Miscellaneous From Missy

Oh He of Little Faith

2012-01-09T21:07:00.000-06:00

When I was a little girl, we used to eat ham and beans for three or more meals a week. This was because it was cheap, and we were poor. (Although, I didn't realize it at the time.) (My dad worked two or three jobs while putting himself through college and supporting our family.) Anyway, we ate ham and beans until I just couldn't stand the thought of any more ham or beans ever.

Ever.

But now, it's close to thirty years later, and I am just beginning to look back on my years full of ham and beans with fondness, yea, even... longing? Can that be longing, I feel?

On Saturday, I found myself culling the internet for the very best ham and beans recipe I could find, and this is what I chose. Well, nevermind, I was going to link to it, but then I realized that I had changed it so much from it's original that the poor author would probably not want my version linked with his and forever desecrating it.

Hold on a second. My tootsies are freezing. I've got to get a blanket.

Mmm, that's much better.

So, here's how I made my ham and beans.

1. Soaked 1/2 pound of kidney beans overnight in a bunch of water in my cold crock pot. (I used 1/2 pound instead of a whole pound like all the recipes called for because we always have leftover soup that lasts for days that turn into weeks that turn into months that turn into years, until we finally freeze it. And then several years later we chop our frozen soup into smaller chunks and feed it to the garbage disposal. And then we feel guilty over all the food we've wasted when there are starving people right here in our city who could have gotten several meals out of it if only the soup kitchens and food pantries would allow us to bring in our possibly contaminated leftovers instead of demanding only non-perishable items.)

Where was I? Oh yes, I only used 1/2 pound of beans. I thought it would be more appropriate considering our soup eating habits. Ahem.

2. The next morning, I added 1/2 an onion, chopped. Some basil - no idea how much, uh, maybe a couple teaspoons?, some diced ham slices that I had leftover from another meal (next time I make this, I'll use better ham), approximately one tablespoon of brown sugar, a few shakes of cayenne pepper and some salt and pepper.

3. I turned the crock pot on high and went to church. (This was an accident. I meant to turn it on low since we'd be eating the meal for supper.)

4. At lunch time, I returned home from church, noticed the temp on the crock pot and turned it down to low. Then I tasted the mixture and decided to add another tablespoon of brown sugar and some more cayenne pepper - the rest of the shaker, anyway, which probably added up to 1/4 teaspoon at the most. Oh yeah, I also added some salt (while Jeremy protested since the taco meat I had made on Friday night was WAY too salty for our taste. What can I say? I win some, I lose some.)

This time I won - the soup came out perfectly wonderful, not too salty and not too bland, and the amount of soup worked perfectly for us wanna-be soup-eaters.

I'll definitely make this again. Maybe next year.

Hold On, Let Me Think A Little

2012-01-04T15:46:00.001-06:00

Mercy just walked up to me out of nowhere and said, "Mama, I don't want an apple."

I just looked at her, not sure where she was going with this, and she just looked back at me. Finally, she repeated, "Mama, I don't want an apple."

"Okay." I said agreeably, after all, it's not snack time or a meal time. I wasn't planning on feeding her anything anyway.

"I want...um, hold on, let me think a little," she tapped her finger thoughtfully on her lips three times and gazed up at the ceiling. "Oh! Yes! I've got it! I want candy."

The whole conversation was so obviously premeditated and staged to look spontaneous that I burst out laughing.

"Momma! Stop it." She said persuasively. "Stop laughing at me. I really want candy."

******
I really want to start blogging again, but the writer's block has me locked in it's dirty little paws and won't let me go. So, if you'll hold on and let me think a little, I'll push a little harder on the keys of this rusty old keyboard and start posting again.

Happy new year, everybody!

But Mom, I'm a goat!

2011-12-09T19:45:00.001-06:00

This afternoon, Mercy came up to me while I stood at the sink washing dishes. "Mommy, Liberty won't let me clean!" she tattled.

Naturally, I assumed she meant to say, "Liberty won't HELP me clean." The two girls had been working on cleaning their bedroom all. day. long. So I called into the other room, "Liberty, help your sister clean!"

"But Mom, I'm a goat!" she yelled back.

"Okay...be a goat who cleans," I responded.

"I AM cleaning!" she yelled back.

"She IS cleaning, Mom," Mercy still standing at my side confirmed. I looked down at her, puzzled. If Liberty was cleaning, then what was the tattling all about?

"Liberty won't let ME clean," Mercy reiterated.

"Oh." Who knew that would ever be something Mercy complained about. "Liberty! Let your sister clean!"

"But Mo-om! I'm a GOAT!"

"So? Let your sister clean."

"But Mo-o-om! I'm a goat who BUTTS! If I see any people, I HAVE to butt them!" Liberty explained to me from her bedroom.

Mercy was nodding vigorously at my side, and my imagination quickly conjured up a picture of Mercy trying to walk into their bedroom and being butted by Liberty who was crawling around the room on her hands and knees with clothing hanging out of her mouth. I smothered my laughter and tried to find a good solution.

"Uh, be a goat who butts everybody except Mercy."

"Okay!" Liberty happily agreed.

"Okay!" Mercy joyfully copy-catted before heading back to the goat-pen.

And now I'm a zoo-keeper.

How A Mother Loses Her Mind...And Gets It Back Again

2011-10-10T19:38:00.000-06:00

1. Start with a gray and dreary day, but not just any gray and dreary day. You'll need to select one that is about the fifteenth in a long line of gray and dreary days, and it will also need to be filled with rain. So much rain that even when it is not actually raining, the ground is still nothing but mush so that small children cannot go outside to expel any excess energy without fear of being sucked down deep into the marshlands disguised as grass.

(Mind you, this post is about three weeks late. Currently, we've had a string of nothing but blue skies and gorgeousness, and I am SO glad!)

2. In desperation, look around your house for something, ANYTHING for your children to do. Ask yourself, "What did I do when I was a kid? What?!" And then a dormant memory will yawn and stretch. YES! Call out to your children, "Girls! Get your socks on! I have a surprise for you!" Your children will be used to fun surprises from you, so they will run to their sock basket in their bedroom with shouts of glee.

Quickly move the dining room table and chairs three feet to the right to create a long strip of floor stretching from the dining room to the kitchen just perfect for sock skating, then run to get your own socks on.

Show the girls how to get a good running start and slide all the way into the stove, then from the back of the line clap, cheer and shout advice while waiting for your next turn. Laugh ridiculously every time your three-year-old attempts to skate because sock skating is just not her gift.

3. After ten minutes or so, remember that you have bags upon bags of children's clothing to sort through, and now would be the perfect time to drag all those bags into the living room since your children are happily occupied and having lots of fun.

4. Once all the bags are in place, your children will decide that sock skating is not all it's cracked up to be, and they want something else to do. After running through many, many suggestions that the little whiners veto because they've already done those things in the previous fifteen gray and dreary days, you will need to tell them that they have to come up with their own fun ideas.

5. Ignore the whining that ensues and continue calmly sorting clothing into stacks of winter and summer according to size.

6. When the whining finally subsides, do not think that it might be because your children are up to no good, instead, be thankful that they must have found something fun to do on their own.

7. Realize that peace and quiet never last this long in your house and become suspicious.

8. Upon investigation, find that the entire contents of your nicely folded and organized linen closet are now being used as a dam to prevent entry or exit from the master bedroom. Stand in silent shock as you survey the scene and wrestle with your emotions while you try to find an appropriate response. (This is a very important step. If you leave it out, you may not actually accomplish the losing of your mind which is the first part of our goal today.)

Eventually, determine that the mess has already been made and the linen closet is empty so stopping the activity now would be pointless. Also, revel in the silence that is still occurring, and decide to say nothing. Instead, creep quietly back to your sorting job in the living room.

9. Interrupt your sorting to break up a fight over the helium balloons from the fair yesterday. Show your children how to balloon surf instead.

10. Acquiesce to the request to play Cooties, even though you know it will take your three year old a sweet forever to get all those tiny pieces back into the box again when the game is over. Anything to buy more time and get your sorting job done.

11. In order to facilitate the transition from summer clothing to winter clothing, ask your children to bring everything from their bedroom closet and dump it in a big pile in the living room.

This pile is the contents of three or four plastic bags full of clothing given to us, not the pile the girls created above.

(That is not really what you requested, but this is how they will interpret your request, so you might as well just say it that way in the beginning.)

As motivation, tell your five year old that she can get the Twister game out when her task is accomplished.

12. After an exhausting game of Twister your children will most likely want a snack to replenish their minisculey depleted energy levels. Don't fall for this! They do not need any more energy!

Instead, feed your pet bunny rabbits a green pepper and the oldest carrots you can find in your refrigerator. (But make sure your floor is clean.)

13. When your bunnies have been fed, build a fort under the dining room table, hoping that they will stay there and not make any more messes so that you can finish sorting the masses of clothing that have taken over your living room.

14. Cross off "fort under table" from your list of ideas that might keep them busy. It does not. Instead, get out the Play Dough Cake-Making Kit from Aunt Jane. You know, the kit that ONLY comes out when you are at your wit's end because IT MAKES A HUGE MESS AND THE CHILDREN WAIL WHEN THEY HAVE TO CLEAN IT UP. [And by wail, I mean: the world has come to an end; woe is me for I am undone; accompanied by great gnashing of teeth. (And that's just me!)]

(I do not have any pictures of this fiasco because I believe it was at precisely this point in the day when my brain exploded inside my head.)

15. Forget it all! Just plop them in front of a movie and get that sorting done already!

16. Produce a massive amount of tears when your spouse comes home from work. Make sure you babble like a complete idiot and go into the ugly cry. (Even though I did not get a picture of it, this is also a very important step.)

17. Breathe into a paper bag and listen from your quiet room while your spouse steps over and around the mess you've created in the living room, enforces clean up the table time with the children and makes supper. (Because he's a hero.)

18. Venture into the living room after the children are in bed and make it look like this. Acquire a deep sense of accomplishment.

The bags on the left are to be given away.

The stacks on the right are to go into storage bins downstairs.

Don't forget to make the dining room look beautiful also.

19. Soak in the bathtub until your fingers and toes are all wrinkly. This is the MOST important step of all, and is very necessary if you want to get your mind back in it's rightful place.

How A Mother Loses Her

2011-10-01T19:49:00.000-06:00

I've been locked out of my blog for a little while. No idea why, but I'm just glad I'm back!

I suppose this title could have been How A Mother Loses Her Blog Post. Haha!

Anyway, I'm going to try again with another post.

Today Should Have Been A PJ Day

2011-09-19T18:52:00.002-06:00

If I'd thought about it long enough, I would have known. Gray, steady showers = PJ Day. Unfortunately, I didn't think about it. I did, however, get to try out my new all-natural version of microwave popcorn that I pinned to Pinterest last week. Hooray! Of course, the health benefits of all-natural popcorn were most likely nullified by the melted butter and cinnamon and sugar with which I doused it.

The girls and I learned all about D-D-D-David the D and his d-d-d-doggy. We traced an entire page full of D's and d's, colored a dinosaur, and cut out a capital D and turned him into a dog complete with floppy ears and a collar. After that, we studied clouds: what they're made of, what their names are, and what the various formations indicate weather-wise. Then we thoroughly inspected the strato nimbus clouds outside (and got really, really wet). We read books, played Uno, tickled each other crazily, and sang "Happy Birthday" over the phone to "Aunt" Alicia. I engaged in multiple battles of will with Liberty which I'm not so sure I won, and I broke up several fights between the girls.

With the exception of the cleaning we all did and the clothing we all wore, it came pretty close to being a PJ Day. Only, I'm worn out, and PJ Days are supposed to be refreshing.

And besides all that, I'm in desperate need of an amazing cup of hot chocolate. Seriously chocolatey chocolate. But there is none in the house.

Now I'm off to cuddle up with Jeremy and hopefully get a fresh perspective for tomorrow.

Inside My Brain, Part 3

2011-09-18T23:10:00.001-06:00

Part 1

Part 2

The following morning, Jedidiah and I climbed into the firstcoach together, and I had to admit a slight part of me hoped the Green-Cloaked-Ladyand her mother would join us. Instead,Clam’s thin body poked its way into the compartment and sat on my left side. He was followed quickly by Flam and theplainly dressed maid of Lady Silver. Themaid’s appearance in this coach surprised me greatly, since she ought to be accompanyingher mistress. Instead, she sat down next to Flam whosebodily width crammed Jedidiah into the wall of the coach. My friend excused himself and moved across the aisle tomy right side where he gained an inch or two more for his own shoulders.

Flam immediately reached across the aisle to crush myhand. “Beauregard Sampson, sir. Bo for short. Noticed you at the table last night and this mornin', but never got to introduce myself. Fine day, ain’t it!”

“Yes, it is, sir. Myname is Matthew Fitzgerald. Nice to meetyou.”

“Now, I already met Jed Simons and Nathaniel Greenwood yesterday.”Bo boomed out, “Rode in the coach all the long day, we did! Swapped many a tale. You met them?”

“I met Mr. Simons at the dinner table last night,” Iresponded, “but Mr. Greenwood and I have not gotten acquainted.” Nathaniel reached his bony hand toward mine,and we shook much less vigorously than Bo and I had.

“Nice to meet you,” Nathaniel intoned quietly and retractedhis hand.

Bo’s mouth opened in a large grin and his wide white teethdivided the thick black mustache above from the full black beard below. His coffee breath warmed the air. “This here’s my wife, Mrs. Cecilia Sampson.” The plainly dressed woman nodded her head andsomehow conveyed a calmly approachable friendliness along with a slight touchof regality.

I nodded in return at her and offered a polite, “Pleased tomeet you, Mrs. Sampson,” all the while grinning inwardly at my incorrect guess thatshe was Lady Silver’s maid and traveling companion. Thinking further, I was more than a little amazedthat this calm, quiet person would be married to Flamboyant Bo. I then decided to find out how accurate myguess about Nathaniel’s occupation had been. I turned to my left and addressed him in a tone that I hoped conveyednothing beyond polite small-talk, “Mr. Greenwood, are you traveling on businessor pleasure?”

“Neither,” he replied, and I had to listen carefully to makeout his word.

“Oh?” my upward intonation invited him to fill in theblanks.

His pause made me wonder if he would, but finally he spokeagain. “My father is ill. I hope that he is alive when I arrive home.”

“Oh.” I felt like a cad. “As do I, Mr. Greenwood.” I said fervently, then I added, “Where is home for you?” His clipped syllables and oddly pronouncedvowels told me he was not from Alabama, although that is where our coaches had startedtheir journey yesterday.

“Grand Rapids, Michigan.”

Bo broke in, unable, I assume, to contain himself anylonger. “Well, that’s a mighty fardistance to be from home! Cissy and Iare travelin’ North as far as Indiana. Gotta wedding to ‘tend to. Cissy’ssister’s tyin’ the knot, ain’t that right, Cissy?”

Mrs. Sampson nodded and smiled her gentle smile at him.

“Means an awful lot to my wife to be there for hersister. So we just said, ‘To heck’ withthe plantin’ (Pardon my language, but Cissy’s used to it, and I’m sure yougentlemen don’t mind.) and took off for the weddin’.”

"I see." While my mind caught the fact that Flam farmed, and apparently had a trusted overseer who could manage his slaves and the planting season without him, I could not picture him as a wealthy plantation owner. His manners and clothing if nothing else indicated otherwise. Why, I was more finely dressed, and I was an overseer myself, in a way. I decided he must have worked his way into owning a farm, and although I like to think of myself as more advanced than this, I found myself fighting down prejudiced thoughts regarding his social status.

"Any o' y'all been fishin' in Indiana?" he addressed the three of us in the bench facing him. It seemed like a nonsensical question. Anyone living in Alabama was not likely to have made the three to four week journey to Indiana. We all indicated we had not. Bo's expressive face showed eager anticipation, and he began describing in great detail the amount and types of fish to be caught in Indiana based on a letter from apparently a rather verbose relative of his wife's.

I settled into the seat cushion as best I could, enjoying the tales spun for us by our personal travel entertainer and wondering how long his stories could hold out on this journey.

Ugh

2011-09-09T19:22:00.002-06:00

There is only one word to sum up this day.

Sugar. Coma.

Oh, that's two words.

Ahem, there are only two words to sum up this day.

Tomorrow, no eating for me!

Gentling Rain

2011-09-08T23:25:00.000-06:00

It was a gray, rainy day today. Gentle rain fell steadily from the lowered sky all day and made me feel calm and happy. The girls and I accomplished several chores that have been at the bottom of the to-do list - like cleaning up the basement. Feels good to have it all organized again...until the next time the girls go downstairs to play.

I also pulled all of the Fall/Winter clothes out of their storage bins and got them organized onto closet shelves!

Can I get a WHOOP-WHOOP? This has got to be the easiest seasonal transition I have ever experienced, clothing-wise. Normally, it's a huge task that takes me weeks and weeks to complete, but this time, I just walked downstairs, picked up the tubs marked with their sizes, carried the tubs upstairs and filled their shelves. Of course, I did NOT put away the Summer clothes yet, and I did NOT even attempt to sort through the shoes.

The shoes. They haunt me when I'm in bed at night, and anyway, the kids' feet have grown so much that it wouldn't do me any good to get rid of the old shoes since they don't have any replacements yet.

We also got back into our school routine: reviewed Angie The A and her little sister and Bobby The B and his little brother. I told the girls we'd learn all about Casey the C tomorrow, and when Daddy came home, Liberty jumped up and down telling him about the promised lesson on C. Boy, does that ever make my heart happy! The child who refused to have anything to do with the alphabet for the first four years of her life can now recognize, write and tell me what each letter says and is BEGGING for more! I've been writing my own curriculum just to catch Liberty's interest, and it is working!

The laundry is not done. I suppose I should work on that tomorrow. I'm sure Jeremy is out of socks by now.

It's been a great Thursday. I needed a day of rain to wash down the whirring in my brain from this weekend.

Funeral Clothes

2011-09-08T00:02:00.000-06:00

Sitting in church Sunday morning with my parents and siblings. Wearing what was supposed to be funeral clothes from our suitcases. Marveling in my heart over the fact that I wasn't wearing them to a funeral. Or two. The words from our hymns soaked deep into my soul, and I couldn't help grinning at the unexpected turn of events - I get to sit in church and sing praises to my Lord instead of standing beside a freshly dug grave aching? Unbelievable.

Chad woke up yesterday. Just opened his eyes and looked around. Squeezed his wife's hand. Smiled around the tube in his mouth.

(By the way, I know my sentences are not properly formed in this post or the last one, and my chronological order seems to be permanently broken. I've even caught jumps in thought and a few "inside joke" references that must have left you guys scratching your heads as you tried to follow my meaning, but my brain isn't thinking properly formed thoughts yet. You're getting all I have to give right now.)

My next visit to Grandpa had revealed a paler, visibly shrunken man from just the day before, and it scared me. That's why I took that "just in case" "one last" tour of the house and yard. It was time to leave Illinois, and I knew we didn't have the resources to travel back in case there was a funeral. That knowledge was killing me inside, but I tried not to think about it too closely. We stopped at a gas station to fill up before our trip back to Indiana.

Uncle Jeff called my dad's phone while we filled our tank. News that fit perfectly with the sunshiny day! Grandpa had woken up and felt like eating! He was happy. Awake! Alive! The day before, Mom and I had purchased potted plants and brought some pictures and statues of birds from his house to decorate his hospital room. That's what made him want to live, I'm sure of it. *wink*

You know what? MY GRANDPA IS ALIVE! MY COUSIN IS ALIVE!

I got to sing and dance in my funeral clothes! So phooey on funerals! Hooray!

Memories

2011-09-07T00:19:00.000-06:00

I entered my house late that night, smiling to myself over silliness shared with girlfriends during our Girls Night Out. Jeremy switched on his bedside lamp, and instead of the easy smile and the inquisitive, "How was your night?" that I expected from him, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. "Missy, I got a phone call tonight." The tone in his voice alerted me, and the smile remnants left my face.

I hesitated, not wanting to know the answer, then asked anyway, "What do you mean?"

A flurry of phone calls later, plans made and unmade and remade, last minute errands run, I stood contemplating our suitcases. Funeral clothes? It seemed horrible to think about packing funeral clothes when no one had died. My grandpa had just had emergency surgery, and my cousin was in Intensive Care on life support and in a coma - doctors saying no brain activity, but packing funeral clothes felt like declaring there was no hope. There's ALWAYS hope! I argued to myself. Then I sighed and acknowledged what seemed inevitable. I folded a black skirt and a black blouse covered in lime green bubbles. It felt too frivolous - the blouse, but all my black dresses were date night dresses, definitely not funeral dresses.

When I die, I expect people to wear party clothes. No black, blah, boring at my funeral, please. No depressing, drab. Celebrate! I've had a wonderful life, and I'm going to have an even "wonderfuller" after-this-life! (Revelation 21:3&4) But I didn't know what Chad would prefer at his funeral, or Grandpa at his, if that were to happen. The reports I had been getting from my family said that Grandpa hadn't eaten anything since his surgery several days ago, and he was losing weight quickly.

I stared at the suitcases. In a small fit of defiance, I refused to pack dresses for the girls that had any touch of black. It seemed symbolic - to me, anyway. Lively, colorful dresses for the next generation of our family showing that we're not beaten. We're not done. Maybe I was over-thinking the whole thing, but in my head... well, you get what you pay for, I guess.

(I don't even charge a penny.)

Long drive. Dropping things off. Directions to the hospital from my mom.

A sign taped to the door jam at Grandpa's hospital room said, "Family, do not wake Dad if he is sleeping. He needs his rest." We tip-toed in. Well, as tip-toey as six people including two rambunctious little girls can get on standard hospital tiles. My dad sat on the porta-toilet next to Grandpa's bed working on a cross-word puzzle and joking with Grandpa who looked up at us strangely when we came in. "Surprise!" I said happily, and the answering look on his face fit the occasion perfectly. We all grinned at him. Liberty and Mercy rushed to his bed, eager to bestow the cards they had been working on during most of our trip. He was just as upbeat and complimentary as always, telling the girls they were amazing artists and if they kept working at it, they could do anything they wanted in life. Other than seeming more frail than I remembered (which was to be expected since he'd just had surgery), I didn't see much to be worried about.

Since I'd heard about his refusal to eat, I asked what he'd been served that day. "Is the hospital food any good, Grandpa?" He had not eaten any, so he couldn't tell me. A lukewarm rootbeer sat on his table, very close to full. Our visit was short. Less than ten minutes later, Grandpa told us he was worn out and needed to sleep.

Driving to the next hospital. ICU waiting room filled with family upon family upon family - all mine! Little nieces and nephews met for the first time and jumped all over each other. Cousins caught up on each others' adult lives. Aunts and Uncles doled out hugs and "You look good"s, and "What a nice family you have"s.

Grandma's been dead for sixteen years, but I still missed her presence in that waiting room. Echoes of her smart-alecky comments and riddles and colloquialisms ricocheted in my brain as I looked at the faces of the people I love most in this world. The one about the chickens kept toying with my memory, half hidden in the folds of my brain. I turned to Aunt Nannette to see if she could remember it for me, but all I could remember to describe it to her was that it was about chickens, so I gave up.

Then it was our turn to see Chad. Gloves on. Tip-toeing into the quiet, beep-filled ICU chamber beyond the extra wide double-doors.

He didn't look like Chad. The drawings taped to the wall from his four year old and two year old encouraged his coma-closed eyes to Come home soon, Daddy, and forced me to look away from them. My cousin Michelle, Chad's wife, smiled as she looked up. "Chad! You have visitors! Missy and Jeremy drove here all the way from Indiana to see you." She nodded to me as she stepped away from the space next to Chad's bed and whispered, "He should be able to hear you and feel your touch." I took her place by the bed. Jeremy stayed outside the alcove where, barring an emergency, he would be less likely to see blood or bodily fluids that might cause him to pass out.

