Dody's Daydreams

God is God

2011-10-30T14:23:00.002-05:00

Thursday, I was smacked upside the head with God's sovereignty.

Almost ten years ago, my sister died of leukemia. I was very angry and I did not even want to think that God could use this for his purposes, for his glory. I was too disturbed that something so painful could happen in my life and he could use it for good.

I've gone through a lot in the last nine and a half years. And, recently, I'd finally become ready for him to use that portion of my life for his plans. I was ready to permit him to do this. How audacious and naive is that? Low an behold, God didn't need me.

I started to attend a Bible study a few weeks ago out of obedience to God's prompting. I didn't not expect anyone to know me or anything about my sister. The third study in, I found out that there were several women in my study that were affected by Sherri's illness and ultimately her death. One of them, in an extremely personal way. My sister's husband helped her through a difficult time when she had to endure the death of someone very close. Her intro into sharing this with me was startling, like mystery being revealed, like God gave her the word's that would capture and mystify me with his glory. She said, "I have to say this. Before our first Bible study, I knew you." The realization that we were linked intimately through my sister before we ever met exposed a fragment of God's perfect, intricate ways.

So, here I was thinking that I was finally ready for God to use this tragedy for his purposes. (How gracious of me.) But he was SOVEREIGN. He did not need me. I was smacked upside the head with his sovereignty. It's as if he said, "It's great that you're going to let me use you now." (And I am going to let him use me.) "But I was going to use it anyway, whether you cooperated or not." You see, he is sovereign and he will work all things together for his good, regardless of me or anyone else. And I am so thankful for that. Thank God that it is not up to me being ready. God is greater than that.

Beyond "The Cloud"

2011-06-30T14:17:00.002-05:00

Even Windows "The Cloud" can't help this kid. Apparently The Cloud allows you to merge pictures of groups of people so you can take the best shot of each person. Which shot is the best of this silly kid on the left? Seriously!!! What a ham!!! (Love ya kid!!!)

Listen Up!

2011-05-26T09:06:00.001-05:00

I need to be a better listener. I've been working on this for decades. When I say listening, I don't mean hearing and understanding the words another is saying; I mean hearing another's perspective: one's heart, one's concerns, one's joys... really hearing and listening.

I was reminded of this while reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. In the words of Dumbledore: "Ah, Harry, how often this happens, even between the best of friends! Each of us believes that what he has to say is much more important than anything the other might have to contribute."

Lord, help me be a better listener and not believe that what I have to say is more important.

Book Review: Codependent No More

2011-04-02T18:37:00.000-05:00

On a recommendation from my mom, I read Codependent No More by Melody Beattie. I read it in hopes of learning how to communicate with some people in my life better, but on the advice of my stepmom, I decided to look at it from the perspective of my own relational flaws as well. Thanks to my moms, I discovered some key ingredients to being a happier person.

The book was written primarily for people who are regularly involved with alcoholics, drug addicts or people with other severe addictions. I am not one of those people. It would seem obvious that I was enlightened about people in my life who have lived through that, and that was defiantly true. What I did not expect is that I would learn tons about myself. I would like to submit that this book has something for everyone who has relationships with people. Unless you are a hermit, deserted on an island or in solitary confinement, this book has something for you.

I learned how to not take things so personally. Other people do things their way... "let them" (as my beloved sister used to say.) I don't need to control other people or make everything about me. I can let go.

I can be free to be me! Sounds easy, but I still haven't mastered this. I do now, however, have a new grasp on letting myself fail and being more confident in my own decisions and more comfortable with myself, my strengths and weaknesses. I am who I am. I am always going to try to improve my character and live to higher standards than I did previously, but I'm not at the end of my journey yet. I am still growing and learning. I am going to cut myself some slack. I will be okay with where I am at. I am okay with me.

I can make boundaries and stick to them. I don't have to be everything to everybody. It is okay to have boundaries to preserve myself and take care of myself. I still will care about other people and their needs, but it is okay to take care of myself first so I can be the healthiest person I can be. That can be a priority, and it should.

I can feel my feelings. They are my feelings, they are not wrong, they are real. But I will deal with in an appropriate manner and move on. I will not let my feelings control my actions. There is tons more about all of these and other ideas in the book.

All this stuff may sound simple and like no-brainer information, but I think many of us don't execute these things regularly. Beattie explains things in a way that empowered me to make these things a reality. I'm happier than I have been in a long time and I plan to stay that way.

If you're looking for a book about having healthy relationships of any kind, read Codependent No More by Melody Beattie.

A Mom Story...

2011-03-31T11:23:00.000-05:00

My oldest son isn't with me today. He spent last night at my parents, a delayed birthday tradition. There was a snowstorm during the first attempt. This date was the make-up date and Eddie was not about to let anything stop him this time; not even a broken arm. We talked about rescheduling, but he was resolute.

Only 24 hours after breaking his arm, he departed for Grandma and Grandpa's (a.k.a. Baba). Eddie is a very sensitive kid; as in he is very aware of his needs and emotions. So, he knew he needed to be cared for and loved right now, while the pain was still at it's worst. Plus he is grieving the loss of his passion for the next 2 months, Taekwondo.

I have to say, I am really struggling with the fact that it is not me providing that for him. I feel bound, I feel restricted. This is uncomfortable. I should be caring for my baby. I know he is in amazing hands. My parents are truly wonderful. Still, I have this deep, uncontrollable need to care for my hurting child.

It's strange, the timing. This isn't the first time he ended up at Grandma and Baba's at a pinnacle point in his life. Four years ago, he witnessed another Grandfather (his namesake) pass away. It was the night before Eddie's birthday, the night before he was going to spend the night at Grandma and Baba's. That time we also discussed cancelling, and it was hard to let him go, but that was where he was meant to be.

There are some very clear moments in my children's lives where I feel God is at work. It seems obvious that some events were planned and happened just as they should. For Eddie, these moments when he ends up at Grandma and Baba's seem fall into that category for sure. I'm sure he will never forget the nights he spent there when he needed love, support and reassurance the most.

I think I'll feel unsettled until he returns to my care, but he is where he is supposed to be and I am thankful.

The Dirty Sock Blog

2011-02-08T08:22:00.004-06:00

Let's talk about socks. Dirty Socks. They are all over my home!
(Disclaimer: No photos in this blog are staged. No socks have been tampered with, augmented, situated or otherwise manipulated. All photos are candid, as is, discoveries.)

When the kids were little, expected things were left around the house, for sure. Sippy cups, stuffed animals, blankets, toys. I anticipated that with having little kids. Now my little kids are bigger kids. They are developing autonomy and focused thinking. For example, one will be so focused on relieving his raised body temperature that he doesn't even pay attention to where he is discarding the dirty socks that he is removing! Seriously.

Exhibit A - The Kitchen Table


Exhibit B - On Top of the Dresser

Exhibit C - On The Toys

Exhibit D - Next to the Shower

Exhibit E - In the Living Room


Exhibit F - Next to the Wii Fit Board

And last but not least, my all time favorite, an American classic...


Exhibit G - On the Floor. Right in Front of the Hamper.

My boys are 12, almost 10 and almost 8. I have a feeling that this will be a part of my life for many years to come... Lord help me.

Photo Fun

2011-01-24T18:07:00.001-06:00

Thanks to The Pioneer Woman, I have been getting more creative with photo editing. I recently purchased Photo Shop Elements, but have not been able to load it onto my retarded, decade-old computer, so all of my editing has been done on the decade-old Microsoft Picture It. I guess it's just as well since I still am overwhelmed with our Photo Shop Elements at work.

She has a flower photo assignment right now, so I went to the archives for photos to edit.

Looky what I did...

Before Edit

After Edit

Before Edit

After

Before Edit


After Edit

Photography is so much fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I'm just beginning.

I Don't Belong Here

2011-01-14T23:13:00.000-06:00

I've been ready the Harry Potter series. My son started reading it a year ago and I told him I'd follow along and read it after him. I haven't been doing that great considering I'm still in Year 3 and he is deep into Year 5.

Anyway, the fact that we are both reading it lets up speak in "Harry Potter" language. We make up our own spell names and recall funny parts of the book. It's a way I can connect with him in a world in which he feels like he belongs.

Today when I dropped him off at school, I said, "Here we are... Hogwarts." Then as I looked around, I corrected myself. "Oh. This isn't Hogwarts. These are all muggles. This is a muggle school. Oh no. You don't belong here." He immediately retorted, "Nope. I don't." We smiled and off he went.

It struck me. That feeling. Ah. School. Not belonging. I remember that. I was just another insignificant person floating through the halls full of clicks and people who were all different from me and didn't get me. And as I remembered that feeling, I realized that is how my son feels now. School is a foreign land to him that he must partake in, but his real place, the place he belongs is somewhere else.

Do all kids feel like that in the large public schools or was it just me and him? How about as adults? I still feel like that a lot of the time.

There is a verse in the Bible that says our citizenship is in heaven (Phil. 3:20-21). Maybe this is where we will finally feel like we belong. Until then, we are special, not fully realized people in a restrictive muggle world.

C'est la vie.

Christmas Dollar Days - The Joy of Giving

2010-12-21T20:01:00.000-06:00

Today was my family's second annual Dollar Store shopping extravaganza. Last year, as I tried to think of ways to allow the kids to give more without breaking the bank, it popped into my head... The Dollar Store. They could each pick out and buys gifts for all the important people in their lives for $10-15.

The items range from pink snow globes to chintzy flashlights; "diamond" paperweights to highlighting pens. Sometimes the gifts they pick are quite strange, yet somehow they still fit the person they are intended for. The kids are giving and they want to. Shopping with them is really a priceless sight. Granted, the dollar stores stress me out a little (my kids will never forget the time I flipped out at the check-out and accused the cashier of stealing a dollar from me - disclaimer - I was pregnant!), especially at the holidays, but it is shadowed by the glow of my kids buzzing about with the joy of giving in their hearts.

Last year, everyone who received a trinket or other cheaply made item from said store loved it. It didn't matter if it was something they would ever want or need, it mattered that their, Godson, Grandson, Nephew thoughtfully picked out a gift for them, because he wanted to. Because he loved them. Because he understood that Christmas was about loving and giving. I'm thinking this year will be the same.

Merry Christmas! Happy Giving!

Snow Day 2010

2010-12-15T10:41:00.000-06:00

So, Saturday and Sunday were the days of the big blizzard. Over a foot of snow followed by ten below wind chills.

Sunday morning started out like this:

Fun! Church was canceled and the boys played in the snow for hours. They also did much of the shoveling. My daughter and I watched through the window, nice and cozy inside. Could the day get any better?    Sure it could! We could have hot chocolate and watch the Packers pummel the Detroit Lions. It's gonna be a great day...

Then... the cable/phone/internet service went out. Wait! I haven't set up my fantasy football team yet! I asked my sister to text me updates of the Packer game until I remembered we could listen on the radio. (Apparently I've forgotten about old-school technology.) I texted my sister, "At least we have power." Then, finally, not too long into the game the cable came back. Yes! So we settle down to watch the Packers... get pummeled by Detroit. Hey! Something does not feel right about this day.

I got tired of the Packers horrific showing and went outside to unearth my cars from the mounds of snow that were strangling them. When I came in for a break to get warm, Dan was putting batteries in our boombox to find out what was happening with the Packers. The power had gone. Drat! I jinxed us.

After 2 hours of no power, I packed some bags and made possible overnight plans for us, just in case. It got dark. We lit candles and the boys ran around with my baby girl and her Hippo flashilight. They were having a blast.

We saw lots of utility company trucks scurrying from transformer to transformer trying to find the problem. The power came on. Yay!!!!!!   Turned on lights, blew out candles. Then, the power went off. Drat again!! We re-lit the candles and made plans to go out to dinner and have a belated celebration for our oldest son getting his black belt in Taekwondo. (All the while the candles were lit, my little girl kept singing Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you. That was pretty sweet.) Then, boom! The lights went on. Yay! No blowing out the candles just yet. And, the lights when off. Triple Drat!!!

Okay, this is getting too long. We went out to a fun dinner and came home 2 hours later (going on 7 hours of power out.)   We drove into our neighborhood with much anticipation. Quadruple Drat!!!! The street lights were still out.    But, the untility trucks were still to be seen, so we had hope. We decided to stay home and risk it. I bundled my baby up in 3 layers of jammies and put here to bet with her light-up lullaby dolls. The boys and I set up our "Sorry" game in the living room with lots of candles.

We all snuggle under a blanket, read the directions and... Boom! The power came on. No!!!!!! The boys all wanted it to stay off, they were having so much fun. So, we kept the ights out and the candles on and played our game for 2 hours. The house gradually warmed up and, as it turns out, we had a very fun and memorable day. I think we will never forget it. No more "drats," just fond memories.

Christmas Tree Time

2010-12-06T13:27:00.001-06:00

In about a week, my kids and I will venture out to find our 2nd "real" Christmas tree. I can't stop thinking about our experience last year with our first "real" tree. And so I am inclined to repost last year's musing. Enjoy! And... Merry Christmas!

Ornaments of Life - Dody's Daydreams, December 18th, 2009

We've had a fake Christmas tree for 10 years. It was easier when we had three preschoolers. No chasing kids through massive tree lots while my hubby and I bicker over the "right" tree. No falling needles to be eaten and choked on. No forgetting to water the tree because I have laundry and spit-up and diaper rash on the brain.

After the boys got bigger, it was a habit we were in. We have the tree, so why go pay $40 for another one, real or not?

Then came the kittens. The kittens loved to climb and bat at things and play! The Christmas tree became their own private amusement park. We tried to deter them by squirting water at them. That was only a temporary fix. When we slept, they played. Every morning I found misplaced and broken ornaments. Eventually, several branches would accompany the glass shards on the floor. By New Years Day, they had left their permanent mark. The fake tree we had used for 10 years was unrepairable.

This Thanksgiving, my hubby picked up a new fake tree, by my request. However, it just didn't sit right with us. It was time to create a new Christmas tradition. I returned the plastic tree, tightly stuffed into it's box and two weeks later we ventured out into the snowy night to buy a real tree.

The experience was great. No arguing, a warm campfire, a tractor-pulled hayride through the beautiful tree farm. It was perfect.

The next day we erected our gorgeous tree. (I'm certain it was the best one on the lot and only fools came before us, why else was is still there waiting for us?) With three little helpers, it seemed almost magical how quickly the tree transformed. Lights and garland and ornaments were flying onto the tree.

An ornament my son made as a toddler, another that his brother made in pre-school, another that was a gift from my stepmom; "Oh, I love this one." "Grandma bought these for us, one snowman for each of us." "Oh look, a handcrafted angel from Stella!" "Nana helped you make that one." "You made this one with your Aunt Jamie." "Mom, remember these from our old neighbors." "Ahaha... this one is from my sister. I miss her." "Baby's First Christmas, one for each of you."

The memories of our loved ones and past Christmases flooded every open space on the tree. Many of the people from these memories aren't here anymore, but these decorations, these ornaments, these precious trinkets, they represent life. My life, my children's' lives, my relatives lives. This tree may be a living tree, but it wasn't truly brought to life until it was donned with our treasures.

