a dazed state, I was worn down and agreed to getting a faux tree. It was out of necessity. We needed somewhere to place those last minute presents I still needed to buy. But I don't remember buying it. What did the thing look like?

Another fuzzy memory...something about a pre-lit tree. If we were getting an artificial tree, I did not want clear bulbs. That, to me, would be another loss of tradition. We must have multi-color lights. I could not pull up the memory of assembling the tree, decorating it, or taking it down. Had it been that traumatic for me to settle for less than real? Yes, that must be it. And now, we were stuck with this green thing for years to come.

Last Sunday, Michael brought the tree up. The girls assembled it and decorated it all on their own. I admit, it was so much easier than past years. I have to say too, that in its own way, it did look lovely. That night, as I went to unplug the twinkling lights, I stopped to admire its beauty. And without thinking, I instinctively bent down to check the water level, so our tree would stay fresh.

Yesterday I was tired.

Tired of not feeling well.
Tired of having my house undone.
Tired of seeing my Fall decorations and lack of Christmas one.

The solution? Just do it. I figured the first thing on the agenda was to clean. How in the world can one decorate with lovely Christmas decor if it looks like it's mixed with leftover Halloween cobwebs and goo?

I began in the kitchen. After tidying up, I couldn't help but notice the grime on my kitchen cabinets. Each door had a dark area where we grab to open. We do actually have knobs we could use to avoid this, but the original creator placed them at the middle of the door. They might as well be at the very top. Way too much effort to reach for them.

I wanted a quick & easy solution. Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser. It will rub that grime right off, the way a pencil eraser removes pencil marks. I set to work, scrubbing the corners, then wiping down the rest of the doors. This was working better than I expected. The dirt came off pretty fast. I was half-way finished when I looked back to inspect my work. I was a little shocked at what I saw. In the corners of each cabinet door was a very clean spot, with the finish rubbed completely off. Oh my word, this was much more noticeable than the film of dirt. Nice. Why did I start in the Kitchen anyway? It's not like that is where I do most of my decorating. I quickly left the task half finished and moved to a new area.

The entryway. Ah, a nice small I-can-clean-this-in-a-few-minutes place to start. This is where I hang our Advent Calendar and the first part of the house visitors see. Quickly, I vacuumed every place I could, including the roof where cobwebs had dangled. I noticed the light could stand to be cleaned. It is a lovely glass fixture, with glass panels that can be removed for cleaning. Rather than grabbing the windex, I figured I'd take them down and wash them in the sink. They'd be sparkling in no time. Standing on a kitchen chair, I removed them one-by-one. I tried to be very careful, not wanting to ruin another household item. I stepped down, somehow lost my footing, and fell to the floor. This could have been distrous, but I didn't even try to catch myself, I protected the glass with everything I had. They survived unscathed.

I limped around a bit more, but found my body just wasn't cooperating. I gave up and decided I'd better finish my dinner, since we had guests coming. Back in the kitchen, I remembered my earlier mishap. I chose to ignore it and concentrate on putting away the grocery items I'd bought earlier. I carried a case of water bottles downstairs. Once again, my feet gave way to a tumble. Believe it or not, each of the 48 bottles landed unharmed. I left them on the floor and hobbled back upstairs.

Tomorrow is December 1st. It isn't beginning to look like Christmas. I'm still tired, but I've decided:

I kind of like the Fall Colored Decorations.
I kind of like our very well lived in home, even if it is reminiscent of Disneyland's Haunted Mansion.
I appreciate this tired, weak body. It gives me an excuse to sit at the computer, drinking Starbucks, dipping into the bowl of leftover Halloween candy and reading blogs.

"Walkin' around, the Christmas tree,
have a happy holiday..."

Hilary, it isn't "walkin" it's "Rockin' around the Christmas tree."

No way. We always sang "Walkin' around the Christmas tree" while we walked around it.

We weren't walking, we were dancing. We were Rockin'!

That wasn't dancing. We were definitely walking. Are you sure it's Rockin' around? Walking sounds way better.

Thirty-Eight Degrees

Today it was 38 degrees outside. A lady was driving her car, a convertible, with the top down. I surmise that the mechanism must be stuck, poor soul. The wind whips her hair across her face, cold air bites at every turn. I make the same assumption when it's raining, or snowing and I see a driver with his window down. I feel badly that he must suffer the ills of a broken window, allowing the freezing wetness to blow into his vehicle. That is, until I see the glow from his cigarette as he flicks it out the open window. Nope, he has chosen to leave the window open for his own enjoyment. The lady in the convertible? Oh, that was me. As long as it isn't raining or snowing, I crank the top down and let the wind blow. I choose to have the wind toss my hair wildly.

I find it one of life's little pleasures. As I drove to a doctor appointment, I felt healthy & carefree. Driving to pick up yet another prescription, the sun felt warm, in spite of the arctic air. Besides, my car has a heating system. It is akin to sitting in the glow of a fireplace, with the snow outside. It isn't necessary, but it makes one feel warm and cozy.

Seeing Is Believing

Glasses for busy, little boys are hard to find. They are expensive too. Ask my daughter. Ethan's first pair of glasses didn't last long. Once or twice a day, the lenses would pop out. The eye glass shop said there was nothing he could do and suggested a specialist in children's eyewear.

Four hundred dollars later, Ethan had his second pair of glasses: a lovely blue, flexible frame with non-scratch lenses. The clerk assured us of the durability with the guarantee that they could not be broken. If the lenses were scratched or anything went wrong, they would gladly replace them within the year. Their confidence in the frame was a 2 year warranty. I'll admit, they did stand behind their promise. But by the ninth time replacing the glasses, the clerk didn't seem nearly as cheerful.

The difficult part about replacing the glasses is, it takes 7 days. Ethan has to look through huge scratches, or wear misshapen frames until then. This weekend, though, he rendered them unwearable. He spent a day without his glasses. The strain on his eyes caused them to stay crossed most of the day. We set out to find an inexpensive replacement to wear, while waiting for the new ones.

