Laughing in the Wind

Motherhood Changes Everything

2011-01-29T15:40:00.002-06:00

There's something about becoming a mother that changes everything about you. Things that you never gave a second thought about are now things that must be pondered carefully and fully. Case in point: when 3 out of my 4 kids were all in car seats, I suddenly became consumed with what I would do if I somehow drove into a large body of water. How would I save them all? Could I get them all out of their car seats and out of the car rapidly filling with water when only one of them could even remotely swim? I had a plan that included holding a little one in each arm, a 3rd one hanging onto my back, encouraging the oldest one that he could swim and somehow, without the use of my arms, kick my legs furiously to get us all safely to shore. Never mind that I live in west Texas where large bodies of water are about as common as snow drifts. That didn't seem to matter to my mom mind - it was a possible emergency that needed my full and undivided attention, and above all, a plan. I wonder, do thoughts like these consume dads?

I don't know, but I do know I am not alone in this. I was talking to some girl friends the other day, and one of them talked about how she lived in a trailer park in college that wasn't in the safest of places, and she would think about how she could escape if an intruder ever got in. She never even considered the possibility of a confrontation - just get away. That all changed when she became a mom. She would never even dream of escaping if her babies were still in the house.

Then another friend, Rebecca, told a story that still has me chuckling. They live in a small town that is completely safe. They rarely even lock their doors. Until recently, when there was a rash of break-ins in their small town. The criminals broke into 5 of the churches in town, one of which was the church her husband was the pastor of, and it was right across the street from their house. The low-lifes even broke into some houses. So, that pretty much shattered their small-town peace and serenity. So, one night she told her husband that she thought she would just sleep on the couch.

"Why?" her husband asked.

"Well, I just think I would hear someone quicker if they were coming in our window."

"You don't think you would hear them just as quick in our bedroom?"

"Well, if I was right here, I could just jump up and start beating them with my bat."

"But, Rebecca...you don't have a bat!"

"Well, why not!?! You leave me here alone all the time! I need a bat!"

And that just pretty much sums it up. When you're a mom, and there are crazy criminals on the loose, threatening the safety of your babies, the thought of sleeping on the couch with your bat seems like a perfectly natural and sane thing to do.

Fortunately, for the safety of the criminals, they are in custody. Because if they ever picked the wrong house, and came in contact with Rebecca, bat or no bat, I'm not sure they would live to tell the story! After all, she's a mom.

Face Lift

2011-01-09T17:31:00.008-06:00

Saturday was a beautiful day, and we decided that it would be a great day to do some yard work. Here's the front of our house before we bought it:

I've never been a fan of big bushes. And I really hated the ones that were in front of our front windows. It kept us from seeing all the weird and interesting people that are always walking in the park in front of our house, and really, shouldn't that be one of the main perks of living by a park - people watching?

So, the bushes were out! Here it is after the little tree and the first bush was out.

Here's what it looked like a little later. What a mess!

So we loaded all the branches in the back of Steve's truck, and he took them off to the branch recycling place. And we had all these leaves in the yard that needed to be raked. Now, usually, we would just mow them up, but for some reason the mower wouldn't start. So, we decided we could rake them ourselves. After all, we do have 4 kids who do things like clean baseboards, so raking a few leaves should be a piece of cake, right?

There was a lot of this

Posing for pictures was fun! And there was a lot of this:

Jumping and rolling around in the leaves was fun! And Joey had the very important job of jumping on the leaves in the trash can:

Yes, Joey is still in his pajamas. And I think he's barefooted too - what of it?

And when it came right down to it, raking the leaves wasn't so bad. It was the bagging of them that got a little old. Okay, more than a little old. I must have said at least 5 times, "Okay, this should be our last bag!" When we were done, we had bagged 13 bags of leaves! Thir-teen! Ugh!

But, then I swept off the porch, and got to put out my new red rockers, and it looked so pretty.

And then Steve climbed on the roof to take down the Christmas lights, and started blowing the leaves out of the gutter. Nice. Oh well, at least somebody enjoyed it.

Next weekend: paint all the shutters black, and the front door red. I love projects like this!

Organization

2011-01-06T22:48:00.003-06:00

Organized. It's something I'm not. At least not naturally. Having 4 kids has forced me to be at least somewhat more organized than I have ever been before, but it's not something I do naturally or willingly. I much prefer to have other people around who can do that for me.

Case in point - I married Steve. A very wise decision on my part for more than one reason, but his organization is definitely one of them. When we were dating, he actually had a typed schedule hanging on his wall. We were in college, people! He had a schedule for every minute of his day, and bless his heart, I teased him unmercifully until he finally took it down out of self-preservation, I think. But for all my teasing, I appreciate it because it means I don't have to be organized if he is. Unfortunately, maybe my teasing scarred him for life because he seems to forget things more than I ever did now. So, I'm sorry Love. Please forgive me and go back to your formally organized self. I liked it, I really did.

So, this year has been my first year to go back to work full-time since I have had kids (well, it's really 30 hours a week, but it feels like full-time since I have to get up and go every day.) And so, all the things I usually got done around the house are not getting done like they used to. And I have an absolute aversion to doing house work on the weekends. Weekends should be fun and restful.

So, I looked around and said to myself, "I have 4 kids. Technically, they are the ones creating all this work, so I think they should help out." And really, they have been helping out - we have chores every day, but I decided they could step it up a notch. And sooo, in an extremely uncharacteristic organized burst of energy, I have made chore charts. They are color-coded and everything. I still laugh a little bit when I see them hanging on our fridge.

The hardest part was coming up with chores for Joey, our 4 year old. Because there is no way I was going to deal with the whining of why isn't Joey doing anything? waa waa waa! I've already told them I love him more, and they aren't buying it anymore, so I had to come up with chores for him. I was looking at lists online of cleaning chores that should be done in each area of the house, (because Lord knows my idea of clean is the toys off the floor and no major pieces of trash showing) and I would ask myself, "What can Joey do?" And so, God help me, I have my 4 year-old doing things like cleaning the baseboards. I kid you not. It really cracks me up, but I figured, 1. He's short so he's pretty much already almost to the floor anyway and 2. I usually clean the baseboards, let's see...um...never...so whatever effort he produces has got to be better than that! And he actually likes it! And Lily-Grace was jealous and wanted to know when it would be her turn to do that.

My only fear is that he will actually remember this, and grow up and tell his friends horrific tales of how his mom made him clean the baseboards when he was 4 years old! And I'll have to say, "I used to be fun! I did! And then I had all of you, and I had to do things like make color-coded chore charts!" My only consolation is that one day I will be a grandmother, and I will be sure to be a fun one! I can hardly wait to go to their houses and teach my grandkids things like taking off their dirty socks and shoving them in the couch cushions. And when my kids tell their kids it's time for bed I will be sure to lead the chorus in whining that I'm not tired at all, and how life is so unfair it's hardly worth living. And if I ever see a color-coded chore chart on their fridge, I'll be sure and teach my grandkids all the ways to cut corners and do a sloppy job. Yes, I think being a grandma just might be right up my alley!

Homebuilders Class

2010-12-24T13:59:00.000-06:00

We have a Homebuilders Sunday School class in this church. I would venture to say that most churches have a class by this name. When you see this name, you know what to expect - young families in the throes of raising babies and toddlers, the moms looking either beautiful and young or exhausted and frazzled, the dads looking young, confident, ambitious. In this church it is different. Sixty years ago they would have looked that way, but now, they are the oldest class in our church, their numbers slowly dwindling as their members die. It is mostly women now as their young and ambitious husbands have already left this world, their ambitions realized or else abandoned. And the women remain, walking slowly, some stooped, some leaning on a cane, some with a twinkle in their still-beautiful eyes, and some with eyes that carry a sadness of untold hurts.

I think about this class. It is a beautiful and rare thing these days in our mobile society - for people to remain in one place so long that the friends who brought over casseroles when your babies were born are the same friends who come to your funeral and mourn your death, and bring warmed-up green beans and corn (as casseroles are just too much work these days for their tired arms and legs) to your funeral lunch to feed your family. Do they remember how they used to go shopping with each other for cute clothes and laugh now at their 20 year-old dresses? Do they get teary-eyed when they see pictures of each other’s great-grandchildren, remembering when that child’s grandmother was a rebellious teenager giving her mother fits? I think about this class, and I grieve that I will never have it. Admittedly, we chose this life, one of moving and new adventures and friends in many places, and roots that are not deep so much as they are wide.

As we move, I am struck by how, at each new place, you are naturally drawn to people who have kids the same age as your own. You have an immediate connection. You can talk teething, potty training, homework, or hormones, whatever stage your child is in. Having 4 kids spread in age from 4-10 gives me a wide range of people to connect with. If my kids aren’t there now, they were at one point or will be soon.

But I can’t help but think about my friends in Crowell who were all pregnant at the same time as me. We had those babies and talked about nursing and sleeping through the night and teething, and we moved before my first one was even potty trained. And then in Denver City where I feel the most loss for a Homebuilders Class - maybe because we stayed there the longest, or had the closest friends, or went through Joey’s cancer together. When you go through something like that with people, you share a history. You never have to tell people about it, in a short, condensed version, because they lived it with you. They prayed and cried and laughed, and showed up with casseroles and chocolate ice cream and margaritas (it’s a good thing we’re Methodists!) It was with these friends that we talked over things like potty training, and first days of kindergarten, and helped each other through the mind-numbing, wonderful, exhausting days of having toddlers and babies and young children. And we would talk about how in a small town everyone else but the parents seems to know when a teenager has done bad things, and we swore that we would tell each other the truth about our kids, no matter how painful or uncomfortable. But even as I said it, I knew that I would not be there when my kids were teenagers. I might hope and even pretend that, but I knew it would not come to pass.
And so now I find myself here - grieving for a Homebuilders Class that I will never have. That ship has long since sailed. I am 3 moves removed from my original Homebuilders. And while it makes me sad, I will move on, never being one to spend too much time on what is lost (maybe to my detriment?) Instead I think about how some friends from Crowell have recently come to visit us at church here in Abilene, and my boys told me once we got home, “These people came up to me and hugged me, and said, ‘You don’t know me, but we love you!’ Isn’t that weird? Weird, but kind of cool too.” And we ran into some friends from Denver City recently, and we were hugging them, and catching up on old times, and Sam said, “I don’t remember you, but I’m going to hug you anyway!” He may not remember the face or the name, but he realizes in some small way that they share a history, that their lives intersected for a time.

And so, my Homebuilders Class may not be one where I get to see them everyday and go shopping with them, and help them pick out new curtains for the living room, and cry together when our babies start Kindergarten and when they graduate from high school. But I guess my class is still here, just spread out over several cities. And so I go on with the sometimes difficult task of sharing my life with new people. Telling the condensed version of my history and listening to theirs. Hopefully getting to share in the part of each other’s lives in the years where we are together. Letting our roots run together for a time, knowing that at some point, we will have to untangle them and move on. Knowing that the untangling part can be painful and usually involves ripping part of yourself off and leaving it there, but also knowing that letting your roots get all tangled up with someone else’s just means you both have a stronger foundation.

Can't a boy poop in peace?

2010-12-22T21:49:00.002-06:00

Yesterday I was letting Joey play on my laptop on my bed while I was enjoying something I haven't done since moving to Abilene - reading a novel. He was playing a Diego game on Nick Jr. when he decided he needed to go to the bathroom. As soon as he got the bathroom, he could hear Diego's cheerful voice, "What color is the hermit crab's shell?"

"Just a minute," Joey called out sweetly.

A few seconds later, "What color is the hermit crab's shell?"

"I SAID just a minute, Di AY go!" Joey called out, decidedly annoyed by Diego's persistence and cheerfulness.

Diego, not one to be ignored, called out again, "What color is the hermit crab's shell?"

"I'm NOT answering you!" he grumbled, "Can't a boy poop in peace?"

Indeed.

Merry Christmas!

2010-12-16T10:01:00.004-06:00

Well, I've got a week off from my preschool teaching before my older kids are off from school, and I feel like I've got all this time suddenly! I also have about 10 million things on my "to-do" list, but for now, I am ignoring them in favor of updating this sad little blog that has been totally ignored and mistreated for 3 months now. I just thought I'd share a few highlights from the last few days.

Levi has started sex-ed in school. It has been interesting. Every few days I'll ask him what he has been learning, and my questions are always answered with eye rolls and sing-songy voices, "My growing and changing body" "the male penis" "my vocal cords," etc. But yesterday, I asked him, and he looked absolutely mortified, "Oh my GOSH mom! We had to learn about the GIRL'S body! Gross! Why do I need to know that?? We learned all about how a baby is made. Of course, I already knew (I don't think I ever told you about my exceedingly awkward sex conversation with Levi where I had to bite my cheeks to keep from giggling like a nervous junior high kid, but at this point I was seriously patting myself on the back for having the conversation at all, because at least he knew and didn't have to suffer the same fate of his poor classmates) but everyone else was going, ewww! And this one kid was so grossed out he actually threw up! Really, he left the room and threw up right in the hallway!"

Now, to be fair, there are several stomach viruses going around right now, but that doesn't make nearly as good of a story, as saying that when you learned about sex you actually threw up. That would be a good reminder to that boy when he is a teenager with raging hormones.

Guess what? The other day I spilled a whole gallon of paint in my utility room! Isn't that great? Let me tell you, spilled paint has a way of paralyzing you. You just sit and stare at it slowly oozing its way across your floor, ruining everything in its path (which in my utility room is a shockingly large number of things) and are completely at a loss as to what to do. It all just seems so big and uncontrollable - like you just have to say, "That's it! We're just going to have to burn this room down!"

But I just started throwing rags on it, which did absolutely nothing but ruin the rags, and Steve was just staring at it going, "Think! think! think!" Which apparently, it actually helps to talk to your brain like that, because he came up with the idea of getting a dust pan and trying to sweep the paint into it. Which actually just ruined a broom, BUT it stimulated my brain to think of my Pampered Chef scraper which worked like a charm to scrape all the paint into the dustpan and into a trash can. And then we were able to wipe up the rest of the paint with wet rags.

And we only ruined the broom, one trash can, one dustpan, my jeans, Steve's sweater, Lily's church shoes, one of her teddy bears, Levi's jacket and backpack, and several mismatched flip-flops! Good times! Note to self: setting a gallon of paint on the washing machine is not a good idea - spin cycles have a tendency to move things, if you know what I mean. But Steve told me this was not the most expensive spill we have ever had - I've forgotten all about this, but apparently when I was taking fertility drugs to try and get pregnant with Levi he spilled a whole vial of medicine, which was $150. Now, I'm pretty sure with all the stuff we ruined that this exceeds that one, but I agreed with him anyway since technically he is still responsible for the most expensive spill in our family. (I'm not sure why this is a necessary family record to keep, but apparently we are) And I take comfort in the fact that I completely forgot that spill, so I feel sure that I will also forget this one day.

Hopefully I will not forget it so fully as to ever place a gallon paint on the washing machine again.

I love to run, I love to run, I love to run

2010-09-08T21:55:00.003-05:00

That is what I repeat to myself every morning when the alarm goes off at 5:45. A.M. I type A.M. in all caps because it still shocks me to see that number. I consider anything before 6 to still be the middle of the night. I also repeat to myself, "I love to get up early, I love to get up early..." So far, I don't think my body is buying it, but I'll keep trying.

You see, I've decided that I've got to get in shape, and hopefully lose some weight. But I love to eat, and so therefore I've got to exercise in order to support my eating habit. And for me, that means I've got to do it first thing in the morning. Any other time just will not work for me because I am much too good at justifying and making excuses for why I do not need to exercise today. And because I started working at our church's preschool, and I'm pretty sure even 2 year olds would not appreciate the stinkiness of my body after I run, I must get up in the middle of the night in order to exercise and shower before work.

So, I started this Couch to 5K running program. In all honesty, I started it back in May before we even moved. I am now on week 5. I think it's important to take things slow. It started off all innocent sounding and sweet - jog for 60 seconds, walk for 90 seconds. Yes, I like that. I liked it so much, I think I stayed on week 1 for about 3 weeks. And then I would stop for a few weeks and have to start all over again. So, you are supposed to be able to run 3 miles at the end of 9 weeks. Since I have never been able to run 3 miles my whole stinkin life, I don't think it will hurt me too badly if I end up taking 9 months instead of 9 weeks. I've never been one to push myself too hard anyway.

See, before Joey was born, I was running with my friend Virginia, and I lost a lot of weight and was in pretty good shape. And, Virginia, bless her heart, tried to get us on this program then. I told her she was absolutely nuts, that there was NO WAY I could run 3 miles, and I was perfectly happy with our little arrangement of running and walking for 45 minutes that we did - it was not too hard, and most importantly we could chat the whole time which was really my motivation for dragging my butt out of bed anyway. So, now that I no longer have the motivation of getting to talk with a real, live grown-up every morning, I figured I needed some other type of motivation - thus the couch to 5k program.

It is a very humbling thing to be dragging your large hiney around the track, thinking to yourself, just 5 minutes, just 5 minutes, you can do it, and you get passed by a grandma doing her morning walking. (okay, not really, but it feels like it sometimes!) And there will be people who are just running by, seemingly effortlessly, and I will try to motivate myself by telling myself that someday I will run like that - no more huffing and puffing and gasping for breath and counting the seconds. One day, I couldn't find any short socks to wear, and I was all embarrassed by my tall socks that I had to scrunch down, until I gave myself a reality check - come on, Alayna, do you really think anybody will even notice your socks when you are gasping for breath and they are worried that they may need to give you CPR? Nah, I don't think your socks are going to be noticed.

The other day there was this guy who was running with his dog, and running is really not the right term. Leaping may be a more appropriate word. Bounding like a gazelle. He ran on the grass, not the track, and the look of sheer joy on his face made me think of the look I get when I take a bite of warm brownie. I couldn't help but smile just watching him. And I saw him another day, as he effortlessly leaped past me, and he called out, "Good day, mate!" And I smiled again, picturing him running on the savannah with the kangaroos, so graceful was his leaping. I couldn't help but think that this was the way God intended for us to run - loving it, for sheer joy, not for drudgery on a track, but effortlessly bounding through the grass with a smile on our faces. Or... maybe he was made to run like that, and I was made to eat brownies like that? A definite possibility.