The kids are already planning which ornaments they will take with them when they grow up and move out. The memories will live on with them for years to come.

Maybe I am just more sentimental this year, maybe it's because our tree is living, maybe I am intoxicated by the smell of pine; but I know that I am smitten with this tree that is very much alive.

I Am Thankful...

2010-11-24T15:26:00.001-06:00

My little sister (over a decade younger than me) seems to have influence over me in many ways. Especially in the blogging world. She did a "thankful" post, so now I shall follow suit.

I am thankful for my husband. It's not always an easy road, this marriage thing, but he is committed to me and his love for me is real. I cannot imagine my life without him at the center of it.

My children. Each child of mine is adored more than I can express. Each is very different from the other yet still very much MY child.

A girl. I have a girl. It is an unbelievable experience that I thought I would never have. It is a treasure. She is a treasure.

My Mom. She is incredible. She is wise and strong and goofey and corny. I take after her in the way of the latter two. I have the best mom in the world.

My sisters. Sherri, Michele, Jamie... You have all made me a better person and loved and accepted me, no matter what. Jamie helps me get through each and everyday, processing with me via text, the benign and the bunk.

My friends, specifially Karen & Tonya. Always, always there for me.

I am thankful for people. Dad. I love my Dad. He always makes time for me and his grandchildren.

Bob. (my stepdad) He's my big teddy bear. I love being with him.

Dawn. (my stepmom) My other mom. There is so much love!!!!!!!!!

People. And my cats.

Sappy Thanksgiving!!!!!!!!!!

Dody

The Best Mom in the Whole World

2010-11-12T11:52:00.000-06:00

Happy Birthday Mom!

My kids tell me I’m the best mom in the whole world. I believe that they really think it is true, but I know the truth... My mom is the best mom in the whole world.

Starting from my earliest memory, my mom’s unconditional love has shone constant, like the sun on the brightest of days. She never backed down from discipline and always expected me to live up to the potential God instilled in me. She has modeled eternal priorities and has never been bashful about her true passion in life… Jesus.

We’ve endured things together. They’ve all been markedly harder for her than me, and I’ve watched her handle, with God’s strength and grace; betrayal & divorce, the early and unexpected death of her beloved father, court battles with my dad, financial hardship, job instability, the death of her first born daughter, the divorces of two other daughters… Yet she has never lost grasp of God’s joy in her.

She is my hero. Yes, she is a real person with many flaws and quirks, but she, aside from God, is most responsible for every good thing in me. My mom is the best mom in the whole world.

Happy Birthday Mom!

I love you with all my heart.

Dedo

Dinner or Leaf Pile?

2010-11-04T08:37:00.000-05:00

(As previously required for me to express, sorry for major blogging drought. Party Foul!)

So, during the last two days, I was faced with the same decision, twice! Dinner or leaf pile? Both times, I chose leaf pile.

We have a huge maple tree in our backyard that drops leaves a bit late in the season. The kids wait and wait as they see nearly all the other leaves in our and surrounding counties succumb to the season and drop to the earth. They wait, and they watch our maple. In late October, it finally decides to let the leaves lighten to shades of yellow-ish green. To be honest, our first fall in this house, I felt whamboozled that my glorious maple only kinda-sorta embraces the leaf changing phenomenon by barely, whimpily and subtlely altering leaf pigmentation, then clinging to it's leaves until the freezing weather comes forcing me to clean up it's massive shedding while I get chilled to the bone. Talk about a party foul!

Anyway, I digress. The leaves have finally, mostly fallen. And, I guess I've unnecessarily complained about it being November when the leaves fall because it's actually been very mild here this year. So, two days in a row I was faced with the choice of making dinner for my family, or playing with them in the massive leaf pile. Both times I chose the later. Was there really much of a choice? I only really cook a dinner two or three a week if the family is lucky, once if they are not. So frozen pizza and Burger King it was.

But you see, who cares? We got to do this...

and this...

I think I made the right decision.

I rest my case.

The Girl Who Shopped

2010-10-01T09:40:00.001-05:00

Once upon a time...

a girl went shopping.

She found a bag of really

cool rubber-bandy thingies.

She wanted them.

She wondered how much they cost.

She was... SHOCKED!

Could this be right?

"I better check the other side," she thought.

"Do you know how much these

rubber-bandy thingies cost?" She asked.

"I guess we're not buying them, huh?"

The End.

I'd Be Lost

2010-09-19T17:59:00.009-05:00

I'd be lost without my handy dandy cell phone. Truly lost.

It's smudged and chipped. It's been through many falls. It almost landed in the lake three weeks ago. Oh my gosh! I would have died.

(My wallpaper is Grover in a chrysalis. Not a scarf, a chrysalis, as so beautifully done by my 4-year-old God-daughter who recently had her own caterpillars transform into butterflies.)

It's been said that every time a woman has a baby, she loses a quarter of her brain. I have four kids. Do the math.

Actually, I must be pretty smart to use my phone to compensate for my brain degeneration, though I would argue my brain is just fine and it is the pure chaos of my life that leaves me mentally challenged.

My phone has a calendar. Each event on the calendar can have a reminder alarm. I use this on every event in my life. (To think my calendar used to serve more as a record of the past since I never forgot my appointments.) As an extreme precaution, I even use it for my set work schedule. When the alarm sounds, my husband will say, "What's that beeping for?" I usually say, "I don't know. I have to check." It could be anything from "I have to go to work now" to "remember to wash your children's sports uniforms."

This phone also wakes me up every morning. I'm all for consolidating gadgets because we have so many possessions in our house with six people living here. Alarm clock was acting funny. Tossed it. Use the phone.

My little sister and I hate talking on the phone, but love sharing random daily happenings from the benign to the intense to the strange. We text... a lot. It's how we stay connected and close. I love my phone for this!

My phone takes crappy pictures. But, hey, it takes pictures. You see, I have four kids. They are adorable and there are always things to take pictures of. However, I have yet to set an alarm on my phone to remind me to take my camera with me when we go out, so I don't usually have it. At least I have my phone.

Did I mention it is also my mp3 player?

I'd be lost without my LG. I love it!

Coloring: Rated E for Everyone

2010-09-17T21:56:00.000-05:00

My baby loves to color. She likes to see the color appear as she strokes the crayon on the paper. And, she likes to see how many crayons she can hold in her miniature, pudgy hands, then let them drop to the table and roll to the floor. That's a very fun game. And sometimes we'll catch her chewing on a non-toxic Crayola. (Bad baby! Ok, not really. She's an angel. I could never call her bad.)

And her mommy loves to color too! (That's me.) I just can't seem to help myself from coloring on the pages with her. My favorite art is the mix of toddler scratches and creative coloring/shading on the pages of a coloring book. Maybe I'll frame some one of these days. "The Mommy/Baby Art Collaborations," I could call them. Maybe I could put them on display at some free and innovative art gallery. I can see it now.... the flash bulbs of reporters, the interviews, the national coverage... Oh. Ach hem.

Anyway, I'm just saying... I love to color with my baby.

The 8 Question Query (from my baby sis)

2010-09-17T20:35:00.000-05:00

My sister recently responded to an 8 question blog request from a friend. She extended the challenge to me, so here goes:

1. What are your top 2 cities in the world? (It's okay if you've never been there!)

London

Moscow

I've been to both cities. Well, mostly London, which I LOVED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My Moscow experience was the airport, a cab ride on the freeway past IKEA to McDonald's, and back to the airport. Does that count? I want to really see Moscow though. I am fascinated by Russia and it's history. Such an interesting, artistic culture mixed with success, oppression, pain and brilliance.

2. Are you doing what you love or doing what you have to?
Yes and no. I love being a mom and I love my job. One of my biggest passions lies in worship ministry, which I am not doing. I have to trust God's timing on that one. I miss it.

3. Coffee or tea?
Yes! See T is for Tea.

4. Describe the moment in your life when you felt the most loved.
This question is a little too deep for my generally light-hearted blog. My God makes me feel the most loved, usually through rough times and intimate moments. My mom, hubby, sister and children make me feel most loved too.

5. Who do you think had the single biggest impact on your life so far?
The death of my sister.

6. What song lyrics say exactly what you're feeling right now?
"I hate that stupid old pick-up truck..."

7. Pro sports or college ball?
Dude. Pro all the way. Go Packers!

8. What book do you really, really want to see made into a movie?
Hmmm..... Hmmmm..... I never really get to the good books until they've already been made into a movie. I'd love to see The Shack as movie, but it would be impossible to capture. It would dumb it down to our visual limitations. Not acceptable. I guess I'll wait until Heaven...

Nerf Initiation

2010-09-04T17:26:00.006-05:00

My little sister is engaged to a kind, wonderful, conservative boy. Okay, he's not exactly a boy. He is a recent college grad entrenched in the madness of the upcoming election, and he is stationed in D.C.

It seems reasonable that he hasn't found the time to journey to Wisconsin to meet his future sister and brother-in-law, nephews and niece. But, I would like to submit to you that his busyness has nothing to do with it. I think he's afraid of this...

And this...........

(Yes, that big boy is my husband.)

Mr. Wonderful... we are waiting to meet you. What's the problem? Are you scared of a little Nerf dart?

Actually, we've seen pictures of his semi-automatic Nerf, of sorts, and we only have these little guns, so there is seemingly reason to falter. Still... there are many of us. We are not afraid.

Seriously though, once the Nerf-pelting is over, which is just a normal part of our day, we cannot wait to hug the future Uncle to my children and welcome him right in.

School Supply Stress

2010-09-02T17:01:00.005-05:00

School supply organization, recycling (as in using last year's supplies which are still usable) and shopping is getting more and more stressful each year. I have three boys in school and the oldest is now in middle school. For him we had 2 full backpacks, a crate and a bag's worth of supplies to cart in on the first day. Also, everything needed to be labeled. Insanity!!!

I actually made a spread sheet for shopping and detailed list for each child. I purchased items at 3 different stores and returned the ones I found to be more expensive to Shopko. (Wal-Mart is the overall cheapest, but the grocery store is where I made out on the loss-leader sales.)

I spent around $80 this year on everything, including a 2GB flash drive and a TI calculator. That is actually pretty good. I accredit this to my recycling, ad watching and all-around awesomeness. In moments like that, my kids sometimes ask, "Do you feel like Supermom right now?" Had they asked me, I would have firmly and resoundingly said, "Yes!"

Despite that feat, all the inventorying, labeling, sharpening, sorting, appropriating, distributing, packing, delivering, re-organizing and discovering what was missing was just a tad anxiety inducing for me. So glad it's over. Until next year...

The Girl and The Orange

2010-08-27T20:51:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, there was a little girl...

and an orange.

The girl picked up the orange.

She played with the orange.

The girl, loved her orange.

Then, the girl became interested in her toes.

She tired of the orange and threw it down to the earth.

Poor orange.

Ode to the Alphabet Blog

2010-08-27T17:19:00.002-05:00

Alphabet Blog, Alphabet Blog

When life was draining, you weren't a time hog.

Patiently waiting for each new letter

You never pressured me for each post to get better

You accepted my ramblings, you accepted my coos

you even were ever accepting of the strange, odd truth

Where I would have let Blogspot wane to the side

you filled my thoughts with the next letter in line

Oh Alphabet Blog, I'm sorry it's done

Perhaps we'll meet again, You were so much fun.

Z is for Ziploc

2010-08-27T16:23:00.000-05:00

Did you know that Ziploc is in the dictionary?

Okay, I know, I'm busted. I was looking at Z words in the dictionary. I had this last letter left and I needed a boost to complete my alphabet blog. Sue me.

Still, Ziploc is in the dictionary as a trademarked product. Weird, wild stuff. I guess it makes sense. I would expect "Kleenex" to be in the dictionary. It is. The word ziplock is also in there as a real word for a sealing plastic bag.

When I went to Russia to visit and help resident missionaries, we brought ziplock (varying brands of plastic sealing bags) for the American missionaries. They aren't in the stores over there. I was told they will go as far as washing them and reusing them several times. I must admit, I don't blame them. I probably use them everyday. And, if I ever run out of them, you can be sure they are at the top of my shopping list as a must-have.

Thank you Mr. Ziploc (or whoever invented the first self-sealing plastic bag)! I love you magnificent twentieth-century, indispensable invention.

Y is for mommY

2010-08-25T20:20:00.005-05:00

I don't care at all if you think that this manipulation of the alphabet blogging is lame. Today my 19-month-old daughter said, "Mommy." She has been saying Ma and Mama and sometimes even Mom, but today is the first day she said... Mommy.

There is something so yummy and delightful about hearing a little baby call you Mommy.

I love the letter "Y!"

X is for Xanthous

2010-08-24T16:31:00.004-05:00

Xanthous. Xanthous. Cool word.

This could be considered a cop-out on the letter "X" except that yellow is my favorite color! It is light and cheery and beyond earth. It glows down on us from the sun far away. Yellow is vast and comforting.

Yellow is sunshine and joy. Scrambled eggs and butter. Macaroni & cheese and lemonade.

Also, as the xanthous sun has shown down on me over this summer, my hair has become more and more xanthous.

;-)

W is for Wii

2010-08-23T17:31:00.005-05:00

The Wii has become a staple in our family.

The kids' grandmother stood in line, outside a Best Buy store, in the winter cold, at the break of dawn to acquire it for them one Christmas. (If she only knew how much we'd come to love it and rely on it.) The games started simply with Paper Mario and Wii Sports. The former for the kids, the latter, perfect for the whole family.

My husband and I used to bowl with the kids once in awhile. That was always fun. We later found ourselves sneaking in some rounds of bowling while the kids were at school.

Wii began to acquire many games over time as my husband and I scooped up used copies from Blockbuster for cheap.

When I was pregnant, I admit, I let the Wii system become the boys' babysitter. I had all-day sickness for three months and I was much more concerned about my survival than their eyes, brains, or future.

Once the baby came, I again allowed it to become their babysitter. "Shame on me!" I say with no conviction.

Anyway, the Wii has remained a vital part of our family. It even came on vacation with us to our little cabin, though I am glad to say the kids did not ask us to hook it up until 4 days into the vacation. Way to go boys! Then we all bowled and the kids went on to play the latest Super Mario game, which we hid in our suitcase to surprise them with.

Sometimes we're strict with time limits and days off, especially during school. But, honestly, this summer was kind of a free-for-all.

I have to say my favorite part of the Wii is hearing my 9-yr-old playing Lego Rock Band, belting out the likes of "We Will Rock You" or "Picture to Burn" from the loft upstairs. That is pure joy!

V is for Vinegar

2010-08-22T14:12:00.013-05:00

Vinegar is sour. It smells bad. Who on earth would like vinegar? I do.

First I loved vinegar as a crucial ingredient to my mom's cucumber salad recipe. It's so simple. Cucumber, onions, celery salt, Miracle Whip, vinegar, sugar (dill if desired). Yum! Without the vinegar it would be a flop.

At my 100+ year-old house, we did not have a dishwasher. We renovated the kitchen 3 years ago and added one. I thought this was my saviour. Not. The dishes came out with white splotches and streaks and film every single time, no matter what rinse agent or detergent I tried.

