Mean guy

We’re almost through with 2009 – it’s been quite a fun journey!

We have spent the last week in Arizona visiting with our families. Overall it’s been a wonderful trip and we’ve enjoyed every minute.

There has been a little bit of a toll on us as we stay an extended period away from all that is familiar to us. The girls are still trying to figure out what’s going on with their nap schedule since we’re on a different time zone. We’ve been taking advantage of car rides in order to lull them to sleep.

Today we went to Flagstaff with friends and Maggie took a nap on the way up but Mia refused. After a full afternoon and fun adventures Isaiah and I realized that the trip home was a necessary time for her to nap.

Maggie, for her part, had an allergic reaction to the soap at Bath & Body Works and so we had given her a dose of Benadryl. Previously Benadryl knocked Maggie out – but today it had the opposite effect. She was wired!

So... On the way home we told both of the girls that they needed to take a nap while we drove. They were quite resistant to this idea, but Mia was the more vocal of the two about her disinterest in our napping plan.

Finally Isaiah put his foot down.

“Do not talk, Mia!” he said in his firm, “don’t mess around anymore” voice.

Mia began to wail. “But I have words inside of me and they want to come out!” she protested.

“They are inside of me saying, ‘Please, let me come out!’” she continued with her voice pitched almost to the hieght that only a dog could hear. “And I promised them that they could come out... But you say, ‘No!’”

Isaiah and I were both cracking up in the front seats, trying to hide our laughter from Mia since she was howling and moaning as we drove along Highway 89A.

Mia decided to give one last opinion:

“You mean guy!” she moaned a long “oh” moan. “You mean guy!”

But then it got better. Because Maggie, the Dizzy Devil, began to chime in.

“Mean guy! Mean guy! Mean guy!” she chanted in her little 2-year-old voice. Then without pause, “Santa Clause is coming to town,” she warbled.

That sent us over the edge and I began to write down the conversation so that I could share it with you without messing it up.

Things calmed down a bit and we thought that the fun was over. But then Maggie piped up again.

“Mia... Mean guy!” she said.

“I am not a guy,” Mia corrected Maggie with passion. “I am a girl!”

Then Mia stopped to consider. “I am a lady!” she amended.

Maggie’s response?

“I’m Maggie Jo Veale!” she crowed.

They were both asleep in about three more minutes, but we gigged about the exchange the entire drive home. Hope you enjoyed it, too!

JJ

We've made it!

Well, the gorgeous news is that we’ve survived the month of November and it looks like December is going to be great. I cannot explain how amazing it was to read the emails from those of you who took the time to encourage me after my last “my world is falling apart” update. Thank you!!!! You are a blessing to me and honestly gave me a huge dollop of courage that I needed to persevere.

While the past few weeks have not been without tantrums and drama, they have also been chalk-full sweetness and good times. I am so grateful!

Graduation was today, so the college jobs will become dramatically less busy for a short period of time. We are headed toward Arizona in about a week to spend Christmas with our families, then back to Oklahoma to be on call as the basketball teams move back into the residence halls in order to play over the break.

We put up a tree.

Visited Silver Dollar City.

Tried to pose with a trio of snowmen.

Enjoyed a Straight No Chaser Show, which made me so happy and nostalgic for IU that I almost cried. See a great snippet here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kYEK-pxs_A <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2kYEK-pxs_A>


And felt the baby move. Repeatedly. And that little girl is growing. I have to report that I can no longer see my toes without craning my neck forward to make sure they’re still down there.

I’m pretty sure we’re going to make it. Thanks for your prayers!

If You Give a Mom a Muffin

by Kathy Fictorie

If you give a mom a muffin,
She'll want a cup of coffee to go with it.
She'll pour herself some
The coffee will get spilled by her three-year-old.
She'll wipe it up.
Wiping the floor, she will find some dirty socks.
She'll remember she has to do some laundry.
When she puts the laundry in the washer,
She'll trip over some snow boots and bump into the freezer.
Bumping into the freezer will remind her she has to plan supper for tonight.
She will get out a pound of hamburger.
She'll look for her cookbook. (101 Things to Make with a Pound of Hamburger.)
The cookbook is sitting under a pile of mail.
She will see the phone bill which is due tomorrow.
She will look for her checkbook.
The checkbook is in her purse that is being dumped out by her two-year-old.
She'll smell something funny.
She'll change the two-year-old.
While she is changing the two-year-old the phone will ring. (Of course!)
Her five-year-old will answer it and hang up.
She remembers that she wants to phone a friend to come for coffee on Friday.
Thinking of coffee will remind her that she was going to have a cup.
She will pour herself some.
And chances are,
If she has a cup of coffee,
Her kids will have eaten the muffin that went with it!

This is a poem that I found in a book I would like to recommend to EVERY mom, What Every Mom Needs, by Elisa Morgan and Carol Kuykendall. I was gifted this book and originally quite put off because the cover has pink flowers and a woman doing the "I love what you do for me - Toyota!"-jump. BUT, after reading one chapter I was hooked! It's almost a research paper disguised as a girly flower book. It's made me laugh, made me cry, and best of all, made me think about how I'm living my life intentionally. Again, I highly recommend it.

Grandma's Hands

I just received this forward from a friend. I've seen it before, but I still love it. So, enjoy!

GRANDMA'S HANDS
(I was privileged to take a photo of "Five Generations of Women" shortly before my 93 year-old Grandmother passed away last year.

The photo shown above, features the hands of my Grandmother, Mom, Sister, Niece and Great-Niece. While I can't take credit for the idea, I was so happy to have had the suggestion & capture this moment. It inspired a friend of mine to do something similar, which turned out so beautiful it became a special keepsake, prior to her father's passing.)

Grandma, some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. She didn't move, just sat with her head down staring at her hands.

When I sat down beside her she didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if she was OK

Finally, not really wanting to disturb her but wanting to check on her at the same time, I asked her if she was OK. She raised her head and looked at me and smiled. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking," she said in a clear voice strong.

"I didn't mean to disturb you, grandma, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK." I explained to her.

"Have you ever looked at your hands," she asked. "I mean really looked at your hands?"

I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as I tried to figure out the point she was making.

Grandma smiled and related this story:
"Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled shriveled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life."

"They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor."

"They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child, my mother taught me to fold them in prayer. They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They held my husband and wiped my tears when he went off to war."

"They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special."

"They wrote my letters to him and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse."

"They have held my children and grandchildren, consoled neighbors, and shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand."

"They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer."

"These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of life."

"But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when he leads me home. And with my hands He will lift me to His side and there I will use these hands to touch the face of Christ.."