Christina explained the situation to the optician. He smiled and reached for a small pair of glasses. "These are indestructable, built out of titanium-made especially for boys who are tough on glasses. I assure you, if he can bend them, I can put them back to their original shape. Look, they are flexible and nearly impossible to destroy." Christina nearly laughed in his face. She restrained herself and asked, "do you have a replacement guarantee?"

"Oh absolutely! For an additional charge of $30, we guarantee the lenses for a year. But like I said, the frames are indestructable."

"So how many time will you replace them if they do become damaged?"

He stammered a bit. "Well, just once."

Nice.

Over the weekend, we listened to a lot of Christmas music. We laughed a lot, as we found out some members of the family enjoyed different lyrics to the same songs. I wonder how often this happens.

I remember singing, "by the donzer lelight," as the National Anthem was played. I had no idea what it meant-along with much of the rest of it. As a child, hymns sung in church were often imagination stimulators, as I'd try to figure out what in the world I was singing about. Even with the printed words in front of me, I was often clueless.

Just as curious, were the songs we sang in Sunday School.

"This little light of mine. I'm gonna let it shine...hide it under a bushel, no!" I knew all of the hand motions and loved to sing it, but I wondered what kind of a light was I not going to hide? I knew if you put a burning candle under a basket it might start a fire, so I wouldn't do that. But how was I going to keep satan from blowing it out?

Another one was:

"Give me oil in my lamp, keep it burning...keep it burning till the break of day." Then we'd sing Hosanna's. (Another elusive word, that I tried to imagine what hidden meaning there might be.)

"Are you washed, in the blood, in the soul-cleansing blood of the lamb?" I didn't get that one either.

Many of you reading, may have no idea what I'm talking about with regards to the songs-unless you too sang them. Contemporary churches of today don't sing many hymns. But do our children understand the songs of worship? For that matter, do adults?

When we speak about the things of God, do we speak with Christian lingo that leaves others with lots of words in their head, but no clear message? Are we reciting words ourselves, with no real understanding? We hope that those we speak to will "come to salvation, be sanctified & saved." But are we truly presenting a clear, gospel message? Do we even know what "gospel" means?

Just something to think about.
And no, they don't call him Rudolph.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas

Waiting For Changes

What was I doing baking cookies at 6:00a.m.? This is the time I usually pack lunches and make breakfast. Was it because I had frozen french toast and chocolate chip pancakes to pull out for breakfast, so thought I'd make a nice batch of homemade cookies for lunches? No. It was in response to the child who commented at 10:30 last night that she needed to bring 2 dozen cookies to school today. Another child remembered she was assigned to bring a bag of chips. (Reminder to self, buy another bag of chips for lunches.) Normally, I would have stayed up baking late into the night. But with 3 hours of sleep the night before, my brain fog might cause me to add a bag of prunes instead of chocolate chips. So, like any good mom who rushes to rescue her kid, I made cookies first thing this morning.

So when do kids think ahead about what needs to be done instead of waiting until the last minute? I thought back to when I was in 3rd grade. Yes, back in the dark ages. Back when we walked to school, and truthfully it was uphill both ways. (Sometime I'll get photos and prove it.) We also went home for lunch. The poor souls who had to eat lunch at school walked 1/2 of a mile down the road to the high school. That was the only cafeteria.

Each week it was one child's turn to present a science experiement. I recall when it was my turn. I remembered that morning at school. Upon arriving home for lunch, I mentioned to my mom that I needed a science experiment to take back for that afternoon. After eating a bologna & mustard sandwich, my amazing mom helped me put a project together. Not once, but twice that year. Afterwards, she drove me to back to school, since we'd used the extra 20 minutes it would have taken to walk.

So when do kids plan ahead instead of waiting until the last minute? I've had the privilege of seeing my older ones do just that. They grow up and don't need to be rescued. No more procrastination! So when does it happen? Oh wait, it doesn't happen for everyone. You see, I am one of those kids who still waits until the last minute.

The Next Time

The next time I'm sick:

I won't wait 6 days for the medicine to start working.

I won't wait 6 days for the second medicine to start working.

When the prescription label lists possible side effects as "insomnia," I can be assured of 3-4 hours of sleep a night.

I'll remember that having empty hampers doesn't equate to having clean clothes.

I'll remember that I have a laundry chute where clothes mate and reproduce into an overabundance of very ripe, dirty laundry.

I'll check my calendar for important upcoming events like Thanksgiving.

I won't be grumpy when Michael says I look beautiful, and instead, I'll respond in kind.

Lastly, I will be thankful for my overall good health, my loving husband who is so very encouraging, for the 5 best kids in all the world, the cutest grandson ever, and will focus on how very blessed I am.

Thanksgiving Memories II

I am not a planner by nature. I don't multitask well. (Does anyone?) I tend to deal with today's agenda and worry about tomorrow, well, when it arrives. This approach dictates mandatory last-minute shopping, creative ideas on how-to-quick-thaw a 16 lb. turkey, and wishes of having 3 ovens. For me, these are almost traditions that every year I try to change.

Thanksgiving Eve, after returning from church, I think, "it's time for me to make my pumpkin pies. The first thing I do? Call my mom.

"Hi Mom! What are you up to?"

"I'm baking, sewing, crafting, designing..." It could be just about anything. My mom is always busy.

"Hey, do you have that Pie Crust Delicious recipe? I know you gave it to me last year, and the year before, and maybe I wrote it down somewhere, but could you give it to me again?"

We chat while I gather the ingredients. I ask about her Thanksgiving preparations. It's been a long time since we spent Thanksgiving together. I feel connected, as if we are standing in the same kitchen working together. Giving thanks and gathering with family just go together.

Last year, in my desire to tame my resistant-to-planning nature, I purchased premade crusts. Although they were tasty, as good as home-made, I found them lacking. I missed my mom and her expert advice. My kitchen was much too quiet and empty without my baking partner. Planning ahead is overrated.

