The Vanishing Sculptor by Donita K Paul

My kids love fantasy. I think it's because their Daddy loves fantasy and he reads to them. I'm actually glad of this on two counts: 1)he reads to them and 2)they learn to love something I never learned to love because my mother never read fantasy to me.

I confess I have trouble reading it. I can picture a brunette in a house, I have more trouble picturing an emerlindian with a hollow.

I'm a literary writer's nightmare, by the way. My crit partners love descriptive phrases. They'll go on and on about a stream converging upon a river for three pages and how the leaves look reflecting upon the water with the dun hooded sky over it all...(I've come to appreciate them, but me, I'm a "give me some dialog, gimme some action" girl).

But this is why I've come to love Donita K. Paul. She's action and dialog and her world is almost earth-y, almost familiar, and she has a glossary at the back for when I can't put it together. Meanwhile, my kids are in hog heaven.

Donita K. Paul’s 250,000-plus-selling DragonKeeper Chronicles series has attracted a wide spectrum of dedicated fans–and they’re sure to fall in love with the new characters and adventures in her latest superbly-crafted novel for all ages. It’s a mind-boggling fantasy that inhabits the same world as the DragonKeeper Chronicles, but in a different country and an earlier time, where the people know little of Wulder and nothing of Paladin.

In The Vanishing Sculptor, readers will meet Tipper, a young emerlindian who’s responsible for the upkeep of her family’s estate during her sculptor father’s absence. Tipper soon discovers that her actions have unbalanced the whole foundation of her world, and she must act quickly to undo the calamitous threat. But how can she save her father and her world on her own? The task is too huge for one person, so she gathers the help of some unlikely companions–including the nearly five-foot tall parrot Beccaroon–and eventually witnesses the loving care and miraculous resources of Wulder. Through Tipper’s breathtaking story, readers will discover the beauty of knowing and serving God.

moments

I had a moment today in which I thought, Blissfully Happy. A short while later I was more annoyed that a bumblebee being swatted away from some perfectly good honeysuckle.

I have a wall sticker thing that says we do not remember days, we remember moments. I hope that I remember today as blissfully happy. Even more so, I hope that the kids remember me in the blissfully happy moment.

I don't even want to know what my face looked like later.

Deep Thoughts at 6AM

No, I do NOT want to play trains. I want to sleep. That is why I hung dark towels over your windows.

GREAT Quote

It requires less character to discover the faults of others than is does to tolerate them. by J. Petit Senn

Kinda Addicted

I've worn dresses for four days running. I like dresses. I'd wear them all the time if I wasn't chasing children through parks and picking their crap off the floor and any of a thousand other things that make dresses an impracticality. I'm kinda addicted to dresses. I should be a Mennonite. Oh, that's right....

Quick Trip has a 69 cent 32 oz frozen Cappuccino all summer. Kinda addicted.

I drove home from the furniture store last night thinking, "I'm so glad I'm not in labor." I went to bed last night thinking, "I'm so glad I'm not in labor." I woke up this morning thinking, "I'm so glad I'm not in labor." I'm still thinking, "I'm so glad I'm not in labor." I'll be thinking it for eleven more hours, and fifty more minutes. Nine of those hours thinking, "I'm so glad I'm not in freaking transition." She was tough to bring into the world, but now, eight years later, I'm kinda addicted.

I saw a card that said, "Happy Birthday to our Little Princess." On the inside it says, "We like to say that because it makes us the King and Queen."

I resisted. Barely.

Never the Bride

Sometimes I read a book and it touches me in such a way that I will probably never be the same. It may be fiction or non-fiction. It may be short or long. It may take weeks to get through it, or it may only take hours.

Let me tell you about a medium length, read-it-in-less-than-twelve-hours-while-also-painting-a-dining-room-and-dining-out-with-my-husband-stay-up-past-midnight (can't put it down even when it should be put down), fiction kind of book.

Jessie Stone has spent thirty-five years fantasizing about marriage proposals, wedding dresses, and falling in love. She’s been a bridesmaid eleven times, waved dozens of couples off to sunny honeymoons, and shopped in more department stores for half-price fondue pots than she cares to remember.

But shopping in the love-of-her-life department hasn't been quite as productive. The man she thought she would marry cheated on her. The crush she has on her best friend Blake is at very best…well, crushing. And speed dating has only churned out memorable horror stories.

So when God shows up one day, in the flesh, and becomes a walking, talking part of her life, Jessie is skeptical. What will it take to convince her that God has a better love story than one of the thousands she’s cooked up in her journals? Will she trust Him with her pen when it appears her dreams of being the bride are forever lost?

A romantic comedy with a spiritual twist, Never the Bride is what it means to lose control—and getting more than any woman could ever imagine.

Now as most of you know, I've been (mostly) happily married for better than 13 years, so it isn't as if you need to be a single chick to enjoy this book. (You do, probably, have to be a chick, however.) And I don't really have much of a tough time surrendering my "love story" to God, considering I have no other hope of making it though this life if I don't. But surrendering in other areas? Hoo-boy.

So God, dressed as an everyday Joe sitting in the car next to me, or holding the paint can while watching me paint my dining room and listening to the 80s sappy music on KUDL, or listening with a smirk while I'm complaining to a friend on the phone about a frustrating situation...it has popped into my mind a time or twelve.

If you just like a good story, you'll find it. If you have just a tad bit of a problem surrendering control? You might be changed.

I've never heard of Cheryl McKay, but the novelization of her screenplay that Rene Gutteridge did is absolutely stunning and Gutteridge funny to boot.

Check it out!

Neither Here Nor There

An old friend of Hub's posted up on Facebook today that he's back in the 'boro for a few days where it feels like putting on a favorite pair of your old jeans.

Yeah, but maybe I put on a few pounds since I last wore them.

I just thought it was ironic, because I meant to post last night about how I just really don't fit in anywhere anymore. I'm a country girl at heart, but when I'm home I feel like I'm suffocating. I go to Alco and people know me, but I don't know them. It's disconcerting.

Everything I've experienced, everything I've felt, the broken hearted moments, the happy ones--most are unknown to the people back home. They expect me to be the same person I was when I left in '94. That comes with both good and bad connotations. When the last time I person saw you, you were being an idiot and riding on top of a bus or cruising with a guy who is not your current spouse...ugh. It makes my stomach turn.

I lived in the 'boro for four years. I've been in the city for 10. Six in this very house. You tell me where my home is. But if you ask me? The 'boro.

And then I come back to the city where I don't only feel like I'm suffocating, I know I am. The air isn't clean. The noise is unending. The neighbors don't even know your last name, nor do they care. You can't remember the last time you've seen the dude two doors down, nor are you sure that if you did see him, you'd know he was the dude two doors down. You can go to the store and buy milk everyday because no one there knows you and even if they do, they don't know you were there just this morning buying bread and they are too busy to care. The people around you that you've come to care about have moved on because it's a mobile society and you just want to give up on people altogether because you are tired of being left behind....

