"Pearls" of Wisdom about Warty Toes...sort of

Here's a short biology lesson: Do you know how and why oysters make pearls? You did know pearls come from oysters, right? Well we can't all be experts at shellfish trivia. Oysters form pearls out of nacre, the same mineral substance that produces the shell of the mollusk, over time to cover an irritant such as sand that has entered its domain. The end result is a jewel.
Sometimes pain and suffering in life can produce pearls within us. God takes the bad experiences and works them for good in those who love him. (Romans 8:28) Need an example? A member of our family was senselessly murdered many years ago. His death led to one of his sons starting a ministry that has touched countless individuals.
Today I started thinking of the oyster metaphor pertaining to the urging of the Holy Spirit in my heart. If I ignore the Holy Spirit long enough, eventually I won't hear Him at all. It's sort of the same as the bivalve protecting itself from an irritant except the opposite. See, John 16:3 says of the Holy Spirit, "He will guide you into all truth." Therefore, his prompting, though it may seem irritating or painful when we are out of control, cannot possibly be a bad thing. It is the jewel. Yet, when we are unwilling to listen, we build a protective barrier to tune it out. Unlike nacre, which is just the science term for mother-of-pearl, our barrier is gross. Picture warts on a foot! A foot that not only has warts, but toenail fungus and corns. Maybe even a bunion or hammer toe.Now picture that the human connected to that hideous thing doesn't see a problem, so he (could also be a she, but my mind refuses to accept that a female would do this) walks around in flip flops displaying his grossness for the general public. I was going to include a pic of gross feet, but my Google search of images that fit the bill made me sick. You get the idea though that it ain't purdy. That's how our heart becomes when we ignore the Holy Spirit over time. Sometimes I know that's what I'm doing to myself, and sometimes I'm not so aware. That's why 1 Thessalonians 5:19 commands, "do not stifle the Holy Spirit" (NLT) God doesn't want my heart to look like a nasty foot! Nor does He want yours to. Need a spiritual pedicure? I'm not an educated professional on the subject, but I do know reading 1 Thes. 5 in its entirety is a great place to start. 

Consider the lilies of the field and the cold water wimps

Do you ever question how much God really cares about the day to day events of your life? Do you avoid bothering Him with the little details and hiccups you face constantly because, well, He's God, and He's got Ebola and war to deal with rather than your missing car keys? Take a load off and let me regale you with a true tale of just how much the little things do matter to The Almighty.

This is my soaking wet selfie I took yesterday to document why exactly I would be changing my relationship status from "married" to "widowed." You see, the weather was hot and summery, so the family (minus me) thought we should all go for a swim. This mama, who moonlights as the resident pool boy, knew the water temp was nowhere near the ballpark of the atmospheric temp, and if there's one thing I absolutely detest, it's cold water. Also mice and turnips. And dog hair on anything other than dogs . Wait, what was I talking about? Long story short, I was spontaneously included in the back yard Polar Bear Plunge, jeans, shoes, and all.
It wasn't until much later t that I realized one of my favorite earrings was absent from its usual spot in my ear lobe. Losing earrings is usually a non-issue because so few possessions are sentimental to me. They come, they go, I buy more. But this pair is special because they were my Christmas gift from my husband our first year of marriage. Losing one of them definitely made me sad. Figuring it came out in my futile struggle to stay dry, I vowed to search the back yard and pool in the morning. Then I didn't think about it again until 11 p.m. tonight. Armed with the flashlight on my phone, I said a prayer for God to show me where my earring was and walked outside. Immediately I spotted the small, shiny, earring-shaped treasure in the bottom of the deep end. Here I stopped and prayed again asking God to protect my phone. It's still very new because my prior new phone met its demise in water a week after I got it. I knew there'd be no living with my hubs if I baptized another phone, regardless of my good intentions. I carefully balanced the phone at the water's edge so I could keep the earring spotlighted while using both hands to maneuver the long pole with a net attached to retrieve it. Pool nets are designed to grab leaves, toys, even the occasional tomato (let's just call it a doggy fetch game gone wrong, and in case you're wondering, tomatoes do not float), not tiny pieces of jewelry. I finally conceded that the only way to get it out was to pick it up with my fingers.
More praying ensued as I undressed and thought about how painfully cold I was about to be. How I mustered the strength (and silence, because I tend to shriek loudly when I step or am thrown into cold water) to wade in up to my neck when no one's life was in peril can only be a testament to the hand of God at work. I was able to use my monkey toes to grasp the earring instead of getting my hair wet reaching to the bottom. Again, more merciful blessing!
Matthew 7:7 says, "ask and it will be given to you." Now I know that doesn't mean God is a magic genie and grants us whatever whim we desire. He is far more powerful and loving, and He withholds what isn't best for us. We don't give our kids sodas every time they want them because we are good parents and know what our children need. God is the ultimate dad, and he won't always let you have what's not healthy for you. (i.e. praying for A's on tests you didn't bother to study for may not render the desired results. Been there, tried that) But as a good dad, He wants to help us, and He cares about the things that matter most to us, even little earrings at the bottom of frigid pools.   