I will never look at my hands the same again. But I remember God reached out and took my grandma's hands and led her home.

When my hands are hurt or sore or when I stroke the face of my children and husband I think of grandma. I know she has been stroked and caressed and held by the hands of God.

I, too, want to touch the face of God and feel His hands upon my face.

Thankfulness and Stress

We have been in Branson for Thanksgiving this week. It’s been so nice to spend time with my mom and dad and watch the girls. We have enjoyed staying in the same lodging as last year (although I really do with they would provide us with more than one roll of toilet paper for two bathrooms and a week-long stay).

It’s been a great time, but has had its share of ups and downs, mostly for Mia. That, in turn, causes ups and downs for all the rest of us.

For example:

The up: We got free samples of fudge from a store that they served to us on miniature spoons. Mia loved the spoon more than the fudge.

Also an up: She liked the spoon so much that she began to carry it in her sock. When we asked her why she needed it in her sock she told us that it was her “Ter-Moderator” and a necessary item for discovering whether her foot was hot or cold. We eventually deduced that the termoderator was actually intended to be named a “thermometer.”

The down: When we didn’t let her sleep with the spoon in her sock Mia had a major meltdown.

The up: Mia was able to put the spoon back in her sock when she woke up in the morning.

The down: Sometime in the morning I invited my dad to sit on the sofa with me. Mia was terribly upset and told me that he wasn’t allowed to sit on the sofa. I was not inclined to allow her to make that decision and let her know Grandpa would sit wherever he pleased. Mia howled and ran into the bedroom because she “wanted to be where Mommy couldn’t see her.” She pouted for a long, long time. This attitude eventually led to another set of wails and her sitting on my lap while I held her still for a time out.

The up: My mom asked Mia what the spoon was called because she had forgotten. Mia’s response?

“I don’t remember. But Grandpa’s sitting on it.”

Grandpa located the termoderator underneath his buttocks, we solved the mystery of why he had been banned from the sofa and why Mia had pouted so much, and we were able to continue the morning with a good belly laugh about the incident.

The down: Even though this little situation has a funny ending, the reality of our past few days has left me questioning my sanity and what hope I have for the future. Isaiah and I have already agreed that the Terrible Twos have nothing on the Threes. Mia seems to be completely consumed by her emotions, blocking out so many of the things I absolutely adore about her.




As I was putting her down for bed tonight I analyzed how tired I am of fighting her. And then I became very discouraged. What if it actually never, ever gets better? People keep warning me about the teenage years. About how moody girls can be. About how the time comes when girls hate their mothers.

Every time I have faced low parenting times in the past I have consoled myself with the thought that this is just a stage and it will pass. But what if it doesn’t?

And, with Maggie following Mia so closely, what if Mia just passes from this atrocious stage into another and Maggie follows right behind? What if this new baby is colicky, like Maggie was, and we just have a screaming nightmare for months or even years on end?!

Usually I am able to find the humor in our crazy situations, but what if there really isn’t a silver lining this time?

Now, I admit that there are times when I’m more prone to this desolation than others. Right now my back is messed up again and Isaiah has his knee and ankle messed up with soccer-related injuries so we’re both a little depleted. Two weeks ago at church they had a blurb about filling bags with necessary items for people who are homeless and I spent several intense hours imagining that the girls were going to have to go to school hungry because we were unable to feed them and that we ended up eating at a soup kitchen and warming our hands around a fire-filled 50-gallon drum while sleeping under a bridge.

When I’m weak physically I become weak emotionally.

I guess the moral of the story is that I need to choose my attitude. I need to cultivate an “attitude of gratitude” no matter what the circumstances. I can do that, most certainly. It just takes effort and sometimes a willingness to step into a optimism that smacks of insanity.

But I sure would appreciate some rays of hope from people who’ve been there, done that. Rays that don’t say anything about how hard the days are to come and just tell me how to survive the ones I’m in with grace!

Maybe those rays will help me to concentrate on the absolute joy I saw in the girl’s faces last night at the Dixie Stampede as they watched those horses parade by our seats.

Or how amazing it is that Maggie is potty-trained and I haven’t changed a dirty diaper in at least two weeks.

Or how proud I am of Mia when she tells me that the Christmas lights up all over are beautiful because that’s how Jesus loved each one of us.

Or how amazing it is that my husband is willing to pretend to be a horse named Brian and let the girls ride on his back, even though his body is hurting.

Or how grateful I am that I am spending a week with my mom and dad, who are in good health and genuinely people I enjoy and respect.

Or that I am blessed to have a job that is fulfilling and a house that is warm and cozy.

I guess those are the silver linings. Hope springs eternal.

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.” - Philippians 4: 6-7

Curious about Curious George

The girls are in a Curious George phase.

We go through different shows around here. I always feel better when they are from PBS, as though that somehow negates the fact and I generally believe that t.v. Shows can rot their little brains. I’ve become selfish enough with my mornings, however, that I value the 1/2 hour or so of quiet wake up time provided by a show more than I value their intellectual development.

PBS at least gives a good showing toward educating them well.

Anyway, I remember liking Curious George quite a bit when I was a child so when Mia and Maggie started enjoying the show I was subtly pleased. But as the show has gone on I’ve become somewhat suspicious of George and the Man in the Yellow Hat.

My concern started during the episode where George let all of the chickens and ducks out of the coop. Internally I thought, “George, that was stupid! Why did you even touch the latch in the first place?! Where’s the Man in the Yellow Hat to scold you?” By the end of the episode George had relocated all the fowl animals and he was on his way, no scolding delivered.

The episode that really has me bugged involves George’s fascination with gift wrap. When he opened every gift-wrapped box in a window display I thought he was rude. I watched in unease as he went to a department store and unwrapped all of the presents that the clerks were wrapping for their store display.

The kicker was when he took himself home to his apartment and proceeded to unwrap the wallpaper off of the bathroom right before the Man with the Yellow Hat hosted his boss for dinner!

The Man with the Yellow Hat just took it all in and went to answer the doorbell.

I’m pretty sure that there might be a homicide, followed by a cardiac arrest if my kids did the same thing to me!

My parents have pretty much banned us from watching Monsters, Inc. in front of them. They think that it’s an awful show because of the scene where Sully tries to flush the mobile, etc. from Boo’s room down the toilet. They have warned me numerous times that that scene will end up costing us more than $100 from a plumber down the road as the girls try to re-create the excitement on their own.

All this to say, do you think that I should be concerned? My heart rate rises and I now look at each TiVo’d episode with suspicion, but I also don’t have the time to preview each on before showing (or don’t make the time, I admit it laziness is my strong suit right now).