Of course when you live where you've lived your whole life, the people know too much about you and they will never let you foget it. No matter how much you've read about being a new creation.

I crave late night walks with my husband and lazy afternoons by the lake. Spontaneous relaxation. That's what I think of when I think of living in the 'boro. I don't know. I haven't lived there, basically, for 15 years. Maybe if I was there, every moment of every day would be scheduled out and the only relaxation I'd get is the relaxation I'd have if I put it on the calendar. But I KNOW that here in the city, if I want to take an afternoon off with a girlfriend, it will take a month's worth of prep and won't be a lazy day. It may be a spa day (and there is something to be said for those...don't get me wrong), but it won't be a day on a lakeside dock with a radio and a pepsi and the smell of sunscreen (or tan oil).

The thing is, I've come to the conclusion that I've become too citified to be country and I'm too country to ever be city.

So where does one go?

(A vinyard in Argentina.)

Speed Limits

Last time I checked, it wasn't criminal to go the speed limit. You'd think it must be with the look the guy shot me when he flew past and nearly caused a three car pile up. (I was shooting my own look which is why I know. I imagine he was shooting me the "stupid woman driver" look, but since he was the idiot, I think he should be looking in the mirror.) To top it off? The guy had a firefighter tag on his SUV. You'd think a first responder would have a clue about driving fast and carelessly. Maybe that's just me.

And on that note:

My kids are in what we call "Nature Camp" this again this week. The speed limit to the camp (besides the 70 mph highway where the idiot firefighter (NOT in a firetruck) nearly killed us) is 20 mph. It is crazy insane. There are a couple curves where the 20 would probably be advisable and goslings flitting by the road that don't want to die by car, but I can't help but think they could set the limit at at least 25 which is where my car wants to go on those curves and hills. And while I was pondering that it occurred to me that if it was 25, my car would probably want to go 30.

Ya think?

Jiggity

We're home now after a week-long family vacation.

I am overwhelmed by all the crap I've pretended wasn't present in my life before I left.

Sometimes I think I should sell everything and move to Venezuela. Charming gets his dozen cars. Frodo gets his sketch book. Princess gets her best bunny. Eldest gets his fishing net. Hubs and I bring our books. A couple changes of clothes each and a two bedroom apartment and hopefully enough money to eat. Just start over. Simple living. Each other. None of the political mumbo jumbo that dictates our lives here and now.

I'm so over it.

Stealing Home

Hubs and I have an agreement of sorts. I watch chick-flicks with his mother and he watches shoot 'em ups with his dad. When we watch movies together, they must be about sports or horses (and occasional dog movie sneaks it's way in as well as a Hallmark Hall of Famer, but if you watch closely, it probably still has sports or horses in it). I don't like blood and gore, he doesn't like cliche, neither of us like to watch people make really stupid mistakes--even if they are fiction.

All of that to say, that if Allison Pittman's Stealing Home were made into a movie, it would be one we'd both really enjoy. Nothing like a good, turn-of-the-century baseball flick, or in this instance, book.

It’s 1905 and the Chicago Cubs are banking on superstar Donald “Duke” Dennison’s golden arm to help them win the pennant. Only one thing stands between Duke and an unprecedented ten thousand dollar contract: alcohol.

That’s when sportswriter David Voyant whisks Duke to the one-horse town of Picksville, Missouri, so he can sober up in anonymity. He bides his time flirting with Ellie Jane Voyant, his unofficial chaperone, who would rather hide herself in the railway station ticket booth than face the echoes of childhood taunts.

Ned Clovis, the feed store clerk, has secretly loved Ellie Jane since childhood, but he loves baseball and the Duke almost as much–until he notices Ellie Jane may be succumbing to the star’s charm.

Then there’s Morris, a twelve-year-old Negro boy, whose only dream is to break away from Picksville. When Duke discovers his innate talent for throwing a baseball, Morris might just have found his way out.

Four individuals, each living in haunted isolation, each harboring a secret passion. Providence brings them together. Tragedy threatens to tear them apart. Will love be enough to bring them home?

Allison Pittman spent seventeen years as a high school English teacher, and then shunned the advice of “experts,” quit her day job and set out to write novels that bring glory to God. She relishes inspiring other writers and leading the theater arts group at her church. She and her husband and three sons live in Universal City, Texas.

OK, OK, you caught me. And sci-fi, but it just didn't fit into this post, now did it?

Saints in Limbo

If you like to read those mystical, not sure where the dream starts and reality ends, Frank Paretti without the inability to sleep type books (as I do--though frankly (HA!) I like myself a little Paretti every now and then also), here's a great read for ya.

Ever since her husband Joe died, Velma True’s world has been limited to what she can see while clinging to one of the multicolored threads tied to the porch railing of her home outside Echo, Florida.

When a mysterious stranger appears at her door on her birthday and presents Velma with a special gift, she is rattled by the object’s ability to take her into her memories–a place where Joe still lives, her son Rudy is still young, unaffected by the world’s hardness, and the beginning is closer than the end. As secrets old and new come to light, Velma wonders if it’s possible to be unmoored from the past’s deep roots and find a reason to hope again.

River Jordan (don't ya just love that name??) is a critically acclaimed novelist and playwright whose unique mixture of southern and mystic writing has drawn comparisons to Sarah Addison Allen, Leif Enger, and Flannery O’Connor. Her previous works include The Messenger of Magnolia Street, lauded by Kirkus Reviews as “a beautifully written, atmospheric tale.” She speaks around the country and makes her home in Nashville.

Amish Love

What’s all the hubbub about Amish fiction? Major media outlets like Time and ABC Nightline are covering it, and authors like Cindy Woodsmall are making the New York Times bestseller list regularly. What makes these books so interesting?

Check out the recent ABC Nightline piece here (http://abcnews.go.com/Nightline/story?id=7676659&page=1) about Cindy and her titles When the Heart Cries, When the Morning Comes, and When the Soul Mends. It’s an intriguing look at Amish culture and the time Cindy has spent with Amish friends.

And don’t forget that Cindy’s new book The Hope of Refuge hits store shelves August 11, and is available for preorder now.

Dare I Say It?

Because you know children make a liar of you.

(I think Charming might, possibly, potentially, be (shhhhhh) potty trained!)

I was kidding about the little swimmers, but lo and behold, we have only had one accident since. In a WEEK. And he's telling me when he should go instead of the other way around.

My sister says that despite the fact that he is 26 months old, I can leave out a few facts and sound really elite: "Yeah, the TT was potty trained before he was weaned. I know, I'm awesome. Give me the parenting award." See how good that sounds? See how great it will sound when I'm bragging to his wife someday? Just leave out the details and my head can swell three sizes.

