More Jury Duty

So I had this nagging feeling. It gnawed at my stomach. So yesterday, I drove Michael's car to jury duty. He asked me why. I told him I didn't want anything to happen to my car. His car is more than 10 years old. He assured me mine would be fine.

I could see my car from the jury room. I checked on it every chance I could. My fellow jurors laughed.

"Is it still there?"

"Did it drive away without you?"

"Ok, your car must be new." I told him no. But I did ask him to find the cutest car in the parking lot. He immediately picked mine. We all laughed.

At the end of the day, I went to the parking lot. Here is what I found:

The whole front bumper will need to be replaced and probably the side panel too. And you know what? I didn't cry one tear. But I wanted to.

Back to jury duty tomorrow.

Juror Number 13

So, that's me. Number 13! Since I can't actually talk about the trial, I wanted to share that I was prepared for this. Almost as soon as I received the jury summons, I was fairly certain I would be picked. Don't ask me how I knew, I just did. I sensed God was speaking something to me, I just didn't know what.

I suppose that is one of the reasons I went shopping last week. Attire for jury duty is casual business wear. Not knowing exactly what that meant, I did read the words "no jeans." Basically, my wardrobe is nothing but jeans with an occasional dress thrown in for church or other event. I managed to put together several outfits.

I had moments where I thought "how silly this is. I am going to get dressed up, drive downtown, only to be coming home a couple of hours later. No trial, nothing." Nevertheless, something deeper inside of me continued to make plans. I pulled a pot roast from the freezer, to put in the crock pot, so if I didn't arrive home until after 5:00p.m., dinner would be ready.

As I, and 61 other prospective jurors sat in the room and were given the instructions for the day, I kept thinking I was going to be the 13th juror. As far as I knew, there were only 12. But as the woman in charge continued her explanations, she announced there would be 12 jurors and 1 alternate. I thought, yep, that's me!

At lunch, when all 62 of us left, I found myself wondering what to do. I am not an overly social person and am quite content to sit alone to eat. I had a book. But again, there was a nagging not to. Both the person ahead and behind me in line at the sandwich shop in the building across the street were potential jurors. We'd been given strict instructions not to mention anything about the trial, even though we were not yet jurors. What were we to talk about? After getting my food, somehow these two had already sat together, so I asked if I could join them. I had a feeling the three of us would somehow end up on the jury, even though I hadn't noticed either of them before in the courtroom. I only knew they were potential jurors because of the bright yellow buttons we were required to wear.

A couple of hours later, 31 potential jurors were seated. I was number 18. As the process continued, people allowed to go home, others dismissed, until we were down to the remaining 31 with only a handful of others left on the benches. The Attorneys were then allowed their peremptory challenge. As this process began, jurors were no longer pulled from the bench to take the empty seats. Instead those jurors with higher numbers were called by name to fill the vacant spots. I realized that those who ended up in the 1-13 spots would be those on the jury. I waited for them to choose to dismiss juror 13. When they finally did, I waited for my name to be called. Only it wasn't. Someone else took that spot. But she was also the next one eliminated. Then my name was called.

Have I mentioned 13 is my favorite number? Ok, it's no doubt because I was born on the 13th. But look at the 12 disciples and Jesus. Thirteen. It's as if whenever 13 shows up, so does He. I like that.

As it turns out, I'm not the alternate juror. Well, maybe I am. The Judge said it will be kept a secret to ensure all jurors pay close attention to the trial-which is supposed to last 3 days. I believe God is speaking something to me, but I don't feel that I'm to share it. He HAS to be. Oh, my fellow lunchmates? Yep, they made it on the jury too.

To some this all may sound silly. But it is a reminder to me, that if we will listen, God has a way of preparing us, speaking to us, guiding us. Everything won't be so specific, but at times it will. That is an aha moment for me, when I see He is trying to get my attention and I really need to listen.

Ketchup or Catchup

I have a lot of catching up to do.

