Seeker's Soul

Avoiding the Christmas crash

2011-12-08T07:22:00.000-08:00

Day after Christmas - presents unwrapped, children cranky and bored, too much rich food eaten, tired and depressed, feels like the flu is coming on. Anyone else experience "Christmas crash"?

In a way, this is all tied in to the spiritual path I find myself on these days. It's December - supposedly "the most wonderful time of the year". A time when the world-at-large tells us we should be "decking the halls" and "rockin' around the Christmas tree". But I imagine I am not the only person who, as merchants and advertisers get louder and more obnoxious each year about hawking their wares - who wishes that the whole commercialized end of the business would disappear for good. Who wonders if perhaps those few unusual folks who book their Caribbean cruise to escape the whole thing have the right idea.

As a little girl, I was crazy about everything Christmas. It was also my Dad's favorite time of the year, so I got to spend extra time with him working on Christmas stuff. But I was an only child, my mom a SAHM, and my dad was home by 6pm every night. And we lived in a small suburb of a small-ish city. Pretty much everything we needed was no more than a 10 minute car ride away.

Fast forward to today - I am a SAHM of 3 children (all school age). My two sons have special needs. My husband, a music/orchestra teacher, has a holiday concert week next week. Four concerts - one each Mon. through Thurs. For us, it will be like he's on a week long business trip. Except he will sleep at home. The oldest celebrates his birthday on Monday, and has his own holiday concert the Monday after. We are a very, very busy family and we live in very, very busy area (metro DC).

I began to realize a few years ago, that if I wanted to keep my health and sanity intact, I needed to pull back from what is "expected" at the holidays. A dear friend compartmentalizes them into Christ-mass (celebration of the Holy) and X-mess (the commercialized end of the season). I know I am not the only one who wonders if we would *all* be better off without the X-mess. I mean really - just think about the many, many things that may be on a person's to-do list at the holidays (and it wouldn't matter much your religious persuasion as the whole country gets caught up in it).

1. Decorating the house
2. Writing holiday cards
3. Buying presents
4. Holiday baking, meal-planning (with accompanying extra trips to grocery store)
5. Holiday photos
6. Parties of all sorts (school, work, social)
7. Holiday performances (for those who sing, play, or dance)
8. Extra charitable work (for scouts or religious organizations)
9. Extra services, programs, and projects for church, temple, etc.
10. Visiting far-flung family (packing to travel, or major cleaning to entertain, or
both!

And....that's just the short list. Add in people with December birthdays, single parent families, a bad economy, traffic snarls, short tempers, skeletons in family closets, and flu season - well, someone ought to make a disaster movie out of the whole thing!

I don't think it matters if you celebrate Christ's birth, Hannukah, Kwanzaa, or the winter solstice. Does any of us really need or want this craziness any more? Am I the only one who finds advertisements for thousand dollar laptops, giant flat screen tv's and cars wearing giant red bows insulting?

Well, regardless of whether anyone else does, I've decided that *I* do. And I'm doing something about - by doing less - a lot less. I'm doing the things that are necessary and important to our family.

For example:

1. I will bake my Grandma's homemade chocolate cake for Chris' birthday, and have a small family celebration. Christmas cookie baking optional.

2. I will not feel guilty about not sending Christmas cards - I don't enjoy doing them, and they take up too much time.

3. Holiday concerts will be attended (and conducted, in Brian's case). It's his paycheck and my son's grade.

4. Church will be attended on Sunday only - no Christmas programs, no choir, no special events - exception made for Christmas Eve (if such service is planned).

5. No holiday over-spending. Cash only, within budget. Extended family will have to live with that.

6. Christmas day meals will consist of Special Holiday Breakfast (usually special egg strata with cinnamon buns or some such) and chicken and waffles for dinner. Get your own lunch. Mom is neither Paula Deen nor Martha Stewart. (And since Mom will be starting holiday packing preparations on Christmas night, Mom needs energy to do so.)

7. Holiday decorations will consist of those things which are easy and make sense. One Christmas tree will be decorated. One door decoration will be hung. All other decorations (outside lights, etc.) are on an optional, as-time-permits basis.

8. Holiday preparations will *not* be made at the expense of sleep, meals, or sanity of either parents or children.

9. Time will be made for quiet reflection and family togetherness.

And, maybe those of us with a religious bent - I can only speak for Christians, but perhaps other have this too - should implore our churches, etc. to not add to the burden. I can't tell you how many years I have spent wearing myself out "in the service of Christ" at the holidays. Choir rehearsals, drama rehearsals, dinners, service projects, toy and clothing drives, Sunday school productions, parties, evangelism outreach, extra services. Countless Christmases (and Easters) I've spent sick and/or with laryngitis from singing 2-3 holiday productions a day. In the service of Christ (or so we say.) Perhaps we (and our neighbors) would be better off if we stopped contributing to the craziness and ministered to our families and the poor and lonely at the holidays - and skipped the glitz and glitter.

Me, I'll be at home, quietly lighting candles and contemplating a Light in the darkness...

Brain cells MIA

2011-10-27T08:30:00.000-07:00

Ay yi! There are many pieces of advice people give a new mommy-to-be. Some of them I found helpful. Some of them I did not. I do wish, however, that someone had mentioned I would spend much of my kids' elementary years in a mental fog, wondering where all my brain cells had vanished.

Between never-enough-sleep and way-too-many-things-to-remember-to-do I find myself getting ever more absentminded. Waking up bleary-eyed on a gray, rainy day after a night of broken up vivid dream peppered sleep didn't get me started off well. Zooming around the house sans coffee (fell asleep before setting up the coffee pot) trying to get daughter ready for picture day and little son ready for (possible) field trip I kept stopping mid-stride unable to remember which step in the getting ready process came next.

Managed to make Daughter's bus and Little Son's last bell (he gets driven, bus comes waaay too early for little guy.)

It's ironic, though - to say that organization is not my strong suit is an understatement. I've often referred to myself (or been called by friends) as "the absentminded professor", scatterbrained, bubble-brained, etc. I've had my share of "dumb blonde" moments (a blonde haired friend of mine and I used to share blonde jokes for fun).

And now that I'm MOM.... I get to be...... organizer of everyone! I get to organize four other people, plus myself. With my sleep-deprived, overtaxed brain cells. I swear, Somebody up there is getting a good laugh at my expense most days....

Maybe it's the interface?

2011-09-14T07:40:00.000-07:00

Testing the paragraph capabilities here.

Not having paragraphs is annoying and hard to read.

Especially since I write like I think. Don't need to *look* stream-of-consciousness too. Hoping the old interface still recognizes my return key...

Paragraphs? What paragraphs?

2011-09-13T08:43:00.001-07:00

Dear Blogger,Someone has stolen my paragraphs. If you see them, please return them as soon as possible. Thank you.Sincerely,Owner of a Run On Paragraph

Playing Catch Up

2011-09-13T08:36:00.000-07:00

Wow!Even though summer with 3 kids and hubby home always seems really long while I'm in it, it's gone-in-a-blink. And so, evidently, were all those ideas for posts I had. Hard to find time to type them up when one is constantly washing-to-pack, washing-after-unpacking, and sorting through the ankle-high chaos of 5 people home all summer in a small townhouse.Well, we (mostly) had the summer we wanted. Got to go camping twice, visit friends and family, do lots of lazy day swimming at the pool. Did not make any progress on finishing the basement due to finding out that *that* project is a Commitment. One must draw up suitable blueprints and submit them to the City for Approval. And once Approved, one must provide suitable continuous Evidence of Work Finished. Bleah.....that project will have to wait until we can offer the suitable Commitment to it to make it worth the Hefty Fee that goes along with it.So.... school time has arrived!And all my brain cells are taxed verily to the uttermost with trying to remember and keep straight the details of 3 full time school careers (well, 4, if you count my husband's - I have to plan for his school schedule too). Three sets of paperwork, 3 backpacks, 3 lunches, 3 different bus schedules, 3 sets of Important Dates Not to be Forgotten, 3 sets of school clothes for various weather conditions to be sorted and made ready, etc. The whirlwind in my brain leaves me wondering how my friends with 8 or 9 kids *ever* manage (and/or keep their sanity). After a while I start to feel like the catcher in right field - I do a lot of nothing for a really long time but then I have to be ready to be in just-the-right-place-at-the-right-time or else the whole thing falls apart. Two insane hours in the morning trying to get everyone out the door and matched up with the right bus. Four insane hours in the evening picking them up and getting through the herculean task of playing what I call The Homework General. Oh, and figuring out how to provide a somewhat nutritious dinner in and amongst the chaos.I'm trying to get used to my rather inside out schedule. From say 8:30AM to around 3PM my life is (mostly) my own to schedule. But my crazy busiest time is from 3PM to 10PM doing the bus pickup/ homework/ dinner/ bath/ bed routine. I somehow have to get up at 6AM and have enough steam left over for what is, essentially my "evening shift". And when I say steam, I mean Awake and Functioning On All Cylinders - because when you have any kids with special needs (and 2 of my 3 are) you need an extra special dose of patience. I can do patience. With enough sleep under my belt. I can fake Awake with caffeine. I cannot fake Patience with caffeine.So in the world of my inside out schedule, I am planning for mornings (when possible) to be lazily drink coffee, catch up on blogging, take a nap, organize-the-rest-of-my-day time. Maybe I'll be able to finally write down some of those ideas that went flittering by during the summer. Afternoons for running errands as has been Standard Operating Procedure for the past 2 years. It doesn't look like the Typical Mom schedule, I'm sure. But I have come to realize I value my sanity over industriousness (and an organized house). Happy, healthy kids need a Sane Mommy.Just remember that if you drop by for a visit, you're welcome to come in - just ignore the clutter. I'll get around to it after Little One outgrows his need for getting-attention-by-taking-things-apart. Maybe he'll outgrow it soon. Or maybe I can eventually put my budding engineer to work when things around the house break....hmmmmm.....

Yippee!

2011-06-26T09:56:00.000-07:00

Testing, testing...

Ok... Officially impressed. I'm blogging from my new iPod Touch. Hooray for being part of the 21st century!!

What could be more awesome than a Dr. Who LOLcat?

2011-04-15T09:47:00.000-07:00

One of my kids' favorite down-time activities is to sit with me on a lazy afternoon and laugh over LOLcats. I found this awwwwwsomeness today....

see more Lolcats and funny pictures, and check out our Socially Awkward Penguin lolz!

What more is there to say?

Now here is a mom who REALLY gets it...

2011-04-15T09:00:00.000-07:00

If you Google around about special needs kids or autism for very long, you will eventually run into The Holland Poem. Go on, Google it, I'll wait....

On a good day, I'd agree with that mom. But on a BAD day (of which we've had a lot this week) I take more comfort from this mom's point of view:

Welcome to Beirut
http://www.bbbautism.com/beginners_beirut.htm

Yeah, that about sums it up.

Fortunately today is the last day of school before spring break and we ALL need a break at this point....

Spirituality and Autism

2011-04-14T09:00:00.000-07:00

Ok, sorry - my blog has temporarily been taken over by the topic of autism, because my LIFE has temporarily been taken over by autism.

Spirituality is a huge issue in the lives of families dealing with autism, yet I find very little (on the internet and otherwise) addressing it. For the purposes of discussion I'm including anyone of any faith because I think it's very pertinent to our lives. There are 3 specific issues which keep coming up in my life, and I would assume in the lives of parents in a similar situation.

1. How does my faith in the Divine (in whatever form you believe) help me in my day-to-day life coping with autism and all its various aspects?

2. How do I help my autistic child cultivate a relationship or understanding of the Divine and how will I know when he/she "gets" it?

3. How does my spiritual community support me/my child in dealing with autism and educating others about it?

Upon leaving our last church, I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into a "dark night of the soul." Part of it was admittedly other factors in my life, but no small part of it was due to the utter frustration I was experiencing trying to keep my family involved in church, my own faith alive, and not losing my mind to the crazy schedule the whole thing created.

It was like being on a seesaw where I was constantly juggling my need for involvement with my family's need for down time together, along with the need of a church/sunday school program suitable for *all* the children. The "perfect church" at the time was 20-something miles away. Well...perfect on paper. Doesn't matter how good a church is on paper - if you have an autistic child *no* church that far away will work.

After a 6 month or so mental health break (breakdown?) from church we began the process of finding a new church. It was quite the hit-or-miss experience. After a while we gave up trying to get *all five* of us to every new setting - I became the Scout, who did an exploratory foray to each church, seeking suitability, both practical and spiritual. Would the service logistics fit our family? Did they have people familiar with autistic kids? Could they be flexible regarding Chris' needs and behavior? Were the people gentle and compassionate? Was the setting itself somewhat calm and the process of check in easy?

If it seems like those questions are selfish and picky, you have never tried raising a family with an autistic child in it. I realized that I *had* to be picky in order for us to have a chance at making a good fit in a church. One church was close, family oriented, a denomination we loved, had a great music program, and very active both within and in the community. And.....all children over the age of 5 were expected to sit through service. It worked for all of 6 weeks, I think.

A friend's church was very close, had a great children's program, lots of activities, familiar denomination, and....the check-in process took half an hour both in and out for our 3 children and was overwhelming for *us* let alone *them*.

And so it went -like Goldilocks - this one too big, that one too small, too many activities, not enough activities, no program for older kids, etc. After maybe a year and a half of fruitless searching - we've at least found one to attend, when, in fact, we can manage to get there.(See previous post about when you have a child with autism).

It started me wondering about how other cultures and faiths support (or don't support) families of kids with autism, and how they help those parents address the above questions. More on that in a bit...

When you have a child with autism....

2011-04-14T05:47:00.000-07:00

So this is a continuation of yesterday's thoughts, mostly because it was *not* a happy homework night in our house last night. It got me thinking about how our lives (I assume) are so different from parents of only "normal" kids. And this applies to parents of girls on the spectrum too.

When you have a child with autism....

1. You live your life as though walking on eggshells, waiting for the phone call or the email that informs you of your child's newest strange behavior at school.

2. You get to play the "homework lottery" every night - the question of whether he brought it all home, whether he will actually work on it, and how miserable will it make the whole household that night before you have to give up and send him to bed.

