Who Are You?

"I don’t care what people think. I don’t care if I fit in. I care about who I am. If I do something wrong and not a single person finds out, it’s still a part of who I am. I believe that it is a challenge to be the same person in the privacy of your heart as you are in the light of the world."

Wow! My 16 year old daughter wrote that. She is the most authentic person I know. She challenges me to be real. So, I'm in my kitchen, cooking, as I do much of the time, in silence (I never have a TV on, seldom do I listen to the radio, once in a while I'll listen to an Ella Fitzgerald or a Third Day CD,) I'm thinking about what she said . . . who am I in the privacy of my heart (or kitchen) . . . sadly, in the privacy of my kitchen, when no one is here, I am Rachel Ray. Yes, folks, I talk to an unseen audience, giving them my secret cooking tips. . . . . . .

For real, if I'm really being honest (thanks K for teaching the honesty lesson in Bible study) I am a mother who is hopelessly proud of her children. In the light of the world and in the privacy of my heart I am the mother of children who drive me crazy, but whom I love dearly.

Yawn

This is Bart. He's a little tired. Why? I don't know. He's not the one running around cleaning up pee and poop day and night. He gets carried up and down the stairs. We run around the yard trying to get him to chase us and he just sits there, yawning. He's just 7 weeks old and a tiny little thing. I don't know how he'll ever grow up because he pees and poops out twice what he takes in. Again, I must ask myself the question I ask myself so often, "What was I thinking??"

Invisible My Foot

There are these beautiful emails circulating about the "Invisible Mother." They are very well put and are very emotional. We (Moms) are compared to the great cathedrals of Europe, how the builders themselves never got to see the completed structure in all its beauty. Moms are just invisible beings, building the lives of their children into beautiful structures and God sees all we do, even if the children don't. . . .ho-hummmmmmmmmmmm

Here is my little rant. Children who think their moms are just invisible beings with hands and feet that own a mini-van are severely mistaken. As in all things there needs to be balance and boundaries. I don't want my children going around saying things like, "My mom works day and night for my family!" However, a simple thank you and recognition once in a while is not only appreciated, it's expected. Invisible Moms are creating an "entitlement generation." I do not want my children thinking all the work done on their behalf is without effort and that they are entitled to it. And I know that my reward is really in Heaven and all the things I do, I do to honor God. But I am not invisible. (Let's face it, it would be really hard to make a woman who is almost 5'7" and over 150 pounds, with loud-mouth Polish and Italian ancestry invisible, but now I digress.) I want my children to know that I love them enough to climb the highest mountain for them and cross the widest river for them, but I draw the line at their bedrooms, they've got to clean them themselves! And even if my children don't thank me someday, I know their spouses will. . . .

Etc. etc. etc.

Now that my daughter is at college, I can write stories about her that she can't delete. Heh -heh-heh. . .

When my kids were young we read a lot!! We went to the library weekly and took out 10 books each (the maximum allowed,) and we belonged to a children's book club and received new books monthly. We went to story hour at the library every Friday morning. We read all kinds of stories and poetry, children's books and novellas. We were, however, discretionary. There were books about a certain bear family that I refused to read to the children. The father bear was an idiot and always doing something stupid. He was lazy, ate too much, never helped in the kitchen, forgot to take out the garbage and watched too much TV. I said, "Uh-uh, no way are we reading these books; he's a poor example. . . etc. etc. etc."

So, one Friday morning we went to the library for story hour. I had my youngest in an infant seat, my middle child with her "dolla" and my oldest, with her books and markers and pads (to take notes I guess?) 1, 3, and 5 years old. The presenter got up and said, "We are reading some ***** Bear books today!" My 5 year old stands up and announces in a too high voice, "We don't read those books because my mother said the father is a boob!" It's always in the "etc. etc. etc." that I get myself in trouble................

Bart

Do you like the name Bartholomew? Bart for short? Bartholomew is credited with saying only three things in the Bible. First, he said to Philip, "Can anything good come out of Nazareth?" (ahh, yeah) Then he said to Jesus, "How do You know me?" And then he said, "You are the Son of God! The King of Israel!" That's it. He was one of the 12 Apostles and was martyred for his faith. Jesus said to him, "In you there is no deceit!" Are you warming up to the name? I am and really that's a good thing because Bart is the name of our next Seeing Eye puppy!! He's not due to be released until Thanksgiving morning, but we are getting him on Tuesday. Since the Seeing Eye NEVER releases a puppy before it's time, my son is convinced he is a trouble-maker and The Seeing Eye is releasing him to us early just to get rid of him. Me, I think they trust my son. His first puppy went home with his new owner last Saturday, a blind man from Georgia. They made it home in time for Thanksgiving - how apropos. As for Bart, I can't wait to meet him. I hope he is like Bartholomew of the Bible, a puppy of a very few words................

