Tongue Tied

Favorite Photos of 2011

2012-02-20T14:01:00.014-05:00

I just realized I never posted my favorite photos of 2011. There were a lot. I don't know if I can pick one favorite from all of these. One thing I noticed as I sifted through my photos is that I can see that I'm progressing in my understanding of my camera. That's always good. After almost two years with my DSLR, I'm finally shooting on full manual. I have to edit a lot less because I know what settings I like. Focus is still tricky. You'd think it would be simple, but getting what I want sharply in focus is probably the hardest thing to do, especially with kids that move constantly. I should probably use auto focus when I'm shooting the kids (sounds violent), but I never think to switch it. I still feel like I shoot more by eye and am far less technical than I'd like to be. I don't think I could explain in detail what I'm doing. But who cares? I'm having fun. Also, I noticed I take a lot of rain-on-the-window shots. I can't help myself. Anyway, without further ado, here are a billion photos in random order. Several were taken by Seth.

Click on a photo to see it larger or to view in a slideshow.

A Follow Up

2012-02-15T15:17:00.002-05:00

So, about Thing One.

Maybe you other moms can relate to this.

You feel like you are going stark raving mad. Your child is constantly pushing your buttons, testing the limits. After awhile, you feel the tension growing, the behaviors getting worse. Suddenly, you've had it up to here (hold hand way above head) with said child. You begin to wonder how much boarding schools cost. You prepare yourself for a child facing a life of crime. You pour out your emotions on your blog.

And then the next day, *POOF*, said child is an angel.

And has been that way for over a week.

I mentioned this to my mom and she said she remembered going through that with us. She'd be at her wits end and then suddenly, it's like we'd reset and be perfectly good little children.

I think part of Thing One's issues stem from change. He's never been a big fan of change, and in the last six months, we've had a lot of strange around here. New job for Seth, new hours, new bedroom for the boys on a different floor than ours, new baby sister. And while Thing One hasn't necessarily made mention that any of these is an issue (except the room--he's still not wild about being up there), I think it's just part of his process in dealing with change. He's gotta fight about it somewhere, and it shows up most readily in school.

One nice thing I've noticed as he grows is that after he "resets", the stretches of good behavior get longer. So that's encouraging. I've also enjoyed hearing him pray for his attitude and asking God to help him make good choices.

So from the depths of despair to the peaks of motherly pride in zero time flat.

Such is motherhood.

Ten On Ten

2012-02-10T22:48:00.004-05:00

Homegirl's morning look.

Learning the Presidents.

Afternoon PBS.

Thing Two counting and writing numbers.

Finally, some snow.

Thing One feeding Homegirl.

Kinda messy.

Supper.

This is probably why she's awake now at 11:00 p.m.

Friday night awesomeness.

I need a mental health day

2012-02-07T11:00:00.003-05:00

This is not working.

I've reached the point of desperation with one of my children.

And he's only seven.

Nothing about Thing One has ever been easy. As a baby, every day he spent hours crying. As a toddler, he learned how to add throwing things to the crying. By preschool, he'd learned how to add attitude to the tantrums. And now as a schoolager, he simply refuses to do anything he doesn't want to do.

He doesn't have ADD, or ADHD, or Autsim or Asperger's or any other definable health or learning issues.

I think the label he'd get would be "strong willed."

I've gotten lots of advice over the years, some asked for, most not. I've been told I'm not disciplining right, not praying hard enough, not following the right formula for success. I've been given books and blogs and gurus to research.

I've done everything I can think of. I've tried the graceful, patient approach. I've tried the firm, consequences approach. I've tried everything in between. I've spent hours praying. I've had him memorize verses. I've memorized verses. We read the Bible every day. We communicate.

But the behavior never changes.

It's not that he's incapable of being good. For the most part, I don't get complaints about his behavior from any other authority. I've heard that he's sweet and obedient. But that's not the story where I am concerned. For some reason, I'm the adversary, but one he can't live without. In one day, I'll hear "I love you" from him half the time and "I hate you" half the time. He shows remorse after he disobeys or hurts my feelings. He says sorry. But then we go through the whole routine again later. In his calm moments, we have reasonable discussions about what it means to love someone and how we treat people. We study the Bible together and talk about how Jesus wants us to act. But the moment something happens that he doesn't like, he goes into his stubborn shell and throws tantrums.

I don't feel peace about that one. When I imagine his future, I feel great concern. I see him unhappy, having broken relationships and scarred by bitterness. No mother wants to envision that for their child, even their strong willed child, but I'm cursed with a realistic brain, and I can't help but worry for him.

I pray for a miracle for him every day. The only thing that will change my son's heart is Jesus. And I'm supposed to be part of that process, but I have absolutely no idea what to do. Almost on a daily basis, I have to back away and think "Okay, I obviously can't change him, so what does Jesus want me to do right now."

If you don't have a really strong willed child, I can tell. Those who don't have a truly frustrating kid offer me answers for a happy, harmonious home, or they might think I'm exaggerating his behavior or making a bigger deal than I need to. Those who really understand what I'm going through know that the only true thing is that God is good and by his grace I'll survive. They know that there isn't an easy, pat, here-ya-go formula for a strong-willed child's success. They know what it's like to be humbled as a parent and feel like they're scraping the bottom of the barrel. They know that obeying God yourself doesn't guarantee your child will.

I feel like I'm at the end of my rope with him, like I'm a total failure as a parent and christian and homeschooler. But I know I've felt it a thousand times before, and time will march on regardless of my feelings.

There's nothing quite as confusing as parenting, is there? How strange to be so in love with someone who frustrates me to my breaking point. All I can do is follow God as best I can and pray for a miracle. I've seen God change stubborn wills before, but not without great pain and trial. And that's hard for a mom to accept for her kids, even if she knows that's what it might take.

**Update: I love Thing One quite a lot. Yes, he frustrates the snot out of me. Yes, I can envision him being unhappy. But I can also envision him growing up and being used by God and me sighing with relief. He's spent most of today awkwardly trying to make me believe he's sorry for his bad behavior this morning. He won't end up in prison. I don't think.

Things I never expected to be happy about

2012-01-26T12:31:00.003-05:00

Here are a few things that I'm unexpectedly thrilled with:

1. My house. It's small. It's old. It's horrifyingly lacking in closet space. It's not in the best part of town. It has drafty windows and can tend to smell like cats (which we don't have).

But it's home.

2. Spinach. It's actually quite good, despite me spending most of my life guarding myself from it like it was the plague. I blame mom for always making it with stinky vinegar. How was I to know it tasted good?

3. My flab. Seems strange that I'm the heaviest I've ever been in my life and yet I feel the most attractive. I used to be really skinny, but thought I was the ugliest thing ever. Now, I realize how unimportant appearance is and that just being me is better than trying to be somebody else. It's probably just my aversion to working out convincing me that I look fine. (I mean fine as in okay, not fine as in "you fiiiiine, girl".)

4. My husband having a sort of dangerous career. When we were young, I was adamant about him not joining the military, which ended up being okay since they wouldn't take him with his diabetes now anyway. Firefighting is not without risks, but we both love his job. I mean, have you seen him in uniform? Totally fine. (I mean that as in "he's fiiiine".)

5. Killing spiders without freaking out and making a scene. I have a child that has a tendency to be afraid of everything. Even the fan in his room. Even rain. Even the movie Monsters Inc. But he is not afraid of spiders. I take credit for that.

HOWEVER, I will never be okay with spiders. They are stupid and need to die. And they're ugly. And they look bad in skinny jeans. And if I see you, spiders, in MY house, I will be all like "Oh, it's ON."

6. Skinny jeans.

7. Being poor-ish. Yeah, historically it has sucked. But it's teaching us a lot of good lessons.

8. People disagreeing with me. It's all good.

9. The fact that I'm ending this list on number nine instead of trying to come up with a nice even ten things list.

The End of the Tunnel

2012-01-24T15:30:00.002-05:00

Sidebar: What's with me blogging every day? Weird, huh?

I just spent about an hour working on the finances, which, as you know, is not my idea of a pleasant afternoon. I'd rather scrape soap scum off a dingy tub for an hour than spend that time with bills. But today, I decided to bite the bullet, dive in, and sort some stuff out.

I told myself beforehand it was just a fact finding mission. Find balances owed and make a list. No emotional response, please, self. Just get in there and git er done.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that the numbers don't seem so overwhelming anymore.

Don't get me wrong, we're still on an uphill climb here, but for the first time in years, maybe even in our entire marriage, I feel like things are improving. Like I can see the peak of the mountain and things will be getting easier soon. Like we'll be able to breathe.

It's wonderful to see the balances get smaller. It's a relief to feel like, okay, we can do this. It won't be too much longer.

We've made two big changes recently in our approach to bills. First, Seth has taken over. I waved the white flag. It wasn't that before Seth was dumping all the responsibility on me, but I took it out of guilt that I wasn't earning a paycheck. But after years of not being able to face it, he came to my rescue. I don't even know exactly how much money is in the bank, which is both terrifying and delightful, but it leads to the other big change: I ask him before I spend money.

I'm totally Lucy and he's my Desi. Except that I've had to tell him it's okay to tell me no. But having to let someone know when I want/need to spend money has also helped me cut back on my spending. I wasn't really spending that much before, but it's a good motivator to return my library books on time and only pick up the important things when grocery shopping. Make cuts where I can.

Of the two of us, Seth is the better accountant, and I'm really good at nagging. So I think this will work out. Plus, he continues to work his butt off for us. And he's the one that makes all the phonecalls. I love him for that.

I know there will still be moments of despair where money is concerned. After all, we're pretty sure the only reason both our vehicles are still running is because of prayer. Neither are we prepared for a sudden financial emergency quite yet. But we're getting there. Little by little, one day at a time.

I'll keep you posted.

Whew

2012-01-23T09:25:00.002-05:00

For the first time in awhile, I'm glad it's Monday.

Last week was rough. Seth worked a lot. Like, the most anyone should work without a medical degree. While I'm so thankful for the extra money, the thing about firefighting is when you work extra shifts, you're gone for days at a time. Like, whole 24 hour days. Plus, he picked up some shifts at his part time job.

I'm not unfamiliar with him working long hours. I'm actually pretty okay with it. We miss him a ton, but I don't usually go nuts with him gone. I guess we've sort of adjusted. We call him and text him and visit him when we can. And the rest of the time, I do my thang. And to a procrastinator like me, sometimes it's nice to know just how long I can put off cleaning things up. You know, so he doesn't think that all I did while he was gone was blog and wear the same pajama pants I was wearing when he left.

Last week was kinda nuts though. Between behavior issues, being sick, and Homegirl either growth spurting or teething or getting pre-pre-pre-pre-pms, I got a little crazy. And then the weekend was even crazier. Sunday was physically exhausting, which is ironic for a "day of rest".

But today is Monday. A fresh new week. A week with very little on the calendar (which delights me). All three kids got a really good night's sleep, which they desperately needed. And I'm not sick anymore. And even though Seth is working just a little bit less than last week, I feel optimistic. I'm looking forward to having an ordinary, mundane, no frills easy peasy week of school and housework.

Maybe I'll even tackle a project or two.

But I wouldn't hold my breath. I don't really want to get paint on my pajama pants.

Desperate Housewife

2012-01-20T18:20:00.005-05:00

I am going insane.

Going? Who am I kidding. I've done gone. "Going" suggests traveling along at a reasonable speed and noticing exit signs on the highway. I've already taken the exit, bought a house, and had all my subscriptions forwarded.

I love my children. Really, I do. They are great little people.

They are great little people.

I've had to repeat that to myself lately.

So, yeah, they're great. But they're evil geniuses. They're tiny, plotting, psychological monsters who have my demise on their horizon. Sorta like gremlins. Yes, my kids are totally gremlins right now.

I know, I know. I'll miss this time in my life someday. Enjoy them while they're little. I'll never get these days back.

Blah, blah, blah.

Can I just say, I hate when people tell me that almost as much as I hate loading my dishwasher. I do not feel bad for saying that I'm excited to see my kids grow up and hopefully become functioning members of society (or at least be able to keep pants on throughout the day). Do I think they're cute now? Sure. Sometimes. When I'm not crouched in the fetal position under my bed.

But here are a few things I will not miss about my kids being little:

1. Poop.

2. The complete lack of privacy or personal space.

3. Really lame TV shows.

4. Cribs, exersaucers, car seats, strollers, and all the other huge things taking up space in my house and van.

5. Random things smelling like ketchup or pee.

6. Being solely responsible for locating and installing everyone's shoes, socks, coats, hats, clip on Buzz Lightyear flashlights, etc.

7. Did I mention poop?

8. Constant interruption.

9. Whining (I know this doesn't necessarily stop as they age, but hopefully it will be lower pitched and there will be less wailing on the floor and throwing things.)

10. Nothing staying clean for more than 47 seconds.

11. Teething.

12. How exhausting it is to go anywhere.

13. Legos. Everywhere.

14. Interrupted sleep.

15. Wanting to cry because I haven't been out of my house for five days, or put on pants with a real waistband, or worn makeup, or had a conversation that didn't begin with "Can I..."

There are things I will definitely miss. Chubby cheeks. Mispronounced words. Hearing "I love you" thirty times a day. Giggles. The excitement in their eyes at birthdays and holidays.

And I have to believe these are the things that the older people are talking about when they say "You'll miss it someday." Because something doesn't seem right about missing wiping people's bottoms or refereeing noisy wrestling matches.

Someday, Seth and I will go out for a romantic evening on a whim, without having to line up childcare and then cut the evening short because we don't want said childcare to be glancing at the clock thinking "Hurry up already, your kids are monsters." Someday, I'll be able to go to the bathroom without anyone sitting outside the door crying or asking me to peel their orange. Someday, I'll sleep eight hours. In a row.

And I'm kinda looking forward to seeing how our babies slowly morph into cool people we like hanging out with. Isn't the point of parenthood to grow and nurture a child into an adult?

Or at least individuals we're comfortable taking in public?

Tiny Little Rants

2012-01-17T15:53:00.003-05:00

So, I'm trying this thing where I don't blog ad nauseum about every little thing I find annoying. It's nice...except, what else is there to blog about? I don't write as much when I can't write about things that grate against my soul. So, in the interest of keeping this blog alive, I'll allow myself a bit of controlled blog-whining today.

1. How am I supposed to function properly when there's no chocolate in the house? None. Nada. Zilch. Even hybrid cars use a little gasoline. I have no gasoline.

2. Our van has suffered a series of what we're calling "mini strokes". A lot of the little electrical things on the left side of the van are failing, such as cabin and dashboard lights. I live in fear of "the big one".

3. I have one child whining about losing a tooth soon and one child whining about gaining a tooth soon. And one that just whines.

4. I really want to write about people that have to be right all the time.

5. And also, music in my church.

6. And the stigma attached to nursing in public. (I'd title that one: Boobs aren't weird. You're weird. Inspired, I know.)

7. Or why I wish someone would invent a diaper-onesie.

8. But I won't.

9. At least not today.

10. No, today, I'll just rant a little bit and then leave you with this clip of Slater dancing on Saved by the Bell. Because Slater solves his problems with some hardcore grooves. May we all be so mature.

Best of 2011

2012-01-14T01:47:00.001-05:00

Here are some highlights from my year. I think. A lot of it was a blur. Pregnancy does that.

Media:

Movies: Source Code, Super 8, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Pt 2

Television/Drama: Fringe

Television/Comedy: Up All Night

Song/Secular: Ya know, I'm not sure. But the one stuck in my head the most was Tonight Tonight by Hot Chelle Rae. Ha. Now it's in your head too.

Song/Sacred: Blessings by Laura Story

Band: I think Hillsong takes it this year.

Book/Fiction: The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins and The Help by Kathryn Stockett

Book/Non Fiction: As Silver Refined by Kay Arthur

Website: Pinterest

Blogs of People I Don't Know: Rants From Mommyland, Hyperbole and a Half

Food:

Restaurant: Due to pregnancy, we ate at Steak N Shake and Chipotle a lot.

Recipe: Cooking? What's that?

Spice: Nutmeg

Beverage: Strawberry Limeade

Quotes and Expressions:

"Good job, little buddy."

"I'm a fireman."

Date (As in boy/girl date): Downtown photo shoot in the rain

Date (As in calendar date): August 12th.

Purchase: Couch.

Store: The Goodwill Store.

Surprise: Homegirl was not a Homeboy.

Bible Verse: 1 Peter 5:10-11 "And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast. To him be the power forever and ever. Amen."

Lesson Learned: This year was a year of unbelievable blessing. I saw firsthand how obedience is rewarded and how God delights in giving to his children. It wasn't that everything this year went perfectly and that there weren't real problems to be dealt with. It's just that I am overwhelmed with all the good that I can't seem to focus on the bad, even the horrendous morning sickness that kept me down for 24 weeks. Biggest blessings: Seth's a firefighter and we have a new baby. Craziness.

Coming soon: 2011 in photos

Technical difficulties

2012-01-01T15:24:00.002-05:00

So, my tiny little HP netbook finally bit the dust after several years of near constant use and fairly regular dropping and abuse. This has resulted in me not being online nearly as much, because the desktop is sooooooo far away in the basement, and the basement is also the play room, and the play room is where the mess and children exist. And it's close to the laundry room. So I avoid going down to the basement.

I miss facebook. And blogs. And hulu.

And blogging. A little.

But never fear. I shall be posting my annual "Best of 2011" soon. Like, when I write it. Maybe in March. Also, Ten on Ten will be coming soon. I'll do my best to appease.

Ten Reasons I Haven't Blogged in a Month

2011-12-17T09:55:00.003-05:00

There may be, like, two of you out there that noticed I haven't blogged in a super ultra long time. I can only imagine the kind of agony you are suffering as you wait...wait...wait for me to end my blogstipation and just write something, ANYTHING, even a stupid list of ten things.

Well, wait no further, my friend. Your dreams are about to come true.

Ten Reasons I Haven't Blogged in a Month:

10. School. Things have been chugging along in the homeschool department. I'm drowning in open and closed syllables and adjectives and adverbs and graphs containing all the birthdays of all the people we know. Oh, and plenty of whining.

9. Homegirl. If you haven't noticed, I have a baby, people. A very adorable chunky monkey whose chubby cheeks require regular and enthusiastic kissing. Sometimes there just aren't enough hours in the day to contain all the baby smooching.

8. Thing One and Thing Two. They're nice kids and all, but they're sucking out my soul like the dementors in Harry Potter.

7. The Choir Christmas Program and the B Natural on the Key Change in my Low Register. It took a lot out of me.

6. Being sick. But then I stopped being sick and was awesome instead. True Story.

5. Napping. What's the point of being a stay at home mom if you don't take regular naps? It's just wasteful if you don't.

4. Reading other people's blogs.

3. Pinning things on Pinterest, like recipes I'll never make and home decor I'll never be able to afford.

2. Ashton and Demi's divorce. It's really eating me up inside.

1. Facebook.

See? All of those are totally legitimate reasons for abandoning the ol' blog for awhile. I don't know why you're so upset about it. I was always going to come back. I WAS! Don't look at me like that! You don't own me! Whatever. You're ruining my life!

*door slam*

Aaaaaand, scene.

First World Problems

2011-11-19T16:35:00.000-05:00

Have you heard of these? They're all those pesky, ultra dramatic problems that just crumble you to bits and pieces....that when put in perspective aren't really problems.

Sometimes when we poke fun at our non-problems, it makes the real ones a little easier to bear.

It also reminds us how crazy blessed we are.

Sethswife's First World Problems (To be read in a whiny, weepy voice):

The internet was down all morning so I had nothing to keep me from doing laundry.

Sometimes Pinterest's servers are overloaded so I can't log on.

Just after I sat down in my recliner and put my feet up, I realized I was cold and wanted socks and a blanket.

We're out of seasoned salt, so my popcorn is boring.

My favorite show is going on "mid-season hiatus".

Sometimes Pandora plays a song I'm totally sick of and I'm out of skips.

Seth's First World Problems:

It takes forever to text on my smart phone.

Why is the Diet Mountain Dew always gone?

I lost weight so now my clothes don't fit.

Sometimes I get whistled at in my firefighter uniform.

Thing One's First World Problems:

Playing this Wii game really tires out my hand.

Thing Two's First World Problems:

Mommy makes me wear pants.

Homegirl's First World Problems:

I can't fit my whole hand in my mouth without gagging.

How He Loves

2011-11-18T03:24:00.003-05:00

This is a long one. Sorry. Some things I just can't edit down.

******************************************************************

Leave it to David Crowder to have me bawling at 3 in the morning.

“How He Loves” is rapidly becoming my life song. In just the first few bars, I’m lost in it, swirling in a tornado of memories, good ones and bad ones. Scenes from my life play before me in a succession of pain and release, struggle and freedom.

I know my attachment to this song isn’t unique. It’s everybody’s favorite…but for a reason. You can insert your story in between the lines and marvel at how God is bringing it all together.

