He is six and I am old

I've decided if I have to catch up on all I've missed blogging about I will never ever blog again.

So I'll jump right in to life.

Today was Bub's 6th birthday party. We bowled with a whole passel of 5 and 6 year olds. It was fun in a sort-of "pop an extra Valium" way. Babycakes face planted into her cupcake with the relish of one who has never had to worry about her calorie intake. It made for cute pictures, at least. I decided I'm pro-bumper bowling even for adults. Who needs those blasted gutters anyway?

In other news....Friday was cow-eye dissection day for 5th and 6th graders. My students LOVED it and, surprisingly, I did too. Eyeballs are fascinating, and miraculous. Plus they're not even that gross.

Since going back to work full time I've discovered something about myself: I am a good teachers. Sure, in some ways I'm a novice. And I have plenty to learn. I'm not perfect, but I am good. It's my thing, my sweet spot. I am a good teacher. This is somehow important in those moments when I really royally screw up other things. Like, ah say, cooking, or ahemm...remembering to return library books, or charging my cell phone. I might be a space cadet, but at least I am a smart, well-intentioned space case.

When Peace Like a River...

Yesterday a thing happened.

It was a thing among many, globally speaking. But on a personal basis it was big, and sad.

My cousin died.

I don't have a lot of facts about what happended yet, and it doesn't really matter how many facts I get in the end. Because, facts or no facts her story never got the "happily ever after" of the fairy tales.

My cousin was bright; brilliant even. She was funny, and quirky and, did I mention she was quirky. She had beautiful brown eyes, and a sweet face. She was a voracious reader with an appetite for knowledge that I have rarely seen equaled.

But my cousin's life was filled with pain, and sorrow, and brokenness, and disease. Her's is a sad story...incomplete, and too quickly ended.

It makes no sense.

So tonight, when it doesn't make sense to me I'll trust that it does make sense to HIM. Just because I can't see the "happily ever after", doesn't mean the prince forgot to come.
He did.
He will.
He is.

And my cousin knows that better than anyone this side of gloryland.

Season's Change

I am atrociously horriblish at blogging these days, and that makes me sad. Blogging has been my therapy and solace for the last couple of years. It's the journal that I used to keep and the photo album that I never do. I know I will likely post infrequently in the coming months, but I'm not quite ready to retire my pseudonym; Curlyjo is not hanging up her hat just yet.

Summer has been a frenzy of good and bad. We evicted tenants. Bad - in case you were wondering. We finished our basement into an apartment, and rented it to our new favorite childcare provider/friend. Good! Good! Good! We (as in Eddie) launched a new business venture. We (as in me) signed a contract to work full time as a teacher after spending the better part of a decade as a stay at home mom.

And time keeps on tickin' tickin' tickin'.

Monday is my first official day back to school. Inservice, and back-to-school night kept me busy this last week. There were moments of feeling overwhelmed. There were moments of "mom guilt" over being away from my kids for so many hours, and not missing them a bit. But for the most part I am super duper excited about this new gig. I love my job. I love my co-workers. I am ready for this new season, and I think my family is too.

New topic:

I am working on forgiveness these days. We were well and truly screwed by the short time tenants in our rental property. They lied, they stole, they destroyed, and they were generally without remorse.

It's my Pollyanna slash Leave it to Beaver outlook in life that was primarily responsible for this fix we're in. I sort of assume people are telling me the truth. HA!

Big fat liar meany heads!!!!!

Part of me wants to make them pay; I want to sue their sorry butts
for the time and money we've lost. It's a lot, and ah...we deserve it.

BUT...the grown-up me knows bitterness and cynicism are NOT the things I want to define me. I know that if I hold on to my right inflict justice I give those crummy lying people influence in my life, and my heart. Those people trashed my house and gunked up my summer; they will not have my fall, or my winter, or my spring. I forgive them, because I want to be free of them...

after I slash their tires....

and superglue their fingers together...

and deliver them a dinner of salmonella infected fried chicken.

THEN I'LL FORGIVE...

Or maybe I'll forgive today...

maybe right now...

maybe for the 3rd time in 24 hours.

getting to know me

This is me:

http://www.personalitypage.com/INFP.html


It's actually kinda creepy how will this describes certain aspects of me. Like, make a note of this, I HATE HATE HATE mundane details. Hate them. A lot.

But I can do details if I must.

Case in point: evicting tenants. I felt very screwed over, by the liars-liar-pants-on-fire tenants we have. I was determined that our case would not be thrown out on the basis of some minor error. It was not. I was detailed to the point of neurosis, and that is saying something if you ever got a peek inside my brain.

If this school teacher gig doesn't work out I might consider law school.

Also, I think I resent the whole not logical thing. I'm logical; it's a matter of survivial. I'm married to my husband, that couldn't happen if I was entirely ruled by emotions. Have you met my husband?

good days

Today was a good day.

My husband, who loves me, brought me Starbucks' Java Chip ice cream. It has roughly a bajillion calories, and worth every last one.

The sunset is glorious.

I have 3, make that 4, unread books on my nightstand.

The baby had a rip roarin' fever, which is technically NOT good. The sickness was redeemed by the fact that I got to sit and snuggle her for most of the day. This is a thing she would not typically tollerate. She is 2 - places to go, people to see, right?

Only a couple of weeks until I start work...nervous about managing the rest of my life, but oh so excited for the job. Expect blogging to remain pathetic.

We adore our housemate/tenant/nanny. She rocks! I think she likes us okay too.

E's fake tooth looks better than his real one, and our dental insurance covered it. Can I just say that I like, really like, being an american in this century. We definately have the corner good fake teeth.

I always spell "definately"wrong...all them gosh dern vowels confuse me.

I need to bathe...or shower...or maybe I can stay dirty for 12 more hours and read one of those books on my nightstand instead.

shootin' you with bullets

My posts, as of late, are nothing more than a smattering of bullet points. Allow me to shoot you with bullets one more time:

-Today we went to court hoping our irritating tenants would not show up and we'd win our eviction case by default. No such luck. They answered our complaint. The answer was pretty much garbled googly-gunk that won't hold water in court. But, on the upside for the defendants, they get another week rent free until our trial date. I spent the afternoon talking to every real estate lawyer who would give me audience. Our case is good. But I am suspicious that having a just case is not the same thing as getting justice.

-We're making BLT's tonight for dinner, because it's summer.

- The boys are going camping this weekend. It's the 8th annual all boys, no-moms-allowed, camping trip. Picture Lord of the Flies and you'll get the idea.

-Yesterday evening Eddie and I went on an actual-real-life date. We ate Pei Wei (which Eddie's dad pronounces Pee Wee, as in Pee Wee Herman, do you remember him?). Delish! Then we walked around Colorado Mills Mall. A salesman in Perry Elis mistook us for cool, culturally with-it people. He kept dropping these references to people/things in popular culture. Finally I said, "Dude, did you think we were cool? We're not cool; we have no idea what you're talking about."

He seemed to respect that.

-I've started lesson planning. I'm contemplating the purchase of a cow eye-ball for disection. Go figure.

-I am, again, committing myself to the consumption of vegetables. Loosing weight is such a pain; couldn't they just make veggies taste more like cookies?

Dude

I don't know when it happened, exactly, but it happened. A word snuck into my vocabulary, a four letter word, in fact.

"Dude"

I call my sons "Dude" - both of them. Sometimes, I even call my daughter "Dude".

Hello, I am a 33 year old mother of four. I am a school teacher for goodness sakes. I should not say "dude".

So I say to my self: "Self: we are not Keanu Reeves. We have never, nor will we ever, be an adolesent residing in Southern California. We are mature. We are responsible. We are educated. Like, git a grip, like, you have gray hair."

Summer

Does anyone else feel like their summer is going by too quickly? Our's is flying by at break neck speed. It's like a roller-coaster with it's ups and downs and loopty-loos. I never know what's around the corner and it's over before I ever get adjusted to its pace.