Then, one day, my friend Ann told me about putting vinegar in the bottom of the dishwasher. I really thought this sounded ridiculous, so I didn't try it for several months. Still, after those months, the dishes has the same problems. I was disillusioned and so very disappointed.

Then I remembered the vinegar idea. It felt like my last hope. I dumped around (eye-balled it) 1/4 cup of vinegar into the bottom of the dishwasher, waited for the cycle to run it's course and...

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." The angels sang. My dishes looked beautiful. Not spots. No streaks. No white hue. Clean, through and through.

Hip, hip, hooray for vinegar, no dishwasher should go without.

U is for Ultrasound

2010-08-21T21:16:00.004-05:00

Who knows why I am writing about this, since I have no experience with it. Well, not "no" experience. I did have one ultrasound a long time ago. That's it. One in my entire life. I don't really remember much except that I hated the huge drink I had to have ahead of time, subsequently having to pee forever, while I waited for the technician to come and she never did, until she finally did and pee was welling up behind my eyes, and I waited longer than I can possibly make this sentence run on! -deep breathe-

I have been pregnant 6 times, and I've only had one ultrasound, which was 6 years before I ever became pregnant in the first place. I has a fluid-filled cyst that grew to the size of a grapefruit and was removed via laparoscopy.

All of my pregnancies have been handled by a midwife who allowed me to forgo all unnecessary ultrasounds. And since all of my last four pregnancies have been healthy, there was no need. (My two first pregnancies ended before an ultrasound was even thought of.)

I hear many, many mothers talk about the wonder of the ultrasound; the excitement, the sex-foretelling, the solidifying of reality. Oddly, or not, I have never felt like I missed out on anything. Not seeing a somewhat nondescript grainy image on a monochromatic screen might be amazing to some, but my babies and I were just fine without it.

T is for Tea

2010-08-20T20:14:00.000-05:00

(That is phonetic fun! Say it out loud: "T is for Tea!" Haha.)

I used to be a tea fanatic. Other than water, tea was my drink of choice. Add a smidgen of honey and I was a happy girl.

Somewhere along the way, sometime after baby number three took over every last minute of my day it was replaced with coffee. Coffee has a way of giving you a swift kick in the rear, while tea calmly boosts or sooths the soul. I didn't have time for tea anymore, I think. (To be honest, I don't even remember the switch, those days are a bit blurry in the recall files.)It's been coffee for many years now, with the occasional tea when I needed a change or a leisurely, cozy drink.

I've been having mild stomach issues lately. Maybe indigestion, nerves or a self-diagnosed stomach ulcer; perhaps h.pylori associated. And, just about everything I read on the ever reliable Internet suggests that caffeine can irritate things. DRAT! Or so I thought.

I was a bit headachey these last two days without my caffeine, but my stomachs been better. And now I find myself longing for my once forgotten cup of tea, with a splash of honey.

Instead of taking coffee to work tomorrow, I will take tea. Green Chai. That's been a favorite for a long time.

Perhaps it is time to introduce my baby girl to tea with Mommy. My boys have all had tea parties and special "tea moments" with me. Sometimes we have all gathered around the table and talked over tea. Other times I've had special one-on-one "tea talks" with my boys.

Tea has been an important part of our family life, which all originated with my Mom sharing her love of tea with me. It's time to regard tea once again.

S is for...

2010-08-20T19:45:00.011-05:00

Saxophone. My oldest son is entering middle school this year. Music is required for the students (YES!), so he needed to decide where his interests lie. He tried cello and viola and trumpet, sax and clarinet and decided unequivocally that the saxophone was his instrument. He really is very much like his Dad, so I was not surprised, considering that was his instrument of choice as well.

In fact, our son will be playing that very same sax. It was in our basement for around twenty "ahem" years, so it smelled like mildew and mold and ick. The music shop is pretty much taking it apart and scouring it with Comet, so the instrument in this picture is our "Sub" sax, as my son has affectionately named him.

S is for Shaylee. My baby!!!!!! Wanna see how gorgeous this baby is?

S is for Sherri. I miss you sis! Eight-plus years without her. It still hasn't sunk in.

S is for Simple. Come on people! Let's not complicate things. Keep it simple. I'm a simple girl.

S is for Sunflower. I've seen some tall and beautiful ones in my days. This one was in my back yard several years back. It was supposed to be 4-6 feet tall. Hmmph. Sassy sunflower.

S is for Spaghetti, which is on the stove, so I better go.

S is the first letter in my last name and a simply, sumptuous sounding letter... sssssssssssssss... S.

R is for Road Trip

2010-08-20T00:58:00.011-05:00

I love road trips. Especially when it's me and my honey.

We've driven from Oregon to Wisconsin, from Wisconsin to Oregon; Milwaukee to St. Paul, St. Paul to Milwaukee; Milwaukee to Atlanta, Louisville, Springfield, and Denver; Las Vegas to L.A. and Las Vegas to Bend, OR and back.

I got to drive from Vermont back to Wisconsin, alone. With the kids, we drove round-trip to North Carolina, and with my sister, brother-in-law, mom and step-dad, my hubby and I drove to see my sister in Prince Albert Saskatchewan and back (That was some adventure!).

Road trips are awesome! My husband is the main driver and I am the navigator and educator. I love watching the map and pointing in various directions, informing others about what is near. I consult my travel books to add trivia facts about all the surrounding features that are nearby, yet unseen. And of what is seen, I investigate until I am certain of what it is, then share said trivia facts.

Of course we stop plenty of places to explore, but it's just as fun to return to the car and hit the open road. It's one of the beauties of living in America. This vast, beautiful land is at our fingertips, so long as we have a car and some gas money.

Q is for Quiver

2010-08-18T09:21:00.007-05:00

Happy is the man that has his quiver full of them... Psalm 127:5 AKJV

My quiver is full, I think. We have four children. I really can't imagine my life without them. When I try, I can only see self-indulgence and boredom. What would I do with myself? I've never been good at keeping myself challenged. I like to take the easy route too many times. That's not to say I don't often get inspired to excel, I do; just not enough.

*However, my kids keep me on my toes. My character is challenged. My resilience is tested. My patience is a well exercised muscle.

Soon, I expect to be more and more cognitively challenged as my children progress in school. I already referred to references to "remember" things I once knew to help my 5th grader with homework. Now he will be in middle school. I'm looking forward to remembering algebra and American History, etc.

When I was little, I knew I wanted to grow up and be a mom. I also knew I wanted 3 children, close in age, which happened to be just the type of family I grew up in; until I was a teen, my little sister arrived. Lo and behold, we had 3 boys right in a row, then we added a fourth child after a several year gap.

My quiver is full. My quiver is fun. My children all have goofiness, like me, which I treasure. They are all creative and smart in very different ways. Being a mom is like digging through a never-ending treasure chest. Each day has new, beautiful things to discover. (Lest it all smell like roses, see above. *)

Life is good.

P is for Posey

2010-08-13T13:46:00.004-05:00

P is for Posey

A posey is a small, hand-held bouquet popular in mid- 19th-century Victorian England as an accessory carried by fashionable ladies. Composed of mixed flowers and herbs and edged with a paper frill or greens, the arrangement was sometimes inserted into a silver filigree holder. When supplied by an admirer, a nosegay became a vehicle for the floral "language of love"-e.g., a red tulip was a declaration of love; a sprig of dogwood returned by the young lady was a sign of indifference; a variegated pink meant that she rejected her suitor's affection. This variety of bouquet has enjoyed periodic revivals.

Source: Dictionary.com

Wow! I thought a posey was a type of flower. Instead it is the amazing social tradition. Reading about it just makes me want to put on a floor-length dress, put my hair up, and head off to the neighborhood ball. (I like to imagine that all 19th century neighborhoods included a mansion of generous and gorgeous young brother and their parents all searching their own party for the love of their lives.)

It seems like no one would ever use a posey again to signal their level of interest in an admirer. Wouldn't it be easier to send a text? But where is the romance in that?

I beckon you all to host a neighborhood ball, having all men send a posey to the woman/girl they admire. Then the women get to insert their "signal" flower. How fantastic, whimsical and wonderful is that?

Wishing you a happy gala!

O is for Oatmeal (and Oreos)

2010-08-09T21:25:00.001-05:00

Oatmeal is a staple we have in our house at all times. My hubby doesn’t eat it, but the rest of us do. It is a smooth and creamy comfort food.

Oooo ya…. And Oreos. There is another comfort food that begins with “O.” I have a particular problem with Double Stuff Oreos.

Anyway, oatmeal is supposed to lower your risk of heart disease, right? That’s what major oatmeal companies claim. Do they mean with or without the added sugar and artificial flavor? I love the maple and brown sugar flavor. Is that still good for me? Sometimes I feel like I’ve eaten a candybar after a morning serving of oatmeal. Still, it is yummy and warm and gooey. My kind of food.

(And let’s not get into the Oreos… or maybe we should.)

N is for Nana

2010-08-04T21:18:00.000-05:00

The kids “Nana,” my stepmom, took us on vacation this week. It’s an adorable old log cabin on Kangaroo Lake. There are lots of fun things to do here; fishing, paddle-boats, RC boats, swimming, bonfire, games, etc. Endless fun for a family of six.

The best part of this vacation, however, has been our fun with Nana. She even swam so vigorously with the boys that she hurt her back. She is relentless when it comes to whooping it up with her grandchildren.

She makes up funny stories and feeds them junk food( (and fruit too.) She also had her cuddly, adorable and lovable mini-Yorkies with her (Desi & Lucy.)

The only bad thing is that Nana will only be here until today and we’ll have to enjoy the second half of our vacation without her. I’m sure we will have fun and make many awesome memories, but Nana will take her spark and unique zest for life with her.

Thanks for the great vacation Nana, but most of all, thank you for your love and presence. We love you.

M is for Moving

2010-07-30T00:07:00.004-05:00

Moving can be fun and exciting, but seriously, I hate all the "stuff" involved in moving. Every time we've moved I've wished we could throw out half of our stuff and not look back. I hate moving stuff.

Today my Mother-In-Law moved. She packed much lighter for a permanent move than I would for a week long trip. One suitcase. Everything she "needs" is in one suitcase. About ten days worth of clothes, shoes, a couple of pictures, her Bible, glasses. That's it. She doesn't even want anymore. Not much stuff.

Of course she needed clothes, but the only other things that were important to her were a few choice pictures of her loved ones.

I know she has Alzheimer's, so that makes this different. Still, she is able to say and is resolute, that those items are all she needs. I think that is really profound.

(Somebody is gonna have to move her household full of stuff though. I just hope it isn't me. I hate moving stuff.)

L is for Love

2010-07-29T23:56:00.003-05:00

Love, it seems, is much more about choices and commitment than about feelings.

Do I love my baby more when I kiss her or when I hold her for an hour in the middle of the night because she is ill?

Do I love my children more by saying "I love you" or by abandoning my needs to tend to theirs?

Do I love my husband more by by sitting next to him snuggling or by standing by him, day after day, during the most stressful days of his life.

Love is less about my feelings and what I get out of it and more about desiring to uplift, uphold and fulfill the person I love. In doing so, I will reap rewards for sure, but the doing never stems from desiring that outcome. I love, never expecting to receive, still, love always finds it's way back.

K is for Kangaroo

2010-07-28T23:43:00.002-05:00

Kangaroo Lake, that is.

That is the destination for a much needed vacation. It couldn't have come at a better time. My hubby and I have been so busy we hardly see each other and the kids have noticed we're never together too. We will have one whole week of us all being in the same place at the same time. Lately, one hour of that is a treat, now we'll have over 170 hours of our nuclear family in the same place.

It's beginning to seem like the holy grail! I know we'll all get on each others nerves at some point, but this vacation truly seems like it will provide us all with tank refills. Each family member may have varying needs (emptied tanks), but I predict we will be filling them all with joy, laughter, rest, love, snuggles, fun, recognition, affirmation, attention, calmness....

Kangaroo Lake, her we come. You are our Pu'uhonau.

J is for Jazz

2010-07-19T20:35:00.000-05:00

I got into jazz music when I fell in love with my husband. He was a serious saxophone player in high school and very involved in the jazz band ensemble.

My interested first echoed my hubby's preferences, mostly smooth, modern jazz. I really started to appreciate the likes of Spyro Gyra, Bela Fleck and the Flecktones, Kenny G, David Benoit, and the sultry music of Rick Braun. (There were many, many more too. I really got into it... aaahhhh what love will do to a person.)

I had such a love for this new found music, I decided to take a jazz appreciation class at the local college. It was so enlightening. I was exposed to the broad world of jazz and had a chance to discover what I really loved about it. It turned out that my real affinity was for the more simple, old-style impromptu jazz. Give me a trumpet, sax, piano, drums and upright bass played by skillful hands and uninhibited musicians and I am loving it!

Jazz, in that format, has a raw, honest quality that is relaxing, invigorating, pure and intriguing.

It's been way to many years since I've enjoyed that in a live setting. I don't see time for it in the near future, but it is an experience I will have again and I'm really looking forward to it.

I is for Introspection

2010-07-16T13:28:00.000-05:00

I've been doing that a lot lately.

I see that I have numerous faults. It used to be, when I young, that I was oblivious to most of my character faults. Now, I see so many of them. It can be disconcerting at times.

I am trying to recapture some of my youthful confidence, but this time, without the obstinacy. I am striving for a healthy balance between humility and pride. I want to remember that I am just one human among billions, so maybe not that special, yet unique and unlike any other, therefore valuable in this world.

I will be on a journey of character reformation for as long as I life, and I am determined to not lose momentum.

H is for...

2010-07-15T18:51:00.004-05:00

My sister felt like she whimped out with "H" on her alphabet soup blog challenge (though I thought hers was a strong entry), and I am kinda feeling that way about mine too. Seeing as I don't yet have an "H."
Mmmm... Heaven, Hell, Hope, Hippie, Hair, Hiccup, Happy, Horrible, Hmmmmm.... yes, Hair...

You know what? My last post, right before I started the alphabet blogs started with an "H" and it is very worthy of being in my Alphabet Soup.

H is for Haircut

I've given many hair cuts in the last ten years. All but 3 have been given to my boys, though my oldest won't let me cut his hair anymore. Autonomy, I suppose. One was a trim of my mom's curly locks. Not much room for error there.

Another was a little over eight years ago when I cut my sister's hair, or what was left of it. After several intense rounds of chemo, all she had left was a few straggles for a meager ponytail which she let stick out the back of her baseball caps. Half-way during the hair cut, she needed to take a break to lay, curled up, on the kitchen floor to manage through her severe stomach pains (related to the damage to her internal organs from the constant drugs and treatment).

What was wonderful about this... I can't, still can't, believe even now that I can use the word wonderful for this. What was wonderful about this was that I knew it would be a precious memory that I would never, ever forget.

I eventually finished cutting her hair and she replaced her tan baseball cap with no more ponytail spilling out of the back. Her always gorgeous, long brown hair was gone forever. She died two months later.

I've remember that day many, many times; but never as vividly as today. Today I cut my mother-in-law's hair. She's too afraid to go out in public these days, so no more beauty shop visits. Her Alzheimer's has taken center stage. She is suspicious and confused. She won't leave her house, but wanted a hair cut.

