The Best Part Of Fall

I know I've mentioned way too many times that I'm not fond of fall. The bright side to getting up so early...before Michael? Coming back to find this:

I offered an explanation here, but it still thrills me to see my bed gift-wrapped just for me every single day.

Other little joys I found:

Signs of Fall color changes.

But I've been missing:

and his mom. I also can't wait to have Christopher and Lauren back.

Joining You Capture Red, from I Should Be Folding Laundry, thanks to Prairie Lady's watchful eye.

Oh, and my favorite red of all:

And one more red that I ran into yesterday. Yikes!

I'll Be There

Things seem so very urgent

With the passing of each day

But when you get to heaven

Last year was yesterday.

On earth we fret & stress

We worry endlessly,

Longing for a day of rest

A break from misery.

If only you could see up here

Splendid, harmonious, lovely

But if you think I've nothing to do

Your thinking is mistakenly.

Texting

Sometimes I hate text messages. Especially when I send a message to the wrong person. It can be very embarrassing. But not as bad as telling one person something about another individual and then inadvertantly clicking on that person's name and they receive the message. (I know someone who does this more often than she'd like anyone to know.)

I sent a text on Saturday night. Hilary went to Homecoming and the rest of us had nothing to do. At the last minute, we decided to go out. I thought I'd text message some friends to see if they wanted to join us.

When I didn't hear back, I checked my phone to make sure it sent. It sure did. But I accidently sent it to the wrong person. Both people names began with D. So I went ahead and sent it to the intended recipient. I had no idea who, if anyone, might show up. Nobody did. No one responded to my message.

Much later, like 4 hours, I did get two messages back. One said, "Just got your message, thx for the invite, maybe next time."

The other one:

"I'm sorry, but who is this?" Yikes! And that was who the message was intended for. Good old fashioned communication via a phone call would have made this so much simpler.

Not For Everyone

Gross and probably TMI but I was shocked yesterday at what I found with a little "routine" cleaning...so if you are a frequent visitor to my house STOP READING NOW. I don't want to scare you into never coming back.

Or if you see me as a lovely, organized, hostess, with a spotless home-don't read this! I don't want to tarnish that image.

Over the weekend, Christina and Ethan were here. We were sitting around in the living room and Christina says, "do you smell that?"

"No, what?"

"Every time I sit here it smells like someone's dirty socks or something. It smells bad." She tried to find the source, but never did.

I have glass coffee tables that looked quite dirty. Ethan ate a bowl of coconut milk ice cream with chocolate swirls, sitting on the floor. I believe he tried to wipe his hands by smearing them against the glass. And yes, it was Thursday and I was finally getting around to tidying up.

I sat on the floor to windex the tables. I had to tip them on their sides to get underneath as little hand prints were there too. While I was spraying and wiping, scraping and spraying some more, I noticed what looked like chocolate on my leather couch. I spritzed a little glass cleaner on the leather to wipe it off. But it was dried on pretty good. Wondering if it would damage the leather, I sprayed again. I scrubbed harder. And then I began to smell an odor. Sure enough. That was what Christina had been smelling. OMG! Crusted on poop.

And as a side note, I've gotta say this.

When moms are sitting around discussing the frustrations of potty training and such. Do not try to reassure them by saying something dumb like, "don't worry. Relax. It will happen when he is ready. He won't go to kindergarten wearing diapers."

Every time I hear a comment like that I want to say, "oh yeah? Well, that's what everyone told Christina when Ethan was 2, then 3. At 4, she didn't hear it as much. He is 7 now. And yes. He DOES wear diapers to school."

Sorry. Just another one of my pet peeves.

Smile

Someone must be smiling down on me. Knowing my lack of fondness for Fall, we've headed straight into winter. Snow is forecast for tomorrow. I turned the heat on today. Someone knew winter is my second favorite season. But gosh, I'm not quite ready.

Heth mentioned one of her favorite things about Fall is cute jackets. She is the queen of cute and chic. Yesterday I wore a leather jacket and boots. Fall has been redeemed.

I also wanted to thank everyone for their very generous comments on my Martha I Am Not post. You all are too kind but so very encouraging. Thank-you!

And just because he makes me smile:

Monday Morning Musings

Yes, it really is the last day of summer. It's a seasonal battle. Yesterday summer was winning with plenty of sunshine and 85 degrees. Ahhh...it was lovely. But today Fall fought back with ferocious winds. And rain. And it's pushing against the temperature to keep it below 52 degrees for the high. In fact the forecast has it fighting with snow in the high country just so we know it means business. Summer's last day is a dreary one.