June wasn't summer... it was a mad dash to finish the basement.

Our summer started in July, and July is zipping by with nary a care.

Slow down summer, slow down. I like these mornings that we sleep in to 8. I like grilling hamburgers, and sipping lemonade. I like camping and visits from the family. We will go swimming more than once. And I'll be bejuggled if we never make homemade ice cream.

Lesson planning keeps whispering, "crack the books; begin the planning." The garage is begging to be cleaned. And I swore I'd get the kids to the dentist this summer.

Summer don't slip through my fingers just yet...I need more time to read to my children and watch my garden grow...

Carpe "the summer". Yea - it'd sound better in Latin...sophisticated and literary, but my Latin is rusty and you wouldn't understand me anyway.

"permanent" tooth

Ha! Here are the facts:

-E's permanent front tooth grew in not many months ago.

-Sunday he was racing a neighbor kid down the street on his bike, bailed and subsequently face planted into the concrete.

-He chipped off his front tooth nearly at the gum line.

-Today, we went to the dentist. He asked, "Did you notice your son chipped off his tooth?"

REALLY! Oh so THAT explains it! Duh!

-Our options stink. They are as follows:

a)see pediatric specialist to see if the tooth can be saved and subsequently capped (unlikely)
b)provide 9 year old boy with dentures
c)and wait till he's 22 (and his jaw stops growing) for dental implants

E AND I GOT ICE CREAM TO CELEBRATE OUR BAD NEWS!


On other fronts:

-We may be evicting our less-that-straightforward, untimely tenants. Wasn't that diplomatic of me? I have many, many not so nice things to say about the said tenants and am trying to keep those "inside words" inside.

-We had a fab time camping. Wonderful! Devine! Good! I might someday post pictures.

-We went swimming yesterday. I applied sunscreen to my children. I did not apply it on myself. I am now utterly, and pathetically sunburned.

-Today is my birthday. I am going out with my husband. I am 33. I feel at least 33. I am wondering how I'll pull off looking sexy for a date with my husband when my skin is striped sunburn pink and glow-in-the-dark white. Am I up for that kind of challenge? My mom gave me this cute LBD (little black dress) she got for me in Hawaii, it would be just the ticket except for the stripy arms and shoulders. I also have a cute purplish top, but it sorta matches my skin tone...so maybe not that either. A turltle neck and jeans should just about cover my sunburn, but then again it's pushing 100 degrees today...what's a girl to wear?!

confessions of a homeschool drop-out, a note to homeschoolers

To be a good homeschooler you have to believe in what you're doing. You have to believe the choices you're making are the absolute best for your kids. Homeschooling is hard and requires great sacrifice so if you didn't believe in it you'd quit.

I quit.

Truth be told sometimes I feel nostalgic for the good ol' days of homeschooling. And there were some - good days, that is. But all and all I knew, I KNEW, that homeschooling was no longer the best choice for my family.

Sending my kids to school has not been without cost (tuition for a private school AIN'T cheap folks). But for us it has been a good fit. So to all you homeschoolers out there here are some good reasons to quit, or at least not judge those of us who have chosen differently.

-I was going "head to head" with my daughter daily. It was exhausting - for both of us. Delegating the role of "primary teacher" to someone else has allowed me to step into the role of coach. I am able to walk with my daughter through her struggles and sidestep much of the direct conflict. It's good for our relationship.

-My daughter thrives on predictability. I was unable to provide her the structure she needed to learn the best when I was also trying to manage a toddler.

-It has been a wonderful, wonderful thing to have other godly adults (namely, my kid's teachers) speaking into their lives. They reinforce the truth that we are teaching at home.

-Homeschooling was, partly, a control freak thing for me. I like to be in control of what my kids are learning, how they are learning it, and when they are learning it. It's been good for me to let go of some of that control. Truthfully, I still THINK that some of my ways are better. But God is using other methods, and other people to educate my kids. And sometimes they are doing a much better job than I could. (Homeschoolers - wonder of wonders my kids can SPELL NOW!)

-My son is an extrovert. He needs to be with people, lots of them, for lots of time. It's how he's wired. Homeschooling doesn't necessarily equal poorly socialized kids - not at all. BUT I was unable to meet one of my son's legitimate needs at home. He is happier now.

-Peer pressure combats laziness - we had laziness issues homeschooling. Competition can be good.

-I am a parent to an absent minded kid - a genetic trait he, unfortunately, inherited from me. School has required him to step it up or deal with the consequences. Believe it or not, the kid can and does remember to do his homework, and turn it in. (Most of the time!)

-Even at a small Christian school we run into "people issues". Kids tease. Girls are catty. People get their feelings hurt. My kids are not insulated from those struggles like they were when we were homeschooling. That's a con. It's so painful for me, as a mom, to watch my kids struggle with these things. But it does give me ample chance to coach them through difficult people issues in the relative safety of their home and with their Christian teachers. (This is not to say that I would ever, ever put up with bullying. But that's not what's going on - it's just kid stuff)

-I am emotionally healthier. Eddie and I are ultimately accountable to God for how we parent, but we can delegate. Delegating is good. I DO NOT HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING MYSELF. I am a better mom to my kids when I am not also their teacher.

- Homeschooling rocks, in principle. In reality, it is imperfect. If you homeschool, and you're honest, you know that. For us too many balls were being dropped, and too many needs going unmet. God provided us CCA as a resource to help us as a family. It is clearly where he wants us for this season.

-Who knows, someday we may even send our kids into the trenches of public school. I know parents, parents I admire, who have deliberately chosen public schools for their kids. They didn't choose it because it was easiest; they thought it was the best choice for their family. And it was.

PS - guess what I miss most about homeschooling? Sonlight. I LOVE their literature and their approach. My kids do too! Ironically, CHEC (an organization with whom I take issues) has not allowed Sonlight to be a part of their confrence. May I just express my outrage: OUTRAGE. Don't even get me started on that one....

catchin' up

I've been terrible aboutt blogging lately, but I wanted to give you a status report.

-Our new housemate/tenant is working out wonderfully. I really like her; she's a hard worker and a good mom. Plus we got a date, an actual real life no kids invited date. Eddie and I make a good team and rarely butt heads, but sometimes its just really fun to have fun with my husband. I really like the guy. A lot.

-Turned in my w4 today for work. I'm officially done with my stay at home mom gig...and I cannot say I'm sorry. I know that sounds terrible, but I really am not all that good at being a stay-at-home mom, and I have done my time thank you very much. Don't get me wrong - my family, and my husband are my priority but ahh...how I long to be a grown-up, and never ever do popsicle stick crafts again.

-We're going camping tomorrow - yipee!!!!!

Show and Tell

Many of you know we've been finishing our basement as an apartment to make available for a teen mom. The idea was that we could help give her and her children a safe and comfortable place to live AND HOPEFULLY, she would be able to help us with some childcare needs.

Well...we're finished. SIGH!

The apartment turned out wonderfully and our new tenant is thrilled. Some friends, and you know who you are, helped enourmously. I feel like I should do the Academy Awards thing and thank everyone who made it possible. I am so grateful; she is so grateful. Seriously, I cannot tell you how fun it was to hand over keys to an apartment that was furnished. The pantry was brimming, and there were little extra touches everywhere: gift baskets, diapers, cleaning supplies, Bath and Body lotions, the whole 9 yards.

It was way better than Christmas.

Don't begrudge me my show-and-tell; I am proud, proud that a whole community that pulled together to bless a mom who could use a break.

Did you know this about HIV?

What do you know about HIV? Or maybe I should ask "what do you think you know"? If you're like me you probably have some pretty good MIS-INFORMATION. Recently, I've had a chance to get educated about HIV from moms who know. They're raising kids with HIV. This information came From HIV to Home - it's stuff you should know. You just should.

