Year's End

I go through this every year. Do I make New Year's resolutions or not? Everyone else that I seem to know manages to do pretty well. A couple of friends have even managed to accomplish 365 day challenges. I don't typically make any resolutions. I know myself too well. I'm pretty good for a month (week) or so, then I get busy for a couple of days and forget. Then I start making excuses. I'm tired. I'm busy. My head hurts. Monday is a better day to start back. The first of the month is a better day. Before I know it, it's May and I'm still forty pounds overweight, unorganized, and even more depressed. Why even bother? Which, in and of itself, is a depressing statement. So, I decided to look back over the bucket list and see just what I did accomplish in 2013.

• I started this blog.
• Went whitewater rafting
• Started the cathedral window quilt
• Am chipping away at the debt free thing
• I have a hula hoop - made it myself. Actually made several.
• I'm halfway to my 50th wedding anniversary.
• Have planned out the home office

I even managed to do some things not on the list

• Travel with The Parents
• Gain another teaching certificate
• Send out New Year's Eve cards

Did I change the world? No. Did I move mountains? Probably not. Did I become rich and famous? Ha! But I don't think I wasted the year either. Maybe that's what resolutions are really all about. Not what a crappy person you are for not being able to keep them but what a real person you are for not wanting your year to be wasted time. So, in honor of that, knowing full well that the year will be made up of pitfalls and speed bumps, here are my goals for 2014.

• I will pray every day. For the next 365 days, either on paper or verbally, I will spend time talking with the Creator of the universe, even if it is only one sentence. He deserves at least that much of me.
• I will drink nothing but water (or Gatorade, for medical reasons) this year. No tea, Dr. Pepper, coffee, etc. Just water.
• I will read at least one book of the Bible per month, beginning with Psalms in January. Our pastor has issued the challenge to read the book of Psalms in 31 days. I'm going to try to beat this challenge.

That's it. Those are my goals. Oh, I'm going to try to exercise, eat right, and check some more stuff off the bucket list, but these three are the ones for which I'm going to ask people to help hold me accountable. Check back December 31, 2014. We'll see how it goes. 

Saying Goodbye

A mentor, teacher, hero, and friend. One of the strongest Christians and humblest men I have ever had the privilege and honor of knowing. My heart hurts but my soul rejoices.

Until we meet again, Mr. Smith...

http://www.presentationportal.jslu.org/JSL/Smith_Lanier.html

25 To Life

The Hubby and I have accomplished something that it seems fewer and fewer couples manage these days. We have reached our 25th wedding anniversary. Yep, on November 19, 1988, we stood in a small town church before God, friends, and family and pledged to love one another for the rest of our lives. I do believe that not one person there thought we would survive the first year. I won't say it has be easy. Being married is the second hardest job one can ever take on. There are days where we honestly do not even like one another. But I cannot even begin to fathom what life would be like without this man by my side. So, not to make light of the past years, (and this is certainly not an exhaustive list) here are twenty-five reasons, in no particular order, that I am looking forward to our 50th!

1. He seeks God in all things. While He may not always give us what we ask for, He has led us down some pretty amazing paths and I look forward to seeing what comes next.
2. He loves me. Not an easy job. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I know it and I cannot express just how blessed I am that he continues to love me each and every day.
3. He promised to never bring up the D-word, no matter how bad life gets. It's the reason that I'm able to write this.
4. He makes a better mom than I do. We probably would have starved a long time ago, or at least suffocated under the mountains of laundry...
5. February 23, 1987
6. July 21, 1993
7. March 2, 1996
8. He is a fantastic provider for our family. His work ethic sometimes clashes with my need to have him in my line of sight, but I do appreciate his willingness to bring home the bacon. And to cook it.
9. He loves our family. Each one of our children is a "Daddy's Girl" and they know it. Might as well prepare now for the matching chicken tattoos. They're coming.
10. He is willing to deal with my neurotic issues. And my emotional issues. And my health issues. And my...
11. He loves Max the Wonderdog and The Stupid Cat Thing, no matter what he says. He's loved all the pets, even the weird ones.
12. He and I have vastly different love languages. I guess opposites really do attract.
13. He can't be still. If he could, our house would probably never be completely clean.
14. He takes care of his parents. They depend on him almost as much as I do. I'm glad he's there for them.
15. He tells the children that they will always have a room at home. It may the Harry Potter room under the stairs, but they will have one.
16. He takes care of me when I am sick. Which sometimes seems like more often than not.
17. He will go places with me. Even if it is just around the block. Just to keep me from going stir-crazy.
18. He doesn't insist on going everywhere with me. Thank Heaven.
19. He is willing to try new things. More often than I, most of the time.
20. He tolerates my lists. Even the invisible ones in my head.
21. He gets me chocolate even though I am not supposed to have it. And he doesn't fuss at me for it. Too much.
22. He think I still look 20. I think his prescription is way off, but that's just me.
23. He doesn't mind keeping my feet warm at night. Even when I'm threatening to smother him with his own pillow, he's still willing to take care of me.
24. He's stuck around for 25 years. Through all the ups and downs, backwards and forwards, it's been a wonderful, insane journey. I have become a better person because of him and could not imagine this life without him.
25. He is looking forward to another 25. And another. And another. And another. And...

