Christmas Caroline

‘Tis the Season to be Jolly…and my children certainly are! Every day I have been making a list and checking it twice– on my Blackberry, or course- of all the events/meetings/parties/plays/performances that this family has going. We’re probably a lot like you: too busy at this time of year. I’d like to just sit with a mug of hot cocoa, listen to some carols play and gaze at the tree.

Funny thing about the carols. My girls-especially Caroline- really like to sing, you see. Remember that song “I Wear my Sunglasses at Night”? Did anyone ever really know the words to that song? Have you ever been listening to a song on the radio with a friend, and they sing the ACTUAL words of the song? Words that, though close to the ones you were singing, were just not quite right? Well, I have. Sunglasses at Night being one of those songs. FYI, it’s “the guy in shades, oh, no,” NOT “the guy who shaves his nose”. I think there is an entire website dedicated to wrong lyrics, but I digress.

Like I said…my girls love to sing, and if you have been to my house for any length of time this Christmas, you have probably heard proof of this. I don’t know if it’s their ages or if they have the “defunct” sickness I have of singing the wrong words, but let me give you a taste of the yuletide lyrical sensations:

…Don we now our gay apparel, fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Troll the Asian yuletide carol, fa, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la!

Silent night, Holy night, all is calm, all is bright,
Round your virgint, mother and child!

The cattle are lonely, the poor baby wakes, but little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes,
I love the Lord Jesus look down from the sky, and stay by my cradle, ‘til morning is night!

Glooooooo-ria, in Aunt Chelsea’s day-O!

Bless ya!

The Perfect Mom

Last night while I was making dinner, Molly and Caroline watched an episode of “Everyday Italian” on the Food Network. They love Giada.

Now, I’m no Giada. That’s a given. But I can make a mean homemade spaghetti sauce: fresh herbs from the garden, home-grown tomatoes and onions, a bit of red wine. Yum! Caroline especially like spaghetti…and thinks my homemade sauce is just “ok”. She prefers Michael’s mom’s recipe: a jar of Prego.

Anyway, as Molly and Caroline watched Giada perform her magic on a pork roast, this is what I heard from the kitchen…

“I wish Giada was our mom!”

“I know! Then she could teach us how to cook.”

“Yeah, and she’s so pretty.”

I wanted to go in there and explain to these girls that, yes, Giada appears perfect in every way, but she also has a make-up person, a hair person, a stylist to pick out her clothes, and a prep staff to do all her chopping. But I said nothing. I gotta admit it: it stung just a bit.

This is not the first time I have been compared to another and fallen short.

But through all the seeming discontent, I remember the truth: They love me. They trust me. We have our own quirky routines and secret handshakes. And in the middle of a stomach-bugged night, who do you think they want holding their hair back and making sure the Cinderella trash can remains steady? Certainly not the everyday Italian. They want their everyday, sweatshirt-wearing, makeup-on-by-noon-if-you’re-lucky mom. That’s me. I know where I stand.

Later I got out some pots and pans and some odds and ends from the frig. Molly and Caroline like to pretend like they have their own cooking show. They even talk to the camera like Giada– it’s adorable.

So, maybe Giada does have a better wardrobe than me…and maybe her spaghetti sauce has that certain something that mine doesn’t, but I have something she doesn’t have, and that is Caroline and Molly. They are all mine (and Michael’s!)

Oh! Giada! If you’re reading this…no offense, ok?!!

Bless ya!

The Simple Life

Simplicity: Freedom from difficulty, complexity, or intricacy

Let’s face it…life is complicated. Since last spring I have been taking slow steps to rid my life of some complexity. One obvious place to begin was within my 4 walls. I’ve just been going room by room trying to take a good hard look at my “stuff”. Is it necessary? Do I use it? Does it just take up space? Do I have to clean around it?

I managed to rid my linen closet of 2 bags of stuff, from towels to sheets, right down to one of the vacuum cleaners. The kids’ possessions have been pared down as well (actually, just the girls so far…I’ve yet to muster the courage to enter the boys’ room).

In my bathroom, I’ve made some changes as well. No more moisturizers or products of any kind until the ones I have are gone. How did I end up with 6 bottles of lotion??

The most recent area to receive the treatment was my own closet. Yesterday evening I made the switch from summer clothes to fall/winter. I know that may sound odd to my central Illinois friends, but here in LA (lower Alabama) summer lasts at least until Halloween. It was almost 80 yesterday.

I went through every article of clothing. If it needed mending, out it went. Dry clean only? Buh-bye! (This may seem a bit extreme, but I just don’t live a lifestyle where I need much of anything fancy or high-maintenance. So, except for a couple things, I cleared that detail from my life.) The mountain of clothes in the “out” pile was bigger than the “keep” pile. I think I am the thrift store’s best friend. Was it scary? A bit. What if I need THAT black skirt? Forget the fact that there is another, lower-maintenance black skirt right there; what if I need THAT one?

The economic crises is affecting everyone, but I don’t really have many “assets” to fret over. And as the excess baggage is being purged from my life (and it's more than just clothes and bottles of lotion...other areas of life are having to be minimalized as well), it really is freeing me up to think about other things.

Now, I’m not going to go overboard or anything. The French Press will remain on my kitchen counter, and I’m not getting rid of ANY books – mine or the kids.

I guess my goal, ultimately, is to change forever the way my to-do list looks. Instead of it being filled with frantic attempts to maintain things that aren’t important in the whole scheme of life (organize linen closet, sort through bathroom cabinets), I’d like it to be more filled with things that are sweet to my soul (work on Mason’s scrapbook, take a picnic to the park, have coffee with _______ , write a note to_______ ). I’ve got to figure that if I have less “stuff” to organize or sort…there will be more of me to give to people I love.

What do YOU think?

Bless ya!

Painted Lattice

I was in charge of organizing the Women’s Retreat at our church. The retreat itself was this past weekend…our speaker was great, the retreat went according to schedule, etc. All was well.

Let me go ahead and say it right now: my husband is wonderful. He is a great dad and when he is home with the kids while I am out of pocket (as I was this past Friday and Saturday), I know the kids are going to have fun, and lots of it. Sure, the kitchen may be a little dirty when I get home, and the girls’ outfits may not exactly “match” (think purple pants and red shirt), but I am 100% sure they have been loved and cared for in my absence.

During this particular absence, however, things went a little more…awry…than usual.

For one thing, Michael decided to paint. The house. The rest of the house, I should say. The painting of the house is kind of a joke around here. See, it was a project that began mid-July. Yes, your calculations are correct: it has been 4 months in-process. We started with a bang, and we really did get the majority of the house covered in paint, but we fizzled out when we faced the lattice work around our deck. Michael was going to borrow a sprayer from a friend, messages were left. Then, we moved into Lovebug season. Imagine millions of little mating bugs floating around, landing on everything – especially everything white (the color we were using!). Painting was put off again.

The Saturday morning of retreat weekend seemed, to Michael, as good a time as any, so with no thought to my being absent from home (he is such a renaissance man!), the painting began. Imagine my happiness when I pulled into my driveway and saw a gleaming white, Lovebug-free lattice!

I was pleased as the proverbial punch. My husband – painter of lattice! I saw Ethan running to me as I got out of the car. Wait…is he covered in paint? Are those the new Oshkosh sweatpants? Ummmm…yep. And Caroline…are those the black GYMBOREE LEGGINGS that I bought to go with virtually everything this winter? Uh-huh (Alex…gasp with me!! Feel my pain!). Molly…did any white paint get anywhere other than your clothes?

OK – don’t panic. Don’t worry! It’s just clothing! They have more! It’s really no big deal.

Wait…are those white footprints? On the carport floor? In the VAN? ON THE COMFORTER IN THE GUESTROOM??? Yes, not only were the kids clothes (and hair!) coated in paint, so were the van floor and my guestroom comforter.

I tease Michael (because these kinds of things have happened before…also with paint) that he should just go into the kids’ closets, pull out their nicest stuff and pick a dirty project. I didn’t think he took me seriously.

I balled up the clothes and threw them out. The paint on the floor of the van will eventually blend in with all the other funk in there. The guestroom comforter? Well, that’s a little different…but I think that thing may be reversible. The important thing is that everyone is still alive, and the lattice is white. Michael is still wonderful, the kids had a wonderful time with their dad, and I got another lesson on what is (and is NOT) important.

One funny thing: the white paint on the comforter actually came from the bottoms of Molly’s shoes. See, Michael gave her some “discipline” for walking through spilled paint, and then purposely walking around in the van making footprints. Seems like if he was giving her discipline for making paint footprints, he’d have checked the bottoms of her shoes before taking her inside to administer said discipline. I’m just sayin’.

Bless ya!

A Clean Shave

Molly, who's six, has just recently begun to take some "bigger girl" steps. One of those being graduating from the bath to the shower. I remember when that transition occured in my own life, somewhere around her age. Molly is always wanting to do things like me: wear make up, fix her hair, feed babies, walk around in fancy shoes (ok, so that one is really NOT like me...but you get the picture).

A couple nights ago Molly came in to see me when she was done in the shower. She was holding a hanky up to the spot just underneath her nose.

"What's wrong?" I inquired.

"I'm bleeding," Molly replied.

"How did you cut yourself?" I asked.

"Well Mommy, I don't want to lie so I'm just going to tell you the truth. I decided I wanted to shave just like you do, so I used your razor in the shower and cut my lip."

Priceless.

Bless ya!

Longing for the Lion King

There are 6 years separating my oldest and youngest children. When Mason (my oldest) was younger, I did let him watch TV, but I guarded it very heavily and was very choosy (and still am). Veggie Tales were good, Sesame Street was good, and Barnie (I’m ashamed to say) was indeed, good. Mason’s favorite thing to watch was “The Grapes of Wrath” – a Veggie Tales story about forgiveness. He watched it at least once a day. Even now, I can still quote the thing from memory…but I’ll save that for another blog entry.

When Mason was 14 months old, along came Caroline. As he grew I began to let him widen his horizons, so to speak, and along came Disney. Lion King was all he wanted to watch (I can quote it as well. Again…another blog entry)! With Caroline tagging along, of course. Caroline enjoyed the Grapes of Wrath, too, but she wanted to watch what her brother was watching.

