Little House Style and also? Poetry.

The power went out today.  For about 45 minutes?  It wasn't out for very long, but it just happened to go out 4 minutes after I started browning hamburger for tonight's dinner.  My stove is electric.  So, you know, a problem presented itself.  However, because I am Laura Ingalls Wilder, I took my iron skillet and put it in my grill outside.  That grill sure did the trick.

I felt very....I don't know....resourceful is a bit too strong...quick thinking?  Brilliant?  Handsome, regal, majestic. Lovable, yes, yes. Cuddly...whatever, it just felt good. 

And it tasted good. 

Also, as I was looking for the post about simplicity that I linked to under Laura Ingalls, I found this little snippet hiding in my archives.  (My archives.  Psh.) 

I leave you with:

untitled

They walked together.
The hour was late.
He walked ahead,
to open the gate.
She wanted to thank him,
but didn't know how.
He was the farmer.
And she was the cow.

slow down you move too fast

Hello.

It's been a little while.

I had a bit of a computer virus last week. The week before? I don't remember. I was forced to go a lot of days without this connection to the outside world. It was a lonely time, friends. A lonely time. My husband has been busy with school and baseball. And writing papers. So it's been me and the kids and the kids and me many a night in May. Good times.

Since then, my girl....my eeny tiny baby girl, turned nine.

Nine.

That is half way to eighteen.

Fifteen minutes ago she looked like this:

Look at those eyes. My goodness. I didn't know my capacity to love until I had her. And once she was born and looked at me with those eyes, my insides turned all squishy and I began to say things like, "honeysugarpumpkinbutternoodleumpkins." Love trumps grammar and proper words.

I became so very aware of time. And how quickly it passes. Do you know how many times I've written about that? I don't either. But it's a lot of times. Because it's all I think about.

I've had three more babies since she was born. Three boys. They're wonderful. You just have no idea. These boys and this girl. My heart is so full.

I should take a little break from writing...

...I took down yesterday's post because it may or may not have included hypothetical idiots, Fire Marshalls and burning hotels.

My husband read it and said it didn't sound like me. I told him that it was the most me I've ever been...because I'm nothing if not overly dramatic. And loony.

He was right, though...it wasn't very nice. So it's gone.

This is precisely why God didn't give me *laser eyes.

*Sometimes, when I am driving in my car and people make me mad, I think it would awesome to have laser eyes. However, I would be lasering people in the heat of the moment. And then my husband would tell me that it isn't like me to be lasering people with my eyes. And once someone is lasered, they can't be UNlasered.

So.

There you go.

chained elephants

I heard the best "sermon" on the radio the other night.

It was about how baby circus elephants are chained to a stake dug deeply in the ground. They pull and pull and pull, then finally give up once they realize that they can't get loose. (That's not the great part.)

As mature elephants, they are still chained to a stake. The stake would never hold them if they tried to pull against it. They just assume that since the chain is there, and the stake is dug, they can't be loosed. So they stay. Chained.

The whole point was that we often believe some kind of lie about ourselves. A lie that keeps us chained. Held back. That if we only tried, we would find that we could be loosed.

I thought about myself. The lies that hold me back. My eating. I'm a good eater and always have been. I buy into the lie that I have no self control, and that I'm an eater and always will be. It's just who I am.

But it's a lie. I don't have to be a huge eater. I can have self control and be whom ever I want to be. No stake can hold me. I'm a huge elephant.

The Crazy

On my way home from dropping the kids off at school this morning, I drove past a city park. The frost was clinging to the weeds in the field. Such beauty.

I pulled into the lot, and sat there for a long while.

Taking it all in...


Lately, I've been wrestling with myself. With my thoughts. With a little part of myself I've named "The Crazy." The Crazy changes its focus often. Sometimes The Crazy is worried about kidnappers. Sometimes mice. Sometimes lice. Sometimes cancer.

The worries are always real things. But the intensity with which I focus on them does not equal the odds of their occurrence.

