My New Van for Christmas!

Wednesday we went to Lafayette to get pictures of Zech for his birthday. While we were there Matt did his last minute Christmas shopping. We had a wonderful dinner at a new restaurant and, of course, finished the evening with ice cream (even if was only 17 degrees outside). We picked up the kids from my mom’s house and were home bound. It was late and we were all tired. I knew I still had some gift wrapping to do before the next day’s family gathering.


When we finally started heading home some fog rolled in. It came quickly and in parts was so thick not much could be seen. Luckily we were on a stretch of road that both of us had driven numerous times and were quite familiar with. The two youngest had just fallen asleep. The two oldest were in the back seat bickering about something. We had just passed a semi truck which we commented on because we didn’t usually see them on this particular road. We had several things on our minds but none of which were about what was about to take place.

Then it happened. I saw him first. A split second later Matt saw him. It all happened so fast. A truck had crossed the median and was sitting perpendicular in front of us in both lanes. Matt quickly stood, literally, on the brake with both feet. Screech! Crash! Bang! We hit the truck head on. Only by the GRACE IF GOD and my husband’s quick defensive driving was it not worse. Instead of T-boning the truck Matt hit him diagonally which I truly believe saved that passenger’s life and kept the rest of us from major injury. Seconds after we crashed the semi that we had just talked about passed us. I am not sure how he got around us without causing more problems. Only God does. Just one more thing I am so grateful for.

It was absolutely scary. The oldest kids were in shock and speechless. The baby slept through the whole incident. I was so bewildered that when Matt told me to call someone I couldn’t even remember the number for 911! The police came to write their report. My step-dad came to offer help. Friends came to give us ride home. The van was totaled but we all (except for Zech) walked away. Again, I have no idea how. In all honesty, it should have been much, much worse than it was.

This accident may have altered our holiday plans a little. Fortunately though, we are not accepting visitors to our hospital rooms or calling funereal homes. No, not even scratches or bruises. God really did protect us and keep us safe. It actually worked out for the best because now I get to pick out a new van for Christmas.

Even though my Christmas didn’t turn out the way I planned, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Merry Christmas everyone! May you remember all the wonderful things He gave you --your life and His.

One Long Pregnancy

Every day I woke up thinking today would be the day. I had a reason why that day should be the one. The 2nd because it was Caleb’s birthday. The 9th would only make it one week from Caleb’s. The 10th was my pick. That next weekend so that I could get out of our huge Christmas event at church. The 16th was my mom’s pick. My sister’s birthday is on the 20th but I knew there would be no way I would still be pregnant by then. The list goes on. After a while though, I really didn’t care when this baby decided to be born. I was ready.


I love being pregnant. Really I do. It’s the only time in that child’s life when I know exactly where he is and what he is eating. But also it’s the only time when I can go to church not wearing a girdle and not care. I am “allowed” to be fat and no one can say anything. And if they do mention my huge belly, I can rip off their heads and blame it on the hormones. I really do enjoy being pregnant.

And speaking of large bellies… sometime in late December I actually measured my abdomen. I took the measuring tape and wrapped it around my mid section. I couldn’t see the number but I knew I was close to the end of the tape. Therefore, I was guessing around 32-33 inches or so. The problem was that the measuring tape wasn’t a yard long as I had assumed. It was a seamstress’s tool that measured much larger. My girth was 54 inches! That is taller than some women! (Right, Sandy?)

All of the dates we had picked had come and gone. It was now the week of Christmas. And who wants to have a baby the week of Christmas? Better yet who wants to share their birthday with Jesus? Talk about playing second fiddle.

The morning of the 23rd I woke up with the flu. I could not keep anything down--not even water. I had three kids home on winter break who really didn’t care that Mommy was sick. I called the OB unit and they told me to come in for a four-hour monitor and IV fluids. I quickly jumped at the chance to have a team of nurses taking care of me for half of a day. I called my mom to come and watch the aforementioned energy filled children, packed my bags and drove myself to the hospital.

As I pulled into the parking lot contractions had started but were very weak. I knew what they were supposed to feel like having done this a number of times before, yet they were contractions nonetheless. The nurses checked me and determined that I should go ahead and stay the night to monitor the baby’s fluid levels because mine were so low.

It was then that I knew I was--finally--having a baby that day. We filled the hot tub for me to sit in while we waited for Matt to get there from work. Some wonderful friends came and sat with me while I waited. The contractions finally started resembling those that I had experienced in previous pregnancies.

I had always been told that deliveries get easier the more babies you have, however, this one was not easy. Nothing about it was. The pain was worse than any of the others. I still had the flu, therefore, still vomiting. And because he was so large, he got stuck with just his head and one arm out. The doctor’s called it shoulder dystocia. Matt called it scary. I called it painful.

But all is well that end well. Zechariah Daniel entered our world just before 4:00 in the afternoon weighing a whopping 9 lbs 13 ozs! And life has not been the same since.

Happy First Birthday Zech! You make the world a brighter place everyday. And at this rate you are going to make a great linebacker with those huge shoulders that got stuck. I love you sweetheart.

Where To Sit

Last week the our two oldest children had their Winter program at school. You know the one where all the students line up on the stage wearing reindeer hats made with their own handprints singing Christmas songs. Well, at least trying to sing Christmas songs that they may or may not know the words to as the music teacher sits frantically, yet somehow patiently, in front of the carolers mouthing the words as best she can hoping all the while that she can just get through the next 20 minutes.


Matt actually had the day off because of a project we were working on at our church. Therefore, we were quite excited that both of us would be able to attend and show our support to the kids. We knew that we wouldn’t have any problems getting good seats.  The show was in the middle of the day and we live in a sleeper town in which most families are dual income.  So no other parents would be home to attend. Well, we thought we knew that anyway.

We arrived at the school 10 minutes before the doors even opened. As we turned the corner we noticed an overwhelming amount of cars lining the streets. There was already a line of anxious parents wrapping around the building. The lines reminded me of the ones we experienced on Black Friday. I was amazed at how many people took the day off to come to an elementary school Christmas show.  As the masses made their way to the gymnasium the crowd quickly became standing room only. At one point in time the principal even offered the floor space between the seats and stage to parents. And because I knew that Caleb was expecting me to hear his solo that we practiced for days, I chose to sit up front on the hard gym floor.

So, why, when I went to church on Sunday, wasn’t it the same way? There wasn’t a large amount of people that rearranged their day and schedule to make it a point to attend.  People did not leave their houses 30 minutes early to make sure to get there before the doors even opened. There was no line of worshipers wrapping around the building. We weren’t fighting over who was going to get to sit in the front row. Quite contrary. Most people get ro church just in the nick of time if on time at all and it is usually the front rows that get sat in last if they get sat in at all.

It just makes me wonder if there is away to get as enthusiastic about hearing a church sermon as we do about hearing 100 elementary kids sing. Maybe we should try and get our pastors to wear reindeer hats.

Watch What You Say

As the Christmas season is upon us we are reading a book to our children about Advent and the different aspects of the holiday. This week we learned about the various greetings usually said this time of year and their meanings. I know that there was been some controversy about different clothing stores using different greetings and well wishes in their ads. Some people are actually refusing to shop at this stores because of the greeting they chose. So let’s take a minute to examine these familiar sayings.
“Season’s Greetings” simply says, “Welcome to the season”. That season you are wanting to greet may be just winter, or more formal such as Christmas, Chanukah, or Kwanza or maybe even the season of hustle and bustle. But whatever the season is you are simply saying “Hello” to it. Maybe the department stores are simply saying “Greetings to the shopping season.”

“Happy Holidays” is a celebratory term. Think “happy birthday.” Holiday actually means holy day usually referring to a day of vacation. Therefore this greeting literally means “let’s celebrate because I have a day off of work!” Again, it is possible that the stores are suggesting that you come shopping on your day off.

“Merry X-mas” is a term that used to really get under my skin. I loathed it when people would write this on their boxes of decorations in the attic and garage. However, I recently have come to learn that “X” is actually the first letter of  “Christ” is His native language- Greek. Unfortunately, most of us do not know Greek and should not use this well-known abbreviation. Using it may relay as one of two messages. Either we want to take the “Christ” out of Christmas or we are just too lazy to write out the whole name (all six letters!) of the only person ever willing and able to die for our sins. I would assume the stores use this greeting because of the former and the rest of us because of the latter.

Finally, is the greeting of “Merry Christmas” that is often used. (Not to be confused with “Mary Christmas” which my 5 year old swears is how it is said and spelled. “because Mary was there at Christmas! Duh!”) “Merry”, of course, means cheerful. Delightful. Laughing. Fun. And we would all agree that “Christmas” is the day we celebrate Jesus coming to earth to teach, preach and love. I am not sure if I have actually seen any advertisements use this one but if they did I hope they know what they are saying.

I hope that we all know what we are saying. There are days I may wish you “Season’s Greetings” because I want to welcome in the winter as it is the only way to get spring. I also know that I am looking forward to some “Happy Holidays” so that Matt can spend some time at home with me and the kids. I have finally allowed myself to write “X-mas” on our calendar of events due to lack of space but with full respect for my Savior. But this year, I want to be more careful when I say “Merry Christmas”. I want to really mean it. I want to say “I hope you are joyful and glad that Jesus came.” I additionally want to wish everyone “a cheerful, fun, exciting season as we celebrate his birth” as the phrase leaves my mouth and enters your ears.

I also want to have a Merry Christmas. I want to spend time with family in celebration with joy and gladness. To spend the day remembering why we are together instead of focusing on what store used what term in their ad and banning certain ones from our places to shop. As the old cliché goes: Let’s remember the reason for the season.  I mean really remember.