3. You come to accept the fact that any meeting, church service, family event, or shopping trip may have to be cut short, postponed, or arrived at late while you pull the strings on the family dynamics just to get everyone out the door in a (relatively) calm mood.

4. You find yourself constantly having to explain/apologize/smooth over your child's unpredictable behavior.

5. You notice that in an effort to expose your autistic child to beneficial social activities (requiring extra time management) that yours have dwindled down to nearly nothing.

6. You cheer for every social victory, at the same time wondering what ravages puberty and teenager-hood are going to wreak on your sensitive-but-socially-clueless child.

7. You inwardly cringe whenever he brings up driving/college/marriage/family/career hoping and praying to God that those things will *be* in his future given his propensity for trying to argue his way out of doing anything and his almost complete lack of self-motivating behavior.

8. You constantly wonder if you'll ever know what is actually going on in that brain of his.

9. You wonder, as you watch him get bigger and stronger and deal with his unpredictable temper, whether at some point you will have to give in and take him to the doctor for medication - which you really don't ever want to do given all the horrible side effects.

10. You fear that the next "incident" he has at school will be the last and they'll suspend him and you'll have to home-school him (which is not the ideal situation for anyone).

11. You are constantly apologizing/trying to make it up to his normal sibling(s) wondering all the while what damage the situation is doing to them.

12. You live in constant fear that God forbid something happens to you, who in the family would be willing to raise your children and deal with all their issues?

13. You hope and pray that you can somehow teach your autistic child(ren) to be independent enough that their normal sibling(s) don't have to give up their own dreams to care for them when you're gone.

14. You find yourself alternating between complete fascination and utter disgust when you hear about new research/advances in the causes or treatment of autism, wondering if a useful and affordable one will appear in your child's lifetime.

15. You get frustrated with the fact that if autism was a condition that was actually killing 1 out of every 100 of our nation's children that people would be storming the gates of government demanding a cure.

16. You sometimes think about parents of children with other debilitating illness/conditions and wonder what it would be like to have hope for a cure, or at least the comfort of understanding the cause.

17. You laugh at all the "relationship advice" you hear on TV, etc. telling you to make sure you have "date night" and "self care" and hobbies, all the while praying your autistic child(ren) will sleep long enough for you to actually get a decent night's sleep before you have to get up and do it all again.

18. You wonder if the world-at-large will ever see the brilliance hiding underneath your child's autism.

19. You have some really great days where everything on this list is null and void because your autistic child just made the honor roll (or other achievement).

20. You have some really bad days because everything you tried in order to manage your autistic child's behavior blew up in your face.

Autism certainly gives new meaning to the old Chinese blessing/curse of "May you live in interesting times."

As a matter of fact, I do get easily bored....your point?

2011-04-13T08:53:00.000-07:00

Yes, I've changed the template again. Liked the other but it was so....busy. And yes, this will continue to happen on a regular basis as the mood strikes....

If You Don't Have One, You Don't Get It

2011-04-13T06:42:00.000-07:00

A child with autism, that is. Which would be the main reason (in case anyone in blog-world was wondering) I've seemingly fallen off the map.

Now, I have all the sympathy and empathy in the world for parents who struggle with other special needs kids (Down's, physical handicaps, etc.) But there is something unique in the challenge of trying to raise a child who looks (and 90% of the time ACTS) completely normal. Except that 10% of the time his differently wired brain jumps its tracks in weird tangents, leaving his parents (usually me) to deal with a situation no parenting book has ever addressed.

And now I have two. Well, maybe. Connor (my littlest one) has been in the same special preschool program his big brother was in to address a speech delay. We thought he only had a speech delay. Now the battery of (not exactly illuminating) tests the school has administered indicate "problems" we were not anticipating. Really, the main Problem is that Connor doesn't respond to verbal questions verbally. And he is very, VERY stubborn. So again (like it was with Chris) is the issue CAN'T or WON'T.

At home, my little one chatters like a magpie all day long. Does he "tell stories" like his sister did? No - picture him more like an author "narrating" his day. He's a very logical kid, like his big brother. And really, is a child who is capable of going to the kitchen utility drawer, finding a screwdriver, and then opening up his toy to replace the batteries (if I allowed him to) really mentally challenged? Really? The one who, when Mommy couldn't find all the letters to the alphabet puzzle instead MADE HIS OWN LETTERS OUT OF PLAY-DOH in the puzzle's spaces. Mentally challenged, eh? How about - bored? How about - has his own very strong personal agenda? He is a Leo, after all (NOT, that I believe that stuff, but sometimes you have to wonder....).

Evidently, he speaks so seldom at school that one of the testers hadn't ever heard his voice, until she brought out a puzzle with a helicopter (his favorite thing besides letters). And he said to her, "It's a helicopter!" Do I have any idea why he won't talk at school? No, I do not. Do I have any idea why he brings all his learning home so that he communicates with US much better now but still won't talk at school? No, I do not.

Trying to explain to someone what it's like trying to run a household consisting of one autistic child, one "normal" child, and one "unidentified-special-needs" child, topped off with two egghead absentminded-professor type parents defies description. I call the kids my "three ring circus" because that's what it's like most of the time in our house.

I'm sure lots of teachers, administrators, doctors, dentists, pastors, family, etc. wonder why it seems we're always just-on-time or a little bit late to everything. What they fail to understand is how often we're lucky to have managed to BE there at all. How often some crisis or other threatens to derail our efforts entirely. How attending a "family function" like a family church service or kid's concert involves more juggling than a clown and more skill than trying to herd cats. And afterward more exhaustion than having run a marathon.

So I have gone into hiding, of a sort. I've stepped waaaay back from all other obligations except family. Even church. At this point in my life, NOTHING takes priority over my family. (And my sanity.) I really think God will understand, even if the folks at church wonder why we keep disappearing. Right now, these kids of mine ARE my God-given mission.

I can no longer attempt to be Super-Mom or Super-Christian. I can only be me. Still figuring out who she is...

Hide and seek - Mom version

2011-02-23T07:34:00.000-08:00

Most moms, I'm sure, try to keep a reasonable idea in their heads of where all their kids' Stuff is. If for no other reason than to prevent those frantic searches 2 minutes before the school bus arrives. If, like me, you have a child with special needs of any sort - you get to be their Alternate Brain. And sometimes, the best laid plans..... well.... succumb to Mr. Murphy and his annoying Law.

This morning I got to play Hide and Seek, adult style. Right after I discovered that Son's baritone horn mouthpiece did not seem to be in his backpack - or, in fact, anywhere. Did I mention his winter concert is TONIGHT? Frantic search in all reasonable places ensues, cut short by franticmaddashtobusstop. Which he caught by the skin of his teeth this morning.

Mom comes home - distractedly gets Daughter ready for school. Daughter gets mad that Mom has to rush her because Mom is still searching for Missing Mouthpiece. Daughter catches bus not-quite-by-the-skin-of-her-teeth.

Mom comes home and begins more thorough search of unreasonable places. Mom proceeds to tear apart front hall closet (where backpacks were stuffed before weekend company arrived), dining room secretary desk (where mouthpiece is kept for usually-safe-keeping), front entryway (where wayward backpacks, shoes, and purses flock), basement practice area (around the piano where Husband and Son keep/lose various musical instrument related Stuff).

Found - 2 pairs of Little Son's missing gloves, 1 doll outfit that Daughter was looking for months ago, one of Mom's books that somehow slid behind the piano, and a whole bunch of Junk that did not belong in a front hall closet. Front hall closet now cleaner. Mouthpiece still AWOL.

Mom realizes that Husband was cleaning, assembling, labeling, preparing Son's musical Stuff for performance tonight. Begins checking all possible places Husband has been known to absentmindedly put Stuff down in, on, or on top of (Husband is very Tall and puts things out of sight quite often). No luck.

Finally, oh-so-Finally - email from Teacher saying mouthpiece is FOUND! At.... School?

Mom sits down to (finally) drink Coffee and ponder the Mysteries of the Universe.....

Waiting

2010-09-10T05:40:00.000-07:00

Wrote this at the bus stop yesterday....

Waiting....
I've done an awful lot of it lately. Let's see, 15 min. with each child at the bus stop in the morning - 45 min. Between 45 min. and 1 hour waiting for all the bus runs in the afternoon (if they're not late.) Approximately 2 hours of my life M-F spent waiting. That doesn't include waiting in line at the grocery store, the post office, the doctor, the dentist, on hold on the phone, and let's not forget the biggie (in any major US city) - waiting in *traffic*.

Really, there's only 2 choices about waiting. You can wait patiently, or impatiently. A lot of people know exactly how to wait impatiently - eye rolling, sighing, pacing, watch checking. Many these days will wait by falling into their electronic devices - fiddling obsessively with their cell phone or blackberry. Which is fine by me. But then I love the ones who stand in line having A VERY LOUD CONVERSATION or worse yet a FIGHT on the phone with their significant other/best friend/fill-in-the-blank. While standing there. In. Line. Where you can't escape them. And you stand there wondering where to put your eyes, wishing you had ear plugs, and pondering how technology has really made things interesting for those of us who prefer to not air our dirty laundry in public. (Don't even get me started on people who have entire conversations with someone while using a *public restroom*. Sorry, but that is just wrong, on so many levels. Really? That call was that urgent you couldn't wait 2 minutes and have it *outside* the bathroom. Ahem, I digress.)

So in the interest of saving my sanity, I'm trying to practice ways of patiently waiting. I'll be at the bus stop - look for the person reading (or writing in) a book.

Not such a great idea

2010-09-09T13:21:00.000-07:00

Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Hmm. I wonder how many tales of housekeeping woe begin that way. Just to save everyone else the trouble, a hint: keeping a bottle of laundry detergent in the trunk of your car is not such a hot idea. Especially when it is hot, outside.

On the way out to West Virginia for our camping trip our youngest had a little, um, carsickness trouble. It seemed prudent, once we got our campsite set up, to visit the local grocery store for a few necessary foodstuffs and some.... cleaning products, preferably "green" ones I could use at the campground instead of tracking down a laundromat in the tiny town of Davis.

I was happy to find a reasonably small bottle of scent-free, biologically friendly liquid detergent - which worked great to clean up Connor's clothes, and didn't have to worry about hurting the environment or attracting bears.

The stuff worked so well we decided to keep it in our camping stuff for any such emergencies. And then after the last time we unloaded the car, it got left/forgotten in the trunk - oh sure, I saw it there, but it only registered as a brief "oh yeah, I better put that away somewhere at some point soon."

Mmm. This afternoon I went to put Connor's portable stroller back in the trunk after walking home from the bus stop - and, there was a puddle in my trunk. It was a small puddle, but I bet if I added water the residue left from it rolling around in there for a few weeks would probably wash the rug of the whole car.

Think maybe I could send my husband out with a scrub brush and do just that? After all our road trips this summer it could really use a scrubbing.

The restless end of summer

2010-08-31T07:33:00.001-07:00

Technically, it's still summer vacation for me and the kids - my husband (who teaches in the county north of us) went back yesterday. This leaves the kids and me in a weird sort of summer-yet-not limbo. For although they have no school, we have a very busy week. A last minute IEP meeting for Chris to hammer out the details of his new middle school schedule, the band instrument presentation tomorrow night, open house for Charlotte to drop off her school supplies, and then all of Friday morning waiting while Chris has his orientation. Oh - did I mention that we're driving *back* up to PA for a special "Big O" birthday party Labor Day weekend for Brian's dad, brothers, and aunt? So add laundry and packing to the to-do list.

All of which makes for a bizarre week of "vacation." All of the warm-blooded life forms in the house are restless, including the cat - who is tired of being chased off his favorite napping chairs by careening kids. Trying to still give the kids some summer, I've attempted to squeeze in a last few visits on our waterpark season pass. Only I seem to have forgotten just how much *work* it is to go have fun. We went on Sunday as a family - a last hurrah to summer. Then I took them Monday - oh...my...goodness.... I now have muscles I forgot I had. One is tempted to think that walking through 1 foot deep water for a few hours following a preschooler is not Real Exercise. One would find out the next morning that that is a Wrong Assumption.

Ouch.

Mommy, at least, is *more* than ready for school to start.

A year and a day

2010-07-23T07:59:00.000-07:00

I've debated the writing of this post for several months. Because I know that the writing and the reading of it could cause me to lose some friends and possibly make me some enemies. I won't say I'm completely ready to handle that, but I'm tired of prattling on about silly things because I'm worried about people's reactions.

There is a song by a group called Ceredwen that I absolutely love. In Welsh, it is called Blwyddyn I Heno (pronounced Bloy-thin (th like "the") E Hay-no) or "A Year from this Night". It's based on the ancient Celtic concept that for a magical spell to work, time must pass through all the seasons - a year and a day. Turns out, there may be something tangible to that idea - something the ancient Celts understood about human nature.

A year and three months ago, we left the last church we'd been part of for 2 years. It was my intention at the time to merely give myself some space to step back and pray and think and deal with some practical family issues. It was not my intention to embark on a deep spiritual journey. Nevertheless, that was exactly what I found myself facing a month or two after I'd wrapped up the pressing family issues.

We had made the decision to finally find ourselves an actual *local* church (one not 15 -25 miles away) to become a part of. So, summer of 2009 that's what we started doing. In an effort to not get my oldest all goofed up (Aspberger's kids crave routine) I did much of the searching, only bringing the family along when I thought I'd found a viable possibility. I let go of my idea of getting this done within a certain time frame, allowing as long as needed for the search (figuring that since God was the one who started me on this journey, He was willing for us to do it right this time.) Some Sundays we all just stayed home, and I did a lot of solo Bible reading and prayer.

During this time I began having some very cool and vivid dreams, of a sort that I'd never experienced in such a compressed time frame. These lasted through about half the summer. I wrote them all down for pondering later. I thought things were going rather well on my spiritual journey. But as summer progressed and we were no closer to finding a truly suitable church home, suddenly I found the bottom dropping out from under me, emotionally and spiritually. I tripped and fell into a very deep dark night of the soul. A black hole of despair; a crushing loneliness. Other than the (probably) post partum depression I'd suffered after the birth of our first son, this was the darkest, bleakest point of my life.

I craved relief from it the way a drowning man craves air. And yet, somewhere in the deepest part of myself, I knew that this time I had to confront the cause - and not slap a spiritual band aid on it like I've done all my life.

