Monterey County Fair

In recognition of my birthday (8/15) Monterey County celebrates with the annual Fair. I appreciate their well wishes for my health and happiness. And it certainly makes me feel special that they go to the trouble of showing me how much they care by devoting an entire event to the purpose. Out of kindness to their efforts we don't miss it, and every year finds us (with whatever baby is little that year) pushing a stroller, wrangling several small children, keeping up with a Nana, and carrying all manner of miscellaneous treasures down the fairway. Similar to our 4th of July expedition, this one is simply not to be missed. Period.

The main event is a tie between fairfood (all one word because, I think you would agree, it is a food group all its own - like vegetables, or grains), and the animals (be they livestock or the altogether bizarre human entertainers). We ate corn dogs, bbq, kettle korn, dipped ice cream, and pizza. We skipped the funnel cake, for reasons only God can forgive. Then we petted baby ducklings, watched dogs jump way to high in the air, saw a juggler do interpretive dance while maintaining control over 4 fiery batons simultaneously, and enjoyed our favorite band The Amazong Harmonatras perform using all five of our children. I genuinely believe my little people think heaven is the Fair, with Jesus somewhere down in the carnival giving out free ride tickets!

Capitalism and Gasoline

I don't "get" it! I haven't "gotten" it for some time, but just today realized I need to post about it so that all of you understand that I don't "get" it either.

We own a rather large vehicle to transport our growing family. The whopping 12mpg it gets is not its best selling point, but then when you divide that by the number of people being hauled it actually becomes economical. However, it still requires a lot of gas, rather regularly. And this is where my lack of "getting" it comes into play.

In order for me to fill my tank I must buy quite a bit. Somewhere, someone decided that it was evil, and against our capitalistic-supply-and-demand economy to allow people to buy the amount of gas they desire. I don't know if this is a national phenomenon, or only in the ever logical vicinity of Marina, but once you hit $50 your pump turns off. Stop. Done. Regardless of whether this has filled your tank your transaction is complete. Now, when this first happened I thought maybe my card was being declined the full amount. I went in to ask the ever intelligible foreign national proprietor why my pump turned off, and was told, "So that we make sure all people have enough gas." This is the case in all of the gas stations I now visit.

Huh. I thought we lived in a first-come-first-served-your-willing-to-pay-so-I-will-sell-it-to-you nation. Apparently not. We are actually living in a government-has-the-job-to-ensure-that-all-people-wishing-to-buy-gas-but-to-lazy-to-go-to-the-station-still-have-enough-gas-when-they-finally-show-up-to-get-$50-worth. Who knew.

I went back to my van, wondering what to do. I don't have gobs of extra time to be running to the gas station every day. But I figured if this was now the policy they must track your debit/credit/gas card number to make sure you don't cheat and just do two transactions in a row. I will try... just in case. You know what? You probably do. It worked!

So now you see why I just don't "get" it. The whole concept of capitalism is a FREE MARKET. That means you sell what you want, I buy how much I want, and everyone else minds their own business. Private ownership of capital. The government does not legally tell us how we are to spend our money. So here I am being told how much gas I am allowed to buy, based on some arbitrary explanation of maintaining enough gas for the next guy. BUT... there is no actual means of enforcing this absurd policy, so it only creates a headache because I now get the added bonus of buying gas in two transactions, one right after the other, every time I fill up.

Can someone fill me in on what it is I am missing? Because, as I said before, I just don't "get" it.

Brain Damage

Caleb comes to me this morning with no tears, no blood, and says, "Mama?"

"Hmm?"

"Leah dropped the wheel from the wagon on my brain."

"Can you show me where it hit you?" He points to a spot on the upper part of his hairline, along his forehead. I kiss it. "Are you okay?"

"Yep," and he walks out to face his abuser.

Australia

I was doing laundry today (surprise, surprise) when Caleb came to me bothered. He said, rather plaintively, "Remember when I went to Australia for my birthday? Remember that?"

I looked at him, obviously puzzled.

"Bethany says I didn't go to Australia on my birthday. But I did go to Australia, don't you remember?"

"Son, you went to the Aquarium on your birthday."

"Oh, okay." He then happily went back to the table to explain this to Bethany.

You never know what you are going to get.

Wipe and Flush

Why is something as simple as wipe and flush so difficult? When my two middles (Caleb and Leah) use the potty we have a simple rule: wipe and flush. They either wipe, and do not flush; or flush without a wipe. Am I asking too much? Thankfully, the third part of this rule, wash, provides so much fun that it is rarely forgotten. Perhaps we need to invest in a bidet.

Uh Oh!

Last night we had an uh oh. They happen occasionally in families, and while I think I have become more capable at assessing bodily damage as a result of my experiences, it never ceases to rattle me when my child is genuinely hurt.

Christopher and I were upstairs with the littles when we suddenly heard a piercing scream from Hannah below. We both started for the stairs, and when we turned the corner of the hallway we could see the reflection of Hannah leaning over the sink in the bathroom with blood pouring out of her mouth. This is not good, I thought. Poor Bethany was in such a state of shock that it took us several minutes to learn what had happened.

Apparently the girls were playing with Hannah's bath towel when Bethany pulled it one way, anticipating Hannah would let go, but when she didn't she went careening into the sidearm of the couch, hitting her chin and mouth so hard she bit through her lip. Uh oh seems slightly insufficient... dear God, would more accurately describe the scene. We knew Hannah would need stitches.

As I drove Hannah to the hospital shock was keeping her mouth numb from the pain, but the mental image of stitches was scaring her to death. We prayed that God would give us a kind physician with gentle hands, a sweet temperament, and as pain-free a procedure as possible. I must admit, I also offered up my prayers that she would not be too badly scarred.

She calmed down considerably after praying, and actually began to joke about the ordeal. She was quite proud that she would have stitches like her friends who had traversed this road before her. And she remembered as well, that Grandpa had fallen down stairs, and bitten through his lip.

We hung out in the ER for a few hours, doing the normal "rush & wait" routine. When we were seen by the doctor our fears were confirmed that she punctured the entire lip, and would need a three-layer suture closure. The doctor explained the procedure, and very gently noted that the application of the anesthesia would be the most painful experience of the entire operation. Hannah was very stoic in the face of the information, and the physician even mentioned how calm she was for her age. However, after he left Hannah began to get understandably anxious, and wanted to know every ounce of detail relating to the upcoming event. Hannah's mode of emotional management tends to be utmost control in the face of anything, so watching her fight back tears as she asked about how badly it would hurt just about broke my heart.

When the nurse, and doctor came back to our room Hannah was ready. She quietly followed their directions, and prepared for the operation. The nurse, a gentle man who had children her age at home, was very friendly, even if he bordered on the patronizing. About half way through the procedure he finally caught on that we are not a big, "sugar-coat the truth" family, and realized I was accurately describing to Hannah what the doctor was about to do at each step. We believe that education, even in the face of trauma, helps to alleviate the unknown, so at least you are only dealing with the fear of the real, and not the imagined worst. The doctor was very supportive of this, and worked with me to tell Hannah exactly when she would be feeling different sensations.

The administration of the topical anaesthesia was painful, but complete. I was nervous it might not be as utterly thorough as necessary, and she would still feel the pain of the stitches. This was Christopher's experience, and with the same doctor! But God heard my pleas, and once the medicine took effect she didn't feel anything! I won't go into the exploratory nature necessary to determine the extent of the damage, but suffice it to say the through-and-through aspect of the wound had to be confirmed.

