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"!
Friday, July 28, 2006
Thursday, July 27, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, July 21, 2006
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!!!!
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!!!!
Thursday, July 20, 2006
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!
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!
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
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.
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!
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!
Saturday, July 15, 2006
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!
"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
Thursday, July 13, 2006
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!
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.
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.
Monday, June 19, 2006
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
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?
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?
Saturday, June 03, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, June 01, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
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.
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.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
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?
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.
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.
Saturday, May 27, 2006
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!
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!
Friday, May 26, 2006
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.
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!
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!
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