So to everyone… I hope you have a Merry Christmas… literally!

Christmas Traditions

One of my favorite musicals is Fiddler on the Roof. As many of you know, it is a story about a father trying to keep his family’s Jewish traditions passed down to the next generation. And every time I watch this great movie, I inevitably join Tevye, the father, when he belts out the song “Traditions”.
Personally, I think there is a huge need for traditions. When I was teaching in Illinois I never thought to come home for the holidays. It never even crossed my mind that I should come home to celebrate Thanksgiving or Christmas. I am confident that this is because growing up we really didn’t have traditions. So now that we realize that traditions really help set the tone for the holiday season Matt and I have been trying to find some that work for us.

In the beginning we wanted to celebrate at our house with both sets of grandparents. We tried that the first year. It really didn’t work. It somewhat resembled oil and water. Lets just say that our parents are quite different and neither wanted to spend the day with each other if at all possible. Then, of course, we realized that years later Caleb’s grandparents would have other grandchildren to visit also. So that custom quickly got canned.

We have thought about making it a tradition of going to my parents for Christmas Eve and day. However, if we did that, we miss Christmas Eve service at our own church. Not to mention that we would not wake up in our own house but someone else’s. But the main concern and disqualifying reason we decided against this option was due to the fact that my parents’ are more focused on Santa and the gifts he left instead of Jesus and what he gave.

We are still trying different things that can become traditions. It is a work in progress. I have some great ideas given to me from other Christian moms. And some ideas that I came up with on my own. Christmas Eve service as a family. One special gift that night. Reading the Nativity story in Luke 2 before they go to bed. No getting up until the sun is up. Only three presents on Christmas morning. (Good enough for Jesus, good enough for you!)

Yes, I think traditions are quite important to families. It helps everyone remember something about the past generation. I hope that decades from now when Rebekah and her children are unwrapping yet another Nativity scene, she can tell the story of how her mother collected them and made them match up all the baby Jesuses. Then they can have an opportunity to share stories about me.  Just as long as she is also not telling stories about her mother standing on top of the house playing a violin belting out songs about traditions.

A Cheerful Giver

Caleb and Rebekah came home with several notes in their backpacks this week. Notes about upcoming holiday parties and concerts. Notes about a canned food drive at school. Notes about PTO fundraisers. The list goes on.


However, Rebekah had a note that her brother did not have. The note read: Our class has been given the opportunity to experience giving this holiday season. In an effort to nurture community service, our class will be sponsoring a fourth-grade girl for Christmas….please only give as you can…perhaps you could donate spare change or even $1.00.

Before I finished reading the note aloud to my children, Rebekah had walked over to her allowance jar and dumped out all of the contents. She then asked me to help her count how much she had. I assumed this was to help her determine how much she really wanted to give to her class project. We counted her earnings and I waited to see what would happen…

“Rebekah, are you giving all your money to class?”
“No!”, she replied very sharply.
“Well then why do we need to count it and see how much you have?”

Her answer came back to me in a voice similar to that of the Chipmunk’s Christmas (and very matter-of-factly, I might add.) “So I know how much I have to give God first. Then I can give the rest to the girl who needs stuff for Christmas.”

My heart melted.

She put her 10% in her tithe envelope. I put the remaining amount in an envelope for class--fourfold. The next day, Daddy replaced the money in her allowance jar with a note thanking her for being generous.

It is a great feeling to know that some of the lessons we try to instill into our children are actually getting into their little minds. I am glad that all the Bible stories, Sunday School classes and life lessons are starting to be applied. That my precious children are becoming God-pleasers instead of self-pleasers.

Maybe we can all learn a lesson from my sweet five year old this holiday season and throughout the year. Give all that you have just without the high-pitched squeaky voice.

“Each man should give what he has decided in his heart to give, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver.” 2 Cor 9:7

Graded Birthdays

Sometimes I wonder what it would look like if we recieved grades for the things we did as parents. Serving nutriuos meals: B-;  teaching alphabet:  A;  helping with homework:  C+ and so on and so on.

After this weekend I am gald that we don't.  I am even more glad that there is a good chance that Caleb won't even remember his 7th birthday.  Or will he?

Party 1:  Thursday, Cupcakes to his class room.  Two dozen cupcakes, iced and decorated.  No napkins.  No juice.  No treat bags.  Grade:  C-

Party 2:  Friday, Friend Party.  Inviation had wrong date and no address.  Stayed up all night making BINGO cards with Super Hero stickers.  Boys played BINGO for 10 minutes.  Bought each guests a Super Hero costume.  Most liked the costume they recieved.  One little brother that came didn't get a costume and had a fit.  The boy that loves Star Wars got the Star Wars costume and complained about it the whole night.  Other games were a bust.  The boys didn't want to play them.  No cake.  Served left-over cupcakes from school party.  Grade:  D

Party 3:  Sunday, Family Party.  One third of guests actually came.  One seven year old very disappointed.  Lasagnas turned out great (I'm glad because that is what we are eating the rest of the week.)   Caleb got some gifts that he has been asking for which is wonderful.  He was even willing to keep the pink Leapster just so he could have one.  Everyone watched football.  We forgot to tell his birth story.  I had scrapbooks done and ready   No one looked at them.  Again, no cake.  Left-over cupcakes.  Grade:  C

As a mother of four, I am really, really glad we don't get judged or graded on how well our birthday parties turn out.  We don't have to keep score or tally marks on which ones were great and which ones weren't.  We just keep on learning as we continue down the road.  And maybe, just maybe, if we ar lucky by the time we send them off to college or down the aisle, we will have all this figured out.  But I'm  not holding my breath.  Because my luck is that I will buy the wrong college sweatshirt, or the wedding inviations might have a wrong date or soemone is going to want to watch a football game instead.

Caleb is SEVEN!

Seven!?! I never thought I would be the mother of a seven year old. Don’t get me wrong. I knew I would be a mother. I always wanted to be a mother. I guess I never thought about them growing up. And for all of you that have been there and for all of you that will be soon, 7 is huge. It’s not like five or six. At those young ages, they are still little, moldable and precious. Not seven. Seven is big. No, it’s not halfway like nine or double digits like 10, but huge nonetheless.

As tradition, because it was Caleb’s birthday yesterday he got to be king for the day. As always in out house on your special day, the birthday child gets to choose what to eat, wear and watch. No homework. No chores. No brushing of teeth. And why not? It’s only one day. I get to make all those decisions the other 364 days of the year.

Therefore, to celebrate his once-a-year kingship, Caleb had ice cream for breakfast, lasagna (his favorite) for lunch and cupcakes for snack. Then Daddy took him on a six hour date. They went rock climbing, the Children’s Museum and McDonald’s for dinner. And, the grand finale, more ice cream before bed. He was the happiest kid on the planet.

Then, as he was telling me all about his date, well past his bedtime, he looked up at me with his toothless grin and said ever so sweetly and honestly, “Mommy, I had so much fun with Daddy. But can I just sleep in your bed tonight so I can spend time with you too?” I couldn’t resist.

So I told him to go on up to bed (before he passed out in the middle of the kitchen) and I would be right up…right after I get the games ready for your party, decorate the cake, blow up balloons, hang the streamer and wrap presents. Because those are the joys mothers get for having 7 year old boys.

Happy Birthday Caleb!  You are the most precious thing in my life.  I love you with all of my heart.  You never cease to amaze me with you brain, heart or mouth.  You are going to do great things for God before He is done with you.  I hope you had a great day and I hope you have a great rest of the year as you wait for your next time to be king.  Now, I have to go get the rest of the projects done before your parties start...

Different Friends Different Expectations

A friend of mine stopped by unannounced. For the first time in a long time it didn’t bother me. Not that my friend would bother me but the state of my house didn’t bother me. This made me ponder why I sometimes get stressed over visitors and sometiand while at other mes I am at ease. I have come to the conclusion that it really isn’t the state of the house that makes me get nervous. The determining factor on how anxious I am is which friend I am having over.


For example, a couple of weeks ago I had a friend stay over. I was completely worried and somewhat frazzled about it. She even commented on how she felt things were out of sorts. I cleaned like crazy but knew it wouldn’t be clean enough for her. I was so convinced that anything I cooked would be wrong that I didn’t even try to prepare anything. But the problem wasn’t my friend but rather my opinion of her. You see, I think she is perfect and I that I will never live up to her expectations. Therefore, I should not even try.

On the other hand, I have another friend who stresses me out when we go to her house. Most of the time when my kids learn that we are headed to her house they beg and cry to not go. I spend the entire time there trying to make sure that my kids don’t touch the wrong thing or sit on the wrong chair. And heaven forbid, it they ever filled their diapers. I think we would have an entirely different issue then. It is so stressful that we rarely enjoy ourselves during the visit.

It just makes me wonder if anyone is that stressed coming over to my house. Do I make them feel like they are walking on egg shells or at the very least trying to not crack any the wrong way? Or, on the hand, I am I causing someone to stress over my attendance in their dwelling? Do I make request that make them cringe at the thought of me showing up?

I want my house to warm and welcoming. I want people to want to come here. I want their kids to want to come here. I want everyone to feel comfortable and relaxed. I don’t care where you sit--on the couch, on the floor or even on the kitchen counters. I don’t care what we eat. I even promise to pick out the mushrooms with very little complaining. And I don’t even care if your baby has diarrhea and has to be changed every 15 minutes. I will even help. Because that is how we live life together. Not stressed. Not worried. Not walking on egg shells or around pink elephants. Just loving one another.

