The Year of Get er Done.

When Dad left earth I sat back on my heels and realized some things. I don't have a million years here. Self care or the lack thereof affects everyone, not just myself. And life is too short to let insecurities and weird crap hold you back. I had a year of healing/realizing but the next one was "get er done." I got my mole removed, took Jody on a honeymoon, had my wisdom teeth extracted and got braces. These silly 'unfinished business' items were dragging me down. They were things I really wanted, yet I always denied myself while wasting money on Starbucks and silly fripperies. As the year wraps up, I realize all of these little things are leading up to the big one. I have to decide what I'm going to be when Hazel goes to kindergarten. Will I be a retail clerk at Home Depot? Go to seminary? Get a Real Estate license? Go to college and just see what they can make me into? Go to trade school and become a welder? I don't know yet and I am realizing that this decision is the one that has always paralyzed me. I don't know if it's a lack of self confidence or a fear of making a mistake. Luckily for me, Jody will support and encourage me. He always has. But if I could just keep 2015 a little longer and put this off... I probably would... even if I had to get my wisdom teeth pulled again. 

Haze Craze

Sometimes the Hazel stories come so fast and so furious that I realize I need to just sit down and write it down so I can read it all in a few years and laugh myself silly.
So, if you go to Boulder you WILL cross paths with a panhandler. They are so heartbreaking and are literally on every single corner. I've raised three kids who would give these sad people our last penny and bring them home to live with us if I agreed to it. I haven't ever agreed because I've had very very crazy experiences with homeless people not because I have any inner warnings or inhibitions. The other day one was by the exit to the grocery store so I quickly hopped out and grabbed him something from my groceries at Hazels feet and asked if he liked yogurt. He assented so I handed him a couple of chobani choco loco flips. I jumped back into the drivers seat and my dear sweet Hazel unloaded on me. "Why did you just do that? Why did you give him my favorite yogurt? What does his sign even say? Does it say "I have nothing!?" I stuttered a shocked reply that it said "anything helps" and that he liked that yogurt too. She wasn't finished. "Does he have no home or something?" I replied to the best of my knowledge "well, I don't think so." She exhaled in great annoyance and said "Never do that again! Never give him my favorite yogurt again!" I verged between hysterical laughter and horror. How had I raised this child four years and never imparted a sense of compassion for those less fortunate? How could she be one of my four? I called Jody and relayed the entire dismaying tale to him and from the back seat one more explosion blasted into the phone "NEVER AGAIN!"  We both couldn't hold it back, we erupted, laughing and saying "Who is this child?"
The next day I asked her to share her grilled cheese sandwich with Elijah and she simply said "Ok, I like to share with people I KNOW."
Mind you, Hazel has a creative streak like Eden. While Eden was ceaseless with her havoc, Hazel has spurts and streaks and lulls. I don't know which is worse. While I had to stay constantly vigilant with Eden which was very stressful, Hazel lulls me into a sense of false security for weeks or months on end doing mostly harmless things. But when it hits and it always does, there is a shock that I have to work through before I'm able to react. Like the other day when I came out of the bathroom and found her at the woven coffee table with every finger paint open and large quantities poured into cups. with drips and clumps all around. Her pleased and confident demeanor did not falter in seeing my face as I surveyed her and Austin stirring and congratulating one another. I exploded. PMS ok? Gosh I'm not a saint. After scrubbing and cleaning and wiping crevices for a very long time with Q-tips I assessed her attitude... casual dismissal of the whole thing, eating her macaroni and cheese like a princess. I gave a few more ineffectual shouts and heard Austin peep "I told you it was a bad idea Hazel." The next day I opened the freezer and pulled out a cup... that clearly had paint in it.
I said "Hazel what in the world is this?"
She trotted over, smiled proudly and took it from my hand poking it with a very happy air and said "it's my experiment!"
I patiently repeated my question and she said "Oh, it's yogurt and paint!" I want to take it out of the cup! Can you help me get it out?"
At this point I had a hazy memory of sweeping a chobani yogurt cup into the trash as I cleaned up the coffee table.
I firmly faced her and told her that no, she was not to take it out of the cup and that I was very very upset about that whole entire mess the day before. I announced that I was putting it on the counter to thaw so I could throw it away and marched back to my laundry life. All of my children have always quailed in fear at my "angry voice". Not so much Haze. She just waited for my dramatic exit and picked up her cup and headed to her bedroom.
The next morning I went to Hazel's bedroom and went into her closet to gather things for her ballet recital. I saw a nice bathroom hand towel spread upon the floor with an upside down very very familiar cup resting on it. I might have said a bad word or two. I scooped it up and headed to the kitchen howling like a werewolf. By some wild miracle the "experiment" did not penetrate the towel.
I will end that tale here. But it IS recorded so when she has little monkeys she will never ever be able to say "I never..." or "I always..."
There was also the day that I was running all directions and Hazel went in my room and closed the door. I popped in and she was perched in my bed seemingly innocently enough with her kindle. Later, at dinner Jody asked her what was all over her. I looked over and realized her whole shirt was brown with chocolate and her fingernails were full of chocolate and her entire face was covered in chocolate. I still didn't really process. I just tipped my head and asked where she got chocolate.
Where my other children have exhibited shame, she just revealed a hopeful smile and said "mommy's chocolate in her bedroom." It was a very large bag of ghirardelli candy cane chocolate bars.
My eyes got large and I said "how many did you eat?"
She dipped her chin like the best of liars and said "three".
Jody and I looked at each other and I said "how many did you REALLY eat?"
She raised her chin and looked into my eyes like I had really busted her and said "four."
I was really going to press on for the truth but I dissolved into laughter and so did Jody but somehow he managed to look mad while he laughed and say "I don't know what's so funny, I'm only laughing because your mother is." This put me into a complete melt down shrieking laugh.
If I hadn't been camping out in my bedroom at night eating chocolates and littering my nightstand with the wrappers, I suppose we could have counted the wrappers to confirm her confessions...
Other super freakin adorable phrases "I want to pet the boxing turtle, Mommy has a cricket in her neck" followed by tears that were only stemmed by Jody's assurance that it's just a crick.
Yesterday Hazel and I found a new chobani yogurt at the store called "Haze Craze."

Swirling thoughts

Tonight I can't sleep. Maybe it was the booze at Jody's work Christmas dinner. Maybe my weekend was too beautiful and blessed. Maybe it was because I forgot to take magnesium. No matter the reason here I am to thank my Lord.

When I think about these joys I know that God wants my thanks and praise because he promises beauty for ashes and joy for sorrow. Not so very long ago I was not myself and not joyful. 

Now, I excitedly loaded up six kids and took them to a candy cane festival with determination and joy and excitement. I've waited for this feeling for three years and it's here. In spite of Christmas being the day of my dads death, joy is creeping in and redemption is mine. Jody and I actually went Christmas shopping together today and I'm not sure we ever have before. I know that seems implausible after all of these years, but it felt foreign and fun and indulgent. We never disagreed on a single item. I like to consider us symbiotic in those moments. We also went to that Christmas thing... as usual he asked me why I said so many slightly embellished embrarrassing things and I held my hands up and confessed that being a big talker puts me in a position of only 85% of what I say being appropriate. I told him I regularly pray that God will give everyone extra grace to pour out on me for the things I say. Then I told him all of the things I shouldn't have said the night before when I had a little girls night out. Which by the way was super fun. I've been feeling pretty strongly that I needed to start a somewhat regular gathering of moms of teens and so I'm working out the kinks. I'm realizing some really awesome things like once you have teens you join the judgement free zone. And I can confess that Kait is my elf on the shelf mover and Hazel is still batting 33% on tooth brushing. We can have spirited debates on homework philosophies just for the fun of discussion and putting thoughts together. Basically, that is everything I could hope for. All of them have boys older than mine so I can get little glimpses into boy stuff and file it away. What challenges me is how to plan something universally appealing and at a time that works for most. That's the real kicker. It's ironic actually. When you have babies and are doing mommy play dates and all of the first time mommies are competing with nursing and cloth diapers and baby wearing and baby sign language, you have plenty of time for large groups to gather and then even hit the park afterwards... But man these teens change everything with energy and schedules and me time which is sad because it's so comfortable and relaxed to be together with mommies now. 

