Crayons in the Dryer...and Other Sanctifying Events

The Dreamer

2010-02-15T14:42:00.000-08:00

When asked, "What do you want to be when you grow up?" this was Ethan's reply. We're so proud of him.

Bless ya!

A Little Something Sweet

2010-01-24T12:37:00.000-08:00

I know that, for a lot of people, it's traditional to have a nice, big, family dinner following church. Not so much for us. Our Sunday lunch usually consists of what is leftover (and still edible) in the frig from the previous week. Not very exciting.

Today was leftover london broil, brown rice and gravy. There may have been a vegetable...wait...no, there was no vegetable. Molly looked at the meat neatly cut up on her plate and said to us, "Mom, Dad...if I finish my lunch can I have two pieces of candy?"

"No, Molly. No candy today."

A minute or so later Molly asked, "Mom, Dad...can I have one piece of candy?"

"No, Molly. We aren't going to eat any candy this afternoon."

"If I finish all my meat can I have some?"

"No, Molly."

We finished up lunch and dispersed.

I was making a pot of coffee and talking to Michael when Molly walked in holding a bag of candy.

And let me just interject here: this candy came from the MLK parade last week. Any parade in M'ville loads us down with candy from whatever holiday has just passed. For example, at the Christmas parade, we get leftover Halloween stuff. Also, the candy is usually stuff you could ONLY get rid of if you were fortunate enough to be in the parade and needed something to throw at people. It's basically dum-dums and hard candy that's starting to get sticky around the edges. To be fair, however, we did actually get some pretty good candy at the MLK parade compared to some others we've been to...but the good stuff was long gone before we even left the square.

Anyway, like I said, Molly walked in holding this bag of candy. Michael saw her and said, "Molly, let me see your tongue."

She stuck out her tongue, which happened to be a very vivid blue.

"Molly, have you been eating candy?"

"No."

"Well, how did your tongue get blue?"

"Ummm...I just brushed my teeth with blue toothpaste."

"Molly, are you telling the truth?"

Thus the crying began.

It was hard for me NOT to laugh. Molly thought she was so smart, hiding her sin. Little did she know that the Father saw her eat that candy and in His grace, he allowed her to be caught so that she would not miss out on the opportunity to see (and feel) the consequences of her sin. If she had gotten away with that, her heart - even if just a very little corner of it, I think - would begin to harden. It's easy for me to look at this whole story, chuckle to myself, and think, "awww," but it's not sweet, or really even cute. Why would I think that just because it's a child - my child - that her sin is cute? I'm reminded again how much the Father hates sin and what an affront to him it is. I'm also reminded of God's love. he obviously loves Molly enough to see her, lead her to us with guilt on her hands (or tongue in this case) and let her be caught in her sin. And that's how he loves me, too...even though my tongue is sometimes blue.

Bless ya!

Midnight Mix-Up

2010-01-22T14:03:00.001-08:00

One night last week I woke up around 2am with a tummy ache. Leaving all the lights off, I stumbled into the bathroom and felt around in the medicine cabinet for the Pepto to take a big swig.

It was Nyquil.

Note to self: Pepto and Nyquil have the same shaped bottle.

Bless ya!

Ice, Ice, Baby...

2009-12-13T14:20:00.000-08:00

The Frenectomy That Almost Wasn't

2009-11-19T13:26:00.000-08:00

Today Mason, Caroline and I drove 1 1/2 hours to Mobile where Caroline had an appointment with the Periodontist.

Caroline was born with attached frenulums (frenuli?) both upper and lower. The lower one was taken care of early in life, but that upper one just didn't show itself until much later. So today was the day it was to be addressed.

Caroline and I sat while the Periodontist looked her over. He explained the procedure very thoroughly, step-by-step, while Caroline and I nodded our heads in understanding. He then asked us to move to a different room while he had his nurse prepare the procedure room. Caroline, very lady-like and grown up, proceeded to the room ahead of me. Once we got in there, she whipped around to face me and said,

"Yeah...I'm not doing that."

I explained to her what a total "non-issue" the whole thing would be. You know, it'll only take a second; it'll feel just like a mosquito bite; I had something similar when I was your age. Nothing worked. She was determined that no way was Dr. Whatshisname getting into her mouth. When I tried to drag her back to the procedure room, she just went limp. I called Michael: no help. I begged: didn't work. She was crying and I was just about crying as well. I explained over and over and over (and over) again that this would not hurt, but to someone who has never had a cavity or anything, getting a shot in the gum just doesn't sound like a party. I get that.

Finally, the nurse very politely pulled me aside and said, "We can't do this if she's not going to be still and cooperate." I asked her to give me 5 more minutes with her and then come into the waiting room to get her, as I was not allowed back during the procedure.

I said a quick prayer for wisdom as I sat her down. Again, I reiterated all the "it won't hurt" jive I had already lost my voice on. Then the light bulb came on.

"Caroline!" I sputtered, "Penny! I'll get you Penny!" (American Girl Felicity's horse)

"OK...I'll do it," she replied.

And that was that. She didn't utter another word of protest, but took the nurse's hand and returned to me 10 minutes later frenulum-free.

Did I do the right thing? Did I cave? Is it wrong to bribe your own child? These are all hypotheticals...please don't answer. The answers may very well be no, yes and yes...but I just wanted to help her through something scary. It reminded me of the time my brother got stitches after putting his arm through our front door window (which I happened to lock...but I digress). While he was crying and moaning my dad told him that if he was brave he'd buy him a Buffalo Bills football helmet with mouth guard. That shut him up and he took it like a man.

It also reminds me a little bit of how the Father, subjects us sometimes to things that are painful - for our own good - but always does so with love and the blessing of his presence.

I hope Caroline remembers this day. I hope she looks back at this thing that occured between us and thinks "My mom tells me the truth. She said the frenectomy wouldn't hurt, and it didn't. I know I can trust her in this other scary thing I'm facing." Wow...I hope I can always keep her trust.

Bless ya!

School Stuff

2009-09-22T11:18:00.000-07:00

Crayola Crayons, 3 packs of 96..................$16
Elmer's Glue, 6 bottles............................$7
Wide-ruled notebook paper, 8 packs............$5
Jansport backpack.................................$17

The feel of new school supplies: PRICELESS

Molly's Melon

2009-09-22T11:07:00.001-07:00

This morning I was doing laundry.

I don't mind doing laundry...it's the folding and putting away that I can't stand.

Anyway, in my laundry room I have a bottle of Shout. Probably not much of a surprise considering there are 4 children to do laundry for. You probably have a bottle or two yourself. This bottle of Shout, however, is bought for one main purpose: Molly.

When Molly gets home from school, I don't have to ask her what was for lunch. When she gets in the car at 3pm, one quick glance gives me all the information I need.

"So, Molly...how were the sloppy joes today? And red jello, too? Nice!"

I buy Shout for Molly. I spray down her clothes and then have to vigorously rub it in. Oftentimes I have to wash her school uniforms twice. This morning I was going through her things and spraying them down when something caught my eye. It was something brown, and it was in her pocket. Is it a bug? Is it a bit of Monday's lunch? A blob of ink/dirt/something else? I was scared to put my finger down in there, but reason overruled...I knew I had to get it out.

It was about 30 watermelon seeds.

Molly had gathered up the lunchtime seeds from all at her table who would share.

Bless ya!

The Picnic

2009-09-01T11:49:00.000-07:00

I can't say enough wonderful things about my family. They make me laugh, they make me thankful, they make me think, and they give me over and over again that general "warm fuzzy" feeling. Oh! And they always give me plenty to blog about.

One day the week before school started back, I packed a picnic basket and the splash bomb, threw some bathing suits and towels into a Target bag and we headed to the beach. This is one thing I love about living in Lower Alabama: day trips to the beach are totally doable.

As I sat with my book looking out across the ocean, watching my family frolic in the water (a little far away in my opinion, but dad's with them, so how bad can it be, right?), I couldn't help but be a little overwhelmed - verklempt, if you will - at God's goodness in giving me such sweet and sublime folks to share space with, even if they did get sand in the Cheetos. Ahhh...peace. This is exaclty what I've been needing. A respite from life shaken and stirred. If I could be anywhere in the world right now I would choose this exact spot. Why, even the weather seems to...

Huh. That's odd. Michael's face looks a bit funny. Hmm...what could be wrong with Caroline and Ethan...they seem to be waving at something. Is that crying I hear? I wonder...could it...no...JELLYFISH!

Mason then came running to me to let me know that, indeed, a jellyfish had entered our lives that picturesque day. The look I saw on Michael's face was not a smile, but rather, a grimace of pain. It didn't take long for Ethan and Caroline to become mildly hysterical. Caroline got stung on her hand while Michael tried to push her away from the gelatinous beast. For Ethan, it was his thigh.

I applied some ice to their stinging skin. A brazen novice at this, I tried to process information as well-meaning beach goers offered sage wisdom and home rememdies a-plenty: put them back into the water, apply sand, go by a balm, pee works, try that.

The stings were actually not too bad (Michael got it the worst), and after some chocolate chip cookies, gatorade, and plenty of hugs, the hysteria began to ebb. Molly took the longest to recover. That's right, Molly - who was no where near the water when the attack occured. She just has such a compassionate heart that she was in almost as much pain as the actual victims.

Alas, the sun was setting on our day of peace and tranquility. We were no match for the jellyfish, but we held our heads high as we packed our junk and trudged back to public parking.

Don't worry...we'll be back.

Update

2009-08-23T13:24:00.000-07:00

Lots to write; no time to write it.

Bless ya!

You "Cat" Always Get What You Want

2009-06-16T18:53:00.000-07:00

How could she have known what the day would bring? If she could have forseen how the events of the day would ultimately unfold, would she have chosen to stay in bed all day? Maybe...or maybe not.

Caroline is my almost-nine-year-old. She is a joy and full of life. However, one day just a couple of weeks back she got some lessons I think she'll never forget.

It started out as any other day. Summer break was upon us and it just so happened I was due to make my bi-weekly trip to Super Wal-Mart. I got up at 6:30am, ran a brush over both my hair and teeth and was out the door by 7:00am. While perusing the aisles of my local super-store I saw a display of coloring books. Wouldn't it be nice, I thought, to get the kids a coloring book. They'll think I'm the best mom ever. Boy, was I wrong.

I chose a Disney princess coloring book for Molly and for Caroline I chose a very lovely Tinkerbell one. When I presented the gifts, I quickly received the usual la-la-la's from Molly (who has the neatest gift of showing such avid and genuine appreciation for things given to her - it's fun to watch), but over in Caroline's corner I could see the storm a-brewin'.

"What's wrong, Caroline?" I dared to ask.

"You know I wanted that Princess coloring book! When we were in the store last week I showed it to you and told you how much I wanted it! I don't like Tinkerbell and I don't want that coloring book! You gave the coloring book I wanted to Molly and you love her more!" She went on.

I honestly did not remember Caroline pointing that coloring book out to me, or her admiring it. I turned to Molly to ask if she'd consider switching and there she was writing her name on the cover of the Princess one - in Sharpie of course. She wasn't letting loose.

I begged Caroline's forgiveness and Molly even said she would share (to a point). Caroline was completely dejected and it wasn't even noon.

After lunch, Molly and Mason were invited to a friend's house, and Caroline felt left out again. As I drove away with the other two, Caroline looked at her dad and said, "This is a terrible day! I hate my life! I have nothing to live for!" (is she a dramatic child? Ummm, that would be an emphatic yes.)

Michael, in typical Michael fashion, stepped in to save the day.

"Caroline, would you like to go for a walk with me?" he asked.

"Yes, Daddy," she replied.

As they walked, Michael reminded her of her importance to our family, of how God has a wonderful plan for her and how he loves her so much. We may not always get what we want when we want it, but God is committed to finishing what he's started in us and how she, Caroline, is a precious beloved daughter, not just to us, but to her Heavenly Father as well.

About halfway around our block, something happened. A tiny, nasty ball of wet fur came creeping straight up to Caroline. A kitten, not 8 weeks old, had found it's way into the arms of my daughter.

Michael and Caroline took the kitten home, gave him a bath (!), fed him, and fell for him within 30 minutes. When I got home, she introduced me to her new friend...Tiger.

I took Caroline to the store right away and we bought kitten chow, kitty litter, a bed and a litter box. While we were driving home Caroline was talking non-stop about her new friend and all that she wanted to do with him. She talked until she was blue in the face with excitement. After a few minutes she got really quiet and said, "Mom, I'm sorry I got so mad at you this morning about the coloring book. I know now that wasn't really important. And if I had gone with Molly and Mason, then I wouldn't have met Tiger. So, I guess this was a good day after all."

I guess it's all about perspective.

Bless ya!

Late Easter Reflections

2009-04-28T10:49:00.000-07:00

Last night Ethan came up to the chair where I was reading, his arms laden with books, and said, "I need some Mama time." Of course I obliged. Who could resist?

In the same vein, last weekend Michael's mom invited Caroline to come up to Birmingham and stay with her for the weekend. I loaded her up early Friday afternoon and we made the 3 hour trek. All the way Caroline talked about Nana. Nana this, Nana that. Nana knows how to french braid...I hope we can make a chocolate pie...I love Nana's house, it's so pretty...Maybe we can watch a movie. You get the picture. caroline loooves here Nana!

Nana has 14 grandchildren, so time alone with her is at a premium. It made Caroline feel so special to be invited by her, to be singled out and wanted like that. Just the same way Ethan made me feel when he sought out my company.

Easter weekend here was a disaster. We had a stomach virus that stomped through our house, torturing everyone but Michael. I had to cancel with our Easter lunch guests, dying eggs was an after thought, and Molly and I even missed church altogether. It almost seemed like my heart might miss the significance of Easter entirely, but thankfully the Lord gave me a reminder: He reminded me that I am pursued, loved and desired. Not to sound trite or platitudinous, but the agony that Jesus endured on the cross really was for me. And because he loves me he comes after me, to be with me, to work on me even in all my messiness - he considers me worth it.