I watched as a machine nearby took the blood from Chad's body and cleaned the infection out of it before piping it back in through clear tubes. "Hi, Chad!" I smiled at him and touched his arm. "This is Missy." Our one-sided conversation covered many topics as I meandered through the obscure thoughts poking here and there in my brain. Finally, I mentioned the fact that our two girls were having a great time playing with his two kids in the waiting room. When I left it, the four of them were pretending to be bunnies hopping all over the place, and I tried to describe the scene to him with the four kids hopping into each other in all their cuteness. Suddenly, Chad's body flinched, and his chest began spasming. Alarms went off on several machines, and Michelle stepped in to firmly tell him, "Stop biting down on that tube, Chad. Calm down." A nurse appeared and began working efficiently. I stepped out of the way.

Jeremy whispered to me, "He reacted when you told him about his kids. I could see the numbers on the monitor increasing when you first mentioned their names. He definitely heard and understood you!"

Someone else got a turn after ours, and they came back with a report that he had reacted when his feet were touched! The mood in the waiting room lifted slightly, but hope stayed out of reach. His organs were not capable of functioning on their own.

Late that evening when poor Mercy was just too tired to take any more, we left the hospital, and I wondered how Michelle and Chad's kids were able to endure day after day of the waiting room. All four of us crashed hard that night, then woke up early the next morning to have breakfast with Grandpa (my dad) and the girls' cousins Roman and Destiny. Grandma and the rest of my brothers and sisters were still sleeping, except Hannah who had to work. I still hadn't gotten to see any of my siblings but Faith who had gone to the hospital with us the night before.

One by one, brothers and sisters began arriving in the living room, first Zach with a good, long, bone-crushing hug. Oh, how I've missed him! Then Pete with his awesome pink haircut. (Suzy, you did a great job on it!) Then Faith, brushing her wet hair. Finally, Hannah came down after taking a shower to wash off her work. We sat in the living room and talked and laughed together. Then we moved to the dining room to play games. It felt so good to be together again, and it felt even better watching my daughters roll in the dirt with their cousins and climb trees and make forts and pick apples with Hero Zach who was earning Uncle-Chuck-points.

I took some time that day to walk all over every square inch of my grandpa's property and relive memories so rich and vivid that it almost felt like they were happening again right there. Splashing and jumping in the pool with cousins. Begging Grandma to get in the water with her red and white gingham bathing suit. Concocting some kind of funky sandwich with which to trick Grandpa, and then disappointed, watching him eat every bite of it with no reaction, then peeling into gales of laughter when he said with a straight face, "Tastes like you used Grey Poop-On." Smelling the garage where we used to change into our bathing suits, and where Russell hid in the deep-freeze one time during our massive hide-and-seek game at midnight. Standing in the bathroom remembering the time when I panicked because I couldn't get my wet suit off in time to sit on the toilet. Walking the brick patio and remembering the rows of picnic tables filled with family, and the fire-pit that night after dark where Grandpa and Dad and all the Uncles made the best hotdogs and marshmallows I've ever tasted. Marveling that the furniture I remember from when I was a baby is still the furniture Grandpa uses to this day. Giggling as I inspected the gleaming wooden floors and the rides we used to take on Uncle Chuck's feet to "mop" the floors. Gazing at the shelves and shelves of Grandma's salt and pepper shakers and remembering how I used to sit at the dining room table during breakfast time and stare at those shakers, imagining stories about the people-shaped ones. And OH THE DELIGHT the day that Grandma let me PLAY with them if I promised, no, PROMISED to play carefully and not break any. The fear of Grandma entered my heart so thoroughly that to this day, I am afraid to touch her salt and pepper shakers. But oh how I love them. And her.

I miss my grandma very much. Oh, Grandma!

Picking the fruit from the little fruit trees, and helping Grandpa in the garden on that hot, muggy day when the corn stalks were higher than my head and still green and the air was thick with the sweet scent of ripening corn. Mmmm. That smell even in Indiana always takes me back to that steamy day in Grandpa's garden when my tee-shirt threatened to suffocate me, and the humidity tried to choke me. I was up entirely too early that morning for a summer vacation, let me tell you, and Grandma decided I needed to be outside rather than reading on the couch. That was the summer that I met Katie who lived in the house that butted up to the back edge of Grandpa's property. Katie was somehow a distant relative on my Mom's side of the family. I think she might have been a cousin of my cousin. She had straight, white-blond hair and bright blue eyes, and she could swim like no one I've ever seen. I remember some grown up telling me that Katie was a fish, and for the rest of that summer I wondered...

My memories turned to include some of my mom's side of the family because all of our Illinois visits were intertwined with both families. I remembered the night that Grandpa Z came into the pool room to use the extra bathroom, and all us cousins were standing around playing pool. We decided to trick him and tell him that someone was in the bathroom. We could tell that he had to go badly, otherwise he would have waited his turn for the bathroom in the house. He changed direction to go to another stall, and we told him that one was occupied too. "Well, who's in there?" he growled at us. "Uh, PJ," we answered (we didn't have anyone named PJ in our family). He grinned at us and then slammed the stall door open shouting in a silly accent, "PJ! Get out of the bathroom!" For some reason that cracked all us cousins up, and for the rest of the night we told each other, "PJ! Get out of the bathroom!"

That night, my brothers and sisters and I camped out in Grandpa K's backyard in a tent, and we told stories about PJ and his imaginary family. Those pretend family members have been part of my brothers' and sisters's growing up years ever since, and even nowadays we occasionally refer to PJ or his family. While I walked Grandpa K's property, I stood in the spot where the tent had been pitched, and I relived that night lying on my back on top of my sleeping bag because it was so warm and telling stories to my brothers and sisters and giggling and giggling and giggling. I remembered the epic Cousin Hide-And-Seek game when the cousins from my mom's side of the family came over to Grandpa K's house and the cousins from my dad's side of the family all played Hide and Seek late into the night together. Oh the wonder! I think my Aunt Penny came to visit with my mom that night, and those two sisters always talk into the wee hours of the morning together.

As I'm typing this, memories are flooding so quickly that I cannot record them all. That metal and vinyl forest green step-stool/chair that has been in the kitchen ever since I can remember was still there this weekend. I laughed out loud when I saw it. And speaking of laughing out loud, Grandpa has taped five fly-swatters together so that the swatting parts are all side-by-side. He says it's so he doesn't miss the fly. I sat on the couch and immediately wanted to stand because underneath the cushion Grandpa has nailed a wide, flat board in place to keep you from falling into the hollow couch. Apparently, the innards of the couch fell apart years ago. Every plastic butter tub that he has ever owned is still in the fridge and still in use. Black magic markers proclaim what's inside the dish. Only, "applesauce" is crossed out and "flour" is crossed out and "green beans" is crossed out and "mashed taters" is crossed out and "sugar" is crossed out and "black eyed peas" is crossed out until you really have no idea what is inside the tub. You have to open every one in the fridge to find the food you're hoping for.

While we were there, I noticed a small piece of wood about three inches long and maybe a square inch thick. I picked it up off the floor and said, "I wonder what this goes to." Jeremy smirked. "With Grandpa, you never know. It might be part of the dishwasher, or the vacuum cleaner, or the air conditioner. It could have been holding the wall up, and now the house is going to come crashing down on us. It could be..." By this time we were both laughing so hard he couldn't continue. I promise you, Grandpa could have gotten credit for bazillions of inventions if only someone had been there to record what he had done to get things running again. Gray duct tape, hangers, wood and aluminum foil. That's about all anyone needs if Grandpa's nearby.

My heart swelled up with joy when Liberty walked through her great-grandpa's dining room and noticed that every step caused the canning jars full of food to jiggle on the shelf and make music. I used to walk extra hard in the dining room just to hear the jars clank together, and watching my daughter get the same amount of joy out of the same action made me happier than I can describe to you. Another thing that filled my heart with happiness was watching Liberty and Mercy play with Roman and Destiny at their own Grandma and Grandpa's house. Watching them climb trees and pick apples and made mud-balls out of themselves, and knowing all along that they are creating the same memories that I have stored up inside of happy childhood days spent at Grandpa and Grandma's with the cousins is beyond incredible to me.

How did I get so blessed?

Honoring His Name

2011-08-16T09:41:00.003-06:00

My friend Alicia and I decided that on Monday we would begin reading Malachi together. Now, when I say together I really mean that she will read it in Pennsylvania and I will read it in Indiana, but we will be reading the same chapter on the same day. So yesterday was our day to start.

Since Jeremy was away, I stayed up until 2ish last night puttering around until my exhaustion forced me to my bed. It wasn't until after I had finally snuggled deep into my pillow and felt my body muscles relax into the softness of the mattress that I thought, "Oh yeah, I need to read Malachi chapter one." I considered the effort it would take to lift my arm from its comfortable position to reach the touch lamp on my headboard shelf and then to pick up my Bible from its place near the lamp. Ugh, I groaned internally, and I almost chose to sleep instead. Then I remembered my phone conversation with Alicia last week about how we keep promising ourselves and God to make reading His Word and time spent with Him a priority in our lives again.

Okay, I said in my brain with some resolve. Let's get this done. I sat up in bed, touched the lamp and opened my Bible to Malachi chapter one.

"If I am a father, where is the honor due me? If I am a master, where is the respect due me?" says the Lord Almighty. "It is you, O priests, who show contempt for my Name."

Contempt? Well, at least I know that verse doesn't apply to me.

"When you bring blind animals for sacrifice is that not wrong? When you sacrifice crippled or diseased animals, is that not wrong? Try offering them to your governor! Would he be pleased with you? Would he accept you?" says the Lord Almighty.

Oh.

Half asleep at two in the morning is a crippled or diseased sacrifice in my heart. God walloped me with that Truth. It stung.

"And you say, 'What a burden!' and you sniff at it contemptuously," says the Lord Almighty.

Have I read my Bible today? No? Well, I suppose I'd better get it done...

Cursed is the cheat who has an acceptable male in his flock and vows to give it, but then sacrifices a blemished animal to the Lord.

Yeah, how many times have I vowed? I don't even have words.

"For I am a Great King," says the Lord Almighty, "and my Name is to be feared among the nations."

Hooray for my Lord! I'm choosing to bow with a heart full of worship once again.

What A Difference A Birthday Makes

2011-08-01T20:12:00.006-06:00

Mercy's third birthday was this past Monday, and we celebrated on Saturday with a few of her friends. I made a Chocolate Zucchini Cake that tasted incredible (if I do say so myself), but I made the mistake of letting Jeremy know it contained zucchini...before he tasted it. In fact, I was crunched for time, and so I did something even worse. I asked him to shred the zucchini for the cake. At first he refused on the grounds that vegetables do NOT belong in desserts, and he was just looking out for the taste-buds of our guests and for my reputation as a cook. When he realized that the zucchini was not going to be an optional part of the birthday, he reluctantly began shredding, but took every opportunity while he worked to point out the many reasons why this was a bad decision. When he finished the shredding process, he attempted to convince me that he could not figure out how to measure three cups of shredded zucchini in a glass measuring cup, and I almost fell for it...until I remembered that he is a Quality Engineer, and has been minutely trained in the fine art of measuring things. When I pointed that fact out to him, he caved in, and I even detected a tiny grin lingering at the corner of his lips.

Mmhm.

You can imagine his horror when he watched me pour applesauce into the cake as well.

Chocolate Zucchini Cake

2 cups whole wheat flour
2 cups white sugar
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
4 eggs
3/4 cup vegetable oil
3/4 cup all natural unsweetened applesauce
3 cups grated zucchini
1 & 1/4 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips

Directions:
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees F (175 degrees C). Grease and flour a 9x13 inch baking pan.
2. In a medium bowl, stir together the flour, sugar, cocoa, baking soda, baking powder, salt and cinnamon. Add the eggs, oil and applesauce, mix well. Fold in the chocolate chips and the zucchini until they are evenly distributed. (I pushed them in with a spoon and then used the beaters on them to distribute...none of this delicate folding stuff for me!) Pour mixture into the prepared pan.
3. Bake for 50 to 60 minutes in the preheated oven, until a knife inserted into the center comes out clean. (I found out the hard way that the chocolate chips prevent a clean knife, so don't judge the doneness completely by that method.) Cool cake completely before frosting with your favorite frosting. (We didn't use a frosting at all. The cake was that moist and delicious!)

Mercy enjoyed her cake and her friends, but life has been completely different now that she is three years old. For starters, I'm holding her to her promise that she would start pottying in the big toilet rather than in her diaper when she turned three years old. She tried to talk me out of it, but I reminded her that she made a promise, and so she's decided to honor her word. However, she has no compunction about having a bowel movement in her big girl panties. Sigh. We're still working on that. I knew I should have gotten her promise in writing.

My favorite after-effect of the birthday is that now every sentence ends with "because I'm three years old now." For example, "Mommy, I saw a bird sitting on top of that house because I'm three years old now." "Mommy, I can have a piece of candy after I eat my lunch because I'm three years old now." "Mommy, I don't have to go to bed. I can cuddle with Daddy and give him hugs instead because I'm three years old now."

My least favorite after-effect is Mercy's sudden observation skills. She notices all the things that she used to be oblivious to, like the hiding spot for my stash of chocolate chips or the two big bumps under my shirt. "Mommy, what do you have under your shirt? Why is your tummy bumpy on the top?" She is also noticing everyone else's bodies. At Walmart today, she announced loudly, "Mommy, that lady has a BIG tummy and a BIG bottom and BIG legs." Then she added happily, "Like YOU, Mommy!"

At first, I cringed for the sake of the BIG lady behind me, but when she finished I cringed for myself. I slowly turned around expecting to see a HUGE woman, knowing from Mercy's tone of voice that the woman must weigh 7,000 pounds, but the only woman behind me was reasonably fit. I looked some more, and finally realized that Mercy was trying to tell me that the lady behind me was GROWN-UP...like me. Mercy was trying to tell me that the lady had a developed chest area (unlike Mercy), a nicely rounded bottom and tall legs.

We obviously need to work on expanding Mercy's vocabulary...or, maybe not! Can you just imagine what she would yell out in the store if I told her what the correct anatomical term was for those two big bumps at the top of my tummy?

Spreadin' The Love

2011-07-22T16:29:00.004-06:00

Jeremy had just taken the girls out for their daddy/daughter date night, and I had just settled deep into my favorite ugly upholstered rocking chair (some day, I'll post of picture of it) to catch up on my blog reading before soaking in the garden tub and then taking my new library book to bed with me when the doorbell rang.

Good thing I'm not already in the tub, I thought to myself. A teen girl who I have never seen before stood on my front porch. "Hi," she greeted me cheerily but a bit nervously. "We just found a snapping turtle at the pond, and my dad said to come tell you guys so your girls could come out and see it. He said they get really excited about turtles and things like that."

Yeah, really excited is a major understatement, but I let it pass as I thanked her and explained that they were out on a date tonight. I closed the front door, and then ran to the back door to look out at the pond. Who is this person who goes out of his way to spread joy like this? The dad at the pond did not look familiar to me, but he was far away and not facing me at the time. His daughter joined them, and together they hauled a large snapper back to the pond.

You want to know something? I could share story after story of my neighbors (not just the ones next door and across the street but throughout our whole little subdivision). Stories that would make Norman Rockwell break down and cry his eyes out, but it boils down to this. THIS is why I love my neighborhood so much: We care about each other, not just in times of crisis, but also in times of fun, always looking to spread the love.

My Backseat Driver

2011-07-22T13:06:00.003-06:00

So I was driving down the road the other day, alone in the minivan, minding my own business, when a stern voice from the back calls out, "I'm warning you!"

Whaaa?

Just then I hit another bump in the road, and the voice shouted out, "Hey!" in an accusatory manner. I recognized Shrek's tinny voice that time and grinned to myself. At the next bump the plastic McDonald's toy protested again, "Hey!" My amusement grew, but it wasn't until I crossed the railroad tracks and Shrek lost his temper shouting, "Alright! Cut it out!" that I couldn't keep my giggles to myself.

I've glanced around the floor of the van a few times since then and never spotted him, but he keeps us company on all our travels, constantly warning us about our reckless driving and protesting the potholes that we insist on bumping over. He's a very safe driver, himself. I've decided he must be wedged underneath a seat somewhere in order for every slightest bump to aggravate him so, and I have no intention of removing him from his predicament.

It's hard to find good entertainment these days.

Off The Top Of My Head

2011-07-20T06:49:00.003-06:00

Well, so much for my promise to blog more often. Sorry you guys! I've realized now why I wasn't blogging as often before my promise. It's because I'm BUSY! By the time I get to the end of the day, I'm exhausted, and there's still plenty of things that need to be done besides blogging. Sigh.

I almost typed "Oh, for the simple days," but I realized I don't want to go back to the time when I had lots of time to blog. It was definitely fun and carefree, but I'd much rather be making a difference and investing in friendships and getting work done while enjoying my life than just sitting around and enjoying my life.

Yesterday was mine and Jeremy's eighth wedding anniversary. Hooray for us! I keep thinking that someday I'll tell you the saga of how Jeremy and I began dating, but I'm not sure how idiotic I really want to look on this blog. If I ever do tell the story, you'll have to keep in mind that I was a very silly and immature eighteen year old and cut me some slack. Or, you can just sit back and laugh at me; either way, we'll all have fun!

We're supposed to be getting ready to leave for the library and collecting all of our overdue library books right now, but instead I'm blogging, and my daughters are fighting over a cup full of water. This is going to be a mess. I can see it now.

Huh, they decided to share it. That's a surprise.

Mercy's third birthday is the 25th, and I'm working on her birthday party plans for this weekend. Gotta run to the store for some cake ingredients. I think I'll use the second gigantic courgette to make a chocolate zucchini cake complete with chocolate chips! Mmm, my mouth can taste it already. Saturday, hurry up and get here!

Well, this post is going nowhere fast. :-) I need to get busy on a shopping list and finding those library books...and drying the spilled water off the computer's extra battery. So much for sharing.

Zucchini Cookies

2011-07-19T09:22:00.003-06:00

My neighbor Meagan gave us two giant zucchini last night, and the girls and I just devoured one of them a few minutes ago because a recipe for Zucchini Parmesan popped up in my inbox from www.sparkpeople.com this morning with very convenient timing. Liberty and Mercy called our snack "Zucchini Cookies" since the slices were about the same size and shape of cookies. I thought I'd share.

Easy Zucchini Parmesan

This quick and healthy snack tastes like a gormet side-dish, but just takes minutes to prepare! And as a bonus, it's an easy way to get the kids to eat their vegetables.

INGREDIENTS
Zucchini, 1 cup, sliced
Parmesan Cheese, grated, 1 tbsp
I Can't Believe It's Not Butter, Original Buttery Spray, 10 sprays I skipped this ingredient, since it's not real food. We don't enjoy eating plastic. :-)
Non-stick cooking spray I used Olive Oil spray which added a trace amount of calories.

DIRECTIONS
Line a cookie sheet with aluminum foil, then coat with some non-stick cooking spray. Place the zucchini slices out on the pan, then spritz with them with the butter spray. Sprinkle on the parmesan cheese and then pop it in the oven. Broil for a few minutes - until the cheese starts to brown. Enjoy it while it's warm!

Make a larger batch for a delicious and healthy side dish for any meal! Your family will love it!

Number of Servings: 1

NUTRITIONAL INFORMATION
Calories 51.6
Total Fat 1.6 g
Saturated Fat 1.0g
Polyunsaturated Fat 0.1g
Monounsaturated Fat 0.4g
Cholesterol 4mg
Sodium 128.5mg
Potassium 460.8mg
Total Carbs 7.3g
Dietary Fiber 2.5g
Sugars 3g
Protein 3.2g
Vitamin A 40.9%
Vitamin B12 1.2%
Vitamin B6 7.3%
Vitamin C 13.8%
Vitamin E 1.3%
Calcium 9.2%
Copper 7.8%
Folate 7.8%
Iron 3.8%

Independence Weekend

2011-07-04T20:55:00.002-06:00

I've got a little extra time before bed tonight, and I decided I'd better keep my posting promise. (If I don't, I'll certainly hear about it from my mommy). :-)

(Do you know how happy that makes me?)

We've had a jam-packed weekend celebrating Independence Day! On Friday, our whole family changed the brake pads on Winny. Jeremy jacked the van up and loosened the lug nuts on the two front tires. Liberty and Mercy finished unscrewing the nuts for him and then decided to pretend the nuts were treasure, and they began hiding them in various places around the garage. I read the owner's manual step-by-step to Jeremy as he took the brakes apart and replaced the pads. Then the girls had to find all ten lug nuts and helped screw them back into place on the tires, and we all cleaned up the driveway together. Afterwards, our neighbors down the street set off a whole bunch of fireworks in the road, and we sat on the tailgate of Tiny Tim to enjoy the show.

Saturday was a day of pure bliss. With absolutely nothing planned to do, we really enjoyed the lackadaisical day. We ate a scrumptious brunch at Cracker Barrel and took leftovers home for supper. We skipped through a Walmart grocery shopping trip. We took a nap -- all of us! Everyone in our family including me! And all day, I kept checking my phone to see if my opponent, TTHWiggles, had taken his turn on Words With Friends, our Scrabble game, so that I could take my turn, but he must have taken the weekend off as well. I hope he had a great Fourth.

On Sunday after church, we headed over to our friends' house for lunch and water fights and snacking and games and more snacking and laughing and more games and supper and fireworks and talking late, late into the night. We didn't get back home until 1:30ish in the morning. Mercy fell asleep at our friends' house around 10 pm, but Liberty stayed awake the entire time, right up until she was tucked into her bed at home.

Today, we all slept in until 10 am! I don't think that has happened since Liberty was born almost five years ago! I woke up automatically at 7:15, but immediately reminded myself it was a holiday and fell back asleep. Then I woke at 8:30, and got up to check on the girls. They were sound asleep, so I stumbled back to my bed and snuggled next to Jeremy. Finally, at 10, Mercy woke up and asked for breakfast. We all slowly arrived in the kitchen for breakfast, then Jeremy fertilized the yard (can you believe it? we really have tiny blades of grass poking timidly up in the sunshine!), Liberty straightened the girls' bedroom, Mercy straightened the toy room, and I organized my Sunday School materials. Around four pm, we walked down to our neighbors' house for another party filled with food, food, food and lots of fun people AND DEVILED EGGS! The girls squealed with their friends in the backyard while the adults ate and talked and laughed together.

We had planned to stay until dusk to enjoy some fireworks together, but the previous late night crept up on our family, and we decided to walk home earlier. We walked slowly, enjoying the sunset and the comfortable temperatures, and by the time we reached our yard, our next door neighbors were setting off the beginning of their fireworks stash. Now, everyone knows that you cannot just walk away from a wonderful light show in progress. So we stopped and joined them. The girls loved being allowed to light a few bottle rockets and dash away as fast as they could run. They also enjoyed those little popper things that you throw down at the sidewalk and watch them quickly flash and pop. I thought they would like the actual shoot-up-into-the-sky-and-explode fireworks, but Liberty declared, "Mom, that wasn't a very pretty one," after each explosion. The favorites of the night were the "fire fountains."

After all the pyrotechnics were spent, we said our goodbyes and finished our short walk home. Jeremy and I tucked the girls into their beds and briefly considered falling into bed ourselves, but Jeremy had left his Starcraft game from earlier in the middle of a mission, and he wanted to finish it before bed, so he headed downstairs. I considered the peaceful, empty house and our wonderful, friend-filled weekend and decided I'd better blog it for my momma before I forgot the details.

I sincerely hope your weekend was as lovely and laughter-filled as ours!

An Announcement

2011-07-02T09:41:00.003-06:00

I would like to announce that we have a very special guest with us! Ladies and gentlemen, my mother is FINALLY reading my blog! Make sure you all leave a comment to welcome her!

After almost five years of "Hey, Mom, I have a blog!" "Mom, did you read my blog?" "Why don't you go read my blog, Mom?" she is finally reading it! Her friends have been reading for years now (hi, Sue! *waves*), but not my mom. It was about a year or so ago that I resigned myself to the fact that my mother would never read, and I stopped asking. (She keeps saying she is too busy to log onto the computer, and considering the fact that she has a V-E-R-Y S-L-O-W dial-up connection, I really can't say that I blame her.) In fact, I think it was shortly after my week-long visit at my parents' white farmhouse in Illinois two years ago (wherein I attempted to blog from that same dial-up) that I gave up asking her to read. Oh, the torture of waiting for a web browser to load. I didn't want to inflict that kind of pain on my very own mother.