So, against all the wisdom of society and pop culture - I sat with it - I put the church search on the back burner and I sat there, with the darkness and the pain. This may sound very profound and mystical, but I promise you it was not at the time. It was very messy and disrupting. At the time it felt like my soul had been ripped out of my body and flung in a hundred directions. In between caring for my family I was having a quiet nervous breakdown. (Or, not so quiet, if you ask my husband.)

I thought about therapy. I thought about Prozac. There were times I honestly thought I was losing my mind. It felt like I was walking a tightrope over a gaping chasm at night without a net.

Not wanting the expense of therapy or the side effects of medicine, I did what I do best. I researched. The library became my new best friend. Only (and here's where it may get uncomfortable for some) I quickly realized I would not get anywhere with my self-made therapy if I limited myself to "christian" sources. Feeling half-atheistic by this point anyway, I came to the conclusion that if God flung me on this journey then God would understand that I must face this deep dark night all the way through to the bottom or it would only come back. So that's what I did.

I removed the "Christian culture filter" from my mind. I gave myself permission (possibly for the first time ever) to read any book about any subject that might perhaps shed light on my questions. Within a few weeks I found to my utter surprise that I could no longer listen to my favorite Christian radio station - it felt, cloying and suffocating somehow. Since I live my life to the soundtrack in my head this was disturbing at a very deep level - I found myself dealing with an awful lot of silence - in my head, in my world.

I thought often about contacting my church buddies - I so wanted relief, comfort, acceptance. Many, many times I almost shut the door of my mind on the questions - telling them to shut up and go away and leave me in peace. But a curious thing began to happen. In the silence of my mind and heart - in the place where I'd stopped hearing God's voice - I felt..... a Presence. With me, within me, buoying me up, nestled quietly in the depths of my being. I hardly dared give it a name. It felt older than any Name I could attach to it. By now lacking all outward trappings of Christianity - (I'd withdrawn from church, Bible study, and Christian culture in general) I hung my fragile hopes on this Presence as an indication that God had not entirely forsaken me.

Meanwhile I kept expecting lightning bolts to zot me out the blue - holy retribution for daring to read Dawkins and Hitchens, Pagels and Fox, books on wicca and goddess religion, Buddhism and Hinduism, tarot and psychics and the non-believer's history of religion and the Bible. I shared my growing body of knowledge and experience with no one but my husband. I kept up my (somewhat) self-imposed isolation from church culture.

And... to my complete and utter surprise - almost exactly a year and a day later - it was as though I woke up from a very long sleep. In the midst of all this pain and confusion and uncertainly, I rediscovered myself. That is to say my Self. Dusty and unused, to be sure, but still there.

I felt like one of my favorite Rose is Rose cartoons - one where Rose is looking through photo albums of her life and hugs all her earlier selves to her heart - and her husband Jimbo comes in and says "You're looking really together." That's how I felt.

I guess you could say, like the Velveteen Rabbit, I've finally become Real.

One problem, though. I still haven't figured out the church situation. I don't speak Christian-ese anymore. I no longer worship at the altar of Christian culture. I don't even know what to call myself anymore - I don't wear labels well these days.

And here is where I've lost some of you. Please, don't bother to preach at me - goodness knows I've said it all to myself during the past year or so. But having received a soul-scrubbing from the One Who Upholds the Universe, I can assure you that it is an experience that transcends labels.

A friend used to tease me that I needed to stop putting God in a box. Over the past year, the One Who is Eternal succinctly blasted all those boxes to smithereens.

Maybe I simply am what I've always been - a Seeker....

Sometimes ya just gotta give up and go swimming

2010-07-06T17:32:00.000-07:00

"We're havin' a heat wave.... a tropical heat wave...."

My dad used to sing that whenever it got hot like it is today - 102 degrees F or so they predicted earlier. Felt like it too. I promised I wouldn't complain about the heat after such a frigid snowy winter, but yikes.... over 95F and I head for anything air conditioned. Hibernated inside and washed and folded laundry most of the afternoon in preparation for visiting all the grandparents later in the week. Worked pretty well until about 4:30PM when I started drooping over the clothing despite the music blaring on the boombox.

We'd planned for Brian to take the kids to the pool to get them out of my hair so I could work on packing. (Did ourselves a *big* favor and bought season passes to the local kiddie water park - *best* idea ever thank you Melanie!) Except.... even inside it felt like my brain was frying. So, I gave up and went too.

Yeah, much better than falling asleep over the laundry.....

Pondering something

2010-07-06T07:43:00.000-07:00

What should a person do when the whole direction of her blog may need to change because over the past year or so, she's changed? When the reason the blog was started is no longer the reason she wants it to continue? What should a person do then, I wonder......

Ooooooooh.....pretty!

2010-07-05T14:29:00.000-07:00

Please stand by - blog template experimentation in progress. Do not be surprised if something changes every day for a while. I got back on Blogger and discovered pretty new templates fresh for the taking - now I just need to pick one - ah, decisions, decisions.....

Blogging incentive

2010-07-05T13:48:00.000-07:00

It's funny how you can put up with something for so long that you don't realize how bad it was until it changes. In the case of my unexpected blog silence - a working keyboard makes *all* the difference in the world.

In our household, there are very few thing purchased new. With the exception of appliances and audiovisual gear, even our computer stuff tends to be bought on ebay. Except that we've recently run through our stock of leftover monitors, keyboards, computer mice (is the plural of computer mouse, mice?) etc. So I've found myself attempting to type on an old, coffee spilled, crumbed up, keys-getting-stuck ancient keyboard that could have powered someone's old Commodore 64 for all I know. The kind that clacks as you type - grrr.

This afternoon my husband came in from running errands, handed me a bag from the Apple store and said "Happy belated Birthday!" Inside? A brand spanking new keyboard..... wow. Oh, and it's so quick and quiet and unobtrusive. I can finally type at the speed of my thoughts again - without sounding like an old manual typewriter (which, incidentally still would have been easier that the old broken down keyboard).

So....now I just need to gather all the thoughts that had been skittering around in my brain for the last two months.....

Make new friends but keep the old....

2010-05-10T06:35:00.000-07:00

And anyone who was ever a Girl Scout (or has a daughter who is) knows the end of that.

....... one is silver and the other gold.

I had just about the best Mother's Day surprise I could have asked for yesterday. One of my best friends from college was in the area and stopped by for a visit. Okay, it wasn't a *complete* surprise - she'd called me Thursday night to ask how close we were to the Boy Scout camp she would be at for the weekend with her son. Turns out they were maybe a half hour drive away. So I got to spend about 2 hours on Sunday afternoon catching up with her.

Wow. Time warp. This is the woman who was my Maid of Honor in my wedding. I was Matron of Honor in hers. We lived in the same dorm for 3 years - I met her when she moved into the room next door to mine when she was a freshman and I was a sophomore. She was my clown partner in the college's clown troupe that we both joined that year. We worked together at the campus' library. Spent countless hours hanging out in each other's rooms - late night study sessions, gab sessions, planning sessions for the various groups we were both part of.

Since we both belonged to several of the Christian groups on campus we also shared a large group of friends. I don't think a day went by in those 3 years that we didn't see each other - it was like having a sister (which for me, as an only child, was very cool).

Now, even though we live in separate states, we still share a bunch of things. Our sons are only a year apart (but they're both 1st year Webelos in Cub Scouts), our daughters the same age (both Daisies - little Girl Scouts). Both of us dealing with the educational issues of our sons - my oldest being autistic and hers in the process of figuring out what IEP/diagnosis fits best (most likely ADD, they think).

It's amazing after all these years the things I remember about her - she tells me casually that she's in charge of her daughter's Daisy troop.... and I just stare at her. Herding little kids never used to be her thing (either of ours, actually) *You're* in charge - of how many little girls? Sixteen, she tells me. Then she rolls her eyes. Ah, I see - another of those things us mothers get roped into for the sake of our kids. It was supposed to a shared thing, you see - only her co-leader's been "busy" lately. Mind you - I'm sure she's sensational at it - her organizational skills were always waaay better than mine. But it was cool to see that underneath the "mom" facade she's still the same person.

There's a "Rose is Rose" cartoon that my husband cut out and gave to me years back. It shows Rose looking through her photo albums, re-meeting herself at different ages, and all of them joining her on the couch to look at the pictures together. Then she gives them all a hug - and her husband finds her hugging herself and says "you look very together". That's kind of how yesterday made me feel....

What she said....

2010-05-07T07:11:00.000-07:00

Having been "off the air" for some time - and sitting here waiting for the coffee buzz to take effect, I stumbled upon one of my regular bloggers who took the words right out of my mouth (or brain, whatever). Thanks, Sherry...

http://sherryantonettiwrites.blogspot.com/2010/05/what-is-required.html

What a long, strange winter it's been...

2010-02-07T08:25:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to feel like I want to go and reread Laura Ingalls Wilder's The Long Winter again. Granted, we're not on the South Dakota plains, and have received much less snow than they did that winter. But it would help, as my children (and cat) go cabin fever crazy, to remind myself of how much better I have it.

You would not believe that one simple blizzard could shut down an entire tri-state area. But this is not Chicago or New York - this is Washington DC. You have to see it to believe it. They closed school on Friday before any snow even fell. And while I'm grateful my husband didn't have to drive home on the slippy roads, the Pennsylvanian in me found it all a little Chicken Little-ish, watching people clear off store shelves like Armageddon was approaching.

To be sure, we are some of the lucky ones - we kept our power (so far) and so mostly have to deal with lots of shoveling and digging (hubby) and laundry (me, stocking up in case of loss of power) - oh and cabin fevered small creatures. Though at one point at the height of the blizzard we did marshal all our available flashlights, blankets and sleeping bags in case we had to weather the storm with no heat. And figured out that if we set up our camping tent in the living room we could make ourselves an emergency shelter.

Between 2 blizzards, a bunch of snow days, and 2 rounds of illness I've spent a lot of time this winter behind these 4 walls. I'm starting to feel like a hermit - but not by choice. And it's wreaking havoc on our schedule - doctor's appointments, scout meetings, and school have been set, canceled, rescheduled, and canceled again. My kids may be going to school in July. My littlest - who just started preschool 2 weeks ago - doesn't even know what a normal week of school looks like yet. My husband is chopping out our cars in hopes of making a cautious run for (what else?) milk, eggs, and toilet paper. I saw a story on the news of a Humvee getting stuck on the snow covered city streets - a Humvee! Trees are bent over or broken in half. There's 2 piles of snow on either side of our walk that are as tall as me (I'm 5'2"). If I wanted to get creative I could carve out some nice ice lions or gargoyles or some such.

I'm starting to look longingly at the pictures of summer posted by bloggy friends in Australia. They say it's 70 degrees in Florida where the Superbowl is taking place today - I'd take a road trip, if only I could get out of our neighborhood.... anyone got some sled dogs?

Not your (neuro)typical household

2009-12-17T07:14:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-15T08:25:00.000-08:00

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

2009-12-09T08:56:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-29T06:06:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-27T13:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-24T06:01:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-28T08:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-23T06:56:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-18T13:38:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-16T07:27:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-28T09:40:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-08-10T12:37:00.000-07:00

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....

2009-08-10T09:23:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-08-07T09:56:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-07T06:54:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-07T06:22:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-01T07:19:00.000-07:00

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"

2009-07-16T07:12:00.000-07:00

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...

2009-07-15T20:52:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-06-18T05:49:00.000-07:00

"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

2009-06-17T13:26:00.000-07:00

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!

2009-05-28T07:10:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-04T20:22:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-22T11:02:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-02T06:17:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-30T15:00:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-27T06:07:00.000-07:00

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

2009-03-18T07:21:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-03-04T08:59:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-25T07:03:00.000-08:00

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?

2009-02-19T06:46:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-18T08:14:00.001-08:00

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

2009-02-18T06:07:00.000-08:00

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!

2009-02-17T09:42:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-17T08:02:00.000-08:00

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

2009-02-14T18:52:00.000-08:00

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...

And what did you do today?

2009-02-12T21:23:00.000-08:00

Well, the highlights of my day were racing from Supertarget to the gas station to the CVS all before bus pick-up time. Then I concluded the day with chasing a wayward kiddie pool down the street (it was real windy in our neck o' the woods today), reading part of a dictionary to my daughter for her reading time, and filling out 3 classes worth of kiddie Valentines.

All in a day's work.

All for Jesus.

If God told me what I'd be doing today I surely would have laughed...

The only problem with Facebook (and the internet in general)

2009-02-12T08:48:00.000-08:00

I've got a bazillion Facebook requests piling up on my page. I don't want people to think I'm ignoring them, but when your blog, blogroll, email, facebook page, etc. starts to back up it suddenly becomes a question of update your electronic world or live your life. In an ideal world I could take a few hours each night to check in with everyone and write notes, and send plants to Green Patch and everything. In reality my son's homework is taking 3-4 hours each night and I'm still sick with this cold and need whatever extra sleep I can grab.

It's a balancing act for sure - I never did learn to juggle real well....

Further thoughts about women's roles

2009-02-12T07:08:00.000-08:00

So one of the books I picked up at the library is called, "America's Women: 400 Years of Dolls, Drudges, Helpmates, and Heroines" by Gail Collins. It's good so far. One thing she says right near the beginning that really grabbed me was this line, "The center of our story is the tension between the yearning to create a home and the urge to get out of it."

Smacked me right between the eyeballs, that did. Yep, that would describe my life in a nutshell. Having been a child in the 70's and a teenager in the 80's, I was taught that the sky's the limit and I could do anything I set my mind to. Of course, they failed to tell me that while a woman can have it all, she can't have it all at once. And some things are incompatible no matter which way you look at them. And some things are true whether you want them to be or not.

Like having to take the job that's available because it pays the bills. Or having to put off graduate school indefinitely because even 2 salaries only just let you squeak by each month. How about the fact that a woman's body has a certain biological clock ticking that all the advances of science cannot stop even though they've set it back a few years? If a couple wants children then it's still the woman who has to carry and give birth to them. And then make the decision to nurse or bottle feed, with all the ensuing hormonal consequences. (Or go through the adoption process with all its fees and paperwork and pitfalls.) Or that if you have children and don't make enough money to have the luxury of a nanny and housekeeper the stay-at-home parent will become responsible for the home and all living creatures in it.

