Drive-In Movie Night

Awanas continues to garner "oo's and ah's" from the Sutton tribe.

A few weeks ago, we picked up four pinewood derby car kits to prepare for this thrilling event that we turned in last week. Along with the official turn in date, we were asked to make more life-size cars out of cardboard boxes that the kids would be able to sit in for the movie. This was all the rage all week long; the kids were cutting and painting and scribbling and constructing and begging boxes off all the neighbors because their mother has whittled their possessions down to sole necessity items, which means despite two moves in that past eighteen months, they do not have one single extra box to speak of. Anyway, to add to the magic of the evening, the Awana coordinator called about an hour before meeting time to tell us the kids could also come in their pajamas. It was the best news they've ever gotten over the phone, you would've thought. So, pajama clad with box-cars in tow, we headed out of town for Drive-In Movie night. They were a little disappointed when they walked up to not only not see any other cars, but also none of their friends had jammies on. I thought it was cute to hear all the youth group kids saying, "Oh, Drive-In Movie night! I used to love that!"

It was so cool how they had it all set up. The multipurpose room was completely cleared in order for the cars to park in front of the longest wall where the movie was projected. Every kid got a bag of popcorn and a juice box for the feature. It turned out, other kids did come in their jammies, and there were quite a few cars, but it's a little intimidating to show up in a clown suit when it seems like everyone else dressed for the prom.

When they came out, they said, "Mom, why do all those kids think they are way too cool to wear their pajamas to church?" I just laughed. None of them said they wished they hadn't worn them, but Micah did say he was mad that he had to sit on a chair for the movie. He didn't feel like making a car, even though I asked him several times. Kennedy tried to explain to him that they would get to watch the movie in their cars, but he can be a little hard-headed and insisted that he didn't care. So we all just shrugged when he said, "Everyone else got to sit in their cars while I had to sit their on a chair!" Live and learn, I guess.

I've been brainstorming on something I can do for the coordinator and her husband the commander. They both put so much into this club every week, it's hard to imagine anyone being that committed to anything for a bunch of other people's kids, but they really are. It's clearly their mission and I want to really express my gratitude. Naturally, the first thing that comes to mind is to bake something... maybe I could make a small spread and pass it around to all the teachers... or maybe make like a sampler tray that they could take home... any ideas? I want to do something really cool.

I have three brothers...

...and I adore them all. My relationships with each one is distinctively different than the other two because they are very, very different.

Of the three of them, I have characteristics most similar to T.R., birth-order personality traits most like Jon, and in almost every way I'm the least like David, my oldest brother. He set the standard for cool in our house growing up, while I was always a little on the dorky tip. He ruled most of the us younger siblings with an iron fist, but that's a story for another day. I don't think I'd be out of line in saying that we all sort of idolized him, even when he was chucking hunting knives into his bedroom walls. For the last decade or so he's been living in beautiful Colorado mountains where he works as a meticulous craftsman of sorts, raises alpacas, and snowboards in his backyard. He's still very cool; I'm pretty sure he's outgrown the knife chucking, but I can't verify with documentation or anything.

A few years ago my sister asked me if I'd trek across part of the country to spend a week at his house with him and his wife and the sweet alpacas. I was hesitant, pregnant with Leila, working full-time, trying to juggle four kids while Dale was in school; I couldn't see how it was going to happen, but somehow it did. She and I loaded up her little car and headed out into the great wild blue yonder. It was the month of April, and when we got there, it was snowing. It snowed the entire time we were there. As a matter of fact, it snowed so much that we didn't leave the house until we were leaving to drive back to Missouri.

Now, let me tell you something about this life. My brother is an artist, he always has been, only by some cosmic act of fate he has been able to translate his craft into tile works and makes a living laying tile for people with extravagant taste in and around Denver. By doing what he does he has been able to establish a life for himself and his wife in the mountains. His house is up a curvy mountain road, tucked away in what I would consider a cleft. There are a few homes around them, but they don't have neighbors like we have neighbors. I mean, we live in a duplex for Pete's sake. He rides his snowboard down the mountain after parties at his backyard neighbor's house. Across the valley on the top of the mountain there is a castle, a real castle, complete with a legend, that you can see from their living room picture window. All that to say, their home is quite a refuge from life in the real world.