I wish I'd had my camera yesterday. Amid the summer sun, the winds began to swirl, loosening the leaves from their branches, toppling them from the trees. Ethan was fascinated. He chased the leaves as they chinked along the ground. But it was the wind that caught him by surprise. He looked to be playing tag with it. As he ran, it tapped lightly upon his shoulder and he'd whirl around hoping to grasp it. His arms outstretched, he'd spin around and around embraced in the wind's pirouette. The satisfied smile I can't capture in words. The wonder and delight through the eyes of a child.

Martha I Am Not

In case you had any doubts as to my abilities and gifts...I do NOT have the gift of serving. I am no Martha Stewart, or the biblical Martha who spent her energy preparing and serving. Her house was probably immaculate. Throngs of people descended upon her home to hear Jesus and could she get any help??? What was wrong with Mary anyway. Didn't she notice Martha needed help? Well, no she didn't.

I have a friend with the gift of serving. Lots of people do, because quite frankly, we need more servers than leaders. And just so you get it straight, I am not a leader either. Don't ask me to organize, delegate, and pull together an event. I'd end up doing it all myself. A good leader knows how to delegate the best person for each task. Not many are gifted at leading-because how many leaders do we need? But let's get back to serving.

My friend, the one gifted in serving, will walk into my home and can immediately see I need help. She would think nothing of loading my dishwasher, wiping off a table, or jumping in to prepare a meal. And I never have to tell her what to do. She instinctively knows what is needed. I love her! I love that she has the gift of serving and uses her talent so well. Those of you with this gift, probably don't see it as a gift. Instead, like Martha, you probably wonder what is wrong with the rest of us. Why can't we see when there is work to be done? Are we so selfish and thoughtless that we can't jump in and help wherever necessary? Truth be told, most of the time, we don't see it. But I'm trying.

I too used to wonder why I couldn't be like my friend. Why couldn't I see with her eyes? It wasn't until I took a class on spiritual gifts that I found the freedom to see with my eyes. The teaching came from Romans 12:6-8.

"In his grace, God has given us different gifts for doing certain things well. So if God has given you the ability to prophesy, speak out with as much faith as God has given you. If your gift is serving others, serve them well. If you are a teacher, teach well. If your gift is to encourage others, be encouraging. If it is giving, give generously. If God has given you leadership ability, take the responsibility seriously. And if you have a gift for showing kindness to others, do it gladly."

Does this mean that just because I am not gifted in serving that I am not to serve? Certainly not. But I shouldn't feel guilty because I have to work harder at serving. Nor should I try to lead when there is someone more qualified for the job, but I might find myself leading at times.

I was reminded of this not long ago while talking with my sister, Carolyn. She mentioned that she's always taken the servant roles but more recently took on a leadership role. She's more comfortable in serving, not leading. Growing up the oldest of 4 kids, I can't help but wonder if she isn't gifted in leadership. But at the same time, she does have a lot of that other Martha's tendencies. No, the Martha with a flair for decorating and creating a lovely home. Carolyn sees things I don't. She has a vision for the rooms in her house and it is fun to see the magical transformations she is forever creating.

Like I said. A martha I am not. I have trouble picking out a paint color. But that's ok.

Ran Out Of Gas

I really thought the humiliation of the past was a good lesson. I thought wrong.

When Hilary was in 4th grade, I picked her and Sarabeth up from school. We drove a few miles to the high school to pick up Elisabeth. But as we neared the school, my suburban sputtered and died. I couldn't figure out what was wrong. I'd run out of gas.

About a month later, with Hilary in the car, it happened again. In the same neighborhood, picking Elisabeth up from school. This time a police officer stopped to help us. He pushed the suburban to the side of the road with his lights flashing and then we got to ride in the back of his car. As we drove to the gas station, Hilary sank lower and lower in her seat. She didn't want anyone to see her peering out the back of a police car, locked in like a criminal. I laughed about it later when she told me how embarrassed she was. And I figured out that my gas guage was broken.

Fast forward a few years, different car. I get an early morning call from Sarabeth. She, Hilary, and the neighbor were driving to school when they ran out of gas on the highway. Luckily, they were able to coast down the off ramp, park the car on the shoulder and walk 1/2 a mile to a gas station. I was proud of them for taking care of the situation themselves. And I was hoping they'd figured out that when the gas light comes on, it really does mean you need to stop and put gas in it for it to keep running.