Those "realities" were quietly swept under the rug during my schooling years.

So I did what was, at the time, a very countercultural thing. I went with my heart. When the man who would become my husband stepped onto the stage of my life, I made the conscious decision that my relationship with him was more important that any of those other goals. My parents were older than all my friends' parents and I was an only child and I'd decided long ago that I did not want that for my child(ren) if at all possible. So I was 25 when I married - young for the 90's. And though I've sometimes wondered what my life would have been like if I'd chosen differently, I've never regretted it.

It's funny though, whereas my mother and grandmother's generation fought for the right to work outside the home, now I find myself defending the right to stay in it. Or having to prove to people that I still have a brain even though I don't have an "outside" job (well, most days I have a brain....some days I don't).

And all this is made harder by the fact that I'm an extrovert. I need people around to bounce thoughts and ideas off of - I process things on the outside. I need that sounding board, that feedback. During my short stint with our worship band, I learned that trying to sing, or play, and stay together and in tune without a properly working moniter is impossible. Without your monitor functioning, you can't hear yourself - and if you can't hear yourself, you can't make those necessary adjustments. Without people around to bounce all these ideas off of, they all go flying around my head and clutter up my brain. And so began the need to write it all down.

But then, of course, there's the guilt and the perfectionism. As in, if I'm the stay-at-home parent then my worth is decided by how well I perform (or not) that job. (Or so society tells me.) I spend my days striving for balance between my children's needs and my own, cleaning the house and living my life, supporting my kids' interests without neglecting mine, and somewhere in the middle of all this figuring out where God and my spiritual walk fits in. Theologians would say that of course my relationship with God comes first and everything should flow out of that. Theoretically I believe that - practically speaking those theologians have never had to do a dozen tasks before even seeing their first cup of coffee in the morning. And do those tasks sick and with 5 hours of sleep.

I've had people call me a good mom, and supermom, and say that they see me as a very gentle nurturing person. But I don't feel that way - most days I feel like a volatile, emotional trainwreck trying to hold this mothering thing together by the skin of my teeth. Trying to parent my autistic son without neglecting the other two or going crazy, trying to keep a house clean while battling crippling allergies to dust, mold, and pollen, trying to get enough intellectual stimulation to satisfy my seeker brain, trying to figure out what God wants me to do - ending up most days feeling like the guy who tries to keep a dozen or more plates spinning atop little sticks.

Many days find me wondering how God could have entrusted the care of these 3 beautiful little ones to one so scatterbrained, emotional, and random as myself. I pray constantly that God will fill in the gaps where I drop the ball (which lately seems daily).

It's nice to know, as I read this book, that many, many American women before me struggled with this same dichotomy.

Quick! Before something else happens...

2009-02-11T06:52:00.001-08:00

Aaargh!!!

Okay, I've been trying to post for several days now and the universe is conspiring against me. This morning alone I've had to find the tools to unlock the bathroom to let the cat out (nobody would admit to pushing down the button), put away DH's tools that he left all over my washer, and fix the stupid internet connection on the computer! GAaaaaah!!!

Pant, pant.....okay...I'm okay now...really.

Anyway....

Sunday morning found me the only guest at a lovely little pity party I was throwing for myself. You see, yet again, after a busy week taking care of everybody but myself - as soon as I stopped - I got sick. Not really sick. Not, get me to the doctor sick. Not, please God kill me now sick. Just - annoying sick. Sore throat, swollen glands, achy all over and feeling like God just made gravity stronger. Sick enough that if I managed to force my body to function and push everyone out the door to church I'd be very sorry later.

So, we stayed home. And I lay there with my thoughts. It wasn't helping that Sunday was just gorgeous like the first day of spring and the rest of the family was outside enjoying it.

I thought about how it seems like all I do is housework and errands and shuttle children around. I thought about my college days and the career that never really got off the ground because I stayed home and helped my mom care for my father after his open heart surgery instead of moving out. I thought about how even though I've always wanted to be a wife and mother how many days I feel like I do neither very well. I thought about how hard being a SAHM is and how moms have to do so much every single day and rarely get credit for any of it. I thought about how sometimes I feel like the pioneer women must have felt - all alone with their children and their work - not having time or anybody around to socialize with.

Well... that line of thought triggered the researcher in me. I started Googling around now curious about just exactly how life would have been for my pioneer sisters before me. So I read a bit about that, and then got curious about motherhood and homemakers throughout history.

And ran up against a startling thing. I had this thought in mind that someone, somewhere would have written a web site (or book, I still like the kind with paper pages) about women's roles throughout history. And well, no. They haven't. Now, I didn't exhaust all my possibilities yet. But really these days, if someone has researched it you can usually find at least a reference to it somewhere online. Nope. Couldn't.

Lots of references on recent history - pioneer women, Victorian age women, pre WWI women, lots and lots from the suffragette movement to the present. Decent amount of stuff from the middle ages. But from the 1st century to the 15th almost complete silence. A few references under the Dark Ages - very sketchy.

Pre 1st century you can only get if you look up a particular empire, i.e. Rome or Greece. You mean to tell me that in the 21st century no one has put together a comprehensive history of women and their roles? I found this rather unbelievable so I gathered up the baby and went about it the old fashioned way. We went to the library. I asked the nice reference librarian my question. She found it very valid. And she (with all her sources and interlibrary stuff) could find precious little. Feeling a bit nonplussed and confused I hiked over to the women's interest section and browsed the shelves. Hmm. More of what I saw online - lots of stuff from the 1700's onward - nothing before that. I emptied half the section with what books I could find and returned home to start learning.

I'm by no means done. But what I've gleaned so far is fascinating. I suppose this should have been intuitive, but I found out that throughout time (what I could find of it) society has always tried to put women in little boxes, dictated what's expected of them, told them what to wear, placed the ultimate responsibility for home and child rearing on their shoulders regardless of where they were, expected them to get all their work done regardless of conditions or resources, and took it for granted they would work even when sick, tired, or weak from hunger themselves.

In every society in every age that I could find, the women picked up the slack no matter what the men were doing. And during times of war, famine, and crisis - they did more.

Well, I didn't exactly feel better - but I sort of did. I feel like maybe my life drives me crazy sometimes, but at least I'm part of a long line of my sisters before me. They did the work because it had to be done and no one else was doing it.

Mabye I need to look into this further. It really frustrates me that I can't pull out a few books and share with my daughter our history across time as women. Maybe someone has done something about this. Maybe I'm supposed to be that someone - I don't know.

But now my curiosity is peaked and I'm on a quest. And on a quest for knowledge, I'm like a bloodhound....

Random list of absurd things from my week

2009-02-05T06:30:00.001-08:00

What a busy, bizarre week it's been. So many things crammed into each day that I ended each night so utterly spent that I couldn't think one more thought straight if you paid me.

I've rediscovered that my ability to learn things quickly and to have a little knowledge of a lot of things comes in very handy once in a while. This week, on top of all my normal mom duties, Simba had his neutering appointment and Connor came down with the nasty snotty cough-y cold that's going around. So here's a random list of bizarre things I've done or been asked to do this week...

1. Spent 2 1/2 hours sewing the 6 patches on Charlotte's Daisy Girl Scout smock because the only working iron I could find is broken and so couldn't be set on the "highest no steam" setting needed for iron on patches (which never work for me anyway)

2. Spent 1 hour hand stitching the lining back in Charlotte's winter coat where it pulled away after washing it once.

3. Dragged 3 small children and 1 cat to and from the vet's office twice because of the necessary drop off and pick up times for the appointment. Maneuvered said children all around the (amazingly) small waiting room, appointment rooms, etc. while keeping them from annoying/playing with everyone else's pets.

4. Have managed to feed us 3 dinners this week even though I needed to go to the grocery store on Monday and still haven't gotten there. Thank you McDonald's. Our tummies appreciate you even if our arteries do not.

5. Had to administer medicine to 1 small boy and 1 small cat. All baby creatures hate medicine. Getting it in them according to the instructions never goes well. Small boy does not like inhaler mask over his face to breathe stinky medicine for 10 seconds. Small cat does not like yucky pain killer meds squirted in his mouth (and now I need to wait until his next meal so I can put it in his food0.

6. Albuterol inhaler has one very strange side effect on my son. Half an hour after he takes it, it makes him a chatterbox. Seriously. This is the child who uses his words only when necessary now going around babbling like crazy - weird - wonder if the drug company know about this? Maybe I've just accidentally stumbled on the cure for children who are slow to talk?

7. Last night it was so cold here that (inside my house with the thermostat set 65F) I ended up going to sleep wearing pajama pants, sleep cami, nightshirt, hooded sweatshirt,and socks while sleeping underneath flannel sheets, thermal fleece blanket and down comforter. My husband laughed at me when I got out of bed and pulled on the hooded sweatshirt with the hood up and climbed back into bed - I didn't care - I was finally warm.

8. I just yesterday discovered how to use the italics feature. Can you tell?

9. Our little kitty might have had to come back a eunuch but he is now sporting a rad tattoo on his ear (which I'll post a pic of as soon as I figure out where DH put the camera).

10. It is still so cold here today (12F at 10AM) that my fingers are now too cold to keep typing and I must go warm them on a cup of coffee.

A challenge issued

2009-01-28T10:45:00.000-08:00

This last Sunday was the final installment of our 4 part series entitled Postcards from Eternity. We were studying Jesus' words to the 7 churches in the book of Revelation. This Sunday's sermon was about the church of Laodicea, the "lukewarm church." And our pastor issued us all a challenge, to spend this week fasting (either food or some other thing we enjoy) in order to hear better God speaking to us.

One of the things I know I fall into too easily is surfing around aimlessly online. Somehow I need to go online long enough to write my blogs and then discipline myself enough to leave the computer alone.

This is made even harder on snow days when my whole routine is turned upside down. Further pondering required on this one.

Snow daze

2009-01-28T10:38:00.000-08:00

In Northern Virginia, any type of frozen precipitation is treated as though it has the same rarity as a solar eclipse. I mean, come on, ordinary rain sends traffic into snarls that take hours to untangle. You would think, what with all the folks who drive fully rigged status SUVs that winter weather would just be a walk in the park. Ummm.....no.

And so we are all forced to do this annoying little guessing game about which schools/businesses/governments will be open and for how long. On storm days you put your radio or TV on and keep it on as you go about your morning routine.

Yesterday morning presented our family with just about the worst possible snow day scenario. That is, it wasn't snowing even a flake when my husband (who teaches in the county just north of us) got up and checked all the news sources. But all the counties to the west of us had closed school -so we knew it was coming. Which meant I had to go to all the trouble of getting 3 children up, dressed, fed, bundled, and in the car to drive to the bus stop.

Except....by time I got up there was nearly an inch of snow on the ground - which, silly as it sounds, generally means all schools will be closed. I brushed the snow off my car 3 times before the kids were ready to leave, got them bundled in, and got to the bus stop. I was just in time to see my daughter's bus pass our stop going the wrong way. This puzzled me, so I called the transportation line - and was told they'd JUST made the decision to close school for the day. Sigh.

So I got to spend the next 2 hours with 3 excited children bouncing off the walls and trying to respond to questions and requests every 30 seconds.....

Mommy, can I go out in the back yard and play in the snow?
Mommy, where are my boots?
Mommy, can I have some hot chocolate?
Mommy, do you know where my gloves are?
Mommy, is Daddy off from school too?
Mommy, can Daddy take us sledding?

and on, and on , and on.....while I am trying to hang up coats to dry, dry other wet things in the dryer, put out the trash, feed the cat, find the cocoa, make some COFFEE for crying out loud because I haven't had any yet in all this confusion. In the midst of all this my mother calls - and then my husband calls to say he can't get to his in-service class and his principal said he could just make his way home.

Well.

Once we got all that sorted out it was a fun and relaxing day off. The kids got to go sledding, and after they got back anyone who wanted to took a nice long nap. Ahh.

It's funny how time seems to move differently on a snow day. Plus there's always the interesting challenge of keeping little ones occupied once the sledding time is done. And the ever popular how-long-can-we-manage-to-feed-ourselves-before-someone-must-make-a-treacherous-run-to-the-grocery-store game. Day 2 and still going strong. But if everything freezes up again tonight we'll be eating plain rice and noodles tomorrow....

What will the neighbors think?

2009-01-23T16:41:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I am really curious as to how the antics of our family must look to our neighbors. I wonder what they think about our scraggly front garden (that I keep trying to do something with but nothing new will take root). I wonder what they think about our snaggle-tooth venetian blinds (which were attacked by 2 curious children and 1 feisty kitten). Let's see, there's also our 5 year old daughter, who thinks that clothes are optional. And our 9 year old son (who, being autistic) holds any and all conversations at the top of his lungs - on any random topic - in public places.

Mostly right now I wonder what the neighbors behind us think when our 2 yr. old son has his "quiet time" in his room. You see, he shares a room with his brother, whose bed runs underneath the window (which has been thoroughly babyproofed). And the venetian blind in that room was ripped from its moorings by the older 2 fighting over who got to close it. So what is Connor's favorite activity when he doesn't feel like "resting" during his "quiet time"? Why, jumping on his brother's bed, of course!

I can hear the neighbors now, "Honey, that little boy is bouncing in the window again! I wonder if he does that all the time?"

The answer being.....yep.

Do you ever get the feeling...

2009-01-23T13:23:00.000-08:00

that God is trying to tell you something?

I think I'm supposed to be meditating on James 4:13-16, because my whole week's been turned upside down.

All 3 kids got sick this week, at staggered times. Just when I thought I was done with my nurse hat, the next one fell ill. And now, having finished the latest round of laundry, cleaning up children, etc. my brain is fried and any ideas I had to post are asleep in my tired mind.

Maybe later....

Yippee! It's here, it's here!

2009-01-17T17:13:00.000-08:00

Our new computer is installed and running - now we just need to work the bugs out. Hopefully everything will be in order by the beginning of next week.

Help! I've fallen into my computer and I can't get up...

2009-01-13T09:35:00.000-08:00

Sometimes the problem with being a SAHM is I have plenty of work to do but it's all boring. So I avoid it for awhile. And then I realize 3 hours have passed....oops.

