Dear Mother,

I'm sorry. I know you raised me better, but I don't make my kids bathe every night. I don't make them make their beds. I ask them if they brushed their teeth, but I don't actually check.

I know it is a shameful reflection on you, but I don't clean every day. I don't sweep under the fridge or vacuum the coils. I pulled the oven out the other day to get something. Then I put it back without even cleaning the sides.

Mom, I know you put a lot of hard work into teaching me to clean the toilets and tubs just so, but I rarely do it. I know I should, but there is so much else I want to do. I can sew a straight seam, I can make and preserve jam, I can bake fairly well. I just don't want to.

I can hear you in my head sometimes, "Make sure you have on clean panties. You never know when you will be in a wreck." I tell you to be quiet because i am pretty sure that if I were in a wreck, that would be the last thing on the doctor's mind. What kind of doctor does undie inspection anyway?

So, Mom, my kids are in bed at 11 pm. I am not positive that they brushed their teeth, and I am certain that most of them stink. some will take a shower tomorrow before church. Some will not. I am pretty sure Jesus loves them all the same.

Love,

Your too-busy-having-fun-to-worry-about-it youngest daughter.

Hurt

Sitting. Just sitting.

Sitting and waiting.

For...something.

It hurts to breathe.

Shallow. Gasping. Gulping at the air.

Trying to make sense of the enigma.

She. And me.

Hey! Those Are My Kids You're Talking About!

Today I received the best e-mail mama can get. I am busting my buttons with pride over my kids. Wanna read it?

Mr. and Mrs. Gae,

I feel so fortunate to have Ella and Caleb in my sixth grade classes; they are exceptionally kind, gentle, curious and helpful. Oh and very bright too! The physical resemblance to Jesse was unmistakable with their big beautiful eyes. Each day they make me smile and I am a happier teacher knowing these fine role models are in my classroom demonstrating a yearning to learn and an appreciation for their education. Parenting is a natural calling for you as all of your children are cool people and good for this earth! I don't know how you manage a household with all those children, but they are amazing!! Congratulations! Perhaps you could write a guide to assist other parents!!

Grateful,

Ms. Brule'

Oh, yeah, Baby!

Dear Son;

You are 14 now.

To be honest, when you were 12 I thought I might sell you to the gypsies. Or kill you. But I managed not to do either, and I am glad.

Oh, you know we still have our moments- let's not pretend we don't. They still come more frequently than I would like. But then there are the other moments. There are the moments when we stand side by side and have a mature conversation. When you enlighten me with your compendium of useless knowledge. When you take initiative.

I was impressed the other day that you seamlessly brought your brother and sister into your circle of influence. I liked the way you made sure to show them how to get to school on time on their first day of middle school. I was even more impressed that you included them in your teen hang out scene. It was almost like a rite of passage and you initiated them into the "club."

Sometimes, I still wish a 14 year old was a man with a trade. Sometimes, I still think you haven't got a clue. But most of the time I think, "You are all right. I like you."

Love, Mom

Life Is Too Short

Use the bendy straws.

Eat dessert.

Snuggle your child.

Hug them.

Say I love you.

Mean it.

Because life is too short.

The Things We Don't Say

I don't call you often enough. I don't tell you how much I love you. I don't tell you how I wish you would get your life together and act like a human being. I don't tell you when you are making me so angry that I could eat nails. I don't tell you how proud I am of the choices you make. I don't hug you.

Because if I did, I would have to let you in to the places that ache. I would have to let you see me. I would have to show you all the tender places that hurt for you, that cheer for you, that are afraid for you, that are afraid for me.

But, just so you know, I DO love you. SO SO SO much.

