A Day With a Man's Man (Legacy of a Man's Man)

 As we approach “Dads and Dudes #2”, it reminds me of a “man’s man” I knew as I host this event for the second time.  The design is (very) loosely based on an event he hosted many times over a couple of weekend days in Peoria, Illinois, and one that I was fortunate enough to participate in.  That weekend was modeled after “Wild at Heart” (book written by and retreat hosted by John Eldredge) and involved knife throwing (way before axe throwing was cool), four wheeling, trap shooting, shooting guns, paintball, lamb neck soup, and a giant fire in his “Lapa” where he displayed his mastery of the “art of the provocative question”.

Northwoods Community Church in Peoria was such a large church, so Rachel and I probably attended years before meeting Pete and Wanda Hanssen, and I don’t remember exactly how we all met, but I do remember the bone-crushing handshake and his South African accent.  It was either through Rachel’s connection with his wife Wanda or through the group of men I met through Northminster Presbyterian’s Great Banquet.  I do remember my introduction to Wild at Heart was through the Great Banquet Group, so the guys didn’t take much convincing to participate in this local “Wild at Heart” experience.

In early May this year, I learned that Pete had died nearly two months prior.  Unfortunately, I learned of it too late for me to be able to attend his celebration of life – one that I would have dropped everything to attend.

I reflected on the news and Pete and his impact on me for a couple of days before I collected my thoughts enough to call Wanda.  Some of my recollection included the facts that Pete was a former bush pilot in South Africa who moved to Peoria to help establish Wildlife Prairie Park.  I remember one of my conclusions about all of my reflecting was that he was truly a man’s man.  After catching up briefly, Wanda sent me the link to his memorial service, and it was validating to hear the theme over and over - “he was a man’s man”.

As a guy that grew up with an absent father, Pete is one of the men that had a fatherly impact on me - even though we didn’t spend a whole lot of time together.  During the “Wild at Heart” weekend, we sat around a fire in the “Lapa” (I have yet to construct a copy) and talked about God and real-life stuff (recall the “art of the provocative question”).  Like the encouragement that I should try to reconnect with my absent father, which I attempted a couple of times.  Pete followed up with me on that many times over the next couple of years.

All of that said, there is one day in particular that comes to mind where it was just he and I.  More manliness was crammed into that one day than other entire periods of my life. 

Here’s how that day came about.

One year for the Global Leadership Summit (GLS) – probably around 2008 – we hosted a group of friends before the event to encourage them to attend.  Pete and Wanda were already GLS attenders, so we invited them to the picnic at our house where I smoked a pork shoulder and ribs.  Pete seemed impressed, which surprised me because of his well-established “man’s man” status.

I was also surprised at future communication where he said things like, “I know nothing of this hot smoke game” and after smoking some meat of his own, his reference to the “cagey” process of maintaining the proper smoking temperature.  The conversations led to request to spend a day with him “showing him" the “hot smoke game”.

I don’t remember the outcome from the smoker or what we smoked, but I do remember him following up on my progress with my dad.  I also vividly remember some other events from the day – such as when Pete poured gas from his gas can on the burn pile and then made a line out about 20 feet to light it.  I laughed so much watching him do what they always tell you not to do that it made him laugh about doing something that was apparently routine to him. 

I was surprised when it lit without incident.  Another man’s man that influenced me when I was a bit younger had used gasoline to light the leaves we had raked into the ditch.  I still don’t know if the big “BOOM” that caused the leaves to skyrocket into the air and then gently float back down into the ditch was an expected outcome or not.

Since my son and I are outnumbered by my 4 daughters, I have tried to be intentional about doing some “manly” things together so he can learn to manage the cagey smoker temperature and understand the hot smoke game.  So instead of experiencing those firsts with a fill-in, he can experience them with his dad.

Pete knew part of his purpose here and has helped me remember mine.  When I think about all the mens’ lives he impacted, I’m grateful as are many of my Peoria friends.

I clearly thought of Pete when I hosted the first “Dads and Dudes” two years ago, and this year and the future years will remind me of his legacy. 

Maybe someday it can grow to the scale Pete had it going.  One of these days, I’ll get to work on that Lapa.

Skiing and Grief

One of my bucket list items was to ski in Colorado.  I am 45 and not a skier, though, so I don’t exactly know why it was on my bucket list.  It just was, and I was nervous due to my age and lack of experience.  I’ve skied once in my life when I was around 13 years old in Illinois.  So you know it was really just a big hill, nothing like the ~12,000 ft peak I took 60% of my kids to on Sunday.

I did sign us up for lessons, though, and after our two-hour training session, I was ready to quit for the day.  Even with three days to acclimate, I had fallen several times and I was out of energy.  The kids were disappointed I wouldn’t join them on the practice slope after we stopped for a break for lunch.  I thought… this doesn’t really check off my bucket list item, and I didn’t want to disappoint them, so I joined them on the practice slope.

I was relieved when I realized it wasn’t nearly as taxing as the lessons.  I still fell many times, though.  Once, I slammed so hard on my back, I thought, “I guess I don’t need a Chiropractor today.”  I hoped no one was watching.  I hoped my kids didn’t think I was pathetic.  They didn’t fall once all day on the practice slope.

I finally made it down twice in a row without wiping out.  I thought again, “This doesn’t really check skiing in Colorado off my bucket list.  I’m getting there, but this doesn’t count.”

Knowing my middle daughter was open to being adventurous and that she had hinted at going down the bigger slope – the one the ski instructor said takes 15 minutes to get to the top on the lift and can take an hour to get back down.  We talked about going and agreed that the instructor was likely exaggerating.  After all, the ski lift is slow and if it takes 15 minutes to get to the top, you wouldn’t ski that slow, so we agreed that even with breaks coming down, maybe 30 minutes tops.

It was a nice relaxing ride up and a chance to rest.  On the way up, we picked the easiest slope.  It was pretty much a straight shot to the bottom.  And if it were like the practice hill, we checked our calculations – we agreed again 30 minutes max.

As we exited the lift, we both immediately lost our balance and wiped out.  And we weren’t even on the slope yet.  I’m not sure if I lost my balance because her arms were flailing or if she lost hers because mine were.

The operator had to stop the lift.  That was embarrassing.  “Are you OK, big guy?”  We got up and out of the way quickly.  I gave myself grace and assumed the onlookers were thinking,  “Poor guy.  He’ll get it figured out.”