There's a sucker born every minute

2010-08-28T22:11:00.002-05:00

Apparently, I was the one for my minute. I know this about myself. I really do, and I try to put safeguards in place so as not to be suckered, but, far too often, people slip through the cracks in my well-oiled armor.

Case in point: Friday night. Steve and I went on a date! I know, right? A real, live date with no kids in tow. It was pretty awesome. As we were leaving, Lily-Grace said, "I didn't know it was your anniversary." That is how often this happens. So, we went out to eat at this wonderful little Thai place, and then we thought maybe we'd go see a movie, but we'd missed all the 7 o'clock movies, and we'd have to put a second mortgage on the house to afford the babysitting if we went to a late show, so we opted for our old stand-by: go to the bookstore. Because we are nerds. We really are, and we're fine with that. In Midland, we'd go to Barnes & Noble, but in Abilene, they don't have one, so we went to Books A Million, which is a store in the mall.

So, we went our separate ways and perused the books and magazines, and about 8:45, we thought we'd head out into the mall to look around before it closed at 9. I guess it's pretty safe for the budget to only allow yourself 15 minutes to shop. So, Steve headed to Best Buy, and I just decided to walk around and look (I just realized that we spent a good part of our date going our separate ways...hmmm) So, I'm walking around, and usually I have one eye on alert for the people with the perfumes and lotions and samples and all that stuff just looking for a sucker like me to walk by. You know, I don't know what to say, except maybe it was getting late, and the shock of just being out without the kids had let my guard down, I don't know, but I was completely caught off guard by the little Israeli guy with the lotion! I know! Don't you know what I'm talking about?? The Dead Sea products where they suck you in with their exotic accents and massage your hands with sweet-smelling lotion and don't let go until you buy something so outrageously expensive that you are mentally flagellating yourself all the way to the car - yep, that's what I'm talking about.

Well, they guy calls out, "M'am? Would you like a free sample?"

"Oh crap!" Warning! Warning! The bells go off in my head. I pick up speed and keep walking, but I make the terminal mistake of looking back apologetically. At which point he calls out, "Can I just ask you one question?"

And I reply, quite rudely I might add, "No!" and keep walking.

And he actually hangs his head in shame and defeat, and I crack like the pussy willow I really am. So, I slowly head back, assuring him that I am NOT going to buy one thing. I think those were the exact words I said, and I even added that I had to meet someone right away, and I didn't have much time. He assures me that is just fine, and then pulls out that sweet-smelling lotion and begins to massage it into my hands and rubs a little buffer thing on my ugly nails to show me how shiny they can be, and I know I am a goner. Seriously, I really think they are trained to grab a hold of your hand and not let go until you have agreed to purchase something.

At one point my phone rings, and the guy (I even found out his name, Jed) is forced to let go of my hand so I can answer. It is Steve and when I tell him where I am, he calls out jeeringly, "Suuuckeerrrr." Oh shut up. He's worse than I am. He shows up and does absolutely nothing to help. I bet when Jed got a look at Steve his eyes lit up and dollar signs went off in his head, because that boy is more of a sucker than I'll ever be.

So, Jed goes back to the oiling and lotioning, and telling me what a good price he's going to give me. And at one point, I even hold up 4 fingers, and say, "Four. We have four kids."

And poor Jed gets all excited because he thinks I have just said I'll have 4 kits. When I have to explain, no 4 children, who we have to feed and clothe. He acts shocked and says he has never heard of such a thing, and says he will just give me his card. Gosh! If I knew it was going to be that easy, I'd have pulled out pictures long ago. But then he says, "Well, what do you like the best?" Why can't I just shut-up? Why do I have to answer? I say the buffer, and because Jed is such a nice guy, he is going to give us the whole set for just the price of the buffer - can you believe it? Suffice it to say, I now have shiny fingernails.

I think I will have to use the buffer to shine up my sucker armor. It obviously has some gaping holes.

KICKBALL!!

2010-08-25T20:51:00.002-05:00

So, you know our new house is right across from this great park, right? Well, when we were still in the looking phase of house-buying, Steve was in love with this house, but I wasn't so sure. He was pointing out all the benefits of the house, especially the great park where he would "go all the time to throw the ball around with the boys." And, then when he wasn't sure I would go for it, he said in exasperation, "Alayna! There is a prairie dog town right across the street!" And I looked at him in amazement and said, "Well, why didn't you say so? Let's go sign the contract!" (For those of you who know me well, you'll know it was said with much sarcasm.) And when we finally did buy the house I told him he was going to have to sign a contract promising to play outside with the kids at least 3 nights a week, and he agreed.

Well, this morning, we wake up, and it finally has a coolness to the air, and the first beginning signs that fall may actually come, and we won't be stuck in perpetual summer (the kid's first day of school was a record-breaking 104 degrees!) And so, tonight I got out the contract I made him sign in blood and suggested we all go over for a rousing round of kickball. It took some convincing, but when you've signed in blood, you've signed in blood.

It was the first time the little ones have ever played kickball. That, in and of itself, is reason to play - guaranteed laughs! Here are a few highlights of the night:

Lily's first time at bat (kick?) she let the ball go right past her, but turned around and kicked it behind home plate. That is a great way to insure you get to first base. I highly recommend it!

Joey's first time at bat - he kicked it - it went a few feet, he followed it and kicked it again, and again - he had a great soccer run going. And since Levi was in hot pursuit, he just kept on kicking and running. At that point, Levi felt he was completely justified in tackling him to the ground or else "he would've run right into the prairie dog town!"

Joey continued to struggle with the idea of only kicking the ball once. He just doesn't want to get out, and so if he thought Levi might get the ball, he wanted to kick it again. Or, at one point, since Levi was getting close, he just picked the ball up and ran with it all the way to first base. That completely guarantees you won't get hit with it, right? You know, whatever works. When you are the baby, you can get away with most anything since everyone else thinks you are cute and funny. He knows how to work it.

I am proud to say that my team took an early lead of 8-1. Steve divided up the teams of me, Levi, and Lily-Grace against him, Sam, and Joey. Generally, Levi automatically picks being on Dad's team since he must win at any cost (I can't believe he doesn't respect my kickball skills!) and so, to make it more fair, the team with Levi gets Joey, and so I usually have the 2 middle kids. I have to say, winning was nice. Except for Sam crying that it was so unfair that we had all the good players and wah wah wah!

But all the crying was for nothing since when I announced it would be the last inning, Levi decided to let them catch up to us so as to make the game last longer. In his grand plan, he would let them almost catch up, and get them out right right at the last second so we could still win. Unfortunately, things don't always end up the way you plan! They ended up tying with us, and oh the agony when extra innings were not allowed! Hopefully, he learned the valuable lesson to crush people while you have the chance!

I'm Still Here!

2010-08-24T22:14:00.003-05:00

Hello, my faithful friends who still check on my blog, even though I haven't written in months! This is one of the many things I would like to get better at! This has been a crazy few months of transition, and we are still in it! We have moved to a new town, Abilene. We have bought our first house:

I love it! I have loved re-decorating, and changing the rooms to be more "us." I'll have to post some pics of that sometime soon.

Steve is the pastor at a new church so there are tons of new people to get to know, and old friends to grieve. There are new joys and new challenges.

The kids have started a new school and made some new friends (Praise God!) I realized when we went to Meet the Teacher that this is the 4th school in 4 years they have been to. Next year will be the first time in 4 years that they will get their class list and might actually know some people in their class. Lily-Grace started Kindergarten this year. Joey just turned 4. For the first time, I don't feel like a "young parent." I feel "seasoned." I hope it is nicely seasoned and not overdone.

Our house is right across from a park with an awesome walking track. The other day I saw two young moms pushing double strollers around with an infant and a 2 year old, and I was instantly transported back to my time in Crowell - walking the roads in town with my friend Crystal and our boys about the same ages. I felt a lump in my throat, and I had to suppress a strong desire to run out and grab the moms, and tell them to savor it - savor the time because it is gone so fast! At the time, I don't remember savoring it. It wasn't nostalgic at all - it was a 2 year old trying to climb out of the stroller and a baby crying, and trying to soothe him with his pacifier, and Oh my gosh! Did my milk just let down and will it leak through my shirt? All the while trying to carry on a conversation with Crystal in a desperate attempt to have a conversation with another adult. It didn't feel special or like something to savor. But now I realize it was.

So, last night as it was bedtime, and I was tired, and sooo ready for them to go to bed, and Lily and Joey started singing a made-up song that went on forever and was really just a stall tactic to put off bedtime a few more minutes, I just sat back and listened...and savored. In just a few years there will be no more sweet-smelling heads to kiss at bedtime and read a story to and sing a song with. So, I savored.

Time is moving quickly and there is much transition right now - I am going back to work full-time at our church's preschool. Teaching 2 year olds. Pray for me. I am trying to be more organized and exercise and get up early and go to bed before midnight. This is a struggle for me. But I constantly have stories in my head that need to be written, and so I will try to find the time for that as well. It helps me to savor.

West Texas Weather

2010-05-15T21:37:00.002-05:00

I love west Texas weather - the saying goes, "If you don't like it, stick around an hour, and it'll change!" Ninety percent of the time you can count on hot and dry. I like hot and dry. And you will get the occasional thunderstorm - also a favorite of mine. I love the way the lightning just puts on a show, and the thunder is loud and exciting. I remember one time when we had our exchange student, Eliska, with us and we were driving in a thunderstorm, and she was just in awe. She said they didn't have thunder and lightning like that in the Czech Republic.

However, my last thunderstorm experience is one I wouldn't care to repeat! Friday, I had some errands to run, and it had been cloudy all day, but no big deal. As any west Texan will tell you, clouds don't mean nothin. So, we get a couple of errands done, and then it starts to rain...a normal, hard, driving pour-down rain, almost like what it would be like standing at the bottom of a waterfall. Now, those usually don't last too long - maybe 30 minutes, so we go along with our errands. One of those is to go to Toys R Us to get a present for a birthday party that Levi is going to. While we are in there, Steve calls to tell me that there is a tornado warning, and they are all in the basement at church. I am in Toys R Us, so what are you gonna do? A car is one of the worst places you can be in a tornado, but I have a feeling this big, warehouse type building wouldn't be much better. So, Joey & I finish our shopping and then join the rest of the shoppers standing in the foyer just watching it rain. And I'm trying to decide what to do. I really need to go get Lily from school. But what if I'm driving into a tornado?

Now, I'm not one to be scared of tornadoes. I've lived in tornado alley all my life, and I remember the news guy on the TV saying, "Take cover! Take cover immediately!" And my dad would just be sitting there. And I would say, "Ummm? Do you think we ought to take cover?"

"Naahh." He'd say. And we never did. But I got to tell you, it was a little different being a parent and knowing that I had one child with me in a less-than-safe location, and 3 other children and my husband scattered all over the town. So, at one point the rain seemed to be letting up, and one other family started to leave, so I decided we would go to. So, I run out to my car, getting completely soaked - like there is water running down my back and into my crack - nice. I pull my car up to the store to go get Joey where I left him with a store employee, and my phone rings. It is Steve and he says that an actual tornado has been seen, and not to leave, and right then a store employee says the same thing. So, we get out of the car and go back into the store to wait.

We wait some more and then the rain has almost stopped. I call Steve and he says that the tornado warning will expire at 2, and so I decide to go ahead and go get Lily-Grace. That's when the fun starts. The roads are a freakin river - like white-water rapids! It is over the curbs, and there are cars stalled out everywhere. There are fire trucks and ambulances and police cars everywhere, and you feel a little like you are in a disaster area. Then, about 2 minutes into our journey it starts to rain hard again, and then to hail. Oh joy. You know they say not to drive into water if you can't see the bottom? I've done it. It ain't fun. I was following this other SUV that was smaller than me, so I figured if he made it, so could I. Unfortunately he wasn't going the same place I was. I finally figured out the residential streets were much less flooded, so I would try and stay with those. At every intersection, I would just look down the streets to see if I could actually see the road, and if I could, it was worth turning down. 30 minutes later, we ended up at Lily's school.

The ride home was worse. If I could've harnessed the tension in my shoulders, I feel like I could've powered a small town. And Lily, sensing my distress, would try to encourage me, "Don't worry, Mama, it's just like we are a boat in the ocean!" Um, yeah, that helps. That was exactly what it felt like though. At one point, we stopped at this intersection where everyone was just stopped on all four sides, staring it down. This particular intersection didn't have anybody stalled out, which was actually bad for the rest of us because we couldn't see how deep the water was. Just about the time I decide I am not going to be the one to brave it, this car, car mind you, not an SUV, not a truck, decides to make a go of it. The water is coming up over its hood! And at about the same time, these 2 guys jump out of their car and start to run into the water to cross the street. And they are falling down because the water is running so fast, and Lily goes, "Mama! What are those guys doing? They're scaring me!"

"Yeah, they're scaring me too, baby." Is this world going crazy? So, it has now been almost an hour, and I guess all the craziness finally gets to Lily because she loses her cheery encouragement when all the water starts to wash up over our windshield when we are going through some deep water, and she starts to wail, "Oh no! We can't see! Dooomm! Dooomm!" At this point I knew we were almost home, and it actually made me laugh. But, I would be very happy if we never had to do that again. I've decided thunderstorms are only good if you are home in a nice, dry house.

I told Steve he had to pick up the boys because I was done, and his 2 mile trek turned into an hour long event too. And then a few hours later the sun was peeking through the clouds and the waters were receding. But doom was still living in my shoulders!

DIYers

2010-05-15T15:23:00.006-05:00

Well, as most of you know, we are moving to Abilene. That is the reason I haven't been on here too much. You know, trying to pack and clean and do all the other normal things that are required just to keep our household running. And, as most of you know, I'm married to a pastor, but what some of you may not know is that a lot of pastors live in parsonages, which is basically a house that is owned by the church. And, I have to say, parsonages can be pretty awesome! You don't pay your own bills, when something breaks, you just call someone to fix it, and the church pays. It's a pretty sweet deal. And most of the parsonages have at least some furniture. That can be good and bad. Sometimes, people in the church get new furniture for their house, and then, out of the goodness of their heart, they donate their old furniture to the parsonage. And we should be grateful for the stuff they don't want anymore and display it prominently in our house to show our gratefulness. Now, I have to say, we have been more than blessed in that respect - that has never happened to us, and people have actually bought new stuff for the parsonage out of the goodness of their hearts.

But, there comes a time when you start to wish for your own place - a place where you can decorate and make changes, and not have to worry if the next pastor or the parsonage committee will like it. And some churches, mostly those in bigger towns, have gotten rid of their parsonages, and instead give their pastors a housing allowance (which is basically just part of your salary that you don't have to pay income tax on, which is nice since pastors are self-employed). So, Steve & I had been saving our money, just in case we were sent to a church that had a housing allowance, so we would have enough money for a down payment. Well, that time has come...we are moving to Abilene, and we have bought our first house. Here it is:

Ain't it purty? Well, we are beyond excited to get there and start fixing it up and making it ours. The people who have been there had a real liking for the color white. As in white walls, white carpet, even white furniture. Now, I have nothing against white. It's just that I live with 4 children who I sometimes wonder if they are really humans at all, but instead some sort of alien life form sent here undercover to pollute our house. They must have received excellent training. So, the white can stay, but it will only stay white for, well, I'd say about 2 weeks if we're lucky, and then it will be a dingy beige color.

So, anyway, the whole point of this post is to say we are becoming excellent DIYers. In our minds. We record all these shows on DIY, and say to ourselves, "Yeah! We could totally do that!" I mean, look at all they got done in 30 minutes! So, we are dreaming of paint and flooring and built-ins, and granite counter tops, and tile, and resurfacing walls and fireplaces, but we are stuck in our reality of not being able to do anything until we close, and that is just a shame to waste all this great talent.

So, that brings me to the point that we have almost zero furniture of our own. So, recently we got my Grandmother's dining table and chairs. Now, let me say, I love this table. Mostly because of all the great memories associated with this table. I can still See Granddaddy sitting at one end, and Grandmother at the other, and all the people I love in between, and there was always lots of great food and even more laughter. But, I also have to say that this table is not exactly cool. In fact, it would go great in this room:

Which is the front room of our house. But, we are on a mission to make that room look cool and modern. So, we started to talk about what we could do with the table.

"Well, we could definitely recover the chairs," I said.

"We could paint it," Steve said.

I looked at him in utter horror! "Um...no we could not! Are you crazy? My Grandmother would roll over in her grave. We are NOT painting it."

Then, I was talking to my Aunt Pam, who is my grandmother's youngest daughter, and she said she has seen tables like Grandmother's with the legs and the chairs painted black. Then she added, "But we could never do that because Grandmother would rise up from her grave and haunt us both!" I laughed and agreed. But then at one point, she said we really could do that if we wanted. I casually mentioned it to Steve, but said I still wasn't sure that was what I wanted to do - it made me too nervous. What if it ruined it?

Well, I guess Steve had just had enough of only dreaming of fixing things up because one day he came in with one of the legs completely sanded! I was shocked, but that committed us! So, here is our first official DIY project. Chairs before:

Chairs After:

And the picture really doesn't do it justice! It looks SO good! And Steve has done most of the work - all I've done is recover the seats. We'll be sure and show you the whole thing when we get it into the new house. And I figure that Grandmother would be proud of me, after all I am her granddaughter and can basically do no wrong! Aunt Pam, I don't have a good excuse for you - you really should have known better! So, if Grandmother shows up here to get on to me, I'll be sure and send her your way!

Happy Easter!