Last year was the year my life imploded. It wasn’t as though everything had been carefree and happy before, but suddenly, every trial came to a jagged point. Every arrow seemed pointed at my heart. All the constants in my life were shaken, threatened. Some even toppled from beneath me.

I can remember sitting in my living room as I grappled to process a trial I felt totally unprepared for. I vividly recall chills shooting up my arms, my blood seeming to turn to ice as the reality of my situation began to sink in. My heart pounded as the ugly truth washed over me. It was as if time had slowed and I was suddenly in this strange tunnel where I could hear my blood whooshing in my ears.

As I look back on that moment, I am so thankful that though I was bewildered, I was not alone.

It only took seconds in the wake of that heart wrenching moment for me to call out to my Savior. What before had been somewhat habitual and unnoticed suddenly came into sharp focus. My heart was broken, and I knew that’s exactly why Jesus had died for me. Any thoughts of bitterness, of anger, of “why me?” dissolved into a peace that passes understanding.

I heard it as plainly as a whisper in my ear. Be blameless.

That was the first day of the worst two weeks of my life. Two weeks of serious issues that few knew I was dealing with. Two weeks of the most uncertain I have ever been. Two weeks of my very own private, personal hell.

I could no longer take the easy road in following Christ. It was as if I was given an opportunity to prove it. To prove that I really believed everything I said I did, that this whole faith in God thing was more than a tradition of faith passed on to me from generations before. It was a chance to really make a solid choice between what my flesh wanted to do and what His voice was telling me to do. It was my turn to be refined, molded, changed, authenticated.

And when God gives you that opportunity, you don’t say no. I knew I had no chance if I clung to myself. All I had was Him.

I never once doubted He was there. Verses I didn’t even realize I knew by heart flowed easily from my lips. Countless times, I was taken to a Bible story that encouraged my faith. Talking to God was more than routine, it was a feast. And it was not by accident that I first noticed this song the day before everything fell apart. I look back on it and am simply amazed at how God organized every detail of that trial to bring himself glory. What felt like uncertain steps were really puzzle pieces that formed into a magnificent masterpiece that I would never have imagined possible. I clung to the roots of my faith, the simple truth that Jesus died for me, that he rose for my salvation. That he loved me. Even if I had nothing else in this life, I was loved. It wasn’t because I was a good Christian that I survived that trial. It was because the Holy Spirit made it possible. Because he had a plan for my good, for others' redemption, and all of it was for his glory.

That two weeks ended in a spectacular display of God’s grace. Where there had been hopelessness appeared his healing. What should have ended up as an all too common tale of lives broken apart miraculously became a story of redemption--tangible, living proof that God’s love works--that he is present, active, and involved in the lives of his children in ways we don’t always recognize. That when we obey, even if we are hurt, we are not defeated.

And now, over a year later, my life is full. I am blessed beyond measure. I am thankful for that trial. God has put the pieces back together better than they fit before. Yes, there are scars. There always will be. They are a part of my story now. But every scar was soothed with a blessing--something real that I can point to and say “That’s because of God.”

My daughter is one of the biggest. Seth and I had been trying for about six months when all of this happened, but without success. When things got bad, I decided we should stop trying. I didn’t think I could handle a pregnancy at that point. Before, I had been longing to see a positive pregnancy test, wondering if we were done having children. But those negatives turned out to be blessings. God knew what I needed and what would be too much.

But at the end of last year, when the dust had settled, when I was marveling in God’s goodness in the trial, but still sorting through it to make sense of it, God once again intervened and showed his graciousness. I found out on Christmas day that a baby was on the way, much to our surprise.

I can’t look at my beautiful baby girl without feeling that same sense of amazement that I feel when this song is played. God is good. God is at work. God takes what sin meant to destroy and restores it to better than before. When we obey, God puts balm on our wounds and shows us just exactly what we were obeying for.

I am relatively young, and while I can hope that I never have to endure a trial like that again, I’m wise enough to know there will be others in my lifetime. And when they come, I hope that I always go back to the roots, the cornerstone of my faith.

The simple truth that he loves me.

Biggest Winner

2011-11-13T21:03:00.003-05:00

I'm conflicted.

I'm going to be honest, though at the risk of offending someone. I hate how exercise-obsessed our culture is. It's not exercise that bothers me, not hardly. I spent a good portion of my pre-mothering life engaged in sweaty sports and had a great time doing it. And I certainly don't embrace the flip side of the coin of our culture--the side that has to supersize every meal and drown in in food.

But I'm tired of seeing our culture's idea of beauty. I resist this idea that a woman has to be toned and bony in order to be attractive. Why does perfect equate to working out constantly in order to look like the airbrushed and photoshopped mutilation of women that we see in media? Because let's be honest, just eating right and working out apparently isn't enough for our celebrities to be beautiful. They need surgeries and technology to make it "better".

As Cindy Crawford has said "I wish I looked like Cindy Crawford."

So I'm sick of it. I'm sick of seeing women objectified in ads, even under the guise of athleticism, trouncing around in sports bras and underwear and telling me to "just do it." And I'm tired of feeling this guilt, like I'm not a better human being because I don't work out.

And in the twisted irony that is womanhood, I also want to lose weight.

Here's the thing though--I'm not "overweight". I have never been told by a doctor that my health would improve if I lost weight. I don't have any health issues at all, unless you count the fact that I have been tired since Thing One was born. (I think the medical term for that is "motherhood".) I'm within the appropriate weight for my height, at least by medical standards. And without crossing the tmi line, I'm definitely the only one in my marriage complaining about my appearance. My husband makes me feel beautiful and womanly.

So why do I hate the way I look? Why do I think I'd be happier with myself if I could get rid of extra skin and stretch marks?

I've been thinking about this for awhile, because nothing makes me feel worse about my appearance than a pregnancy. I've been weighing (no pun intended) in my heart my attitude towards my body and what God has to say about my value and beauty. I've endeavored to quiet all the other voices that tell me beautiful and smart women are a size 2 and work out as much as possible.

And here's what I've decided are the things that will make me beautiful: Noble character, hard work, taking care of my family, having compassion on the needy, supporting my husband, wisdom, giving godly advice. And that's just from Proverbs 31.

I even think it might be sin for me to work out and lose weight right now. Notice I said "for me". I'm not saying that exercise is sin, not at all! But I've examined my motives in wanting to lose weight, and honestly, it all comes down to pride. I can pretend it would fall under "getting healthy", but that would be a lie, because I am healthy already. It would be entirely self serving--so that I could compensate for the parts of my appearance that I don't like with a tiny waist or skinny arms. It would be to make me feel better about myself and being better in the eyes of others. It would not be to glorify God.

And on the other hand, I want to be careful not to make myself feel better with food. But that's another post for another day.

So anyway...take that, Victoria's Secret, Hollywood, Pinterest, and Jillian Michaels. I'm choosing to accept my weight. I'm going to work on getting in shape in the areas God wants to see improvement, as referenced in 1 Peter:

"Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes (the things we do to try to please ourselves and other's eyes). Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight."

I want to get to the point where sin in my heart appalls me as much as my physical flaws (which are not sin!)

Something may be wrong with me

2011-11-09T20:45:00.002-05:00

Things I don't freak out about:

Higher taxes

Medical emergencies

Having $0 for college

Diet/Exercise

Unmedicated childbirth

My husband entering burning buildings

Things I do freak out about:

Spiders in the basement

Missing Fringe

Dog poop on shoes

Grammatical mistakes

I'm weird.

Beauty

2011-11-05T21:40:00.001-04:00

I’ve seen a lot of beauty in my life.

I’ve seen beauty in nature. The majestic rise of snow capped mountains kissing clouds. The crimson rock of an ancient canyon. Billowing spray from pounding waterfalls. White capped waves crashing against cliffs. The sparkle of blue green ocean slithering across sand.

I’ve seen beauty in people. In the twinkle of my grandmother’s eye. My mother’s hands gliding across ivory keys. My Dad’s wink after he tells a joke. My husband’s hands reaching for mine.

I’ve seen beauty in moments. When the church doors opened and I saw him waiting for me. The first time I laid eyes on my babies and whispered God’s love into their ears. Seeing Christmas through the eyes of my children. Singing with my husband.

And I’ve seen beauty in pain. My grandfather sending flowers to my grandmother on the very day he died. A broken heart healing. The good news of God’s grace softening stone will. Tears of forgiveness. A father carrying his infant son’s casket to his tiny grave. Dreams not coming true. Feeling God’s comfort for the child I’ll never hold on this earth.

And they’re all possible because of You. You--the very definition and creator of beauty. Without You there would be nothing good or warm or reassuring to remember. There would be no bright side to pain, no glimmer of hope in sadness and no reason to rejoice. There would be no wistful smiles or comforting nostalgia. You shine in every beautiful moment I treasure.

I’ve seen a lot of You in my life.

Missing (OFF #4)

2011-10-28T00:00:00.000-04:00

For Marissa

******************************************

She sees him everywhere.

When she’s folding laundry, and she notices that his clothes are absent.

When she’s picking up toys and she wonders if he would have liked to play with them.

When she’s strapping the kids in the car and sees his empty seat.

She couldn’t have imagined before that her heart could break so many times in a single day. Every day. How difficult it would be to navigate the ever present grief.

Even when she’s not looking for reminders, they’re there. Like when a friend has a new baby or she hears a song on the radio or a familiar verse is mentioned during a sermon. It’s like her heart is instantly there, in those moments of fear, suffering, longing and desperation. She doesn’t have to try to remember. Some things are always there, just underneath the surface, easily erupting.

There are days when she can’t believe she’s able to get out of bed.

But she knows she is not alone. She knows every moment had a purpose. Every tear fell for a reason. Every minute of her son’s life was a testimony to the incredible power and plan of God. Where there is grief, there is also peace. She knows he is whole and healed. And even though she is not yet whole and healed, she knows one day her suffering will be changed into marvelous delight.

It’s getting easier to smile at the memories. Not all the time, but sometimes. She’s seen with her own eyes how much good came out of the biggest trial of her life…for her, for her family, for friends, even for strangers.

So yes, there is a void in her life. There always will be. She’s not expecting--or really even wanting--that void to go away.

But there is joy too. There is the healing balm that her Savior spreads over her wounds.

And her heart is full. Because she sees Him everywhere.

The Scene (OFF #3)

2011-10-21T18:12:00.002-04:00

It’s sort of sad how this doesn’t make her sad anymore.

She steps blithely through the crime scene and catches the familiar sound of glass crunching beneath her boots. It should disturb her that she associates the taste of coffee with gruesome scenes of homicide. It should make her never want to drink the bitter brew. But here she is, downing her second cup this morning.

Her mind goes into auto mode, sorting and cataloguing the details before her. She takes stock of the body, the wounds, the shell casings littering the area, the direction of the glass from the broken window. It isn’t hard for her to piece together what happened here, to imagine what sort of evidence the M.E. will find. She’s already mentally formed a crude sketch of the killer; not an actual face yet, but a profile. His habits, his history, his methods, even his motives. Nothing ever surprises her anymore.

Well, almost nothing.

“I see you’ve already got one.”

She turns to see her partner smiling behind her, clutching two cups of steaming coffee. She pretends not to notice the flutter in her stomach at his presence and gives him an apologetic smile.

He clicks his tongue and gives her a teasing smirk, simultaneously taking in the scene around them. She knows his brain isn’t cataloguing like hers does. He won’t remember precisely where the casings lie or that the position of the entry wound suggests a right handed killer. Rather, his mind will instinctively know what hers has been trained to record.

He’s so different from her. So foreign. So…surprising.

“When are you going to learn that I’ve got you covered?” He chastens.

She feels an emotional tug and quickly stifles the rising desire for him. Not here, she chastens herself. Not now.

Never.

Lost Time (OFF #2)

2011-10-14T00:13:00.001-04:00

“You can see him now, Mr. Richards.”

The young nurse motions toward the closed ICU door. Joe wipes his moist palms against the thighs of his jeans and stands slowly. This is it, he thinks, running a weary hand through his hair. This is the last time I’ll see my father alive.

With shaky fingers, Joe pushes open the large door and is greeted by that signature hospital smell, a medley of antiseptic and the odor of illness, of a body failing at life. He forces himself to look at the form of his father in the bed, barely recognizable after losing 30 pounds. Wires spider web around his gaunt face as machines proclaim his heartbeats with an alarmingly slow cadence. The whoosh of the respirator pushing air into weary lungs forces a burning lump into Joe’s throat.

He knows his father can’t speak to him. He doubts he will even open his eyes, let alone be conscious of their final meeting here today. Joe senses that whatever it was that made his father the man he has known all his life has already fled this shell.

It has been seven years since their last meeting, seven years of silence and bitter separation. Joe wishes he could say he has forgotten what the argument had been about, but each painful detail remains lodged in his memory. What he can’t answer is why it has gone on so long. Why peace was never made.

They are family, after all.

He wishes he had been the one to say he was sorry. To take the first step toward healing. To reach out to his father.

And now there is no hope. His father will never know that he is sorry.

He will never know how much Joe loves him.

It’s too late.

October Ten on Ten

2011-10-10T22:48:00.003-04:00

Morning milk coma.

Tantrum.

Narnia: Fringe for children

Seth's awesome pyramid

Did some painting outside

Never ending laundry.

Collected leaves

Thing One's leaf rubbing

Awana night

Castle with Homegirl.

The end

Watched (October Flash Fiction #1)

2011-10-08T00:06:00.002-04:00

Suddenly, the dark night air had gone still. Very, very still.

Caroline’s fingers gripped the flashlight handle. The sound of her own breathing was all she could hear. She froze in her tracks and felt as if a host of unseen creatures surrounded her. Watching.

She shook her head as she mentally refuted her own paranoia, mustered her bravery and took another step. The crunch of her tennis shoes on the gravel path seemed as loud as gun shots. Caroline forced herself to ignore the throb of her own pulse in her ears and trudged forward.

She loved this cemetery. For three years, it had been her place of solace, away from the chaos that was her life. She would come here and spend hours reading headstones, tracing her fingers along the worn letters that summarized with brief names and dates the expanse of a person’s life. It was as if the stones spoke to her, telling her stories of the occupants. How they lived their lives. The people they loved. Whether they were rich or poor. How they died. Her mind would flood with answers to these questions even if the name on the grave was completely foreign to her. It was as if she knew these people, as if an unseen connection tethered their souls in a way she couldn’t understand.

When she came here, she forgot the abuse. She forgot the angry shouts, the screamed threats, the black eyes and wounded hearts. There were no enemies here. Only friends.

But she had only ever been here in daylight.

She couldn’t help but notice that in the darkness, this ancient cemetery took on an entirely different feel. It no longer felt….friendly.

Suddenly, she realized she wasn’t alone. But it wasn’t a ghostly specter.

He had followed her here.

A Day in the Life (or I was expecting more bon bons)

2011-09-24T16:54:00.002-04:00

5:00 am Nurse baby. Grow agitated when husband doesn’t hear his alarm going off, because now that you’ve heard it, you’re AWAKE, but can’t turn it off.

5:30-7 am. Doze. Wake up when husband leaves for work. Doze. Wake up when dog wants to go outside. Doze. Wake up when baby needs changing. Doze.

7:01 am Hear the rousing of children. Cry for lost sleep.

7:30 am. Decide that Pop Tarts are an acceptable breakfast. They have fruit in them. Sorta. Or they would if you hadn’t bought the chocolate ones.

8:00 am. Nurse baby. Put her back to sleep. Envy her.

8:30-9 am. Nag children to dress. In clothes. No, in *matching* clothes. And brush teeth. Try to locate child’s missing toothbrush. Find it at the bottom of the basement steps.

9 am Simultaneously educate eldest and appease middle child with “school toys” so he feels like he’s in school too and will leave eldest child alone.

9-12 pm. Repeatedly refuse requests for “Wii breaks” and continue with education. Try to work in chores during seatwork. Hold/feed/burp/change/amuse baby.

12:05 pm. Sit down to check Facebook, but get interrupted when you are reminded that it’s lunchtime.

12:15 pm. Feed the masses. Knock back the first Diet Coke of the day, then curse the fact that it’s caffeine free since you’re nursing.

1:00 pm. Send children outside, where they will cover themselves with sand, mud, dog poo or a combination of the three. Sit down at the computer. Think about writing something. End up watching various “Unnecessary Censorship” clips on youtube.

1:30 pm. Remember laundry. Gather/sort/transport clothes to the washer. Find wet clothes already in the washer. Rewash. Wonder why you have so much laundry when you always seem to be wearing the same yoga pants.

2:00 pm. Send children downstairs to play. Listen to the sound of their obnoxious wrestling float through the floors. Check to make sure your insurance card is in your wallet.

2:15, 30, 45 pm. Say, “No, snack time is not until 3.”

3:00 pm. Snack. Yawn. Nurse. Read the 47th “I Spy” book of the day. Suddenly remember that you put underwear on the potty training one and forgot to direct him to the bathroom every twenty minutes or so. Clean up the mess.

3:30 Vacuum/ launder/scrub/empty/fill/straighten. Repeat.

4:30 Step on legos buried in the living room rug that you just cleaned.

4:35 Act impressed about the lego creations being built, even though you secretly loathe the foot stinging devices of mom-torture. Be thankful that at least they’re using their imaginations.

5:00 Start fielding requests for dinner. Grow exhausted at the thought of making the more complicated meal you had planned. Remember that husband is at work all night, and decide children are happy with macaroni and cheese and peas.

5:30 Dinner.

5:35 Dinner cleanup.

6:00 Send children back outside/downstairs/upstairs so you can fold laundry without having to refold the same laundry thirty seconds later.

6:30 When was the last time you nursed?

7:00 Quiet argument between children by sending one to the bathtub and one to the Wii.

7:30. Switch bather and Wii-er.

8:00 Bedtime snack. Bible reading. Incredibly deep theological discussions concerning salvation, the trinity, sin, whether or not the dog/candy/toys will be in heaven. Pray that you’re answering the questions effectively.

8:30 Start bed prep. Jammies. Teeth brushing. Picking up toys. Refilling water cups. Listen to baby cry.

9:00 Prayers. Kisses. Lights out.

9:01 Change/bathe/nurse baby. Holler at older children that have ignored your previously civilized requests for quiet. Feel your fuse getting very, very short. Long with all your being for the moment they finally shut their yappers and go to sleep.

9:30 Suddenly realize that it is quiet. That *all three* children are sleeping. Do happy dance.

9:30-11:30pm. FREE TIME. Eat massive quantities of chocolate and enjoy your third Diet Coke of the day. Think about showering, but decide that watching old episodes of 30 Rock on Netflix is much more enjoyable. Glance around living room and wonder why you bother cleaning.

11:45 Tuck sleeping children in and remember how cute they are when they’re not screaming/knocking brothers down/whining/asking for food. Pray that you aren’t screwing them up for good. Pray that they grow up to be good civilized people, or at least that they get along with their cell mates in prison.

12:00 am. Nurse baby. Put her to bed. On her back, because the Guilt Fairy says so.

12:20 am Stare at ceiling and wonder why you’re not sleeping.

12:45 Remember that book you’re supposed to be reading for Bible Study. Read three pages. Fall asleep.

Remembering Tragedy

2011-09-11T15:11:00.004-04:00

The world changed when I was nineteen.

Well, maybe not the world. The world had long ago lost its innocence. Pain and sorrow had been the theme throughout thousands of years of human existence. It didn't originate the day terrorists hijacked planes and killed thousands.

But for all of us living now, things were different after that September day.

I wasn't too young to realize how significant that day would be in my life. Just as my parents' generation would always remember where they were when they heard Kennedy had been assassinated, so would I always recall with crystal clarity my experiences that day. Sitting in my living room in my pajamas and orange bathrobe as I watched the second plane pierce the tower. Holding my breath just as the newscasters did as the buildings fell. Calling loved ones. Going to work feeling a bit numb. Looking at the faces of the children I taught and realizing they would never know an America without terrorist attacks. Driving home from work and spotting Air Force One and its military escort in the otherwise unoccupied air. Waiting for hours to fill up my gas tank. Collecting newspapers. Postponing my bridal shower that was to have been that evening.

I absorbed it all and felt deeply about it, but strangely, I think over the past decade, the events are even more polarized in my mind. Ten years ago, I was responsible for me. Now, I have a husband who would be one of the ones running into the burning building. I have a far greater appreciation for the risks that first responders take, heading into certain danger with the knowledge that they will not get out alive. Ten years ago, I took care of other people's kids. Now, I have my own and can feel the weight of how fragile life can be. I wonder if there were children on those planes. I think of the pregnant women in those planes and in the towers. I imagine the terror they must have experienced, and it squeezes on my heart like a vice. There isn't a parent out there that doesn't hear about stuff like that and think, "What if it were me and my children?What if the tragedies were mine?" I think of all the senseless acts of violence that evil men have perpetuated over the course of history, and it's not hard to take a mental leap and think that it could be us someday on the receiving end. After all, we are Christians.

