Last day of the year...

and what do I want to write?

No idea. There's this internal pressure of blogging to write something distinctively witty and engaging for special events--blogging anniversary, national holidays, cultural events, and the last day of the year.

Still no idea. At least no idea for anything distinctively witty. How about some history? Maybe that will launch some complete thoughts.

New Year's Day for me as a child was almost as big an event as Thanksgiving. My mom would work all day on the 31st, in the kitchen, to cook all the fixin's of a Southern New Year's day dinner. We'd have ham, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, rolls, black eyed peas, congealed salad something, and whatever else took her fancy. My dad was not a fan of collard greens, but I remember them a couple of years anyway. I was never and to this day am still not a fan of sweet potatoes and black eyed peas. As a child I was made to eat at least one bite. But during my freshman year of college while I was home on break, I rebelled. I told my mom that this New Year's I was not going to eat sweet potatoes or black eyed peas. I told her that I had been making food choices on my own for almost 5 months at college and those two items were not on my list.

My mom was astonished and furious. She told me that the black eyed peas would bring me financial increase--I didn't care. She told me that she had worked hard to cook them--I told her thank you for the effort, no thank you for that dish. She told me that I would have to iron as consequence for rebellion against the black eyed peas. And she warned me that ironing on New Year's Day would bring bad luck. I told her I didn't care, I wasn't eating them.

For whatever reason, that New Year's Day memory is one of my most significant. Mom doesn't remember it whatsoever, and our relationship was not irreparably injured because of black eyed peas. To me, it was a step in establishing my own path as related to college but also for life. I know that I made choices then (and probably still do) that raised the eyebrows. But to my parents' credit, they let me forge my own path, prayed for me in it, and loved me anyway.

In years since, New Year's has never been what I expected it to be, but then the year itself has never been what I expected it to be. Every year is more of a process of setting new goals and forging new paths and reaping consequences, both good and bad, for choices made. Hopefully, there's less rebellion driving my decisions, but I'm sure there's still some.

So for this last day of the year, my thoughts are more along the lines of things that I'd like to work towards in 2007. Whether it's things that I didn't quite accomplish last year that I want to finish, or it's new things all together as God has given me new desires.

I have some goals, I have some ideas, I have some paths I'd like to explore, but they're not fleshed out enough to write about yet. Stay tuned. One thing I can tell you for certain is that I will not be eating black eyed peas.

Happy New Year! May 2007 be a year of blessing in your life!

You dropped the bomb on me...

is what I will be singing, or rather croaking, tomorrow morning after a two hour family fun skate night with friends. Eeeyowie!

These dogs are barking! The bunion is burgeoning! The blister is blossoming! My feet will never be the same again. And there are muscles calling me unpleasant things, reminding me that there are very valid reasons for not trying to skate once a certain person has reached a certain thirty-something age. I'll just have to claim decreasing ability to hear because of age.

Honestly though, I was one grooving mama in my roller skates, the old timey kind because my platform requires the four-wheeling platform and not the four-wheeled blade. It took a few laps to recall the whole left, right, left, right pattern but then, it was like riding a bike--with like riding a bike soreness that follows too. Hands to the side...balance...BALANCE....glide, glide, glide...skate, skate...turn, turn, quickly turn....balance.

Skating at the rink brought back other kinds of pre-adolescent memories--the disco ball, colored lights, too loud music, couple skate, skate tricksters and speedsters, and 12 year old romances giggled over with friends. Those were the days. Days I'm glad to be through with entirely, unless one day I'm the not cool mom sitting on the side watching my sons skate.

Truth be told, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and the pleased as punch grin of fun on my friend's daughter's face was worth a thousand words. Thanks for the invitation--what a blast from the past!

(And the cats didn't starve because on the way home I bought a bag of dry cat food for them. See, everyone is happy.)

The cats might starve...

because we are completely out of dry cat food. I've told them they will just have to live on their *ample* fat reserves--that or eat Christmas cookies.

I could go to the grocery store and buy more cat food, but I am alone at my house. The great man, really great I'm thinking right about now, took the 3 future greats to the "property" for a fun day of four wheeler riding, hiking, target shooting & just general "I'm all boy" moments with their cousins and uncle. Woo Hoo! I believe is the proper response.

So I'm home alone--working on some studies, reading some books, taking down some Christmas decorations, thinking about seeing a movie--all by myself. Woo Hoo! again.

The idea of going out just to buy cat food, well, it's not on the top 10 list for things to do today.

Ergo, the cats just might starve.

Get. These. Christmas. Cookies. Out. Of. This. House.

Seriously! I may never wear the clothes given to me for Christmas if 1) someone doesn't get these cookies out of here or 2) I exercise some self-discipline and quit feeding them into my mouth!

But they're so good! And it will be a whole year before I make them again! And it's just a nibble! The excuses leave a bitter taste, but the cookies sure are sweet.

I suppose the third option would be to let the boys have cookies after every meal, even breakfast. Yeah, that would make me a super cool mom. And they'll certainly burn the calories. I'm liking this idea more and more. And what better way to have them use those new toothbrushes that were in their stockings? A solution may be occurring even as I type!

Boys, it's dessert time all the time until the cookies are gone!

Merry Christmas!

It's been a full day of unwrapping & exclaiming, whooping & hollering, thanking & hugging! What a great day!

I remember being sad as a teenager thinking that Christmas for me as an adult would never be as exciting as it had been for me as a child because my parents went to great lengths to make the whole day magical. I never thought I could replicate that magic. But as a parent now, albeit with some different traditions of Christmas, there is still something quite incredible in seeing my sons experience the excitement and pleasure in receiving and opening and enjoying gifts. The morning started with Happy Birthday, Jesus and just increased in tempo from there.

I love to see their joyful faces & hear the excited shouts of discovery. And of particular delight to me is how Christmas thankfulness shortcuts any usual sibling quarreling or discontent. That may come tomorrow and will be dealt with accordingly.

But for today, it was just plain merry--to have family all around, to hear laughter and to see smiles--what a terrific gift!

I hope that your Christmas was merry as well! All hail, the Savior is born!

On Saturday...

I did not wake up with a renewed temperament or attitude because I was up too stinking late the night before being beaten at canasta--twice!--by my dad and my husband! Eeeeegads! It was ghastly! The cards could not have been worse. Every hand contained the Old Maid.

So I went to bed peeved and annoyed with myself for being peeved over a silly card game and peeved that it was so late and extremely annoyed with myself for being peeved that it was so late because I was peeved over a silly card game....yada, yada, yada. It was after midnight and this Christmas elf should have been in bed long before.

Saturday morning was my only hope for sleeping in and instead of my alarm waking me (I'd taken care of that by turning it off!) I awoke to the sounds of two future greats, not being so great, quarreling over a Lego piece.

Well, it almost went downhill from there and for a time it did go downhill because arguments over toys around here almost always result in stuff reduction--their stuff. I had them open every drawer, storage box and cabinet; every shelf, closet nook and cranny and under the bed was searched for errant, improperly stewarded toys.

"Organization will rule!" was the decree from snappish, haven't slept off the peeved feeling yet mom. And the games of stuff reduction began. First step is putting all like things together. Second step is throwing away broken and incomplete pieces, sets, etc. Third step is establishing the give away pile. Fourth step is reorganization of storage for remaining pieces. Fifth step is hauling the trash away. Sixth step is wiping the blood, sweat and tears that ensues from the melee.

Actually most of it occurred without too much harangue because all three were evidently aware of the connection between the wrapped parcels downstairs, their names on gift tags and mom's temperament. Delicately, delicately they worked.

And then I let them eat breakfast.

But before I went to eat breakfast I had to go to the closet and confess my peeved attitude, ask for forgiveness and most of all, for help to behave in the Spirit the rest of the day. God was faithful in answering. The rest of the day was extremely productive, beyond my wildest dreams in that my mom and dad accomplished mucho organization in the library, schoolroom and boys' bedroom.

That type of cleaning will do much for renewing an attitude and temperament. But prayer does more.

Psalm 51:7, 10 "Purify me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow. Create in me a clean heart, O God, And renew a steadfast spirit within me."

Every year about this time...

I start to feel a little bit panicky about the Christmas present thing. Have I remembered gifts for everyone? Is *she* giving me a gift and if *she* does, then do I have something to give back to *her*? Have I found all the gifts for the boys that I've been stashing for the past year? And oh for goodness sake, what am I going to put in the stockings this year besides the traditional M&Ms and toothbrushes? (yes, I know it's a contradictory combination, but it works!)

