Date Your Mate

Confession:  there are times that I miss dating. I’m not saying I miss the singles scene and want to go out with other guys again, but I definitely miss dating my husband before we were married with children. Back in the day, he tried hard to impress me, he was interested in my day, and he kissed me sweetly when he walked me to my door. I would walk in happy, blushing, and looking forward to seeing him again soon.

Fast forward to the present. This is what our typical date night looks like now: we get ready in the same bathroom, where my man is on the toilet and I'm applying deodorant while my toothbrush hangs out of my mouth. It’s not sexy! And do NOT get me started on sharing a closet. We are in each other's way, and before we can even leave the house, we're mad because his shoes were on my side, and he didn't appreciate me telling him to MOVE when he was blocking my exit.

At the restaurant we try to avoid talking about the kids, which means I have almost nothing to say since my life revolves around them. We run by Wal-mart because we remember we are out of milk and are home by 9:30. It would have been 9:00 if we hadn't driven around for half an hour to make sure they were asleep before we got there. (I mean really, if I have to go re-tuck them in bed and go through the entire bedtime ritual after paying a babysitter to do it, then I feel like I haven’t gotten my money’s worth) Finally, the hubs is sound asleep before I even get the sitter paid and out the door. So much for my good night kiss.

In marriage, we often lack the excitement and romance we had when the relationship was new, but we infuse tender moments into the rhythm of our daily lives. Pastor Chris Galanos says that it’s important to marry your best friend. Only a bestie can tolerate us when we’re at our worst and love us when we’re no longer trying to make a good impression. 

Currently my husband has a broken wrist, and I have to help him get ready in the mornings. Who but a BFF could you trust to tuck in your shirt tail and tie your shoes? Unless you're under 4 or over 90. Then you probably don't care who does it. We get frustrated with one another and laugh at the absurdity of me trying to fasten his belt and tie his tie. I don’t want to wish a broken bone or illness on myself, but it would be awesome if he gets to be my caregiver someday and help me put on my bras and straighten my hair. If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is! 

If you’re not married to your best friend, pray for God to move in your relationship. Find ways to play together, go on dates to increase your intimacy, and interact so that your love will deepen and last long after the kids are out of the house.  

My Super Chaotic Clan

One day I told my bored daughter that I was thinking my blog needed a new picture of our family. Preferably as super heroes. I gave her blank paper and said "make it happen."  

Here's what did happen. Not only did all five of us get capes with our initials on them, we also got indispensable powers bestowed upon us. And an intro like the deep-voiced narrator on cartoons. So you don't strain your eyes, I'll translate it here, but you'll have to insert your own voice over. 

"As we (the King family) [get ready for] school every morning, it's a rush. [but] not for Speedy Super Dad! (That'd be the hubs) Springy Shoe Mom (me!) bounces through the day (sometimes, but a good bra and Focus Factor keep the bouncing to a minimum). Super Carter (#3) flies through the school week. Stretchy Collin stretches his clothes out. (So true! He grows about an inch a week) Super Kailyn's laser eyes help them have nice grass!"

Can we just all agree this is awesome? I mean, tending the grass may be a slight waste of laser eyes, but as a super family, we rock! And I think my cape makes me look skinnier, so I'm ordering that exact one to wear every day. 

It Needed To Be Said

Social media has become a hotbed for adult cyber-bullying. Except we politely call it "mom-shaming" instead. There are militants in every camp pushing their way of doing things on everyone else as if it is the only way, and definitely the right way. The rest of us who don't conform to the right way are called out. You know what I'm talking about because you've done it, you've "liked" it, and you've been victim of it:

     If you don't breastfeed, you're robbing your kids. If you flop your breastfeeding tools out in public, you're a menace. If you don't send your children to a Christian school, you're setting them up for disaster. If you do send them to a Christian school, you are narrow-minded and snooty. If you don't home school, you must not care to spend time with your kids. If you do home school, you're keeping your kids in a bubble and not letting them thrive. Don't even get me started on the child abuse of NOT eating organic!
I could keep going, but you get it-there is an infinite list of things that we are all doing wrong, and our friends are the ones pointing it out to us.

If you're thinking I'm on my high horse telling all-a-y'all what you're doing wrong, please understand, I'm the worst offender of all. I've done it, and someone called me on it. My response was, "well it needed to be said." The truth is, no, it didn't need to be said. Neither do any of our commentaries about why workout clothes are offensive outside of the gym or why the way we choose to educate our kids is the best way. God didn't make us all to be his hands or his feet, and He sure enough didn't make us all to be the eyes and mouths!

