tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36376596045114366832024-03-13T01:23:12.660-07:0030 Minutes on the Boys' TurfTHE EXPERIMENT: 30minutesontheboysturf = My 30 Day committment to spend 30 minutes of my day with my boys on THEIR turf doing what they choose what we do. No phone. No internet. No magazines or newspapers or to do lists. Just me --physically and mentally.Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.comBlogger83125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-22782931524641049492015-05-10T12:15:00.001-07:002015-05-10T12:15:14.780-07:00No Big DealIt started with our Friday "clean your room" routine. BabyBoy concluded, in his freshly turned 6 year-old mind, that locking his clean clothes in the bathroom would be easier than putting them in his drawers. Since Daddy was in Haiti, Oldest stepped up to the plate to unlock the bathroom door-- unsuccessfully.<br />
"No big deal, " I reasoned, "We can use the other bathroom for 24 hours until Daddy returns and unlocks the door."<br />
That's when BabyBoy came down with the worst case of diarrhea I've ever seen .....smelled....heard. The locked, convenient bathroom was next to his bedroom and the available bathroom happened to be a flight of stairs and around the corner.<br />
Saturday morning I woke up with a craving for lentil stew. As I was preparing the brown lentil stew, BabyBoy shouts, "Uh oh! Mommy, there is poop all over. Sorry mommy! I mean everywhere! Can you help me?" From brown liquid in the kitchen to a similar consistency in the bathroom, my craving for lentil stew completely disappeared. Brown stuff re-grouted the tile and splattered the shower curtain, walls, and even entered the 1950 radiator vents.<br />
I was calm. Mother's Day miracle. Really! Even I was amazed. I slipped on disposable gloves and laughed as I de-pooped the bathroom. I bathed the boy for the third time.<br />
The level of liquid continued to rise throughout the day and the toilet refused to flush.<br />
"No big deal." I thought again. "I'll just plunge the toilet."<br />
Except, the plunger was locked in the upstairs bathroom.<br />
"No big deal, I can run and buy one." I confidently told myself. But then I remembered that it's Tulip Time and I'm smack in the center of the hustle and bustle during the busiest and biggest parade. I directed Middleson and Oldest outside to use the bathroom and designated the bathroom for BabyBoy and instituted a no-flushing rule.<br />
On Mother's Day Eve, I realized all I wanted for Mom's Day was Daddy's help unclogging the toilet and doing laundry. I sent emails to my single-mom friends realizing they can't request that kind of help.<br />
Daddy arrived home around 11 PM greeted instantly by the bowl of brown. We stood in the bathroom with plastic bags and a toilet brush, assessing the situation. We laid in bed for an hour talking about his experiences in Haiti and mine on the Homefront.<br />
I went to bed too late and woke up too early with a head-ache. I also started the day with the lowest expectations and greatest contentment EVER! It doesn't have to be about breakfast in bed and spa treatments, although my boys are experts in that department.<br />
Today I'm celebrating motherhood and the "off" moments that God enabled me to meet with calm and peace. This year I'm not requesting breakfast in bed, just a toilet that flushes. I'm grateful for the perspective that Daddy's trip to Haiti gives our family. I have my family and my family has me. We all have Jesus.<br />
That's a big deal.Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-82449353284152059892014-10-28T11:01:00.000-07:002014-10-28T11:01:47.066-07:00SecretsMan. November-ish, just one year ago, we were "all-in", creeping toward Holland secretly. God was slowly, but surely, confirming His plan for us to journey to a new land. Hubby and I would squeal with delight when a Michigan license plate appeared in front of us. Suddenly, blue and yellow wasn't so offensive. We pondered the future in our hearts and gah-gahhed over Holland like a teenage crush. Total infatuation. We began doing the work in the Fall that would be required to sell our home in the Spring. We even laughed as we painted the inside of the garage wondering what the neighbors would think. While they were carving pumpkins, we were white-gloving our house. Knowing what was ahead, made the work not so tasky. At the same time, my journal reflected prayers regarding my kids adjusting, the successful selling of our home, purchasing a new "dream" home, saying good-bye, greeting hellos, and acquiring a job for Andrew. I feverishly sorted and purged every square inch of our home. Eventually, praise God, I packed. I boxed. I taped. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat again.<br />
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Now, a year later, I am utterly amazed at what God has done. When I recall all the uncertainty we faced, I can't believe we kept going. I know myself and my desire to plan and take a step at a time. We didn't do that at all. It was just a crazy jump knowing who held us in the palm of His han ds. We multi-tasked at living out the top stressors simultaneously! The sale of a home/the purchase of a home (add in the stress of NOT being able to find a home), a major move, a job change (and not knowing that wouldn't come until months after moving). We didn't get a lot of hints on the radar, but we did/do know God's proven track record for faithfulness.<br />
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God is so good. He DID come through and was faithful. He not only answered every prayer, He also answered them according to His will. In many ways, He answered according to my will, too. I just didn't know it was MY will. It was a secret. You see, it was a s secret to me that the home we thought we didn't want was the house we don't ever want to leave. It was a secret to us that our street/neighborhood would be community like we've never experienced. It was a secret to us that God could so perfectly orchestrate a position for Andrew that so beautifully reflects our family Mission Statement. It's hard to pray for things you don't even know how to ask for. Oh the small prayers I uttered that I thought were so big. It's like God know's me better than I know myself. He knew we were open/willing/vulnerable/desperate. He kept us so close as He planned His own big reveal.<br />
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When we submit ourselves to HIS will. He can do above and beyond what we ask, think, or imagine according to Ephesians 3:20. I will say though, that there were years of molding and preparation and W...A....I....T....I....N....G.<br />
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I still remember a call from one of my dearest friends on Christmas afternoon. She found an SUV in the garage with a bow on it. Her husband provided a wonderful surprise, and one he had kept a secret. Just recently, he drove through the night to surprise her for breakfast after he had been away. Once again, if he hadn't kept it a secret, it wouldn't have been a surprise.<br />
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That's a bit like what God did for us. He took what we thought was "our" secret and turned it into His secret for us. A gift! Oh, if we had known, those steps of faith may not have been so scary. <br />
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Holland continues to be our "forever reminder that God loves to give the most unexpected of gifts." The community, the family activities, our church, hubby's position, the boys' educational opportunities, the beauty that surrounds us, the lake, THE LAKE, the sand dunes, the parks, the smallness, the slowness, the extra time,....the gift! The secret!<br />
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<i>"And I will give you the treasures of darkness and hidden riches of secret places, that you may know that it is I, the Lord, the God of Israel, Who calls you by name."</i>Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-57112773515060100362014-09-20T06:30:00.001-07:002014-09-20T09:06:42.046-07:00Just Follow MeOur new life in Michigan has opened my eyes in many ways -- one completely unexpected. SAND! When I think of sand, Florida comes to mind instantly, not Michigan. This place is sandy. Even my poor little backyard garden is packed with sandy soil. The van can't seem to rid itself of those pesky little granules no matter how meticulous we are after our beach visits. <br />
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A friend introduced to a place called the Bowl Dune. Oh my! It is a series of sand dunes to climb and conquer that eventually leads to a "crater" or "bowl". I can't help but feel like Neil Armstrong sinking my feet into endless sand granules, pretending I'm on the surface of the moon. One particular day we attempted to scale the dune. It is almost completely vertical. The workout is beyond what LIFETIME Fitness has to offer. Strenuous, heart-rate increasing, no-talking, heavy breathing all the way up....only to reach the top and realize there are several more ahead. The view, a breathtaking invitation from Lake Michigan to submerge yourself in cool blue water.<br />
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Umm. I had my five year old with me. The one that tires me with his endless energy except when he experts himself with his favorite line, "I CAN'T DO THIS! I'M SOOOOO TIRED!" My original plan, pre-dune visit, was to give BabyBoy a piggy-back ride. After seeing the dune, my plans backfired mentally. This little piggy and momma piggy roll down the dune backwards. Not. Going. To. Work.<br />
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Feeling just a touch defeated and desperate for a solution, I huffed a command, "Just put your feet into my footsteps." It's much easier than hollowing out his own sand mold each step. If he can just step in my step, we can make it. We did! We made it! The downhill was exhilarating, easy, fast, and full of joyful laughter. <br />
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Isn't that what Jesus requested of his disciples? "Come follow me!" Jesus commanded. He didn't tell the disciples to go out on their own, to choose their own steps. Instead, He asked them to follow, to come after him. In my twisted thinking, I somehow think it might be easier to invite Him along my path as if I know the way I should take. Ha. He knows the journey will be easier if I just put my step into his footprint and follow His path. <br />
