Blessings.

It's pretty easy to look around at my life and count the ways God continually blesses me when all is well. In a week wracked with sickness upon sickness my vision admittedly becomes a bit clouded. "One Thousand Gifts" was delivered the same day my doctor gave me a mega-dose of antibiotics to kick the sinus/strep infection invading my head. I didn't know when I ordered it that I would be practically bedridden and able to power through the pages in two days. As always, God provides. I found I was blessed this week with not only modern medicine that can kick misery out the door but a doctor with enough foresight to prescribe an antidote to the side-effects of that mega-dose (I'll trust all my female friends understand).

I was blessed last night with a mystery package of Hostess Donuts when I unpacked my groceries. I trust the man that was in line in front of us isn't feeling the same blessing. But this morning when the two woke up to daddy and brother gone, those circles of powdery goodness eased sleepy longings to be any where other than home.

We were more than blessed to have my husband be able to see his grandfather before he went to his final home, free to attend his service today without any I wish I had's.

There will be more sickness to heal and more funerals to attend. Life continues, if not here than on the other side. Snow falls unexpectedly mid-February, best friends belly laugh in the tub, the warmth of coffee in a mug given by a friend. The weekend beckons.

Nine.

"I want to do something"
That's always how it starts, those olive eyes staring up at me expectantly. Maybe this time, this time she'll drop everything and we'll all jet off to Disneyland. Not so much.

"So do something" goes my well thought out, deeply empathetic response. The woes of a child, plans to build a trap to catch fish in a river we do not own, nor are we going to anytime soon, dashed. A fort then. Every step planned, each move a reason, right, wrong, black, white. The oldest child wrestles with the injustices of each moment, gladiator puts up his shield while swinging blindly at the invisible foe.

Calm boy.

I'm reminded we're almost done. We've been charged with raising this one and we're at the half. His 9th birthday came and left, cake eaten, wrapping paper strewn. A mother's heart senses the change. We've peaked the mountain but no downhill coast lies ahead. Is the first nine really the decent? Baby is born, love flows, songs soothe, kisses heal. Too many memories now. Suckers no longer stop the tears, he knows it will hurt and what pain feels like. Cowlicks stick up randomly on bedhead, one of my first gifts. He asks me to cut the quesadilla he prepared while he pours his soup, the list of not allowed to do's diminishing every day. The tongue sharpens as his odor grows, the voice to soon deepen. I smile as he plays keep away from the zhu zhu's racing on the floor, still such a child.

Listening

I like to think I'm a good listener but I guess our views of ourselves are admittedly a bit one sided. Two years ago I wrote a similar post about feeling the need to give up the computer for a while and when I rethought that decision my computer crashed and a forced fast begin. Well, I may be two years older but certainly not two years wiser. Once again the call to set aside my computer time overcame me and yet once again I dismissed it. Pretty sure you can guess the outcome, our computer died. Again. This time it wasn't an easy fix and I've been offline for a solid month. I tried once to use a friends computer to order a yarn fix and not so amazingly, the order never shipped, never got billed, simply never existed. I was to be on a fast whether I wanted to or not.

What I learned on Summer Vacation...alternate title: When God smacks you upside the head it's because he's trying to tell you something.

Listen to me. That's pretty much it. I actually did a devotion about it at our MOPS group but it's hard to convey it all in a short time. I'm getting good at turning to Him. Really good at talking to Him. But actually taking the time to listen, not so much. I knew beyond a shadow of doubt when I was suppose to coordinate our MOPS group. Now I know I'm supposed to be done. What I didn't know is then what? I can anticipate and I can speculate but I didn't have a clue to what he was telling me. Because I wouldn't listen. After I finally formulated that He simply wanted my attention, after it really sunk in, He let me know the what. I'm not going to question the how, summer vacation reminded me the Creator of the Universe controls that just fine. Proverbs 1:33, but whoever listens to me will dwell safely, and will be secure, without fear of evil.

Life...

When I was growing up the Kennedy assassination was the "I remember when" statement of choice. Today, my generation looks to 9/11 as ours. I was pregnant with our first child and kept willing him to stay inside, thinking how could we be bringing a child into such chaos. But more importantly I was getting ready for work. We had very important suppliers in town that day and death and destruction be damned we were going to sell some bourbon!!! I actually believe that day was the beginning of the restructuring of my priorities. I drove in awe from account to account trying to convince restaurant owners that an expansive bourbon collection was just as important as the lost lives being displayed unceasingly on our tv's. I got home and took a shower. It's easy when you're in the moment to try to refocus on what really matters. When tragedy strikes we run and kiss our kids and hold them tight vowing to not let the sun set without a goodnight snuggle. Life happens, laundry suddenly seems more important than reading that story. Cleaning the kitchen out ranks a bike ride, until another slap in the face reminds me that the most important things in life are clambering at this very second for another reassurance of my love, even though I thought they already knew. An easy weekend alone with mom turns into a Saturday dinner out and snuggling with a movie followed by a Sunday of football and talking smack, these are the moments I'll hold tight as I brace for the next blow.

