The other day I was driving my kids to the store to get the decorations for Faith’s party. They were all either asleep or playing DS so I had a rare bit of time where I could actually hear myself think. So what profound thoughts traversed through my mind that day? Epic ones, that I later had to discuss with my brothers. Such as why Mace Windu’s light saber is purple. Now, this is where the nerdy comes in. Granted, we are going with a Star Wars party theme, but I assume that unless you are as nerdy as me you probably either didn’t know that was unique, or didn’t care. Didn’t care being the most likely. This lead me to a whole series of reasons that I am a nerd. Mostly because I know things like that. And debate them. Sometimes to myself. So, because you were all just dying to know, here is the top ten list of reasons that I am “white and nerdy”.
10. I have seen every ‘comic book’ movie.
9. I have argued why some of those are not true to character or why they were ridiculous. Which, of course, is because of how they compared to the comic book.
8. I consider more fictional people my friends than nonfictional ones. (HI Thomas!!)
7. I read text books for fun. Most of those text books were not for a class I took or will take in the future.
6. I secretly like writing lesson plans.
5. I ponder things like light saber colors. (And then I googled why the light saber is purple.)
4. Then I was disappointed in the answer because I had a huge argument as to why I thought it should be purple. Turns out I was wrong. (Because Samuel L. Jackson’s favorite color is purple. That so does not fit in with the order of the universe. And I am pretty sure it goes against the force as well.)
3. I make lists to cross things off. Sometimes I even make the list after the fact just to see all the crossed off stuff. (I am not even making this up. I may need professional help.)
2. If I am ever arrested it will be for something like stalking an author. Not that I have. You really can’t call peeking through the t-shirt rack at Frank Peretti stalking. (Mostly because Andy wouldn’t let me follow him when he left.)
1. My favorite smell in the world is a tie between baby and newly sharpened pencils. Or maybe the smell of a new book.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Faith
Today my sweet girl turns 8. EIGHT! I can not believe it. I know, I know, I say that every year, every child, but my, it is always true. The time is slipping away, days tumbling by like grains of sand in an hour glass. You do not notice one or two at a time, even a weeks worth, or at times a month can slip by. Then you look around and the kids are bigger, stronger, smarter. You look older, more gray hair, even maybe a wrinkle or two. And you wonder where it all went, all your missing time. I will give you a run down of the past eight Faith years.
Faith was born on the last night of our VBS. It was entitled Faith Mountain. Not the reason I choose the name Faith, but the kids at VBS were tickled! I sat there teaching the lesson, pausing for each contraction, then moving on. As the kids went to the closing, I headed to the hospital. If we would have brought the car seat with us she would have made it to the closing program on Sunday morning! That Saturday (she was born really early Saturday morning) we missed a family reunion. For the next few years her birthday always fell on both VBS and the reunion time.
As Faith got bigger there were two things everyone would comment on more than anything else. Oh, there was always the comments about how beautiful she looked. But then she would smile. Oh, that smile! It would melt your heart, turn the worst day around. It was the most infectious smile I have ever seen. And she was always happy. So very happy. I was afraid that the smile would be too different when she got teeth, but she has this adorable gap that made it even better! She also had the cutest lisp for the longest time. Sometimes there is just a hint of it when she talks fast or is excited, which is quite often.
The other thing developed as she got even older. The sunniest disposition that you have ever seen. She never lacked joy. And it showed. Sure she could, and would, cry and pout, but she more often than not looked on the world with rose colored glasses. There seemed to be a hint of magic everywhere she went. Every thing was a game. Delightful and ready to be explored, enjoyed, shared. She was always a pixie princess at play. I felt certain sometimes that if I looked closely at her ears they would be pointy.
She has quite an affinity for nature. Most children go through life chasing lighten bugs and butterflies. The come right to Faith and land on her. She has caught birds and ducks. They did not even fly away when she approached and seemed to be ready to get a Faith cuddle. She will gently hold nature in her hands, cherishing it, and then let it go. She will collect bits of sticks, rocks, whatever and set up a museum in the yard. Free admission, because all nature is free to be enjoyed.