But isn't HIV contagious? HIV is a very fragile virus, and there are very specific ways that it is transmitted. HIV is only transmitted when the virus enters the bloodstream. This only occurs through sexual contact; through the use of contaminated needles or other sharp instruments, or receiving a transfusion of HIV-infected blood products; and from a mother who is HIV-infected to her child during pregnancy, childbirth, labour and delivery, and breastfeeding. HIV transmission does not occur with normal household contact. It is not transmitted through tears, saliva, mucous or other bodily fluids. It is considered a "communicable" disease - meaning you can't simply "catch" it. In addition, when an infected person is on treatment, the levels of HIV in the blood are brought so low that they are considered undetectable - meaning the possibility of transmission - even through contact with blood, semen, or vaginal fluid - is that much more remote.Aren't these children going to die after their families bring them home? Many people don't realize that the prognosis for children on treatment for their HIV is excellent. They are expected to live long, normal lives. In fact, in the west, HIV is now considered a chronic illness rather than the terminal disease it used to be. Sadly, this isn't the case for those HIV infected children living in resource-poor settings, where 50% of infected and untreated children are not expected to live past the age of two.Is it true that you can have HIV and not develop AIDS? Absolutely! There are over 30 medications approved by the FDA for the treatment of HIV, and more are in development. These medications bring the levels of the virus so low in the body that the virus can be considered undetectable in the bloodstream. Patients receiving treatment for HIV can expect to live long, healthy lives without developing AIDS.What about all of the children who don't get adopted? We recognize that adoption is only a band-aid answer. It is one small piece in a big puzzle - we are working to provide holistic HIV+ orphan care through our Hope Houses launch in Ethiopia.

What if I catch HIV from my child? Many people don’t know that HIV is a very fragile virus. As soon as it leaves the body, it begins to die. There are no documented cases of HIV transmission through casual household or school contact. HIV+ children can (and do!) share cups, baths, pools, dishes, bathrooms, etc.! In addition, when children are on treatment for their HIV, the amount of the virus in their bloodstream can be brought so low that it is considered “undetectable” – meaning the amount of the virus in the blood, even through contact with blood, has been brought so low that the possibility of transmission has become even more remote.What if my other children touch her blood? Most households with HIV+ children find that this was one of their initial worries and, in fact, becomes not much of a worry at all once their kids are home together. There are very few activities where the blood of one child would enter the bloodstream of another child. Families simply train their children never to touch another person’s blood or “owies” and practice universal precautions in their homes (using gloves when dealing with blood, covering all sores with a band-aid, etc.).

What if no insurance company will cover my child? Here’s the great news! It is a legal requirement that all adopted children be added to group insurance plans without pre-existing condition clauses in all 50 states! And many states also require that private insurance plans do the same! In addition, all 50 states have funding programs that will assist with the costs of HIV treatment within specified income guidelines.

My God Will Meet All Your Needs

Phil 4:19 My God will meet all your needs. He will meet them in keeping with his wonderful riches that come to you because you belong to Christ Jesus.

There have been tornado warnings about every afternoon for the last week here. The skies turn purple, it hails and rains. Somewhere a tornado is formed.

A couple of days ago there was a doozy of a storm that hit our house. A wall cloud formed and the skies turned erie. Eddie was watching the storm develop and noticed a distinctive swirl happening right above our house. RIGHT ABOVE OUR HOUSE. We should have been in the basement - but we stood there under the eve of our house and watched in fascination. A tornado was forming...it swirled and tightened and wound around.

And then it disapated. But the hail was crazy, and it did a number on my garden.

This storm seems to be a pretty good metaphor for my life right now.
Swirling.
Twirling.
Turbulance.

It's dumb things even, like I accidentally stuck the wrong key in the lock on the front door. The key broke off and ruined the knob and lock. The oven shorted out and the refrigerator is leaking. Our renters are being irritating -small things like trashing the place and not paying rent. I wake up struggling with the weight of depression - even on anti-depressants. The baby doesn't sleep, and Eddie is up to midnight most nights working. The kids are bickering, and some adoption issues are bubbling to the surface. It feels like a war zone.

This post sounds so whiny. And that's not the point.

At all.

It's just is, and I'm feeling the weight of it.

But the good news is: My God knows; he get's it. He's in the middle of the swirling and twirling and he's the one holding us steadfast. He knows my needs, and the needs of my family. He knows the needs of the teen moms we are meeting and beginning to care about.

Because we BELONG to him. We BELONG. We BELONG. We are his and he has good things for us. Somehow, that makes all the difference.

Bad bad blogger

So my commitment to blog well and often has...um...well....let's just say it's right up there with my commitment to stop eating chocolate. In leu of excellence or frequency I offer you this:

Bullet Points.

-The commercial construction market is slow, so marketing is becoming a priority for my husband, who would rather have his work speak for itself. I keep encouraging Eddie to prostitute himself, and have been affectionately referring to him as my little construction whore. I think he secretly likes it.

-The neighbor's bunnies had bunnies...as bunnies tend to do. My kids have been pestering us to NO END to let them keep the bunnies. They are darling, and I am tempted. I just have to keep reminding myself that 2 years olds tend to love and squeeze bunnies a little too much. Remember "Of Mice and Men", remember how you cried?

-We have another referral for a teen mom to come live in our basement. I'm getting smarter and smarter each time I think through the interview process. Soon I'll be a friggin' genius, jaded, but still a genius.

-We finally got the "sex book" to read to our son - you know the nice christian one with soft watercolor images to explain God's design for intimacy. I asked E if he wanted to read it. He said "No. Mom, sex is disgusting." So I bribed him. He read it. He still thinks sex is gross. I'm hoping that that opinion will last a long long long long long time.

-Our friends are letting us borrow their pop-up camper. So in a couple of weeks we're headed up to Grand Lake. I'm crazy excited. I didn't camp at all last year which is just plain pathetic when you live in one of the most beautiful states in the union.

-My gardens are beautiful this summer. BEAUTIUL. When I am an old lady, and I don't have children underfoot I am going to dig up my whole lawn and plant flowers. They're medicinal even without ingesting them. No matter what's going on in my life I can look at them and my heart feels better. Plus I've vowed never to mow a lawn, so this way I can save Eddie the trouble.

When it crumbles

Damn it all to hell!

That is what it feels like I have done. We've done.

I'm not sure how to do the Readers Digest version of this story. There is no way, that I can see, to make it simple and straightforward. Or even make it palatable. It's bitter.

Eddie and I have been working for months to finish our basement into an apartment for a single mom. It's a gigantic task since we've pretty much done all of the work ourselves, and have scrambled to get used or bargain construction materials. There have been lots of late nights, and blisters, and budget stretchers.

We'd been matched with single mom of two toddlers in need of housing. We'd done interviews, and worked out contracts, and met with this mom several times. We were excited. She was excited.

And then...

The peices started crumbling. The long and short of it is that we had to repeal our offer of housing to her. She had been less than straightforward. There were domestic violence issues, and a restraining order. Social services was involved. It was messy; unsafe.

So this is where we left her: She is homeless and abused. She has 2 small children, no job, and no prospects.

Eddie asked, "What did we expect? She's a homeless, jobless, teen mother. Why would we assume that she doesn't have issues?" He's right, of course.

Everything in me want's to help her, to make it better for her, and for her girls. But the help she needs is beyond me to provide, and I am not at all certain we could keep our kids safe. It sucks, and there very well could be an unhappy ending to this story.

Darn but I wish this was a tidy little tale of how one family stood beside a mom in need. It is not. Eddie says, "This is when people throw in the towel; they say "screw it". It's not worth it and what good does it do anyway." Eddie say many wise things. But here's the thing: we're not quitting. We're not.

