How Difficult Can It Be?

I have three very intelligent, talented children. Really, they are amazing. They're athletic, musical, compassionate. . .the list is long. How blessed they are to be so smart and accomplished. So why is it then that they can't seem to put a roll of toilet paper on the holder?????? How difficult can it be? I'm talking about gifted, multi-tasking teenagers here. So, what's up with the toilet paper? Maybe they don't know where I keep the toilet paper. I mean, who would think of looking under the bathroom sink? Maybe I should hold a class and a demonstration for them. Or maybe I should hide their cell phones inside the cardboard rolls of the toilet paper. When they can't find their phone and call it from the land line and follow the ringing to the bathroom. . .heeheehee. . .creative parenting at it's best.

Yay Me

I love giving credit to folks who do a great job. It gives me pleasure to say, "Hey, good job." I love it even more when it's someone I love. I'm such a people watcher, so I observe a lot of things, things that less detailed people may miss. So, when I see something that impresses me, I get excited and I want to give credit to the ones who have impressed me. So here's an observation that both pleased and surprised me. My husband and I did a great job raising our daughter. She is poised and mature and funny and interesting. Her talents and intellect come directly from God and I don't want to take credit for anything that is a gift from her Creator. I do, however, want to say, "Hey, good job" to my husband and myself. All those nights of brainstorming "creative parenting" strategies, the many books we read (Knowing Your Baby, The One Year Old, The Two Year Old, The Three Year Old. . . etc.) has really paid off. I am so impressed with my daughter and how she has responded to the consistent parenting she received, even when she wholeheartedly disagreed. To my husband, "Thanks, you done good!" To God, "Thanks and praises!" To my daughter, "You are amazing!" To me, "Yay me!"

Chill

I am definitely a detail oriented person. A product of my upbringing in the northeast. If you ask me for directions, I'll tell you how many lights you'll go through and my best estimate of the miles, how much time it should take and if you'll need to take any infamous Jersey jug-handles. If you want a recipe, you'll know exactly how I made it, even if I don't know the exact measurements, I'll tell how many "shakes" it takes. Maybe I'm too detailed, maybe you don't need to know the gobs of information that I want to share (hence, my New Year's resolution, talk less), but I'm sorry, I think it's better than "take this road a spell and it's on the left, you can't miss it." If I invite you to an event, you'll know the time and you'll get a detailed map, cell phone numbers and most likely other useless information that you don't want, but at least it's not, "show up at 6:30, in another state, it's a spell down the road from the Best Western. Your daughter can stay on campus with a student and we'll see you in the morning." With who, what time in the morning, who will see me in the morning??? I want details. And I want them now. Okay, so I took a deep breath and looked at my daughter who was like, "Chill, Mom." So, I'm chilling. . .(so, how long am I supposed to chill???). . .

Most Days

Most days I embrace my imperfections, it's the comedy in our lives. My imperfections remind me that I am human and it humbles me. My imperfections cause me to seek after God, asking for His provisions where I am weak. Today I see my imperfections as fear and fear is not where God wants me to be. I never realized how fear is really a very selfish and prideful place to be. I become so involved in my own feelings that it makes it impossible for me to be concerned with anyone else or with the here and now. Most days my imperfections seem minor and a stepping stone to a better me. But today they are my downfall. Here is my prayer, "Lord God, Heavenly Father, take my petty concerns and prideful manner away from me. Cause me to know that You are with me and that I can trust in Your Provisions for me today and tomorrow and beyond. Be my Light and Guide. Amen."

Pass the water please

Today for breakfast I made myself a tuna melt. Do you know what that means? (No, I'm not pregnant.) It means I'm feeling better (thanks for the prayers). I was kind of sick this week, some viral thing and I totally lost my appetite (I didn't lose an ounce, apparently there were enough little fat cells in my body to sustain itself). Anyway, being the martyr I am, I cooked dinner for my family yesterday. I made gravy (spaghetti sauce for those of you who think gravy is brown). I make gravy like Gramma, "a little of this, a little of that, let me taste it baby." I put in the usual spices and thought it so bland, so I added a little of this and a little of that. . .still bland. . .a little more of this and a little more of that. . .still bland. . .some green peppers, hot Italian sausage, dry red wine, crushed red pepper. . .now it's starting to taste better. . .a tiny bit more crushed red pepper and it's good to go. I set it on the stove to simmer and went off to see my son play basketball (their first win of the season - yippee) and it occurred to me while I'm watching the game (blowing my nose and coughing) that maybe the gravy only tasted bland because I was sick. After the game I happily (like any good martyr) served my family their spaghetti dinner and not a word was said about the gravy. In fact, the only words spoken were a hoarse, "Pass the water please."