I've been praying about The Crazy. I'm recognizing a pattern. When I pray about my fears, I'm always bargaining with God. "So if you promise to never give us lice, I will promise to always be obedient." (Or something to that effect.)

As if I can manipulate Him. Which I know that I can't. But I still can't shake those contingent prayers. "My life is Yours. But PLEASE don't let my kids get cancer." Somewhere along the way, I connected total obedience to horrible trials and tribulations. And because I am a control freak of nature, I try to bargain with the trials and tribulations that may or may not befall me. "You can have my arms amputated as long as my children stay safe from sexual predators."

(I am feeling REALLY exposed right now....but am hoping that someone will be blessed by The Crazy. So here's some more...)

Back to the city park: I sat there and prayed. "Lord, I want to be able to give myself completely to You. But I'm afraid. I'm afraid of what that will look like. Please don't let my kids get scabies."

UGH! I couldn't shut off that conditional trailing thought.

"Lord. Take away the worry. Come what may, just give me Jesus. Give me strength. Give me courage. Give me peace."


As I drove out of that parking lot, I think I might have run over Please don't let my house burn down and Help us to never get bed bugs.

And so far since, The Crazy has been pretty quiet. I'm glad. Because The Crazy almost completely eclipses The Joy.

high school baggage

I've been thinking. Which is something I haven't had the luxury of doing for a few months. When I'm on auto-pilot that part of my brain shuts itself off. Conservation. Or protection. Or something.

But the thinking began when I was doing my hair. I thought about trying something a little different. A little jazzy. But then I stopped and thought, "Wait a minute. Who do I think I am? I'm not someone with jazzy hair! What will people think? They will think, 'Who does she think she is? She's not someone with jazzy hair!'"

And so I didn't have jazzy hair. I let myself be defined by my own made up thoughts about other people's thoughts about who I am. (Did you follow that? Extend some grace, please. My thoughts have been shut off for a while, so they're a bit rusty.)

So then I thought about my thoughts. And about why I would care if people actually had those thoughts about my identity. (Thoughts thoughts thoughts....just trying to wear out that word. It looks strange if you type it out too many times.) I traced those feelings back to middle school. The time when you are tyring to figure out who you are. When all too often we let ourselves be defined by the people around us. We let them dictate what we look like. How we act. What we say.

Why do we do that?

Why did I do that?

Why am I still doing that?!

No more, my friends! No more!

There is only One that can define who I am. Only One that I am going to listen to. And, frankly, He doesn't care about my outward appearance. If I want jazzy hair, or no hair, or blue hair...He loves me just the same.

I might even become a hat person. A hat person that wears huge jewelry. A hat person that wears huge GLITTERY jewelry!

There is no stopping me now.

the skinny on the chubby

I thought I'd share some practical information about losing the weight.

As I mentioned before, it all started with prayer. Lots of prayer.

Then a group of girlfriends joined together to form a team for a community weight loss challenge. We earned points for daily exercise. We also earned points if we ate at least three vegetables and two fruits a day.

What I've found about myself, is that it doesn't matter one iota how much I work out. (As far as weight loss goes.) It is ALL about what I do or do not consume.

For breakfast everyday, I would have a gigantic cup of coffee. I usually have creamer in it, and limit my creamer use to the morning only. (Unless I'm at a girlfriend's house for coffee---then all bets are off.) Mornings are also the time of day where I can pretty much eat whatever...like, sometimes I would eat a cookie for breakfast. Or left overs from the night before. (I'll get to that.)

Lunch was all about avocados. I would cut an avocado in half, and then cut it up and smear it on a toasted bagel with slices of red onion, tomatoes and cucumbers. The avocado kept well in the fridge, in a container - with the pit left in...which keeps it from turning brown and gross looking. It was helpful for me to cut up all the veggies before-hand and keep them in the fridge. I get lazy in a big hurry, so if it's always a lot of work, I lose interest and quit.

For an afternoon snack, I'd eat either a banana or an apple.