Father's

I was a typical daddy's girl. My dad taught me how to mow a yard. My dad taught me how to check my brake pads and how to ride a motorcycle. My dad taught me how to properly kiss a sturgeon before releasing it to grow a little bit more. My dad taught me to watch in amazement as the light changes to capture the exact photo you were wishing for. My dad taught me that marriage is hard and he taught me to never give up. But the most important thing I think he's teaching me is humility. Recently, I spent an extended stay at my parents. My car decided to baffle the auto techs and after changing multiple sensors along with every other car check it was still leaving them at a loss to the problem. As we sat in the waiting area, dollar signs filling my head, my dad took my hands. He looked at me and said we needed to pray. At the mechanics, in a waiting room, other manly men flipping through the latest Sports Illustrated my dad prayed. Out loud. Tears streaming down my face he prayed for an answer, he prayed for my sanity, he prayed for a calm spirit for my husband receiving the ever growing tab, he prayed that we would learn from this trial and he prayed patience for the anxious children who had been ready for 4 days to hit the road. And tears continued to stream down my cheeks. I'm not there yet. I don't think if I was him I could've done the same thing. "What will people think?" My mouth is dry thinking about it!! I want to be there, I want to not care, to have the strength in my faith that supercedes sideways glances, but I don't. I'm trying. My parents continue to set the bar a little higher, forever willing their grown children to strive for more. Thank you dad.

Childhood left behind, the other daddy in my life is all mine. This past week we reached a new pinnacle in our relationship. We worked as a family on our church's VBS. And it was hot. For any that knew our weather that week you know I'm not talking about that, because it rained!!! No, it was him. There's something about watching your 'great white hunter' doing every goofy dance, singing the most repetitious bible songs and sharing his life and faith with kids that quite honestly couldn't have been topped by the most romantic weekend getaway. Seeing him open and honest and not caring what others possibly thought was simply, amazing. Mom's are supposed to do the stupid stuff, we're supposed to know all the moves and teach them the words while dad sits in the Lay-z Boy and watches. My man was out of the chair. I love you babe, you're a great dad, leader, partner and friend. On top of it all, you're mine.

Questions...

The steam rose slowly around me, the scent of vanilla cleansing not only the air, quiet bliss...BAM,BAM,BAM,BAM,BAM!!!"MOM?! MOM??!!, I'm starving! MOM??? are you making breakfast? mom?"
deep, long, drawn-out sigh...."why yes, I am."
"No you're not, you're taking a shower."
"THEN WHY DID YOU ASK???!!!"
bye-bye bliss, buh-bye...

Honestly, it never ceases to amaze me, whether while I'm in the shower or simply trying to pee in peace, the questions never end.

BAM,BAM,BAM,BAM,BAM!!MOM? "I'm bored, what can I do?"
deep, long, drawn-out sigh...."Could I possibly finish going to the bathroom before answering that?!"

A mom shower is at most 8 minutes, any other bathroom duties less than 5, and yet...The mind of a child is fleeting, they have a question and it needs to be asked, now. A memory from yesterday pops back into view and it must be shared immediately. Ideas for the following week are bursting forth, if they don't convey their concerns right.now.all.could.be.lost!!! THE HORROR!!!

And yet, there's something to be said for speaking your mind, while it's still in there! They say a mom loses a bit of her memory with each pregnancy, after 3, I figure mine is equivalent to a chair. For example...Thursday I have a conversation with someone about a very cool, unusual extracurricular activity they are involved in...a couple days later someone else brings up the same activity and like de ja vue, I know I've been here before but when??? and who??? One entire day goes by and now I'm talking to original person from first conversation and Hey! de ja vue again!!! but now who was inquiring yesterday about this activity??!!! AAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!! Trust me I'm not trying to sort through the countless conversations Ive had in a day to figure out one of 20 I've had, we're talking about one conversation with one person that I can't apparently wrap my brain around because it is mush. Which probably explains why it doesn't bother me nearly as much as you would think when the kids pound incessantly on the door to ask a question they know the answer to, when they walk away, I simply forget.

Easter

Yesterday I had the privilege of standing with some of my best friends in front of 36 women and giving my testimony. I was nervous that I was just going to stammer and cry the whole time, combine that with the ever present fear of what will everyone think of me now? and let's just say it was a roller coaster ride of a day. In the end I sucked it up right along with everyone else. I knew ultimately I had to post it here too because it's screaming in me to do so, so I'm pulling up my big girl panties and letting it fly...