Hurry Up...And Wait

There is something happening around here. Something that I am not at liberty to discuss. Something that will change the complexion of our family. (Don't worry- our family core is strong and that is not what is changing.)
This is the big news I wrote about last time I posted.
It is a REALLY BIG THING.
It is not something that I persued, rather, something that came looking for me.
I am nervous because this is something I want to happen very much- and at the same time I wish it wasn't happening at all. I am being stretched as a mom, as a friend, and as a Christian who says she is willing to do whatever God tells her to do, to love the way God tells her to love.
There are so many steps in this process, and I feel like we have spent a lot of time in "hurry up...and wait" mode.
Is that cryptic enough or you?
Here's the deal, I need you all to pray.
Pray that our family finds favor in the eyes of God and man and can be used as a vessel of God's love to a broken and hurting world. Also, pray that God will take the mountain before us and command it to be thrown into the sea. Pray for patience, wisdom, and grace.
Thank you.

Big

Big.
That's how I would describe the month of February.
Big worry.
Big loss.
Big love.
Big news.
Overwhelming.
Huge.
Monstrous.
February made me cry.
It made me cry out.
It made me cry out to my Abba.
Do you know why?
Because He is bigger.
There is nothing so big in my life that God is not bigger still.
There is no financial strain that He doesn't already have the answer for.
There is no loss so big that He cannot comfort it.
There is no love so big that He is not in it.
There is no news so big that He didn't see it coming and already equip me to deal with it.
That's the great thing about knowing whose I am. There is no question that my Daddy can fix it all. He's BIG.

Happy Birthday, Little Bit

On the 21st of February my Miss Elizabeth turned 10 years old.

She is full of sass and spunk, good will and good humor.

She is eager to please and easy to love.

Happy Birthday, Little Bit.

Love, Mom

___________________________________________

I realize that this post is long overdue.

I have had her picture uploaded for nearly 2 weeks.

I just needed to get past the fact that for the first time in her short life there will not be another birthday picture like the one below. This is the first time since she was born that Elizabeth has not shared her birthday with her great grandma. I'm sure Grandma's party was more spectacular than Libby's, though.

She would have been 90 on the 21st.

We missed her.

My Grandma's Hands

I stood holding her hand yesterday, I stoked her arm, I talked to her a little, and I thought.

I thought about her hands and her arms.

For my entire life Grandma has been "squishy," but lately she has lost so much weight that the skin on her arms hangs loose. Her knuckles are gnarled by the years and by arthritis. Her hands are swollen from the IV's snaking along the bed, biting every finger and hand.

But, her hands are broad. Her fingers are not long and elegant. They are short and stocky. They are like my mom's. Like my aunts'. Like mine.

Her skin is pale, dotted with angel kisses up and down her porcelain arms. Like my mom's. Like my aunts'. Like mine.

My grandma's arms have rocked us to sleep. They have hauled our laundry out to dry. They have carried boxes and boxes of produce for sale. Her hands have spanked us. They have fed us. They have bathed us. They have dressed and diapered us.

Grandma's hands have reached all the way up her arms, and straight to her heart. They have been hands of love to each and every one of us.

Just like my mom. Just like my aunts. And I hope someday, someone will say, just like me.

A Testament To Family

We are big.

We are loud.

We are opinionated.

We disagree on most everything.

We don't see each other as often as we should.

Either we can't or we won't.

We grew up.

We changed.

We had kids.

Some of our kids had kids.

But when the call came, we were all there.

Anyone who could make it, did.

Those who couldn't were there with us in spirit.

Waiting.

Praying.

Catching up.

Reacquainting.

Meeting spouses, significant others, and babies for the first time.

Remembering how much we love each other.

Wishing we could remember it more often.

In better circumstances.

Because in the end, we are family.

This picture, taken in 1996, represents about 1/2 of my grandma's direct descendants.

God Is God

And I am not.

Pretty simple to grasp.

Extremely hard to implement.

This week my Grandma, who will be 90 on the 21st, had a massive hemorrhage in her brain.

I gotta tell you. I am scared. Not that she will die. I am afraid that she won't. And that she won't recover. And that she will be stuck indefinitely in a body that no longer functions. That she will be tied to this earth, not freed to be with our Savior at her wedding feast.