Then along came Molly, and more of the same…they are watching bigger kid stuff at younger ages because there is another, older kid watching too.

Ethan, my youngest, is now 2. There is a bigger gap between he and the older children, so I have been able to introduce him to Sesame Street while siblings are at school, and he really likes it.

Which, let me go ahead and say how much I love it myself. I’m even going to go so far as to admit – here on cyberspace – that I enjoyed the show well into my sixth grade year and stopped watching it only because I knew that if any of my friends ever found out, they would laugh at me. But come on! 1, 2, 3…4, 5, 6…7, 8, 9…10, 11, 12…and they all played games…at the ladybug picnic! Classic.

A couple days ago Ethan came to me and said, “Ma…me watch ‘Be Te Ay For’”

“What?”

“Be Te Ay For!”

Then it hit me: Ben Ten Alien Force. Good grief!

Bless ya!

Wanting to be Minty Fresh

Let me tell you about my Saturday morning...

It started out almost as perfect as perfect can get, in that I was able to sleep until 9:00am. No, that's NOT a typo. My 4 high maintenance kids let me sleep in. The other miraculous thing about that is the fact that Michael wasn't even home. he left before 6am to go on a many-mile bike ride, and I didn't expect him home until about 11am or so. The kids let me sleep in and took care of themselves until 9am. Wow.

I walked blurry-eyed into the kitchen after profusely thanking my children for the extra hour or two of REM sleep. As I was adding beans to the grinder, the phone rang. A very excited Michael was on the other end. He had finished his ride and wanted me to go pick up all the "stuff" he was bringing home and couldn't carry himself on his bike. I told him I was fresh out of the bed, but assured him I would just "throw on some clothes" and be there in a jiffy.

I stuck the kids in the car, Ethan still in the diaper from the night before and me with sleep creases on my face, hair disheveled, and a good case of dragon breath. It was not pretty.

When I arrived at the square and saw Michael, I quickly realized that there was some form of miscommunication. My idea of "picking up" and his idea were not one and the same. Michael wanted us to actually EXIT the car, mill around with other riders, mingle and be a part of the post-ride scene. I was having none of it! I tried to explain to Michael about the dragon breath, but his retort was "Well, I don't have great breath either!"

Michael got the kids out of the car. Ethan, in jammies, heavy, down-to-the-knees diaper, and no shoes, Molly dressed like Nanook in long sleeves, jeans and a fleece (it was already at least 80 degrees), Mason and Caroline all took off running. I sat in the car. I had the engine running so I could benefit from the air conditioner, but looked down to see that I was already past the little red line. I had 30 minutes to wait until Michael's lunch arrived from a local BBQ place, and I new I would run out of gas.

So, I called Michael over, explained the situation, told him I was going home to brush my teeth and change Ethan's diaper and that I would be back in a flash.

On the way home I fumed. Why can't Michael understand how I feel? Why would Michael tell me to come get his stuff when all the stuff isn't there yet (the lunch wasn't there)? Doesn't Michael understand that I was fresh out of the bed and might need a few minutes - not to PRIMP - but to look presentable!? Me! Me! Me!

After taking 5 minutes to do the necessaries, I was back on the road.

When I got back up to the square, I saw that Molly was pasty looking. She was also crying. I took off her fleece and told her to go sit on the courthouse steps. We stood around, Molly's wails filling up the background. Lunch had arrived (finally!), and Michael was picking his up when I heard it...

"MAMA!!!!"

I turned and ran over to Molly just in time to help her lean over the side rail and lose her breakfast. I don't think I'll ever feel the same way about pumpkin bread again.

After wiping Molly off with the only thing I had - her fleece, we headed home...

Here's where I'll insert the pithy little tidbit about what God taught me.

Michael wanted me to come up to the courthouse to revel with him in his finishing his first big bike ride. Fresh breath and a baby that doesn't smell like tee-tee were higher priorities for me. If I could do it all over and understand his motive, I hope that I would be a more loving and less selfish wife. Unfortunately, I don't get another chance to relive those moments (and let's face it...in some ways I'm mighty thankful), but because God is a God of grace, and because my husband loves me, I'll have many more chances to try. Some of those chances will result in my successfully loving others well. Some of them, unfortunately, will result in my failure...but through it all, God is committed to completing the work he began. That IS comforting!

I'm thankful I never get tossed.

Bless ya!

One Simple Thing

“Hey, Lady! Move it!”

The words pelted me like pebbles. No, I wasn’t in anyone’s way…the words were coming from…you guessed it, my two-year-old.

We were together – Ethan and I - in the bathroom while I put on my face. I was distracted by my own thoughts, so I didn’t quite see what was happening until the words took form and kicked me out of my stupor. Ethan had 2 matchbox cars, one behind the other.

“Move it, Lady! Move out my way!”

Then it hit me…he’s imitating ME!

Fourth kid…you’d think I would have a couple of things figured out by now.

Another instance: This morning I went shopping. Before dropping Mason off at Michael’s study (so he could do his school work), Mason gave me his wallet with very explicit instructions. I was to buy a “Lego Indiana Jones” game for Nintendo DS, but ONLY if it cost less than $30. If it cost MORE than $30, I was to buy “Lego Batman” instead. (This is all Mason’s money, by the way)

When I returned home, Michael and Mason were doing history work. Mason interrupted to ask, “Mom, did you get my game?”

I teased him. I said, “No, Mason, I forgot to get your game! I am so sorry! I can’t believe I forgot!”

“Mom!” Mason said in reply, “I told you 5 times and I gave you my wallet…and YOU COULDN’T DO ONE SIMPLE THING FOR ME?”

Oh my goodness…my words exactly. I’m sure of it!

The flip side is just as startling. Yesterday Michael’s mom had to have a heart catheterization because of some chest pain she was having. I explained this to the kids and then last night as I was putting the kids to bed, Molly was very teary and sad.

“I want Nana!” she cried. “I’m afraid something bad is going to happen to Nana!”

I tried to comfort her, to do what I could do to ease her anxiety, but it was Caroline who stepped up to the plate: “Molly, God loves Nana and he is taking care of her. Would you feel better if we prayed for her?”

These little people watch everything I do! They listen to what I say and then, at times, say it themselves. What a responsibility! What a daunting task! How humbling…and ultimately, sanctifying.

I love moments like this. Can I be honest? I feel like almost nightly I go to bed thinking “I did a bad job today,” but the Father is so sweet to show me that he is using me in their lives despite my many failures and mess ups…in fact…and this blows my mind…he is sanctifying THEM through me as much as he is sanctifying me through them.

Bless ya!

Bad, Bad Words

“Shu up, Mama!”

I am changing Ethan’s dirty diaper, singing “What is Friend” by Cookie Monster (lyrics below), so I’m only half listening, I admit it.

“Shu up, Mama!”

Did he just say what I think he said? Did my 2 year old just tell me to shut up? Where did he learn that expression? How does he know how to use it correctly? In our house we have talked about ALL the bad words: stupid, dumb, “duh”, jerk, “I hate you” and SHUT UP!

An aside: I realize this list is not exhaustive. But for now, if my 6 year old thinks that stupid is the worst bad word, I’m good.

It seems like with each child, the “bad words” get learned just a little bit earlier. I remember one afternoon when Molly was just 4. I walked into the room only to see and hear two of Mason’s friends teaching Molly bad words. It was a lovely, lovely moment. I went into a short homily about how they, as young men, are called to love and protect little sisters (and even the little sisters of friends!!). They ran away pretty fast.

My favorite part of To Kill a Mockingbird is when Scout sits at the table and asks if someone will pass the damn ham. It makes me laugh, out loud, every single time I read it. Last night, Mason (9 years) sat down at the table, and in his recount of his day, out pops a word that in a million years I would have never have been prepared for. No, I’m not going to tell you the word, but let’s just say it was offensive to me, and it was not used…”correctly.” I didn’t laugh.

I don’t know where he heard it (well, I have an idea, but no proof for sure!!), and really, it doesn’t matter. The whole scenario with Ethan saying “shu up, Mama” was another reminder of how tough parenting is; how utterly exhausting. I was talking with a friend the other day on the phone, talking about some fears I have for my children, not wanting them to experience certain things that hurt, or whatever, and my friend lovingly said, “Amy, don’t worry about screwing up your kids…you’re gonna.” It actually was quite freeing. I’m not a believer in “kids have to experience the world to be able to function in it”, nor am I a believer in “shelter your kids from everything harmful”. Frankly, I’m somewhere in the middle.

Ethan was lying there waiting for me to finish his diaper. I was sitting with my shod feet on the bed while I talked him through why we don’t say “shu up” to Mom. It’s not loving, it’s not respectful, etc., etc. Ethan looked at me with those big blue eyes and said…

“No shoes on the bed, Mama!”

At least he’s listening to me.

Bless ya!



What Is Friend?
sung by Cookie Monster (Frank Oz)

Sometime me think,
What is friend?
And me think,
Friend something very special.

A friend somebody to share your toys,
To stay with and to play with and to make a lot of noise,
To spin around until friend get dizzy,
And jump up and down until stomach get queasy,
And to sometimes tell stories to.
A friend somebody like you.

Sometimes me think,
What is friend?
And me think,
Friend something better than chocolate ice cream!

A friend somebody to take to park,
A buddy to get muddy with 'til it start getting dark
To laugh and joke and hippity-hop it,
Or tickle and poke 'til friend tell you to stop it,
And me no think of any more.
Well maybe friend somebody
You give up last cookie for.

To Do...and Hair Do

Why am I such a slave to my to-do list? What is it about crossing things off of it that just fills my heart with unadulterated joy?

One of the things on my list for today was "blog."

So, there ya go. Mission accomplished.

Ok, so my friend Julie over at "A Fond Affection" found this great website www.yearbookyourself.com and I had to go do it. You upload your picture onto the site and you can see yourself at different "decades" in a yearbook photo. My favorite one is the afro. Give it a try. You won't be disappointed...that is, unless you have dial-up, like me.