2 yrs ago we lived in Tucson and every Easter we celebrated w/the rest of the masses at a huge Easter egg hunt at the local park where they would helicopter in the Easter bunny, for years every time Ethan saw a helicopter he would jump up and down yelling BUNNY, BUNNY, BUNNY!!! 2yrs ago today, on March 25, we shut the door of our moving van, strapped in the kids and said goodbye. Goodbye to our marriage counselor, goodbye to my cardiologist treating my severe anxiety, and that was all. I didn't need to say goodbye to any friends because I didn't have any. 11 years in a strange city and no one to really say goodbye to. I thought I was fine, I thought I had my little family and we're all good. Which would of course be why I had a marriage counselor and a cardiologist. 11 yrs I didn't go to church, I didn't practice the faith of my youth, I didn't need to. 11 yrs I prayed as if I was placing my order at McDonald's, when it was convenient for and about me and for 11 yrs I called myself a “non-practicing-christian”. For 11 yrs I lied, cheated and deluded myself into thinking I was being the best wife and then mother I could be. For 11 yrs I felt trapped in a cycle of deceit and self-centeredness that I had created, until it slowly began to unravel. And it felt good. When my husbands current job was handed to him a few short weeks after I told him I wanted to move here, my attitude changed. My eyes started opening to how much I hated my life. The very real prospect of another on the horizon. I made a promise and it was unconditional. When we got here, we would start going to church. Within a month we found one we agreed on something we hadn't done in 11 yrs. It was not easy getting up every Sunday morning. It was even harder to go when Eric had to work and it was up to only me, but I did. The more I went, the more I wanted to go. The more I read, the more I wanted to read. 2 yrs ago I had to buy myself a bible, I didn't have one. When I climbed in that van if you would've told me I would be coordinating a christian moms group I would've laughed, if you would've told me in the same 2yrs I would be teaching Sunday school, I'd be asking you what you're smokin'?! But I am. All because I became an active participant in my faith. The same one I placidly had for 11 yrs. I no longer wait around for my faith to bowl me over and send me the answers on a winged dove, I go in search of the answers. If I'm mad or confused or my anxiety is taking over once again, I open my bible and I read it, and in doing so, I found a loving God who was waiting for me all along. Jesus died on the cross so I can continue to screw things up and like a loving father tell me it's OK, you'll do better next time. He took on all the stupid thoughts in my head, the angry outbursts at my children and all my crazy rationalizations for the choices I continue to make so that at the end of the day I can lay it all before him once again and once again start a new. For 11 yrs I tried to make it so complicated, we didn't have time, did he really exist, does it all really matter? It matters. I'm surrounded by amazing women who fall just like me and who offer me a hand back up every time, because that's what we're supposed to do. I was robbed of 11 yrs of confidence in my life. My anxiety was out of control because I didn't possess the faith that ultimately it will be OK. Life is not roses and butterflies but I know without a doubt who will win in the end. Easter isn't about bunnies in helicopters, it's about all my crap nailed firmly to that cross so I can start each day clean, new and un-conditionally loved.

Teeth.

So maybe not so well formed. Solutions still not established, but definitely brewing. How can you get mad at them for obsessively brushing their teeth?? Especially when 2 of them are getting cavities filled this week! Obviously it could be worse. The troll who lives in the bathtub though needs to be stopped. I don't know why the shower curtain flipped over the bar irritates me tenfold compared to toothbrushes. Yes, cavities have been found and will be eradicated on Friday. Apparently, they 'brush wonderfully' but I 'obviously don't make them floss' Do most 5 year olds floss??? Please don't answer that, because in my little world they indeed do not. In 2 years (yes it has been that long) they went from 'mouths full of room' to 'Wow, it's really tight in there!' Yes, I did have braces for 4 years and maybe I just figure there is no logical way for them to avoid that fate too. I would love to spare them the physical and us the financial pain but let's just say it won't be shocking when we schedule the first consultation with the orthodontist. But I digress, that is dealing with straight teeth and my issue is with flossed ones. Floss picks have been purchased and now yet another thing is strewn about my bathroom. Waste baskets be damned, let's just throw it all on the floor, maybe Chloe will pick it up and floss her teeth in the process as well. Luckily, tax returns are in so we will be helping our dentist fund that International Cruise she's been eyeing. Money in, money out.

A Well Formed Plan

Well, maybe not so well formed but a plan none-the-less. As the purpose of this blog goes 'to let my kids see a glimpse into what they did to me' I figure I should get technical. Saturday is T-Day, that would be tracking day. Oh yes, I am going to set up charts in each room and for a day track the activity that is required of me there. I picked Saturday because all the kids are home and I intentionally don't scrub the house, do laundry, etc... As with the majority of humans I try to take Saturday's off and simply maintain the household. Scrubbing resumes Monday morning, which after a weekend of three kids and varying appearances of one husband, it's never pretty. As predictions go I'm guessing 8 times that I have to put away toothbrushes and toothpaste, 10 times of picking towels up off the floor, another 5 pulling shower curtain down into a normal position etc...Most moms can see where I'm going with this. Should be interesting...