I was talking to my friend, Kelly, yesterday and she reminded me that God is always in control. I love the way she put it.

"God did not get up on Tuesday morning and take roll. "Mary? Mary? Mary Higgins? No Mary? Well, I wonder where she is?'"

Of course He didn't. Of course He knows when she will be making it home.

Because He is God, and I am not.

God thing, too.

He Calls Me Mama

Yesterday I was fired. In a fit of five year old rage he fired me. Stomped his foot and fired me.
"Fine." I said. "I have some things to do in town anyway, and I didn't want to have to take you with me."
"No, Mama! The police will come and you will go to jail if you leave me here!"
"Well, I guess you can't fire me then."
He looked at his toes scuffing the tiled floor. "Well, you're still fired. Just don't leave, Mama."
So I went to read a book. I was bring a little selfish, too. A whole book. While the sink sat full of dirty dishes and the dish washer was full and un-run.
"Mama?" Chapter 12. "Can I have some applesauce?"
"I don't know. You fired me."
"Then you won't care."
And I didn't.
"Mama?" Chapter 25. "Can I sit on your lap?"
"Am I still fired?"
"I guess not."
"Sure, climb up here. But try not to wiggle. I'm reading."
He slipped his thumb into his mouth and toyed with a wisp of my hair. His breathing slowed and deepened, and the wet thumb slipped from between his lips. Chapter 31.
I sighed and shifted his weight. Only 3 more chapters to go. Never mind that my left arm was asleep from the elbow down from the weight of his sweaty head. I was almost done.
I closed the back cover of my book and hefted us off the couch. I carried my boy to his bed and tucked him in.
"Night, Mama," he mumbled as I kissed his mop of hair.
"Night, Love," I replied.

*While not entirely true, this story is inspired by actual events, and he does call me Mama. He's the only one.

Maid Service For Under $10

I know they should do it anyway, but sometimes my kids just need a little extra incentive- especially when they have friends over. The beauty of this system is that everyone participates.

I don't really care who I give the money to as long as the jobs are done.

This is a great system for kids ages 3 to about 10 years old.

Start with a big jar.

Write all the jobs you want done on slips of paper.

They cannot be "Clean the living room," but. rather they should be components of a larger job. Therefore, "clean the living room" becomes:

"Put away things that don't belong in the living room"

"vacuum living room rug"

"sweep living room"

"dust living room"

Each job is worth a quarter. The amount of money each kid makes is determined by the speed they work.

Jonah quit when he had 2 quarters. He's 5. I guess 50 cents was enough for him.

One of the friends decided she wanted a dollar, so she did 4 jobs.

Eventually, everything got clean.

And then we had ice cream.

Dirty Dishes

Never once have I claimed to be a perfect house keeper. In fact, I tell my friends that they are welcome to stop and see me any time they want, but If they want the house to be clean, then they need to make an appointment.

My mom, on the other hand, cleans her clean house every day. She dusts her dustless furniture and scrubs her scumless tubs. But it wasn't always that way. I remember as a kid, we had to find the table so we could eat dinner everyday. I also remember PILES of laundry- which you would expect with 6 kids and various extras.

So, where am I going with this?

There are certain things that are expected at our messy house. All the kids except Jonah wash, dry, fold or hang, and put away their own laundry. Jonah is expected to put his laundry away in the drawers or the closet. Most of them can (whether they do it or not) clean a bathroom from top to bottom. The easiest thing of all, I think, is that every one is expected to load their own dishes in the dishwasher. They can all empty the dishwasher, and can all put away the hand washed dishes.

So, when kids come over and they leave their dishes on the table, I call them back, smile sweetly, and tell them that I will not put their dishes in the dishwasher for them. They will, invariably, look at me like I am off my rocker, and take their dishes to the dishwasher. I tell you, with out fail, I find those dishes right side up, on top of other dishes, with the spoon or fork beside them on the top rack. Really?