We spent the week spinning Alpaca wool in to yarn and felting wool into hats and purses. It was like a scene from Little House on the Prairie. I loved every minute of it. But what I loved more was spending the precious quiet hours with my brother as the man he's become, not the mean kid he used to be.

After dinner one night we were eating strawberries and ice cream and talking about our lives, and David said, "Sometimes I am great at multi-tasking and other times I can't get a single thing done. It's all or nothing." That's what we have in common, besides having the same biological parents and generally the same roots. And that, my friends, is what I was thinking about when I rolled out of bed this morning. Some days I am running around here like a machine, getting all kinds of projects and cleaning done and at the end of the day I feel like a million bucks. Other times I can't drag myself away from "It's Me or the Dog" and by 8:00 I have a million things to do before tomorrow. I guess it's all about the balance, but man I wish I could just find a middle ground. Let's hope today is one of the good ones...

Moody Blues

I was beyond tired last night, past irrational, into survival mode existence. What I missed in that last quote is that it said, "the end is not in sight..." The end for me is sight, in less than two weeks, and with that many joys are in store for me and my family. Just thought I should clear that up.

These wild swings of emotion that bounce me from one pole to the other with no warning, hence the word bi-polar, both frighten and consume me. Long ago after I got married, Dale and I made a trip back to Springfield where we met in college. We spent most of our weekend with my college roommate, Christina, who invited lots of our former friends and acquaintances to come and hang out while we were in town. One of the friends that came was also named Christina, Christina Todd. She and I had a deep spiritual connection during our time at school, but when we went separate ways, we lost touch. *I would love to find her, if you know how to get a hold of her!* What was shocking about her was that: a. She had gotten skinny, and b. She was in the midst of a spiritual transformation. She had just finished Dietrich Bonhoeffer's The Cost of Discipleship. The new CT was just awe-inspiring. The one thing she said that stuck with me is that she had learned that regardless of her hormones, her emotions, her feelings, she did not have the right to react according to their inclinations regardless of the situation. This was a colossal discovery for her because she was known for being wildly emotional and often erratic in her behavior because of that. I think of her during every pregnancy and consistently every month after, usually the recollection comes after I've said something I regretted to someone that didn't deserve it.

Part of me feels guilty that I do not control this bi-polar response to life when my hormone levels soar to new heights. The other part of me believes that I cannot control this bi-polar response. I know it's a lie; I am my own master in those times unless I chose to be a slave to righteousness, but I let myself believe it.

Sometimes a nap is really all I need. Last night I went to bed at 1AM, laid there awake until Dale came in, and then long after he fell asleep I finally drifted off. It might have been 2:30; I didn't ever look at the clock, it just raises my blood pressure when I've been lying in bed a long time wishing sleep would take me. Dale and I were watching some comedian one night talk about how crazy some of these mothers in the headlines were. He said that when his mom would get mad, she'd just go take a nap. This could very well be the best advice I've ever heard on parenting. Even Kennedy said yesterday, "I love it when you take a nap because when you wake up you're all sweet and nice."

Such is my life...

Paul the Shepherd and Eric the Blogger

Some gems from Paul's recent piece:
"A job at a big company is like high fructose corn syrup: it has some of the qualities of things you're meant to like, but is disastrously lacking in others."

I don't know who Paul Graham is and I don't have a job at a big company, but I've been a part of a couple of big churches which is what made me love this quote because it's so apropos. I overheard a conversation today between two women, members of the same church, bemoaning the impossibility of true connections among the other members due to the busyness and size of the parish. "You can only really get to know people if you make a place for yourself there. It's just the way it is." I attended this church on a couple of occasions and left because of this very thing, only to find that it's the same where I am now, only on the surface this church is much more friendly.

While I don't love going to church, I am glad we go to the church we go to because an older gal comes and sits by me during Bible study and asks me pointed questions about my life. Her name is Dee and I adore her for this. Another woman comes over during greeting time on Wednesday night and asks me how things are going and talks to my kids like she's known them all their lives. It makes me feel moderately connected. I have also made a few friends because I chose to attend the women's Bible study and the Holy Spirit has lead me out of the desert of pride into vulnerability and it has brought an abundant return.

