Twelve Days of Christmas

            A couple of weeks ago, we drove home from an evening excursion; and Charles came up with the idea of rewriting the "Twelve Days of Christmas" after our own year in the country. This stopped Mr. Blue Eyes' wailing and knashing of teeth (he's not a big fan of being buckled into the car for long drives at night unless he is asleep). The van was filled with laughter as we tried to remember each line. We re-edited it the more we sang it. This just may become a new family tradition. Hopefully,  I can remember our final version. Give me grace if I don't.

"On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a red neck Christmas tree (we cut down a cedar tree on our land and put it up only to realize it is too tall...the girls insisted it was still perfect).

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me two guinea fowl and a red neck Christmas tree.

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me three bourbon reds (we're talking about turkeys, not whiskey), two guinea fowl and a red neck Christmas tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas,  my true love gave to me four girls in a row (I get at least one comment about it every time I'm out in Missouri), three bourbon reds, two guinea fowl and a red neck Christmas tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me five gold campiens (actually they're golden campiens,  but "gold campiens" sounds better), four girls in a row , three bourbon reds, two guinea fowl and a red neck Christmas tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas,  my true love gave to me six half-breed chicks (one "gold campien" hatched eggs that are part Rhode Island Red), five gold campiens,  four girls in a row, three bourbon reds, two guinea fowl and a red neck Christmas tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me seven crazy [fill in our last name], six half-breed chicks, five gold campiens,  four girls in a row, three bourbon reds, two guinea fowl and a red neck Christmas tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me eight kitty cats, seven crazy [fill in our last name], six half-breed chicks, five gold campiens,  four girls in a row, three bourbon reds, two guinea fowl and a red neck Christmas tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me nine acres burning,  eight kitty cats, seven crazy [fill in our last name], six half-breed chicks, five gold campiens,  four girls in a row, three bourbon reds, two guinea fowl and a red neck Christmas tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me ten ducks a quackin', nine acres burning,  eight kitty cats, seven crazy [fill in our last name], six half-breed chicks, five gold campiens,  four girls in a row, three bourbon reds, two guinea fowl and a red neck Christmas tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me eleven lice a itchin', ten ducks a quackin', nine acres burning,  eight kitty cats, seven crazy [fill in our last name], six half-breed chicks, five gold campiens,  four girls in a row, three bourbon reds, two guinea fowl and a red neck Christmas tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas,  my true love gave to me twelve brand new friends, eleven lice a itchin', ten ducks a quackin', nine acres burning,  eight kitty cats, seven crazy [fill in our last name], six half-breed chicks, five gold campiens,  four girls in a row, three bourbon reds, two guinea fowl and a red neck Christmas tree."

I hope you had a very Merry Christmas,  and you have a wonderful new year of adventures ahead...and let me know if you come up with your own version!

       

Easy Sugar Cookies (even if they're gluten-free)

           Maybe you're like me and you have family members or friends who are allergic/can't tollerate gluten. Here's a great recipe that you can make either with or without wheat this holiday season. Going out of your way to make something special for a family with allergies can make the best present of all for Christmas...seriously. However, that's extra special if it's actually delicious. Trust me. This recipe is and is totally worth it. I just adapted it this past Thursday with great success.
            This past week we went Christmas caroling with other homeschoolers at a local nursing home with other. Each family made a two dozen cookies to decorate together before we went caroling. I knew Mr. Blue Eyes would be confused by not sharing in the sugar sprinkling revelry. I mean, what almost two year old doesn't love cookies;  so I combined all the ingredients for this recipe except for the flour. I divided the mixture in half and added unbleached wheat flour (half of the original amount, of course) to one batch and gluten-free flour (I like the Betty Crocker brand because it isn't gritty and super affordable at Wal-Mart) plus one teaspoon of xanthan gum. I mixed and baked the gluten-free mix first and then used the same beaters and cookie sheet for the wheat batch. It turned out wonderfully. Half-pint stumbled onto this recipe shortly after we moved here, and we merely added a teaspoon of salt to the batter to make it better than any other sugar cookies we've ever had. I think the saltiness adds to the contrasting sweetness. Here's the link for the original recipe that we adapted: Easy Sugar Cookies.
           Enjoy this gem!

Easy Sugar Cookies

1 cup butter, softened
1 1/2 cups white sugar
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
(Or 2 3/4 cups gluten-free flour plus 2 teaspoons xanthan gum)
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt

Directions:
1) Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C). In a large bowl, cream together the butter and sugar until smooth. Beat in egg and vanilla.

2) Gradually blend in baking soda, and baking powder and salt. Divide the dough at this point if desiring to make half with wheat and half with gluten-free flour. Add 1 cup plus 6 T. of gluten-free flour (plus 1 teaspoon of xanthum gum) to one half. Add the same amount of unbleached wheat flour to the other half. Otherwise just add the full amount of flour (and additional xanthan gum if it's gluten-free).

3) Roll rounded teaspoonfuls of dough into balls, and place onto ungreased cookie sheets. Bake 8 to 10 minutes in the preheated oven, or until golden. Let stand on cookie sheet two minutes before removing to cool on wire racks.

   

Broken-Hearted

          "Don't believe her (mom). She told me the same thing about my baby blanket, and I'm still waiting." Hearing those words come out of Half-pint's mouth was enough to make me want to grab and eat an entire bag of Ghiradelli chocolate chips...or two. My heart plummeted. Gracie had already asked me at least a hundred times to sew up the hole in her stuffed Harley's ear; and, no, I'm actually not exaggerating.  Gracie is the squeekiest,  noisy "wheel" in our household of seven. I kept putting her off. I kept saying "I will fix the ear when I have time." That's the same thing my 10-year-old has been hearing for six years about a knitting project I began shortly after Carrie was born. It's the same excuse, just a different situation.  It hurt to hear my jaded daughter talk about her lack of trust. I don't remember what age I was when I realized my mom didn't hang the moon, but that feeling of distrust grew and clung on until I hit motherhood.  That's when I matured enough to realize how unfair and selfish I had been as a kid.
        Now there is the replay of distrust in my own family.  There is always something that comes between me and the things I intend to do. Sometimes it a major life upheaval that buries my promise like packing and unpacking twice in two years. Sometimes it the addition of a new baby and being incapable to sit for 15 minutes straight to knit and purl the hundred and twenty-eight stitches to complete a row in her "baby" blanket (I've had two babies since I began this project). Sometimes it is simply the lure of baking fresh cookies that are more appealing than completing a project that has already taken more time than it should've. It did take me roughly ten years to finish my hubby's blanket though, so maybe it's not that far overdue. I could remind Half-pint of this fact, but something tells me that wouldn't make her feel better. After all, here I am blogging when I could be knitting.  I tend to get all philosophical and think about how someday she will understand how unfair she is being.  I have a lot on my plate. I live in the land of the urgent, but unimportant...demands for water lid removals, and moans of help with writing "hundredth", and screams of accidents in the bathroom, or watching the snot run down, almost past, our one-year-old's lip.  Still, my mommy heart grieves the loss of her trust. It hurts, just as I have hurt her by letting her down.
            This past weekend, this failure came to my mind as I was asking God to help me examine what I should confess before partaking in communion (I'm not down with the whole 1 Cor. 11:30 sickness/"sleeping" issue...I like a clean slate). At first, I just apologized for the hurt I had inflicted on Half-pint. Her blanket just hasn't been a priority. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that maybe I was to use this to point her to God. Everyone in life disappoints us, but God is perfect. Maybe I needed to capitalize on that. My heart wasn't in that though. The honest truth is that I am disappointed with God at times. He is perfect, but it's hard to remember that when I sometimes feel like the old (introverted) woman who lived in a shoe who had so many children that she didn't know what to do...and she homeschools them.  Our home isn't perfect (it's cozy), but God put me here for a reason. I have a lot of kids (that I asked for... and one I didn't), but I truly love them and being their mom. I know that God gave them to me for a reason besides making me more tolerant of noisy, small spaces like our van rides. It'd just be easier if He told me why all the time, but that would require no faith.
           That's when it dawned on me. I have been acting like a hurt ten-year-old, demanding my finished blanket. I want to know it all right now, not once my life is finished. God isn't too busy for me, but He definitely has a different sense of timing than I do. When I allow my doubts to cloud my view of His goodness, it hurts Him just as deeply as it did me when Half-pint voiced her loss of confidence. He knows the future and the good that will come from my struggles (Jer. 29:11). God wants me to trust Him no matter what (Prov. 3:5-6).  Feeling the pain of Half-pint's disappointment brought it home for me. I had to apologize to God for doubting Him, His goodness,  and His perfect timing...and hurting Him.
            Life has felt overwhelming lately, especially with the holiday season. I don't understand it all, but I trust that God does. It's time to wait patiently. My blanket's not finished. In the meantime, maybe I'll knit a little more and make someone else's heart happy.

