April's Perspective

Two weeks ago my in-laws got on an airplane and disappeared across the wide blue yonder, forever away, but before they left I unloaded my sister-in-laws memory card onto computer so I'd have something to document their visit with. When people come to visit, I savor every moment, constantly reminding myself to not take a single second for granted. In the process, I neglect everything, namely taking my own pictures, but also housework, cooking, everything but showering and enjoying my company. Someday I won't be so deprived of such companionship and I'll be a good hostess again, but for now, it is what it is and I am more grateful for the visits than my visitors can imagine. So here are some of the pictures April took. She managed to snap, in six days, 224 pictures of things that I have somehow taken for granted in the day-to-day monotony of my busy life.



Everyone in this family is a gamer, so the opportunity to play games together never escapes us. This is where we all sit and argue about what we'll play and where the patriarchs of the family try to scam us all out of our money, no matter what we're playing.



These are the sea lions that are always in plain sight at Avila beach. You can hear them from the entrance to the pier and on hot days can smell them from yards away. They are so funny, barking and fighting like siblings at each other. Every time we've been there, they've been piled up on the bottom level of the pier. You can actually walk down the stairs and stand where they are lying, but they can be aggressive and will bite, so we don't ever attempt the stairs.


Here is a perfect photograph of the sweetest, most tender, most considerate, and loving man I have ever laid eyes on, in the perfect setting: the only characteristic of California life that brings him peace.

I love the fish markets, even though I am no connoisseur of fish, just because they are so typical of life on the coast and I've never seen anything like them in all of our journey. What a treasure.

These are four of the most amazing children in the universe This cool tree is at the park across the street from us. They spend hours in it playing games and climbing and sitting it. I wouldn't know that because I don't go to the park anymore since I've forgotten how to be fun, but they tell me about it and their nice aunts and relatives take them and shoot photos of them in it.

We took a drive to Jalama Beach, which is 15 miles and 45 minutes over a winding, climbing mountain trail. Just when you're ready to hang your head out the window for relief from the car sickness, the ocean in all of it's splendor appears out of nowhere and carries your troubles far away. This shows a huge pile of seaweed that has washed up in the tide and carries with it all kinds of shells and exoskeletons of crabs and various surprises. It was cold and off season when we arrived, so we had first picks of the shells and they were amazing. We all came home with pockets full.

These are the men of the family enjoying a moment together or something. How would I know? I was probably asleep in the car.




April's sentiment was the same as mine when we first arrived. She said she kept taking more and more pictures of the ocean to try and capture the beauty but just couldn't do it justice. I will post more pictures from this file, there are just too many good ones not to. Thank you, April! This post wouldn't have been nearly as cool without the pictures in it.

Closure

At least we still have this...

This gap between Christmas and the new year is always bitter sweet. Leila still cheers and makes scary ghost sounds every time she sees a pumpkin, so I'm sure she'll morn the disappearance of Santa Clause's face everywhere we go. It's sad, but it will make next year all the more magical when the season rolls around again.

In the keeping with the spirit of starting new, I stripped the walls and yard of all the festive decor of season today. I can't believe how bare the walls are; as ready as I am to box it all up for the year, it still makes me a little sad to put it all away. Every year I wish there was a way I could keep the merriment year-round, only making the efforts seasonally neutral, not just a celebration of Christmas. Of course there are always other holidays, but you know... it's just not the same.

On the other hand, Dale was relieved to see it go. He loves the decorations as much as I do, but he also suffers mildly from claustrophobia in our dollhouse-type living conditions. We have both become minimalists almost to an extreme, so bare white walls and empty corners give him a bit more room to breathe. For me it's the clean feeling that makes up for the emptiness. I am making great progress in my household organization, so having one more major task completed brings added joy to my simple life.

While I was putting everything into boxes and carrying it out, I flashed back to my life in Nebraska, part one. We were surprised to learn that Jasmine was spinning to life just six months after we had Micah and it knocked me off my feet a little bit. I can't remember when we put the tree up, but I remember asking my friend if it was too early to do it in the first week of November. She laughed, and laughed, and laughed. I think I waited and ended up not putting it up until just a week or two before Christmas because by that time I was huge and miserable and decidedly lazy. My sister came for a weekend sometime later, long after Christmas was over, and I remember feeling incredibly embarrassed when she said, "Do you want me to take your Christmas stuff down?" I knew it needed to be done, but I just wasn't doin' it.

Been a long time since 'dem days. I love being able to function relatively normally. (My back is nearly back to normal. Thank you for your prayers!) I'm grateful that Dale doesn't fuss over me when I'm pregnant because I've found that it makes me powerless in the war against myself. I need to know that I have some accountability and what the expectations are because baby, I'm weak, and without it I'm worthless. *but let's not tell him that!*

I tried to take a few pictures of my vintage snowflakes and paper chains, but it was just too dark to get a good shot in the hall, so you'll have to just come see it next year. I'm sure I'll do it just the same, I loved it so much. Here are a few pictures you might enjoy just because.

Order

With school out of session for still over a week left, I feel invigorated and inspired to start the new year fresh. So, I decided to start with the area most in need of my attention-- the boys' room.

Let me tell you something about these boys. A few years ago, I told Micah that he didn't have to put his jeans in the laundry after every wear, that he could wear them a few times and then we'd wash them unless they were dirty or stinky before that. He has since contended that I said he could wear all clothes for two or three days. I have seen him wear an outfit, sleep in it, and then attempt to wear it the next day, which is when I intervene. You can imagine the laundry that doesn't make it out of his room on the days I'm not paying attention. Tre is light years away from Micah. If his shirt-sleeve gets wet, he wants to change everything. For some reason, he doesn't mind being bathed in ketchup and proceeding through the rest of the day in those clothes. He rarely has white socks, even if they're brand new. I have bleached and bleached and bleached, and the socks stay gray because he doesn't have time to take his shoes off to come in the house and put them on when he goes back out, so he just leaves them off and runs through the freshly watered grass and on down the street to where the action is. This is my son. About half the clothes from these two make it to the laundry basket in the bathroom just outside their door. So every day we, Dale and I, take turns stomping around their room complaining about how filthy it is and how much they need to clean it, and then leave them to deal with the disaster. At this point two days ago, there was a foul odor that occasionally wafted from their room. I just sprayed the Lysol and hoped it was just that "boy smell".

The girls' room is better, but not much. It's only better because Kennedy is a typical first-born, severe over-achiever, and is old enough to know that it's more relaxing to climb into a bed that's not piled with stuff, on or around it. Jasmine, on the other hand, doesn't mind the mess and somehow manages to carry it out into the rest of the house, the yard, the garage, the shed; it's like her trademark. If there is any clutter anywhere, you can bet some portion of it belongs to Jasmine. She just wants to have fun, you know? I can empathize with Kennedy because I was the older sister to a younger just like Jas. But I can also relate to Jas because before I got into double digits, I was no better. The clothes just piled up in the closet on Saturdays when we had to clean, along with dirty cups and snack food, and books and scribbled up yearbook pages. But their room desperately needed some order because every night I was dumping a huge pile of stuff off of Leila's bed in order to make a place for her to sleep; forget making a path to walk in. It was beyond that.

