That's So Weird!

When I was a child, there were certain words and phrases that set my red headed temperament exploding.  One of the times this was most evident was on the grassy fields during recess.   It was on these fields that I heard from the lips of those testosterone filled boys bombs like, “fireball”, “Annie”, and the most hated, “red headed Woody Woodpecker”.  These words pushed the buttons those ornery boys so desired to push and my reactions to these emotional charges were felt all the way down into my skinny white, freckled legs with energy that could possibly rival that of the atomic bomb.  I was on a mission.  It did not waver.  Chase the boy whose mouth uttered the detestable vile and reply with some sort of unplanned physical force.  The so desired reaction had been achieved.

Other phrases and scenarios made me respond more implosively, like when some kid told me my belt was a boy’s belt and the fact that I was wearing it somehow made me want to be a boy.  Another time would be when my mom made me a great sandwich for lunch that was stacked with fresh deli meat, a slice of cheese, lettuce and a slice of juicy tomato complete with mustard and mayo.  Some joker kid sitting next to me spied my unusually large sandwich.   He was only able, or so it seemed, to announce to all the students at the other 10 lunch tables how gross and disgusting my sandwich appeared.  I was a little hungrier for dinner that night.

The words that were probably the most difficult for me to handle were the words, “How weird!” and “You are so weird!”  That would send me to the office in tears for sure and there was a definite plan to be out of hearing distance from the person who spoke them.  I think that weird was repeated the most to my ears for whatever thing it was.  My clothes were weird, my hair was weird, my food was weird, I walked weird.  You know how it goes.  You hear something enough and you start believing it is true of your being.  Weird still does not resonate well with me, though I am thankful I can be confident in Christ and the truth of God’s Word.

Fast forward about 25 years, and I find myself watching my son as he goes to school.  I think often about how different his life is.  He rides to school with mom.  I walked from the babysitter.  He’s learning a foreign language in hardcore emersion style plus another class for French, and, oh yeah, he speaks English at home.  Only English for me!   He has a tutor and a decent amount of homework, and I had none.  He carries a whole book bag filled with textbooks, workbooks, notebooks, art supplies, lunch and his jacket.  I just needed lunch.  There are a myriad of differences between his childhood and mine. 

One difference that I am thankful for is the opportunities for us to get out of town.  We have been able to find some affordable places to stay that provide ample opportunity to go snorkeling, build sand castles and swim around in the pool.  We have also recently discovered the several areas available for camping within a four hours drive.  We took this one opportunity to go camping at the beginning of October with a couple of other families and their kids.  My son just so happens to have a crush on one of the girls that came along.  He took every opportunity he could to be with her (which meant there was a lot of great rock climbing involved).  One evening after dinner we were getting our s’mores supplies out.  Judge was wearing his ultra cool “camping” pants that zipped off to turn into shorts.  The girl that he played with all week had not recalled seeing anything like this before to which she promptly retorted, “That’s so weird!” which sent me directly back to elementary school and the pain was beginning to form in my heart until I heard from Judge, “They’re not weird.   They’re AWESOME.  THEY’RE CAMPING PANTS!”  And a smile radiated across his face as he ran off with the girl to the bonfire to get warm.  I could hear him laughing like the weird statement was the silliest thing he’s heard yet.  And my memories were suddenly forgotten.

So What! of the Environment

I go grocery shopping every week.  It’s a basic and common chore of the mother figure in the house and I accept it and expected to have this role in my family.  So, when you are the one with this role, you start thinking a lot about food and a lot about trash and a lot about cleaning.  Typically the one who is buying the food is also the one cooking the food and for very small children also the one cleaning up the food.  I see the amount of trash I put outside my door everyday.  A full garbage bag…everyday.  Now, granted they are 10-13 gallon size bags, but that is still 10-13 gallons of trash everyday from my own family.  When I noticed my neighbors put one grocery bag of trash outside their door, I started wondering, why do I have so much trash?  How do they have so little trash?  And suddenly I became embarrassed at my American consumerism and pretending like my life has no effect on this earth.  Then I looked around some more and started realizing…I hardly see any public trash barrels….there is trash scattered all over the streets and in every empty lot of land that could one day be an apartment building…it’s a mini land fill and all the surrounding garbage finds its home there until the construction crew arrives.  I’ve watched kids in neighboring buildings look around to see if anyone is looking before they drop their soda can 2 stories down to the ground and turn around and close the window.  I have friends who had a great porch right outside their basement apartment living room, only to have it become the building’s refuse heap.  I have witnessed more soda cans, cigarette butts, tissues, wrappers, grocery bags, etc., being accidently “dropped” out of the car window it’s enough to make the worst foe of the tree huggers become a team with them because of the common enemy…careless wastefulness.   Us folks over yonder make jokes about the white and the black national birds on any occasion that might present the opportunity….the black grocery bag and the white grocery bag.  My trash bags are bigger because I throw a lot more stuff away but also because my trash actually goes in the garbage can.

