Advent

Why, oh why, are any of us mortals granted the gift of a child? Doesn't God have some safer place to put babies and toddlers than down here, slap-dab in the middle of the muck that is humanity?

I think the answer is yes. Yes, He does.

And STILL he places these sparkling, newly-minted humans into the care of the rest of us. I think He has His reasons, but often I find myself wondering. And in wonder. Of all that is "here below."

*

I can't believe my postings have so lapsed, by the way. I've had such good thoughts swirling in my head -- and that usually translates to some mind-stirring at the keyboard -- but time has been short all month.

I have had the best Advent. Really. I haven't been as devout as I think I should/ could be, but all the same I have felt the season step inside and settle into me. I have anticipated Christmas. Not the single Day, so much, as all the days that lead up to and make this a Christian holiday. The celebration and the reflection and the weight of it all has been with me. I am so in touch with my continued need for a savior, and at the same time, I am so joyously happy with what He has already saved me from and for.

(Note to any redheaded husbands who might be reading: I probably don't seem all that joyous. Or content. Much of the time. But, baby, I am! I think maybe these qualities take a while to move from the inside out. And old habits, like living in Sturm und Drang, are hard to break.)

That's all for now, as real life and vacation time pull insistently at my sleeve. More later, when I hope to, in some fitting way, share Miles' experiences and perceptions of Christmas. A bit of foreshadowing: Our tree has bells and stars and webs, oh my!

Tepee, anyone?

7:35 a.m.
Oh, the joys of a home approaching retirement age! I have no toilets.

Well, I have two, but I am forbidden to use them until a professional diagnoses their "issue" and returns their functions to normal. (About 18 months ago, we had to have tree root balls cut out of the pipes. I suspect they have regrown.)

I also have a tub full of residue and muck due to the toilet drainage lines backing up.

Last night, I actually went out in a rainstorm -- nay, a MONSOON -- to use the ladies room at a fast food restaurant. (Should I have bought fries with that? I was wracked with guilt, but I made no purchase.) And that wasn't even the most deperate thing I did under cover of darkness. Can anyone say, "campsite latrine?"

Listen, if this were 300 years ago and we were all Indians in the Piney Woods, no one would be bothered by my toilet au naturale. Noting everything that's gone wrong/could easily go wrong with this old house, I'm about ready to revert to native living! Just get a tepee and call it good.

Now, the plumber for whom I woke up an hour early is 40 minutes late. This did not happen to the Alabama-Coushatta Indians. Nope, not at all.

More later....

10:25 a.m.
I am now awaiting Plumber No. 2. Plumber No. 1 had more issues than the unflushable bowls.

#1. His elderly father is hospitalized and combative about having an IV installed. ("They just wanted to hang a bag on 'em; gotta recharge his electrolytres, you know. You're not a nurse or anything, are ya?").
#2. He has much bigger plumbing problems in line for the afternoon. ("I've got so many houses that are so backed up...")
#3. Finally, my "cleanout" is evidently not obvious enough. ( "I tell you what, I've been meanin' to get a metal detector.")

The toilet ban continues, and I grow more and more disgruntled....


3:30 p.m.
Flushing resumed 10 minutes ago.... Hallelujah! Guess I would have made a sorry Indian, after all, because I really am dependent on the technology that makes waste so magically disappear. We are BACK in the 21st Century, baby, and I'm diggin' it! Now, for my first shower of the day.

Hmm....

Observing the scum line three inches up the tub, maybe that one modern convenience can wait. BUT WE CAN FLUSH! (Voice raised in exaltation!) And flushing, dear friends, is fabbbb-ulous!

Seasonal Stress

What is all this Christmas stress, anyway? Everywhere is busy-ness! My friends are busy, my family is beyond occupied, and I have a line of tasks and goals from now to Dec. 25 that resembles Santa's long list. I feel the seasonal stress rubbing off on me, and I don't like it one bit! Stress is b.s.! Or, as the prophet Micah says, "He has shown you, on man, what is good. And what does The Lord require of you? To act justly, love mercy and walk humbly with your God."

Forging through crowds, finding bargain presents and time to attend weekday parties (even when thrown by one's church!), buying new clothes and ornaments to exchange: None of this is required.

I am not preaching to any of you... just reminding myself before I get caught up in things I will so regret later.

New clothes are nice. New ornaments are fun. And I will likely make a round of church socials in the next week. (Oh, yeah, baby. How about 5 events in 7 days?! One an overnight with high school girls!) But NONE of this is required!

"Man's chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy Him forever." The Westminster Shorter Catechism.

Now we're getting somewhere. My marvelous, oh-so-cool and very deep friend, Nikki, presented this quote to me recently, as she was asked to dwell on it for a weekly meeting. I did think about it -- a lot, even after we stopped emailing about it -- and I came up with some very divergent thoughts (seemingly contradictory, in tension but let's say within a common suspension). And all that thinking was more important than anything on the next crazy week's to-do list.

