In The Midst of This Season

IT'S OFFICIAL!

2010-09-01T09:19:00.006-05:00

I'm happy to announce that I am officially blogging over at my new "home" in cyberspace, THE WISE WOMAN BUILDS HER HOUSE. It also means I am officially no longer blogging here In The Midst.

The new blog will have familiar "life as it happens" moments, as journaled here IN THE MIDST, but I hope that you'll also find the new blog to be practical and helpful to you in your day-to-day as well. Please head over and check out the right side of your screen, where you'll find a "What you can expect" note for further information.

I invite you become a follower so I can be aware of you and be praying for you (I already am), and thank you for taking the time to read here at In The Midst.
http://wisewomenlovejesus.blogspot.com/

Toni

There is a season....change.

2010-08-20T13:05:00.004-05:00

CHANGE IS COMING!
(Click on the link above to learn more.)
I will likely make the move in September.
Hope you can join me in my new blogland home.

Toni

Snow Treasure

2010-08-20T09:00:00.002-05:00

I am almost through reading SNOW TREASURE to my children. I read this book when I was in the 4th grade and it made a lasting impression on me. My 11, 9, and 8 year olds are a completely captive audience and plead with me to read more when I close the book after each reading. It is believed to be a true story (a Norwegian sailing vessel docked in the U.S. during WWII. The captain told a vague story of how the gold he was carrying, came to be transported out of Norway.) The historical setting, facts, danger, and adventure makes for a wonderful read aloud. Chapters are brief, so you would be able to pick this up and read it to your children wherever you could carve out ten minutes in your day.

I highly suggest SNOW TREASURE by Marie McSwigan.
Click on the link below for a brief but dramatic trailer.

Snow Treasure Book Trailer

Toni

2010-08-20T08:51:00.000-05:00

Toni

Life in the Fast Lane

2010-08-17T10:00:00.005-05:00

Sheesh, I need a seat belt and flying goggles for this time of year, as life seems to take off at a lightning-fast pace. Our new homeschool year officially begins next Thursday. I spent three hours this past Sunday, working on our family schedule. Oy vey, the rough draft is a little intimidating.

As it stands, I'll be up much earlier and we'll adhere to a structured schedule to meet the demands of each new day.
My two oldest need to get to swim practice 3 times per week.
My youngest dd has dance on Thursdays.
My 3 year old will go to preschool 2 days per week.
My husband and I have bible study every other Wednesday night.
We also work out together 3-4 times per week, in addition to taking 2 mile family walks together as often as possible.
And due to the swim schedule, our dinner time will now officially be 4:30pm every day (but we always eat between 4:30pm and 5:15pm anyway).
Yee gads, my head is spinning like a satellite, I tell you.

But you know what? As Christians, we are cautioned about the trap of laziness. Proverbs 19:15, for example, reads, "Slothfulness casts into a deep sleep, and an idle person will suffer hunger."
For me, to hunger is to want. A procastinator by nature, I have had to fight hard to bring my family to a place of peaceful organization. As a recovering procrastinator, I must continually work at this, as I know from experience that not being organized and productive will leave me (and those I love) in want.
Wanting peace.
Wanting uncluttered.
Wanting to know, "What next?"
Wanting order.

There are many more verses that admonish laziness while validating hard work. And I have faith that as we begin our year, my Heavenly Father will be faithful to guide us, helping me to alter my course of action when necessary. This assurance He has also given me in His word (Proverbs 16:9 In his heart a man plans his course, but the LORD determines his steps.) Perhaps, once I've tweaked it, I'll post our working schedule for those who care to see. I'm no expert, but like me, perhaps there would be something in my schedule that you could glean from, for yours.

Let's shift gears, shall we?
So yesterday was our annual send off/kick off. That is, we send off the summer (how it breaks my heart to say that) and kick off our upcoming school year and family schedule. We head up to Indiana Beach, an amusement park built on an island in the middle of Lake Schaeffer (or Lake Freeman if you ask the new owners). You have to cross a long, wide foot bridge to enter the park (how totally cool is that?! Click on the image above and you'll see the bridge on the left.)
It's a small, very retro amusement park that hasn't really been updated since the early 1970's or so and we LOVE it that way. They play music from that era and we feel like we stepped back into our own childhoods. Oh my goodness, how fun!

Because it's small, we can easily walk the park without us or the children getting too exhausted. Three of the five rollercoasters surround Kiddieland, so it's super easy to let 3 year old Brandon ride his little heart out while our bigger kids leave with one parent to ride the rollercoasters. We can easily switch off and everyone is happy.

The kids anticipate this trip weeks in advance (months, really) and scream for me to come into the room if the Indiana Beach commercial airs on TV (How many times must I run in before they determine I've done it enough?) They get so fixated on "all things amusement parks" that they begin to confuse parks, or even ride names, which cracks me up. For example, they heard a commercial for Cedar Point (greatest amusement park in the entire world, hands down) and their park and ride confusion kicked in.
Reece: "Mom, how come we don't have a SHOOT THE RAFFIDS at Indiana Beach?"
Me: "I don't think anyone has a Shoot The RAFFIDS, honey, because that's not the name of the ride."
Reece:"Uh huh, it is."
Me: No, it's not Shoot the Raffids..."
Reece: (cutting me off and a bit frustrated with me too) "Yes it is, Mom."
Brandon: "No, Mommy's wite. It's NOT dat. It's Shoot The RABBITS!"

Uh hem, I assure you no rabbits were harmed in the settling of this debate.

Toni

Life as it comes.

2010-08-13T14:18:00.007-05:00

Okay, so. I sliced my index finger open on a food can a few days ago. The thing is, I'd be more likely to lose a digit with a kitchen knife, seeing as I cook with fresh produce almost exclusively. But there I was, opening a can of Cream of Celery.

I can never do these things during the daytime, when I could head over to my doctor's office.
Oh, no. Not me.
Off to the ER at 11pm to have my cut glued together and splinted, along with a tetanus shot (with a little Diphtheria thrown in for good measure). And I looked so, uh hem, lovely in my green workout shirt, black shorts, and Cincinnati Bengals black and orange doo rag.
I have to say (and I have witnesses, mind you), I came out of that ER with an enormous finger that looked like it belonged on a Fraggle Rock character.
Swell.

Now that I've covered the finger, let's segway into the toes, shall we? (thanks, Miss Sniz and Big Doofus, for my new favorite word, segway).
So, Sunday morning, we arrive at church a bit early since my oldest was serving in the nursery first hour. As we pulled into the church lot, I noticed that my toes had very obvious chipped nail polish on them. I'm not overly fussy about such things, but this particular polish was a bold iridescent deep shade of purple.
What to do?
I realized I had the tiny bottle of polish in my purse so I did the only thing there was to be done. Propped my little piggies up on the dashboard and began a quick overcoat. I mean, it was early so who was going to see, right?

Right?

While I was feverishly polishing away, a car pulled in next to us.
"No big," I thought. Surely, no one would actually bother to take close notice of such a thing.

Right?

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Oh for crying out loud! Sure enough, a member of my church family found it funny enough ("funny" no doubt meaning odd, peculiar, TACKY!) that she actually knocked on the window and let me know that in fact, my piggy painting was cracking her up (and her expression told me that she was a bit taken back by my actions).
Alrighty then, busted!

Then, during communion, Reece put me through yet another "trip down the aisle" (because if you haven't read about our communion adventures with Reece, I assure you it's always a trip, so to speak). This time, the lovely Jones' were serving communion. The same Jones' who, just a week earlier, entrusted their dear little piggy to our care (sheesh, didn't plan on this being a piggy post). Their daughter is leaving for college and needed a new home for her sweet guinea pig, Edgar. So he now resides with us and will be our official "class pet" in homeschool this year.
Reece, seeing that Edgar's former family was handing out communion, began.

"Oh Mommy, LOOK! It's Edgar's old family."
(we're standing in line at this point)
"Shhh! I see. No talking in the line."
"Hahaha! That's funny, Mommy. She was just at our house and now she's gonna give me my bread. Isn't that funny, Mommy?"
"No, Reece. This is not the time to talk about funny. Now, shhhh!"

He quieted down (a feat for Reece) and I felt momentarily victorious.
That is, until he reached the front of the line.

"Thank you for giving us Edgar. He's a nice guinea pig!"

Sweet mother of all things inappropriate. We were in line to "Do this in memory of me," said Jesus.
And all my son can think about is thanking the server for a guinea pig.
Will I ever win the communion line battle with that child?
Stay tuned.

My Sunday would not have been complete without another incident involving our family pets. Why stop when we're on a roll, right? So, Olivia had just fed the dog and was doing a craft at the kitchen table. Next thing I knew, she shrieked so loudly that I nearly fell into the laundry basket I was sorting.

Me, still a bit off balance and slightly annoyed. "What? What are you screaming for,Olivia?"
"Ants! There are tiny red ants on my arm. Where did they come from?"
Where, indeed. I thought for a moment, when Hubs finally declared, "They must be in the dog food."
Let's all have a moment, shall we? EWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes. They were in the dog food for sure.
LOTS of them.
And it was a brand new bag.
And dog food is expensive.

I wasn't about to throw the whole bag away. So I immediately came up with a plan.
"We can't get the ants out of the bag," declared Hubs at my mere suggestion that the food would be salvaged.
"Oh. Yes. We. Can. Too." was my reply.
"But," (that scared look in his eyes whenever he thinks I'm about to launch one of my hairbrained schemes)...,"but," (as if it killed him to utter the next word),
"How?"

Next thing he knew, he found himself out on the driveway with me, an entire bag of dog food dumped on the blazing hot pavement.
"Spread it all out reeeeal good, honey. We'll wait a few minutes for some of the ants to begin to crawl away, then we'll collect the food again with dust pans."
There was the look again. The "She's clearly lost her mind and dragged me down with her" look. But it didn't stop me. I was NOT throwing out an entire bag of dog food. I was NOT letting the ants win.

I'm very happy to say my little plan worked well.
We collected the food and placed it in a plastic tub with a lid.
It is ant-free and I am the official rescuer of dog morsels.
And I saved us from an unncessary replacement purchase.
Even if it cost me my dignity.
Even if a few watchful neighbors mumbled it under their breath,...you know,....."Clampetts!"

Now if I could just figure out how to remove the huge dogfood-induced grease stain on the driveway, my efforts will reeeeally have been a complete success.
Uh hem!

Toni

Can we get serious for a moment?

2010-08-10T09:10:00.010-05:00

Ah! Sunday, glorious Sunday.
We headed off to church in the family van, all cleaned up and ready to worship with our very special church family (seriously, they are very special!)

I have to say, however, I'm not one who believes that you must look "churched up" in order to come to church.
On the contrary.
I'm not sure what you believe to be true about coming to church, but the fact is, God receives us just as we are.
Right where we're at in our lives.
Dressed up or messed up, ready or not.

