Millefiori

I tried my hand at Millefiori. It was fun - but I'm not really good at it. There is definitely a learning curve. I am home alone, as I have the flu, so I am bored. If I am bored, guess what? It's only polite that you are bored with me. My family went to a semi-formal dinner dance tonight. They looked really nice. I couldn't get my girls to wear the new bracelets I made for them. They say they didn't match their dresses, but I suspect they just didn't like them. But they were very polite about it.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas day. I am planning my new year's resolutions for 2010 (do you say twenty-ten or two thousand-ten?). The first one is to get better at Millefiori and the second one is to get better - period.

Be blessed dear ones!

The Sweatshirt - Part II

Phone call #1 went like this:
Caller: "Hi! I saw your son at the diner tonight. Oh my goodness, he got so big, I would have never recognized him if it weren't for his name on the back of his sweatshirt."
Me: "Was he behaving?"
Caller: "Yes, of course, he and his friends ordered whipped cream with their french fries and flirted a little with the waitress, it was cute. He's a cutie. It was all in good fun."
Me: "Thanks for calling."
Phone call #2 went like this:
Caller: "I just had to tell you I saw your son leaving the diner tonight. Actually, he held the door for me. I wasn't sure it was him until I saw his name on the back of his sweatshirt."
Me: "Was he behaving?"
Caller: "Yes, of course, he's a cutie."
Phone call #3:
Me: "Hello, was my son behaving?"
Caller: "Oh, you're so funny. Do you always answer the phone like that? I did see him at the movies, he was with his friends and of course, he was behaving. I like his sweatshirt."

When my son got home, before he even got up the stairs, I said, "Really, whipped cream with your french fries?" To which he replied, "Uh . . . huh? How'd you know?" To which I replied, "I'm watching you son." And every time he walks out the door I hand him his sweatshirt as I kiss him good-bye and say, "Don't forget son . . . I'm watching you." So, if you ever see him, just remember, I'm in the phonebook.

The Sweatshirt - Part I

My son bought a sweatshirt from school with their logo on the front. It's a navy blue "hoodie." He said, "Hey, Mom, wouldn't this be cool with my name on the back?" I said, "Yeah, let's go to the store and I'll buy some iron-ons and do it for you tonight." To which he replied, "Really? You'd do that now?" To which I replied, "Yeah, let's go." We hopped in the car and off we went. He picked out tall white letters. When we got home I laid them out, got his approval and ironed them on. He put the sweatshirt on and I took a picture with my digital camera and showed him how the white letters looked on the navy blue background. He came over and gave me a hug and said, "Thanks, Mom, you're the best." (Okay, he really didn't say I was the best, that was a little creative license. But I know he was thinking it.) He wasn't even suspicious and I didn't even feel a little bit guilty. 2 hours later he went to the diner with his friends and then to the movies, wearing his new sweatshirt with his name in large white letters across the back. Before he got home I received 3 phone calls . . .

. . . to be continued . . .

Can You Hear Me Now?

I am reading a very good book called How To Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk. The book gives practical advice on how to talk to kids. There are even comic book like illustrations to show parents how to be heard by your children. I read this book many years ago and felt it to be helpful. (By the way, my kids never had a problem talking, just sayin'. . .) I am re-reading it as teenagers have . . . um . . . er . . . selective hearing. Just like the book suggested, I have given my full attention, acknowledged with a word and named the feeling. I have given choices, stated my expectations, shown my children how to make amends and taken action. I have given praise. I have bit my tongue. I have said just the right words. I have use alternatives to punishments. I have said it all. And guess what? My kids still aren't listening. I have decided that actions speak louder than words. I don't care if the punishment doesn't fit the "crime." I don't care if their little feelings get hurt. I don't care if they go hungry for a few days.

I shut down my kitchen until their rooms are cleaned. Case closed. No car, no electronics and no food until all 3 bedrooms have passed our inspection. Can you hear me now??

The Great Ornament Exchange - Part IV - The End

All I could think was, "All that work, all that time, all that money, for what?" I ended up with a cheap, tacky ornament. I stressed myself out and bored my husband and my kids to tears. I was not happy! But, I knew at least one lady who was happy - she got an ornament that was worth $35.00! When I got home I threw the angel in the garbage can. We have a metal can and when the angel hit the bottom of the can it made a loud ping sound. For some reason that sound kept ringing in my ears. Augh - I knew God was dealing with me and I didn't like it. I took the angel out of the garbage and set her on the table. My son said, "Mommy, you're lucky, you got the best ornament!" I wondered what he liked about her? Her wings? He was only 5 for crying out loud! Little by little I began to see my prideful behavior. It was not about being a happy giver, it was about getting the perfect ornament for all the wrong reasons. I hung the angel on the tree (okay, so it was in the back against the wall where little boys couldn't stare - I was tempted to make her a little velvet jacket). I learned my lesson and frankly, I didn't want to be reminded of this incident ever again. On Christmas morning I was concentrating on my 3 little angels and the joy of the celebration. Much to my surprise, my kids wanted me to open the first gift. They handed me a clumsily wrapped box. Such happy givers! I opened the box and in it was an identical blown glass Christmas ball from Italy! The last line of The Three Trees came to mind: "The next time you feel down because you didn't get what you wanted, sit tight and be happy because God is thinking of something better to give you." Every Christmas when I put my Christmas ball from Italy on our tree I am reminded of the The Great Ornament Exchange, my pride, my angels and the happy ending. The End.

The Great Ornament Exchange - Part III

I knew in my heart that I was going to end up with that Dollar Tree angel with the big . . . um . . . er . . .front. God was dealing with me for some reason, I could feel that, but I didn't know why. I did not want that tacky ornament! After some prayer and food and fellowship, which was sweet (was I a little distracted??), we all sat down to read a story called The Three Trees. That's when the ornament tray came out. We each took an ornament off the tray. While the book was being read, every time the word tree was mentioned, we had to pass the ornament to the person on our right. I figured if I played this well, I could end up with a good ornament. My strategy was to take the angel because there were about 17 of us, how many times could the word tree be in one children's story? Much to my surprise, by the time we were only 1/2 way done with the book, I had that angel back in my hands. I began to worry and count and track ornaments. Some ladies were tearing up over the story (what story?) and not one of them were even concerned about the ornaments or the treasured blown glass ball from Italy as it passed through their hands. The second to last page had tree 5 times which brought the angel back into my hands. One page left - I felt sure tree would be mentioned again. The last page, the last line of the book reads: "The next time you feel down because you didn't get what you wanted, sit tight and be happy because God is thinking of something better to give you. The End." So, yeah folks, no tree, I got the angel . . . To be continued . . .

The Great Ornament Exchange - Part II

"It's perfect! What do you think, family?" My kids were little then, 9, 7 and 5. My 9 year old daugter said, "It's beautiful, Mommy. Can we go to Italy someday?" To which I responded with a pat to her head and a, "Sure sweetie." My 7 year old daughter said, "It's ugly." To which I responded by sticking out my tongue. My 5 year old son said, "Do they sell baseball gloves here?" To which I responded, "Maybe Santa will bring you a glove." My husband said, "Here's $4.00, buy it." To which I responded with open palm, "Thanks sweetie." I bought the ornament with delight. I couldn't wait to go to my Bible study. I couldn't wait for the "ooohhh's and aaahhh's" over the blown glass ornament from Italy. I couldn't wait to give my ornament away. That was the best part, the giving, not the receiving. God loves a happy giver. I am a happy giver! I even bought a $2.00 gift bag with matching tissue paper to put the ornament in. I arrived at study with anticipation. Much to my surprise we were to place the ornaments on a tray in another room so no one knew who gave which ornament and we weren't suppose to tell . . . hmmm . . . I don't know how I feel about that . . . I mean I went to so much trouble . . . and on that tray was a (I can barely say it) a Dollar Tree angel. Not just a pretty angel but an ugly angel made of some kind of metal that was pitted. An angel that was . . . how do I say this . . . well endowed (and I'm not talking about the wings) . . . To be continued . . .

The Great Ornament Exchange - Part I

Each year my ladies Bible study would do an ornament exchange at our Christmas party. I had been with this study for a few years but never was able to make it to the Christmas party. I always felt bad for missing out on a good time with the sweetest ladies on the planet. So, this particular year I was able to attend and I knew that I wanted to buy the best darn ornament I could find for the exchange. Somewhere along the way, searching for the perfect ornament turned into a mission. I dragged my poor family to craft shows, department stores and specialty stores. I searched through catalogs and even considered making my own ornament. During our 5th trip to the mall my husband gently told me he and the children would be in the food court eating cookies and ice cream while I continued my quest for the best ornament. The kids were unhappy, my husband was bored and I was stressed out. But I couldn't stop until I found that perfect ornament. Finally, I went into Boscov's and in the beautiful Christmas department I saw the perfect ornament. A beautiful, blown glass Christmas ball made in Italy. I had to get it! I ran to the food court and made my family come with me. I exclaimed, "Isn't it beautiful!" My husband pointed out that even though it was indeed beautiful, it was over the $10.00 gift limit. In fact, it was $4.00 over the limit even though it was marked down 40% and I had a 15% off coupon. Oh, what do I do???? To be continued . . .