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Sometimes the path is uphill, dark, hard, treacherous, and frustrating. I can't find my way. Other times are bright, light, and easy. Either way, my role doesn't change. I'm the follower. My way is behind my leader.Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-50847495635275108512013-11-14T11:57:00.000-08:002013-11-14T11:57:57.547-08:00Two Peas in the Same PodOur turf looks starkly different this year. Oldest and Middleson spend their days at a brick and mortar school. Babyboy is still at home with me, on familiar turf. This Fall has included smooth adjustments and transitions for all -- uniforms, a school bus, sack lunches, teachers other than me, and homework.<br />
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Yes, HOMEWORK. For the homeschooler, all work is homework but in a different, earlier-in-the-day kind of way. Yesterday, Oldest hopped off the school bus in a panic from head to toe. "I FORGOT MY HOMEWORK! I can't believe this. What am I going to do? I'll have to pull my card!" He squealed. There was confusion at the end of the day about whether he was taking the bus or getting picked up. I'm thankful he so badly wanted to get home. But, in the midst of it all, he forgot his homework. I didn't forget my homework. He doesn't forget his. We don't really forget things. We are responsible and conscientious to a fault.<br />
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Oh, I felt his pain. We are two peas in the same pod. That's like me forgetting to do my taxes. Oldest said he would have to "pull his card". I don't know what that means, but that sounds seriously horrible. Is it like a jail for kids who forget their homework? Outwardly, (proud mom moment) I was calm and told him not to worry about. Inwardly, with rapidly beating heart, I was pacing. <br />
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Our personality includes traits like getting it done, right away, all the way....as perfect (the dreaded P word) as possible the first time. It is black/white. Work first. Play if there is time. We don't want a blemish on our slate even if it doesn't really matter. Everything matters, right?<br />
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Since I could identify with Oldest and his feelings, I suggested going to school early Thursday to complete the assignment. We can go at 4 AM if we need to! We will do whatever it takes. I emailed his teacher and didn't hear back. Truthfully, I forgot all about it.(See I do forget things...I was mistaken, your honor.) <br />
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This afternoon I received a reply from his teacher. She let Oldest complete his homework today under the flustered circumstances yesterday. Then she wrote, "<em>I also tried to make him understand that even if there wasn't an excuse it would not be the end of the world....mark your card....get the homework slip signed...bring it the next day. He doesn't have to be perfect. The world is still spinning." </em><br />
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Oh I smiled. The grace. The Love. The Deeeeep Breath. The lack of pressure. She was speaking to me just as much as she was my son. Self induced panic results from expecting perfection. Life includes failure, tardies, mistakes, messes, and blemishes. <br />
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Was Jesus "late" when Lazarus died? The healing where Jesus put mud on a man's eyes had to have been messy. Stinky walky traveling disciples' feet. The broken bottle of perfume on Jesus'' feet. Who cleaned up the glass chards? That could have been a safety hazard. She could have been sued in this day and age. <br />
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Our failures and shortcomings and imperfections serve a greater purpose. Once again, they point us to a Saviour, who heals our soul brokenness. They cause us to NEED Him. For we cannot save ourselves even if we could somehow present ourselves perfect.<br />
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For me and oldest, two peas in a pod, we need to remember the world is still spinning. He has the whole world in His hands.<br />
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Celebrating IMperfection,<br />
Mommy on the boys' turf<br />
<br />Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-11524344572417289152013-05-13T12:07:00.000-07:002013-05-14T06:21:46.304-07:00Mother's Day 101<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> If I could, I'd gather all my sisters, new-mom friends, and teach a class on Mother's Day. Mother's Day 101. I'm no expert. Yesterday marked a DECADE of Mothers' Days for me. But it was the best one yet. Why? I had no expectations. Not LOW expectations. I wasn't lowering the bar at all. I just didn't have any. I've been to <i>The school of Perfection</i> and it always ends with a failing grade. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Love is messy.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Therefore, Mother's Day is messy. Noisy. Squeaky. Squabbly. Untidy. Crumbly</i>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Kids wake up on Mother's Day. Therefore, they eat, use the bathroom, perhaps get sick, spill, and act like children. They should. Mother's Day is no exception. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> A 4:45 awakening was the first mis-hap of the day. Mother's Day is a day that I should sleep in! Praying, planning, running, and showering before my boys even stirred in their slumber. Babyboy stumbled into the bathroom, half-asleep, "Mommy, I LOVE YOU! Today is Mother's Day, but I am not eating breakfast in MY bed," he leakily spoiled the first "surprise". Moments later I climbed back into bed like a drama queen pretending I hadn't been up yet. Middleson brought the menu. Babyboy delivered the first of many cards, and Oldest laid in bed next to me, too sleepy to participate in Mother's Day Breakfast in Bed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">*Please note that I should have checked the box marked, more coffee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Breakfast in bed = breakfast on the counter, breakfast on the floor, breakfast IN the bed. Breakfast breakfast everywhere. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> I heard the chaos of too many hands and feet in the kitchen. Trying to find food in foreign territory. My territory. My land where I know where every little thing is. Tiny feet carrying shaky trays up the stairs. Fire alarm ringing. I smile. One boy still rebelling against Daddy's request to help. Middleson joining me in my bed with crumbly toast and pasty oatmeal. I envision bedtime later that night with oatmeal in my hair. But, this is fun. Yes, it really is. The discarded tray on the floor by my bed, the one with leftover ketchup, becomes a perfect target for Babyboy's foot. He smeared the ketchup on my carpet like a farmer with his muddy boots. I laughed. I belly laughed! Ironically the same weekend we tiled the master bathroom floor, the carpet is streaked with red. I couldn't stop laughing. THIS is Mother's Day! The mess. The crumbs. The noise. The pictures that I want so perfect to portray that my boys don't burp, or fight, or complain on Mother's Day. The pictures that show me smiling, never a frustration or ruffle in my feathers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Mommy and her boys. Dressed to match. Ready to smile. But, one is sneezing. One is monkeying. Another tantruming. I just want <i>one</i> picture with smiles. We can't seem to pull it off. Finally, we get a few, but not without the threat of frowning on their next Birthday pictures. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Piling into the van for church in a white skirt. Mother's Day white skirts cause stress. When in doubt, when parading in the grass for pictures, always wear the LBD - little black dress. They camouflage mud and spills. Home again, sent back to bed to wait for Mother's Day lunch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Alarm ringing, part II. This time it doesn't quit. Clinging, clanging of dishes, little boys working hard for me. I hear it all. I picture my kitchen a complete disaster and then I take a deep breath because kitchens can be cleaned. This day is MORE about THEM getting to love me without <i>my</i> rules, and<i> my</i> boundaries, and <i>my </i>lectures. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> I came to lunch, alarm still ringing. Loud. Windows opened to release the smoke. I'm cold. I partake the fabulously presented meal in front of me. I prayed the alarm would stop. We talked loud and even on Mother's Day I corrected some less than ideal manners. The alarm finally stopped. After we are done (delicious and beautifully plated, puts my meals to shame), everything in me wants to help with clean-up. Daddy, whisks me out of the kitchen again. <i>My</i> clean-up is quick and thorough. <i>Their</i> clean-up is partial, long, and full of reminding. But they loved me by removing me from my normal routine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> And back to bed again to wait for gluten free sugar cookies, delivered with milk and smiles. A lazy shmazy lay-around afternoon for this always-moving, producing, mommy. It was wonderful! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Mother's Day will only be quiet and clean when those that call me MOMMY are gone. Will I be content with the card in the mail or long for the days of crazy, chaotic, crumbly Mothers' Days of years past? The monkey pictures will mean more than the poised one where life looks serene. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> I can't help but think of the women with the alabaster jar. She broke the jar at Jesus' feet. Did she have a Dyson near by to clean up the broken glass. Did Jesus chastise her for making a mess? Was the smell overpowering? And, the waste she was accused of! My, my, my. It was messy. Loving Jesus, her Savior, with everything meant breaking out of normal and causing a scene. The same can be said of the ULTIMATE act of love at Calvary. Surrounded by imperfection, messes, noise, cries, sickness, and sin. Grace covered it all. Love covers messes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Yesterday, in all their imperfection, I received the wonderful gift of love from the treasures God has blessed me with. In the messes, I saw their love, in the noise, I heard their love. The fire alarm rang loud and clear to remind me that I was OUT of the kitchen and loved loudly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> That's what I'd say to those around me if I could teach Mother's Day 101. Sometimes love is written most powerfully in untidy ways. And that's okay. That's the way to celebrate Mother's Day.</span><br />