Am I really that strange to think that a child of 5 years or older should be able to take their own dishes to the dishwasher and load them so I wont have to?

Fish Wrap

Let's talk about what has been going on around here since Jonah turned 5, shall we?



We had our first snow Sunday night. Before Christmas.

There was no school on Monday, since our little town has NO way to manage the snowfall we get twice a year. The kids could have gone to school with a 2 hour delay since the roads were all bare by 9 am, but since the district put out their automated calls at 4:30 am, I guess they just didn't know that early. I am super glad that I went to the grocery store On Sunday. I didn't go anywhere on Monday except to take Abby to the doctor.



And speaking of Abigail-

Thursday night she fell off the guest bed. the lowest bed in the house. It also happens to have the smallest space beside it because it is tucked between the eaves and the half wall to the stairs in the family room. We have no idea what actually happened, but we think she may have hit her arm on the base moulding. It warranted a trip to the ER. She is such a dramatic child that when she gets hurt- and the drama stops- we know she is really hurt. The ER doctor said that her arm is *not broken* and that was confirmed by the radiologist the next day. However, on Monday she was still asking me for pain meds about 2x per day, and it hurts her arm to be touched or jostled. She is in a soft cast- splint, padding, ace bandage, and sling- which makes dressing an adventure. I had to take the side seam out of the arm of her long sleeve shirt so she could get it on since it hurt too much for her to try to push her arm through the sleeve. We will get a follow up appointment some time this week.



I sewed a new cover for Jonah's car seat. "They" say you should replace your car seat every six years to avoid obsolescence. I don't think it matters too much if you are driving a car that is twice as old as the outdated car seat...

Anyway, Jonah's cover had basically shredded under his tush, and he made matters worse by picking at it while he was sitting in it. I took the old cover, cut the seams out and used the pieces as a pattern for the new cover. I won't tell you where the boo boos are, you don't look too closely, and we will all pretend that this is a new car seat, K? K.

Besides, all the materials for a new cover were only $10. Have you priced new car seats lately? They start at 4x as much!



I got through the MOPs brunch. I put my MOPs newsletter out on the brunch day. Since we don't have MOPs again until January, I have a feeling that the next volume will be rather slim.

I also got to sing some special music and lead Christmas carols with some of my girlfriends. The Moppet Coordinator happened to be in the room to hear it and said, "G, it just doesn't get any better than that." Little did she know.... The Moppet helpers have their brunch after the moms, and we steering stay to help serve. We ladies sang our songs again, only this time we brought Mr. Five-Year-Old-Jonah in on the last song, Go Tell It On The Mountain. For weeks we have been singing this song together. I sing the verses, and he belts out the chorus. My little man brought the house down! I remember singing my first "Special" at a church picnic when I was 5- and I have been singing ever since.



I painted my kids' bathroom. I forgot to take a before picture, of course. The kids had been gone with their dad on a "snow hunt" into the mountains so I decided it was a good time. The bathroom had a wall paper border, but since the kids always forget to turn on the main light/fan combo, the paper was really peeling. I painted the upper section white and the lower section lime green. I also bought a new shower curtain and rug. They really liked the color I chose. I still need to hang the towel rack and I plan to run a flat, white moulding at the color change. Ugh, everything just takes so much time- and power tools. I will have to ask my husband to bring the proper ones home....



Of course there has been homeschooling, house cleaning, business running, bill paying, child bathing, tooth brushing, bed time praying, and clean head kissing too.



I guess that's about all the news that's fit to wrap your fish in.

Remember Building A Fort With Your Dad?

Yeah, me either. I remember doing other stuff* with my dad.

But, sadly for me, my forts consisted of a couple of rusty nails and a pallet or two.

They usually fell apart fast. Or they were moved. Or they were chopped up to keep us warm.

I liked to play on an old rotted stump in a line of trees on a little hill. In the summer the stump grew huckleberries. If I sat real still, no one could see me, and I could eat all the huckleberries before anyone else knew they were ripe.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I just never built anything like this with my dad.