While I cut her hair, she wasn't anxious or confused or afraid. She was relaxed, and played with her 17 month old grand-daughter. I pondered her future, soon to be in assisted living, gradually losing her grasp on the awareness of her own life. The matriarch of my family is dying; at least as we know her.

My mother-in-law's haircut was a much different circumstance than my sister's, yet my heart bound them tightly together. There is something very organic and real when you cut the hair of a suffering person, one whom you love deeply.

G is for Ginormous

2010-07-14T20:42:00.002-05:00

Uh... No it is not! That is not a word. Gigantic is a word. Giant is a word. Enormous is a word. Ginormous is some crazy morphing of the above sufficient and healthy words. Morphed words are like genetic altering of crops and plants. They aren't the real thing. They are not pure. They are manipulated by people in the hopes of making something better; but it is not better. Something just doesn't feel right about them.

I reject morphed words. Ginormous, chillaxin', and the like. I will not use them and I wonder about the people who do.

I'm not a language snob. I use slang, ya know? I do have an appreciation for language though, and something feel wrong about morphing words with the same meaning. What's the point?

F is for Forgiveness

2010-07-13T16:52:00.000-05:00

If I do two things well in this lifetime, I want them to be love and forgiveness.

I've been hesitant to blog completely openly about my faith, as to not offend anyone. But I cannot even broach this subject without my faith taking center stage.

Stasi Eldredge writes about this topic in her book, Captivating:

“Bitterness and unforgiveness set their hooks deep in our hearts; they are chains that hold us captive to the wounds and the messages of these wounds. Until you forgive, you remain their prisoner.”

It is very easy to let resentment fester, thoughts of how wrong the people who hurt us were. We know we should forgive. But, first we have to want to forgive. Then we have to actually let go of our hurt and resentment.

Is forgiveness simply a conscious decision? I wish. I’ve tried that many, many times, only to be utterly disappointed in myself for not having the will power to make the forgiveness of an offense a reality. That has been a frustration my whole life.

I have come to realize that forgiveness has much less to do with the intent, for what is obviously the right thing to do, then I ever knew. It has much less to do with the person who offended me, than me. And it is very much related to my spiritual and emotional health.

Forgiveness seems to have much to do with me being okay with me. In my successful experiences with forgiveness, I've found I need a healthy relationship with my creator. Forgiveness is me freeing everyone else from the responsibility of making sure that I am okay, because that need is being met somewhere else.

I am okay. When I am secure in who God created me to be; when I am secure with all my own blemishes and faults; when I am reconciled with my creator and longing to be fulfilled in Him and Him only, I am free to forgive. Forgiveness comes not only with conscious effort; but forgiveness comes with security in and dependence on God.

That might sound wacky, but for me it is a very real truth. That might sound simple, but it is a long road. One I am still on. I had journeyed through over 30 years of living and trying to find my way, and calling on God for direction. Then finally... a huge challenge. In the face of thinking I could never forgive the most devastating offensive in my life, I gave not the offense or the offenders to God’s control, but me. I gave me. I gave my heartache, my pain, my resentment… to God. I made room for His patience, grace, and mercy to fill me.

And, guess what followed… a miraculous ability to forgive. Aha… forgiveness was never to be by my own volition. Forgiveness became a reality through God’s strength, power and love.

I'm sure I have much more forgiving to do in my days on earth. But if I can forgive, no offender will ever have a grip on me, my heart can be light and peaceful and free to love endlessly.

Stasi Eldredge, in “Captivating” also wrote,

“We acknowledge that it hurt, that it mattered, and we choose to extend forgiveness to our fathers, our mothers, those who hurt us. This is not saying, “I didn’t really matter”; it is not saying, “I probably deserved part of it anyway.” Forgiveness says, “It was wrong. Very wrong. It mattered, hurt me deeply. And I release you. I give you to God.”

E is for Elephant

2010-07-12T15:21:00.003-05:00

Elephant Lamp that is...

When my husband and I were newly married, we went shopping for lights and fell in love with a floor lamp that was carved like an elephant. We've always regretted not buying it. We knew it was weird, but we loved that lamp, strange as it was.

Maybe I would hate it now, if it was really in my house. But, maybe I would treasure it. I think if we would have purchased it, it would have immediately become a keepsake that we would never have discarded.

Ah... what could have been.

D is for Diapers

2010-07-11T14:16:00.000-05:00

I've changed a lot, a la ha hot, of diapers in my life.

I have FOUR kids. Let's see, quick math. I think I've changed at least 21,000 diapers in my life. (That's my conservative estimate, yet I've checked the math 3 times because it seems unreal.) No wonder diapers is the first thing that comes to mind with the letter "D."

I always wanted 3 or 4 kids, but I never realized just how many diapers I'd have to change. And, I'm not done yet. I've got at least another 1,500 to go.

My mom used cloth diapers for me and my sisters. Uh... I've washed some poop out of underwear on occasion, rare occasion. It's disgusting! (Mom, I have a new respect for you.)

I've used disposables all along. I feel guilty about it too. I care about the environment, yet I've added 21,000 diapers to landfills. Still, I will not wash poop out of cloth diapers every day. I can't! I think I'd lose it. I am not Caroline Ingalls.

C is for Connie

2010-07-10T16:40:00.003-05:00

I have the best mother in the world. The reason my boys and I have such a great relationship (see B is for Boys) is because of my mom. She modeled it with me and my sisters. Her name is Connie.

I've grown up to be a little bit like her. My husband would say I'm a near carbon copy, except that I am about 6 inches taller than her, have freckled instead of olive skin and... well, that's about it.

We are song-writers, worship leaders, gardeners, coffee and tea drinkers. We enjoy the same food. We love the same reality TV shows, and discuss our matching opinions on the phone regarding them. Our spiritual outlook is the same. And so on, and so on.

My mom taught me how to be a good Mom, a loving supportive wife and my own person. She instilled in me the beauty of having a real, dynamic relationship with God.

My mom is always there when I need her. She makes time. She makes me feel like the most important person in the world and she does this with her husband and my sisters too.

I thank God for her all the time. I can't imagine who I'd be without her. I love you Mom! Thank you for being you and loving me and for the invaluable truths you have instilled in me.

B is for Boys

2010-07-09T16:25:00.001-05:00

B is for Boys. I have three magnificent boys. My own personal version of "My Three Sons" (a show I watched religiously with my sisters as a little girl).
My boys are 11, 9 and 7. I adore them and they know it. And the best part is they adore me too. They come to me for snuggles and hugs. They tell me jokes and show me their inventions and creations. They know I am proud of them and always love them. I make it a point, especially during the difficult times for them like punishments and such, to say, "I always love you."

I have a goal for them, one common goal. I want them to grow up feeling valued, secure, loved and important just as they are so they can make their wives and children feel the same way. We all deserve that.

For now they are boys, but I plan for them to grow up to be magnificent men.

A is for Alzheimer's

2010-07-08T15:18:00.001-05:00

My little sister is doing an alphabet blogging challenge, so I will join her. Here we go...

A is for Alzheimer's

If you've read my blog, you know that is an easy one. My life revolves around my immediate family, our business and my mother-in-law, who has Alzheimer's. What other A is there right now?

Let me just be honest and raw this time. Alzheimer's is a terrible disease. It takes away your loved one slowly, not physically, but in every other way. The person you knew disappears from the inside out. I wish I could be poetic and inspiring about it, but I can't.

Alzheimer's forces you to grieve your loved one long before they physically leave you. She was a strong, independent woman conquered adversity and took on the world alone as a young lady. Knowing she couldn't have children, after marrying the love of her life, she fearlessly adopted a toddler and a 6-month-old boy. She raised her sons right and loved them unconditionally. She thought of me as her own daughter, but usually can't remember how I am related to her anymore.

Alzheimer's stinks. Boooooo! Hopefully B will be a little brighter. I apologize.

Hair Cuts

2010-07-07T22:01:00.005-05:00

First of all... Party Foul! I haven't blogged for a month. I am sorry!

So... hair cuts. I've given many hair cuts in the last ten years. All but 3 have been given to my boys, though my oldest won't let me cut his hair anymore. Autonomy, I suppose. One was a trim of my mom's curly locks. Not much room for error there.

Another was a little over eight years ago when I cut my sister's hair, or what was left of it. After several intense rounds of chemo, all she had left was a few straggles for a meager ponytail which she let stick out the back of her baseball caps. Half-way during the hair cut, she needed to take a break to lay, curled up, on the kitchen floor to manage through her severe stomach pains (related to the damage to her internal organs from the constant drugs and treatment).

What was wonderful about this... I can't, still can't, believe even now that I can use the word wonderful for this. What was wonderful about this was that I knew it would be a precious memory that I would never, ever forget.

I eventually finished cutting her hair and she replaced her tan baseball cap with no more ponytail spilling out of the back. Her always gorgeous, long brown hair was gone forever. She died two months later.

I've remember that day many, many times; but never as vividly as today. Today I cut my mother-in-law's hair. She's too afraid to go out in public these days, so no more beauty shop visits. Her Alzheimer's has taken center stage. She is suspicious and confused. She won't leave her house, but wanted a hair cut.

While I cut her hair, she wasn't anxious or confused or afraid. She was relaxed, and played with her 17 month old grand-daughter. I pondered her future, soon to be in assisted living, gradually losing her grasp on the awareness of her own life. The matriarch of my family is dying; at least as we know her.

My mother-in-law's haircut was a much different circumstance than my sister's, yet my heart bound them tightly together. There is something very organic and real when you cut the hair of a suffering person, one whom you love deeply.

Running Rules

2010-06-06T20:45:00.003-05:00

Remember what I said in my last post about not liking running? Forget about it. Today, I love it!!!!!!!!

Last year I finished my first 5k in 39 minutes, 24 seconds. Today, I crushed that time at a speedy 34 minutes 45 seconds. Nearly 11 minute miles. Oh ya, baby!

I stared the race with a friend who planned to run it in less than 32 minutes, so she bacame my dangling carrot. She was wearing a bright pink shirt and if I could just keep her in my sites, I knew I'd be rockin' that course.

At the 2 mile marker, someone called out the time, "23 minutes!" What?!?!? Never in my wildest dreams! Based on my usual pace I was blowing my usual pace out of the water.

I was very winded and had to take several short walking breaks during the last mile. Still, I knew I was going to beat my time because my pink-shirted friend stayed in my sites until there was only a half mile to go.

I was chatting with a 72 year old woman on the course during the last mile. She kept going while I took a walking break and beat me by a minute. That does not bother me at all. This year, I actually stayed with the pack or runners, even if it was at the back. I felt good, I ran fast... for me.

My husband promised to be at the finish line with our kids. When I hit that home stretch, I knew I'd see them. I found a brand new energy and no longer felt winded. When I saw them, I easily picked up the pace. My baby was saying, "Mama, mama" and pointing at me. My boys were clapping and cheering. My husband was smiling from ear to ear.

After I passed them, I looked to the finish line and the race clock. Another "What?" moment occurred. It was 34 minutes and 20-something seconds. Holy cow! I knew I could break 35 minutes. I suddenly was able to sprint to the finish.

That was an amazing experience. I feel so satisfied. I can't wait to run again. I love running!

Running Realism

2010-06-05T19:42:00.006-05:00

I am a runner. I run. I didn't used to be. Specifically, I was not a runner until one fateful Christmas when my sister and I thought of the brilliant idea of running a 5k together. I bought new shoes (a month later) and I started to run.

It was a lot harder than I thought. I didn't really like it, but I had a goal... the 5k in June. My sister would be home for summer break and we would complete our first 5k race, side by side.

By May, I was able to run for 20 minutes straight as I pondered the positive home pregnancy test from that morning. Even thought I had doctor clearance, the baby soon took over my body and the 5k plan was "right out!"

Somehow I revived the goal and trained enough t0 complete my first 5k less than 5 months after the baby was born. I was by far the slowest runner at 39+ minutes (half way through the race, all runners were so far ahead of me, they were out of sight), but I never walked.

This year, carrying 15 less pounds and fully recovered from pregnancy, I was certain I would blast that slow time out of the water. Well, the race is tomorrow, and in the last 2 months, I've run, let's see, 1, 2, 3, 4... ya, that's it, four times. Three of which were in the last week. Now I just hope to run the whole thing. Who cares about the time?

Here's the weirdest part of the whole thing. I don't really like running very much. After the first 10 minutes, I don't like how I feel when I run. My right hip always hurts for days after and it causes sciatic pain to flare up on my left side. Plus, there's the toe pain and the headaches.

I'm not complaining. I don't have to run. I know that. I've just been trying to figure out why I do it. I think to me it has to do with pushing myself. Running represents me taking ownership of my body, my mind, my soul and pushing all aspects of me to be more capable than I thought possible, healthier than before, stronger and more determined.

Pushing through something unpleasant for all the positive effects is something very important to me these last few years, and especially now. So, I will keep running, certainly not because I like it, but because it is one of the most positive influences in my life these days.

I am a runner. I run.

Canon Clicks

2010-05-31T21:18:00.005-05:00

I got a new camera, I got a new camera...

Okay, it's actually 2-3 years old. I bought it from a friend who has also been developing her profile as a professional photographer. She is upgrading, so her loss is my gain. And, if this camera was decent enough for her to start her own business, I know it's decent enough for me!

I've wanted a Canon EOS camera for around 15 years, and now I have one. I only have the kit lens and still... looky what I can do....

Loving everything about having this awesome camera.

Yay me!

Calgon (or in my case - work), Take Me Away

2010-05-20T14:46:00.011-05:00

I've been a mom for over 11 years. It is a 24/7 job. Even when I sleep, I am on call. My cell phone is always with me in case there is an emergency at school. My schedule usually revolves around the kids. Most of the things I do when I am at home have to do with them: cleaning, cooking, laundry, organization, communication. It really never stops and it is always revolving. I am ALWAYS a mom, on duty.

I've worked at our personal business out of the home for the whole duration of my motherhood. I'd like to say that has given me something of my own, but it hasn't. It is my husband's business primarily. Even though it has been our family's sole livelihood for 11 years, it has failed to provide any substantial fulfillment or respite for me. Seriously, I can see and hear everything in our house from our office. That is hardly a break.

And now, for the first time in these 11 years, I have a job out of the home. The job does not relate to my husband and it is not 2 feet away from my mothering duties. It takes me away, almost like a Calgon bath.
I keep myself very busy at my new job. I'd hate to say I am really taking a break, because I work hard and try to make sure I am worthwhile to the non-profit organization that has put its trust in me. Still, it is a world of my own, separate from my children and my family. It really feels like a wonderful break.

It's hard for me to figure out why I was ever hesitant to go back to work. Yes, I miss my baby when I am working during the day, and we've had to reorganize how our family accomplishes chores, but the payoff is worth it. I'm not even referring to the paycheck. I am referring to my new identity and respite from the Mom-job that never sleeps.

While at work, I do keep my cell phone in my pocket, just in case my husband has a question or the children have an issue at school, but it's my turf, and I love it.