Before you go all First Amendment on me and claim you have the right to say whatever you want, let me add that just because you can, doesn't mean you should, and if you wouldn't say it to someone's face, why do you (and I) think it's okay to say it online in front of everyone?

When did we start deciding we have the right to shame each other? Maybe we've always had the thoughts, and now thanks to the Internet, we feel emboldened to put them out there for everyone. No longer do we adults hold to the adage "if you wouldn't say it to their face, don't say it behind their back."  Now we just think it's our job to share it with the world.  And yet we are uber-quick to defend our kids from online attacks.

James 3:8 says "no man can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of poison." Verse 10 says, "Out of the same mouth come blessing and cursing." Well, friends, whatever poison has inflicted our mouths has traveled to our hands and possessed the fingers as well. Again I ask you, if you wouldn't dare say it to someone's face, what right do you have to post it to the masses?

Just shut up and eat your aphids

I saw an Internet article that listed my hometown among the 10 most boring cities in America. The researcher certainly never contacted me for comment because I haven't had a boring day here since 2003. I'm sure it has something to do with the people I live with, so if you're bored, I'm willing to loan them out!

Today is day three of the new school year, and already we've fallen off the wagon. Well that's not right, but give me another day! Maybe the right phrase is that our train of success has derailed. This morning the hubs had a very early meeting. "We" were up by 5:15. I say we because I grumbled something like, "it's way too early for me to even like you right now" and curled up on the living room sofa while he got ready. Not being morning people, events that transpire before the sun comes up tend to be bad omens.

So the king King was out the door before the princes and princess fully emerged from their rooms, and they concluded the rules went to work with him. As they were eating breakfast, the girl screams "he's trying to kill me!" With her that could mean a range of things from a brother is poised to whack her with a bat, to there's a bird on the window sill with an angry look on his face. This time it meant little brother had tossed a rose petal from the bouquet I plucked from the garden last night into her drink.

I assured her that roses aren't poisonous, fished it out, and handed her the glass. She continued screaming "aphids! The aphids are in my drink. Now I'll starve!" Because that makes sense. I guess a hunger strike is the imminent response to insect contamination of your milk glass. I was unaware. I said that aphids aren't poisonous or ladybugs wouldn't eat them, and even if they were, I didn't bring roses inside that had aphids on them, and even then, if one was in her drink, one wouldn't hurt her. The drama didn't end. In fact, I expect to get an email from her teacher inquiring if I really force my kids to eat bugs for breakfast.

While this conversation was going nowhere, the boys went to brush their teeth and fix their hair. And by that, I mean the oldest used his dad's beard trimmer to remove his brother's sideburns. What 7 year old has sideburns?! We also have an explicit rule that you're never allowed to cut your own hair or your siblings' hair. History (and sitcom television) has prompted us to leave no gray area on this subject. But like I said, the rules must have gone to work with Dad.

This pic was taken seconds before I used tiny safety scissors (that's all I could find at that moment) to clip the remaining strands over his ears, said a quick prayer that no one would look too closely at both sides of his head and realize how odd his hair looks, and loaded everyone in the car.

Maybe tomorrow I will get to be bored, but it seems highly unlikely.

So this just happened...

School started today, and we made it out the door, dressed, fed, and with all the necessary items with time to spare. That's one day out of the next 179 days that I can reflect on as a good mom day! I'm going to need it to carry me through all the rest that are more like yesterday.

Two days ago my seven year old was really adorable and sweet. He told me I was the most beautiful woman in the world (and hey, who am I to argue with his genius? Never mind that he refuses to wear his glasses, but whatever!). He also told me chocolate was sweet like me.  It's been years since I've been talked to like that. Thirty-@# to be exact, which is coincidentally how old I am. So I ate it up! I thought about buying him a pony. I'm glad I held off because then this happened...

Yesterday the oldest third of the King babies was aggravating the crud out of the other two. The doorbell rang. I kind of figured it was the big kid trying to pull something, but I played along. I don't know why. Sometimes I lack the necessary with-it-ness that moms must have at all times. I opened the door to an empty porch, so I shut it and waited. I knew he'd ring the bell again, so I planned to throw open the door and startle him before he could hide again. He did, and I did. Sort of. I flung open the door to my kid wearing a sheet and a stupid-scary Halloween mask. I screamed, slammed the door, and locked the monster outside.

That sweet little boy who loved his mama yesterday came up behind me with a plastic sword saying, "you're a wimp, mom. Scardy cat."  Yeah, he's been demoted from the sweet one to the grounded from technology one. He opened the door and whacked is brother square in the rubber face. A good mom would have stopped that right away, but this mom just had the pee scared out of her.

