The great thing about Pinterest on a Saturday afternoon

Is that now when my kids say they don't have anything to do, I have a solution.

Just get some muffin pans, milk, and food coloring.

Create a rainbow of colors.

Stir carefully with toothpicks

And paint some marshmallows.

If you're a girl, you might choose light purple

A boy may choose army green

His brother may abandon the paintbrush altogether and opt to dunk

At any rate, a good time will be had by all.

7 Quick Takes Friday

1. Wow . . . long time since I did quick takes! I haven't done them since I got this laptop, so I don't have the little button logo saved on here. And I'm too lazy to fix that at the moment. So, without all the fancy fixins, here are some brief and mostly insignificant snippets of my life these days.

2. The boys are wrestling. Ethan likes it; Josh hates it. I'm with Josh. They've been practicing since before Christmas, so David decided we should take advantage of a novice tournament about 1/2 hr away last weekend. (Many of them are much farther.) Ugh. Misery. I truly hate wrestling. I hate the spandex singlets. I hate the siting for hours waiting for your match. I hate the crowded gym and the noise and the chaos. I really hate seeing my 7 year-old's face pressed into a mat as he struggles to overcome his opponent. I hate everything about it. Unfortunately, David loves it. Sometimes it's inconvenient not to have everything my way. How's that for profound?

3. So I was ordering flowers for my niece's birthday the other day, and I couldn't remember my address. I said 315 P__ Ave, and as I was saying it I thought it didn't sound right, but I couldn't think of anything else. While I was on the phone I went in the kitchen and dug out a piece of mail with my address on it, and sure enough, it's 415 P___ Ave. In my defense, I've only lived at this address for almost 3 years.

4. Still sick. Yuck. I keep thinking of going to the dr for an antibiotic, but I just have a bad cold. I've had it since Monday, and it's no better, but my face doesn't hurt when I tap it, so I'm sure I don't have a sinus infection. (That's me putting my imaginary medical degree to work.) My ears don't hurt, etc. I fear they would just send me home the same way I came. So I wait. And suffer. Without complaint of course. Clearly, I'm one to suffer in silence.

5. So my cat has decided that it wants to pee on our bed (twice since Christmas) and our LEATHER SOFA! Why? Why? I ask you! He has a litter box, and, well, he's a cat. David's been saying the couch smells like pee, but I haven't been able to smell all week, so I could neither confirm nor deny. Yesterday, however, I caught the cat red handed. Or yellow weinered. Or something. He was scraping around with his paw like he was trying to bury the pee . . . on the leather sofa. He has no claws, so scratching is not a problem, but really, what does he think he is accomplishing?! I'm baffled and annoyed. Baffloyed.

6. I am coaching the local high school mock trial team for the third year. I love it. However, out of 12 team members, only 2 are returning. (Everyone else graduated on me!) The first round of competition is on Feb 16, and we are sooooooooo far from ready. I have little hope that we will advance this year but great hope that after they get some experience under their collective belts, we will do better next year. Let's hope none of them reads this and learns that I have no confidence in them this year!

7. As much as I would love to stay here on my bed with my furry blanket, hot tea, and laptop, I must go. Work awaits. Hope you all have a great weekend and head over to Conversion Diary for more quick takes. You'll be glad you did.

Moving the goal post

I know. It's been over a month since I last posted. I used to write three or four blog posts a week. I used to know how many hits my blog received each day and how many followers I had.

Now, not so much.

See that picture of my kids at the top of the page? It's from almost three years ago. I would change it, but the truth is, I don't even remember how I created that header in the first place.

In the past I would have considered this a failure. Now? I've moved the goal post. I can't make it 100 yards. I can try, but I will fail. So I move the goal post closer. Fifty yards? That may be too far still. I think I'll put it at the 30 yard line, and if I pass it, all the better.

It's not just in blogging; I've moved the goal posts on pretty much every field. Work. Housekeeping. Parenting.

For example, a former goal may have looked something like this: We will have a fun and exciting family game night wherein we will all love being together and during which my children will realize how lucky they are to have each other.

My new goal: We will have a family game night, and no one will die.

Former goal: Keep a clean house with a place for everything and everything in its place.

New goal: Keep the kitchen clean and never use the same bathroom my sons use.

Former goal: Do several loads of laundry each day so it doesn't pile up. Have children help fold and put away all of their own clothes.

