Happy 21st Elisabeth

A little girl, who loved ribbons and bows and is still as cute as ever, turned 21. As I began to write a Happy Birthday Post, I found myself writing much of what I wrote for her 20th, so thought I'd cut and paste a part of that here.

It's hard to believe you've closed the door to your teen years. What happened to my little Gerber baby with the infectious smile?
Very quickly, that baby turned into a laughing, forever-singing toddler. You loved singing and entertaining anyone who'd pay attention. There was no such thing as a stranger. You welcomed everyone into your world.

Remember how you'd play dress-up for hours and hours? Or making tea and crumpets with your kitchen set? Your golden brown hair, pulled up in crooked pigtails, would bounce as you "cooked." You'd talk and talk in your singsong voice as you'd offer freshly baked cookies.
I remember a girl in second grade who wanted to be a cheerleader. You went to cheer camp and performed at a high school basketball game. Two ladies in front of me saw you amidst the sea of girls and couldn't get over how cute you were. I wanted to say, "that's my girl!" But before I could you waved and curtsied my direction and they thought you were waving to them and they waved back. You brought out the best in others. It wasn't but 7 or 8 years later that you were in high school drawing the crowd to their feet.

It was hard to see you move out this year. I'm thankful that your residence is a mere 20 minutes away. I love that you come home for dinner several nights a week. You are still the same sweet, caring sister and daughter as before, but you are wiser and more mature. I didn't realize turning 21 would be such a transformation. You'll always be my little girl, even though you are all grown up.

This was taken on a cell phone and goes by very fast. I didn't quite capture the first couple of seconds. Hope you get the idea of my crazy kids antics.

Time Flies When You're Having Fun

Let's see if I can quit having so much fun and get back in the swing of things. Last week Christina was sick, so I picked Ethan up and kept him for a few days. And his big dog. I had hoped Ethan wouldn't get sick, but he did. Suffice it to say, I was busy.

Paper bracelets. What do you think? I've decided they are an ideal accessory. I could have every color of the rainbow, add any design to match or coordinate with every single outfit I own. No more struggling with hard to do clasps. They are comfortable to wear. I can go to be without ever removing it. I can even shower while wearing. When it's time to change, I cut it off and put on a new one. These have to be cheap. Just think, I'd never have to worry about losing or damaging them either.

How cool are hand painted nail designs? I absolutely love them! I haven't mastered the art myself, but I figure if I had the proper tools. It is impossible to paint in fine detail without a tiny brush.

I wouldn't try to cut a large piece of meat with a paring knife or use a meat cleaver to slice a tomato.

With the correct tools and proper training, I could paint nail designs. But that wouldn't make me an artist.

Too often, I don't value the talents I have. I want to do or be something never intended for me. It is difficult to accept our weaknesses and sometimes even our strengths.

Growing up, I'd hear my mom telling others about us kids. She'd speak of our gifts and talents. The things she'd brag to others about me didn't seem that big of a deal because they came easy to me. I wanted to be like my sister. Mom would talk about her dancing ability, her social skills-things that didn't come naturally to me. They were a challenge for me, so they seemed like better gifts to have. I didn't realize she felt the same way and didn't see her talents as something special or unique to her. She wanted what I had.

Today's challenge: To appreciate the giftings of others and encourage them to seek after what they are passionate about. I want to express to them how valuable their particular gifting and talents are and how much I (and others) need them. But I will also value and appreciate everything that God has placed within me and try to use my talents and gifts for His glory.

Somebody is a good brownie baker/server

Making The World A Better Place

Lori at View From Our Porch gave me this award. Lori truly does make a difference in the lives of so many. Everyone needs to feel valued and special.

The rules are to link to Ukok's place, then pick 5 other bloggers to give this award to. I am giving it to everyone on my Links list, as each one of you have made a difference in my life. Please pass it along.

Pet Peeve

Pet Peeve: Cruising along the highway, doing the speed limit, when all of the sudden nothing but brake lights ahead. I slow down to under the speed limit. I wonder what could be causing the slow down. Up ahead, on the side of the road, is a patrol car. No lights, no accident, nothing. The car is just sitting there. Why is everyone braking? If these cars aren't speeding why the need to slow down? Guilt is my guess. They must be regular speeders who watch for police cars. I have never feared or felt guilty seeing a police or patrol car. My dad drove one.