Do these types of mistakes help kids understand that what might happen will be a problem or do they just encourage them to copy the misbehavior themselves?

On a different note, my mom and dad are coming out today to spend Thanksgiving with us. Mia has been excited to see them and keeps announcing that she “Can’t Wait!” to see Grandma and Grandpa.

Last Sunday she refused to eat breakfast and then was whining about being hungry on the way to church. Isaiah and I kept telling her that she was going to have to wait until we got to church before we found her a snack and that she should remember this little episode next time she refused her breakfast. She was distraught.

Finally, she belted out - “But I can’t wait until we get to church for a snack! I am hungry right now!... This is the bad kind of can’t wait, not like the good kind of can’t wait with Grandma and Grandpa!”

Coat Wars

I have just survived the coat war.

Funny thing, I intended to write this morning anyway about the fact that Maggie’s been wearing panties since last Tuesday (yippee!) and she is wearing her first set of pig tails. I guess I’ll write a little more about that anyway, but it has all been eclipsed by the drama of the coat.

The weather here has played a trick on us and gone from 60s and 70s to 30s overnight. It is a huge bummer and necessitated pulling out the winter jackets.

Now, we knew that Mia would need a new coat this year and already got it for her – green with a pink fleece inside. It has a hood and – oh! The excitement! - a scarf!

Maggie will be wearing Mia’s coat from last year. We just couldn’t locate it.

This has been a several week long process. We’ve emptied tubs of baby clothes, cleaned out closets, and generally scoured the house for the coats put away from last winter, all to no avail. I knew that the Oklahoma Indian Summer wouldn’t last...

After sending Isaiah to the garage to search through the snowboarding box I knew we were in trouble. When he announced the there were NO coats in the snowboarding box I decided to search the hall closet once again.

And there I found it... The unopened tub hiding behind formal dresses and Isaiah’s wetsuit. The tub containing our warmth for the winter.

Out came Maggie’s pink coat from last winter. Out came Mia’s pink coat from last winter (are you seeing the theme here?).

Into Mia’s old coat went Maggie.

Onto the floor in a fit of devastation went Mia.

Mia wanted a pink coat. She wanted her old coat. She wanted a new coat that was pink and looked exactly like her old coat.

In order to rub salt in the wound, Maggie was dancing through the house in her new pink jacket, cooing in pleasure.

I assured Mia that the inside of her coat was pink and that it would be ok. She wanted to wear Maggie’s old pink coat (18 months size).

It was a challenge. But in the end I convinced Mia that her coat was ok because it had a pink scarf.

They tramped out the door with Daddy to go to school and I collapsed on the floor. Seriously – does it have to be this hard???

Here's the photo we took from just moments before the coat war broke out:


They were taken in honor of Maggie’s first piggy tails.

Remember the photo from Mia on her first piggy tail day?

My... How time flies.

I'll take my laughs where I can find them

I had an opportunity tonight to reflect on the strangeness of juvenile humor.

Mia has been trying to tell jokes lately – they are invariably awful and not funny.  For example: I say, “No, no, Maggie Jo!” in a sing-song voice just to be silly.  Mia’s response, “No, no hotdog!” and cackles hysterically.

Huh?  That’s just not funny.

BUT... Tonight I saw that humor can improve with age.

I volunteer at Awana this fall.  (I’ve discovered that trapping myself in a room with two children with ADD and one with some fairly intense emotional needs, then traveling to an indoor gym to continue the process with 40 six-and-seven-year-olds at game time is not my idea of great fun.  It’s actually no fun at all for me.)

Usually game time is a relatively painful and horribly loud time.  But tonight I had my shining moment of joy.

Kyla, a six-year-old, came in third out of fourth in her individual race around the circle holding a beach ball.  She did win our red team 50 points, however, because our game director wanted to acknowledge that she’d been grinning from ear to ear the entire time she was running.

As she came back to join our team I gave her a high-five and told her that she’d won 50 points.

“Why?” she asked, genuinely not having a clue.

“Because you were smiling your beautiful smile the whole time and being a good sport!” I answered.

She thought about that for a split second and then said, “But I wasn’t smiling – that was just gas!”

It was a beautiful moment for me, full of a belly laugh.  

It was just what I needed before I turned around to pull another six-year-old out of the window sill.

Now why'd you have to do that?!

It's one thing to find the parking arrangement at Tulsa International Airport confusing.  When I left for the Indianapolis Christian Writers Conference on Thursday I found myself completely lost trying to find the extended day parking.  I actually drove on the wrong side of the road trying to find the correct turn while reading the signs.  I finally submitted to the more expensive parking, sacraficing $4/day to preserve life and limb.

However, it's a totally different thing to arrive at the Indianapolis International Airport this afternoon and discover that the entire airport has gone missing.  

That's dirty pool.

The embarrassing thing is that I had talked to two friends about the fact that Indianapolis built an entirely new airport in the eight years since my last visit.  I knew that it had moved.  Yet I followed my GPS (which, incidentally, had difficulty the entire trip figuring out where there were new roads versus old roads) and found myself looking at a run down vacant parking lot and an obviously empty terminal.

It was small comfort that I finally recognized something – the extended parking lot I used to use for my trusty green Tacoma when I flew home to Arizona from Indiana University on breaks.  It was also closed.

I called the rental car company and proceeded to embarrass myself:

"Dollar Rent-A-Car, how can I help you?"

"Um, yes.  I can't find the airport."

"Oh... Where are you?"

"The airport."  Pause, in which I realize that comment was less than helpful to my phone friend.  "I mean the old airport.  I'm sitting in the old airport and I can't find my way to the new one!"

My savior was able to quickly give me directions – my GPS argued with me the entire time I followed them – and I was able to arrive at the new airport with 20 minutes to spare.

Whew.

So, after multitudes of U-turns and gentle reminders from the GPS that it is "recalculating," I sit in the airport, resting with my last few minutes of quietness before I head toward my family.

Indianapolis... Could you please move the airport back?  Maybe just remodel next time instead of get a totally new airport?  That would make me feel better.

Now I just have to find my car in Tulsa.

Peanuts...

Sadly lacking creativity myself right now, I have to reprint a friend's blog story. It's from "this blessed life" at http://theresmoretolifethansleep.blogspot.com/ It's really funny to me... sorry if it's offensive to you...
******************************************************************

i started listening at:

bennett: "why?"

ella (in a very motherly, grown up voice): "because God made boys and girls differently."

bennett: "oh."

ella: "that's why you have a 'peanut' and i don't."

bennett: "oh."

ella: "little boys and grown ups have peanuts. but girls don't have one."

bennett: "oh."

ella begins a song: "you have a peanut and i don't... you have a peanut and i don't..."

lovely.

maybe its time for them to not use the bathroom at the same time.