By the time I check my blogs, and my friends' blogs, and their friends' blogs, and my Facebook, and my email - oh, gee....look at the time!

Maybe I need to put blinders on and just write on my own blogs and save everything else for later. It's hard, though, when you don't have a set schedule per se. And when it's cold outside and I feel like hibernating. And when I get superbusy and go into multitask overdrive as soon as my other two get home. It's like I do my unwinding at the beginning of the day in preparation for my very busy evening.

Of course, it's hard to just dash off my blogs first thing since I usually have a boy and a cat vying for lap space while I simultaneously juggle my coffee mug. Hmmm. Yes, that may have something to do with it.

Little cat in a Christmas tree

2009-01-12T08:17:00.000-08:00

Well, here he is folks. Instead of a partridge in a pear tree, I have this. He's ever so pleased with himself too. Wonder what he'll get up to after it gets put away?

Upcoming blog maintenance

2009-01-12T07:54:00.000-08:00

If my blogs go strangely silent sometime in the next week or two, it's because Santa finally delivered on that IOU for a new computer. Our poor old computer has been losing it's battle to keep up with the ever-changing, ever-increasing speed of the internet. So, as soon as the new one arrives, dear hubby will be up to his ears in computer components and installation instructions.

Yay!! It will be well worth the interruption to not have to worry about if I open one too many applications my system will wield the "beach ball of death" at me and go belly up.

Stay tuned...

Two turtledoves...and a cat in the Christmas tree

2009-01-10T08:29:00.000-08:00

Our Christmas tree has been up since the second week of December. For reasons that only make sense to him, last night our 5 month old kitten, Simba, suddenly decided it would be a really nifty climbing toy. Now, we weren't surprised at his behavior - he's a cat, after all. I still vividly remember staying at our friends' place at Christmastime and watching their kitten felling the Christmas tree every half hour or so.

But I must admit I was expecting him to start climbing it the minute we put it up, not a month later. Why did he ignore it (except for attacking the bottom branches) until yesterday? Why did a switch suddenly go on in his little cat brain reminding him that cats climb trees and hey, there's a nice one right there?

One of the mysteries of the mind of the domestic house cat...

Running out of "up"

2009-01-09T14:45:00.000-08:00

I'm running out of "up"
That sounds like Dr. Seuss
But really the whole problem
is my baby's on the loose.

My Junior Houdini is at it again. And now he's incorporated stealth into his antics. It used to be that I could tell what he was getting into by the noises he was making. Now, he's sneaky, he's fast, and he's QUIET. The only things truly safe from his clutches are those things that are actually locked up. Everything else he can reach, eventually.

Yesterday, he was playing upstairs - I could hear him I checked on him every few minutes, everything was fine, I thought. A few minutes later he comes toddling down the steps with his sister's antique night light in tow (it had been mine), looking for a place to plug it in. Utterly perplexed as to how he managed this feat, I went upstairs. He had taken the small chair we keep in the hall, had somehow lugged, tugged, and pushed it into his sister's room, and climbed up on it to reach the back of her dresser!

Every time he's gotten into something my first thought it to put it somewhere up high, out of his reach. Only, some things don't lend themselves to doing this (like lamps). And now, after over a year of doing this, I am running out of up. The top of every tall thing in the house is covered with objects put up to keep out of Connor's reach.

Maybe I can convince my very handy husband that storage units hanging from ceiling are the latest in high tech home fashion.... ya think?

Hiding in plain sight

2009-01-08T14:18:00.000-08:00

So, sometimes I find that the answer to a prayer I've prayed has been sitting in front of me all along. Except that it's been sitting in front of me like so many puzzle pieces and I'm left without the picture on the box.

Today God gave me the picture - I think.

I can't be absolutely positive. But all the pieces seem to fit. These were the various pieces I've been trying to fit together:

1. God has called me to cut back on activities which affect our family schedule during the week.
2. God has called us to a church 20+ miles from our house.
3. I have been feeling antsy to really get out there and *do* something with my talents for God.
4. I have moved to the stage in my spiritual journey where I must learn to "feed myself" on the Word, rather than rely on someone else to teach me.
5. I need some sort of accountability in order to dig more deeply into the Bible (preferably every day) but pieces #1 through #4 kind of hinder that.
6. I have been feeling very isolated and frustrated by the seeming incompatibility of pieces #1 through #5.
7. I've been told I have a gift for writing, and the spiritual gift of teaching (or knowledge, some call it) and the loneliness and isolation seem to have kick-started a sudden need and craving to write.

As my dear friend D could tell you - this conundrum has been DRIVING ME ABSOLUTELY CRAZY for more than a year.

So what's the picture on the puzzle box?

I will very shortly be starting a new blog, specifically to write daily meditations working my way through the books of the Bible.

It's by no means a new idea. And I owe a great debt to Jon Acuff at Stuff Christians Like. He did a series on the book of Genesis a while back on his other site Prodigal Jon which had me mulling the idea over as a way to get our whole church studying the same part of the Bible at once.

As it turns out, I had the actual idea this past summer. I've just been operating under the assumption that I knew when and where it was supposed to be used. I thought it was supposed to be used only for our church, and not necessarily done by me. But I think God has been intending that I do this all along.

Since the running theme God keeps bringing me back to lately is the verse from Psalm 46:10, "Be still and know that I am God" the new blog is titled Be Still Before Him.

A few disclaimers:

1. I am not a professional theologian or trained Bible scholar.
2. I'm still a scatterbrain so until I really get into it I might forget!
3. I haven't got any particular order in mind, but I won't be going straight from Genesis through Revelation (especially cause I always get hung up around Numbers).
4. I'm going to try really hard to focus on the actual Scripture passage itself and not launch into amusing anecdotes. However, since I am relying on God to supply the inspiration I honestly have no idea what this will look like (or how long I'll last doing it).
5. I'll do my very best to remain Biblical and not hare off on weird tangents (cause it really annoys me when other writers do that).

Since I'm still technologically impaired it may take me a while to link everything up. Bear with me, please, I'm still learning. I will still post on Seeker's Soul because I always have random ponderings running through my brain. It also may take a while for me to settle into a rhythm of where I post when. In an ideal world I'd post on both M-F, but I know me.

I have no idea if this will fly, or if I'll have any audience for this, but I do have confirmation of a sort. My friend D says that when she's on target with a worship service element that "God explodes in her brain". I've found that when I'm on target with an idea, words explode in my brain. I'll be starting in the Gospel of John. Look for it in the next couple days.

Pondering one's roots

2009-01-08T07:37:00.000-08:00

Geographical that is, not hair. Although I suppose at 40 that may be just around the corner.

We did a lot of driving this past Christmas break, all of it to visit with family that we don't get to see very often. Our travels took us to Levittown, PA, Brooklyn, NY, Allentown, PA, Reading, PA and finally back home to Virginia. Almost 800 miles and 21 hours in a car with 3 small children (over a period of 7 days). It gave me lots of time to ponder. We drove through urban, suburban, and rural areas. We passed farms, housing developments, and industrial sites. All but the scenery on the way to New York was very familiar to me.

I grew up in Pennsylvania. Born and raised in Reading, PA, in my lifetime I have traveled over most of the state at one time or another - the exception being the northwest corner - had no reason to go there, yet. I've visited Philadelphia and Pittsburgh and a lot of what's in between. I've logged countless miles on the Pennsylvania Turnpike. I've lived in Reading, Annville , Canadensis, Spring City, and Bensalem. Home town, college, two summer jobs at different camps, and our first place after being married. I've lived between tracts of farmland and two major highways.

As I was walking through Allentown to the playground where my husband had taken the kids to get some fresh air and exercise, a passage from one of my favorite movies started echoing through my brain...

"Katie Scarlett O'Hara, do you mean to tell me that Tara, that land doesn't mean anything to you? Why land is the only thing in the world worth workin' for, worth fightin' for, worth dyin' for because it's the only thing that lasts."

"And to anyone with a drop of Irish blood in them, why the land they live on is like their mother."

If you don't recognize it, that's Gerald O'Hara talking to his daughter, Scarlett, in Gone With the Wind. I started wondering if that attachment to land didn't apply to more than just the Irish. Somewhere, a few years ago, I read that around 70% of the population of Pennsylvania consists of folks who were born there. As opposed to California and Florida, where much of the population moved there. I've talked to a lot of people here in Virginia who are transplanted Pennsylvanians like myself. Almost always we get to talking like long lost friends about the places we've lived and visited. That's one of the peculiar things about America. All 50 states are part of one country, and yet each state has it's own character and personality. Even though the Civil War is many years gone, a New Englander and a Southerner still have their own unique characteristics. (Of course, many rural Virginians still fly the Confederate flag, but that's a different post entirely.) And Texas is practically its own country.

I found it odd that even though we have lived in Northern Virginia for going on 10 years, one week in Pennsylvania made me feel like I'd come home. Don't get me wrong - I like our new state, our city, our neighborhood. Rural Virginia has mountains and scenery every bit as beautiful as that of Pennsylvania.

So I started wondering what was up with that. What is it I'm actually missing? Or what is it I'm actually feeling connected to? Is it the land itself? The people? Do I miss the place or is it just that most of my memories were made there?

I do think part of it is living in the DC Metro area can be very isolating. Even when we visited my brother-in-law and his family in Brooklyn, we noticed that folks actually come *out* of their houses and spend time together. All the neighborhood children play together at the playground. Now, I'm not a city mouse. But even I could see why they enjoy living there. Culture and history fairly ooze from the stones of the buildings - and people make a point to connect to that culture and each other.

Here, everyone hides. In their homes, their cars, or at least their technology. I have only one other mom-friend in my neighborhood. And 2 acquaintances. After 10 years. It's not for lack of trying, either. I've taken my kids to various playgrounds many times hoping to connect with other moms. I was in a moms group for 4 years, when my oldest was little. Even there, it felt like we were little more than strangers.

Like my 5 year old daughter, I am a social butterfly. I am happiest around people. But I'm not into shallow relationships. I'm terrible at small talk. I love having deep, meaningful, philosophical conversations. Except that the friends I feel most connected to emotionally, are the farthest away geographically. This leads to a weird sort of manic depressive social life. During the week, when I am mostly by myself with just the children, I feel very much like Moses wandering around in the my own personal desert. On the weekends, when I participate in church stuff (our church being over 20 miles away) I feel all happy and excited and part of the group. And on a few rare, golden occasions, I get to see some of those really good friends who live even farther away.

I haven't figured out how to manage this state of affairs in my brain. I can't spend my whole week looking forward to my Friday prayer meeting or my set design work at church. But I get more and more frustrated just puttering around the house doing my chores in isolation. I've had some really long talks with God about this whole situation. I've tried Brother Lawrence's practicing the Presence of God. Unfortunately I'm not very good at this yet.

It made me ponder further, am I really missing something tangible (like the PA countryside) or something intangible (the places I've felt closest to God). One is very obviously still there, changing daily with the winds of Progress. The other exists only in my memory. Do I feel less connected to society around me because IT has changed, or because I have? If I moved back to some random part of Pennsylvania, would it feel any more like home? You know the old saying, "wherever you go, there you are" - well, I know I have changed a lot in the past 10 years. Those changes go with me wherever I go.

Perhaps it is simply a part of (what, as a Christian I believe is) picking up my cross daily, and sharing in the sufferings of Christ. Perhaps my cross is to share in the loneliness and isolation that Jesus must have felt, living among those who never truly understood Him. Perhaps these are my own desert wanderings. Or maybe, just maybe, I am beginning to feel the true reality of my situation as a follower of Christ as set forth in Hebrews 13:14

"For here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come."

Guess it's a good thing I like camping...

Rain, rain go away...

2009-01-07T13:49:00.000-08:00

come again perhaps in May. You know, when it's warm again.

So while the northern part of our country is shoveling out from under snowstorm after snowstorm, northern VA has gotten 3....straight.....days....of.....cold.....rain. Brrrr. Cold rain just chills me to the bone. And makes the kids all grexy (oops, my PA Dutch is showing). And for some bizarre reason magnifies No. #1 son's autistic tendencies. No one seems to know why this is. But every time we have several days of rainy weather in a row, it happens. Is it the low barometric pressure? Lack of sunlight? Lethargy masquerading as aggression? I have no idea.

Nothing in any parenting manual or autism help site can help me navigate these murky child rearing waters. Believe me, I've looked.

Days like this I wish I could buy one of those giant moonbounce things and stick the grumpy child in it until they've jumped out all their grumpiness.

Either that or, sun lamp, anyone?

Technology and me - uneasy bedfellows

2009-01-06T15:02:00.000-08:00

So just before leaving for our Christmas holiday excursion I decided I wanted to be part of the Sitstahood - a group of lady bloggers (from The Secret is in the Sauce) who offer each other comment recognition and support. I was going to "join" before I left. There was just one problem. I am technology impaired. In all the hurry scurry of packing I knew I did not have time to sit and figure out widgets....again.

It seems I know just enough technology to be dangerous. My husband, the techno-wiz-kid alternately laughs and gets exasperated about this. I use the computer mostly for email and internet stuff, my cell phone for calls only, and my iPod just for songs. Forget the bells and whistles - just the basic functions for me, please.

Every time I try to do something new on my blog I have to spend a great deal of time experimenting and doing it wrong before I get it right. If I'm lucky I manage not to lose any other information while I'm at it. URL's and HTML and Widgets - can't do them even a little bit wrong or the whole thing crashes. Kind of like when you fill out your taxes - oh, wait - my husband does that these days.

So after 15 minutes of searching for the right function and 10 minutes of trying to copy the HTML code - ta da! It's finally done. Such a feeling of satisfaction. Applause. Applause.

Oh where, oh where did my Lego go...

2008-12-18T10:12:00.000-08:00

I think toy manufacturers should be required to provide a suitable container with child-proof lock on every toy they make that has more than 3 pieces. I don't know how it is in the houses of other people who have children, but in our house we have bins and tubs and crates full of miscellaneous mismatched pieces from every toy the children have ever owned. This keeps the pieces off the floor, but is not very helpful when you have a bored 2 year old who is busy undecorating the Christmas tree because he can't find anything to play with.

