This is my Portion

Yesterday, I went to the doctor to have my prescription for anti-depressants filled. So, I started counting back. Emma is nearly 10, and it was after her birth that I first went on anti-depressants. I rock post-partum depression, and am prone to depression even without the "post-partum" piece. It's been the better part of a decade then, that I've walked this path. I've not always been on medication but major stressors trigger a chain reaction in my head. Depressions hits and I don my cement boots, and I've not found any way to chip away at the cement except to pop a pill that the changes my neurochemistry. I'm okay with that.

For the last 3 years I've been on 1/4 of the recommended minimum dose of Wellbutrin for adults. It's a really, really small dose. One that, theoretically, shouldn't really have any effect at all. But it seems to help me.

Actually, I think I'm nearly at a season in life where I could be without medication. But I'm not ready to try life unmedicated until I my foot is better and I can run again. Excercise is part of my own anti-depression plan. So is sleep. And a healthy diet. And living in community. And no major stressors. When all of these are in play, I can make it without meds. And I'm learning that the discipline of gratitude may just be as good of an anti-depressant as any SSRI on the market. So me unmedicated, may be in in the near future.

This last ten years has been full of babies and toddlers, and sleepless nights. It's been a season of physical and emotional exhaustion. Which, obviously, would contribute to depression. But I think another thing that factors into my neurochemistry is how I sometimes wear my life like an itchy sweater. I am learning to accept where I am, to sink into it, and be present. I am a dreamer and idealist, and there are dishes to do. The mountain of laundry I face every week laughs at my lofty thoughts. So I am learning to be here. With the dishes. With the laundry. With these 4 and that sexy bald man. To mis-quote Anne Voscamp, "this vortex of ordinary can be inverted into a cathedral."

And that is what I meant to say, when I started talking about anti-depressants.

Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup
you have made my lot secure
The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
surely I have a delightful inheritance.

PS 16: 5-6

Public Record: These are Joy

-Fairy tales told by 4 year olds.
-Flowers blooming purple and white.
-10 year old girl making paper chains; content
-Pasta bar: Ethan makes buttered noodles drenched in hot sauce and eats it like its the best thing since sliced bread
-a resistant reader wanting to read
-reading to my children

Naming Grace

If you were to only read this blog I think you might get the idea that life has been rough since moving to California. And you would be correct - mostly. But there IS good, and lots of it. Let me name the grace for you:

-Giggling children after dinner. Giggling unto tears!
-Snuggling with children on the couch
-A daughter who is learning to love to read again
-Kids who's favorite TV shows are Myth Busters, How It's Made, and Nova...we're cool like that!
-Homeade lemon meringue pie...beautiful... and made with my daughter
-Kids growing and their sense of humor growing too
-Abby kisses
-Family time
-Gorgeous weather, gorgeous open space, and beauty the stuns me almost every single day
-Abby songs
-full pantry, full tummies...enough
-a husband who is still my best friend
- an encouraging email
-choices
- new friends
-sisters coming for a visit
- Caleb becoming quite a swimmer
- a new day with no mistakes in it

On Joy

I'm learning joy. I'm learning joy has to be learned.

Cultivated. Joy must be cultivated. And I wonder how I never knew this before, how it escaped me.

My fundamentalist background mandated that I should be "joyful always". And "joy" was a "should" that I always struggled with, because Depression and I have wrestled much of my adult life. As much as I wanted to dance with joy I wore cement boots. No one had good answers for that.

I'm good at martyrdom, and self-sacrifice. Co-dependence even? Eeesh, I hope I have outgrown that, but this is true:

I have not tilled the soil in my heart to make ready for joy. I have not scattered the types of seeds that could germinate into this joy-life that the Bible says is possible. I didn't know I could, or that I should, or how to even go about it.

I am a novice gardener, this is my first go at deliberately cultivating a joy-filled life., but here is what I am learning:

First, uproot the weeds.