"Suddenly a great company of the Heveanly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying: Glory to God in the Highest, and on Earth, peace to men upon whom His favor rests."
--Luke 2:14

I just want to be one of those humans, on "whom His favor rests."

Merry Christmas!

Kidsmarts

OK, I just thought of something else I really should jot down, before it leaves me forever. (File this in the 5% category for today.)

While getting dressed/irritable this morning, I started to wonder if Miles was actually using his brain. I assume he has quite a nice lobe under all the red hair; I have seen it at work, if not in sight. But then, we arrive at a few simple, repetitive tasks having to do with leaving the house -- hold your cup, find your Silkie, keep your shoes on -- and said brain seems to short-circuit on me. His little mind just seems to shut down, and when reprimanded, he looks at me so blankly I think he must need a system reboot.

I first thought this whole, ugly, blank-face scene might be some boy-gene thing he can't escape -- you know, a pre-adult-male instinct that will later manifest in all sorts of wife-ignoring and single-minded sports-watching.

But then, this evening, as he was talking about growing up and songbirds in the bathroom ("I am getting a be a big boy! But I am not bigger yet. I getting bigger! The bwirds! I hear the bwirds! It not rainin'! The bwirds are singin'! There are so lot of them! They like the wires in our trees.") I realized I am looking at the picture all wrong.

Kids don't use LESS of their minds than grown-ups, they use MORE! They just use their brains on different things.

Miles' brain must never even take a power-nap, what with all the thoughts and memories he connects every day.

"I a big boy!" he says. "But I gettin' bigger." He's right. And I can almost see his head grow....

Ugh! Grunt! Click. Clack...

Ugh! I feel S L O W. Unable to type, or ... think... in normal fashion. I feel sort of caveman-ish. Neanderthal with technology. Listen, as I bang keys with my thumbs: "CLICK! CLICK! CLACK."

Think I might be experiencing post-Thanksgiving, pre-Christmas overload: Too much family... too many details... so much stuff, happening so soon... too, too much!

I've had a nice time in the last five/ six days, actually. I ate so often! (The first "Turkey Day" dinner included no actual turkey, but I was very thankful. I think that counts.) And I had time off. Really, really OFF -- not just time to run around like a crazy person and think I should be doing something else. I checked out. "NO MORE COM-POO-TER FOR YOU!" as Miles says. (Come to think, he is kind-of like a small Soup Nazi.)

I wore pajamas the better part of one day. I went outdoors in my pink terrycloth bathrobe. (Weird for drivers-by, I know. I need to hunch over or carry empty gallon jugs when I play Crazy Old Lady of the Neighborhood. Able-bodied me in terry cloth just confuses people.)

So, what was I saying? Yes, yes, I feel S L O W. I think I am actually getting my sea legs (ur, my blog fingers) back as I sit here, but I probably need to ease back into things, nonetheless. No new thoughts till the morrow!

(Actually, I may rarely have "new" thoughts. A Yoga teacher friend of my friend told me that 95% of the things people -- OK, it might have been women, specifically -- think about every day are the same things they thought about yesterday. And most "things" are events already past or futures that may not come to pass. It sounds very Yoga-ey, I know, I know. But it has practical application.)

OK, where was I, again?! Oh, yes, going to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream.

I really have to stop typing now. But I CAN'T! It's like I've been sucked into the No-Motion Dimension. Like a Gilmore Girls marathon on ABC Family! A new Entertainment Weekly and Texas Monthly ON THE SAME DAY! I have simply stopped being mobile. I cannot get uuuuuuppp......... Somebody hep (correct spelling; colloquial pronunce.) me! Hep me, PU-LEASE.........

Kitchen Service

I've been grousing about my volunteer commitments so much lately, I think I need to stop and chronicle the upsides, just for the sake of journalistic balance.

Friday, I had an absolute moment of clarity related to my work on the Outreach committee. Several of us committee members helped prep, stage, decorate and prepare our church's Thanksgiving Banquet -- a meal for about 350 people, plus the 60-some-odd choir performers who provided after-dinner entertainment. As for me, I mostly did small things the day of the event: took out kitchen trash, cut up pies (not at the same time, I reassure you!), ran needed items between buildings, put food on tables, served the choir kids' plates.... oh, and baked oodles of cookies! But, back to the clarity.

I've had my moments of absolute cynacism in the many months of planning this banquet. Look, how good can one institutional meal be? How many families still find it a priority of the season to go eat in a loud gym with hundreds of people, drinking melted-ice tea and weak coffee, eating too quickly so the food doesn't get cold, straining to hear other people's children act out skits on a portable stage. My negativity centers around the idea of any huge meal, not our church's huge meal specifically. You see, I am a "Mary;" I am SO not a "Martha." (You know, Lazurus' sisters from Bethany, who were close friends of Jesus? Mary liked to sit; Martha liked to serve. And, yes, I am oversimplifying.)