God is good. The physician was impressed with the cleanliness of the puncture, and the number of stitches initially thought necessary was almost cut in half. The diagnosis for scarring was also revised, and Hannah should see no visible signs of the incident within a few years. Her driver's license picture is safe *wink*.

We arrived home some 3 hours later, record time for most ER visits, and Hannah was greeted by her very concerned sister Bethany, who had insisted on staying up until we returned. Bethany had been so distraught over her possible responsibility in the affair that only praying for the safety, and well-being of Hannah during our absence alleviated her mind. She made Hannah a beautiful "get better" picture, and presented it to her the minute we walked in the door.

We are all grateful for the little miracles God sees fit to work on our behalf every day. Hannah took 4 stitches, one on the inside of her mouth, and 3 to close the outer wound. But that was significantly less than originally feared. She will have virtually no scar, and her medical team was sensitive during the entire procedure. She and I had a neat chance to read, chat, and pray together which doesn't come along in uninterrupted quantities very often. And now she has an even poutier bottom lip to go with her sweet smile - at least for the next week or so!

Operatic Knuckles

Christopher occasionally asks the kids if they want a knuckle sandwich. I don't get it. I have never gotten it. What a terrible thing to say to a child. Apparently this is one of those "dad" things, to which I am woefully lacking in talent - being a mom and all. Christopher's dad did it to him, and he got such a giggle out of it growing up that the true meaning of the phrase was lost in the playful banter. I fold.

Just today Christopher asked Leah if she wanted the infamous knuckle sandwich. "NO," she asserted, "stop it Daddy!" She then ran into the kitchen, and began playing with alphabet magnets on the fridge. As she moved the V next to the F she started singing her ABC song - as an opera.

Aaa, Beeeee, Ce, Deee, EeeEeeeE, F, GEEe, Atch, I, Jayyyy, Jayyy, ELLLL, MmMmM, OOOOOOO, Que, Sssssss, TeeeeeEEE, Ewe, Vee, W, YyyyYYYYY, Ze. Now I sing my Aaa, BeeEEee, CeEeEes, won't you sing with meeeEEee?

It was everything an aspiring vocalist could want in a song - high sopranos, low quarter notes with throaty vibrato, legato throughout, with just the right amount of articulation to define each new letter. Beautiful. Christopher and I practically had tears in our eyes we were laughing so hard. After calming ourselves Christopher asked Leah, "Do you like singing?"

"Yep."

"Well, don't quit your day job," he added, while still chuckling over her opera debut. Then, unexepectedly, Leah walked straight up to Daddy and said, with a fist next to his face,

"You wanna knuckle sandwich?"

I think I peed my pants.

Big Girl Bed

I remember thinking this day would never come! Leah is out of her tent!!! For those of you unfamiliar with Leah's tent, here is a promo picture of the contraption for your edification. The tag line of the product talks about keeping baby safe from animals, like cats, that might inadvertently climb into the crib. It also highlights the safety feature of keeping baby from accidentally (ACCIDENTALLY mind you) falling out of their crib, and injuring themselves. It is supposed to give parents peace of mind, knowing they are securing their child in a safe environment. It says nothing about the stubborn child who willfully scales the crib for freedom each, and every day. However, their is a subtle note in the description about how the design follows the cell layouts at Alcatraz. Cats huh?

Leah began climbing out of her crib when she was quite little, around 17mos or so. My other girls did this as well, and a simple explanation of the unacceptability, followed by a spanking for repeat offenders was plenty to get the point home. Hannah, and Bethany contentedly stayed in their cribs after they woke from their naps, or bedtime, until I came and got them. Mary does the same. Ahhh, but not Leah. Noooo. We explained, spanked, spanked, explained, explained, reviewed, spanked, encouraged, bribed, and finally gave up. It was maddening. We bought the Alcatraz cell, and locked her in. It sure did give us peace of mind. And we made a huge deal out of her tent being a special indoor tent that she would get to sleep in every night. She loved it. And I never thought I would be able to move her into a normal bed before she was 16. Miracles do happen.

One of the first thoughts I can recall after the pregnancy test came back positive was, how am I going to transfer Leah out of her tent? We already have two cribs, so I wasn't going to buy another one! Leah would need to move into the toddler bed, so the new baby could have a crib. Moving Leah into the toddler bed meant Caleb would need to give it up, and transition into a genuine big boy bed. This was fairly easy, since we already had an extra twin mattress and bedspring hanging out in the garage. I bought a metal frame, some boyish bedding and he was set. The toddler bed was free - and my greatest fear now loomed over me. Moving Leah.

The idea to attach it to her birthday was inspired by the reality that we do not celebrate birthdays in typical fashion. Or maybe we do, and everyone else is strange? Anyhow, birthdays in our home tend to be small, family-centric affairs with not a lot of pomp, presents or parties. With the number of children we have the smaller ones simply don't need anything, and I don't need more stuff to organize. But we do acknowledge the joy of the day, and try to mark it in some significant manner. We began telling Leah about moving to a big girl bed a week before the actual event, in hopes that it would whet her appetite to own the transition. By the time the day dawned she was pretty excited. Christopher and I put a movie on downstairs, and then doggedly worked upstairs to disassemble her crib, move the toddler bed into her room, and re-outfit it with girlie sheets. When we called the kids to come up everyone couldn't wait to see Leah's new bed! In fact, it was hard to convince the kids to let her have a moment to herself.

So how has she been doing, you ask? Very well, actually. Yes, she has gotten out of her bed, and made a terrible mess of the room. Yes, she has fallen asleep with counterfeit booty in her bed. Yes, we have explained, spanked, spanked, explained, explained, reviewed, spanked, and encouraged, but there has been no giving up! She is so pleased to have her own big girl bed, and really does want to earn our trust. She solemnly promises not to get out of her bed each nap/bedtime. And we know that eventually she really will stay in her bed. In the meantime, it has been a joy to see her set free from her prison cell (and an incredible load off my mind that the new baby will have a place to sleep).

God's Incredible Faithfulness - Leah is 3!

We've had lots of fun with various posts about the character that is Leah. But, today, I celebrate God's incredible love and faithfulness to me and my family. Three years ago today I almost lost Trisha and Leah. If you haven't read the story, I heartily recommend you read up on it. Praise God for modern medicine and trained professionals!!!

With nothing short of God's incredible miraculous providence, today I celebrate that I am not a widower with three children. Instead, I have a very happy marriage to a wonderful woman and five children (and one on the way)! God is SOOO good!

Leah is so excited to be a big girl! Tonight, as part of her birthday gift, we've decided to move her to a toddler bed. Bethany asked today if we could go to the dollar store so she could use some of her chore money to buy Leah a birthday gift. It just melted my heart :)

Keep an eye out for a post tomorrow or this weekend about Leah's new bed...

Coffee Follow-up

Just as a follow-up to Trisha's last post...it was a joke! I played it straight, but it was a joke, referring back to her previous posts about coffee.

I guess the joke was lost on her...

You just have to laugh...

Christopher and I were in Starbucks recently when, I KID YOU NOT, he leaned over to me and asked:

Have you ever had their Raspberry Mocha?

Coffee, hon. Coffee.

22 Weeks

Although it is still bordering on surreal that I am even pregnant, the fact is... I am. You would think that after doing this the number of times that I have I would get used to it... I don't. It still puzzles, and fascinates me that a little person is growing inside my body. A real human being, with tiny features, expressions, and even moods. I am not going to take on the whole Nature v. Nurture debate here, but I do believe that even in-utero babies can make their personalities felt (Leah is the striking exception to this rule). So what am I feeling now?

