Not your (neuro)typical household

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have "normal" kids. Those of you who know me are saying "ha ha" right about now. How normal can kids be who grow up in a house where the parents don't want cable TV, read obsessively, and who have discussions on theoretical physics around the dinner table.

Since it is my oldest who has autism, I have never known what it is like to parent only "normal" children. And I have reason to suspect that even my neurotypical children have leanings towards that end of the brain spectrum. They are all 3 very sensitive to certain foods, over-stimulation, picky clothing tags, uncomfortable fabrics, etc.

What is it like to get children ready for school without having to suddenly clip out a tag, change a shirt for a more comfortable one, not have to worry about sock seams being just right? What is it like to not have to negotiate afternoon peace treaties between 2 over-stimulated kids when one is an autistic introvert and the other is an ADHD-leaning extreme extrovert? What is it like to actually have time to finish one's laundry, housecleaning, grocery shopping, cooking without having to navigate a crisis every 5 minutes? What is it like to have children who actually need the 10 hours of sleep recommended for their ages? What is it like to not feel compelled to discuss personal family matters in stores with strangers so that people don't think your kids are merely being brats? What is it like to not have to wonder every day that some doctor is going to want to force strong medicines on your beautiful child to make them behave in a "normal" fashion in school? What is it like to not have to worry about whether the world will accept your children and their unique gifts?

Most of all, who is it who gets to decide what "normal" is anyway? I wonder....

Rekindling an old obsession

On Saturday Dec. 12th my oldest son, Christopher, turned 10. That afternoon, after returning from the pancake breakfast we went to for his Scout troop, he surprised me by going to the bookshelf in our bedroom and pulling out all 3 of the photo albums that house the pictures of little baby Christopher. He brought them down to the living room and he and his sister had a great time looking at them. It occurred to me as I peered over their shoulders that I hadn't seen Charlotte and Connor's wee little baby pictures in a while.

So began the photo quest. One of the main places I knew I would find them was on my scrapbooking shelves in the basement (for all you scrapbookers, it is a nice *dry* basement - not finished (yet) but not a repository of mildew). Some years back - about 2 babies ago - the ladies in my church were heavily into scrapbooking. I got caught up in the frenzy and fell in love with it. Even became a consultant for a while - but then after 2 more kids and a move, life happened and it went by the wayside.

Well, I started rummaging through all my crop bags and came up with not just the baby photos, but a lovingly half-finished scrapbook that I'd forgotten I'd been working on. And then I stumbled upon a passel of pictures I'd rescued from my mom's house - photos of my teenage years, and our house, and....gulp....my Daddy - gone almost 5 years now. Standing beside a snowman we'd made.....posing in front of the house on a summer's day. And pictures of the things he loved - his old '69 Ford that he called Big Blue, and the outdoor Nativity he set up so carefully every Christmas. Ohhhh, boy. The memories.

I really don't need something else to do right now. Between Chris on the cusp of puberty, Connor getting developmental testing for a speech delay, trying to not lose Charlotte in between them, waiting to see if Brian has a job next year (school budget cuts), an aborted attempt at a church hunt, and a lot of annoying (but thankfully not serious) winter illnesses I have my hands quite full.

But - maybe - in the few spare minutes I hardly have, maybe I could also dig out some pages and adhesive. You know, for the kids' sake (wink, wink).

Between a rock and a (frightening) hard place

For the last 6 years my son, Christopher, has been successfully navigating the isolating waters of autism. He has had an excellent program at school, and has made leaps and bounds in speech, reading, communication, and social matters. Of course, he has always had good and bad days, like anyone. Usually these "bad" behavior days were egged on by tiredness, illness, hunger, or over-stimulation (or some combination thereof). Always before, there was a cause.

Now, however, since the beginning of this school year, his usual 1-2 week blip of a bad spell has turned into a 3 month bad spell - with no apparent known cause. I wait on pins and needles for his behavior book to come home each day. We haven't gone more than 2 days at a time without serious infractions. And yet - at home, he is normal (well, as normal as normal gets around here).

I have my suspicions, of course. He is soon going to be 10 years old. He has recently had a enormous growth spurt. He's gained about 3 inches of height and at least 15 pounds since maybe last spring. And according to my husband, he himself began puberty right around this age. So I probably have testosterone-fueled aggression in my normally pretty mild mannered son. Who has autism. Who doesn't understand what's happening to his body. Who by the very nature of his condition has difficulty dealing with uncontrollable changes in his world.

There has been talk of counseling (expensive) and medicine (expensive and possibly dangerous). I have been trying to get him in to his pediatrician to get some answers and advice. Meanwhile, it feels like his teachers are telling me to please "fix" him and then send him back.

I am doing my research - and I know one thing for certain - I will do anything I have to in order to avoid giving him those powerful drugs. They are not the cure-all that doctors and Big Pharma would have the public believe. There are alternative methods. I will find them. I have to. Nobody else will fight for the health and well being of my little boy.

Autism is a very lonely road for anyone whose life it touches.

A string around her finger

My daughter is a very "in-the-moment" kind of girl. I liken her to a little butterfly flitting and floating about. She's very happy-go-lucky with intense quicksilver emotions. The only problem is that the objects in her world are very loosely attached to her too. If it's not needed in-the-moment, off it goes - flung off carelessly into the stratosphere - never to be thought of again until the next time it occurs to her to look.

This morning, it was her backpack. Unlike days gone by where it was a child's choice whether or not to carry one, now it is required by the school. When we got to the bus stop this morning, there she stood - 3 little ponies and a stuffed cat in hand - innocently asking "Mommy, where's my backpack?" Me, I hadn't noticed it wasn't there, as I had grabbed both kids' umbrellas in case the gray skies actually opened up on us.

Sigh - of course the *right* thing to do is send her back for it. Except, she won't learn the lesson, and I'd be stuck driving her to school. Meanwhile, Chris's bus is due any moment. I tell him to hand his stuffed tiger to his sister when it arrives. Off to get the backpack. I get halfway down the block to see his bus pull up. After making sure he got on, I continue on toward home for the backpack. (Incidentally, she was waiting with her best friend and best friend's mom). I get back and ask her if Chris gave her the tiger. Well - Responsible Son didn't want to leave it in the wrong place, so he took it with him. Turns out the bus driver is holding it for him. Thank you, Considerate Bus Driver - you must have kids too.

Yesterday I had made the mistake of sending her to school in layered shirts. It was picture day, and I'd grabbed a cute, inexpensive shirt at Walmart because it was a pretty color on her. Like many of the current fashions it was actually two pieces layered together. Because of picture day, I forgot that this is always a bad idea. I'd braided her long hair into pigtails as well, in hopes of keeping it looking nice for the picture - along with a stern warning to Leave Them Alone until afterwards. As she got off the bus her hair was flying loose, she handed me the hair elastics, and the top shirt was flying free, left dangling by the little plastic hang tag joining it to the shoulder of the shirt underneath. My wee little snake, constantly shedding her "skin" everywhere.

My mother loves to buy my kids these cute 3 piece outfits - pants, shirt, warm-up jacket - or pants, shirt, vest, etc. Yeah, not a good idea for Little Miss. It took me a while to catch on, but after numerous calls, emails and notes to teachers to "please send Charlotte's sweater/jacket/gloves/hat home again" I've come up with a system. All her school jackets have hoods, all her school gloves are dollar store cheapies, and in winter (when Little Miss is cold all the time) she wears a strappy camisole under the appropriate weight shirt or sweater - she's not allowed to run around school in that so she can't take her shirt off.

Now if I can just fasten her backpack to her coat I'll be all set...

The daily-ness of autism

When you are raising a child with special needs, you encounter many family dynamics and situations that are not covered by the standard parenting practices. It's hard to even define a "normal" day in a house with a special-needs child. The minute they receive their diagnosis, life ceases to be "normal." The best you can do is to create your own "new normal."

The special need we deal with in our household is autism. Despite what you read and hear from a few famous folks - autism has no specific known cause, no known cure, and no standard method of treatment. Many therapies have been proven to help, and many are just so much snake oil. Every autistic child is different. Not even a doctor can say which child will respond favorably to which treatment.

We are some of the "lucky" ones. Our son was diagnosed PDD-NOS when he was 31/2. After a year in a special preschool (offered gratis by our public school, otherwise he couldn't have gone) the doctor said he could now be considered merely Aspberger's (the mildest form). On a good day Chris seems just a little eccentric. On a bad day (or bad week, or month), like recently - well - let's just say postage to Timbuktu or Saskatchewan starts looking pretty good. For me.

People try to be helpful. "Well, I saw on Supernanny..." Um, no. Unless you have an autistic child or are trained to work them, you DON'T understand. No matter how much you think you do. If you have an autistic child you can safely throw all your regular parenting books out the window. What works with them changes yearly, monthly, daily, sometimes hourly. Schedules help. But as any mom knows - life happens to schedules.

I have within the past few years become blessed by friendship with the moms of some of my son's classmates/Scout mates. When we have a chance to talk - wow, the relief! Yes - here is somebody who understands what my life is like. For me, the hardest part of the day is from 4PM to 8PM - the time when my kids are all home but my husband isn't yet, and I have to somehow make dinner, referee homework, and sort out the various autism drama that each new day brings. With a constant eye on making sure Chris doesn't get red food coloring or MSG (autistic kids are notoriously sensitive to food additives) and an eye on his nutrition and vitamins (autistic kids are notoriously rigid eaters), keeping track of what this week's "currency" is to use for discipline, and hovering over him like a hawk to make sure he hasn't found yet another new thing to stim off of - those few hours can be the most exhausting of my whole day.