New goal: Find two socks of the same size for each person every morning. Matching not required. Cleanliness merely preferred.

Former goal: Cook healthy meals for my family every night, preferably assisted by sweet little hands that can reach the counter only by using a step-stool. Lovingly watch my adorable offspring pour and stir and mix.

New goal: We will not eat pizza every night. My children are allowed back in the kitchen when they turn fifteen.

Former goal: I will read to or with my children every night, and they will develop a lifelong love of reading just like I did as a kid.

New goal: Ask them to recite the alphabet from time to time to make sure they haven't forgotten it.

See? It's all about setting attainable goals. Now excuse me while I go see if those socks my kids threw in the general directi0n of their clothes hamper are really all that dirty.

Loving her

There is little obvious to love about her. Her hair is unkempt, her teeth visibly rotten, her shoulders hunched, and her language often foul. This is what I used to see when I looked at her.

What, I wonder, is there that's obvious to love about me? I imagine myself at my worst. Hair unwashed, breath in need of improvement, pajamas with holes and stains in them, and no makeup on the blemished and wrinkled skin of my face. Not much to look at.

Maybe that's not where the value lies. If I look deeper at her, the other girl, beyond the physical appearance, what do I see? Poor choices. A history of drug and alcohol use. One child taken away by social services years ago, another in her care struggling, lagging far behind his peers. An abusive husband. Public assistance.

What if I look deeper at myself? I must look pretty good. My children may wear wrinkled clothes, but I'm in no danger of being declared unfit. I've never been addicted to a substance, and I chose wisely when saying "I do."

But, is that what's really there? I may look good on paper, but if the invisible deeds of the heart were brought to light, I know what you would see. What He can see. Selfishness, laziness, pride, deceit, obstinance, vanity. If you were a fly on my walls, you would see me speak too harshly to my children, put my own desires above those of my husband, lack gratitude, and be overly critical.

Really, what is there to love about me? I dare say not much more than there is to love about her.

I've prayed for the past year or two for God teach me how to love. He has been teaching me that He is love. Given that He said those exact words in the scripture, this should not be a revelation, but it has been. God is love. God elevated two commandments above all others: love Him and love each other. So what, He asks, if you love those who are nice and clean and smart and educated like you? Even the sinners do that.

Through praying, studying, and even reading a particular blog**, He began to make me understand that if I want to experience God more, I need to love more. That's where He can be found.

And that's where she comes in. About a year ago God told me to love her. Not just to tolerate her or be nice to her. To love her. It's taken many forms over the past year from providing transportation since she has no car, to inviting her and her son to come over and play with our dog, to helping her with groceries. I've talked to her about God, and she's made it clear that she does not believe. She does not care for God or Christians or anything about the church. That's okay, I told her; God loves her anyway.

A few days ago she was at my house needing help again. To her credit, she filed for divorce and got a protective order against her abusive husband. But now she couldn't pay her rent, and she was about to be evicted. She was told that day that the check she received from SSI the week before, a mere $350, was all she would receive for the entire month. There would be no second check. She was expecting a second check. Unable to pay the rent or buy any Christmas presents for her five year-old son, she was understandably distraught.

In keeping with what I believe God has asked of me, I helped her, with my husband's blessing. But, as I've done several times before, I also prayed for her. I closed my nose to the lingering smell of cigarettes and probably pot, and I hugged her, told her God loved her so much, and I prayed that He would show Himself to her and give her strength. She did not welcome it, but wanting the financial help, she tolerated it.

Today she came over again. You won't believe it, she said. The day after you prayed for me I got a call, and I'm getting a second check after all. I can buy Christmas gifts for my son. I can't believe it. They told me the day before that there would be no check, and then right after you prayed, they said they are sending me a check. Keep praying, she said.

And I will. Because we are really not that different, she and I. We are both flawed and blemished souls greatly in need of help. And, thankfully, mercifully, loved by a great, great God.

(**Jennifer Fulwieler, at Conversion Diary, wrote an amazing post about this subject a couple of years ago, but I could not find it to link to. So, I just linked to her blog. Pick a few posts to read; you won't be disappointed.)

Speechless

Their teeth have been brushed. Covers have been tucked, heads kissed, and quiet prayers whispered. They lie sleeping now on soft mattresses under plush comforters in a warm house.