My methods are unconventional, but they are successful and I am sticking them. What I do is start with the floor, shovel everything into a pile outside of the room so that the floor is clean. Then I clean out the closet, adding another half of the amount of the pile to the pile. Then I clean: edge carpets, scrub windows and mirrors, clean ceiling fans, clean out drawers, vacuum and scrub the walls. It's my favorite part of the process unless I find a wet pile of dirty clothes stuffed into a drawers, breaking the floor of the drawer and stinking up the entire wing of the house. Once that is done, I don't mind the organizing. I get so overwhelmed with the mess that I'd rather yell at the kids to clean it up and hope for the best, knowing in a pinch I can pile it all in the closet if I have to.

Ideally, I would like to do the whole shebang every month, but let's be real honest here. I have a lot to do to manage the chores of my household, keep up with this little sweetheart of a hobby, and still get naps and plenty of time on the couch next to Dale at the end of the day, which is what gets me out of bed in the morning. So it actually only gets done about once a quarter. And that's only because Dale starts getting a little cuckoo it's any longer than that. I don't like to think about how long I'd postpone it if it was just up to me... It used to get done every time we had company. Unfortunately for my company, I have had three shifts come in since the last cleaning and I just pretended like it wasn't that bad. Now that I have seen every nook and cranny, I'd like to express my sincere embarrassment to all 9 of you that had to endure any playtime in either of these rooms while you were here. Please come back. Please, please, please come back! There is really floorspace to play on, and the windowsills don't have dirt on them anymore! And the ceiling fan won't drop dust bunnies on your clean clothes! Just come back, it will be worth the trip! I'll even make waffles and custard pie and tapioca!

The entire process, both rooms, took about 12 hours of constant work, which I did in two days because I needed to sit next to Dale in the car running around town doing whatever we could find to do on his day off, because I adore him. *Usually when I start something like this, I like to work straight through, skipping meals and ignoring cries, fights, and only coming out to eliminate screaming, which I cannot tolerate for one minute.* What surprised me was not the sand, it goes everywhere. The dirt wasn't much of a surprise either, it comes with the sand in the yard. But the rocks in the boys' room I should've expected. I threw away lots of pebbles that I found in drawers and under the bed and in the beds. Then in the girls' room I found not only rocks in the beds and drawers, but a bag full in the dresser, a bag full of rocks. I don't know what they were for, but I guess I should be thankful they're not smearing the bounty of their pickings on the walls anymore!!!

I woke up this morning and felt like I had something new. You know that feeling when you're excited but you're not sure why? Then I looked down the hall and remembered that everything has a place and is in it's place. I love it when my life is ordered! So I'm excited to start the new year right and even more motivated to clean everything, closets, kitchen appliances, drawers, storage sheds, the works. We'll see if this is nesting in full bloom or if I fizzle by tomorrow. There's a chance, my friends. But at least I got the big stuff done, and that's something, darn it!

Family...

I gotta tell you, I'm getting worse and worse about snapping pictures. In the entire week with my in-laws, I didn't take a single picture! And then on Christmas morning, I got the video camera out for a few minutes and that was that. I was so busy untangling the web of wire the put into each box that I wouldn't have had much of a chance to anyway. I am sure we'll remember each Christmas specific to where we are and who came. This year Christmas morning seemed a little- dare I say it- daunting after everyone left. I had to give myself a little pep talk and remember that sometimes it's us against the world and we have a life together, regardless of where the extensions of our family may be. I missed you all terribly and am still teary thinking about the entire holiday season so far from home. But we made the very best of it and I am thankful again for the abundance of God's blessing on our home.

We woke up early to lots of shuffling feet and loud whispers, debating over whether to wake us up or not. It was Christmas just like I had growing up: stockings first, presents next, then breakfast and milling through the trash looking for missing parts and instructions. This year we decided to make one big purchase for the family and then buy just a few small things for each kid. I have wanted to buy a trampoline for a few years, but we were never quite sure the kids were old enough. And we all know how feeble my dexterity is, unfortunately that is hereditary and a few of my kids are equally accident prone. So this year, after they have had lots of experience on the neighbors trampoline, and hours of entertainment there, we decided it was time. I started watching the papers and found one at Wal-Mart for a couple hundred dollars less than what the sports stores had theirs listed for. At about nine o'clock, I dressed in warm clothes and Kennedy and I commenced construction on the new toy. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but at one o'clock I was ready to curl up in the corner with a blankey and cry. We couldn't tell if the ground was level under the completed project, so we started to turn it and it bowed. I mean really bowed, like a shallow taco. Much to my dismay, we took it completely apart and started again. With the neighbors' help and bloody hands, I finished the enclosure at five o'clock and finally had a chance to sit down.

The house looked like Santa's sleigh had made a crash landing in the living room. I had also gotten some left-overs out for lunch before Dale left for work and all the dishes were still spread out through the kitchen and dining room. The trash was piled in every room and the doors had been open so it was cold in the house. I was completely exhausted, but no one was going to take care of the disaster area unless I got up off the couch, so I did and when Dale came home it was back in functioning order.

It was a fun Christmas. I'm ready to take down the decor now, I've had my fill. But by summer I'll be anxious to get started on the festivities again. Maybe the promise of new life in our home will deter my tunnel vision for a few months. The only thing I missed was a Christmas Eve candlelight communion. Usually we have somewhere to go for it, but since Dale had to work all morning, we didn't want to spend the evening away from home leaving little time for our traditions, so we opted for a small communion with the kids and read the Christmas story after the parade of homes with lights tour. They even gave out candy canes to the cars driving through! It was thrilling to say the least. It made me sad to see the driveways full of cars and people sitting around little fire pits in their front yard, drinking coffee together and bustling around with the excitement of the holiday. I miss it so much, having a driveway full of cars and a houseful of extra family, but those days will come again soon enough. For now we'll savor these moments of just us knowing we'll remember them fondly someday.