Dinnertime is tricky for me. I had to use what I knew about myself to my advantage. Things I know about myself:

I really like lasagna. If I make lasagna, I have no "off" button. I never get full.
I really like pizza. If I make pizza, I have no "off" button. I never get full.
I really like pasta. If I make pasta, I have no "off" button. I never get full.

Do you see a pattern?

So did I.

I knew I would save myself a lot (in the way of self control) if I didn't make any of those things. To make things easier on myself, I got out my Tupperware That's A Bowl. I'd buy a head of ice burg (nearly no nutritional value) lettuce, a head of romaine lettuce, and a bag of spinach. I would cut them all up and toss them in the bowl to eat for the next several days. When the bowl would empty, I would fill it again. Sometimes, to mix things up, I'd toss in a bag of broccoli slaw. Or shredded carrots. Or shredded cabbage.

The dangerous thing about salad is the dressing. You can totally ruin yourself, calorie wise, with too much dressing. I found that I liked my salad just fine without dressing, if I gave the lettuces a quick rinse under water and sprinkled them with salt and pepper. I topped the whole thing with the other half of my avocado from lunch, a few cubes of pepper jack cheese, some small bits of red onion, and sometimes jalapeno peppers from a pickle-type-jar. As long as the lettuce was still a little damp from the rinsing, it didn't matter that it wasn't smothered in dressing.

Each night, I would make something else for my family, but nothing from my list of loves. It wasn't a hassle, since I'd have to fix them something any way...and mine was really easy to throw together since everything was already ready to go. If what they were eating looked really good, I'd tell myself if I still wanted some, I could eat it for breakfast. (When my system has a better handle on that "off" switch.)

For a snack before bed, I would eat either a banana or an apple. (Which ever one I didn't eat as a snack between lunch an dinner.)

Another thing I know about myself is that I'm a snacker. I'm not always hungry, but I'm always fidgety. And need "something." I found, that if I had a delicious decaf coffee to drink, it took away my urge for "something." So, I'd put on a pot of coffee after lunch and sip at it all afternoon and into the night if I needed.

At least once a week, I'd go out to Applebee's for a late night appetizer. Those nights, I'd order what ever I wanted. (Boneless Buffalo Wings, with classic sauce and blue cheese dressing to dip it in.) So, while I was pretty strict with myself at meal times, I allowed myself to have fun and be normal.....knowing that if this was a new lifestyle, my lifestyle needed to allow for mom's night outs.

Those are all the practical things.

However.

A huge component for me was my mind set. I'm mental.

Mental.

I had to get my game face on. I knew that night would be rough. That the first night would be bad. I knew this because every night for the last 9 nears was the night before I was going to start. Do you do that? Have a good day, and then night comes, and the wheels fall off and you think, "Tomorrow is going to be The. Day." Every tomorrow. But! Tomorrow never comes. NEVER. It had to be TODAY. Today is The. Day.

So I made up my mind. I would tell myself that I knew it would be tricky. But I had to get over it. (Jesus comes in very handy here.) I'd give myself things to do at night. I'd fold laundry. While watching "The Biggest Loser." Do you know how hard it is to eat a snack while watching "The Biggest Loser"? It is very hard. I'd do laundry or take a bath, and sometimes I'd put myself to bed early.

The first night was hard. HARD. (I felt pathetic.) But I got through it. (It feels pathetic to write that.) And you know what? I felt SO POWERFUL the next morning. The second night was hard. And I got through that as well. And I felt even more powerful.

Every morning I would step on the scale, and it only took a few days before the numbers started creeping down. Each week, a few more pounds would come off, and talk about motivation! After a month, I was able to fit into clothes that I hadn't worn in a long time. After two months, I needed new clothes. After three months, I tapered off the salads at dinner. My stomach had reset. I've been maintaining a slower weight loss now for a few months, and haven't really had to think too much about it.

I'm trying not to lose my head. I know how easily I can fall into old habits. But even then, I recognize what I'm doing, and get my act together for a few days, and find that rhythm again.