(here's the thing. years ago, when ella asked what "it" was called, i told her the correct word. but she heard "peanut." i did not correct her. because "peanut" is a far less embarrassing word to be repeated with giggles in public. and also, i find it hilarious when someone says, "i just had peanuts on the airplane" and my children look at each other and burst out laughing. equally as funny, when someone said, "i put peanuts in the cookies." ella looked very, very confused and couldn't wait to tell bennett, who laughed hysterically.)

Branson!

Thanks to the city cutting our water line and the ensuing cancellation of classes today, we've just returned from Isaiah's Mom & Dad's inaugural trip to Branson! That little burg in southern Missouri has become one of our favorite places to visit, but we weren't sure that his parents would enjoy the slow, southern attitude as much as we do.

Not to fear - they embraced it wholeheartedly! (Although his Dad refused to actually sing along to the country music songs, I believe he was whistling them in his head...)

It would be nice to say that there were no embarrassing moments from our dear, sweet little children. But that would not be the complete truth.

After all, a trip that starts out like this has to have a little excitement, right?


Once we got down to Branson we visited Branson Landing and took in the light show. It's amazing - this photo doesn't do it justice. I was incredibly proud that both Mia and Maggie knew that they needed to stand with their hands over their heart as the show started with the National Anthem.


And not so proud when Maggie went running out in front of the crowd. Somehow her pants came down and this is what the entire place saw (we were on the front row):


Not only was it immodest, it was also very cold!

She's recovered and we weren't arrested - my family just thinks it was best that the mooning came from the 2 year old instead of the adult!

Play-Dough

I’m not certain, but I think it’s quite likely that Play-Dough was invented by demonic forces.

I realize that this statement could be considered by some as almost anti-American, going against the core joys of childhood and creative pursuits.

All I know is that I set out a few containers of Play-Dough on my kitchen table and then wandered throughout my house, frantically cleaning for the visit from family and when I returned there were bits of virulent purple Play-Dough all over the table, in the window blinds, mashed into my toddler’s hair, in Maggie’s diaper, and littering the floor underneath the table like fragments of a Molotov cocktail.

I discovered the state of my kitchen after spending a solid 30 minutes (following three days of intensive clean up) once again following the results of the toddler tornado and picking up the bristle blocks, pieces of torn coloring pages (they were destroyed in order to create bandages for a variety of imaginary wounds), flash cards, and beaded necklaces.

I’m pretty sure that I should throw every single toy in our house away immediately. No, scratch that. I should have a garage sale and bestow these special curses upon some other unsuspecting household. They’ll think it’s a bargain to get these imaginative toys at rock bottom prices. Ha ha! My little plan for world domination continues…

Isaiah got a text message from me: “You owe me. I don’t know exactly what you owe, me, but it’s something after the amount of work I’ve done to get ready for this visit!”

Is there a free masseuse out there? Maybe a chiropractor willing to donate their services for a needy cause? Anyone know anyone from Ten Thousand Waves in Santa Fe??

This is a photo from after they told me they had cleaned everything up!

My pitiful attitude is probably worse because I’m pregnant. Well… honestly, I know it is. (And, those of you who don’t actually look all the way through our monthly photos – you could have known that news earlier!) I know this because Maggie just came up, clutching a Play-Dough covered chicken nugget (thought she’d finished those at dinner over an hour ago – was she hiding this one in her diaper for later?!) and breathed disgusting chicken smells on me. I need to pause to spend some time heaving over the toilet.

Bringing me to my next point. Three children in four years… what are we thinking?!! I’m pretty sure that it was mostly my idea, too. Bummer.

OK. Enough of my complaining. I have some Play-Dough to excavate from Mia’s ears. Maybe that’s why she can’t hear me asking her to do things…

Hope everyone is doing well. We miss you!

**************************************************

As a postscript... shortly after I sent this out I got a return message from a good friend:

"You broke a very important rule of Mommying: Play-Dough, paints, chalk, toothpaste, shampoo, Ketchup... are never left out on a table for all to see and ENJOY!"

OK - the positive side of this is that I now know to avoid paints, chalk (shudder - haven't even considered bringing that into the house!), toothpaste, shampoo and Ketchup.

The bad part is that if this is a cardinal rule of Mommying, shouldn't I have gotten a hand out at the hospital or pediatrician's office stating the "DON'T DO THIS" rules along with a vaccination schedule?! Seriously! The not-so-swift parents out there like myself need all the help we can get!!

Now. Is it a really bad thing that after having written toothpaste three times I now want to go and eat it from the tube? It sounds so refreshing and like it might help my stomach settle down...

Maggie, Maggie, Maggie

I hadn’t planned on writing you tonight, but I remembered that I had something from earlier this week to share.  And then, as I was finishing my work up to go to bed, I heard Maggie’s little cries coming from the bedroom.  They were muffled, so I went in to check it out before she woke Mia up.

 

And there I discovered her, on the floor, under the bed.  Crying because she was stuck.

 

The kid cannot sit still.  Even while sleeping.  I see a very active life ahead of us.

 

Anyway… Isaiah and I just got back from a truly excellent night away.  We went to Branson and celebrated my birthday.  I hope that now that I’m older I won’t feel as much chagrin when Mia says, “Mommy, she has grey hair, just like you!” as she describes people she meets.

 

Unlikely.

 

Here’s the story I recorded earlier this week when we were traveling to St. Louis with the soccer team:

 

We stayed in a hotel room tonight and got in close to midnight.  Mia and Maggie are sharing a bed.  They had a few problems with negotiations, Mia wouldn’t sleep on one bed because it was too close to the wall and once they were situated on the other bed I heard them arguing about the blanket.  Maggie thought that the bed comforter was hers and Mia was busy correcting her that it belonged to the hotel.

I ducked into the bathroom and came out to hear them bump into each other with a roll, then Maggie say, “Solly, I’s solly,” and Mia said, “I’m sorry, too, Maggie.”  Isaiah and I smiled at each other with a shared humor and we were reminded of how sweet they can be with each other.

Maggie was having difficulty getting to sleep, so I snuggled into the bed next to her, head on my hand, her legs tucked up and resting against my stomach, and watched her as her eyes fluttered shut.

In that time of adoration so common to parents, I sat gazing at my sleeping children and marveling at how perfect they are, how beautiful, how precious.  When they sleep they are simply magical, these beings that grow visibly and learn daily… it takes my breath away.