Bless ya!

Fun in the Dark

Several nights ago our entire family had been out for the evening. In fact, If I'm not mistaken, we had been at the aforementioned PTO meeting. Regardless, when we returned home our power was out.

Know this: if I go outside and blow really hard on our power lines, the power goes out. Also, our house is the only one in our neighborhood that is tied to a power system from another city. So, when our power goes out, everyone else in the neighborhood around us still has power. It's crazy. I have put Alabama Power on speed dial, though, since I call them at least twice a month. I know the recorded message so well that I can just punch in the numbers without even listening to the prompts.

Having the power off really irritates me. I will walk around and turn switches on, just to make sure it's really off. I also forget it's off and turn switches on expecting light to come on, or microwave to start nuking...but, no. It makes me feel foolish, really.

After returning to our darkened house, I quickly lit some candles and our oil lamp so I could do the dishes and get ready for tomorrow. I was busy in the kitchen and I heard everyone else talking from the rear of the house. Michael had all the kids on our bed, battery operated radio on, and they were all talking..."Dad, tell us stories from when you were little!".

I left the dishes and joined the fun. We rehashed the Twinkie story (of course), the story of when Michael broke his arm, about how I beat up Lee Harrety when he was mean to my little brother. They've heard these stories over and over, but they still ask for them. We laid there in a pile - arms over legs, and legs over middles until well past 9pm.

I think it was the first time I was ever sad to see the lights come back on.

Bless ya!

Chaos at the PTO Meeting

I am, thankfully, a member of the PTO of our local elementary school. I love our elementary school and am so glad to be a part of helping something so good become even better. At our first meeting this past week, I helped with collecting money for t-shirts and PTO dues. Parents and teachers were still filling seats as the meeting started, so I kept my seat at the table towards the side of the room, while Michael…and all 4 children…found a seat in the lunchroom.

The meeting began. There were plenty of children there, so a sort of child-like “hum” of noise could be heard throughout the room. I didn’t think much about it, until I saw little Ethan running up to me.

“Hi, Ma!” (He’s started calling me ‘Ma”. It may be the effect of too much Little House on the Prairie?)

He took off as quick as he came. Down between the rows of lunchroom tables he flew. Then I saw him again…and again…and again. Up and down, up and down, round and round he went. At first I got some of those glances from parents that said, “Oh, isn’t he precious!?” You know the kind I mean. But then something happened. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t.

From across the room I watched helplessly as Molly tried to reign her brother in – to no avail. If this power struggled had taken place in the middle of a lunchroom row, or in the back of the room, I could have stomached it oh, so much better. It didn’t. Molly and Ethan were literally WRESTLING each other at the feet of our beloved principal, who happened to be speaking, microphone in hand, at that very moment.

I watched the tussle from my spot at the money table, virtually glued to my chair with something between fear and utter shame. The two of them were a ball of hair and limbs. Ethan would get an arm out, only to have Molly pull it back in.

“Psst!!” Was the best I could muster. Weak, I know.

There was nothing I could do but wait until it was over. I did say a short prayer, “Lord, please don’t let them knock her down,” which God, thankfully, answered with a “yes”. Ethan broke free and ran to me. Right in front of the principal – all eyes watching him.

You know what? This was good for me. I remarked to Michael later – who saw NONE of it, by the way – that I wondered what I would have thought about the whole scene if it had been another mom’s children. I think I might have thought “Why doesn’t that mom get her children before they knock down the principal?!” In fact, I’m almost positive I would have had those thoughts. As helpless as I felt watching the whole thing go down – for to get into the thick of it would have meant standing up, walking up to the front of the room in front of all the parents and teachers as the principal was speaking, and breaking apart a Tom-and-Jerry-like scene – I realized that had it been another mom, I might not have been as understanding or as gracious with her. A good reminder the next time I am quick to pass judgment on someone because of something I see her kids doing. It seems like the Father has been giving me this reminder over and over again lately: I don’t know the whole story about anyone. I wouldn’t want someone to judge me because of something she happens to see at one event, or because of a decision I make without him/her knowing all the thought and prayer that went into it…you see what I’m saying.

So, this is a picture of God’s mercy to me. I’m thankful for these pictures…and I’m thankful for my sweet and sometimes crazy children, who time and time again are the conduits of God’s grace to me.

Bless ya!

A Blanket Analogy

Self-righteousness – A “right-ness” that comes from self – our own definitions, ideas and resources.



When Mason was born he was given a white, hand-crocheted baby blanket. It was so delicate, so soft, and I knew it was a labor of love.

However, Mason didn’t care much for the blanket. I mean, it was just another blanket to him. Because I thought it was a bit “feminine”, I decided to pack it away and hold on to it in case we ever had a girl.

14 months later, along came that girl. I remembered the blanket and pulled it out for Caroline to use. She loved that blanket – even as a baby. As a toddler, she carried it around with her. It went on car trips with us, to church, to the mall. We went no where without “blankie”.

After several years of “lovin’”, you can imagine how unkempt the blanket came to be. So much so that I decided that if the blanket were going to be preserved in any way, I was going to have to put it away and tempt Caroline with another blanket in its place. It took some coaxing, but I managed to replace old, white blanket with a new, fuzzy, pink one bearing a rabbit. Mission accomplished. I put white blanket into the “safekeeping” box for, well…safekeeping.

Sadly, not a year later, pink blanket was inexplicably and forever lost somewhere. This fact was not brought to my attention until bedtime. Caroline was not to be consoled! After many tears (some of them mine), I retrieved white blanket from safekeeping and presented it to Caroline with a change in my own heart: So what if she loves it to “death”? It’s her blanket.

Caroline is now 8 years old. We know where white blanket is at all times. She doesn’t sleep with it every SINGLE night, but she loves it. Truth be told, white blanket is no longer white, actually. I’d say more of a light gray. In fact, the term “blanket” is also a misnomer. I’d say “clump of string” is more apt. Washing this blanket is out of the question. It would completely disintegrate.

Looking at Caroline with her blanket sort of got me thinking…white blanket is an awful lot like self-righteousness.

Think about it…Caroline has a blanket that she loves. She doesn’t see its flaws. She doesn’t see the gaping holes, the dingy color. She has no idea how ugly the blanket really is. But I do! I look at that thing and see drool stains and holes. I see brown smudges from who knows where. Come to think of it, the thing doesn’t smell very fresh either.

It’s that way with our own self-righteousness. Sometimes we can become “smug” in our views, look down on people because of something they do, or don’t do, set ourselves up as judge of all that’s right or wrong, or consider ourselves always right. The thing is – we may never even overtly know this, but other people do. Our self-righteousness is so crystal clear to others. Others see the holes, the ugliness, the smelliness that we so blindly feel good about.

Since our hearts are “deceitful above all things” self-righteousness is something to which we are all prone. Christians and non-Christians alike.

Here is where the blanket/self-righteousness analogy breaks down a little bit. I love that Caroline loves her blanket. I don’t want her to give it up. Heck – I don’t even really want it to be cleaner necessarily. But as Caroline ages and develops more into a young woman with ideas about how the world and the people in it operate, I pray that she would have a heart of compassion, godly discernment, and an ability to love other people “where they are” rather than judging from a heart that’s self-righteous. That is, after all, the kind of heart Jesus had.

After all, self righteousness is much, much more ugly than the tattered old blanket of her childhood.

Worthless Things

With 3 weeks of homeschooling under our belts, I feel like I can return to my computer. Over the last 3 weeks I’ve gone days without even turning it on, let alone checking e-mail. I can already tell, though, that I like homeschooling. It makes the day a bit “busier” and I don’t always get done what I aim to get done (then again, I didn’t reach those goals very often BEFORE the homeschooling, either), but I have a sense of satisfaction that I can’t really describe. Plus I’ve spent some good time with Mason, and he’s pretty cool.

I feel like I’ve been on a large learning curve with all this, and God seems to be taking me to places in my heart that I really don’t want to see. I’ll be honest – it’s ugly. The Father has been sweetly teaching me to trust him through my own discontentment. I don’t really want to get into all the particulars of the struggle, but suffice it to say that this is probably a place we’ve all been at one time or another…discontentment with what we have or don’t have, be it stuff/money, relationships, respect, children/family, etc. Discontentment is like a festering sore which just gets worse until it is addressed.

A wise woman (Cathy Tanner) once told me that true contentment is believing that where God has you, or what you are experiencing is His best for you. I believe that to be true. It’s not that I’m thinking to myself, “Why does she have ________ while I only have _______?” No, it’s more along the lines of thinking deep, deep in my heart, “Certainly this can’t be IT?? This can’t be the BEST, can it?” I know that sort of flies in the face of what I just said I believed to be true a couple lines above here. Oh, well. I didn’t say it made sense. Discontentment rarely does.

SO, this is my prayer…turn my eyes away from worthless things, Lord. Things that make me forget your goodness to me over and over and over again. Besides, those things that have the most worth…I’ve already got those.

Bless ya!

Are You There, God? It's Me, Ethan.

Ethan has a little plastic ipod he carries around as if it were a cell phone.

If he's awake, the device is almost glued to his ear. On it, he talks to all sorts of people:

Hi Nanna...Hey Uncle Chris...Hi Paw Paw...you get the picture.

The other day I caught him - sippy cup in one hand, plastic ipod in the other - just talking away.

"Ethan, are you talking to Daddy?"

"No ma'am."

"Are you talking to Nanna?"

"No, Mom."

"Well, who are you talking to?"

"God."

Bless ya!

Do You REALLY Love Me?

These are the sounds I heard from the kitchen this morning. Molly and Ethan were having a very deep theological discussion:

“Ethan, do you love me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you REALLY love me?”

“Yes.”

“You do?! Yeah! Do you love Caroline?”

“Yes.”

“Good! Do you love Mason?”

“Yes."

“Do love you Mommy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yes, you love Mommy. Ethan, do you love Satan?”

“Yes.”

“Oh! Ethan, say "no"! Say "no"! You’re not supposed to love Satan…say “no” to Satan, Ethan! Say "no" to him and say “yes” to Jesus.”