But even as my mind muddles through the swamp of terrorism, I am not without hope. Suffering may last for a night, but joy comes in the morning. Of this, I am sure. Evil has had its day in the spotlight, and I know it won't be long before the Victor comes to snuff it out. That's why I don't wallow or panic when I think of the evil in this world and the lives that have been destroyed by it. If there's one thing I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, it's that evil does not win in the end.

I'm no longer the nineteen year old girl two weeks away from her wedding that I was as I watched history unfold on The Today Show. Ten years has allowed the significance of that day to swell and evolve in my life, and I understand the temptation to worry over what I can't control. But the same God has always been in control, always been on the throne, always in love provided a way of salvation, and has always had a plan unfolding.

"...See how the evildoers lie fallen--thrown down, not able to rise!" Psalm 36:12

10 on 10

2011-09-11T14:51:00.005-04:00

Ten photos from my day every tenth of the month.

2011-08-29T13:51:00.003-04:00

I should blog.

But there's not really anything on my mind to blog about. So I'll do a random list.

1. I am tired. Not as tired as I could be, but I could sleep at the drop of a hat.

2. Because of number one, the start of school has been delayed till after Labor Day. Because homeschooling is awesome that way.

3. I've decided new baby's blog name will be Homegirl. Not because it's creative or appealing, but because I just can't stop calling her that.

4. I also can't stop taking pictures of Homegirl.

5. So far, having a baby girl is pretty much the same as having a baby boy. There's plenty of awwing and kissing and staring and clothes changing in order to obtain optimal cuteness. I will say that the clothing is slightly more fun. I heart baby leggings.

6. I feel like Seth went from working two full time jobs to working one part time job. The firefighter schedule of 24 on/48 off totally rocks my world. I've actually gone out into the world quite a bit more because he's either with me to help or willing to keep the boys at home.

7. Having church friends bringing us meals every other day has resulted in quite a leftover situation. But we ain't complaining.

8. Remember that band Seven Day Jesus? They were a good band.

9. We've started choir rehearsals for our Christmas program. This makes me cheerful.

10. I am SO ready for my shows to start up again. I'm sick of Netflix. Netflix ruins everybody's lives and eats all the steak.

The end.

I Made This

2011-08-19T10:44:00.006-04:00

Don't worry if you don't get the obscure television reference in the title. Only, like, eight people are awesome enough to get it.

So...she's a week old today.

Yes, the war of the onesies ended in a spectacular display last Friday evening when our little girl quite literally exploded onto the scene. I may have lost the gender battle, but I like to think I totally won at giving birth. The whole thing was over in less than five hours of labor and zero minutes of pushing.

She fits right in around here. The Things are obsessed with her and I spend my days protecting her from their exuberant love. They think it's quite unreasonable that all she does is eat, sleep, and poop and are longing for the day they can make her laugh and play with her.

We are all quite smitten. It feels like everybody's here now. Like our family's complete.

And not being pregnant anymore feels fantastic, even if I am a sleep deprived, milky, weepy mess whose shape somewhat resembles a Dr. Suess character. So much better.

Now all that's left is to think of her blog name. Giving her an actual name was so much easier. We've been tossing around some contenders, like Thing She and Little Sister. We often refer to her as Homegirl. It's hard to pick a name because we don't know much of her personality yet. Any names we think of now are limited to what we know of her from the past seven days. Shooter would honor her birth. We were watching A Few Good Men moments before her birth, so we could go with Colonel Jessup. Or Code Yellow, because she's jaundiced. Chewbacca highlights her furry back. Most appropriate would probably be Cheesy Blaster (it must be obscure television reference day). Something tells me she wouldn't appreciate any of those.

So we are a happy family of five now. And we are totally ready for some mundane. After all the exciting changes that have occurred this past year, it will be nice to get back to normal.

Whatever that is.

Pendulum

2011-08-11T20:13:00.004-04:00

I worry about Christians today.

It seems that we, as a whole, have a hard time being sensible. We seem to oscillate between extremes. As a church, we either embrace whole heartedly legalism and being Pharisees, or we fly the other direction and shun anything that looks like a firm opinion about right and wrong. Hard shells or free spirits. All rules or no rules. Neither are right. Neither are what we should strive for. And neither look like Jesus.

I grew up under the thumb of legalism, and never even questioned it till I was an adult. Everything was sin. Don't do anything, like drinking or getting tattoos or dancing or listening to secular music, or voting Democrat, because it's all sin, and believers are supposed to be totally alien in this world.

There was no room for the Holy Spirit there.

But now, I've seen a great exodus of my peers that have flooded to the other camp. They spend more time complaining about the church than worrying about finding out what God's Word really says. There's a sort of bitterness throughout that their fellow Christians can't do anything right. They're tolerant of everyone but Christians.

There's no room for Christlike love there.

Why do we have such a hard time with this? Both camps like to cherry pick verses to make the other side look foolish and make themselves look more righteous. Both camps are frustrated and disappointed and ashamed of their counterparts. There's probably a good portion on both sides that truly believes the majority of the other camp isn't going to heaven.

It frustrates me to see elders making biting or violence embracing political statements. It grates against me to see my generation showing absolutely no respect toward their elders. I hate the back and forth of pride that plays into these discussions, the subtle "I'm right and you're stupid" implications, and whoever can come up with more randomly selected verses is holier.

And thanks to social media, people can parade their arrogance like fools for the rest of us to see. There's a quote on Pinterest I see all the time that goes "You don't have to show up to every argument you're invited to."

Why do we think we need to comment on every facebook status we disagree with? Why does everyone have to have the same political ideals and Biblical convictions as we do? Why do we abuse the Bible to suit our arrogant needs? Why do we have to accuse and belittle fellow brothers and sisters over petty little differences of opinion?

Our time would be so much better spent in quiet, careful Bible study of our own, taking the Bible as a whole and tracking who God is throughout generations of recorded history, not just whatever hot button issue we want support for at the moment. That's not a relationship with God. That's Bible abuse.

There are some middle Christians. The people that have learned that wisdom isn't the same as being able to look more awesome in an argument than everyone else. They are quiet, steady, not rocked by the world believers who are more interested in knowing and being like Jesus than having their opinions justified. They are the ones that have spent countless hours seeking Jesus, weathering the pages of their Bibles, spending entire nights in prayer, loving with gentleness and meekness and being humble, even when they are right and are accused of being wrong.

These are the ones I want to be like. These are the ones that I respect. Instead of being tumultuous and angry all the time, I can sense peace among these. Common sense. Unwavering faith. It's not that they don't change or that they don't have opinions that evolve over time. They're just not noisy about it. They don't have to belittle everyone they don't agree with. Their responses are even and sensible, not filled with emotion or arrogance. They are quite refreshing to be around.

I am determined to pursue a life like these few middle believers portray. Because quite honestly, I see Jesus the most in them.

Graduation Day

2011-07-29T22:59:00.001-04:00

It's a historic day.

A long awaited, much prayed for, dreamed about day.

It seems we've been ending a lot of chapters lately, ready to make way for the new words to fill the pages of our marriage. Our story continues.

I didn't know it was possible to be this proud of you. I have always loved you. Always, without question, regardless of the circumstances. I loved you in your failures. In your hurts. In the trenches.

And now I can love you in your triumphs. And to see you succeed makes me so proud of you.

Not because you did this on your own. I watched you try that before, and the hardest thing I have ever done is watch you suffer in your failures.

No, I'm proud of you because this time, you relied on Someone else's strength.

You worked hard. You did what was required of you and more. You kept a good attitude during the struggle. Your faith gave you strength and endurance I've never seen in you before.

And now you are reaping what you sowed, in the best way possible.

You are a man of God now, full of compassion, peace and quiet dignity. I am honored that God drew us together. I'm thankful to bear your name.

And on this day, I celebrate more than a graduation or a new career. I celebrate God's working in your life. He brought you to this day, and his glory is shining with dazzling light.

Continue on this path. It may not be easy all the time, but the blessings far outweigh the struggles.

I love you.

Go ahead and call me a hippy

2011-07-24T00:26:00.003-04:00

There's something wrong with our country.

In 2009, the rate of Cesarean births in the United States rose to 34%.

The World Health Organization recommends the rate should be between 10 and 15 percent in developed countries.

In the last thirty years, we've blown that percentage out of the water.

And it's not just America. Globally, c-section rates have exploded. In regions of Italy, rates vary from 44% to 60%, which some private clinics showing rates of 85%! C-sections are on the rise in places like Turkey, the United Kingdom, Brazil. China is the highest in the world with a whopping 46%.

Half the women in China give birth by C-section. Which, I guess makes the USA's measly one in three not look so bad.

But I live here, so I'll complain about here.

Epidural use nationally is at about 61%

It was hard to nail down statistics about Pitocin use and elective labor induction, but I did find an article saying that these rates had doubled in the ten years between 1992 and 2002.

And here's the kicker: 99% of American births occur in hospitals, and we are ranked 34th in terms of infant mortality rate (as in, 33 other countries have lower rates).

Compare that to countries like Denmark, Sweden and the Netherlands (who have far lower infant mortality rates than the US) where midwifery is standard practice and a fairly large percentage of women give birth at home.

American women have been convinced of many things in the past 50 years where birth is concerned. We're convinced that epidurals and pain medication are necessary to give birth. That we deserve to be induced as soon as possible. That the only safe way to have a baby is in a hospital with a doctor. That home birth is dangerous and "trendy".

Nevermind that up until the last century, home birth was the standard. We have all these medical advancements, so we should use them.

Somewhere along the way, we started viewing birth less as a natural event and more as a medical problem that needs to be managed. Part of it is advances in medicine that lead to multiple births or older maternal age. Part of it is doctor's fear of malpractice in our sue-happy society. Part of it is the business side of hospitals and the doctors that want to have control over the situation. Part of it is good ol' fashioned fear of the unknown.

Personally, I know my body was designed for giving birth. I have successfully birthed two humans. One was without pain medication. And though I was happy to have healthy babies both times, I can personally attest that my recovery from the epi free birth was much faster and nursing went so much better.

I know my experiences don't translate into Gospel truth for everyone, but I do believe that the vast majority of women could endure labor and delivery without drugs if they tried. If they didn't believe they needed those drugs (or if the drugs weren't so readily offered). If they didn't focus on the pain more than the process.

Does it hurt?

I'm not one of the women who will tell you "No! You can have a pain free labor without drugs!" Yes, of course it hurt. Some parts worse than others. Pushing did not hurt as badly as transition did. Pushing was actually kinda....cool? They ain't lying when they talk about the natural release of oxytocin in your system at the moment of birth. It's an indescribable experience.

Sometimes pain is part of the process of incredible moments in our lives.

Please don't get me wrong. I KNOW there are situations that call for all these medical interventions in birth. I know problems arise and emergencies occur. And for that, I am so thankful for modern medicine.

But I would love to see the prevalent attitude in America concerning birth change. I would love to see it treated more as a natural event than a medical problem. I'd love to see the medical community work more closely with midwives and doulas in low risk births.

I have chosen not to have a home birth (mostly because of dog hair), but I also have an absolutely wonderful doctor who doesn't treat me like something to check off her to do list and doesn't push her agenda into my birth experience. Not to mention the fabulous nurses at our hospital who listen to me when I say "as natural as possible, please", even when the on call doctor (who isn't even in the hospital and has never spoken with me) orders an epidural when I'm barely into labor at all. There are shining examples in the medical community of excellent caregivers, despite the restrictions they face with insurance and hospital protocol.

But I also think it would be spectacular to be able to give birth in a place that's secluded and private, just me and my baby and God given instinct, without the pressures of "let's get this labor moving" or "how's the pain level" or "don't push till the doctor's here" or knowing there are a bunch of anxious relatives in the waiting room wishing I'd hurry up already. That would be an experience that would be hard to top in life.

But, as you know, I'm a hippy.

Feathering My Nest

2011-07-13T21:21:00.009-04:00

I have been doing things.

Lots of things.

Things that make me really sore.

And tired.

Nesting always kicks in during the third trimester, when my ankles swell and my joints ache and I can't bend or move easily and I get contractions from doing things. Why can't it come during the second trimester, after the puking stops and before I move like a beached whale?

But at least it comes, I guess. And things get done.

I only have two weeks until my deadline. I've given myself till 37 weeks to get all my big projects done, and hopefully most of my small ones. Thing Two was born at 37 weeks. I wasn't ready.

I'm happy to share a few of the things I've completed.

We've scored some major deals in the garage sale/thrift store arenas recently.

I was scouring garage sales and craigslist for a long time looking for something we could use as extra kitchen storage. I was thinking a small hutch or something like that, but then I came across this cabinet at a garage sale. It caught my eye as having potential, was well made, and was ten bucks.

I snatched it.

For awhile I thought this might be an antique, because it certainly comes across that way. But after examining it, I found places where it hadn't been painted or stained with newer boards and decided it was just really well built and antiqued. I like the door, but I admit, I have no idea what to do with it yet. So for now, we took it off and are storing it in the basement.

Then I did what I always do: apply forty thousand coats of creamy white paint.

Tada!

I heart having more storage space. This project drove me to clean out several cabinets too. I'm thinking about painting the bread box, just haven't decided on a color. Plus, it's been WAY too hot to spray paint anyway. I also store some glass bowls on this, but they were in the dishwasher, along with the crockpot.

The other project I don't have before pictures for, because I really didn't do that much in the way of major changes. Our bedroom floor needed a fresh coat of paint (yes, paint on the floor, just deal with it). That required moving everything out (thank you, honey) and camping in our living room for a few days. But what a difference fresh paint makes!

We also scored this HUGE closet/armoire thing from Goodwill. We needed something big to store all our clothes in, since our little closet is going to be the baby's "room" for awhile. This thing is so big, all of our clothes fit in it without having to have another dresser in the room! It was a ton of work to get this home, then take it apart, then put it back together again, but it was so worth it. Thank you so much to Seth and his friend Micah for doing that. It's just what we needed, and the mirrors make the room feel a lot bigger.

Now I just have to finish the baby's "room".

And think of accent colors. The doors that used to be on the closet are the perfect size for a king sized headboard. I just can't decide what color to paint it. I thought about black until we brought home the brown closet thing. Now I don't know. The walls are a really light blue gray. Any suggestions? I kinda feel blues in here, but I'm having trouble committing. I'd like an accent color on the bed somewhere too, like in pillows or a throw. I love having white bedding though. Bleach is my best friend.

I have been working on this room since we moved in eight years ago. It has been painted and rearranged so many times, but in the past two years, I feel like it's starting to come together. Right now it's my favorite room in the house. Relaxing, clean (for now) and calm. Here's a few shots of the things I love in here: our personal photos and verses, the sign my sister gave us, and the Ikea chandelier we bought a few years ago.

So, that's why I haven't been blogging much. Besides getting the baby's "room" ready, I just have one other big project. Posting those soon. :)

War of the Onesies

2011-07-02T13:35:00.003-04:00

Boy or girl, our baby essentially will have one outfit upon its arrival, aside from the plain white onesies I've got stocked up. I have no girl clothes. And the boy clothes are all the wrong season. I'm not worried though. For one thing, it will be hot. Onesies and a light blanket will do for a few days after he/she's born until I can send Hubby to the store to pick up a couple sleepers. With either gender, I know my sisters will supply me with stuff too. If I get around to it, I'll probably run to Once Upon a Child and see if there are any lightweight, gender neutral clothes.

I did, however, purchase a "going home" onesie for a boy and a girl.

Then, being the proficient homemaker that I am, I proceeded to hang them on the hallway cabinet handle.

They've been there for weeks.

Somewhere along the way, a silent war began surrounding those onesies. Without even noticing, I had hung the "Little Brother" onesie on the outside. I have a very visual memory, so I noticed one day when I was gathering laundry that the "Little Sister" onesie was now hanging on the visible side. Seth did that on purpose, I thought. He's mentioned repeatedly that he thinks it's a girl. I'm less than convinced. With a smirk, I switched it back.

And thus it began. Back and forth, at least once or twice a day (more on the weekends), the onesies fight for top billing. We don't say anything about it. I don't know if it's because he really thinks it's a girl and I really think it's a boy or, more likely, we're just quirky and stubborn and find strange ways to flirt.

I don't know how it will all end. Will it continue after I wash the onesies and put them in the hospital bag? Probably not, because at that point, I would just let him win rather than go to all the trouble to switch it. That would be very anticlimactic indeed.

Yeah...we're weird. But we're okay with it.

What? Where am I?

2011-06-16T22:29:00.002-04:00

Whoops. I haven't blogged in nearly ten days.

It's not like I'm particularly busy. I should be. But I ain't.

There is so much I should be doing. Cleaning, for one. Paying attention to my children. (I'm praying it's the pregnancy, but they have been exceedingly irritating lately.) Getting ready for a baby. Getting ready for Seth's graduation next month and all the relatives that will be visiting. Reading my Bible study book. Prepping for VBS next week.

Oh, and blogging.

But instead, I'm a zombie. I can't sleep at night. I can barely stay awake during the day. This pregnancy is far more exhausting than my others were. I hope that's not a bad sign. I'm also busy gaining weight. You know those pounds don't just pack themselves on. Baby needs a thick barrier to protect against the Things that are constantly climbing all over me.

I do have something I've been writing in my head. Maybe I'll get to that.

Till then, I hope you enjoyed this thoroughly boring post. At least you know I'm alive.

In a chubby, zombie-ish sort of way.

The Break

2011-06-07T12:25:00.002-04:00

I don't know if this qualifies as flash fiction, but it's creative writing and it's 500 words. So, I'll take it.

*****************

It seemed so harmless.

The fruit wasn’t as delicious as some of the others she had tasted. It was crisp and cool, but more tangy than sweet. She suddenly realized she preferred sweet, but she took another bite anyway. It was pretty fruit, after all. And new.

And she felt sort of….funny eating it.

An icy thrill shot through her, an unfamiliar feeling that had a sort of edge to it. She didn’t know if she liked it or not. It was pleasant at first, but suddenly she had the urge to look over her shoulder. She felt watched. Nervous. Exposed.

He approached her, and she cast her eyes away from his. A tingling laced up her back. She glanced around for the serpent, finding him gone. It was just her. By the forbidden tree. Holding the half eaten fruit.

She could find no explanation that seemed satisfactory for what she had done.

And in an instant, she knew what she must do.

With feigned boldness, she took a step toward him, lowering her chin as she fluttered her eyes up to him. She forced a half smile on her lips despite the look of confusion he wore, letting her body flow fluidly toward him. When she reached him, she placed a slender hand on his chest.

“What is this? What are you doing?” he floundered. She felt his heart thump rapidly under her palm, and knew her plan was working. She let her fingers trace the muscles of his arm.

Inwardly, she hesitated at her next step. But she had no choice. She would not be alone in this.

Her eyes never leaving his, she slowly took another bite of the fruit, then lifted it to his lips.

“Taste it.” She whispered.

He seemed reluctant, his eyes widening in an expression she didn’t recognize. Standing on tip toes, she brought her lips to his ear and whispered again, “Taste it.”

He grasped her hand holding the fruit and took them to his mouth, biting off a generous portion of fruit.

And so it was done.

They stepped away from each other quickly, the remains of the fruit dropping to the grass at their feet. Their breathing accelerated. Their pulses raced. A chill seemed to sweep through them on the breeze and a cloud darkened the cheery sun.

They were afraid.

She wrapped her arms over her chest. He turned away from her. They shared an uncomfortable silence. A strange lump filled her throat and her eyes moistened. He felt distant from her now, like a stranger. Dozens of new thoughts raced in her mind. He doesn’t like how I look. He doesn’t want to be around me anymore. Maybe I should seduce him again. I want to feel in control right now.

But before she could act, he fled away from her, racing for a wooded area nearby.

She sank to her knees, letting the tall grass hide her from view.

In a moment, the world had been broken.

Flash Fictioning

2011-06-06T11:36:00.002-04:00

We're gonna give it a shot anyway. Jared has been ~~pestering~~ encouraging me to get back into writing flash fiction. Part of me really wants to, because it's normally a fun and easy way to avoid all the things I need to be doing like laundry and getting ready for our garage sale this weekend. The other part of me is skeptical that I can come up with anything interesting or creative at this point in my gestational journey. It's not a coincidence that my last FF was written right before I found out I was pregnant.

But I'm gonna try. Jared's shooting for three this week. I'll be happy if I come up with one. We also changed the rules for ourselves, because we are the conquistadors of flash fiction rules and control our own flash fiction destinies. Anyway, instead of being limited to 300 words, we're giving ourselves up to 500 words, which might actually make it easier for me. I tend to be long winded. It's genetic.

So keep a lookout for some flash fiction this week. And if you don't see any, ~~nag~~ encourage me.

Little Projects

2011-06-03T14:44:00.007-04:00

My house is chaos. Chaos I tell you. Moving furniture, sorting clothes, purging useless toys. In an effort to eventually reach the goal of a baby-ready house, I've sort of turned everything upside down and now it's worse than ever. But, at least it's an "in progress" sort of mess instead of just usual "kids live here and I'm too tired" kind of mess.