2010-04-04T16:10:00.003-05:00

How time flies! It just doesn't seem like that long ago that I was bringing home a tiny little newborn for his first Easter. And now that little newborn is over 5 feet tall! Ugh! Maybe thinking about all that made me a little nostalgic. I was at the Children's Place a few weeks ago, and I saw those adorable sweater vests and dress, and I just had to have them! I know this is probably the last year I can do that without a major rebellion! It was pushing it this year - Levi took off his sweater in the car on the way home, but I did get my pictures, at least. But don't they look cute? When Levi was about 6 years old, he declared that he hated "the match," and I promised I wouldn't dress them just alike again. I convinced him that this wasn't matching, it was "coordinating" - a small but crucial difference!

We had an Easter egg hunt last week with our church, and last year I just let that suffice, and didn't do another one for our family. Maybe it's just me, but we always had big Easter egg hunts with our cousins, and it just seems anti-climactic do just do one with our family. And in Denver City, we had a fun little tradition of going out to the park with anyone in the church family who wasn't with their families. And so, it seems a little sad to have a hunt with just our kids. But this year, when I was telling Joey that it was Easter, and he asked if we would hunt eggs today, I was feeling that same nostalgia - that maybe we wouldn't have too many more years when they would even want to hunt eggs, and we should hunt eggs while the kids were little.

And so, I grabbed the candy from the Easter egg hunt last week, (I mean really, did we need any more candy? I think not.) and my mom & I skipped Sunday school and filled up eggs in the car. Now, when we were growing up, we always had change in the eggs, and one special egg would have a dollar in it. So, because my mom wanted to contribute, we went ahead and and put dollars in 4 eggs, and I could envision the disaster that would likely ensue. I could just see Joey finding all 4 eggs, and Levi would have a breakdown.

So, we had the hunt, and afterward they were going through their spoils, and it actually turned out pretty evenly. Levi found 2, and Lily-Grace didn't find any, but the other 2 each found one. And I was helping Lily-Grace count her money, and Sam came over and asked if Lily had found a dollar egg, and I was a little annoyed, because I thought he was coming over to gloat, so I said, "No, but she found lots of quarters!" And that seemed to satisfy her, and I figured we averted the tragedy. Then, Sam came over carrying his dollar and said, "You can have my dollar, Lily-Grace, I don't need it." And, Lord have mercy, I teared up right then, and thought, there is hope after all. This is my Easter miracle! Because, seriously, I thought I might have to kill that child during church when he was feeling it necessary to breathe like he was running a marathon and make moaning sounds whenever there was a particularly quiet moment.

And then Levi felt convicted because he was the one who had 2 dollars to begin with, and so he held out his dollar and said reluctantly, "Here. You can have my dollar if you need it." And I know he didn't want to do that, but that's okay. I'll take a moment of kindness however I can get it. Especially considering that less than an hour earlier he had been threatening to kill Sam. So, I realize in the grand scheme of things, that this is a tiny, minute, insignificant little thing, but I'd say something that gives us hope that maybe we're doing okay as parents after all, is a miracle I'll take any day of the week! I hope you had a great Easter too!

Bad to the Bone

2010-03-01T21:04:00.005-06:00

Yep. That's me. Bad to the bone. And even more bad than me, is Steve. We are two totally cool, tough, and, I'd say, almost scary people. And now we have a ride to match that attitude. Here it is:

Yes, we are the proud new owners of a Bali Motor Scooter. I know, try not to be jealous. The sad thing is, our kids think this is totally cool - they don't realize it is really nothing more than a moped. I used to make fun of people riding those - I'm not sure why, just being honest here.

I'll have to take full responsibility for this purchase. Steve is most definitely not a motorcycle person, and he is really not even a motor scooter person. And, quite honestly, that makes me happy. But last night, we were sitting at our church's youth fundraiser, and they have a live auction. And we pretty much do not participate in this auction normally since we don't have hundreds of dollars to spend on steaks, even for a good cause. But, they put this scooter up there and started the bidding at $2000, and nobody bid. And then they lowered it to $1500 and nobody bid. And then they lowered it to $1400 and nobody bid. And I was feeling bad and somehow responsible, don't ask me why, it makes no sense whatsoever. And the auctioneer was saying how great these things are, and what a steal this was, and I leaned over and whispered to Steve, "Oh, just bid on it! If we start, someone else will surely bid. Or, at the very least, we can sell it!" And so he bid, and lo and behold, no one else uttered a word.

And so we are now badass motor scooter owners, except I'm not really sure a motor scooter can be badass. But, more in keeping with our personalities, it gets great gas mileage! And we were instant heroes with our boys, who stared at us in awe and asked if we really did just buy that scooter and were we really going to take it home, and could they ride on it. And we answered yes to all those questions, except it is currently still at the church since we don't know how to drive it, and Steve said you have to have a special license to drive a motorcycle, and he is nothing if not a rule follower. And so there it sits in one of the Sunday School rooms, and I'm guessing we are going to have to get it out of there by Sunday!

So as we are driving home that night, I decided to look through all the paperwork we got with it, you know, to see if there were any instructions on how to ride it because we really are that nerdy. And it was very helpful. I saw a section entitled "Way of Starting for Engine" and thought that would be a good place to start. Here's what it said:

1. Stand the main stand when starting engine, and make the rear wheel nearly room.
2. Adopt the electric/kick starting. If adopt electric starting, must catch hold of front brake or step rear brake pedal.
3. When driving in winter, turn the key of bank to "OFF" kick starting about 5 times and make into gasoline, then touche' with the electric road, with accelerating and warm up the engine about
2-3 minutes. All are OK.

Okay, no problem. I got it. Since I obviously had a handle on starting the engine after that stellar explanation, I decided to peruse the rest of the manual. Here are some other things I found especially helpful:

- Ride the motorcycle from left side and seat well, the left foot touch with room and avoid to rave. I'm so glad they warned me to avoid the rave. That would be so embarrassing if I didn't!

- Don't add freely gasoline to the turning bar after loosing the rod of rear braking, avoid to happen dangerous. Where can I find freely gasoline? I promise not to add it to the turning bar, I'll keep it strictly for the gas tank!

- Start to parking slowly, and then step and draw urgently the vehicle. Good to know. I'll make sure there is a sketch pad in the scooter at all times.

And last but not least,

- When parking, support the main stand in the little traffic and smooth land, if else happen to accident easily. I have no idea who wrote this, but I'd love to have a conversation with them! I have a feeling it would be memorable.

So as you can see from this highly informative and comprehensive owner's manual we are now completely prepared and all set to embark on our new adventure of owning and enjoying a motor scooter. As long as it stays in the Sunday School room at the church.

Differences

2010-01-28T17:34:00.002-06:00

It is fun to watch the differences in our children. Steve & I especially enjoy watching Joey and Lily-Grace interact. They seem to play more together at this age than the older boys did. I think it is because Lily-Grace has the imagination and um, shall we say, persuasion to get Joey involved in her ideas. And you get the added bonus of watching the differences in male and female, and I don't care what anyone says, they are there! Today I was washing the dishes in the kitchen (our dishwasher is out and I realize how spoiled I am!) and Joey and Lily are playing behind me.

Lily-Grace had gone and put on her pink, sequined flapper dress (the same dress she put on when she wanted to impress Levi's friend who was visiting and stood in front of him and began to shimmy her hips. I am not even kidding. I wish I was.) And Joey had dragged in the big old stuffed horse that Levi got for Christmas when he was about 5 - that horse has been through a lot. Lily stood on a stool at the far end of the kitchen and announced, "You come riding around the corner and see me and say how beautiful I am, and we fall in love."

Then Joey replies, as if he hasn't even heard her, "And I am in a horse race."
"You come riding around the corner and we fall in love!"
"And I am in a horse race."
"You come riding around the corner AND WE FALL IN LOVE!"
"And I am in a hor"
"YOU COME RIDING AROUND THE CORNER AND WE. FALL. IN. LOVE!!"
"And I"
"WE! FALL! IN! LOVE!"
Sigh. "Fine. But then we ride off on my horse."
"Yes! That is a great idea. We can ride off on the horse together after you ask me to marry you."
So they play out the story according to Lily-Grace's wishes, and I must admit it is making my dishwashing much more entertaining to listen to all this. I'm hoping she doesn't think this will work in real life. In fact, when Joey failed to propose to her like she had instructed, she took matters into her own hands and asked him to marry her. And then they hopped on the horse together and began to ride into the sunset. At which point Joey said in that cute singsong voice kids use when they are pretending, "And let's say that you fell off the horse here and died."
"NO! Nobody dies in this story!"
"Aww, man! This is a boring story!" And so the conflict continues about the age old question - chick flick or action adventure? It starts early. When these two are involved it usually goes the way of chick flick. But, I must say, that Joey does have his limits. Earlier in this play session before the whole horse and falling in love thing was happening, Lily-Grace was being a cheerleader - a very loud cheerleader, and she tried to convince Joey that it was his turn to be a cheerleader. And Joey emphatically told her that boys weren't cheerleaders. And so Lily-Grace turns to me, the dispenser of all knowledge and wisdom (at least for a few more years) and asks me if boys can be cheerleaders. I told her that they can, and she looks at Joey with that triumphant look and says, "See? I told you so! Now, be the cheerleader!"
And Joey calmly replied, "Well, maybe some boys can be cheerleaders. But Not. Joey."
And that was that.

Silence

2010-01-23T15:09:00.004-06:00

I'm Baaack! My kids are gone to my mom's house this weekend, and it is amazing what a little quiet can do for your thought processes. There are parts of my brain firing that I didn't even know still worked! When you have the time to complete a thought without being interrupted by, "Mom! Tell him it is my turn with that game!" or, "Mom! I'm hungry!" or, my personal favorite, "Mom! Can you come wipe me?" well, when you have that time, it is a blessed thing, a thing not to be taken lightly or for granted.

You see, my mom keeps our kids every year for a weekend for our anniversary, and while our anniversary is not until February 3rd, this was the only weekend within a month's time that we didn't have anything else going on, so this weekend was planned and much anticipated, not just by me, but by the kids as well. Lily-Grace got a cough on Tuesday, and I kept her home from school on Wednesday because my top priority was for her to be well this weekend - nothing should come in the way of this wonderful weekend! Joey especially asked every day if this was the day they were going to GranJan's. And Thursday night I put him to bed with the promise that tomorrow would be THE day - the day of going to GranJan's! And then the unthinkable happened. Joey woke up Thursday night gagging and trying to throw up. This has never happened to me before. The children never wake up and actually alert me to the fact that they are about to get sick. No, I am awakened after the fact by the crying and the unmistakable smell. So, we sat in the bathroom for a while, and nothing happened, so I sent him back to bed with a bowl for him to throw up in, which is a joke, because that would never happen. I mean, he sleeps in the top bunk after all, and why pass up the opportunity to lean over the bed and throw up all over the floor from 5 feet up? But, amazingly, we got through the night with no throwing up, but the next morning, he did, at long last, toss his cookies, except their were no cookies, only chocolate milk. Gross.

And I wanted to cry. And Joey did cry when I told him there would be no trip to GranJan's house. But then I grasped at the crazy thought that maybe this would be a one-time only event and he might perk up and be able to go after all. These are the thoughts of a desperate woman who has also built up this weekend in her mind as full of wonderful restaurant visits and staying up late and sleeping in, and knowing there will not be another opportunity for this before March. And Joey also had built this up in his mind as a weekend of eating junk food and playing games and basically doing whatever it is they do at GranJan's when no kill-joy parents are around. And Joey began to tell me how much better he felt, and he acted better, and we both wanted to believe it, and so I called my mom and told her of the tragedy that had befallen us, but assured her that I thought he was on his way to wellness and basically begged her to take them anyway because I couldn't bear the thought of telling Joey and the other kids that they weren't going after all. It was all for the kids, you know. Nothing at all about sleeping late or going out to eat entered my mind at all. And, of course my mom agreed because I really left her no choice.

And so I drove to Lamesa in the 100 mile-an-hour winds and blowing dirt to meet my mom at McDonald's, and got them all food, and Joey said he needed to go to the bathroom and so my mom took him. As soon as he got in there, he told her he needed to throw up, the little liar! All day long all he had been telling me was how much better he felt! Well, he didn't throw up, and I got them all settled in with food and left as quickly as I could before he could follow through on that idea.

And Steve and I went out to eat at a lovely grown-up steak place, and went to Blockbuster and rented adult movies, and by "adult" I mean nothing of the cartoon variety, preferably with no children in them at all, nothing make-believe, and the punch line is never a fart. And we came home and watched Julie & Julia, and it was lovely. And Steve got up to go to our room, turning out the lights as he went, and it was so quiet. So quiet. Like, it is never this quiet in our house - even after they are asleep because we know they could wake up at any time. In fact, Joey has perfected this method of crying out just as I have either gotten into bed or fallen asleep. And I know that I will have to go in there, lift him out of his top bunk, carry him into the bathroom while he is laying his head on my shoulder, sucking his thumb, and playing with my hair, and set him on the potty. Where he will do his business and I will carry him back to bed, and he usually sleeps for the rest of the night. But I knew that wasn't going to happen tonight. There was nobody to go check on and watch them sleeping, and cover them up and say a prayer over. And I actually felt sad. This is a new thing for me. Honestly, I rarely miss the kids on the few times we are away from them.

I think that as the years go by, I know how fast they are growing up. It won't be long until this will be an everyday occurrence - we will go to bed in a quiet house. There will be nobody to carry to the bathroom as he sweetly sucks his thumb and plays with my hair. And, sure, I'll be honest, I do sometimes dream about the day that I have two loads of laundry a week instead of two loads a day. But last night, in the quiet house, I caught a glimpse of the wonderful life I have. The wonderful, crazy, messy, loud life I have! And I was glad for it. It will all be gone before I know it, and I will miss it and wonder where the years have gone.

But, I gotta tell you, this morning when I was still sleeping at 10 o'clock I loved that quiet house! So, Mom, thanks for giving it to us. Thanks for allowing me the time to have some consecutive thoughts and giving me a quiet house so I could miss the loud one I usually have! I love you! And I pray that you don't get sick!

When the Unabomber Came to Visit

2009-10-27T13:07:00.003-05:00

I've been wallowing around in random, old memories the past few days. It all started on Friday when I picked the boys up for school and Sam was wearing a huge pair of women's sunglasses, but that story will require pictures that I've got to go rummage around for, so it will have to wait for another day. But the story that goes with the sunglasses led my mind down another path that is also a good story to tell.

We were fresh out of seminary (and by we, I mean Steve, but I feel like I should get some credit too since I was bringin home the bacon.) And we were at our first church, in a tiny little town called Crowell. I had never heard of that town before we moved there, and it is a rare day indeed whenever I mention to someone that we lived there, and they have heard of it too. When it does happen, you feel like you have an instant bond with this person. Anyway, tiny town. About 900 people. Steve was pastoring 2 small churches, and we loved it there. We loved the people, and we still do. Well, one day, Steve was home for some reason, and he got a call from Myrtie, our church treasurer. She was in a panic, and it turns out she had been in the church, all by herself, in the basement, thinking she was completely alone when she went into a room, and there was the unabomber.

Okay, obviously, not really the unabomber, but the dude bore an uncanny resemblance to him. So Steve hotfoots it to the church to save our sweet treasurer from the Unabomber, and he does what any normal person would do when the unabomber is in your church alone, wandering around, looking for God only knows what. He invites him to our home for a meal. Yes, yes he did.

So, Steve and the unabomber show back up at our house, and I am giving Steve the raised eyebrows, are you crazy look, and he proceeds to heat him up a plate of leftovers. We sat down to visit with him because we are southerners and southerners are polite, even to the unabomber, when he is invited over to your house. The unabomber starts talking about how he needs a new comb because he has lice. My eyebrows nearly reach my hairline, and my head immediately starts itching. Steve says that he'll take him to the drugstore and get him some lice shampoo, but says he's got some old combs he can have. The unabomber gets decidedly upset by this, because he needs new combs, dammit! Didn't we just hear him say he had lice? Oh yes, yes we heard. Was he implying our combs would have lice? I didn't question him on it. He also had no place to stay, and I began to shake my head emphatically at Steve just in case he had any crazy notion of inviting lice-infested unabomber to spend the night at our house. There weren't that many motels in Crowell, after all. Thankfully, Steve had more sense than that, and they left as soon as the unabomber had finished his meal to go get him some lice shampoo and get him a room in the one motel in town.

So, all was well, but as Steve left for work the next day, he suggested that I go ahead and lock the doors since the unabomber was still in town, and he knew where we lived. That made me feel a little uneasy, but not that bad. It was later that afternoon when I was visiting with my mom on the phone, and I was telling her about the unabomber when I looked back and saw my back doorknob being jiggled. Then, through the cracks in the blinds, I could see the unabomber!

My heart started racing, and my knees started shaking. "OH my GOD! MOM! It's the UNABOMBER! He's here, and he's trying to get in the house!"

"Well, leave! Get out of there! GO NOW!" I'm sure she was just as scared as I was.

I told her I was taking her with me, so I kept her on the cordless phone and ran out the front door and across the street. We had only been there a few weeks, so I really didn't know any of my neighbors well enough to go ring their doorbells and explain that I was running away from the unabomber. So I just stood there across the street from my house, watching it with concern. Then, I realized that I had left our new puppy in the house, at the mercy of the unabomber! What kind of a mother was I? My mom refused to let me go back in there and get her, and I was too scared to go anyway. So, I was still just standing out there, wondering what to do, when the front door of the house opened, and out came Steve, "What in the world are you doing out there?" he called out.

Oh, I nearly passed out from relief! My knees were shaking so bad, I literally nearly collapsed right there. Turns out, he was bringing the unabomber back over for one final meal before he headed out of town, but Steve was standing to the side of the door, and I couldn't see him through the blinds. I laughed at myself for freaking out, so glad that it turned out to be nothing. And after that, Steve and I came to an agreement that he wouldn't bring anyone else over to the house that he would think I needed to lock the doors from! They could make do with an Allsup's burrito if they had to. One of our first adventures in ministry, and it still makes me laugh!