R.E.S.P.E.C.T

I've posted before about how I know when I'm supposed to write something. Basically, to make the voices in my head stop their tirade I have to put it down on virtual paper. Well, the ranting won't let up and after a lengthy debate with myself, I finally figured out what I had to do. You see, I witnessed a disturbing (not eww gross disturbing, but the I'm going to pummel that person disturbing) situation where as a normal, calm person I did nothing. Unfortunately, my lack of nothing has unleashed the raving, moral, avenger and justice needs to be served. I think we're a nation of complainers and virtual healers. We see this abound on Facebook with the "state your bra color for breast cancer awareness" or "post this if you want to bring the troops home." The only thing I became aware of was your preference for undergarments and I'm pretty sure the troops still aren't here. So before I could write my lecture I had to make sure I did something about it, I did, so on we go. Disclaimer in place, this has to do with church, religion, God and other uncomfortable for some issues, please move along if these topics bring twitches and/or hives. In our last church service I viewed not 1 but 2 persons texting and reading emails through the entire service. Not an "I need to jump on quick, it's really important, someone may die if I don't read this right now" but a leisurely "I'm bored out of my mind, I should be making clam dip for the big game" sort of perusing. To top it off not 1 but 3 phones rang and 1 was actually answered. So what's the big deal? Why the tormenting voices? Respect. When I was working and we had those big corporate meetings we were told every time to put our phones on stun, and we did. We respected the VP that flew in from who knows where, to tell us how bad we were doing. We didn't like them, we didn't want to sell their "I wish it was at least mediocre wine" but we respected them as people doing their job. OK, so back to church. Who's the boss there? The pastor? That guy? Her? No, it's God. I go to hear what it is that He wants me to hear that day. Not what the literal guy behind the podium is saying to me, but what God is telling him to say, to me. Now, do I wish I was in a position that I no longer needed to hear what the message for the day is? No. Every time I read one of the books in the Bible I end up highlighting different passages than the last. Depending on what stage of my life I am in, things hit me differently. I can't tell you how many times I've thought "oh man we're singing this song again?" Only to see a woman a few rows up weeping at the first cords. It was what she needed to hear that day and if I wrote off the service as "not for me" maybe she wouldn't have heard it. Respect. If you can't go to service and give your undivided attention for the one hour, one time a week that he is asking then shame on you. Are you really going to convince anyone that that phone call was more important than hearing what little message may be lurking in today's sermon just for you, or what about the hurting parishioner next to you? What if they miss that one thing they were meant to hear because of your obnoxious ring tone? These are the same people I'm sure, that are holding out for God to scream their life plan at them. "Where is He? Why doesn't he answer my prayers?" Take the bluetooth out of your ear and LISTEN. Stop complaining and be an active participant in your spiritual health, God is not going to smack you upside the head and toss your cell phone into the narthex, but I might.

A Planting We Will Go...

Well, maybe not so much planting as planning. Every year I pour over the seed catalogs trying to figure out the perfect veggies for our climate and when to start them. This year is no exception albeit I've been otherwise occupied with my crack habit du jour, aka alpaca/silk bliss, the veggies still need a plantin'. So instead of writing my plan out on yet another piece of paper to be found (or not) next year, I figured I would put it all here. If you could care less about the first and last frost dates I suggest you move along right now...Our last frost date is April 25th. Oh sweet April 25th, the trees will have buds, flowers poking their heads and Ethan will once again be able to let the girls out without bundling up like an Eskimo. The veggies right now are...

Beans, golden beets, brussels sprouts, carrots, corn, cucumber, lettuce, melons, spinach, onions, peas, peppers, potatoes, summer squash, winter squash, tomatoes and a whole mess of herbs. Now this may seem way early but honestly there are plenty of cold weather seeds that just might get going so why not try!?! Lettuce and peas love the cold so Ill be putting them out shortly, a milk jug cloche and we should be set!!

January: assess seeds from last year, buy more...using Botanical Interests for most since proceeds go to our MOPS group and I bought some of their seeds at Portland Nursery last year and they did great!! The rest will be picked up at Portland Nursery on our Spring Break vacation. Need to gather pots and till garden with a plethora of chicken poo.

February Late: Spinach, lettuce and early tomatoes will start indoors.