What Will the Kids Remember?

I'm going to cut to the chase. I don't care. Well, I care but it really shouldn't matter because I have no earthly idea or control over what the kids remember. They already reminisce to me about the weirdest stuff. Honestly, I know I shouldn't sit down and write a blog about why everyone should be motivated by selfishness and yet I feel like I have to and as everyone knows, I always do whatever crazy thing I feel like I HAVE to do.  I might wash your feet. I might take the kids to ice-cream and make them tardy for school. I might buy matching scarves with you in a grocery store just so we have a physical memory of being together. I might give you a piece of copy paper for your birthday. I might prostrate myself before God and pray for you and never tell you about it. I might buy you a used jacket you never knew you wanted. I might take you on a surprise trip to San Francisco. I might buy you a dining set just for the chairs. When the MUST hits me, I just let it flow. So here's my message about the necessity of selfishness.  A question we really need to ask is "What do I want to remember and how can I make that happen?" I've been doing it for awhile on my blog and Facebook but every single time I see one of the things I recorded that I would have forgotten it's like finding a loose diamond on the living room floor. I was checking my calendar the other day and on December 15th I found something that wasn't an appointment. It was a message from me to me. It said "One year ago you sat on a couch (I should have specified which couch) with wine, pandora and a puppy by a beautiful tree." I stared at that message and said "hello Elizabeth from last year!" I don't remember you and I don't remember that moment but I know I wanted to at the time so thanks for the message!" I think this really really helps fight guilt. Guilt over wasting time, guilt over not giving, being, doing. If you can't even give yourself an evening of pandora wine and puppy, that is what you should feel guilty about because all of the giving and doing doesn't come from your heart because it's not full. 

Dad's Birthday

It's been a long day but now my time is my own. The tears have slipped here and there all day as I babysat and ran to swim and to karate and made cupcakes but now it's just me and me. I can sit and remember being little and adoring my dad. I can summon up memory after memory to make myself cry or else to remember in spite of crying I'm not sure which. I can run his voice through my mind like velvet across my fingers saying all of the things he always said. I can just sit and remember him singing and teaching and working. It's all with me every day like the hum of the refrigerator or the engine in my car but sometimes I like to turn up the volume and just be in it. I'm glad it's been almost two years because I've let it become a part of me now. At first it owned me but now it's just a part of who I am and I've finally learned to love me so I welcome it. I don't need to have anyone support me when I cry anymore. I don't need to apologize when I do cry around someone anymore. It probably doesn't sound like a great place to be, but it is. Because deep down even though I've lost one of the most wonderful treasures of my life, I have joy and I have purpose and I listen to God and I do the little jobs He gives me to show His love to people. I think learning a little more about His love has really opened a window in my heart.
My sweet friend Christine offered her usual amazing gift of compassion to me with a simple note today. I love that about her. Always has a way of understanding and reaching out but keeping it natural. I hope that I learn how to do that someday.
Anyway, me me me. I don't know if Jody and the kids still grieve him so I guess his birthday will now always be about me. Mercy. I guess I really am a narcissist but I have always worried about that because I leave my blog public. There's no hope for this girl. LOL! 

When God talks to you

I think the one thing that everyone who has ever met me would agree on is that they know more about me than is average and probably more than they are comfortable with. I literally spill myself on the world. For better or worse. You've probably seen me cry over aborted babies, unfairly pitied people, my dad and maybe even the confederate flag. You've probably seen me lose my temper over an interpretation of scripture, my kids socks on the dining table, the destruction of religious freedom or how a teacher phrased something to me. You've probably seen me get drunk on two beers or a dastardly combination of champagne and anything because champagne is my kryptonite, and you most likely know that I never finished high school. In a world of steady progress and tractable predictability, I'm the flubber in the room, bouncing higher and getting crazier with each passing moment. I know that you watch me and you see all of that stuff you manage to so carefully contain in yourself spraying all over the place from me like silly string and you think "Wow, Elizabeth is such a hot mess. How does she live that kind of passion all day every day?" I'm not sure if my wrecking ball approach to life actually helps me hear God speaking to me or not but you know I just have to work with what I've got. Being an extreme person with my sins on display leads me to repentance regularly. One day last week, I was just on a rampage.  I replayed the latest Elizabeth explosion in my mind like a movie reel to the Holy Spirit and asked him "what can you do with that girl?" He simply said "I can make you gentle." My hopeless judgement of myself melted away. Just knowing that He's got more planned in my heart is all I needed to hear. The time is not up yet. I kind of think God's work in my life is like that Pink Panther episode where the little guy is painting a room blue as fast as he can and Pink Panther is painting it pink again right behind him even faster. The scenes change and Pink Panther switches the paint buckets and the little guy is painting pink without realizing it and he switches back to blue but while he's gone the whole room is pinked again and whatever tactic he takes the Pink Panther is always one step ahead of him and he's never going to get it all blue. I get sinful or just full of myself and start going on some charge and I'm always full tilt!! there's no stopping me until I hit empty and for some holy gracious reason God is busily working on my heart faster than I can go in my selfish behavior. He's talking so fast and filling me up with things he's got planned for me to do so quickly that while I do have a mess of blue paint all over me, I kinda helplessly accept that His plan really is simply fabulous. I am fully aware that nobody is jealous of this crazy picture I'm painting for you of the inside my heart. But I've made peace with it. I don't hate myself or crack down on myself anymore. As a matter of fact, I think if I lived a quiet life under the radar and nobody knew about all of my sins, it would be easier to get comfortable and just not grow closer to God. If I never looked drunk. If nobody knew I was angry. If I never wrote a blog about how hard marriage can be sometimes. If I never admitted that I've destroyed friendships and abandoned them when it hurt too much or I went too far. If I never said "I lost all faith in God when I watched my dad die." If I didn't blurt it out like I do, I'm not sure I'd be as vulnerable to the Holy Spirit and I'm not sure I'd let Him in to heal me as easily. By the same token, I'll readily agree that a lot of people exhibiting self control aren't faking it or ignoring conviction of sins, they're just ahead of me or working on something else but somehow I think everyone knows that I'm not talking about them, I'm talking about the ones who are either a hot mess like me or the ones who try not to stand out or draw attention or make intentional efforts to bend to Gods will because they're convincing themselves nobody will notice if they just steer clear of telltale messy blue paint out in public. Let me tell you, He does notice and He wants your heart. You have great value in His plan. You might feel a little aimless and lost like you don't know what He wants from you or what you're supposed to be doing. But all you need to do is ask Him to show you what He can do with you and it will blow your mind. I know, you thought I was going to tell you to repent first right? Because everyone gets those backwards. Jesus healed people and showed them their future first, then he warned them not to lose sight of it and stink things up with sin. That's what He always does with me. He tells me to do something and gets me rolling in the right direction and full of hope and value and all motivated and he high fives me and says "you did it! You listened! You obeyed!" And I get so happy and high and then he points at one of my sins and he's like "and don't do that, it hurts people." And I look at it kind of startled and I'm like "oh yeah that was not my best work (damn blue paint)."But I can take it because He already showed me my value and I believe Him and blue paint can be painted over. (No this is not a metaphor about my lovely aqua house that the HOA hates.)