A couple of projects are done. I've been doing a lot of painting. Probably more than a pregnant lady should. But I do it outside when I can and take lots of breaks. I painted when I was pregnant with my boys. And they're totally normal....sort of.

The two pieces I'll share today are my favorites in the whole house. They needed some love though.

My in-laws bought us this chest as a wedding gift. I love it. It's roomy and the inside smells wonderful. I keep my sheets in it so they smell like cedar. It's a combination of wood and pressed wood with brass handles. And while I love its shape and size and function, I'd fallen out of love with its finish. I've noticed my house is small. I've also noticed that darker furniture makes it feel even smaller, so I've been updating things with lighter colors to make it feel cottagey and peaceful in here instead of cluttered.

I had some creamy white paint and black wrought iron spray paint already on hand, so this project was basically free. It was tricky though, because those handles would NOT come off. They're glued, not screwed, so those suckers weren't budging no matter how much I tried. So I had to spray paint them first, then paint the white around it with a tiny brush. It's not perfect, but luckily, I'm not a perfectionist and I'm very happy with the results:

LOVE. I wasn't sure about the black at first, but I've decided I really like it. Seth is impressed too. And it was free. So that makes everyone happy.

Project number 2 was hubby's dresser from way back in the day. I've always liked the shape of this dresser. It's all wood. I'm not sure how old it is because there are no dates or stamps on it anywhere, but it seems sturdy. The finish is a faux antique which had seen better days and the knobs are brass. Again, not a fan of brass, but I figured the same technique I'd used for the chest would work for this.

Here's the before:

And, after a bazillion coats of paint:

Yay, paint! The shelves above will be moved to the homeschool room once the boys move to their new bedroom upstairs. I'm thinking this wall will get a mirror and some photos hung on it at some point.

The white shows off the beautiful curves even more.

Shopped the house and found some lamps and decor.

So, it's still a wreck in here. But at least there are a couple pretty things. More to come.

Oh, Boy....Or Girl

2011-05-26T11:10:00.001-04:00

I read the dumbest article this morning about a couple that was refusing to reveal the gender of their four month old baby to anyone, including grandparents, because they wanted the child to be able to make any choices concerning gender. They have two sons that are already struggling with sorting through the identity crisis their parents have thrust upon them.

Letting your little boy wear a pink shirt if he wants to is no big deal. But using your kids as a social experiment is appalling.

Anyway, it got me thinking about gender, and how even those who claim it shouldn't be a big deal are making it a big deal. I spent equal amounts of time as a child playing in mud with trucks and with dress up clothes and make up. No one cared. My boys seem to prefer obnoxious wrestling to dress up clothes, but in the times they've played with their cousin's dolls or played house I've never given it a second thought.

More important then letting your kids choose their gender is providing them with appropriate models of what it means to be a man or woman of integrity and compassion.

But even those who agree with me so far can put stress on gender preferences. Since I have two boys, I tend to hear with this current pregnancy "Oh, I hope it's a girl for your sake." I always think, "huh?" This is one of the reasons I don't find out gender before birth. Because it's not important to me whether my baby is a boy or girl. I love this child unconditionally. If it's a boy, I will rejoice and toss him into the ring with his brothers. If it's a girl, I will rejoice and toss her into the ring with her brothers. Seth and I have already discussed that if it is a girl, she will NOT be the princess of this house. No one here will get special treatment based on gender. We will treat her like a girl, of course, but we are a family here, not a monarchy. It seems like when you have multiple children of one gender and one of the other, that there can be the temptation to let the other get away with a lot more. No thanks.

And the insinuation that a girl is more delightful than a boy irks me to no end. I LOVE my boys, not because they're boys, but because they're my children. That being said, I like how adventurous and dirt loving and bruised they are all the time. I like that they can be fighting one second and best buds literally the next (that never happened with my sisters and me!) I like that they view their dad as a hero and beg him to play cars and airplanes and wrestle with him.

And if I have a girl, I will like doing her hair (most of the time). I will like picking out cute dresses for her and playing dolls. I'll like teaching her about makeup someday and all the little details that go into being a woman. And I'm fairly certain she'll want to get in on the wrestling with her brothers, even if cars and planes aren't really on her radar.

And I know that, boy or girl, this one will drive me just as crazy has my first two.

Bottom line though, I don't want one gender over another. I don't think some people believe me when I say that--like I'm just trying to prepare myself for another boy. But it's so true. My boys have taught me that I want them, not what I expected I'd get. Being a parent isn't about getting to choose who your kids are, but helping prepare them to be honorable people who care about others.

I love my baby with no strings attached. And that won't change when I hear "It's a....."

Seriously, I don't care who you are. I just can't wait till you come out of me. Because frankly, I'd like my body back.

Remembering Malachi

2011-05-25T12:58:00.003-04:00

I can't believe it's been a year already.

I think about Chi every day. I think about how his life was such a tragedy and a miracle all rolled into one. I think about the grief his parents face every moment. I think about how God used him in a big way in my life. I think about how I would feel if I was Marissa, having to figure out how to process losing my child while being a successful mom to my living ones. I think about how big God is and how we get lost sometimes in the details that we see before us, but how there is so much beyond our reasoning and experience that we can't fathom.

But I'm so thankful we have hope. I'm so thankful that Malachi's parents know Jesus. I'm so thankful that sometimes in tragedy, God's love shines brightest.

If God used Chi in some way in your life, big or small, head here and you can be an encouragement to John and Marissa by sharing your story.

Sigh

2011-05-20T11:35:00.002-04:00

Dang dang dang dang dang.

Sorry. But the words in my head were worse.

I am so over being "poor". I put poor in quotes, because, yes, I understand that there are people in the world who are destitute. I'm not in any way saying that I am worse off than those individuals that are starving. But by American, modern world standards...Dude, we're poor.

I'd like to thank the feminists of the sixties who told women that staying at home was lame and they should go to work like a man. So that now, a generation later, women HAVE to go to work just to keep their finances afloat. Insisting on that right led to American consumerism since there was suddenly more money coming in. And now, prices are so high we have to have two income homes because prices are based on those figures.

So those of us who choose to stay home and homeschool are punished.

I'm sick and tired of the money not stretching between paychecks. Of savings being a laughable situation. Of not being able to give what I'd like. Of feeling like a total failure. Of finally catching up on a few bills and then looking over the next month and realizing we're just going to be short again.

It's enough to make a person crazy.

And there are always the good, sensible Christians who would look at our situation and say "If you made the right choices, you'd be fine." If we hadn't gotten married when we were young and penniless. If we had waited longer to buy a house or have kids. If we lived beneath our means.

Thanks, that's helpful folks.

I'll be the first to admit we made mistakes. We wanted to buy a house more than anything when we'd been married a few years. The one we ended up getting was less than one hundred dollars more in the monthly mortgage payment than the rent at our dumpy, poorly managed apartment. So really, I don't count that as a mistake. It was either throw our money into the apartment or throw it into something we'd own. But in the year or two that followed we accrued credit card debt for the first time ever. Right after we bought our house, Thing One came along and I stopped working, but life didn't stop throwing curve balls. Our car died. Our roof leaked. There were medical bills. Dental bills. There were diapers to buy. Another baby came. They needed clothes, food, beds, education.

And so life began to spiral out of control.

I feel like we're always standing against a mountain. We're working hard to pay off the debt each month, but it's like chipping at an iceberg with a toothpick. There is an end in sight, if we keep at it. A little more than three years left. But there's nothing leftover in the meantime. Every month, we're short. But not using credit means there's no place to put that overage. So we just end up being late and living with that constant stress and added fees. Add to that the fact that Seth started a new career this year and is making less than previous years. And he's not allowed to work a second job while he's in the academy. And I'm up to my eyeballs in children and homeschooling and pregnancy.

Here's the rub: I don't want a lot of money. I don't really want a big house. I don't need brand new cars. An occasional family vacation might be nice, but I'm not dying for one. I don't mind goodwill clothing and furniture. I don't mind Aldi's food or making stuff from scratch.

I just want to be out of debt more than anything. I want to be able to breathe. I want to have a conversation about money with my husband that doesn't leave us both riddled with guilt and me in tears. I want him to feel like all his hard work is paying off. I want to be able to take my kids to the Emergency Room when they're sick and hurt and not have money even enter my mind. I want to be able to pay the reasonable bills we have. I want to be able to afford healthy food. And I wouldn't mind fixing up the place so we're not wasting so much money in energy loss.

Those are my dreams. And it's frustrating to know that we're still years away from the stress reduction. Once Seth graduates, he's planning on finding a second job. I have a few ideas for making money myself that I'm praying work out. There are so many things I can't do because I must be home with my kids and I will be schooling both of them next year. And to all the busybodies who say I don't have the right to stay home because we have no money, I have some rather un-Christian thoughts for you. But instead, I'll just say that I'd rather mess up financially than mess up with my kids.

You can tell my faith is definitely tested in this area. I'm weary. I feel like I'm being eternally punished for something. I've been getting hints lately though that this trial has a purpose. It might be bigger than me. God might want to use it for someone else. And that gives me hope. But it also flies against my deeply ingrained sense that I'm here because I sinned, even if I'm not sure what specifically the sin was. But then God brings to mind the man born blind, and the disciples' busybody question, "Who sinned? This man or his parents?" And Jesus responded that his trial wasn't the result of sin, but so the work of God might be displayed in his life.

So in the midst of the tears, the stress, the knowledge that there's never enough, I cling to that. Please God, use this so that you are displayed in us in some way. And give me renewed faith every day that you are in control and will provide, and it doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I do or don't deserve it, but so that You are glorified. Give me joy and peace in the face of this insurmountable obstacle. Give us wisdom for every step.

Ten on Ten

2011-05-11T10:27:00.005-04:00

My armless child

Did a little blogging.

Cleaned up about 4 million of these.

Doing some light reading.

The amazing invisible chin up bar trick.

Thing Two has to get in on the action.

My mom made me a childhood favorite dinner.

I drank this. And another. And had regrets.

My last official birthday.

Blurry photo. Weird kid.

The end.

Okay, God. I'm listening.

2011-05-10T10:06:00.004-04:00

I try to be a tough cookie. I hate feminine outbursts and I absolutely loathe crying. I want so badly to be independent, successful on my own, free from charity of others. I want to fix my problems myself, because above all else, I want to keep my biggest needs private.

Here's the thing though: I'm no superhero. Try as I might, I don't have all the solutions and answers to my nagging problems. I'm not an island. I can't magically make everything work. Despite my best efforts, I fail. Regularly.

This is where I have found myself lately, overwhelmed with a particular trial. I hate it, because I've survived bigger personal tragedy and yet, I can't seem to muddle through this relatively mundane one. It's always there, a constant nagging, a constant reminder that I am a failure. It's not really sadness anymore. It's progressed to bitterness, to anger that I'm still dealing with this stupid problem. It's petty whining and selfishness and wondering why God doesn't just fix it.

There's a song out that Seth & I are planning to sing in church in a few weeks called "Blessings" by Laura Story. We decided on this song about two weeks ago. It's a song that speaks to the things we have survived, the trials of this life. We can personally relate to every line in the song, just from the things we've endured in the past year.

Here's the weird thing. I was sure I'd hear that song on the radio a dozen times so I could practice with it in the car or when I'm doing dishes. Our local Christian radio station has a reputation for overplaying songs to a ridiculous degree. In fact, I usually avoid doing songs they play in church because they're old news and everybody's sick of them after a week, but we made an exception because this one is so meaningful to us.

In two weeks, I haven't heard that song once, despite listening to the radio every day.

Yesterday was a particularly bad day. The trial had reached crisis mode. Instead of praying and seeking peace, I wanted to wallow. I was angry, touchy, self absorbed and cranky. I was hurting and there didn't seem to be a likely cure. I wanted to throw in the towel and quit. I went to sleep burdened.

This morning, at 5am, my husband's alarm went off. And guess which song was playing.

I know enough to know that this was not a coincidence. The first line I heard as I eased into consciousness was "All the while, You hear each spoken need. But love us way too much to give us lesser things."

Helpless tears came instantly. We curled up together and were silent for the rest of the song. Where normally I would have been nudging him in the ribs to hit the dumb snooze button, this morning we were both abnormally alert. We had to be. God was meeting us there.

So today, the trial is still there. The tears are still just underneath the surface. There are no more practical solutions than there were yesterday.

But today there is peace. Today, I was reminded that God is not aloof and indifferent. God is interested in our greater good. This trial has a purpose, and it's not all about my comfort. It's about God revealing himself to me in a way I will cherish forever.

Listen here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C7DlNIU7FCY

Words that I live by:

2011-05-09T14:29:00.002-04:00

1. I can hardly be called a procrastinator since I'm already in my pajamas.

2. The more pregnant I am, the more makeup I require.

3. Anything in my home can and probably will be painted, including children.

4. I'd leave the house, but why? All my chocolate is here.

5. There are no beings more evil in this world than cats, especially the ones that poop the planter in our front yard.

6. It may not be normal, but I would totally be okay with spontaneous musical numbers in my life.

7. I can handle unmedicated childbirth, but not wet socks.

8. Happiness is a McDonald's ice cream cone.

9. Saving the princess is a valuable skill and should be included on job applications.

10. Every list on my blog must contain ten items.

I cannot be held responsible for this post...

2011-05-05T12:23:00.002-04:00

...because I may or may not be aware that I'm even writing it.

I'm in full on zombie mode today. I awoke at 3am to the dog wanting to go out. Five minutes later, the boys' door opened and I heard the blessed sound of post nightmare crying. Soon, they're both awake and struggling to go back to sleep. Finally, Thing One nodded off and Thing Two settled into his bed, quietly whining "I wanna get up." I was just about to nod off, when Husband started coughing, a lovely after effect of his cold. And when Husband coughs, it's eardrum shattering. Then I had to go to the bathroom. Then Sweet Tart (which is what Thing One requested we name the baby) wouldn't allow me to get comfortable. And then my brain started racing. I mentally reorganized every room of our house, settled on a floor plan and who would sleep where, fretted about money for about an hour and a half and cursed my allergies for flaring up.

I didn't go back to sleep, except to doze for about half an hour while the Things ate breakfast. And when I did doze, I had crazy weird dreams. Ya know, the ones where everything's sorta slanty and sharp and you're still about 18% awake, so you're sort of aware you're dreaming but at the same time you're not positive, so you keep telling yourself you're pretty sure this is a dream, so that small military plane thing that's hovering by your window isn't really there, staring at you and possibly recording you for who knows what purpose. And Tim Allen isn't really delivering your baby.

This morning, I had to run to the grocery store, which was delightful in my comatose state. I downed some coffee and managed to get the boys ready, even taking the time to do my makeup. I don't really remember much of what happened after that, except my children were annoying and I wanted to crawl back into bed and not talk to anybody for about thirteen years.

I think it's movie time. Mama needs sleep.

Parenting Fail #746 (Rated PG for language)

2011-05-04T13:01:00.003-04:00

As we were all gathering in the kitchen for supper yesterday, Seth was in the middle of telling me about his day....

"I got made fun of at work today."

I giggled, because the fire academy is basically like high school....but with fire. "Why?"

"Because I wouldn't say (spelling) a-s-s."

As soon as he started spelling, my brain was like, d'oh. "FYI, you can't spell anymore, because Thing One can figure that out."

Almost simultaneously, Thing One says, "A-s-s? What does a-s-s spell...ASS!!...What's ass?"

We immediately explain that it's not a nice word to use and we don't want him to say it, but the damage has been done, because Thing Two is jumping up and down in his chair squealing "Ass! Ass!"

I had to hide behind the refrigerator door while I stifled laughs.

My life is a sitcom.

Can I be frank?

2011-05-03T11:39:00.002-04:00

Life sucks sometimes.

I'm not going to sit here and wail and question why, because I know why there are trials in life. Results of sin, opportunities to grow in faith, God working to show me His power in my life.

Yeah, I get all that.

What frustrates me so is my response to it, I guess. There is one area in my life that I just can't seem to master. It's a lingering problem, an issue I have fought against and "suffered under" for as long as I can remember. I don't understand how I can be faced with seemingly bigger heartaches and trials and be unwavering in my faith, but I can't seem to stand up under the weight of this one.

Do you have something like that? An area in your life where there is constant struggle in your heart? Where you have trouble seeing any good resulting from it? Where there aren't any workable solutions, so you find yourself constantly on pins and needles about how bad things are gonna get? Where it's hard to say "Let go and let God" because you feel responsible for fixing it somehow?

Ugh, I hate it.

I'm no fool. I know if I didn't struggle with this issue, it would be another. No one has a trouble free life. I know there are heavier burdens that I wouldn't want to bear. I just wonder if I'm ever going to feel relief about this, if there will ever be a time when I can look back on it instead of being buried under it.

I'm such a whiner.

But it all comes down to faith. It's obvious to me that I can't fix it. My attempts have failed. And I know I'm not supposed to live in fear, but I'm also responsible for my actions and attitude toward the trial. It's a tricky balance. And I'm a bit of a pessimist. I don't expect miraculous outcomes to my messes. Is that right or wrong? It's not that I doubt God can fix it, I just don't believe it's His plan to provide me with an easy out.

I don't even want to post this because I'm embarrassed by my whining and lack of resolve. But to not post it would be to indulge my pride at never letting my biggest weakness show.

Sigh. I need to go spend some time in prayer. And maybe some housework.

Whining done. Over and out.

Plan of Attack

2011-05-02T13:13:00.002-04:00

I'm yearning for change where this house is concerned.

That's not a new thing for me. I regularly daydream about moving out of this little house to a place with a bit more breathing room (and by that I mean closets). I long to have a covered patio or a porch with a swing. A lovely (first floor) laundry room that doesn't make me paranoid about spiders. A garage would be wonderful. A room specifically for homeschooling.

But, throughout all the daydreaming, my rational side reminds me of the harsh truth. Due to finances, we ain't goin' nowhere. At least not for a few more years.

So if I can't remove us from the house, I've got to reform it.

We definitely have a clutter/storage problem. I honestly don't think we have more stuff than other people. But we do have MUCH less space to store stuff. So, my only solution is to simplify. Get rid of stuff and find sensible ways to store things like off season clothes and homeschool records, not to mention ways of dealing with THIS season's clothes and homeschool stuff. I look around and just want to go crazy throwing away. I now understand that glint my mom would get in her eyes when she looked at my incredibly messy and cluttered bedroom.

I'm not an organized person by any means. But at the same time, I hate disorganization. I'm a slob who hates clutter and mess. Obviously, only one side can win. Right now, it's the clutter.

So, I've come up with a plan to make simplifying one room at a time in our house the goal over the next year or so. I don't just want to throw stuff away, I also want to make our home a beautiful place to be, where we can be comfortable and happy. Let's face it, I'm in this house all.the.time. It would be nice if I felt like I could breathe and manage the chaos. So, I'm making a list for each room of things I'd like to do, fix, get rid of and paint. I'll try to remember to take before and after photos too so I can have a sense of accomplishment and post my progress here. We're already planning a big garage sale combined with my mom and sister in the next month or so. Hopefully that will be like the project's kick off.

Granted, I've decided this when I'm 24 weeks pregnant and sleepier than I've ever been in my life. Pregnancy might delay progress for a little while longer, but hopefully blessed nesting will overcome me soon. I'd like to get a couple rooms emptied, organized and spruced before August. We'll see. At least there's a goal, right?

Speaking of Weddings...

2011-04-29T22:59:00.006-04:00

So, apparently there was some little known wedding today. I barely caught a snippet about it in the news. Something about Westminster Abbey and quail's eggs.

Got me thinking about my wedding that happened about 10 kajillion years ago, back at a time when I'd barely passed the milestones of driving and voting and sleeping through the night. It reminded me that if I could go back in time and do it over, I would change nearly every detail.

Instead of mid afternoon, I'd have an evening wedding. Probably in the winter so it's dark out. I'd definitely have a different dress. I didn't hate my dress, but I wasn't I-could-die-in-this-dress in love with it. I basically chose it because it didn't break my budget. I really did like it until the lady that did my alterations totally botched it, taking it from scoop neck to off the shoulder and I ended up not being able to move my arms more than a centimeter. Thanks, random lady. I would have a classier reception and I would mingle with my guests more. Let me tell you, conservative Baptist wedding receptions can be tricky since dancing isn't on the agenda. If I could change that little detail I would gladly. Oh, and I definitely would have practiced the kiss beforehand. People who kiss privately but never ever in the eyes of others need to know what they look like kissing before they parade it in front of 150 guests. I cringe at the thought of it.

In fact, now that I'm on the other side of that wedding, I think eloping sounds exotically romantic.

It wasn't that I wasn't happy. It wasn't that I wasn't grateful for all the hard work our families put into the day. It wasn't that I thought the whole thing was a mistake.

It was that I wasn't confident in my abilities as a party planner/hostess/bride. I was not really into the glitzy details. I was way more into the whole marriage thing than the wedding thing. Which I guess isn't so bad. The wedding is one day, and while it's significant, it's not everything. It's a very, very small portion of what life is all about.

