We were having eggs.

One morning this summer, the boys and I were having breakfast and talking about eternity. Jackson had asked Christ into his heart at church camp in 2007, so he and I were doing much of the talking. Parker was mostly silent, but I could tell that he was deeply listening and weighing our words. J and I talked about what it is to be a Christian, and I explained how it is that a person would go about becoming a Christian, all while P thoughtfully picked at his eggs. Then P looked up and said, “I haven’t decided that yet.” And the way he said it, I thought that it might be a long time before he would.

Fast forward to bedtime last night. With a heavy heart, I told Parker that one of the teachers from his school, Kathy Albert, had passed away. We know that Mrs. Albert was a Christian. I reminded him that she had been very sick for a long time. Her body could not get better. God wanted Mrs. Albert to come to heaven. So, she did.

Thus began a discussion of heaven and hell. Parker told me about someone he knows who doesn’t choose the best behavior, and told me that he thinks this person is going to hell.

“Whether you go to heaven or hell is not decided by how many good behavior days you have at school,” I said.

“I know,” he said, and left the proverbial door wide open.

“Thank goodness for that, right? Because every person on earth messes up and sins. Every person EVER, except for one. Do you know which one?”

“Jesus,” he nods. Hooray! Children’s Church is working. Good job, guys.

“That’s right. Jesus lived a perfect life, without any sin at all. And sin is not just bad behavior. Our words and even thoughts can be sinful. We all sin. But Jesus didn’t have any sin at all. He lived completely without sin so that he could be the sacrifice for our sin. God knows that we can’t pay the price for our sin, so Jesus paid it for us. And because He paid our price, and rose from the dead and went to heaven, we can go to heaven too! Anyone who believes this can go to heaven.”

“Well, I believe that,” he shrugs.

“You do? That’s awesome, buddy! Have you prayed to tell God that you believe it?”

“Yeah, I did that a long time ago when I was six or something,” says Mr. Nonchalant. “At breakfast. We were having eggs. I prayed in my head and just didn’t tell you.”

And I knew the very breakfast he was talking about. It was this summer.

I’m glad that Parker finally revealed to us his decision to follow Christ. Now we can rejoice, along with all the angels of heaven and Mrs. Albert and all the others who have gone before us.

“…there is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”
Luke 15:10

Hallelujah!

It's just easier to SHOW you.

I have so many words buzzing around in my brain right now. So many, in fact, that I can’t form a coherent post to describe what I’ve been doing lately. Instead of lengthy descriptions, I shall give you pictures with captions. Since a picture is worth a thousand words, I'm sure you'll be quite glad that I went with pictures.



This is what our hallway bathroom looked like a week ago. I forgot to take a picture before we took the big mirror down, but you get the idea. Notice the mauve stripes and frilly border. For once I am thankful that my boys are colorblind. They had no idea that they should have been embarrassed by this feminine wallpaper.



And this is what it looks like now! This is the best project that Andy and I have worked on together. Well, other than our children. But we’ll have to wait a while to see how they turn out.



This family tree originated in my mind several years ago, even before we had our own home, inspired by Owl’s house in Winnie the Pooh. We come from a long line of good-looking individuals! No wonder my little boys are so handsome.



Our tree went up a bit early this year. We had so much going on during the Thanksgiving holiday that I wanted to have this done ahead of time. Truly, the tree and the holiday music seemed a bit out of place until I watched the snow fall this morning. Now it all feels just right.



And this is my favorite little project of all. My Liberty Belle and her ten beautiful puppies! I’ve been planning, preparing, and praying for them for months now. I’m so glad they are finally here!



Somewhere in the midst of all of this, my little oak turned bright red. I love it!

So that’s my last three weeks in a nutshell. I hope you had a wonderfully blessed Thanksgiving!

The Folds of the Flag

I had planned on talking about something else today, but then I read this post from Melanie at the Big Mama Blog, and decided to change my tack.

I, like Melanie, had never heard of the meanings that have been ascribed to each fold of the American Flag. I find this to be so moving, and wanted to share it with anyone who might read it here.

The first fold of our flag is a symbol of life.

The second fold is a symbol of our belief in the eternal life.

The third fold is made in honor and remembrance of the veteran departing our ranks who gave a portion of life for the defense of our country to attain a peace throughout the world.

The fourth fold represents our weaker nature, for as American citizens trusting in God, it is to Him we turn in times of peace as well as in times of war for His divine guidance.

The fifth fold is a tribute to our country, for in the words of Stephen Decatur, “Our country, in dealing with other countries, may she always be right; but it is still our country, right or wrong.”

The sixth fold is for where our hearts lie. It is with our heart that we pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

The seventh fold is a tribute to our Armed Forces, for it is through the Armed Forces that we protect our country and our flag against all her enemies, whether they be found within or without the boundaries of our republic.

The eighth fold is a tribute to the one who entered in to the valley of the shadow of death, that we might see the light of day, and to honor mother, for whom it flies on mother’s day.

The ninth fold is a tribute to womanhood; for it has been through their faith, love, loyalty and devotion that the character of the men and women who have made this country great have been molded.

The tenth fold is a tribute to father, for he, too, has given his sons and daughters for the defense of our country since they were first born.

The eleventh fold, in the eyes of a Hebrew citizen, represents the lower portion of the seal of King David and King Solomon, and glorifies, in their eyes, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

The twelfth fold, in the eyes of a Christian citizen, represents an emblem of eternity and glorifies, in their eyes, God the Father, the Son, and Holy Ghost.

The thirteenth fold is the last. The stars are uppermost, reminding us of our national motto, “In God we Trust.”

Yesterday was Veteran’s Day, when we celebrate and thank those who offer their lives in service to our country and her citizens. But I don’t feel like I’m a day late with this post. We don’t have the holiday so that everyone can limit their gratitude to one date on the calendar. I hope our nation’s servicemen and women are touched by our prayers and know what their sacrifice means to our country each and every day.

And I’d like to give a shout-out to my very own personal veteran and daily hero, my husband, Andy. I love you!

Garbage in? Garbage OUT.

Garbage is out, people. These days, there are so many recyclable products and packages… why would you throw them away? And the reusable products? Wow. Now, I’m all for using disposable diapers, because PLEASE. But Swiffer Sweeper? Don’t get me started.

So, in addition to using a Rubbermaid Dust'N Mop, here’s what I’ve been doing to minimize my family’s garbage output.

This spring, our city newsletter included a long list of acceptable items to include in our weekly recycling. I was floored! I had previously operated under the assumption that only plain paper, glass, and plastics labeled with a 1 or 2 would be recycled. Not so in the North Richland Hills community! I was thrilled (because I’m a huge nerd) to read about all the things that I could recycle that I had previously just thrown away. Junk mail. Phone books. Those glossy strips of coupons that are rubber-banded to our door every other weekend. And the best: Plastic types 1 through 7.