I am generally a foe to the aforementioned tree huggers and all their groupies.  Mostly because it seems to be more about fame, influence and power rather than taking care of the earth.  I also feel like these people place more significance on the importance of the earth than we have the power to control, and  the people of the earth are not always but generally forgotten, those beings whom God made in His own image and likeness.  I do believe in keeping things clean, in order and not being wasteful.  I am a strong believer in recycling those bottles, cans and paper goods.  But, I believe people are more important, so that takes priority as I trust God to sustain this earth (Check out Colossians 1).  But, he also made man to have dominion over the earth (Genesis 2), so there is that responsibility to care for it.  Since I’ve moved over the ocean, environmental care has become more important to me as I continue to see such careless behavior being demonstrated. I have also found myself being thankful for the work of those environmentalists who have put a lot of work into educating us about recycling, cleaning up after yourself and responsibly inhabiting this planet.

One of our local grocery stores is from France and has several markets all over Europe and now in the Middle East.  I frequently visit it as the prices are great and my needs are often adequately supplied here.  They are even environmentally sensitive!  I was on their website and discovered that all their own packaging and materials have what is good and great for the environment in mind.  They also encourage reusable shopping bags.  They partnered with a bank to give away reusable bags to every costumer for a whole week (of which I took part).  I have recently purchased 3 more of these bags realizing it would normally hold most of my groceries and keep those pesky plastic bags from circulating the winds of the city at a later date.  I brought these bags back to the store, knowing I would encounter many stares and “What in the world is she doing?” looks.  I did my shopping and at the checkout I put those bags in front of all my groceries so it would be easier for the boy to pack them up.  After I got everything on the belt and paid for my purchases I looked at my cart.  It was filled with plastic shopping bags!  What?  Where were my very responsible reusable shopping bags that I specifically purchased to use at this grocery store?  I asked the bag boy where they were.  He said he didn’t know….that’s what he said.  I found them, all folded up nicely and sitting inside one of their own pesky plastic grocery bags!!!!!!!!!!  Oh, the irony of trying to be a responsible citizen!  Does this employee even know what these bags are for? I highly doubt it!

The Trauma of a Holiday

I never ever ever dreamed in my most clouded dreams that the very sustenance of my flesh would be stripped away by the almighty pen of the government.   So when I surrendered “everything” to move across the ocean I didn’t really think of food, my own daily food, being a part of that.  Obviously, food is included in “all” things being surrendered, but most people don’t really think about what “all” means until some of the “all” they didn’t think of comes into play. 

I knew about Ramadan.  I knew it meant 30 days of fasting.  I also knew I was not bound to that thanks to the awesome grace of God.  I am not forced to go without food because I do not live under those presuppositions of this worldview.  I fast when it is necessary in my own personal relationship with the Almighty Creator because He doesn’t force us to show our dedication to him.  He waits for us to show it, because it is an expression of his pure love and patience in the lives of his children and he didn’t want a bunch of robots, or we would all be forced into perfect obedience which wouldn’t really be obedience at all, but that’s a side note from my current issue.

Thirty days of fasting that is enforced by the law!  You really can be arrested for eating in public during sunlight hours during the month of fasting.  Restaraunts won’t dare serve you any food.  Fear is a pretty decent motivator in these here parts and 99% of the population are avid slaves to the four letter word aforementioned.  Chewing gum is out of the question.  People won’t even swallow their own spit for the 12 hours of light!  Though I’ve wondered how many people actually accomplish this task.  I mean, come on, how easy is it to hide a little swallow throughout the day and still feel like you are so righteous.

This activity, the fasting, directly effects my life.  I occasionally like to take my children to the Golden Arches for the perfectly crunchy nuggets and fries.  But they can’t wait until 8o’clock at night to eat dinner.  I even tried the drive thru thinking that since we are not eating at the restaurant (which is in public) and taking it home they might actually be open, but did I get the gigantic flag down.  They practically tossed my car out onto the street to leave us for the vultures.  I realize I was there for lunch, a little early on that eating schedule….but what were they all doing 8 hours before anyone in the nation was allowed to eat a bite of food?  Does it take a regular days work to clean up from the night before?

Date night is the worst during this month.  I get so hungry by 6pm.  But sundown doesn’t happen until 7!  By the time the sitter arrives and we’re out, we’re still 45 minutes early and nothing is open yet….so we drive around town, go shopping or we drive around some more.  You’d think it would be difficult to get into a restaurant at 7’oclock, and it is, but I’ve learned it takes a person who has been starving themselves all day to eat buffalo wings, a steak with baked potato and a gigantic chocolate and ice cream dessert in ½ hour, it almost makes you wonder about eating disorders!  But by the time the table is cleaned off and they realize other people who haven’t been fasting all day but are currently starving are actually waiting to eat when the rest of the nation and Muslim world is finished, it’s been at least 45 minutes and you’ve been waiting so long you almost forget that you are hungry.  Though you can nearly hear a sigh of relief 30 minutes after the chow down begins.  Everyone is happy again and we have the promise of happiness soon, until the next day begins.