But now she's inflicting it on herself! Hooray! :-)

I love you, Mom!

It all started one day a few months ago when she had nothing better to do. She decided to read, and she got hooked. What can I say? I'm very addictive. Now, she checks frequently, and if I haven't posted often enough she calls me to complain -- in a nice way, of course. "Missy, I checked your blog, and I can't find any new blog posts. Are you still writing?"

So I've made an executive decision. I'm going to post more often. Did you read that, Mom? It's just for you! Don't you feel special now?

And, since you haven't been reading all along, and you don't know how to go back to read from the beginning, I'm going to link to a few posts that I know you will enjoy. (Just click on the tan words below called a link, read the post that it takes you to, then click the "back" arrow button on the top left corner of your screen to get back to this post. Repeat for each link below.)

I'm Thankful

Playing Dream House

Drinking Sophistication

Confessions Of A Former Teenager

One of Those Days

What A Day

There, Mom, that should keep you busy until I write my next post!

Professor Brainard's Got Nothing On Me

2011-06-27T10:07:00.002-06:00

He used a ray gun to control the weather, but I can do it by following these simple steps.

TO MAKE IT RAIN:

1. Check the forecast online and find out that it is not predicted to rain until late in the evening.

2. Turn on the sprinklers in the front and back yards of your home.

3. Go for a walk with your four year old and two year old daughters around the mile long nature trail behind your house, walking quickly in order to return in time to move the sprinklers to another location without flooding the yard.

4. Get halfway around the pond at the farthest point from your home.

Voila! Instant downpour!

TO MAKE IT CONTINUE:

1. Be sure that your four year old stops as often as possible in the rain to pick grass by the side of the trail. (This is the most important step if you want to ensure a really good steady rain-shower.)

2. Whenever possible, try to get your two year old to beg to be carried and then demand to be allowed to walk and then beg to be carried all while refusing to ride in the stroller that you brought along in anticipation of this situation. She is NOT a baby! This is also very helpful to make sure that the rain does not let up.

See? Only two easy steps!

TO MAKE IT STOP RAINING:

1. Arrive home.

This is the easiest of all. The second you step foot back on your own property, the sun will come out and the clouds will disappear. It really is quite amazing.

Getting My Crafty On (Part Two)

2011-06-10T20:38:00.013-06:00

Now where was I? Oh yes, the white paint was drying, and I was returning the green paint for red or black paint.

I returned the green and bought black, and when we got back from Walmart, we all changed into painting clothes.

The girls removed the price stickers per PJ's instructions.

Then Liberty wiped down the pots...

...and Mercy shook the can of spray paint.

Finally, it was painting time!

Oops, no one told me I should wear gloves or my fingers would be painted black.

Oh, well. While I waited for the pots to dry, I attacked the iron thingy with
Jeremy's power sander! Fun!

(If I look a bit confuzzled, it's because I was. I couldn't figure out how to hold the sander in one hand and the camera in the other. You should have seen how many shots I got of the house, the top of my head, the edge of the sander, etc. My finger slipped on the button with this one and accidentally took the picture. When I realized that it had actually captured me and the sander together, I decided to stop the ship-wreck that was a self-portrait, and move on with my life. Besides, I was so excited to use the sander, that I didn't want to waste any more time on photos.)

And here is what I did with that sander.

When the pots finally dried, I put them in their rightful places.

I love the way the terra cotta orange peeks through the black. At first, I planned to spray the black on over and over until all was covered, but after the first two coats, the patina was gorgeous with the orange showing, so I left it.

Now, all I need are plants to fill my pots.

And speaking of plants, you are not going to believe this, but I have revived my front porch flower! You know, the one that I was given in mid-April? I dead-headed it! I transplanted it! And it looks absolutely stunning! Hooray!

You Know You Want To

2011-06-10T19:49:00.004-06:00

http://www.examiner.com/family-recreation-in-fort-wayne/germanfest-s-family-fest-a-day-the-whole-family-will-enjoy

You don't even have to read it. Just click it.

"Pay the Missy!"

Can we start a chant?

Mercy's Pants

2011-06-10T01:12:00.001-06:00

This morning, my two year old, Mercy Jane, farted unexpectedly, and it was a long chain of loud farts. She gasped; her eyes got really big around, and she quickly grabbed her little bottom. Then in a tone of wonder she said, "Mommy! I have a motorcycle in my pants!"

Examiner Article

2011-06-08T21:22:00.001-06:00

My second article is up!

http://www.examiner.com/family-recreation-in-fort-wayne/taste-your-summer-at-auburn-s-strawberries-the-park-festival

Getting My Crafty On

2011-06-01T20:00:00.013-06:00

This post is dedicated to my bloggy friend PJ, who has inspired me to attempt some craftiness.

A week ago, another friend of mine, MaryAnne, gave me this flower pot holder. (Thank you, MaryAnne!)

I wasn't sure what to do with it or how I could use it, but I took it home and thought and thought. Finally, I decided it would be a great addition to my front porch, only it didn't match what I already had going on out there.

Here's where PJ comes in. I spent a while the other day catching up on her blog, and she totally inspired a bit of creative genius in me! I decided I wanted the new planter to match the old planter that was already on the porch.
(My flowers died while I was away for the Memorial Day weekend, but don't be sad for me. This is the very longest I have ever had a plant live! They were given to me on April 17th, and they have flourished for over a month in my care! Can you believe it?! Now, I'm just trying to figure out how to resuscitate them.)

So I went to Walmart and bought a can of white spray paint, a can of green spray paint (because I had decided to paint the pots green) and an extra pot (because Liberty and Mercy were "cooking" a birthday cake for me in one of the original pots and broke it -- the pot, that is, not the imaginary birthday cake).

I got so excited after making my purchases, that I rushed home, read a story to the girls and put them down for nap time. Then I ran to my closet, changed into painting clothes, and hurried to the garage where I did this.

Then I had to wait for it to dry, and while I waited, I decided that I'd rather paint my terra cotta pots either black or a brickish red to match the bricks on our house. Tomorrow, I'll return the green spray paint and purchase some other color, but I'm still undecided. Also, I'm wondering how I can get some of the white off of the wrought iron to get the same distressed look that is on my other planter. Can I just sand it in spots? I don't know.

Stay tuned for part two, wherein I get this thing finished. Hopefully.

One Way Or Another

2011-05-24T12:45:00.004-06:00

You guys! I AM AN AUTHOR! OFFICIALLY!

Now, it's not the children's book that I'm still hoping to find a publisher for; it's something else. My friend Brenda sent me a link a few weeks ago about getting paid to write articles on the internet. I did a lot of research on the subject, and I finally found a website that I felt comfortable with. There are a lot out there, but not all of them "felt" either reputable to me or that I might be a good fit for. I was also leery of sites that accepted just any article from any person.

Anyway, I finally applied for a job with one website, but I was extremely nervous because they gave me five different mini writing assignments during the application part. Many people, well, many of you all have complimented my writing style, but it is something completely different to send my work to a professional editor hoping that it is good enough to get me a job. My tummy was a mess!

I screamed so loudly when I read my acceptance letter late at night last week, that I woke Jeremy up, and he popped up from his pillow punching, ready to defend me from anything. (My Hero!)

For the last several days, I've been attending some online classes to become oriented with the website, it's goals, the article guidelines and what-not. Then I accepted my first writing assignment and began researching the information for the article I would be writing. It's a lot more work than I expected, but I'm really enjoying the feeling of having my brain in gear again.

I finally had all of my research finished and organized, and I was ready to write my first article. I've been having trouble with my computer lately (I think it's been ever since I upgraded to Internet Explorer 9), and I just knew my computer would freeze again while I typed. It's been freezing every few hours, and I lose whatever I'm working on -- horribleness! I determined to save after every paragraph, this time. (I usually forget to save, and my only redemption are the autosave features on many websites.)

Imagine with me my horror when I found that there was no save button AND no autosave feature at my new site. !!!!! So, I needed to work as quickly as possible. The synapses in my gray matter were firing quickly and creatively. It felt so good to WRITE!

And then it happened. My mouse quit moving, my computer quit responding. I was over halfway through, and all those hyperlinks I had put in...I went into mourning even before the computer had finished its reboot. I knew it would all be lost. There was just one chance! If only the site had somehow, miraculously kept the information somewhere.

I logged back on, hoping. Hoping. HOPING.

No. It was gone.

And now my computer is too.

(Just kidding.)

I finally submitted my first article around 1:15 am last night, and I waited and waited for the verdict from my editor. I wasn't sure how he would respond, either by calling me, or emailing me, or if he thought my article was good enough, would he just post it on the website? I've been checking email and the website ALL. DAY.

And just now, The Email came. I saw his name in the Sender line, and my heart stopped beating. It really did. (I am actually typing this post while I am dead.)

(You should probably print it and keep it somewhere safe since it is a medical miracle and will be very valuable someday.)

He said, and I quote (because I am not above bragging), "Congratulations on posting your first article as the Ft. Wayne Family Recreation Examiner! I had a chance to review it, and I thought it was excellent - a solid read with a nice mix of information and insight."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can you believe it?! He liked it!!!! In fact, he published it! Hooray!!!!

I am SO EXCITED! (Did you notice?)

So now, I am off to the website to see if I can find my article. I'll probably attach a link here so you can read it too, if you want. It's geared towards people who live near me, and it's informative rather than interesting, so all of you far away people won't get much out of it, but I think the number of clicks or reads I get affects my paycheck, so feel free to click away.

In fact, I'll go get that link now, and put it up here. (I like bigger paychecks!) :-)

This is my website http://www.examiner.com/family-recreation-in-fort-wayne/missy-sherron

This is my first ever article(!) Memorial Day Weekend 2011: Ft. Wayne's guide to budget-friendly family fun

It Helps If You're Smarter Than Your Child

2011-05-17T12:12:00.002-06:00

And I apparently am not.

Today, the girls and I were cleaning up the toy room. We're preparing for a big garage sale on June 16-18 (if you're in my town, come out and buy something from us, please!)

In order to encourage the girls to quit goofing off, and in an effort to possibly instill a great work ethic into my children while they are still young, I decided that instead of firmly reminding them to keep working, I would use some sort of psychology on them. (See, the fact that I have no idea what sort of psychology I was using should have been a clue to me that I'm not licensed in this stuff.)

I looked at my playing daughters and with a joyful expression and gratefulness in my voice, I said, "Girls, you know what I am so happy about? I am so glad that I have girls who like to work hard and do a great job cleaning. That just makes me so glad!"

Without looking up from her play, Liberty offered a logical option, "We could also just tell you a joke to make you glad, Mommy."

A Day In The Life Of Mommy

2011-05-11T12:32:00.002-06:00

So, I mentioned that I've been keeping a log of my daily activities, and I thought you'd enjoy this glimpse into one of my days and my attempts to get things done around the house.

7:40 - Get up
7:50 - Girls up: morning fun time together
8:00 - Spend time with God
8:15 - Stretch for the day (part of my healthy life-style)
8:30 - Feed the girls breakfast
8:40 - Get dressed
8:47 - Realize I did not get car seats out of the van (Jeremy has been driving my van to work because he sprained his ankle and can no longer operate the clutch pedal on his manual truck.)
8:49 - Call Meagan to brainstorm zoo options (we were planning to go the zoo together)
8:53 - Call Jeremy to see if trading vehicles is an option
9:01 - Call Meagan to back out of zoo trip
9:03 - Help Mercy get dressed
9:21 - Discuss with Liberty the idea of getting dressed, decide to let her play in her pajamas for a while longer

The girls are now riding their bikes around in circles inside the garage.

9:24 - Sit down to update daily log
9:33 - Eat breakfast: one whole wheat toast with butter, one granola bar (flax almond honey), two cups of water
9:44 - Hear garage door going up; tell Liberty that if she wants to play outside, she HAS to wear clothing.
9:46 - Supervise Liberty dressing herself. Help with shoes. Supervise Mercy putting her own socks on. Help with shoes.

10:03 - Both girls outside, time to clean living room

Instruct girls outside not to swim in the giant mud puddle. Back to cleaning living room.

Neighbor Meagan stops by to talk. Back to cleaning living room.

Go outside to help Mercy with her stuck tricycle and decide to also bring trash can back from the street. Back to cleaning living room.

Go outside to record girls riding bikes together (they were too cute not to record them). Back to cleaning living room.

Go outside to give girls picnic snack: raisins, bananas, water. Back to cleaning living room.

10:52 - Living room finally finished, start cleaning dining room

Hear Mercy crying, go outside to see what's wrong. Provide new cup of water to replace her spilled water. Mercy comes inside. Back to cleaning dining room.

Stop Mercy from coloring on my important paperwork; set her up in the toy room with crayons. Back to cleaning dining room.

Liberty comes inside to throw away her banana peel. She decides she wants to color, too.

Mercy stops coloring to help me clean. Back to cleaning dining room.

11:19 - Dining room finally finished (except for chairs that I left in a train formation in the living room for Mercy to play with)

11:20 - Go see the picture Liberty has colored. Testify loudly of its wonderfulness.

11:23 - Snack time for Mommy: organic Greek yogurt, strawberries, one cup water

Neighbor Dick comes over to chat

12:00 - Lunch time: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cantaloupe, pretzels

12:18 - Begin cleaning kitchen island

12:21 - Hear girls talking to our mailman Mark; go outside to join the conversation
12:25 - Deliver misdirected mail to our neighbor Melissa
12:30 - Open and read letter from friend Amy
12:36 - Start to call Amy, realize I haven't looked up our movie time yet, log onto computer to look up movie times
12:47 - Call Amy

12:56 - Change Mercy's diaper

1:02 - Receive phone call from Ginny just to chat

1:10 - Get shoes and socks back on the girls so we can walk around the pond.
1:14 - Remember to gather egg hunt receipts so that I can turn them in to the neighborhood association treasurer on our way home from the walk
1:15 - Go for walk
1:40 - Stop off at treasurer's house and end up talking for a while
2:03 - Start walking again

2:48 - Find a baby turtle!
2:52 - Take her home and put her in Hugs' and Kisses' old fish bowl
2:55 - Fill the bowl with mud, rocks, plants and water
3:02 - Convince the girls to leave the turtle and go to Rest Time in their room

3:03 - My snack time: walnuts, almonds, cranberries, sesame seeds, pumpkin seeds

3:06 - Finish cleaning kitchen island
3:10 - Straighten garage and front yard
3:17 - Clean rest of kitchen, do dishes, empty, refill and start dishwasher (that starting part, I'm particularly proud of because I usually forget it), plan for supper, set table, take out garbage
4:03 - Sort coupons, sort mail, catch up on emails
4:45 - Put chicken into oven
4:51 - Work on ladies' newsletter Sisterhood Sentinel

5:07 - Girls wake up
5:09 - Check on the turtle
5:12 - Small snack: one stick of string cheese
5:27 - Girls go outside; TURTLE LOST! Short search and rescue party begins

5:35 - We give up. Mercy goes to the park in our backyard; Liberty wails on the front porch over her lost turtle; I go inside to finish cooking supper

5:55 - Receive phone call from Jeremy to tell me to eat supper without him, he's running late getting home because a train is stopped on the tracks, and he loves me :-)

6:03 - Call girls in to wash up for supper
6:12 - Eat supper
6:23 - DADDY'S HOME!!!!!! HOORAY!!!!!
6:45 - Supper over; search for Lollipop Rainbow (the turtle) begins again

6:57 - Daddy is our hero! He finds Lollipop Rainbow! (She had buried herself in the mud at the bottom of the bowl.)

We all play outside.

LeRoy and Tricia and kids come over to chat, and they have to be introduced to our newest family member.

Sharon and Deb stop by to chat on their way around the pond, and they have to be introduced to our newest family member.

Liberty is beside herself with joy over Lollipop.

8:30 - Bath time for the girls
8:50 - Keys for Kids (our bedtime devotional book)
9:00 - Bedtime (otherwise known as Mommy and Daddy time!!)

9:20 - Jeremy calls his Dad, and I clean up the kitchen and dining room
9:34 - Research "How to Care for Painted Turtles" online
10:30 - Work on Sisterhood Sentinel, and then prepare for next week's Sunday School Lesson

1:06 - Go to bed (As you can see, I did not keep to my healthy bedtime schedule.)

And there you have it. I hope it amused you rather than boring you!

Surprising Fullness

2011-05-03T18:07:00.003-06:00

I've been making some changes to the way I order my days, and as a result, the blog has fallen by the wayside. That's not what I intended at all; it's just the way it happened.

It took me a while after moving from Iowa to begin putting down new roots here in Indiana. Additionally, while living in the apartment and waiting to find a home, I felt like I was dangling in a limbo zone where I could not get involved in a whole lot. In fact, Jeremy asked me not to get involved in much because he felt that he could not handle much more juggling or family responsibilities until he felt more settled.

But now: now we've moved, and not only have we moved into a wonderful house, we've also moved into a wonderful neighborhood. I feel like I am finally able to settle into life and get involved! A while ago, I began teaching the four and five year old Sunday School class at my church, then I started working on the ladies' newsletter, then my friend and I started planning an Easter Egg Hunt for our neighborhood, now we're starting a neighborhood mom's group together, and I've got plans in the works to begin a neighborhood events committee. Add onto that, the fact that I'm involved in a Wednesday night Ladies' Bible Study, a Thursday night mentoring relationship, a once-a-week soccer practice for Liberty, and a Saturday soccer game for Liberty. But you know the most wonderful part? I'm slowly making friends! Friends who want to get together, neighbors who come over just to chat with me during the day, people from church and the community who have gotten to know me and who ask me to participate in various activities, all while I'm trying to write and publish books, train my children to become Godly citizens, keep a clean house, be an awesomely sexy wife, and the list goes on.

Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention that this new healthy life-style I'm trying to maintain requires that I get enough sleep at night. Can you imagine? No more getting extra work done after the kids go to bed. No more reading and writing blog posts until the wee hours of the morning. Now THAT is sad! (By the way, I've lost fourteen pounds in three months, so there's definitely an upside. But I'm still very sad about not blogging, and I'm missing out on the lives of my online friends. Do you know that I regularly compose blog posts in my mind during the day for you guys [but really for me, because I just can't help it], but I have no time at night to get those thoughts onto the computer before my bedtime? 'Tis a sad, sad thing!)

Suddenly, my plate is very full, and my life is overflowing with life! My days are filled to the fullest with activity of many kinds, so full in fact, that I began feeling very down about my ability to accomplish simple tasks and to meet deadlines as they come up. I told my mentor, "I'm a failure as a person. I'm not getting anything done! What is wrong with me?"

She suggested that I keep a running log of my daily activities so that I might be able to identify a pattern and make some appropriate changes. I took her advise this week, and that is when I realized: I am not a failure! The difference between these past few months and last year is the fact that I'm finally living! The reason I am exhausted at the end of the day and unable to summon the energy to remember my post (let alone type a post) is because I am no longer sitting on my rear end all day long wishing I could get involved.

I'm so grateful for this daily logging exercise that Sherry has suggested to me, because it helped me discover the surprising fullness in my life. Of course, I can find room for improvement in how I spend my time. Writing down what I'm doing from minute to minute has helped me cut my tendency to hop from task to task without actually finishing anything - that has been a huge improvement! Now, when I get interrupted from doing the dishes by my children or my neighbors or the telephone, instead of returning to the room and starting an entirely different task, I now look at my notebook where I wrote down what time I began washing dishes, and my brain says, "Oh yeah, I was washing dishes. I need to finish that."

Can you say, "BREAK-THROUGH!"

Or maybe you should say, "There's nothing shiny over here."

Mediocrity At Its Finest

2011-04-19T17:11:00.004-06:00

Hey, Everybody! I've missed you a lot. I've been crazy busy the last few weeks working on deadline after deadline after deadline. But things are finally settling down and I now have time to blog! Hooray!

Last weekend I went away with the ladies from my church for a weekend "Garden Party Getaway." And I WON a prize for the craziest flower-themed outfit! Yay for me! I also spent a few hours shopping and finally got hit with inspiration for my master bathroom decor. I'm extremely excited about this.

I know this post is lacking the story-telling style that I usually employ. If I'd had time yesterday to blog what was in my head, you would have laughed and laughed and fallen in love with my husband just a little bit more like I did, but I didn't have time to blog yesterday, and that story has gone clean out of my head.

My apologies. Keep your fingers crossed for a better post from me tomorrow!

PS> Can mediocrity actually have a "finest?"

Today

2011-03-28T20:05:00.003-06:00

Today, I met with my illustrator about the first story in my children's book series. (I've finished three stories so far.)

!!!!

Today, the sun shone gorgeously, and the temps got up to almost sixty.

!!!!

Today, my four-year-old, Liberty Grace decided it would be smart to cut a patch out of the back of my hair with a pair of scissors.

!!!!

Today, I earned my mother-of-the-year award -- both of my daughters are still living.

(Barely.)

Mercy's Big Night

2011-03-15T19:10:00.007-06:00

It was late Sunday evening when I heard the crash, followed by shrieking wails from the girls' room. I jumped up from my facebook session so quickly that I knocked my chair over in the process. When I arrived at the girls' bedroom door, I found two little sisters standing there. Liberty had her arm wrapped protectively around her sister, and Mercy's large tear drops had created two rivers down her cheeks. Mercy looked up at me, sniffed in one last sob, and quavered bravely, "I'm okay, Mommy. I just hurt my back a little bit."

I didn't respond. My brain was too busy fitting puzzle pieces together. How did Mercy arrive at the door? I looked over at the crib and verified that the crib rails were all up and intact. Did she climb out? I looked again. She must have climbed out. In mild disbelief, I looked her over for injuries, kissed away her tears, tucked her back into her bed and very firmly informed her that she was NOT allowed to get out of bed without Mommy or Daddy's help; if she chose to get out by herself, there would be consequences.

Sitting at the computer once again, my mind had a chance to catch up, and I realized it was way past time for Mercy to begin climbing out. She is two and a half years old! Liberty climbed out very shortly after her first birthday. I continued working at the dining room table, until a slight noise caused me to turn to my left. Two big blue eyes stared solemnly at me from a few feet away in the kitchen. She was trying out her innocent look on me.

It didn't work.

She received her consequence, wailed to let me know that she didn't approve, got kissed and tucked back into bed, and the same stern warning administered. "Night-night, Sissy-girl. I love you."

"I love you, too, Mommy. I'll stay in my bed until you help me out in the morning, okay?"

"Okay, Honey. Great decision!"

I think I had been back at the computer about ten minutes when I heard the bedroom door creak as it opened, and the whisper of two little girls who haven't quite gotten the concept of whispering reached my ears.

Liberty: "It's okay, Mommy's gone. Let's go out into the hallway."
Mercy: "Okay, she's gone. You go first."
Liberty: "See? I'm out here. It's okay. Come here, Mercy."
Mercy: "Let's go to the kitchen, Grace!"
Liberty: "Okay, but be very quiet! You don't want Mommy to hear us."

I waited with a grin on my face (ready to be tucked away when necessary) as the girls crept very slowly down the hall and around the corner. I waited until they were far enough from their bedroom door that the sudden sight of me could not realistically send them scampering to their beds. Then I stood up.

Mercy froze and her little hands popped up horizontally on either side of her body as they always do when she is unsure of her next move. Liberty recovered quickly and jumped up shouting, "I have to go potty, Mommy!" She took off for the bathroom, knowing that that is the only reason she is allowed out of bed after tuck-in. Mercy watched her sister's flashing legs with an abrupt turn of her head, and then quickly turned back to examine my face. Not even a full second of time had passed. Around her bedtime pacifier she shouted, "I have to go potty, Mommy! Have to go potty!" and she took off like a rocket.