Lots of movement! Christopher was able to feel some really good kicks about a week ago. It is always exciting for me when others are finally able to experience the reality that I live with day in, and day out - there is an alien inside of me.

Fatigue! I am not sure what to blame it on - the other kids, my age, this pregnancy, my thyroid disease? Whatever the reason, the final result is the same, I am plum tuckered out most days. I don't ever remember being this tired before.

Unsettled! There are a number of things that still need to be decided, like a name both Christopher and I agree upon for both a boy or a girl. Where will the new baby sleep, and how will the rest of the sleeping arrangements ultimately work? I have a million little projects I would LOVE to accomplish before baby arrives, but I also need to be realistic about what I can actually execute, and what a professional team from TLC could do. Surprise by Design I am not (shocking, I know).

Excited! As baby begins to move more frequently the desire to meet this little person grows stronger, and stronger. Do we have a boy or a girl? What will this tiny person look like? I love the smell of newborns (I think my home in heaven will have a bottle of newborn air freshener waiting for me in my linen closet), and can't wait to have that little head snuggled next to my neck. One of the greatest treasures I believe God gives families with several children is the joy of participating in multiple sibling relationships. Each time I bring a new baby home it is precious to watch the older children fall in love with their youngest sibling, all exactly in line with their personalities. I can't wait.

We went last Monday for a regular obstetric appointment, and had an ultrasound done to confirm the edd, healthy development, and so forth. While the pictures I do have are sweet to us, they would probably look like slightly less gray dots in front of darker gray dots (they're feet actually). So I thought you would enjoy this picture, not of my baby, but nevertheless taken of a 22wk tiny person in-utero.

Yo Cuz!

I had the pleasure of traveling to Daytona Beach, FL on business last month to attend a training conference for work. I had a free evening on the night before I left to come home, so decided to drive up to Gainesville to visit my cousin Michael, his wife Anne Marie, and their two children, Zander and Ava. Mike's mother Lynn and my mother Karen are sisters, the "famous" Schermerhorn clan from Syracuse, for those keeping score at home. On the few isolated opportunities I've had to get together with the family in the northeast, we've had TONS of fun. One thing Schermerhorns know how to do is have a good time, and this evening was no exception.

Not the least bit of the evening's amusement was me trying to navigate the riduculously logical layout of downtown Gainesville (although, the logic was lost on me!). Apparently all the city streets are numbered, and directions are on a grid north/south/east/west from the intersection of University and Main, not far from the main University of Florida campus. Mike told me to make my way to 1st and Main. Great comedy ensued as I drove around watching the street numbers increase when they should be decreasing, and vice versa. Finally, I arrived at The Top, a swanky downtown Gainesville eatery.

We had a great visit, and had dinner with some of Mike and Anne Marie's friends in Gainesville. This group of friends are all in a band together, known as the "papercranes". I haven't heard their music, but if Mike is involved, I'm sure the music is beautiful. Mike's friend Rain offered to pay for everybody's dinner, what a kind and gracious gesture!

After dinner, we went back to their home and I had a fun evening talking about family and good times. He filled me in on other family happenings around the country. Aunt Lynn and Uncle Pete just bought some property in Florida and New York and are in the process of moving their lives (currently in Minnesota) into the "snowbird" lifestyle, splitting time between Florida and New York.

Unfortunately, I needed to be back in Daytona Beach for my flight the next day, and Mike had to get ready for a trip to Athens, GA the next day. The band was going up there together to record some new music. So, we shared some ice cream together, we said our goodbyes and I drove back to Daytona.

And we got a picture...

Thanks, Mike and Anne Marie, for a neat evening together. Sorry we couldn't have spent more time together! Perhaps next time!

TrAmPoLiNe (fact or fiction)

There is a rumor going around that Odd acquired a trampoline. Small children have been severely tortured for spreading this malignant piece of gossip. After all, how on earth could the backyard of such a small kingdom fit a trampoline?

I am here to set the record straight.

We have some elements in our neighborhood which are not wholly desirable. There is a strong component of unsupervised adolescents, mostly boys, which play on our cul-de-sac quite often. Over the past year the decision to allow less time out in front has meant more frustration with what to do in the back. And since it has been God's pleasure to see to it that I am sufficiently housebound from 12-4 for naps every afternoon, it limits the extra curricular participation for my older children substantially.

TrAmPoLiNe to the rescue! Yet another childhood dream lived out through our poor unsuspecting children. My aunt had a trampoline for years, and I can not even count how many hours I jumped on that thing. Christopher is a born jumper as well, using the excuse that it is a great work-out for his upcoming Whitney hike to explain his daily treks onto the mat. But I digress... back to the story.

We knew we needed something more substantial in the backyard, and a trampoline seemed the perfect fit, err choice. So I began looking into them one day, assuming it would take an hour or so to make a final decision. I even had thoughts of grandeur that I could find one for a deal, run and get it while Christopher was out of town on business, and surprise him with it in the backyard upon his return. Ever heard of Fat Chance? It appears that trampolines are second only to swimming pools in the amount of advice for which brands to buy, which to avoid, which have safety features that work, which are cheap copies of the real deal, which are shipped for reasonable fees, which hold more than a 30lbs child, blah, blah, blah. And the real crusher was the cost - rather more than I had bargained for if you were interested in one that gave more than a weekend's worth of good bounce.

But I was determined. And for any of you who know me personally, once I become convinced about something I am on a mission. So it was with the trampoline.

Safety was obviously a huge concern (more for my hubby... I rather held the idea that if they fell they would learn. After all, I didn't have a safety net on the trampoline I grew up using. I am reformed in my thinking however, and after seeing all of my children going hog wild on the thing I praise God for safety nets.) Almost all trampoline brands sell safety enclosures, but when you start to read the fine print they are not suitable for more than one, maybe two, high impact rescues before the frame begins to give way, or the netting fails. Hmmm, and why am I purchasing this piece of equipment if not to handle the random crisis of a high impact jump gone wrong? I also learned that the mat itself can be a cause for concern (Cliff Claven moment - Almost 50% of trampoline injuries are not from falling off, but from landing on the mat during a jump). Sheesh! I am quite the expert now on how different mats, along with their spring configuration, can help or hinder better jumping with softer landings, and less stress to the back and legs.

After safety came performance - for obvious reasons I think. Here again the glut of information on competing designs was practically overwhelming. Do you get bungee cords, steel springs, how many springs per foot of mat, how tightly coiled, how are they attached to the mat, does the mat use grommets, v-rings, blah, blah, blah.

Now let me just stop here and say something. I am not overly ridiculous in all my buying decision. But after making some rather hefty mistakes from lack of research (read Pontiac TranSport), and seeing the value of investing in quality for durability (read Wal-Mart v. Hannah Andersson), I am a believer in taking some time before jumping into the most convenient option available. Service announcement over, you may now continue with your regularly scheduled blog.

Well, I knew I wanted something that would last, and give a great bounce for both my small children, and the larger children (read King and Queen). And I didn't want to get myself into something that would require significant amounts of upkeep in order to keep it bouncing. The last decision was size, and since the original rumor was flatly denied by many because of the impossibility of our kingdom supporting such a contraption, we will confirm for you now that we own the 12ft diameter mat. In Christopher's words, "it takes up the whole backyard." But I still see grass. I picked a brand called JumpSport - and if you are looking for a trampoline/safety enclosure I would highly recommend the company. We didn't tell the children, and somehow inbetween camping, 4th of July, and VBS managed to get the thing put together and working (rather easily actually).