It's a fact indeed. The bible says, in Romans 5:6-8, "You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. 7Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous man, though for a good man someone might possibly dare to die. 8But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us."

If you look at that passage carefully and thoughtfully, you may well discover why I don't think outward appearance or inward readiness is necessary to come to church or to come to Christ. 1Samuel 16:7 reads, "For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, (B) but the LORD looks on the heart."
If you've felt God's call on your heart but have also felt that you are not "ready", not "churched up" enough in fine clothes, not worthy due to shame or sins that "couldn't possibly be forgiven", then consider the words of the Bible above.
They are not man's perspective.
They are God's perspective.

And while we're at it, "What's with the red letters?" you ask. It's more like what's IN the red letters. DCTalk recorded a beautiful song about the most important red letters of all, but the short answer is...LOVE!
There is incredible love in the red letters. Try this. Reread the scripture passage above and simply insert YOUR name in place of the words in red, and you will catch a glimpse of the love God has for you.

And so it is on my heart today to share this...
Come as you are!
He is ready to meet you just as you are, right where you're at.
I've said this in the past and it's so worth repeating. If there are 100 steps that stand between you and the God who loves you and desires your heart, He will descend 99 of those steps to meet you, if you will simply turn to face Him, taking only just one step toward Him.

Incredible change, hope, peace, forgiveness, grace, security and love await you.

Toni

Enriching childhood!

2010-08-01T22:29:00.006-05:00

Ah, that we could enrich their childhoods so that, in effect, they take wonderful memories with them into adulthood, to be recalled and treasured for a lifetime.

I've been at it this summer, trying to do more with my kids, to be in the moment more with them. I've scoured the internet in search of games and activities. And I've found a few gems too. Check out FunMom, for example. Leslie's site is filled with wonderful ideas. We've implemented a few this summer. I'll share a bit more about those in a future post.

One of my the big hits has been backyard games. Now, back in the day, these would of course be Kick-the-Can, Hide and seek, Red Rover, S.P.U.D., and such. Just you try and find enough children playing outside in the neighborhood these days to put those games in motion (Don't even get me started; it's one of those "change happens" things that breaks my heart, seriously!)

But just because I can't round up a big enough team for Red Rover doesn't mean my kids can't play backyard games like we did as kids.
I just have to reinvent the experience for them.
And I believe I have.
And they LOVE it.
So, what do we play? Lessee...

Front or Back?
There are 6 people in our family, but it could be played with as few as 4. We gather two beach towels, one for each team (boys vs. girls in our case). The other team turns away as I hold up the beach towel and one of the girls crouches down behind it, choosing to place either her front or back toward the towel. We call, "Ready!", whereby the boys turn to face us from across the yard and make a group guess. Front or back? We drop the towel to reveal our teammate's position. If it matches their guess, point. First team to 5 points wins.
Blind Ball.
Again, we are in two teams, boys vs. girls. One member of each team is "it." We flip a coin to see who goes for the ball first. Both "it" members are then taken to opposite corners of the yard and blindfolded. The team who is NOT going after the ball, throws it somewhere in the yard, then calls, "Go!" The team going after the ball has to call out the directions to their blindfolded member, guiding him in the direction of the ball. Meanwhile, the other team is calling out directions to their team member, guiding them to the blindfolded ball seeker from the opposing team. If the ball seeker finds the ball first, he gets 3 points for his team. If the opposing team member finds and touches the blindfolded ball seeker first, they score 1 point for their team. A round is over when a score occurs. New team members are blindfolded, and the other team is now the ball seeking team. First team to 7 points or more, wins.
Whose Shoes?
Oh, how they love this simple and silly game. The kids take off their shoes and sit down in a circle in the middle of the yard. Staying in a legs crossed seated position, they must then lay forward, heads together, eyes covered, as mom and dad take one of each participant's shoes (so for each person, mom has one of their shoes, dad has the other). We quickly run around the yard, hiding each shoe (up in the swingset fort, under the squash plant in the garden, under a frisbee in the yard, etc.) When all shoes are hidden, we count to three and the kids spring up and yell, "Whose shoes?" and away they go. If they find someone else's shoe, they do not tell them. The goal is to find one's own shoes, put them on, and be the first back to the circle. We don't stop when the winner returns, though. We let them vie for 2nd, 3rd, and 4th place too.

Another thing I've done, though something I have regularly done with my kids for a very long time, is to read to them. There are so many terrific read alouds to be considered. We've done many of the classics already. Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. Little House on the Prairie. Anne of Green Gables. A Christmas Carol. Little Women. We've read incredible stories too, of missionaries and noble heroes. Currently, I'm reading Snow Treasure by Marie McSwigan. Set in WWII, it's believed to be the true story of children in a small Norwegian town who must sneak the town's wealth of gold bullion past the German occupation by hiding it under their bellies as they sled past the Germans. My children can't get enough of this story, which I myself read as a 4th grade student. Truly, there is something so very special about gathering the children around for a good book.

Speaking of enrichment, we took our children to see The Music Man today, performed by our county's civic theater. I absolutely love live theater, having gotten hooked after seeing my one and only Broadway performance (on Broadway, that is), A Chorus Line. We want our children to learn to appreciate the theater as well, but taking them into the city to see a live show is very taxing on our single income budget. If you find this to be true of your family as well, don't despair. Local highschools usually give live performances twice a year (late fall and again in the spring). You might need to scrutinize the content to determine how appropriate it will be for little ones, but we've always been able to find a show or two that is acceptable. And the price of a highschool stage performance can't be beat.

If you're lucky, you might also have summer theater or civic theater in your town our county as well, as we do. These performances are also quite affordable, and they provide opportunity to expose your children to live theater where this might not otherwise be reasonably possible. Several members of our church family were performing in The Music Man, so we were excited to see them on stage. They all did such a fabulous job. As we sat there, enjoying one of the acts, I thought, "Isn't this wonderful? Our bunch is engaged and enjoying a live theater performance. Oh, how I want them to learn to appreciate and enjoy the arts in this manner." I was basking in the lovliness of the moment, when suddenly, my 8 year old broke out in a loud and silly giggle. Wanting to know what had tickled him so, I inquired.
Apparently, it was related to the lyrics being sung up on the stage. Never mind classic numbers like Seventy-Six Trombones. No, nothing meaty there (roll eyes for full effect). No, which lyrics grabbed my son's attention and milked it to the point of all out laughter?
Why, Shi-poo-pi, of course.
"Bahahaha! Poop. He said she pooOOped!"
"SHHH! No, he did not say she POOPED."

(Then, floating in from the background of our conversation, from up on stage, a melodic "Shi-poo-pi.")

"BAHAHAHAHA!
Did you hear it, Mommy?
They said it again. She-poopy.
BAHAHAHAHA!"

Whaaat? He had a point. ;)

Toni

A tropical heat wave

2010-07-28T22:06:00.025-05:00

I do believe it's the hottest summer I've ever experienced in my life. It's somewhat of a source of amusement, though, as my kids gripe and whine, "We're so hhh-ooOoo-ttt! It's soooo hot out today."

Okay, yes.
Yes, it is so "hhh-ooOoo-ttt!" (oh, the drama)
Deal with it.
"Why, when I was your age, I had to walk three miles through blinding snow up to my chest...."
Wait.
Wrong story. That's the one my parents told me.

Let's try this again.

"Why, when I was your age, we didn't have any air conditioning. It was hotter inside the house than outside. The spot directly in front of the fan was most coveted, and we sat in front of it any chance we got, even against our moms' warnings that we were going to get Bell's Palsy."
Now, my kids have actually asked me before if I lived in horse and buggy days, so you know this little "fans instead of air conditioning" story lands my fanny back in Walnut Grove from their point of view. But hey, if it stops the whining...

Thankfully, we discovered a wonderful treasure to assist us in our efforts to beat the heat here in central Indiana. Now, I should preface this by saying I grew up just 25 minutes from one of the great lakes. If you've never seen any of them, just picture the ocean, only calm.
When I lived in San Francisco, I even had friends ask, "Can you see the other side from the shore?" (giggle, giggle)

No.
No, you cannot see to the other side while standing on shore. That said, you can see to Canada on a very clear day from the top of some of the roller coasters at Cedar Point (the greatest amusement park in the nation, hands down!) It's just a distant hint of shoreline, but yes, you can see it.

So, back to my point. I grew up near Lake Erie and also lived near the Pacific ocean. But a job related move to central Indiana? Um, okay...uh,..but,...where will we swim?
And logically, you'd tell me, "In a pool."
Well, yeah. And they do have wonderful park systems and pools here. But,...
We're land locked. Not so happy a thought for this girl who A) prefers country living and wide open spaces and B) grew up next to Lake Erie and the islands.
In other words, being land locked makes me feel quite claustrophobic at times.

So a few weeks ago, I felt a bit desperate to find some type of beach here (I should tell you we've been here 4½ years already, so I wasn't overly confident that a beach was going to suddenly appear.) There is a large reservoir just to the north of us, but its "beach" is nasty (sure, you can technically swim in the reservoir but there is no beach to speak of, only some icky concrete steps down into the equally icky "beach" water.) Imagine my surprise when I discovered that a state park about 45 minutes from here has, yes, a b-e-a-c-h!

Glory be!

Ironically, we've driven by it many times while on our way to some of our favorite hiking trails.
No indications of a beach noted.
No visuals. No signage. Nothing.
And I've mentioned to several people here that it's hard for us to feel land locked.
No one mentioned this beach.
Perhaps they felt it couldn't compare with a great lake and thus wasn't worth mentioning?
Or perhaps it's not well known.
I don't know.

But it's there and the drive is a scenic one (through the wide open country spaces that my soul literally craves.) And the beach is nestled into a scenic cove.
And it's FUN!

Raccoon Lake, our new favorite beach!
(You needn't remind me it's our only beach. I assure you, I am well aware.)

We spent the entire afternoon there this past Monday, a late continued birthday celebration for Olivia, who turned (gulp!) 11 on July 5th. I made her the coolest birthday cake this year. I wanted something to reflect her new phase of childhood, that of a tween-ager (she's sooo into the "title", lol). So I made her a monogrammed purse cake. Is it the cutest or what? She loved it.

What else is happening in the H home? Well, I am knee deep into homeschool planning. Sheesh, we're headed into our SEVENTH year of homeschooling. I'm reeeeally excited to implement more Charlotte Mason elements into our days. The primary curriculum I use (and love, and endorse) is My Father's World. It takes a classical/Charlotte Mason/Unit studies approach, three elements I'm fond of.

However, I want my children to become more intimately connected with our subject matter. For us, that means more Charlotte Mason. And definitely more creativity on my part. And I'm excited and challenged to inject that into our learning. Oh my, I could plan for months and months more, but alas, I only have about 3½ weeks left before our year officially begins (we do light math and continued reading all summer long.)