For some strange reason, my children have a habit of not wanting to play with a certain toy until all of its pieces have been scattered to the four winds. Yesterday Connor found one of the half dozen wooden puzzle boards we have sitting around the house.....and one puzzle piece. (Note: it's one of the sort where you have individual pieces with a little knob, not the sort with actual fit-it-together pieces). So this morning, when I realized he was going to stand there and pull all the decorations off the tree if I didn't find him a diversion, I went on a puzzle piece finding mission. It took me about 45min. but I managed to scrape together 3 puzzle boards with at least 1/2 their pieces and presented them to him with a flourish. He was ecstatic.

Now, I've been trying to teach the children to put their toys away. Unfortunately, many of their toys-with-small-parts didn't have containers. I think I need to go find some sturdy reusable bags or some such so that they (and I) can toss everything that goes together in one bag, close it up and THEN put it in the bin and everything will stay together.

Am I the only mom who gets frustrated with this?

I mean, really. We own 2 complete sets of wooden blocks. My little guy loves blocks right now. He played with some at his grandparent's house. So where are ours? Well, here a block, there a block, everywhere a block block....

Christmas is coming. I think that this year I will find some seal-up-able containers for any toys-with-pieces so that at least the NEW toys get to stay a set for a while. I know, I know, I'm a little OCD. But guess what? When I present the children with a long lost finally reunited toy set......they PLAY with it and don't get bored and start fighting with each other. Charlotte always reacts like it's Christmas all over again when I find one of her long lost toys. She does that cute little giddy girl gasp and her eyes light up.

So, yeah, that's worth a little (or a lot) of sorting. My first New Year's resolution....

Your mission, should you choose to accept it...

2008-12-17T06:40:00.000-08:00

Lately, God has asked me to do a lot of kooky things. But, knowing me as well as He does, He usually filters them through my friend Dorothy, from whom I'll believe anything. D and I are in ministry together. We're a team, though we have no official designation. I'm the Elisha to her Elijah. If I have a title, it would have to be Dorothy's Right Arm. God gives her these wonderful mind-blowing ideas for cutting edge, experiential worship. She's the forest thinker. I, for some reason known only to God, have the ability to help her flesh these ideas out into the nuts and bolts needed to actually get it done. I'm the tree thinker, I'm good with details.

This week, my assignment is boxes - specifically, wrapping a bunch of empty boxes to use as fake "presents" for our upcoming Christmas drama set. Sometimes, it's a good thing to be a saver - I happened to have enough boxes lying around my house and didn't have to go out box hunting (similar to fox hunting, without the gun). See, God knows if He said, "this week I really need you to go forth and wrap some boxes" I would say, "Excuse me? What?"

In the year or so that D and I have served together in ministry at our current church I have found myself doing the following:

1. Making a life size mirror frame and being a mime "reflection" on stage.
2. Making a giant heart out of red cloth and pool noodles.
3. Spent an afternoon researching scent diffusers (and doing lots of "sniff" tests to weed out obnoxious or allergy provoking scents.)
4. Carting around big pieces of cardboard for our cardboard testimony service.
5. Measuring giant lengths of cloth using D's garage floor marked off as a measure and then cataloguing and wrapping them onto bolts.
6. Teetering precariously from the top of a 15 ft. ladder pinning various sorts of cloth all around the stage area.
7. Carrying all sorts of miscellaneous set design accoutrements in my purse and pockets - safety pins, tape, gaffers clips.
8. Spent an afternoon discussing the logistics of making bread in a bread machine and how to time it for communion.
9. Spent countless hours researching such things as stage light gels, stage flat foam, and flannel board figures.
10. Created a giant life-size flannel board for Easter service.

I'm sure I've forgotten some, but those are the most memorable ones that spring to mind. It's funny and amazing how God has found me a niche that only I can fill. I've always been a Jill-of-all-trades (or, as I like to put it, a Renaissance woman). Like my dad, I know a little bit about a lot of stuff, and I'm good at researching what I don't know. I'm not an artist, per se, but I have enough creative/artistic ability to manage in many different areas. I can draw some, paint some, sew some, craft some, fix some. I have a working knowledge of carpentry and have learned how to jeri-rig most anything (from the Fix It Master, my husband). And what I don't know how to do I can learn pretty quickly.

Who but God would have designed this crazy ministry position for me? We have an actual group; we call ourselves the pPod (because many of us are a "P" on the Myers-Briggs) but really my ministry is to be Dorothy's assistant/right arm/tree detail person/researcher. I'm sort of an adjunct part of the creative team, but not exactly.

I don't even really know what I'm doing. I'm making it up as I go along. But since Dorothy says she is too, I guess that's okay. I worry sometimes that what I'm doing is not significant (in the big picture). I mean, I'm not helping orphans in Russia or treating AIDS patients in Africa. But as I was driving along praying about this God whispered in my ear that perhaps I might encourage or open the door for God to speak to those who will. Hmmm. Food for thought.

In the meantime, I have some boxes to wrap.

Things I never thought I'd hear myself say to my children

2008-12-13T15:47:00.000-08:00

My baby son is 2. I just caught myself saying,

"Connor Morgan Smith, you put that heating register back on right now!!"

Sheesh....

(Whose crazy idea was it to just shove the silly thing into the hole in the floor without bolting it down, anyway?)

December mishmash

2008-12-12T08:46:00.000-08:00

I've been telling my friends and family lately than I've only got 2 brain cells functioning right now, and sometimes one of them is sleeping. This is making it difficult to finish anything - a project, a task, a thought. Or a post. I've started and not finished half a dozen posts in the last week or so, and since I can't seem to write a few coherent paragraphs on any one topic I'm posting a mishmash of all the various topics that have buzzed around my brain this last week.

1. I've been preparing for #1 Son's birthday this week. I try really hard to make sure his mid-December birthday doesn't get swallowed up by Christmas or Christmas-ized (i.e. wrap his presents in Christmas paper or "combine" the 2 because it's easier). It kind of makes my world topsy-turvy trying to accomplish this but then, he's made my world topsy-turvy from the minute my water broke at 4:30 AM four and a half weeks before his due date. From the moment of his impending birth this child has defied and scrambled our expectations. Too smart for his own good (and ours!) he's a musical genius with the memory of an elephant, currently obsessed with fighting "baddies" on his video games and voraciously reads Calvin and Hobbs. He can remember an incident that happened 4 years ago in perfect detail, has perfect pitch and the ability to transpose music, but is unable to get himself ready for school without intervention. Parenting this child is like trying to fly an aircraft by trial and error. We crash and burn a lot.

2. My dad passed away four years ago this coming January. The last time I saw him was Christmas of 2004. I've been thinking about him a lot this year. It's funny the things you remember about someone after they're gone.

My dad loved Christmas, everything about it. But Christmas always brought on the one and only fight I ever remember my parents having. It was an annual fight. The Annual Christmas Tree Fight. All other times of the year, in all other situations, my folks may have disagreed or sniped at each other in vague mutters, but the Annual Christmas Tree Fight became legendary in our family. That's because my mom wanted the Christmas tree to be as Easy as Possible, while my dad wanted it to be as Traditional as Possible. Given her druthers, mom would have been perfectly satisfied with a little, even (gasp!) artificial table tree. Dad wanted the biggest, bushiest, Christmasy-looking tree that could possibly fit in our living room. Of course, I sided with Dad.

Daddy wanted to go to the nearest place, find the first tree that fit the bill no matter the cost, and go home, mission accomplished. Mom wanted to look over every tree, agonize, and bargain hunt. NOT a good combination. Especially when 3 out of 4 years our Christmas tree shopping day turned out to be the coldest, windiest day of the season (sometimes it snowed). So what usually happened was Daddy and I picked the "perfect" tree, Mom pronounced it "too expensive" or "too tall" or both, and then we all walked around looking for a "runner-up" but usually ended up coming back to the first one when Daddy complained that he was starting to freeze solid.

Then he would wrestle the huge tree into the trunk of the car, tie it down, and cautiously drive home. Once home, Mom would get to gloat silently (or not so) as Daddy swore at the tree that was too big to fit through the door, too big to fit in the tree stand, and nearly too tall for the ceiling. Ah, Christmas memories.....

Daddy and I would labor over putting the lights on just right, Mom and I would decorate it, and then we'd all congratulate ourselves on the beautiful tree that "we" had picked out.

3. My 5 year old daughter is currently obsessed with My Little Pony. She has begged for the big Pinkie Pie stuffed pony since summer. (Santa was smart and went shopping in September and hid it away.) I just found out that my friend D is using the two Pinkie Pie ponies she got for her granddaughters as props for our Christmas drama at church. Which Charlotte and I are in. You parents see what's coming don't you? Ay yi.....

Well, time for me to go and bake a birthday cake.

A funny thing happened on the way to Supertarget

2008-12-11T14:09:00.000-08:00

I saw a sign that I wanted to send in to the guy who does the Crummy Church Signs website. Posted on the sign of one of Manassas' most prominent churches was the following:

SUNDAY
HUMILITY

8:30 and 11:00AM TRADITIONAL
9:30AM CONTEMPORARY

I kid you not.

I laughed hysterically to myself as I drove. I'm sure the drivers around me thought I'd flipped my lid.

But often I find God sends a lesson couched in a laugh. It occurred to me it might be worth pondering Traditional vs. Contemporary Humility. What do you think?

Ponderings and busywork

2008-12-04T15:07:00.000-08:00

What an odd day it's been. First, I got up really early (like 5:30 am early) in the hope that maybe if I got ME up early I could manage to get the KIDS up early. It sort of worked , but not quite how I'd planned. Charlotte woke up with me (because she has this habit of sneaking into our bed after we're asleep, and no I suppose we shouldn't let her do it, but we're ASLEEP when it happens). Anyway, so I had to be in "mom mode" immediately, which I hadn't quite planned on. but we got her dressed, I fixed her a nice oatmeal breakfast, and she played happily till it was time to go out the door. Chris still had to be hoisted out of bed. This is the kid who's up at 7am on a Saturday, go figure. He gets ready with slightly less angst than usual and STILL manages to dawdle over breakfast even though he's got 30 minutes more time than he normally does. So all is looking pretty good, we all get in the car (yes, we take the car to the bus stop in winter because it at least keeps the baby out of the wind or rain - also corrals the older two). and Chris pitches a fit because today HIS bus arrives first instead of his sister's. Like I have control over the bus schedule - sheesh.

Had a normal morning once I got home - fed the cat, fed the boy, got caffeine fix, checked email and blogs, fed self. About 10:30am I realize that if I'm going to do the dreaded Walmart run I need to get ready so I toss myself through the shower (since I've decided it makes more sense to wait these days). It's nice to not have to rush, and the hot water helps soothe the muscles that work harder everyday to tote a growing toddler in, out, up, and down everything. So I get out, expecting to dash off and do my thing, but my body has other ideas. It says to me "Hey! We got up at 5:30 this morning and you only got 6 hours of sleep - we need a break!" Which normally I would ignore, toss more coffee down my gullet, and soldier on. But after the past two days of struggle with cranky kids and a winter concert and a Girl Scout investiture and extra errands I decided my body had the right of it today. Since the little boy was safely tucked up in his room with his toys, I snuggled back down into my flannel sheets and dozed.

While I was lying there, I thought about how everyone talks about "resting in God". And not for the first time wondered if maybe that could sometimes be taken literally. Maybe it's kind of like what they tell you in the emergency airline instructions - you know, putting your own oxygen mask on before helping someone else? Maybe resting in God isn't only about the spiritual. Maybe it's okay if we rest our tired bodies and souls too. Maybe I don't have to operate at the breakneck pace some other moms I know do - I learned a while ago that I am not Supermom - nor do I want to be. Maybe it glorifies God more to be a happier healthier mommy who doesn't feel like she's on her last nerve, rather than a mommy who Gets It All Done.

Maybe it's okay to listen to the natural rhythms of my body - even when they don't make sense to anyone else. And really, if the Word became flesh to dwell among us - doesn't Jesus already know how tired and sore these frail bodies can get, since He spent so much time going around healing them?

Well, anyway - 20 minutes later I felt MUCH more ready to tackle Walmart during the Christmas season. And that's worth it right there.

This wasn't covered in my Mom Manual....

2008-12-03T10:20:00.000-08:00

There is a lot in the average day of the average mom that borders on the absurd. Those things and events which are completely out of our control which either make you want to laugh or cry (sometimes both).

No matter how a mom tries to plan her day, these absurd things insist on happening. While I was sitting at my keyboard typing up that last post and preparing to go run a few errands, I noticed it had suddenly become very quiet upstairs. Not quite daring to believe my little guy had actually given up and fallen asleep, I opened the door to check on him. Opening the door gently so as not to wake him, a couple inches across the floor the door goes "bonk" on something in its path. Hmm, Connor must have pushed the stool in front of the door again. I look down. And just around the corner of the door I see a tuft of blond hair. Oh.....dear. Connor didn't push an object in front of the door. He plunked HIMSELF in front of the door - and then fell asleep. This is not covered in any of the parenting books. I can't reach far enough around the door the roll him out of the way, and I hate to wake him up if he's that tired. Guess I'm not supposed to run errands today.

In need of a change

2008-12-03T08:46:00.000-08:00

There's got to be a better way. I just haven't figured it out yet.

I've got a few personal puzzles rambling around in my brain in need of a solution. This morning was awful, and something's got to give before I go crazy(er). I haven't any solution yet, but these are the main conundrums I've been pondering in the last week or two:

1. I need a new morning routine. The old one (before Charlotte was in kindergarten) just flat out does...not....work....anymore. I keep assuming if the kids get enough sleep they'll bounce out of bed and get ready for school with little or no prodding. Ha....ha. For the past 3 nights I've tried to make sure everyone was in bed early. Last night everyone but Brian was in bed by 9:30 - including me. Didn't. Make. One. Bit. Of difference. Grrrr. In fact, it was worse. I'm not sure what's behind it but Chris has taken a sudden turn of Stubborn on and I'm tired of having to oversee the putting on of EACH piece of clothing, the finishing of EVERY before school task. I don't know if the solution is his own personal schedule, a new alarm clock (that actually wakes him up), an earlier wake-up time, or a cattle prod but if I have one more send-off like this morning I'll be looking for that padded room sooner rather than later.