So what can I say now that we are a jumping family?

IT IS GREAT!

We are having a blast as a family. All the kids, Mary included, love to get on and jump. I think it is one of the best investments for our kids we have made in a long time. Come on over and check it out yourself...

Dagarate

Dictionary of Odd has this entry:

dagarate

Main Entry: dag·ar·at·e

Pronunciation: dag-are-OUGHT-ee

Function: noun

Etymology: Oddish, from dagger meaning small piercing weapon + karate meaning random kicks in stylized fashion for maximum effect

:a form of combat adopted by Princess Bethany for use in war when no one on earth will have a weapon, and all fighting will be hand to hand karate combat. She alone will hold the secret powers of dagarate when she strikes her opponent, and suddenly, "uses my dagger to poke their chin."

Example: Please have mercy! Your dagarate is too good, and even though I am a ninja your skills would overpower me in a second.

What's In A Name?

Shakespeare asked the famous question through Juliet when he penned the phrase, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." I am going on record as stating - he was wrong. Let the following be a lesson to every parent seeking a name for their child... check the meaning BEFORE you fall in love with it.

Leah has two cultural origins, Hebrew and Assyrian. Neither bodes well for us.

Hebrew - weary

Assyrian - ruler

Take your pick. Either way she is a strong, independent soul that will wear you out.

July 4th!

If you ask my kids what their favorite holiday is they will tell you it is a tie between Christmas, and 4th of July. I must admit I share their enthusiasm for our Independence Day celebration. I love large gatherings full of tradition, and so, it would seem, do my children!

Our 4th looked rather dull for many years. I grew up helping my family in their business on Fisherman's Wharf, where the firework display insured a high volume of traffic. We stayed open late, and often watched the fireworks from the back office windows. These were neat times of camaraderie between coworkers, but nothing you can really implement with an entire family (and certainly not with Leah). Later, the 4th just happened to be whatever was going on, with no fixed destination or design.

Then in 2001 we went to the Monterey beach called Windows on the Bay with our church FBC, and spend the entire day having a blast. Hannah was 2, Bethany was only 6+ mos old but both loved the event. We had a big cooler with everything (and it's brother) inside, along with 11 thousand incidentals. Bethany mostly sat on laps, Hannah dug in the sand, and pretended to like the idea of getting her feet wet in the water. We were hooked. And somewhere in our hearts we knew we would make this day happen each year.

Some of the highlights since then have included: 2003, when Caleb was a mere 3 weeks old; and then in 2004 I was only 3 weeks from delivering Leah; 2006 gave Hannah a sharp pain, when she stepped on a piece of glass and sliced her foot right when the fireworks were about to start! But over the years we have never regretted the decision to trek down to the water for the entire day. In fact, we look forward to it with great anticipation!

Of course, being who I am, we can't just go without preparations. I have a detailed packing list that gets slightly altered each year (nursing newborn? potty training?) but overall it has held its worth in our home. This year the highlight was the portable potty that we borrowed from my mom. In the past we brought our little child's potty for inside the tent, keeping the trips to the nasty public porta-potties to a minimum for our small children. But this year I knew we needed something more. For reasons only God's sense of humor could fully explain my bladder has been as flat as a pancake since the pregnancy test came back positive. I knew I was in trouble. Two options unfolded before me: dehydrate myself to death OR pack the portable toilet. Since I am now writing this I think you can guess which option I chose. The funny thing however, is that everyone else in our group came to love me for the porta-potty too! It sits high enough to allow an adult comfortable use, and has sealed chambers to make management of it very sanitary. So, without naming names, we had several partakers of our tented bathroom... not to mention Leah some 25 times (and myself at 24).

Anyway! Christopher always gets to the beach at about 6ish to stake out our spot. Our pastor, and sometimes another die-hard man meet him there, and help him lug our stuff to the sand. This year his buddy Mark stayed with him during the early morning for company. I arrived at about 10:00ish with all the kids. The day was absolutely beautiful, and all the children enjoyed time in the water. We also got smart after too many issues with random burns, and forgotten reapplications of sunscreen, and bought all 5 their own swim trunks with matching rash guards. Had we really been cool we would have ordered them online, and gotten cute "girlie" colors for the girls. Nevertheless, they were a great decision for both modesty, and sun coverage. No burns this year!

We hope that you had a wonderful 4th of July. If you are looking for a little variety feel free to join us next year. We would love to have your company. Just beware - after a full day at the beach... EVERYONE is exhausted!

Happy (belated) Birthday

It might appear that Caleb is getting an awful lot of air time these days. It is just the way it seems to work out. Inevitably one of our children becomes the star of the show for a few weeks, and right not it seems to be the boy. This post however, is late in coming so I really can't be blamed for favoritism.

Caleb turned 4 on June 10! He is now a big boy, and gets to do some neat big boy things that he couldn't do when he was merely 3. We started the celebration with Caleb's request of a trip to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, with his siblings and friend of his choice. Travey-my-brother (otherwise known as Travis) won the coveted honor, but only after Kayden (who is 12!) was found to be out of town. We all had a wonderful time, and I would gladly show you a picture of our adventure, except I forgot to take the camera. I do have a sweet shot of Caleb and Travey, taken by Travey's mom, at a playdate just recently.

We did however, get a great shot of the Big Boy being allowed to stay up with the girls for story time before bed. This is something I do just about every night, and Caleb has been asking to join us for months. Christopher and I thought it would make a neat "turned 4" privilege, and began preparing him for the big night a few weeks before his birthday. He was SO excited. The day of his birthday the only thing that consistently kept coming up was how he would be able to stay up with the girls now. Alas, the reality versus the fantasy are two very different things. We are currently reading through the Narnia series, and Caleb could not sit still for even a few moments. He was lost in the story, couldn't follow the plot, and asked a million little questions that pertained to nothing. Daddy took the following picture which sums up the entire event.

Still, 4 years old! He really IS our big boy (even though he wants this new baby to be an older brother).

Vincent van Gough, Claude Monet, or Caleb Randall?

In case you don't have the artist's eye to understand the above statement, let me enlighten you.

First, the smattering of dots represents rain. The smaller yellow in the bottom right hand corner is obviously the sun. This should not be confused with the larger yellow, which is God. The earth sits between the sun, and God - specified by red. Above God is a large box (no universe is quite complete without one). And finally the pièce de résistance is the hippopotamus (I knew you were waiting for me to address it) in the upper left hand corner. The hippopotamus' earring is just below, using anther dynamic brown shape.

Now that you are versed in art, take a few moments to stop and recognize it all around you. Maybe you can learn to draw with such passion, and feeling. Of course, you will have to give up everything you know about how to hold a writing utensil.

PG is on the Map!

There is a blog that I love to visit called Strangers Among Us. I have it listed in my links on the right ------------> See?

A recent post has a wonderful picture of a couple of Strangers in good ole Pacific Grove, CA. Check it out!

Nuts...

Hole In Your Head

Caleb has a hole in his head. Seriously.

Maybe I should back up a bit and explain.

Several days ago I was walking downstairs when I heard Caleb sob up to me from the family room, "Mama, I got a hole in my heard." Now, I don't know what you other moms think about when your son says this, but I must admit my first reaction was probably not as appropriate as you might expect.

"Really Son. How'd that happen?" I don't go for the whole drama thing.

"I tripped on Hannah's foot, and I got a hole in my head." By this time I've made it into the family room, and can now observe the hole in his head. Sure enough, he has a round surface wound on the top of his forehead. As he delicately probed the area he was quite convinced the circular scratch was a hole.