You know what I think? I think it would be nice to have Molly follow me around all day asking me about the different things I so clearly love more than Jesus at times.

“Do you really love holding grudges, Mommy?”

“Do you really love serving yourself over everyone else?”

“Say “no”, Mommy! And say “yes” to Jesus!”

It’s cute…the way they hold up the mirror. My children are always reminding me (whether they know it or not) how much I need the Lord.

Bless ya!

PS - Here are the kids in the woods on our recent trip to Tennessee..

Pass the Sunscreen

We have been out of pocket for a couple of weeks: One week we spent in the Tennessee mountains on vacation, one week was spent painting the exterior of our home (no, it's still not done), and this week we've had VBS at our church. Thus the silent treatment. I'm not trying to be passive aggresive, I promise.

The week before we left for Tennessee, Mason came home one day after about 5 hours at the pool with a friend. He looked like a lobster (a red one – Michael informed me, then, that not all lobsters are red. I love my sweet marine biology expert!).

We applied the aloe, we slept without a shirt, we discussed, again, the basics of smart sun safety. Mason had worn a swim shirt to the pool with lots of sunscreen on any exposed areas, but when he got to the pool he removed that shirt. A brain fart, I guess.

Mason was in pain for several days. Real pain. Any contact with his shoulder region left him virtually crumpled up in a tearful heap. My son is very, very fair skinned. I’m going to go ahead and say it: he’s a white boy – like his dad. Lily white to tomato ripe.

A couple days later the blisters appeared. Not those mindless, insignificant ones that you can sort of scrape off with your fingers. These blisters were big – as big as 2 or 3 quarters next to each other. I broke them, but they came back…then came back again. The skin then peeled and left Mason’s shoulders bright red raw pieces of meat. It was all just so lovely.

Yes, a good lesson was learned.

Actually, a couple lessons.

The first lesson is this: sunscreen is necessary. The sun can be painfully harmful to you if you don’t take precautions.

The second lesson was something that I was thinking of while writing in my journal. This whole experience is a good picture, to me, of the “upside down” kingdom-ness of the Christian life: when we are bound, we are free.

If I am bound to my toothbrush, I am free from cavities…but if I choose to throw off the burden of my toothbrush (which I am able to do if I so choose), the result will be my being bound to cavities all my life – painful things that will harm my mouth and ultimately affect my life in a negative way.

If I choose to be free from the burden of sunscreen application, I will become a slave to sunburn. Certain freedoms require some bondages, and some bondages allow wonderful freedom (that’s a line from 30 Days to Understanding the Bible – it’s not original).

This was a great illustration for Mason of the necessity and importance of clinging to the Lord. Sometimes people may think that Christians don’t have any fun, or that Christians are always having to follow certain rules, I told him. But in fact, Christians should be the most free people in the world. If we are bound (clinging to, holding tightly to, reveling in being an adopted child of) the Lord, we are able to be and live exactly as He intended us to: FREELY .

I love this quote by Steve Brown of Key Life Ministries. He says, “Live your life with such freedom and joy that uptight Christians will doubt your salvation.”

So, pass the SPF 60!

Bless ya!

The Blessing of Needing Another

In July of 2006, after plans were in the works for Michael to become Pastor of Monroeville Presbyterian Church, our family made a trip to Monroeville to do a little house hunting. We arrived on a Sunday evening and made arrangements to drop the kids off at VBS on Monday morning while we looked around.

After a morning of perusing homes we returned to the church to pick up our kids and discovered something: My Caroline had made a friend – a friend that would turn out to be her “best friend”. Caroline G, as we call her, has been a fixture in our home, in our discussions or in our thoughts for nearly 2 years. This week we learned that Caroline G is moving, which has been very sad for Caroline M. It’s also been very sad for me.

A friend of mine told me once “you’ve got to have a bosom to be a bosom friend,” and I think she is exactly right. Women just desire and create an intensity in their friendships that men, well...don't. When we lived in Illinois, I had a friend named Dominai. She lived across the street from me and we were together ALL the time. She was one year older than me in school, but when we came home in the afternoons we were busy – busy watching TV or making up choreography to various REO Speedwagon tunes (Don't stop...Believing...Hold on to that Feelayayain'...). In the summer we traded clothes, played goofy games, spent the night at each other’s houses, played kick-the-can until well past dark, and tape recorded ourselves doing all these weird dramatic sketches. We rolled our first yards together. I remember when she moved away – it was as if one big chunk of my heart was loaded into that moving van for the long trek to Atlanta. I know how Caroline feels.

Watching Caroline G and Caroline M together has been fun as well as educational. The way little girls play together shows the capacity most females have for intimate relationships. Their games are usually relational: playing house, Barbies or school, or developing REO Speedwagon choreography. Girls hold hands and touch a lot (Michael used to think it was sooo weird that I almost could NOT have a conversation with Julie without holding her hand). They enjoy each other so much, and also get into the biggest fights. They finish each other’s sentences, and then punish each other with threats: “you’re not my best friend anymore!” This dichotomy has made clear to me one thing – real friendship, as wonderful and "worth-it" as it is, is sometimes hard. Perhaps friendship is a crucible for sanctification.

All of us have a tendency toward idolatry – to get life from something other than the Lord. Friendship is such a gift, but it becomes an idol when we seek approval or affirmation from our friends, or when we put ourselves out there as or strong women who never need anyone and long only for others to need us.

Honestly, I struggle with this. I hate to ask for help. I hate to ask anyone to keep my kids for an afternoon, or accept a meal for my family when I’m sick. God is showing me that it’s the pride in me that doesn’t want to be needy. But if I don’t let others love me, I’m not really loving them, either, and in turn, I miss out on the blessing of needing another.

Caroline and Caroline became friends in the first place because one needed the other. That day at VBS, Caroline G missed her mom and she needed encouragement. Caroline M gave that to her. As we were moving to Monroeville, Caroline M needed a good, stable, long-term friend. Caroline G gave that to her. What a beautiful picture of God providing for us through each other. After all, isn’t that really the point of friendship anyway?

When the day is done, Caroline G and Caroline M love each other, despite any bickering or silly hurt feelings. They love to be together, and being together teaches them more about what it means to love, to give, to need others. And that’s just a little piece of heaven.

We’ll miss you Caroline G!

Bless ya!

The OTHER Kind

Michael - don't read this...

Earlier today, after finishing our chores and watching one episode of "Little House on the Praire", I had the girls find a book and read for an hour. I typed away on the computer (writing my previous post, "Trifling Risks") while Caroline had her nose deep inside "The Chicken Pox Panic" - she loves to read.

Caroline looked up from her book and asked me, "Mommy, does Molly know about periods?"

"I don't think so Caroline...do YOU know about periods?" I asked in reply.

"Sure, mom, I know all about them," She said.

"Well, Caroline, I'm surpised to hear you say that. Wow! I had really hoped that you and I would one day have a discussion about that. Who told you about periods?" I asked.

"Mrs. Meyers. She told me last year when I was in kindergarten," Caroline answered.

"Oh, my goodness, Caroline! I am so shocked! I just can't believe she thought you were old enough for that sort of discussion - and to not send a note home or anything...that is very strange. Why didn't you tell me about this before now?" I bellowed.

"Was she not supposed to do that? She told our whole class. She told us about question marks, too."

Bless ya!

Trifling Risks

Michael has decided that this summer Mason will take some steps "out of the nest". He will now be allowed to ride his bike to swim team practice as well as our church, which is right off the square (about a mile away). There are sidewalks almost the entire way both places, but I've still been nervous about it. I told Michael that if Mason was going to be allowed to do this, I wanted him to be able to have some form of communication - a walkie-talkie, a cell phone - something.

We borrowed walkie-talkies from a neighbor, but they wouldn't reach all the way to the square. We investigated adding a cell phone to our plan, but it would be an extra $10 per month. Not gonna happen. It seemed we had hit a wall in the communication options search, so I rested easier, hoping the whole suject might be tabled until next year.

Imagine my dismay when Michael walked in yesterday evening with a "go-phone". I didn't even know such a device existed.

Michael brought the phone home (my favorite line from ET) last night - a complete surprise to Mason, who was beside himself with joy. He tinkered and pressed buttons and got it all set up to his liking. Then I knew: the next morning he would be wanting to take off on his own and head to swim practice, phone-in-hand.

This morning over a cup of coffee I was writing in my journal while Mason was all aflutter around me. He packed his goggles, towel and (of course) his phone into his backpack and waited eagerly for his departure time.

Before he left I gave him strict instructions: call me as soon as you get there; call me when you are about to come home. Stop at stop signs, look both ways, pay attention. Then, Michael quizzed him: what should you do if _________________ ? Feeling good about things, we sent him off.

You know what? I know it's just not that big a deal. The pool isn't far. Really, the square isn't that far, either. There's just something a little unsettling about sending my child - my nine year old child - out on his own.

The Lord brought a couple of facts to heart as I sat with my coffee this morning. First, He reminded me that He, himself, loves my son. He loves him and has a plan for his life. He loves him, in fact, even more than I love him. Second, I was reminded that my boy - and all boys have to face "dangers" as part of their growth. It's just part of how God made them. Last spring I walked outside to find Mason and a friend at least 30 feet up my neighbor's magnolia tree. I have this great quote from RM Ballantyne's book "The Gorilla Hunters" on my kitchen cabinet. It says:

"Boys should be inured from childhood to trifling risks and slight dangers of every possible description, such as tumbling into ponds and off of trees, etc., in order to strengthen their nervous system...They ought to practice leaping off heights into deep water. They ought never to hesitate to cross a stream over a narrow unsafe plank for fear of falling. They ought never to decline to climb a tree to pull fruit merely because there is a possibility of their falling off and breaking their necks. I firmly believe that boys were intended to encounter all kinds of risks, in order to prepare them to meet and grapple with risks and dangers incident to man's career with cool, cautious self-posession..."

I watched him peddle away, said a quick prayer, then returned to my writing.

A few minutes later I heard the wonderful sound of the phone.

