I have a blog, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Yesterday I spent a great part of my morning on the phone trying to iron out an insurance kink. A Catch-22 if you will.

You see, if I had given birth to Charming in the hospital, my insurance would have happily paid my doctor $8000. Now, as most of us know, hospital births are much more than $8000, so I would have had to pay above and beyond that, setting me back a good chunk of change. I, however, chose to have my baby at home. Midwife: $1300. Circumcision in the doctor's office: $468.08. (Let's take a moment and scoff at the audacity of that, shall we? But, I do want qualified hands cutting "down there," I must admit, and I THOUGHT the insurance would be more likely to cover the Dr than the Mohel therefore....). Grand total: $1768.08. That, to me, is a bargain.

But, oh no, not to my "share program." The share program that I joined, and stayed in, not only for economical reasons, no, but because they not only support, but promote, home birth. In fact, up until about a year ago, they only paid about $3000 per birth because that more than covers what nearly all midwives will charge. (Homebirth midwives, that is. Don't get me started on the hospital midwives, who are FINE, I'm sure, but pricey.)

Fast forward. Share program decides to join a PPO to lower costs. PPO makes rules in order to be joined. Share program decides that young couples are more economical than older couples and expands maternity payouts because young couples want epidurals. Suddenly Share Program doesn't cover home birth. Oh, they say they do. It looks good on their propaganda. But the midwives they have covered for several births (mine and my sister's) are suddenly unacceptable for the PPO because they are only "certified" and not "licensed" and the licensed midwives (nurse midwives rather than lay midwives) only deliver in the hospital. (But the Share Program doesn't hesitate to educate me about the fact that "why would someone hire a midwife to deliver in the hospital? Those midwives deliver at home....(crock of hooey).)

On top of that, even though I followed all the rules, Share Program doesn't want to cover Charming's circumcision because the doctor's office coded it as "routine." Because, let's say it together, CIRCUMCISIONS ARE NOT SOMETHING DIAGNOSABLE.

Any-hoo.

(Interesting. The tornado sirens are blowing. They match my mood.)

So, I have a couple people at Share Program that are supposed to be "trying to find a creative way to cover this." If they do, I'll happily tell you who Share Program is and tell you to join. If they don't? I will be smearing their name to kingdom come. You don't sign off every phone call with "God bless!" and not follow through with what you say you will do.

Oh, and the tornado sirens were the weekly drill. The weather here is sunny and hot.

In Short

We took a whirlwind tour of historic Philadelphia. We came, we saw, we conquered. What most people pack into a half day tour, we took three. (Though my sister says we did finally see everything the tour guide said we should see if we only had half a day...)

My mother would describe the weekend like this: "All we did was eat, eat, eat. I've never eaten so much in my life! If I ate like this everyday, I'd be the size of Pennsylvania! Where's the coffee?"

I would describe the weekend like this: "Oh. My. Gosh! I finally get to break fast. I swear, if I'd known we were only going to eat one meal a day I would have brought lunchables or something! If I keep this eating pace up I'll lose 10 pounds by the weeks end! Anyone seen a cheesesteak vendor anywhere? (And a Starbucks would be nice.)"

Sure, the history and scenery were nice, but unless they promise to feed me next time, this will be my first and last girls history touring weekend. (It couldn't have had anything to do with the fact that I hauled a 15 pound Charming all over heck and gone, could it? BTW, he was fabulous. Quite a trooper, and currently sleeping it off.)

And Melanie, my maid did clean while I was gone. If I hadn't been so exhausted, I would have fainted from shock. (He even loaded the dishwasher....gasp!)

Taking Off

The butterflies in my stomach are so extreme, I'm beginning to wonder if I'm slightly agoraphobic. Regardless, I'm heading out this morning for a girls' weekend (plus Charming) in Philly and who knows if I'll find some WiFi. (Like I know what that means.) In the meantime, go visit:

Liz who is getting married in TWO! MORE! DAYS!
Mandy who is packing (ugh!)
Pasture Scott who is profound....
Julie who will have some photos up tomorrow that are real nice (gold star if you can tell me what movie that is from)
Melanie-Pearl who is artistic
And any number of entertaining people on my blog roll.

Have a good one!

I've Been Tagged!

April tagged me for this meme and it is actually one I think I'll do...

Next Five Books on Your TBR Shelf: (only 5? You've gotta be kidding.)

Split Ends by Kristin Billerbeck
Monday Morning Faith by Lori Copeland
Swimming Lessons by Mary Alice Monroe
Stealing Adda by Tamara Leigh (which I thought I'd read, but don't think I actually have)
Mending Places by Denise Hunter

Last Four Books You've Read: (for fun or review? B-I-G difference. I'll go with review that I most enjoyed.)

This Strange New Feeling by Julius Lester
Over Her Head by Shelley Bates
The Redemption of Sarah Cain by Beverly Lewis
Veil of Fire by Marlo Schalesky

Last Three Books You've Borrowed: (note: I don't borrow books often so I have to dig deep here.)

A Thomas Jefferson Education by Oliver Van DeMille
Proof by Bill Bright and Jack Cavanaugh
Intimate Allies by Dan Allender and Tremper Longman

last Two Non-Fiction Books You've Read:

Lean Mommy by Lisa Druxman
Songs in the Key of Solomon by Anita and John Renfroe

The One Book You Wish Everyone Would Read:

Besides the Bible?
Sacred Marriage by Gary Thomas (Sacred Parenting is pretty great, too)

I tag Mandy!

When is it Enough?

At what point do you draw the line and say, "That's it. I'm all tapped out. No more giving for me."

That wasn't a rhetorical question.

We got another letter from World Vision today. We get a lot of mail from them. I'd say 5 a week. We sponsor a child. We sometimes give to this project or that that they promote. I like the ministry they provide. But we've held to the one sponsored child we "adopted" back when we were broke and God told me it was time to remember there was someone else in the world that had it worse than me. It was a good lesson. But how much money do you give to a single organization? I figured aside from my occasional give-it-because-they-have-a-grant-that-octuples-it gift, I was done expanding my giving to that particular organization.

They threw a hook and line in and almost have me again. There is this specific girl...and if Hubs comes home and knows which one it is, I think we'll try to find a way to sponsor another.

I know we have it...somewhere. The occasinal soda we don't buy. The trip to the movies we don't take. The babysitter we don't hire. Really, we have it pretty good. So darn good that we forget we have it good.

But I wonder what God would have us, as Americans, do?

No more giving for me, God, you get your 10%, World Vision gets their share, Focus on the Family gets theirs, Samaritans Purse gets theirs, let's not forget that traveling minister and the guy on the street corner...

I know we should give and give freely. I know it isn't mine anyway. And who is to say that God didn't entrust it to us so that we could give it away? How much do we deserve to spoil ourselves with when His children are starving down the street and around the globe?

But if I give it all away, how do I pay my kids' tuition next year?

I don't have the answer. Most days it feels like I'm just scraping by. But ever since I saw Loveness' picture I've seen at least $35 that I didn't have to spend this month and I wonder....

Wow! They nailed me!

You Are 31 Years Old

Under 12: You are a kid at heart. You still have an optimistic life view - and you look at the world with awe. 13-19: You are a teenager at heart. You question authority and are still trying to find your place in this world. 20-29: You are a twentysomething at heart. You feel excited about what's to come... love, work, and new experiences. 30-39: You are a thirtysomething at heart. You've had a taste of success and true love, but you want more! 40+: You are a mature adult. You've been through most of the ups and downs of life already. Now you get to sit back and relax.

What Age Do You Act?

How Do I Love Thee?

Let me count the ways...

I love my kids' school. Yes, that probably makes me psycho.

I've been pretty quiet for the last week because I've run back and forth to school programs, etc., and then I've had ALL THESE KIDS home with me ever since they got out. I'd forgotten how hard it was to try to find time to blog and read blogs with ALL THESE KIDS home all the time. I love 'em, but man do they need attention.

I really struggled with the decision of where to school my kiddos. I have a pretty strong public school camp and a pretty strong homeschool camp pulling me in two directions, but what my heart told me to do was private (read: satisfy no one).

Well, as the school year went on, and tuition payments were made, and frustrations with peer involvement etc. carried on, the shine on the private school option got a little tarnished. But, I have to say, that the positive we've carried away from our first year in school is far greater than the negative.

The kids have learned. Yes. They read, add, know Bible verses (the fruits of the Spirit, even if joy appears twice in their rendition), you know, stuff.

