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!