Kaiya's laughter heals (and CJ rocks too)

Restful

2012-01-15T18:09:00.001-08:00

Quiet house, noisy mind.

heart full of emotion

muscles sore from work

this week, so weak.

Water splashes, kids yell.

close my eyes for calm

heart strums hope in chest

rest comes, in full.

Traditions

2012-01-15T18:08:00.000-08:00

This started with a question, Eli asking me on the phone what kind of traditions I was going to do with the kids for Christmas. Ever since than we both have been thinking about traditions, what they are and how best to choose which to pass on.

A tradition is a ritual, belief or object passed down within a society, still maintained in the present, with origins in the past.

Creating memories is tricky business.

Little minds full of wonder.

And such little time to pack it all in.

How to pick, the important, the good...

Passing down a thing full of beauty.

Chosen moments of life.

Filling up days with deep meaning.

To learn, and grow, and be loved.

Bff and Sabbaths.

2012-01-15T17:54:00.000-08:00

My church is doing this project thing where some of us are getting together and either writing or drawing or taking pictures (or maybe some other crazy madness... you never know at my church...) and we partnered up to reflect on Sabbaths. I picked my very best friend in the whole world who, very sadly for me, lives in California. I am told that by the time I get out of Texas I am halfway there but have you seen how big Texas is? This is very sad. But this is something we could do online. Together. How cool is that? Her half is at:
Sweet Whimsey and I highly recommend it because she's a much better writer than I. Though I have to tell on her because this made me giggle. I don't think she's stepped foot in a church in like over ten years, and that was probably when I dragged her. She's sort of like a stay at home Peruvian monk. Um, minus the long, smelly brown robe. (I hope.) Though, truth be told, she doesn't realize how brilliant and grounded she is. (Who knew brilliant had two "i's"... oh I'm sorry, I played a sentence game with Kaiya tonight and it's made me very aware of words. It ended with me making her write the word "the" 25 times though if that gives you some idea about how much fun I am.)
We started this two Sundays ago but since I am so woefully bad at keeping up with this blog I hardly think it matters. I'll post what I've done so far next. I think. No promises after all for the kids just went to bed which means it's ME time. Yay.

Little

2012-01-08T15:46:00.000-08:00

They are only little once, and for such a short while.

It’s like eating a great desert, it’s come and gone.

The sweetness. The light. The joy of loving them.

They are only little for a while and then they are gone.

Far away, into the world, and full of love I hope.

Random Christmas joy.

2011-12-20T04:31:00.000-08:00

Kaiya was an angel in her little church program.

I called her the "Lord of the Rings" version of angel because she had that cool gold cape. I promise you I was not creative enough to come up with this. In fact, I did my best to ruin it but even I couldn't screw up how adorable my kid is as an angel. I felt a little bad because she kept turning around the whole time they were singing. It irritated me. Later when we were watching it together she explained that she was trying to get to the second row where most of the kids were. Suddenly I felt like a horrible mom because I didn't make sure she was comfortable with where she was but alas, I thought the show was about to start and since she's so tall it actually made her more level with the other kids to be on the row without the stair. Live and learn I guess.

I got a real tree this year. I just love real trees. Hubby was convinced it was going to be dead before Christmas. It's browning slightly but I think it will be somewhat alive by the 25th. Truth is I don't care. It smells great.

Note, the ornaments are clustered together. I haven't rearranged them. Yay me.

Lastly, the children's director at our church gave us advent books again. We actually did them this year. Sort of. I admit I had more fun than the kids. I also often dutifully put CJ's stickers on his little sticker-manger. I would post pictures of those but they are in the kids' rooms and they are asleep now and waking a small sleeping child should be a federal offense. We also made toilet-paper-tube nativity. I took the liberty of making CJ's for him. I mostly let Kaiya make her own, despite the large amount of twitching it caused. CJ took the liberty of destroying his as soon as he could. I posted on facebook that I had come home to a massacre of the nativity and took these as evidence:

All night long it bugged me so as soon as I made it home from work the next night I posted a picture of this:

With the caption "order restored." I had located most of the other nativity as well, save the other angel. I remarked to Hubby that perhaps he had the angel hidden and was going to post ransom pictures of it. He was too lazy to do that and eventually informed me when he located it. I was a bit dismayed at first that the "fluff" that made the second angel's hair was gone and then realized it was just at the bottom. I pulled it out and he couldn't resist making a comment about butt fluff being on the angel's head. Boys. I had no sooner arranged the second nativity than Hurricane CJ came through and scattered everyone, including baby Jesus, to the four corners of the living room. So sad.

They have been having a ball with them though. The first night I asked Kaiya where Joseph was and she grinned and explained that he was off fighting the monsters. I must have missed that part in Sunday school.

I hope this season is very bright and merry for you. And free from monsters.

Paper plate ornaments

2011-12-17T04:29:00.000-08:00

I know, I know... shut up already about ornaments you are saying to yourself. I don't blame you. I would promise that this will be the last post about ornaments but I don't want to lie. It seems I am obsessed with them this year for some reason.
This was my solution to the missing box of ornaments. We had done something similar last year but on a much smaller scale. Since I had all my lovely usual ones, of course.
It's actually an amazingly easy way to make some cute ornaments. Low-fuss. I promise. I even broke out the camera, whoop!

Paper-Plate ornaments

You start by getting those little paper plates that you use for appetizers but usually are stuck with a bunch left because they are too small for a whole piece of cake and too flimsy for real food. Since you have nothing better to do with them let your kid paint on them. Then you cut out the center, punch a hole, thread a ribbon and wha-lah! You have yourself an easy ornament that Grandma will love. I often write on the back the kid's name and year as well to keep track since we've done it a few years now. Happy decorating!

Lament of Ornament

2011-12-10T07:08:00.000-08:00

Hello. My name is Court and it's been five days since I last adjusted the ornaments. (Waits for applause.) It's a daily struggle... (Coughs awkwardly to stall.) ..especially since the girl child insists on moving them around regularly. She last moved the new little paper star TO THE SAME BRANCH as my pretty pink crystal ball one. This just should not happen. That pink one was from my single days. When I had a pink year. The whole, bloody, tree was pink doggonit. I loved it. (Sniff, hiccup.) And that was the year I bought the pink Strawberry Shortcake ornament. (Sigh.) Which is lo... lo.... lost! (Sobbing.) A whole box of ornaments. Gone! Tragically taken in the move.

(Straightens up a bit; holds head high.) But. I'm being strong. For the kids. So I've sworn off ornaments. No longer do I fondly rearrange after the kids go to bed. Why, I haven't even scoured the living room for the ones the toddler yanked off and flung to the nethers. I also have not prematurely strangled the cats as they sit at the foot of the tree licking their little cat lips with that look of: "Oh... There have to be little birdies up there!"

Sometimes late at night, when the temptation is hardest, I fondly gaze at the lights. On weaker moments I make laps around the tree "admiring" it. (Snort.) We all know where "admiring" leads, don't we? (Wry look followed by exaggerated nod.)

It starts with something small like ornaments and the next thing you know you're tackling an octogenarian in Wally World to get the latest farting Elmo doll for your boy. Every boy needs a farting Elmo, you rationalize, from jail. Speaking of... I wonder where that Elmo ornament went to? No! I will not yield!

Um? What? Oh. My five minutes are up? Well, thank you folks. I'm just going to be taking it one day at a time. Only fifteen days left till "C" day anyway so, um, hang in there. And peace. On Earth. Oh man I wish I had my little dove ornament, the one that was crocheted.... (weeping as escorted off stage.)

Dogs.

2011-12-06T23:10:00.001-08:00

As I write this in the wee hours of the morning I would love to say that not a creature was stirring. Oh. If that were true. There is one creature who is shaking the house with a thunder that surely must register at least a 3 on the Richter scale. It's my dog. Scratching his *)&!@. When he does this he makes a sound that causes one to throw up slightly in their own mouth.
Then there's the dog that is more like a cat. He's our friends' dog and we watch him on occasion. I love this dog dearly. In fact, he essentially ushered me into the possibility of having a dog around all the time. What I didn't realize was that he's not quite a dog. Sure he has ears like one. He barks, annoyingly, like one. But he prances. My husband informs me that dogs are not supposed to prance. I believe him. Meanwhile. The other dog. I hope to God those sounds I'm hearing are just farts. But the smell. It just shouldn't be. No living thing could possibly...
I guess now that we finally have a house I will need to get used to dogs. Fru-fru dogs that are easy but bark incessantly to big butch dogs that are a "man's dog." Excuse me while I go lament the peaceful days of just cats and quietly let go of my secret dream to become the ultimate cat-lady.

"It's beginning to.."

2011-12-03T22:15:00.000-08:00

My husband often tells a story about how his stepfather, or grandfather- I can't remember which- started to sing: "It's beginning to look at lot like Christmas!" With extra, sarcastic, emphasis on the Christmas. As he explained it to me this was prompted by a fight between him and his sister. So today we decorated for Christmas and he got to sing that song.

I really wish I was a graceful, Martha Stewart type. I couldn't be anything farther from that if I tried. I threw a fit and insisted on a real tree this year, which he dutifully went and got. Before he had made it home though I decided that rain or no rain I was at least going to put up lights around the tree in our front yard. It looked like a half-blind and handicapped child had been allowed to toss the string of lights however she wanted. I really should have taken before and after pictures because words just can't do it justice. He figured that the kids started fighting and I had just thrown the lights up into the tree to get them off the wet ground. I said, smally, but... I a-r-r-a-n-g-e-d them so carefully! He had already started to wrap the lights neatly around the tree and I had to admit, it looked better than my attempt at making our tree an avant-garde cactus. Yes. I was actually attempting to make it an avant-garde cactus, the "why" still eludes even me. (This is where I smugly say: "I'm an artist" and walk off.)

Truth is. I'm not much of an artist. Not much of a decorator. I'm not really "creative" but I am good at copying. There. I admitted it. Sometimes when my artwork sucked I would glance at the kid next to me and copy what they were doing. Color it blue instead and try to call it my own. That doesn't really work in life though. Every holiday it's like I somehow think that I have magically turned into a person with style. Maybe this will be the one where I give up trying to be someone I'm not.

So I confidently carried in the box of ornaments; happy that at least they hadn't gotten lost in the move. Setting them carefully on the step ladder I gathered up the string of lights and Kaiya and I set to decorating the tree. Then, it still plays in slow-motion in my mind, I knocked off the box of ornaments. I screamed. Like a person being mauled by a wild dog. A blood-curling scream. The kids froze in place, hoping their crazy mother wouldn't see them and thus not eat them for surely she just turned into a monster. And my sweet husband started humming "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!" As my bff says, sometimes we need a mommy time-out, so I sat down and gathered whatever tiny shred of my composure was still left and had a quiet moment.

I realized I was frustrated because all day long I was trying to be like the creative girl who had thrown together an angel costume for Kaiya in .207 seconds. She had casually mentioned that if you adjusted the cape it would look like a hood. It sounded so easy and yet there I was three hours later with needle and thread and cursing up a storm. Kaiya walked in on me and informed me that angel's don't talk like that. She is right of course. Yet the day just kept going and everything golden that I touched was turning to dog poo. It's a good thing I'm not an angel because as klutzy as I am I'd choke on my halo in no time.

Truth is, I love this season, but I hate that I often forget what it's about. I forget that it's about waiting. That it's about God coming down to us as an itty bitty baby. It's not about fancy decorations or stylish angel costumes for preschoolers. God came down. As a baby. He deigned to wear humanity, so I think I can deal with a few spilled ornaments.

Letting... a balloon... go

2011-11-27T19:40:00.000-08:00

We went to a dear friend's birthday party today. He passed away this past Spring but his lovely family had a party in his honor. Someone had the brilliant idea to write wishes to him and release them tied to balloons. CJ wanted to hang on to his at first, which I found surprising as he had been releasing it with abandon in the house and I had repeatedly had to climb up to get it. Once he realized we were now letting them go he flung his arms wide and up and away went his balloon.

Kaiya must have let hers go in a flurry for by the time I glanced to where she was she was hopping up and down and pointing to it floating away. Oddly enough when we released them many of them got caught in a giant tree in the front yard. Most eventually worked themselves loose. Some man I didn't know grabbed a hoe and prodded some loose and even went for the ladder for the most persistant ones. Grief is like that I guess.

Much of it pours out at first, in gushes, or in a big wave of color lifting up high. Bits of it stick though. Get trapped on things, hung up, and you have to work at it to get them free.

Later I was sitting and staring at a blank notebook page trying to figure out which story of this great man to put down in black and white while Kaiya was playing with some paper cutouts of tiny stars. She was still processing. We had made a card for him the night before. It had stamps, glitter, puffy animal stickers and she had written his name all on her own on the envelope. The perfect card for him, truly.

Kaiya calls him Santa Dave because Dave was his name and he looks like Santa. Every now and then while she's playing or something she'll just stop and say: "I miss Santa Dave." So today all of a sudden she stops and says: "I'm going to pray." I, like any good Christian, nod emphatically and say OK! She starts: "Dear Dave, I miss you..." as she trails off I suggest that maybe we should pray to Jesus instead. She nods and says, but I'm going to pray for him. I agree. "Dear Jesus. I miss Dave. And... can you send him back here? Because his wife really misses him and loves him."

I patted her head. It was all I could do. Because really. That prayer rocks. I keep praying it too and including other names of those gone too soon. Could you send Trina back? Amy too? While your at it you got a grandma and a grandaddy up there you could kick loose. A few others I could name as well. But.

The balloons don't come back down in this story. They float and keep on going up into the atmosphere. They don't come back down. They are gone. But.

Our God makes all things new. The friends and family who have died already are made new. My sweet Kaiya has a brand new Santa Dave. One day, Jesus will answer her prayer. Only those of us down here must go up. There is no clinging to branches or being stuck under gutters. We must go up to be free.

still thankful take 2

2011-11-24T17:29:00.000-08:00

We woke up at the crack of dawn because the boy child was awake for some reason. I settled in to snuggle with him but he was all wiggles and no snuggles so I gave up. Thinking hubby was still asleep I tried to keep him quiet to no avail. I then discovered the girl child was wide awake so I invited her to our den of awakeness. And I gave up. Put on warm clothes and tried to shuffle them outside. Only to hear him stirring. He poked his head in. "I've been up praying" he says, "and I'm thinking we should go." So we pray. We call a nurse friend as well. Ask again about contagiousness et all and in the end decide to go. Beg the Almighty for the grace to protect them from any germs but feeling a sense of calm that it seemed we were mistaken about the kids as neither came down with any symptoms. I am the only one who was actually sick and that was almost three days ago which is what the reports had said. So we decided, they are adults, we are adults, we can wash hands and they can wash hands. Off we went.
I gave side hugs and love pats in the air. Mostly I just chased the children to let my husband spend time with his family. It was delightful. I still have nagging little buzzing thoughts, like those blasted teeny flies, of: "what if they get sick?" But we could what if ourselves to early graves couldn't we. The flowers are clothed in splendor and the birds eat each day to remind us not to. We thanked. We loved. We ate with family. No tofurkey was had but who bloody cares. My pantry is now well stocked in case the zombie Apocalypse happens. So. That's something.

still. thankful.

2011-11-23T18:38:00.000-08:00

I started to get excited about Thanksgiving several months ago. It was my husband's family's turn and we would be out on their family ranch. With all my mom's stuff with cancer this past year I haven't gotten to see his family that much and so my thoughts turned towards fun experiences had with them.
Then I taught Sunday school. And got the stomach flu. Luckily it was one of those quick things so I was hopeful that we could still make it. Then it seemed the children were coming down with fevers the night before Thanksgiving. We had already been researching on the particular virus I had and about being contagious and discussing what if we needed to cancel? My husband, wisely, decided that for the sake of his elderly grandparents it would be best not to go and risk it. I knew in my heart this was the best thing. Still. It wasn't how I thought Thanksgiving would go this year.
As I drove home from work on Wednesday I smirked at the full parking lot of HEB and thought: I'm so glad I don't have to go there! And it's true. I don't. We could just eat the non-Thanksgiving food we have. But in truth, the crackers and 7-ups of sickness are getting mighty old and now that the bug has run it's course (we hope) we need to re-saturate the whole house with Lysol. So off I go. To make a last-minute-thrown-together Thanksgiving dinner of tofurkey and potatoes.
Tonight I scour facebook for the little dramas that I have been following. I see black and white words of thanks jumping up everywhere. And color photos of happy, healthy babies that are thanks as well. One who was sick because somewhere in this crazy world is a pharmacist that simply needs to be shot. There she is though, all tired smile and alive! Another baby who finally came! And mom is healthy too! I see way too many posts of fried turkeys but remind myself that this is because I live in Texas. Before living in this grand state I'm fairly certain I didn't know it was possible to deep fry a turkey. But apparently you can. And twinkies. Oreos even. Oh my.
I come home to a little boy that melts my heart the way he hollers out "mama" and runs to give my calves a firm embrace. To a little girl who tells her little brother: "careful now, watch your fingers!" as he plays with an old toy and she helps him open a piece he can't quite get. And to a man who babied me this past week as I was sick.
So as I write out my grocery list, reading a recipe of fried tofu for giggles, and listening to the sounds of my family as bedtime approaches. The two-year-old jabbering out for freedom with an occasional thump on who knows what. The four-year-old who has discovered that blood is under your skin and if you scratch yourself it makes a neat new color. The husband who sounds for all the world like he is getting sick. I am thankful for all of this. And hopeful that we'll all be well soon. Happily munching on fried tofu. OK, you can substitute turkey in that sentence if it makes you feel more Texan.

Aw. Language.

2011-11-21T19:15:00.000-08:00

So one nice thing about moving is you discover things you have had all over again. Like books. I had read Helen Keller's biography before but when I found it on the bookcase I knew I had to read it. Ms. Keller has been everywhere lately, in other people's random facebook posts, in little tidbits from radio hosts in between Newsboys jams and Chris Tomlin's latest pop-rock hymn (am I the only one that thinks it's weird that pop-rock hymns are everywhere these days?) or most frequently my memories of her biography. Which I probably read when I was about thirteen.
When I saw the biography on the shelf I smiled and immediately started devouring it. Before I knew it I was blubbering. What surprised me was what it taught me this time. How deeply important communicating with others truly is.
Another reason I started to blubber a bit more was I realized as I read about a young woman's frustration with being trapped that little CJ's frustration was likely building with each passing day. Granted, on a much smaller level, as he's still a little guy, but as I watch him stamp his feet and screech I realize he is trapped. I also realized that I am blessed. All of us are who have our eyes and have our ears and can use our mouths to connect.
When Helen's teacher enters her life and is able to give her language it is like she is reaching out to pull the child from an isolated dimension. Like suddenly Helen could join the land of everyone else. Could talk and be heard, could see and discover, could put words to the thoughts that were already there. CJ clearly hears us. Clearly understands us. And clearly wants to talk. It's just nothing comes out. But: bah! Some random screeches. And then he gives up and starts asking for his bottle. That word he has nailed. That and tractor.
There is hope though, for it's like the boy suddenly decided he wants to get this talking thing down. The game of pointing to objects, saying what they are, and then repeated the new word multiple times is now one of his favorite games. CJ rarely says one of these new words while the game is playing but will watch intently and then point to something different. Maybe about five days later he might blurt out one of the words. It's like he takes it all in and churns on it, like the kid is a crock-pot learner and I'm trying to teach him like Kaiya who was more of a microwave.
If nothing else I go back to my prayers and trust that as much as I love CJ and want to help him the One who formed that little mouth that so often stays closed is in control. And He has made an amazing language that is telling the most incredibly beautiful story of all time.
It's about communicating with the One who made communicating. It's about trusting Him to teach us what we need when we need it. And most of all, it's about letting Him love us madly and loving Him back.