Mammogram survival 101

It has been 4 years minus one day since my last mammogram. I celebrated the anniversary by having to get another one. And let me tell you, I enjoyed this one just as much as the first. In case you're a virgin to the process, here's my recap: I was taken to a dressing room and given a gown, "tag goes in the back," and told to wait with the dressing room door open until they came back for me. Good thing I did! I kept thinking "this thing doesn't even come together in the front!" Then the door across from me opened, and the woman who emerged had a much more modest gown than mine!  Seems there were three arm holes to maneuver, and I had missed one. Glad I didn't parade down the hall bare-chested before the rest of the procedure even began.  That would have been awkward. Here's a selfie of my successful gown attempt.

Next, a stranger finagled my girls onto a butcher block one at a time and lowered a big plastic thing onto each one. A pasta maker would have been an equally fun way to go with the squishing process. The digital display on the boob smasher informed me that 16.8 pounds of pressure were holding me (or at least a very small part of me) to the block. I've been doing bicep curls with 15 pound weights for a while. It would seem I should have been conditioning my B cups instead. Now I'm cracking myself up in the naked waiting room because I'm picturing a dumbbell taped over my breast as I press 15 pounds :D What's the naked waiting room? It's the holding area where you sit in your gown that opens to the front while you wait to find out if you can get dressed or if they need to redo the fun part you just experienced. Well I got called back. Had to get an ultrasound. You know, where they dump axle grease on you and show you your baby. Except further north and no baby. I did get a chuckle though when I asked the tech if my lump was a boy or a girl. My awesome husband pulled strings to have my results read immediately by the radiologist. What a blessing. I highly recommend having a spouse with influence at a medical facility! I walked into the room with computer screens and gave my own recommendation for the place: "y'all need to get really short mammogram machines that smash testicles!" I was given a clean bill of health and asked to never return. 

In all seriousness, as opposite of fun as this was, breast cancer is immeasurably worse. Take care of your girls and get them smashed!!! It really could save your life. 

Weird Stuff My Kids Say

    I am very thankful my children all have voices and words. Some parents would give anything to have conversation with their children, and I try not to take it for granted that I get to...even when we have exchanges like we did today:
kid #3: "Mom, you just hate me!"
me: "Really? Then why did I buy you a new soccer ball today?"
#3: "So you could throw it at me!" (never happened. Don't call CPS)
me: "Then why wouldn't I have just thrown the old ball at you instead and saved the money?"
    Sometimes his dramatics are much sweeter. Like last week when we were reviewing his word list from school. Everything rhymed with cat. He read them without trouble until he got to F-a-t. He paused and said, "that's a bad word. I'm just gonna say 'chubby' instead."
    See friends? Reasons to count my blesssings. (insert maniacal laugh emoticon, which I haven't seen but would come in handy, along with an eye rolling one)
    Even more absurd than the things my children say to me at times are the things I overhear them saying to one another. Here are a few:
"Don't pull my eyelids. I mean it! Don't pull my eyelids!"