Happy Anniversary!

What Month Is It?

Wow. November. So much has happened and time has just gotten away from me. Marching band season is almost finished (Thank God) and The Cinderella is out looking for a job. It seems she is home less often than The Free Spirit. Halloween is over. I could have written a book on that. This month is NaNoWriMo. I'm not writing a book for that (although there are several spinning around in my head). Forty-eight days until Christmas and I've bought eight gifts. The pressure is beginning to mount. But I'm not worried.

What has caught my attention is, that every time I open a social media network, such as Facebook, I see an "Day XX - I'm thankful for..." post. It's driving me crazy.

Don't get me wrong. I'm thankful for all those things, too. I'm just not wired to limit them to one day at a time and, since I tend to get a bit wordy, there is not enough room on a Facebook post to elaborate on the WHY I am thankful for those things. I would get cut off in the middle of a sentence. Then I would have to go postal on Mark Zukerberg, et.al. So I am going to take this opportunity to get the whole month of thanks over with at once. Enjoy.

Day 1 - I am thankful for a God who loves me enough to sacrifice himself in order to have a relationship with me, and who asks nothing of me except that I love others to that level.

Day 2 - I am thankful for The Hubby who has put up with me and my shenanigans for so long. Here's to the next 75!

Day 3 - I am thankful for The Eldest and her husband. They are reminding The Hubby and me what it was like when we first started on this journey called marriage. It has been both a bittersweet and a joyful trip.

Day 4 - I am thankful for The Free Spirit. She has taught me so many lessons on letting go and has done so with grace and beauty.

Day 5 - I am thankful for The Cinderella. She keeps me young. She is the last. She is the light at the end of the tunnel. The Hubby and I are so looking forward to doing "The No Kid Dance."

Day 6 - I am thankful for The Parents. They raised me. I am who I am, the good, the bad and the ugly, because of what they did (or at least tried to do). They did their best. I don't blame them for anything.

Day 7 - I am thankful for my sisters. All 3 of them. And my brothers-in-law who have put up with them and the rest of the insanity that is our family. Especially during the holidays.

Day 8 - I am thankful for Niece #1 who reminds me that becoming a young lady is not the easiest job in the world. Especially when you think you have to do it by yourself.

Day 9 - I am thankful for Niece #2 who never stops talking even when she is throwing up in the car. What I would give for just a fraction of that amount of energy.

Day 10 - I am thankful for The Nephew and his incredible imagination. He inspires me. The Coconut Dance will one day win awards.

Day 11 - I am thankful for The In-Laws. They raised The Hubby to be a loving, Christ-seeking man who sacrifices daily for his family. I am blessed beyond measure for that.

Day 12 - I am thankful for The Brother and Sister-Out-Law. The relationship they share with The Hubby is a joy to see and I am grateful that they stay so closely connected.

Day 13 - I am thankful for SKE. She teaches us patience. Even when we want to snatch a knot in her head (as we say down south).

Day 14 - I am thankful for MEE. Even though I am not her favorite.

Day 15 - I am thankful for The Brother-That-Was. Although he has been gone for several years, the memories we have continue to bring us light and laughter.

Day 16 - I am thankful for my church and for the fact that I can openly worship God without fear of torture or death. It is a gift I do not take lightly.

Day 17 - I am thankful for my small group family, both past and present. They challenge me to grow both spiritually and emotionally. I have learned so much and continue to do so almost on a daily basis.

Day 18 - I am thankful for my friends. While the introvert in me recoils from the idea of a 2:30 am BFF, I do have a circle that I consider myself close to and could call on if I needed someone. I am blessed in that regard.

Day 19 - I am thankful for my health. Such that it is. At least I am on this side of the grass. And even if I were not, the alternative is going to be indescribable.

Day 20 - I am thankful for my job. I am employed in a stable work environment. I do not have to worry about unemployment and I am so very close to retiring young.

Day 21 - I am thankful for my home. It's messy. It needs work. It's for sale. But I have one.

Day 22 - I am thankful for my town. It's a small town with small town problems and idiosyncrasies. We have our share of Rednecks and Alabama fans (often the same people). But, for the most part, it's a quiet place to live and raise a family.

Day 23 - I am thankful for my country and for those who have given their lives to protect it. I have friends and family members in the military (past and present) and I have nothing but the utmost respect and honor for their service. There is no higher calling.