After living like this for 30 days, and you hear the mosque repeating their celebratory calls telling you that Ramadan is done (which lasts for 3 hours beginning at dawn), you’ve kind of fallen into a pattern.  Your expectations for the day revolve around where and when you can eat, if you can bring food with you to the park while your kids play, or drink a sip of water when you’re thirsty.  My family seriously experiences symptoms similar to those who have suffered through a trauma.  When you get in an accident, it’s difficult to get behind the wheel again.  When someone rips you off at the gas station, you don’t want to go back, and when someone has lied to you on several occasions, you start wondering if he’s ever told you the truth…and if he ever will.  When Ramadan is over we wonder if we really are allowed to go into Starbuck’s in the morning for that latte.  Will McDonald’s really be open?  Will I get caught if I take a sip from my water bottle at that red light?  It is a lot like a trauma, and it takes time to get back into the swing of things.  But, we had to keep comforting ourselves with the reminders of the truth.  When the grapes have been harvested, you are allowed to stomp on them to make that wine.  When there’s a mud volleyball tournament, you are allowed to get disgustingly filthy, and when Ramadan is over, you are allowed to eat in public!

Desert Storm

My sleep was sound. I was forming a permanent mold of my side sleeping position into my mattress when I heard a faint yet distinct sound of a person calling. I didn’t hear my name, just noise but one that expressed immediate need and attention where the lack of attention would produce only a more urgent and more angry noise where the need still existed. It was not going away. The world was silent otherwise and dark. Though I believe I may have heard the lone drummer walking down the street waking all the women folk in the predawn hours so they could make preparations for breakfast before the fasting at dawn began. It was dark…and still. The noise in the other bedroom finally entered the compartment of my brain telling me it was my child ready for his 3:30am feeding. My brain informed my muscles of the automatic movement needed in order for the baby to eat and I was en route down the hall.
Two steps. Three steps. I stepped onto our hallway rug. It was very cold and felt unusual and I suddenly awoke with a startling realization. Our hallway rug was sopping wet! All my senses went on full alert and I suddenly heard running water in my home. My steps became quicker with each pace searching urgently for the source all the while entering deeper and deeper liquid. Turning on every light switch available to me on the path to the source I soon discovered there was water at every turn in my home. I turned into our guest bathroom and realized the source soon after entering. Masura maksura. A broken pipe under the bathroom sink. The cheap metal which is probably worth a nickel made a clean break all around the pipe allowing the water to fall continuously to the floor.
I immediately ran back to my bedroom to arouse my husband and exclaim to him that there is indeed a burst pipe and the whole house is flooded, with water still pouring onto the floor. With the energy like that of a fireman on a midnight call, he was up strapping on his flood gear ready to hit the scene. After assessing his alertness and orientation was sufficient for the job before him, I answered the screaming baby’s cries and entered the baby’s room. Within moments I heard the sound of water rushing the floors of our apartment being replaced by the household squeegee swishing water around the house. The baby now put back to bed, I had stirred up the anticipation of a bull headed for the red blanket and headed out to our household lake. Picking up our floor rugs, purses, bags, extension cords, blankets and pillows off the floor and out to the porch or bathtub. Wherever they fit. We moved furniture at the same speed a tiger pounces out to its prey. Our brains were working on the same terminal at the same gate residing in seats next to one another. There were no verbal words, only electricity and oneness. We worked fast and the greater portion of the lake was removed within the hour.
The article in our home that suffered the most from our little storm was our salon rug. We had no idea how large the capacity this rug had to hold water. Evidently gallons and gallons, because we squeegeed that thing many times the next day each time bringing out gallons of nasty, linty, brown water from our very pretty light cream rug. Every fan we owned was set up to create a very special wind tunnel in our salon to continue pulling it out. The plan worked.
When Justice woke up in the morning to get ready for school he said to me, “Mom, why is everything in our house in a different place?” To which I preceded to tell the events of just a few hours earlier. “How high was the water mom? Was it up to here?” holding his hand at his waist.
“Honey, it didn’t even cover our feet.”
“Really?”
“Really.”

Two Sides of the Coin

My husband often says that the qualities you love about somebody manifest themselves in ways that you love in one context and in another context manifest themselves in ways that drive you crazy. Someone who is very passionate about life is often very influential in peoples lives, great speakers and are able to inspire, but they can also overreact and be a little too dramatic when the situation calls for the storm to be calmed. Someone who is a planner most often have great parties, organized homes and are the people to turn to when chaos needs some order. But on the flip side they are the people who are often unable to join you for that impromtu night out to the movie or a connection at the local ice cream shop.

One of the things my husband loves about me is that I'll take a person for face value, often not questioning motives and giving them the benefit of the doubt. But this quality drives my husband crazy when a salesperson shows up at my door. I've bought 100 dollars worth of steaks for a "great deal" and I would have purchased a Kirby in a heartbeat had that one purchase not been more than our monthly income at the time....the thing transformed into a carpet shampoo cleaning machine, it's a housewife's dream.

Good marketing does the same thing for me, if you make something pretty, convenient, thorough, or easier for me to live I'll very likely want it and believe what the ad tells me. If a new movie has a really cool trailer and simple lines that capture you like, "Every Generation Has a Legend...Every Journey Has a First Step...Every Saga Has a Beginning" One of the best trailers for a blockbuster ever! You better believe I'll be in line as fast as possible to see what that is all about....because I believe that if the trailer is good the movie will be good too. Now, we've all been disappointed with the follow up to some pretty spectacular trailers, but they really make you believe that movie is going to fulfill all the hopes you ever had for the show or you wouldn't fork out the 10 bucks to make sure you experienced the story with quality film and sound and no distractions guaranteed (unless, of course, you drink too much diet Coke).