We started down the easiest slope, and I quickly learned it wasn’t really like the practice slope at all.  After wiping out twice and seeing my daughter come check on me and wait for me, I told her she didn’t need to wait for me and could ski at her own pace.  I didn’t want to hold her back.

The way down took me at least 1.5 hours.  I didn’t time it.  It might have been closer to 2. 

I had so many epic wipeouts, but I kept trying. 

I kept thinking, “Wiping out fortunately isn’t as bad as it looks.  It’s the energy required to get up and go for it again knowing I’ll wipe out again.”  Maybe it would have been different knowing I would be able to make it an appreciable distance before another wipeout.

I wasn’t making it far between wipeouts.  I wiped out 10 times.  At least. But I got up 11. At least.

I wasn’t really counting.  I just kept taking my time to rest before getting back up.  Psyching myself up thinking I’d finally get the hang of it this next go.  I took my time and thought about the ways this journey was like my grief journey.  I stopped to appreciate the view and took the attached picture.

About halfway down, I noticed a lady in a similar situation.  Alternating cycles of wiping out and resting.  I felt some sort of solidarity with her.

Not much longer after halfway, I finally gave up and decided I would just walk down the rest of the way.  I had hiked a 14er after all, and although my boots weren’t nearly as comfortable as my hiking shoes, they seemed more supportive, so my joints weren’t sore at all.  However, if I got into softer snow, my foot quickly sank so that I was up to my knees in snow.  It took so much energy to extract myself and crawl to firmer ground.

After a couple more attempts on her part to ski, my partner in solidarity started walking too.  Maybe I gave her the courage to decide it was ok to walk the rest of the way.

Her and I alternated passing one another and taking breaks.  I made a couple of jokes here and there to keep our journey a little lighter.  “Have you considered laying face down on your skis and riding to the bottom like you’re on a sled?  I have.”

At one point, I commented, “Hey, we have a long way to go but look how far we’ve come” as I looked down and then up where we had been.  She said she appreciated that.  At one point, she said, “This is the easiest slope here, but it’s definitely not for beginners.”  I guess we both had to find out for ourselves.

I had to take a couple of long breaks during which my travel companion made it to the bottom while I had at quite a way left to go.  I was happy for her, yet I also knew I couldn’t push it too hard, or I’d have ski patrol taking me down involuntarily.

Walking in those boots and sinking in the snow a little with every step was taxing enough and just holding the skis was taxing my hands, arms, and shoulders.  So when a lady stopped and asked if she could take my skis to the bottom for me, I accepted her help without hesitation.  I asked her name: “Diane”.  At least I think that’s what she said.  I was so exhausted I don’t remember.  I wanted to express my undying love for her but realized that probably wasn’t as funny as I thought it would be.  Plus she was wearing a wedding ring, and her husband also wouldn’t think that was funny.  I didn’t see him around, though.  Yet I refrained.

“Diane” skied down the slope with the skis on her shoulder like it was nothing.  Just casually meandering down the slope.  She probably made it in 30 seconds compared to the 15 to 20 minutes I still had to finish.

After I reached the bottom, I walked directly to the equipment rental room to shed the ski equipment as soon as I possibly could.  As I entered, I ran into my “hiking” companion and her family.  Her mom thanked me profusely, so although I wasn’t sure I had had an impact, it was validation that I had.  Even though I was struggling (and actually finished AFTER her), I was still able to provide some sort of support along the way.  I told her mom we might have motivated each other but she still won.

As I reflect over the experience and try to capture the thoughts I had about how it reminded me of my grief journey, I remember thinking the following:

-          Falling down is a lot easier than mustering the energy to keep getting up.

-          I was aware of what I needed along the way – rest and to change my approach, and I acted on that awareness

-          I accepted help without hesitation

-          I felt mostly alone in my journey – except for this other person that was in a similar predicament and the lady that I have undying love for…

-          I had to let go of my image of what skiing would be like and get into the reality of the situation

-          Skip the chiropractor and go skiing

The only difference might be that I knew exactly where I was going – the bottom of the hill to meet my kids.  Were they wondering if I was OK?  In grief, though, I didn’t know which way was up.  Yet I still knew I needed to continue to meet my kids.  Daily.  That kept me going.

Maybe most importantly for me, though, was a new insight I hadn’t considered before: struggling people can help struggling people.  We can help and encourage one another no matter where we are on the path.

But… this still didn’t count as skiing in Colorado as far as I’m concerned.  I suppose I’ll need to try it again.  And as my kids suggested before our trip, it would probably be wise to practice at our local ski area before going back.

Blind Spots

Today, a friend posted a meme that said something about us loving an honest person until the honest person strikes a chord with a truth we’re not ready to receive.

It reminded me of a Leadership Summit I attended since we’ve been in Kansas City.  I don’t remember who the speaker was, but what he said has always stuck with me: “Everyone has an average of 3.4 blind spots.”  The challenge was precisely to be ready and open for feedback on things about ourselves that we don’t see but others do.

Talk about blind spots.  Wow.  Although pride would probably like to think it was my openness to self-reflection, it was probably really the sheer weight and force of the grief that persisted, insisted, and required me to review and reflect over literally everything.  

Seemingly trivial things we decided together over a number of years like:

• At Culver’s who is the one to take the kids to a suitable table and get everyone settled while the other gets drinks, lids, straws, napkins, and ketchup?

• Which way does the toilet paper go on the holder?  (By the way, it clearly goes over as indicated by the flowers being right-side up on one brand).

• What about the toilet seat?  (Everyone puts both the lid and the seat down.  Not only is it fair and doesn’t make it a male vs female issue because then everyone has to do a little work every time, it also just looks better).

Yet also things like recognizing where I was a constraint in our relationship, and not helping but feel like I was THE constraint.  I look back and wonder even more than I used to how you “put up” with me.  If I could only talk to you again about the things I see now.  If only I knew then what I know now.  I’m deeply saddened to think about how much further we could have gone.