This morning my cell phone rings. It's Hilary. She should be at school by now.

"Hi mom."

"Hi Hilary."

"So...I was driving down Simms and the car started sputtering. I coasted to the bottom of the hill, but I ran out of gas."

Gee, I really thought she understood that cars need gas to stay running. And yes, that little light on the dash that comes on as you near empty is there for a reason.

Fallish

Sunday morning it was 62 degrees...in my bedroom. Brrr.

It felt like football weather. We wore sweat shirts. It was a great day for football.

Monday evening Michael and went for a drive with the top down. He loves fall and the cool, crisp air. He can't get enough of it. He savors it, soaks in it. He bestows praises upon Fall and its splendor. And I want to be that thrilled.

I've mentioned before; Fall is my least favorite season. I've attributed my distate to many things. I've wondered and questioned why the dread and glum. But still the heaviness descends. It seeks to settle, surrounding me, and I grope and writhe trying not to suffocate.

There is a beauty in Fall, unmatched. Looking out my window I see the ending of summer. Yellow peeking out between the green leaves. It taunts and tempts me with its alluring colors. I want to yield, to embrace the glorious beauty. Yet I am held back. Fearing loss, I scratch and claw. I need to win this compelling fight. Or do I?

A Letter To Taylor Swift

Dear Taylor,

Stick to country music. Country folk are kinder, caring people. I have no idea why or how Kanye West got on stage during your award last night. Who does he think he is? Spend a few minutes with the man, listen to the lyrics of his songs and you will know much about his character.

I'm sorry he left you speechless. It was nice of Beyonce to call you back on stage during her award. But sadly, your VMA award will forever be remembered by the ugly remarks of a pathetic rapper.

Embrace your country roots where men are tough cowboys, but gentlemen at heart.




And some still wonder why "Ladies Love Country Boys."

Go Broncos!

Elisabeth & Hilary at the ALS walk yesterday. They were there to support Brian.

Fun, Fabulous, Friday or Silly Saturday

Yesterday I wasn't terribly motivated. Even though it was a short week, I was tired. Plus 9/11 seems to be a somewhat sad day. So what did I do? Spent my time being silly.

Thursday night Hilary informed me that Friday was the last day to turn in a baby photo for her senior yearbook. Nice. I like to have time to find the right photo and think of a meaningful dedication to write. I don't like being crunched for time. I wasn't given a choice. It had to be done.

I did have fun rummaging through photos. Too bad I can't submit this to the yearbook.


Musical Photo-Yes, that is a blow up guitar. But boy can she rock.

I didn't make dinner last night either. Nobody was here. Dee called. (That's my daughter-in-law's mom.) She asked if we wanted to go out for dinner. Woohoo! I knew there was a reason I didn't cook anything.


And then I don't know what came over me. I wondered if I could still do the splits. I kicked my leg out and down I went. And I could almost got there. Halfway down I hear a loud pop in my hip.


Elisabeth snapped this before I fell over in pain.

Today it doesn't feel so great. I'm off to the chiropractor to see if he can pop it back. What was I thinking? I couldn't do the splits as a teenager...why did I think I could do them now???

Do You Ever Wonder?

Do you ever wonder what your kids do when you aren't at home?

Michael and I went for a walk after dinner. Hilary was home alone. I found a video she took of herself dancing in the kitchen. It was hilarious, but I can't get it to upload.

Sometimes, when no one is looking, we let a bit of our true self out. Do you want to know what is truly hidden in your heart? Spend some time alone with yourself. When you think no one sees or will find out, do you do the right thing? Or when given an opportunity, do you lie and cheat like nobody's business?

Do you laugh and have joy? I admire those who can laugh out loud heartily when no one is listening. Michael is this way. I smile big and sometimes emit a silent laugh. But I don't usually erupt in spontaneous outbursts of snorts and chuckles when I'm alone.

Are you critical? Do you think ill of others harshly judging their actions? Or do you try to look at the positive, see potential and promise in another individual?

I know I have a lot to work on in my own life. But in spite of the challenges in life, I'm going to try to spend more time laughing out loud, thinking about all that is good, and spend time seeing potential and possibilities in others. Who knows, quite possibly they have hidden talents we never knew were there.

(Since I couldn't get the video to upload, I used my camera to capture a couple of clips. Enjoy.)

One Sunday

While sitting on the front porch, I looked at my darling and saw this:



Believe it or not, this was the first time ever, that I was glad we weren't sitting in church together.