Day 24 - I am thankful for our system of government. While I do not always like the people in charge or agree with the laws and policies, I am grateful that we live in a system where we have the freedom to voice our discontent without fear, and where we have the opportunity to change our government should the need arise.

Day 25 - I am thankful for the time period that we live in. Every day brings new wonders. Even twenty years ago, I would not be instantly writing this and you would not be instantly reading it.

Day 26 - I am thankful for Max the Wonderdog and That Stupid Cat Thing. They are more than companions, they are family members and even when he takes up half of the bed, Max at least keeps my feet warm.

Day 27 - I am thankful for my students. They frustrate me. They irritate me. They make me want to tear my hair out. I learn from them each and every day and I would not trade that knowledge for anything.

Day 28 - I am thankful for my education. I love learning new things. I am a research junkie and could sit in a classroom all day. I have multiple degrees and yearn for the opportunity to get more. I know that having an education is a privilege and I am beyond blessed to have been afforded the chance.

Day 29 - I am thankful for my gifts and talents. God has seen fit to give me the gifts of faith and administration. He does have a sense of humor, doesn't he? I mean, what was he thinking, to hand a right-brained introvert jobs that require left-brained logic and the ability to step out without seeing what lies ahead? What a ride it has been!

Day 30 - Lastly, I am thankful for the chance to put all this down into something resembling coherence. Writing is a catharsis for me, an opportunity to get the pictures in the spaghetti-mess that is my brain into some sort of order. I never, ever take that for granted.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Name-calling and the Pictures in my Head

I have apparently offended The Eldest. Again.

It seems that when I began this random blog, the names that popped into my head for the members of my family were dead on accurate and pleasing to all but one person. Yep. My oldest child.

Granted, she is aware that, as a full-grown adult, this jealously is a bit childish, yet there it is. All of the other members of the family, including the dog, got cutesy descriptors and she got stuck with...The Eldest. She claims it reminds her of all of the times we introduced our children as a collective group. This is #3. She is eight and a black belt in Tae Kwan Do. This is #2. She is eleven and has X number of swimming medals. Oh, and this is #1, The Eldest. She clearly forgot the fact that we followed up with clarifications such as, "she is in two different bands and plays more instruments than we can count," and "she's in the sixth grade and just won an award for a dramatic monologue she wrote based on a character from To Kill a Mockingbird." Or how about "her sculpture is the only piece selected in the entire county to be displayed in a district art show and IT WON!" All she heard was, "The Eldest" and in her mind acquainted it with descriptors such as Harold the Bandy-Legged and William the Loon.

Needless to say, that was not the image in my head when I wrote that epithet for my first-born. As I characterize my children on these pages, certain pictures pop into my ever-changing brain waves. The Cinderella does not invoke a Disneyesque image of a poor pitiful child forced to scrub floors while singing arias to her pet mice or even the made-up doll in her twinkling ball gown on her way to happily ever after. Rather, the view in my head is of a two-year old, clunking around in a pair of mom's high heels and dad's t-shirt, pushing a doll stroller through the kitchen, singing the Barney theme song at the top of her little lungs.

The Free Spirit is not Tinkerbell or even a throwback to the Sixties, as badly as she would like to think she is. Her picture is always the one of pre-birth, when she had her days and nights mixed up. Just as I would lie down to sleep, she would decide to wake up and play. All night. Every night. She still does.

The Eldest has always been the go-between. She was 6 when the Free Spirit came along and 9 when Cinderella made her appearance. She was the leader, the teacher, the imparter of wisdom to her younger siblings. They have always looked up to her and have tried to follow her lead in most of their big decisions. They invariably take her side in any argument and when it is "gang up on Mom day" (which is pretty much every day), Mom never wins.

Now, I like to think that we have reached that stage where we are more than mother and daughter, that we have become friends. I depend on her a lot more than I used to. She is my interpreter, my sounding board, my encourager, and sometimes, my conscience. So, no, daughter, the image in my head is not Gandalf. More like Galadriel if you want something concrete, but way beyond that. I may, on these pages, name you The Eldest, but, you have always been and will always be my very best friend in the whole wide world.

Better than Chase and Meredith and Carly Acky.

Bones, a Wild Boar and a 25 Foot Chicken

Note: I've been trying to get this posted since July!

I don't normally get a vacation in the summer. Sure, I get a few days off from school when I'm not answering panicked emails about IEPs or schedules, but a full on, pack your bags, stop the mail, unplug the coffee pot, and lock the door behind you vacation, not very often. Since The Hubby is a medical administrator there are days he has to be on site. Add the on-call days where he has to stay close and his vacation window gets pretty narrow. Plus, the kids are all on different schedules, so coordinating anything with them is worse than trying to get worms to lie in a straight line. Needless to say, while everyone else gets to post pictures of the beach or the mountains and regale us with their adventures in line to see giant cartoon characters, I continue to battle the mosquitoes and weeds in my own backyard.