He has SO got my number, though. He asked, oh, 15 times for me to put on "Cars" to my muttered "in a minute"s until he sat on the potty (fully clothed) in front of the TV and said "Mommy, Dee!" Guess who came a runnin'?

The Little Swimmers Potty Training Method

If you've been potty training and hoping that you won't have to buy swim diapers this summer, but you've about given up hope because the pool opens in three days... have I got the potty training method for you:

Buy the biggest pack of Little Swimmers you can. Go for it. Buy a case. Not just a package, go for the warehouse size.

On the way home from said warehouse, your little one will chime up from the back seat, "Poop!" come home and make a stinky deposit right in the potty.

Best $12.88 you'll spend all year.

Here's to gifting my case to someone else in need.

(disclaimer: no single method works for all children. Little Swimmers Method (LSM) not established in all homes. LSM may only be effective for single day training. Do not repeat case purchase on consecutive days as effective training one day does not necessarily indicate training the next. And yes, advocate of this method will still use LS until training is certain.)

T-Mobile Mom to Mom Quiz

T-Mobile Mom to Mom Quiz: "

Take the fun, Mom to Mom quiz and discover your parenting style.

"

Lucky 13

Hubs and I decided that since our seventh year of marriage was pretty much as bad as it could get, and that since seven is supposed to be a lucky number, that we were going to make 13, the unlucky number, our best year yet. Though I guess that once we hit our 13th anniversary, we are/were now officially in our 14th year. Whatever. Our thirteenth year was awesome. Wonderful. No matter how annoyed we got with each other, we were still in stride. Good, good year. And here's to another great one.

I'm plugging for, oh, at least 58 more so we can keep up with my grandparents.

And since I am saving my poetic side for another Chicken Soup submission, I will leave you with my post from year 11. Just sub 13 for 11 and it still works.

Nothing But Trouble

In the words of the amazing Susan May Warren (with comments by Chaos):

Sometimes, do you feel like you just don't fit in? Um, yes. You look around you and think that if anyone knew how difficult it was just to put yourself together, to smile when you feel completely overwhelmed, to even figure out what you were making for supper, they'd know what a mess you were. Have you been secretly taping me?? Do you feel like when you look in the rearview mirror, all you see are your mistakes? Um, hi. We are talking about me here, right?

So, if you followed some of that line of thinking, you need to check out her latest, Nothing But Trouble. PJ, the heroine, just can't get it right. Trouble just seems to follow her no matter how hard she tries to stay on the straight and narrow. No manner of her best intentions pan out.

You might just like her. Who likes to read about those girls that have it all together, anyway? Unless you are one of those that has it all together and then one must ask, why are you reading my blog?

PJ Sugar knows three things for sure:

After traveling the country for ten years hoping to shake free from the trail of disaster that’s become her life, she needs a fresh start.

The last person she wants to see when she heads home for her sister’s wedding is Boone—her former flame and the reason she left town.

Her best friend’s husband absolutely did not commit the first murder Kellogg, Minnesota, has seen in more than a decade.

What PJ doesn’t know is that when she starts digging for evidence, she’ll uncover much more than she bargained for—a deadly conspiracy, a knack for investigation, and maybe, just maybe, that fresh start she’s been longing for.

It's not fair to say that trouble happens every time PJ Sugar is around, but it feels that way when she returns to her hometown, looking for a fresh start. Within a week, her former teacher is murdered and her best friend's husband is arrested as the number-one suspect. Although the police detective investigating the murder--who also happens to be PJ's former flame--is convinced it's an open-and-shut case, PJ's not so sure. She begins digging for clues in an effort to clear her friend's husband and ends up reigniting old passions, uncovering an international conspiracy, and solving a murder along the way. She also discovers that maybe God can use a woman who never seems to get it right.

Read the first chapter: http://gotsugar.susanmaywarren.com/

About Susan: Susan May Warren is the award-winning author of seventeen novels and novellas with Tyndale, Steeple Hill and Barbour Publishing. Her first book, Happily Ever After won the American Fiction Christian Writers Book of the Year in 2003, and was a 2003 Christy Award finalist. In Sheep’s Clothing, a thriller set in Russia, was a 2006 Christy Award finalist and won the 2006 Inspirational Reader’s Choice award. A former missionary to Russia, Susan May Warren now writes Suspense/Romance and Chick Lit full time from her home in northern Minnesota.

Stop off at some of the other blogs for more insight and chances to win copies!

Completely Random Thoughts for a Friday Night After A Week "Off"

The Tiny Tyrant broke my TV today. Why? Because I'm an idiot and handed him a bottle of Windex and a paper towel. Who knew you could spray a TV so much that it will drown? (And, no, I didn't expect him to clean the TV. I thought he'd head to the window.)

Never mind that we've never bought a TV in our entire married career, Hubs is highly annoyed that we might have to go buy one (not that we "need" to buy one considering another of our family's cast offs is in our basement, but it is apparently "too small" even though it worked just fine up until six months ago when we were passed this one). And why? Because, apparently, if we buy another one, it will just be broken also. Because we break TVs all the time around here (even if this is a first in 8.5 years of parenting). "We can't keep anything nice."

Potty training sucks.

Potty training also robs me of any good feelings I can conjure up about blogging. Because, frankly, I don't want to relive my day. In writing or otherwise. Thus the many, many dark days we've had around here.

No comments about putting off the training until he's older. We're too far gone for that.

Old Navy swimsuits are NOT for women who have nursed children more than four years. And that's all I have to say about that.

I had the stomach flu from H E double hockey sticks last week. My stomach still hasn't recovered. Food, no matter how bland, burns it.

My mother's day card:

"For my mother

(happy face)

always cleaning

(open card)

What's that smell?

(brown streak)"

I kid you not. Like I'm going to smell a brown streak. With the kind of week I've had. (It was gingerbread spice lotion. She was being sweet, but I'm SOoooooo saving it to give to her when she's potty training HER kids.)

Well, it's pouring here. So far the basement is dry. But the ceiling isn't. Grrr.

Life is TERRIFIC.

Happy Mother's Day?

My children woke me this morning at about o'dark thirty (I'm a guessin' it was about 5:59) fighting over who got to give me my gift first.

Oh, joy.

And so Mother's Day begins.

(It's gonna be a great day, it's gonna be a great day, life is terrific!)

Enduring Justice

In Enduring Justice, Hanna Kessler’s childhood secret has remained buried for over two decades. But when the dark shadows of her past threaten to destroy those she loves, Hanna must face the summer that changed her life and the man who still haunts her thoughts.

Crimes Against Children FBI Agent, Michael Parker knows what it means to get knocked down. And when the system fails and a white supremacist is set free, Michael’s drive for retribution eclipses all else.

A racist’s well-planned assault forces Hanna and Michael to decide between executing vengeance and pursuing justice. When the attack turns personal, is healing still possible?