Dad emailed me the rest of his 1970 Christmas letter. I wanted to share another portion here. Dad was 31 at the time, mom 30, I was 8. My siblings were ages 6, 9, and 11.

"Kathleen says the time has come for me to reveal what I've been up to the past year. Life seems to revolve around my work schedule, which can be day shift, night shift, and a combination of the two. I have been working on the road as a patrolman for the past 16 months. I never dreamed that I would ever get to work on the road. I always wanted to be a policeman, but when I didn't grow tall enough to meet the height requirements, I gave up the idea. Now, here I am working along with the six-footers. I may be the smallest patrolman on the highway patrol, but there are a few others not much bigger. We peewees are known as the mini-patrol.
Sometimes, I wonder why I ever left the cool/warm, depending
on the season, comfort of the radio room. While sitting
overlooking the Salt River Canyon, watching the river below,
and inhaling the cool, pine scented air, I am grateful for
having been liberated from the four walls. On winter nights,
while carrying an injured or dead person out of a canyon, I
wonder why I'm not back in that nice comfortable radio room,
sipping a cup of coffee between radio calls.

People tend to make my job interesting. You meet the good
and the bad. You meet them at their worst and their
best. You get to help them when they need help the most. The
disabled motorist is glad to see you, but the violator wishes you
were in some other county. I could go on about my job as I find it
fascinating, but I'm going to leave it here."

For anyone who might be a guilty-braker, thought it would be fun to read the thoughts of a patrolman.

I laughed at the next part of dad's letter:

"Being church treasurer keeps me busy a couple evenings per
month. I sometimes wonder how I ever managed to acquire the
job. Bookkeeping never was high on my list of aptitudes. The
congregation certainly must have a lot of faith."

Dad wrote more, but I figure that is enough for one post. It brought back such fond memories of my dad. He did mention special training he'd been doing for upcoming demonstrations. I don't recall what the commotion was about, but do remember the extra protective gear he had to wear at that time. It was a time of demonstrations turning into riots and complete chaos. Seeing my dad in his uniform, I saw the strong protector. I felt safe, knowing my dad was watching out for us.

Dad is retired now. He no longer wears a uniform, protective gear, or carries a gun. But he continues to be a strong protector of our family and others. His weapons are not visible, except when he's on his knees.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAD!

Sometimes It Can't Be Fixed

Not everything broken can be fixed. A lost treasure isn't always found. Ask me how I know.

Before Christmas, I embarrassed myself. Christopher was home and we went out shopping. As we passed my favorite jewelry store, I showed him the bracelet that I wasn't getting. He said, "ma, you don't know that." I assured him that his dad couldn't pull off a suprise like that. I had been hinting how much I wanted the bracelet. No, I wasn't hinting, I was practically begging. I told him about it in detail. I pulled it up on the internet to let him see exactly what I wanted. I even found some cheaper alternatives if he just couldn't swing this one. He didn't pay much attention. Christopher tried to encourage me that surely if it was that important, there was a good chance his dad bought it. No, I was confident that I knew him better. Michael would have asked what store it was at, or if I really wanted it, before he went out. I'd know. Besides, 2 days earlier, he'd bought me a pair of exotic boots for Christmas and it would be way too much money to spend. (Yeah, I knew I was getting them.)

Imagine my humiliation when Christmas morning, Christopher handed me a slender gift box from his dad that looked the perfect size for a bracelet. "Hmm...I wonder what this could be? Oh, but surely not. There is no way dad could possibly have surprised you. Wow, do you feel a little silly for the way you carried on the other day?" He continued laughing and teasing me. And he'd been correct. Michael had truly surprised me.


The whole situation reminded me of a Valentine's Day not too long ago. I posted about my disappointment at not receiving a coveted pair of diamond & ruby earrings. Michael surprised me. He gave them to me for my birthday. He has become unimaginably extravagant in giving to me.