Confused and Not Amused

2010-05-15T21:47:00.007-05:00

My life has been in overdrive for about two weeks now. I've been surviving and coping because of adrenaline and caffeine. And sometimes, just not coping.

I broke down, sobbing while driving to the medical clinic this last week. My mother-in-law sat next to me and was none-the-wiser, though my baby girl, in the back seat, was trying to mimic my strange sounds. She noticed.

My mother-in-law had just finished railing into me, telling me I lie and I am going to hell. It wasn't because she used to ever believe that. We've always had a marvelous relationship. It's because she is confused.

A month ago, her doctor, her neurologist, had finally committed to saying that she has "Onset Alzheimer's." But somehow, since then, she has plummeted into the intermediate stages of it. Out of respect for her, I won't even write about most of her struggle these last few weeks.

Today she was adamant that a picture of her, her husband and my husband and brother-in-law as kids, was none of those such people.

I talk with my kids almost every day about their Naana, trying to help them navigate through this rapid change. They can no longer have a conversation with their grandmother because they lack the maturity to redirect, comfort or make some level of sense out of what she is saying. They are losing their grandmother right in front of my eyes. It is breaking my heart.

My mother-in-law speaks of wishing to die every day. She is losing the ability to care for herself in the most basic ways. It is a stomach-turning, stressful reality. Her sons and I are doing all we can, which at this moment is just doing the next thing (because the bigger picture is so overwhelming.) I've realized we were unprepared in almost every way for such a rapid decline.

Sometimes her sons and I feel so overwhelmed we land in our own moments of confusion. But we are pulling together. We are being forced to practice patience beyond what we thought we were capable of. We are leaning on each other. We are communicating continuously. We are sharing encouragement and support. We are being a family, one step at a time.

Conversations

2010-05-05T09:14:00.003-05:00

Queen Latifah was on Good Morning America this morning to talk about her new book. She said her favorite chapter was the one about her mother, a teacher. She went on to share that she has many unrelated brothers and sisters who were students of her mom, because her mom took time to notice these kids and have conversations with them.

Conversations, I will now suggest, are paramount in making a difference in people lives. I imagined these lost students of Queen's mother. Many probably had no one in their lives who cared to hear their thoughts, dreams or ideas. What is more discouraging than having no one in your life that cares to know your heart and soul?

I often have to remind myself to stop multi-tasking and look my boys in the eye to hear their new dreams about writing comic books, running a ranch, joining the Air Force, creating new recipes (like dessert pizzas). If I can't stop to listen to that stuff, why would they ever think I would stop to listen about the kids who's offering them drugs, or the pressure they are getting to have sex, or the deep depression they are facing from rejection.

Conversations reach farther than children too. There are so many adults whose hearts are ignored. Simple conversations that show you are interested in what happens in there lives can go a long, long way in healing a broken spirit.

Here's to really listening to the other broken souls of the world. You have a voice and I will listen.

Clean Up! Green Up!

2010-05-03T18:44:00.005-05:00

April hosts Arbor Day and Earth Week. That makes for busy, busy days for the community beautification committees of this land (one of which I now work for). Hence, my lack of recent posts and the topic of today.

Our town hosted its own community-wide clean-up event on Saturday. My job was to help facilitate the command post and take pictures. After the official time was over, I went home, and rounded up my kids to hit a parkway that wasn't covered my the morning volunteers. Don't worry, it wasn't slave labor or anything, they practically begged me to go pick up trash.We discovered, just as most of the volunteers had boasted earlier, our town is really clean! We walked (and scootered) for over 45 minutes and filled less than half a trash bag. Still it was a great experience for the kids who definitely have the spirit of community care already. They regularly bring home trash they find on their daily walk home from school. I am so proud.

The next day I was struck with a memory of a my visit to Siberia, Russia a few years ago. We were in a Buryat village for a week, building a playground at a local hospital for children with Tuberculosis, and leading an English camp for many of the local, poverty stricken children. It was heart-wrenching on many levels. And the picture that returned to mind was of the empty lots... filled with trash. There was also garbage in most of the yards and up and down every street.

I don't really have a point here. It is just on my mind. I miss being in Russia and helping in that community, and I am thankful for the wonderful community I live in here.

May Baskets - The Joy of Giving

2010-04-25T11:32:00.006-05:00

I was reminded recently of the tradition of leaving May Baskets on someone's doorstep on May 1st. Beautiful spring flowers, maybe with a sweet treat, left anonymously. No glory, no thanks, just the joy of giving.

It's a shame that so many traditions like this have fallen to the wayside. I'm not going to preach about how busy we are on the internet, emailing, on the phone, texting, working, running to and fro. But, I wish our society wasn't on the track of getting more and more self-absorbed and used to the short-cuts of life that technology provides.

I applaud my sisters for continuing to send hand written notes and cards through the mail. Those touch my heart in ways that texts and emails never seem to be able to do. And I know a basket left on my door would warm my soul in the same way.

I think May Baskets are in my family's future. I'd like to create and deliver some with my children. (Try this link for May Basket ideas for kids.) Perhaps a few of us can keep the beautiful, selfless, giving traditions alive.

Nice Try Mr. Snow Miser

2010-04-08T10:32:00.008-05:00

The kids' Easter Break from school commenced with them playing in the yard with shorts and t-shirts for hours on end. They were basking in Spring! In that moment, everything was right in the world.

Then, only a few days later, they were peering out there bedroom windows during a late evening rain and hail storm. The lightning was a bit nerve-wracking for the younger boys. We left the three of them together for a bonding experience when... Stomp, Stomp, Stomp, they ran to the top of the stairs. "Mom! Dad! Frank still has a snowman in his front yard. We see it every day. It's in the street!"

This wouldn't have been a big deal if he lived next door. But, Frank lives two houses down, and around the corner. I ran out in the pelting rain to rescue four-foot-tall, plastic "Frosty" from what clearly a fierce battle between impending Spring and lingering, obstinate Winter.

Then early this morning, it snowed. GASP! It's Easter Break! No snow allowed! I truly expected the snow to stop at day break, but it continued through the morning.

I've been observing the contrast all morning. Daffodils are in full bloom. The grass is green and ready for its inaugural mowing. The falling snow is thick and desperately trying to disguise Spring, if only for a moment, its last hurrah. I'm sorry to say, Mr. Snow Miser, you are failing.

The tree buds and flowers and rejuvenated lush, green grass are full of the heat of the approaching summer. The snow succumbs on contact and melts into the thirsty earth. More nourishment for the burgeoning growth.

The victory of Spring is invigorating. Nice try Mr. Snow Miser..... Fail!

I Hear You Washing Machine....

2010-04-03T13:59:00.004-05:00

I can hear my washing machine rumbling in the basement. I am ignoring it. It must be unbalanced, but that's okay, isn't it? I guess I relate. I don't want anyone rushing in to fix me, so I won't rush in to fix it. I'll give it some space. That's what I've been doing. Taking my space.

I really needed some space for awhile. I had defined my life just the way I wanted it. Wife. Mother. Worship Director. Gardener. But all of that was shaken, and it's probably just as well. It's possible I was letting my labels define me instead of my labels describing me.

I've felt compassion for my sister lately who is living betwixt and between. I think sometimes when we are betwixt and between, we don't always know just what we are betwixt and between. I don't.

If we're not careful, ambiguity in life can whittle away at our convictions and passions. I did take a much needed break with introspection. I've gained wisdom and patience and compassion for the broken (which is all of us, really). But now it's time. It is time to stretch and arise. Time to awaken my rested soul. (I will do this slowly because I might black-out if I get a head-rush. I have low blood pressure.)

I am taking the next step. It is time to emerge. I'm 38. I am entering adulthood with new clarity and calmness. But, I'll may be posting her in 3 years starting over again. Who knows? There is always so much to learn, so many ways to grow. I'm just not sure I want to be betwixt and between again. I want to live, be proactive, not hide and be proud of who God made me to be (even if some others aren't. )

I need more balance. I've been rumbling in the basement, and my loved ones have let me. I needed my space. I needed some time. More balance, more living... It's time to come upstairs and re-balance.

(I hope I don't back down.)

Mommy Moments

2010-04-01T09:40:00.003-05:00

Yesterday my almost 9-yr-old- son used his class-earned funny money, during the 3rd grade end-of-semester auction, to buy me this beautiful reminder of his love for me. He knows I drink coffee or tea every day and now when I do, I will be elated by his expression of love and appreciation. These are the moments mothers live for.

Today my baby girl made a game of picking up Cherrios from the kitchen floor (Which she expelled from her highchair at breakfast this morning. Yes! It's an hour later and I haven't swept them up yet.) and depositing them in the VCR. This is so much cuter than when my boys did it because now-a-days the VCR is useless anyway. (It is still sitting in the living room even though we only watch DVDs.) So, all that considered, it was really entertaining, even when she got her hand stuck in the VCR and did her pathetic, dramatic, fake cry. Adorable!

Last night, my 7-yr-old son exclaimed, "Oh, man!" and pouted with conviction when his favorite contestant, Didi Benami, was voted off of American Idol. He was trying to understand me as I explained she might still make an album. All of my kids were asking, "What is an album?" Oh. Right. "A CD, I mean." They started nodding and I heard a chorus of 'Ohs.' (Gee, I'm old.) He wanted to know if she was going to make an album, I mean CD, for sure and how quickly he could get it. So sweet.

I live for this stuff. It is bizarre how these moments can be so satisfying and fulfilling, but there is no denying their power over me.

Random Life Reminders

2010-03-27T13:17:00.005-05:00

Yesterday I was reminded about various life truths.

1) There is absolutely no need to challenge or confront a person for being slow or tardy when he is about to drill your teeth. Diplomacy, flattery and kindness will always benefit you in that situation. (Thanks sis for walking me through that.)

2) (On the same topic, also from sis) Going to the dentist is almost always better than going to the gynecologist.

3) It is okay to be disturbed when the driver in front of you blatantly discards his/her candy wrapper out the window in rush hour (or any) traffic.

4) When a friend is observing something in your life and has some insight or input, it is always worth listening to, even if at first you don't agree. If it's a good friend, there is probably some valuable truth to consider.

5) Having people in your life available to help you navigate through tough moments is invaluable.

Peace.

My Version of Lent

2010-03-25T13:26:00.005-05:00

I am not a religious person. I am most definitely driven by faith, but not ritual. My parents were both raised Catholic, but I was not. My faith has been experienced in non-denominational church families, thus, I am not accustomed to practicing lent.

I planned to prepare for this Easter, by watching a movie of the Gospel of John with hubby and boys. We still will. But, I have been a little distracted by life lately and not keyed into any real preparation.

However, just recently, I stumbled into my version of lent through necessity. I had been letting life steal little bits of me here and there while I turned to TV, food and my son's hand-held solitare game (and other such things) for reprieve. Recently, it seems, I have been blind to the damage my vices were slowly causing.

I was getting achy muscles. I couldn't fall asleep at night and couldn't wake up in the morning. I was exhausted all the time, as if a flu virus was looming. Alas, no flu ever came. My body was calling out to me to pay attention.

Finally, I was becoming constantly irritable and my S.O.D. (Sensory Overload Disorder) was in full gear. I've been hear before! Why did I let this creep up again? Where is my focus?

So yesterday, before I reached a break point, I started my own personal lent. (Though it is less about Easter and more about my life focus.) I had taken my eyes off of God. I had let my soul wander to empty distractions and let it spiral out of control. No more! Even if only for a day or two, I'm taking a break from TV. I've nixed coffee and sweets. I've denied myself mindless web-browsing and solitaire games. Each time I want to escape, as I had been, I turn right to God. Some Bible verses here and there, but mostly, in each moment I want to reach for a vice, I talk to God.

This has to do with self-denial only in the manner that it is what drives me to turn to God, giving me more and more cherished moments with him to address worry and hurt and fear, or just a moment to love him, acknowledge him.

The winter doldrums are over and it's time to get healthy again. I'm not just referring to physical health. I am talking about my mind, heart and soul. In all my life, I've never been able to achieve that alone; but when my God is at the center, it is oh, so real.

Fungus, Not My Friend

2010-03-22T17:00:00.005-05:00

Well, the antibiotics didn't kill my baby, they only caused a fungal diaper rash that itches and drives her nuts. It took me two weeks to figure it out. Or, should I say, two weeks to finally take her to the doctor so she could tell me what it was. Maybe if I had regularly given my boys antibiotics, I'd have been familiar with this. But... not.

I had tried every treatment that worked before with my boys. Baking soda baths, airing out the derriere, super-thick butt ointment. Nada was a-working.

I supposed it is not that bad. Really, I didn't want her to suffer out the ear infection any longer. What choice did I have? I had to help her, heal her ear, with antibiotics. But, now I know not to wait 2 weeks when I see this classic post-antibiotic fungal diaper rash.

So, I've got the correct remedy now. Hopefully my baby is on the speedy road to recovery and happier days.

Spring...

2010-03-16T11:50:00.002-05:00

My mind is racing with all the things I want to accomplish. Spring invigorates me and motivates me.

Yesterday I took down our Christmas lights that I couldn't get to until the massive snow drift melted. My husband swears it will snow again. I say, "Blasphemy!"

I cleaned up some remaining fall leaves and found all my tulips are poking through the dirt. Flowers are coming!!!!! Actually I already have some snowdrop bulbs in full bloom. They started in February. Thank you God for the hearty flowers that push through the snow to blaze the trail for Spring!

My kids were outside for hours with no jackets. My baby went swinging for the first time this year. I even was daydreaming about running through the yard with our dog. Uh... we don't have a dog, but in this weather is seems like a great idea! (I'm sure I'll come to my senses right quick though.)

Spring, spring, spring! Newness, freshness, renewing of life. It's so wonderful!

A Baby and Her Turtle

2010-03-10T16:24:00.004-06:00

I don't know why I don't blog about my baby every day. I am amazed by her every day.

My baby is 13 months old. She is walking everywhere now. Well, almost. When she is in a hurry, she drops on all fours and does her super-stealth crawl.

She talks a lot. Much of her communication is in her most adorable own language that amuses everyone who hears it. She also says many actual words which is also entertaining to everyone. I especially love it when she says "turtle."She has this ragged little stuffed turtle that one of her big brothers bought for her at a rummage sale. She has slept with it every night since she was 6 months old. She will not go to bed without it. At bedtime you will often see the whole family roaming the house calling, "Turtle... Turtle... Where are you?" with our baby leading the call.

She thinks going bye-bye is fantastic and is just as enthusiastic to return home. She is addicted to Dora The Expl orer and Little People videos. She goes nuts for playing in the water, in any capacity.... the tub, the sink, a pool... whatever. Water is the bomb!

She sings with the music at church, she sings with the family, with the CD player... she's a singer. It's in her own words, and it's gentle and soft and precious. It would make your heart melt. It does mine.

I'm certain this is the most amazing baby ever. It's true.

Above All Else... Love

2010-03-08T10:12:00.005-06:00

At home, my boys have wonderful moments when they are well behaved and other moments, when... not so much. We work hard to establish expectations of respect and integrity. Sometimes I think I'm thinking too much about some of the not-so-good moments as failures instead of learning moments in the big picture. I do treat the moments as teachable opportunities, but sometimes fail to see things from a broader perspective.