I'm tempted to write about how blessed I am. How blessed we are. And I feel blessed, I do. But I pause. I hesitate because I'm just not sure that's how this whole thing works. Am I more "blessed" than another because I live in comfort? I've never been comfortable using my level of comfort or contentment as a gauge of my level of blessedness.

So maybe instead of writing about how blessed I am, I'll just write about how grateful I am.

Grateful. It seems far too simple a word to convey the well of unspeakable, bursting-from-my-soul thanks for these precious gifts I could never deserve. I'm grateful for food on the table. I'm grateful for a roof over my head and favors from friends and a job I enjoy.

That can't possibly be the same word I use to convey how I feel about the little pieces of my heart that live and sleep and love and laugh (and argue and whine) here. The lives - the souls - that have been entrusted to me.

Maybe there really aren't words. I tuck them, I kiss them, I stroke their hair, and breathe in the scent of them.

And I thank God that He knows my heart and doesn't need my words.

Because I'm speechless.

Three examples of why it's great to have a daughter

1. I know more about what Lauren has done in the past four weeks of school than about what the boys have done in several years. Boys have two responses to the question of what they did at school each day: "Nothing" or "I don't remember." Lauren tells me who said what and when and how and what they were wearing when they said it. Apparently, I will have to just wait a few years to find out what the boys did in each grade.

2. I love shopping for all of my kids, but girls clothes . . . they're just cuter. Plus the reaction when I give them something new is so much better from a girl. For instance, I went to Elmira, New York on Saturday to do some shopping and brought home a shirt for Josh and some hair clips for Lauren. Joshua's response: "Cool." Lauren's response: "Ohmigosh! They're adorable!!"

3. When Ethan came down with a 103.2 fever tonight, I asked Lauren to go upstairs and get his pillow so he could lie down on the couch. When she brought it down, she said, "Mom, anytime someone is sick, you should send me to get their pillow because I bring them something special, too." She had brought him a stuffed animal. Once I got him all set up with his pillow and blanket and movie, Lauren sat on the end of the sofa and said, "I'm gonna sit here so I can see the movie and so I'll be close by if Ethan needs me."

There are not words for how thankful I am that God blessed me with a girl.

Friday Morning: Why I Should Have Stayed in Bed

6:00 ... Wake up

7:00 - 7:45 .... Wrangle three feral children into clothes and backpacks and send them off to school

8:00 ... Leave for court in a neighboring county about 40 min. away for a hearing at 9:00. Having never been to said court before, I want to give myself plenty of time.

8:10 .... Notice I am almost out of gas. Decide to stop in next town which is about halfway to my destination

8:30 ... Stop for gas. LOCK KEYS IN CAR like an idiot.

8:35 ... Discover keys locked in car, along with cell phone and briefcase. Panic. Go into convenience store and ask to borrow a phone and a phone book. Call police station where nice lady tells me she will contact the officer and send him right over. (The police will still get keys out of locked cars in small-town America.)

8:40 ... Realize I left my wallet on the counter in the gas station. Thank God when I realize it is still there.

8:45 ... Man in van pulls into gas station and asks me if I'm the lady waiting for the police officer to get my keys. When I say yes, he says that the police officer is at the elementary school doing a presentation and will not be able to get to me for another 45 minutes or so. Thank kind man for coming over to tell me instead of just leaving me waiting. Another high-five to small town America.

8:48 ... Call attorney friend who has office in the town I am stuck in to see if she is going to court today and can give me a ride. She is not but she is on her way to said town (she lives in the town I live in) and will be glad to give me a lift. It will take her 20 minutes to get to me.

8:49 ... Call my secretary and have her call court to let them know I'm going to be half an hour late. Random woman at gas station counter overhears me and offers to drive me to court. (Have I mentioned small towns are sometimes great?) Being desperate and deciding she does not look like a psychopath, I gratefully accept her offer.

8:50 ... Call attorney friend to tell her never mind. She tells me her secretary - whose office is 2 minutes away - is already on her way to get me. Thank random, kind gas station lady for the offer.

8:52 ... Friend's secretary arrives and drives me to court.

9:10 ... Arrive to court only ten minutes late. Apologize profusely to judge whom I have never met. Borrow legal pad and pen from court administrator since I left everything in my car. Thank God that I remember my client's name.

9:40 ... Finish successful hearing. Try unsuccessfully to bum a ride back to gas station in neighboring town. Call super amazing secretary friend again. She comes back to get me.