Family

We've had a flurry of activity and a houseful of laughter for days now and I'm not sure I can go back to my real life when this all passes. My second family, Dale's mom and dad and sister and nephew, arrived Sunday after church and our lives will never be the same. We've been busy taking them all over the state of California to see all the magic that draws millions to this area every year. We went to the lovely Surf Beach, just a few miles from our house the first day. It was fantastic since there was miraculously no fog and the sun was setting. The next day we had the worst storm in the history of the central coast- which means it rained for more than five minutes. It actually rained all day and night. That is unheard of. Unfortunately, we had scheduled Solvang, the little Dutch town for that day and froze under umbrellas as we strolled down the strip. After basketball practice we took all the kids bowling on base and had a lovely dinner at the snack bar, my personal favorite genre of food. Yesterday we trekked to Avila beach and took them out on the pier where I mistook three diving sea lions for dolphins and raised quite a fuss to get someones attention to share this misnomer with. Unfortunately most of the other spectators were natives and knew I was only making a fool of myself and everyone with me. Avila Barn looked like locusts had been there; the shelves were nearly bare thanks to a huge end of the year sale. We still managed to pick up a couple of cap guns and, oh yes, let's not fail to mention another purse pet to add to the collection. *I'm becoming the Burgermeister in my highly volatile state...*

We all love to play games, so every night after the kids go to bed there is a rousing game of something. O night we played Fight to the Death SPOONS. If you've ever played this potentially violent card game, you know what I'm talking about. And if you know anything about me or Dale, you know we are both competitive; excessively so. So when I grabbed the last spoon, he caught the handle of it and nearly flung me across the table trying to get it from me, which explains why I'm standing to write this post. I've had such an easy pregnancy so far, I forget that I'm even pregnant and that I am always just a mistake away from landing myself on permanent bed rest. Growing six babies in this body has left me fragile, as much as I hate to admit it. So I'm hobbling around trying to look normal and function as usual. Pray for me. I need my back not to fail me.

I don't know how we'll get through another six months without visual contact

with our family, but we still have them, so Fa la la la la la la la la!

San Luis Obispo

I've been pining for our annual trip to the Plaza to see the lights and the hustle and bustle and whatever wonderful surprise awaits us. One year there was a bagpipe ensemble playing despite the snow flurries right out on a busy corner. We were eating breakfast one morning and we all listed the things we wished we could spend the day doing. I said, of course, I wanted to go to the Crown Center, have lunch at Fritz's where you order your food on a telephone and it's delivered by a train that runs on a track around the entire restaurant. Then we'd go spend some time walking around the Plaza until they lit it up. Kennedy wanted to go to Westroads Mall in Omaha, Micah wanted to go to Cabellas and ride the Ferris wheel, and Tre wanted to do something in New York. I can't remember what it was, I just know it was pretty outrageous.

Since we couldn't accomplish any of these tasks, we decided to go to San Luis Obispo for shopping and dinner. It's a nice city, a lot of interesting shops and little indoor/outdoor mini-malls, but it wasn't the Plaza, or Crown Center. We were approached a couple of times by a drunk homeless man that was taken by our family and must have thought that if he was really nice to us, we'd let him join. Unfortunately, homeless drunk men don't really set well with any of us and when Dale saw that he had made his way toward us while we were waiting on the bench, he quickly made the separation which set the record straight for the poor guy.

Kennedy and Jasmine won a drawing from their teacher that awarded them free appetizers from California Pizza Kitchen, so that's where we ate dinner. I am always especially sensitive toward other diners in places like this because we are immediately tagged and stared at being such a large family. People assume we will cause a ruckus. I was relieved to be seated by a friendly host who said that he was the oldest of six children and welcomed us warmly. Our waitress was really sweet too, which made the whole experience a positive one. It's frustrating to go out when we can't eat for under $40 anywhere except fast food, and the wait staff treats us like a burden even before they have a chance to see that our children will exhibit good manners, generally, and behave themselves. We've left more than one establishment because of rudeness like this. Such are the burdens of the full quiver.

One the way home the sun was setting just as we turned out of the mountains along the shoreline and it looked just like the post cards: a pink and blue and purple sky just falling behind the silhouette of the palm trees alone the water. It was magnificent.

On the way home, Micah said, "Mom, why does that girl say that it's not Christmas if the snow don't fall? It's still Christmas." I said, "It doesn't feel like Christmas for some people if it's not snowing." All the kids said, "It does feel like Christmas, though." I'd like to think that our little traditions and celebrations are making it feel like Christmas. It helps that our family is coming in TWO MORE DAYS!!! And there are tons of presents already under the tree, and we've hung lots of paper chains and snowflakes, and while Mawmaw's here, we'll string popcorn and decorate sugar cookies. I love Christmas time. I keep thinking about how we spend all this energy on the weeks before the day, all in anticipation of the celebration of Jesus's birth. It's so cool that the most amazing season of the year is centered around His arrival; all of this anticipation is because of Him. What amazing gifts He gives.

Mistletoe

We have a new favorite song... you have to hear it. http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendID=8777613 Last year it was Silent Night by Five for Fighting. It's like every time we find a good one, it opens a new chapter of our lives. Did you ever see Elizabethtown? I loved that movie and I think it's because of the soundtrack, it was perfect for the journey and reminiscent of mine. We are constantly adding to the soundtrack, marking the path with a new song every little bit of the way.

Music does something to me. Sometimes I dream about singing in an opera when my kids are grown. I'm not looking for a spotlight, I just love to sing. When I was in high school, I used to wait until the sanctuary was cleared and the lights were out and then stand in the balcony and bellow out worship in the auditorium. The walls were bare and the ceiling as high as heaven, sot he natural acoustics were amazing. It was satisfying to just let it out.

There's this youtube clip of a guy singing a show tune that knocks me off my feet every time I hear it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oMNG6qVL69I It compels me to sing. I want to run out and join a community chorus just to be singing. I sing in worship in the congregation, but I am leery to let it rip in corporate worship because I don't want to draw attention, because, frankly, I can sing really loud, so I feel like I'm always holding back out of respect for those around me.

My friend recently wrote on her blog how much she misses singing and I have thought about that so much. Bono, of U2, made a statement in one of his books about how it can't be normal to crave the attention of 40,000 people in a stadium screaming your name night after night. I think it's more than that, it's the ability to fully, honestly express yourself in music. Which brings me this hollow place in my heart that longs to just belt something out right now! But then I wonder, is it vanity? Or is my role in this life to sing? Am I supposed to be the vocal chords? I mean, we all have a function, right? (which seems so shallow when there are hands, feet, eyes, vital organs working so hard in the kingdom.) (but then again, where would be without the people that spent their lives building our soundtrack and leading us into private, intimate worship?) So how, with the insanity of my life, do I not make waste of my function, or is it really about timing. Am I burying the talent like the unwise servant, or am I being wise in my investment of it, singing at home with my family in private worship? Who knows the answer to this question? Who can give me some wisdom here? These thoughts haunt me.

What's yours?

Wonder

We had the funniest conversation sitting around the table for lunch today about armpit hair. Kennedy has been involved in a basketball clinic all week, run by the high school boys team. Apparently she hasn't noticed this masculine feature before because she was pretty grossed out by it. The kids were all saying that if women had it, it would be disgusting, to which I only chuckled. She asked me if I knew about this discovery and I said, "Well how do you know they all have it?" She said, "Mom, they have to reach over us to get the ball sometimes and it's-- eww!!" She recoiled at the very real thought of it.

This brought a real sense of awe to me at the privilege of being able to watch each one of these children discover the world through their own eyes and experiences. Tre read his first sentence today, to me, under my instruction, after many (agonizing) long weeks of building on seemingly crumbled blocks. Somehow, somewhere along the way, it clicked and he got it. He's trying to read everything now, cereal boxes, book titles, anything he can get his hands on. It's amazing.