What I know now, is that this needs to be a lifestyle. I can either enjoy everything in moderation and feel good. Or, I can enjoy everything in a gluttonous binge and feel yucky. And I know how easy it would be to slide down that slippery slope, and be right back where I was. But! The good news is, that if that were to happen, all it would take is a few good weeks of self control to get back on track.

And honestly, all it really takes is one day. One moment, making that decision to change.

on Jesus and being chubby...

Well.

Hello.

So.

To preface...or not to preface.....that is the question.

This feels entirely too personal, and yet, I have been praying that this--the 'this' being the blog--would be what it is supposed to be. I have no idea what it is supposed to be. Mostly mental regurgitation on my keyboard that becomes public knowledge once I hit "publish." But that someone somewhere somehow would read these humble words and be changed, even a little...mostly that these words would tell you "THIS LADY LOVES JESUS!" Even when I'm writing something like: "I'm going a little more crazy every day." You know....that you could see Jesus between the lines.

I really have no purpose writing one of these here blogs. I started for my parents. And for me. And now, a whole three extra people read it every day. Hello, three readers!

But now that it's out there, and that I've been trying to be obedient in my living, I've been trying to give everything over in obedience. That said, these words I'm puking through my fingers are included in that obedience.

I realize that this likely makes no sense. But! That has not stopped me before, and it won't stop me today!

Any way.....

Last night, I was looking through pictures.

(Oh, those lots of words before that last sentence was the pre-preface. Next follows the REAL preface.)

So, last night, I was looking through pictures. Of me.

Why?

Well. Here's the thing...my entire twentieth decade was spent chubby. The fluctuation swung from "normal" to "just-had-a-baby" to "just-had-a-baby-three-years-ago-but-have-been-eating-like-there's-gonna-be-a-food-shortage-tomorrow-morning."

I wasn't really thrilled about it all, but my husband really didn't care and I love food, so why fix what isn't broken? Right? Except, if you've ever been chubby, you know that it isn't really any fun. Especially when you think things like "if I wear a turtle neck, my double chin can hide inside it."

Well, when my thirtieth birthday was looming around the corner, I thought to myself, "Self?! What is wrong with you?! You are not happy. What is your deal?"

So, I decided it was T.I.M.E. to get my act together. And then I got pregnant.

Which is normally a time of Arby's mozzarella cheese sticks and all things nacho for me. I knew that I needed a new approach. So I prayed. A lot. And Jesus gave me avocados.

And so that pregnancy went by with a good deal of weight gain, but nowhere NEAR the weight gain of the previous two. And once the baby was born, and the miracle weight loss that occurs right afterwards came and took away the pregnancy weight, I thought, NOW IS THE TIME FOR ALL GOOD MEN TO COME TO THE AID OF THEIR COUNTRY.

And I prayed some more.

Jesus! I need you. I need you to come and shut my open mouth. I prayed and prayed and prayed.

And He came. And when I would be digging in the cupboard for a little snacky snack, He would whisper, "You sure you want that, my love?" And I would say, "Yes, Jesus. I want fifty thousand Doritos." And Jesus would say, "Just checking. You wanted help. And I am giving it to you. Gently. Don't make me break your jaw."

(Just kidding on the breaking jaw.)

So that's how it went. It was all Jesus. Not me.

See the really sad thing is that the only way I knew how to lose weight was in my own strength. Which is really crappy. And unhealthy. It takes the form of an ugly eating disorder that I became acquainted with after high school. And then again after my first was born, and I started working. I know and knew that it not only wasn't healthy, but that it can't and couldn't work. So I resigned to give it up. And did. And had total control over it. And refused (R.E.F.U.S.E.D.) to go there ever again. So in some strange way, my chubbiness was a personal badge of honor over an eating disorder....but who wants to wear a chubby badge?

NO BODY!

This wasn't supposed to be depressing.

I hope it's not depressing.

Where was I?

Jesus.