Good Mother?

So, I picked up my daughter from college and brought her home with 2 of her friends this weekend. I had these great plans of bringing them fresh baked goods for the car ride home and making home-made pizza for dinner when we got home. I planned on setting up clean towels with little decorated name tents and chocolate mints on their pillows. I planned to buy flavored coffees for their breakfast of homemade pancakes. I planned to vacuum the floors and dust the rooms and bleach the bathrooms and wash the front hallway and spray cinnamon spray all over the house for a beautifully scented atmosphere. But then on Wednesday my Bible study ladies stayed late, my husband went on a business trip, my other daughter was inducted into National Honor Society (way to go honey - but next time be more careful during the candle lighting ceremony), my son had basketball practice, I had a parent-teacher conference (shape up sonny boy), I helped a friend with her disabled husband, made dinner for a friend, took the kids to: youth group, the dentist, school, choir, the diner and the music store, went to a prayer meeting and talked to a friend in need for over an hour on the phone. So, I picked up my daughter and her friends, gave them granola bars for the ride home, stopped by the pizza parlor and shouted to my son to find the extra pillows when we walked into the house, that smelled like nothing at all, with dirty carpets and dull bathrooms. No chocolate mints and the coffee was just Maxwell House regular roast. . . .so, I asked my daughter if she felt like I was neglecting her because I didn't make her home-baked goodies or have a really clean house.

daughter: "Oh Mom, I don't need that, I'm not a baby. I know you love me. You are a great example to me of how we need to help others. God has called you to do these things."

me: *sniff-sniff* "But am I neglecting you??"

daughter: *smile* "nuh-uh."

me: *kiss* "Good. So, you can vacuum the downstairs and do the dishes. Sheesh, do I look like a maid or something.........................

Laugh With Jesus

I love the story in the book of Matthew (14:22-33) where Peter first thinks Jesus is a ghost walking on the sea, then to be sure He is not, Peter orders Jesus to call him to walk on the water with him. Peter walks on the water and because of his fear he begins to sink. Freaked out, Peter cries out, "Lord, save me!"

This is how I picture the rest. Jesus shakes his head, smiling and with a twinkle in his eyes, reaches out his hand and says, "O you of little faith, you're such a knucklehead, why did you doubt?" Sometime later, Peter and Jesus and the guys are hanging out in between miracles. Jesus walks up behind Peter and says, "Boo!" The disciples start to crack up remembering how they thought Jesus was a ghost, Peter gets up and begins to chase after Jesus. They run around for a while, finally coming to a rest, out of breath. Jesus looks at Peter and smiles. They share a very personal moment, with their eyes locked, laughing and smiling . . . . . .

That's what it's all about. Spending time together, building memories, goofing around, poking fun at each other with laughter and joy. When was the last time you laughed with Jesus?

Fall

A rare blessing - me, speechless.

Found My Core

Okay, so I found my core. You want to know how I know? - it's because it's killing me. It hurts when I stand, it hurts when I sit, it hurts when I lay down, it hurts when I drive, it hurts when I laugh and it really hurts when I sneeze. The only time it doesn't hurt is when I'm eating. Go figure.

Note to self: 1 session a day is a good start.

Core What?

I have a problem with my new work out videos. First, the guy on the tape tells me that I can look like the model - I got news for him, no matter what I do I will never look like a tall, skinny, black girl with perky boobs. Not happening. Second, he tells me to use my core - I think my core is made out of jello, either that or it was surgically removed when I had my last C-section 14 years ago. Third, my exercise bands are too short - they don't reach over my head, in fact, they barely reach my shoulders. Forth, he shows a modified version of the exercises for people who can't do the version the models are doing, but what if you can't do the modified version?? Fifth, I understand that you need to work out the major muscle groups, but he's got us working out muscles I didn't know I had. I figure if I haven't used these muscles for my first 49 years of life, I won't need them for the next 49 years. And finally, the background music is irritating. But other than that, it's a fine program.

Note to self: 2 sessions a day is a good start.

10 Minutes

I ordered an exercise tape from an infomercial that promised I would loose weight, feel great and have rock hard abs in just 10 minutes a day. In just 10 minutes a day, you can get a full body workout. Work out every major muscle group in just 10 minutes! You get the idea, you can do it all in just 10 minutes a day. I thought, "I got 10 minutes." I was so excited when it came in the mail that I ran (well, okay, walked) to the DVD player and put my new workout video in. That's when I discovered that each workout session was only 10 minutes, but you needed to do multiple sessions to achieve the rock hard abs and great body they promised. So I figured if doing 3 sessions a day can make me look good, doing 5 sessions would make me look great. My husband said, "take it slow."
"Puhh!"
. . . later that day . . .
I met my husband for coffee. As I walked into the diner he asked, "Are you limping?"
"Puhh!"