My "Armenian" friends may not agree, but I love the chorus of this hymn:

O Lord I did not choose You,
For that could never be,
My heart would still refuse you,
Had you not chosen me.

This Easter I was reminded that it is a thrill to be sought by the lover of my soul!

Bless ya!

Facebook Props

2009-04-28T10:47:00.001-07:00

Facebook is wonderful. Where else would I be able to learn which Winnie the Pooh character I am, or which breakfast cereal I am most like? How did I go 40 years without knowing these things?

Bless ya!

(and thanks, Chris!)

Krispy Kreme Theology

2009-04-01T06:45:00.000-07:00

This past Monday I headed to Mobile with Alex and Crissy for a girl's day out. We had an agenda, pretty much: Fresh Market, Target, Ann Taylor Loft, China Rose, and the Dentist's office. I really didn't care where we went...I just wanted to get out of town and hang out with my friends.

We had to split up for awhile, and we never really hit all the targets we were aiming for, but that didn't matter because a welcomed detour came upon us: A Krispy Kreme shop.

We were in line waiting to make our selections when I observed something. In line ahead of us were 3 women and 2 children. I'm assuming one of the women was the mom of the kids, one was the grandmother, and then the third adult I wasn't sure about.

One child was an infant and the other child, a little girl, was 2; maybe 3.

The little girl, you could tell, was just tickled to death to be getting a doughnut. So much so that when the doughnuts were on the tray, along with some drinks, the sweet little thing tried to help by lifting the tray up off the counter, I can only guess, to carry it. It didn't take long for the inevitable to happen. Doughnuts and cokes spilled everywhere, littering the floor with sprinkles and sticky stuff. It didn't take more than a second for the little girl to realize what she had done and what it could possibly mean for her. Her wails were full of sorrow..."My doughnut!" she cried (and cried and cried).

Crissy quickly grabbed napkins and we tried to soothe the little girl as best we could. Of course, her mother must have thought we were idiots...then again, she probably just concluded that we were mothers.

Within minutes, the Krispy Kreme staff had launched into "customer mode" and the little girl had a fresh set of doughnuts and drinks. As we were leaving I looked at her, sitting happily at her table, legs swinging beneath her, nibbling on her doughnut and not trace of the sorrow and tears of minutes before.

It got me thinking...

I am like that little girl. Sometimes I see the situation I'm in and I fret. Sometimes I am the one responsible for the situation, sometimes not, but too often I look around me, see the circumstances and think only of the possible negative implications. If that little girl could only have known that even though her doughnut fell, even though her coke splayed itself all over the front of the counter, there was no way on earth her mother was going to say to her, "Well, too bad! You spilled the tray, so no doughnut for you!" No, her mother was compassionate, understanding, and patient with her mess, not chiding her, but calming her with her love and nearness.

God is like that mother. Sometimes my doughnut hits the ground rolling. Sometimes I make the biggest messes with my bad decisions, my somewhat less-than-patient responses. But like that little girl, I am learning. I'll bet the next time she goes into Krispy Kreme, she will think twice about trying to heave that tray to the table. God is sweet to let me experience my depravity...to see how much I am saved from...to see how much I am loved and cherished. I'm not saying that God will replace my doughnuts when I drop them (because let's face it...sometimes the illustrations just plain breakdown, don't they?), but that when I do drop them, He still loves me, He's still my Daddy, and He's committed to loving me as His daughter and teaching me more about holiness along the way. Then maybe the next time an opportunity to make a mess arises, I could possibly choose differently. Only by His grace...only by the power of the Spirit.

Bless ya!

Trouble Right Here in Amytown

2009-03-26T11:34:00.000-07:00

The other day I was sitting with Molly – I forget what we were doing – but I turned my attention to her and asked:

MOM: So, Molly, what’s up in Molly world?

MOLLY: Huh? I mean, ma’am?

MOM: What’s shakin’ in Mollytown? What’s happenin’? Aren’t you the ruler of Mollyville??

MOLLY: No, Mom, I’m not the ruler…Jesus is.

Later that evening, we were all sitting at the dinner table and I relayed the interchange to the rest of our family. Michael joined in…

MICHAEL: So, Jesus is the ruler of Mollyville, huh?

MOLLY: Yes, Daddy, but I AM the president.

I share this because it got me thinking of how much of a dictatorship Amytown is sometimes. Amytown is often very important to me, and I just dare one to make it difficult or messy. Amytown is at its best when it is neat and tidy. I like to talk about Amytown (obviously), making sure Amytown has everything it needs. Amytown is often a slave to order and predictability…but some of the best “towns” are, am I right? Amytown is a comfortable place (or at least, her ruler-ME-desires it to be…sometimes above all else).

It’s laughable, really, how often I do make life about me, what I want, what bothers me, and how to bring comfort back to those raw, uncomfortable places.

The last few days have been very encouraging ones to me. God has sent some people my way to remind me which way to face. When I am too mired down in thinking about how life is affecting me and looking only at my circumstances, I forget who is holding me, and more than that – who is holding the universe. God is in this, and he wants me to take my eyes off of self and put them back where they belong…on Him.

So, thank you Molly, for reminding me that ultimately I want Jesus to be ruler of Amytown, not me. In fact, I don’t even want to be president when you get right down to it. Maybe some unimportant cabinet position or something…ok, now this is just getting weird.

Bless ya!

Back to Reality

2009-03-21T07:06:00.000-07:00

I think it's funny that every so often some poor person ends up on my blog who is just looking for a way to get crayons off their clothes once they've been through the dryer. This is all thanks to Google. If you do a search for "get crayons off clothes in dryer" or something like that, my blog will be among the results.

Boy, have I been there. Those crayons are little dickens to get off, as well. Actually, you can't really remove it all. I think Michael has a couple shirts which are monuments to the elusive crayon in the dryer.

I got to have a break this week. It was so relaxing and so energizing. The tanks feel full.

Julie, Terry: I love you! I had such a wonderful time with you both! I'm so thankful God caused our lives to intersect. Yours are friendships I will cherish all my life...thanks!

And Alex, Jean and Michelle: I love you as well! Thank you for taking care of my children for me so I could rest. I never worried about them for one second. You are a like a gift to me!! I appreciate you so much...thanks!

Sigh...life is good.

Bless ya!

Right or Left?

2009-03-11T11:52:00.000-07:00

Last week we were all in the car and I heard Mason yell from the back seat:

"Mom! Which one's my right hand and which one's my left?"

Michael and I glanced at each other. How could he forget this? I mean, didn't he learn this years ago? he's almost 10 for Pete's sake!

I yelled back that your left is the one that can make a correct looking "L for left" with your thumb and pointer finger. (Isn't that how you remember it?)

It made me think...

Sometimes I walk around like I am an orphan. Like I have no heavenly Father. Like I have no Holy Spirit to speak to me. Sometimes the cares of this world come crashing down and I forget what's true: I forget the gospel.

Thankfully, when I do forget, God is sweet to remind me. He doesn't srcunch up his face and wonder, "How can she forget this? Didn't she learn this years ago? She's 40 for Pete's sake!" No. Instead he is kind to show Himself again and remind me that he sees all I see, and more. Things may look hopeless, they may look real, real bad, but God is good and he is all I need.

Bless ya!

By the way...who is this "Pete" anyway, and why do we say things for his sake?

Rocks for Money

2009-03-11T11:24:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago Molly and Caroline were looking for some ways to earn some extra spending money. Caroline is saving her pennies to buy Felicity's bed ensemble...it costs about $100. That, to me, seems like a daunting amount for an 8 year old to save with no birthday or Christmas in near sight. When I was her age I would have given up at about $25, had my mom drive me to Harco (remember Harco?) so I could buy $25 worth of bubble gum and lip gloss. But that's neither here nor there.

My kids are savers. Well, Mason and Caroline are; Molly has to get rid of her money the instant she has a dime. Pull the car over, Mom! I've got to find a gumball machine! Mason actually saved every dime to buy his Nintendo DS. He then saved to get some Wii games and controllers. He denies himself in order to get the thing he really wants. Caroline is the same way, though at time it is painful for her. I bought the kids winter Crocs for Valentine's Day (they were $10 on sale). They wanted some of those little "thingamabobs" that you can poke into the holes on the crocs, so we went back to the store to look at their selection. Everybody picked out 2 or 3, and produced the cash to pay for such. I looked over at Caroline. She was starting to tear up looking at the cute little "Cinderella" thingy (I really don't know the name for these. Anybody?)

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" I asked

"I really want one of those thingys...but I also really want to save for Felicity's bed set!"

"Well, Caroline, I think you should save for the thing you really want."

"Yes, but everyone else is getting one!"

"And then their money will be gone, but you'll still have a good head start on your bed for Felicity. Would you like to buy just one thingy instead of two?"

"No, Mom...I'm going to save my money for the bed."

Anyway, back to my story...the one about the girls looking for ways to earn some extra money.

Michael told the girls that he would give them 1 penny for each rock they picked up out of the yard. At first I thought that was kind of cruel. I mean, they would be out there working for what, to them, would seem like all day, and for their effort they might get 50 cents. Maybe a dollar if they were fast.

Michael and I grossly underestimated our dainty little girls.

Caroline wanted to know how many rocks she'd have to pick up to earn $20. 2000 rocks, I told her.

Later, on the porch, sat 2 huge buckets full of rocks. 2000 rocks. Caroline earned $20 that day, and Molly earned $18, I think.

Tenacity like that makes me want to just call the American Girl company and pay for that bed myself. She deserves it! But in the long run, I know that she will prize the bed much, much more if she saves the money for it herself. It's good for her to learn lessons of sacrifice and delayed gratification. I still need reminders of these quite often. I know it's just a doll bed; I know it's just a "thing", but I love what it's doing in her heart. I pray that as she grows up, not having been given everything her little heart desires, that she grows to be content with the things that are really important, that she loves the Lord with all her heart, soul, mind, and strength, and that the "doll beds" of her life are just the icing.

Bless ya!

The Twilight Years

2009-02-25T06:14:00.000-08:00

I turned 40 last month.

It was a wonderful day! Michael and the kids made me breakfast (apple/pear turnovers from scratch and raspberry milkshakes). I had lunch with some of my sweet friends, shopped at the thrift store and then later, at the Beehive, Michael and the kids threw me a surprise party. It was all the more sweet because my sweet husband and children were really "into" it. They made most of the food and came up with the plan. The gave me a new Blackberry, and I got lots of great presents. I felt so special, and I will remember that day until my mind goes...probably in a couple years.

Something happened though, a few days later, which put a bit of a damper on the bliss in my heart:

I received an application from the AARP.

Did some jokester out there fill out an interest card in my name? Is 40 the age the AARP starts taking new members? I would think at least 50 would be more appropriate!! Is it really time for me to be thinking of Medicare? Nursing home insurance? I thought 40 was the new 30?!

I became slightly forlorn and decided to look up AARP on the web. Guess what? It IS 50!! So, I have one more decade before I have to start thinking about that. Whew!

I'm guessing it was my brother. He's always doing stuff like that!

Bless ya!

My Funny Valentine

2009-02-14T22:13:00.000-08:00

Ahh, Valentine’s Day. The holiday of love…an ode to romance. A day of hearts and chocolate.

Our Valentine’s day started out much like yours did, I’m sure. When all in the children were awake we exchanged our Valentine sentiments in the form of candy, cards, and many hugs. Following this, we all did our morning chores, got dressed and hopped in the van for a trip to Mobile and lunch at Chik-fil-A. Who could ask for more?

Michael and I had reservations for dinner at the Beehive (our local coffee shop/bookstore) at 7pm. Had a babysitter, the whole 9 yards. We had plenty of time to enjoy ourselves in Mobile…and it’s always good to get out of town for a bit.

We got to Chik-Fil-A around 12:15, after taking a short detour to Game Stop. Molly had $20 burning a hole in her pocket and decided a new Wii game was just the ticket (it’s some kind of Barbie game…she rides a horse and has to take care of it and stuff. I played it – it’s quite fun).

We enjoyed our lunch and the kids played on the playground while Michael and I read our books. It was nice.

Before leaving Mobile we stopped by Lowe’s. Michael got some seeds for the garden, and in the parking lot on our way out, Mason picked something up off the ground. It had 2 yellow feathers on it. It was a roach clip. And on the end of it was a piece of a joint.

Now, let me go ahead and say on cyberspace, that I have never tried marijuana…but I DO know what a roach clip is, because some kooky time back in the 80’s it became cool to own a roach clip and clip it to stuff. Some girls wore them in their hair. I saw guys with them clipped to their cowboy hats. Don’t ask me why – people just did it. I personally had one that I bought at a flea market clipped to the curtain in my bedroom. I didn’t know what they were used for , but if everyone else was going to have one – I was, too. It was kind of like the Rubic’s cube keychain (which I bought at the same flea market)…it was one of those things you just had if you were a child of the 80’s…and lived in Sylacauga.

When Mason showed me his “treasure”, I just didn’t know what to say or do. Literally, I was speechless for a moment. Finally I said, “Throw that thing down!” then got into the car, and to change the subject passed around a box of tic-tacs and told everyone they could have one joint a piece.

Yes, I actually said that.

On the way home Mason and Ethan were uncharacteristically quiet. Ethan finally fell asleep, but Mason began to moan.

It’s 10 hours later now (11:45 pm). Michael and I missed our date at the Beehive. Ethan has a fever of 101.9. Mason is laying on the couch with stomach malaise and needs me. I’ll be home from church in the morning, and I had to cancel our visit from Caroline G tomorrow.

After his dinner of cold pizza and some corkscrew pasta with a little parmesan on top (and before he headed off to bed) Michael gave me a Valentine card. I jumped up and gave him the card I had bought for him, too. A quick hug, kiss and “I love you…goodnight” was the apex of our romantic holiday.

But it’s ok. It’s kind of silly, really. I mean, we should be cherishing the people we love every day…not just once a year, right?