Kid 1 chased kid 3 up the stairs. Kid 3 hid in his closet (who's the scardy cat now?!) and climbed onto the clothes bar. I didn't even ask why. The end result is that the little end piece that holds the bar in place broke, and The entire wardrobe crashed in a heap. The kid is fine, but when you see him in his first day of school pics looking like he pulled a wadded shirt out of the dirty clothes, it's because there was a monster at the door, and the clean hanging clothes became a casualty of war.

Happy fall semester, y'all!

I'm Insulted. Again

  I have a serious heart problem. Don't freak out; my ticker is fine. I mean my soul, the part of me that loves and wants to make connections. That heart has a malfunction. You see, I really really don't like being wrong. Not that anyone does I suppose, but when my wrongness is pointed out to me, I quickly get offended.  It's so bad, I got worked up over a product review that claimed something I have bought and loved was junk. What difference did that review make in my life? Did one stranger's viewpoint (which I just have to say was totally off base) really make me look flawed?

Recently someone corrected my homophone use. (You know, words that sound the same but have different meanings-there, their, they're) I was highly insulted that this person wasted both our time to point out such a minor slight. The next day as I was reading my Bible no less, I happened upon a similar usage of that same word. I had used the right one! I really wanted to highlight the verse, snap a photo, and send it to the offender clarifying that I was right. That's not unlike what I see happening every day in social media-people use all kinds of scripture to prove their political view or to condemn any number of perceived injustices. I wonder how many times a day God just wants to high five our smug, self-righteous faces.
Let me tell you what REALLY offended me. I was cooking dinner, and one of the people in my house POURED seasoning into the pot! Seriously??? This person did not taste it first, and it was a dish this person couldn't even eat for dietary reasons. How would he or she even know what it needed?! I was furious that he would deliberately try to make me look like I didn't know what I was doing. (Ok, it was my husband) How DARE he? I was so mad in fact, I refused to eat the dish, that is, until he left to run an errand later on. It was good, just the right amount of seasoning. Dear merciful God, please don't let him read this. 

 Why was I so angry over such a small thing? Why did it even matter? It mattered in that moment because I felt like I was being accused of being wrong. And I must always be right. It's a flaw in myself that I hate. Actually, I rarely recognize it as a flaw. More like a gift. It's hard to be right all the time! :) It's also hard, if not impossible, to be humble and put others before myself when I have to be right. I spend so much time and energy being offended and trying to prove my accuracy (thank you, Google for speeding up that process) that I miss opportunities to feel joy and model appropriate responses for my kids.  "Fools show their annoyance at once, but the prudent overlook an insult." Proverbs 12:16

 I should probably get that tattooed on my hand so I will see it every time I start to angry text, Google, check IMDB to prove I'm right about that movie/actor. History has shown me to be a fool, and that definitely offends me. 

Patience, Peace, Sick Kids, and Water Leaks

This was a Monday straight out of The Carpenters song: Rainy Days and Mondays. Ok, not entirely because if you google the lyrics, there's a lot of walking around with nuthin to do and feeling like a clown. On the contrary, I had more than my fair share to do, and I don't know how clowns feel because they scare me, so I prefer not to think about them at all. Here's how my rainy Monday went down: We discovered a roof leak in the closet, above my side and all my stuff. Then, as I'm stepping out of the shower, my husband ushers the 130 pound dog who had an accident in her crate into the shower with me. Have you bathed a Great Dane in the shower? Oh, you don't own a gigantic house horse? Picture the hairiest adult you know wreaking of urine on all fours in your shower. It's your job to soap him up and make sure the underside is thoroughly rinsed even though you do not have a hand held sprayer to do that job. Super fun, right?!
Next, I cleaned out the potty crate, which took an entire roll of paper towels and involved me getting stuck (not because of my size, but I have a bad knee still healing from surgery). Feel free to replace my vivid shower imagery with a grown woman wriggling out of a dog crate with drippy wads of paper towels. You know what, we should move on. Don't picture any of that. The girl child had a screaming meltdown at breakfast because her big brother hid her shoes. One was in the freezer and the other in the mop bucket. She was still bawling in the car about her cold foot and her smelly mop water foot. So I drove three fighting children to school, took myself to the doctor where I got x-rayed and sentenced to six more weeks in my fabulous knee brace that seems to provoke strangers to make the oddest comments to me about my condition. That's a whole blog of its own for another day. As I left the doctor's office, the school called me to pick up a sick kid. I had just enough time to discover water seeping out of a wall at home before the boy and I proceeded to wait in another doctor's office for 2 hours. In the meantime, my husband was texting me pictures of the dry wall he had to cut to expose a leaking pipe. My stress level maxed out when my kid started leaping off the exam table using our umbrella as his parachute. I had checked the hallway multiple times to be see if they remembered we were still there, and upon finding no one at all to help me, I finally walked out, told the receptionist it was unfair to make a sick kid wait that long, and asked for my copay to be refunded. I did not storm out. I calmly informed her that we wouldn't be waiting any longer.