Kids!!!!

For those of you who care (all both of you), I am going to attend the campus tour with my daughter. And yes, I'll sit in on the youth min. class. And yes, I'll go to Chapel service. And yes, I'll visit the dorms. And yes, I'll meet her admissions counselor. . .I'll lend myself to whatever she wants to see and I'll see it, too. I'll keep my opinion guarded, but I'll go. So, I'm thinking, wow, me and my daughter on an adventure together. 1,200 miles away from home, and from the dog, the cats, the kitchen, the dusting, the vacuuming. . .wow, just me and my daughter in the Ozarks, for five days. . .wow, somebody will make my bed and cook my meals. . .wow, me and my daughter talking and laughing together, visiting new places and seeing new sights. We can visit a museum or go see a chick flick, find a Starbucks, just then my daughter came in and interrupted my thoughts. I said in an excited voice, "Oh honey, we'll have a great trip, just you and me, we'll bond!!" She replied, "Okay mom, but not on the plane, I have a book I want to read." Kids!!! Go figure.

Mother- Daughter Book Club

While moving my whole upstairs around I found a file that contained 7 years of papers from our little Mother-Daughter Book Club. What a fun time that was for me and the girls. This is how it worked. We asked 5 mother-daughter couples to join us in a book club. We picked 6 books to read from Sept. to May. Each mother daughter couple had to host one meeting. So they would read the book and pick a theme for the meeting. For example when we read a historical fiction about a Quaker girl who journaled at night by candle light, we did our meeting by candle light and served corn cakes and hot tea as the main character would have had. The girls were responsible for writing 10 discussion questions, making the food and drink, setting the table and welcoming the guest. The girls also facilitated the meeting. We had guidelines (for the mothers as well as for the daughters). When we first started, our little daughters were so shy and every month the same kinds of questions were asked, "Why do you think the author named the book this way?" "What main character do you relate to most?" But as time went on the questions became deep and thought provoking. Healthy debates were sparked and our little girls became young adults. They learned to wait their turn to speak, to disagree respectfully, how to host an event and that hanging out with mom was okay. I treasure this folder because it shows me that we are all growing up and learning new skills. The dramatic changes are, of course, in the girls -from little 7 year old's to well put-together teens. But I have changed too, and I have learned new "people" skills. Isn't it funny how we set out to make our kids better people and in the process we grow?

It all started with the sewing machine

Really, all I wanted to do was move the sewing machine so occasionally I can sew. Maybe make some pretty curtains or place mats. All that this required was that my husband move a desk from his office to our bedroom. I just needed to move a bookcase which meant I had to consolidate the books to the living room bookcase, which meant I had to move those pretty Christmas dishes, which meant I needed that pretty hutch from my husband's office moved upstairs, which meant I needed to sell that stupid (sorry honey) beer mug collection. Then I moved the piano books, which meant I needed to move those pretty linens, which meant I needed to move the clock, which meant I needed to move the lamp. . .then, I fell into bed, exhausted and my husband came in and asked, "Where is the sewing machine?" to which I replied, "Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, is that how this all started?" to which he replied, "I guess so, and by the way, why are there paint cans in my office?" to which I replied, "Really, all I wanted to do was move the sewing machine so occasionally I can sew. . . maybe after we paint, I'll make pretty curtains for your office." to which he replied, "We!" to which I replied, "You caught that, huh?" to which he replied, "Can I just buy you some curtains?" to which I replied, "What fun would that be????" to which he didn't reply. "Even a fool is thought wise if he keeps silent, and discerning if he holds his tongue." Proverbs 17:28

Gramma's Doilies

My mother gave me some doilies that my grandmother crocheted over 50 years ago. They are simply beautiful. I have them all around my house, under lamps and plants and pictures and a special bowl my daughter gave me for Christmas. And, you know what? I'm happier. I see these doilies and I think about Gramma. She was a remarkable woman. She had 15 children, 13 of them were at her side when she died. Gramma never had a paying job her whole life (94 years) yet she believed that God would provide for her and her family, and He did. Gramma refused to be offended so she lived her life happily. When you visited Gramma, she gave you her undivided attention even though there were always many family members all around. Her favorite reply to, "How are you?" was, "Never been better baby." Even when she was in the hospital near the end of her life, she looked right at you and made you feel like you were the reason she was so happy. It's such a delight for me to have these doilies that were made with the same hands that cared for her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, hands that made cavatelli, zeppoles, 1-2-3 cake, sweet and creamy tea, hands that crafted baby blankets and bed blankets and doilies. Gramma seldom spoke of her faith and when she prayed she prayed silently, yet her life spoke powerfully of the loving principles that Jesus asks all believers to follow. At some level, I am always striving to be like Gramma. She is the inspiration behind many of my New Year's resolutions. If I could be just a smidgen like her the people around me would sure be a lot happier.