One side note: I feel I need to come clean on something. It's true that one year Michael gave me a dustbuster for Valentine’s Day. He likes to use that as a self-deprecating illustration, but you know what? I ASKED for the dustbuster. It was early on in our marriage, we were broke, and the thing was like fifty bucks! I told him that with a baby coming we’d need a dustbuster and he could give it to me as my Valentine’s present. So when you think about it, giving me a dustbuster for Valentine’s Day was actually a self-sacrificing thing, with all the ribbing he’s gotten for it over the years.

That’s my Valentine! Hope you had a good one…

Bless ya!

Wii!!!!!

2009-02-01T07:42:00.000-08:00

Last Friday morning Molly went out to get the paper (it’s one of her daily chores). On her way back in, something caught her eye. Evidently during the night an unknown benefactor and dear person left something on our porch.

It was a bit heavy for Molly to carry inside (?), so she called her brother Mason to her aid. They brought the bag to me. I told them it must be a belated Christmas present, but the tag said only “MacCaughelty Family”; the giver’s name was absent.

As I was trying to get the tape off, Mason said, “What if it’s a Wii?”

“It’s not a Wii,” I said in reply.

I loosed the tape and removed the paper. We all looked down into the bag together and saw it there…sideways…Wii.

For a moment, everyone was quiet, but pandemonium soon broke out.

“Who’s it from?” Caroline asked.

This is the thing…I have no idea who it is from. Well, I have an idea who it might be from, but they didn’t give me their name, so they must not want me to know. And how cool is that? Too often we want recognition for some good deed we do, but this person wanted us to wonder and to simply enjoy the gift without strings. And wonder/enjoy we have. Ultimately, though, we believe this great gift is from the Lord, who put it on the heart of the giver to bless us in wonderful ways. I don’t know who it’s from, and I’m not going to try and find out because maybe being an “unknown giver” is a blessing for that person, too. Mason was just so beside himself that a person we know would love us enough to make such a sacrifice and remain anonymous. “You mean they don’t want us to thank them, Mom?”

If you, Giver of the Wii, are reading this…thank you, thank you, thank you!!! You have given us much delight!

Mason had actually been saving for a Wii and Michael had promised to give the last bit of it. Mason took the money he had saved and bought games, while Michael took the money he had promised to chip in and bought a controller. Aunt Lynne came to visit this week and she brought us Mario cart and some of those cool “steering wheels”. So now, we are pretty much hooked up.

Tennis is my favorite and the first day I played I sustained injuries both to my finger and shoulder. Mason has a black eye from where he hit himself with a steering wheel during a very "intense" Mario Cart race. No pain, no gain…that’s what I always say.

Isn’t that neat? How God could take the “desires of the heart” of a little boy and make them reality through someone else? I love that about God.

Bless ya!

Even More Tales From the Potty

2009-02-01T07:40:00.000-08:00

Success!

Ethan! Has! Finally! Done it!

Last night at our Bible study group I bravely asked for prayer. Most of the other requests were for friends and family members who are sick or going through trials. When I sensed the lull that would carry us over into the actual task of prayer, I made the “ahem” noise and all eyes shifted to me.

“I know this may not seem important,” I began, “but would you all mind praying for Ethan and I in the task of potty training? It’s very frustrating to us both.”

I then launched into the condensed version of a tale so brutally true, I almost hated my transparence. It goes a little something like this…

A few days ago Ethan and I started into our ritual of every 30 minute bathroom visits. I’ll be honest: my mood wasn’t great. It seemed like I would put Ethan in the appropriate situation to be successful, only to have him be UNsuccessful minutes after removing him. Everything I have read about potty training says that this stage is a very sensitive one – one wrong move from me and the kid may never go correctly. So, I have had the inner war of really wanting to blow my top, yet asking the Lord to help me refrain for the sake of my child and my time management. I think I fell somewhere in the middle, probably a little closer to where I shouldn’t have been.

I explained to Ethan very “firmly” that only babies go poo-poo in their pants…you are a big boy…if you ever want to play with another toy again you’d better get this right…I’ll give you m&ms if you go…etc.

I know – I sound like a complete witch.

After several mishaps that day, I sighed in resignation and reached for a Pull Up. After jerking it up over his fanny he looked up at me with those big blue eyes, put his hands on my cheeks, gave me a kiss and said, “Thank you for not yelling at me, mommy…”

I grabbed him and cried and kissed him all over and told him how sorry I was for being so impatient. (Oh, my goodness! I’m tearing up now!) I told him that I loved him and that I make many of my own messes (not the same kind, of course) almost every day. I asked him to forgive me for loving my to-do list and my schedule and my clean bathroom too, too much.

He said he forgave me, then in typical Ethan fashion asked me, “Mommy, can we be tigers now?”

Ethan has had 2 successful attempts since last night. A big thanks to my Bible study group for praying, and for knowing that no thing is too small or too insignificant to ask of the Father.

Bless ya!

Silent and Deadly

2009-01-08T13:46:00.000-08:00

This is NOT about what it sounds like it’s about.

No, it’s about Ethan. Again.

Ethan is a very jovial little fellow. He talks non-stop, asks “why” after everything I say, and has more volts (or wattage, or ohms…whatever works) than the energizer bunny. The kid lives and plays hard, then when he’s tired, he falls to the ground where he is and is nearly impossible to wake.

With Mason homeschooling, I often find myself distracted. I’m not complaining about it, but I can’t finish folding a basket of laundry without having to take Ethan to the potty, or find Ethan’s Thomas, or fix Ethan a snack, or juice, or put his shoes on. A couple times this week while Mason and I have been working together I’ve said, “Wait…do you hear that?”

“What, Mom?” he asks

“That silence. I must find your brother.”

Once, after one such interchange, I walked to the top of the steps to find that Ethan had decorated the hardwood floor with every sticker he could find in the house. There were monster trucks, Disney Princesses, Thomas the Tank Engine, and various cars and other vehicles. I believe these stickers were stocking stuffers…purchased from the Dollar Tree, no doubt…so one can only surmise at their quality. It didn’t take me long to realize that their removal was going to be a time consuming job, one I decided to leave for later. Bad idea. I’ll leave it at that.

One other time, after hearing a deafening and uncharacteristic silence from my youngest, I traipsed downstairs to find the playroom totally trashed. Books thrown from the shelves to the floor, paper spilled everywhere, Barbies strewn about, the desk overturned. I even found a ballet outfit on the one-legged Ken. Hmmm…

In both of these instances (and I have more), Ethan learned some (painful!) lessons about operating within the boundaries of the rules of our house (especially rule #4 – We don’t make unnecessary work for others), and I was reminded of something, too.

Here it is: If I don’t keep my house in order, it will progress to chaos very quickly. I don’t mean my literal “house” either, but rather “life”, I guess, though certainly my home would fall into this category. I’m thinking of things like relationships, physical, mental and spiritual health, and even my relationship with the Lord. If I don’t maintain my relationships, encourage them and keep short accounts, they can grow stale, or distant. If I don’t exercise and watch what I eat I can become sluggish and tired. And if I’m not daily feeding on the word of God, sitting at His feet and talking to him, it’s ME who suffers because I’m more prone to trust my own thoughts and feelings in the moment rather than what I know is true.

Chaos can slip up on me when I’m not watching out for it. Maybe I should be more alert!

Bless ya!

Tales From the Potty

2009-01-08T13:43:00.000-08:00

This one IS what you think it’s about, so if you’re grossed in the slightest by bathroom stories or references, I implore you to hit the page down button. This will serve as your disclaimer!!!!! No complaints!

It seems like with each child potty training has gotten more difficult. With Mason, I bought “How to Potty Train in a Day,” or whatever that book was called. I followed it’s instructions more or less, and Mason was trained in mere days.

Caroline was a little more difficult, but still basically easy.

Molly, though she was (and is) a bright little spot of sunshine, she just about pushed me over the edge and Michael had to finally barge in and rescue us both.

Now we have Ethan. Ethan, Ethan, Ethan.

Ethan will go #1 when I take him and make him. This involves setting the kitchen timer for every 30 minutes, which I do. Sigh.

As for the other thing - #2 – not one ounce of success. I have tried and tried and tried, but he just won’t cooperate. In fact, I have had him sit on the potty for 30 minutes or so, only to have him “make his deposit” the minute I put the big boy pants back on.

The other afternoon I just decided that he and I were going to hang out in the bathroom and have fun. We made up songs about the potty, we made up cheers about things one DOES in the potty. It was a party. The time just flew by. I wish I could say that it was effective, but I cannot. I think Ethan’s favorite was: “Push it out! Push it out! Waaaay out! Hey!” Which he, in turn, DID as soon as the Blue’s Clues big-boy pants were back in place.

Ethan even sang it for Michael when he got home from work. Michael wasn’t impressed.

Finally, I decided that the approach to take with Ethan was just to lay it all out there and have an honest heart to heart talk. It went a little something like this:

ME: Ethan, sweetie, there’s nothing to be afraid of. Everyone poops in the potty! Mason does, Caroline does, Molly does, Daddy does…

ETHAN: Pawpaw does?

ME: He sure does!

ETHAN: Aunt Lynne does?

ME: Yes, yes! You’ve got it!

ETHAN: Yeah! Woo-Hoo! Hey Mommy…I lost my udder quock (translation: other croc)

Any tips? If anyone is still here reading this, I’m desperate!

Bless ya!

Life Soundtrack

2009-01-08T13:37:00.000-08:00

I totally ripped this off from my friend Julie over at learningtowaltz.blogspot.com . This is just a fun/silly thing that tells you what the soundtrack would be if your life was a movie.

Here’s how it works:

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that’s playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don’t lie and try to pretend you're cool… and alot of the songs will fit with the setting

Here are mine...

Opening Credits:
I surrender all – amy grant

Waking Up:
in my hiding place – mike lunsford

First Day At School:
great and mighty – caedmon’s call

Falling In Love:
the shadow proves the sunshine - switchfoot

Fight Song:
we all bow down – twila paris

Breaking Up:
god is in control – twila paris

Prom night:
do you love me – andy cloninger

Life:
Jesus whispers – red mountain church, the gadsby project

Mental Breakdown:
the nightshift watchman – david wilcox

Driving:
where the streets have no name – u2 (ha!!)

Flashback:
we have seen your glory – twila paris

Getting back together:
trip through your wires – u2

Wedding:
you’re the only woman - ambrosia (yes... I DO like Ambrosia. No snide comments, please)

Birth of Child:
the world is alive – casting crowns

Final Battle:
spin - david wilcox

Funeral Song:
enter in – twila paris (!)

Final Credits:
now to him – paxson & allison jeancake

Yep, that's 2 minutes of your life you're not getting back!

Bless ya anyhow!

Ethan...

2009-01-04T07:38:00.000-08:00

Ethan has said a couple of really funny things lately, and I wanted to share them.

When your kids are born you just automatically think "Here he/she is...the cutest, smartest, most wonderful child to ever live!" And of course it's true, because it's YOUR child. And we other parents don't mind hearing it from you, because we have also thought/said the same thing.

I think that with Ethan being the baby and everyone so much older than him, we forget the mental capabilities of one so young. For example, if I put a Matchbox car in the shopping cart, he knows it's for him, he wants it then, and he will ask for it when we get home. But for some reason it seems like I ought to be able to load up a cart full of his favorite toys - with him never noticing.

My 40th birthday is just around the corner. Michael has been taking the kids out "running errands" with him a lot lately. Recently after one such excursion, the girls were sitting in the floor of the kitchen and I walked in...

CAROLINE: Mommy, we went shopping for your birthday and we bought you something that you are really going to like! But we're NOT going to tell you what it is!

ETHAN: It's a phone.

CAROLINE: ETHAAAAAN!

OK, fast forward to last night at dinner. We're all sitting around and Caroline brings up the fact that while I do know it's a phone, I don't have any idea what kind of phone it actually is...

ETHAN: It's a Blackberry.

CAROLINE: ETHAAAAAAN!

One more example, then I'm done.

Michael and I have been trying really hard to potty train Ethan. Yes, he's 3, no he's not potty trained. One of the methods that we, as parents, believe in is pure, flat-out bribery. We are telling Ethan that if he learns to go potty like a big boy, we will give him a fire truck!!! Fire truck, fire truck, fire truck...it's all we ever speak of as we wait with bated (baited? I just don't know/care) breath for him to perform the...tasks...we've been trying to teach him.

As Michael was dressing the other day he told me that he bought a T-R-A-C-T-O-R for Ethan instead of the item we had discussed giving him (fire truck!). He spelled it out slowly and carefully for me then Ethan looked up at his dad with those big blue eyes and said, "Daddy, can I have my tractor NOW?"

He makes me laugh.

Bless ya!

Christmas Caroline

2008-12-19T12:20:00.000-08:00

‘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

2008-11-22T06:52:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-22T06:48:00.000-08:00

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

2008-11-11T13:02:00.000-08:00

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

2008-10-31T05:32:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-25T07:09:00.000-07:00

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

2008-10-05T07:49:00.001-07:00

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

2008-10-02T09:40:00.000-07:00

“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

2008-09-24T13:33:00.000-07:00

“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

2008-09-10T15:29:00.000-07:00

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

2008-09-03T12:05:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-30T08:13:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-24T12:48:00.000-07:00

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

2008-08-24T12:47:00.000-07:00

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.

2008-08-16T17:24:00.000-07:00

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?

2008-07-24T08:12:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-16T15:55:00.001-07:00

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

2008-06-27T19:00:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-18T11:46:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-18T10:54:00.000-07:00

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!

2008-06-15T09:21:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-14T10:21:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-05T08:22:00.000-07:00

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

2008-06-01T07:37:00.001-07:00

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

2008-05-21T05:50:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-05-19T14:46:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-12T10:55:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-08T07:49:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-07T05:55:00.000-07:00

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

2008-05-02T08:15:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-28T06:07:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-25T11:51:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-25T11:38:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-04-20T04:47:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-04-17T06:04:00.000-07:00

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

2008-04-16T12:26:00.000-07:00

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"

2008-04-12T14:37:00.000-07:00

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...

2008-04-11T10:49:00.000-07:00

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...!

2008-04-11T09:19:00.000-07:00

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!

Shout to the Lord

2008-04-11T05:55:00.000-07:00

I know it's old news by now, but what I witnessed on American Idol last night was incredible. People just don't surprise me anymore, but they did last night.