As I was watching, Maggie reached her long, delicate fingers up to scratch her nose.  I took it in, thinking of the orchestration of her muscular system that allowed her to move her hand, that each tiny finger is able to move independently, what a blessing it is that each one works as it should.

It was really a quiet time of beauty for me, one that I am ashamed to admit has happened too infrequently lately.  I fear that I get so busy with the mundane things of life, the loading and unloading the dishwasher, folding the laundry, wiping noses and combing hair… I get so caught up in those other things that I fail to pause in awe at the miracles right in front of me.

So, I sat, thrilled that I had this moment with them.  And watched Maggie finish scratching her nose, then reach toward me with those precious hands thinking, “Oh!  She’s making sure I’m still here by touching me!”

 

The hands came closer and closer to gently touch my face…

...and wipe a booger on my chin.

This is the life!

 

 

Mind the Gap!

I’ve gotten in the habit of not writing an update unless I have something in particular to report. There are only so many times that you can read about daily life and find it interesting… and lately we’ve been so busy that things out of the ordinary have seemed to come few and far between.

BUT… that was until this past Thursday. I now have an adventure to report!

We have our professional staff meeting on Thursday mornings and this was a lucky week – we were able to go out to lunch afterward! I love these lunches, mainly because I really like the people I work with, and it’s also a privilege that Isaiah and I are able to bring the girls with us on most occasions.

I’m pretty sure that the privilege may be revoked after this week’s episode.

Lunch itself went well, we ate at a little Chinese restaurant where the owner knows everybody and everybody knows the owner. The décor is not fancy, but the food is yummy.

Mia and Maggie were behaving pretty well. We took a few trips to see the fish in the fish tank, a trip to the potty, inspected everyone else in the restaurant (Mia’s now at the point where she categorizes people. “Mommy,” she’ll whisper, “is that man fat?” “Yes, “ I whisper back, “but don’t say that out loud!”). Most everyone in our group was finished eating and I let Mia and Maggie circle the table, harassing my co-workers with abandon while I finished my food as quickly as possible (being the slowest eater in the world is typically not one of my features that is brag-worthy.)

I was listening to the conversation and vaguely aware that Maggie was scratching at the wall behind me but I had not noticed that when my boss pulled out the university credit card to pay for the meal Maggie, with her eagle eyes and lightening fast reflexes, has snagged the card and was gleefully running it through the grooves in the wooden paneling behind me.

Through the haze of food consumption, I heard my boss ask, “Hey, Maggie, where’s the credit card?” My haze quickly disappeared when I saw Maggie grin widely and say, “Da wall!”

What?!

I asked Maggie again where the credit card was and she happily walked over the wall where there was a tiny, tiny crack in the wooden paneling and said, “Da Wall!”

You’ve probably seen this kind of paneling all over, the thin sheet of wood that goes about halfway up the wall and is anchored by a baseboard on the bottom and another finished piece of wood on the top. I’d never really examined it until Thursday, and I’m still not sure how there was a crack at all, but sure enough, there was a crack just large enough to slide a credit card behind the paneling and trap it in the wall.

At first we all laughed. I began to pry the crack apart, trying to locate the credit card but stopped when I realized that if I pushed too hard it was likely that I was going to break the entire piece of paneling and I was pretty certain that the owners of the Szechuan wouldn’t appreciate that little leftover.

My colleagues Mike and Darci, the ones without children, stopped laughing and thanking their lucky stars that they aren’t parents and stepped in to help. Darci requested a knife, which I happily got from a server, and leaned down to inspect the situation.

In a scene eerily familiar to Mia’s “credit carding” incident last year, Maggie saw the skin exposed by Darci’s squatting position and darted in with her hands to explore. Darci squealed a little, but I was able to grab Maggie’s hands before they did a full exploration of her backside. There are still small blessings in life.

I watched in mortification as they performed surgery on the wall and took pictures of the incident with their iPhones. Then I heard something that made the affair even more exciting.

Last week my boss’s wallet was stolen and he had to get everything replaced. He had gotten the university credit card back that morning. And was going to use it for the first time during lunch. Fantastic.

I crept out to my car and pulled out money to cover lunch, then arrived back on the scene to find that the owner had enlisted the help of the other restaurant staff members and a shop vac. There was also a skewer present. Mia and Maggie were hopping about, trying to get a front row seat on the action, while I just handed over the money and died, little by little.

Another of my colleagues nabbed Maggie and tried to make sure she didn’t have the credit card in her pockets, her pull-up or her mouth (did I mention she has an oral fixation?). We looked under the chairs and lifted the tablecloth to see if it could possibly be anywhere else. The whole time Maggie just smiled happily, pointed, and said, “Da wall!” I hate it that she’s honest. Not really. But… why the wall?! Why?!

We had Maggie’s 2-year-old doctors appointment right then and had to leave. Actually, the whole staff left, the owner of the restaurant assuring my boss that they would keep working on it and call him with the results.

When the doctor asked me about Maggie’s mobility and if I had any concerns I got to tell him the story as well. He was suitably appalled. He also told me that she’s healthy enough to live a little longer.

But when I called my husband to tell him about his youngest’s latest adventure he already knew about it – my co-workers had called and Twittered about the adventure already! Darn that Twitter!

The end of the story is that several hours later I got a phone call from my boss. The owner, using Asian ingenuity, the skewer, and duct tape, had recovered the card from the wall. Unbelievable, but true. She also told my boss to be nice to me. He responded that he didn’t need to worry about that, as I was already fired.

He has recanted, I still have a job, the university has a credit card, and Maggie is still in possession of her life.

So… until the next installment… take care!

Aspen Carson Griffin Worssam

I do have an explanation for why I’ve dropped off the grid in the last month.

August 4 was the last normal day that I woke up. It proceeded along quite nicely and in a boring fashion. I played with the kids, did a little work at the college, and finally succumbed to the pleas of my kids and took them to the McDonald’s play land.

The chicken nuggets and hamburgers were finished and the girls were screaming happily in the upper tunnels of the play land (which, by the way, I’m certain is covered with germs. Covered. Maggie will put her hands on that mesh siding and then lick it and my stomach rolls). I got the phone call from my Mom and Dad.

“Looks like Sami is going into labor. She felt something around 6 am and now they’re on their way to the hospital!”

I was terribly excited and I knew that I wanted to be out there. We kicked into high gear. It was about 4:45 p.m.