This thought-provoking novel deals with healing from sexual abuse, the balance of justice and mercy, and maintaining mixed-race friendships in the midst of racial tension. Readers who enjoy investigative thrillers by Dee Henderson, Colleen Coble, and Catherine Coulter, and who watch crime dramas like Law & Order: SVU, Criminal Minds, and Without a Trace will love this book—and the entire series.

Amy Wallace is the author of Ransomed Dreams and Healing Promises, a homeschool mom, and self-confessed chocoholic. She is a graduate of the Gwinnett County Citizens Police Academy and a contributing author of several books including God Answers Moms’ Prayers and Chicken Soup for the Soul Healthy Living Series: Diabetes. She lives with her husband and three children in Georgia.

Boy, He's Got My Number

Charming continues his Tiny Tyrant moniker.

As we all know, anytime before 6 AM is night. All of us, that is, except TT who this morning started yelling for me at 5:45. And I can hardly blame him considering the sun was trying to cross the horizon. And yes, I ignored him and hoped he'd go back to sleep. He wasn't yelling in his I'm-awake-and-there's-nothing-you-can-do-about-it yell, after all. Until I heard this:

Mama! Dee!

Yup, I came running.

Did the child go dee? No. Would he even sit on the dee? No. Did he have a big fit and want to climb into bed with mommy like he does every morning (when he wakes after 6)? Yes.

Now for coffee.

Tiny Tyrant Strikes Again

Yesterday afternoon I made bread for the kids' teachers for Teacher's Appreciation Day. I pulled the loaves out of the oven, set them on the stove to cool, and went about my business.

An hour later I came back into the kitchen and what do I find?

Tiny Tyrant standing on my grain bin, eating the tops off of every loaf he can reach.

Dear Mom

Here's an excellent book for mothers with teen daughters:

Every mom knows how communicating with a teenage girl can be difficult, even impossible at times. One-word answers. Defensive conversations. Daily arguments. How typical for teens to put up such barriers. All the while, moms truly long to know what their daughters really think.

Best-selling author Melody Carlson, whose books for women, teens, and children have sold more than three million copies, bridges this chasm with trusted insight. She speaks frankly in the voice of the teen daughters she’s written for and she tells it like it is: struggles with identity, guys, friendship, and even parents—it’s all here. The straight-talk to moms covers such things as “I need you, but you can’t make me admit it,” “I’m not as confident as I appear,” and “I have friends. I need a mother.”

Instead of focusing on outward behaviors, Dear Mom looks at a young woman’s heart and reveals to moms:

· how to talk to teens so they hear,

· how to connect despite the differences of perspective or years and experiences,

· and how strengthen the bond every mom and daughter ultimately wants.

The lively chapters in Dear Mom can be dipped into topically or used as a read-through tool by moms and daughters alike to understand what motivates or deflates, troubles or inspires—and just in time for Mother’s Day and all the Mother’s Days ahead.

OK, OK, I don't have a teen daughter, so I can't be certain that this book will be helpful, but I was a teen daughter once and it seemed pretty spot on. I'm filing the info (along with the book) up in my mental shelf because the teen years are closer than I can really believe. We're dealing with preteen stuff already (egad! at eight!), and my, oh my, some stuff already applies.

Melody Carlson is the award-winning author of more than one hundred books for adults, children, and teens, with sales totaling more than three million copies. Beloved for her Diary of a Teenage Girl and Notes from a Spinning Planet series, she’s also the author of the women’s novels Finding Alice (in production now for a Lifetime-TV movie), Crystal Lies, On This Day, These Boots Weren’t Made for Walking, and A Mile in My Flip-Flops. A mother of two grown sons, Melody lives in central Oregon with her husband and chocolate lab retriever. She’s a full-time writer and an avid gardener, biker, skier, and hiker.

Mama's Got a Fake I.D.

I have got to tell you about a new book that I am SO excited about. I started it and immediately began looking for the hidden camera because she was QUOTING a conversation I'd had only hours before. I ate it up as quickly as I usually consume fiction.

Formula for identity loss:

1. Take one multifaceted, intriguing human being.

2. Bless her with a child.

3. Mix with today’s cultural assumptions.

4. Add the demands of motherhood.

5. Presto! All identity except Mom disappears.

For every woman wondering what happened to the unique combination of gifts and abilities she was known for before kids came along, Caryn Dahlstrand Rivedeneira has good news: in Mama’s Got a Fake I.D., Rivedeneira helps moms reclaim their full identity as creative beings, gifted professionals and volunteers, loving friends, children of God—and mothers.

This inspiring and practical guide shows women how to break free from false guilt, learn a new language to express who they really are, and follow God’s lead in sharing their true self with others. After all, motherhood doesn’t have to mean losing one’s identity. Instead, being a mom makes it possible for a woman to discover a more complete identity as the person God made her to be.

I intend to go through this book more thoroughly with a good friend and then I hope to go through it again with a "safe" group of friends. I think it is something that many, many women would do well to read and go through with others they'd like to know better. And by better, I mean knowing more deeply than the mom persona.

This book is for all of those "lonely" women whose blogs I read. The ones that ache because they are missing the close relationships and can't even figure out why. Finally someone wrote it down.

The former managing editor of Marriage Partnership and Christian Parenting Today, Caryn Dahlstrand Rivedeneira has been a trusted voice writing and speaking to women for more than a decade. Today she is the managing editor of GiftedForLeadership.com, an online community for Christian women in leadership. Rivadeneira works from home in the Chicago suburbs, where she lives with her husband and their three children.

AARGH!

I HATE POTTY TRAINING!

Jane Kirkpatrick is at it again.

The perfect pairing of a heart retrenching tale and a real life view of a Utopian community, both set in the1800s, any fan of Jane will be sure to love! Even if you are new to Kirkpatrick’s work, you can certainly expect to be captivated and longing for more while discovering new fascinations you never knew you had. Her extraordinary experiences mixed with her rich history have given her the ability to draw you in and make you feel like you are experiencing her unique stories as they happen. This rare gift has helped her to become one of today’s best selling authors. Be prepared to be blown away by her words as you get a glimpse into an entirely new world.

Summary for A Flickering Light:

Returning to her Midwest roots, award-winning author Jane Kirkpatrick draws a page from her grandmother’s photo album to capture the interplay between shadow and light, temptation and faith that marks a woman’s pursuit of her dreams.

She took exquisite photographs,

but her heart was the true image exposed.

Fifteen-year-old Jessie Ann Gaebele loves nothing more than capturing a gorgeous Minnesota landscape when the sunlight casts its most mesmerizing shadows. So when F.J. Bauer hires her in 1907 to assist in his studio and darkroom, her dreams for a career in photography appear to find root in reality.