When I heard "My Jesus, My Savior, Lord there is none like you..." my jaw dropped, along with about a million other Christian's jaws. It took me a minute, but after the shock wore off I realized what was happening...

The night before (Tuesday) was the "Idol Gives Back" show. Now, I DID DVR the show, but only watched it in spots. Michael told me that the idols sang "Shout" that night (I think he heard about it on Rick and Bubba - our source for news), but I did not see it myself. But as I watched all of the short films with wealthy celebrities crying and being touched (which isn't a bad thing - don't get me wrong...)I was thinking to myself that, yes, these people need food, clean water, medicine, and money to have all of that...but on top of it all, and most importantly, they need hope - the hope that only Jesus can give. All the food and clean water in the world won't satisfy the real needs we all have. What was missing from the show was the source of healing and hope.

Again, let me stress that I think what American Idol does is AWESOME! TV programs don't care about people! But this is why I watch American Idol - it is laying new track and forging ahead being different enough in many ways to make people scratch their heads. It doesn't make fun of anyone (even Simon who, though brutal, is really trying to be helpful...and he usually is right), doesn't put people in positions to make themselves look stupid, thus giving us entertainment value at the expense of dignity and self-respect. It's just a singing competition. Until last night...

Last night, in my opinion, God used AI as a platform. Now, I don't know who of those idols are Christians and who aren't - and it doesn't really matter. What matters, to me, is that last night God was proclaimed and magnified. Last night, "whether in pretense or in truth, Christ was proclaimed, and in that I rejoice." (Philippians 1:18)

If you missed it, here it is...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i6G0U8Vg6nY

Bless ya!

Statistically Speaking

2008-04-02T20:20:00.000-07:00

Here are the statistics for the week (so far!!)

4 number of trips I made to Rite-Aid TODAY
8 number of prescriptions I’ve had filled for my family in the last 7 days
2 number of ear infections in our house since last weekend
1 number of times I had to perform the Heimlich on Ethan
3 number of hours I spent in the ER with Michael because of…
3 width in millimeters of his kidney stone
2 number of days of school Molly has missed (not including the hour or so she was out on Monday!)

I know the above sounds kind of sarcastic or bitter, but really I'm just laughin'!

Bless ya!

On Second Thought...

2008-04-01T08:11:00.000-07:00

After my blog post yesterday, I had some time by myself in the car yesterday evening. I love to be in the car, alone, radio off, so I can just think. What was I ruminating on, you ask? Let me share...

I had some time by myself...in the car...on the way to the pharmacy...to pick up TWO antibiotics for Molly's ear...which was SO infected it was almost closed...Michael stayed home...to hold her down...and ease her crying...and her pain...and her suffering...

Could you please hold my "Mother-of-the-Year" award for a minute so I can kick myself?

Yes. As I drove to the pharmacy, following my supreme lack of judgement yesterday, a couple things ran through my mind.

First, and I've said this before, I love to be right, folks! And when I'm not (like this time), I feel like a fool. But I love God - I love how it's his grace that won't let me always be right. He loves me too much to let me think so highly of myself, of my thinking skills, of my judgement. My friend Lynne told me when I was in Birmingham last..."Have a healthy distrust of everything you think/feel." The wisest words said to me lately. (I love you, Lynne...thank you for bravely speaking into my life!!)

And also...God gives me so much more than I deserve. When I fall on my face as a mom, wife, friend, Christian, he doesn't push me away! He restores me and enables me to help restore the situation. This means I can go to Molly, tell her I'm sorry for what I did, explain to her how much mommy needs Jesus, and in that I will teach her a bit about what it means to fail well. The world has its own agenda - and it will try and teach her to not take responsibility for her failures, or to cover them up, or to blameshift, or to deny them, or to just "act like you've got it all together". Don't think for a minute that the world will teach her to "boast in her weaknesses, because when she's weak, she's strong." So, in the end, this is for her good as well as mine.

By the way...the pharmacy I went to was Rite Aid. Again. What is it about that place?

Bless ya!

Modern Day Miracles

2008-03-31T12:43:00.000-07:00

Today the neatest thing happened...

We received a call from the school nurse at about 10am. Poor Molly was complaining that her ear hurt.

I thought it was a bit odd that her ear would hurt. I mean, even though Ethan has been battling an ear infection this weekend, her ears seemed fine all of spring break. And to think - she has to face the pain on her first day back.

I went up to the school with ear drops and ibuprofen in hand. I found Molly curled up in fetal position on a blue beanbag chair covered with an Ariel towel. "Pathetic" doesn't come close to describing how she looked. Head down, eyes dreary, mouth in a frown. Sad, sad, sad. No fever, though, thankfully.

I brought Molly home.

Then, without warning, something happened. Molly began singing! Molly began skipping! Molly played and rejoiced in life! She was cured! It was a miracle!!

I turned around and took her fanny back to school.

Bless ya!

The Snake and the Brocci

2008-03-26T14:15:00.000-07:00

Just a couple things...

First, I've had a couple people ask me for an update on Steven, the "pet snake" Caroline found in the garden the week before Easter. One day last week - on one of those cold mornings, Caroline woke up to find Steven a bit stiff. He wasn't frozen dead, but Michael did have to explain to her the whole "cold-blooded" concept, and how keeping Steven could ultimately be very harmful to his health. Caroline told us that she intended to let him go - but she wanted to do it Easter morning - thought that would be a good Easter present for him and his family. Knowing there would probably be several more cold mornings before Easter, we tried to persuade her that Steven might not make it until then. I believe I even gave her the whole "if you love somebody, set them free" speech, then left her to herself.

A while later Caroline came in the house, tears streaming down her face. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me that she had gone far into the backyard and let Steven go. She was genuinely sad. It reminded me of the tree frog she caught a few years ago - the tree frog she, literally, loved to death. This love for reptile-like things can of freaks me out, but it's part of who she is. Wherever Steven is, I doubt he'll ever again find the genuine love Caroline had for him!

And second...

Michael told me he wanted me to post this picture on my blog. It's Ethan eating raw broccoli (or "brocci", as he calls it) from our garden. If I cook the stuff, coat it in butter and salt and cheese, he will have none of it, but raw, unwashed (don't worry - it's organic!) from the garden suits his fancy. Go figure.

We had a wonderful Easter, loads of company on Sunday and sweet pictures. Hope yours was just as joyous!

Bless ya!

Rite Aid Righteousness

2008-03-19T07:30:00.000-07:00

Yesterday Ethan, Molly and I made a trip to Rite Aid to take advantage of some sales on potential Easter basket fillings. Rite Aid is never an easy place for me. Why? Several reasons, but I'll just mention one here. In front of the cash registers, front and center, is a huge display of metal cars. They are bigger than matchbox cars...about as big as my hand...and Ethan is like a moth to a flame. In fact, one of his first words was "car". He loves them.

I'm mentally preparing myself, and feel like I have headed it off by telling Ethan that he may NOT go over to the cars. Things seem to be ok...at first. Finally, my helpful 5-year-old Molly WALKS OVER TO THE CARS I JUST TOLD ETHAN TO STAY AWAY FROM. Like a good little brother, he follows. What ensues is nothing short of utter chaos. Ethan palms a great big yellow bus and I follow with "Ethan put that down." He obeys. However, he then proceeds to locate a big grey airplane (or air-gack, as he calls it). "Ethan...put that back." I warn. But alas, his brief stint of obedience has expired.

Ethan turned on me. He threw his pacifier to the ground in a fit of rage and proceeds to fling himself to the ground. Then, as if that weren't enough, he jumps up and runs down one of the aisles toward the back SCREAMING at the top of his strong, young lungs. Me? My hands are full of cheap plastic Easter eggs, chocolate bunnies and some of that ridiculous green cellophane Easter grass. What can I do? I run after him, thus losing my coveted FIFTH place in line (!!!) toward the back of the store. I grab his hand, whisper a few threats - which he can't possibly hear because of the decibel level at this point. He pulls his hand from mine, but I manage to get a good hold. I make my way back to the front of the store, where I am now SEVENTH in line, while Ethan is holding his legs up refusing to let them touch the ground, forcing me to virtually drag him along.

I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that everyone in the store is looking at me. Some of the people - moms - look sympathetic. Others look irritated. I am smiling to myself because I literally am thinking about what I could possibly say to everyone that wouldn't sound like "he never does this!". I hated this moment, but kind of liked it at the same time. It was a perfect example of how I don't need to defend myself. In fact, I had no defense at all! To all of those people at Rite Aid, in that moment, I am a bad mom. I selfishly want to turn to everyone and kind of give my "good mom" resume. You know, show 'em my trophies. But that wouldn't even have worked. Ethan is still screaming, Molly is trying hard to pacify him (I think she was feeling bad about kind of kick starting the whole thing), and I really want and need to buy this stuff. Thank the Lord I am complete in Christ.

When we got to the card I explained to Ethan's 2-year-old ears that the way he acted in Rite Aid was neither loving, respectful or self-controlled...but that's why he needs Jesus, and only Jesus can help him say no to his sin and yes to obedience. I followed that up with a few pops on the behind.

Later, when Michael got home, I told him what had happened. He looked at Ethan and said "Ethan, did you disobey Mommy at the store?" And Ethan said "Daddy...cry." It's amazing what they understand. They are never to young to hear the gospel.

Bless ya!

Oh! One other thing...Caroline found a snake in the backyard and has claimed him as a pet. His name is Steven. He eats termites, which Caroline feeds him, he crawls on her, and this morning she went out and held him during a thunderstorm so he wouldn't be afraid. He's still just a baby, but I'm not feeling good about it. In fact, he might accidentally escape today.

Kenny and the Crayon

2008-03-18T10:57:00.000-07:00

Our van has been having a little problem...the right side door won't slide open. A couple months ago I went to open the right sliding door...to no avail. I pulled, I prodded, I got inside the van and kicked the door, I contorted by body every which-a-way, but it wasn't budging. And I had no idea why. Imagine, if you will, pulling up to the car pool line, having to roll down the window and ask the poor teacher if she would mind walking the kids around to the other side of the car. To Mason, who is easily embarrassed, this was the low point of his day for about, oh...2 months. Yesterday Michael and I took the van to "Kenny's Collision Center" to get it fixed.

Michael informed me with little warning that we were taking the van to Kenny's . I had no real opportunity, then, to straighten up the car so it would be in good enough condition for Kenny's very male and very busy eyes (like he cares what my van looks like...still, I was slightly shamed), but regardless, by that afternoon Kenny had worked his magic, and for only $30 we had a door that opened and the paint touched up.

"Why wouldn't it open?" I asked innocently.

"Crayon." Kenny replied.

I don't doubt it at all. In fact, I should have guessed as much. Something as little and insignificant as a crayon had a real impact on our family. At first, we had trouble remembering to go to the left side to get in. Almost inevitably, someone would go to the broken right side, try to open the door, and open it just enough to get the interior light to come on. I remember one particular time Caroline went to the broken door first. She tried to open it, the light came on and my smart-alec remark was "Welcome to the family, Caroline...that door's broken!". Incidentallly, the next Sunday morning at church, I got out of the car, walked around to the broken side and attempted to fling it open. I realized my mistake when, you guessed it...the light came on. Caroline's response?

Welcome to the family, mom! That door's broken!!!

Why does God seem to use crayons so often in my life?

Bless ya!

Ugh!

2008-03-13T10:17:00.000-07:00

I want to post...but I don't feel that great today.

I don't feel like sitting here typing. Think I'll watch the Today show...

I'm not That Elephant...as sung by Molly Ferguson MacCaughelty

2008-03-07T11:50:00.000-08:00

Finding my Joy in the Crumbs

2008-03-07T07:06:00.000-08:00

All day long yesterday - as different "opportunities" kept cropping up - I kept thinking "I need to go blog about this right now." But the "opportunities" were just so close together that frankly, I couldn't find the occasion.

Let me just start at the beginning...

At about 4:30 am, Molly woke up - barfing, of course. Following defcon vomit mode, Molly was moved to the couch, and the Cinderella trash can strategically placed. (Aside - that good ol' Cinderella - she never lets us down). Molly of course, had the fever, the whimpers - the whole gamet. Here's a picture (see Cinderella?).

Molly, quite comfy, finally napped. A bit later, my sweet Ethan came to me with an orange crayon and a guilty smile:

He took my hand and led me to his masterpiece.

My budding Picasso! We're so proud of his talent...though we wish he would pick a canvas other than my mother's dining room furniture.

Mr. Clean eraser, here I come!

I failed to mention that I had a Bible study to teach this night...so, I'm studying and preparing in between all this.

Later on, after dinner (Hawaiian pizza), Mason reached up into the freezer to get a "go-gurt", and his hand nudged the box of Girl Scout thin mints - Michael's prized and relished food item...he can make a box last one year - spilling them to the floor. While Michael was screaming (with a smile on his face), the kids scrambled to the crumbs for a forbidden snack off the floor.

Right after dinner I headed next door to Ginger's house for the Bible study. We're studying James right now, and I LOVE it. Last night our verses were James 1:1-8: consider it pure joy whenever you face trials of many kinds. We talked about how often we only look at the considering our trials as pure joy part, without noticing verse 5: if we lack wisdom (insight into our particular trial and the ability to see them as opportunites to have an encounter with the Father), all we have to do is ask. We all face trials, no matter how “good” we happen to be. Our central problem is not our problem itself, but our response to our problem. James tells us that our response should be one of faith – knowing that the Father is our only option (therefore ceasing to fight what he is doing in our lives). So, whether my trial is a sick child, crayons anywhere crayons don't belong, or something much, much more difficult (lots of things come to mind), they are all opportunites to grow in our faith/perseverance/maturity and to see where it is we truly find our joy.

I'll tell ya...it's so freeing and so joy-giving to know that even the little things I face every day are producing something valuable in me.

Bless ya!

Oh! And Molly is feeling much better!

I'm not that Elephant

2008-03-05T08:01:00.000-08:00

This past Christmas Caroline received a Barbie keyboard. It's cute: Barbie talks to you, there's a microphone, some cool accompaniments. Caroline loves music, so this is right up her alley.