Lord, Help us. We want to live lives of reckless abandon, of crazy faith. This ending doesn't make sense. Doesn't. I can't reconcile it to your nature, I don't see your plan. Help me to cling tightly to you.

And God, be the defender of the fatherless, a strong tower for the afflicted, and marginalized. Help this mom, and other's like her. Help her. Because I cannot.

Temper tantrums in the store

I took my Prozac this morning.

That was a good thing 'cause I also went to Target.

With kids.

A certain 2 year old does not do errands well. She can unbuckle ANY safety belt in any cart, but CANNOT sit. So, after a dangerous acrobatic feat that involved balancing on wire some 3 feet in the air, the said 2 year old was banished to the "big bin" in the back of the cart.

It takes her longer to escape from there - see.

The toddler was not happy about this arrangement and proceeded to

HOWL
and
WAIL

Unfortunately for her, I am on anti-depressants and this is not my first rodeo. I can tune out ungodly amounts of noise with narry a blink. I continued shopping, because the alternative was to leave and then come back later to do it all again. No. Thank. You.

Finally, we proceeded towards the check-out stands. Finally and loudly, I should say, for Babiness had decided that her finale required a cresendo. About 10 yards from the finish line we passed an unassuming elderly woman. She was tiny, wore a bad wig and was shopping for cosmetics. Apparently, in her advanced year, she had misplaced her filter -because she shouted - really shouted,

"SHUT-UP"

(snarly voice and all)

I burst out laughing. I was so stunned I didn't know what else to do.

"Shut-up" is a four letter word in our house, my big kids were shocked, and appauled. M asked, "Mom, did she really say, "shut-up?""

"Yes, honey, yes she did."

And in so doing she might have just made my day.

When 2 year olds choose the clothes

You may just find yourself leaving the house with a child wearing cowboy boots and a bathing suit.

Little of this, Little of that

Some women I know have recommended the book, Reckless Faith. While searching on Amazon for it I discovered that John MacArther has a book with a similiar name. It's called "Reckless Faith: Why Christians Today are Passive Idiots. "

Something like that.

Anyhoo, that is NOT the book I'm talking about. The one I'm talking about was written by a girl named Beth. I'm gonna read that one.

Beth and her husband Todd have been involved in orphan care for over a decade; they've lived on the edge. They've seen God work because they've been to places where only the work of God could make any difference. From what I gather, as Beth shares her story she encourages her readers to join her in living where things only makes sense from an eternal perspective. When her life begins to make too much sense, when her decisions are safe, and rational she questions whether she is really living how she should be.

Beth's passion is for the orphan child.

God's passion is for the orphan child.

The Bible says, (paraphrasing here) "Don't mess with the fatherless, don't take advantage of the weak...there defender is strong."

God is a father to the fatherless. He will take up there cause. He places the abandoned in families, and lifts up the oppressed.

Yea, I know hundreds of thousands of kids die, lives wrecked by AIDS, or starvation, or neglect or abuse. But somehow in the crud of it all I still believe that God does care for the orphan child. He cares passionately. And though it makes no sense, and though the evidence sometimes points to the contrary God loves these kids. He has a plan for their lives.

In my admittedly limited experience I have found that as my heart breaks for the things that break God's heart I know Him in a way I never could otherwise. And as I engage the battle for the "least of these" there is evidence of a powerful God at work.

From Russell D. Moore's Adopted for Life:

Perhaps what our churches need most of all in our defense of the faith against Darwinian despair is not more resources on how the fossil record fits with the book of Genesis and not more arguments on how molecular structures show evidence of design. Perhaps the most practical way...is to showcase families for whom love is more than gene protection.

An orphan-protecting adoption culture is countercultural and always has been.

growing things

favorite activity - she's winking in this pic. Couldn't tell? Well she's working out the kinks.

Now what was it I was supposed to do with these candles?

Gardens a-growin'. Those shiny rose leaves are from the bush Mom bought for me when Babycake's adoption was finalized.

Up to my eyeballs...

This morning, when I posted my "Happy Birthday Baby" I noticed it had been quite some time since I'd written.

It's been hectic.

Not all that interesting, but hectic.

The long and short of it is that we own a rental house. Our tenant moved out and left things a mess. We've been spending our hard won buckaroos and every last minute fixing up the said mess. All the while we've been trying to get new tenants.

Also, happening: We're finishing our basement into an apartment for a single mom. Long story. We're in process and have a contact at the Hope House who has been giving us pointers as we're looking to work with a young mom.

Also happening: End of the school year craziness and kid events.

Also happening: Hubs has a day job. You knew that, but did you know that there have been some interesting, exciting, time-consuming developments happening there within?

Also happening: ICKY GI Bug

Also happening: Pink Eye

Also happening: Babe's B-day

Also happening: church commitments

Also happening: waiting to hear about my job this fall

( Yes, I know that last one doesn't require me to do anything. But waiting happens to be one of my least favorite non-activities. I even peek under the wrapping paper at Christmas time for goodness sakes- I know it's lame, I just. can't. help. myself. )

Suffice it to say we're "maxed out", "stretched too thin", "running on fumes" etc. etc.

Margins. Usually we do a decent job of keeping white space in our lives. But our margins got scribbled on. And if we were to be totally honest, we'd have to admit some of the scribbles were made with our own pens. I'm hoping that this weekend we'll be able to pull out that big pink gum eraser and create a little do-nothing time in our lives. Wish us luck, or better yet: pray.

Baby Turns 2

Happy Birthday Sweetness...

I'll upload some pics and video soon, but for now:

Favorite cuss words: NO FUN!

Favorite passtime: Bathing

Favorite words: No Way!

Favorite person: Daddy (Mom is a distant 2nd)

Special Skill: Temper Tantrums

Favorite Food: strawberries or McD's hashbrowns (shut-up health police...i know... i know...whatever)

Favorite Item: blankie (Thanks Grandma Wood - that thing goes everywhere)

Favorite Person to irritate: Bub

Favorite footwear: pink cowboy boots, red crocks, or anyone else's shoes

True (food related) Confessions

-I love diet pop. The chemicals make it taste better.

-I cheated on my GF diet and ate a piping hot sopapilla - I got a stomache, and it was SO worth it. Mmmm...

-Jelly beans, Peeps, and gumdrops are the grossest candys on the planet.

-I actually like tofu, and try to sneak it into foods when my husband isn't looking.

-I am a coffee snob, but will drink any red wine with chocolate.

-I never follow recipes. Ever. Ever.

-Celery and acorn squash are disgusting. Oh, they taste fine, but there texture grosses me out.

-Sometimes I can't eat yogurt because the thought of all those pro-biotics swimming makes me feel queezy.

-I ate an unseemly amount of Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers while pregnant with my daughter. Even now they have a special place in my heart.

-I HEART zucchini from my garden. Like a lot. Seriously, I eat pound of zuchs every week when they're ready for harvest.

-I hate the taste of freezer burn.

-When I eat raw onion my breath is terrible for like a week.

Okay, 'fess up. What are your food weirdnesses?

A new season

So Monday was weird. It snowed a ton in the morning (probably 6 inches) and by the afternoon it had all melted away to reveal the green grass below. Metaphorically speaking, my life feels like that.

The season is changing. Quickly.

I've been a stay at home mom for 7 years now. I've been homeschooling for 4 of them. Honestly, it's been a difficult season for me. I do postpartum depression like a champ. Homeschooling and adoption have added layers of complexity. It has been a good, rich time, though all in all.

But here's the truth: I make a crappy stay-at-home mom. I'm a terrible organizer. I cannot balance a checkbook, and I don't even really like babies. (I like my babies, just not other peoples.) I do like to cook, and I like my house to be clean. I just don't like cleaning. I hate playing cars or Lego's, and doing crafts that involve Popsicle sticks makes me grumpy. I flunked out of MOPS - I hated all those little crafty things they made you do. Something about the whole nicety-niceness of the whole deal made me want to do something shockingly inappropriate just to get a reaction.