Oh, and let's not forget about the family dynamics between the autistic child and his "normal" siblings (though really, who knows how normal or not they are - since all the traits cluster together even without a formal diagnosis). Toss in one probably-should-have-been-diagnosed-ADD mom frantically trying to hold the whole schedule together - and you get what I lovingly refer to as My Three Ring Circus.

You know, people got on my case for years about why I wasn't Using My College Degree. Ha! If only they'd known. I tell you what - that degree in Psychobiology may not have led to a career, but it has become one of my most useful weapons in the war against autism. Funny isn't it, how things work out?

For now, it's back to my regularly scheduled chaos.

i need to start thinking in sound bytes

Since it's obviously too much trouble for me to actually finish a whole post, perhaps I should do like the media does - hit you with sound bytes.

Then you would know that while you've been seeing nothing but blog-silence my mind has been busily pondering...

- the fact that most of my daily jobs as a mom have nothing whatsoever to do with the 17 years of schooling I spent preparing for my life

- that having a special needs child impacts the whole family every day in ways I forget about until talking with moms of "normal" kids

- the amusing differences between Girl Scout and Boy Scout meetings

- the sea change going on in America's churches

- the fact that safety is really an illusion

- why it is that even though I'm married with kids I still react inside like the shy nervous teenager I was when flung into a new social situation

And maybe, just maybe - I'll have a chance to expand on one of those in the near future. But right now it's Conference Day at my kids' school so I must get ready to go discuss Important Things.

The hidden music

Back at the end of March of this year I was at a leader's retreat at church. On Saturday morning, between the time of finishing breakfast and the start of the first session, a bunch of us were standing loosely congregated around the worship musicians' corner of the room. We were chatting and randomly tossing out songs and having a fun time with some totally spontaneous worship. One of the gals tossed out a song called "God of This City" by Bluetree. If you listen to any Christian radio in America you've heard it, probably ad nauseum by this point. At the time I had heard the song on the radio, but did not even know it well enough to know the words to the chorus. I realized that I really liked the tune, though, and promised myself to pay better attention the next time I heard it on the radio.

Well, long story short I liked it so well that when I happened upon the group's album on sale for $5 I snapped it up (even though I rarely do this when I only know one song). I generally like to listen to a new CD on the regular stereo, but it was a very busy day/week/season of my life so I popped it onto my iPod, which I like to wear when I do boring jobs like folding laundry. One evening, as I was folding said laundry, while Brian finished up the kids' bath I was listening to the album. Now, understand I had *already* listened to it at least 3 or 4 times. As I was working, I noticed at one point that I was hearing an instrumental version of the theme of the title song - huh, that's funny, where is that on the album? It was so beautiful, a lovely piano theme and variations. How could I have missed it? I'd listened to the album while doing other stuff each time and I hadn't noticed it before. I zipped around the songs, confused that I couldn't find it again. Put it back at the beginning and tried to pay better attention this time.

What I discovered, such a small thing, became a huge epiphany in my life. This beautiful instrumental piece that I found so lovely and haunting? It was the ending part of the title song! I'm sure that the song gets cut off when they play it on the radio because it's a logical place to do so, they have time constraints, and most people want to hear the part with the singing. But the fact that I'd listened to it at least 4 times before (maybe more, because I liked it) and never noticed that part, never even noticed it was part of the song - well - picture a little light bulb over top of my head.

I put the song on again, and stopped to listen quite deliberately this time. Sure enough, at 4 min. 55 sec. there is a fadeout and pause from the main song, the place where it ends on the radio. You think the song is over, then at 4:56 it comes back in with this gorgeous piano instrumental version of the theme. It's delicate, lovely, and haunting - the deep ending chords resonated in my soul. I took my ear buds out and sat there stunned. This song is like my life - I missed the most beautiful part of the song because I was busy and not really paying attention.

How much of my LIFE had I been missing lately by being busy and not paying attention? It was quite a wake-up call, and that one tiny moment would become a turning point in my life. It was when I realized I was tired of the human do-ing and wanted to be a human be-ing again.

Perhaps a bit of overkill

Now I know why it takes me so long to get around to doing the Really Big Chores - like the big clothing sort n' toss I've been working on this week. It's because my slightly ADD brain, when it finally focuses in on something.....can't....let.....go. I made up my mind to very sensibly sort a box or bag or 2 a day. Today I have to wear one of my wrist braces because I overdid it with moving around big heavy bins and carrying monstrous amounts of stuff needing to be laundered.

Also, much of the clothing (mine, at least....I know what does or doesn't fit the kids) needs to be actually tried on. An odious task that - especially when you're sorting winter things and it's 80 degrees and humid. I keep vacillating as to how ruthless I want to be with the sorting - on the one hand, if I toss everything I haven't actually worn in the last year (like the experts recommend) I will finally be able to fit all my clothing in its allotted spaces. On the other hand, sometimes I find myself needing that odd bit of clothing - for a costume, a messy job, a camping trip, an unexpected cold/warm snap. And the sorting process itself is a walk down memory lane. That seems to be exclusively a "woman thing". Oh look, there's that cute dress I wore to work a lot when my husband and I were dating! And there's my favorite sweater that looked so cute when leggings were in the first time around. And the adorable miniskirt I pranced around my college campus in (yes, they go back that far - hush - I'm sorting it *now* that's what matters).

In the interest of not driving myself crazy, I'm trying something I read about. All the stuff that I can't/don't wear and is not sentimental - goes. The few things that are really hard to part with will get packed up in a special consider-it-again-a-year-from-now box. At this stage of the game, *anything* I can get out of this house or pack neatly in a labeled box is a plus. Twenty plus years of sorting will not happen overnight. It's sort of like weight loss - for my house. It didn't get cluttered overnight, and it won't get uncluttered overnight.

I'm working against 18+ years of training by my Depression-era parents. Like Flylady says - baby steps. Itty bitty baby steps, if necessary.

Except yesterday it became slightly addictive. I kept finding "just one more thing" to sort. Ended up feeding the kids ramen noodles for dinner - oops. Well, they were happy, and I was happy with a good day's work done.

...and a time to throw away

I've said before that when God is trying to get my attention He keeps sending me the same message in many different ways - over and over....and over. Yes, I can be dense sometimes - and stubborn. (That 'ole Welsh and Scottish heritage again....)

Two passages keep coming back to me right now through various means - friends, family, church, books, music. The first - "Be still and know that I am God." For about a year I tried to "be still" while being still busy. Didn't work. It's been around 5-ish months since I left the busy-ness behind. Had more than a few dark, depressing, lonely moments - a sort of busy-ness detox, I think.

Now a second passage keeps coming up over and over - the one from Ecclesiastes about "a time to every purpose under heaven". As it turns out, I've spent part of the past few months doing a lot of sorting and tossing - of old clothes and junk in particular. But also of other things. Lately I've come to realize that I've been holding on to a lot of thoughts, habits, beliefs, and ways of doing things that are no longer productive, necessary, or - in some cases - not even mine. One of the things I'm in the habit of doing is taking sermon notes in church. I found a bunch of old notes hanging around (when Connor dumped my Bible). As I sorted through them, I came upon a few sets from different churches. I'd internalized many of these teachings, and yet, as I looked through them - some of the teachings were diametrically opposed to each other. What's more, I sat there asking myself if I even *believed* everything that was in those notes. Some of the various teachers I'd taken the notes on laid out a point of view of certain passages that I realized was completely unlike any other interpretation of that passage I'd ever heard before - and I had swallowed it unquestioningly.

That gave me pause - a very big pause. I started rummaging around in my head and saw that I had many beliefs, habits, notions, and self-talk going on in there that weren't really mine. Again, I'd just absorbed them unquestioningly - from from church, culture, friends, family - like a good little sponge they'd all been absorbed.

So - I've been housecleaning - in more ways than one. Yes, it feels very good to lighten the burden of clutter in my house. It's good and necessary to get rid of things that are no longer used or useful. But - it is soul lightening (en-lightening?) to relieve my mind and my soul of the bits of flotsam and jetsam that have been floating around in there since I was a teenager. My journal's been very busy - and a necessary companion to help me dredge up the sludge so it can be washed away.

I've been amazed to rediscover (hidden beneath the mental and schedule related clutter) music, authors, and hobbies I'd forgotten I enjoyed. I picked up my sketchbook for the first time in probably 12 -13 years. I dug out my cookbooks and made some old fashioned home cooked meals (with actual vegetables that grew in the ground!) I did silly things with my children, like making "pinkalicious" cupcakes just for fun.

I'd been running around, restlessly searching for what I called "my missing puzzle piece" - and all along it's been inside of me (truly, the kingdom of God is within you). I just had to sit still long enough for God to find me.

It's hard to be a sage when you're up to your ears in laundry

The problem with spiritual journeys is that, unless you are a hermit, at some point real life intrudes. It's really hard to put the brakes on painful soul-searching, fervent prayer, and deep contemplation. It's hard for anybody. But it's magnified if you have kids. It has made for some alternately funny/frustrating moments lately.

Kids are the great equalizer. If you're feeling with it and on top of the world (spiritually or otherwise) you still have to turn around and break up the fight your kids are having over whatever toy has grabbed their attention. If you're having one of those days that make good 'ole Murphy look like an optimist, it's really hard to not be cheered up by your toddler's silly antics and megawatt smile.

I'll have a moment where God has ripped open my soul - and I have to stop, stuff all my emotions back inside, neatly zip them up - and go run to the bus stop to pick up my kids. Or, I'll be pouring out my heart in my journal (or blog) but I'll still have a bored toddler bouncing on me for attention, and a bored cat nipping at my ankles.