Jesus stepped in, and gave me more avocados. He gave me will power. He whispered sweet nothings to me when I poked around my kitchen looking for food when I wasn't hungry.

And now...I'm not skinny. I'm not even thin. But I'm not chubby. I've lost 75 pounds from the day I delivered my sweet baby to yesterday.

The problem is that I'm having a hard time seeing it.

So last night, I was looking at pictures.

I have THE MOST AWFUL picture of myself. Taken right after my third was born. I look as though I have a shell fish allergy and have just finished dining at Red Lobster. Swollen. Puffy.

Big.

Mama.

I took out my camera, and set it up on the counter. I set the timer and sat in a chair just in front of it, and took a picture of myself. I had the same maternity shirt on as I did in that Red Lobster picture.

I put the two pictures on my screen side by side.

And I could see it.

I'm tempted to put the pictures up so you can see just what Jesus can do.

But someone I went to high school with might see it. And then I would have to die.

Not really.

But sort of.

I'll pray about it.

Because, if Jesus wants me to....obedience you know.


----------------------------------

Did I write this for you? Why did I write this? I'm feeling all naked and alone.....but praying that if I was supposed to write this, that you were supposed to read it, and that you might see Jesus between the lines.

He can save you from something even greater than chubbiness.

If you need to know more about that, this is a good place to start. Or you can email me....I am not the most articulate person to discuss these things with, but He said He'd give the words....so please feel free to ask.

thursday

today has been a whipped cream kind of day.

a cup filled entirely with whipped cream.

a cup filled entirely with whipped cream topped with raw sugar.

thursdays are dangerous.

can you hear me now?

We just got home from a wonderful camping trip. A camping trip with cousins and uncles and aunts and grandparents. Food. Fun. Family. Good times.

But a funny thing happened while we were away. I don't know if swimming caused excess water to fill the ears of my big kids, resulting in selective hearing loss....or if the campfire smoke caused me to begin speaking in inaudible tones. What ever the cause, poor (BAD!) listening has been the result.

Cue The Dad.

The.

Dad.

D

A

D

!

He had a little conference with them this morning in the playhouse.

I don't know what he told them. Or why they are "fast listeners" again. Maybe he cleaned out their ears? Maybe they played a game of tag? Maybe he gave them a big lecture? Who knows?

All I know is that when I asked them to clean up their rooms, they both hopped to it.

I could get really used to this.

The moral of this story is:

The MVP is on my team. Bring it on, children.

Bring it on.

the ant and the grasshopper

I'm thinking things would be a better if we could all take personal responsibility.

But how do you help people achieve that?

In Aesop's fables, there's the one about the hard working ant and the carefree grasshopper. The ant works and works and works all through Spring, Summer and Fall. In the winter, she has enough food to last her family through the Winter.

The grasshopper spends his time playing and relaxing and enjoying himself all through Spring, Summer and Fall. So, when Winter rolls in, he has nothing.

He goes to the ant to beg for food. She tells him, "If you don't work in the Summer, you can't expect to eat in the Winter." (Maybe she's a Republican?)

Cold?

I would say, "YES!" if the grasshopper showed up in a wheelchair, or with 15 children. But an able bodied grasshopper? I don't think so. He was lazy. It would be a different story if he spent all summer looking for work, but found none. Or if he lived in a country with famine....or had a mental illness....or worked in the finance industry.

How do you teach a grasshopper the value of personal responsibility?

one summer in july

Last week I got a call from a girlfriend. Her husband was taking her kids on a two week camping trip, and she was home alone. Home. Alone. All by herself. Without kids. Or her husband.

She wondered if I would be interested in helping her jazzify the homestead while the cats were away. YES I WOULD BE INTERESTED. When my husband came home from work, he watched all of our children (none of whom are on a two week camping trip leaving me home alone all by myself) so I could go over to Girlfriend's house and brain storm.

And were there ever storms-a-braining!

