Rainy days are here again

I wrote this long post yesterday and Leila came in, shut the power off on the tower, and left. She likes to sit beside me when I'm writing; normally she doesn't mess with anything else so I don't keep a close eye on her. Apparently I need to do that. I can't even remember what I was writing about so I guess this is a do-over.

We tried the Brown Rice Risotto with Lamb a few nights ago, but lamb is too expensive to attempt on an experimental dish, so I got a beef chuck roast, and it has been the talk of the house ever since. I'm serious. They have not stopped joking about the castle Dale made out of the risotto or how much they hope we never have that again. And just for the record, when they smell something that is displeasing they say it smells like apple couscous.

Listen, I'm just doing the best I can here, trying to venture out into some unchartered territory. It will take me a little while to get the groove, but we're getting the groove. More than half the kids ate the fish I baked last night, which is a record, and two of them said they really liked it. We're making progress. I'm sure if we stay the course, we will make the transition from McDonald's addicts to healthy eaters.

In case your trying to eat healthy and need something sweet, Dale's mom sent me a really good weight watchers recipe the other night and we loved it.

1 can crushed pineapple
1 tub light whipped topping
1 box fat free, sugar free butterscotch pudding
2 large apples, chopped,
chopped dry roasted peanuts

Mix the pudding and whipped topping and then add the pineapple, not drained. Stir in apples and peanuts and marshmellows if you like them. Super yummy.

So...

I'm pregnant. Did I mention that? When you've never had a life growing inside you, you have this perception the first time of how large your stomach is going to get. I always manage to arrive at that size in the sixth month. That's where I'm at right now. So far everything is buzzing along nicely, no serious problems to speak of, thank You God! But I know that after this size, the size I initially thought I'd be at 40 weeks, this is where the rubber meets the road. It's when every pound locks away an inch of my breathing space for the remainder of my term. I'm starting to waddle too. In public I consciously maintain my stride, but when I'm tired, I find myself lopping from one side to the other with every step. Not nice. I've also been cold this time around, which is strange but welcome, until now. Maybe it was nerves telling me I wasn't as comfortable as I seemed the first time I attended ladies' Bible study this week, but I was sweating bullets by ten o'clock in the morning. I don't even sweat when we are walking the two mile track! Maybe it's the internal heater I've referenced so many times as a woman with child. I don't know, but baby, I'm HOT! And it's not pretty.

Kennedy had a friend over last night after they won their basketball game, GO BLACK! Which relocated Leila and Max to my bedroom. She fell asleep almost as soon as I settled her in to her little bed on the floor. Max joined her at about midnight, but he apparently wasn't happy about it because he got up every hour to sniff Kennedy's door and wander through the house. At six o'clock, Leila woke all of us yelling, "Top it dasmin! TOP IT!" I peered over the edge of the bed and saw Max licking her footy pjs. I said, "It's Max, Lol," *for those of you less famiar with Leila, we all call her Lolly or Lola or Lol* and when she recognized what was going on she said, "Oh Mack," and giggled. It was cute for a minute, but when I realized the three of us were up for the day, nothing was as cute as it seemed.

This afternoon I was sitting on the couch flipping channels hoping to find one thing on so that I could have an easy timer to do my chores with: commercials. I woke up three times to different wrestling programs, must've dozed off mid-flip. The third time, I knew Dale was coming home and I didn't have the kitchen cleaned up from lunch yet, at four o'clock, so that motivated me to get off the couch. So much for productivity. I did have a nice dinner planned that wouldn't take much to put together, so that took a load off.

I guess I'm still in denial about how big my family is. I used to know families with three kids and think their families were big, without a thought of our army of a family. I'm still that way. I see moms with three toddlers in the grocery store and feel emapthetic toward them, never considering the parade around me. One sure way to register this denial is the laundry. I try to do some everyday, but usually it's every other day. That doesn't seem like a big deal, but it's a major accomplishment to get it all done and put away, and whenever that happens, I revel in the fact that it's done and then reward myself with a day off, or two. Or three. Here's the kicker-- I'm shocked to find the kids' laundry basket full the next time I go to clean the bathroom, like I get irritated. Seriously, it just occurred to me three days ago that FIVE CHILDREN wear FIVE OUTFITS everyday and seven if we have are taking Tre and Leila out in public and want them clean; and if the kids are obedient to the house rules, they place their clothing into the laundry basket every night. Now add pajamas to that, and towels, and sometimes sheets... If I wait three days to check their basket, it's piled up to the sink and spilling all over the floor. Go figure.