Sages are supposed to be unattached holy men sitting atop lonely mountains or wandering in barren deserts. They're not supposed to be moms of busy young children. Or so the world sees it. Used to have this problem in school too. It's not that I *can't* concentrate on algebra and the events that led up to WWII - but why would I *want* to when the sun is shining and the birds are singing and look! there's a beautiful Monarch butterfly over there on that flower?

My inner observer is always at work. I can't help myself. I'll be standing in line at the grocery store and find myself observing those around me and suddenly I'm off on a tangent wondering about the social implications of being attached to your cell phone or what life is like for moms in 3rd world countries who can't just drive over to the local grocery superstore to stock up on juice boxes and snacks.

It's become all the harder to do on this deep, rocky journey I find God leading me on. How does one dive deep and come up for air quickly? I've got many a spiritual case of "the bends" lately (diving sickness) from having to do that for the sake of the kids. Or the house, or the schedule, or whatever. Trying to walk around looking normal while inside my spirit is bleeding. I'm a very bad actor, evidently. People keep giving me funny looks - well, I always have worn my heart on my sleeve.

The best I can do is try to give myself permission - for a certain time only. Okay, this morning I'm allowed to dig deep and fall apart and let God put me back together. Check. Next item on the list. Now for the grocery shopping.

If only my brain had an off switch this would be so much easier....

The sign game

Recently we returned from our trip to West Virginia, where we spent some time camping. Camping is one of our favorite family vacations, and Blackwater Falls, WV is one of our favorite places to go. It is not an easy trip, however. Not just because we have to pack 300lbs. of camping gear and 5 people in our van, but the last third of the trip is over the river and through the woods by way of *lots* of switchbacks and elevation changes. I paid attention to the the signs this time - final elevation around the falls over 3,000 ft. above sea level. We live just out of the tidal basin that is Washington DC - yeah, pretty much *at* sea level here. And our daughter is prone to carsickness. And our faithful 13 year old van is prone to elevation sickness (or so it would seem - we always hold our breath that nothing will give way on the trip through the mountains).

So, one of my favorite ways to pass the time when I'm not driving is to read the street signs. I have often wondered whose job it is in any given area to come up with street names. Some of them probably made sense at one time - Old Mill Road - well, of course - at one time there was an old mill on the road and it was a good landmark. "Yeah, you just go down there by way of the old Mill road."

Some of the names are reminiscent of history - in Manassas there are lots of street names that refer back to the Civil War. One of my favorites that always gives me a giggle is Reb Yank Road - since I am originally a Yankee. Some of the names the locals just gave up and called a spade a spade - the main thoroughfare near our old apartment in PA just outside of Philly was, I kid you not, Street Road. First time I saw it I couldn't believe it. Come on, just a little creativity here? Somewhere on the PA turnpike (near Pittsburgh, I think) is a sign for Rodie Road. That one gave me the giggles too.

On the way up I saw a couple signs worth a laugh - like 3 Fox Lane. Why a number of foxes? Why only 3? Did they foxhunt out here at one time? And Lone Oak Road - among all these trees I see that one was a landmark? Really?

But the kicker came on the way back. Somewhere slightly west of Winchester, VA is saw a sign - in the middle of nowhere mind you - called....Glimpse of Heaven Lane!
You know, your first thought is, okaaaay....what was *that* person smoking at the time. It was this little lane that led up and over a small hill - okay - the view was fairly pretty, but a Glimpse of Heaven? Having just come down off a mountain with a spectacular falls that to me really *was* a glimpse of heaven - I found this truly puzzling.

I've decided that somewhere, in every city, town, and borough they have appointed a little old man or little old lady who sits in a tiny office at a tiny desk thinking up the most unusual street names they can to make a dull job more interesting - and to get a good laugh when the rest of us drive by looking puzzled. Because somebody decided there were too many Main Streets and First Streets in town, or something.

I mean, really - how else do you explain it?

Is it only me?

Or are there other folks out there who get stalled for dinner ideas in the summer time? It's ironic that in the winter, when I'm trying to juggle 5 schedules and everyone's appointments and barely have time for sleep, I *love* cooking. I spend my winter days dreaming of lovely soups and stews and casseroles that will nourish us body and soul. In the summer, when I have my time more to myself, and farmer's markets brimming with fresh produce - I not only don't want to cook, sometimes I barely want to eat.

Today, for example, it's almost 4PM and I've had the sum total of 2 cups of coffee, 1 small yogurt, and the half burrito I left in the fridge after yesterday's lunch. And, though I'm still slightly peckish, part of me can't think about food till it cools off some for crying out loud. August is usually the time I start fantasizing about moving to Maine, or Washington state, or North Dakota or anyplace that gets way too much snow in the winter but has temperate summers.

So anyway, I've been recycling dinner ideas all summer and have now reached my limit of pizza and salad, pasta and salad, tacos, burritos, hamburgers and hotdogs, and takeout. What I need is a my own personal food guru - someone who understands what children will actually eat - who could present me with a list of ideas for meals that don't involve 40 steps, 10 pots and pans, and 2 hours of prep work.

Maybe I'll take the kids out for sundaes and tell them it's Ice Cream for Dinner night - I'll be the most popular mom in the neighborhood!

It's so hot today that....

Today is a good day for all those old jokes. The ones about frying eggs on sidewalks and such. I've often wondered, on days like this, how anyone - especially the women -survived days like this before the invention of air-conditioning. Since we live right around the corner from an old Civil War battlefield my mind occasionally strays to thoughts of life around here back then. Life without highways and traffic jams, without technology and hustle-bustle. And without air-conditioning. Ugh.

Now, it certainly can get hot and humid in Pennsylvania - don't get me wrong. Summers in the Philadelphia area are no picnic either. But, oh Virginia. Northern Virginia - being part of the whole wetlands system/flood plain that is also Washington D.C. - has a very special brand of heat and humidity. Along with all the other humid southern states, it's the sort of weather that saps the energy out of you (well, me at least) even if I'm not actually outside. And if you *do* venture outside, the air drops down on you like a soggy fur coat.

Perhaps it was not so hot then - before most of the trees were cut down to make way for Suburbia's houses and strip-malls. Perhaps it was not so humid - before the smog of the 3 major East Coast cities started wafting down here to hold that humidity in. On the other hand - perhaps it was. And I'd be stuck here wearing about a dozen layers of clothing, doing heaps of back-breaking chores, cooking over a blazing fire or wood/coal stove, with no relief in sight. No wonder (well-born) ladies used to carry smelling salts with them and take naps in the afternoon to get relief from the heat and all that heavy clothing.

I have a few things that need to get done today - but I think I can allow myself the luxury of a few long breaks with a good book. And I'll be thankful for air-conditioning.

It's quite amazing what you find in your Edit box...

Since it's summer and I'm half brain dead with humidity induced stupor I've been going through my old posts box looking for the ones I started and never finished. It's quite the time capsule of my life and thoughts. I think I'll keep tossing a few out now and again - many were fun to go back and read even if my train of thought got interrupted by children. A few I'll at least put some logical ending on so that you don't end up wondering what the end of a sentence.....

Camp Adahi - another "found" post from 4/8/08

A couple of years ago, a high school pal of mine started a yahoo group for our high school graduating class, as a way to keep in touch, share memories, and stay informed of upcoming reunions. This week one of my former classmates sent an email that opened up the floodgates of my memory - the subject line, "Adahi" (pronounced ah-dah'-hee) sent my mind zipping back through time to sixth grade.

Wow...Camp Adahi. It was a landmark field trip for every 6th grade class that went through Stony Creek Middle School. It was the Holy Grail of field trips - 3 days and 2 nights away from home, during the school week, for the entire 6th grade. It was held near the end of year, sometime in May, but the teachers started talking it up at the beginning of the year. In fact, the 5th grade teachers would mention it now and again.

The funny thing is - it wasn't that far from home. Out of curiosity I Googled it (Camp Adahi is part of the PA Camp Fire program) and found out to my utter surprise the camp was only 10-20 miles from home. It's in Mohnton, PA, 10 miles outside of Reading, of which my hometown was a suburb. I drive farther to church every Sunday than this camp was from my house. I guess anything seems farther when you're riding there on a school bus.

Anyway....the camp was set up in the usual way such camps are. There was a main building/cafeteria/gathering room not far from the main parking lot where we ate all our meals and had our whole group sessions. Over a footbridge and up the hill into the woods were the campsites. There were cabins, platform tents, and covered wagons. If I remember correctly, the girls got the cabins and wagons, the boys got tents (and maybe cabins). I was *so* jealous of my best friends who got the wagons - until the first night, when the temperature dipped down to 40 and it rained!

It was my first time camping, and my first time away from home (that wasn't a sleepover at a friend's house). My mom had volunteered as a chaperone for part of the trip, and even though I was kind of embarrassed I was really glad she was there that first night.

After I got settled in though, I discovered I really liked camping - my folks were always *so* not camping-type people (My dad always said he'd done his time without all the modern conveniences and was perfectly happy to stay put in his air-conditioned house and sleep in a comfortable bed.) So this was my first opportunity to experience it. Obviously it struck a chord in me, as 2 of my favorite summer jobs I worked at summer camp. And I married a man who loves camping and so now we go camping as a family.

Must be all that Celtic blood (1/2 Welsh and a small part Scottish) I inherited in my DNA. I've always felt very much at home and at peace in a forest....

Found an unprinted post in my edit box

I wrote this post on a school morning back in February. It never got "finished" but is an interesting glimpse into one of my not-quite-typical-but-not-atypical mom mornings....

It's 9:30AM. Since going to bed last night around 11PM this is what my night/morning has looked like:


11:15PM Hear the baby wake up and go padding around his room. He's done this ever since we took the side off his crib (it turns into a toddler daybed) and it's not unusual to find him asleep on his blankies in a different part of the room each morning.