I Believe

I love believing in Santa Claus. I love believing in something that is impossible and believing that someone I never met loves me and cares about my deepest desires. I love watching children believe in Santa Claus and how children are so willing to believe and trust and expect the impossible. I love how children accept the improbable and the invisible. That's why I wanted my kids to believe in Santa Claus for as long as possible. One year the boy up the street told my son that Santa Claus wasn't real (I never did like that kid) and that his parents bought the gifts. My son asked me about this. I said, "Son, it's like this, if you don't believe in Santa Claus, he doesn't come. Then, daddy and I have to buy all the gifts. So, you have a decision to make." Later that day I heard my son talking to his sisters in an excited voice. He said, "Listen girls, you better believe in Santa Claus because if you don't he won't come and then mommy and daddy will have to buy the gifts." Awww, I thought, bless his little heart for caring that we may struggle buying gifts. Then I heard the rest of the conversation, "You know that mommy and daddy won't get us all the cool stuff that Santa does. So you better believe!" So much for his concern about us. But, that's not the point, he believed for another year and I loved that. For me, it makes believing in Jesus a little bit easier. Jesus is like Santa Claus in that He wants to give us the desires of our heart. Jesus loves us and what He did for us on the cross was improbable and impossible, yet it's true. The free gift of salvation is ours just for believing. So, do you believe?

My Bad

Thanksgiving food shopping can be daunting. Over the years I've developed a few skills to help me survive. However, I made a few mistakes this year. First, never go to your local grocery store where people know you. (But, if you must, never go in your sweats and do take time to put on lipstick.) This year, instead of going to my regular grocery store 10 miles away, I went to the local grocery store 3 miles away. That was the first mistake. We've lived in this town for 23 years so we pretty much know everyone who works and shops there. When I go food shopping, I don't go to have fun. I go to get the shopping done. It's nearly impossible to get the shopping done when in every isle someone knows you. My husband offered to come with me and I said, "Sure." That was the second mistake. My husband likes to have fun no matter what he does or where he goes. This was a bad combination. Second, never make eye contact with anyone and always pretend to be reading your shopping list. This year I didn't make a list nor did I tell my husband not to make eye contact. That was the third mistake. He talked to every single person he knew and a few he didn't know. Third, if you must talk to someone, never, never ask them how they're doing. I didn't tell that to my husband either. Mistake number four. So, 3 and 1/2 hours later when we were finally checking out and my husband was chatting with the cashier and he said something like, "Well, that was fun," is it any wonder I threw a tomato at him?

Mama Cried Wolf

So, one Christmas about 10 years ago my husband and I decided that our children didn't need so many gifts. In fact, they didn't need anything. Every little thing they wanted, they pretty much got. It's not as if they got everything just by asking, we made them earn what they got, but they are resourceful kids and smart too, so, it was only a matter of time before they got that desired item. We told the kids how very fortunate they are. We told them they would be getting very little for Christmas. We told them to pick out gifts for Toys for Tots and for Operation Christmas Box. We told them to be happy with what they have. We told them the real reason for Christmas was to celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. We told them to count their blessings. We told them about homelessness and world hunger. We told them about soup kitchens and shelters. We told them about a family in town that we would be buying gifts for because the dad lost his job and the mom was sick. We told them it is better to give than to receive. So on Christmas morning when they saw their little stockings stuffed to overflowing and a pile of 4 carefully selected gifts under the tree for each of them, they flipped out! I think they thought they were going to get an orange and a dime on Christmas morning. They were the 3 most thankful kids I'd ever seen. It makes me cry to think about how happy they were. So, as this season approaches and I tell them not to expect much under the tree, as I do each year, they just smile and nod and say, "Sure Mom."

Whatcha' Got Cooking?

Here is my #1 holiday survival skill. I've adapted it over the years to perfection. It matters not who you must break bread with. It matters not what comments are made about you and your food. I once had a guest straighten all my wall art, said it made him feel dizzy. I thought, it's the beer, not the paintings. We no longer serve beer at gatherings. Someone complained that my freezer was inconveniently arranged, said the ice for his cocktails was hard to reach. We no longer serve cocktails at our gatherings. Someone said I didn't let the bread rise long enough and baked it too long and did we have any Wonder Bread? We no longer serve bread at our gatherings. Let's see, the soup was too salty, the stuffing - mushy, the turkey - dry, the gravy - bland, the cake - not sweet enough and the coffee - too strong. We no longer serve bread, soup, stuffing, turkey, gravy, cake or coffee at our gatherings. It seems the only things I make well are Cranberry Relish and Sweet Potatoes. I've included these recipes below. So, if you are a host/hostess this year and folks complain about what you serve, tell them about a friend of yours that doesn't serve to folks things they don't like. We are down to 2 dishes and 2 guests ; )

Cranberry Relish:
Boil 3/4 cup orange juice, 1/2 cup sugar, 1 jar Sorrell Ridge peach, all-fruit jelly, 1/2 tsp. cinnamon, 3 cups fresh cranberries and 1/2 cup golden raisins. Boil until cranberries "pop" and then mash with a potato masher. Remove from heat and add 1/2 cup chopped pecans. Serve hot or cold. Will keep in refrigerator for 2 weeks.

Sweet Potatoes:
Cook, peel and slice 6-8 sweet potatoes. Arrange in buttered 13x9" serving dish. Melt together 5 Tbls. butter, 1 jar Sorrell Ridge peach or apricot, all-fruit jelly, 1 tsp. salt and 1 and 1/2 tsp. cinnamon. Pour over sweet potatoes and bake in 375 degree oven until bubbly. Serve hot.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Operation Joy

These items will be joyfully placed in Christmas wrapped shoe boxes along with a message of love, hope and the good news of Jesus Christ. Every member of our family will write letters and attach pictures of themselves and our puppy, Bart. We will gather around the shoe boxes and bow our heads and praise God for the work He will do in the lives of the children who receive these boxes. We will ask that Operation Christmas Child and Samaritan's Purse be richly blessed as they deliver the Gospel to children all over the world. Finally, we will pray that the child who opens our boxes will read our letters, look at our pictures and write us a note back with the self-address-stamped envelope we include. We have had the joy of receiving letters from children in Russia and Romania. We have had the joy of watching our children use their own money to buy gifts. We have had the joy of knowing we gave even when it meant we would have less. We have had the joy of sharing our love for Christ with children who may have never heard the good news. But mostly, we have the joy of knowing Jesus Christ as our saviour. We have the joy of being the hands that serve. Truly, this is Operation Joy.

I'm Not SAD

It's beautiful outside today in New Jersey. It's just about 70 degrees and not a cloud in the sky. Most of the leaves have fallen so there is nothing to stop the Sun from shining on you. I read that many people suffer with seasonal depression, called SAD. This is from a lack of sunshine and the many benefits the Sun provides. With shortened days and less UV rays, our bodies can react in a negative way. This article said that if you wanted to soak up enough sunshine to avoid seasonal depression and to obtain the right amount of Vitamin D, you need to expose 70% of your body to the Sun for 20 twenty minutes a day. Since I'm in favor of obtaining Vitamin D naturally and not a fan of depression I decided to take a walk today . . . in my bathing suit . . . okay, not really . . . but I did walk with my face towards the Sun. What this article failed to mention was that exposing 70% of your body to the Sun each day may have the opposite affect on nosey neighbors and neighborhood children. Plus, if I had to look at myself in a bathing suit every day, all winter, I may become suicidal . . . okay, not really . . . but SAD wouldn't cover my feelings. However, have you ever noticed how darn happy those folks in the Polar Bear Club are?

You Light Up My Life

I walk Bart everyday. I try to walk him in the late morning when the Sun is high in the sky. Today, however, I missed walking him in the daylight. It seems that added to my motherly duties is delivering cell phone parts to a forgetful college student and as long as I was meeting said college student, I might as well buy her and her quirky goat boy lunch. There went my daylight. It was a nice lunch except for the lady bugs, but now I digress. So, I had to walk Bart this evening, after dark. I grabbed a flashlight and went on my merry way. There is a beautiful, bright moon out but it is hidden by clouds and thus very dark. Our neighborhood is not well lit so it was essential that I lighted my path with the flashlight, lest I risk falling flat on my face. Here is the thing, that small circle of light needed to be directly in front of me the whole time. If I lit the path on my right or my left or behind me or too far ahead of me it didn't do me a bit of good. The light needed to be at the spot where my foot would fall next. It didn't matter what was next to me or behind me or way ahead of me, what mattered was the next step. Do you smell an analogy? God is my light and He is where my foot will hit the pavement. He wants me to focus on Him and the path that is directly in front of me, lest I risk falling flat on my face. God is present, directly in front of me, lighting only what I need to see next. "Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path." Psalm 119:105

Are You Smarter Than A Twit?

