WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

It's said that a picture is worth a thousand words (which gets me off the hook for today, hee hee).

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A blonde moment

Liv tried on a new swim suit today, an athletic one-piece Speedo with a T-back, very similar to this one;


Excited about her potential purchase, she grabbed the suit and meandered off into the nearest dressing room. We followed a few paces behind and waited just outside her door.

A few minutes later she reappeared, fully suited and obviously frustrated. Scowling intensely, she blurted,
"YUCK!"
This does not fit.
Not at all!"
Then, matter-of-fact and somewhat sing-songy,
"Too tight."

Carl and I attempted to scurry her back into the dressing room while simultaneously stifling the rising roar of laughter we were both nearly choking on.
Why were we choking on laughter, you ask?
Because our sweet 7 year old daughter had put the bathing suit on backward. Now, you'll need to look at the above photo a second time to get the gist of just how that would fit if the back suddenly became the front. YIKES!!!!!

And the icing on the cake came when I attempted to enlighten Liv by saying, "It's not too tight, honey. You just have it on backwards."
Frustrated, she quickly shot back, "I'd say, seeing that it's choking me."
Sure was choking her, what with the top of the T-strap pressing on her windpipe and all.

Oh, and I'll ask you who are blondes to forgive me on the post title. The thing is, I grew up with a beautiful blonde sister myself. My mother too was is also a blonde. I am not. Get the three of us together though and you would understand why my Dad affectionately nicknamed us Ma Bell and the Bell Sisters, Ding and Dong.
I'm thinking we just might have to add a new member to our bell posse (Olivia, are you listening?)

Going Home

We're baaaack. We went back home to Ohio for three days to visit with family, but also to meet with CPS for the required monthly supervision of baby Brandon. The travel conditions were less than ideal. We encountered major fog during part of the 6 hour outbound drive, and freezing rain and blinding snow on the return (the kind of snow that comes at the windshield in a hypnotizing swirl). I literally spent some time praying for our safety on the return, as the road conditions became quite treacherous for a few hours.

Allow me to brag on my family a bit as I share the little things that endear them to me:

• Papa made homemade spaghetti sauce for all and "peaches hot stuff" for Liv.


• Nana loved on all the grandkids, giving baby Brandon an extra dose of lovin'.


• Uncle Scot gave us hummingbird feeders, a neat way to remember him when apart.


• Aunt Lori loves on our kids as if they were her very own (and they eat it up).


• Uncle Mike brought out Reece's contagious giggle by hoisting him high above.


• Aunt Jackie generously passed on her son's baby clothing to Brandon(moms who have done this can relate to how hard it is to say "goodbye" to your child's baby things).


• cousin Colin enjoyed his cousins with all the energy that comes with being 2 years old.


• Uncle Todd stopped by in spite of feeling like crud and was ever so careful not to pass his sick germs on to the kids.

Okay, so the above named family members plus our family of six went to lunch at a Chinese buffet. You will recall that Reece is a crab leg connoisseur. He immediately noticed the absence of his favorite buffet item, which resulted in ten rounds of, "Where's duh crab legs? I don't see any crab legs. Do you see duh crab legs? Dis better have some crab legs." Suffice it to say he was not impressed with the two hundred other items to choose from, all because there were no stinkin' crab legs.

And the salad bar was housed in a boat-shaped buffet. At one end, there was a drain pipe where melting ice was draining into a white bucket. Naturally, Mr. Fix-it needed to get the low down on that as well.
"Duh boat's leakin.' Why is dat boat leakin'? Is it going to sink? Do they know dere boat is leakin'? Let's tell dem. Mom, do you see dat boat is leakin'?"
Oy vey!

Back at Nana and Papa's, the kids had a blast playing out in the snow for hours; building a snowman, making snow angels and snow forts, and even riding their little pedal toys on the patio (well, as much as they could with wheels spinning out on the slush covered pavement). Sheesh, it's a major production to suit up children for winter weather, then to undress them cold, tired and wet all over. But it's worth it to see them enjoying the best of childhood; carefree moments of snowballs, snowmen and snow forts with a tolerance of the elements that only children can demonstrate.

During our stay, we also stopped at a local fast food playland to meet up with another special person in our life, Reece's birth sister, Kimberly. It was challenging to coordinate our opposite schedules but I'm so glad we found a precious hour that worked for all. Kimberly is a year older and the splitting image of Reece. She and her sisters, Anna and Sarah, had a nice time playing and giggling with our kids while the grownups gabbed a mile a minute, catching up on lives lived in two neighboring states.

The smiles on Reece and Kimberly's faces told us they enjoyed their special time together as brother and sister. Adoption has touched both our families in such an incredible way, proof to me that our Heavenly Father truly can bring beauty from ashes, peace from pain (for adoptive families and birth families). I only wish our visit could have been a bit longer and that we could have seen other dear friends as well. There just wasn't enough time to make it all happen (sigh).