I know. You all are shocked. But did you look closely?



Maybe it was dark when he got dressed.

But truthfully Michael, anytime you want to wear your shirt inside out and go to church with me, you are more than welcome. I'll even sit next to you and I won't pretend I don't know you.

Never Again

I'm never cutting my hair again. Ever. I mean, I'm never letting someone else cut my hair again. Ever.

The fault apparently doesn't lie in the hairdresser but in the person who tells the stylist how she wants her hair cut. I went to a new hairstylist who cut my hair EXACTLY the same as the last gal-terribly uneven, I-hate-the-way-it-won't-lay-in cut. Only the layers are a full 2-3 inches shorter.

I'm afraid if I let someone else cut my hair, I will soon be bald. I like having hair. I don't get it. I showed her a picture of my favorite cut. A photo of myself, my hair-I know it is possible. This is not it.

Sigh.

And why does the hairdresser think she knows my hair better than I do? I really do want at least 3 different colors in it. I NEED that many to make it work. But she always think I'm a bit dramatic or haven't used the wonderful color products she has that can do the trick without the extra work mixing, etc. And then she is always surprised when she doesn't get the right result the first time and then has to fix it. And it still isn't the same as if she'd done what I asked.

I know I told her my hair had been badly cut and I merely wanted the tiniest trim to just even it a bit. When I saw 2 & 3 inch pieces flying, I questioned her. She said she was just making it even. I forgot to mention I didn't want short layers that were even with my bangs. I want my bangs to feel special and unique, having their own personal length.

Sigh.

I'll try not to post about my hair again.

Weird

I was on my way out the door, and as usual, I glanced in the mirror. Something didn't look quite right. I ran a brush through my hair, sprayed and fluffed it, then looked again. Hmmm...somehow I looked, well...different. I was having a good hair day. Finally.

Maybe my bangs were a tad long, making my eyes look dull. Or I am just tired from waking up so early. Oh well, no time to dwell on it. I had errands to run, appointments to make.

After returning home, I caught sight of myself in the mirror again. That's weird. I still looked off. My eyeliner seemed smudged and worn off. But that happens towards the end of every day. It must be that one of the bulbs is out in the bathroom. I need to run up to Home Depot and get a new one. There special, fancy bulbs that are too expensive to keep on hand. So I buy them as they go out.

And for some reason, standing in the bathroom, it hit me. I'd only applied mascara to one eye this morning. No wonder I looked weird.

(To many, you may wonder what the big deal is. You have probably never seen me without makeup. LOL. Seriously. And to walk around looking goofy with makeup on one eye and not the other truly looks wacky.)

September

I don't think I've ever been this excited to see September roll around. No, I haven't secretly become a morning person. Getting up at 6:00 a.m. does not thrill me. It's just that the month of August was an emotional rollercoaster around here. We couldn't take much more and have been banking on the hope that August was just a miserable month and September will be filled with fresh, new, positive adventure.

Is that too much to ask?

And since I was unsuccessful in my attempt at becoming a thinner, more active, ready-for-the-beach-trip-October in August, today begins new hope for making this happen. Because now I have nearly half the time to do it.

September, don't let me down.

Family

Whoever thought up the idea of family was a genius. Oh wait, that was God. No wonder it is an amazing ensemble of gifted people! I have the best family in all of the world.

Parents who are extremely encouraging, who pray and take time to listen and offer their support & wisdom to their grandkids. One who will email back and forth to discuss college plans that have gone awry; send a card or note filled with love.

Brother-in-laws who come to visit and bless us with their skills. Whether it's a car repairs, tiling a floor, buying a kite for Ethan, or entertaining us with their sense of humor, they are generous, kindhearted men.

Kids that support one another, who are willing to drive an hour and a half just because they don't want the other to be alone in a difficult time.

A daughter-in-law who fits so well in the family and brings joy to my son.

I could go on and on listing what a blessing family is. Whether born, adopted, or married into a family these relationships make life so much richer. Of course, just because we are related doesn't mean we don't have misunderstandings, hurt feelings, or issues. But BECAUSE we are family, we work through our differences. It is where we learn to grow & give.

But the bigger picture of family, points us back to God. I find it interesting that when one becomes a Christian, he joins the family of God. The bible describes it different way: He has adopted us as His children, we are born-again, we become the bride of Christ. The three ways we become part of a family.

Sadly, culture today doesn't value family as the one place we support, accept, & love one another. Families are broken, merged, blended, & split again-losing all sense of the loved ones who will always be there for you. Family was created to stand united.