11:25PM Ask husband to go check on baby - he says Connor's asleep on his brother's car pillow on the floor w/ his blankies. Settle in to read book - husband goes to sleep.

2AM The book is really good so I'm still awake (this happens if I accidentally pass my sleepy point). Charlotte comes into our room wanting to crawl in bed with us (which I'm trying to discourage but am usually asleep when she does this). I tell her no and go tuck her back in bed.

2:05AM Get back out of bed because Charlotte is screaming that she wanted her door left slightly open. Grrrr. Crack door open. Go back to bed.

2:45AM Finally able to put book down because Charlotte sounds quiet and go to sleep.

3AM Charlotte comes back into the room complaining she's too hot AND too cold. What?!? I tell her that's ridiculous and send her back to bed. I finally fall asleep.

6:30AM Husband leaving for work, Charlotte awake and bounding around (how, I have no idea), Chris is awake and whining through the door that his nose is running and he can't go to school today. Kiss husband, ignore Charlotte, tell Chris to go back to bed for now, pull covers over head and wait for alarm to go off.

7:15AM Drag tired self out of bed, find clothes for me and kids. Spend 15 minutes trying to get Charlotte to put her clothes on because she's jumping around pretending to be a kitten.Throw together backpacks and get her settled down with breakfast.

7:50AM Go back upstairs to begin wrenching Chris out of bed. Find Connor awake and happy sitting on the floor w/ blankie. Chris is a lump in the bed.

7:55AM Chris marginally awake and groaning that he can't go to school and would I please stick a thermometer in his mouth and take his temperature. Get thermometer, take temperature, no fever. (Because my kids have a flair for drama you only get to stay home if you've got a fever, vomiting, diarrhea, raging cough, or spots) Tell Chris he must get dressed. Get Connor some Cheerios.

8:10AM Hand Chris a pop tart. Shovel 3 kids into coats, hats, gloves, etc. and get everyone in the car (yes, I drive them to the bus stop - it's a very busy intersection and it keeps the kids corralled and out of the weather).

8:20AM Get halfway up the street towards the bus stop and see that Charlotte's bus is already there nearly 10 minutes early - aaack! Park and run her to the bus.

8:25AM Get Chris on his bus.

8:30AM Get home, feed cat, clean up Cheerios Connor spilled on the door mat before we left, tape up Christmas tree box and shove/drag/carry down to basement, fetch cat from basement 3 times, fetch baby out of basement twice, put coffee on.

9:30AM Finally get to sit down w/ 1st cup of coffee.

Yep, that was my morning so far. Not completely typical (I usually get a little more sleep than that) but not atypical either.

On mornings like this I wonder what God is thinking as He looks at me running around like a nut case. No matter whether or how much I plan, everything never runs smoothly. Even on mornings when we've all had enough sleep and everything is all ready to go, someone has a last minute emergency.

Sometimes I wish we didn't have to live so much by the clock.

Out into the fray

It's hard to believe the time has come around again so quickly. What time would that be? Time to venture out into the frenzy of the dreaded "school supply shopping"! I'm not sure what the experience of parents elsewhere is, but in our neck 'o the woods (read: Northern VA) each school sends out a list of specific school supplies that must be purchased for your child and delivered with them within the first few days of school. It's much different that what I remember as a child - where I went with my mom and chose the supplies I would need for the year. Brand new Trapper Keeper (not allowed now), new pencils and pens, assignment book, new backpack if necessary, etc., etc.

Now, I go armed with my "official list" and buy exactly and only what's on it. And all the supplies go into a general pool so that my children are unlikely to use the supplies I've actually bought. Whose idea was this anyway? Honestly, if needy kids need supplies I'd rather by my child his and then buy a set for a needy child - rather than my kids getting the notebooks and folders that fall apart 2 months into the year.

Anyway, I digress. The real fun comes in trying to match what the teacher wants with what the stores actually have. For example, every list of every school for every grade asks for several of those ordinary black 'n white composition books. The kind that have been around since our grandparents were kids. You would think they were made of gold the was the stores never buy enough. Last year I had to try 3 stores before finding them. And please provide several boxes of sharpened pencils. Guess what? They (rarely) come that way. I would even be willing to sit and sharpen those several dozen pencils if i could find a sharpener that works!!

It's like the stores and the schools are on purpose at odds with each other. Okay, find 4 non-grommet pocket folders. All the folder have grommets in the spine. Find 2 red pens (can only purchase a dozen). Supply one zippered pencil pouch - may as well be looking for the Holy Grail. Find 2 boxes Ziploc bags, 3 boxes tissues, hand sanitizer... go find other department.

Someone should turn this into an Olympic event and get some real moms to show everyone else how it's done.

Off I go, then - into the fray...

Lessons in home improvement, or "Why my cat is still mad at me"

When we first moved into our little townhouse 6 years ago, the woman who had owned it previously made a lot of Sell It changes. Your typical things - new, inexpensive beige carpet in the downstairs, fresh coat of eggshell paint on the 1st floor walls, new window treatments, a few fancy geegaws hanging around (read - fake flowers on funny wall pedestals). Well, we probably would have bought the house anyway, but it was nice to have it look so fresh and clean in the part people would see when they visited.

The upstairs, however, was a different story. It was painfully obvious after the previous owner's furniture was gone that the upstairs walls desperately needed repainting. Since we'd been living in bland beige carpet white wall apartments for nearly 9 years we decided if we had to paint anyway we were going to use some color for crying out loud! I admit, I went a little crazy. We ended up painting our son's room bright robin's egg blue, our daughter's room bright sunshine yellow, and our room deep dusty rose. And - since the lady before us had lazily painted around a big hutch or something in the dining room, and badly repainted the kitchen (French purplish blue) we did those too. Pale pink for the dining room, light blue for the kitchen - to match the (grrr) Contact paper she slapped up there (we will tackle that issue at a much later date).

Overkill perhaps, but we loved it - it became our House of Many Colors.

Well....come to find out the downstairs re-paint job was done with flat paint. Ever lived with 3 young children in a house with flat white paint? Yeah, it looks as bad as you'd imagine. Dark smudges and fingerprints around every light switch, railing, door jamb, you name it. So - this would be the summer we finally tackled the living room and the stairwell. Here's what I've learned....

1. Any home improvement project undertaken with young children in the house must, of necessity, be a tag-team effort. And honestly, I think my husband got the better end of the deal in many respects. He did most of the painting, true (since he's tall and better with a paint roller than I am) but I got to do most of the clearing out and storing of Stuff, chasing children, fixing meals, and the Keeping of Small Animals and Children Out of the Paint.

2. Cats are generally smarter than children when it comes to wet paint. They sniff it once, decide it's not Food or Prey, and avoid it. The one exception? His Majesty's Favorite Windowsill. Simba ended up in the basement while that was being done. He's only had one bath since he's been with us and that was enough for both of us till the end of time.

3. Repainting a room removes all of your cat's scent from it, evidently. Simba kept walking warily around the perimeter of the living room, sniffing the walls and looking extremely confused. He would fix us with this contemptuous stare as he did it, as if to say, how dare you disturb my domain? He must have spent the whole night re-claiming his territory because he was much calmer the next morning.

4. You think elephants have good memories? Cats never forget either. Now every time we move a piece of furniture, get out the vacuum, or start cleaning up - the cat high-tails it (literally) out of the room for safer ground. Even though we've been done painting for a week now.

So now we have a lovely spring green living room and a beautiful pale peach stairwell and hallway. Only one problem - now that the downstairs looks so nice, that master bedroom is looking awfully shabby. Maybe later, when our brains have recovered from the paint fumes....

A quick teaser...

So many ideas, so little time...

Since school ended we've

1. Gone up to PA for a quick visit-everyone-before-they-scatter family trip.
2. Repainted the living room, stairwell, and upstairs hallway.
3. Begun class for Brian and Chris

Which is why you haven't seen much here the last few weeks as I've desperately ping-ponged between frantic amounts of overwork and exhausted recovery.

So....before sleep finally catches me I'll leave you with a teaser. In the next couple posts I'll tell you about:

1. Lessons learned from home improvement (sequel...why my cat is still mad at me)
2. The hidden music.
3. Summertime kid antics (or, why every mom needs the ability to apparate)

Of course, you may need to remind me - the mind isn't what it used to be (especially after all those paint fumes!)

What kind of light are you?

"You are the light of the world." Matthew 5:14

Quick - what's the first image that pops into your head as you read that? I'm only guessing, but for me it's always the same image - the kind of lamp perhaps that would have been used in the first century (you know, like the kind Jesus mentions with the wise and foolish bridesmaids?)

But during a really low point in my dark musings recently, I was pondering this passage, asking God to (ha ha) shed some new light on it. I myself was feeling rather like a match just before it sputters and goes out - not much good to anybody, least of all myself. However, since I had made the decision to simply sit at Jesus feet and let Him hold me, I let go of my usual associations with the passage and just let my mind focus on God.

Instead of trying to wrap my mind around the Light, or being light to others - I simply pondered light, and lights and their function.

It suddenly occurred to me that Jesus did *not* say that we were supposed to be any particular *kind* of light - just that we were to be light. Well, in our house we have all different types of lights - and they all serve their own unique purpose. Some of them can be substituted one for the other (like an overhead light for a table lamp or vice versa) pretty easily. Some have very particular uses, like my husband's heavy duty work light. And some are used less often but there really is no substitute for them. Like a flashlight. I'd look pretty silly hauling a table lamp out the door on an extension cord to look for something in my car trunk at midnight. And if the power goes out? Well, then flashlights or candles are your only option - and mighty necessary they are especially if one has small children.