Over the course of the next five days, we tore down wallpaper and repainted one girl's room. Cleaned out a room in the basement and turned it into another girl's bedroom. We downsized accessories. There were rugs purchased and curtains sewn. Pillows. Lamps. Blankets. Throws.

My husband has been a real trooper. He's always great about sharing the childcare load, but the load is especially heavy when the baby is cutting his first teeth. (Two. At a time.) The project is drawing to a close now. There are only three rooms left in need of love, and we've got just over a week to finish. I can't wait to hear how her family reacts to the changes. They don't even know what we've been up to.

Oh, the fun we've had! Initially, I was having visions of my life and career once my kids are all in school. Visions of me, doing my thing. Re-entering the work force. Coming out of hiatus. And then thoughts about starting before they're all in school. We could make that work, right?

Sure!

Yes!

But..
....
.....then I would come home from Girlfriend's house, and I would behold my house. My house looks a whole lot different when I've been gone. The kids are all happy. And fed. And relatively clean.

But, everything we own is on display across the living room floor.

And my husband is a little twitchy.

He says he's fine. He's happy that I'm having a blast, and even happier that I'm bringing in a little money in the process. But this isn't working....wouldn't work....not in the long haul. It's fine for a few days one summer. But it wouldn't be fine every day all the time. Not for us.

Everyone is feeling the interruption in our rhythm. The baby's sleep is seriously messed up. I'm sure his teeth have a lot to do with that, but I know he senses the change. My big kids are squirrellier, and my girl keeps asking me where I'm going. Even when I'm not going anywhere.

So, it's been real. It's been fun. And it's been real fun. But when it's done, it will be done. For a little while longer.

I can wait. I know that when the time is right, it will all be right.

A l r i g h t.

and, lo, there was tiredness

We had a lovely, full, 4th of July weekend.

On Sunday, I took a nap with my wee babe. I fell HARD into a deep sleep. For about 7 minutes. And when I was forced out of that precious slumber, I could barely move.

I put the baby in his walker and slithered to the floor so my body would block his path--keeping him confined to a safe zone. My arms felt like they weighed 500 lbs. What's wrong with me? (And because I'm a special kind of crazy) Could I have cancer? (It's always cancer.) Mono? Acute liver failure?

I tried to will myself to get up off the floor. My body was having nothing of it. My baby rammed his walker into my legs. Over. And over. And over. And again. My husband happened upon us.

He took mercy upon my pathetic plight. All three children were gathered together for a long walk/bike ride. But not before he asked me if I would rather move to the couch. If only it were that simple!

*cough*

He laid a blanket on top of my lifeless legs and filed everyone out the door. What a hero, what a guy!

I lay on the floor contemplating my next move. I closed my eyes. I should really take this opportunity to sleep. But think of the laundry I could get done! And that bible study I will need to have done by Wednesday....now would be the PERFECT time. Oh! OR! I could sew! Ah!! I could water the garden. As my mind raced with possibilities, my limbs became lighter. 'It's a 5th of July Miracle! I can move once again!' I thought to myself.

And I became an object in motion tending to stay in motion.

Until my husband and kids came home. And the tired came right back.

I'm thinking the tiredness could have a whole lot to do with the fact that I haven't had a good night of sleep since August 2001. That, or anemia.

true confessions

I was so desperate for chocolate today, I ate these:




Please.

Send help.

(Or
better
chocolate.)