"Hmmm, well buddy it looks like you have a pretty good hole in your head."

"Yep."

So he is now very proud of his holes, and gets them rather regularly. Not boo-boos. Not ouchies. Not scratches, cuts, scrapes, or owies. Just holes.

Last night he was wrestling with Daddy when he accidentally got a good scratch on his forehead from Daddy's fingernail. When I noticed it a bit later I asked him what happened. Christopher motioned to his finger in the background, so I already recognized the truth of the wound's origin. However, Caleb's rendition, created on the spot, is much more entertaining.

"Oh, I got another hole in my head."

"How?"

"Well, I jumped off a surf board into the ocean (jumps up and down for good measure, so I understand how big his jump was), and a shark came by like this (makes a swimming motion with his hand), and he had a needle, and he shotted the needle out of his mouth (makes that boy shooting sound, and zooms one finger towards his face, representing the flight pattern of the needle), and it hit my head (plants his finger square onto the hole)."

"Really?"

"Yea. So now I have a hole in my head. Again." He sighs, rolls his eyes in resignation, and then goes back to playing with the girls.

Man, life is rough when you have a bunch of holes in your head.

ps - After I took this picture Caleb wanted to see it. "Ouch," he says. "That must have hurt! How'd I get it?"

Classic.

Soap Box

Ever get those emails that tell you to forward it to your 10 best friends, to show them how much you love them? What about the ones that say you will pass this on only if you believe in God, and really care about social justice? My favorite are the legislative updates warning us of impending capitalistic greed, the ones sharing how the US Postal service is currently working on a bill to charge people for their email use - because the government of the United States has nothing better to do with its time. And let's not even go into why it is impossible for Victoria's Secret to track your forwarded email so they can send you that free gift card.

Now, I agree there are some funny jokes going around from time to time (even though by the time you send it to me I guarantee I heard it 4 times before). And it can be hard to pass up that really great awareness email about breast cancer (yes, clicking on the button on their website does help fund mammograms for impoverished women, but it does not fund an entire procedure with every click). So let me clear up a few things about those forwarded emails...

COPY
PASTE

It is really simple. Why do people think we enjoy taking 30 minutes of our time opening 19 other forwarded emails within that email to finally get to the actual text? And I won't even mention the scrolling, and unintelligent babble from 2000 other people forwarding the email, creating a piece of artwork with the <<<< and broken sentences I must decipher. Can I also say...

BLIND CARBON COPY

I would imagine you are not a big fan of learning your phone number has been scrawled on the bathroom wall at the local bowling alley. Yea, I feel the same way. I have received so many random emails from people I don't even know because they just added names to their address book off some forwarded email that had my email in it. Nice.

I tell you all of this because my life has been altered by my emails. You see...

I must send my thanks to whoever sent me the one about cyanide in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet towel with every envelope that needs sealing.

I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl (Laima Veski) who is about to die for the 1,387,258th time.

I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Bill Gates Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special e-mail program.

I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me, and St. Theresa's novena has granted my every wish.

I no longer eat KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.

I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.

I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward an email to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.

I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains.

I can no longer buy gasoline without taking a man along to watch the car so a serial killer won't crawl in my back seat when I'm pumping gas.

I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr. Pepper since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put "Under God" on their cans.

I no longer use plastic in the microwave because it causes cancer.

And thanks to whoever told me how I can't boil a cup of water in the microwave anymore because it will blow up in my face...disfiguring me for life.

I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS.

I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.

I no longer receive packages from UPS or FedEx since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise.

I no longer shop at Target since they are French and don't support our American troops or the Salvation Army.

I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore, and Uzbekistan.

I no longer have any sneakers -- but that will change once I receive my free replacement pair from Nike.

I no longer buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have their recipe.

Thanks to my email, I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big brown African spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when it bites my toosh.

And, thanks to my email's great advice, I can't ever pick up $5.00 I dropped in the parking lot because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg.

Oh, and don't forget this one either! I can no longer drive my car because I can't buy gas from certain gas companies!



So you see my concern for you? I just don't want you to end up like me. And if this was difficult to understand then...

Click Here

Yummy

Our homeschool support group has an Advancement Ceremony each year to honor the students, and their labor over the previous school year. Hannah and Bethany participated in the program, both reciting scripture during the "Tour of Talents" portion, and receiving certificates for their completion of Kindergarten and 2nd grade, respectively. We also had dinner, enjoyed fellowship with other homeschooling families, and laughed a lot at how cute several of the smaller children were while presenting their songs, verses, and poems. It was a great evening, and a lot of fun for everyone there.

One of the pleasures I had was to cook the dinner, and with much mercy from God it turned out well. I thought I would post the 2 most requested recipes here, because I am always looking for new (read easy) ways to cook good food! I hope they bless you.

Perfectly Sweet Carrots

1 lbs carrots (thinly sliced and peeled or whole baby)
1/2 cup chicken broth
3 Tbs sugar
1/2 tsp salt
1 Tbs butter
2 tsp lemon juice
pepper to taste

In large skillet bring broth, salt, 1 Tbs sugar and carrots to boil. Cover, reduce heat and simmer until carrots are almost tender (about 7 minutes).

Uncover, bring to boil again and reduce liquid to 2Tbs, stirring constantly.

Stir in butter and remaining sugar and cook until carrots are tender and glaze is golden (2-5 minutes)

Remove from heat, add lemon juice and pepper to taste. Serve warm.


Green Sauce Chicken Enchiladas (I can't take credit for this one... Michaeldavi's mom gave it to me)

1 whole chicken, poached and shredded
1/2 to 1 onion (depending on how much onion you like)
1 can (10oz) cream of chicken soup
~ 1 cup Las Palmas (or comparable brand) green enchilada sauce
1 can (4oz) Ortega (or comparable brand) diced green chilis (not Jalapenos)
1/4 to 1/2 sour cream
~ 1/3 to 1/2 can (10oz) evaporated milk or reg milk if you don't have evap.
grated cheddar and jack or mozzarella cheeses
flour tortillas

Preheat oven to 375 degrees and prepare 9x13 baking dish with Pam.

In sauce pot combine soup, sauce, chilis, sour cream, milk, and heat slowly - do not scorch. Taste for "bite" and consistency. Add more green enchilada sauce or milk to spike or smooth the taste. Keep to side.

Saute onion in olive oil or Pam, add chicken and cook on med-low until thoroughly warm. If chicken is too dry a few Tbs chicken broth or some of your sauce.

Pour a few Tbs sauce into bottom of baking dish to coat bottom.

Place 2-3 Tbs chicken, 1-2 Tbs grated cheese (not too much), 1-2 Tbs sauce into each tortilla and roll. Stack enchiladas closely in bottom of pan. When the first layer is done spread sauce over all the enchiladas, making sure sauce coats all of them, and tuck some between each enchilada. Do not drown them though! Add one more layer. Coat this layer with sauce, as the first, but sprinkle cheese on the top.

Cover and bake for 20 minutes. Uncover and bake for 5 more minutes. Serve immediately. Makes about 16-20 depending on size of enchiladas.


Enjoy!

iMama

I am not just a Mama. I am an iMama. Living in the 21st century with small children presents some rather unique, and often comical situations. Teaching little ones about technology can result in bizarre circumstances that make you think, "this is really weird." But then the reality is, we live in an age when modern conveniences are used every day!