Yet I didn’t know what I didn’t know.  But now I know and it makes me responsible for knowing.  And now I know that there’s plenty I don’t know.  Did you get lost in what I just said like I did?  Like in the movie “The Burbs”:  “Now they know that we know that they know that we know.”  Or something along those lines…

"The Lawn Looks Nice"

Every once in awhile, it just hits.  I mean REALLY hits.  Saturday was one of those days when I don't really know if I'm having a huge pity party or just allowing myself to feel again.  Either way, I try to allow it when I recognize it.  Sadness.  Loneliness.  Pain.  Sorrow.  Etc.

On Saturday, I was really missing... Saturdays.  There was always something special about Saturdays.  Me sometimes making breakfast or taking one of the kids on a breakfast date while Rachel slept in and had a (relatively) easy morning that generally had no commitments.  The division of responsibilities that had just naturally developed over the years as we grew together and grew our family - mowing and taking care of other maintenance around the house.  Grilling in the evening and just hanging out.  Watching "Star Trek" and "Svengoolie" on our TV that is just connected to an antenna.

A very specific memory sitting with Caroline and Mr Blue Eyes on the driveway after an enjoyable Saturday.  Watching a storm roll in and feeling like everything was right in our world.

And now, continuing to recognize that contentedness and security no longer exist like that.  And a loneliness pervades.

Sometimes, I get a very specific insight into a generally feeling, and one thing in particular stood out to me as I was mowing.  Hearing Caroline say, "The lawn looks nice".  Wow.  Seemingly trivial words that really energized me.  Just remembering that as I was finishing up boosted me as if she was saying it to me again.  And while it was a positive memory, it was also a deeply sad.

I'm still trying to figure out if there is purpose beyond just for me to express and get things in writing for myself and my kids... Is there a bigger purpose like directly challenging couples to not take these things for granted and encourage each other?  Is what I've written enough to challenge indirectly without directly stating a challenge?

Or should I really be tackling bigger issues like... why do I feel like I keep switching from two spaces after each sentence to one space?  And which way do I really like it?  Keep it old school?  Wait, why exactly are there two spaces anyway and why is it changing so that it's now acceptable for one space?

Back to the Future

Caroline,

I've not written much since my first post months ago and have had several thoughts along the way that are in draft form, but the last couple of weeks have been particularly difficult for various reasons. As I thought about writing out my recent experience, I realized it didn't fit your original intent to capture family stories. After some more thought, I was able to tie in some recent and past events as well that include some of those funny stories.

I decided the "new" purpose would be to try to capture some stories for us to remember but also give the kids some insight into how I have been processing and dealing with the new life in the hopes it also helps them along the way. I hope to help them develop an emotional toolkit much earlier in life than I have.

The title seems appropriate as I think about the past and future a lot and how to apply past learning in a more forward/productive direction.

When I was a boy and someone said, "Hey", the canned response was, "Hay is for horses. And pigs like you." Recently, I imparted that knowledge to the kids... You'll certainly recall my tendency to do those things you may not approve of 100%... Mr. Blue Eyes apparently now uses that phrase regularly. I learned this recently because when I need to get the kids' attention, I simply say, "Hey." Mr. Blue Eyes recently responded, "Hay is for horses and..." and he stopped mid-response as he turned to look at me. I guess he thought better of saying that to dad.

That story reminded me of the time I let the kids watch "Back to the Future" against your advisement. That movie resulted in Carrie once asking you, "What are you looking at, butthead?" I, of course, could not contain my giggling. Disbelief. Thinking you were right about not letting them watch it... Thinking how I would just laugh it off and correct her if she had said it to me... Thinking your response would be exactly what it was and awaiting the impending punishment for Carrie (and me...). Apparently, Mr. Blue Eyes knows better about such things than Carrie did.

I have had two very vivid - and rare - dreams with you in them lately. In the first, you were smiling and waving from across a street. Although I woke up crying, it was refreshing to see you and your smile. In the second, you were back. You were here. Nothing else mattered as I ran up to you and picked you up and hugged and kissed you. Those dreams really took me back. The resulting powerful emotions. A lot of journaling and allowing the emotions and not being able to cry even though I felt like it and wanted to.

Those dreams come as I think and attempt to move into a new romantic future. Desiring to love and be loved like that again. But knowing it is not as "easy" as it was when we were 17. In fact, it wasn't easy for the 22 years we were together. Back then it seemed as simple as, "I like you and you like me, we share values, let's go out". But there was no way to know back then that either of us would make and maintain the commitment as long as we did and work through some difficult times to get to where we were. I have to remind myself that we didn't know back then, and I can't know now, how someone will handle a relationship. It seems like much more of a gamble at this stage of life - particularly with so many different factors to consider that didn't need consideration back then.

Ours was not a relationship of convenience, and I certainly don't want that now. It evolved into one of unexplainable depth and intimacy. But what is that elusive "recipe" now to achieve the depth of intimacy and relationship that we shared? How many  people even understand what that is like? Probably the bottom line questions I'm wrestling with: Am I worthy of experiencing unconditional love twice in my life and, if so, does the other person understand what it really takes? Will I remember what it really takes? Do I have the fortitude to do it again? How do I ratchet back that depth to some more surface level and develop that depth over time instead of delving right in? How do I let it develop naturally without trying to determine up front whether or not it has the ability to be developed?

After some responses and some text messages I've seen, I feel I should clarify a little... Questions also include whether or not I really want to give up the freedom I have doing whatever I want whenever I want to do it (such as letting the kids watch "Back to the Future"??? Ok maybe a lot more than that). My point being it's a lot to think about. I'm not desperate or depressed. I could easily jump into a wrong relationship but have guarded against that fairly well, I think.

It feels like I'm being a bit of a victim while I type this out... As my counselor rightfully points out from time to time.

It still seems unimaginable that you are gone. Just seeing rocking chairs this last week and remembering talking about the days when we are old and on our front porch in rocking chairs playing with grandchildren. That will never happen.

But we are still looking forward and trying to navigate our new lives the best way we can as we direct our attention "Back to the Future".

Always Yours,

Charles

Your Smile

Dear Caroline,

I had a very vivid dream last night where you were standing across a street waving and smiling to me.

I miss your smile. I miss your laugh. I miss your presence. Such an amazing woman in every regard.

So intense at times. I'm thankful you don't have to endure this.

Thank you for the reminder in my dream last night. It was good to see your smile.

Always yours,

Charles

Legacy, Intentionality, and Bitterness

Caroline,

I've thought about continuing your blog.  So many things to write about over the last 15 months and continue your legacy of documenting stories for our family.