Has anyone else made the connection between the two words, twitter and twit? Am I the only one? A twit, put kindly, is a bothersome person. Twitter, put kindly, is chatter of trivial matters. How low has our society gone? Are we getting twitter updates on anything that matters? Sorry, I have to say it, but if you use Twitter, you must be a twit or, put kindly, a bothersome person. Honestly, who cares about everything you are doing? Even nosy Italian mothers don't want to know the stuff that folks put on Twitter. It is truly a good thing that evolution is just a theory and not a fact, because if it were a fact, our next generation of children would be born with tiny little thumbs, long and slender, pointy at the tips for quick texting and twittering on tiny little devices. And our brains, which we now realize have the potential to start learning while still unformed in their mommy's uterus and don't stop learning until death, would begin to shrink. Surely, we would become a world of small minded, bothersome people. Luckily, evolution is just a theory and twits will not prevail. I urge you, put down you cell phones, your Blackberries, your Bluetooths - unplug and disconnect - give up your mindless twitter and engage in activity that does not require the exclusive use of your thumbs and exclude the use of your imagination. Just sayin' . . .

Tooth Brushes and Hand Sanitizer

One day about 16 years ago I took my 2 children, 10 months and 3 years old, to Burger King for cookies and milk. It was the Spring and the kids liked to play (crawl) in the outside gym. As we left to go home I saw an old man in the parking lot scrounging through the garbage. I held on tightly to one daughter's hand while I carried the other in an infant seat. I noticed his torn flannel shirt, his unshaven face, the old shoes and dirty pants. As we walked passed him he looked up at me with one hand still in the garbage can. I felt a surge of sympathy for this man who had to pick through the discarded scraps left by others for his meal. I stopped and asked him if I could buy him a hamburger. He grumbled, "Hamburger - Hello!" (I added the o.) "I lost my teef!" It took me a second to register what he was telling me. He continued, "I done throwed them in the trash!" What could I do? I put down my daughters and helped him find his teef, I mean teeth, that he had wrapped in a napkin and accidentally throwed, I mean threw, in the trash. After about a minute, I yelled, "I think I found them! Ewww, I mean, here you go." He quickly took them from me and without hesitation (or washing) he put them in his mouth and smiled at me. I said, "Well, we need to go now. Have a nice day." My 3 year old, who was forever asking me questions, asked, "Where are we going, Mommy?" I answered, "To get tooth brushes and hand sanitizer, Sweetie."

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

My daughter and I had a wonderful trip to Tennessee. We toured a college campus, ate in the cafeteria, shopped at the campus book store, went to the school's play, drove through down town (my daughter blinked the first time, so we needed to take a second drive through), dined at Sonic, Bimbo's and The Waffle House (after eating the best pecan waffles I've ever had, I said to my daughter, "Forget college, let's just open up a Waffle House instead."), went in a cave, road the railroad, saw a movie, played cards and survived a haunted hotel. Spending time with my daughter was the most fun part of the trip. She's smart and sassy and witty and she makes me laugh out loud. She makes me think. She is considerate and kind and full of life. She desires to please God and intends to enjoy every minute doing it. My daughter really liked this college (me too, I guess) and that was the only misfortune of the entire trip. It's her top choice right now. I don't want it to be her top choice, I don't want her to like it, I don't want her to go all the way to Tennessee for school, I don't want my baby 800 miles away from her mama. So, when the folks at Sonic, at Bimbo's, at the Waffle House, at Shop Rite, at the cave and at the school said to her, "Y'all come back now." I turned and looked them right in the eye and said, "Grrrrrrrrrrrrr."

Thanks Mon

I received this award from 2 really sweet blogger ladies in Jamaica. Verne and Ruth. For the spirit that it was given, I am humbled. I am thrilled right down to my core that folks actually are entertained by my rants and observations of the world around me. My little world is small, yet so full and it is my belief that God has blessed me immensely with His Grace even though I am just a worm. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for your kindnesses.

My little world will expand a bit today as I am to travel to Tennessee to see a college with my daughter. Folks in the south are never quite sure how to take us New Jerseyians. We talk so darn fast that sometimes we have long conversations all by ourselves and no one understands a single word we are saying. They just nod and smile. They will surely be impressed with my daughter as she is smart and witty and lovely and sharp. I love and respect her greatly and look forward to see this college through her eyes. Now, if I can only keep my mouth shut . . . .

But Did They Like Me?

My daughter was home for lunch Sunday. We had company (a lovely family that exemplify true service to Christ and who really make us laugh) and my daughter came in half-way through the meal (of delicious potato soup and fresh bagels and fruit - yummy). She had been to her church in the morning. I couldn't wait to ask, "Did they like me, the ladies at the retreat?" She said, "I guess, what are you 7?" I said, "What do you mean, 'I guess' and no, I'm not 7!" I really wanted the ladies to like me even though I was like the enemy coming in to sabotage their battle plan against the bulge with a really good cake. And I know it was good too, because some of the ladies had seconds and some didn't even use forks, they just picked up the cake and ate it with their fingers - just sayin'. I may come across as a confident and secure gal but behind those Christopher & Banks outfits and my casual wit and humor (haha - see) is an insecure lady. So I asked again, "But did they like me?" She said, "I guess . . . they all just wanted to know if you liked them." Go figure, while I'm wondering if they liked me, they were wondering if I liked them. And I did like them, they were real and sweet and kind and honest and 20 minutes after we got there most of them changed into comfortable sweats or pj's. So now, I like them even more knowing they are just a bunch of insecure ladies too!

The Ladies Retreat

My oldest daughter invited me to a ladies retreat with her. I was just a tiny bit thrilled :) While she has been away at college she found a small church that she loves. I had been wanting to meet these folks to thank them for being so kind to my daughter. This retreat would be the perfect opportunity for me to thank the ladies in-person for their love and kindness. The retreat title was "Winning The Battle Of The Bulge - It's Not Just About The Weight." I gave the title very little thought - winning battles is a great theme considering we fight so many of them each day, if not with the kids, the dog, the vacuum cleaner, the seat belt (don't ask), it's with the unseen spiritual battles that are ever present. I wanted to spend some time with my daughter in a beautiful setting in the Poconos learning how to fight spiritual battles. I bought a new outfit at Christopher & Banks (I wanted the ladies to like me) and I baked something very special for us to bring (I wanted the ladies to like me - did I mention that already?). My daughter called me the day before we were to leave and said she was sick and didn't think she could go. Fast forward - we were able to go just for Saturday night's dinner and the evening session with the guest speaker. To my surprise the theme really was about weight. . . a diet plan to help fight the battles that cause women to gain weight. Guess what that special thing was that I baked and arrived with on Saturday night . . . a chocolate chip, cream cheese cake with thick, home-made chocolate icing. Yes, folks, I walked into a room filled with ladies that were trying to win the battle of the bulge with a cake. . . oops. . . do you suppose they liked me?

Vacuuming Stinks!

With 2 adults, 2 teenagers, 2 cats and 1 dog living in 1 house in the fall, vacuuming can be a daily activity. Since I don't like to waste time or energy it makes me so mad when I have a fight with the vacuum cleaner. My teenagers are very attractive - that is, they attract dirt, leaves, dust and the like, which all ends up on the carpet, which I must vacuum. I don't mind vacuuming really. It's good exercise and I love making those lines in the carpet by vacuuming forward for as far as you can reach and then pulling the vacuum cleaner backwards. For as long as the kids, the cats and the dog are out of the house, it looks clean and I like that. Today, my vacuuming experience was not so pleasant. First, after I vacuumed the entire downstairs (much to my daughter's dismay as she was trying to sleep in - sorry honey), I vacuumed right up the stairs in to the kitchen and that's where the trouble began. I vacuumed up 1/2 a dozen plastic grocery bags that I didn't see under the kitchen table and attempted to pull them out while the vacuum cleaner was still running. I don't know why but I hate to turn the vacuum cleaner off until I'm done. Then, the little kitchen rug got caught up in the bottom and the belt began to burn. Then, I saw one of those little beady eyed stink bugs and sucked him up. I smiled in victory over the dirt and grime that were no longer invading my home and that dead stink bug that dared to enter my house . . . until the smell of burnt rubber and dead stink bug permeated the kitchen. I had no choice but to change the vacuum cleaner bag and belt before their time and that is why vacuuming stinks!

Distracted Much?

This post is for Parsley - this morning I got up (a little later than I had hoped), put on the computer, cleaned up some dishes, made some eggs and spinach with cheese (yummy), opened my water bottle and set out my vitamins to take. I have to take my vitamins as soon after I eat as possible for better absorption and for the least amount of stomach upset. The phone rang and I dusted the living room and dining room while I chatted. So, then when I hung up, I dusted the bedroom since I had a rag in my hand anyway. I went to the bathroom and decided to clean the sink and empty the bathroom garbage and so as not to put a dirty wipe in the new garbage bag, I wiped down the entire bathroom with Clorox wipes and put them in the old garbage bag. I went downstairs to throw out the garbage and saw the vacuum cleaner and decided to vacuum the steps. The husband saw me and asked me to send an important email for him - I obliged. Downstairs, I picked up 2 empty bottles, 2 dirty plates and a hand full of dirty tissues (teenagers - augh!) and somehow never got the vacuum cleaner to the steps. I went to the recycling can in the kitchen with the empty bottles and saw my vitamins and open bottle of water at the table. My belly is empty by now and so I need to eat again before I can take my vitamins. So, while I am toasting my bread for a peanut butter and honey sandwich (yummy), I decided to write a post about how distracted I can be. But now I must go because I smell something burning . . .