Unfortunately, while perusing the aisles of Toys R Us for Christmas presents, I found myself in a bit of a time crunch...and 4 kids to shop for. Now, know that my nearest Toys R Us is 1 1/2 hours away - I think I've mentioned that before. I appreciate that 1 1/2 hours is not that big of a deal in the whole scheme of life...but, I'm sorry, it is for me. I have to be going to Mobile already for something else.

So, having said that, you can surmise that my research of said Barbie keyboard was limited, at best.

When I got the thing home, I realized that, in addition to the cool accompaniments, we would also have the joyful option of listening to parts of three "popular" pop songs, one of which is "Oops, I did it Again!" by Miss Brittany Spears. I have nothing against Brittany at all. Her songs are quite kicky, I guess. But the words to "Oops" go something like this:

Oops I did it again...I played with your heart...got lost in the game
Oh baby, baby..
Oops, you think I'm in love...that I'm sent from above
I'm not that innocent!

I don't think I'm ready for my 5 and 8 year olds to be singing "I'm not that innocent."

So, as a remedy, I "innocently" enough began singing along with the song, and at the end there, I changed the word "innocent" to "elephant":

"I'm not that elephant!"

Yes, I know it's not completely true, but hey, it works for right now? The fact that my girls walk around singing "Oops...I'm not that elephant" instead of "I'm not that innocent" without any thought of "hey mom, that doesn't sound quite right? Why would she say 'I'm not that elephant'?" actually says quite a lot about the innocence they yet have. And you know what? That's good for me. Because once it's gone, there's no going back.

I have a short vdo of Molly singing the song with the keyboard, which I will attempt to download as soon as I can get up to Michael's study (because at home? Hello! Dial up!). I've watched it a hundred times and it is so cute and funny to me. I know that one day Molly will see it (maybe at her rehearsal dinner? I'll keep that in the mental file...) and roll her eyes at me. But until then I have this living picture of childlike innocence. It's pure gold.

Bless ya!

To Bundle Up...or Not

2008-02-29T09:20:00.000-08:00

It's a chilly day here in LA (that's lower Alabama, for those of you who don't know the lingo). It's a bit overcast, which I love.

On days like this, and even on days unlike this...virtually every day that comes...I am faced with a decision that plagues me: What's the weather going to be like? Do the kids need long sleeves? A light jacket? Long sleeves and a heavy jacket? What?? The newspaper says that the high is 67 degrees. What does that mean? Will it be 67 degrees at 9am...or 6pm? Should we layer? These and other questions like them leave me little time to think through much else on an ordinary morning.

Also, if the paper says the high is going to be 69 degrees, well...that's in the 60's, which is cold. But if the paper says the high is going to be 71 degress...that is in the 70's, see - warm. Michael labors to help me see that they are 2 degrees apart, but I can't wrap my mind around that concept. I see the temperature like I see music - by decades. The 60's are utterly and completely different than the 70's. And don't get me started on the 80's!

What to do? And it never fails...if I dress my kid in long sleeves, coat and mittens, they will be sweating by the time I pull up to the carpool line. If they are in shorts and short-sleeves, every other kid in the school will have on a sweatshirt. I just can't get this right, folks. Can't.

Michael sighs and rolls his eyes at me when I ask questions, too. But I'm learning, right? Maybe when it's Ethan's turn to don the school uniform I will have a handle on things. Sooner or later I am bound to understand how this all works and jump on board...but maybe not. Maybe I should just recognize my limitations and go with my strengths. You know, focus on what I'm good at.

If nothing else, my husband gets a chuckle out of my being appropriately-dressed challenged. That's got to be redemptive somehow, doesn't it?

Bless ya!

Coffee Break...with a Poptart

2008-02-28T08:52:00.001-08:00

I can only write for a second...my friend, Cathy, invited me to meet her at our new Christian bookstore for coffee. Cathy doesn't like coffee, but I do think that is the only major character flaw I see.

I keep praying for Molly this morning. The reason being...wow, I hate saying this...our last interaction of the morning? Let's just say it wouldn't win me the "Mother-of-the-Year" award, ok? As we were walking out of the house Molly said, "Mom, can I have a Pop-tart?" I had just given Mason a Pop-tart, but Molly has a sort of "way" of eating Pop-tarts that is really messy and very slow. She picks off all the outside edges where the frosting doesn't quite make it to the rim. She does this very deliberately and intentionally, so as not to accidently get ANY frosting whatsoever into the discard pile.

I told her "no"...put a nutri-grain into her hand and started out the door. "Mom, I don't like this kind of nutri-grain!" So, I took the nutri-grain, thrust it back into the box (where it got all smashed up), and shoved a different flavor at her.

What were my actions saying to Molly? I love getting to school on time more than I love you...I don't care if you're hungry, you are interrupting my schedule...A clean car is more important than anything else. I know what my brother would say. He would say "you're too hard on yourself." And that would be true if I was going to camp out here and roast marshmallows.

But instead, I will tell Jesus I blew it. I will pray for Molly all day and when she gets home I will hug her and own up to my failure to love her well. I will ask her to forgive me, pray with her, and rejoice in how God restores broken things.

Then I will give her a Pop-tart.

Bless ya!

Sacred

2008-02-27T08:38:00.000-08:00

Do you have a song that just, oh...I don't know...says it for you? A few years ago I started writing my life story. Now, let me just say that I'm not writing my life story because I'm "full" of myself or anything (well, I probably am, but I think my motives are good in this minute...), but because I want to leave the story behind for my children. Before my mother died I asked her to write some of her story for me. It is a priceless treasure! It's a piece of her, the real story, and I will never have to say, "Let's see if I remember this correctly..." when I'm telling my kids, who never knew her, about their Nana's life.

Anyway, as I have been writing this story (I think it's up to about 25 typed pages at this point, because, hey...life keeps happening), I have inserted words to songs that have spoken to me during that particular spot in life. For example:

When I was in college and had just become a Christian, it was Sweet Victory by Twila Paris. I had just broken an engagement because I felt God leading me away. It was hard to do that - to give back the ring and simply walk away from a relationship that I thought might be forever. I'm thankful now that it wasn't. But that song - I listened to it over and over and over again in my dorm room. It helped, and I still sing it sometimes. "In this place I rest in more than I can see...High above the turbulence You carry me...From deep in a full heart I will speak Your name...Rising like an eagle I will fly..."

After returning from 2 1/2 years in Thailand I met Michael. We met in the middle of very turbulent times for both of us. Michael's father died May 19, 1997, 6 weeks before our wedding. Then, in June, Michael preached his first sermon on Father's Day of that year - about a month after his father died. The title of the Sermon was "Hold On" and it was about hope. Our entire dating/engagement we drew strength from the Lord and the song Hold On, another one by Twila Paris: "We can hold on to sorrow, hold on to pain...We can hold on to anger, when there is nothing to be gained...We can hold to a thread at the end of a rope...But if we hold on to Jesus we are holding on to hope...Hold on, hold on..."

Then, when we were leaving Altadena Valley PCA and looking for a job in youth ministry, we saw God provide in awesome ways - like a free house to live in...in Mountain Brook, of all places...but I still struggled with wondering if God saw us. Why was it taking so long? I remember living in that neighborhood for 3 months and walking every morning with my walkman listening to the Caedmon's Call song, Shifting Sand: "Waters rose as my doubts reigned...My sand-castle faith, it slipped away...Found myself standing on your grace...It'd been there all the time..My faith is like shifting sand, changed by every wave...My faith is like shifting sand, so I stand on grace..."

In 2004-2005 we faced the roughest storm ever. Some of you may know the story, some of you may not (it's not a secret...I'm (we) are happy to share it, just ask). It has a happy ending, and there has been much "redeeming of the years the locusts ate". During the trial, it felt almost painful to breathe - profound pain, that I now understand was purifying us, showing us our sin, and doing much, much deeper things that I can't even write about. That's a face-to-face with a pot of coffee kind of conversation. Our "mantra" (aside from the many verses in 1 Peter that we were clinging to), was the song Praise you in this Storm, by Casting Crowns: "As the thunder rolls, I barely hear You whisper through the rain "I'm with you"...And as Your mercy falls, I raise my hands and praise the God who gives and takes away...I'll praise You in this storm, and I will lift my hands...For You are who You are, no matter where I am...Every tear I've cried, you hold in Your hand...You never left my side...And though my heart is torn, I will praise You in this storm."

Well, this morning as I was unloading the dishwasher, I was listening to our newest Caedmon's Call CD. It's called "Overdressed", and there is a song on it that...just...it was just right where I was this morning. I want to give you the words...maybe you can relate as well:

SACRED
This house is a good mess, it's the proof of life.
No way would I trade jobs, but it don't pay overtime.
I'll get to the laundry, I don't know when.
I'm saying a prayer tonight, 'cause tomorrow it starts again.
Could it be that everything is sacred?
And all this time everything I've dreamed of has been right before my eyes?

The children are sleeping, but they're running through my mind.
The sun makes them happy, and the music makes them unwind.
My cup runneth over, and I worry about the stain,
Teach me to run to you, like they run to me for every little thing.
Could it be that everything is sacred?
And all this time everything I've dreamed of has been right before my eyes?

When I forget to drink from you, I can feel the banks harden,
Lord, make me like a stream, to feed the garden.

Wake up, little sleeper,
The Lord God Almighty made your Mama keeper,
So rise and shine.

Could it be that everything is sacred?
And all this time everything I've dreamed of has been right before my eyes?

(Words by Randall Goodgame and Andrew Osenga)

WOW!!!

Bless ya!

Finding God in the Noodles

2008-02-26T08:30:00.000-08:00

Michael and I have come to the conclusion that our children need a crash course on table manners. Now, they aren’t jumping on the table, or throwing stuff at each other, but somehow napkins don’t seem to make it to laps, there is a lot of wiggling, singing, elbows on the table…that sort of thing. Now, just like with anything, balance is the key. In our house, when we have spaghetti, noodles will be placed under the nose. We make noodle moustaches each and every time there is a noodle cooked on my stove. In fact, if we have noodles at your house, we will probably make noodle moustaches there as well. (Incidentally – there is one other thing we sometimes do with noodles. It involves the noodle and the word “achoo!”. I’ll let you do the math…)

Last night at dinner, I informed the fam that from now on, we are going to take a “hard line” with the table manners. I bought a book. We are going to have examples of what not to do (starring Michael) as well as examples of the correct things to do (starring…me). It’s going to be a rich learning environment, I promise you.

Anyhow, once we had finished dinner and were kind of sitting around talking to each other, Ethan got up from his chair and went and sat with Michael. Michael is really into the crystal light singles – where you just pour the mix right into your glass or bottle of water (it just makes Monroeville water taste better – and every little bit helps). He (Michael) was sitting there with at least 2/3 of a glass full of something red. Ethan went over there, sat in his lap and began trying to drink from Michael’s cup.

Now, before you start thinking, “Wow…Amy can see into the future!”, let me also add that I had mopped the kitchen floor that day. So, it goes without saying, really. The rule is, on the day you mop, the children will want chocolate pudding for an after school snack, or they will end up eating (and dropping) rice krispies (once those suckers get down there and harden, walking near the table is almost like walking on crunchy bubble-wrap). As I watched sweet Ethan heaving Michael’s glass up to his mouth my thought was, “What a sweet boy…who is about to spill red stuff all over my floor.”

Splash!

Ethan started to cry. The reasons – probably two-fold. Firstly, he was wondering if he was going to get disciplined (which he didn’t, of course, but I know him and know that would be his first thought), and secondly, the water was cold. Ethan was covered in cold, pink stuff, so I took him to the bathroom and started running the tub. Meanwhile, over the hum of the bath water, I heard a scream. A blood-curdling scream.

I thought at first maybe I had imagined it, but no, it continued. I called Molly into the bathroom to watch Ethan so I could go see what the problem was. Evidently, Mason was spinning Caroline around in the kitchen, she slipped, and her face nailed the floor. Her forehead looked like it was wearing a purple marble.

Maybe table manners are overrated? If we had just stayed in our seats putting noodles up our noses, no one would have gotten hurt, right? You know what else I learned? Even the best table manners in the world cannot control chaos. It might make a meal more pleasant, but they won’t give life. Don’t get me wrong! I’m not saying “since the world is chaotic and sad, let’s just forget about table manners”. That’s not what I’m saying at all. The point I am trying to make is: Manners – important. They sort of “bring God’s kingdom to bear” right there at the dinner table. They (good manners) are a way to love others, and we are all about making our children understand this. However, they won’t solve the world’s problems, so if we occasionally slip up, God is still God. I am talking bigger picture here, folks, and I am really just talking to myself.

So. Noodles all around! A-A-A-choo!

Bless ya!

Emotional Soup

2008-02-24T06:13:00.000-08:00

I am an emotional soup right now.

Last night (and the night before!!) Ethan was up - I forget how many times and for how long - pulling on his ear saying, "Mommy, ouch!" Why is it always at night and why is it always on weekends? I'll be home from church again today, but that' ok. So, I'm tired, and for me, being tired leads to one thing...crying and randomness (actually, that's two things. See, I'm just not thinking clearly.)

I think I'll share some of the little things in life that make me happy...

Funny commercials - I love the cheese commerial where the bull goes up to the cows and tries to hit on them by speaking with a French accent, then the cow, who actually does speak french, starts saying all these things he doesn't understand, and he's busted. Sometimes (since we got a free DVR when we signed up for sattelite) I will DVR commercials and play them back for Michael.

My pan flute CD. Mason gave it to me for my birthday. It's called "Endless Love" and it has various ballads performed on the pan flute. And yes...Endless Love is one of the ballads. It's from the Dollar Tree, and you can't go wrong there.

Cinnamon rolls - the kind that come from the tube with the little packet of icing.

Reconnecting with old friends - this past week I was so blessed to have several conversations with people I haven't talked to in a while. I LOVE that! It feels so good that I just want to go through my address book and reconnect with everyone. The best kind are the ones you can go without talking to for a year, but when you finally do it seems like you just pick right up where you left off.