Carl and I were able to take a rare break away from the kids to see a movie (courtesy of Nana's generous offer to do so). I find it perfectly fitting that we saw a movie entitled The Pursuit Of Happyness, starring Will Smith (and his adorable son, Jaden). While the message could be misread as the pursuit of materialism, the stronger message was positive and motivating; pursue your dreams with all your heart and to the very best of your ability (F.Y.I. note: There is only one scene I can recall that would be unacceptable for child viewing and it centered around graffiti painted on a daycare building. Otherwise, it's a good movie with a good message, in my humble opinion.)

As Will Smith's character so clearly stated in the movie, Thomas Jefferson never wrote that happiness itself was a right, rather just the pursuit of it, as if he somehow knew that we would struggle to ever achieve a "state of happiness." That insight from Jefferson seems to shine brilliant light on the difference between human happiness and God given joy.

You know, we were in Ohio pursuing happiness of our own this week. For the most part, we found it. But I have learned a most valuable lesson from studying God's word, a lesson that Thomas Jefferson might have learned as well.

Happiness is merely an emotion, a feeling. As such, it is dependent on what is happening outside of me every day. Just as I can count on a beautiful sun to set (and with it goes the warmth I basked in), so too can I know that happiness will fade with the rising of life's difficult moments; illness, loss, and stress for example.

But joy is not the same as happiness. Not at all. And it's not just a matter of semantics but rather of sources. Abiding joy does not depend on what is happening around me. Rather, it is present because of the one who lives in me. I am not exempt from the "valleys" of life. I am not promised a life without trials or pain. And I will clearly not feel happiness when those hard times are upon me. Happiness is in fact fleeting.

But a constant remains; the joy of God's promises. I have joy because nothing can ever separate me from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus (Rom 8:38-39). My daily prayer is for you to discover this same joy for yourself.

And As I write this, I hope that my parents find a bit of happiness relived as they glance through their kitchen window and see the remnants of our visit; a melting snowman and a blurred snow angel. And may we all reflect on the God given joy that remains long after the feeling of happiness is gone.

Psalm 16:9, 11
My heart is glad, my inner self rejoices and even my body rests in confidence: For You are making known to me Your Path of Life. And in Your Presence, Oh God, I find fullness of joy!

From bad to worse

Carl was home from work today, having Mondays and Tuesdays off. Our homeschool schedule coincides with his his work schedule so that we can spend that family time together (nice perk). We decided to browse a few thrift stores (though Carl would definitely debate that "we" decided this). I want to say all was well and we had a nice time in each other's company. We did, sort of,...for awhile,...in certain moments throughout the day,.............

Oh, alright already. It was less than perfect and I ended up popping a few Exedrin just to keep the migraine monster at bay. Allow me to recreate some "special" moments for you.

It began with a hissy fit from Reece because he realized he wasn't going to be eating seafood for lunch. My son is a seafood lover in the grandest sense; baked salmon, breaded shrimp, and crab legs. He especially loves crab legs, which, by the way, has significantly lowered my own crab leg consumption. I find myself feverishly cracking shells open while he eats the meat as fast as I crack. To watch me, you'd think I was trying to meet some insane production quota. The things parents do for their children.

Anyway, we were driving down the road and Reece spots the gutter of seafoods, Long John Silvers. He immediately began begging us to stop.
"Long John Silvers! I looooOOOve Long John Silvers. Turn, Daddy. Tuuuurrrrrnnnn!"

Well, daddy didn't turn so Reece did some turning of his own. He turned into a whining, crying, very disappointed little boy as we passed his establishment of choice. Now, not that we were looking to appease him, but his spirits immediately lifted when he found out he was going to eat at his second favorite place.
That is, we ended up at a P.Y.O.F. ("pick your own food" as our kids call it), a Chinese buffet. Now, I don't know about you but, for me, buffets are like the devil's dining room. I mean, is it at all possible to eat at any buffet without committing the sin of overindulgence? C'mon! I don't think so. But hey, we did it for the kids (Uh, nope, that excuse still doesn't make me feel any better as I type it out for you now).

Okay, so we rolled strolled out of the buffet and began our shopping. The kids were more tired than usual and needed frequent reminders about their behavior. Carl had the baby (who was sleeping; how rough), while I had Reece in the cart seat, Cierah in the back of the cart (and not at all happy about it) and Olivia walking with me. It wasn't the most relaxed afternoon we ever spent together and it was about to get a bit worse.

I was looking at some books when, out of my peripheral vision, I spotted some sort of repetitive motion in the cart. Just as I turned to see what it was, 4 year old Cierah encouraged 5 year old Reece to try it, "it" being the most disgusting action, that of licking the shopping cart. Licking it!!! Fighting back multiple rounds of Chinese "pick your own", I quickly ended that little germ infested moment of fun. How entirely gross is that? (Don't you dare answer.) And I can't get the repulsive image out of my mind; her tongue on those dirty metal bars (which translated to several rounds of P.Y.O.F. heartburn for me).