-Joy isn't hedonistic.
-Experiencing joy isn't selfish.
-Value isn't determined by productivity.
-Comparison is a thief that steals joy. It must STOP!
-Hope in anything I can lose, is no hope at all.

Then cultivate a life where joy can grow:

-Develop the deliberate and intentional discipline of gratitude. For everything. In everything.
-Create beauty. See beauty. Hunt for it.
-Rest. Do the Sabbath. Every month, every week, every day I am responsible for carving out room for my soul to breathe, and be fed. I am responsible. I am not the passive victim to which life has happened. If life is mundane, and ugly I need to look carefully to see if I have made it so, or allowed it to be so.
-Long obedience demands that I carefully nurture my heart.
-Become a worshiper - not just on Sundays.
--I cannot offer life out of a vacuum. If I want to care for others, I need to run to the one who can fill my life with joy.
-The metric for success must be carefully aligned with true greatness. The first world has a very distorted view of greatness.
-Become okay with slow. What feels slow to me is probably just about right for my crew.
-Work hard. Choose to do it with a cheerful heart.
-Live out who God has made me to be.

Invisible disability

Bottom line: parenting a child with invisible disabilities is humbling.

Case in point: Today.

Abby has been out of sorts lately, and what I mean by that is she is on a downhill slope of a FASD behavior roller-coaster. Difficulty regulating, difficulty sleeping, difficulty transitioning, low threshold for frustration, lots of oppositional behavior are par for the course in one of these down hill turns. (think 2 year old behavior out of a nearly 5 year old) Sometimes I think it's just about her being tired or getting sick; sometimes I cannot nail down one single solitary trigger that would account for the shift. It just is. Predictably unpredictable. And every time it takes me by surprise. When she's doing well, I come to expect it from her and I set aside some of my best therapeutic parenting techniques - then wham. I'm sitting dazed on my butt mumbling, "Oh, yeah, that's ARND behavior, I should have been prepared..."

The last few days have been rough...I recognized it for what it was...brain quirks and such.

Abby umm.... acted out at Caleb's swimming lessons today. It's not an ideal situation for her, and today she could. not. keep. it. together. I pulled out all of my best tricks to very little avail. The hollering, whining and crying were, shall we say, considerable. And I couldn't leave, and it sort of echoed like we were in the Grand Canyon. She appeared to be exceptionally bratty. And, well, she was....bratty, I mean. I can excuse it (or, at least, understand) when I remember to expect her to act half of her chronological age. I can expect it when I know that life feels like any itchy sweater, sleep deprivation and heavy metal with a hangover for Abby. I'd be cranky too.

But to everyone else? Just simple brattiness .

And it's humbling.

And I am reminded that I am more than the best behaviors, or worst behaviors of my children. Their success, or lack thereof, does not define me. I am my own and His, and what you see may not be the whole of it.

Week 2 in California

Week 2; status report:

-The kitchen is unpacked.
-The bedrooms are unpacked.
-The bathrooms are unpacked.
-There are still boxes.
-I am tired of boxes.

Mostly, these remaining boxes contain pictures, mirrors and other wall hangings. There is also a smattering of office supply boxes and a few boxes of unpacked books (for which we have no shelving). In another 2 weeks I am hoping to be living in a box free home.

The biggest unpacking frustration is the lack of a good linen closet in our new house. Our current "linen closet" looks remarkably like a large cardboard box. It contains towels, sheets, Children's Tylenol and toilet bowl cleaner all mixed up together. The packers were men who didn't understand the finer points of linen closet packing - apparently. Or, maybe the just didn't care, and dumped everything into a wardrobe box figuring we'd be in California and too far away to hunt them down - yeah, that's probably it.