One of the "just for fun" things my husband and I wanted to add this year is a class pet. We had talked about a rabbit, a bird, or possibly even a reptile. Since nature study will be a big part of our regular schooling this year, we felt a little friend in the classroom would fit well with our love of nature and living things. As God would have it, one of our church family members needs someone to take over the care of her guinea pig as she heads off to college. So we are adopting Edgar, a brown and white guinea pig who will join our family in the next week. We've already been on the internet, pouring over the "do's" and "don'ts" of cavy care. And we went to You Tube and listened the the various cries and sounds a guinea pig might make and what they indicate.

My kids are coming at me with endless questions, prompted by endless excitement over Edgar's pending arrival.
"Where will we put him?"
"Why did she name him Edgar?"
"What does he eat?"
"Can we hold him?"
"Is he allowed on the furniture?"
"Does he like trains?" (Brandon, age 3, lol)

A summer storm has picked up and my speakers are fritzing, so I'll take that as a warning I better get off this transistorized tormentor.
Please remember to enjoy the rest of your summer days eyes wide open, glass half full. Because they truly are.

Toni

Swinging full circle

2010-07-20T14:57:00.008-05:00

I bought Carl a new recliner for our 20th anniversary. After all, nothing could possibly say, "I love you," to a guy like permission to fall fast asleep while watching his favorite sports team.
He's not the jewelry wearing kind, can take a vacation whenever he wants (works for a major airline), and isn't one to want for "stuff." So short of being able to buy him a classic Ford Thunderbird, the recliner was the next best gift. And he truly loves it.
Now that it's here, that is.

We had the option of a $50 delivery charge or picking it up ourselves.
Since we have a pick-up and had tested the weight of the chair before purchasing, we were very confident we could do the lifting(we've done three self-moves with virtually zero help so we're quite the duo movers together.)
The wait for the chair's arrival seemed to drag on and on, however.
"Two weeks. It should be ready in two weeks. We'll call you."
No call.
Kind of hard for them to do that, seeing as they had our number written down incorrectly. Sigh.
So, okay, 5 weeks. Better late than never.

In preparation for bringing the new recliner in, we hauled two of our old recliners out to the curb and posted them free on Craigslist.
No takers. Naturally.
"Load 'em up, honey. They're off to Goodwill before the next round of monsoon rain passes through."
It's been quite the heavy rain and humid summer here.
(And naturally, I got an inquiry about the curb chairs today, two days after they were hauled away.)

Now, kids being kids, we knew they'd love the enormous box the new chair came in, so we dragged it inside (literally; it had to be squeezed through the front door.)
Goodness, that hunk of cardboard has kept them occupied for days now. Three year old Brandon requested to sleep in it. Olivia asked to decorate it. Chance (our dog) has taken the liberty to run in and out of it. It's a boat. A fort. A place to hide. Do NOT throw away your big boxes before letting the kids exhaust their imaginiations with it. Our box has not outlived its usefulness yet.

Our kids' swingset also arrived yesterday. My emotions were high, which may seem silly (it's just a swingset, right?). But you have to know the emotional significance to me. Here's the deal. We built our own home in the country on 3½ acres back in Ohio. It was an absolute dream come true for me. I joined 4-H as a young city girl (the only city girl in my club). I worked at a riding stable (even though I wasn't raised around horses). Being in the country brings a calm over me like nothing else except God's word. Wide open spaces bring such peace and rest to me. Living in the country, I was home.

I could sit on my full front porch for hours, rocking in my Amish made rocking chair (the nearest Amish settlement was 15 minutes away), watching the farmers work the land across the road from me for hours on end. I enjoyed walking my kids in their red wagon to visit the neighbor's horses and cows. I loved riding our lawn tractor. I liked heading to our mailbox at the end of our 200 foot driveway, to gather the day's mail. And the black of night was not at all scary to us, but rather granted the stars their due brilliance, a cosmic experience never noted to that extent in the city.
Not then.
Not now.

And my kids had it good in the country as well.
Caterpillars and butterflies.
Rabbits and o'possum.
An enormous backyard they could safely explore, far away from the potential dangers of our country road.
Rasberries to pick and eat right off the bushes.
Baby birds to hold (I know, I know. But Kideer don't abandon their young for being held. I can assure you.)

And best of all, my kids had the most wonderful Amish built swingset to play on. They ate their lunches in the tower. Learned to "pump and sit, pump and sit" in order to swing high and long. They would put their lego wagon up in the tower, climb in, and ride down the wave slide, screaming with delight, as I watched contentedly from our country kitchen window, or from my place on our big back deck (which faced west, so you can imagine the sunsets for yourselves).

It was a beautiful way of life. Until we had to move away, that is. Dh's job displaced him and we had to sell our dream house in the country. I could barely breathe in the reality of it.
Barely!
Especially when I learned that any of the locations we might have to move to, were beyond our budget for country living. I had lived my dream for 7 wonderful years (for which I'll always be grateful), but it was coming to an end. And to add insult to injury, we couldn't take our kids' swingset with us. We were moving out of state, to an apartment for starters. There was limited room on our moving van, and even more limited space in our storage garage.
It would have to stay behind.

That was 4½ years ago. We finally saved the funds to buy the kids a new set, and it arrived yesterday. The custom builder put it together in the rain. Our kids' noses were literally pressed against the glass windows of our family room as they waited and watched with great anticipation.
7 year old Cierah, apparently inheriting some of the Bunker from her older sister, danced with glee as she announced, "I can't even believe it. It's a nightmare."
Huh???
"Cierah, honey, a nightmare is a very bad dream. What did you mean to say?"
"Oh," (lightbulb finally on), "I meant it feels like a dream."
Her older sister couldn't stop from laughing (takes a Bunker to know one, I guess.)

When the swingset was completed and the man left, literal squeals of delight were heard, among the best I've ever heard from them.
They were absolutely ecstatic.
And so was I.
In fact, I nearly cried (I'm very nostalgic, after all.)

Three year old Brandon asked me today, "Mommy, after breakfast can I go play in my park?"
Oh, sweet boy.
The only swingsets he's ever known in his short life have been in local parks.
He thinks he has one right in his own backyard.

And Reece (gotta love Reece) passed his Dad and I the following comment today.
"Oh mommy, thank you and daddy sooooo much for our new swingset. I love it. It looks hideous because it isn't painted yet, but it'll look better when you put the paint stuff on it."
Yeah, I know. I just chose to receive the thank you in the spirit in which he intended it. ;)

Toni

PAUSE FOR REFLECTION

2010-07-13T08:57:00.012-05:00

We interrupt this blog to bring you a message from the youngest contributing member of the H family, as presented to me yesterday afternoon.

Brandon sacheyed into the room, his face contorted in a way that told me his little brain had been in deep thought over some issue of great importance, at least to a curious three year old.

He began.

"Mommy, why do we have two holes in our nose?"

Me, doing my very mom best to stifle the rising giggle from within, "Well, hmmm. I'm not exactly sure, baby. I suppose God decided that's how we could breathe the best?"

Brandon, not buying my attempt to satisfy his curiosity, "No, maybe so we can just pluck dem outa dere, I fink."

Now I could suggest that the plucking of "dem outa dere" would be a refence to boogers, but who am I to judge?
Because perhaps he was referring to loogers or golden nuggets, or even nasal crusties for that matter (just what is the scientific name for boogers anyway?)
I'll leave you to your own devices on this one.

Ah, the joys of!

Now, carry on.

Jeremiah 1:5a
"Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you. Before you were born, I set you apart for my holy purpose..."

Toni

"SURPRISE!"

2010-07-10T22:15:00.009-05:00

Goodness, I should have known. When the "snack mom" failed to show up at Brandon's baseball practice this morning (leaving six very hot and sqirmy 3 year olds without their just rewards), I should have known.
The day was going to be filled with surprises.
Not the whole gang popping up from behind the couch and merrily yelling "Surprise!" kind of surprises either.
No, more like the, "Oops, I didn't mean to wash those red towels with your white work shirts," kind of surprise (I didn't really do that by the way.)

Okay, so. The first surprise of the day came just before we left to spend the afternoon at the lake. The kids had gathered up the requisite sunscreen, beach towels, sand buckets and shovels. Hubs had packed a cooler full of ice, cold drinks, some shelled peanuts and some juice boxes for the kids. I let the dog outside, planning to kennel him just before we headed out the door. We were almost there when...

HONK! HONK! HONK!

"What's that?" asked hubs.

HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!

"It's a duck. No, a goose. It's definitely a goose. Hear it?"

Oh, I heard it alright. The last time I heard it was about 13 years ago. It was coming from the basement then, and you'd have thought we kept a goose prisoner in some dark basement corner.

Only, it wasn't a goose back then and it wasn't a goose today either.
No, the honk, honk, honking was actually (and unfortunately) the dreaded sound of Bordetella. If that word, Bordetella, sounds like the plague, you'd be close enough to correct. In fact, it was our dog who was making the hideous honking noise.
Our dog, who spent 5 days boarded at the vet while we visited family in Ohio.
Our dog, who came home from the vet on Thursday.
Our dog, who has come down with an active case of kennel cough (a.k.a. Bordetella).

It's not pretty, folks.
It's downright honkity.
He honks until he spits up (a little or a lot, depending on when his last meal or drink was.)
It can last 2 weeks.
I'm counting on 2 days.
Now I just need one of those bumper stickers. You know, "Honk if you're..."
Hey, I know. How 'bout, "Honk if you're TIRED OF CLEANING HONKED UP DOG SPIT!"
Yeah, that'll work.

Moving right along.
Surprise #2.
So we were coming home from Dennys this evening (yeah, that Denny's for those who have been around long enough to remember the great Denny's incident of 2008). The kids were singing in the back seats of our van. Now, you have to know that singing in the van is not some lovely Partridge family experience for us. Oh no, that would be dreamy but no, definitely not our reality. Instead, our kids like to make a nasty little competition out of singing.
Who can sing the most repetitively just to annoy the others?
Who can sing the loudest just to annoy the others?
Who can sing the fastest (you get it by now) just to annoy the others?
(Darling, I know.)

And tonight was no different.
The big annoying sing-off was in under way.
Our little maestros were trying to ~~control one another~~ lead the band for all they were worth.
Their "drive it into the ground" song of choice?
Ultra Man, the theme song (Anyone?)
Sakes alive, that song is annoying!

So they were singing their competitive hearts out, vying for loudest, fastest, most repetitive, when I couldn't take it anymore (the song nor the unkind spirit in which they were "performing").

"You kids stop singing that song this very instance."

Their dad chimed right in as he approached the stop sign.

"I'm with mom. Enough already with the Ultra Man song. If you can't all sing something together without trying to be in control of the others, then don't sing at all."

We rolled on (which became key to the moments that followed).