It's that nagging feeling of "What am I missing?" Similar to the whole "Honey, I think I left the iron on" scenario that occurs 23 miles from home after you've all ready left 14 minutes late. It's very unsettling. And most years I can just dismiss it, chalk it up to the accumulated busyness that's been going on and drink another cup of Chai tea. Except for the glaring reminder of the Bionicles on my kitchen counter.

Two months ago my oldest was downstairs in the basement hammering away with some bent nails on some scrap lumber. He was intent on his creation. I heard the hammering stop and after about 15 minutes, his pounding feet were on their way upstairs. When he came inside, his words jumbled out, "Hey mom, I was looking for some more wood and I saw this box and it had some sawdust on top of it so I thought it might have some more wood inside of it and so I looked and there was a Star Wars ship in there and some books and one of those little Lego things that I got at my birthday and a cowboy belt and a little bow and arrow and oh yeah, some Bionicles. "

"WHAT???"

And he repeated the whole thing.

"Honey, I don't know what you're talking about. Would you please bring the box upstairs and I'll look at it."

"Sure, mom!"

He brings the box upstairs and lo and behold, inside the contents revealed all that he had related plus a couple of Christmas ornaments---and that's when I remembered that these *treasures* belonged to the pile of presents that I had purchased for my darling children TWO YEARS AGO!
Aaaack!

I dispensed all the gifts right then and there---except for the Bionicles. Those things are now banned from the house FOREVER! That's a whole other post.

Anyway, do you see why I'm feeling unsettled? Who knows what other box of treasures might be stored in the basement. Where's the Chai tea?

Conversations with a room mom

Me: I've been thinking about what sort of activity we should do for our class Christmas party. What ideas do you have?

Room mom: Wow! I'm so glad that you asked because I was thinking that you could haul all the boys out to Target or WalMart or just some other equally super crowded place swarming with last minute shoppers, and then painstakingly go through the candy aisle to try and decide what sugar filled treat will look most like window panes on the gingerbread houses I'm designing in my mind.

Me: Oh, do you really think it's necessary to have the boys work on gingerbread houses? I mean, do they really need all that candy? Do you, I mean I, really need all of that mess?

Room mom: I can't believe that you'd ask a question like that. I mean, won't your boys feel deprived and therefore, won't you be considered a neglectful, Scroogish and Grinchlike mom for not providing them with candy laden houses that are arguably just too cute? By the way, instead of using traditional gingerbread or graham crackers, I was thinking that to create a stucco like effect we, I mean you, could square off some vanilla wafers. What do you think?

Me: Well, I'm not too keen on that whole carving vanilla wafers thing. But to answer your first question, no, I don't think I'm being Scroogish or Grinchlike to ixnay the ouseshay. I let them have candy and cookies. Trust me, they'll think me a lot more Scroogish or heck, even Marley's ghost of terror and horror, if I have to figure out some gingerbread project thingy. I say we, I mean I, will just buy a roll of sugar cookie dough, let them press out some shapes and sprinkle sparkles to their hearts' content. How about that?

Room mom: I guess that would work. But you know what other people will say about it.

Me: Yes, they'll say "Why, didn't I think of that." Now, let's talk about what you, I mean I, am going to get for my end of year present.

Third day update

Well, it's the third day of homeschooling, and at last check I still had a head of hair and none have turned shock white in the past 72 hours. I also looked at the future greats and all three still had their heads. Obviously I can't claim any veteran success at only day 3, but I can say what has delighted me in the last 72 hours.

1) The future greats receive an additional 45 minutes of sleep which does wonders for their temperaments and attitudes.
2) Reference #1 and factor in how it helps my temperament and attitude.
3) I receive an additional 30 minutes of sleep which does wonders for my temperament and attitude.
4) Reference #3 and factor in how it helps the general household climate.
5) Breakfast is just breakfast with no spelling tests, math facts, phonogram reviews, or finishing touches on "parent homework" (otherwise known as projects).
6) Parenting opportunities that arise are efficiently dealt with by a mom with renewed temperament & attitude (see #1 & #3).
7) Parenting opportunities that arise are received by any future great with renewed temperament & attitude (see #1 & #3).
8) Daddy gets to eat lunch with us all--most days so far.
9) Lunch means school is finished.
10) School is finished at lunch which means there is no homework.
11) School is finished at lunch which means that with the current seasonably warm weather being experienced, all future greats head outside for "recess" and "physical education".
12) #11 plus "free" and/or "alone" time for mom is now in my own house amongst my own comforts instead of in a carpool line.
13) There is no carpool, unless there's a logjam of bodies in the hall or on the stairs while coming downstairs for breakfast.
14) There are no school uniforms, unless you count the track pants and Batman t-shirts as one.
15) Sitting on the couch snuggling and reading with the future greats counts for language arts.
16) Learning with the future greats instead of having to call another mom and figure out what in the world the homework means.
17) Learning that when a future great understands a concept I can move him on to the next lesson rather than have him frustrated and bored at the slower speeds otherwise required.
18) I can teach and prepare supper at the same time.
19) I can teach and drink coffee at the same time--could have probably done this anyway but doing anything and drinking coffee at the same time just seemed to be a bonus.
20) They like the stickers and stamps that I give out for well done work.

That's just a current observable top twenty for the time being. I hope to be able to add to the list. Today just seemed to be a keynote of blessing that God has allowed for our lives. I promise to be authentic though and also write in on the days that even renewed temperaments and attitudes do not hold up under the pressures.

But today was a blessing and for everyone who likes to say, "I'm just taking it one day at a time." This was a day to take, to enjoy, and for which to be thankful.

It's a Carnival!

When I think of carnivals I'm transported back as a child to memories that cause me to immediately smell popcorn and cotton candy, buttery grilled corn and killer-sweet funnel cakes. I can hear calliope music and the din of a crowd pushing to ride the ferris wheel, hear the bells and whistles of carnival games and the banter of callers urging people to pay "$5.00 for 3 balls! Knock the pins down!".

So obviously when I first entered the blogging world and read about these "carnivals" I only had childhood memories as a reference. Blogging carnivals don't have the popcorn and cotton candy, although you could probably snack on such things while reading. And blog carnivals don't feature calliope music, although some sophisticated sites do have music accompaniment. However, the point of a blog carnival is not unlike the enjoyment of a childhood carnival. As a child I was amazed at all the fascinating things that the carnival provided from the Bearded Lady to the Smallest/Strongest Man in the World. At blog carnivals I'm thrilled by all of the good writing. Many talented people from all over the blogging world gather before an inquisitive audience to read others' writings on all sorts of topics related to a particular theme. A blogging carnival is a menagerie of ideas on one theme.

And by golly, balls of jolly, I decided to jump in and join the Carnival of Homeschooling. So if you're so inclined and would like to read about some varied topics related to homeschooling, please go visit at Principled Discovery for the 51st Carnival of Homeschooling. No callers will try to have you flip the penny in the plate at only $2.50 a chance. And you'll have to bring your own popcorn and funnel cake. But it's well worth the visit! Have fun at the Carnival!

World's worst wrapping award goes to....

Me!! Yes, indeedy! I'm a paper stretching piecer who is spatially challenged when it comes to figuring out the size of the paper to the gift. But in receipt of today's award I want to thank everyone involved in the whole Christmas paper wrapping scam, I mean, business.

I'd like to especially thank the wrapping paper companies who do not spend extra to have printed lines on one side of the paper for people like myself who are cut-in-a-straight-line-with-scissors challenged. I also want to thank the tape companies who thoughtfully produce handy dispensers that do not shear the tape cleanly with one pull but instead require multiple pulls whereby each yank creates an imprint on the tape and results in a wadded mess.

I'm particularly fond of wrapping paper that is virtually transparent, allowing curious children to see what's wrapped, although when rolled up on the tube seemed impenetrably thick due to the depicted nose-glowing reindeer antics. And don't let me forget to thank the various stores that sell wrapping paper in one size only at highway robbery prices even though virtually every gift needing wrapping requires super-sized paper at terroristic prices.

Ah, yes, the joy of wrapping is heralded around here with elfin glee. Maybe you're thinking, "Just go to gift bags." Well, dear reader, that option has been tried but a couple of things keep coming up, 1) 3 curious children and 2) 2 curious cats. Plus the fact that to buy a gift bag large enough to hold certain gifts, I'd have to tack on an additional $12.00 per gift! I use them when I can because even I, a defunct wrapper, can wad and stuff some tissue paper around a gift.

In fact, gift bags aren't the only concession made around here for those curious cats. I had to give up pretty bows on all the packages years ago because of cat #1's penchant for eating them and then yacking the pretty bow all over the carpet. Cat #2 loves to stick his neck through a ribbon and then haul his fluffy tail around the house believing the package to be possessed and chasing him. No shortcuts on Christmas entertainment, here!