Do you suppose they realize how lucky they are that all their dad wants to do is come home and play with them?

'Spose they'll remember tea parties in the fort after dark?

That it was Dad with them out there?

That Dad was the one who ran to the store to get the Oreos?

You bet they will!

*Other Stuff: castrating pigs and cows, watching piglets being born, butchering chickens, hiking, rollerskating, AWANA, picking berries, and most importantly- sneaking out to the bakery before school.

It's Not What It Looks Like, I Swear!

Welcome to my suburban pill poppers paradise! Well, That's what it looks like anyway. But it's not. Really. Caleb has many, many, many food allergies which mess with is behavior. In order to decrease their impact on his life, he takes digestive enzymes. In the past I have served these dissolved in juice because he couldn't swallow the pill. He drank a mixture at breakfast, lunch, dinner, elevensies, second breakfast, tea time, you name it. If he wanted to eat he had to have the juice. The juice that tasted like fresh mown grass. Or worse. He was pretty good about taking it for a long time. But then I started finding the lunch dose still in his lunch bag at the end of the day. Or he would "accidentally" throw it away. Or not take it to school at all. Now, these puppies are pretty expensive as a maintenance item, so I decided to stop wasting the money. Except he was getting in trouble a lot at school. A LOT. And the rims of his eyes were so red and inflamed (His only external physical symptom) that he was starting to lose his eyelashes. Poor boy. I finally ordered more of his enzymes and when they came we worked on swallowing the capsule whole. It took about 24 oz of water, but he finally managed it. Now we could dispense with the yucky, grass flavored juice. Hooray!




















Except that these babies are in a cellulose or v-cap. And v-caps take 30 to 40 minutes to dissolve enough to release the enzyme that must accompany the food. What 9 year old plans that far ahead? What 9 year old's mom plans that far ahead?




















So they need to be repacked into these gelatin capsules which dissolve immediately. It took a long time to repack 180 pills (Which lasts about a month).




















And you are left with a massive pile of v-caps and a powdery substance all over the counter tops, making you look like you live in suburban pill popper's paradise.

Warning!

Rock climbing can be VERY dangerous.
And you might lose clothing while you are engaged in this activity.
For instance:

• You might take your children to the ocean where there are big rocks to climb.
  
• You might bring all your children.
• Some of them might be quite young.
• You might get engrossed watching one of your children climb.
• You may fail to see your youngest child topple over and bash his eyebrow on a rock.
• However, the screams of "Blood!" may rouse you from your enchantment.
• You may even whip off your sweatshirt and then your tank top in front of the entire family (being thankful you are in a secluded area) and use the tank top as a compress- you probably would have put your sweatshirt back on though.
• You might be inclined to toss the bloody tank top in the trash when you get home.
• You will, most likely, be glad that you are calm in situations such as this.
• Undoubtedly, you will pride yourself on the ability to fashion butterflies from regular band aids with your pocket knife that conveniently has scissors on it.

I'm just warning you. It could happen.

_____________________________________________________

I wanted to play the song First Aid In The First Grade from the Veggie Tales Jonah movie- but I could not find it. Since we were at the ocean, and it is on the same album, and we are talking about my Jonah here, and I like it, this one will have to do.

Tantrum? Really?

So, my 11 year old is feeling a little whiny today.

And he wants me to do his work.

And he keeps coming to me.

And snipping and mumbling when I don't give him the answer he wants.

Particularly about this one handout that called for drawings.

Which I admit- He sucks at drawing.

I was on the computer and he wanted it to do some school work.

When I asked him what he was working on he said, "I'm still working on the one I threw a fit over."

*SNORT!*

Did he just admit that he was throwing a fit?!

Here's the thing, though;

There are many times when I find myself being snippy and irrational.  I know when I'm doing it and I just can't stop.  Why is it all to easy to throw a fit?

He didn't get in trouble.