With the infamous hazards of the explosive powder used for lighting and the toxic darkroom chemicals, photography is considered a man’s profession. Yet Jessie shows remarkable talent in both the artistry and business of running a studio. She proves less skillful, however, at managing her growing attraction to the very married Mr. Bauer.

This luminous coming-of-age tale deftly exposes the intricate shadows that play across every dream worth pursuing—and the irresistible light that beckons the dreamer on.

I'll admit that I was a little surprised at the trail this book took, but it was captivating. But that I later found out it was "biographical fiction," or "a true story, imagined," well, you can't help the direction that real lives took after the fact. I enjoyed it, and I expect that you might as well.

Summary for Aurora:

Wrap yourself in a fantastic journey,
a remarkable commitment, and a spare and splendid story

Master storyteller Jane Kirkpatrick extols the beautiful treasures, unknown to a wider public, rediscovered in the Old Aurora Colony of Oregon’s lush Willamette Valley. The people and legacy of Aurora, a utopian community founded in the mid-1800s, will stir your imagination, hopes, and dreams; and remind you that every life matters—that our lives are the stories other people read first.

~Featuring~

Unique and treasured quilt pattern variations

More than 100 photographs, many never-before published, from 1850 to today

Cherished stories from Aurora descendants

Rich images of fine crafts from the Aurora Colony and private collections

An introduction by renowned American artist John Houser

Aurora is about the difference every ordinary life can make—and a beautiful celebration of a time and place in which people expressed their most cherished beliefs through the work of their imagination and hands.

Author Bio:

Jane Kirkpatrick is a best-selling, award-winning author whose previous historical novels include All Together in One Place and Christy Award finalist A Tendering in the Storm. An international keynote speaker, she has earned regional and national recognition for her stories based on the lives of actual people, including the prestigious Wrangler Award from the Western Heritage Hall of Fame. Jane is a Wisconsin native who since 1974 has lived in Eastern Oregon, where she and her husband, Jerry, ranch 160 rugged acres.

You should know it will be one of "those" mornings when it starts at 5:38.

So why do I wait for the baby clock me, break the lotion bottle lid and dump and entire pot's worth of coffee grounds where it shouldn't be before I figure it out?

Jeez I have a crappy attitude this morning.

It's a sad, sad day when you wake up face to face with your failures and you are already so far gone, you aren't sure you'll recover.

Now, don't all seven of you get worried. In the whole scheme of things, these particular failures aren't that big of a deal. Except to me. And those that depend on me. K? K.

Just for Mrs. Lemon

Smart People, Dumb Things

I'm so tired of people that think they know everything. Particularly when I'm sure they're wrong, but even when they are right, they can be tiresome.

Just give me someone that doesn't have all the answers to all of life's difficulties and I'll show you an honest person.

For example: Potty training. Ask anyone the "right" way to do it and they will have an answer. Of course if you ask most people that have potty trained more than two children and they'll tell you that if you can figure it out, good for you. I used to be in the first crowd. I potty trained my first two well before their second birthday. My third before his third. I'll be lucky if my fourth is trained by kindergarten. (He'll go a week without an accident and ten days without hitting the pot one STINKING time. ((yes, I know, perfect parents, consistency is the key as are cotton underwear. I want to see you potty train at soccer games in a couple years.))).

And guess what? Faith matters are very similar.

I'm tired of people spouting stuff off to me that isn't even correct just because it is the accepted norm.

Just Because “Everyone Believes It”

Doesn’t Make It True

People don’t set out to build their faith upon myths and spiritual urban legends. But somehow such falsehoods keep showing up in the way that many Christians think about life and God. These goofy ideas and beliefs are assumed by millions to be rock-solid truth . . . until life proves they’re not. The sad result is often a spiritual disaster—confusion, feelings of betrayal, a distrust of Scripture, loss of faith, anger toward both the church and God.

But it doesn’t have to be so. In this delightfully personal and practical book, respected Bible teacher Larry Osborne confronts ten widely held beliefs that are both dumb and dangerous. Beliefs like these:

• Faith can fix anything

• Christians shouldn’t judge

• Forgiving means forgetting

• Everything happens for a reason

• A godly home guarantees good kids

…and more.

No Excuses

My baby is bathing himself in the sink.

He MUST do this every time I begin to do the dishes.

It's hard to resist him when I didn't want to do the dishes in the first place.

Besides, he took off his own jammies and looked so cute there in his saggy diaper.

I'll get to the dishes later.

Or not.

Oh yeah, uh-huh, get yer groove on,,,,

I was thinking about getting on here and mentioning (in excruciating detail) how much difficulty I'm having coping with reality today and then I hear from the other room, the Tiny Tyrant chanting, "Oh yeah, uh-huh, oh yeah, uh-huh....."

That would be thanks to Eldest.

The child hardly speaks sentences, but he can brag like a big boy.

Gardening Eden

Now that my entire yard has been dug up and redistributed so as to keep the rain outside of my home and (hopefully) grass and other lush things in the mudpit I call my backyard, I've been working diligently to create my own personal Eden.

That, and clearing my head of a raging sinus infection turned bronchitis while catching up on half a month's laundry and housework that fell to the wayside while I did family the last couple of weeks.

Yes, miracle remedies welcome.

No, Alka Seltzer, Robitussin DM, NyQuil, and giving up soda haven't worked.

Any-hoo, digging in the dirt and making my surroundings beautiful make me feel like a human in this suburban landscape I call home except for when I'm actually AT home in the middle of a field 150 miles to the west of here.

I love this earth. And I want it to be green and beautiful for my sanity and for my kids (and grandkids infinitum) future. So I'm reading this:

Before the snake, the apple, and the Ten Commandments, God created a garden, placed humans in it, and told them to take care of it.

“Spiritual environmentalism” did not start out as an oxymoron—it was an invitation. Yet today, many believe God’s original job description for humankind has been replaced by other worthier pursuits. So when did this simple instruction become so controversial? How does one sort through all the mixed messages? Is making the world a healthier place for the next generation really a responsibility—or even possible?

Gardening Eden is a new understanding of how the spiritual dimensions of life can find expression and renewal through caring for our incredible planet. Empowering, simple, and never polemical, Michael Abbaté outlines the Bible’s clear spiritual benefits of caring for creation, exploring new motivations and inspired ideas, and revealing the power of our basic connection to all people and living things through the growing interest in spiritual environmentalism.

Green living is no longer a fad—simple lifestyle solutions are now available to everyone. Gardening Eden shows readers how this shift transforms not only our world, but their very souls as they’re drawn into deeper harmony with the Creator. This book invites them to discover the powerful spiritual satisfaction of heeding the call to save our world.

A nationally recognized expert in “green” development strategies, Mike Abbaté is a founder of GreenWorks, an award-winning landscape architecture design firm. He frequently speaks to students and leaders about practical ways to minimize the impact of building and landscape design on natural resources. Abbaté’s work has been featured in national magazines such as Metropolis and Landscape Architecture and in many local newspapers and trade publications. He and his wife, Vicki, have two adult daughters and live near Portland, Oregon.