Thank-you to my family for all you are, for loving, giving, sharing, & standing strong. Life wouldn't be the same without you.

Gotta love mobile blogging

Tuesday Trials & Triumphs

Trials:
Transitioning from sleeping in to getting up at 6 a.m.
Teary-eyed teens and adult children with trying times of their own.
Fiscal Flops & Failures, Financial Fiascoes

Triumphs:
I attempted to list these and realize I need some work in this area. Maybe I'll list my triumphs tomorrow. I better get busy.

Refreshing

"As cold waters to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country."
Proverbs 25:25

A New Day

I've stood in this line many times. Today was different. This is the last time I will manuever my way through the school cafeteria for back-to-school registration.

I thought back to the first registration at D'School. The year was 1994, D'School's first year of existence. Created as a Junior/Senior High School, it began with 3 grades. Christina started her 8th grade year at this brand new school.

The building itself was not new. In fact, a friend of mine remarked that she attended junior high school at this very location with fond memories. I was a tad younger then, 32. A mere 20 years earlier and I was in junior high. Standing in line, preparing my oldest for her soon-to-be high school career, I felt much older.

At registration I wasn't asked for my cell phone number or email address. There wasn't a required internet permission slip to sign. I did give consent to allow the school to administer Tylenol if my child needed it. Parking passes were also non-existent. None of the students were old enough to drive. D'School started with grades, 7-9 and added a grade each year.

Today, as I registered Hilary for her senior year of high school, I reflected much. She stood alongside me in 1994 when I signed Christina up for D'School. She was a cute, bouncy 2 year old who knew how to embarrass her big sister. It was in 8th grade that Christina began to wish her 4 younger siblings & mother didn't trail her everywhere she went. Hilary and I stood alone. Actually, I went through the procession alone. Hilary popped in to get her schedule and school I.D., but had to run back out to football practice. I was left watching nervous 7th graders texting friends their schedules and reflecting on the past 15 years at D'School. I even heard talk that next year registration will be completed online. Some parents may never step onto school property.

I miss the day I could walk into the school, dragging my preschoolers behind me, knocking on the classroom door, handing Christina her lunch and then hearing about how I humiliated her for the next 20 years. Have a great senior year, Hilary.

Broken

Thankfully, I'm not the one broken. But my computer is. Not sure when I'll be back online. It's not easy posting from a borrowed computer. My cell phone, computer...I'm a little weary of technology and how easily things go awry or break. And please don't tell me bad things come in 3's. (Because it is really dozens.)

Even a fool...

Sorry I've been absent. It isn't like I haven't sat at the computer every single day and started a post. I have. So what has kept me quiet? Some things are better left unsaid. I'll show you what I mean.

1) A certain, selfish someone that I'm so angry with I want to slap some sense into him. (Nobody in my family. Gosh, I could never be that mad at my flesh and blood.)

"There is one who speaks like the piercings of a sword, But the tongue of the wise promotes health." Proverbs 12:18

2) Life changes and decisions that wouldn't be flung out in a casual conversation so why would I flip them out here?

"A fool vents all his feelings, But a wise man holds them back." Proverbs 29:11

3) When I am waiting on an answer from the Lord, it is often best not to seek the advice of others. Too many voices can be confusing. (Sometimes getting wise counsel is the best. "Where there is no counsel, the people fall; But in the multitude of counselors there is safety." Prov.11:14)

"My soul, wait silently for God alone, For my expectation is from Him." Psalm 62:5

Even a fool is counted wise when he holds his peace; When he shuts his lips, he is considered perceptive. Proverbs 17:28

What To Do About Cravings

It is 11:45 p.m. I want M&M's, the peanut kind. I'd like them now.

But I don't have any. Michael is sleeping. Nobody else is home. My choices are:

1) I can resist the chocolate craving by going to bed.

2) Hop in the car, run to the store & buy some.

3) Keep browsing the internet, in hopes that I forget how good Peanut M&M's taste.

4) Call each of my kids to see if they are near a store and on their way home.

5) Tough it out.

Hmm...what to do...I think I will just go to bed.

Um...no, I think I will run to the store. Oh wait, I'm having a bad hair day. I might run into someone I know.

Silly. Nobody is going to be at the grocery store right now. Well, except for axe murders and the like.

Where is everyone???? I just need one other person to come along and I would feel so much better. Hey, that gives me an idea. I will take my camera along and in essence take my faithful readers with me. Ok, here goes. (Too bad I can't use my cell phone and send photos directly to my blog. But the memory card died while I was making memories meandering in Mesa's hotter than heck heat.)