Good Morning Cinderella.

2011-11-18T06:33:00.000-08:00

As soon as she popped her little blond head up out of the mound of covers I chirped: Good morning Cinderella! She gave me a sleepy little smile and had a far away look. For a moment I was almost on the carriage with her, off to an enchanted land where princesses really do exist. Then.
"Can I have some candy?" Should I start taking a tally? What number could we get to in her quest for more and more of that sugary goodness we retrieved from a plethora of strangers' houses last night? I suggest we have some after breakfast. This turned out not to be the case. Mainly because right after I woke up Cinderella I woke up Grumpy.
Too his defense the poor kid has been battling something awful since Friday. We even had to miss a "pumpkin" festival because the poor thing was still puking everywhere. So last night we discussed me taking the princess around a few blocks while the boys stayed home and passed out candy but then daddy caught the kids' bug and once CJ saw Kaiya getting all dressed up he handed me his shoes. So that was that.
At first it was easy. Mainly because CJ was taking in the world and trying to figure out what in tarnation everyone was doing. It seemed the world had lost its mind. It had. How, exactly, do you explain that people think it's cute to put up skeletons and ugly monsters? Now some do put up cute things, cute little ghosts like Casper, cute little pumpkins. It's orange. And bright. Others put up the scariest things I have ever seen in my life, straight out of a Walking Dead episode. Seriously? Now, I get that it's their yard and they can decorate how they want to but they don't get to choose our reactions. So I instead of coaxing CJ to overcome his fear of the frightening thing I comforted him. Told him it was pretend. Apologized for it scaring him. Each time he looked at me like: get it mom! Get that monster. I fought the urge to wrestle the plastic beasts out of the yard stakes and fling them into oblivion.
For the first half of it CJ rode along happily. Kaiya sweetly got a piece for him and one for her. When someone was handing her candy and they realized she was sharing what they'd given with her little brother they would rush forward and unleash another huge handful in both their buckets. I thought, horribly, man... is this a good strategy or what??
The second half was a bit trickier. CJ figured out that he could rise from the throne of the stroller and all heck broke loose. I had to hold him back as he would throw punches at the scary monsters on yard sticks. One time I had one finger dragging the stroller, the other fingers holding his pumpkin bucket, the other hand holding his, and I lamely reached out my foot towards Kaiya as we tried to cross the street. I guess I thought I was going to push a car out of the way with my big toe.
Thankfully we were almost done. CJ did not wander into any stranger's house, which is what his big sis did the first year she was up and on her feet trick or treating. Kaiya hollered out Trick or Treat loud enough for both of them, usually said thank you on her own. Told random people they had pretty flowers in their yard. Yeah. We came back loaded. I realized as she walked up, hand in hand with her little brother, that I might just have the two sweetest kids in the world. As I write this to the sounds of screaming, gnashing of teeth, as an all-out brawl is going on in our kitchen for a piece of candy. Still. They are only little once.

sorry, and a poem

2011-11-17T19:06:00.000-08:00

sorry for the lack of posting as of late. it's been a few weeks of just, blah. not the kind of blah that comes from somewhere but the irritating "what? is my period about to start?" sort of blah. sharing too much?

well, how about a poem about our new house. i must say that i absolutely love our house. but moving, and change in general, is hard. so here goes a bit of catharsis.

a new spot

i toss and turn

something is not right

i try the other direction.

if i could just move that wall to be where it's supposed to be

it's off.

and the sounds.

all noises in odd configurations

there's a monster in the wall

someday this will feel like home.

just not, quite, yet.

Missing it?

2011-10-22T19:45:00.000-07:00

I just took the kids to a Halloween carnival thing. The carnivals or sort of my thing, either that, or my husband is a genius. Because, really, they are insane. He refuses to go which is why he must be a genius. I can't help myself though. Something about the smell of cotton candy and funnel cakes turns on the fond memories of spinning lights and ferris wheels. It is actually getting a little easier now that Kaiya is old enough to safely stay behind me or next to me as we navigate the crowds. CJ's role used to be that of baby in the stroller but this was the one of the first ones that he wanted to do everything. Wanted to being the key word.
Some events there was no chance in heck I was even going to let him try. So I would laugh, pat him on the back, and assure him that in a few more years I would let him scramble up the fifty foot wall and go down the zip line.
CJ usually loves bouncy gyms but for some unknown reason he refused to do the two designed for toddlers and wanted to do the big kid ones Kaiya was doing. I foolishly let him try one as it was more of a maze that was flat on the ground, not realizing that the final slide was a bit steep. I had to send the teenage kid in after him because some little six year old scrambled on top of him scaring him half to death. Eventually the poor teenager coaxed my son out and when he made it to the top of the slide he had this grin of pure delight. CJ had the nerve to point to the entrance as soon as he was at the bottom of the slide and I laughed.
Then we went over to the pony rides. At first I didn't even think about letting him try, mainly because they cost extra and I thought the petting zoo cost extra also but then I found out the petting zoo was included with the admission price. So after we all scrambled around terrifying a small assortment of pigs, rabbits, chickens, ducks, goats and sheep CJ kept pointing to the horses. We went back and I had Kaiya wait by the ticket taker and I prepared to walk around behind CJ. It almost worked. The problem was he would need both hands to hold on to the saddle and that would require putting down his sucker. Kaiya very happily took his spot and got a second horse ride.
The whole time I was frantically whipping out my camera to try and capture these moments (and no, I still haven't found the doo-hickey that lets me upload them to the computer) and it occurred to me that I was missing more of them because I was trying so hard to take pictures. Finally I put the blasted thing up and just enjoyed watching Kaiya's triumphant grin as she road a pony, like she was a conquering queen coming back from a great victory. Or CJ's carnival ride. The one where he ran circles around me over and over until he staggered off in a dizzy stumble. Even better, was when I let the events of the night unfold.
See our carnival routine is usually the same as most carnivals have these elements. We find bouncy houses of some sort and bounce for a bit. We then find either something free like a playscape or if they have a train ride we do the train. Then we find the petting zoo and harass some animals. If there is a horse ride and we can afford it we do the horse ride also. Lastly we sit and eat the lunch or dinner that mommy has sneakily brought via CJ's diaper bag and this is sometimes done as we watch a concert but always on our little blanket that is tucked in CJ's stroller. Finally for the walk out to the car we always have cotton candy. I just don't know what a trip to the carnival would be without cotton candy.
This time on our walk out the main walk-way goes past the zip line. They periodically stop you when someone is about to come and so the group was standing there waiting. And waiting. Some poor kid at the top was having a Come-To-Jesus moment and it was taking a bit long. We waited for a bit but after a while I looked over and saw our local Christian radio station tent. This tent always has a spinny wheel that Kaiya loves. OK. I love it too. Mainly because you can win t-shirts. I love t-shirts. So we staggered over there and Kaiya spun and got some candy. She found another one at a second booth and spun again. More candy. We then wandered over to where a rock band had just started playing. I figured. Why not? And threw down the blanket. We didn't stay much longer as eventually Kaiya leaned over to me, shouting, Can we maybe go somewhere else? That's not? Loud? I nodded. She went back to vigorously jumping up and down. No one has to teach kids that at rock concerts you jump up and down. CJ had two fistfuls of cotton candy and blue sticky stuff all over his face and torso. He looked up at me with a sleepy, sticky grin.
Careful. You don't want to miss it.

A tale of two bars.

2011-10-08T08:08:00.000-07:00

Last Sunday our pastor decided to do something a little quirky. I guess the church he pastors is rubbing off on him. He handed out three hundred granola bars and told us to pray and give it to whomever God was leading us to give it to.
Ever the teacher's-pet I trotted in to work bright and early Monday morning with the bar in my hot little hand determined to get rid of it like it was a grenade. Perhaps I was thinking if I gave it away quick enough than I wouldn't have to give it to someone scary. Like a drug dealer. Or a homeless person. Not that homeless people are all that scary but the thought of being told to go to some big huge camp or something and... and??
I prayed in my car and oddly thought I heard the name of a sweet-spirited and mild-mannered lady that I already enjoyed talking to every day. Could it be this easy?? Surely I just wanted it to be her, especially since I'm typically a wuss with this kind of thing. But I prayed again and it was like if my thought was in a bubble over my head the answer was capitalized, in bold, and underlined in red with her name. I wandered over to her desk later and set the bar down in front her. Since she happens to know my pastor I explained that it was a bar from him and she started laughing. Like, oh, this is going to be a hoot, I can tell, kind of laugh. When I got to the part where I was supposed to pray and I felt like I heard her name she gasped out: I could use all the prayer I could get! I thought: girl, can't we all! We chit chatted for a bit longer while she munched on the bar. A+ right? Or surely a solid B? Well, wait till the second bar.
One little caveat the pastor had said when he passed out the bars was that we weren't to eat it and then he added jokingly that it would taste bad in our stomachs if we ate it ourselves. I nodded solemnly though like he was Gandalf and he had just placed a wizard curse on the bar. So today. Saturday. At the end of the week. Wouldn't you know it the love of my life, occasional procrastinator, still had his blasted bar lying around. We were scrambling to get him and the kids out the door in the morning for an acting gig he had that -thank-the-good-Lord!- had child-care. So when the two-year-old handed me a random granola bar my only thought was: hmmm, he must have found that in the diaper bag and we haven't bought those in about nine months so would it still be good to eat? I quickly decided it would, being vacuum sealed and all that and opened it and gave half to each kid.
It didn't occur to me what bar it was until I was strapping the kids in the car. The two year old had taken the tiniest toddler bite out of his and then carried it around for ten minutes so it was covered in baby slobber and dirt. He handed it to me and I ate it. I was slightly ashamed that I ate it to begin with simply because it was a dirty baby bar but I hadn't wanted to throw it in our brand new yard and didn't have time to hunt for a trash sack. As soon as I started chewing I realized what bar it was. I then remembered the curse and wondered if I should spit it out but again didn't want to have to come back and clean it up. I decided a little prayer was the best course of action as I apologized for being forgetful and careless.
The whole point of this exercise had been to be more aware of God's interactions with us. I have a feeling he was more like ruffling my hair in a playful "sheesh Court" kind of way rather than being annoyed at me. I just might want to remember that before I start feeling all pompous about something there might still be a chance I can screw it up!

Changing Court

2011-10-01T12:48:00.000-07:00

One thing I've realized with this last move is that I really don't deal all that well with change. I sort of grieve a little every time something changes. And any time there's like a triple combo it's everything I can do to not try and make a mad dash to hide like the cats have been doing ever since they got a dog for a roommate.
Both kids are changing developmentally and it has me reeling again. You would think after four and a half years with my daughter I would start to be a bit more prepared for these changes but alas, I am caught unawares once again. And the two year old? I mean. Come on. I've done this before. But no. No. I haven't. Not with a boy. Not with HIM. And he is every bit of TWO.
Add to all this that I feel like I'm in a big change time too. I read somewhere once that our personality changes a bit every six months or so and that like every seven years we have a radical shift. Now, I have no idea where I read that or if it even has any merit to it but it certainly feels true. I think I tend to change with the seasons as well and not to mention this whole new life stage thing what with us being brand new homeowners and learning what that actually looks like in real life, our lives, as we do it instead of our parents or other adults who seem to have it all together already. And therein lies the crux. It seems others have it all together and I am falling apart. Perhaps I am but only to be reassembled to the new upgraded Court 4.0. Yay. What about you, how do you deal with change?

Did. I mention... L...O...N...G???

2011-09-28T21:26:00.000-07:00

I am beginning to think we are never, EVER, going to get moved. I wisely took off the last week of our lease, thinking that if need be we could use the extra time to get moved. Hoping that instead we would be moved already and could enjoy our new home. The latter is not occurring, I am sad to say. Well... we are enjoying our new home while also furiously scrambling to get moved out of that bloody apartment.
I have this disconnected sense of the world also as I have hardly been online at all these last few weeks. When I am at the new home I'm usually in the back yard. Since we have a yard. And it's everything I can do to pry the kids away from it. Not that being in the back yard is torture mind you. We have the hammock, swing and lawn-bed under the fan already set up. I rotate between all three quite happily while occasionally running to rescue a wee one from an ant, or rub their sand-filled eyes clean or pick up dog poo.
That is the fun side of the task. The other side, of scrambling to get the car packed while washing a load of laundry since we have yet to move our washer and dryer into our house we've been washing our loads at the apartment. Today I spent a good hour cleaning the microwave. How. Does. All that stuff get on a microwave?
A friend of mine commented that I looked peaceful tonight at church. I thought, well, that would likely be exhaustion. Oh and both kids seem to be having growth spurts at the same time just to add extra fun to this move. I guess they decided to expand a bit to fit the new digs. At any rate. See y'all in 2014. When hopefully we are moved.

long road home

2011-09-23T21:04:00.000-07:00

forgive the lack of posting for a few weeks. you see, we moved. to a house! and here is where, if i were even slightly technically inclined, i would included pictures of our lovely little first home. alas, you are stuck with words for the camera is still packed. in short, it's perfect and just what we need.
the night before we first saw it we had prayed, a bit frustrated as we had just been snaked out of a bid on a house we thought we liked. turns out God is good for some poor soul was murdered like two doors down from that house just a few weeks ago. i promise you that would have freaked me out. but we stumbled out of our tents to get our morning manna and we grumbled as best we could to Him and not about Him. the whole time we prayed i kept hearing the word "roses." the next morning we went and looked at the house before i headed in to work. let's just say it was hard to concentrate that day for we were soaring. we knew we had found "the one." the only thing that bugged me was there were no roses. or so i thought. we had been in the house a good ten minutes before we realized it had four bedrooms which startled us a bit as all the other homes we had looked at were three. it was like a whole bonus room. disco.
we started the process of buying it which went fairly smoothly and the moment we got the keys we started happily moving in. the first few nights we hadn't dug out the portable pack and play crib so we fought over who was going back to the apartment to sleep with CJ. once we had moved the beds and bare essentials we essentially camped in the new house. the kids have a whole, huge, yard all to themselves. and on top of all this crazy newness we got a new dog.
it's so quiet hear now that i might just have to make a tape of base thumping every five minutes so i can sleep. i never sleep good when we move but for the first time i don't care. because we are home. my sister can finally write my blasted address in pen in her little address book. we plan to be here a good number of years. we hope to resist the urge to get another 1,000 square feet in five years and hence double our mortgage so we can double the junk to fill the house.
i almost forgot. the first day i came by the house and i stared in wonder at two, TWO, rose bushes right by the front door. how i missed them when we first looked at it is beyond me. we then found a third rose bush in the back yard, hidden away like secret treasure.
just think. as excited as i am about this house there's an even better house we'll get to come home to one day. i betcha there might even be roses there too as well.

A different morning

2011-09-13T04:51:00.000-07:00

Six am "O' Dark Thirty" as my sister used to say and I'm wide awake. I almost start to get giddy thinking about having a whole hour to myself when... the cries start coming from the crib. Too often I take it for granted that he is not a baby anymore but a toddler that when he has a hard day it startles me. Like when a growth spurt appears out of nowhere and slaps me in the face because the kid is suddenly a newborn again.
I rush to get him before he wakes his sister and all pandemonium breaks loose. He writhes on me, uncomfortable, and I twist and contort. I can't reach my coffee, and I'm typing this with one hand. In the dark. I'm a mommy.
As this warm little soul lying on me starts to snore and I pat his back I realize that my silly hopes of sipping coffee quietly while actually reading, and not skimming, my quiet-time passage are nothing in comparison. I do my best not to keep glancing at the clock for eventually, yes, I will have to start getting ready for work but for now I can sit still. I mentally crush the rambunctious kittens that are racing frenetically around and keep crashing, loudly, into various pieces of furniture. And I pray, for my family, for my church and for my town. This isn't quite the morning I had planned, but it'll do.

Fire and a Whisper

2011-09-07T04:56:00.001-07:00

I don't know who had it worse. The husband who was left to grab the kids, pets and valuables or the wife who was across town about to adopt a Bastrop dog. I honestly didn't know my little Acura could go that fast. I drove it like I stole it. The whole time frantically calling everyone in my phone, whom I learned I had an odd assortment of folks for some reason, because the horrifying thought of sleeping in a shelter could simply not come true.

By the time I made it to the main road in front of our complex, having seen the smoke from my complex for miles already, I saw the SEVENTH fire truck pass by. Seven? Really? That was when my little heart started to thump. If they were sending seven then surely it was more than one little apartment on fire. My husband had only had time to say that there was a fire two buildings over. Two short little hops over from all our stuff. Not to mention, and let's just be honest here, I hate where I live and I struggle every single day to love the people there because, well, frankly, they are hard people to love, but they are people. Made in God's image. Beautiful. Glorious people. And there are so many kids it's unbelievable. I couldn't even really go there in my mind and I had to navigate a left-hand turn to get onto the road into the complex which was reduced to one lane. It seemed the one way in was blocked off so I turned into the shopping center and walked over. OK. I ran. Or more realistically, I shuffled.

When I rounded the corner to where our apartment was and saw that it was surrounded by fire trucks I hadn't even realized I had run right by the love of my life and the two darlings from that love. He called out and I turned and stared blankly as he handed me the squirming two year old who melted in my arms.

I wiped away my boy's tears and patted his back. Every time I wipe away one of my kids tears I think about how one day, one sweet glorious day, God will wipe away ours. I have a theory about this that has completely no merit to it other than I am in love with it. My theory is that he will actually go back and wipe away all the tears from our life. Every hard moment. Every thing we didn't understand. Like fire. Like an earthquake. Like death. And he will just wipe it away. Then we'll start a new life with clean little faces.

One of my friends had posted that she wondered where God was in all the nastiness of a fallen world, well, that's my paraphrased version. Truth is I don't know. I have a feeling each situation, each disaster, is different. Some, it's like the grand theater in the story of Job. There's a back-story we aren't seeing. There's a real devil out there who wants to destroy and probably loves it more than anything when God gets blamed for his antics. Fire seems right up his ally. But then there's the problem that, OK fine, so there's a bad guy in the story. Isn't there a good guy? And isn't the good guy bigger and better? Yes. And Heaven Yes. But there's a bigger story we aren't seeing. There's a glorious ending where the good guys cream the bad guys. We'll leave this live with that wobbly-just-from-the-movie feeling and have that satisfied "aaahhh" of having seen a really, really good story. But this is the hard part. When our town is burning. When friend's homes are destroyed. When our little square of dirt we call home is on CNN and it's a pile of rubble that should not be. As I write this, it's early in the morning and we hear more sirens. I also hear a whisper.