Pumpkin Bars

            Fall is amazing. I LOVE the colors of the changing leaves, but also the cooling temps. More than anything, I love the food...pumpkin pies, hot apple cider, s'mores over an open fire. Some of these things have become more challenging with certain family member's sensitivity to gluten. This year I converted a favorite family recipe for pumpkin bars. I used to work in a hospital (pre-kiddos), and I have to say that particular bunch knew how to make really good food! My recipe for this is a copy of a handwritten fax...we had to beg our co-worker for the recipe. I substituted 2 cups of gluten-free flour plus 2 teaspoons of xanthan gum for the 2 cups of all-purpose wheat flour. They have been declared but all seven members of our family...delicious!!

Enjoy this recipe suitable for both wheat lovers and the gluten-free:

Pumpkin Bars

4 eggs
1 2/3 cups sugar
1 cups oil
1-16 oz. can of pumpkin
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon of salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
2 cups of all-purpose flour (or 2 c. of gluten-free flour plus 2 teaspoons of xanthan gum)

Combine the ingredients in the order listed (or you can separately combine the dry ones first before adding to the wet, but I personally think it's the mix companies trying to discourage us from making things from scratch by making us add an extra dirty dish to an already overwhelming counter).  Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Top with cream cheese icing when cooled and store the cake in the refrigerator.

Cream Cheese Icing

1-3 oz. package of cream cheese
1/2 cup of butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
2 cups of powdered sugar

Grin and Bear It

             My stomach wound into tight knots as we drove into the parking garage at the children's hospital for yet another visit to the pediatric rheumatologist. It may have been a week ago, but I remember vividly the feeling of defeat. This was the last place I wanted or expected to be. I kept telling myself that it was a blessing to have an expert to help us, but I was dreading what she would say. Just ten days after getting an all-clear from Lyme Disease,  Half-pint started complaining of pain in her knee again.  Within three days, both knees and ankles (plus one heel) were excruciatingly painful. I dialed up the rheumatologist's office and took the soonest appointment, which was a Thursday. The morning of our appointment, I read Psalm 42. Verse 6  starts by saying, "O my God, my life is cast down upon me [and I find the burden more than I can bear!]...I wrote "Lyme Disease relapse" in the margin along with the date. Just the thought of what was ahead was too much to bear. I felt let down to think that we were starting all over again with the disease. Yes, I know life could definitely be worse,  but at the time this felt too big for me. I had made the mistake of looking at information on-line about Lyme reoccurance and life-long struggles.
           The rest of Psalm 42:6 says,"...therefore will I [earnestly] remember You from the land of the Jordan [River] and the [summits of Mount] Hermon, from the little mountain Mizar." Basically that part of the verse is encouraging us to remember what God is capable of. I personalized this part of the verse by saying "... therefore will I [earnestly] remember You from the parking lot of the orthodontist and the kitchen in need of a crockpot, with the little mountain of uncooked beans." You probably don't know the story from the parking lot, so here it goes.
            Back in May my hubby and I talked to two "experts" in the orthodontic field. Both agreed that Mary suffered from severe overcrowding,  but their treatments were considerably different. The more experienced one felt that two permanent teeth needed to be pulled by an oral surgeon as well as having an "impacted" tooth bared to attach a gold chain to it (to drag it down). He also recommended an expander. From my orthodontic knowledge, an expander equals a LOT of pain. Did I mention that all my friends use the more experienced doctor (as well as my brother who lives in the area)? The other orthodontist said there was no need for an expander with the "self-ligating" braces (Damon braces) he used. We didn't need to pull any permanent teeth. He felt that if he made room for it, the other tooth would naturally drop without intervention. We looked at some very convincing before and after photos on Facebook. Is it any suprise that we liked the "less pain", "less intervention", "less cost" plan of the latter orthodontist......at the risk of following advice from the less experienced expert? I wondered if the other orthodontist was right though when he said the tooth would "never" descend on it's own. Her braces went on in June.  In October, our orthodontist told us that we shouldn't wait any longer. We should uncover that stubborn tooth with a laser at her next appointment (so we could pull it down into alignment).  My logical brain said, "He WAS wrong, but at least we don't have an oral surgeon bill." The panic on my daughter's white-as-a-sheet face told me that logic was unhelpful at this point. She was freaking out as only a twelve year old with a huge imagination can. At that point in the parking lot, we prayed and asked God to do what one orthodontist thought was impossible and what our current orthodontist was done waiting for (the dental assistant explained to us that they had waited for over six months for her son's stubborn tooth to drop with no success...which increased his treatment time). A few weeks later when Mary told me her tooth had emerged (and far lower on the gum-line than it was in May), I grabbed her hands and did a hoppy, ring-a-round-rosey dance for several minutes. This victory is what my mind went back to that morning that I knew we would be facing bad news.
          It built my faith. It gave me hope. It gave me the courage to declare that I trusted God to be capable in this problem as well. It gave peace in my heart even though my stomach refused to cooperate. I expected the worse for Half-pint,  but the rheumatologist surprised me. There was no swelling with her pain,  which meant no Lyme Disease. The fact that it was bilateral and in additional places was a result of the weather and a little thing called hyper mobility,  which can be treated with physical therapy not medication. Her heel pain was a normal symptom of growing. She was not diseased. She is just growing and extra flexible. 
          Still, we are having to manage her pain. It has to be consistent for three weeks before it can be diagnosed as "chronic pain". Aleve and Advil don't touch the pain, but we found some essential oils that do the trick (lemongrass,  wild orange,  lemon,  and frankinscense are her favorites). Within seconds,  she feels relief. Right now, we are just waiting for our next step...but we're grinning because we know we are not alone.
          
         