I believe I mentioned I don't multi-task, and I'm not even sure I can call it that. I am single-focused. That means if I'm busy with one thing I can't even think about the next event until the first is over. Christopher asked me last week how the Rehearsal Dinner planning was coming along. I said, "I don't know." Ask me next week when graduation is over.

I'm not thinking about it today either. I am at the U.S. District Court House. As a prospective Juror, I have to be downtown by 7:00a.m. I am not normally even dressed at 7. Sarabeth is off to London, so I'm supposed to be taking Hilary to school at 7:00. But instead, I have left at 6:30a.m.

After the energy I am putting forth and the sacrifices I am making, I hope I get to sit in on a trial. If I come home after all of this without performing my civic duty of being a juror, I will be sorely disappointed. Or maybe just sleeping.

Finish Well

Sunday was the Baccalaureate.

Monday-Tuesday are Finals

Wednesday is the Senior Banquet

Thursday the Senior Picnic

Friday Graduation Rehearsal

Saturday-Graduation

Sunday-Sarabeth flies to Phoenix

Monday-Sarabeth is off to London

My 4th child is graduating from high school. This week will be filled with nostalgic moments. Tomorrow I will pack Sarabeth's lunch for the last time. I will say good-bye to lunch boxes forever. (Hilary will only use a sack for lunch.) I always knew she'd carry one through her senior year. She chooses to walk her own path. Today she wore the same outfit to school that she wore the first day of her senior year.

Sarabeth, you have finished well!

Last Saturday I was supposed to fly to North Carolina with my mom-in-law to visit her oldest daughter. MaryAnn's husband had phoned late one night after she'd gone to bed. His wife was to receive a prestigious award at church. What a sweet man to invite her mother to come be a part of this event. MaryAnn would be surprised and I'd get to be there all of the fun.

Instead, I learned what Atrial Fibrillation is. No, not personally, my via mom-in-law. We had to cancel the trip.

A funny thing happened though. On Thursday my mother-in-law called to thank us for the beautiful fruit arrangement they'd received. Only we didn't. She said but they'd received a card and it had all of our names on it, even our soon to be daughter-in-law and Christina and Ethan.

What a fun idea! Send gifts bearing the name of someone else.

We received another call. A mistake had been made. With all of those names on the card, she'd just assumed Michael and I were on it. We weren't. My kids had gotten together and sent it just to brighten her day. And they hadn't even mentioned it to me.

I do like the idea of sending gifts under an assumed name.

Some Days Are Just Sad

Tomorrow will be a happier day. I think it is ok to have a down day once in awhile. After a sunny day in the 70's yesterday, it is a bit gloomy here. It began raining, snowed a bit and it gray, cold, and damp. Certainly a good day to get some things accomplished inside.

I need to put my scrapbooking supplies away. I'd been searching for a photo of my mom and me. I wanted to post one for Mother's Day. I found 3 or 4 from the past 25 years. It seems it is usually my mom or I that takes the pictures. I vowed to get more soon. Here is the most recent one with my mom and dad:



Ethan was here for a few hours on Mother's Day. He had a rough week. I noticed he found my photos. Thankfully, I noticed 40 or so that he'd thrown in the garbage. He also found my fancy scissors and pens. One photo I found of both my mom and dad was ripped in half, as were a number of other pictures. I don't blame him. These things happen. I don't feel very motivated to reorganize and put things away though. I'm afraid of what else I might find.

Remember when I posted how excited I was for Ethan to attend the Autistic school? That was in December and he didn't actually start until April? I posted about how the school wouldn't pay for the the summer and if Christina couldn't come up with the difference they wouldn't accept him? Did I tell you that thanks to the tax stimulus rebate and such the money was available? Yesterday she found out it didn't really matter. The school has "changed their mind" and won't pay for him to go in the Fall, even though they had verbally said he was approved beginning last November for at least a year. Instead, he gets to attend school for a mere 3 months.