I tracked Isaiah down and we had a DISCUSSION. I was ready to drive back to Arizona but I figured that the 17 hour drive would end up with me missing everything (little did I know) and exhausted on the other end. The soonest flight from Tulsa to Phoenix was at 7:41 p.m. It takes 45 minutes to get to Tulsa from Bartlesville.

Always up for the challenge, Isaiah and I flew home and I started to pack. The plan was for Mia to stay home with Isaiah and Maggie to fly with me because she can still fly on my lap for free. I was flying around the house like a dust devil, packing diapers, clothing, underwear and toothpaste.

Mia wanted to go.

Isaiah tried to explain to her that she was going to stay with him while we went to Arizona. This did not suit her. She began to cry and beg and plead to “please let her go see the baby, she wanted to see her baby cousin be born!” I let Isaiah be the one to crush her little dreams.

But it got serious when she showed up with her giraffe backpack loaded and announced that she was packed and she promised that she would be good if I would only let her go. I said that she couldn’t and she cried and we loaded everyone into the car seats and were away. Time? 5:45.

I called my parents on the road and asked how it was going and if the baby was there yet. They said that my sister was missing in action. They’d been waiting at the hospital for quite awhile and she never arrived.

Turns out she was hungry. And so she and her husband Geoffrey and mother-in-law Nancy decided to go get pizza.

Following the pizza Sami felt that the labor wasn’t progressing quickly and she didn’t want to get sent home, so they decided to follow some advice they’d been given and change altitudes to bring on the labor.

So they drove to the ski area north of Flagstaff. And got on the ski lift. All wearing flip flops. In labor.

Now, just to be clear, they started the labor process in Sedona at 4500 ft. Drove to Flagstaff at about 7500 ft. This not being a significant enough altitude change, they continued their pilgrimage to the Snowbowl and sailed through the air – for about an hour – up to 11,000 ft.

I hear that at one point in the leisurely, hour-long ride to the top of the mountain Nancy looked at her son and daughter-in-law and said, “I think this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever been a part of.”

Back at the hospital my parents were not laughing. My dad was actually coming up with different travel plans that would include changes of altitude and lack of medical facilities. He is a bit of a worst case scenario person on occasion.

While all of this was going on I was in the car, driving to Tulsa, listening to Mia beg and trying to talk to airline representatives. After I talked to my parents and they said that they would drive me back (they were coming out to be with us during training/opening for school, anyway). I called the airline to cancel Maggie & my return flight and see if we could add one more seat for Mia.

We could. And if you ask her today what was so fun about going to see the baby, she’ll crow, “They have one more seat! For me!”

We screeched to halt at the airport, checked the car seat and bustled through security. Waved at Daddy and blew kisses, then went straight on to the plane. Where they served NO SNACKS. And did I pack any? Nope. And was it dinnertime for my two toddlers? Yep.

Fortunately the third person we were sitting with was a recent college graduate who was also the oldest of 10 siblings. She was quite nice.

Leg two of the plane flight from Denver to Phoenix involved sitting next to a man who started yelling at the flight attendant that he did not want to sit next to one child, let alone two babies! He was moved, we got an extra seat and I’m pleased to say that my kids fell asleep promptly and made not a peep on the whole flight. Ha, grumpy man!

My parents had decided to leave the hospital to pick me up, against my recommendations. But, I was grateful to see them. We ended up in bed in the little 5^th Wheel Trailer they have in Flagstaff at 4 a.m. (6 a.m. Oklahoma time).

Now, you might think that this is enough adventure and I should stop writing. But you are wrong! The adventure just continues…

My parent’s little dog, Sophie, woke us up at 6 a.m. This was the little dog I found for my parents in Wyandotte after Munchkin died, so I’m in fact, responsible for her existence in our lives. She’s obnoxious. And wakes up early.

We got ready for the hospital and seeing Sami. She was still in labor. On the way over to the hospital my mom asked Mia what she had packed in her suitcase. I hadn’t checked. All I knew is that I had left the house with clothing for Maggie only and Mia was in what she’d been wearing, including the pair of underwear with skid marks. Poor thing.

In her giraffe backpack? A pair of sunglasses and her little computer. That’s all she thought she needed for a trip to Arizona to see her baby cousin be born.

We had a great time visiting with Sami and Geoffrey and Nancy in the cafeteria. I say cafeteria because children weren’t allowed out of the cafeteria or lobby at the hospital.

By 11:30 p.m. we were all a bit tired. Sami was having some hard contractions about every 7-10 minutes and was ready to go, but her water hadn’t broken. She wanted to do everything naturally, so she was resistant to any interference at all.

After one particularly bad labor pain she asked the nurse if she could take some Tylenol for the pain.

My parents were downstairs with the girls in the lobby and I was headed up to the room to let her know that we were going to the trailer for the night when Sami decided to let them break the water. We decided to wait because that would bring the baby on quickly.

That was close to midnight. At 12:40 Sami began to push in earnest. She never cussed once. It was remarkable to me – she had no pain medication and was still unbelievably polite. When the doctor asked her if she wanted to touch the head as it was crowning she said, “No, thank you, please.”

At 1:56 a.m, after serious pushing for over an hour and about 44 hours of labor in general, my niece was born. She was cute, pink and possessed a very fine set of lungs.

I would tell you her name, but at that point she didn’t have one.

She didn’t have a name the next day when we snuck Mia & Maggie up to the patio to look at her through the window. Or the next day when we met my in-laws at Coco’s for a meal.

In fact, she left the hospital with the moniker, “Not Named Worssam.”

The hospital told my sister and brother-in-law that they had until Tuesday to name the child before they had to fight with the state. And they named her Aspen Carson Griffin Worssam at about 4:45 p.m. on Tuesday afternoon!

Our drive back to Oklahoma and what’s been going on in the time until now is a story for another day. This one has been long enough. Suffice to say that it was a miraculous, cool, hilarious experience to witness! I have a huge amount of respect for my sister, who managed the whole ordeal completely naturally and pleasantly. It was amazing.

Mia & Maggie's July 2009

Mia & Maggie's July 2009

Alright People...

You need to comment on stuff. I just checked and there is not ONE comment on Maggie's GoGo attire or Mia's collassal fail. I know that people come by this blog and check it out... you need to comment now, too!

Also, if you want to be on the email list (which is all of the updates) you should COMMENT with your email address and I'll add you. It's similar to the blog, though it's not exactly the same and the blog includes photos and video more.

That's all I have to say about that.

Fwd: Mermaid or whale

This was simply too cute not to pass along... Hope you're all doing well!

