This is the cake from Caroline's 12th birthday party.

Slumber parties rock.  When I was a kid I loved to have them and I loved to go to them.  Do you remember this:  18 or so girls, sleeping bags strewn over the living room floor, "Don't Stop Believing" or "Crazy Train" blaring on the record player while copious amounts of pizza, pop and cake were consumed?  Bonne Bell lip gloss, Rubik's Cube, prank calls.  After the lights finally went out there were trances.  You remember:  one girl lays down while all the other girls slip two fingers underneath her...light as a feather, stiff as a board...

The poor, sad soul who gave in to sleep first ended up with her bra soaked with water and placed in the freezer, her face covered in shaving cream, or her hand placed in a bowl of warm water.  Good times.  The next day was utter agony at home because you still had to clean your room on little to no sleep or nourishment.

Can I be honest?  Slumber parties nowadays?  Way different.  At least in my house they are.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not complaining.  Four girls came to our house Thursday night.  All girls ate cake and ice cream and retreated to the basement.  All girls watched a movie, ate popcorm, drank 3 cases of Capri Sun, played Uno, did each other's make up.  No one tried to sneak out, no one played the music too loud, no one made a prank call (of course, you really can't do that very well anymore, what with caller ID and all).  These girls may have teased each other and told stories their moms might not have wanted them to tell, but they enjoyed each other and, I think, had a good time.

I like it this way better, and not just because I'm old.

As a girl even with my "friends", a slumber party felt like a fight to survive.  Those 15 hours were a social mine field.  Caroline's childhood is so different from mine, and even though I had a good childhood, I glad hers is different.  I'm glad she and her friends have different priorities and values than I did.  They are far from perfect, of course, but a laid back party and a Disney movie are fine for them now...and that's the way I want to keep it for as long as I can.  Once that innocence is lost, it's lost forever.

Bless ya!

Two Years...

Time passes quickly.  Two years ago, about the time I stopped writing my blog, I found out I was pregnant.  It was a complete and utter shock but such a wonderful surprise.  All the other times I have been pregnant the other children were too little to really understand, but this time everyone "got it".  It was fun.

Finding out was funny.  I was cleaning out my medicine cabinet and came upon an unused pregnancy test.  I took the test, mostly because I didn't want to waste it.  Imagine my surprise when I passed with flying colors.  41 years old.  Michael had just left to go out of town.  What do I do?

I called my friend Lynne.

"Lynne, I think I might be pregnant," I said.

"What?!?!" was her reply.  I got this reply from my friend Crissy as well.  

I called Michael who was on his way to Birmingham.  I asked him to pull over and gave him the news.  He was silent for only a moment and then his joy was evident.  

I have never been one for waiting to tell others.  In my opinion, if I tell and then something happens well, that just means there are more people to go through the storm with us and more prayer support all around.  

Telling the children was a blast.  They screamed and cried (except Mason who is too cool for that sort of thing) and asked a hundred questions.  

The pregnancy progressed with ease.  I felt sick every day; hurt in all the right places.  I got to hear and see that little heartbeat.  I had forgotten how much fun it was to be carrying a child, and watching the other children just added to my joy.  I knew in my heart it was a boy.

Pretty soon it was time for the ultrasound.  Michael and the kids gathered around as the tech pushed and poked, but the baby wouldn't move the right way so we could tell girl or boy.  The nurse came in and told me the doctor wanted to see us again in the exam room.  I sat and watched as the doctor walked in with a box of kleenex.

On the pictures of the ultrasound it was easy to see the hydrocephaly.  The baby's brain was not forming correctly.  We were being sent to a high risk specialist in Mobile the following week.

At USA hospital I was shown to an exam room.  The ultrasound tech came in and began to look.  She asked if I knew why I had been sent to them, which of course I did.  She again told me that the baby had fluid on the brain.  A doctor came in and told me that not only was there a problem with the brain, but also with the heart and face.  From a cursory glance it looked like trisomy 18 or 13, but without an amniocentesis we could not be sure.  

The doctor told me that our baby had so many problems physically that there was no chance he would live more than a couple of hours, if he even made it to term; all of the defects kept him from being "compatible with life".  Aborting was an option given the circumstances.  

I told the room full of people that aborting was not an option, that our little boy was a person with a soul, made in God's image; a person with worth.  I was going to give him every chance I could to have any kind of life no matter how short.

After this we drove to the beach and stayed a week.  I don't remember much about it, but I do remember the beautiful sunsets over the water.  I'm not going to go on and on about all the wrestling I did with God.  I'm sure you can imagine.  I didn't (and still don't) understand why, but I knew (and still do) that God is good.  He is GOOD.  He loves me.  He loves my family.  He loves this child inside me.

Back home, I went to a ladies' luncheon.  People didn't know what to say, and I understood that.  I had been reassured the night before having felt the baby kick, but after the luncheon I drove straight to the doctor for an ultrasound...I knew something wasn't right.  Lying there, looking at the screen, I could see right away his heartbeat was gone.  

I knew that at this point a D&C was the route some would take, but I really wanted to deliver the baby.  I wanted him to have a birthday, to have a name.  It took a while, but on July 17, 2010, Brennan Crosby MacCaughelty was born.  The name "Brennan" means "teardrop" and "Crosby" means "at the cross".   I was able to hold him (he was so small he fit inside a handmade cap), and I got to have some pictures made of his little hands.

Many people didn't understand why I would want to put my body through the rigors of childbirth when the baby was already gone.  Mostly it was for my other children.  This was their brother, and I wanted them to be able to go through the process of saying goodbye.  The following Saturday we had a service for Brennan and buried him.

The children still talk about Brennan.  They miss him, even though they never got to know him.  We talk about what he must be doing in heaven...maybe playing football with Jesus, whether they will recognize him when they get to heaven themselves.  This feels good.  It feels healthy.  Even though it was short, we honored his life and uphold his memory, and feel so blessed that we got to be his family.

Glory Baby

(by Watermark)

Glory baby you slipped away as fast as we could say baby…baby.. 

You were growing, what happened dear? 

You disappeared on us baby…baby.. 

Heaven will hold you before we do 

Heaven will keep you safe until we’re home with you… 

Until we’re home with you…

We miss you everyday 

Miss you in every way 

But we know there’s a

day when we will hold you 

We will hold you 

You’ll kiss our tears away 

When we’re home to stay 

Can’t wait for the day when we will see you 

We will see you 

But baby let sweet Jesus hold you

‘till mom and dad can hold you… 

You’ll just have heaven before we do 

You’ll just have heaven before we do

Sweet little babies, it’s hard to

understand it ‘cause we’re hurting 

We are hurting 

But there is healing 

And we know we’re stronger people through the growing 

And in knowing- 

That all things work together for our good 

And God works His purposes just like He said He would… 

Just like He said He would…

 

I can’t imagine heaven’s lullabies

and what they must sound like 

But I will rest in knowing, heaven is your home 

And it’s all you’ll ever know…all you’ll ever know…

The Dreamer

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

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

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...

The Frenectomy That Almost Wasn't

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

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

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

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

Lots to write; no time to write it.

Bless ya!

You "Cat" Always Get What You Want

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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!