The shepherd of this body is a real drawing card for the church. His preaching is solid and the raw expression of his love for God during his messages is compelling. While I really like his wife, I've only spoken to the pastor once and that only because she dragged him over to introduce me to him after I started singing at Bible study. So, you have this amazing pastor that doesn't know all the sheep; there's something disastrously lacking about that.

It's 11:09 and I've cleaned everything in the house except for the kitchen sink and floor. I HAVE to finish it tonight or I'll despise myself tomorrow when it will go to the bottom of the list, but I'm stalling because I'm not a finisher. So in trying to change my e-mail address on this account, I came across a blog written by someone I don't know and logged it into my favorites just so I can check in and see how things are going for the former Blogger employee. What is that? Why is it so intriguing to read about other people's lives? I mean, you're reading this so I guess there's something to it, but what is it? Anyway, I'm glad for it, whatever it is. I do wonder, though, if when the reality TV thing wears off and some new trend in television takes over if people will lose interest in others' realities. With that said, let me leave you with a perfect definition of my life right now, courtesy of Eric the Blogger.

Fred Brooks sums it up well:
"Not only is the end not in sight, the pace is not slackening. We have many future joys."

Puppies Cont.

Alright, let's be reasonable. I'm not quite ready to sell the dogs. I think if we had to take a vote in the house, and the truth be told, I would go up for bids long before those mutts would. No one would be brave enough to say that out loud, but they love those dogs; everyone else in the house loves those dogs. So I treated Scooder again and ordered some heavy duty doggie drugs to combat the fleas. We are planning a blitzkrieg against them as soon as the drugs arrive in the mail. That gives me some reassurance that the problem with be taken care of before our sweet miracle comes home with us to stay. Regarding Max, I don't know if he is sensing the desperation or what, but he has decided he'd rather sleep all night than to be locked in his kennel for long stretches of it. For two nights he has stayed put and not chewed anything until we are up. Thank You, God, Your mercy abounds even to a wretch like me. My sincere apologies to those of you that had hoped to purchase these precious hounds for your family, it's just not going to happen this time. But stay with me. I'm having a baby soon and with that in mind and my wits may scatter again due to the neediness of one or both of them.

On the home front the nesting continues at an almost fevered pitch. I don't know how it happens or what provokes it, but nesting hits me and I have to move furniture. I wish I could initiate it at various other seasons of my life, but I just can't conjure it up. It hits me all and once and I'm a slave to it. At 8:00 last night, I decided it was imperative that I rearrange our bedroom furniture, so I did. Rearranging involves a lot of deep cleaning, which I know it part of the nesting, but I wonder if it's innate- not only the cleaning, but the work. I wonder if it's a necessary part to prep your body for labor. It's weird; I've done this every time. With Leila, we moved the boys into the girls' room and the girls into the boys' room- bunk beds, dressers, toys, the whole she-bang. With Micah, I moved out all the appliances and cleaned under them. With Jas, I decided we had to get rid of the wardrobe so I toted the blasted thing out of her bedroom by myself and then waited for the garage sale. With Tre, we were moving out of state so that pretty much took care of my need to work by filling every second with stress and a mountain of work ahead of every day. I don't know how I did it with him though, I was so out of shape and miserable by the end of that pregnancy... I'm pretty sure the help I needed came in droves and what I remember about the stress was actually the part I considered work back then. Thank you to all of you that filled boxes with and emptied my refrigerator, your generosity has never been forgotten.

So on the one hand, I'm working really hard and tossing dressers on my back and doing laundry and scrubbing corners and walls, but on the other hand, preparation for every meal is a miserable chore. I don't mind doing it once it is started, it's the starting that is so hard. I don't want to decide what to make, I don't want to think out what needs to thaw; it's not even the mess that concerns me because the kids have been given full responsibility of the clean-up after every meal now that we're inside the two-week window. But what I really want to do is just order pizza. Every night I want to order pizza and eat pizza every night. Don't tell Dale or the kids, they need to believe that I am a balanced mother and that eating a balanced diet is important to me, but at this point I could really just go for a pizza. I'm glad for the checks and balances; can you imagine if I ate pizza every night what I'd look like at the end of this pregnancy? *again, refer to the results following my pregnancy with Tre. Yikes.