Last week, while painting, I took my bracelet off and shoved it in my pocket so as not to get paint on it. In doing so, I bent it backwards deeming it unrepairable according to the jeweler. During that same week, I took off the above mentioned earrings and set them on the coffee table. They are no where to be found. I fear they fell off the table and I inadvertently vaccuumed them up. I'm afraid they are hidden inside a trash bag located in a remote landfill, never to be found again. You would think that with something so valuable and important to me I wouldn't be so careless.

The jeweler agreed to replace my bracelet if I would purchase an extended waranty for an extra $38. My bracelet is brand new. I am not very hopeful of ever finding my earrings.

The Good News? God is not careless. He has already purchased an extended waranty for us: The guarantee of eternal life. I was careless with this gift of life. I experienced pain, loss, loneliness. My life was a broken mess. I was sure the damage I'd done was irrepairable. But it was not. God made it brand new. He can do it for you.

No matter how lost I might become beneath the cares of this life, He knows where I am. He can pluck me from the darkest, most hidden place.

Maybe you aren't in a dark place, but find somewhere along the path, you've lost your way. You can be a valued treasure in the hand of God, if you want. Your redemption is there for the asking.

I imagine the garbage man walking through the dump. He stoops down. He turns over a dirty, wet paper plate. He digs a bit through the coffee grounds and dog hair and pulls out an item. "I knew right where you were all along," he says. At home, he washes and cleans his newly found treasure. There before him is a sparkling pair of diamond/ruby earrings-something of great value to him.

Every broken life can be fixed. Every lost person can be found.

Random Thoughts

Why do kids wait until right before bedtime to mention they are supposed to bring snacks to school the next day?

When and why do people start drinking coffee? Is it possible to begin at age 54? Michael is doing just that-sitting here having a cup of hot coffee with me for the first time ever. How cool is that after nearly 25 years of marriage? Oh, and he is much older than I.

Did I mention Ethan was here last weekend? I gave him the transformer valentine's I'd bought. We sat at the kitchen table playing something akin to paper dolls, except with cards printed with transformer guys. Ethan squeeled with delight as I did my best transformer voice imitiations. I thought we'd have to do that all day, until I took a quick break to check on his dog. I ran downstairs, let Dazy inside, gave her a treat, then ran back upstairs. In that short period of time, Ethan had ripped everyone of them into shreds. He looked to be having as much fun as he had playing paper transformer dolls. I let him continue ripping and tearing.

The $12 car wash isn't any better than the $6 one. In fact, I think my car looks much nicer at the cheaper price, especially when the roads are dry except for the snow in front of my house. As soon as I got home, slushy, snow splashed on what was a clean car.

Have a great weekend!

SuperMom

The day before Hilary left to Florida, she gave me this mini-balloon. She thought it was so cute.

I gave her a card as she was walking out the door. She told me she read it on the plane and it made her cry. Her coach asked what was wrong. She answered that nothing was wrong and shared the card with her. The coach said she wished I'd come on the trip with them.

The next trip to Nationals, I'm going too.

Book Meme

PJ at Bits & Pieces tagged me for this book meme. Here are the instructions:

1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages.)
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

The book is Ten Minutes From Normal, by Karen Hughes

"Governor Bush had placed three of us at the head of the campaign: he paid us each the same salary, and treated us as equals. Karl Rove was our political guru, in charge of the overall strategy; Joe Albaugh was the campaign manager who liked to be known as 'the enforcer;' and I was the communicator, responsible for the message. Joe called us 'the brain, the brawn and the bite'."

(Okay, I'm going to cheat. I'm going to quote from the other book that was sitting atop this one.)

3:16 by Max Lucado

"Millions who face the chill of empty pockets or the fears of sudden change turn to Christ. Why? Because he's been there. He's been to Nazareth, where he made deadlines and paid bills; to Galilee, where he recruited direct reports and separated fighters; to Jerusalem, where he stared down critics and stood up against cynics."

So there you have it. Anyone want to play along?