Note to self: 3 sessions a day is a good start.

God's Got Flair

So far today, I made muffins, had tea and muffins with a friend, wrote a letter to a teacher, spoke to the leader of CAP, strategized a court hearing for a friend, read a psychology report (good job honey), made plans with a friend to get cheap apples (can't wait J), called a friend's counselor on her behalf, agreed to take on another Seeing Eye puppy, washed the dishes, made the beds, cleaned the bathroom and kitchen sinks, put the shoes away in the front hall (how many shoes do 2 feet really need sweetie?), typed up an updated resume for my husband and am now blogging. It's only 1:35 p.m. But, wait, something is missing . . . too early to do the piano lesson run, too early for choir practice, too early to make dinner . . . what did I miss?? Don't you hate that feeling that you missed something, that something will fall through the cracks . . . .??? Oh yeah, I forgot to give Praise to God for all my blessings. Praise You, Lord, for the many blessings you have poured out onto my family. Thank you for the beautiful fall colors all around us, thank you that we don't live in a black and white world, but a world of color. And thank you for the snow. (Snow!!!!!?????) God, You got flair!

The Intricate Workings Of My Children's Minds - Title by Clever Daughter Number 2

So, I asked my children (the 2 at home) what I should blog about. This is what they said.

"About how I wrote an article for the school newspaper and got censored!"
"The incompetence of our health care system."
"How I want a Bass guitar." Side note: He already owns 2 acoustic guitars (named Chick Magnet and Lindsey), and 2 electric guitars (one named Black Beauty and the other named Baby Cakes) and a trumpet (named Brassy).
"How giant my muscles are."
"The Air Force rocks."
"The lack of patriotism in America."
"My level of coolness."
"My brother is gross."

Folks, pray for me.....................

Please Don't Work

When my oldest daughter was 3 I figured it was good to teach her to say thank you. I hadn't, however, taught her to say please yet. After all, she was only 3. So one day I had some ladies over from the neighborhood. They were all stay-at-home mom's with young children. My 3 year old came over and interrupted my conversation (with a certain "proper" mother) and asked for something without saying please. I was so worried that I would look like I was lacking in my parenting skills that I said, "Honey, what is the magic word?" An expression that I had never particularly liked. Why on earth was I saying this to her? She looked at me puzzled (of course) and for 4 - 5 painful seconds I wondered how she would answer such a ridiculous question. She looked at me so serious and finally answered in a questioning voice, "Abracadabra?" I laughed, gave her what she asked for and made sure I taught her to say please later that night. I said, "Honey, it's proper to say please when you ask for something."

She asked, "Please may I have a pony?"

I said, "No."

She said, "Please don't work."

Pumpkin Soup

I don't like to give too much advice (that's a lie and you know it, but humor me). But, here is a piece of advice everyone should heed. If you ever feel the urge to make pumpkin soup for a soup kitchen - DON'T. These are some of the comments I received regarding the gourmet pumpkin soup I made and served at a local soup kitchen.

"Who made this, Mr. Jack O. Lantern?"
"Is this baby food?"
"I don't eat orange food."
"This looks like baby s***."
"Who puked?"
"What else you got?"
"Thanks lady, but no thanks."
And my personal favorite.
"I'm a vegetarian . . . oh, this is pumpkin? I'm fasting."

No Rejects Here

Here is a picture of the puppy my son raised for 18 months for the Seeing Eye. This is him on his "town walk" with his trainer. We got to watch our puppy (from 20 feet away) while he navigated busy city streets, guiding his trainer with confidence and poise. It was amazing to see this goofy puppy, who we nick-named Reject, ready to do what he was born to do. His parents, grandparents, great-grandparents (and so on) were all Seeing Eye dogs. He comes from a long line of servants to the blind. My son did a fantastic job raising him and training him. He followed all the rules and went to all the meetings. He took his puppy to church and to ball games. He gave his time to teach him all he needed to know. And, now, there is success. The puppy may be matched as soon as next week with a blind person. I'm so proud of my son and the puppy. What an example they are to me. I, too, have a great lineage. I, too, can learn by following the rules. And I, too can have success. God is my ultimate Trainer. And even though most people would call me goofy and nick-name me Reject, there is still hope for me.

Beginning, Middle and . . .End?