But my Eldest, he was painfully shy. Still is in a lot of ways. But he's come out of his shell. And the wonderful thing about this school is that his teacher knows the progress he's made, too. Thursday he stood on stage and read his "the best thing about the school year" story. Totally mumbling and I didn't understand what he said until I read it later. When he finished, I heard his teacher exclaim, "Way to go Eldest!" Not for him to hear, but just because she was so proud. She understands how far he's come. It is priceless for me to have that kind of backing from his teacher (whom he will have for three more years, Lord willing).

I still remember the Sunday I decided I wanted my kids to attend this school. We were really planning to go public. But the school kids were on stage singing some little song about God. They were all so excited and they came to this refrain, "happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy, happy all the time...." and they were jumping up and down and smiling and full of joy. And I wanted that for my kids.

I wanted them to be able to go NOT to a school that tolerated their faith, but CELEBRATED it.

This week they sang a song that had the line "...ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, hallelujah!" Same idea, but now my kids were singing.

We made the right choice. You can't convince me otherwise.

Now to come up with the mucho dinero for next year....

Never Wear Contacts in the Shower

Otherwise you might notice that the mildew you have been trying to pretend isn't infesting your grout, is, and you'll be forced to spend thirty minutes attacking it with a toothbrush.

Consider yourself warned.

Baby Hands

Have you ever thought about baby hands? I mean, really thought about them?

I don't know about most of you, but I have intensely studied the human hand. As in memorized the names of bumps on bones as well as each bone. The human hand is amazing.

Just this morning it occurred to me that a baby hand has just as many tiny bones as an adult hand has...but in miniature.

And people don't believe in God.

Day One

The kids are out of school, day one:

it is 10:30 and I'm exhausted. Never again will I take all four of them to Wal-Mart to plan a birthday party.

Forget it.

Over Her Head take 2

I tried to edit/update my last post, but issues....

Anyway, I finished the book today, which should say something in and of itself, but in case that doesn't speak volumes to you let me say this:

The ending of Over Her Head was quite satisfactory and I am confident that you, too, will enjoy this book. Find it at Amazon by linking thorough my "next" post.

Meanwhile, I'm going to go weep into my pillow that my kids are growing up too quickly and that before I know it I'll have teenagers. Heaven help me.

More about this, tomorrow.

Over Her Head

I started the best book today. You'll never guess what it was, will you? LOL! Let me give you back cover copy:

Laurie Hale has the perfect life--and the perfect family to go with it. She imagines fun, love, and academic success for her daughter, Anna. But when one of Anna's classmates is found murdered and the police start asking questions, fear and suspicion threaten everything Laurie values.

Anna isn't the only suspect--a whole group of teenagers seems to be involved, but none of them is talking, and the community is in an uproar.

Laurie is asked to leave her prayer group just when she needs it the most, and her marriage bears the strain of the crisis. Laurie's only ally is Janice, the mayor's wife, whose own son could implicate Anna--or exonerate her.

Ultimately, Laurie must face her fears: What if Anna really was involved in Randi Peizer's murder? And what kind of person is Laurie if she can doubt her own child's innocence? Only God can provide the answers when Laurie finds herself in OVER HER HEAD.

You know me, can't leave the house without a book, and I've been running around like a crazy woman this being the last week of school so carrying a book and reading one isn't the same thing. But today I had a bit of time and I started this one.

And have hardly put it down. I'd say I couldn't, except I'm obviously typing now. Anyway, I'm a third of the way done and I'm really enjoying it. I've read some doozies lately (can you say purple prose?), but this book is like a breath of fresh air. Well written, compelling, and who done it?

I'll let you know. Well, actually I won't, I'm not a spoiler. But I will let you know if the end is satisfying. Until then....

Sniffle, Snort...

My babies graduated kindergarten last night.

I forgot my camera.

I didn't cry.

I don't know how this happened so fast.

Is this how it's going to be? One day you wake up and your baby is walking across the platform?

When people would tell me, "Enjoy it now. They grow up so fast," I couldn't help but think I hope so. I mean, come on, I had three under three. But now I'm starting to get it. The clock is ticking.

This weekend at my baby brother's college graduation I saw a baby that was probably two weeks old or less and I felt kinship with the father. And then I looked at Charming, who is HUGE, and realized we have little in common. He (or his wife) is still up all night. If they are nursing, there's no routine yet. Clothes are too big (rather than too small). Well for Mom, they are probably too small. No smiles. No giggles. No cooing. I've got it good.

But.

It is going so fast. I'm feeling a tad weepy and scared. What if this is my last baby? With Frodo I just assumed I would have more...and then he turned three and was potty trained etc and I thought he might be the end of it...after the hard part was over and I had wished it away. This time I lay awake and watch Charming sleep because next week he may be graduating from college.

Sigh.

Adoption Round-Up

Do you have a cool adoption story? Why not participate in the Adoption Round-Up at Adventures in Daily Living?

The True Story Behind Friday's Post

Friday's post garnered me a lot of attention. Well, a lot more than I'm used to, anyway. Not nearly as much as HolyMama or Queen of the Mayhem, or say, Owlhaven, but a lot for me.

Isn't it funny the things that get noticed?

Because the reason that post happened is simple. I couldn't find the anniversary card I had for Hubs. I found the envelope, but one of the kids (guessing Frodo here) ran off with the card. Or I misplaced it. Who knows? I was going to slip it into Hubs' computer bag before he left for work, and I couldn't find it (still haven't). So I sat down at the computer and pounded that out so that I could send him an email that linked over (Because he doesn't read my blog. I could write anything about him on there and he'd never know).

What the card said that I lost: I'll never stop...loving you.

Simple. Tasteful. Meaningful.

Yeah, right.

However, that post also came on the tail end of a discussion we had Thursday night wherein we discussed a friend of ours who recently told his wife that if she didn't change a certain behavior, he'd be gone. Granted this isn't a healthy behavior. Or necessarily one that is fun to live with, but it certainly isn't Biblical grounds for divorce.

That isn't the point.

After relaying this story (the friend is closer with Hubs than his wife is to me) Hubs mentioned that though the friend was probably trying to motivate his wife to change, what he probably did was remove the security, if any was present to begin with.

No matter how awful I've been to live with, and I've been pretty awful, Hubs has never made a threat like that. There were times, in my darkest hours, when I thought he would take off if he knew what was good for him. I suspect I even told him so. There were times when I thought what a bummer it was for him that the only reason I was still around was because I had no where else to go.

Oh, and in saying that, it wasn't because of anything he was doing, it was my own state of psychoses.

But I never said it out loud (to anyone but God). And he hung around, stuck it out (cheered when I went on anti-depressants), and even had more children with me...knowing that I would probably fall back into that pit.

I have a hunch that one of the major reasons I'm not really suffering post-partum depression this go 'round is because that man bathes me in prayer.

Anyway, so that post came because 1) I lost a card and 2)because it seems so many of our friends are giving up and 3) I'm so grateful he hasn't given up on me.

And now I feel all this pressure to be profound. Let's just go ahead and get that idea out of our heads, shall we? I'm rarely profound on purpose. Mostly I'm just goofy. But if any of you that linked through some other site come back; welcome (but don't expect profundity from me, K?)

A Sign of Maturity?

Tonight, as I drug myself off the couch to pick up the living room and finish the dishes, I looked about myself and thought (and almost said) I wish I was a better housekeeper. But before the thought crossed my lips, or even finished itself in my brain the response was upon me.

You do not. If you did, you would be one.

Think I've been to enough sermons, motivational talks, and self-improvement seminars?

I'll look at it as a sign of maturity that I can at least recognize my stumbling blocks.

(Hubs says I don't wish I was a better housekeeper, I wish it was easier to be a better housekeeper. I think he knows what he's talking about. Oh, but the dishes aren't in the sink tonight!)

Teaching them to read

Last night, Princess was reading "Thomas and the School Trip" to me when she came to a stumbling block.

"Mom, what does little six without a hole, little six without a hole h-u-r-r-y spell?"

After a bit of conversation (I must have been busy with another child to not look) where I continued to ask for clarification, I looked.

Ever looked closely at quotation marks?

Things I've Learned about God...

For a couple years now, I've had a book idea floating around in my head that I would title, "Things I've Learned About God From My Kids." I've never written the book, mostly because the chapters would be about three paragraphs long and I am not Nancy Kennedy (who can take those three paragraphs, make them hilarious and make them into a cohesive chapter). But I have decided I may try to make it into a regular feature here. Today I will star Charming.