Back to my story: I just don't usually get involved in things that involve kitchen time. It is not my preferred venue of service. But a Thanksgiving Banquet involes LOTS of kitchen time!

So there I was, walking between our two church buildings with a rickety metal cart loaded down in pie slices (about 65 of them), when I realized there was no place else God wanted me to be at that moment. I truly believed it. I felt it! I was in just the right place, at the right time, to do what my heart says was the will of God.

That we who are a family of believers may serve one another... That we may sit and enjoy communion in a common meal... That we may show our love in the sacrifice of our time and in the humble labor of our hands...

These are acts and ends I believe God honors. And I was honored -- little me, my sticky pie-crumb sweater, flaky overwashed hands, kitchen-smellin' self -- to be a part of them!

Thankful

I just covered with foil what looks to be a rockin' good pie! It's fancy-schmancy pumpkin, with chocolate on the bottom and spiced nuts on top. (I think the pie has a name besides "fancy-schmancy," but I only tore out the page with instructions, not the catchy title.)

So, Thanksgiving-as-a-cooking-participant begins!! Tomorrow, I just have to assemble two green-rice casseroles and fluff up about 18 potatoes. Plus, I MUST put in at least 4 productive work hours before I dash out for a haircut, gather decor for my mom's table, pack said food and child and spouse, drive an hour, stop by a grocery store that proffers beer and salad mix, and arrive by 5 p.m. to prep for the first of THREE Thanksgiving meals. I wonder if my next entry will be title "Ex-freakin-haustion"?

Yes, yes... In case you missed it among my ever-encroaching personal life, I have some actual WORK to do the day before Thanksgiving. And I'm happy about that! I'm so happy to be happy about that. In fact, it's driving me a little crazy that I can't stay up all night and tidy up my new account records. When I begin to be productive, I HATE to stop, but there is the siren call of sleep....

I just wanted to pop in and say I am thankful. Really, really. I am thankful for my life.

"God is God and I am not.
I can only see a part...

God is God and I am man; I can never understand it all...

Can I even take a breath without Him giving it to me?"

Words from Steven Curtis Chapman's "Declaration" disc were just flitting through my mind. Some might be bothered by these thoughts -- limited by them -- but I find them freeing. They make me want to write out my prayers tonight.


Dear God, Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. The golden cord, that Jacob's ladder, between Heaven and Earth feels so long, sometimes -- and still I think the distance is shorter than we humans can even conceive. Help me never to let go of the rope, God, but to keep a light grip on this body you give breath. As long as Your will sustains it, I breathe. Now I sleep. And tomorrow, I will wait for you to give breath and animation to me. In grace and gratitude, Amen.

The Horror, The Horror

Uhhhhhngh.....

The puking has continued.

Not stopped.

Still happening.

So not good!

At first it was sort of a smelly novelty. Not nice, exactly, but no cause for full parental freak-out. In fact, cause for reflection: My, haven't we been lucky parents not to have a child with a stomach virus for 2 1/2 years?

Then my shoes got sprayed. My desk chair and plastic roller mat. The kitchen floor. My second set of clothes. My third...

As SOMEBODY said in "Heart of Darkness:" "The horror! The horror!"

Yep, a toddler puking has be right up there with existential modernism, human isolation and insanity.

Uhhhhhngh.....

The Pot's A-Bubbling Over...

I have many, many thoughts brewing after a busy weekend. If I didn't just have a 30-minute conversation with my dad, I would have a lovely post on volunteerism ready to go.

Instead, I HAVE to return some calls and get down to the business of my life.

A few fast things, first:
#1. Miles vomited on me during a meeting of the Christian Women's Ministries this morning.
Ohmygosh..... SO glad that's never happened before! And, if it NEVER happens again, my kid still has a chance at a sibling. :)
(If the grossness quotient gets too high, I may call a moratorium on more children.)

#2. If my dad's business doesn't take off, I may weigh 200 pounds by springtime.
(Not that there's anything wrong with that... just that I do not appear to be a body that SHOULD weigh 200 pounds.) Really, I cannot get through a phone conversation with him, without chocolate. I know, I know, chocolate affects brain chemistry... but Woah, Howdy!! I don't think medical science is taking seriously enough the ability of the cocoa bean to soothe and empower during difficult times. Dried cranberries, cashews & pistacios, also, may have similar health benefits. (Or, I may have a simple oral fixation. Whichever!)