random today

Today, I got to go to the store. ALL BY MYSELF. Alone. (There were other people in the store, it wasn't 4 am or anything.) But I was not with anyone personally. My children were home. With daddy. And! I only received one phone call! One EMERGENCY call. From my girl. About paper. About what kind of paper would be okay to use with a wiggly headed pen.

~~~~~

At first I wandered the aisles just enjoying the atmosphere. The muzak. The freedom.

And then, I started making new year's resolutions. About fiber. About adding more fiber into my family's diet. My husband is going to be SO thrilled to hear this important new development. I took my time reading labels, and filled my cart with all sorts of wonderful beans. Black beans! Refried beans! Kidney beans! Chili style beans! Ay, caramba! I also loaded up on ground flax seed, to sprinkle into everything I make. And, I bought some toilet paper. You know, for after the beans and flax seed.

*cough*

Then! I started thinking about new things. Trying new things. Getting my family to try new things. Getting my family to try new things without them knowing they are trying new things. (See ground flax seed above)


In the spirit of trying new things, I bought this:



It is not delicious.

I'm hoping to fare better with other new things.

I'm tired.

My wee babe is a pretty decent sleeper. For the last several weeks, I've been getting at least one 4 hour stretch at night. Which is way more than I ever got with my older kids when they were teeny. However, when the other two were younger, life was slower. We didn't have to rush off to school in the morning. Sleeping late meant we were up in time for lunch. Now....now life is busier.

Life begins at 6:30. (which is cruel and wrong)

Last night, my dearly beloved was losing his wheels around 6:30 pm. We were chatting on the sofa, when he started to glaze over. His eyes closed. I stopped talking. He said, "I'm still listening."

Sure you are.

I let him doze, and got the big kids to bed.

One little big kid had a lot of trouble falling asleep. He found lots of things to worry about. "What if we have 50 kids, and we don't have room for all of them?" Followed by, "Can we pray about it?"

Certainly, "Dear God, thank You that You already know our future, and that You are in control. Thank You for always providing exactly what we need, when we need it. Help us not to worry."

Between the biggest big kid thinking about scary pumpkin faces, and the littlest big kid worrying about how all the beds would fit into our little house, it was after 9 pm before everyone was settled. Girl in her bed. Boy in my bed. Dad still on the couch. Baby in my arms.

By 10, baby had made his way into the bassinet, and I snuggled next to my sleeping boy in my bed. I left Daddy where he was...thinking that a 3 1/2 hour nap would make for a fitful night of sleep...and secretly thinking that if he were to get 12 hours of sleep, it would give me all sorts of leverage for the next few days. (mwahaahahahhahaa!!)

Morning came REALLY early today. Like 4 am. Do all these people hate me? I was able to sneak in an extra 20 minutes of rest after settling the baby, waking the husband and before getting my girl off to school.

It was on the way home from the drop off, that I decided it was a good time to run to the grocery store. Which we did. And then we got home and I looked in the mirror.

It's too bad it wasn't October 31st.

I'm going to take a nap.

no news would be good news

The media. Can you sort through it? What kind of filter does it take to find out the truth about current events? Seriously!

I don't care about Bradgelinla's babies. I don't need hype and drama. Give it to me straight. I don't care about personal interest stories. I don't need a Hollywood minute. I don't want to walk away from a news program (or article) knowing for whom the reporter and editor and producer will be voting. I don't want spin. I don't want bells and whistles. And for the love of all things Holy, please, make sure the anchor woman is dressed professionally. There is no place for decolletage in reporting. It doesn't matter to me if the reporters are attractive. I would like for them to be able to read the teleprompter. Is that too much to ask?

The whole "fair and balanced" thing is ridiculous. We'll have some people way on the left, spinning the news their way, and some way on the right, spinning the news their way...then you can stir them together, and come up with a crude amalgamation of the two---the truth lying somewhere in the mix.

I'm sick of it. Sick of scare tactics. Sick of the morning news becoming more and more like a television tabloid. Sick of actors promoting their latest movies. Sick of authors trying to sell their books. I don't need Good Morning America telling me about the hot new look for fall. And when did we start wanting to end a news broadcast with a concert from the latest "it" artist? It's the news!

If I want a good recipe, I'll look in a cookbook.

If I want fashion advice, I'll pick up a copy of Vogue.

If I want to be frustrated, knowing less about the world, and more about fluff, I'll park myself in front of the television at 9am, 6pm, and 10pm.