I almost laughed out loud. Mercy is not potty trained. We've been trying, oh yes, but she has informed me on a regular basis that she does not like to potty in the toilet or the potty chair. She does not want to be a big girl. She does not want candy or stickers or hugs. She would much rather potty in her diaper like she has always done. She has actually told me this; I am not joking with you.

I let her run, figuring I'd catch up with her in the bathroom where she would refuse to pull her diaper down or sit on the toilet. But when I could finally see into the little room, I witnessed an unusual sight. Liberty sat on the big toilet, and Mercy sat on the potty chair facing her with her diaper down around her ankles, the two of them happily singing away. I pondered for a few moments and then decided not to ruin the first good experience Mercy has had with the potty chair.

I sat back down at the computer and waited for my songsters to give up their charade. It took a long time. Finally, Liberty requested her bottom wiped (my favorite part of motherhood), and Mercy told me, "I goed potty, Mommy! Wipe my bottom, please!" I walked back into the bathroom fully expecting to find Mercy dancing around, but lo and behold, she was right! She DID go potty!

I gasped, "Mercy? Did you do this all by yourself?" I pointed at the puddle in the potty chair. She nodded proudly. "Wow! You went potty?! This is great, Mercy Jane!" I gave her a giant hug, picked her up into the air and swung her around for fun. I thought about giving her a piece of candy for finally going potty, but it was after bedtime. AND she had not really gotten out to go potty, that was just a lucky break for her. I decided a big hug and not getting a consequence for deliberately sneaking out of her room would be enough of a reward for pottying this time.

The next morning, we dismantled her crib and turned it into a big girl bed. I have some really cute pictures and a video, but I can't figure out how to get them off my phone.

A Day Of Discovery

2011-03-09T12:25:00.003-06:00

Liberty has been discussing the growth of her toenails with me randomly for the past several days. Today, at lunch, she stated in her BIG IDEA voice, "Mommy! I know! I can ask God to make my toenails stop growing and stay the same for always! Right, Mommy?!"

"Well, that's right, you can ask God for that, but He wants your toenails to keep growing."

"Why?"

"Because He made you that way, and He knows it is best for your toenails to keep growing and for us to keep clipping them."

"But how does God know that is best? I don't think that is really best."

"Because He is way super smart. He is so much smarter than we are, and He knows that it is good for us to have toenails that keep growing."

Liberty pondered this while she munched on her sandwich. After two seconds of silence, she asked, "Mommy? What was your name when you were a little tiny baby?"

"My name was Melissa Jane." I thought about my verb tense as I said it but decided to roll with it.

"Ohhh," Liberty nodded knowingly. "How little were you when you were Mehwisha Jane?"

"Well, I was so little, that Grandpa, my daddy, could hold me in only one arm, like this." I demonstrated.

Mercy looked up from her plate, "Mommy? Your daddy could hold you like this?" She pantomimed holding a newborn in her arms. When I nodded, she said, "That's very little."

"Yes."

"But Mommy," Liberty wanted to know, "how come I never saw you when you were that little?"

"Because you weren't born yet."

"Why wasn't I born yet?"

While I paused to figure out the answer to that question, Mercy piped up with wonder in her voice, "Mommy! When I take my turkey out of my bread, I still have mayonnaise on my sandwich!" By the tone of her voice, this obviously was a Great Discovery.

"Wow!" I responded, matching her excitement.

"Mommy? Where you this little when Grandpa could hold you with one arm?" Liberty indicated the size of a pea with her index finger and thumb. I thought about telling her I was that little when I was inside Grandma's tummy, but held back, not wanting to answer all of the questions that would undoubtedly ensue from that bit of info.

Instead, I laughed, "Noooo!"

"How about this big?" her fingers indicated a golf ball now.

"Nooo! Babies are usually this big when they are first born, not any smaller than that." I used my hands to outline a preemie.

Mercy disagreed, "Team Umizoomi is this big, Mommy," she pointed out.

"You're right, Sissy, but Team Umizoomi is pretend. Real people are usually this big when they are babies."

"Mommy!" Liberty shouted with sudden inspiration, "I want to watch Diego when I'm done with my lunch!"

I thought about it. Since every Wednesday we have English Class (letter recognition and writing), Cooking Class (we made smoothies and smoothie pops today) and Cleaning/Health Class (they took a bath - systematically cleaning themselves, and then cleaned their bathroom - systematically following a list of items to be cleaned and learning why cleaning themselves and the things around them is important)... Anyway, since every Wednesday we have English Class, I told them they could watch an episode of Super Why which teaches them to recognize the alphabet.

"I want to watch Dora!" Mercy exclaimed.

"Sorry, Sissy, not today."

"That's because Dora is pretend," Liberty explained to her little sister.

"Yeah, and Diego is pretend, too," Mercy shot back.

"Super Why is pretend, too," I inserted, and they both looked at me in amazement.

Then Liberty's face lit up, "That's why they're this little, Mommy!" She showed me with her fingers how tall they were, and I couldn't hold it in. I laughed, and we all started laughing together.

"Mommy," Liberty told me in a thoughtful voice, "I'm glad you're not Bewhissa Jane anymore. I'm really glad your name is Mommy."

Sitting In The Dark

2011-02-28T22:37:00.004-06:00

While reading a post of the same title by my friend PJ, I was reminded of an incident that happened to me a few years ago while traveling to a business meeting.

*******

In order to arrive at the morning meeting in a timely fashion, I picked up my rental car after work and began driving to the hotel where I would be staying for the night. Around ten-thirty pm, I pulled into a gas station to refuel, stretch my legs, and use the restroom. The station looked run down, a little sketchy, and distant from other businesses, and I considered picking a more well-lit place with a happier vibe, but my bladder urged me to stop here. Besides, I knew that the stretch of highway ahead of me held no exits for another several miles.

I kept my guard up while locking my car doors and sauntering into the building, and I memorized the layout of the store while walking towards the bathroom. I also took a hard look at the only person present, the cashier standing behind a counter and protected by what I could only assume was bullet-proof Plexiglas. Not reassuring.

When I opened the bathroom door, I realized two things: first that a motion sensor over the doorway had picked up the movement of the door and turned the lights on for me, and second that the bathroom was unusually long and narrow. The sink and toilet sat at the far end of the room, and I felt claustrophobic as I sat down.

I'll spare you the details (mainly because I don't remember them), but apparently, I sat on the throne long enough for the timer on the lights to go off. My first thought was one of those horror film scenes where the lights get cut off right before the gorgeous and brilliant heroine gets brutally murdered. My second thought was that the electricity to the building must have gone down. Then I finally realized the motion sensor had not had any motion to sense, so I waved my hand to turn the lights back on.

Nothing happened.

I waved again.

Again nothing.

I began wildly wiggling my arms and legs while still perched on my throne.

No result.

My heart raced along with my brain as I stopped to think about the scenario in which I had found myself trapped. Then I cleverly removed my right shoe and heaved it towards where I remembered the door to be. Then my left shoe.

Still Darkness.

I sat, wanting to cry and feeling a panic rising in my throat. I'm not normally afraid of the dark, but this darkness felt so thick and complete. I thought of the phrase "So dark you can't see your hand in front of your face," and I tried it out. Nope, no hand.

I began imagining my future. I wouldn't be missed until morning when my co-workers would wonder why I had not arrived at the meeting, and even then, how would they think to send the police to this particular restroom at this particular gas station? I thought of my cell phone locked in the car outside. I wondered if the cashier with the bushy, unkempt beard would remember seeing me walk to the restroom and wonder what was taking me so long. Then I embarrassed myself, imagining the scene if he unlocked the door with his master key and found me still sitting there, shoeless.

I finally gathered up the courage to stretch my nice clean fingers out towards where the toilet paper should be bolted to the hopefully equally clean wall. The coldness of the concrete blocks greeted my fingertips, and I had to force myself not to recoil, to continue searching. A few minutes later, I had to force myself to put my sock feet down on the dirty linoleum and step, step, step to the door.

*Shudder*

When I got to the door, I waved my hands over my head, but still nothing happened. I had to feel my way around the door until I reached the handle. When I opened the door a crack, the lights blazed on, and I quickly re-locked the door, slipped my shoes back on and ran to the sink to speed wash and disinfect my hands before the lights had time to shut themselves off again.

See, I told you all the best stories contained TMI!

A Cry For Help

2011-02-24T10:04:00.004-06:00

Alright, you guys, I need help.

I've been back and forth on my eating habits. I think it was Saturday(?) when I finally decided, Enough of this! I am going to do right! Amazingly, I even did great while at a KFC buffet Sunday afternoon with my family. Can you believe it? (Yes, I'm patting myself on the back.)

But Wednesday evening Bible Study buffets seem to be my downfall. You see, every Wednesday night, I go to a Bible Study at church, and the ladies all bring the most deliciously tempting assortment of food. Last night, I told myself, I will be very good. So I took only a small spoonful of salad, and a small spoonful of the to-die-for chili (I'm going to have to get that recipe!) and a small amount of tortilla chips (as in seven, count 'em, seven chips). But the end of the line contained my weakness: chocolate chip cookies...and other desserts. So I stood there, thinking.

I've done a great job the past few days. In fact, I've actually eaten less calories than I'm supposed to be eating - totally by accident, I assure you - I can have some dessert. Which is true! I'm not cutting out desserts; I'm just being reasonable.

I scooped a square of banana bread with cream cheese frosting onto my plate and thought about walking away, but the next dessert was one of those beautiful concoctions covered with all sorts of colorful, chopped fruits. You know, it's very important to eat fruit. I said to myself, so I picked one of the larger pre-cut squares. (I wouldn't want to skimp on nutrition.) Again, I thought about walking away, but you know what plate was next in line? The chocolate chip cookie plate. And I truly have never seen any chocolate chip cookies in my life that looked better than those did. They were the perfect size, texture, smell, everything! I really did think about walking away. I should get points for that, right?

I took two.

Only two little circles of heaven.

That's good, right?

Of course, after the main learning and before the discussion, I went back for two or three more.

And then after the Bible Study group dismissed, I snagged another one or two.

This is getting embarrassing.

Here's how you can help: On Wednesdays BEFORE the meeting, please message, comment or email me with helpful humor like - DON'T DO IT! or IT'S NOT WORTH IT!

And if you happen to be at the Bible Study with me, I give you permission to examine my plate for excessive cookie consumption.

Galatians 6:2 says, "Carry each other's burdens," right? So, give a sister a hand! (And if you happen to be holding a few cookies in the hand you extend to me, I'll be your best friend forever.)

A Grand Time Was Had By All

2011-02-22T20:07:00.003-06:00

Whew, I am worn. flat. out.

Liberty and Mercy had a couple friends over today from about 1:00 pm to 8:30 pm, and the running and shrieking and jumping and hugging and sobbing and laughing and chocolating (it starts early) and just all around silliness was a sight to behold! The muscles on my face even now, an hour later, feel strange if they aren't smiling widely. Those four girls together were hysterical!

The non-stop action, hilarity, craziness and just plain fun reminded me of my childhood, and I'm missing my brothers and sisters badly right now. Memories of our own unique brand of nonsense games are flooding my heart and causing chuckles. What a wonderful life I've had! :-)

I Retain The Mental High Ground

2011-02-20T19:55:00.007-06:00

You remember that overgrown spider who disappeared in my bathroom a week or so ago, right?

He's back.

And taunting me from his perch 20 feet higher than my head.

I've been on high alert ever since the day he disappeared. Two days later, I moved some papers on the desk in my bedroom, and his petite cousin scurried into my desk drawer to hide. The drawer! I ask you, what was I to do?

First I shrieked. Then I prayed.

Beside himself with glee at my predicament, my husband laughed from the other side of the room while I timidly yanked the drawer open, jumped back, waited, slammed the drawer shut, jumped back, waited, yanked it open again, jumped back, waited, found a nearby ruler to stir things up a bit, then shrieked and jumped back again when the little acrobat bungee jumped from the desk to the carpet below.

"Wilfred's getting away again!" Jeremy The Vigilant informed me, thrilled that I was being bested by the same arachnid.

"That's not Wilfred!" I responded, trying desperately not to lose the creature in the fibers of the rug, "She's too small. This is his cousin, Trina. Throw me a shoe! I need a shoe!"

He tossed me a flimsy slipper and called out, "You're really going to kill a helpless little spider named Trina?"

The slipper disappointed me. I had been hoping for a sturdy, steel-toed boot to do the deed. The flexibility of the slipper meant I'd have to put my hand farther down on the shoe and thus closer to the object of my murderous intent. "I sure hope so." I muttered, not at all sure of my ability to do so. Not after Wilfred's mysterious get-away earlier that week.

I smooshed the slipper into the thick carpeting, and Trina, whether by her own powers or forced upwards by the springy fibers, jumped about a foot sideways and closer to me. I screamed again and lost all control of my arm. It slammed and slammed and slammed and slammed, until Jeremy shouted, "Stop! She's got to be dead by now!"

My heart thudded loudly in the silence. I slowly removed the slipper from the small black body and watched for a flicker of movement. Finally, convinced she wasn't faking, I stood up to get a burial shroud from the bathroom. I planned to bury her at sea in a solemn ceremony, but when I returned to the scene of her death, I couldn't find her. Not even a chalk outline helped me remember exactly where she had been.

Another few days passed. As has now become my habit, I checked the bathroom doorway and ceiling for Wilfred the Terrible upon entry, and this time, I didn't even flinch when I found his adjutant, Darius, sitting over the garden tub. I considered mustering my artillery battalion, but two resounding defeats in a row had my men discouraged. I took in their state of despair and the enemy positioned on the higher ground and decided it would be a more strategic move to let this battle pass. My troops needed more time to recover and rebuild before our next engagement; besides, lulling Darius into a false sense of security could prove to be the smartest move yet in my war against Wilfred the Terrible.

It has now been almost two weeks since my first and last sighting of Wilfred. Until yesterday. I sat in my favorite ugly upholstered rocking chair, drinking in the silence of naptime. My shoulder muscles slowly relaxed, my head finally dropped back against the headrest, and I saw him. Lounging about ten inches from the highest point of the living room's cathedral ceiling, Wilfred sits and watches.

He knows I cannot reach him. He has seen the burned out bulbs in our living room light and has correctly surmised that not even our ten foot ladder can come to our aid. Great strategist that he is, he also waited until I decorated the fireplace mantel for Valentine's Day with a length of red tulle, white lights and glass framed pictures of my love and I. He knows, he knows I will not risk firing at him only to have his heavy body drop onto the breakable items below.

For two days, we have stood at an impasse -- I, surreptitiously glancing at him from time to time, pretending that he matters naught to me, and he, laughing to himself as he reclines on my living room wall, his legs crossed, his chin resting on his knees, observing my habits, learning my movements.

I will tell only you this: I am feeling at a distinct disadvantage. Thankfully, spiders cannot read -- I would eat my blog before allowing him to know how I am feeling at this moment.

How To Accept A Compliment Graciously

2011-02-11T12:09:00.004-06:00

The other day, Liberty, Mercy and I were at the chiropractor's office. Dr. C has become a friend, and the girls just love to visit with him. He took note of Mercy's purple, polka-dotted baby doll top, sparkly jeans and crisp white hair bow, and he told her, "Mercy, you look so pretty today."

Now, I've taught my girls to say "Thank you," when someone says something nice about them, but Mercy just looked earnestly into his face and said matter of factly, "Yep." Then she nodded to reaffirm his assessment of her looks.

Dr. C and I both laughed, "Nothing like an extra dose of self-esteem, huh?" he said jokingly.

A little bit later, Dr. C told Liberty, "Oh, Liberty, that huge diamond on your shirt is so sparkly!" Liberty nodded and pointed to her hair bow, "And look at this, Dr. C!" she encouraged him. "It is so pretty, too!"

"Yeah, you missed a compliment, there, Dr. C," I muttered facetiously for only him to hear. We laughed again and started talking about how hard it is for some people accept compliments. He pointed out that most adults, when complimented, instead of graciously accepting it with a thank you, try to put themselves down. Apparently, that is one of his pet peeves because he continued talking about it while he worked on my spine.

A few minutes later, we were discussing another subject when Liberty asked Dr. C a technical question about one of the machines nearby. He answered her and then said to me, "She's going to be an engineer like her daddy when she grows up."

"No, I don't think so. That's Mercy."

"Why do you say that?" he wanted to know.

"Because Mercy's brain works like her daddy's, and Liberty's definitely works like mine."

"Ah, then Liberty's going to be an incredible mommy when she grows up," he complimented me.

But I didn't recognize the compliment - my mind was still focused on what Liberty might grow up to be. I could see her being a good mommy, so I nodded, "Yeah, you're right."

He cracked up laughing and when he could breathe again, said, "Now I see how your girls learned to accept compliments!"

She's Financially Savvy

2011-02-10T12:32:00.004-06:00

On my drive into town today, Liberty's concerned voice piped up from the back seat. "Mommy, do you have your money with you?" She asked this because a few weeks ago, we tried to eat at Subway using a check to pay. We now know that our Subway does not accept checks, even the checks of nice, innocent-looking people like us. I wonder if our crossed fingers gave us away?

"Yes, I do, honey."

"Oh, good, Mommy. How much do you have?"

"Enough."

"Is 'enough' a lot of money?" she wanted to know.

"Well," I thought about it, "'enough' means God has given us all the money that He thinks we need."

She squealed, "Oh, good! Now we can buy everything! This is GREAT, Mommy!"

I laughed. "Actually, it would not be a good decision to buy everything with our money." I saw a teaching moment on the horizon and reached for it. "We should talk to God and ask Him what He wants us to do with the money He gives us. Then, we can spend the money on only the best things."

She was impressed, "Oh! You're right, Mommy! I know what the best things are! We need to buy a horse, so I can ride on him." (This is her latest obsession.) "And after that, we can buy the best puppet." (Puppy.) "And then a kitty cat for our house, because it is the best. And then..."

While her best list grew, I had to laugh silently, because my best list looks like this: living room furniture, dining room table and chairs, back deck... And I'm quite certain my list was a direct revelation from God! ;-)

*Note to self: get that kid a horse! We can keep it in the basement.*

The Case of the Missing Spider

2011-02-10T00:05:00.001-06:00

So I was sitting on the toilet...

(Sorry for the TMI, but let's be honest, don't all the really great stories start that way?)

...when I noticed a gigantic black spider creeping it's way across the bathroom ceiling towards my position. I stared and stared, sure that if I looked away for a tiny moment, I'd miss the part where he rushed me. (I'm not fond of surprise attacks by insects.) It was an intense five minutes, let me tell you. Afraid I'd be caught with my pants down, so to speak, I had a hard time with the toilet paper, while that colossal arachnid crept closer and closer.

Finally, I jumped up, ready to do battle. Unfortunately, I couldn't think of a single weapon that would be useful while he held the upper ground. I did consider getting the broom from the pantry, but that would require leaving my reconnaissance post, and that would have been completely unacceptable. After all, who would be left to guard my bedroom doorway if I went AWOL? We all know that a renegade spider loose in the bedroom may be the only thing worse than one loose in the bathroom. I quickly took my eyes from the enemy just long enough to perform a sweeping search of the available weaponry, and I found a small pile of ponytail holders in reach. AHA!

I positioned a band on my right index finger and pulled back with my left hand, aiming for the ceiling. Twang! The cloth-covered rubber shot from my finger tips and thwacked against the ceiling. The spider flinched and then froze in place. I quickly grabbed another hair band and repeated my actions. Thwack, thwack. The band hit the ceiling near the spider and ricocheted against the wall before falling to the counter top. I shot again. And again. And again.

I really impressed myself with my aim. In our family rubber band fights, I can't hit a human target for the life of me, but several of these shots hit so close to the spider that only the fact that he hadn't fallen or lost a limb told me I'd missed. After several rounds of ammunition had been spent, I decided to call in the big guns. I grabbed a nearby hand towel and launched it at the ceiling. It hit, my aim way off, and landed on the light fixture over the bathroom mirror. I reached up and snatched it down before the spider could regroup or drop on me, and I launched it again.

This time, my aim was spot on, and the spider and towel fell almost gently together. On its way down, the towel hung itself on the air freshener plugged into the wall and draped its lower half into Jeremy's sink. I waited breathlessly for the spider to come running out of its protecting folds, but he was too smart for me. He remained hidden.

I had to stop for a re-strategizing meeting. Once I'd gotten my new very risky orders, I took several steps back so my body was as far from the counter as possible. Then with my fingertips, I quickly (so as not to get crawled on) and gently (to prevent excessive towel swinging) picked up the towel and dropped it to the floor a few feet away from where I stood.

I tried to watch two points at once, the counter top where the towel had been and the floor where the towel was now. Neither revealed a crawly creature. I even quickly eyeballed the air freshener to see if it was giving refuge to the enemy. Nothing there either, so I knew that he must still be lurking in the folds of the towel.

Again, I waited. Again, the spider outsmarted me.

I became brave enough to bend, allowing my face within eyesight range, and I searched every centimeter of the top of that towel before declaring it clear of enemy presence. Then with my fingertips again, just as quickly and just as gently, I flipped the towel and examined the other side.

No spider there either.

In puzzlement, I pondered the situation -- never taking my eyes from that towel in case my nemesis might use that moment of weakness to make good his escape. I reviewed all moves and counter-moves, on the lookout for times or means of escape that the spider may have seized during the course of our battle. I found none. At least none plausible enough to really investigate.

Finally, certain that his only hiding place could be that towel, I bravely trampled it. Back and forth, missing nary a fiber, I trampled it. Then I trampled it again. The entire time, I remained on the lookout for a fleeing invader. Afterwards, I gingerly flipped the towel over again, searching for a crushed corpse, or a stray leg, or a wet smudge on the tile floor, anything to indicate the terminated presence of my foe.

I found nothing. He has vanished.

And I want to know, who is going to stand guard so I can try to sleep tonight?

Amnesia

2011-02-09T08:25:00.002-06:00

I've spent the past four days gaining back those seven pounds. Apparently, I had already forgotten what agony it was to lose them.

It started out with a Progress celebration that got a little out of hand. Those extra calories (which weren't even that much extra) discouraged me. The next day, Jeremy talked me into going with him to our favorite restaurant where I somewhat successfully divided my portions with the family, but I was left guessing the numbers on what I'd actually eaten. I let that discourage me, too. Then my entire busy weekend kept me from logging onto SparkPeople - my main catalyst for continuing.

On Monday, Jeremy encouraged me, "Just forget about trying to record what you did this weekend, and start today." But I couldn't let it go. My own perfectionist tendencies kicked in and wouldn't let me move on until I had recorded perfectly what I couldn't perfectly recall or even guess. I stayed stuck.

This morning, before I even got out of bed, I asked God to help me out of this hole I'd planted myself in. I'd been using my own faulty logic and my own sporadic strength. It wasn't working. I was ready to move on.

While I put away the breakfast dishes, this verse popped into my mind. "Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."

Starting today, I have amnesia. The good kind.

And you know what else? This morning, I realized that my new lower-sized jeans still fit, albeit barely. So maybe I haven't gained it all back!

Sticking With The King

2011-02-04T07:25:00.006-06:00

Yesterday marked two weeks since I started this tumultuous journey on Sparkpeople.com, and my friend Que asked me (ever so ~~fearfully~~ politely) if I had lost any weight. Oh how that question shot tremors through my soul. You see, I've purposely avoided any scales so far.

That may sound strange for someone who's trying to lose weight, but I've tried and tried and tried and tried before with little to no results, and I wanted this journey to be different. My goal is not really to lose weight (although that is a very desired by-product). My goal is not really to become healthy (although, that is closer to my goal). My real goal is to glorify my Lord with the body He has given me. I want to be able to say to Him, "I love you SO MUCH, God, that here is how I have respected what You have created."

I started this journey by praying, no, by BEGGING God to help me do something that I had never been able to accomplish before, and already in these past two weeks, I have seen Him bring circumstances about that proved to me: this goal that He's put on my heart is important to Him. He is actively walking this road with me.

Because of the transformation I've seen internally, I didn't want to discourage myself by seeing no progress or very little progress on the scale. That was easy to manage, though. I simply stayed away from the scale. Then Que's question touched a question of my own, have I made any physical progress? I don't know.