This morning, Charming was sleepy. I knew he was sleepy and I was taking measures to get him to sleep. He just knew life wasn't quite right and he wanted me and everyone else to know it...so he protested. Not big protests. He'd just screw up his face and squawk. A little protest to make sure I knew he wasn't happy.

Meanwhile, I took care of his needs. I changed his diaper, wrapped him up in his blanket(it is a little cool this morning), cuddled him close and began to nurse him.

He'd cuddle in and nurse, then remember that he wasn't happy before, pop off and "protest." (He says "Me-nah," exactly as it sounds, one time.) Then he'd go back to nursing. He did this two or three times and then he gave it up and went to sleep.

Isn't that so like us?

Sometimes life just isn't right and we tell God about it. We don't want a solution, we just want to fuss and be heard. But if we will cuddle up with Him, link up to Him, He'll take care of it. It may not be in the way we hoped and we might wonder what the hey He's up to, but He'll take care of it in the way He knows best. Every now and then we may pull back and say "hey, wait, I'm still not happy," but if we go back to Him, he'll still be there and will take care of it for us.

Or, on another note, sometimes we just need to cuddle up and rest with our Daddy and the problem that we thought was such a big deal, won't be. There is a reason the Bible tells us to rest. It gives us perspective. Many problems that seem huge, just wither away once we've given ourselves the chance to rest. Fighting it doesn't always solve the problem.

So there you have it. What do you think?

Nothing like getting your hopes up...

So yesterday I got a snail mail letter from (dream publisher). (Dream publisher) is the one I've wanted to submit my novel to for three years. (Dream publisher) is kinda hard to get in to. (Dream publisher) agreed to read my novel, but not until it was a bit longer (funny, since it used to be longer and I chopped so much of it that it is too short for them now...). But someone recommended me to (dream publisher) about something else, and they are supposedly looking at something of mine. Clear?

The envelope was very thin. Sadly thin. And I couldn't help thinking, "Bummer. A rejection. Wait. Would they reject me in snail mail? They don't have my address. They would surely reject me through (person who recommended me) if they bother to reject me at all, right?"

I opened the envelope. Within it was a letter from one of (dream publisher)'s authors that I met through ACFW. I'm supposed to influence for one of her books. No biggie. Even if it did make my heart pound.

And then, about three hours later, I got an email from (person who recommended me to (dream publisher)) with a subject line of "status." Since my brain had already visited this idea, my heart began to pound again.

BTW, I really don't think about this opportunity very often, I think it is a long shot. But God is the God of long shots, right?

Any-hoo, her email was about something totally unrelated.

But (dream publisher), if you are visiting today (LOL!) know I'm watching diligently for you, and you can send your acceptance anytime. I'm here for you. ;-)

Wanna be Encouraged?

Go read this.

Ripping Down Stereotypes

Saturday, during "big trash day," my kids went trash picking. Early in the AM we walked down the block to check out an exersaucer for Charming. It turned out to be broken beyond repair (thus its placement in the trash) and they were rather disappointed.

Later, after he'd been out with Hubs, Eldest informed me that there was another saucer at a house "almost to the top of the hill and across the street." Since Charming was sleeping and Hubs was out with Frodo I told him I couldn't go but I'd let him walk up the street to check it out if he wanted.

Off subject: To me, the top of the hill is about 6 houses north. I was wrong. Anyway, I'm fretting because my two children have disappeared around the curve and the baby is asleep (never wake a sleeping baby is my creed).

A bit later than I'd like, they came back hauling this saucer. Though it was grummy (probably outside or in a garage for the winter), it was pretty nice. We cleaned it up (after I verified with 1000 questions that it was really and truly in a trash pile) and they were quite pleased.

I mentioned to Hubs that I hoped that it was really in the trash, because these things sell in garage sales for upwards of $20. He said it absolutely was in a trash pile, he'd seen it (but that I wouldn't approve of how far away the house was that I'd allowed my precious kids walk to--across two streets and a block over (where there was no sidewalk)).

Yesterday he drove me past the house where the kids had gone. I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing.

You see, it is a home where (I hope legal) immigrants live. Several families in a single house. I have nothing against this. I commend their willingness to pile in in order to save money and live the American dream. They are pleasant people. Friendly. It is just obvious that a TON of people live in this home. And they are side by side with me at garage sales in the neighborhood bartering a $0.25 shirt down to a dime.

So here we are, "white" suburban folk trash picking the immigrants "big trash" pile.

Just goes to show, you can't stereotype.

Frodo

Doesn't want to be a short stop.

He wants to be a big stop.

Bu-du-bomp.

You Are Somewhat Like Your Mom

Believe it or not, you and your mom are pretty darn similar. It may not seem like it at times, but you and your mom have a lot of common ground. Over time, you'll probably get closer ... especially if you emphasize the things you like about each other.

Are You Like Your Mom?

I'd say I have pretty much become her.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

The Little Things

Yesterday I wrote that I would rather adopt than give birth. I regret that. Not because I don't think it is true, but because it dishonors my biological children. This morning as I watched Charming sleep I thought how sweet it is to watch a sleeping baby and know that he looks exactly like his daddy. I have no idea who Eldest looks like. Not that it matters, but there are definite bennies either way.

You know, some times, actually probably most times, it is the small things that make the difference. Yesterday morning I just felt anxious. Anxious like the crazy anxiety I get that makes me cry for no reason. Hubs couldn't figure out why and kept asking and saying "It's good. Life is good." I finally figured out that at least part of my anxiety was that I needed to get to Sam's, I needed to go yesterday, I only like to go before 10, and Charming sleeps at that time. In order to calm myself down I decided I could put it off until today and if I had to pay 3.49 for milk at the grocery store, well, so be it. And 30 minutes later my sister called and asked if I needed anything from Sam's. It would have been an answer to prayer had I actually prayed.

And speaking of answered prayers: I have wanted a stroller, but not just any stroller. I wanted one of those strollers that seats one and a half. The double that isn't a double. It has a full seat and then a step and jump seat for an older child. They cost a stinking lot. I was given some money to buy a stroller, but not enough to buy THAT stroller. I'd go back and forth, decide to just buy a normal stroller, then decide to splurge and get the one I really wanted. But last weekend was THE weekend for garage sale-ing (actually this weekend ain't shabby). I went to many a sale hoping for a nice stroller (where I live that IS possible). I didn't expect to find the stroller I wanted, because you can hardly find them at the stores, but a nice stroller nonetheless. I'd consider a double and decide it was too big. I'd consider a single and decide it was too ratty. I'd see a stroller I liked okay and someone else would be paying for it. So Saturday morning I threw up a prayer along the lines of, "Okay God, I know it is a long shot, but you know the stroller I want. Could you provide that for me this morning?"

Wouldn't you know, I stopped at a particular garage sale because Princess wanted to. It didn't look too hot to me. I moseyed up...and there was MY stroller. I inspected it. It looked practically new. The price was right. And I told Princess, "Sissy, God answered my prayer." And I burst into tears. Right there in a stranger's driveway.

I ended up buying two strollers there. The almost double and a singe umbrella stroller. Both were desired. Only one was really needed, but God gave me both.

It's the little things. Kinda like having a shirt to wear when you open your closet. Which is its own story. Another day.

Eight Random Things

It's a meme and I don't' feel like playing by the rules, so lets just say here are eight things about me you may not know and leave it at that shall we?

1. My first kiss was from a guy who now plays pro football. And no, you've probably never heard of him. We were in the 5th grade.

2. I write for the same newspaper as Earnest Hemingway.

3. I love the smell of fresh cut alfalfa.

4. I held the school record for triple jump in '91 for several weeks until I taught Phyllis Nickel how and she's held the record ever since.

5. I would rather adopt than give birth.

6. I own a pair of Cole Haan shoes and a pair of Donald J. Pliner shoes and only paid about 30 for the both of 'em. I'd be happy to take you shoe shopping with me any time you want. In case this means nothing to you, read some chick lit. I recommend Kristin Billerbeck.

7. My favorite day of the week is trash day. My favorite day of the month is when the vets will come by and pick up my discarded yet still useful items. My favorite day of the year is probably "Tidy Town," otherwise known as "big trash day" when you can put out oversized items for free and drop off your hazardous waste (paint, etc.) for free. I love to purge.