I don't understand how they can deny him. Why open the door to watch him blossom for a few weeks, then slam it shut in his face? What a crushing blow!

I'm sorry. Sometimes it is just that kind of day. But if any of you happens to win the lottery and begin feeling very generous, I know a little boy who would love to keep going to school.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Who was that crazy lady riding down the middle of the street in a homemade go-cart? Built with her 9 year old son, it sure was fast. She crashed and burned at the bottom of a hill, grinding gravel into her knees. Walking home, the enthusiastic boy raved about how cool it was, while his mom limped along, blood running down her legs, dragging the cart behind her.

That was my mom.

Many times I've waited to hear an important speaker. But their introduction gets in the way. By the time the announcer has rattled off her many titles, education, accomplishments, & virtues, my mind has wandered. I lose the awe with which I've come to hear this person. A list can't capture the essence of the person. I want to tell the announcer to stop and let the person speak so I can decide this person's greatness for myself.

As I try to share about my own mom, very quickly I see the same pattern. She is multi-talented and the list grows the longer I write. Each time I stop. I don't want others to quit reading because she sounds way beyond everyone else, a superior being. But I want to share that she is Mom to 4 kids, 14 grandkids, 2 great grandkids, to share er adventures in life, education, accomplishments, generosity, intelligence...but I become that announcer.

To simplify, as I read about the Virtuous Woman, I see my mom.

A good woman is hard to find, and worth far more than diamonds.

A wife of noble character who can find?
She is worth far more than rubies.

Her husband has full confidence in her
and lacks nothing of value.

She brings him good, not harm,
all the days of her life.

She selects wool and flax
and works with eager hands.

She sees that her trading is profitable,
and her lamp does not go out at night.

She opens her arms to the poor
and extends her hands to the needy.

She is clothed with strength and dignity;
she can laugh at the days to come.

She speaks with wisdom,
and faithful instruction is on her tongue.

She watches over the affairs of her household
and does not eat the bread of idleness.

Her children arise and call her blessed;
her husband also, and he praises her:

"Many women do noble things,
but you surpass them all."

Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

Honor her for all that her hands have done,
and let her works bring her praise at the city gate.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I love you!

A Little Something I Found

I ran across a Christmas letter I sent out in 1999. Every year when my children were young, we'd take the obligatory family photo. I'd try to write a little something about each person and send it off with the photo and Christmas greeting. Somewhere along the way, it became too much. I missed a few years, didn't even get cards out, let alone a photo taken. I tried again in '99. We'd celebrated my inlaws 50th anniversary so we did have a photo. But what was I thinking???

I wrote this post about a Christmas letter from 1970 that my dad found. After sharing it Gretchen had commented "Any chance you'll try to write some new poetry?" This is why I don't:

Twas a few nights before Christmas and all through the house
No one was quiet, Eeek! The cat's got a mouse!
Michael's been working the computer with care
Building a web page for sports everwhere.
The house is a bustle with children and dog,
Two cats, six gerbils, a fish, and a frog.
Christopher's off with lacrosse stick and ball,
This year in high school he played football.
Christina graduated and went to CSU
She's home now, recovering from Mono and flu.
Elisabeth's homeschooled, but still goes to choir,
She's also involved in the youth group, "On Fire."
Sarabeth just finished her part in a play, and
Represented her school in a speech meet one day.
Hilary's in Brownies and loves to run,
Ran the mile in P.E. and won just for fun.
Joanne has to shop and doesn't have time
To be real clever and keep trying to rhyme.
So we send these greetings to all we hold dear,
May your home be filled with holiday cheer.
And may you be blessed by the Father above
Who sent His Son Jesus to show you His Love.


What was I thinking? And why did we take pictures at the very end of the day when nobody looked their best? Oh well, maybe I didn't really send this out. Maybe it was like so many of my other started but never finished projects.

So instead I embarrass myself and post it here.