#3. I have a lot of cooking to do this week!
My, the challenge this presents for the designated sous chef of this household. I don't "cook" at all. I chop. I assemble. I stir. But this is Thanksgiving week, and one thing I can/ need to do is make my mother's portion of the Thursday meal, so she can relax a bit Wed. night. Of course, I've already committed to making dessert for said Wed. night, so now I'm on the hook for actual use-the-oven type cooking, and here we go, folks! Kitchen disaster could well ensue.

(Did I mention -- and of course the answer is no, because I've been too busy to type -- that I was left in charge of chocolate chip cookie baking for my church's big Thanksgiving Banquet? Alarming beeping sounds began to permeate the kitchen somewhere between batches 4 and 9.... They mysteriously stopped and I STILL don't know what went wrong.)

Oh, the pot of my mind is a-bubblin' over. So many things to do! So much left to think about. Very much blogging yet to be done! All I can say in short is that I survived Thanksgiving Banquet kitchen service this past week, and I have rediscovered that I am thankful.... for more than I knew.

Amen!

"To Intenyenif & Big Yawn"

Gotta scribe quick 'cause I'm on the clock, but I just witnessed some first-class cuteness! Must share....

Miles is watching "Toy Story" for at least the 12th time, and he is predicting/ playing out plot points. (While wearing his SpiderMan hooded jacket and gloves, incidentally.) On screen, Buzz Lightyear is winning friends in Andy's room. In the den, Miles suddenly pulls out the recliner footrest (from the bottom, forget about that pesky side lever!) and pushes back the chair until it ctaches in full recline position. He carefully climbs onto the footrest, faces the chair, and stretches his arms for a leap. As he lands in the chair's seat he says something that sounds like, "in-bey-if-a-be-yawn." Then he stands up and says louder, "In-beee-yin-if and be-gawn!"

"What, honey? What are you saying?"
"You know! In.. in... intenyenif and big yawn!"

...To infinity and beyond.

When M. gets excited, he starts reversing syllables and/or letter sounds. "Forgot" becomes "got-for." "Yellow" (already hard to say) becomes "lel-wo." In-fin-i-ty becomes something like "in-tin-if" (& who knows where those other, fill-in sounds come from?).

I know one day he will have perfect diction with which to express all those big thoughts burgeoning in his head. A marvelous vocabulary and a meticulous mind. But I am so pleased that today, today Miles says "to intenyenif and big yawn."

How much do I love this little boy? To infinity and beyond.

Highnotes

"If you're tired of being yourself...
If you wanna be somebody else;
Change your mind."

Again, a late night posting, and despite my prolific, midday notes-to-self on what to write when I have a chance, I can't commit to a topic. I cannot pull together any higher-level writing at such an hour! (Well, not without caffiene, snacks & a committment to stay up all night....)

I'm trying to remember who sings the song I open with, which was just playing at the end credits of a bad movie. It is disarmingly familiar. I think I could actually sing most of it. Strange, I didn't know I knew that song until I heard it.

This brings me to music -- hey, as good a topic as any! -- and maybe serendipitously so, because I am realizing music has been much on my mind.

I have felt so... so... moved by Christian music in the last few days. So very... blessed. It seems every time I've gotten into my car or reached for a CD, I've stumbled into something completely appropriate and meaningful to what I'm struggling with or want to feel. OK, "stumble" is probably a bad word choice, because whatever my personal clumsiness, nothing about God's work is crude or inelegant.

I guess I'm saying God has graced me, directly, with the right words at the right time of late.
...Do I believe that God has actually "spoken" to me? To me? Spoken. Directly? (I am considering.) Well, yes, I do! Why can't a miracle be completely coincidental and supremely personal all at the same time? I think I've just experienced an everyday miracle.

I need to pull together the lyrics I have most repeated/ internalized during this brief window of awareness. I find myself singing when I wake up, in the shower, waiting for coffee to brew. I just love it! And now, of course, under the glare of "write it down and make it real," I cannot bring what I want to the front of my mind.

"I took this space that you placed in me/ Redecorated with shades of greed.
I made sure every doors was locked, every window blocked/And still you knocked....
Come inside this/ heart of mine it's/ Not my own./ Make it home."
That's one. "Welcome Home," from Shaun Groves' "Invitation to Eavesdrop" CD. I started at the bridge, but the whole 3 1/2 minutes is good. I also like the "dusty floors" and "empty halls" bits.

Oh, and Newsong's "Sheltering Trees" and "Red Letter Day."
"We all need sheltering trees;
Friends in our lives who get down on their knees.
Lift us up before the King of Kings..."
AND:
"I do believe it's gonna be another chance for me to step on out & walk by faith."
I used to hate that song. Now, it always reminds me of a wonderful man, named Nace, from my church. I don't even think I know Nace's last name, but I know he's a red-letter kind of guy! All to his credit....

Bebo Norman's "Disappear." (It makes me swoon. No, really.)