10:00 ... Arrive at gas station to find my car still at the pump and locked. (The amazingly nice store clerk had said she would watch for the police officer and move my car to a parking space once he opened it.) Gas station clerk is not there so Renee (secretary) takes me back to her office to make phone calls.

10:05 ... Call police station and speak to nice officer who apologizes for not being able to get my car open. He says he tried everything and couldn't get it. Renee calls someone else who agrees to meet us at the gas station and give it a try.

10:10 ... Renee takes me back to gas station to meet rescue man. Rescue man spends about five minutes working on it and gets the vehicle open!!! Ask man how much I owe and he tells me to go ask Dawn at the garage where he works down the street.

10:13 ... Arrive at garage and discover I left my wallet at Renee's office when we went back to make the phone calls.

10:16 ... Retrieve wallet for the second time that morning.

10:20 ... Go back to garage and pay TEN DOLLARS for rescue man's services. I'm really happy with small town USA today.

10:25 ... Go to florist and have flowers sent to attorney friend and Renee for turning their office into my personal taxi and rescue service.

10:30 ... Head back home to crawl under my covers and hide.

To Lauren

Dear Lauren,

I know what it's like to grow up wishing for a sister. I, too, grew up as the only girl with two brothers. And I'm glad, because as a result, I totally "get" you. There are so many things about your brothers that they got from Daddy, but you little darling, you're all me. You're as pink and sparkly girly as they come . . . but . . . when your brother needs someone to have a light saber fight with, you're all in. And, I must say, you make an adorable Darth Vader.


You are a walking dichotomy of two different girls: the one who wore her purple frilly skirt and sparkly gold hairclip to gymnastics this morning and the one who rides through the galaxy with fierce determination to stop the Jedi forces . . . on her pink bike with the zebra-print seat.


Once the jedi rebellion has been quelled, you take a little time out for silly tricks. Excuse me, I meant super-amazing-never-before-seen bicycle tricks.



It would be impossible for me to name even a fraction of the things I love about you. But your tenacity, your feisty-ness, your amazing ability to hold your own with those brothers of yours without sacrificing a bit of your sparkly, princess girly-ness. That's at the top of the list. Ride on, Darth Lauren. The world is at your fingertips.

A letter to my children

Dear Joshua, Ethan, and Lauren:

You're sleeping now, but in the morning it's going to happen. I wish I could stop it, save all of us from it, but I'm powerless. It's inevitable. The alarm will go off, and you will have to get up for school.

I know it seems like a cruel, heartless trick for me to come in your room at 7:00 every weekday morning and drag you out of bed when you clearly like to rise at 7:00 only on weekends, but nevertheless, I'm your mother, so I must. In the interest of retaining that last tiny little sliver of my sanity that seems to be holding on despite all odds, I have just a few requests for you.

1. I will not let you wear raggedy gym shorts to school every day. Deal with it. It's not like I make you wear a tie and wingtips. Believe it or not, cargo shorts and a nice t-shirt is not exactly formal wear. You are not the only kid in school not wearing basketball clothes, and even if you are, I don't care. Be glad you don't attend a school that requires uniforms, and be glad that your mother has not begun requiring you to wear uniforms despite that . . . yet.

2. Socks. They have seams at the end. Well, not all of them; they do make seamless socks. But, I've bought them for you more than once, and you hate them for some inexplicable reason that makes as much sense as hating polo shirts. So you're going to have to deal with the seams. You can try wearing them inside out as you often do, or you can adjust and manipulate the sock to your heart's content. But you may not - under any circumstances - take the shoe and/or sock off once it is on. I don't care if you think there is a rock the size of Gibraltar in there, there is not. There never is. So, when those shoes get fastened onto your feet, you take them off at your own risk. Your momma might get all crazy up in here, and if you miss the bus because you were "fixing" your socks again, you just might not make it to next year.

3. Lauren. Dear, sweet Lauren. Your underwear are not falling down. I do not know why every pair of pants and leggings you own makes it feel like your underpants are falling down; they are not. You pull them up until they are three inches higher than your pants, and still you insist they are falling down. They. are. not.