All Was Right In The World

My husband and I had a real thrill yesterday. For the first time we met Indian Lake Papa and Mama. He kept on insisting that he didn't know us and even though he was wearing a hat that read, "Indian Lake Papa" he insisted we had the wrong fellow. Well, we just sat down and had lunch with him and his lovely wife and his mother-in-law anyway. Folks, I just want to say that Papa is the real deal. He truly is among the most genuine of Christian spirits I have met. He has a gentle, quiet spirit that whispers peace and joy. He lives what he has cultivated - a life of love and warmth and friendship. And he's quite the comedian, too. It was a wonderful lunch that went by way too fast. I am so grateful for the way blogging has opened up new friendships to me and how upon meeting each other we felt like old friends. He said that he has come to respect my blog and I am still smiling about that. I told him that I love how he reaches his readers with his humor and real life examples - nothing pretentious about his blog - or about him. What he thinks of me and my husband . . . well, after we took off the nose and glasses, all was right in the world.

Finance To Second Graders?

My husband volunteered (got drafted) to teach a four hour class on finance to second graders for Junior Achievement. They needed more volunteers (draftees) so he asked me if I would teach it with him. Since I'm in favor of juniors achieving, I said yes. Junior Achievement sent us a packet of information to present to the second graders. It was . . . clunky (for the lack of a better word) and . . . (the better me won't say). So, I called my daughter at college, she loves second graders, and we wrote a really fun program using the concepts Junior Achievement wanted us to present (tanky, honey). Using stories and illustrations and activities and brainstorming and some really solid Biblical principles (without mentioning God because we were in a public school), we taught a great class today. My husband is a big, virile guy who goes into prisons to teach the word of God. He has been a coach to kids ranging in ages 5 - 15. He's not afraid of the dark and he's not afraid of my mother. So, it was kinda' cute that he was afraid of 25 second graders today. He got over that pretty quickly and it was fun for the students and fun for us. At the end of our presentation the teacher asked the kids what two important words they want to say. 24 of the 25 kids sang out, in unison, "Thank you," while one lone kid said, "I'm sorry." What a hoot - I wonder what he's been up to lately. . .

My Way Or The Highway

It would be a lot easier becoming the woman I want to be if the people around me weren't so annoying. If everyone else became the people I wanted them to be then it'd be a breeze for me to become a better me. I'd have no reason to learn patience if everyone did as I said when I said it. I'd have no reason to whine if no one ever asked anything of me. I'd have no reason for curbing my tongue if people knew how to drive. I'd have no reason to raise my voice if people just listen. I could be a great woman - a great mother, wife, friend, volunteer if everyone just did things my way. My daughter once said to me, "It's not even your way or the highway, Mom, because the highway isn't even an option." She said, "It's your way or no way!" She thought I'd be flustered. I said, "It's about time you figured that out!" Now, if I could get everyone else to figure it out I'd be good to go. But, alas, I guess it's easier to improve myself than it is to change the world. The things a woman does to improve mankind . . . I wonder if there is a lesson on pride . . .

: )

My Clever List

So, I wrote a new list - my private wish list to becoming a better me. I wrote it quickly - not in haste this time, but quickly nonetheless. And I proceeded on with my 90 day journey to becoming the woman I want to be. Well, day 5 says I'm supposed to share my list with a trusted friend. My trusted friend is supposed to mark their calendar 85 days from now so they can check on my progress. Augh - I don't want to share my list, I don't want to be accountable, I don't want to have to work at being a better me, I just want to be a better me - now. I wonder if there is a lesson on whining or patience and I wonder if I'll skip them? I love my list and it's between me and God (and my daughter, in spite of the protesting I shared it with her). I won't share it here but I will say it is a good list and it's clever and funny and I laugh every time I read it. And if you really want to know what it says you'll just have to come over here and use my bathroom and take a peak inside the cabinet over the toilet. When I hear chuckles coming from the bathroom I'll know you peaked. But don't worry because I would peak at your list too if I had the chance. "Mind your own business" is not on my list.

Being Me

So, I'm doing a 90-day journey to renewing spirit, soul and body. I am becoming the woman I want to be. There is scripture, prayers, writing, exercises, diet and affirmations. It's really a very cool book with all you need in one neat little package. Here's my problem, I don't want to take 90 days to become the woman I want to be - I just want to be that woman now. In my haste, I blew through the first exercise where we are to write down 25 things we want to have, do and be. I wrote that I want to have good relationships with my family; I want to do fun, spirit filled things with family and friends; I want to be a source of joy to those I love. I had 22 lines left after that so I filled in the names of the people I love. The next day I had to write down the top 5 things on my list, so I wrote out 5 names (changed here to protect the innocent) Billy, Bobby, Betty, Barb and Beth - the people I love most. The next day I had to write the list on an index card. I wrote Billy, Bobby, Betty, Barb and Beth on a bright orange index card. The next day I had to tape the card somewhere I would see it every day. So I taped it inside the bathroom mirror - Billy, Bobby, Betty, Barb and Beth. Today, I discovered that the things written on the index card are my future me! I love Billy, Bobby, Betty, Barb and Beth but I don't want to be them! I just want to be me . . . only better. Back to page one - augh - it ain't easy being me.

PS to Go Figure

I apparently overlooked an important skill of mine and now realize that I am very qualified for another awesome job. The United Nations needs a Peacemaker. Now, that I know I can do. If I can gather the five members of my family around one table for dinner without disastrous effects, then I am an awe-inspiring Peacemaker. United Nations, look out! I figure if I can tell daughter #1 she has a curfew and daughter #2 that a bomb seriously blew up in her room and then tell the boy that spending time with that girl is like sipping poison and then smile at my husband asking him to pray over the meal - I must have some serious talent. It takes a certain kind of savvy to keep peace in a household with very opinionated members. Plus I totally understand the issues of territory and privacy . . . to a degree :) I can even make a doable schedule for sharing computer time and phone time with 3 teenagers (don't try this alone). I know I can make nations of the world play nicely together after just one shared meal of macaroni and meatballs. I'd say, "There is no need for nuclear weapons at the table and the next one with an outburst can just take their plate and eat their macaroni and meatballs on the kitchen floor with the dog." And it wouldn't be the first time I've asked guests to leave their electronics and weapons at the front door. And if they all behave I'll even serve Grandma's famous 1-2-3 cake for dessert. What do you think?

Go Figure

After being out of the work force for 19 years because I raised my children and helped my husband run his home office, I've been thinking about rejoining the multitudes in the business world. The only problem is that my resume reads like a short story. I carefully and craftily worded all the things I have done as a mother and as a volunteer. I included the ways I have multi tasked all these years of raising children and homeschooling and leading clubs. I wrote about the many skills I have used in helping my husband with his office. I spoke about successfully being at all my children's events, recitals and award ceremonies. I spoke about the accomplishments of our household and how I now have 3 thriving teenagers. Then, I thoroughly searched the job market and compared my skills with the jobs available in today's society. It seems that I am extremely qualified to be a zoo keeper or a circus director. Go figure.

Praise The Lord

Our pastor yesterday gave a sermon on Praising The Lord. He delivered a great sermon. I hate those people who "rate" the sermons. Good or bad the sermon is suppose to be led by the Holy Spirit and who are we to rate what He says? And mostly, the sermons we hate the most are the ones we usually need to hear the most. With that being said, every Sunday as we pull away from the church (sometimes even before) I ask my family, "So, what'd you think of the sermon today?" Not because I want them to "rate" it, but just because I want to know what affects the heart of my family. If anyone is squirming, I know the Holy Spirit was speaking to them. Anyway, Sunday's sermon was how important Praise is to God. According to our pastor, failing to praise God can get you eaten by worms (Acts 12:23). Well, I don't want to be eaten by worms and I always try to do what the pastor says. So, today I Praised God for: my husband, my children, my bed (it was early), the birds, the ceiling fan (hot flashes again), my breakfast, my computer, Parsley and :)De (who left me comments today), the dog, the flowers, the sun, the air, the clouds, my legs (for walking folks), garden tools, the shower, the grill, tea leaves, water and my vision. With all this Praising going on I barely had time to complain. Go figure . . .

