Dear Reader

Today my husband recapped a conversation he had with himself recently. (I can't explain this). He figured out we spend about 1/3 of our day sleeping, 1/3 of our time working at a paid job, and much of the last 1/3 of our time on caring for our children, our crap, and responsibilities we don't even really care about. This leaves about 20 minutes a day for something meaningful. Really? How about some extra sleep, because that makes me a little tired to even think about.

Here is what I have been spending my 1/3+1/3+(1/3-20 minutes) on:

The private school at which I work has foreign exchange students who want to learn English, so they can stay here for a decade and attend university. For some, it happens at a slower pace. So, three days a week, I tutor after school.

My eldest kid transferred from said private school to an amazingly intense program at a local high school. It's an International Baccalaureate program which translates to really smart, really hard, and two years of college credits when she graduates. Win win. I drive her some days. Pick her up others.

My husband has been picking up every shift he possibly can. We have debt that is weighing us down. Suffocating actually. We are done with it. We are taking the long road and paying off debt before we get into a new house. We are saving a deposit and funneling money into our savings account. Unfortunately it's a very small funnel with more of a leak than a flow. Baby steps. This translates to full time parent. Of course The man is still around to pick me up with sweet conversation via the telephone.

In the next three months, over half of us have birthdays. And our anniversary. And Easter. And spring break. It's usually a bit hectic, but this year is a little different because I work full time. Oh. And by different I meant worse. We are throwing them a surprise Harry Potter themed birthday dinner where the entrance to our party is through a brick wall that reads Platform 9 3/4.

My book. It's not taking as much of my time as I want it to, but still. Time.

I don't know about you, but I would really like to have 1/3 of my day back. This is crazy.

The book I am Reading

Sometimes I read a book, and I underline and take notes and it is exciting. Other times, I purchase a book and have it sit on the box I call bedside table. Trying it on. I don't read it. When you read it, you have to do it. If you sing it, you have to live it.

I knew I needed time to adjust and prepare for this book. It's called Anything. It's written by Jennie Allen. I think I still like her. I can't say for sure yet, because I am only about 2o pages in. If she keeps making me sigh heavily with conviction, the tides could turn. I may pull out my angry (with myself) eyebrows and blame her for her honesty. I'll call it judging, but she doesn't know me. She is just delivering the goods. It's my armpits that are all sweaty with frustration.

Here's a quote:

"I did wonder sometimes, when I closed my eyes and let it get scary quiet, if I was missing the best things, the things that mattered most, because I was afraid. "

She means she was saying no thanks to the gifts God gave her because they hurt or were scary or seemed too sad. Most have the desire to love others, share a cup of coffee, and maybe even help someone move. Hospitality. That's a light hearted spiritual gift.

Mine is words. I speak. I write. I dream, and God asks me to say something about it. The problem is what He wants me to say is usually a little intrusive. It's cut. its dry. I have to work to make it encouraging. It's uncomfortable. And not just for them.

I have caught myself thinking the words "take it away, Lord". I wanted a new gift. How about hospitality. I could make scones (no. Actually I can't). I could beautifully display some cookies (also a lie). I could enjoy having women over for breakfast (it's as if I have never met myself and watched with my own eyes as I said help yourself and watched my guests get their own cereal).

The fact is, this is my gift. God gave it. And he can take it away, but he would rather help my heart to handle it so he can be honored. In my life. And theirs. Whoever "they" are at that moment. By saying no thanks, I am Jonah. That guy, who every time I read his story, I think he is a doofus. Because he was.

I don't want to be Jonah or any other "got it wrong" from the Bible. I'm a work in progress.

But I am swimming to Ninevah if I have to. Who's goin with me?

Jesus told the little girl, who everyone thought was dead, to get up. I wrote it on my arm. I am going to keep writing it on my arm, because I think it's what I am supposed to be doing. Getting up. Go. No more staying. I am done staying.

Smell That?

That my friend is the winds of change. Thankfully, things around here aren't changing as much as they have over the past couple of years. Seriously, if I have to move again, I may combust. Why isn't combust a word? Weird. Anyway, you get my point. I want to settle. So many people are against settling, but honestly, sometimes it's the best thing a girl can do for her family.

Let's settle people. Let's be average. Let's not move every two years. Can we try that? We aren't military. We aren't missionaries. We aren't any M word that requires frequent moves. I just want to be. There's nothing that comes after that statement. I just want to be and that is all.

So, we are staying in our house for at least another year, unless God sends us some sort of miraculous home and the money with which to purchase it.

No, the change I am talking about is much less stressful. First, my mid-kid cut all her hairs off. For reals. All of it. She wants to be the girl from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. You remember? The girl Mr. Rooney mistakes for Ferris at the pizza parlor. He says something crude behind her back like, "the gig is up. Your a&& is mine." To which she calmly replies by spitting a straw full of pop into his face. CLASSIC. Anyway, that's who she used as her point of reference.

I don't make the rules.

Also, on the list of change is Izzy's school. She has been a proud student of Excel Christian School for the last semester of school. She has loved it and done so well. But when the opportunity to attend the IB program at Wooster High School, she couldn't pass it up. Perhaps she is looking for more art in her high school experiences

Maybe she wants more opportunities for performing arts

and maybe she is just needing a few tips on how to get through her high school years

I can't say for certain. But really, I think she wants to be part of something that scares her a little while asking her to become a better version of herself. Last year, she called herself shy. Lies. This year she knows she is brave and funny and cool. My only real prayer is that she stays true to her faith and grows closer to God. And doesn't find any interesting boys.

Dearest Husband, You are a Great Father

Men believe lies as often as women. Did you know that? For some reason I am always thrown when my husband, or any man, talk about a fear or insecurity. Among a man’s topmost insecurities is his belief that he is not a good enough father. I hate hearing this. I have heard men say it. I have heard my own husband say it. 