So, to the trenches for wrapping. A task that must be done simply because there's nothing quite like the flurry of unwrapping that occurs Christmas morn to make all the bad wrapping jobs quite so worthwhile!

First day...

Today was the first day of homeschooling--official homeschooling now duly noted on the school board books official, with the whole capital "O" Official!

Wow! Am I glad that first day is over! And not because the first day was horrible. In fact, the first day was actually quite good, pretty encouraging, and filled with those moments of "Gee, I'm glad I'm doing this and not doing what I would have been doing."

I'm glad that the first day is over because the "first day" has all its moments of anticipation and associated fear that come with any big venture. Like, the first time you spend the night at your parents' house as a married couple or the first time you give birth. Lots of anticipation and associated fear!

Really, though, today was truly nice. The future greats were allowed to sleep in until 7:15 but they woke up early and excited so decided to get up and get ready. I had told them the night before that they had until 8:00 to accomplish their morning tasks--breakfast, room, brushing teeth, etc. Any free time between their tasks and 8:00 was theirs to use within all ready known parameters.

Then at 8:00 we prayed together--me mostly for myself--and we sang Christmas hymns together and discussed what the hymns meant. The boys worked on math--I actually taught a fractions lesson (I realize that any good friends reading this just fell off their computer desk chairs onto the floor--get some smelling salts, will ya?) We also did history, Bible, spelling, memory work, recitation, handwriting, phonograms, reading comprehension, independent reading and group reading. At times I gave the littlest one "learning centers" to do while I worked with the older two. And when I was working individually with the littlest one, the older two did their independent reading.

God definitely blessed the day. I was really blessed at actually seeing them learn, and it was truly fun to watch them discover things. I was reminded of seeing them as babies "find" their hands or feet or realize that a toy made a certain rattle.

I know that today was just a taste of how good it can be, and I know that other days won't run that well at all. But for today I was just truly thankful that when I remember back to the "first day", it will be a sweet and precious memory.

Psalm 30:12 "That my soul may sing praise to Thee, and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give thanks to Thee forever."

Decorating with any of these?

While trying to name that Christmas tune, one of the future greats said, "Oh yeah, that one's deck the halls with balls of jolly."

It was everything I could do not to snort my coffee.

Hmmm, where did I put those jolly balls?

Big changes

We've made big changes around here lately. We've taken the leap to homeschool. The three future greats were at a private school. We've not ever been opposed to homeschooling although I didn't think myself capable, number one; and number two, we were content with the private school.

God changed both circumstances. He moved my heart to seriously consider and desire a greater involvement in my son's schooling. He moved my husband's heart to seriously consider and desire a greater involvement in our son's schooling. And He allowed changes at the private school to occur that caused us both to desire a different environment. God is a God of big changes apparently.

At a Thanksgiving service at our church, my husband gave thanks for the changes citing that not only had God changed our hearts but He had allowed us to be just uncomfortable enough in present circumstances to also desire changes. God is the author of big changes obviously.

So now well supported by the research done into all the possibles of homeschooling, I'm depending on God for more big changes. Things like greater patience, greater self-discipline, greater time management, and greater appreciation for big changes. Well supported by church family and friends, I'm thankful for their prayers and practical help. Well supported by family, who while not completely sure of the outcome, are trusting in the time and effort we've taken to make this decision. Well supported, we move forward knowing that God will continue to make big changes.

Here's to serving a God of big changes!

Where and how do you choose to serve?

I know that everyone has something to do. There are more opportunities to serve than there is time to serve. So how do you choose where you're going to serve?

I've always had a problem with saying no when asked to serve, particularly when the expressed need was felt personally.

It was first my husband who put the governor on my wheels so to speak. I remember resenting it at first because being needed filled a hole in myself. But when you personally fill every hole that needs filling, you end up actually being swiss cheese yourself. So he instituted a policy of "everytime you say yes to one thing, you must say no to something else". The one for one policy helped me learn some priorities because I really had to want to do the "something" to be willing to give up another "something". Over time as I learned the whole prioritizing, I realized that my God-given talents were actually best used on somethings and weren't meant to be used at all on others.

For example, I love teaching the Bible. I currently teach a ladies' Bible study that I'm passionate about, and I pray that God is glorified in my service. I know myself to be completely dependent on Him for the time necessary to do all of the reading, study and preparation essential to being able to teach. And although God has given me a love for speaking in that it comes naturally and without too many nerves, I recognize that unless the Holy Spirit fills me for the teaching and prompts the hearts to receive, my words will fall empty.

On the other hand, one time I helped organize a consignment sale. I'm not nearly as talented with organizational skills as I desire to be, and the whole interpersonal ego/female dramas that occur with such a sale bring out the road rage person in me that I'd like to forget even exists. My "gift" for speaking becomes warped and sarcastic, certainly not glorifying to God at all. And although the money raised by the sale went to help worthy causes, I delighted in the personal gain the sale gave as well--maybe even too much.

Arguably, depending on God for both types of service is necessary. Humanly though, in the first case I know myself to be needy of His intervention, and constantly call out to Him for help. With the second case, I behaved in my own strength & all the stretch marks showed.

Conclusion: In having to choose where to serve, I wholeheartedly desire serving God in areas where I know myself to be most needful of His help. Otherwise I selfishly look to my own strengths, which end up not being strengths at all. My sin nature perverts them to weaknesses. But when I embrace my lack--of time, knowledge, skill, organization, wisdom, etc--God shows up gloriously to have His name proclaimed as the One who did in me and through me what I can not do in myself. It's scary, in my flesh, to be so "needy" of help when I'd rather feel myself capable. But when I feel myself to be "so capable", my flesh is scary.

Guess that's what Paul learned in 2 Corinthians 12:9 "And He has said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness." Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may dwell in me."

Setting the bar

Christian discipleship has always had a bar, a measure, a standard. In the OT, the bar was called the Law of Moses and no one, save Christ, met its requirement, although many died, physically and spiritually, trying.

In Romans, Paul tackles the question that if no one can meet the bar, then is it an unjust bar? Is it an unjust God who sets it? Is it a wrong measure to even have?

And Paul clearly reminds his readers that the bar is completely just, the God who set the bar is completely just and the bar's purpose is completely just. Paul even contends that those who live under grace by faith should still meet the bar.

So what has happened in believers today who claim to live under grace by faith but reject the notion and purpose of the bar when it comes to the practical details of Christian living? I'm not talking about a legalist notion of the "shall nots" and "should nots", although there is in great measure wisdom for choosing not to do certain things, ie. gluttonous eating is bad for your health. More particularly I'm talking about being willing and desirous of Christian living that understands and appreciates the value of costly commitment.

Personally I think God would blow open the doors of heaven to His people for embracing commitment at cost. We don't serve a dollar store God, and we shouldn't expect dollar store commitment to last--either eternally or otherwise.

I pray God will continue to cause me to count the cost, and I trust that His imperishable riches are enough to fund the cost through me.

1 Corinthians 3:11-15 "For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. If any man builds on this foundation using gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw, his work will be shown for what it is, because the Day will bring it to light. It will be revealed with fire, and the fire will test the quality of each man's work. If what he has built survives, he will receive his reward. If it is burned up, he will suffer loss; he himself will be saved, but only as one escaping through the flames."

A hamster on a wheel

Currently I feel like a hamster on a wheel.

The future greats are back in school with even the littlest future great having started (and loving) kindergarten. Maybe conventional wisdom would say that things should start opening up with all the time I now have--I mean, really, all three of my boys are in school at least some part of the day. So why do I feel like I'm the hamster on the wheel just spinning, and spinning, and spinning?

Perhaps because when the future greats are at home, I must be organized or nothing gets done and we all spin the wheel. And I'm now being faced with the daunting task of disciplining myself for the "open" time. As the Bible study I attend is starting up, I see this task taking shape of its own accord!

Additionally, all of the many after school activities have started up so I seem to always be in the minivan running someone somewhere. And we're one of those families who only allow each child to have one "extra" activity. The oldest fences one night a week, the next plays soccer--here's the rub because practice is twice a week with games all weekend--and the youngest has nothing but to be his brothers' greatest cheerleader/fan.

Even as I've just typed that out I realize I've answered my own question of why I feel like a hamster on the wheel. It is certainly taking some time this year to adjust and re-adjust to the "back-to-school" schedule.

Maybe I should eat more carrots....