Ravi Zacharias wrote a book several years ago called Recapture the Wonder. I have never read it, despite it's annual appearance on my TO BUY FOR DALE Christmas list, but the snippet on the back of the book has kept this thought in my mind all these years. It's that God is filled with wonder at our discoveries, and shares that joy with us in our jubilation and triumph when we get to the other side of the mountain. Dale and I have had conversations about this many times, but most recently I recall him saying that maybe everything in the function of our planet isn't set on some schedule, but God is so pleased with the beauty of a sunrise, that He does it over and over and over again, new every morning. It's an awe-inspiring thought, isn't is? Maybe the birth of a child is so spectacular that He can't wait to see the tears roll down our cheeks one more time as the doctor places another life into our care. It's bigger than the fact that the little bundle of love will have to sleep in a laundry basket when it outgrows the car seat because the pack-n-play is broken.

And really, even if we did have a bed, a laundry basket is a lot more mobile, which makes life more convenient for me.

And that's really what this is all about, isn't it?

Gingerbread Houses

I waited two days to snap these pictures for you viewing pleasure and found that I was almost too late. There has been some minor demolishion in the village.

A few years ago we discovered that instead of making complicated frosting to stand our graham crackers up together, we could use almond bark, which dried much faster, melts much easier, and held the seams tighter. You can also use it for snow and ice.

The first gingerbread house we attempted was a kit with real gingerbread and frosting in it. We bought two kits, since the kids were small, and build two houses, which we spend hours trying engineer the impossibility of their construction. Finally Dale took an iron fist and smashed them both to bits and then we had a good laugh and went out for dinner to decompress.

After that I made my own gingerbread, set up the houses the night before and the decorating was a breeze. In my fragile estate, I didn't have the energy or the will power to make the gingerbread, so we built these old faithfuls and had a great time.

Dale and I always have an unspoken competition between us, which he was sure he had won this year, until Kennedy flew through the kitchen and knocked his house, and only his house, onto the floor. It was still intact, but his little reindeer and yard ornaments were a knocked out of place. Poor guy. I saw Leila eating the door off of his house today, which technically is her house so she can eat it. But I wanted to post pictures before they are all nothing but crumbs.

I thought this picture of me and Leila was so cute, I had to post it. She's filthy, but the only time she's clean is in the bathtub.

Dog from Space

Last week we took Max and dropped him off at the vet for his surgery. This is what he came home with!!!
This lovely little number is a 25 inch cone that he wears all the time for two weeks. It's been the longest, most agonizing week of his life. Poor guy can't lick anything but the cone, so that's what he does. He lays down on the couch and licks that cone! Micah insists that we call him Rhino until he gets the cone off because he plows through the house, already convinced that he's a lap dog, squeezing his nearly fifty pounds and 25 inches of plastic through tiny crevices throughout the house, knocking over furniture and small children that might be in the path. He just cracks me up!

Just in case you were wondering...

This is what I look like today. The last time I posted a picture of myself, I laughed and laughed about that post because it was so awful and who posts an awful picture of themself just for kicks? One of the kids had walked in with my camera, snapped the picture of me, still pajama-clad, and I was not quite ready but started to smile when it flashed, which left me with a strange expression on my face. I don't know, I did it for a laugh. And then I got a few comments, live comments, from people who were upset by the post. Not offended, just worried, I guess. My poor family. I think they all know I'm a little nuts, but that really tipped the scales past my normal insanity. So, I promised to post a better one. And for my friends far away that have requested a belly shot, here it is. One of the kids took this one too and I'm not as excited about posting it as I was the other, but it shows my tummy, and that's what we need here. Plus I don't look so pasty and, well, over the edge. It's real. There is life growing in there, and the evidence is undeniable. You know how I know that? Five outfits failed this morning because they weren't quite long enough to cover the top of my elastic waistband. *sniff* ...all those hours around that track down the drain... Might as well make a pan of brownies and celebrate new life!

Hair cuts: Before and After

Giving Thanks

These are the days we will remember.

The novice Thanksgiving feast turned out to be better than I thought it would. Besides scorching the green beans and water-logging the potatoes, I was pleased with the way it all turned out and so were all who feasted on it. I announced that the children would be doing all the clean up since I had already washed all the pots and pans and scrubbed the counters, but Dale went to bat for them and commenced the clean up himself.

We watched the parade from start to finish, had a huge meal, fell asleep on the couch to the Cowboys game, and then headed to the park for a rousing game of kickball. And football. And Basketball. And swings. Then we loaded up in the truck and went to Albertson's to get supplies for our Charlie Brown Thanksgiving feast.
This was Kennedy's contribution to our feast: fruit shish kabobs on a cantaloupe boat full of whipped cream.
I love Charlie Brown. I love the music, the characters, the simplicity, the novelty; I love it all. So every holiday I play the corresponding Peanuts cartoon repeatedly until the season passes. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, the kids suggested that we watch it one last time and have the same feast Charlie Brown serves all his friends at the end. So, our dinner consisted of popcorn, pretzels, jelly beans, and toast, along with hot chocolate in lieu of the ice cream floats. It was so fun and festive and they were thrilled. A couple of the kids saved their plates until the meal started on the movie. It was adorable. And then, one last time for the day, we gave thanks to God for the bounty of blessings He continues to lavish on us in every conceivable way.

My heart is never void of thanks, I can tell you honestly. The trials of this life have given me a sincere gratitude for the simple pleasures in life. Things like Leila standing behind me in her diaper singing "Oh Sawah, oh Sawah..." Or our giant puppy sniffing under the door wishing he could come in and lavish his own love on us. Or looking up from a project to see Dale watching me with those dreamy eyes. Or the way my mom and my mother-in-law and Sandy answer the phone so excited to hear from me every time I call, even if we just talked for an hour the day before. I love life. I have my days, and I have my moods that swing us all from the rafters, but I love this life that God has given me, so I am truly thankful.

Thanks Giving

I had this great idea a week ago. It was the idea that if I started early, I would be able to pace myself being that this is my first time EVER to prepare the Thanksgiving feast. In the past I had no idea how much work went into the feast and I didn't lift a finger to contribute. For that I offer my sincere apologies. Later I began to recognize the exhaustion of the host as a symptom of a project that must've taken a lot of work and volunteered my services in the clean-up. Most recently living in Richmond, every year I would ask, "Do you want me to bring anything?" to the feast for nearly fifty relatives and Dale would quickly say, "No, no, you don't have to bring anything, they've got it," and give a nod to his mother like he had *handled* it. I never was offended by this because generally I had to work that night or the night before and knew it would be difficult to juggle the stress of bringing anything to the table that didn't compare to the down-home goodness that we've all come to know and love. (One year I did bring little pilgrim hats made from striped shortbread cookies upside-down a chocolate dipped marshmellow on top, and a little yellow buckle made from frosting. They were cute. Not much of a contribution, but cute.)