Eden's birthday

Today Eden turned 13. She's so much more beautiful and poised than I ever could have hoped to be at 13. I'll always be the first to say I don't know what makes her tick but it never stops me from sheer admiration for how amazing she is at all of the things she loves. I think most any parents would find it challenging to parent this amazing little woman child but I particularly had little confidence in my abilities until I went to healing prayer. I still  puzzle over her and think too hard but all in all I can honestly say I'm looking forward to having teenagers. It's fun to laugh all day at cute little toddler stuff but a kid who gets your jokes, wants to go thrifting and grab a coffee, likes interior decorating, relates on the big stuff, helps move furniture and makes the birthday cakes for you is definitely equally as enjoyable. Ok so she's been doing all of that for a couple of years... I'm just saying I like it... Usually. 

Happy 13th birthday Eden. God has a special purpose for your life and I pray every day that you will hear His voice and bend to His will so you can experience something amazing.

I'm gonna take a little minute...

To tell myself that only big love wide open will ever bring about the life God wants for me. And every time I feel grouchy about anybody in my life that Jesus needs me to pray for them. That pretty much covers it. 

To Michelle

You are always in our prayers and I'm thinking of you especially today. May you be blessed richly and filled to the brim with big love. Our hearts will always ache to know you. May God send you this message on angels wings. 

She loves me as he did

Hazel loves me like Dad did. She's always connecting and loving. She encourages me like he did. Her eyes search for mine and she beams joy into me like a channel. She tells me lovely stories about him. She knows me like he did. My tears never dismay her, she comes right into my pain and asks if I miss my dad. 

Oh my Hazel, I never got around to publishing this on your 4th birthday but the intention was there. I love you so and I do not know how I could have lived through the last 2 years without you. I cannot imagine this world without you. I love to make you happy. May your heart always be as pure as it now is. 

Day 1 letter to my kids and their response

Hi Allen Children! How can I already miss you!? 

This morning in the airport I saw women with toddlers and babies and strollers and car seats. All I could think was "that's been my whole life for almost 13 years and here I am just eating breakfast and drinking coffee with just Jody!" 

We flew west without clouds all the way to the border of Utah. I saw the golden aspens  from the sky for the first time in my life.

 

We picked out roads we drive on, the towns of Boulder and Nederland and Winter Park and saw a peek of a glorious orange canyon that looked amazing before the clouds overtook us. 

Now we have lost track of where we are and don't have the cool little TV screen with a map. I guess $20 plane tickets don't come with tvs! We landed under cloudy skies and spitting rain. I'm so lucky I planned the first two days in Healdsburg with sunny skies and 80 degree days. 

We drove straight out of San Fran (look for it on the map upstairs!) across the Golden Gate Bridge in spatters of rain. I looked up and said "we're not in Erie anymore Baby!" 

Then we went to Lagunitas Beer Garden in a wonderfully cute town called Petaluma. Super cute place but they owe Kim royalties for using Saydee as a mascot.

Then on to Russian River brewing in Santa Rosa (yes the town where Kaitlyn, Marcail and Sean lived in the Lori Wick books we read) who make the most popular craft beer in America called Pliny the Elder. 

Your dad gave the seal of approval. 

After that we perused the square at Healdsburg and enjoyed a wine tasting.

I'm sorry you missed it but we watched the sun set over beautiful grape vineyards and I even ate a stray raisin on a nearby grapevine.

Now we are cuddled up in a cozy room in Guernesville and we have no regrets except that Grandma and Grabdpa didn't bring you along in a separate room! Love you and miss you my darlings! 

Here was their loving reply:

Dear, Beloved Parents 
     Did you get a selfie stick yet because seriously they are popular (look up "China selfie stick) (hilarious).
     We are off to bed because it is 9:30 😉.
           Love, 
               Eden Kaitlyn, Nick, Hazel

As well as some pictures theyattached in another email.

The hard cold facts

There's a feeling in me. A feeling of dread. I know, I sound like my dad. The problem is, people all around me are making excuses for the murder of 56 million babies. Some people even try to compare it to extreme prolifers who shot abortionists in the 90's saying both sides are evil which sadly there's no way to strike such a comparison. Quite simply, our country, our generation has more blood on its hands than any other. Many tell me that a woman should be able to choose. But they always leave that sentence hanging. Choose to have their baby killed and parted out to the highest bidder? What about the fact that since abortion is legal 40% of women are coerced into it? I think about all of the things people are told they just have to tough through in life but then when a life is literally on the line, suddenly others want to offer women a shortcut from the hard things. There are no shortcuts. We all play the hand we are dealt. The negative fallout from abortion it horrific. From abusers forcing their victims to get them, to abortionists selling baby body parts, to women suffering years of post abortion stress. But the scariest part of all, is the murder and the judgement of God. People always say, don't judge, that's God's job. But I wonder why there's no fear of that. Are we to be the generation with no consequences for our sins? I'm not talking about the abortionists and women who receive them, I'm talking about the people who turn a blind eye and excuse it. Judgement will come. And it will be a dark time. 

Summer hike

I'm the queen of good intentions. Boxes of thank you notes, piles of educational materials, scads of Bible Study curriculum, zillions of flower planters, gallons of paint, mountains of books I really should read... But the application is more on the side of haphazard... 

At the beginning of summer I had narrowed it down to one goal. Just go hiking with the kids a couple times a week and embrace nature. I added plant identification guides to my Amazon cart and the whole plan derailed right there. Eden said it sounded miserable, Nick was averse to waking up early and we all know how long Hazels legs are. Kait was of course my only ally. I just don't feel like a mountain mover anymore. Kids are hard. You lose your edge, passion, vision, fire and ultimately energy in the day to day grind. But somewhere in the back of my mind Kara Tippets was talking about how badly she wished she was well enough to make her kids lunches. And there was this prick behind my eyelids as I was reminded that my time here parenting my little people often feels like my dads precious golden honey is running through my fingers and I don't know how to save it, contain it and direct it. I did not rise up like Joan of Arc and save my summer plan. We did not go hiking even once a week. I never ordered my plant field guides. And it makes me sad. But like I said to Eden tonight, as long as we are on a trajectory that moves us in the right direction, I am content. 

We made it up a trail on Saturday. If I were to torture you with the fine details of what kind of mountains I moved to get my kids up there you would be literally nauseated but I persevered and it was a fantastic experience. 

It'll never be perfect

My life has been a bit of a domino sequence lately and that does not work well with an already disorganized person. If you were to label the dominoes as a camping trip, strep throat, the first day of school, a husband traveling for work and just a general scatterbrain, you would have a fair picture of me scrambling around trying to get ready and then the doorbell ringing before the counter was wiped. My chum was coming for breakfast. I knew judging my imperfections were not the reason for her coming. She was wrung out from a thousand of life's pressures that she only dreamed could be as insignificant as a messy house. As she dashed tears from her eyes, I saw them settle on the messy front of my stainless fridge. It was the half focused glance of a born perfectionist who can tally what needs to be done in a room in thirty seconds. I apologetically mentioned needing to buy the special cleaner for stainless steel. I honestly didn't try too hard though. I don't owe her an explanation for how I live and she doesn't expect one. She gave me a vague nod, not caring one whit about my fridge door. I started chopping on a clean cutting board and she started sharing. I think you know that you are with a soul sister when every detail of their story interests you and you don't feel required to give solutions or advice. It is literally heaven. It was an easy morning, stripped of artifice with her telling me which ingredients to skip for her diet and me diving into a whole new recipe and throwing in every bit of imagination I had while listening to stories about people which I love to do. The result was delicious. We pushed dried play dough crumbles aside and sat at the table looking outside through a mud smeared sliding door as we pondered life's great mysteries and death's great pain. We ate well, cried a little, laughed a little and had grapefruit for dessert. Jesus needed me to take a little tender care of her that day. I suppose I could have missed all of that if I'd waited to invite her over when my house was cleaner which some days it actually is... But that was the day she needed some of Jesus love poured on which is actually no sacrifice for me because I just love that girl and every chance I have to visit with her. 