Mercy Me's entire "Spoken For" CD.
"Covered by your Grace divine, child of the risen Lord.
To hear you say that this one's mine...."

Mac Powell's voice when he sings, "I believe in/ A hope that carries on." (The words aren't really where it's at on this one. It's the voice. The voice and the rock and roll.)

Nichole Nordeman's "Legacy" -- "I don't mind if you've got somethin' nice to say about me" --and Ginny Owen's "Call Me Beautiful." "And you call me beautiful/ Say you've loved me all along...."

"Who Am I?" by Casting Crowns.
"Who am I, that the Lord of all the Earth...." / "I am a flower quickly fading..." /
"I am Yours."

"Space In Between Us" AND "Glory Defined" by Building 429. (I just looked up the name of this group. Had NO idea!)

"All I wanna do is fall into/ The emptiness that is
The space in-between us."
OR:
"Some day/ I'll wake up to find/ Your glory defined/
And I'll finally bow at your feet."

"Ancient Words," the Michael W. Smith rendition.
"More" by Matthew West.

Oh, I could go on and on! Guess I CAN recall this stuff. I've been writing for AN HOUR! Yikes!

I don't know how much sense I've made, but I hope my real, gushy gratitude comes through, along with the perhaps-not-your-cup-of-tea song choices. I'm just really grateful for messages that make me feel this way. The way of right now, today. Not perma-happy, but joyful under it all.

That's the point of Christian music, perhaps. Exhortations to joy, arising from our common walk of faith, made more powerful and palpable by song.

Amen, sisters and brothers! Sing it! Bring it! I'll be dreamin' of a Heavenly choir tonight....

Disaster Averted

The TV was successfully repaired on Saturday, by the way. For the reasonable cost of $62.

JB claims he was never angry with me and, though I doubted it for a moment Sat. morning, I tend to believe him. He's really patient that way. Plus, it was a little pre-broken (loose parts, not detached parts) from an unfortunate and zealous attempt to kill a bug behind it.

And he was the zealot.

Interruption: Right now, M is in his room saying, "Ginger! Where are you, boy?" (I think he has named a Fisher Price Little People kid after me.) Now I hear, "I'm alright! Right here!" "Well, come on!" "Hoe crack coe! Hoe crack coe!" (I don't know.... I'm just the reporter.) "Beep, beep, beep, beep. Ur, ur, ur..." (Vehicles moving in reverse.) "Hey! Uh-oh!" (Seems like a train wreck.) "Is anybody dere? Is anybody dere?" Now louder: "Here he is! Look out!" "Lemme in!" "OK, I will." "Here we go!" Then, in a stage whispher: "Shh... we haffa BE QUIET!"

Oh, a happy Monday!

Socks & Underwear

I'm in mundane household mode after an evening of laundry, and I was just mulling a few clothes-related thoughts....

#1. Is it me, or is it universal to go through cycles of plenty and want with regard to underwear? Right now, I have far too many socks. "Too, too much," as Miles would say. And, certainly, I did not purposefully overbuy socks, because I don't find them very interesting to purchase. But... I was just folding laundry, and I don't know where I'll put all the black and brown and gray, thin and ribbed and striped, fuzzy and padded and plush foot hosiery I suddenly possess. And I've still got some summer whites in reserve in a corner of the drawer. How did these socks ever fit into my second-drawer bin in the first place? (Maybe they've never all been clean at once!) But really, some MUST be my husband's! One pair of gray ankle-height running socks, especially, looks like his style. I think he's dumping them on me due to shrinkage. And I KNOW a brown chenille pair came from my mom.

I digress... The point is: I currently have too many socks, but at the same time, I can remember a summer in Colorado when I didn't have enough. For whatever reason, I once ran out of white socks. I'd been wearing sandals for, well, a while (I like to play a game every summer called How Long Can I Keep My Feet Bare?) when I suddenly needed jogging socks. Poof! I had no white ones.

It seems it's either feast or famine in my second dresser drawer, and I just wonder if it's the same for other people? Do more anal folk regulate the comings and goings of their foot covers, so that they always maintain sock equilibrium? Or: Do less anal people fail to notice, and certainly fail to write about it?!

Hmm...

I also seem to remember periods of excess brassieres (Ahh... student loans and Victoria's Secret sales!), then periods of so few go-tos. I really must start tracking these things... A lingerie log, perhaps?

#2. OK, so my second observation (and, whew!, it's taken a long time to get here) is how happy my kid is without any clothes at all. In particular, he likes to shed his toddler "underwear" (disposable training pants which we call Pull-Ups). This has irritated me greatly when I just want him dressed and in bed or dressed and out the door, but all in all, it's very age appropriate and cute. In fact, I witnessed a cute moment tonight, post-bath, that involves no underwear.