Occasionally, the beginning of the school calendar will fall just right and I can take advantage of the wondrous phenomenon known as The World's Longest Yard Sale. It always falls on the first Thursday-Sunday in August (which, coincidentally also happens to be around my birthday). Most years I am stuck in pre-planning (sometimes even the first days of school) and cannot attend this incredible event. This year I got a little bit lucky.

The sale begins in Gadsden, Alabama, goes up US Highway 127, and ends somewhere in Canada. My parents happen to live near a small portion of this route, so if I am only blessed with a one day attendance, I will usually travel this area. This time, I was lucky enough to get two days (had to be back in town on Saturday for senior band pictures), so The Cinderella, The Parents, and I packed up the camper and headed north.

(Rabbit Trail: Picture, if you will, four adult sized human beings in a small camper intended to house only two. Continue to picture those same four beings traveling approximately 400 miles in 48 hours, in intense traffic, with limited "facilities." It literally redefines the phrase "up close and personal.")

The trip is like nothing you can ever imagine. You have to experience it to really appreciate the grandeur and the eccentricity that this weekend brings to the forefront of the American psyche. Sure, there were the typical "one man's junk" items but there were also incredibly beautiful antiques and delightfully odd and eclectic works of art. Right next to the five dollar tub of children's books sat a stuffed and mounted wild boar. Across from a vintage 1969 Volkswagen Beetle was a pile of bones that I dearly hope came from some four-legged animal rather than from the two-legged variety. Down the road was a lady selling metal yard art including a giant chicken. It was wonderful.

However, it didn't really matter what oddities I saw. The best part of the entire trip was the fact that I got an entire uninterrupted 48 hours with The Parents.

I don't usually get that opportunity. With three sisters, their offspring, and my own family unit, time spent with my mom and dad is mostly loud and chaotic. Not that I don't deeply love my extended family. I do, very much. I just enjoy those brief, minute moments of peace and quiet even more.

That 48 hours was not filled with any deep, meaningful, solve-the-questions-of-the-universe conversation. We didn't make any future plans on who gets what heirloom nor were there any disclosures on where the secret treasure was buried. Most of the comments were limited to, "You have to speak up when you want your Daddy to stop," "I really need a shower," and "No, you can't buy the 25-foot chicken." But, it was the best time we've had in a long time and I, for one, am incredibly thankful.

I suppose that is what God feels like when he gets our undivided attention for any length of time. When we set aside our schedules and just focus on him. We don't need to spend every day trying to solve problems or answer the deep questions of the universe. We just need to pay attention the Creator of the universe. That's worth way more than any giant metal chicken!

Can I have a big chicken?

 Please tell me they're not human?

Yep, it's real.

Are you my mummy?

I'm not even sure.

There are just no words.

And So It Begins...Again

There are approximately 500 students wandering the hallowed halls of LHS today. They resemble deer frozen in headlights, though not all for the same reasons. It's registration day for freshmen and seniors. The freshmen half are terrified to be in what is obviously strange territory, and the seniors are beginning to realize that this is the first of many lasts. It's a bittersweet feeling for the parents too, and you can see it on their faces just as you do the students. They realize the babies are growing up and getting ready to leave the nest.

My Cinderella is also a senior this year. It's the first of the last for The Hubby and I as well. When The Eldest graduated everyone told me I would cry. I did not. Nor did I when The Free Spirit walked across the stage and I was privileged to give her the diploma cover. (We pretend here in East Central Georgia. Diplomas are given out after the ceremony. That ensures that everyone gets the correct one without having to hold up the processional.) However, I do not know how I will react this time. I'm telling everyone that I am getting ready to do the "No Kid Dance" but the truth is, I'm a bit frightened.

I have no idea what this year will bring. The Cinderella is a self-proclaimed "high-maintenance drama princess." She is terrified of the coming year. She is focused on the wheres and hows of college but every so often it hits her that this is her last year of high school. Then the frozen deer look comes across her face and the tears well up. I never know what to say other than, "You will be fine." I know she will be. I'm just not sure I will.

The Hubby and I have never been just a couple. We started out with three.  This time next year, there will be just two (not counting The Wonderdog). The Cinderella is planning to move further than 30 minutes away. We won't be able to just run down and take her to the grocery store or out to dinner. I won't be with her at the doctor's office if she gets sick. I have to trust that she will be safe and healthy. All by herself.