This year, I have accepted the fact that we are going to be all by ourselves out here and decided to compensate with the only permissible substitute, which is the same feast we would've had if we were *d0wn home*: turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, corn, homemade rolls, dumplins, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and custard pie. So I thought it would be a good idea to start early and pace myself since I'm on my own. Last week I thought about making the pie crusts. Then Sunday I put it on the list to make the pie crusts. And Tuesday I really intended to get it done, but then I cleaned the tub instead but managed to quick mix up the crust and stick it in the fridge. When the hour was up, my pie crust still looked like biscuit dough, which made me nervous. So this morning I tried the recipe again and the results were the same. I don't know if every recipe makes four crusts, but I can't stand to waste that much stuff by some error, so I froze the dough in hopes of developing something fantastic later. And then I called in the cavalry, I called my mom. She read the recipe back to me and I had miscopied it; instead of 1 1/2 cups water, it should've been 1/2 cup water. *sigh* So I bought more flour and more Crisco and I tried it again and I gotta tell ya, I was pretty nervous.

I've never made a turkey. I've never made stuffing except for Stove Top. I've never made dumplins, not like Mawmaw's. With the first attempt already on shaky ground, I rocked my confidence. The big day is creeping up fast and there's no trial run on Thanksgiving.

My other great idea was to set a cookie sheet on the bottom shelf of the oven for spill overs so that I wouldn't be scrubbing out the bottom of my oven after a long day of slaving in the kitchen. So I set it in place, and then carefully set the pecan pie over it. After half the cooking time had passed I realized it wasn't going to spill over, and I moved the cookie sheet to the other side. Next I poured the custard into the pie crust and carefully covered the edges with foil, so proud of myself for thinking to cover it before I put it in the oven. The filling was nearly too high, but I love custard and assured myself that I could get it in without dumping it. When I picked up the tin, it dribbled down the side. No big deal. As I turned to set it on the oven rack, it ran in a steady stream down the cabinet, across the floor, down the oven door and then sloshed into the oven, pooling atop the cookie sheet and overflowing into the oven. *sigh*. This made me more nervous about the stuffing and turkey and gravy and everything.

The other three pies turned out to be very lovely, and they are pictured on the previous post because as a mother, I don't get many things accomplished and there aren't a lot of new tasks to master in these four walls, so I feel accomplished in this one thing. I know I can bake a pie.

I have been genuinely excited about this event since the passing of Halloween. In a way I feel like it's a rite of passage. I know, that might seem dumb because I'm thirty-one and I have six kids and I've been married almost as long as I was single. You'd think I would feel all growed up, but it's a flagship of womanhood to be able to achieve the impossible and survive, which I have to say, is trademark of the preparation of a Thanksgiving day feast, in my case anyway.

Today I baked the pies, made the stuffing, froze the dumplins, peeled the potatoes, prepared the sweet potatoes, made the rolls, and thawed the turkey. I think I'm ready for tomorrow. I'll let you know how it goes. My excitement has only been dampened by my current exhaustion, which I'm sure will reignite with the opening sounds of the Macy's Day parade.

So here's to all of you mothers: Mom, Dana, Grandma, my Aunt Kim, who have slaved over this event for hours and spent piles of money to make a feast for the rest of us to eat up and then take a nap without a thought, THANKS TO YOU. You're the real heroes.

These are a few

of my favorite things.

A Formal Farewell

There's bittersweet air about us as we say our final farewell to football. Today is the superbowl and we lost our tickets to our loss last weekend. Today is the party where all the kids will get trophies and run around together just for fun, probably for the first time since the season started. When I found out we'd have practice everyday for the first five week and then games all over the state every weekend, I went a little cuckoo. But once we got the groove, I looked forward to being out in the cool of the day with the sun shining because I could just sit and watch while the kids ran and played and screamed and wrestled with the other siblings. It was a little intimidating at first too, to have to load the troops at 5:30 in the cold to drive long distances to watch our peewees play games, but that too just became part of the routine. Now that it's all said and done, I'm a little sad that I won't have all the same kids to cheer for next time, or the same parents to labor with through the season. But I'm also relieved that we will have a few Saturdays to rest before basketball takes off. I don't know if I'd have ever done it if I hadn't watched my good friend, full-time business woman, single mom to five do it for years, running all five in different directions like it was as natural as breathing. She gives me hope and joy in this season of life; the running season. And it's a good thing because we're looking forward to about fifteen years of it.
So long football; thanks for the memories.

Hope

Therefore having been justified by faith
we have peace with God
through our Lord Jesus Christ
through whom also we have obtained
our introduction by faith
into this grace in which we stand;
and we

exult in hope

of the glory of God.
And not only this, but we also

exult in our trubulations

knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance;
and perseverance, proven character;
and proven character, hope.

And hope does not disappoint,

because the love of God has been
poured out within our hearts
through the Holy Spirit
who was given to us.

And hope does not disappoint.
Love never fails.
We have fixed our hope on the living God.
This hope we have as an ANCHOR of the soul.

Kindness

It's God's kindness that leads to repentance.

The virtuous woman was known for teaching kindness.

Let your kindness be evident to all.

And the fruit of the spirit is... kindness.

How can my life be so saturated by these words that are ever present in my life, and yet my heart be full of dark words of wrath that spill out every time I get bumped? Anger, sarcasm, frustration, fits of rage, condescension... forgive me God. I am weak and foolish.

Make me a vessel of Your kindness. Not politeness and courtesy that I am so accustomed to extending to virtual strangers in my world, but the true kindness of the Spirit that leads people to repentance.

School Updates

Today is the last day of the quarter for our school calendar and we are scrambling to tie up loose ends before tomorrow, my face-to-face parent-teacher meeting. This is where we turn in a work sample from each subject and she tests the kids on their progress. I've been a nervous wreck for two weeks trying to come up with all the necessary samples and testing myself in case we don't come out ahead. I have felt really confident about this program and my abilities to complete for quite a while now. After we got the hang of the schedule and the groove of the curriculum, I felt like we were smooth sailing. Now that it's time to test the progress, we'll see if we meet the mark. I guess the worst thing that could happen is that I'll have to redo some lessons and I won't get a gold star for perfection.

This leads me to my next point. Every day that goes by, at some point in the day I wonder if this is what they do. You know, do they keep a tidy house all the time? Do they have a good, substantial dinner every night? Do they have trouble stretching from paycheck to paycheck? Do they ever loose it and scream at their kids? Am I keeping up with the rest of the moms in the world that are achieving perfection every day? And then I ask myself this ever present question... WHY DO I CARE WHAT THEY DO???

I grew up in a stable, normal household, by my own standards. Not normal like Americans, normal like the Cleavers. There were problems, sometimes my parents fought, sometimes we didn't like each other, and sometimes I was a real drag to live with. *this may be an understatement*. But we had a tidy house, even with seven of us in that huge place. My mom made breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday; so much so that I thought I was eating out when I got to eat a hot lunch at school. I know they were tight with money, but they were responsible with it, and I don't ever remember seeing my mom cry about it. The bar is set pretty high for me. I'm living now, knowing that it's possible to live that life. And I do strive for it. But normalcy is relative and when you're a kid, or an outsider, you just don't see everything.
What I have, is rich and good, even if I'm not meeting the bar.