Robots are the new thing. Wall-E, R2-D2, C3PO, and droids, and many she makes up herself. She draws elaborate plans to build them when she is older. Or constructs them from paper, legos, blocks, or any material she can get her hands on. She names them, gives them all a personality.
Her art skills are incredible. I know she did not get that from me. She has always drawn very well, and the detail in her pictures is amazing. She goes through stages, like all houses, or robots, or sea life, or a favorite movie. She will be doing something else, and her hands start to fidget and soon she is running off to find paper. It is as if the artistry is spilling out and she can not help herself! I have even seen her do math in on hand and draw with the other.
The years have numbered eight, but the joy, the love of life, the exuberance she brings to everyday are eternal. She is the sunshine in our lives. And were are so very glad for her.
Happy Birthday my sweet baby girl!!
Faith was born on the last night of our VBS. It was entitled Faith Mountain. Not the reason I choose the name Faith, but the kids at VBS were tickled! I sat there teaching the lesson, pausing for each contraction, then moving on. As the kids went to the closing, I headed to the hospital. If we would have brought the car seat with us she would have made it to the closing program on Sunday morning! That Saturday (she was born really early Saturday morning) we missed a family reunion. For the next few years her birthday always fell on both VBS and the reunion time.
As Faith got bigger there were two things everyone would comment on more than anything else. Oh, there was always the comments about how beautiful she looked. But then she would smile. Oh, that smile! It would melt your heart, turn the worst day around. It was the most infectious smile I have ever seen. And she was always happy. So very happy. I was afraid that the smile would be too different when she got teeth, but she has this adorable gap that made it even better! She also had the cutest lisp for the longest time. Sometimes there is just a hint of it when she talks fast or is excited, which is quite often.
The other thing developed as she got even older. The sunniest disposition that you have ever seen. She never lacked joy. And it showed. Sure she could, and would, cry and pout, but she more often than not looked on the world with rose colored glasses. There seemed to be a hint of magic everywhere she went. Every thing was a game. Delightful and ready to be explored, enjoyed, shared. She was always a pixie princess at play. I felt certain sometimes that if I looked closely at her ears they would be pointy.
She has quite an affinity for nature. Most children go through life chasing lighten bugs and butterflies. The come right to Faith and land on her. She has caught birds and ducks. They did not even fly away when she approached and seemed to be ready to get a Faith cuddle. She will gently hold nature in her hands, cherishing it, and then let it go. She will collect bits of sticks, rocks, whatever and set up a museum in the yard. Free admission, because all nature is free to be enjoyed.
Robots are the new thing. Wall-E, R2-D2, C3PO, and droids, and many she makes up herself. She draws elaborate plans to build them when she is older. Or constructs them from paper, legos, blocks, or any material she can get her hands on. She names them, gives them all a personality.
Her art skills are incredible. I know she did not get that from me. She has always drawn very well, and the detail in her pictures is amazing. She goes through stages, like all houses, or robots, or sea life, or a favorite movie. She will be doing something else, and her hands start to fidget and soon she is running off to find paper. It is as if the artistry is spilling out and she can not help herself! I have even seen her do math in on hand and draw with the other.
The years have numbered eight, but the joy, the love of life, the exuberance she brings to everyday are eternal. She is the sunshine in our lives. And were are so very glad for her.
Happy Birthday my sweet baby girl!!
Monday, July 19, 2010
Memory Lane- My Dad
I spend a lot of time in prayer, reading about, thinking about and talking to other people about parenting. I have never been one to learn the easy way, but this, well, this is something I have been determined to do right. As I spend time contemplating how to go about “right” I have to wonder what it looks like. Is there a right way versus a wrong way? Why do some many blame thing, even in adulthood on their parents? Is “right” a fairness to all children, or is there a “right” for each child? Now, there are lots of things I do know, and lost of those things are about children. It is my career, if you will, to know. And I have had extensive schooling on education, child development, and all that jazz. But, in the heat of the battle, how do you know? Those are the kind of questions that can make a parent break out in a cold sweat. We are all trying to do our best. No matter who, or how, that is what we try.