Tonight, I baked a big casserole of macaroni and cheese, steamed a head of cabbage, and made kielbasa, only I just made one link because I didn't think the kids would eat it. With macaroni as the staple for the kids, we were good, right? Just to be safe I cut up a big bowl of fruit salad. Guess what... they were grabbing for the last few bites of the kielbasa! Another case in point. One link of kielbasa isn't nearly enough meat to suffice for a family of seven, this is simple, clear logic for anyone. Except me. Why should it be? I've only had this family for two and a half years. And I'm about to have another one...

All of this only adds to the wonder of my life. Sometimes I think it would be really fun to be one of those on-call organizers for people that can't seem to get it together. I use the idea of it being fun to motivate myself to organize my life. It can be totally effective on some occasions, but other times I'm so overwhelmed by all that awaits my attention, it's just easier to sit down on the couch and flip channels. Which is why I anxiously await the day our TV putters out into retirement. At least maybe then I'd read a book instead. pish posh.

Out of the mouth the heart speaks

Yesterday I was on the phone while I was preparing dinner; I believe I mentioned that with each pregnancy, I get a little clumsy and dropsy and I miscalculate depth sometimes pretty severely, which makes me hazardous in the kitchen. I burn myself almost everyday, I don't mean terrible burns usually, but I end up dropping a pan on the floor or catching the oven rack with a side of my hand that's not covered with a hot pad, these kinds of things. So yesterday was especially dangerous in the kitchen because I had three pans on the stove and something on the grill all at the same time. I was also doing a lot of chopping. And I was on the phone.

Every time I cut myself or dropped something or touched the grill with palm of my hand I said, "Oh crap!" and then continued the conversation like normal. Apparently this is really common for me because I said it probably ten times while we were talking and I only noticed because I was on the phone and I felt like I was spewing profanities in my friend's ear the whole time we talked! Not like that's such a filthy thing to say, it's just that I said it so many times, I wonder how often I say things like this when I'm not paying attention. I say these words that I don't allow my kids to say and then I wonder why they are saying all these alternate words that I don't approve of but also don't have rules against. It's the standard that I have set for myself. There are words on the naughty list that I just don't say because I have a rule against saying them- even in a song if there is a word from that list, I consciously change the word so that I have not said it. But these other words like *crap* and *freaking* I just let go whenever because, while I don't approve of them, I don't have a standard against them.

All of this got me thinking this morning about this little nugget of truth *out of the mouth the heart speaks*. So I looked it up this afternoon and this is what it really says.

Matthew 12:34-37 "You brood of vipers, how can you, being evil, speak what is good? For the mouth speaks out of that which fills the heart. 35 "The good man out of his good treasure brings forth what is good; and the evil man out of his evil treasure brings forth what is evil. 36 "And I say to you, that every careless word that men shall speak, they shall render account for it in the day of judgment. 37 "For by your words you shall be justified, and by your words you shall be condemned."

Now this got my attention. Jesus is addressing, clearly, a group of men that are unpleasing. And goes on to make the comparison between the righteous and the wicked by the fruit of their lips. If my words justify me or condemn me, I could really be cutting it close. Not that this is an all inclusive account of salvation and judgment, but seriously, there is so much to be considered in the way of the things that come out of our mouths, the audible reflection of our hearts... I have such a long way to go.

My behavior is so erratic right now, I'd be humiliated for my neighbor to pop in and ask, "Is everything all right in here," after hearing me ranting. When in all reality, who can hide from the eyes of God? And why isn't that knowledge enough accountability to keep me in check? Ugh. If I could only control this teeny part of my body that can be so deadly at times, but moment by moment I flounder.