For instance, my children -

-know how to play and change a dvd in our multi-dvd player.
-use the microwave to reheat food.
-play with my iPod (what kind of a name is that?).
-understand which button works the remote for the van lock.
-don't freak out when they call someone and are told they have to leave a "voicemail".
-unload the dishwasher, but don't actually wash dishes.
-haven't got a clue about audio tapes.
-think nothing of our cordless phones.
-call sites on the world wide web dot coms.
-want email addresses.
-ask to use the cell when we are out of the house running errands.
-have their own computer, that's not a toy, or useless keyboard.
-never look at the ground when you say "mouse".
-realize that my debit card is more valuable than the less than $5 cash I usually carry in my wallet.
-ask to play on my Palm, and don't think twice about what my hand is doing.
-go to daddy explaining that a toy needs new batteries.
-think high-quality computer animation (read - Pixar), has always been the norm for children's entertainment.
-tell me to charge it when they ask if we can do something, and I explain it is too expensive for us.
-don't get it when someone with a film camera visits, and they can't see the picture right away.
-know the term computer crash, and recognize the blue screen of death (they even encourage me to reboot).

So how do you instill the "old fashion values" of hard work, and honesty when it is so easy to have computers, machines, and automated processes do it all for you? I certainly do not think that we have the corner on the answer. But we have learned a few lessons along the way. Lessons like-

-purchase toys that use motor skills, and good ole kinetic energy (read - Caleb's inexhaustible supply of movement).

-make strong boundaries on computer game time.

-allow only one dvd per day (albeit Ben Hur *wink*)

-establish chores that require participation in household management.

-read to the kids.

-have the kids read to us (the assumption for both of these is books, not the back of cereal boxes).

-ask questions that require more than "yes" or "no" answers, and be willing to give in-depth answers back. In other words, participate in quality conversation.

-play board games together.

-invite friends/family over, and show hospitality through example.

-pray and read the Bible together.

The last one I can't stress enough. I believe the best thing we can do to anchor our children in a world that says, "have it your way, and have it now" is to teach them practically, emotionally and spiritually the greater worth to be had in life. We are not here for our own whims. We are not here to make the fastest buck, and then merely die. We have purpose. Meaning. Value. We teach our children about their calling every day. What a treasure to see them realize that there is a point beyond getting their own way! A treasure worth losing your life for, in order to find it.

Me and George W. - we got a good thing goin'!

I really truly enjoy George W. Bush. I may not always agree with his policies, or actions. But I do believe he loves the Lord with a depth and sincerity the White House has not seen in centuries. He is a genuine human being, who makes mistakes. But I am proud of our President, warts and all, in a way that I can not say about previous Presidents.

One of the "warts" I especially enjoy is the way Bush communicates. Why? Because I do the same exact thing! But instead of just giving a few good friends another laugh, Bush is made out to be an idiot.

Now mind you, I feel passionately about the English language. I love it. I have a degree in it, for goodness sake. I most especially love vocabulary, and it can really grate on me when words are used incorrectly. But I sincerely enjoy idioms that are misplaced, or mangled in delivery. I have a penchant for it myself. For instance, while trying to get my head around a certain expression in our vernacular I finally blurted out,

"You know, I am an animal of routine."

Christopher stared long and hard at me, expecting my second head to pop out at any moment. When it didn't, he said, "What are you talking about?" I, of course, was stunned that he was not more educated in colloquialisms, but assumed it had something to do with that computer degree. Then I realized my own blunder, and between gasping for breath from laughing so hard restated my position.

"I am a creature of habit."

You can imagine how relieved he was that I did not have a second head. But only Christopher truly appreciated our little moment because it was not aired nationally during a televised debate for nuclear disarmament. If it had been, the following poem would surely apply to me.

MAKE THE PIE HIGHER by George W. Bush

I think we all agree, the past is over.
This is still a dangerous world.
It's a world of madmen and uncertainty
and potential mential losses.

Rarely is the question asked,
Is our children learning?
Will the highways of the Internet become more few?
How many hands have I shaked?

They misunderestimate me.
I am a pitbull on the pantleg of opportunity.
I know that the human being and the fish can coexist.
Families is where our nation finds hope,
where our wings take dream.

Put food on your family!
Knock down the tollbooth!
Vulcanize society!
Make the pie higher! Make the pie higher!


You go George! I am right behind ya.

Red

Leah wakes up every morning wearing nothing but her diaper. It should not be supposed that she goes to bed every evening in this same state. I distinctly remember watching a cute, fuzzy, pajama'ed girl get carried upstairs by Daddy just last night. If memory serves, it was the curly-haired one, which can only mean Leah. So what happened to her clothes?

I asked her this morning.

"Leah, why don't you have any clothes on?"

"Ummmm, red."

"You took your jammies off because of red?"

"Yep, red."

"Do you like red?"

"No."


I am not sure which of us will need more therapy.

Sick and Tired

You hear that phrase a lot. I don't personally like it, and don't generally say it very much. Although I am guilty (what parent isn't?) of resorting to it when my children have pushed the boundary too far.

I am sick and tired of... fill in the blank -
clothes on the floor.
dishes being left out on the counter.
cleaning up after your messes.

But right now, I must tell you, that I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. This particular pregnancy has really wiped me out - and we are only in week 11! Seriously, I have never experienced morning sickness like this in my life. I have never been this fatigued, this exhausted, this unable to consistently cope with the affairs of my household. It is epidemic.

Why am I sharing all this? Well, besides the subtle, and maybe not so subtle cry for prayer, understanding or encouragement *wink*, I am learning that I can only be responsible for what God calls me (often through my husband) to take care of, and not what anyone else thinks I need to be doing. It is a liberating freedom to know that I am not responsible for managing the expectations of everyone in my sphere of acquaintanceship. The problem is that I continue to battle laying hold of this truth and walking in it. So rather than taking the nap when I should, I push myself to take care of something less important, become stressed and irritated, feel lousy, and bite my children's little heads off. YIKES!

In our society this is what is said about moms... They should be able to:
~~make 4-course home cooked meals every night.
~~keep all the laundry pressed, folded and delivered to each drawer and shelf in the home in a timely manner (that means Caleb's favorite shirt should be clean every day).
~~plan spontaneous outings while simultaneously manage to be organized for every foreseeable circumstance.
~~sing 3 originally composed lullabies for the baby every day.
~~read great works of literature to older children, and explain all the nuances of plot, vocabulary, context, and larger life applications for each sentence.
~~sew a minimum of 1/2 the households clothing, or if this is impractical spend countless hours searching second-hand and clearance marked racks at stores to always bring her family the deals.
~~maintain personal beauty and health through regular visits to the gym, hair salon, manicurist and beauty supply store (spending a total of $10 per year).
~~be willing and available to meet every need within her children, relatives, husband, friends and the local girl scout troop trying to raise funds which, incidentally, will cease to exist without her help (well, maybe the cookie drive isn't that hard).

Did I mention stay sane?

Ha!

The list could go on and on. Moms working outside the home, moms home educating, moms with sick little ones who need special care, moms running a home without a husband, moms trying to keep it all together.

One of the blessings I wanted when I met Christ was the, "my burden is easy and my yoke is light." Do you feel that way regularly? A book I am reading shared an invaluable insight about this struggle, in women particularly. Jesus was alive for about 33+ years. He died before Rome was overthrown, world peace attained, and all the crippled, blind, broken people healed. That is quite a laundry list to leave for tomorrow... especially as a perfect man capable of doing all those things in a single breath. So what gives?