8. I have a thing for clocks.

All In All, A Good Day

Yesterday didn't look to be a good day, and yet somehow it was.

I stayed home from playgroup just so I could catch up on a little bit of life. It was totally liberating.

I went to the doctor. I scheduled this visit back in January knowing where I usually am at this point post-partum. (Gotta schedule to see him 3 months out, no kidding.) I intended to ask him for meds, HOWEVER, he and I agreed that whatever I experienced last week was "temporary insanity" (my terms, not his) and that it isn't time for meds just yet, BUT, if I do need them, all I have to do is call in. This is very good news because I didn't want to give in just yet. I truly believe God is gong to work this thing out and holding a 'script "just in case" doesn't seem like I am exhibiting much faith. That isn't to say that there is no place for meds, because there certainly is. I was in that place with my last two, but this time I seem to be okay as long as I don't add on a lot of "stuff." My meltdown occured on a day when Charming wasn't sleeping, I'd been out of the house several days in a row, needed to bring people dinner, and had some unfinished writing that needed to be done. Too much stress equals crazy Jamie. Especially when a newborn is involved. Anyway, off the subject, it is always good to see my doctor. Weird, huh?

Frodo asked Jesus into his heart. The circumstances were kinda wild, and we were driving in the van so I felt like we were flying by the seat of our pants, but hey, it stands sharing. I know that at this point it is an inherited faith rather than a chosen faith, but I consider it a good start. After all, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." Right? Right.

Hubs succeeded in avoiding a nasty debt load yesterday. Sometimes knowing you won't be responsible for a debt that you shouldn't be responsible for, but people are trying to stick on you anyway, makes a person feel rather rich. I may have to go out and buy milk today to celebrate.

Charming slept 9, count 'em, 9 hours last night.

I lost three more pounds. I stagnated there at 143 for almost three weeks and I was getting a little worried, but this morning I'm down to 140. Still a ten, but I can see the 8s on my horizon.

Yes, that makes for a good day.

And this morning I was reading in my Bible when I ran across this passage that I've read lots, but that living breathing Word made fresh: Throw out the mocker, and fighting goes, too. Prov 22:10. Since I posted that thing the other day about me being super sarcastic I've worried a bit about it. I knew I had a sarcastic streak, but now I'm wondering if I drop the sarcasm would the drama around my home smooth out some? I'm sure it will. Kids don't understand sarcasm, I know that. It is a habit I've got to get a handle on.

I remember the exact moment when I decided to use sarcasm for my benefit. A friend's older sister was looking into a mirror and commented that she was getting heavier and looked to me to say something. And the truth is, she was. I don't like to lie (that whole train up a child thing at work). I said something like, "nah..." When she laughed at me and said something like, "I know it's true, Jamie, don't strain yourself." I had hours of what-I-wish-I'd-said coursing through my brain. The correct response should have been "Oh, yeah, you're huge" in just the right tone of voice. And over the years, I've mastered the technique. Now I think I need to kill it. I'll let you know how it works.

He Can Turn a Phrase

Last weekend, Hubs and his father were discussing young couples and the fact that many of them get themselves into trouble because they get used to the wife's income, buy a house based on that, etc. and then when they have a baby and she wants to stay home, they are up a creek.

I piped in and said, "Lucky for you, I've never made much money."

To which Hubs replied, "Unfortunately for you, neither have I."

He was quick about it, too. I'm still chuckling.

You're Totally Sarcastic

You sarcastic? Never! You're as sweet as a baby bunny. Seriously, though, you have a sharp tongue - and you aren't afraid to use it. And if people are too wimpy to deal with your attitude, then too bad. So sad.

How Sarcastic Are You?

No, I'm not proud of this, but now you know why I am what I am. I think I'll try to improve on this.

NOT!

No, I'm kidding. Really.

Seriously!

Party Planner?

Let it be known that I am crummy at hosting parties.

Heaven knows I try. I have friends who sell Arbonne, Creative Memories, Avon, Mary Kay, Cookie Lee and Pampered Chef. I do what I can for my friends. I am a customer. Not a big one, but passable. And every year or so someone asks me to host a party, or I get my own wild hair and try (Pampered Chef on help whip cancer month, which is May I think, for example). I send out the invites...

And it is a bust.

Hopefully after today I've learned my lesson and will quit trying. However, next May? I quite possibly will delude myself into thinking I can round up a few people and offer them chocolate cake if they will come and look at chia pets or whatever another of my friends is trying to make a go of.

Sorry friends. I'm just no good at it.

O Happy Day!

Charming slept 8 hours in a row Wednesday night. That means I slept 7 hours and 59 minutes in a row. Thursday was a dramatic improvement over Wednesday.

And...

Charming found his thumb. O, Happy Day!

And yes, for the curious, those two happenings are related.

PPD

Post-partum depression sucks.

It's real and it sucks.

Oh, and guess what I found out this week? I will never be allowed to adopt from Ethiopia or China. Why? Because I care enough about my children to take a pill while going through this crap so as to not be a blubbering idiot on my bed in a dark room for months on end. So glad to know that me on a stupid pill is worse than that hovel the child is currently living in. Fantastic.

For Me

"Bring The Rain" MercyMe

I can count a million times
People asking me how I
Can praise You with all that I've gone through
The question just amazes me
Can circumstances possibly
Change who I forever am in You
Maybe since my life was changed
Long before these rainy days
It's never really ever crossed my mind
To turn my back on you, oh Lord
My only shelter from the storm
But instead I draw closer through these times
So I pray

Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings You glory
And I know there'll be days
When this life brings me pain
But if that's what it takes to praise You
Jesus, bring the rain

I am Yours regardless of
The dark clouds that may loom above
Because You are much greater than my pain
You who made a way for me
By suffering Your destiny
So tell me what's a little rain
So I pray

Holy, holy, holy
Is the Lord God Almighty

How Sad is This?

There is a Slim 4 Life "No More Chubby Hubby" ad on the flip side of a KFC coupon I got in the mail yesterday.

You'd think the ad dudes could plan a little better than that.

Idol

Okay, whatever the heck Blake just did worked.

I'm not a Blake fan, but that, that almost makes me want to vote for him. Considering I don't vote, it's saying something.

Of course Melinda is yet to sing. :D

Oh, and the next post? I'm a little calmer now.

Trapped

Is it too freaking much to ask to be able to leave my home, by myself, for half an hour? And if so, when will I be able to do so? Because if I don't get to have a single moment to myself for another year, I might as well know it now. Unfortunately I already know it and it isn't helping my attitude.

God help me.

Quiet desperation, my (bleep).

Recipe for a Great Day

Receive in the mail a "return to sender" stamped envelope you sent to the DMV last week.

It is Monday.

Afternoon.

The last day of the month.

In which you must register your car tags.

Wait in line to take a number.

With your four children.

Lucky for me, however, there were only 200 (not a typo) people in line in front of me.

Otherwise, it would have been a bad day.

Good Eatin'

We had a weekend of good eatin'. In the words of the Subway commercial...I'll have a side order of bedonka butt. I don't know what that means, but if I didn't order it this weekend, it was purely by the grace of God.

Friday: Old Shawnee Pizza, the best out there. Strawberry pie with a second helping of custard pie.

Sat: Breakfast: Custard Pie with a bottled frappuccino
2nd breakfast: Krispy Kreme's
Lunch: Jose Pepper's espinaca, chips and salsa, chicken flautas
Dinner: Houston's Ribs Baby!

Sunday: breakfast: peanut butter granola bar (gotta make church)
2nd breakfast: Starbucks Dulce De Leche frappuccino
Lunch: Pepper Jaxx Philly Cheese Steak Sandwich
Lupper: Sheridan's Caramel Pretzel Crunch
Dinner: Fruit shakes and popcorn
2nd dinner: leftover pizza

You can see it broke down there at the end. The parents left. But I have to say that the preceding 40 hours was a pure delight to the taste buds. Even if my behind will pay for it.

You wouldn't believe the incredible book I'm reading:

Too Good to Be True

I got to meet author Trish Perry at the ACFW conference last fall. She sat on one side of me, Kristin Billerbeck sat on the other and Camy Tang sat across the table. I was surrounded by chick -lit authors. For all I know there were more than those three there, but those were the ones I knew and loved. I basked in their chick-littiness...and then went to the meeting that, well...rocked my world in a bad, bad way, so we won't revisit that. BUT, I have good memories of that lunch.