I get to choose the adventure, so why not just jump into last weekend?

Ma took Mary, Half-Pint, Carrie, Gracie, and Mr Blue Eyes to our hometown last Tuesday. I missed them all before they even left. When Ma reported that just before I called Wednesday night that Carrie had just said, "I like it here, but I miss dad," I knew that I wanted to make the long drive to see them over the weekend rather than wait another full week.

I kept my visit a surprise, and we all enjoyed the surprise and our time together. From taking Mary on a "date" to the farm store to swimming to dinner from one of our favorite restaurants. There were plenty of hugs and kisses as we loved on one another.

Half-Pint had made a trip to our other former hometown to see friends, and I surprised her Saturday by showing up at the halfway point to pick her up.

I was able to talk to one of your friends about some of the events over the last year. She commented that the kids all seem to be full of Joy and that I don't seem to be harboring bitterness. I don't think I ever felt or thought "why me". I kept repeating a phrase to myself that a mentor had used years before about work. "Better get into reality." It didn't really matter how much I wanted things to be different. I have to get into reality.

I do remember thinking at one point that it should have been me instead of you. But I quickly realized I would not have wished this pain on you.

My problem has been thinking too much about where I failed. But I can choose to dwell or learn. I think I'm better at choosing to learn. That is the only productive thing I can do with it. Or wondering how you could love me the way you did. Sadly, your unconditional love didn't seem quite as clear to me until after you were gone.

Recently, I have been feeling like I'm hitting a good new groove (after extensive "emotional heavy lifting" as I call it) and was excited to go see the kids. But on my way to our home state, the emptiness and emotional waves began to strike.

A widower I met told me that year two is worse than year one. I am not sure about worse - just different. I experienced some very powerful - sometimes incapacitating - emotional waves in year one. Year one seemed to be about survival and having to do this. Year two seems to be more of, "OK, now who are we" without you here. I don't know where I would be without the kids. I told someone this and they remarked, "Where would the kids be without you." Wow.

We all learned what unconditional love is from you and will do our best to continue your legacy. I pray that our children will choose to live as intentionally as you did after the loss of your father at a young age.

Love Always,

Charles

At the Root

My first piece of glitter

          A beautiful piece of glitter first made its appearance in my hair last October (when I turned the ripe old granny age of 39). When I finally noticed it, it was about one inch long and sticking straight up in the air Dennis the Menace style...very flattering. I've anticipated this arrival for a long time (my mom started getting gray hair in her mid-twenties), but now that my grays are coming out, my thoughts and ideas are being challenged. My mom has always been a great example of embracing her age; but with her full head of gray hair, she has also looked much older than her peers. Is looking old bad? No...unless I listen to everything I think others are saying...if I watch their eagerness to rid of themselves of unwanted grays. Is getting rid of my under eye circles with concealer any different? How do you age gracefully minus frump? I think this answer is different for every woman. My hubby has always been pro-gray and anti-dye. I've known this since we starting dating decades ago. I don't have a problem with being natural (but don't take away my concealer). It actually fits me. Even being counter-cultural, fits me. Not feeling beautiful when I'm officially "old", does not fit me (or any other woman that I'm aware of). I'd like our kids to be at peace with when they grow glitter from their head as well, but I don't want them to feel judged if they want dye like I want concealer.
          My hair's not the only root that's been changing. I now have some mineral trioxide deep down in one of my teeth. Just before  my birthday, I had a deep cavity filled for the second time, while being told that I'd probably need a root canal sooner than later. Since my tooth began giving me fits on the weekend when no endodontist is available, I decided to try essential oils. There were all kinds of testimonials about avoiding root canals, but that wasn’t my case.  The melaleuca and clove oil helped me from having a full blown face-swelling infection, but my infected root still died and irritated my other roots.  I did end up finding a biological dentist that does things a little differently than mainstream dentists.  He didn’t stare at me like I had two heads when I told him about the essential oils (or even when I admitted to trying oregano oil—which burned my mouth) or oil pulling.  If he had suggested  giving up my concealer for the sake of my teeth, I’m not sure I would.  Fortunately, he suggested I see a holistic M.D. to look at my calcium metabolism (since I’ve had a few cavities in the past couple of years).  My tooth has been fixed and the root is gone. Hopefully, seeing a holistic doctor while help me get to the root of my teeth issues.

                                As I age, I’m no longer satisfied at just looking at my issues.  I want to know why I have issues (one of my issues is depression).  I was allowed to preview a new book by Jill Savage about friendship (the name of the book is “Better Together”), and I’ve really enjoyed it.  I’ve read a lot of books on marriage and parenting in the past five years, but this is the first book that I can remember reading about friendship in as long as I can remember.  It has lots of helpful advice on what is normal in friendships and how to be a better friend, but the part I really liked was the challenges at the end of each chapter.  One challenge was to write a handwritten note to a friend.  My letter ended up arriving same day that my friend was preparing to attend a funeral for her loved one, and it really meant a lot to her.   I love it when God uses us to minister to others, especially when we have no idea how perfect the timing is.  The past few weeks when I’ve read this book, I’ve felt lighter and less burdened.  I can’t help by wonder if reaching out to other women isn’t a big way of combating my blues.  It kind of makes sense if one of the greatest commandments that Jesus leaves us with is to love others (see Matt. 22:39).  God only asks us to do what works out best for us in the end (even if it’s not easy).  It’s funny that showing love actually made me feel loved. I know it made my friend feel loved too. Sometimes I just need a different perspective to look at what’s underneath it all. That’s what I felt like this book provided for me.

 This past winter, we had some water issues in our basement.  We had a downpour of rain while my hubby Charles wasn’t at home, so I called him to find out when he could come home.  Mary was using the wet vacuum in the basement, while Half-Pint was managing the kiddos, and I was trying to figure out a way to prevent the water from entering in the basement in the first place. I called Charles to ask him if I could use a different wet vacuum outdoors.  Clearly, I wasn’t thinking about the risk of electrocution. Charles let me know the best way to prevent the water from coming in was to clean out the gutters that were overflowing.  Shortly after they were cleaned, the water stopped coming in the basement.  I admit that sometimes I'm short-sighted. I’m praying that God would show me what the root of my issues are.  In the meantime, I’m going to keep loving others and using my concealer while I let my glitter shine.