I really came to say today that just because I don't test well and I get really nervous under scrutiny, we've come a long way from the first weeks of school. At this point, I have no doubt we'll finish the school year and be just fine. The only reason though, is that my friends have prayed for me. My family has prayed me. So I wanted to say thank you again for your support of our mission. God has heard and answered.

Just in case you were wondering

this is what I look like now; you don't even have to say it because I already know, it's a photoshop masterpiece. As I was thumbing through the most recent upload, I found px of Lolly's birthday, Kennedy and Micah's birthday party, and a whole slew of football game px. I thought about posting a hodge podge but decided when I came across this beauty, that it was a necessary post.

As I was primping for church this morning, it crossed my mind that maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to apply a little mascara to those white eyelashes and then I grabbed my purse, thought about how much I'd like to have a cup of coffee, and shut off the lights on my way out the door. It wasn't a hurried morning, as is the Sunday morning custom, but these were just two luxury items on the list that didn't make the cut.

In the past four months, I can probably count on one hand the number of times that I've applied make-up. Dale doesn't really care whether I wear it or not, and no one here is used to seeing me with it on, and since I rarely catch a glimpse in the mirror, why bother? We live in California where people appreciate nature and being 'a naturale. That's what I tell myself anyway, and then I see something like this and seriously consider selling all my Grandma's china for a good make-over and wardrobe revamp.

But then again, let's get real, by 2:00, and it's 1:44 now, I'll have forgotten this image and the ridiculosity that it incurred in my mind, and the China will rest safely in moving boxes ready for the next leg of the journey.

Thanks a' Very Mas!

We all got up late Thanksmas morning, and Dale went straight to the kitchen to prepare a lovely brunch for us all! I was so thrilled! This year's new tradition is Thanksmas Mountain which is comprised of biscuits, fried potatoes, and scrambled eggs, smothered in gravy and hot sauce. Dale was the only partaker; I was so sick from the Halloween festivities that I had to stick with the safe road, but next year, I'll be all over Thanksmas Mountain!
We got our tree up, the same 6 foot tree that my mom purchased for us on our first Christmas, and followed the Thanksmas tradition of trying to *make that funky thing look normal.* Every year we grow more attached to that thing, even though it's crooked and falls down a few more times than it did the last year. The kids put up all the ornaments as beloved holiday tunes rang through the house, and then we headed to Wal-Mart to choose some new lawn decorations. In honor of the deceased goat that had faded and rusted after it's third year in commission, we purchased a standing buck and a feed doe. Dale hung lights on the fence, and then we bought way too much food, which we somehow managed to devour every bit of after football practice. The first Christmas movie of the year was Emmet Otter's Jugband Christmas.

I nearly cried several times during the day at the wonder of God's goodness. I'm so thankful that I have a husband that cherishes the simple pleasures as much as I do. I'm also thankful that my kids are on board with our quirky traditions and they still think they are so cool. I am thankful that this year I will carry the last Sutton of our chapter and then reclaim my body as mine alone, for life. I am thankful that even if we don't have anyone that we really want to invite to our parties within hundreds of miles, we have good and true friends that would really savor our celebration with us, if they could. And I'm thankful that in this life, in this fallen world, we have joy that is unspeakable and full of glory. Even with that, we have much, much more awaiting us in eternity if we only endure. Happy Thanksmas!!!

Name that Clone

Every year we wait until about a week past prime time to buy costumes and end up with the picked-over left-overs. I used to think I'd make the costumes every year, like my mom always did, but after I spent $70 on ET, it was just cheaper to shell out the cash. This year we continued the tradition, so as precious as they are, these weren't anyone's first choice. But they were thrilled to all be matching once it was decided. Besides, aren't they sweet??? Everyone in the neighborhood commented on my clone troopers when they rang our doorbell.

Leila tried to go down the street with them, but the scary haunted house at the end of the lane sent her home screaming. Inside the house, we opted for an endless It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown marathon and the treating of the Trick or Treaters.



We have never lived in an area that I trusted enough to send my kids out on their own to knock on doors because we live in a scary world peppered with spooky people. This year, however, because we know almost everyone in the entire reservation on a first name basis, I felt safe sending them out without me. By the time they started up to the last street, it was starting to get dark, but they teamed up with their favorite hang out parents down the street and finished the journey with adult accompaniment. It was the thrill of the year.

One of the local churches puts on a giant block party here every year that we went to after it got dark; it was incredible. There must have been 150 different booths and games set up across three parking lot, as well as cheap food and entertainment for the whole community. I love it that churches find this a worthwhile event each year.

Following our adventure through the masses, we settled in to our cozy living room in our pajamas and blankets and shut out all the lights for the initiation of my personal favorite event of the year, The Scariest Noise Competition. The first year we held this event, Dale and I laughed till we cried from the obnoxious sounds that we both deemed as *scary noises*. This kids laughed along with us, but they had no idea why our noises were so weird when they were all being so scary. We have yet to top that one, but we all loved it this year just the same.

The whole question of whether or not it is morally correct to celebrate Halloween, I've heard it called *the Devil's Holiday*, we settled in our hearts a long time ago. This year Dale explained the true history to the kids after one of their friends told them that Jesus didn't like Trick or Treating. Like everything entailed in living in a fallen world, it is a matter of the heart. If your heart is to honor God in all you do, then where is the wrong in dressing up and collecting candy from your benevolent neighbors? There is so much bad in the world, we try to make the fun things as fun as they can possibly be for our family by starting and carrying on home-spun traditions with each passing year. It makes the sweetness of this life just a little sweeter.

On the Flip Side

I think *homesick* is a state of mind, or being, or something more than a way you feel. On a daily basis I mill through a long list of things I miss about the Midwest, usually it starts with dirt while I'm sweeping up sand one of the forty-seven times during the day.

I never wanted to be a homebody. As a kid I envied the new kids in school that would arrive in October and be gone by May first because "they moved around a lot". I was born in one house and five years later moved to another house less than a mile away, and that is where my parents will spend the rest of their lives. In high school I pined for a life on the road, seeking anyone that would let me tag along. It wasn't that I was discontent with my family or the life they gave me; it was just in my blood to get out and see the rest of what was out there.

So I spent weeks at my Grandma's house, worked summer camps as often as possible, found people that would take me out Emporia for the weekend, and then after I graduated I took off to work with a mission in the city in Chicago. From there I moved to Missouri to attend college and found my life's work and my soul mate who has taken me on an incredible journey from Mississippi to Nebraska to Missouri and now to sweet California. And I have loved the journey.

But what I have come to realize is that once you've done it, you've done it and frankly, we've done it and I'm ready to come home to Midwest, a place that I never dreamed I would want to be. I miss the seasons. I miss storms. And just one more thing, I miss being able to see my family whenever I can work it out, because no matter what I do, it takes a lot more than me just working it out for anyone to visit.