As summer fades

Tonight we finished "To Kill A Mockingbird".  In the history of summers and family read alouds this is a rather paltry showing. In a usual summer, the kids will push me to read for hours on end with wheedling passionate persistence that I unfortunately have little resistance to.  I'm not proud of this because after all, who wouldn't choose Harry Potter over washing more dishes? It's always ironic to me when people think I'm bragging. Like it's just saintly to have dirty floors when friends stop by. It reminds me of people putting some kind of esteem on the fact that I don't watch TV when the simple fact is I don't have the attention span to survive the commercials. Anyway, as usual I digress. To say that we only read one measly novel all summer is embarrassing. But it opened our hearts and so it is enough.  I read the last five chapters of my dog eared 25 cent copy from Goodwill with a toddler sleeping across me.  My fingers rythmically swept up and down her side as she puffed chocolate breath from her unbrushed teeth but it stole nothing from our finale.  As Scout stood on Arthur Radleys' porch wisely absorbing the weight of standing in another mans shoes, I looked up to see tears shimmering in Eden's eyes and a deep shadow marking Kait's face. It's an achingly deep moment. We all want a perfect ending, a neatly tied bow with happily ever after and everyone changed and improved. It had taken almost the whole book of me haltingly reading then stopping to explain colloquialisms, symbolisms, definitions and even clarifying what had happened in an entire chapter of people speaking in double meanings but finally at the end, there it was... Eden sharply stopping me and saying "wait!" and demanding clarification. She was realizing that each word held weight and the story meant so much more than I could explain in a sitting.
I don't give my kids the things they want like books that everyone else is reading and TV shows that everyone else is watching though some would say they have too much and sometimes I neglect the things they need like clean teeth at night or fresh pajamas but I will always hope they hold on to what I try to teach them about letting Jesus in so out will come love, time invested, integrity, defense of the defenseless, purity of heart, and just generally getting outside of our own pains and predjudices to hold space for other people because that's what Jesus can do through us.
I started our final reading thanking the Lord that my kids start school soon and ended in a state of melancholy and desire to just keep them home another month. Just a little extension of time to teach them what I believe and combat the education system with all of it's agendas but alas here it is. Another summer is slipping away and I grasp at bits and pieces wondering when I will ever have a perfect one to look back on as the summer I shared everything important I could with them.
My heart can't take these kids. I'm blessed more than I can absorb and it's beautiful. 

There will be bumps

Tonight I went to Old Mine with my chum Jenny. I love her. I think we've always known each other. As a matter of fact, I'm often surprised that I'm telling her something she doesn't know about me. I would like to say it's because we were best friends in a former life but I don't believe in reincarnation. So, I will settle for the explanation that God made our souls to know one another. I barely knew her seven years ago and I don't remember why I had her number but I remember thinking she would help me and called he when I was out of gas. Incidentally, she wasn't able to help me that day but the point was I remember feeling confident of her character without really knowing her. After that, I ran into her everywhere and it was always timely. I'd feel this relief seeing a familiar face in a new town.  We both noticed it. There was no coincidence and we knew it. We casually jumped into that friendship like people do when stars align and it was great. God smiled and Satan got busy. Those things go hand in hand. There was the happy perfect memory phase for a few years then the doubts. When that started, I would get too close and see Satans mirages then back up and see Gods hands. I don't know what sabotaged it entirely but something shook the trust. Then I quit. I doubted the friendship and gave up. It was an elephant in the room that I didn't want to face but thankfully the truth won.  She was my sweet potato roll buddy. The one who saw me drunk more than sober (but it was her fault). The one who laughed about my husband frustrations with true soul. The one who welcomed me to my new home with cookies. The one who made my hair pretty and cut it and dyed it and fed me tomato soup or wine all at the same time. The one who let me freak out about a fourth pregnancy and took pictures of my fabulous baby being born. The one who went to breakfast with me the day I found out Dad had a giant tumor. My muse for every philosophical blog written. The one who listened and listened and listened. As I relived this beautiful organic journey I like to call a very special friendship, God told me something about friendship that has changed my perspective forever. He said this special friendship was a gift to do with as I pleased. It was an arresting and weighty thought. We are here with opportunities to share life... or not. It's a choice we make as mothers and wives and friends. We can be present and available and invested or we can judge, carry bitterness and anger and lose trust and ultimately lose relationships. It's complex but simple. I think the craving for acceptance can only be be fulfilled by offering the same acceptance we crave. Of course, as soon as I sought to right my relationship with her Jenny was right there to meet me with her arms open. That's why I love her I guess. The acceptance of me and the trust of my acceptance of her. I love my people! 

The truth about in ground trampolines.

Two and a half years ago, we finally (drumroll) bought a house after five years of renter/landlord hell. I am literally incapable of resisting trampolines, call it a childhood nostalgia, a weakness, an addiction I don't know. So we bought one. A terrible little thing that barely bounced. It felt like whiplash every time I tried to jump on it. On top of that, it was wedged onto our inherited homemade paver patio converting a natural eyesore into a veritable piece of visual pollution. Yes, my yard was abysmal.

 A scant month later, a straight line wind blew the crappy trampoline into the side of our neighbors house causing extensive damage and trauma to the inhabitants. Apparently it's really loud and scary when a trampoline is slammed into the second story of your home making giant holes in the siding. It happened on the one night of summer we were not home. The neighbors piled mangled pieces back over the fence and we shoved the trampoline parts into our garage until we "dug a hole". 

I always talked about when we were going to recess the trampoline with a casual air. As though one day it might strike my fancy and I might whip a hole out and set it up that day... Which interestingly never struck my fancy. And so two years went by. 

People asked about our trampoline status and I would shrug and make a vague reference to digging a hole which would cause Jody to frown at me and then I would frown back. I varied my strategies with him, sometimes I might raphsodize and bat my eyelashes others I might make wild claims about the foolishness of every other alternative. Regardless of my approach, Jody would either redirect conversation or become engrossed with TV. I considered it progress. Always progress. 

This spring I got a wild hair and became hell bent on the sorry state of our back yard. We sat sipping beverages one Saturday morning and I commented that I would like to destroy our strange patio with an even stranger reputation (my neighbors have scary nicknames and scandalizing stories about the previous owner and his many girlfriends and the building of the paver patio) and dig the trampoline hole. Jody nodded and continued sipping his beverage. I led him outside to try to inspire vision but I perceived a weak response. He returned indoors and proceeded to puruse his IPad. I trailed him like any self respecting wife and exploded that it appeared we were never going to do anything about the back yard. He looked at me like I was insane and asked if I wanted to demo the patio right that minute and I said that yes I did. 

I would like to point out that he did not explain to me why he thought I was insane but by the same token I did not ask. So, we went out to the patio with a sledge hammer and started to demo a weird little wall built around it.