         

Oh, Snap!

          There is a breaking point for everything and everyone...when you've had it up to here...and you just...snap! Some moments are overwhelming and more than I can handle. If I was made of gingerbread, I would've been a pile of cookie crumbs a week ago. Three different people were texting me while two of the cats were having a fur-flying brawl on the porch, and I was desperately trying to get four kids ready to take overdue books back to library in time for story time. This was my third day off of sugar and caffeine (the first few days can find me a bit snappy). I shared with the kids a little all too freely about feeling overwhelmed.  Half-pint quickly organized the kids getting their shoes on while I arranged a separate dwelling place for the attacked cat. I responded to one text, got creative with the other one, and ignored the last one for a few minutes.  I love having such accessibility to others through my phone; but occasionally,  I'd just like to chuck the whole thing out the window and let the chickens peck it to death.
            The whole day was a bit complicated because my hubby was still waiting for the final word on a potential change of jobs. You know how my word last year was patience, well, that would also be an appropriate way to describe Charles' year.  My hubby began interviewing back in September for a position and was able to finally give his two weeks notice in Mid-January.  It felt like it took a really long time, which was rather frustrating.  It had become clear to both of us over the past year that it was time to look for something different for employment.  I'm excited for the new opportunity and the new challenges it will bring...and grateful that it does not call for relocation.
           In the moment,  life seems overwhelming; but looking back at it all just a few hours later makes it seems so trivial. Maybe perspective should be my word of the year for 2016. Instead, the word that I heard resoundingly on January 1st was "sacrifice". I was currently reading through Leviticus,  which lists out all the rules on sacrifice (along with all the different offerings), so I had a little inner groaning when I heard that word. I was hoping for a more encouraging word. Can I just say that had I lived back in those times, I'm pretty sure we'd be all out of lambs and resorting to turtle doves after a year or two of sacrificing? I can think of half a dozen reasons that I'd have to make a sacrifice just for the past couple of days. As I asked God what He meant about the word, an old song came to my head about bringing the "sacrifice of praise". I did a search and found the scripture behind the song: Hebrews 13:5, "Through Jesus, therefore, let us continually offer to God a sacrifice of praise—the fruit of lips that openly profess his name." Now that doesn't sound awful, and it won't put us in the poor house. It's a simple exhortation to thank God for the good things. I had never really noticed the next verse either until that day, but it talks about sacrifices too. Hebrews 13:16 says, "And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased." Nothing...nothing...nothing makes me happier than giving to someone else. It's part of why I love being a wife, a mother and a friend. If this is what this year is all about, it's easy to say that I'm all in.
          Already this year, Charles gave me the gift of a new treadmill (which quickly showed me how ineffective my outdoor running had been...I had been stopping to pet the cats one too many times). Charles has a new job, which is definitely a blessing to him and us. Mary has found a new routine that seems to be helping her teenage blemishes (involving Apple Cider Vinegar). Missy has gone a whole month without a sore throat (but started one shortly after I started writing this post). The cats are all alive (although still fighting at times). My phone still hasn't been tossed to the chickens yet. I'm going to praise God for the good in our lives and share with others this year. That kind of sacrifice will be a snap.

Roses and Thorns

          Back when Mary and Half-pint were youngin's, we started sharing our high point and low point for the day at supper time. What began as a simple way of understanding what we loved and hated about our day has become a happy little tradition around our little house on the prairie.  Every once in a while we put a little twist on it. For a couple of years on every Sunday, we would share what we were proud of about every other family member and skip the highs and lows. About a year ago, we started taking turns being in charge during our evening meal-each member gets a different day of the week. (When you have seven members in your family,  it works out nicely.) My day is Wednesday. I get to choose who prays for the evening meal and ask everyone their high points and low points (and direct the conversation after that, too). Even Mr. Blue Eyes loves the evening recollections. He still gets some words confused and never says "high point", but talks about his "low point" and "low point". (We just interpret his first recollection as his happiest memory). Recently, he shared that his highpoint was..."pooping".  This must be what I would've missed out on had I only had girls, huh? 
         There are lots of ways to label your highs and lows. Lowlights and highlights are another way of saying it. Half-pint loves to ask for our "roses" and "thorns", and she shot the picture for this post. I thought today I'd share some of mine from 2015. Here are a few roses:
1. I was in my first theatrical play, and I really loved it. Acting with two of the girls was just the icing on the cake.
2. I completed four knitting projects. (One that I had been working on for over seven years, ahem.)
3. Mary discovered that she loved theatre more than anything, as she had to save 83% of her weekly allowance in order to perform in a second CYT play (we paid for her first).
4.  Half-pint volunteers every week at a local animal hospital. She found that she truly does want to be a veterinarian. Earlier in 2015, she confessed that she wasn't really sure that that's what she wanted to do; but after a month volunteering,  she said that each time she went it just affirmed in her mind that being a veterinarian is exactly what she wants to do. I can't say how satisfying it is to see her happy face glow when she is done at the hospital (much like Mary after her play rehearsals). I felt super blessed to find a place that allowed this just seventeen minutes away from us. Even Wal-mart is 33 minutes from our house.
5. We had two vacations this year. One was with the kids and one was just for Charles and I. Our last vacation as a family (when we did something other than visit family) was in the Fall of 2012. The last time Charles and I went on a vacation  was April of 2007.
6. Testing of Mary and Half-pint revealed that I haven't messed up their home education (which means I can go back to sleeping at night, instead of obsessing over what they're missing).

And now my thorns:
1. Our treadmill broke right before my birthday, so my love/hate relationship with running has moved outside to our 26 acres (which works great in good weather, but not so awesome with snow/rain or sub-zero wind chills). The part of me that cannot stand running wants to put this on my roses list...and give up running completely.
2. This year we had two surgeries: bilateral tubes in Mary's ears in  August and Missie's tonselectomy in December.  I'm so glad to be past that.
3. I drove through flooding on the road. Ugh! That was not smart. As a result of that I do now have a van with AWD (that I will not be driving through flooded water, just over the snow covered roads).
4. I've struggled more with feelings of hopelessness and depression this past year than any other year that I can remember before. It has been serious work to remember the good things and focus on them. My mood is the number one thing that keeps from blogging. It makes me feel like I don't have anything useful to say, and generally feel like doing absolutely nothing. That's the honest truth.

