I put them to bed twenty minutes ago. Still their voices carry down the hall to my bedroom. Not soft whispering-in-the-night voices. Angry, arguing voices.
"What's going on?" I yell from my just-got-comfortable spot on my bed. Apparently, Ethan has moved something and it's not right and I "have to come" see what it is. I gather that it involves a nightlight, and I bellow back that I don't want to hear anything else about it. I issue a warning that they are to close their eyes and go to sleep right now and that if I hear their voices again before morning, they will be on screen restriction tomorrow.
This is an enormous threat. Joshua has been working hard for quite some time to earn a Lord of the Rings wii game that he wants desperately. It costs $18.00, and I told him if he earned $10.00, I would pay the rest. (He has more money than that, but he can't bear to part with money he already possesses, so he asked if he could just work for credit toward the game instead of cash.) He finally finished earning his portion on Monday, so late Monday night I ordered the game. Which means it will arrive tomorrow.
He checked the mailbox first thing when he got home from school today justincase it came early. While home sick yesterday, he scoured youtube (under my supervision) for trailers of the game. Earlier tonight, he lamented that he could not will away the hours between waking and getting home from school tomorrow to obtain his new game.
Screen restriction tomorrow is no small threat.
Five minutes go by. I hear a thumping. A banging. I hope it's the cat, but as the noise persists and grows louder, I have to admit that it is coming from my sons' room. Again: "What's going on?" The response involves something about somebody sticking his tongue out and somebody kicking somebody's bed and somebody throwing a pillow at somebody. I am so stupefied by the fact that this is taking place after my warning that I don't pay very close attention to the details.
Instead of responding to the allegations, I issue a simple sentence: Screen restriction tomorrow.
A moment of silence. Then a gasp, a gulp, a sob. The consequence is real.
No, mom, please! The tears flow in earnest as I call him to my room for a discussion.
Were you warned? Yes.
Did you stick out your tongue? Yes.
Why? Because I was mad at Ethan for moving the nightlight.
Was this after I had warned you what would happen? Yes.
But you chose to start a fight instead of closing your eyes and being quiet? Yes.
What is it that makes us think we will be exempt from the consequences we know will stem from our actions? I can't point the finger at my 9 year-old without inculpating myself as well.
I know if I eat junk food I will gain weight.
I know if I procrastinate getting important things done, I will be stressed and become sick.
I know if I am unkind to my husband, my marriage will suffer.
I know that by the measure which I judge others, I will also be judged.
It's not like I haven't been warned. But, in my heart of hearts, I am just like Josh. When faced with the choice between believing that the consequence will follow or giving in to my fleshly desires and hoping I will somehow avert the foretold ending, I usually give in.
I explain to Josh that, as important as his wii game is to him, it means absolutely nothing to me compared to his obedience. That game, I say, is as important to me as a speck of dust compared to his character.
And, as I have come to expect after almost a decade of parenting, I hear God's voice echoing my own. He cares so much more about my character than about my comfort. When will I believe Him?
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Ash Wednesday Thoughts - Repent and Believe in the Gospel
"Repent and believe in the Gospel."
These are the words the priest uttered as he placed the ashes on my forehead during mass this morning. ** He alternated between those words and "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return" as he marked the cross on the foreheads of myself and my fellow worshipers.
Both statements are powerful reminders, but my heart has stayed fixed today on the words I received: Repent and believe in the Gospel.
Repent. Why? Because we are hopeless, helpless beings. We know the right thing, and we choose the wrong. As Paul said, we do what we don't want to do, and what we want to do, we don't do. If we say we have not sinned, we deceive ourselves. We must acknowledge our state of absolute inadequacy and our immeasurable need for redemption. We must repent.
Believe. What a deceptively simple word this is. Believing is defined as "having confidence in the truth, the existence, or the reliability of something, although without absolute proof that one is right in doing so." That is no easy task. Though God has surrounded us with evidence of Himself, His love, and the truth of His lordship, we are also bombarded with doubts and lies. It is no simple thing to stand firm in a belief when what we see, hear, and often feel, tells us we are wrong to do so. But believe we must.
In the Gospel. Believing is important, but what we believe in is paramount. Most people will tell you they believe in God. Or a Higher Being. That is not the Gospel. The Gospel is our only hope. It is Christ's atonement. We can believe in a god of our own making, but ultimately, the object of our belief determines the result, not the belief itself. As Bill D. always said, you can believe that a pond is frozen solid or not. It doesn't really matter how strongly you believe it is frozen; if it's not, you will fall through. Conversely, even if you don't really believe it will hold you, if it it frozen, it will. We must believe in the right thing.
The Gospel: Christ crucified. Christ resurrected. People redeemed.
Let us beginning this season of Lent, the remembrance of our Savior's sacrifice, with one goal always in mind. Repent. And believe. In the Gospel.
**No I have not become a Catholic. I do, however, attend Mass on most holy days, because the church I attend does not observe many of them nor does it follow a liturgical calendar. I personally find that my spirit is fed through the observation of liturgical seasons, so I have made them part of my journey.
These are the words the priest uttered as he placed the ashes on my forehead during mass this morning. ** He alternated between those words and "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return" as he marked the cross on the foreheads of myself and my fellow worshipers.
Both statements are powerful reminders, but my heart has stayed fixed today on the words I received: Repent and believe in the Gospel.
Repent. Why? Because we are hopeless, helpless beings. We know the right thing, and we choose the wrong. As Paul said, we do what we don't want to do, and what we want to do, we don't do. If we say we have not sinned, we deceive ourselves. We must acknowledge our state of absolute inadequacy and our immeasurable need for redemption. We must repent.