If you know of a good place to find out honest and accurate information on the economy, national security, politics, and relevant current events, PLEASE point me in the right direction.

more randomness

I caught the end of a PBS special last night. Songs from the Labyrinth. Oh my goodness. Mesmerizing. Sting sang 16th century songs to me for 15 minutes. STING! And then I had a moment. You know, one where your thoughts start to mingle from reality to irrationality? I have a lot of those moments.

Moments, where I'll be watching some period film, and the couple is in a boat, she's in a fancy dress with a parasol, and he is also dressed up, with his sleeves rolled up....gently paddling through the water. It's all so beautiful. So romantic. And then you think, "I wish WE would do that kind of thing." But, then it hits you...you have done that...remember?

Remember on your honeymoon when your beloved paddled you around the lake? But you kept telling him to stay closer to the shore? Because you were mentally calculating how far you would be able to swim with him under your arm should your boat have capsized and your new husband been knocked unconscious? Or the time he took you and the kids out in a canoe down the 2.5' deep river, and you almost had a nervous breakdown when the kids would look out over the side of the boat, causing it to wiggle? Because you were mentally calculating how you would rescue all of them if the canoe had capsized and all of them been knocked unconscious?

Well, while Sting was singing to me, I was having a moment. What if we (my husband and I, not Sting and I) would sing like that to each other? Wouldn't it be romantic to be in some castle in Ireland, with my long hair (that I don't have) braided down past my waist, and my flowy gown blowing in the gentle breezes? I singing to him, and he singing to me? I contemplated that for a little while.

But then, reality started to creep in. My husband is no more likely to sing to me like that, then he is to wear tights. And do I really want him to? No. Why? Because, it's girly. I didn't marry a girly man. I married a man. One that can squish bugs bigger than a quarter with his bare hands. If he were girly, who would kill the bugs?

Who would build the fence?

Who would work so hard so I can be home with the kids?

Who would balance out all my irrational romanticized thoughts and daydreams?

Not Sting on PBS.

staying home

I'm in a bible study over the summer with an awesome group of moms. Tonight's topic promises to be interesting. It takes a close look at "working moms"...not directly insinuating that God wants all moms to stay at home.....but leans in that direction.

I'm excited to hear the opinions of these women. We all have different experiences. Some work. Some stay home. Some work from home. Some want to stay home. Some want to work. And all of theses women know how to peacefully debate and discuss. I love the dynamic. The group has been such a safe place to vent and seek advice, to ask for prayer, to ask for clarification....I wish everyone could experience it. And I wish it would go on and on and on.

Anyhow, this last study has really prompted some deep thinking. Do I think God wants all mothers to stay at home? I don't. Do I think God wants me to stay at home? I do. At least for now. Do I want to be home? I do. Have I always wanted to be home? No. I was going to BE SOMEONE. Not that a mom isn't someone....but it wasn't on my radar when I had mapped out my future in the career of my choice. Motherhood was something I was going to think about after I became bigtime and hotstuff. But then I gave birth to bigtime and hotstuff.

So what's my take on staying home? I think that it falls into the category of personal convictions. I think it's a personal choice. A personal conviction. If God is prompting you to stay home, then stay home. If He's prompting you to work, then work. It's something to be decided by a husband and wife....for the good of their family.

Right now, this is where God wants me to be. But, just because He wants me here, doesn't mean He wants you here. And I would never try and push that on anyone. I haven't been given the job of handing out convictions.

I'd love to hear other's thoughts on this topic. Care to share what you think?

edjamucation

I was sorting through some books today. I stumbled upon an old poetry book from my freshman year of college. Flipping through it, I remembered just how much I loved that poetry class. It felt classy. Collegiate. Mature. All the things I had wanted to be at the time.

I had highlighted 435,605 poems in the book. Looking back, many of the poems I loved were lovely. There are still a few that stick out as favorites. But, now, I can like them for no good reason. There isn't a professor helping me decide which ones speak my language. One that I love today...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)

This Is Just to Say 1934

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And one that I will always LOVE. Is right here.

I guess I've made it. Classy. Collegiate. Mature.