That's what it comes down to. Trust. I have to trust that God will take care of The Cinderella throughout this coming year and when she does finally leave the nest. I do, but I suppose I need the reminders now and again. What I have a difficult time with is trusting that he will take care of me also. This is a transition year for me (and The Hubby) as well and I need to rely on my Abba Father more than ever. Maybe I'll cry. Maybe I'll dance. Maybe I'll do a bit of both. Either way, I'm trusting that this last will become the first of an incredible adventure for all of us.

The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living. It's our handle on what we can't see.  

                                                                         -Hebrews 11:1 The Message

The "N" Word and Other Stones I Throw

I don't usually discuss current events in a public forum but it seems as if so much has happened lately and everyone has an opinion that I might as well put my two cents worth in also.

It started with the US Supreme Court striking down Section 4 of the 1965 Voting Rights Act. Now, Southern states (those that were part of the Confederate States during the War of Northern Aggression) no longer have to get permission from the federal government if they want to amend their voting laws. According to the powers that be, that decision is going to immediately thrust us back into the pre-Civil Rights era and minorities will have to go back to taking literacy tests and paying poll taxes. The media gurus seem to think that voter discrimination will run rampant throughout the nation. I've got a bit of news for them. Voter discrimination existed without the help of the Supreme Court. Why is it that I, born and bred in these here United States and raised in the Southern region of the nation, have to show my ID to prove that I am at the correct polling place and legally eligible to vote, and those individuals in other sections of our country who may or may not be correctly following voting procedures, do not? Reconstruction is alive and well.

Then there is the uproar over Defense of Marriage Act ruling. According to the Supreme Court, it's unconstitutional. My personal opinion is that the definition of marriage is a union, sanctified by God, between a man and a woman. Does this mean I am going to stop talking to my gay friends? No. I don't have to agree with them to love them. That's like saying my husband and I have to see eye to eye on everything (like that's ever going to happen!) or my kids have to agree with every word that comes out of my mouth. (Just because they do...) Having said that, I believe, in this case, the Court is correct. Nowhere in the US Constitution does it say anything about the federal or state governments being responsible for mandating marriages. That is not the government's job. This was not the intent of the founding fathers when the US was established and I am of the opinion that the topic did not even come up in the conversation. Move on, people. Our job is not to try to force others to accept a specific viewpoint through legislation. All that happens is that it continues to divide people and eventually becomes fodder for media rants.

Updated July 11, 2013

http://www.churchleaders.com/pastors/pastor-articles/168778-7-must-know-facts-about-same-sex-marriage-and-the-supreme-court-ruling.html?p=1

Which brings me to the real reason for this particular post. These two rulings were pretty big issues, I thought. However, they were both completely overshadowed by what should have been a minor footnote in the media annals if it were even worthy of mention. The Paula Deen "scandal." It seems that some 25-30 years ago, Ms. Deen made an off-color comment, using the "N" word in conversation. She has since apologized (repeatedly), apparently cleaned up her vocabulary and changed her racist ways. Yet she continues to be vilified in the media, losing her cooking shows on The Food Network along with numerous endorsement contracts. That does not even take into account the so-called "Plantation Party" that never actually happened. (Read the deposition, people. It's a public document.) The odd thing about this whole ordeal (other than the fact that it won't go away) is that most of the millions of people who have come out in support of Ms. Dean and her family are from the South. I mean, aren't we supposed to be the backwoods, cousin-marrying, hypocritical, rednecks down here? Isn't the enlightened media monster supposed to be the all-knowing, all-loving, forgiving entity where everyone makes mistakes and should be given second, third, fourth, and fifth (etc) chances? Does anyone else see the juxtaposition of this picture?

What does this have to do with me? I've done plenty that I not particularly proud of, but thinking back over my relatively short lifespan (ahem), I'm pretty sure I can honestly say that I have never called anyone the "N" word. At least, I cannot consciencely remember doing so. In fact, just trying to remember ever having made such a vulgar remark in reference to another human being makes my skin crawl. I want to cry when I even try to picture what my mother would have done to me if I had barely thought about using that word. Nor do I condone it in my own family. I hope that I have taught my children that all people are to be respected, simply by virtue of being God's creation and that there are no circumstances that justify racial epithets. When we discussed this whole topic, my children assured me they felt the same way.

Have I ever said the word "nigger"? Of course. I am a teacher. That word appears in numerous historical and literary documents and I have read it aloud several times in context within my classroom. I always preface those lessons with discussions about time period and culture and belief systems, and I have never had a problem or a question raised. Kids appreciate honesty.

(Rabbit Trail: I do not condone racial slurs in my classroom, no matter what the student's cultural background. Disrespect is disrespect. If I don't say it, they don't say it.)

Have I ever told a racist, religious, or sexist joke? Not since I was a stupid kid trying to look cool in front of my friends. And even then I wasn't very good at telling jokes, even clean ones. I always got the giggles before I got to the punch line and ended up spoiling everything. Plus, I've always been too fascinated by other cultures to make fun of them. These days what few jokes I do know are usually at the expense of Alabama fans, which is entirely acceptable.