Sometimes we are able to look at a lie from the enemy and know right away how fake it is. There is no purchase to the words because they are simply absurd, and we know it. Other times, the enemy picks the most subtle things and attaches them to the end of a pin. It’s small at first, so we don’t totally notice, but after a while, the pin pricks turn into a deep, festering wound leaving us too injured to think clearly. I believe most insecurities follow this pattern, and the only way to see through the lies, get past the nonsense, and gain perspective is to face them head on. Sometimes it takes an outsider. 

So here you go men. Here is what we love about you as a father. Here is why you are a good father. Here is why we are proud to have our boys (and girls) follow in your footsteps:

• You make pancakes, just because.
• You snuggle your teenagers, even when they pretend it’s weird.
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• You are willing to do housework and be a taxicab "dad" (says your daughter)
• You notice your daughter and tell her she is pretty.
• You pray for our family.
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• You have never shied away from changing a diaper. Well, maybe once.
• You teach your boy to do proper pushups.
• You take the time to tell them invaluable knowledge such as “righty tighty, lefty loosy.”
• You are terrified of your girls dating.
• You help me calm down when I am terrified of your girls dating.
• You are willing to take every girl in the Troop 127 out on the lake, no matter how full the boat feels.
• You will work outside in the freezing cold putting up Christmas lights, taking down Christmas lights, pulling weeds, digging holes, changing the oil, and fixing whatever we break.
• You are always willing to play air guitar and sing a, 80’s big hair rock band lick.
• You teach your kids to vacuum so the lines look nice.
• Your pride shows when you introduce your children…and your wife.
• You have nicknames for each of your kids that no one else gets to use.
• You take one of them with you when you run an errand.
• You insist they call you daddy, no matter how old they get, and you ignore them as if they never spoke if they try to call you anything else.
• You say, “Go for it,” even when some of their ideas seem out there.
• You know everything about everything, and you pass it on.
• You point out the mechanics of things to your boys, and ask them questions so they have to figure out their own answers.   
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• You will work three jobs, so I can stay home with our babies. 
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• You notice wild animals, even the really camouflaged ones, teaching them to take a minute and enjoy the world around them.
• You take your girls on dates.
• You whisper advice to your boys when they take me on dates.
• You teach them to leave a place cleaner than they left it, especially in nature.
• You hold the door for us, always, without fail, and tell your boys to do the same.
• You are here when you could have left.
• You say, “I love you,” and you mean it. 

Feel free to add to this list.  Please do.

Reviews A'la Me

Book: I am reading Wuthering Heights. I like it. It's the unabridged, originally intended version. Emily Bronte(dot dot) wrote the book. Publishers mocked her to her face. Told her to stick to poetry because it is womanly. She only listened a little. Her sister listened less. Sing it sister suffragette. She re-published her sister's originally intended work after Emily died, and guess what. It takes all my brain power to read it. She is brilliant. Her characters are diverse and feisty and beautiful. I have to look up words. But I am going to finish it. There are creepy factors to it. I wasn't expecting that. There is romance. I knew that would happen. So far, I give it 3.5 out of 5 cups of coffee. I don't blame the book. I blame my inability to speak like the English of the 1800s.

Television: I am watching the show Parenthood. I haven't missed one. I love it so much. It's my family: dysfunction, nosy family members, drama, hilarity, sarcasm, mockery- all in the name of love. It's about four grown siblings and their families. Right now, one of the sad story lines revolves around Christina- one of the mammas. She has cancer and she is going through chemo. She is the mother of three and usually pretty neurotic. Tonight, she decided to go out with her sis-in-laws to forget about her problems, but, three drinks in, her hair started falling out. The next shot was her shaving her head. It hurt my heart so much. It was just shocking and so real and so where my life could be right now.  I just can't help thinking how differently my tests could have been. How differently my family could be functioning. Our prayers could be for healing and not praises of health. If you like to laugh and cry in the same show, Parenthood is your show. I give it 4.5 out of 5 cups of coffee.

Movie: I finally saw Les Mis. I loved it a lot. There were a couple minutes when I felt too awkward watching the leading men sing into each others' faces. I am just going to be blunt. Their next move should have been a kiss it was so intense. There is a tiny chance I pictured them as cowboys with a broken back on a mountain somewheres. The women stole the show. That is for realz. They were raw and gut wrenching. Equal to their performances were Cohen and Carter. Brilliant. Some people cried. Not me. According to my husband there are two types of people in this world. Those who choose a warm heart and cold feet, and those who choose for their toes to be toasty therefore leaving their heart as cold as a dead stone. My feet are always hot. What do you want from me people? Watch the movie. I give it 4.0 out of 5 cups of coffee.

Music: I can't get enough of Bryan and Katie Torwalt. I don't completely love every one of their songs, but of the five I have purchased, I can't get enough. Their writing is splendid and legit. Their harmony is stellar. Their folky style makes my heart happy. If you need to jazz up your worship play list, check them out. I give them 4.5 out of 5 cups of coffee.

I wanna…

My throat hurts. Everyone around here has had colds. The entire break, people have been coughing on me and forgetting to wash hands. We have gone through several tissue boxes and bottles of hand soap. We have emptied vitamin bottles and orange juice jugs.
And now my throat hurts.
I wanna hole up for two days straight and do nothing but avoid sickness.
I wanna watch endless episodes of Friday Night Lights, my Christmas present.
I wanna hire someone to take down my Christmas lights and snap my fingers like Mary Poppins and simply smile as all of my decorations dance their way into the storage bin.
I wanna go to the massage lady, and then drive over to the chiropractor man.
And then I wanna get back in my bed to eat soup someone else made. With chicken and veggies and hot broth.
Then I wanna dream of an island that let's me sleep on its beach, where the sun is never in my eyes.
Anyone? Could you use a break to recover from your break before going back to work? Yawn.