Pure Crockery

            It's the little things that can get me seriously down...like a broken crockpot. No, I didn't break it by shoving the pictured turkey in it either...it cooked just fine with the toaster to hold the lid on. I got a large 7.5 quart oval crockpot for my birthday many years ago, and I probably use it twice a week (here's my most recent favorite recipe for Mongolian Beef). Late this spring the knob on the lid broke, leaving a screw and gasket to seal the lid. At first I just used a potholder to gingerly grab the hot screw and remove the lid when needed. After forgetting to use a potholder a couple of times the need to solve this problem became more urgent. Still, who wants to replace an entire appliance when a small part is broken?  A review on Amazon touted that a certain knob they sold would universally fit all crockpots. Well, it did not.
            I continued to use it and occasionally get burned this summer.  Then, the pot itself broke apart a few weeks ago. I know that you might be scratching your head as to why I don't just go out and buy a new one.  Earlier this summer, my hubby asked me to exercise a little extra frugality as we had a some extra expenses with Mary getting braces, adding twenty plus fowl (which have started producing egg income), and managing twenty plus acres of hay.  If you add into the equasion karate lessons, a theatre production, and additional housing for our added birds, balancing other areas of spending just makes sense. I like to do my part, so that meant looking for a creative solution to the crockpot conundrum.  Besides, I get a real thrill from a great deal. I think it's in my blood...you should hear me talk with my mom and brother. We get really animated when we talk about $3 pairs of jeans or $1 necklaces or inexpensive soy lecithin. (My brother sent me a picture of super cheap gluten-free brownie mix from Sam's, and I was thrilled at the prospect.)
           I decided to check a local thrift store,  carefully asking God to put a crockpot there for me.  I was convinced that the thrift store was His idea since I coicidentally got behind a thrift store pick-up truck after pondering where resale stores were around here. Mary typed the number into my phone for me, and I called later to see if they had the much-desired crockpot. The first visit brought nine more bowls into our possession (any idea how much gets broken with five kids and a tile floor). However, there was no crockpot to be purchased that day, but I resolved to check again as they "are always getting some in". I had made a commitment to bringing chilli for our "Grace-Based Parenting" study several weeks back, not knowing that I would no longer possess a usable crockpot. The day before our study arrived, and I was convinced that God would provide one at the thrift store. I stopped and found no crockpot;  but I was only mildly disappointed because I did find a tricycle to replace a broken one for Mr. Blue Eyes of the exact same model (that was sturdy enough to survive through five kids). It retails for $54, and I found it there for $10. Score! At that point, I tried to reach my sister-in-law to see if I could borrow her pot, but I couldn't get a hold of her. I had thought about posting a "ISO large, used crockpot" on Facebook,  but most of the people I'm friends with love their's as much as I love mine...so I decided on option D) Kohl's.
          I had a thirty percent off coupon for Kohl's,  so I headed there and bought a new one for twenty dollars.  That's not bad, but nothing to call my mom and get excited about either. I felt a little stupid...for not planning better or something,  I guess. I felt like a failure. It's the little things like this that can haunt me. The next night when I related my story to the other fellow chilli maker, she said that oddly enough she had extra pot and cover (the switch on her base had broken). She offered it to me because she said that I could probably use an extra crockpot more than her. Then, I really felt like I should've posted it on Facebook because we are friends...but who knows if she would've seen the post. When I went home and cleaned up the crockpot,  I noticed a huge flaw on the brand new pot. I would've normally just exchanged it; but in light of this gently used pot coming my way, I happily returned the flawed crockpot.  Satan tries to make us feel dumb and like we totally messed up. The whole time God knew exactly what my need was and how to supply it.
           When I picked up the pot from my friend, there was another surprise awaiting me in the pot. She had thrown a shirt from her daughter in there. She didn't know it, but my daughter needed a tan shirt for a dress rehearsal (she was a lion cub) two days from then. Any guess as to the color of the shirt? Yup, it was a perfect lion cub tan.
            I'm reading "Living Courageously", and Joyce Meyer talks about  "the fear of lack". I can definitely identify with this. I constantly wonder if we'll have enough time, money, resources,  etc. There are times when I feel like I've somehow messed up and missed what God was telling me to do. I wonder if because of that mistake I'm doomed to not have what I need. I know I felt like that after buying the crockpot. Joyce talks about one of the names of God: El Shaddai. (I'm instantly taken back to an old Amy Grant song that I loved. Who's with me?!) El Shaddai means the God of more than enough. She talks about God being that God of abundance. She says, "You might say, 'I thought we were supposed to be content with what we have.' You are right, we are to be content and that means satisfied to the point where we are not disturbed no matter what our circumstances are. But that does not mean that we should not trust God to improve our situation and provide for us abundantly." I was worried about one thing, but God orchestrated three things. God is truly able to do "exceeding abundantly above all that we ask and think..." (Ephesians 3:20), and He did it this past month for me.  Because of His continued generosity, "I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth." (Psalm 34:1)

Finding My Courage Among Other Lost Things

          There are things things that scare me and then there are things that truly annoy me. Most people don't know this about me, but losing one peice of any game or puzzle...or kid's toy...ahem...is almost enough to put me on edge permanently. Most of the kid's toys we own have multiple peices, so motherhood has been a little rough on my obsession with wholeness. I will often spend half an hour (in vain, might I add) looking for one missing Little People horse, so I can put him in the barn and hear the satisfying whiny from shutting the gate of his full paddock. I used to lie awake at night haunted by missing toys. We lost the 5th cup in a stacking set of eight cups for four years. (Just think of how crucial that number is in building a tower!) I'm not sure how many hours of sleep I lost from that one. We found the cup several years later in the bottom of our couch. I've gotten better at accepting that things will inevitably turn up; and nowadays, most of the time, I can just let it go.
            Recently, I had one that I couldn't. Remember the book I'm reading about fear? I haven't been able to find it for almost three weeks now! How am I suppososed to get over this issue if I can't find my book?! I asked God, and that's when He reminded me that He actually wrote the best book on fear, EVER, the Bible. For my birthday (a week ago), I got just what I wanted: a new Turquoise leatherette Joyce Meyer Everyday Life Bible, brimming with "life points" and study thoughts. I decided to start using the new Bible's study section on fear. I've been writing down the verses listed and meditating on them. Guess what? I still find my heart racing at times, but when I remember the verse for the day it does help my panic deflate a notch. Psalms 91:4 is a favorite verse that I meditated on this past week.  It says, "[Then] He will cover you with His pinion, and under His wings shall you trust and find refuge; His truth and faithfulness are a shield and a buckler. " I love the mental imagery of a bird's protection. I've seen first-hand how protective mother birds are of their young, so I especially love this verse.
          A funny thing happened right after I wrote this. I found my book. When I lose something, I typically look where I think I left it. If I can't find it, I pray that God will show me where it is (this is what my mother modeled for me). I usually always have a place come to mind, and I almost always find lost things. I kept feeling like it was under my bed, but I'd already looked there at least twice. I looked again and this time I saw it along with three other things that had been lost (one since the beginning of September). Later while getting out my purse, I found a power cord that had been lost since February. On our way home from church, Carrie said the best thing about her day was finding her Bible. Gracie said the best thing was finding her two sunglasses. We had found those things in the morning, and I didn't start this post until this afternoon.  Before I had even started this post, God had begun uncovering lost items. It was without fail the overriding theme of my day.
          Little things can frustrate me; but some lost things can threaten to bury a person, things like lost hope. We have moved to very hilly country,  and Half-pint has complained of headaches nearly every time we driven on them for the past year. We've tried essential oils, moving her to the front seat of the van, and even feeding her proteins vs. carbs before car rides. We tried her pediatrician's suggestions and our chiropractor's suggestion with no luck. The headaches have persisted, prompting her to beg for days to stay home. There many times that I wondered if we were crazy for moving out here. Half-pint had a doctor's appointment on Wednesday to assess how effective the antibiotics were against the Lyme's disease that she was diagnosed with in September. Our trip to the office was tense for me because I've heard many people talk about trouble with the antibiotics working for Lyme disease and/or the long term effects. I was totally relieved to hear her doctor say that we didn't need to come back EVER (unless her symptoms returned).  Other than a few extra tummy aches, she tolerated the antibiotics really well. I'm beyond relieved that God has fully healed her. Half-pint told me that it doesn't hurt anymore to move or run, so she can once again play games in the AWANA program we go to. That was beautiful news, but the thing that made my heart sing the most was hearing her say her headaches have all but disappeared as well. Apparently,  that was tied into the Lyme disease as well.
              It felt like God was saying, "I hear your prayers; and as you continue to believe that I hear them and will move on your behalf, you will find more than just some lost items. You will find your courage to face each challenge,  no matter how big. I am BIGGER than all of your problems. You may still feel the fear, but it will not define you if you remember who I am." Proverbs 29:25 says, "The fear of man brings a snare, but whoever leans on, trusts in, and puts his confidence in the Lord is safe and set on high."
            When the Little People horse mysteriously showed up at the rug by our front door today, I knew that it was no accident.  It was a gift and a reminder not to lose hope...God is with me.
           
