Wordless Wednesday

Guitar Hero Battle
(This one's for you Ann!)

Other random photos from the weekend

The internet has certainly changed my world, how about you? It began with email, and the ease at connecting with family and friends with quick notes. Later, I found a kinship with other moms through message boards. We developed relationships, prayed for one another, laughed, cried, and celebrated occasions together. Then the world of blogging opened up to me yet another opportunity to meet new friends and peek into their lives. In spite of all we communicate across the lines of the internet, these people would be strangers if passed on the street. I find that amazing. We share intimate things through the typing of our fingers with folks we've never seen face-to-face.

I've had a few exceptions. I've met 2 fellow bloggers in person. One is a very chic and cool lady who lives Under the Laundry Pile (where she hides from her 7 kids.) The other is mopsy at Lifenut who is clever and witty as she shares the adventures of life with 6 kids.

Last night was yet another fun meeting. An internet friend I came to know, from a message board, allowed her daughter and friend to drive across country and stay two with my family. I did have a short phone conversation with their mom before they left. She couldn't believe I didn't have a southern accent, as she was sure I was from the South. (Even though she knows I grew up in Arizona and now live in Colorado.) I expected to hear a frazzled woman on the other end of the line, but instead she was a confident, articulate lady who didn't sound at all like the home of chaos she often describes. One of these days, I will convince her to blog and you all can meet her too. (Did I mention she has 13 kids?)

For now, I'm going to go enjoy my house guests for the short time they are here.

Make A Wish

Elisabeth's friend, Brian, works for a Porsche dealer. He mentioned one day that Make-A-Wish brought a car in for work. The crew was working hard to finish it for Christmas.

Do you remember my post about Hilary being asked to the Homecoming dance by David, a charming, young man? David has Cystic Fibrosis. His uncle donated an older, non-running porsche to Make-A-Wish Foundation to be restored. At 16 years old, this would be a dream come true for David.

As Brian shared details of the car with Elisabeth, it didn't take long to figure out this was the car for David. Hilary and Elisabeth enjoyed keeping the secret of the car's progress. Here is a photo of David and Brian showing their support for Hilary's Pom competition. It was taken in early December, before we found out about the car.

The car wasn't finished in time for Christmas. But a week later, David's mom called. She wanted Hilary to join in the surprise for David. She took Hilary and a few of David's friends to carstar to reveal the wish.



What an exciting day! Many people are involved in making a wish come true. My mom has volunteered countless hours of her time and talents to help create wishes for kids. This is the first time I've actually known someone who received a wish. May the joy of giving to others continue. Every time this car pulls up in front of my house, I will be reminded that I too have time, talents, and finances I can give so others will be blessed.

Don't Mess with PMS

I was not a nice person yesterday. As I stood arguing with the meat manager at our local supermarket, in the back of my mind I kept thinking, "Mr., I am really not in the mood for your bad attitude. Besides, you do not know who or what you are up against. Don't mess with PMS." I noticed the way some meat was marked and packaged and it struck me as false advertising, or at least misleading. The manager happened to be standing there, and I mentioned it to him. He over-reacted and became extremely defensive, talking a mile a minute. It triggered something in me.


I calmly explained my side again and he argued back that in reality what they were advertising was technically correct. I continued to point out that it was very misleading and felt they were taking advantage of the consumer. Normally, the store has excellent customer service. I've complained to the produce manager when something wasn't right, and he did everything he could to make it right. I've had the same experience in the bakery, deli, pharmacy, floral dept., etc. I am careful to not only take the time to complain, but also to compliment and acknowledge when I receive excellent service, help or whatever positive thing I can point out.


This man reacted in a very negative way, on a day when I just was NOT in the mood. I was so agitated, I forgot most of what else I needed on my shopping list. I wandered over to the produce department. I really wanted to go back to the meat manager and say something like, "I'll bet normally you are a nice person." Or, "You must be having a bad day, as I'm sure that you really want to be a nicer person." But I didn't. I also wanted to slap 1 of the butchers who interjected his comments while the manager and I were arguing. When I told Michael about it later, he agreed the guy was hitting on me.


Thankfully, I didn't say the things I wanted to do, nor was I physically aggressive. I was disappointed in myself for getting caught up emotionally and not handling it better. Maybe to avoid future issues such as this I'm going to have a button made to wear on certain days: Don't Mess With PMS.

Is it really over?

Sigh. Christmas break officially ended today. (I don't care that other's call it "Winter Break." It was definitely Christmas here.) I was up early making lunches, cooking breakfast, and trying to keep my eyes open. I said good-bye to my fellow guitar heroes as they walked out the door wearing backpacks instead of a guitar. It was still dark outside.

This isn't anything like reality TV.

Have you played the game where you try to find the differences in 2 pictures? Because of the way these 2 photos were taken you don't get the exact angle. Besides the orientation, do you notice any obvious differences?