Rebellion

I guess we all have streaks of it in our lives, but sometimes I feel as if sometimes my rebellion bone is larger than the next guy.

I am not proud of it. Sometimes it's worked to my advantage, but usually it hurts people. Mostly me.

And it's never about anything important. I realize I haven't had any water. Instead of drinking some, I think "what would happen if I didn't?" Hmmm. Then I have a headache, my muscles tense, my belly aches.

Rebelling against drinking water is dumb and seemingly nothing, but then I think "what if it's something?" What if it's like my gateway drug to something just under the surface? Far fetched? Maybe.

But sometimes we can take a step off the line that God has laid down for us. The line that, if you look closely enough, has our name written in delicate writing. Our path. I see my name and even my directions.

But I am foolish and easily distracted. I console myself by telling myself what I need is just a tiny step off the line. But then I forget to step back where I belong.

And then I realize what I need is just one step off the line. Now I am two. And then three. And then four paces off my line. I can't look closely at it any more. I can't see my name. I can't see my directions. The only thing that will fix it is taking my steps right back to that line. And maybe taking a few swigs of water.

Maybe if I just kept drinking my water the whole time I would never need to crawl back to where I belong. I would be there all the time.

Dear Rachel

I think you are pretty. I like your style.

I am using my blog app again. In the words if the French feather duster "I have been burnt by you before!" There is a chance this will all erase before it posts. This may all be erased or not. Or it may work and be for… the opposite of not.

There are Christmas cooties in my house. Colds but still. Lots of coughing. Sniffles. Meds. Addison and I like to sport our colds the attractive way. Cold sores. Awesome.
But despite all this yuck, we are anxious for Christmas. We have played games and watched movies. We have wrapped presents and secretly shopped for each other. (We have returned purchases we shouldn't have bought because someone may or may not have bought us that as a Christmas present) oops. We have shared meals and snuggled over coffee and hot chocolate. We have squealed at the first snow flakes. We have pointed out the endless displays of Christmas lights. We have prayed for those closest to us and those we don't know. We have laughed and loved and taken time for one another.

Hopefully, when all is said and done. When the last present is opened. When the last ornament is tucked into a box and placed carefully back on our garage shelf. When we find ourselves looking forward To whatever lies ahead. Hopefully then we can say "this Christmas we made a difference." We taught our kids to love and give not beg and receive. We taught them to notice. To remember. To realize. Hopefully.

Merry Christmas friends. Be blessed.

Quirky Technology

Twice I typed out a reputable blog post. Twice I pushed post. Twice my app deleted them. GAH. And those pictures down there, those are supposed to be in between said posts. They came complete with captions and back stories. Well just forget it.

So anyway, here I sit trying to make up for lost time. It doesn't work, but that doesn't keep us from trying. Especially this time of year. I am feeling it more now that I am a full-time wife, full-time mamma, and full-time teacher. We have been doing our typical traditions of advent and tree hunting and making time for others. But I don't think this will work. Our traditions are going to have to shift a bit. Watching a Christmas movie every night won't work any more because most nights are a school night. Major let down. Should I be this sad that I don't have as much time for television?

Christmas Eve service is coming. Is this something I want to attend? It's probably a valid tradition. Not one that we have stuck to really, but a good one for some people. But sort of I would rather veg out with my kids and hubby at home. My mother in law is coming. Maybe she will have a preference.  I just don't want to be busy because the event seems like the right thing to do.

For now, I am going to snuggle up and watch National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. It's for the best. It's for the children. Look how much happier they are.

Saturday. Typical.

I try to savor every breath of my weekends. Some weekdays I don't get home until the dark is settling over my neighborhood. That means most of my minutes through the week are spent on others. I am ok with that. I signed up for this gig, and I did it with a cheesy grin of anticipation. Still. It's good to be the one held instead of doing all the holding.

We woke at our usual 7:15 this morning. This happens on Saturdays when the resident Jeep leaves for work. Muh goodness that's a mighty loud tail pipe you have there my friend.

I made pancakes. Checked some emails. Snuggled my coffee. Yes. I mean snuggled. Like it is a wooby and I am that kid off Mr. Mom.

I chatted with my kids and mumbled something about wanting a sign to know the right answer just as the sun crawled from behind an oversized-darker than usual cloud. Only then did I wish I would have asked for a sign for something more profound than drama show prices. It's like I was given a great chance to ask God anything at all and I settled for "Hey. Can I sit here?" Question session ended. BAH.

Alas. We accomplished. Jami Harder is my pal. She organizes and decorates. She is working with me on my house. So far I am trading her services for my crap. We accomplished much though, so I may have to find her a right nice present. She said our first sweep through the house should include sorting and purging, even the things we WANT.

She is mysterious, but her ways are brilliant. The two rooms we worked on today feel the relief of crud shoved in their crannies. Thank goodness.

To help her, we ran to the thrift store where I found a few treasures: a sweet headboard that is being disguised as a bookshelf, a copy of the book The Host by Stephenie Meyer, and a vintage sled. It's going to be beautiful hanging on my wall. Classic!!

Tonight we played a card game as a family (sans working daddy) and watched the first of many to come Christmas movies on tv. Love.

I am finally settled into bed listening to the pre-storm. The real storm is supposed to flood reno. Lord, you know what to do. Thanks for taking care of us. Amen

The Praying Wives (or wife to be) Club

Also known as PW(OWTB)C. Rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?

Hello girls! This is the place to share some info, ask some questions, and lift a sister up. SOLIDARITY SISTER! Maybe we could don sashes and sing Sister Suffragette together, I don't know, but I am so happy for every woman that has made a commitment to pray for her man over this next thirty days. Want more info? Want to join us? Click here.