           
            

Union Station

           No one dreams of coming into a train station just in time to line up, dripping with sweat from the exertion of a brisk walk in 80 degree weather whilst carrying an independent toddler in a wrap plus 40 lbs. of luggage. Well, maybe someone would; but I'm pretty sure that it would qualify as a nightmare (I've decided to tag this post as such). For me however, this was no dream.
          It all began very innocently with my mother's dear friend offering to drop me off directly at the train station.  I had taken the Metrolink (from the Amtrak station) to our hotel for the Joyce Meyer women's conference and was prepared to take it back as well. The offer for quick door to door service was too nice to pass up though. In Chicago and Kansas City,  Amtrak departs from "Union Station". This is not the case in St. Louis; and no one is to blame, but me. I was reading the map and asked to be dropped off there. It is, in fact, 0.6 miles apart (according to Google maps). When they dropped me off in front of Union Station, I had an extra 20 minutes;  so I wasn't worried at all about making it inside to my train. After walking the length of the block without spying any signs for Amtrak, I figured I must just be on the wrong side of the building; but my heart began to sink as I found no such evidence.  I asked a security officer for help and realized I still had quite a ways to go. After getting confused from his directions,  I stopped to let the squirmy Mr. Blue Eyes down from my Storkenwege and consult Google Maps. I was relieved to see that the end was in site, but unfortunately Google maps doesn't know where the sidewalk barriers will prevent you from crossing at the stoplights. I had to do a bit of backtracking and Mr. Blue Eyes protested being placed back in my wrap (a few minutes later, I smelled his reason for disgruntlement). This wasn't the moment that I could handle an inquisitive one-year-old old dashing into the road or running down the sidewalk. It took a little doing, but I got everything together. In the meantime, I got a very funny look from someone who looked like a cross between Jamie Kennedy and Opie Taylor...maybe it was the confused look on my face, the wailing of my son, or the shaking of my hands. Would I even make it on time? I began praying and reviewing in my mind some of the things Joyce had said about fears. She had encouraged us to sing a simple song when we were afraid; and so I began signing, "I've got it. I've got it. I've really, really got it." She talked about how we have nothing to fear with the Holy Spirit dwelling in us. We have Him with us always.
           Thankfully,  I arrived just as they were boarding. A couple took pity on me and helped me down the escalator with my luggage (the elevator was, of course, out of order). Because of the long hike,  Mr. Blue Eyes took a three hour nap in my arms while on the train. I was tempted to wake him after an hour and a half (like I do at home), but I felt like I should just wait and enjoy the quiet. It must've been the Holy Spirit speaking because the train ended up being delayed by 2 1/2 hours, and he was still a happy camper at 11:50pm due to the prolonged nap.
             This whole ordeal reminded me of parenting. We think we know where we are headed,  but sometimes just as we think we've arrived and taken a shortcut...we find out there is even more work to do. God has really been dealing with my heart about fear, and I recently started a Bible study on Fridays called "Grace-Based Parenting". It's based on a book by Tim Kimmel. After the first video session,  I was a little discouraged by how vague it seemed. Then, I got the book that I had purchased (used off of Amazon) and almost fell over. He is a wonderful writer! God is using this book to address fear in my life in a different aspect. He talked about different common mistakes in parenting and one in particular caught my eye. He calls it "Fear- Based Parenting". I know that I have been guilty of this at least a few times. The problem that he points out with basing your judgements on your fears is that you are demonstrating to your children how small you believe God to be. He says, " Making safety the priority tells our children that we think God is incapable of doing what He said He would do for His children. Obviously,  God wants us to shrewdly bring our children up within a corrupted world system,  careful to make sure that they don't have to process issues to big for them. Many parents assume that all pressures from the corrupted world are too big for their children. " These fears are a trick from Satan to keep you and your children from experiencing God's power. Of course,  we shouldn't just throw our young children to the wolves; but we need to be intentional about showing them how to turn to God for help in the midst of problems...we can't just shield them from everything. I love that he write that "safe Christians" is really an oxymoron. How can you really protect someone from everything and still reach out to others who need to know God?  He writes that we need to demonstrate a strong hope about the future even while going through struggles because ultimately we trust God to be in control. I'm loving this book, and I feel like it is no accident that God has laid this in my path to read at the same time as the other book I'm chewing on (Living Courageously).
              I won't make the same mistake about Union Station in St. Louis,  and I'm determined to start parenting in the direction and with the confidence that I had hoped to all along. I know one of the purposes God has called me to is being a good mom to my children without all the fears that have been running our lives. To check out what other moms have to say about their purpose, check out www.jillsavage.org

What have you read recently or discovered about your fears?

The "Louse"-y Month that Ended Well

          I love learning, but the things I could tell you about head lice at this point is ridiculous.  It has always been one of my worst nightmares to have to make an announcement about "having lice" to friends and families. This past month, I've walked through a lot of fears (it was kind of been my theme for the month). Mary has brought so much excitement and happiness to our lives. However, this month she brought us itchiness. Near the beginning of September, she complained of an itchy scalp; and being the caring mother of five that I am, I briefly inspected her head. No bugs, no bumps, no white specks meant no problem in my mind. I figured that she just hadn't been washing out her shampoo well enough.
          A week later, Half-pint spotted a louse crawling across Mary's hair part (her visual acuity is amazing). After a doctor appointment due to some serious denial and inexperience on my part,  I sent hurried notes to those we had recently seen (like a new friend I had over for the first time that day, "Hope you enjoyed your visit to our farm...of head lice!") and those we had planned to see. I then made a very quick trip to Wal-Mart for the recommended shampoo. I'm all for natural stuff, but ten minutes till complete annihilation of lice sounded pretty appropriate at the time. However after bagging all of her stuffed items and treating her hair, I felt despair well up within me after I picked live louse after live louse out of her hair with the nit comb (my final count of live lice was over thirty). Since it was midnight by the time I was done, I gave up and went to bed. At 5am, I woke up to a horrible itching sensation.  The pediatrician said I'd know if I'd gotten it because "it's uncomfortable". Oh, yes, I knew!  At this point,  I was convinced these lice were resistant to the pesticides;  so I began googling essential oils treatments. Every site had a different recommendation,  but nearly all of the recommended Melaleuca for both lice repellent and insecticide. Unfortunately,  that is one oil I didn't own (notice the past tense). Instead,  I poured coconut oil and lavender and eucalyptus all over my head.  Then I sealed it up with some Saran Wrap and began texting my friend, begging her to order me some Melaleuca.  Eventually the itching subsided and I calmed down enough to go over the info from our pediatrician.  They recommended Cetaphil if the pesticide didn't work. Yes, we're talking gentle daily facial cleanser. (Here's the info in case you ever need it.) The kids and I traveled 20 minutes to snatch the last two bottles on sale at Walgreens. The rest of the day was a blur of applications,  nit-combing and blow-drying. Fortunately,  no one else had any nits or lice during their wet combing that evening (for the record,  I couldn't find any on my head that night either...but they may have been obscured by the bleeding birthmarks on my scalp line that didn't agree with the cheap plastic comb included in our kit). It's 3 1/2 weeks later,and I'm now starting to consider inviting a families over for playdates again.
           That's not the only buggy issue we had this month. Half-pint has had some swelling in her knee joint that we followed up on with lab work.  Last week, we were notified that she has Lyme's disease (which is being treated with antibiotics for the next four weeks). Lyme disease always scared me, but juvenile rheumatoid arthritis scares me more. At least Lyme disease doesn't mean managing pain for the foreseeable future...or continued doctor appointments an hour away. This was definitely an answer to prayer; and considering the natural tick predators that we've added to our family of fowl (lovingly named "Tic" and "Tac"), we will hopefully not deal with this again. I couldn't resist throwing a picture of their ugly diseased bug killing faces in with this post (I wonder if they eat lice too).
           If you'd have asked me if I was a fearful person , I would've said "No, way!" even after this crazy month of scary things. I went to a conference this past weekend in St. Louis (best Christmas present ever!) and had a wake-up call to how much of my life is driven by fear. I picked up a copy of Joyce Meyer's new book, "Living Courageously", which covers the topic. I'm only about halfway through it, but I really love it! I'm currently meditating on Psalm 56:3 (pg.33): "What time I am afraid, I will have confidence in and put my trust and reliance in You." After all, who knows when the next bug will strike?

           Because I didn't want to keep this book all to myself, I picked up an extra copy to give away too...so if you'd fess up to one fear in the comments below,  you will be entered in the drawing (which an unsuspecting child of mine will randomly draw). The drawing will take place next Friday morning (the 10th),  and I'll announce it in the comments below. I also decided to give up linking these blog posts to my Facebook account.  It's only really showing it to two or three people anyway (it's weird how they determine who to show what); so if you were encouraged (or know someone who needs some lice sympathy) and want to share this,  feel free. I won't stop you. I might even "like" it.

