Happy

This video made me smile today.

Fashionable? Mostly not. Moron? Yes.

I was flattered when Goslyn made the comment that she thinks I am fashionable. Flattered, but feeling a little bit guilty. This summer I had a little experience that left me feeling like the biggest wannabe. It's a story about a belt.

I have spent the last year searching for a really great belt. I wrote about it before, but I am having a hard time finding it in the archives. Plus, I'm too lazy to dig for it. Anyway, my sister, who has the spiritual gift of shopping, found a great one for me. I love it and I wear it all the time. It's a brown belt with a peacock feather shaped buckle that is covered in rhinestones in various shades of greens. The buckle is removable and sometimes I replace it with a big honkin bull rider buckle I got from my brother. Bullrider buckle = awesome.

Back to the story.

One day I was in our little local grocery store. This is the store where my father-in-law worked when he was a teenager, where Nate worked, and where all three of my brothers have worked. It's a lovely little store with narrow aisles and a strict employee dress code. The girl who was checking me out was an adorable thing who stays up on all of the latest fashions. I'm sure she owns more than ten pairs of skinny jeans. So she looks down at my belt and says casually "Cute belt". I am glowing. Then she asks "Where did you get it?" This is the part where I am trying to decide how un-cool it would be to reveal that I didn't actually buy the belt myself, my sister bought it for me since I am obviously incapable of doing my own shopping. I throw caution to the wind and tell her that it was something my sister picked up for me. But even more appalling is the fact that I have completely drawn a blank on the name of the store. "I think it starts with an M." Now all of the cashier girls are throwing out their guesses and yet none of them are ringing a bell. It's on the tip of my tongue. "It's that really dark store. The one with loud music." was all that I could come up with. "Hot Topic?" nope....um, I'll think of it any minute, just keep scanning those groceries.

I suddenly realized that the name of the store was printed on the inside of the belt. Even though I couldn't picture the exact letters, I remembered the font and the color. A lot of good that did me. And I am ashamed to admit, that I actually contemplated taking my belt OFF in the middle of the store so that I could tell her the name of the store where I got my uber-cool belt. The belt that was obviously out of place on me, a loser that was willing to strip down in the middle of a family grocery store. I think she could read my mind because she comforted me. "It's ok, it's no big deal." And in my head I am screaming "Of course it's a big deal! Don't you know how cool I am that I am wearing a belt from this awesome store that I can't even think of the name of, but it is awesome and I am awesome because I have this belt on even though I wear it every single day and I didn't even buy it myself!"

Oh my gosh. Loser.

So I paid for my groceries and I went to the car and you can guess what I did as soon as the carryout boy shut the trunk. I took off my belt and I looked at the gold letters stamped on the inside.

HOLLISTER.

And then I resisted the urge to throw open the car door and sprint back into the store and scream at the top of my lungs over the intercom: "HOLLISTER! The belt is from Hollister."

It doesn't even have an M in it. But moron does.

Wordless Wednesday-Generations

My Inner Battle Between Optimism and Pessimism

I just thought I would take a break from steam cleaning my carpets and share this little incident with you. It's actually a little bit of serendipity in action. At least that's what I keep telling myself. Serendipity: an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident. Accident is the key word there, and I'm trying to look on the bright side.

Just the other day I looked at one of the high traffic areas in my living room (who am I kidding, our whole HOUSE is a high traffic area) and I thought to myself, "Wow, there are quite a few stains, I should probably steam clean the carpets sometime soon." And then I forgot all about that and went on with my regularly scheduled life. But my kids are always looking to help me out. Bless their little hearts.

Is the glass half empty or half full? In this case, the glass was not half full, and neither was the bottle of coffee creamer. The delicious Southern Butter Pecan creamer was mysteriously dumped out onto the living room carpet and now the bottle was completely empty. I arrived in the living room, just in time to see little precious Gemma, slurping creamer straight from a puddle in the carpet. Picture me, gagging, barfing, and kecking*. Nothing makes me want to hurl more than thinking about my sweet little girl sucking on the carpet. Oh, the horror. Have I ever told you how much I wish we had wood floors? I suppose she would just lick them though.