Around the same time, I started a backyard compost can. A friend warned me that compost bins stink but I have found that, if you are careful about what you put in, there isn’t a smell at all! I’m a fan of fresh flowers which I always buy at Kroger from the half-price clearance floral section. Sure, sometimes the selection is really sad, but it also raises the bar with my creativity. This week I have a vase of red peppers! How different is that?! But these peppers are looking pretty spent. Instead of throwing them in the trash, I’ll toss them in the compost. Along with all of our banana peels and the dead leaves from the houseplants that I’ve neglected.

I love the idea of producing less waste. And because we are putting less into our trash can, we are putting less out on the curb. I just feel good knowing that I am doing something to lessen my family’s contribution to local landfills. Our garbage is collected twice a week, but we only put trash out on one day. So the trash collectors only have to stop outside our house once a week. What if everyone could do this? How much would that help the environment?

As I type this, I am thinking of a really dear friend who lives out in the boonies and doesn’t have a recycling service. It pains me that you have to throw all your stuff in the trash. That would make me crazy! But I understand that, when you don’t have curbside recycling service, there isn’t much choice. I’m a realist. If I didn’t have a nice big truck to come to my curb and take away my cardboard and glass, I would throw it away too. Hopefully you’ll have the luxury (did I just say luxury?) of having recycling service someday! And if you are person who has recycling service, I’d like to encourage you to maximize this benefit. Find out exactly what items your service will accept, and do your best to recycle everything that you can. Rinse your containers and discard the non-recyclable lids.

I feel like a giant dork, on a crusade to save the planet. But seriously, I guess I kind of am!

FYI

I've been meaning to write, but didn't really have anything to talk about. Now my home internet is down. So I'm at the public Library with only 2 minutes remaining of my allotted computer usage.

I just wanted to say that once my internet is repaired, Look Out! I've been saving up the words.

Hope all is well out there. See you soon!

Potty Mouth, Jr.

When I was in third grade, I got in trouble for saying “crap”. Well, I got in trouble for a lot of things. Saying crap was just one of the many.

I still like the word. I’m a crapsayer. I just am. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been saying it since the third grade. Yeah, that’s probably it.

Anyway. I got in trouble. My mom said that I wasn’t allowed to say crap until I was 10 or something like that. I don’t remember how long she said I was supposed to wait, because I went right on saying it. Just not around the house. Classy, right?

You know how, when you’re young and misbehaving, parents like to tell you that they hope your kids will be JUST LIKE YOU? I think you see where this is going.

Yesterday, Parker got in trouble at school. For using inappropriate language. Only he didn’t just say it. He wrote it down.



Yuck.

I was glad that he told me about this in the car, because I am infinitely immature, and laugh at inappropriate times. (Particularly when disciplining my children.) I think maybe I hid my smile and stifled my laughter pretty well. Maybe. It just shocked me to hear my sweet baby, in his little Mickey Mouse voice, say “You suck.”

Like I said, at least we were in the car and I was facing the road and not the backseat. Had we been face to face, the weight of the situation would have been completely lost because of my inability to hold myself together.

I laugh, because that’s my reaction to things. I can’t help it. It just comes out. But seriously, people. It hurt my soul to know that my sweet little Parker would say something so nasty to another little person. Bleh.

Now here’s where I got just plain mad. Kids learn the words that are spoken to them or that they have heard spoken to others. The domino effect on this is devastating. You may be asking, “Where does a seven year old learn such a phrase?” At least, that’s what I was asking. Who out there is telling my little baby that he sucks? I’m sorry to say that he picked it up from Jackson. And where does a nine year old learn such a phrase? From jerks at school. And now, my kids are the jerks at school, spouting foul language.

Great.

But I have hope. Because of the role of Christ in their lives, my kids are far better people than I was in elementary school. Hopefully the talk we had about this yesterday will take hold in their hearts, and they won’t say stuff like this anymore. Not at home or at school or anywhere.

At least not until they’re 10 or whatever.

Loaves, Fish, Paint, and Paper

I just read this post from Andy, about our sorry attempts to put God in a box. And that got me thinking… Do I do that? Do I try to put God in a box? And I decided that No, I Don’t. I have a different problem. I see God AS the Box, and I put limits on what He would allow inside. Health, Relationships, Education = IN. Bugs, Laundry, Fantasy Football = OUT.

For example:

The last couple of weeks of my life have been wild with activity. Among other things, I’ve been working with a team of fellow parents to build a homecoming parade float. A fantastic parade float, bearing the name of our children’s elementary school. It was pretty awesome. And if I do say so, it was the best float in the parade.

Anyway.

On one of our workdays, when we were trying to figure out if we had what we needed to do all that we wanted to do, my friend Christy just stopped and prayed. “Please, Lord, let us have enough. Multiply our supplies like the loaves and the fishes.” And I just kind of smirked and shook my head. I had been praying for other aspects of this project, but supplies? That’s sweet, Christy, but I’m not sure God really cares about whether or not we have enough paper, paint, and salvaged scraps of wood.

But He Does.

We did the math. There shouldn’t have been enough paper to cover everything we wanted to cover. And I know how much paint was in that bucket. It wasn’t enough. But when our team put it all together, it worked out. There were mere inches of paper left over, and just a smidge of paint left in the can. There was enough, and just a tiny bit more. When the ladies told me that they were done painting, I turned to Christy and with great surprise (and yet, none at all) I said, “You were right. He cares about our little parade float. Here are your loaves and fishes.”

God cares about the silly little things in my life. Maybe because He cares about me. Or maybe He really likes a good parade float. Either way, God blessed me through this experience.

For me this was a revelation but, as I write this, I can't help but think that it all sounds kind of stupid. I’m sure it doesn’t mean much to anyone who wasn’t involved, and maybe not even them.

Then again, who am I to decide what others do or don’t care about?

And just in case you want to see it, here's the float:



See? I told you it was awesome.

Happy Birthday Parker!

I can hardly believe that my baby is seven.

I have spent far longer than anticipated sitting here at the computer, sifting through old pictures. I cherish the memories attached to pictures, and didn’t want to rush through.

I adore this kid, and there are so many pictures that I wanted to share. But it was too many. Way too many. So here a just few favorites to celebrate Parker. Enjoy!



At our old park by our old house. I actually played here sometimes when I was little!



P’s first real Trick-or-Treat experience. He was so happy to have the candy in his hands, there was no WAY he was going to put in some bag. He held it all until he couldn’t hold any more.



P loves his big brother!



Autumn Leaves



I love Parker’s imagination. He loves to play pretend.



So, who here is the biggest ham?



Wonder.



First day of school! I was so excited for him, but I still cried.



Happy Birthday, Little! We love you!!

My Dining Room Grew Up

Our dining room has grown up quite a bit in the last year.