Homeschooling was good because I do like to teach, and I like reading. Learning with my kids was fun. But frankly, I was really bad at multi-tasking. It's hard to keep track of baby while simultaneously teaching a 5, 6 and 8 year old.

So the big kids are in school. AND IT IS GOOD. The littlest 2 are at home with me...and I'm actually kinda bored. - So is Bub - the kid NEEDS to go to Kindergarten.

So next year I'm going back to work. I'll be teaching at the kids' school. It works great, because they can always get to me if they need me, and I have the same schedule that they do. I'm thrilled. It's a new challenge. It allows me to still be a mom. I get to do something I love. I get paid...it makes the kids' private school tuition do-able.

But it does present some challenges. Like...sick days...and childcare...and laundry. Mostly, what do I do with the 2 year old we've been blessed with? Did this kid get the short end of the stick because she joined us last - the others never did daycare. I need to work to make school do-able financially. I want to work - to keep me sane and challenged.

Okay I'm done thinking about it...if you've got any ideas send em in.

april snow

Church

Here is the last decade of my church journey in a nut shell:

We (as in hubs and I) were a part of a wonderful and vibrant church community in Boulder. It grew. Things got messy, because, let's face it, church is messy. Many of the people we called friends left the church deeply hurt. We weren't hurt, except that we were lonely, our friends were gone and we were having babies at an alarming rate. I don't recommend having 3 babies in 3.5 years, especially if you are prone to postpartum depression - but that's another story.

Church was a half an hour away and had ceased being a community of friends and had become a guilt inducing event to attend every week. We decided that there was really no point in driving so far to participate in a guilt inducing event...there were churches everywhere, minutes from home. Guilt is easy to come by.

So we quit going to the far away church and began attending an enourmous nearby church. We became wallpaper. We went to the gigantor church for almost 2 years and didn't know a single soul. I wish I could say that I minded. But nope. I liked it. Invisible is nice, and far tidier than the messy vibrant church we'd left.

But then God began to do a thing. An uncomfortable thing. He opened my eyes to the orphan crisis. He made us discontent with McChurch; I'd like fries with that. We saw that we were meant to live in community and we were called to be kingdom minded. We were meant to go...we were supposed to care for the least of these...we were to engage in a battle.

About that time a long time friend of ours started a home church. Home church was a new idea for us. Many churches start out as small groups meeting in homes with the intent of launching out and becoming a "normal" church with a building and a staff and decent worship music. That's NOT the idea of home church. Home church is suposed to be reproducible little units that always meet in homes and are run by lay-people. It's supposed to fly under the radar, and minimize overhead costs. It's supposed to be egalitarian and fluid.

We decided that God was calling us away from McChurch to a good old fashioned homecooked church. It's hard to be invisible at the family dinner table. It's hard to go unnoticed. Home church was good to us. It was a meat and potatoes affair. Lots of Bible Study; lots of shared meals; lots of praying; and lots of terribly out of tune worship. Community.

It was this little church that stood with us as we waited and waited in fost-adopt. It was this little church, and other dear friends who supplied us with gluten-free meals for over a month. It was this little church who bought Baby clothes and diapers, and a high-chair. They were the ones that prayed with us when Baby was in the hospital those first weeks. We loved our little home church, but there was a logistical delimma. It was a half an hour away - and our newest addition HATED car rides. Going to church meant we had to endure an hour of screaming. We needed community in our community - and that is, actually, part of the point.

And so it was that we found Jacob's Well Community Church - which served really good coffee.

Even though we were on the outside we could tell that there was a real sense of community at this church. People genuinely liked and cared for each other. They genuinely welcomed us into their midst. Plus, the coffee was really good.

A year and a half later we are still at Jacob's Well. Only now we aren't on the outside. We know and care for the people of Jacob's Well. We are invested. And, ah...it's a little messy. Because, let's face it, church is messy. We love it anyway.

But here's the kicker...Jacob's Well isn't a home church. It's not meant to be. The leadership has deliberately created a culture where anyone, at anyplace in their spiritual journey, feels welcome and comfortable. It doesn't sugar coat the truth; it just doesn't churchify it. It's a "come" church; a sanctuary.

Part of me really likes this (and the coffee), but part of me wonders, "Isn't the church meant to go?" Aren't we supposed to GO.

go over the walls...

go into the streets...

go into the prisons and the orphanges...

the inner-city...

and the suburbs.

What would it look like then if we were about going and not so much about getting people to come. What would it be?

Unbalanced, perhaps. I don't know.

Church: a community we come to, and a place where we go out from. Hub and spokes. The vehicle God had in mind reach the world. It's a balancing act, this coming and going. The tension between community, safety, and risk and adventure.

If we have not love...

This keeps me up at night...keeps me popping my antidepressants. I know. I know. I cannot save the world. I know, my children, and my family are my priority, and right now they take a huge portion of the resources I have to offer. But STILL....the facts remain....STILL...my heart breaks.

So the question is "what now?" and "what next?"

And I have no answers.

Peeling Potatoes: A new day on the horizon

I like to cook; I hate to peel, or chop, or mince. I want a prep cook. No one has volunteered, but this THIS might just change my life.

Skoinked

So you may have noticed that my posts have lacked substance as of late.

There is a reason.

It's called denial.

I don't know about you, but sometimes I just cannot live with all the crud, or with all the unpleasantness, and so I hide. I bury myself in a mindless novel, or chocolate, or well, anything. Because I don't know what to DO with what I know about homelessness, or HIV, or the fatherless.

Heck, I don't know what to do with having to wait to find out about my job situation, or getting a good renter in our rental house. I don't know what to do when my daughter wheezes and cries from 12-2AM. I don't know what to do when I hear my friend has lost her job.

And that's just little stuff. Biggish little stuff. But still...

It's all skoinked! And yes, that is the technical term.

Not as it should be.

A shadow of what was.

The promise of what could be...

And sometimes it's hard to live there, to be present in the midst of the mess.

Back in the Baptist days of my childhood we used to sing,

"Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in his wonderful face, and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace."

It makes me suspicious that my head in the sand approach to dealing with life's hardships might not be appropriate.

Pity, I do enjoy dark chocolate.

ENGLISH MUFFINS !!!

Oh GFers of the world REJOICE! Katrina has concocted a GF english muffin recipe. I haven't tried them yet, but I will! Oh I will! The gluten free goddess always has yummy recipes!

http://glutenfreegoddess.blogspot.com/2009/04/gluten-free-english-muffins.html

Haiku

Sinus infections
Erode my motivation
Allergies SUCK

What, clean my bathroom?
No one likes to scrub toilets.
Certainly, not me!

How shall I waste time?
The Haiku has potential.
Mr. Clean be gone.

Stop Drop and Roll

There was an incident.

It involved a 5 year old.

And a forbidden bbq lighter.

No one was injured.

I will miss my picnic table.

The guilty 5 year old may be done with his extra chores by 30 years of age.

You must read Christine

I've been following this blog. It rocks, especially this last post. It's a must read. So click. Read. You won't be sorry.

Wait.

Before you do read this background info:

Christine is an adoptive mom to 5 kids ( I think). One of whom has RAD, or Reactive Attachment Disorder. If you are unfamiliar with RAD here's a quick description:


Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD) is a mental health disorder in which a child is unable to form healthy social relationships, particularly with a primary caregiver. Often children with RAD will seem charming and helpless to outsiders, while waging a campaign of terror within the family. RAD is frequently seen in children who have had inconsistent or abusive care in early childhood, including children adopted from orphanages or foster care.

A certain ferocious love...