Here are a few of my favorite thoughts so far.

pg. 14
"Many difficult things that happen in a marriage relationship are actually part of the enemy's plan set up for its demise."
It's just the truth. We do not war against flesh and blood. We do not war against our men. And if we ARE declaring war against our men, we are working for the devil. :/ too harsh? it's just the truth. And I want to be on the right side.

pg. 17
"A wife's prayers for her husband have a far greater effect on him than anyone else's..."
Our prayers for our husbands have divine gravity.

pg. 23
"It's your responsibility to pray. It's God's job to answer. Leave it in His hands."
The end.

How about you? Favorite moments? Not so favorite moments?

What Was That?

I hear singing. My six year old son is singing Taylor the Latte Boy by Kristin Chenoweth. It's from her show on broadway. Oh. You aren't familiar? Ha. Well my son is. Give him a ring and he will sing it to you.


I hear giggling. My kids are headed to bed. We don't always hear happiness during this process. And frankly I can't decide what is better. If they are sad, the don somber scowls and hide their faces in a pillow. We don't hear from them until morning. But when they are giggling, it means they are more hyper than I hoped for. They squeal and bang, on what? I don't have these answers. I just hear more banging when they are happy. I suppose, now that I write this, I prefer the happy. Because at least they fall asleep with smiles on their faces. Those are the nights I walk in to find my 11 year old son snuggling his little brother even though they have two perfectly legitimate mattresses. And my youngest son snuggling a hanger. You know the ones? With the velvet so nothing slips off? It's as it should be: a boy and his brother and his brother's hanger.

I hear heavy sighs. Izzy is a high schooler. She has high school duties. That means bigger duties. Better duties. She takes it all seriously. She is going to sigh a little more when she realizes I am going to bed. But the thing is I am just so tired. I don't drink enough water, so my belly aches, and I am tired. My self control couldn't fill a bottle cap. Yesterday I drank four cups of coffee. No water. Just coffee and a lot of it. Don't look at me. I am ashamed.

Ok ok. My husband is gonna die

If I don't clearly state that we are waiting for Santa. We are expecting Santa and not a little peanut. Sad really. But for the record, I would be just as happy to know we were expecting a little clown who would take our last name, but for now we will just wait in anticipation for the man with the bag. We are expecting Santa. The end.
Well. Not the end. I am also expecting a new tattoo with my birthday money. I am expecting to have a mellow Christmas. I am expecting my weight to fluctuate.

I am expecting my friend to tell me she is hopping on a plane with her new baby from Uganda.

I am expecting my kids to learn some instruments. See? I am expecting all sorts of things.

Um. Guess what.

Many of you have mentioned it lately, and since I'm starting to show every where I go, we thought we'd just go ahead and say it.

The secret is out.

WE ARE EXPECTING!
Santa should be coming around the mountain so soon, and goodness am I excited! We have been super busy. But not because we have declared family time. Hope your days are jolly ;)

Sometimes

a friend is adopting a baby, so I am giddy in the morning.

 I drink too many cups of coffee because it's cold, so I disrupt the natural order of my belly.

 I wait impatiently on the Lord.

I remember that isn't actually the way that saying is supposed to go.

the fire place makes me think of Christmas.

my phone erupts with good conversation from friends I have never met with my face.

I wait too long to go to the bathroom, and for a minute or two, I know exactly where Bob Wiley is coming from.

 an entire day seems too long to wait for news. Any news.

I remember Miracle Max and his very wise words, "You rush a miracle, you get rotten miracles."

my belly thinks we are a hobbit and wants to eat two of each meal, plus tea. Only by tea I mean coffee.

 I wish Veteran's Day was every day.

I don't want to go back to work.

I want to hole up with my husband and kids and work on Christmas decorations and cook together and watch movies and snuggle.

 I can't always get what I want.

Thankful Thursday

For what am I thankful??? What kind of question is this? Let me count the ways on this precious fall day:

1. The Man: I haven't exactly been myself since I began my career. I have been a career woman for about ten weeks. That's all. Ten measly weeks. In that time, my husband has done more laundry, more dinner making, more baby hugs, more children taxiing than ever. I don't like that he has had to do so much, but I am so grateful that he is capable. I can't even imagine what my hair would look like (straight, frizzled, grizzly) if he was one of those guys that can't function. 
2. My new red blanket: Don't tell my husband. I bought a snuggly new quilt at The Walmarts. It's red and green and cream and plaid. So many of my most favorite things all wrapped into one soft, fluffy goodness.
3. The weather: It's agonna snow!!!!! After a lifetime in a city with no snow, and a year in a state that wouldn't know snow if it bit it in the pan handle, I am looking forward to our first snowfall. I am Lorelei Gilmore. I can smell the snow. I can feel it. I want to go take a walk.

I am linking up with these girls. Visit them. Let's be thankful together.

Irony and Comedy Routines

Sometimes I think I could have led the life of a stand up comedian. Well, not really because I hate auditions and rejection and living on rice and beans. But if I liked those things, then maybe. Sometimes I come up with comedy routines. Bits if you will. Last night, I watched a movie preview where Owen Wilson (funny) accused another gentleman of being a pseudo intellectual. Is that irony at it's finest? He used a mamby pamby ten dollar word to say that guy likes to be fake smart. This would be my opener. Then I would talk about being a housewife and the things that make me territorial. Namely, the dirt on the kitchen floor. Why does it happen that we hate dirt and crumbs on the kitchen floor: AARGH!! CRUMBS. ON THE FLOOR!! STUCK TO MY SOCKS! WHY WON'T SOMEONE SWEEP! Then we sweep, and suddenly we are the dirt's body guard. This dirt, now that it's gathered, is our most precious commodity: AARGH!! WATCH OUT FOR MY DIRT!! DON'T WALK THROUGH MY DIRT!! YOU ARE MESSING WITH MY DIRT. PRETTY SOON IT'S JUST GOING TO BE ALL SPREAD OUT DIRT. MEANINGLESS TO ME. NOTHING. JUST LET ME HAVE THIS!!! I have done it. I have listened to my husband do it. My mother, my brother, friends, and probably anyone with a broom. Thank you very much. I am here all week.