In the next moment, I found us slowing down on the side of the road, directly next to the "blueberries and rasberries, $2" sign.
Hubs had failed to stop at the Amish farm market earlier today that I had wanted to check out on the way home from the lake.
"Isn't this sweet? He's going to make it up to me by stopping to pick up some locally grown fresh berries. Awwww!"

Amazing how quickly an adoring, "Awwww!" can morph into an, "Aw, shoot!" because I believe that's what happened when I suddenly realized the only blue and red I was going to see right then was from the flashing lights behind us.
Yup, we got ourselves pulled over by the sheriff.

SURPRISE!

Apparently, that "roll on" that we so casually made is illegal in all 50 states.

As in, hubs rolled on, right through the stop sign while yelling at the kids to stop singing.
And thereby broke the law.

It seems the dog wasn't the only one "honking" in the H household today.
I, for one, was honking mad that we got pulled over for something so ridiculous as the Ultra Man theme song distracting us.
No time for 'tudes though.
"You catch more flies with honey," my mom always says.
Time to be very nice to the officer.

Hubs: "If you say I rolled through that stop sign, officer, I'm sure I did. I do apologize."
Me: "We were distracted by our kids' singing, sir. They were getting too loud and I'm sure he must have rolled through as we asked them to settle down."

Sheesh, that was a dorky (but genuine) excuse.

"Licence and registration, please."
"Why yes, sir. That's what I'm looking for right here. Is this it? No, that's a napkin from Taco Bell (duh). Here it is,...wait...no, that's just a receipt from Big O Tires. I don't suppose you want to see that. Goodness, what color am I looking for....oh, never mind, found it. Here you go."

He smiled so politely, then walked away.
I sighed.
Hubs quietly fielded questions from our four kids, who found the whole experience invigorating.
Nothing like watching Daddy about to bite a $100 fine and a few points on the ol' record, eh?
"See, kids, this is exactly why you have to obey. It starts at home and it follows you right into adulthood."
Reece, suddenly laughing: Daddy, what will happen if you just drive away reeeal fast while he's in his car?"
(Honestly kid, you're missing the whole point of the "obey" speech your father just made.)
Me: "He'd go to jail. Now, shhhhhh!"
(Isn't the lack of quiet what got us in this mess in the first place?)

Well, gotta love Officer Love (yes, his last name was actually Love.)
Because the dear man let us go without a ticket.
Just a warning.
Do you know how relieved we were to not be hit with our just punishment? I assure you, we were very grateful.

So the day started with poor Brandon and his teammates not getting their just rewards.
And it ended with us not getting our just punishment.
The officer was very kind to let us off with only a warning.
I'm truly thankful for his extension of grace to us in that moment.

I couldn't help but be reminded of the grace that God the Father extends to us when we place our trust in Jesus as our Savior.
The realization that there is nothing I can do to make God love me more.
(can't earn it through my own merit.)
But there is also nothing I can do to make Him love me less.
(can't destroy it in my human failings.)
Because when Jesus went to the cross to pay the price for all our sins (yours and mine) for all time, God loved me at His very, very best.
Here's hoping you've consciously experienced the grace of God in your life recently. If you haven't, it is my sincere prayer for you, that you will.

Ephesians 2:8
For by such grace you have been saved through faith. This does not come from you; it is the gift of God

Romans 6:23
For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Toni

SUMMER ROADTRIP 2010

2010-07-09T22:12:00.006-05:00

We traveled to Ohio to visit family this past weekend, returning here very late on Wednesday night. Oh, how I dislike the long drive (fallout of growing up as an airline brat, I suppose, and having a husband who still works in the industry to this day). I believe I'd take an airplane to Kroger if I could.

It takes nearly 6 hours if attempted non-stop (Yahoo and Google clock it in at 5 hours and 42 minutes), but with the stops we have to make (food, bathroom, playground, bathroom, gas, bathroom, snacks, bathroom, etc.), it's always a minimum of 7 hours for us.

Of course, my family will tell you it only takes "five hours and fifteen minutes" to make the drive between us.
O-n-l-y!
This apparently coming from a long lost relative of Jimmie Johnson, who clearly takes the trip at 80mph on the low side.
Uh hem.

Okay, so. We knew that a tradition was on the line as we made our way to Ohio. That is, Rochester township was having its annual fireworks Saturday night after dusk. Rochester township is nestled in the country not far from our own country home where we lived in Ohio. They hold an annual 4th of July festival, complete with fireworks that few know about (thus the crowd is small). It was an annual tradition for us when we lived there, and we try to make it there every summer if possible.

If we ate in the car on the way and didn't hit any significant traffic, we just might make it in time to spread out a blanket next to the cornfields, under the stars, to enjoy our absolute favorite fireworks display. I'm happy to say it worked. We arrived with enough time for the kids to play the ring toss game and win a candy prize, for Brandon and Reece to ride the cheesy pony ride (think playground merry-go-round), and for the kids to play on the playground while a bad country music band performed live in the background, before settling down on our blanket to see the show. I remember sitting in that same spot in 2004, expressing my sadness to hubs over that being our "last time" at Rochester fireworks.
Little did I know we'd be back again and again.
Such small blessings make me very, very happy.

It was fun to visit Reece's sister, Kimberly, and her family as well. They live in a town by the exact same name as the town we now live in here in Indiana. Cool, eh?
Kimberly and Reece look sooo much alike.
You know how some siblings barely resemble one another, while siblings from another family seem poured from the very same mold? Kimberly and Reece.
They are very obviously siblings.
And I'm getting more and more stirred with emotion as time marches on, seeing the joy on their faces when they are together.
It's PRICELESS.
I'm so glad for them that they are connected in spite of growing up in different adoptive families.

The rest of our time was spent hanging out on my parents' large screened in back porch beating the heat (though the heat was definitely winning), staying up waaay too late to play Canasta with my parents, eating waaay to much, celebrating Olivia's 11th birthday with family, and making time to take the kids to watch my brother fly his R/C airplane and to visit the hummingbird nest that he and my sis-in-law discovered at Sandy Ridge wetlands. I really love spending time with them when we're home.

Our trips home only happen twice a year, and only for a few days. This makes it difficult for us to visit our dear friends whom we miss greatly. However, something neat happened this visit. Hubs and I were taking our daily power walk around town (yes, in the 95 degree blazing heat and humidity) when we heard our name called from a car on the road. We looked up to see our long time friend, Karen, who spotted us walking and took the time to turn her car around to say hello.
How sweet was that of her?

Karen and I met when we worked together at Burger King. We might have been 16 or 17 years old at the time. She is one of the most genuine and kind people I've known. She's also totally funny and I wish I saw her more often because she always makes me laugh.

Since our Burger King polyester days of the 80's, I've run into Karen in so many places. The mall. TJ Maxx. Another small town festival. The Ringling Brothers circus when it came to Cleveland. And now on the street as we walked around the town of our childhoods (melted and sweaty as we were, and with me sporting my Roseanna Roseanna Danna hair to boot). I'm wondering where I'll next see her (she assures me it won't be in Indiana, but I'm not so sure it won't happen, lol.)

Our trip back to Indiana was hot, hot and hotter still. Hubs added frion before we left for Ohio so we did have air conditioning. But we prefer not to use it on long hauls, opting to ride with the windows down instead. Oh my stars, we melted. It was so hot, in fact, that I checked with Nellie the Scab (our G.P.S. who replaced me in my role as trip navigator) for a place to swim. Saw a big lake "kind of on the way" so we headed there to let the kids swim before finishing the trip home. Indian Lake turned out to be just what they needed. It was Brandon's first official time on a beach and he loved it. The kids splashed and swam for a good 45 minutes before we had to round them up and press on toward the end of our journey.
We'll be sure to hit Indian Lake again on future trips de la sweltering blazes.

Hope your 4th was filled with family, fun, and a deep, deep appreciation for your freedoms and privileges as an American. I'm so very proud to call this country my home and I am realizing more with each passing year that freedom is not FREE.
Some paid all. May we never lose sight of that.

Toni

You had a bad day (haven't we all).

2010-06-29T22:33:00.009-05:00

Shhhh!
Hear him?
Listen more closely...

You had a bad day
You're taking one down
You sing a sad song just to turn it around

Why, thank you, Daniel Powter.
Because okay, yes. Yes, some of us have had a bad day.
Just little stuff, ya know? Nothing to set the pants aflame. Just those little moments that bring an element of challenge to any one of us as we go about the details of our day.

Take hubs, for example. Yesterday we were busy taking care of small errands and details that need to be completed in the next few days. The tone in our home was light. Everyone was having a pretty darn good day. Then, heard from the upstairs hallway, "Uh Tone, we have a problem."

You know how you just know? I knew. Water. Some sort of water problem. Because upstairs' have toilets, sinks, tubs, air condensor thingies, and kids. Need Isay more? Yeah, swell.

Well, it was the air condensor thingy. We called our thingy serviceman (it was about 10pm at night) and he assured us that we were in no immediate danger of flooding (never mind the full drip pan of water, and the water that continued to pour out of the air condensor thingy). He also said he couldn't send a guy out that night so "just hit the pvc pipe and that usually unclogs the line."
Swell.
Jis' whack'er reaaal good.
Now there's a prevention plan to avoid thousands of dollars in water damage. I am thankful to say that we have not yet flooded (because apparently, banging on pvc pipe is a viable action to take when one's condensor thingy is leaking). The guy will be here tomorrow. Thank goodness.

Then there was my little faux pas discovered today. It involves a trip to the grocery store Sunday night and an overlooked bag discovered in the van today. We don't buy meat, but we do buy Smart Ground, a soy based crumble that can be used in place of meat in recipes. It's a bit pricey. And naturally, it has to be refrigerated.
So much for that purchase.
Bye bye, Smart Ground.
(Sing it, Daniel Powter).

Reece's bad "day" has actually been a string of days lately. He has a loose front tooth that has been dangling for quite some time now. He looks like Nanny McFee's grandson, yet won't let his dad touch the tooth. No hurry though, I suppose, since that dang fairy has forgotten twice in the past few days to deliver the requisite coins to Cierah for completing her rendition of Nanny ~~Mc-C~~ McFee as well. We smoothed that one over for Cierah though, explaining the difficult job the fairy has, what with being grounded in heavy storms and all (of which we've had several recently.)

And Brandon has definitely had a recent bad day. Or two. Yesterday, I heard him crying from the upstairs (our playroom is located there). I went to see what had happened. Apparently during his workout, he was physically injured. I know I've been injured a time or two while working out so I was completely sympathetic.

What?

Yes, that's correct. Brandon is only three years old. But according to him, he and Reece were "working out" and Brandon got "huwt." No more P90X commercials as substitutes for phys ed. around here.