We used to have what I called the Fake Table. It was really real, I suppose. Real deception! It was two white plastic folding tables, covered with white table cloths and butted-up against each other, with a table runner hiding the seam. Fantastic illusion. The walls were painted in flat off-white with white glossy trim. The carpet was light beige. Not ideal for a young family with two boys and two dogs. And when I finally put up curtains, they were white sheer-ish things from Ikea.

In summary, we had a white table in a room with white walls, white curtains, and beige carpet. All white can be classy, but this was… bland. And kind of like it should have been in our first apartment, not our grown-up, want-to-live-here-forever home.

See? Through that doorway? This is the best "Before" picture I could find. I didn't think to take one on purpose, so I had to dig to find this. And it isn't even a picture OF the dining room. But you get the gist. It was white. And boring. And there are no pictures of us actually IN there, because we really didn't spend time in there.



But that’s okay. We can’t fix everything all at once. And if we could, what ever would I do with myself? I am person who needs to make improvements. I like change. I might even love it. So the slow process of decorating (and redecorating) our home is a joy that I will savor as long as the Lord allows us to live here.

Last fall, we ripped out much of our beige carpeting, including that of our dining room, and stained the concrete floors a rich brown. Once the staining was done, we moved our real wood table from the breakfast room into the dining room, and now that’s where we have our family meals.

I knew I wanted to paint the walls something dark, but what shade? The thousands of color choices at the paint store overwhelm me. It stresses me out to look at all of the options, and the price tags, and know that whatever I choose had better be right. I’m much more comfortable with working what I have. So I mixed together a bunch of stuff from the garage, and voila!

And I bought some new curtains. Still from Ikea, but far better than the first set. These are only about, oh, thirty inches too short, so I had the added challenge (read: pleasure) of customizing them with some of my favorite fabric. Bought from the discount bin at JoAnn, of course.

Most recently, Andy’s dad and his wife blessed us with what is probably the nicest piece of furniture we will ever own: An armoire flanked by lighted shelves. I love it. The room has a whole new personality now.

I know it's dark, and I should take a better picture in the daytime, but if I don't just post this now it'll never get posted. (I could take a new picture and update this tomorrow, but let's be real. That probably won't happen.)



Before, this was The Eatin’ Room. Now I feel like this room is actually worthy of the grandeur implied. I can honestly call it our Dining Room.

9-11-01

Tuesday morning. I hadn’t been listening to the radio. Not watching television. I was having a great morning with my sweet sixteen month old boy.

I was actually early, pulling into the parking lot of the church where I taught two year olds at a mother’s day out program. Several of the moms were already there, still sitting in their cars, engines running. The shady parking lot was just beginning to gather fallen leaves from the canopy of oaks.

I stepped out of my car and noticed the mother in the black SUV next to me. She had her hand to her mouth, eyes wide, unseeing. I don’t remember her name, but her son was in my class. She must have noticed me noticing her. She rolled down the window, keeping her eyes locked on the nothing in front of her. I smiled and asked her, “Are you okay?” Finally she turned to me, eyes still wide, she asked, “Don’t you know?” and turned up her radio. Then the second plane hit.

The rest of the morning is a blur. I don’t remember much about the activities of the day, just feelings. Being anxious to leave. Anxious to hear news about what was happening, and what was being done about it. We spent that day with our precious young students, trying to pretend that everything was normal. We were cut off, going through the motions. We couldn’t listen to the news reports. If we became upset, which we certainly would, it would upset the children. They were just babies. Innocent children. They couldn’t process this, or our disbelief, sadness, worry, outrage. As soon as the children were picked up, I rushed home to see the news.

That night, our church had a service. I was working for our preschool at the time, and we didn’t know how many children to expect. Did the word get out about our service that night? Would people know that they could come here, and lay their burdens down before the Lord? We readied our classrooms and hearts to receive whoever would come.

As the time neared, I stood by the window, facing north. The sky looked so strange, empty. Normally, the children would stand at that window and count airplanes cutting their way through the sky to and from DFW International. But now, and for days to come, it was blank. Eerie.

My eyes fixed on a sight that brought both sorrow and gladness. The first car, winding its way along the drive and through the gate at the far end of the lot. Followed by another car. And another. And another. The cars streamed into the parking lot, carrying hurting souls to the church for their appointment with the Great Physician. So many hurting. So many coming to be healed. Coming to the right place.

In that moment, I was filled with gratitude: for my country and her people who refused to be paralyzed by fear, and for my church, whose people stand, hearts open, with one hand Up and one hand Out, to praise the Lord and embrace the broken.

Persecuted, but not forsaken;
Struck down, but not destroyed.
II Corinthians 4:9

He heals the brokenhearted
And binds up their wounds.
Psalm 147:3

It's a Spirit of Self-Control, Not Self-Righteousness.

I’m not a particularly political person. I don’t go to rallies or participate in heated debates. I’m not getting my panties in a wad over the current healthcare issue, or demanding immediate resolution to our nation’s economic crisis. It is what it is, people. Government can’t fix everything.

Not even if we were served by the administration that you WISH had been elected.

I didn’t vote for President Obama. I was disappointed at the election’s results, but the fact remains. He is the leader of our nation and as Americans, and especially as Christians, we are called to support him. Let me just say, I am not in favor of blindly following anyone. Those who know me know that I tend to have questions. It’s not necessarily driven by doubt, but I typically have questions for those in leadership. And if a leader is a true leader, they can handle answering a few questions from little ol’ me.

Last night at a school parent meeting, I learned that President Obama is going to address America’s school children next Tuesday, September 8th at 11am Central Time. I was a little surprised, but not shocked. Fellow parents, it’s not a scandal. I’m pretty sure he is not going for mass brainwashing. He’s the President. He’s facing the sad reality of our nation’s terrible drop-out rate, and he’s going straight to the source. The kids.

Why are conservatives so upset? Because you want your children to retain the right to drop out mid-way through their education? Trust me… they’ll still drop out if you let them.

Seriously though. What are you teaching your children by resisting the broadcast of this speech? One parent compared this impending address to Adolph Hitler’s propaganda. Really? Hitler? Really.

There were several parents at last night’s meeting who declared that they would be removing their children from school during the address. I doubt they’ll back it up, but even if they do… They’re only inviting trouble down the road. These parents will be teaching their children that, if they don’t want to listen to a person of authority, they should just walk away. Or plug their ears. Peaceful protest? Perhaps. But it seems more like defiance to me.

And what will happen later, when YOU are the authority figure that your child doesn’t want to hear? When they walk away or block out your voice, will you smile and say “Aww, look at that! Look at my little conscientious objector. I’m so proud!”? I don’t think so.

I am looking forward to next Tuesday with this in mind:

For God did not give us a spirit of fear, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-control.
2 Timothy 1:7

What is there to fear? Nothing can stand against God. I have to trust that God has ordained those who come into power. I am praying for President Obama, that his time in office will be purposeful, that his leadership will be respectable, and right now I am praying that his speech on Tuesday will be pleasing to God. Not pleasing to me. Not pleasing to you. Pleasing to GOD.

