How to Kill Your Grass

A couple of weeks ago I discovered a huge fire ant mound in the yard. First I sprayed it with Raid and when it didn't work, I googled "how to kill fire ants." It said I needed to dig up the mound, destroy the nursery, and poison the whole thing. Well I found something more powerful than the Raid and thought I did all of that. The little dead ant carcasses all over the sidewalk were convincing evidence, but several days later, though the grass was completely dead on that area, and new little mounds started popping up all over the yard. I don't seem to have any luck getting the weed killer to kill weeds, but since the bug killer completely annihilated the grass, maybe I should use weed killer on the ants and see what happens. It has been a constant battle of me against the army of fire ants.

Yesterday I went to Lowes and bought a large bag of fire ant poison guaranteed to start killing them within minutes. I went to town sprinkling the granules all over and around the mounds and watched to see what would happen. I expected to see the little suckers just fall over as they walked through the poison, but that did not happen. No, turns out, I should have read the instructions in advance because I was supposed to pour water over the granules to activate them. done! If only I had taken that route in the first place.

Today my son yelled for me to come look at the mound. He said the ants were laying eggs all over the place. It turns out that what he was seeing as eggs were actually balled up dead ants. Hundreds of them! I got all excited that the poison had worked, and as I smugly leaned in for a closer inspection, I felt little pin pricks all over my feet. There was a swarm of un-dead fire ants attacking me! I guess they were just using the dead ones as decoys.

I'm starting to see some parallels between the fire ants and my sinful nature. I try to fix things my way and ignore that God already has the perfect formula for healing me. I take short cuts, and I don't take God's Word seriously in my life. Then before I know what's happening, the meanness, backbiting, and anger just multiply exponentially and take over. You're all shocked that I'm a mean, angry person, I know, but it's true. God's grace is the only thing that keeps me from going over the edge most days.

Back to the ants, I'm all out of ideas. Maybe it's time to buy some hip waders for the kids to wear in the yard and just let them take over.

Home Alone

Last weekend my oldest son and husband went camping and left the rest of us at home. It's not a small or quiet house, so I don't do a lot of sleeping as the lone grown up, and I depend on the dog, Zelda, to help guard the fort.

It was a peaceful weekend until around midnight Saturday (or Sunday morning). That's when Zelda started growling at the front door. She's a 95 lb rottweiler, and she doesn't get upset very often. Well that's not entirely true. She really hates the dumpster truck, and every time it comes down the alley, she barks and charges the door, defending out house against the evil garbage truck. Twice a week she acts like she could hurt someone. Other than that, she is quiet. So when she was upset about something outside in the middle of the night, I got upset too. I already had all the lights on, inside and out, but I was not about to open the door or blinds to see if someone was out there. If I saw them, then they'd see me too! Why is that hard for a man to understand?

I got the baseball bat, but I had the thought that in order to use a bat on someone, they'd have to be close enough to hurt me, and I put it back in favor of the gun. It's kept in a hard to reach spot, locked up with the key in another hard to find location, really hard, because I still haven't found it. But I had it out nonetheless. Finally the dog settled down and went to sleep, so I returned the gun to its hiding place.

In the morning, the boys called to tell me about catching fish, and I in turn told my husband about the dog flipping out and scaring me enough to feel the need to defend our home. I could feel him rolling his eyes at me through the phone.

Later that evening when they got home, the other kids and I were at church. Brent called to tell me they made it back safely and to let me know what the dog had been growling at. I was hoping for validation. I wanted it to be something not bad enough to give me nightmares, like evidence that someone tried to break in, but something to make it ok that I was ready to resort to deadly force if needed. Oh no, he couldn't even lie to me to make me feel better. In fact, he was quite smug when he told me it was the wooden Halloween decoration on the front door rattling in the wind. And to add insult to injury, here is his facebook status that he couldn't wait to post: "okay, my wife had a police officer talk to her MOPs group at church about personal safety last week. Now she thinks that she needs to leave bright floodlights on outside of our house 24/7, and while I was out of town she almost shot the halloween decorations that she hung on the front door."I blame the dog because she's the only one who heard the wind or the wooden thing scraping the door. But since I never found the right key for the trigger lock, is his assessment really fair?

true story

Today I will get to experience the thrilling joy of my first mammogram and a subsequent needle biopsy. My view of the whole ordeal is that someone's going to plop my girls onto a chopping block and smash them with a cold metal anvil. Then another stranger will take a large sharp thing, stab it into the flattened tissue and suck out the pieces just pulverized by the smasher. Should be fun. If I could get them to re-inflate the girls with a healthy dose of silicone (or helium to keep them upright longer), then it might not be so bad. Unfortunately, I fully expect to come home with matching flat, square imprints on my chest. If it's not as bad as that, I will be pleasantly surprised.