Thankfully, the plumber came quickly to fix the pipe and turn the water back on, but my bad day didn't let up even a hair until my husband came home with dinner in hand. At one point in the midst of disaster, I read my Bible app verse of the day: "But the Holy Spirit produces fruit in our lives: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things!" (Galatians 5:22-23, NLT)
Oh great. I had failed to show fruits of the spirit as I dealt with a crummy day. Then I realized, in some ways, I had shown extreme patience. Walking away from the doctor's office when I was about to lose that patience, was a show of self control. I spared an unsuspecting health care worker an unpleasant unleashing of frustration by leaving before it erupted. Two out of nine fruits! Perhaps a godlier woman wouldn't erupt in the first place, but I'm betting that woman didn't start her day with a Great Dane in her shower and her head in a crate full of pee. Sometimes we all need to walk away before we have to apologize for losing our cool. Today I will try again to show love, joy, gentleness, patience, faithfulness, peace, kindness, goodness, and self-control. But I have to preface physical therapy, which I dread, with a trip to the hardware store so we can patch a giant hole in the wall, so there's a good chance I will be met with opportunities to drop the ball again. In that case, I can hold onto 2 Corinthians 12:8 where God says, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." I certainly give The Father plenty of room for perfection because I have SOOO much weakness, but we survived a rainy Monday together, and He will make up for my shortcomings many more times before the sun pokes its face out again. 

Will the Real Joy Thief Please Stand Up

Someone tried to steal my joy this week and make me feel like a bad person. I stewed over it for 24 hours and fumed and thought "how dare she?!" I even thought how nice it would be if Throat Punch Thurday was a real thing. (I wrote this on a Thursday btw). I was so enraged by the event that I felt like a bad person. In my bitterness God said to me, "you're the one robbing yourself of joy, and you are letting a minor blip eat you alive. Throat Punch Thursday? Do you really want to punch yourself?" And I thought, no, I already limp severely; I don't need a black eye to draw even more unwanted attention to myself. For the record, I didn't audibly hear all that dialogue from the Heavens, but nonetheless, God convicted me in my spirit.

How often do we steal our own joy? How many times a day do we blame others for how we feel? Why can't we all Taylor Swift it and just shake it off when we feel wronged? Or pull an Elsa and let it go? It's because we like our own drama. We are like dogs who come back to smell their own business. Gross? So is the filth we wallow in just so we can play the role of martyr. And worse, we bring our friends and family to see our dirty business so they can turn up their noses too. And once we have a contingency behind us agreeing with us about how awful we've been wronged, our small predicament becomes a full blown catastrophe. Here's an example. 

Last weekend the 5 Kings were in a hotel room, and I jokingly told my oldest his sister's dolls were going to watch him sleep. Well that just provoked him to move the dolls, which provoked the girl to explode into hysterics. She sounded like she was having a limb removed from her body all because her dolls face planted at the hand of her diabolical brother. This lasted over an hour and resulted in a hyperventilating kid who is now grounded from playing with said dolls because of her dramatic display. If you think I'm exaggerating her reaction, we can check the hotel surveillance footage. She was wronged in her mind, and her anger extended itself to the entire building. CPS is still investigating! That part might  be an actual exaggeration, but her outcry was absurdly loud, ugly, and eternal. The whole family, if not the entire 4th floor, got to be disrupted right along with her because she made sure we all beheld the dirty deed she'd been dealt. Yet here I am, just a few days after this nonsense, failing to see the ridiculousness of my own display. I stole my joy, and I let someone else take the blame for it. Shame on me. John C. Boger said, "Anger and bitterness are two noticeable signs of being focused on self and not trusting God’s sovereignty in your life. When you believe that God causes all things to work together for good to those who belong to Him and love Him, you can respond to trials with joy instead of anger or bitterness.” Responding to trials with joy is a virtue I have yet to master. However, I am still moldable clay in the Potter's hands, and I am willing to be reshaped by His patient mercy and grace rather than becoming hardened by my circumstances.
So if you hear me rant about a righteous indignation, please hum a little pop princess tune to me, and I'll know it's time to shake it off, let it go, and move on.