Song Lyrics, Not my own

When I don't understand I will choose You When I don't understand I get to choose to love you God For you are good, God. For you are good to me. For you are good, God. For you are good to me. And it's my honor, and it's my privilege to worship you. All of this is so true. It's so real and raw and still it gets pushed back so often. Too often. Well, lets' raise our glasses (mugs) to choosing more. Choosing what's right. Choosing what is truth. May we never a day muddle. May our steps be driven toward loving others more than ourselves. May we drop the facade we carry so they know we are real. And above all else, may God will out in the end. Thank goodness we know the end of this story. Good game God.

Chapter 5, Page 7

That's where I am in THE BOOK. Glad for it, but I wish I was further. And by that I mean I wish I spent less time feeling tired for myself and more time exuding effort.

Yesterday I heard a guy say something like, "Spiritual goals are fantastic, but they mean little without human effort to spur them on. Just as human effort is nice, but it all means nothing if God's spiritual goals aren't the focal point."

Profound. Simple. A little bit rude. So, I woke at 6. Rolled my human effort out of bed at 6:10. And I accomplished some of God's spiritual goals for my life. The best part? Spending this time with God. The worst part? Now I have to go to work, and I don't feel nearly finished.

Weekend

Do you ever feel like you can't squeeze enough relaxing in, so you become frenzied and so need a vacation from your problems? I wish we could all get in a car and drive for two weeks before we land in Lake Winnipesaukee. We could stop at every interesting dot on the map and call it homeschooling.
My Friday was free of work, free of responsibilities really. We went to the pumpkin patch, ran into friends, rushed home to drop people off, ran to Ross to plead with God to let us find a dress for our date night, screeched home to get ready, and then headed out on our date. Best night. Best friends. Favorite hubby. Art gallery when we know the artist. Just great times.

Saturday was much of the same. Up early for a moms only birthday breakfast, drive across town for an appointment, walk around Guitar Center and kill time while friend drives back across town because your appointment was much shorter than you anticipated. Then costumes, costumes, and more costumes. Then make dinner, make a friend dinner, bring a friend dinner, feed a brother's dog. Rush home to get kids fed and in bed and crash into your pillow.

So, when Sunday got here, I took God up on his brilliant idea and said no to all of it. I did have to get to church early because it was my morning to sing. I'll show up early any day if it means worship is on the agenda. It's my favorite. More so than sugar. But when I got home, I sat. I vegged. I listened to my favorite sounds. I captured pictures of children carving pumpkins. I turned on my computer screen and wrote report cards while singing along to my favorite songs on my iPod. I chatted all the while with good friends and thought nothing of politics or should be doings or cleaning.

Now it's ten, and I am about to jump on the bus to New Hampshire and get this vacation on the road. Bob Wiley, you are brilliant. Truly. Baby steps, untie your knots.

I am already looking forward to next weekend.

Thankful This Day

"This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it."

Why is it that we forget to take time to be thankful in the seemingly little things such as breath, another day to hug our babies, a heater in our car, a roof with no holes and not made out of cardboard? We only notice these things when they are gone: Breath, baby hugs, heater, shingled roof. Not only do we notice when they are suddenly (or gradually) missing, but we get offended at the idea that anyone would DARE take what is so rightfully ours.

I do not want to be this person. Taking the time to smell the roses isn't enough if we forget to say thanks for them. Having a harvest party in my kindergarten class isn't enough if we forget to stop and tell the Lord thank you for the farmers, their families, their sacrifice. I am grateful for the weather. Without it, all of it, there would be considerably less food.

Lord, keep me from feeling entitled, even to my breath. I don't deserve one more. Thank you for the hugs I get to have this day. For the friends who are coming. For the friends who have been here already. For the besties that sharpen my iron. For the words you choose to share through me. For the life I have still to live to bring you the glory I get in the way of. Thank you for how you protect me from my fears. Help me to remember you are good whether you bring those fears to my doorstep or not. Help me never say, "You are a good God if I never have to go through the scary." Help me to say, "You are God even when I do."

Amen. The end.

Monday Morning Muse

 Their, "why is the rum always gone" faces. Also, Treasure Island night at school. Love it. Love them.

 Still working on wiggling out these two front teeth. Eli almost had him convinced to do the old string and doorknob trick. Sam's unexact words were, "What are you? CRAZY? That's a terrible Idea."

 My head always looks weird in pictures. Why is this?

 Fall clothes. Coffee. Paris purse. Cute kid.

Ah. And the winner is!! The squirrel with the coffee. What a dream.

Pardon Me As I Wipe Away the Drool

Can I just admit that I have been in a non-alcohol induced stupor the past two weeks. Sick. Sick, Sick, and more sick. Colds, ear aches, allergies, headaches, neck pain, blah blah BLAH. I hate it all.

I finished my meds and broke out in hives. That's cool. Not everyone wears red the way I do, so it worked. Thank goodness it was cold. I covered every bit of my skin and got compliments on my tights.

I tried to make the rules at the beginning of the school year: share everything except cooties and bad ideas. Nobody listened. Someone came up with the bad idea to share cooties with me.

In the midst of it all, I found a lump in my right breast. It was late Saturday night, right as my head cold was really picking up steam. I was almost too tired to care. Almost.

By Sunday morning I had prayed myself into a frenzy of peace, and although I felt at ease, the idea of telling my husband, in words, with my voice, made my vocal cords freeze.

I was supposed to be at church to sing. I texted my sister by law, and I couldn't just bail last minute. So I told her. It was awful. She faked calm, which I appreciate.