Matt's shirt

Just recently I was reminded of one of the times Matt and I went on a date. Back when we went on dates, of course. Back before children. Back before we were even married now that I think about it. It was one of those long all-day dates. We were headed to Fort Wayne to spend the day at the zoo, have lunch at a bistro, stroll around downtown and go out for a nice relaxing dinner. I was so excited.


As we traveled down the highway to start this wonderful adventure, Mat pulled the car over to the side of the road. I had not noticed but apparently there was a older woman parked in the median. As Matt walked over to her, I sat there planning our day and what fun we would have sight seeing together and the adventure that was ahead of us. Matt seemed to be taking a little longer than I had anticipated but I wasn’t too worried. How much harm could an old lady do? Finally he got back into our car. He smelled like wet dog and said nothing. So I sat there quietly and tried to figure out how we could get rid of the odor before we got to the zoo.

The next thing I knew he was pulling into a stranger’s driveway. Or maybe he knew the person who lived here and he could ask to borrow some clothes. As he exited the car he reassured me he would be back in a couple of minutes. I found this somewhat strange but was thankful for the fresh air and the opportunity for his now soiled shirt to get aired out as well.

As it turned out, that “couple of minutes” became an hour. I sat there wondering what he was doing. Why he didn’t tell me this was part of the plan for the day? Whose house was this and what in the world was taking him so long? Finally, Matt came around the corner of the house. He was now covered in dirt not only on his shirt but also his pants and shoes. But the thing that had changed the most were his eyes. His once blue shiny eyes were now blood shot and tearful.

As we sat in the car looking at each other he explained to me that he just helped a complete stranger bury her dog that had got run over on the highway. He didn’t do it for glory or honor. He didn’t do it to get praises from a committee of on-lookers. He simply did what God told him to do.

Many of you know that my husband understands his Bible history and stores. And he does. But I know that he is also a man after God’s own heart. No, he’s not perfect. None of us are but that’s my husband with whom I am well pleased…even if he has on a dirty, stinky shirt.

Thanksgiving

Last Sunday, because of the upcoming holiday our pastor asked everyone to shared some the things they were thankful for. So as he opened the floor for comments I heard several of the same things that I was also thankful for… friends, family and forgiveness. God, Jesus, and salvation. Husbands, wives and kids. Love. Food. Jobs. Freedom.


Then that night I asked my two oldest to write down lists of the things they were thankful for. Their lists were not only similar to each others but also to the list that I had just heard that morning in church.

Caleb’s top ten were: God, Jesus, family, Mommy, Daddy, Rebekah, Elizabeth, little brother (because he refuses to spell his name.), food and pets. And even though the two of them were not together when making these lists, Rebekah’s top ten were: Mommy, Daddy, Caleb, Elizabeth, dog, Zech, God, church, flowers and dresses.

Apparently, they too made lists that morning in Sunday School. So of course they were going to have similar lists to each other and the rest of us because that is what the teacher prompted them to write. But isn’t there anything else to be thankful for?

And even though I am thankful for all the obvious things, I also appreciate of things that would never be said in church or classroom. Things like babysitters who sometimes work for free. Or someone who truly understands your situation and doesn’t ask questions. Or modern conveniences like toilet paper, toothpaste and television. Washing machines, dishwashers and vacuums. I am thankful for vacation days spent just with me (even if we only make it to the zoo with no kids!)

No, I didn’t say any of these while sitting in church last Sunday. I fought the temptation to actually be myself. And I am sure I won’t share any of them sitting around the table eating turkey with Matt’s family. No, I will just put on my “happy” face and say I am thankful for family all the while thinking “I am thankful for the days that poop actually makes it to the potty.”

Have a happy Thanksgiving everyone. Find something you are thankful for today and truly be thankful-- no matter what it is.  Now, I have to go get the ad section from the newspaper......

Sand

When we were in Florida we learned that sand is a natural exfoliate. It is great on when rubbed on your body. It takes care of dry skin and rough patches. So while we were at the beach we exfoliated often.


And as I sat on there covered in the sand I was reminded of a story about a man named Abe. By the time he was in his 80s he still didn’t have any children. Then one day God told him to go count the stars in the sky and the grains of sand on the beach. God told him that he would have as many children as he counted. (And I thought four was too many!) About a year later Abe and his wife had a son named Laughter because they laughed when they heard they were going to have a child in their retirement years.

Even though God made him count all the stars and grains of sand, I am sure He didn’t mean that Abe himself would have numerous children. Especially when he didn’t get started until he was almost 100! But rather God meant that his family lineage would span for many generations.

I have a jar of sand in our living room to remind me of the legacy I am leaving for my future generations. That even though Matt and I have only four children, our descendants will be plentiful. What will they remember about us? What kind of impact will have on them? What will our children tell their spouses about us in 20-30 years? What will they remember about their childhoods? What kind of grandparents will we be? What will be said at our funerals? What will people remember about us?

I am not sure what kind of legacy am leaving. I pray that it is a good one. I hope my kids remember all the fun times we had and all the lessons I have taught them.  No, I don’t have all the answers. All I know is I want to do the best I can with what I have.

Only time will tell what kind of legacy we left.  But for now I have to get all of this exfoliate out of my van floor.

Apples

Have you ever heard the expression: “One sour apple ruins the entire bunch.”? I am curious to know if it really does. Maybe I should take a couple apples and put one bad one in to see what happens. Will that one single apple really make the others rot? I might actually do this experiment if it wasn’t such a waste of food.

I do, however, realize that this phrase has nothing to do with fruit. Dr. Phil puts it another way. It takes 10 “Atta boys!” to make up for one put down. And even though I hear several great comments about my blog page from many of you, it only takes one sour apple.

A while ago a friend of mine made a comment about my blog entrees. She became my bad apple. She was voicing her opinion about the details and narration of my writings. She explained to me that she would appreciate it if I would just simply “write down what the kids did that day or week and leave it at that.” She was also very concerned that I “may offend some people by always mentioning God and Jesus.”

These comments made me ponder about my writings and wonder about how these pages were being viewed. I didn’t actually realize how much my friends’ comment hurt me until I realized that it was more than just keeping me from posting anything, it was even keeping me from reading The Word. That is when I realized that Satan had won. Her comment not only made me shy away from sharing my life with all of you but letting me share my life with my Creator.

That is when I knew I needed to get beyond her words and continue on with what brings me the greatest joy--reading my Bible and writing this blog. Of course a omniscience, omnipresent God is going to be seen, heard, and felt in everyday occasions. Therefore, He will be mentioned on this page.

My advice is that if you don’t like asparagus, don’t put it on your plate. If you don’t like my blog, don’t read it.

How do you like them apples?

Random Thoughts from our Trip

I know that it has been some time since my last entree.  I intentionally put the laptop under the pile of dirty clothes that we brought home from our trip to Florida last week so that I could prioritize what needed to get done in our house.  Then, on Thursday, when I was actually caught up with my chores from the week, I opened my email to discover that the rest of you may not have necessarily taken  a break from sending me messages.  I had to read and respond to over a 100 emails!  So, now that life is back to its normal level of craziness, I have made the time to return to my beloved blog page.

Here are some random thoughts about our recent trip:

Webster defines a vacation as “break from work: a period of time devoted to rest, travel, or recreation.” So, by definitions I did not take a vacation last week. I am pretty sure that if children go on any vacation with the family it really is not a vacation for the mother. It definitely was not a “break form work“. And of the three things the time was to be devoted to (rest, travel and recreation) I managed to travel. No, ladies and gentlemen, I did not take a vacation last week. I may not have been home but trust me it was not a vacation.

As we drove to Florida, I came to the conclusion that I could never be an over-the-road trucker. I would be even more over weight than I am now. I noticed that while I am driving I have to be eating. Usually something crunchy like peanuts, Combos, crackers, baby carrots, celery sticks, you name it. But always eating.

At any random overnight place, the same activities happened. Elizabeth was not at all interested in swimming. She would rather just take a “baa”. So while she soaks in the tub, Matt takes the older two to the pool. I lay out clothes for the next day, pick up the dirty clothes from that day and organize anything else that might need to get done. (but remember, I am on vacation!)  And, by now, Zech has tasted a section of the local yellow pages from numerous towns.

That leads me to my next conclusion… I am convinced that the only reason we take vacations is so that our children can swim. I am starting to wonder if we should just look into purchasing an indoor, heated pool. It might very well be cheaper than all the hotel rooms.

And speaking of hotel rooms… Did you know that most rooms that we stayed in cost an average of $100 a night. So after nine nights on vacation we spent more to house our family for one week than we do for an entire month’s mortgage!!! What I don’t understand is why hotel chains don’t offer a weekly rate. Some hotels actually do offer a weekly rate but you have to stay in the same hotel building to get that rate. Maybe next year we will just have to rent an RV. Surely that is cheaper than all the hotel rooms. But then we will have the problem of trying to find pools for the kids to swim in. Urg!

But no matter how frustrating taking a “vacation” is. No matter how much work is involved while there and once you return. There are always the funny stories you home with. I’ll end with one: As we drove down the monotonous road, we play the game in which you hunt for all the states’ license plates. When you spot one you yell out the state’s name. Illinois, Ohio, Florida, etc. Somewhere near Macon, I saw a read car with plates we had not recorded yet. I said, “Mississippi’. Then, as we passed that red car, Rebekah noticed that a man, not a woman, was driving it. She very matter of factly said, “No, that isn’t Mississippi because that is a boy driver. That one is Mr. Ippi.”