I love telling stories (could you guess?). I always try to tell them in order; beginning, middle and end. I have friends that are very sweet, but are bad story tellers. They tell me their stories all mixed up. Sometimes they tell me the end first and mix up all details. "I want details!" I tell them. "Tell me from the beginning and was it raining? What were you wearing? What time was it? What'd you have for lunch?" My husband is horrible at details, too. When I ask him about his day, I really want to know. If his day was 8 hours long, I figure it should take at least an hour to retell it to me. Uh-uh. In 3 minutes flat he could tell me everything. Why am I telling you all this? Because I told you a story and titled the last piece, "The Rest Of The Story - It's all she wrote. . ." buuuut. . . it's not the end. Isn't it just like God to re-write a story? So, here's the thing. Pop-Pop is coming back! I don't know all details yet. It seems he woke up one morning in the nursing home and thought, "I made a BIG mistake." He'll be here next week and he'll be splitting his time between here and the nursing home. The sun is shining, it's about 75 degrees, the wind is blowing just enough to stir the brilliant yellow leaves off my birch tree. I hear people in the neighborhood mowing their lawns and the washing machine running (my daughter is home from college this weekend). We had pork chops and baked sweet potatoes with pumpkin muffins for lunch, and all is right in the world. The . . . End????

Teaching Moments

I'm a mom, a mom of teenagers. Time is short. I feel almost breathless thinking of how much I want to teach my children before they leave home. Did I teach them enough? Did my husband and I prepare them enough to go out into the world?? Will they know all they need to know??? So, is it any wonder I try to use every moment as a teaching moment? This is a typical conversation with my teenagers.

"Honey, if you wash your fork as soon as you are done eating, things won't pile up in the sink and really, it saves time because when you have a sink full of things it actually takes longer to wash everything up."
"Mom, in case you haven't noticed, I am still eating!! Do you not see the food still on my plate?"
"I know, honey, but I just wanted to use this moment as a teaching moment, while you were still sitting still."
"You mean, you wanted to ruin my peaceful meal?"
"No, I mean I wanted to teach you so that when you leave home you won't live like a slob."
"I was going to wash my fork and plate when I was done. But now I don't want to because you told me to."
"See, total rebellion. Is that what I can expect from you?"
"Yes, Mom, I am going to leave my dirty fork on the table, rebel against your rules and run out and try illegal drugs."
"I'm not amused."
"Mom, can I have some water?"
"No, all the glasses are dirty."

Change of Scenery

Kate is a good cat. I'm sorry I misrepresented her in my last blog posting. Really, those things I said were more applicable to Nina. Kate has more instinct than a log. Though Kate really did kill the stink bug, I would never call her a waste of cat flesh and fur. (Are we good now, honey?) But Kate does have her issues. She has CLD or Compulsive Licking Disorder (sorry, honey, we've been hiding this secret for long enough - it's good to talk about it). She licks . . . compulsively. It started with her paws. She licked them raw. Then she started to lick the house (I can't make this stuff up). And finally, she began to lick my husband's arms. Now, you've got to be a really sick cat if you're going to lick a 200 pound man. That's when I took her to the vet. The vet wanted to put Kate on Kitty Prozac. I kid you not. "Uh-uh!" said the 200 pound man. So we changed her diet, gave her more attention and talked very gently to her, even when she was licking 200 pound husband. Poor Kate. Maybe a change of scenery would be good for her. Like . . . a college dormitory? Like . . . the one my daughter is at? Hmmm. Sounds like a plan to me ................

Those Little Stinkers

They're baaaaaaaaaaack. Those little stinkers (no, not my teenagers). Those beady eyed, shield carrying, sticky legged, flying stink bugs. They are the skunk of the insect world and they are in my house. They only smell when you crush them. How very clever of them. If you wash them down your drain or run them through the washing machine, they crawl back out in an hour. First, we had Pop-Pop (oh, how I miss that man) and then we had the unfortunate incident with the mole that died in the wall behind our closet and now we have those stupid stink bugs. We also have a really dumb cat. She isn't a mouser, doesn't know her hat from her glove (don't you love how I cleaned that one up?), doesn't even know she's a cat. She's like a log with fur. I know she can't help it, but when I saw her about to pounce on a stink bug in my kitchen I ran down the hallway, like in slow motion - I couldn't get to her fast enough - I yelled, "Noooooooooooo, Kate, you dumb, stupid, idiotic, moronic, waste of cat flesh and fur, don't kill that stink bug!!!" Guess what? She killed the stink bug. Now my house has a lingering Pop-Pop smell, intermingled with Lysol, dead mole and stink bugs . . . does it get any better than this folks???????????