M has developed the habit of stripping himself for the bathtub and ceremonially throwing his Pull-Up in the trash. (He often tries to, and sometimes does, get in the tub with socks, so they clearly don't cramp his style so much. One night he actually washed his face with a wet sock after I forgot to give him a washcloth.) M also loves running around the house naked after baths, green hooded towel streaming behind his skinny, long-legged body as he hops and barrels around furniture yelling "Ribbit! Ribbit! I'm a frwag!"

Tonight, after the frog run, he cratered himself inside the folds of a quilt on his bed and agreed to put lotion on -- to prolong putting a Pull-Up on, I'm sure. I left him there, sitting on his towel with a glob of Gerber Lavender Bedtime Lotion in his palms. When I walked back by, unobserved, he was making up a song. Here is what I heard:

"I have a PEE-nis! A PEE-nis! A PEE-nis!"
(Repeated in sing-song rhythm. Then giggling.)
"Look! I have a pee-nis! Where the pee comes out!"

With that discovery under his belt (ha ha!), I can suddenly see why the confines of a Pull-Up take some of the fun out of life.

...Poor kid, with me chronicling every living thing that will most embarrass him later! It could only be worse, I think, if I never wrote anything down. What a tragedy if I failed to chronicle these early, crazy, crushingly sweet days of childhood. Already, I am amazed at the wit and wonder of a precocious, 32-month-old brain!


Dear God, Thanks for every mundane day in the life! Thanks especially for worship and Sundays -- even when my Sabbaths involve a little housework. I am grateful for the chance to be at home, with my family, not just on weekends but every available weekday. Thanks for socks and silly boys and the time and space to express myself here. I love you, Lord! And I lift my voice....
Oh, my soul rejoice....
May this be a sweet, sweet sound in your ear.

Big Ophs!

So I broke my TV tonight. One loose metal tab + two dislodged metal parts, and there's no cable connection comin' through.... Ophs!

BIG "Ophs!" I wonder: Are we going to have to spend $200 on a whole new TV because I broke a tiny connection thingie (technical term) worth about 20 cents?

Incidentally, how does something as large and seemingly substantial as a 27" television get broken just because a girl jiggles the back a little too much? I swear, I may look less threatening than your average human, but I am a raging bull in a china cabinet, just let me at anything remotely delicate! I broke the USB port in our iMac, too, I suddenly recall. Next, I'll sit on one of the La-Z-Boys and hear something go "pop." ...I am a walking advertisement for the term "extended warranty."

Methinks JB will not be pleased when he awakes from New-Teacher-Induced Sleep of the Dead.

Oh, and tomorrow is Holiday Bazaar Day (another shining volunteer moment for my growing resume!), so I won't be around to help/ watch him attempt a jury-rig until late afternoon.

You know, we SAY we want to live without cable... but I'm not sure how deep that conviction goes. Here's our test -- our midnight at the crossroads. All I know for sure is, losing KERA (prized for its ability to distract Redhead The Younger) is NOT going to make anyone's mornings run more smoothly! Dear, dear. I sense the return of melancholy, just when I was pulling myself out of that bog.

But something good: I have thought of a true thing, one thing true "all my life." (The mention of melacholy makes this relate. If reading by posting-date order, it'd a perfectly valid segue.) I have always loved words. As long as I can remember. As long as I have known what they are and where to find them -- and probably before -- I have loved uncovering new words. Precise ones. Pleasant ones. Unusual ones. Archaic ones. Lively, lilting, exotic ones. I have always loved words.

After I learned a whole slew of them, some of my interest shifted to word origins and interaction. I love knowing things about language, too.

My latest bit of linguistic trivia involves the word "enthusiasm." It means, with just a tiny stretch of interpretation, "God within us." From the Greek, "en" + "theos." I love this definition! It so seems to fit! That a wellspring of excitement, of can't-be-blocked emotion -- especially in those moments that come unexpected, unbidden -- could be our human reaction to the touch of the Divine, well! It's quite a thing to ponder! Heaven knows, most humans could use more enthusiasm in our lives....

Hmmm, just thinking. I usually have a good measure of enthusiasm myself. I am, some would say, downright excitable. I wonder if my dangerous way with electronics is just a (somewhat unfortunate) side effect of my innately "wound" personality? It might be one of those other-side-of-the-coin things, like my booming Texas voice (friendly, disarming, nay even charming!) versus my tendency to shout in public (gauche, grating, often offputting). As I weigh life without cable, I will do my best to tread more lightly... but not overlook any opportunity for Divine enthusiasm.

Potpourri

I'm putting myself on a regimen of forced blogging. Today, that's a bit like biting into a crumbly, chalky vitamin. (Translation: not pleasant.) I do this because I need to get back into the habit of writing -- content be damned! (Translation: Who cares if I have nothing to say?!)