Mom's Last Nerve is More Sensitive Than the Others

 Tonight I blew it...that's it. The story of my life summed up in four painful words. Once again in this crazy parenting side show, I lost my cool and screamed at my kids. When my angels are driving me mad, I say "you're getting on my nerves!" And some smarty pants always wants to know which nerve they're on because as long as it's not the last one, they're safe. Well this was one of those all too frequent times when they had no warning; they'd just stepped on all the nerves at once.
Here's the thing, my husband has a great job that has him home at a decent hour almost every night. Occasionally though, this week being one of those occasions, he has to travel out of town, leaving me home with the spawn of his loins all by my unprotected lonesome self. The kids see Daddy being away as a free-for-all because he's the parent who prepares healthy meals and sticks to the schedule. I get distracted (usually by laundry) and forget to put them to bed, after I've fed them take-out and sniffed their pits to see if bath time can fall by the wayside. Side-note to the hubs: There you have it, honey, all my dirty little secrets. You can never leave us because we would fall apart.
 So tonight's merriment included eating takeout on the patio while throwing the dog's ball (totally unsanitary while eating with one's hands, but if you don't throw the ball, the dog will lick your food. Either way you're eating dog slobber, but hey! Dad's not here to stop us and mom won't catch on for another five minutes because she's still helping with homework and trying to get the toothpaste stain out of a karate gi), spraying a sister with the water hose, and sneaking ice cream bites right out of the freezer while mom sorts 9,000 notes in three backpacks that all need to be signed and have checks attached.
I hit my breaking point when 2/3 of them thought me saying "go brush your teeth" was merely a suggestion and chose to ignore me.
At first yelling felt good. Not gonna lie, it released a bit of the tension I built up over the course of the aforementioned activities. Then I just felt like a bad mom. I hurt my babies' hearts and put them to bed feeling lousy. I hate getting into this cycle, but sometimes I feel powerless to overcome it. I am a Proverbs 14:29 What Not To Do. "People with understanding control their anger; a hot temper shows great foolishness. (NLT) Now what? I did the only thing I could do after blowing it in my parenting. I backtracked. I apologized to my kids and kissed and hugged them again. I also reminded them that it's still important that they obey me even when Dad's not home. Then I came downstairs and read James chapter 3. His wise words speak truth about how difficult it is to tame our tongues and yet how valuable doing so is. Verse 18 renews my spirit that I can try again tomorrow  to be a "peacemaker [who] will plant seeds of peace and reap a harvest of righteousness."
Lord, thank you for your mercy that covers my multitude of mistakes. Please help my kids turn out great in spite of them, and please oh PLEASE protect their father so that I never have to raise them on my own!

Where are all the mom bloggers of big kids?

I just read a blog post on www.homesanctuary.com that asked this question. It's a great read as Rachel Anne Ridge talks about how we become more isolated online as we morph into being a mom of an middle schooler.  Silent now are postings about the cute chaos of toddlerhood, sleepless nights, and pic comments like "OMG so PRESH." She's so right! It's not totes adorbs to post about mood swings, braces, acne, and homework meltdowns. Many of the circles that sustain and refresh preschool moms (MOPS, play groups, etc) are visibly missing for moms of 5th graders about to send their firstborns to the dog-eat-dog world of middle school. But we are still very present and very much in need of support from one another. On top of the drowning in the lost world of adolescent hormones and hurt feelings, (SO MANY FEELINGS!) many of us are also embarking into deep waters with ailing parents, career changes,  and even our own less than perfect health. Getting older is painful and scary, and I swear if I see one more skinny girl selfie with the post "I finally lost all my baby weight; it's about time!" while holding a 6 month old infant on her hip, I'm going off the social media grid with a box of cupcakes and a bottle of fine wine like I never could have afforded when my kids were in diapers. Sorry, that was random. I meant to say, even though we have braved the teething and potty training fronts and emerged victorious, we older moms still need one another. Who else will help me now that my daughter is whispering about cute boys for the first time or hold my hand in reassurance after I drive my oldest to the ER to get stitches for attempting ridiculous acrobatic feats with items salvaged from a dumpster? (true story. You can't make up that kind of crazy, folks) And neither can you warn a new mom that her angel face will be the one who pulls the fire alarm at church one day (not a King shenanigan, but true nonetheless)? There's no way to prepare someone for the stuff our older kids will do, but we can continue to be there for one another and share our adventures. Be a voice for your friend who needs to hear it. We shouldn't be lonely as we weed through this ugly phase of parenting, and we should still find humor and preciousness in our growing offspring, even when their shoes size and attitudes far exceed our own. Solidarity, sisters!

"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.