Nothing Has Changed

My dad found a Christmas letter dated December 1970. He thought I'd find it interesting and could use it for blog fodder. In the letter, mom wrote an update on each of us kids. I was 8 at the time.

Joanne is a happy 8 year old in the third grade. Joanne especially
loves animals and babies. She was thrilled over winning two blue
ribbons at the fair, one for cookies and one for a knitted pair of
slippers. She enjoys reading, but most of all cooking. She has made
cookies, cakes, pancakes, biscuits and complete dinners. She also
likes to draw and write and asked if she could share one of her poems.

SANTA CLAUS

This is Santa Fellow,
His stomach is like jello,
He is fat and plump,
And can jump, jump, jump,
He's got eight reindeer,
that can even fly over a spear,
I hope he comes this year,
For I want his reindeer. by Joanne

This is me, pretty much 37 years later. I still love babies (animals not so much.) I remember that Christmas. I wanted a real, live baby. When my parents tried to talk me out of it, I wanted a monkey, or kitten. But that was only to take the place of the baby I was afraid I wouldn't get.

I get a thrill out of winning. I enjoy reading and cooking. Actually, I LOVE cooking. (Baking not so much.) Drawing? Hmmm, I doodle. If I'm on the phone on hold, I draw squiggles to pass the time. Writing...well, here I am. Poetry? Yep, I'm still not very good at it.

My dad only sent me this portion of the letter. I wonder if what was said of my siblings holds true today. My parents were 30 and 31 at the time and I'm sure were very busy. I can't wait to read the rest of the letter.

My To-Do List for Today

1) Take Hilary to School for her trip to Florida

2) Remove Christmas CD from alarm clock

3) Replace CD in alarm clock with gentle, soothing, easy-to-wake-to music

4) Forget the rest of the list. I'm afraid I'm going to sit here all day wishing I was on my way to Florida with Hilary. I so wanted to go with her and her team. They are off to the National Dance Competition. Hilary actually wanted me to go. In a year or two, if they go again, she may feel differently. I may have missed my chance.

Sigh.

Grace

Christina had a dentist appointment today. She needed $600 of out-of-pocket work done. When the dentist came in, she explained that she couldn't afford to have it all, so only wanted the one tooth fixed.

The dentist told her, "that's ok. God told me to do the work for free. I'm not going to charge you for anything. I've learned that when God speaks, I need to obey what he says."

God's amazing grace.

Now if all of us would listen when God speaks and obey, imagine how pleasant life could be.

What Would You Do?

Hilary came home from a basketball game and was upset. I won't bore you with the petty details of what transpires between girls sometimes. But prior to the game, one of her classmates slapped her across the face. Honestly, I was shocked. I have never in my life slapped anyone, ever. Nor have I ever been slapped. Is this normal? It certainly isn't in my circle of life.

In this day of zero tolerance of violence/harrassment in schools, what would you do? Rather than get in a scuffle, Hilary chose to walk away. She did tell her coach, who said she'd speak with the other coach about the girl's behavior. That was Friday and as far as I know, nothing happened.

My mother's heart wants to call the principal and ask what course of action should be taken. I also thought about calling the parents. But maybe this is normal behavior in the girl's home. Maybe she is slapped by her parents and so it was a "natural" reaction for her to do the same. I feel that a slap to one's face is not only painful, but humiliating-especially when performed in front of others.

Hilary was upset, but didn't want to make a big deal out of it. She wanted to let her coach deal with it. So do I just let it go?

Ann at Small Town Life tagged me for this meme.

The rules for this meme are:
(1) Link to the person that tagged you.
(2) Post the rules on your blog.
(3) Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
(4) Tag six random people at the end of your post by linking to their blogs.
(5) Let each random person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their website.

Here are mine:

1. I prefer to eat with plastic forks and spoons. I love ice cream, but I'd rather not eat it, if I have to use a metal utensil. (I think this originated from having silver teeth.)

2. I quit drinking coffee once for 2 years. I liked it black. I always had a fresh pot brewed. I drank 2 or more pots a day. After a time change, in the spring, I thought I could go back to drinking coffee without becoming addicted. I drank it with cream and sugar to ensure I wouldn't drink more than one cup. Now I rarely drink it black. I never make a second pot, but I've been known to frequent Starbucks later in the day. My love/hate relationship with coffee. Can't live with it, can't live without it.