Sail Fail

2009-10-17T20:58:00.003-05:00

At supper tonight we were telling stories, and you know how one story makes you think of another that makes you think of another? Well, that happened to me tonight, and I thought of something I haven't thought of in a long time.

After my freshman year in college, I worked at a summer camp for the summer. A recruiter had come to our campus ministry and they needed counselors for this camp where kids got to horseback ride, learn to sail, play on water slides and water parks, canoe, and the list goes on and on. I thought that sounded like fun, so I signed up and my adventure began.

The counselors arrived about 10 days before the campers, and we were trained in that time so we could teach the campers. Now, horses have never been my thing - I'm pretty much scared to death of them. They just seem so unpredictable and you're supposed to be controlling them, but I never felt empowered enough to control this huge beast that was carrying me for crying out loud! By the very nature of that arrangement, it would seem the horse was in control, and that was true for pretty much every horse I rode. So, I knew this was not going to be my favorite activity, but I'm a pretty good actress so I figured I could fake it. It turned out that they had "wranglers" who would teach the actual lessons about horseback riding, and we were just there for encouragement and crowd control. I learned to fake it pretty well, and horseback riding turned out to be not so bad.

On the other hand, I was really looking forward to the sailing part. I have always loved the water, and sailing just sounded so adventurous and exotic. Remember, I'm from Lubbock, Texas - we don't have a lot of water around there. And so I eagerly went to the sailboat training, envisioning gliding across the smooth water with the wind in my hair. I dutifully learned all the proper terms like port and starboard and jib and boom, and happily took to the water for my first try. There was no gliding, there wasn't even any puttering. I would have been thrilled to just drift with the wind, but my boat pretty much went no where. I watched as the other people would glide happily past me, their hair blowing in the breeze, laughing joyfully, and I would try mightily to position my sails in the exact same position as theirs so I could glide happily too. But, alas, there was never any gliding. I figured it would just take a few tries and I would be a pro at this, not to worry.

The first group of campers came, and when it as sailing day, we all went to the sailboats and each of the counselors had about 6 campers that they would take with them on their sailboat. Can I just say there is no pressure like 6 eight year old girls staring at you, waiting to happily glide across the water and you are just sitting, going no where? Looking back, I blame it on the wind. I'm from west Texas, and here you don't have to lick your finger and hold it in the air to know which direction the wind is blowing. It is blowing in the direction that nearly knocks you over. But in east Texas there didn't seem to be any wind, and yet the blasted other counselors would manage to find the minuscule breeze, turn their sails in just the right position and their sails would fill and they would glide quickly across the water, their laughter mocking me as they went past our stagnant boat.

A few lucky times, I managed to catch a breeze, and we would go sailing smoothly across the water. But I could never enjoy these times because I knew what was going to happen. We would run out of lake, I would be forced to turn, and the fun would come to a grinding halt. It was miserable. My campers would look at me expectantly at first, then later with sheer disappointment. They would listen to my feeble explanations of there being no wind and then say accusingly, "But look at Stacey's boat! They're sailing." Damn that Stacey! Couldn't she just fake it for me? But noooo, she had to glide happily across the water, rubbing it into my sorry face that I was a sailing failure. I remember one time the boom actually caught a gust of wind, came flying across the boat, narrowly missed knocking one of the girls clean in the water, but hit me square in the knee, causing it to gush with blood. I was actually thankful for the injury because then the girls felt sorry for me and didn't make me feel so bad that we weren't going anywhere.

Eventually I learned that I was just never going to get the hang of sailing and would try my best to get sailing as my "off" period. I would bribe the other counselors with whatever was necessary if they wouldn't make me go to my place of shame. If I had to go, I would do my best to try to make it fun in other ways, such as suggesting we all jump in the water and then try to climb back on the boat, pretending a shark was about to eat us all. For some reason this was never as appealing as gliding smoothly over the water. I guess there are some things just not meant for land lubbers.

Thank you for letting me share my shortcomings with you. My name is Alayna, and I am a sailing failure.

How to get Noticed

2009-10-11T17:08:00.002-05:00

So, as I've mentioned in some of my previous posts, we're doing this thing called "Outflow" in our church, and part of it is just encouraging you to notice other people. You know, not being so caught up in yourself, and your own life that you take the time to open your eyes and look around. Is there someone around you who looks down or alone or happy? And is there something you can do about it? Because after you notice someone, the next logical step is caring about that person. And so, in our Sunday School class, we were talking about how it is a part of our culture to mind your own business, and not look like you are staring at someone else.

But that got me to thinking, that somehow, when you have 4 kids, you are exempt from that social rule. Believe me, when you have 4 kids, people notice you. You attract attention everywhere you go. You can see people pointing, whispering, counting, and occassionally, they'll even ask you if they're all yours. I've always wanted to come up with a witty comment to that one, "Nah...we just pick up kids everywhere we go like some people pick up trash." or "They're all mine, except that one (whichever one is acting bad that day) Do you want him?" Anyway, my point is, people notice us, but I realized that what keeps me from noticing other people is I'm usually busy keeping up with all of mine, counting to 4 over and over again, and just monitoring there whereabouts.

So, today was our last Sunday of Outflow, and the day where the church leaves the building and goes out into the community to show people that God loves them by doing practical or nice things for them. So, we had groups that were giving out cokes on the street corner, buying groceries for people who live in motels, giving out coupons for free Dippin Dots, giving out care packages to fast food workers, "buying down" the price of gas at a gas station to make it under $2, and lots more things. And I haven't talked to everybody at all, but here is my favorite story from the day so far.

Steve's group was giving out Cokes to people who stopped at a red light, and after they had been there a while, this lady came back by, and excitedly told them this story. She had been inviting this friend of hers to church with her (not our church) and this girl was really struggling to believe that God could love her. And then, out of the blue, someone gave her this cross necklace, and she had been wearing it, and was starting to think maybe, just maybe, God did love her. And she had gone to church with her friend that morning, and for some reason, she was craving a Coke in the worst way. She even leaned over to her friend and whispered how bad she wanted a Coke, and then as they were leaving church, they stopped at this red light, and a person came up to the window and asked if they would like a free Coke! Of course they said yes, and then she just held this Coke in her hands, that had a card attached that said "This is our simple way of saying God Loves You." Wow! She just looked at it and said, "I guess He does love me after all." Can you believe that? Something so simple as giving out a Coke at a corner could make someone realize that God really does love them and wants to know them? It just gives me chill bumps and makes me want to do nice things for people all the time. So, go out and notice people today! And if it happens to be someone with 4 kids, tell her how nice and well-behaved her kids are, even if it isn't true! I think God might even approve of that little white lie! Okay, maybe not, but be nice to her anyway!

Birds & Bees & Almonds, Oh My!

2009-09-30T22:15:00.001-05:00

So last year Levi came home from school and said, "Oh! Mom, Mrs. Riley told me to ask you a question."

"Okay, shoot!"

"How does the DNA get from the dad to the mom?"

Deer in the headlights. Heart rate speeding up. I am so not ready for this! He's only 8! Why am I freaking out about this? I've told countless kids about sex in youth groups, but those were not my children, the same children who I get to see the joy on their faces on Christmas morning when they see what Santa brought them. Somehow knowing about sex and believing in Santa do not seem to go hand in hand.

But then God had pity on me, and Joey came into the room, screaming his head off, with a scraped knee. Thank you God for scraped knees! I took Joey to the bathroom to doctor up his boo-boo, but Levi followed me in there, waiting expectantly for the answer, so I stalled. "Ummm. What IS DNA?"

"You don't know what DNA is?"

"Well, yeah, I just want to see if YOU do."

So, he gave me some explanation, and I finally punted, "Well, it is really very complicated, and I'll have to think about how to explain it and get back to you."

And he never asked me about it again, and I was fine with that. Then, Dr. Leman came to our church, and he was talking about telling your kids about sex, and he said 8-10 year olds think about sex a lot! What? How can they think about it if they don't know what it is? And, he goes on to add, if you haven't told them by the time they're 8, you're behind! I wanted to put my fingers in my ears and say, "La la la la, I can't hear you!" But I reluctantly faced facts, and I bought his book, "The Chicken's Guide to Talking Turkey to your Kids about Sex." And basically, it said you should just be low-key, no stress, no squirmy discomfort when you talk to your kids. Yeah, sure. He called it "Kitchen Table Sex Ed." Part of that sounded good - no Big Talk, where you are both uncomfortable, and when it is done, you can take a deep breath, and wipe that off your list of things to do. No, instead it should be a natural progression, where you and your kids are comfortable talking about all things, and they know they can come to you to ask you any questions they have.

That sounds great! In theory. He said you should use every day objects that you have around the house to illustrate your impromptu talks. For example, whole almonds are about the exact size and shape of ovaries. Hmmm...yes, I can just imagine this conversation. "You know, kids, while I'm eating these almonds, I just can't help but think of...well, ovaries." Yeah, that's a natural conversation that happens every day at our house! On the upside, it could give me some much-coveted time alone - the next time my kids see me reaching for a banana, their eyes would widen with horror, and they would flee the room!

So, one day, I just decided to bite the bullet, and give it a go. Levi & I were eating at Chili's alone, and I brought up his question.
"Levi, do you remember when you asked me how the DNA got from the dad to the mom, and I never answered it?"
"Yeah."
"Well, it's when they have sex. Do you know what that is?" At this point I am having to seriously fight back the urge to giggle like a junior high boy. What is wrong with me?
"Yeah. I looked it up in the dictionary."
Okay, so he has been thinking about it! "Well, that's good. Do you want me to explain anything about it or do you have any questions about it?"
"No."
Thank God! "Okay, great! Well, if you ever do, you can ask me or dad anytime you want." And we will try not to faint or giggle like a little boy. And we went on to order our food, and I felt good that the ice had been broken.

Fast forward a few weeks later, and we are sitting in church, and Steve is preaching a sermon about Gomer, the prostitute. I knew it was coming. Levi leans over and whispers, "What's a prostitute, Mom?"

Oh, dear God! Okay, breathe, breathe, kitchen table sex-ed, I can do this. "It's when people have sex for money."

"Have sex for money, have sex for money," he kept repeating, like he was trying to figure it all out in his head. Just kill me now. And I know this child, I guarantee you he is wondering if this might be a good way to earn that extra money he's always needing. "What is sex again?"
"Remember it's what you looked up in the dictionary."
"I know, but I can't remember now what it was."
Of course you can't! Okay, kitchen table sex ed is one thing, but church pew sex ed is entirely different. I finally said, "We'll have to talk about this at home." And dad can explain it to you since he's the one who's preaching a sermon about a prostitute!

Okay, so here's my thing about Kitchen Table Sex-Ed. The problem is, our kitchen table is full. With kids younger than Levi. Joey is already fascinated with his penis. It's nothing at all for him to just announce proudly to a complete stranger, "I have a penis! Do you have a penis?" Let me tell you, there is nothing that breaks the ice with a total stranger quite like moving past all the normal social niceties right to talking about your private parts. Yep, you're instantly bonded. Taking a 3 year old out in public is not for the faint of heart. So, I'm just thinking that he does not need to be armed with any more info than he already has.

And, yet the awkward "sex talk" is something I would be fine to forego. I remember my mom reading a book to me, complete with pictures when I was probably a little younger than Levi. And what did I do? Run right over to the next-door neighbor to tell her this new and shocking news. It began with, "You are NOT GOING TO BELIEVE what you have to DO to get a baby!" Of course, she didn't believe me because who would do something so shocking and gross? And yet, I had seen the pictures - I had proof. So, I guess if we did go ahead with the awkward talk, we would only have to tell Levi, and he would tell Sam, who would tell the younger ones with great relish and most likely everyone else he knows too. I don't think I'm ready for that. So, for now, I guess we just go on with the waiting. Until the next question comes up. Please don't let it be at church.

My Second 911 call

2009-09-28T22:47:00.003-05:00

Well, I have officially made my second 911 call since I've been in Midland. I wonder if they've got some kind of file on me now? If they do, I'm afraid it would be labelled "Crazy Lady who keeps calling for non-emergency reasons." I will say, this call was much less stressful than that first call.

Okay, so this was last Wednesday, and I was trying to get my house cleaned. The little kids wanted to go outside in the front yard and play. Our neighborhood is super quiet during the day. We live on a culdesac, and there is no traffic to speak of. However, they are usually not allowed in the front yard without direct supervision. It was a beautiful day though, so I said they could play right there in the yard, and we would leave the front door open. Joey just wanted to dig in the flower bed that is literally 18 inches from the front door, and Lily-Grace was playing with him.

So, all was going well, and I was getting some cleaning done, when the phone rang, and it was my friend. So, while I was chatting with her, I decided I would just go and sit outside with them. While I was on the phone with her, some motion caught my eye, and I looked up and saw 2 Hispanic men running out of the alley across the street from my house, they crossed the street, and kept running down another alley. That is weird. You just don't normally see grown men running during the day who were definitely not running for exercise. But they weren't carrying stolen TV's or anything like that, so I decided to let it pass.

Then, I called Steve to ask him something, and while I was on the phone with him, I looked up and right across the street were 2 more Hispanic men. One of them made eye contact with me, then crossed the street in a run, and disappeared between one of the houses on our culdesac. Okay, this is really getting weird! I told Steve about it, and asked him if he thought it was weird.
"Umm...yeah I think it's weird! Grown men just don't go running around the neighborhood in pairs. You need to get the kids inside, lock the doors, and call the police."

"Really? You really think so?"

"Yes, I think so! Now hang up and go do it!"

So, I hung up, but I calmly swept up all the dirt that Joey had piled up on the sidewalk and thought about my options.

Well, they seem to be gone, so what harm have they done? Maybe they were playing hide and go seek? What am I going to tell them when I call? There were 4 men running around here, and I just don't think that's okay! Yeah, that sounds reasonable. But, what if they had just committed some heinous crime, and as they were running away (because they were so dumb as to have no other get away plans other than foot) that one guy saw me, so they'll be back to take me out later. Yeah, I think I've watched too many crime shows. Also, I haven't taken a shower yet, and I really don't want to talk to cops when I look this bad. But, on the other hand, they're cops, they're used to dealing with people at their worst.

But, what finally cinched it for me was the thought that what if they had robbed somebody's house or committed some other awful crime, and the police came around asking questions later to see if anybody saw anything, I would have to say, "Yes, I saw 4 men running from their house, but I didn't call because I hadn't showered yet." So, I bit the bullet and called 911.

"911. Do you need an ambulance, fire truck, or police?"

"Umm, well, I don't think so..." and I went on to tell him the whole story. When he asked if I wanted to talk to a police officer, I told him only if they really thought they needed to. I resisted the urge to tell him that I was Mrs. Kravitz. God knows that's what I felt like.

Anyway, he said that an officer would be there shortly. And, lo and behold, if the one and only cop that I know in the whole city of Midland wasn't walking up my path a few minutes later with his partner. How peachy! I explained the whole story to them, and they said they had looked in the alleys and hadn't seen anyone. Then they started asking me if they were teenagers. No, I definitely could tell they were adults. I was starting to feel really stupid, when another guy from the neighborhood sees the cops and stops to ask some questions.

"I was just wondering what was going on here. I saw one guy hiding in the back of that red truck over there. There must have been 6 or 8 of them in the alley behind that house."

Hmmm...maybe they WERE playing hide and go seek! I was just relieved that I had a witness, and I didn't have to feel completely like Mrs. Kravitz anymore. But then he goes on to say that he saw a Border Patrol car go speeding by.

"Ohh!" both police officers said. There was a house nearby that was getting a new roof, and the Border Patrol will target the roofing jobs. When they see them pull up, they all flee like rabbits who smell a wolf!

Everyone was relieved the mystery was solved, and the cops went on their way to go deal with real emergencies or eat donuts or whatever! I have to say that there is a part of me that hopes they got away. It seems like they're here working hard to earn better money than they could get in Mexico. On the other hand, I'm sure those 2 guys who ran down my street were hiding out in somebody's backyard. Can I just tell you how freaked out I would have been if we had been playing in our backyard and 2 guys hopped over the fence?!? I can guarantee you there wouldn't have been any second thoughts about whether or not I'd had a shower before I called 911!

I Made The Team!

2009-09-23T16:23:00.005-05:00

At the boys' school they have a pickle/popcorn day every other Friday where they sell pickles, popcorn, and Capri Suns to the kids to raise money. They like to have parent volunteers come in and pop the popcorn. They also use a phone tree with a recorded message whenever there is an announcement to make. Today I received this phone call:

It was the principal, and she said, "We still need three more people to pop popcorn for tomorrow. The first three people to call..." What? Their kid will get an A? extra credit? You'll get a portion of the proceeds? Where can this possibly be going?

"...will be put on the Popcorn Team." What?!? No WAY! Unbelievable! I wonder if I'll get to start?

Needless to say, I wasted no time in writing down that number and calling as fast as I could, hoping and praying that somehow my call would get through the tremendous volume of callers, each one of us vying for a coveted position on The Popcorn Team.

Yeah, so what if I was always on the B team? Never picked first for playground games of kickball? None of that matters now. Look at me now - First string. Popcorn Team. Eat your heart out, baby!

Tell Us A Story!

2009-09-23T09:37:00.001-05:00

Our family usually eats dinner together. I really do enjoy that time even though it is almost guaranteed that someone will complain about what we are having, and there is also a pretty good chance that at least one child will gag while trying to "at least taste" some truly disgusting food - like mashed potatoes. Where did I get these children? I could eat mashed potatoes every day of my life and die a happy woman.

Anyway, supper time at our house is fairly lively and never quiet. We had a friend and his son (who is an only child) come eat with us, and they just sat and watched everything with wide-eyed wonder, and proclaimed, "This is better than dinner and a movie." Thanks, we do what we can to entertain the masses. It's not hard. Well, sometime a while back the kids asked us to tell them a story about when we were little, and so we did, and a tradition was unintentionally born.

