surely, I'm not the only one

debt collection

Many years ago, a certain someone promised to take me to a play, or an opera, or an orchestral concert, as a thank you for watching so much baseball my eyes nearly bled.

I'm still waiting.

And you would not believe the interest that has accrued.

Compounded, even.

Let's just say a trip to Italy may be in order.

I wish you were my neighbor. I would invite you over for coffee every Wednesday morning. We could sit and solve the world's problems over cake.

the flu

I want these so badly, it's almost painful.

(And these, too.)

((Plus these.))

I'm working on contentment. Which is difficult when there are so many cool shoes to be had.

sometimes...

...I like to sit in the quiet.

to just be
and think
about
the future,
the present,
the past.

I like to trace God's hand through it all.

for the teachers

We had some fun last week getting the kids' teachers gifts ready.

They were quick, easy and budget friendly. And green. (Bonus!)

I let the kids choose jars from the "jar drawer." Then we glued a votive candle into the bottom of said jar. Tied some bits and bobs from the sewing box around the neck of the jar. Added a jingle bell, and voila!

the most wonderful time

We had our own little family Christmas celebration yesterday.

The day began as any other Sunday. The baby woke up. I pretended to be asleep. Trying to wait out my husband...who would wake up and get the baby? (I totally rock at pretending to be asleep.) Daddy went to get the baby and then downstairs to start the coffee. I descended as soon as I was sure my cup of coffee had been doctored with cream and was waiting for me by my chair.

We visited, coffee in hand, while the baby cruised around the furniture. The big kids woke up. Excited. They remembered that it was The Day. Present opening day.

Now every Sunday, I sit around too long. Yesterday was no different. Once I realized the timewas getting away from me, I ran around like a crabby chicken with its head chopped off. Ironing clothes for everyone. Mentally going through my wardrobe trying to figure out what I had to wear. What was clean? What wouldn't need ironing? Do I still own black tights?

We managed to get out the door without too much fuss and about 3 minutes to spare.

Church was nice.

We came home and I started to prepare our meal. The big kids helped watch the baby. Daddy shoveled the driveway. I asked my girl to help set the table. At one point, she had hopped up on the counter to reach some fancy glassware. She hopped off without looking and landed on the baby.

And I. freaked. out.

"Get up to your rooms," I hollered to the bigs. Feeling a tantrum of epic proportions about to erupt. Out of me.

I picked up the baby (not exactly still a baby, but unless and until I have another, he owns the title) and snuggled him. He was fine. I called outside for Daddy to come in. He took a turn at snuggling, while I went upstairs to apologize.

My girl had hidden herself in her closet. She is so tenderhearted and was completely forlorn. My son had been sitting on his bed pontificating. Loudly. I called to both of them. We talked. I said I was sorry for the way I reacted and that the baby was just fine.

We resumed all preparations.

Ate our meal: Chicken Kiev, mashed potatoes, The Green Bean Casserole, scalloped corn, stuffing.

Cleaned up the kitchen.

Opened presents.

Unpackaged toys.

Played Battleship and Connect Four.

The boys went for a coyote drive. The girls played more Connect Four. The baby napped.


A lovely time was had by all.

cyclical

Each morning I bring the big kids to school, come home, put the baby down for a nap, make beds, start laundry, wash breakfast dishes, vacuum.

Every morning, it's the same. There is something about a freshly vacuumed floor that makes me feel calm.

This morning was no different. I got all my stuff accomplished, and soon it was time to go and pick up my boy from preschool. On the drive home, a horrible choir of noise burst forth from the back of my vehicle. I'm not certain, but one or more of my ears may have bled as a result.

We walked into our freshly vacuumed home.

Peace.

Calm.

Silence....for 1.7 seconds. Someone wanted a cookie. Her name was me. Me got a cookie. But then I had to share. I gave everyone a cookie. I was trying to purchase quiet with baked goods. It worked!

I sat in the silence. It was beautiful.

Then I looked around. Crumbs. Everywhere.

And so it begins again.

The cycle of my life begins and ends with a vacuum cleaner.

mandatory break

My computer died last week. A slow, painful, viral death. Fortunately for me, my brother-in-law is a computer surgeon...and works computer miracles.

I was forced to go several days without access to the outside world. It was painful at first. And oh so revealing. I can't tell you how many times I mindlessly walked to the computer thinking I'd quickly check my bank statement, or look up a recipe, or look at my inbox, or turn on Pandora, or stream Speed Racer from Hulu. I'm addicted. And I didn't even know it.

I had to come up with other things to fill my time. Things like;

Playing Memory with my boy. (Who, by the way, "wasted" me every time. And I was actually TRYING.)

And baking Christmas cookies with my girl.

And having wild dance gymnastics on the kitchen counters. My kids can boogie.

So, while it was a painful mandatory break in the beginning, it turned out to be a blessing. I didn't realize just how much time I waste poking around on the computer. I've given myself some limits. I might have to take some drastic measures.

Facebook, you might just have to go if I'm ever going to have a chance at toasting that smug little Memory Champion.

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.

because, sometimes, I'm a genius

Years ago, when my husband and I were first married, we lived in the same town as my Grandma Ruby. Many mornings I would stop by her house on my walk to work.