3. I still want a houseful of kids.

4. I love to sing and dance, but don't do either well. I'm learning country line dancing and am having a blast.

5. I own 6 pairs of cowboy boots.

6. I once had a boa constrictor snake as a pet, and lost it at my mom's house. (She later found it crawling under the kitchen table.)

(I forgot to tag others, so I'm editing this.) Dot-since I want to see you post more, Shel & Mylinda- because I don't know any weird things about you, Lisa,-who always has interesting things happen, Kristin-because I don't recall seeing a meme on her blog ever, & lastly anyone else who wants to play along.

Phones

I have a phone that sits beside my bed, but I'm not sure why. A couple of years ago, I turned the ringer off. It was summer, and I was tired of it ringing after I'd gone to bed. I didn't want it to startle me out of my Saturday morning sleeping in sessions either. Truthfully, the handset doesn't even work. The caller ID does. But the glowing light that comes on is not enough to awaken me from my sleep. Why do I keep it there? I figure if it rings and I need to answer it quickly, the speaker phone does work. I could answer it.

On Wednesday, I was up as usual making lunches. The phone rang. It was 6:12 a.m. Nobody calls that early. The caller ID said the name of the closest hospital. It was my mother-in-law. Michael's dad had been taken by ambulance to the hospital at 5:00a.m. He'd had a heart attack. I told her Michael would be there right away.

After hanging up, I scrolled through the caller ID. Sure enough. There were 2 calls just before 5, and a message blinking on the machine. A lot of good that phone in the bedroom does.

The sad part? My father-in-law asked us last week if we had a phone in our bedroom, "just in case" he needed to call in the middle of the night. I assured him we did. I mentally made a note that I should turn on the ringer. Afterall, my teens no longer receive late night calls. Well, actually they do. But nobody calls the house anymore. Everyone has a cell phone. But I forgot.

The ringer is on now. My father-in-law is doing better. His heart attack was mild, and he should be coming home today. Unlike my kids, I am not keeping my cell phone beside my bed. Text messages startle me out of sleep too.

Fill 'Er Up

Growing up, I loved riding in the front seat of our station wagon. Mom would pull into a service station when she needed gas. To get to the pump, she had to run over a rubber hose. As each tire went over it, a ding would signal the attendant that he had a customer. A uniformed man, wearing a cap, would run-walk to mom's side of the car. She'd roll her window down. Around and around her arm would go to get the window half-way open.

"What can I do for you, Ma'am?"

"Fill 'er up with regular." (Regular was leaded gas back then.) He'd tip his hat as he turned. Clank, clunk. He'd start the tank filling, then pull a rag out of his back pocket and wash the windows. I enjoyed watching the squeegie swipe across in front of me, leaving a crystal clear windshield. As he leaned over, I'd check the name tag on his front pocket. Bob, Jim, Bill, or Joe. Did every gas station attendant have a short name? I wanted to see how a long name could be squeezed in that small space. But it never happened. Four letters was the max.

If I happened to be sitting in the back, with my sister Laurie, we'd flip around in our seats to watch the back window. Sometimes we climbed over. It was easy, as it was back before seat belts. As the attendant finished up, Laurie and I would take off our thongs. (Flip flops, for the current generation.) This part was most fun sitting on the long bench seat together. Turning our rubber thongs over, they became pedals. We would pretend to drive.

We had to take turns, as we each needed 3-one for the gas, one for the brake, and one for the clutch. When it wasn't your turn, you only had a gas peddle. Holding our arms out in front of us, we'd grasp our imaginary steering wheels. Back and forth, back and forth. (Before power steering, there was a lot more movement.) We had to shift, let off the gas, push the clutch and yet still keep one hand on the back and forth motion. Corners were fun too. Around and around, hand over hand. The steering wheel actually circled around several times to make a tight turn. Lean way over while turning (did we take corners fast?) then we let the wheel slide around back to the proper place. After every corner, we swapped peddles. Driving was fun back then. Gas stations were equally amusing. We could bounce along in the care for hours. Road trips were quite entertaining with the freedom of movement in those old station wagons.