Mom's Little Outburst

Isn't it curious how menopause coincides with raising teenagers?!?! I mean, menopause to a teenager is just a convenient excuse to explain "mom's outbursts." Teenagers love to think, "mom's over-reacting and just having a hot flash." Well, here's a shout out to all you teenagers out there - Mama ain't just having a hot flash, she is hopping mad and it has nothing to do with raging hormones or her internal temperature. It's all about parenting little monsters disguised as teenagers. The parent of a teenager survives on super charged senses. It's really a cruel twist of nature - the only way to survive raising a teenager is to be so keen in the skills that others call paranoia. "What's that smell? Did I see you in that car? Who wants to know? What's that noise? Where are you going and who are you going with and who else is going to be there?" Do teenagers seriously think we ask these questions because we're "paranoid" or "controlling"? (Yes, they do.) It's a tough world out there cupcake, and only a concerned (my word of choice) parent who asks all the right questions will get you through it okay. So, the next time mom tells you to go to the doctor, check your brakes, stay away from that girl, stop at the intersection, or eat your vegetables, please, by all means, LISTEN.

Do You Do Windows?

Today I washed my beautiful french lace curtains and the windows in the kitchen, dining room, living room, front hall and back door. I also washed the windows in the family room. My mother, a.k.a. Grandma K, will be very proud. After I lived in this house for about a year my mother said, "Have you washed your windows yet?" (Something only a mother would ask, right?) I said, "No, God does my windows." She said, "What the heck are you talking about?" (Like only a mother can say, right?) I answered sarcastically, "It's a little something He calls rain." (Like only a daughter can say, right?) She said, "Don't you get smart with me." I said, "Okay." Well, that was 21 + years ago. I wash my windows every spring and every fall now. All the women in the neighborhood think I'm a little nuts, except one, because she also has an Italian mother who can make gravy, wash the windows, change the sheets and scrub the tub with one hand tied behind her back and a patch over her eye. When I was done, I looked back at my work, pleased and satisfied . . . until my son said, "What a waste of time huh? It doesn't look any different." I said, "Don't you get smart with me." He said, "I won't. I'll stay dumb." I said, "I'm calling Grandma K." He said, "Ooh, I'm scared. Wait, you're not really going to call her, are you?" Heehee. . .

Tell Me Why

Why is it that impressionable teenagers are more impressed with the ill behaved society we live in than with their respectably behaved parents? How come you can say and do 1,000 things right and the 1 thing you do wrong the kids point out? Why is it that it takes years to train a child in the way they should go but it only takes 1 day for them to forget? Why must you repeat the chore list to a teenager 10 times but only tell them once that the phone is for them? Why can't teenagers hear you when you yell at them but can hear you if you whisper their name to your spouse in your bedroom with the doors closed? How come teenagers are too tired to walk the dog but not too tired to walk in the mall? Why is it that teenagers can text, listen to music and walk but they can't follow a simple 2 part instruction? Why is it that teenagers think they know everything until you ask them where the remote is? How can teenagers remember when and where to meet their friends but not remember to take out the garbage? And last but not least, tell me why I love them so much?

We're Back

We just got back from a very nice trip to Niagara Falls and Watkins Glen. We had a lovely time living life at a different pace. One of the things I like about vacations is that you become kind of anonymous. Not that I don't love my friends and love my "at home" commitments, it's just that it's nice not being needed so much. I can go to the store and to restaurants and window shopping and nobody knows me. Nobody stops me to ask me about how this one is or that one is. And nobody at home expects anything from me. It's like, "Oh, don't bother her with that stuff right now she's on vacation." Nobody expected me to check emails or return phone calls or make plans for September. It was really nice. Though a rather large man did stop me and my daughter to ask us what we thought of NJ politics because he heard me say I was from NJ. I felt he had an unhealthy interest in politics and told him that he needed to trust God to take care of His children, no matter who was in charge of our Nation. I said that he needed to trust God more and man less. But other than that, no one else even wanted my opinion . . . and I rather liked that for a change.

On Nothing

I usually feel the need to write with a purpose - finding some obscure truth in the midst of everyday life or writing a story with a "message." I don't like to waste my words, I do like to use my words effectively and succinctly. With that being said, I must say, I don't have much to say today. We have been away on a family vacation, not a novel idea in the summertime, as we were surrounded by hoards of others who had the same destination in mind. We did, however, thoroughly enjoy the time away from our normal responsibilities at home. It is never my goal to lose weight on vacation, only not to gain weight on vacation. But, when you vacation at Hershey Park in 90+ degree weather and the only place that has air conditioning is Hershey Chocolate World, you must adapt. What's a few pounds anyway? We are home briefly to get our oldest off to college and then off again on another trip - I won't say where just in case you decide it sounds wonderful and end up there, too. Not that I wouldn't love to spend time with most of you who actually read my blog (all 2 of you), just sayin' that we want to get away from the crowds. It is very easy to be distracted by friends and the healthy activities (and some not so healthy activities) of life that you don't spend enough time with family. Fortunately, I really like my family (and chocolate) so being away from the distractions was wonderful. It's all about balance, isn't it? Hmmmm . . . where have I heard that before?

On Family Vacations

I'm in favor of these, too :)

See ya

On Turning 50

My favorite reaction to telling people I've turned 50 so far is . . . "SHUT-UP! You look fabulous!" Of course, this was from a very sweet 19 year old girl who must think 50 should look decrepit. She said that 50 is the new 30 and that she loves the way my hair is turning white (she says my hair isn't grey at all, just a few strands of pretty white that looks just fab on me). I would have hugged that sweet child, but we were in the super market and we had already made a bit of a scene when she yelled SHUT-UP. People were staring. This is why it's vitally important to make friends where ever you go. I met KC at the super market about a year ago when she left home to live with her fiance. Her parents didn't approve and she was really needing a "motherly" type to talk to. I genuinely like this girl and she appreciates my friendship. It's so easy for me not to judge her because she's not my daughter. And she loves my motherly advice because I'm not her mother. She just enrolled in college and downgraded her phone and cable services like I advised her and she beamed with delight when I was pleased. I must say, I too, beamed with delight at her reaction to my milestone birthday. Thanks KC :)

On Sea Shells

Another metaphor - Do you ever wish you (when I say you, I mean me) could grow a sea shell around you to protect you from the elements and from the prowlers out there looking to devour you? But if we did grow a shell, it would likely be like this one that I found on the beach last week . . . very pretty and very photogenic (wink), but useless at protection because it's missing most of it's structure. However, if we (when I say we, I mean me), had the ability to grow outer shells, most of us (when I say us, I mean me) would and that would be bad. God created us to be in fellowship with each other. The kind of sea creature that lived in this shell didn't need fellowship and even though we sometimes think we don't need fellowship either, we do. Just sayin' that while I was walking alone on the beach, feeling content in the solitude, searching for sea "gems" I was wholly aware of the need for humans to be in healthy relationships and wholly grateful to God for His design. There were times that, if I could, I would have donned a shell, but how glad I am that I was not able to. God's designs are best and His plans are full of Grace. Halleluiah!

On Strawberries and such

My last strawberry of the year got too close to the hot chili peppers and took on some of it's characteristics. Hence the warning from Paul to the Corinthians, "Bad company corrupts good character." I will miss my strawberry patch (like one may miss a toothache - jk). I learned a lot from that bunch. I learned that the sun and the rain can make you sweet. I learned that giving is better than receiving. I learned that if you let them, the weeds will crop up and choke you. I learned that keeping close to those you want to be like is much better than associating with those you don't want to be like. And finally, I learned if you are going to associate with a bunch of hot chili peppers, you must be a very strong little strawberry. And if you haven't yet noticed, I love metaphors. . .

On The Sea Shore and Visiting Relatives

I'm in favor of them :)

Bless Us, Oh Lord, And These Thy Gifts

My family tells me that my dinner conversation stinks. I mean, really, what's wrong with saying that the back of my throat itches so much that I could scratch it with a fork? No one was interested in the chicken after that, which was really okay with me because it made great chicken salad the next day. I used tomatoes and parsley from the garden and apples, celery, cucumbers, mayonnaise, mustard and pepper - yummy. The next time I cook chicken on the grill I think I'll talk about the how the cat has been throwing up fur balls lately. Even though my family may complain about what I talk about and what I cook and cleaning up, I know they all love having dinner together. It's when and where we connect (who and how are not as important as when and where - any Get Smart fans get that?). We pray, we eat, we talk and laugh and, of course, argue. Sometimes we argue over the silliest things and sometimes we argue over really important things, but the point is that we are communicating and spending that slot of time with each other. God created us to eat and to communicate and to have families and the communion of those three blessings is one the truest and nicest gifts He gave us. Lucky for my family that I'm such an amazing cook :) even if my dinner conversation skills are lacking.