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Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-13124633955577541842013-02-22T06:20:00.000-08:002013-02-22T06:20:32.124-08:00Martha! Martha! Martha!<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">(Wow, I have not posted since October 1! Unbelievable. Today, though, something was stirring in my heart and I had to write. Once again, it relates in NO WAY to my time on the boys turf. Yet, in another way, it affects my boys in EVERY WAY.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> I shouldn’t be annoyed by a Bible story. That sounds sacrilegious and sinful. But, the story in Luke 10 about Mary and Martha gets me <i>every</i> time. I’ll announce it to the world. “I AM MARTHA!” I clearly see myself perfecting the house for my guest, Jesus, and being greatly frustrated with my sister for sitting around with the guest and not helping me. That’s not fair! Surely Jesus would see my busyness as a sign of my love for Him. I know what all the books say about choosing to BE instead of BEING BUSY for Him. I know. I get it. I’ve gotten it. Done.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> What about the busyness deep inside my heart, my soul, my mind. Contrary to the external, the internal striving no one can see but me. My clamoring about my spiritual kitchen banging pots and pans. Slamming the cupboards in my mind. Gritting my teeth, I SOS every sin that surfaces. If I can just srub harder. Deeper. Longer. Why can’t I get myself perfect? Earnestly I attempt to clean myself, but the cycle never ends. My spaghetti and meatball stained insides won’t. come. clean. I scrub. I scour. I plan. I prep. To-do lists for Jesus suffocate and confuse. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>1. </b> <b>Tell someone about Jesus</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>2. Memorize this verse and that one</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>3. Take care of the temple</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>4. Speak right</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>5. Live right</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>6. Do this</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>7. Don’t do that</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>8. Don’t think that</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>9. Don’t you dare say that</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>10. Give that</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> I am distracted by the very rules I’ve created to somehow get me “more ready” for Jesus. Rules never bring freedom. Rules always come with chains. But in a sick way, rules bring artificial freedom. They comfort us by allowing us to feel like the victory is in our control. It is for FREEDOM that Christ set me free according to Galatians 5:1. Rules focus on ME everytime. Freedom focuses on Christ and what HE has done. Ever tried to abstain from something and realize that is all you suddenly think about? When my own dirtiness deters me and causes me to see myself as wretched, I tend to look at others in the same way. I see the sins in others like the etched line in my thirteen year old dishes. Scratched. Imperfect. We are all alike. Chipped beyond self-repair. Self-help. Self-control. Self. Self. Self. My striving in my own life for who I want most to reflect, causes me to get agitated with myself and those around me. The washing-machine- self I’ve created can’t handle this heavy load. I can’t do it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Jesus died once. All of my sins were in the future. I see no date on my scribbled calendar that says, “Jesus death, part II, III, IV, V....” Any straining on my part does nothing. I can’t prepare for Jesus. The preparation has already been done. My own to-do list to clean myself is shredded.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Mary, I can sit. Rest. I can reduce my list to just one thing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1. Accept His grace -- not bolded or exclaimed. A gentle invitation</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> When I see myself in Him, I begin to see others in Him.....in need of grace just like me. I begin to feel free. For freedom is the ability to say YES to what is best, not NO. Grace takes the chains and rules OFF. Grace allows me to just soak in His grace. Grace does not equal spiritual </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">laziness as I have so often thought. Instead grace gives up control and allows someone else to do the work for me. I’ve often let the dirtiest of pots soak for a while. Amazingly, as it sits, the gunk loosens. The same happens when I just submerge myself in Christ. Transformation from dirty to clean. Dark to light. Imperfection to trusting in the PERFECT ONE.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> Now that’s not fair! He did it all! For me? He’s okay with that? He doesn’t want my help? He didn’t require me to do the work. Wow! Amazing grace. He just wants me. That’s all. That. Is. All. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Mary</span><br />
Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-36558999072457474482012-10-01T05:40:00.000-07:002012-10-01T05:40:00.011-07:00Double Digits<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oldest is TEN! Officially in the double-digits for the rest of his life, unless he lives to be 100. He is a gigantic part of the best decade of my life. It started with marriage followed by boy 1, boy 2, and boy 3...or Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course there is much excitement around the birth of your firstborn. All the newness and itty bitty clothes, diapers, and shoes. Oldest started our parenting journey and the cycle of hand-me-downs for his two little brothers. I still can't believe I am at this point -- a TEN YEAR OLD? Wow.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Dear Oldest,</span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Let me start by saying you are an incredible son. From day one, you bounced out of the womb with energy and an insatiable appetite. Your cry was never cute. It was a full roar! You never needed a lot of sleep and you let us know that from the start. When all the other newborns were sleeping 18 hours a day, you didn't give into peer pressure. To this day, you like to stay up late and read.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">One thing I have always loved about you is your passion. Each stage in your life has brought out determined enthusiasm about something/someone. When you were one, you had a fascination with trash cans and trash trucks. Whereever we went, you went straight for the trash can. At two, you loved Curious George and I even caught you constructing skis with hockey sticks and taping your shoes to the "skis" to be like Curious George. We have gone through the military phase, the firefighter stage, the hockey stage (your room still reflects this) and the spy phase. You pour 100% into your phase of the moment in your attire, book selection, Christmas gift list, etc. You learn as much as you can and you aren't afraid to share your knowledge.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Right now, you are surprising and alarming us with your computer skills and knowledge. Even the librarians know what section to take you to -- the adult computer manuals. The head librarian offered you a job a while back when he saw the stack of books you were checking out. Today you started a blog all on your own. You have far surpassed me in your knowledge. Having an in-house tech support is fabulous! No more being "on hold" on the phone. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Oldest, you have such a sensitive heart. You don't like to see others hurting. You want to make sure your heart is "right" before God. It has been so neat to see your desire to read the Bible and memorize God's word. I see growth in you. You have had the opportunity to stand up for what is "right" and I could not be more proud of you. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You are a GIVER of good things. Time and time again, you have sacrificed to give something of great/worth and value to you. You have made lists of what you want to give others. You share your favorite things with your favorite people. Daddy told me just this week about you offering your favorite, rare treat to him. That makes my heart so happy. You have learned to give. What a gift.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: Trebuchet MS;">If I could give you advice, it would be the same thing I have been telling myself for a few decades. Don't be so hard on yourself. You don't have to be perfect. It's okay to make a mistake or mess up. Just keep trying. And, get back up. Give yourself GRACE just like God gives you grace. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">This past decade has been wonderful. You enjoy life. What will the next decade be like? You will enter the tweens and teens. Will I still blogging on your twentieth? If so, I can guarantee, it will even longer and more things to "brag" about. I pray you continue to live a life of integrity and uprightness. I can't wait to see how God uses the gifts and talents He has given you. Continue to be passionate about God and people and life.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Oh, happy double-digits Oldest. I love you so!</span><br />
<span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Mommy </span><br />
<a name='more'></a>Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-47861827106937226672012-09-26T10:49:00.000-07:002012-09-26T10:49:31.273-07:00rOlLeRcOaStErFour years into homeschooling and we are still on a rollercoaster. Up and Down. Around we go.<br />
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Each week is a series of highs and lows. I can't do this. I can do this. I love this. I _ _ _ _ (insert a four letter word that starts with "H" and rhymes with late that we try not to use.) I tempt myself with thoughts of a brick and mortor school. I daydream of waving good-bye to the bright yellow bus and actually having TIME. Then I realize that homeschooling GIVES me time to do what matters most to me. Sure, some days I feel like I have been dragged through the day, while others, I have the proverbial "bull by the horns". Busy. Bored. Well, no not bored. Never ever bored. Dirty. Clean. Organized to dis-organized in minutes flat. A cycle of opposites that is never mundane.<br />