This year, I'm not making pies. But come Thanksgiving Eve, I'm calling Mom.

Thanksgiving Memories 2006

Wordless Wednesday

November 14th

Sometimes, I forget birthdays and important dates. But I don't think I will ever forget this one. This is the 6th anniversary of the day I found out I was going to be a grandmother. It was this day that I first began praying for Ethan. None of us knew at the time if he was a boy or girl. We didn't know that he would be a special child, with special needs. We had no idea the joys and heartaches that were waiting. But God did. He knew Ethan would need lots of prayer and planned for it.

Since I began blogging this date has come up before, so instead of coming up with something new, I'm going to share this story again from December of 2 years ago.


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't go into a bookstore without stopping in the children's section, or browsing through the clearance books. This day was no different.

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. 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. 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 swelled inside. 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 shoppers wait in the checkout line. I chuckled to myself when I saw 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 admistered for stress relief.) As I passed, I accepted her bit of chocolate.

The day was a bit chilly, so I hurried to the car. During my brisk walk, I mentally tried to figure out what else I needed to do after my trip to the post office. I was frustrated. Why did I always and consistently leave things to the last minute? I quickly jumped in the car. 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, 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 my feelings. I like to tuck them neatly away, until I have time to sort through and process. 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. 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 chose not to date in 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 me, she values life. She was going to be a mom. Michael and & I 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. I found it hard to function with tears just under the surface, stinging my eyes. I got the book out 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 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." Hurriedly, I retreated to my room to finish the package.

Why am I such a wreck? I thought back to when my daughter was pregnant. I remembered that although we hadn't anticpated being grandparents yet, I dreamed about spending time with this new little one. I imagined things like baking cookies together, the laughter we'd share. I bought lots of books to read to him. I thought of the times I'd answer his questions of 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 that 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.

Veteran's Day

Just wanted to say thank-you to all Veteran's & current military persons. Because of your dedication, hard work, & commitment to serving this nation, I enjoy great personal freedom and liberties I often take for granted. There aren't enough words to adequately express my appreciation. So I will just say thank-you!





(These photos were from 18 months ago, & I believe I posted them before. But I thought they were appropriate to post again. ) It is never too early to teach children about the history of our nation and what our flag represents. We live in "the land of the free and the home of the brave," thanks to the generosity of our Veterans.

And Happy 58th Anniversary to my inlaws, Edwin & Elizabeth!!! (Who, because of his military duties, chose to be married on Veteran's Day.)

It's been a tough week. I hate weeks like this. I feel like I am going through the motions, surviving. It isn't really like living at all. So what is my problem? I have a sinus infection, which makes me very tired and cranky. It causes a fever, which keeps me from sleeping well. Anyone who knows me, knows I need sleep. Without it, well, let's just say I used to be a nice person.

I also cry a lot when I don't get enough sleep. I'm telling you, sleep cures just about anything. (Right Christopher?) I watched this story the other night on our local news.

http://www.9news.com/news/article.aspx?storyid=80451



One of the high schools has a cheerleader on their squad who has Down's Syndrome. She is a cutie for sure. I was impressed. We are in the midst of Cheer competitions. For those not familiar with the sport of cheerleading, they don't just support the football team. They compete with other squads and are judged on how well they execute their routines. The girl's mother didn't expect for her duaghter to perform during these competitions. She knew that if her daughter was off at all, the team would lose points. But her team insisted that she participate with them.



I was at one of those competitions this week. You should have seen the cheers from the crowd when they hoisted their flyer in the air. I couldn't blame the tears on being sick.

Took child to the doctor.

Drove said child to school.

Made soup for same child & 15 girls.

Delivered soup for their enjoyment.

Took self to doctor.

Got prescription for self.

Sat. Too tired to cook dinner.

Waiting to attend child's competition.

Friend phones. Have I made dinner?

She made roast chicken w/peppers, french bread, salad.]

Would I like it?

Friend brings dinner.

And some people don't believe in God.
(Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.Matthew 11:28)

Forty-nine. How did you get that old? That is a lot of years behind you. This is surely a rare age, you know. Don't believe me? It's true. Many make it to 3 or 5 or 20. Others want to know your secret. Happiness? Is that what brings longevity? Love? What is the magic of staying alive this long? Hard work? I'll give you that one.



But I believe the real answer lies in one word. Commitment. Happy 49th anniversary Mom & Dad. Your love, joy, laughter, fun, work ethic, giving, and so much more, have given us kids wonderful lives. Thank-you for never even considering the possibility of tossing in the towel. You have set an amazing example for not only your kids, but grandkids, great-grandkids (you're at 2, in case you'd forgotten,) and for generations to come. You have both given so selflessly to each other and us. I can't wait to celebrate your 50th next year. Let's do it up big! I love you.

I heard the familiar fumbling, rattling of the doorknob, bumps and clunks. The door swung open, banging the wall behind it. Ethan, Christina, and large puppy Dazy had arrived.

I was sitting on the couch. As usual, I waited. After a few moments, I see the little boy face peek around the corner. I probably shouldn't, but I began wildly waving, "Hi Ethan! Come see Gramma!" And as he typically does, he ducked back around the corner. I can hear his little feet pounding down the hall to the bedroom. He isn't really shy, but this is his routine.

I wait. He doesn't come out. Uh, oh...I forgot my part. I knew it was coming, and yet I hadn't remembered. I have a closet in my bedroom, where for years I hid Christmas presents. While out shopping, I almost always come across a little something I know Ethan can't live without. A spiderman shirt, power ranger action figure, or a book about cars. At first I was saving them for an occasion, but Ethan wandered in there one day. Ever since, the first place he goes when he gets here is the closet-looking for a treat.

Earlier in the week, I'd gone to see him and bought him two games. That threw me, & I hadn't purchased anything else. I jumped up from the couch to see what he was doing. If he doesn't find a treat, he makes up his own. A new roll of wrapping paper becomes his sword.