Now, I am off to try and catch up from last week and see what new adventure the children will bring me so I can share them with you on this blog.   And maybe I will send myself on a real vacation sometime soon..no kids, no laundry, no hotel fees, just a vacation.  We'll see.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Day 3 of our adventure was less than exciting. However, we do have some news to report…



The good: We started our day just south of Atlanta, GA. We made it all the way to Port Richey, FL on the gulf coast of Florida. We are currently less than an hour from our destination. So, needless to say, we made some good time on Interstate 75. And even though we were on the road for quite an extended period of time, the kids still had good dispositions and good attitudes. The conversations my grandmother and I are having are good and I am still learning more and more about this wonderful woman.

The bad: As we traveled down the interstate, my bladder had finally won the battle and we needed to pull over at a rest stop. As I was beginning to park the car, I read the signs indicating where to park. One sign actually read: “Warning: Poisonous snakes may be in restrooms“!! I was utterly shocked. Shocked enough that I almost relieved myself right then and there as I read the sign. So, as you can imagine, we pressed on to the next rest stop 40 miles down the road.

The ugly: We made it to the next area to pull over and get everyone out of the cars. We made lunch and let the kids run around the grassy field to burn off some pent up energy. Then as we were loading back up I made one last restroom trip.

That is when I saw them. Everyone saw them. Come to think of it, everyone was staring at them. They were walking so slowly. Hand in hand. Shoulder to shoulder. She was leaning against him as he was supporting her weight. But she didn’t weigh all that much. Probably not even 100 lbs. She was obviously suffering from cancer. Actually, with no official medical diagnosis, I would guess that she was not suffering from cancer bur rather dying from cancer. She had obvious signs of chemotherapy treatments. She was bald and weak. More weak than I have ever seen anyone. I just sat down, watched them get back in their car with a pink ribbon on it and began to weep silently.

As I watched them drive off into the sunset, quite possibly one of her last sunsets, I thought about what an ugly thing something like cancer is. How ugly and difficult it would be to suffer through it. How ugly it would be to watch your loved one suffer with it. I have never had to deal with this particular disease first hand and I hope I never do. But if life ever comes to that I hope I have someone to walk hand in hand with me. Because that was something beautiful to see.

A Handful of Trees

Today we took an amazing trip through the Smokey Mountains. We drove for many hours through some incredibly beautiful scenery. As we were driving I would point out various trees that had their fall foliage. It seemed like I was pointing out groups of trees about every 10-20 seconds. Then we came up to a huge hillside. There had to be nearly a million trees of every color on that particular hillside. We were in awe. Then as we turned the corner, there was yet another. Not just another hillside. Another million trees covering the hillside. And on this went for the duration of the day.  Millions and millions on colorful trees lined the mountainous earth in front of us.

Scripture says that God has the hair on our heads numbered. My head. Your head. Everyone’s head. So, it would stand to reason that He knows exactly how many trees are on this very curvy road through this state park. I am also not naïve enough to think I have even begun to see all the trees He has created. There are so many more. The ones lost to lumberjacks and forest fires. The ones cut down to clear the path for the road I traveled. The ones on the other side of the mountains range, the other side of the US and the ones on the other side of the earth. I am sure that the millions of trees that I got the chance to see today are just a handful of what there is.

And even though it took us 8 hours to drive through one of the skinniest states our great nation has to offer, it was well worth hearing my grandmother say “Oh, my gracious. This is simply gorgeous!”. Even if she did say it as many times as there are trees in southern Tennessee.

Florida or Bust

My maternal grandmother is a snow bird. Every winter she migrates to the south for the cold weather. She usually takes her journey to Florida in late autumn and returns to Indiana in time for Easter. I have had the privilege of making this trip with her numerous times.


Before I was married with children, I drove her down in the fall and flew back home. Then, over Spring Break, I would fly down to retrieve her. I loved every minute of it. I got to spend time with a loved one while taking a vacation.  For a teacher, it was a paid vacation. It was also an all expenses included vacation because Grandma picked up the tab. It was a dream "job" made just for me.

However, now that I have a family of my own it is not quite so easy to be gone for several days in a row to make this annual excursion.  But as luck would have it, I am fortunate enough to be able to provide this taxi service again this year for my aging grandma. I realize that her years are now numbered and I want to enjoy as many of these annual trips as possible before she leaves this earth. And even though the road is long and sometimes stressful, I really love the time we get to spend getting to learn more about each other. Just today Grandma shared something with me that few people know that she wants me to share at her funeral--and not until then. I feel privileged and honored.

I know that these opportunities will only strengthen our bond and increase our love for one another. Even though she is an old woman set in her ways, she is my grandmother and I love her. And who knows maybe someday I will have to be asking my own granddaughter to drive me to Florida every year.

Grand Theft Auto

I have always wondered what crime has to be committed to be considered “Grand Theft Auto”. Is it considered grand theft because the vehicle has to be worth $1000? Or is it grand because the vehicle is distinguished? Either way, if Matt’s beat-up work truck would ever get stolen the criminal would not be charged with grand theft auto. Maybe ”Petty Theft Auto” or even “Ordinary Theft Auto” but definitely not “Grand”.


So is the amount stolen the determining factor for crimes? If stolen goods are more or less than 1000? Let’s say I take $200 from the church is that a large theft? What if I take 500 Kleenex boxes from the counselor’s office? Is that big theft? What if I take more than 999 push pins from the office? Is that a major crime even if it is still under 1000?

Why do I ask?

You have to understand that we lived in an apartment for 3 years. During those years I yearned to look our my window and see rows of plant life including, but not limited to, daises, lilies, and clematis. I longed for the days of being able to sit out in my own backyard while the children played on the swing set and admire my flowers.

So when I confess to you that I have taken over 1000 flower bulbs from various locations around town you will appreciate my curiosity into my concerns if this will be considered grand theft.

Now, let’s be very clear…I did NOT steal anyone’s foliage. I actually got permission from many of my friends to thin our their own flower collections. I am (Ok, maybe not just me.) then going to plant all of these wonderful corms in our back yard. Then every year when they bloom I will be reminded of the many friendships that help cultivate that space. I will be reminded of the vast amount of brotherly love that went into all the bouquets. We will name it our “Phileo Garden”.

So every spring and summer as I am enjoying my colorful and fragrant yard I will think of all of you that contributed to it. And as I sit there enjoying the arrangements, I will wonder if the police are coming with charges of Grand Theft Flower.

Thank yous to everyone who donated! And a huge thank you to AT, HT and AC for all the help getting them planted. I couldn’t have done it without any of you.

Our Mark

I have been asked to lead our women’s Bible study class this week. We are currently studying the book of Revelation. Somehow, I ended up with a particularly difficult session. Here is what I will be sharing:




While studying at Purdue, I always knew when Easter was right around the corner. Every year hundreds of students would walk around campus with a dirt smudge on their foreheads. I could not fathom why anyone would attend classes looking like they just cleaned out an ashtray with their hairline. However, I did know that brightly colored eggs and chocolate bunnies would soon follow.

Then, my junior year, I dated a Catholic. I learned about Ash Wednesday first hand. My boyfriend and I (and every other Catholic student on campus) went to mass on this particular day to stand in line to wait for the priest to smear ashes on our foreheads. As I stood in line I looked around at all the faces that had dared to participate in this holy event. Did they frequent St. Tom’s every Sunday? I know I didn’t. Did they come to hear a message about the season of Lent? Again, I didn’t. Were they all there just to get their ashes so that they could report back to their mothers that they had participated in the ritual and were ready for Easter? I am not sure.

Now, many years later, I am sure I am sure of something. I am sure that we are all waiting in line for a mark on our foreheads. Ezekiel tells us that God commands a man with a writing kit to “put a mark on the foreheads of those who grieve and lament over all the detestable thing that are done…”

That mark is going to be either a “X” or a “+” right smack in the middle of our temples, right in the front of our heads, for all to see. And contrary to the Catholic ashes this mark is going to be permanent. More like a tattoo. But trust me when I tell you that you are going to want it to be permanent. You aren’t going to want to wash this one off because later in that same chapter of Ezekiel we are told God then commands that everyone in the city, old men, young, men, women and children are to be slain. “But do not touch anyone who has the mark.” (Ez 9:6)

Just like the Israelites in Egypt needed a sign or mark on their door post for the angel of death to pass over them. We too are going to need this mark for our own protection from the wrath of God. In Revelation we are told that God is going to send locusts with the power of scorpions to earth to harm “those people who do not have to seal of God on their foreheads.”

We can chose to wear this symbol of the cross or not. But let me warn you that not wearing this specific mark does not mean you will have a vacant spot on your head. You see, everyone else who does not receive this mark will receive another. It is called the mark of the beast. I doubt it will be obvious like a “666” on your crown but it will be a mark indicating that you worship the imagine of the beast, the devil, rather than worshipping God.

Yes, we are all in line for a mark of some sort. We get to choose which one. But this is more than just some ashes we can tell our moms about. Or even a smudge to wear around campus for the day. This is a mark that that will determine where you spend eternity.  Make your choice and get your mark.

You said what?

It is entertaining to watch our children learn. Especially when it comes to learning the English language. I mean, let’s face it, English is a confusing language. Actually I heard once, and have come to believe, that English is the most difficult language to learn.


So it is no wonder that my children are having a difficult time trying to communicate properly. Their most common misuses are the familiar verb tense issues like, ‘We goed to the store.“ or “He taked it away from me.” Rebekah’s most recent flub has been since she discovered contractions. Her newest one is: “I amn’t”.