The Dirt on My Window

          There are prints all over my windows,  and I'm having a hard time bringing myself to clean them. These are not the sweet little greasy handprints that I am used to. They are the wet nose prints of curiosity that were usually accompanied by a whine or two. It used to drive me nuts and was one thing I always liked to clean before company came over. Lately, erasing them has felt like I'm erasing a part of my life. Harley (our beloved Weimeraner, not to be confused with my dad) died at the end of August. I've already vacuumed and laundered our throw rugs, but his nose smears have remained.
             When a friend of mine recently posted a picture of her deceased father hugging her, it reminded me of a long forgotten memory.  I remember people asking me how I was doing after my dad died (when I was 13 years old), and I would always tell them how much I missed his hugs. I had totally forgotten about that, and I was flooded with a mixture of guilt and sadness...not just because of that loss, but that I had forgotten that.
           I realize now that fear of losing the great memories of our dog are trying to keep me frozen in disgustingness (or to be more precise, snot on my window). Well, this month has been all about realizing that fear is dominating my life and my decisions (read "The Louse-y Month..." post for more and a chance to win Joyce Meyer's newest book). It's a good day to clean, so here are a few things that I learned that I hope I'll never forget:

               1)There was look of utter panic and shakes at the mention of the word "bath" (and this time I'm not referring to my pre-teen Mary). I never realized it that a 90 lb. dog would take on a Fed-ex truck, driver and all his packages...and still be petrified of a bath. Harley had to be enticed to the edge of the tub with his favorite treats, while someone would "heave-ho" his rear end into the tub with warm water waiting.

            2) I had the dawning realization that all that "sand" in the bottom of his kennel that we first brought home with him was just dirt ground to bloody pulp from a hundred pounds of dog flesh tromping and circling in the kennel before laying down. I realized my feet would basically never feel a clean floor again since he couldn't take his shoes off when he came in. I also mourned the loss of once clean white stuffed animals that were quickly dinged by being drug across the floor.

              3) I never realized that having a dog meant never sleeping in again...EVER. Dogs are even more ridiculously schedule dependant than babies. Babies would occasionally sleep in until 8am, but the pathetic whimpering that started at 7:30am rarely gave a morning's peace. The girls learned to sleep through it, but I did not. I even got an occasional wet nose wake-up. Oh, the horror! He also shook his ears out so much in the middle of the night that I was glad he never slept in our bedroom.

          4) Dogs are the gateway pet. Once you take on that much responsibility, what's another eight cats, or twenty-four chickens, or fifteen ducks,  or  two turtles (and turkeys and guineas,  and lizards)...need I go on?

          4) Listening to your husband and getting a dog (even when you are not a dog lover) can be a  really good thing. Yes, you can get a winner of a dog off of Craig's list. Harley was amazingly obedient (especially if food was involved,  and especially if that food was hot dogs). I never knew a baby to love a dog the way our Gracie did. She was only 11 months old when we brought home our 87 lb. Weimeraner dog, but she found his head was the perfect height to walk under. His ears dangled down, and she exclaimed "tick-a, tick-a" when she felt them on her head. Her first word besides "Mama" and "Dada" was "Ar-ley". She stills tears up just mention his name. He also turned me into a dog-lover. That last moan of knowing when we went to say "Goodbye" to him at the vets office said volumes. It said, "I love you!" and "I'm hurting" and "I'm so glad to see you again" and "It's Ok" all at once. I've never heard quite so much in one me-ow, and I've loved and said goodbye to a lot of cats. 

          The nasal drips are getting erased, but the marks on our hearts will be there forever. The week that we waited to see how much he could recover from his stroke and seizures while staying at the animal clinic was full of nightly dreams that Half-pint would share each morning. Each one was different, but the same in that he ran away from the vet to come see us each time. They were beautiful.  He even had puppies in one of them (though that was physically impossible due to surgery and that he was a boy dog). In my mind, I can still see him running as fast as the day we brought him home. His ears are flapping in the wind, and his muscles are flexing easily as he races a rabbit and wins. There is no paralysis. There is no knowing groan.  There is a happy spring in his step when he bounds over for a pat on his head and a victorious "Good Boy!" from my lips. 

He was the best dog ever.

Fixing What Is Broken

          On the first day of school in our neck of the woods,  we rushed around to get 24 chickens, 8 cats, 5 ducks (plus 11 ducklings), 3 turkeys , 2 guinea fowl, and 1 dog their food and water. It takes everyone's cooperation to get it all done and be on time. It's next to impossible in a family of seven to be punctual when you're changing diapers, changing clothes,  fixing hair, and feeding little ones...all the while making lunches and praying to find the missing shoe (that the baby decided was a perfect car the night before). Of course,  we weren't actually headed to school. We start that this week.  We were headed to rheumatology...not for Grandma,  but for my 10 year old, Half-pint. She injured her knee in a martial arts warm-up July 7th, describing the sensation as her "knee-cap popping". She had swelling in her knee that warranted a trip both to the chiropractor and the pediatrician (and eventually sports medicine when the swelling was still there a week later). 
          Just in case you are faced with the choice, I wouldn't recommend scheduling an appointment with sports medicine the morning of your child's birthday party for 18 of her closest friends if you haven't even prepared the dessert. I had no idea that Half-pint would visualize the physician removing a "box" of fluid from her body (when in fact he was merely removing maybe an ounce of bursa fluid for lab work) or that this would result in a full-blown panic attack.  A couple of milligrams of versed later, she was calmly talking about the ceiling dropping on our heads, and we were able to complete her exam without putting her completely out. We did find out that nothing bacterial was causing the swelling (and the lack of blood indicated it wasn't a trauma issue).
          Our rheumatology appointment on the 13th of August gave us no answers. We were asked to come back in a month when the lab work done by sports medicine could be repeated to give a firm diagnosis of juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. Given my daughter's love of nature and tick exposure, we'll also test for Lyme disease at that time. No one but me (and my four tag along kids) seemed distressed that I would be making another crazy round-up for an hour long drive to the doctor in a month. I was hoping for an answer, not another delay. I hate not being able to fix something.
         Shortly after we moved last year, I broke a necklace I had made. It didn't worry me or bother me at all. Since I had made it, I knew exactly how to fix it and what I would need to make it whole again. It actually sat on my bookshelf along with several other projects until a few weeks ago when I really wanted to wear it. As I was putting it together, I wished everything could be fixed so easily...like the problem with Half-pint's knee. It's hard to wait for answers. Then I had the thought: our Creator knows exactly how and what He needs to make us whole because He made us.
          I wish the problems at the Ingalls farm was just Half-pint's knee, but every week brings a new challenge...like our first chicken being lost to a hawk this week, our dog being incapacitated by a stroke and seizure last week, or my phone (that contained the downloaded background track) being broken by Mr. Blue Eyes just 36 hours before Mary's audition...it never ends. Each day I call, "In the morning,  O Lord, you hear my voice, in the morning I lay out my requests before you and wait in expectation." (Psalms 5:3)
           When I "recreated" my necklace,  I broke a bead and had to change my original design. I have to say that I think it's more interesting and more beautiful than before. May each time of brokenness in our lives cause the Creator to make us more interesting and more beautiful too.