"Hey Mom!...I made it!!"

Bless ya!

Happy Daddy's Day!

I'd like to say "Happy Father's Day" to two very important dads in my life.

First, to my own father, Butch Carden. I love you, dad! Everytime I look at you I see God's hand and his work in your life. Christopher and I have benfitted from your help throughout our lives...I hope you have a terrific day.

Also, to Michael, my beloved. You deserve a day to celebrate all that you are and do - because we both know I don't do a good enough job of showing you my appreciation. Mason, Caroline, Molly and Ethan are so blessed to have you as a strong, present influence in their lives. Your love for them, and for me, inspires us all and is a safe harbor.

You both are great...and loved...and appreciated.

Bless ya!

Lysol and Lunchables

Getting away from the routine of life is soooo good for the soul, isn’t it?

We left last Sunday for General Assembly in Dallas, Texas. Our intention was to leave Monroeville and drive to Houston, spend a couple nights with Michael’s sister and family there, then drive on to Dallas Tuesday morning.

We got about 15 minutes down the road when Michael got a call – both Marissa (his sister) and her oldest child had a stomach virus.

Now, if you don’t know much about the MacCaughelty kids, know this: if there is a stomach bug or some other creepy form of germ within a 12 mile radius, they will catch it…oftentimes all four at once.

We turned the car around.

I really didn’t want to go back home because I had prepared the house for the carpet cleaning that would take place in our absence, plus the kids were really psyched. We made a couple calls, found a place to stay in Birmingham and reserved a room in Dallas for a night early.

We hit Birmingham around dinner time, and we were able to make the most of it: dinner with Roger and Lynne Means (Lynne is like my older sister), Herbie and Ashley (another one of Michael’s sisters) and family, then a visit with Steve and Tracy Whitner & family at their house. Finally we made it to Michael’s mom’s house where we visited a while and then hit the sack.

We were up at 5:30am the next day, packed and on our way out between 6:30am and 7:00am. The day was great. The kids did great, the weather was great, no traffic, etc.

We stopped along the way at a Walgreen's becasue I had to pick up a few things. Sunglasses (since I evidently lost mine somewhere in Birmingham), hand sanitizer (our car bottle was nearly empty), and lysol (to spray the hotel room with before we descended on it. I know that probably sounds crazy...it's just a thing I do. We don't want any of those nasty bugs, now do we!?).

We hit Dallas about 8pm, easily found our hotel, sprayed the room down and settled in for the night. Tuesday morning we took the shuttle to the Hyatt, where GA was being held, and the fun began.

The kids had a great time! The first afternoon they went to the Aquarium, then saw an Imax movie. The second day was VBS, followed by the Dallas Zoo, then Thursday was VBS followed by the Science Exploreum thing-a-ma-bob. They saw all their friends from last year, made some new ones and absolutely loved every minute of it.

While Michael was in seminars and meetings, I entertained myself. The Hyatt sold Starbucks, so there ya go. I also was able to meet up with some pastor’s wives from GAs before, and met some new friends as well – Hi, Rae!

The Hyatt was right there at Dealey Plaza. I took a picture of the “grassy knoll”, got to see the Texas Schoolbook Depository, and the big white “X” on the street where JFK was shot. It was very surreal.

The seminars I went to were wonderful, and the conversations I was able to have with other women in the same “place” as I am were refreshing and inspiring. I learned, again, that the things I struggle with – as a pastor’s wife and regular old “sinner” – are not particular to me. I heard lots of stories this week, and I was reminded that every church is flawed (because they are made up of selfish, sinful people like me), but that God has blessed our family with a healthy, wonderful church who loves us and cares for us so well, is patient with our mistakes and faux pas, and is very supportive.

Our evenings were spent in the pool or just hanging out in the room. Good times.

We loaded up Friday morning for the ride back home, our souls refreshed, our children tired from a week’s worth of fun. As I sat sipping my coffee in the breakfast area of the hotel, I said to Michael, “this has been the best, easiest trip we have ever had as a family…”

Dum-dum-dum-duuuuh! (That’s supposed to be foreboding music). Cue the dryer! It’s time for a little opportunity for sanctification!!!

Driving along. We hit Jackson, Mississippi at about 5pm. Not a good plan, but what could we do? The Friday evening traffic was horrible. I was driving while Michael took a nap. Ethan started to get whiny, but I just figured he was sick of sitting in his car seat. He was sick all right, but not of the car seat. Let’s just say this: in our experience, “Jackson” will now be referred to as “Yack-son”.

Let me back up and interject a bit of info here: Michael and I politely disagreed about where to stop for lunch. (Actually, he was more polite than I, my having called his idea “asinine”.) He wanted to go to Wal Mart where we could pick up a Lunchable, eat it in the car, and also grab some snacks, since we were out at this point. (Another aside…we packed our snacks instead of stopping at gas stations. Hmmmm. I didn’t get one gas station snack to tide me over. Well, except for that one I bought during a bathroom stop while everyone else was in the car. I kept that knowledge (and those m&ms) to myself.). My idea was to stop at a Wendy’s or something and let the kids run around a bit. I have an aversion to lunchables after a not-so-lovely experience as a kid. We went with his idea.

As I said, the whining started when we hit Yackson. I am driving in bumper-to-bumper Yackson traffic when – you guessed it! We get to see the Lunchable again!

And again.

And again.

And yet again.

Michael yells at me to pull over, but I see a turn up ahead that will get us off the road. A battle of the wills ensues, during which, Ethan is crying, Caroline is crying, Molly wants to know when we’re stopping for dinner, and “Alvin and the Chipmunks” is blaring in the background.

I submit (let me be clear: only outwardly. Inside I was reveling in my perceived rightness. Sorry, Honey. I know now that was not the time to argue).

We clean Ethan up as best as we can. We are still a good 3 hours from home. Maybe it was just something he ate? We really just don’t have much with which to be able to clean him. Michael used his T-shirt…then his undershirt. He was standing on the side of the road, in Yackson, during rush hour, with a bare chest. We looked like “country come to town” to passersby, I’m sure. Beach towels…pillowcases. You cannot believe this scene, I promise you. Between Yackson and Monroeville, Ethan has on 3 different sets of clothes, Michael had on 4 different shirts. If my baby hadn’t been so sick and pitiful, it would have been comical. I’m trying to set it all up for you and be descriptive, without being too gross. I hope I’ve done my job.

Needless to say, today I’m spending most of the day doing laundry.

As we were pulling into Monroeville, I commented to Michael how funny it was that I had just remarked to him that morning about how easy the trip had been. He then reminded me of a couple of things: One, Ethan didn’t get sick on the way TO Dallas, but rather on the way HOME. God’s grace to us. Second, Ethan got sick in YACKSON rather than in SHREVEPORT. God’s grace to us. Third, no one ELSE got sick, just Ethan. God’s grace to us yet again. We had a safe trip, a fun trip, a refreshing trip, and we get to come home to a place we love and want to be. I also learned that no matter how much I try to make things go my way (i.e. Lysol in the hotel room...Ethan probably picked up that bug from being in the GA nursery after all that spraying I did of our room) The father is ultimately concerned with our hearts and teaching us to depend on him when things are tough. Even a little bit. That's his grace to us, too. God is good!

Bless ya!

Car Snacks and a God-Pleasing Perspective

We are leaving Sunday for Texas - General Assembly (Dallas) and visit to Michael's sister (Houston).

Time in the car - this much time, mind you - just about puts me over the edge. I don't mind car rides, but it will be 10 or so hours to Houston and at least 12 home from Dallas. I'm packing some good books (R is for Ricochet by Sue Grafton, Songs in Oridinary Time by Mary Morris, and Heaven by Randy Alcorn - I wanted to bring 1776 by McCullough, but I can't find it at the Library!!) for the ride, but I know the walls will eventually close in on me. I can't sleep in the car at all, so that's out. The kids will have dvds to watch and books to read, but they'll eventually want to wrestle and be loud (in essence: be kids).

Do you know what the saving grace will be on such a long road trip?

Gas station snacks.

Yes, I'll pack some nibbles for the ride, but let's face it: there's just something delicious about the sweet and salties perched on the shelves of small town Texaco. Overpriced treats one would never really think of consuming in day-t0-day life (at least not me, living on a budget and all) beckon to us from their dusty abodes next to the aisle of canned ham and spoons with state names on them. My favorite? Those Starbucks frappacino drinks in the refrigerator case. Of course, I can also do with a good trail mix - but I like the one that has peanut butter chips in it.

Do they still make coffee nips? If so, maybe I should just purchase a box of those and take them like medicine.

I remembered my lesson last November at the beach taking our Christmas picture. Whatever my attitude, so goes the family's. Talk about having great power...and not in a good way.

Would you do me a favor? Would you pray for me? I want to have a wonderful time - both in the car and in the heat at General Assembly. Please pray (as I prayed for myself this morning) that I would remember that God's strength is shown in my weakness and I need only to depend on him. I'm 100% sure there will be opportunities for sanctification in abundance.

Yes, even when the decibel levels are high, the road is bumpy, and my stomach is growling for Starbucks frappacino, God is good.

Bless ya!

Trial by Bug

I know many of my faithful friends have given up on me and will never visit "Crayons" again, as a result of my having neglected to post anything new or even remotely interesting in quite a while. It's a terrible disappointment to me to go to a blog I enjoy reading and find it resting on the same post week after week (example? You know who you are, Dawn Cwynar!!)

Well, this morning I have a story to tell.

Michael and I, over the course of our nearly 11 years together, have had many experiences with critters. In our first apartment we had what we called our "welcome home roach". Every time we were out for the evening, upon our return there would be a single roach waiting for us in some part of our apartment. One time we returned and didn't find our little friend waiting for us...until we pulled down our sheets to go to bed!!!

Then, in Cullman we shared our abode with a family of squirrels. We could hear them rustling and eating through our wires above our heads while we watched TV. Once when I was cooking dinner on the stove I heard a thump in the vent above the cooktop. Michael went up into the attic with (unbeknownst to me) a pellet gun. The poor squirrel had fallen down into the vent and was trapped. Michael shot him in the vent...while I was cooking dinner...and squirrel fur puffed out all over our dinner and the dead squirrel was hanging out, bloody, over whatever it was I was cooking. I think we went to Chik-fil-A that night.