That wasn't Brandon's only bad day either. He started 3 year old teeball last Saturday. They were only 10 minutes into practice when a screaming match could be heard on the field.
"I'm fwee years old."
NO! I'm fwee years old."
Yes, Brandon and another little sweetie were attempting to own three.
I did my best to assure him there was, is, and always will be enough of three to go around.
I'm not so sure he bought it.
("Yes, I know, but I'm still only just fwee.")
I thought I heard him humming Daniel Powter's song just about then.

And Cierah, she had a recent bad day too. We tried a Mongolian stir-fry restaurant on the north side of town (I looooooove Mongolian stir-fry for the record). If you've never done Mongolian stir-fry, you select all your ingredients in the raw state, pile them in you bowl, then add your favorite asian sauces and marinades. The khans then cook your dish on a hot grill and away you go to savor the goodness.

So, Cierah had eaten her first plate of food and decided to go back for just a salad.
After gathering her favorite toppings and dressing, she returned to our table and began to eat. I was chatting with her about something when all of a sudden her eyes widened and she exlaimed with a bit of panic, "Uh oh! I forgot to have him cook it first."

I sooo wanted to giggle out loud, but my dear daughter seriously didn't get it. So, calmly I said, "Honey, you're only eating salad. It doesn't need cooking first." You 70's and 80's tv viewers like myself, think Chrissie Snow on Three's Company. Cierah let out a giggle as she realized the hilarity of the moment. That would have been one wilted salad had she stir fried it.

It seems Olivia's the only one whose week has gone fairly status quo. I'm thinking we all need to hum Daniel Powter's song while she belts out the lyrics for us. But then, if the windows are open, I fear the neighbors might feel compelled to board the "had a bad day" bandwagon (let's just say my family is a tad bit weak in the area of musical giftedness, uh hem.)

Hope your week is going a little better. In all seriousness, I see the humor in those moments and grately appreciate that I do. I recieve the ability to see humor in ordinary moments as a gift. And I fully stand on the promises of God and deeply appreciate the perspective that scripture brings to my daily life. So we had a bad day. It'll get better. They usually do.

Matthew 11:28-30
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."

Toni

"FORE!"

2010-06-25T21:42:00.018-05:00

Ahhhh, the "lazy days of summer."
Presumably, a time of rest, relaxation, juicy slices of watermelon and cold glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade. But it's proving to be less lazy and more busy around here lately (courtesy of an overzealous mom who maybe,...might...could have registered her kids a bit on the hairy side of a summer schedule, kwim?)

For starters, we've been dealing with a good month of torrential rains (the local dam broke two days ago, for example). Oh, and blazing hot days of mega humidity too. So very humid, in fact, that I might as well have been living in Miami, FL. We've done our best to keep up our family walks in the stagnant humid air, but it hasn't been without consequence.

The other night, for example, Carl asked if my hands felt swollen as we trudged along the walking path. I confirmed that indeed they did feel uncomfortable. Carl lifted his hands chest high then rotated them to reveal his palms, which amazed and shocked us both. They looked more like a lion's paws. I quickly checked mine and discovered the same. Carl immediately laughed at our disfigurement and declared that we had "Mickey Mouse hands." Indeed, we did.

The thing is, I really do prefer the heat. It's just that I'm not used to the dog days of summer arriving in June, instead of August like they did back home in northern Ohio. Fortunately for the kids' sake, they had swimming lessons every day this past week and will continue next week too. I know they're enjoying the chance to cool off, even if it is an indoor pool.

But we've also had to face the outdoor heat daily this past week, as Reece had golf camp each evening for 90 minutes. As Jack Nicklaus used to say, "It was hotter than a cast iron commode in middle of the Sahara." (Actually, I'm not 100% sure it was he who said it, but if he didn't, he should have, if only for the kiddie golfers' sakes.)

In spite of the blazing sun and waterlogged heat, I knew the kids were in for some major fun the moment Reece checked in for his first day of camp. It was run by three young coaches from Skyhawk camps, and their enthusiasm and organization immediately impressed me.

But then came the names.
"My name is Coach Fergie. Can we all say, 'Hi, Coach Fergie'?"
("Hi, Coach Fergie.)
"And my name is Coach Hollywood. Can we all say, 'Hi, Coach Hollywood'?"
("Coach Hollywood?"...giggle, giggle...."Is that your real name?")
"And my name is Coach Juicebox. Can we all say, 'Hi, Coach Juicbox'?"

Apparently not.

At least not until the fits of giggles and laughter subsided in the 20 junior campers that ranged in age from 4 to 9 years.
Seriously, could you have said, "Hi, Coach Juicbox," without a giggle?
Me either.

Reece was soooo excited about this camp. He had been asking me to sign him up for golf for several years and I couldn't find anything suitable for him. He has some developmental challenges that impact his concentration and coordination. So I wasn't sure golf would be a good idea. But it has turned out to be a great idea, at least where this particular camp was concerned. The kids played with oversized training clubs, and balls that were basically tennis balls. But instruction was not compromised by the training equipment. In fact, it enhanced it as they worked on chipping, driving, and putting.

And he had a blast. When he wasn't Ferdinand, that is.

Take today, for instance. He was just about to drive when he suddenly dropped his club and wandered away in a most care-free manner, a lighthearted expression of content on his sweet face, as he gently exclaimed , "Awwww, dragonfly."
Sigh. My little Ferdinand.

Of course, there were the moments that weren't so magical. Like yesterday when the kids were taking a water break. They had been instructed earlier in the week to leave the equipment alone when it wasn't their turn to practice a skill with their instructor (Coach Juicebox in our case.) I was resting in my lawnchair in the shade, devouring my copy of A Charlotte Mason Companion , when I heard Reece's voice sounding much more devious, like Scut Farkus in A Christmas Story.
He was issuing a self-challenge for his captivated peewee audience of three.
His words? "This ball," (dramatic pause) "in that hole."
After which he immediately hurled his ~~tennis ball~~ oversized golf ball toward the basketball hoop.
My Ferdinand. Officially on the coach's list (yes, that list, uh hem).

I believe Reece scored discolored marks on her "list" too when he took a swing at his ball time and time again, only to miss and immediately exclaim, "That didn't count."
Oh sure, she was gracious and let him take a mulligan and a do-over.
But after the 36th time (or so, I lost count), I think it might have wore on her a bit, what with her declaring, "I'll let you take this last do-over but after that, every swing counts, kapeesh?"

In spite of the little aforementioned quirks that set his golf camp experience slightly askew, Reece was definitely 100% thrilled to be there. In fact, he insisted on wearing his white sports glove every single day. The only kid who wore one. He forgot it in the van this evening and vehemently insisted I retrieve it for him. As I looked at him sporting that glove, I couldn't help but picture Ted Knight in Caddyshack. Nor get the Kenny Loggins song, "I'm Alright," out of my head.

Reece might never become a Jack Nicklaus. Heck, he might not even become a local caddy. But he has now lived one of his childhood dreams of going to golf camp. His dad and I sat there evening after evening and encouraged his efforts, cheering him on and rejoicing with him when he beamed with pride. Don't you think there's great truth in the saying, "The road of life twists and turns and no two directions are ever the same. Yet our lessons come from the journey, not the destination.”
(Don Williams, Jr.,American Novelist and Poet, b.1968)
What a blessing it has been to see Reece enjoying this small "twist and turn" on his life's journey.
Life is filled with so many such blessings.
Glass half full.
Eyes wide open so you don't miss them, ya hear? ;)

John 1:16 From the fullness of his grace we have all received one blessing after another.

Toni

Change is in the Midst

2010-06-19T12:49:00.013-05:00

In the midst of this season. My blog is based on it. My thoughts dwell on it. My spirit has learned to rejoice in it. To live and BE in the midst of this season. The very season God has placed me in like at no other time in my life. But being a very (VERY!) nostalgic person, I'm prone to wandering into the past, to places of comfort and places of simplicity. And in many ways, I find great blessing in my ability to "time travel" to those wonderful places of the past so easily.

But because I'm so nostalgic, it takes me greater effort to simply be in the midst of this season. I purpose to work at it and God rewards that effort by revealing the many blessings found in the present, even in the midst of great challenge or change.

And things are changing again. It's coming in like the anticipated (but always surprising) first crisp night that subtly sneaks in while summer is still dancing its care-free waltz of lazy days and swimming pools. That crisp night wraps its chill around bare summer arms and you have no other choice but to embrace the reality that change is on the horizon.

And so it comes. It comes in having recently taken down the crib. The crib that welcomed home the baby we weren't sure we'd ever bring home. The crib that welcomed five babies in fact, four whom God chose to permanently graft onto our family tree, one whom we loved and released because we had no choice (and yet there, in the midst of that season, God sent peace to our hearts and assured us that He can always go where we sometimes cannot.)

Change comes too as our oldest heads toward her 11th birthday this year. To put it in contemporary language, our first tween-ager. Didn't see that coming, even though we've had almost eleven years to prepare our hearts for it. But like the crisp breeze that rides in on the end of a summer night, it came just the same.

And change now comes as our youngest,who literally blew in on a breeze when we weren't expecting change at all, is now 3 years old and no longer wanting to ride in the stroller when we take our 2 mile walks in the park. I don't know how his little muscles handle it without becoming tender and sore, but he pedals for all he's worth, TWO MILES mind you, on his Big Wheel.

Last night, as we took a later than usual walk at the park, and as we were nearing the half way point, dh looked up in the sky and said, "Oh no!" The path had been winding through the woods along a river and several ponds, so we had limited view of the sky along the way. As we reached the clearing, dh caught an unobstructed view of the sky, which had grown threatening and very dark (speaking of change!)

We picked up the pace and Brandon pedalled faster. The kids rode their scooters with greater intent. And I told dh it was likely he'd soon be carrying a Big Wheel through driving rain while I carried a scared and crying Brandon (he's not a big fan of storms.) The wind suddenly shifted and intensified as a cold front pressed in, immediately dropping the temperature by what felt like a good 10 degrees. Lightning began in the distance. Thunder too. And debri and dust rose in circles around us, stinging our eyes and causing us to squint intermittently as we continued on.

I walked and waited, walked and waited, knowing that at any time Brandon was going to become frightened and need me to carry him, to comfort him. But (sigh) change is coming once again. Because he never did cry. Never once. In fact, he pedalled happily along, enjoying the coolness of the wind and giggling at having to ride through the woods again in near darkness. And it occurred to me that the cool breeze that brought on the pending storm was in fact a proverbial breeze ushering in change once again.

And so, it comes. I have to wonder how long it will take me to arrive at a full awareness of a new season, like when you finally have to resign to the fact that summer is truly gone. Because until you've done that, you're not ready to embrace the fall and all its unique blessings. Admittedly, I'm not ready for the next season. Or perhaps just not ready to leave this one behind. But as it always does, change comes. And it's up to me to put it in perspective, glass half full, so I don't miss the blessings God wishes to pour out on me in the midst of it. Wish me well. ;)

“But forget all that—it is nothing compared to what I am going to do.
For I am about to do something new.
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland."
Isaiah 43:18-19 (NLT)

Toni

Wheelin' and Dealin'

2010-06-10T12:44:00.008-05:00

Reece(at a garage sale): "Um, um...how much do you waaaAANT (upspeaking) for this...these...um...these Scooby Doo books?"