I know it is dark outside, but let's get going! (Be back soon)

A New Day

Good Morning! I'm up before the sunrise today. Anyone who knows me, understands that I am not a cheerful, perky morning person. During the summer, I sleep in...every, single morning. Today I woke up at 4:30 a.m. I laid in bed for over an hour, thinking I'd fall back asleep. But it didn't happen. So here I am.

I forgot to make coffee yesterday. This mistake forced me to go downstairs to get my coffeemaker. I lost my footing on top step with a thud, bump, thump...not sure how many times my backside banged against the steps. Forget the coffee. My heart was racing plenty fast now to get my blood pumping. But I sure didn't feel like pulling myself up off the ground. I'm happy to say I sustained only a couple of rug burns and bruising. Sometimes I wish we had security cameras to capture our every move. I'm thinking I'd have some funny videos to watch.

And now I have to get myself together, to take my youngest to her court date. Yes, that traffic ticket she got. The one she lost and couldn't find, didn't remember what time she was supposed to be there. She waited until yesterday to call and find out it is this morning. I'd like to send her by herself, but her legal guardian is supposed to accompany her. That would be me.

Have a great day people.

What Was I Thinking...Bobblehead?

Or 5 dumb ideas that resulted in a bad 2 bad haircuts.)

Dumb Idea #1 Thinking that by growing my hair long, I could have my hair all one length. To me that meant the front length would be as long as the back.

(This was my hair in April.)

Dumb Idea #2 Believing that this could be achieved by cutting 2 inches off of the back, not 4.

(The sides are plenty long enough here in June to get a nice cut.)

Dumb Idea #3 Letting a girlfriend tell my hairdresser, over the phone, exactly how to cut my hair.


Dumb Idea #4 Not noticing that when she cut 4 inches off of the front and sides; thus having almost the same haircut I already had, except 4 inches shorter.

(I showed her this pic from 11/08, because it was on my phone. It was an attempt to show her a look that would work with an already mangled haircut.)

Dumb idea #5 Trusting the hairdresser to fix my hair. When she said she'd have to cut the back shorter, I told her no. Just even it up so the right side wasn't longer than the left. Somehow I didn't notice until she was finished that she'd cut 2 more inches off. Now the right side is shorter than the left.

Did I mention before that a bad haircut could mean a month of bad hair days?

I'm afraid this one will last longer. Here is my hair after I worked with it for over an hour. Hair this short shouldn't take an hour to fix.

I hate my hair right now.

Monday Morning

Monday morning makes me mindful of memories made meandering in Mesa.



Guitar gig going strong in Gilbert



Ethan & Ella entertaining each other


Never enough noise


Great Grandma giving good-bye hugs

My Brain Must Be Fried

Who in their right mind would trade this:

For this?

Hello? A 40 degree difference on Tuesday?

Thunk Thursday

We've had a lot of weather warnings scroll across the bottom of our television lately. They look like this:

Wow! Thunderstorms with deadly lightning? I've never seen the word deadly before lightning. This is quite a storm...until I realize that is not what it says.

Now we have to watch out for deadly "lighting."

Faithful Are The Wounds Of A Friend

He masquerades as a funny, little fellow. Brimming with helium and tied to a brightly colored ribbon, the balloon pretends to be a child's faithful friend. Mom knots the string to her child's wrist. Both are amused at the pleasure it brings. The balloon smiles down on its owner, bouncing and bobbing playfully. The child squeals with delight as she pulls her friend close and squeezes tightly. She laughs when the balloon boings back up to its watchful place.

Most toys, when forgotten, lay still and lifeless. But not so with Mr. Balloon. He dances and sways to attract the attention of others. A boy standing nearby notices. He too wants a leash wrapped around his arm and a pet balloon to walk. Mr. Balloon caught my attention on Saturday and I yielded to his friendly demeanor and glossy allure-a birthday balloon for my grandson.

Ethan played with Mr. Balloon until he opened his birthday presents. Megatron emerged as his new partner. Together they road in his truck, crawled in the tent, splashed in the sprinkler. But Mr. Balloon was undeterred. He hovered around the house all day. Desperate for attention he bumped & bobbled against the touch lamp; on, off, on, off...but to no avail. Ethan was out in the garage adding real gasoline to his battery powered truck. Mr. Balloon was finally successful after Ethan was dragged inside, showered off, and required to play indoors. He found the balloon dancing quietly in the corner.