My under-the-cabinet CD player - this is where I enjoy my pan flute CD.

And while we're on the subject...I'm also thankful for Rick and Bubba - they are a little piece of home, and Rick's recent loss of his 2 year old son (same age as Ethan) made me hold my kids a little tighter and a little longer.

My brother - He is wonderful, and so funny. He makes me gut-laugh every time I talk to him. He is raising his 2 girls and doing a wonderful job. I'm very proud of him.

Photographs - If my house were on fire and I only had time to save one thing (with the understanding that my family was safely outside) it would be my photo albums. I attempt scrapbooking, but the photo albums are always current and in order.

Coffee - If there weren't a beautiful world to show us God's creativity and love for us, but there was only coffee, wouldn't that be enough? A good cup of coffee is a gift from the Lord.

and with coffee goes...

Books - Just the feel of a book in my hand makes me smile. Especially if in the other hand, there is a cup of coffee to go with it.

The smell of other people's fresh laundry - I know that sounds weird, but I often get my kids' clothes returned to me, washed, after they've left them at someone's house. When they are clean inside that Target bag, they just smell so much better than my fresh laundry. Maybe it's that their combinations of detergent/fabric softener are different than mine? Maybe it's the Target bag? I know that the Gain/Downy combo is the best frangrance-wise, but even if I use them myself, my clothes don't smell like that. Maybe it really is the Target bag...maybe it's like a "curing" crucible or something. Hmmm...food for thought.

The way Michael makes the kids laugh - No matter how much tickling I do, I can't bring forth the same response as Michael. They laugh so hard that it sounds like "kkkkkkkkkkkkk". Do you know what I mean when I say that?

Giving up the warm side of the bed - I have this really silly thing I do for Michael. I love the feel of the coolness when you first slip into bed, and then when things get warm, putting my arms and legs in different spots so they can feel cool again. So, I hurry and get ready for bed and crawl to Michael's side. Michael would rather the bed be toasty warm when he gets in. So, I enjoy the coolness on his side and, in the process, warm it up for him. Then, when he gets into bed I just roll over to my side where I get to experience the cold again. (one thing...this is not as great a feeling when it is super-cold. I like the cold, but I eventually want it to warm up. Summer is optimal for this effect. Honestly, I can be pretty selfish with the warm-up-his-side-first thing in, say, December, January and February).

Family recipes and french white corningware

Rainy days and nowhere to go

Reading the blogs of my friends

Looking at my children's lost baby teeth

Contemporary Christian music

The sound of a clicking tock (I mean, ticking clock. That actually was a real typo, but I thought it was fun enough to leave like that)

Little House on the Prairie reruns

Silence

My Wednesday/sometimes Thursday women's group

The sound of my girls singing songs they have made up themselves

I guess that's it for now...

Bless ya!

Criticism...and Fuzzy Pink Mittens

2008-02-20T05:58:00.000-08:00

My dear Molly is a thumb sucker. Last week I took the 3 big kids to the dentist and learned (again!) that Molly will need a complete dental overhaul as a result of this habit. Her teeth are out of whack and her jaw is...crooked, I guess. She used to suck her thumb all the time, now it's just (mostly, though occasionally she gets busted) at night. The dentist said we could take her to the orthodontist now and he'd install some sort of scratching device, so that when she puts her thumb in her mouth, she'll get a scratch and hopefully remove said thumb. Ah, such simplicity...

Not that it's not a great idea! We just decided to try a technique of our own. Now, in addition to our regular bedtime routine (bath, Bible stories, prayer, teeth brushing, back rubs), we have added: the putting on of the fuzzy pink mittens.

Molly loves these mittens. They are pink. They are fuzzy (a little pilled, if you ask me), and they have Winnie the Pooh on them. Our reasoning? If she has on mittens, she can't suck her thumb...problem solved. We did have a couple of mornings at first when we woke her up to discover the mittens on the floor, thumb in her mouth. But I'm happy to say that this morning when I went into her room, her arms were splayed, hands covered in pink. Success.

I love my Molly. I want her to have a pretty mouth. Sucking her thumb is just taking her down a path to things that could hurt her both physically (braces and the scratchy thing) or emotionally (Molly sucks her thumb! Molly sucks her thumb!). The fuzzy pink mittes are something she can use to help her NOT nurture a habit that's not good for her.

Criticism...and fuzzy pink mittens. I know it sounds far fetched, but in my prayer time this morning, God helped me to tie these two together. Let me see if I can explain.

Can I be honest? I don't like to be criticized. Even if it's from a friend I love and know is for me - I don't like it at all (and neither do you). But criticism seems like one of those things that God has set up to sanctify us, develop our perseverance, make us rely on him. It hurts, but it's good for us in the long run - kind of like a shot of antibiotic in the butt, or a vaccination. The Bible says that the wounds of a friend are faithful (I stress the word friend...I wouldn't go to someone with something I see in their life until I had earned the right to speak into that life!!!), but there are those who will criticize just because they don't like you, or don't like what you said, or don't like the way you discipline/don't discipline your children, or don't like that you do this or that, or don't see things their way. (And lest you think I'm lumping all the people like that into a different category from us blog readers...let me admit that I have criticized people like that in my heart, and sometimes to some OTHER listening ear...very, very dangerous indeed.) Criticism will happen...it's what we do with it that matters.

For me, this is the rub. I have a hard time not wearing my feelings on my sleeve. I get bothered and it it shows. Then, often, my heart becomes bitter. I may dismiss that person and think, "Well, they don't matter anyway," instead of seeing what truth there may be in the criticism, taking it to the Lord, repenting of some sin (or some hard heartedness) thanking God for the trial and growing in perseverance. Too, too many time I have let things fester in my heart.

The solution? Fuzzy pink mittens. Wait! Let me explain...you see, I have this habit of hardening my heart to something that hurts, but that the Father intends for my good. I don't need to stew on the bad things, I need to stop stewing! I need to trust the Lord. And the only way I can do that is through Jesus. Believing the gospel (Jesus loves me, a sinner, enough to die for me and make a way for me to have a relationship with God through faith). He gives me his Word, full of encouragement and power (we'll call this the left hand). He gives me his Holy Spirit, who helps me to say NO to ungodliness (and we'll call this the right hand). They may not be on my hands, but I sort of have my own set of fuzzy pink mittens, you see. Just like Molly uses her fuzzy pink mittens to keep her from nurturing a habit that's not good for her, I can use mine the same way.

I hope this makes sense. I think today I'm going to go and get my own cute red mittens and stick them somewhere I can look at them from time to time throughout the day. I could use the reminder. Please pray that I don't take them off and throw them in the floor!

Bless ya!

An awesome book!!

2008-02-10T15:43:00.000-08:00

This past Saturday evening I read a great book.

Well, to be honest, I read the first 40 or so pages on Friday night.

A Thousand Splendid Suns is, in my opinion, a must read. I know it's not on my list at right, but my friend Ginger dropped it off on her way out of town on Friday, and I started reading it immediately.

Girls, do not read this book if you don't want to cry like a baby. It is riveting - it is difficult to read. I tried many times to put it down last night and absolutely could not do it. And I cried - oh, how I cried. I cried and wiggled around...I want to go ahead and used the word "writhed", if I may. I got up from the book at least 2 times and went into the bedrooms and kissed my sweet children, and dear, dear husband, all asleep.

I tried to process through it with Michael this afternoon. I don't want to tell you what it's about, except that it is about women and friendship in war-torn Afghanistan, starting in the early 70's and ending around 2004, or so.

Buy or borrow this book. Trust me.

Bless ya!

Oops!

2008-02-08T12:01:00.001-08:00

I did not mean to post "Teethmarks in the Chapstick" twice, for those of you who experienced deja-vu.

In the future, I'll take panes to be more detail oriented. Oh! And my friend, Jawan (who, incidentally, brought the double-posting to my attention), will understand why I chose to use the word "panes" instead of "pains" in that last sentence. If you'd like to find out for yourself, please visit her at: themcginnismessage.blogspot.com

Bless ya!

Teethmarks in the Chapstick

2008-02-07T12:06:00.000-08:00

As a mom, I know that nothing is really mine. I may have a false sense of ownership – I may even tell my kids that they should thank their lucky stars that I let them live here, in MY house…but we all know the truth: I am just a tenant.

Say, for example, I want to brush my hair. I may as well traipse off to the girls room first where I will find my hairbrush…waiting…in the girls’ vanity drawer. Want to read at night? The handy book light is right where I keep it – on Mason’s desk. Lips feelin’a little dry and chafed? The solution is always candy cane scented chapstick. Of course, I will have to wipe off Ethan’s spit first, and try and even out the teeth marks, but…

And no matter how much I try to press the issue, things don’t really change. One morning, I reached for my hairbrush and couldn’t find it.

“Caroline!” I bellowed.

“Yes, Mom,” she answered.

“Caroline, I need to explain to you about a little thing I like to call personal possession. Basically, it’s when something belongs to someone else. Like…my hairbrush, for example. You have a perfectly good brush in your drawer, don’t know why you have to get mine, make me have to go searching, already have a million things to do in the morning, how would you feel if I took your stuff without asking, treat others as you would have them treat you, how would you…”

“MOM!!” Caroline interrupted.

“See, there you go, Caroline, in this house when mom is speaking we are respectful and don’t interrupt the homily…”

“But Mom, your brush is in your hand…”

Now, maybe this isn’t the blog entry that’s going to make me look stellar or anything (but I figure by now, if you’ve been reading this blog, you already appreciate this nugget of truth anyway!). But reflecting on instances like this make me see how much I make big deals out of such small stuff. You know, small things like caps back on toothpaste tubes, not wiping your toothpast-y mouth on your sisters bath towel, swishing the cereal bowl with water before setting it in the sink for it to harden into whole-grain glue before I get around to washing it, laying your coat on the floor next to the coat hooks. These things (and oh, so many more like them) are the crayons in my dryer. They are opportunities to trust that God is good, that he knows I’m here, and that he is committed to making me more like him. Plus, I know that in a few years I will think back to the teethmarks in my chapstick with fondness and nostalgia.

Sadly, Scripture is silent on teethmarks in the chapstick. But I do know they are for my good and HIS glory.

Bless ya!

The Twinkie Incident...Part II (or, the OTHER side of the story)

2008-02-05T07:09:00.000-08:00

In case you don't check my brother's blog, here is his side of the story...

"After reading my sisters story about the Twinkie story I see a need to print a rebuttal for the readers. Now please understand this in no way serves as my admission of guilt in any story telling, half truths, or those little white things. This should just serve as a defendants plea.
Now in reading the story it is quite obvious that the author seemed to have little to no remorse at the time of the incident. It is also noted that this behavior was brought about by routine practice. In other words, this wasn't the first time I took one for the team.

Also, I would like to tell you that I serve as an advocate for the underdog. I think that muscle memory caused my inability to be honest for those few.........years. Amy simply capitalized on an opportunity that I provided her.Now the actual incident is very faded in my mind. Not saying that I dont remember it, just saying it is one of many. Maybe it's because I got away with so much that one spanking I didn't deserve was ok with me. I mean after all there were plenty more I should have gotten but avoided because of my skills.

Case in point: "Down the Hatch Family Resturaunt" circa: 1978, Dad's words, "No you may not have another coke until your food gets here". I excused myself headed to the restroom caught up with the waitress and ordered a coke. My plan was for her to deliver it while I was in the rest room, kind of like she had a watchful eye on her customers needs. Dad wouldn't tell her to take it back, and I would have a new coke! She had plenty of time to make the delivery cause I was in the can playing with the hand dryer, then made a stop by the full sized deep sea divers suit. As luck would have it, I beat her to the table. I think her comment upon her arrival was a little something like "Here's your coke you asked for hope you enjoy it".

I noticed the temperature rose a few degree's as BC (Dad) was trying to decide between sudden death or making me wait for it, he chose to make me wait. I knew I had to act fast... We got home and he ordered me to my room to wait on him. When he arrived I had a good cry going, a really good one. I told him I would never do it again and explained how sorry I was. I put on a huge performance, and he bought it. You guessed it, no spanking!!! Needed it but got out of it.

So we can call the Twinkie spanking a trade for the Down the Hatch one I should have gotten. After all, I have actually eaten a whole box of cakes, put the wrappers in the original box, and hid the box in the lawn mower shed until I could safely throw it away. Basically setting up a Jedi mind trick for Momma, "Maybe I didnt buy snack cakes after all".So I guess I should be thankful, after all Amy could have done that whole set up more than once. Believe me, they would have bought it every time."

The Twinkie Incident

2008-02-03T13:29:00.000-08:00

Isn't it funny how some memories never leave you? In fact, some memories...well, they stay as fresh as a wrapped Twinkie. Do you remember the Twinkie? Yellow sponge cake surrounding a center of creamy deliciousness that's almost indescribable. 3 puncture holes in the bottom of the cake where the cream was inserted by big machines (I know this becasue I'm a big fan of the "Secret Life of..." Series on the Food Network channel). One very vivid childhood memory centers around this little goodie, and I'd like to share with you MY version of the story...

Mom had been to the grocery store (that was a big event for us as kids - to come home from school and realize that mom had been to the Jewel...and now MY kids love it when they come home and discover I've been to Winn Dixie. By the way - who sits around and comes up with these ridiculous names for grocery stores? Winn Dixie? Piggly Wiggly?). In the pantry sat an unopened box of Twinkies. The instructions were clear: one Twinkie a day. Have it in your lunch; have it after school; have it for breakfast...but you may have ONLY ONE.

The next morning as I toted my lunch pail to the school (I had one of those red ones from tupperware - remember? It had all the little boxes that fit perfectly inside of the bigger red box with a handle around it? Like I said, some memories never leave you...), I thought of the Twinkie that would be waiting for me around 11:30 or so.

Lunch finally came and the Twinkie was relished. I broke it in half long-ways, ran my tongue down the center to scoop out the cream and then ate the cake separately. It was an art, really. The day was complete. Social studies, art, math...it was time to go home.