Yesterday I was walking Max, our 60 pound lap dog. We've been taking him along with us to get him out of the house and to train him on the leash. So far he's gotten progressively more submissive to the leash and seems to be getting what I expect from him, even sitting when we stop and the little details like that. However, yesterday, he started the walk out pretty wound up. By the time we passed the first yard with dogs, he was whining and tugging at the leash. I pulled him back several times, thinking he'd settle down, but it was a losing battle. The next yard he was full-barking and dragging me off the path, and he is really strong. My hope is to train him well enough that the older kids can walk him and not run the risk of being swept off their feet, but yesterday that dream was shattered as I felt all of our training blowing away with the wind. So I took him home and locked him up so he could think about his behavior, right? But then I thought about it all day, partially because I was disappointed, I thought we were doing so well! But also, as I recounted the order of events, I recognized that he was trying to be obedient by keeping himself contained in the first yard, but when he sensed my frustration, he figured he'd already blown it and might as well go all out.

I recognize that this is one of my typical analytical exaggerations, but it's also a reflection of me. I wake up every morning to someone yelling and immediately hiss at them to stop yelling, first thing in the morning. Then I'm in a bad mood and the next person that gets up spills cereal all over the counter and I growl at them too. I figure I've blown it already, now I should be fair and spread my wrath around evenly so then everyone gets it... And every night I tell myself it'll be better tomorrow.

If there's a cure for this, I'd like to have prescription please??? metaphorically speaking, of course. I can see, though, that like any out of control behavior- eating, spending, drinking- this is a heart issue and clearly the answer is in the Book. If the Word of God is the bread of life, my heart is trying to tell me that I'm starving.

Bargains

I find myself struggling to remember the things that really make me feel good. This life affords me such little energy for myself that sometimes I just get bummed and need a pick me up. Typically this is when I start rummaging through the cabinets for something sweet or a hot pizza, but with our lifestyle renovations, my stomach doesn't tolerate pizza very well and sweets are nowhere to be found- not the ones I'm looking for anyway, like hot fudge brownie sundaes.

So in the course of my week I make mental notes of the simple things that pick me up, with the extra baggage and hormones of this pregnancy, that is no easy task. This week I went out on my solo morning adventure while Dale was home with the kids and made the normal rounds: Wal-Mart, Starbucks, Vons, Goodwill. Goodwill left me feeling especially cheery after not so cheery a week, and then on my way home from Vons, I was darn right giddy, and this is why.

I LOVE BARGAINS!!!

Nothing makes me happier than finding good deals, especially on clothes and food. Initially I only had one thing in mind to purchase at Vons, that's the higher end grocery chain here similar to Hy-Vee, only with more of a west coast feel. They had Coke Zero on sale for $5.99 a case (24 pack). Diet sodas are a commodity around here and when we start running low, the patriarch starts to fret a little, so I went in to buy some of those and nothing else. Then I mistakenly perused the meat department and found whole pork loins on sale for $1.97 a pound, cut into 15 pork chops and a pork tenderloin! They had steaks 50% off, beef roasts, and tri-tip all really cheap, so I loaded the cart. Then I found Cheez-Its, buy one get one free, and then after that I ran for the check-out because I knew I wouldn't get out without a cart full if I didn't just stop right there. It was very exciting. So instead of the budgeted $5.99 I intended to spend, I ended up spending $68, but I also saved $62. It was quite thrilling for me. And then at Goodwill, I thought I'd just check out their kids' jeans because Jasmine is right between sizes and hates to fuss with belts, so I needed to find her some skinnier styles so that we can eliminate the battle we have every morning when she comes out in the same thing she wore the day before because it's the *only thing that fits!* I ended up finding four pairs of jeans for her, really cute ones from Limited Too and the Glo line, found one pair for Leila that still had tags on it from Target, a pair of jeans, khaki cargo pants, and a cardigan (that will stretch around my protruding stomach) for me and ended up spending twenty bucks! These are little things that give me a boost. I love bargains.