          There were lots of great moments in 2015 and some that were truly awful. I went to a Joyce Meyer conference in September with my mom, and Darlene Zschech shared a song that comforted her during her battle with cancer: "Good Good Father" by Chris Tomlin. It is a declaration of truth, and I found myself singing the chorus many times this fall when I felt overwhelmed. I couldn't help smiling when they played it in church for the first time this past Sunday. Darlene never shared the verses of the song, but they are truly beautiful. Hopefully, your day is all roses; but if it isn't, have a listen to "Good Good Father" and sing along.

The Gift

          "I can't empty the dishwasher;  I'm not done decorating!!" Gracie lamented through gritted teeth. It was the second time that I had asked her to come empty the dishwasher, and her frustration with my lack of "understanding" showed in her tone of desperation. I wanted the dishwasher emptied right that instant. My lip was not protruding yet, but my face was bearing a serious pout that only a martyr of motherhood can wear properly. This day was special.   I resorted to using the strongest persuasion that a mother can utter but one day out of the year: "...but it's MY birthday." 
          To which she agonized, " I know!! THAT'S why I'm decorating!  It's your present!!"  I tried to explain that a real present would be to do what I asked even if it conflicted with her plans, but I could sense that Gracie was not getting my point.
            'Tis the season of giving, so I have been more reflective than usual about gifts in general. That day, I felt a gentle nudge about how many times I had been "giving" God my time (like with volunteering at church), but blowing up at the kids when we were late for my "serving" commitment. God's commandments boils down to two things: loving Him and loving others (Luke 10: 27). The best gift I can give God this season is what He really wants: everything done in love. This is what I'm focusing on...love.
         Do you ever feel like the ugly step-daughter of God that He has decided to ignore all your requests? That's a little how I felt lately. I've searched my heart for what is holding Him back from me and come up empty. It's moments like these that I try to hold onto what I know to be true. (Reading about Joseph waiting 13 years to be out of his dark season puts my impatience in perspective--I hope I don't have 13 years of this!).  My birthday was feeling a little less than perfect this year. I had planned on going on a fun field trip or something (birthdays are holidays in our school); but Sierra, our cat, showed up two days earlier and her shots were overdue. She hadn't been around for two months. She's been upset ever since the kittens arrived over a year ago. We had to hold her captive in a seperate coop till we could take her to the vet, which ended up being my birthday.
           Gracie decorated in the house after the vet appointment, while I sat on the porch attempting to spend a little time with Sierra before she took off. I told God how hopeless I felt about Sierra, making changes in my life, getting more organized,  and just life in general. It's hard to hold onto hope when you don't see answers to what you are praying for. It's easy to believe in God, but not that He actually rewards those who seek Him out (Hebrews 11:6)...especially when you don't feel rewarded. I asked God if He still heard me, if He was really still working on my requests, and for some sort of sign that He still loved me. I told Him how heartbroken I was that Sierra kept running away and refused to make peace with our other cats. I felt to blame for having too many cats around. I remember feeling that if there was no hope for Sierra, there was no hope for me. The longer I stayed on the porch with the cat, the more she hissed at me and refused to even let me pet her. When Mary came home from school, I asked her to let Sierra go after saying goodbye.  Who knew when she would be back.
          When we arrived home at the end of AWANA that night, I was shocked to see Sierra waiting for us at the front door. I put her back in the coop that night, and she has been at our house ever since (sleeping by herself at night). She not only came back but has been extremely affectionate since that day.That one answer to prayer was enough for my faith to skyrocket.  I know God is still working; and the lack of answers, just means that He has better ideas than I can request.

If you're feeling hopeless,  this post is for you.  He is still there. He hears every request. He's working and His solution is better than you could ever imagine! Keep believing and loving those around you.

Merry Christmas!