Yesterday, my husband and I took the kids out to a brunch at a nice restaurant with my Dad and his girlfriend. I think I was taking their good behavior for granted until Dad's girlfriend pointed out how delightful our boys are. I suppose there are kids who would be loud, disrespectful, obscene, irritating... But, our boys were polite, funny, calm and charming.

In response to Dad's girlfriend, I shared how my mom always tells me that I will make a lot of mistakes as a parent, but I will be a successful parent if my kids feel loved. That's the most important thing. Dad's girlfriend went on to say that they seem confident and secure and they are all quite individual.

(I later got a text message from my sister that my Dad was bragging about their behavior as well.)

What we're doing is working, and I don't want to forget it. Our love and consistency is affecting they're behavior, confidence and respect for others. I am so proud. I feel like my children will be happy and successful in life if they never forget they are loved, they are special, no matter what.

Boys... "I always love you., no matter what."

No Rest for the Weary

2010-03-03T23:29:00.007-06:00

I should be sleeping now, but I haven't been good at that for the past few days. There's a lot going on this week; things that have been keeping my mind from resting.

I've been running a business, with my husband, out of our home office for that past 15 years. Each year the business has done better than the previous year, until the economy crashed in 2008. I would have gotten a job outside the home a year ago, to supplement us during this rough patch, but we had a big surprise that postponed that. A baby.

So this week I stumbled upon a highly desireable part-time position with the local city beautification committee. What?! I've been interested in this non-profit organization for years. I don't have a current resume. Get to work!

With the help of my little sister's resources, wit and fabulous writing/editing skills, the resume is ready to be sent out first thing in morning.

Perhaps more responsible for my sleep malady is my mother-in-law. But it's not what you think. Her husband died three years ago. She did alright on her own for a while, but over the last year, her memory has been suffering. It had been slowly declining, but this week, paranoia and confusion took center stage.

These first hand experiences with her are hard to process. They are not peaceful. They are ridden with anxiety for her and me, and her sons. I'm upset and I can't sleep.

I know there comes a time when we all have to take care of our parents, but it's coming early for me and my hubby. We are in our late thirties, but his mom is in her mid-eighties. Our kids are in elementary school and we have a baby. And, I may be starting a part time job. How will we manage this? We don't feel ready for this, but there is no choice.

I will be praying for wisdom and patience for all of us. It's a season of life that we'll have to navigate one step at a time. And the next step for me is sleep. Lights out... I'm hoping for the best.

Now I'm Cooking

2010-02-27T08:13:00.008-06:00

I've never been much of a cook. I blame my mom. She's never been much of a cook either. Boxed Kraft Mac N Cheese was a staple in my childhood. Actually, I thank her. Taking away the pressure of making 3 course dinners for my family to sit down to each night is a real blessing. My focus has become the people in my family, rather than the assumed duties of an American mother.

But lately, I've been inspired. (Maybe hearing all about my sister's correspondence cooking class has given me a needed push.)

I actually care about eating healthy, and feeding my kids nutritious food, but too often, Hamburger Helper and frozen pizza got the best of me. We still eat those types of foods, but at least a few times a week I am making meals.

I require that the prep time be minimal for me to attempt it. I just don't have the patience to spend 40 minutes prepping a meal. My kids deserve that time from me after school and I love giving it to them.

Yesterday was a triumph! At noon, I spent 10 minutes putting stew meat, pre-cut by the butcher, in the crock pot, followed by a few veggies I chopped in no time (with my new Chicago Cutlery set), and a few other ingredients. So easy!!!! Six hours later we had an amazing beef stew that had no preservatives and was low in sodium.

I needed some comfort food this week. (Yes, NEEDED.) Mashed potatoes is up there on the list of favorites. So, I did take an extra 30 minutes later in the afternoon to do that. But had I opted to put the potatoes in the stew, I could have eliminated the extra time investment.

Also, earlier in the week, instead of using preservative laden Hamburger Helper, I threw together my own Chili Mac in no time. The kids loved it. (So did my hubby and I.)

If you want to enjoy in my spoils, here are my super easy recipes:

Beef Stew with Creamy Mashed Potatoes

Beef Stew

2 lbs. of Chuck Roast - cut into 1 inches pieces
Carrots, Celery, Sweet Onion - you pick how to cut and how much you want
1/3 cup of flour
1 Tbsp. of Worchestershire Sauce
1 1/2 cups Low Sodium Beef Stock
1 tsp. Ground Pepper
2 tsp. Sea Salt (less if using table salt)
Use other seasonings if desired. (Consider Bay Leaves and/or Cumin)

Put beef, flour, and seasonings in crock pot. Stir to coat meat. Add remaining ingredients. Stir. Cook on low for 10 hours or high for 5 hours.

Creamy Mashed Potatoes

3-5 lbs. of Potatoes
8 oz. Cream Cheese
16 oz. Sour Cream
4 Tbsp. Butter
1/4 cup Whole Milk (Optional)
2 tsp. Sea Salt
1 tsp. Ground White Pepper

Peel, slice, and boil potatoes in water for 1 hour. Drain. Put all ingredients into a large mixing bowl. Blend with a hand mixer on high speed until creamy.

Serve stew over the mashed potatoes.

Easy Chili Mac

1 Box Cooked Elbow Macaroni (do not overcook the pasta)
1 Jar Ragu Traditional Tomato Sauce
1/2 - 1 lb. Browned Ground Beef (depending on how meaty you want it)
1/2 cup Shredded Cheese
1/4 tsp. Ground Cumin
1/4 tsp. Chili Powder

After meat is browned and pasta is cooked and drained, dump all ingredients into a bowl or pot and stir. Done!

Missing the Boys

2010-02-21T13:27:00.003-06:00

It's the weekend I look forward to for 6 months. The 3rd weekend in February, my husband takes the boys 4 hours up north to a camp filled with winter wonders. They skate and cross country ski, play broom ball, make ice cream from snow, feed horses, sleep in sleeping bags on bunk beds, play Uno all night. I kind of wish I was there, but then I'd miss this solitude.

Yes, this year is a little less about my solitude. I have a baby. Still, the house is so quiet. Instead of 5 people vying for my attention, there is only one sweet, beautiful, innocent baby. You'd think I'd LOVE this weekend. I always look forward to it, thinking I will.

Reality.... I missed those boys as soon as they drove away. I am a home body and so into my family. It's too quiet. Where are my hugs? I'm missing their smiles and excitement. They'll be home in 4 hours and I can't wait.

I always wanted to be a mom. This weekend reminds me how much I love them and cherish them. Can't wait to see you boys!

The (love) Shack

2010-02-17T12:33:00.006-06:00

The Shack is clearly a piece of fiction. I knew going in not to look at it as a theological picture of God, rather one person's artistic interpretation of the Trinity's effect of love and relationship. In that way, it is extremely intriguing and beautiful. It is like a painting that speaks to the soul in ways that logic and words often cannot. It is not an educational experience. It is a journey of the heart. It is a place where reconciliation is introduced in new poetic ways.

In reading The Shack, the reconciliation you explore will depend on your most painful experiences in life. I don't have as much need to reconcile 9/11 or the earthquake in Haiti, for example, as I do the death of my sister 8 years ago, or the absence of a loving father for much of my childhood (due to a premature divorce), or the pain inflicted upon me by the leadership of my church.

The imperfections and pain of relationship cause us to need reconciliation not only with each other, but even more importantly with God. Our own hurt and tragedy is confusing and often seemingly impossible to navigate. We were made in God's image, ready to experience perfect, loving relationships, but the brokenness in this world robs us of it far to frequently.

The Shack opens doors that we may not have known how to open or that they even existed. These doors lead to the first steps of accepting that God is a God of love and acceptance, even when worldly circumstances try to mask this.

Give the book a chance to break down your barriers and let you imagine God for who he really is, and what he really wants to experience with you. Explore the freeing power of forgiveness and love. Visit The (Love) Shack.

Birthday Bliss

2010-02-15T19:29:00.007-06:00

It's my birthday. This is a great birthday, and my husband made all the difference. He supervised the entire day and ensured a love-filled, low-stress day. I am simple, so it doesn't take much to make me happy.

The kids had off of school today which was actually wonderful. They cleaned their rooms, played with their baby sister, joked with me. Most notably, with the help of their dad, they made an awesome brunch. We all sat around the table eating my favorite, pancakes (plus much more), in the middle of the day, chatting and listening to one of our favorite alternative bands, Hawk Nelson.

My hubby got me a beautiful card. The house was cleaned. The kids gave me lots of love. When I needed something, everyone was quick to help.

There have been beautiful, don't-need-to-shovel, snow flurries all day.

My Mom and stepdad called early and sang Happy Birthday and told me how much they loved me. Later, my stepmom called. My Dad called. My sister and her boys called. The last call was quite entertaining for me. It was my sister and her fiance´, the latter of whom I implored to finish his (and her) rendition of Happy Birthday with the cha cha cha-type ending, "and many mooooooore," as he did for my son on his birthday. He indulged. I was filled with giddy satisfaction.

Could this day get any better? Not for me. That was all I needed.Just a day filled with the people I love. No presents, no hoopla, no cake. Oh crap! Cake! The kids will never forgive me if I forget. Our grocery store bakery makes the most delicious buttercream cakes with buttercream frosting. Off I go... Cake time!

Thanks family, immediate and extended, for remembering me today. I love you all!

The Gift of Orchid

2010-02-09T10:42:00.006-06:00

I saw my stepdad yesterday. He's about 4 weeks post open-heart surgery and doing very well. Wishing I was in more of a position to help him and take care of him, I bought him a book. You see, my kids and I have been sick for a month and I cannot bring sickness around him. I haven't been able to help. I thought the least I could do it help his sanity by giving him something intriguing to read. He's enjoyed Grisham in the past, so I found a new collection from him of short stories. Just as well since my stepdad's post-surgery attention span is suffering.

So there I was trying to take care of him, love him, when he surprised me with a Valentine's Day gift. My birthday is the day after V-day, but he clarified, this was not for my birthday, it was for Valentine's Day!

I am a novice gardener, but one who reads and studies and dwells in my gardens. I love my flowers. They are absent in winter. It can be very depressing.

He gave my my very first orchid for Valentine's Day. It is a very clear symbol to me of his unwavering support, love and mindfulness of me. It is a very clear representation of his humility, authenticity and generosity.

My stepdad "knows" me. He has peered at my heart and knows how to communicate with it, even though we have never found or made enough time to cultivate this beautiful relationship as much as we should.

I know the orchid won't last forever, but I know it is one gift I will never, ever forget. I am so thankful God put this man in my life. It is a confirmation of God's love, support and mindfulness of me. He knew I needed him.

Eye Cream and Hair Dye

2010-02-05T10:57:00.002-06:00

Ah, yes. I am admitting it. I use products to help me maintain my youthful appearance. Well, maybe youthful is a stretch, but I'm told I look younger than I am. Some of this is due to genetics. Both of my parents have always looked younger than they are. But, I give credit to Dove, L'Oreal and Clairol for the rest.

When I was 16, I swore I would never dye my hair. It was easy to proclaim that then. I had long wavy strawberry blond hair that others were envious of. Then, years later, a strange thing happened... a few of those luscious locks turned gray. Once I was thirty, I could no longer say they were a few since there were so many I could no longer count them. By the time I was thirty-five, I was faced with a serious choice. Go gray, or go to the bottle. I chose the latter. I had children in elementary school, I did not see gray hair as an option.

That handles the hair issues, but as I've looked in the mirror, I've been noticing odd creases; like I slept on that part of my chin funny, and woke up with a crease. However, to my horror, that crease doesn't go away as the day progresses!

Last year I had a surprise visit from my high school BFF. As soon as we saw each other, we smiled. I must admit, I immediately noticed that when she smiled, the skin at the corners of her eyes wrinkled. The horror! I knew instantly that this must be the case with my face too. A couple of months later, I invested in L'Oreal Skin Genesis Eye Serum. I was pleased with instant results. I suspect the bottle will have to be pried from my hands once I pass on. That stuff is awesome!

I'll be 38 in less than 2 weeks, but I don't feel it. And thanks to Walgreen's fabulous selection of youth in a bottle, I don't look it either.

Going Green in Little Steps

2010-02-01T12:39:00.004-06:00

I feel a responsibility to the planet to do my part to, as the kids sing, "Reduce, Reuse and Recycle." But, my family is not obsessive, just conscious and responsible.

I turn out lights around the house all the time and name the kids "Energy Captains" to help me with this quest. They also help by closing the exterior house door quickly, turning off the water when they brush their teeth, and using clothes and blankets to manipulate their body temperature long before turning up the air-conditioning or heat.

I try to use eco-friendly products, like baking soda and vinegar to clean before going to their chemical replacements. I think it helps that I don't clean too frequently either. It's true, I am not an obsessive cleaner and I like to think the environment is better because of it.

I even switched to reusable canvas bags for groceries. I have only four bags, so sometimes (because I am shopping for six) I need to use the stores supply of paper or plastic. Still, my usage of said items has definitely been reduced!

A little bit at a time we are playing our part, and every little step matters.

So Many Books, So Little Time

2010-01-31T10:59:00.002-06:00

I wish I had time to read, read, read. I love books. I love new books, used books and borrowed books. I like fiction, religious, self-help and children's books. I have a stack of books I want to read NOW. I'm limiting myself to four books at a time though. One for pleasure. One with my hubby. One with my friend. And one for self-development.

I'm reading "The Shack" now and have promised my almost 11 year old that I would read "Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone" next. My sister gave me "My Sister's Keeper" for Christmas, which I started and am very intrigued by and really want to get back to. I have six more books piled up next to my reading chair ready for me to crack them open.

There is not enough time. Maybe I should stop lamenting about this and get back to "The Shack."
So long...

Freaking Out - A Side Effect

2010-01-30T09:59:00.008-06:00

I took my daughter to her one year pediatrician appointment this week. The doctor declared that all is well, other than the obvious cold she was dealing with. Then she checked her ears. One with some fluid build-up didn't look infected, but the other ear was not so fortunate. I thought, "Great, she's going to prescribe antibiotics and I don't want that to give to her!"

I am super conservative about medical intervention and our doctors work very well with us. The pediatrician admitted that the infection wasn't that bad yet. She resolved to write a prescription for antibiotics and let me watch and wait. Well, two days later, my baby girl was more cranky, sleeping worse and not getting better. My husband and I made the difficult (for us) choice and I headed to Walgreen's to get her drugs.

I sat in my car in the convenient pharmacy drive-thru (only in America) while the pharmacist talked to me through the bullet-proof glass. (Well, it might be bullet-proof. What if a psychotic drug-addict came through with a gun demanding Vicadin? It could happen.) She continued on with a list of obligatory disclaimers, which I calmly nodded to, until she mentioned a possible allergic reaction of difficulty breathing, including wheezing and blue lips. She must have seen my eyes bug out because she immediately tried to reassure me that this reaction was very rare. My eyes must have still been bulging, so she went on to say this would happen within the first 24 hours and again... it is extremely uncommon.