Puppies for sale... only fifty cents

I have been dreaming up this post for several days- nights actually; every time I get woken up it takes me a good forty minutes to get back to sleep- since I've realized that the baby is going to come and make it's presence known very soon and with that the realization that I am about to start living on torture sleep schedule again, waking every hour or two to tend to a new life. I haven't minded too much that Max needs to go to the bathroom at 4:30 every morning because usually I do too. But when he started getting up twice, I started to get mad. And when I realized that no one else was going to let him out when he ran up the hall, I got a little madder. And when he got up early and chewed up a brand new bottle of expensive lotion, I flew into a rage.

I have since apologized to all who witnessed the fury, and thankfully I didn't cause any physical harm to the puppy, but it was probably because the only thing within my grasp was a pair of light pajama bottoms and I was late for a doctor's appointment. Forgive my frailty.

So I was going to only put Max up for sale until I woke up from my nap today and Scooder has fleas on his tummy. It wouldn't bother me so much except that I found fleas on him a week ago and took him straight to the tub, gave him a good scrub and soak in the flea bath, treated him with spray, Dale sprayed the house, and voila! He still has fleas. Gross. I can't bring a baby home to this kind of hostile and flea-ridden environment. If you're interested, I will gladly box up the pair and ship them right off to you tomorrow. They are sweet dogs and relatively obedient and someday they will make good pets, but for now I despise the sight of them.

Is it REALLY???

Yep. It's Friday. It's already Friday and I haven't published a word in three days. Please forgive me if I don't come around as much as I normally do. And please don't feel discouraged if I don't return your phone call. As a matter of fact, if you ring my doorbell and I yell from the back for five minutes to just wait and then I never answer the door, it's not you, it's me. I'm getting a little flaky. I mean, it's not uncharacteristic of me to be flaky in various situations at random times of the day, but right now it's becoming more and more real to me that I'm having a baby soon and quite honestly, it's a bit overwhelming; the thought of bringing home a sweet smelling bundle of wonder into our little dollhouse to live the transient life that is coming in trying to find the quietest room to sleep in and shifting all the clothes so that there's a place to keep the onsies... it's all hitting pretty close to home. It hits me every time I have a contraction, which is about every twenty minutes.

I've never felt nervous about having another baby. I used to have these nightmares that I was on a roller coaster making the initial climb to the top of the hill and I would scream out for someone to stop the roller coaster, I didn't want to ride. That's a little how it felt when I saw two lines on the test this time, it wasn't quite hysteria, that's been brewing now for about eight months though. It was more like shock and the feeling that there must be a bigger picture that I had to take into consideration. Frankly, I used to be spontaneous. I used to love shocking people with another pregnancy. I used to adore the fact that nothing in my life was concrete, change could sweep in and turn everything normal upside-down in an instant. Maybe it's my age- I'll be 32 on Memorial Day- or maybe it's the fact that I'm past joy-riding and I'd kind of like things to settle down. I mean really, it's a lot easier to juggle the universe when you know what's coming next. But when something that's not in the plan comes bowling through your world and upsets the basket, it's more difficult to laugh it off and roll with the punches with five little people following behind.

I don't mean to come across as ungrateful because if there's anything I am it's not that. I am thankful with every prayer and every consideration of this family. Sometimes I can't believe they're all mine. Like today; I was in the checkout at Target and the girl asked me if I was making cookies. Chocolate chips are a staple in my pantry so I kind of laughed. *Most people don't bake cookies in California.* I said, "I like to keep these on-hand because I have a lot of kids and I never know when we'll need to whip up a batch." She asked how many kids I had. When I told her she was clearly cabobbled, her mouth stayed open the rest of the transaction. She said, "What do your parents think of that?" It was a question I haven't been asked before. The novelty of our family amusing to people. She asked me if it was hard to manage them all- another question people don't really ask. I liked this girl, her raw honesty was pure. I told her that you learn how to manage a little as a time but that it really is a lot of work, but it's fun too. It was just another reminder to me that I am the luckiest girl in the whole world to have this miracle around me be my real life.

But I'm still a little nervous.