 Then I rolled over, dried my tears, and opened and closed my mouth ten times trying to form just the perfect words so my husband wouldn't worry. Nothing came to me. Not a thing.

Except, what if my hugs are numbered?

What if this is my last birthday?

What if this is one of the last times I get to roll over and see that face that melts my heart and makes me throw all of my "should be doings" out the window?

What if?

Then I remembered that each minute I have is icing on my cake, and I won't live under the instruction of the enemy. He is lame. He wants me to live in fear and in the land of what ifs. I haven't the time. I have people to love. Hugs to hand out. A husband to...well... roll over and look at.

I called the doctor. Got myself an early birthday present called a double bilateral mammogram and an ultrasound and left the office with my results.
They said the B word right to my face. (No, No(dot) el. Not that B word).
Benign.
I have cysts and nothing needs to be done right now. I get to have a mammogram every year now, which is four years earlier in life than most women, but I'll take it.

I'll take IT and all of God's promises. In the meantime, I will just say, "suck it satan" and go live life. And by that I mean it's time to go make out with my husband. Life is too short. 

Senses

I see a very blank page before me.


I hear my girl, Layla Grace, on the piano.

I taste nothing, but soon we are going to BJ's, so all will be right with the world.

I smell nothing as my nose is beyond stuffy. I hate rabbit brush. Yes. You heard me. HATE IT. Ask around. I don't hate anything. Except rabbit brush. SHOOT! What if I can't taste my dinner because of the rabbit brush. CURSE YOU DAINTY YELLOW FLOWERS.

I feel tired. A little sad. Fearful. All done. Anxious. Melancholy.

Maybe This Defines Me

I have been Mike's girlfriend for longer in my life than not. I like it.

Maybe this defines me.

 I have five kids, and none of them are babies. I like it. Babies aren't so bad though. Especially when you color a mustache on their face with a marker. (I never did this, but a girl can dream).

 Maybe this defines me.

 I have kept a blog for seven years. I like it.

 Maybe this defines me. I have never had money. Not really.

Maybe this defines me.

 I have never truly been poor. Not even close.

Maybe this defines me. My best friend is a dude. Almost 17 years ago I asked him if he wanted to be my BFF, and he said, "I do." So we are. Besties.

 Maybe this defines me.

 I don't swear. I never really have. I have just always felt it was the easy road. The ignoramus road. The clearly-you-can't-come-up-with-a-smarter-come-back road. And it just isn't lady like. Unless you are in the bedroom.

Maybe this defines me.

I can memorize movie lines and tell you the name of any voice over and spout movie trivia that means nothing.

Maybe this defines me.

Maybe. But probably not.

Because the only thing that matters is that I am a sinner. Forgiven. Loved. God's. Everything else is just icing on the cake.

And I LOVE cake.

LOVE it.

Is It Inevitable?

Humans have so much to offer one another, but it's not just the good that seems to pass between us. When we get into relationships, we have happy times and aggravation.

Jesus was always so good at just accepting people. People who were probably defensive, offensive, and any other fensive you can come up with. Still, he loved.

Moreover, when asked if there was a line to be drawn, he said no. There isn't a point we get to where we say, "I tried being kind. I tried loving you. You make it impossible. Jesus is letting me off the hook with you." At least I have yet to find that scripture.

But how do I stay genuine when someone so seemingly awful is in my face? Do I smile and pretend there is no problem? Do I distance myself? Do I tell them they are so awful that I find it tough to be around them unless I am using Jesus' love? I do not know the answers to all of these questions.

The phrase "turn the other cheek" comes to mind. My mouth is shut when I picture this. It's probably for the best. Saying it all out loud means I am adding to the grumbling. I hate grumbling. Grumblers exhaust me. Just say it people!! If you are mumbling what you have to say because you aren't sure you should be saying it out loud, chances are this is more your issue than the one you are grumbling about.

And bee tee double you. All that grumbling is infectious.
Not inevitable. Lord, help me choose to love. Your grace is inevitable. Thanks for it.

This Weekend

I have things planned. I have things going, you know. I have offers.

I want to make this because I ate it, and it was delicious. It's called Chicken Parmesan Soup. I am ready for soupy weather. 

I want my door to look like this. Instead I realized the wreath I made was for a much shorter door. It's sort of like when you have a little kid, say 18 months, and then you have a new one. When you put them together, the first one looks like a human raised by elves. My wreath is a puny newborn. I am ashamed.

Instead of all that, I will probably be working on a new seating chart, lesson plans, and attending a staff BBQ where the phrase curriculum map would be considered a swear.

And then

I fell asleep with my eyes open. I feel like there aren't enough pieces of me. Ever have this feeling?

You Are On My List

Scared? Well. With my parents coming from the countries they stem from, it makes sense. But I am actually referring to my to-acknowledge list. Not so much my hit list. I suppose I should say that this doesn't REMOVE you from my hit list vi only mean to say I am not pulling from my hit list. Today.
Anyway. Here are some things on my list:

Sleep 8 hours

Stop being a super spaz hyper-hypo with sugar or put myself in a helmet and harness already.

Get me to the church on time tomorrow.

Double and triple check that every step is ready for my second week as a full time teacher.

Grocery shop at Raley's. And by AT I mean online. Then I drive to their Parking lot and push their buttons in a good way.

Pick up my guitar for more than dusting. Play until my callouses remember their place.

Make menu for the month

Prep lunch items for faster packing

Make it to the gym :/

Find my list

"have any of you seen my list? It's a piece of paper and it says Ross on it"?