Very soon before Christ's arrest, and final crucifixion he says to God, "I glorified you on earth, having accomplished the work that you gave me to do." (John 17:4). WOW. So God didn't intend for him to take care of all the things that were left undone, even when his own disciples thought he was not nearly finished.

Whose expectation am I fulfilling? Am I caught up in people-pleasing and not God-pleasing? What is more important, a calm and rested spirit with a few things to do around the house, or an immaculate home with an irritated attitude and sad little children? I know the answers to these questions. But subtly it is easy to see how others, while believing the "right" answers too, still place expectation on you to do it all.

Well, I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. And since there is not a dern thing I can do about being sick and tired physically, I am going to do whatever I can emotionally, and spiritually to stay healthy. And that might just mean you get to come over and see my laundry sitting in piles waiting to be folded. I am not going to feel guilty any more! *wink*

P.S.

I am typing at nearly 45 words per minute so far! You needed to know that in order to make it through your day.

I Was Hit

I received this little ditty in my inbox today, and thought I would pass it along for all moms to enjoy.... consider yourself "hit".

PRETTIEST MOM
You've been hit as a very pretty Mom

Before I was a Mom-
I never tripped over toys or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn't worry about whether or not my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom -
I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on.
I had complete control of my mind and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom-
I never held down a screaming child so doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom-
I never held a sleeping baby just because I didn't want to put them down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew this was what it would feel like to love being a Mom.

Before I was a Mom-
I didn't know the feeling of having my heart outside my body.
I didn't know how special it could feel to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small could make me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mom-
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth, the joy, the love, the heartache, the wonderment or the satisfaction of being a Mom.
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much, before I was a Mom.

Can't See Me

Our darling daughter Leah loves to get into trouble. Mostly she just wants to do things her way, and not worry about things like... rules. She is by FAR our most precocious child. Her latest doing is not only hysterical, but applicable to our lives as well.

Leah can not understand that the dirt in our backyard is off-limits.

Now, a bit of story here so you can fully appreciate this boundary. When we first moved into our home the back was literally bark. The previous renters did not want to bother with yard work, so they laid down black gardening tarps, covered those with redwood bark, and left a small perimeter around the fence for a "planter" (that was overgrown with weeds). It was probably nice when they first did it, but by the time we moved in the bark had deteriorated, exposing much of the tarp and underlying dirt. It was filthy. The kids could not play outside because they would get splinters from the bark, and come back inside absolutely covered in wood chips and dirt. We decided very early to replace the bark with grass. So a few months after we moved we paid to have the backyard sod with grass - from one end to the other. No planters. No decorative borders. I wanted only grass for clean, soft outdoor fun. However, we (mistakenly) did not sod a small strip on the far side of the yard where the picnic bench sat. It was only some 3x9 foot long stretch, and between our large smoker, and picnic bench it was covered. I didn't want to pay for grass that would just die from lack of sun. I should have gotten rid of the smoker and picnic bench for the sod. It could have saved me so much heartache. But then, you would not have this story. See, God really does work all things out for the good of those that love him. All of this to say, the tiny strip of dirt has never ceased to be a constant struggle with the kids staying OUT OF IT. Back to the story...

Last night Leah was using a small cup to scoop dirt up and then dump it at a different location in the yard. I watched her from our family room and called out that she needed to stop; the dirt was off-limits.

She did it again. I warned her that she would be spanked if she continued playing in the dirt. She dropped the cup and left the scene - for three minutes.

The next thing I see, Leah has picked up the cup and is moving towards the dirt again. I have a clear view and I watch her intently. She glances towards me and we make eye contact. We both know what she is trying to do. Now, get this... instead of dropping the cup and walking away, (like any of my other children would do) Leah proceeds to place her entire left hand over her eyes so she can not see me. Then, never turning her back to me, she works her way over to the dirt, bends over and, keeping her eyes covered so she can not see me, fills the cup with dirt!

I, of course, went immediately outside to stop her latest rebellion, but because her eyes were covered she did not see me come near her. When she thought she was a safe enough distance away from the actual deed she lowered her hand and literally started when she saw me standing not two feet from her. She dropped her cup and said, "You not spank me?"

Yep. She got spanked.

But don't we do the same thing? I was telling my mom and dad what happened, when my mom said, "Kind of like what we do with God. We think if we don't look at him, he can't see us."

I am trying to take my hand away from my eyes today so I notice the "warning look" BEFORE I get spanked.

Blogger's Block

I am sure you are wondering what has happened to me over the past several weeks. I assure you, nothing devestating, or even remotely compelling to my not being on here. In fact, several blog worthy events occured during my writing absence that I am sorry you were not able to enjoy. The plain truth is that I have Blogger's Block.

I am convinced this is as valid as any "writer's block" but maybe even more difficult to overcome. Because I blog about our every day life (I still can't believe you actually read about our every day life) there are potential posts happening all around me, every day. The material for writing is really unending. And in the moment I am inspired to sit down and share the latest anecdote. But then life in Odd just seems to happen, and my priotities get shifted to other things (like laundry), and I find myself, once again, entirely unable to call upon that part of my brain which houses important information, like language skills. And really, I don't think you want me to blog in Toddler-ese. Although I am quite fluent.

So, today I decided to simply babble, hopefully share some of the bigger events in Odd, and get past my Block.

To be honest, one of the reasons I have been less than talkative is a quandry I am in over how to announce our latest news. With that grand and sweeping statement, let me just tell you now, that...

Yes, we are expecting a new little person in November.

Well, you ask, what was my quandry? I will tell you. Do I make the annoucement as I just did, with no big hoopla or attached statement on our religious convictions which brought about this 6th child? Or do I offer our entire treatise on why children are a blessing, birth control is for "sissies" *wink*, and God has better control of our lives than we ever could, so why not trust him with the big stuff and not just the little things, like eternal salvation? How do I expose our heart for a large family without thrusting unintentioned condemnation upon you for your beliefs and conviction, while simultaneously remembering that this is our Odd, not yours, and we make no apologies for where God has taken us - we love it! Can I simply state that God has indeed been good, and we are with child at the pleasure and mercy of our Lord? Can you believe that we are welcoming of this life, with no doubts that it is the best for us; but yet understand that in our humaness it can still be hard to battle morning sickness, budgeting, space, sibling relationships, and the mounting displeasure of those whose philosophies contradict ours in so many ways? Can I say, I am feeling really terrible today, and not get the "cute" response of: Well, you are the one that decided to have another? Or when I am overwhelmed with a day of discipline and child training have something other than the encouraging words of: You do know how this happens, right? What about the immediate assumptions that: we must be done; we are only trying for another boy; this one was an accident; we are on government aid; my children do not feel loved... and the list grows and grows.

Do you think I don't hear others whispering? Do you think the jokes, and passive aggressive inuendos do not hurt my feelings, causing me to feel like a social leper? Did it somehow happen that we became unaware of exactly how many children we have, the state of our home financially, emotionally, and the cost it would take on our whole family if we were to be blessed with a new person?

Do you honestly believe we thought about our decision?

Do you honestly believe we hold to a conviction that calls us to die to self, pick up our cross and follow the One who was willing to lay his own life down for those that did not even know how to love him? (Matt 10:38; Rom 5:8)

For unto us a child is born, and you shall call his name Immanuel, God with us. (Isa 9:6; Isa 7:14)

One child makes all the difference.

The 3-minute Rest

Caleb takes a "rest" each afternoon. This is very different from a nap in many ways. For instance, nap starts with "N" whereas rest starts with "R". The finer nuances would be almost impossible for you to understand.