And, oh yeah - morning showers in the winter are less than pointless. After running around getting everyone ready and standing out in the frigid morning air for 20 minutes at the bus stop with a hood (or 2) clamped over my head I may as well not have bothered - 1/2 hour saved on morning routine.

2. Somehow, some way I am not going to fall into the Christmas Craziness trap. I'm not sure how, but there has got to be a way to simplify. I did start my shopping back in the fall, so I'm about half done. I'd also like to avoid the overspending thing. I always expect too much of myself in this department. Maybe this could be the year I concentrate on the traditions that are really meaningful to me and my family and skip the rest.....for real, this year.

3. I need at least a temporary solution to the cognitive dissonance I've been feeling over our church situation. I find I've really been missing many of the beautiful liturgical things that traditional churches do this time of year (Advent wreath lighting, classical Christmas music, Christmas pageants for the children, Christmas carols, etc.) And yet I know that after a few weeks in a traditional church I will feel bored, stuck, and busy. Maybe I should go get a Book of Common Prayer and dig out the hymnbooks and create my own Advent services for the family at home. One more thing for Mom to do, but maybe it will satisfy this spiritual itch that's been plaguing me.

4. My 3 children are very different from each other and have recently been showing me that they have 3 very different sets of needs. I need a new plan to balance this and I'm not sure what it is. My oldest, Chris, has a lot more homework as a 3rd grader and is getting more stubborn about doing it on his own. I spend more time prodding him along than I used to, which means less time with my other two.

Charlotte, in kindergarten, after a long day of holding in her huge energy supply, wants to bounce around and talk to anything that moves (and even anything that doesn't). Which drives the one trying to avoid the homework crazy.

Connor, the 2 year old, also has an abundant energy supply - but he prefers to use it to climb things. Since he's nosy too, many times he chooses to climb all over his brother to find out what he's doing, which also drives Chris crazy.

The hard thing with autism is it's nearly impossible to untangle what is normal 3rd grade behavior and what is the autism. How much does Chris have control over, and what is beyond his control? What do I do when none of the discipline I've used over the past few months puts a stop to his enormously bad attitude?

Anyway, I'm going to make a point to stop doing things mindlessly that no longer work, and work on trying to find something that does. I need to keep in mind that other people's expectations for family life, Christmas celebration, child management, and my spiritual life don't matter. Ultimately, I play to an audience of One. Maybe I can remember that this Christmas season...

Lost in my own little world

2008-12-02T11:34:00.000-08:00

There are days, in my life as a SAHM, when I feel like I don't even surface to the world at large. On those days, like today, I wouldn't notice if one of the world's continents slipped into the ocean (unless it happened to be the one I'm living on.) There are many days where my most frequent conversational partners are a 2 year old and a cat. Or me, myself, and I - but you know people look at you funny if you do that too often.

Even though I've been at this now for almost 9 years there are days where it still strikes me as strange that I am little more than a hermit (albeit in a house, not a cave). For most of my life I've been very much a part of the world at large. What with 13 years of school, 4 years of college, 7 years in retail, and 3 years in an office I had a need to know what transpired in the world each day. Well, at least insofar as it concerned my role.

Many of these days I feel like even God must be bored watching me. Today's agenda included getting 2 (still reluctant) children off to school, washing and changing bedding, feeding a toddler and a cat breakfast and lunch, catching up on email and blog, and preparing for the evening's activities.

Tonight's agenda includes picking up the 2 kids at the bus stop, fixing after school snacks, helping the oldest with homework, making a batch of brownies, making a quick supper for all of us and the cat, driving us all to daughter's Daisy Girl Scouts investiture ceremony, coming home to do bath and bedtime routine - and going to bed.

Most of my life, if it were a novel, would be too boring to read. I guess that's why I've had a hard time lately in my quiet times with God - I keep thinking God is bored with me too. I know that I need to get over this, but I haven't quite figured out how. Maybe I need to go dig out that book by Brother Lawrence called Practicing the Presence of God. After all, washing dishes in a monastery is not exactly material for Access Hollywood.

In search of a saner Christmas

2008-12-02T07:59:00.000-08:00

So we got back from our Thanksgiving holiday visit and got to hit the ground running. Christopher's 3rd grade holiday concert was scheduled for last night. That's right - the very day after Thanksgiving break. It took quite of bit of planning, scheduling, and goading children to get us all there in time. We made it, and it was good. But it got me thinking about the whole Christmas season in general.

I confess that the bigger and glitzier the commercial end of Christmas gets every year, the more I feel like crawling into a hole and hiding. I never understood those people who schedule a holiday cruise or trip to the tropics until recently. I loved the Christmas season as a child. All the decorating, baking, singing, gift buying, present wrapping, church pageants, Christmas music - the whole nine yards - loved every minute of it.

I do still love it - but it's different now that I'm in charge of it. My mom had just me, and by the time I was maybe 6 or 7 years old, I helped her. I've got 3 kids and a kitty. Even though my oldest 2 are technically old enough to help (and have, some) it's still quite the 3 ring circus trying to concentrate on Christmas preparations and keep the toddler and the kitty out of everything.

Even if I do get all the physical Christmas preparation done, I find that I've been missing the heart preparations. I have very little time to sit and drink in the significance of Christmas - the fact that God chose to come to Earth, to live among us as a man, to be born of a simple Jewish peasant girl and grow up in humble circumstances, to sacrifice His life for me on a rugged Roman cross, and to triumph over the powers of evil by rising from the dead. Emmanuel, God with us.

Then too there is the fact that Christ was not born on December 25th. Historians and theologians have placed the actual birth of Christ sometime around September (around the time of the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles and the Day of Atonement.) Which, symbolically, would make sense. Since Jesus knew that He would become the fulfillment of the Passover lamb by being crucified during the Passover, it makes sense that He would be born during the time the Jews celebrated the time of God's tabernacling (residing with) mankind.

Even though I know that the celebration of Christ's birth was moved to December 25th to try to draw in the pagans (who celebrated the winter solstice and the feast of Saturnalia around that time) I like the idea of celebrating the return of the light (sunlight) and the Light. I think we need to celebrate both. I find it very satisfying and I know I wouldn't make such a herculean effort without the force of tradition behind it.

But this year I would like to look deeper inside myself, deeper into the word of God, to rediscover the Word of God, who was in the beginning - for Whom everything was made, and without Whom nothing that has been made would have been made.

Pre-holiday rant

2008-11-25T11:49:00.000-08:00

I'm going on strike this time next year. I swear I am. In the past 48 hours I have sorted 100 pounds of laundry, washed and dried 7 loads of it, folded and put away 3 of the loads, run up and down both sets of steps in my house about 50 times a day, chased my toddler and the kitten out of every conceivable place in the house, and done all my normal mom duties with the children. It's 3pm. I've only just had lunch (1 pb&j sandwich).

In the next 24 hours I need to do the last load of laundry, fold and put away 5 finished ones, pack 4 suitcases, spend 2 hours going to my allergist to get my monthly shot (1/2hr. to get ready, 20 min. drive, 20 min. there, 20 min. home), get the cat's stuff ready to drop him off at the kennel, and do all my normal mom stuff for the kids.

Every. Muscle. In. My body. Hurts.

And I still have a 5-? hour drive with 3 children to look forward to. Don't get me wrong, I love visiting our families in PA. I just wish there was some way to get up there without this marathon beforehand.

So right now you're asking well, why did you wait so long to do laundry? I didn't - 8 loads is a normal amount for the 5 of us for a week. It's just that normally I have all week to do it in. But to go on a week long trip I need 2 weeks worth of clean laundry for all of us so that we have something to wear in the few days before and the few days after as well.

So next year. I think I'll go on strike. I'll still do the normal laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping, cooking. But I'll tell my husband if he wants to go visiting then he can do the extra laundry and the packing. They can go, I'll stay home. I'm going to go to the library, stock up on some good novels, buy some easy to fix food, and spend the holiday being thankful for relaxing at home.

Next year, I swear that I will. Really.....

Just to make sure you're paying attention

2008-11-24T15:12:00.000-08:00

Yes, I changed my template...again. Variety being the spice of life and all that. Plus I get bored easily. Don't be surprised if it continues to change every so often as I learn to manipulate different elements. Maybe someday I'll get ambitious and investigate creating my own - which would be fun but time consuming.

When my own words fail

2008-11-24T07:50:00.000-08:00

Sometimes somebody else's words express how I'm feeling far better than I can. Sometimes God leads me to those words at the strangest times in the oddest ways.

"Midway along the journey of our life
I woke to find myself in a dark wood,
for I had wandered off from the straight path.

How hard it is to tell what it was like,
this wood of wilderness, savage and stubborn
(the thought of it brings back all my old fears),

a bitter place! Death could scarce be bitterer.
But if I would show the good that came of it
I must talk about things other than the good.

How I entered there I cannot truly say,
I had become so sleepy at the moment
when I first strayed, leaving the path of truth;"

For those of you, like I, who did not read this in high school, those are the opening words of Dante's Inferno. I was at the library on Saturday, with my 5 year old daughter in tow (because she pulled a drama queen face and begged to come with me). I was trying to hurry, because I knew she would stay put at the children's activity table for only so long. After refilling my quota of novels for the week, on a whim I wandered over to the poetry section. I found the Rumi book I went for, and then my eyes landed on Dante. Lately I've had a desire to read some of the classics we, for whatever reason, were not required to read in high school. I grabbed the book along with the rest of my stack and dashed back to where Charlotte was happily working a puzzle. I figured I could peruse my books for a few minutes while she played.

Being curious, I opened up the Dante, and read those opening words. And nearly slid through the floor in shock. A 13th century poet had just given me an existential punch in the gut. Wow. Well, it's good to know that my spiritual angst is not just a product of the times I live in, but a product of the human condition.

I've been coming to the gradual realization that I am tired of being a "human do-ing" and want to be a "human be-ing" again. The past couple weekends I've been on a forced hiatus from church. Due mostly to illness in the family, company, and general worn out-ed-ness, we haven't been in church the past few Sundays. Yesterday I came to the startling realization that I felt much calmer and more at peace with myself and my family than I have in months. I began thinking about what that said about my church experience in particular and American Christianity in general.

I got to spend a hour or so reading my Bible and praying/meditating in private, then relaxed with my family. After dinner I was able to get started on some laundry so as to not be behind all week in holiday preparations. What a lovely, relaxed day it was.

It made me start to wonder if many American Christians aren't going about the whole concept of "church" the wrong way. Why is it, no matter what church you belong to, no matter which denomination you find yourself in - as soon as you offer up your gifts and talents to serve the body of Christ, you find yourself stressed out and overcommitted? Where did we lose the concept of balance? How can we "be still and know" that He is God when we're not even allowed to be still? Why does it seem the church is just as guilty of this as the world we claim to be separate from? Why is so much extra "stuff" laid on top of Jesus' simple command to "Come, follow Me"?

In those rare moments when I am alone with just my own thoughts and God, I keep thinking, "Is this all there is?" Is all there is being permanently stuck in fast forward being busy for the Kingdom? What happened to "Come unto Me all who are weary and I will give you rest"?

And most disturbing of all, why does it seem that I am the only one who is bothered by this? Why am I the only who is tired of all the pomp and circumstance that the modern church has become?

I want to be like Mary, and simply go sit at Jesus' feet - and listen.

Fallible Friday follies

2008-11-21T14:53:00.000-08:00

Ha. Bet you thought I forgot to post today. Nope, just got sidetracked. Friday is the day I meet with my prayer group moms. By the time I get home it's lunchtime and (maybe, possibly) naptime for little Boo (which today it was, yippee!)

This one'll be a little stream-of-consciousness cause that's the kind of day/week I've had.

So with every good intention I sat down to type after lunch.....and my kitty crawled into my lap trolling for scritches. Well... any of you who has an animal that does this can guess what happened next. Yep, I succumbed to SKOL syndrome (Sleeping Kitty On Lap) and suddenly found I could not keep my eyes open. Cats are God's way of telling us to give up and go take a nap. So I did.

So. Then after picking the kids up at the bus stop I decided to ply them with treats to stop them from fighting (Friday after-school meltdowns are the WORST). I wanted to try out what sounded like a yummy and simple recipe that my friend gave me this morning. All you do is take one box of devil's food cake mix and 1 can of solid pack pumpkin, mix together, put in muffin trays, bake for 350 deg. for 15-18 minutes. Voila! Yummy chocolate muffins with a nutritious surprise.

I should have know that it sounded too easy.

First, I couldn't remember what size can pumpkin when I was in the store, so I bought the big one (29 oz size). Well, it was supposed to be the small one (14 oz. size), so I decided to do a double batch. Ha. Ha. By the time I got 2 cake mixes and 1 large can of pumpkin in my mixing bowl it was all I could do to mix it without overflowing the bowl. It didn't help that the batter is the consistency of thick icing. I probably should have dug out the mixer but I was stubborn and didn't want to clean it. Between a fork and a spatula I managed to mix it. Whew! There's a workout for ya.

Got the thick stuff into the muffin tins and put it in to bake. And bake. And bake. You're supposed to turn the temp. down to 325 deg. if you use a dark tin, which I do. Well.....try more like 20-25 minutes in my oven.

Okay, finally they are done. Well, they smell good - hope they taste good. Waiting....waiting.....waiting. Give one to each child (not the baby, he'd bounce) and one for me. And the verdict is....

Mmmm. Different - good different. Less like muffins or cake and more like molten chocolate cake consistency (for you bakers, a very soft, fine crumb)- yummy! But more treat or dessert than breakfast (my friend makes hers for brunch - ummm, maybe not unless it's WITH something else - unless I want to train the children as trapeze artists by having them swing from the curtain rods.)

Sigh of relief. I'm supposed to make up a batch for us to put in the teachers' break room for a pre-Thanksgiving treat. It's good to know the recipe works and is tasty.

Why do they bother to make toys for boys?

2008-11-20T06:48:00.001-08:00

Otherwise known as Help! I Need an Instruction Manual.

Sometimes I think that parenthood is God's inside joke on His children. It's the only thing that explains why all my kids are very much like and yet nothing at all like myself and my husband (well, that and Mendelian genetics, but still).

You would think, by the time I got to the third child, I might have an inkling of what I was doing - right? Wrong!