"I've caught a dead one before."
Sibling response: "oh yeah. Dead ones are easy to catch."

"I'm sorry you're not nice to me anymore."

"Close your eyes. I'm going to lead you somewhere. It's a surprise. Close them... Now duck your head a little. A little more. There! See? I told you the dog's crate smelled nasty!"
I know my world would be less messy, contain fewer trips to the ER, be quieter, and all around more peaceful, especially on road trips, if I had fewer children, but I seriously cannot imagine life without this beautiful chaos. They are absolute blessings from God, and I cannot WAIT to blackmail each and every one of them with all the embarrassing info I am archiving for when they start dating!!!

Things You'll Never Hear a Mother Say...Ever!

1.  "I think it's adorable that the boys miss the toilet. That pee smell is a sweet reminder that I have a family!"
2. "By all means go chase that bunny and trap it in a fishing net! You want to shoot it with your Air Soft gun too? Sure!"
3. "Hon, the kid just puked in his bed. You just go back to sleep and let me take care of it." actually, this might get said, but I guarantee you it is purely sarcastically, and you should get up and help immediately
4. "I would prefer you leave your dirty clothes all over the floor instead of tossing them into the hamper. I like the extra exercise I get picking them up."
5. "5 year olds with pacifiers are sweet."

6. "We should get a dog that will grow tall enough to lick dirty dishes in the sink and sample everything I'm cooking! Oh, and if it can turn on the faucet to get a drink, that would make the absolute best house pet!!!"

7. "Of course you can keep a makeshift bug house full of insects in your room. In fact, I insist on it. Need help catching some more?"

8. "Please sit in the car and honk at me until I finish getting ready to drive you to the store."

9. "Honey, it's fine with me if you let the 5 year old watch scary movies. If he gets scared at night, I'll stay up with him."

10. "You want to have one friend sleep over? Hmmm. I really think you should invite at least 8 of your friends. It doesn't even count as a sleepover unless there are nine 9 year olds in the basement."

11. "Whatever you do, please do not ever outgrow picking on your sister. It's too precious when you make her scream like a banshee."

Everyone Looks Like Someone

A friend of mine used to get told how much her step-daughter looked like her. She would say God only created so many faces, so everybody looks like somebody else. I think people see what they want to see because depending on which side of the family we are with, people tell us my daughter looks just like me or just like her father. (For the record, I have dark hair and eyes while she is blonde with blue eyes. Identical!) 

This morning my youngest asked me how to make his hair grow faster. He got it cut (at his own request yesterday) and hates it. He told me "I look like Frank Johnson like this!" Who is Frank Johnson you ask? Beats me. He says random stuff sometimes, so I googled images of this Johnson fellow, and I think the kid may be onto something. There's a definite resemblance! My son and his haircut twin. 

Courage for the Cowardly Mom

I used to be brave. Not fearless, on the contrary. I have always been afraid of just about everything, but I could push myself to face and do scary things. I have spelunked (there's your SAT word for today) through treacherous caves, held a rattlesnake, sky dived (sky dove?), and jumped off a cliff into a lake. Mostly I did those things because I had a fearless little brother, and I wasn't about to let him one up me. It's amazing how much courage we can muster just to save face.
Since becoming a mom, I have developed some irrational fears, and it's a daily battle to hand them over to God and trust that He will care for my family. For example, every time my doorbell rings I have a fleeting fear that it will be armed gunmen, and even though we live in a very quiet cul-de-sac, I am afraid of stray bullets from drive-by shootings coming into our house. I am frequently terrified of one of my children being harmed or making fatal mistakes even though we have successfully navigated 5 rounds of stitches, a broken leg, 4 trips to the ER, and a couple of calls to poison control. Well come to think of it, maybe my kids' choices thus far are the reason I am scared of bad things happening to them. Either way, God has to remind me over and over again that He has given me a spirit of power and not timidity (2 Tim 1:7).