Then, right after we moved here to Monroeville, I was folding clothes in the girls' room and heard a strange sound. I stopped and looked around, but found nothing. Then I heard it again...nothing. Then I saw it - a giant black and blue lizard on the carpet right next to me. I had to call Michael home from work to get it. I know now it was a "skink". But I don't care, and neither should you.

All that to say (and I could go on), we are no stangers to the occasional critter.

I have been spring cleaning. Basically, I am going room by room and giving it the thorough "once over"...baseboards, organizing drawers, cabinets and closets, vacuuming furniture, laundering curtains and anything else that's not nailed down. Sadly, it is giving life to me in some very weird ways...but that's another blog entry altogether.

Anyhoo, while cleaning the hardwood floor underneath my bed, I came across an old People magazine. (Incidentally, if anyone has any tips on how to keep the underbelly of a bed clean, I'd love to hear them! It is always a bevy of dust-bunnies). The magazine was open and face-down. I pulled it out and discovered 2 small-ish piles of what appeared to be sawdust.

"Hmmm," I thought to myself, "Maybe there is a screw or something coming loose in one of the slats - hence the piles..."

But deep in my heart I knew that wasn't it.

Later that night - about 10:30 pm or so, while Michael and I were getting ready for bed - I remembered the 2 piles of sawdust planted on Brittney Spears face and showed them to Michael. He got on his stomach and glanced under the bed. "I don't see anything!"

Well, of course you wouldn't see anything. It's dark under there, you're practically asleep. Good grief! I, then, go in search of the flashlight. With Michael on one side of the bed and I on the other, I shine the light towards the vicinity of the piles. Something's...well...something is there! I can clearly see 2 objects that appear to be antennae hanging down from the slat.

"Michael, don't you see that?" I inquire.

"Yeah...I see it," He replies.

WHAM!

Turns out, it was a bug. A weird, demonic bug with a voracious appetite for slats. He had eaten a tunnel into one part of the slat and had come out about 6 inches down-slat. How long had he been there? Your guess is as good as mine. But for however long, I had been sleeping over a demon bug and didn't know it.

OK..Michael then puts the bug into a ziplock bag so he can keep it and find out what kind it is. Meanwhile, I am on Google trying to find out myself. I NEED to know, right now at 11pm, whether or not this bug is some kind of mutant termite and if my walls are about to come crashing down. So, I smartly Google "brown wood eating bug insect white spots on back mutant termite from hell".

For some reason, Michael finds this funny (someone please tell him! THAT'S how you do Google!!). Meanwhile, bug is still twitching in side the bag. We named him "Google", then put him out of his misery. (I don't like bugs, but I'm not cruel to them! Well, except for the black widow spider that Michael caught and caged yesterday to show the kids. I insisted she be smashed). Michael has a friend who works in the entymology department at Oregon. We may have to fed-ex the bug to him.

Needless to say, my Google search gave me about 48,000 results. Not helpful.

You might think the story ends here...but you'd be wrong.

"Let's go to bed," my sweetheart suggests.

Oh, no - I'm not sleeping with that demon bug's habitat underneath me. What if it has laid millions of eggs inside my slat? What if they hatch tonight and we go crashing to the floor? Or worse...what if they move to other slats, or walls, or children? No, honey - that slat's coming off TONIGHT!

So, late as it was, my sweet, wonderful, sacrificial husband took the mattress off...and the box springs, got out his drill, unscrewed the slat, put a new slat in its place, and threw the demon-possessed slat out into the yard.

Then we got into bed and laughed.

I still have the bug. I still want to know what it is. But life has to go on. I still have many, many more closets to clean.

Bless ya!

Over Stimulation

Hello, friends and lurkers alike (lurkers are friends, too!!). It's been a while.

The end of the school year is a busy, busy time for everyone. It's a good busy, though.

Yesterday, for example, my day went a little something like this:

7:45 drop off

8:00 upload pictures from camera onto computer at Michael's office to make room for end-of-year activities

8:30 Caroline's choir performance at Monroeville Middle

10:00 Caroline's choir performance at Community Center

11:15 Caroline's choir party at McDonald's (I'm still a bit jittery)

12:20 Ethan lays down for a nap, I make grocery list

1:30 Ethan's nap is over, and off we go to Wal Mart (I'm still a bit jittery) to buy "stuff", including the "stuff" for Michael and the kids' camping trip tomorrow

2:50 Pick up kids from school and head to Winn Dixie for second half of shopping trip

4:00 Homework, snacks, costume changes

4:30 Caroline's friend (Caroline G) calls to see if Caroline can come over...yes, can your mom come get her?

4:44 Notice Molly's eye...looks like possible staff infection...call to Dr...they are already closed...call to after hours answering service...leave my information

5:00 PTO Officers' Meeting...doctor calls back about 5:10 (during meeting)

6:00 Go pick up Caroline from Caroline G's

6:20 To Rite Aid to pick up prescriptions

6:30 Back home, start dinner

7:10 Dinner and dessert...strawberry shortcake, yum!

7:40 Baths/showers

8:00 stories/prayer

8:15 Rip (see previous posts)

9:00 Watch DVR of American Idol - IF I voted, I would vote for Archuleta.

9:45 Asleep on couch

Today is going to be much the same. Today is awards day at school, we'll have to pack for the camping trip today (because tomorrow is field day, plus there's a funeral reception at our church in the afternoon), and Ethan and I have to pack for Birmingham. I like being busy, though sometimes it stresses me out. Here is a VDO of Caroline's solo. It made me cry.

Bless ya!

Life...

Life has been really hectic...crazy...wild...busy. Pick your adjective.

When I find a moment or two - maybe this week - I am SOOO gonna blog.

Bless ya!

Mother's Day Recap

I had a wonderful Mother's day. It was hard and sad at a couple of points (which I plan on blogging about...hopefully tomorrow), but my children and sweet husband made me feel so special.

Michael made lunch on Sunday...he set the alarm clock to go off at midnight Saturday so he could get up and put something in the crock pot - a roast. For lunch we had the most delicious French Dip sandwiches - I absolutely have never had a FD that was as good as the ones he made! The children gave me homemade cards, picture frames, refrigerator magnets, dollar store lotion. All my favorite things. Michael gave me the most wonderful gift, though - he's going to take the kids camping...and I can do whatever I want! I'll miss the camping...but time away makes me a better mom. I'm like the cordless screwdriver...20 hours of charging for 10 minutes of use (I read that in "Blue Like Jazz" and laughed because it was so apt).

How was YOUR Mother's Day? No dustbusters, I hope?

Bless ya!

Mother's Day Tips

This is a note to all the men who read this blog.

Actually, I know there aren't any...but just let me have my fun.

A note to all men: Mother's Day is coming up. Don't blow it. here are a few of, what I believe, are the most helpful tips you will ever need.

Tip #1 - Think ahead. You still have 3 days...but you only have 3 days. If you haven't taken action, or at least spent some time planning, you are already behind schedule. A Saturday night trip to Wal-Mart or Food World is not going to serve you well. The cards are picked over and the pre-arranged bouquets have leaves that are browning. We know if you've saved this important task for the last minute.

Tip #2 - Think through meal planning. In my opinion, any meals your wife has to cook/prepare are actual withdrawals from the emotional bank. Breakfast in bed? Great. Lunch out after church? A no brainer. Dinner is really a judgement call. My advice? Know your wife. If you made a late-evening trip to the local grocery store floral department, I'd say dinner, too.

Tip #3 - Think before gift buying. The old "stand by's" may not be the best option anymore. Be creative. Does your wife like practical gifts? Then you are in luck...but remember that "practical" is not a synonym for "dustbuster". Practical gifts are those little lovelies that are not only fun to look at, but useful, as well. The gift doesn't even have to be expensive!! The key is to use your imagination! For your benefit, here are some bad gift ideas: dustbuster (I already mentioned this), any cleaning accoutrement whatsoever, pots and pans (unless the box clearly says "Calphalon - complete set" somewhere on it), grill tools, or anything at all that could be used on the lawn (save gardening stuff...if she's into that).

Tip #4 - Think "time management". What are your plans for the day? Don't have any? Get some. Will you be having a picnic? Making a trip to the park with the kids and a camera? Letting her have the afternoon "off"? Go ahead and think through your laundry needs for next week early in the weekend. No boxers will be laundered on Sunday, buddy!

These are tried and true tips. Tried and true, I'm telling ya. These were gathered from personal research. It is my belief that adopting these tips can help to ensure a safe and restful Mother's Day for all involved.

Bless ya!

Lost at the Ball Park

Yesterday Caroline went with her first grade class to see the Biscuits Play baseball. She was very excited about going, but as we were getting ready that morning we faced a hurdle: should she wear a hat or not?

Caroline, in typical girl style, wanted to wear a hat with her pony tail poking through the back, but was afraid that no one else would be wearing a hat. What if her teacher told her she couldn't wear a hat, and then she had to take it off? Singled out?! Forget it!

We finally came to a conclusion after several minutes of talking it through. I wrote a note to teacher asking for permission for Caroline to wear the hat and assured her (Caroline) that if she was indeed allowed to wear it, her student-teacher would certainly know how to poke the pony tail through. She seemed ok with that plan.

Let me give some more explanation: Caroline couldn't bear to be told "no" by her teacher...this was the reason for her apprehension. Not the "no" itself, but the fact that others might hear and she would be embarrassed. I can totally relate, even though as an adult I could say the whole thing doesn't make sense or that she's overreacting. However, this whole scenario could be a page from my childhood, so I'm not pointing any fingers.

Anyway, as I was dropping Caroline off, I prayed for her: that she would have confidence in the Lord, no matter what teacher said, and that she would be content, without or without her hat. I then went on to pray that God would just make it possible for Caroline to wear her hat on this hot, sunny day at the ball field. (in case you're wondering why this hat thing is a big deal at all - we have a strict uniform dress-code at our school, which is nice, but somewhat of a millstone about my neck at times.)