I hear giggling and laughing. I find him on the floor, flipping through the toyrus catalog. I'd pulled it out of the Sunday paper, thinking he might like looking at it. He was enchanted.

"Come show Grandpa what you found." He continued his silly laughter, pointing to various toys. It was a great game. I tried to coax him from the room, but he couldn't be bothered. I went back to the living room to wait, calling to him occasionally. Finally, I hear muffled movement from the hall. I look over to see Ethan crawling on his knees. His hands held the pages open, as he pushed the magazine along the floor, squealing with delight. He must have tried to carry it, but couldn't hold it open and walk too.

We sat together as he pointed out his favorites. What joy it was to see him so contented. You'd think the pictures had come to life watching him touch each one. This was the best present yet, and it was free. His favorite page? It had both spiderman and transformers and with it the cheeriest chuckle I've ever heard.

Just For Fun

Thought I'd post some pictures from Elisabeth's Cheer practice. Yes, this is the girl, who because of her injured back, is supposed to take it easy.



Here's a 4 second video:

Shannon at Rocks In My Dryer had a delightful post about her husband asking for her hand in marriage. Her father's question to his possible son-in-law was amazing. It caused me to ponder once again our role as parents and the heritage we pass to them.

Once-a-year or so, our ethnic heritage comes up for discussion. One kid or another is curious as to their ancestry. Growing up I'd heard about my relatives many times. My mom is 100% English with relatives who remain in Great Britain. My dad's grandparents were immigrants from elsewhere; Germany, Italy, Ireland, & Holland. I am 1/2 English and 1/8 each of the rest.

When my kids ask, I share my mixed half, but Michael's answer for the other half is always "I don't know." When Christopher was in junior high school, we found out Michael's aunt was researching their genealogy, I suggested he email his grandfather and ask about it. The next day we received a very concerned phone call from said grandparent.

I couldn't figure out the nature of his questions, something about our son being confused, and that at his age, shouldn't he know these things. I was a little surprised, since his own son was clueless about his ethnic heritage. Finally he shared the email Christopher had sent and I understood. It was one simple question:

"What gender am I?"

(Poor Christopher, he'll never live this one down.)

"They preached the good news in that city and won a large number of disciples. Then they returned...strengthening the disciples and encouraging them to remain true to the faith." (Acts 14:21-22)


I received a comment from Mylinda the other day, directing me to her blog. I was a little surprised that she'd awarded me the Mathetes award.


"Mathetes" is the Greek word for disciple. The Mathetes Award originated at Management By God and is given to those who exemplify the life of a disciple of Christ by having a heart to share God's Word and further His kingdom by carrying His message to the ends of the earth.





Mylinda is definitely worthy of this award. Check out her blog if you haven't already. And now I must nominate 5 others for this award. I have been reading some newer blogs (or at least new to me,) that I'd like to share.

Kristin at Yankee Mom
Ann at Small Town Life
Julie at Pearls In A Nutshell
truevyne at The True Vine
Pam at Pinnacle, Pitfalls, and Potty chairs
Annie at My Life as Annie & Pray for Izzy

Dan King prayed this prayer over his nominees. I pray the same for mine and for the rest of my fellow bloggers who exemplify the life of a disciple of Christ.

I pray a blessing over the bloggers that receive this award, and ask that the Holy Spirit use them mightily as they share the Word of God with the world around them. May all of their efforts be fruitful, and their words carry the anointing of the Holy Spirit. In Jesus' name, Amen!

Time To Get Serious

Okay, I was hoping to not have to do this. But my boys, the Rockies are down 3 games. They need a little extra encouragment. Bring on the Spartan Cheerleaders!!!

GO ROCKIES!!!!

Really, I'm not advertising for Budweiser. It's just that they were taking free pictures with the clydesdale for the World Series. How could I resist???

I forgot to mention. Last Saturday was a gorgeous day for Homecoming. It was sunny & 80 degrees. Hilary spent the night with a group of friends after the dance. She came home barefoot, wearing shorts and a t-shirt. This is a picture I took Sunday morning:





Our first snowfall of the season!!!! Colorado is the best place in all the world to live. The beauty, variety, sunshine, snow...I love everything about it. Oh, and GO ROCKIES!!!!!!!!

(P.S. I've been having to edit my picture posts. Blogger seems to not like my photo size anymore.)

New Site

I began getting phone calls for recipes, shortly after my offspring began to leave the nest. After a few calls wanting to know how to make frankfurter goulash, or that dish with chicken and maybe tomatoes and noodles, I decided to put together a recipe book. I thought how fun it would be to give each of my kids their own personal cook book with some of the families favorite recipes. I thought it would be nice to include photos of each dish to help them recall which one they were remembering.

It hasn't happened yet. In the meantime, I decided putting the recipes online was an even better idea. I still plan to make a hard copy for my family members. Living in the 2000's, books such as this could very well become obsolete, collector's items.

For now, here is the beginning of my labors. http://13recipes4me.blogspot.com/

I will try to put up a recipe a day and add photos as I take them. Enjoy!

To Jay Alves, Rockies Spokesperson

I realize that this is the first time ever that the Colorado Rockies have had the privilege of selling tickets to the World Series. But please! If you were unsure of how to sell tickets, why didn't you consult other, more experienced teams on how to accomplish this? The Boston Red Socks didn't seem to have any problems selling the tickets for games in their city. AND, they reserved some specifically for diehard fans to purchase at the gate on game day. How sweet is that for fans who couldn't get tickets???

Selling the tickets strictly via the internet did not make our city appear high tech. On the contrary, it showed the rest of the country how inept we are at hosting the World Series-or at least our inability to adequately sell tickets period. What about those who bleed Rocky Mountain Purple? Shouldn't we have a chance at tickets? By selling strictly through the internet, you have opened the door to the world to scalp tickets to the game in our own beloved city. Can't a few tickets be sold locally, making it easy for Denverites to see our home team play?