****************

Recently, in a large French city, a poster featuring a young, thin and tan woman appeared in the window of a gym. It said:

    ¨THIS SUMMER DO YOU WANT TO BE A MERMAID OR A WHALE? ¨

    A middle aged woman, whose physical characteristics did not match those of the woman on the poster,
 responded publicly to the question posed by the gym. 


  
To Whom It May Concern:

Whales are always surrounded by friends (dolphins, sea lions, curious humans).  They have an active sex life, they get pregnant and have adorable baby whales.  They have a wonderful time with dolphins stuffing themselves with shrimp.  They play and swim in the seas, seeing wonderful places like Patagonia, the Barren  Sea and the coral reefs of Polynesia . Whales are wonderful singers and have even recorded CDs.  They are incredible creatures and virtually have no predators other than humans. They are loved, protected and admired by almost everyone in the world. 
  
Mermaids don't exist.  If they did exist, they would be lining up outside the offices of Argentinean psychoanalysts due to identity crisis.  Fish or human? They don't have a sex life because they kill men who get close to them not to mention how could they have sex?  Therefore they do not have kids either. Not to mention who wants to get close to a girl who smells like a fish store?
The choice is perfectly clear to me; I want to be a whale.

P.S. We are in an age when media puts into our heads the idea that only skinny people are beautiful, but I prefer to enjoy an ice cream with my kids, a good dinner with a man who makes me shiver and a coffee with my friends.  

With time we gain weight because we accumulate so much information and wisdom in our heads that when there is no more room it distributes out to the rest of our bodies.  So we aren't heavy, we are enormously cultured, educated and happy.  Beginning today, when I look at my butt in the mirror I will think, "Good gosh, look how smart I am." 

Our Little GoGo

We've had lots of laughter this summer... and the fact that our littlest has been running around mostly naked has been a contributing factor. I just love fat little baby bellies! Anyway, thought you might enjoy this picture of our little GoGoMaggie!

Gymnastics Awards Ceremony

Remember how I told you that Mia was the one with the least grace in her gymnastics class? Well, I now have proof! She executed a really nice somersault right before this...

About that Third Child

From the Chronicle of Higher Education, July 10, 2009.

Any comments? Please let me know what you think!

July 10, 2009

About That Third Child

An article in the latest issue of The Chronicle confirms what many academic parents already know: Despite the flexible hours, academe isn’t as family friendly as people seem to think it is; in fact, it can be downright unfriendly towards female academics with three or more children, who may be “seen by their peers and supervisors as less than serious about their work in a profession that often expects nothing short of complete devotion,” reporter Robin Wilson writes. Statements such as this one by an associate dean of academic affairs, who asked to remain anonymous because she did not want to be publicly critical of women with children, are all too common, Wilson notes:

“Kids aren’t like computer programs that run predictably. With more than two, there is always going to be someone who is sick or needy, and so something at work is going to have to give. If anyone told me they wanted three kids, I would be thinking, What, are you nuts?”

It’s no wonder women like Rebecca R. Richards-Kortum, a bioengineering professor at Rice University who runs a thriving cancer-research laboratory and is a mother of four, often feel like pariahs. In fact, Ms. Richards-Kortum told Wilson that she is most comfortable in her dual roles as professor and mother during the research trips she takes several times a year to southern Africa:

“Here I’m this weird, freaky person because I have four kids,” she says in Houston. “There I can establish rapport and credibility with people because big families are much more common. It’s the only time I feel like it’s a real professional advantage.”

Julianna Baggott, an associate professor with a stay-at-home husband and five children, knows the feeling. She keeps her kids somewhat under wraps, out of a concern that her colleagues may think less of her, Wilson notes:

She displays no photos of her children in her office in Florida State University’s English department, and she never tells colleagues that she can’t make a meeting because of the children, who range in age from 14 to 2. “I just say, ‘I’m sorry, I have a conflict,’” she says.

“Academia assumes that a woman, once she has kids, is not going to be able to maintain her career at the same level,” says Ms. Baggot, [who with 14 books under her belt and having just earned tenure can hardly be accused of slacking off].

Despite the negative attitudes towards big families, not to mention the very real challenges involved in having one, some academic women make it work. Read the whole story to see how they manage and share your experiences and advice here.

Turkey, Texas.

Well, we didn't get attacked by a tumbleweed but we almost pureed a deer.

This weekend we headed to Turkey, TX for a Carson family reunion. We have heard lots of stories about Turkey, population approximately 500, but I was not prepared to actually fall IN LOVE with the place!

We stayed in this bed and breakfast that was established in the 1920s and each room was decorated a little bit differently. Our room had many, many flowers on the wallpaper on the wall, flowers that Mia kept trying to count while taking a bath in the claw-footed tub.

The tub was a hit... although my favorite quote from Isaiah for the weekend was: "Claw-foot tubs are cool and all, but bathing in your own dirt is a little odd!"

Some might think that he was just being a tad snarky about the dirt. But then you would be able to look at the photos of us after 4-wheeling and realize that we were not only dirty, we created MUD in that tub!

Yes, I almost changed ethnicities. Spray tans and dental whitening have nothin' on this dirt... I had SO much fun!

The Turkey Carsons called in every ATV & quad in the county and got us all set up for a ride around cousin Billy's 8,666-acre ranch. It took about three hours to get from start to finish. About halfway through we got lost. It was our fault. The ATV in front of us, after startling a bunch of cows into motion, began to follow the cows instead of the leader. We became a bit concerned - though there was a lot of dust being kicked up we were going up and down canyons and couldn't see the rest of the crew! We chuckled about the i

ntelligence factor involved in our predicament... and then decided it was worth getting lost to have participated in our very own cattle drive. Thank goodness that Doyle Dean came along and turned it into a fun adventure rather than a disaster!

Several potty breaks, coatings of dust and pauses for stretching and photo opportunities we arrived back at the "Tank" to swim, eat a chuck wagon dinner, and tell tall tales. Good times.

Everything about the weekend was wonderful - from the claw tubs in the hotel (there was

a communal shower down the hallway, by the way) to the rugged landscape - but best of all were the people themselves. Our family is simply awesome!

The girls have entered a golden era. Now that I've put it in writing it will probably end tomorrow, but they were excellent this weekend. Except for the time that Mia told me that she was old enough to go wandering through the hotel herself:

"Mommy! I'm just going to go downstairs by myself! I'm a big girl now! I can do it!"

"I know, Mia, but I want you to stay with me because it's never a good idea to wander around by yourself in a hotel."

Mia took my hand and looked thoughtfully into my eyes.

"Mommy. I know this is difficult for you, but I can do this!"

She didn't do it. But I appreciated the counseling session.