Dinner was served outside, and the forever faithful friend was invited to eat with Ethan. He was tied to the chair so he could freely play in the wind. But Ethan kept untying him. Mr. Balloon was looking a little tired. His chest wasn't proudly puffed out anymore. Instead of bobbing quickly to the end of his string, he fluttered quietly beside the chair. I feared he was close to losing his floating ability. I watched as Ethan pulled loose the string. Mr. Balloon's bouncy bubbly self was slow in response.

But he's a tricky little fellow. Ever so slowly, he meandered to the edge of the deck. He lingered for just a moment, contemplating his next move. And then without looking back, he darted out. As fast as he's ever moved, he took flight. Over the houstop he went. Realizing his balloon was headed over the house, Ethan sprinted from his chair. Running as fast as he could, he made his way through the garage and onto the driveway. Words were spilling out of his mouth. His arms were pointing and signing towards Mr. Balloon, who was quickly becoming a speck in the sky.

"Ethan, the balloon is gone. I'm sorry. We can't get it back. Let's finish eating." Tears filled his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. He continued motioning with his hands and babbling as if to say we surely didn't understand that he wanted his balloon back. In those moments I'd give anything to know what Ethan was saying. I tried to think back to the times when my own children had balloons desert them.

"Will someone find my balloon?"
"Do you think another boy will play with it?"
"Maybe it will fly up to God and he will send it back."

I offered answers to words I couldn't grasp. But nothing I said could stop the alligator tears rolling down his face. I don't know how many times we dragged him back to the table, coaxing him to take one more bite. Over and over he ran to the front, in search of his friend.

Sometime after dinner, Ethan gathered Megatron and his other transformers. He set them up in the driveway. And then I saw him gesture. He pointed to the sky and his arms were signing. He spoke to them with words that only the toys could understand. I could only imagine. But I think he told them to never trust a balloon.

Crazy Weather

Notice anything strange about these trees?

They had leaves on them yesterday. The storm last night created an instant Autumn, except the leaves on the ground are all green. The temperature is only 64 degrees, down from yesterday's 94. That is part of what caused the problem. It was quite warm when the storm hit.

The trees are shredded and limbs broken off.

On Friday I Cried

Tears are usually reserved for special occasions. I don't let them flow for just any old thing. But I cried on Friday...in the middle of the grocery store.

Lately, my food shopping trips have been happy ones. The store has increased their gluten free foods selection. It is thrilling each time I find a new product. Recenly I found a delicious cake and frosting mix that not only is gluten free but also casein free. Imagine my excitement at being able to bake Ethan a birthday cake that he could both eat and enjoy.

When I set out to make it, I realized the cake mix called for margarine to keep it casein free. No problem. The margarine I've used for the last 25 years contains vegetable oil and not a dab of milk. Perfect. I needed 8 tablespoons. Peering into the tub, I maybe had enough to smear on a piece of bread, gluten free of course. Off the the grocers I went.

I looked up and down the aisle of butter and margarines. Hoping my Nucoa had just been moved, I continued to search for it. It was no where to be found. After a few inquiries to a clerk, then a manager, I was informed they no longer carried it. I stood there in shock. When did this happen? I still had the nearly empty container in my refrigerator.

This store stocks no less than 30 different types of butter and margarine. How could they get rid of the one single brand that was dairy-free??? The one and only kind I can use to make frosting for a very special 7 year old's birthday cake.

It wasn't like I could run over to the bakery and buy him a cake. They don't make or sell GFCF cakes. The clock read 3:00p.m. At 4, family would be arriving for the birthday celebration. What was I to do?

So like any caring, creative-thinking grandmother would do, I cried in the middle of KingSoopers.

Thunk Thursday

Another fine example of poor translations on imported products. This is from a lamp. Made in China.



In case you can't read the fine print:



I know a few women who'd like to find some of that Neuter soap.

Guess Who's Seven?

Seven years ago, I became a Grandma.


A happy baby who loved his grandma


Your first birthday was filled with wonder.


At 2, you liked animals, and sitting on Grandma's table.


Three brought books of animals


and birthday celebrations were so much fun.


When you were 4, we went to Arizona for your birthday

celebrated with great-grandparents and cousins.



At 5, you were more reflective.


At 6 your love of transformers began.


Sometimes you wore your glasses, sometimes not.


And now you are seven


And often silly


Finding fun hiding places


But such a delight and joy.


Happy Birthday my sweet grandson. Grandma loves you so much.