Owner: "They're 50 cents a piece."

Reece(puzzled, as if the owner said something strange): "Oh! I didn't think you were selling them each one by itself since they're all in this box and we call that a collection."

Owner (after a restrained giggle): "Yes, I suppose it IS a collection."

Reece: "No, it IS. It IS a collection because they're all in one box like my Spongebob books and that's a collection too. So are these. So,.......how much for this collection?"

Owner: "Well,...that'd be two dollars."

Reece (frowning, and with a tone of disappointment): "Oh. I don't have two dollars. I only have one dollar."

Owner: "Hmmm. Okay, if you'd like them, I'll sell them to you for one dollar."

[Me, Toni, thinking, "Oh no. Here it comes."]

Reece: "Hmmm. No, thank you. I'm gonna see what else you have for one dollar."(owner cracks up)

Brandon: "Hey, Brudder. Don't buy dis car because it's 99 cents and it's only a Hot Wheels."

And the nuggets gained are:
1) At 3½ years old, everything is declared to be "99 cents" in Brandon's world.
2)And everything in Reece's 8 year old world looks tempting at a garage sale (that is, apparently, until he has to part with his one precious dollar.)

Toni

Need a Lab?

2010-06-02T21:15:00.009-05:00

So my parents are coming to town this weekend for my daughter's dance recital. I made a checklist of things that need to get done before their arrival.
The usual list;
-clean out the van
-mop floors
-grocery shop
-wash bed linens
-vaccum the carpets

I thought I'd do the heavy vaccuming today, and then just a light touch up on Friday. I sent the kids up to the playroom so they wouldn't get in my way, then put our dog out in the backyard.

That last action was and is a very necessary prerequisite for vaccuming, as our dog is highly anxious and is terrified of storms and other loud noises (a la vaccum cleaners). Fail to put him out and you're sure to be shampooing the carpet as well. 'Nuff said.

As I finished the family room and headed into the living room, I happened to glance out our front window, only to see a flash of yellow go zipping by.

The dog.
Where is the dog?

Oh, that's right. I put him out back while I'm vaccuming.
All is well with the world.
Passed by the window again and noticed two big cockeyed brown eyes staring through the window at me.

Yes, my dog has brown eyes.

Yes, they're cockeyed.

I opened the front door and called him in.
"Bad! Boy! We do NOT crawl under the fence and escape. And I do NOT have time for these shenanigans. Now back outside and stay put, you hear?"

Tongue hanging out, he glanced sideways at me with his good eye as if to say, "Your point was?" and off he trotted into the backyard. Hmmmmf!

I turned the vaccum back on and again took to the task at hand. A few moments later, over the loud hum of the motor, my oldest daughter loudly exlaimed, "MOM! BRANDON POOPED IN HIS PANTS!"

Okay then, vaccum off.

Brandon, age 3½, has been potty trained for quite some time. And no, he does NOT poop "in his pants" so this was a most unwelcome message to receive in the middle of vaccuming. Off I went to clean him up, ever so slightly frustrated at the interruption (uh hem).

Can I just take this opportunity to point out, it's true what they say. Girls can be filled with drama. My daughter had me thinking I was headed for a major cleanup on aisle 9, but no. Just a little more than a skid mark to contend with. A quick change of underwear and a trip to the potty and I was good to go again.

Vaccum on.

As I rounded through the dining room, I had an unobstructed view of our patio sliding doors, the place where our neurotic, anxiety-ridden dog impatiently waits for someone to let him back in the house. Only............

Where. Is. That. Dog. ???

Vaccum off.

"Chance! CHAAAAAAANCE!!!"

I was screaming like a crazed banschee and looking like a weathered seahag from my on-again, off-again vaccuming experience.

I stomped to one side of the house.
No dog.
I stomped to the other side of the house.
No dog.
I went back inside and opened the front door.
No dog.

At this point, I seriously wondered ~~if it was necessary to look for him~~ where he had meandered off to.

Uh oh!
The POND!

I sprinted through the backyard to the fence line so I could see down the bank to our pond.

Sure enough, there he was.
ALLLLL soaking wet.
Because he had taken a lil' dip in the pond.
But wait, that's not all.
Being a dog and all, he also took a lovely lil' roll (or ten) in the many piles of goose poop that line the pond.

I'nt that special?
Precious, I know.
Did I mention it was 80º and humid?
Yeah, it was definitely adding smoke to my fire.

I stomped into the house, gathered his pinch collar and leash, strapped them to the bird feeder, then sweetly called him back into the yard (again!) I quickly placed him in the collar and fired up the hose because folks, let's just say vaccuming and goose poop are polar opposites. One cleans up messes while the other messes up clean.

That dog SMELLED!

So, I ask you. What lil' romp in goose business wouldn't be complete without a proper bath? Oh, I brought it alright. He most definitely got one. No, not just the initial hosing off I gave him either, but an all-out shampoo and comb out.

And that's one task I myself did not complete today.

Because after all, I wouldn't want my husband to miss out on all the at-home fun.

Anyone want a dog?
He enjoys long walks on the leash, catching frisbees, and an apparent occasional roll in a good poo.
Any takers?

Toni

Nothing says "classy" like a Ford Ranger

2010-05-29T21:33:00.011-05:00

Last night, I did one of my most favorite things. That is, I met with my good friend Sniz for "coffee." Now I have to say, we sometimes use that phrase "out for coffee" in the symbolic sense, as we don't always even get coffee (because we get to talking like the girls that we are and just plain forget to actually purchase a drink.) It's a little thing I like to call loitering, though I promise we don't purposely set out to do that.

So we chatted away for a few hours (how I love having the chance to just sit and talk with my friend Sniz), then stepped outside to get in our cars.

That's when I noticed the look in Sniz'eyes. A look that told me she was on dangerous ground, coming as close to coveting as a girl can get.
And really, who could blame her?
I mean there she was, all set to head home in her mini van, while moi, on the other hand, was ready to head home the way most men prefer their women to head home.

In a pick-up truck (nothing says "classy" like Ford Ranger.)

Now, I'm not one to wrongfully boast or to tempt others to covet. Yet even as I type this, I imagine you might find yourself in Sniz' difficult shoes, wanting what I have. My golden beauty, the "new '97" as we call her, my Ford Ranger. I'm sorry, but this ride's mine and besides, we can't all be that lucky.

And speaking of luck, I'm truly the luckiest. Because you see, when I drive the golden beauty (with the foam green pinstriping, not that I'm bragging or at all rubbing it in), it makes this "musical" sound every time I excelerate OR hit the breaks.
The notes go something like this;

K-CHUNK!
K-CHUNK!
K-CHUNK!

Basically, it's the ~~ready to snap in half~~ musical sound of,...what?...steel on steel, yes.
At least that's the song I hear.
And Sniz has had the "privilege" of hearing it too because she and Big Doofus have borrowed the golden beauty on occasion (naturally, we're always happy to share our elite ride with others.)

As Sniz stood there and drank in magic of my ride glistening ~~under a thick layer of dust and dirt and grime~~ under the lights in the parking lot, something happened.

I began to giggle. Alot!

Sniz, still somewhat dreamy from her encounter with the golden beauty, turned her attention to me as she tried to figure out the cause of my laughter. So I began, laughing harder as I explained...

"I know you can't help but admire my ride. And as much as you don't want to, you're clearly coveting and I can understand that. Really, I do. But the thing is...and you've had the privilege of riding in that beauty so I know you'll get this...the thing is, it makes that...that....that...sound. That loud, "K-CHINK! K-CHINK!" sound every time I hit the break or the gas. And I just think that one of these days, I'm going to be sitting at a traffic light and it's going to turn green and I'll hit the gas and begin to drive away. Next thing I know, I'll be sitting in a reeeeeally tiny cab when the dang truck splits in half and the bed remains behind at the traffic light."

We both began laughing about it and I can't be sure, but I thought I heard Jeff Foxworthy in the background saying, "You just might be redneck."

The proverbial icing on the cake immediately followed when we got into our vehicles just as a serious drive-through line formed behind us. Sniz put her van in reverse and, sure enough, a car immediately stopped and let her through.

"Wonderful! I'll follow suit," I thought.

I put the golden beauty in reverse and...

Block!
Block block!

People were all, "Just hold up, lil' lady. You aint goin' nowhere before I git me a Big Beufort and a Biggie fry."
And I was all, "I totally understand their reaction, because jealousy is a powerful force."
And who wouldn't be jealous of my golden beauty?

That probably explains why, when I threw my truck into forward and reverse about 5 times to edge my way out of the parking trap I found myself in, I heard a voice yell in my direction, "Clampetts!" as I drove away.

Sheesh, it's hard to be humble when you're being compared to celebrity and all.

Toni

The Game of Life

2010-05-23T13:11:00.023-05:00

You gotta love the way life is played out on the soccer field. I mean, sure, there's the thrill of the action, the energy of the crowd (in their requisite lawn chairs with cup holders), and even the agony of defeat.
Such moments have the ability to endear us to memories frozen in time. And believe it or not, if you look carefully, you can see the inner workings of real life out there in the midst of shin guards, nets, and the ball. And so it was this past Saturday as I sat and watched Reece and Olivia play.

The game almost got off to a good start, as Reece recently decided he wants to play goalie. Please know that he is all of 4 foot nothing and couldn't hit 60 pounds on the scales if he tried. None-the-less, he wants to be the goalie.
Last week he had his first go at it.
Stopped two out of three balls.
Not bad for 4 foot nothing, eh?
Yeah, well. What a difference a week makes.

He hustled over and took his signature rabbit hop onto "the mark", in this case the goal net. And yes, he does take a single rabbit hop onto any spot that he considers his place for just about anything. Tell him he's up to bat? Rabbit hop onto the plate. Tell him he's going to kick the ball back into play? Rabbit hop onto his place behind the line of play. Tell him he's in timeout? Rabbit hop onto the spot in the corner. So rabbit hop it was, into position at the net.

Coach took the other kids out to the center of the field to get into their positions for the start of the game. That's when I noticed him. Dancing. That dance. Not good, especially since he never realizes it until the last second. I jogged over to within earshot of him.
"Reece. ReeeEEce! Do you have to go to the bathroom?"
Reece, panicking over the pending start of the game, "Yes!"
"Well then, yell out to coach for a replacement so you can go before he blows the whistle."
"What???"
"I saaaid,....yell out to coach for a replacement so you can go before he...."
WHEEEEET WHEEEET went the whistle.
Me, authoritatively to Reece, "PLAY BALL!"