But back to the positive side, as I chant to myself "the glass is half full, the glass is half full, the glass is half full." The carpets are now being steam cleaned, by me. I wouldn't have done it without the childrens' intervention. No more stains, no more creamer. The carpet used to smell minty fresh but now my living room has a luscious aroma of Southern Butter Pecan. The guilty party? Who do you think...... Jack.

*kecking: unsuccessfully attempting to vomit.

Wordless Wednesday- Temper Tantrum

More Wordless Wednesday's here.

Ponder

I didn't realize it was the last time until it was too late. Suddenly it sunk in, Gemma hasn't nursed for a few days now. I missed the last time. I wanted to cherish it, to soak in every minute, committing her little face to memory as she looked up at me.

These are private moments. Sweet, tender, precious moments. Moments that I don't ever want to forget. I want to remember the first time I held Gemma against my body. She was a tiny, wrinkly, squinty little thing, fresh from my womb, eyes shut tight and fingers clenched into tiny fists. I also want to remember the last times Gemma nursed, pausing from her adventures long enough to snuggle up in my lap, then sitting up and smiling at me.

I was reading my Bible this morning in the second chapter of Luke. The same phrase popped out at me twice, in verses 19 and 51: "And Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart." I sat and thought about that for a little bit and I realized how much this applies to all of us mothers, not just the mother of our Savior. I can write about my kids' milestones and adventures. I can share the stories with my friends and family. But none of those things are as precious to them as they are to me. So I tuck all of these things away in the back of my mind and in the corner of my heart. Someday when I am old and wrinkly myself, I will pull these moments to the forefront of my mind. My children will be grown and will have little ones of their own, but I will still remember.

I will remember the way Jack, when he was three, woke every morning and announced to me with a furrowed brow "Mom, I didn't get ceeyo yet!" I will remember Tyler at eleven, still willing, every once in awhile, to hug me tightly and to tell me how much he loves me. I will remember the way Caedmon at five, held his sandwich in his fist, gnawing on it like a little starving beaver. I will remember Noelle as a nine year old and her stash of rocks in a Poptart box that she kept on her bed as a secret treasure. I will remember Camryn at age seven, with her fingers wrapped over her freckled nose as she still sucked her thumb, but only when she was tired. And I will remember Gemma weaned at 14 months without her mother even knowing it. I will treasure the way she wrapped her arms around my neck and patted me on the back as she snuggled into the crook of my neck.

I will keep these things and ponder them in my heart.

Words on Thursday

So I see that some of you figured out yesterday's post without the help of actual words. Clever, you are all so clever.

September 13th marks the birthdays of two people I love dearly. Yesterday was both my brother and my mother-in-law's birthdays. One of them turned twenty, I'll let you guess which one.

The pretty lady in pink is Nate's mom, who is a whole lot of fun. She's the kind of lady who gives mother-in-laws a good name. She has never once re-arranged my kitchen cupboards or told me how to raise my children. On the contrary, she's got a heart of gold and is always willing to help however she can. Generous and lively and oh so snuggly with the grandkids, who call her Ooma, she's a lovely woman that I wish you could all know. And she loves "Kool-aid". She drinks "cherry Kool-aid" out of fancy wine glasses.

The other photo is my little brother Gabe. I was a little late in congratulating him last year. This year, I'm right on time. We did a little photo shoot a few weeks ago that involved me laying flat on my stomach just inches away from flying skateboards. Notice, I said "flat on my stomach", and not "on my flat stomach." There is definitely a difference. Anyway, I came away with some great shots and no head wounds. Sadly, we have had to share Gabe with a college four hours away. As much as we want to keep him here, we have realized that he can't work in the produce department forever. As much as he loves peas.

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

In other news:

I am waging a serious laundry war today. I have let it slide much too long and I'm pulling out the big guns today. I might even put it all away once it's clean, but I'm not pushing it.

Today's pet peeve: soaking wet rolls of toilet paper. why? I shake my fist towards the heavens and scream out WHY?!

And let me end with.........

Today's happy surprise: I am thrilled for my dear friend Gretchen who welcomed a new little daughter last Friday. This morning she introduced little Beatrix to the world. And can I just say how much I love that name? Perfect. Congratulations to the Lifenut family.