To God Be the Glory

To God be the Glory was the only thing I could say today. And not because great and glorious things were happening. In fact, quite the opposite was occurring.

Something that I care a great deal about, that I have invested much time and energy into seemed to be threatened by the enemy. You know, that old garden enemy that slithereth around and wreaketh havoc.

And the enemy's attack came right after a tremendous weekend of renewal and reminder that I serve a victorious Lord. Just when I should have suspected an ambush, I was too busy basking in glow and moving ahead with *my* plans.

So he came, he struck, he bruised.

I cried, I prayed, I sang.

He came, He died, He lives.

Enemy, watch out. He holds the keys to your destruction, and I still serve Him.

Knowing Whom you believe means you can confidently, even if out of tune, sing "To God Be the Glory!"

"I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between her offspring and your offspring; He shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise His heel." Genesis 3:15

What my children have taught me about God

Jules over at Everyday Mommy is hosting a writing contest for moms on the topic "what my children have taught me about God." Easily that topic could be the fodder for numerous entries when I consider daily the ways these future greats humble me before my Father. When I have to discipline, I'm reminded that He disciplines those whom He loves. When I have a good gift to give them, I'm reminded that He always gives good gifts. When I hurt over a pain in their lives, physical or emotional, I'm reminded that He knows all the sorrows known to me. When I am impatient, I'm reminded that He is everlastingly patient with me.

As you can see, I could go on and on simply because the topic and its lessons are in daily operation for this mom of future greats. So when actually trying to distill the lessons down into an essay I thought mostly about how God even made me a mom. Me--the woman who didn't want to get married and certainly didn't want to have children. Me--selfishly ambitious for the tinsel of the world instead of the treasures of the Kingdom. All of that is it's own story by itself, but I'm humbled again at just remembering the ways the Potter has had to mold this lump of clay called Me.

Anyway, I write all that to say that being a mom has been both better and harder than anything or any other career that I could have taken. I'm awed that God chose me to be a mom, and I'm infinitely thankful that not only has He used the process to teach me about Himself but that He continues to teach me through these precious lives. The following is my essay.

My children have taught me much about God and the way He graciously operates in this world for the sake of His people. God has blessed me with four boys and daily their lives remind me of God's presence, promise, provision and providence. Here is some of their story.

My first child taught me about the presence of God. James was born into my presence in 1994. He was arguably the most beautiful child I had ever seen. He became ill at 3 months old. The next two and a half years were spent in and out of hospitals, in and out of treatments against a genetic disease that robbed him of developmental skills, health and a "normal" life. But disease was never able to deprive him of love or laughter or the preciousness of life. James was born into the presence of God in 1996. During his difficult two and a half years, I struggled with God as Jacob did, pleading for a blessing for my son, for myself. I cried out for His mercy on my son, on myself. I railed against the genetic curse on my son, on myself. And when James took his last breath in my arms, I knew and yearned for that very presence of God. Heaven and its promise has all fullness and imperishable understanding for me as I consider its glory and hope. James taught me to yearn for my true home, in the presence of God.

My second child taught me about the promise of God. Nate came into my life in 1997. He was born at only 28 weeks, weighing 2 pounds, 11 ounces and only 14 1/2 inches long. He was arguably the tiniest baby I had ever seen. We adopted Nate only 9 months after James' death and every detail of his adoption was handcrafted by God to the tiniest degree. From the first moments of seeing him, holding him, I was continually reminded by God's words "Thus says the Lord, your Redeemer, who formed you from the womb: 'I am the Lord, who made all things, who alone stretched out the heavens, who spread out the earth by myself," that all God's promises are true. Nate's full name is Nathanael for Philip's friend who wondered if anything good could have come from Nazareth. Nate has indeed taught me that the ultimate and greatest good not only came from Nazareth but He still lives today, keeping His promises to His people to the tiniest degree. Nate teaches me to live like a child of God, trusting in the promises of God.

My third child taught me about the provision of God. Matthew came into my life in 2000. He was arguably the oldest baby I had ever seen at 26 months old with a head full of curly hair and a past just as full of chaotic details. We adopted Matthew after having tried to adopt unsuccessfully for 2 years. Every event of Matthew's life has taught me that in the provision of God, I am not forgotten. He is continually at work sanctifying me and removing the years that the locusts have eaten. He is not finished with me and by His word provides the transformation that I need to be fully His child. Matthew's name means "gift of God," and he teaches me even by his own difficulties, that the provision of God is always that of good and precious gifts.

My fourth child taught me about the providence of God. Samuel came into my life in 2001. He was arguably the most surprising baby I had ever seen because he was born to me when I thought that pregnancy was impossible and genetic disease too probable. Samuel was born without the genetic disease that stole the life of his brother, James. During my pregnancy I had prayed with the fervor of Hannah that this child's life be spared and God did indeed grant me what I had asked of Him. While I learned that prayer is both for my obedience and blessing, God also taught me about His real and majestic sovereignty. With James, the answer to prayer was his eventual death, and the answer to prayer with Samuel was his life unaffected by the genetic disease, and it is only God who has the power to answer thus with any person. Through Samuel He continues to teach me that above all, He alone reigns supreme to do as He wills with His sons and daughters for His glory and their good.

Presence, promise, provision and providence--all of my children have taught me much of God and His love for His children. May I continue to be a child at His feet, learning from the precious ones He has given me for my blessing and inheritance.

"Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it." Luke 18:17

Good day....Bad day?

Bad day: could not pull myself out of bed to exercise like I needed to today. Chalked it up to the pain in my left heel. Bad excuse.

Good day: checking email and received an email from the past from a dear friend reconnecting. How exciting and sweet it was! Plus some other emails from friends reminding me that God is still in control. Good moment.

Bad day: felt unfocused and overwhelmed with all that has to be accomplished in the next week before school starts and other responsibilities. Bad organization.

Good day: future greats went right to playing with one another happily so that I could work on some of the pile on my desk. Good sons.

Bad day: lost my temper with future greats whose playing quickly degenerated into tsunami like behavior with millions of little pieces of Legos, K'Nex, Star Wars and assorted other things. Bad lecture.

Good day: everyone refocused on positive stewardship of toys and time and cooperation with one another to accomplish some household chores. Good work.

Bad day: while future greats profitably engaged, the Blue Duke of Disaster, et al. the cat, jumped onto the dining room table and knocked over an entire bottle of water to flood dozens of very important registration cards needed for upcoming Bible study. Bad frustration.

Good day: oldest future great jumped in to help me sort out wet cards onto paper towels scattered all over dining room and put up a small fan to help them dry. Good thought.

It's only 2:19 EST. I'm exhausted and wondering what the verdict of the day will be by tonight.

Psa 138:7 Though I walk in the midst of trouble, thou wilt revive me: thou shalt stretch forth thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies, and thy right hand shall save me.
Psa 138:8 The LORD will perfect that which concerneth me: thy mercy, O LORD, endureth for ever: forsake not the works of thine own hands.

Just the laugh I needed

I don't know who wrote this gem of an essay about public restrooms but I received it in an email today from a friend. Somehow she must have known I needed a belly laugh like this one. Thanks, friend. Hope you enjoy it as well.


Public Restrooms..........


When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of
women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn,
you check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman
leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't
matter.

The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's mom, no
doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook,
if there were one, but there isn't - - so you carefully, but quickly,
drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put
it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance." In
this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd
love to sit down, but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat
or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance." To take your mind
off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the
EMPTY toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your mom's
voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have
KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more. You remember
the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's
still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the
puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.


Some one pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The
door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your
chest, and you and your purse topples backward against the tank of the
toilet. "OCCUPIED!" you scream, as you reach for the door dropping your
precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your
footing altogether, and slide down directly on the TOILET SEAT. It is
wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late.
Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life
form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper -
not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try. You know your
mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because, you're certain,
her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, "frankly,
dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get." By this
time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that
it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose that somehow
sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet
paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At that point, you
give up.

You are soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're
exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket
and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. Now, you can't figure
out how to operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe
your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of
women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the
very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from
your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from
your shoe, plunk it into the woman's hand and tell her warmly, "Here,
you just might need this."

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and
left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and
why is your purse hanging around your neck?"

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public restroom
(REST??? - You've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men
what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly
asked question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the
other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex
under the door !!!!!!

Packing for the hills

Woo Hoo! I know that school is about to start for several of you. I know that most of you have all ready been on at least one vacation, if not two. I know that it is near the first of August. But this family hasn't had their vacation yet.

This is the week! We're heading to the hills of North Carolina--the mountains--the cool, crystal streams--the creek of rocks galore for future greats to plunk, skip, splash and haul away as treasure.