Now this picture was actually after we knocked down the wall with the sledge hammer. Yes, I was awesome. Nobody takes videos of me like I do with the kids. Sigh.
That was spring...
It is now July. I cannot say exactly what I had planned or how we were to execute our project when I grabbed the sledge hammer.  Only that it was rather dreamy and fairy godmotherish. After the sledge hammer stage I unsurprisingly became languid and disinterested. Everything started to look hard and time consuming and... expensive.
That is the fabulous thing about my marriage though. Well, at least I think it's fabulous. When I lose momentum, Jody gains it. The next thing I knew, Jody was designing a new patio and putting our yard into auto cad. He was asking me to get concrete bids. I got excited.
All I had to do was remove the pavers, then someone would come make our patio. It sounded "easy". I have no earthly idea why I'm a Pollyanna or how I came to be this way. I had a tougher childhood 'work sweat and tears wise' than any of my peers.I have been unwed and pregnant, my husband has had cancer, barely survived while floating an underwater house for five years flipping furniture to make the payments, made it through Jodys brief unemployment, supported him in the hardest subsequent choices he ever made and have four kids which oddly people have the most respect for me for. I have not lived a charmed life of ease and leisure but it's like I'm a rainbow chaser "this will be easy" always pops into my head. Every single time. Ask Jody. The worst part is... I REALLY BELIEVE me... and so I got ideas and told Jody how nice it would be to have a high patio without a back step. He furrowed his brow and reworked it out and warned me it would take extra concrete...(first warning sign). I told him the plans looked lovely. He has a soft spot for me. I'm not gonna lie. Then the concrete guys started telling us prices for dirt because after all we would need yards and yards of dirt for a base under a high patio. Brilliant me, I asked Jody if we could use all the sand from the old patio and dig the trampoline hole and use that dirt.
"Well... of course" he said "theoretically".
Something very key to understand about Jody is to pay attention to every word he says. Dissect it, psychoanalyse it and for sweet pity's sake, don't discount it. I did pull up about half of the pavers and got them out of the way... then I left for a three day field trip to Estes Park with Eden which turned out to be Jody's three day window to fill the patio forms with soil before the concrete truck came. And so... Jody dug... And dug... And dug. I am dropping my head in shame remembering this. He shoveled like a maniac. When I left it was like this:

When I returned it was like this:

Note how he relocated ALL of that sod so carefully.

So I dug with him. We did a lot of digging then God did a lot of raining. Soon we had a lovely mud pit for Stella. 

In the meantime they poured our new patio.

And I thought of a new project to go with the patio since we had extra bricks:

A flower bed. I wanted to build it and he tried to teach me but ultimately I did not meet his standards and my work had to be scrapped and redone. It was sad. I wasted five hours of sweating in the pouring heat. He also ripped out all of the ugly gray wiring for the previous owners infamous hot tub. Yes, infamous. Everything about him was infamous. He took living in a fishbowl literally. Our yard is roughly the size of a postage stamp so people love to call where all of the neighbors yards join "a fishbowl". He swam and frolicked in the fishbowl for all to see with all of his lovers. Don't judge me for gossiping. He clearly wanted to leave a legacy. Now his legacy is recorded for all posterity.  All that grass on the right half of the picture was from the trampoline hole. Jody saved it and moved it which will come up again later in this tale of woe. See my despicable ugly tan and brown house? That will also come up later in this tale of woe.

Jody had dug that hole for weeks. Men stopped him in church to talk about it, others stood in our yard with their mouths agape and they all said the same things. Big men, little men, tall men, short men.. It was always "you dug that by hand? With a shovel?" It's a small town, so I know it doesn't mean as much as say in New York City but he's kind of revered and pitied as the man who loved his wife too much around here. I developed a bit of a stoop from curling in shame so frequently. I avoided talking about the pit because well I felt like an idiot. That stupid little chirpy voice in my head mocked me "it will be so easy" became nightmarish with a fast forward chipmunk voice and never stopped playing. Jody would come home day after day discovering I hadn't dug much again and put on dirty clothes and dig like a beaten man. His wrists became numb at night and he could not sleep due to the pain in his wrists and hands. For real. Stella would dig extra holes in the side of the hole. Not kidding. Then Jody announced we had reached 3 feet on the high side and could dig a sump in the center. He is an engineer who designs drainage and retention ponds and such for a living.  I am me which is less valuable in this endeavor than a 14 year old boy. I ineptly followed directions and asked lots of annoying questions. We dug a center hole deeper and used a level to completely level the peremiter then we sloped it towards the hole in the center and filled the sump with river rock. After that, we covered it in landscape fabric. Then we covered the whole pit with river rock to repel weeds. I was tired that day and like I said, Jody would have been way better off with a paid laborer or even an Amazonian wife. 

Then we ordered the expensive trampoline that he now blames me for... a Magic Circle. We went ahead and bought 300 pounds of sandbags to anchor it "just in case"

Jody explained to me how we would build a berm around the circumference to direct water away from the hole. We used concrete siding as a form and we bermed and bermed and bermed. By this point I felt like a fool ten times over for even tackling something so complicated, labor intensive and just plain out stressful.  It was around this time that I had house painters paint my house a color unapproved by the HOA. Lovely isn't it? I needed that stress. Another Pollyanna move. "It's beautiful! the whole neighborhood will be knocking on my door to ask what that lovely color is." Nope, try the neighborhood will go into an uproar and report you and you will get a call after its 90% done to cease painting from the HOA. As a side note, farm girls don't really understand the whole HOA thing. It's foreign. 

I'm still waiting to find out if I will have to pay to have it repainted. $$$$$$$$$$!

Then the sprinkler guy Russ came. He and Jody had to dig up the whole F@&$?$@ yard again to move and redirect sprinklers.

See our berm? I won't go into details about a delivery man being greeted by me in a swimsuit when I had some supplies delivered and then having it referenced to clarify who I was by the store owner when I called back for more the next week. Mortifying. I'm too old for this. 

I am here to tell you the berming was a nightmare and we still have one trouble spot.

My house was a never ending mud pit. Dirt and sand everywhere. 

See where we removed all that sod Jody tried to save? Yeah we had to so we could slope the ground for drainage. The sod had already completely taken root because of all of the rain. That was awful and redundant. Jody does not like redundant. 

Then we finally ordered the sod. When that sod came it was like Christmas in July. We were so sick of mud! The whole family laid the sod hours after it was delivered. It required more shoveling and leveling but we were maniacs.  I think it was because we thought we were crossing the finish line of the worst home project ever.

I so wish I could say "happily ever after" at this point in the story but today...

We had to install a French drain across half of our yard.

Because our trampoline had impeded the yard drainage and we had a stinky muddy sod mess going on. That's the truth about putting in an in ground trampoline. I'm sure you are waiting for the part about how I made it all up to Jody... Stay tuned. I'm going to do my very best. Right now I'm just focusing on getting this giant fountain installed in the corner of my yard. Jody said no... But I think it will be "really easy" and I have the perfect spot.