A constant beautiful whisper of love. Urging me to love better. Encouraging me to go easy on myself. Reminding me of how others might be feeling. As the Holy Spirit that lives in me because I received Christ gently guides me through this nasty life I am reminded that he is not in the earthquake and he is not in the fire. He is in a gentle whisper.

finding treasure

2011-08-26T19:19:00.000-07:00

Recently our church had a ministry event in which we give away apartment stuff to international students. They can come and pick out stuff for their apartment and then our men and more burly women will hoist it all into trucks and deliver it for them as well. My dear husband got to help with this event again but this year we no longer lived across the street from the church. So I had the brilliant idea of just hanging out at the church so he wouldn't be late for the shindig to start. I packed the kids' swimsuits and their little dvd player and we holed up in my usual Sunday school room which coincidentally was at the threshold of where all the loot was to be had which made it quite a busy place. As the kids played I periodically listened to the helpers and students chit chat. It was cute the brief moments of cultural bonding that were had amidst instructions as the whole thing was set up sort of assembly-line style to try and create some order out of a potentially chaotic deal.
At the end of it the pastor in charge of the deal had called out that church folk could rummage through the stuff left over. I certainly wouldn't be mother's daughter if I didn't know how to rummage through some junk and find treasure so in between checking on the kids I picked around at what was left. I found this little pink coffee cup with the single word "hope" on it. That happens to be one of the primary names in our church name and most of us shorten the full name to just Hope. It had these little flowers on it and all together was perfect. I picked out Kaiya a Barbie doll with a purple dress and CJ a nondescript truck. Kaiya hugged the doll with as much love as would be humanly possible to turn a toy real. I suddenly didn't care about all my semi-half-baked-feministic ideas about Barbie dolls and wanted to rush off and buy her five more. CJ was more interested in a firetruck from the classroom, so much so that rather than fight the fight I let him steal it, figuring I could easily return it when the child's death grip wasn't quite as firm around the blasted thing. If need be he'll surrender a different firetruck in it's place.
All this to say as I sit and write, occasionally glancing at my cute little cup and remembering my daughter's happy little face, that I wonder if the finding treasure story-line isn't one of the grand Author's favorites. I have a friend who wanted a chair for reading and so she prayed for one. She needed a free one and every day she checked Craig's list free section (the day I heard this I stormed home and was delighted to discover that yes such a thing exists) until she found it. The perfect chair. The perfect size. Prettily decorated to her liking. She call's it: "God's chair." So I've decided to call my cup God's cup for it's just what I wanted. A cute cup that every time I drink from it I can pray for my delightful church that loves me and my family very well.

you were saying?

2011-08-21T18:53:00.000-07:00

so there i was, on the playground at church with the new class of threes who is significantly smaller than my last class. the children's director came by and we discussed some logistical issues. just as i started to puff out and brag a little about how i was "getting to know" the new ones the children's director started snickering. like a little school girl. this would be more profoundly funny to you if you knew whom i'm talking about. she has the strict headmaster bit down pat and so it was a bit out of character to see her giggling freely. i turned, not able to see at first because a parent was blocking the way. this poor sap had gotten roped into helping me at the last minute. he moved a little and i saw that one of my new charges was peeing. on the playground. outside. did i mention in front of a parent? not the peeing child's parent mind you.
i am thinking the theme this year will be cavemen. we will beat our chests and scream. parents will return to find half-clothed children covered in blue paint. and. the kids will love it.

in the quiet of NAP.

2011-08-14T14:47:00.000-07:00

today CJ decided to wake up the very minute Kaiya went to sleep. they used to do this more when they were littler so i guess subconsciously they were nostalgic or something. i decided to forgo the nap and stayed up with CJ, who thankfully mostly played by himself while i played my video game. i occasionally 'punted' him back into play by picking up a toy, changing a diaper or something and we had a few games we played together but for the most part he organized and the re-organized his plentiful toy car collection.

Kaiya seemed dead to the world though when i later came into the bedroom i saw that she had gotten out a bunch of books and organized them in neat little rows (again with the organizing... does this mean something? should i sign them up for mensa? clean my living room more often?)

i started to wonder what else she does during her "naps." the other day we discovered she had cut her hair during a nap. we have yet to recut it so hopefully i'll find the battery thing for the camera to memorialize this right of passage. she only left one long strand in the back and it's spiraling into pretty circles that i don't think i'll ever be able to cut it. it drives my husband nuts because, as he puts it, it looks like a 'rat's tail.' but it's a pretty rat's tail.

these two little events have me wondering what else she has been up do when she's supposedly "napping." i can almost hear her, in a husky chain-smoking voice: "what happens in nap-time stays in nap-time mom." i guess i should be thankful that she still does take naps. sort of. and to be honest, she did a better job of cutting her bangs than i did, which, if you saw the job i did you would know that ain't saying much.

New Fruit!

2011-08-07T11:20:00.000-07:00

It's that time again... my turn to teach Sunday School. Only this time I got a new batch of kids in the threes as the last one, along with my daughter, graduated to the fours and fives. I'm trying to remember how three-year-olds act and I'm slightly handicapped this time as this particular class is in between Kaiya and CJ so I'm not as familiar with them. So it's all a bunch of new, which can be a lot of fun, if you let it be.
For once I read the lesson plan ahead, and by ahead I don't mean my usual: on the car-ride to church Sunday morning. The lesson was about fruit. So I went bananas. (I crack myself up.) I bought an apple, orange and lemon to show them. I then bought all sorts of fruit for them to taste. Fun fruit like kiwi and plum and usual fruit like banana and pear. I had almost forgot to pick up a fig (the story is about the fig tree that wasn't bearing any fruit.) As I was thinking this it was like my brain was search for an image and all it was getting was that little rainbow wheel that tells you a computer is thinking. No fig. I realized then that I had never actually seen a fig. So I went to the odd section in HEB where all the odd fruit is and I read the little cards until I came to fig. I reached down to pick up the thing and held it in my hand and said: huh. CJ reached out for it but then went back to driving his race car (I had been stupid enough to get one of those carts that is shaped like a car and purposefully made to ram into anything and everything as you make your way through the store.)
The next morning when I was getting ready for the class I started to think about that happy little: "hey this is new!" experience I had and it occurred to me that there are moments like that all over this life. New friendships, new relationships, and just new places in life that are meant to be savored and enjoyed. It helps if one pauses long enough to even recognize that it's new. To stop and say: huh, well, that was different! Here's to a season of new fruit!

h.o.t.

2011-08-04T15:18:00.000-07:00

is anyone else like: holy cow it's august?? and down here in texas it's like aaaahhhhh..... gust. but no gust.
i've had a busy work week, hence the ignoring my blog for a week, and at the end of each work day i would stumble in the house and then usher the kids to the pool. it used to be a little easier to watch them as generally one would be off doing something fairly safe like chasing a duck or something but now that kaiya has suddenly discovered how much fun swimming underwater is my stress-o-meter is like through the roof. if it was just her, there'd be no issues, but there's the boy child who can find danger in a cardboard box. so i'm sitting in a position where i can watch her and watch him as she jumps over and over into the pool and he discovers a tree. all of a sudden i hear him crying out and i look over and his little leg is covered in fire ants. for once i had my wits about me and immediately dunked his leg in the pool which got most of them but some of the tenacious little guys were hanging on so i had wipe them off. i then started to yank off his clothes as i realized they were quickly spreading everywhere and suddenly the make-shift duct-tape and maxi-pad diaper i had put the kid in for lack of another didn't seem like such a good idea. we finished off the adrenaline burst in a frantic dash home as there are some fire-ant allergies in my family (which i am sincerely hoping don't come from the relative who is related by blood to me but i'm not gonna take the chance with my almost two-year-old) so we gave him some medicine and i lapsed into a post-adrenaline-rush coma.
he was happily jumping up and down on the bed while his momma kept rubbing the one or two bites she got on her hands and thinking to herself: ouch! they call them FIRE ants for a reason!
anyways. hope you're surviving your hot month somehow. what things do you do to cool it down??

Both Hands Up

2011-07-29T19:05:00.000-07:00

I heard this song, "Two Hands" by Jars of Clay for the first time recently. I guess it's been out a while but I missed it. The chorus really got me: "I use one hand to pull you closer. The other to push you away. If I had two hands doing the same thing. Lifted high, lifted high."
I tend to not just give it all. Even in worship it seems the most I can go is the "half Jesus" with my hands extended out only slightly. What would it be like to just lift up, like I'm baby CJ when he stands at my feet with that: PICK ME UP!! look on his face and his little arms outstretched. CJ gets it. He gets worship. Seriously.

That's my boy during worship time at Sunday School. Both arms flung upwards. It makes sense I guess. He's used to reaching out with everything he has for what he wants. When do we stop doing that? Here's to throwing both hands up towards the throne-room, to standing at our daddy's feet and giving him that "pick me up" look... and even more... here's to letting him.

So Big!

2011-07-25T21:18:00.000-07:00

I had lunch with the lovely woman who introduced me to 1,000 Gifts by Ann Voskamp today and I simply love her perspective on life. It starts, of course, with gratefulness. A full kind of grateful, like rich avocado in a sandwich. We discussed a hiccup in my little world and it was like I could feel myself being pulled out of my hamster-wheel drama that I have been cycling in for a week or so. Why do I make this life so small when He tries to make it so big?
I once heard a pastor speak about his toddler son and how every time the boy did something new, as first-time parents, they would go stark-raving mad. He suggested that our God is like that. That when we "get" something, when we grow, or learn or start to let Him heal us for once instead of fighting and flailing against Him our proud papa can't help Himself but to cheer and say: Look at you!! You're so big now! How's about I believe Him for once and not the slithering snake calling me small?
Because this thing I'm in, this dance of life, is so big and I'm just where I'm supposed to be. I go back to watching and waiting and hopefully, getting bigger each minute, and not just in my gut. (Speaking of gut, Target has this delightful ice-cream called "cake and sprinkles" and I figured I would corrupt you so I could have more friends to eat it with.)

here goes thankfulness:
-a lightening-quick answer to prayer
-an answer still a-coming to prayer
-cake and sprinkles in frozen form
-a successful day on my diet (mutually exclusive of previous entry)
-"Mean" by Taylor Swift
-not settling for small
-trusting Him in all things

Prayer. And Answers.

2011-07-23T16:30:00.000-07:00

I've been doing Beth Moore's Revelation study and it talks about the golden bowls full of prayers of the saints. (Rev. 5:8)
The only thing of this life that makes it up there are our prayers.
Ms. Moore suggested that the prayers sit there in the bowls until they are answered or come to fruition. Recently I was talking with a friend about a situation and as we were talking and I was giving the update of the situation he said: wow, that sounds like a real answer to prayer. It occurred to me that I hadn't even quite recognized it as that. And that prayer only sat in a bowl up there for 24 hours. What about the ones that have been there ten years? It makes me wonder if the answers are so different, or unexpected, or if it is us that changes in the meantime.
Our prayers are like incense to Him. Incense. Really? I sometimes wonder if mine aren't like dinner leftovers that I took to work in Tupperware and forgot about. But he doesn't forget our prayers. Some waft up and seemed to be zipped right back down with an answer like a lightening bolt. Some sit. In a golden bowl in the throneroom for as long as they need to sit there for.
Maybe when they come back down they are unrecognizable but not because they have grown stale but because they matured much faster, much prettier, than we ever could have imagined. Suddenly this tiny thing we dared to ask for is standing huge and gleaming in our soul, a testament to how good He truly is.
Don't know about you, but I feel the urge to go add some "fluff" to those bowls up there.

mistake

2011-07-19T21:53:00.000-07:00

Do you ever just feel like a mistake? Like maybe the genes got all criss-crossed somehow and somebody else was supposed to have been born? Someone smarter. Prettier. Shorter.
Do you ever wonder if He made a mistake offering you salvation? If when the preacher prayed that prayer out loud it was supposed to be someone else repeating it but silly old you did instead? Someone better. Humbler. Truer.
Am I the only one that wonders these things in the dark of night after the kids, cats, and husband has gone to bed?
Maybe I feel like a mistake because I keep making them. Or, at least, it seems like I keep making them. For when I make one it gets put on this tiny movie reel and it's the main feature each night. Sometimes there's a matinee too.
I try to pray my way out of that wretched theatre and sometimes it works. Sometimes it just blips the screen all scratchy like a cheap dollar-movie. But it's still there. Sprawled out. And I imagine that the audience is full of all those I deeply love and respect. And there's Court. In a clown costume. Entertaining with her idiocy.
I try to switch the film.

I am redeemed. He summoned me by name. I am his. Isaiah 43:1

I will see him again and no one will take away my joy. John 16:22

He will instruct, teach, counsel and watch over me. Psalm 32:8
I cannot be snatched from his hand. John 10:28

Maybe the only mistake is listening to that rotten snake tell me that I am one. I am loved by God and I get to try and love him back. Does what man thinks of me matter? Does anything? The God of the Universe loves me for some crazy, odd, reason. It ain't by mistake because he don't make none. I rest in the crux of his wings.

Thank out of Blahs

2011-07-18T20:38:00.000-07:00

I suppose the time to thank is most for times of blah. Perhaps its this new diet? I'm trying a vegetarian version of Atkins, sort of. Go ahead. You want to laugh. Mainly I eat eggs and fish. And hush. Some vegetarians eat eggs and fish. Truth be told I'm not a vegetarian, I'm a picky eater who is a "pastatarian." And. Oh. How I miss my pasta.

I have discovered new things though. Do you like avocados? They are like the secret weapon of the vegetable world. So delicious and filling. At any rate. Is it weird that I was even dreaming about how good chocolate pasta would be? Yes? OK. Here it goes...

-kitty's collar-bell jingling

-being awakened by You!

-new idea for story

-grace. so sufficient.

-meal of avocados.

-indulgence of pizza.

just

2011-07-17T12:49:00.000-07:00

a little bit more...
a new boy
a husband
a baby!
a new house
another child
a new job
a promotion at job
a bit more schooling
a bit more money
a bit more vacation
a bit more house

when.
exactly
will it be enough?

Take 'Em Down

2011-07-13T06:01:00.000-07:00

I've been doing one of those "read through the bible in year" things. Except I'm exceptionally lazy so I couldn't be bothered with charts and what not and instead have one of those bibles that just has it all laid out for you by days. It's great. The only downside is early July is all the "begatting." One can only read so many lists of so and so is so and so's son, etc. My mind drifts to the chapters I just finished. About how Israel started worshipping idols. Again.
I started to wonder. How could you serve a God that actually destroyed armies in front of your very eyes and then be tempted to go bow down to some clay covered in gold? And are idols like other things today? Like my games or movies?
I pondered on this for several weeks. While I read list of names. Then, true to form, God always teaches me things just about everywhere and it's usually after the third time or so that I start to hear it. My dear husband started wondering out loud about the topic as well and then the third time was the charm was on Sunday when the preacher of course talked about idols.
Well, sort of. This particular preacher is one of those brilliant people that I only understand about five percent of what he says and yet that five percent is so chalk full of goodness it's sort of the equivalent of a normal sermon. I usually doodle on the bulletin the other 95%. He suggested, I think, that idols are when we want the fairytale-Hollywood-happy endings to life and are missing that we are in a story already, God's story, and we just need to trust him.
For me it all goes back to expectations. I constantly have this little narrative running in my pea brain and I get all exasperated when the world doesn't read the script. Which is frequent.
Lately it's occurred to me that I have even written a part for God. Sometimes, I am at least bold enough to write him the main part. Sadly other times he's a bit part. Perhaps, just perhaps. I didn't write this one. I truly have no voice, no choice in the matter and need to just lay back and see where this wild ride of story of life is going to take us. For I'm pretty certain that just how he can do about everything a gagillion times better than me, writing the story of the entire universe is probably more in the Almighty's ballpark than it is in mine.

inverse

2011-07-11T17:57:00.000-07:00

To write it out, these thoughts that flit in and make me smile. These things I enjoy, every day, but scarcely notice anymore. It is a sin to not notice. To take forgranted. To take and take and take and not thank. When it should be: take and then thank and thank and thank.

-peas

-a quiet morning

-creamy coffee

-pair of kittens

-a chance to read

-time to write

-kitten face staring up at me

-kitten batting at my chin

-slow build of a morning

-taking time to remember

a different kind of work

2011-07-10T04:45:00.000-07:00

Every now and then I need to do something different to remind myself how deeply blessed I am. Some of us got together to help our boss build a garage. We called it a "barn raising" as we were going to put up the walls of the building. Now, this is fascinating to me. That people actually do this. Build things. On their own.
I know how to use a hammer, sort of, but it would never occur to me: hey I want a garage, I know, I think I'll build one! Even the mouse houses I made recently lean horribly and were quickly destroyed.
I'll be honest and announce that I was by no means an integral part of the operation but I tried. I mostly was the wall holder or the line drawer, etc. You know. Girl jobs. Which was fine by me. I got one splinter and it was all I could do to keep from shrieking and stamping my little foot. There were a few times though when all hands on deck were needed as we actually lifted the walls and for one we moved it clear across the building.
Those were the times, when I was pushing and pulling with all of my tiny might that I thought: thank the Good Lord I am not a construction worker. I get to sit in a cushy chair, that bounces, in an nice air-conditioned building. Aaaaahhhhh.
One thing that comforts me is that we still live in a society where if you need help you can call your neighbors and friends and they come right over and work. About mid-morning I started missing my kids like crazy because I usually take them somewhere on Saturday's when we don't have anything planned. I bugged out early and went home and when I felt those little soft baby arms around my neck I again was thankful.
It can be hard when you live in a tiny apartment and you begin to wonder if you'll ever have a house to remember it doesn't really matter. You have a family and a God to serve and that's all that does.

Duhlete

2011-07-08T05:45:00.000-07:00

I mentioned our computer trouble before. You would think, being of the computer generation, that I would remember they occasionally just stop working and if you don't have precious things saved, like future writing posts, then you will lose said precious things.
I started to blog about it. And then wouldn't you know it the evil red light was flashing on our internet box. (We interrupt this rant to save this document... hey! We're learning!) And of course. I hadn't saved it and so when I hit the "publish post" button it sadly disappeared into the strange land of deleted things.
So, a friendly reminder to the writers out there, remember to SAVE. And if you're like me and you have a stupid back-up hard-drive it might actually be a good idea to use it now and again. Not doing so is sort of like having a safe for valuables and still keeping your jewelry and cash under your pillow.

just. for. me.