Actually, I may have things to say. Just not cohesive things. And perhaps not positive things.
(I SO like to write in a tidy, orderly fashion. But I'm on a regimen; I have to spill, even when messy. Here goes...)

1.) It's Veteran's Day.
And we're at war.
I'm just a marshmellow! Who knew?! Tears are already welling, and as my conflicting thoughts muddy behind my eyes, I repeat to myself how lucky I am that three men in my life -- my two grandfathers and my dad -- came home from wars.

I say a prayer that as many men and women as possible will come home from this one.

Now I'm starting to drip on my typing hand, so moving on...

2.) There is a weight in my family I can't even describe.
I can't capture the heaviness of my parents' lives in print, even. Strange when something is too big for my thoughts to describe. Or too emotional for my mind to engage.
So the weight sits and waits for me to shape it into words....
Maybe one day soon.

3.) If I like my job so much (I don't USUALLY lie to myself, and I've told myself that I do!), why am I so unproductive lately?
I mean, I really suck! I used to be so adept at this. I used to accomplish much in a short time... This week, I accomplish NOTHING (it feels like) in long stretches of time. Whassup?!
I just can't work up any enthusiasm for solving retailers' problems or tracking missing paperwork or doing all the piddly little things that have to be done well, all attention to detail, to make sure customers are happy. I think I need a semester break.

4.) What is it about churches that bring out a love/ hate relationship in congregants?
I really would like to answer this one.... Perhaps more supporting evidence is in order, later.

5.) What have I been like "all my life?"
I know what I'm like as an adult. I remember, mostly, what I was like as a child. But what are the things that have been constant from then to now? I ask because I met an elderly woman the other day who said her great-grandchild has been "smiling since birth." Her daughter Patty "is just inquisitive. She's been like that all her life." So it got me thinking.... what have I been like, all my life? Because it seems much easier to pinpoint things that are different than things that are the same.

Well, that was a bracing dip into my stream of consciousness! I wonder if this mental potpourri amounts to anything? Sometimes the most disparate things, put together, do approximate a whole. And, sometimes, putting form to thoughts helps drive away the melancholy.

Laissez Faire

This just in on the Mommie Front: (And I vow right now, I will not blog ONLY about Miles!)

We had another toddler temper tantrum this afternoon, roughly the same time as yesterday's car-tinkering episode. But today, my blood barely reached a simmer -- certainly not a rolling boil. I was suspiciously calm, even as two middle-aged women clucked and giggled (judged? sympathized? who knows!) in the Hobby Lobby as I lugged Pouting Shopper Boy to the car.

During the lift/ sack-o-potatoes carry, M's plastic fire helmet grazed my face just under the eye. That brought out one moment of fire: It's DELICATE skin, I tell you! I suppose I'll have a scar now! And, of course, the child's parents can't be sued to cover cosmetic surgery -- because I AM the child's parent and I know we don't have the cash. But the flame fizzled before we even cleared the handicapped spaces.

What's wrong with me? Why am I so, well, not myself? I have no idea. It certainly ain't emotional growth -- not since yesterday!

I think I am too sick of being grouchy all the time to keep being bothered by EVERYTHING. I may be entering a new phase of toddler management I will call "laissez faire." Live and let live. No government interference.

Bottom line: I don't know why some days I dance, frenetically, on a cliff, and others I placidly stroll the flatlands. I'm just glad today was the latter.

Dear God: Thank you for this day. Thank you for every breathing moment. Help me show grace and gratitude, whether at scary heights or lulling lows, in every season and storm, through fierce activity and soothing calm. In all things, I give thanks....

Speaking of Suess...

I must have Dr. Suess on the brain today. After a reference to the good doctor in my last post, I can't let go of the need to ryhme.

(And, seriously, when does THAT happen?!)

Anyway, it was fun to channel my frustrations into poetic form. No GOOD poetry, mind you, but somehow still fun. Enjoy!


I do not like it, not one bit.
I do not like this adult stint.

I will be grouchy, I will be cross.
I will show that kid who's boss!

I will be stubborn, I will not bend.
To this house I refuse to tend.

I may be sorry, I may regret
But later, later, later my pet...

Just for now I need to stay
In this bad mood until it goes away.

Cue Medusa

UGH! The hardest part of starting a web log to vent your feelings is that you can't blog WHILE you're feeling them. Or, in my case, very soon after.

Every time something dramatic happens around here ("drama" so often being code for toddler insanity or mommie breakdown) , I have the presence of mind to think, "This would be a good post! If only I could sit down and write before...." Then I have to pull it together and become a responsible, attentive adult WAY too soon.

Take yesterday afternoon. I was SO edgy about the mysterious beeping in the car, the daredevil in the driveway, the loudly stalled street sweeper, the malfunctioning IP phone (my link to pressing business). At some point I was literally running from room to room, out and back in the front door, to track down and respond to the various cacophonies.