March Late: beets, St. Patrick's Day potato, peas, inside: peppers, tomatoes, melons all, winter squash,

April early: lettuce, rest of potatoes, onions,

April late: carrots, beans~ bush and pole,

May Late: Corn, Brussels sprouts, summer squash, set out starts for peppers, tomatoes and melons.

June Early: Cucumbers

Lettuce will be sown every couple weeks till it gets too cold in winter!

Dandello's Garden is a wealth of information for planning, as well as Home Vegetable Planning. Absent off this years list are cauliflower and broccoli. I don't know who you are that say those grow easy but all I got were giant plants with no flower! Off to assess the situation, unfortunately seeds are stored right off the knitting room and the cashmere wrap still on needles is calling my name...

Cave's

What started out as a funny quip quickly turned to an illogical reality. I've been setting up my own knitting room, fully furnished with couch, chairs, tables, storage, wine and beverage (Guinness) fridge. I put up some old curtains last night to hide the laundry room and stairway from view at which point Eric pointed out that I had made myself quite a nice cave. I retorted "yeah, it's my 'mom' cave." laughs ensued as did remarks that I should blog about it...etc...So in preparation for such blog I thought I'd conduct a bit of an experiment and I googled 'man cave'. I got dictionary responses such as...A room, space, corner or area of a dwelling that is specifically reserved for a male person to be in a solitary condition, away from the rest of the household in order to work, play, involve himself in certain hobbies, activities without interruption. This area is usually decorated by the male that uses it without interference from any female influence.~ Urban Dictionary.

I also got lay outs and plans on how to build and stock the ultimate 'man hideaway'. Now google 'mom cave' hmmmmm, couple blogs using the term loosely (just like me), google 'woman cave' this was actually pretty funny it gave me lists of things relating to cave women!! nice.

Apparently, we don't need a refuge. We don't need any where to rest without interruption, without influences of any one else. again, nice. Women don't need time to recoup, we don't need to involve ourselves in activities that don't involve the entire household. Trust me my 'mom cave' still has a children's corner, I can only fight the inevitable so much, they might as well play with their own toys instead of mine! I'm lucky enough to have a husband that understands the importance of me time. Wonder when the rest of society will come out of the stone age.

A New Year...

We have a little house. 930 sq ft to be exact, with 5 people that's 186 sq feet per person or the equivalent of almost a 14x14 foot space each but since the kids never leave my 14x 14 space that actually leaves 744 sq ft for my husband, he's very happy here, he says there's plenty of room.

December loom's for many reasons but topping the list is the inevitable acquiring of and then fitting in of the Christmas tree in our living room. Last year was easy. Our computer died the week or two before so we plopped it down right in front of it. No need to stare at the reminder of an overflowing inbox. This year we got our $5 tree permit and in Griswald like fashion trekked into the forest. We found our prize, strapped it to the top of the car and after some throwing of kids in the snow and hot cocoa, we headed back to town. We placed our conquest in relatively the same spot as last year, only to marvel at how the force of the wind from the drive home had apparently elongated our 6 foot tree into 10. Plan B. We have a little house. Everything is in its spot for a reason. There is no other way. Move table to other side of room, insert tree. Hmmmmmmm, that looks good?! Christmas comes and goes, as does the tree, but a new vision remains. Tables were moved but not back where they were before, new furniture was brought in and what seemed a lost cause was given new life. It works. Which has led me to wonder how many things I've been making assumptions about that with a little tweaking might be given a second chance? How many things do we say, this is how it is, it'll never change. Forced change often brings a new perspective, not all forces need to be from the outside. So Happy New Year to all may it be just that.

My Nemesis...

Suppose that's a pretty vague topic since I could lump a whole slew of issues in there, but one true nemesis remains...laundry. I will, to the chagrin of my family do anything to avoid it. Unfortunately it doesn't offer me the same consideration. The growing, undulating mound, mocks me from every corner. Now the argument to date remains the same. "You chose this" seems to be the line of reasoning behind sucking it up and just tackling the pile. By "chose" I'm assuming the reference is stemming all the way back to Adam and Eve and Eve's resulting realization of need for a fig leaf, which led to two coconut shells to accompany the leaf and eventually Victoria's Secret was born. "Chose" can't possibly relate to the stay at home mom title because I'm fairly sure the entire family wore clothes when I was working, we just had money to buy more when things got dirty. Adding to the mountain would be the near constant alien abductions that are still plaguing our residence, please refer to April 17th post for my reported sightings. I can understand summer as being their prime season but in winter when it's a balmy 12, you would think they would leave the kids alone!! Compounding my irritation would be the impending discovery of a large percentage of clean items thrown in the mass which appears anytime I sweetly beseech the brood to "pick up this room before I throw it all in the trash and call Santa to tell him his services are not needed this year!!!" Suddenly, not only is the floor spotless, but dresser drawers lay empty, hangers are now cast to the closet floor and linen shelves are bare. All are snuggled up to the one milk soaked towel, no need to actually come in contact with it, the stench will permeate all fibers momentarily. Enough procrastination, the heap beckons and with the onset of winter we're woefully short on leaves.