After leaving Caroline at the school, I had one of those "feelings". I can't really explain it, except to say that I was unsettled in my spirit. Was it the hat issue? Maybe...but it felt deeper than that. All day long I felt a nagging sort of feeling inside me. I wondered if it was her self-consciousness, which surprised me, because she is a very confident little girl. Either way, I felt compelled to pray for her all day long. Like I said, something just wasn't "settled".

At 3:45 I went back to the school to pick her up. I noticed she had a hat on when she got off the bus, which made me smile...but there was something about her face. Something...troubled.

The story goes something like this: Caroline, on a trip to the restroom with the girls in the class, failed to hear the teacher say for everyone to meet at the sinks when they were done. Caroline finished up first, walked out of her stall and saw that no one was there. Thinking she had been left behind, she left the restroom and began walking. (AACK!!) After walking for what, to her, seemed like forever back towards where she had come from (feeling scared and alone), she found one of the chaperones, who lead her back to wear the first grade classes were seated.

When teacher discovered Caroline was not with the group in the restroom, she panicked for a moment (as would have I). When she took the class back to their seats, she happily found Caroline. Teacher then took Caroline aside and (in Caroline's words) "got on to" her. I know she wasn't harsh...but I thought it was interesting that the thing Caroline hoped to avoid with the hat drama in the first place, was played out, not only with her class present, but the entire first grade and all those watching the Biscuits game as well.

How often do I try and orchestrate events in my life so that things go my way and I avoid any sort of less-than-wonderful light? I'll tell you: lots. I think it was a good lesson for Caroline and for me. For Caroline: listen well, apply wisdom, and trust that what God has us face (whether comfy or not) passes through his loving hand first. For me: that still, small voice is something I must listen to. I really feel the Father had prompted me to pray for her all day and had given me that "unsettled" feeling so that I would intercede for her and her class that day.

Whew!

Bless ya!

The Lion and the Lamb

Don't you just love it when God uses your children to show you your sin?

That sounds a little sarcastic, but actually, I don't mean it that way. When my children point out something in my life, it's usually dead on, and also a little funny or cute, so I get the conviction...and a laugh, too.

Ok, now that sounds like I might think sin is funny or something. Good grief...if I'm going to sit around and worry about what you people think of me, I'll never get my housework done...

Anyway, the following is a question (and maybe a commentary?) that was put to me by my precious Molly this morning at the breakfast table. Let me set the scene: after sleeping in for quite a few extra minutes, I inevitably woke the kids late. So, by the time we made it to the breakfast table, we should have already been well into "chore chart" time. I told the girls that since we were running late, we were just having a quick breakfast - nothing fancy. Caroline then proceeds to ask if she can have different things that will take time to make: waffles, toast, cinnamon rolls. No, no, no, I answer. Cereal, nutri-grain, cheese - you pick, but pick now. Caroline pouts and points out that in the time it has taken me to chop up an orange for Molly, I could have stuck a couple peices of bread in the toaster. True enough. SO, I grab the bread, throw it on the counter, shove two pieces into the toaster.

Molly looks at me and asks: "Mommy, will there be animals in heaven?" I explain to her that she has asked a great question and that, yes, there will be animals (in the new earth - hope my theology is correct here. Michael?), and if we feel like taking a nap, we will be able to curl up next to a great big lion to stay warm and he won't hurt us. That, in fact, the wild animals will be our friends - they will be nice to us.

Then she adds: "Mommy, will you be nice to us in heaven?"

Ouch!


Bless ya!

Footnote: I could add here that at the moment this interchange occured I had been awake for a mere 5 minutes, hadn't had my coffee yet, etc...but that would be excuse making. Molly called me on the carpet. I was unkind to my children this morning. Maybe not so much in my words, but in my actions (which they saw clearly), I was anything but "nice". I need reminders like this...they show me how ugly my heart can be, but also my desperate need of Jesus.

Making my own Messes

Last night I was making Mason's 9th birthday (yikes!!) invitations. Ethan came to me (we had stayed home from church because Molly had a stye in each eye...at one point she had blood dripping from BOTH eyes. It was lovely. I'll post a picture later) whining from hunger. Now, he had just finished a generous portion of spaghetti-o's and a string cheese, so I told him that no, he couldn't have a snack.

"Mommy, bish!" (fish, as in goldfish crackers)

"No, Ethan, you just ate, and Mommy is busy."

"Bish, Mommy, peas (please)!"

"No, sweetheart.."

At this point Ethan throws himself onto the floor wailing. After my brief flashback to Rite Aid, I am brought to my senses and quickly administer the loving rebuke (i.e. a couple of swats on the fanny).

Honestly, here is where I have probably made my mistake: I then give Ethan the goldfish. The thing that he has been whining about and for which I have told him no repeatedly, I then hand to him on a silver platter (actually it was a little plastic cup, but you understand, right?). Basically, I just want to finish the invitations thank-you-very-much.

I then continue writing away. After a while I tune back in to what is going on around me. I hear a crunching sound, and turn to see that Ethan has dumped the fish (bish) out onto the kitchen floor and is stepping on them one by one. Unfortunately for me, I have caught him just in time for the last one or two.

Since these are the "rainbow" colorful goldfish, I have quite a mess to contend with.

Molly walks in and comments on how pretty all the crumbs look on the floor. (She is her father's "the glass is half full" daughter for sure).

After a brief encounter with the broom and dustpan, all is well. Clean, I mean.

Life seems full of these "little messes" (not just crackers on the floor) that require some time and energy, but don't really leave a mark.

Then, there are the other kind...the kind that leave big gashes and bleeding, oozing wounds that have to heal. Like the kind of messes we make with our tongues. I have been leading a Bible study on James (I think I mentioned that in an earlier post) and this past week we studied James 3:1-12...the passage on taming the tongue. James says that our tongues sets the course of our life! It reveals what we believe about God! The things we say are what bubble up out of heart - whether it be praise worthy or vile. God has convicted me over and over during the last couple weeks about the ways I use my tongue. I found this great verse in Proverbs 21 which says something like (not quoting) He who holds his tongue saves himself from calamity.

James goes on to say that no man can tame the tongue. So, I'm not condemned, but rather encouraged to look to (to RUN to!!)the one who can - the one who never said anything wrong or incorrectly, and who always said everything that needed to be said and said it rightly. I sometimes make huge messes that can't always be "swept up" like the goldfish. My improper use of my tongue and the messes I make with it help me see my desperate need of Jesus, and in turn, prompt me to pray for repentance and new obedience. And after all is said and done...that's what I want.

Espresso Arriving

Just a note to all my far away, Starbuck's-in-your-town friends...

Yesterday I kept my friend Crissy's kids while she went to teach some of her new employees how to work the espresso machine in the COFFEE AND BOOKSTORE SHE IS OPENING NEXT MONTH!! My two favorite things!

Yes! My mothership (kidding) has landed!

Crissy brought me a shot of espresso when she came to pick up her babies. I took a sip...and I literally got chills.

So, now you have even MORE reason to come see me. I mean, apart from just the good company and killer "guest suite" with fluffy towels.

So, gals...who wants to make a reservation?

Bless ya!

Dirty, Clunky Shoes

This week my children brought home the proofs of their spring school pictures.

I got the note a couple weeks ago telling me when the pictures were going to be. I brushed and fixed hair. I chose clean, cute shirts...and even cute pants (for the girls), just in case a little "pant" would show in the photos.

Let me state here that the school dress code stipulates lace-up tennis shoes, and since I am a rule follower, the tennis shoes were worn on picture day as well, though some "kicky" sandals would have paired so much more nicely. Caroline and Molly both looked very cute all dressed up in their chic crop pants, but below the ankles they were all socks and clunky sketchers, dirty from a near 10 months of wear.

Imagine my frustration when I viewed the proofs...and discovered a full body shot...clunky, dirty sketchers and all.

I'm not buying spring pictures this year.

Bless ya!

Blip...

Yesterday was one of those days where I just felt like I was moving from thing to thing. We had a birthday party to go to, a baseball game and pictures, visits from friends, errands, tasks...the same things you do on your Saturday. But something funny happened, which I thought illustrated the day (and maybe life, too?) quite well. I wanted to share it with you.

I walked back to our bathroom and noticed the tissue needed replacing. So, I made my way to the hallway to access the linen closet (where such is kept), passed Caroline's bedroom on the way, and noticed something. There was a pile of clothing lying on the bed that I had JUST hung up. I walked in, looked at the mess, mentally prepared my homily and called Caroline in.

"Caroline...mommy has enough tasks to do without having to repeat any. I'm good, thanks. Please don't get piles of things out of your closet and throw them on your bed! Now, practice your hanging skills!"

Then, Mason ran into the room...

"Mom! Ethan has spilled his milk all over the kitchen floor!" This surprised me, since I hadn't mopped that day. So, I walk to the kitchen to find said spill waiting for me. Several Bounty later, we're good to go.

Then, Molly comes to me...

"Mom, will you please change my earrings?". Sure. We walk to her bedroom to pick out a new set of bobs. She takes off the back and...drops it into the thick, blue carpet. "It's ok," I comfort her, "we'll find it!"

On hands and knees we search - rubbing over the carpet until finally a little silver object pops into view. Earrings changed, I venture once again into the kitchen to remove the chicken I've been defrosting in the microwave.

After cutting up the chicken and dousing it with marinade, I walk back to my bathroom...

And noticed the tissue needed replacing.

Sometimes I feel I get too caught up in my own agenda (mopping that floor, folding that laundry, writing that blog...!!) that I miss the life going on around me. I am asking the Father to remind me that experiences like this aren't blips on the screen on my life...they ARE life.

And it sure is abundant!

Bless ya!

I Choose Carrot Cake...