I am very disappointed. And yes, I wasted a good portion of my day trying to access the site for tickets. I don't think I can afford to waste another day for another chance. Afterall, in the few hours the site was up, it received 8.5 million hits. How is it going to be different tomorrow?

Go Rockies! Rah, Rah. (Said with less enthusiasm than before.)

Homecoming

Sarabeth & date


My girls & Ethan

Hilary & date

This is "the worm" portion of Hilary's dance. She performed this the day after her injury.

Oh Louis...

Exactly one month ago, I posted this. I mentioned the calming affects of Louis Armstrong's "What A Wonderful World" on driving, especially in stressful situations. Last night's occasion was no different.

I was about to mash a pot of potatoes when my phone rang. A cheery voice sang out,

"Hi, Mom!"

"Hi, Hilary."

(Pause.) "I'm at practice right now." Yes, you are every day at this time.

"We were doing the worm, and I got kicked." Quit pausing, and get to the point. Why are you calling? This mom gets a bit impatient with unexpected phone calls.

"The trainer says she doesn't think my nose is broken, but I need stitches. Do you want me to wait until the end of practice?" What, does she think I can't be bothered right now?

I picked her up, even though her sister, who drives, was at the school. I couldn't remember which urgent care accepted our insurance, so opted for the ER. Hilary had a pretty good attitude. She told me the details while listening to Louis.

Emergency Room doctors and staff think humor is encouraging to their patients.


Doc: "When noses are that swollen, we don't bother ex-raying them to see if they are broken.
You'll know in a couple of weeks anyway. Just look in the mirror. If it is crooked, you can bet it is broken.


Nurse: "Your homecoming is this weekend? Just wait 3 weeks, put on your dress, then take your pictures. Or just take them Saturday looking like a racoon."


Doc: "Usually we try to use glue on faces to minimize scarring. But I'm going to stitch this instead. Just 3 tiny stitches across your nose."


Nurse: "Ice is your friend. If not, your face will be very swollen."


It was after 9:00 when we arrived home. She's at school today, a bit nervous to perform the worm portion of the dance at the pep rally. Tonight is the game & tailgate party, tomorrow the dance. I hope she will keep smiling when she sees the photos from these events.

I've joined the craziness in Colorado & turned my blog purple to honor our World Series Team. After the sweep on Monday night, I woke up Tuesday morning to be one of the first to get Rockies t-shirts. It wasn't an original idea. I had appointments to get to, so I came home empty-handed.

I spent over 3 hours at Children's hospital with Elisabeth-a bone scan and CT scan. Children's hospital went through a huge move across town to a brand new building. Touted as one of the top pediatric hospitals in the nation, the new facility was needed to provide expanded services and I thought more parking. I was unimpressed when I arrived to cones in front of the parking garage that indicated it was full. I do believe I could get used to Valet Parking. I wonder if I could hire them full time?

This week is Homecoming week at the High School. I thought the festivities were for the high school kids? I'm expected to be at the pep rally on Friday, make a main dish that serves 12 for the tailgate party, help find proper attire for Spirit Day, Bling Day, Crazy Sock Day, and I can't remember the others. Let's not forget ordering flowers, buying new dresses/shoes, hair, nails, makeup....Saturday is the last big event. I'm tired already. I'm sure I'll feel much better after the soccer game and choir concert tonight.

(You all know I wouldn't miss a minute of it. Hilary even let me paint her fingernails silver with little black paw prints because I couldn't find the right green two stores later. Of course those will be removed and redone in a french manicure before Saturday.)

Autumn

Autumn

such a fickle season,

teasing with your constant changes.

Warm sunshine dances upon my skin

reminding me of past summer days.

Fierce winds blow rain, sleet, and (gasp) snow,

bite at my face.

A foreshawdow of winter.

Brilliant displays of red foliage,

oranges, & yellows alive like fire.

Too soon, all I see is barren nakedness

Crunching. Dry leaves crushed beneith my feet.

Days get predictably shorter,

darkness cuts into my afternoons.

Spicy hot cider, pumpkin bread,

Sweet hot cocoa, I drink in your delicious scents

Even the smoky wood smell from the crackling fire

intrigues my senses.

You flaunt your loveliness

Taunting me with your bounties,

But I've seen your other side

You are Fall.

To my friends and family in Arizona:
(Except Christopher)

I'm so sorry to hear of your loss. A loss can be so hard to accept. Please don't resort to throwing things, as others have done. We all need to learn that losing is a part of life. Especially since we expect you to experience 3 more losses like the one last night.

Go Rockies!

P.S. Christopher, enjoy the game tonight, but watch out for the Diamond Backs' fans-they don't handle loss very well.

Weekend of Surprise

It was a much anticipated weekend for Hilary. On Thursday, her cousin from Arizona was flying in to spend the weekend. We'd timed it just right, so Cara could see Hilary perform for half-time at the football game. Well, that is until we realized the game started at 4 instead of 6:00p.m. Her flight was at 3:30. It would be a close call.

The traffic was horrendous. Her flight came in early, we arrived late. More traffic, but somehow we managed to show up just before half time. Hilary was excited to see us walk through the gate.

It was a very close game, but her team lost. Hilary was undaunted. She was looking forward to spending the next few days with her favorite cousin. As the players were coming off the field, she was surprised when one of them stopped, gave her flowers and a card, and asked her to Homecoming. I didn't get a picture, so we hurried out to the bus, where the players were pulling off their equipment/shirts. This is the best I have. Boy, did her siblings harass him about being half naked!

Later that evening, Christopher surprised me by flying in for the weekend. He brought with him a spiderman costume for Ethan. It was a great weekend.

Teaching manners to young children can be fun. Role playing is a practical and effective way to accomplish this. Playing house, tea parties, and phone conversations to practice please and thank-you's was much more enjoyable than mere etiquette rules. I know my girls especially enjoyed the playtime.


Christopher had to learn additional things that my girls didn't, like opening doors. Manly things. Have you ever witnessed a little boy performing grown-up chores? His chest puffs out, He walks a little taller, and he takes on a new air of confidence. He is transformed into a man-child. My son was no different.