So I began to look back at my life and wanted to think of something spectacular that would give me a sense of rightness. Now, besides myself there were four boys. So I was treated like a princess most of the time, but still expected to work around the house. I just mostly got whatever I wanted, to a certain degree. I am still waiting for my car. I have always been a Daddy’s girl. I remember a lot of fun things, a lot of good things.
There was one thing, however, that I do not remember. I do not ever remember my father not being there for me. I had a safe place, a constant love, and someone who would hold me and help me through all that life would throw at me.
I remember lazy summer days running barefoot through the back yard. I stepped on a bee. Instantly my leg began to swell. I felt light headed. There were more bees around me. My dad ran over, scooped me up and knew exactly what to do. He knew, because he was also terribly allergic to bees. But he ran through them to save me.
I also remember a new bike. My first with hand breaks. I jumped right on, took off down the hill, squeezed the front breaks and flew through the air over my handle bars. Landing face first on the railroad tracks. My leg was bleeding all over, and full of little bits of coal. I began to scream, but before I could even get worked up into a good yell, my dad was there. He scooped me up and ran home with me. He left the brand new bike there. I was the important thing. He began to pick little tiny rocks, one by one, out of my leg until I could not take it any more. He cleaned it up, bandaged me, and sat me on the couch with a popsicle. Then he went for my bike. To be reminded of this, I only have to look down my leg. There are still a few tiny rocks in my knee and ankle.
I remember being back stage at chorus and band concerts, a couple friends wondering if their dad would come. I knew mine was there. I knew he had a red rose. I knew he had taken of work to be there. I knew he’d video tape me and take pictures. And buy me ice cream, or pizza. He would tell me what a good job I did. It never matter what chair I was or if I had a solo. He told me I was the best one there. And I believed him.
I remember being in college and hitting my head. I passed out, had a concussion. I needed to have tests done. I was told that I had a lump in my brain. My dad drove through 5 states to be there for my next test. He took vacation time to do so. The second test said that I was fine, but I was still feeling terrible. He took me to dinner, to see a movie. It was close to Valentine’s Day so I had my dozen red roses, a beautiful card I still have, and a teddy bear. He waited until I felt better to go back home.
I always knew that my dad would be there for me. I find this incredible, because these stories are from two different dads. I grew up in a family where I could have had a difficult time. My father was killed in an accident at work when I was young. I now have a father that adopted me and two of my brothers by the time I was thirteen. There were two more boys added to that family. For a time, I admit I was messed up about this. It was a lot to handle. But not alone. Never alone. Because of the unconditional love, the encouragement, the importance these men placed on me, when introduced to a God who wants to be my Father, I knew those fatherly arms would be safe arms to jump into. And I am so thankful that I did. And I thank God often for not one, but two dads who were so wonderful.
The one major thing I take from my childhood and try to apply to my parenting every day is that feeling. Because I lost one dad, I know that life is too fragile, too precious to let slip by without celebrating. And because I had incredible love, I want to share it.
I love you Dad. Thanks you so much for being all that you are to me, to our whole family, to everyone that you can. You were my first hero.
So I began to look back at my life and wanted to think of something spectacular that would give me a sense of rightness. Now, besides myself there were four boys. So I was treated like a princess most of the time, but still expected to work around the house. I just mostly got whatever I wanted, to a certain degree. I am still waiting for my car. I have always been a Daddy’s girl. I remember a lot of fun things, a lot of good things.
There was one thing, however, that I do not remember. I do not ever remember my father not being there for me. I had a safe place, a constant love, and someone who would hold me and help me through all that life would throw at me.