2011-07-06T06:36:00.000-07:00

this may come as a shock to some people, likely not many though, in that i tend to think the whole world revolves around me. (to which you're thinking, of course you do: after all, you write about your day. and expect us to read it. and, we do.)
if this ever annoys you just slightly rest assured you're in good company. the Almighty likely isn't too fond of it either. to give you an example:
on our long drive to visit my family for the funeral we had opted to try the late night approach again. i usually take the graveyard shift because i'm sort of an owl anyway. so there i was, driving down a stretch of unfamiliar road with actual trees running alongside each side like giant walls. (as opposed to these "bushes" we have down in texas.) when suddenly in front of me a shooting star danced across the windshield. i beamed. i sat upright in the uncomfortable car seat and i grinned from ear to ear. i said thanks God. i truly believed that it was just for me. that a meteor burning through the atmosphere (no, i didn't know that's what it was either, i just googled it now.) occurred just for me.
truth is, maybe He did put on a meteor show just for me. likely not. more accurate, likely it was not just for me. He probably throws out something and it bounces off a ton of souls like an expert pool player who only needs one turn to hit one ball and make all the others scatter into the holes. perhaps another driver also saw it and was delighted. maybe it was just a meteor and i was in the right place at the right time.
at any rate i seem to miss the point all too often. that the goodness of God isn't just for me, it's for everyone. He loves us all so dearly and i'm pretty sure He wants us to do our best loving all the others as best we can until He comes back for us.
and i'm so glad He's coming back for me. just for me. oh. right. and all of you too. pllffttpptfftt.

Life lessons

2011-07-04T09:22:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking about turning points in life lately. I guess with my grandaddy dying and so much going on these last few months it's only natural. What's really got the noodle cooking though isn't the sudden, drastic changes but the slow, building ones. Like when you realize something over time or learn something, sometimes painfully, very slowly. I tend towards that I'm afraid. Every now and then I shoot right up. And of course that hurts, to grow to quick, but it's like everyone can see it. I remember one summer I must have grown four or five inches. The basketball coach was salivating. (Ok, partly because she played for the other team but that certainly not another post.) It felt like I had accomplished something. Which is silly. Not only did I feel different but I looked different.
Other changes though happened quietly. Suddenly I understood more about being selfless but it seems like you would have to be selfless for years before people would stop assuming you're the same selfish child you used to be. Or wisdom is the best one. It's like the more I learn and realize the more I realize I know nothing at all. I'm not sure I'll ever be one of those self assured, comfortable old people; but hopefully I'll be interesting.
What about you? What deep, or not so deep, things have you been learning about yourself lately?
I give thanks for:

learning
growing
just, simply, being
and fireworks, of course.

fireworks! and movies.

2011-07-02T21:22:00.000-07:00

happy independence weekend to all! i love this holiday so much. nothing quite like explosions in the sky i say!
sorry for not posting, we had computer issues. it's been kind of nice though taking a vacation from the computer for once.
this weekend we plan on not doing much at all but watching some good ol' fourth movies (like, of course, independence day).
in the great state of texas there has been a bit of issue with the lack of rain and the problem of fireworks, well, causing fire. so i hope to try and go see fireworks still but it may end up being a fun-filled evening of long lines in traffic as so many cities around us (including ours) aren't showing fireworks. and can i just be bold enough to say that "light show" is lame and just so not the same thing? but, i get it. i'm sure if my house our land had been destroyed in a wild fire i'd have a orange vest from wally world and out patrolling in a golf cart for jerks shooting off fireworks. ok. probably not. likely i'll be watching bruce willis destroy a fighter jet in a car chase (seriously. if you haven't seen "live free or die hard" go out to redbox or whatev right now. it stinking rocks. oh and salt. not really independency but still kicks.)
hope you have a safe and great weekend. even if you're stuck watching a light show like i seriously i hope i'm not. :)

i give thanks

2011-06-27T21:47:00.000-07:00

for death
for a life well-lived
for my family
for God comforting those who mourn
for truth being spoken
for hard things being shared
for laughter
for a list of a life
for Bill

Quiet-man and Chatterbox.

2011-06-26T07:21:00.000-07:00

It seems these two children of mine couldn't be more different if they tried. One was careful, choosing steps slowly and taking in her world before she started moving in it. The other storms. Headfirst and charging into God knows where. Toilets? Trash cans? Yipee for wonderful, yucky things to grab!
So I guess it shouldn't be a surprise that with language they are also different. I remember worrying about Kaiya not talking enough but as soon as I voiced the worry she made a liar out of me and started babbling away. And oh does she babble, or rather, chatter. It's incessant. Constant narrative, constant songs and I constantly find myself grumbling: hush!
It almost seems as if the cosmos have to be balanced or something for as much as she chatters he is as silent. The boy can literally play for an hour without making a sound. He does make sounds. So many that it seems like another language. A boy-language ripe with grunts and growls. The kid can already make a realistic sounding helicopter and he's not yet two. Kaiya couldn't do that until she was, well, she still can't.
Perhaps my hope is that history will repeat itself and as soon as I blog about it the kid will make a liar out of me again. Just like Kaiya did on our last visit to the grandparents. I was lamenting about how she doesn't eat well and as she polished off her THIRD bowl of mac and cheese my mother chirped: Um? What were you saying about her eating?
Until then I'm repeating words to a ridiculous degree with him "Cup, cup, CUP, SAY CUP!" all the while begging her to hush for a moment so I can think.

Time blocks

2011-06-24T06:39:00.000-07:00

At work I came across a company that only answers the phone for three hours a day. I had a mingled sense of jealousy and annoyance. When I started to grumble about it to a co-worker they were like: I do that, I only answer calls for a certain time of day. Upon thinking on it for a minute or so I realized that I do too, but I remarked that I am not completely "unavailable."

Once I started delving into this issue of blocking off time for thing, and allotting time for things, it occurred to me that with things that devour time, like perusing the internet for pretty and new blogs, are best when they are reigned in. As much as I would love to fart around all day being inspired and encouraged by lovely people far away (or close, who on Earth knows??) for Heaven's sake one child is still in diapers and the other is constantly asking for glasses of water. (I guess diapers and water are a necessity, and blogging, is not?)

I'm curious how you organize your chunks of time given to you. I have tended towards doing things in big batches. Like about one day a week I'll work on my blog. I'll draft up posts for the week (if it's cheating to schedule them then I'm a cheater) and fiddle with it for a bit. Another day I'll catch up on reading others blogs and I love that every time I do it always seems there's a theme. Like everyone is collectively working on the same art project and it's growing, expanding in exciting ways. One does swirls which makes another think of flowers and then oooh! Flowers on swirls!

At any rate. Coffee time is about to start and that is one little appointment I scarcely miss.

Open Fields

2011-06-22T16:07:00.000-07:00

A country boy with land in the great state of Tennessee doesn't belong holed up in a box of a room with a bed. He needs open fields. Big blue sky to look up in. Work to be done and fishing if there's time.
My dear grandfather passed today. He has such a view now! What on Earth is he doing? With his knees working right and a young, resurrected mind that holds everything? I should have taken baby CJ to see him... but can he see him? Likely there are bigger things. I hope he's sitting at Jesus' feet, asking to hear stories. More likely he's fishing with Him like he's been hanging out with the Almighty for forever and telling HIM stories! I miss him already. But I am so glad he's gotten to see his Daddy and have Him wipe away his tears.
I hope he's running and bouncing on clouds. I can hear his laugh and it makes me smile. I betchya it makes God smile to have His rascal boy whom He's already said "well bust it Bill!" too at least ten times by now. And I hope he's enjoyed such a sweet reunion with those who have gone before him.

My Grandaddy walked with God in his own way. He loved to play jokes, one Christmas he made a thumping noise in another room and came running in: did you hear that? He then went running outside- with a shotgun- and fired off a round. He came back in, proudly brandishing a piece of red fabric. "Yup, I got 'em! He was up on that roof with some deer!" For all his pranks he was tender too. One year I was obsessed with catching baby frogs and so he carved a cage out of wood- even added little heart doors- so I could keep them in it. Oh I miss him and his girls miss him but I am so glad he's FREE!

Aw..kward

2011-06-22T07:26:00.000-07:00

I like... comfortable. Take, for instance, my small group. It is. Comfortable. Which I find delightful. I was reminded of what a rare gift it is to have a group of people that for all intents and purposes are truly family and you can just "be" with when I was in a new group. And. The awkward one again.
Talking too much. Talking not enough. Did I get that answer right? Um. Jesus! 42! Aw. Sheesh.
I sometimes wonder if I don't perhaps need two guardian angels. Or three. If, before I get to enter the pearly gates I have to take like months, years, decades? of "remedial" training. Which is why I like to make the joke that I'm going to just be glad to be in heaven even if it means I'll be sweeping the gutters. They will be golden gutters, right? (What? There are no gutters? Does everyone know this but me?)
My thirties seem to be just as awkward if not more so then my twenties. It's just I'm getting used to awkward me. Maybe that's a good thing? Maybe someday I'll stop trying to be someone else and let the One who made me fashion me into what He wants me to be instead of the horrid thing I revert to on my own. Until then I guess it's probably best if I keep my mouth shut. Or at least try to. Or maybe I'll just go with the whole awkward thing and wear a funky wig next week.

a list to pull out

2011-06-20T20:57:00.000-07:00

i've been in a bit of a rut lately... i have had some help though (both getting in said rut and being pulled out of said rut) and my dear husband has been remarkable. a good friend of mine cheerfully talked about the book, 1,000 gifts, which i completely devoured.
so i claw my way out of ruts, with thanks. it's like i'm a fighter pilot and aaaahhhh! she's going down!!! but then.... the "pull up, pull up, pull up!!" is giving thanks. you give thanks and WHOOSH. up. you. go.

-my toddler's full-tilt run into my arms
-telling the gospel to little upturned, sun-kissed faces
-blue Kool-Aid, and pretending it's "juice"
-cool ac blowing on you in Texas heat
-excitement of building a friendship
-dreaming of owning a house
-light flickering in shadows of the fan

Thank heavens someone is responsible.

2011-06-20T07:46:00.000-07:00

As you probably know but in case you don't our house is a bit backwards, or, different. I work and hubby stays home.
Now I think I always thought that I would have a job that would magically let me take off five or so years to stay home with my kids when they were little. Then, in this little dream world of mine, I would go back to part time until they were in say, junior high. HA. Oh, I could take off five years. It's called quitting. But that would require starting all over. And. That is not going to happen. This old girl is too old for that.
So my dear husband has been staying home with the kids. Putting his career dreams on hold. All this to say that each year I try to make father's day special. Cause he is a professional as we like to say. I figure most guys spend the evenings and weekends with their kids (like me) but he's there day to day.
There have been a few things going on in my life though and so this year, well, I frankly dropped the ball. Heck. I forgot there even was a ball. I've been doing good to stagger out of bed and get dressed for work. To make it even worse the week before Father's Day he had even longer days than usual because of activities at church. And today starts our church's summer bible school program.
A few days before when I was realizing: shoot: it's just two days until Father's Day and I still have no earthly idea what to get or do for him when it happened. I come home to read a post he put on facebook about how Kaiya had made him a Father's Day card. I am so glad my child is first-born responsible and remembered even when I did not.
Happy belated father's day to all the dads out there. I hope you had a blast, especially the love of my life and the dear man who fathered me!

Surprised by Dog

2011-06-18T07:42:00.000-07:00

I started hating dogs from a very young age. I was five or so when a large one, whose teeth grow larger each year in my memories, knocked me down and snarled over me. I was "saved" by a passerby who was familiar with that particular dog who often liked to leap the fence and knock down small children. Apparently it was all bark and no bite but I was less than convinced on that point and chose to steer clear of the entire species for the rest of my life.

When I was a teenager my brother had a dog but I scarcely looked at it other than to move it off the couch if I wanted to sit down. I did enjoy laughing at it though as the dog had excellent timing. My brother was bragging on it as my mom and I were teasing the poor beast's lack of intelligence (for this dog seemed even stupider than your average dog) and as if on cue the dog ran smack into the glass sliding door that goes outside. We had to put a row of masking tape to remind the poor thing that a window is not air.

So when I met a man who was absolutely head over heals for dogs I thought: humph. Over my dead body. Then when I gave birth to two children who were head over heals, the second, the boy, being completely enamored I started to resign a little. His father would advocate for him constantly: the boy needs a dog, he would announce. I was saved by the fact we are still renting and pet deposits tend towards the ungodly.

A few weeks ago a friend at church asked us if we could dog sit. I started to explain that we would have a pet deposit to pay but hubby cheerfully interrupted and explained he had already talked to them about having a dog for a short time like a week and that was OK. I sighed and informed him I would not be helping with said dog. Then I met the blasted thing.

It has this little face, like the kind they used to put on sweaters and skirts, but then it has white, shaggy hair like a poodle. Only it's not pretentious but like the cute raga-muffin brother to a poodle. The darn thing seemed to sense I was the one who needed to be won over so it set to winning. It hopped up on my lap and looked up at me with that: "please pet me, and love me, and don't be mad at me."

I tried to resist. For half a day or so and then I was hooked. I started offering to take it on walks. By myself. One night I was sitting on the couch petting it and hubby came in the room and was all: Aha! Dog-lover! I resigned myself that it was just that one. That maybe it's the strange power that I know I can happily give it back at the end of the week. Or maybe that it's not really like the Beethoven's worst nightmare and not destroying everything in the house.

Or maybe, just maybe, every now and then you need the love of a dog. I think God made them to look up at you with that "please love me" look for a reason and it might just be that sometimes we need to love something smaller than us. And sometimes we need to hold something warm and furry that yips and yaps and licks our faces. As the dog plays with my daughter and I hear her joyous laughter and its happy yips I sigh and resign myself to no longer being firmly and completely in the "cat" camp. Sheesh.

You weave us

2011-06-16T20:42:00.000-07:00

Remember the girl who whined about tornadoes destroying towns, disease destroying minds, accidents destroying bodies and trials almost destroying faith?
She is being pulled through.
It was not over, it seems. A new painful tragedy struck my little ball of Earth. I feel stretched. The difficult work of needling through occurs. It does not stop. I go to be encouraged by a friend and instead am utterly bewildered and wounded by what is happening to another dear one I love. More piercing.
I am powerless to help as my thread of life is pulled clear on another plane. I am in the dark part. They are in the dark part. Another friend experiences painful loss that is uncalled for. I sit with Kaiya and put marker to page to make a flimsy card. It is all I can manage. We. Are in the dark part.
Still, I hope. I hope in You. The good God who holds the needle to thread His masterpiece. A God who understands. Who had a dark part too, on a cruel cross where a deep piercing through happened for all of us. Just when it got the darkest, so dark that even God himself had to look away from Jesus it suddenly got gloriously bright. He ascended into Heaven! Whoosh! Right up into the clouds. The disciples stood staring for so long the angel had to come tell them: hey silly ninconpoops, stop staring at clouds He's coming back the same blasted way! As if: good grief. Go live your life sillies. You're mesmerized by sparklies but there's living to do.
I long for the glorious ending that Hollywood can't come close to! For you to cream all the bad guys! For Heavenly explosions!
I sound crazy.
Maybe I am. Crazy in love and hanging on. He weaves and I will stop wondering what on Earth He's weaving. So when yet another dark thread comes out of His sewing box and I grumble and sigh I will try to apologize and stand still. I will receive. I will wait hopefully for the whites, golds and sparkling silvers. I may convince myself this black is actually a deep purple. For who knows? Maybe some of the dark parts are the folds of His glorious robe. Maybe when the canvas is pulled back and we see the masterpiece of this mess of life we will see a picture of our Savior- Jesus Christ coming down from Heaven to rescue us.

the grace of now

2011-06-14T07:00:00.000-07:00

hubby lays on his side, groaning in pain as his body fights off infection. a dog, whose name none of us can remember, whimpers at his side. (we're dog-sitting.) the two of them were up all night. the dog because he misses his family. the husband because, well, he's in charge of all things dog. the four-year-old and almost two-year-old sniffle out in a chorus of congestion.
i am wondering if i use the booger sucker enough, douse them up with tylenol, and play stupid maybe i can still go to the church training thing i had been planning to go. not that i particularly want to go, for i too am starting to feel sick, but, free childcare is not something i pass up very often. my conscience kicks in though and i remind myself how much it annoys me when others send their sick kids to get the rest of our kids sick so i suck it up and make the call to the children's ministry director.
i start to plan out the day, that i had thought was already planned out for me, and it occurs to me to pause for a second. their two sweet little, albeit green snot-covered, faces are looking up at me with such love. for the man laying in pain i feel such deep, tied-together love that i can't even write significantly about it. i almost even feel love for the dog which is altogether unusual.
i wonder if there are times we enter into the eternal by being fully in the present. if we stop to not barrage our souls with the what ifs and even sos and drink in deep the actuallys and the nows if we don't become a little bit more like Him. who is.
He started with that. "I Am." He started with Is. i tend to start with the other two: the was and the yet to come. perhaps the creator of the world knew what He was doing when He announced who He is. perhaps He knew we all need to be here, now, in this moment. not in the moment that didn't happen that we desperately wanted and not in the moment we are dreading and hoping doesn't happen but in what is happening. i believe He helps us during it all too. thank Him.

ready or.. ouch.. not

2011-06-12T07:35:00.000-07:00

Kaiya's at that "let's play hide and seek" every waking moment stage. We are playing right now actually. I'm sitting on the recliner under a blanket. I finally got wise. The first time I picked a spot I picked under the crib. When I told hubby what my spot was he asked, in complete shock: You fit under the crib? To which I snarled back: no, my back, butt and most of my head was sticking out. (Hang on... I have to go get Kaiya out of her tent. That's the spot she picks to hide in. Every. Single. Time.) So I come back and switch chairs and blankets. I pause in my hiding to have a sword fight with the toddler. It took the second bad spot, on the ground behind the recliner, to realize that I'm too old for this. My leg started to go numb. I was seeing stars. I realized that while playing with my kid is a must killing myself to do it isn't.
So I flop the blanket over myself and the laptop. I listen as she chirps out: where is she? Underneath the covers I hammer out another sentence until she finally unveils me. My turn to count I shout out increments of five every minute or so, and then announce "ready or not- here I come!" I then stand, stretch, stagger to get a swig of coffee. She is hiding in the tent of course. But I call out all the other possibilities. "Is she in the kitchen? Is she in the bookcase?" The tent shakes with giggles. Sometimes I remove the whole tent from above. Sometimes I take a stick and peel it back. One time I exclaimed: look at that cozy bed and I flopped down on it, on top of the tent.
I wonder as we play if hide and seek isn't a good tool to learn about expectations. If we aren't learning the pattern of things and the fun of others spontaneity. I am thankful that for now she is satisfied with my attempts and is not expecting me to crawl under the bookcase. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't come out and would have to call the fire department to cut me out.

five.

2011-06-10T20:05:00.000-07:00

today was my five year anniversary. for some odd reason i was very proud. like it was something i did. truth be told i think more of the credit goes to him. and probably most of it goes to God for the best of both of us, and us togetherness at all, is all due to Him.
i went to google. played with the guitar for a few minutes. tried to look up covenant. had to keep pausing to tell the four year old to hush and go to sleep.
five is so few, and yet, it's a start. we are starting to understand each other better, to trust each other more, and to love each other deeper. most importantly though we are still trying.
i am excited to see what the next five years will be like. and the next... happy anniversary to all the june tenths out there (for it seems like there are lots of us for some reason) and i hope you and yours are still trying to love each other as best you can. that's all we really can do.

Telling stories.