10 hours later:

Ok, it wasn't as bad as I had expected. First, all of me is in the same shape we started in. Not fully inflated, but not flat either. Second, it was quick and mostly painless, but by no means pleasant. And by a miracle, I completely avoided the needle, so that was a huge bonus.

My vision of the anvil smashing thing wasn't totally off base though. If you haven't been through a mammogram, let me tell you how to prep yourself. First, place one bare breast on your kitchen counter, cover with a plastic tray, and set a watermelon on the tray. Then repeat three times on each side. I offered to demonstrate for my husband using his man parts, but he declined.

There were also little stickers that the tech placed on each nipple. Not the kind of sticker you give kids for good behavior or the kind pop stars wear when exposing themselves, but a little round thing with a metal bb on it. I'm not entirely sure of its purpose other than to be a target. But if your going to squish the whole breat anyway, I don't know why you would need to aim for the tip of the iceberg. I learned later as I was dressing that the adhesive on these stickers is the same as you would find on a bumper sticker. Rip slowly or quickly, it's the same either way; if you don't bleed, you will still cry.
All in all, I was worried about nothing. I will not, however, be signing up to do it again anytime soon. If they start using the same method to screen for testicular cancer though, I will happily sit in the waiting room just to watch the patients faces as they leave. Happy Breast Cancer Awareness Month!

If anyone reading this knew my dad, you may find it ironic to note that I do not like birds. They're not creepy really, except for those massive flocks that move like a black cloud with one mind; I just don't want them eating my vegetation, pooping on my stuff, or making noise. I don't buy birdseed because it would attract birds, and I can't see why I'd want to do that.

It was with this mindset that Saturday evening my son found a small mourning dove with a broken wing and brought it home to take care of. (side note: just because I don't like birds does not mean I can't identify them. Thanks, Dad.) Not knowing what to do for the bird or for my compassionate children who wanted to see the bird be alright, I helped them gently put it in our courtyard with water and cracker crumbs. After it survived the weekend, I bought a 5 lb. bag of birdseed, the smallest I could find. We have been faithful to check on the little guy, and my daughter prays for God to heal it so the bird "can fly away over the wall all by itself." It's a sweet life lesson for them, and for me as well as I am learning to care for one of God's creatures.

And then there was an incident today. The two year old opened the door to the courtyard so he could see the "buddie and the teedle" (birdie and turtle) but our gigantic dog rushed out and snatched the bird before I could stop it. She brought it inside shaking it like her rope, and I screamed. She slithered off to her crate, and I rushed to the aid of the pitiful, contorted bird in my floor. Not knowing what else to do, I got a shoe box from the closet (see, having a shoe obsession is helpful!) to use as a makeshift stretcher or coffin, whichever. The bird appeared to be barely clinging to life, and I thought it would be much easier for me to stomach disposing of it later if it were already boxed up. As soon as I got it in the box and back in the courtyard, I had to leave to pick up my daughter at school. On the way home I explained to her what had happened, and when she went to check if I had told the truth, she found the bird sitting upright, a vast improvement over his earlier state. I tried to reposition the distorted wing, and we configured the lid of the box to provide shade and still be open on top. Then my girl began to pray for the bird. "Dear God," then she made a raising motion with her hand and told me, "take the lid off so I can see what I'm praying for." Then she sweetly asked the Father to heal each injured body part.

Three hours later, we broke the news to my oldest on the way home from school, and all three rushed the courtyard to see if the bird was alive. He was, and in fact, he had hopped out of the box! I am amazed even now that the thing survived the rottweiler's grip, and I never expected to see it moving again after the shocking living room floor rescue.

God is stirred by the prayers of the faithful, especially little children who have yet to develop hearts and minds of doubt.

In the car tonight, my daughter started to tell me something, "when the bird flies away," but I stopped her to interject that the bird couldn't fly. Irritated by my helpfulness, she snipped, "quit interrupting! WHEN the bird flies away, we will have lots and lots of birdseed left over to feed more and more birds. We can help all of them!" Oh great, do you see what happens when you do nice things?!

when I grow up I want to be young again

Yesterday I had to buy new wrinkle cream because the old one I had was making me break out. That's not even close to what I had in mind for younger looking skin!

I do not like being in my thirties. I don't know why, because if I weren't, it would mean I'm dead and not here to raise my babies. However, there is nothing cool about being out of high school longer than the teens I teach have been alive! Not cool at all. Sometimes when I've cleaned up after the kids and dog and caught a glimpse of my frazzled reflection in passing, I longingly think back to a simpler time when I was single and lived alone. Do you know how many people you have to clean up after when you live alone? ONE, and even that's optional.