This is the week when picnics are the rule, not the exception. When the noise of an air conditioning causes a start. When the porch swing beckons, I can actually go and sit in it. When the creases of strain in my great man's face relax from sleeping in.

Can you tell I'm excited? This is the week.

That is, if I can manage through today of packing everything but the kitchen sink, remembering the details of how the house runs for the housesitter, and patiently train the children, as I train myself, that working together not only builds character but gets us all out the door with speed and grace.

This is the week!

I don't know if there'll be any blogging "from a remote location" because I didn't get to that part of the tutorial. But I hope you'll come back after "this week"!

Blogger technobabble

From the very beginning one of my greatest fears about blogging has been the technobabble associated with the art/journalistic work that is blogging. I don't know a blessed thing about html and its sister languages of code and encode. I am usually out of code anyway since the future greats learned to spell.

So there are all of these great blogs that I want to link to and reference and other posts that I want to link to and reference and pictures that I want to link to and reference, do you get my drift? But I have no knowledge whatsoever about linking to and referencing.

So in a moment of desperation I took the chance and left a question/comment on Shannon's Rocks in My Dryer blog about her Works for Me Wednesday feature that I think is really cool. "I want to play, please, but I don't have that kind of Barbie" was the tone of the plea. And I also included shameless flattery of how much I enjoy her blog--which is patently true. Shannon graciously emailed me back a thanks and a note to check out Blogger help. But then she said the "T" word.

Yes, "tu-tu-tu-tu-torial"! Ack! I've tried "tutorials" in the past and find myself immensely confused and frustrated because in the tutorializing they use terms that I don't understand!

For example, friendly tutorial says, "If you want to put your blog in a subdirectory, this must not be an absolute path--it should be relative to your ftp root location on the server."

Ladies, I'm a simple woman. I don't know what a subdirectory is, and the only absolute path I seek is the one way through Jesus Christ. Moreover, my relatives don't farm ftp roots in any location near servers of food.

But, all that terminology aside, after a few, no several, actually quite a few mistakes, I did manage to add some links on my sidebar. Woo hoo! Please visit these blogs! And while it's not computer hacking into the Pentagon missile bank, I do feel like Matthew Broderick on War Games, just a bit-a teeny, tiny bit.

Pottery doesn't talk back

The slumber party was great--although the ladies didn't completely rule the canasta game. Oh well, there's always next time.

But on Saturday, the great men gave us the day off to enjoy "therapy" of our choosing. We considered retail therapy, podiatric therapy, and dairy therapy but decided on pottery therapy. One of those pick-your-piece-of-pottery-and-paint-it places just opened and I've always wanted to try it.

So after only a tiny bit of convincing we went in, heard the scoop, decided it was the deal and set to work on persuading the creative juices to flow. The staff was truly helpful and once we found the baskets of stencils, stamps, tracing papers, and stacks of super cute ideas, we were creatively salivating over the world's next greatest piece of art.

We each picked a plate shape to create the "Family Celebration Plate" piece--I know it's not exactly a unique idea but it's a start--and we were on our way to colors, brushes and oh yeah, the actual work.

We painted in sweet, companionable silence, just enjoying the therapy of using colors and brush technique to fashion the images we had for our plates.

And the pottery didn't talk back to us, not even once. The pottery didn't ask to have more green and less blue. It didn't complain when the lines didn't completely fall in pleasant places. The pottery didn't even squeak with ingratitude when, in our timing, it took us a bit to decide exactly how to letter the edges or which stars to use. Amazing, huh?

When our plates were finished, we rested and were thoroughly pleased with the results--they were very good. Most of all, they were fashioned with love and thought for our family members. On any given day when a celebration is in order, the plate will signify unique rejoicing for that family member. What a day that will be!

Definitely we'll be going back to pottery therapy--what a great reminder.

Slumber party!

I'm busy packing for a slumber party. There is no time to blog an entry of insight or profundities. I've got sleeping bags and play clothes and toothbrushes and toiletries and pirate costuming to first find and then pack.

We're going to a friends' house where the future greats rule the outdoors and the women rule the canasta game (so we're getting old--no laughing!) and the great men rule the grill.

That makes for a fun beginning to a weekend!

Slumber party!!!!

What makes a good day?

There are a lot of things that can make a good day but today I submit to you the following agenda as "good day" things:

Wake up
Work out
Drink coffee
Read Bible
Eat breakfast
Help future greats with summer schooling
Organize littlest future great's clothes for school
Eat lunch
Read blogs & answer emails
Catch up on phone calls
Shower at 3:30 pm
Put on pajamas at 4:00 pm
Pop popcorn
Future greats watch a movie
Blog

We didn't have anywhere to be. I didn't have to spend any money. There were no errands to run. We were out of the heat. Leftovers are planned for supper.

Now that was a good day!

Hope you had one too!

Not balance but a wheel is what I want

Too many times in my life I have veered and careened from one extreme to another in a misguided quest for stability. I latched onto the idea of balance and felt it to be a holy grail. Instead it became a self-centered seeking of having my cake and eating it too and feeling clean conscienced about the poundage I was putting onto the flesh, spiritually speaking.

Because my eyes were focused on the wrong goal, namely those things that pleased me and fit in with all the activities I had chosen to do, there was indeed a semblance of balance but not founded on truth. Balance became the perpetual plate juggler and spinner act.

A couple of years ago I was challenged by a godly teacher to reconsider the error of balance. Instead she suggested that I undertake the analogy of a wheel having Christ in the center or wheel hub and each spoke denoted a person or activity in my life. For example, the great man, the future greats, friends, social activities, hobbies and so on were all on spokes. At any given point because of the stress or deadlines or pressures incumbent to one of those spokes, the image becomes that of the particular spoke being pressed against the ground, or "the rubber hitting the road". But at no point is the wheel hub, Christ, to be displaced by one of the spokes. Just because one spoke at any point might need or require greater attention than another, there can be no reason to replace the wheel center, Christ. The spokes are intimately dependent upon the wheel hub to be held together and kept moving, in the right direction. A spoke might break and need repair, even strengthening, but if the wheel hub is replaced with less than perfect strength, then it affects all the other spokes adversely.

Right around the same time as receiving that analogy, I read on a blog a similar challenge--here I pause to apologie to the blogger who wrote this story because I do not have written down exactly where I saw this, but I believe it was Spunky Homeschool's blog so credit to her if it was there and my apologies if I have misplaced the credit.

"When our children were young, I made a wheel out of paper and put a round cog in the center and labeled it Christ. Shooting out from the center were spokes and at the end of each was an arch with the name of a family member. It was our 'family wheel'. When we all stayed in our appointed place, the wheel ran smoothly. But as it often happens, one of the spokes tries to place himself in the center of the wheel. At that time, anyone else was free to go up to the wheel and move Christ out of the center and place the name of the individual in the center. It quickly became obvious that the 'family wheel' was broken and needed fixing. It was at that point that we stopped what we were doing and sought to repair the wheel and the relationships."

These two challenges combined have been very helpful to me in evaluating myself and others on my own family wheel. In my own sin when I place myself in the center of the wheel, relationships suffer and need repair. Or when I place other things, people, activities in the center of the wheel, relationships suffer. And likewise, when other people place themselves in the center of the family wheel, it causes the rest of us to suffer.

So it is not balance that I seek but a Christ-centered family wheel.

Lord, forgive me for trying to be the center. Help me to forgive others for making themselves the center. Do not let me rest until only You are the center.

"The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot. The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance. I bless the Lord who gives me counsel; in the night also my heart instructs me. I have set the Lord before me; because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken. Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices; my flesh also dwells secure. For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol, or let your holy one see corruption. You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore."

Psalm 16:5-11

My car stinks...

when I turn the car on a very foul smell issueth from the air conditioning vents. I have visions of some creature caught in the Starship Odyssey innards, decaying and gross.

I expect the inside of the car to stink. It's just over 100 degrees every day via the heat index. I have 3 XY future greats. Hence, I expect the inside of the car to stink.

But not through the air conditioning vents! Oy vey! The air conditioning is supposed to be cool and refreshing to breeze away the other inside smells--not BE the cause of an inside smell.

Tonight I popped the hood (I felt rather macho even just typing that) and I managed to put the hood holder doodle thingy up (without breaking a nail), and then I peered around the innards looking for feathers or fur or burnt flesh----ewwww grosssss! But nothing leapt out as the cause for the stink.

So if something has crawled up into the insides of my vehicle and had the audacity to die, and is now rotting to putrid-fa-cation, I might actually have to resort to the green pine tree air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror to fight the stench, because we're keeping the air conditioning on!