During every pregnancy I go through this slump where if I feel like time is moving at half speed and I analyze everything in my life and around me, all the things I haven't done, the worth of what I'm doing, the things I wish I could change, you know, the normal thoughts of a woman with a houseful of kids and no life outside these walls. Sometimes it leaves me feeling... a little desperate. Remember me saying it's a highlight in my routine when the electricity goes out? Yeah, it's like that. Clearly I'm not spending enough time reading or studying or meditating on the things that are good and pure and right and lovely and worth the time the consider them. But don't worry, I'll get back to that. I will. I always do.

MANNERS

Early in my parenting days, I picked up a book on etiquette so that I could properly train my children for life, preparing them for anything they may encounter. Unfortunately for them, I never read the book, never even cracked it open. I've considered tossing it many times because of that fact, and the fact that I bought it at a library housecleaning for a quarter. Nonetheless, I continue to enforce various social rules and am grateful for the consistency of the past, knowing it was just the right thing to do, now that I have five someday-to-be grown-ups sitting around my dining room table three or four times a day. While they are learning, we still have a long, long way to go.

It's not using the wrong utensil that bothers me, I don't even mind if some of the food is handled, as long as the hand is not used as a shovel of indiscretion. What bothers me is the sound that occurs when someone is eating without keeping their lips sealed. And the slurping; you know, the slurping of the milk at the end of a bowl of cereal, or the bottom of a bowl of soup, or the juice left on the plate from the corn; that really gets under my skin. Or licking; let's not lick our plates clean, especially if there is more of the food your are trying to salvage on the table. And another thing, why does it not occur to a child, instinctively, to wash their hands before they eat something after they've been digging in dirt for seven hours, even just a splash through the water would settle my the repulsion that rises up in me when I realize that the black spots all over the table are the mixture of dirt and orange juice after my son has just peeled the orange he is now devouring. And one more thing, why do they need to put the entire sandwich in their mouths in one bite? What is that? My kids have all done it and now Leila is having to be trained out of it, you know how you use the topper to shove the food down into the processer? That's what she does with her hand, just stuffs it in there. Blech.

I've tried to be reasonable about these things, children need to be taught proper social etiquette, but lately my tolerance runs, oh, on a scale of 1-10, I start the first meal of the day at about a 2. By dinner I'm shouting across the dinner table, "Do NOT wipe that ketchup under the table! USE A NAPKIN!" Seems like it the same few things that I get irate about every day.

Part of the problem is that I have not made sleep a priority. Back in Richmond, I worked all night, slept four hours, and took on the day only to turn around and go back to work. Even when I was pregnant, six hours was generally enough to get me through. Now, I'm not getting up incredibly early for anything and there's nothing pressing in my evenings, I figure I don't need a lot of sleep to get by. However, my body is begging me to embrace the calling of my bed earlier. It's not that I can't do it, because I could really go to bed at nine and not leave anyone unattended or in need. But at the end of the day, when the kids are settled into their beds, I have one-on-one with Dale, a grown-up. A grown-up I really love talking to, or playing games with, or watching movies with, or sitting next to. He doesn't fire an arson of questions at me at any given moment. He doesn't whine when I say no to something he has asked. And he never, never spills half a pitcher of kool-aid on the floor and leaves it there. And besides, he is kind enough to ask me if need anything when he gets up to do something. Someone shows concern for my needs. Even if I don't need a soda or a snack, it moves me that he asks. Sometimes out of the blue he'll say, "You're so pretty." So to go to bed at nine o'clock means to sacrifice these precious few hours and precious moments that keep me on the couch with him into the wee hours of morning.

On the other hand, not once, or twice, but three times this week I have found myself in locked in the bathroom crying my eyes out. The first time went unnoticed by anyone in the house. The second time only Dale was present at my crumbling. The third time I had a meltdown right in the middle of the living room floor, in front of God and the kids and the dogs and everybody. I feel like I'm losing my mind. What's hard about this is that it feels so real. My frustrations are logical reasons to cry; it's the timing that is so wrong and leads me to believe that I'm not just sad, I really just need sleep. That's what I always tell the kids when I start going crazy; that I'm just really tired. Sometimes I am physically tired, sometimes it's the spiritual desert that drags me to the bottom of myself, and sometimes it's the fact that everyone needs something from me all the time and I just don't have anything left at the end of the day.