I was also only 19 and overwhelmed with this crippling fear of people thinking we were stupid and naive and only getting married for the...um...you know...benefits. That may be true for some, but for me, I knew what I was getting in to. No, I didn't know all that marriage would entail. I didn't know of the trials we'd face. I didn't know which hardships we'd struggle through. But I knew what commitment meant. I knew that this was forever, no backing out, no matter what.

And it wasn't like my groom was my perfect prince charming (sorry, Honey). He was barely 21 and I'd known him since he was 14. I knew his rough edges. I knew he wasn't perfect. I knew he wasn't the poster child for maturity. But I also knew he had a lot of potential.

And I loved him like it was my calling in life.

Which it sorta is.

So, I guess I can't look back on the wedding and see it as a glorious success as far as classiness and great parties go (if only we'd served quail's eggs). It is what it is. I can't go back and change it, so I often think of the things I loved about that day.

Like the moment Seth and I first saw each other. Like singing to each other. Like the processional he picked (Freedom, Michael W. Smith). Like the video my dad made for us featuring "our song" (A Wink & A Smile). Like being surrounded by people we loved and who loved us. Like the fact that I was skinny back then.

And that I was marrying the love of my life, my perfect other.

If they were to write about the story of my life

They would have to mention you with every page they'd write.

There's another side to every story told.

If I were the ocean, you would be the shore,

And one without the other one would be needing something more.

We are the shadow and the light.

Always love me.

Never leave me now.

Now you are the other side of me.

I have known the emptiness of feeling out of touch,

And living life without you here would be living half as much

'Cause I've a need that only you can fill.

If love was mathematical, you'd understand the sum

To the heart's equation, where one and one makes one,

And lonely equals me minus you.

Always love me.

Never leave me now.

Now you are the other side of me.

--The Other Side of Me, by Michael W. Smith (the song we sang to each other)

I'm Being Controlled by My Fetus

2011-04-21T12:21:00.002-04:00

Humans are blessed with cognitive abilities. We can think, reason, choose and weigh decisions. We have free will to make choices based on all the information we are given. We even have instincts to fill in the gaps where information isn't available.

Except pregnant humans.

I am being ruled by my tiny urchin. For someone who weighs a whopping pound and a half, he/she sure packs a lot of punch. It's like I'm housing a mini-dictator.

When the baby wants chocolate, I'm forced to oblige. Or pickles. Or cheese. Or breakfast cereal. The baby doesn't care that it's 11:38 p.m. or that I just filled up on popcorn. The baby just points at me with that skinny finger and glares and growls, NOW.

I'm powerless against the forces within.

If the baby wants me to go take a nap, he/she will slowly and methodically sap all energy reserves from my body until I can barely lift my eyelids and I start to drool. I don't know how he/she does it. Voodoo? Narcotics? I have no proof, but I can imagine he/she is a tiny drug lord and has smuggled something powerful into my system.

The baby gets irritated with his/her siblings as well. I spend nearly every waking moment (and many asleep ones) in the company of Thing One and Thing Two. Normally, this is not a big problem. We have a schedule and a system and manage to maintain a balance in our relationships. But baby has decided that at a certain point in the day, he/she has had enough of the siblings and they need to go in the basement and play by themselves for awhile and give the baby some peace and quiet.

The baby also doesn't like vacuuming. Or laundry. Or pants not made of cotton and elastic. Or putting groceries away.

Pregnancy is a dichotomy. Two people existing in one person, battling for control of the poor mother's limited cognitive abilities. Sometimes I'll win and eat a banana. And sometimes the baby will cackle at my weak attempts at control and make me add ice cream and whipped cream and chocolate to my banana.

The baby is just so mean to me.

Psalm 18

2011-04-13T23:24:00.003-04:00

I was sixteen years old.

I sat in a crowd of other teenagers, feeling the high that a week at a Christian camp brings. For five days, I'd drowned in a sea of amazing praise music and preaching and awesome conversations with other believers.

But all was not well in my heart. There was a darkness residing in me. I knew Christ had saved me. I knew the Bible pretty well. I knew how I was *supposed* to be living. I knew how to create that facade of innocence and shininess.

But inside, I was heartbroken. Things weren't going so well. I had been dumped by the boy I was convinced would be my husband one day. I struggled with feeling valuable in light of all the stupid decisions I had made. I was marred by my own willful sins. I was trying to make sense of the mess I had made. I was wondering if my Christian walk would always be hollow and forced.

God knew what was in my heart. And He was ready to meet me.

It was a Friday night, the last night of camp. The last message till next year. And it was a message like I'd never quite heard before.

One of my favorite speakers that week had been Ken Rudolph. All of us enjoyed him. He was funny and did a good job of making sense of faith to a few hundred teenagers. I honestly expected to be slightly entertained that night, not to be forced to my knees.

Ken didn't really "sermonize" that night. He made a few remarks about the background of the passage, I'm sure. But what I remember vividly over a decade later was the meat of his message.

He simply read Psalm 18 to us.

But not like I'd heard the Bible read. Not with monotone or slight interest. He read it as if he was David, as if he was the object of God's intense focus found in that chapter. As if all the thunder and protection of Heaven was for him. Tears thickened his voice as he proclaimed each word.

I had never really felt that way before. I knew God loved me, but I'd never *known* it. I'd been so focused on my end of the bargain, the things I was supposed to be doing for Him, how I should have been acting. I thought this whole relationship between us was supposed to be me pleasing Him all the time.

I'd missed the fact that He loved me, regardless of my actions. That He sent Christ to die for me long before I had any idea that I was supposed to be good for Him. That I was His child, His daughter, a precious infant that He cradled in his arms and would shoot arrows from Heaven to protect, even if I had made giant messes in my past like David had.

God knew all the ugliness in my heart. He knew all my failures--even the ones that were still ahead of me. He knew my doubts, my frustrations, my fears. He knew I felt ridiculously inadequate as a human being, let alone a Christian.

But He didn't care. He loved me still. More than I would ever understand.

There was peace in that love. I still had a lot more to learn about it (still do), but in considering it at that moment in that hot gymnasium, there was peace. Which was something I longed for, since everything seemed so chaotic in my mind. And that peace would draw me in, like a warm wave crashing over me, enveloping me in love like I had never known, over and over and over again.

Sometimes I forget that I'm important to God, because of trials or sins or because I know I'm SO NOT WORTH the fuss. But I go back to Psalm 18, and I read it with tears in my eyes and sense that peace in the face of all these storms and uncertainties. I am loved. In spite of everything, I am loved.

Psalm 18

2011-04-07T22:57:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I wish I could go back in time and erase things I don't want to remember. Things I'm not proud of. Things I wish I had done differently. Things that pinch to remember. Things that still bring tears to my eyes. I find myself envying those with spotless lives and unwavering faith, those people that have never had to clean up a mess they made with their own hand.

But then again, I have doubts that anyone like that truly exists.

We all have secrets. We all have shame. And we've all been hurt.

So why is it so easy to slip into the mindset that I have it harder than someone else?

Easy answer: Pride. Seth and I have been studying pride for almost a year now. Over and over we have seen that every sin we encounter has its roots in pride. Every wayward thought, every act of willful disobedience, every sinful mess starts with pride.

It was pride that made Eve doubt God's instructions. It was pride that urged David to steal another man's wife and arrange his death. It was pride that formed Ananias and Sapphira's lie.

Pride whispers in our thoughts that we know better than God. That somewhere along the line, He made a mistake, and it's up to ourselves to fix it. Pride tells us that we got the short end of the stick and God is against us. Pride puts the reigns in our unable grasps.

We've learned that pride isn't always obvious. It's not always boastful and arrogant. Sometimes, it sneaks in, disguised in our sorrows or regrets. It lies under the radar, slowly growing and eating away at our understanding that God is good, and wise, and sovereign.

Pride lies to us that what we want is what we need. More money, more talent, a better home, a better job, a better spouse, a better church. Maybe we've lost something precious. Maybe our dreams aren't coming true. Maybe our situation offers no easy solutions. Pride validates our frustrations and irritations until they become so big that we can't see that they are unjustified. We grow embittered when God's plan doesn't match our ideas of a happy life, and suddenly, the thing we want consumes us and following God's plan is less significant.

Like Sarah's plot to give Abraham a son. Like Jacob bartering for a birthright. Like Israel's begging for a king.

Pride says God's way won't work.

So we do things our way.

And fail.

And when we realize that it was pride that led us there, we have no one to blame but ourselves.

But if the cause of our heartache is as simple as pride, the solution is as simple as humility. It's as easy as surrendering control to someone skilled where we are clumsy, wise where we are foolish, and sovereign where we are so limited.

Humility is understanding that faith is a better choice than self fulfillment. Humility casts aside any ideas of greatness or justification and sees others as more important than self.

Humility is the Creator of the world washing dirt and manure off the disciple's feet.

Humility is the fingers that formed the stars touching a leper's skin.

Humility is the Divine dying on a cross.

If Jesus didn't think equality with God was so important, how can we who are full of sin hope to measure up?

We can't. We never will. And trying leaves us hollow.

Contentment comes with understanding our role and pursuing it.

"When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with the humble is wisdom." Proverbs 11:2

A Monday List

2011-04-04T13:04:00.002-04:00

1. It's raining. I confess that I love warm spring rain. It's much better than winter rain.

2. I usually don't get much done on rainy days, but this morning I did the dishes, two loads of laundry, vacuuming, and also got school done. I'm alarmed by this behavior.

3. I'm also planning on making meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner. Someone will be very happy about that.

4. Thing One did pretty well on his phonics and spelling tests this morning. The only word he missed on his spelling was "of". He spelled others like "sweeping", "bugle" and "handle" perfectly, but the tiny two letter word felled him. Sight words are easier to read than spell.

5. Thing Two enjoys taking his clothes off and then trying to get me to care.

6. Post lunch drowsiness is setting in. Unfortunately, I'm the only one afflicted.

7. We've been watching this eagle family for three days. Two of the eggs have hatched and we're waiting on the third. Thing One's favorite part is when the dead rodents get ripped apart for food. Who doesn't love rodent carcass destruction?

8. I bought an enormous box of fruit snacks last night. Seth said it was comically large. Thing One exclaimed "That will last us all day!"

9. Sometimes I forget there's a baby coming. I mean, I know I'm pregnant. I can feel the nausea and the kicking and I've started groaning and gasping when I try to get out of bed or stand up. But the fact that in 20 weeks or less, there will be a new person living here and I'll be consumed by the lovely, milky new baby phase slips my mind sometimes. And then I get happy when I remember.

10. Thing Two just approached me completely naked. So I made him sit on his potty. No success yet.

The End

My Story

2011-03-29T15:35:00.003-04:00

My mind is a steel trap for significant dates in my life.

May 17, 1987

December 13, 1996

March 29, 2001

October 12, 2006

June 18, 2010

Those are just a few. And it's not just dates. It's events. It's clothes I was wearing. It's weather conditions. It's songs that were playing in the background. It's entire conversations. Vivid clarity.

I've come to realize that God has given me this excellent memory for a reason. I'm supposed to write down what I remember. My husband doesn't have this kind of memory retention. His childhood is a blur. He remembers things from adolescence when I describe them to him. He doesn't remember very many specifics without deep questioning or coaxing. Some of that is personality. Some of it might have been irregular blood sugar. Some of it he doesn't want to remember.

I remember everything, even the stuff I would much rather forget.

But writing it down makes me feel useful. If I learned anything from my Dad besides how to parallel park, it was to write down the events of my life. Sometimes, I secretly wonder if God has given me this because I'm going to die first and Seth will need my writing so he doesn't forget things he wants to remember. Is that morbid? I mean, as much as he talks about how he'll go first with all the risks like diabetes and firefighting stacked against him, I'm not as convinced. But in any case, we both want to accurately remember the life we have shared together and pass it on to our children. I can see God's handwriting throughout our story so clearly that I feel that I must record it to give Him the glory He deserves.

And now that my life is full of children and bill payments and homeschooling, I've found it's even more important to write things as soon as I can. I would not have pages and pages of my sons' hilarious quotes if I didn't write them down immediately. I still mourn the handful that slipped through the cracks of my busy life. I also write down dreams I've had. They're really entertaining to look back on. I have notebooks, dry erase boards, scribbled messages on mail envelopes, and dozens of computer files filled with things to remember. I'm working on organizing it all, but you know how I am with organization.

Anyway, I encourage you to write things down. Great memory or not, there are things you'll want to remember, even (especially?) trials and heartache. Start recording and watch God tell your story.

Parenting Fail

2011-03-26T10:51:00.002-04:00

My kids are coming off a two month long cartoon and Wii binge.

Now that I'm generally not a miserable, vomitous mass anymore, I've done what I used to dread my mother doing: Declared NO MORE TV. Although, I have to be more thorough than she did, and include Wii and computer games in that too.

Now, with all electrical equipment shut down, I'm remembering how annoying my kids can be.

Apparently, the toys in this house are only good for about ten minute intervals. The rest of the play time is consumed with one of two basic activities: running (yes, just running with each other from one end of the house to the other) or wrestling. On my bed.

They may be boys, but their giggling is shrill and high pitched. And sometimes cute, until it reaches a certain decibel. And their thundering footsteps on the hardwood floors get old fast. And the wrestling I just avoid watching. I hear things like "Okay, now it's your turn to jump on me!" and just start praying and hoping for the best. No one's had a concussion or stitches in awhile, so we're due. I also try not to think about how I wasted ten minutes making my bed that morning.

I miss TV.

But it's for the best.

Right?

Funny story. Last night, Thing One was desperately looking for his water bottle. I told him it was probably in his bed, where he stashes all his special treasures. He lamented that he looked in his bed and it wasn't there. We were skeptical, because our children lack any tracking skills at all. I could ask them to please find a shirt, which are in the same drawers they have been for years, and they would come back with a pair of socks and an "I can't find a shirt." The only thing they can locate with any success is the TV.

Anyway, my husband, compulsive person that he is, told Thing One "I'll give you five dollars if your bottle isn't in your bed."

Thing One went to look again. I whispered, "I'm not sure if it's really in his bed."

His face remained expressionless, but I saw his eyes flicker.

I cracked a smile. "Do you even have five dollars?"

He gave me a stoic nod.

The bottle wasn't in his bed. Thing One found it in the basement. And received five dollars. Which is such a waste, because this is the kid that gets excited when we give him 29 cents in pennies.

But at least husband learned a valuable lesson. Never gamble your lunch money with a six year old. It's just too big of a risk.

More Pet Peeves

2011-03-24T12:51:00.002-04:00

1. Dog hair stuck to my children's fuzzy pajamas.

2. Reruns

3. Forced, awkward group singing.

4. Commercials with improper grammar. I saw two in a row the other day.

5. Genetically bone thin women who obsess about their weight.

6. Door to door salesmen. We don't answer if we don't know who it is, but I know they hear my children going "Shhh!" and their thundering footsteps as they run to peek out the window.

7. Running out of paper towels.

8. Maternity clothes.

9. When my kids say "Can I have a snack?" twenty minutes after a meal.

10. When wind from open windows (which I love) knocks magnets and papers off the refrigerator and they land in the dog's water bowl.

Ten things you should know about the homeschooling mom

2011-03-15T22:13:00.003-04:00

1. She's sleepy. (This applies to all moms, everywhere.)

2. She can be slightly irritable. Remember, she's with her kids all.the.time. And while most of the time, she is doing what she knows in her heart she's supposed to do, she can also be about ten seconds away from a mental breakdown.

3. She generally feels like she has to prove her value as an educator and her kids' intelligence to everyone on the planet. Well meaning (sometimes), but rude people will grill her about her choice. She's not allowed to ask this barrage of questions to traditional school parents, but she is regularly questioned about her credentials, schooling, methods, curriculum, social activities, religion, blood type and worth as a human by complete strangers.

4. She thinks the socialization argument is the lamest thing she's ever heard, but she has to word it nicely so no one gets offended. Because homeschoolers are frowned on enough.

5. She may or may not wear denim jumpers. Her choice to do so has nothing to do with her choice to homeschool. (More likely, she's wearing pajama pants.)

6. She's under a lot of pressure. Because if one of her kids doesn't excel in something, the entire world is going to have something to say about it. And she is constantly battling the "weird" stereotype, even though she's pretty sure her kids would still be every bit as wacky in a traditional school. It's genetic.

7. She's home, yes. But not available. She's not frittering away her days with soap operas and bon bons. She's up to her eyeballs in children and phonics worksheets and laundry that's been backed up since just after the Israelites were released from Egypt. She wishes others saw it as a full time job. She has to turn people down when they ask for favors, and then she feels guilty, but at the same time, she knows that getting school done has to be top priority or before long she'll give up and WILL be frittering away her days with bon bons while her children roam the streets in their pajamas like stray dogs.

8. Her favorite part of homeschooling is going to museums and parks and libraries on weekdays when they're totally empty. Bonus.

9. She likes that her kids have no idea who Ke$ha is. That they eat healthy lunches. That they don't compare their clothes with someone else's. That she's present to record all the funny things they say and do. That they don't have to get up at the crack of dawn and sit on a bus for an hour. And that they get to be kids a little longer than most children these days.

10. She's insane, but knows it's totally worth it, and loves that when her kids have questions they come to her, whether it be about how the axis of the earth affects the distribution of the sun's rays or precisely how that baby got into Mommy's belly. She has no money, no time to herself, no clean pajama pants and a thin thread of sanity, but she knows it's a sacrifice she won't regret.

11 on 11

2011-03-11T23:12:00.012-05:00

Breakfast. Raspberry yogurt. I can't decide if this picture is gross or not.

Thing One read me this book. It only took him about 48,000 years.

Lunch

School

My time. Love me a good creepy book.

Text from Seth

Leaving the house! That doesn't happen often.

Blurry photo, but we listened to our favorite song on the way to dinner.

Candy after dinner.

Hanging out with relatives

Cousins

Thankful

2011-03-10T22:58:00.005-05:00

The more I see of the world, the more I appreciate my parents.

When I was younger, I lived in a bubble. I thought all families I knew had happy homes like I did. After all, the majority of families I knew were Christian ones. With Christ at the center of a home, how can it not be happy?

I'm older now. I've learned that not all Christian families have Christ at the center. I've learned that sin and ugliness can reside anywhere, even under the shiny veneer of a "good Christian". I know that a lot of families harbor secrets they're ashamed of, drama just under the surface waiting to explode.

And then there are the families without Christ.

I can empathize with these families, because I have helped people close to me face crises that can destroy homes. But I cannot relate through my own childhood experience.

My parents weren't dramatic. My dad especially was unflappable, which is handy in a home full of girls. Even my mom, whom I knew could get frustrated with us, wasn't prone to losing her temper or shouting.

I never heard my parents argue, or raise their voices at each other. Sure, they had disagreements, but there was never a moment in my life where I questioned that they had anything but respect and life long love for one another. Never.

I never heard my parents gossip. This impresses me now as an adult, because they were in full time ministry. Pastors might as well paint targets on their backs, because sooner or later, someone's going to disagree with you, probably loudly. But I only knew of these disagreements if they occurred before my very eyes. I never heard my parents discussing anyone in a bad light.

My parents were conscious of our safety. Yes, we lived in a different era and in a very small town. We were allowed freedom to ride our bikes and play in the neighborhood. But we weren't allowed to spend the night with just anyone. They had to know the families well before we were allowed to have sleepovers. There were a few times they said no. We didn't understand then, but we're grateful now.

I never felt coddled or ignored. They walked the balance between the two with finesse.

I didn't see a double standard. They weren't pleasant at church and tyrants at home. They were themselves, just in Sunday clothes.

They taught us the importance of God's Word, above opinion.

They didn't force their dreams on us. My mom wanted me to go to Bible college. I chose to get married instead. That never caused a rift.

They weren't obnoxious at our sporting events. They didn't give us whatever we wanted. They didn't rush to the rescue at every little bump in our lives.

There were a lot of times I was frustrated or annoyed with my parents, especially as a teenager. There were even more times when my sisters and I had some big explosive fights. But there was never a time where home wasn't a peaceful place for me. A haven. A place to take a deep breath. I look back on my youth and see an overarching comfort and quiet.

Are there things that I do differently as a parent than they did? Sure. Times change, and I have different kids than they did, different convictions, different goals. I believe the Holy Spirit and God's Word should guide parenting and we shouldn't blindly follow whatever our predecessors did.

But there are a lot of issues where I'm honored to follow in their footsteps. They made wise choices. They raised three girls in a happy home. They kept us safe from great harm. And they prepared us to be servants of Christ.

And they're pretty cool now too. And almost always willing to babysit.

"The Lord...blesses the home of the righteous." Proverbs 3:33

Our family in the glorious fashion era of c. 1990

Let me tell you why I'm mother of the year.

2011-03-10T12:30:00.002-05:00

1. My children have been wearing pajamas, often the same pajamas for several days at a time. We only dress if we're leaving the house.