Freedom

Independence day this year is hard for me. I watched the fireworks last night and wondered if it will have completely devolved into a show within my lifetime. Yes, I'm a toxic mix of Eyore and melodrama all wrapped into the human form. It occurs to me often that people don't want to hear what I think or how I feel about hot issues but then I realize that being silent is what causes a lack of dialogue and a lack of respect for people who are different. Just as there are people on Facebook without a single southern friend and are never presented with the cultural significance of the rebel battle flag, there are also people without a single Facebook friend who disagrees out loud with the process used to legalize gay marriage last week which was unconstitutional. I was raised by a couple of patriots. Understanding the value of freedom of religion was breathed into me like oxygen. My dad carried a copy of the constitution around in his shirt pocket. I can't say that I know the constitution, I just trust it. I understand the position of people fighting for this legalization and I respect the fact that people have not been treated fairly. Of course, I believe this stems from the government ever dipping their greedy fingers into marriage by creating licenses to prevent black people from marrying white people. I simply do not agree with the notion that government should mess with marriage. They could create legal agreements associated with marriage and legislate that all day. While many people in our culture today feel that gay rights are more important than religious freedom I can't agree. The worst part is, I don't think choosing was necessary. Patience and a careful re-navigation of separating marriage from government was the only peaceful respectful path America could have taken. Perhaps unintended consequences were considered, but it really doesn't seem like it. I'm being asked to choose and so I do. I choose Christ. It's rather ironic actually. We have this history of King Henry the VIII who manipulated everything to make marriage work the way he wanted it to and to circumvent the rules of the Church all because he wanted his interpretation of marriage to supersede the church (sound familiar?). Some tough as nails Christians wanted to have freedom from his corruption of an institution created by God so they fled to America. They wanted the right for the church to be free of control of the government. As an aside, I freely admit that Jesus never said this would work. He never said we would be able to create a freedom of religion successfully. He actually warned us of the opposite. And as I sit feeling slightly fearful of the future of my religion in this country, I also criticize myself and ask why I expect a perfect situation to express my religion while Christians are beheaded and imprisoned in other countries right now. Of course I could say the same of gay people who fight for the right to marry while gay people the world over are being killed for their sexuality.  Regardless, that is how I feel. This is where I simply must stand. Yes, the freedom to worship Jesus and submit to the authority of the Bible is quite simply the most important freedom to me. I know I'm not alone. I also know that I really have nothing to fear. Even if someday churches are shut down for not officiating gay marriages or Christians are fined or imprisoned for not compromising their faith. What happens to us on this earth is not eternal. Happiness is fleeting as Solomon said. So, I'll try to keep my eyes on Him and honor Him the very best I can, knowing I was made for more.

http://www.history.com/topics/mayflower

Parenting

My mom called yesterday and asked how the kids are doing. I rattled off my pre-teen's five latest stunts, rambled about how sweet the others are and stopped for breath. She sighed and commented that it's rather bittersweet how each child seems to pull us close and push us away at different times and you're always seeming to feel closest to a different child. I love that she had four kids and can really relate to so many things with me. Then she said a bunch of nonsense about how proud she is of my wise handling of everything. I was like a deer in the headlights. I mean Mom knows me. She knows google is my guide. She knows I have to have people explain every single social decorum to me three different ways before I actually get it.  I think, when I look around that parenting seems to be this beautiful natural evolution for other people. Somehow they have intuitions, instincts, experiences and knowledge to guide them. In recent years, this used to intimidate me which would in turn bring out my ugly side. The catty judgmental side. But that's exhausting. So after I got really tired from all of the judging, and excuse making for my ineptitude I realized I was humbled. Being humbled is something God has made a hobby of gifting me with. I know he sees something great in me or else why bother right? Wink wink! Anyway, as I've stumbled through every stage of parenting, always seeming to google the least important facets of the stage I'm in, I finally developed a new way of surviving. Yes, I literally google the sentence my kids say that leaves me curled in the fetal position and find out what "experts" think I should do. I spill it to my trusted friends and find out what they would do. Then I just kinda go limp and let it all wash over me while I scroll up and down my meaningless Facebook newsfeed because it's my guilty pleasure. I mean, that's the profoundly unprofound thing I've learned. Reacting is stressful. I feel like I'm playing the part of a mother in a movie nowadays. My oldest doesn't know what to do with me. She's spent 12 years perfecting the art of getting Mom's goat and now I just hopefully appear incredibly bored and distracted offering nothing more than a benign smile while my mind feverishly races around for a steam valve. I think of the people who come by this naturally and gaze into their child's defiant face with measured calm who maybe really are that calm inside and yes I'm jealous. Playing a part is not the same thing. The other half isn't a part. I try to savor the beautiful moments with her and bless her with approval and acceptance.  She has decided not to believe in God. Every single time she drops that bomb I feel my stomach lurch. Faith is something she has overanalyzed her whole childhood and it used to worry me so bad.  Even now as I write about it my mind is like a rat in a maze trying to figure out whether she says it to manipulate, as a desperate plea for attention or because she's truly conflicted. But deep down I know that I can only love her and let her take this journey. I think I stopped worrying per se about it sometime after Dad died and I stepped into Jesus love. That was when I realized my whole life of professing faith and belief had really been just a time of seed planting. I hadn't known Him. I didn't deny him like she is but I misunderstood faith for sure. I remember being out for a walk with a friend when I was pregnant with Hazel and casually stating that I wasn't sure I was saved. She was floored and told me once you're saved, you're always saved. I laughed her off and told her I'd been baptized twice and spent a life floating closer and further from God and wouldn't blame Him for sending me to hell at some of those points. I hadn't really known Him. Well, now I really do and I can't imagine one of my children spending their whole lives never knowing Him and if declaring an independence of Him is what someone needs to do for her journey, her story, her peace, then who am I to shame that or argue it? Additionally, if a 12 year old is guided primarily by emotions, what is the real purpose in trying to control her spiritual course? The gifts and callings of God are without repentance. My mom spoke that over me for 34 years before I had a real experience of what it meant to be His child. I think I can give my kids that much. It's funny how you can have all of your own stuff going on with people you know, unforgiveness, anger, judgement etc... then look at your child and tell them not to. I had to let go of one of my closest friendships this year. It felt like I cut my arm off. I still think about it and wish I had done things better, been a better friend, been kinder, been gentler, more intuitive, lived grace vibrantly. But deep down, I have to accept my journey. Know that I'm not there. I'm fragile. I'm not complete. I believe that God will be faithful to complete a good work in me. I believe that he will do the same for my kids. And I believe that He will give me the self control to avoid inhibiting their journeys. I try to pray for each of them several times per day and trust God with the process.

little of this and that

This morning I woke Nick up for his first ever day of soccer camp. He loves soccer so I was rather dismayed to find him completely unwilling to go. I poked and prodded and maneuvered and leveraged and got him in the car to go around the block to it because he declared he would be too tired to ride his bike home this afternoon. I started my nonsensical chatter about camp and rambled on about how great and new and exciting... then he added "and scary". I looked up and realized he was nervous and was coming off as grumpy and tired. I was able to turn things around in our three minute drive and then when we arrived at the soccer field and all of these awesome soccer players from England and Scotland and Ireland started speaking and Nick started glowing. I wish I had a reason to stay all day in the shade with a water bottle and my kindle.

Yesterday I came home from a girls weekend and found that Jody had finished my new flower bed. It's going to be the herb garden. I'm very excited about it even though it doesn't look exciting to a person expecting to see herbs. Jody tried to teach me how to lay the bottom layer so I could actually be a productive piece of this project but I only managed to lay stones in a terrible meandering line that he had to redo. I hope I was somewhat helpful but I really don't know. All I do know, is that I hugged him and told him he was amazing because he is. He just went and bought some special saw blade and started cutting pavers like a pro. He's that kind of guy. Whatever he decides to do is just a process. Whatever I decide to do seems to be either practice or an expensive education.