It's fun to look back. And this my friends, is why you don't read poetry on my blog. So there you have it Gretchen. I guess I did try to write some poetry in my adult years.

School Project

Hilary had a Spanish project she needed to work on over the weekend. It was one of those group efforts that all parents dread. (Ok, maybe just me.) It requires having the bunch at my house with me supervising, which I don't do well. This often results in one or more kids lingering around because their ride doesn't show. I end up feeding them dinner, then driving them home. Or, as was the case this day, I drive 20 minutes one way to drop my daughter off at another kid's house. She stays a couple of hours, then I pick her up. I lose over an hour and a half out of my weekend driving her around. I should get an 'A for effort.

As I drove Hilary to meet with her 4 male partners, I encouraged her to keep the guys on task. It isn't that I think teen boys goof off...well, yes I do. "Don't let them get distracted by other things. If they do, gently remind them that you really don't have a lot of time. Help them stay focused."

I didn't go to the door with her, just waited until someone answered. After the 20 minute drive home, I began preparing dinner. I hear my phone jingle a text message. It's from Hilary.

"Kyle almost just sliced his thumb off trying to cut this thing for his mom so we are at the emergency room doing our project."

"What???" Was my first response.

I then message her back (why don't I just call???) asking if I should pick her and the other boys up & bring them here to finish the project. Nope. She assures me everything is under control. What, and miss all of the excitement?

I couldn't help but wonder what in the world I would have done if this had been my child who nearly sliced her thumb off. I can't imagine dragging a bunch of teens with me for that trip and having them sit in the waiting area to work on their project.

I then receive a picture message of the bloody wound being cleaned up. Nice.

I text Hilary, "Are you in the room watching Kyle get stitches?" Well, duh. She simply said yes.

Kyle's parent was a much better superviser than I. They did almost finish their project.

Reach Out To Touch Someone

I was late to church this morning, so sat in the back. At one point, we turn and greet those around us. I looked around. A couple with a small boy standing between them sat a row behind me and over several seats. I shook the father's hand first, then greeted the mom. The boy was looking down, so I bent over, placed my hand on his shoulder and said, "hey buddy, how are you today."

As he looked up at me, I noticed he had Down Syndrome. Without thinking, I swiped my hand across his face, wiping most of the drool dripping down his chin. The same way I've done with Ethan so many times. And just as quickly, I dried my hand on the side of my skirt. With Ethan, I am usually wearing a pair of absorbant jeans when I decide to whisk saliva into my hand. This skirt was not cotton. I stroked his hair, smiled and turned to greet the next person. But when I sat down, I was horrified.

Was it a faux pas to wipe drool off of someone else's child? Did I embarrass the parents? Except for when they were babies, I've never had a child that drooled. (A wet pillow doesn't count.) I imagined being back in church when my children were little. In the middle of greeting, an older lady pulls a wrinkled tissue from her purse and says, "here honey, let me get that big booger" and then proceedes to wipe my child's nose. No this didn't happen, but I would have been horrified. I would have thought the lady figured I didn't take the time, or didn't notice my young child needed to wipe her nose. I would be embarrassed.

I truly hope I did not embarrass these parents. It was not my intention. I hadn't even noticed the drool until he looked up. My movements were automatic, not something I thought about. Shudder. Anyone have any thoughts?

Oh Baby, part 2

Summer came early that April. As I walked along, the temperature was 89 degrees and climbing. This wasn't unusual for Phoenix. I was thankful for 2 things, no 3. One, that I wasn't pregnant in this heat. Secondly, that this doctor appointment was in the morning. Thirdly, for the precious 2 week old babe in my arms. Taking care of a newborn was a lot of work, but mixed with the exhaustion was an indescribable joy. Being a mom was the best job in the world.

The doctor's office was a mile and a half down the road from our apartment. I didn't own a stroller yet, nor a diaper bag. Since I hadn't gone anywhere, I didn't realize how handy a diaper bag might be. My steps were awkward and jostled my sleeping baby. I became increasingly uncomfortable. I'd squeezed into prepregnancy clothes that were too tight. Sweat began to trickle down my skin. Was my tiny infant hot too?