So it is no surprise that I was excited to read Trish's latest book Too Good to Be True. This book is an almost sequel to Trish's last book, The Guy I'm Not Dating. I say almost sequel, because Kara and Gabe show up in the background, but you don't need to know their story to read this one. Even if it is nice to see where they are a year later.

Too Good to Be True goes on a romantic adventure with recently divorced Rennie (my grade school best friend's name, BTW) who really just wants to reconcile with her ex, but discovers it will never happen. After a fainting spell at Wal-Mart, Ren meets up with Tru, a male L&D nurse, who seems too wonderful for words. Is this a God thing? And can she trust her heart to another again?

This book was a wonderful read. Many of you know how precious little reading I've gotten done since the squirt was born, but I couldn't wait to start this book when it came in the mail, and once I started, I couldn't put it down. (Okay, I had to put it down, but you've never seen a mother so glad for a baby to be hungry...Well, I had to sit down anyway...)

Once again, I have to commend Harvest House for taking on a controversial subject. I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've seen a divorced heroine in Christian fiction. She obviously didn't want to be divorced, as many Christians don't want to be. But, let's face it, Christians are sinners, too. Sometimes Christians get divorced. Seems like it happens quite often. We don't need to expound on the wrongness of divorce to the divorced person, we need to love them where they are and serve their needs. Rennie needed to know that "with God's guidance, a happy life is definitely possible after heartbreak." Most of us need to know that.

Good job, Trish, on another well written and enjoyable book.

Possum is No More!

Our little Possum has figured out that night is for sleeping. As of last night, he's gone to sleep before 10:30 for a week. And last night he gave me a good seven hour stretch, ate, and went right back to sleep. Therefore, no more Possum. I don't want to keep speaking possumage onto him and condemn myself to more late nights and early mornings.

However he is no longer frog like, thus we shan't return to that.

Since the little squirto has not one, not two, but three (yes three) dimples, and he knows how to use them, I am unveiling the newest name of...

drum roll please

Charming.

The Desire is Back

So, anyone watch Idol last night? Generally I just tune in the last 5 minutes of a results show to see who is going home, but I admit, they had me curious. I'm not a big "benefit concert" person. I give where I give and it isn't to secular groups, so much. I have a list of Christian organizations that I trust and when we give, that's where the money goes. And really, that hasn't changed. Though I'll admit that I actually picked up the phone and voted for Melinda as many times as I could get through and I rarely vote. Every dime helps. Apparently there were a lot of people who thought so, but I like to think my $0.60 got in before those last 20 million votes. :-)

That wasn't my point. Goodness I'm scattered.

But watching those poor children in Africa last night....I know that bringing one or two home doesn't really help anyone but the one or two. But man, they re-lit the fire. I thought that once I had the baby my desire to adopt from Africa would wane for a while.

It hasn't.

I thought that I might feel so overwhelmed with four kids that I would really put on the brakes.

I haven't.

I probably want to bring one home now more than ever. Until last night, though, I still wanted an infant, eighteen months or younger. Now I really think the big ole gap between Frodo and Possum is probably a God thing. I think I might grab myself a three year old. Just as soon as Hubs gets the funds in order. Shoot, anyone under 7. Still honoring the birth order thing in regard to Eldest. But Princess would probably adore a sister who is actually her age.

I know there are a lot of programs to build the communities in Africa. Teach a man to fish and all that. I am a loud supporter of those groups. World Vision in particular. Go, sponsor a child today if you don't already. And there is another group called Hope for Orphans that needs your money. Yes, yours. I know that Focus on the Family is participating in the orphan's push. We need to care for "the least of these." Those groups are just the tip of the iceberg and I appreciate every one of them.

But man, darned if I don't want to just scoop one of those kids up and bring them home with me. It may not make a difference in their community, but it will make a difference to them.

"For pure and undefiled religion is this: to care for widows and orphans in their distress..." James 1:27

What Was THAT?!

Do you ever hear yourself say something and wonder where it came from?

I am never so conscious of what I'm saying than when I'm with someone I don't know very well. Yesterday I had a new friend over and heard myself say "stupid" a ridiculous number of times. And I told Frodo he was a brat. He was exhibiting brat-like behavior, but we don't practice name calling in our family. (Well, Hubs and I do, but it is all in love. Right, babe? ;D)

When I"m with my in-laws, I say "seriously" a LOT.

With my family it is "however."

What is that all about? I'm not saying I don't say stupid, seriously, or however all the time, but to step it up. Weird. Brat I'm not sure I've used in a decade.

Do any of you have pet phrases that you lean on?

I Love A Good Deal

I'm not sure how many of you know how cheap I am (hahahahahahahahahahaha!), or how much I love garage sales and clearance racks. Yes, I like nice things, but darned if I'm going to pay for them.

Someone pointed out to me the other day that my minivan has all the bells and whistles. Lo and behold she was right. I have power stuff, air in the back, tinted windows, and apparently the extra 18 inches in the cargo hold. I didn't even know they were extras. Hubs and I have never bought a car off the lot. We've always gone to auction or picked our next vehicle up off a friend who was upgrading. So we've not looked at vans side by side to compare features. We see a good deal, we buy. End of story. I think our van would have been a good buy without the extra features. The extra is the blessing of God, I guess.

"Clean livin'" my friend, Rob, would say.

Or my house. We've wanted to live in this neighborhood basically since we moved to town eight years ago. I drove through it pretty often when we were house shopping just to see what was back here. Our current home sat on the market for months. Vacant a lot of it. The photos on the web were gross. Driving by it wasn't great because there were these discolored shakes over the garage. The price dropped and dropped. We finally looked. Yes, the inside is dated. Yes, heaven knows it was filthy. But it was just what we were looking for as far as size and floorplan. We got it for a song. A high priced we-live-in-Johnson-County-song but a song, non-the-less, considering what it is.

So it should be of no surprise that I get excited for garage sale season to gear up. Last weekend was the first big weekend. On Friday I was pretty conservative. One, not much money. Two, too much stuff. But I got a couple nice birthday gifts for my kids. (New, in the box, don't look at me that way.) Several puzzles. A ton of K'Nex for $2. A space shuttle lamp for the boys. Some Seuss books that didn't look like they'd even been read. School uniforms for Princess. A pretty good sale day.

On Saturday, Princess wanted to go out on a special date with me. Garage sale-ing. She likes the free boxes. We went to a couple sales that were basically a bust. And then....the ultimate free box. A driveway with four boy scout trash bags full of toys and a fisher price toy box (also full of toys) marked "free, must take entire bag." Princess almost couldn't contain herself. (I knew Hubs would be HOT if I brought that many toys home.) While I stood at the sale next door buying an entire new Old Navy wardrobe for myself for $11 (yes I did, 22 items at $0.50 per) I finally gave in and told her she could pick ONE bag, ONLY one, and to be CERTAIN there was something in it she wanted because she would probably only get to keep the one thing and the rest was gong to our youth groups sale this coming weekend. She practically skipped over and found her bag. While I was over there to carry the humongo bag to the van I peeked into the toy box and decided I could stand to take those toys home for the box.

Hubs was HOT. But I tell you, I was really surprised at the quality of the toys that these people were dumping. I don't know the story. It was like they had disowned their grandkids or something. Maybe a child had died and they didn't want the memories? These were nice things. I almost regretted not picking up the other bags. We let the kids play with all of them all day and at the end of the day pick out the things they liked best. We still ended up with more than we needed, but they got rid of a few of their more ratty things in exchange.

Anyway, again it is no surprise that I LOVED Death of a Garage Sale Newbie. As much as I hesitate to admit it, I am so Ginger. He husband wanted her to go out and buy a dress for full price just to be adventurous for him. Whatever she wanted. She couldn't do it. I've done the same thing. Gone out promising myself that I would buy what looked the nicest no matter the cost (within limits, it isn't like I'd go to Nordstrom or anything). I can't do it. I don't pay full price for anything. Except my kids education and even there I get the church member, multi-child, pay a semester in advance discount. But compared to public school, it is still "full price" in my books.

So if you are a good deal junkie like me, you should like this book.

A Quote

"You fail only if you stop writing." Ray Bradbury author of Fahrenheit 451

For my writing friends out there seeking the illusive contract. Elusive contract. Allusive contract.

One of the many reasons mine is still elusive.

Wanna read something powerful?

Go visit VAIL.

1984

There was a commercial on TV last night that cracked me up. There was a mom and a girl (maybe 10-ish) who were arguing about the cell phone bill. The mom was using English and the girl spoke in texting code with subtitles. She managed to have a pretty long conversation without using many whole words besides "is."