I remember lazy summer days running barefoot through the back yard. I stepped on a bee. Instantly my leg began to swell. I felt light headed. There were more bees around me. My dad ran over, scooped me up and knew exactly what to do. He knew, because he was also terribly allergic to bees. But he ran through them to save me.
I also remember a new bike. My first with hand breaks. I jumped right on, took off down the hill, squeezed the front breaks and flew through the air over my handle bars. Landing face first on the railroad tracks. My leg was bleeding all over, and full of little bits of coal. I began to scream, but before I could even get worked up into a good yell, my dad was there. He scooped me up and ran home with me. He left the brand new bike there. I was the important thing. He began to pick little tiny rocks, one by one, out of my leg until I could not take it any more. He cleaned it up, bandaged me, and sat me on the couch with a popsicle. Then he went for my bike. To be reminded of this, I only have to look down my leg. There are still a few tiny rocks in my knee and ankle.
I remember being back stage at chorus and band concerts, a couple friends wondering if their dad would come. I knew mine was there. I knew he had a red rose. I knew he had taken of work to be there. I knew he’d video tape me and take pictures. And buy me ice cream, or pizza. He would tell me what a good job I did. It never matter what chair I was or if I had a solo. He told me I was the best one there. And I believed him.
I remember being in college and hitting my head. I passed out, had a concussion. I needed to have tests done. I was told that I had a lump in my brain. My dad drove through 5 states to be there for my next test. He took vacation time to do so. The second test said that I was fine, but I was still feeling terrible. He took me to dinner, to see a movie. It was close to Valentine’s Day so I had my dozen red roses, a beautiful card I still have, and a teddy bear. He waited until I felt better to go back home.
I always knew that my dad would be there for me. I find this incredible, because these stories are from two different dads. I grew up in a family where I could have had a difficult time. My father was killed in an accident at work when I was young. I now have a father that adopted me and two of my brothers by the time I was thirteen. There were two more boys added to that family. For a time, I admit I was messed up about this. It was a lot to handle. But not alone. Never alone. Because of the unconditional love, the encouragement, the importance these men placed on me, when introduced to a God who wants to be my Father, I knew those fatherly arms would be safe arms to jump into. And I am so thankful that I did. And I thank God often for not one, but two dads who were so wonderful.
The one major thing I take from my childhood and try to apply to my parenting every day is that feeling. Because I lost one dad, I know that life is too fragile, too precious to let slip by without celebrating. And because I had incredible love, I want to share it.
I love you Dad. Thanks you so much for being all that you are to me, to our whole family, to everyone that you can. You were my first hero.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Funday, and I Never Do That Half Way!
Which is why as I sit here typing this I have three extra kids here. For fun. And it is. Mostly. The ones driving me crazy are my own. Well, two of them. With two kiddos napping, and two girls glued to Strawberry Shortcake that leaves three to, well, to be insane apparently. And only two of those are loud. My two, of course.
Today for the first time David and Mariah played together. Mostly it goes like this:
David dumps out his milk. Mariah yells at him and cleans it up. David dumps out toys. Mariah yells at him and tries to clean them up. He yells at her for touching his toys. They both get mad and yell. I give them milk and a snack. They yell at me. Then they nap.
But today David took Mariah a car and said “Come on Riah. Play.” And they did. And they had milk and a snack. And a nap. But the playing thing, nice change.
Angel, Faith, and Isaac are really happy to have a couple friends over who moved far away. They came to visit and I had their mom leave them here for a while. And because there are two boys and Faith, it is loud. And rough and tumble. And lots of fun. And Angel has a little one to paint nails, brush hair, and watch “kid” movies with that she is waaayyyy too old for, but secretly still likes to watch. And they both love chocolate. Everyone is happy. And loud. And having a great time. Did I mention loud?
Which brings to light a strange phenomena. Every single time there are extra kids here, I see my kids less. And have an easier time taking care of kids, household stuff, and making food. They are otherwise occupied, and I am left to my own devices. Which means that anytime I need to get something done I may have to grab a truckload of other children to come home with me. But first I will need to stock up on juice boxes, fruit snacks, band aids and ear plugs.