A Story - Part VI - The End

Me and My "Little" Brother

I hadn't seen my little brother for quite a few years. With him serving in the Marines and living in the south, it was difficult. We stayed in constant contact through email, but we hadn't physically seen each other for a very long time. With my husband's encouragement, we planned a weekend for our families to get together in Baltimore. I cried at the very sight of him. He's a husband, a father, a Marine, a hero and my little brother. Have I mentioned that I'm proud of him? We spent the weekend in glorious fellowship. I teased him about the road-kill and about him being a knuckle head. We talked about old times and created new memories. I love him so much and treasure our 22 years of friendship. When we got home from our weekend away I was glowing. I wanted to tell Tina that she was right. I wanted to thank her, from the bottom of my heart, for putting us together. I did an Internet search (do you know how many Tina's are on the Internet?). It took a while, but I found her. I sent her an email and some pictures (old and new). I told her how grateful I was for the huge role she played in our lives. I told her she will always be loved and remembered for her foresight. This is part of the response I got from Tina: "Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your letter, it came at the most appropriate times. I have just retired and have been re-examining my life and there you were with validation that I had accomplished something truly wonderful. I will keep your letter with my most treasured mementos always. . ."

Well, folks . . . that's my story and for now . . . this is the end.

A Story - Part V

I loved my little brother so much. I was so proud of him. I treasured our time together. I was honored by his love and friendship. Our contract with BB/BS was for one year, but it was now going on 5 and I couldn't imagine him in the Marines. But, I guess, I couldn't imagine him anywhere else either. He was over 6 feet tall, standing straight and strong and broad from the years of sports and lifting. He was smart (well, except the time he wanted me to stop and pick up road-kill because his science teacher said anyone who brought in a dead animal would get extra credit. He yelled, "Stop the car!" I said sweetly, "Honey, it's too late for that animal, it's dead. Don't be upset." He said, "Upset? Heck, that dead animal will get me extra credit." I was like, "Nuh-uh, not in my car, knuckle head."). My little brother gave me more than I ever gave him. Tina was right when she said we'd be a perfect match. I am so glad that my words deceived me when I said "yes" but was thinking "no." I see now that God was directing me, God was giving me an uber blessing. Here it was that I thought I was serving God and my community and it was God who was serving me - a gift on a silver platter. My little brother, a US Marine, a high ranking Military Police Officer. Well, that was nearly 17 years ago and he is still serving in the military. He's married to a beautiful woman and he has 2 amazing children and even though he's in charge of over 500 men, he's still a knuckle head. I know this because his family and my family spent a wonderful weekend together in Baltimore last month . . .

. . . but the story doesn't end here . . .

A Story - Part IV

My little brother had it tough. His mother left when he was 3 and his baby sister was sent away because his father was unable to care for her. His father then got into a terrible accident where he lost his arm and part of his reasoning skills. My little brother was mistreated by a sitter and had no one to come to his defense. He understandably had trust issues. He wanted to drop out of school as soon as he was legally allowed. He had never played organized sports. He never stood up straight. He had never read a book. He had a mattress and box spring, a dresser, a bed table and a lamp. My husband gave him some weights and a bench, a pair of basketball sneakers and a baseball glove. I gave him a detective book and a punch in the shoulder every time he slouched. We entered him in a basketball tournament - he lost - bad - really bad. But he never quit, never lost courage, never showed he was beat. We told him to try out for the Middle School basketball team . He made the team. He started lifting weights and standing up straight and playing organized sports. He read the detective book, then another, then another. I took him to the police station to meet a real detective. He went on to play basketball and football in high school and never considered dropping out. My little brother was growing up strong and I was proud. I wish Tina could see him now, but she had moved on. One night, 5 years after I met my little brother, my phone rang. My little brother had joined the United States Marine Corps and he was calling to say good-bye and thank you. . .

. . . but the story doesn't end there . . .

A Story - Part III

Gone were my dreams of baking cupcakes and sewing. Gone were my ideas of shopping and manicures. Gone were my plans of trips to the mall and a fashion show. Here were baseball games, bowling, go-carts, basketball courts and football. Here were trips to the fire house to look at fire trucks. Here were trips to the police station to talk with cops and look at jail cells. Here we were - a 13 year old boy and me - trying to find common ground to spend time with each other each week. I signed a contract with BB/BS that said I would give my little brother a few hours a week, each week, for a year. After 2 months I wondered how we would fill the next 10 months. I wondered how many times a boy could play basketball or go bowling before he gets bored. To my surprise, boys never get bored of such things. To my surprise, we had a lot in common. To my surprise, it was easy to love this kid, even though he was a boy. And to my utter surprise, I loved every baseball game, basketball game, football game and every visit to the police station. There were good reasons why Tina wanted him to be matched with me. My little brother really needed a big sister - not a mother, not a brother, but a sister. Someone to encourage him and help him along the way, someone to show him how to take responsibility for himself and someone to be proud of him. And proud I was. My little brother went on to do great things. . .

. . . to be continued . . .

A Story - Part II

. . ."What?!?!"

"Before you say no, please sleep on it," pleaded Tina.

I hung up the phone and thought, "You've got to be kidding me. I don't have to sleep on it, it's not what I want. The answer is no." I told my husband and he said I could say no. I told my best friend and she said I could say no. So, I called Tina back and said, "No, this is not what I want." To which she replied, "I think it would be a perfect match." To which I replied, "No."

She called me a week later and asked me again. I said, "No."

She called me a week after that and asked me again. I said, "No."

She called me a week after that and asked me again. I shook my head no, no, no . . . but my words decieved me . . . I heard myself say, "Yes," while my head was going back and forth. When I hung up the phone I thought, "What in the world just happened?" I told my husband, "Well, it looks like I have myself a 'little' . . . a 'little brother!'"

Yup, me and my little brother would be the first ever cross-gender match in the history of Big Brothers/Big Sisters . . .

. . . but the story doesn't end here. . .

A Story - Part I

This story starts 22 years ago. My husband and I just bought our home and we were feeling extremely blessed. We wanted to share our blessings in a way that would be personal. With my husband's support, I volunteered to become a big sister for Big Brothers/Big Sisters. The way I saw it was that I could spend time with a little girl doing the girly things around our house that my husband would not want to do. In that way, we all benefited. My husband would not be pestered to learn to bake cupcakes and arrange flowers and sew curtains, I could do these things with a little girl that needed some special attention. I would be serving God and my community. A win-win-win situation. I went through the screening process to become a "big" and then I waited to be called. I wondered about the little girl I would get to spend time with. How old would she be? Would she have disabilities? Would she like to be read to? Would she like to sew? Would she be allergic to our cats? Would she love me as much as I already loved her? It seemed like forever before the social worker called me. Finally, my phone rang and this was the conversation as I remember it.

"Hi! This is Tina from BB/BS and I have a 'little' for you. I think this a perfect match. I think you will be a fabulous mentor to this 'little'."
"Okay, tell me all about her. When do I meet her? Oh, I just can't wait to get started."
"Well," says Tina, "about your 'little'. . . "

to be continued. . .

My Seriously Selfless Strawberry Patch

My seriously selfless strawberry patch has produced another perfect beauty. (Was going to make that a total alliteration of "s and p" but I began spitting at my computer screen.) This one I shared with my son - big mistake - now that he knows how tasty they are he's going to want the next one. I may have to tackle him for it. Maybe I'll set up a decoy strawberry (hee-hee). He's just goofy enough to fall for it. Or maybe I'll be selfless like my strawberries and just let him have the next one . . . imagine, I'm learning lessons from strawberries. God can use anything in His Creation to teach us a lesson. I Praise my Creator for strawberries and the creative way He uses them to teach and nourish, body and soul. Go figure.

My Son

My son is an amazing human being. He may shy away from cleaning his room or picking up after the dog or taking out the recycling, but when it comes to being a stand up boy for a big responsibility, he's there. He was there for Pop-Pop every step of the way. He was there for the boys of our friend who died in February and yesterday, he was there for his friend who's mother was dying. He spent 6+ hours in the hospital with his friend. He was there in his goofy 14 year old self, riding a wheelchair in a disguise, making everyone laugh for a moment and forget about the dying woman in the room next door. He was there in his 14 year old self snapping straws and playing cards and telling inappropriate jokes. He was there in his 14 year old self buying nasty blue power drinks and eating candy. He was there. I guess, that's the part makes him seem so much older to me. He was there. He was present. He stood up for a big job and never shied away. His friend's mother died last night. My son seemed all of a sudden a young man and a little boy, all at once, standing tall and strong, but with a broken heart. Please pray for my son's friend, his sister and his father. They lost a remarkable woman . . . I know, because she was also my friend.

Thanks

My mother taught me (yet, I have failed to learn) to just say, "Thank you" when someone gives me a compliment. It's hard - I stutter or say, "Oh, no" or look down at me feet. A simple thank you and smile is all I need to do. I am trying. So, this post is a shout out to all those wonderful compliments I got this week and didn't respond properly to. Here is a list:

"Mom, I love summer, I love my life, OORAH."
"Mom, thanks for your help. You're the best."
"Thanks for my gift. I really like it, it's beautiful. I love you."
"Thanks for the macaroni salad. It's the best macaroni salad my family ever had!"
"I'm glad you're my wife."
"Wonderful post."
"Breakfast was just lovely."
"You made my day!"

And the ultimate compliment - the best one this week so far - the cream of the crop. . .

"Did you lose weight?"
*smile, smile*
"Thank you."