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Rollercoasters are thrilling, stomach tingling, and exhilerating. Just ponder the names of the top roller coasters -- The Beast, The Intimidator, Goliath, The Terror, and Desparado. Have you ever heard of a coaster with a name like, Peace, Lazy River, or Princess? No! The big name promotes a bit of fear in and of itself. I'm thinking of a name change for our school -- Adrenaline Academy. It fits. Like a real coaster, sometimes I just want off the ride! They are scary and dark especially when I can't see what's around the corner. Other times I am left feeling a little sick to my stomach and I just want to park myself at the nearest bench. The adrenaline rush is over.<br />
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Homeschooling brings about those same emotions. The thrill of teaching Middleson to read. Watching Oldest soar right past me in technology is amazing. Babyboy's desire to mimic his big brothers tickles my tummy. And, all this togetherness brings about an unexplainable joy. But, what about tomorrow? Am I doing enough? Have I covered all the bases? Am I forgetting something? Weariness sets in like a fog despite my efforts in being prepped and ready to go. I want to "retire" and put my kids on the nearest bus. <br />
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All in all, (for us) homeschooling is a gift. It's hard work. Anything with worth takes work. I think of training for a long running race. Sometimes the run is effortless and enjoyable. Sometimes I drag my legs around forcing them to take another step. But, when I cross the finish line it is ALL VICTORY and NO REGRET for the hours of training, the pain, or the early mornings. Homeschooling is more thrill than shrill. More ups than downs. Worth the price of admission. Ready to roll....let's go for another ride.Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-13109090544421180502012-08-09T14:23:00.002-07:002012-08-09T14:24:19.599-07:00Treasure Hunt"Mommy, where is my puppy with the pajamas on?" Babyboy pleaded. For clarification's sake, it is a stuffed bear with a real-baby-boy sleeper on. <br />
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Instantly, my mind mentally rewinded the day trying fo find the last glimpse of Babyboy's favorite stuffed animal. Bike ride. Outside. Nap. Late lunch. Post office. Library. Bank. Kroger. Thrift store. SCREEEEEEECH! <br />
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Our first "pop" was into the thrift store to find some gently used books. Since we were "popping" in, I decided NOT to take the stroller and nodded in agreement to taking puppy in. That was my first mistake. You can't look through used books at a thrift store quickly. There is no rhyme or reason to the way books are shelved. You don't take a stuffed animal into a thrift store because like finds like. Babyboy's puppy suddenly multiplied to stuffed ducks, bears, and frogs. All I could see was a deep scour in the shower upon arriving home. Oldest and Middleson also did their fair share of sliding around the cement floor while I found some wonderful books on my treasure hunt. We found a 1969 copyright of "Around the World in Eighty Days". Cha Ching! <br />
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After seeing the time, we popped out of the thrift store as quickly as we popped in. I can vividly see NOW that puppy did not exit with us. At the time I was more concerned about keeping my three boys alive and into the van safely while carrying an armload of books, my keys, my wallet, my phone, and my sunglasses. Note to self: Take the stroller anyway even when you don't need it for a child. It acts as purse with wheels. <br />
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Then a myriad of errands took us all over our little town and back home for a very late lunch. Naptime. Bike ride. Dinner. Bedtime. Puppy is missing. Emergency. <br />
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I 9-1-1 the thrift store. "We were in the store this morning and we left my son's very special stuffed puppy. Well actually it is a bear that we call a dog, wearing a sleeper." I rambled giving way tooo many details. "What is a sleeper?" Miss Clerk asked. She clearly never had a baby that came with a registry checklist that says you need 8-10 sleepers. "It is like a full body suit with arms and legs and snaps." I described. "Let me check." After what seemed like a long time, she gave me the terrible news. "I'm sorry, I can't find anything like that." <br />
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Babyboy sobbed. It was sorrowful. "Puppy is my best friend. I know. I have an idea. Maybe next time we go back he will be there for me." Dagger in the heart. There would be no more puppy to go with us everywhere. <br />
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Supermom to the rescue. Already pajama-ed and ready for bed (yes at 8:30 pm), I threw on my clothes and left the house on a mission. Daddy and I even prayed before I left that we would find this prized possession.<br />
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I entered the store like it was the emergency room, desperate for help, and racing with the clock. The store closed in minutes. I was ready to pull bear/puppy from the arms of anyone who dared try to buy him. With the meanest face I could muster I searched every nook and cranny. I still saw the evidence of our visit earlier that day. Our stack of rejected books still lay neatly. BUT WHAT ABOUT THE BEAR??? <br />
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Next I headed to the stuffed animal bin, clawing my way through every stuffed thing I told my kids NOT to touch. Suddenly. My heartrate increased. My breathing quickened. Those black eyes and the cute little nose. Surely there isn't another one with a red bow. That's right. THIS was the bear that Daddy sent to me back in the days when he was trying to get my attention. This wasn't just any bear. I FOUND HIM! With a whoop of victory, I headed to the infant clothes to solve the rest of the mystery.<br />
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Like Inspector Gadget I reasoned that a store clerk found the animal shortly after we left. Obviously they thought a child found a sleeper from the rack and cutely attired the bear while mommy or daddy was shopping. WRONGO. That isn't the way it happened. Hmmm....the stuffed animals do not have a pricetag, but the clothing DOES have tags. I bet the sleeper got sent to the backroom to get tagged. I pleaded with Miss Clerk to go to the back and look for a sleeper. <br />
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"What is a sleeper?" she asked for the second time. I described it in full detail ADDING that it was very sentimental because Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy ALL came home from the hospital in that article of clothing otherwise known as a sleeper. <br />
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12 verylongminutes later she emerged with THE sleeper!! Whooo Hoooo.<br />
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I left the store singing praises and speeding just a touch. For someone who is a full abider of the speed limit, this shows my exuberance and excitement in getting home. I pressed the pedal to the metal and went 37 in a 35mph. <br />
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A grand reunion was celebrated upon returning home! Today puppy/bear and his sleeper are laundered and heavily doted on by all! Babyboy's prayers were answered.<br />
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Oh the love of a parent for their child. <br />
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Oh the love of God for me. He'd do anything for me. He did everything for me.<br />
He pursues me when I don't know I am lost. He puts me back together and He cleans me. He reunites me to Himself. He celebrates who and whose I am. <br />
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The Greatest Treasure Hunt I know.<br />Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-55532423868018473482012-06-08T06:01:00.000-07:002012-06-08T06:01:11.054-07:00Multi-tasking vs. Single-taskingEvery mom learns the language of multi-tasking the second her precious child is born. All of the sudden, this 8 pounder needs to be changed, fed, burped,and rocked. As subsequent children are born, her multi-tasking vocabulary expands even more as she attempts to meet the needs of more children. It's a requirement at times, but not always. <br />
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Unfortunately and fortunately, multi-tasking is my first language. My native tongue. Of course, multi-tasking has its benefits, but it also has its pitfalls. I love to accomplish. The more I multi-task, the more I achieve. I recall coming home from the grocery store when Oldest was an infant -- holding him with one arm, propping a bottle in his mouth with my chin, and emptying grocery bags away with my "free" hand. Accomplish much? Yes, I guess so. But, I missed watching him swallow as he guzzled his milk. I missed the way he gazed at me when I looked at him. <br />
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Slowly, but surely, I am learning the language of single-tasking. Focusing on the moment, that thing right in front of me. Whether it is a task or a child or a conversation. There is something to be said for focus and living in the moment. I think multi-tasking makes me believe if I hurry through these moments, there will be more time for focusing at the end. That's the lie of multi-tasking since there is always more to do. <br />
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When I drive my car without the distraction of a cell-phone conversation, I am enriched by conversation with my own children. Often we use that time to pray together or just to talk. Really talk. I don't want to miss out on that. <br />
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When we go on a bike-ride or walk, it is tempting to "plug in" to my I-pod and engage in a podcast or song. I can do that when I am alone. I miss questions like, "Why are the leaves on the tree brown instead of green?" I miss the hoops and hollars of two brothers racing down the street on bikes. <br />
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On the homefront, multi-tasking tends to make mistakes. Recipes gone bad due to a missing ingredient. Boiled-over jam. A hose left on. A boy in the shower way too long. <br />
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I am paraphrasing from the book, "A Thousands Gifts". What often comes to mind is a paragraph Ann Voskamp had on hurrying. She said that being in a hurry empties the soul. Nothing good ever came from being in a hurry. When I am in a hurry, my kids are in a hurry. Hurry causes stress. <br />