Well, when I start receiving information in any context about something I believe in on a much deeper level than a made up story whether it be from the pulpit, the radio, the television, YouTube or maybe, lets say even an e-mail...even a forwarded e-mail, the gears within me get all wound up and suddenly I can do something, even though its small, and have some sort of influence upon this culture and the country I was born in, no matter how small it may be. I am quite aware that signing your name on an e-mail is pretty small, but it is something. I get sucked into these Christian rights e-mails and how America is going down the tubes and a big group I believe in like Focus on the Family is in a fight for something that's right and I'm suddenly ready to jump on the bandwagon. I want to fight for what's right and this sounds good!!!

There's a couple of problems with this whole reaction to an e-mail that tells me CBS is going to cancel all shows that have any mention of God in their shows (unless of course they are cursing God). First of all, I have put no thought into the credibility of this e-mail, I'm just reacting. Secondly, I am married to the foremost ambassador of the Anti-Forward E-mails because they are all fake or waste your time Association. I cannot count the times I have heard my husband's rhetoric on this topic and here I am commiting the same act he has so strongly opposed, time and time and time again.

Well, I had my moment of weakness, and actually forwarded an e-mail to those very family and friends with whom we have had extensive conversations on this very topic and the absurdity of the Christian Community for believing an e-mail so easily. Turns out this e-mail concerning Focus on the Family and a certain battle with CBS is a hoax, and it has been circulating for at least a decade! What will I do next time I get stirred up? I'll check it out and I hope you do too.
But the next time I feel like I need to make a contribution to society, I'll go love my boys. Who knows what God has in store for them, and what happens in their lives later, begins now.

P.S. Here's the best website to check out all your forwarded e-mails and urban legends that seem to have a distant ring of truth. http://www.snopes.com/

What is Your Favorite Beverage?

I recall making a very important realization in my life several years ago. It has made at least one decision making process in my life easy so that I don't even have to think about what I want because I already know, either around the world or in the luscious green of the midwest where I've spent much of my adult life.

There are few things more satisfying to me than a Diet Coke on ice in a paper cup from McDonalds.....

Now I don't have to be at McDonalds to enjoy a Diet Coke. I enjoy Diet Cokes on the rocks in many eating establishments, but if I have need only of a Diet Coke, it is to McDonalds I go.

Prior to this articulation of my opinion, I articulated another. I really prefer my soda on ice in a cup rather than straight from the can. I think I am less likely to express any surprise belches when my coke is on ice and besides it just taste better. But the best is from McDonalds. Maybe they know some secrets of the trade that common consumers like us couldn't have the capacity to dream up. I've wondered if it is just the combination of carbon dioxide to syrup, or maybe they put something else in it, or maybe the Coke has some sort or mild chemical reaciton to the cup that McDonalds created that adds to the taste, wierd I know, but seriously what could it be? Whatever it is it works for me and I know others that feel the same way.

So...what is your favorite carbonated beverage and does it need to be on the rocks, straight from the can or just plain cold? does it come from a favorite restaurant or your local convenience store? do you mix drinks? I'd love to know....tell me what you think.

Two Words I Hate!!! Part B

The second word? Perfect. Mostly because man's idea of perfection is so often not in line with God's idea of perfection. I'm so far away from perfection in God's eyes I'm sure I don't even really know what I am talking about. When I talk about things being perfect, I'm talking about being so caught up in everything around you being perfect that you can't really live. Like a house always looking perfect (which I have tried to accomplish and have only discovered I am a miserable failure in this department) or plans always being perfect or always looking perfect or your car looking and running perfectly. Don't misunderstand me please. I love the word "excellent" which communicates that one is always striving to do their best work, whatever that may be, but it gives me a huge sense of freedom from perfection. I will leave perfection up to God and strive for excellence while I am still here.

Two Words I Hate!!! Part A

The first one is "Nice". First of all it is way overused... that's nice dear, be nice to your friends, it's a nice day, so nice of you to stop by. What does it really mean anyway? There are so many other words you can use that mean what you are really trying to communicate. that's fine dear, be kind to your friends, it's a beautiful day, so great of you to stop by. In the context that I really do not like the word "nice" is in with relationships. I first articulated this opinion to myself while watching a christian children's video in which a song was being sung with purpose of communicating how one should behave in relationships. The title of the song? "Be Nice". I nearly think this word is evil....why? So glad you asked. It communicates that you should never ever disturb anyones feelings. I am sure many would agree with me that there is a time and place when, if you are really expressing love to a person and a confrontation needs to take place then there are a lot of things about that experience, including words, that will not be nice, but will be loving and God honoring. To be nice in our culture is a value that is more important than to be honest, loving and even kind. To be kind is a scriptural mandate, but I haven't seen the word "nice" in my Bible, so if anyone else does....please let me know. And be kind to all those in your life....just don't be "nice" at any cost.

A Child Thinking About God

The other day my son asked,

"What part of our body did God make first? I really, really want to know."