Now, I have to tell you that I love a good story, and I realize there is an art to telling it right. I've grown up in a family of storytellers. We used to go to my Grandmother's house at least once a month and have Sunday dinner with all our extended family. And the grown-up table was always full of stories and laughter. As I got a little older, I would sometimes even forego playing with my cousins to sit and listen to the stories. I loved them, and I learned how to tell a good story. A good story does not include just the facts, you've got to add in what you were thinking and feeling and what everyone's reactions were, what made it funny or sad, what makes it something to remember. I remember when something would happen to me, I'd think, I've got to remember this to tell it at Grandmother's house.

Steve told me early on that he would never want to do my grandparent's funerals - too much pressure to tell the stories just the right way! I laughed at him, but he was absolutely right. Whenever there was a story to tell about our life, he might start out telling it, but I usually couldn't help myself, and I'd start interjecting things until he would finally say, "Why don't you just tell the story?" But I've got to say, that hasn't happened in a while - I think I'm starting to rub off on him. And at my grandparents' funerals, I bullied my cousins into getting up there with me and telling the stories ourselves, and I'm so glad we did. It would have been very inappropriate for me to start interjecting things into the stories from my pew at the church, but I just don't know if I could've sat still and listened to someone else mess up the stories!

But anyway, back to our supper table. So, our kids want us to tell our stories. And this is fun, and the kids get a chance to know about us as kids. But when you do this night after night, you start to run out of stories to tell! I didn't think it was possible, but apparently it is. So, last night I had an idea. We would tell a story after they told a story. They can tell a story from school or one of their favorite memories, and then we tell a story. I like this. As a bonus, if one of them tells a story, they all want a turn, and so we can get by with only telling one story a night. And Lily's stories almost always start out as "Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess..." and the boys groan. And Joey's stories start and end with "Um, um, um..." this can go on for several minutes, but he is highly offended if you try to interrupt him. He has the floor, and he intends to keep it!

But Levi's stories are starting to have hints of the humor that we can all appreciate. He's starting to know when something would be appreciated by us all, and it is a tiny little glimpse into the person he will become. And I like it, and it makes me sad all at the same time. They are growing up before my eyes. And so the tradition carries on. I hope we raise four storytellers so someday when they come home, our table is filled with laughter and stories and shared memories. So, don't be surprised if you come over to our house to eat, and you are asked to tell us a story about when you were little. We need some new material!

Cancer Sucks

2009-09-21T21:47:00.002-05:00

Today was the day we had to take Joey to get his bloodwork done. This is his bloodwork to test his AFP - a tumor marker in his blood. It has been 6 months since we last had it done, and it has been in the normal range for over a year, so I'm sure it'll be normal again. But I just hate that we have to do this. I'm finally to the place that I wasn't sure I would ever get to - a place where cancer doesn't enter into my head every day. It still does a lot because we still have several cancer kids who we keep up with, but it's not an every hour, every day kind of fear that it was for a while.

I took Lily-Grace & Joey in for their well checks today, and while they were checking Lily's blood pressure, I felt my heart rate rise because I know that elevated blood pressure can be a sign of kidney cancer (and I'm sure a lot of other more benign things, but I just know enough to be dangerous!) And it just made me mad that I even have to give things like that a second thought!

On a funnier note, Lily also had to pee in a cup which she thought was just preposterous, but Joey was outraged that he didn't get to pee in a cup too! He was on the way to a full-out fit at not being able to pee in a cup, and the crisis was only averted by me promising him he could pee in a cup when we got home. Thankfully this was something that was quickly forgotten because I really would hate for this to become a regular fun-time event at our house, Oh! Let's hurry home so we'll have time to pee in a cup before bedtime! Yeah, that just doesn't bode well for future social interactions.

And it's also wonderful to have a 5 year old in your life because they'll tell you things that normal people wouldn't. She was asking why we have to get Joey's bloodwork done (this is new because it has just been so much a part of her life that she has never questioned it before - she would take her dolls to get their bloodwork done like other girls would rock and feed their dolls!) Anyway, I explained that we get it done so we know that Joey's cancer has not come back.
"But what if it does come back?"
"It won't."
"But what if it does?"
"It won't."
"But what if it does?"
I came this close to telling her to shut up! Doesn't she know that we live in a certain amount of denial? It makes us happy! I finally appeased her by saying that we would have tests done to find out where it was.
And she said, "And they'll have to cut Joey into pieces?" with a little more anticipation than was necessary.
"No, they will not cut him into pieces!" And thankfully the nurse arrived to end this uplifting and positive conversation.
Anyway, when we get to the lab, Joey immediately starts to cry in the parking lot about not wanting to get his bloodwork done, and couldn't we go to another lab because this one hurts! This was a lot easier when he was a baby and we had to do this every week so he got used to it!

But I am actually very thankful that this is not normal to him, and I pray it never will be! Today was just kind of a slap in the face that we are not normal! You can go along living out your normal life with your healthy kids, and being thankful, never taking that for granted, but one little test can send everything into a tailspin. I'm thankful for the peace that comes with more and more normal tests.

I would appreciate your prayers for a little boy named Carson. His family received the news back from their AFP test that his cancer is growing, and they are running out of options. If you have a minute you could stop by their site and leave them a word of encouragement to let them know you are praying for them. I know it would mean a lot to them.

I will let y'all know when I get our results back, and of course, we appreciate all the prayers you have for us too!

They Never Tell You Things Like This

2009-09-17T22:28:00.003-05:00

(if you came over from our Outflow group, this is not the post you are looking for - go down to the "Blessed" one.)

I'm not really sure who "they" is, but whoever they are, they never tell you a lot of stuff. For some reason while I was driving down the road today and passed a Walgreen's, I was reminded of a story I hadn't thought of in a long time.

When Levi was 3, he got a nasty virus, and he was running a very high fever. And when Levi runs a fever, he throws up. And so if he throws up, he can't keep anything down - even Tylenol that would bring his fever down. Well, his fever was high enough that we really needed it to come down, so our doctor told us we needed to give him a Tylenol suppository.

I will never forget this moment. Here's our poor little child, all pale and sickly, and he was already naked since he had just thrown up all over himself, so we were all in the bathroom, him standing there, pale, naked, burning with fever and covered in chill bumps, shivering, just looking at us. And Steve and I are standing there, holding this little suppository, and just looking from him to each other, like how the heck are we going to do this?

We actually went through some different scenarios, "Um, Levi? Mommy is going to give you some medicine that will make you feel all better, but she is going to have to stick it in your bottom." I could just picture the look of abject horror and the desperate attempts to escape that that would evoke. No, that was not going to work.

It's not like he was a baby, where you could just do it, and it would all be over and he wouldn't even question it. He was 3 now, and he understood things. Maybe we should just hold him down and bend him over one of our laps, while the other one shoves it in, um, I mean places it gingerly in. But then he would think he was getting a spanking for no reason while he was desperately sick, and he would flail and clinch, and make it nearly impossible.

So, there we stood, holding our little instrument of torture and relief, unsure of what to do to make this happen. Finally, Steve had a moment of brilliance that made me question if I really knew him as well as I thought I did - had he spent some time in prison that I didn't know about? I still wonder. He threw a toy on the far side of the bathtub, and casually asked Levi to reach over there and get it. While Levi was reaching over there to get it, quick as lightning, he put that medicine right where it belonged. Levi hopped up quickly, howling, holding his bottom, and looking at us with eyes of betrayal. I have to be honest that I was laughing so hard it made me look extremely guilty, and also made it very hard to comfort the poor little violated guy.

But you know, it worked. He got better, and we never mentioned it again. And I like to think that somewhere, deep in his subconscious, he learned a valuable lesson that will serve him well if, God forbid, he ever ends up in prison!

Blessed

2009-09-15T09:13:00.002-05:00

I'm happy to report that everyone is well and back at school, and today is my first official day of freedom! It's not that I don't love the little boogers and feel so privileged that I get to stay home and take care of them, it's just that, you know the saying "Absence makes the heart grow fonder"? Well, I need a little absence so my heart can grow fonder. It's true, and makes perfect sense, at least to me. And, I have to tell you, I had to work extra hard to get today all by myself. Last night Levi was having a terrible headache, and went to bed at 7:00. This is not normal for him. And this morning, he said he was still feeling bad, so I told him to go back to bed, and then I walked out of the room and wept real tears and banged my head on the wall. And then I went back in the room and said comforting things to him like, "I hope you are really sick, because there will be no TV and no video games. You will stay in your bed all.day.long."

And then Sam threw in there, "And you won't get to eat breakfast or lunch." And I may or may not have corrected him. So I convinced him to just get up and get ready and go on to school, and I would write him a note that said he could go to the nurse if he wasn't feeling good later in the day. Please, please, let me get no calls from the school today!

So, I got the boys off to school, and I was taking the little kids to their preschool, and I managed to slam Joey's hand in the car door! Yes, I am the mother of the year! So, his poor little thumb was all red and the skin was broken a little, and he was bawling his little eyes out. But we wrapped it up in a wet paper towel, and he managed to recover, and I left, feeling as is I had dodged two major blows. So here I sit in my home...reveling in the silence...ahhh! That's nice.

But this is not at all what I started out here to write. I have a different story to tell. Our church is doing this program called Outflow, that I really love. It's about letting God fill you up so completely that you can't help but overflow that love into other people's lives. So Sunday night we were having this party with a comedian and food and you were supposed to invite people to come who might not have a church home. Well, truth be told, I just don't know that many people who don't go to our church. So, I didn't have a friend to invite, but that was okay, me & the kids were heading up there anyway, and as I was driving down Big Spring street, I see this woman walking along pulling a suitcase behind her. She looks like she could use a party, I thought to myself. But I kept driving, because really, who picks up homeless people with a car full of kids and invites them to come to a party at church? Nobody I know. Well, I got almost to church, and I just had this feeling that I needed to turn around and go ask her. I thought about how Jesus would hang out with the people the rest of society shunned. I knew that I would be miserable for days afterward if I didn't turn around, asking myself, What if?

So, I turned around. Immediately, the kids were asking me what I was doing.
"Well, I saw this lady walking down the street, and I thought I would ask her to go to church with us."
That seemed perfectly fine to them. When I got back to her, she was crossing the street, so I had to go past her, and then turn around to go to where she was going. The kids were acting like we were tracking big game, "Hurry, mom! There she goes! Oh no! I lost sight of her! Hurry! Turn around!" I'm thinking, she's an old homeless person pulling a suitcase, and we're in a car, I'm pretty sure we'll be able to track her down! Nevertheless, the kids were quite relieved when pulled into the parking lot where she was.

Okay, I thought, this could be awkward. I was wishing I was wearing my regular outfit of capris and a t-shirt instead of the cute new top that I had been so proud of. Somehow, I felt like that would help her relate to me better. Oh, who am I kidding? It doesn't matter what I'm wearing, we couldn't be more different!

I finally just took a deep breath, went over there, and stuck my hand out, "Hi! My name is Alayna. What's your name?"
"Lois."
"Hi, Lois! Our church is having a party, and I was wondering if you might like to come with me?"
"Well, okay, but I was just going to run in here and get me some chicken. Could I do that first?"
"Well, there'll be food at the party. Will that be okay?"
"Sure."
So we go back to the car, and I throw her suitcase in the back and introduce her to all the kids,who immediately start to chat it up with her like their mom picks up homeless people all the time. I love kids.
The first thing she tells them when she gets in the car is, "Don't worry! I'm not going to take your mama!" Good to know.
When we get to the party, I'm introducing her to everyone I see, and I have to give people credit, not one person batted an eye. Everyone was very friendly, like it was the most normal thing in the world for the pastor's wife to bring a homeless person to church with her. Maybe it should be.
She helped me get the kid's food, and we all ate, and she was nodding off during the comedian, although he was very funny. She told me about her kids and grandkids and that she had even been to college for a couple of years. I have no idea what happened to get her to the place where she was homeless. It was hard to follow her conversation sometimes, and she told me she had had to see a psychiatrist before. When the party was over, we went back and filled her up a couple more boxes of food to take with her, and she asked if I knew of any shelters where she could spend the night. None of us could think of any. Midland is not a great place to be homeless because there just aren't that many homeless people, and so there are very few places that help them.

I ended up taking her to The Deluxe Inn, and if that was the deluxe version, I don't want to see the regular one! But that is where she said was a good place to sleep. As we were driving there she was pointing out which buildings had good places to sleep, but that she didn't have a blanket and she just got scared sometimes. My throat started to tighten up, to be honest, I'd have been scared to stay at the Deluxe Inn, and this was security for her.

I got her settled in her room, and gave her a big hug and told her she mattered to God. I told her to come by the church tomorrow and they would give her a list of places that could help her, and I would have a blanket there for her too.

I walked back to my car, and took my children home and tucked everyone into their own beds, and the boys said that Lois could have slept in their bottom bunk if there wasn't any rooms at the Deluxe Inn, and I smiled. I'm glad they felt so generous, and at the same time I hope they never do anything to compromise their safety. Although I guess most people wouldn't pick up homeless people that they don't know with their kids in the car, but I never felt unsafe. I know God was asking me to pick her up, and he would take care of us.

And as I looked through my linen closet to find a blanket and a coat for Lois, I saw all the abundance we have - blankets to spare, and food in the fridge, and TV's to watch. And I felt blessed and also guilty. Why do we have everything we need while others go without? I know Lois may have made the choices that put her in that place to begin with, but she is a grandmother who has to find places on the street to sleep, and she is scared. That's not right.

God be with Lois today, and all the people who live on the street that we so easily look away from because we are not comfortable around them. And help us remember that while we may feel so very different from them, we are alike in the only way that matters - we are all your children, and you love us all the same.

Hope Thwarted

2009-09-08T09:05:00.005-05:00

Today was this

And this

That's right. The first day of their preschool. God bless his teacher. It was also this:

"Take a picture of me runnin, Mama!" That is really all he wants to do. Last night Steve & I got a good 30 minutes of relative peace by having him run laps through the house. Whenever he showed back up, we would just say, "Ready....Go!" And he would take off again. It was marvelous. He never got tired of running, we just got tired of saying "Ready...Go!"

Anyway, preschool. My long-awaited day of freedom, of peace, of uninterrupted sewing or a hot bath or or deep breathing, I don't know! The point was I would be alone. I would drop them off at church and get back in my car giddy with the possiblities of the day. Instead, I got this:

That's right. The last of the mighty have fallen. Last night about 12:30, he came into our room, "Mom, I threw up." I groaned. Even though I knew this would happen, and in fact prepared myself for this reality, that he would not get sick on Sunday or even Monday when everyone else was sick. Oh, no! He would get sick on the day of my freedom. I have to say, by the fourth go-around, I am low on compassion. Did I mention he sleeps on the top bunk? Yeah, I don't think I even have to mention the splash factor. It was beyond words. I gave thanks once again for wood floors and the fact that we had had tater-tot casserole for supper last night, and he doesn't like that. So it was mostly clear and not too stinky.

So instead of solitude and deep breathing I will be doing more vomit laundry, and I think I'll go bleach every surface of my house. There's always Thursday.

I Feel the Love

2009-09-06T10:06:00.003-05:00

WARNING: Graphic scenes described may be objectionable to some readers. If you are not or have never been a mother to young children, you may want to quit reading. Consider yourself warned.

Wednesday morning, I gave Joey his normal sippy cup full of chocolate milk. He downed it in 2.4 seconds, burped, and threw the whole thing up all over my kitchen floor. I looked at it, blinked, and was thankful that we were still in the kitchen on the tile floor. As a bonus, he managed to not even get any on himself or me. I admit it was strange how there was no warning - no gagging, just a burp and copious amounts of vomit being spewed on the floor, like a baby might spit up, except, you know, much more volume and stinkiness. I cleaned it up, and we went about our day. He acted fine, playing, being happy, just not eating anything for about 2 days.

Thursday night, I went to bed at 10 o'clock, and I think the last time I did that I was 9 years old. At 11:15, Lily-Grace came in, crying that her tummy hurt. She climbed in beside me, and I rubbed her back for a while, and then I decided I would try to take her back to her room. We got to her doorway, and she started to vomit. I just stood there beside her, holding her hair back, and trying to decide if I should risk trying to get her to the bathroom that was a few feet away. Would it work? Would I be able to successfully get her to the toilet before the next wave of vomit came, or would I only pick her up and she would start to vomit on the way there, and I would have a path of vomit to clean up instead of a relatively contained area? These are the thoughts that go through my head while my child is vomiting. In the end, I decided not to risk it since we have wood floors throughout the house. Have I mentioned how nice that is? I give thanks for those floors numerous times a week. However, while it does make for easy clean-up, it also makes for a very high splash-factor. That vomit was all over both of our legs, the wall, the door, the bedside table, and of course all over the floor.

I called for Steve, and we fall into our well-oiled routine. I take the child who has thrown up into the bathroom to clean them up, and he starts to clean up the mess. I love that man. Since she was wearing long pants, I decide we can forego the bath till the morning. I wash her hands and face and feet, get clean pajamas, and take her back to her bed which was still clean. I give her a bowl and a rag, and tell her to please try to get it in the bowl if she has to throw up again if she can't make it to the bathroom, which of course is the best option. Steve has gotten most of the mess, but it still stinks to high heaven, so I get some cleaner and spray the floor to get it a little better. I wash my own legs and feet and head back to bed, wondering how long I will get to sleep before the next episode. I foolishly hope that maybe hers will be as easy as Joey's was, and it will be an isolated incident. Three more trips into her room that night put those hopes to rest quickly. Change the sheets, wash the child, put the sheets on to wash, go back to bed, lather, rinse, repeat. The next morning, Steve found her asleep on the rug at the end of her bed, a small amount of vomit on her pillow. Bless her heart. I guess I didn't hear her, and she was too tired to come and get me. So she has laid around looking like this for the past few days, with occasional bouts of playfulness, just enough so I think she is getting better.