I just noticed something

All the couples in the Lowes and Home Depot commercials are well dressed and childless.

No wonder I watch and think I could possibly accomplish something on my home in DIY fashion.

Where's the reality? Where are the four bored children climbing the walls (or driving the lawn mowers as it may be)? Where is the picture of the mother trying to transplant her lilies while keeping her two-year old out of the street? Where are the broken potato forks that were run over six seasons ago with the lawn mower? Speaking of lawnmowers, where is the rusting out one under the deck that the husband uses for spare parts for the other rusting out one that was given as a handout by someone who thought it might only last the summer more than seven years ago? Where are the chipmunks that dig up the tulip bulbs or the hooligans that use hyacinths as soccer practice? Where is the freeze/boil season of spring? But, let me get back to the real problem, where are the four children that won't let the attractive, well-dressed, happy couple choose their new bushes? (And who wears button downs and khakis to the home improvement store, anyway?)

All I'm sayin'

Last one, I promise, then I'll find a new topic

Oh Mister Taxman, give me a break,
I need some money for goodness sake.
I know you need to feed the masses,
But some of them should just get off their asses.

Taxman, I'm all but broke,
I have no money, can't have a smoke
but those you're feeding, with my pile of money
seem to have enough for smokes AND HONEY

Taxman, go for a ride
leap off a bridge, right off the side
I'm glad to help those truly needy
Just send my money back real speedy!

To Paraphrase Ed Forman

I'd ten to one rather have a whopping tax bill than to have never made the money in the first place.

Now, to just get myself and B to believe it.

Ronnie, where are you?

For Your Viewing Enjoyment

An Open Letter to Dave Ramsey

Dear Sir,

The problem with emergency funds is that you then have emergencies.

Sincerely,
Chaos

Taxes, sheesh. When do we get to save up for the real emergencies?

Have you ever had one of those weeks/weekends/days when you come out on the other side and you are pretty sure you'll never be the same again?

Yeah, just had one of those.

No one spectacular thing happened, and yet I feel completely different.

Still processing.

Experience the Treasure

Flip-Flop Your Concept of Giving!

Bestselling author Randy Alcorn introduced readers to a revolution in material freedom and radical generosity with the release of the original The Treasure Principle in 2001. Now the revision to the compact, perennial bestseller includes a provocative new concluding chapter depicting God asking a believer questions about his stewardship over material resources. Readers are moved from the realms of thoughtful Bible exposition into the highly personal arena of everyday life. Because when Jesus told His followers to “lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven,” He intended that they discover an astounding secret: how joyful giving brings God maximum glory and His children maximum pleasure. Discover a joy more precious than gold!

Story Behind the Book
After years of writing and teaching on the theme “God owns everything,” in 1990 Randy Alcorn was sued by an abortion clinic (for peaceful, nonviolent intervention for the unborn). Suddenly he had to resign as a pastor and was restricted to making minimum wage. Legally unable to own anything, Randy gave all his book royalties to missions work and need-meeting ministries. He and his family have experienced the reality of The Treasure Principle—that God really does own everything, takes care of us, and graciously puts assets into our hands that we might have the joy and privilege of investing in what will last for eternity.

Serve God as never before

The first Christians “turned the world upside down” (Acts 17:6) shaking the gates of hell even in the face of severe persecution. The result: People all around “were filled with wonder and amazement” (Acts 3:10).What can give Christians today the same impact?

God’s Holy Spirit is ready to answer that for us in an awesome way, as Henry Blackaby and his son Mel Blackaby make clear in Experiencing the Spirit. You’ll see how the proof of the Spirit’s presence is our awareness of God’s personal assignments for us, plus our supernatural enablement to carry out those assignments. You’ll find essential clarification on the difference between natural talents and spiritual gifts. You’ll explore the dynamics of being filled with the Spirit through intimate relationship with Him, committed obedience, and radical departure from sin.

Instead of considering what you can do for God with your abilities and talents, you’ll be encouraged here to seek what God wants to do through you supernaturally by His Spirit, empowering you beyond your personal competence and capacities. Release the Holy Spirit’s work at the very core of your experience of the Christian life.

March Madness Gone Mad

I will be so very glad when this stupid season is OVER (which it was a WEEK ago when the Jayhawks lost but does anyone else in this house know that? Nooooooo).

Have mercy.

Rest In Peace

Say "hi" to Jesus for me, Grandpa, and make him some of your tea. We'll miss you.

Word Fast ... or not

Hubs is reading a book on creativity and the author suggests that when you are in a creative slump, you should go on a word fast. In theory, if you fill you mind (that needs a certain number of words a day to be stimulated) with the stimulation of other people's words, you won't feel the need to express your own. And though she started by suggesting giving up reading (I gathered novels), she also dissed on the newspaper, TV, and talking on the phone.

Ouch.

And what's worse, I think she's right. When I have something I want to write, an outside deadline or my own, I don't let myself start reading anything I "want" to read. Which means I spend my time in front of the TV. Because that is oh, so much better for my mind.

I know myself. I can turn off the TV. Can't put down a book. Certainly not to write. All I can think about is what I'm reading and how anything I write would in no way be remotely as good as what I'm reading (most of the time, that is).

So, that said, last weekend, when I had just over a week to get some stories in by deadline, I devoured a couple books that you should know about. Just before my word fast. That produce four stories.

I think there is something to it.

Daisy Chain by Mary E. DeMuth

Oh, mercy, she can write wounded people better than anyone I know. I know people who read Mary's first book and will never, (I repeat never) read her again. "Too tragic." I always want to ask them, "Did you finish it?" Tragedy happens in life, people. It's what you do with it that makes you into who you are. And Mary makes her people deal with their tragedy. Sure, you go through it with them, but dang.

Oh, and I loved this: "'...our life is like a winding path with a deep ditch on either side...one ditch is our full fisted rebellion. The other, she said, is our response to someone else's rebellion. She told me, 'The Devil couldn't care less which ditch we fall into, he just wants up off the road.''"

So true.

Back cover: A picture-perfect small town hides more secrets than the curved petals of a blood red rose. In the simmer of 1977, innocent young Daisy Chance goes missing. Fourteen-year-old Jed Pepper has a sickening secret: He's convinced it's his fault.

As Jed follows the trail of clues Daisy left behind, he traces the path of pain hidden in his own family as well. When Jed's carefully constructed world comes crashing down, will he dare to find hope? Or will his guilt crush him forever? haunted by Daisy's memory and pierced by the shattered pieces of a family in crisis, this achingly beautiful southern coming-of-age story brings to life God's sometimes confusing but always present redemption.