Where does God fit into all of this? He tells us to forgive and to love. A great many people have forgiven Paula Deen for her mistakes and continue to love her. While I may not agree with others on the definition of marriage, that doesn't mean I don't love them. Even if they stop loving me (which is certainly possible). The federal government appears to have forgiven the Southern states for their stupidity in trying to keep minorities from exercising their right to vote (whether or not they love us remains to be seen). Some of us are trying to inch our way in the right direction.

But...can I apply these principle to my every day? Can I forgive The Hubby when he makes a disparaging remark about something I've done (or haven't done). Can I keep on loving the Free Spirit when she makes decisions that cause me to want to wring her neck (or at least shave her head)? Can I forgive myself for the utter chaos I have made of my life by not listening to the Father's guidance even though he has forgiven me? Can I love myself, OCD, wrinkles, grey hair and all, believing that I am beautiful because I am made in the image of the Creator? If I have learned anything from the headlines these past days, it's not been about the stones that I've thrown at others. It's been about dealing with the ones I've hurled at myself. If I am to be a follower and love people then I cannot be selective about the people I love. Not even to the exclusion of myself. That would make me the biggest hypocrite of all.

All Quiet on the Western Front

(with apologies to  E M Remarque)

The house is empty and quiet. For the moment it is just me and Max the Wonderdog in blissful peace and tranquility. We've earned it. We're going to enjoy it.

Once a year the nieces and nephew trek down to spend about a week with us sans their mommies. The kids spend the day in the pool, we try to do some sort of special project (this year we made hula hoops) and in the evening they attend Kid Fest at our church (SRCC's version of Vacation Bible School). Everyone looks forward to this mini-vacation. At least in the beginning.

The ages of said relatives range from 5 (the nephew) to 11. Two of the three are ADHD and only one has medicine which was just begun this week. This year the mommies came down early which meant I had FIVE extra people in my house instead of three. No wonder the husband kept leaving early for work.

I love my family. No, really, I do. In small doses. Like, microscopically small doses. Nanoseconds here and there. As long as they are quiet. Which is seldom. What am I saying?!? They're never quiet.

On the way home, the middle niece talked nonstop for two and a half hours, even while she was being carsick and throwing up.

On the first day of Kid Fest, the nephew decided to interrupt the skit to give the main performer a high five and a pep talk. Twice.

On the morning of the third day with us, Nephew rode his bicycle down our admittedly steep driveway. Unfortunately, he badly misjudged the angle of decent and amount of speed and took a face plant at the bottom of said driveway. I'm betting by the sound of his screams, the entire neighborhood assumed I was beating him.

Every time the kids got into the pool, Max decided they were drowning and kept jumping in to try and save them. For a dog who is actually afraid of the water and can barely swim himself, it was not really as cute as it sounds.

When Cinderella decided the younger ones needed to learn to swim for real, the whining and crying began and my nerves went haywire (as we say down south). They yelled at her, she yelled at them, they tattled, I yelled at everybody, you get the picture. Then the mommies arrived. And the whining and crying began for real. (The husband told me to get a grip.)

Everyone tells me that my children are always nice and polite and oh, so sweet. I look at them like they've got two heads or something and say, "My children? Are you sure you haven't confused them with, say, some alien doppleganger from the planet Raxacoricofallapatorius?" Then I look at the child in question and say, "Who are you and what have you done with...?" Everyone laughs politely, assuming that I'm joking. (I'm not.) My children were pure hellions at home. Not always but enough to make me decide that if Cinderella had been the firstborn instead of the last, she would have been an only child. The question that always gets asked is why do children act so horrible at home and so good around other people?

I think the answer has to do with security and limits. We set limits for our children and disciplined them when they crossed those lines. Children need those limits. They need boundaries set so that they know that they are safe and when children feel safe, they feel loved. Then, within those limits, actions were acceptable or at least negotiable. So, at least in our house, the kids could let off steam, knowing that we would still love them even if we had to discipline them.

It's such an incredible picture of God's love. There are acceptable and not acceptable behaviors that we engage in as human beings. When we sin, there are consequences. Sometimes these are natural consequences, sometimes God must discipline us. Either way, He never ever stops loving us and within that love we are free to do and be so much more than what we were without Him. And I'll take that over peace and quiet any day.

Things we collected this year

A Death in the Laundry Room

I am in mourning. My washing machine is currently in an electronic coma, on it's metaphorical last legs. I am having to haul my laundry to various places in order to keep my family in clean clothing. This is not what I would consider a fun way to spend my Summer break. It's doubly frustrating because we only purchased the machine within the past five years. It's one of those energy efficient ones that is supposed to use less water and less agitation therefore be better for the environment. It's a beautiful glossy black that fits perfectly with my future decor. We even got the matching dryer to keep it company, But it refuses to stay level on the spin cycle. Aggravating does not begin to describe how I feel about this monstrosity that has taken over my laundry room.