Have you ever become nauseated on an amusement park ride, dying to get off and head to the nearest bathroom to play the cookie toss, only to be told, "Please remain seated until the ride comes to a complete stop"? If so, you're getting the gist of my day. You see, the "ride" was not yet over in spite of the nauseating scene that had just taken place. Unfortunately, the worst was yet to come.

Brandon woke up in a pleasant mood, smiling at anyone who noticed. I myself was having a lovely moment with him when he gave me the international symbol for "I'm about to blow," a.k.a. the red-faced grimace (grimace: distortion of the face to express an attitude or feeling). He was distorting his face alright, and it was definitely based on a "feeling", the feeling of a diaper gone bad.

Not to worry. I told Carl I would be right back as Brandon and I headed off to the ladies room for a diaper change. A quick calculation tells me there have been about 13,600 diaper changes in our household since our first child was adopted. I was about to go through the normal routine yet again, diaper duty #13,601. I made my way through the restroom door, pleased to find a changing station. I've always gotten my knickers in a twist over a public restroom with no place to change a baby. We parents have to get reaaally creative when that happens. And I've often thought that a copy machine would make a nice "plan B" changing station, what with its flat scanning bed and all. Well let me tell you, I nearly got my wish. Are you ready for what the thrift store provided for liners?
11x14 white copier paper! Uh huh, did too! I could not believe it. I was actually about to change my sweet boy on the blank page. With no other choice, I grabbed a sheet of legal sized and began.

Then it hit me, a most rancid smell. I thought, 'That can't be Brandon,...can it?' I was about to accept that he had gone way overboard to fill this particular diaper when I concluded that it could not possibly be him. Feeling as though I were on Candid Camera, I peaked in the first stall. Nothing. The next, nothing. The final stall,....Euewwwwww! There it was, the faulty plumbing. Nasty, nasty, nasty! Almost simultaneously, it occurred to me that I was hot, reaaaally hot. The space reeked and the heat was cranked up to "pass out" intensity; not a good combination. In a dizzying frenzy, I determined to make a speedy diaper change and get out of Poopsville.

I neatly got the requisite two wipes into position so I would not have to search for them once Brandon's dirty bottom was exposed. I also opened up a clean diaper and had it ready to go as well.
Tabs off.
Fold front of diaper over the mess, toward back of diaper.
Begin.
Yep, it was a doozy. Grabbing the first wipe, I quickly swabbed his bottom, wishing I had laid out a third wipe for my now beading forehead. One wipe barely got us going, so I reached for my back up wipe,........ut oh! Where is the back up wipe? It was right here. Realizing I had not dropped it and it was not to be found, I concluded I must have accidentally grabbed both wipes during the first messy sweep. Charming, now what?

My left hand was holding two chubby ankles (if you can call them ankles; they're buried in a roll of baby fat). My right hand surely had poo residue on it. The bathroom smelled like a pig farm on a humid summer day and baby Brandon was just a smiling and cooing away at me as I fought to maintain consciousness in the blazing heat and stench. And still our ordeal was not over.

As I attempted to reach in my diaper bag (looking pathetically like a child trying to remove the funny bone during Operation), it happened. Brandon decided he wasn't finished yet and ol' Mt. Saint Smellin' began erupting again.

Oh nooOOOOoo! Remember, I had folded the diaper over when I began. There was no where for the mess to accumulate, except on the 11x14 below.
I was defeated.
I had made it through 13,600 previous diaper changes but this time I was defeated.
Brandon was a mess.
I was somewhat green from the nausea.
And it occurred to me as I stood there that Carl was the one who had been pushing Brandon around the store. So just how did I end up in this special moment? (Carl's sly.) An additional twelve wipes later, I was finished and gasping for fresh air. It's moment I might never recover from and one don't wish to repeat.

Well, I'm off to visit family for a few days so I'll catch up with you on Sunday or so. Have a great week!

A heart for adoption

We interrupt this blogger program to bring you the following:

The Bridge
She endured the agony of labor.
I bore the pain of fruitlessness.
She savored your first sweet cry.
I dried your first real tears.
Her soul aches to remember you.
My heart breaks to think of her.
She will wonder who you became.
I will consider where you came from.
She will view us through a looking glass.
I too will see the great divide.
You, my adopted angel, will be the bridge.

I wrote the above poem shortly after we adopted our first child, Olivia. It was a time of incredible joy and elation that followed many years of empty arms and dark, quiet pain.

You know, it was really hard to find myself completely broken before God, and to trust Him to form that brokenness into something better, something that worked for my ultimate good and His glory. In the midst of such pain, it was also very hard to believe that my God could pick up one of the broken pieces of me (Me!) and use it like a prism to reflect the light of His love into the hearts of others in similar circumstances. I'd like to think He is holding up one of those broken shards right now as I share a part of our adoption story with you; the part where baby Brandon made his recent debut.