My mental descent began with an anguished, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY CAR?" Then I attempted to guilt my 2-year-old over my superior vehicle maintenance. "I have had this car for two years, and never have I heard this sound! I have never made this sound! I do not know how to make it stop! You have clearly done something BAD to my car! ...And it's not even your car!" (Ahh! In print I can actually pinpoint the first moments of insanity.) "It's MY car!!"

The reply was spirited. "OK!!! I WILL NOT DO IT AGAIN, OK!"

"But WHAT did you do?!"

When Miles then ran toward the road (remember the street sweeper? just half a block down, whining and whirring, ready to eat my child...) and refused to come in ("NO! I WILL NOT DO IT! I HAVE TO KILL THE BUGS!"), I could feel my hair rising. My eyes narrowing. The snakes hissing....

Cue Medusa Mom!

I grabbed him by the waist, held him sideways under one arm and manhandled him indoors. Amid the squirming and snot-slinging, my head got conked by the broom he was carrying (a bug-killing tool, I can only presume); his elbow knocked against the door frame; and a shoe dropped on the front porch.

Inside, there was wailing. There was whining. There was more snot and one thrown shoe (a petite size 7. For future reference, I'm an 8 1/2.). There was bargaining and there was sniffling and then, blessedly, there was peace in the land.

The whole episode was perhaps 7 minutes long.

Afterwards, I paced the kitchen for about 20 minutes, baking cookies while trying to soothe the rattlers out of my hair. (Hmm... very Betty Crocker, don't you think?)

Still a little out of sorts, I went back to my car and began a systems check. I had assumed the beeping originated with the security system but, no. Much more mudane than that. On his way out of the back seat via the driver's seat, Miles had turned the headlights on. :)

Problem solved, I was suddenly sure that this small daily trauma could become a marvelous, surreal, Suess-esque episode, if only approached with the right literary touch. I just needed 30 minutes -- maybe 40 -- at the keyboard! And I needed it NOW, while I could still tap into the fierce Medusa roar that made the eventual problem so small and silly. Only... Only...

...Only the IP phone was still on the fritz and the cookies were burning and I was pretty sure I'd noticed an abandoned sippy cup under the driver's seat. Cue Manager Mom and say goodbye to the Wockets, the Whos, the Thing One and Thing Two crowding practical thoughts out of my mind. The silver lining? When they left, they took the Gorgon with them.

Hallelujah, He Forgot the F-Word!

So my son renewed my faith, quite serendipitously, yesterday. He was riding in the back seat of my car with our cousin, Hope. Miles is 2 and Hope just turned 5. She was teaching him "dirty words" back there (such a time-honored childhood tradition... once I figured out what was happening, I wavered between freaking out and completely ignoring them). They were giggling mightily at every new exclamation from the forbotten roll call.

"Tootie," she whispered.
Tee-hee-hee, he replied.
"Poopie!" she said, a little louder.
Hehehe. Eeee! Eeee! (Squeal, squeal.)
"Doodie... Doodie head!"
AHH-ha-ha... (Outright guffaws.)
"Now you do one, Miles."
Eek! I frowned and caught my breath. Tightened my shoulders. Winced and braced....

"Pull-ups!" came the triumphant reply. (Quick note for those without exposure to little children: A "pull up" is a toddler diaper. It has solid sides instead of diaper tabs, so it pulls up like underwear.) The tone of the voice said, "Yeah! I know how to play this game!"

Oh, the relief in my next exhale!

Flash back to a low, low day in the mothering annals, just a few months past: I found M. struggling to reconnect the yellow plastic "dump" to his take-apart dump truck. Some part must have stuck, and it wasn't going well. Frustration mounted...
"Um, um... FUFF!" he said. Then he seemed to realize that wasn't quite the word...
"Fluff!"
He kept trying.
"Fruck!"

I can't even clearly remember the circumstances of the moment when the F-word left my lips, but obviosuly it had. And obviosuly, he heard.

God bless the memory squeeze that drained some weight off that word in the sponge of his brain. I had been feeling SO low over that one! I was just waiting for the word to come out, perfectly formed, in the back seat of the mommie wagon with a 5-year-old witness in tow.

The game continued, still Miles' turn...
"Powder!" (I am not making this up. He really said that next.) Then... "Wipies! DIRTY wipies!"

And suddenly I was laughing out loud, so long and so hard I could not stop the flow of glee. For all the wordly smears that threaten his little life, for all the tarnishes and stains I bring to the mix, my son is still a shining wonder. A child of God, full of innocence and incomplete knowledge, a willingness to play and a readiness to please.

Yeah for toddlers! Hallelujah for Miles!

Dear God: Thank you for this boy of mine, this child of yours. Please help me deliver him back to you, a man who will stand in good stead, and stand up for faith. Amen.