Laying Down The Law

             I think I would've made a better Pharisee than a disciple.  I love rules and the boundaries they bring because of their predictability. It's also easier to measure my worth based on my adherence to the rules. I've always been guilty of pride or shame because of "the rules" (depending on where I fall for the moment). I can just imagine being outraged at all the "rule-breaking" that Jesus and his followers engaged in. I was always a rule keeper as a child. Love was really the only thing that ever made me choose to supersede those boundaries. As a teenager, it caused me to neglect schoolwork and get my only "B" in one high school course. As an adult, it's caused me to stay up countless hours with my kids at night and put my daily routine on hold while teaching them. Rules bring safety, but for me they also bring so much guilt because I can never meet up to anyone's expectations,  let alone mine.
            Having five children has pretty much broken my idea of being in constant control and strict rule keeping. It's exhausting trying to always being in charge....maybe that's why I really enjoyed being in our local theatre. I was in my first play this summer along with Mary and Carrie, which was so much fun! I got to take direction and not organize things. I loved the change of pace it brought. My experience with theatre this summer also brought me face to face with one of the stupidest things I've ever done. On our way to a rehearsal,  I choose to attempt driving through water that was way to deep (it was flash flooding in our area)...causing our van to get stuck, and water to flood it, pretty much ruining it. It's bad when you make a bad judgement for yourself,  but it's even worse when you have little ones with you. Mary and Grace were both with me. I will never forget the panic in poor Grace's voice as she watched the water raise in the van and said, "We're going to drown; we're going to drown! I've even dreamt this has happened!!" Thankfully,  a nearby farmer helped us to all escape safely (and even towed our car out), but it could've turned out much worse had the guide posts along the road not kept the van from getting caught and rolling over. It makes me ill just to think about it. It filled me with shame and regret for the days following it. It's hard even now writing about it. A little patience (yup, that's my word for this year) and common sense would've prevented all of this.
           It's not my only failure since I've last posted. There's also the three cavities that our two year old had to have filled. At his age, I feel like a lot of the blame for that falls on me. I know the dentist assured me that he chipped away the hard enamel of his upper teeth by his habit of grinding his bottom teeth against his top teeth, but how could they be that soft to even do that? Is it because he has too many sweets? Is it because I neglected to brush them enough to keep them clean? This feels like just another failure of mine.
              That is the problem with measuring myself by rules and my inadequacies. It points it's ugly finger at me and calls me worthless and stupid.  I share these things because maybe you've done something stupid (but hopefully not this stupid...), and you feel alone. You're not. Grace is what makes all the difference. Grace is simply getting something that you don't deserve.  Because of God's grace, I don't have to wear all this shame. He tells me that it's all right...that He will bring good from this.  He will heal this traumatic experience for our family. He will give wisdom and comfort to me as we process this. This was all brought to life in a tangible way, while studying"Grace-Based Parenting" again this summer with some friends of mine. The week that we were practicing instilling a "Secure Love" in our kids was the week of the van mishap. That was the week my hubby exemplified his unfailing love for me, by not only cleaning up and fixing the van (and handling the kids every night as well since that was show week)...but also by turning over the keys to his fully functioning vehicle for me to drive. I wish I never would've been so stupid, but the love he demonstrated is something I will always cherish. I hate that Mr. Blue Eyes had cavities,  but I'm so grateful for a skilled pediatric dentist to handle it skillfully.  I'm very grateful for the friend who offered to watch my other kids while we went. God knows just who to demonstrate His grace through.
           Interestingly enough, love is extolled in the Bible as being what followers of Christ should be known by...not by perfection or wisdom. Love is what caused God to form a plan for us and it continues to motivate His grace towards us. Love trumps the law. It trumps rule-keeping.
              The only momentary success I have enjoyed this spring was the stellar accomplishments of Mary and Half-pint in their testing (we did Iowa Basic Skills Testing in May). They both tested compositly far above their current grade level and into the 90th percentile nationally, which gave me warm fuzzies. They have continued to learn from me and from their own quest for knowledge.  That is about to change in some ways for Mary, as she has chosen to go back into our local school system (and we wholeheartedly support this). I'm glad to have done my part in her education (and continue on with this in a supportive role).
            This spring, I had one of my best inspirational homeschooling moments when the children represented the three branches of government. We had new "house rules" for the day. Half-pint adamantly declared she wanted to make the rules, so she represented Congress. Gracie helped her as a Representative to create the rules as the legislative branch. Mary choose to be President to represent the executive Branch. She had the right to veto the rules if needed (and she exercised this right). Carrie represented the judiciary Branch and interpreted the rules for us. It only took about an hour for me to break a rule about no yelling with a timeout being the punishment.  We typically do one minute for each year of age. I chuckled when I went to the bench in our timeout area for 38 minutes.  Half-pint was beyond aggravated when Carrie ruled that I could complete the remainder of my timeout in the shower since everyone kept coming up to talk to me during my "reflective" time. Half-pint felt that it was rewarding my failure to follow the rule. She experienced firsthand the difficulty of laws being carried out the way they are intended. She insisted on being the judiciary branch the following day.
           I'm glad that God gets to be the whole deal.  I'm thankful that, despite my failures, God has ruled on the side of grace; my hubby has ruled on the side of love; and family still accepts me despite my shortcomings.  It's been a season of laying down the law in favor of love and grace, and it couldn't have come at a better time.

Old-Fashioned

          Being nearly thirteen isn't easy for anyone, but it's interesting to be on the other side as a parent. I remember feeling like the oddball (because of my clothes, my parent's beliefs, the absence of my dad, etc.). For a long time, I believed I was the only one.
          Mary went away with 400 other middle-schoolers to the mountains of Colorado last weekend.  She had a great time, but she is noticing the differences between herself and others. She loves to read and knit (and read about knitting). She loves acting. She loves trying out new hairstyles (she spends lots of time watching and memorizing hairstyles from www.cutegirlhairstyles.com). I think that's amazing and awesome that she loves those things, but also that she knows that about herself. She professes that she is "old-fashioned"...mainly because she owns neither an iPad (or iPod), smart phone or even a Kindle. I know she is convinced that she is the only 12 year old on the planet that doesn't own those things, but I know there are other weirdos like me out there that believe she doesn't need any of those things...at 12. Before you freak out for my technologically-deprived child, let me also point out that she has access to a family phone, my smart phone, a family epad,  and a laptop/computer (we don't really have iAnything because we are more of a PC family).
           On her trip, she asked others if they like some of the books she likes; and they quipped that they "don't read".  Apparently,  they just read their text messages that they were sending back and forth on the charter bus to Colorado.  They did enjoy the girl scout cookies that Charles sent along with her though. She did get to know some of the girls, but there wasn't really any deep connections made with any of them. She said she feels like Steve Rogers (Captain America) in a Tony Stark (Iron Man) world.
           While I was running today, I was inspired to give her an essay assignment: "Why does Captain America lead the Avengers?" He's not the smartest or the strongest...and certainly not the most technologically advanced.  I'm hoping she will focus in on why he is a good leader,  why everyone listens to him, and why he is important to the team...even though he's old-fashioned.  He's got heart, integrity,  and compassion- things that Mary possess too. I want her to make this connection and understand her value in this world is not based on the technology she owns.
            When Mary and I went to Winter Jam, we bought CD's and one of my favorite songs is by Francesca Batistelli:
"Unusual". Take a listen...and give me another idea for her next essay while your at it.

Interrupting Pirates

           I have five children, and they constantly hound me. As I just laid our toddler down for his nap, Carrie and Gracie popped their heads in to say something that they just had to ask (they seem like they can never plan ahead). They wait till five minutes after my announcement that "I am putting your brother down" for his nap to request some dire necessity like, "Can I have a piece of candy?" or "Can I watch a movie?" They don't really say it outloud because they know I will freak out majorly. They mouth the words very quietly.  Twelve years of this parenting job has given me quite an ability to lip-read.  The problem is that they've only been reading lips for a few years, and they can't seem to understand it when I quietly mouth "no". Why is that? Today, I just gave them my "IS this an EMERGENCY" look. They looked rather crestfallen,  but they slithered away quietly without feigning ignorance at what I was trying to say.
                   This new year is a new start for a new theme: patience. Half-pint's favorite joke in kindergarten was:
"Knock, knock!"
"Who's there? "
"Interrupting pirate"
Interrupting pirate who?" to which the other person interrupted with a big "Arrrrgh!"
I've realized the interruptions of our kids is partly a matter of impatience on their part. It's a feeling that what they have to say is more important than what anyone else has to say at the moment. Where do they get it from: their first-rate interrupting mom. I realized this even more after I majorly interrupted Charles last night, and he brought it to my attention. I always think of it as being really excited,  too excited to wait to speak; but really it boils down to rudely placing more importance on what I have to say than hearing what someone else has to say. I want to speak less this year, and listen more. I want to be understood,  but I really,  really need to work at understanding more.
           James 1:19 says, " Understand [this], my beloved brethren. Let every man be quick to hear [a ready listener], slow to speak, slow to take offense and to get angry. (The Amplified Version) I need to apply this to my own life this year (along with James 1:2-4).
          Charles and I are also starting something else new this year. We are opening our home and hosting a small group for our church. I've dreamed of having a Bible study here since we moved here, but I envisioned it being a group of women and a Beth Moore group on our porch.  Instead, it'll be with my hubby, inside our cozy home. The series is about setting goals (that only God can accomplish in you) called "Transform". I'm excited to see what God will change in me. Please pray that I will truly listen to others sharing and not play the role of the interrupting pirate. Who would want to be in that...Arrrrgh!