To which my husband replied,

"He didn't make any part first, He made them and put them all together at the same time."

And my sons response?

"WOW! That is really cool! I never thought He could do that!?!?!?"


So, I've been pondering this little interchange between my husband and son. My son expressed his belief with his whole heart that God did indeed create not just his body, but all bodies, and was just curious to know where God started in the whole process. Never did he imagine that God could make each part of his body and put it all together at the same time! The answer more than satisfied his current curiosity and the conversation was done. But how often do I consider that God can put a lot of things together at the same time and put them together perfectly and meet more than a hundred needs in the matter of a moment, needs I don't even know exist.

There was such a burst of emotion in realizing that God can put a lot of things together at the same time. I wonder how that enables a child to trust God more, to wonder more, to crave Him more, to rest in Him, to be secure in Him. To just know that more than a hundred needs is an elementary task for Him. Oh, to think like a child at these times. To just believe and rest completely.


"For you have died, and the life you now live is hidden with Christ in God." Colossians 3:5

Writing

I like writing....I really do. Sometimes the words come from my brain to the computer screen with such speed that my hands can hardly keep up with my brain as it turbos on to the next paragraph. Sometimes I just have to get my little spoon and start digging and the words are so deep down that I have to take a lot of breaks just to rest my muscles and come back to it later with a fresh look. The latter is where I am currently at. It's fun for me to be able to write my own thoughts when celebrating a special occasion. It just makes things more personal than buying something that someone else wrote and copied hundreds of times so others could say, "yeah....that's what I think too". Don't get me wrong now. I love cards and were I living in America right now I would be buying them all the time, because it is nice to have a pretty card with pretty thoughts written on it for those special occasions. Sometimes though it's just nice to be able to send your own thoughts, because then it really does come from you! I'm trying to do this for a friend of both my husband and I who is getting married on Friday the 13! (I wonder if the groom arranged that on purpose? I wouldn't put it past him....hehe) I can't get the words right. It's either too preachy or too simplistic or not meaningful enough or it needs different words or better words that I don't know....then I should just ask my husband what he thinks a better word is but it really needs to be my own work and there is such a thing as dictionary.com and thesaraus.com so maybe i should take advantage of that?!!!!!! If that card doesn't get done by this Friday...then Jeff Daam, Congratulations! We love you! Be good to your wife! And HAPPY WEDDING DAY!!!!!!!

Long Distance Relationships

Living far away from someone I love is a dreaded foe of mine. There are so many obstacles in keeping the relationship going. Time changes, schedules, other relationships, etc., etc., Some people are very good at it I've noticed and make a great effort to make phone calls, send notes and pictures and so on and so forth. Still, it's so much more wonderful to be a part of someone's life when they are with you and you with them...

My husband and have experienced this phenomena once again over the last couple of months. A girl I used to babysit when I was a teenager has just completed her traveling the world journeys before she begins her college studies. We had the privilege of hosting her for 2 months of our lives. I loved it as it has made the reconnection with her family even stronger and I actually got to know her as a young woman. Two months of a person living in your home really gives you a solid chance to know them on much more than a superficial level, which I just deeply relish to my core. They also have the chance to see the real you, and how you really live and what kind of a wife you really are and what kind of a mom you really are and how your family really operates...core stuff, but usually there are elements you'd rather not share with the outside world. I didn't mind so much in this situation. I already loved this girl even though I didn't know her personally. Her parents had a tremendous impact on my life and were there for me through a lot of my teenage turmoil, her parents dearest friends are also some of my dearest friends, so an automatic bond existed before she ever arrived.

I remember one day she came with us to do some government business, and one of my husbands friends came along as well. I think I talked to her nonstop the entire morning. My husband's friend said I was hungry for someone to talk to. She listened so graciously to my goings on. I just really love young people. I love teenagers and college students and I love how exciting their lives are at this age. There's so much ahead of them, so many important decisions. Not just what degree should I go for and where should I go to school, but What do I believe? What do I think is important in life? in people? What are my values, goals, dreams, aspirations, desires, fears, roadblocks, hurdles, etc., etc. So anyway, I just really like and love talking with them about their lives. And it's always an added plus if I actually have anything to contribute to their lives....so my 19 year old girlfriend got the brunt of this love. hehe

She was so great around the house. She did my dishes way too many times. I didn't even try counting as I would be so embarrassed to know how often she actually did them, but in my third trimester state of pregnancy I didn't fight her very much, because I hate doing the dishes anyway. And she so loved my boys, and they fell in love with her immediately upon arrival. The fact is, we bonded and now....well....she's gone. Now I have another long distance relationship to contend with. Another person that I long to be even more a part of their lives than what has been granted me. I've missed so much of so many people's lives of people that I still love. I know the Lord is exhorting me to pursue loving relationships even if you miss out on some things, because it is worth for His Name's Sake. He will always reward those efforts in pursuing relationships for His Name's Sake.

The house feels empty. She became a part of our life, our family. Anytime she comes back (and I am expecting her to come back and bring at least 4 women with her, cackling women are preferred....major hints here) I know it will be as if she never left. Goodbye tears sting. But the promise of a future hello dilutes the sting and makes it tolerable....for now.