Jeremiah 33:7

I banish them in my furious anger and great wrath; I will bring them back to this place and let them live in safety. They will be my people and I will be their God. I will give them singleness of heart and action so that they will always fear me, for their own good and the good of their children after them. I will never stop doing good to them and I will inspire them to fear me, so that they will never turn away from me. I will rejoice in doing them good and will assuredly plant them in this land with all my heart and soul.

I read this passage of scripture this morning, and was encouraged. I am learning that my God is not the pansy I was introduced to in Sunday School. And, I think, I like him better that way.

There is this passage in C.S. Lewis' The Lion the Witch in the Wardrobe that I love. In this scene the children have just recently entered Narnia through the wardrobe and are learning about the great lion, ASLAN (a Christ-figure). They are unsure and intimidated. One of the children asks Beaver (their guide), "Is he quite safe?"

"Safe?", Beaver laughs. No Aslan is not safe. "But he is good."

My God is a lion, untamed and ferocious. He is a jealous God and a mighty warrior. He demands unswerving loyalty, and perfection. He spoke the world into existence. And declares, "I am God and there is no other."

Don't mess with him.

He's been known to banish nations and enslave them. He's wiped out entire peoples with a flood. He's given the order to take no prisoners.

Ruthless. Savage. Ferocious.

And yet....

He is good. According to Jeremiah God says, "I will rejoice in doing them good." As a parent, I understand that. There is nothing so fun as pouring out love on my children. I love to shower my kids with gifts, or special surprises. I feel almost giddy watching them delight in my love.

Imagine that. God: Ferocious Warrior....with the heart of a father.

Today is Good Friday. It's the day we celebrate the ferocious love of God. God: who demanded perfection and sacrificed everything on behalf of his rebellious children. God: who ruthlessly declared war on all the broken in the world.

"To the Death..."

My God is no pansy. He does not wink at sin or turn a blind eye idolatry. No. He engages it. Destroys it. In a crazy reckless act of ferocious love.

With Christ in the School of Prayer

Good Book.

Read it years ago.

Might read it again soon.

A quote to whet the appetite:

"Teach us to pray with power, too! The promises are for us; the powers and the gifts of the heavenly world are for us. O teach us to pray so that we may receive abundantly!"

My other "must read" suggestion is the biography of George Mueller (published by YWAM). We read it aloud as a family (yep, we're that cool). Ed was hooked. I was hooked. My kids loved it.

Our new hero is George.

Forget that dated, "I wanna be like Mike." campaign slogan. I wanna be like George. He rocked the house, that is for a Prussian dude who was born a couple hundred years ago.

The man could pray.

He knew what it was to walk with God, and live in faith.

As for me and my house, we wanna be like George.


Excuse the absolute and total randomness of this post. I didn't mean to blog about George or Andrew Murray, for that matter.

I meant to blog about me. Far more fascinating, don't you think?

Here's the scoop: I might be crawling out from underneath my stay-at-home mom rock, and be joining the land of the living, or at least the land of the gainfully employed.

I interviewed at the kid's school yesterday and was hired...mostly. For a job...part time, I think, unless it's full-time. I will be a teacher's aid for early elementary, unless I'm not. In which case I might teach 6th grade science and social studies and secondary Language Arts.

It was a confusing interview.

We're still working out the details. Clearly.

I had a bout of insecurity about this, as per my MO. I asked Eddie, "What if I suck at being a elementary school aid?" He laughed at me. Laughed. At. Me. To my face, no less.

The pay is crap. (I mean ah...demonstrates my commitment to ministering to children)

But I have the same hours as the kids, and mothering can still be my priority. Plus, let's not forget the discount on tuition. It sounds fun. And I am excited...but still have some concerns...most of which center around a certain brown eyed girl just shy of 2.

...who might be emptying a bottle of baby shampoo on the carpet....gotta run.

Note to Self

Dear Self,

Your 33rd birthday is fast approaching. You have a mortgage payment, car seats, and endless responsibilities.

Face it: YOU ARE A GROWN-UP.

Stop shopping in the juniors section. Those jeans are cut for girls who have never seen a pregnancy. Those tops are made for kids who have never breastfed. Those underwear, well only a girl unschooled in the ways of the world could believe that they are even remotely comfortable.

Get a grip. You cannot simultaneously color your grey hairs and shop with the teeny-boppers for t-shirts that declare, "I might like you better if you recycled." It defies the laws of the universe. Or something...

You are getting old. You hands are looking freakishly similar to your mother's, and you're getting those little wrinkly lines at the corners of your eyes.

And while I'm on the topic of aging gracefully I'd like to touch on the sensitive topic of you BMI. I've noticed that it's been creeping up with the years, probably at a rate that matches your cholesterol and blood pressure. Honey, you are not 19. Gone are the days that you could eat chocolate chip cookies with your lettuce salad and expect to slip into your size 8 jeans with nary a groan. Henceforth you will have to join the throngs of adult American woman who have learned to count calories or suffer the consequences.

But take heart, Self, growing older is not all doom and gloom. Because along with a matronly wardrobe and a depressed metabolism you get wisdom that can only be bought with years. You have confidence in a saviour who you has come through for you time and time again. And those scars, and stretchmarks each tell a story. Your life is deeper, richer, and more complex for those stories, and in the end a teeny-bopper wardrobe and your youth are a small price to pay for the richness the years have afforded.


Most Affectionately Yours,

Me

And this is fun!

Why was this fun? I cannot say. But this provided entertainment for far longer than one would imagine.

Things we did on our weekend away: crafted, puzzled, played, roller-skated, read-aloud, snuggled, giggled, stared at fire place and chatted,ate, and swam. (And in the case of a particular toddler: Impressed life-guard staff with fit throwing stamina and volume when forced out of the pool. )

Stuff we've been doing...

Come here let me give you a big smackeroo.

Our Princess on her Throne.....I HATE potty training. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate.

PWhy aren't puzzles, Uno, Old Maid and Scrabble as much fun at home?

Just documenting that I too, went up to the mountains...

Leavin' on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again...

This begs the question, "Why put roller skates on a toddler?"

Cute kids. YMCAing.

Chipmunk Science Fair: that half a pig tail is M. Fabulous photography.

Mentos Explosion: E's Science Fair

Cause she's cute!

Long obedience in the same direction...

It's a book title, and a fabulous one, at that. I haven't read it; I've just "heard" about it from my cyber-friend Jennifer, but a title like that makes me want to read it.

Because don't you feel like that's what life is?

Doing the next thing, and the next, and the next. It's putting one foot in front of the other and keeping your eyes on the goal.

I'm a planner by nature, a visionary. I see how things could be, should be. It's always been a challenge for me to keep my eyes on the future, and my feet, and mind, on terra firma. Right here. Right now. In this moment. Doing what I should be doing.

It's easy to get discouraged when you look at all the obstacles in the way, and the challenges you will face. But one foot in front of the other...obedience in the same direction...I can do that. You can do that.

Fiesta Park

The kids have spring break this week, so in celebration and because we need it, we're going to the YMCA of the Rockies to rent a cabin. It's just for the weekend, but we've done this a couple of times now and we love it. The cabin is cozy and relatively cheap, and we get to sled, roller-skate, swim, and do crafts for free too. Good times.

So Bub is in a hurry to go, but something got lost in the translation. "When are we going to Fiesta Park?", he asks. Ah, that would be "Estes Park".

But "Fiesta Park" works too.

Wish us God Speed and superior traction as we load up the Suburban and and hed out into snow.

Dry Bones and a baby on the streets.

I'm not sure I have words for this; it's too raw, too new. But somebody should say something. Someone should.



Yesterday my cell group from church went downtown to serve the homeless youth of Denver a homecooked meal. It was fun, and novel. And TERRIBLE.



So much of the time I wear my rose-tinted suburbia glasses. I forget there is another world out there, one where the grit of poverty has worked itself into fabric of every part of life.



Homeless youth. Kids 14-21ish. Homeless. They've aged out of foster care, or been kicked out of residential programs. They've been abused, and neglected. They suffer from addiction and mental illness.