Believe. What a deceptively simple word this is. Believing is defined as "having confidence in the truth, the existence, or the reliability of something, although without absolute proof that one is right in doing so." That is no easy task. Though God has surrounded us with evidence of Himself, His love, and the truth of His lordship, we are also bombarded with doubts and lies. It is no simple thing to stand firm in a belief when what we see, hear, and often feel, tells us we are wrong to do so. But believe we must.
In the Gospel. Believing is important, but what we believe in is paramount. Most people will tell you they believe in God. Or a Higher Being. That is not the Gospel. The Gospel is our only hope. It is Christ's atonement. We can believe in a god of our own making, but ultimately, the object of our belief determines the result, not the belief itself. As Bill D. always said, you can believe that a pond is frozen solid or not. It doesn't really matter how strongly you believe it is frozen; if it's not, you will fall through. Conversely, even if you don't really believe it will hold you, if it it frozen, it will. We must believe in the right thing.
The Gospel: Christ crucified. Christ resurrected. People redeemed.
Let us beginning this season of Lent, the remembrance of our Savior's sacrifice, with one goal always in mind. Repent. And believe. In the Gospel.
**No I have not become a Catholic. I do, however, attend Mass on most holy days, because the church I attend does not observe many of them nor does it follow a liturgical calendar. I personally find that my spirit is fed through the observation of liturgical seasons, so I have made them part of my journey.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Doing Hard Things
(This post was originally published in December, 2009. I'm recycling it because it seems to be a lesson God's still teaching me.)
------------
Last year I came across a book entitled, Do Hard Things. I didn't read it, but I liked the title.
What a simple idea.
At the time I was preparing to do something I had dreaded for years: pack up my family and leave my motherland for the frozen tundra. Such an endeavor definitely seemed worthy of "hard things" status. In fact, maybe it was one of the hardest things anyone had ever done. I was pretty sure I should have been awarded some kind of "hard things" medal of honor.
I've realized recently, though, that it's not the grand, momentous things in life that are truly hard. Sure, it's difficult to move to a faraway land or, I imagine, to risk one's life as a missionary or to take a leap of faith in taking a new job or embarking on a new, scary endeavor.
But, you know what's harder?
Forgiving someone who's hurt you.
Humbly submitting to your spouse.
Loving unconditionally.
They're not gradiose or attention-grabbing. There's nothing sexy about the packaging of these challenges, so it's not likely that they'll garner you any applause or pats on the back. At least not by men.
Nevertheless, God honors them and counts them among the greatest acts to which a person can attain.
I'm struggling with a couple of these things right now. There's a person in my life whom I've felt hurt by and am pretty angry at, and I would like to just wallow in my self-pity, wrap up in my hurt feelings, and snuggle up to my righteous indignation. I am right, after all.
Unfortunately, God doesn't seem to care.
"But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you." (Mat. 5:44)
Um, sorry, God, that's a verse I like to apply to big things like Muslim/Christian relations. Or maybe even to how Christians are discriminated against by the government . . . but not to my friend who's hurt me.
And, so my conversation with God goes something like this:
"Pray for her."
"But, she hurt me and hasn't apologized.
"Reach out to her."
"But, SHE is wrong and I am right."
"But, I tell you . . . love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you." (Luke 6:2-28)
"I don't want to. It's hard."
Do hard things. Why doesn't anyone ever mention that it's harder to pray for someone who's hurt you than it is to give an extra tithe or to spend a summer doing mission work?
Love one another. Now that's hard.
------------
Last year I came across a book entitled, Do Hard Things. I didn't read it, but I liked the title.
What a simple idea.
At the time I was preparing to do something I had dreaded for years: pack up my family and leave my motherland for the frozen tundra. Such an endeavor definitely seemed worthy of "hard things" status. In fact, maybe it was one of the hardest things anyone had ever done. I was pretty sure I should have been awarded some kind of "hard things" medal of honor.
I've realized recently, though, that it's not the grand, momentous things in life that are truly hard. Sure, it's difficult to move to a faraway land or, I imagine, to risk one's life as a missionary or to take a leap of faith in taking a new job or embarking on a new, scary endeavor.
But, you know what's harder?
Forgiving someone who's hurt you.
Humbly submitting to your spouse.
Loving unconditionally.
They're not gradiose or attention-grabbing. There's nothing sexy about the packaging of these challenges, so it's not likely that they'll garner you any applause or pats on the back. At least not by men.
Nevertheless, God honors them and counts them among the greatest acts to which a person can attain.
I'm struggling with a couple of these things right now. There's a person in my life whom I've felt hurt by and am pretty angry at, and I would like to just wallow in my self-pity, wrap up in my hurt feelings, and snuggle up to my righteous indignation. I am right, after all.
Unfortunately, God doesn't seem to care.
"But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you." (Mat. 5:44)
Um, sorry, God, that's a verse I like to apply to big things like Muslim/Christian relations. Or maybe even to how Christians are discriminated against by the government . . . but not to my friend who's hurt me.
And, so my conversation with God goes something like this:
"Pray for her."
"But, she hurt me and hasn't apologized.
"Reach out to her."
"But, SHE is wrong and I am right."
"But, I tell you . . . love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you." (Luke 6:2-28)
"I don't want to. It's hard."
Do hard things. Why doesn't anyone ever mention that it's harder to pray for someone who's hurt you than it is to give an extra tithe or to spend a summer doing mission work?
Love one another. Now that's hard.
Saturday, February 4, 2012
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.
Friday, February 3, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, January 20, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
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.)
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.)
Thursday, November 17, 2011
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.
Monday, September 26, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
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 towalk 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
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
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
Thursday, September 8, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, September 5, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
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?
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?
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