I was hesitant to give him the honor of opening the car door. I've seen too many fingers slammed between the two pieces of metal. At age 7, Christopher was a perfect gentleman. We'd be rushing out the door on a Sunday morning. I'd get the baby strapped into her car seat, make sure each one had her bible, offerings and such. Then I'd hurry around to my side of the car.

"Wait! Wait!" Christopher would run past me. My door would open. He'd stand their and hold it until I was securely inside. He'd shut my door. Grinning, he walked nicely back around to the other side of the big blue van-reopening the door I'd just shut and climb inside. At times I wanted to turn and say, "let's skip it today, I'm in a hurry." But one look into his big brown eyes, and there was no way. I wouldn't have missed it for anything.

On snowy, cold mornings, I'd tell Christopher how nice it would be when he was old enough to drive. He'd be able to drop his sisters and I off at the door of the church, then go park the car like the rest of the gentlemen. Sure enough, as soon as he was the proud owner of a Colorado Driver's License, my teenage son would automatically pull up to the curb closest to the church's front door. After parking the car, he could be seen hurring along the sidewalk with the other men who'd done the same. I was so proud to see him walking as one of the men.

During our winter trips to Arizona, my father-in-law and I used to take walks around the neighborhood. I was often pushing a stroller, coaxing a little one to sleep. I noticed when it was the just the two of us, dad-in-law would sometimes switch to the other side of the sidewalk he was walking. I was a little puzzled, but figured it must be a preferance, like choosing which side of the bed to sleep. He explained one day that he was merely staying on the outside. By walking closest to the street, it was a gentleman's way of being a shield of sorts. What a thoughtful gesture.

My dad modeled similar masculine niceties. While standing in a fast food line at the delectable Jack-in-the-box, my dad asked me what I was having. As usual, I had diffuculty making a choice. It had been years since I was in a Jack. After studying the menu, I finally chose 2 tacos. Dad placed the order. He ordered MY food. To some, this might not mean much, but to me it is a big deal. It is a comfort/security thing, like my husband answering the door or telephone. I can't explain why it is so meaningful, but it is. I can rest and be at ease, knowing someone else is watching out for me.

Men are an example of the Father when they tenderly walk in their masculine roles. Manners-a way to portray the gentle, caring ways of our heavenly father.

Beginnings



Sigh. This school year has not started well for Ethan. I've mentioned this before. Christina was at the school helping him eat lunch. The teacher came over and announced, "Ethan didn't have a good day." She went on to explain that Ethan had pulled the principal's hair and wouldn't let go. And the worst part? She was "so embarrassed." Embarrassed???? For what reason? Was she appalled at his behavior, ashamed of Ethan,or was she mortified because she, as his teacher, was clueless as to how to deal with the situation? I sure hope her embarrassement was a result of her own inadequacies and NOT by my precious grandson. How could this little boy humiliate anyone?




By the way, Sunday began Deaf Awareness Week. It is my desire to learn ASL in order to be able to communicate with the those in the deaf community. Every individual should be able to hear the Gospel in his own language. This sign goes out to all, but especially to Ethan:



I love you

More On Manners

I should have been thrilled, but I wasn't. The grandparents were watching the children for a couple of hours and Michael and I were going out. We rarely went anywhere as a couple, but I was less than excited. Dread would better describe my emotions.

I'd agreed to meet with some old friends of Michael's-from his BMW days. (Yes, he did drive a BMW as a single man. I think of those times as his "Before My Wife" days.) Being 9 years older than me, as were most of his friends, I often felt like a child sitting in a group of adults. Some of the friends I'd met were easily 10-15 years older. The men usually talked computers and business, of which I knew nothing. The women all had established careers, while my life revolved around my children and church. How could I carry on an intelligent conversation? This couple we were meeting didn't even have children. I got out of the car feeling like a total misfit.

Upon entering the restaurant, greetings were exchanged and introductions made. Kyle & Cheryl seemed like a nice enough couple, but I was still uncomfortable. As we took our seats, I noticed that Kyle pulled his wife's chair out and waited for her to be seated, before taking his own. Should I wait for my husband to slide my chair out for me? I looked over. He was already sitting. I quickly sat down.

Have you ever been at a fancy restaurant in a large group setting? You are sitting uncomfortably with people you don't know well. Your place setting has more glasses and silverware than you would normally use in an entire day. Not knowing how to start a conversation, you reach for your water glass. As you gulp down the icy cold water, you observe the person next to you. An uneasiness grips you and your mind gets foggy. Is the water glass placed on the right or left? Being right-handed you instinctively grabbed the one closest to you. While that cold is choking in your throat, you can't be for certain, but yes, you have mistakenly taken a drink from someone else's water glass. Awkwardly you hold the glass close to your lips. Should you quickly put it back, hoping nobody else noticed? Should you announce to all that you are clueless about table settings? Or do you act like it belongs to you, forcing the victim to deal with it? This is how I was feeling as I sat at the table with this couple.

Before our food arrived, Cheryl excused herself to the powder room. Has anyone seriously powdered themselves in there??? Kyle stood to his feet. Was he going with her? He pushed her chair in, and sat back down. As his wife made her way back to the table, Kyle once again rose to his feet and pulled out his wife's chair. I had witnessed this type of polite behavior in very old movies, but never in real life.

By this time, I needed to use the restroom. Would it seem rude to just get up and go? I wasn't used to excusing myself to use the powder room and I knew if I tried it would sound silly. Would Kyle feel the need to stand when I stood? Would my husband look like he didn't have any manners if he continued sitting? I decided to wait it out. I was thankful when Michael excused himself to visit the bathroom. I quickly said, "I'll go too." As I rose, so did Kyle. When I returned, he rose again.