At the End of the Rainbow (Does God Have a "Like" Button? )

           I love the "like" button, but perhaps I overuse it a little. When something on Facebook makes me smile or even just know someone a little better than before, I'll "like" it. Do you ever wonder what God would do on Facebook?  Do you ever think, "If God saw me would He groan over how needy (or whiny) I am? Would He "like" me? Would He leave a comment? Would I be on His friend list? Most of my posts on Facebook revolve around an interesting photo or a link to my blog. Sharing my blog can be feel futile and a bit frustrating.The way they choose to show your feed to certain people is confusing; and often times, I debate whether or not to actually post a link at all. If people really want to know what's going on, it's easy to subscribe. Sometimes,  I want to give up Facebook completely because it makes me think more about other people's approval than I'd like to admit. I didn't start blogging because I want a million likes (although it feels gratifying to get a few).  I did it because God does amazing things all around me, and I want to share it. I want our children to look back and know where they came from. I want them to know that God had a hand in their lives from the very beginning. I want them to know me and my thoughts because there aren't enough moments in the day to express them.  I also want other friends to know that they are not alone in their hard days, and that God is real. Most of all, I want to make God smile.
           In my last post, I showed you my kooky smiley face. I was also in the middle of painting some serious yellow on my walls. My hubby rolled out the Aquatic Green on our hallway and a few comments about their union. I love those two colors; and although the 2 x 5 strip of them together looked great, on the walls they looked awful. In our last town, there was a house on campus with this crazy rainbow assortment of colors. My girls would always say they wanted to live in that house. However, my six-year-old child quipped that our colored walls were "too crazy" for even her. Half-pint said it reminded her of a bathroom. Today when I picked up our copy of Usborne books "Find the Duck", I discovered my subliminal inspiration. When I looked at those two bold colors competing for my attention, I felt like a miserable decorating flunkee.
          It lasted on the walls just overnight before I grabbed the primer and went to work. We had hastily cleaned up and stored our painting paraphernalia in the garage before friends came over to witness the "tropical" look on walls ("tropical" was their word,  not mine). It was 6am when I dragged the supplies out and noticed a few sprinkles coming down on our van. The sun was shining brightly. I began to get very excited.  This could mean only one thing: A RAINBOW!  I started searching and saw the tip of a gorgeous double rainbow.  I dashed into the house to grab my phone because I knew it wouldn't last long. After snapping a couple shots of the northern end, I slowly scanned south to see where it landed. Our house was at the end of the rainbow.  I took a video clip and tried a panoramic shot, but it started fading and the rain stopped.
           I'm convinced it was a small display of beauty just for me. Was it God saying, "Now this is how to do color!"? Was He trying to show me that he didn't put blue next to yellow in the rainbow,  so I shouldn't either? Perhaps. When I close my eyes and really listen, I think He was saying something like this: "The reason you like color is because I like it too. You were made in my image. I like what your trying. Don't give up. You are special...that's why I made the rainbow end on your house. I made this rainbow just for you...because I love you!" When I shared the pictures of the rainbow with Charles, he said that it "must be the gold walls" we just painted. Whatever the reason, the timing and location of that rainbow made me smile and feel special. Rainbows became significant for me after going through the "The Great Banquet". There is a song that we sang repeatedly that talks about the colors of the rainbow being like the many facets of God's love. God may not be on Facebook, but He does control creation. Seeing that rainbow perched above our home felt like He had left an enormous comment on the sky for me instead of my computer screen that read, "I LOVE YOU in so many ways! <3" He loves us all, so what has He done lately for you that felt like a comment? If you can't think of anything,  I dare you to be bold and ask for a comment. Then, keep your eyes wide open and share it.

While I Am Unaware

          I watched Half-pint struggling with her emotions as friend after friend was unable to come to the Buddy Bash event at a martial arts school we joined two weeks back. I wanted to make something happen for her; but the more people we asked, the more we were turned down. People were out of town or were hosting other guests. Some already belonged to another dojo. Everyone had very good reasons,  but my little girl still took it pretty hard. I told her that maybe she'd make a buddy there. She insisted that there was no one even close to her age in her class that still had a white belt (the party was only for white belts). Having lots of siblings is usually a big plus because you can always count on them as a buddy. Normally Mary would've just been her buddy, but Mary had rehearsal that night for the upcoming community theatre that she's apart of.
        Earlier in the week, I had been feeling a similar frustration. Very honestly,  I told God that I felt like He'd forgotten all about me. My first new friend (remember my flourless chocolate cake flop) I'd made since coming here moved away a little over a week ago. Although I know it's not very mature, I pouted over it. I didn't want to say goodbye to her. I liked her too much. I told God I didn't think He was doing a very good job of answering my prayers. Right away, He brought another friend's name to my mind who has been a direct answer to specific prayer. However on our very first playdate, she shared that she anticipated moving in the next few months. My "answer to prayer" would be moving too. I brought this up to Him to point out that I still felt neglected by Him. As I sat down to journal, I specifically asked to feel His presence that day. I had just had so many days that I felt lost in the shuffle...like God was too busy with someone else to really "be there" for me. Later that day, Mary laughed and said, "Mom, you have a smiley face on your leg!" I have no idea what I leaned against; but sure enough,  there were two eyes and a mouth imprinted on my leg. That's just the sort of kooky sign that makes me know it was no coincidence. It made me and the girls laugh out loud. It also made me aware that God was there the whole time, waiting for me stop being so oblivious and trust Him.
          The next day, I found out my "answer to prayer" no longer had to move. I was shocked and extremely grateful...and I felt like a great big whiner (Is this where my kids get it?)! This all happened the day before Half-pint was agonizing over the lack of a "buddy". Guess what happened at the Buddy Bash? She made a new friend who's only a couple months younger than her...that happens to homeschool...and whose mom happens to have the exact same name as my friend that moved away. Seriously! What are the odds on that?? My hubby pointed out that this has been a really great week for me: a great friend is staying put, a new friend has just surfaced, and Charles spent his three day weekend patching and painting our kitchen/dining room and hallway (which is a serious labor of love if you saw all the holes and cracks in those walls and knew how much he despises drywall compound). Last night as I was cutting in the happy face shade of yellow (inspired by a friend's autumnal picture in a golden grove),  my heart was all smiles. Even getting my hair stuck in a fly strip couldn't spoil my day. Even realizing on our way to church that I still had fly trap goo in my hair didn't bother me. This morning, I couldn't help but sing along with Lincoln Brewster,

"You dance over me
While I am unaware
You sing all around
But I never hear the song

Lord I'm amazed by you...
And how you love me."

        Are you pre-happy face? Know that God is there. He hears you, even if He isn't answering every prayer the way you asked.  On the drive home from the bash, Half-pint remarked that she probably would've never made a new friend if her sister or friends were there. If God isn't answering "yes", it's because He has something better in mind. He's getting ready to give you a smile too.

The Story of "Oh, Glory!" and Other Wordiness on the Prarie

          Mr. Blue Eyes is realizing the power of words. He's recently discovered the word "no", and all the power it can hold. Screaming it at his sisters can result in them backing down from swiping his toys that he's decided only he can use (like his treasured rocking horse). Thankfully,  he is yet to discover the word "Mine!" He is just beginning to understand the consequences of ignoring our "no". This weekend,  he had several time outs from the outdoors, when he tried to ignore me. His snotty nose and red eyes are pretty pathetic, but I resisted the power of his cuteness. He's not only learning words, but gestures as well. When I deliver him from time out, he usually gives me a sweet little kiss and hug. You may think me heartless to squelch his fun, but he's been trying to make it through our pasture to our gravel road (and was close to success this last week). Yes, our son is a runner. Too bad for him, I am too. Of course, he still smeared bird poop all over his outfit last week while I was distracted.  It's pretty easy to get your hands (and shoes) on it with 25 chickens and 8 ducks that free range. The country is awesome and beautiful,  but not exactly sanitary.
            Our sweet son also learned another new word besides "no" this past week. Father's Day Eve he began calling Charles, "Dada". He's had the sound capability for a while, but insisted on calling Charles by other names (with great enthusiasm but inaccuracy). For some reason, teaching him the sign while saying "Dada" helped him connect the two together within a couple of days. I love hearing him scream "Dada!" each time he catches a glimpse of him, except when Charles is mowing and I have to convince Mr. Blue Eyes that he can't ride on the "brmm-brmm".
           Going through the produce section of a grocery store is both heartbreaking and hilarious as he screams "BALL!" for every round produce...lemons, onions, limes, kiwi, tomatoes,  and my personal favorite, enormous watermelons. He just wants to chuck each and every item accross the store. He cries when he's told "no throwing" to the items we do pick up. Our last trip to the store was much easier because he wanted to go on the "Ba Poo" ride ( baby translation: Winnie the Pooh) at the end of the shopping trip. Every time he nearly threw a shopping item, I asked him if he wanted a ride. At one point on our trip, he literally paused with his arm poised behind his head and then thoughtfully put down the can of tomato paste.
           It's good to listen and not just talk all the time, so I've taken a break from some of my wordiness by reducing posts.  Summer has been a good time to reconnect with Charles and the kids, and put my phone down. (It's also been necessary to put it down, due to the unexplained back-up of 499 of my photos that stole 75% of my data allowance for the month of June by the time I'd hit June 5th.) 
            We took a work/business trip earlier this month and helped my mom pick 15 quarts of strawberries. 30 beautiful pints of freezer jam resulted along with a few memorable moments.  One nearly forgotten phrase that I heard at my mom's was: "Oh, Glory!" My mom has uttered this every time she hurt herself for as long as I can remember. I also realized I'd forgotten why she said that. She said that she was thanking God that she could even feel the pain. One of my mom's dearest friends was a paraplegic; and when my mom would complain about her back hurting or her toe getting stubbed, her friend would tell her how she wished she could feel the pain. If she could've had a backache,  it'd meant she could walk. If she'd stubbed her toe, she would've been grateful to be up and moving again. I always thought I was doing good just uttering "Ouch!" when I got hurt instead of swearing. However, my mom challenged me to show gratitude in my pain. I'll have to work on that.
          Because no trip with five kids can ever be uncomplicated (despite getting to take along my 15 year old, permit-packin' neice), we also had 10 ducklings emerge after taking them with us in the incubator. The adaptor that we used in the van to run the heating element worked well enough that the remaining 3 eggs  successfully hatched too (albeit four days later than usual). We also took two one-week-old ducklings along. Half-pint snuck them out of the box a couple times to sit on her lap. I couldn't help but smile as they snuggled into her hands and turned their heads backwards (in true ducky fashion) for a nap. My mom may have a heart of gratitude, but she would've never tolerated ducklings on a seven hour road trip. I don't think I would've heard "Oh, Glory!", but rather a firm "No!" if I tried to take some along. We ended up selling seven of the ducklings on the business portion of our trip through our old hometown. It was a short sweet trip; and if we didn't see you this time, it's probably only because you didn't have strawberries or ask for ducklings. We will try to catch you on the next round.          
           What's the newest word around the Ingall's farm? There may be some goats appearing before cows. Let's all take in a deep breath together and exhale, "Oh, Glory!"