Can I say a word about e-mail forwards? Usually they get under my skin - especially the ones that say something like "if you send this to 10 friends something good will happen to you..." I received one once that said that God would bless me if I sent it to 5 people, or something like that. Call me crazy, but I'm pretty confident that God will bless me, regardless of my e-mail prolificity. However, I will admit I have received some good ones in my e-mail journey. My friend, Sally, usually sends me pretty good e-mail forwards. Like I said, normally, I'm not a big fan of the forwarded quip or anecdote, but she seems to have a sort of screening process...this one I thought was fun.

Basically, what you do is imagine all eight of the following desserts sitting in front of you. Which one would you choose? You have to choose one, but you can ONLY choose one. Go with your first instinct. Then, scroll down to see what your choice says about your personality.

Here's the list:
1. Angel Food Cake
2. Brownies
3. Lemon Meringue Pie
4. Vanilla Cake With Chocolate Icing
5. Strawberry Short Cake
6. Chocolate Cake With Chocolate Icing
7. Ice Cream
8. Carrot Cake

You can't change your mind once you scroll down, so think carefully what your choice will be.






OK - Now that you've made your choice, this is what the "researchers" say about you...

1. ANGEL FOOD CAKE -- Sweet, loving, cuddly. You love all warm and fuzzy items A little nutty at times. Sometimes you need an ice cream cone at the end of the day. Others perceive you as being childlike and immature at times.

2. BROWNIES -- You are adventurous, love new ideas, and are a champion of underdogs and a slayer of dragons. When tempers flare up you whip out your saber. You are always the oddball with a unique sense of humor and direction. You tend to be very loyal.

3. LEMON MERINGUE -- Smooth, sexy, & articulate with your hands, you are an excellent caregiver and a good teacher. But don't try to walk and chew gum at the same time. A bit of a diva at times, you set your own style because you do your own thing. You shine when it comes to helping others and have many friends.

4. VANILLA CAKE WITH CHOCOLATE ICING -- Fun-loving, sassy, humorous, not very grounded in life; very indecisive and lacking motivation. Everyone enjoys being around you, but you are a practical joker. Others should be cautious in making you mad. However, you are a friend for life.

5. STRAWBERRY SHORTCAKE -- Romantic, warm, loving. You care about other people, can be counted on in a pinch and expect the same in return. Intuitively keen. You can be very emotional at times but a true person in every way. You like to do things for yourself and help others learn about themselves.

6. CHOCOLATE CAKE WITH CHOCOLATE ICING -- Sexy; always ready to give and receive. Very creative, adventurous, ambitious, and passionate. You can appear to have a cold exterior but are warm on the inside. Not afraid to take chances Will not settle for anything average in life. Love to laugh.

7. ICE CREAM -- You like sports, whether it be baseball, football, basketball, or soccer. If you could, you would like to partici pat e, but you enjoy watching sports. You don't like to give up the remote control. You tend to be self-centered and high maintenance.

8. CARROT CAKE -- You are a very fun loving person, who likes to laugh. You are fun to be with. People like to hang out with you. You are a very warm hearted person and a little quirky at times. You have many loyal friends. You were meant to lead and teach others. A wonderful role model.


I would LOVE to know - those of you who read this blog - which dessert you chose. Would you please comment and let me know? You may have to sign up for a google account, I'm not sure. But if you do - it's free. You may be able to comment anonymously...I'm afraid I'm not very knowledgeable about these things. Just give it a try, huh?

I want to see if I'm right about you! (wink, wink)

Bless ya!

PS...I chose carrot cake. The e-mail didn't stipulate whether or not there were mounds of cream cheese frosting on it, so I just assumed that, yes, there were.

PPS...about yesterday's post: Thank you for listening to me rant. God is certainly doing some things in my heart that are difficult and a bit painful. Like the crucible for silver and the furnace for gold (and it may be the other way around)...God refines my heart.

Waltzing with Half-Hearted Obedience

I spent almost all of yesterday afternoon on the phone. I was so behind in my house work that I just decided to rip through it while talking and catching up with some of my buds (multi-tasking rules!). So, if you were one of the people I talked to, and it seemed like I was out of breath - I was probably mopping.

Mopping is one of those completely useless, thankless tasks - but if you don't do it, that's when people (and by people, I mean Michael and Caroline) notice. At my house, you can be sure that the day I mop is the day someone will spill apple juice right in front of the door (thereby guarenteeing it's spread throughout the kitchen), or someone will have a freezer pop that leaks. (I read on my friend Becky's blog that "housework, even done poorly, still blesses my family." I don't know if that is her own original quote or not, but it sounds like something she would say. )

Since we have mostly hardwood floors in our house, cleaning them takes many steps. First, I use the broom to sweep them. I get into the corners, under stuff, you get the picture. Then, I take the dust mop (or dry mop - I have heard it called that before) and go over everything again, just to get what the broom missed. Finally, I make a mixture of Murphy's oil soap and water to do the actual mopping (pine sol for the kitchen & baths). We get our floors good and dirty, so it's a chore. This entire process takes the better part of my morning, and I try and do it every week. Best done when Ethan is napping.

Yesterday, as I was mopping (and taking a break from phone calls), a thought came to me: Too many times I say I'm doing something out of obedience (mopping my floor, talking to someone about the Lord, etc.), but I end up doing a half-fanny job. This isn't the kind of obedience that God commands!! If I feel like God is calling me to something (even if I may not really want to do it) and I am called to be obedient...shouldn't it be something I give my all to? Scripture I was reminded of the verse that says "whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord." This says to me that whatever I do and whatever effort I put forth to do it, ought to be done with my whole heart...whether it be cleaning, speaking, studying, or worshipping/church involvements. It makes me think of the story of the child who was told to sit down, but protested until she was disciplined...and her remark to her mother was "I may be sitting down on the outside, but I'm standing up on the inside. God is way more concerned about my heart...my obedience has to include our heart attitude as well, doesn't it?

Bob Flayhart (pastor of Oak Mtn. PCA) talks about the waltz: repent, believe, fight, repent, believe, fight...a 3 step dance. Ultimatley, I can do this dance while I...mop with a bad attitude...or while I complain about _________, even when I know it's what God wants me doing. This is the solution to my half-hearted obedience! This is the solution to all my sin, in fact. How thankful I am that I have the One who needs no dancing lessons acting on my behalf, interceding for me and teaching me the steps.

Bless ya!

Revelations from the "Intimates"

Earler today I was browsing around the vanity fair outlet in our town - 20% off coupon in hand. The 20% off weekends are always a big deal, from what I understand. I think practically anyone can get their hands on the coupon, but if you have one, you go.

Anyway, like I said, I'm shopping around with Molly in tow, looking for some...uh.."fine washables". I'm plugging away through the racks and racks of bras - pretty intense and knowing my time is limited- when I look up and see him...the newest elder in our church! With him is his wife and lovely daughter. It's just a little fellowship time right there in the delicates.

I wanted to die! My arms are laden with brassieres of every color. There's no hiding it! I can feel the flesh tone draining from my face and being replaced with a glorious shade of pomegranate. I try to deflect focus - but the damage has been done. I laugh it off as best I can and sidle on eastward to a large disply of little girls' dresses....maybe like I was there all along and he was just confused.

I know God wants to teach me something here. perhaps it's something about sin and how we try to defend ourselves, or deflect attention from our sin when we are caught. Maybe it's a lesson about materialism, and how it can subtlely sneak up on us. Maybe it's a lesson on remembering that I am complete in Christ - no matter how others see me.

Yes, all of these true and good. But you know what? I wonder if in the end God just wants me to remember that 20% weekend - Saturday afternoon after lunch - is maybe not the best time to do my bra shopping. Wouldn't, say, Monday morning around 9:30 or so be better?

Bless ya!

Question...

Does 2 sugar-free fudge graham cookies, a piece of American cheese and a fruit roll-up sound like a healthy lunch for a two-year-old? Oh! And a sippy cup of milk.

I have a friend who wants to know...

Time is Ticking Away...!

In less than a month, Mason, my eldest child, will turn 9. 9 years old! Do you realize that means that his time here at home, under my wing (more than likely) is 50% over? I've been thinking about this alot lately, trying to figure out what we're going to do for his celebration, and just noticing how BIG he's getting.

Gone are the days when I could kiss the bottom of his feet while smiling at his beautiful chubby face. I'm no longer allowed anywhere NEAR the bathroom while he is taking a shower or changing clothes. I've said goodbye to putting his laundry away, reading him books (I tried to read him one last year - he let me do it because he loves me, but he later told me he'd just rather read it himself), starting the water for his bath (he takes a shower now, which he starts on his own). He now stays by himself at the house while I go pick up Caroline from choir (I'm only gone 10-15 minutes, and he's not allowed to answer the door OR phone, unless it's me). He doesn't want me call him "cutie" or "baby" or "sweetie", and I can't blame him. He's got a paying job, and is saving his money right now to buy a Nintendo DS. He reads the paper (comics only!).

It's 50% over, but I DO still have some things to relish: whenever I buy him a new pair of shoes, he really does believe they make him run faster and jump higher. Each night he wants to be tucked in, have his back rubbed, and have Michael or I listen to him talk about whatever is on his mind. When he loses a tooth, he puts it into the "tooth fairie pillow" that Michael used as a boy and places it under his pillow - though, usually the tooth fairie forgets to come and I end up just giving him some money the next morning and telling him that the TF will pay me back. He's over believing, he just wants the cash. Still, you gotta admit it's cute.) He still misses me when I'm gone. He asks good questions about God and faith...and he listens to the answers without thinking that he already knows everything.

Michael and I have always desired that we would raise our children to leave home and be resposible adults with plenty of domestic skills. We still have the teenage years to face - and I know they will be tough - but I don't dread them...I know that raising children just gets harder (all my wise older mom friends promise me this). I am already praying that my children, when they leave our home, will be able to walk away, but take lots of the good stuff with them. I hope that makes sense.

Sigh...I know I have 9 more years, but I also know they will fly by. In the meantime, I think I will go into Ethan's room, where he is playing with his choo-choo, give him a tickle torture and kiss the soles of his feet. Just because I can.

Bless ya!

PS...I realize this is not a very flattering picture of me. Almost 24 hours of labor - what do you expect? Look how young Michael looks, though!