2. They have also watched the same movie, ("Dis-mick-a-mull Me) three times in as many days.

3. The Awana Grand Prix is Monday. We haven't cut Thing One's car yet.

4. Three words: The laundry situation

5. Last night, I couldn't find socks for Thing Two to wear under his galoshes, so he just went without.

6. There aren't any clean teaspoons in this house.

7. I often send them to shower or bathe simply because it keeps them busy for twenty minutes.

8. When Thing Two wakes up at the crack of dawn, I don't greet him with a smile. Instead he gets "Why are you up already?"

9. The other day they spent the majority of their waking hours stabbing a big empty cardboard box with pencils. It delighted them. This has to reflect poorly on me somehow.

10. Thing Two's face at this moment is so dirty, he looks a bit like a street urchin in "Newsies."

But you know what? I'm very happy with all this. I may not be a Stepford Wife these days, but it's a far cry from the two months I was bedridden or stuck kneeling at the porcelain throne. At least now, I'm aware that they live with me. They are eating healthy meals instead of a breakfast of Starbursts (yes, that did happen once). They have been cared for when they were sick and we're doing school again.

I'll take it.

I think there are trolls in my kitchen

2011-03-08T12:33:00.002-05:00

This is not the post I'm supposed to be writing. The post I'm supposed to be writing is an in depth look at a spiritual topic I'm struggling with. I started writing it the other night. And then I watched Fringe on DVD with Seth. I tried to go back to it yesterday. But I got stuck and bored and played Scramble on Facebook instead.

I have the tenacity of a slug.

I sort of feel like I'm in limbo. Pregnancy does a number on my mental status. I still have deep thoughts, I just can't seem to express them in spoken or written word. I feel like a clammed up teenage girl who instead of engaging in conversation about her feelings just rolls her eyes at the world and declares everything to be "lame."

I'm definitely alert enough to notice what's happening to my kitchen. There's something evil going on in there. Seth has taken over dish duty while I'm sick, which means the dishes get done every 4 days or so. The clutter of dishes has invited dirty little trolls to sneak in there and start leaving half eaten strawberries on the floor. And they shed too. A lot. The same color fur as my dog. (No offense to all the hardworking, tax paying, non-dirty trolls out there.)

Evil little trolls.

It couldn't possibly be my sweet Things One & Two leaving the sludge all over the kitchen. It couldn't possibly be that I might as well be a college frat boy when it comes to housekeeping right now.

The most obvious explanation is trolls. Or gremlins. Or maybe ghosts. I'll explore that theory.

Does anyone have the number for TAPS?

The More You Know

2011-02-23T11:03:00.003-05:00

For all the women out there. Men might want to go read a sports blog for awhile.

***********

My life has become a PSA for abstinence.

Occasionally, I'll hear of some misguided teenage girl longing to have a baby, and it just makes me want to shake somebody. Of all the things to wish for at that time in your life, pregnancy is about the craziest. More often than not, though, teenage pregnancy is probably the result of actions with little regard to consequences.

Haha. I can tell you about the consequences.

I feel like I should be the Statue of Pregnancy, holding up the beacon of truth and the inscription "Bring me your misguided teenage girls."

Pregnancy isn't what you see on tv. It's not all gushing tears and adorable baby bellies. Women don't float through gestation with a beautiful smile on their faces daydreaming about soft blankets and fuzzy teddy bears.

Pregnancy is work.

Starting with morning sickness, which is a cute way of saying you'll feel like puking all.the.time. And many times you actually will puke. And it's not like you'll feel better afterwards. About seven minutes later, it will start all over again. Food is disgusting. Any and every edible morsel will suddenly be repulsive and cause you to vomit before you even eat it.

They make medicine for that, right? No problem! Until you discover that the medicine (which is incredibly expensive; hope you have good insurance) doesn't actually cure the problem, just curbs it a little bit. Occasionally. When it wants to. So instead of throwing up seven times a day, it might go down to about five. Lucky you! And it will make you sleepier than you already are. And give you headaches. And create baseballs in your intestines.

And let's not forget a special little side effect of all this straining to puke and...pitch a baseball. You might burst a blood vessel in your eye. I could post a picture. It's not pretty. And when people exclaim "what happened to your eye?!" you get the joy of telling them it is the result of bathroom activities.

Finally, you make it through the first half of pregnancy. Now the fun can begin. Food looks good again. In fact, it looks real good. A month ago, that cheeseburger looked disgusting, and now it's all you can think about. So you get a cheeseburger. It's delish. You feel happy. But the happiness is temporary, and within an hour, you're thinking about another cheeseburger. It might as well be made of gold, it's that hard to resist. So before long, you've eaten enough to support a small village and you have acid reflux on top of it. Some of us might refer to it as heartburn, but it actually means you throw up in your mouth eighty times a day. Because you didn't get enough of that in the first trimester. And before you know it, you've gained a lot of weight, roughly the equivalent of Justin Bieber (before his haircut).

And the kicking. At first, it's a relief and wonderful to feel those tiny flutters inside. It's a sign that the tiny thing inside you causing your body to fall apart is real and alive and okay. It's nice. For a couple of weeks, until the munchkin gets some really good power behind those tiny feet. And he will aim at precise locations as if he knows what will make you scream in pain or wet your pants.

Yeah, you heard me right. Wet your pants.

Then you start to swell and resemble a character from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Your shoes don't fit. Your ankles disappear. Your trunk suddenly stores a lot of junk. You go through all the sizes of maternity clothes. Where once you were a cute XS, now you are a robust XXL. Your face swells. Your eyes water from the pressure. Your nose grows larger. Your hands look like sausages.

You no longer look like you. You look like the thing that ate you.

Your one relief is that you don't see any stretch marks appearing on your stomach. Just wait. They're there. You probably just can't see them, because, like your size ten feet, they are hiding beneath your beach ball of a belly, snickering that you think they're not there.

And then the baby comes. And it's...it's not pretty. Everything your body can produce will be produced in front of half a dozen strangers. Yay! Oh, and it hurts. I'll just leave it at that.

And after all that is over, the real work begins.

Here's my point. When you're married to the love of your life, all this is worth it. It's not enjoyable, or fun, but it's worth it. You are making a family. And it will push you both to grow up a lot. Pregnant wives teach husbands about being selfless. And new babies teach moms about being selfless. It's a time to stretch and grow (literally and figuratively) and be taught some of the hardest lessons of your life.

But it's not something to be flippant about. It's not something that can be handled on your own, no matter how strong you think you are. It doesn't make problems disappear, it just pushes you into an arena of bigger decisions and pressure.

God wasn't being mean when He declared that sex is for marriage. He was protecting us.

And lest you think that pregnancy is easily avoided these days thanks to modern precautions, let me just add:

My current baby is one of those lucky "three percent" you read about in fine print on the back of certain packages. FYI.

So, other moms, what ailments did I forget to mention? :)

Love Day

2011-02-14T11:29:00.005-05:00

I'm not normally overly gushy and romantic. I'm not a fan of public displays of affection, sappy stories, red roses or any of that sugary crap. Don't even get me started on the hideous jewelry Jane Seymour designs. But I do like love. I like that Seth and I have fifteen years of history together, some of it good, some of it bad, but all of it ours. I like that I don't have memories after the age of thirteen that don't include him. I like that we've been discovering what real love is together, and it has nothing to do with roses or sweet nothings. Love is work. It's the hardest thing we've ever done, but it's also a worthy cause.

I've been writing "our story", or at least I was before I got pregnant and will continue after my creativity returns. In honor of Valentine's Day, here's an excerpt from our first February 14th together. We were not officially "going out" at this point. And we were in 8th grade. Enjoy the awkwardness.

*********************

On Valentine’s Day, I sat with my friend Leah during study hall, going over our notes for a History test. Seth sat at the table to our right, fidgeting with his pencil. I could feel his stare warming my cheeks, but pretended not to notice other than casting a few smiles his way. I was busy wondering what he was thinking when I saw him sharing a private conversation with the teacher, Mrs. Gumm. She was chuckling and asking him questions, and his ears were bright red. After a few minutes, they headed to her classroom. Curious, I thought, but put my focus back on my studying.

Later, during art class, I discovered what they had been up to. Mrs. Gumm had stocked up on little heart shaped cakes to pass out to our class in honor of the holiday. She’d given one to Seth to assist him in his romantic endeavors. Art was right before lunch, so after I’d finished my project, I headed to my locker to stow books and grab my food. When I opened my locker, I found two little cakes, and a heart shaped note cut from red construction paper. “Sweets for my Sweet. Love, Seth.”

My heart plummeted into my stomach. This was it! Finally, a grand gesture of affection! He was laying claim to me, I was sure of it. I had to play this right.

So what did I do?

Naturally, I told all my friends right away and we laughed and giggled together. Being brilliant junior high girls, we quickly hid the cakes and note in my coat pocket, deciding it would be really funny to pretend like nothing happened at all.

Seth came to our lunch table to a chorus of stifled giggles. No one said a word about the note, but I couldn’t help but smiling at him every so often. Lunch was nearly over when he leaned over and whispered, “Did you get my note?”

Blushing, I whispered back, “Yes. Thank you.”

He seemed pleased after that.

A lesson in pride from 7 year old Sethswife

2011-02-06T21:28:00.002-05:00

I might have been six. Not really sure about the specifics. All I know is that it was the earliest embarrassing memory I have. And a lesson I have never forgotten.

It was a Sunday morning in our little church. Sunday school was over and the music portion of the service had begun. In our ancient church building, the only restrooms were in the basement, and I'd hurried down to use them just before the service had begun.

When I reached the first flight of stairs, I noticed that the sound from the auditorium was quieter, and I figured Dad was praying or making announcements from the pulpit, so I began to tiptoe up the stairs.

A little girl passed me on the stairs. I don't remember who she was or what family she even belonged to. I only remember that she was a year or two behind me, so therefore, I was the "elder" on the stairs.

As she passed me, I noticed she was staring at me. Of course she was, I thought. I'm older. And wiser. And awesome-er. She must like the way I walk. I gave my nonexistent hips a little swing of vanity to further impress her as I continued up the stairs.

I reached the auditorium and slipped into my seat beside my friend Seth (not my husband Seth--he was still two states away from me at this point). I noticed Seth's face was red with silent laughter. I was about to ask him what his problem was, when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder. Behind me, a sweet older woman named Dora whispered to me that my skirt was tucked into my tights.

I was mortified as I slumped down in my seat, trying to dig my skirt out while Seth shook with laughter. I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment at the thought of the little girl staring at me on the stairs. It wasn't because I was cool and mature and noteworthy. It was because I was mooning the world.

Twenty some years later, I can still recall the intensity of that moment. I wish I could say I never had another shameful display of vanity, but there were a few instances where God brought that memory to mind in the midst of the temptation to be prideful, to be vain, to think I'm something better than I am.

All my arrogant flouncing could never cover the fact that I am quite insignificant. I'm human. I'm not better than someone else.

But Jesus is.

May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ...Galatians 6:14

The Frat House

2011-02-03T10:17:00.003-05:00

Over the past few weeks, I've watched my home descend into a fog of testosterone. It seems that when I'm laid up in bed, the males I live with revert to their most basic natures. It has shown me the desperate need that boys have to be pointed in the right direction.

My husband, whom I am eternally grateful for, has done his best to keep up with the housework. He has stayed on top of the dishes and laundry surprisingly well. But at the same time, he's not a woman. (Hence his appeal to me.) When he does the dishes, he doesn't think to sweep the floor and wash the table too. When putting in laundry, it doesn't occur to him to tackle the pile of clothes that's been on our floor since the first day morning sickness set in. He goes for the "obvious" problems. Meanwhile, mail, dog hair, and toys have taken over our existence.

But he is by far the most civilized male in residence here. My boys have been great since I've been sick. They've morphed into best buds in my absence, playing together happily all day. But they've also spent most of the last month in mismatching pajamas or, more likely, just underwear. Thing Two especially has decided clothing is optional. Even when it's 7 degrees outside. There's also an endless stream of cartoon superheroes on the TV screen, blasting and flying and yelling in manly voices to the villains. Bathing is a rare occurrence, and only happens when I muster the energy to chase their smelly little unclothed bodies into the shower, where they proceed to hoot and holler and make a mess.

So, for awhile there, it was a good thing I spent most of my time in bed. Because looking at the state of my house and the little males I'm responsible for would have made me throw up even more.

They don't know it yet, but I'm starting to feel better.

Mwahahaha.

I say another week, and I'll be the dorm mother from Hades. No more nudity. No more filth. No more testosterone oozing cartoons.

They'll no longer be able to jump from their beds onto the pile of dirty clothes on the floor. No longer will they get away with only bathing before church services. Haircuts will return. Teeth will be brushed. Homeschool will start up again. Pizza rolls will not be an acceptable main course at dinner. Scented candles will be lit, laundry hampers will be enforced, and wild burping will stop at the dinner table.

And the poor dog is going to hate that I start sweeping the kitchen floor again.

This sleeping giant is about to roar again. And I'm gonna take this house back.

Thing Two, prepare to put your pants on.

I Miss...

2011-01-29T21:14:00.000-05:00

Another post I wrote about a week ago. I promise I'll get back to not whining soon.

***********

Labor and delivery is not the greatest physical sacrifice a mother will endure. "Morning" sickness has it beaten by a mile. For at least twelve weeks, I can do nothing but exist and try (unsuccessfully) to keep the nausea under control. As a result, my life is dull, exhausting, depressing and bears little resemblance to my normal, every day existence.

I miss...

Being able to clean my house.

Homeschooling

Photography

Getting groceries

Cooking

Playing with my kids

Taking my kids places

Going on dates

Eating yummy food

Getting ready to go somewhere in a reasonable amount of time

Singing

Writing

Taking showers

Driving

Walking without gagging or nearly passing out.

Enjoying anything

My husband is doing a valiant job. On top of the academy and studying every night, he's making dinner, doing dishes, washing clothes, wrangling children and waiting on me. I'm so thankful for him, and at the same time, I feel so guilty that he has to do my job on top of his. I wish I could tell myself it was all in my head and to just feel better. But wishing doesn't make it so. Instead, I'm sitting on the bathroom floor crying because I barely feel human anymore and even the medicine doesn't really help all that much.

I know it's temporary. I know it's worth it. I have endured it three times before, and two of those times I got to hold a baby at the end of it all. I already love my little peanut so much. It's just so mentally and physically exhausting to not be myself and to constantly be sick. I feel worthless. I find myself thinking often of people dealing with cancer and other long term illnesses whose symptoms or treatments are often accompanied by nausea and vomiting. This is nothing in comparison with that, because this will bring forth the biggest tangible blessing I know. I just have to endure for now, and soon it will be behind me.

"When the midnight meets the morning, let me love You even more."

An Announcement

2011-01-28T18:45:00.000-05:00

Here's a post I wrote at the beginning of January. Sorry for the long silence.

***********

As I write this, I'm a little bit pregnant.

Oh, joy.

I know, I know. I shouldn't complain about the miracle of life. And don't get me wrong, even though it was a big surprise, I'm thrilled that #3 is on his or her way. Things 1&2 are proof that offspring are worth the misery of pregnancy.

It's just that, being a little bit pregnant sucks. It's so bad. None of the symptoms are pleasant. And what's worse, it's too early to tell the world about it. I won't be able to post this for weeks yet, at least not until we have an ultra sound at my first appointment. The misery must remain silent! Except to my sisters and close friends, to whom I apply a generous amount of whining, knowing that they understand how I can be so miserable and so happy at the same time.

I know there are women out there who have wonderful pregnancies, who never feel an ache or pain or the intense need to throw up in a Meijer store. They smile and glow and have cute little baby bellies that barely show till their third trimesters.

I am not so lucky.

For me, bedrest comes in the first 15 weeks of pregnancy. I can barely move without gagging. It's awful. It's so frustrating. I'll be laying in bed thinking "I feel okay, I should do something", and then I stand up and end up having to run to the bathroom.

So I lay in my bed, letting my kids o.d. on movies and the wii, feeling like a horrible mother and wife, letting the zombiness take over.

I actually miss housework.

I know there are other moms out there that totally understand what I'm writing. You're nodding your heads and saying "I feel ya, honey". (Apparently, you're all from the south.)

To you ladies I say, you are my sisters. Both figuratively and literally, because my sisters battle horrible "morning" sickness as well.

To the moms who breeze through pregnancy with hardly an unladylike burp, I say, Count your blessings. Oh, that we could all be that way.

And I haven't even touched the fact that I will be insanely, hugely swollen during my husband's graduation this summer.

You might think I'm exaggerating.

I wish.

But, I keep telling myself, usually when I'm staring into the porcelain throne, to keep my eyes on the prize.

Which is that maybe this is the last time I will ever have to be pregnant.

Three's a good number, right?

A List

2011-01-13T13:14:00.002-05:00

When there is no motivation to write, I still must write. Something. Anything. Just write.

So here ya go:

1. This house is messy.

2. I want to paint things.

3. I also want to throw everything away. I hate *stuff*. And this is a small house, so a little stuff feels like a lot of stuff.

4. Remember in the good ol' days when the only hiatus shows took was in the summer? Of course, we got a lot more re-runs back then. And we couldn't watch shows online whenever we wanted. Okay, it's better now.

5. I'm ready for it to be spring now.

6. I'm getting really sick of political parties and all news surrounding them.

7. Seth has the day off on Monday. SCORE! So not used to that.

8. When I let the dog out yesterday, the wind caught the screen door and flung it open with such force that it partially ripped the door from the frame. I was like, really wind? That was unnecessary.

9. I'm enjoying all the really gross horror stories that Seth's instructors tell every day. People do some straaaaange things to their bodies.

10. You can quit your perfunctory reading of this post now. I'm done.

Warning: Long winded post.

2011-01-06T13:41:00.000-05:00

"[Thing Two] does not like to obey."

This was the welcome I received upon picking up my child from nursery awhile back. I walked into the room and was reaching for his coat. I hadn't said a word, hadn't asked a question. But there it was, hitting me in the face, and said with a surprising dose of sarcasm. Not the kind of sarcasm that's coated in a chuckle and a "that's how life is" spirit, but the other kind of sarcasm, the one that hints that I have a serious problem on my hands.

It was one of those moments as a parent where a million responses and emotions flood through you in a split second.

I stood there, stunned. I have never had a teacher speak to me about him before. It was his first Sunday in a new class. He'd just come from a nursery of two year olds, where playtime is the focus and there is little structure. Having turned three the week before, he got bumped up to the next room.

I didn't say the thoughts that rolled through my head. Well, it IS his first time in this class. He IS barely three. Newly three and old three are quite different stages in development. He IS a boy. Anyone who's ever parented a boy knows they're different from girls. And who among us LIKES to obey, let alone a young child who has limited understanding and social awareness?

Instead, I just mumbled something about how we'll work on it and put on his coat. The other teacher in the class was a bit kinder and didn't make me feel like my child had just earned a permanent "D" on his forehead for DISOBEYER. But it was a bit too late for that.

I hurried to pick up Thing One from his class. I didn't make much small talk with people, and when I did it was with a forced smile. I hurried the boys to the van and headed for lunch.

I got to the end of the church drive before I was in tears.

Six words had brought back a deluge of bad memories and hours of struggling and praying and trying to reconcile how I believed I should parent and how other people believed I should parent. I've written before about the long road that we trekked with Thing One when he was 2 and 3. Where once we were on the path of raising little robots by attacking every little misbehavior, we now have a much different mindset as parents. We are governed by several key beliefs.

1. Treat our children the way God has treated us. (Romans 2:4)

2. Focus on the heart, not the outward appearance. (Matthew 6:1)

3. Remember that we are the adults who are representatives of Christ. (Galatians 5:22-23)

4. Age appropriate expectations. (1 Corinthians 13:11)

We are not perfect (not even close). But I know that I personally have peace in my heart where my kids are concerned. I used to fret. I used to try to force them to do the right thing. Because people (and by people I mean Christians) judge them based on their behavior. I used to get so frustrated and angry at them, an "us vs. them" mentality. There was constant drama in the house because I was trying to be more stubborn than my child. It was my way or the highway, kid.

But God did a work on my heart. He broke my pride and showed me how ugly my motives and behavior were. He showed me how precious my children are. He showed me what years of the "us vs. them" mentality will do to a person.

I learned that the key to parenting is striving to be more like Jesus.

But I was reminded that not everyone feels that way. I've noticed that some parents haven't figured out which hills to die on. God must teach that about boys early for some reason.

I was once a day care worker (slave). I totally understand being so frustrated with a child's behavior you can't see straight. I had to talk to parents about behavior frequently. But I had to be professional and gentle. My boss would have flipped if I'd rudely announced "Your child does not like to obey."

Especially now that I'm a parent, I can understand why. When there are little kids in your home, you are overwhelmed. You sometimes feel like you're fighting for your life. You're exhausted and concerned that you are screwing them up for good.

But at the same time, you're so in love with them.