I plan to lean on Him, and fully invoke this spirit of power, love, and self-control as I talk with my children about President Obama’s address. Ultimately, I wield far more power over my children than any president. My words and actions have a much greater personal impact on them. I want to show my children a broad display of love and grace in this and all circumstances. I commit to exercise self-control as we speak about our great country, her leader, and his authority. Whether or not I agree with his words, he has authority here.

As my children view President Obama’s address in their classrooms, I plan to be informed. I will be watching the speech here on my home computer. I would encourage all other parents to do the same.

Also, read up on what has been communicated to your child’s school:
• Letter to school principals
• Activities for Grades PreK-6 [PDF, 64K]
• Activities for Grades 7-12 [PDF, 108K]

I hope that this can be a beneficial experience for our nation’s children, in which they find encouragement and strength. I hope that this can be equally positive for our nation’s adults, that we embrace this opportunity to partner with our government for the sake of our children’s success.

I know this is a hot topic, and you want to sound off. Please comment. Share your thoughts and perspective!

Playing Beauty Shop

Last Thursday, I spent several hours at my grandmother’s house. I call it “playing beauty shop” because it really is just play. I’m not any sort of professional. I’m just a little granddaughter, playing with scissors and rollers and administering a combination of chemicals, ominously called a Permanent.

I cherish this time with her. She has always been so special to me, but even more so now that I understand that our time is precious. The days are numbered. And I don’t say that just because she turns 82 today. The days have been numbered all along; Hers and mine. I just didn’t believe it when I was younger.

Our beauty shop time is ours and ours alone. No one else gets to set her hair. Only me.

We talk and laugh and reminisce. She tells me stories about her life. There are so many stories, and while some favorites are told and retold, I usually get to hear at least one new one. We talk about the family, about the weather, her friends at the Coppell Senior Center. We talk about her upcoming travels. There are always upcoming travels. Whether her departure is in a week or months, she is always planning her next trip.

And last week, as with most times I visit her, she asked her most frequently asked question:

Are you losing weight?

Weight is a common discussion with my grandmother. You might call it an obsession. I tell her that time spent chasing kids and not baking keeps me fit. She tells me that she always had to diet like crazy to keep any weight off.

One summer I lost a lot of weight. I went over to So-and-so’s house to sunbathe, and her husband came out with the camera. I jumped up and covered myself so quick! But now that I think about it, I wish I had let him take my picture. I have never been so thin as I was then, and I wish I had a picture of myself.

This tale of sunbathing and camera-shyness has been told before. But then she tells me a part of the story I’ve never heard.

Actually, that was the one time your grandfather said to me, “Jeanne, you’ve lost enough weight. You’re getting too thin. You need to stop it now.”

Then she laughed a little, and got a sort of sheepish look. She continued, speaking softly and grinning widely, as though she were betraying a great secret.

You see, I had been going to the doctor and getting diet pills. I had so much energy! I could just go and go and go… She pumps her arms in an act of faux running.

Gramma, do you know what was in those? Doctors used to prescribe amphetamines for weight loss. That’s SPEED, Gramma.

Oh. She shrugged. Well, it worked!

I just love her. She cracks me up. I tell her that she was in danger of drug addiction, using an incredibly harmful substance, and she shrugs. I thank the Lord that my grandfather made her stop, and she laments the loss of her waiflike physique. We both smile and shake our heads.

And I laugh out loud.

Happy Birthday, Gramma!

Signs and One Lucky Burro

I ask you, Safeway Gas Station, why do I have to be responsible? I don't even live here!



And what? It's so intriguing. I like my coffee with a little mystery, don't you?

Actually, I don't like coffee.



In Texas, we call it "Mexican Food."



Lucky the Burro was probably the main attraction for kids at Colorado's Cave of the Winds. What's that in your barrell, Lucky?



Oh. Maybe Lucky the Burro has some grown up fans as well.

West Coast Bumper Stickers

I'd like to begin by pointing out that these two bumper stickers were on the same vehicle. From California, but I suppose you didn't need me to tell you that.


This is a bit unsettling for me. Excuse me, Person, I hope you realize that this is not actually a legal document. It's just a sticker. If you really want to hunt terrorists, please join the military.



Yeah, C'mon California!

In Honor of Sabrina

A few years ago, my friend Sabrina and I started to email eachother pictures of funny signs that we encountered out in the world. She is the one who introduced me to Stick Figures in Peril, the genre of signs that are meant to serve as warnings or directions. But really, many of them simply serve as stick figure comedy. Sabrina has a hilarious blog called Signage Gold that is dedicated to making fun of signs. In honor of Sabrina, I am posting these Stick Figures in Peril from our Colorado trip. Enjoy!



Stick figure in peril of losing half of his house while lying on the floor with his head in a corner.




Stick figure in peril of sprouting a mushroom-shaped head while bouncing awkwardly between huge circles.




Stick figure in peril of being pelted with rocks because the people who made the sign posted above him did not understand that you put things in quotations when you don't really mean them. "Oops."

Funny Things on the Way to Colorado

We saw a lot of funny things on this trip. Maybe they were actually funny, maybe they were only funny to us. Either way, I'm going to share some here, but just one or two at a time. It's just too much to post all at once... I want the joy to last a while! (I'll enjoy it, even if you don't.)




When I saw this sign, I thought, "Wow! This place must have some classy bathrooms, if the Chevron folks want to come all the way over here to use them." But then I found out that this is not the case. Which left me thinking, "Just how disgusting ARE the Chevron bathrooms that the people over there think that THIS is an improvement?"




Maybe Sherwin Williams should rethink this logo and slogan. You know, with the whole environmental movement and all.

Oh, and notice the driver noticing ME taking his picture and laughing. As usual. I am SO not sneaky.

Sin is a Carnival Funhouse

She’s locked in a building that she doesn’t even realize is burning down.
I know I have to wait and trust that God will open the door at the right time.
But I’m struggling with patience.
I want to rush right in and save her.

It’s a carnival funhouse, with twisted hallways and stairs that lead nowhere.
The mirrors are all wrong, but she looks to them anyway.
The faces she sees are laughing, but this really isn’t funny.
Is this independence? Is it happiness? Love?
This ‘love’ doesn’t seem right.
Is there a way out?

The flames are high, coming striaght from the foundation.
She walked in, not seeing.
This whole thing could collapse at any second.
She doesn't even know.

I want to rush in and save her.
But I know that I alone am not capable of saving.
I love her so much,
But nobody loves her like God loves her.
And only He knows how to open that door.



Those who oppose him he must gently instruct, in the hope that God will grant them repentance leading them to a knowledge of the truth, and that they will come to their senses and escape from the trap of the devil, who has taken them captive to do his will.
2 Timothy 2:25-26

Just like in the Bayou

Last night we had a fun couple over for a visit. Andy knows this couple from the office, but it was my first time to spend more than 30 seconds with them. They carried on conversation with our boys. We ate chicken and sausage gumbo and cake from Nothing Bundt Cakes. And had a hilarious time playing games.