And so, the game began with a pee pee dancing goalie who had all he could do to stay focused on the game.
WHIZ! One.
WHIZ! Two.
WHIZ! Three.
That'd be the sound of three balls whizzing past Reece and into the net. Time for a new goalie on all accounts. And off flew to the bathroom.

A while later, he was back on the field. Only this time, a new challenge. Ever hear the story of Ferdinand the bull? I have to tell you, it's one of my favorites, both in story line and illustrations. Ferdinand was not like other bulls. While they were doing their best to earn their way into the bull fights, Ferdinand was happy just to sit and smell the flowers.

This is not unlike our Reece, who, like Ferdinand, is content to experience life on his terms. So smack in the middle of game play, he bent down and plucked himself a clover. And he proceeded to smell, feel, and pluck apart that clover to the exclusion of the game.
"~~FERDINAND!~~ Reece! Put...down...that...clover and focus on the ball."
Finally, Reece was where he needed to be, in focus and without the dancing.
"GO GRIFFINS!"

Okay, apparently, one particular Griffin took me waaaay too seriously on the "Go!" chant, because the next time the coach came to within earshot of the sidelines, this player, who had been sitting out, flagged the coach over.
"What is it, Billy?"
"Coach, when you call us in, would it be okay if I said, 'I don't want to go in,'?"
The coach, who looked both frustrated and caught off guard, replied, "Uh, yeah. If you don't want to play."

Just then, from another player on the sidelines (who, okay, just happened to be my dd, Olivia), I heard, "You're not gonna play?"
She was not happy with Billy and she wasn't about to keep mum.
Billy, seeming a bit surprised that she'd dared to call him on it, shrugged his shoulders and mumbled, "I dunno. Not if I don't want to."
Olivia, clearly disappointed in his lack of enthusiasm, whipped out the best pep talk she could muster up.
She tried to shaming him into submission.

"What? Why??? Your team needs you."
Pretending he hadn't heard her, Billy found a stick and nervously busied himself to avoid further interrogation.
Now just in case you think I approved of Liv's method of,...uh hem,..."encouragement", I assure you I'm aware that we have to work on more appropriate responses, because brow beating probably isn't the best approach.

At one point in the game, we were down ~~5 or 6 humiliating whoopings~~ a few goals. Suddenly, McKenna, who is one of the less agressive players on the team, successfully blocked a major attempt.

"Woo hoo!" went the crowd.

Owwww!" went McKenna.

Because that what you say when you've blocked the stinging fly of a soccer ball with nothing more than your five digits. Everyone ran over to give her high fives. And with each slap, she bent over a bit and held the injured digits close to her midsection, reiterating, "Owwww!"
More high fives, more, "Owwww!"
Nothing like causing the goalie to relive the physical pain of her costly success again and again.

And then there's the fighting spirit that comes with competition.
The showdown of abilities.
The stage on which to show what you're made of.
I can only assume that a girl on the opposite team had considered that very stage when she yelled,....no, shrieked from the sidelines in disgust, "Aw, C'MON already, kick it like you mean it!"
Her fighting spirit totally caused me to laugh out loud.

Finally, after our team ~~took a major beating~~ played their hearts out, Reece came running over to me, filled with the kind of energy and excitement that could have come in handy a half hour earlier on the field. But alas, sometimes energy is conserved for what truly matters in the larger game of life. Like this;

"MOM! Guess what? Um,...um,...we're getting a snack and it involves scissors."

And off he ran, giddy and undeterred by the lost game, and obviously delighted in the sugar-high possibilities that require the use of scissors.
Like I said, what truly matters in the larger game of life.

"Be joyful always"1 Thessalonians 5:16

Toni

Because serious things matter!

2010-05-17T21:37:00.021-05:00

...................... (Reece, far right)...........................

At this point, it may come as no surprise to you that Reece is the child who most gives me blog fodder. And it would appear that he continues to grow one particular fodder category, that of communion time at church. So here we go again, a recap of our latest adventure as it relates to this past Sunday's church service and communion.

It started when one of our elders asked a couple to assist him in serving communion.
Now I need to note that the man who came forward to assist was a broad shouldered and slightly taller man in stature.
As a point of reference, I also need to note that Reece has been (at best) in the third percentile on the growth charts.
'Nuff said.
So, as the couple took their place on either side of the elder, I recognized the tell-tale signs. Reece's wheels were turning. And that usually means he has something to say (which he cannot hold back any more than you could hold a sneeze). A tinge of anxiety awakened inside me, as I never know just what Reece might decide to say.
Or do.

With great drama, he let it out.
"Oh my, Mommy. That man's definitely going to have to bend down or I won't be able to reach the bread."
Here we go, entering Reece's world. What next?

Next, he attepted to dictate the official line-up.
No, standing up and simply filing into the line would not suffice, according to him.
Rather, he was determined to be the tail end for the four people in our family who do receive communion. I knew this would definitely not be a good position for Reece, as we've had waaaay too many communion "situations" to confidently allow him to bring up the tail end.
I explained it in very basic terms.
Kind of vague.
Like this.

"Get in front!"

Oh, that didn't sit well with Reece, ut uh. Because not unlike Rain Man, his world simply must play out the way he perceives it should.

~~Quietly shouting~~ Loudly whispering, he insisted, "No! I saaaaaid...I will be last, which is in back!"
(As if I didn't know. Sheesh And let me just remind you that this lil' battle of wills is taking place in a communion line. In church. In a quiet moment. Get the picture?)

Again, I insisted Reece take his place in front of me, "so you can be the man of the family and lead the way."
Well,...that was the magic phrase that changed his tune. Apparently, he hadn't considered the sense of empowerment that comes with leadership.
He liked it.
And away he went.
(Motherly sigh of relief.)

Rats, then again.........
"Hey, Mom!"
"Shhh!"
"Wait, I have to tell you something."
"Not now. Turn around. Keep walking."
"But I have to tell you..."
Realizing I didn't stand a chance of quieting him without making a scene in front of the whole church body, I leaned over to his ear.
"Make it quick. What?"
"Um,...Um..." (he always does that "um" thing)
"Um..." (raises his eyebrows and his finger to suggest an "Ah ha!" lightbulb moment)
"Four people in our family have trusted in Jesus."
"I know, honey, I know," pushing him gently to keep him moving."
Resisting my push, he continued, "Me, you, Daddy and Sissy. All trusting Jesus."
"Uh huh. Shhh!" (Push)
"But not Brandon and Cierah."
Oh for Pete's sake. More firmly, "Reece! We'll talk later. Keep moving and be quiet."

Shuffling along, he curiously looked into the crowd, smiling and waving at 3 year old Brandon, who could easily have decided to take that wave as an invitation to run down the aisle to return his big brother's greeting.
Thankfully, that didn't happen.
This time.

So we get our bread and grape juice and head back to our seats.
I wondered if a bead of sweat was now glistening on my forehead.
Settled back in to our row without Reece spilling grape juice.
Good. It's all good. And then....

"HAHAHAAHAHA! Look at Daddy."
Reece pointed purposefully at his dad, who had simply closed his eyes to focus on what Christ did for us.
"Reece, STOP."
(giggle, giggle.)
"But Daddy's sleeping and he's going to miss communion."
"He's not sleeping. Shhhhhhh!"

Reece reluctantly obeyed, shifting restlessly in his seat and searching my eyes for any sign of weakness. Remember, it's a battle of wills and someone has to win.

"Hey, Mom."
Frustrated with my obvious lack of effectiveness, I pleaded, "REECE! Please. Be. Q-U-I-E-T."
"But Mommy, I have to tell you something."
"Not nooOow, Reece. Quiet!"
"But MOM!"
Battle officially lost, I squirmed in my seat and sighed a deflated sigh."
"What, Reece? What is soooo important that it can't wait until service is over?"
"Um,...um...." (there's that dang "um" thing again.)
"Um....Hey, look at the bread. It's not brown this week. It's white. Is it as white as my skin?"
Context: Reece is of Irish descent and has typical Irish coloring; strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, and creamy, pale skin.
"Shhhh!"
"Is it, Mommy? Is this bread as white as me?"

What could I do? If I didn't agree, he would take it as an opportunity for debate which, like all of Reece's debates, wouldn't be able to wait.
So I simply said, "Yes, Reece. The bread is as white as you. Now, shhhhhhhhh!"
Because serious things matter.

And so, the communion saga with Reece continues. When will he grow out of it? I can't say. But I do know that life is always lively and animated when Reece is around. And for that (and so many other reasons), I'm really glad (and blessed) to be his mom.

Toni

I've seen the future and.....

2010-05-15T22:55:00.006-05:00

When Olivia was about 4 years old, she got her life plan in order. I know, I know. 4 year olds generally focus on shorter term goals, like riding a bike without training wheels, learning to jump rope, or consistent wins in Candyland. But not our Liv. She had made up her mind about the future. I'm thinking she was heavily influenced by the fact that we lived on 3½ acres in the country at the time. Farming fields behind our house and across the road from us as well. Combines a common site. So, farming it was. She proudly announced she was going to be a farmer.
"That's wonderful, honey. So, what kind of farming do you intend to do, corn and soybeans?"
"Ut uh."
"Oh, okay then. Dairy farmer?"
"No. I don't like cows."
Stumped, I curiously asked, "So what farming are you going to do?"
"I'm gonna be a Tic Tac farmer."

To this day I can't eat a Tic Tac without smiling. I do think there's a bit of serious commitment to her dream though, because Liv's latest obsession (she has many) is with the idea that she (and just imagine the strength it took to keep a straight face when she announced this) is "going to be Amish" when she grows up. She wants me to print Amish coloring pages.
Digs out Just Like Mama , an Amish story by Beverly Lewis, and dissects the words and illustrations.
Agonizes over whether she'll join an order that only wears black "because I prefer to be a more colorful Amish woman." Oy vey!

So imagine my intrigue when Reece, age 8, told me the other day that he too had decided on farming (we no longer live in the country and there are no farmers in this family, so I have no idea where his inspiration came from.)
I began.
"Farming?
Reeeally?
Well since you love cows, I'm sure you'll be a dairy farmer, right?"
He giggled as if my cow suggestion was the silliest thing he'd ever heard, then added, "NooOOoo, Mom. I'm not gonna have cows. I'm gonna be a marble farmer."

But of course.
Why didn't I think of that?

Hey, at least they're not highly flooded markets or weather dependent crops, Tic Tacs and marbles. My kids know how to enter an untapped market, I tell you.
Oh c'mon! You know you wish your kids had such brilliant vision.

Toni

LOST

2010-05-12T23:47:00.004-05:00

I've developed a bit of a nervous tic whenever we walk through a wooded area. It seems I'm compelled to feverishly scan the forest floor for evidence of unwanted invasion, rushing in to save the natives before they are deprived of their very lives. A bit dramatic? Okay. But I'm afraid it's the natural fallout of a lil' project that I committed our family to and now I just can't help myself.