Passive Observer????

My daughter is looking at colleges now. She's brilliant and will get in anywhere. We're going to visit a college together. She's scheduled to stay with a student and then attend some classes and go on a campus tour. I was telling a friend how I had the day to myself and my daughter said, "Wait, aren't you coming to class with me and going on the campus tour with me???" "Well, I don't want to go there, what do I care what the campus looks like?" "But, Mom, I want you to see, I want to know what you think." Now I'm thinking, my brilliant, independent girl wants my opinion (this is a first) and I don't want to give it to her (this is definitely a first!). I reasoned that my opinion may actually influence her decision and I want only God to influence her decision. So my husband says that I should go with her and be a passive observer. Okay, first, I'm a mom, second, I'm a woman and third, I'm a mom! In mother language the words passive and observer do not co-exist (wait, what does passive mean??). If I have an opinion, you're going to hear it. Sorry, but that's why my daughter started me this blog, because she was tired of hearing my opinion. I don't know how to be a passive observer. So don't you agree that it's better that I don't have an opinion? I'm so confused. . .just when you think you have your kids figured out, they want to know what you think, and just when you think you know what you think, you don't. . .

Be Still. . .

I remember when the kids were little and in public school and there was prediction of snow. I'd get up and watch the news at 6:30 while doing my floor exercises. If the schools were closed, I'd make banana pancake batter and put it in the refrigerator and I'd get a black piece of construction paper and put in on a metal cookie tray and put that in the freezer. I would crawl back into bed and wait for our internal alarm clocks to wake us up. Oh, the joy to sleep until your body says it's time to wake up! We would make pancakes, pray, eat and then, the best part, get 4 magnifying glasses and huddle around the kitchen door with the construction paper and cookie sheet. We would swing open the door and let the cookie sheet catch as many snowflakes as possible in 10 seconds. Quickly, we'd pull the cookie sheet inside and look at the snowflake crystals up close, under the magnifying glass. We had to be quick because the snowflakes melt in about 3 seconds, even on the frozen paper. Sometimes we would try to draw what only God could create. Those beautiful crystals of all different shapes. My middle child would say that when she died and went to heaven she would ask God, "Are all the snowflakes really different? And, by the way, how many hairs do I have on my head?" And that, my friends, is the real beauty of snow days. The time in this busy life of ours to pause and ponder such great mysteries that God has put all around us. "Be still, and know that I am God. . . " Psalm 46:10

Who said snow?

What a disappointment! After a prediction of 6 to 8 inches of snow we got gobbity (that means nothing from where I come from). Really, how hard is it to predict the weather properly? My Aunt Millie could do it better and she is 94 and sings happy birthday to all her visitors. If her sciatica hurts, we'll have rain. If her hip hurts too, snow. If it hurts her bad, 6 to 8 inches. Aunt Millie felt pretty good last night. For a weather forecaster's salary of $50,000 I would predict the weather, make the lunches, do the dishes, vacuum the floors, change the sheets - ooh wait, that's what I do at home for free. Really, Aunt Millie will do it for half that salary and sing happy birthday for no extra charge. Who wouldn't tune in to watch my Aunt Millie. You may be thinking, "No harm done. So they predicted the weather wrong, again. No biggy." It is a biggy, I was so geared up to having a snow day. That would mean no public school for one of my children and no homeschooling for the others. Do you know what we do on snow days? Nothing. No voice or guitar lessons, no CAP, no school work, no running to the library or the bank or the post office. Sometimes we bake, sometimes we watch a movie, sometimes we catch up on our reading, sometimes we play a game, but we always spend the time together, in the house, in each others company, praising God for the seasons. Oh well, no more time to blog today, I've got work to do. . .Praise You God for the seasons and for Aunt Millie's good night.

Thanks for the compliment.

Last night I received the nicest compliment ever. I am on the proverbial cloud nine. I'm still not over it. Can you imagine what made me feel so good? Well, it was not a compliment on my looks, I'm far from beautiful. It wasn't on my shapely and thin body (I haven't been thin since I quit smoking back in 1986 - was I even thin then or did I just think I was thin because I told myself daily that I was?? Yesterday a friend of mine told me her pants were tight because she was bloated and since she entered the lovely stage of peri-menopause that she gets bloated for longer periods of time. I told her I knew exactly how she felt and that I have been bloated since 2004. But now I am digressing). Last night my family and I prepared and served a meal at a soup kitchen with a beautiful group of volunteers who have shown me how wonderful it is to be the hands of Jesus. A gentleman there last night said to me, "These sloppy joes are the best I ever had, they are the best sloppy joes in the world, they are better even than at the Waldorf Astoria." Imagine that. . .I wonder if the chef at the Waldorff Astoria wants my recipe.