Over dinner the husband asked me, “What’s in the roux? How do you make it?”

I kind of shrugged and humbly replied, “Oh, it’s just a mix...”

But I should have just told him… “I stew the bones of road-kill raccoons and squirrels, like I did livin’ in the bayou. Swamp rats are better, but I can’t get those here.”

Just kidding.

I never lived in the bayou.

Is there some joke I am missing here?

Yep. That's really what it says.

Someone doesn't know M from N, and they're VERY confident that they DO,
-OR-
they think they're being clever.

Either way, I find it hilarious and had to take a picture. Because that's what I do. I wonder what that customer thought as I pulled into the parking lot, took the picture, and drove away while laughing hysterically.

I'm such a jerk.

Chess Club, First Attempt

My sweet Jackson has inherited quite a few of my qualities. I’m sorry to report that some of these are not the greatest. Crazy hair, exceedingly fair skin, and orthodontic needs come to mind. As well as a slightly ridiculous amount of caution.

You see, I prefer the known and reasonably predictable. I don’t particularly enjoy trying new things. I wish I did, but that’s not who I am. I have to force it. And sadly, Jackson is the same way. Only most of the time, he is not willing to force his own exploration of the new. Usually, it’s forced upon him. Sorry kid. You’re just like your mother.

Today we went to our local library to check out the chess club for the first time. When I first posed the idea to the children, both were interested. But by the time we arrived at the library, Jackson didn’t even want to come into the room. Since that wasn’t an option, he stood sulking behind the observation chairs. Parker sat next to me, anxiously awaiting his introductory chess lesson. I pointed out the pieces, told their names, and the way that each one moves. Which is the extent of my chess knowledge.

Soon, a library lady came over to get Parker and another boy, and sat with them at the nearest table. Leaving one empty seat next to Parker.

Jackson sat down next to me and asked, eager to leave the room, “Can I go look at books?”

“Sure. You can check out the Series of Unfortunate Events, book 2.” By the way, we read the entire first volume today, and are all excited about getting on to the next one. I’m pretty sure we’ll be done with it tomorrow, and back at the library looking for the third installment on Thursday.

Anyway.

Jackson protested that he wouldn’t know where to look for it, even though he knows perfectly well how to find things with our library’s computerized catalogue. Seeing an opportunity, I said, “Okay, you stay here while I go look. Or… you could sit at the table with Parker. Just so he doesn’t worry when I leave.” A pretty transparent suggestion, considering that Parker isn’t much for worry.

I left the chess room, found our next literary adventure, and checked it out. When I returned, I found that Jackson had actually taken the bait! For over an hour I watched him and Parker soaking up new knowledge, engaged and excited, triumphantly expanding their horizons by embracing something new.

Minus One, Plus One.

Lately, God has been blessing me with many opportunities. For patience with my children especially. (It would be great if God just granted us vast amounts of patience. But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?)

Sometimes I make the most of these occasions, and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I respond to circumstances impulsively, which is rarely the best choice. Sometimes I remember to take a breath and try my best to reflect His influence in my life.

So far today, my success rate is a wash. Before breakfast, the kids had a fight and I didn’t handle it well. Minus one. We three ate our breakfasts simultaneously, silently, and separately. Parker, who loves sign language, wordlessly but quite clearly stated, “I don’t love you.” To which I calmly replied, “Oh, that’s too bad. But I love you. Now clean up your dishes and brush your teeth.” Plus one.

At this moment, I am simply thankful that God continues to offer me opportunities. Pass or fail, He openly and expectantly invites me to face challenges again and again. He knows that sometimes I’m going to fall short, and I know that He’ll always pick me back up when I do.

Hopefully someday my scorecard will boast more wins than losses. Hopefully someday I will grow up and stop keeping score.

I'm going to have to disagree.

This guy's tag says "Realistic!"

Really? Is that the actual color of brachiosaurus? The texture? No?

Well then, they must be referring to the size.

Birthdays

I’ve had a few memorable birthdays. I have a vague recollection, like a 20 second mental video clip, of my second birthday in Ohio. My grandparents gave me a plastic Little Tykes swimming pool, complete with built-in steps and slide. Someone rolled it out and leaned it against the side of our gleaming white garage. I had a birthday at McDonald’s once, and we threw bean-bags into the mouth of a big purple Grimace character cut out. I had a party at Interskate in Lewisville. I had slumber parties, where my friends and I made ridiculous home videos that we thought were hilarious. My friend Amanda and I had a party together when we turned fifteen. Now THAT was hilarious.

But today, on my twenty-ninth, I want to talk about a different kind of birthday. A better kind of birthday.

Yesterday was my brother-in-law, Trevor’s birthday. His spiritual birthday. Yesterday, he went to church with us and heard an amazing message presented in a creative way. Trevor has been to church with us before, and because of that, I’m sure that he has heard the Gospel before. But yesterday, he came to church with us and, for the first time, received it.

Now, I know that you’re supposed to keep your head bowed and eyes closed when the new believers are asked to raise their hands. But I just HAD to look. My spirit was jumping up and down at the sight of Trevor's raised hand. I had to look.

I’m a sinner. What can I say? And, while I’m admitting my hand-looking issues, I should admit that this isn’t my first time to peek down the aisle.

At an Easter service in 1993, my brother Adam and I both prayed the invitation. We’ve never talked about it… I only know about Adam’s salvation because I looked down the row, past all our family members, during the closed-eye hand-raising. I am so thankful that I looked up and saw Adam’s hand that day.

I cannot fully express the joy I find in knowing that these brothers of mine are also brothers in Christ. These are birthdays that I will give thanks for and celebrate each and every day!

Soda Pop

While storms raged outside, the boys and I stayed inside mixing up a new summer treat: Homemade Lemon-Lime Soda Pop.

Parker found this recipe in Pretend Soup and Other Real Recipes. That boy LOVES to read. He will read just about anything, from babyish board books to biographies, and always cover-to-cover. He has even read (and retained some of) the Periodic Table of Elements from Hydrogen to Ununbium. So, naturally, as he was reading through every page of this children’s cookbook, he picked out a few things that he would like to try.

Homemade Lemon-Lime Soda Pop Recipe

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
¼ cup + 2 tablespoons apple juice concentrate (thawed)
3 ice cubes
1 cup soda water

1) Squeeze juice from a lemon and measure 2 tablespoons into a glass.
2) Squeeze juice from a lime and add 1 tablespoon to the glass.
2) Add everything else and stir. Enjoy!

Yield: 1 serving (easy to make more!)



This was fast, easy, and delicious! The real win is that you are using apple juice concentrate instead of sugar.