You wouldn't believe how I stewed over my decision: to weigh or not to weigh. THAT is the question.

This morning, I stood in the bathroom brushing my teeth and pondering how my body felt to me. It definitely does NOT feel lighter, I determined. I should wait until I feel lighter to weigh myself. Then I started talking to God, "What do You think, God? Should I skip it? I should skip it, right? I don't want to feel defeated."

And God said to my spirit, I thought your goal wasn't about losing weight, that you'd be happy whether or not you lost anything as long as you were closely following Me.

"Oh yeah, that." I muttered.

So I bolstered my courage, and told myself, "Even if you've only lost a pound, or worse, gained a pound, it doesn't matter. You're in this to glorify God through self-control and training yourself to be a good steward of your body. So, you might be discouraged by the results, but you're going to keep going no matter what. Right, Missy? Right!" Then I stepped up.

"No. Way!"

I stared at the numbers.

"No. Freaking. WAY!"

I took inventory of my body again. I felt heavier. Really and truly, I felt heavier.

So how could the scale tell me I was seven pounds lighter?

SEVEN POUNDS! In two weeks!

Those two weeks had been filled with victories, yes, but also with multitudes of failure. Sparkpeople tells me that I should be eating between 1300-1500 calories each day and excersizing three times a week, but there was a day that I ate more than 3400 calories and a few days when I topped 1800 calories, and I certainly haven't been exercizing three times a week, although I have been more purposeful in trying to move vigorously more often. So how in the world...

Then I got suspicious. I jokingly said, "God, did You mess with my numbers just so I wouldn't be discouraged? Okay, just step back for a second. I want to weigh by myself."

I stepped off and then back on the scale, totally kidding with God.

Same result: SEVEN POUNDS!

Can you believe it?

I jumped up and down, twirling around the bathroom tiles, and shouting my praises to God. Then I counted that as one of my days of exercize for the week. (Just kidding.)

I'll Claim A Victory Wherever I Can Find It

2011-02-02T17:59:00.004-06:00

It snowed today. A Lot.

Jeremy hauled out his big manly snow-blower and started with our driveway, then our sidewalks, then the street in front of our house, then the street from our house almost to the crossroad, then he sent me next door with a request, "Can my husband, please, please, pretty please clear off your driveway for you? It will make him so happy!"

They said yes.

That kept him busy for another while, until he came into the house to ask me to do some ice-chopping on sections of their driveway - major upper body workout, let me tell you! Then I was forced to go across the street and ask if he could clear that neighbor's driveway. He was too chicken to ask by himself.

We breaked for lunch and some fun times, and during the girls' nap time, I got onto facebook where I saw a status from my neighbor down the street mentioning that her husband had been outside shoveling their driveway the past two hours, and he still wasn't finished. I read that status to my heroman Jeremy who jumped up and grabbed his coat. "Tell her I'm on my way!" he said happily.

We scored a bucket of homemade chocolate chip cookies from them!

When I found out about it, I had mixed feelings. I've been doing pretty well with my eating habits, but I've also wisely kept most temptations out of the house during this start-up period. I looked up the nutrition information for homemade cookies and found out they are usually about 60 calories. I then looked at what I intended to eat for snacks and supper and decided if I cut out my snack, I could eat two cookies! Hooray! Oh how excited I was!

Of course, I did all this without the cookies in my eyesight. I dream big, don't I?

Once that bucket of homemade chocolate chip cookies was clutched in my grubby little hands, and the sweet aroma entangled itself in my nostrils, I lost all control. I ate three cookies immediately. (Not too bad, I rationalized to myself.) Then I put the lid on and put it out of sight.

When the girls got up from their naps, they were ready for their snack, and I told them, "Guess what? I have a surprise for you!" I opened that enticing bundle of sugar and chocolate and carbohydrates and fat and inhaled deeply. I doled out Liberty and Mercy's snacks and ate another cookie. I put the lid on the container, but when I finished my extra cookie, I grabbed another one. And then another one. While I ate that sixth cookie, Gandalf's words reverberated in my brain, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" And I remembered my cocoon post, celebrating my new-found self-control.

I felt defeated.

I put the lid back on the bucket, and put the bucket on top of the refrigerator. I walked to my room, sat at my computer and entered my newest calories into SparkPeople. I found that I had only 125 calories left for the day. I stared sadly at my screen, not looking at the numbers, but thinking of my failure. My emotions begged me to fully accept my defeat and go finish the rest of the cookies in the container. At least that way, the temptation will be gone! I thought to myself.

The picture of Gandalf the Gray from Lord of the Rings in that dark cave facing his biggest fear entered my mind again, and I played it out in my imagination. The STAB of his staff into the bedrock; the finality in his voice when he roared at the balrog, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" And the battle to the death that followed so that he could stick with his convictions and not run. Then I thought of those cookies on top of the refrigerator.

"No! I will NOT be completely defeated!" I said to myself. I stood up and imitated Gandalf's stab into the earth, my legs braced for battle, my head high, my face set. I said to those cookies -- no, I said to my own desires -- "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"

Then I sat back down and felt a little silly, but definitely settled. I looked back at the screen and tried to decide how to finish out my eating for the day. I could no longer meet my nutrition goals, but I could still meet my caloric goals. I searched the communication from my tummy. Nope, not hungry at all...in fact, slightly queasy from the unusual amount of sugar now present. I decided on a 120 calorie container of Greek yogurt with strawberries. Then I happily smelled (from the other room) while my family chowed down on Jeremy's impulsive order of cheese pizza from Papa Murphy's.

(It's really not so bad if you don't watch them eat it.)

Jeremy kindly set aside a piece for me to eat tomorrow when I get to start over with a clean plate...err, I mean slate, and I'll balance out those carbs and fat with nutrition the rest of the day.

I'm proud of myself. There are still cookies on top of the fridge that I am defeating! Well, I'm as proud as I can be with the memory of those six eaten cookies in my past, but I'm trying to use those to motivate me. My long-term goal is NOT to reach my caloric goal and skimp on nutrition; it is to be healthy.

I'm getting there.

PS> I'm not an insanely addicted LOTR's fan, although my past few posts may indicate otherwise. It's just that the scene with Gandalf seems to be on my mind lately.

His N Hers Brains

2011-02-01T16:29:00.007-06:00

The other night, Jeremy and I sat at our dining room table bent over individual Bible Study books. The large, old-world looking clock on the wall ticked loudly in the after-bedtime silence while we flipped pages in our Bibles and filled in answers on our worksheets. Finally, Jeremy announced, "Let's stop here for the night and discuss what we each put in our blanks."

I leaned back in my chair and stretched the muscles in my back that had been leaning forward too long. "Okay, what did you put for question one?"

He frowned, "Question one was complicated."

"Complicated?" I looked back at the question printed in my workbook. On a scale of one to ten with ten being high, rate yourself on the way you love others. "How is that complicated? You get to pick the answer, and since it's based on your opinion, you can't get it wrong!"

"They didn't give you enough information to make a good judgement," he explained. "For example, are they asking how well do I love others right now? How well I loved others in the past? How well I'm going to love others? How well do I wish I loved others?"

I glanced at the text again in puzzlement. "The verb tense implies your current love for others."

"Okay. Let's say that's what they want," he agreed, "Then they didn't describe by what standard I am measuring my love for others."

I nodded, understanding his lack of measure. "I just used my own measure. How well I think I love others by my own standard of love," I said.

"Yes, then there's the complication of what your standard of love has been influenced by," he pointed out. "If your father beat you every day, and you say 'Since I haven't beaten anyone today I must be ultra-loving,' then your standard would be different than if you got a sucker every day from your dad, and you said, 'Since I haven't given anyone a sucker today, I must be filled with hate.'"

I had to absorb his illustrations before answering, "Ah, but you see, I HAVE beaten someone today! I beat you at Sudoku! HA!" I paused trying to remember what his exact wording had been. "Wait, does that mean that I'm ultra-loving or filled with hate?"

"It means you were LUCKY!" he replied, "and I was going really slowly when I was playing anyway."

"Mmm-hmm," I winked at him, "your usual pace."

"I'm like Dash - I move so quickly that others perceive me as going slowly," he grinned at me and went back to our original discussion. "Just like the question in the book doesn't specify whether I should rate myself on how others perceive what I perceive to be loving actions."

"Huh?"

"I might tell you not to do something because I love you, and I know that what you're choosing to do will most likely have a bad outcome, but you might perceive my instructions as un-loving because I don't want you to enjoy life."

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Jeremy! You are making this way too complicated! The sentence says RATE YOURSELF. That would be YOUR PERCEPTION."

He re-read the sentence in his workbook. "Okay..."

I waited for his next complication, but one didn't come. "So? Do you have a number picked?"

"I'm calculating."

"Calculating?"

"Yes, averaging my loving level over my lifetime."

"Oh my goodness! You're not serious."

He looked up at me like I was strange. "Yes. How did you come up with your number?"

"Uh, I read the question, and the first number that seemed logical to me, I put down on the paper. And THEN (you won't believe this)," I teased him, "I moved on!"

He shook his head, resigned to my haphazard way of doing things, and continued calculating.

We did finally make it to a few of the other questions with very similar discussions on each one. In fact, on question three which gave a Scripture passage to refer to and asked How did Jesus say we are to love? the convoluted discussion pathways we meandered upon lead us to the end times among other things. By this time, we had moved to the living room to be more comfortable, and as I rocked gently back in my ugly upholstered rocking chair listening to the man I love wax eloquent, I had to smile to myself. His discussion included examples from science about how the atomic structure is formed; it included life examples about people in our past; it included illustrations about building a house, and as I mentioned before, the discussion had now been brought into the "end times" arena.

He paused, "What are you smiling about? Did I say something funny?"

"No," I answered simply. "I'm just amazed at the way your brain works."

He looked suspicious. "What do you mean?"

"Well," I hesitated, searching for a good illustration, and then it hit me. "My brain is like a toy choo-choo-train. The engine hooks to the next car in line, and the next car in line, and the next car in line. My thoughts all follow the same path. I'm very simple-minded.

If I walk to the fridge and see that we are out of eggs, my engine starts puffing, and pretty soon all the cars are clacking along until the caboose gets to the grocery list where it writes EGGS. Finished."

He was staring at me with wrinkled eyebrows and a slightly open mouth.

"Your brain, on the other hand, is like a tinker toy," I continued.

"You start out with this central wheel we're out of eggs and suddenly little sticks start branching off of that wheel in all directions. One stick thinks eggs are full of protein; one stick thinks eggs cost $2.89; one stick thinks we bought this carton on March 22nd; one stick thinks eggs come from chickens; one stick thinks I wonder what the difference is between white and brown eggs? Then each of those sticks gets a wheel of its own added to it, and your brain branches off onto five different platforms of thought all at once.

The first stick eggs are full of protein reaches a wheel protein is good for my family, and sticks begin to branch off of that. 1. I have two girls growing who need protein. 2. I'm cutting back, so I could do without extra protein. 3. I wonder how protein affects Liberty's hearing? 4. Pro-teen. Protein must be extra good for teenagers. Hardy-har!

The second of the original sticks eggs cost $2.89 reaches a wheel what could I buy instead of eggs for the same price? 1. A gallon of gas 2. A kilowatt of electricity 3. A bag of ice melt (and so on).

The third original stick we bought this carton on March 22nd reaches a wheel..."

He was looking at me really strangely now.

"Anyway, you get the idea. After all those thoughts are done branching and platforming and branching and platforming and branching inside, you pool all of the information you have gathered and use that to make a decision: to purchase another carton of eggs or not. If you choose to purchase, you then walk over to the list and write Eggs. I'm just impressed with all the extra stuff your brain does as compared to mine, that's all." I shrugged.

"That's all," he muttered sarcastically.

I made a face at him.

"Okay, what did you write for question three?" he wanted to know.

"Love like Jesus does," I read to him from my workbook.

He did a double-take. "WHAT? That's it?"

I laughed aloud. "Yes. That's it."

"But... Well, how did you come up with that?" and he began to list all the ways that God wants us to love.

I interrupted, "That exact phrase was in the Scripture reference we read. I just copied it right out of the Bible.

"Yeah, I saw it in the verse, but that's so simple."

Yep. Just like my brain, apparently!

Mercy's Cocoon

2011-01-31T14:55:00.004-06:00

It seems this month is the month for internal battling in our family. Mercy has started fighting her own temptations, but my favorite part is that she does it verbally. For example...

This morning, I had to get my grocery list off the computer before we could go shopping. Mercy Jane impatiently stood next to me, commanding me to "Hurry up, Mommy!" She leaned closer and closer to my left arm, first patting it, and then more aggressively hitting. Finally she got very quiet, and in a firm voice said, "No! I do NOT want to bite your arm, Mommy."

I stopped what I was doing to look at her. "What?"

Her face registered determination and peace with the decision she had made. "I do NOT want to bite your arm anymore, Mommy."

"Well...I'm glad for that! Good decision, Mercy Jane!" I encouraged her.

She smiled up at me, but I still moved my arm a safe distance from her teeth.

Later at the grocery store, she told me in that same determined voice, "I do NOT want to open the raisins, Mommy."

I glanced down at her and noticed that she was staring at the box intently. "That's a great decision, Mercy!" I praised her. "Let's move that box so you can do right easier, okay?"

"Okay, thanks, Mommy!" she said happily.

I had to laugh to myself.

Then just now, I got her up from her nap. She stared at the button on my shirt that she had been playing with all day (and had been being told NOT to play with all day), and she said, "Mommy, I do NOT want to unbutton your shirt anymore."

I had forgotten her previous temptation fighting statements, so I questioned in puzzlement, "You don't?"

"No. I do NOT want to unbutton your shirt!" she said with vehemence. "Not. At. All."

I cracked up inside, but decided that was just the encouragement I needed to make my own right choices. I don't have a clue what's going on with her to cause all these serious decisions, but I'm all for it! And I'm so glad I get to hear it!

My Cozy Coccoon

2011-01-30T14:22:00.001-06:00

Normally, days and days of gray winter make me feel cooped up, restless, cabin-feverish, as I've blogged about before. But Thursday, I looked at the driving snowstorm outside my window, and I felt happily secretive. It seemed very appropriate to be cooped up inside while God and I accomplish a transformation - like a caterpillar hard at work inside a cocoon. Nobody else knows what's going on inside my house, but I do!

I grinned to myself, and I felt my eyes crinkle up. Thursday marked a week since I logged in to SparkPeople and began being purposeful about what I eat, drink and how I exercise. (Truthfully, the exercising isn't happening as often as it should, but regulating my appetite on a consistent basis is such a big step forward for me, that I'm not even concerned about the exercise. That will come in time.) One whole week of discipline. One whole week of not being ruled by the desire for food.

Do you know that even the thought of a random food popping into my mind used to force me to go eat? I'm being serious about the word force because even when I told myself, "No, you're not really hungry. You don't need it," I wouldn't listen to me. But now, I have a chart that I can look at to know if I need to eat or not. I know when my snacks are. I know what my calorie limits are. I know what nutrients my body needs. I even know which foods provide those nutrients and which foods do not. So when my body says, "I'm hungry! Feed me!" I can verify with an outside source that my body is communicating truthfully to me.

This may sound ridiculous to just about all of you, but to me, who has never disciplined myself to eat correctly, to me who has never really taken a stand against my appetite and said, "YOU SHALL NOT PASS." To me, this is freedom.

And this battle going on inside my cocoon? It's not a bad thing. It's a necessary thing. It's a life-giving thing. It's a death-to-self thing. It's even a joyful thing!

So Thursday, when I looked out the window at the world outside, I thought, "When the snow melts, when I join creation again in the sunshine, I'll have won!"

But first, I attend to business inside my cocoon.

It's Just That I'm So Excited

2011-01-21T23:23:00.004-06:00

You're not going to believe this. Well, maybe you will; I'm the one still in shock over my newest accomplishment.

I signed up for SparkPeople, a nutrition and fitness and any-other-goal-you-might-have tracking website. Yeah, yeah, that's not the amazing part. Are you ready for this?

I worked out tonight, because I wanted to! The website made it easy.

I've been on a different website, Live Strong, for a few years, but all it did was record whatever I put in. I'm not a goal-oriented person. I'm a fun-oriented person. So when my friend Alicia told me she had joined SparkPeople for free, I thought it might be worth a try if I have a friend. (Plus, Live Strong had locked me out because I couldn't remember my password. The nerve!)

Now that I'm on SparkPeople, I'm seeing how easy they've made everything. They created a workout program for me with video demos. They created an eating program for me, not that I'm going to follow it, but you know, it's nice to have options. And they've actually made the whole atmosphere over there really fun!

So now, I would like to say two things:

1. I apologize for the excessive italicizing on this post. I'm just so excited.
2. No one has asked me to post about this or offered me any wonderful things for advertising for them. I'm just so excited.

Well, maybe three things:
3. I actually feel like I may accomplish something (as long as Alicia pushes me from time to time). Did you hear that, Alicia? You're a very important part of this!

I'm so excited!

She's Definitely Mine

2011-01-17T20:03:00.004-06:00

At the dentist today, Liberty needed to get a cavity filled on her upper back molar. She's my uber-compliant child, so I didn't worry too much about how she would behave in The Chair. I did worry, however, when the dentist informed me that I could not stay in the little room with her. In their experience, children sit better when their parents are not in sight. Plus, I had squirmy Mercy, my NON-compliant child, with me.

It's a small office, and I was amused and relieved to realize that Loquacious Liberty's voice could be heard all the way in the front waiting room. Unfortunately, Sesame Street on the television prevented me from hearing her exact words, but the receptionist, whom I could see through the little glass doors, did not have that problem. She sat typing at her computer, and from time to time she would giggle to herself at something she heard Liberty say in the back room. Her amusement amused me, as did the torrent of words pouring from Liberty's mouth with no break for breath.

After about fifteen minutes, the voice stopped, and I thought about worrying, then I realized the dentist must have had her hand in Liberty's mouth. An appropriate amount of time passed for a cavity to be filled. Then the waiting room door opened, and the dental assistant gently led my daughter to me. I searched Liberty's face to see what she had thought of her dental visit. She looked pleasantly spacey, and she sounded unusually quiet.

The assistant explained, "She's still a little woozy. We had to give her a bit of gas."

"Gas?" I questioned.

The assistant laughed slightly. "Your daughter is amazing. What a little trooper! She was braver than most adults we see, and so happy to be at the dentist. But we couldn't get her to stop talking long enough to work on her teeth..."

Later tonight, when I repeated the story to my dad, he laughed, too. "Sounds just like another little girl I used to know."

I grinned. I clearly remember my dentist asking me why I was "so darn happy" when I was about seven, and my dad leaning into my line of sight with an amused look on his face to kindly request that I stop talking for just a little bit so the dentist could do his job.

Brushing My Teeth

2011-01-13T13:32:00.003-06:00

The gray winter months trouble me. I find myself wishing for life change, longing for weather change, and if I'm not careful, I can easily get discontent, grouchy, discouraged. It has happened often enough that I've recognized the winter-time pattern, and I know I have to sternly tell myself, "Missy, that's enough of that. Sure, it's wise to take introspective inventory to see if your heart is lining up with God's heart, but don't get sucked into your own emotions. Don't buy into the idea that what you feel is reality." So here I am again, preaching to myself.

Don't get me wrong: I love snow. I love the change in seasons. I'm just of the opinion that it should snow on Thanksgiving Day and melt on January 2nd. Nice, easy, simple, organized. Ta-da! And now on to Summer!

Last night, I was discussing all this with God (because if He didn't have me to keep Him updated on the weather patterns, I don't know what He'd do. He needs me, I tell ya!) Anyway, I was telling God how insignificant I feel right now. I know my children need me. I know my husband needs me. I know the meals I cook keep them from starvation (See? I'm making a BIG difference!), but when I spend ten minutes cleaning the living room, and I get to the far side and turn around and see twelve toys lying there where I just cleaned, I don't feel that I'm accomplishing much, you know? Where's the purpose?! I didn't plan to waste my life on things like cleaning the living room. I had goals, dreams, aspirations. I was going to make a difference in people's lives, and I don't mean by keeping their diapers clean.

(Ironically, if I worked in a nursing home or a hospital, and my duty was to feed and clean people, I think I would feel more significant. What's up with that?)

(Now, do you see why my emotions do not equal reality?)

Anyway, while God and I were talking, He reminded me of a sermon my college pastor preached, called "Brush Your Teeth." I won't go into details, but the illustration was about his son who did not like to brush his teeth (hence the sermon title). Pastor Schettler pointed out that if we are not doing the little daily things that we know we should do, then God is not going to give us anything bigger to do. God also reminded me of Philip in Acts 8:26-31 who while doing the little things God gave him, "stumbled onto" the big thing God had in store.

So I woke this morning with PURPOSE -- I was going to Brush My Teeth! I chose to pick up those extra twelve things with a GOOD ATTITUDE. (Can you imagine?) I chose to focus on things that will last, like sitting at the dining room table gluing random objects onto construction papers WITH my children. I choose to get off this computer and make meatballs and rice for supper tonight with delight, knowing that I am carrying out God's perfect will for my life at this exact moment.

Hooray!

Ye Olde Comforte Foode

2011-01-12T11:14:00.004-06:00

Judging from the depth of the footprints I see outside my window, we got about six inches of snow yesterday and last night. I could be very wrong, but that's the story I'm sticking with. (Get it? "Sticking?" I crack me up.)

So it's glitteringly, gorgeously, powderly snowy outside, and I've just put this recipe into the crock pot (leaving out Jeremy's nemesis, the evil green celery, of course).

(I'm all about maintaining my healthy eating resolutions; can you tell?)

Chicken Corn Chowder
from SouthernFood.About.Com

Ingredients:
•2 tablespoons butter
•1 1/2 lbs chicken tenders, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
•1/2 cup chopped onion
•2 ribs celery, sliced
•2 small carrots, sliced
•2 cups frozen corn kernels
•2 cans cream of potato soup
•1 1/2 cups chicken broth
•1 teaspoon dried dill weed
•1/2 cup half and half or evaporated milk
Preparation:
In a large skillet, melt the butter or margarine; brown chicken. Transfer chicken to slow cooker. Add onions and celery to skillet and sauté for about 3 to 4 minutes, until just tender. Add the onions and celery to crockpot, along with carrots, corn kernels, soup, chicken broth and dill to slow cooker. Cover and cook on low 5 to 6 hours or until chicken is done and vegetables are tender. During the last 10 minutes, stir in the half and half or evaporated milk.

Serves 8.

MMMM, I can't wait for supper tonight!

No Matter What

2011-01-08T00:43:00.002-06:00

I heard this song by Kerrie Roberts on the radio the other day, and it has snagged itself upon my soul.

I’m running back to Your promises one more time.
Lord, that’s all I can hold on to.
I gotta say this has taken me by surprise, but nothing surprises You!
Before a heartache can ever touch my life it has to go through Your hands,
and even though I keep asking why, I keep asking why...

...no matter what, I’m gonna love You!
No matter what I’m gonna need You!
I know You can find a way to keep me from the pain, but if not...
If not, I’ll trust You no matter what, no matter what!

When I’m stuck in this nothingness by myself I’m just sitting in silence.
There’s no way I can make it without Your help; I won’t even try it.
I know You have Your reasons for everything, so I will keep believing.
Whatever I might be feeling, God, You are my hope,
and You will be my strength.

Anything I don’t have, You can give it to me -- but it’s OK if You don’t.
I’m not here for those things; the touch of Your love is enough on its own.

No matter what, I still love You, and I’m gonna need You.
No matter what, I’m gonna love You.
No matter what, I’m gonna need You.
I know You can find a way to keep me from the pain, but if not...
If not, I’ll trust You.

I know You can find a way to keep me from the pain, but if not...
But if not, I’ll trust You no matter what.

No matter no matter what
No matter no matter what
No matter no matter what

Songwriter: Chuck Butler, Kerrie Roberts, Tony Wood

The Last Chapter

2011-01-05T14:21:00.001-06:00

I'm finally ready to fill you in on the last chapter of the marriage certificate/driver's license story.