I think I've been suffering from an acute case of "light identity crisis". God has blessed me with some amazingly brilliant friends. One friend, a natural born evangelist, has a passion for sharing God with the lost and disenfranchised. Her light is like a searchlight - a burning beacon calling broken and hurting people back to God. Another friend, a worship leader - her light is like those flashy club lights or fun Chinese party lanterns (or anything with bling). She brings the party with her when she walks into a room (and being a musician, she brings the band too!) A dear friend who's been a pastor these past 10 years or so - well, she's one of those "We'll leave the light on for ya!" kind of people. Like one of those pretty lamps people light to shine out their kitchen or living room window when they know that someone's coming home late. Always there to welcome you home, no matter how long and tiring your journey's been.

Since form follows function, I wondered if I've been asking myself the wrong question these past few years. Instead of praying for God to show me *how* I should shine - perhaps I would be better off asking *where* I should shine. After all, a flashlight is not necessary in a well lit house. But in the middle of the woods when you're camping? Well, let's just say one year we took a camping trip and realized after we got there that we only had one small flashlight with us (the one kept in the car) and leave it at that.

What kind of light am I anyway? Not a searchlight, that's for sure. Or party lanterns. Maybe I'm a more specialized sort of light. Maybe I'm a candle in a dark house when the power has gone out, or the mini Maglite that's ever so helpful for rummaging through your tent in the dark for that extra sweatshirt you know you packed.

Perhaps I am meant to shine in darker places than my friends who shine so brilliantly. Perhaps I am the night light left on so someone will not fall down the stairs in the dark. Or the lighted exit sign that points the way out.

Right now I'm just not sure - I need a bit more *illumination* on the subject. Until then, I will spend my time basking in His light, content to recharge.

Clearing out the spiritual cobwebs

It's been a loooong time since I posted. Some of you may have wondered if gave up on blogging. Or ran out of things to say. Actually the words have been knocking around my brain pushing to get out, but I needed to wrap my head around them first.

I've been on quite the spiritual journey since just past Easter. It was not one that I meant to go on, nor did I seek it out. Except, in a way I did. In a way this journey has been an answer to many prayers. How to explain?

Well, first you need to know that I am both a very sensitive person and an extrovert. I like to be busy and involved, and I like to be liked. As a younger person this meant that I sometimes had a frantically busy life, but since no one was depending on me but me it was okay. When my husband entered the picture, I still managed to find time for us around all my busy-ness. Then 3 children came along, each in their own time, and still I played juggler.

For the past year or so I've been very heavily involved with the creative team at the church we've been attending. Mostly playing "right arm" to my dear friend as she worked to get her new ministry (stage design) off the ground. I enjoyed being with her, and I enjoyed the work, but over the past few months leading up to Easter I noticed (in my rare unoccupied moments) that I was becoming increasingly irritable, anxious, strung out, and fighting off sickness. And even though God was literally placing Bible verses and meditations talking about rest and resting in Him, I studiously ignored them and went about my frantic way figuring I'd catch up with God sometime soon.

Ahem....yeah.

Over a period of a week or two so many crises came raining down on my head - it wasn't like God letting me run my nose into a brick wall.....it was like God literally threw the brick wall down on top of me!

From underneath said brick wall I raised up my hand and cried "uncle" to God. And disappeared off the radar....of church, of my friends, of everyone and everything except my immediate family.

The next month or so was spent in a great deal of prayer as my family and I weathered the various crises. When the dust cleared and I could finally think again, I realized I was neither ready nor willing to simply jump back into the fray. During the crisis, I did something I'm not sure if I have ever done in my whole Christian experience. Out of sheer desperation for my sanity - I gave myself permission to leave all my "good works" and "service to God" by the wayside. I gave myself permission to skip church and catch up on sleep. I gave myself permission to set aside all those "Christian expectations".

For a while I found myself pacing the floors like a caged lion - restless, still irritable. And then an amazing thing happened. When my restless spirit finally came to the end of itself, I found myself cradled in the hand of God. And for perhaps the first time in my life I realized that God benched me to the sidelines because He wanted to heal me. Heal me of the grace-less works-based mindset that has dogged my spiritual journey from almost the very beginning. Heal me of the notion that a real Christian has to do or has to look like anything in particular.

That sounds like a rather mundane notion, but it was a really big deal for me to realize that I am loved and accepted by God even without my works of service. That God loves me because He loves me and not because I do the right things or serve in the right ministry or fill the right role for the kingdom.

As I let God hold me and speak to my heart, I realized that in trying to find the right "role", the right "ministry", the right "fit" - I had inadvertently left pieces of my heart and soul by the wayside. As I spent time sitting at Jesus' feet, I found that He gathered up the broken pieces of my soul, dusted them off and gave them back to me - washed my feet, as it were. And in those quiet moments began to show me the direction I must go. Truly, it will be a narrow path - and steep and rocky too. It won't make me popular, and many will think I've turned my back on God. But it will be okay - I will be following my Master, and I will finally be whole....

Happy anniversary to me!

Wow. As of this very day I have been married for 15 years! I realized just before falling asleep last night - oh, yeah - it's our anniversary tomorrow! When you have 3 small children sometimes it's all you can do to keep up with your to-do list and never mind what day it actually is.

Brian and I have always been pretty low key about holidays and celebrations - we like to have some sort of celebration somewhere around the actual date, but many times will just plan it for the weekend before or after. Sometimes people look at us funny when we say that, but it works for us.

It's weird to realize that I've now known my husband for more than half my life. We met when I was 18 and he was 19, though we weren't dating until after college. Funny to think that we almost didn't meet (I made a sort of last minute decision to change which college I would attend). Or that I could have met his brother instead (who went to a college I'd also been accepted to). Weird, huh?

One of the things that has characterized our marriage is our ability (singly or combined) to get into the most bizarre scrapes and situations - the absurd seems to follow us around and pop up at the most inconvenient times. I can't remember all of them of course, but here's a small sampling...

1. Been lost while driving too numerous times to count, including driving to a friend's wedding in a huge thunderstorm (missing the ceremony because of it), and finding ourselves in the middle of a cornfield in the middle of nowhere at night when we took the wrong shortcut.

2. Myriad inconvenient car trouble - like having our alternator obliterate itself halfway between PA and Massachusetts (but Brian had a spare, can you believe it!?!), having our car air conditioner die (temporarily thank goodness) while driving from PA to Florida in August, and getting a flat tire while out in WV camping with the kids.

2. Went on our first camping trip to celebrate our anniversary only to have the campground we wanted full up, and a pouring rainstorm that wouldn't quit forcing us to seek shelter at my folks' house for the rest of the weekend.

3. Me getting lost coming home from work at night shortly after moving to our new city and needing Brian to come rescue me. Brian accidentally locking himself out of our apartment and needing our neighbor to drive him in to get my keys.

4. Literally running from one end of the Atlanta airport to another with all our baggage when our first flight was delayed and our connecting flight was running on time while on our way to San Francisco to visit friends.

5. Renting a moving van for our move to Virginia, only to find out that 2 feet of its 14 feet were a tiny little shelf thing that held hardly anything. Brian managed to do a Chinese puzzle box thing with our belongings and make everything fit. And he drove v..e..r..y....c..a..r..e..f..u..l..l..y down the Washington Beltway, with me frantically trying to keep up with lane changes behind.

Of course, we really should have been prepared for such, seeing as one of our best "I can't believe that actually happened" stories happened on our wedding day.

Yep. We managed to break the key off in the lock of our honeymoon suite. Go ahead and laugh. We did - later.

Anyway, because Brian and I lived in two different cities while we were dating, when we got engaged we decided that it would be easier for the wedding to be held in my city - since I was doing that end of the planning. I would be moving to his city, so he would take care of the honeymoon and find us an apartment. Made sense. So it ended up that his whole family and our out of town friends simply decided to stay at the hotel where our reception was being held. And we (unknown to them) accepted a complimentary honeymoon suite for our wedding night so that we wouldn't have to pack up and drive bleary eyed to our honeymoon location (about a 6-7 hour drive away).

Well, it all looked good on paper. Except that Brian's best man and his brothers were determined to prank us, if they could find us. We'd kept our suite a secret, and so after we left the reception, we had to get in our car, drive around town for awhile, and come in the back way so they would think we were going to another hotel. Since our suitcases were in the suite, we simply stayed dressed in our wedding clothes figuring everyone would assume Brian had taken our luggage over earlier in the day (which, he had). We left, we drove around, we snuck in the back way, we found our room (after almost walking past their rooms) and we went to go in the room. The key wasn't working right so, operating on the "if it won't work just force it" principle (stop snickering) broke the key clean off in the lock. Brian held up the broken stub and we just looked at each other.

There was nothing for it but to go back down to the lobby and tell them what happened. So there I sat, in my wedding gown, in the lobby, just 50 feet from where our family and friends were having an "after" party and could come walking through the door at any minute. Amazingly, the locksmith came before we were detected and we got into our room with no one the wiser, and the pranksters were outwitted.

Yeah, we pretty much knew then how our married lives would go. And so it has followed with adventures too numerous to count or remember.

But hey - we keep each other laughing! And that's a good thing - I pray God gives us many more years to laugh together....

Tossed on the Refiner's fire....again

If anyone is wondering what has happened to me, well... the title of this post about sums it up.

Every so often I find that God has dumped me back into His refining furnace. The past two weeks have been almost non-stop - no earth shattering disasters, but still a constant, unending series of events - illness, health crises, behavior issues, finances. Dropping on me like Chinese water torture with little time to stop, or process, or rest.