My husband swears he can fix it. He says it's just a simple part to replace and it won't take but a few minutes. He also says that when he takes the washer out to make this so-called minor repair he will go ahead and pull out the dryer, clean both machines, paint, finish the flooring, and get everything organized. In short, re-do the entire room according to what I originally planned when we moved into the house. I wait with baited breath.

I don't know why this bothers me so much. It's not like I'm the one who actually does the laundry in our family. The girls have been doing their own for years and I constantly tell everyone that my husband is a better mom than I am. We swapped the traditional roles in our house years ago (don't judge, it works for us). With all due respect, he should be the one all bent out of shape over this, but he's not. He'll order the part, change it out, and go about his business. Talk about swapping roles.

I'm usually the calm one. I'm the one that says, "This, too, shall pass," and the one that keeps everything in perspective. I'm the hand-holder, the listener, the one that taught her daughters how to eat ice cream like a real woman (with a big spoon, straight out of the carton). And, this isn't the first washing machine I've had to go out on me, nor is it the worst difficulty we've ever had with one. So why am I so bothered?

It may be that it is finally Summer and I haven't had a chance to be lazy. It was a very stressful year and I was looking forward to relaxing and working through some personal projects (and maybe my bucket list). It may be that I fought with my annual, end-of-the-school-year-feel-like-I'm-at-death's-door migraine and this is just another nail in the proverbial coffin. Or it's simply that I despise asking others for help. It messes up my sense of control.

Could also be why I have so much difficulty in my relationship with God. I always think I can do it myself. I can take care of me and mine, I don't need help, thank you very much. You just keep running the universe, I'll be fine on my own. Until I get into real trouble, then I start screaming, "Where are you?" Unfortunately, a real relationship doesn't operate in that fashion. You can't use God only when you need him and expect to grow closer to him. I need to work on letting go and relying on him daily, with the good and the bad, the little and the big, the happy and the sad. Even in the midst of piles of endless laundry.

I've always said that God has to use a 2x4 to get my attention at times. This time, I guess He used a Whirlpool Cabrio.

My Cinderella

She wore a black, one-shoulder formal with silver sequins and bugle beads at the waist and on the back. Her hair was slicked into a side pony tail and her make-up was flawless. On her wrist was a corsage of white orchids and on her feet were silver sequined.....Chuck Taylor high tops.

Yep, that's my princess, off to the junior prom in all her glory. I'm not exactly raising an Audrey Hepburn here, no matter how hard I try. She is determined to be her own self.

I can't say I'm not pleased. After all, being born with no left brain cells (see previous post) made me a bit unique in my own family unit. When I started having children, I knew that I did not want cookie cutter kids and since I am definitely NOT a soccer mom, what else would they be but their own little individual selves. So, instead of mom, dad, 2.3 kids and a dog, we've had:

Mom, Dad, 3 kids (all girls), a Yorkie named Killer, a Rottweiler named Clio Aimee Elmira, various cats (all called Cat), a hamster named Bob, a bird named Igor, fish, hermit crabs, snails, turtles and worms. We are now down to a lab-bulldog mix named Max, a cat my husband affectionately calls Crack, and the last remaining daughter at home. Cinderella of the Chuck Taylors. 

Does God just shake his head at my antics the way I do at my children? Does he grin in secret pride at my small social rebellions? I'm pretty sure he's okay with my uniqueness since he created me that way.

Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart 
                                                                                                            - Jeremiah 1:5 (NIV)

I'm glad my children are comfortable enough in their own skin to be themselves, for they know they were made in the image of their Creator. Unique, individual, incomparable. Chuck Taylors and all.

Countdowns

Spring Break has ended. The official countdown has begun. There are thirty-five days until the end of the 2012-2013 school year. It's almost as if the stress levels are visible, like some insiduous heat wave, rising up through the hallways, choking out our sanity until just the smallest word or gesture causes us to snap and then chaos can rule. For the final month of school, it seems as if everyone walks on eggshells, praying that we make it without a major disaster sending us into a tailspin.

Our lives seem to be ruled by countdowns. Five days until the weekend, twenty-three days left until payday, 117 days until the new school year (118 until my birthday), 226 days until my twenty-fifth anniversary, 229 days until the fifthieth anniversary of Doctor Who (that's important, too) and 262 days until Christmas. Some of these countdowns are exciting; birthdays, anniversaries, etc., and some are stressful. For example, there are 2 days until my next IEP meeting and I'm starting to feel the pressure.