Lizard Hunters

When I was a kid, one of my favorite things about going on vacation was lizard hunting. I don't remember catching them personally, but I remember the thrill we all shared when one of the boys caught one. Sarah was never squeamish about that kind of thing so she very well may have been one of the catchers too. At any rate, we never lived where lizards ran free so it was always exciting when we had one in our possession. Some things just don't change. It has been warm here for a week or so which has brought the lizards out from under the sidewalks, and that has coaxed my children out into the sun for hours on end. They are all sunburned from this new activity.

After the neighbors dropped yet another lizard off at our house yesterday, this one twice the size of any my children had found, I decided to drop the bomb. Being the generous, warm-hearted soul that I am, I announced yesterday that we would not be keep all the lizards we find, along with a long discourse on how when we capture the wild, they are imprisoned and when we let them go, they are happy and free. I didn't expect Kennedy to come home crying after the first release. I really didn't expect Jasmine to run into her room sobbing. They love these little creatures as if they were their own. They also love stink bugs and crane flies with the same devotion. I must be heartless because I'm just don't get it.

Spring Nesting

If we have to live out here a million miles from home, I might as well have a baby every spring. My house is getting really clean, I'm getting things done that I've been meaning to tend to since we moved in, and we will be seeing family we haven't seen in a year!!! I'm really starting to get excited.

This week I cleaned the kids' rooms first instead of saving the insurmountable mountain for the last thing on the to-do list after pedicure. Seriously, it has saved me SO MUCH GRIEF!!! I have been checking on the rooms every couple of hours to make sure all my hard work doesn't get away from me. It helps to move furniture because the most dreadful aspect of the task is what is hiding under and behind the beds. So rather than send the kids under with a trash bag, I move the entire piece of furniture to different part of the room and start sweeping at one end until I have a pile at the other end. Generally three-fourths of it is trash and the other part contains one treasured item that has been missing for weeks. I am elevated overnight to the hero of the household when I disclose all of the mystery finds. It's quite exhilarating.

I have also started the curtains for each room and will post pictures when they are all completed. I'm no artist and hardly a seamstress, but the color makes such a difference in a rental and all of it's ecru decor. It's worth the effort.

We are looking at the end of the school year and it's hard not to pile three days' worth of work in front of each kid just to get them that much closer to the end, but I'm really trying to refrain. It would be better to drag it out a few extra weeks in the end than to burn them out on education for life, if I haven't already. This morning I was grilling Micah on mixed numbers and told myself he was just being lazy, not thinking, until Tre came in and I growled at him for wearing a shirt that belonged to one of the other kids just because it was in his drawer. That's when I realized, "Hey, it's not them, it's me! I'm the grouchy one!" I should've known when I crawled back into bed before Dale was even out the door. I've been working hard and not taking my usual naps, so when I crash I am down for the count. But when I sleep in, it's a backfire in my mood. Go figure.

Purim

As much as I would've liked to stitch together costumes for Purim resembling Kings and Queens of Bible times, I did not. Like most of my great ideas for events like this, I waited until three o'clock the day of the party and then said, "What'r you guys gonna wear tonight?" Obviously I have a creative bunch of children that are willing and able to participate in any sort of celebration full throttle. The girls wore their poodle skirts and scarves and t-shirts with butterflies on them, Leila wore a *fancy dress*, Tre wore his karate suit with a greet towel tied to his head with black yarn, and Micah chose not to dress up but to stick with the old faithful Conquistadors football jersey.
Even though we didn't much resemble Bible characters, except for the karate/shepherd, everyone but Micah went up for the costume contest. Kennedy was sincerely surprised that she didn't win the costume with her kimono wrap and poodle skirt with full slip. I told her the judges must've been biased toward the costumes that were shipped in from Israel. Crazy judges!
The skit was wildly entertaining considering the children's pastor passed out noisemakers for all the children to use to boo Haman. Unfortunately the kids went overboard and managed to botch every punchline in the entire skit. But it was fun.
Their costumes were a little more traditional, giving me some clarity for next year. We had a great time all around. I was essentially a Halloween party without the devil's holiday part- the focus was completely on the story of Esther. They had carnival games set up all over the sanctuary for the kids after the potluck and the play, and everyone went away with a paper bag full of candy.
In my experience, *potluck* in California means take-out and salad. Even when we came for the Christmas cookie potluck well three-quarters of the table was covered with plastic containers from the grocery store. My friend was shocked that I brought something homemade. It was just puppy chow, for Pete's sake; which, by the way, they call Nutty Buddies here and people go CRAZY over it! ... so funny. Like I said about the costumes, I was a little consumed with chatting on the telephone the day of the party and at four o'clock realized that I didn't make anything for the potluck. I had made a dessert, but the S's were supposed to bring a dessert AND a main dish. I scoured the cabinets in a panic until my mom said, "Take macaroni and cheese!" I did have some pasta and some cheese, so I whipped it together using a recipe I saw on Drive-Ins Diners and Dives and it turned out perfect. It was just macaroni, but I couldn't bear the thought of adding another bucket of chicken to the table.