I know God is holding me, but I can't help it - it hurts. I've been trying something different this time, though. Usually my first response is to call all my friends, get on the prayer list, tell everybody I know at church. This time - something inside me told me that that wasn't what I was supposed to do.

So I grabbed my Bible and got on my knees before God - a lot. I've had my share of "dark nights of the soul" over the course of my journey with God. This one feels different. More significant somehow. I think it's a part of that whole breaking through the glass ceiling thing.

The difference between Christianity and "churchianity". The difference between doing church, and seeking the face of God.

Pain is a potent teacher

I'm in a lot of pain today. A couple days ago I managed to wrench my shoulder muscles in the midst of wrestling my strong and stubborn baby son into his car seat. I didn't notice it right away - but by that evening the whole upper left side of my body was throbbing in pain. Even with pain killers in me it kept me from sleeping that night. For the past two days I've felt like a bird with a broken wing. You'd be amazed at how many times a day you use that muscle between your neck and your shoulder blade.

Some would say well, go to the doctor. Except I already know what he'll say - here's some pain medication and rest it as much as possible. I've been trying to rest it but I've been learning a little more just how fearfully and wonderfully God has made us. Did you know you use your shoulder muscles to type? I didn't - but I'm quickly learning it now. Did you know you use your shoulder muscles for balance, even when you're not carrying anything in that hand? I do now. Every time you reach for something, every time you drive your car, even just holding something in your hand - you use your shoulder muscles. Arrgh....ow....ouch.

This comes on the heels of a very annoying, exhausting week last week. Easter Sunday - we'd gotten home at 1 am, but staggered and stumbled our way to church that morning. Only to get there and find out it's family Sunday so there is no child care except for the little ones (which we're keeping Connor out of right now to keep watch on his teeth). So after 90 minutes of trying to hold them still (I was out in the hall with Connor for half of it) they were just done....finished....done. We dragged our grumpy children home, fed them, then Brian did grades for 4 hours (I collapsed for a nap). I woke up to the kids complaining they didn't get to do Easter eggs (I'd thought Brian was going to do that in the afternoon but his work took too long).

Made dinner to the sounds of complaining children, ate, got them started on baths. Realized I'd forgotten to call my mother - call her up and find out she was in a car accident coming home from church. Thank God she was okay, but her car was probably totaled. Talk to her for over an hour trying to comfort and calm her down. Fall exhausted and sad into bed.

Monday tried to catch up with things.

Tuesday took the kids to the pediatric dentist for (what I thought was regular cleaning/checkup). Chris was fine, but the dentist insisted Charlotte was going to need $2,000 worth of work on her teeth. Huh?!? Said that she had all these cavities between her teeth. Was there all morning, the kids missed half of school - terrified, exhausted and depressed I slogged through the rain to drop them off at their respective schools.

Tuesday afternoon called my husband, my mother, and my in-laws for comfort and advice. Fell into a deep, dark hole of depression - took a nap in hopes that recovering from my adrenaline rush would help.

Wednesday and Thursday - sun came out - felt a little better - made appointment with original dentist for second opinion. Mom had talked with insurance company, gotten rental car, and though the car would be totaled, she felt better and more optimistic about car shopping.

By the time the weekend rolls around, all I want to do is sleep - tired from being on this emotional rollercoaster.

All this has left me feeling far removed from my "normal" life and its busyness.

Added on top of some of the things I experienced while away on spring break (which were good things) has had me spending a lot of time with God, pondering whether I'd had too much busyness and not enough life, in my life lately.

My assignment for the next 8 weeks

Just when I think perhaps I have a handle on the direction God wants me to go in this journey with Him, He throws me a curveball. I have a new assignment for the next 8 weeks - I will be playing the role of bodyguard for my youngest son Connor. Not that I don't usually do this in some capacity, but for the next 2 months I will be doing it at the extreme sport level.

You see, Tuesday morning my fearless little daredevil managed to launch himself from the top of the high-backed office chair we keep at our computer desk in the kitchen - and crash landed on the kitchen floor face first. He'd been most impatiently waiting for me to get him some more breakfast and had climbed up on the chair, with his feet on the armrests and leaning on the tall back. (Before you think I'm completely crazy or irresponsible he had done this maneuver hundreds of times and is normally as sure footed as a cat). Well I grabbed him up, sat him down, moved the chair away from the counter, and turned around to finish fixing his food.

Not thirty seconds later I hear a tremendous crash and crying and turn around to see Connor now on all fours on the chair back, with the chair toppled over on the floor. I didn't see what happened, but my guess is that he was trying to propel the chair forward and simple managed to tip it over. Well, I did the usual mommy triage - check head, face, teeth, limbs, look for blood. Amazingly, he did not hit his head or his face - he must have instinctually cushioned his fall on his arms and the high padded back of the chair.

Unfortunately, since he must have been peering over the chair when it tipped, most of the force of his fall landed on his top front teeth. For when I looked inside his mouth and saw all the blood, I figured he'd bitten his lip (that happened with Chris at this age, and I know what to do for that). Except that.....I couldn't see anything wrong with his lips or tongue, but he was bleeding profusely from under the tops of his top teeth. Ohhhhh..... this can't be good. And he was crying hysterically, so hard he was practically making himself sick. This from the little boy who usually just picks himself up and toddles away after a few minutes of consolation.

Well....I had a snap decision to make. Emergency room or pediatrician? Since it didn't look like he had any other serious injuries and since all his little teeth still seemed pretty firmly in his mouth, I opted for the pediatrician (cause I knew that we'd be all day in the emergency room. And since our pediatrician's office is in the hospital complex it would be a simple matter to get him down there if she thought it necessary. (Did I mention it was 9:30am and I hadn't had coffee, breakfast, or shower yet? We'd only just gotten back from dropping his brother and sister off at the bus stop.)

So the pediatrician confirmed that his only real injury was to his teeth, but she couldn't say what exactly he'd done - just give him soft foods, medicine for the pain, and call his dentist. I called our family dentist, explained what happened - they said that he should have an x-ray but they wouldn't do it because he was under age 4 (he's 2 1/2). I would need to take him to a pediatric dentist.

Sigh.....red tape, and more red tape. I found a pediatric dentist in the next town north of us (Centreville, for those who'd recognize it) and made an appointment for the next day. Well, the dentist was lovely and took very good care of him, took an x-ray, and surveyed the damage. Turns out there was good news and bad news.

The good news - he did not fracture any baby teeth or damage his permanent teeth underneath, and since his baby teeth were not really loosened, there was a good chance they'd be just fine.

The bad news - what he did when he fell was jammed his teeth up into his gum, causing them to spring back out and sever all the nerves in the front 4 or 5 teeth. That's what caused all the bleeding (sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach).

In order to give his little teeth the best chance possible for a full recovery, for next 8 weeks, this is what we must do:

1. Cut up all his food so he will automatically chew it on his back teeth.
2. Do not let him use a sippy cup anywhere he could hit a bump and jostle his teeth (car, stroller).
3. Do not let him put any toys in his mouth that he could bite on (and, being 2 - he's still at this stage a bit, especially when he gets mad). Because he won't feel pain if he does since it was the nerves that were affected.
4. Brush his teeth very thoroughly and gently twice a day and check his gums for signs of infection - any signs of infection warrents immediate call to the pediatric dentist.
5. Somehow keep him from falling and re-injuring his teeth (harder than it sounds because this is daredevil boy who jumps and pelts himself everywhere).
6. Bring him in for x-rays and re-evaluation in one week and then 7 weeks later.
7. Somehow manage to let him be a normal happy playing little boy during this time.

There you go. Mission Impossible Connor. For the next 8 weeks.

I keep reminding myself that he didn't give himself a serious head injury or scar his little face. It's not like he's been diagnosed with some incurable disease. He's happily playing as I type this. But for the next 8 weeks I will feel as though I'm juggling raw eggs....

Bats in my belfry

Well, actually in my basement.

We had a very busy weekend. I was away Friday night and Saturday at a church retreat, then spent Saturday night and early (6am early) Sunday morning preparing for the very intricate Passover Seder worship service our creative team had planned. Brian took care of the kids all weekend. Around 11pm, exhausted from our weekend, we were preparing for bed. And then I spied the 2 coolers I had taken with me over the weekend (to hold foodstuffs for the Seder service) sitting in the front hall, still needing to be washed out and put away. Grff.

I yelled up the steps and asked Brian if he would please, pretty please come do it before bed (he's the only one who can get them back where they live under the basement steps). He let me know rather grumpily that he was not going to do it tonight. Not wanting the coolers to get all icky inside from sitting closed up unwashed I carried them down to the basement and turned them upside down open on the back patio. Turned the lights out and got ready to go upstairs for bed.

As I was coming up Brian was coming down muttering and grumbling about "might as well get it over with" and stomped down into the basement. And about 30 seconds later a sound issued from the basement the likes of which I have never heard my husband make before. I can only approximate it in writing as "Aaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiigggghhh!!" Suffice to say my heart nearly stopped as I couldn't imagine what had happened. While removing my heart from my throat I became even more puzzled as this strange yell was followed by hysterical laughter.

Ooooookaaaay.

Utterly perplexed, I cautiously opened the basement door and yelled down to ask if Brian was all right and what on earth had happened? He yells "Shut the door we've got a bat in here!!"

Slam the door.

Open the door a crack - "We've got a WHAT?!?"

"A bat!!"

My overtired brain tries to process this (whatwhenhowwherewhyhow?)
Brian meanwhile managed to shoo the bat back outside. He said it was simply sitting and fluttering on the basement steps and after he opened the door it silently shot out the door like, well, a bat out of youknowwhere.