What this new abode lacks in linen closets it makes up in location. We are literally right next to an open space. A 1 minute walk up a small hill yields views of the bay. At sunset it is breathtaking. B.R.E.A.T.H. T.A.K.I.N.G. And if by chance you walk a minute down the hill, you will cross a little bridge and discover yourself walking on a path lined on one side with blackberry bushes....which taste yummy in scones. As I said, the kitchen is unpacked. If you keep walking down the blackberry path you'll cross a road, and enter Lake Chabot Park and Open Space. There are miles of trails, great fishing spots, and importantly, a snack shack that sells Push-up Pops. Ethan cannot wait for his friend Jonah to visit. Jonah loves to fish. Ethan loves push-up pops. The days have been planned, furthermore Jonah's entire future has been planned, as the kids have decided he should become a Park Ranger at Lake Chabot. Actually, that might be a good gig for Jonah, but as he is 10, we will give him a few years before he has to decide.

This is Small Town, USA - the neighbors are friendly, and charmingly nosey. The old guy down the street brought over beer to share with Eddie. They sat on the porch shooting the breeze for a couple of hours. Freshly picked orchard apples have been left on our porch. Flower's delivered, and a dozen of introductions made. Nice place, this.

But it has not all been sunshine and roses (or blackberries and sunsets). We still don't have our internet working. The California branch of ATT must hire employees from a pool of high school drop outs and losers. We are under-impressed. Our cable doesn't work, either. And pretty much nothing is straight forward. There are big emotions and their coinciding behaviors happening round here. Eddie's work is overwhelming, and challenging. I don't often see him legitimately "frazzed" (I just made up that word). The dude can handle more responsibility and stress than most everyone I know. But he's "frazzed".

Today, we're finalizing the kids school enrollment. Tomorrow should be there first day. We are all freaking slightly...the poor kids have to start another new school, and mid-year this time. Here's betting a therapist will here about it 15 years from now...

So breakfast needs to be served, and I am the short order cook round here. I must be done. More to come...

I 'm 35

Why does 35 sound so much older than 34? I know 35 isn't old, but it does land me smack dab in the middle of adulthood, and that's just strange.

Yesterday was my birthday. It was a typical day - or almost typical. I went out at about 10 with Abby to run errands and when I came home a little after 11 I had a surprise waiting. The kids had made "6 Margaritas" the Happy Birthday version of 5 Margaritas Mexican Restaurant. This one day restaurant was complete with a hostess stand (w/ mints), tableclothes, candles (unlit), and a homemade menu.

Have I had better mexican food? Yep.
Did the wait staff nibble on my nachos? Yep
Were my microwave enchilladas piping hot. UM...not so much.

Yet I felt loved and special, and my kids made 35 memorable. Just thought you should know...

Downward Mobility

"To mature as a follower of Jesus means to be led to the same powerless places he (Jesus) was lead. It means the road of downward mobility in the midst of an upwardly mobile world. I do not say this with sadness, but joyfully, because the downward road of God is the road on which he reveals himself to us as God with us...

Nobody wants to be on the road to downward mobility. It costs too much. If you aspire to it, you don't understand it. It runs counter to the road we desire to travel - the one that leads to upward mobility. By right, we should get to pass important mile markers that measure our success - marriage, babies, career, house, better career, bigger house. We should be on our way. So why would Jesus ask if we love him, and then, if we get the right answer, promise that we will be carried to a place we don't want to be?"

-M. Craig Barnes, When God Interrupts

I've been thinking, "How do you make church relevant in culture?" The question is tricky, and the answer is even trickier. Here's why:

Doing "relevant" church runs the very real risk of becoming "McChurch, I'd like fries with that." We can become Drive-Thru Jesus.com because we want to speak to the American Consumer. So, we are tempted to make church into a product to be consumed. Makes sense, kinda. Phenomenal messages, excellent children's ministry, hip worship done well, these things DO get butts in seats. It looks like success. The problem is that once the proverbial "butts" are in seats, they stay there - mollified by the spiritual equivalent of Krispie Creme Donuts. Our church communities become anemic, malnourished and obese all at once, and we have done it in the name of relevance.