The boys had fun and loved what they made. There’s even talk of opening a “Homemade Lemon-Lime Soda Pop” stand. So if you’re in my neighborhood this weekend, and see a table and a couple of little boys out on the corner, stop by!

A Great Morning

Today when we sat down for our picnic lunch, I was a bit frazzled from a morning of household craziness. So I asked Jackson to lead the prayer over our meal.

He thanked the Lord for our food and then, to my absolute shock and confusion, he genuinely thanked Him for letting us enjoy a “great morning.” That’s where I lost track of J’s prayer and branched off on my own.

Eyes still closed, I thought, “WHAT? Great morning? Who here had a GREAT morning?” And I twisted my face into an expression that Parker apparently found hilarious. His giggles snapped me out of my mental sidetrack and I looked up. The boy was cracking up and soon, so was I.

J totally lost focus, so our prayer closed with a quickly chuckled “Amen” from all three of us. I thought I should explain myself, because J was looking pretty confused. It's not every day that people burst into laughter while he prays.

I’m sorry Jackson. I made a face and Parker saw me. He started laughing, and then I started laughing. I didn’t mean to interrupt.

Why did you make a face?

Well, you thanked God for our "great morning." The dog pooped on the floor. You boys fought over Lincoln Logs, locked each other out of the bathroom, and complained the entire time we worked outside (which was only thirty minutes but felt like an eternity). The dog pooped on the floor. AGAIN. You fussed about popsicles, and Parker just got his mouth washed out. Which part made this a “great morning” for you?

I don’t know… Just getting to be here with you, I guess.

That is the best thing I have heard all day. Thanks, bud.

That Jackson is one sweet kid. One sweet kid who spends part of each day driving me out of my mind. But at least we can all laugh about it!

I'm on Vacation

This time of year, people frequently ask the question, “Are you planning a vacation this summer?” Well, we aren’t planning to travel, but I’m on vacation already.

Vacation is defined as a respite or a time of respite from something. An intermission.

School is out. All of my volunteer responsibilities at my local Elementary are suspended for the next eighty-five days. My boys have completed their respective grade levels, and are intellectually more than ready for next year’s beginning. We’re officially on vacation.

I like that definition. I am hoping for this summer vacation to be all of those things. Respite. Rest. Relief. I loved my time spent working in and for the school, don’t get me wrong. And both of my boys are perfectly capable of succeeding educationally. They are geniuses, if you ask me. But the daily grind and the teachers’ mad dash, the race to the finish, had gotten to us all. I think we were all thankful that yesterday, the last day of the school year, finally passed. Now summer is here!

The children know that I have plans for them. They know that they’ll practice math and do lots of reading. They know that some of my plans include house cleaning and weed pulling and poop scooping. But they’re still excited. They’re excited because they also know that my plans are heavily laden with library lurking and movie watching and water splashing.

Maybe I don’t want this summer to be just an intermission. I don’t want to go back to an overly demanding lifestyle the next time school starts. Intermission implies a return to the programming already in progress. No, that’s not what I’m looking for.

I have decided that, starting this summer - right now – our family is going to make some changes. The boys will hear “yes” more than “no.” They are going to work harder than usual, and will in turn have opportunities to play harder than usual. They are set up for success, with our expectations literally in writing on the wall. Any moment can be a teachable one… the lesson doesn’t have to be inspired by strife.

Our family is going to do more lounging, share more laughs, and as a result, enjoy more love. And who wouldn’t want a little more love?

Happy Summer, everyone!

I Have a Hard Time Trying New Foods

I’m super weird about trying new foods. Reason number four million sixty five? Last Monday night’s dinner experiment.

I do this thing called The Grocery Game* that gets us lots of cheap food. The low expense affords me the opportunity to try new products with little financial risk. I've found some great new crackers and cereals through The Game, so I confidently branched out in the frozen food aisle. I decided to try a new product for the first time last week, because it cost me about ten cents. What’s the harm, right? If it’s bad, I’ll only lose ten cents.

And some dignity.

The product was Gorton's frozen "lemon butter fish filets." They looked more like Spongebob Squarepants than fish filets. And they tasted more like an old shoe. An old shoe that has been dusted with lemon Pledge.

Dinner was so bad that after just one taste, I said to Andy, “You don’t have to eat this. I’m not going to.” We stood up from the table, threw it all away, and went out to a restaurant. It was a bit reminiscent of A Christmas Story, when their turkey dinner was destroyed and they went out for Chinese. Only we didn’t have any tableside entertainment.

Fa-ra-ra-ra-raaaa, ri-ra-ra-raa!



This post originated on MySpace about a year ago, but the incident is still brought up in our household frequently. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it! Can you relate?

*I highly recommend that you try the Grocery Game for yourself. If you do, please enter my email address in the referral section! fcboyds@yahoo.com Thanks!

A Hug in a Dream

Saturday night I had a beautiful dream. It was one of those where everything seems so real that you wake up wondering if it WAS real.

In my dream, it was a sunny morning. Andy and I were walking into church. But it wasn’t the grand worship center of our Grapevine church campus, where we normally attend. It was the much more intimate high school auditorium where the Dallas campus of our church used to gather. Walking down the aisle, the rows were full of familiar smiling faces. I recognized them in the dream, but now I don’t remember who they were. I just remember the splendor of it… like walking through a garden in full bloom.

In the very front row, in the first seat to the left of the aisle, sat an old friend. We used to see each other nearly every day, but that was years ago. How did so much time pass without me noticing? He stood and turned to greet us with that famous smile, giving me a great warm hug. The dream was so real I could feel it. I haven’t seen him for so long. I miss him.

And then I woke up. The ethereal beauty of the dream melted away, and I knew.

He’s gone.



.

Happy Birthday Jackson!

My baby is nine years old today. He is half-way through childhood... now THAT is strange to think about. When I was tucking him into bed tonight, I looked at the clock and realized that at that very moment nine years ago I was holding him for the first time. What a sweet memory!

So here are a few pictures of my guy, which I found great joy in sifting through, remembering him at different the different ages we've enjoyed so far.

2004 - My favorite load of laundry.

Summer 2005 - Bass Lake

August 11, 2005 - The first day of school.

Halloween 2006 - Trick or Treating with friends

2007 - J's Birthday

September 8, 2007 - Celebrating an even BETTER kind of birthday!

Christmas 2008 - J's new favorite thing... baseball gear.

April 2009 - RC gadgets are serious business.

Today - Happy Birthday, Baby!!

I'm SO proud of this little guy. I am thankful for these nine years that God has blessed us with, and I am looking forward to the next nine!

Better than Busy

There are a lot of things going on in my little world. I don’t like to use the word “busy” because I feel that it implies stress and over-scheduling. No, the word busy does not do justice to this season of my life.

Instead, I like to say that my days are full. I don’t mind spending a season in this manner. I even enjoy it. I am blessed to be given opportunities to use my God-given abilities for His glory. I have even been asked to do a few things that are way outside of the boundaries of my comfort zone. Things that I would NOT list among my strengths. But I guess that's the point. I can't do any of this on my own.