4. Here are your breakfast choices: oatmeal, waffles, eggs, toast, and cereal (we have the same five or six kinds of cereal we have had virtually every morning of your entire lives . . . you're not going to conjure up Lucky Charms by staring at the pantry for ten minutes). That's it. If you could begin making your choice while you're getting dressed or brushing your teeth - or even while you're walking to the kitchen - it would really speed things up. There's no reason to wait until you've looked at everything in the kitchen and asked me if you can have a yogurt pop or ice cream or a tootsie roll pop instead. Here are the cold, hard facts: the answer will NEVER be yes. So, let's not waste precious, possibly bus-missing, minutes have this conversation again.

5. Ethan. When you have your backpack and jacket and shoes on, and it's time to walk run out the door for the bus, you're going to get thirsty. How about getting a sip of water sometime before then. Just a suggestion.

6. If it's library day, don't cry to me that you "never had a chance" to read your library book. Don't ask me to read a 50 page chapter book to you at breakfast. It is your library book. With the exception of Lauren (and even she is getting pretty good), YOU CAN READ. Read your books sometime before 7:30 the morning they are due. And do not get mad at me when you don't have time to read it then.

7. There are three of you. There are two bathrooms upstairs. All of you will need to go potty. And brush your teeth. And comb your hair. If your sibling is on the toilet, perhaps you could just wait a moment or two before bursting in to brush your teeth. If your sibling is brushing his teeth, perhaps you could go pee in the other bathroom instead of yelling and crying that he won't get out because you have to go potty reeeeeaaaally bad. And perhaps - just perhaps - two of you could be in the bathroom at the same time without killing each other. Really. I'm fairly confident it won't cause sudden, painful, and immediate death if your sister combs her hair while you brush your teeth.

8. Joshua. You're not riding your bike to school. Period. I don't care how cool the bike rack is or how you're practically grown. It's not going to happen. Go ahead and get over it (again) the night before instead of in the morning.

But, hey, at least we have only 168 more school days to go. This year.

With never-ending love (even though I think you're determined to send me to the loony bin),

Mom

A glimpse into my thoughts . . . you've been warned

I've heard there are people who get in bed at night and go to sleep. I am not one of those people. Don't get me wrong, I'd LOVE to be one of those people. I look forward to bed like some people look forward the season premier of their favorite t.v. show. When I sit at my desk in the afternoon, or when I'm folding laundry, or when I'm trying to muster the energy to exercise - or even grocery shop - I dream of bedtime.

But when it finally happens - the kids are asleep (for now); the kitchen is clean (enough) - the thoughts begin.

So, instead of just lying in bed keeping all these thoughts to myself, I thought I'd share them with you. You can thank me later (or not).

1. Yesterday Lauren asked if she could paint my fingernails. She picked out a deep shade of sparkly teal that she had chosen from the drugstore earlier, and I indulged her, knowing I could just remove it later. Of course last night I forgot about it. I remembered it when I was handing a cashier some money today and noticed that my fingernails looked . . . well, blue and like they'd been painted by a 5 year-old. Tonight, however, I remembered that I needed to take the polish off. Unfortunately, I also remembered that I used the last of my nail polish remover last week.

2. I haven't shared on here or on Facebook until tonight that my father-in-law has a malignant tumor on one of his kidneys. They found it in late July and scheduled surgery for today as it is apparently a slow-growing and usually contained type of cancer. Unfortunately, they were not able to do the surgery because a few days ago they informed him that he is not in good enough physical shape for surgery. He is 71 years old and has out-of-control high blood pressure, severe fluid retention, and diabetes. Please pray for him.

3. I am finding it harder and harder to get involved in debates like I used to. I have always loved a good political or theological debate. Actually, to be honest, I love to debate about anything and have been know to fight (almost) to the death over grammar and punctuation. Lately, though, the political and the theological fighting just leaves me drained when I'm not even engaged in it. I read newspaper columns and magazine articles and blogs, and I'm just saddened and exhausted by it all.

I have come to the realization that I would rather be known as someone who loves all the time than as someone who is right all the time.

4. Allergies. I hate 'em. Would any of my doctor friends out there be willing to come hook me up with a couple of i.v. drips? I could really use one to dispense a constant dose of Benadryl and another some caffeine to counteract the drowsiness caused by the Benadryl. I should need it only for another month or so. I hope.