“Rebekah are you bothering your brother?”
“No, I amn’t.”
“Rebekah, you need to eat your broccoli.”
“I amn’t eating that!”

It’s cute and funny --for now. She’s only five. It’s not so cute nor funny when it’s an adult who still doesn’t have a grasp of he English language. Now don’t’ get me wrong, I don’t expect everyone to be able to diagram sentences with predicates, subjects and articles. I do, however, expect an educated adult to know the difference between saying, “Give the ball to John and me.” and “Give the ball to John and I.’ Maybe it is because there has been such a big push to get people to start using “I’ in the subjective form (John and I went to the store.) that we somehow now think it always has to be “I”. But that is not always true. (Just for the record, you would give the ball to John and me.)

Some other misgrammars I have overheard are, "I don't have no shoes." or "Where's it at?".  And who really knows if you are to lie down in bed or lay down in bed? And, there is always the question if there is an"R" sound in the midle of wash. 

 But, my favorite adult flub is: “Put it on Mike and I’s porch…” Seriously?  Does that even sound right? "Put it on I’s porch"?? But, belive it or not, people, grown, educated people, really do say these things.  I actually got a wedding card that had a note from a fellow teacher that said, “You got married on Tim and I’s anniversary.” She really did write that. No joke. A teacher.

Now, I am not saying that I always use correct grammar. I make my own share of mistakes. Come to think of it the more I stay at home with children who are making mistakes I am more likely to make them also. To be quite honest, I actually caught myself saying “tooked” in front of one of Matt’s cousins who is an English teacher. How embarrassing!

No, I may not be perfect but I hope I am teaching my children the best I can with the knowledge I have. But I am sure there days that I amn't.

Saturday was a perfect day to take the kids to the zoo. The weather was pleasant, the leaves were changing colors and the kids were behaving. What more could a girl ask for? It was absolutely perfect.


So after a way-too-early football game, we packed a picnic lunch as usual, loaded the kids into the van and headed out to visit the animals. As we traveled down the interstate we all commented on the amazing colors that autumn brings. We even decided to collect as many different color leaves as we could and make a leaf collage when we got home.

Everything was going great until we pulled in front of the zoo‘s entrance. In the middle of the parking lot is a strip of 20-30 trees. Trees to park your car under in the summer so that it isn’t blazing hot when we get back in. Trees that are decorated with gorgeous Christmas lights throughout the winter. Trees that bloom beautiful in the spring. Trees whose leaves are vibrant with a multitude of colors in the fall. Trees that we sit under when we have our picnic lunch. Trees that provide food for the birds and squirrels. Trees that help save our planet and provide oxygen. They were gone! Every last one of them…gone.

Upon inquiring about the missing foliage, we learned that there had been some requests made for more picnic tables. Zoo visitors are asked not to eat within the zoo grounds so many families retreat to the arboreal area for meals, hence the need for more tables. Unfortunately, when the corporate big wigs came for a visit to inspect the area for the said tables they decided that the forest would be better used as more parking spots.

Needless to say, we were very distraught, perplexed and concerned. I am planning to call the office and write a letter to express my feelings on the loss of our wonderful trees. I know that my one little letter will not bring back our trees or their colorful leaves but at least I know that tried. I just want them to know that they have at least one unhappy family who is missing their trees.

Applesauce!

Last fall, we just moved into our new house. I was in my third trimester of our last pregnancy. We still had unpacked boxes everywhere. Our oldest had just started kindergarten. But, most importantly, it was apple season. And because we finally had the kitchen space, Matt was anxious to make his famous applesauce. So, off we went for our annual trip to an orchard a couple of hours away to get the perfect apple type to make sauce. We then bought 14 bushels!! Let me just tell you--that’s a lot of apples.


So for the next couple of days we cleaned, cut, cranked and cooked apples. It took forever. My bulging belly kept me from being able to lean over the sink for too long. My swelling feet kept me from being able to stand and cut for too long. My aching back and general tiredness kept me from being any kind of help for too long. Never the less, Matt got all the applesauce made. I am really not sure how much he made but we had one entire chest freezer devoted solely to applesauce.

Yeah, that’s right--had. We had one chest freezer full. No, we didn’t sell it all. Nor did we get to eat it all. We didn’t give it all away or make Christmas presents out of it. As luck would have it we had a power outage. When the power came back on the freezer didn’t. Based on the lumps of hairy mold in the containers we guess that the surge was about 2-3 weeks before we found the horrible mess.

It broke my heart to see all that food being thrown in the garbage. Not only are we out the money we spent at the orchard. We are out those precious hours spent on making the sauce. Hours I could have been resting and not on my feet. Hours that we could have spent unpacking. Hours we could have spent with Caleb better preparing him for school.  Hours we could have spent doing several other activities. But we are also out of all of those plastic containers to put more applesauce in this year.

So if you have any empty cottage cheese, sour cream, yogurt or similar plastic containers we need them. Lots of them. We are planning on making even more sauce this year. You know we will. We always do. No matter if we just moved or started school or are about ready to have a baby.

Jack fell down and broke his crown

I woke up this morning with a strange pair of feet pressed up against my face. I am, more often than not, awaken laying next to our oldest son who happens to crawl into bed with us sometime in the middle of the night. But, these were not his feet. Sometimes, Rebekah joins us but these were also not hers. No, these feet belonged to Elizabeth. And, man did they stink!


Now, don’t get me wrong Elizabeth did not get up in the middle of the night and come and join us in our room. She actually started there. On purpose. By request. Not her request but by the request of the ER doctor.

Yesterday, as my mom and I were bargain hunting, Elizabeth fell out of the shopping cart. She tumbled from the cart, dropping roughly four feet onto the concrete floor. She landed on her forehead. She understandably cried for a while. Then, after some comfort from Grandma, she resumed her usual behavior and disposition. I thought nothing of it. We went on with our shopping journey. We came home and Elizabeth took her long-awaited nap. She woke up in a great mood and joined her older siblings on the swing set. As I was making dinner, she kept touching her head and indicating that it hurt. I then brushed back her bands to discover not a lump but an indentation.

I remember from Caleb’s encounter with the zoo’s cow that a raised bump indicated normal swelling and to not be concerned. However, I wasn’t quite sure what to think about a thumb-size dent in my toddler’s forehead. In a somewhat panic mode, I called our local Ask-A-Nurse (AKA Mary Carney) who was also perplexed by the situation. After some more phone calls to various doctors for whom I am grateful, we ended up in the ER for a better part of our night.

Elizabeth was an excellent patient. She was her usual charming self. She swallowed the pain medication with no problem. She was very calm and relaxed during her physical examination which included checking for broken bones. (I didn’t even think to do that.) She let the doctor inspect her up until she got to her head. Then the crying began. My sweet little two-year-old fought off anyone and everyone who wanted to get near her skull.

Then, the most unpleasant part of the entire evening was the dreaded CAT scan. They took that same sweet little, now wailing, child and literally strapped her down to a board and wrapped her in a lead jacket. Then, as if that wasn’t enough, they took an ace bandage and secured her head to the other end of the board. Yes, I understand (intellectually) that this is all necessary to get a high-quality reading. Nonetheless, my heart was aching for her. She was petrified. I was anxious. We both wanted to be done.

After a short little stay, we were cleared to go home. She had no bleeding in her brain nor had any broken skull pieces (remember that her skull is not completely fussed together yet). We were given some take home instructions of which include not letting her drive or operate large machinery and waking her every four hours. Hence, why she is in our bed. But that does not explain the stinky feet.

A Wonderful Time of Year

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year”!! Yes, I know that this is typically a song sung at Christmas time but I look forward to one specific day on the calendar throughout most of the year. That day is September 24. So many wonderful events take place on that day.


For one, by the end of September autumn is officially here. Like many others, I enjoy watching the leaves on the trees change into their amazing colors. I enjoy the opportunity to throw on a sweatshirt in the evening when we are outside playing. But mostly I love the smell of fall. Getting to enjoy all of the colors, temperature changes and terrific aromas makes autumn a terrific time of year.

Additionally, this is a joyful day for anyone reading through the Bible cover to cover in a year. On September 24 you move from the Old Testament in to the New. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am sure God gave us the OT for very good reasons. However, I, personally, find the minor prophets quite daunting. By the end of a whole group of them I am ready to start reading about the coming Christ. Therefore, I find the division switch very refreshing in more ways than one.

But now that I am married I have even one more reason to celebrate on September 24. Today is Matt’s birthday! (It’s also my brother-in-law, Mark’s birthday. But that is another story for yet another blog.) I never thought I would be married to a 34 year old man but alas I am. And hopefully, as the years go by, I will be married to a 44, 54, 64 and maybe even a 74 year old man.

So this has been a day of many praises in our house. Not only am I celebrating for many reasons but Matt has also joined me in singing this misplaced Christmas carol. His reasons are quite different than mine. He’s joyful because he can watch NFL, listen to MLB and read about yesterday’s NCAA football games simultaneously. I never knew such an old man could have such hidden talents.

The Scariest Moment in My Life

When we got married we made a firm decision to never have the kids in bed with us. We had a full sized bed which was plenty of room especially for newlyweds. After a couple of years and a couple of babies, we decided to move up and buy a queen sized bed. We had so much room we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. We still didn’t allow any of our children to sleep with us. We had our bed and they had theirs. Then one day that all changed.


It was like any other hot summer day. Late June 2009. We had decided to visit the Indy Zoo. About an hour into the trip we made our way to the farm animals. We were off to visit our favorite cow. Her name is Bonnie. She is our favorite because she doesn’t look like any of Grandpa‘s cows. She looks like a yak or cow with a hairy costume on. Caleb stood on fence to scratch her back. Bonnie turned her head to see what was going on as Caleb reached his hand in to pet her. That is when I heard it. A sound I will never forget. Crack! Bonnie’s horn had hit Caleb’s temple--hard.