The month has admittedly gotten away from me and before any hate mail starts rolling in I figure I'd post something!! My first seed catalog came in the mail already, not my favorite but a glimpse of what's to come none the less. As with each season we learned even more than last. More potatoes topping the list. We're definitely still eating them from the fall harvest and will be for a while but the bakers were our favorite and they are woefully in short supply. The blues did well but were uninspiring and the fingerlings while 'gourmet' left a funny metallic taste in our mouths and won't be repeated. The winter squash an heirloom buttercup, is fantastic with about 15 harvested we should be good till next winter! It's hard not to like something baked with butter and brown sugar but the kids have found a way. Only one type of cucumber will be planted, some fairly interesting experiments in cross pollination left us a little confused. Currant tomatoes will be banned forever, they produced well and long but harvesting the little buggers was way more effort than I wanted to exude and most just rotted on the vine. I think we'll be utilizing bird netting next year as the girls feasted more than I did on many of our crops. Brussels sprouts are still standing sentinel, the last vestige of a fruitful season, the few frosts we've had have sweetened them up nicely, hoping for a full bowl roasted off for Thanksgiving. Arriving in all it's glory next week, my folks making the trek through the gorge to hang out and eat the bounty. The menu currently featuring a brined turkey, roasted garlic mashed potatoes (hopefully enough from the garden), brussel sprouts and roasted squash from the garden. I'll be making the french bread on Tuesday to stale for stuffing, made an amazing stock from a dearly departed friend to supplement the anticipated lack of usable broth from the brined turkey. Contemplating popovers instead of rolls but my success rate is probably 50/50 so not sure I want to risk it. Mom is bringing green bean casserole, funny fruit salad thingy and of course pie, because I would never attempt to match let alone out do my moms crust. So it begins, the holiday season officially kicking off. No, I won't be shopping on black Friday. I'll be snuggled in my bed as the stores fill, visions of caramely monkey bread floating through my head. That's the only thing that awaits me on Friday morning, along with a steaming cup of coffee, I'll dive into the next Christmas gift sitting on my needles. No honking or pushing. No parking a half mile from the entrance only to discover what I was after is no longer there. No crazy traffic or angry clerks. No wide eyed bewilderment at the loot being wheeled cart after cart to the layaway center, screaming children in tow. Coffee, cream and sweet fresh bread, I plan on giving this season all the respect it deserves, a calm reverence for what it's all really about.

Knit One, Purl Two: Part Deux

I actually had to go back in time to see when I first posted about wanting to take up knitting and laughed when I saw it was one year ago. October 3rd I had posted on the sirens call of the clacking needles, while tightly woven, fuzzy strands emerged as if by magic into a creation I could call my own. What I didn't write about was the holes, the dropped stitches, the yarn ripped off needles over and over again. I didn't write about screaming obscenities at YouTube videos meant to show me 'simple' cast on's and mysterious increases. Nor did I write about the cathartic effect it has had on my mental state, turning anxiousness into focused repetition. It technically started in October of last year, by the end of Winter, or more accurately, the end of December, I had managed two pretty sorry scarves and a hat for Eric that the pom-pom promptly fell off of. I find it hysterical now to see patterns for wavy scarves, I did that on my first one, random increases and decreases my elusive nemesis. I admittedly, relegated it all to the closet to be picked up again when my patience was a bit more refined. Which takes us once again to another October. A weekend getaway with some friends and the need for a project. I find myself once more pulling out the needles and some yarn and packing them in the overnight bag. I completed my project, a skirt for Elaina, relatively quickly and the clincher was, it fit! I made another and then a hat. Then another hat, then I tried felting and more hats started rolling off the assembly. A pilgrimage was made to a real yarn store and there is now no turning back. Most are presents, which I have found in itself oddly enriching. When I make something for a friend or family member, I know going into it the project is for them. The yarn and pattern are chosen specifically for them of course but even more important is the time it takes. Whether an afternoon or an entire week, the time spent on the item is also spent thinking about that person. Good points and bad, relationships are sorted out, gone over and ultimately knit together with contemplative time alone between the strands emerging and I. Most projects I sadly can't show yet because they are presents and Christmas still looms. This year I hope it to be less commercial and more personal. It was thought to be cheaper but after that trip to the yarn store have discovered otherwise. So with meditative resolve we enter the holiday season, I will do all I can to squelch the frantic-ness that takes over my being. Knitting a little bit of peace into the season.

All Alone...