I was thinking about that commercial this morning while I did a load of laundry. (Why? I dunno.) And it made me think of the book "1984" by George Orwell. In it the people who are really into the government's culture speak in some sort of gaggling language. I can't think of what it is called, something-speak, but he describes it as kind of a gibberish that shorted words and was supposed to save time.

It is interesting to me how much of that book is happening. We shorten words. Slur them together. Replace them with letters. Guilty.

How about big brother? Can anyone say "cookie?" And I'm not even against cookies. I try to make sure I don't go where I care that anyone sees my cookies. (oh, gross, that wasn't intended, but I'm going to leave it anyway).

I think I need to re-read that book and see what else is going on today.

Beth Moore Hair Brushing Story

For those of you who do not know Beth Moore, she is an outstanding Bible teacher, writer of Bible studies, and is a married mother of two daughters.

This is one of her experiences:

April 20, 2005, at the Airport in Knoxville, waiting to board the plane, I had the Bible on my lap and was very intent upon what I was doing. I'd had a marvelous morning with the Lord. I say this because I want to tell you it is a scary thing to have the Spirit of God really working in you. You could end up doing some things you never would have done otherwise. Life in the Spirit can be dangerous for a thousand reasons not the least of which is your ego.

I tried to keep from staring, but he was such a strange sight. Humped over in a wheelchair, he was skin and bones, dressed in clothes that obviously fit when he was at least twenty pounds heavier. His knees protruded from his trousers, and his shoulders looked like the coat hanger was still in his shirt. His hands looked like tangled masses of veins and bones.

The strangest part of him was his hair and nails. Stringy, gray hair hung well over his shoulders and down part of his back. His fingernails were long, clean but strangely out of place on an old
man.

I looked down at my Bible as fast as I could, discomfort burning my face. As I tried to imagine what his story might have been, I found myself wondering if I'd just had a Howard Hughes sighting. Then, I remembered that he was dead. So this man in the airport...an impersonator maybe? Was a camera on us somewhere? There I sat; trying to concentrate on the Word to keep from being concerned about a thin slice of humanity served on a wheelchair only a few seats from me. All the while, my heart was growing more and more overwhelmed with a feeling for him.

Let's admit it. Curiosity is a heap more comfortable than true concern, and suddenly I was awash with aching emotion for this bizarre- looking old man.

I had walked with God long enough to see the handwriting on the wall. I've learned that when I begin to feel what God feels, something so contrary to my natural feelings, something dramatic is bound to happen. And it may be embarrassing.

I immediately began to resist because I could feel God working on my spirit and I started arguing with God in my mind. "Oh, no, God, please, no." I looked up at the ceiling as if I could stare straight through it into heaven and said, "Don't make me witness to this man. Not
right here and now. Please. I'll do anything. Put me on the same plane, but don't make me get up here and witness to this man in front of this gawking audience. Please, Lord!"

There I sat in the blue vinyl chair begging His Highness, "Please don't make me witness to this man. Not now. I'll do it on the plane." Then I heard it... "I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to brush his hair."

The words were so clear, my heart leapt into my throat, and my thoughts spun like a top. Do I witness to the man or brush his hair? No- brainier. I looked straight back up at the ceiling and said, "God, as I live and breathe, I want you to know I am ready to witness to this man. I'm on this Lord. I'm your girl! You've never seen a woman witness to a man faster in your life. What difference does it make if his hair is a mess if he is not redeemed? I am going to witness to this man." Again as clearly as I've ever heard an audible word, God seemed to write this statement across the wall of my mind. "That is not what I said, Beth. I don't want you to witness to him. I want you to go brush his hair."

I looked up at God and quipped, "I don't have a hairbrush. It's in my suitcase on the plane. How am I supposed to brush his hair without a hairbrush?" God was so insistent that I almost involuntarily began to walk toward him as these thoughts came to me from God's word: "I will thoroughly furnish you unto all good works." (2 Timothy 3:17)

I stumbled over to the wheelchair thinking I could use one myself. Even as I retell this story, my pulse quickens and I feel those same butterflies. I knelt down in front of the man and asked as demurely as possible, "Sir, may I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?"

He looked back at me and said, "What did you say?"

"May I have the pleasure of brushing your hair?"

To which he responded in volume ten, "Little lady, if you expect me to hear you, you're going to have to talk louder than that."

At this point, I took a deep breath and blurted out, "SIR, MAY I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF BRUSHING YOUR HAIR?"

At which point every eye in the place darted right at me. I was the only thing in the room looking more peculiar than old Mr. Longlocks.

Face crimson and forehead breaking out in a sweat, I watched him look up at me with absolute shock on his face, and say, "If you really want to."

Are you kidding? Of course I didn't want to. But God didn't seem interested in my personal preference right about then. He pressed on my heart until I could utter the words, "Yes, sir, I would be pleased. But I have one little problem. I don't have a hairbrush." "I have one in my bag," he responded.

I went around to the back of that wheelchair, and I got on my hands and knees and unzipped the stranger's old carry- on, hardly believing what I was doing. I stood up and started brushing the old man's hair. It was perfectly clean, but it was tangled and matted. I don't do many things well, but must admit I've had notable experience untangling knotted hair mothering two little girls. Like I'd done with either Amanda or Melissa in such a condition, I began brushing at the very bottom of the strands, remembering to take my time not to pull.

A miraculous thing happened to me as I started brushing that old man's hair. Everybody else in the room disappeared. There was no one alive for those moments except that old man and me. I brushed and I brushed and I brushed until every tangle was out of that hair. I know this sounds so strange, but I've never felt that kind of love for another soul in my entire life. I believe with all my heart, I - for that few minutes - felt a portion of the very love of God. That He had overtaken my heart for a little while like someone renting a room and making Himself at home for a short while.

The emotions were so strong and so pure that I knew they had to be God's. His hair was finally as soft and smooth as an infant's.

I slipped the brush back in the bag and went around the chair to face him. I got back down on my knees, put my hands on his knees and said, "Sir, do you know my Jesus?"

He said, "Yes, I do." Well, that figures, I thought.

He explained, "I've known Him since I married my bride. She wouldn't marry me until I got to know the Savior." He said, "You see, the problem is, I haven't seen my bride in months. I've had open- heart surgery, and she's been too ill to come see me. I was sitting here thinking to myself, what a mess I must be for my bride."

Only God knows how often He allows us to be part of a divine moment when we're completely unaware of the significance. This, on the other hand, was one of those rare encounters when I knew God had intervened in details only He could have known. It was a God moment, and I'll never forget it. Our time came to board, and we were not on the same plane. I was deeply ashamed of how I'd acted earlier and would have been so proud to have accompanied him on that aircraft.

I still had a few minutes, and as I gathered my things to board, the airline hostess returned from the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks. She said, "That old man's sitting on the plane, sobbing. Why did you do that? What made you do that?"

I said, "Do you know Jesus? He can be the bossiest thing!"

And we got to share.

I learned something about God that day. He knows if you're exhausted, you're hungry, you're serving in the wrong place or it is time to move on but you feel too responsible to budge. He knows if you're hurting or feeling rejected. He knows if you're sick or drowning under a wave of temptation. Or He knows if you just need your hair brushed. He sees you as an individual. Tell Him your need!

I got on my own flight, sobs choking my throat, wondering how many opportunities just like that one had I missed along the way. . .all because I didn't want people to think I was strange. God didn't send me to that old man. He sent that old man to me.

John 1:14 "The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth."

That Funny Feeling

Didja ever have that feeling that God was trying to tell you something and you can't quite figure out what He means? Sometimes I know exactly what He means and I don't want to do it (which is a problem in itself) so I pretend not to really know what He's saying.

Not this time.

Four times in two days I've heard the same message. Well, really the messages are tripping over themselves. We has a guest speaker in church Sunday morning. And he said so much that was good and that I brought home, but one thing that stood out was "Be faithful in the small things."

Hubs and I discussed it quite a lot Sunday afternoon and evening. And we are both going to make a concentrated effort to do that while we wait for A Bigger Life.

So Monday morning, bright and early, I got my Monday Motivation. She opened it with how she writes the devotionals and that she always prays for guidance because she wants it to be an effective word in season, etc (like it ALWAYS is). What did she say?

Be faithful in the small things.

So I forwarded it to Hubs and said "God is talking to me. What are my small things?????"