All of these things considered, I've decided to give up some of this luxury grown-up time in exchange for a couple of extra hours of sleep. Then maybe the slurping won't send me through the roof so fast.

ALSO, you may be interested to hear that Kennedy won her basketball game this morning! She is really trying to make her way to the top in this sport. Today she tried four times to shoot a basket. This is a big deal because a lot of times she gets nervous and just passes the ball when she gets it, just to get it out of her hands. It's exciting to watch her develop this new part of herself. Wish you could be here to see her bloom. Did I mention she made her first basket at the last game? I'm pretty sure I did something to rally the attention of all the other parents because they were all looking at me after the fact, their faces all glowing with that knowing grin, but like I said, I'm not quite right in my head right now and I can't be sure of what it was that I did. I'm a proud mama, what can I say?

They're playin' ba-sket-ba-a-all!

Kennedy is an avid participant in anything that: a. gets her out of the house, b. gets her around other kids and c. involves a challenge. I cracked up watching her on the first night of try-outs during pass drills. She took every word that came from the coach's mouth and tried to translate it perfectly into her pass. Gritting her teeth with meticulous concentration on her form, the pass, the follow-through, we was determined to do everything well.

The first game started off with a bang, but we missed it because I thought it was supposed to be at a church gymnasium and we drove back and forth from the church to our house a few times before Dale made me look at the schedule and see that it was at the school. She was half an hour late. What's more, I thought she was supposed to be there an hour early, like they did in football, so I thought we were only half an hour late to warm ups. Nope! She missed the first half of her first game ever and was nearly in tears before we even got there. The coach is required to play every kid for at least half the game, which meant she walked in the door and was thrown straight out onto the court where she stayed for the remainder of the game.

The next game was better; we were there on time and she played well, but she's so polite that she had trouble getting it into her head that she could steal the ball from other players. We told her that that is part of the magic of the sport, if you can get the ball, you can keep it! Her aggression greatly improved by the next game.

I'm constantly amazed at this kid, she's so courageous and willing to try new things. I was such a nervous nelly that I only attempted new things if I was accompanied by my best friend and even then I was a wreck. Case in point, remember my first swim meet?
She loves it and we're so proud of her out there running up and down the court with those long legs, in the perfect stance in the key, ready for anything. She's amazing. GO YELLOW!

It looked like this

My little experiment, the one I hope to turn lifestyle, is going along very well. I can't tell you how long I scribbled and scoured and listed and fretted over the menus. What I can tell you, however, is that we have held to them faithfully and with a great deal of success, I'd say.

This one is beef apple couscous from page 19 of the Better Homes and Gardens Diabetic Cookbook magazine. I got it at the check stand at Albertson's one day, hoping I'd use it at least once. To date, we've tried six of the recipes. I was nervous to attempt any of them because I have five hungry mouths to feed that generally aren't very adventurous eaters, and I hate to waste food. You can imagine my surprise when all I had left to send to work with Dale was one serving. I really thought I'd be throwing away at least half of it.

Mine didn't quite look like this... I had forgotten that we ran out of apple juice yesterday, so I cooked the couscous and vegetables in diet 7up. And I peeled the apples so that the kids would eat it without fussing over apples under the meat. Also, green peppers are MUCH cheaper than red ones, so I only used green. And one more thing, the only top sirloin I could find was about half as thick as this, and I never grill the steaks, so they were medium instead of med-rare. But all around it was a lovely surprise to hear Dale talk about how well the flavors worked together. I didn't know what curry was when I put it in, so it was a little spicy to the kids, but they still ate enough of it to get through the night without falling out under the agony of their hunger. I was quite pleased.

I can't tell you how much different it feels, physically, to enter this world of new eating, the world where fast food and Little Debbies don't exist. I love it. Yesterday the kids were fighting over who got more cherries at lunch. This morning Micah had an orange for breakfast. The other night, Leila and Tre came to the table with a bag of carrots and ranch dressing for their final snack of the night. It thrills me. Apples are becoming a commodity, apples and salad. *salad is always a safe cover when the meal is less than appetizing for Mr. Picky Trebo.