And in a completely different genre:

Miss Match by Sara Mills

Funny thing. I didn't used to think I liked mystery/noir/whatever (which is why I can't quite classify it). Turns out, I wasn't reading the right author. Or maybe series? I love the Allie Fortune Mysteries.

Set in post WWII NYC (and then Europe), it's got all my favorite things. (Why DO I have a hangup about the 40s? Michael Crichton's NEXT would call it the Neanderthal Gene--but that's another day.) Intrigue, romance (but not too much), history, story. Good stuff. So if you're into that kind of thing...

Back cover: Jack...I'm in trouble, big trouble. Once, many years ago, we trusted each other completely. I'm asking you to trust me like that again. I need you . If you can, come to Berlin. I'll find you.

FBI agent Jack O'Conner receives this cryptic letter from Maggie, a woman he used to love. The FBI refuses to get involved, so Jack asks another woman to help him investicgate. Wasting no time, Allie Fortune, the best private eye in New York City, comes up with a plan to get them both into Germany.

Maggie was a Red Cross nurse in the war, and she has stayed in the divided city of Berlin to look after an orphaned child. Trapped and in hiding, she has nowhere to turn...except Jack.

And little does Allie Fortune know that this case might just lead right to her own mysterious past...

There She Goes About Ice Cream Again

OK, WHAT, may I ask, are ice cream companies doing, introducing new flavors and then ripping them from the shelves forevermore? Just as I find myself insanely hooked on a flavor, I can no longer find it.

For example? Blue Bunny Premium's Take 5 (TM) Ice cream. Just the right amount of salty and sweet. No crazy walnuts or pecans. Just the ingredients you would find in a Take 5 bar. Lessee, what are the five? Pretzels, Chocolate, Peanut Butter, Caramel.....grrrr, can never remember the fifth. I could google it, but I have a limited amount of time to blog today and I'd rather complain to the ice cream companies via my blog. But next time you're in the check out line, see for yourself what is in the Take5 bar. Peanuts. I bet it is peanuts. Pure heaven in a dish. Couldn't get enough. Bought the store out. "For a limited time." At which time I quit buying Blue Bunny Premium AT ALL. Because they don't make another ice cream that I like. They are all either too sweet OR too nutty. Oh, for the Take5 ice cream.

I still check, every time I walk past the Blue Bunny Premium section in the frozen foods. It's been years, people.

And WHAT IS UP with Blue Bell introducing Snickerdoodle ice cream late last summer as a "new" flavor and then dropping it like a ball of hot lead once winter rolled around? They kept the OTHER "new" flavors (which aren't remotely as good, I might add, even "Candy Bar" which I hoped would be but isn't a Take5 replacement). I know Snickerdoodle flew off the shelves because on the off chance that I ever saw any in the freezer I bought them out. (That because there was only ever one carton, but if there had been more I was prepared to buy them out.)

I'll let you in on a little secret. I don't like to pay full price for Blue Bell. Six fifty a half gallon is crazy. But when it goes on sale I stock up. (That is what deep freezes are for.) I'll let you in on another secret.

I BOUGHT SNICKERDOODLE AT FULL PRICE. SEVERAL TIMES. EVERY TIME (but the first when I threw it in the cart on a "we'll see").

Everyone in my family loved it. We could take out a half gallon in an evening. I introduced it to my parents, who don't really like ice cream. They each had two bowls and wanted to know where they could buy it. My in-laws like it. I told everyone "you gotta try this" and they all did and liked it.

So, WHY, may I ask, for the love of ice cream, did Blue Bell quit making it?

Nothing on that label ever said "for a limited time." It said "new." Insinuating that it would continue to be available. I still check that freezer every time I go past, also.

You know what I eat now?

Chips.

Humph.

It Comes Before the Fall

I'm so proud of myself today.

I submitted another story for consideration in the myriad of Chicken Soup books. That makes four in less than a week. And this one I got in just under the wire. Submission in no way means acceptance, but writing ANYTHING these days is a big deal for me. To write four stories, good or bad, is huge.

I actually feel sorry for my stupid cat. I think she was traumatized. The good news is the vet said they don't need to see her for another year. I'll be sure to budget her in with the GNP of a small country for 2010.

I'm having fun with my Strep-y kid. If I didn't actually have to teach him anything, I'd keep him home for school. However, once I try to bring out the books, I know his surly twin brother will show his face. I guess I'll keep sending him off to his teacher (to whom I had to confess that she knew him better than I since I thought he was faking).

Now, I'm off to do my study on Corinthians II. Only six days late. But I'll finish, yes I will.

DeCluttering

I know, I know, you are all shocked to think that I would be trying to get rid of stuff.

In my grand process of decluttering I generally start with toys, work my way though kids clothes and adult clothes (isn't it nice how much more objective you can be with your spouses wardrobe than your own?). I usually try on books and make it through about three shelves before I give up and just buy another bookcase. I've rid my kitchen on nearly every unnecessary gadget I can part with (contrary to popular belief the strawberry huller is a necessity).

But my latest cause has been my spiritual life. What God really wants from me. How I should be serving him. What is a calling and what is filling a man-made role. I just want to obey, ya know? And somehow my faith became religion and it frustrates me. And working at it just makes it more complicated. So when I got the chance to read Clutter-Free Christianity, I jumped at it.

Here's how the back cover opens:

"Your greatest desire is to please God, but with each passing week, your spiritual to-do list grows longer. As you strive to fulfill a never-ending inventory of requirements for being a godly parent, spouse, voter, employee, and more, you feel increasingly disconnected from the God you're trying to serve.

When did the Christian life become so complicated?"

I'm still a work in progress, but at least I'm a work in progress. It's better than being the room that Abba walks by as fast as he can and tries not to think about.

What? That's just me?

Fess up. Now you want to read it too, dontcha? Well, here tis.

Think I'm Exaggerating?

Eldest's visit to the doctor today including visit, strep test and medication for two, count 'em two, different infections: $138.98 (thank you Walgreens take care clinic)

Nonny's trip to the vet: $389. Including the very comforting call that she made it through her surgery "beautifully."

Sigh.

The fact that the mommy guilt runs high this afternoon because I was certain he was faking is a whole nuther post.

(Someone out there, not naming names, will think this is passive-aggressive hinting. It isn't. It is complaining. Pure and simple.)

Things That Make Me Want To Swear Today

Warning, if you aren't in the mood for snarky, come back tomorrow. She's about to rant.

Husky Pants: Target put their Cherokee dress pants on sale this week for $10. I go to the store to buy pants for my child that needs a 6 waist and a ten length. That, my friends, is a 10 Slim. Since the Cherokee have adjustable waistbands, a 10 Reg would work, not well, but it would work. What do they have? HUSKY. Husky, Husky, H-flipping-usky. Not just in the 10s. Oh, no. Six all the way up to 18.