My New Arrival

It had been an eventful evening. A friend came over for a visit and stayed late. I caught up on my computer business afterwards and we "went to bed". A process that can take anywhere from 30 seconds to 2 hours depending on how tired I really am or how urgent certain tasks are. My second son must have had growing pains, because he was waking up every 30 minutes with a fake cry but an obvious notion of an inability to get comfortable. I would give him a drink of water and he would lie back down...but around 1:45am in my very pregnant state, I felt an uncontrollable burst of water exit my body and was suddenly on high alert for the presence of regularly intervalled contractions. They were coming, and were definitely real contractions of which I was quite confident since this would be my 3rd time delivering a child into the world. They were not coming at regular intervals and were not close to one another, so I decided to hang out in my own bed for a while, placing a towel down under me "just in case" of any mishaps. My second son woke up a few more times before the clock turned over to 3am and I decided to wake my husband. "Honey, wake up" "Can you hear me?" "Wake up please" "I need you to hear me" "Can you hear me" "Are you awake yet?" "Are you awake?" "Are you awake yet?"......To which I finally hear the reply, "Why are you asking me if I'm awake?" hehe.

"Honey, if you don't have a bag ready, you should get one ready, because I'm pretty sure my water broke." "Oh, right...ok" So we get bags ready, I have a few more contractions, convincing my husband that we do need to go to the hospital. So we wake up our visitor, who will be at home with our 2 other boys and let her know we are going to the hospital. A little after 4am my husband and I are on our way and arrive to the delivery room prepped and ready to go around 4:30am. The contractions continue and the nurses do their duties, some of which I find a little old fashioned, but am not willing to fight it out while my husband informs the nurse he will not be wearing the protective garments given him upon our entry. This difference in our personalities will turn out for the best within the next 2 hours. By 5:30am the nurse informed me I was dilated to 4 cm, which meant I to me and my husband that I was progressing at a slower rate than I did with our last child. Now the contractions had progressed more seriously and I suddenly thought that I would not be able to handle this little person's entrance into life without help, tried some laughing gas for 2 breaths which became very irritating after 2 seconds which meant no relief was coming very soon, which meant I was back to square one. My husband tried to encourage me, "You know, just because your not progressed as far as you like in your dilation, doesn't mean you're not progressing, you are progressing in other areas. The baby is moving down and the cervix is still thinning out so you are progressing......."
I had to change positions and moved onto my side hoping it would provide some comfort. A little comfort was found, but the contractions kept coming stronger, longer and with less relief in between each one. The next contraction I felt my body curl up and thoughtI wouldn't be able to handle any more. Then another uncontrollable urge to push came. I heard the nurse yell at someone, "GIVE ME THE DOCTOR!!! GIVE ME THE DOCTOR!!!" and her hand was between my legs??? I could see purely by the look that swept across my husband's face that this child had crowned and was going to be born very soon. My husband felt familiar enough with the whole process of childbirth that a baby who is crowning did not cause any panic in him. He very calmy asked the nurse, "Can you please calm down? You are not helping!" I heard the nurse again, "HURRY!!!! HURRRY!!!!!!!" Still with her hand between my legs in some form of attempt to keep the child from coming out. Again my husband requested calmly, "Please be calm..." Between the screaming orders, the screaming patient, and the sudden frantic activity, my husband stepped in again to express his own thoughts at the nurse holding her hands between my legs, "DAMN IT, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU!!!"
The urge to push overwhelmed me once again to which I did not deny my body and just gave in to this unbelievable force. I felt incredible relief and a deafening silence fell over the room. I looked up, and there was my child on the bed. I was just staring in awe, my husband was staring, the nurse was staring, the nurse aid was staring....and some man I hadn't seen all morning was walking in who could barely keep his eyes open and still getting oriented to the fact that he was even walking. It seemed to take him a long time to just get a pair of gloves on.
We heard the baby crying; he was crying he was alive. Somehow, some people were able to get their act together and the umbilical cord was cut and the baby was moved over to the baby warmer (which had not even been turned on yet) to do his initial exams and assessments. Then he was whisked away to the nursery for further evaluation. About 15 minutes after my son's birth and taken to the nursery, my doctor showed up at my bedside.
"What happened?" He says to me. hehe.