I felt bad about covering her with a blanket. I hoped since she wasn't exerting herself as I, that she didn't mind having the extra layer of the blanket. Besides, her skin was so delicate and thin I feared the sun scorching it. I'd had plenty of bad sunburns with my fair skin. Nobody used sunscreen. The previous year SPF 15 was introduced. It was touted as protecting and preventing sunburn. The claim was that one could stay in the sun for 15 hours and only receive 1 hours worth of the sun's harmful rays. I was afraid to try it. Afterall, I wanted a little color in my skin. And when would I be in the sun for 15 hours???

I held the blanket up and away from her skin so I could peer under it. This would keep her cooler but still protect her. Christina's downy soft eyebrows arched, but it seemed too much effort to open her eyes. She stretched her arms and tried again. I caught a glimpse of those baby blues as she squinted in the bright sunlight. Her forehead wrinkled. It smoothed, but her brow furrowed as her eyes scrunched tightly shut again. I could gaze at this miracle all day.

Thud! My heart raced. I'd accidently stepped off the curb and nearly fallen. A car whizzed past on the other side of the street. It scared me. What if I'd fallen in the path of a car with my baby in my arms? This was a fairly busy street. I realized I needed to watch where I was walking and not be staring down. The rest of the walk was with great determination to get there and fast. There were bigger dangers than the sun and heat.

May Day

My friend Heth has a great May Day tradition. Last year she shared about it, I was inspired. I remember back in Kindergarten doing the May Pole Dance. I don't remember ever celebrating this day any other time. I'm always looking for an excuse for any kind of celebration, especially if it involves treats to eat. But yesterday it was 82 degrees and the outdoors called to me. Often. (I have sunburned shoulders to prove it.) This morning I was thinking about those May baskets and candy. Now I have an excuse not to share this celebration with others. I can't take my car out in this:


Yes, that is snow. It just started about 5 minutes ago. Guess I'll have to eat the candy myself.
Happy May Day!

*Updated*
(An hour later, it is starting to stick)

Senior Ditch Day

I phoned the attendance office at the high school and left the following message:

Hi, this is Joanne.

Please excuse my daughter from school today. She wasn't feeling well, so went to Ihop for breakfast. She was in need of outdoor therapy so spent the rest of the day at the park.

If you have questions, please call.

Oh Baby

I've been dreaming of babies lately. Maybe it is because I've been thinking a lot about when I first became a mom. I can hardly remember not being a mom. Things sure were different back then.


I took my tiny, nearly 5 lb. bundle home two days after her birth. The newborn outfit I dressed her in looked 2 sizes too big. It's a good thing this was back in the day before car seats. The straps would have wrapped around her clothing and she would have slipped right out of both. Instead, after flopping in the front seat,the nurse placed her in my arms and we were off to be a family of 3.

I thought life would go back to normal upon returning home. I'd no longer waddle around. Energy would abound. I could bend in the middle again and see my toes. I was lighter on my feet. But I didn't really gain back my body. The baby merely shifted from the inside to the outside. She still clung to my middle, but now I needed my arms to hold onto her. Maybe it had been easier letting my belly do the work.

The second thing that changed was the other adult in the house sold my car. I couldn't drive to my mother's to wash our clothes for free. The laundromat was 2 blocks away. I'd been there before. This wouldn't be so bad. I didn't realize how much laundry one tiny baby could generate. How was I going to drag bags of dirty clothes & detergent while carrying a baby? The man had a motorcycle to get to and from work. A load of clothes didn't pack well on the back of a bike. In today's world, I would have figured out a way to do it. But back then, I just accepted this as normal.