It's 12:04 a.m and my hubs is on a business trip. 4 minutes ago an alarm began blaring in the house. No dog or child was startled in the least, but this mama nearly peed herself when it blasted through the midnight silence. No, I recant my opening statement. I still AM brave. I no longer jump out of airplanes or squeeze through crevasses in the earth because I don't want to risk the possibility of not being able to care for my children, but have overcome other fears that once crippled me. I speak confidently to strangers whereas I used to be extremely shy and terrified to talk to anyone. I have trekked through the jungles of Central America to share Jesus with people who had never heard His name. I had enough courage to get out of my bed and check on the children when the middle of the night alarm went off, and tomorrow I will have the courage to send my babies off to school without the assurance that evil will not touch them there.
God reminded Joshua repeatedly to "be strong and courageous." (Joshua 1) With each day that I conquer a new fear, I am learning to be strong and courageous as well. God tells me He "will never leave [me] or forsake [me]" and to "not be terrified," for He is "with [me] wherever [I] go." (Josh 1:5, 1:9) This is reassuring news! It gives me hope that one day I might actually come face-to-face with a mouse and not have a panic attack. But I still hope I never find out!!!

A Boy, His Dog, and His Shop Vac

Last night the 10 yr old wanted the great dane puppy to sleep in his bed. She's 9 months and 120+ pounds. My hubs warned me it was a bad idea, but they were so cute snuggled together, and I was so tired that I just let it happen. Well of course, this morning there was a war zone in his room where the dog had gotten up in the night and  chewed up whatever she could find. The majority of the mess was from a destroyed roll of toilet paper. The kid used the shop vac to clean it up. The following is his account of how it went down:
"I shoved the tp in the hose of the vacuum, and it got stuck. So then I thought 'wet tp is slippery,' so I put water in the hose. It didn't help. Then I hooked the hose up to the other hole in the vacuum. Turned it on, and toilet paper started flying out all over the place. I couldn't control the hose and was hanging on for dear life. It was stuck to all the walls. And then I cleaned it all up." 
Events like this explain why my hair is turning gray. I am terrified to go in there and check his work. Something (experience) tells me he and I have very different views of what CLEAN is. But if reading this makes you thankful for your own life, then you are welcome!

Is Reptile Fornication in the Old or New Testament?

In church this morning our pastor's sermon topic was sex. Check out 1 Corinthians 7 if you would like a little light reading of your own around the breakfast table with your kiddos. He warned us at the beginning that if we were squeamish about openly discussing sex in front of our children that we should suck it up and get over ourselves because it's important. (that's totally my paraphrase right there, but I specifically remember the word 'squeamish') To that I say, if you are indeed faint of heart about this subject, just send your kids to our house, and we can explain everything!

You see, Pastor Bobby's sermon just happened to collide with another momentous event in the King-dom. Kid #1 found a box turtle in our alley last week and brought it home to be buddies with our turtle in resident, Sparky.  He excitedly told me all about his find (#1 did, not a talking reptile) and said, "it's another male just like Sparky! Go look!" As I proceeded to the courtyard to investigate the new critter, who incidentally brought our non-human eating and pooping population to an even ratio with the humans (wahhhh!!!), my hubs tried to convince the kids to name the thing Curtis. 