The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.
John 10:10

Jesus tells us that he has come to give us life. But not just life… life to the full.

I pray that my activities at the school are not only for the benefit of the school itself but that, in some way, a child or parent or staff member will see God working through me. That the glory will fall on Him. And because He is the one I work for, I know that it will. I also know that the areas where I volunteer at church are great movements of God. His work will be done with or without little me. I am humbly blessed to play a part.

I am thankful that God has allowed me to have this life. It is a pleasure to receive, but the greater joy is to give it right back.

Home-Cooked Food = Food Cooked at Home

There is something deeply gratifying about preparing a delicious home-cooked dinner. And let me just say that home cooked for me does not necessarily mean that I made it all from scratch. Sunday, I made chicken enchilada soup using a Homemade Gourmet recipe and leftover Chicken Express. It’s like recycling a delicious dinner into yet another delicious but completely different dinner! Like I said, it’s not from scratch but I still made it.

Saturday night, my dad and brother joined us for a fabulous steak dinner. I had the pleasure of creating a meal, even though I did nothing more than throw salad in a bowl and bake a few potatoes. Andy is the grill master. I have absolutely no skills when it comes to charcoal, so I leave it all to the man.

Sidebar: I have this huge issue with being stereotypical. Ask Andy. I don’t like fitting in to general stereotypes. But I haven’t the slightest problem with the old 1950’s definitions of women’s work. I love being the lady of the house, taking care of my husband and our boys. I like stirring pots in the kitchen while the man stands at the grill, searing red meat with fire. It’s who I am. God made me for this.

So, anywhoo…

Wednesday, I decided to try a creamy pork tenderloin recipe from Melanie at Big Mama. Sort of. I knew I was going to make this recipe when I went to the store, but I didn’t even look at the list of ingredients until it was time to cook. So I had to improvise a few things. Still, it all worked out. I’m sure that the results of following the actual recipe would be even better, but the three people who bothered to eat this dinner really enjoyed it. (P doesn’t eat dinner most of the time. It’s a wonder that he survives.)

There’s just a special feeling that I get when I cook. Well, I guess the really good part is serving up what I have made, sitting down around the table, thanking God and enjoying the blessing of a home-cooked meal shared with loved ones.

Ironing takes my mind back in time.

I know that quite a few people don't enjoy ironing. A friend of mine once labeled it as his "lot in life," and not in a good way. I like ironing, because it reminds me of my old apartment. Not my first apartment ever, because I’m pretty sure that I didn’t even own an iron back then, but my first apartment here in Texas. It was my first home with Andy. Back then he was a vet tech, and I always ironed his scrubs. He also liked starched shirts tucked in with a belt. Oh, how times change!

Courtney was still just a puppy when we moved in. She could fly up the stairs in a few great bounds. I used to walk her three or four times a day, along the main driveway in the grass where the tall pine trees cast great pools of shade. I found a lot of fallen bird nests for my collection there.

Both my boys were born during the time that we lived in that apartment. I hauled them up and down the stairs. I spent countless hours with them on the floor, and rocking them in the night. We read books and made block towers.

We walked to nearby parks and strolled among the houses in the surrounding neighborhoods, dreaming of the day when we would buy a house of our own.

We painted the living room and the second bedroom. The cheap, flat, beige paint that was standard in most apartments has never appealed to me. It shows every smudge and speck of dirt, which is not the best when you have a big dog and small children. So I painted it with two gallons of returned Martha Stuart paint that I bought at Sears for $2 a can. And I loved it.

At Christmas, I found the perfect artificial tree. It was 7 ½ feet tall and skinny, probably only around 3 feet in diameter at it widest part. I made a skirt out of a plaid table cloth, and bought an angel and some new plastic ornaments to accompany my collection of old sentimental ones.

Now My Love likes some of his shirts ironed, but not all of them, and almost never starched. No more scrubs. My sweet Courtney is an old lady dog. She just had a birthday last week, putting her in the neighborhood of 100 in dog years. I don’t think she could take those stairs if she tried. My baby boys are so big, and I’m quite sure that they have no recollection of our beloved apartment.

I’m thankful for the home that we now share. Our neighborhood is far beyond all of our expectations, and it is so clear that we were meant to live here. I hope that we spend many more years in this place, watching the children and the oak trees grow. When it is time for us to move on, I know that we and our boys will have many fond memories of this house and all that God has done for us here.

And every time I iron, no matter where I am, I will think of that old apartment and smile.

Learning From My Garage

There’s a freezer in my garage where I like to store good things. Meats, veggies, chicken nuggets, frozen pizza, ice cream… Good Things! Some are necessities, some are clearly not. They’re treats and back-up supplies for days when I need to make my dinner life easier. I love that freezer, and I love filling it up and emptying it out.

But sometimes things get piled up in front of the freezer because, after all, it is in my garage. I can’t get near it, let alone open the door. This frustrates me. The pile-up is usually a neat little arrangement, thoughtfully stacked in this particular space so that we can still park both cars in there. And I’m sure that the stuff stacker thought, “I’ll just put these things here, and I’ll move them when I’m ready… before anyone even notices.” But I, the keeper of the freezer, always notice. I am in contact with that freezer almost daily, putting things in or taking things out. Sometimes, however, there is SO much stuff stacked that I turn away and put my things in the kitchen freezer instead.

This was the case on Tuesday when I returned from the grocery. I parked and gathered an armful of gifts for my lovely freezer. That’s when I saw the stuff stack, impossible to move with only my one free pinky finger, and took the culinary treasures to the other freezer.

That’s when I realized the correlation between my garage and my life. God wants to fill me up, and He wants me to be available to Him so the gifts that He has given me can be used. But sometimes I block the way with a pile of superfluous stuff. Sometimes my stuff is attitude, sometimes it’s a busy schedule, and sometimes the stuff is just stuff. Sometimes, my stack is made of good things that were simply put in the wrong place… out of priority. The problem is that I am putting things in the way of my relationship with God. And like my darling stuff stacker, I do this without intending harm. I think, “I’ll just set these things down right here. It’s not a big deal.” But I’m sure that God is frustrated with me at times, when He comes to me with armloads of blessing and finds that I have a stack of stuff blocking the way.

How many things have I missed out on because of poor judgment regarding my stuff stack? Sigh. I need to do a better job on this. Thankfully, God is full of love and grace. He doesn’t give up on me, even though I forget His lessons and have to be reminded. He even speaks to me through garage freezer stuff stacks. Now THAT’s love.

I want to rearrange my garage, to protect my freezer from being blocked by a stack of stuff. I want to rearrange my life, too. It’s going to be a dirty job. There are things that I have been holding tightly that I know I have to let go. But I’m ready. I’m ready and I’m glad to do it.