My first attempt at laundry, I managed 1 load. All baby clothes and blankets. The man decided I could get more done if maybe I had a stroller. So he began the hunt for a used stroller. I never even wondered how he was going to get it home once he found one. I was just happy at the thought of having another set of arms in the form of a moving baby bed. My arms would be free again.

Senior Prom

Can you pin that on without looking?


Sarabeth & Eric



Sarabeth and Liz

Happier Times 2/Birth

I announced to my husband, that today was the big day. I showered and dressed, but didn't eat breakfast. At birthing classes, I was told it was important not to eat before giving birth-just in case. I didn't care. I couldn't wait to hold my very own baby.

My husband had plans for the day to meet up with friends. Several guys showed up. They were disappointed to hear he couldn't leave and wanted to know how in the world I knew I was going to have a baby that day. I wasn't about to share details of how my body was making preparations for an impending birth. I mean, really, way too much information for single, 20 something young men.

Throughout the day, I had contractions, but nothing dramatic. Each one brought increased excitement. Around dinnertime, consistent squeezings were at 12 minute intervals. ( I was starving, so mealtimes were significant. I noticed each missed eating opportunity.) The father-to-be said something about going out to get food for himself and left. He really went up to the corner Circle K Market to call my sister. We didn't own a phone, and he was getting worried. My sister lived just a couple miles away and had survived giving birth. He figured she'd know what to do.

I was a little surprised when he came back with my sister and her husband. The last thing I needed was for 2 more people to hover over me, asking if it was time yet. Thankfully, we played cards for the next several hours. Around 10:30, Carolyn decided they were going home and would check back in tomorrow. But she didn't. She drove to the corner Circle K and phoned my doctor to express her concern. He told her I should go to the hospital to be checked. Fifteen minutes after I thought Carolyn and Larry had gone home, they returned to say they were taking me to the hospital.

I refused to go, but my husband insisted he'd take me. We were in a room by 11:30 p.m. After much paper work, monitoring, and a very uncomfortable check of my cervix, I was declared at a "2" and in early labor. I was told it would be awhile and if I wanted I could leave and come back. Exhausted, from not eating all day, I chose to go home and try to sleep.

I dozed off occasionally, only to be awakened 10 minutes later. At 9 the next morning, we had visitors again. I couldn't get out of bed. The excitement I felt with each contraction the day before had been replaced by pain. Gripping pain came every 5 minutes. I found my parents beside my bed. Not having a phone caused undue stress for my family. Did they think I'd give birth and not call from the hospital? Mom said she thought they'd come by and either take me out to breakfast, or see their new grandbaby. Sorry to disappoint. I was going to the hospital.

It was April 5th, 1981. Women in labor were routinely "prepped" for childbirth with shaving and an enema. The shave was for an episiotomy- a big word for a small cut that required several stitches and painful recovery. Labor rooms were more pleasant, but at a most critical time, moms were whisked down the hall to sterile delivery rooms. Husbands were allowed in to the labor rooms, but not anyone else. I had no idea that just outside my door I had a roomful of waiting people.

I was sorely disappointed when I was told I was 4 cm. I wasn't even halfway. The doctor broke my water. I've never understood this. My body created this nice big, pillowy-soft cushion protecting not only the baby, but me. Once removed, the pain became unbearable. Someone appeared and offered Demerol to take the edge off. A ridiculously false statement. My eyes crossed & I couldn't see straight. The edges remained, stabbing like knives. I was miserable. I didn't think I could feel any more exhausted, but thanks to the drug, I did. I declared to all, that I didn't want to do this anymore, I couldn't. The man next to me just laughed and told me there was no going back. I really didn't like him much at that point.

At 2:45, I was complete and told to push. I didn't feel like pushing. I felt like sleeping, but I pushed. I pushed. I pushed. I was actually relieved when the critical moment came and I was wheeled to delivery. I didn't have to push.

Out came the stirrups, up went my legs. I didn't recognize anyone with their matching gowns and face masks, but the room was full of people. I felt a burning sensation, then I felt as if someone was turning me inside out. A moment later a voice proclaimed "It's a girl!" A few more minutes and someone was holding a little bundle over my head, before whisking her away. She was alive and she was real. I was a mom.