5. We have three cats. How did this happen? Honestly, I really enjoy them and love the fact that three cats are waaaaaaaaay less work than one dog. However, we have one very whiny cat who meows all. the. time. And it's not just any meow . . . he does this vibrating trill first. Like he's a Spanish cat who's rolling an "r" for a second or two as he works up to the meow. He meows in the morning. In the afternoon. In the middle. of. the. night. I have to close him in the bathroom at night or else, just as I've finally gotten to sleep at 1 or 2 a.m., I will be suddenly and rudely awakened by "rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr meow!"

6. Speaking of cats, we have had the third one for about 3 or 4 weeks now and still have not named him. We just call him little kitty. Any suggestions? He is black and grey tiger striped, and our other cats are named Dr. Flufferson and Nacho. So, of course his name has to go with those names. Since they are so alike and all.

7. I almost wore boots today because it was chilly this morning and I was wearing a dress that I normally wear boots with in the winter. I had to stop myself, though, as I remembered how long I will be wearing boots once winter actually arrives. By April I will be loooonging to wear anything other than a boot. Please, I will implore, no more boots. So I am holding off and will not wear boots any sooner than absolutely necessary.

8. If people would not watch Toddlers and Tiaras, it would not remain on television. I am really tired of people getting all up in arms about how awful those mothers are (and I agree 100%) but then watching the show about them. Same with Jersey Shore. Such trash is on only because people watch it. Stop watching it.

9. I love to watch Food Network even though I've never heard of most of the ingredients they use. Especially on Iron Chef. I think my only chance of winning would be if the surprise ingredients were sugar, flour, and eggs.

10. I keep meaning to lose weight, and I keep gaining it instead. Maybe if I just decide I'm going to gain 10 pounds, the opposite will happen? But maybe not if I can't quit the sweet tea. It's just so good and it tastes like home!

Alright, I will let you escape now. Spending more than a few minutes trapped in my mind is probably more than anyone can take. Which is what makes my poor husband such a saint. At least you can just stop reading my blog; he's gotta listen to this for the rest of his life! Someday I will write a post just about the things I've said (or done) that have mortified my spouse. That one will have to wait till I have more time. A lot more time.

A random recap of Labor Day weekend

Yesterday I was down for the count. After carrying home the half-ton typewriter that Josh bought at a yard sale Saturday, I awoke Sunday morning barely able to get out of bed. I have a bad S-I joint anyway and am long overdue for another steroid injection, which is the only thing that gives me relief. Had I thought through my plan, it may have occurred to me that I should not carry that extraordinarily heavy object a half a block to my house. But, hey, this is me we're talking about. Thinking things through ahead of time is not my strong suit.

Fortunately, I woke much better today. David had done a really good job of stepping up the day before, so I didn't want him to have to run the show again today what with the fact that he's still recovering from knee surgery and all. The truth is we were a pretty pitiful pair. I mused this morning about whether this was a glimpse of what life will be like when we're 80 years old and struggling to get each other out of bed!

Anyway, we ended up having a very nice, mostly lazy, Labor Day Holiday. Watched Phineas and Pherb Second Dimension on Disney this morning, which I will admit I enjoy just as much as my kids do. Did a little laundry and vacuuming then made the kids a quick lunch before one of their friends came over to play. Lauren, upon hearing that today was a holiday, expressed utter disappointment when she learned that she would not be receiving gifts or having turkey for dinner. So, I let her choose what we would have, and she requested steaks, mashed potatoes, and corn on the cob. She and I set out for the grocery store to obtain the ingredients, and we both forgot the corn. Nevertheless, it was still a great dinner which ended up being shared with some favorite friends.

The soundtrack of the afternoon was one I never tire of: children laughing, music sounding from the ipod speakers, games being played, banana bread baking (though I guess that's more of a smelltrack than a soundtrack), and unexpected guests joining us because they know they are always welcome and wanted.

This Labor Day was a picture of the difference between a labor of obligation and a labor of love. I hope yours was, too.

A treasure

Today was yard sale day. Not for us but for 207 other families in our town and the surrounding areas. (Yes, apparently, there are 207 other families here!) Each Labor Day weekend we have Town Yard Sale Saturday, which creates chaos in our streets rivaled only by town festivals and town parades.

I personally have never had it in me to hold on to every piece of junk I've ever owned in the hope that someone will pay me a dollar (or a quarter) for it after I spend days sorting, organizing, and displaying it. However, I do set out annually to see if there are any bargains to be had. The kids grab their money and come along, finding something they must have at virtually every stop. I don't pay much attention when they carry on about how much they have "always wanted" the piece of junk they spotted fifteen seconds before. We have so much junk in our house already, so even a dime is really too much for a castaway happy meal toy. Free? Still too much.