We had no idea (zero, zilch, none) that Brandon was about to join our family this past Christmas season. The call came on December 18Th. Out of the clear blue (literally),we were asked if we would be willing to care for 3 day old Brandon. We gave a definite "YES!" and made the 6 hour drive that day to get him. We spent the night in a hotel, waited through a few court hearings the next day, then headed back home to Indiana. He has been with us ever since.

As it had been two years since we last fostered (due to following my husband's displaced job out of state), we truly believed God was done growing our family. Let me just say, God is not done 'til He is done, regardless of what I think. During all those painful years of struggling, how we wished we could have "planned" our family the way most couples do. How I wished back then that I could silence His voice asking me, "Am I enough?" And how I would have loved to see the future "finished product", my brokenness reformed into the beautiful thing He intended; that of an adoptive family of six.

Yet, had I known all along how the journey would have unfolded, would each adoptive experience have tasted so wonderfully sweet? And would I have grown as much in faith and patience and strength of character without the pain? I think not. I know not.

Just wanted to share some of Brandon's grafting on our family tree with you. March 9Th is the next legal step of faith we walk out with him. Please bathe that day in prayer for our family as we continue to share steps of the journey with you. And now, back to our regularly scheduled program of bloggery.

Jer 29:11 (NIV) "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

It's going to be one of "those" days.

When a cup of coffee can best be described as heinous, you know it's bad. Did you ever see the movie BIG with Tom Hanks? Remember the scene where he ate the baby corn and found the taste appalling, thus proceeding to wipe his tongue with his fingers and a napkin in the middle of a fancy shindig? Well, that was me this morning, wiping gritty coffee grinds off my tongue like a toddler who despises your best cooking efforts. And mind you, these were sniper coffee grinds. They struck without warning, nary a floater to be seen in the top of my cup. In a word, gross!

I went from that little crimp in my day to baby Brandon and his "crimpy" diaper (a quick check of a Thesaurus reveals synonyms for "crimp" to be flop, pinch, drop and flow, all of which would fit our diaper scenario this morning). Brandon had a flop in his diaper, a pinch, he dropped something alright, there was definitely a flow. Yes, you can safely assume my cue ball had a "crimp" in his diaper.

And somehow, in the midst of all this "stuff" chipping away at my morning sunshine, I failed to notice that no, there isn't any sunshine at all. In fact, it's snowing like crazy out there. I have not yet recovered (physically or psychologically) from the 8 or 9 inches we got a few days ago. I mean, there's only one lane open to get out of our driveway (which I opened), thanks to the zealous plow guy who swept our cul-de-sac with his backhoe and conveniently deposited most of the pile in front of the last driveway as you head back out of the circle. Uh, that driveway would be MINE! And yes, you read me right. Plow guy did not have a truck with a plow on it. He had a backhoe.

Carl has an injury that prevents him from shoveling for awhile so that load is on my back (literally). I look at 3 foot high snowbanks on both sides of my drive and see my hard work, a bottle of Advil and a future bout of Kyphosis (humpback, if you will). And so the snow is again flying today (sigh). Did I mention that the only shovel we own has not a metal but rather a plastic "scoopy thing" and it's cracked? Always pushing the envelope, I am (it's a family gift). And that blasted shovel better hold too, because the only backup plan I have involves a few sand shovels, a few of my kids and knowledge of our state's child labor laws (no, I'm not serious just in case anyone mistakes me as such).

Anyway, somehow I have to manage keeping up with the accumulating snowfall, homeschooling my kids, caring for our 2 month old, making dinner (oops, forgot to set anything out last night; surprise of surprises) and getting to the grocery store in spite of the inclement weather.

Clearly, it looks like it's going to be one of "those" days. I'm challenging myself this very minute to look at my glass as half full, because I know it truly is. But that may get a little tricky if I smile at a stranger in the grocery store who exclaims, "You have something in your teeth," whereby I shamelessly pick to discover (yep, you guessed it) yet another grind. Now have a nice day (and pray for me while you're at it).

Goals for Valentines week!

I'm not much of a long term planner. I set goals by the day and they usually involve getting through without looking (or acting)like a weathered ol' seahag. My children, on the other hand, are big time goal setters.

Olivia is a planner. "What's the plan, mom? Do we have plans today? Can we plan to do that sometime, Mom?" She wants to know what's coming at her in the short term and the long term (which, at age 7, amounts to next week). Unfortunately, she is very inflexible so we have to be very careful not to divulge any plan not firmly cemented ("But you said we could go.")

Currently, her goal is to move to Australia someday and work with animals alongside Bindy Irwin (daughter of Steve Irwin, Crocodile Hunter). While we don't fancy her moving so far from home, we do think she'll be able to support herself better with this goal than the one she set at age three, that of a tic tac farmer.