While growing up, the worst thing I could do to my sister was to not play with her. Sure, she got mad if I called her bubble-butt. She chased me down with unrelenting speed if she knew I had hid one of her toys and was playing dumb. She cried when I bit the hands and feet off her Barbi. But to actually not want to play? That, was a whole new level. I didn't do it vindictively, I wasn't looking to even the score. I simply wanted to do my own thing. I have always been happy in a group or by myself. One of the earliest points in my relationship with my now husband when I knew he was keeper, was after a day spent browsing Powell's Book Store in Portland only to return to my minuscule studio to lay around reading in bliss. He didn't think I was mad at him for not talking. We didn't have to be 'doing' something. We were happily otherwise occupied in the same room and it was OK. Now I look at my children and once again the worst tears come from the dreaded "you're not my friend". Wow. To be cast out from the group, left to wallow in your own sorrow. Noses get punched, stomach's get jumped on, those are tears that dry up relatively quickly. To think that your base, your strength, your support is turning from you? That gets them at the core. Why? I guess I've become acutely aware of what a lack of confidence we have in ourselves. Not trusting that we can actually make ourselves happy and that happiness doesn't come from outside but in. As far as the kids go, building up the confidence that family is forever, no matter what they say to each other in that snapshot of time. That's what family does. With friends it's harder. You can only distribute birthday invites at school if everyone is invited. No hurt feelings. Even though when their birthday comes around they are all to quick to understand they can only invite 5 friends over to spend the night, not 30. They eternally want to be one of the 5. Looking for validation from the number of activities they are involved. Everything is taken personally, not logically. I'm sure I had my share of pity parties. I distinctly remember being a 'mean girl' in middle school, only to have it rather ironically turned around on me. Maybe those are the A-Ha moments that we all need. I've spent a lot of my life as 'the new comer' so I guess I accepted that there were groups already formed and I was happy to be included at all, if I wasn't, I chalked it up to something established long before I entered the picture and there would be other times that I fit in better down the road. I want my kids to have that same confidence. They have two very self-sufficient parents, if it's genetic, they have a fighting chance. Don't get me wrong, I'm not proclaiming that it's all about self. I don't think that "I" in the literal sense can make me happy. My confidence comes from truly believing in that bigger picture, it's not about me. When I make it about me, when I watch that ego take flight, bad things happen. By actually looking outside myself, things never seem quite so dramatic. Kids are giant egos trottin' around in blinking sneakers. Middle school is about the time they hang their flashing kicks up, I guess I'll have to tolerate the tears a few more years.

Sportsmanship...Schmortsmanship...

As per Dictionary.com:  sportsmanlike conduct, as fairness, courtesy, being a cheerful loser, etc.

 As per Wikipedia:  conformance to the rules, spirit, and etiquette of sport. More grandly, it may be considered the ethos of sport. It is interesting that the motivation for sport is often an elusive element. Sportsmanship expresses an aspiration or ethos that the activity will be enjoyed for its own sake, with proper consideration for fairness, ethics, respect, and a sense of fellowship with one's competitors. Being a "good sport" involves being a "good winner" as well as being a "good loser".[1]

 Trust me, I don't want to be 'that mom'.  You know the one on the sidelines, screaming bloody murder, threat filled, obscenities at the panting child on the field.  But somewhere along the line, I think the definition of good sportsmanship has been shall we say, modified.  Being obsessive by nature and not prone to wanting to be wrong, I went in search of the elusive definition of sportsmanship.  Something they are teaching our children not only on the field, but in school as well.  My son would like to believe and quite unsuccessfully argue, that being a good sport means playing the game because you like to and it doesn't matter if you win or lose.  Just frolic around the field, laughing and giggling, merrily with your friends until the ref says it's time for snack.  Maybe this is just one more case of the people we are entrusting our children with to pound mediocrity into their heads, but I'm done.  By definition sportsmanship is about being a good winner AND a good loser.  That actually means someone MUST win and someone MUST lose.  Not just flit around until the goldfish are dispensed, but actually try to WIN!!!  Being happy that you do or don't and happy for the other players, that they all tried their best and either had a better or worse day than you did.  I swear we're teaching our kids that it's not OK to win because God forbid you hurt the feelings of the kid that did not.  This of course coming off Ethan telling me it's fine to get 2 wrong on his tests, that it is still 100%.  I'm not sure how much math has changed since I was in school oh so many years ago, but as far as I know getting anything less than all correct is not 100%!!!  Why is it so awful to teach our kids to strive to be the best? Why can't I expect him to get all the answers right?  Our kids are graduating high school and not understanding that they have to fight for that job.  They can't do it half-ass and get the promotion.  We're so concerned with everyone's feelings, 'he won't like me anymore if I take the ball from him', 'if I make too many goals he won't be my friend.'  Are you kidding me?!?!?  THAT is not good sportsmanship!!  Being happy for your friend because he did GOOD and wanting it to be you next time should be OK!!  I just want them to be the best they can be, I want them to help their friends be the best they can be also, not everyone striving to be same.  Stretching themselves, what a sad, lazy group of kids society is fighting to create. 