Happy Birthday

I received the phone call two hours after I had left a message asking for our name to be added to the adoption advocate's waiting list. I figured that since it was all such a long shot and that adoption waiting lists could be years long, that if we were going to pursue this crazy idea, at least our name should be on a list as a first start.

"Elle, please call me back as soon as you can. A baby boy was born yesterday, premature--he's only 2 lbs 11 oz, and he's on a ventilator. I know it sounds crazy but God told me to call you. Please call."

In shock I dialed her number, and quickly she filled me in on the rest of the details. A little tiny boy had been born 12 weeks early. The birthmother had matched with another family but his preemie size caused them to decline. A second waiting family was contacted, but they had the week before been blessed with another baby, and so they also declined. And then, 15 families ahead of us on the waiting list were tried but were either unsuccessfully contacted or declined interest until--us.

The great man was in graduate school and I had one phone number, to a graduate lounge, to try. He answered the 3rd ring, while on his way out the door to class. Flustered and crying, I told him the story. Flustered but quickly, he agreed to meet me at a rest area between the house and the university to sign some paperwork to get things rolling. Between his battered blue truck and my aging sedan he asked me to repeat the incredible tale.

"He was born yesterday, Tuesday, July 15th, 12 weeks early. He weighed 2 lbs 11 oz at birth and had to be put on a ventilator. He only weighs 2 lbs 6 oz now, but he came off the ventilator this morning, sometime between 8 and 9 a.m., and the doctor believes that he will be fine."

Crying, the great man asked, "Do you realize that exactly 9 months ago to the day, date and hour, J. came off the ventilator and died? I don't know how, I don't know why, but God intends for us to have this baby."

J. was our first son. He died when he was 2 1/2 years old. He had been sick and in the hospital for nearly 2 years, the last 6 weeks on a ventilator in the ICU. We were living in a house purchased with a family loan. We didn't have a job. We didn't have insurance. We had medical bills for our first son totaling almost half a million dollars. The great man, by faith, was in graduate school working towards a master's degree to make a needful career change. He was paid an assitantship of $9,000. I worked part time at a bridal and prom shop. What were we thinking?

I don't think we were thinking, at least not with the rational parts of our brains. Grief from the last 2 1/2 years had driven us to depths that I'd only read about in the Psalms. We were spent in every conceivable, rational, and practical way. We thought that everyone, even One, had forgotten us.

But God....But God....But God was only beginning. He reached into the miry pit. He brought us out into His light. He compelled the adoption advocate to call me. He kept my husband near the phone to answer it. He made the way for the paperwork and the adoption costs and the state grants and the insurance to all work out for our good and His glory. He reminded us every step of the way that He had knit together the bones and sinews of this tiny frame with us in mind. He brought that future great to the world 12 weeks early but 9 months right on time to declare loudly that He is sovereign.

He gave us a beautiful son to remind me especially that all things precious and wonderful did indeed come from Nazareth. And today, that boy, our son, and future great turns 9 years old.

Happy Birthday, son! You have always been a sweet and precious gift exemplifying the depth of the Lord's love for His sheep. May you serve Him well all the days of your life! Mom and Daddy love you!

"Praise the Lord.

Praise, O servants of the Lord.

Let the name of the Lord be praised, both now and forevermore.

From the rising of the sun to the place where it sets, the name of the Lord is to be praised.

The Lord is exalted over all the nations, his glory above the heavens.

Who is like the Lord our God, the One who sits enthroned on high, who stoops down to look on the heavens and the earth?

He raises the poor from the dust and lifts the needy from the ash heap; he seats them with princes, with the princes of their people.

He settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children.

Praise the Lord."

Psalm 113

My kingdom or His?

A couple of weeks back my parents took all three future greats to their house for Grandparent Camp. (I just named it that because it sounds wonderful, eh?) The boys had a wonderful time and are completely persuaded, as if there were any doubt, that they have the all time coolest grandparents.

I had the entire week to myself. I could sleep in if I wanted to and then eat the hidden stash of Captain Crunch without questions and/or interruptions. I could turn on the TV in the middle of the day if I wanted to, although there is nothing at all worth watching. I could have watched one of my girlie movies in the middle of the day if I had wanted. I could fix my lunch, or any meal for that matter, and then actually ingest it while still warm, even hot. I could have spent hours shopping without the taglines of three future greats requesting this, that and the other. I could have had all sorts of private time with the great man where doors didn't have to be locked and conversations weren't interrupted. It was thoroughly my kingdom.

I know you're salivating over a week like this. So what did I do all week?

Well, I did indulge in some, but not all, of the aforementioned luxuries, and it was very nice, all right, maybe even better than nice, maybe really fun, precious and oh-so-needed. But for the bulk of the week my main privilege was to just study, read, study and read some more for a Bible study that I have both the gift and responsibility to teach during the year. It was divine to have all of those hours used to teach me more of the truest love, greatest sacrifice, indescribable grace and glory of the Lord. It was thoroughly His kingdom.

Please don't misunderstand me. I am not especially holy or even pious. But I was given a gift of time that by choice was to be used for the priorities before me. And for that week, God gave me great hunger and thirst for His word and intimacy with Him. It was a feast! One that I desire to continue to enjoy for life, not just for an uninterrupted week.

The three future greats are back in residence, I'm still enjoying the feasting and all of its accompanying delights, and I'm reminded clearly that when Jesus commanded in Matthew 6:33, "But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you." not only did He mean it as a command but also as a promise of His continuing provision. I didn't miss one good thing for the hours spent studying and reading, but instead gained so many great and wonderful things.

I'm grateful that the future greats got to spend so much fun time in activities with the grandparents, and I'm thankful that some luxuries were enjoyed for me and the great man, but oh, how praiseworthy indeed that God gave to me of His very self in that week. May I do even a piece as much in teaching His word this year!

Let's just try again

As a child I was fascinated with the idea of writing and keeping a diary. I had sentimental daydreams that if I was ever killed in some fantastical blaze of tragedy that a lingering comfort to my family and friends would be poring over the words of wisdom found in my diary. They would giggle at my witty use of humor and clever words of prose, muse over the insightful profundities of a 12 year old mind, and weep for the dreams unfinished and unmet. Maybe I'd be the next Anne Frank! without the whole hiding from Nazi Germany thing, of course--there were limits to the tragedies I was willing to daydream about.

Of course, the crashing reality to this daydream was that for every diary that I started (here's where you say, "If I had a dollar for every diary that I started....") You get the picture. Even at age 12, complete thoughts seemed to never make it into written form.

But getting a new diary was so fresh--a clean paged journal to pour out your thoughts upon. And this was before daytime talk show hosts made journaling "cool", before it was considered necessary for spiritual and emotional intelligence to daily write the five things that you are grateful for having occurred. The routine looked something like this:

Day one entry: Dear new diary, how glad I am I have you to tell everything to, you will be the only one who really understands me. This is who I am (followed by short introduction), and see you tomorrow.

Day two entry: Dear diary, I went to the pool today. Anne and Jennifer were there. Mark was the lifeguard--isn't he cute? Ate cheetos at lunch. See you tomorrow.

Day three entry: Dear Diary, I didn't get to go to the pool today. I'm mad at my sister. She borrowed my red leggings without asking me first. We're having tacos for dinner. See you tomorrow.

Day four entry: Dear Diary, well it's been 4 months since I last wrote. Let me tell you what's been happening.

Eventually even I was bored to tears, along with the diary, on what was happening in my life and I would just quit writing. Until of course I was in the Hallmark store with my mom and would see the latest batch of diaries with the cute little gold keys, that I'm told will actually open all major suitcase brands as well, and I would beg her for a new one. And the routine would start again.

My greatest fear with this blog is not that I will be involved in some major skeezscandal of blogvillia, not that I won't even have complete thoughts--my day will come won't it, huh, huh?--not even that I won't learn how to attach all the cute links and photos (although that still really bugs me), but instead that I will have the Diary routine replayed and this time with higher technology involved.

So, if there is anyone reading these thoughts, I've not forgotten this blog. I've even had some complete thoughts. But I am also trying to ed-u-ma-cate myself on blogging and at the end of the day I still only have 24 hours--go figure. Getting past the paralysis of needing things perfectomundo is the next step to hurdle--and a post in itself on why I cannot, cannot hop on the scrapbooking wagon without breaking into a cold sweat. Just write one complete thought a day, I chant. That old ditty of moms all around "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again" is where I'm at today--just trying again.

Thanks for sticking around.