But thinking about what life used to be like is a bad idea because you never see it clearly for what it really was. For instance, child birth. That is a hell like I can't even explain, but once a mom holds her baby, she forgets all about the bad stuff and eventually may even want to have more babies-knowing what it takes to get them here. She just blurs over the bad parts.

I also do that when I crave oranges. I love everything about oranges, their smell, texture and flavor. I even love that you have to peel them because there is pleasure in seeing how few pieces I can peel it in. But sadly, I am quite allergic to oranges, and they do bad things to my body. Peeling one for my kids burns my hands, and eating them burns my throat and leads to sinus infections. And yet, they continue to entice me. When I see and smell an orange, I just WANT it!

Then yesterday I read a scripture that pierced straight to my heart because it addresses all of my longings. Psalm 103:1-5 is an unbelievable comfort to me right now. It tell me that God redeems my life from the pit, which is exactly where I was living in my single days in that quiet apartment. In truth, while I look back and think about how great it was, at the time, I was rebelling against God's will for me, and I was angry with Him. Now though, He "crowns [me] with love and compassion." Psalm 103 also tells me that God "satisfies [my] desires with good things" so I don't have to long for things that will hurt me or leave me drained, like oranges do. Unfortunately, oranges aren't the only unhealthy desires I invite into my life. Praise God that You love me enough to keep pouring on the "good things!" Finally, vs. 5 amazes me with its assurance that through "good things" my "youth is renewed." I'm hoping that means I can stop buying wrinkle cream because my face is about to look 24 again! Maybe not, but I am claiming that renewal today.

Investment Returns and Heart Surgery

Don't worry, I am not about to give you financial advice. First off, I was only marginally successful in that math class with all the % rates. I'm just glad I know what APR means, but if I had to calculate it, I'd be in trouble. Second, the only time I invested in the stock market, I realized about a month in that I wouldn't make rent without that money, so let's just say my portfolio is...limited.

I do however know a little about time and spiritual investing, mainly because I have also been unwise in those areas of investment. I also know a little (very little) about heart surgery because, well, I'm a nerd, and that stuff interests me.

Christian radio stations have been updating about the newborn son of Sanctus Real's lead singer this week as he endured a 4 hour open heart surgery and almost died yesterday. It has really effected me and convicted me of how I take this life for granted.

I invest my time and my spiritual heart in so many different things that I've lost count. Reading novels, not cleaning my house, and shopping are three of my current faves. As long as I spread myself around, I don't have to invest too much into one area, and I protect myself against any hurt that may come from one direction. Because if I give myself completely to a relationship or a project and they fail, it feels much worse than if I just got my feet wet and they fail. Yet, my efforts at diversification have not given me the returns I had hoped for. I don't feel well-rounded and fulfilled; instead, I feel depleted, broken. My heart wasn't constructed to work in pieces, and just as my blood-pumping heart must be whole to keep me alive, my spiritual heart must be wisely invested in one thing, the one true Thing, in order to maximize its yield. If only I had given all of my heart over to God in the first place, by now the rate of return would be incalculable. Now I feel like I am simultaneously scrambling to gather all the broken pieces of my heart in one location and doling them back out in other wrong places. I know I said I don't get that kind of math, but this can't be good for my eternal portfolio!

So I'm trying to reset. I'm gathering the pieces of my heart and giving them the the Lord Almighty to stitch together perfectly. And I'm certain when I do, everything else will yield accordingly.

For the past several weeks, my youngest has been fixated on watching the same movie over and over. If you read my facebook statuses, you know what it is, and if not, I will start at the beginning of the movie and recite lines until you guess it. Just kidding. It's Monsters Inc. Or to my two year old, "Monkers Inc." It getting really old. And it's not like all we do it sit around watching movies, but if we're in the house, he is either begging watch it or sweet talking someone into turning on the DVD player for him.

I realized this afternoon that he's not alone in his old man rut. My oldest is getting painfully predictable at asking me the same question at least 20 times a day...to go see if the neighbor boy can play. If I say no, then I get to hear it asked in more creative ways. And my daughter, well you can bet that if I choose her outfit or fix her hair, I will be a complete idiot and do it all wrong. I don't expect that one to change much over the next decade (and a half!) The dog's not even mixing it up anymore! At least they're all consistent, right?

There are some perks to consistency. The Bible says says that Jesus is the same now as he has always been and will ever be. That's my paraphrase of Heb. 13:8 It's good to know that my God of the Bible who healed and loved broken people is the same God of 2010, healing and loving people. It gives me peace as I'm cleaning the carpet and folding the laundry just like I do alllllll the time that He is watching over me and taking care of me just like he does all the time. I wonder if it ever gets old for Him like it does for me? I don't know, if taking care of me is to God what Monsters Inc is to my kid, then I have nothing to worry about!