Wordless Wednesday-September 13th

I remember.

There was something special about this new born baby. I kept his little cocoon swaddled body tucked tightly by my side, our sleep to be interrupted too often by nurses poking and prodding, taking blood pressures and heart rates. His velvety skin remained close by my cheek as we dozed those first few nights together. I was in my own little heaven, despite the hell going on outside our hospital door.

Caedmon was born at 12:30am September 11th 2001. We had spent the evening before at the highschool football field, watching my brother play and counting contractions. Shortly after midnight, our fourth child made his entrance into the world, a world that was about to change and take us unawares.

I woke early the next morning, eager to make more phone calls announcing our happy news. Nate was probably waking and showering and would be up to the hospital to visit me soon. But my first visitor that morning was our Pastor. He came in the room and told me that a plane had crashed into a building in New York. "Wow, that's too bad." I thought. I pictured a small little two seater in a fluke accident probably due to a navigational error or something. We turned on the TV and the rest of the story unfolded before our eyes.

I am ashamed to admit that I was a little bit irritated that every visitor, every nurse, and everyone I came into contact with wanted to turn on the television. They would come into my room and sit on the end of the empty bed beside mine and watch report after report of the tragedy. In my own way, I was truly sheltered from the reality of what had just happened to our country. As soon as the visitors would leave, I would shut off the TV and go back to my own little bubble where I was a mother of a new born baby.

My dad was on a business trip to California when Caedmon was born. When it was apparent that travel would no longer be possible by plane, he immediately got in the long line to rent a car and prepared to drive himself back to Iowa. To his family. To his new grandson. And he did just that. It took him two days and nights but he made it in time to hold little Caedmon before we checked out and left the hospital.

I feel like I was living in a parallel universe on September 11th 2001. I feel like I missed the whole thing. I do not mean to diminish the huge amount of loss that happened that day, so much devastation and so much pain. But when I remember 9-11-01, I remember the first time I looked into Caedmon's innocent eyes. Five years later, I remember.


Read Nate's memories of that day here.

Wow. One whole year.

I've been stuck Under the Laundry Pile for a whole year now. It all started when Nate created a blog to make fun of blogs. I immediately sent an email with his blog address to all of our friends and family. I know, it was the mature thing to do. It didn't take long though before I figured that it might be kind of fun to have one of my own and that was my first post. I had one faithful reader. And Nate.

Who knew what would happen in one year?! There were reports on the status of our laundry. Here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here , here, here, and here . Oh my gosh, the boringness. I'm glad I have dropped that little feature.

Here are some favorite posts from the past year.

• There was the time that Jack got crazy with the toothpaste.
• I made a special little "tribute" to Nate's car.
• I talked about how my kids are contestants on their own little game shows everyday.
• Let's all remember our ghetto Christmas tree.
• Remember when I took a picture of my favorite pairs of shoes?
• One time I even got a little bit serious.
• There was the day that I almost didn't like chocolate.
• Who can forget Wormfest 2006?
• May we always remember.
• I had to be the bearer of such sad news.
• Once I attempted Haiku.

I am blown away that anyone would want to read the ramblings that come out of my head. I have absolutely loved making new internet friends. Ok, that sounds a little bit creepy, but you know what I mean.

So in honor of one year, throw a comment my way and let me know how you stumbled across my pile of laundry. I would love to hear from everyone, even the lurkers. Especially the lurkers. How 'bout we declare it un-lurking day, everyone needs to jump in and help me fold these clothes.

Humility, Swords, and a Dancing Baby

It took a lot of guts for me to post yesterday's photo. Number one: who takes a picture of the things their kids draw on the house? And number two: I didn't realize how many grubby little finger prints there were on my front door until I picked up my photos. Needless to say, that very afternoon I was out there scrubbing away. Our front door almost sparkles now and sadly the doorman is gone. Mr. Clean Magic eraser knocked him right out. He will forever live on in our family photo album. I wonder if he is in doodle heaven with the legion of crayon and pencil people that have been graffitied on our walls the past eleven years?