Still having not blinked, with a frozen smile on my face, I reached into the metal box, delivering the drugs through the brick wall under the bullet-proof glass for the gooey pink liquid that might send my daughter into cardiac arrest.

The pharmacist forgot to mention that freaking out is also a side effect, and it is not uncommon.

Somehow, regardless of my terror, I still gave the Amoxicillin to my daughter. She had been crying in the car and pulling at her ear. The pharmacist had assured me, as well as she could, that my baby probably wouldn't die, and I had to believe her.

After putting her to bed, I literally held the baby monitor up to my ear to listen to her breathing. I texted my sister for support and a rational perspective. I started to look up death statistics on the internet until I forced myself to be rational. Actually, it was when I heard her cough and cry a bit a couple of hours later. I could here her breathing and I had to relax.

I did manage to fall asleep around midnight but woke to wheezing sounds in the monitor around 3am. I immediately imagined ambulances and the bright florescent lights of hospital corridors. I went into the baby's room and hovered over her. I felt like a stalker, like she would be terrified if she woke up and saw my shadow towering over her. After five minutes of listening and jostling her a little, I deduced that it was her stuffing nose that was whistling, not her lungs.

It's morning now and she is alive, still pulling at her ear though. I did give her the second dose and her lips are nice an red. I can't say I won't freak out again tonight though, it comes with the job.

To Hell and Back

2010-01-23T18:26:00.001-06:00

I have seen hell. Today, I, and my precious family, went to a birthday party at a family fun party place (a bit like Chuck E. Cheese, minus the lame mechanical musical show), a.k.a. hell.

Let me explain. First of all, though I love my darling children to pieces, and even like them, I generally don't like children. But, you may not know that I also suffer from S.O.D.. It is a self-diagnosed and self-named condition. The acronym translates to: Sensory Overload Disorder. Need I say more?

I was playing it cool for over an hour, staying clear of the lights, game noises and most of the kids. I was in the adjoining room where party goers eat and open gifts in a blurry fury. Then my baby girl got bored. All the other kids had gone into game room and she was left to play with straws or stare at the dazed parents. It was time. I felt the responsibility of acknowledging my husband who was keeping track of our energized boys.

My baby was mesmerized by the flashing lights and spinning games. I indulged her. It wasn't long though until she seemed hopped up on the sensory overload. Then I could no longer ignore my own condition. Even though I seemed calm and collected on the outside, I knew I was on the verge of losing it. "Ding, Ding! "Tick, click tick..." Running kids. Roving lights. "Mom, mom, look at this!" Tokens changing hands, sliding into hungry slots. Games on and off. Lights flashing. Tickets spewing out of consoles. Baby kicking, whining....

I was in hell. I'm certain, this is what my hell would look like (minus the loved ones).

I wish I can say I was able to leave immediately. Not. It took another 45 minutes for the kids to use the rest of their tokens, exchange them for cheap toys that would break during the car ride home, re-adorn coats and shoes. But finally, I escaped. As soon as I exited and the door closed behind me, the oppression lifted. I could breathe. I demanded a calm and quiet car ride home.

I survived my trip to hell, and it is good to be back.

Modern Marvel-Us

2010-01-21T10:14:00.000-06:00

I have been witness to a medical miracle. Actually, it's become a fairly routine surgery, but I am still completely amazed.

My wonderful stepfather had open-heart surgery one week ago. His chest was cut open, his sternum broken, a valve replaced with a pig valve. He was put back together and went home only 6 days later. Perhaps we have become immune to the amazingness of events such as these. We have become desensitized to the marvel of medicine. It happens everyday and it is no longer a big deal in our society.

Well, it's a big deal to me! My stepfather is alive! His God-given valve had failed him. His heart was enlarging as it labored to compensate for the valve that was refusing to work. He was napping twice a day and was too tired to shovel, go for walks, anything that used to be a regular part of his active life-style.

He now has a second chance to finish his life with strength, energy and zest. He has been given countless more years with his daughters and grandchildren. Isn't this marvelous? Isn't this miraculous?

And that's not all. Only one and a half years ago, my father's life was spared by robotic arms (controlled by the surgeon) that, with unimaginable precision, removed his cancerous prostate. "You have cancer that will kill you. Not a problem. Lay down here, go to sleep and we'll delicately and intelligently remove it for you so that you will be healthy and live many years to come."

Only 100 years ago, even less, the world would have been buzzing at the news. These surgeries would have been on the front page of every newspaper across the globe.

Maybe it's just as common as a plane ride these days, but I for one am marvelling. Along with my amazement, I am grateful beyond expression that my dads are here. Doctors & scientists, I invite you to continue to marvel us.

My House Was Clean Yesterday

2010-01-16T13:17:00.002-06:00

"Yesterday" was just after my little sister visited. She cannot sit, unless she is reading, studying, computing. So while here for the holidays, she cleaned to keep busy. And... my house needed it. Of course she didn't get to everything, but she was a catalyst. My house actually did get clean, except for the boys bathroom. Much to my chagrin, a holiday visitor wandered in there. Thankfully she is gracious and tactful, and she dismissed my horror and excessive apologies. Anyway, I digress.

We actually tackled every room (save the boys bathroom) with success. So, my house was clean yesterday. Today it is, once again, screaming to the world that "Four children live here!"

The amount of papers the boys bring home from school is insane! I used to save them. The papers are evidence of their learning and maturing as well as creativity and uniqueness. It was so hard to part with them. "Was" is the key word. Desperation sank in once all three boys were in elementary school and the papers they brought home started flying into the recycle bin. It was a survival requirement.

Many times I've had to say to one of them, "I don't know where that paper is." This is not a lie, because usually by the time they ask, the recycle truck has come and carted them away. Who knows where that paper is now. I admit there are times where I've thrown out things they needed. They have learned to become patient with me as I write notes to their teachers explaining my errors. Still, despite all my effort, pieces of paper are seemingly everywhere.

That's just the paper though. What about the floors? I think it's fair to say that my floors are sometimes clean. However, it only lasts as long as no living creature enters that room. Once the breach occurs, incredibly crumbs, hair and sand are everywhere. It is actually quite amazing how instantaneously this happens.

Did I mention my three boys? Do I need to tell you what the toilets and floors beneath look like and what odor accompanies? Thank goodness for the new cleaning wipes. I can only imagine how my life would smell without them.

Dishes.... toys... cloths... shoes... stuff... pillows... matchbox cars... books... this stuff is all over my floors! How are we supposed to sweep or vacuum?

It may sound like our house is filthy, but we DO clean, often. The problem is only 1-2 rooms can be clean at any given moment while the other 8 are being used. Then... rotate. It is a perpetual tale of soil and stuff.

If you ever have the resolve to enter our abode, I will apologize. I cannot help it. And, you'll probably hear me reminisce... "My house was clean yesterday. I'm sorry you missed it."

Somewhere Between Bliss and a Nervous Breakdown

2010-01-11T11:47:00.001-06:00

It is very likely that I will start a blog where I can deposit all my thoughts about motherhood. It is also very likely I will use the title from this entry to name my blog. It describes my constant state to a tee.
__________
I've been breastfeeding my baby girl since the moment she was born. I love it, she loves it. It's cheap. It's good for her. It's good for me. It is good.

When she's been sick before, she's decreased her nursing, just like we eat less when we're sick. Okay. No problem there. But this weekend, sick with a nasty cold, she went on a full fledged strike. She didn't even want to look at my breast, let alone touch it with any part of her body.

My hubby and I got her to drink from a cup, so she was not dehydrated. In the middle of the night, she was awake two times for an hour each, and refused to nurse. I usually nurse her 6 times a day, so an immediate reduction to zero times per day led to... a surplus. The store was overstocked and the warehouse was full.

This morning, my sick little baby wanted me to hold her, constantly, while she rubbed her snotty nose all over me and coughed in my face. How was I supposed to do this with two throbbing coconuts between us that I couldn't stand to be touched or looked at? (Did I mention the broken breastpump in the cabinet?)

I was desperate, searching the web for answers. Everything I found said she wouldn't eat because she had a sore throat or a tummy ache. Can I just say... "Duh!" Engorged breasts, boys late for school, dirty dishes surrounding us, missing mittens, phone ringing, snot, tears... I was on the verge of a breakdown.

Then, the wisdom I needed from my 8-yr-old son... "Did you give her some medicine?" Yes, yes... medicine. I can do that. Okay, it's a start. Next, get the boys out the door to school. I can do that. (All the while my baby cries.) Put on a favorite video for her and hide out in a different room so she forgets about wanting me to hold her. Let the medicine start to work. Done.

What else can help? Think Dody, think... Moisture. A shower! I went to get the baby, stripped us down and into the warm steamy shower we went.

My baby has gorgeous, long eyelashes that she inherited from her father. They are even more stunning when wet. Also, when warm, her perfect little lips get flush with red. She loves the water, so all fussing stopped. Her coughing subsided. She looked at me with her big blue eyes, filled with gratitude and love. I held her close and washed her hair. She began to smile... Bliss...

Afterward, her in her towel, I tucked her in my robe and she nursed. A relief for us both. Quiet, for now.

1 + 1 = 4

2010-01-10T12:06:00.001-06:00

One love struck girl and one passionate boy = four gorgeous children.

This equation is partially the reason for my long gap in blogging. The boys were home for Christmas break and all routine was out the window. There were family games and special food and more games and friends and relatives and Godparents... then exhaustion.

When I was pregnant with my baby girl, I thought far too often about what other people would think of our large brood. In the history of life, four children is not absurd, but in America where 2.5 children is the accepted number, that forth child catapults you into a new category of "big." The truth is, I never think of that anymore. Our family is so perfect. It feels, so much, like this is what God had planned from the beginning of time.

1 + 1 = 4 might not make sense to anyone else, but it makes perfect sense to us.

This Christmas

2009-12-27T12:38:00.001-06:00

This will be an indulgent blog entry. My Christmas, without any concern for the reader. Just what I want to remember. And, for the purpose of self-decompression... (I love ending random sentences with "...")

Christmas was surprisingly stressful, in the sense of go here, go there, wrap this, buy this, don't forget that, get the kids ready, fit in baby naps first, is there enough for my generous parents to unwrap? And, don't forget the dirty house! I have four children and a busy life. Seriously, my house needs to be cleaned 24/7. Ugh!

I snapped at my hubby a few times. Someone needed to be blamed for my stress. If only he'd do MORE and SOONER, then I would have no stress. Yah, right. The reality is, he did much, and I just wanted him to be my saviour and be perfect. It's hard to let that go when there is so much to do and it seems to all fall on me! Or... did I take that on myself, the woman who must do it all and do it all well. I watched a terrible Christmas movie with that message, though poorly conveyed. Still it served some purpose in making me look at myself. Do I really look at what is important? Do I really let others help me? Can I let go of the insignificant details?

Well, I tried. I probably did the best I could do in that regard. And, I did do it enough to enjoy and recognize what was really important to me. I noticed my children's sense of humor many times. It was truly satisfying. I noticed their excitement and gratitude and pure joy. Of course they loved the gifts, but they had the best time enjoying moments with their loved ones. I am so proud to be their mom. Even with all of the moments I failed them, they are turning into wonderful young men.

I relished the 26 hours that I had my sister all to myself (with my kids and hubby of course, but she mirrored my activities and we did everything together). She is a brilliant young adult, still she's dorky, just like me. No expectations, no hang-ups, just hanging out. I will cherish this Christmas with her forever. Okay, I'll just admit it; this was the prized jewel in this mosaic Christmas. (And it's not just because she is an obsessive cleaner, something missing in my house.)

My dad and his girlfriend were invested in our family by cooking great food, playing games with us, laughing and being merry. Our Christmas with them was more than I could have hoped for.

My stepmom spoiled my children in ways only she can. She swooped in with her magical dust and left the boys in a joyful stupor.

My mother-in-law and brother-in-law were so full of love and doting over the kids. It was calm and pleasant. This reminded me how much we love our family.

Finally, at my mom and stepdad's the Christmas story was read. Happy Birthday to Jesus was sung. It brought it all together. And we hunkered down for a long evening, waiting for the snow to diminish so we could have better than a "not-so-enjoyable traverse" home. (Did I mention that the TouchTMJ4.com Christmas Eve reporter was very entertaining with the worst ever weather report in human history?)

My Christmas was far from perfect, yet it was one of the best ever! We spent it with everyone we love. There was no fighting. There was lots of laughter, joy and appreciation. It was... fabulous!

Daddy's Little Girl

2009-12-20T21:21:00.001-06:00

I thought I was destined to have a gaggle of boys. Boys only. My husband and I started our family off with a boy. Then, we had another boy. Then, we had another boy. You already know this if you read my November post, "Finally We Have Our Girl." And just referring to that post, you can deduce what happened to our family. Yup, we had a girl.

Wow, it is different! I see it in my husband. When the boys were little, he liked them to have fun things and decent clothes. He never deprived them. But, they were not spoiled by any means. Generally, when we were at the store with them and they'd ask for something, we would just say no. I was a great bargain hunter for clothes and toys at rummage sales, clearance racks and Goodwill stores. And their dad was just fine with this.

Now that he has his precious baby girl, something has come over him. His wallet is opening. Some second hand items are fine for his baby, but you better believe he is shopping for clothes, toys and things to please her. Ah hem... HE is shopping. And, when I show him something in a magazine for her, he instantly says, "buy it." (He's not quite as flippant as it sounds, but in comparison, it is new and strange.)

His wallet is not the only thing that is opening up, his heart is too. Boys seem to beckon to be tickled, wrestled and roughed-up. When they cry, their dad says, "Toughen up, you're fine." But when a man's little girl cries, he snuggles, coddles and resolves the situation. He's not okay until his princess is okay. Play time with her is gentle and quiet. It's sweet to watch, and the partiality is acceptable. She's Daddy's little girl.

The weird thing is, it is happening to me too. I knew that having a daughter would be different. I knew my husband would be okay with me painting her toenails (unlike those times I painted my son's toenails.) I knew I'd get to buy dresses and have tea parties. But, I didn't expect the warmth, patience and fulfillment I'd feel in my heart.

We adore our boys. They are quite special. But having a girl is more different than I imagined. It seems she will be spoiled in many, many ways; mostly lots of doting and love. Daddy's little girl has also become Mommy's little girl.

Ornaments of Life

2009-12-18T11:20:00.000-06:00

We've had a fake Christmas tree for 10 years. It was easier when we had three preschoolers. No chasing kids through massive tree lots while my hubby and I bicker over the "right" tree. No falling needles to be eaten and choked on. No forgetting to water the tree because I have laundry and spit-up and diaper rash on the brain.

After the boys got bigger, it was a habit we were in. We have the tree, so why go pay $40 for another one, real or not?

Then came the kittens. The kittens loved to climb and bat at things and play! The Christmas tree became their own private amusement park. We tried to deter them by squirting water at them. That was only a temporary fix. When we slept, they played. Every morning I found misplaced and broken ornaments. Eventually, several branches would accompany the glass shards on the floor. By New Years Day, they had left their permanent mark. The fake tree we had used for 10 years was unrepairable.