2011-06-08T05:49:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up my mind was a constant radio show. One where I would tell story after story to imaginary audiences. I thought this was pretty fun but little did I know what would be funner. Telling stories with my baby. Our most recent one started with her idea. Which I found fascinating. "A tiny puppy lives in a nest!" She chirped excitedly.
I nodded enthusiastically and resisted the urge to inform her that dogs really don't like to climb up trees. Instead, I went with it. I figured it was like "Dinosaur Train" and the doggy would be taken in by a bird family. So I tried to steer the story in that direction at which point she laughed at me. "No silly!" Riiigghhttt.... I'm the silly one.
It occurred to me then how un-unique I am and how it comes so easily to her. Like at our starting setting, when we are little and still fresh to this world, we still see it in technicolor polka-dots and it takes a lifetime of socialization to stuff it into neat black and white squares. But. How on Earth do you fight against that and keep the brightly colored paintbrush in their minds?
Don't know if I have the answer to that, but in the meantime we keep making up stories now and then. Letting the bunny trails carries us off... get married! Wear dresses! Eat pickles! And I try to turn logic off and not think things like: wait... would a bunny really eat pickles? I figure if I can suspend disbelief for Hollywood every time I go to the movies at least I can do it for my four-year-old also.

"That" mom.

2011-06-06T07:10:00.000-07:00

Last week I cheerfully reminded all the parents to remember to bring swimsuits for my church's big "water fun and baptism day" and each time I surmised that I would likely forget myself. Like I do every year. This year I packed the bag, sent the husband to the store to get the swim diapers, and then left the bag on the couch. Our church had rented two water slides and everyone was having a blast. So I took off the baby's pants and he ran around in a soggy diaper and a t-shirt. My little girl ran around in a her t-shirt and leggings that were plastered to her. I sighed. And remarked to the other moms that I wish I wasn't always "that" mom. You know, the one that forgets the diaper bag, gives her kid Kool-Aid and Cheetos for lunch, and couldn't send out thank you cards to save her life.

I'm just not the cool, suave mom who wears a slimming dress and comfortable yet stylish shoes that compliment her hair-do. I wear sweats, crocs and usually my son's slime from lunch is giving my hair that extra "boost."

While I am certain I'm not alone in these feelings of underwhelming mediocrity at the World's Toughest Job perhaps having another Yay for Loser's! pep-talk isn't the best course at this juncture. Maybe what I need instead is a little bit of perspective.

Tonight I read to my daughter all of the words, the tongue-twisting-eerily-rhyming words, to FOUR Dr. Suess books and part of her kid bible. With gusto. She laughed out loud at several points and cooed a deep sigh of satisfaction at the end of each. I am that mom.

This afternoon when my son fell asleep on my shoulder I knew just how to wiggle my lower back so that his little head wouldn't drift off my boney shoulder (I assure you the fat finds other places to drift too) and wake him up prematurely. I am that mom.

Yesterday when I was doing dishes I was wise enough to pause and watch the two of them giggle and cuddle with each other in a quiet, unparented and affectionate moment of sibling love that warmed my soul. I am that mom.

So sister, or brother I guess... but I have a sneaking feeling this is something guys do better than we do anyway, go a little bit easier on yourself. Before you smack yourself in the forehead when your realize you made it to the park without the kids' snacks congratulate yourself for making it to the park. If your car is anything like mine you might just have an almost edible snack stuck in the seats anyway and if your toddler is anything like mine he might just eat it with a grin.

Because, you are that mom. I am that mom. One that loves her kids fiercely and deeply albeit painfully humanly. They're stuck with us after all but at least we're trying.

it might just be...

2011-06-03T20:33:00.000-07:00

that i actually am not right about everything. that at my ripe age of 31 i still have oodles to learn.
i'm... limited.
i'm a sucker for hooks in stories. like take for instance a classic: the prodigal son. there he is, in the pig-muck, convinced it is as bad as it can get. he is feeling like that is what he deserves: pig-muck. imagine his surprise when the prodigal returns to be prince. to run into the embrace of a father who never left the porch waiting for his baby boy. except that is, to sprint towards him as soon as the boy crested the horizon.
every. single. time. i read that part of the story my heart gets these little warm fuzzy socks.
this past sunday when i read the story and i looked down into two sweet little princess faces and i couldn't help but see myself in both of them. one had a slightly dubious, but hopeful look. like: can it be? does he really love me that much? the other had a beaming grin from ear to ear.
it might just be that he really is good. that he knows what he is doing. with all of this. that perhaps, just perhaps, he's a way better story teller than i am. and the "hook"? oh man. is it going to be a good one.
so i curl up with cocoa and devour "heaven is for real." i dream of clouds and having a bow and arrow to fight the bad guys. i remark to my husband, happily, that we'll have bows and arrows in heaven. he looks confused, and then gleeful because he has something funny about me to post and it had been a while since kaiya had said something post-worthy. i rest. i read revelation and wonder if the shade of jasper is as green as i'm hoping it is.
i raise my little head up out of the pig-muck and come home to big arms that make me a princess.

The "hot" in Texas

2011-06-01T05:29:00.000-07:00

Every year I find myself surprised at how early it gets hot here. It always seems a week or so after Christmas it is suddenly sweltering. Now, while I love calling relatives up North to gloat when it's a nice seventy degree day down here while they're having a blizzard, it's not so much fun when it's the other way around.
I am told that my ancestors are from Wales. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that Wales is not a country ripe with sunshine. Suffice it to say that if they made 100 proof sunscreen I would buy it in bulk. Luckily my son seems to be more like his daddy's complexion, which tans obnoxiously well, while my daughter and I are what my Southern mother calls "lily white."
So I chase her. I smother one layer of sunscreen. Attack her face with the stick. Spray her all down with a last layer. The child is remarkably patient with all of it. Still her nose and cheeks are peppered in freckles. Her pale skin and red hair do not seem made for this state. Last summer a lady who was paler than we are, and bless her heart had skin cancer at one point, had brought us her daughter's old pool hat. Their solution to all of it is to wear these full body suits. If only my husband would let us.
I hope your summer is fantastic. And don't forget the sunblock.

The parent crawl.

2011-05-30T07:59:00.000-07:00

When I was still single I was a wee bit confused one Sunday when I was walking to the bathroom because I witnessed what I affectionately call the "parent crawl." I was confused, but would not only learn, but would often use, this much needed tool. Our Sunday school classrooms have doors split in two so you can either just have a half door, which most rooms do, or you can close the top part and have the whole door. Since most rooms, especially the baby rooms, have the top half open this proves problematic when a parent of one of the wee babes is walking by. So the parent's crawl past the door. Some ducking backwards, like they're doing the limbo, some scuttling along like a crab, and others doing a combination of any and all because they are exhausted from the baby they are hiding from.
I usually tend towards the last. Actually, I usually almost forget and right as I approach my son's classroom doorframe I go "oops" and I hit the deck like I've been shot at by a machine gun. I then slither like a snack across the threshold. Hopefully I'm not wearing a skirt so I can stand up, regain what little remains of my dignity, and carry on walking down the hall. Hopefully there aren't new people. Being ushered by the pastor. All looking on, slightly frightened and worried and thinking so loud you can almost see the cloud bubble over their heads "is she special?"
One Sunday I was scuttling and another mom came scuttling the other direction. We grinned at each other. This past Sunday there was an epic fail at the parent crawl. I was teaching down the hall so I realized early that I would need to start the crawl. I probably should have paid more attention though as the teacher was actually holding my son, in the door frame. Halfway into the crawl I looked up, at my son's bewildered face, and I muttered "crap." He had this look on his face: so that's what you've been doing!! Luckily the teacher just laughed at me but as I went down the hall, having retrieved the much needed cup of coffee, I could still hear my son's wails. Oops.

broken pieces

2011-05-28T13:48:00.000-07:00

There is something altogether surreal about seeing your hometown, in broken pieces, on freaking CNN. To see pictures of your high school, blown through. The very walls you walked now shot through with wind. You shouldn't be able to see your locker from the street.
There are lots of "shouldn't bes" though. Kids shouldn't be dead. Protesters shouldn't invade. Looters shouldn't take.
Stories of courage too. Of managers holding a door shut to keep customers and employees safe for as long as possible. Of husbands shielding their wives. People huddled down, praying, saying "I love you" as the tornado roars over them.
Part of me wishes I could be there, as my brother and an old pastor friend go to take supplies. Part of me wishes I could just do something to put the pieces back together. To fix it. So I pray. I pray for friends whose houses are gone. I pray for friends whose family members are gone too.
I slip into my Joplin sweats and t-shirt and I pray.

The horizon of a hand.

2011-05-23T05:16:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine recently told me something beautiful that I simply must share. First, I'll set some context, which is to say I'll grumble a bit.
You see there are some things that are dreadfully confusing to me. Like when a teenage boy gets in a horrible car wreck. Like when a widow, whose loss is way too fresh, faces insurmountable debt and uncaring bureaucrats. Like when a tornado wipes out a town, hitting a hospital for crying out loud. Like a father with Alzheimer's who can't recognize his own daughters. Like when a young woman is needing so bad for a freaking win, but the hits just keep on coming.
Now the last one, well I didn't want to add that one. It just didn't fit with the other three you see. That I keep praying for people to not die and then they do or for something to not happen and then it does hardly seems to compare to death and fear of dying.
I compare, I suppose, to try and make sense of it. There's always someone worse off. It helps. Ok, not really.
My little bad day started when my car died. It wasn't just any car. It was a car I felt I got from God. That sounds weird, I know, but hear me out. I had this sense when praying one night that I should pray for big things, like a car. It seemed silly, perhaps even selfish, so I didn't. Out loud at least. My soul likely whispered it still, hoping.
Then out of the blue a family member called us up saying: we'd like to give you so and so's old car. It needed a minor part fixed so we saved up the money and got it fixed. On the drive home it just stopped. On the highway.
My little heart sank. I wanted to pout. To shout. I had actually been thanking God for the car right when it died. No idea what that means but perhaps it could have been worse? Maybe he sent angels to help me, for cars zipped around me at sixty miles an hour but miraculously I wasn't hit. Maybe I would have died in that car?
It hurt deeply still, and there was this sense that something had changed. Can faith leak out like water in a hand? Did a little of it spill when I prayed and prayed for my friend who suddenly had a stroke but he still died anyway? Did more spill out when a teenage boy with blonde hair that dances like waves on his forehead fall asleep and get in a horrific car wreck? Is more of it spilling out right now as I scroll facebook, looking for friends' posts from Joplin, hoping, selfishly, that I won't know one of the 89 dead?
There is a hand, but not my tiny, fragile one. I don't think it's entirely up to me to believe, thank God. "Lord, I believe, help my unbelief." And. He does.
He gives me friends whom I can call and pray with. One tells me: "God, we know you are good. All. The. Time." I drink it in like golden, soul-filling water. In the midst of tornadoes. In the midst of car trouble. In the midst of a car wrecks. He is good.
Another, the widow, whom I cling to and start to fret over sets me straight, staring me dead in the eyes and telling me an eternal truth: "I worry about the rest of you, for I am right in God's hand! God loves widows."
Right in God's hand. Crazy, abundant love, in his hand. Which is what my friend had said after I whined about my car. She was struggling with work stuff and provision for daily life and trying to learn to trust him to provide. "I want to see beyond the horizon but God's hand is all I see." Did you hear that?
The dark places. The hard places. Are cracks in his hand. It does feel different. For when we need he squeezes us tight. Holds us in. Safe. It may not feel safe, what with tornadoes and what not, but God is certainly bigger than tornadoes. Bigger than car wrecks and young people getting hurt when they should be playing computer games and annoying their parents. Bigger than widows struggling and grieving. Bigger than little old me and my daily battle of "nasty me" or "worshipper." Bigger than divorce. Bigger than shot transmissions. Bigger than death.
This hurtful life really is just the beginning. And he lets me see as far as I need to. God is good, all the time. He carries us.

Wait. For. It.

2011-05-17T05:32:00.000-07:00

When I was in college I had this journal that I would mostly draw in but sometimes scribble in. One summer I was eager for fall to arrive. I had all sorts of plans about how it would go. I was dreadfully wrong of course. Still. I didn't know that at the time. I had these idealized images in my mind, falling down on my current situation like glorious fall leaves. So I drew them. Reds and oranges. Dark greens with hints of browns. Fall, falling. And then I wrote the hard words. "Wait. For. It."
Later on that same year at the ripe age of 21 I was starting to feel like an old maid. I went to my sixth wedding of close friends and started to lament a future of an empty apartment with many, many cats. So I put the colored pencil to page again and drew the dream: me in a wedding dress standing under an arch. And I wrote the words again. Finding it harder to add them this time. Wait. For. It. A short five years later, yes, only five, I was standing under such an arch. Watching my closest friends, including my older sister, decorate the church for my wedding.
Lastly that year, for it seemed a transitional year indeed, I drew me in my career. For at the time I was just starting out in the process of finishing my educations, doing internships, and embarking on adulthood. Waiting to be what I wasn't quite just yet. So I drew again future me and I wrote again the hard words and I waited. Then. I was.
Currently I am waiting for something else. Something simple to draw and harder to write over, on top, the words. A little house. Wait. For. It.
What if in all the wishing for what I don't yet have I am missing what I do have? That summer I was blessed to spend with my delightful nephew who oh-my-gracious! is turning into a teenager. I got to bond with that little toddler who nick-named me "tee tee" and it was glorious.
As for the husband-wait, well, had I only trusted in the words He told me perhaps it would have been easier. For the next summer he had told me, sweetly, gently, to trust him. That I would get married but I would have a career first. I did not know that my dream of being the stay at home parent would not be possible with my career, that instead I would meet a wonderful man who would assume that role.
And my career? It's stable. It's good. It's perfect for me. Heavens, I need reminding of that, but it is.
So why, oh why, would I think anything differently about our first house? That it won't be perfect for us? The timing of course is the hard part. It always is. Wait for it, Court, and trust him.

Running, running, running.

2011-05-14T05:01:00.000-07:00

As I write this I sit and stare at one of the half dozen tanks we have in our house. My husband is a direct descendant of Noah, I am sure. This particular tank has three residents. Two mice and a thing my husband calls a slink. It looks like a snake with legs. The slink thing is significantly smaller than the mice, currently, hence their ability to cohabitate. Not sure what will happen when it grows other than perhaps a show? At any rate there are two little wheels set up in the tank and it is quite enjoyable to sit and watch the mice and slink, in various combinations, run on them. A particular favorite is when the slink hangs on to the outside of one of the wheels while the mice run on it sending it whirling around.
There is this urgency though, when the things run. It's like they are honestly trying to get somewhere. If only they could get the blasted wheel to go fast enough so the cage would take off like a shuttle. And take them back where? The pet store? The ranch?
As I watched them I realized I feel like that most days. Like I'm constantly going, going, going. And. For what? The work at work will still be there whether I do it faster or not. The chores at home don't tend to decrease when I go faster, if anything, they increase because I end up stumbling and spilling something. It's like I woke up and realized I was in mile three of a twenty-some-odd mile marathon but I didn't want to be. Or. I had accidently wandered into the "sprint" section of the race. When, quite frankly, the stroll and admire the scenery section would be very nice indeed. What's the point of running if some axe-murdering psycho isn't after me?
So. I go to my new favorite blog, A Holy Experience, and I start to learn the art of slowing down.

Friend glue, or spread?

2011-05-11T05:16:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up my mother always taught me and my twin brother to be friends with everyone and not just stay in our little clique. That being said, I was blessed growing up with some very, very close friends. Some I was stuck to. With the thickest friend glue you could find. I learned things, deep, powerful, things from them. Though there was still something to be said about spreading. There were a couple of times as a pre-teen and teenage girl when, wouldn't you know it, the other girls... or just plain me... were catty. It helped greatly that I didn't have just one group of friends as I navigated the choppy waters of being a teenage girl.
Now that I'm on the mother side of things and I'm trying to teach my daughter some of the same lessons I learned from my mother I realize there is one slight problem. I don't know what to tell her.
My daughter's best little friend is a boy. Which is a whole other post. Or twelve. This past Sunday it was Kaiya and her bff and another pair of bffs and then one little odd man out. I was rooting for him. I tend to root for the underdog. I kept encouraging the four to play with others and kept encouraging the one to play with anyone and it seemed we were all just running around in circles. It occurred to me though, as the one happily played with the other adult helper and the two pairs of friends happily played with each other, that there is nothing wrong with have a best friend. In fact. It's great.
There are some days I only want to talk to mine. In fact, if mine were to magically move back from that dreaded place called California, I would be hard pressed to play with others for a while. She'd have to call the police because I would stalk her. Of course that's just the thing though. She moved. I had to learn to let go a little because thousands of miles tend to make stalking a wee bit difficult.
It's not that I mind Kaiya having a best friend. In fact, he's great for her and she's learning oodles about being a friend with him. What bugs me is that she misses out on learning from the other kids as well. And friends move.
Somehow I have to figure out how to show her that loving a friend well is entirely possible while also getting to know others, new people, for a change. This past Sunday the answer seemed to be to just add another kid to the mix. A late arrival came and the scales were magically tipped or something because then all six were playing happily together. All eight I should say. At one point I was giggling wildly and jumping on the trampoline while the other "adult" was happily throwing the ball to herself.
The pairs of bffs still gravitated towards each other but they seemed to let their orbit span a bit wider as we ran in wild circles. Towards each other and away from each other. Everything is better with a friend running beside you.

the quiet of this

2011-05-08T20:40:00.000-07:00

for mother's day our air conditioning went out. this is a gift, really, or it turned out to be anyway. my husband needs it cool and the poor dear was miserable last night so he elected to go with the kids to a friends house while i stayed behind while the repair guy worked. and i had a blast.
i called my mom. because that's what you do on mother's day. we chatted a while. i then called my best friend and as i was chatting with her the repair guy was finishing up. i suggested that maybe i should wait to call him and tell him it was fixed. i ended up not waiting, but did inform him that while it was working the house was still cooling off and it likely would be several hours before it was bearable again. this was mostly true. as soon as he fixed it i felt a gush of cool, sweet, air and knew it would be almost normal again in about an hour. luckily, all my conniving to get time alone wasn't necessary. my sweet husband and offered to watch the kids for the other couple so they could go on a date. so i had a date with me. i put in my new favorite movie. "salt." talk about girl power. i played my silly farm game. i ate ice cream. it was fabulous.
finally, when it was coming to a close as he was on his way home with them, the movie was over and it was time to get back to dishes and ironing i realized something. life can be so good. i fight and fight for some reason, mostly with myself. a thousand imaginary little battles with what ifs and maybe sos that i miss the actually. i tried to contrive a way to have a blessed moment of peace, to myself, but there it was. happenstance from circumstance.
so i cheered when she killed the bad guys. i slurped up my vanilla ice cream. i arranged my mini castle on my farm. and it was grand. best. mother's day. ever. ok, maybe the first one was the best because it was, well, the first, but still. this is neck and neck and easily has number two hands down. i hope you had a grand time. and hug your momma if she's still around. they are precious and gave us so much, and most often, still keep giving. i love you mom.

FIRE! Repeat, please.