The instant I walked into our courtyard, I could see that Sparky and the new guy had already become acquainted (somewhat against "Curtis's" will) and were uh...working on building their little family. I returned to the house and reported that Curtis was a girl. Everyone wanted to know what made me the expert on turtle gender, and all I could say was that they were mating, and Sparky had the upper hand. Don't use the word "mating" as a euphemism unless you are hoping the extra 1.4 seconds it takes for you to say it and the kids to ask what it means will buy you enough time to change the subject. The three Kings ran out the door to witness this mating business for themselves, and the conversation went something like this:

#2: She's trying to flip Sparky over! Help him!

me: no no. He's fine. Let's just leave them alone and go inside.

#3: is he ok?

me: yup. He's having the time of his life. Can we go in now?

#1: so are they....

#3: are they what?

me: they're trying to make baby turtles. 

#2: are you SURE that's really a girl because it's eyes look just like Sparky's?

me: yup. pretty sure

#3: why are their tails stuck together like that?

You can only sweat so many bullets before they just start exploding is all I can say to you who are still reading at this point.

me: um....well...because to make a baby, the boy's penis goes inside the girl's vagina or whatever a girl turtle has, and that's currently what's going on here (all of this spewed off my tongue at the speed of light, by the way)

#2: so they're married? 

Thank you, Pastor Bobby. My children have been paying attention in church :)

#3: but what if it is a boy and those are two penises?

me: then we are about to have more issues to deal with than baby turtles. Who wants ice cream?!

In the end, Curtis was christened Shelly, and my 8 year old daughter informed me that telling her all that information was not age-appropriate. Daily now the children inspect the yard for eggs and tell everyone they can that we have married turtles who are about to have babies. Those things dang well better reproduce because if not, then I will have to explain how more often than not sex is recreational rather than procreational. Before we have that talk, I may have start drinking heavily, and then we may as well find another church altogether that condones alcoholism in mothers. Bobby, I think I have next week's sermon topic picked out for you!

My career in politics

The hubs and I awoke at 4 a.m. to catch a flight to Washington, D.C.  We staggered into the airport half awake only to learn we have a delay. So here we sit, too paranoid to fall asleep for fear we won't be able to answer truthfully when the ticket agent asks us if our bags have been left unsupervised. On the other hand, the other bleary-eyed passengers don't appear in any shape to sabotage luggage at this hour. 

Rather than sleep, I'm pondering my itenerary, which includes tours of the Capitol building, the Library of Congress, and the Kennedy Center, and am considering how similar my job as a nursery school teacher is to working in politics. My two year old charges are self-centered, needy and require constant attention. Sound familiar? They also get themselves into messes where I must be the clean up crew and smoother of ruffled feathers. While it's true the media has not investigated hitting, biting, or toy stealing on my watch, the blood-curdling screams of many a tantrum have drawn the attention of my supervisors and other teachers making sure all is well in my room. Much like a political aid or advisor, I do my my charges' dirty work all day long and redirect their speech as they engage in constant debate. And similarly to congress, my littles talk endlessly, although half of what they makes no sense at all. Above all, our government and I share the same strict policy of never negotiating with terrorists. You don't think two year olds are terrorists? Have one of your own or sit in a room with eight of them for six hours. Not only will you change your mind, but you might even vote for me based upon my vast experience if I ever run for public office!

If I make it to Washington today, perhaps I should take my résumé to the Capitol. I mean, I'm already doing basically the same thing but in shabby clothes and driving a mom mobile. Why wouldn't I want to upgrade my wardrobe and my ride? On second thought, there is one major difference in dealing with toddlers rather than and politicians. I am considerably bigger than my little darlings, and when they go in the wrong direction, I just pick them up and move them. I'd like to see Cassandra Butts or Jack Darin hoist President Obama over their shoulders and walk him to the playground. While you picture that, I have a plane to board. 

Some days motherhood is just stupid

If you think my title is harsh, I can only assume you aren't a mom. The rest of you who are still reading know what it's like to have your favorite chochki shattered by little hands, have an audience while you're trying to use the bathroom, or bolt out of bed at 3 am to the sounds of a child vomiting. Most likely, as a mom, you know all of the above...maybe even on the same day. See? Stupid!