In the back of my mind there is a little devil that keeps telling me it won't last, and if the past really is the best predictor of the future, then it won't. I'm just trying to break these monstrous habits that Dale and I have both battled all of our lives so that our kids won't have to fight them as adults. If anything else, exposure to this kind of eating gives them an understanding of the difference it makes in their bodies as well as the blessing of whole foods. We live in such a Mecca of fresh produce, it would be a tragedy not to try it all!

Rain keeps a-fallin on my head

My favorite and least favorite thing here is this blasted rain. It's just as cold as it looks--and wet--and sandy. There's sand everywhere; on the beach, at the park, in the yard, under the faucet in my bathroom, in piles at various locations on my porch and on my carpet. Right now I despise it. In Nebraska I had resigned myself to the cold, and I didn't mind it as long as I was prepared for it. I had wool socks, a warm and cute hat, glove, and scarf trio, and a snugly warm coat to shield me from the blasts. Here, I just can't seem to get it together. Maybe it's because it was 73 degrees last week and today it's 53. I can't adjust to the constant changes. And the rain comes on with no warning, mainly because the fog is pretty consistent so the overcast skies are no cause for concern. Until you realize the rain is creating a lake in your courtyard and all the door are open, your shed doors, the sliding doors, the car doors... It's a surprise attack every time.
They told me it would come with the winter; I scoffed at the thought of winter in Southern California. Most of the people I talked to upon initial arrival are not California natives, which made me leery of believing anything they told me to expect. For one thing, it never got up to 100 degrees on Labor Day Weekend, so I tossed all the other warnings out the window too.


Technically we're not in Southern California; they call us the *Central Coast* which means we have no pride in being So-Cal or Nor-Cal. What would we paste across our cars' rear windows, *Cen-Co-Cal*? I don't think so. We just flounder in the middle, enduring the pelting rain and sludgy sand. It shouldn't last much longer I'm hoping, but I have nothing to go on here.


What I love is that occasionally the power goes out and we're sitting in the dark biding our time until it comes back on. Our delicate little reservation just can't handle the 90mph winds and steady drizzle. What happens in my house is the same every time: the lights flicker before a heavy blanket of darkness, Tre screams for seventy seconds, Leila cries in panicked response to the darkness and the screaming, the other three yell at Tre to stop screaming until I bellow from my post for the chaos to stop. Next the kids scramble around together like detectives looking for their Nintendo DS's for light, which can be a rather timely chore. I feel my way to the kitchen and begin lighting candles, strategically placed throughout the house from experience.

The last time this happened, I had just set dinner on the table and was in the middle of changing a diaper. Dale was at work so the kids and I had a candlelight dinner, which was good because they never would've touched the vegetable lasagna otherwise. (This way they couldn't see what they were eating.) I did all the dinner dishes, a rare task now that I have discovered the wonder of using the dishwasher, and headed out into the rain and across the lake to the shed, to dig out more candles so we'd have enough light to work on a puzzle. The last time the power went out, it didn't come back on for twelve hours. Needless to say, after the dishes were done and the candles were out from underneath six boxes, there was a great shout of rejoicing in the house as the lights powered back on.

It's kind of like back in grade school when you'd have an inside recess and the teacher would pull out a stack of board games, a bucket of bean bags, and pour a mountain of crayons on the coloring table. It was exciting just because it was something different. Even though I don't do the same thing every day, the scenery never changes, especially now that we're scheduling our grocery shopping trips instead of going ten times a week. Functioning in the silence by candlelight is incredibly therapeutic. I definitely need that more often, so bring on the rain.

This Lady

Our lives are so very different, but I become more and more like her every year. Searching through scads of picture files for this post, I was not surprised to find that I didn't have many pictures of my mom; it's a mom epidemic. The ones I did have were mostly staged for a portrait, which she clearly does not enjoy posing for. This one, however, is the most natural photograph I've ever seen of her because she didn't know it was coming and she is in her most comfortable setting, being Nana.