2011-05-01T17:54:00.000-07:00

It's my turn to teach Sunday school again. I must say I do it with such grace. Picture, if you will, me in an insanely too big and flowy skirt, squatting down on top of the kid-sized tables in the center of a small class room. I'm frantically cutting yarn and strands of crepe paper to make the Pentecost fire which I am then taping to a big white poster board. The idea is to then tape said board to the ceiling and upon the appropriate point in the story releasing the flames ontop of the unsuspecting head of three-year-olds. (Oh, excuse me, one four-year-old... ahem.. Kaiya would add.) The problem is I only made it to the class with five minutes to spare. Usually there is only one early kid but wouldn't you know it. Right on the button four kids and their accompanying parents are crowded out in the hallway. The adults had looks of a nice mixture of horror and amusement upon seeing the one adult they were about to entrust their wee one too armed with a pair of scissors, a maniac look, and a good array of red and orange nooses being haphazardly thrown around. They shrugged and skee-dattled.
It took the same amount of tape to plaster this contraption to the ceiling that I imagine it would take to tie up my spouse. Not that I imagine such things mind you, I mean, that would be creepy. I had told the kids it was a surprise. Despite the fact it wasn't because I was late and they saw the blasted thing as I was making it. Still, even seeing me make it probably gave them no clue as to what it was. I know I didn't have one.
After we came back from worship time we went to sit and have the story time. The poster board of red and orange things hanging down was a big hit. One little girl said: can we do the fire again? They all wisely ducked when I whooshed the "fire" over their heads. Then insane laughter set in. It seemed to just go with the story, the joy the disciples felt after the power of the Holy Spirit set upon them. So we laughed. We ran around in maniac circles in the classroom like wild caveman who had discovered fire. We opened up the windows to feel the wind "whoosh" as that was part of the story too, you see. It was a story they got. And I realized that no amount of planning and preparedness can make you like a three year old who quiet simply gets the fire thing very easily.
I probably should have warned their parents that I told them to go run, like crazy, and shout out that Jesus loves you to everyone they meet this week. At the park. At daycare. Truth is, I hope they do. I hope it spreads like fire. Speaking of, anyone want a poster board covered in red yarn and orange crepe paper?

Fan-damily!

2011-04-30T15:03:00.000-07:00

We were blessed this weekend by a visit from my parents. They came up at the last minute, do to my lack of planning, and supported me as I read some poetry, sort of, at my church. I felt like a kid who had colored a masterpiece and the best frame in the world was the fridge. They beamed and doted. I proudly showed them off as well. The next morning we all went over to swim which the kids loved of course and then they blessed us again by watching the kids so we could go on a date. Which was fabulous.
One of the previews we saw was for a movie about a wedding with two very different families and the tensions of coming together with differences. It made me realize how blessed we are as both of our extended families have been relatively easy to blend into. And both of our families are full of love. Now, that, is one of the hugest blessing a person can have. (Oh hush. It's my blog. I can say "hugest" if I want to.)

The perfect mom on the perfect outing

2011-04-26T17:34:00.001-07:00

I have a confession. I want to be a perfect mom. The reason it's a confession, as in the reason that is a bad thing, is because I so take it there. Suddenly I am this horrid person screaming at my kids because one tiny thing has gone wrong.

For instance: the pool bag. I grade myself on how well I pack it. If I forget something critical it's a fail. Extra points for toys and spare outfits for the kids. Healthy snacks get double points but I've been known to pack cheetos and gummy bears, or known in the parenting world as "industrial waste." If it only takes me one hour to pack the bag then I'm rewarded with a small chocolate bar by the pool. That I have to devour in one gulp because if the kids see it they'll want one. And fight over it. Plus it's bad enough I already fed them industrial waste once today.

It's a total do-over when it takes so long to pack the dang bag the sun has gone down and thus the time to go to said pool has passed. This usually ensues with lots of crying and stamping of feet, not all of which is done only by the children.

Sometimes I try to leave with a half-packed bag and usually regret it. I often find myself glancing longingly at the carefree people with a pair of flip-flops and a towel and wonder what that would be like. To just show up. With flip-flops and a towel. Maybe someday we'll be able to do that. When the kids are old enough to put on their own sun screen and flip-flops and we can all trot of, unpacked, to the pool.

It's a little hard to imagine with only two of us able to put on flip-flops. Still. That's a start. Maybe in the meantime I can try to work on letting it go just a bit when the snack is forgotten and it's just one bottle of water for three of us. Because maybe, just maybe, no one is grading anything and the only thing that matters is how fiercely and how deeply I love my kids.

Stars! Or Snakes?

2011-04-21T04:23:00.000-07:00

Some dear friends blessed us with a short vacation recently by watching our kids so we could get away for a few days. We went out to the country and enjoyed crisp, pollen-filled but no pollution, air. The first night my husband called to me, excited. I figured he had found a frog. That tends to make him excited. When I went outside I saw he wanted me to look at the stars with him. I started to step out where his hand was held out for me but then fear gripped me. It was pitch dark and there were a cacophony of nighttime sounds. Plus, there could be snakes.
Hi, I'm Court, I'm a worry addict. Even when I tell myself things like: you know that worry is just Satan's counterfeit to prayer. And he's the bad guy in this story, so why don't you just pray? I still more often than not find myself drifting to worry more than to prayer.
The thing about worry is sometimes you miss the stars because you're too busy looking down for imaginary snakes instead of up at the heavens. My sweet husband was trying to get me to see something I would never see in the city. All the lights and pollution drown out the full glory of His fantastic painting up there. I glanced up for a brief moment and then resumed my frantic head sweep all around me. He gripped my hand and gently told me to relax. I tried for all of about . 0372 seconds. I then frantically dashed back up to the stone porch. Reasoning to myself it was safer there even though the last time we were out here the one snake we ever saw had been on that same porch. I peeked out from there, but it wasn't the same. For the light from the house was drowning out the glory. Funny that God designed His glory to shine brightest in the absence of other lights. That in the darkest it is prettiest.
All of that was lost on me that evening but later I would think on the snatches of sky I got to see and how if I would have just forgotten about stupid snakes perhaps I could have worshiped Him in a sweet moment. Funny that snakes slither in now and again and try to distract us from worship. One day they won't though, for the big snake is the bad guy in this story. And I'm happy to tell you he gets his butt whooped. Next time I'm going to look up at the glory and forget about the silly snake (that's likely not even there anyway) beneath me.

Look, Mommy, Best Friends!!!

2011-04-09T20:17:00.001-07:00

I know just enough pop psychology to screw parenting up right. I read or heard somewhere about how my little girl was going to learn to do 'group-play.' I was super excited about this because I thought it would be this huge step in getting along with others. Of course that meant one thing: having to actually be around others. That's not a problem for Kaiya. She hasn't met a stranger yet. Kid could talk to anyone, or anything, for hours. She ran up to a little girl who had literally just gotten to the park and then turned, screaming: "Bye Mom! I'm going to play with my best friend!" Did I mention she had first met this kid sixty seconds ago?

No, the problem is with me. And my inability to not parent other people's children. I am all too often aghast at how awful other kids act. The other day when we went for a walk this eight-year-old was throwing handfuls of sticks and rocks towards us. I wasn't quite sure why and figured the first one was an accident as we had suddenly happened upon the playground. The second time, though, when a very intentional handful of crud landed practically in my baby's face, I couldn't help but throw my "mad mother" look the kid's way. I probably would have chewed him out had I figured out which kid it was, but whomever the culprit was very wisely ducked in the gaggle of kids and stayed there until I stormed off. The kid closest to me squeaked: "I didn't do it!"

It's one thing if it's something I just don't like. It's another thing when I'm worried another kid is doing something that is going to hurt my kid(s).

So when Kaiya first started playing with a group of kids, most of whom were a few years older than her, I tried my best not to hover but honestly couldn't help myself. Luckily CJ was asleep so I was able to focus on Kaiya. I kept biting my tongue as the bossy older kids ordered her around. I thought, boy I'd like to give those kids a piece of my mind about ordering my daughter around like that, but then I reminded myself that she was safe. And having a blast. "Mommy!" She screeched. "WE'RE building a volcano!!" Emphasis on "we're." It was like. She got it. All of a sudden she realize, hey, life is a heck of a lot more fun with other people to enjoy it with.

I realized that had I snatched her up the first moment I felt like she wasn't being treated fairly she would have missed out on the moment of building something with a group of people. And I would have missed out on her sharing that moment with me, with a screech and a grin.

This.

2011-04-01T07:57:00.000-07:00

I have a bad, bad habit of wanting "that." By "that" I mean, whatever I currently don't think I have (ironically sometimes I do) or am completely convinced I need (and most often quite certainly do not.) For example: when I was at the end of my college career many of my friends were getting married. I started to feel like an old maid. At twenty-one. Little did I know, at the time, that it was necessary for me to have an established career before I got married. That in our little family we would flip what society normally does and have the father stay home with the kids. Truth be told those first few years of transitioning into my career and then starting it were crazy busy anyway.
Still. Valentine's Days when I was single sucked. I would sit and watch cheesy Jane Austen movies and eat chocolate. Alone. Instead of hanging out with friends. Starting a new hobby. Using the abundance of TIME that I would be wan to find much later in life.
Life with little ones has brought me to this place again. I find myself longing for a day when we don't have to buy diapers. As everyone around me smiles at the screaming child I'm holding and murmurs fondly: it goes by so quick. Of course it does. My first baby who I swear just came out of me yesterday is having full-blown conversations with me. Granted they are usually about teddy bears and crocodiles but still. Conversations. My nephew whom I first got to practice mothering on and was just the other day holding on to my neck and chirping "tee tee" will be a teenager in a month. A teenager!
One day as the children twirled around me like planets in freakish orbit I stood and watched them running. They are running. Both of them. The baby too. Soon they'll be racing to high school in little cars like my brother and I used to do. God, help us. I smiled to myself, paused, and enjoyed this. Wanted this. Not that.

Six. And Screech.

2011-03-30T07:33:00.000-07:00

Kaiya has been awful fun to talk to lately. She is getting matter of fact, so to speak, in her conversations. I asked her an odd, random question the other day: how many memories do you have of me? She didn't hesitate. Six! Oh really? Mmmm. Yup. Six.
On the flip side. Her brother has decided the terrible twos must start six months earlier for our little over achiever. And his favorite activity in the whole, wide, world is to harass his sister. Which has made it a national pastime in our house for everyone to screech at each other. Well, the big ones are too tired to screech. We sit and moan.
So as Kaiya plays in the kitchen and CJ melts down because all of a sudden he's starving he decides the way to rectify that is by biting his sister. After lots of yelling, biting and crying she comes over to me. Pats me on the arm. "Sometimes, little babies are just grumpy, huh?"
Yes dear. They sometimes are.

philosophical discussion on "sharing"

2011-03-24T15:59:00.000-07:00

I had already dialed the phone to call my BFF to have a philosophical discussion on sharing when, on cue, my baby boy yanked away a truck from another boy's hand. As she answered the phone I was screaming across the park: CJ, can you share?? To which he looked at me like: woman, you must be crazy. That there is a dump truck. And. It's MINE.
She was already laughing at me. Mainly because most times when she answers the phone she's hollering at one of her children to not bite, hit, pour paint all over, or some other such thing to his brother. What had prompted the phone call was a fight between two boys over an item, right when we arrived at the park. One mother had ran over to referee and was saying, to each of them, "well, who had it first?"
I usually fall into that pretty easily. The justice approach. If a kid brought a toy from home, well than, he has every right to screech and yank right back a toy someone else tries to take. If a kid grabs a communal toy, first, even a millisecond before another kid, well then. He called dibbsies fair and square. One slight problem with the justice approach. It sort of misses the point.
The whole: who had it first, whose is it, etc, just focuses on one child at a time. The other is presumed right for reasons that often vary. Perhaps one kid did have it first. Perhaps that kid always has the toys first and never, ever shares. Should the kid that always shares always have to miss out on playing with said toys while the other squats on top of a huge stack: ha ha! You missed out! I got here first!!
So with presenting a problem, I will try to offer a solution. That comes not solely from me, but from some parenting book the title of which eludes me at the moment so please don't report me for plagiarism, I'm seriously just forgetful. How about both kids, when engaged in the tug-of-war over a toy, are wrong? That they need to be showing love and gently encouraged that the thing is not more important than the person and if need be the thing can be removed completely so the person can be more focused on the other.
This sounds great in theory but in practice of course is much harder. I first envisioned a room that was vacant of toys as they were all stacked along the upper shelf because they had been "removed." However, I tried it out when it was my turn to teach Sunday school a few months ago. Constantly chirping: "let's show love!" Sometimes an angry preschooler would growl: I don't wanna show love! At least they were honest, goodness knows little ones are great for that. A few, glorious, times though. There was a different response. A pause. A sincere look from one to the other. And: Yes teacher, I want to show love.
It was a start.

Being a "no" woman.

2011-03-19T21:22:00.000-07:00

Remember that silly movie with Jim Cary, OK, I know I need to be more specific as silly is about the extent of his repertoire, but I'm referring to the one where he couldn't say no? "Yes man"

You see, I don't think women have the same problem that men do, or at least that man. I suppose there may be one or two gals who need to learn to say yes now and again. But by in large, I bet most of us need to learn to say the other world. The N word.

Heaven knows I do. It has been something I've been working on for the last year. There is so much power in: no. And it can be polite too, which is always great. No, I don't think I'll do such and such. No, I'd rather not have blah blah blah. No, this isn't a good time for nah nah nah.

Ah. Delightful. It has taken me a while, over thirty years, to realize, I can't do everything. And the more things I try to do just means the more things I fail at. So. I have chosen to start picking the few things I'm good at and do those things. Or the things I am already committed to which I must continue to do. Other than that, unless I want to this has been and will likely continue to be a season of no for a while.

You feel that? Oh you didn't? Well I just felt the weight of the world drifting off me. It was great.

Putting the paint brush down.

2011-03-17T18:20:00.000-07:00

My mom had told me an easy art-craft trick to do with small kids was to take a flower and dip it in paint and then use it as a stamp. When we did this little project Kaiya picked up the flower and started painting it with her brush. I thought it was a sheer masterpiece, the paint all smeared on the petals in the haphazard way only a three-year-old can manage. Of course the original flower was already beautiful beyond compare and needed no further adornment. Least of all my little girl's scribbles.

It struck me as I watched her in all her cuteness that her painting the flower was about as silly as me trying to run my own life rather than let God be in control. He really doesn't need me to do anything to finish up his masterpieces, he just lets me help like a mother lets her toddler "help" her bake cookies. It's for the good of the little one. Not the big one. Most days when it's time to make cookies I'm overjoyed when Kaiya is busy playing and I can quickly make the batter and let her help me by just adding the chocolate chips. Otherwise my kitchen is full of blobs of batter and everything is coated in a fine layer of flour. Even the ceiling. And as fun an experience as it is to make cookies with my little one I'd just as soon let her help me sweep up the floor or something neater.

The good thing about God though is I have a feeling he is less like me and more willing to let us "help" him with things no matter how messy we make it. I learned this a lot this past year as I tried to step into the very large shoes of a woman at my church by helping with a bible study. (And I'm speaking figuratively of course, she actually has tiny feet). My little role that would be the equivalent of a big toe was frustrating at times. I think because it's like I wanted it to be the way it was. But my efforts were like a child's scribbles and I wanted them to be a Monet.

The thing is. Maybe, just maybe, God loves my little scribbles just as much, even more perhaps, as I love Kaiya's. Maybe he'd be a bit, hum Court, you should be able to make a circle by now, but still happy with the effort. Maybe I'm not supposed to be the lady who went before me but just me. And as I screw it up hopefully I get better at it and screw it up a little less each week.

Maybe sometimes I'm supposed to put the paintbrush down and enjoy what he's made in all it's natural beauty. With no help from me.

a list that makes me smile

2011-03-13T21:02:00.000-07:00

A really wise friend recommended a book to me recently that I have been devouring. Typically of the way God teaches me things, which is usually hearing about it eighteen times until the whole world is practically screaming it because this little gal is kind of dense, everything in my life lately has been urging me to take stock of the good. At church they encouraged us to keep a thankfulness journal. So I started. I would always seem to get to about seven or so and then get overwhelmed. I would put big and lofty things. Complicated things like people. I started with the delightful gift that is my husband. Then this friend recommended this book. It's called "One Thousand Gifts" by Ann Voskamp. It is simply delightful. It's sort of like a memoir I guess. This lady, who has SIX children, started writing down good gifts that God gives her on a sort of dare from a friend and it starts to change her perspective on everything. The things she writes are simple things. Like soap bubbles. Little delightful moments in a hectic day. So I gave it a try and have found it has helped me slow down a bit, enjoy life, and dwell in God's presence. And really. Who doesn't need that? Below is a random sampling and by no means anywhere near 1,000 as thus far I have only made it to 33. I highly recommend this. It makes me smile. That and an answered prayer journal. I think I'll start one of those next because the good things God does astounds me.

the taste of a salty baby's head
shadows bouncing off marbles
stillness
toddler wrangling a balloon
coffee smoke twirling
smell of burning leaves

Startled by Ash

2011-03-10T06:31:00.000-08:00

Growing up Baptist we didn't do the ash thing for Ash Wednesday. It was usually another Wednesday spent at church, perhaps with an extra Easterish song thrown in. These last few years our church has been joining up with an Anglican church to do Ash Wednesday, Maundy Thursday and Good Friday service. For me it's been a chance to sit up straight in the pew and take in the beauty of prepared words, robes, candles and of course, the ashes.
This year our daughter was finally old enough to realize we had them on our heads. After we picked her up from child care she immediately pointed: What's that? Ash. I tell her. Why?? She starts to look around and then asks: Does everyone have... ashes? Yes. It reminds of Jesus.
When we get in the car I ask my husband if that was the right answer. I'm sort of in that place lately, where it seems I can't get anything right and it's a wee bit frustrating.
When we make it home I realize I never dug out my nice clothes for picture day at work, don't ask, and I decide it would be better to just go by some new ones. I take the girl child with me, and wonder if people are going to scowl at me for having a small child out late. I start defending myself. I see about four other people with children younger or the same age. Oh good. There's a whole mess of people who don't believe in 8 o'clock bed times for children.
I shop like a man, for once, with a point. Decisive and Quick. Once I have a few workable outfits I go to the mirror to hold my clothes up and there it is. Stark as daylight bursting through a night. An ash cross on my forehead. I jump back, and of course, my thought was: oh my I have dirty ash all over my head in a store. With a child. Late at night. I must look like trash.
As soon as I thought it, I felt horrid. Surely I was missing the point somewhere. For I am anything but trash.
I think it may take a few more years of ash to break down this need to please everyone else. To be perfect, or my silly version of being perfect, and to do it all on my own. Maybe, 'to remind us of Jesus' is the wrong answer. Or the four-year-old answer. But, it's where I'm at now. To, remind us, of Jesus.