This incident has played in my mind many times. I don't think anyone teaches a young man to acknowledge a lady's presence by standing anymore. I suppose it seems quite a silly thing to do. But I wonder. How would I, as a woman, feel if everytime I entered a room, men would stand at attention? Would this act be a silent command of respect to all parties? Surely, even a hardened feminist would feel important and valued at this gesture. Why do we bother with manners at all?Are they not about giving honor and dignity to one another? In showing respect, we speak to others that we value them-they are important enough to make the extra effort. Could the lack of manners in our society be one of the biggest ills affecting theyounger generation? Could this be why they feel lost and unimportant?

Courtesy & Other Forms Of Respect

I've been pondering quite a bit lately, on the lack of respect, honor, integrity and just plain old common courtesy. Over the next few days, I plan to talk about these things, relating some personal experiences.

Years ago, (what seems like years and years) it was common for a gentleman to "do" for a lady. Such things as assisting her into her carriage or onto her horse...okay, we won't go that far back. But do you remember men opening and holding doors, pulling out a lady's chair, polite words exchanged between the two? I believe this simpler, kinder culture provided men and women with roles in which they were comfortable. It was common knowledge what was expected of a lady and what was expected of a gent.

Things have certainly changed. I was confronted with my own questions of the impact these changes have had on our society. Have the changes all been positive ones? Or have most been negative? Are we better off or worse?

Several years ago, Michael and I ventured out with a neighbor couple. We had our 3 youngest girls with us, they had their son. It was a very, cold December night. I'm not sure why we'd agreed to go, but here we were-stepping out into below freezing temperatures. It didn't seem to matter that we were dressed in coats, hats, gloves, & scarves. The bitter cold seeped inside and clung to us. We trudged along the paths to view the Denver Zoo's Wild Lights.

As we hurried along, not many words were spoken. Talking seemed to allow too much warm air to escape making us feel colder. We oohed and ahhed just a bit, enough to seem as if we might be enjoying ourselves. Finally, Elisabeth blurted out, "I'm cold! Can we get some hot chocolate or something?"

Immediately, my friend turned to her son. "John, give Elisabeth your coat. She's cold." I was so surprised by this, it took me a few moments to believe what I'd heard. John didn't respond, his mother addressed him again. "John, when a lady is cold, a gentleman offers her his coat. Be a gentleman and give Elisabeth your coat."

Elisabeth assured her that she did not need or want John's coat. There is no way she could in good conscience have taken his coat. Michael spoke up and said that it was not necessary for John to give up his coat-he would freeze.

But this incident made me wonder. In years past, would this truly have been the right thing to do? Would a young boy of 12 be required to give up his coat for the greater comfort of the weaker sex?

Ethan came off the bus with his hand wrapped in guaze. He must have tugged & pulled, attempting to get it off. The tight wrapping was causing redness & swelling as it was restricting blood flow. Christina asked the bus attendants if they knew why Ethan's hand was wound with guaze. They didn't.

It took a bit of work, but she removed the dressing. She found a small area that was irritated and bleeding a bit. Since Ethan can't tell her what goes on at school, she retrieved the notebook. It stated that Ethan had been picking at his hand until it bled. A bandage was applied, but he pulled it off. Guaze wrapping was then secured around it.

Picking at himself is not behavior typical to Ethan. Christina looked more closely at his hand. She noticed a protrusion. It was a tiny piece of glass or hard plastic. She pulled it out and Ethan was fine. He had merely been trying to remove a painful fragment from his skin which was the real cause of his bleeding.

I can't help but wonder what other situations does the teacher write off as odd behavior or "just Ethan" when he has a legitmate need but is unable to communicate. He doesn't eat his lunch is it assumed he isn't hungry when actually he wasn't able to pick up his burrito and bite into it. He needs it cut in pieces that he can manage with a fork. Or what about the teacher assuming he refuses to participate in the songs and finger plays, when he just can't get the hand movements on his own? He isn't capable of singing or the hand movments.

I could go on about incidents that have happened in the short time Ethan's been in kindergarten. Starting school should be a positive experience to encourage lifelong learning. Ethan has not have a positive start. This gramma is very sad.

Skies of Blue, Clouds of White

"I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world"

Each time the words of this Louis Armstrong song play, my mind is flooded with the same memory. Hilary and I are in the car together. My fingers are fastened ever so tightly on the steering wheel. For a moment, tension creeps up my back& lifts my shoulders. My neck muscles feel strained as I rembember. Then the peaceful words wash over me. Louis' strong, deep voice evokes a calm.

Minutes earlier I'd been sitting on the front porch enjoying the warm, summer sun of August. Little 5 year old Hilary, was playing out back on the monkey bars. She appeared beside me, cradling her arm. Tears filled her eyes, and spilled down her rosy cheeks. She'd fallen and I suspected her arm was broken.

I don't know why I was so uptight. It wasn't as if I hadn't rushed to the emergency room before. Broken bones, poisoning, stitches...typical ER stuff. But this was my happy, little Hilary. She was the baby and her first trauma experience. She looked so sad.

I left the other kids home with their dad and off we went. Immediately, I snapped off the radio. The extra noise was an irritation. But Hilary protested to the silence. "Please turn some music on, it helps me not think about how bad my arm hurts." I looked over. Her brown eyes were red and pleading.

"Ok, what do you want to hear?" I expected her request to be one of her favorite Christian sing-along CD's. Nope, she wanted Louis, with his deep, raspy voice & strong, jazzy trumpet. I popped in the CD and out came "What A Wonderful World."


"I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world."

She calmed down almost immediately. As the song ended, I hit repeat and we listened again. It is a wonderful world.


I need to dig out my Louis Armstrong CD. Yes, for Hilary. She is 15. We are back in the car. This time, she is the driver and I am the passenger. We both need Mr. Armstrong's calming effect.

(Oh, and yes her arm was broken. It was her first, but not her only broken bone.)

As we walked towards the gate, Hilary hugged me and ran to catch up with the other girls. I paid my 5 dollars and attempted to pass through. The lady, and I use that term loosely, who was the gatekeeper was scolding the cheerleaders. The teens were respectful, in spite of the attack. At this point the cheer coach walked up and the two adults began an unpleasant exchange of words.