The side of my first born’s head instantly turned the color of an eggplant and the size of an apple. He was in such shock that he couldn’t speak or even cry. He just stood there and looked at me. His eyes said it all. “Mommy, what is wrong with me? I am scared and don’t know what to do.“ Matt quickly, yet carefully set him in the stroller and took off for the first aid location. However, I had a feeling this incident was going to need more than just your typical ice pack and bandage.

Caleb indeed had a concussion. Luckily, the swelling was on the outside of his skull, not the inside of the bone. Hence the purple and blue bump now protruding from his cranium. Because of the head trauma we were not allowed to let him sleep for more than two hours at a time. So, that night we put him in our bed and stayed awake with him. As he laid there in my arms, we prayed over him. We prayed like we have never prayed before. Then it dawned on me. This could be the last time I ever get to hold my baby.

That is when we changed our minds on where the kids sleep. Sure it might be inconvenient and crowded at times. We might wake up with someone’s feet in our faces. We get pushed and prodded throughout the night. We even had to move up again and get a king-size bed but it is all worth it. I wouldn’t change it for anything.

I realized that there are only a few years of their lives when they are actually going to want to sleep in my bed. Soon they will be teenagers and want nothing to do with me. Then young adults off to college in a different town. Then married and sharing a bed with someone else. Then they can decide if they will share their bed with their own children. But for now, we wake up almost every morning with someone sleeping between us and thank God again for not taking our son from us.

Two Down: 16 To Go!

We pulled it off without a hitch. Actually it was the least stressful birthday party we have ever hosted in our seven years of having them. I am not sure if it was the fact that all of the guests had already been to our new dwelling so there was no pressure to spruce up the house. Or maybe it was my new outlook on life that not everything has to be perfect for people to like me, because it never will be. Or maybe it was because Elizabeth herself is so laid back that we just followed her lead and let everything just happen.


We grilled out some burgers, brats and hot dogs. I made a cute four layer cake with a variety of flavors and decorated it with hard candy, sprinkles and hair barrettes. We put together some side dishes and called it dinner. I hung some pink balloons and a strip or two of streamer and used our gender neutral “Happy Birthday“ table cloth. Simple and easy. We really stayed low key.

For a theme, I finally decided to go with baby dolls simply because we have so many in our house already. I used some of the dolls as centerpieces on the tables and play a game with her new one. Actually, it wasn’t until Matt and I were eating that we finally came up with the entertainment for the evening. We had one person give the doll to her and tell her to take it to someone else in the room. She knew fewer people than we thought. The game ended quickly but just in time to blow out some candles.

We all seemed to have a good time. Elizabeth got some wonderful presents. They are wonderful to me anyway. I doubt there are many more years that we can get away with receiving practical gifts like diapers and pull-ups. But at the ripe old age of two, they work for now. She got some really stylish outfits but with big sister that is so clothing conscience she is set for life. She also got a rocking cow from us that we got for free at a garage sale. After discovering that it is neither male nor female, we have named it Ashpenaz (after the eunuch in Daniel, Chapter 1) but we call him/her “Penny” for short.

We have two of her birthdays behind us and only 16 more to go. Hopefully, many, many more than 16 with us. But, I promise you, she is only getting 16 more theme parties out of me. And that is only if she gets her act together and starts having favorites.

Birthday Themes

Birthdays are a special day in our house. I am sure they are special in yours too. In our house the birthday person gets to choose the meal for dinner and is exempt from any and all chores (albeit they are few for now). My favorite part of my own children’s birthdays are the parties. We plan the festivities around a theme about something the guest of honor likes. As a tradition for any child’s first birthday they get a "#1" cake but for the remaining events have a specific theme including but not limited to invitations, decorations and games.


Caleb’s second birthday was Elmo. We had Elmo plates, invites, thank you cards, place settings and a huge red-faced piñata. For his third party we had three different “ball” cakes and a game involving the recently learned colors and numbers. His fourth was a Candy Land party. We decorated my mother’s house with colored sheets of paper to look like the path. And my favorite part was the sheet cake that we decorated to look like the game board. His firth was Noah’s Ark with a popsicle stick rendition of the ark on a “mountain” cake and animal games. Then, his most recent was Super Heroes.

Rebekah’s second birthday was a Cinderella party complete with princess costume, castle cake and a game matching up shoes like Prince Charming had to do. By her third birthday she loved to color so much we had a crayon party where we bought enough colored wax that we should have just bought stock in the Crayola company. The following year she took some ballet classes so she became our little ballerina for the day. We had everyone attempt one of the dance poses. Last May, we decided to focus on the fact that Rebekah’s choice in outfits didn’t always follow any set of rules and played games about mismatched clothes.

So, one would think that after all of this practice with themed birthday parties I would be a pro by now. Alas, I am not. Our little, precious Elizabeth turns two today and I have nothing. Nothing. She doesn’t watch any cartoons, therefore, eliminating any possibilities of a character theme. She doesn’t play with any particular toy or board game. She doesn’t have any hobbies or pastimes. She doesn’t even really have a favorite color. So what am I to do?

I guess we will just have a party with white cake and lactose-free ice cream, some balloons and presents. And that will be that. I know she will still love me years from now when she is looking through her scrapbooks. She will know that she is also special even if there wasn’t a theme. And maybe by next year she will actually have her act together enough to give me some ideas on what to do for her special day.

Happy Second Birthday, Sweet Sweet Elizabeth. I love you all the way to the bottom of my heart (even if you are theme-less). XOXOXOXOXXOXOX  Love, Mommy

Never Say Never

There are three things I KNOW for sure in this life. No make that four. My friend, Tina will never get a teaching job. Another friend, Ann, will never have premarital sex. Finally, Dale and Mary Lou will never get a divorce. How do I know these things? I know Tina’s abilities, strengths and weaknesses. I know Ann’s integrity and belief system. Mostly, I know Dale and Mary Lou’s commitment to each other.


Then I went back for a visit and learned that I don’t know as much as I thought. Tina had just started her third year teaching in the school system I was employed. Then, as I was leaving her classroom, I ran into Ann and her bulging belly. She was due to have her baby in a couple of months but her wedding wasn’t for another year. I stood there in utter shock. How could I be so wrong about what I thought was right? I was hesitant to finish my trip out of fear of what Dale and Mary Lou might tell me.

Thankfully, my dear friends, Dale and Mary Lou are still together. I at least got one thing right. But, sadly, we discovered over the weekend some friends of the McKaig family are filing for divorce. A couple that none of us thought would ever venture down that road. A couple who love the LORD. A couple that has been married for decades and have grown children. A couple that is no longer a couple.

It makes me wonder--and quite frankly, scared--who could fall into this viscous trap that the Devil has laid out for us. Anyone. That’s who. If we do not guard against the enemy daily, he will find a way to wedge between any couple. No matter how strong they think they are. No matter how much they think they love each other. No matter the circumstances. God hates divorce, therefore, the Devil must love it.

Oh, but wait. There is the fourth thing that I know. This one I do know. I know that God is Love and because of His Son’s sacrifice we are forgiven. No matter what we have done. Lied, stolen, cheated on a test, skipped church, swore, sinned in anger, had a child out of wedlock, or even filed for divorce. No matter the circumstances. God loves you and forgives you.

Pray. Pray for the forgiveness that God wants to give you. Pray for His strength the next time you are tempted to mess up again. Pray for your marriage. Pray for your spouse. Just pray. Prayer can do wonders. I am sure prayer played a huge role in how Tina got her own classroom.

Saturday Mornings

When Matt and I were dating he would woo me with stories about what life would be like married to him. Doesn’t everyone do this when they are trying to convince someone to spend the rest of their lives with them? We had so many of the same hopes, plans and ideas. We would raise our kids in a godly home. We would travel as much as time, energy and money would allow. We would have a large family (although we didn’t quite agree on what the definition of “large” was. I was thinking three or four. He wanted 13!). We would eventually send our kids off to college (undoubtedly Purdue, of course), not become grandparents until we are at least 60 and then grow old together.




One of these great ideas, on a much smaller scale, was Saturday breakfast. When we were courting, Matt told me how much he couldn’t wait until we were married so that he could get up and make me a huge breakfast. Scrambled eggs, chocolate chip pancakes, hashbrowns with cheese, sausage patties, cappuccino, orange juice. Obviously, he had already figured out my love language was food! I was pretty excited. I even had hopes that this huge and wonderful breakfast would sometimes be delivered to me in bed. I mean, a girl can dream. Can’t she? I even dreamt about him making this breakfast for me with our future kids at his side, making a mess in the kitchen while making memories for a lifetime.



But then we got married and reality hit. It wasn’t until then that I realized that he didn’t quite mean breakfast. Now, don’t get me wrong. He has full intentions of making me this huge meal. The problem is that if Matt doesn’t have to be out of bed he is not about to get out of bed before 10 AM. That includes Saturdays. Especially Saturday! So I am up at my regular time and eat my cold cereal breakfast. I get the kids up and feed them. We go on with our day.



Then when Matt does finally get up, he still makes me my huge and wonderful “breakfast”. (We just call it lunch.) We are both happy with the turn-out. He sleeps. I eat. Sure, it doesn’t happen the way I had imagined it.  But then again does life ever turn out the way we thought it would?  When life gives you lemons just make lemonade.  Or when life gives you oranges just make orange juice for breakfast at noon.