Back in those days we were "latch key" kids. I literally wore the key to my house attached to a piece of red yarn around my neck. My brother and I got home and turned the TV on (which, for us, was really just one single gesture. Walk in with thumb outstretched...and yell "I get couchcontrol!!!!" before my brother did. This was the goal.) I think Chris got couchcontrol that day...he must have, for the events which transpired next to have occured properly. With his gaze and attention elsewhere, I meandered back to the kitchen - solo - for a snack. I opened the pantry and there - eye level - was the box of Twinkies.

Now, understand...I knew the one Twinkie rule existed, and I can appreciate the need for rules such as that one. But the actions that I took...am I really to be blamed? I mean, the twinkies were at eye level. I was a latch key kid for Pete's sake! (If that doesn't earn me another Twinkie, what does?). And, unfortunately for my brother Christopher, he happened to be going through a "lying" phase. I'm not proud of it, but I used the situation to my advantage. Quietly, I slipped the forbidden second Twinkie out of the box, and secretly ate that one, too.

Well, the damage was done. There was no getting around this one. I could try and rearrange the remaining Twinkies in the box...but there STILL would have been one less than there should have been. And make no mistake: Tennie (my momma) would come home and count.

I holed up in my room for a while. Waiting. I think I even gave it a good straightening up as well. I figured anything might help. When Tennie came home, I heard her in the kitchen and then climbing the stairs to my room.

"Who ate two Twinkies?" She demanded.

Now, when faced with a question like this and certain wrath, what can a 9 or 10 year old do, but give the only answer possible:

"Chris".

I'm not proud of it, folks, but I did it. I lied. I bold-faced lied to my mom, and worse? She believed me. Chris got a spanking.

Years later I told my parents...but the damage was done. He loves me now, but Chris battled bitter demons for many years as a result of the "Twinkie story". I told my kids the story a couple years ago as an example of what NOT to do...but they think it's just such a great story and ask to hear it at all hours of the day. Over and over and over again. Maybe they can't believe their mom would have done such a thing.

So, little brother, I'm sorry. I owe you. I owe you so much. Apologies, deep, deep personal sorrowful regret...and all the Twinkies you can eat.

Bless ya!

Super Tuesday Fast Approaches!

2008-01-30T19:21:00.000-08:00

Super Tuesday! Presidential Candidates! Debate! Vote! Civic Duty!

Let me go ahead and say that I'm tired, in a weird mood, and this will make no sense...

I think we should all vote for...me.

Now, before you laugh, let me tell you why. Sure, I have no political experience. But, how much do you need, really? I mean, I meet the age requirement, and I was born in the United States. So, pardon me, but I believe that means I qualify.

Let me tell you about the biggest campaign trick I would employ: I wouldn't bash any other candidates. Instead, I would do the opposite and build them up: "Thank you Mr. Lehrer, for that intriguing question. And before I comment on my stance on troops in Iraq, I'd like to tell Senator Clinton that her blouse is lovely, those peep-toe wedges are too cute, and her haircut makes her look like Bill's daughter instead of his wife."

Pretty good, huh?

You have to admit, a non-bashing campaign would make people take notice! Why don't candidates adopt this policy???

I will be voting, of course, on Super Tuesday. You should, too.

Bless ya!

Kids Say the Darndest Things...

2008-01-30T18:48:00.000-08:00

One of the highlights of my day is always our family devotional time in the evenings. Once the dishes are done, things are picked up and everyone has still raisin-y hands from the bath/shower, we sit together on the couch and talk about God. Michael usually reads to us from Scripture, or a Scripture-themed book, we go about memorizing the children's Catechism, and we have prayer all together. It really is precious. One reason I love it, is because the kids are just so stinkin' FUNNY sometimes.

For example...

One night recently we had been talking about Solomon - how instead of asking for riches , he asked for wisdom, and then God gave him both and more. So, we had a little talk about what we might have asked for, had we been in Solomon's shoes. I couldn't wait to hear the godly and profound answers our little disciples were about to give!

Molly - I would ask for God to turn our house into Disneyworld!
Caroline - I would ask for all the American Girl dolls (she has none at present!).
Mason - A dirt bike.

And another example...

We have been going through the Catechsim questions regarding the Lord's prayer. Now, for those of you who don't know (or care) what the catechism is, it's like a statement of faith in question and answer form: Q-Who wrote the Bible? A-Chosen men inspired by the Holy Spirit, and so on and so forth. Anyhoo, Molly's turn came up and her question was, "What does it mean to pray 'And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors'?". The real answer to the question begins "We are asking God to forgive our sins for Christ's sake...", but instead, Molly's reply was "We are asking God to forgive our sins for Pete's sake..."

We keep a board on our refrigerator - it's a dry erase board, and every time one of the kids says something that's just a "nugget" we've got to keep, we write it on the board. Then, when the next one comes along, we take a picture of the old one (thus allowing it to live on in our memories as well as in our photo album), erase it, and make way for the new one. Over the years we've had some real doozies. Of course we laugh. Who wouldn't? They say these cute things because they aren't (yet) tainted by the self-stifling that comes with age, legalism and approval-sucking. What I wouldn't give for a heart that speaks, that asks questions or blesses others without regard for what they will think of me. Too many times I weigh my words for the effect first, before I say them. How can I say this or ask this so that I don't sound too stupid? Or too needy? Or like maybe I think you've got it together more than I do? Or maybe I just don't even consider asking at all, because then that might make you think...I don't know, maybe it will make you think something I don't want you to think about me, so I will just protect myself and, as my brother says, "SHUTTY!"

Lately I've been just sort of meditating on what it means to boast in my weaknesses. Really, the only thing good about me or in me is because of Christ. I have no strength on my own, no zeal, no ounce of godliness, and certainly no class. I guess certain screwy people could turn that all into false humility...but why? I mean, it's true, isn't it? The only thing I can boast in (boast: to speak with excessive pride; brag) is what I most want to hide. Hmmm...talk about your upside-down kingdom.

Oh, out of the mouths of babes...

Bless ya!

Just a Run of the Mill Weekend...

2008-01-14T12:43:00.000-08:00

It all started with, "Mom, I don't feel so good..."

Let me back up a bit. Mason had a spend-the-night date with his friend Nathan, over at Nathan's house. Caroline had her friend Caroline G. coming over to our house to spend the night. Corn popped and movie in (for the girls), I nestled onto the living room couch by 7pm with my hubby and my book. I never get to start reading that early in th evening.

By 11:30 pm that night Molly was on the couch crying, Cinderella trash basket in front of her, just waiting for it all to drop. I watched her for a couple hours...tried to sleep on the other couch to no avail. By 6am most everyone else was up and I hadn't slept a wink. A little after 6am, I told Michael I was headed off to bed. I gave Molly a little water and some tylenol before I left (she had a pretty good fever). Bad idea. By 6:30 she had started (and I was already into REM sleep).

Next morning, Molly, Ethan and I stayed home from church. After lunch Caroline looked at me and asked, "Mom, will you take my temperature?" 101.1 degrees. Oh, yes.

Caroline stayed home from church Sunday night with Ethan and I, though I let Molly go. Monday morning at 4:19am, Caroline comes into the room, burning up and complaining of a hurting stomach. We move to the couch. Everyone is up by 6:20 or so and Mason is complaining about not feeling well either, but has no fever. I finally decide that Mason and Molly will go to school, but Caroline will stay home. I drop off the 2 M's and head to Winn Dixie, where the seafood department doesn't open until 9am. I did not know that. Why would they not open until 9am??

Anyhoo, as I'm shopping around my phone rings. Michael calls and tells me that it has started at home. "Oh, poor Caroline!" I say. But no - it's not Caroline, it's ETHAN! I decide right then and there that I'm going to go pick up Mason from school (to keep the kids in his class safe). By the time I get home, Ethan is asleep and I find Michael just finishing up with Caroline's "turn".

So, all 4 children are home today.

And guess what? I didn't have to clean up vomit once!

My husband is Superman!!

Bless ya!

1000 Words

2008-01-05T12:37:00.000-08:00

This picture was taken at Moe's in Birmingham while we were there after Christmas. Ethan just decided to pull his pants down. A big thank you to Jeff Cwynar for capturing the real Ethan MacCaughelty. He's complex, doggone it!

Oh! And it was about 15 degrees that day...

Lovely.

Dolls, Dumbo, and Dogs

2008-01-04T09:52:00.000-08:00

It's Friday morning. I've still not taken a shower or anything, but I feel like writing.

I hope you had a wonderful Christmas/New Year. We had a great time with each other - the kids had fun, we ate a lot, etc.

This year for Christmas, Molly received (from me and Michael) a talking-Barbie as the Island Princess-karaoke-microphone-styling head. This doll is supposed to talk to you, talk to the animals sitting around her head, sing, and let you speak into a micrphone attached to her shoulder. If she could have read books also, well...I don't think Molly would even have needed me anymore. Anyway, after 30 minutes of freeing the doll from her packaging, we realized that talking head Barbie doesn't work. She sings parts of a couple songs, but the microphone doesn't work, nor does she talk to her animal friends.

I bought the Barbie head at Toys R Us in Mobile...a 1 1/2 hour drive from here. So, "taking it back tomorrow" isn't going to happen. But, thankfully we were going to be driving to Birmingham the 28th, so we decided to take Barbie head along with us and return it there.

Let me set the scene for you...

First, as Michael pulls up into the parking lot of Toys R Us, Molly quickly spots 2 large, unleashed, very wet dogs lying IN the entrance to the store. I have to practically drag Molly out of the car, after promising her that we will go in a different entrance. So, we move to the side entrance, but both dogs follow us. I walk up to the return counter and Molly starts screaming. The dogs are coming straight for us. I lift Molly and put her on the counter. The dogs pass by and begin wandering the store. During all this, I am continuing to wait at the return counter and no one is coming. Finally a woman sees us and tells us that all return have to be made around the side and in through the outside entrance...right where the dogs are being taken. I walk around to the side of the store, where I am easily the 5th person in line, and I have to stand outside with the dogs, who are going in and out of the store. Molly is still screaming, so I set her inside a broken "Dumbo" ride to wait it out.

20 minutes or so later it is my turn. I explain the deal to the cashier - the toy doesn't work, etc. I tell her that I really just want to exchange it and get a new one that works. She sends me to the Barbie section, where I see that the Barbie head is now $15 less than what I originally paid. When I get back to the counter, the 10-year-old cashier tells me that, no, I cannot have it at the reduced price. I beg...I plead...to no avail. Finally, I explain to her that since I have my receipt, what in the world is to stop me from just getting my money back and repurchasing the Barbie head at the new price? This stumps her...she cannot comprehend my cleverness. Her quick retort is "well, if you want to do that, you'll have to go pay for it at another register". Small price to pay, sweetie, for $15. She can't appreciate my cheapness. Few can.

So, Molly still hanging out with out-of-order Dumbo, I make my way to the cashier with a handfull of bills.

Finally, we were on our way - errand done. We spent the evening with family and then headed back to Aunt Lynne and Uncle Roger's house (dear friends we stayed with in B'ham). I promised Molly that the next morning we would unleash the new Barbie head from it's cardboard prison and put her to work. The next morning I made good on my promise.

And this one didn't work either.

My friend Lynne asked me about the name of my blog. Why crayons in the dryer? Because, I told her, it is situations like these that God uses in my life to show me how much I need him. Much of my life, though mildly funny, is lived in the mundane details. I live in a small town, I don't go anywhere, I have a gaggle of kids and a husband who, I'm sorry, could give me enough fodder for this blog by himself (love you, sweetheart!!!). Ever had crayons in your dryer? They turn everything in there red...or green. At least, those are the two colors that have happened to me. When it happens you just have to laugh at life. Maybe some of it you can get out, but there may be some red (or green) spots on your socks that you get to revisit from time to time. Kind of like one of those stake-in-the-ground moments. THIS is where God has worked in my life and heart. THIS is where He is working now.

Bless ya,
Amy

PS - While we were in Birmingham, Michael bought a Life is Good T-shirt that has a picture of a glass with water in it and under it it says "Half Full". Isn't that awesome?

Eleven

2007-12-19T15:01:00.000-08:00

Eleven is the answer to the question. Can you guess what the question is? Is it:

A. How many spankings did you give Ethan today for touching the Christmas tree?

B. How many loads of laundry did you wash, fold and put away?

C. How many Hershey’s kisses did you eat while no one was looking?

Or

D. How many times did you have to tell the kids, “Don’t lick your fingers while we decorate Christmas cookies!”

All of the above scenarios DID occur in my day, but if you guessed B, you are correct!

Bless ya!

Sunday morning blues...

2007-12-09T07:03:00.000-08:00

As a pastor's wife, I spend Sunday mornings alone. Well, not alone exactly..alone with my 4 children (Michael is usually at the church by 6am). I get them breakfast, get them all dressed in their finest for church, and get them there pretty close to on time. But sometimes the condition of my heart once that all happens is, well...let's just say it's less than worshipful.

It's Sunday. It's the only opportunity I get to corporately worship with my church body - who are very dear. I look forward to it, and miss it so badly when one of the kids is sick. So why, on a day when everyone is healthy and all will be in attendance, do I struggle so much with my attitude?

Maybe it's because of all the rushing around I do on this particular day. On school days I only need to grab uniforms out of the closet, and Ethan and I take the big kids to school in our jammies. Just this past Sunday morning I was in the shower when Caroline knocked on the door.

"Mom!" she said.

"Yes!" I replied.

"I need you to fix my hair!"

"I will!"

"When?"

"When I get out of the shower, Caroline!"

"Do these socks look ok with what I'm wearing?"

"Well, I can't see you...again, I'm in the shower!"

(let me interject here and explain that I make it a rule to ALWAYS lock the bathroom door when I'm in there. Now, you may say "What if one of your children needs you?", or "We teach our children that we don't lock doors in our house!". To you I say congratulations...and get your own blog. You name the day and I will bring my sweet children to your house so you can take a shower (or do anything ELSE in the bathroom for that matter!!) with 4 others in the room with you. They open the curtain, they flush the toilet, they want to play with my make up (only the girls), they...ummm..."critique" me. Good times.)