The Good News that God is With Us,and For Us is utterly relevant. But God is on the move and if we are to be Christ-Followers then spiritual butt sitting will not do. In a place like Colorado, an invitation to join a spiritual journey/adventure appeals. It fits with the culture of this place. We ski, and hike, and mountain bike, and kayak. We do adventure.

Except...

The road of the disciple is one of downward mobility. Always. And that is not an easy sell to any culture anywhere. It's one thing to tell a people, "Get off your fat asses and join the adventure." It's quite another thing to say, "By the way, the road we're traveling will likely put to death the dream you had for your life. It will be harder, longer and more treacherous than you ever imagined. In the end, it will cost your life."

"Would you like fries with that?"

McChurch, and real discipleship don't mix.

This does not mean our messages should be lame, our worship tacky and outdated, and our children's ministry pathetic. Excellence matters. But I'm not sure we can ever be trendy. "Come and die" doesn't lend itself to trendy. A promise of downward mobility doesn't make for good copy in brochures and door hangers.

Case in point:

-God called our family to adopt.
-We did.
-It was hard.
-It will become harder.
-Hard will last forever.
-Part of that hardship was the fact that the dream I had for my life had to die.

Today, we met with the physician overseeing our daughter's multi-disciplinary evaluation. I was expecting one diagnosis. I got 4. And one more looms in the future. We have a virtual alphabet of disorders with acronyms. These acronyms spell out a future full of therapies and challenges, challenges that will never be outgrown.

In our daughter we received the gift of downward mobility. Moments of this have been excruciating. Yet, I have found the quote I began with to be true. As we have followed Christ on this path of downward mobility, I have encountered the Living God more frequently, and more potently than ever before. I have met my God here, on this road littered with the skeletons of dreams decomposed.

Put that on a brochure.

Many things and wide open space

My brain is a whirlwind. There are fragments of thoughts and new ideas blowing around in disorder. Writing is how I nail those pieces down and begin to mosaic them into some sense. Right now there are so many pieces that I've not blogged because the prospect is daunting. I'm not sure I can arrange all the thoughts and ideas into a pattern that makes sense. So this one is not for the grandparents. It's not for anyone else. It's just me. Nailing down some stuff. A first attempt at order.

I'll begin with Thursday. Thursday was the beginning of the long awaited evaluation at the Child Development Unit at Children's Hospital. I love that place. They are amazing, and they understand kids. End plug. Anyway, we spent our morning with a team of psychologist who did IQ type evaluation with Abby. Before the testing they spent time playing. The room with the testing was a pale green shade and the florescent lights were off. They fitted the table and chair size just for Abby and took breaks for "heavy work" ( a regulating technique we use at home ). Essentially, they set her up to be successful. Which, as a mom, I appreciated. But I found it interesting to watch how they understood she needs an adjusted environment. She just does. And it's work. Now, granted, all kids do there best when set up to succeed, but florescent lights and background noise wouldn't derail my neurotypical kids.

So, with Abby, it is a constant dance; we go before and behind her making adjustments along the way so that she can be successful. To most people they are invisible, these adjustments, but if we slack off (and sometimes we do) her little world quickly unravels. The psychologist got this. And they commended me on my bag of tricks. It brought tears to my eyes, because what most people see is a sometimes out of control kid, with parents who don't appear to be disciplining her. It felt good to have what I see validated, and what I do appreciated. Because very, very few people get it.

We have more testing and we'll be seeing more specialists, but the IQ testing was revealing. She absolutely aced some of the language testing. She even seemed to get some of the analogies. But there were holes in her visual spacial reasoning and her ability to grasp complex directions. The scores haven't been tallied, but they reveal a pattern consistent with data on prenatally exposed children: Strong expressive verbal skills, challenges with math and abstract reasoning.