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For me, a by-product of multi-tasking is being in a hurry to do one more quick thing. I'm learning the value of sitting and making no plans. The blank "to do" list is a beautiful thing, like a clean slate or a freshly-washed load of laundry. It is an invitation to live un-hurried and <i>just</i> enjoy this moment! Living life fully-engaged and realizing there is time to do everything God has on my plate for today. Jesus was never in a hurry, right? He constantly did the next right "thing", not the next right "things".<br />
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I'll continue practicing this new, foreign-language. It won't be perfect or without the need for interpretation. My vocabulary will continue to expand as I explore this thing called single-tasking. Perhaps I will accomplish more by doing less.....or accomplish more of what is truly important anyway. <br />
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Time for breakfast with Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy. I'll notice the "everything" on my bagel --- poppyseeds, onion flakes, sesame seeds, and fluffy cream cheese. I'll note the spikey- hair on three bed-headed boys. We'll take our time and talk about what we want to do today. We might share a joke or two. I'm going to laugh at the answer because its funny and I really heard the answer. I was listening. Yes, I like this single-tasking stuff.<br />
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The <strike>multi</strike>-single-tasker of them all --<br />
Mommyontheboysturf<br />
<br />Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-83290477879700558582012-05-24T11:10:00.002-07:002012-05-24T11:10:56.066-07:00True GreatnessOldest, Middleson, and Babyboy said good-bye to their Papa last week. My Dad-in-law "graduated" to Heaven. In his last days, this military veteran often spoke of "going on leave" soon. Yes, he did indeed leave this world, an extended leave in Heaven for eternity.<br />
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As I reflect over the last week and all the events that occurred, I am utterly amazed at God's faithfulness even to the end, down to every detail. His timing so perfect even in death. Rising higher than the feelings of sadness and mourning, are a great sense of pride and honor to have known my husband's father for 14 years. <br />
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He was a man of greatness. I learned this weekend while reading documents that he was 5 feet, 8.5 inches. I saw him much taller than that. Perhaps it was his character that was larger than life. Small in stature maybe, but great in heart and humility. Noble. <br />
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Some characteristics I admired about my father-in-law --- some I experienced first-hand and others I just learned in speaking to family recently. <br />
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1. He was a many of integrity. He was the type of man that would find a pen behind his ear on his drive home from work and turn around to return it. <br />
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2. He took care of my mother-in-law who suffered with cancer for 21 years WITHOUT a word of complaint. Not a mutter. This is amazing to me! <br />
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3. He had my husband, his 4th child, at the age of 51. Can you imagine? And, he raised him well.<br />
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4. He worked hard and persevered to care for his family in every way.<br />
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5. He had a delivery truck and among delivering "goods", he also used it to transport teenagers to church services and conventions.<br />
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6. He shared Christ with many people throughout his life. <br />
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7. He had an uncanny ability to answer a question with a question. This is clearly hereditary. Have you ever heard my husband do this? Hmmm.....<br />
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8. He served in World War II. <br />
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9. He loved ice cream. It is said that you aren't in the family unless you love ice cream. I fit in the family quite well and my boys are clearly their papas grandsons.<br />
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10. He was generous. <br />
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11. He often spoke of his "good life". His attitude determined his altitude. He did suffer hardship most certainly, yet his attitude said otherwise.<br />
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12. He was ready to meet Jesus. He had accepted Christ as his personal Saviour. He lived his life to attain eternity with Jesus. <br />
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13. He raised four wonderful children. My brothers-in-law and sister-in-law exemplify many of the traits above. My husband is a gift to me in more ways than I can count.<br />
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14. He was truly a man of greatness, leaving a lasting legacy.<br />
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Thank you, Papa, for living your life the way you did -- with uprightness, self control, and dignity. Thank you for leaving a legacy that we are proud to pass on to Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy. We too are ready to meet Jesus and we are thankful for a godly heritage. <br />
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It isn't good-bye, it is see you soon!Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-15706224597757726742012-05-02T11:30:00.001-07:002012-05-02T11:35:29.081-07:00"Picky Nicky"In the mid 70's "Nicole" was a popular name. For all the Nicoles' out there, we have all been called, "Picky Nicky" at some time or another. It rings true for me too. <br />
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<i>Definition 1: To Pick - transitive verb choose something or somebody: to take, or decide to take, one or more things or people from a larger number. <br />
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</i>There is power in picking. Power in being the pick-ee and power in being picked and power in not being picked.<br />
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My school years afforded many occassions for not being picked in physical education class. How I despised standing in a line waiting to be picked for a team. I <i>hated</i> being in the remaining bottom two and still not being chosen. I was added to the last team by default. Truthfully, I didn't add value to the team. I was not athletically inclined. Not being picked only added to my humiliation on any type of field or court. <br />
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Add 50 pounds to any junior high girl and not being picked spreads beyond gym class. Boyfriends. Dances. The whole nine yards. Not being picked = rejection.<br />
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<i>Definition 2: To Pick - transitive verb undo something: to loosen, unfasten, or separate something into disconnected parts, especially something that was sewn together<br />
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</i>The result of definition 1 is definition 2. <br />
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Today my "picky" thoughts are running wild after listening to a broadcast on foster care. My sister and her husband, after having two children of their own, made the decision to take babies into their home through foster care. A noble thing to do. In essence, they are "picking" children who may feel "unpicked". Each child is brought into their home and cared for and loved as their own. They are given the very best and an abundance of love! The message overflowing in their home is, "You are worth it! You are chosen! You are picked! You are not disconnected or separated. You are part of us." <br />
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In my own life, fast forward a few decades. Saturday I am running yet another 1/2 marathon. Most likely, my perseverence and motivation stems from enduring elementary gym class! I am absolutely cherished, chosen, and chased by my wonderful husband and three sons. The Lord has lavished His love on and in my life. I am chosen. I have been picked! In fact, the night before I got married my mom read me the storybook, "I'd Choose You." It is about an elephant (Mom, what were you thinking...after all that trauma, an elephant!? Just kidding.), that gets the last seat on the bus, the worst lunch, and the last one picked on the team. The mother elephant says over and over in the book, "If I could have anyone in all the world, I would still choose you." (Thanks mom!)<br />
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<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/DQAPMRpNoe8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br />
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Now, do I have any choice but to be a pick-ee? I have the power to pick everyday by adding value to lives, by loving like Christ, and by lavishing grace on others.<br />
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Colossians 3:12<i> Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.</i><br />
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Signed -<br />
Not Picky Nicky, but Pick-ee NickyMommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-39190364869289033642012-04-20T13:10:00.001-07:002012-04-20T13:14:57.280-07:00Take the StairsEarlier this week, Daddy announced a book he is currently reading titled <i>Take the Stairs</i>. I have not read the book. However, I immediately formed an opinion of what I think it <i>should</i> be about. />
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"Take the Stairs" has become a famous quote throughout the week. What does it mean to me? Don't take the elevator or the easy way or the pain free way. Take the stairs. Do the work. Make the effort. Give 100%. <br />
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Success comes from taking the stairs when any other way is easier. It is a combination of self-control, discipline, strength, perserverence, and tenacity. It strengthens instead of enables. <br />
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In boysturf language that means, give it your best the first time. Use your best handwriting. Complete the assignment. Get your pee in the toilet. If you get it out, put it away. Give LIFE your ALL. <br />
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In mothering, I can "take the stairs" by <b>responding</b> calmly instead of <b>reacting</b>. Preparing well for homeschooling. Managing my home, time, and money. Taking breaks so I don't break.