Christina arrived at 5:04 p.m. She weighed 5 lbs 6 oz. I wish I'd had pictures, but we didn't own a camera.

Happier Times

Since finances were so tight, I took a job. I babysat for a friend's 3 month old infant. The baby was delightful and I earned $35/week. (I didn't realize at the time, but 22 years later, Kathy would marry my brother. But that's another story.) The best and worst part of the job, was I didn't work from home. My friend lived close to my parents, so we met there each day. It was a 15-20 minute drive. I'm not sure how well it worked out for my folks, but it was wonderful for me. They had a very food friendly refrigerator and a washer and dryer. I often had the chance to visit with my mom or sister, before heading back to my apartment. This was a morality boost for me.

In spite of my increasing size, motherhood seemed a far way off. No ultrasounds or fancy tests to tell the gender of the baby. My only connection to this little one, was movement inside my belly that I had no control over. It was hard to imagine that this was a little person. The only birth experience I'd had was my cat having kittens. At night I'd dream my baby wasa tiny kitty in my arms.

Eight days before my due date, I awoke at 5:00a.m. I experienced what I'd been told was a bloody show. I laid back down, but couldn't sleep. It was Saturday and I was going to have a baby.

Get A Life 2

As a new wife, I couldn't wait to show off my culinary skills. I opened the refrigerator to find 2 bottles of beer and a pizza box containing 1 dried up, shriveled slice of pizza. The cupboards were bare. What in the world would I cook?

My pregnancy brought about a craving for cheeseburgers. I could eat them every single day. So that would be my first home cooked meal. The man of the house was off to work. When he arrived home, he'd find his wife in the kitchen, preparing a delicious, homecooked meal of burgers. Yes, that would be nice.

Before he'd left for work, he gave me $20 for groceries that week. I was so excited to be doing my own shopping and meal planning. It wasn't on paper, but in my head I had the meals worked out. I snatched the money off of the counter. This was exciting: my first grocery shopping adventure as a married woman.

I went straight to the meat department and picked out a nice 1 lb. package of ground beef. That would make 4 large patties. Without stopping to look for other meat, I skipped to the bakery for a package of buns. Oh, I needed cheese slices; on to the dairy section. Mmmmm....the cartons of milk caught my attention. A tall, ice cold glass of milk and some chocolate chip cookies would make a fine dessert.

Let's see, I needed ketchup & mustard. I had to have onions. Pickles, wow is that the smallest jar they had? Mayonnaise would be nice to have, lettuce too. My mouth was watering, just thinking about how good these burgers would be. Now for the cookies: flour, sugar, eggs...how in the world could I buy all of this stuff? I didn't have enough money to cook one meal, let alone make it last all week. What about breakfast and lunch?

Slowly, I pushed my cart up and down the aisles. I placed the items back on their proper shelves. I left the store with a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, eggs, and margarine. Once home, I tried my best to load it in the refrigerator so it looked like lots of food. I didn't normally put bread in there, but I wanted something on each shelf.

For dinner I had a 29 cent cheeseburger from McDonald's. He had 3 and 1 order of french fries. The cost was just under $2.00. How would I ever be a good cook, a good wife, and a good mother? I wondered how my parents ever managed to have their cupboards stocked with so many things.

Get A Life

When I was 17, I had ovarian surgery. The doctor told me I would probably never have children, but if I did, my best chance would be to have them ASAP. I cried. Often. The only thing I ever wanted in life was to be a mom, not to one or two. I wanted a home filled with children. How could this be happening to me? Didn't God realize this was the only thing important to me?