Anyway, each day after lunch Caleb is instructed to go potty, and get into Mama's bed. He actually gets into both Mama and Daddy's bed but for reasons which only therapy will discover he calls it "Mama's".

The rule is that he needs to sleep, or stay in the bed, for a minimum of 2 hours. He usually manages this task rather well. And ever since he was convinced that his hero, Michaeldavi (distant cousin to Michelangelo), took "rests" to grow strong he is on board with the necessary pain of growing big. Sometimes however, it doesn't always go to plan. Like today.

1:00 - Caleb begins his rest.

1:45 - Caleb tiptoes downstairs and tries to steal himself into Mama's lap before she has a chance to notice the time, or the lack of pillow-face on her son.

"Son, you have not been in bed long enough to get up. You need to take a good rest."

"But I did!" whines Caleb, becoming so overly emotional that all chances for his argument about being well-rested have left the building.

"No buddy. You haven't even fallen asleep yet."

"But (his favorite word to start any sentence) I was up there for a whole minute."

...hmmmm

"A whole minute?"

...he nods his head emphatically

"Son, you know that a rest is longer than one minute. How long are your rests?"

...sniffles because he knows he is on his way back upstairs

"3 minutes," and breaks into sobs at the idea of THREE WHOLE MINUTES.

He is now fast asleep in Mama's bed.

Entrepreneurial Skilz

Hannah and Bethany have entrepreneurial skilz in their blood. Because of this destiny, they are constantly working out ways to take advantage of the average Joe. How can they market a product that costs them next to nothing, while making a maximum profit margin, thereby freeing them from all money-making chores in our home. The latest is to manufacture a drink sure to please everyone...

"Regular"
Vanilla and Chocolate ice cream, melted
Chocolate chips
Mix and serve in a cup
$10 per serving

"Premium"
Bubble Gum ice cream (to make it soft)
1 cup syrup
A little bit of cream (if you want it super creamy you put in a lot, if you want it just a little bit creamy you don't add as much, and if you want it medium then you just put in a medium amount)
Crunched up cherries
Add a little milk (1/2 a cup)
Chocolate and Vanilla ice cream (crunched up for the topping)
Mix in the blue Thatsa Bowl with a whisk
Serve in a cup
$15 per serving

They are already working on crowd control to manage the demand.




(It only took me 16 minutes to write this - that's like 12 words a minute!!!)

Typing

It is now 1:03 PM and I am beginning this post. I say that because I am learning to touch type, and I am going to measure how long it takes me to finish this thing.

I bought a typing program for myself and Hannah in hopes that I would finally stop the "four-fingered wonder" typing I have been doing for ever. It is very hard to commit to working on touch type when you CAN type faster the "other" way. Hence the reason for starting Hannah now - she won't have to unlearn any bad habits (hopefully). (It just took me 4 tries to get that last period instead of a comma - thought you might like to know). Of course, Hannah's lets her "rollerblade" while mine just uses repetition to instill muscle memory. I think I might have gotten a rotten deal!

So you will all need to be a bit more patient with me as I work to integrate my new skills into my email and this thing. BTW - Christopher already knows how to touch type... so he can't use this excuse when trying to explain away the lack of posts *wink*.

It is now 1:17 and I probably could have typed this whole thing in under a few minutes the old way. But generally speaking I don't think that is too bad. (Other than that drat period again. Can't we just use commas?)

You Are Not The Mama

We have a saying in our home that goes something like this, "You are NOT the Mama." It is said nearly every day, and usually multiple times every day. We say it to Leah when she is scolding Mary. We say it to Caleb when he makes choices for himself contrary to our rules. We say it to Bethany when her rule-making takes on an air of superiority over her siblings. But we mostly say it to Hannah because, while she is my most responsible child, she is also my most self-righteous and autocratic child. She mimics my tone and word usage in explaining offenses to smaller children. She has a tendency to "take care of" little things that crop up between her siblings, and when you add this penchant to a somewhat high-strung personality (our next favorite phrase for her is, "Settle down Hannah, it is going to be fine.") it makes for an exasperating combination - both for me AND her younger brother and sisters.

One of our primary tools for explaining the issue behind her actions (and motivation) is that God did not give her the authority over her siblings that she tries to claim. I do not have the right to tell my children what to do because I am arbitrarily older. There are several adults I can think of right now that have no business commanding my children (or any children, for that matter). No, my authority was given to me by God, in His word. Ephesians 6:1 says, Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. And in Colossians 3:20 we are told again, Children, obey your parents in everything, for this pleases the Lord. The Bible does not say, Children, obey your older sister, for she is always right. Thankfully it doesn't say parents are always right either! *wink*

Well, the other day I was once again reminding a little person that they, "were not the Mama" when it struck me that a spiritual parallel can be drawn in my own life. How many times do I make decisions based on what I want and not according to God's rules (Caleb)? How many times do I scold the younger, weaker believer (Leah)? What about the rule-making I impose on my family because it needs to be done "my way" (Bethany)? But mostly I think of the countless times I claim authority over situations, people, and decisions which I do not have any right too (Hannah). Yep, God is saying to me, "Trisha, you ain't the Mama."

The Bible says in 2 Samuel 22:28 "You save the humble, but your eyes are on the proud to bring them low." Ouch. I find myself asking God, "Do you really mean you will bring them low? How low? Like low enough to recognize my, err I mean their mistake? Or low like all the way down?" He answers with this in Leviticus 26:19, "I will break down your stubborn pride and make the sky above you like iron and the ground beneath you like bronze." Um, okay. I think I may be seeing a pattern here. So what you mean is that if I continue to walk in pride, assuming that I know all the answers, making all the rules according to my understanding and ways, taking glory and honor that are due to you for myself, then you will need to discipline me, bring me low, and make my circumstances difficult to remind me that, "I am not the Mama." Revelation 3:19, "Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent." I think I may be getting it.

Psalm 32:5, "I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not cover my iniquity; I said, 'I will confess my transgressions to the LORD,' and you forgave the iniquity of my sin." God is SO good. I don't deserve to be loved by Him, and yet I am! Perfectly, wonderfully, completely accepted by The Creator. And yet, He loves me too much to allow me to continue wallowing in unhealthy attitudes and behaviors. Can I hear an amen?!

Rugboarding

The Prince and Princesses of Odd are pretty clever and creative. They are also pretty resourceful. Since we live in Odd and NOT in the Land of Plenty, they have learned the spiritual discipline of being content, doing without, and making due with whatever resources are available. Case in point - rugboarding.

Yes, you read that right - rugboarding (btw - this is their name for it, not mine). I'm sure most families probably have some version of this game. All game variants have the same basic building blocks: slick cardboard and carpet. Our version uses, as its raw materials, those handy packaging boxes leftover from $400.00 visits to Costco. Those visits where we buy FOUR boxes of breakfast cereal, each box containing two bags each of cereal. Those cardboard boxes make awesome rugboards. We've also discovered that giant coloring books (about the size of a three-year old child) also have very slick covers that make great rugboards.

When I was growing up, my sister and I had our own version of rugboarding that involved the stairs. We've thus far successfully kept OUR children away from lots of craziness on the stairs, praise the Lord! My mother bought a set of new speakers, and my sister and I jumped in them and ROCKETED down the stairs at supersonic speed. The experience is probably not wholly unlike what it would be like to ride over Niagara Falls in a barrell. But, I digress.

Praise God you don't need Disneyland, Chuck E. Cheese, Nintendo Wii and HDTV to have a good time...just a slick piece of cardboard.

Just think of all that space you could save in your recycling bin outfitting the world with rugboards!!!