This Thanksgiving, my hubby picked up a new fake tree, by my request. However, it just didn't sit right with us. It was time to create a new Christmas tradition. I returned the plastic tree, tightly stuffed into it's box and two weeks later we ventured out into the snowy night to buy a real tree.

The experience was great. No arguing, a warm campfire, a tractor-pulled hayride through the beautiful tree farm. It was perfect.

The next day we erected our gorgeous tree. (I'm certain it was the best one on the lot and only fools came before us, why else was is still there waiting for us?) With three little helpers, it seemed almost magical how quickly the tree transformed. Lights and garland and ornaments were flying onto the tree.

An ornament my son made as a toddler, another that his brother made in pre-school, another that was a gift from my stepmom; "Oh, I love this one." "Grandma bought these for us, one snowman for each of us." "Oh look, a handcrafted angel from Stella!" "Nana helped you make that one." "You made this one with your Aunt." "Mom, remember these from our old neighbors." "Ahaha... this one is from my sister. I miss her." "Baby's First Christmas, one for each of you."

The memories of our loved ones and past Christmases flooded every open space on the tree. Many of the people from these memories aren't here anymore, but these decorations, these ornaments, these precious trinkets, they represent life. My life, my children's' lives, my relatives lives. This tree may be a living tree, but it wasn't truly brought to life until it was donned with our treasures.

The kids are already planning which ornaments they will take with them when they grow up and move out. The memories will live on with them for years to come.

Maybe I am just more sentimental this year, maybe it's because our tree is living, maybe I am intoxicated by the smell of pine; but I know that I am smitten with this tree that is very much alive.

Christmas Sisters

2009-12-16T10:51:00.000-06:00

From my very first Christmas, through my 30th Christmas, there is one person that I spent every Christmas Day with. Just one person.

It wasn't my mom or dad. They divorced when I was a toddler and they had to become flexible with who would have their 3 girls at Christmas time.

It wasn't my husband. Obviously that didn't start until our engagement.

It wasn't my little sister. She didn't exist before my 16th Christmas.

It wasn't my older sister who moved to Canada and got married. She started spending all but one Christmas up in the frigid, darkness she now calls home.

It was my big sister, Sherri. Every Christmas since I was a baby, well into our married lives, whether at our dad's or our mom's, we were together on Christmas day.

Our Christmases often included shenanigans; like caravaning through a cemetery to find the tombstone of "Friend," playing Christmas carols on the piano with silly "shave-n-a-haircut" type finales, playing more holiday tunes on our wooden recorders, and disturbing everyone by playing one fated song on said instruments through our noses, making strange videos and taking strange pictures, giving each other and our family bizarre, recycled gag gifts, and so on and so on...

Laughter. Christmases with Sherri were always filled with a plethora of giggles and a strange modulating laughter that we inherited from our mother.

Our last Christmas day together, she donned a baseball cap with a meager ponytail peaking out the back, assembled from the depleted amount of hair on her head. That Christmas had less laughter, no shenanigans, and a heavy, dense air about it. I must admit, I was convinced it was our last Christmas together. It was.

Christmas has not been the same without her. It will never be just that way again. But this Christmas has a new hope. Sherri Lee is no longer here to celebrate with me, but her niece Shaylee is. This is my new daughter that I believe Sherri knew would grace our family. A surprise to us, but a birth of a new beautiful, smiling sister in our family. And I'll be spending every Christmas day with Shaylee for a long time.

Plus, I cannot ignore the elation I feel for my baby sister coming to spend Christmas day with me! I know I won't be able to spend every Christmas day with her, but I know it will not be our last. And, it is going to be just plain amazing.

Strength Unrealized

2009-12-10T09:51:00.000-06:00

I used to hear it when I was younger and I used to revel in it. "When I first met you, I was so intimidated." I thought this was fantastic. I must be beautiful and strong; I can keep people at a distance. Strangely, I was content to be unapproachable and seemingly superior. I proudly thought this was what I inherited from my father.

Now I feel ashamed by it, put-off, discouraged. Was this ever who I really was? Likely it was more of a defense mechanism. Now I have to deal with what I created myself to be. I want to work to undo it. But how?

I am tall, and pretty, I'm told. I know that's enough to intimidate those who do not know me. I sing in front of large congregations, I speak to groups of 100 people. That's where I have gifts to share. It's a misjudgement that people who do this sort of thing have it all together, are confident and strong. I may have to work even harder to break through this facade.

Yes, it's a facade. I am insecure and confused. I lack a backbone. I only seem like I have a backbone when I am confused, terrified or hurt and defending my soul.

Yet, successful women are often accused of the same things as me. They are controlling, manipulative, confident, strong-willed. Right? So am I going to destroy success in my life by breaking down my hard shell?

I need real strength, real confidence, and maybe some softness, some warmth. I need to be true to myself and not throw out the good with the bad. Balance, goodness, love, acceptance and strength realized in me. There is still a long journey ahead to unveil the real me. I will press on.

Snow Peas

2009-12-07T08:57:00.000-06:00

Two peas in a pod? Not usually. Yet as soon as the first snow hit, I, just like my little sister was inclined to blog about it. Let's just say we're two snow peas in a pod. (If I felt it was appropriate to use emoticons in a blog, I would enter a smile here.)

Of course my kids were giddy this morning, drunk from the dazzling, crystalline portrait outside the window that they immediately began daydreaming about destroying. Visions of snowball fights, forts and sledding danced in their boyish minds.

I, on the other hand, am filled with hope by the pure white veneer that masks mankind's marring imprint. Residual garbage, concrete, the web of wires that cover increasingly more terrain, and hunks of dented metal we call vehicles are all hidden or disguised with sparkling, soft, light and forgiving beauty. I prefer it not be disturbed. Let it linger.

So it does, but not for long. Soon several cars have driven by and the snow in the streets takes on a brown tinge. The undisturbed luminous blanket covering the backyard now has tracks and snowballs and leaves mixed in. The snow accumulation has become too heavy to balance on the cables overhead. Still, my feeling of promise endures.

It reminds me of how God looks at me, pure and clean. Mistakes and scars are covered with pure beauty. In this I find the ability to forgive others and see them in the light of perfection and hope. So do I find the ability to forgive myself.

I love the clean slate that the snow represents. I love the light it reflects. I love the differences it hides and the gaps it fills. It represents hope. It is a love I share with my sister. And, it's just plain beautiful.

The Unstated

2009-12-06T10:11:00.000-06:00

Why is it that when I was growing up not a single person told me that alcohol ruins lives? Is it strange that I've never heard of someone who said alcohol enhanced or improved his life? "Thank God for alcohol." "My life is so much better for having alcohol in it."

I'm sure there are some lovely people in the hills of Italy that drink one, homemade, high-antioxidant glass of red wine per day and are reaping the benefits of it. But are their lives truly better because of it or would they be fine without it?

Perhaps there are only two ways to have alcohol in your life. 1. It neither improves or damages your life, it just is. 2. It is detrimental to your life. It's also likely that those who fall into the first category know someone whose life falls into the second category and they actually are worse off because they or someone they love is adversely affected by alcohol.

It's an epidemic that affects nearly everyone in America and many, many other countries. It is masked behind pictures of people happily enjoying their drinks. Dig deeper and you will find abused spouses, neglected children, and devastated sober people trying to clean up the mess.

So why is it that I still look forward to that occasional drink to relieve the tension, escape reality, have a laugh with friends? And why am I not telling my children that alcohol ruins lives? I think it's time to transfom the unstated into the boldly stated.

The Inevitable

2009-12-02T13:58:00.000-06:00

Life is messy, life is complicated. We are all individuals. We all have our own perspective, our own hopes, our own sense of needs. And, we all make mistakes.

The pessimist doesn't experience life to the fullest, and the optimist gets disappointed. The realist is often dry and dull, the dreamer is off in another world.

The point is, there is no way to live together without misunderstanding, disappointment and unresolvable issues. Let's just do our best to coexist and love and honor each other. It's how we navigate this that will allow us to maintain joy and respect.

S.O.T. (Save Our Turkey)

2009-11-28T10:33:00.000-06:00

When I was kid, I loved holiday traditions. And I was miffed if things changed. As an adult, I know that traditions must evolve, things change, we change, and the unexpected happens.

This year, the unexpected was my husband and I, and all four of our kids had the flu. Not only was going to someone else's house, or having relatives over, out of the question, we weren't even going to be strong enough to sit around the dinner table together.

After breaking the news to the kids, they made it crystal clear what tradition must be honored. There must be a turkey, and he must have a name. You see, my Dad unintentionally started a tradition over a decade ago that my immediate family will likely keep alive for decades to come. It is the "Name The Turkey Contest."

We weren't going to have thanksgiving at my house this year, so I had no turkey, no potatoes, no stuffing. With a fever of 100 and a headache that just wouldn't let up, I took my Tylenol and made my way to the grocery store. I would have rather been in bed, but my kids needed a Turkey.

I remember one birthday of mine a few years ago. My husband told the kids to say happy birthday to me, but, there were no gifts and no cake. My youngest said, "It's not your birthday, there is no cake!" So this time I understood, it would not be Thanksgiving without a turkey.

With the turkey in the oven, the contest began. (I was still wishing I could be in bed!) Modern technology allowed us a contest that included participants from 3 cities in WI, plus, relatives celebrating in Florida, California and Arizona. Entries were coming in via text message, cell phones and email.

My little family sat down in the living room, in our jammies, under blankets with our minimal turkey dinner and we cast the final votes. The winning name and contestant were announced in the fashion that the entries came in. The kids were content and satisfied.

I wouldn't realize until 2 days later, after the flu-fog cleared, how apropos the winning name was; S.O.T. (Save Our Turkey), entered by Tommy, 6 years old. Indeed, Thanksgiving was an unexpected day of fever and coughing and napping, but our turkey and naming tradition were saved. It was Thanksgiving.

Let's Get Naked

2009-11-24T21:48:00.000-06:00

I was at a pop-culture marvel this weekend, an indoor water park. We took the kids, and they all had a blast. The water activities are certainly fun.

You know what else is fun? People watching. It was fun for a little while at least, until I couldn't stop myself from noticing everyone was nearly naked. They had swimming suits on, yes, but really that is almost naked. Then I felt weird about it. People watching wasn't fun anymore, it was disturbing. I saw tattoos, hair in odd places, too much hair, skin rolls, skin indentations, etc.

Then I wondered what everyone would look like with dry, combed hair and some real clothes on. They would look much nicer, I thought, and I'd feel less awkward looking at them. Yes, I'd be more comfortable for sure. I didn't like seeing every one's faults. I like the facade that clothes and make-up give.

Is this how we like are relationships too? I pondered. Do we really want to see every one's blemishes and scars, or the effects of life trials? Or would we rather put on a happy face and present ourselves in the easy-to-look-at category.

In the land of Facebook and Twitter and texting, we present the superficial layers of ourselves. Who goes deep anymore? Who wants to? It's awkward and uncomfortable and we want to look away. But we will suffer from this deficit eventually. We need each other. We need honesty and vulnerability. So, let's not be judgemental or uncomfortable, let's get real, let's take off our clothes. And when we do, I'll try not to keep my eyes closed.

Finally... We Have Our Girl.

2009-11-18T21:54:00.001-06:00

I remember when I was pregnant with our third son. I was asked more frequently than I realized people had the guts to ask, "How many children are you going to have?" or "Trying for that girl, hey?" My husband and I had a pact to casually inform inquisitors that our magic number was eight. We never had a good retort for the girl comments though.

I thought I was done dealing with stranger opinions and intrusions. You see, we were DONE... DONE... having kids. We thought three boys was perfect for us. We knew what we were doing and we were on our way to the blissful post-children years, with plenty of healthy, young years of our own left.

Then a strange thing happened. One lovely spring morning last year, I took a home pregnancy test. Really, just to ease my mind about being slightly late. There was no stunned pause, or mouth agape when I saw the result, just a loud, confused, "What the hell?" And I really don't ever swear, not even mildly like that, so that was a very peculiar moment indeed.

Yes, peculiar. I am revisited even now by the confusion. Pregnant? What? So now what was I supposed to say when the comments and questions started rolling in? "Trying for that girl?" I wanted to shout, "Come on lady! I'm 7 months pregnant and I'm still trying to cope with the shock!!! I wasn't trying for anything!"

And now our beautiful baby girl is here. And the assumptions and inquisitions still abound. It seems everyone really needs to believe that we were just waiting and trying for our girl and only now we can be satisfied and fulfilled.

I believe we would be satisfied and fulfilled with or without our amazing little girl, but I really don't care what people think about it anymore. I am just smitten with my wonderful little, kind of big, family. Our girl is finally here.

What's My Line?

2009-11-13T21:27:00.000-06:00

Is a blog the forum to be brutally honest? Is this the place to gripe and complain? I almost did that today. Then I was struck with a feeling of responsibility to be positive and uplifting; or at least not so cynical.

Isn't there enough complaining? Aren't there enough people in this country with a sense of entitlement? Who am I to be annoyed by other people? Don't I annoy others just as much? So what's the point of us all talking about it?

So what if I don't like kids. (It's true. I'm a mother of 4 and don't like kids. In general that is. I do like mine, and at least a few others.) If I blog in more detail about that, what is the benefit?

I was a kid once, and I'm certain there must have been a plethora of people in my path filled with irritation over my presence. C'est la vie.

So all you kids out there... I'm giving you a second chance, and a third, and a forth, and so on. It's not your fault you annoy me, it's mine, and I'm going to try to be a better, more accepting person. Carry on... be jovial... have fun... and look me up when you're an adult.

Buy That Baby Some Shoes

2009-11-12T18:02:00.001-06:00

I’ve wanted to start a blog for months now. The recent moments in my life that have spurred me on to finally do it are; reading my little sister’s clever blog, the need for a creative outlet, and the unsolicited parenting feedback from strangers at large.

Perhaps my future entries will be more important, perhaps not, but today I am thinking about how my baby is too hot, and too cold, she’s tired, I need to buy her some shoes, and where the heck is her hat?

These are all things I apparently wasn’t too concerned about, but loose-tongued strangers were all too willing to be concerned for me. Now that I think about it, I don’t think any of these people were moms. And if they were, it was a long time ago. Maybe they wish they had a baby to take care of and so they fill their need by caring for strange babies. Maybe they never had kids of their own and they resent all the unworthy, clueless parents in the world. Maybe it’s innate? Does everyone have the urge to do this?

I really can’t figure out what the origins of the unsolicited, impulsive comments spewing at me are. If someone else knows, please enlighten me. In the mean time, expect to hear me saying things like; “She has lots of shoes. I chose to NOT put them on.” “Actually, she recently awoke from the most magnificent nap ever, filled with dreams of fairies and princesses, I suppose.” “Hat?! Look at the insane amount of hair my baby has!” Or, when I’m too tired, I’ll just smile and say, “Oh. Thank you.” and imagine myself crossing and rolling my eyes.

And on a good day, I’ll remember that they all mean well, and it’s a good thing that human beings do care about each others' well being. (Anyway, most people just tell me how beautiful she is.) Then I’ll remind myself that I am a good mom, regardless of what anyone says. "We’re doing just fine, thank you."