Revelations from the "Intimates"

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

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

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

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

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

Bless ya!

Question...

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

I have a friend who wants to know...

Time is Ticking Away...!

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

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

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

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

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

Bless ya!

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

Shout to the Lord

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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!

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

Finding my Joy in the Crumbs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!!

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!

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

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)

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

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!

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...

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...

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

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

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

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...

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

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!

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!

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"

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

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

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...!