However, we spent at least half an hour trying to figure out when and how our erstwhile houseguest stowed away. Came in Saturday afternoon while Brian and the kids had their (rather drizzly) cookout? Snuck in while Brian cleaned up the grill Saturday night? Pelted in unseen while I ran back up to get the other cooler? Somehow flew right past Brian as he went back outside?

We still have no idea.

The coup de grace? I'd forgotten to tell the children about it this morning, but Chris was reading this over my shoulder which reminded me. So now Charlotte is crying because we didn't save the bat for her to see.

Sheesh.

Fell off the page again

Sorry about that.

While my blog has been silent God has been doing big things in my life, my heart, my journey as a Christ follower. It's been a case of too much, not too little to share.

This weekend is our creative arts retreat - maybe after it I'll be able to wrap words around some of the things going on in my life. Just as a teaser, I'll let you know that some of the those things include:

1. Going through (another, deeper) dark night of the soul - but there may be light at the end of the tunnel.

2. Connected with another leader at church and compared notes on our journeys - they are surprisingly similar.

3. Just yesterday God reunited my husband and me with a very dear friend with whom we'd (unwillingly) lost touch.

Ok, that's it for the teaser - time for me to get packing...

If the song fits

We had an eye opening sermon this past Sunday. Many of the points our pastor made helped me in this wrestling with God thing that I've been doing lately, this trying to break through my spiritual glass ceiling.

Basically he was telling us that each person is made of 3 parts - body, soul and spirit. And that the "soul" part of us can be further broken into mind, emotions, and will. That before Jesus came, all contact with God was "top down" the law - do these things and you shall live. But after Jesus, God-within-us moves through our "soul" (mind-emotions-will) to reach through our beings toward God to bring us ever God-ward. Chris said it better, that's just a brief background so the rest of this makes sense.

Anyway, he said that if we are operating in our Christian walk missing either the God-through-mind (Scriptures), God-through-emotions (worship) or God-through-will (surrendering our will) we will have a lopsided faith. Sitting there listening I realized that my walk has been lopsided - missing the "emotions" part. So we were told that that is when we need to "offer a sacrifice of praise". In the world's terminology - do the action and the emotion will follow.

I have heard that phrase, a sacrifice of praise a lot. It's bandied about if you've spent any time at all in any church. But now I really sat and thought about it. I haven't really had any spontaneous times of worship when I've been away from church. Okay, guess I haven't got anything to lose - so Monday morning, feeling in a rather hang-dog state of mind - I tried it. Got my iPod and looked up all my favorite worship tunes and just sang for about a half hour. And, I must admit - I felt rather more peaceful and settled going about my day.

This morning, after dropping kids off at the bus stop I put on a few song tracks I'd worked up a while back - to exercise my rusty pipes (love those allergies) and see if this sacrifice of praise thing was a keeper. I did a few songs, then had to stop to take care of the baby. But a funny thing happened. I kept singing - songs that I hadn't thought about in years (from my concert choir days) just started pouring from my mouth unbidden. And a hymn - one of my favorites - kept playing over and over in my head. A lot of times I find if God drops a song in my head that the words are appropriate to my situation. I couldn't remember past the first verse, so I grabbed a hymnal and looked it up. I find it indeed appropriate - for me, and for the season of Lent. It's an old Welsh hymn and was one of my dad's favorites too. He used to joke that Welsh hymns always sounded like Welsh funeral dirges and were many times used for just that. The tune, Ebenezer (or Ton y Botel) is beautiful and haunting.

Once to Every Man and Nation
words by James Russell Lowell
music by Thomas John Williams


Once to every man and nation
Comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of truth with falsehood,
For the good or evil side;
Some great cause, God's new messiah,
Offering each the bloom or blight,
And the choice goes by forever
'Twixt that darkness and that light.

By the light of burning martyrs,
Jesus' bleeding feet I track,
Toiling up new Calvaries ever
With the cross that turns not back;
New occasions teach new duties,
Time makes ancient good uncouth;
They must upward still and onward,
Who would keep abreast of truth.

Though the cause of evil prosper,
Yet 'tis truth alone is strong,
Truth forever on the scaffold,
Wrong forever on the throne.
Yet that scaffold sways the future,
And, behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow
Keeping watch above his own.


Here is a beautiful rendition of the tune.

Starve a fever feed a cold?

Or something like that.

Arrgh. For anyone thinking I dropped off the planet...no. I came down sick on Sunday with this lovely cold/flu variation that seems to keep boomeranging back on me. I can't seem to sleep it off, drown it with tea/water/fruit juice, vitamin it to death - nothing. Bleah!

Just when I think I'm getting over it it comes back in new and exciting ways. So since it takes all my energy each day to just do what must be done, I may be absent a while longer. It's really hard to write anything funny or profound when my head feels like a full water balloon.

Here's hoping spring comes soon...

Truth, legalism, and lies

It's really easy to write about the things that make me laugh, or ponder, or go "hmm". Its easy to write about cool insights I get from God's word, or from an experience I've had. It's really hard to share some of the deep work that God is doing in my life right now. But I'm not being honest with myself or with anyone following along on my journey if I don't.

This past Sunday night I tagged along with my friend Dorothy to her small group meeting (though God may be calling me to attend regularly and make it mine too). This group of folks contains many leaders in our church in whom God is also doing deep spiritual work. I've been a few times and I know some of the people pretty well from being involved at various levels of leadership myself. This week the group leader suggested we pray over each other and share where we think God is leading us on our next step of the journey. As we went around the room sharing this, I noticed that a good handful of people are feeling God calling them to step out into a new area of ministry or of helping people. It was interesting to hear these glimpses of everyone's journey. And yet, my heart was sinking inside of me. I was feeling jealous of the things God has been calling my fellow leaders to. Why?

Because at this season of my life, God is calling me to hide myself away in him - not to hide from everyone, but to do only those things which He has clearly called me to do and to spend the rest of the time reading my Bible, praying, blogging about my journey, and taking care of my family. This is a lot harder for me than it sounds. I am an extrovert. I crave people's company. I used to be the very definition of "if you want something done ask a busy person". In college all my friends recognized me by the way I used to tear across campus full tilt on the way to my next class, meeting, activity or what have you. My schedule was so stuffed I barely got any sleep, and yet I thrived on it. When I got out into the work force I always ended up staying late to finish just one more task. The common refrain from my coworkers was always "Are you still here? Go home!" I had mentally rewritten Descartes and my subconscious credo became "I'm busy, therefore I am." Or maybe it was "I'm needed, therefore I am."

Then I had a child. But still I was determined to be involved, so I took him everywhere. Then I had another child, which made things a little trickier, but still I was involved. Then I had a third child, and my world came screeching to a halt. Once your children outnumber your hands you need to reevaluate how you're living your life.

There's a prayer that we prayed a lot in the Methodist church I grew up in - John Wesley's Covenant Prayer which has a stanza or two that keep haunting my mind just now...

"Let me be employed for thee or laid aside for thee
Exalted for thee or brought low for thee
Let me be full, let me be empty"

Yeah. Be careful what you pray, even as kid - if you mean it.

The Truth - I am saved by Christ alone through faith alone.
The Legalism - I must prove I am saved through my good works.
The Lie - I am only worthy of Christ's love if I do the "few" (yeah, just a few - husband, 3 kids (one with special needs), house, set design team, personal Bible study, blogging) tasks he has assigned me perfectly.

See. I know it's a lie. And still I believe the enemy's whispers.

And the biggest lie of all? The one that says "if the whole point of being hidden away is to deepen your spiritual life then why have you hit a glass ceiling?" The enemy has a whole quiver full of those arrows and shoots them at me on a regular basis.

Literally, I feel like my spiritual life has run up against a glass ceiling. I can see where I want to be, but I can't get there. I don't know what I'm missing, or what I need to pray for. And just the moment my ADD brain seems to focus in on the problem, my kids clamor for my attention or a household task stares me in the face.

In my better moments, I can see with my spiritual eyes that my struggle is as old as time and the enemy has no new tricks under the sun. My favorite analogy is to liken it to Kurt Vonnegut's short story Harrison Bergeron. In this futuristic world, everyone has been made "equal." The smartest, strongest, most beautiful people have been made to wear various handicapping devices to bring them down to the level of the lowest common denominator. In this way everyone is alike - and no one rises above any other. But the whole world has become bland and boring because no one is allowed to excel at anything.

The enemy is afraid of me, wants to handicap me, make me ineffective. Since he can't take away my salvation, the next best thing is to take away my effectiveness. My head knows this. But my heart doesn't always.

Standing in the middle of my bedroom, unshowered, my hair pinned back helter-skelter, wearing day-old clothes, surrounded by mounds of dirty laundry and toys everywhere and a sick child home from school interrupting every train of thought - I feel utterly unworthy of God's love and not even threatening to a mouse, let alone satan. It feels true, even if it isn't.

I am not sure how to get past this - thus, my spiritual glass ceiling.

Learning to rest in God is a harder task for me than any actual physical task.

Did all my warranties expire?

I'm having a little problem with entropy this week. Or maybe with chaos theory, I don't know. All I know is that everything keeps breaking around me and it's getting annoying. Yesterday my Facebook page was having fits at me and the answering machine is on the fritz. Today the shelf that holds the computer keyboard just broke off with no warning (on my feet - ouch!). I'm sitting here typing to you with the keyboard on my lap (which in itself is no big hardship, but then there's nowhere to put it when I'm done).