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The concept is found over and over in the Bible, Colossions 3:17, "Whatever you do.....do it with all your heart." Even loving God isn't for wimps. Deutoronomy 6:5, "Love the Lord with ALL your heart, soul, mind, and strength." Philippians 3:14, "I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus." We are talking about pressing on and taking the stairs. Doing LIFE and loving God with your whole heart.
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Really, it is probably the other way around. When I love God with my whole heart, soul, mind and strength, I am much more apt to "take the stairs" in all I do and in my relationships. The temptation to take the elevator looms, but the reward is in taking the stairs.
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Climbing on.....
Mommontheboysturf
<br />Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-90046527472640126272012-03-25T14:28:00.000-07:002012-03-25T14:28:16.544-07:00Thirty. First.The 31st of March marks Babyboy's 3rd Birthday. I am gearing myself up for this out-of-toddler-years promotion. <br />
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Babyboy is my <i>baby</i>. He will always be my Babyboy. I just don't like all these LASTS. By next year at this time I probably won't need to carry him through the parking lot. His stroller might have strolled its last stroll. All traces of pull-ups and sippy-cups will be extinct. <br />
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A radio podcast speaker that I heard recently said that he would pay $10,000 to go back and tuck his kids, now young adults, into bed one more time. Last weekend, when Babyboy was calling from his bed for the 4th or 5th time, Daddy said, "I'm saving myself $10,000." and headed upstairs. I didn't quite get it. "Remember, the $10,000? I want to tuck him in while I still can." Good point Daddio. <br />
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Instead of getting annoyed with my almost-three Babyboy, I am trying to cherish all that he brings. Tantrums when it is time to come inside. Spills when he wants to do things by himself. Occassional potty-accidents. Questions. Too many outfit changes every day. Yet,he is such a joy! An early-bird. An animal-cracker-muncher like his mommy. A Toby-Mac rap fan due to Oldest and Middleson. A smart little whip. A lover of the outdoors. A Matchbox zoomer. A Psalm 23 memorizer. Mommy's little helper. Daddy's biggest fan.<br />
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The 31st is fast approaching. I'm stalling like I have every mid-March since he was born. Today I'm savoring it all. I mowed the grass and he watched me from the window. I motioned for him to join me with his lawnmower and his smile was one of a winner of a million dollars. He followed me around the grass like a baby duckling. <br />
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Babyboy, in less than a week, you will be a grown-up three year old. Three year olds can do so many things! Today you are still my toddler-two-year-old and I plan to baby you as much as possible. I love you!Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-61943497110981787032012-02-20T11:01:00.000-08:002012-02-20T11:01:06.558-08:00Miracle at the MechanicThis post has absolutely nothing to do with my boys or my 30 minutes or the boysturf. Maybe more like daddyscarinthegarageturf. <br />
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Over the weekend we had a comical round of vehicles deciding not to start. We joked that our garage had some sort of virus causing dead batteries or something. That's why we buy the vehicles we do -- reliable with few issues. We keep them well maintained. <br />
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Saturday morning, 9:30, on our way to Middleson's 9:40 basketball game. The van sputtered. We made a mad dash to stash this family of five into Daddy's car including a quick carseat installation. Crank. Sputter. Nothing. Woudn't start. After several attempts we made it to the game. No problems coming home.<br />
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Daddy quickly jumped the van. Ready for the 1:10 basketball game for Oldest. After brunch with friends we repeat the above scenario. Every bit of it. The sputtering van, transfer of family and carseat.....and no start to car. Repeat. Drive to game just in time.<br />
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By Saturday at 4pm we have ZERO working vehicles. Nice neighbor takes Daddy and van battery to auto parts store. Bad battery. Stores fault. Exchange. Replaced. Working van.<br />
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The car issue was not so easily remedied. After ruling out that the battery was in good working order, talented Daddy continued his diagnosis. Starter. No big deal. Okay, it was a big deal. In this particular car the starter is located <i>underneath</i> the engine or that is how it has been explained to me. <br />
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This job is for a real mechanic not my can-do-just-about-anything husband.<br />
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Neighbors come to the rescue with a call for a tow truck. Tow man starts the car after several (X several more) times. We immediately deliver the car to the mechanic to begin his work today. <br />
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I choked when I heard the estimate today. We all did. It wasn't that the part was sooo astronomical. It was the many hours of labor. There goes my dreams for my new dishwasher and refrigerator. Out the car door they go. (Get it? Out the door. Out the car door. Ha. Ha.)<br />
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We, as a family, decided to rejoice in our trials (James 1) and trust in the Lord (Proverbs 3). We prayed for a miracle. <br />
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Mechanic calls hours into the morning "repair",while I paced and prayed for the quick, but wise/thorough mechanic. He tested the starter and it works perfectly. There is absolutely NO problem with the car. He started it twenty times. <br />
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"It's a miracle!" hubby said to the mechanic without receiving a reply. <br />
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$30 later our car is ready for pick-up. <br />
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Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy dance with excitement. "God healed our car!" Middleson wisely stated, "Mommy, it was a test of faith." <br />
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Today I am thanking God for answered prayer, childlike faith, and the miracle at the mechanic.Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-34890047494650891182012-02-15T13:14:00.000-08:002012-02-15T13:14:21.083-08:00LoVe DaYValentines Day 2012 captured a wonderful memory for me. I noticed a flurry of activity on the 13th. Oldest, Middleson, and Babyboy constructing cards, whispering, and planning. I overlooked the spilled chocolate chips. I won an award for acting when I walked by Babyboy's room and pretended I didn't see paper scraps and hearts. <br />
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Daddy and I had our own share of secrets, devising a first-thing-in-the-morning Valentines Party complete with candles, decor, and pancakes. I cheezed it right up by wearing a heart-shaped bear pin that says, "Have a Beary Happy Valentines Day." It was given to me by my Grandma when I was a little girl. It isn't me, fashion speaking. But, I knew Babyboy would eat it up. He did. He loved it! The pink heart napkins, heart stickers, and red shiny hearts thrilled Babyboy to pieces.<br />
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MeeMaw, as if on cue, sent cards and games to be enjoyed by all smack in the middle of our festivities.<br />
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While partaking maple-syrup drenched pancakes each boy (sticky-fingered) retrieved the cards he had attempted to keep a secret. <br />
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I realized later in the afternoon how UNselfish my children had been. Love was in the air! Oldest was given a single piece of Beef Jerky. Knowing how much Daddy loves beef jerky and how rarely he eats it, Oldest saved it and insisted that Daddy eat it. <br />
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My pastor preached a sermon recently stating that HATE is not the opposite of LOVE. Selfishness is the opposite of love. It is true! <br />
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Yesterday was a proud mommy moment for me as I experienced selfless acts toward one another. THATS what Valentines Day is all about!Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-54046977222680980852012-01-25T11:13:00.000-08:002012-01-25T11:13:48.490-08:00Cameras RollingLights! Action! Camera!<br />
If my family was chosen for a reality tv show, <i>this</i> is the day I would swing open my doors for the cameras to roll. For all the days (or weeks or months) that aren't picture perfect (refer to last blog entry and notice its date and lack of entries since), this one is going down on the record. <br />
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Like a movie script, I, Mommy, was up early, fully prayed-up, jogged-out and ready to go. <br />
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The big boys also woke up early in the bestiest of moods eagerly desiring to start the school day.<br />
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Babyboy slept in, giving us a headstart on school. <br />
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By 10:18 we were wrapping up the last scene in our school day. Yes, 10:18 AM!! How? I am not sure. But, I taught with grace and patience and they learned, listened, and progressed. <br />