Yes, I know, America has gotten fat, and if I don't live in the fattest city in America, I'm sure I live in the top 10 because the papers are always telling me so, but for crying out loud, carry SOME-THING for the slim people to wear, ya know? We're talking about an eight year old boy here. Don't most eight year old boys still run and play?

Easter clothes: Call me crazy, but didn't people used to wear pastels for Easter? Isn't that part of the reason for wearing white shoes on Easter? WHY, I ask you, WHY can I not find something SPRINGY to wear for Easter for my family? Princess I can find. She is a seven year old little girl. They still make a few spring-y dresses (not many, but a few) for a seven year old little girl. But what about the mama? She wants to match me on Easter and I can find is freaking black and white or navy and white or green and brown (the closest thing I can find to an Easter color and Princess thinks green and brown is "not so much").

I'm not even asking for pastel. I'm not. But royal blue, red, black, they don't count. Not on my boys, not on me. The one ALMOST Eastery color I found was Aqua. Two XS and one XXL. My boys are medium. Wanna guess why they don't have any mediums? PROBABLY BECAUSE THAT IS THE ONLY REMOTELY EASTER COLOR THEY CARRY and I'm not the only freakish one to believe that.

That Darn Cat: Let me just lay it on the line here: the $90 the animal shelter wants for you to adopt a cat. BARGAIN. It's a STEAL! PAY UP! DON'T TAKE IN THE STRAY! YOU WILL PAY MORE FOR THAT BLAMIN' CAT THAN YOU PAY OUT FOR MEDICAL CARE OF YOUR CHILDREN. Not only that, the people at the clinic act like the stray cat is part of the family. They call you to let you know your cat made it through surgery. They take blood to make sure the cat will survive the anesthesia. (Yes, I was heartless and asked, "So what's the worst case scenerio here if we don't take that blood? She dies? Yes, let's skip that test.")

I spent the morning snipping at my kids because I had to get the cat to the stupid vet "between 7:30 and 8:30" no other option. Kids needing to get off to school, be darned. And my kids that can't remember to feed the cat once in a month, fed her this morning when she was supposed to have "no food after midnight." And I shrieked, SHRIEKED people, "NOOOOOOOOOOO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! YOU CAN'T FEED THE CAT!" Freaked out the cat. Freaked out the kids. I'm sure they all think she will die.

The one thing that ALMOST makes this cat worth surviving the stupid surgery is when we left the vet's office without the cat, poor little Charming was crying, "Nonny." Boo-hoo. Darn cat better survive.

Swimming Suit Season

If you want a good idea of how much your body has declined since your teen years, go try on swimming suits at Burlington Coat Factory.

I'm glad my bedroom lights aren't that bright.

Boy Do I Have Her Fooled

I was standing in the checkout line at Price Chopper this morning when the checker said, "You're really patient."

"Yeah?" I looked up from the coupons I was going thorough and smiled at her and realized she was looking at me instead of Charming who kept asking "Ca-Ca?" (cracker).

"Him, or me?" I asked.

"You," she declared incredulously.

Me?

Yes, Charming had asked, in a normal, non-whiney kind of way, for crackers ever since he saw the box go on the conveyor. Possibly 25 times. And to each request I responded, "Cracker?" He'd say, "Yeah." I'd say, "In just a minute. After I pay." There would be 2.4 seconds of quiet when he'd again ask, "Cracker?" (wash, rinse, repeat) But there were no theatrics. No crying. No whining. No reaching. Just repeated conversation as if he was saying, "Now?" "How about now?" " Done yet, Mama?" And I was thinking about other things, as moms do, like where-is-that-yoplait-yoghurt-coupon-anyway-must-be-home-on-the-counter-where-all-good-coupons-seem-to-be. And, gee-should-have-picked-up-one-of-those-I-didn't-remember-I-had-that-coupon.

Come on moms, you know you can have intelligible conversations with your toddler without actually paying attention. Fess up.

So she was amazed at my patience in answering the question I wasn't really even listening to.

I told her that he was the patient one. He was asking politely.

I don't think she bought it.

What really gets me on this is how, just minutes before, I was praying, "God, please give me the patience to get through and out of this store before I let loose on one of these people."

The elderly, God love 'em, had taken over Price Chopper and it was busier that it often is on a Saturday. Except it wasn't busy with busy, fast walking moms and their lists. It was congested with slow walking people stopping to read the signs and swerving back and forth across the aisles. I think one of the local assisted living places must have brought a bus. (I'm serious.) And, as I said, love elderly folks, but my rambunctious toddler has a time limit at Price Chopper and we were nearing it. Halting every few steps because there was no way around, over, or through was trying my patience.

And then I got complimented for being patient about something that wasn't bothering me a bit.

Has Anyone Seen My Brain?

Last night I had a dream that included eating meatballs. I think I was at cheerleading camp, but it was also a missions trip. Not sure what that was about. What I remember was the meatballs.

I woke to remember that I made extra meatballs on Monday.

Where were those meatballs?

In the oven.

Where I left them to brown while I ate supper.

Monday.

Rotting.

If you see my brain, would you please return it to me?

That's It, Crown Me Queen Mother

Charming has made another spontaneous deposit in his mother's affirmation bank.

Praise God, I think he's getting it!

(Sorry. The PT posts will surely end soon.)

What an Extraordinary Mother!

I am singularly amazed at how, when my two-year-old spontaneously takes himself potty, I feel like I have succeeded as a "good mom" as if I actually had something to do with it.

Train Up A Child In the Way He Should Go

Charming was systematically unloading my purse last night as he so often does. Let me restate, Charming was systematically unloading my billfold, relieving it of all its contents as he so often does when he finally found what he was looking for.

My Starbucks card.

"Mmmmmmmmm, Mama! Mmmmmmmm! This!"

That's my boy.

Finding God in The Shack by Randal Rauser

The first time I heard about The Shack it was from someone outraged about its contents.

I'd never heard of the book. I didn't know the premise. I knew no-thing. So I had nothing to base any thoughts on, whatsoever. Other than that I basically trust the person who was so offended by the book. As he'd brought it up in a writer's group, there were several opinions thrown around and the gist I got was that The Shack was heresy and I should avoid it at all costs.

You can imagine my surprise, then, when my God-fearing MIL began talking about this book as if it had something of value inside. It didn't drive me to read it, mind you, but it made me take another think.

Fast forward a few more months and who is recommending that I gotta-read-this-book but my youth pastor's wife! I thought, for the love of all things holy, don't the people in my church know better? Heresy!

Sooooooo.....

When the book Finding God In The Shack came up for review I thought it MUST be time for me to explore a bit more.

I have to say, that Mr. Rauser has tipped the scales and I am now officially intrigued. He gives a lot of scriptural references and thought into his book and I'm ready to tackle The Shack, with my reference at the ready.

I'm not saying for sure what my final decision on The Shack will be. That has yet to be determined. But if you are feeling as conflicted as I was regarding it, you might want to read this one first.