In the motivation, she also mentioned an abbreviated version of Beth Moore's story about brushing the stinky man's hair in the airport. (I'll post it in a minute in case you've never heard it.) I heard Beth tell this story back in the fall of 2005 and had totally forgotten it. Didn't hear it again until yesterday. Wouldn't you know it, someone forwarded me Beth's long version last night?

Seriously.

Well another thing the speaker on Sunday talked about was relationship. How you can't really have one without interaction and conversation etc. (And how we can't trust God if we don't know Him and we can't know Him if we don't meet with Him daily.) Yes, I got an email promoting a book that used a similar example. Actually the book wasn't saying that so much, but the example they used was this:

"A young man is in love with a young woman. He sings to her, dances for her, writes poems for her, picks flowers for her.. How does she express her love back to him? She talks to him, usually briefly. And that's all." (for the book Creative Prayer by ChrisTiegreen from Multnomah)

Ouch.

Actually, come to think of it, I'm reading this (really fun and cute) other book, Death of a Garage Sale Newbie (Sharon Dunn) where one of the main characters is having some marital stress. What is the issue? They've been married 35 years, but she doesn't know him. At least not the him she thought she was married to. So she feels like they are married strangers. And that isn't even the vast majority of the plot (as you should be able to tell from the title).

Just typing this I think maybe I know one of my small things. Which is really a big thing. I think God is feeling ignored. That He wants me to know Him better. Which sounds great to me. Now, how to get there?

Other small things that come to mind:
I've decided to quit trying to promote my book (which is quite probably not ready to see print) and focus on my smaller writing pieces. Focus on that which is before me and that I hear I have a talent for. And improve my craft.

And focus on keeping my kitchen clean. One can't fuss at God for an ugly, small kitchen when she doesn't even keep the one she uses nice.

I probably have a glaring "small thing" that I don't see. And if you can tell me about it nicely (I wound easily) I'd like to hear it. For now, I'm watching these.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Writing News

Or lack thereof.

A major deadline for a major fiction writing contest passed yesterday and I didn't participate. And I don't even feel saddened about it. I think I've had a breakthrough. Right now I'm going to concentrate on my non-fiction career, such as it is.

I find it weird that I'm an "important" person in a fiction writing organization and I'm shelving that part of my writing life for a while. Oh, well. Those are the people who encourage me so I'm sticking with them. And I wish them all the best.

Possum: The Saga

Does it count as sleeping through the night if Possum finally gives it up sometime after 1 AM

On my chest

In the recliner

Where I stay until I stumble back to my bed sometime in the five o'clock hour where we stay until ten 'till 7?

Just curious.

Isn't My Dad Talented?

Re-Grow

I'm going through re-grow. My hair falls out when I have a baby. Or maybe it breaks off.

Whatever.

I have all these whisps hanging in my face. Now I remember why I cut my hair when my babies are a month old. I wonder what stupid extreme I'll go to this time.

I know I'll regret it, whatever it is.

Dead, Dead, all Dead

The world around me is dead.

All the lovely spring flowers and trees that I raved about 2 weeks ago are dead. The newly leafed roses are dead. The maple leaves are dead. The willow leaves are dead. The lilies are dead. The pretty white flowering bush in my front yard is dead. The lilac buds are dead before they bloomed. The wheat it U-gly. (Or so I hear.)

It is so depressing.

If there is anything I hate more than winter, it is the return of winter when spring has already sprung. It destroyed a whole season and we won't get it back for a year.

If it comes back.

I don't see how the bulbs can properly do their thing with no live greenery to feed them. I don't see how my trees will leaf.

You should see them. All lifeless and droopy, those teeny little leaves.

Surely God knew the weather would be weird sometimes and has a contingency plan. That's what I keep telling myself. I've never been through a summer when there were no leaves on the trees and surely this has happened before. But my little brain can't see it. Especially when my favorite part, the flowers, won't return.

I'm thinking that my favorite part might be the leaves, though. I've just taken them for granted. Because the thought of a leaf free summer is so depressing.

The Good with The Bad

So this weekend, Possum was held 24/7, by loads of people who were often proud to have gotten him to sleep. "Look, I got him to sleep," they'd say. To which I would respond, if only in my selfish heart, "Getting him to sleep in the day is no big trick. You want to take the 3 AM shift?" By the end of the weekend I was insisting that people lay him down if he fell asleep (during the day) because it would wake him up. He LOVES to sleep while being held. Not so much alone in his bed.

And I've spent the last couple days trying to re-train him to sleep alone in his bed. Which is only a foot and a half from my bed so it isn't like he's all alone in the world.

Day one, not a chance.
Yesterday he took one long and a couple of short naps in his bed.
Today he's sleeping in his bed while I type. We'll see how long it lasts.

However, last night Possum technically slept through the night. Midnight to almost six.

Granted, he did it while cozied up to me in my bed.

I'll work on training him to his bed at night once I get enough sleep to not freak out when the clock says it is way past my bedtime and Possum has big eyes every time I have the nerve to lay him in his cradle.

A couple more nights like that one and I'll have to rename Possum. I'm thinking Sock Monkey.

Where is Home?

Hubs and I took the fam home for the Easter holiday. And then we came home yesterday. Which begs the question: Where is home? There is this draw we both have to move home. Which is funny considering we've lived in this house nearly as long as I ever lived in our hometown. And we've been in town here for twice that. Almost every time we go home there is at least one conversation about whether we should try to move back. And if so, how on earth to accomplish it?

Try finding a way to make a digital signage company successful in a Mennonite farming community. Barring that, how do you make a living? (Considering we are neither Mennonite (though we'd probably convert back) nor farmers (though Hubs could probably get a job on a farm because he worked one growing up(but they don't pay very well.)))

Here is the pro and con list. I'll let you determine which are the pros and which are the cons.

I'd trade midnight shopping for stores that close when the bank does.
I'd trade superstores for ten (decently stocked) aisles.
I'd trade a sister for a sister-in-law.
I'd trade annonimity for knowing nearly everyone.
I'd trade no grandparents for two full sets.
I'd trade exorbitantly priced babysitters for grandparents.
I'd trade three minutes to shopping for an hour drive.
I'd trade private school tuition for public school with Christian teachers.
I'd trade the ability to home school for offending people if I chose to.
I'd trade keeping the kids in the backyard for sending them out to bike around town.
I'd trade Starbucks for...okay, they have a tea shop or something fancy like that.
I'd trade a twenty friends for none. (I said I knew everyone, I didn't say they liked me.)
I'd trade people who know me now for people who knew me then...and I"m not sure they've forgiven me yet.
I'd trade small group on Friday nights for high school basketball games.
I'd trade "upper-lower class" for "lower-upper class" (assuming Hubs could find a way to maintain his salary).
Hubs would trade "self-made man" for "his father's son."
We'd trade neighborhood witness for neighbors who sit by us at church.
We'd trade Charismata for Mennonite.
We'd trade little family that we see rarely for lotta family we see lots.
We'd trade Sunday dinners of six for Sunday dinners of twelve.

I could go on and on. I don't know why we keep talking about it. It isn't as if there is a clear road to follow. No real potential method to go, anyway. And yet, talk we do. That family draw is a big one.

For the Sake of the Present

Today, had she made it to term, would be my Ellie's seventh birthday.

I've thought a lot about her today. When I got to her due date back in 2000 it was almost a relief. I had marked it and dreaded it for months. With each passing day I would watch the women around me with their swollen bellies and wonder if I would have looked like them. I mourned the loss of relationship with the child I would never hold. And I don't even know the gender. (Frankly, I've been wrong three for three so there is a fair chance that she was a he...). And I lost her so early in the pregnancy that many people wondered what the big deal was.

We'd "tried" for two years already by the time God blessed me with her. It was the first glimmer of hope that nothing was wrong. Except something was. But that isn't the reason that her loss was a big deal.

If I got pregnant today (and I do NOT want to be pregnant today--labor is TOO fresh) and I began bleeding next week, I would mourn the loss of that child. Because you lose the future. You lose the Easters and Christmases and the birthdays and the pigtails and the sunshine.

But if I'd had Ellie, I wouldn't have Eldest. And I wouldn't have Princess. And my cycles probably would have been such that I wouldn't have Frodo or Possum. My family would probably be all pink and matchy. There are two jobs I never would have worked. Friends I wouldn't have. Vacations I wouldn't have taken with Hubs and experiences I wouldn't have gone through.