It was on the way back from our dinner and viewing of the musical Texas that we almost hit a deer. It was almost 1 a.m. and Isaiah (the Saint!) was driving. I was dozing a little bit as my parents told stories of what had been keeping them busy in Sedona. All of the sudden I felt the brakes, hard, and my eyes popped open in time to see Isaiah veer to the left and miss a decent-sized doe who was simply standing in the middle of the road! Yowzers! I didn't sleep for the rest of the ride!

Seeing Texas gave me another aspect of appreciation for the residents of the Lone Star state. Texans get a lot of ribbing from people about their arrogance, the belief that everything is bigger there, their can-do attitude and pride in the country. But, I have to admit, Texans are pretty awesome. If America is known as a country that can "pull itself up by its bootstraps," then Texas is the epitome of that maxim.

The area of Turkey is rugged, beautiful and slightly hostile. They're experiencing a drought, which makes the red dirt billow across the roads and the rivers dry up to salty white slashes across the land. Mesquite bushes are plentiful, the cattle had cactus spines sticking out of their cheeks from their grazing, and the town of Turkey is more historic

than modern.

All of these things might make the faint-of-heart shy away from a return visit. Perhaps I'm crazy, but it had the exact opposite affect on me. I fell in Love with it. I love the challenge that is inherent in the landscape - "Come... prove yourself and I will make it worthwhile for you. I will challenge your character and - if you win - you will find yourself a stronger, more able, more desirable individual. Come!" - it was a whisper I heard in the wind.

It's a challenge that I would love to answer. Who knows where we'll end up before long? Maybe following a tumbleweed to place with Yellow Roses and stars shining bright...

Steel Workers, Unite!

I've just finished putting my little howlers down for the night. If the previous nights are any indication, this state of sleepiness will not last long. They'll both be up at least three more times through the wee hours of the morning if the pattern continues.

However, I'm pleased that the time I spent reading stories, singing songs and patting their backs has given me a good time to reflect. I realized that I had words inside of me and i didn't want to waste the opportunity to share them. So I write!

Earlier this past semester I received a letter from the extended family member of someone with whom I was in conflict. That letter accused me, among other things, of placing policy above people, predicted that I was destined to live a lonely life void of relationships and stated that I was not only a poor representative of the college but also an example of why people hate Christians. To say this was an attack is an understatement; to try to deny that it didn't hit me pretty hard in some areas would also be pointless.

It has caused several weeks of intense introspection. I have to admit that I am SO GRATEFUL that I was awarded Staff Member of the Year by the students the week before I received the letter - I've now planted that plaque front and center in my line of vision in my office for the times when my insecurities start to get the best of me. During that time of self-examination I have realized that the barbs hit so close to home because I have been struggling with my sense of self for several years.

I never knew that being a mother would require me to say, "No" so many times.

I never understood how much it would hurt to hear your child say, "You've made my heart sad and it makes your heart happy!"

I never recognized how uncontrollable life is until my child squirmed out of my arms and hit her face on the back of a chair, resulting in a massive black and blue bruise on her cheek for a week.

I remember talking to my mom and asking her how she had changed as she grew into adulthood. When she told me that she was shy as a young adult I laughed out loud! The woman whom I know as "Mommy" is anything but shy... she's funny, she's acerbic, she's caring, she's sacraficial, she's talented, she's capable... but she's not SHY. As I was laughing she told me that once she became a parent she realized that no one was going to fight the battle but her and that it wouldn't get done if she didn't step up to the plate. So, she changed. She began to speak up.

Now that I have some similar life experiences, I relate. I don't want to be a mean mom. But sometimes I am. Sometimes I'm way too strict - and sometimes I'm not strict enough.

I feel like there is this steel core forming inside of me. It makes me stand up a little straighter, push a little harder, persist a little longer. I am almost ashamed of this core... but I know that I will not survive if I do not determine to keep it. This life that I'm living will not exist with any definition if I do not struggle to tame it a little, while also trying to balance the ability to let it grow.

So... why would I bother to write about this? Why should you have read this far? What's the takeaway?!

First: Keep the hope. An author I was reading recently, Viktor Frankl, was writing about his experiences in a Nazi concentration camp. He said that one of the signs that prisoners gave when they were in decline was that they would "give up. There he remained, lying in his own excretia, and nothing bothered him anymore." Another writer, Dorothy Sayes, observed that the current young adult generation is apathetic. "The sin of our times is the sin that believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, and remains alive because there is nothing for which it will die."

No matter how buffeted you become... stick to your guns. Invest in life. Even if it's a misunderstood investment, like mine has been! :) Keep hoping (and working!) so that the person you are is one that you want your children to become.

Second: Live your calling TODAY. Not tomorrow or five years from now. Today. I used to think that I would be more... my friend Angie once said something profound to me when I asked her how she felt about getting married. "I always thought I would be taller," she responded. There comes a point where we have to realize that we aren't getting another growth spurt. This is it. If you put your life on pause right now, this second, do you have a sense of deep dissatisfaction or are you saturated with contentment? If you're not where you want to be, get there. Period. I don't always like the person I am but I'm coming to terms with this person inside of me... and if I stay just the way I am today I will still be accomplishing what I am called to do, wearing the hats I need to be wearing, sharing the love and responsibility that I am compelled to share.

Wow! This has turned into a monster missive! Thanks for sticking with it and letting me vent/share what I've been thinking about. Let me know if you agree or disagree. I really want to hear!

And, the obligatory children stories:

Dinner tonight was a random affair... Maggie began to literally claw at the food cabinets and I realized she might be hungry. :) After taking quick stock of the refrigerator, I succumbed to temptation and piled everyone in the car for a quick trip to my food mecca, Taco Bell. On the way I told the girls we were going for burritos. For the rest of the evening I heard Maggie singing to herself, "I's beeto! I's beeto! Ako Beel! Yummmm!' (translation: I'm a burrito! I'm a burrito! Taco Bell! Yum!")

And, from the stories of Mia, volume 3, 652:

Recently Mia and I had a disagreement about when the shower was over. I considered the fact that her hands were pruning to be a sign that it should end. She, however, is not a quitter and was poised for transformation into a mermaid.

Finally I became impatient with the clash of wills and simply turned the water off, leaving the bathroom to collect my temper. From my position on the other side of the door I could hear Mia wailing, all spitfire noise and not much sense.

Until I caught one phrase:

"Please God, turn the water back on!"

If it was important enough to pray about I decided it was important enough for me to back down. I turned the water on for five more minutes and Mia thanked God for the blessing.

In my book, that's a good day.