Life just ain't the same out here... but we're learning to deal. xoxo

Post Birthday Revelry

We had a great day starting with Kennedy's pancakes, which she decorated with food coloring markers. Dale got up too early for breakfast in bed, I think he was excited to see what we had in store for him. Besides, you can't really eat pancakes in bed without a real serving tray. The disposable aluminum tray wasn't going to cut it this time. After breakfast the kids gave him their presents, which he cheered and adored. Then there was a rousing game of Pin the Tale on the Donkey. Since you couldn't be here, I captured the greatest moment of the day so that you could share it with us.

We had delicious In-n-Out Burger for lunch, video games at Boomers, shopping at Target, and grilled hot dogs for dinner. It was beautiful so we spent part of the afternoon at the park. A chocolate layer cake and a carrot cake will be doled out into the neighborhood as soon as I get home from Bible study today. Wish you were here, I'd drop some off to you.

These are the days I don't think my life can get any better.

Thirty-Five, Thirty-Five, Dale is thirty-five TODAY!

Dale's birthday is never predictable. He doesn't like the fact that everyday makes him one day older, and he especially doesn't like that each year we landmark the fact that another year has passed with a party and celebrations of various sorts. To combat the birthday blues, I generally try to dream up something that will surprise him enough to distract him from the inevitable, if only for the day.

When he turned thirty, I invited some of our college friends to come from far and wide to stay the weekend and party with us. When he turned thirty-two I wrote him a poem. Last year I had the honor of requesting he get half the day off to spend with us; I called his boss directly. You know the unreasonable master mentioned in the Bible? That's the kind of boss we're talking about. I sweet-talked him with the promise of a chocolate cake and he conceded to let him go. It was the greatest gift for him because he was working such relentless hours and he was exhausted.

This year, being thirty-five, seems moderately monumental and I wanted to so something really special but I just never managed to quite pull it together. He already has the day off, and there's not much in the way of surprises, but I will tell you this. The kids and I are really excited to celebrate his birthday in every way that he wants to. He'll be King for the day. When someone cares about your big day as much as you always hoped everyone would when you were a kid, that's what makes a really special day. So here's to you, Dreamy.

Happy birthday to you... Happy birthday to you... Happy birthday, sweet Baeba, Happy Birthday to You. To my favorite boy in the whole wide world, may all your birthday wishes come true!!!
From Zane, Alexa, Gavin and Kegan, our neices and nephews far, far away.
From my sweet Grandma far, far away.

Simple Little Sundress

My mom is quite the seamstress. As kids, my sister and I wore a handmade Easter dress almost every year until we discovered the wonder of shopping. After we started building our family, I knew she would be creating all kinds of beautiful things for Kennedy and she did. When she told me she was making a little dress for Leila I was anxious to get it in the mail; Leila loves to dress up so I knew it would be super exciting for her.
This little number turned out to be a little more detailed than my mom expected it to be. Not only is there a zipper, a side-zipper at that, there is a full tool slip underneath to give it a greater spin factor. If you don't sew, I'll tell you that a zipper is much more complicated than buttons and buttonholes. I've never even done a side zipper, but because it is not along a main seam line, I'm sure it's tricky. The slip... the lining... that's out of my league. But wasn't it worth it? Look at how precious she is!!!
The first pose was cute, but the second from the front was unsuccessful, and the third initially was a great big sweet smile, but it dissipated between the two flashes. Oh well. She's no less adorable, I know.