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A hot bubbly bath beckoned me by 10:30. A magazine in hand that I have longed to read for several months. All three boys playing trucks together peacefully. <br />
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A mannerly lunch included the two oldest boys preferring and serving one another. (This really does sound like a movie doesn't it?) And, get this, after lunch I cranked up the Toby Mac for a house-cleaning party. Without complaints we scrubbed the bathrooms, dusted, mopped, vacuumed, and grooved to Toby. <br />
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Imagine my surprise when I went to do laundry and realized I didn't have enough for a load. Nope! No reason to do laundry today. <br />
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Boy it sure is easy to smile on a day like today. Supermom. Superteacher. Superday. We are all well behaved and on our best behavior. THIS is what I want people to see. Truthfully, this isn't "most days". Candid Camera might be more appropriate....or maybe Barnum and Bailey's Circus. <br />
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The growth comes when my patience is challenged, my grace hyper-extended, and I can't do it on my own. Christ can enable me to choose joy when it doesn't flow freely like it is today. THIS is the day that the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it. He also made each day last week and he made tomorrow whatever it might bring. <br />
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For now, get the cameras rolling.....before its too late!Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-12029335785000380952012-01-06T10:55:00.000-08:002012-01-06T10:55:35.435-08:00Resolutions.....going, going, GONE!Resolution is my middle name. Love goals. Love New Year's Resolutions. As long as I can remember, on December 31, I grab my journal and scribble down my aspirations for the upcoming year. The thought of a blank page to start my year thrills and refreshes me. <br />
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Not this year. <br />
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Christmas was beautiful and packed with memories. However, my expectations for the week following Christmas included things like --<br />
- Sleep In. (Didn't happen. My body has an early alarm clock.)<br />
- Drink Coffee in bed. (Didn't happen since I was already up. See #1)<br />
- Leisurely enjoy our days. (Broken arm, new tires, need I say more?)<br />
- Enjoy the sites/sounds of the city. (Children's Hospital,Grismer Tire, & Costco don't count.)<br />
- Somehow refresh and renew (not a realistic expectation when Babyboy has a broken arm and needs to potty 10 X per night = lack of sleep)<br />
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I complainingly crossed the starting Line of 2012 in rebellion. I didn't make my resolutions and couldn't stand to be around my own attitude. I was in denial that my year wasn't starting the way I wanted. Fresh. It felt old and tainted by 12:01 AM. <br />
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Hubby was out of town. Van wouldn't start. Homeschooling started. Appointments. I just wasn't in the mood to pretend I had a perfectly white, clean slate to start my year. I didn't have the opportunity to ease into the year. It started like the jolt of jumper cables. (PROUD of myself for using jumper cables on the van for the first time though.)<br />
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By January 2 or 3, I made a few last-minute, little-enthusiasm types of typical resolutions made my 99% of Americans. And, this is not my track record. I am someone who actually attains and sticks with my resolutions! <br />
- Eat only whole foods for a week (Got into an off-brand snack mix filled with artificial colors and flavors by Tuesday night.)<br />
- No sugar for one week (Nutella and animal crackers. Dangerous combo.)<br />
- Mother with gentleness ("Get upstairs in your bed right now!!")<br />
- Homeschool peacefully (This was the most challenging week of schooling ever.)<br />
- Make one new recipe a week (Um. Last night I mixed two kinds of pasta in the macaroni and cheese. Does that count?)<br />
- Continue the process of becoming like Christ (Wow, this is hard.) <br />
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I've been fighting 2012 since it began. But I realized today it perfectly fits with my final resolution above, even if it was half-hearted and habitual. God is continually pulling me out of my comfort, routine, goals, and "messing me up" in order to see more of Him. I can ONLY finish this year with Him. My own resolve will never bring victory or peace or true joy. <br />
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So, here it is six days into the year and I finally decided to run with it. <br />
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2012 wait for me......Here I come....better late than never!Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-67777743569556334892011-12-19T12:47:00.000-08:002011-12-19T12:47:20.336-08:00My Mom RocksImagine how puffed up I felt when Babyboy, all on his own, dressed himself in his "My Mom Rocks" shirt. It isn't my Birthday or Mother's Day. On the other hand, Babyboy can't quite read yet at two and a half. Still. He must have had some idea. <br />
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Oldest, upon seeing him, asked, "Oh, does your mom rock?!"<br />
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"Yes, mommy rocks me upstairs in the rocking chair." <br />
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True Babyboy. Mom Rocks. <br />
P.S. - Trying to get a picture of Babyboy in his "My Mom Rocks" shirt proved a real task. His real personality shines through. I don't think I got even one legible photo.Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-73430771775212309662011-12-15T06:40:00.000-08:002011-12-15T06:50:21.061-08:00Fifty-Four DegreesWho would have imagined 54 degrees on December 14 in the evening!?! Perfect weather for a <strike>sleigh</strike> stroller ride. <br />
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Last night Daddy took Oldest and Middleson "out". Out = shopping for <i>yours</i> truly for Christmas. It's tradition. They come home, sneaking-in, with crinkly Target bags pretending they drove around all evening for no reason at all. I pretend I didn't know where they were or what they were doing. Next year when Babyboy is fully pottytrained and sippy-cup-less, he will join the troops. <br />
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In an effort to avoid the "Meeeee goooooo!" screams, I bundled Babyboy for a stroller ride to see the lights. Bundling wasn't needed, we could have worn our beach attire. <br />
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We had so much fun talking. It was a bit strange having a one-on-one conversation with Babyboy. There is always so much competition in communication and unfortunately, the least verbal loses every time. Not last night. He had all of me. I had all of him. <br />
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We talked about why we celebrate Christmas. Soon he was imitating me, "Cewebrate Missmas is for Jesus Buthday. Happy Buthday to Jesus!".<br />
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We stopped at house after house to <i>really</i> look at the lights and the lawn displays. His favorite was snoopy in an airplane. At another house, he wanted a front-seat view of the choo choo train. Folks, I let him out of the stroller, into the yard, and directly in front of the train. It was dark and nobody could see us trespassing. And, when do you ever get closer to Christmas lights? There was no steamed-over car window to separate him. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity.<br />
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54 degrees in December might not happen again. And, if it does, he will be out with Daddy and the big boys shopping for mommy. <br />
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It was the perfect weather for a stroller-ride together for two.Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-59901702954926443392011-12-04T04:12:00.000-08:002011-12-04T04:12:01.425-08:00All Aboard!Polar Express-- an event hosted by our local library with 14 stops and stations. The snowman toss, refreshment cart, model train, cookie decorating, and more.<br />
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Thankfully I was able to "snag" tickets to this limited capacity event for our first year in attendance. The boys woke up to red tickets peeking out of their stockings informing them of the event -- the time, location, and an invitation to wear pajamas "if you would like". <br />
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Excitement buzzed through the house all afternoon. Babyboy didn't nap.<br />
"Choo Choo party tonight!"<br />
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At 6:21 Oldest and Middleson bounced at the door ready to depart fully clothed, but pajamaless. Middleson sported a mohawk, fully-gelled, and standing tall. Babyboy obediently wore his Thomas the Train pajamas. <br />
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<b>My</b> Oldest was one of <i>the oldest </i>in attendance. A strange feeling overcame me when I realized he is outgrowing this type of event. <br />
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It brought me great pleasure to watch the boys interact with the puppet show, sing songs, and anticpate each step on the journey. Oldest was pure child last night without a mingling of the pre-teen years. He giggled and laughed and ran from station to station. I received the gift of going back in time. I got to experience Oldest as a little boy again. <br />
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Babyboy missed most of the train stops due to his fascination with the electric train. He ran back and forth as it went around the track never tiring of its motion. <br />