So, #1 Son comes along and we follow all the parenting and pediatrician's advice - 3 1/2 years later we find out that the reason very little of it worked is because he has autism. Ahhh, of course - now all those unexplained tantrums/obsessions/pickiness/not-wanting-to-sleep etc. make sense. Okay, got it. Shift gears. Read up on autism, evaluate strategy, adapt. (And keep on adapting as it turns out, but that's another story, never mind, anyway....)

Next, Dear Daughter comes along. Definitely not autistic, thank goodness. Rather, social butterfly. Extrovert in the extreme. Where did this child come from again? Gotta love those Mendelian genetics - recessive genes, gotta be. With the non-stop energy of a kangaroo - for a while we called her Tigger. She has two speeds - fast forward and asleep - nothing in between. And oh, the drama....

Now then, #2 Son comes along. With trepidation we wait to see if autism makes an appearance again. No? Okay, great. So, boy raising strategy minus autism adaptation. Er, yeah. Well, maybe?

Huh. This one defies the parenting books, the pediatrician's advice, and all our knowledge and experience gained with his brother and sister. An extrovert like his sister, he wants to follow me around everywhere I go. But, like his brother - fascinated with how everything works. So he follows me around and wreaks havoc everywhere he goes. Whereas Chris would play with the light switches for hours at a time, Connor wants to take apart anything he can get his hands on. And - he can get his hands on most anything he wants to. He's got his sister's strength and agility combined with his brother's amazing capacity for figuring things out. This is a dangerous combination in a 2 year old. He can climb anything, escape anything, take anything apart, and has unlimited energy (he really doesn't nap anymore). I'd love to create a giant, toddler size hamster ball to put him in and let him bash around the house awhile without being able to hurt himself.

You see, he doesn't want toys anymore. I've tried every bait and switch in the book. It distracts him for 30 seconds and then he's back trying to play with the entertainment system, or the dish cupboard, or the refrigerator, or the CD rack, or the computer. I used to just put things up, but I'm running out of UP. Besides, I can't move the equipment.

I keep hoping he will pass through this phase quickly, or else a padded room will be required. For him or for me remains to be seen.....

An experiment

2008-11-19T10:05:00.000-08:00

I'd like to try a little experiment and see how it goes. You may have noticed I've been a bit lax in posting lately. It's not for lack of ideas or want of writing. It's just that the "sensible" part of me says that blogging is an extra, not a necessary in my life. Only I've noticed over the past few weeks that I've had this almost constant mental friction - a spiritual itch, a soul deep angst - overlaying everything I do and think.

I've been pondering this and I think I've reached a conclusion. I wonder if my angst is nothing more or less than the frustrated Muse within. All my life I've had (and needed) some sort of artistic outlet. For most of my life, the main outlet was singing or playing an instrument. but right now the circumstances of my life work against the idea of being in some sort of ensemble. I have noticed also that the weeks that I have been able to blog a lot (sounds like a new knight at the round table - Sir Blogs a Lot) that I haven't had that constant mental itch in the back of my head.

So - here's the experiment. I'm going to make a point to post on this blog every weekday (for starters at least; weekend posts are always erratic because a lot depends on my church activity schedule.) I'm going to attempt to put a gag on the Editor who likes to sit on my shoulder. I'll try to not worry about whether my ideas are too silly or not profound enough to print. And we'll see what comes of it.

Incidentally, I will pick up my Life of Beth series again, but I think I'll need to do shorter chapters. The ones I've been posting have each taken an hour or more, and that's part of what 's been standing in my way.

So - look for me here tomorrow, who knows what the Muse will have to say for herself...

Wandering mind Wednesday

2008-11-19T08:14:00.000-08:00

A lot of the bloggers I regularly read do a "Wordless Wednesday". Which I like, but I am hopelessly slow with photos and links. But I always have a lot of random ideas pinging around in my brain that don't necessarily go together. So here's a few thoughts that have ambled into my head over the past few days...

1. Why do they call the part of the US that I live in a temperate zone when it has some of the most IN-temperate weather I can imagine? Last week I was digging out our shorts and t-shirts again because it was in the 70's. Today, wearing a t-shirt, sweatshirt, jeans and socks, sitting inside my heated house, my fingers are still so cold I can barely type these words - it's coming up on noon my thermometer reads 35 degrees F.

2. Why is it that the same children who bounce out of bed at 7am on a Saturday remain unconscious lumps until I shovel them out of bed kicking and screaming on a school day?

3. Yesterday while bringing in the trash cans I bent down to pick up what I thought was a piece of discarded plastic that got blown out of someone's can - turns out it was a small plastic rosary. I have no way of knowing whose it is and I'm not Catholic. Do I keep it? Throw it out? Is that sacreligious? My daughter thought it made a cool necklace. Is that sacreligious too?

4. I used to read mostly non-fiction. Lately I've been devouring novels like there's no tomorrow. Is there a reason for this? What does that say about me?

5. When I go to church, listen to a Christian radio station, or read a book about the Christian journey, I hear a lot about being a good witness, letting my light shine, being a good example for others, etc. But the reality of my daily life is that for 6 days of the week, my sphere of influence is 4 people (1 husband, 3 children) and 1 small cat. That's it. Yes, I try to be nice to the store clerks (specially since I was one once). I try to drive my car so's not to be a hypocrite in light of the Jesus fish on the back of it. I try to be courteous to telemarketers. I am involved at church, but that's just 1 day out of 7. But for the most part, my day to day life with its triumphs and struggles is only lived out in front of those 4 people. Period. Is that okay with God? Should I be looking to add to my already overcrowded schedule? And how, exactly does one practice the presence of God while sorting laundry?

6. Being a SAHM requires me to live on the craziest schedule. Short bursts of frantic activity followed by countless hours of tedium. One day I have so many appointments and errands I'm hardly home. The next day I'm trying to dig the house out from where I threw everything from the day(s) before. I think the only people with a LESS predictable schedule than I have are doctors and first responders (firefighters, EMT's, police officers).

Anyway, those are my random musings for today....

The flip side to yesterday's post

2008-11-06T07:46:00.000-08:00

I read a disturbing quote on CNN.com today referring to President-elect Obama.

By Stuart Rothenberg, "They don't think he's merely going to be president. They think he's been elected savior." And it showed an artist's rendering of Barack Obama in a Superman costume.

Oooooo-kay. Now THIS I have a problem with. As I said yesterday, I am hopeful about the effect of Barack Obama's election on our country and our relations with the world. He seems like a good man and a good politician. I hope time will prove him to be both. But he is a man. Just a man - a mere mortal like the rest of us. He is not a savior. Those of us who call ourselves Christians already have a Savior - Jesus Christ. Who incidentally warned his followers time and time again about putting our trust in anyone but Him.

Psalm 118:8, 9 "It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in man. It is better to take refuge in the Lord than to trust in princes." Or presidents, I might add. No matter how powerful and charismatic they are.

I would be as happy as anyone if our new President can help fix our economic mess, unify our country, and improve foreign relations. But whether he can or can't, I already have a Savior.

1 John 5:21 "Dear children, keep yourselves from idols."

Proud to be an American today

2008-11-05T09:23:00.000-08:00

Today is a historical day. A momentous day. A day that I am proud to be an American.

I have two confessions to make:

1. I voted for McCain.
2. I secretly hoped Obama would win.

Okay, now that I've shocked EVERYBODY, let me explain.

I usually avoid talking politics. That whole non-confrontational thing. My husband and I have a very interesting situation come election times. I was raised by conservative Republicans. He was raised by fairly liberal Democrats. The two of us meet somewhere in the middle - liberal Republicans, or conservative Democrats - Moderates, if you will (though we seem to be a dying breed.) However, we agreed, that so as not to cancel out each other's votes, but present a united front - we would decide together who we would vote for during a Presidential election.

We have had many, MANY discussions over the past year or so - issues, platforms, voting records, the whole nine yards. Neither candidate completely satisfied our consciences. But we refused to throw away our votes - we wanted to cast them for one of the candidates who could actually win.

We didn't agree with the Democrats, morally. We didn't agree with how the Republicans have run the country, practically. We didn't like Obama's inexperience. We didn't like McCain's temper. We wondered why the Republican party insisted on coming up with an "old white man " candidate.....again. We wondered if Obama would flub up foreign policy. We wondered if it was wise to have a man who'd undergone torture to have his finger on the red button.

Over, and over, and over we hashed it out.

Last night I watched the election results in utter fascination. It was like watching a giant, historical chess game being played out. And when the official announcement was made.... I got chills down my spine. This was history being made, before my eyes.

As big (or bigger) than when Americans got to watch the moon landing. Which since I was a baby at the time, is really only a history lesson for me.

There were a lot of things about this election that I liked. I liked that both candidates were rather more gracious than candidates have been in the past. I liked that Obama was humble winner. I liked that McCain was a gracious loser. I loved seeing my country gather up enthusiasm for the voting process itself. The apathy which has held many in it's grip has concerned me a lot.

And so now, once again, America has made history. The sacrifices, prayers, and tears of so many before us, both famous and unknown, have made this possible. I like this story. It is, if nothing else, a quintessentially American story. You'd be hard pressed to write a story this good. Truth is stranger than fiction. The underdog comes from behind and wins the day. There's something very satisfying about that, if you're an American. Our country was founded by the underdogs with a dream.

I want to believe in this story. I like this junior Senator from Illinois with his charisma and charm, his political savvy and speaking skills. I want to believe that he can deliver on his promises. I want to believe in the hope that he engenders, for our nation, for our future. I want to believe that he can re-unite our fractured country, help us to pull ourselves back up by our bootstraps, and restore our reputation among the nations of the world.

Some said they were surprised he seemed so sober in his acceptance speech. I think it speaks well of him. He knows that not just a nation, but the world, will be watching his every move. A heavy burden for one man to bear. I pray God grants him wisdom. I pray our nation grants him patience.

For though as a Christian, I know this nation is not my final home, I pray our new President can lead us into making it a better place to live in the meantime - a nation again with liberty and justice for all.

This is the air I breathe.....literally

2008-10-31T07:24:00.000-07:00

There's a popular worship song a lot of you may have heard of and/or sung lately - it's called Breathe (written by Michael W. Smith?), and it starts out:

This is the air I breathe
This is the air I breathe
Your holy presence, living in me

At 4:30am this morning I was reminded just how literally dependent I am on God for everything, even my next breath. At 4:30 this morning I woke up having an asthma attack. (Thank you nasty fall cold.) Lest you think this is a regular occurrence, the last time I remember this happening was the first time it happened - I was 12 years old.

It was a very sobering reminder that although for the most part my asthma is well managed and rarely causes me even discomfort let alone danger, I am living with a condition that could potentially kill me. We are all dependent on God for everything, including our next breath. I just have reason to be more acutely aware of it from time to time.

After I stopped panicking and very sensibly went downstairs to grab my inhaler - I lay in bed for a while wide awake, waiting for the pressure in my lungs to ease. I remembered a teaching I'd recently heard - on John 10:10 - "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full"

The person giving the teaching suggested that sometimes this may work itself out in a literal way - Satan would like us dead, if he could manage it, that we might no longer trouble him. Many times we as Christians think of this verse as more metaphorical (well of course, Satan wants to steal my peace of mind, kill my joy, and destroy my witness - thereby rendering me ineffective in the kingdom). And that is still true. But I know there have been times in my life (at least a good handful) where God has snatched my life (or my children's lives) out of the jaws of danger. As a tiny 2 week old baby, in the hospital with a lung infection from a milk allergy - as a 12 year old with severe bronchitis needing to be rushed to the hospital to be put in a oxygen tent - as a young working woman having my little economy car smashed into by a huge pickup truck running the red light - in pre-term labor with my first child and the cord was wrapped around his neck - as a young mother being rushed to the hospital because allergies overwhelmed my body and brought on a severe asthma attack.

And those are just the times I KNOW about. How many other countless times has God rescued me, my husband, or children from UNSEEN danger?

It's an awesome, incomprehensible thought that Satan considers little 'ole cream puff me an
Enemy of the State who needs to be done away with.

God's small surprises

2008-10-30T08:57:00.000-07:00

Last night, at the end of a very long and busy 5 days crammed full of things-to-do, I sat at the computer drinking some tea and researching random things on Google. Yes, this is one way eggheads like me relax. There's always at least half a dozen questions swirling through my brain on any given day, and sometimes I like to just sit down and satisfy my curiosity.

Well, the first time anyone meets our kitten, Simba, the first thing they remark on is his large paws. I thought it was cute and kind of unique but EVERYONE who meets him always says the same thing, "Wow, look at those BIG PAWS!" Simba has what's known as polydactyly - he's a 6 toed cat. After hearing maybe a dozen or more people (everyone from the vet's staff, to the Jehovah's Witness ladies who rang the bell one day) say this first thing, I decided to research it some more.

What I learned was fascinating, and an amazing bit of synchronicity....

Ordinary house cats have 18 toes - 5 on each front paw, 4 on each back paw (that was a revelation right there, I had no idea it was different). Polydactyl cats have extra toes, up to 7 on their front paws and 6 on their back ones, with many variations in between. It's a genetic mutation, but not usually a harmful one, just unusual. Out of curiosity I examined Simba's feet more closely - turns out he has 3 paws with 6 toes, and 1 with 5 - (I keep re-counting the ones on that back foot but I keep coming up with 5).

Polydactyl cats are known variously as Hemingway cats, mitten cats, boxer cats, thumb cats, and 6 finger cats. They called Simba a Hemingway cat the first time I took him to the vet - I'd vaguely heard of the term, but never considered what was meant by it. Evidently Hemingway was very fond of cats, and his first cat, given to him by a sailor, was a polydactyl cat (guess those extra toes come in handy on deck).

So, if you've been reading my post lately you know that I've been missing my dad a lot this month, as I always do around this time of year, because his birthday was in October. And because he was from Wales (South Wales, specifically), the Welsh are Celts, and originally All Hallow's Eve was part of Samhain, an important Celtic festival. Everywhere I turn in October I have reminders of him. And now, it seems, I have a year-long reminder of him.

Because I learned that polydactyl cats are also called Cardi-cats. Seems that Cardiganshire, South Wales is home to an overabundance of many-toed cats, so much so that they have taken on the name of their birthplace.

God saw fit to send me a Welsh cat - how cool is that?