Lunch at School

Ah, the school cafeteria… When I was a kid, we sat at long tables, sharing the attached bench seats. I loved the opportunity to have a guest join me for lunch at school. I loved it when anyone at my table had a guest. My favorite thing about it was that the guests would sit among the children and entertain us all. Grandparents’ Day provided a wide variety of personalities upon which to rest my attention. It was simply glorious.

Now as a parent, I find lunch with my children at school to be a completely different experience. The children still sit at long rectangular tables, but children with guests don’t usually get to sit with their friends and share this good fortune. Instead, the children and their guests are banished to the back of the cafeteria to sit at their choice of three round tables. I call these the “Prison Visitation” tables. The only way that you can avoid sitting at the PV tables is if they are already full of other prisoners and their visitors, which seems to be a rare occurrence. This is my fourth year to visit my little inmates at school, and not once have I been allowed to sit at a regular table with the kids. Not even once.

So today, I sat with Parker at the PV tables, looking out at the room full of kindergarten lunchers. For the first time, I noticed a special dynamic surrounding one kindergarten table in particular. Apparently, there is something really great about sitting in this specific location. Some kids, who are clearly the cool crowd, sit at this same table every day. The chairs may as well have their names engraved on the back. Classmates vie for the remaining seats, and it is apparently quite sad for a person to be turned away. What is this magical table of coolness and lunchtime joy? The peanut allergy table. But you don’t have to have a peanut allergy in order to sit there. You’re eligible if you bought your lunch from the school cafeteria because, as a rule, school provided lunches are peanut free. Today, two girls were forced to move from the allergy table so there would be enough room for the kids with actual allergies. They wore their saddest expressions as they picked up their lunch trays and relocated to the boring, regular, non-allergic table. You’d think someone just told them their chicken strips used to be cute, fluffy little baby chicks. Heartbreaking, isn’t it?

I never thought that having an allergy would be hailed as a status symbol, but I guess it kind of is. Well, in kindergarten anyway. While my children will never know the glory of having their own special seat at the peanut allergy table, I can rejoice in the fact that we always have the option of slapping together a pb&j and calling it a meal. Amen!

By The Way, They Won 7 - 5.

Last night was the first game of the spring baseball season. This is Jackson’s second time to play, but it’s still something new. Last fall he played in a coach-pitch league. Now he’s in kid-pitch. While it might seem scary to have eight and nine year olds throwing fastballs at each other, none of the batters were hit by any of last night’s pitches. That’s more than I can say for the first game of our coach-pitch team.

But that really doesn’t have anything to do with what I want to say today. It’s just funny.

The season-opener was last night at 7pm. I cringed when I got the news. The game starts at seven? On a school night? Oh, boy. Our kids usually go to bed at 7:30. Life is just plain easier when they go to bed on time, but sometimes we just have to let that go. It’s the season-opener, after all.

There were some challenges, of course. Jackson spent much of the afternoon in uniform. We ate a wind-blown picnic dinner at the ball fields while wondering if we were indeed in the right place. Parker is a restless little guy, who doesn’t enjoy sitting on bleachers for extended periods of time. The boys went to bed two hours later than usual.

But all of these challenges are also provided great moments to be enjoyed.

Jackson spent much of the afternoon in uniform, including the time spent with our HomeTeam. How cool is it to go to non-sports-related places while dressed in your full uniform? Yeah, I play baseball. We’re headed out to the fields right after this. My uniform IS awesome, isn’t it? I know he likes running around in that getup.

We ate a wind-blown picnic dinner at the ball fields. We didn’t see any of J’s teammates, so we kind of wondered if we had come to the right place. But that’s only because we were really early, so we got to take our time enjoying our meal. It was windy and a little chilly, but a beautiful day. And I would always rather be cold than hot. Eating at a ball field picnic table is different than eating in my dining room, but it was a chance for my family to sit down around a table and share a meal. I can’t ask for more than that! When we were done eating, Andy and J went to warm up and Parker and I read a chapter from a library book.

Parker doesn’t really enjoy sitting on the bleachers to watch the game. We can only manage to focus his attention on the field when Jackson is up to bat. Even then, he may not watch the whole thing. Instead, Parker scaled the chain link backstop, ran footraces with Andy, and paced back and forth on the low stone wall between our field and the next, lost in the world of his imagination. Every outing with Parker is an adventure.

When we finally got home and got the boys showered, brushed, and jammied, it was 9:30. Exhausted, they happily fell into bed and quickly drifted off to dreamland.

While we won’t be taking the whole family to any more 7pm school-night games, I’m glad we were all there last night to kick the season off right. I’m looking forward to the rest of the games, watching Jackson play and entertaining Parker (or should I say being entertained BY Parker) in the stands.

Lord, thank you for the lesson. I'll try to remember it this time.

Quite a while ago, when our boys were just beginning their interest in Legos, we discovered what seemed to be a good thing. In one of the new Lego packages, Jackson found a form that you could send in to receive a free two year subscription to The Lego Club Magazine. The offer boasted of articles, instructions, and pictures sent in by subscribers. Sounds like a cool thing for a budding Lego enthusiast, right?

Oh my gracious… what a mistake! Yes, the magazine has some articles, instructions, and photos of random things constructed with Legos. But mainly, this publication is a catalog. No wonder it’s free! My kids want nearly everything they see within the pages. They ask us to buy them and, after we say no, they vow to save every penny they earn until they have enough money to buy the things they want. Sheesh.

Last year, the “I wants” reached an all-time high. Andy and I determined that these Lego catalogs are the root of the problem. So, I started intercepting the mail before the boys could check it, putting the offending magazines directly into the trash. Not surprisingly, as the magazines disappeared, the attitude faded. End of story? Oh, no. I wish it were.

I can’t explain why, but I decided that the boys would like to see the new magazine when it came in the mail. And so I gave it to them. Ugh. Really, I wish I could explain why I would do such a thing. What at first seemed like a sweet, generous, caring action has revealed itself to be quite the opposite. Because of the attitude that this magazine invokes in my little Parker, he now sees me as mean, withholding, and cruel. Why won’t I just buy him these toys that his happiness hinges on? I’m not kidding. He has shed bitter tears over his lack of new Lego toys more than once in the past week.

It sounds over the top to say that Satan tempted me and tricked me into it. It sounds cliché and blame shifting of me. But seriously. The sunshiny cheery voice in my head that sold me on giving the boys these magazines has quickly turned in a stormy maniacal laugh, ridiculing me for my own stupidity. I hate that.

Like I said, this “magazine” was discovered quite a while ago. I think we just have to be nearing the end of the two-year sentence, right? It doesn’t matter. I won’t be bringing another one into my house.

Sadly, I know that it will take quite some time to undo this damage. But thankfully it can be undone. I will rid my household of all Lego magazine paraphernalia, and slowly my little Parker will forget about this drama. I, however, will remember this lesson for years and years to come.