About the girls weekend... It's the first one I've ever been on aside from going with my sister to a marathon in AZ one time. I know, I'm behind the times. It was really special though. I kinda botched Jenny's big 4-0 a couple of years ago and she unknowingly gave me a do over chance when she texted me a random "I want to go out with a bunch of friends for my birthday, should we do Whimsy?" Let me just say that Jenny and I did once do Whimsy with some friends and it was fun in a very self deprecating kind of way where you make fun of yourself the entire time because you are doing something you have no gift or talent for and with painting you do hit a point of no return.  I redirected her and asked her to go big or go home and she did and we did and it was so fun and unforgettable. We rode in rickshaws. We went to wine and cheese at a gorgeous wine bar and had dinner at the girliest champagne bar with chandeliers and white couches. We checked out an underground lounge which was awesome in my opinion. We hit a techno dance club and danced so long my calves ache now and honestly I don't know how to dance or whether I looked like Elaine from Seinfeld or not but I didn't care and those girls made me laugh. It was great.  I walked away from that night educated. People challenged me to think about things in new lights, they made me laugh till my belly hurt and they showed me beauty. I have such admiration for the kinds of people Jenny has chosen to surround herself with. Our night wasn't perfect which is what made it perfect. I've left out the secrets because after all, that's what creates a sisterhood. The parts that you laugh at and cringe together over and retell each other too many times not knowing why. I think the best part of the night was when Jenny told me she looked around at all of the friends she loves best and people she had always wanted to get to know who showed up and she got a little teary knowing they came just for her. I thought man, that's really cool. Everyone needs to have that at least once in their life.

The gift

When I think of friendship as it relates to my present life, I grasp something very personal and raw. What you my friends have done is taught me how to love with grace. While I used to tell my kids to find good friends, I now hesitate. Because nobody is always a good friend. Friendship isn't really a choice, it's a gift. In recent months, I've modified my friendship advice to my daughters so much that they are probably hopelessly confused. It comes from a deep need to acknowledge the gifts of friendship that have been bestowed upon me. If I think about how my best friend Jody has loved me through the last 15 years I'm honestly humbled. Even during my recent crisis, he remembered who I really was and he kept reminding me. My friend Christine held my hand lightly through my grief and I so admire and respect her amazing gift from God to do that so well. She always gives me truth and trusts the process of friendship drama free. My friend Jenn offered me a perfect picture of love and forgiveness when I asked for it after what I can only describe as an absence from myself. She helped me work on stuff and let Jesus in to my life in a way that He has never been there before. My friend Jenny accepts me, forgives me and challenges me to be the one to give the other a bigger boost or a lighter heart after getting together. She forgives before I can spit out an apology and always reminds me of Jesus when she laughs and says she doesn't even remember what I'm apologizing for. She and Jenn always remind me to not self depreciate and just be me. My friend Knelly is always there, sometimes I need her and sometimes she needs me but it's always a feeling of teamwork, that we bear the load for each other and don't expect too much of one another with 1,000 miles separating us. My sister Ginny and I overcame much and worked together to resolve differences and treat each other with a level of respect and love that transcended a lifetime of great friendship fractured by disrespect and selfishness. She's my sister/friend and we'll always have our own special language. She commiserates no matter what I complain about and empathy is certainly a gift from God. None of us were always "good friends" to one another. We are just people. Grace is the foundation of friendship. The only advice I can now give my daughters is to befriend everyone but pull the ones headed in the same direction as you very close especially when they stumble. Because it means the world to me to have friends who have done that for me.

A book review

Yesterday I finished "Me Before You".  My friend Christine recommended it and her thoughtful expression was all I needed to know I had to read it. True to form, I did not read a review or a synopsis before diving in. It's what I do. Some people like Sherril Herbert actually read the synopsis as well as the end of the book first which I firmly consider sacrilege. There have been times that my purposeful avoidance has backfired, like when someone talked me into reading 50 Shades of Gray. By page 14, I was pretty sure I was not reading anything of literary value. By page 70 of that drivel I was afraid the book was also far away from my line of interest. Finally my dark premonitions were confirmed and very belatedly I read the synopsis and confirmed that no... 50 Shades was not the book for me. Still blushing. 

Back to my book review. I've noticed that my taste in books has become far different lately. I want someone to challenge what I think and believe rather than agree with it. In addition, I think I'm attracted to anything about grief to see if an author can accurately portray it. Having recently read "All the Lights We Cannot See" my expectations are rather high so I have to admit I was unfairly critical of the writing at first. Rarely does a person spend 10 years writing a book, but as a reader, it's hard to come down off of the high of reading one that was a product of such passion. Still, I did read "Me Before You" until 4AM. I liked it... A lot.

I rather think the take away for most people from this book would be to rationalize assisted suicide or dream big dreams. Please look deeper. Any educated mind can see a controversial issue through a personal lense of truth. I'm already aware that the true statistics of assisted suicide laws and unfortunately opening the door to "choice" leads to abuse of a law, coercion and even murder so I don't find the element influential nor do I even feel that it really is meant to be propaganda. Simply said, this book does explore a reality in our world and how it impacts people. There's a good message about living a big life but it wasn't what resonated. For me, this book was more of a lesson about accepting other people's choices and consequences while loving unconditionally and opening your heart to love no matter the cost. As a person who has chronically focused more on other peoples problems than my own, it resonated to be reminded exactly what I am responsible for in life. Me. It affirmed my budding perspective that finding peace through a hard experience doesn't come from working really hard to change the outcome or someone else's perspective, but from loving people the way they need to be loved. I did some things wrong when my dad was dying. I can't say I didn't try hard enough to save him. I can say I didn't try hard enough to savor whatever we had in those last weeks because I was trying so hard to hold back the tide and do my "jobs". He made choices in his life that were very hard for me to accept. Refusing to accept his consequences in my mind robbed me of the chance to simply bless him as he passed into eternity. I'm convinced that author has faced the hard experience of being a caregiver. I would never want to imply that I was a caregiver for my dad. My mom and sister did basically everything but I saw them and this author knows. Someday I will face this situation in some form again but it will be different for me because I know I'm not God and I know the Holy Spirit has a job in those times that I could never fill. The book wasn't spiritual or aligned with my world view but it blessed me. 

Dear Elizabeth

Dear Elizabeth, 

A wise woman once told me that someday, not so very far away you will wish you could remember the high and low points in each year as you cross the threshold of your anniversary. You will wish you could remember each one and put a star by it, marking the events and achievements. Well, 13 will be hard to forget. It was a year where you looked back on the hardest days of your marriage to date. The last year and a half  have been the slow healing of a harsh and devastating blow. You have crawled on your hands and knees out of the darkest pit you've ever fallen in. There have been days that you slapped the hands that tried to lift you and days that you held onto them for dear life. Days, when those hands felt so hurt trying to hold you up and days you felt so hurt by expectations of those hands. Your 13th anniversary marks this journey. No cards or gifts were exchanged, no anticlimactic dinner at Outback Steakhouse or Applebee's marks it. No, and its fortunate because those things never make it to the blog. They are societal filler. Without planning it or discussing it, you and your love stripped away the trappings of society and just relaxed and rested placing no expectations or obligations on one another. This was the year both of you were blessed by your dear family. Your children sent you to your room where you laid on the bed talking and laughing together while they made you a romantic dinner. Their culinary skills may have been still emerging but the thought, heart and love that they poured on you was like an alabaster vial of nard. From the three courses, to the clean kitchen, their thoughtful, intentional blessing was indisputable. You and your husband giggled like little kids trying to be sure and kiss every time the little cooks and Maitre D peeked in to see how your romantic dinner was going and your heart was filled to the brim with love. I would say, here's the memory preserved for you in the blog just in case you ever forget but this was a special day. You'll never forget the night your kids made you a "Lady and the Tramp" dinner. You made no plans and fell into the lovely hands of the ones who love you most. Making happy memories.