So I am highly suspicious that we will, indeed, get a diagnosis that is on the Fetal Alcohol Spectrum. I'm glad of this, and sad. A diagnosis explains behavior. It gives me tools to advocate for Abby as far as an Individual Education Plan and public schools. It has protective value for her as an adult, and will give her access to services and support. I can look into therapies that are appropriate to this type of brain damage. BUT. BUT. It ain't going away. It's forever. And the implications are far reaching. Sometimes they will be subtle and sometimes they won't be, but they are forever. Forever feels like a long time. For her, and for us.

One of the challenges for me to accept as we parent Abby is a need for a stripped down version of life. She thrives on simplicity and routine. She always will. I think that this is boring. I feel guilty that my bigger neurotypical kids live with a stripped down, simplified version of life too. I feel like they miss out. They do miss out. Just recently, I read an article from a brain researching MD, specializing in trauma (Bruce Perry), and it was encouraging. Because he said boredom was good for kids; it's the catalyst for creative play. Play is great for all types of brain development. So those long afternoons of legos and pretend are nothing to feel guilty about. They were an opportunity in disguise.

The challenge remains though, how do we keep life simple for Abby, but allow opportunity for my older kids to stretch their wings? For us, part of the solution is Westgate. School offers respite for them, because Abby is not an easy little sister. I'm praying for good friends and fun experiences, because I cannot do it all. In the past God has brought people and opportunities into our path when I didn't have the bandwidth to meet every need. I will have to trust he'll continue to do that for us. For Eddie and I. For the "biggers". And for our peanut too. (By the way Dad, your camping trip with the "biggers" falls into this category of meeting needs I cannot. Thank you a thousand times. It's huge for us.)

Another piece of the mosaic: this job possibility. It's looking quite likely. I'll hear very soon. I ran across this position on accident, and it looked like such a good fit with my passion for adoption issues and my background in education that I applied. It's the kind of job I've dreamed about. Yet,as the possibility sits on my doorstep I find that it's not an easy decision. Simplicity and me working do not go hand in hand. It definitely complicates things. Just as the kids need respite from a life of catering to special needs, I find I need it too. And that is guilt inducing, because those needs aren't going anywhere and they do need attending to. I wonder if my decision to work will complicate things in a not so okay sort of way. Yet...it'd work great with the biggers, and I do have good options for childcare.

There are other pieces too. Like Eddie traveling, and church, and upcoming adoptions, and family etc. But here is my start, my nailing down of a few. More to come.

Quick update

I STILL don't have anything cute or pithy to say. But I know the few that read this are looking for updates with kids etc. Inquiring Grandmas want to know...

-We are foster parents now. Of kittens. Gretchen suckered me good, and now 3 little kitties have taken up residence in the kids bathroom. They are so cute. The kids love them. I like them more than I let on. Eddie is entirely ambivalent, but he is gracious. Because the people he loves love them he tollerates. The kids are pushing to become permanent kitten foster parents, wherein we get a new batch as the "old" ones are leaving. We shall see...

-Spring fever has hit and motivation is waning. I would feel guilty about this except I know the same is happening in every homeschool, private school, and public school across the nation.

-Abby got into the preschool we wanted her to go to for FREE. We don't meet the income requirements for a subsidy, but her history qualifies her.

Yesterday was the preschool evaluation. Abby peed her pants on the way in. Then she started to meltdown but good because they transitioned her through 4 rooms in 30 minutes. Abby doesn't do transition that quickly; those teachers started to catch on as Abby's eyes flooded with tears, she pretended not to hear (or comply), and went off to play with the off-limits kitchen set.

The evaluator was gracious; she'd sat through evals. with hundreds of typical kiddos, and new something was up. I filled her in a bit. Then she wiggled around the numbers in our favor and got us into the preschool that meets the needs of special ed kids. She did NOT have to do that.