New Jewelry

I've never been one to wear a lot of jewelry all of the time.
I wear a little here and there and there are definitely some pieces of jewelry I like a lot more than others.
Some jewelry is stuff I wear everyday, all the time and usually is more meaningful to me.
Other stuff is there to help myself look a little nicer.
That's what new jewelry is supposed to do.
Help you look a little nicer.
Some jewelry is special just because of what it is.
Let's take a nose ring for instance.
When we (my husband & I) were trying to describe to my 5 year old what a nose ring is, we had to use another body part to help him understand that it really is the same thing you put in your ear, its just that it is in your nose.
And it seems that it is easier to want someone else to have a nose ring than it is to actually get one yourself.
Pierced earrings are an expected part of a girls daily wardrobe and attire.
A nose ring says something else, though i'm not quite sure what that something else is........
My husband has wanted me to get this permanent 3rd hole in my nose for several years. It just wasn't something I could commit to or really wanted myself. I'm not really one to make public statements that have the slightest risk of being controversial to anyone with whom I may come into contact.
But suddenly, a mysterious desire came over me. After years of it being my husbands desire, it became mine, why? The element of surprise and shock overcame me as this became the motivation to put a 3rd permanent hole in my nose. Inspired by my husband mixed with some desire to keep things a bit interesting since we are on the home stretch of 10 years of marriage and our 3rd child due any day (just to add to the interest).
So, I am now highly motivated to go and do it. I find a place, go in, sit on the seat, thankful that my friend Lori is with me because suddenly I get butterflies.....i saw the gun.
why does it have to look like a gun? can't they market it some other way to make it more desireable and therefore make more money? isn't everyone motivated by money?
I had also brought my dainty little nose rings with me from the other jewelry store, but they were not acceptable. Not properly sterilized. want to be clean you know.
The choices I now had were incredibly bold statements compared to the subtlely I had chosen earlier. More butterflies. but I was now committed, and it was a risk I was willing to take. So I sat down. Gave the piercer the least of my choice of evils and waited.
The gun was raised to my nose...I held my breath....and he took the gun out.
The gun was raised again to my right nostril to which I held my breath and with a reminder that I need to relax, then takes the gun out, my nose still in the same condition. After the 4th time of putting the gun at my nose I firmly burst out, "What is taking you so long?" "Is there something wrong?" To which I heard no answer but the feeling the gun approaching my nose for a 5th time and firing through the wall of my nostril accompanied with the immediate feeling of lightheadedness and the strong desire to just stay seated for as long as I could.
Immediately after and very likely at the same moment I realized I held the best bargaining chip ever in my entire marriage!!!!!! A little lightheadedness was worth it. By this time, Jay had been surprised by the fact that I was going to get my nose pierced since he usually finds out about surprises before they happen to him...and this was no exception.
So, once I was stabilized from the trauma...I called him. He owes me years, years, years. This act alone is worth years of love toward my husband. Is this the first time in history that a new piece of jewelry that a woman bought was really for her husband and actually benefited her relationship with him as a result of the purchase? How's that for rationalization? I think it's pretty good, actually.
So you are probably wondering if I like it? The answer is yes, I do. I've seen enough of them now that I really do think they look quite nice on a lot of women. I like mine too, though I'm going smaller asap.

Done or Undone? That is the question....

I have a great banana bread recipe acquired from a homemade cookbook.
Banana bread is a great thing to make,
and it doesn't really require great baking skills in order to make a good banana bread,
just the right ingredients.
and the right oven temperature.
and the appropriate amount of time in the right oven temperature.
if that is gourmet cooking for one then that one ought not be cooking....
or learn really fast.
Usually one hour works, but I have acquired a different oven since I last made banana bread.
I only took it out 5 minutes early because we were leaving for the whole rest of the day, not to return until after regular kid bedtime.
The bread caved.
In the center after baking for an hour and cooling the rest of the day was an ooey-gooey center of banana bread dough that I was bringing to a party the next day.
I just left it. wrapped it in foil.
the people loved the ooey-gooey center of banana bread.
So does that mean it really was done? If everyone loved the ooey-gooey undone center?
You could argue that it would be your goal in baking it that way, couldn't you?
It tasted great. You all should try it sometime.
Happy baking....

Here's the recipe I used:

2 1/4 c. flour
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 c. butter, softened
1 1/2 c. sugar
1 egg
1 tsp. vanilla
1 c. mashed bananas
4 Tbsp. sour cream

Sift flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt and set aside.
Cream butter and sugar.
Beat in egg.
Mix in mashed bananas, sour cream and vanilla.
Spoon dry ingredients into cream mixture quickly.
Grease and flour loaf pan (large).
Do not fill up loaf pan.
Bake @ 350 F for about 1 hour (depending on desired gooeyness)

The Carnival

My oldest son's school had a carnival today.

My husband said to bring home a duck.

A duck?

Yeah, a duck, bring home a duck, it can be our pet.

Hehe. Even if there are ducks there, there's no way I'm bringing one home.

A duck?

As we left I informed the kids we were walking to the carnival. It was a beautiful day, there's a wonderful breeze, and next to no cars on the roads.....perfect for walking.

The complaints spraying from their mouths tells me walks to school need to happen much more often and reminds me of my days walking to and from school dodging dobermans, bulldogs and boxers until I walked through the schoolgate and could finally breathe.

I warn our guest and friend, J, how things work where we live.

People don't stand in lines. You shove until you get to the front and parents help their children do that. After a well deserved scoff at the lack of orderliness, patience and other kind attributes to which I've grown accustomed, our friend assured she would help shove our son to the front of the crowd if deemed necessary so he could have his face painted.

We arrive at the entrance and muddle through the crowd of children who have seemed to have found themselves quite content to stand in the small doorway, pay for our tickets and enter the land of fun.