Do you want to hear more inspiration?  Here's a link for other mom's sharing their thoughts on fresh starts on the Hearts at Home blog hop.

Favorite Charity Winner

             The winner is Alisa. I will be donating $40 to the Peterson's for you. Thank you for participating!

Give Life

           My favorite thing in the whole world is the look on someone's face getting something they really.  That's what my favorite part of Christmas is...watching our kids open gifts we've spent months planning. I don't really do New Year's resolutions; but this year, I did. I resolved to be more generous. Joyce Meyer says that when you feel depressed you should go out and do something nice for someone else. I've had many blue days lately,  so this is my course of action.
          A friend of mine recently had a child born with Trisomy 18 (the median lifespan is 5-15 days). Her family has chosen to remain positive and celebrate every moment with her, naming her Olivia (which means "life"). I've been praying and following her story for the past few months after they found out later in her pregnancy (here's a link to their video where they tell their story in case you didn't see it on my Facebook page). They put out a request for meal help, but since I now live six hours away, I asked if those at a distance could donate money. They shared this link for those who want to donate: https://life.indiegogo.com/fundraisers/the-peterson-family

        This morning we read Isaiah 33 for school. Verse 15-16 says, "The answer is simple: live right, speak the truth, despise exploitation, refuse bribes, reject violence, avoid evil amusements. This is how you raise your standard of living! A safe and stable way to live. A nourishing, satisfying way to live." We talked about how it's not enough to just follow God's rules as Christians. We need to actively make a difference. I told the girls that I wanted to donate some money to our friend's family. I told them that they could donate with their giving money if they wanted to. Later today, one by one they gave me money that amounted to $38. I couldn't be happier! I doubled it to make it an even $80 to give away.
          This blog isn't for bragging (except on how cool God is), so why am I sharing this with you? At first, I thought I would ask you all to donate to this cause (and if God's telling you to do that, that'd be awesome), but God calls us all to different needs. Maybe you know of another need that is just as great. If you will leave a comment of your favorite charity or person in need on here or Facebook,  Mr. Blue Eye's will randomly pick a name and I will donate $40 to that charity. I know this isn't something you personally get anything out of, but just imagining the look on God's face is all the reward in the world that I could ever want.

Please join me in praying for Olivia.

Perfectly Preposterous

          There comes a day when your baby's name officially becomes an interjection (it ends in an exclamation point nine times out of ten). Our son's name has gone from being whispered with delight to being screamed in outrage and frustration, primarily by his four older sister's. As the only boy, he has an especially mischievous twinkle in his eye as he innocently grabs their most beloved toy of the moment and swipes it faster than you can blink. He also seems to be quite curious about investigating the toilet.
             I was putting away food from supper the other night while supervising the younger kids brush their teeth. (Yes, I thought I could multitask safely...I was so wrong.) I'd forgotten that toddlers need constant supervision...especially in the bathroom. Gracie screamed,  "Moooom, he has his toothbrush in the toilet!!!" I hoped she was exaggerating; but the second I saw him, I knew that it was much worse than she had said. He was brushing his teeth with toilet water! It was all I could do to calmly take away his toothbrush and call it quits for the night without gagging and dreading all the sicknesses to come. Oddly enough, he has remained healthy while three other family members have had sore throats. Maybe there was some helpful bacteria in there?
           He is the youngest , but my first boy. To my suprise (I've heard it takes boys longer), he has decided to start potty training,  which explains some of his recent fascination with the toilet and flushing it. The other night I found him cheering after flushing down the contents from his potty chair all by himself (unfortunately, he had made another large, brown deposit on the floor while congratulating himself). Mr. Blue Eyes also has the distinguished honor of being the first grandkid to sit on Nana's potty chair and somehow pee in between the seat of the potty chair and the container below it. I only discovered it when he started saying "yucky" and pulling at his soaked pants (which led to discovering the soaked socks and surrounding floor). Carrie was already wailing in my ear over her own trauma of something she had done earlier. She was convinced everyone was making fun of her because of it. Gracie entered the bathroom a second time (I had sent her out in search of a napkin once already) while I was frantically sopping up the escaped pee. She was now gagging on the food she realized she didn't like only after taking a huge bite. It had been in her mouth for several minutes to allow for the saliva to really pool. Then, the heaving began. What a fun Christmas memory, right?   
            Occasionally though, I'm the one who's laughing instead of getting grossed out. Two nights ago, Mr. Blue Eyes was hysterical and refusing to sit in his high chair. He was propped up on the edge and kept screaming, "Poop! Poop!"  On closer inspection,  I found dried taco meat in his chair. Dried taco meat bothers him, but not the receptacle that you flush the "dried taco meat" down. Boys are curious beings.      
          My word for the year is "patience", and I think so far it fits my year perfectly.  It's the one thing I'd like to develop more of in myself and in our kids. I'm using James 1:2-4 as my verse through this year. Joyce Meyer has it written out as a declaration (based on TLB) to speak like this: "I'll be happy when the way is rough, because it gives my patience a chance to grow. So I will let it grow, and not try to squirm out of my problems. For when my patience is finally in full bloom, then I will be ready for anything, strong in  character, fully complete."
           Mr. Blue Eyes is doing a swell job of giving me practice. His second birthday is right around the corner, so I think we're headed toward a fun filled year of constant supervision.  We've done this two-year-old thing before (and we've had a few struggles). Looking forward to this practice seems a tad preposterous, and still I have my hopes set high that this'll be a great year.

What's the best way you keep your busy child out of trouble?

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.