Today for the first time David and Mariah played together. Mostly it goes like this:
David dumps out his milk. Mariah yells at him and cleans it up. David dumps out toys. Mariah yells at him and tries to clean them up. He yells at her for touching his toys. They both get mad and yell. I give them milk and a snack. They yell at me. Then they nap.
But today David took Mariah a car and said “Come on Riah. Play.” And they did. And they had milk and a snack. And a nap. But the playing thing, nice change.
Angel, Faith, and Isaac are really happy to have a couple friends over who moved far away. They came to visit and I had their mom leave them here for a while. And because there are two boys and Faith, it is loud. And rough and tumble. And lots of fun. And Angel has a little one to paint nails, brush hair, and watch “kid” movies with that she is waaayyyy too old for, but secretly still likes to watch. And they both love chocolate. Everyone is happy. And loud. And having a great time. Did I mention loud?
Which brings to light a strange phenomena. Every single time there are extra kids here, I see my kids less. And have an easier time taking care of kids, household stuff, and making food. They are otherwise occupied, and I am left to my own devices. Which means that anytime I need to get something done I may have to grab a truckload of other children to come home with me. But first I will need to stock up on juice boxes, fruit snacks, band aids and ear plugs.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Because even in hyperdrive I can't seem to get it all going!
For some reason I do not sleep. I have tried lessening my caffeine intake. Going to bed and squeezing my eyes shut reeeaaal tight. Reading. Putting on a movie that I have seen about a million times. Taking a nice bath. Nada! I am still up late. I thought maybe it was because of awesome game nights all night long with equally awesome friends, but that is not too often. Or maybe staying up to watch DVDs of CSI, which is often-er than game night. But, I do not think that is it. And I am caught up on CSI for now. But of course, I am not productive. Even being awake about 30 hours a day my house is still a mess. Sometimes I do not get to shower. All of our towels are perpetually dirty. The cat litter is always full. My mind is on hyper drive, but my body is not.
Oh, I know that the problems we have been having are problem causing some of this insomnia. Andy’s job situation has been very unstable. Bills come due and less money comes in. Plus his schooling situation. I was never good at waiting, and we have been waiting to find out if he is in the awesome program. Since January. And are still waiting. It is hard to be here all the time and have him never here. For all of us.
I sit in the still quiet of my house. No noises, only a dim light (well, that IS because there are about 100 light bulbs burned out in my dining room) sipping my tea (decaffeinated, herbal relaxation tea), and it hit me. This is the only time when I sit without a child hanging on me. And breathe without worrying about the strange banging above my head. Or the dishes in the sink. And sip tea with only my own saliva on the cup and no graham crackers floating in it.
And to think. I think about things such as when I last shaved my legs. Or paid the water bill. How we are going to afford to keep living. And how blessed we are that God has provided so far. Or when David last had a bath. And how long will he have asthma. What are we going to do to keep making progress, in school and in life, with Faith. And if I have enough time with each of the kids. And I think of how wonderful it is to have my husband who is working so hard so I can stay home to keep the stability Faith needs. And if Angel’s school work will challenge and motivate her, or will it be too hard. And I wonder how Isaac’s foot prints, among other prints, ended up on the ceiling. I think about how to beat that part in Lego Batman I am Angel is stuck on. And I think about butterflies and how to raise them. And where. My thoughts begin to drift away from the mundane to the odd and finally move to philosophical. And swing back to odd. (And I am sure there is some pie thought somewhere in all that.) And I begin to feel the tension drain from me. It begins at my shoulders. And I relax for the first time all day. Sometimes I open a window to hear the night time symphony in my backyard.
I miss thinking. Deep thinking. About things outside of myself, outside of us. About God and his glory. About the people and events that have shaped our world. And somewhere, deep inside, I have a part of me that longs to know more. Sometimes the drive surfaces and I have to learn about something. Anything. To read, to experience, to step away from myself and think.