Kennedy's new thing is to get dressed up and walk down the street to the mailbox. I don't know if she feels like she's on parade or if she just feels like being fancy these days, but Leila is totally with her. She's on board for whatever Kennedy suggests for that matter.

On the Pier

You just wouldn't believe how fantastic the sights are out here. The boats always mesmerize all of us. There's just something about being able to load up in one of those and sail off into the wild blue yonder; it's a fun thought even though I get terrible motion sickness in the car and have never sailed before. I'm sure I'd be sick as a dog the entire time we were sailing, but it's fun to dream.

This little crab was just busy working away on this rock, running in and out of the water while we watched. I still can't believe we can lean over a railing and see such things in everyday life. I love the starfish too. One day we were walking on the beach and saw an otter carcass had washed way up on the beach in the night. It looked like a pile of furry seaweed until we walked all the way around it and it was barring it's nasty little teeth in the final moments of it's life, and that's how he stayed. It's just amazing to me.

We walked all the way up the pier to the Maritime Museum where we did a little academic project and learned all about steering a ship and submarines and deep sea diving; it was quite entertaining to say the least.
I thought this little boat was so cute, just loved it. The rest of the day we spent doing various other things... we ate lunch at a place Dale found called Sambos, just across the street from the ocean.

We went to the Museum of Natural History where we learned about the Chumash Indians and mammals and various birds and had a two-minute nature walk, and of course saw dinosaur bones. After the Maritime Museum we went to the Train Museum, which was funny because it's just one small building that you peek through open doors to view but can't enter, and a caboose. The train wasn't running that day, the one you ride, but it wasn't a total loss because the kids saw lizards in the flowers and they chased them around so that was fun.

Santa Barbara wears me out; it's such a long drive that we feel like we have to pack the day full of activity or it's a waste. Frankly, I'd rather walk over to the park and then sit on a bench than to drive an hour and walk all day, but that's because I wake up tired and spend the day working tired and the thought of a fun-filled busy day makes me tired. But the kids love it and darn it, that's something.

Californization

It never occured to me the effects that living in California would produce in my children. A couple of weeks ago I asked the kids to paint a tree for art, the way an artist sees a tree. Jasmine painted a black tree with red apples on it that was pretty typical otherwise- it had a puffly, cloudy top and a chunky bark. Tre, however, painted a palm tree. His had apples in it too. I thought it was so adorable I couldn't wait to take it to conferences and share how he sees the world differently now that we are Californians.

I was not as excited when I saw this sign. Jasmine came in and asked me how to spell homeless the day she made this sign. I asked her why she was making it and she said, "I want to see if I can get some money."

On a weekly basis we pass a surfer-looking kid in his twenties standing on the corner outside of Wal-Mart holding a sign asking for some kind of help. Some of the same kids frequent the corner; some of the others looking for help stand on busy intersections and on ramps to the highway. Most of these guys are in grubby t-shirts and carry worn backpacks, occassionally we'll see some with clean clothes on and expensive bicycles. When Dale's parents were here we came upon a couple with nasty natural dreadlocks and two beautiful dogs. They obviously "lived off the land" (and the hard-working citizens that cultivate the land and all of it's bounty) who had just purchased a huge bag of Iams dog food and were camped out in front of a drug store feeding their dogs, who were retained on expensive harnesses. We all looked on in awe. They weren't asking for anything from us, but the insinuations in our minds did not calculate well. Along side of them were a few others in dirty clothes that were asking for handouts. It was unsettling.

As Jasmine scrawled the letters to make this sign, I didn't hesitate to inform her that most of those people are liars; they are not homeless, and they do that because they are lazy and can make more money begging than doing honest work. It's an important lesson for them, but I'm not sure she's hearing the right part of it.

If you ever see her holding this sign on the corner of your block, please return her to us. She's not really homeless.

Love Is

The other night I drove to Wal-Mart by myself to get dog food since we spent the day out and the dogs spent the day locked up only to discover that they would not be fed at the end of the day. While I occasionally despise them, I also feel bad for their small lives knowing that the only joy they experience comes from us and when we don't feel like giving them any it must make their existence pretty unbearable. On the way to Wal-Mart I heard a clip of a guy speaking. He started by asking the audience to think about the last seven times they said I love you. And then to consider how many of those times by saying that, they meant they were surrendering their rights to be placed under the priority of the other person's. Then he said, "Not exactly, right? What you meant was, 'I love what you do for me." I don't know who it was or even what station it was, but those words have been rolling through my mind for days. I can't even begin to tell you what lies swirl in the mix of those thoughts. "I love that you are... because it makes me..." "I love how you behave because it makes my workload lighter." "I love you for me."