To counter this *state of mind* I remind myself of the curve around the mountain where you get first sight of the vineyards outside of Santa Ynez county. They spring out of nowhere, breathtaking and spectacular. And our neighborhood, the more people we meet, the more warm the whole area becomes. People have come out of the woodwork to shower us with God's blessings. Not to mention the mountains. Or the ocean. They speak for themselves as perks of the west coast; they are the reason this area was ever settled; it's such unspeakable beauty, a facet of God's creative nature in plain sight. It's never 90 degrees here, not where we live anyway. I love sweatshirt weather, and usually I put one on at some point everyday.

God is amazing the way He answers the dreams of our heart. And even more amazing the way He plants them long before we are able to even articulate them. He is good and rich and satisfying. Life is good and I am thankful.

Gimme just one reason

Outside of the vast foundational moral reasons that we homeschool, there are safety concerns that also haunt our public schools and with less and less parents parenting, the concerns are skyrocketting. Not only that, but the need for teachers is so great that passionate teachers with a love for our children are being teamed up next to predators with wicked intentions. I am always hesitant to express these grave concerns very often because they are scary and I had never recorded any real evidence, only using secondhand isolated stories that I'd heard on the news and from other parents, until today when I was perusing the headlines and found this: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20071020/ap_on_re_us/teacher_sex_abuse

I know some people will quickly scan the article so I want to share one quote with you from it, just to highlight the severity of the problem.

"From my own experience — this could get me in trouble — I think every single school district in the nation has at least one perpetrator. At least one," says Mary Jo McGrath, a California lawyer who has spent 30 years investigating abuse and misconduct in schools. "It doesn't matter if it's urban or rural or suburban."

It's gives me just one more reason I'd rather battle attitudes and monotony and a daily barrage of questions from 8AM to 8PM than to send these precious, innocent children out into the world at the mercy of *the luck of the draw*.

The Love of God

One of the scriptures I read in the study recently was * 1 John 4:7-8 Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God; and everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. 8 The one who does not love does not know God, for God is love.* This is a startling realization that forces me into some serious self-examination. I love God, and as a rule, I love people, but sometimes I find myself with a permanent scowl on my face out in the community. I don't hate everyone around me, but it seems I've become so cynical, just waiting for someone to cross me, that I'm ready to attack at any given moment. What does that say about the love of Christ in me? I shudder at the thought... how am I any different than anyone in the world?

I have really pondered this question and last night while I was studying, the last thing in the workbook said to read Ephesians 3:14-19 and personalize it as a prayer. This little exercise brought such clarity to me and relinquished the pressure to become a perfect reflection of the love of God overnight in my own strength.

...that You would grant me the strength with power through Your Spirit in the inner man

so that Christ may dwell in my heart through faith;

and that I, being rooted and grounded in love, (send my roots down and ground me more firmly in love!)

may be able to comprehend with all the saints

what is the breadth and length and height and depth,

and to know, really know, the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge,

and fill me up to all the fullness of God.

What is so amazing to me is the fact that we have the Word of God, the full, comprehensive, in our language, Word of God at our disposal. And here in just a few short verses, I am satisfied. My thirst is quenched. My hope for true satisfaction is restored because this answered a pondering of my heart that I had no answer to. The love of God is so beyond comprehension that we have to be taught how to understand it. Amazing.

Back to Life

We are six days into the antibiotic regimen and I am thankful. Kennedy used to throw up with every dosage no matter what it was. I attribute that to the fact that when she was tiny she had to have her stomach emptied in the hospital with some awful remedy that she was given by mouth. They say it takes about fifteen minutes to take effect, but it only took a couple before she hurled and hurled and hurled. At *almost* 10 she still has to choke it down, but now it's a battle between mind and body. She's amazing, such a fighter. It used to be a nightmare when they all went on antibiotics because they follow her. So, if she panicked, they all did. Now she's coaxing herself into taking it slowly but surely, and also encouraging everyone else to be so brave and do the same thing. No one else has the trouble she does with it so her encouragement has instigated an excitement about taking medicine. In response, she wants to be a part of every one's dosage. She takes hers, so Micah gives himself his. She gives Leila and Jasmine theirs too. This morning Micah gave Tre his. This is, I assume, what people mean by it getting *easier the more you have.* Let me assure you, there isn't a lot about my life that's easy, but this is much, much easier than the days of yore.

I am finding myself again, despite the hormonal hurricane that threatens to take us all under at least twice a day. God has given me rest, desperately needed rest, and I am back on my feet. I think it's so cool that when I begged the principal for a week off, He responded generously with a break. It's awful to be sick when your kids are sick and your husband's working, but it's worse when they can't help themselves and you have to run around the whole time. We spent a lovely week on the couch watching Fraggle Rock and Looney Tunes and drank Sprite and slept. It wasn't a vacation, it was much better because we didn't spend any money and I didn't have to do as much laundry.

The new Bible study, while I hate to admit it, is shallow and exactly my speed right now. That's not quite right, it's not shallow, it's basic. Very basic and I have been so self-consumed that the basics are striking to me again. Things like *If you abide in MY WORD; then you are truly disciples of Mine and you shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.* And *It was for freedom that Christ set us free; therefore keep standing firm and do not be subject again to a yoke of slavery. I AM THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE; No one comes to the Father but through Me.*

Simple, elementary truths, the very foundations of daily life in Christ that I have neglected have freed me all over again! I was born into the Assemblies of God, my parents were both born-again believers and raised us, in every way, to be Christians. Slavery for me has never been to explicit sin, it comes and robs me in more subtle ways. I have never had a desire to use drugs, not even a little because they are such a blatant lie. I've seen the effects they have on people and the pleasure of the moment they offer can never outweigh the result of their consequences in my mind. Slavery sneaks up on me until I'm completely ensnared and feeling hopeless. I have everything. Everything. And I feel hopeless?

I can speculate on how it happens, it's been a pattern in my life for a long time; I start telling myself that I have needs that are going unmet. Generally this is a spiritual starvation that I fail to recognize and go on to try to meet my needs. Maybe I need more sleep. I'm pretty sure I need a milkshake, my body needs more calcium and I can just get it real quick. I need some alone time, I'll put the kids to be and just veg and watch a movie by myself. I need someone to talk to, I'll call my friend and talk for two hours about myself. I need a candy bar, my blood sugar feels a little low. I'm not saying the indulgence in any of these things is sin, necessarily, but sin is in the heart or the attitude. For me to start stacking all of these things into my life, I find myself at the bottom, unsatisfied, with too much sleep and too much sugar, having said way too much to someone on the phone, and too much time on my hands. That's when hopeless and cynical strap themselves on and squeeze the life out of me. That's when I get really ugly.

The Word is clear about my role to be busy at home. It must be difficult to imagine me not being busy, but everything in my life, if carefully manipulated can be neglected for quite a while before it catches up and I start having anxiety. It's a difficult balance, but I manage it on occasion. It's interesting that the very busyness that I avoid in this pit of despair, is what gives me my breath back.

I feel like I'm back. I can never escape this one truth. Jesus, the Word incarnate, LOGOS is life. Jesus is life. Jesus is life.