A baby complete thought in the form of a question

What is it about the Y chromosome that makes it physically impossible for bearers of the Y chromosome to either A) take his socks off without rolling them off into a ball of dirty stinkiness or B) unroll them out of the ball of dirty stinkiness before throwing them into the laundry for the mom who then has to "handle" said dirty stinkiness before tossing them into the wash because if she doesn't, the ball of said dirty stinkiness just goes through the wash and comes out with streaks of clean and dirt, not to mention, although I will, that it doesn't properly dry!

I don't know where the question mark goes in that so just imagine that I look like I'm asking you.

Can I even have a complete thought?

A friend (who is reading this blog) asked me the other day if I had recently had any more complete thoughts. The fact that I haven't posted in a week plus should give your first clue.

Three times I have sat down to write a complete thought and was interrupted to distraction.

Three different drafts of complete-thought-wanna-bees are buzzing around in the otherwise empty hive called the create folder.

Innumerable thoughts have crossed my mind as possible posts only to be kicked to the curb by the latest need, demand, question, problem, phone call, you fill in the blank reason.

So to the 3 1/2 readers I have (that's if anyone claims the 1/2 part), I beg your patience. I'm hoping that summer--the time for vacation, anyone?--is going to bear some fruit of future complete thoughts.

Gotta go, life is calling.

LOST

This is not a post about that TV show that everyone seems so crazy about. I don't watch it and have no intention of watching it. I'm more along the lines of the Jack Bauer thought that if he were on that island, they would have all been off the island(give or take a few killings, terrorist threats, nuclear disasters, government betrayals, & Kim's latest fiasco) in 24 hours!

I'm talking about LOST in Atlanta. I do not claim to have a good sense of direction but I didn't think that I was a hopeless case. I have future dreams of being a contestant on The Amazing Race and not being one of those couples that screams and yells at each other because they can't find the exit to take in lower Poland while driving a 2 door 1965 Volvo.

Anyway, I should have become aware of the challenge when the great man, who has an awesome sense of direction, got lost in the neighborhood. Now in his defense this is one of those neighborhoods where every street has the same word in it and it's a really big neighborhood.

For example, let's say we live in The Shoes neighborhood and every street has the word shoe in it like Old Shoe Street, New Shoe Street and so on. But to confuse things further, there are variations within the whole Old Shoe name. There is Old Shoe Street, Old Shoe Drive, Old Shoe Lane, Court, Close, Way, Road, etc. And the entire neighborhood goes that way with every possible variation of "something Shoe something". It is entirely maddening! You
keep saying to yourself "I think we just passed Green Shoe Drive" and you probably just did because all the streets are built labrynthinian to each other. So just leaving the neighborhood is quite a challenge.

Then navigating the Atlanta traffic, which is infamous for being ridiculously horrible, finding the correct street to turn on, off, left and right at, stopping at non-synchronized lights every 15 feet, and dealing with road raging drivers short their daily espressos and constantly on their cell phones--my neck is tensing up just writing about it.

I'm thankful that LOST was all that happened. Eventually everyone got to the place they were supposed to be and then arrived back home at something Shoe something.

First day down, 4 more to go! Where is Jack Bauer when I need him?

Ribbit, ribbit

Dark green, knee high, yellow-eyed frog rubber boots. Don't they sound wonderful for little future greats to romp in through the woods, for splashing in mud puddles, and for wearing in the rain? And they are.

But should they be the primary footwear for any and all activities while attending VBS, going to a Braves game, at a fencing competition and for general vacation from home? Well, it seems that they are going to be because little future great who adores these dark green, knee high, yellow-eyed frog rubber boots left his mom's favorite blue-gray lace up tennis shoes at home.

Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit...the frogs win.

Maybe I'll just add this to the list of stories to tell at his rehearsal dinner.

Haircut....anyone?

I am terrible at remembering to make appointments to have my hair cut. Eons ago, in a galaxy far, far away during the (gasp) 80's when it was fashionable to have your hair tightly poodle curled and/or cut into the mullet, I was extremely punctual to make and keep hair appointments. But that was when Daddy was paying.

In college, I remember an ephiphany regarding my hair that namely, I was tired of all the fuss of it and experimentation with a different hairstyle every day was the "cool" thing. Moreover, I was usually too busy to remember haircuts, too poor to pay for a real one, and so reserved them for breaks home--again when Daddy was paying.

Then came the great guy (later the great man) who loved my hair long and my roommate was the accomodating type to periodically trim my bangs out of my eyes when needed so everyone was happy. I didn't have to make appointments or pay for haircuts because my hair was rivaling a young Crystal Gayle length and style.

But then we moved to the middle of Georgia where the seasons are hot and humid, hot and dry, mildly hot and dry, mildly hot and wet. Do you notice the pattern here? So that first mildly hot and wet season (other places call it spring) I thought I would spontaneously combust with the mane of hair that hung down my back. And no matter how I tried to put it up and away, I was still hot. So off with the hair! And back onto the carousel of having to make appointments and pay for haircuts.

But I'm terrible at remembering to make the appointments with any regularity. How is that possible you ask, oh summer scheduler/list maker lady? Well, it's like this. I wake up one morning and decide that I can't stand my hair in said style anymore so I call around until I can find someone to cut it and she does. Then I enjoy said style for some period of time until I realize that I don't like this style anymore and it starts all over. I have a very hard time sticking with any one particular style. Plus in trying to accomodate great man's love for long hair and my love for not sweating, I'm always cutting it off and then growing it out. And for all the times that I've been unable to find anyone to cut it that day or week, I will take the scissors to it myself in a sort of Russian roulette for hair event. I've even been known to allow the great man to cut it! He did a wonderful job!

So I've always envied those women who not only know what style they like but manage to keep it consistently at every haircut. They make their appoinment a month to six weeks in advance and keep it with clock punctuality.

Yesterday I woke up and it was the day. Dutifully I called my haircut lady--no answer. Today I eyed the scissors because still no response. Tomorrow morning bodes the end for the hair--I've given fair warning.

Summer schedules

I work best with a schedule. That probably ties in with my penchant for list making. I find fulfillment in making lists and checking them off which means that I also find frustration in making lists, running around in circles and not being able to check anything off. So from list making happiness to schedule making happiness. I like a schedule, and believe that it works best for my family (probably because it works best with me).

School has a tight schedule of when to get up, when to get out the door for carpool, and when to do all the other things associated with school. Summer is the break I crave from the school schedule but not a break from a schedule. We just call it the summer schedule. It is much more relaxed and it certainly invites spontaneity but it does give framework to our days.

Because I'm also a believer in year round learning, my summer schedule for the three future greats involves schoolwork review and practice. For example, we practice the previous year's math skills and spelling words. We also visit the library for the summer reading program, and I'm encouraging the future greats to read a portion of a Psalm daily and then write down one thing they learned. The other writing they do is in their personal journal where I've supplied a topic, ie. my favorite game is...

Fun things thrown into the schedule are movie hours, swimming, camping out, picnics, ice cream shop treats, and playdates, etc. The fun things give variety to the schedule without the wallet being drained because of a constant demand for entertainment.

A sample schedule looks like this:
Breakfast
Bible Time
Outside play (while it's cool)
Math sheet/Spelling/Journal writing
Inside play/Listening to book on tape
Lunch
Individual practices (piano, fencing)
Reading--alone or out loud
Inside play/Movie/Drawing
Swimming
Supper
Outside play (if time permits)
Reading out loud by great dad
Bedtime

Three significant benefits come out of our summer schedule. One, because the day is broken up between "work" and play, I don't hear the "I'm bored!" whine because they don't get bored. Two, because the day contains some "work", when they have the opportunity to play, they really enjoy and are grateful for the opportunity to play. And three, because the day is broken up between "work" and play, I find myself with more time for my own work and play instead of being shadowed by "bored" and "ungrateful" persons.

The summer schedule flexes each week based on that week's camps or VBS or vacation. But even when condensed into mini portions, the framework remains. I like the order of it and the future greats like the variety.

911 to the grocery store

It started out like any other day. The alarm went off, the shower was taken, the kids were woken up. Everyone dressed for breakfast. The coffee was made......(insert sound of record being ripped off the record player--would that be CD being yanked out of the walkman now?)

EEGADS! The coffee was made that morning with the LAST coffee filter. The coffee filter packs that I buy have 250 filters in them. You mean to tell me that we have made coffee 250 times all ready? My! how time flies when you love caffeine!

So even though I cannot stand to make a middle of the week shopping trip, out of coffee filters is certainly call for 911 to the grocery store. I mean almost anything else and I would have required the whole family to just grin and bear it until the Monday shopping trip, but I must, must, must have the coffee filters. Otherwise all that lovely java in the cabinet is just a taunting mocking voice that is keeping time with the drum beat of my caffeine deprived brain.