The lie that sucks me in every time is that I deserve something in return for selfless love. There is a part of motherhood that requires a real stripping of self in order to succeed in any capacity. Even the worst of mothers housed the baby in their own body for nine months and then gave birth- it's not necessarily a sacrifice of the will, but a sacrifice none the less. In the continuing process, you are stripped, to a certain extent, of your identity, your will, your needs, your freedom, and the luxury of peace and quiet. It's not that there is no return, because the return is truly beyond the expression of words, but sometimes that gets lost in the shuffle of everything else.

My expression of love comes in the form of scrubbing vomit from the toilet stool, standing in the kitchen while everyone else in the house sits in front of the TV, and going to the grocery store at the end of the day despite complete exhaustion. And even then sometimes I forget that I am loving my family in service because I tend to tally all the ways I have shown love and not seen it reciprocated. Even though the man in my life spends day after day getting up early and coming home late so that there is food to eat and gas in the tank and heat in my house; it's an act of selfless service that tends to also go unrecognized. Beyond that, he makes continual efforts to be the father he aspires to be to this overflowing brewd of children. I know, but sometimes I forget that we're both working really, really hard.

Love is a verb, true. In the light of truth, the author of the expression itself gave us the perfect imagery in that He humbled Himself, taking the form of a man, and came into mankind to be a servant. How can I measure my meager sacrifices against what He gave up? It was more than a physical sacrifice; from the very beginning, he humbled himself to the lowest form and without a hint of resentment. How can this be? And how do I suffer so in my life in light of Him giving up His life for this one, even if only for me? It's a humbling thought and yet He sees me with the same genuine feelings, empty of any resentment of my continual failure. What a Savior. What a Friend.

First John

The Friday morning Bible study completed the book of Habakkuk and commenced a new study of 1 John. As I was finishing up my homework for the first lesson, I found myself wondering how the content could be so appropriate to my circumstances again! That's when it occurred to me that the Word of God is living and active. It spans every generation and every culture. It is eternal, both directions. And yet I find myself so surprised that it fits me like a glove every time I put it on. Am I so naive to think that God cannot really know how to set me up with tools for living a life in His shadow when I need them? And why am I not devouring this Book, pages at a time, every spare second that I have?

I'll tell you what is the most striking to me right now. 1 John speaks directly to the hypocrite in that if you say you are without sin, you are a liar and the truth is not in you. However, if you obey the Word, then you can rest assured that Jesus Christ is who you say that He is in your life. It's black and white, light and darkness. The interesting element is that it goes on to say that we all will continue to sin, even as we walk in light, but we have an advocate, Jesus Christ, who covers us in forgiveness. The difference is in what you say you are, if you believe you are righteous and do not walk in truth or follow the paths of righteousness, you are a liar. But, if you confess your sins as you strive to walk the narrow path, Jesus takes up for you and covers you every time you slip up. Once again, it's a matter of the heart.

I am struggling again with my temper, my attitude, and the sting of my sharp-shooting sarcasm. I can't seem to escape it. I keep wondering if it was some sort of trick that for three weeks I was clean as a whistle, almost, and then week four, back to square one, reverting to behaviors prior to day one. I despise myself all over again. Why can't I change this miserable excuse for a mother that I prove myself to be? Then it occurred to me that this is not habitual. Sin, while it may become a habit, is a choice. It can only be counteracted by a minute-by-minute transformation of the mind. In the instant that I would let my mouth betray me, I have to capture the thought that produces the action and replace it with the word. The anger of man does not achieve the righteousness of God. Therefore, I WILL respond in a manner that produces the righteousness of God. That single act is the very definition of dying to the flesh.

Crucifixion is not a simple process, and in that, crucifying the flesh cannot be done in one swoop of a habit change; nor can it be done in the meager strength of a man. God help me, I am so weak and small trying to conquer this mountain in my life!!!