I know why families had more kids years ago. It wasn't that they lacked birth control information. It was the lack of power windows in station wagons. A kid was necessary for every window crank. But it also gave each of us a sense of importance. I knew I had a responsibility for rolling up the window when it was too windy, or rolling it down if it was too warm. Laurie and I also believed that if our mom ever got sick, we could certainly take over the driving. We'd certainly perfected out form.

Kids today miss out on so much. Riding in the car is no longer an adventure. They are helplessly strapped in place. They can't reach the button to unroll a window. Most can't even open the car door because of child locks. At the gas station, everyone pumps his own gas. Without that short little name on a uniformed shirt, it no longer looks like an important job.

Embarrassed

As I was typing away at a post, I came across something. What do you call these?




Growing up, my dad referred to these as "thongs." That was back when ladies undergarments were proper, nice and comfy. Panties, underwear, unmentionables, but not thongs. And there was no such monstrosity as a piece of fabric that wedged in the crack of your badonkadonk. (According to the urban dictionary, a badonkadonk is "an extremely curvaceous female behind. Women who possess this feature usually have a small waist that violently explodes into a round and juicy posterior. Other characteristics would be moderately wide hips and a large amount of booty cleavage.")


Back to the original question: thongs, zories, flip-flops...what are these? Michael and I had a discussion about this. I explained that while they are thongs to my dad, mom has always referred to them as goyheads. He had never heard this. He asked his own parents if they'd ever heard the term. Nope. I was sure my mom had NOT made this up. I googled it. Can you believe there wasn't a single entry. I was confused. I wondered if I could possibly be spelling it wrong. I went to the knowledgable wikipedia site. No where to be found. I searched on flip flops. I read through it. Contained in the definition, were the names from various countries that the footwear is known by. Lo and behold, under the U.S. was the word "go-aheads." Oh my goodness! Is that what my mother has been saying all of these years???? Or did we not understand her and said goy-heads and then she started calling them that?


I have a friend who says "birfday." I assume at some point one of her 7 children couldn't pronounce birthday and said "birfday" and it stuck. Is that possibly where I got "goy-heads?" Or does my mom really and truly say "go-aheads" and I've always missed it?


I'll never be able to call them "go-aheads" or "goy heads". I'm going with my dad and calling them thongs. I hope that doesn't end up embarrassing me too.

Following Directions?

Didn't I write a post about following directions?

Tonight I noticed my antibiotics on the counter. I take them at night to avoid stomach distress. My doctor had presribed a longer than average dosage, but it seemed like I'd been taking them a long time. I should be close to finishing. I poured the contents into my hand. I counted. Sixteen capsules left. How could that be? I was certain she'd prescribed a two week dosage of pills.

Sure enough. She had. I somehow misread the directions. It read 1 capsule TWICE a day, not the once a day I'd been taking them. No wonder this sinus infection is still with me.

It really is important to read and follow directions.

Silly Kids

This probably won't mean much to most, as there are a lot of inside jokes. (For example: once-a-day or so, Michael, while sitting in his recliner says, "who wants to be my best friend?" His motive? He wants one of the kids to run downstairs to get him a diet pepsi. Whoever is willing is surely his best friend.)

My girls were being silly yesterday while watching the football game. They took a notepad and passed it back and forth, each taking a turn writing a line. This is what they come up with:

Dad

Oh my papa, oh so good to me

Cracking jokes, he's so silly.

Always making the family laugh

And he's great at doing math.

He's the best dad ever

He really is so clever

Broken hearts he will mend

Always looking for a best friend.

He's as funny as can be

He'd love you to get him a diet pepsi.

But when you see his face scrunch like it do

Cover your ears before he shouts Ah-Choo!

Every night he sits in his chair

He complains he's hot just like a bear,

He rips off his socks and pulls up his pants

Never will you see him do his silly dance.

He's a pretty great dad

And a super fun lad.

Even when his feet get super duper hot

We still love him, he's the only one we got.