I was relieved when the bickering stopped and I could pass through the gate. As I found a spot on the cold metal bleachers, the words of these two women replayed in my mind. I was disappointed in their behavior. Did they realize the impact their barbed, disrespectful words had on the young people watching?

Why had I arrived 30 minutes early? It certainly wasn't because I loved soccer. I was pretty certain that in 2 1/2 hours my back would sorely complain at having sat for so long without support. Speaking of support, where were the other parents? I mentally counted the players from both teams, warming up on the field. I added the number of cheerleaders & poms. More than 50 students were involved in this event. Not counting friends, siblings, grandparents or other significant people, if only one parent from each family represented showed up, shouldn't I be able to find 50 spectators? Again I pondered what messages we, as adults, were sending to our children.

"Ladies & Gentlemen, please rise for our National Anthem." The voice from the P.A. system startled me. I rose and turned to face the flag. As the rousing music rang forth I noticed hands on hearts, hats removed, everyone standing at attention. My eyes began to tear. My thoughts turned to my father-in-law. He was a fighter pilot in the Korean War. He witnessed the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air.

Below the flag was the concession stand and the restrooms. At that moment, a gentleman exited the latrine. He immediately turned, removed his hat, placed his hand on his heart and began singing along. Patriotism was still alive.

After the game began, a few more parents and students filed into the stadium. I listened to various conversations around me. I was a little embarrassed at some of the things I heard. Right before the 2 minute warning of half-time, one parent began screaming, "Stop the clock! Stop the clock!" The announcer must have been tired of hearing the complaints, shouts, and insults. He addressed her shouting.

"The clock is not stopped unless the referee signals. There was no signal." I would have been ashamed for being so obnoxious. This parent was not and yelled back, "that was why I was yelling at the ref! I wanted him to signal." I cringed. A group of 20 or so students had gathered to watch the game. They turned their heads in unison to see that this parent was from the opposing team.

The cheerleaders began a cheer. I clapped along. I noticed a girl wearing her softball jersey. She tapped the boy sitting next to her and said, "it's the cheerleaders job to get the crowd enthusiastic about our team, to cheer them on and support them. Come on and get with it." He did, as did most of the other students.

I hadn't noticed the couple sitting behind me. They must have come during the 2 minutes before the half. I took note when the woman spoke wearily, "I guess I can sit through a few more cheers." I wanted to turn and see who she was-hoping it was not the parent of a cheerleader. It wasn't. As she continued talking loudly, I realized her son was a soccer player.

The signal for the end of the half rang out. The cheerleaders gathered and sat at the edge of the field. This woman spoke mockingly, "what are they doing sitting down? Where is our half-time entertainment?" It was obvious that she was annoyed at having to endure what she perceived as silly girls.

I churned inside. I wanted to swing around and tell her that the reason the cheerleaders were sitting down on the field is because they were supporting their school. The poms were making their way to the field and it was the poms who danced at half time. The cheerleaders and poms were there to cheer and encourage not only one another, but mostly to support the soccer team. I wanted to tell her to ask her son if he appreciated the support he got from the poms and cheers. I wanted to tell her that my son played on the Varsity Lacrosse team for 4 years in high school. He and his team would have been thrilled and overjoyed to have the support of the cheerleaders. My son told me on numerous occasions how encouraged he felt when he heard his own dad's shouts of cheer from the sidelines.

I didn't say anything. I was too busy getting my camera out to videotape my daughter's pom routine.

My thoughts would not be quiet. As I heard this woman again, I wanted to whip around and tell her that I'd sat here watching her son play for the last 45 minutes. I'd cheered & clapped. Where had she been during most of that first half? Could she not respect my daughter's 2 minutes of dancing? Did she think I was there because I was a huge fan of high school soccer? I was suprised how angry I was. Then it hit me.

Was I any different than the cheer coach who tried to defend her girls from the barrage of words hurled at them by the gatekeeper? I understood her passion. I didn't understand the adults who chose to be disrespectful of our kids and others. Were my thoughts towards this woman as wrong as her words towards the girls? Did this count as righteous indignation?

The coach who'd argued with the gate keeper hadn't raised her voice. She had been reasonable. The coach had merely pointed out that the woman just needed to ask the girls politely and they would comply. I don't think she'd intended for the exchange to go on as long as it had. The gatekeeper had continued to disparage the girls as if they'd been naughty children. She fired back that the rules were the same from year to year and these girls knew them. The bewildered coach interrupted that many of the girls were new to the squad and this was their first game. The gatekeeper didn't care, didn't believe it. She seemed bent on proving that teenagers were miserable creatures. I wonder if the coaches reaction emerged from her shock at the disrespectful behavior from this adult. The same disappointed confusion I felt throughout the game.

Where was the loyalty, respect, and support for the school and students that I'd seen for the flag and National Anthem? I am proud of the youth. They displayed integrity throughout the night. These are not the kids who give teenagers a bad name.

A Contradiction

I enjoy a good, hot cup of coffee. I don't mind paying a little more for expensive beans to fresh grind every day. Add some creamer (or better yet real half & half) & I'm in heaven.

I was very disappointed when Coffee-Mate quit making Vanilla Nut Creamer. This wass my all time favorite. After trying another brand with great disappointment, I decided to buy half & half. I noticed one carton on sale so grabbed it and headed home. Big mistake! This is what I purchased:

I don't know if you can read the label, but it says "Fat Free Half & Half" How is this possible? Half & Half by definition is half cream/half milk. To be legally called Half & Half the butterfat content must be between 10.5% and 18%. So how can they call it fat free???

After reading the ingredients I'll tell you. This so-called half & half is made from skim milk. Yep, you read that right. Skim. I don't buy skim milk to drink, why would I want the watery stuff in my coffee parading around as if it was lovely, light cream?

Tommorrow I'm starting my day with rich, strong, straight,black coffee.

Perspective