God Bless America

Happy Independence Day folks! I love America and the history of our leaders joining together to write the Declaration of Independence. The commitment to leadership and to each other and the reliance on God is a beautiful thing. The words that end the document: "And for support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes, and our sacred Honor" speak of the kind of people that understood and respected a moral code of ethics that was promised in word and deed. Our country's freedom was established by kind people who felt we should have the rights to Life and Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. We were not built on anger or laziness or self-serving values, but on attitudes of charity and work. We are a nation of inventions and dreams and hope and love, a nation that values community and commitment, a nation that freely worships the God of all Gods. We are people who unite together not only to celebrate victories but also to help the lost or lonely. We are proud and strong and with the protection of Divine Providence, we have the ability to spread the love of Christ to all nations. God Bless America!

Small Town Diner

Before my daughter went away this summer to be a counselor at a beautiful wilderness camp (I'm so proud of you, honey) I took her out for breakfast. We went to this small town diner a little over 10 miles away. There is a big diner right in town, but we know so many people in town and we wanted to spend some time praying and just being anonymous. So, we're at this little diner, where we don't know anyone, in a booth away from everyone, just the way we wanted it. We bowed our heads, closed our eyes, held hands and prayed. We prayed for her summer experience to be all God wanted it to be for her. We prayed for the camp and the grounds, the other counselors, the campers, the staff; we prayed for the weather, we prayed for the wildlife, we prayed for blessings to rain down from Heaven and we prayed for God's light to shine in and around my daughter. When we were done, we unclasped hands, lifted our heads and opened our eyes. To our surprise, a lady from the booth across from us was leaning in toward our table and she said, "I could hardly hear you." My daughter and I exchanged a confused look thinking, "Ah, yeah, that's kinda' the point." The woman says, "I could hardly hear what you were saying because the music is too loud, but honey, I was praying right along with you." She smiled at my daughter and said, "God bless you on your summer job, sweetie, and I'll continue to pray for you, okay? " My daughter smiled back at her and said, "Okay." I thought, only in a small town. . .

Time

This interesting rock was found while my family and I were "rock hounding" in Oregon a few years back. After some Internet searches and a visit to a planetarium, we're pretty sure this is a meteorite. Over the years we have found some pretty cool stuff. We've found arrow heads, fossils, jade, sea glass, petrified wood, lava rocks and a bunch of ordinary cool stuff, like bee hives, robin eggs, salamanders, shells, cray fish, feathers and animal skeletons. My youngest two even had a "secret science box" (as they called it) full of things parents should never know was kept in a bedroom closet. What I find so alluring about finding these things is not the items we've found, but the time that was spent with my family to do so. It has literally taken us hundreds of hours to find this stuff. Hundreds of hours in each other's company. Hundreds of hours not watching TV or playing videos or texting or some other anti-social activity. Hundreds of hours together. How cool is that?

Happy Father's Day

Father's have it tough. They must be patient, not just when his children are little and it takes 4 tries to complete a 3 word sentence, but also when his children are grown and he must read 10 page essays and check physics and trigonometry homework. He must be kind, not just when his children are little and dress themselves for the first time and ask, "How do I look Daddy?", but when they are grown and going to a dance and ask anxiously, "Do I look okay Dad?" He must be calm, not just when they are little and spill milk, but when they are grown and learning how to drive. He must be wise, not only when they are little and ask why they must use manners, but when they are grown and ask where they should go to college. He must be an example of love and respect, not only when they are little and openly watch everything he does and says, but when they are grown and watch him from a distance. He must love his wife so that his children love their mother. He must love his parents so that his children will love him. He must not curse, lest he want his children to curse. He must not steal or cheat, lest he want his children to steal and cheat. He must fear the Lord and walk in His ways, love Him and serve the Lord with all his heart and all his soul, and observe the Lords commands, lest his children should become prideful and selfish. He must do these things from the day he becomes a father until the day he is called home. Father's have it tough.

That is who my husband is and who my father was. Thank you for taking the tough road, the road less travel, all ways, always. Happy Father's day.

Oratim

I had a very nice lunch yesterday with a very nice friend. We sat on her very nice deck, overlooking a very nice mountain. It was lovely. We talked the afternoon away, mostly about the kids, of course. My friend asked me if my darling children ever accused me of lecturing them and if so, what my response was. I chuckled, because my kids are always telling me I'm lecturing them. And this is the response they get sometimes. "Congratulations, you have just succeeded," I say to them, "in extending this lecture for another few minutes. Now, I must address your rudeness and then, I will start all over again so I can finish what I have to say without interruption." Hmpt! My kids are really far from perfect, little monsters really. My blogs are very generous to them and have a very Pollyanna approach to things. But for the most part, I really do enjoy mothering (lecturing) them and I don't care much if they enjoy it. I have a job to do, unpleasant as it may be sometimes, but a job nevertheless. My charge is to raise them up in the way they should go and if that means lecturing (mothering) them, then that's what I'll do. If kids listened the first time, TV advertisers wouldn't have to spend millions of dollars airing the same commercial 2 dozen times in one night. If kids listened the first time, mothers wouldn't have to say "no" 2 dozen times in one night. I'd much prefer it if I didn't have to lecture, but then, what would I do with all my words?

I am the cheese

I am the cheese. Not the "big cheese" as in the big enchilada, but the cheese as in The Farmer in the Dell. You know, "the cheese stands alone, the cheese stands alone, hi-ho-the-derry'o, the cheese stands alone." It's how I feel sometimes. I remember seeing the kids play that silly little game where they all stand in a circle and the farmer picks a wife, the wife picks a child, the child picks a maid, the maid picks a cow, the cow picks a dog, the dog picks a cat, the cat picks a rat, the rat picks the cheese and the cheese stands alone, hi-ho-the-derry'o, the cheese stands alone. I always wanted to run up to the cheese and say, "You're not alone honey, I'm here, I'll stand with you!" But fear of being arrested for snatching up the cheese, I mean the child, kept me from doing so. Can you picture it . . . "Lady, step away from the cheese! This is your final warning!" Wasn't anyone else concerned for the mental well-being of the cheese??!! I know just how that cheese feels . . . standing alone . . . everyone else huddled in a circle . . . standing alone (did I mention that already?). It just may be where God wants us, though. Standing alone, saying what we must, in the name of truth, no matter how unpopular it is. But, I guess I am never really standing alone because Jesus stands with me, in the name of truth. And when my time comes to meet my King, Jesus will stand with me then, too, hi-ho-the-derry'o, I stand with Jesus. . .

Isn't Life Grand

I had a delightful exchange with my daughter while driving her to voice lessons yesterday. She referred to one of my opinions as being very "middle aged." I asked her what she would call someone who is beyond middle age and she replied, simply, "Old." So, I told her that since I would be 50 this year and that I didn't think I'd live to be 100, that I was I beyond middle age. Then I gave her permission to call me old. She said, "Oh, no, Mom, you'll live to be 100 and probably older. I can just picture you now. You'll be like, 'I'm so happy to be alive. I love my life. Isn't life grand' (in a mockingly sweet old lady voice)." Then she went on to say, "And if I live to be 100 I'll be like, 'Why, oh, why must I still be alive? Wasn't 100 years on this Earth long enough? The pain and the torture to be alive. Lord, take me home!'" She's so dramatic and I laughed and delighted in her imitation of me and her as old women. She promised she'd take care of me if I promised to behave. So, if I do, indeed, live to be 100, that means I am not even a middle aged woman right now (well, not until August anyway). So, don't be calling me old (or middle aged) before my time. And, by the way, I am so happy to be alive and I do love my life and I do believe life is grand . . .

Strawberry Number 2

I have the most polite strawberries ever! Apparently they have decided it would be polite to allow each and every strawberry to have the Sun and the rain all to themselves until they are fully grown before another strawberry grows. Meet strawberry number 2. Now that she has fully grown and has been picked, maybe strawberry number 3 can grow. Seriously unselfish strawberries. That's what planted in my garden. I know there is a lesson here somewhere, but I'll be darned if I can figure it out. By the way, it may have been a bit hoggish of me, but that first strawberry - I ate it, all by myself, the whole thing, I never did cut it up into five slices for the family to share. It was sweet and juicy and perfect. Who knew my family actually read my blog and saw it and expected their portion at dinner that night? Oh well . . . I'll be sure to share this one (maybe). . .

For Today

I was wondering why I haven't had much to say lately and realized that it's because our life has been so far from ordinary. My kids think there is much to write about because life has been so fast-paced, but I realize that it's not in the extraordinary things that I get my inspiration from, but in the ordinary, the mundane, the routine and the natural flow of our lives. I could write you a storm of words about how rotten certain situations have been lately but what fun would that be? It's in the simple things that I find peace and inspiration. Not that there hasn't been some simple and joyful times - like the cupcakes (see picture on previous post). Have you ever seen three teenagers make cupcakes? It's a hoot! They made enough icing to cover a tennis court, they used six dishtowels to clean up one kitchen and the dog has been licking the cabinets and floors all day for traces of batter and icing. But every time I open the refrigerator and see all that left-over icing, I smile. When I look at those beautiful cupcakes, I smile. When I wash and fold those dishtowels, I'll smile. A few ordinary hours, watching the kids make a few creative cupcakes = inspiration. Sometimes I think we are so concerned about tomorrow and what we will do then that we forget to enjoy today. Sometimes I think we let tomorrow's worries consume our thoughts so that we forget to engage with the here and now. God is present, He is here. Where are you?