Today, however, Joshua set his affection on a most unusual object. A dirty, dusty, non-working antique Remington typewriter. He was completely overcome with desire for this device. At only $7, cost was not really an issue, but my aforementioned aversion to adding more junk to our house was. I sometimes dream of throwing away everything we own just so I can see all of the floors and walls again. So, I told him no. "But, it's like a treasure, mom! It's so old . . . an old treasure! Please!" No.

We walked along to several other sales, and he still could not stop talking about it, so I finally told him that if it was still there when we came back (it was right near our house), I would think about it. "Mom, can we please go back now?" he pleaded, "My stomach is flipping because I'm worried it won't be there when we get back." He maintained that he'd never wanted anything so much in his life, despite my reminder that he had known of its existence for only thirty minutes. At every intersection, his face would fall and his entire body follow suit when he saw that I was turning a direction other than toward our house.

Eventually, we headed home and went to check on the typewriter as promised. It was still there, but where before I had given it only a cursory glance, this time I really looked it over. It was dusty. Dirty. A little grimy. Heavy, very heavy. I said no. I explained that it was just going to take up space and be of no use. He argued a little but mostly accepted my answer.

When we got home, though, he started to cry. I implored him to understand that it was just not a good purchase. Had he noticed that no one else had bought it either? "That's just because they don't have any imagination!" he replied, channeling a male version of Anne of Green Gables.

Finally I told him to go ask his dad what he thought about it. David, apparently having more insight into the heart and mind of an 8 year-old boy than I, told him he could buy it. Which is, of course, what I really should have said to begin with. It was, after all, seven dollars. His seven dollars. We headed back over to the sale (together because it would take both of us to carry it home), and he paid the lady his seven dollars. (By the way, I stood there for a minute afterward to talk to a friend, and someone else tried to buy the typewriter literally two minutes after we purchased it . . . whew!)

As I watched him later attacking the machine with a cleaning rag and a bucket full of soapy water - for an hour - I couldn't help but think that I had almost deprived him of this joy. For no real reason. I didn't want to have the junk sitting around. It held no value to me. I saw nothing in it. But to him - to him - it was a treasure. Who am I to say it's not?

Pure randomness

I really want to get back into the habit of regular blogging, but I can't seem to find the right thing to write about lately. So, here's a little of everything to jump start me.

Lauren's latest phrase du jour is "a little help here??" For instance, as she's trying to open the refrigerator door while holding the orange juice, she turns to me and says, as though she is an adult, "Um, a little help here?"

Joshua is trying so hard to grow up. He has been begging me lately to let him ride his bike with a friend to a little store in town that sells ice cream because the neighbor kids are allowed to do so. I've told him no way, no how. He keeps trying different angles. "Mom, we won't go down Main Street, and we'll cross at the light." "You let me ride to the high school, and that's even farther." (It's not.) So yesterday, he comes up with, "Mom, you're going to have to trust me on my own someday, you know." Yes, Josh, someday I will. But not today.

He's "training" to run a 5k on Saturday. Our library has an annual 5k/Fun Run in August, and last year the kids all participated in the Fun Run. This year Josh has decided he wants to run the "real race," and he's a pretty good runner for an 8 year-old, so I told him he can give it a try. Today I showed him a map of the route and told him I would drive along next to him if he wanted to give it a practice run. His response in a completely deadpan voice: "I can't believe you're letting me do this race, but you won't let me ride my bike to the corner store."

We took the kids to see the movie Zookeeper tonight. (Just to clarify, it has a few inappropriate parts, so this is not a recommendation, just a story. But it was funny. Also, consider this a spoiler warning.) So opening scene of the movie is Griffin (Kevin James) proposing to his girlfriend. She says no and then there is an embarrassingly awkward encounter with a mariachi band that he had already hired to show up right after. Fast forward almost two hours to nearly the end of the movie. She proposes to him five years later, he says no, and she had hired a mariachi band to replicate the one he hired when he proposed. The humor, obviously, was in the irony of the situation being completely reversed. I think it was a little lost on Ethan, who laughed and said, "The band finally caught up with them." Because, you know, the mariachi band had been hot on their tails for five years.