Five year old Reece is becoming quite the goal setter himself. He recently told me he wants to "build things" when he grows up. Oh fer sweet! A future engineer! I immediately encouraged him to practice building "stuff" so he can one day make his dream a reality. Feeding off my encouragement, he excitedly replied, "Can we go to the Fix-it store sometime and look at toilet pipes?" I guess if the engineering gig fails, he'll have a fallback career in plumbing.

His other goal is one that he speaks of often, that of future husband and father. I can't help but wonder if his Daddy's positive example is rubbing off on him (frankly, Carl is a very good husband and father and we all reap blessings because of it). You always hear about little girls dreaming of their wedding day and of their Prince Charming. But you don't generally hear about little boys dreaming of their princess. My sweet boy does.

He sees inexpensive bouquets of flowers at the superstore and tells me he's going to "buy doze for my wife someday." He sees bridal gowns in the thrift store and asks me to hold them up so he can see "what dat will look like on my bride." And while sharing a precious living room dance with him last week, he confided that "someday I'm gonna dance with my wife like dis." Then again, he once told me he was taking his future wife on a honeymoon to Camp Snoopy and that he would be bringing me too. I loved it, but I doubt his future wife will share the vision. Alas, there's still some work to do before this particular prince is charming.

Four year old Cierah has no goals as of yet, but we reckon she'll end up in customer service of some sort like her daddy. Anyone who knows our "C" can tell you that she smiles like Chesser cat from Alice in Wonderland at anyone who will notice. She's the kid who doesn't know when the moment isn't funny; the one who, in spite of her best efforts, fails to stifle a laugh at the dinner table when better manners have been ordered. The girl's a grinner, I tell you.

So, where am I going with all this? Oh yeah, goals. My goal for Valentine's Day was to recognize how my family demonstrates love toward one another; to take the time to notice those special ways we are knit together as the family God has made us.

Let me begin with sweet baby Brandon, who turned 2 months old today. Taking Cierah's lead, little man gives us smiles for miles and the sweetest giggles too. He's a happy baby and we have every intention of adopting him, should we be privileged to do so. It's true that the children of an adoptive mother are not born under her heart but in it.

Cierah is our gopher. She is happy to fetch whatever she can to pitch in, especially if it involves helping with the baby. She is our official "binkie girl", often appearing from 3 rooms away because "duh baby's cwyin' and he needs his binkie."

Reece tries to assert his growing self, wanting recognition for being independent. He definitely feels he's "helping" us by doing things on his own. Just this week he poured grape juice "all by m'self" (in a white shirt, need I say more? Click on his photo above to get the gist). And today he fetched jelly "all by m'self," only to drop the glass jar on the floor and, well,...a calming hug for a scared, tearful and disappointed boy, and a sweep and swiffer later, the clean up was complete (Rats! Brand new jar too).

And seven year old Olivia shows love by her willingness to help me with her younger siblings. Liv has her oppositional issues but they do not emerge when I ask for help with the littles. She steps up to the challenge and I love her for this and so many other reasons. She also began furious crafting of nylon potholders to give as gifts this week (those "first crafts" loom thingies). By the way, did you know nylon potholders melt at about 350ºF? Ask me how I know (uh hmm).

Carl showed love by presenting me with a heart shaped box of silver and red Hershey kisses. Honestly though, the bigger "gift" is found in watching him excel in his role as a very nurturing, "hands on" father who brought books and ringpops home for his kids on Valentine's Day, while being disappointed that he couldn't find them a sled too.

And for my part, I made cupcakes in icecream cones with the kids and shoveled a total of 6" of snow off the drive while Carl was working so he could get in and out of the drive easily.

If you haven't taken the time this past week to reflect on the ways love comes full circle in your own relationships, I challenge you to do that today. Take just a moment to think about the ways you speak love to others and the ways they speak it in return. Sure, sometimes we have to dig a little deeper to discover our blessings. Call me an idealist but I really think we can find them if we seek them with all our HEARTS (pun intended).

And the ultimate goal? Philippeans 3:12-14
12Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. 13Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, 14I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

"Do you want a piece of me?"

We make weekly trips to the post office to release used books to others (and in turn, we receive free books that we desire to read; see my "A" list for more information). This week was not our ordinary pit stop, however. No, this week my Olivia might as well have asked someone twelve times her age, "Do you want a piece of me?"
Uh huh. You read that right. My girl was ready to rumble and it was no equal match.

I had given her a book and $2.00 to ship it via media mail. It's much easier to send Liv in than to go through the drill:

• get four kids out of their car seats
  
• waddle along like a pregnant duck with the infant carrier bouncing off my thigh (which, sadly, has a bounce of its own these days).
  
• stand in line with my clan while they gladly strike up conversations with anyone who will listen
  
• only to have to strap 'em all in again two brief minutes later.