We stop by a booth filled with aquariums, cages, animal food and a multitude of children gazing at the life scurrying below them. I see 3 cages full of chicks! Cute, fuzzy baby chicks in your choice of the natural yellow, pink or green! Above on a table is a large aquarium filled with goldfish of varying shapes, sizes and colors and directly next to it an aquarium that has baby turtles prancing around it. There were other boxes and cages I hadn't seen yet. My children wanted to see what else they had here. So did I. As we peered into the box I heard a familiar yet unexpected sound. I hadn't recognized what it was yet, but what was that sound? It sounded like, "aaak" but it was rather high pitched and I was sure I had never seen the animal I was about view when I heard it again, "aaak". As I was able to finally see inside the box I recognized the animal sound immediately, "quaaak". Not only one, but probably 25 ducklings were waddling around inside the box in their most noble cuteness. There really were ducks here. Who takes a duck home as a pet? What do you do with it? What does it eat? I would never know. Ducks. Cute little, fuzzy, yellow and black duck babies.



We made our circuit with the big air slide, the airbrush paint tattoos for the boys, dealt with all the kids that had water guns, silly string, etc. they were throwing on each other, shooting at each other and getting everyone else in the way. Then we went back to the animal booth. What would we purchase from the animal booth? Four baby turtles.....that I later find out could grow to be 11" long each. Maybe we will name them after the Ninja Turtles....it is yet to be determined. In the meantime, they are sleeping on some rocks in their aquarium (that we already had from past goldfish) in the boys room, being enjoyed.

To Forgive is to Sacrifice is to Love

To forgive someone for anything whether seemingly small or overwhelming to the soul is a sacrifice. It is a sacrifice because to truly forgive someone quite often involves a significant amount of pain. It is painful to face head on that someone hurt you, disappointed you, failed you or abandoned you. It is painful to look at the damage that was caused whether minor or catastrophic. It is painful to be treated in a manner that places you in a position requiring you to either forgive it or allow the bitterness and anger to overtake you. It is painful to think that you now are responsible in how you respond to the mess that someone else created in your life, and you wouldn't even be in that position if it weren't for this other person who hurt you, disappointed you, failed you or abandoned you. It is painful and time consuming to proactively get a grip on your own pain/loss and the effects of that pain so that you can place that pain/loss on the altar before God Almighty as a fragrant sacrifice. Often what needs to be given as the sacrifice is probably the anger, bitterness and other emotions often accompanying a loss encurred by another person. The habits that spoken of in His Word that we are continually reminded we are already dead to. The habits and emotions that ought not control us, yet subtely enter and take control if we are not paying attention like anger, bitterness, malice, slander, immorality, etc., etc.,

Imagine taking a bull by the horns and placing it on the altar so the priest can slit its throat. Would you be able to do it alone? Does it count as your sacrfice if you are not involved in placing a stubborn animal that is much larger& stronger than you up there? It's risky, those horns might get you, he may throw you or kick you and that beastly thing is not going down without a fight, but you are not left alone to place that sacrifice up there. God sees how heavy, strong and stubborn this animal is and he has provided help, and we must allow help to enter in if that sacrifice is going to be a sacrifice at all. It is not sacrificed until it is on the altar and dead. Once the bull is up there and the priest slits its throat then the animal after time becomes still, the blood is spilled and a quiet rest is allowed in the freedom of blood bought forgiveness.

Once the battle with the sacrifice is complete then a kind of freedom may be experienced. The freedom to love. The freedom to love God for giving you the great grace and power through the Holy Spirit to wrestle through that pain. The freedom to love yourself since you are no longer filled with anger and bitterness. The freedom to love others since you realize now that it is through Christ alone that the ability to forgive comes. Ultimately it matters only what He thinks and not what others think. The freedom and ability to even see that person that hurt you terribly as a whole person who also carries shattered dreams, consequences, hopes and fears. sound wierd? like it shouldn't be like that? it is one of the beautiful surprises of forgiveness. We are not promised that we will be rid of all our pain....it may or may not happen, but we will be given the ability to see beyond our own pain in order to see others as they truly are and to see Christ as he truly is....the Ultimate Blood Sacrifice carrying with it the purpose of paying for our sins so that forgiveness can be offered to each of us and we can offer forgiveness to one another. It truly is a glorious, astronomically costly gift.

I would love to hear your thoughts, comments, questions about these wrestlings from my own mind....please talk!

Why 4 boys?

So, why 4 boys? It doesn't match up to the whole profile image, right? 2 boys plus 1 on the way equals 3 boys. Ok...I know you all are thinking about the so cliche line about the husband being just another boy to take care of and all the jokes that go along with it. But, when your husband is a man, one can only hope that there is indeed a boy within that man. The boy gives the life that makes living with the man not just enjoyable but desirable. A man who knows how to be a boy is, in my opinion, the most admirable quality one can find in a man. Let me make my point very clear. I do not mean someone who has to make a joke out of everything and doesn't know when to be serious and doesn't take responsibility for his actions and doesn't help take care of his family. I am talking about a man who doesn't always need to be the joker, but has one on hand to deliver at the right time. I am talking about a man who knows when it is necessary to not be serious. I am talking about a man who feels his responsibility to God, to his family and to others. I am talking about a man who will give his kids a bath, help do the dishes and even make the bed for his wife on a regular basis. This is a man who cares, and the same caring man, when he feels safe, can be the boy that brings the life to the home....and you will always make sure to take care of him. Because of the life of this boy, you will always want to be at home.