This past Tuesday at our morning "circle" meeting, a questions was posed: How do you prepare yourself for worship?

My quick-wit answer was "get the kids dressed Saturday night". It got a bit of a laugh, but it wasn't really funny. There's nothing funny about showing up to worship in the same frame of mind as having just left Wal-mart on a Saturday (every time, I tell you...every time. And I hope that statement is in some way picturesque).

Michael prepares for Sunday all week. Now, he is a pastor, so that much can be assumed. But what I mean is that he prepares himself for worship. He takes pains to go to bed early, get up early, keep his mind uncluttered and not too busy on Saturday evenings. Not that he is immune from the distractions that inevitably come up, but he is purposeful about preparation.

What if I did that? What if I got up earlier, leaving plenty of time for the girls to have a couple costume changes, plenty of time for a decent breakfast, plenty of time to find them (girls) tights that fit, plenty of time to break up an argument over who gets to choose the bible story video next, plenty of time to..I don't know...maybe pray? I do have an enemy, and he wants me to have crummy Sunday mornings each and every week. He wants me to be distracted, discouraged and disgusted by the time I get to Sunday School. It's a battle! And you know what? I'll bet you have faced it, too.

Tomorrow is Sunday. I'm going to ask the Father to change me.

Bless ya!

A Fond Affection

2007-12-06T11:04:00.000-08:00

When I was in college I met this great gal named Julie. We had mutual friends who introduced us (Sandy and Sonya) and realized quickly that we both had the same silly sense of humor. We were really dumb acting in college. I remember several times we went to the mall and walked around speaking in our best Boston accents. We went to Chicago together with our friends Becky and Terry (Becky is my knoll-rolling friend. She's one of a kind), went went to Gatlinburg many times; Amelia Island; Panama City; Jackson, Mississippi to do a "Disciple Now" (and see Bryan Duncan in concert...wow, Julie, that dates us!!); Atlanta; New Orleans (she and Terry took me there before I got married). After I became I Christian, I literally looked up and there she was - the first one to take an interest in my spiritual growth (she discipled me for 2 years). We were roommates in and after college. The time I cried the hardest in my life - she was there. When I had my babies - she was one of the first ones to hold them. She was a bridesmaid in my wedding. We have some pretty good disagreements, too, but we always have worked it out (if you don't have disgreements with your friends from time to time, I would question if you're really friends!). Every time I go to Birmingham she makes time for me over chips, salsa and margaritas at Pablo's. She always listens to my junk. And I always have so much fun with her...even if it's just walking around Target (actually, since Target is just so knee-slapping fun, I'm sure THAT'S not hard for you to believe!). I may go months without speaking to her (though, whenever I hear a good song on the radio, I always call her voice mail and let her hear it, too), but when we do finally talk, it's just like we talked yesterday. I love her so much!

Julie is SO special to me. Her blog, A Fond Affection, is excellent...and what a great name! I wish I had thought of it for my blog. Please visit her.

Bless ya!

Help! I'm Addicted!

2007-12-04T14:40:00.000-08:00

Looking for a good way to waste time?

Check this out...Escape Games 24 - Room Escape Games, Point and Click Games, Puzzle Games, Adventure Games, Casual Games, Walkthroughs and Free Games Download

If you've never done an escape the room game, you are in for a treat. Basically, you are locked in a room and you have to pick up clues to figure out how to escape.

Good times.

This is one of my favorites...http://www.escapegames24.com/2007/12/luca-house-in-christmas-eve-escaping.html

Bless ya!

2007-12-04T13:57:00.001-08:00

Taking the yearly Christmas picture is always something I face with mixed feelings. First of all, when I look at those babies from behind the camera lens, I am remembering that another year has passed. Another 365 days closer to them leaving for college. Have I made the year count? On the other hand, I'm also thinking, "why won't Molly look at the camera?", "Is that a kool-aid mustache on Mason's face?", "Ethan, put your hands down!", and "Caroline, try and do something about the kool-aid mustache on Mason's face."

So, this year while at the beach over Thanksgiving, I decided that instead of being all general-like about the picture taking process, I was just going to be breezy. You know, get the picture or not - I'm good. We headed to the beach and began snapping. Being breezy was a smart move. I noticed that my mood (and subsequent actions) really do have a tremendous influence on my family. And I'm not saying I was "putting on" on just trying to act phlegmatic or anything...I just really wanted it to be easy for everyone and asked God to help me be an agent to make that happen. God said yes, and I learned something.

By all accounts, I am a "glass is half empty" kind of girl. (A side note...Michael is a "glass is half full" kind of guy. In fact, he's probably more along the lines of "look at that beautiful glass! And look at all that stuff in it! That has to be one of the BEST glasses ever made!! Life is so much more AWESOME just knowing glasses like this exist!!!" Am I clear? Part of my "melancholy-ness" is how God made me, and part of it just needs redemption. I really want God to change me and make me more like my sweet husband...more like Jesus. Looking only at the negative things in life take people's (and MY!!) focus off Jesus who gives me all things from His hand and intends them for my good.

Need some evidence? Just check out this sweet shot I got...

Bless ya! And Merry Christmas!!

Baby "Think it Over"

2007-12-04T13:45:00.000-08:00

I'd like to introduce you to my brother, Christopher.

If you don't know him, you're missing out, really. This is an e-mail he wrote about his daughter, Taylor. I think you'll enjoy it...

"This weekend we had a new edition at the Carden house. "Baby Think It Over" is a life-like full sized infant doll that 8th grade students are assigned to take home over a weekend. Now, remember this is not a toy (http://www.education-world.com/a_curr/curr077.shtml) this is a life-sized infant simulator. It cries when it needs attention and the student has a key locked on his or her wrist. The key is inserted in the infants back and held in position for random intervals. It may take 2 minutes to calm the baby or it may take hours, it's completely random. The students are required to keep a log of how the baby's fits affect them, their personal time, and people around them.

Taylor spent the night with a friend last night, so I didn't have my new grandbaby here at the house. I went to pick them up this afternoon and the vision of my thirteen year old daughter walking towards the car with an infant car seat hit me hard. It was like, where did the time go? I was interested in this experiment but, wanted to try and remain professional and limit my questions. I was real excited when Tay finally asked me if I wanted to hear it cry. I said "yes" so she held it upside down until it cried then she flipped it back over. You have to hold this robot correctly or it will be reported during the "download" in school on Monday. I could tell Tay was excited, and I enjoyed seeing her enthusiasm, but I think what actually happened is something that was completly unintended..."PawPaw think it over".

We were in Walgreens and this little gigabyte started to cry. Now Taylor was quick to deploy the key to calm the little guy and seemed unaffected. I however began to scan the isles to see who was watching, listening. I almost began to panic...will it stop before anyone notices??? With the skill of a computer tech/Mother, Tay quickly silenced the stepford baby and order was restored. I was so relieved...we had avoided being starred at. Once at the register I saw an elderly woman watching, trying to figure out what was going on. Tay noticed her to and seemed almost embarrased.

I was very proud of my little girl, she done good. Truth be told, I learned a lesson during that "Pawpaw think it over" senerio.

How nice would it be if we all had key slots in our backs. If your husband started acting ugly, if your wife started giving you down the road, you could just put the key in the slot and instantly calm the situation. There would only be the beginning of fights in marriages, no endings. You could also use them on your little kids while in the grocery line, or in the resturaunt. One key fits all, you could use them on other peoples kids too. Whenever some parent started that "One, Two..." you could put your key in them!

Well Pawpaw think it over has been a good experience. I don't want to grow up; I don't want to grow old. My hair is already turning grey, and I am transforming into a dangerous mixture of Butch and Hubert (Dad & Papa). I am tired of being old before my time, staying ill all the time, and taking everything to seriously. I want to have grandchildren, but more importantly, I want them to want to come see me!!! I want to watch Taylor and Elizabeth grow up and have babies, lots of babies! I'm just in no hurry for that day to come. So I say thank you 8th grade! You have taught me alot...and you have slowed me down.

Chris M. Carden"

This, Too, Shall Pass

2007-11-28T21:09:00.000-08:00

That's what I keep telling myself. That's what older, wiser, saner moms tell me.

My sweet friend Christine and her husband GEF gave us their lovely beach house in Destin, FL, for Thanksgiving. We left M'ville on Wednesday afternoon. We arrived in Destin, but before going to the house, I dropped the fam off at Moe's (welcome to Moe's!) and ran next door to Publix to buy the cold stuff (no room in our van for a cooler).

Anyhoo, after a near physical altercation at the dairy case (you know how the grocery store the day before T'giving is!), I made it to the check out, Mojo chicken in hand (that's pronounced "mo-ho" for my non-publix going friends. I know this because I learned the hard way, after asking the Publix deli lady if the "mo-joe" chicken was good. I assumed she thought it was good enough for me, the non-cultured).

Thursday lunch we had a feast of sweet potato casserole (spuds from our own garden), roasted asparagus, my mom's dressing, and Michael's mom's mac-n-cheese, plus little mr. mo-joe. We ate Thanksgiving stuff for every meal on Thursday and Friday. My kids never want to see another bite of sweet spuds or a macaroni noodle ever again.

Thursday night Ethan woke up - again - sick. Deep cough, fever, you know the routine. My kids are sick more than any other kids I know. Why do you think that is? I'm not being rhetorical, here...I really want some comments on that...

He got sicker and sicker until we got him an antibiotic on Monday. Now, Molly is sick with the same thing, missed school today, and also has an antibiotic.

If you had stopped by my house today you would have caught me in my jammie pants and a sweatshirt. The clothes that I put into the washer yesterday are still there. I gave Molly her medicine tonight - one dose of a five day regimen - and she spit it all over me...one ENTIRE day on my red apron. I haven't been to church in 2 weeks. I just remembered that I have forgotten to make my kids lunches for tomorrow (it's now 11:35pm)...and I think lunch is soup, which they will hate. I need a haircut. Tonight I put my kids into bed at 6:50pm, and set Mason's clock ahead so he wouldn't know how early it was.

(I'm laughing right now)

So, this too shall pass. You know, even though things seem sometimes so out of control, I have it so good. I have everything I need. I have a husband who loves and cherishes me, great kids, a good relationship with my brother and father, friends, a home I love, health...I could go on and on. There will soon come a day when I won't have these kids at home keeping me busy, and calling my name every 10 seconds. There will soon come a day when people won't give me the grace they give me now when I DO stay in my jammies all day or go too long between haircuts or miss church to be with sick children. So you know what? This isn't so bad at all. Every good and perfect gift is from the Father above. So, for now, I pray for contentment in the mundane. I suppose I need to be asking the Father to help me serve him and worship him where I am and in what I'm doing, even if it seems unimportant, unorganized, inconsistent or redundant.

Suddenly I'm in the mood to hold my kids really tight, make some cookie dough, put on my jammie pants and watch "Finding Nemo" again. If that were the only thing I got done tomorrow, would it really be so bad?

Bless ya!

Thoughts on Throats and Throw-up

2007-11-11T16:39:00.000-08:00

This past Friday we took our family to Lovely Isaac Creek for a camping trip. We were joined by our friends, the Lawrences (hi, guys!). I was a bit nervous about taking Ethan (almost 2) on his first camping trip - afraid he'd get cold at night, afraid he'd get bitten by something, afraid he'd get lost. You get the idea (by the way...be sure to check out my upcoming blog all about fear!). Well, the trip went off without a hitch. Without a hitch, I tell you!!

Then, Saturday night, after camping, sleeping (???) on the ground, and one tylenol PM later, as I was about to be nestled into my nice warm bed, Ethan started crying.

Michael went to pick him up and...Bluggghh...vomit!

I have a "defcon vomit mode" I fly into whenever one of the kids is sick. Isolate the child, strip the child, bathe the child, throw all the soiled items onto the washing machine, repeat as necessary. I started the process at once and lost track of how many times it was carried out.

Much later in the night Mason awoke crying and swollen-throated. I got the flashlight and looked. To my laywoman's eye, I think we are dealing with strep throat. (Today his temperature has been lingering around 102. Tomorrow is the Veteran's Day holiday...I hope the doctor's office is open!!!)

After I had Mason fixed up and back in bed, I was sitting with Ethan on the couch, holding him, patting his back, and ruing the moment I had chosen to take a tylenol PM. Sometimes children are so much work, and sometimes it's heartbreaking, but if Ethan, or any of my children needed me to, I would hold them all night. Many nights in a row. I would go without sleep, or anything at all. I would do anything for them. I was reflecting on these things and a warm feeling spread over me.

It was vomit.

After the defcon vomit routine, I got Ethan settled in a pallet next to the couch, and finally was able to close my eyes for a few minutes. I made it into my bed about 5:15am, just to close my eyes for a minute while Michael finished his shower. I knew he'd need a shirt ironed.

I woke at 7:30am. My precious husband gave his sermon in a wrinkled shirt.

Sometimes we just have to laugh at life. And thank God for laughter...!

Wish I could stuff it...

2007-10-24T18:35:00.000-07:00

Ever said something you wish you hadn't?

Well guess what? I have. The most recent event was this past Sunday when we had several couples from church over for lunch...officer candidates, no less.

Now, I'm not going to get into the dynamics of what I said or how I said it - what I said...it was just plain wrong. Michael did a children's sermon recently where he asked one of the kids to squeeze all the toothpaste she could out of the tube and onto a paper plate. Then, after telling her she did a great job with that, he asked her to put all the toothpaste back into the tube. The point was...it's the same with the words we say. Once they are out there, you can't put them back. No matter how much I try to go behind myself and "clean up shop". No can do.

So, answer me this. Why is it that sometimes I feel like I physically HAVE to get those words out of me? I've thought about it and thought about it, and it all comes down to the same thing every other sin comes down to...unbelief. If I was really believing that I was a beloved daughter of my heavenly Father, I wouldn't need to make questionable remarks. I wouldn't need to be sure I got my opinion out there because I am accepted, no matter what others think of me.

Will I ever learn? While you ponder on that answer, I'll be down in front listening to the children's sermon.

Bless ya'!