Martha Stewart, Eat Your Heart Out

Fake

Here is a blog that I didn't post when it was written. I wrote it because something happened after Easter that was unpleasant - I felt like people were being less than authentic. I had forgotten about it and just saw it in my draft file. It's not my best work, for sure, but here it is.

We had a very nice Easter. A diverse group of friends gathered around our table and along with the food, we shared pieces of our heart with each other. I was touched by the "realness" of it all. It wasn't "Norman Rockwell" and all, not even close actually. But it was good. We have this little tradition where we type out some questions and everyone needs to answer them the best they can. One question was, "What is the best gift you ever received?" I loved the responses - concert tickets, hand-made dice, a trip, eternal life, freedom, a generator (the generator supplied much needed heat to an ailing body) and the gift to eat large amounts of food and not gain weight (like only a 14 year old boy can do). There were no good or bad answers, no right or wrong, no pretty or ugly, no labels at all - just real answers. Some answers were funny, some serious, but that was up to the author. It was real and I like that. I like real . . . you would think finding real would be easy . . . but it's not. In fact, finding fake is much easier. . .

Hmm, bitter much?

Love 17

This post is for daughter number 2 who turns 17 today.

Honey, even with all it's drama, 17 is the best age to be. I know, I tell you this every year, but I really mean it, 17 is the best age to be. It's the most real you'll ever be. Everything that happens feels important and big and epic. And it is. You'll remember everything from this year, the music, driving, school, friends (girl and boy), the summer job and decisions you make. At 17 you are old enough to make independent decisions but young enough so you don't have to. You can ask me what I think is best, but do what you think is best. 17 is scary and that's part of the charm. 17 is awkward and that's part of the growth. 17 is a year after the "sweet" and that's what makes it spicy (in a good way). Live 17 authentically. Love 17, love you, love life. I'm so excited for you. I loved you before you were born and every single moment since that day 17 years ago. My heart explodes with pride and joy and love and anticipation as I watch you grow. I don't know what God has in store for you, but I know that He has something enchanting planned. I can't say it enough, love 17 while you are 17. Don't worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Enjoy each day with all its drama. Remember all the lessons you were taught, be kind, be polite, be gentle and be generous. Remember to keep balance and boundaries and practice manners and meekness. Remember to keep your eyes on Jesus. Remember how loved you are. And remember to love 17. . .

Welcome

This pretty spot is in my front yard. Since this picture has been taken flowers have bloomed and others have been planted. It's a small (or as I like to say, intimate) spot with five chairs. At any given time of the day you can find a seat that is in the sun or in the shade, whichever you prefer. From here, there is a nice view of the neighborhood and the hills in the distance. I sweep it almost everyday and add potted plants and flowers regularly. When I sit out here I usually end up with a visitor. It may be an unexpected visit from a neighbor or a spontaneous family gathering (hence the five chairs). My ladies Bible study decided it was lovely and we had our study here. So far this Spring I've had over a dozen drop-in visitors. Here, discussions have ranged in topics from politics to prom to parenting to puppies to pride and a whole slew of topics from other letters in the alphabet. I love it when I go out here to read a book and then I look up to see my children or my husband have come to join me. I sat out here in a light rain storm yesterday with a friend I hadn't seen for a month. We got wet, but barely noticed for we were so busy chatting. There has been much laughter and joy in this spot. It's by no means a beautiful spot, in fact, the concrete is cracked and discolored, and the columns are stained from years of weathering, and one chair is missing a screw (no comments please). But, I really love this spot and tend to it daily. I love that people come and know they are welcome and that all I can see is the beauty . . .

Our First Fruit

This strawberry is the first fruit from our backyard garden. It represents hours of labor preparing the earth for planting. One of our house guests spent hours in the garden with me digging and turning the earth. He even broke a shovel. My husband and I pulled out all the rocks in that patch of land and pulled up weeds and grass. Together we mixed in good earth and raked out roots. Together we bought small plants and plotted out where to plant them. We watered the new plants and watched them grow. This strawberry represents the miracle of growth from a seed, with the help of the Sun and the rain. It represents the sacrifice of our time to nurture our plants into producing fruits, vegetables and herbs. It's a big deal, it is our first fruit. This is not just our first piece of fruit, it is our only piece of fruit, thus far. So, at dinner tonight I will cut this strawberry into 5 pieces, a slice for everyone, and we will pray, thanking God for this gift and the many blessings that He rains down upon us. . .

. . .and that every man should eat and drink and enjoy the good of all his labor - it is the gift of God. Ecclesiastes 3:13

P.S.

Apparently, I did insult my daughter's friend - oops. It wasn't that I once called him a "quirky goat boy" or that I told him he acts like a 3 year old or that I told him he was good blog material. Nor was it that I told him he used an expression that I don't like and asked that he not use it my house. Nor was it that I once threw a chocolate whopper at him and hit him square in the lip and made him bleed. Nope, it wasn't that I told him to cut his hair or that I offered to give him a bottle of nail polish remover so he could take off his black nail polish. No folks, of all these things that someone may take offense to (though no offense was meant), he did not. Hence, my statement that I don't think he can be insulted. But, I found a way, unbeknownst to me, to insult my daughter's friend. I called him "friend". Notice the quotation marks (" ") around friend. That is what insulted him. He said the quotation marks made him feel less of a real friend - I guess he thought I was referring to him as a "pretend" friend which only makes my daughter sound creepy and not him. However, the fact remains that I made an offense and therefore I must apologize. Here is your public apology. "I'm sorry."

Hmm, I feel better.........

Stress?

I don't feel very good today. Maybe it's stress. What do I have to be stressed about? Well, since you asked. . .

. . . on Friday we had a house guest (using Pop-Pop's bed again) and he was sick, really sick, so sick I told him that the dog was chewing on the lung he had coughed up. He coughed in every room of my house, except my bedroom, from which he was ban. Then he decided to give up coffee and cigarettes, at the same time, while staying here. He walked around with a major head ache, in a fog, coughing up lung tissue in every room of my house. I was pleased about his decisions, but why did he choose this weekend to make good decisions? When he left I sprayed so much Lysol that the carbon monoxide detector went off, causing my daughter to scream. Then on Saturday, my son was playing baseball, he's the catcher, and he got hit with a 70 mph foul tip in the only place on his body that's not covered with protective gear - his collar bone. For sure it's broken, but he won't let us take him to the doctor's because he has his tournament game today. Instead, we anointed him with oil and are believing in God to do the rest. However, the school nurse called me this morning to question our actions. She thinks we're freaks. And then there's Bart, a.k.a. Barley, the world's second most worstest dog. In the six months that we have had him, he's eaten 7 pairs of eye glasses. Once I assumed Bart ate my glasses because I couldn't find them and I yelled at him something fierce, but the glasses were on top of my head. There is some kind of irony here about a Seeing Eye puppy eating eye glasses. . . And hot flashes are keeping me up at night. And my daughter's "friend" bought over a huge bag of Peanut M&M's at 9 pm and I think I ate 12 portions. And I may have insulted him (though I don't think he can be insulted) because I told him I was glad he was over because I needed new material for my blog . . .oops. . .so, yeah, I don't feel so good today. Do ya think it's stress?

Coffee Anyone?

A friend of mine has gone through a rough time. She's sweet and funny and a wonderful mother. She loves her kids and would do anything for them. She was at the grocery store, buying the kids lunch foods and she came across the coffee aisle. She walked down the aisle smelling all those wonderful coffee smells (she loves her coffee). She remembered she was out of coffee and went over to her brand, Starbucks Dark Roast Whole Bean Coffee, and that is when she said a little prayer, "Lord, I love this coffee, but I can't afford it. Help me to love the cheap stuff." She bought the cheap stuff so the kids could have the lunch foods they like. That very same day, unbeknownst to me, my husband won some Starbucks Dark Roast Whole Bean Coffee at a golf outing. He came home and said, "Here give this to L." I'm like, "Sure, I'll give it to L, pfft, because I don't want it anyway. But, hey, pfft, thanks for asking me." (Sorry, I'm a little bit of a brat sometimes, but you would be too if you were getting hot flashes every night at 4 in the morning. I tell my husband to have a pitcher of cold water next to the bed just in case I spontaneously combust like poor Mary Reeser who was likely going through menopause herself - but now I am digressing.) The next day was Bible study and when L came, there was a bag of her favorite coffee sitting at her place. She looked at the coffee and cried. Not my husband, nor I, nor anyone else for that matter, except God, knew of her little prayer in the grocery store. When she told us of her prayer, she said that the coffee feels like it came directly from the hand of God Himself and He is telling her, "You take care of the kids and I'll take care of you."