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Middleson was distracted only by the opportunity to meet a friend and tell someone about Jesus. He is Mr. friendly and outgoing always looking for an opportunity to "sneak" Jesus into a conversation. <br />
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Our evening was idyllic. The kind you dream about in your mind but it rarely lives up to your own expecations. Just innocent, child-like, non-media, free fun, that produced old-fashioned, life-long memories. I will ride this train of memories for a long, long time.<br />
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Chugga, chugga, choo choooooo.Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-22626389767786586042011-11-30T07:15:00.000-08:002012-09-26T11:05:56.027-07:00Missmas OutpitsThe 2011 Christmas Season has begun! <br />
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Babyboy is in a 2 1/2 year, independent, "I can do it myself" stage. Yesterday he came down for breakfast clothed in his "Missmas Outpit". A handsome vest backwards, no shirt, and tweed dress pants also backward facing. "Honey, that is your special Christmas outfit. It isn't for today." I declared. "No. I wear Missmas outpit today." He responded convincingly. This was only the beginning of the dozen outfit changes yesterday. From snowman pajamas to bright red sweaters, he had clearly found the stack of clothes I had reserved as festive wear. <br />
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While Babyboy napped, Oldest and Middleson were my right-hand men in towing the Christmas bins upstairs. This year I didn't step foot in the crawlspace. My anxious helpers were happy with the adventure. Although I clearly appreciated the help, it was also a reminder of how quickly they are growing up.<br />
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Babyboy awakened to a winter wonderland. Stuffed snowman, ready-to-be-filled stockings, the Little People Nativity set, and flickering lights. What more could a two year old ask for? <br />
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He went to work transferring things from here to there and everywhere. He perched his Little People policeman atop the Little People Manger where the angel is supposed to perch. Although maybe he saw them both in a "security guard" type of role. <br />
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The snowmen with carrot noses posed a problem since he deemed them broken. He wouldn't let them near the rest of the stuffed moose, snowman, or santas.<br />
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Then he discovered the Christmas plates. They are used ONLY,<i> only </i>on Christmas morn for cinnamon rolls. He wanted his afternoon animal crackers served on a particular beloved plate. He won. "Why not?" I reasoned with myself.<br />
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Then another Missmas outpit.<br />
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Suddenly the stuffed creatures (minus the snowmen with "broken" carrot noses) were missing. So were the fragile, look but don't touch, musical snowman. Missing. <br />
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Found. Upstairs in Babyboy's room, they were tucked safely into his bed covered by the Christmas Tree skirt as a blanket. The bag of Christmas clothes was spread across his floor. Again. Again. AGAIN! <br />
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Up and down, and down and up,I ran around the house putting the newly displayed Christmas decorations back in their spots. This is the perfect solution for Thanksgiving weight gain. <br />
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A simplified decorating scheme was looking more and more appealing. "What can I put back in the Christmas bins?" I asked myself.<br />
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But the JOY of Christmas bouncing around in Babyboy's discoveries was worth the mayhem of the afternoon. <br />
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Afterall, that's really what Christmas is all about. Jesus coming to earth, in the midst of chaos and mayhem, to bring true JOY.<br />
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Babyboy, bring out the Missmas outpits and Christmas dishes. Why save them just for a day, when the season has only just begun?<br />
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Merry Missmas in the midst of discovering the true meaning of CHRISTmas.Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-45858421615051431772011-11-22T08:48:00.000-08:002011-11-22T08:48:27.769-08:00cHaNgEWow. Just when I feel like I've got this mommy thing licked, something new arises. Seasons come and seasons go. <br />
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I have a pottytrainer and a preteener at the same time. Big Legos, Small Legos, and one no longer so interested in Legos. Really? The Christmas lists are changing from no list, to a list full of toys, to a list of technological trinkets and music. <br />
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The books I am reading right now include, "Raising Sons and Loving It" and "Wild Things the Art of Nurturing Boys". Wild Things is the perfect description of a house full of boys. <br />
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I am back at college, so to speak, studying for finals, making up for lost time. Nervous. Fingerbiting. Sweating. I'm pulling an all-nighter in Mommy class hoping I do something right. Trying do be prepared for what's ahead so it doesn't catch me off guard. <br />
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The last decade has been sabatoged by baby gear, diapers,sleepless nights, and goo goo gaa's. The next decade of parenting scares me - cell phones, independence, driving, and dating. More sleepless nights. Maybe worse than the baby years! <br />
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What can I do now to steer my three treasures toward making right decisions? How can I help them foster their own personal relationship with Jesus? Hopefully our meals together, long coversations, family devotions, and turftime will provide for growth and memories that will impact our future positively. <br />
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Thanksgiving is just days away. This is a great time to ponder the questions, changes, and seasons above. It is about living a life of Thanksliving all the time. Living in the moment. Thankful for each stage. Laughing at the days to come. In EVERYTHING give thanks!Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-23785400794768636922011-11-01T12:03:00.000-07:002011-11-30T07:45:34.296-08:00No Tricks, All TreatsBabyboy. Babyboy. Babyboy. <br />
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Last Saturday Daddy dutifully took the crib down. I couldn't believe how defeated I felt removing the crib skirt and dis-assembling the crib. Three times it has been set up....and now this is it! This crib season is over! Babyboy was not so sure about sleeping in a big boy bed. Thank goodness we had a pack-n-play.<br />
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Today Babyboy brought his little potty chair from the bathroom to the family room. We have been talking "potty talk" for weeks and treating him for sitting on the chair. Today he removed his pants, diaper, and leaned over the potty like he has seen his brothers do. The next thing you know, he is screaming, "I peed! Look at my pee pee!" Sure enough. There were a few drops of some sort of liquid on the bottom. Pull out the big guns. MnM's. <br />
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This victory was followed by several more. I think it helps that we have a whole crew doing the potty dance, cheering, and clapping. Shortly afternoon I heard, "I pooped. Look at my poop!" Victory #2 for #2! More treats. <br />
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Unfortunately, with all this "growing up" today he decided he didn't need a nap. Nap-less, diaper-less, and crabby-full.<br />
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So, today was truly a day of treats and more treats! Thanks Babyboy!Mommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3637659604511436683.post-30054204409324477032011-10-09T03:41:00.000-07:002011-10-09T03:41:59.299-07:00Oldest is 9. Nine. NINE!!My Oldest has entered his last year in the single digits. Wow! October 1 marked the occassion, but my October 9 blog is devoted to him.<br />
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Every parent talks about how quickly the time flies. It really does! Especially with the first child. I urged him to roll over, sit, and then walk. Cheering and clapping all the way from milestone to milestone. A short time later he was at T-ball practice and learning to ride a bike. <br />
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Now he whizzes by on his bike and throws the football like a pro. He teaches me how to use the computer and we discuss things at an adult-like level. He devours books and recites facts constantly. He has become an expert on Bugatti's, hockey, and the life of a spy. <br />
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Learning went from ABC's and colors to division and past progressive participles in the blink of an eye.<br />
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One thing that hasn't changed is Oldest's smile and love for life. He just lives life to the fullest. He is passionate. He still doesn't like to sleep! Why sleep when you can be awake? Although I didn't appreciate that so much his first year of life! <br />
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Oh Oldest. I love you! I am so proud of who you are. I love your passion and compassion. Continue to let Jesus guide you and show you the way.<br />
Love, MommyMommy on my boys turfhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03559902192012660401noreply@blogger.com0