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