I Dropped Everything

Last week I got a phone call earlier than usual. I had just got the two oldest on the bus. I had barely started nursing Zech and was half naked. Elizabeth was “putting poop in the potty” like a big girl. I really didn’t want to know who had the audacity to interrupt my morning routine but something made me answer it anyway.


I picked up the phone and didn’t even get a chance to greet the person on the other end. All I heard was a familiar yet frantic voice saying, “Michelle, Christopher is missing. He chased after the dog. I think he went toward your house. He is gone. I don’t know where he is. He’s missing. Help!”

What was I to do? I dropped everything, of course. I laid the still hungry baby on the floor as he let out wails for more of his food that was now squirting across the room like a hydrant. I grabbed the closest pair of pants for Elizabeth and put them on her over her not-yet-wiped bottom while finding a shirt for myself so that neither one of us would get arrested for indecent exposure.

We headed out the door and started our search. I checked in my neighbors‘ swing sets. I looked in dog houses. I snooped through people’s open garages. I even called the police to make a missing child report. I could hear the cries of his mother coming from down the street. My heart was in my stomach as I am sure hers was too. After what seemed like an hour but what was actually more like 10 minutes, we found him. He had made his way to the other side of our subdivision. Crossing at least three roads, walking past the pond and was heading for the interstate off ramp.

I had the privilege of being with my friend when she was told her son was found. She literally fell to the ground in relief and gratitude. She was praising Jesus all the way to her toes. I also got to be there when he made it back home. She was so relieved to see him she wasn’t sure what to do. Should she punish him for taking off? Should she scold him so he will think about it before he did it again? How should she discipline her child that scared her to death? She did exactly what I would have done, what most of us would have done. She took him into her arms, held him so tightly that he couldn’t breathe and covered his face with her tears.

Isn’t that what God does. We were all lost at one point or another. Then we found Him, the One who loves us more than anyone. He didn’t punish us or yell at us. He didn’t scold us or ridicule us. He just took us into His loving arms and said, “This one is mine and I am glad he is home.” 

If you haven't found The One that has been searching for you, ask someone to help you find Him.  He just wants you to come home.  He won't ground you, spank you or even take away your wii.  He just wants to hold you tightly and cover you with His tears. 

My son

My son, Caleb, never seizes to amaze me.  There are times when he makes me so proud.  He learned his numbers, colors and shapes well before the age of three.  At the age of four, he corrected his Sunday School teacher about the names of the three men in the fiery furnace.  He just knew them by their Hebrew names instead of their more popular Aramaic names.  By age five he was doing two digit addition and subtraction in his head.  At the end of kindergarden, at the ripe old age of six, he performed in the school talent show.  He recited all 66 books of the Bible in order--a task most adults cannot do.  Yes, there are times he really makes his mother proud.

There are also times I want to become an ostrich and stick my head in the ground.  If you have never met him, Caleb is very defiant.  He wants things done his way or no way.  There really is no highway option.  There are days when he is so disobedient and rude I wonder what we are doing wrong in raising him.  He is the kid in class that the tale-tales talk about.  He still can't keep his hands to himself, sit down when told or stand in a line to save his life.  Within his first year of school he was sent to the principal's office more times than his mother and father were sent there--combined for their entire school life.

The bus is the worst.  Everyday, literally, every one of them, when he gets off the bus I hear reports from the other kids on something he did to hurt them and get confirmation from the very worn out bus driver.  Yesterday, the bus department actually installed a 5-point harness car seat in the school bus for my son.  He is to get in the front seat and strap himself down so that he isn't such a hazard to others.  When I saw him doing this, my heart sank.  Yes, that's my kid.  The almost seven year old that is in the baby seat and still a problem.  I cried the entire day.

I am not one of those parents that swears they "wouldn't want it any other way".  I do.  I want it another way.  I want it better.  But this is what God gave me and He promises me to never give me more than I can handle and show me a way to escape it. (1 Cor 10:13)  So for now, all I can do is pray.  Pray that God will somehow use these experiences to His glory someday.  None of us know when that day will be but I know I want it to happen soon.

A Writing Contest

I entered a writing contest in one of my parenting magazines. They were looking for interesting internet blogs about family life and parenting stories. I found my favorite one and sent it in. They read over 200 entries and chose the top ten journals. The winners were featured in this month’s publication.

I flipped open the magazine excited to read the entries of my fellow moms and see what kind of blogs the columnists considered worthy. Some of the articles were good but for the most part I felt as if the contest was about who could have the most traumatic story. Some wrote about the difficulties of trying to conceive. Others wrote about delivering premature infants and the struggles that come with delayed children. A couple of the entries were about the joys and problems that come with an adopted child.  One man wrote about being the “mom” while his partner took on the “dad” role. Another couple discussed the woes of being a black couple in DC (because there are no other black people in DC?). Most sadly, one woman wrote about losing her son unexpectedly way too early.

After reading the competition's letters, I assume my life, children and stories are just too boring. Let’s face reality. I am a white, Christian, heterosexual woman married to a heterosexual man. I am the mother of four children who were conceived the good old fashion way, delivered from my own womb on their due dates. None of them have any major health issues, diseases or disabilities. And, thankfully, they are all still alive and with us. I guess we are just the average run-of-the-mill family.

No, I didn’t win. But if it takes a struggle, tragedy or abnormality to write an award-winning blog then I am fine with losing.

Silly Bands

You have seen them. Everyone is wearing them. Those colorful rubber bands that all the kids have around their wrists. It’s the newest craze. Personally, I think they are appropriately named--”silly” bands, that is. I mean, seriously, why would anyone every pay that kind of money for rubber bands? Bands that make shapes of a variety of things? For your kids to wear and share?

Well, I know who would buy them. I would! Now don’t get me wrong. We are not the kind of people that give into peer pressure very often. But, I gave in and bought some. Not only do I allow Caleb to wear them. I encourage it. And best yet, I even wear them.

Want to know why? It is a wonderful way for me to reward and punish Caleb with very little effort on my part. Here is how it works. I wear the bands on my wrist. When I catch Caleb doing something good, even the smallest thing, I give him one. He gets so excited about it that he then starts looking for things to do to get another one. It is wonderful. Then, when he does something he is not supposed to---well, I just ask for one back. It is a great exchange with very little effort on my part. I can wear them on my arm so they are readily available. There is no need to stop what I am doing and retrieve some other kind of reward. No need to spank or put him the corner (because neither really work on him). All I have to do is slip it off of my arm and hand it over. Contrarily, if he is in need of discipline, I just put my hand out. He knows he has to give me one back and on with life we go. That simple.

No, I am not naïve enough to think this will always work. I also know that these bands will not work in every situation. But, for now, they are a miracle for our issues with discipline and I am grateful. So, even though I still think they are silly, I also think they are ingenious . So next time you see our oldest just ask him how many bands he has and what he can do to get another.

BBQ Taste-Off

Last weekend we attended Lebanon’s “Third Annual BBQ Taste-Off“. We were handed a tray to fill and off we went. We walked around to various booths that had Dixie cups full of their own recipe of BBQ pork. The object was to gather as many cups of pork as you wanted, taste test them all and then report back to which one you thought was the best.

Some looked scrumptious. Others not so much. Some was labeled “sweet” or “spicy”. There were some booths too far away to travel to with four kids to make the effort but for the most part it was easily laid out. Matt, Caleb and I all tried our trayful of samplers. Bite after bite we put our choices in good and bad piles. In the end we all reported to each other our top three and we agreed on a winner.

But then I thought that is what it is like when we meet new people. We walk around with our tray and judge others by their appearances and decide only by outer looks if we will even consider them. We want people to come with a warning label that says sweet or spicy (I know I would get the latter.) and choose to not accept them even if it might be a spice we like. We prefer to not even go through the trouble if someone is too far away. Then as we try them we make our piles. A pile of people we want to hang out with and our pile of “no thank you’s”. In the end we have our favorites and if we are lucky we get to marry the one we liked the most. (which is hopefully the one your parents liked the most too.)

But I wonder sometimes…if I would have just tried the BBQ at booth 16 (that didn’t look that good or had the wrong label, or…) Maybe, just maybe, if I would have just given her a try, she could have become a good friend too.

Football

Caleb started flag football last night.  He is very excited.  So am I.  He is learning listening skills, routine and control while running and exercising.  It is great.  Practice was at the youth football field at the park where we used to live when we first moved to Lebanon.  It was packed.  There was no where to park.  Cars and minivans lined the streets and filled neighbors' yards.  All levels of players where at this particular location.  All the leagues players from rookie flag football to 200 lbs high school linemen with pads and cleats, cheerleaders and, of course, parents  were there.  It was a site to see.

Like most nights, Matt and I had several things planned.  We had to figure out how to juggle the schedule to get everyone where they needed to be on time.  The plan was for Matt to take Caleb to practice while I had the other 3 at a different meeting.  Then we were to meet half way through practice and switch.  I would finish out practice with Caleb and Matt was taking the younger ones to his meeting.  The plan worked in theory.  I problem was that practice was at the park.

Within the 60 seconds that it took us to switch kids and locations, Rebekah unbuckled her seat belt, got out of the van and headed somewhere.  Matt didn't look for her until he got out to the road due to the fact he was trying to navigate through all the people and cars.  By the time he called me to tell me to start looking for her, she had been out of the van wondering around for 3-5 minutes.  I was scared!

Remember, the place was packed.  There was no way we could have started yelling for her.  She would have never heard us.  We don't know if she headed for the playground or the cheerleaders which were in completely opposite directions.  We couldn't just look for a little girl as many siblings of the players were roaming around. I didn't even know where to start.  It was a very overwhelming and hallow feeling.