Last night

I was so tired but I missed my dad so badly. I said to him "if you could come back and tell me anything what would it be?" His voice came into my head and said "I love you very much." How many times must he have said it with that same special tone and inflection that I can still hear it? He was great. Now that I'm in the second year apart from him, I've started comparing my parenting to his. I think about how he sang with me and the other day I started chuckling wondering if he did it to balance out my chatter. I hope my children will always remember singing with me and that I love them. It sounds so little but it's really so much.

"I hate you! You are the worst mom in the world!"

Of all of the first words I could hear on a gloomy morning or any morning, those would be my last pick. But I knew there would be fallout for pouring ice water on her. On the upside I knew it wasn't true because thousands if not millions of parents have poured ice water on their kids and we can't all fight for the the title of worst parent in the world... hey my dad did it and I am absolutely certain he was the best dad in the world. I did, on a positive note feel myself grow a little bit though. I shrugged my shoulders and replied that I still had the rest of the glass if she didn't get up. Then I went downstairs and lovingly assembled her lunch and allowed absolute silence to reign while I poured a cup of tea and curled up on the couch to read random google results on the appropriate response to a child's hate speech. I found some over simplified stuff, and some stupid stuff but then I found what I was looking for. A reminder that it's all about responding instead of reacting and connecting when they are lashing out. I soaked it up for a few minutes and relaxed. I went upstairs and woke the other two up who start school later. One popped up like a jack in the box as always and the other told me that a shower would never never never never happen this morning. I cajoled and tickled and poked and prodded and talked and finally left. I continued to hear "NEVER NEVER NEVER!" While I continued to reply that I wasn't sure he had taken a shower all week and it simply wasn't negotiable anymore. Finally in a cheerful voice I said I still had most of a glass of ice water to propel him to the shower and heard a lunge for the bathroom. I then turned back to dealing with the poor child who has the worst mom in the world and announced that it was time to leave. There was drama of course. A whirlwind rush and a pleading for me to do her face and hair. Even some silly speech about how if I didn't, her hair would look like a rats nest like I always say. I gently corrected her that I say it looks like a haras nest which is probably an imaginary bird my dad made up though I'm not sure.  I grandly acquiesced to her pleading. She had no idea that I had told her it was time to leave 20 minutes before we had to leave. I nicely told her if she doesn't want me to dump ice water on her anymore I can meet her in the middle as long as she offers a viable alternative for starting her day and holds up her end of the bargain. She nodded and had a penitent look. I knew she regretted saying it and I wasn't about to demand apologies or make it about me.  I know it doesn't sound like much but we are on a journey. I hear about very interesting middle school things while I wash her face each morning and night and blow out her hair every morning and skim a light coat of powder over her beautiful face. She feels how important she is. She ate the the bacon I cooked for her and drank the special tea I brewed for her and she knew. She got out of the car confident, beautiful and with a smile because she couldn't help it. I think learning that a child feels out of control inside sometimes and needs me to be the anchor is a welcome realization in my helter skelter world. It's taken me years to understand that my job isn't to squash a child's feelings that seem offensive or inappropriate but to allow them their course so a child can deal with consequences of saying things they wish they hadn't and find their way to better communication that feels good and most of all understand that my love isn't conditional on their behavior.
After dropping her off at a school she absolutely hates, I felt like a victor for one more day. I had done everything within my power to teach her that though some things aren't negotiable, she is completely loved. It was a good morning. Not every morning is and not everything I say and do is tempered with wisdom but when I take the high road, I always feel much much better.
Anyway,  here's the link if anyone else feels a little more reactionary than responsive sometimes. http://www.handinhandparenting.org/article/when-your-child-screams-i-hate-you/

Happy Birthday to Muth

 I smirk as I begin to write because I remember switching from Mom to Muth at some point as a kid and driving her crazy and then seeing her hallmark loose shrug with waving arms as she surrendered to her new name. It seems like we never tired of thinking of ways to drive mom crazy. I guess it's because she was so all powerful that when we got under her skin  we had to go too far. From camp nowhere shorts to dubious dinner rolls, we chortled in glee if we made a joke she couldn't stand. 

She's got all of the traditional "mom" accolades of baking brownies for my friends and biscuits or muffins on the weekends that were to die for. Her own uniquely named recipes that must have Dad's mark on them like polar bear stew. 

She's gorgeous and captivating as evidenced by how she kept my dad wrapped in her web from the time she was 17 until he held on for his last breath to be with her.

She's the kind of mom everyone wants.  Devoted, biased by love, hard working, overcoming, truth seeking, encouraging, admiring and the list goes on. I know that most people can go back to their mothers love when things get hard but I always had more than that, her love was seasoned in truth and it was always my anchor. No matter what I was going through she could hear me out agree it sucked then speak simple truth into me and carry me on. I still have fragments of promises and blessings that float into my head when things get the hardest. I can thank her for speaking them over her kids with authority and faith. Because advice is cheap but His word is living which she always depended on. 

Every time in my life that she has said she feared becoming like her mother my mind went blank. I mean being like my mother would be impossible to attain. I literally cannot relate to someone who dreads being like their mother. She has lived five or six lives in 59 years and is here to tell about it.  I don't think I will ever achieve as much for the simple fact that I have never had to overcome as much. 

Anyway, happy birthday Muth! I love you so much and I hope that your birthday is filled with small treasures straight from heaven so you will know how loved you are and how celebrated your life and your faith are by your loving Heavenly Father.

It had been the hardest days of my life

She slipped over the arm of the couch and curled her smal frame into my lap with the sole of her cool foot on my belly. We melted into each other with our chins on each other's shoulders. She leaned back and smiled at me. There were sparkles in her eyes and her little teeth were like pearls. Her hair was a messy halo and her cheeks were pink petals. She said "are you in heaven Mom?" I savored her love. Then she said "should I give you a squeeze hug and tonight you can cuddle me?" I felt my heart being melted again. And I promised God that I would treasure her beautiful love. 

I might not reach 100

Someday I will look at this big hole where A month was lost without a blog. Lost in the vortex a delightful visit from Grammy and Bonka Barry; a Valentine's Day with apple beniets and prime tenderloin steaks grilled to perfection, a tedious but delightful thrifting trip, my kids glowing under the special treatment of one on one time with their beloved grandparents, good food, lots of laughter and plenty of Stella love. 

Lost also, the trauma of Eden faltering under the crushing pressure of peers and teachers her first year of middle school.

I won't wonder that I never blogged about the terrific parent teacher conference with Nicks teacher because as with all small victories and failures, they get lost in the swirling mind of a mom multitasking and playing hot potato all day and all night until her heart shrivels like a raisin. Perhaps some mothers can handle four little hearts with grace and balance and mercy and wisdom and eternal patience without satans little friends "guilt" and "incompetence" creeping in to undermine this great and daunting work. Perhaps. But for me, all it takes is one shake of the tree and I've lost my equilibrium enough for him to bend my ear. To whisper who he says I am and wilt me like a cut stem. The upside is, I'm on to him. He might have me for awhile but eventually I remember to ask for truth and reject his crippling lies. The truth comes to me in bits and pieces of the Word spoken over me by my parents. I'm placed here for such a time as this, I'm blessed, I'm annointed to bind up the broken-hearted, to set the captives free, to proclaim the victory of my God. I'm a minister to my children. I am an oak planted by the water. I am a ruby in my fathers hand. I am a warrior against principalities and powers of darkness. I am a child of God protected by his his wings and so are my children. They will rise up and call me blessed. And they will be as arrows in my hand . I will stand on it, the unshakeable foundation of the Word.