All of this is humorous in a sardonic way because I only started liking coffee a year ago. But to the casual observer I probably seem like a Starbucks junkie. Because I come from a long line of coffee afficianados, I was told that I would learn to like coffee in college--couldn't stand the taste of it even though an all nighter was staring me in the face. Of course, I was also told that if I was going to drink coffee that I had to learn to drink it black. That was before the invention of all those lovely creamers--Hazelnut, caramel, vanilla, pumpkin spice, chocolate mint and on and on. Those magnificent silky liquids even have the decency to come in lowfat and sugar free versions. My thanks to the brains at the dairy!

So it made me think about what other things I would hightail it to the grocery store for if we ran out mid week. When the future greats were wee, the last diaper or wipe was cause for great alarm and haste. But now the list is shorter. Bread, milk, eggs, OJ, the staples of this house can all be stalled with some substitution. I can usually scrounge up crackers for bread, powdered milk for the real stuff, egg beaters or just do without. And the same goes for OJ, need some vitamin C? Have an apple or banana for your fruit. Even TP can be stalled if a good box of Kleenex is around! Although those feminino productos can create a stir.

Basically it comes down to the coffee or the filters--must haves for this household. What sorts of things if you run out of cause you to run for the grocery cart?

The pressure of blogging

As I indicated in my first entry, I've thought a lot, for some time in fact about writing a blog. I probably first began to read blogs seriously in the last year. I had received a Christmas 2005 letter from a friend and in the letter he posted a website. Curious, I typed it in thinking maybe it was one of his favorite and recommended sites. From that site of course I began to click on all of the linked sites and so on. Before I knew it I had stumbled upon the world's largest "chain letter" consisting of blogs--all types, shapes, doctrines and ideas.

My great man has always kidded me that if it has words and it's put in front of me, I'll read it--cereal box or novel. Literally hours can be consumed in reading a blogroll. Since people watching is another favorite hobby of mine, getting to read through the thoughts of people I've never met is simply the next level up. Added to those inclinations is my own personal interest in writing albeit hand journaling has never lasted that long--too much erasing for this recovering perfectionist--typing with the backspace, deleting entire pieces of text, why, it's just absolutely thrilling!

But I did (do) have hesitations. Firstly, all the other blogs seem so "put together" with witticisms, pictures, linkages, deep philosophical thoughts, etc. that there is definitely pressure to produce a quality blog and not just a typed diary. Secondly, I haven't the faintest clue about the HTML code world. You might as well ask me to conjugate Russian verbs. Thirdly, actual material for the blog that I'm comfortable putting "out there" into cyberspace. Certainly the smart philosophy is to use cute code names for your loved ones and keep out any identifying information. However, an interesting by-product so far in writing this blog is that as things happen throughout the day, I find myself composing an entry in my head and wondering, "is this bloggable?" Fourth, there is this blog culture that I'm becoming aware of that seems to have very specific rules of etiquette like Roberts Rules of Order for how and what a blog should accomplish in the way of changing the way that people think and behave. I may feel that way about my three future greats, but I don't have near that ambition (so far) with this blog.

So why am I writing this blog? Why do I want to write this blog? I like to write. I believe that blogging may help me to become a better writer. It's faster to type my thoughts then write them down. And I am serious about the whole thing that this may be the only place I actually accomplish a complete thought.

As for all the blog culture etiquette, the HTML code, the material to write about....well, I'm going to trust that those skills will either come with this new venture or I'll find another outlet. In the meantime, I hope that readers will be patient and that I will find patience with myself as well.

Looking for THE bathing suit...

Yes, today was the day to brave the mall in quest of THE bathing suit. I typically loooooove to go shopping and especially with the blessing of my great man, which I had today. But shopping for THE bathing suit is one of those seasonal events--like untangling Christmas lights or buying school supplies--that must be done even though the entire event is anticipated with dread. Dreaded because people are going to be crabby, things won't fit, there will be crowds, and one bad light can ruin the whole thing! The only thing in my favor was a coupon for a favorite store so hopefully I set off in search of THE bathing suit.

I do not understand why everyone is fussing about gas prices when the real clamor should be over THE bathing suit prices. First of all, most of THE bathing suits are wee pieces of semi-stretchy fabric that do nothing but accentuate body flaws. Secondly, the very tactic THE bathing suit manufacturers employ to hide body flaws, namely make these wee pieces of fabric in loud colors and prints to hide unflattering flab by drawing the eye away doesn't work. What actually happens is that THE bathing suit on said woman becomes a walking billboard yelling "Look at the polka dots on those love handles!" or "See how these stripes show the disproportion in this lady's top!" or "Did you notice that tropical flowers splashed across your mid-section makes you a prime candidate for a tummy tuck?" Thirdly, the sizes are all wrong because even if you typically wear a size 6 or a size 8 in clothes, you're probably going to need anywhere from a size 12 to a size 18 in a bathing suit. Don't the manufacturers know that all the "smart" fashion designers cut their clothes large so they can start at 00 and work their way up to a size 4 which in other clothes would really be a size 10? Because then an otherwise intelligent woman will really plunk down the money for the mental satisfaction of thinking she's walked into this store and lost 32 pounds and that's why all the clothes are "too big!"

It is the sizing scam that really makes me want to scream about prices because to combat the whole "wrong" size problem, the solution is now to offer a whole department of THE bathing suit separates. So instead of paying $88.00 for one or two awful pieces of wee, loud and obnoxious semi-stretchy fabric in a size 16, the racketeers want you to pay $56.00 a piece. The benefit is supposed to be a better individual fit--a size 8 top paired with a size 10 bottom. Just how that's supposed to make me feel better, I don't know.

It took 5 trips to the dressing room, 4 hot flashes, 3 times someone tried to come into my dressing room, 2 hours and 1 coupon to purchase THE bathing suit separate mini solid black swim skirt which I will gladly pair with one of the previous year's tops.

It's over again for a season, THE bathing suit.....finis!

Last Day of School

This morning was Recognition Day at the future greats' school. We love our school because there is not just an emphasis on the academics for the temporal but also an emphasis on the eternal values of life. Some of the fruit of that emphasis is seen in the character awards given on Recognition Day. It is heartwarming and tear-sparking to hear these lovely and devoted teachers describing the different students and their outstanding character trait. Awards are given for perseverance, kindness, encouragement, courage, love, respectfulness, courtesy, dependability, generosity and so on. The high esteem placed upon these children developing character traits that point to the glory of God is indeed kingdom edifying because the character traits are reflections of God's attributes.

Too often it seems that in the popular child culture of today, everyone is awarded something for really only being mediocre. But we don't want anyone to feel left out so we sugarcoat any effort, whether award worthy or not, with "everyone is a star so have a trophy". I'm reminded of a scene from The Incredibles where the malcontent Syndrome not having special superhero powers has developed all sorts of gadgets to give himself superhero powers. He reveals that his endgame is to eventually give everyone access to the gadgets of superpower because "when everyone can be a superhero, no one is".

The Kingdom doesn't work that way. Not everyone is rewarded or awarded recognition for just being a "good" person although everyone will be judged according to what he has done. And the point is that everyone bearing the name of Christ is to become increasingly more like Him. For anyone called by Christ has access to the transforming power of His Word and His Spirit to complete us into the image of Himself.

"Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the
new has come!" 2 Corinthians 4:17

"And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord's glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit." 2 Corinthians 3:18

"being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to
completion until the day of Christ Jesus." Philippians 1:6

So on the last day of school, that Day, recognition will be given for the character traits of God reflected in the lives of His people. And all of it will be for the praise of His glory!

First Entry

I've thought about this, and wondered if I could actually keep it up. I've considered the pros and cons, and have still remained interested. I've dreamed that maybe, just maybe, this would be an outlet to compose complete thoughts and examine ideas and then just be able to write it all down.

So I suppose it's appropriate that in the midst of trying to write my first entry, my first complete thought, that I would be in the computer room (a corner of the laundry room) with two of the three future greats asking me questions (10 at the last count) and the great man asking me about the sewing kit so he can sew on future great #1's patch because I don't sew, which all together is it's own future bloggable complete thought, but where was I? Oh yes, it only seems appropriate that in the midst of all this, I'd wonder what am I fixing for supper (and I'm not kidding, they just all asked me what we're having), that my first complete thought would certainly not be a comprehensible one to the average reader unless of course you also think in run on sentences.

Maybe I should change the title...