 

You know I love you...

I think anything that starts off with 'you know I love you' can't really be going in a good direction.  Elaina, I love you, but jeez girl, you're killing me!!!  One day you'll look back on these pages, you'll probably be a bit embarrassed, then you'll get older, possibly have children and then you'll know.  I wasn't the crazy one.  It was you.  Kindergarten started a few weeks ago and admittedly I wanted to post something sweet and sentimental about losing my daughter, my com-padre of the day to another woman but alas having only Elijah at home ROCKS!!!  So far she loves her new class and is apparently only learning about the color red.  I'm seriously giving the teacher the benefit of the doubt on this one that she is actually teaching them more and Elaina just doesn't feel that it's important enough for me to know.  She has made lots of new friends all somehow named 'Schwally',  seems odd, but hey we are technically in a new city and there are a lot of regional differences.  Along with starting the great kindergarten adventure we signed her up on her first soccer team.  Now please note, Elaina has an older brother and a younger brother.  She takes nothing off anyone, especially another cute, pigtailed, Adidas adorned girl.  See ball, get ball, put ball in goal.  It's in your best interest to simply move aside.  Just wish I could have conveyed that to her sweet little team mate, yes team mate, last night.  At the end of practice they do a little mock game, 2 on 3 as it was since 1 was sick.  Elaina being on the 2 side, eyes the prize, takes it and noting opponent in the way of the ultimate target, pushes her little 40lb friend to the ground and shoots in the goal.  33lbs of fury she is.  Mortified, I close up my camera and hang my soccer mom head in disgrace.  She was told to apologize to her unknowing friend and then taken to McDonald's, pushing bad, cheetah's determination at soccer, good.  We can see it now, our little shirt waving, ball obsessed Mia Hamm, let's just hope she has a sports bra on when she takes hers off too.  Somehow I doubt it since she thought it was hilarious that I managed to catch her without underwear when she came home from school yesterday, I guess as long as she left them here it's OK, anywhere else, not so much.

Salt

Walk in wisdom toward those who are outside, redeeming the time. Let your speech always be with grace, seasoned with salt, that you may know how you ought to answer each one. ~Colossians 4: 5-6

MOPS starts next week. In the words of my daughter "I can't breathe, I can't breathe!!" Alright, I can breathe, but I'm admittedly getting pretty anxious. Yesterday we had our final planning meeting, it's all gotta be set now, sink or swim time. I talked yesterday about a verse I came across that I just can't seem to get off my mind. Which in all honesty is a good thing. I thought of posting something on our MOPS blog but figured this qualified as a life lesson for my trio so I opted here instead...

Last week I made pancakes for the kids, a fairly normal occurrence around here. Not the open package, add water till you get right consistency variety but the actual labor intensive flour, egg, milk one. Please note the level of sarcasm in the 'labor intensive' line. As I stood sentinel at the griddle the kids proceeded to slather on butter and pour the yes, homemade, syrup on their golden disks. First bites ensued as did the groans of discontent.

"These are bad"
"I don't like these"
"What kind of pancakes are these? I like the other ones..."

Ugh. Seriously? They're pancakes. Irritated, I grab a fork and proceed to show them there is nothing wrong with their breakfast. Hmmmmmm. Blech. They're right. Flat, bland, lifeless...I forgot the salt. 1/8 teaspoon, just a speck, but it made all the difference. We add salt to make the other flavors shine. We put it in savory dishes and in sweet. If you've ever experienced a caramel sprinkled with salt you would know what I'm talking about. You would also know what I'm talking about if you've ever added too much. There is no fixing a heavy hand. A potato may be added to soak up some but on a steak? or in a batter? It's ruined.

In Colossians, Paul is calling us to be authentic in our faith. Over-the-top and it's just that, too much. None at all and we're bland, lifeless. Being true to who we are so others can't put a finger on why they are drawn in, but they are none-the-less. Remembering that we're not trying to please everyone, only The One.

Homemade Pancake Syrup: 3/4 cup packed brown sugar ,1/4 cup sugar ,3/4 cup water ,1/2 cup light corn syrup ,1/2 teaspoon maple flavoring ,1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract, dash salt.
In a saucepan, combine the sugars, water and corn syrup; bring to a boil over medium heat. Boil for 7 minutes or until slightly thickened. Remove from the heat; stir in maple flavoring and vanilla. Cool for 15 minutes. Serve over pancakes, waffles or French toast. ~All Recipes.com