Only by the grace of God did I spot her.  God showed me right where she was in the midst of hundreds of people before Matt even got the van back through the mess of vehicles.  I am so glad HE did. Not only could she have been kidnapped, abused, or simply lost.  When I found her she was literally oblivious to her surroundings as she walked straight in the middle of a line of scrimmage of high school boys with pads.  She almost got pummeled.

So, Caleb had a good practice and Rebekah is home safely.  Her bottom is quite red still but she is sleeping in her own bed and that is a good thing.  Thank you God.

One week down!

The first week of school came and went. It actually went very fast. It was only five “work” days ago that I sent Caleb off to first grade and Rebekah to kindergarten. Within those five days they have made new friends, learned the lunch routine and have taken many pre-tests to determine how much they already know and how much need to learn.


Rebekah has been reviewing shapes, letters and numbers. She might actually be bored if she didn’t love to color and socialize so much. Caleb has a writing/reading assessment that he thoroughly hates because he has to use fine motor skills to write. But alternatively, he has math assessments that actually say (I kid you not) “algebra computation” that he really loves. He told me that “it‘s not really algebra, Mommy. It‘s just patt-er-erns.” And he loves patt-er-erns!

Sending them away for a large part of my day has been an adjustment. As much as I get bogged down with disciplining and breaking up fights, I really do love my children. I miss curling up on the couch and running out of lap space. I miss getting kisses from all directions even if I do know that it is them just sucking up to get something.

However, while they have been gone I have really gotten to spend some much needed quality time with Elizabeth and Zech. We have settled into a great routine that allows me to get my work done and still spend the day with them. As soon as the big kids are on the bus we get our “loud” chores done like vacuuming, putting away dishes, and running the washing machine, etc. Then when Zech takes his morning nap, Elizabeth and I read books, play with flash cards to learn numbers and colors and listen to music. She is really thriving on the one-on-one attention that she has never had before now. After Zech’s nap, we all have lunch together, run errands and occupy ourselves with a myriad of toys. But, my most favorite part of the day is afternoon naps. For two hours during my day, I have two kids at school and two kids in bed and I get so much done.

This week alone I have…

Potty-trained Elizabeth,
watched Zech learn to crawl, sit up on his own and felt his first tooth,
got wardrobes organized for family pictures taken,
unpacked the rest of our moving boxes,
organized closets and drawers,
completed five scrap booking layouts,
started a king-size quilt for our new bed,
“put up” roughly 820 jars of various veggies (give or take 100),
gone to the IMA, Sam’s Club, a natural foods store and the zoo,
visited with out-of-town friends for a day,
and read about 120 books (granted they were the same 12 books that I read repeatedly and had lots of pictures but I still spent a lot of time reading.)

So what is on the agenda for this week? God only knows. I can’t wait to see what I will be able to get done. But who knows maybe I will just sit here and color or complete some patt-er-erns.  That sounds like fun.

Having Friends Come Over

We had the pleasure of having some dear friends of ours come visit yesterday. It was great to get to catch up with everything going on in their lives and their children. I just loved sitting around sharing different recipes we have tried, various scenarios that we found ourselves in, or the numerous times we have to discipline our children. We could have spent the entire time just talking about our collection of seven children . I think we actually did.

The only problem with friends (or better yet--family!) coming to visit is the cleaning you feel like you have to do before they come. We make sure the toilets are clean, the counters are clutter free and the knick-knacks are dusted. We sweep and mop the floors. We take out all the trash and clear off the coffee table. We vacuum, sanitize and polish. We even make our beds.

Birthday parties are the worst. Those events bring both friends and family. So while you are trying to entertain both groups who may or may not know each other and may or may not like each other you are worried that someone might actually notice the soap dispenser is half empty instead of paying attention to the guest of honor blowing out the candles

Do we really think that our friends are going to come into our house with white gloves and microscopes? What if they do wear the gloves and find that it’s not perfect? Do we think they are going to even mind? Do we think they will make fun of us, or they might even leave? Of course not, our friends love us for who we are, not the way we keep our house.  (Or if we have gained 40 lbs in four years.) But if they are bothered by the mess then maybe they aren’t really our friends after all. And that would just mean less people coming over to visit.  Therefore, the less you have to tidy-up. Sounds like a win-win to me.

So…who wants to come to my house? I promise to not clean.

Grocery Shopping

Now I have seen it all.  Last night we went grocery shopping in a new store .  We realized it was time to go shopping when we realized that Zech is allergic to everything in our pantry. In order to stock up we had to go to the Whole Food Store in Indy.

Upon arrival it looks like your everyday run-of-the-mill grocery store.  There is s produce section with watermelon, tomatoes and corn--all organic, of course.  There is a meat department with hormone-free chicken, grass fed beef, free-range brown eggs, shark, octopus and even kangaroo.  They had rows for gluten-free flour, cookies and pasta. One for lactose-free milk, pudding and cheeses.  And another for peanut-free cooking oils.

But then I saw it!   What to my wondering eyes did appear?  "Organic, all natural, gluten-free dog food"!  No kidding.  No joke.  I wish I had my camera so that I could have taken a picture because we sure didn't buy any.  Now don't get me wrong.  We love our dog.  We really do.  I am just not sure we love her that much.  And how exactly does one know that a dog needs gluten free food?

And as you can imagine none of these "free" foods had a price tag anywhere close to "free".  The producers and sellers know that they have you in their clutches if you are in this kind of store--either by choice or by necessity.  For example,  we usually pay roughly $1.00 for 4 lbs of flour.  Last night we spent $4.00 for a little more than one pound of the gluten-free stuff.  (My mathematician husband tells me that is 16 times as much!)  It trust that he is right.  I also trust that we are going to have to reconfigure our food budget.

Needless to say, until Zech outgrows these allergies...because I just have to believe he will...for birthdays and Christmas, Zech wants gift certificates to the Whole Foods Store.  But don't worry, we won't spend them on dog food.

Church Directory

Last night we got a family picture taken for our new church directory. Actually we had several pictures taken. I mean, several...probably close to 50. I am sure they had to take that many poses with our large and unruly group. Maybe it is so difficult to take family pictures because not everyone involved understands that all six of us have to be looking at the camera with our eyes open at the same time. Caleb was being stupid. Rebekah just wouldn't keep her head where she was told to keep it. Elizabeth had her hands in her mouth. Zechariah, well, he just sat there, but never smiled at the camera.  Everyone was more worried about everyone else to make sure they were doing what they were supposed to. At one point the photographer actually put Zech in the chair and walked away. He fell straight forward and did a face plant on the carpet which, of course, resulted in him crying for the next 5-10 minutes while we got some pictures of just the girls. It really was a nightmare.
We even coordinated our outfits around my brand new (beautiful and sentimental) Lia Sophia necklace that I won at my last race. The necklace has mother of pearl so we all wore white. Probably not the best choice in color being that particular hue usually adds more weight to you on top of the camera's ten extra pounds. But we went ahead with it because of the necklace. Then Zech’s head was covering it in every shot. Bummer.

At the end of the very long, exhausting, horrible, experience, they took us to another room and tried to get us to buy some of these not-so-wonderful pictures that would only assist in helping me remember such a unpleasant time with my kids. Let's just put it this way...we got our free 8X10 which will promptly go to my mother-in-law who has requested it. None of the rest of you will even get to see what I am talking about. That is unless you look us up in your church directory.

First Day Pictures

Have you ever wondered why we take pictures of our children on the first day of school?  I am really not sure.  Is it to keep track of how much they have grown?  So we can compare this year to that year?  But don't we already do that several times throughout the year?  We take pictures at birthdays, Christmas, and Easter.  We take pictures at swimming lessons, first hair cuts and talent shows.  We take pictures in our back yards, at Grandma's house and the zoo.  And, of course, we take pictures while we are on vacation.

There is so much work involved in taking pictures.  You have to get the kids dressed in something you don't mind the world seeing.  You have to then try and get them to stand still long enough to actually get a good shot.  You have to get them to smile and act like they enjoy each other.  Then the more pictures you take the more you have to print, store and if you are lucky--scrapbook. It's just too much work.to also take pictures on the first day of school.

Well, at least that is what I am claiming today.  Because my camera decided to not cooperate yesterday and I have no pictures of my kids leaving for school on their first day.  Maybe next year.  But then what would I compare it to?

First Day of School

Yeah, that’s right! It is August 9th and it is the first day of school here in Lebanon. The summer really did go by fast but, quite honestly, there were times when I wasn’t sure this day would ever come. But alas, it is here. Caleb and Rebekah leave for school today. I am not sure who is more excited. The kids or me.
Yeah, that’s right! I officially have a first grader and a kindergartner. That’s pretty exciting. My babies are growing up. I want them to. I knew I would be sending them off sometime soon and I am prepared. As prepared as any mom can get or will ever be. Let’s remember that Jochebed and Hannah only had their sons for 4-5 years before they had to send them away. And they sent them away, far away, forever. Not just down the road into trustworthy hands for only six hours. Those courageous and obedient women had to instill self-worth, knowledge and a love for the LORD in half the time I have been given. And they did it. They sent them away and in return we got Moses and Samuel. Two men who led the Israelites and obeyed God until their deaths.
Yeah, that’s right! I am glad the kids are leaving today. No, I am not sad at all. I know that I have done the best job that I could do in raising my kids the best way that I know how. But best of all, they are leaving this house knowing the One that loves them more than I ever could.  And that is the best way to get through days like today.