Just Wondering

Thinking about Ethan this morning and wondering how he is doing. He is with his father and that scares me. "Lord, watch over my grandboy."

Seven Eleven

Happy 25th Birthday Christopher!

In honor of your 25th birthday, I pulled up a few short clips from MY 25th birthday. You were 4 months away from turning 3. You and Christina helped your dad bake me a birthday cake. The sound quality and video are poor, but if you listen close, your voice can be heard.



Stirring The Cake


Chocolate...no, butter pecan

Candles


Kisses

(I posted this early, because in South Korea, it is July 11!)

It's been one of those weeks

Exactly one week ago it began with this post. I'm sure you remember the Sea Lion Bite. In that post I complained that if we hit a lull, someone or something makes sure life isn't too boring.

Here is my laundry room:

Pipe fixed, concrete poured.


At the end of the day, this is what it looked like and pretty much how it will look for awhile.


About an hour later, we had another casualty. But the driver is fine.


And did I mention we have out-of-town guests here, and for the next three weeks more coming?

Memories

Yesterday I had the privilege of reliving a childhood experience, but from a different angle. For a couple of years my parents owned a laundromat. Many Saturdays were spent helping mom or dad tend to this business. They both had full time jobs and this was our family's part time job.

A favorite chore for my sister and I, was to clean the lint traps on the washing machines. Thinking back, it was kind of gross and slimy. But for Laurie and I it was an adventure. The treasures left in pockets ended up caught in these traps. We never knew what we'd find. Dimes, nickels, pennies. We'd clean them as fast as we could to get to the next possible treasure find. I didn't like finding dead bugs, or when I couldn't tell what the object was. A key, buttons, a nail or screw, mostly typical things kept in a pocket or on clothing. But sometimes it might be a locket, earring, or other interesting artifact. At our young age, we didn't mind kneeling on the floor to accomplish the task. We got to keep whatever we found.

We loaded the vending and change machines too. I especially enjoyed filling up the soda pop machine and emptying out the coins. I could never figure out who it was that drank strawberry soda. It was always the most empty, and orange was the second. Nobody in my family liked either. I did drink my share of Mountain Dew, from a frosty glass bottle. Why doesn't soda come in glass anymore? It tasted so much better and seemed way colder. Mmm...the last time I drank Mountain Dew was at that laundromat and there will little chunks of ice in the bottle.

I went to the laundromat yesterday. But this time, it was as a patron. We have a broken sewer line. This very minute, men in jumpsuits are jackhammering the concrete under my laundry room floor. All we'd noticed last week was the drain wasn't emptying very fast. Since it was a holiday weekend, we waited to do laundry, run the dishwasher, etc. So I took my 14 loads of dirty clothes to the laundromat.

Instead of joy at filling the change machine, I fed my dollars into it. I got back quarters instead of dimes and nickels. Thirty dollars worth of quarters. It wasn't as much fun watching those coins going into the machine as I had as a kid hearing them drop into the metal change box. I imagined a young girl emptying the coins with her dad, taking pleasure at the sound of quarters emptying out. They probably don't plunk quite the same as I remember nickels did. But I'll bet she uses a plastic container that doesn't sing the way our coins jingled and clanked against the metal.

I did sweat more than I remember as a kid too. Which is surprising since I grew up in heat of the Phoenix desert. I guess it was the 14 loads of laundry. Have I mentioned that? But the childhood memories of laundromat ownership was worth the sweat and toil I endured.

One afternoon Dad and I worked hard. The machines were filled and emptied. Everything was wiped down and cleaned. Dad let me mop the floors with the big string mop and wringer bucket. I felt so strong flinging it back and forth. We locked up and I climbed up into his old blue pickup truck. As usual, he set the big metal coin box between the two front seats next to the gear shift. We each positioned a cold soda between out legs for the 20 minute drive home, a Pepsi for him, Mountain Dew for me. He started the engine, but before shifting, he leaned over and opened the metal box. He pulled out a 50 cent piece and handed it to me.

"Here. You worked hard today and I'm glad you came with me." I took the shiny coin. It felt like a million bucks, mostly because of the pride with which it was given. As we drove home, we listened to country music and sang. No, we jammed. The tin box became our snare drum and the handle of it made a tambourine sound. Dad would hit the side with the back of his hand, tap the top to jingle the metal together, beating to the rhythm of each song. Then I'd get a turn. I don't remember coming home exhausted like I did yesterday. But I do believe I came home feeling much taller.