Butterflies Have Taken Up Residency

I don't love a queasy belly. I shouldn't have one, but I am still shady on that whole cast your cares bit. I tend to look at an overwhelming situation and escape to some of my most favorite places: Forks, Central Perk, Stars Hollow. This time I am diving into my book and God's word. I am saying, "suck it satan" when my belly rolls. (Not to be confused with my belly rolls, which I put there... and candy bars.)
I am four chapters in, and I am choosing to focus on God's promises rather than the list I feel I want to complete. Less tv. More purpose. Less nose in a book. More loving on my kids. Less hearts a flutter for a pasty vampire. More pitter patter for my pasty husband. ::blush:: Don't judge. We all have weird vices.
Happy first week of school.

I have a feeling...

..that every year at this time, from now on, this blog will seem dormant for a week or two. I have been busy organize our new school building (along with a gazillion coworkers), laminating, preparing my room for itty bitty kindergarteners. Busy busy busy.

..the muscles in my neck will never relax. They appear to be bringing friends along into their club. Picture a muscle holding his fish in his hands yelling, "WHO'S GOING WITH ME?!!" Only, in this case, there is no hesitation. Everyone seems to be in. Pray for my puny muscles.

..my hair hates this climate. It seems to want to imitate SNL characters: drunk girl, Jimmy Fallen dressed as Howard Stern, Mike Meyers being a phu-klempt Jewish mamma.

..I have so much to learn about so much. I cannot die. Ever. I just do not have time for it.

..my husband wants to marry me again. He said so.

..he will never call me his lady friend (as I have been asking for YEARS.)

..I may be able to convince him to call me his second wife after our vow renewal. Do you want to come? It's gonna be an excellent bash. I'll wear white, and he'll where out the words, "I love you." Except that I am wearing coral, teal, and red, but you get the idea.

..You haven't seen this picture, and you want to.

 (Spent time with this beauty. She may be my number one reason why I am happy to live here again)

 (Praise God with us. This sassy sweet bottom was just blessed with a house. Sucky distance from my being, but it will have to do.)

 (cousins. They are just sort of awesome)

 (Sorry. Were you expecting a caption? I got nothing)

 (This high schooler makes me feel old. BAH. Stop it high schooler. You are so pretty. Try to be uglier. For the love of my neck muscles and your daddy's heart.)

 (Thanks for your help honey. Giver)

(Dear Emma. You are my favorite teen in the PNW. Please visit again soon.)

Greedy Grip

My friends, Erin and Dan-O, once had a toddler. She is old now, but when she was an itty bitty sly thing she sneaked into the kitchen garbage can, where she confiscated a few stale Whoppers I threw away. When I caught her, she gripped her chubby little hands around those candies as if they were her last melons for the next million, billion years. I tried prying those puny fists open, but she gripped harder and screamed, "DON'T TAKE IT!! I NEEEED IT!" To that I cracked up laughing and had to call in reinforcements, because as it turns out, toddlers saving candy from the trash are infinitely stronger than me. This true story took place more than 15 years ago, but I think of it often when I begin to get the greedy grip.

We have been doing all of this back to school shopping. I really do love spending money. I love picking out school supplies. I love finding smokin' deals at thrift stores and dollar stores and re-purposing the oddest treasures into greatness. After two days of straight shopping, I left my body and viewed myself as the adult watching the toddler give a handful of Whoppers a new lease on life. I took stock and heard myself screaming, "I NEEEED IT!" Aren't you a little old for that behavior? Why yes. Yes I am.

Also, I am too aware of people who hurt and need and would really like some food. I have not taught my kids to be patient for things or earn them or choose the essentials so we have left over to give away. Oh, don't get me wrong. I wrote to God in my prayer journal this morning asking him for opportunities to give. He may have asked what in the world do I have left to give? There is a chance I had no answer. There is also a chance I made a disappointed face and felt like a schmuck.
Just look away. I can't take it.

 Now, I will be using this experience as a life lesson for my children. Not only confessing what I got caught up in, but I will also be asking them what in the world can we do about this now? Lots actually. But we will come up with a plan together. Then I will pray that they will not grow until next school year, so we can really get our money's worth. :/

And NOW, you may be asking yourself what this picture of Samuel has to do with anything. I will tell you. Nothing. It has nothing to do with anything at anytime, but you needed to see it. And, you are welcome. Someone give this kid his own show. No script needed. This picture was taken while he patiently waited for his cousin, Raine, to finish trying on her jeans. We just looked over, and there he was, on the couch at Children's Place, with the bib he picked out, and the face he knew only a mother could love. He wore it anyway, and here we are today. One step closer to having our own show.

I am thankful for that face and second chances.
 

Things That Make Me Cry. Every. Time

Singing God's name: Yahweh- Thanks Chris Tomlin for putting it to a catchy tune.

The National Anthem: Seriously. Every time. It's my favorite part of every event. Olympic years I set records for the number of tissues this house sees.

A teaching on Joshua: Our hearts are linked. Some day a Joshua will live in this house. Even if he goes by another name. And he will have hair not totally unlike mine. And he will come with a nice tan. (Dear Africa, please send your babies here. Sparks, Nevada.)

When the pastor cries: Boys crying= really serious. Even if I haven't been paying any attention to what they have been saying the previous 30 minutes. I hear a hitch in their get up and I am a blubbering fool.

How about you? What brings you to a quivering lip?

Morning Thoughts on a Saturday

I awoke this morning to my husband getting ready for work. He's a good man. In fact, he is The Man. Ask around. I am not even kidding. I decided to make something of my day since he was off to save lives. I mean, I want to have something to say to him when he comes home with the list of lives he saved on his 48 hour shift. Laundry seemed like a logical beginning. Then coffee. Then Jesus. No, it doesn't bother me that I did two things before I read my Bible.

I have had this discussion with people. I think God cares more that I am paying attention and coherent when I sit to learn and listen instead of insisting I open my eyeballs and pick up my Bible. I usually fall asleep if I do that. And, while I am sure God isn't offended, I am sure sometimes he thinks, "Silly girl. Too many rules." So, I wake up, maybe spend a few minutes with my groggy and still snuggly kids, and then make my way to my Bible.