Last night, Steve woke up feeling awful. He never threw up, but I could tell he felt terrible. He has to preach two sermons this morning. I feel just awful for him. I'm praying he gets through it without having to run out in the middle of it. We were all dressed and ready for church this morning, although I wasn't sure if Lily-Grace should really be going, but she hasn't thrown up since Friday afternoon, so I think she shouldn't be contagious. We are about to walk out the door when Levi suddenly grabs his stomach and says he doesn't feel so good. Sigh. At least he made it to the toilet. You have to celebrate the small things during times like this.

I just want to know one thing - how does everyone else get this when I am the one cleaning up all the vomit, cuddling with the sick children, kissing their little sick heads and faces? It just doesn't make sense. Sam & I are the only hold-outs, and I told him to stay strong. We'll see.

I came into my room to eat some breakfast so Lily wouldn't have to smell it - she has been very sensitive to smells during all this, and I feel bad, but it's not like I can tell the rest of the family that they don't get to eat just because Lily can't take the smells. So, while I was eating in my room, Lily-Grace came in there to ask me to please come into the living room so she could sit in my lap. I told her I would come in there as soon as I finished eating. She eyed my food with disgust and walked quickly out of the room. As she was leaving she said, "Brush your teeth before you come hold me."

Thanks. I feel the love.

First Day of School

2009-08-24T22:08:00.005-05:00

It's the most wonderful time of the year! That's right, school starting! And the angels all sang the Hallelujah Chorus, and the world was happy. At least this mom was happy. The boys started back to school today, and they were both excited and nervous. They were going to a magnet school this year - last year was a pretty rough year what with a 6 year old bringing a gun to school in Sam's class, Levi being bullied and abandoned by his one friend, and Sam going through three different teachers. And that was all at our neighborhood school. So we decided to send them to a magnet school in the bad part of town - sounds reasonable, right? But we visited the school, and we were very impressed. The kids all seemed happy, and they do so many neat things like produce a television show for their morning announcements, and learn how to do all sorts of technology things, and there was also a lot of positive incentives that was sorely lacking at our old school. But anyway, I'm not sure who was more nervous today - Levi or me? Bless his heart, if I could've gone in there and made friends for him, I sure would have. I've been praying for weeks now, "Please, God, please - just one good friend, that's all I ask. Just one good friend." I mean, who wouldn't want to be friends with this kid?

He exudes coolness. I mean, peace and Tech, what else could you ask for?

Thankfully, he got into the car this afternoon and announced that he had 2 1/2 friends. That is 1 1/2 more than he ever had last year. And there was a good part of the year where he had none. He did some complaining about the teachers being mean, but I have heard that the teachers are really good, so I tried to encourage him that all teachers are mean on the first day. He said he was also confused a lot. This is the first year for him to switch classes, and so he's got to get used to that. He just likes to know exactly what's coming and what to expect, so that will come with time. This is the child who wakes up every morning and wants to know exactly what is planned for each minute of the day. And he's asking me...the person who would rather not have a plan at all. When we went to Meet the Teacher, they were talking about a math game that they needed to play at home on the computer every week, and he started to freak out! What is this Math Mania? What if you won't let me on the computer? I swear I could see his heart rate rise, and his pulse start to race. Chill out, dude. We'll figure it all out. No worries. To which he replied, no comprende.

Then, on the other hand, we've got this dude:

Who was absolutely fired up to be the new kid in school, who revelled in any extra attention that might come his way, who when school was over, he wasn't sure exactly where I was supposed to pick him up, so he just started walking in the neighborhood (luckily I found him before he got too far!) while his responsible older brother was stressed out and worried that he couldn't find him, asking all the teachers where Sam was. Not a care in the world. He struggled with reading last year, but told me his new teacher told him he was a perfect reader. His teacher is cousins with London from Suite Life with Zach & Cody (if you have never seen it, count yourself lucky!) and London always says, "Yay me!" in the show. So when Sam had to write a paper about his first day at school, he wrote at the end, "Yay, Miss Xiong!" "Do you think she got it?" he asked me. He was so proud of himself for thinking of it.

So, in closing, I think this was a pretty successful day. I won't stop praying, but I feel much better. There is a lot of guilt that goes with moving your child around and taking him away from the only friends he's ever known, especially when last year was so bad. My main prayer is that someday he will be able to look back and say that the moving around helped him to become a more well-adjusted person and not a crazy old recluse who lives in a shack by himself and yells at kids to stay off his lawn.

Here is one more picture of both of them:

And, yes, they wear uniforms at their new school, which I am very excited about! And after supper tonight we went on a bike ride, and just watching them ride their bikes in the khaki pants and polos and bike helmets, I said, "Look! They look like miniature Mormons!"

Who's the Psycho?

2009-08-17T21:35:00.008-05:00

One day when we were in Ruidoso, we had spent most of the day at the condo, and we were all getting a little cabin fever. So we set out to find a hiking trail. We had been hiking the day before on a trail we had been on before that was really pretty and ran into a little waterfall.

It was a nice easy trail, and Levi and Sam hiked a little further up the river while we stayed behind with the little ones.

Which left us plenty of time to throw sticks and rocks in the water, which for a 3 year old, is pretty much the greatest activity in the world.

And also plenty of time to pose for pictures, which for certain little girls is pretty much the greatest activity in the world.

And we even had time at the end for happy group shots.

So, since that hike had been such a success, we decided to try a different one. We went by the Ranger Station and picked up a map of all the hiking trails, and found one labeled "Moderate" but it was only a mile long, so we figured that would be no problem.

It took us a while to find it - plenty of winding up deserted roads, and when we finally found it, it was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, but right beside a tent campground, and one guy was camping there. I was pretty sure I saw him cringe when we all unloaded and the kids started running around. I'm sure he was happy to hear us disappear into the woods.

So, since it took us longer than we thought to find the trail, it was a little later than we had anticipated when we started, about 6:30. But we start out happily, taking time to snap a few pictures on the way.

Cool trees:

It's important to always flash your gang signs in every picture. Levi belongs to the little-known Mork & Mindy Gang, they are small in numbers, but very fierce.

Anyway, we are hiking along, and Steve decides to use this as a learning opportunity. "What would you guys do if Mom & I were both knocked out?"

Thankfully, Lily-Grace was up ahead out of earshot or that one comment might have given her nightmares for a month. So we discuss different options, and here is where I realize I may be watching too many of those real-life crime stories, because my main thought is, "What would you do if that guy back at the campground turns out to be a psycho, and he starts to shoot us all?" Thankfully, I did not actually voice that because that would guarantee nightmares for everybody, including me!

Well, it is not too long before the trail starts to get really steep, but it doesn't last long, and pretty soon we start the descent. Did you know that the descent is actually much harder than the ascent? Well, at least it is with 4 kids. Mercy! I didn't know if we were all going to get through that without starting a major collision that would carry us all down the hill in one giant snowball. Joey was still walking on his own at one point, with him & Steve bringing up the rear, when Steve cries out in an alarmed voice, "Honey! Catch him!" And Joey is barrelling uncontrollably down the hill right toward me. Luckily, I caught him and we escaped with no broken limbs. However, in the next 30 seconds, Levi comes barrelling down the hill at me, hollering, "Catch me!" There is a huge difference between a 30 pound child coming at you, and a 100 pound child! I didn't know what to do! At the last second I let go of Lily-Grace's hand and braced my feet and put up my hands like I was playing football! It worked and we didn't all go tumbling down the hill together! I did decide after that, that I didn't want to be in the "catching" position anymore! I also began to be thankful that we had had that conversation about both of us being knocked out as it was starting to look more likely!

It finally levelled out, and I realize we have already been at least a mile, and we really don't know much about this trail. On the map it looked like it could either loop around and bring you back to where you started or join on with another trail that went on for 7 miles. It was getting darker, and I think Steve was getting delirious because he started saying things like, "Wouldn't it be cool if we saw a bear?"

"Um, sure! Better a bear than a psycho with a gun, I always say."

We really didn't know what to do. Should we keep going and hope the trail looped back around or turn back and climb back up that awful incline that we had just come down? Steve thought we should just keep walking for 15 more minutes, so that's what we did, but ultimately we had to turn around and come back the way we came.

Can I just say this girl is a hoss?

She may look like a scrawny primadonna, and that would be true, but she did not complain one bit! She sat down one time, saying she was too tired, and we just said, "Okay, you just sit down and rest, and catch up to us when you can!" And she just hopped right back up and never complained again! (We would have been fine with waiting, but it really was getting dark, plus the whole psycho guy thing was weighing heavily on my mind!)

Let me just say, that was hard! And I was so thankful she was a hoss, because that meant that I didn't have to carry anyone on my back in a baby backpack. Steve carried Joey for a lot of the hike, and I know that was just a leetle difficult.

We finally made it back to the car right before it was completely dark, and I am happy to say we saw neither a bear nor a crazy psycho with a gun. He was peacefully sitting in front of a campfire when we left, probably relieved to see us go so he didn't have to worry about sending out a search party for the psychos who went hiking on a trail when it was almost dark with 4 kids!

We took a picture when we got back so we can remember exactly which trail it was, so we can make sure to never go back again!

See the Resemblance?

2009-08-14T21:21:00.005-05:00

We're home now. Ahh...it's good to be home. You know, except for the 4,592 loads of laundry I have to do. Yeah, except for that. So, instead of doing that because really, clean clothes are overrated - just ask my boys. I thought I'd leave you with a little gem from the dad of the kids that my kids befriended at the condos.

You know Joey lost one of his front teeth? I don't think I ever told that story, but it is a story to tell for sure. But for now, just know that he lost one of his front teeth, and the child likes to smile - a lot. And the husband of the food-whiner noticed it, and said, "Aww...he lost a tooth! He looks so cute! He looks just like the joker."

"Wow. How....sweet."

Yes, I definitely see the resemblance.

"No," Steve said, "I think he meant the Jack Nicholson Joker."

Ooh! Well, why didn't you say so? Yes, that's so much better.

Why Y Chromosome, why?

2009-08-13T15:43:00.002-05:00

What is it that comes with the Y chromosome that renders them completely and totally unable to search and find something? What? I need to know. I do not understand this. This is a scenario that is not infrequent at our house:

"Mom! Where is my ________?"
"It's in your dresser, middle drawer."
At this point I assume that the child will go into his room and open the drawer to search, but I am not so sure. I'm beginning to wonder if he just goes to his room, stands in the doorway and expects said item to magically appear in his hand as a reward for walking into his room. Since that has not happened, he is now forced to yell back at me that it is not there.
"Yes it is. You have to look for it. Perhaps even move some stuff around. I know that sounds tough, but I feel sure you can do it."
The same thing goes for food items in the fridge. They want to open the fridge, have the item they are looking for right there in front of them, preferably with a flashing neon sign that says, "Here I am!"
While these things happen regularly in my house, I have become accustomed to them, but something happened this week that I may never understand.
As I mentioned, we are staying in a small condo, with 2 bedrooms. So, I unpacked the 3 younger kids clothes into dresser drawers so we wouldn't have to have 3 suitcases taking up the precious floor space. The second day Joey was in there, and I looked in on him, and saw that he was moving the clothes around. I don't know why, but I didn't really care. It was keeping him busy, he seemed to be happy, and it didn't involve markers, lotion, or water, so I felt like it was a safe activity.

When Sam goes in there the next day to get some clothes he opens the drawer where his clothes used to be, and finds it empty. What would you expect someone to do at this point? I don't know, but I would figure that my clothes had not all magically vanished into thin air and look in another drawer. At the very least I would ask my mom where my clothes were. But, apparently Sam just seems to accept that his clothes are gone and gets some clothes out of Levi's suitcase that is on the floor (I didn't unpack his.) He wore the same shorts he had been wearing because Levi's shorts wouldn't fit him, but wore Levi's shirt, socks and underwear.

I didn't notice it was Levi's shirt because I have recently moved a bunch of Levi's shirts to Sam's side of the closet, and I'm not really sure whose is who's anyway - I just look at the sizes when I put them away. And I didn't notice Sam was wearing the same shorts because they were his denim shorts and he has several pairs that are just alike. So this goes on for 2 or 3 days until one day Levi comes out saying he doesn't have anymore socks or underwear.
"What? I packed you plenty."
"Well, Sam has been wearing mine."
"What? Why?"
Sam answered, "Well, my clothes are gone."
I go in there and find them in the drawer right below where his were. Why? Why don't you look? Why would you choose to wear underwear and socks that are too big for you rather than go to the effort of opening a few more drawers to find your own clothes?
And so now, Levi is in a pickle. While Sam can wear Levi's clothes, the opposite is not necessarily true. Thankfully, he is a boy who has no problem wearing dirty clothes, because Lord knows I do not want to spend my vacation doing laundry.

P.S. Okay, all you people who are sending me messages about writing more blog posts, did you notice two days in a row? Pretty impressive, huh? Now, show me some love by leaving me a comment. It is pretty hard to get motivated to write something when I think 2 people are reading it. You don't have to sign in - just sign in as anonymous and sign your name at the end of your wonderful and uplifting message. Love you!

2009-08-12T15:42:00.003-05:00

We are in Ruidoso enjoying the coolness of the mountains for a little vacation before school starts, and we are staying at these little condos. Well, the kids met some other kids on the playground the first night, and it has been wonderful! It is amazing to me the camaraderie that kids instantly have. They were all on the playground, and I was sitting on a picnic table nearby to keep an eye on them, and their dad was watching to. At first, everybody was swinging or doing other things, and then Sam says, "Okay! Who wants to do an obstacle course?"
Nobody answers him, but this does not deter him. He just asks each person individually, "Do YOU want to play? Do YOU want to play?" etc.
This was a little surprising to me because I really don't see Sam as a leader, but clearly he was comfortable in this roll. He got everyone rounded up and then set out the course for everyone to follow. That was all it took, and now they are all fast friends.
Scott & Ashley show up at our condo first thing in the morning and ask if they are ready to go swimming, or they come over and watch a movie, or they play in the playground together, or play each other's video games, etc. It really has been nice because the pressure is off us to entertain them every minute of the day - they can always go check on Scott & Ashley.

You know that camaraderie I mentioned with kids? Well, it doesn't always happen with adults so easily. Last night Scott came down and asked if we wanted to go out to eat with them. We decided it would be a good idea since our kids have been hanging out together so much. So we all went to a mexican restaurant to eat.

Well, we got seated quickly and the mom immediately asks them to bring out some of the hottest salsa they have. "Bring out 3 or 4 bowls of it!" she says.
The waiter does that, and they taste them, and proclaim loudly, "This isn't hot! And it is too salty! It isn't even fit to eat! Tell your chefs to make us something HOT! Throw some fresh green chiles in there."

The waiter is a sweet young guy with a nice smile, and he says that everything is prepped ahead of time, "We've got 4 Mexican cooks in there - no chefs! And they barely understand English - I think this is the best you're gonna get."
"This is a mexican food place that doesn't know how to make salsa?"
"I guess you're going to want me to take that off your check?"
"WHAT? You charged us for this?"
"Yes m'am. I have to charge everything that I bring out. But I'm pretty sure I can get my manager to take it off."
"Well, you do that! This isn't fit to eat!"
At this point I pretty much wanted to crawl under the table. I kept trying to smile at the waiter to let him know we weren't all like that without letting her see me smiling at him and risk setting her off in my direction.
Then, bless his heart, he had to come and tell us that they were out of the chicken strips that all the kids had ordered. He looked like he wanted to crawl out of there rather than have to come tell us that.
She flipped! "What? And you're just now telling us!" (It had been about 10 minutes since he had taken our order) I quickly get all my kids to choose something else while she is insisting that he bring her the manager.
When the manager comes, she explains that the salsa is not fit to eat, we don't have any silverware, and now they are out of chicken strips and it has been 30 minutes since we ordered, and he is just now telling us that!
I will have to admit the manager was not very nice, and it got pretty ugly, but I really couldn't tell you details because I got very busy trying to clean Joey's mouth or something like that. At one point her husband was telling her, "Down, girl!"
Finally, thanks be to God, our food came. Joey was sitting between her & Steve, and for some reason, she fixated on Joey and wanting him to take a bite of his hamburger. She kept holding his hamburger up to his mouth, and saying, "Hold this with 2 hands, take a big bite." And, I swear, Joey kept stuffing one fry after another into his mouth to avoid her and looking at me out of the corner of his eye like, "Who IS this woman?" I feel your pain, Joey, I really do.
The poor waiter came by as little as he could get by with, and we ate as quickly as we could, got to-go boxes for the kids to finish up at home, left the waiter a $10 tip and got the heck out of there!
I used to pride myself with my ability to get along with anybody, but I think I may have met my match.

Tooth Fairy

2009-08-02T22:21:00.004-05:00

This is Sam. He just turned 7. This was him at Christmas - I don't mind saying that I thought he was absolutely adorable and able to sing "All I Want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth."

Also? I look at this picture and can not believe how much he's grown in the last 6 months! Stop it! Stop it, I say! He lost another tooth this past June on the way to our family reunion, and it got lost in the car. Sam is usually not one to get too worked up about things, and this was was no exception. I thought about suggesting he write a note to the Tooth Fairy explaining what had happened, but then I thought, why bother? If it doesn't matter to him, it certainly doesn't matter to me!

Plus, have I ever told you that I had a real fear of the Tooth Fairy when I was little? It's true. Scared to death of that innocent little fairy. It totally creeped me out to think of some strange person flying into my room and getting under my pillow. But, the thought of getting a dollar was still pretty good, so I finally compromised by putting the tooth on my bedside table. But then I would lay awake at night with my back to the bedside table and worry and fret about whether the tooth fairy had come or not. And I would try SO hard to get up the courage to peek over and look at the table and just see if that dollar was laying there, knowing that if I could just see it, I could relax and go to sleep. But I couldn't look! What if the moment I turned I would look and see her? The horror! I'm not sure what I thought a little fairy was going to do to me, but I knew that you shouldn't see the tooth fairy - it just wasn't done. I had never heard of anyone actually seeing the tooth fairy, so if someone had, they must not have survived to tell about it!