It was a busy day, parking lot full, as Liv disappeared inside the building. Several minutes later, she came out in a stink-eyed flurry. I could tell by her stomp walk that she was not happy.
"You did not give me enough money, Mom. I need 79 cents more."
I reminded her that we need to watch our tone when we're frustrated, digging frantically through my purse for some loose change. Sheesh, I couldn't find a single dollar. I don't know how it's done in your home, but in our house this stay-at-home mom is very low on the ol' cash ladder. My 7 year old has more money than I do (seriously), thanks to her ever replenished stash, courtesy of doting grandparents.

"Do you need to borrow some money, Mom?"
"No (my blood pressure rising slightly as my cheeks began to burn), I have it here somewhere."

Half a minute later;
"Mom, I can lend you some dollars."
"No, it's okay (52 cents, 53 cents, oh thank goodness, a quarter). I've got it right here. Now take this back in and I'm sure the man will let you just step up front and finish."
Unamused, she fired, "I'm pretty sure he won't, mom. The line is so huge."

Well, what was supposed to be a quick "in/out" at the post office was now becoming a lengthy ordeal which clearly frustrated my 7 year old and left me looking like Pauper Mom (and if that doesn't sound like a pathetic superhero, I don't know what does).

Okay, so a few minutes later, Olivia reappears and I'm assuming all is well and we'll be on our way. Not so fast.

"Mom, I just saw the oldest lady I have ever seen. She was soooooo old, like maybe a hundred or eighty-seven or something. And she was so tiny, she could barely see the man at the counter. She was even shorter than Nana. But Mom, MOM! She was reaaaaally loud. She was yelling at the man, saying, 'You will do this, right NOW,' and he was sayin', 'I'm sorry, M'am, we can't do that,' and she kept sayin', 'Yes you will too, or I'll come back here every day until you do.'"

Okay, so I gathered that an elderly lady was clearly frustrated about some service she couldn't receive and perhaps didn't realize others were listening as she desperately tried to plead her case to the postal worker. We've all witnessed similar public scenes before(don't even get me started on my years working as a customer service rep in the airline industry). Still, I was not prepared for the rest of the story.

"Mom, that lady went on and on. I really thought I was gonna have to go up and tell her, 'You need to calm it down.'"

Hit the breaks! Cringe! My jaw dropped.

My thoughts began racing a mile a minute. Here, I sent my child in to mail a book and instead she's considering a rumble with "the oldest lady I've ever seen." This is not good. This is soooo not good. What happened to all the teaching we've done with our children regarding honor and respect for elders and showing grace and....................sigh.

I quickly reflected on our growth and walk as Christians, a walk that is ever being challenged. And growth that requires being continuously molded and shaped, as clay in the Potter's hands. My mind raced as I searched to find just the right words to say in that teachable moment. What came to mind (and mouth) was the message of grace. Grace! Even the sound of it is something very beautiful. I told my daughter that the elderly lady might have been unaware of who was watching and listening as she spoke sharply with the man at the desk. But we cannot forget who it is that goes with us at all times. Our Heavenly Father is there beside us. And when we fail to walk our walk in a way that pleases Him, we find mercy and forgiveness and grace.

Grace! God's unearned love. Knowing there is nothing I can do to make Him love me more and nothing I can do to make Him love me less. Grace is what my daughter needed to extend to a frustrated elderly woman in line at the post office.

I asked her if she understood what I was trying to say. She nodded in agreement, though I'm sure it's a message we'll have to revisit again and again in the growing years to come. And as quickly it had come, the teachable moment was gone when she turned her attention to the third row of our minivan and boasted to her younger siblings, "I scored us some suckers."

Ephesians 4:7 But unto every one of us is given grace according to the measure of the gift of Christ.

Homeschool "Bumps"

There are some things we do very well in our homeschool. We have a plan. We have a set curriculum. We are scheduled. We stay with the task at hand. We have fun.
Some moments are shining moments. Some are, well,..... not. But all things considered, we enjoy and treasure homeschooling as a way of life.

In all honesty though, there are some less "sparkly" moments and some "stuff" that we may need to refine over time (gasp). Hmmm, let me take you down memory lane as I recall some of those less than ideal learning experiences (begin dream sequence now).

Way back in September of 2004, we were making a worm jar for science (oh, stop your gagging and keep following the slime trail with me). The project called for poking air holes in the metal lid of the worm jar. Carl grabbed his poking tool of choice and took to the designated task. All was well until,........."Yeeeeow!" He did it. He poked through the lid and directly into the palm of his hand, which was bleeding like a stuck pig.

But wait, there's more. Ever the former R.N., I examined his hand, only to make a most peculiar discovery. An "x". He had a bleeding "x" smack in the middle of his palm. Whaa?

"Honey, what exactly happened?"
"I cut myself." (to the point, my man is).
"Uh huh. Okay, I gathered that. But what did you cut yourself with?
"A screwdriver." (he, grimmacing and squirming as if his hand might fall off at any second).
"A screwdriver. Uh huh."