She was a master of this chapter of her life, the one I've living right now. I don't remember it ever being simple either. For instance, when she had preschoolers still home, she ran a daycare out of our house. It wasn't just babysitting; she did crafts, carted us to Easter egg hunts in the park, made every meal, and at one point I remember her having 13 children. I don't recall how many she had in the house at the same time, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was all at once more often than not. When she used to buy groceries, she'd fill one cart with milk, and another with groceries. I thought about that today when I was putting four gallons of milk in my cart, hoping they'd last through the week.

After we were old enough to all be in school, she went back to college and earned her bachelor's degree. While she was in pursuit of that, she also had two jobs and managed to put a hot meal on the table every night, get sack lunches ready, and before school there were always scrambled eggs or pancakes or biscuits and gravy waiting for us. She did all her grocery shopping on Saturdays, taught children's church on Sundays, and I can't be sure of this, but I'm guessing she was on the dean's list for her grades. I don't remember ever going to church on Easter Sunday without a new dress that she usually had made, even if it took a few all-nighters to get it done.

There are countless times in my week when I come to making a decision on parenting or whatnot that I ask myself what she did in my shoes or what I think she'd do. Sometimes I call her if I can't work it out for myself and even though her life is riddled with needy people and obligations as a teacher, mother, and grandmother, as well as being an constantly-worked parishioner at church, she is never too busy to chat for as long as I need her.

I don't think she'd call herself super-anything, even though I think everyone that knew her thought she was the ultimate super-mom. She'd just tell you she did what she had to do.

It's difficult not to compare myself to her. I can see the transformation in myself from the beginning of my life as a wife and mother to now, but I remember her always being the same. When you're a kid you don't remember the changes that took place in your parents' lives because to you they were always grown-up. Reflections on my past lead me to believe that I'm walking, not only in her shoes, but in the very prints her shoes left on the journey.

Gratitude doesn't begin to describe what I feel here, not only to my mom for doing what she had to do and leaving a legacy of stability and responsibility, but to God for setting my life up so perfectly so that at least the ancient boundary stones were set before He placed me on this path with all these kids.

These kids, who right now are sewing superhero capes for the beanie babies out of an old towel, splashing around in the rain under umbrellas, baking a cake, and anxiously awaiting the start of school tomorrow. Just like their mom.

Bring on the New Year!

After three weeks of dastardly laziness, we are gearing up for *back to normal* Monday. Honestly, I'm kind of dreading it. I don't mind school once we are going strong, but getting into the groove... it's not something I do well. For one thing, I'm pregnant and everything that seems to be going smoothly in my life goes haywire when those torrential hormones start corsing through my veins. For another, I know we have conferences coming up again and I just don't test well so I turn into a nervous wreck. Our teacher, who oversees our progress and turns in reports on us, is remarkably generous to me and my crew when it comes to this time of the quarter, but I'm still a nervous wreck for several days before the meeting.

On the other hand, I am holding to a resolution that I made after Christmas: to get back on the healthy track. While Dale's parents were here we ate out, ate ice cream between meals out, ate a couple of meals at the bowling alley, and ate out some more. What amazes me about a week of eating like this is how much food I can really put away when I'm not paying attention. Normally I eat a bowl of cereal for breakfast, sometimes half a bowl. When we go out to breakfast, I like to have eggs, hash browns, burnt bacon, and French toast. And sometimes I finish all of it, then I'm ready for lunch in a couple of hours, just like when I eat 120 calories of shredded wheat. How does my feeble mind justify such gluttony? It's bizarre. After that week we were already established in the habit, knowing the binge would have to end, so we made sure to pack in every indulgence we could think of for the next week. This was just the fuel I needed to get out the diabetic and whole grain cookbooks and really put together a solid menu for the month. I honestly don't think I ever felt hunger the entire month of December. Now that we're back on track, I don't ever really feel full. Eating whole foods makes your body feel so differently. I love it. That's not to say that I won't fall off the wagon in a few weeks and bring home pizza and buffalo wings for dinner, but I'm hoping that having the menus in place and grocery lists already made, my circumstances will dictate my behavior for the time being. At least until the fruit of self-control begins to bloom in my world again.

Here's to new life in the new year; let's make it a good one.