If the teacher had pulled me aside and gently discussed that he was rather disobedient that day, it probably would have been received better. I wouldn't have cried all the way home at least. But instead, I was left hurt and quite irritated for my son. I understand that this person was just speaking from frustration, and I've been there. A room full of little kids is hard work. I was just surprised I guess. Sometimes, the clearest lessons in "a word aptly spoken" are when you're on the receiving end of careless words.

When it comes down to it though, I know my son. I spend every day of his life with him. I know how he works and processes. I also know that he is still very much a baby. I don't understand why three year olds should be expected to act the same as a school ager. We don't expect first graders to understand algebra or junior highers to master college courses. But we do insist that newborns sleep through the night and toddlers obey our every command and thirteen year olds make mature and rational decisions. Because we're in charge here, doggone it. Just because some three year olds (like most girls and shy kids) will do what you tell them doesn't mean they are the standard. Brain development differs, people.

I'm just going to continue loving, praying, teaching the Word and being patient. And not focus on what other people think I should be doing.

I only have to answer to Christ for my behavior. I'd rather parent with a clean conscience than spend my energy trying to make my kids be perfect.

These little guys are pretty much my life right now. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

True Greatness

2011-01-04T19:58:00.006-05:00

I'm going to make a statement. You all will probably at first agree with me.

Talent and ability do not define greatness.

I know you're all on board with that one. Here's another.

Our personal preferences do not define greatness either.

Let me explain.

My dad (pot stirrer that he is) recently put up a facebook status saying how he didn't understand why so many Christians seem to revere John Lennon, when Lennon was a self proclaimed atheist, drug user, and adulterer, not to mention incredibly egocentric.

There were something like 50 comments at last count.

My dad's good like that.

Some of the comments agreed. Some pointed out that there was nothing wrong with liking the Beatles. Some got a little defensive.

But my dad's point got me thinking. He wasn't saying it was sin to appreciate musical talent. But when does that appreciation turn to reverence?

When I was young, I very easily got wrapped up in a certain television show. My devotion went beyond entertainment. I didn't just watch the show, I studied it. I read all about the actors, directors, writers. I had to read any magazine with the actors in it. Any reference to it was golden. I even wrote stories about it.

And then I urged other people to love it as well. I sang the shows praises. I got defensive when people picked on it or dared disagree with my opinion of it.

I watched every single episode of that show over 9 seasons (even the sucky ones) and also the two movies about it. I mourned when it was over.

But as the years passed, and some distance was put between me and my beloved show, I gradually began to see it for what it was: An interesting tv show with interesting characters. No more, no less. I still enjoy that show and watch it on Netflix or DVD occasionally, but now all the little flaws in ideology and writing stick out to me. It was far from perfect in its message. Especially the second movie. I HATE the second movie's message. (Have we all figured out that I'm talking about The X-Files yet?)

So, this is an obvious case of being too devoted to a secular art medium.

That show did some good things for me. The relationship between the two lead characters inspires my writing to this day. It taught me a lot of big words at a young age (most of my friends didn't know what an entomologist was in 8th grade). It fostered a love of reading, as my earliest experiences with being glued to the written word were reading fanfic. It gave me dozens of inside jokes with my sisters.

But it wasn't the definition of greatness.

Not even close.

So often in our culture, greatness is defined by how many academy awards someone wins, or how many songs top the chart, or how many championship titles are held. And we Christians eat it right up along with the lost. But when you stop and think about it, celebrities often become defined as great when they push the envelope: When they play a gay character. When they write a song defaming religion and the government. When they don barely there costumes and drape a python over their shoulders. When they stick up their noses at convention and morality.

Sure, they can be talented.

But talent does not mean greatness.

True greatness in God's eyes is simple.

It's humility. It's serving God quietly. It's boasting only in the cross. It's loving others unselfishly. It's forgiving. It's loving God's Word. It's sharing Christ with the lost.

How many elderly saints go unnoticed in our churches? How many shut ins have forgotten legacies as soon as they're out of sight? Maybe they served for years as a deacon, or in the choir or nurseries or Sunday School classes, never once demanding attention for their good works.

How many parents quietly serve their children, tending their needs and loving them unconditionally, never once demanding respect or credit?

How many people humbly serve the needs of their community, giving up of their time and resources to feed hungry, counsel the hurting, provide homes for the homeless, and show compassion on those who are at their lowest points?

How many pastors take years of abuse from their parishioners, listen to their complaints, their hurts, their struggles, and their petty disagreements without ever expecting a thank you?

That is true greatness. That is what should be admired and celebrated among us. That is what should inspire us.

Not song writing ability. Not being a great actor. Not being able to write skillfully or sing beautifully (or not sing beautifully, just suggestively, as is so often the case).

Talent is arbitrary. You don't really do anything to gain it. You either have it or you don't. You can work at your craft and make it better, but you don't earn or deserve talent.

Humility isn't arbitrary. It's an intentional decision based on one's love for Christ. It's an honorable pursuit. The humble person is not blind to his own sin or tolerant of the ugliness in his heart. He will confess it and deal with it, regardless of the personal cost. It's not easy to make yourself less so Christ shines brighter.

And that's why it deserves respect.

"...These are the ones I look on with favor: those who are humble and contrite in spirit, and who tremble at my word." Isaiah 66:2

Ten Easy to Keep New Year's Resolutions

2011-01-02T22:48:00.002-05:00

Because who needs all that pressure? Here are my resolutions that I will conquer with no trouble, and thus feel marvelous about myself.

1. Eat chocolate.

2. Read more.

3. Gain weight. (#1 will help)

4. Work the word "whatev" into my vocabulary more.

5. Be less organized.

6. Yell at my dog.

7. Enjoy music.

8. Flirt with my husband.

9. Avoid laundry.

10. Watch Fringe faithfully.

Whew. I'm exhausted from all that effort. I've pretty much done my whole list today. I'm an overachiever.

Gotta get back to gaining weight. Later, peeps.

My 1st post on 1-1-11.

2011-01-01T16:25:00.002-05:00

So......

Here we are.

This is the part where I'm supposed to write something engaging and witty.

(crickets chirping)

Not sure what to write about. I didn't write a flash fiction yesterday. FOR SHAME! My deepest apologies. Anything I would have written would have contained signs of exhaustion, like run on sentences and misspelled words. And we can't have that, can we? It's been pretty busy around here between Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve. I'm almost relieved that school and routine will start again on Monday.

Almost.

Seth's starting to get into the swing of the academy. The first couple of days were a bit overwhelming, but each day he comes home a little more comfortable. He's not too worried about any of the training, but slightly concerned about all the exams. He tends to be a worrier though. I've been helping him study the CPR book, and it just shows me how we are totally opposite in learning styles. I can read the book and look at the diagrams and pretty much "get it" and remember the steps. He remembers fairly well, but it won't really click with him completely until he can actually perform it in class next week. I'm a reader. He's a doer. I have no doubt that he'll do just fine with the exams.

And he's really hot in any article of clothing that says "Fire Dept."

I feel like we're coming down from a crazy couple of weeks, so hopefully, writing inspiration will return soon. I may have to scale back on the posts for a bit till we're back in the swing of school. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

And welcome 2011. You won't have to try very hard to be better than 2010. But on the flip side of that, you might not be as inspiring where writing is concerned.

We shall see.

Christmas Morning (Flash Fiction)

2010-12-22T21:39:00.003-05:00

“And there were in the same country shepherds keeping watch over their flocks by night…”

He listened to the childish voice carefully read over the words of the familiar story. Snow fell gently outside the windows, making the dim morning light slightly darker. It was barely seven a.m., but he couldn’t blame the kids for waking up with shrieks and laughter before the sun had even risen.

It was Christmas morning, after all.

The lights on the Christmas tree twinkled as the little family sat snugly around the fire. He looked into the faces of each of his children, their hair still tousled from sleep, their little feet warmly clad in plush slippers. His eldest, now eight years old, diligently read from the Luke 2 passage, while his younger son and toddler daughter listened intently, their eyes shining in anticipation.

For a moment, his heart wavered as he gazed at his children, a mingling of overwhelming love and thankfulness washing over him. How had he ever gone through a day without noticing how precious they were?

“Do not be afraid. I bring you good news…”

Good news. The words sealed his heart like a balm.

His mind flowed back to a dark time in his life, one filled with doubt and fear and misery.

But the Good News had claimed him, reminded him of what redemption is, pulled him from the mire.

He’d been shown firsthand how high and deep and long and wide is the love of Christ.

“Glory to God in the highest…”

Yes, all glory is yours, God.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, joy leaping through him as he thought of his Savior.

“But Mary pondered these things in her heart…”

He looked over at his wife, nearly unable to keep the tears at bay. How he loved her. She caught his eye and sent him a secret smile. He winked at her.

He could live a thousand years and never forget this moment.

It was a moment only possible because of the miraculous love of Christ.

****************************

Last week, my F.F. was late, but this week it's early since I'm fully expecting to be up to my ears in baking and wrapping this Friday. Merry Christmas everyone! Take time to be thankful to the only One worth celebrating!

Awakened (Saturday Flash Fiction)

2010-12-18T21:08:00.002-05:00

A chill swept through her and her eyes shot open.

The dark ceiling loomed above her. She stared at the dingy whiteness for a moment, trying to find her bearings.

She lay still, not stirring the sheets on her bed, her mind racing. What had awakened her with such a jolt?

Finally, she noticed she wasn’t breathing and exhaled as she tried to relax.

There had been a voice. A man. Saying her name.

Had she dreamed that?

A dog barked down the street, and she jumped at the noise, then rolled her eyes at herself. Forcing a calm she did not feel, she pulled the sheets to her chin and willed herself to close her eyes.

She had been so jumpy since it happened. Almost three months had passed since the accident. Most of the time, she was just so grateful that she was still alive. Paralyzed, but not deceased.

A better fate than some of the others on the bus that day.

For the millionth time, she replayed the events in her head. The gentle rumble of the bus suddenly changing to screeching tires. People screaming. Pain shooting through her head.

And she’d seen a man.

Her eyes opened again with urgency. She hadn’t recalled that before. There had been a man, standing on the sidewalk. Ice blue eyes.

Watching her.

By the time the bus had come to a stop, she was strewn far from her seat. She never saw the man again.

What did it mean?

Nothing, she chided herself.

Yet the cold steel of his gaze sent more chills through her. She closed her eyes, but still saw his steady gaze. There hadn’t been an expression of alarm or fear at the sight of a bus careening into traffic.

But rather, there had been something malevolent in his stare.

The sound of breaking glass shattered through the quiet night.

**************************

Since it's a day late, you get fourteen bonus words! What a deal!

Year in Pictures

2010-12-18T11:35:00.003-05:00

Actually, less than a year, since I didn't purchase my camera till April. But I still managed to take thousands of photos this year. Here are some of my favorites. There are a lot. It may take your browser a minute to come to terms with my obnoxious need for so many photos.

Believe it or not, I was able to narrow down a favorite. This one symbolizes so much of my year and makes me happy when I look at it, which is often since it's hanging on the wall in our room. Drumroll please.....

Sappy, I know. But Love wins. All the time.

Best of 2010

2010-12-16T09:44:00.004-05:00

It's that time again, folks. The highlights of my year in various categories. This will be the new expanded category edition. With subcategories. Get ready to live.

Media

Movie: Inception

Television/drama: Fringe

Television/comedy: Community (Sorry, 30 Rock. You were a close second.)

Song/Secular: "We'll Be a Dream" (We The Kings), "If It's Love" (Train)

*(In related news, WORST secular songs this year that make me throw up in my mouth a little: "Need You Now" (Lady Antebellum) and "Teenage Dream" (Katy Perry) Gag.)

Song/Sacred: "How He Loves" (David Crowder Band), "Oh, My Dear" (Tenth Avenue North), "Beloved" (Tenth Avenue North), "Healing Begins" (Tenth Avenue North) There could be a lot more in both song categories. It was a good music year for me.

Band: You guessed it, Tenth Avenue North.

Book/Fiction: Her Daughter's Dream (Francine Rivers)

Book/Non Fiction: True Humility (CJ Mahaney)

Blogs of people I don't know: AwkwardFamilyPhotos.com, betterafter.blogspot.com, rantsfrommommyland.com (careful, that one may contain colorful language). This category expands just about every day. This list actually only reflects the past week of my life.

Food/Restaurants:

Restaurant: Lindey's (For all you locals). Get the tomato and mozzarella flatbread. Trust me.

Recipe: This soup

Spice: Rosemary

Beverage: Caffeine Free Diet Pepsi

Dessert: Pumpkin Pie Cake

Sayings and Expressions:

"Homeschooled"

"Adjust your cup and get back in the game."

"Oh, even yesser."

"Cats."

Date (as in like, boy-girl date, not calendar date):

Tie: Photo shoot excursion to downtown and an old cemetery; Dinner at Lindey's followed by Wicked with super awesome friends.

Date (as in calendar date):

June 18th

Purchase:

No question. The Nikon D90. (Thank you, Grandma & Grandpa. Miss you.)

Most frequently used websites:

Facebook, Flickr, Hulu, Biblegateway.com

Store:

Ikea

Surprise:

Seth being accepted into the academy.

Child Quote:

Thing One: When asked why Samson lost his strength, "He shouldn't have trusted a woman."

Thing Two: After hearing his father belch much like in Elf. "(squealing & clapping) Hallelu, Daddy!"

Photo:

I can't choose just one. It's pointless to try. I'm going to have to have a blog post just for photos.

Bible Verse:

Isaiah 43, especially verses 1-2 and 18-19. "...Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have summoned you by name. You are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. When you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze...Forget the former things. Do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up, do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland."

Lesson Learned:

It gets emphasized in bigger ways every year: God is good. This year was the hardest I have ever lived. It contained some of the worst moments of my life. And ironically, some of the best moments soon followed. The fact that I can say beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am thankful for this year and I am full of joy is evidence of how wonderful God's love is, how extensive his care for us, and how perfectly he writes our stories.

Bring on chapter 2011.

Perks of Being THE MOTHER

2010-12-15T22:25:00.000-05:00

In an effort to find the silver lining in what has been a tremendously trying few days in my motherhood career, I'm looking for the positives of being a stay at home mom. Which is hard to do when there are a lot of negatives screaming at your face.

Like being dirt poor. Like feeling completely overwhelmed with homeschooling and sure that you are totally going to fail your kids big time and at the same time wanting to stick it to the stupid state laws that enforce that every child should learn exactly the same way because apparently those in charge of the public education system are flippin' geniuses. Like not being able to have a moment to yourself unless you turn cartoons on and are subsequently flooded with bad mother guilt. Like finding out your shampoo bottle suddenly contains only water. Or realizing that your housekeeping is near Hoarder's level chaos but knowing you can't take a day off school to get it done.

What was I talking about?

Right, silver lining.

A few mommy gifts come to mind:

RANDOM ITEM GPS: Being able to recall exactly where the blue lego man is located in a room overflowing with tiny toy parts and socks that have been discarded by a three year old who apparently doesn't mind freezing feet. Knowing exactly where hubby's winter gloves are. And the stamps. And the other brown shoe. Finding keys in a snowy soccer field at 10:30 at night after 12 minutes of looking. The same keys that your husband and brother in law spent hours searching for.

PREFERENTIAL TREATMENT: For example, cooking things I like. Selecting items of clothing to go through the wash first because I want to wear them. Buying candles based on my affinity for the scent. Being in charge of home decor. Arranging the pantry how I like it.

ULTIMATE DECLARATIVE POWER: Bed time is now. The TV is staying off. We're leaving this house in five minutes. Wait, I'm going to change my outfit, so make that ten minutes. You've had enough to eat. No, you may not wear pajamas to church. I don't care who had it first, it's mine now.

STRETCH MARKS: Wait, hear me out. Being able to say to your diabetic and shrinking husband "Well, you don't have these to deal with."

BEING ABLE TO SOUND EXACTLY LIKE YOUR MOTHER: I hear myself saying things in the same pitch and with the same inflection as my mom all the time now. And ya know what? That's totally cool. Because I understand her now. And she was right.

THE SPIRIT OF STICK IT: Being able to hear other moms (or opinionated non-moms) talk about the right way to do everything and not feeling inclined in the least to adopt their methods.

Around every 24 hour, 7 day a week job that requires you lose your beauty, sleep, and sanity, there is a silver lining.

And if the lining happens to be shiny foil, check for chocolate inside.

Pit Stop (Friday Flash Fiction)

2010-12-10T21:39:00.001-05:00

The door of the bar rang out an annoying jingle announcing his arrival. The tinkling sound threatened to awaken the migraine he‘d been ignoring all night. He stamped the snow from his boots and bellied up to the bar.

“Hey, there.” The bartender gave him a nod. “Haven’t seen you in awhile. Is it that time of year already?”

Taking off his hat, he exhaled. “Yep. Busy season too.”

“Take a load off. The usual?” The bartender was already filling a glass with his favorite drink. He gave a nod of thanks and accepted the frosty mug.

“Rough night?”

“You wouldn’t believe it. This storm coming through makes things ten times harder. Can’t take a snow day though. People expect my work to get done even if the post office closes.”

“Guess you can’t exactly call off in your position, huh.”

He chuckled. “Can you imagine the chaos? Not to mention the nagging I’d get from the misses.”

“All over now though. What are your plans for vacation?”

“We’re thinking somewhere tropical this year. Any ideas?”

“I hear Hawaii’s nice.”

He imagined a vacant beach, just him and his wife, sunbathing. “Sounds wonderful. I’m so ready to be away from those guys at the factory. Sometimes I think I’ve been in this business too long.”

The bartender smiled. “You’d be hard to replace.”

“Thanks pal. I guess it’s good to have job security.”

He guzzled the last of his frothy drink. “You hear that wind? Rudy’s going to be complaining all the way home.” He stood, tossing a few bills on the counter. “Better get back. Last year, those guys practically trashed the place while I was gone. They tend to hit the sauce hard on this night.”

“Safe travels. See ya next year.”

“Thanks. Have a merry Christmas tomorrow.”

Ten On Ten

2010-12-10T19:41:00.003-05:00

Today was a rough day.

Today, I felt yucky. Headache. Constant sneezing. Fatigue. LOTS of fatigue.

So, I started late, but I still managed to take ten photos today.

We did not do school today, since my body wanted to remain generally in the reclined position. Thing One took advantage of the freedom and played happily all day.

First it was airplanes on Mom and Dad's bed:

Then it was racing with Thing Two:

Then he covered every inch of road space on his track rug with vehicles:

Finally it was naptime. Blessed, blessed naptime:

I tried to self medicate my illness:

While Thing Two slept and Thing One watched cartoons, George and I kept the couch warm:

I woke up when the tree came on:

Finally, I took this. And boy, did it help me feel better. Wish I hadn't waited till 5 pm to take it.

This is a familiar sight this week. Stupid writer's block:

Thing One finished his day of no education with some Mario Kart:

So, interesting day, huh.

We're just wild and crazy here in my world.

The end.

Check 'em out: http://tenontenphotojournal.blogspot.com/

Writing less is hazardous to my health

2010-12-09T18:45:00.003-05:00

I have writer's block.

So. Annoying.

I can't tell you how many posts I've started writing this week and scrapped. Nothing is coming out right. Where words usually seem to appear magically on the screen, lately I've struggled to form a few coherent sentences.

I'm hoping it's on its way out though, since tomorrow is a double post day (Ten on the Tenth and Flash Fiction Friday).

Not being able to write is too disconcerting. It makes me feel edgy and nervous with a side of frustration.

I've filled the void with chocolate.

This could become a problem.

Adult Conversation (Friday Flash Fiction)

2010-12-03T21:46:00.001-05:00

“Remember when they were babies? All cute and soft.”

“And they were quiet as long as we held them.”

“Yeah…that was nice.”

“Woah, watch out. Almost took a lego to the head there.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got good reflexes.”

“Remember when we could leave the house at nine to go see a movie?”

“And not worry that we had to rush home because the babysitter was probably locked in the bathroom suffering post traumatic stress disorder. I should give Kaitlyn’s mother a call and see how she’s doing.”

“I don’t think they’ll be taking our calls for awhile.”

“Probably not. At least not until her hair grows back.”

“Is there any milk left?”

“Did you check the fridge?”

“That was my first line of reasoning.”

“Try the pantry.”

“The pantry?”

“Yeah.”

“Why on earth would the milk be in the--hey, there it is.”

“Told you. Has it gone bad?”

“Eh, not quite room temperature. We’ll survive.”

“There are clean sippy cups in the dishwasher.”

“Do you smell that?”

“Oh no. No, no, no, no! WHERE DOES POOPY GO?”

“I think he’s made it obvious that he doesn’t know the correct answer to that question.”

“Ugh. Two weeks and no accidents. Come on, mister. Shower time.”

“Here, I’ll give you a hand.”

“And leave the other one unguarded?”

“Good point. Let‘s shower him too. He smells almost as bad as his brother.”

“Might as well. Catch him fast.”

“Come on. GOTCHA! No. NO. Stop pulling Daddy’s hair.”

“He’s already turned it gray. He’s just trying to finish the job.”