Pausing and putting on my "matter of fact" tone, I continued.
"Now I'm just gonna take a wild guess here and say it was a Phillip's head?"
"What clued you in, the branded "x" in the middle of my hand or the blood stained weapon on the kitchen counter?"

I switched into full nursing mode, cleaning and bandaging my injured carpenter of worm habitats, informing him that no, he had NOT had a tetanus shot in the past ten years and yes, he would have to drive to the nearest ER to get one (sigh). I can only imagine the impression left in the ER of homeschooling families that day.

*****
Olivia, age 7, will need further instruction on the many adhesives available in life. For, she still asks to use "goose" tape for her duct tape eligible projects.
*****

Economics may be a future challenge, as Olivia also asked if we could buy a Quesadilla for our next car. Quesa what? It took quite some time to figure out that one. Kia Sedona. Que-sadilla.
*****

Phys Ed may need tweaking.
In soccer this year, Reece (then age 4½) kept missing the goal on his attempts. He tried 3 times or so, got flustered and finally picked up his ball and angrily tossed it in like a shotput.

And in swimming, Olivia swallowed a big mouthful of water and our conversation went like this;
Momma: "What happened? Did you take on water?"
Liv: "I did it on purpose."
Momma: (thinking Liv is being oppositional as she often is when frustrated) "You mean you accidentally swallowed some water?"
Liv: "NOoooOOO...I mean I PURPOSELY swallowed some water."
Momma: "Why would you do that?"
Liv: Because! I thought I could breath under water so I tried it and I swallowed some water."
Momma: Ahhhh! So you ran an experiment to see if you could breath under water. So, what's your conclusion?"
Liv: "That I can't breath under water."
*****

Let us not forget socialization (all you fellow homeschool moms are already giggling).....
Reece told us he has friends in his Sunday school class named "Goofy, Stinky and Bobby." Naturally. Doesn't everybody?!
*****

Our preschoolers could use to brush up on identification skills.
We were playing OUTBURST JR., a trivia question game for kids that is kind of like the Family Feud. Liv and I were taking tougher categories as a team while Reece and Cierah (with Daddy's help) had the easier category. Okay, so I chose "Sesame Street characters" for them.

Uh, did you know Big DUCK is a Sesame Street character? And no amount of hinting changed their response to Big BIRD. I dropped a major hint to Reece, saying, "Who lives in the trash can?", to which he confidently replied, "Trashy!"
And mind you, Cierah has been required to watch Sesame Street ABC's *and* Numbers on numerous occaions and still she had no clue.
*****

And in math...
We work on a big posterboard-sized prop called "Decimal Street". Once when I got the board out, Reece enthusiastically said, "I LOVE Sesamal Street."
Sesame Street meets the decimal system (this coming from the kid who couldn't name a single Sesame Street character during Outburst Jr.).

And you know she's beginning to get math application when your 7 year old says, "Mom, I figured it out and I have 9 more years until I can get my driver's license!" Arghhhhhh!

From Chaos to Credit (and all those crazy moments in between)

Sometimes you just have to laugh at life in order to see your glass as half full. I mean, some of the "stuff" that comes at you seems so pressing or frustrating in the heat of the moment. Then, when you've had time to step back and review the events of the day, you realize that from God's perspective, you were Lucille Ball and your "performance" was quite funny in His eyes. Perhaps the great pizza incident was such a moment? Just one of the many things I'll have to ask God when I meet Him face to face. Allow me to recap from last week..........

Okay, so I was trying to get lunch going, a late lunch because Carl would be home at 2pm. I needed to fry hamburger for sloppy joes and to heat the oven for garlic fries. Only,...."WAAAAAAA!" baby Brandon wouldn't have it. He woke up in a big hunger just as I was preparing to get lunch on (note to self...never try to prepare a meal without full consideration of the tiniest appetites, lest they remind you in the midst of it).

Okay Toni, you can handle this. So I switched gears and headed upstairs to get my little cue ball. Only, it wasn't going to be the quick transition I had counted on. His diaper was a wilting blob and he was soaked clear through. As I was removing his many layers of clothing (why do we mothers insist on dressing them so?), the doorbell rang,....and raaang and RANG! Olivia, Reece and Cierah naturally peeked through the window shades and yelled up, "It's a man and a boy at the door, Mom!" I yelled back calmy instructed them to get away from the windows, assuming the solicitors would simply leave when I didn't answer the door. Nope, wrong-a-roonie.
They knocked.
And knocked.
AND KNOCKED!!!!!!!!!!

"What in the name of Burgess McDodson?" I thought, in true Larry Boy fashion (Larry Boy; an endearing pickle of a character from the VeggieTales videos). By this time, baby Brandon was less than amused at my distraction. I was standing at the window to see who would walk away from our house. Meanwhile, the kids were still downstairs, still yelling, "They're still heEEere, Mom!" while I still yelled calmly demanded, "I said get away from those windows, NOW!" Brandon just yelled (at the top of his pint sized, fully inflated and pliable young lungs).