But they're just kids really.



Kids.



They were courteous and funny. They were clean, and filthy. One wore a cat on his backpack, and another looked like he worked at REI. Just kids. Just people.



I was enjoying myself until I got a kick in the gut. On the outskirts of the gathering was a girl with a bundle in her arms. A baby. And they just kept trickling in...these kids with babies and toddlers. You could tell that, just like any momma, these girls loved their babies. But they were on the streets. How's a girl on the streets, who's only ever known the armpit of life, supposed to raisee a baby?



Where do they sleep at night, these girls and their babies? Under a bridge? On a sofa? In a shelter?



That 12 month old baby I held shouldn't have been so little. She should have had better muscle tone...12 month old babies don't flop when you hold them. They shouldn't, anyway. But baby Elizabeth's momma loved her. She mixed up a bottle watered-down formula, and tucked her in with another ratty blanket when the air got chilly.



What box does that fit in? How can a homeless girl with a baby in a relatviely affluent city make sense. And despite what she says...Elizabeth's momma got kicked onto the streets by her family for a good reason. There are no innocents here, except that baby.



The baby...



growing up on the streets...



the baby...



who drinks watered-down formula from a semi-clean bottle...



the baby...

who doesn't know that some babies are going to sleep tonight in cribs,

where it's warm,

and their tummies are full.

Attachment Disorder

This is what a meant when I said that kids who age out of system have a lot to overcome. This is what I meant when I said we have failed these kids. And this is what I meant when I said healing doesn't come easy.

Teens emancipated from foster care.

On Thursday evening Eddie and I (along with our cell group) are heading to downtown Denver to provide a home-cooked meal homeless youth, Street Kids, as they call themselves. I'm looking forward to it, but it's got me thinking.

One of the saddest parts of foster care, one of its most glaring failures, are the kids that are emancipated without ever finding permanent homes. They are very likely to end up homeless, or poverty stricken. They often have mental illnesses, or end up in jail. For them the phrase "independent living" is an oxymoron. To live independently, to live without a family or community, isn't really living at all.

Permanancy is part of the solution. Kids NEED families. But already there are a bunch of street kids who's lives, statistically speaking, are headed exactly no where. They've been screwed by the system. They've failed-out, or aged-out of every program under the sun. Their families have forsaken them. Many have mental illnesses or attachment disorders. Many have learned street skills to survive, street skills that are useful on the streets, but don't help in the least when they are looking for employment.

I look at all the statistics, and I am tempted to throw in the towel. How does a situation like that get healed? Is there a road that leads to wholeness?

There is; I've got to believe there is.

But I'd say it's almost impossible without Christ.

Suburban Chicken "Farm"

Even the Denver Post has something to say about raising chickens. Apparently, it's all the rage. Click here to read more about it. (Thanks, Song, for the link)

I have yet to convince my husbandthat we should raise chickens , but my kids are so on board. I'm allergic to almost all pets, so they bemoan their pet-free existence frequently. Chickens, I think, would make nice outdoor pets. The kids concur.

I've been tossing around name ideas. So far we've got Jennifer, Esther, and Sue.

Eddie doesn't think you should name chickens those type of names.

I wonder, would he prefer, Bambie, Lassie and Charlotte.

It's this or productivity

So my house needs to be cleaned, and I don't want to do it. I decided to blog instead. My brain is a jumbled mess right now. You get what you get, and don't say I didn't warn you.

-We took Baby off of dairy after a doctor at Children's suggested allergies might be causing the coughing, wheezing and general snottiness. I think it's helping, but I'm kinda annoyed that we can't even adopt a kid without food issues. What's up with that?

-Our basement finish is coming along. Slowly. Because we have a life which includes 4 children and all the stuff that that entails.

-My husband continues to impress me with his general manliness. The guy can frame, rough in electrical and do plumbing. He also can pull off wearing Wranglers and cowboy boots without looking completely ridiculous. I bet your husband can't do that .

-Our church took several hours today to serve our community. My team did trash clean-up in an open space park. It was fun, and successful, and if you litter ---- S.T.O.P.! I mean it. It looks really crappy and it's totally irresponsible.

How was that for sensitivity?

-I am considering raising chickens. For real. Now you can decide if you still want to be my friend.

-I think, and correct me if I'm wrong, that when you're approaching what you weighed when you were 9 months pregnant with your first child and YOU ARE NOT PREGNANT... your weight may be a smidge out of control.

It's possible that it is my medication. It is also possible that it is my heart. My cholesterol is fine, but I think I might love food too much.

I was filling out a job application for a christian school. It asked, "Do you use alcohol?" I was amused. I do DRINK alcohol; I don't use it. Cookies, on the other hand, are a different story. I have been known to use cookies, and bread, and muffins.... okay carbohydrates in general...

Lucky for me they didn't ask about that on the application.

-That reminds me, Lemon Jello Pudding is really yummy. You should try it.

-I let my kids wear their jeans 2 times before I wash them. It extends the life of the jeans and cuts down on laundry. It's green. Don't you think it would be more environmentally friendly if I let my kids wear jeans 5 days in a row? It could be gross, true. But think of the laundry it'd save.

-There are still some people out there who look at me and think I have it all together. I find this vastly amusing. I have no idea how I project that image, because it is laughably absurd; just ask my family.

Some People (the same ones who think I have it together) think I'm being coy, or cute when I say I am terrible at administrative tasks. I am just being honest. Seriously, just trying to find matching socks nearly puts me over the edge.

-My bulbs are waking up and my phlox has a bloom. I saw a robin the other day and a tree with litte green buds. Spring is in the air, and it's time to start planning my garden.

Organic Church

I don't buy organic produce unless it's on sale.

I'm too cheap.

But there is this notion of organic church out there that I do buy into. I'm not sure how to concisely explain it, because it's smooshy, and messy and not everyone who likes the idea of organic church agrees on what an organic church looks like.

Here's what I think it is:

-Organic church isn't about a building or an infrastructure or a program; it's about people living in community.
-Organic church grows naturally out real life and real relationships; it isn't a thing we do; it's who we are.
-Organic church is missional. It's a group of people committed to each other and committed to impacting the world with the LOVE that has changed them.

-Organic church is Jesus with Hands and Feet. It's in the public schools tutoring. It's serving the homeless and the poor. The organic church knows the poor, and the "least of these", sometimes it is "the least of these."

-Organic church flourishes under pressure, because it needs little overhead to survive.

-Organic church can meet a the bar, or the coffeehouse, or in a living room. It can meet in a school or a rec center, but there probably is no steeple to proclaim it's presence.

-Organic church is NOT "McChurch, would you like fries like that?" It's more like the Army Rangers, or the Marines. Frontlines. Incognito. Willing to take "one" for the team.

-Organic church is people on a mission - War Buddies, after all, make the best of friends.

-Organic church embraces the traditions of the past that enhance worship, but is quick to dismiss the ones that are no longer relevant to their place and time.

-Organic church isn't hierarchical. It's smooshy, with ebb and flow. Jesus is the head, and everyone is part of the priesthood.

-Organic church is sort of intentionally not flashy - purposefully unimpressive.

-Organic church is perfect for our time.

What do you think? Could this idea take wings, or is it too idealistic? Can it work everywhere, or is it culture specific (China, but not here. Inner-city, but not suburbia) How would you manage the growth of a organic church? Or would growth be a non-issue because something so structureless is doomed to failure? What would be lost if the traditional "program" oriented church went extinct?

Blogger Template Trouble

I wanted a new look. Is that so wrong? I downloaded a free template and now I've got an obnoxious bit of code hidden there...hence the annoying banner thingy at the top. HELP ME, oh people with cool blogger templates that don't have dumb banners....HELP!!! Where did you get yours?How can I get the dumb banner off mine?