I think that stuff is just not made with households with kids in mind. The answering machine was fine until my toddler decided that it would be fun to play with all the buttons. First he erased the announcement message. Now every time I try to re-record one, you get this weird buzzing/roaring/distortion thingy going on over top of what you recorded. And yes, last night we unplugged everything except the power source so there shouldn't have been any other interference. So now our new message is "Hi! You've reached the Smiths in distortionland - please leave a message - bye!" I love my husband, that was his idea! And there it will stay until we either figure out the problem or get the gumption to go look for a new one (which we're reluctant to do because the phone part works just fine.)

And the keyboard shelf? Well, let's just say that someone should have known better than to hang a laminated plywood shelf from two thin brackets on two tiny bearings and expect it to last in any normal household. You know, where people have children who lean on it and pets who sit on it and put cups of coffee on it and bang into it when someone forgets to slide it back under? Maybe I should ask Brian to go to Home Depot and get 2 sturdy brackets to re-hang the shelf. It's times like this I hear my dad's voice in my head going "They just don't make things like they used to!" No Daddy, they really don't.

So now I'm kind of tiptoeing around my house thinking, okay, what next? I'm telling you, those laws of thermodynamics just get me in trouble every time.

Variety is the spice of life

It seems to be hard-wired into my personality. Sometimes I like this. Sometimes it's my downfall.

Craving variety allows me to deal with the ever-changing landscape of my son, Christopher's behavior. Having a child on the autism spectrum automatically ensures variety in the life of the parent - who tries frantically to teach him to accept the variety in his life because and before it causes him to have a meltdown.

Love of variety allows me to accept my many and varied mom-duties, and the last minute changes to them that come from raising 3 small children.

It is not terribly helpful for my housekeeping skills.

My absolute least favorite housekeeping chore (and the one I need to do most right now) is the ever-popular sort 'n toss. Useful for ridding one's house of clutter, but in my opinion the most boring and tedious of chores - I have neither the luxury of thinking about something else nor the intellectual stimulation my brain constantly craves. I have to really think about what I'm doing, but it's not an interesting kind of thinking.

I am determined, however, to avoid the mistake many people make - that of moving to a bigger house to house your clutter, or paying for a storage unit. The chore was elevated to monumental proportions after my dad died and my mom sent a whole bunch of the stuff that was cluttering up her house to mine. Thanks, mom. Granted, some of it was my stuff to begin with. Some of it I'd like to toss sight unseen - except I don't want to toss something actually important.

Now, what would be helpful would be a place where I could move all the clutter to just temporarily in order to give myself room to sort it in. Because you know, if you have young children, everything you get out must be put away somewhere by the end of the day. If not, your efforts will be for nil.

I'm trying to simplify my life. I'm tired of moving clutter around and stuffing it in closets. But I still have to live here while I do it. I can't just take the house apart and leave it in a shambles. Making decisions as I sort is the tough part. Ever notice how some things defy categorization? I need a great big This Is Part of a Thing That I Have Seen the Other Piece But I Don't Remember Where closet/box/bin for all the bibs and bobs of toys/clothing/tools/dishes that are lying around like so much flotsam and driving me crazy.

Too bad the TARDIS isn't real. I could really use a "it's bigger on the inside than the outside" closet around here.

Useless, really

This morning I was surprised to wake up to snow blanketing the cars. This meant of course I now had to leave myself an extra few minutes to brush it off before dashing the kiddos off to the bus stop.

As I was busily tossing coats in the direction of the kids and grabbing mine, I tried to figure out what to put on my feet. I glanced over in the corner and wondered if I had time to do up my snow boots (lace-up, but they stay on really well). Nah, I'll just grab my clogs I thought. There's not that much snow (maybe a 1/2 inch) there flat and comfy, no big deal.

Hmmm.

Now, the clogs have this felt-bottomed ribbed gumsole thing going on for the sole of the shoe. I thought it would give me traction. Turns out the weirdest thing happened. As I was going along, the very wet slushy snow stuck to the bottoms of the shoes and kept building up! After a few minutes I found myself skidding along on about a half inch of packed on icy snow that was stuck directly to my shoes. I had to do this funny shuffle walk to try to scrape it off so I wouldn't fall down at each step.

These shoes that are normally so comfortable had become utterly useless and downright dangerous. God chose that moment to show up and poke me in the brain. Gave me a micro-lesson, if you will.

How I really needed those shoes to provide safety and traction and instead they picked up everything they touched and became useless and dangerous. Kind of like some people I've known. You know the type - they become psychic lint brushes that drag all their bad experiences around with them. In a crisis they're utterly useless because there's nothing about them that makes them stick.

And then I wondered - how am I in a crisis?

Do I have anything abut me that makes me stick and get traction and dig in and be useful? Or do I pick up everything along the way to the point where I just go skidding along being useless to myself and everyone around me?

Food for thought, that.

And next time I'm grabbing the snow boots!

Well that's a relief!

I got a little panicked by something I read on Katdish's website about the fact that Facebook owns the rights to everything you publish on your site. I had had a notes link to this blog. I have gone through and deleted all my former notes (and while I'm sure they have archives I could argue that the fact I deleted them indicates my changing my mind).

So then I wondered about Blogger's rights. Turns out, Blogger considers all content published on your own blog to be your own intellectual property. Whew!

So unless Facebook really wants to publish a book about my grade school years and various musings I should be safe in the event that I ever want to. Just goes to show you my Daddy was right when he said make sure you read all the fine print.

Just in case you're interested

I've added a follower's link - finally. One of these days maybe my techno skills will be equal to the 21st century. This is not to try to give myself a pat on the back. I recently realized, when my friend Mad God Woman started a new blog and had a followers link that duh, of course I wanted to follow and how nice for her to make it so easy for me to get updates.

So....just in case you've been salivating for an easy way to get updates, there ya go. No pressure or anything.

Stay tuned - maybe one day soon I can convince my husband to get a digital camera that works without an elaborate sacrifice to the camera gods beforehand - and then you'll get pictures once in a while. I know, you're on the edge of your seat just thinking about it.

The black shoe saga

It started a couple of weeks ago. I was getting ready for church one very early Sunday morning. That day I would be doing a lot of backstage work (including set moving) and thought maybe I should dig out a pair of nice, sturdy comfy black lace-up shoes (as opposed to my usual clogs which sometimes fall off when I'm dashing around). I remembered that I had a cute pair of black suede lug sole sneakers which I'd gotten back in the 90's when a friend of mine was working in a shoe store. Hadn't worn 'em in a while since it's easier to have slip on shoes when you're a mom with little kids. After a bit of digging around on the closet floor I found one them, and was getting ready to tear the closet apart looking for the other. Then it occurred to me perhaps I should slip the shoe on that I had to see if it would be comfy for running around all day.

Well.....

Not only was it not comfy, it was so tight I could barely stand in it. I used to wear these shoes to work when I worked in a bookstore on my feet all day, and now I couldn't even stand to tie the laces. Yikes! So this is what they meant about a woman's feet growing with each pregnancy. I thought they were exaggerating, but it obviously crept up on me unawares.

How could it creep up unawares, you ask? Well, since for about 8 of my years in the work force I worked in retail, most of my shoe wardrobe before children was various sorts of pumps, flats, loafers, and boots - all on the rather dressy side. I bought a couple pair of comfy clogs after our first child was born and wore them till they pretty much fell apart. For a while I'd pick up a pair here and there as needed, from somewhere inexpensive like Payless or Walmart. The problem I've discovered recently with that is my feet won't tolerate cheap shoes anymore.

I figured it was time to actually make the effort and go to a real shoe store and invest in a pair of decent black shoes that I could walk around in without hurting my feet. (I've got 2 or 3 pair that look just fine but kill my feet if I walk around a bunch.)

Now I'll let you in on a little secret. I must be the only woman in America who hates shoe shopping. I don't know why, but from the time I was a little girl, my feet have always been hard to fit. When I was little, it was because my feet were really small and slender so all the shoes were too wide.

But now? I used to wear a size 5 or 6 when I was in high school. The shoes I just bought are an 8 1/2. Do you really mean to tell me my feet have grown 3 1/2 sizes just from pregnancy? That's a shoe size a child! Thank goodness I didn't decide I wanted a dozen or so children or by now I'd be wearing the shoe boxes.

Or is something else going on here? My dad used to tell me stories from his various other jobs he had before I was born. One of the places he worked as a time study engineer was a shoe factory. He used to talk about how very carefully each part of the shoe was crafted, how it was measured up exactly against the proper size shoe last (the 3-D form). And how all the shoe sizes for all the factories were standardized to those same lasts. A woman could walk into a shoe store and ask for her size in any style shoe and it would fit.

My mom and I have similar size feet. Between us we have had shoes over the last 20 years in sizes ranging from 5 to 8 1/2. Have her feet grown 3 sizes too? Me, I think that shoe sizes have become more like food label portion sizes - a recommendation only. An average. Otherwise how can you explain that when I go shoe shopping I need to start at my actual size with the understanding of going up or down as much as a size and a half either way?

And I'd really like to know if anyone test drives some of these shoe styles on actual feet. Some of the shoes they're making for ladies these days don't even stay on your feet long enough to walk to the mirror, let alone around town. Maybe you're just supposed to stand around and look fabulous in them. I must have tried on a hundred pairs of shoes today. Only 10 or so were worth doing a test walk - only 5 could I actually consider wearing all day. Do most of the women I see around town actually find these shoes comfortable? Or do their feet suffer their vanity? I used to be able to do that, but I can't anymore. It's one thing to stand all day in pumps that slightly pinch. It's quite another to grocery shop and chase a toddler in less than comfortable shoes.

About 3 hours and 100 pairs later, I finally found 2 pair worth taking home. The new ones are an 8 and an 8 1/2. The ones I wore to go shopping are a 7 1/2. Go figure...