1. The candles, one has them, one doesn't.

2. The figures on the left appear to be smooth in appearance, while the right are mottled. (Must have been poor lighting.)

3. Hmmm...the photo on the right seems to be a little different in the fact that the baby Jesus is surrounded by all men. There isn't a mother to be found. (No, Mary does NOT have a beard.)

My mom sent me this advent wreath for Christmas. I found it very curious. Was it a mistake? I admit, I wondered if this was a new rendition of the Nativity with Larry, Joseph, and the 3 wisemen. It had to be a mistake, but why didn't someone notice when it was fitted into its styrofoam carton?

It just isn't right.

Wiiiii

Oh my, where have I been? Since the kids have been on break from school, I've taken a break from...well, just about everything. What have I been doing? I hate to admit it, but I've been playing a LOT of Guitar Hero III on the new Wii system. Did I mention a lot? On New Year's Eve we got together with Michael's cousin. Terry has been diagnosed with, well, I am not even sure he has a positive diagnosis yet. I set up a blog for them here. Anyway, we were discussing what we'd been up to when I was ratted out as to what I'd been doing. Hilary went so far as to say that we had this conversation, that I don't really recall. This is what she said:

"Yes, mom has been playing Guitar Hero a lot. We can hardly play at all. I woke up yesterday morning and there’s mom battling it out with the guitar. I asked her if I could play. You know what her response was??? 'Why don't you go get some breakfast or take a shower or something.' Seriously, that is what she told me."

Really, I don't remember this conversation.

Sigh. I think I'm addicted.

Happy 24th Anniversary to my sweetie!

(I wrote this on our 22nd anniversary. I'm using it again, but adding to it.)

Today, December 29th, Michael and I are celebrating out 24th anniversary. Sometimes our relationship seems so fresh, as if we are still honeymooning. At the same time, I can't remember life without him. I feel like we've finally reached the point in our relationship, that it only gets better with each day. And yes, there are still things I am learning about him, and new things to love about him. So in honor of this special occasion, here are 24 things I appreciate about Michael:

1. His smile. Whether he is smiling at one of the kids, grandson, or me, he has a smile that melts my heart.

2. His sense of humor. It pops up unexpectedly at times, and makes me laugh silly-usually when I am way too serious.

3. His way with finances. He is a genius. How else can you explain how we've managed all these years? When he didn't have a "job" for 2 years, we did great.

4. Along with finances, he is hard-working and creative.

5. Michael is not afraid to take risks.

6. He challenges me. Sometimes it doesn't seem endearing for the moment, but I am a better person for it. The first few years of marriage I was not thankful for this quality, but I am now. And yes, he still finds ways to get me to step out of my comfort zone.

7. I love that he tells me I'm the best thing that ever happened to him.

8. His sense of adventure. (I can't wait to see where it takes us when the kids are grown.)

9. He has learned to validate my feelings and listen. He doesn't try to fix everything for me.

10. The pride and joy in taking Ethan riding on the lawn mower.

11. I love that he is always up for trying new dishes and never criticizes my cooking. He'll try anything once, and if something is really distateful, he will comment, "It wouldn't hurt my feelings if you didn't want to make this one again."

12. Even though he says anything I cook is better than going out to eat, he takes me out anyway, so I get a break from cooking.

13. He will get my car washed and vacuumed, just because he loves me.

14. He never leaves his dirty clothes around. He picks up after himself. (I know women who would kill to have a husband with this quality.)

15. When I need him to run an errand, he does it in a timely fashion. I never have to ask twice.

16. He will admit when he is wrong.

17. He is courageous and will stop to ask for directions.

18. He takes care things I dislike doing, like phone calls, fixing things, etc.

20. I can't believe he tolerates the way I toss and turn in bed to get comfortable, but he never complains.

21. He is neat and tidy, but doesn't give me a hard time for not being so.

22. I so appreciate that his care for me, our children and grandson. His love shines through in all he does. He is my hero.

23. Michael is a loving son. Since moving his mom and dad here, he has shown his devotion as a son.

24. His attention to details-he makes the bed so much nicer than I do.

Happy Birthday Michael!

Today is Michael's birthday. He is 54 years. He surprised me yesterday. I walked into my bedroom and found my clothes neatly folded. Even my socks had been paired together. I honestly did not know how to react or what to say.

I've been doing my own laundry for at least 30 years. I cannot recall a time someone folded my laundry so neatly and laid it on my bed to be put away. Occasionally, one of my kids has hung up a few things that were left in the dryer when they wanted to use it. Or they've tossed my clothes into a basket. But here were my things, very neat and tidy.

Who is this man? At one time in our marriage, I asked him what I could do to make him happy, what things made him feel special. His reply was, "keep my laundry clean, hung, and put away." (His Love Language is Acts of Service.) When I saw he'd folded my laundry, I was thrilled, but felt guilty at the same time. I should have been the one folding his.

Michael is forever showing me unconditional love, the kind the Father has for us. I love him so very much. Happy Birthday Michael!

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.