The Real Deal

          My parents forced me into slave labor by the time I was old enough to walk. By slave labor, I mean gardening. It wasn't too bad until I hit the age where I developed my sense of justice; and all of a sudden, I didn't want to spend my summer in the sun sweating and pulling weeds. I think that would've been right around elementary school when I was old enough to realize other children weren't forced into such atrocious ways of spending their summer. They were busy eating sweet Fla-Vor-Ice and running through a sprinkler, while I was stuck eating peas and tomatoes with mud-caked nails. Like my mother before me, I vowed that I would "NEVER have a garden when I grew up".
            As I grew up, my tastebuds matured beyond colored sugar water, and I realized that homegrown produce was much better tasting (although I still think garage ripened tomatoes from the final pre-frost season in October taste nasty). Now, we are the parents of children that are encouraged to help in our garden (note that they are NOT slave laborers because we have not planted our entire yard in crops like my dad did...yet). We were out gardening as a family on Friday, when I showed the girls how to tell what plants were weeds and which ones were potatoes (since that was the patch we were tackling).  We've had some pesky beetles attack some plants, leaving many with holes; but I was still pretty confident in identifying potatoes because of my years of servitude.  Potatoes are an awesome crop because they usually grow so fast they only need a few weedings to choke out the competition. I highly recommend them for the beginning gardener (plus potatoes keep nicely most of the winter if stored cool and in the dark). When I got near the end of weeding, I grabbed one of the plants only to get poked by it's thorns. Since when did potato plants get thorns? The weeds were  perfectly spaced and, in some cases, were growing right next to the real deal. I had been fooled. Take a look at the picture. Can you spot the weed? I had to go back through and weed through the "plants".
            Gardening is good for my introverted soul. I'm usually quiet. (I say usually because this past week I was little Miss Chatterbox when helping plant a forrest garden with my hubby...sorry, Charles). While pulling the thorny weeds, I started thinking about all the half-truths in our lives that are close to the truth. They fool us into letting them grow in the garden of our life. Little thoughts like "I need time away from the kids" is true, but if it grows into thoughts like "I'm tired of never having enough time for me", it could lead to neglect of your kids. Thoughts like "I really messed up" can be true but can be either self-destructive or motivational, depending on what grows from it. If it becomes "all I ever do is mess up", we need to pull that weed/thought out right away.  If it grows into "I will apologize for messing up and behave differently next time", our mistake can lead to learning. Our thought bears fruit (or vegetables, if we're sticking with the whole potatoes analogy).
          How do we judge weeds from plants? If you relied on me or others, you could be just as disappointed as I was with my "fake" potatoes. Today, I read 2 Cor 10 which talks about our true struggle being supernatural,  not physical.  I am convinced there is another unseen rhelm in play all the time. There is a force determined to deceive you. Verses 3-5 say, "For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ." If you're like me, you may be saying, "Great! I've heard that verse before.  How do you take thoughts captive?" Here's what I believe (but I'd love to hear your thoughts on it...feel free to leave them below.): When we have a thought, we need to be intentional on what we keep and what we weed out based on whether is true, noble, lovely, admirable,  excellent, or praiseworthy (Phil. 4:8). How do we even begin to judge what is true? The best way I've found to determine the veracity of a thought is by reading the Bible for myself. It is our truth. It is our sword of the spirit, our weapon for demolishing stongholds. Let the Holy Spirit guide you. There is nothing wrong with listening to a pastor or teacher; but just as you eat daily, you need to eat spiritual food daily, not just weekly at church. We live in a time where the Bible is easily readable with many translation options. (Here's an online reading plan.) Many of you helped your kids sign up for a summer reading program, why not plan one for yourself in the best book of all time?
          Inevitably,  you may make a mistake or two on your thoughts. Maybe you are like me and don't recognize that it's a weed till you get hurt. No biggie! Just go back, do a little more weeding and ask Christ for help. Think about what you know is truth (having scripture memorized to meditate on instead of that half-truth is fabulous when you can't get a thought from replaying in your head). God wants us to be victorious, and He will help us all the way. We just have to ask. My hubby sent me this great link to top five regrets people have on their deathbed. I don't want mine to be that I tended the weeds and lost my true produce--the things that would've nourished me, not poked me. Happy gardening!

A Natural Mother

          I look at our cat Tiger, and I'm awe...and a little jealous.  She's not even a year old, but she gave birth to eight amazing kittens last week. There was no midwife to hold her hand; although judging by the frantic exodus of the other cats when I opened the porch door, I'd say her fellow cats heard and saw zmore than they wanted. All day long she willing jumps into the box with the kittens and nurses them till they are happily asleep (there is no pediatrician advising her not to nurse them to sleep). Occasionally, I see her jump out for a cat nap in solitude, food, or water. I cannot imagine nursing that many little ones at once, let alone as new mom. Yet, she does it all effortlessly. She even purrs. There's not even a fellow parent to help her out. It makes me feel like a bit of a whiner. She makes motherhood look easy.  Motherhood is difficult and challenging for me, and anyone else who is honest.

            Of course, she never deals with switching out clothes for different seasons or preparing meals, or figuring out crazy things like which orthodontists to go to...or loses her credit card (I'm speaking from very recent experience). Her boy doesn't fall down stairs while attempting to escape the back porch and get hen-pecked on his eyelid after falling onto the hen, making him look like the perfect model for an article entitled "How to Fail at Keeping Your Child Supervised and Safe". She happily nurses for weeks till they grow up and start catching their own dinner or eating from the cat bowl...not for months or even years as the World Health Organization recommends for human babies. She feels no pressure to make decisions about schools or sports or budgets. She doesn't have to cut birds from her diet to because her kittens are sensitive to them. (I tried adding gluten back into Mr. Blue Eyes diet once again, only to have the phlegmy noise return to his breathing within twelve hours...Gracie immediately noticed he was "purring" again.) Life isn't all peaches for her though. She gave birth to eight, but one died shortly after it's birth. Another still had it's placenta attached and appeared to be dead because of it's failure to find her and start nursing. Thankfully,  Half-pint stroked the cool kitten and it moved enough to prove it still had a little bit of fight left (we cut the dried placenta the following day when Tiger still failed to remove it). It's a week later and it's impossible to tell that one apart from it's siblings. I guess we all need a little help from time to time. I found out this week that the verse our girl's had memorized for church this month is Galatians 6:9 which says, "So let's not allow ourselves to get fatigued doing good. At the right time we will harvest a good crop if we don't give up, or quit." It's been a good reminder of the rewards of perseverance, as I've also cut up half a dozen ticks in the past couple of days. Keep on parenting, dear friends. It will be worth it in the end!