Also, I bought Caedmon and Jack some plastic swords at the store today. It was a momentary lapse in judgment that I hope will not cause any of their sibling serious bodily harm. Until today they were using sticks found in the back yard as their weapons of choice, so this is a bit of an improvement on the safety level, I hope. *crossing my fingers*

And for the record Gemma's most recent words are "watch this", and then she performs an amazing stunt like climbing onto the kitchen table or dancing the special little dance she does with a twinkle in her eye. Really, all it involves is an Elvis style twist of the hips but it sure makes us all smile. Right now she is emptying the clean folded clothes out of all of our laundry baskets, another special talent she possesses. I guess that's my cue to hit the Publish Post button.

Wordless Wednesday - Our "Doorman"

Blah blah blah. A little bit of everything.

Whew! Labor day is almost over and tomorrow it's back to the old routine. God Bless the old routine. Weekends and holidays are fun but I always look forward to getting back to regular life. Then I can be sure of what day it really is. Today felt a whole lot like Sunday even though it's really Monday and tomorrow is Tuesday even though it's going to feel a whole lot like Monday. I can tell I'm going to need a whole lot of coffee in the morning. It might even help to tape the calendar to my forehead.

We had a wonderful weekend and spent a lot of time with Holly, my sister who lives about three hours away. Here's a pic with both of my sisters and Gemma. Mariah is the adorable brunette in the middle and Holly's the fabulous blonde.

She's a blast, we wish we could convince her to move back home and make us laugh all the time. Sadly, she's headed back north. *sniffle*

As I caught back up on blog reading today, I ran across this post over at Everyday Mommy. Four wonderful ladies have written a mission statement called "Moms and Dads for Modesty" and I think it's a great thing.

Too many stores are selling provocative clothing for children and little girls (and big girls) are wearing them. Frankly it's disturbing. Little girls don't need to wear tiny little shorts that have the words "eye candy" plastered across their backends. I'm all for fashion, but let's be wise. Go on over and check it out.

And now a follow up to my last post. That photo is Tyler going off of the high dive a few weeks ago. He didn't belly flop, in fact his dive was so beautiful that I would have given him a 10. Then again, I'm his mother. I figured I would jump on the Wordless Wednesday bandwagon. From what I gather, you just post a picture and don't really write about it or anything. Just a guess though. It's my kind of deal because you know how I like to take pictures. Hmmm, I guess I am kind of ruining it by explaining the photo with a whole lot of words one post later. Oh well.

Ok, I'm off to bed in anticipation of the big week-of-firsts. All of our church activities are starting up this week after taking the month of August off. (Not Sunday mornings though. Hello!) I'm super excited to get back at it, but it's gonna be busy. Now, don't you think I need to go have a bowl of ice cream before hitting the sack? I do.

Wordless Wednesday-High Dive

More Wordless Wednesdays here.

Go visit Karen

Karen wrote a beautiful post that I think is just profound. I feel like one of the biggest enemies of mothers everywhere is the comparison game and Karen just nailed it. So in honor of my choices this morning, specifically the choice to play Lego Star Wars 2 with Caedmon despite the fact that we are having company for supper and the toilets really need to be scrubbed, I give you Karen's post: Keeping Score.

Battery Operated?

Setting: A rainy afternoon, in the van, pulling out of the Walmart parking lot. Caedmon (two weeks from 5) is asking me about death and I just finished telling him a big long story about how our bodies are like a house and when we are done with them we move out.

Caedmon: "So we get a new body in heaven?"

Me: "Yep, there will be no scraped knees and no owies and no crying and everyone will be perfect."

Caedmon: "Mom? We will be made out of metal?!"

After a bit more explanation and discussion about how there is no sin in heaven because we will be perfect Caedmon replies with: " You mean God will control us?"

Yes Caedmon, heaven is full of remote controlled metal robots. Hmmm, not really the image I was getting......

Cry

This morning, after a very late Friday night, I pulled open my swollen, red eyes and cringed at the pulsing headache coursing through my brain. Was this some kind of a hangover? No. I'm not a drinker. I'm a reader. A reader who stayed up waaaay too late drinking in one of the saddest stories I have ever read. I devour books, dangerously shoving everything else in my world onto the back burner, which is why I don't read often. My family likes to eat and wear clean clothes.