Strep and stuff

I can't believe it's been so long since I sat down here and spilled my guts! Dale came home and it took a little while to adjust to the homecoming and work schedule, and then our sweet, sweet friends came and rang our doorbell and sat at our dining room table and slept in our beds and made us feel like we were home again. I would post all the glorious pictures of our visit if I had taken any, but somehow we spent three days together and didn't snap a single shot!!! I cherish it none the less, because they were here in real life, in our house, laughing and staying up too late with us, and it was just what we needed.

And then we all got sick, sick, sick. Tre went down first. *I'm still praying that our company didn't pack it up and carry it across the miles home with them!* When Tre spiked 103, I called the nurse help line and they sent us to Urgent Care. We waited in the waiting room for two hours and then waited in our exam room for another hour. We should have gotten the results from the lab yesterday, but somehow we haven't gotten any results. Besides that, three different staff members entered and exited our room and no one wore gloves or washed their hands at any time during the visit. I don't like to assume that they never did; maybe the habit is to do it after they leave the room. It was unsettling regardless.

Kennedy, two days later, did the same thing and I loaded up the gang and dragged them all in. We tried a different clinic and found ourselves quite impressed with the friendliness, the accommodations to the children, and the speed at which we were given care despite the full waiting room. I was thoroughly impressed and have found a safe place for our health care needs.

I still don't quite understand Urgent Care. At first I thought it was a hospital setting, but the clinic is more like a doctors office. I think it means you can always come in without an appointment, but some people make appointments. And maybe it means you get a wild-card on which doctor or PA you see. All I know is that it's quite convenient for me and I like it.

Anyway, we are sleeping a lot, watching cartoons over and over again since we don't have cable, and having a lot of toast, cereal, and Sprite between doses of antibiotics. Pray that Dale can somehow stay well. We need someone to be normal around here and I just can't foot the bill. *I never really did play that role well...*

Forgive me if you've called and I haven't been able to talk. Leila is also trying to potty train and with the fevers and intestinal upheavals and running back and forth to the potty chair, all the while trying to sneak in a nap here and there, I've lost all sense of time and reality and the telephone rings in vain. But give us a week and we'll be back at it!

Sweet Homecoming

Yesterday at football practice Kennedy and I were going over the schedule for today, which I promised would be full of fun and excitement including the 99cents store, the McDonald's play land, and a half-day of school in honor of Dale's homecoming; a celebration before we pick him up since it would be late. As she turned to walk away I heard myself say, "Then we'll get Daddy, and I'll get my breath back..."

The last time we spent this long of a succession apart was right after I had Tre; he had a job in KC and I had a job in Burlington, we were both commuting from Emporia. He worked M-F and I left Friday night when he got home to go to work F-Su nights. It was agonizing. I don't recall how many weeks were lived like that, but we all cried every time he got back into the car to leave. Families just aren't designed to live together part-time. So you can imagine the strickening I felt in my chest when he got in the car three weeks ago and drove to the airport where he would be carried thousands of miles away from me.

If the truth be told, I thought it would be a good break, a breather, a nice reminder of what we have together. Little did I know how much more than that it would be. As much as I need him here to help juggle the details of our lives, I need him much, much more as a constant presence in my world. Everyday I watch the clock in anticipation of his homecoming on a normal workday. For three weeks I've been watching the clock, counting down the hours to his return. This is something that women in the world scoff at on the surface, this needy dependence on a man. But I think it links back to the curse where God made Eve's desire for her husband and him to rule over her. I have not studied this passage in depth, but I always thought that my intense desire is linked to that passage. It boggles my mind, as I have always been overtly independent, but eleven years in, I do not fare well without this man.

So today, the sweet face of God is shining on us because the countdown, while it's been agonizing, is almost over and I can almost get a full breath.

Succeed at this one thing

I don't know if you know this about me, you probably don't. But I have a new plan. Every so often I re-evaluate my life and configure a plan to set my feet straight and the wheels in motion for success in whatever it is that I'm failing at. Those things have been the same for the last, oh I don't know, all of my life: weight loss, organization, time management, devotions, kindness, anger management... you know, your run of the mill disappointments in a person.

The thing about this pregnancy is that I've never felt like I couldn't do it before. I would look at the test and laugh about the irony of the situation, always landing on the least opportune time in my life, and think, "Alright. Here we go!" This time I'm-- I'm in denial, I think. I stared at that little window on my bathroom cabinet waiting for the *not* to appear before the *pregnant* at any minute. And what's worse, I was putting clothes away the other day and decided I should double check the test, just to make sure I hadn't missed it, you know, the *not*, so I went back into the bathroom and peered into the little silver trash can. The trash can that I empty almost every day. The trash can that held the answer to my fate three weeks ago. To my surprise, it no longer offered me an opportunity to doubt. It was at that point that I realized things weren't quite right upstairs.

With the emotional trauma of the first weeks of school as a temporarily single parent, my world was spinning. On top of that, you know how high doses of surging hormones have a way of flipping you inside out at random intervals throughout the day. Every night I crawled into bed completely exhausted only to find my thoughts scattered and frantic. Every night I waded through them sobbing and then quiet and then reasonable and then trickles down my cheeks, trying hopelessly to sort it all out. It was tragic.

One night I tossed and turned for two hours before I finally cried out in desperation to God for help. I couldn't for the life of me imagine how He could help; He couldn't teach or make sandwiches or do dishes, but there had to be a way, right? So I begged, "God if there's any way you can help me out here, I really need it!" That's when I got out of bed and decided to order the few things I could do in the middle of the night. I made menus, wrote out a schedule, and prayed more, and this was my revelation. *Succeed at this one thing.* So simple; so doable.

The thing that steals my breath and stuffs me full of anxiety is not the laundry that spills out of the closet when I open the door, or the dishes piled up on the counter, or teaching twenty lessons a day. It's the fear of failure in these things. I should have done the dishes. I should have thrown the laundry in. I shouldn't have been come unglued when he dumped ketchup all over the refrigerator. I should have looked at her room after she cleaned it up all by herself. And the what ifs: What if they don't learn helping verbs? What if she stays mad this time instead of forgiving my meanness? What if someone shows up at the door when the house is a wreck? What if I really am just a bunch of smoke and mirrors? I shouldn't care, but I do. I want to be real, and I also want to be able to accomplish superhuman accomplishments because I CAN do all those things, if I really, really try.

What I've come to realize is: I can't. I just can't. There's only so much I can pile onto my plate before stuff starts falling off. So this new thing, my new plan, was revolutionary for me, more than freezing the milk and baking the bread. *Succeed at this one thing* My lifeline is Christ. As long as I fix my eyes on Him, I cannot fail. None of the things on that list matter as long as I am living and breathing and functioning in Christ, the author and finisher of my faith. Nothing. It settles every question about me and this life.

So, next time I call you and I am reeling from some hyper-emotional labor and drama, please, don't weaken me with pity. Point me to Christ, the only solid ground.

Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless until it repose in Thee.
-Augustine