The last time I ever put out a tooth, I was laying there imagining every sound to be the tooth fairy, and I finally got up enough courage to call my mom, never looking at the bedside table. She came in, and I confessed that I was scared to death of the wretched tooth fairy, and she convinced me to roll over and look, and thankfully there was the dollar. I went to sleep and after that decided all that worry just wasn't worth a dollar anymore. I know, I had issues.

So, anyway, I thought maybe Sam had those same issues too and didn't want to admit it, so I didn't say anything. Well, two nights ago, out of the blue, almost 6 weeks after he lost the tooth to begin with, he casually mentioned that he had put a note under his pillow for the tooth fairy. This is what it said:

Dir tuf fare I lost it. Can you tek tis not giv me mune. Sam Brooks

He doesn't mince words, does he? Let's not bother with little niceties, just give me the money! Well, the tooth fairy didn't respond so I said it was probably because he was so rude and didn't ask nicely. So, the next night, he tried again:

Dir touth Feree can you Pleese giv me munee Sam

Then he drew a heart for good measure and a picture of him holding a tooth with the tooth marked out. Apparently it is just too hard to try to explain everything in writing, and they say a picture is worth a thousand words.

It must have worked for Sam because there was a dollar the next morning, and she left the note. Sam thought probably because it was so big it might mess up her flight patterns. He said I could keep it when I asked for it, and it would save him time anyway because he was sure to lose another tooth, and it would save him all the trouble of having to write such a long, drawn-out note again.

Not Speaking the Same Language

2009-07-13T16:31:00.001-05:00

Steve & I have decided to "date" our children. You know, where you take them out one-on-one and do whatever they want to do. We've always thought this was a great idea, but making it happen was another story entirely. So, we just decided it would never happen if we didn't plan it. So, we're going to take 2 kids out 1 month, and 2 out the next month, so theoretically, if all goes as planned each kid will get 6 nights out a year with 1 parent. I hope by writing about it on this blog it will give me some kind of accountability so we'll keep doing it.

So, Sam got to go first, and Steve was going to go out with him, but at the last minute, I wormed my way in there! It had been a really long week where I was feeling like I might lose my mind from never having any alone time, and I got to thinking that Steve was going to take Sam and sit in a nice, quiet movie theatre, and I would be here with the other 3 just like every other day. So, I asked if I could go, and Steve saw the desperation in my eyes, and generously bowed out.

Apparently, telling the kids they could do "anything they wanted" was a bit intoxicating to them because they were making plans for dinner, movie, bowling and then swinging by the store for a new video game. We had to revise the plans that they got 1 special thing to do that day, to do together, not go buy a new toy. We did say they could go rent a video game from blockbuster and then play it with the parent if that was what they wanted, and I pray to God that is not what they pick on my night, because that sounds like hell to me.

Anyway, Sam & I went to see Up, and it was such a sweet, sweet movie - we both decided that it was the best movie we'd seen so far in Midland. Can I just tell you how wonderful it is to have 1 child? There was no stress, no arguments, no tantrums, nothing. We sat in the lovely, cool theatre, and we had popcorn (with no fake butter, thankyouverymuch!) and shared some candy, and it was great! So, while we driving home, I thought it might be a good time to encourage Sam, and I told him that one thing I really liked about him was how encouraging and caring he was.

He smiled really big, and then he said, "Once my friend, always my friend!" I couldn't help but smile because that is his Daddy 100 percent. I told him that he got that from his Daddy.

"No, I didn't. I just made it up."

"No, not what you said, what you meant. When you say 'once my friend, always my friend' that's called loyalty, and you get that from your dad."

"No, I've never heard him say that, I just made it up."

"I get that! I'm saying the characteristic that makes you a good friend comes from Daddy, like your blue eyes come from Grammee. It's in your genes."

"Mooom! I'm not even wearing jeans!"

"Forget it, Sam. I'm glad you're a good friend!"

"Thanks, Mom."

Good Story!

2009-07-10T13:32:00.004-05:00

Lily-Grace has been very interested in Jesus lately and asking me lots of questions, and today she asked me to tell her a story about Jesus. So I told her the story of Jesus bringing the dead girl back to life, thinking it would be a great story to show how much Jesus cares about little girls.
I ended with, "And then she got up and was walking around and Jesus told them to get her something to eat!"

"What was it?"

"What was what?"

"What she ate?"

"Some bread." Sounded good to me.

"Oh! I know a story about some bread!"

"Great! Tell it to me!"

"Once upon a time...they got some bread and dipped it in some juice. The end."

"That was a great story! Why did they dip it in the juice?"

"Well, they didn't have enough juice for everyone to have a drink, so that was the next best thing!" Sounded good to her!

By the way, I found this site called Awkward Family Photo and I submitted one of my all time favorite pictures there. This one:

And the comments were hilarious! My favorite one? At least she won't be laughing at her one-legged dad anymore! HAHAHA! I never even noticed there was only one of Steve's legs showing in the picture before. That is a truly hilarious site, and if you've got the time, spend some time going there and laughing your head off!

No Shame

2009-06-12T22:37:00.002-05:00

Okay, so we've been at Annual Conference all week at our church. For those of you non-Methodists, that is an annual conference (yes, I know, shocking!) for pastors and lay people to get together and vote and take care of business and what not. Well, as a pastor's wife, I'm not required to be at anything, but the first day there were several things that I wanted or needed to be at. And that means that my kids were in childcare pretty much the whole day. It was almost 10 o'clock that night when I picked them up to take them home, and Steve was still up there going to one more thing.

So, Joey has been potty-trained very well for a few months now. He even tells you when he needs to go, which means true potty training to me, otherwise I am just the one trained to take him to the potty every few minutes! So, I sent him off for a whole day in child care without a bag or a change of clothes or anything. Because I like to be prepared that way. When I picked him up he was in someone else's clothes with a pull-up on. Whoops. Apparently he did tell them he needed to go, but not until it was too late, and as soon as his pants were down he proceeded to spray down the entire restroom much to the shock and dismay of the young college girl who was helping him.

So, as we head way out into the far reaches of the parking lot, he starts to dance around and tell me has to go potty. Now! Oh no! All the other kids were already in the car, buckled in. I could tell by the quickness of his dancing that we didn't have time to get everybody back in and to a potty before he let it go. I encouraged him to just use his pull-up, but he wouldn't hear of it. Dadgummit! There is something to be said for the convenience of diapers. So, I quickly glanced around the almost-empty parking lot, and did the only thing I could do. I told him he could go right there. He looked at me like I was crazy, and I probably am. He didn't want to do it, but I didn't see another option. I pulled down his pants and pointed him at the car. Maybe nobody would see us. He was still resisting - and pulling down his pants wasn't good enough - he kicked them off completely, and I finally convinced him to "water the tire." And that boy had to go. He went and went and he went until I was having to back us up to keep it from running on our feet. I guess the relief of releasing all that relaxed him because then he started giggling and couldn't stop, and told me that was fun! I kept glancing around the whole time, praying no one would come out, and God was merciful and nobody did.

So I just thought I'd use this time to confess that the pastor's wife not only condoned but encouraged and begged her child to pee in the church parking lot. Nothing good can come from this I know. I am just waiting for the time I pick him up from the nursery and they have to tell me that he dropped his pants and peed in the playground. As long as he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't say that his mom told him to do it. Because then I will be forced to lie and tell them I have no idea what he's talking about!

What I've been doing!

2009-05-26T22:00:00.002-05:00

I love making clothes for little girls! These were made for Lily-Grace's preschool teacher's little girls as an end-of-the year present. I always wanted to have 2 little girls I could dress alike, and since that didn't happen, I'll have to make do with other people's kids. I tried to dress the boys alike, but when Levi was about 6, he would complain bitterly about "the match." So, I gave that up to. Lily-Grace still prays for her sister, so I guess there is always hope for a miracle, but I don't mean I want to have another baby. I mean like a child or baby being left on our doorstep. I'd take her. Especially if she was house-broken.

Anyway, I've got to get working on another project that's got to be done by Friday. Why do I always get stuff done for other people, but I still have all these things I want to make for my own family that somehow get pushed to the side? Oh well! I just loved how these turned out, and I wanted to share!

A Memorial Day to Forget!

2009-05-25T22:25:00.002-05:00

So, we told the kids we would go see Night at the Museum 2 today to celebrate the "almost end" of school. We have never taken all 4 kids to the movies with us. There may be a reason for that. We have lived here almost a year, and I had never been to the movie theater here. Now I know why.

We decide to go to the earliest showing - 12:05. We could get popcorn, and that would be our lunch. No, I have absolutely no problem feeding my children popcorn and coke for lunch, why do you ask? So, we get there, and even with the child's tickets and matinee prices, it costs us $41 to get in. Then, I take the 3 younger kids and go find seats while Steve & Levi get the snacks. I told him to get 1 large bucket of popcorn because you get free refills, and I brought along some paper lunch bags in my purse. And even doing that, it cost us $35 at the snack bar. When they get there, I start to divide it up between the sacks, and I am immediately aware of how greasy it is. I really just expect it to be greasy on the top because I know that Levi wanted to put the God-awful butter-oil stuff on it, But somehow that child managed to get so much pseudo-butter crap that it was pooled in the bottom. The sacks were immediately soaked from the oil, but I passed them out anyway, and sent Steve to get a refill before the movie even started.

So, we are all set. Everyone has popcorn and a drink, and the movie starts right on time. The only bad thing about the bags was they were a little noisy, but I figured what with Joey kicking the seat in front of him the entire time, that little crinkly sacks would be the least of the poor people's worries who were sitting around us. Sam was the first one to have to go the bathroom. Steve took him. About 20 minutes later, Lily-Grace had to go. She and Joey had both taken off their shoes, and we couldn't find them in the dark, so we headed off to the bathroom barefoot. Eww! Somehow in the midst of the movie both Joey & Levi managed to drop their drinks on the floor. So, pretty much the whole aisle where we were sitting was a combination of greasy, sticky mess. There was fighting over who got to hold the actual "bucket" of popcorn, constant battles to keep Joey from kicking the seat in front of us, Joey moving back and forth between Steve & I, and Lily-Grace climbing in my lap and grabbing my hands to cover her eyes from the scary parts. I really can't tell you much about the movie. It was cute, I think, but not as good as the first one. But really, my opinion shouldn't count for much. At all.

When the lights come back on, we find everyone's shoes and try to get out of there as fast as we can before the poor workers see the mess we have made. Levi sees someone else's almost-full bucket of popcorn and grabs it and takes it with him on the way out! I couldn't even stomach the thought of more popcorn - I was starting to feel sick from all that pseudo-butter. Sam felt the same way I did because he asked Levi to please put it in the back so he didn't have to smell it.

On the way home we discussed how much nicer it was to just rent a movie and stay home. That was pretty much the worst $75 bucks I have ever spent. But it gets better. I left to run some errands, and came home a couple of hours later. When I came in the house, Lily-Grace was laying on the floor of the living room, moaning and crying. No one was paying her the least bit of attention. Steve said she was complaining of her stomach hurting. She wanted me to hold her, so I picked her up and sat down on the couch. We had been sitting for about 5 seconds when she started barfing all down my back. Nice. My main thought was for the couch. Thank God for leather! I jumped off the couch and Steve sprang into action and got the trash can to catch the rest of the barf. I have to say, that is the worst I have ever been covered in throw-up. I hope to God that remains the record. Both of us had to have showers after that.

Soon after that, Steve had diarrhea, and I was still feeling nauseous. Later, another child, who shall remain nameless, had diarrhea and couldn't make it to the toilet in time. Wonderful. Let me just say, whatever that pseudo-butter is, it is evil. Really, really evil. Let me also say, the next time we go to the movies (in about another year or so) there will be no snacks. That is why I am writing about it here, so we will never forget, as much as I would like to. I think I'll go to bed now!

Maybe not her thing?

2009-05-24T14:05:00.002-05:00

So, Lily-Grace has been taking dance classes this year. There was a free "camp" last summer where prospective students could try it out and see if they liked it. She went and loved it! I asked repeatedly, "Did you like it? Do you want to go back? Do you want to keep doing this every week?" Every question was answered with an enthusiastic, "YES!" But, of course, I need to remember that she is 4, and all rules are subject to change at any time with no advance notice. It is her prerogative.

So, after signing her up and paying for the whole year in advance because I saved money that way, it took her about 1 month to decide she didn't really want to do this anymore. I'm thinking of all the money I already paid, and make her keep going. I'm thinking, wow, I paid over $500 for the privilege of cajoling, threatening and bribing my child to go have fun at dance class? I feel so happy and proud.

The thing is, this child loves to dance. She is constantly in a leotard and tutu and dancing for all she's worth. I think that is the problem - she already knows how to dance. She doesn't need anyone else telling her how to do it!

So this past weekend was the dance recital. She got all dressed up in her costume that she's been dying to wear ever since we got it back in January, but it has had to stay locked up in my closet out of her reach. And we had extra practices and extra bribes and threats. And finally the big day arrived, and we all excitedly went and waited through the whole eternity of dances, and she was finally the second to last dance.

They all prance out on stage looking so cute and small. And Lily-Grace promptly marches over to the little girl next to her, and I can tell by the way that she is pointing and putting her hands on her hips that she is telling this other little girl that she is in the wrong place or something. The other little girl finally shoos her away and Lily-Grace heads back to her place. I am just glad that I don't know the other little girl's parents. You might assume from the way that she was bossing the other girl around that she would know what she was doing. The music starts and Lily-Grace pretty much just stands there, occasionally doing her own moves and pretty much oblivious to the whole dance. Wow! That was money well spent! And during the finale, she came out and was dancing and having a good 'ol time, and I think I finally understood. For her, at this age, dancing is not about 1st and 2nd position and how to point your toes. It's about twirling and jumping and spinning around and enjoying the music. There wasn't one single twirl in her recital dance! How insulting! So, Lily-Grace had to put in her own twirls - every self-respecting dance should have a twirl, after all! And then we went and picked her up backstage and gave her flowers, I guess because we are celebrating that she is done!

So, she has worn her dance recital outfit non-stop for the past 4 days. She asks me repeatedly, "So, I am done with dance class? I don't have to go back?" Needless to say, we didn't sign up for next year! She has loved that costume though, and I'm wondering if it was worth all those classes for her to get that outfit? I think next year we may skip the classes and just get the outfit - we'll both be happier, and so will my wallet!

I get it.

2009-05-22T00:03:00.003-05:00

Have you seen the story about the family who was court-ordered to have their son receive chemo? In case you haven't, this 13 year old kid has Hodgkins lymphoma with a 90% chance of survival with treatment, and a 5% chance without it. They did one round of chemo and then decided they would opt for natural remedies because of religious reasons.

Anyway, the mom & son are now on the run so they can avoid chemo. I have to say, when I first saw this, I was like, "You crazy people! Get your son to the hospital and save his life!" I got even more angry when I saw the guy who is the leader of their religious sect has been arrested for fraud with alternative medicines.

But then I saw a video where the dad was saying they were just scared and wanted to try and heal their son their way, and if it didn't work, then they could try chemo. And my heart just went out to them. I have been there. I have wanted to snatch my baby out of the hospital and leave and just go home and live like everything was fine. He looked fine, after all, and these crazy doctors probably had no idea what they were talking about. It was all a big mistake, and when I went home with my baby, and he was fine, that would show them!

Thankfully, that crazy passed and I never even voiced, much less acted on, those feelings. And we acted quickly and were blessed and never had to do chemo. Never had to see our child have poison dripped into his body that made him sick and lose his hair and threaten his little life, all in an effort to save his life. Never had to face the fear in the eyes of a 13 year old facing a life-threatening illness.

What would I have done if I was at a low point of watching my son suffer and someone I trusted and believed came to me and told me that he could heal my son without all this pain? I think most of us would want to believe such a thing.

But then I read at the doctor's appointment after the court hearing the child said the pain in his chest was a 10 on a scale of 1 to 10, probably from the tumor pushing against his port. And that breaks my heart. This poor child is right in the middle of a terrible circumstance made even more terrible by the fears of his parents and the misleading of a criminal (in my mind). So, please pray for this boy and his mother. That something will drive her to take him in to get chemo so he can survive and go on to live a long, full cancer-free life.

Bringin Back the Fun!

2009-05-21T23:06:00.004-05:00

Can I just say I love Kevin Leman? I do. Love him. He has brought humor into disciplining my children, and for that I love the man. So, here is an update on the reality discipline at my house. The second morning, I go in to wake up the boys (which Dr. Leman would say they should just use an alarm clock, but I figure we've only got 4 days of school left, so we'll start that next year!) and when I wake them up, Levi gets right up, as usual, and Sam moves his arm. I see this as a promising sign.

I go back to finish getting ready since I am trying to get us all out of the house by 7:45 so the little kids and & I can then run to Walmart before I have to go to a meeting at church. By about 7:35, I have gotten the 2 little kids and myself ready, and Lily-Grace & Sam are in the boy's room, and Sam is still in bed, playing happily with his sister. He calls out to me, "Hey, Mom! I'm still in bed!" Like he's saying, "Hello! Shouldn't you be hurrying me up right about now?"
To which I reply, "Bummer, Sam! It looks like you're going to have to walk again!"
At which point he moans, "Nooo! Please don't leave me!" and kicks it into a gear the likes of which I've never seen him move in before.

We ended up leaving later than normal since Steve was at church already, and I was trying to get us all out the door, so he didn't get left. I have to say I was a little disappointed that he didn't hop right out of bed that morning, but I figured he is just a gambler, and was thinking yesterday was a fluke.

I am happy to report that the 3rd day (today) he got up immediately, got dressed and was ready to go by 7:35! And, even more impressive was that Levi wasn't going to school since he had a doctor's appointment that morning and was still in bed! Usually, this would be cause for whining and complaining about why he was going to school when Levi was not. I then said, "It must feel really good to be ready with time to spare and have time to play with Joey this morning!" He agreed and we gave each other knucks, and I silently congratulated myself for my fine use of encouragement vs. praise!