Finally I saw them walk away, our neighbors. They were selling pizzas. PIZZAS! I'm trying to change my pee soaked baldy and they want me to choose pepperoni or cheese (I chose one of each, by the way). All I needed to complete the chaotic scene was Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture (the kids learned what an overture and coda were this past week in homeschool; perfect timing). You've heard the piece many times and believe me, it FIT our day perfectly.

Okay, fast forward to a few days ago.
I feel like we ate pizza on credit. In reality, we did. It's hard to wrap my mind around that one, Italian on loan. You see, our neighbor sold those pizzas to us last week, then his wife delivered them a few days ago in a hurry. She didn't have time to take payment then, saying she would get it this weekend. Well, being a person of convenience, I made the pizzas today and we ate them. For cryin' out loud, we haven't even paid for them yet. I keep thinking Bubba the loan shark is gonna bang furiously on my door next, demanding payment plus interest. Goodness, I feel so,...criminal. Olivia will run a check over tomorrow so all's well. It's a good thing we enjoyed the pizza though, because there's nothing like paying for something you don't like (not that I would have put down the pizza just because it tasted less than yummy, but that's another story for another day).

My baby's takin' on water!

This article is my submission to the blog challenge sponsored by Darlene Schacht, Author of The Mom Complex. Enjoy!

A Kodak moment. It can go from "priceless" to "crisis" in a matter of seconds. We've all seen it. You're at the little league game, trying to keep your preschooler from eating a wad of someone else's gum from the bottom of the bleachers, while simultaneously nodding approval for your older child's determined performance at bat. And as we all know, the real performance comes when we attempt to convince slugger we've actually seen his amateur grand slam. In fact, all we've really seen is the disgusting ABC gum strung from the bottom of the bleachers to our preschooler's chomping mouth. Choking back rising stomach contents, we sigh smile and wave frantically at our lil' slugger on the field, two thumbs up, doing our best to seem interested and proud in the midst of our apalling distraction. Well, I had a moment of sorts this past Thursday. A Kodak crisis moment, that is.

It was the last day of my kids' swim lessons. The young instructor was holding my Reece and Cierah under the water, pushing them down toward the bottom and through an upright floating hula hoop, then lifting them up to the surface again. All was well for a g'zillion dunks.

Then it happened.

Reece spontaneously decided to ask a pressing question during launch and,...well,...let me just say it's REEEEEALLY hard to inflate one's lungs sufficiently the nanosecond before the swim instructor sounds the dive siron and plunges you into the deep. I immediately white knuckled the plastic chair I sat in, knowing full well my baby did not have enough time to fill his little lungs with precious O2, let alone close his intake valve (a.k.a. yapping mouth) before submersion.

Time passed in sloooooooow motion like an old vinyl record on the wrong speed (Hey, wasn't that always great fun!) It sure seemed like an extra long dive as my eyes searched for any sign of his head breaking the surface again. Finally, his instructor's extended arms moved in an upward motion, bringing my boy sputtering from the depths and...ICK, coughing up frothy spit and water from his lungs while simultaneously trying to inhale.

Oh! OoOOooh!
My baby! Oh my!
Let Mommy come and calm you and comfort you and get you away from that mean ol' swim instruct,.......
Wait just a minute!
Did he just say, "Do it again!"???
Did I hear my darling, waterlogged boy correctly?
But,..... he literally drank of the forbidden water and he,.....he sputtered!

I think I actually gasped out loud in the next moment, as there he went again,...DOWN, DOwn, down. Five seconds and a big giggle later, he was up from the deep and begging to do it again.

I felt so,.....well, deflated for one. I had perceived a much bigger emergency in my "mother's tunnel vision" than had actually existed. My boy wasn't drowning. He wasn't traumatized. He didn't read the panic in my voice and didn't feel betrayed by his swim instructor. No, he simply accepted the moment for what it was, a mouthful of water in the swimming pool of life.

I was immediately reminded that my children are not my possessions but rather God's precious treasures, on loan to me, placed in my hands for but a season, to train up in the way they should go (Proverbs 22:6). Sure, my baby was takin' on water. Yes, he was sent below the surface without sufficient air to make it through the deep and back out again. But he is a child of God, who made him, loves him and is always with him, even as he dunks in the deep end. God can go where I cannot, even to the bottom of a pool. Isn't that just like Him to use what I perceived as a crisis to teach ME that He is always with me too, through every "crisis" motherhood might bring my way. When I signed the kids up for swim lessons, little did I know that I would learn a lesson or two myself. And you know, it makes those pricey fees worth it all the more.

Isaiah 43:1-2But now, this is what the LORD says — he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.