Oh and I want my widgets back.

Especially the Red Letter Campaign one.

GRRRR....

On Becoming Baby Wise

There are very few books I want to burn. As a general rule I love books. But "Babywise" is one that I would very much like to set aflame. I saw an ad on a blog, that pretty much captures it for me.

Babywise is basically a book on how to get your baby to sleep through the night and get on a schedule - "BIBLICALLY". It sounds inocuous enough. But I take issue...

1) My babies never read the book. They didn't know they were only supposed to be hungry every 4 hours and sleep through the night at 12 weeks. They got hungry when they were hungry, which was almost always around 2.5-3 hours.

Any book that makes a mom feel guilty about feeding her hungry baby is DUMB! Mom's are supposed to feed there babies when they're hungry, they're supposed to watch for cues, and get in tune with the needs of their child. It's in the definintion of motherhood somewhere, I'm sure of it.

2) Making a little baby cry herself to sleep goes against a mom's instincts and is totally impractical. Baby's are supposed to learn how to self soothe. Some are ready to learn at an earlier age than others. Crying hysterically until one is too exhausted to keep his eyes open is NOT self-soothing. In fact, (according to my crunchy sister) studies are showing that babies fall asleep to prevent BRAIN DAMAGE. Being left alone to cry is traumatic to a baby. Plus, if you've got more than one kid then the baby keeps the whole house awake. This makes for very grumpy mammas and toddlers.

3) Ezzo (the author) suggests in American Culture we need to teach our babies to be independent. Hello? They are babies. They are dependent, by nature, and by design. First, we need to know our world is safe, and secure. We need to be taught that when we cry some one will help us. Secure attachment (basically believing the world is safe, and people can be trusted) makes kids feel better about taking risks. There is a time for risk taking (and it is not infancy). But I doubt seriously, if there is every a time for independence. We are a people designed for relationship, for intamacy. That should first be modeled in the family. Independence is an American ideal, not a Biblical one.

4)Babywise also suggests babies should be kept awake to play after a feeding. Chemically speaking, that's just DUMB too! Breastmilk has tryptophan (sp) the stuff in turkey that makes us sleepy after Thanksgiving. Tryptophan is the precursor to Seretonin, the neurotransmitter that gives us a feeling of well being. I don't know about you, but if I was warm and snuggly, and my tummy was full, if my system was flooded with a chemical that made me feel good and sleepy, I'd be ready for a nap.

When my breastfed babies were very small Eddie always feet sort of helpless when I left them with him. Oh, he's a rockstar calibar dad, but he doesn't have boobs (thank the good Lord). And to a small baby, nursing brings comfort. Eddie knew this intuitively, and I think that is how God made it.

Of all the books on the planet that have been damaging to me as a mother this one tops the list. I was a youngish mom, totally insecure in my ability to parent, this book gave me a "method" to follow, and when it didn't work I felt like a failure. Only, I wasn't. I was doing it right. I was watching my baby's cues, nurturing and loving, and feeling guilty about it the whole time.

Truth is, parenting a newborn is pretty much a roll-with-the-punches ordeal. It is far more art than science. It's intuitive and relational and exhausting and not. not. not. a formula.

Our adoption training reinforced for me how DUMB this notion of infant independence is. Babies need to be held and nurtured and fed and responded to immediately. It's how they develop a sense of self and safety. Kids who don't have that end with serious issues. Serious.

Speaking of....I have a little person who needs my attention.

Because I like it...

Joy, not grit, is the hallmark of holy obedience. We need to be light-hearted in what we do to avoid taking ourselves too seriously. It is a cheerful revolt against self and pride. Our work is jubilant, carefree, merry. Utter abandonment to God is done freely and with celebration. And so I urge you to enjoy this ministry of self-surrender. Don't push too hard. Hold this work lightly, joyfully. The saints throughout the ages have witnessed to this reality.... You know, of course, that they are not speaking of a silly, superficial, bubbly kind of joy like that flaunted in modern society. No, this is a deep, resonant joy that has been shaped and tempered by the fires of suffering and sorrow; joy through the cross, joy because of the cross. ~Richard J. Foster

(thanx Angela)

Science Fair Scandal

There is a little boy in M's class who has a crush on her. She pretends to be annoyed by this, but is, actually, quite flattered. The other day M came home from school nearly crushed by grief. "Why?", you ask. Gatlin (the lovestruck 1st grader) chose to do his science fair project on the Red Fox which is the PREDATOR of a chipmunk. How could he? He knew that M chose to do a science fair on a chipmunk. Foxes eat chipmunks. M feels so betrayed.

As if that weren't enough drama my dear daughter got a five dollar gift certificate from her grandpa for Valentines Day. Very exciting! Neopets were on clearance for $5. This was clearly provision directly from the hand of God. But oh, the drama that ensued. Should it be the polka-dotted lime green unicorn? But the googly eyed bunny is so cute... How is a girl to decide? There were tears (many) and 10 minutes of heart wrenching drama in the middle of Wal-mart. So what did she decide? Ultimately, M decided on the orange and purple tiger, and second guessed herself all the way to the check-out line.

I should so totally win some kind of patient parent award.

Just one more M story.

So I bought the real "grown-up" version of UNO. The kids adore UNO. But had, up till yesterday, only played the kiddy Curious George version. The real UNO has Wild Draw 4, and Reverse, and Draw 2. This is a delightful turn of events for my cut-throat competitors. M was giddy. Literally, she was dancing on her chair (after we told her to get off the table). She stockpiled all the "mean" cards to play on her brother. She knows the point of the game is to get rid off all her cards, but she couldn't help herself. Could. Not. Help. It. She giggled and plotted, and collected, and then doled out "mean" cards at every turn. Never was a girl so happy to lose.

My M tries my patience, probably more than any other kid. I think it is because she is so invested in the moment. Her heart is tender, and volatile. She is imaginative, and talkative, and delightful. She is happy to serve, and quick to help. I love her. And I PRAY for the man who will some day fall head-over-heels for her for real.

He will have his hands full.

Chipmunks etc.

Can I just say this? I need to get it off my chest. My kids are doing this science fair project for school. The 1st graders are doing their projects on animals. My daughter chose a chipmunk. This being a Christian school and all, the kids are supposed to come up with a spiritual applications for their science fair. This seems to be ahhh...a bit contrived.

We're talking a chipmunk here...a chipmunk and a 6 year old.

I do not know what kind of deep meaningful spiritual epiphany they are expecting.

I have spent far too much time racking my brain for some sort of spiritual meaning in cheek pouches and chattering in small mammals.

Oh fellow cyber friends, the rebel in me SO wants to plaster some smart remark all over my daughter's display board. But, alas, I cannot, in good conscience, do it.

HELP!!!!!

Here's to life...

So I'm publishing the program for our little church now. I've got 1 weeks experience under my belt. I'd like to say I was an amazing success. I'd like to say that, but it wouldn't be true. The program/newsletter thingy was fair to middlin', at best. I don't like doing that kind of work. It's embarrassing. Because, after all, it IS all about me, and how I feel, right?

I know I can do it well. It just wasn't. I wasn't. And that is humbling. I could make excuses like a sinus infection, and hormones and the kid's school stuff. But the bottom line is that I didn't live up to my own standards.

Anytime I do something new, try something I haven't done, I'm overcome with suffocating insecurity. It's a stiffiling shroud. I hate it. I fight it. And it remains.

But I'm not giving up. I will keep doing new things, keep serving, and keep putting myself "out there". I will likely fail at somethings, and I am very uncomfortable with failure. I will likely get hurt. I'm sure I'll disappoint people. I hate disappointing people.

I'll do it anyway, because the alternative is no alternative at all. To stop risking is to become stagnant, to atrophe. And that is not the life I want.

So here's to life. And here's to risk. And damn it all, that church newsletter is gonna be great one of these days. :)