So, through all this, Levi hadn't been the recipient of the reality discipline and was having a darn fine time watching his brother and sister getting all the attention. But his time was coming, and this is where I have thoroughly enjoyed myself! Is that bad? To enjoy disciplining your children? But his reaction is just priceless, and I never have to get mad or raise my voice! It's awesome.
So, I won't go through the whole, long story, but the first time he got the discipline he didn't get a cookie because he was begging for it and bothering me. He didn't get a cookie. A cookie. You would have thought I sentenced him to solitary confinement and bread and water for 6 weeks so great was his reaction. At one point he was sitting at the kitchen table, fists clenched in anger, growling at me till he was red in the face, and I had to laugh. Seriously, though, don't you just love it when you punish your children and they care? When you know you've found something that matters to them? I never dreamed it would be a cookie, though they were darn good cookies.

Tonight, about 30 minutes before bedtime I asked them to please pause Spongebob and straighten up the living room. He immediately began complaining that he hadn't made the mess, and I was pointing out to him that he had made the mess (which I really shouldn't do - it's an act of cooperation to fight! I wasn't actually fighting, but still!) and I don't remember exactly what he had said, but I just didn't like his haughty tone. So I calmly told him that when he finished cleaning the living room that he could go on to bed. He was flabbergasted and in total disbelief. He went and took his shower, and when he came out, I hugged him, and told him I wasn't mad at him, but I didn't like his tone when he talked to me, and he could go to bed now, and I even told him he could read if he would like to. There was no reading. There was more growling and crying and negotiating. Was there anything he could do to get out? A spanking? Clean the whole house? Y'all, this was awesome! Asking for a spanking? Too good to be true! And all this without once raising my voice or becoming overly annoyed. I can't wait to see what they do tomorrow!

There's a new Sherriff in Town

2009-05-19T10:20:00.006-05:00

Oh yeah, there is. And it's me, baby. And it feels so good. Let me explain. We went to a seminar by Kevin Leman the last 2 days at our church. Now, I've taken some of his video classes before, and I've loved them. But this is the first time for a couple of things: Number 1 - Steve was actually there with me - it sure does help to be on the same page. Number 2 - This is the first time I've had kids of this age that were all about to drive me crazy simultaneously. So, let me just tell you about our morning.

I go and wake up the boys at the usual time and lay out their clothes for the day, and go into the kitchen to start fixing the 4 lunches we needed today. As usual, Levi gets right up and gets his clothes on, brushes his teeth, and comes to help me make his lunch. As usual, Sam doesn't move an inch. But, unlike usual, there are no calls from the kitchen to hurry up, get moving, if you don't get up right now you will go to bed at 7 o'clock tonight, and I mean it child! In the meantime Lily-Grace has gotten up and is lying on the couch, moaning as if she is dying a slow and painful death. So, I just go and pick her up and calmly carry her outside and put her on the table on our porch and come in and lock the door. Levi stares at me, open-mouthed, "And you did that, why?"

"She needs to learn to use her words." He just nods and I can see him just taking all this in - the calmness of me and his dad, the lack of stress in our faces and body movements. This is all very new, and he's not sure what to make of it.

Well, that Lily-Grace is a smart cookie, and she came in through the door from the garage, and she is still crying, but explains that she has a boo-boo that hurts. I tell her that is fine, but she can tell me about it without moaning on the couch. So, I fix her up with some neosporin and a bandaid.

Back in Sam's bed, he has heard the commotion with Lily-Grace and decided it would be worth getting out of bed to see his sister get in trouble. But after the show is over, he disappears into the bathroom and stays in there a good 10 minutes. He comes out in his underwear, and says, "Don't worry - I'm going to get my clothes on." Like, I'll save you the trouble of yelling at me, I know it's coming. But no one is paying him the least bit of attention.

Steve leaves to go get Lily-Grace dressed, and I ask him to please get something cute because it is her preschool graduation today. When I finish with the lunches, I head in there because I know our ideas of cute really do not mesh. I pick out a cute skirt and pink shirt that Lily-Grace has always loved before. I take it into the bathroom where she is brushing her teeth, and she sees it and immediately begins to tell me that she doesn't want to wear that because it is ugly. Now, I am ashamed to admit it, but usually I would let her go back into her closet and pick something else out, telling myself that this is not a battle I want to fight. It's not that big of a deal, let her wear what she wants to wear. But lately, there has been more & more of a battle over her clothes, with her getting more & more picky, and me feeling more & more like some kind of personal assistant to the queen who brings in an outfit for her approval only to be sent out like a whipped puppy to bring in something else for her highness to pass judgement on. So, while she is brushing her teeth, I leave and go pick out some plain denim shorts and a gray t-shirt. Now, I'll be honest, I wasn't really going to make her wear it because I didn't want her to wear it. She is my only girl after all, and I like her to look cute - we have 15 outfits complete with matching bows and socks after all. (No, I can't imagine why she is a primadonna!)

So, I go in there and she is still jabbering and complaining about not wanting to wear the skirt and shirt I picked out and how ugly they are, and I don't say a word. I just start to put on the gray t-shirt. She doesn't realize what she is wearing till she gets the 2nd arm in, and then she starts to freak out, "NO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I CAN'T WEAR THIS! THIS IS UGLY! I'LL WEAR THE SKIRT! I'LL WEAR THE SKIRT!" And then she begins to flail around as if I am pouring hot lava on her body. I manage to get the shorts on her, but then I gotta tell you, I had to step out of the bathroom for fear I was going to laugh my head off and ruin everything. When I step back in, she has taken off the shorts and t-shirt and is quickly putting on the skirt. I take them away and go put them in the top of her closet. And because she is kicking and screaming too much to put the clothes back on her, I take her back to the back yard and leave her out there, in her panties. Thinking, please God, don't let her take off to see the donkeys, I don't know how I would explain this one! I do think to go lock the door that leads to the garage.

While she is out there, screaming. Sam comes in, dressed, backpack on and lunchbox in hand, on the verge of tears, "Mom, they left me." (Dad & Levi)

"They did? Oh, I'm sorry. I guess you spent too much time in bed this morning."

"Do I have to walk?" Honestly, I hadn't even thought of that, but I jumped on it.

"Yes, I guess you do."

"But I don't know the way!"

"Oh, I think you do! If you can make it with Lily-Grace to see the donkeys, I think you know the way."

"But I'll be late!"

"I know. I'm sorry. I guess you'll just have to go to the office and explain that you were late because you slept too long."

He gives me the saddest look and starts for the front door. I walk him to the door and kiss him and tell him to have a great day, and he takes off, barely holding back tears. And he begins to walk, looking so small and all alone, and let me tell you, it took a great amount of self control not to rush out there and rescue him.

But at this point, I hear the garage door open, and realize Lily-Grace has gone through the gate and come in through the garage. Drat! I'm really going to have to remember all these exits! But I just go with it, and walk in there with the shorts and t-shirt. When she sees them, she immediately begins to fall on the floor again. So, I just pick her up and start to head outside again. "NO! Not outside again! Don't take me out there!"

"Well, are you ready to get dressed?"

She quietly nods, and gets dressed without a fight. "But people will laugh at me."

"I hope they won't. I'm sorry if they do, but I guess you can just tell them that you could've worn a skirt but you were throwing a fit."

Steve told me that she didn't say a word all the way to school, and her teacher told me she ran in the room and ran into the bathroom and shut the door, saying that she wasn't coming out because people were going to laugh at her. Mrs. Mara coaxed her out, and lo and behold, not one person gave her clothes a second thought. That's good to learn too.

And I called and made sure Sam made it to school all right - couldn't help but worry a little.

So, we'll see how tomorrow goes. I've got to say it felt good. No yelling, no hurrying, no stress this morning. Even a little bit of laughter (and y'all know I think children should provide us with some amusement!) So, here she is at her preschool graduation (the hands are her "ballerina hands" maybe her attempt to at least still look girly!) and no, it is not my idea of what I would have liked the picture to look like. But I like to think it is the picture taken to document the first day of a better way of doing things.

Feels so right, it can't be wrong!

2009-05-13T16:07:00.006-05:00

Do you remember that song? I seem to remember more than one youth pastor proclaiming that if you followed the words of that song, you would be headed on a path straight to hay-ell! Okay, their warnings were probably not that strongly worded. But, I've been thinking about that song lately and reflecting that my youth pastor's words are not just for my teenage years. They also apply quite well to moms with young children. No, not that, although that should probably be avoided too as it is what got you in this predicament to begin with! No, I am talking about something else - quiet. Peace and wonderful, quiet silence. It feels so right, it can't be wrong. But, my friends, it is so very, very wrong.

Case study #1: We were visited by nothing short of a miracle, and we were ready to go to church last Sunday about 15 minutes early! So, I decided to sit down for a few minutes and check my email. About 5 minutes into it, I realize I am alone. Blessedly alone. There is no one (Joey) pulling on my mouse hand, climbing behind me in the chair, climbing on the desk beside me, nothing. I say to myself, "How wonderful! Joey must be playing with the other kids." But this is a lie, and I know it. Joey doesn't play with the other kids. Pfft! He must stay glued to my side at all times in case I decide to do something really exciting, like go to the bathroom. He wouldn't want to miss that. But I lie to myself because the few moments of peace feel so good. When it is time to go, I call to the kids to load up, and there is no Joey. No one knows where Joey is. This is not good. Not good at all. I find him on my bathroom counter top where he has smeared himself - his face, clothes and hair - with lotion. Then fingerpainted my mirror with it too. So much for being to church early.

Case study #2: Just the little kids are at home, and they are playing together quietly in their room, allowing me to get some much-needed work done. But, they are in there too long, and it is too quiet. I hear the warning sirens blaring in my head, but I willfully ignore them for the lure of working alone is too much. This was the result of that:

Nice, huh? Lily-Grace decorated him and herself, but I didn't get pictures of her because she was hiding at the time I found Joey, and I didn't realize she had also done herself. Seems she "forgot" that she wasn't supposed to color on Joey anymore. Yes, I can see how that would be hard to remember. I just don't know where she finds the markers. Anytime I see them, I pick them up and put them away - up high. It's been months since she's had any markers unsupervised. I think she has a secret stash of them somewhere, like a drug addict or something.

I could go on with case studies, but I think you've got the point. I just need to hear my youth pastor's voice in my head - if it feels right, it's got to be wrong! No peace & quiet for me - at least until they're in college!

Woefully Unprepared

2009-05-05T08:43:00.003-05:00

I was doing dishes last night, and I looked out the window just in time to see this man drive by and hock (hock? is that a word? I have no idea, but that is what my brother used to always say!) a big 'ol loogie out of his truck window right at my house. Gross! And then, a few minutes later, a dog strolled by and began eagerly licking it up. Gag!

But that got me to thinking ...can you spit? I, I am sorry to say, am a spitting failure. I've never been able to figure out how to get it to fly out of my mouth like a nice, round, disgusting projectile. When I spit, it tends to ooze out of my mouth, dribble on my chin, and land at my feet. So, in the post when my kids were lost, and I said they had to stay within spitting distance, that was a lie. They would literally have to be directly under my mouth at all times, and we all know I would be completely crazy by day's end if they actually did this.

I actually remember in grade school, we would walk to school with our next-door neighbors, and whoever was ready first would go over to the other's house. Well, this one day, the neighbors came over to our house, and we were running late. I was still brushing my teeth. And Sean, who was my age (I think we were 5th or 6th grade at the time) was standing there watching me brush my teeth. And when it came time to spit, this long, gooey string was just hanging from my mouth, unwilling to disengage and fall into the sink like it should. Disgusting! I thought. This boy is standing here watching toothpastey drool hang out of my mouth! So, I did what I thought would end the situation quickly, I reached up and kind of pinched off the drool/spit at my mouth, and threw it into the sink.

"Gross!" Sean yelled. "What are you doing?"
My face immediately began to flame, and I realized I had done the wrong thing. And, indeed I had, because in true preteen form, he told everyone at school how Alayna grabs her spit when it's hanging from her mouth and throws it in the sink. Nice. Thus began my lifelong shame and humiliation for my lack of spitting skills.

In the spirit of laying it all on the table, I also cannot burp on command or make farting noises with my armpit. All this leads me to realize how woefully unprepared I am to be the mother of 3 boys.

2009-05-04T13:40:00.002-05:00

Future in Retail?

Today while I was doing laundry, Lily-Grace & Joey were playing in the closets while I was hanging up the clothes. They were playing "store." Lily-Grace was the clerk first.

"Hello, sir. can I help you today?"

Silence.

"Would you like a shirt or maybe a tie?"

"A tie." She found him one of Steve's ties, and then declared it was her turn to be the customer. She walked into the store and was greeted by, "Whad d'ya want?"

"I would like some girl clothes please."

"We don't got no girl clothes." Then he began to roar at her and smack her about the head with a foam sword.

Which is only slightly worse service than we have gotten at Walmart.

2009-05-03T08:51:00.005-05:00

I Aged 10 Years Yesterday

Yesterday was the first Saturday in as long as I can remember that we didn't have anything pressing to do. We had a baptism that morning, but after that, we were free. It was nice. So, in the afternoon, after Steve & I had both had a lovely nap, and while Joey was taking a nap, Steve took the other kids outside to play. He was trying to fix a flat on Levi's bike, and Sam decided that he wanted to walk Sarah, our old, tired chocolate Lab. So Steve snapped the leash on Sarah and sent them on their way.

Now, I happened to be outside while this was taking place, and I wondered at the wisdom of it. Usually, the kids pretty much stay in our yard, or if the boys venture out, Levi is always with them, and we send them with a cell phone - just a little insurance and peace of mind for us. Still, nobody else seemed concerned, and really, Sam is not usually too ambitious to head out far from home. So, I said nothing and went back inside.
It was a few minutes more before Steve came back inside to tell me that he & Levi were going to Walmart to buy another tube for the front tire of his bike.
"Are you going to take the other kids with you?" I asked.
He replied no and then I heard him asking Levi if he knew where the other kids were. I wasn't too concerned yet, and it was another few minutes before I hear Steve's panicked voice yelling their names. So I hurry outside to see what is going on. He then proceeds to tell me that he can't find them, and I tell him to just drive around in the truck and look for them.
"I've already driven around, and I can't find them."
My heart dropped, "You've already driven around?" I asked weakly.
"Yes."
"Well, get back in and drive some more!" I commanded him.
He & Levi drove off, and I continued to walk around our neighborhood calling their names. Some girls heard us calling for them, and came to help. Then, one of them got her mom, and she was driving around in her minivan looking for them.

Steve had said that he had seen them last sitting under a tree in our neighbor's yard, so I went over there and rang their doorbell in the unlikely event they had invited a 4 & 7 year old and an old, dirty Lab into their home. No one answered.

Steve and the other mom had both driven back by the house several times to report in that they had not found them. To say I was starting to panic would be an understatement. My heart was pounding, I was praying with all I was worth, "Lord, Jesus, you know where my babies are. Please keep them safe and don't let anybody hurt them!"

At this point it had probably been 10 or 15 minutes since we had noticed they were missing - but how long had they been gone? There was no way to know for sure. I actually had the presence of mind not to blame Steve for not watching them better in case something really bad had happened to them, I didn't want to start the blame game so soon! It's funny that it never even occurred to me to wake up Joey and go look for them myself. Nap time is so sacred in my mind, and I guess I figured that Steve was doing all the looking we could.

My mind was racing, Where could they be? They couldn't have walked very far and Steve should have found them by now. So, someone either had to take them or they went into someone's house. Neither of these options were very comforting to me. So, I decided we were doing all we could, and we were wasting precious time if someone had taken them. I decided to call 911. That was my first (and hopefully last!) call to 911. (not to be confused with my family's first call to 911 - Sam called 911 when he was 4 to report the theft of his brother stealing money from his piggy bank, but that is another story for another time).
Anyway, I called 911, and up to that point, I had been holding it together pretty well - at least on the outside. But when I had to actually voice the words that my kids were missing, I lost it! The conversation went something like this:
"911. What's your emergency?"
"Um, hi. My name is Alayna Brooks, and I think my kids are missing." (cue ugly, squeaky, crying voice)
"Okay, how old are they?"
(Still trying to speak through the panic and tears) "They're 4 & 7. (at this point I started my nervous, fast talking) They've only been gone maybe 15 minutes, so I may be jumping the gun here, but I'm just really nervous. My husband's been driving around, and he can't find them, and they were walking the dog, and they were sitting under this tree across the street, and I'm sure they can't be far, but we can't find them, and we should have found them by now." It was one of those calls that if it had ended up being played on cable news shows, everyone would have wondered what language I was speaking.
"Okay, ma'm let's start with the 4 year old. Boy or girl?"
"Girl."
"What was she wearing?"
"A purple leotard." Oh dear God, could she be any more of a pedophile magnet? She's walking around out there half-naked! At least Sam was fully clothed so when this is put up on the news, maybe everyone won't think I'm completely negligent.
Anyway, she kept me on the phone for several more minutes, getting all the information about what they looked like, and assured me that officers were on their way. I couldn't imagine what was going to happen when they got there. Would they start knocking on people's doors? Questioning us? I was planning my tearful plea to implore the kidnappers to please give us back our babies when Steve turned around the corner and gave me the thumbs-up sign. He had found them. Thank God. I immediately called back 911 to report they had been found and she asked where they were, and I had to tell her I didn't know since I hadn't had a chance to ask yet.

Turns out, they were sitting under that tree, and Lily-Grace decided she was bored and suggested they go see the donkeys that live across the street from the boys' school. A half mile away. Across a very busy street. Steve found them at the school's playground since the donkeys had not been out. Lily-Grace was sitting calmly on one of the benches and said, brightly, "Hi, Daddy!" when she saw Steve walking up to them. Like she takes off in her purple leotard and flip flops every day and walks 1/2 mile away. Help me, Jesus.

Anyway, we had a nice discussion about boundaries and basically theirs are if I walk outside of our house and spit - it should hit them. Period. My heart can't take that kind of panic again.

2009-04-24T21:22:00.001-05:00

This is my family.