I was sad. I was angry. But deep in my heart, I held a little flicker of hope. I reminded myself that my own mom had been told she'd never have children. She'd had a similar surgery. She welcomed her firstborn 11 days after her 19th birthday. Her 4th child arrived before she turned 24. (Do the math. That's 4 kids in 4 1/2 years.) Two months after her last birth, mom had a complete hysterectomy. I'm thankful to be here. If my mom hadn't been told she couldn't conceive, she'd have waited to have children. I wouldn't be sitting at this computer.

Eighteen months after my surgery, in the summer of 1980, I became pregnant. I wish I could say I was overjoyed. Instead, my insides churned with a jumble of emotions. I was elated to be having a child, but at age 18 I wasn't married. Telling my parents would not be pleasant. They weren't particularly fond of the guy I was dating.

With visions of becoming a mom dancing in my head, and the hope of having more children in my heart, I entered into marriage. I pushed aside my doubts and fears. I'd love this man, I'd love my child. Life would be good.

I should have listened when two days before we wed, Randy told me we'd be divorced some day. He said it so nonchanlantly.

I remember leaving my parents' home to spend the first night with my new husband. I fought back the tears. When I awoke in the morning, nobody would be there but him. My sister wouldn't be there. Gone were the late night chat sessions & the early morning scuffles over who would be first to use the bathroom. Dad wouldn't be scraping his burned toast over the trash can the next morning. I wouldn't smell the peanut butter he'd spread over the top. Mom's pile of school books would not be on the breakfast table, nor would I see her making hot tea or hear her tea kettle whistle. On the short drive to our apartment, loneliness nestled in to make her home in my heart.

Follow It I Did

On March 12 (I remember because it was the day before my birthday,) I came down with a cold/virus. Then came a sinus infection, fluid in my ears, & it has been ugly. At least I didn't end up with pneumonia & an ear infection like Hilary. Nor did I run down the stairs, roll my ankle, & tear ligaments in my foot as Sarabeth did. But I have spent more time on the computer. Which my Dr. says explains is why I am now experiencing tennis elbow and shoulder pain. (Why do they still call it tennis elbow? I don't play tennis. Computer Elbow? Mouse Elbow?) Technically, tendonitis.

All of that to say, I am extremely fatigued at the end of the day and it is why my recipe blog has not been updated much. I do cook, but I can't remember to take pics. I barely throw it on the table. Before cooking something new, I like to see what a dish looks like, before I take the plunge. This is especially true when it comes to baking. I'm a baking failure as you probably know.

Last Thursday, my inlaws were coming to dinner. No brownies or cookies in sight, so I went looking for an easy-to-prepare dessert. One in which I already possessed the ingredients. I was so excited when I found this Apple Brown Betty at the Pioneer Cooks site. The Pioneer Woman is famous for taking an abundance of photos, while preparing food. This recipe had 4 ingredients: Apples, Bread, Brown Sugar, & Butter. Simple. I can do this. I can follow a recipe.

And follow the recipe I did, with just one teensy addition. Cinnamon. One cannot make an apple dessert without it. It was a hit! We topped it off with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, as it was a little bit dry. But that was to be expected. I just could not bring myself to using 3/4 cup of butter. That equals about 2 TBS a person. So I cut back on the butter, but otherwise, I followed the recipe...almost.


Michael declared that there was no way I actually followed the recipe exactly. Why do I try to argue? In my mind, I DID follow the directions. Well, I didn't have Granny Smith apples and used Jazz Apples instead. Apples are apples. I'd never buy mushy sweet ones anyway. So I used different apples, a little less butter, and added cinnamon to the 4 ingredient dish. Oops, did I say 4? That is what the Pioneer Woman starts with, but at the end, she tells you to sprinkle 3-4 TBS of water over the top. I added maybe 1 TBS. I was afraid the bread might get soggy, although I'm not sure why, as I added 2 extra slices of bread. !?!? Did I really just say that?


Okay. I don't follow recipes. Ever. Not even simple 4, err...5 ingredient recipes. I just can't. That is why I don't like baking. With cooking, there is grace. Baking is not so forgiving.