The tattle-tale problem

2011-03-07T17:33:00.000-08:00

I've come up with a fabulous solution to the tattle-tale problem. You see, it drives me slightly bonkers to think that I'm raising a little informer. Luckily I had some time to ponder this issue before it hit full force. I've had the pleasure of teaching my daughter's Sunday school class the last few months and one of the kids in the class would regularly inform on the others. I would tell the little tyke, each time, let's not tattle OK. But then was left with the conundrum of dealing with the information. On one hand, sometimes things needed to be dealt with but if the accused party was tried, convicted and found guilty in front of the informer well then, I likely would never get the kid to stop tattling. I would try to pull the other kid aside, quietly, if I could. Or sometimes there was evidence. As in a spilled cup of water all over the table and the accused's shirt. Still, the issue was how to get a kid to not tell on another just to get them in trouble.
Then Kaiya started in on it. "Baby brother bit me." Oh. Ok. And then it hit me. "Kaiya, for every bad thing you tell that CJ does you have to tell me three good things he did too. " She rattled off, quite happily, "Um, he took a nap! He drank his bottle! He threw up!" I didn't debate the qualification of the last one and just thanked her for her good list. She was so happy about it she kept rattling off good things he was doing/had done.
While there may in fact be better solutions than mine it did seem to get the child to stop focusing on the negative about another child, at least long enough for them to think of three good things.

Talk to the world.

2011-03-05T07:06:00.000-08:00

I love how my four-year-old will talk to anything. I'll tell her it's time to leave the park and she'll say, in all seriousness: bye park, I had fun! She says bye to the Train. She had earnest and long conversations with our cats. Don't even get me started on her baby dolls. I bet when she watches Toy Story and the toys 'wake up' she thinks nothing of it. In her world everything is alive. Everything must be spoken to and told hello or bye or please move. It's precious of her.

When do we stop saying bye to trains? When do we stop believing in Easter bunnies and stop talking to regular ones?

It is pretty obvious how we regard adults who talk to inanimate things. There is this homeless lady who hangs out at our neighborhood park and every now and then we can tell when she's not doing so 'well.' She'll start to hold up things, like a hairbrush, and carry on a long, detailed conversation. I had a decidedly different reaction. I scooted as far as I could to other side of the sandbox and held onto CJ like a tornado was coming and by sheer strength alone I could keep him tethered to me. Much to my great delight Kaiya didn't seem to notice the lady. But of course she wouldn't, for after all, it's not weird to her that the lady talks to her hairbrush. Who doesn't?

Maybe some people who we consider to be sick just haven't grown up in some ways. I thought about talking to everything one day just to see what's it's like. But I don't want someone to come haul me off in a straight-jacket so I think I'll just live vicariously through my kid. I have a feeling no matter what I do eventually other kids will tease her for being a little girl and she'll stuff her imagination down inside. But I hope I can help her play for as long as possible and be little as long as she wants to be.

powers of Observation

2011-03-03T06:44:00.000-08:00

I'm sort of... wait for it... dense when it comes to observing things. I think I may be the only person in the world who could literally walk into a room with an elephant and not notice that it's there. We painted our office a few weeks ago and I walked in, smelled the air and asked what the paint smell was. One of my co-workers said: Seriously? And then I looked up. Saw that oh yes, all of the walls around me were in fact a different color.
Motherhood seems to just make it worse. I'll see something, and then think an almost intelligible thought about it but before the thought makes it to the "file" part of my brain it's gone again. Maybe I just don't have a "file" part. Would seem to explain a lot. Like the picture above this. The one of my daughter in her Wonder Woman costume that she wore to her Wonder Woman birthday. When I took the headband out of the package and saw the teeny circumference of it the intelligible thought was: too small for head. I put it on her. I took this picture, which clearly, I think, shows the poor kid's head all scrunched. She ran around, bounced on bouncy houses and came back about fifteen minutes later with the headband in her hand and a big red streak across her forehead.
I tried to stop her so I could rub it, worry over it, mother it, but the kid had a roomful of bouncy houses and I have a feeling her ear could have fallen off and she would have handed it to me and asked me to put it in my pocket. The point of this post, you are dying to know? None really, except maybe I am secretly hoping someone out there is as absent-minded as I am.
Crickets.
Crickets.
Well. OK then.

yay.

2011-03-01T19:00:00.000-08:00

at my church we have been talking about starting/keeping a 'thankfulness journal.' which i think is a grand idea and i think i shall attempt to start here.
for starters i am incredibly thankful for my husband who is perfect for me in every way, shape and form. he surprised me for my birthday with an impromptu girls night out. it was awesome. and just what i needed. he challenges me, helps me grow, and loves me very, very well. his sense of humor is great, his intellect is astounding, and he is just genuinely a good friend and someone i want to be around with.
and i am so very thankful for my kids but i'll write about that another time.
i am deeply thankful for friends who are like family. my little small group in particular that i am growing to love deeply and even in the midst of a recent loss the love somehow seems to expand more and more.
yay, i say, yay.

the desires of the heart

2011-02-27T03:13:00.000-08:00

i've been thinking about giving. and receiving. it's like, communication. or a form of it anyway. its. holy. sort of. You give and give so much. we are to receive. just receive.

the desires of my heart. oh, can, it, really, be? yes. it is there for the taking. You give. You gave all. we are to give like You do, till it hurts. but, i suppose we are to receive in kind. freely, fiercly.

i am in love with You. yet. i act sometimes like i dont even know You. the love of Christ, freely given but not free. bought with the blood of christ. the blood, it pumps from the heart. central. we get what we put central in our lives. what is the desire of my heart? my game i keep flipping too? distractions? work? worry? if You are on my mind, lately it seems on the back of it. i'm sad to say. what would my life look like if i truly made You central in it? i have a feeling, of course You would give me the desires of my heart. they would be Yours as well. center. mind. controlling. fixing. setting upon. holy, is set apart. ...maybe there is something to intentional. not just in it though, but the what. what i am focusing on. Him? or me? who is it going to be?

‎"Dare to love and to be a real friend. The love you give and receive is a reality that will lead you closer and closer to God as well as to those whom God has given you to love."~~~~Henri J.M. Nouwen

dear Blog

2011-02-24T03:08:00.000-08:00

i'm so sorry i didn't write.
or call
for months.
truth is, between the coughing, the puking, the virus after stinking virus
and a fun-filled month of night shifts
i've been doing good to open
and close my
eyes each day
and remember to breathe.
always important.
sort of a deal breaker actually.
that's about it, except...

a great man and friend of mine died this week
i think life just may be too short to love enough
but i'm going to try
to try and start actually living
and loving well.

that, is all we can do, amidst the coughs, and pukes, and bits of life that
shock us
sadden us
surprise us

anyway. i'm back. hugs.

here's to easy

2010-12-12T00:43:00.001-08:00

my church has been abuzz about this 'advent conspiracy' thing. it seems like a great idea. one problem, every time i go to learn about it the document i pick has text that takes up a whole page. here is my goal this holiday season: make it easy on myself for once. i do want to focus on Jesus more. i also want rest, spend time with family, breathe deep and not stress.

my daughter is singing in her first christmas pageant. i am going to try and not squeal in delight at the top of my lungs. if i do, it's ok, i go thatthat church anyway. since we all passed around a nasty cold/flu/who knows bug i proudly bought the cookies needed for the cookie party that follows said pageant.

i am seriously considering sending out email christmas cards. with the exception of a few maybe to grandparents who refuse to do computers and since they are in their late seventies and eighties who on earth am i to tell them anything different?

i threw one strand of lights across our balcony railing. another across our porch swing. i forced myself to quit there. i got out the charlie-brown-christmas tree and only one box of ornaments. that the fifteen-month-old has been determined to destroy.

my cute christmas sweater a dear friend gave me is hanging up and ready to be worn. if i only wear it once, so be it. i'll wear it with style. as in, i hope i find socks that match but if i don't so be it.

christmas, of course, is not about any of these things but a dear baby who was freaking God and came to be us and, oh me oh my, that is a huge thing. i will hug my baby who now wiggles and walks and gives high-fives. i will hug the other baby whose face is getting longer and can now talk in whole, really rambling and adorably cute, paragraphs.

i will breathe deep the bits of eternal love that seem to shine brighter at this time of year. i will drink more hot cocoa. just because. i will try to not scream at other drivers. i'm seriously considering giving poems as gifts this year. but only if i can keep them simple.

merry christmas. to you and yours. if you celebrate something else, merry that as well.

(oh, and not to knock the advent conspiracy thing, i do plan on reading about it at some point when the fog of cough-medicine subsides)

home

2010-11-10T21:07:00.000-08:00

this place will feel like home, eventually, won't it?
these unfamiliar sounds
such different shadows that creep in this place
sigh.

little by little the routines set in
and yes
it starts to feel like home again
the new sounds mesh with the memories of the old ones

it changes again
all things do, and usually, just when i'm comfortable again.

this world may not feel like home
not, at least, while it's broken and screwed up

one day, maybe soon, maybe not, the big change
and i'll be home.

Blowing raspberries. At Work.

2010-10-30T06:53:00.000-07:00

I frequently blow raspberries at my kids.

Or make farting noises with my mouth at them.

So frequently that the other day, at work, I went: pllfppplflppft.

in the middle of a meeting.

Heads turned.

I grinned sheepishly and said "baby was up all night."

That was a lie

but people just shrugged or rolled their eyes and moved on.

I was talking to a doctor friend of mine about this

and she was saying her work friends tease her

for saying she has to go "potty."

I was all, what? That's wrong?

Truth is I love blowing raspberries.

Seriously. Do it now.

Wherever you are, stop what you're doing and just

spuz the air in front of you. It's relaxing right?

I've decided I'm going to keep saying: I have to go potty.

Because that's what it is, the potty, not "the restroom."

And I'm going to keep blowing raspberries at odd,

random intervals throughout my day and should my boss

happen upon me then I will try not to look to sheepish

but somewhat proud.

Cause the term working mommies is all backwards.

It's mommies working I think.

My kids come first because when I'm 95 my co-workers

won't be taking my car keys away from me

but my kids sure will try. Not just that though,

they just come before work because

they matter so much more than my job does.

The horse I saw

2010-10-20T21:38:00.000-07:00

When I was about twelve I had a very vivid dream of a horse. Not being one of those girls who was enamored with horses I thought it was a little odd that it was so specific. The horse was injured and I remember how vivid it all was.

That same day I was telling some friends about my dream and they shrugged and said that was nice. Then one of them asked if I was going to so-and-so's birthday party. I had no earthly idea. You see my mother, in her wisdom, had long since learned not to tell us about such things in case, heaven forbid, it didn't work out and we couldn't go to said party after all. We didn't deal well with such disappointments and when we did know about an event tended to ask, a hundred thousand times, when such event would be happening. As it turned out we were going to the party. I, having not been privy to the party details, only knew that I had been instructed to wear my jeans. As it turned out, the party was a horse-back riding party. How odd, I thought, since I had just dreamed about horses.

Then I saw it. The horse that I saw in my dream. I gasped for it was exactly the same colors as it had been in my dream. I could not see the back part of the horse, where the injury had been, and suddenly I started to panic. I knew the horse was injured. I started to freak out and the adults that were there seemed amused like it was some kind of game I was playing but when I found my mom she believed me enough to go get the owner of the place. Now that old man didn't really need to be convinced to check on his horse, as he very quickly went over to where it was at and had listened carefully to me as I told him where the horse was injured. It was a horizontal cut underneath the horse's belly and was hard to see unless you were right up beside the horse and looking right there. Sure enough, the injury was there. I remember the gratitude of the man as he explained the injury must have come from jumping over a barbed-wire fence, or brushing near it, and that the horse could have gotten much worse had he not been alerted to the injury and treated it.

Some of the kids, and adults, made quips like: oh she must have seen it earlier and such but I know what I saw. I don't know if I knew then that it definately came from the Lord. I was a fairly new believer and the church I went to wasn't exactly steeped in the theology of prophetic dreams so it was something I stuffed down until recently.

I know God showed me the horse. I guess because he dearly loved the animal and wanted it taken care of. He could have just healed the poor thing and been done with it but I think he was perhaps teaching me to listen and learn from him also. Recently I had a conversation with a friend about things like this, prophesies come true and so forth, and we were talking about how it can increase a person's faith to hear the little things God does around us to watch over the world. Which is why I thought I'd share. I've had a few other meaningful dreams but for the most part I just hear him the same way most people do: in my quiet times of reading the bible and praying. Still, he is the God that can show up in your dreams and knock your socks off.

Equipped

2010-10-17T19:08:00.000-07:00

Beloved, do you realize we have a God who is so, so able? Whatever the situation, whatever the need, whatever the depth of pain He is able to provide. To comfort. To shelter. To equip you. Completely.

I am a story person. I want to see the stories. See a healing. See the happily-ever-after ending and let out that satisfied sigh of experiencing an incredible story that has moved my soul. What I am learning as I get older is that sometimes the really good stories take years to tell. While I love seeing the happy endings, I'm not so good during the tense, scary parts of stories. I tend to bite my nails down to the nubs and stress. It's one thing when it's a two-hour movie and I'm eagerly awaiting the good guys to cream 'em all in the end but another thing altogether when it's my life. Or friends lives. Family. Ones who were not protected when they should have been. Or wounded far too deep, it seems to me.

When it seems the battle is being lost. The good guys are retreating. The enemy is advancing. And I'm hoping, desperately, for the calvary to come up over the hill. To rally up the weary troops and surprise the bad guys (whilst giving them a good whallop in the process.)

This past weekend at my church's ladies retreat I got to see some amazing things from a God who loves us each so tenderly and complexly. Stories were told. Deep hurts were healed right in front of my eyes. The kind of stings to the soul that had happened by the enemy and that only One with big enough hands to cradle the whole universe could reach in and remove the arrow.

God is the one who heals us. He did send a Calvary, his Son, to save us. Some day Jesus will ride in on a horse to rescue us, cream the bad guy, and set the whole, crooked world right again.

In the meantime He's given us everything we need. As the battles change, as the stages of life bring new problems and things to be addressed we graduate to our big-girl armor and He equips us all over again. Just as we need. Just, when, we need. Almost four years ago when my daughter was sent to the NICU for a mild fever and it seemed we were mainly there to minister to another couple I remember looking at that woman's baby boy, who had fluid in his lungs, and I thought: I could not handle that. Thank the Lord my baby just has a fever! Last year, when my baby boy had fluid in his lungs I was held up by His power and love. You see, I didn't have the suit of armor for the baby-with-the-fluid four years ago. I didn't need it then. I had it when I needed it though. He equips us. Adjusts our armor, sometimes using faithful brothers and sisters who can see our back part that we can't quite reach and help us snap it down again, but always covering us just as we need.

Beloved you are covered by Him. Completely. If you are looking around right now and it seems the battle is being lost and you're about to be creamed, look to the hill. Calvary is coming. You will be rescued. He is able and his timing is so perfect it will send chills up your spine as he swoops in at the very moment of deepest need and saves us like only Jesus Christ can.

RETREAT!!!

2010-10-14T14:24:00.000-07:00

Definition of RETREAT

a (1) : an act or process of withdrawing especially from what is difficult, dangerous, or disagreeable.

My definition:

1a(1): partying like a rock star with some awesome women of God whilst having chocolate, yummy soup and hearing from an incredible gal who inspires me when she reads the phone book let alone an actual talk that she's prepared just for us.

Yay! I'm so excited!! And even more excitement... my mommy is coming with me... yipee!

Climbing before Walking

2010-10-07T03:44:00.000-07:00

Sigh. Sons. You know that phrase you need to learn to crawl before you walk? Well have you ever heard, son, you need to learn to walk before you climb? I kid you not my little baby, who I could of sworn was going to be an early walker, can climb the heck out of some stuff. I think he isn't walking primarily because he's too impatient to work at it. And he can really get into overdrive with the crawling so why pause long enough to learn to walk? The other day as we were unpacking he found a pile of boxes and had managed to crawl halfway up them, and several feet off the floor, in a manner of seconds. After I swallowed my heart back down I scrambled to get him and he was grinning up at me all proud.

We are definitely in for it. In the last few weeks he has started to put it together, taking steps on his own and while he generally flops down and goes back to crawling when he really wants to get moving this new thing he has discovered, climbing, is what really gets him motivated. We have had to learn to not leave cushions or things staggered like steps because all he needs is a ledge to climb up to something higher and he's off to tantalizing feats that make his mother faint.

It occurred to me that I will eventually have to let my children go but as my husband keeps reminding me that I can't put him in a plastic bubble I guess I have to let him go a little bit each day. And hope that in all the tumbles and falls there aren't too many stitches needed.

Smell of pencils

2010-09-24T23:58:00.000-07:00

Anyone else just love fall? I get extremely nostalgic for some reason as soon as the air cools a bit and the schools open up again. What is ironic is when I was in school I could hardly wait to get out and start my life. Now whenever I have a chance to step back into school and see the brightly colored "you can do it!" posters and smell the new, crisp pencils, I can't help but smile. I want to put my hair in pigtails and skip.

I sometimes wonder what my little eight-year-old self would think about how 'great' I think the fall is. Would she be a little miffed at how great I think it is to be at school? Probably as miffed as the adult me is at the little girl who thought it would be so great to one day be an adult. Of course. Maybe I'm not one yet. Especially since I still find it really difficult to walk by a huge pile of leaves and not jump into it.

Here is to pumpkins and spice and everything nice as the air cools a bit in this gosh-forsaken hottest place in the world called Texas. And to new beginnings. Maybe that is what I like most about fall. This sense of starting. Of a new year so to speak. What is your favorite season?

Happy 1st Birthday baby CJ!

2010-09-19T21:48:00.001-07:00

It's my baby's birthday today. One. Such a fabulous number. That lame, droning song is so wrong. We had a great, low-key day. To be honest having just been moved one full week it was about all we could handle to have just the basics. Get our cake, some balloons, and a whole lot of fun. We stole an idea we heard from somewhere, that for the life of me I can't remember where it came from but I'm guessing my sister in law, in that you set out a baby pool to let them eat the cake. That way they can really mash it and have a fun wrestling blast for their first chocolate experience. It's the way it should be really. You have to have that ooey goodness in between your fingers. And knees.

It turned out to be a great day. Started early. Much like his birth day did. We got up for church and daddy sang happy birthday to his son, who was crying all the way because he was sleepy. Once we were all dressed and ready off to church we went. It was a big day at church anyway because babies were getting dedicated. When we got home Kaiya and I went shopping for last minute party stuff. Poor kid fell asleep in the cart almost. Mommy was scrambling a bit as it was my first time in our new neighborhood's grocery store. Eventually the cake and decorations, gifts and favors were bought and off to home we were. The boys had been cleaning up. Well the big one was. The little one was crying. It was his party after all. He could cry if he wanted to.

Once the party was started and the kids were in the pool with cake, brownies and ice cream we then all trekked to a real pool to work off some of that fake sugar energy. CJ managed to get a black eye without the four adults and one teenager noticing. Kid must have bonked his eye on the rail or something but didn't even put up a tiny fuss. Tough little guy is gonna give his momma a heart attack one day.

We then went back to watch some movies and wind down the night. Baby played with his toys. Smashed his cake. Loved every minute of it. This past year has been amazing. Other than the moments when my heart is in my throat because he's busted his eye, or head, or chin falling down, or when I'm scrambling to get to him as he is climbing up some mountain of boxes. Then he giggles and it is the best sound in the whole world. And I forget I'm scared just a little to raise a boy. I figure that yeah he may get a few more cuts and bruises than his sister. But he loves ferociously. And when you are loved by him it has to be one of the best feelings in the world. So happy birthday baby boy. Momma will try very hard not to follow right behind you and/or put you in a plastic bubble. She may not be able to catch you soon anyway now that you're taking some steps and are a heartbeat away from storming off into the lands. We love you honey and can't wait to spend more time with you and many more birthdays!

learning.