And so, despite the busyness of our home, the pressure that we are under as Andy’s job is ever changing, the daunting task of homeschooling with a toddler (again), I am going back to school. Because I looked into getting a job. And that was hard last time. It was hard physically, but I was working in a field I loved. And I was simply sure that my soul would wither and die if I had to leave my kids everyday to flip burgers. Or ring up groceries. And that was about all anyone would have me do. Having over 130 credits and no degree, that’s all you can do. So I will go to online classes and eventually hold in my hands a degree. That I will have worked so hard for. Shed blood, sweat and tears to hold. I will rejoice. Greatly.
Perhaps that, and repairing my hyper drive, will net me some sleep. Perhaps.
***Disclaimer: The above job related statements were not a slight to the professions of those who cook (which I should not do professionally, or even socially) or those who work in retail (again, I should not do this thing). I only meant to imply that myself in such a situation spells impending doom. Thank you! Have a nice day! And don’t complain.***
Oh, I know that the problems we have been having are problem causing some of this insomnia. Andy’s job situation has been very unstable. Bills come due and less money comes in. Plus his schooling situation. I was never good at waiting, and we have been waiting to find out if he is in the awesome program. Since January. And are still waiting. It is hard to be here all the time and have him never here. For all of us.
I sit in the still quiet of my house. No noises, only a dim light (well, that IS because there are about 100 light bulbs burned out in my dining room) sipping my tea (decaffeinated, herbal relaxation tea), and it hit me. This is the only time when I sit without a child hanging on me. And breathe without worrying about the strange banging above my head. Or the dishes in the sink. And sip tea with only my own saliva on the cup and no graham crackers floating in it.
And to think. I think about things such as when I last shaved my legs. Or paid the water bill. How we are going to afford to keep living. And how blessed we are that God has provided so far. Or when David last had a bath. And how long will he have asthma. What are we going to do to keep making progress, in school and in life, with Faith. And if I have enough time with each of the kids. And I think of how wonderful it is to have my husband who is working so hard so I can stay home to keep the stability Faith needs. And if Angel’s school work will challenge and motivate her, or will it be too hard. And I wonder how Isaac’s foot prints, among other prints, ended up on the ceiling. I think about how to beat that part in Lego Batman I am Angel is stuck on. And I think about butterflies and how to raise them. And where. My thoughts begin to drift away from the mundane to the odd and finally move to philosophical. And swing back to odd. (And I am sure there is some pie thought somewhere in all that.) And I begin to feel the tension drain from me. It begins at my shoulders. And I relax for the first time all day. Sometimes I open a window to hear the night time symphony in my backyard.
I miss thinking. Deep thinking. About things outside of myself, outside of us. About God and his glory. About the people and events that have shaped our world. And somewhere, deep inside, I have a part of me that longs to know more. Sometimes the drive surfaces and I have to learn about something. Anything. To read, to experience, to step away from myself and think.
And so, despite the busyness of our home, the pressure that we are under as Andy’s job is ever changing, the daunting task of homeschooling with a toddler (again), I am going back to school. Because I looked into getting a job. And that was hard last time. It was hard physically, but I was working in a field I loved. And I was simply sure that my soul would wither and die if I had to leave my kids everyday to flip burgers. Or ring up groceries. And that was about all anyone would have me do. Having over 130 credits and no degree, that’s all you can do. So I will go to online classes and eventually hold in my hands a degree. That I will have worked so hard for. Shed blood, sweat and tears to hold. I will rejoice. Greatly.
Perhaps that, and repairing my hyper drive, will net me some sleep. Perhaps.
***Disclaimer: The above job related statements were not a slight to the professions of those who cook (which I should not do professionally, or even socially) or those who work in retail (again, I should not do this thing). I only meant to imply that myself in such a situation spells impending doom. Thank you! Have a nice day! And don’t complain.***
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