I did not used to be this way. I am naturally a right-brained individual. Creative, emotional, impulsive, illogical (some would say). Very visually oriented. Don't try to tell me how to do something, give me the instruction book. Draw me a map. Don't read to me or lecture me, give me the book. It drove my analytical family up the wall. I was the "scatter-brain." It was not until I was in college that I figured out why I was so different from everyone else. I had never heard of the whole right-brain, left-brain concept and when I took the assessment, I had only one question for my professor. "What does it mean when my score is higher than the ones on your chart?" She was not quite sure what to do. She had never had that happen before. I was so totally right-brained that my left-brained scores barely made a blip on the radar (I think I had maybe a two). I said, "Well, that explains a lot." It meant that I was not really a scatter-brain. I was not secretly adopted. I was not a changling or a royal princess in hiding (darn). What it did mean was there was a lot of work ahead of me. I had to learn how to be left brained.

I did. It took a long time. I went over the top and became a bit OCD because of it. The right brain stuff is still there, it's just augmented by the left brain now. The downside is, I tend to stress over countdowns and schedules. I became a bit of a control freak. Not of everyone else, I'm not a stalker or anything like that. I just need to feel in absolute control of me and my life and my surroundings.

Which is in direct contrast to a relationship with God. I can't say that I am his disciple and insist on control of my own circumstances. (It would be nice to be able to see his calendar for my life, just to get an idea of where we are going.) But, it doesn't work that way. I've got to get off the throne and give it back to him. Every day. Sometimes numerous times a day. Sometimes numerous times an hour. Which (being transparent here) is the hardest thing in the world for me to do in this whole relationship thing. I spent so much time building up the ability to stay in control that giving it up is anathama to me on the deepest levels. It literally tears me apart each and every time. But, to quote a recent sermon topic (springroad.org) the Kingdom of God was made for and of the broken. So, it's worth it. No matter how many times a day or an hour or even a minute, it's worth it.

You Learn Something New Every Day

I almost burned my house down yesterday. At least, that is what everyone in my neighborhood was thinking when the alarm system started going off, and the fire department showed up at my front door. Yes, the Edmondson clan does provide local entertainment for free! Stop on by! Then my sarcastic Facebook post upset my mother (understandably) because she read it before I could post a clarification. It also ticked off "The Joneses" because it apparently started a rumor (Heaven forbid) so I am, once again, in trouble with everyone around me.

Let's begin at the beginning. A good place, as always.

It was a Tuesday. Not a Monday, as one would think. According to Murphy's Law, if stuff is going to happen, Mondays are the most probable day. Nope, leave it to me. It was a Tuesday. It was my turn to provide dessert to my weekly small group Bible study and I was feeling guilty. I had copped out and purchased a cheesecake instead of creating a wonderful homemade confectionery delight. For pity's sake, it's Spring Break. I had time to make something. I'm a pretty good cook. Desserts are my specialty. I was just being lazy so I bought the cheesecake and some strawberries. Then the guilt kicked in and I got a fabulous idea! I would make chocolate sauce! Simple, quick and delicious!

(Rabbit Trail: If you've never had this, Google "chocolate gravy" recipes, pour over hot, buttered biscuits, and it's instant heaven on a plate, people, trust me!)

Unfortunately, in my endeavor to impress my friends with my culinary skills, I ignored the most basic cooking rule: Do Not Try To Multi Task in the Kitchen! Chocolate sauce will boil over very, very quickly. It did and the kitchen filled with smoke. Now, this is not the first time this has ever happened to me. Stuff boils over on the stove with amazing regularity in my house. It is, however, the first time our alarm system has ever registered it.

Please understand. We have lived in this house for six years. The house itself is almost thirty years old and the alarm system is probably close to the same age. When we moved in, we never changed the system over to our name. We had no idea it even worked. There is no company name on the number pad, we had no way to get in touch with any one, no idea how to turn it off, no idea of where the smoke detector was even located (the laundry room).  My husband crawled into the attic yanking wires out of speakers, trying to get the thing to shut up. Our realtor called us because the alarm company called her. (She was still listed as the contact person for emergencies.) The police came. The fire department came. Our dog is going crazy. The cat is trying to sneak into the house because we have all the doors open. I'm laughing like a loon, freaking out  not because I've caused chaos in the neighborhood, but because now we're late for Bible study.

This is my life. I volunteer to do some task for God, fully intending to give it my all. Then I get lazy and start procrastinating. (Rabbit Trail: There is a reason Sloth is one of the Seven Deadlies.  http://springroad.org/#/sermons-studies ) When the deadline approaches, I panic, try to fill in with something else and ultimately make a mess of it, causing chaos in the process. Unfortunately, the end results are never quite so amusing or so simple to clean up as chocolate sauce on the stove. I'm just thankful that He continues to love me and forgive me. Most of the time, a lot faster than my neighbors.