Here is what I realized:

I take too much for granted. I feel like things will be there when I finally decide to get to them.

I have blessings
more than I know
I am not thankful enough

I have love
more than I show
I do not share it enough

I have time
more than I spend
I do not use it enough

I have a song
more than I share
I do not sing it enough

I have a gift
His name is Jesus
He alone is more than enough

I take for granted too much. I want to be arrested in my heart. Bleeding for those who are too drained after a lifetimes of grief to bleed anymore.
I am too lacking in compassion. I do not hurt with people. To be honest, someone will trip and I giggle a little and THEN ask if they are OK. Well, that isn't always a big deal, but I find it rolls over to the serious moments.
Yesterday I read a news caption on one of those tickers on the bottom of the TV screen. A pilot of a small plane crashed into the Truckee Airport. He died.

My first thought was a prayer, "Lord, please don't let it be someone I know." I felt terrible for saying it, even in my mind. Why would that matter? So that I would not hurt? What about that man's family? His mother? His wife? His kids? What did I just say? That it's OK for him to be dead if I am not affected? Is that what I meant?

So, I asked for forgiveness for my narrow-minded heart and began again. I prayed for that man's heart- that he would be with Jesus. I prayed for his family and anyone affected. I prayed that God would use this time to be heard by those left behind. I put myself in his wife's place and it hurt.

I read once that you should be a part of what breaks your heart. I think I get too busy to know what that looks like. No matter what I try, my calendar overloads. I want to be radical. I even know some of the drastic moves I need to make, but they are counter intuitive and they make me have to focus on things inconvenient and not self satisfying.

"Would you open up my eyes so I can see? Would you open up my ears so I can hear? Would you open up my mind so I can know? Would you open up my heart so I can love you more.
I wanna serve you my God. I want to give you all of me?"- Shawn McDonald

I want to mean this with all of my heart. I want to make room. I want to see all that God wants me to see. I want my eyes to be closed to all the nonsense that keeps me from living with purpose. No exceptions. I want to clear the stage.

I love this song by Jimmy Needham



It breaks my heart and makes me hopeful that I am not as callous as I think sometimes. It challenges me to seek.

Friday Link Ups

Oh how I have missed you! And so appropriately, today's topic for Five Minute Friday?

HERE

go.

I am HERE blog world. I have internet, which means I get to participate in...well, the world. We moved into our new house about a month ago. I called almost immediately to have the interwebs installed. Several sweaty and apologetic men later, we finally have a hook up. And we didn't even miss all of the Olympics. Speaking of here, I wish I was there.

London, right now, is probably insanely crazy and traffic riddled and expensive. Still, I want to sit at at least one Olympic even in my lifetime. Australia would be a good venue. Somewhere in Africa would set my heart a twitter. But, hey, I am easy. I'll go to Rio. I just want to be there!

But I am currently happy with the here I am experiencing. New house. New towels. New neighborhood. New view. New stores to call my own. New city. Here.

stop.

Can you write on the topic "HERE" for five minutes? Link up with this Gypsy Mama and show us what you have got.

And to really celebrate that I made it back to the land of the living, I am linking up with Ms No Dots for a Friday flashback. You can join her by clicking HERE

Here is my flashback. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK

stove top pizza bites

I want pizza. For lunch. On the fly. This recipe is a crowd/kid pleaser.
I am always seeing coupons for biscuits, and the rest of this stuff I always have on hand. If I don't have mozzarella cheese, I just substitute whatever cheese is in my fridge. And yea, marinara and pizza sauce are interchangeable to this Italian. Easy.
Here are the ingredients:
1 teaspoon Garlic Oil or olive oil
1 can (6 ounces) refrigerated flaky buttermilk biscuits (5 biscuits)
2 tablespoons pizza sauce
1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
2 tablespoons (1/2 ounce) grated fresh Parmesan cheese
Directions:
Preheat oven to 500°F. Brush Stainless (8-in.) Sauté Pan with oil. Arrange biscuits in a single layer and crimp edges to form one piece; press into a 6-inch circle. Place dough into pan; spread evenly with sauce. Sprinkle with cheeses.
Place pan onto stovetop and cook crust over medium heat 2-3 minutes or until bottom is golden brown. Transfer pan to oven and bake 4-5 minutes or until crust is cooked through. Turn broiler on HIGH. Using Oven Mitts, move pizza to top rack. Watching carefully, broil 1-3 minutes or until cheese is golden brown. Serve immediately.
Yield: 10 sample servings

Nutrients per serving: Calories 80, Total Fat 4 g, Saturated Fat 1 g, Cholesterol 5 mg, Carbohydrate 8 g, Protein 2 g, Sodium 250 mg, Fiber 0 g

Cook's Tips: Variation: Thin-Crust Stovetop Pan Pizza: Brush Stainless (10-in.) Sauté Pan with oil. Prepare biscuits as directed, rolling on a lightly floured surface to an 8-inch circle. Proceed as recipe directs.

For a thick-crust variation of Thin-Crust Stovetop Pan Pizza, use 1 can (12 ounces) refrigerated flaky buttermilk biscuits (10 biscuits). Proceed as recipe directs.

WARNING: not all pans are created equally. Pampered chef pans can withstand oven temperatures of 450* so don't get crazy.
TIP: the Pampered Chef has an outlet. Right now they have an 8" sauté pan for only $28! That amazing. Plus it comes with a silicone trivet that's dishwasher safe. Sometimes I feel like I am sold on something just because it's dishwasher safe. I don't get out a lot.

Eat up and share a quick and easy meal with your kiddos. Serve this with bell peppers and carrots on the side and presto. Lunch or dinner is served.