Currently I have raw fingertips where I have been picking superglue off of them for two days. The reason? Kid 2's hair got tangled in a plate hanger on the wall (I don't know how or why) and the keepsake plate with kid 1's footprint became a victim of the tile floor. Now as I cleaned up the pieces, 1 was prepared to help me throw them away until he realized it was his rather than #3's plate. So we saved every last shard, and after three tubes of glue and two days of work, his footprint is recognizable once again. Mostly. Stupid! My sweet friend suggested I borrow a kid that age and remake the plate with the imposter print. No one would be the wiser. She's a genius, and this is why we're friends! 

Not only have I spent my weekend gluing my fingers together, but I'm going to be constipated until the last kid goes to college. Yes, I went there. Why? Because The second I walk into a bathroom and shut the door, a kid pops in to see what I'm doing. Apparently children have it in their heads that moms are having secret bathroom parties, and they are missing all the fun. Why doesn't anyone ever barge in on daddies on toilets? We recently replaced a broken bathroom lock, and I had high hopes of going alone for a change and perhaps completing well, you know. HAD high hopes. I used to avoid using that bathroom because I never knew when my son would walk in with half the boys in the neighborhood to ask if they could have a lemonade stand. The new lock is no help whatsoever though. The two oldest kids try to beat each other's lock-picking records all the time. The girl is up to 2 seconds flat with her thumbnail. Indoor locks-stupid! A keyed deadbolt would have been a better choice. 

I could go on about the idiotic things mothers have to deal with, but I won't because one of my angels projectile spit toothpaste on the mirror and faucet handles, and my services are needed. 

I want to leave this on a sweet note rather than a complaint though. As moms also know, our job is a blessed gift, and we wouldn't wish it away for any amount of sleep or laundry-free days. I think. I'm envisioning what a week of 8 hours sleep, no tiny socks to match, and no one screaming "Mo-om" with that whiny tattle tale voice that makes us want to run away...sorry I digress. There is nothing more beautiful than the sound of your sweet baby's voice at any age saying "Mom, you're the best mom I ever had. I love you!" We endure all the stupid stuff for unbeatable moments of pure heaven. The good time refuel us for the next round of broken plates, blue spit all over the sink, and the next go round of bathroom humiliation. Happy parenting!

You Call It a Soapbox, I Call It a PSA

We all see the pics of people who go out in public (Walmart!) in totally unpresentable attire. I see it myself way too often. Sequined, backless night club top paired with workout leggings sporting the Nike logo on the calf, accessorized with house shoes. Yep. I saw that. I've seen a girl wearing what appeared to be her baby sister's hand-me-down t shirt and cut off shorts with a pregnant belly in between the two. Luckily, her boyfriend's hands covered the majority of her bare flesh as they walked through the store looking like a set of conjoined twins.  Some people seem to lack the shame that the rest of us have about our appearances.

Yet, there are many of you who are shocked by your fellow humans' audacity who are committing an equally, albeit immensely more subtle faux pas on a daily basis. Some of you are allowing your nose hair to protrude beyond the boundaries of the nostril. Quit it! Nose hairs are booger catchers, friends, and when you dangle your booger traps millimeters from your upper lip, along with the remnants of their catch of the day, you might as well eat the slimy little suckers. And when you hug or kiss another person, you are transferring your little green friends to the next person. It's gross! Don't share your snot!!!

I get it that hair grows all the time, and an occasional stray sneaks out no matter how well groomed you are. However, if your mustache originates from the nasal passage, you are painfully out of control. Some of you know it and just don't care. That's what I don't understand. Would you knowingly leave green stuff between your teeth or walk around with your zipper down? No? Well no one wants to see what's coming out of your beak either. Buy yourself a $3 pair of nose hair scissors and keep the snot follicles out of sight!

Thank you. That is all.