Read Part One and then Part Two first or this story won't make any sense.

Ready?

Okay.

So I called my Mama, like any girl in trouble would do. She listened, laughed in the appropriate spots, and finally said, "Hmm. I'll have to look into this."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I'm going to go visit that clerk and see what they have to tell me," she responded matter of factly.
And she did.

The following morning, my phone rang. "I have your certificate," my mom announced.

"What!? How did you get it?"

"I asked for it."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Now, why aren't things ever that easy for me?" I wondered.

My mom smirked. I could hear it over the phone. "You just have to be Mom," she said breezily.

"But I AM a mom!" I wailed in my most convincing "poor me" imitation. We both laughed.

When the certificate arrived in the mail, I was shocked at how different from the photocopy it looked: on blue and gray cardstock, a full sheet of paper, and wonder of wonders - the coveted SEAL rested happily on the back!

Jeremy and I had a grand old time celebrating our marriage, and then he asked me, "So, do you think the BMV Nazis will approve of this one? Does it have the appropriate recording marks?"

That worried me, so the next morning, I checked carefully for any recording notations. I found none.

Then I crossed my fingers and took it to the BMV. The woman behind the counter examined all of my documents closely but paused while handling my marriage certificate. She frowned and examined it more closely. "Is something wrong?" I asked her in my most casual voice. I was prepared to deny it all, if necessary.

"No-o," she said hesitantly.

"No?" I repeated.

"Well, it's just that I've never seen a marriage certificate like this one before."

I sat silently. What does that mean?

She stared at the document a while longer, turning it at various angles, I have no idea why. Then she called her supervisor over.

You've got to be kidding me! I thought.

I watched in silence as the two women held the fate of my driving in their hands. Finally, I said, "What's the matter?" The supervisor answered, "We've never seen a marriage certificate like this one before."

What, do people married in Illinois NEVER move to Indiana? What's the problem!

Finally, the supervisor shrugged at her employee and walked off. The woman turned to me and said, "We're going to go ahead with this. What is your address?"

"Well, I'm moving on Monday, so would you like my new address or my current address?"

"Oh dear, that's a problem. We cannot use your old address because driver's licenses do not get forwarded in the mail, and we cannot use your new address without proof that you are living there."

I just sat looking at her; my mind remained completely blank. It could have been due to the state of disbelief I was experiencing. God was probably trying to tell me something, like, "Move to Hawaii. Life will be easier there."

The lady then suggested that I come back after moving into the new house, and then I could try again.

After a week of nothing but junk mail, my friend kindly offered to mail me a card, just so I would have proof that I'd moved. Unfortunately, the BMV Nazis did not think that was good enough. I ended up going to the bank and having them print out forms showing our new addresses, then they stamped and notarized them, and I took those forms to the BMV.

I now have a driver's license! I'm legal!

But I still think I should have moved to Hawaii.

Catching You Up

2011-01-04T22:21:00.003-06:00

It's January third, already? I guess that means it's back to the real world again, huh.

I took a blogging break for the holidays, and enjoyed every minute of it. Jeremy had the week between Christmas and New Year's off, so we whipped our house into shape. Now there's nary a box in sight. (If you don't count the boxes of off-sized girls' clothing stacked in the basement or the skinny boxes "hiding" between my couch and the living room wall. They contain, I think, large hanging decor that would make our home gorgeous, but gorgeousness is on hold until we are completely organized...and until Jeremy feels like working on the gorgeous.)

We were going to hang fun stuff in the dining room tonight, I have a large clock and three small paintings to go up, but we've all come down with some weird stomach bug that forces all thoughts of decorating from our minds. Well, I was victorious over that symptom, but the rest of my family hasn't been.

Speaking of decorating, the girls love hearing Fancy Nancy books read to them, and Fancy Nancy enjoys decorating everything in sight. Last night, Liberty happily confided to me that after she went to bed, she was going to make her room "sooooo fancy!" I nodded and said something like, "Oooh, that sounds like fun."

A few hours later, near midnight, Daddy discovered that Liberty had sneaked to the bathroom closet and pilfered three bottles of bathtime body paint. She then used them to make all of the walls in her room fancy. Streaks of blue, purple, red and pink and a beautiful smell greeted him when he checked on them before his own bedtime. Liberty told us that Mercy did it, and we believe her since a large concentration of the paint hovers over Mercy's crib. The trouble comes with the question, "How did Mercy get the paint?" You see, Mercy cannot get out of her crib.

We hosted a scrubbing party in the middle of the night last night, and this morning, I noticed a small area of blue that we missed, but it is so high up on the wall that I'm still trying to imagine how Liberty reached that particular spot with her paint.

I have heard nothing from my literary agent. Their literature promised a response within three to five business days, but I've been telling myself that the lack of email from them is due to the week full of holidays. I mean, everybody has to take a vacation sometime, right?

Somebody please say, "Right," convincingly.

Authorship?

2010-12-22T13:15:00.004-06:00

Well, I did it. I just made first contact with a literary agent who may be willing to find a publisher for me.

I'm excited. I'm shaking. I feel sick.

But I'm happy!

NyQuil Jeremy

2010-12-22T12:24:00.005-06:00

Jeremy has been sick the past couple days; he's got a manly cold (which is quite different from a man cold). A manly cold requires overdosing with NyQuil, but pushing through the drowsiness to go to work and to get things done around the house. It also entails large amounts of sleeping, life-like dreaming and sleep-walking/talking. Thankfully, I know how NyQuil affects Jeremy, so I'm not alarmed at some of the crazy things that come out of his mouth.

Yesterday, he came home from work and collapsed into bed while I finished cooking supper. When it was time to eat, Liberty woke him up then came back to sit at the table and wait for him to arrive. About ten minutes passed before he stumbled sleepily into the dining room, "Don't be too angry at me, Missy," he pleaded as he entered. "I'm really, really sorry."

I paused from dishing food onto the girls' plates. "For what?" I asked, truly puzzled.

"For the Pepsi I drank. I'm really sorry. I know I shouldn't have, but it was in a glass bottle!"

Since being diagnosed with diabetes, high cholesterol and high blood pressure recently, poor Jeremy has really battled his eating and drinking habits, and every once in a while, he gives in, so my first thought was he must have had a Pepsi during his Christmas party at work. But when my brain registered the part about the glass bottle, I knew without any doubt, I was talking to NyQuil Jeremy. I hid my smile and replied, "Oh wow, where did you get a Pepsi in a glass bottle?"

He paused, obviously confused, then he finally said, "I - I don't know. But I'm sorry for the hot dogs, too."

"The hot dogs?"

"They were so huge, Missy! So big. I couldn't say no. I tried. I really did." His voice ended almost in a whimper, then became joyful. "But they were really good!" He grinned at me so happily that I couldn't help laughing aloud.

"I'm glad you enjoyed them," I told him in amusement. "Now sit down and eat your supper."

He sat; Mercy prayed; we all ate. After five minutes or so, I noticed a new look on his face, an aware look. He'd finally woken up. We started conversing, and the night went on.

Several hours later, I was climbing into bed when from his pillow Jeremy told me, "I had the most wonderful dream earlier, Missy."

"I know."

"It was about these huge hot dogs; they were so good!"

"I know."

"And Pepsi -- in a glass bottle!"

"I know."

"And you were really mad at me for eating it all."

"I know."

"You know? What do you mean, you know?"

Intentional Exaltation

2010-12-17T12:32:00.004-06:00

Yesterday at supper time, Mercy prayed before we started eating, "God, please help me blow on my food for me, so it won't burn my mouth. Amen." Jeremy and I chuckled to each other, and then Daddy helped Mercy add to her prayer, "AND thank You for the food you gave us, too! We love you, God! Amen."

I started thinking: the last few times I've heard Mercy pray, it's gone like this "God, please help me [fill in the blank]." That hit my heart hard, because while it's great to depend on God for all aspects of my daily life, I suddenly realized that I've been doing a lot more requesting than exalting. After all, Mercy learned how to pray by listening to me converse with God as I go through my day.

With those thoughts already tumbling around in my brain, I opened an email this morning from my friend Alicia who wanted to share her morning devotions with me. She closed with this verse.

Psalm 46:10 "Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth."

EXALT

The word boomed and reverberated in my heart.

EXALT

How can I be intentional about exalting, I wondered. How can I teach daily exalting of the King to my daughters?

I decided to have a Praise Party with the girls. The three of us stood in the middle of the living room, lifted our hands to the sky and shouted "I LOVE YOU, GOD! YOU ARE AMAZING! THANK YOU FOR BEING SO GOOD TO US!" Then we each took turns telling God about things He had done that we were so happy about. Mercy told God thank you for the snow; Liberty barked (because she was still Moona, the doggy) "Thank You for our wonderful house!" Then we jumped and danced and twirled to show God how great He was and how happy we were about Him.

We had a lot of fun, and I plan to do it again every day -- not only to teach my girls to praise, but to get me into the praising habit too.

Unearthing The Bedroom

2010-12-16T12:48:00.004-06:00

Since moving, anytime I come across an item that doesn't immediately have a home, I've been taking it to my bedroom to sit until I have time to organize an adoption league. Well, today, I'm hitting my room and hitting it hard! When I'm done with it, it will be the cleanest, most organized room in the house. I declared it to be a pj day for the girls, and they're loving it. Somehow, pj days are mellower. I, on the other hand, am fully dressed and in action.

After breakfast, I pulled out our new Squiggly Worms game to keep the girls occupied, then I started at my bedroom doorway. I've worked my way around the room, spending a great deal of time cleaning and organizing the desk. I'm saving the desk drawer for the very end.

I took a break to view the armada Liberty and Mercy created in the bathtub using my tupperware bowls, and I would even have a video to post on here for you if I could locate my camera cord. Hopefully, it's in my bedroom, and if it is, I promise you, I will find it before I am finished with that room. (Ironically, it's probably in the desk drawer that I've decided to save for last.)

I am now so close to being finished with the desk, that I'll go ahead and call it finished. Then I'm moving on to the four boxes left to unpack. Sigh. I'm not looking forward to that job.

I stopped about two hours ago for lunch (leftover turkey sandwiches), and after lunch the girls and I made finger puppets with the new kit we -- okay, okay, they -- got for Christmas from Poppaw and Nonna. I would have some cute pictures to share with you if I could just find that camera cord...

The girls are napping now, so it's back to the bedroom for me!

Thought Juxtaposition

2010-12-14T14:44:00.003-06:00

Jeremy's family has come and gone. What a flurry of unwrapping we did during our early Christmas celebration! I'm still finding homes for all the new toys and games. Mercy decided to help me out by secretly storing the marbles for the new Hungry Hippos game from Poppaw and Nonna in my snow boots. After a few days of searching, I finally found the marbles when I tried to walk out the door in my boots. Today, I found a handful of beans from Don't Spill The Beans in my boot, and at Walmart, I discovered a stray plastic jewel when it shifted positions and attacked my foot in the middle of the store. I must have looked awfully funny hopping on one foot and shouting "Ah! Ah!" at Walmart. At least my daughters thought I did.

You know me. I'll do anything to add joy.

We're still struggling with the furnace in our new house. Apparently, our automatic thermostat is smarter than we are, and it believes we're looking for air conditioning during the cold winter months. We've had to resort to putting a tiny heater in the girls' room, while Jeremy and I survive under our arctic blanket via body heat. Someday, I'll find that special spot where I stored all of the instruction manuals for the appliances in the new house. (Mercy's probably hidden it in my snow boots.)

Last week, I sliced my left index knuckle so deeply that I could see my own tendon. (I suppose that's better than being able to see someone else's tendon in my finger, huh?) The girls were napping, so I went to my neighbor's house for help. She let me drip blood all the way to her kitchen sink, and she doctored me up. Then she offered to watch my daughters for me while I went to the ER for stitches. It's wonderful to have great neighbors! Four different families have stopped by to welcome us to the neighborhood and to chat with us since we've moved. I love it here!

The only thing that could make it better would be to find the perfect curtains for my gorgeous new bedroom.

I know I promised you another installment in my marriage certificate/driver's license story, but I'm not in story-telling mode right now. I'm in get-the-house-organized-and-all-boxes-unpacked mode. But some day, the muse will return.

It's probably still packed in a box and haphazardly stacked in the basement.

You May Want To Skip This One

2010-12-08T13:02:00.002-06:00

Jeremy got the internet up and running last night, and my very first act on my brand new internet is to type out a blog post. Well, not really. My very, very first act was to catch up on Amazing Race episodes last night.

So many funny things have happened since we moved, and I can't even remember them to tell you. I should have been taking notes.

We're mostly settled. Still working on organizing and finding places for things. I have a stack of boxes to be sorted for a garage sale this spring! I'm very excited about that. I have a few boxes left to unpack, and a lot of decor left with which to decorate.

A crazy occurrence happened yesterday, but I can't tell you about it because it relates to a surprise for my in-laws who are coming this weekend for an early Christmas celebration. (Nonna, you thought I'd let it slip, didn't you?)

Tonight is the first night of our church's Christmas play, and I'm reading to the nursery kids a story that I wrote. My church has put it into book format, and we're going to hand the books out to the kids to take home. I'm very excited about that!

Hmm, what else can I tell you about?

I know, it's not a very interesting first post back, is it?

Oh well, at least I'm back! Hooray for internet!!!

Checkin' In With My Peeps

2010-11-16T08:59:00.003-06:00

Hi, Everybody!

We slept in our new house last night!!!! Thank you, Tony and Amy!

Still lots more to do, and my internet connection may get lost when we move the computer later this week; we'll see.

When I come back, remind me that I haven't finished my marriage certificate/driver's license saga. (I have another installment for your reading pleasure.)

And now, it's back to packing for me.

HOORAY!!!!

My Very Own Rodgers And Hammerstein

2010-11-08T18:15:00.006-06:00

I normally wait to blog until the children are a'bed, but this is just too good to wait. My two year old and four year old daughters are performing for their own enjoyment, a dramatic opera right this second. It's been going on for at least fifteen minutes, now.

For real.

With a plot and everything.

The storyline centers around a missing shoe. Apparently, there is a circus coming to town, and my daughters are supposed to dance in it, but they can't unless they find their missing shoe. Time is running out.

It's very dramatic with lots of sweeping arm movements and raw emotion.

So far, my favorite line has been the one where Liberty sings, "Ooooohhhhh, won't anyone help me find my missing shooooooooeeeee?"

And Mercy replies, "Yes! I will find your shoooooeeeeee!"

"Maybe it's in the forest," Liberty sings, and Mercy runs to the kitchen, stops short in confusion and then warbles out, "But where is the forest?"

I spewed my burst of laughter and had to wipe my mouth.

Huh, they must have decided that shoe was too hard to find, because now they are singing about BUYING a shoe.

He Did It!

2010-11-04T13:11:00.004-06:00

Liberty, my dramatic, imaginative, mini-me, has been having nightmares every night for the past two months. Sometimes, she sleepwalks along with her nightmares. Grand times! As you can guess, Mercy is the only one in this apartment getting any sleep.

Jeremy and I have been praying for Liberty and praying with Liberty. We've changed her diet; we've changed her room temperature; we've changed her room lighting; we've allowed her to sleep with us; we've allowed her to sleep with Mercy; we've allowed her to sleep in a fort on her bedroom floor. I can't even remember all of the adjustments we have tried in an attempt to get her to sleep securely through the night. None of them have worked.

I have also noticed a daytime change in Liberty Grace. She used to enjoy discussing things with God randomly throughout the day, but in the last month or so, I have not heard her conversing with Him. At our meal table, she refuses to pray with us. If I ask her specifically to talk to God about any certain thing, she tells me she doesn't want to.

Then last week at bedtime, Liberty said, "Mommy, will you sleep with me, please? I don't want to have any bad dreams."

I was unable to lie down with her at that exact moment, and I didn't want to be tricked into a new bedtime routine. "I'm sorry, Honeybunny, I can't right now, but you know that God is always here with you."

"No," she said sadly, "He's not. God is not real."

If you could have heard her tone of voice right then, you would know that she was not referring to the fact that God is invisible. She truly believed and was distraught over the fact that He did not exist.

"Oh, Liberty, yes, He is. God is here with us right now. He can hear you, and He can see you, and He loves to take care of you and keep you safe."

"No, Mommy," she responded as though I were a little child, "God is just pretend." She sounded infinitely sad and heart-broken.

I gathered her up into my arms as I sat on the bed, and I prayed. I asked God to show Liberty truth. I asked Him to help her continue using her brain in a very smart way, and to reveal His existence to her. Jeremy came in and cuddled both of us together, and he asked God to give Liberty happy dreams that night. We hugged and kissed our little girl and tucked her into bed.

Then we went to our own bed and continued praying for good dreams for her.

Our entire family slept all night long.

The next morning, Liberty announced, "DADDY!!! I HAD SIX HAPPY DREAMS LAST NIGHT!!!"

She was beside herself with glee. We were, too. "Wow! How did THAT happen?" Daddy asked happily.

She quieted down and thought about it very seriously, and finally her brain must have arrived at a conclusion that she could not deny, even though the way she said it made it seem that if she could deny it, she would, "God gave them to me," she said quietly and with conviction in her voice.

"That was nice of Him! Thank you, God!" I said, and we continued making breakfast. The Holy Spirit prompted both Jeremy and I to leave the internal work up to Him.

When our meal was prepared, and we were all seated at our plates, Jeremy asked Liberty if she would like to thank God for our food. As usual, she declined strongly.

A week has gone by since then, and yesterday, as the girls and I were driving home from our new home, Mercy dropped a toy between her car seat and the wall. She asked me to pick it up for her, but I could not reach it.

"Mommy!" Liberty spoke up with excitement, "I could pray to God about it, and He can make your arms grow longer!"

I laughed internally at the specific request, but her offer excited me. I cautiously questioned, "Would you like to talk to God about Mercy's toy, Liberty?" I fully expected her to refuse as usual, but she didn't.

"Sure, Mommy!" she said, and she started praying.

I started praying, too. Okay, God, it's really not funny that THIS is the prayer You have put on her heart as her very first request now that she's back on speaking terms with You! Give Mommy longer arms! I know anything is possible with You, but I don't really WANT longer arms, and I don't want to disappoint her, either. You are too funny! And THANK YOU, THANK YOU for breaking through to her! HOORAY!! Okay, now, what do You want me to do?

When Liberty finished her very lengthy prayer full of dramatic pleading with God and convincing Him of what importance to Mercy's eternal happiness the obtaining of that toy would be, I pulled the car off to the side of the road. I unbuckled my seat belt, whirred the mechanical seat as far back as it would go, adjusted the seat-back into an almost completely prone position, and I popped my shoulder out of joint (it goes back in painlessly because I'm double-jointed) reaching behind me to the toy. I came back up with it triumphantly and deposited it into Mercy's lap amidst much cheering on Liberty's part.

"Oh, God!" she squealed, "Thank You, thank You, thank You, thank You!"

"Yes, thank You," I breathed, referring to Liberty's renewed connection with Him and the work He did to accomplish that.

Liberty has had no nightmares since that first night of six happy dreams, and I am enjoying the great privilege of SLEEP. Ever since her conversation with God, yesterday afternoon, Liberty is now back to discussing her every day life with Him just like normal, and I love eavesdropping on her conversations throughout the day even more than I enjoy sleeping!

But Wait, There's More

2010-11-03T20:03:00.007-06:00

Yesterday, I informed you of my drivers license woes, and several people commented on the trouble with our marriage certificate. Do I have a story for you!

Let's rewind to 2003.

It wasn't until 1:30 pm, the afternoon before our wedding day, that I remembered to pick up a marriage license. I knew that most states required a waiting period between the obtaining of the marriage license and the actual marriage ceremony, so my forgetfulness prompted a slight panic-attack. Jeremy and I rushed to the county clerk's office to pick up our paperwork.

The motherly woman behind the counter expressed her felicitations at our wonderful event, and told us we had to wait twenty-four hours before getting married as stated in Illinois state law. I looked at the clock. It was 2:04 pm. Our ceremony was scheduled to start at 2:00 pm the following day.

The woman joked with us about watching the clock and being sure to wait, then she handed me two papers. One made of card stock, beautifully printed in rainbow colors with a Bible verse embossed in gold at the bottom: Mark 10:7-9 "‘For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and the two will become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.” And the other paper, a flimsy, smallish, square, badly-photocopied, ink-missing-in-spots note stating that the bride and groom had been married on a certain date at a certain place. It had blanks for all of the pertinent information to be filled in and places for witnesses and the marriage official to sign. The lady firmly told us that the pretty copy was not official. It was only for our viewing pleasure, and meant to be framed and hung on a wall of our home. People frequently were confused because the non-impressive looking paper was the real certificate. She instructed us that we needed to have it signed by the pastor and witnesses, then return it to the clerk's office within seven days so they could record it and stamp it, then I would need to mail it to the social security office for a new SS card in my married name.

Other than the rehearsal dinner, I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening running various wedding errands, and then my bridesmaids and I white-gloved my apartment, since I would be moving to Iowa with Jeremy immediately after our wedding. I tucked my papers into a special folder in my suitcase so that they would be easily findable the following morning amid all the chaos of my not completely packed up apartment.

In the morning, the bridesmaids and I all finished packing my car with odds and ends, including my honeymoon suitcase with the important file folder. At the church, I pulled the folder out so the pastor could sign our marriage certificate. I handed him the fancy one, and he reminded me that it was not official, but when I checked the folder for the pathetic photocopy, I could not find it. A mad search ensued, but no document came up. We delayed the ceremony slightly because the pastor was helping me search. Finally he said, "Never mind. I'll go ahead with the ceremony, but remember, you won't really be married until I've signed that paper." Then he walked towards his spot at the front of the church.

Can I give you readers a word of advice?

If you are ever a pastor marrying a couple, NEVER joke like that to a nervous, panicky, did-not-sleep-last-night bride.

NEVER.

It was not humorous. All of the scenarios I had had nightmares about for the past three weeks did not measure up to the idea that after waiting this long (Jeremy and I had dated six years) and after all this trouble (several things had gone crazily wrong at the last minute with the wedding plans -- for example, when I had called the florist the day before to verify the time that our flowers would be delivered, I discovered that no one there knew who I was. It turns out, the sales-person who had sat down with us and pain-stakingly researched flower colors, meanings and seasonal availability, the woman who had stayed in contact with me over the past several months, the woman who had given us a signed copy of our flower bill quote had been fired the week before, and she took all of her client files with her. When I presented my copy of the quote and the list of flowers, they told me that over half of those flowers were not available during this season; the sales-person had been dreadfully mistaken in both her floral listing and her quote-price; the flowers on my list would have to be drastically substituted or flown in from some distant climate - but none of that would happen because the shop had decided to refund my money with their apologies because they were already completely swamped with weddings that WERE on their calendar.) Yes, after all THAT trouble, we would STILL not be married. Even my nightmare about "The Unity Candle Falls On The Wedding Dress And Engulfs Me In Flames And I Have To Be Rushed To The Hospital And Our Wedding Is Canceled Because I'm In The Burn Unit" did not prepare me for the panic that flooded my blood-stream at that moment.

With wide eyes, I looked up at my dad standing next to me. I knew I was about to sob hysterically. He shook his head at my un-asked question, "No," he whispered, "he was just joking." But his voice rose slightly at the end of the sentence, giving me the impression that my dad -- MY DAD -- was unsure of the facts.

If that won't shake you to the core, then I don't know what will.

As I sedately walked down the aisle, arm in arm with my father, my mind lingered on the possible whereabouts of that document. While Dad gave his giving his daughter away speech, I mentally searched every nook and cranny of my almost empty apartment. During the singing of the song Jeremy and I had picked out for this occasion, my brain checked clothing pockets of every garment I had come in contact with over the past twenty-four hours.

Only Jeremy's extreme stage-fright brought my mind back to the present, and I had to whisper encouragement to him during the rest of the ceremony. He told me later that it was not nervousness about getting married; it was the fact that he had to stand in front of everyone. If only he had known then what being married to me would be like, he might have been more nervous about the proceedings.

He's a riot, that guy.