I am haaaaaappy.

Back in 1986 I quit smoking cigarettes. I used one of those quit smoking tapes. I had to look in the mirror and repeat, "I am a haaaaaaaaaaappy non-smoker. I am a thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin non-smoker." My husband would call from the other room and ask who I was talking to. I was talking to myself. So, what's the point? Well, in following my New Year's resolution (all 8 days now) I am finding that it's not the amount of words you say but the words you choose to say that is important. Any idiot can figure this out, but it's not just the words we say to others, but the words we say to ourselves. We get to choose how we speak to ourselves. For instance, we can look in the mirror and say, "I am a haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaappy peri-menopausal pms-ing woman who can't get enough chocolate cake to satisfy this craving." Our attitude towards ourselves is vital in that we become what we say we are. "For as he thinks in his heart, so is he. . ."Proverbs 23:7 Let's be kinder to ourselves and affirm that happiness is not the result of the outside world, which usually disappoints us, but rather the result of the peace and calm of the Holy Spirit whispering words of love to our hearts.

Listen to this. . .

In an attempt to follow my New Year's resolution, I am speaking less and listening more. The way I figure it, this will make me a better spouse, parent, friend. . .right? Well, it's not that simple. My son was telling me about this camera he wants to buy and I listened and nodded at the appropriate times and didn't interrupt and, get this, I was accused of not helping him make his decision. My daughter told me, in detail I may add, all about her day at school and I listened and nodded and didn't interrupt and, get this, I was accused of not caring about her. I was on the phone with a friend and I listened intently as she told me her woes and she asked, several times, "Are you still there??!!" Yes, I'm listening. . .and listening. . .and listening. But what I'm hearing is that before my New Year's resolution I must have been doing a lot of the talking. I began thinking that maybe I just talked too much. But, alas, I learned something good about myself. Yes, it's important to listen but what I have left unsaid this last week has been missed. So, it's all back to balance (2006 and 2007) and harmony (2008), I need to listen and hear what my dear ones are telling me and I need to respond, with loving and caring words to reassure them, "I hear you, I am here and I love you."

Resolved, to achieve harmony

Don't you just love those people who say they don't make New Year resolutions because 1) they never stick to them anyway or 2) they don't have any major issues right now. People claim that resolutions are just good intentions that end up going bad. I think we all could examine ourselves and come up with one or two or fifty things we could be working on. I even think resolutions can be poetic. I used to give resolutions to people who couldn't come up with ones on their own. Well, not this year. If you don't want to make a resolution, if you don't want to improve yourself, don't. I don't mean that to be unkind, it's just that one of my resolutions is to talk less and listen more. My list also includes to speak gently when I do speak, and to achieve a life of harmony and healing (simply poetic). (Btw, does blogging count as speaking??) So on January 1st when the kids were arguing, I said nothing. And on January 2nd when the dog ate my shoe I repeated to myself "healing and harmony". And on January 3rd when I filled out my January calendar I gently asked the kids if there weren't something they could drop from the schedule and today, January 4th when I yelled "shut-up" and was reminded of my resolutions I declared, "resolutions are just good intentions and good intentions don't do anyone any good!" Oops I'm working on my 2009 list. . . . . . . . . .

Living In The Moment

Okay, is anyone else tired of those emails from supposed older and wiser women who are at the age of reflection on their lives. They tell you how to live your life without regret, how to eat that piece of cake and forget the housework and ignore the mundane. They tell you how they learned too late to enjoy themselves and how they wished they lived their life for "the moment" and took the time to relax and enjoy the flowers of the gardens while swinging on the porch. Can you imagine the chaos in your home if you took this advice? We'd all be too fat to fit on that porch swing and the garden would be full of weeds because no one tended to it. The kids would all have coughs from smoldering sinus infections from all the dust that layered the house. I don't know about you but there is nothing more unnerving than the sound of barking coughs. There goes my peace! Who, may I ask, will prepare all this cake we are to eat? Who will do the dishes or go to the store or change the sheets or sweep that porch where the porch swing sits piled with unopened mail and newspapers? My peace comes from finding joy in the mundane, in preparing a feast for others to eat, in living in the moment with Jesus no matter what the circumstances are. I may not be too old or too wise yet, but I am happy.