The Colors on the Canvas

           It's blog hop time...kind of. I realize it's Sunday and not Thursday,  but some of you may be like me and just now getting around to reading through your email's from this past week, only to catch up on your favorite blogs. Some of you may be even more like me, soothing your inner introvert at 3am by blogging in peace and quiet. If it means something to just one of you reading this, then it is totally worth it. After all, it's better to come late to the party than stay at home. The topic for this month's Hearts at Home blog hop was "Love Your Story". 
            I grew up watching ABC's Wide World of Sports on Saturdays and loved the line about "the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat." The images they showed were always so poignantly perfect for those words. If I had video tape footage of my entire life, I could show you brilliant images for both of those phrases. Those words are my story in a nutshell. Since no such video exists, let me paint a picture for you.
           You'd need to start with some warm corals. They would represent all the love I felt from my mom and my dad. I was wanted and loved in my family,  especially since my mom had lost three babies before me. There were a few sad moments in my childhood, like the loss of pets, that caused a few grumpy streaks of gray in my early childhood,  but not enough to overtake the warm corals.
         My first stroke of blue came on my seventh birthday, when I sang at my best friend's funeral (along with my other fellow first graders). I had heard the shocking news just a few days earlier, and I couldn't believe that he had actually died. A motorcyclist had raced through an intersection, crashed into the back seat of the car he was riding in, and killed him instantly. Thankfully,  my parents both helped me process what had happened and led me to pray to God for help and comfort. So much of my life was still wrapped in love that there was coral added to that blue, which left some soft lavendar at the heart of me.
          Then there was an even more intense stroke of blue, so intense that it bordered on the bright cobalt blue that I am so fond of. Six and a half years after my first loss, my dad died of cancer. My dad was a pastor, loved all things holistic long before that was trendy (he plowed up almost our entire yard to plant various beans one year), and had young children not ready to be without their father. I was just thirteen and my brother was almost seventeen. I turned to God again because that was how I was raised and that is what made the most sense to me. He wrapped me in so much love that my cobalt blue had some rich purple to parts to it.
            The next portion of my life was so dark that you'd have to paint this part with black. Five and a half years later, I was left with another loss. This one wasn't public or even on anyone's radar. In fact, I held this loss as a secret for thirteen years. There are always two sides to everything. God whispered, "Trust me! I'm still here, and I will bring good from this!" (Romans 8:28) Satan sneared at my loss, hoping I'd wallow in self-pity, and believe that no one could love me if they really knew about secret parts of my picture. (You can read about that part of my canvas here.)
            I let myself drift away from God because I distanced myself from "the church", from the hypocrites that I couldn't stand to be apart of. However, motherhood brought me new surprises...a desire for our children to know God. How could I teach them what I was unsure of though? More black snuck onto my picture with the experience of a miscarriage after my first two girls were born, but a soft white glow began to cast it's light on all that black (including my hidden secrets) till it was pushed to the outer limits of my canvas through an event called "The Great Banquet". A few nights after that my secrets came into the open, and I began sharing that part of my story with others (the first time was on the fifteen year anniversary). That's when I finally accepted God's love and began reaching out to others as part of an imperfect church that was made up of us very imperfect people. That love was so warm you'd notice some brilliant red on my canvas as well as the white glow that grew and grew. It overflowed into everything and touched everyone around me. All my life began to make sense in light of this verse: 2 Corinthians 1:3-5.  It says, "All praise to the God and Father of our Master, Jesus the Messiah! Father of all mercy! God of all healing counsel! He comes alongside us when we go through hard times, and before you know it, he brings us alongside someone else who is going through hard times so that we can be there for that person just as God was there for us. We have plenty of hard times that come from following the Messiah, but no more so than the good times of his healing comfort—we get a full measure of that, too."
          Last year, I was challenged to look for patterns in my life while participating in the study "Believing God". We split our life into five sections; and since I was 36 at the time, that meant looking at seven year periods. I found that I had experienced a major loss of a loved one in each period. God has comforted me through them and placed me in the path of others who have experienced the same things. My loss has helped me to help others who've experienced a miscarriage (and had no one to talk to). My secrets have helped me to stop judging others. God's love has helped me to truly love my story and trust that He is enough even when challenges come.
           There may be major losses in the five periods of my life, but you'd be blind to not see the gorgeous green on my canvas as well. He gave me five children to love and be blessed by (and yes, sometimes overwhelmed by...like my recent trip to "Mom's Night Out"). Stand back and take look at the full picture. It's not perfect, or completed yet, but I think that the Painter is beginning to like the way it looks.

Check out more mom's stories at www.jillsavage.org

Mother's Day Out

           Who would bring their kids to a movie entitled "Mom's Night Out"? Isn't the whole premise about a mom getting away from her children? One mother chose to ignore the logic and brought four children into said movie, only to be interrupted several times to settle disputes over popcorn and notified (via frantic leg kicking) that one six-year-old's blatter was about to burst. Yes, in case you haven't guessed, that crazy mom was me.
           I put out a query the night before on Facebook,  wondering if any area friends wanted to go.  As soon as dear Charles gave me the green light, Half-pint begged to go with me. Mary chimed in, and before long Carrie and Gracie had tear-filled puppy dog eyes. Everyone wanted to go.
           Boundaries are not my strong point. I am an empathizer. I can totally see everyone else's point, even to the point of forgetting my own. I boldly declared to the girls that they could only go IF no one else responded. I was tempted to say that only the older girls could go and leave behind my four and six year old, but I felt like I'd be showing preference.  My hubby is so good at including everyone in what he does that sometimes I feel a little selfish for saying "no". He can be working on the car or planting trees, and he will willingly take five times longer to do something just to include them. I decided to see what www.dove.org said. After all, the movie was rated PG. Dove is really careful to lay everything out in a conservative manner. Many PG "kid's" movies are only recommended for ages 10 and up. I was hoping I could point to them as a justification for leaving Carrie and Grace behind. Nope. They said it was suitable for "all ages". I hate being the bad guy.
         I checked Facebook, and texted a couple of friends.  No one was avaiable. It was Mother's Day. What kind of mom leaves her kids behind when they are the reason for her being celebrated?  After attending the movie, I think the appropriate answer would be "a smart one." The movie was great and my older two really liked it; but despite going to the bathroom before the movie, one hour and forty minutes is too long for a six year old to hold it. Gracie kept talking to me during the film because only some of it was engaging to a four year old's mind. I had to remind her that I couldn't understand the film if she talked to me the whole time. When I told Charles,  he told me that she always talks during movies. Clearly, it's been a while since I've sat down to watch a movie with her...and it may be a while before I do again.
             Despite the distractions, I could really relate to a lot of the movie. I laughed A LOT...from the moment she said she was a "mommy blogger", to when she had a CD issue in her vehicle (been there done that), to when she hid from the kids to eat chocolate in her closet. I laughed at the reference to homeschooling and especially the arrest of the man who killed "mama". What stayed with me the most was when she was talking with Bones about how inadequate she felt. She didn't feel like she was enough. I know how that has felt a lot in my lifetime.  Bones asked her, "Enough for whom?" At the bottom of all her feelings of inadequacy were her own expectations for herself,  not her children's, her husband's or even God's. It made me stop and think about why I don't feel like I'm enough at times. The reality is that it's mainly because of what I'm telling myself or the lies I've chosen to believe.  That message in the film stayed with me beyond those two hours. It stayed with me through this whole week, and I've thought of it many times when I felt overwhelmed.  Bones told the main character that his mama always told him that God loved him just the way he is. I've tried to remember that more this past week, especially when I don't feel like enough. I've also chuckled to myself (clearly much later) over my "moments" I've had since the movie...one of them very shortly after I came home and was confronted with the fact that my house does resemble more of her messed up house than I'd like to admit. Repeat after me: "I am enough."

If you haven't seen the movie, you should...but leave your little ones at home!