During the reception, my sister Hannah went back to my apartment to search for the missing document, but she came back over an hour later, empty-handed.

"That's alright," the pastor told Jeremy and me, "You have an entire week before the license expires. You'll find it in a day or so, and I'll sign it then. No problem."

"D-do you think it's okay for us to go on our honeymoon without it being official?" I whispered anxiously and feeling dumb.

The pastor laughed heartily, winked and said, "I think it's okay," at the same time that Jeremy declared, "We're GOING on our honeymoon!" with a bit of a growl in his voice.

I began breathing again. Good. So long as we're all in agreement!

Jeremy and I headed to the Poconos for our honeymoon. We got stranded in Cincinnati when several flights were cancelled on account of torrential downpours, and we did not reach our Pennsylvania destination until the wee hours of the morning. We wandered the airport, trying to find a taxi to take us to our hotel, but every vehicle was taken.

Except one.

A lone man dressed all in black stood leaning against an airport column, listening to us as we walked from counter to counter, reciting our tale of honeymoon woe, and he took pity on us. He lurched away from the pole, and asked, "Yous need a ride?"

When we nodded, he jerked his head, "Follow me, I can take you."

Jeremy and I glanced warily at each other, but neither of us were receiving odd vibes from the friendly man. We allowed him to take our bags for us, and we followed through dimly lit back hallways until we finally stepped out of the building into the pouring rain. The man waved us back under the building's overhanging roof, while he put our suitcases into an old, black hearse.

I am totally not joking, you guys.

When we hesitated, he explained that the limo company he worked for had refurbished the interior of the hearse so that it was now a limousine. He opened the door for us, so that we could examine the inside. Sure enough, it boasted mirrored walls, leather bench seats, gorgeous light sconces, a refrigerator stocked with miniature soft drink cans (a selling feature for my new husband). We hopped in. You didn't really think Jeremy would pass up a hearse with a fridge in it, did you?

We chatted happily with our new friend (I can't remember his name now) about our wedding and his wedding and our airport adventures and our future plans. He told us that normally, the charge for this car was pretty high, but the party that requested it had been delayed even longer than we had, and he thought it would be nice to give us a free ride as a wedding present. Jeremy played with buttons on his side console, accidentally turning the sconces on and off, accidentally turning the floor lights on and off, accidentally lowering and raising the windows and drenching the two of us in the process until I turned to him and said, "Stop it. What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to find the wall between us and our driver," he muttered. Our friend laughed and said, "I was wondering when you two would get around to that." Then he pushed a button in the front and the wall went up. He then proceeded to drive like a maniac for more than an hour through the rain-slicked, winding mountain roads. I had to stop kissing Jeremy because I needed a receptacle for my car-sick stomach. (How romantic.) The ride continued.

In order to get some relief, I finally had to lie face-down on the coffin-shaped floor where I begged God to make the ride end before Jeremy changed his mind about me, while Jeremy removed ALL of the tiny Mountain Dew cans from the fridge. When we stopped, and the courteous limo driver opened the door for us, I remained on the floor unable to move because of the dizziness. He and Jeremy stood outside the open car door in the slight drizzle that was now falling from the sky and chatted. Jeremy offered him a Mountain Dew, and the two of them chugged away. I heard him offer to pick us up and drive us back to the airport when our honeymoon was over, and I heard Jeremy accept his offer while my entire being silently screamed NOOOOOO, but I couldn't speak.

I'll fade to black for the rest of our honeymoon. We did have three more hilarious adventures, however, two of them do not involve clothing, so you'd have to ask me in person for those details.

On our fifth morning of being married, I rummaged through a suitcase pocket for some article of clothing, and my fingers met a paper-like object. I pulled it out. An envelope. Hmm. I opened the envelope.

"Jeremy! I found our marriage certificate!!! The real one!!" We counted the days, and realized it would expire within forty-eight hours. We filled in the blanks and signed our names. (Only, I filled in my maiden name instead of my married name. Didn't know I'd done it wrong.) Then we rushed to the concierge office. She listened to our crazy story and agreed to over-night the document to my parents for free! She also placed a long-distance call from her desk phone to my parents for us, and we explained the situation. My parents needed to sign as witnesses (our maids of honor and best men had witnessed the decorative one), and my dad needed to take it to the pastor for his signature. Then my parents would need to take it to the county clerk's office so they could record it in their books and do some kind of special stamp on the back of the document.

My parents received the certificate the following day and signed it. Then my dad took it to the church for the pastor's signature. The associate pastor told him that the senior pastor had gone home early; he was about to start his family vacation. Dad drove out to the senior pastor's house, only to find that the family had already departed and would not be back for at least a week.

Dad drove back to the church and explained the situation to the associate pastor who sympathized but had no solution. My dad asked if the associate pastor would sign the document, but he refused since he had not married us. After much debate, the associate pastor finally agreed to sign the senior pastor's name to our document, and that is why we are the proud owners of a FORGED marriage certificate. The associate pastor jokingly swore my dad to secrecy.

Which is why my dad told us, and which is why I am now telling the internet.

(But you will notice the names have been withheld to shield the guilty.)

Jeremy and I returned from our honeymoon, stopped off at my parents' house to pick up our infamous, official marriage certificate, and moved directly to Iowa. I mailed my certificate to the social security office, and they called to inform me that I had filled it out with my maiden name. I needed to send a certified letter showing what my married name should be. I did so. They mailed the official certificate back to me along with a new social security card reflecting my name change.

Jeremy and I went to the DOT (Division of Motor Vehicles) in Iowa to obtain our driver's licenses. The officials there frowned at my certificate and told me it was just a photocopy. They wanted my real one. Jeremy and I argued and argued with them, but finally we went home to our new apartment and gathered up the "pretty" certificate, the mailing envelope from the social security administration, all of the various and sundry pieces of government papers showing my name change, and the phone number for the county clerk's office in Illinois in case all else failed. We returned to the DOT, and stood in line for the same worker. After more arguing, some very close perusal of our paperwork, and a phone call to Illinois, he finally gave me a license, but he still expressed doubt about my marriage certificate.

Whew! Jeremy and I have joked about that paper several times over the years.

Until this past Saturday.

Today, I called the State of Illinois, and inquired about the nature of their marriage certificates. The lady verified that their certificates do not show any numbers or codes at all to prove that they have been recorded. I asked for a certified letter from the State of Illinois listing this to be true so that I could take the letter to the Indiana BMV as they had requested. The lady told me that the State could not do this for me, but that if I called the clerk's office of the county where I was married, they could probably help me out.

I called the county clerk's office. That lady told me that they could not write a letter for me, but that if I showed the special raised stamp on the back of the paper to the BMV workers, that should be proof enough.

I turned my certificate over. "But there is no special raised stamp on the back of my certificate," I told her.

"There isn't?"

"No. Are you telling me there should be?" A sinking feeling began in my tummy.

"Yes, there should be. You must be looking at the decorative certificate. That is not the official one."

"No, I know that. I'm looking at the official one," and I described it to her, "plain white square of paper, looks like a bad photocopy..."

She interrupted me. "No, our official certificates are multicolored and have a stamp on the back. You must be looking at a photocopy of one."

I paused, not even wanting to finish this conversation. "No," I said dully, "this is not a photocopy. I mean, it IS a photocopy, but it is the original of what I was given at your office seven years ago. The signatures are originals."

"Huh," she thought about it. "I'm not even sure what that could be."

You know what?

I don't even care if we're legally married or not. This is ridiculous.

"Ma'am, can you do a favor for me? Would you look in your computer system and tell me if I am listed as married in there?"

"Oh, honey, I wish I could, but I'd have to see your current photo ID before I'd be allowed to check for you."

AAAARRRRRRGGGGGG!!!! THAT'S WHAT I'M TRYING TO GET!!!!!

It's Just Not Meant To Be

2010-11-02T20:23:00.006-06:00

Let me tell you a story...

of a man named Charlie on that tragic and fateful day. He put ten cents in his pocket, kissed his wife and family, went to ride on the MTA. But did he ever return? No, he never returned, and his fate is still unlearned. He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Boston. He's the man who never returned.

Sorry, it just came out of me.

Let me tell you a story...(about me and my patriotism).

I attempted to get my driver's license switched over to a Hoosier (Look! I used the official term!) license within thirty days after moving to this great state, but they told me I needed

1. A Birth Certificate
2. A Marriage Certificate
3. A Social Security Card
4. An Iowa driver's license
5. A piece of federal, computer generated mail dated within the past year and mailed to my new address.
6. An Indiana voter registration card

While this list seems excessive and ridiculous to me, I did not complain. Instead, I returned to my new apartment and searched through box after box to find these documents. I found all but the birth certificate. I searched and searched and searched and searched.

Finally, I concluded that my birth certificate must be in storage. Although, why it isn't with all the rest of our important paperwork, I do not know. Since back then I lived under the delusion that we would soon be into a home, and our storage items would quickly be reunited with us, I decided to risk not having an Indiana license and wait for my birth certificate to be returned to me in due time.

I have now been waiting a year and a half.

A few weeks ago, a policeman pulled me over for a rolling stop at a stop sign, and he discovered that I am an unlicensed Hoosier.

I'm sorry; I have trouble with that name. It makes me feel like a vacuum cleaner.

The kind and wonderful officer decided to extend grace to me, and he told me I had four weeks to bring my new license to him, or he would impound my vehicle. I am SO thankful that he didn't impound it right then!

Instead of continuing to wait for our storage items to be delivered to our new home (which should now take place in THREE WEEKS!!!!! HOORAY!!!!!) I decided to order my birth certificate from the state of Illinois. I ordered it online and received it in about three days: impressive. While I was ordering a copy of my birth certificate online, someone stole my identity and accessed our bank account within about three days: not so impressive. (Don't worry, our watchdogs caught them before they could take anything: impressive.)

Last Saturday, I happily marched my rear into the Bureau of Motor Vehicles and prepared to take a written test for my license. It felt so good to be almost legal again! But the woman who looked over my documents told me I would not be allowed to take the test because my marriage certificate was not valid.

Say what??

It's true, her supervisor informed me, my marriage certificate does not have any official numbers or codes on it that shows it has ever been registered with the state of Illinois. They turned me down, flat. Wouldn't even allow me to take a practice swing at the written test.

But what about voting next week? I wailed to the BMV Nazis. They sighed in sympathy. Nope, no voting without a driver's license. They did suggest that I take my voter registration card and my Iowa license to the polling place and see if they would still let me vote.

I did.

They didn't.

I'm beginning to think I'm just not meant to vote...or drive.

But wait! There's more.

An Unexpected Confession

2010-11-02T12:09:00.004-06:00

I had an appointment with the brick mason at our house today. Is it redundant to write brick mason? Should it just be mason? Hmm, I suppose there are concrete masons, right? So brick mason would not be redundant.

I talk to myself in real life, and apparently now, I blog to myself. This is getting serious, people.

Where was I? Oh yes, driving to the new house.

From the backseat, Liberty pipes up in a voice of sincere regret, "Mommy, I'm very sorry that I was playing tiger, and I went into the house, and I said I was going to the bathroom, and I went to the kitchen, and I needed some tiger food, and I got a chair, and I couldn't reach anymore, and I climbed on the table, and my claws were too sharp, and I poured too much cinnamon, and it was spicy in my mouth, and I licked the top of it, and I had to wipe my tongue off, and it is still burning spicy in my mouth, and I'm very sorry for that, Mommy. Will you please forgive me?"

I stared through the windshield trying to process all that and wondering what kind of mess I would face in the kitchen once we returned home.

"S-s-sure, I forgive you."

Pajama Day

2010-10-27T13:52:00.004-06:00

I declared yesterday to be pajama day at our house. Pajama days are the best because it means we do not have to fight over what outfits we will wear or fight over whether or not the brush has actually hurt us before it has even touched our hair. Pajama days contain no responsibilities, no errands, no schedule.

On this particular pajama day, we started off by watching Kronk's New Groove while eating breakfast in the living room. Then I meandered into the kitchen to do some dishes while the girls danced to some Kid's Praise tunes. We ate pumpkin pancakes for lunch and watched tornado-wind pound rain into the glass patio doors.

After the rain stopped and the sun came out, the girls went out in their pajamas and came back covered head to toe in mud. They took their time in the shower, playing with multitudes of plastic dishes and some ducks and frogs, while I sat back with a cup of hot chocolate.

They dried off and came to me for new pajamas; then we all cuddled up together and read library books until nap time.

What a lovely day!

We Have A Date

2010-10-25T20:39:00.002-06:00

The builder told me this morning: November 17th!

Can it really be true?

My brain is packing up our apartment belongings, fitting boxes into our van, driving them over to our new house and arranging things in just the right spots.

And while my brain does all that work, my children are leaping from the kitchen counters.

Back to reality.

The Cure For Laziness

2010-10-20T07:31:00.003-06:00

Normally, I wait until the girls are in bed at night before I take a shower, but I was lazy last night, so ended up choosing to risk a shower after the girls woke up this morning.

~~~~~~~~
"Mommy, what are you doing?"
"I'm taking a shower, Mercy Jane."
Accusingly: "You got me wet!"
Dryly: "You're not supposed to open the curtain, little girl."

~~~~~~~~
Voice DRIPPING with sweetness: "Mommy, I'm going to close your bathroom door for you."
"Why?"
"Because I want you to have some privacy."
"Hmm, thank you, Liberty, but I'd like you to keep it open."
"But Mo-om, I want to close it."
"No, I want it to stay open."
"Why, Mommy?"
"So that I can hear what you and your sister are up to while I take my shower."
"No, I think that's a bad idea, Mommy. You might get us into trouble."
(I'm such a bad influence.)

~~~~~~~~
"Mommy! I hurt my finger!"
"Oh, that's sad, MJ."
"I want you to kiss it."
"Uh, can Liberty kiss it for you?"
"No. I want you to kiss it."
"Okay."
Accusingly: "Mommy! You got soap on my finger!"

~~~~~~~~
"Why do you have a crack on your tummy, Mommy?" (referring to my c-section scar)
"Liberty Grace! Close that curtain!"
"Okay, but Mommy, why don't I have a crack on my tummy?"
"Um, because God made everybody different, HoneyBunny."
"Could I ask Him for a crack for my tummy?"
"Why don't you go play in your doghouse?"
"Okay. Mercy Jane! Let's be doggies together!"

It's So Happy In Here

2010-10-18T19:39:00.005-06:00

The sound of uncontrolled laughter bubbling out of children's mouths is one of my all-time favorite sounds, and I've been listening to more than my normal allotment of it the past two days! Our neighbor's great nephews have been visiting her because their mom is in the hospital, so the two boys have spent quite a bit of time in our apartment.

The four kids - Kaleb, Kameron, Liberty and Mercy - have had a blast creating mountains out of cushions and sledding down from the top, forming landing pads out of blankets and pillows and catapulting themselves off of chairs onto the bouncy softness, and turning back flips and somersaults until their brains spin about inside their heads. And the laughing! Oh, the laughing!

Today we took a short non-stop-action break to paint pumpkins and the inside of a paper sack. I cut the sack so that it would lie flat on the table, and it formed a long line of brown paper that the kids loved. They each claimed a section and painted away, completely absorbed in their creativity.

Then back to the lure of cushions!

Overheard in Walmart

2010-10-17T22:24:00.002-06:00

As we checked out our groceries in Walmart tonight, an older couple at the next register caught my attention. The woman had been grinning at Liberty and Mercy and enjoying their smiles back at her. After a few minutes, the lady said to her husband who was operating the self-checkout machine, "Those are apples."

The man grunted, "Huh?" in that gravelly voice that older men have. He had been holding a two-liter of Coke.

"Don't get snippy with me!" she raised her voice at him.

He stopped and looked at her. "What? I didn't say anything to you but 'Huh?'"

"I heard good and well what you said!" And she quoted what she thought he had said to her. It was a long sentence full of meanness, and I wondered how she could have possibly misunderstood his single syllable for a complete sentence.

"Woman! I didn't say anything but 'Huh?'" he shouted back.

"Huh!" she responded.

And that was the end. He continued checking out in silence. She continued smiling at my daughters.

Is it just me, or did Walmart just play the Twilight Zone theme song over the speaker system?

Almost Home

2010-10-15T20:40:00.004-06:00

We went to see our new house today. (Just like every other day.)

It was hard to leave it tonight, though.

Since the lights have not yet been installed, we always rush to get there after supper but before the sun goes down, and this time, we stayed even after night fell. We just couldn't tear ourselves away. It felt so good to be there.

Just for fun - and because if I didn't do this, I would cry - I played Pretend Day In Our New House with Liberty and Mercy. We started in their bedroom "sleeping." Then we woke up and rushed to the kitchen to cook breakfast. We took our pretend plates to the dining room table to eat, then cleared our plates and ran with them over to the sink. Then it was back to the bedroom closet to change our clothes. We quickly took our dirty clothes across the house to the laundry room, and then ran to the bathroom to brush our teeth. Then we headed to the toy room and remembered to exclaim "Thank you!" to Nonna and PopPop for the abundance we found there. After a short play time, we decided to do some crafts, so we pulled our pretend craft supplies out of the toy room closet (I wonder if I will be brave enough to store them there when we really move in) and accomplished some imaginary crafts.

Poor Jeremy had finally had enough of our nonsense; he'd been shaking his head bemusedly at me the entire time, and he announced it was time to go back to the apartment. The fact that it was pitch black in the house probably helped him determine our timeline. So I called to the girls, "Clean up your craft supplies, Girls! It's Library Time!"

"Hooray!" "Yay!" they shouted and very quickly picked up their fuzzy balls and glue sticks and glitter and paint and shoved them all into the closet. Of course, I had to make them pick their supplies up off the floor and put them away on the shelves they imaginarily came from. Then they ran to get pretend coats out of their bedroom closet and raced to the (real) car.

Once in the car, Liberty complained, "Mommy, I thought we were going to get into our 'tend car so we could go to the library."

Stopping her imaginary life and living the real one was not fun. About as much fun as stopping mine was.

Sigh.

They say we've only a month left!

Inside My Brain, Part Two

2010-10-13T14:37:00.001-06:00

Part One

I looked for an opportunity to address the shorter, gray-haired woman when we reached our evening stopping point, a wayside inn, and at last found her out of hearing distance of her younger companion just before our small group entered the dining room for dinner. "I apologize for...earlier. I do not mean any harm," I quietly said at her side.

She turned to face me, and her eyes boldly searched my facial features, looking for I'm not sure what, but I must have passed inspection. She nodded curtly and her features softened somewhat. I noticed that her full cheeks matched that of The Green-Cloaked-Lady (as I had taken to calling the young woman in my mind).

I surmised that they were relations, possibly mother and daughter, and I also amused myself by deciding the nose must have been passed down to the daughter from her absent father as it certainly was not present on the mother's face. With these new observations tucked into my mind, I strode across the wooden boards into the dining room and towards my dinner.

In satisfaction, I took note of the ten people seated on benches flanking the long table, only four of them familiar: the mother and daughter (as I had decided they were), the fidgety school teacher (as I had dubbed the young lady who'd been seated beside me during the ride) and "The Kid" the young boy about twelve-ish (whose role I still puzzled over) - these four had ridden in the stage coach with me all day. The other five came from a second stage coach driving Northward in tandem with ours which supplied for my pleasure new faces to observe, new personalities to enjoy. An aristocratic older woman with head held properly erect and silver hair immaculately pinned atop sat proudly at the wooden table awaiting her turn to be served. I decided the middle-aged woman with a quiet face, plainly gowned and seated beside the lady must be her maid-servant. Three men also traveled in that carriage. One full-bodied in every aspect - a head full of disheveled dark hair, face full of disheveled dark beard, deep, boisterously-toned voice, thick, muscular body. Amused, I noted that even the clothing he wore appeared thicker than the average man's. Made of home-woven cloth, the ensemble appeared to be designed to outlast the man's energetic activity level. The second man gave the impression of honesty and nose-to-the-books attention to detail. I immediately decided he worked with numbers, most likely a financier or accountant. His acorn brown hair slicked back from a thin face on which thin glasses spanned the bridge of his impossibly thin nose. I unintentionally breathed a low laugh as I compared the two men, Thick and Thin. The third male had chosen the seat next to mine, so my observations of him could not be as thorough, but he apparently had heard my chuckle.

He turned to me with an easy grin on his slightly freckled face, "Share the joke, Chap?"

I hesitated to share, for the joke would be at the expense of our table-mates, but something in his open, ready-to laugh expression eased my caution. I nodded towards the two men across the table, "I've named them Thick and Thin." I left it at that, thinking to myself, If I have to explain, he's not as humorously astute as I thought him.

The auburn-haired young man grinned knowingly, "You didn't ride with them. I've named them Flam and Clam." At my wrinkled brow he elaborated, "Flamboyant and Clammed Up."

I easily guessed which was which and smothered a short guffaw. I stuck out a hand, "I'm Matt." The grinning man next to me gripped my hand in his and shook quickly, "Jedidiah." Just over my new friend's shoulder I could see The Kid's face in profile. While his head bent towards his plate, his eyes had flicked upward to view Flam and Clam, a fleeting grin pulled at his full lips, and I was certain he had overheard our conversation.

Although I had tried earlier that day with poor results, I leaned over Jedidiah and addressed The Kid, "Son, I like your sense of humor." My outstretched hand was ignored, but I did receive a brief nod to acknowledge my words. Instead of his face, I could view only the top of his hat. After a second or two, I shrugged at Jedidiah and put my body back in its ready to eat position.

"Young man, remove your hat as befits a proper gentleman at the table." The high-pitched, authoritative voice belonged to the silver-haired woman across from me. Her stern gray eyes fixed on the top of The Kid's hat as she waited for his acquiescence. The clatter of knives and forks against stoneware continued all around, and Flam's rollicking tale of a friend's recent fishing adventure boomed over us. I kept my eyes on my newly filled plate, not wanting to risk glancing up and seeing Jedidiah grin.

I felt for The Kid. No boy trusted with journeying on his own wants to be bossed and reminded of etiquette by a stranger in front of strangers, but his next action surprised me. With a muttered "Excuse me," he quickly and quietly stepped backward over the bench and slipped out of the room. His exit was so smooth, I believe only Jedidiah, Lady Silver and myself even noticed it. I considered going after him, but on second thought realized how embarrassed I might have felt at his age. Twelve-ish is hard for a boy, I remembered. Better to let him work it out on his own.

Besides, the roast in front of me had reached the perfect temperature and tenderness, and it wouldn't stay that way for long. I hungrily shoved a forkful into my mouth.

Part 3

Inside My Brain

2010-10-05T20:24:00.006-06:00

At first glance, I classified the woman across the aisle as beautiful, gorgeous even.

Not wanting to seem rude, I avoided a full-on stare, but the glimpses I snuck whilst appearing to examine the landscape passing the carriage window translated to my brain bits and pieces of her countenance. I fitted the pieces together mentally to receive a complete picture of her and recanted my initial classification. Strictly speaking, she may not pass for gorgeous: in profile, her nose rested a bit on the masculine side if one were being completely truthful. Her cheeks appeared slightly too round for her facial proportions. A bump on the right side of her face suggested a recent encounter with possibly a mosquito or an insect of some sort.

The dark green hooded cloak covering her form hid the shape of her body and all but a few strands of her lightly colored hair. I hesitated to name the hair color. Was it brown? No, too light. But certainly not blond. Dishwater blond. I have heard others use the term, and it fit in this case. She seemed lost in thought, her barely pink lips a non-committal line turning slightly down in repose. Because her gaze remained focused out the window, I was unable to determine her eye color, but her pale lashes caught a gleam of sunlight and glowed golden.

Too late, I realized her traveling companion had noticed my interest. Our eyes met, mine attempting to convey boredom with the journey and the monotonous clopping of the horses hooves, hers flashing a warning akin to what I imagine a she-bear's eyes would posses just before rearing up on its hind legs and walloping a man. I dropped my gaze to my lap and examined my trouser legs while the horses clopped ever northward.