“How come when they get a shower we always end up needing one too?”

“I’m too tired for one.”

“Agreed. Bedtime.”

“All right, good night boys. Love you.”

“Remember when we had no one to tuck in at night?”

“Yeah. That sucked.”

This just in: Spray paint is for winners.

2010-12-02T12:29:00.005-05:00

I'm becoming one of those girls. I might as well admit it. Get ready to judge me.

No, not those girls.

You have a dirty mind.

But the truth may be worse.

I'm becoming....crafty.

In the past month, I have gone through about seventeen hot glue sticks and burned through the top layer of skin on all my major fingers. I've scoured my attic for old scrapbook paper and scissors and ribbon. I've spray painted so much that I'm afraid to light a match in my house.

And I've loved every minute of it.

I've never been crafty. I was okay at scrapbooking, but I stopped doing it shortly after we got married. I resigned myself to the fate of uncreative where arts and crafts are concerned. I went so far as to decide that stay at home moms who are good at crafting might as well don jumpers and wear sweaters with cats embroidered on them.

I mock what I can't do. It helps me cope with failure.

Then, suddenly, I started flirting with the idea of busting out my old neglected glue gun. It began when I realized that since we've repainted the walls this year, all my red and gold Christmas ornaments wouldn't really go. But buying a bunch of new ones was out of the question as far as the budget committee was concerned.

I'm not good at crafting, but I am good at reading blogs (it's a finely honed talent of mine). So I searched blogs for simple ideas for ornaments. What I found was that there is so much out there that I can easily reproduce. Not only that, but these moms with craft blogs aren't lame, but actually really talented and funny. And thrifty. Yay for thrifty.

And now, after a month of cutting and gluing and painting and burning my fingers, I've found that I really like making things. And finding old things in my attic that I can make over makes me feel like I'm not wasting money doing it.

Next stop: sewing doilies.

And embroidering cats.

And being totally awesome at the same time.

A few of my projects, made almost entirely from things I already had (I confess that I did buy new scrapbook paper):

My favorite crafty blogs: Just A Girl Thrifty Decor Chick Under The Table And Dreaming

Nesting Place

Thing Two

2010-11-30T11:25:00.004-05:00

He's three today.

He looks exactly like my husband.

He runs around on his tip toes and with his tongue hanging out. And he's a pretty solid child, so running on tip toes doesn't make his approach any quieter.

He was a very fat baby. See below.

He's happy 91% of the time.

He squeals and shrieks when he's happy. He winks and raises his eyebrows when he's being mischievous. He sticks his bottom lip out when he's sad.

He's expressive and theatrical. He knows how to work a room.

Unlike his older brother, who cannot pull off a lie to save his life, this one can manipulate. He's the one I'll definitely have my eye on when he's a teenager.

He also has many accents. English is like his second language, or third perhaps. Sometimes it's tinged with Italian, such as "It's a-really coooool-a." Sometimes it sounds a bit like New Jersey or Boston, since he says his r's like "ahhh's".

He comes into my room and sits on my head early in the morning. That's really...special.

He's very adept with computers and games.

He knows all his letters and numbers. And all his shapes. And most of his colors and animals.

He can sing songs and recite John 3:16.

And Ephesians 6:1. It was necessary.

And he can dance. Man, can he dance.

I remember with Thing One thinking that the time between the third birthday and the fourth was probably the most significant period of growth in his life. That will probably be true with Thing Two as well. They turn three still sort of a baby, but by the time they're four, they've become little kids instead.

And I have a feeling Thing Two will give lots of laughs in the process.

Happy Birthday, Bucket.

Ten Random Things

2010-11-27T21:28:00.003-05:00

1. I succeeded in staying in my pajamas all day. They are red. And flannel. And men's. And comfortable.

2. When I was 11 or 12, I used to go over to our church building alone (we lived right next door, being the pastor's family and all) and stand behind the pulpit and sing my heart out. I'd always check around to make sure no one else was there first.

3. Behind just about every frame hanging in my house you will find at least one extra nail hole. That's what I get for eyeballing everything.

4. My first kiss was Seth. It was a Friday night in December after a Christmas concert. It was snowing.

5. I feel like in 2010 I learned more lessons than in all my other years of life put together.

6. Try as I might, I can't keep life from feeling too busy the older my kids get.

7. Even though I put my Christmas tree up, I feel slightly less thrilled about the holiday season than I normally am.

8. I finally feel like I have a story worth telling and I can't seem to get it written down to my satisfaction.

9. If I could dive into a pan of pumpkin pie cake and try to eat my way out, I'd totally do it.

10. I hate feet touching me.

A non-fiction post

2010-11-27T10:08:00.003-05:00

Just popping in to say hello. I've been pretty busy (I know, crazy right?) with two Thanksgivings in two different states, not to mention Christmas decorating, homeschooling, doctors appointments, photo shoots, and one total waste of a broadway show. At least the tickets were free.

My goal today is to remain in my pajamas and read my book all day. Granted, there's no food in the house, but running to the grocery store will mean I have to pull myself out of a really heavy book. Francine Rivers makes me not want to leave my house. The children may have to eat their own hair. Sidebar: For all you Rivers fans out there, when someone asks the plot of the book you're reading, do you find the brief synopsis totally doesn't give the book justice? Like, when I say my book is about dysfunctional mother/daughter relationships, I just feel like I'm dropping the book in puke and handing it to somebody. There is just so much meat in a Rivers novel.

I've had lots of ideas popping up about blog posts, but have been too distracted by other blogs to write about them. I've got posts forming about self centered worship, crafting (again, I know, right?), parenting, annoying people and why I let myself get irritated, family relationships, humility, lust, money...you name it.

Maybe this week I'll get around to some actual writing. Not that I don't love whipping out a flash fiction piece, but they're becoming my crutch because they take very little thought or time to write.

Till then, please enjoy this random picture from the hundreds I took this week:

First Kill (Friday Flash Fiction)

2010-11-26T17:56:00.003-05:00

She looked down at her trembling hand, the weapon she grasped suddenly seeming to weigh fifty pounds.

She hadn’t signed up for this.

It had always seemed so easy for her. She’d been at the top of her class in the academy. Honors and the approval of superiors had never been unreachable goals. She’d fostered an attitude of courage and a work ethic that others in her class admired, if not begrudgingly. She’d been bent on proving that a woman could do as well as a man in law enforcement. She believed that with all her heart.

At least she had up until about thirty seconds ago.

The body of the man lay crumpled on the ground not ten feet away. Blood pounded in her ears, still ringing from the sound of the shot. She noticed her breathing had become heavy and worked to control it. The effects of the adrenaline coursing through her body made her head spin.

The suspect was barely out of his teens. Hardly more than a boy.

In an instant, she thought of all the things she didn’t want to consider. She thought of this person’s life. She thought of all the years of life that this man would never experience, never see. She thought of his mother, who would soon hear the news that her son was not only a criminal, but was also dead.

She was a mother too.

She felt the hand on her shoulder. “You okay, kid?” The sergeant’s voice broke through her thoughts. She nodded solemnly. “Close call.” He motioned to the bullet hole in the dingy wall behind her. She considered it, wondering why she didn’t feel relieved that she was a better shot than the suspect.

She’d ended his life before he’d taken hers.

It was little comfort.

Unspoken (Friday Flash Fiction)

2010-11-19T18:38:00.002-05:00

“So…what do you think?”

It was a simple question. One he shouldn’t have trouble answering. A simple word would have been sufficient. Yet, his mind seemed as dry as his mouth.

He wished he could tell her the truth. He imagined himself opening his mouth and pouring out all the sentiments that had been residing in his heart for years. He’d always had such a struggle speaking his personal thoughts.

He gazed at her, wondering if he had ever seen anything more beautiful. He didn’t know much about fabrics or varying cuts of dresses. Nor did he have any idea what it was called when her hair was pinned up like that, soft curls cascading around her face. All he knew was that she was the most stunning bride he’d ever seen.

He imagined her walking down the aisle toward him today, the veil covering her sweet face as she smiled, a bouquet of yellow tulips (her favorite, he knew) in her hand. The music would fade from his hearing, the guests would disappear from his vision. All other conscious thoughts would vanish, and all that would remain would be the warmth of the love in his heart for her.

He imagined taking her hand in his, pulling her toward him. He’d promise with every fiber of his being to love her till the end of his days, to provide for her and always look out for her best interests. He’d put a ring on her finger and capture her lips in his..

She cleared her throat, bringing him back to the present. He blushed at having stared at her so long without saying anything.

“You look beautiful.” He whispered. She smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

He loved her so much.

And she was marrying another man.

The Simple Things

2010-11-16T12:43:00.002-05:00

I'm giving myself a kick in the pants today. Too much moping and being stressed and having such little faith in God to provide and care for us. Thing One and I have been reading Little House in the Big Woods and The Boxcar Children in school, and over and over I see how in these stories, the characters have so little, yet act so blessed in their attitudes. I could learn a thing or two from them. So today I'm counting the simple blessings, the ones that I can focus on that say to my heart, "See? You have no reason to complain. God is so good to you."

1. The promise of Heaven through Jesus Christ. We've been studying Revelation in church. All I can say is WOW.

2. A husband who loves Jesus. And loves me.

3. Two beautiful, healthy kids.

4. A roof (that no longer leaks!) over our heads.

5. The ability to write, photograph or sing to express what's in my heart.

6. An extended family of believers on both sides.

7. A church filled with warmth, love, and caring friends.

8. God's Word, a constant source of truth and encouragement. Sometimes it comforts. Sometimes it chastens. But always, it gives me hope.

9. The loaf of bread I found in the freezer this morning that I had forgotten about.

10. Warm socks on my feet.

11. The privilege and responsibility I have to educate my children.

12. The internet, with its endless supply of amusing blogs, helpful information, and educational resources.

13. The knowledge that God has brought me through bigger trials than this one.

14. A really comfortable bed.

15. Being able to wash my clothes and cook my food with modern appliances. They may be old, but they're still better than a tub in the backyard or a cookstove!

16. Books. Books. Books.

17. The ability to keep in constant contact with friends and family that live far away.

18. The fun of turning off the TV or Wii or computer and watching my boys' imaginations at work.

19. Taking a nap in the middle of the day.

20. Knowing that our home, while it may not be trouble free, is a place where the four of us can find refuge and peace from the trials of life. And I don't mean our literal house, but the bond between us that exists wherever we are.

My simple things seem so extravagant. I have more than I deserve. More than I could ask for. I am blessed. So instead of begging God to "please fix this!" I think my time would be better spent focusing on the lavish love of my Savior. I can humbly request for things we need and solutions to life's problems, but I won't despair. I won't doubt. I won't begrudge God for not making things go exactly according to my plan. He is wiser. He is greater. He is in control.

"You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts you." Isaiah 26:3.

The Outcast (Friday Flash Fiction)

2010-11-12T12:22:00.003-05:00

It wasn’t the first time he’d been shoved into his locker door.

Or found hateful notes taped to it.

Or been punched. Or ridiculed. Or secluded.

The force of the shove sent him flying, knocking his head into the door and making him see stars. Pain shot outward from the point of impact.

He didn’t really feel the pain in his heart anymore.

Everyone hated him. No one at this school seemed to care about him. Bullies abused him. Teachers sympathized, but did nothing. He had no friends. Even his parents didn’t know what to do with him now.

He knew coming out would be difficult, but he never realized how devastating it would be.

He rubbed the knot on the back of his head as he sat on the ground beneath his locker. Students walked by. Some glanced at him. Some didn’t. No one cared.

He was beginning to lose faith in humanity. So much for everyone being equal.

Suddenly, a well-manicured hand appeared in front of his face, the delicate fingers reaching out to him. He looked up to see a girl with a gentle smile on her face. He had seen her around, but never learned her name. The Bible he frequently saw sticking out of her backpack told him to steer clear. She might not shove him to the ground, but she’d only have judgment for him.

But here she was, reaching out her hand.

Swallowing, he took it and was surprised by her strength as she helped him up. “Thanks.” he managed.

“Are you okay?” She asked. She was the first student to talk to him kindly in weeks.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Maybe you should see the nurse. Do you have a headache?” She was fussing over him in an almost motherly way. He liked it.

“It’ll heal.”

“Aren’t you in my English class? Want to walk with me?”

He studied her. She didn’t seem to be setting him up. She wasn’t judging him. She seemed genuinely warm.

“You sure you want to be seen with me? Don’t Christians hate gays?”

He was testing her resolve, but she didn’t seem bothered. She shrugged. “I’m in no position to cast stones. Besides…I know what it’s like to be the outcast.”

He was surprised when he felt himself smile at her.

***********************

Sorry. This was 84 words too long. Just felt like breaking the flash fiction rules today. But I did edit about fifty words out, so I tried at least.

Ten On Ten

2010-11-10T22:03:00.004-05:00

I saw this idea on a blog someone sent me recently and I have been waiting for weeks to try it. The idea is that every month on the tenth, you chronicle your day with ten photographs. Sort of a photo journal of my mundane, ordinary, really not that interesting day.

But it's an excuse to carry my camera around all day.

So, I'm sold.

This is my phone, waiting for its daily 9 am text from Seth. I will miss his break/lunchbreak texts when he's in the academy. It will be weirdly silent.

This is Thing Two brushing his teeth (are you excited yet?).

Thing Two loves being photographed. Here he's reading me a story. Thing One managed to elude my camera today. He's not as willing of a subject as his hammy brother.

Okay, so exciting news. Really. Not. I've decided I'm going to make some Christmas ornaments this year. Stop laughing. I can be crafty. I think. I have a craft box, so that must mean I'm crafty. It has gluesticks in it. And ten year old scrapbook paper that has sat in the attic my entire married life. So...yeah.

This mac and cheese is so stinkin' good. And really really REALLY healthy. Not fattening at all. Or salty. 0 calories. And it gives you fresh breath and a shiny coat. (Or it's none of those things, except stinkin' good.)

Did some of thet there edumacational stuff.

My tree out front seems confused about what season it is. Or maybe it's supposed to do that. How should I know?

My laundry pile. Oh, were these supposed to be pretty photos? Sorry.

Fun bokeh on the way to church.

Ended the day with choir rehearsal, where I'm pretty sure I suffered a collapsed lung or asbestos poisoning. Why does The Hallelujah Chorus require sopranos to scream uncomfortably?

There ya have it. You should do it too!

http://tenontenphotojournal.blogspot.com/

While We Were Waiting

2010-11-09T12:10:00.005-05:00

For nearly our entire marriage, Seth has been waiting.

We weren't even married a year when he decided to take the firefighter's exam for our city. I remember him studying in our little apartment. I remember him running around my sister and brother in law's neighborhood to train. I remember all the nerves about the tests.

I remember the initial reservations I had. My husband? A firefighter? A paramedic? A civil servant?

I admit, I wasn't sure it was a good fit for him.

I wasn't sure it was a good fit for me either.

But I had never seen Seth show particular interest in any specific career up to that point, so I wasn't about to stand in his way.

We didn't know we'd have eight years of waiting back then. That would have been sort of depressing to know at the beginning. Admittedly, there was a lot of discouragement during those years.

But God used those years to ready us both.

Gradually, I had time to process all that it would mean to have a husband with a dangerous job. God used other things to grow in me a measure of independence. Seth has always worked long hours and has had to miss various holidays and events because of work. I learned to be okay with this and grew grateful for family and friends who lived nearby to help make some things special, especially for our kids. He taught me to write things down that I wanted to share with Seth at the end of the day, like silly things our kids said or milestones they reached. He taught me to photograph and blog often for my husband's benefit. He used diabetes to teach me the value of life and to not be afraid of illness or death, but to treasure the time we have been given. Diabetes also showed both of us that Seth could master medical knowledge and not be squeamish about injections or things like that.

And God worked in Seth even more. I think he would agree that he wasn't ready eight years ago. He wasn't ready six months ago. There were a lot of personal obstacles to overcome, such as a short temper, easy frustration, social skills and submission to authority. He had to learn to master personal integrity and honesty and what it truly meant to be a child of God, a husband, and a dad. Biggest of all, he had to learn to find pleasure in whatever God had in store for him and not focus on the life or job he didn't have. Peace and contentment.

And now the wait is over. We received notice several days ago that Seth obtained a spot in the December class at the fire academy.

I'm so happy to say that I have full confidence that Seth is ready. God writes the best stories. This is the perfect time for Seth to make the transition to this new career. This is the blessing that came from the years of struggle and waiting. This wouldn't nearly be as sweet if we hadn't had those trials.

I am so proud of you, Seth. And I am sure that you will do well in the academy, not because of your own strength and skill, but because you know now that you can do nothing without Christ.

I love how our story is unfolding. :)

Family Honor (Friday Flash Fiction)

2010-11-05T14:55:00.002-04:00

William held the sword tightly at an angle poised to kill. Anger coursed through his blood at the sight of the miserable man cowering before him, sweat glistening on his forehead and fear shining in his eyes.

Never before had William ever considered killing a man. Never had he felt such wrath toward another human. His life had been marked by gentleness. His brothers had often teased him that there wasn’t a vengeful bone in his body. It had never bothered him that he wasn’t a man prone to fits of temper. Prudence and maturity had always been his prized characteristics.

Until this filthy traitor had arrived.

William had welcomed him. Shared his table with him. Allowed him to become a confidant in his family’s affairs.

“William…” the coward plead. “Let’s be reasonable.”

William sneered. “What would you have me reconsider, Marlow? What have you to say that could possibly lessen my anger?”

Marlow inched back from the sword. “I am your friend.”

“You are not my friend!” William shouted, his voice echoing through the stone hallway. Marlow’s eyes widened in fear, a sight that pleased William somewhat. “You are a thief. You came into my home and allowed me to trust you, all along plotting my destruction!”

“I am innocent!”

A bitter laugh escaped William’s throat. “You expect me to believe that you are not every inch my enemy?”

“I admit to my misdeeds, William. I admit that your family’s fortune was irresistible. But Beatrix was never part of my plan. I did not intend to love her, nor to hurt her as I have done.”

Eyes narrowed at the mention of his daughter, now ruined, William nudged the sword toward Marlow’s throat, the blade nearly pricking the skin.

“And I’ll see to it that you never shall again.”

I'm a bit of a music junkie

2010-11-01T18:39:00.004-04:00

I'm searching for a song to sing this coming Sunday. Nothing like procrastination. So, yesterday as I was driving around, I started going through every song on my mp3. No big deal, there are only like 700 to sift through on there. I started noticing I'd have to stop and listen to some songs regardless of the fact that they were not what I was looking for. Here are some of my "can't skip" songs:

Overcome (Desperation Band). Quite possibly one of the greatest praise songs of the decade, at least for me.

Love Never Fails (Brandon Heath). This song always makes me think of my favorite fiction novel, "Redeeming Love" by Francine Rivers.

How He Loves (David Crowder Band). I've heard it hundreds of times, and every time I get lost in it. I was listening to it on the way to the cemetery when we buried sweet baby Malachi. I associate it with very vivid pictures of God's overwhelming love in the midst of life shattering grief. Favorite song ever.

We'll Be A Dream (We the Kings) Seth frequently sends me texts about songs he hears on the radio that I just HAVE to look up. This is one of those songs that is "so us". :)

Since I Met You (DC Talk). Reminds me of eleventh grade. And makes me hyper.

Defying Gravity (Kristin Chenoweth & Idina Menzel). Because it's awesome.

You're Not Alone (Meredith Andrews) Second favorite song ever. Always reminds me of my husband. I'll tell you why in my book...that will never be published, let alone written to completion. Nevermind.

There Is A God (Carman) Yes, I said Carman. He's not the best musician I've ever heard, but he's an excellent lyricist.

The Last Hallelujah, Audrey's Gift, Ethan Testifies, and Freedom (Michael W. Smith) These are all some of MWS' instrumentals. Absolutely beautiful. I find myself praying when I hear them. And Freedom was our wedding processional.

Crown Him With Many Crowns (also MWS). I can't help but love this one. It makes me want to have some church up in here. Someday, someday, we WILL perform this at church!

Oh Happiness (David Crowder Band) This song needs no explanation.

A Wink & A Smile (Harry Connick, Jr) We performed this song in choir in 9th grade and ever since it has been "our song".

Funkytown (Alvin & the Chipmunks). No, I'm lying. I try to skip this one as fast as possible if my kids are in the car.

Beloved, Oh My Dear, and many others by Tenth Avenue North. It's like they use my life for inspiration.

I Stand Amazed and All The Way My Savior Leads Me (Chris Tomlin) Because they're all about Jesus.

Send Me A Song (Celtic Woman) Beautiful. Makes me think of my grandparents.

Awake and Alive (Skillet). Because it reminds me of Fringe. I don't know why.

Obviously, this is a tiny, tiny sampling. I left out a lot of the Glee songs and showtunes I love to belt because that's embarrassing and you don't want to hear that. You can check these songs out on grooveshark.com. What are your can't skips?

Oh, and I still haven't found a song for Sunday.