"Hold up", you say. "Special ed?" Yep (though Abby will be with typical kids mostly). Abby does fabulously with experienced teachers who get her need for help with transitions. Teachers who understand giving choices, not ultimatums, have an easy time of it. Teachers who use simple language, create routine, and keep things structured and quiet will have no trouble. Special Ed teachers know how to do that. Brand spankin' newbie teachers w/o the training will be given a run for their money -by a four year old. I promise. So we got into the school we needed to be in, and I'm thankful for it.

-I want to go back to school. Grad school. I'd like a Master's in Social Work. I'm looking into it. But I know I need to hold off for a couple of years - probably. Tell me this: why is grad school so expensive even for a MSW? Social workers make terrible money, and they pay a lot in tuition to do it.

The kitchen sink

I have nothing important or interesting to write about.

So here is a bit of the uninteresting and unimportant:

We will likely be getting a significant chunk of change back from our taxes because of new adoption tax law. Getting a lump sum like that is sort of weird. What to do? We are STILL paying for the eviction of our tenants in our rental house. The responsible thing to do would be to pay that off. How unfun! We might do a little of that but we are also planning on re-doing our kitchen.

We like our house, but our kitchen is a lame 2 butt affair (My family measures the quality of kitchens by how many butts can comfortably fit in them. And by that metric ours is a serious loser). This little kitchen is dumb, because our house is pretty spacious, and there are lots of us. And we like to invite people over. The two butt kitchen makes things more than cozy. We bought the house in spite of the kitchen with plans to re-do it. Now, 4 years later or so, we're getting around to it.

Our basement is an apartment. This summer it will be empty. Seriously, how many people are lucky enough to have a spare kitchen for when they remodel the main one?
I'm looking forward the project beginning and dreading it. We're knocking out walls people and I despise dry wall dust.

As per our M.O. we are doing things on the cheap. Eddie will do the labor. We're getting the granite counter tops for free. We found a smokin' deal for high quality semi-custom maple cabinetry. (Maple b/c it's pretty and NOT trendy - trendy seems bad in a kitchen). I'm searching craigslist for new appliances - stainless steel.

Hopefully, if we do it right, it won't throw our lives into upheaval for long. But then again there is that all too true construction maxim: It always takes longer and costs more.

Happy Valentines Day

-This morning's beverage of choice: hot cocoa with heart shaped marshmellows. Healthful, I know. But no one 'round these parts complained about the artificial colors or flavors.

-The kids were in a "mood" yesterday when they realized that Valentines was not recognized as a national holiday for which school was canceled. The injustice.

-Eddie has the flu. Bad. Romance=NyQuil, and tea with honey. 13 years in we discovered love often looks less like a Hallmark greeting card and a lot more washing the dishes, and bedtime stories.

My husband, of the bedtime stories and on-line bill pay, is my favorite person on the planet.

Hands down.
No contest.
There is no one else is even in the running.

He is my own personal hero, and best friend.

And a good kisser too.

This is my Valentine's Day Prayer: Thank You. He is more than I deserve.

final analysis

Final Analysis

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.

The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

~Mother Teresa

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?!

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.

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.

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

Quick update.

We've never had cable TV. Never. Mostly, because I'm philosphically opposed to spending money to rot my brain out in front of the tube. I have dug in my heals, thrown my weight around and generally been annoying whenever the topic of getting cable gets brought up. I'be been successful at resisting for nigh on 10 years.

My Hubby LOVES the History channel. I mean LOVES it - to the point of obsession.
So, recently he did a little homework and discovered that it only costs us 5 bucks a month to add cable to our cable internet plan.

Guess who has cable TV? My kids were giddy when they discovered all the channels we have. They've watch hours and hours of TV this weekend. And I've watched a few too.

I raged against the machine...and I lost. But, you know, the History Channel is kinda interesting.

All that to say: the cable guy screwed up our internet access...so blogging maybe hit or miss till we get Comcast back out here.

warped sense of humor

So Hubby sent this to me today...it's one of those silly email forwards that is definetely worth the time...we laugh everytime we hear it.