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.