Grandma Ruby could knit and crochet like no body's business. One cold morning, I stopped in without mittens on my hands. When I stopped again on my way home, she handed me a pair of mittens (and a hat) that she had whipped up that afternoon.

While walking the rest of the way home with my new mittens warming my hands, I had a thought. A thought about my sisters and me and our future babies. Grandma Ruby was getting older, and I didn't like to think about it, but it occurred to me that she might not be able to meet all our babies. Her future great-grand babies. So the next day I asked her if she would be willing to make some baby blankets. I told her I'd love to have a blanket made by her to give to each one of my sisters for their first baby. She was very willing and so excited.

On my lunch break, I stopped by the Ben Franklin across the street and picked out the softest white yarn I could find. I dropped it off on my walk back home. I don't remember exactly how long it took her to complete the blankets. Maybe a week? Probably less. She made five. One for me and each of my sisters, and one for my sister-in-law, Kara. (She loved Kara, and wanted her to get in on the blanket action as well.) They were each different and wonderful. I carefully stored them, and waited patiently for the day when I would give them each away.

Grandma Ruby was only able to meet one of our babies. But each sister received a special Grandma Ruby blanket for the birth of her first baby.

On Saturday, I get to give away the last blanket lovingly made by my Grandma Ruby's hands. I know for certain she prayed for the baby that would receive this blanket. And for the mama that would place it over her sweet babe.

for Annie...

...we'll see if they work...

...if not, you know I don't mind cranking out more. :)

{the colors look a little off, it's a gloomy day, so I can't get a good shot without the flash.}

oldies....

We've been liking Father Knows Best on hulu.

(Wish they had more than the first season available. )

mass chaos

If someone were to happen upon my house right now, they might think we've been burgled.

The rocking chair is tipped on its side so the baby can't crawl into it, stand, and rock. (While laughing with delight.) There are chairs all over, as make-shift gates...since the gate I bought on Monday has already been broken. Toys mark a Hansel and Gretel-esque path through the chaos.

Tangible evidence of what I'm most thankful for this upcoming holiday.

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.

Lamp ReVamp

I have an awkwardly shaped living room. In my awkwardly shaped living room, I have an angled sofa, with an ugly lamp behind it. The lamp was one we purchased for around $10 when we were first married. You know the kind; black with accents in brass and green glass? From the '90s? That kind. Some where along the way, I spray painted it all green. Not good. Not good at all.

Well, I got SO sick of that stupid lamp, that I began a nationwide search to replace it. However, I have exactly zero dollars to spend on a new lamp. And I don't steal. So, my options are pretty slim. And none. None options. But! I have an active imagination and too much time on my hands AND a glue gun. Plus I had all of these things:

I cut apart that old lamp shade and used the bottom ring. I smooshed it into an oval shape and stitched some fabric around it. I borrowed some wire from the garage for the bottom oval. Stitched the fabric to it, and slipped it all on top of the old lamp's original shade. It just rests there. To cover up my goofy stitching, I glued some red ribbon around the top, bottom and inside bottom of the new shade. Then I pulled some loose stitches up through to give it a little rouching.

It's not what I would go for if I had, say, $500 for my nationwide lamp search, but it works for today.

Off for a fun weekend

Praising the Lord for a good mother in law, and brother's in law that marry well! :)

l.o.v.e.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13:13

I saw a post by Elizabeth Esther a while back. She grew up in an abusive, legalistic, fundamentalist church. She was saying how when she was little, she thought she was going to go to hell because she loved her mom more than God.

Her blog is one that I stumbled upon, and spent a whole bunch of time reading. It's hard to imagine some of what she grew up in, but some of it struck a chord with me. I was not raised in an abusive, legalistic, fundamentalist church. Thank God. But I think every church and every believer is in danger of becoming sidetracked. We can easily narrow our scope to include only the pieces and parts of Scripture that pertain to our pet issues.

There are many times I want to stand up in my own church and scream to my fellow congregates, "LOVE! What about the love??!!"

How many things would snap into focus if we would focus on loving? Not loving sin, but loving sinners?

Not being in love with myself, but being in love with Jesus?

And that's where the chord was struck reading Elizabeth's post. I remember when I was young feeling bad because I didn't love Jesus more than my parents. When I met my husband in high school, it seemed like I loved him more....and I felt guilty. I didn't worry about hell, but I knew that my love priority wasn't in the right order.

But how do you correct that?

How do you make your heart love?

I've been mulling this over for a while. And it's seems so simple. The real questions is, how can you love someone you don't know?

It's hard. But once you know what this person has done for you, once you begin spending some time with Him, and once you read His love letter to you....He corrects the order.

He makes your heart love.

on a Saturday

Daddy took the big kids to the lake today...enjoying what might be the last warm autumn Saturday of the season.

Daddy brought a rod and tackle box.

My girl brought a sketch book and pencils.

My boy brought three plastic army guys.

...........................................

I'm amazed at how perfectly it captures who they are right in this moment.

...........................................

Mama and baby stayed home to nap. Which also speaks to the moment.

...........................................

Happy Halloween. :)

broken

Well, it was bound to happen.

My favorite lamp.

Broken.



It's the icing on the cake of my {crappy} day.