2010-09-10T15:21:00.000-07:00

i had this epiphany recently. that i'm not always right. that more specifically my version of events is not always right. ok, so it's not that i always think i'm right. it's just, i so fervently believe that the way i see things is the right way to see them. what i've realized these last few weeks due to various events is that just because i'm not right about everything doesn't mean that someone else is. as in, it's not a game. there's not always a clear winner and a clear loser. life is often more nuanced. i'm not so good at figuring out there are often other things going on, that have nothing on earth to do with me, that affect the whole dang world. i guess in a nutshell what i've learned is perhaps it is beneficial to do what i tell my daughter to do. calm down. take a deep breath. stop freaking out. if only i could just go back to happily playing or rolling around in mud like she does. here's to letting go a little!

The Story Room, pt 2

2010-09-07T03:42:00.000-07:00

I have to admit I was a little surprised to see Chester up here. And alarmed that he was human now. Don't get me wrong. He was the best cat I ever had and while I consider myself to be more open-minded than most believers this took a bit of stretching for me. For his part, Chester was nonplussed. He was still completely himself. Loyal and a little crabby. I had suspected he had a well-developed sense of humor and I was right. The first thing he said to me, after I had gotten over the shock of bumping into my pet cat in Heaven, was: dude you should have seen your mom's face. It was the exact same one she used to make when I coughed up a hair-ball. Well, she did hate you, I smiled; fondly remembering my mother chasing the cat around with a broom in her worn housecoat. As if he could read my mind Chester started rubbing his rear, boy, I'll say. Glad we don't need brooms up here.

Chester had explained to me that he was still my pet, even though he was human now, and that when animals glorified God on Earth they would often get to join their masters for eternity. Since he was just human, and his body was not a resurrected one, he could not partake all that Heaven had to offer. This was a bit saddening, but he often reminded me that after all he could be back to licking himself and coughing up hair-balls in no time. He much preferred this. Normally unresurrected bodies weren't allowed in the story room, but when it was time for me to see his story he was allowed to sit at my side. He of course couldn't see it, but he could watch me which is all he wanted to do anyway.

Now, right after I had realized who Chester was I admit I was a bit sad. For he had just disappeared and I had been holding out hope that he was still alive somewhere and no harm had come to him. Chester had already explained to me how he had heard from God at various points in his life. One time had been when he came to live with me. It was right after my daughter was born and when her colic was raging. We would shuffle out of the house in the wee hours to take her on a walk. Chester had been trotting down the road from his last assignment, for my dear cat seemed to think he was the patron saint of the weary, when he spotted us. He immediately came up to us and started rubbing our legs. At first we were annoyed but almost immediately the baby stopped crying. That was all it took. We scooped the cat up and brought him home. If you ever had a colicky baby you don't need further explanation. If you haven't then hush. I don't like you right now.

Now I say Chester was my cat, but really he was Annabelle's. She adored him. He tolerated her, it seemed, but deep down I knew he loved her too. Her chubby little fingers would reach out and grab fistfuls of fur. She'd squeal in delight and sometimes he'd squeal in pain. Later she would try to ride him like a horsey and he would look up at us pitifully. He confided in me up here that he actually enjoyed that, it worked out his sore back muscles, but he played the pity card to get extra treats. The two were inseparable for three years. Then the most horrifying evening of my life took place.

When my daughter was little we had the good fortune of having the use of a lot of land behind us, that is before it was all flattened out and turned into a cookie-cutter neighborhood. A little creek and some woods were just beyond our backyard and as our little girl got older we let her pal around with some neighborhood kids and 'explore.' So one Saturday afternoon we thought nothing of it when she didn't come home for lunch. (It was a different time, mind you, and her six-year-old cousin was supposed to have been with her). What we didn't know was that her cousin had snuck off with some friends to the mall and left her alone at the creek. Little Belle was scared to cross back over by herself for there had been a few days of heavy rain and the creek's current was quite strong. So she sat and waited and hoped Bobby would come back soon. And she waited. She got hungry. And scared. This is where the story set in. It was so hard to watch my little Annabelle crying. It was also so good to see her and I smiled at the thought of her now, a strong woman who had raised a beautiful family. Seeing her as the little girl was easy though, every day, even my last as she had sat at my side in the hospice room, she had been the little girl in pigtails.

Suddenly Chester appeared. He had heard her cries and had hunted down where she was at. The cat stopped at the other side of the creek and meowed to the little girl. It was as if, for all the world, he was pleading her to just jump over so he didn't have to get wet. She stretched out her little arms, for now she was sobbing and desperate. It had been hours and she was starting to get cold as well as hungry and scared. Chester meowed more intensely and then took off running back the way he came. Poor Annabelle just stared and the started wailing. The story was actually from Chester's point of view though and showed him trying to get my attention. I wanted to whack my own self upside the head. I even remembered when he had come and was trying to get my attention while I was mowing. It was annoying. I shooed him.

A collective sigh let out from the audience as if we were all watching some poor sap stumble out in the dark, alone, while a serial killer awaited and all you can do is scream: you idiot, don't you know you're in a horror movie! Chester just patted my arm, as if to say, it's OK- you big idiot.

After his failed attempt to get help Chester trotted, no sprinted, back to Annabelle. All the while thinking grumpy thoughts about stupid humans only following stupid dogs places. This time he didn't slow as he approached the creek he took a flying leap and landed almost on the other side where Annabelle was. Almost. The poor kitty staggered up the sharp rocks he had landed on completely drenched. He shook himself out and scowled his best, I-hate-being-wet look. Annabelle threw her arms around him and just sighed. Chester let her hold him a long time but then started meowing loudly. After all by now it was almost dark.

Back at the house we had all entered full frenzy mode to find her. We had just about started to do the canvas thing and likely would have found them but we thought she had gone to the mall with Bobby and had only just found out that he had left her down by the creek. My wife had just called me to tell me she was not at the mall and I did a highly illegal u-turn across four lanes of traffic and gunned it for home. It was the first time in my life I was hoping for red and blue lights because that would mean another body to help us find my girl. Bobby had just spit out, in between sobs, that he had left Annabelle and his father had him by the ear out front of the group. "Show us where you left her!" he roared and off we all marched, in a horizontal line behind poor Bobby.

Meanwhile Chester had been encouraging Annabelle to make the jump. She stood on the edge and kept looking down at him as he nudged her with his head. He even backed up a bit and started to run toward the creek as if to show her how. Finally her courage was up and she gave it a go, only to land in the middle. Scarily she started to go under and was sputtering for the water was quite high there. Luckily a few rocks were keeping her from being swept downstream but she was dangerously close to drowning. Chester, like he was channeling Lassie-though he would hate it if you said that, leapt in after her. She tried to cling to him but he was too small to be much help. She grabbed anyway and as he sputtered underneath her it seemed almost like the two of them were going to drown together. Even I was on the edge of my seat and I knew, at least partly, how it ended. This part I didn't know. Chester managed to nudge Annabelle up onto the rock that was keeping her from being swept downstream. She was just barely hanging on to it and her hand reached out to a rock that suddenly gave away. Chester stuck his head where the rock had been and she didn't even realize it was now his head she was pushing against. She shoved off and safely made it onto the rock. Chester was shoved under, and carried off by the current which was too strong for him. Annabelle had leapt down easily from the rock and looked back expecting to see Chester coming after her and he was just gone. When we found her she was sitting crying for Chester.

It was a few more days before we realized Chester was gone and we never knew what had happened. It never occurred to us that Chester was in the creek with her because Annabelle wouldn't talk about it. She never got another cat. As a father I felt so guilty for not being able to protect her and so worried for what could have happened to her. Back then we didn't think too much about sexual predators but we did worry about ones like coyotes. Though I knew now that Chester would have defender her against anything, even a pack of coyotes if that was what protecting her meant.

I hugged Chester and he softly, and cheerfully, said: "you know it didn't hurt. Thankfully my head it a rock and it was all lights out, hello Jesus! I've been watching over you two since then, well, her more than you." He grinned sheepishly.

I titled my head to the side; "I thought cats had nine lives?" Chester nodded. "Well friend, the life I spent with you and Annabelle was my ninth life! And boy am I glad I got to come up here with you two because pet heaven just ain't as cool."

I cocked my head again, wanting to ask about pet heaven but the other thing he said bugged me: "you two?"

"Oh, don't worry, we don't get to know when she is coming up here but we do sort of get a estimate and I've been told it's at least three or four more decades."

"Whew!"

"Meow! Er...Sorry. Right. Whew!"

"Thanks for saving my daughter's life."

"She saved mine, for she gave me an opportunity to glorify him."

Over the next several years I started to learn more what worship is as I got to see it through the eyes of an animal. And the deeper, more painful lesson of sacrifice could not have been more aptly told by anyone save the Lord himself. I once asked Chester if he still would have put his head there if he knew that meant he would die. Of course he said, without blinking or hesitating. I was there to serve her anyway.

Just like it is with the years racing by as your children grow up so it is in Heaven and before we knew it the two of us were staring at her bright, beautiful face again. Annabelle needed no explanation who Chester was, she already knew somehow and flung her arms around his neck like she used to. When she saw the story and realized the rock she had pushed off had been him she somehow managed a tear. Chester purred, he sometimes couldn't help it having been a cat for so long, and told her he had never been happier than the moment he got to save her life and give his for hers. For that was the moment he was most like his Lord. She smiled and whispered back that she wished she could one day be half the worshiper Chester is.

I'm just talking to myself.

2010-09-03T09:32:00.000-07:00

I talk to myself all the time. So does Hubby. So does Kaiya. CJ will too I'm sure, and for all we know maybe when he is babbling away some of it is to himself also. The funny thing about three people (and a half) who talk to themselves all the time is sometimes we step on each other's conversations. It is not uncommon for one of us to walk into the room and hear half a sentence and be completely confused. "Wahuh?" We yell at the other. The standard line is: I'm just talking to myself. So Kaiya has picked this up. Since she is real big on pretend play too she also talks to everything else. Like the pool floaty we got for CJ shaped like a starfish. "What did you say honey?" "Nothing mommy, me just talking to Starfish!" And so forth.

One day I walked in and she was babbling away and I asked her who she was talking to and she said the name of her new imaginary friend. I asked her what her friend was doing and she explained, quite patiently I might add, that no, it was the imaginary friend who was talking to herself. I had this mental image of those little wooden dolls that fit inside each other, biggest to smallest, and I had to shake it out of my head.

I'm going to go back to talking to myself now, thanks.

Juggling

2010-08-29T22:26:00.000-07:00

I was never very good at juggling. I usually just gave up and threw the balls as high as I could. It made more sense just to play catch. Lately I have been feeling this sense of juggling between being good at work and being good at home. But it's not like I can hurl the baby up into the sky (nor would I want to) and while I have considered (fleetingly, in a fantasy world) chucking the career goodbye it isn't realistic. So I play catch. I focus on one, intensely, and then let it go. Poof! And in a moment it's back to focusing on the other. It still would be nice just to check out and stare off into space for about fourteen years but I have a feeling I'd get beamed in the noggin' by a fastball. Here's to being better at it all and catching more than I drop. Let me know if you have any juggling trips up your sleeve!

Moving

2010-08-26T03:26:00.000-07:00

Sorry for being even more flakey about posting but we've been moving this month and my work schedule is weird so it's been a goal of mine to breathe oxygen for most of the day and that's about it.

Moving stinks but there's something nice about starting over again. Mapping out space and figuring out where things go. I'm posting this before the move and likely by the time it finally gets here I'll be growling at the computer thinking: idiot! There's nothing great about moving!

But in this case, there is! Even though we are moving into a smaller place (to save money) it is an apartment complex with a hot tub. Yay. Hot tub. I sometimes wonder how they came up with that name. If they were like, we should call it bubbly tub. And someone else was all, oh no, it's much about the hotness and less about the bubbles. Did I mention it was three in the mornin'?

Boobs.

2010-08-21T03:13:00.000-07:00

*Disclaimer. Dude, read the title.*

Is it weird that I miss my mom's boobs? I was thinking about this tonight as my son rested his head on my chest after nursing. His sweet little baby head. He let out a happy little sound and patted one of my boobs fondly. If he had learned this word yet I have a feeling he would have said: "mine."

When I was little I used to love to sleep on my mom. There was something comforting in just being by her. Like it was base and the whole world could cry out "olly olly oxen free" and you were. Free. Safe.

It's not like I think she is less beautiful. Or even less of a person without them, it's just this deep thing that bothers me and probably shouldn't. Sort of a "this-could-happen-to-me" mixed in with a final: wow. Gone. Maybe all of us go bit by bit, but for some it's just more obvious.

I guess after a hard night I just want to rest my head on her bosom and be comforted. Let out a happy sound. Things change but mom is still mom and at least she is here even if all of her is not.

Don't talk to the baby!

2010-08-12T07:29:00.000-07:00

For all you annoying parents out there who insist on giving your opinion to someone else on how to raise their kids, I now offer you a new way to do it! Courtesy the obnoxious lady at the park (who I would totally name if I knew her name... OK, maybe I wouldn't but only because my mother taught me that you never know when the person you're making fun of will like end up saving your life or something and so if you gossip about them it should be anonymously. ... she is probably thinking: I never said that! And she's right, but that was my version of it.)

You see baby CJ was in the sandbox, his favorite place in the world, well, almost- his high-chair is the number one spot. When he was packing away sand like no tomorrow. Now when I say he eats sand. I don't mean a dab here and a dab there. I literally mean he shovels handfuls upon handfuls into his mouth and swallows immediately. I try, Lord I try, to keep it out of his mouth but it is almost futile. And I tried putting him somewhere else but he is happiest in the sandbox. And I'm usually tired by then. So I clear away all the rocks and sticks and let him have at it. Every now and then I clear out his mouth but I'm quite certain he gets a good fourth cup of sand. So he was sitting there, putting sand in his mouth, and I was exceptionally tired this day. I was gazing off into oblivion when a mom came up and said, screamed almost: "he's eating sand!" I blinked. She had this look of horror on her face. Was pointing. I expected to see blood gushing out of him or something. Instead my baby boy looked up at me and grinned. Like, "mmm, mom, it's the chocolate-sundae kind of sand today!" I shrugged. "Oh. Yeah. He eats sand." Then, and this the obnoxious parenting tip in case all the rambling made you forget the point of this post, she directed her next comment to him. The baby. "Oh, that's bad for your teeth!" I glared up at her. I imagined dark things and realized it was best to get the heck out of the park lest I attack some stranger with a sandbox toy and wind up on the news.

You may not even agree with me. You may agree with teeth lady. How about this? Engage an adult in a conversation instead of stooping to talk to their children. I could have just as easily said to her bratty son who came running up so fast he almost kicked sand in my baby's face: "my aren't you rude, maybe your mommy should teach you manners!" But that would be rude.

I know I'm normally light and fluffy on my posts so let me end with this. Parenting is hard enough without attacking each other all the time. I've been trying to learn the flip side of this, as I usually am the one biting my tongue off to not say something to other parents. I get annoyed when I am sitting there playing with my kids in the sandbox and suddenly I am surrounded by a gaggle of children while the other parents are lounging off to the side. Truth is, they are likely exhausted and perhaps when my baby is older I too will spend more time staring off into oblivion wondering who I am and how I got to the park?

Cage fighting!!

2010-08-05T07:12:00.000-07:00

Good morning (or evening) folks welcome to CFC! That stands for CJ fights changing. In the diaper we have baby CJ who weighs 25 lbs, is 2 feet tall and is thus far undefeated in the cage. In the sweat pants is mommy who weighs none of your business thank you very much, is 5'8" tall and is standing ready with a new diaper. Ding ding ding!

And were off! Baby CJ immediately does a roll maneuver before Mommy can even start taking the diaper off, but oh look! Mommy catches the baby and flips him before he can start crawling away. She's got him pinned down and look at that! Both tags off with ease, yup, Mommy's looking strong this round! Wait a second... oh, the slip-under-the-arm move! And he's off! That'll be a penalty for Mommy as baby boy is nude and he gets extra-bonus points if he can pee or poop all over Mommy's living room. But she's got him now and ooh, a nice smooth flip which she transitions beautifully into starting the new diaper. But Baby CJ does a scissor kick right to her face! Flips! Turns back to the other side! And he's off again folks! There's only one tag on the diaper and it's hanging half-way off, and I think we can safely say this round is going to Baby CJ. Yup.

Mommy taps out, defeated, she give up and puts him in baby jail and resigns herself to cleaning up the pee or poop later. Another win for baby who told us before the fight he plans to take over the whole house before the end of the year. We tried to get a response from Mommy on that but she just grumbled she needed coffee and started crying.

Up next we have a mommy going against her twins! You won't want to miss this tag-team action!

You owe me $20.

2010-08-03T05:20:00.000-07:00

I was meeting with a young man recently who you could tell was new to this whole working-semi-professional thing. He was doing a very good job of spouting off his company policies and what not and it was sort of cute in this, if I had a kid-brother and he was finally out on his own kind of way. One thing that he said struck me. They apparently had these little four or five things they were supposed to do or say to or for the customer and one of them was to ask, are you happy? As soon as he said that I immediately informed him he had not asked me if I was happy. It took a second for him to figure out that we were in my place of business and not his so said rule would likely not apply but you could see the wheels turning and the 'oh shoot' look on his face as he worked that out in his head. Then he got this confused look until he figured out I was kidding. It occurred to me that when we are learning the speak of the place we are at we can get tunnel vision, or hearing, and focus in on what is needed to learn our job. Whether it be the task of carrying for a new baby or learning the proper way our company wants us to greet customers when we are first 'in it' so to speak it can be hard to see the rest of the world. The, it's OK to grin a little and have some fun with people, maybe if your boss is not looking if he or she is a bit uptight, and maybe just maybe we can make someone's day even if it isn't in our little list of things we are supposed to say. Just food for thought, not that I'm all that far along in anything, whether it be work, home or figuring out me, but I do feel a bit like I'm coming out of some of my rookie "gotta get this one thing" done kind of phases. Probably to enter into something new again, I imagine. Yay! And yes. I'm happy!

Kung fu mommy

2010-07-30T05:03:00.000-07:00

Kaiya has been obsessed with dolls these last few weeks. And she's been taking the role of mommy very seriously. She'll even stop playing, tell us she has to go check on her baby, and quietly tip-toe into her room where she's laid the doll down to sleep.

Her daddy has also taught her random bits of kung fu. She does this thing where she makes her hand like a snakes head and stands on one leg like the karate kid. Only she usually can't stop laughing when she does it.

So the other night we were all watching Shrek and one of the fighting scenes came on. Kaiya, who was holding her dolly, started punching the air. Haiya! Heh! The doll flopped around helplessly. Then she went back to holding it. The picture of motherhood. It is sort of comforting that she is balanced somewhat but the thing about princess scampering up trees is they tear a lot of dresses. Oh well I guess, they're only little for a bit aren't they?