Part Two

So Now It Starts

2010-10-02T13:01:00.005-06:00

A snippet of conversation from our restaurant lunch table today:

MJ: "Nooo! Gace! Mommy, Gace is kicking me!"

Me: "Grace, stop kicking your sister."

LG: "I'm not kicking her. I'm just touching her with my foot."

Me: "Then don't touch her."

MJ: "Mommy! Gace is touching me!"

Me: "Liberty Grace!"

LG: "But, Mom, I'm not touching her."

Me: "Liberty, don't lie to me. I can see your foot."

LG: "I'm not lying, Mom! I'm not touching her! I'm touching her shoe."

Yes, stretched as far out as she could get and still be in her own chair, Grace's shoe could just barely reach Mercy's shoe. Sigh. I remember those days, and now it's payback time. Why, oh WHY did I torture my poor parents this way?

Prologue and Epilogue (or Jeremy My Hero)

2010-09-28T11:25:00.004-06:00

My previous post plopped you smack dab into the center of a story and quickly yanked you back up from it before you learned the ending. I'm here to remedy that -- Missy to the rescue!

THE PROLOGUE

This year we decided to have a real party for Liberty's fourth birthday. Normally, we just have a cake and family hang-out time, but Liberty has figured out what a birthday party is, and she's been begging for one ever since Mercy's birthday in July. Since I'm not a big party planner, we decided to invite a few friends to play with us at the park.

After searching the calendar for an appropriate date, we finally realized the only day that would work for us was a Sunday which happened to be Liberty's actual birthday. In order to make that arrangement work for everyone involved, we would have to take a picnic lunch to the park after morning church, so my easy, no-work party quickly expanded to feed the party-ers and their families.

On Monday, I read through the lesson plan for my four and five year old Sunday School class, and noted a few random craft supplies that I would need. I planned to shop for them and the party items on Friday.

On Tuesday and Wednesday, the supply lists in my head played themselves repeatedly until I could have recited them in my sleep. I was so worried that I would forget something.

On Thursday I thought it was Friday, so the girls and I shopped at the Dollar Store for everything we would need for the party: pretty paper plates, napkins, party hats, and a package of squirty toys to hand out as party favors. The helium balloons (two matching princess ones so that Liberty and Mercy could not argue over who was holding whose) and the chocolate cupcakes had to wait until late Saturday so they would still be in good condition for the party.

On Friday, I reviewed again the lesson plan for my four and five year old Sunday School class, and realized that I had not purchased those craft items when I shopped for the party supplies. "Oh well," I told myself. "I'll just have to pick them up when I buy the helium balloons on Saturday."

On Saturday, we all woke bright and early and finished up various family errands before heading to the zoo for Jeremy's company picnic. What a gorgeous, crisp, sunny day, it turned out to be. We thoroughly enjoyed our stroll through the zoo paths, and Liberty cracked us up by whipping out her notebook and pen at every exhibit. She told us she was taking notes about the animals. I have a few pictures that I wanted to add to this post, but I cannot find my camera, of course.

When the zoo day was over, we ate a wonderful supper at a restaurant and then toyed with the idea of returning to our small, dark, smelly apartment. I'm sure you don't need to be told what we decided. Jeremy pointed the van towards a furniture store, and we spent a few hours dreaming about how we would decorate our new home. We finally arrived back at the apartment around nine pm.

After Jeremy and I undressed, dressed, read to and tucked the children into bed, I whipped up the batter for the chocolate cupcakes. I put the first batch into the oven and stepped back to take stock of what still needed to be done. Finish baking, finish shopping, pack the party supplies into the van, prepare the craft project for my Sunday School class and review my lesson a final time.

That's when my brain hit the panic button.

Jeremy offered to finish baking and cooling the cupcakes while I went shopping. As I made a list of items to buy at Walmart since the Dollar Store had closed at eight pm, Jeremy made requests: "Will you buy a box of chocolate pudding while you're at the store, please?" "Did you know we are out of Aquafina? You should pick some water bottles up, too." "Mmm, I could really go for one of those spicy chimichangas they keep in the section near the pizzas."

I remember hearing his requests; I remember responding to his requests; I remember thinking specifically about walking back to the pizza section to pick up one of his requests, but when I arrived back at home, I had not purchased any of the items he had asked for. In fact, I did not even realize that I'd forgotten until he said, "Where's the pudding?" as he helped me unpack the grocery bags.

I looked at him blankly, "What pudding?"

"The pudding I asked for before you left."

"Oh," I stared at the bags, "Uh, I don't think I bought any."

"That's okay; I didn't really need to eat that anyway, but where's my chimichanga?"

"Your chimichanga?" I repeated. Then I remembered his requests. "Oh no! Jeremy, I didn't buy any of the things you asked for, not the pudding or the chimichanga or the water. I completely forgot about them. I'm so sorry!"

He looked at me strangely, "Why not?"

"I don't know! I didn't even think about them." I looked at my list to see if I could figure out what had gone wrong. "Oh my goodness, I didn't even write them down. Look!"

"So I don't even get a can of Pepsi?" he said sadly.

"A can of Pepsi? You never asked for a can of Pepsi."

"Yes, I did."

"Well, even if you had, I probably wouldn't have remembered."

"That's true," oddly enough, it sounded as though this logic cheered him up.

I surveyed the finished cupcakes sitting on the stove top. They had turned out perfectly. Then I stared at the items arrayed before me. Paper plates, napkins, toys, craft supplies, balloons, presents that still needed to be wrapped, my lesson book, my Bible, Chadder - our class puppet, diapers that needed to go into the diaper bag...and something inside me broke. I think it was my brain. I started walking in circles. First I walked to the bedroom to get my Sunday School bag. Then I realized I had not prepared the craft, so I stopped and walked back to the kitchen to get the poster board. As I walked into the kitchen, I passed the diapers that needed to be put into the diaper bag, so stopped and walked back to the bedroom to get the diaper bag. Halfway down the hall, I started thinking about what else should go into the diaper bag, and I realized that the chocolate cupcakes would be messy and diaper wipes would be the perfect solution to all that mess, so I turned around to find the diaper wipes.

Are you getting the picture?

This went on for several minutes, until Jeremy stopped me to ask what in the world was wrong. When I was unable to get my thoughts into a complete sentence to tell him my trouble, he decided it was time for us to go to bed, after all it was close to midnight, and we could finish everything in the morning. Of course, I refused to go to bed with so much left undone, so he went to bed without me, and I walked in circles for another hour.

That's when I decided to sit at the computer and blog because blogging usually calms me down and helps my brain get back into a straight line.

I could tell while I typed that it wasn't going to work for me that time, so after posting, I went to bed where I thought and thought and thought about all the things that I needed to finish before church the next day. I think I fell asleep around four in the morning.

THE EPILOGUE

The following morning, Jeremy very thoughtfully decided to let me sleep in. He got the girls ready for church and woke me up to tell me that he was taking them in, and he would be back for me shortly.

I jumped out of bed, and cried out to God for HELP; I knew if I tried to hop right in where I left off last night, I would end up running in circles again. God prompted me to take some slow time to sit at the table and make a list of what needed to be done. Surprisingly enough, after reading my list, I realized there really wasn't a lot of work to do. Just some organization. I prioritized and set to work.

Jeremy returned with breakfast from a drive-thru and made me stop to eat it while he read my list. Then he picked an item and got to work on it. We quickly formed an assembly line: when I finished something, he would pack it up and walk it to the van.

We got to church ahead of schedule, and I had everything I needed for a smooth lesson time with my kids.

Afterwards, we drove to the park, and our efficient teamwork continued. Jeremy wrangled the kids while I set the table and prepared our supplies. At one point, I looked up and saw Jeremy climbing up the monkey bars to the platform about 20 feet in the air. He slid down the slide with Mercy in his lap and climbed back up again. Later, he set all the little girls giggling by wearing two party hats, one on each ear. What a wonderful man I married!

I declared the party to be a success even though I forgot to bring any cups, and even though I packed my camera and then couldn't find it. (I still can't find it.) Liberty turned four = success. Liberty and her friends had fun = success.

Really, what more could you ask from a birthday party? (Besides pictures.)

Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!

2010-09-25T23:03:00.002-06:00

It is one o'clock in the morning, tomorrow is Liberty's birthday and immediately after morning church we're celebrating at a park the very first birthday party I have ever planned/hosted for my own child, I have many more items to check off my to-do list before I'm ready to party, and I'm teaching Sunday School in the morning.

I'm so busy, I can't stop to sleep. I'm so tired, I can't finish my list of things to finish. I'm so excited, I can't sleep even if I were allowed to.

I'm going to head to bed. My brain can't take fit another rational thought into it, and my body won't accomplish another task no matter how small. Oh, Sleep, wherefore art thou?

Wish me luck!

Drumroll Please

2010-09-22T14:32:00.004-06:00

It is with great excitement and even greater trepidation that I announce to you: I have written a book.

Er, I have written what I hope will be a book. It is currently being illustrated (it's a children's book), and I obviously am genetically incapable of keeping a secret.

I tried. Really, I did. I've avoided posting because with the exception of Rachel's story, the only thought on my mind was the book, and I wanted to keep it a secret until I knew what the publisher would say. But do you know how much stress I would be under if I couldn't tell anybody for THAT long?

So there you have it.

Sister Vessels

2010-09-16T12:26:00.004-06:00

When you say thirty-two-oh-five, you think solely of a number (although why you would say 3205, I'm not quite sure), but when I say 3205 -- which I do from time to time -- immediately hugs, laughter, friendship springs to mind. Thirty-two-oh-five was my dorm room number during the 1998 - 1999 college school year, and four of us girls laughed, cried, loved and played in that room: Brandy (who we called Caprice), Allie, Rachel and Me.

Allie and I became girlfriends to the men who are now our husbands while we lived in that room; Caprice chose to give her former boyfriend a second chance while she lived in that room (oh, what hilarious and serious pros and cons we discussed during that decision!) and Rachel cheered us all on. Caprice and Dan also got engaged towards the end of that year, and the rest of us watched and made suggestions as she cut out dresses from magazines and sewed gorgeous lacy underthings in preparation for her honeymoon. That girl could SEW! My goodness!

Together, the four of us survived Hurricane Georges, hunkered down in 3205, with our essentials at hand in case we had to flee to the hallways and stairwells: bowls of popcorn, liters of soda/pop/coke (see how I compromised there?), textbooks, Bibles, card games, flashlights, blankets and pillows, ID cards. Dan was on hold on phone line one, Rachel's parents were on hold on line two, Rodney held on line three, while Jeremy held on line four. We did not dare disconnect because every other college student on campus was also routing calls through the switchboard, and disconnection meant The End of your outside contact, Forever! The four of us rotated phone time easily. We didn't keep track or time each other. If I had something funny to tell Jeremy, I'd just ask for the phone. When Rachel thought her parents might be getting antsy, she'd ask for a turn.

That was the year the emergency hurricane boxes containing accidentally frozen solid lunches were delivered to dormitories full of starving college students, and the lines for the microwaves rivaled the length of the Great Wall of China! Jeremy and I still refer to Georges whenever we encounter food unfit for consumption. "Well, at least it's not frozen," we say with a grin, or sometimes simply, "Georges," and shrug.

I share these memories with you today because my friend and sister Rachel died peacefully in her sleep earlier this week. Although she had an inoperable brain tumor, she had been living with it for decades, and her passing took us all by surprise.

Allie and I wrote a tribute to her to be shared at her funeral because we cannot get to Canada on such short notice. Allie's words are in bold; mine are italicized.

Yesterday morning, I took some quiet time to write a little history of my friendship with Rachel. When I sent it to Missy, she added her own words, and I think you'll agree that the harmony tells a unique story. This side of heaven, we'll never know all the lives that Rachel touched, but this is the story of how she touched ours.

Rachel ~ September 19, 1978 - September 14, 2010

I met Rachel our first week as college freshmen at Pensacola Christian College, in 1996. Not quite 18, we were both far from home and needed someone to talk to. At that point, we became acquaintances, and she was simply someone I recognized as I moved among the thousands of students, someone I always associated with our shared birthday, a special connection that somehow set her apart in my mind even though we spent little meaningful time together that year.

In the summer of 1997, I met Missy, beginning a friendship that will always be inextricably linked with Rachel’s. Missy and I requested to be roommates for the school year beginning Fall of 1997 and then again in 1998. I remember getting our room assignment that second year and rushing over to see who our new roommates would be. Stacked to one side were boxes with Rachel's name, and another stack with Brandy's (who we all knew as Caprice back then). I was so excited that I already knew who Rachel was. That year was the highlight of my roommate experience.

I remember Allie's excitement the day we read Rachel's name on those boxes. Somehow, in that brief getting-acquainted time a year earlier, Rachel had made a really wonderful impression on Allie. When I asked her what Rachel was like, she said, "I don't really know her; I just feel like I do. I only met her once, and since then we've said hi, but I know you're going to like her! I've been wanting to know her better for a long time. She's going to be a great roommate!"

It turns out, Allie was more than right; both Caprice and Rachel were amazing.

What a blessing it was to have such good friends to come “home” to at the end of the day. As roommates, we did more than just talk about classes and boys (although we did that, too), but we prayed together. More than the mandatory nightly “Prayer Group,” we would wait for “lights out” every evening and take turns praying aloud. Sometimes, in twos or threes, we would go to the “Prayer Room” on our floor to open our Bibles and really talk to God.

Praying together after lights out was the highlight of my year also. It was after dark one night during an impassioned discussion from our bunkbeds when the four of us determined that we would always be "Sister Vessels," a term we made up to define our longing to be used wholly by our Lord and to love each other through anything life brought, always strengthening each other and pointing each other back to glorifying our Lord.

I don’t remember when Rachel’s academic struggles began to intensify. She never focused on her limitations. Years later, she would remind me of how difficult some things were for her, even then, but all I ever saw was her strength. All I ever knew was that we understood each other, that our faith was stronger together. “My strength is made perfect in weakness.” (from 2 Cor 12:9)

I did notice Rachel's physical struggles, but as Allie said, not because Rachel spoke about them or made them prominent. I watched Rachel prepare her hair in the mornings or sit at the desk in the evenings and attempt to focus on her homework. One day I asked her about her symptoms, and without asking for pity, she calmly described a typical day to me. She talked about her frustration in the classroom. She talked about her inability to keep up with her friends. She talked about her embarrassment when she fell in front of others, especially boys. That's the kind of easy, no-pretenses type of relationship we all shared in that college dorm room. Rachel knew that, with us, she did not have to cover up or act like she was able to do everything. We all loved each other the way we were.

What impressed me the most was the way she did not make excuses or ask for a pass on life. She proudly told me how hard she had worked to get to where she was. She ALWAYS gave glory to God and credit to her parents for her present condition and abilities. She was so thankful to have made it to college, and she was determined to finish. Rachel was a very driven person, but in chatting with her, you would never know it. She always made time to stop and talk. She always made time to hug a friend that she happened to be passing. She always asked passing friends about intimate details of their lives about which she was praying. She looked beyond herself and blessed everyone nearby.

After most of our classmates graduated in May of 2000, Rachel and I had one more semester to go, and again, we spent it as roommates. In July of 2001, she flew to California to be a bridesmaid in my wedding.

For the next few years, our contact was sporadic. She was always good about sending cards, but we both had a lot going on with our adult lives. She became involved in several different ministries over the years, but none of them seemed a good permanent fit. I suppose her light was too special to be hidden away in one place. Never was this more apparent than in 2004 when Rachel joined Live Journal. In the days before everyone was on Facebook and people everywhere could tweet from their phones, Rachel took to blogging like a bird taking flight.

Rachel shared with me one time that blogging for her was freedom from her limitations. Somehow, typing used a different part of her brain, an unhindered part, and her thoughts and fingers flowed effortlessly together in a way that rarely occurred for her in any other activity. When that effortless activity finally became fettered too, she struggled internally with that limitation, and that is the first time that I recall seeing her truly down.

Rachel was also an artist. She had an aesthetic sense that I could never comprehend. I could see a pretty picture, but she had an intuition of how to crop it, add text, and lay it out on a page. She was almost always crafting, typically painting or crochet.

Rachel was the best sounding board. She always made me want to do better while still reminding me not to be too hard on myself when I didn’t succeed.

So true! Rachel had a rare combination of compassion, drive and practicality, and as my Sister Vessel, she hugged me, pushed me, and brainstormed with me through various life situations. Oh, how I needed that and will miss her in my life!

Happy Birthday, Rachel. Your pain and limitations are gone. You always wanted to live to the fullest, and now you have life that will never end. I hope I never forget everything the Lord used you to teach me. I hope I always remember to glorify Him in all things as you did.

You made it, Rachel! You finished your race well, and your broken vessel is filled with God's brilliant glory spilling out through all the cracks and overflowing from the top, just like we dreamed.

Thank you for being my friend.

Our Late Night Adventure

2010-09-09T19:42:00.006-06:00

Jeremy has been complaining of chest pain, tightness and pressure for the last four months, but being a guy, he just hasn't been able to gather enough courage to visit the doctor. I'm not sure why that is. He regularly conquers stuck pickle jar lids, grumbling car engines, lagging budgets, scraped knees, and all of my amorous pursuers, but nice doctors who can help are not on his resume. (Spiders aren't either, but that's okay; I can handle spiders myself. It's the crickets that I need his manly shoe for.)

Of course, his visit in 2007 to the emergency room in our Iowa hometown for more acute chest symptoms did not inspire him to return to an ER any time soon.

Finally, last night around midnight, he became uncomfortable enough that he could not sleep, so we decided to visit the emergency room here -- you know, just to see how they've chosen to decorate it.

It was lovely. Beautiful deep blue chairs with curving rich wooden arms.

Oh, sorry.

Long story short (I'm famous for the shortness of my stories, you know. Just ask my parents whose favorite phrase for me when I was growing up was, "Get to the point, Missy!")

(How boring.)

Anyway, long story short, Jeremy was not having a heart attack. He has nothing wrong with his heart at all! Instead, he's been suffering from a viral version of pleurisy. The doctor prescribed a heavy dose of Motrin for about a week, and voila! Perfectly healthy husband!

Hooray!

Plus, we got a wonderful, late-night date from it. To celebrate his relatively clean bill of health, Jeremy and I shared a cardboard container of Arby's curly fries around 3:30 in the morning.

And a side of heartburn. Appropriate for the occasion, I suppose.

I Couldn't Help It; I Laughed

2010-09-03T13:40:00.000-06:00

Yesterday, I stood at the stove cooking our omelets, and Liberty kept coming to me and giving me little kisses. After a little while, she said, "Mommy, do you know why I'm giving you so many kisses?"

"Because you love me a LOT, right?" I responded, fairly sure that I had the correct answer.

"No, it's because you are cooking food for me."

Yeah, I should have known that; she takes after her daddy.

Later, after four days of exhausting myself to get my daughters to clean up their toys each day, I finally told them that they had one hour to get everything put exactly where it belonged before I came through with my trash can. I purposefully kept my voice very kind and conversational, trying to convey the idea that I just wanted them to know what the consequences for their actions would be, but the choice to obey or disobey was completely up to them.

Mercy either had no clue or pretended to have no clue and continued pursuing her own agenda. Liberty on the other hand seemed to have grasped the idea that something unpleasant loomed in her near future, and she tried several times to persuade her sister to clean up. However, she put more effort into getting her sister to work than she did in performing any actual work herself.

By the time their chance to clean up had run out, about 80% of the mess remained on the floor. I decided to make a few unobtrusive walk-throughs while the girls were goofing off in another part of the room in order to rescue items that I did not want thrown away, but I purposefully left some precious things on the floor. Things like Liberty's pink blanket. *Cue the dramatic music, please.*

Then from the kitchen, I made a production out of getting the garbage can outfitted with a brand new bag, and I calmly started my journey. Liberty watched the first few items rustle their way into the garbage with something like shock on her face. Mercy ignored it all, or rather, she dumped over a bucket of chalk, and then looked at me in order to communicate that my idea of bad consequences were really of no consequence to her. So I walked over and began nicely scooping chalk pieces into the garbage can.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" shrieked Liberty, and she ran over to frantically salvage a few that I had not yet scooped. "Mercy Jane, don't do that!" she yelled.

I moved on to the next closest pile of items and began picking them slowly up one at a time. I did not move so slowly that my actions could be detected as stalling, but I tried to give the girls time to come rescue their toys if they cared to. As I worked, I told them that they were welcome to come rescue whatever they wanted to keep. By this time, poor Liberty sobbed in heaving gulps, and I felt just terrible. But every time I was tempted to stop, I pictured the next time I would have to ask them to clean, or I told myself, "My job is not to have happy kids at all times; it is to equip them to be responsible adults," and I kept going.

When I finally worked my way to Liberty's blanket, I asked her, "Honey, do you want your blanket back?" She nodded, still sobbing and gulping. "I will put it here where you cannot reach it, and when you have done some extra chores, you can earn it back. Understand?" She nodded.

In the meantime, Mercy stood back at the chalkboard tray just waiting for me to glance over at her. When I did, she deliberately swiped the chalk pieces back onto the floor and looked at me. So, I calmly walked back over there and began placing them one piece at a time into the trash. Liberty ran with me and dropped to the floor crying as she tried to block my fingers from their work. "Mercy!" she said. To my surprise, Mercy also dropped to her knees and began picking up the pieces and returning them to the tray. I never saw her face, and she never said a word, so I'm not sure what went on inside her head, but I was glad to see her helping.

We had one last pile in front of a toy box on the far side of the room to pick up, and the two girls ran to get there before I showed up. They randomly tossed things into the toy box, but the small ball that poor Mercy aimed over and over kept missing the box. She got so frustrated that she started to cry, so I stopped and helped her put it away, then I returned to my terrible work.

Finally, the entire room was clean. Liberty continued to wail and heave, and I recognized a good bit of anger in her cry. I decided to let her cry, hoping that her anger would eventually turn towards her own disobedience if I gave her enough time to think it over. But in order to drown out the sound, I plugged the vacuum in and began vacuuming the living room and dining room. Her cries had not subsided when I finished, so I decided to vacuum the hall way and bedrooms.

(Parenthetical sidenote: It's a good thing God has freed me from my fear of having my children taken from me, because all that wailing would normally have paralyzed my heart, and I would have been panicked from worry.)

At last, she had worn herself out. I wrapped up the cord and put the machine away. Then I walked up to Mercy and hugged her. "You made a good decision to help clean, Mercy Jane," I told her warmly. She smiled at me, "I love you, Mommy," she said. "I love you, too, Mercy Jane."

Then I walked over to Liberty. "I'm sorry that some of your toys had to be thrown away, HoneyBunny," I told her compassionately and put my arm around her. She nodded. "I want to sit in your lap, Mommy."

"Okay, why don't you go pick out a book, and I'll read it to you."

"No, I just want to sit in your lap, Mommy."

"Oh, okay. I want to cuddle with you, too, my Liberty Grace."

So we sat and cuddled, until I just had to try to enforce the lesson. "That must have been pretty sad to have your toys thrown away, huh?" I asked her.

She nodded.

"Well, my HoneyBunny, what decision do you think you might make next time I ask you to clean up?"

She solemnly answered, "To get more toys at Walmart."

Aye Go Baby Jaguar**

2010-09-02T10:12:00.004-06:00

What a wonderful Thursday we are having!

I knew it would be: my hair looked great in the mirror this morning, so I could just tell.

The girls and I took a trip to the library for something different to do. Of course, I have a huge fine that I can't pay right now, so instead of checking any books out, we spent an hour reading together in a lovely, cozy corner.

Now we are back home, and the girls are wearing bathing suits and rain coats and splashing in the rain puddles outside while I loudly play Big Band/Swing music on my Pandora station. The only thing I can find to be sad about is my hiding camera.

But I can easily remedy that sadness by thinking of what we'll be having for lunch: veggie omelets and a fresh fruit salad!

And now that Pandora is playing some get-up-and-go music, I believe I will get up and go make lunch. Especially since my tummy is grumbling at me.

That is all. Carry on, and don't forget to dance!

**I asked Liberty what I should name my post, and this was her recommendation. (Aye Go is Diego, from Nick Jr.)