David is having knee surgery in the morning. He tore his meniscus practicing for the alumni football game this summer. Of course, he'll tell you it tore because he spent the day staining the living room floor and not because he was playing football. The fact that he got injured playing high school football at age 35 was purely happenstance. So, anyway, say a prayer for him tomorrow. He's not the surgery pro that I am, so he's nervous about it.

I really hate when The Daily Show is in reruns.

I survived an earthquake today. Though I first blamed it on the kids, yelling, "Whatever you're doing, stop it! You're shaking the whole house!" Who'da thunk it was an earthquake in north central PA?

I went back-to-school shopping for the kids yesterday and enjoyed that it felt appropriately Fall-like at 67 degrees. Summer is pretty short here, and so is Fall for that matter, but I love the chill in the air nonetheless.

In six days, I will send all three of my children off to all-day school for the first time. I can't imagine what it will be like to have a quiet house from 8-3 every day. I'm willing to find out, though!

Defining me

A few months ago in church I joined everyone in singing a familiar old refrain: "I've got a river of life flowing out of me." You probably know the rest about making the lame to walk and the blind to see. I sang the familiar lyrics as I probably have a thousand times in my life (though not likely in the past decade).

Later, though, I began to think about what I had sung. Was it true? Do I have a river of life flowing out of me?

I have the Fount of Life within me, no doubt. The water is there . . . but does it flow out of me?

Usually not.

More honest lyrics might be any of the following:

"I've got a river of criticism flowing out of me"
"I've got a river of judgment flowing out of me"
"I've got a river of selfishness flowing out of me"

Really, that song could go on all night. The things that flow out of me are endless, but unfortunately, not a lot of it is Life.

In the past few weeks, I've tried to be conscious of that, and another truth has taken hold along side it. How should people know that I'm a follower of Christ? Because I wear a cross necklace? Because I don't smoke, get drunk, or hang out in night clubs? Because I don't swear? Because I don't gossip? Lie? Cheat? (Note: These are hypothetical examples, not necessarily fact-based.) What should be the defining thing about me that tells people I'm a Christian?

John 13:35 answers the question: "By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if ye love one another."

When was the last time you heard someone say, "Oh, she must be a Christian. She's so loving?" We have become so defined by what we oppose that we have entirely lost what we are supposed to be for.

Jesus didn't oppose much. Except hypocrisy. And judgment. And pride in one's own works.

Jesus was for us. He loved. Everywhere he went, he loved. He healed, He delivered, He restored. And in case we might miss the point, He spelled it right out for us: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, and soul; this is the first and greatest commandment. The second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself. All the law and the prophets hang on these two commandments." (Matt. 22:38-40)

So many things He could have said were most important, but He knows that all the outward deeds, the works, the performances spring from the one place: our heart. Until our hearts are filled up with His love, none of the rest matters.

Let's be people who are known for what we DO (love) rather than people who are defined by a list of things we don't do.

I don't know about you, but I want a river of life to flow out of me. That will happen when I care more about demonstrating Christ's love to everyone around me than about making sure they know what I'm against.

"A new command I give you: Love one another." (John 13:34)

Lauren's Preschool Graduation

So after only three months of no posts, I'm back with a photo post. You know, I had rather given up on ever blogging again, but Facebook is just not sufficient to mark the my baby girl's passing from pre-school into real school. Plus she's cute, so how can that make for a bad blog post, right?

The ceremony began with a performance by the Animal Mania Company (aka the preschoolers), so the kids were to arrive in costume. Here's Lauren as an adorable lamb, minus the headpiece, as we headed off.





The set that the staff had created was amazing and began with each child's own personal star outside the theater. (Lauren's is at the bottom, but I wanted to show a section of the wall.)



Lauren and her two BFF's performing "Baa, Baa, We're Lambs" to the tune of "Barbara Ann."







Next was the cap and gown ceremony. To the sounds of Pomp and Circumstance, each child begins the journey down the aisle alone so mom can snap a picture, and then the child's family joins them halfway to walk to the front with them for their "diplomas" and a framed photo of the child in cap and gown. (Her amazing teacher took them ahead of time during practice.)



After the brilliant musical performance, the cap and gown ceremony, and a reception afterward, it was time to head home. But not before Daddy gave Lauren flowers, which I think may have been the highlight of her night. At least judging by the size of the smile and the gasp when he handed them to her.



You did great, baby girl. We are so proud of you.