It has been a while since a book gripped me the way that this one did. I was about a quarter of the way through it when I grabbed it off of the counter and plopped down on the couch at about nine-thirty last night. I didn't move until I turned the last page at one-thirty. Well, there was the trip to the kitchen for the box of Kleenex. They were a necessity. The tears started to fall and before I knew it I was completely sobbing. Snotting type sobbing. Shoulder shaking sobs, it was definitely an ugly-face cry. It got to the point that I almost couldn't see the words on the page in front of my face, so tragic was the story. This morning, my eyelids hurt.

The book was "Fair is the Rose" by Liz Curtis Higgs, a sequel to "A Thorn in My Heart". If you haven't read it and intend to then don't read on. I'm about to drop some spoilers.

Only they aren't really spoilers because the book was very predictable. I think that is what made it so sad. I knew exactly what was coming. Set in Scotland in the 1700's, this was basically a retelling of the biblical story of Leah and Jacob and Rachel. It was a story I was very familiar with and that had always haunted me. How did it really go down that wedding night in the tent? How did he not know that it was Leah, not Rachel in his bed? How in the world did the sisters even BEGIN to go on with daily life after the drama that had just gone down? I know "Fair is the Rose" is a work of fiction but it brought real life flesh to the story. It brought to light deep emotions that must have been very real to those three who were really there.

As I read my bible lately, I've really been trying to put my self in the shoes of the people I am reading about. What was it like for them? They were real people just like us with laundry and chapped lips. I really want to get a grasp on the humanity that is all over the pages. Real lives. Sometimes I think the stories become so familiar and so routine that we forget about the emotions and decisions that were so real to those involved.

When I finished reading of Leana and Rose and Jaime, I had a new found compassion for Leah and Rachel and Jacob. What a tangled mess their lives were. The betrayal and raw love is gut-wrenching. But there was a plan, a greater purpose that threaded it's way through their situation. God's hand was on them, no matter what. And last night it touched me deeply. The pile of Kleenex in my trash can is proof.

Good bye Summer

My children love me more than they know. They love me so much that they wanted to spare me too much grief over our separation on their first days of school. So they concocted an intricate plan, taking into consideration my delicate psyche. They knew that if they made the last few days of summer too heavenly, I would mourn the loss of their presence. My children, in their loving hearts, made sure to fight and bicker and complain as much as possible that last week. I know they did it for me. They did it so it wouldn't be so hard for me to say good bye. Thanks kids.

As I sit here and munch on the last of today's first-day-of-school chocolate chip cookies, I'm saying good bye to summer.

Good bye bright colored annuals.


Good bye pool.

Good bye go-cart.

Good bye parades and the candy you brought us.

Good bye bullfrogs.

Good bye family baseball games.

Good bye barefoot afternoons.

Good bye homemade hammocks.

Good bye sunkissed shoulders.

Good bye butter drenched corn on the cob.

Good bye Little League.

Good bye rope swing.

Good bye summer.

Confession

Dear Kids,

I just wanted you to know what kind of a mother I really am. All that talk of sharing and of selflessness that I blabber on about, well, I'm a hypocrite. I need to get something off of my chest.

Today, while I was out running errands with Gemma and you were all at home with your Aunt Mariah, I made one special stop. I stopped at Mc Donald's and bought myself an ice cream cone. It was a very, very tall ice cream cone. Not at all a baby cone like I always make you all get. Gemma's carseat is directly behind me, so I know she didn't see it. I ate that ice cream cone all by myself and I did not share with anyone and I did not buy one for any of you. In fact, when I realized that I wasn't going to be able to finish it before I got home, I did something terrible.

I parked a block away from our house and I ate that ice cream cone in peace and quiet. It was one of the happiest moments of my life. Aside from all of your births of course.

And also there is a box of Twinkies on the top shelf of the pantry that none of you know about. They are all mine.

Sincerely,

Your Mother

A Rite of Passage

Eventually every child must discover the cold, hard truth for themselves.