I lost another baby only two short months after I lost Ellie. I never got around to calculating a due date because I lost that one so soon. And I was numb and had practically given up hope of ever carrying. Besides, I still mourned my little girl.

But, because of Ellie, I tipped over the adoption cliff. I made the calls to the social workers and the agencies. And I did the paperwork. And my friends learned of our trouble and began to pray.

Because of Ellie, I wrote the first stories and letters and the first people commented that I might have a future in writing. I wrote my first book.

There is something about what you have that makes it a little less painful to have lost. Because of the insane love I have for the children that live with me everyday, I no longer mourn the ones I lost. I know we Americans are crazy in the way we live for the moment, and I look at my precious children and I wonder how life would have been. But I don't wish it were that way. I wouldn't wish to have Ellie instead of any one of them.

This present is exactly where God would have me.

In Case Anyone Was Wondering How Spring Is Treating Us

No, this isn't my front yard, but it might as well be...it is the front yard of the place I'll be spending Easter. And it is cold enough here for this to happen.

Oh, for the days I left my windows open and could smell my spring flowers wafting on the breeze. (Note: I said breeze not gale.)

Praising God!

Possum's hip seems to be in working order. The Dr. feared that is was dislocated, but all is well today.

And Happy Birthday to the love of my life without whom life would have far less meaning.

Vignettes

Today I'm wearing my "maternity" shirt (that was never big enough for a belly) that says "Supermom" in what Princess calls "Bedazzler." I'm going on the philosophy of The Power of Positive Thinking. Or, as some people in church circles call it, Speaking into the Good. I'll let you know how it works.

Frodo has taken to wearing a pair of underwear on the top of his pants. When I asked him if he was Captain Underpants, he told me no. "I'm a superhero." Not Captain Underpants? "No, another superhero." I finally figured it out. Go look at your superheros. Particularly Superman and the Incredibles. They have an underwear looking thing of another color on their suits over their parts. Back in the 80s we wore undergutchies over our bodysuits in dance. I didn't know it gave me superpowers.

Eldest's eyes are swollen and miserable. Claritin is only making a small dent. Anyone have any suggestions?

Possum soaked me to the skin three times yesterday with projectile vomiting. Tis time. I hate this though. All my babies have done it. They don't have an automatic shut off valve so I have to do it for them. After only about five minutes of nursing. Because I could feed A SMALL NATION. And I feel mean because they don't get to fulfill their sucking reflex needs. And Possum gags on every pacifier available. Which means I have to train him to like his thumb. Like a fool (will say my lovely Mother-in-Law who reads this). So I'm trying to suffer through without the thumb (though he REALLY liked it last night). But my endurance isn't great, especially as the night hours grow long. What to do? What to do?

The Wonder Years

Frog has become Possum. That is, nocturnal. Until further notice...

So, I'm not a TV watcher. I have my programs I like, namely House and Grey's (yes, I know it is trashy), but other than that, the TV doesn't really go on. Unless I have a baby. One that doesn't like it when I hold anything but him (primarily a book). Then I go stark raving mad and eventually give it up and turn on the tv. Which, in turn, makes me stark raving mad.

Sitcoms aren't funny anymore. I'm not sure when it happened. I suppose while I wasn't watching TV. Do you remember when Thursday night TV was hours upon hours of hilarity?

Am I just getting old?

Any-hoo, we have a friend who insisted we weren't getting all the channels that we could get with our antennae so he set us up with a few more. Not sure why we get these channels, but thank goodness we do. At least until Possum turns back into Frog. Or until we can justify cable (which will not happen until the Chiefs aren't on the networks.)

I watched Mad About You. STILL FUNNY.

Then I watched a dude lose 80K on Deal or No Deal. NOT FUNNY.

Then I watched The Wonder Years. When they started playing the theme music Hubs and I looked at each other. Hubs said, "No way! Do you think we'll still like it? All I know is that that Winnie Cooper was HOT!"

I tell you, that show was, and still is, hilarious.

And Possum finally gave it up...in time for the thunderstorms that awakened the rest of the clan.

And Again

You'd think people were reading my blog or something. Except I'm pretty sure these people don't read my blog. Hubs came home early so I could have a nap. A friend called and is bringing supper tomorrow.

Now, the kids are still fighting and LOUD, but His grace is still there.

Amazing.

Alone in the World

Last night I had one of those debilitating moments when I was more than certain that I was alone in the world. I thought, "Never Mind. My friends stink, Hubs stinks, my attitude stinks and I am, in fact, going to die if I don't get some sleep." I composed my post to begin that way. And, truth be told, I still feel that way this morning. Except I know I'm not alone in the world. There are probably thousands, if not millions of mothers who didn't sleep last night, had a headache and when they went looking for reinforcements, found them sleeping peacefully. Those same mothers probably had to get up with their other kids this morning while the baby, who finally gave it up, sleeps in his cradle.

I'm still mad at the world, but I'm trying to have faith. Because when God told me that he wanted me to have this baby, I had no choice but to trust Him that this time it could/would be better and if it wasn't, His grace would be sufficient.

And, as usual, this morning I got a devotional from Fresh Outlook that is appropriate to my circumstances. I don't know how they got my email address, but I tell you, every time I read it it fits. If you are going through a tough time, here ya go.

Have you ever found yourself in a position where you just simply didn’t know what to do next? You started out strong, believing God, trusting His word, yet you can’t seem to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Let’s think about that for a moment; you find yourself walking through a tunnel, a dark place, you see the light afar off, you walk and walk, but don’t appear to be getting any closer to the light. Have you been there? Most of us have. So, what do you do? Well, you have two options; 1. Sit down and die there 2. Keep walking. I would suggest you keep walking. It reminds me of a movie I saw years ago. A young girl had been kidnapped by terrorists, they held her captive in a deep wilderness area, surrounded by cliffs and mountains, and she had no way of escape. Of course people were looking for her; a CIA agent located her and had her in her sights. She began to converse with the young girl through her headphones. The young girl couldn’t see the agent, but as the agent told her to walk toward her, she began to walk. She didn’t know where she was going; she was simply following the voice. At one point, she heard the kidnapper coming toward her from behind, she started to stop and turn around. But the agent said ‘no, don’t stop, keep walking toward me.’ So she kept walking, ignoring the kidnapper who was trying to get her to stop, she pretended she didn’t hear him and kept walking toward her deliverance. She kept walking toward the one person who had the authority and the force to eliminate her enemy and deliver her to safety. It also makes me think of Lot’s wife, remember her? God sent His angels to deliver Lot’s family because of His covenant with Abraham, but as they were escaping, Lot’s wife stopped and looked back and that is where she remained for the rest of time. II Corinthians says we walk by faith, not by sight. We walk by faith, that means we must keep moving. No matter what we see, no matter what we feel; no matter who tries to stop us, we keep moving, walking by faith. We don’t look around or look back ~ we keep walking toward the voice that has the authority and the force to eliminate every enemy in our lives and manifest our deliverance. We could learn a lesson about this from Peter. As with Peter, the Lord will certainly bid us to come and walk on the water with Him, after all, that’s why He went to the cross, so we could walk as He walks. Jesus told Peter to come out onto the water with Him, and he did, and he walked on the water. But the moment he became afraid and began looking around, he began to sink. When you have stepped out by faith, onto the water, it is no time to become afraid or get into doubt. It is time to keep yourself so full of the word of God that doubt and unbelief have no place to come to. If you can do that ~ you will continue to walk on water. James 1:6 tells us that he who wavers receives nothing from the Lord. But the word also says in Luke 1:37 that not one word from God will prove powerless. That, my friend, is good news. Not one word that God has spoken to you will prove powerless. If God spoke it to you, or if you read it in the Bible, I can assure you, not one word from God will prove powerless. God’s word is truth, it is powerful and it is full of life. Our God is well able to keep His promises. So, what is our part? Just keep walking. Trust God. Believe He is who He says He is. Keep Believing. Keep your words right and just keep walking. If you do these things, the Light at the end of the tunnel will find you. That light is Jesus and He will not fail you. He is right there with all authority and force and has already eliminated your enemy. That voice you hear speaking to you, trying to get you to stop, it’s just a lie, there is no real power to stop you behind that voice…keep walking. Jesus prayed for Peter that his faith would not fail him and He is praying the same thing for you today. Trust Him. He has never failed anyone yet and he is not going to start with you. Keep walking. editor@freshoutlookmag.com