It's like this. Last week, we spent the first part of our Saturday in a prehistoric woods, clearing an invasive plant called garlic mustard. We were told that this plant is not consumed by animals and crowds out the desirable plants that are consumed. In other words, it wreaks havoc on the ecosystem when it is left to produce more and more plants.

Now I'd like to tell you we completed this community service out the goodness of our own hearts. Sadly, uh,...no. No, we did not. We completed this little weed pulling mission to earn free tickets to Disney for our single income family of six. Not a bad deal, really. 4 hours of weed plucking for a day with Mickey Mouse.

It had rained the night before, so the forest floor was wet. And we were afraid of picking up unwanted guests like ticks and spiders, so we sprayed our clothing with Deep Woods Off. I have to tell you though, when our coordinator told us to spread out in a side-to-side line, I stood there on the cleared path with a panicked look. I don't know how I envisioned picking invasive weeds from a forest, but I guess it didn't include stepping a single foot off the main path.

"But,...there's stuff in there."

Stuff? Dh wanted to know what "stuff" I was referring to. Oh, you know, the usual. Snakes, spiders, ticks, slugs, poison ivy.

Dear me, I had completely forgotten about the poison ivy. "Kids. KIDS!!! Watch what yer grabbin'. Leaves of three, let it be. Don't touch the foliage and then touch your face unless you want it to look like you have a skin disease. No, I do NOT know how you'll scratch if you itch, but just don't touch your face."

By now, most of the team was staring at me and clearly sizing up my state of panic.
"What, you're not afraid of getting poison ivy or picking up who knows what in the brush?"

Just then a rabbit hopped and rustled the ground cover nearby.
"AAAAAAHHHHH!!!! Oh, sorry. Just a rabbit."

Humiliated, I lowered my head, busied myself by snapping open my garbage bag, and pretended to look for garlic mustard. As we all walked along, our family and two others got somewhat separated from the rest of the team. I insisted we make our way back to what I considered safety in numbers, where a patch of garlic mustard had finally been identified. As we picked, I tried not to think about the ickiness all around me. My kids fell over logs and I cringed. Someone stepped on a branch and I got a sudden case of the twitches. I felt like the trees were closing in on me (remember how they did that to MacBeth???) Wondering why the heck I had gotten us into this situation, I reasoned that the forest could swallow a naive family up, never to be seen again.

Oh, shoot!
The other families, the ones who got separated with us.
Where were they?
Goodness, it's true.
The forest can swallow a family. Even two. And it did.
This beast of a forest did just that.
They were nowhere to be found. PANIC MODE!
"Oh team leadin' coordinator guy, I think you should know that two of your volunteer families are nowhere to be found. They were over there, waaaaaay over there. And now (gulp!), they're just not." Some guide he was, not even watching to be sure the group stayed together. Hmmmf!

I searched his eyes as if to say, "They were your responsibility. Just what do you have to say for yourself?" His response? "I'll check the parking lot when we get back, to see if everyone made it out okay."

I knew it. Disney partnered with some shady, "enter at your own risk and fly by the seat of your own pants" weed pluckin' society and only after we signed something like, oh say, a right to life waiver, were the words "IF everyone made it out okay" spoken. Hey, no guarentees. Pick weeds and hope you don't get poison ivy. Hope you don't get bitten by an angry snake. Hope you don't get lost because, hey, we're a weed pluckin' team, not a search party."
Swell!

Never did see the two other families again. Hope they fare better in the park at Disney than they did in the ground cover of the local historic woods? One can only hope.

On a lighter note, Reece (age 8) told me the other day, "Mom, your legs remind me of Arizona."
Me, puzzled, "Arizona? Why would you say that?"
"Because they remind me of those cactus plants."
Okay, clearly it's time for a new razor.

Toni

Easter recap

2010-04-04T19:41:00.016-05:00

Wow, what an absolutely beautiful Easter Sunday it has been. The weather was gorgeous. Our church service was beautiful. And we spent the day together as a family. He is risen indeed.

But that's not to say everything was 100% perfect. For starters, my 8yo son has yet to learn that he is not to manhandle the communion bread. Today he took a big piece (bigger than usual, which is already much bigger than others take.)

But he was really proud of his piece today because, "I finally pulled it off with only two fingers." What he failed to acknowledge was that he also stuck his other grubby paw on the bread as well, thus ensuring the two fingers of his opposite hand met with loaf pinching success.
Sigh.

Then there was the fact that my 3yo, who insisted on being held in my arms during the lengthy music worship, entertained himself in one of two charming ways: hitting "the girls" repeatedly while announcing "bra" as his motto, or attempting to grab said bra by reaching down the front of my blouse.
Just swell.
And wouldn't you know it, this embarrasing exchange took place on the day when Carl had invited a first time guest to join us for service (thankfully, I was spared mortification since he sat three people away and on the other side of Carl.)

We also logged our usual walking miles at a local park this evening. We figured it would be packed due to the great weather and spring holiday. Nope. Not sure where everyone holed up but it wasn't there, which was a bit of a disappointment because it meant Carl and I didn't get to sing, Footloose and I'm Alright .
Yeah, we like to do that every time we run into a guy who also frequents the walking path, who looks strikingly like Kenny Loggins.
And no, we do not sing those songs within earshot as he passes by.
As if.
Believe it or not, we do have some tact, you know.
We sing Danger Zone to him instead.

When we got back to the parking lot, a few young muscleheads received a bit of an ego bruising from one observant 3 year old. Brandon, who was busy attempting to ride his big sister's scooter through the parking lot, noticed the guys' Pontiac Solstice parked next to our van.

He stared at it with an expression that told me he was clearly in deep thought.
Then, "Hey mom. Is dat dare car?"
"Yes, honey. That is their car."
Brandon immediately broke out in a robust toddler giggle, announcing, "It looks like a Bar-bie carrrrr!"

And an "H" family day wouldn't be complete without at least a few Bunkerisms from Olivia. Like, "I need a varity of plants to feed my bugs, mom." Or, "I'll be sure to take my concrete jewelry off when we get home from church."
Good thing. Wouldn't want her stretching out her earlobes at such a young age and all.

Happy Easter!

Toni

The "ticking" of times together.

2010-04-02T21:37:00.015-05:00

I love the 80's.
Okay yes, those 80's too.
But I'm talking about 80 degree temperatures.
And that's what we were blessed with here in IN today. Ahhhh, mighty nice. We took advantage of the beautiful day and decided to begin our pre-season hikes to get the kids ready for the longer and more vigorous hikes our family takes all summer long. The perfect training ground is a remote park called McCloud Nature Park. The unpaved trails and uneven ground surface are perfect for working little legs out. Add the "new" truss bridge project was recently completed to the other side of the river. This meant a brand new area of the park for us to explore since our last visit to McCloud. 110 new acres to be exact ("Deep in the hundred acre wood where Christopher Robin played...") A backpack of bottled water and one very excited dog later, we were on our way.

We decided to hike along the river first, stopping to let the dog go for a much coveted swim. What a wild man he was. No matter how many times we threw the dang stick in the water, he ~~demanded~~ begged for one more. Such the alpha male. This naturally meant that we got our share of river water too. Ever see that scene in Beethoven where the St. Bernard shakes off mud and water all over the bed? Yeah, well! Think of our dog as Beethoven and think of us as "the bed." Mud and water everywhere. Please feel free to remind me that all little boys need to grow up with a dog (grrr!)

In the world of Alpha dogs though, we were quickly losing control of our "pack". Reece found a plastic shovel in the sand along the river and quickly decided he was sunning and funning at Myrtle Beach. Cierah was busy in her own world of Sanibel, what with the shell collection she believed she would be hauling home. Brandon was busy trying to launch sand like a baseball, no matter how many times we instructed him to "Put that sand down this very second!"

And Olivia,....Olivia?

"Where the heck is Olivia?"

Well isn't that special.
Olivia, unbeknownst to us, had packed a handy sketch pad and pencil in her backpack, and had wandered downstream (while we were distracted with alpah wildman) to sit down on a log and sketch "stuff"; "stuff" being turtles, frogs, and snails. Our budding naturalist LOVES to immerse herself in living things. Why, just a few days ago, she burst through the front door and flew into the kitchen exclaiming, "Mom! I always wanted to breed insects and I think my slug laid eggs in the bug habitat I built for her. 4 eggs. Do slugs lay eggs? The dad is a good dad too. He's right there. No sign of the female though."

We. Could. Not. Be. More. Polar. Opposites.....where bugs are concerned. Ewwww!

So, we calmly advise her that meandering off to sketch a slime trail or two is not okay unless we know where you are. Corraled the troops and away we went again, this time to the bridge that lead to the hundred acre woods (and fields). Ever notice there's just no quick way to cross a bridge? It's like a routine traffic stop on a major highway. Everyone knows the police officer is likely just writing a run-of-the-mill speeding ticket. Yet,....traffic slows to a crawl as curious drivers gawk.
There's just no driving by without taking a look-see to be sure you're not missing something.

And so it is with bridges. You can't just cross. It's wired into our design that we MUST stop to see what we're missing down below. For Reece, it's the opportunity to throw stones into the water. For Brandon, it's the chance to do whatever his big brother does. For our girls, it's the chance to toss wildflowers or leaves down to the water's surface. For Carl, the chance to fish, always to fish, if only with his eyes. For the dog, it's a chance to consider actually jumping off, unaware of the danger of doing so, smart enough to obey our "stay" command and yet passionate enough to want to be in the waters below in spite of the dangerous leap considered. And for me.....for me, it's the satisfaction that comes from that desperate place in a mother's heart. That place where you frequently find yourself wishing you could freeze time and keep them close forever. And for that brief moment on the bridge, time DOES freeze and you ARE close, having left the bank on one side but not yet ready to move forward toward the other. I guess that's one of the hidden blessings of suspension, that time too is momentarily suspended on the bridge, yes? Oh, the ticking of precious time spent together.

So we finally made our way across the bridge and began the uphill climb toward the scenic overlooks of the river and the open fields beyond. And that's when a most unwanted scenario came to our attention.

TICKS!

Don't get me started. Yes. Y-E-S, we know about the dangers of ticks. That's why we stay on marked paths, keep our bodies protected, and frequently check for the presence of any unwanted freeloaders. Sure enough though, on inspection we found a tick crawling on Reece. Thankfully it had not bitten him, but.....I nearly passed out at the sight of it (what with being hysterically afraid of bugs and all.) Not a few minutes later, a tick on Carl's shirt. One tick had me itching and spot checking like all get out. But TWO?
Ewwwwwww! Heebie jeebies in duh house.

We were all concerned at that point, especially as we were unsure of how we managed to attact two very unwanted ticks. But it was too late to turn back. We were far enough along that we simply had to finish our hike. And it wasn't quite so enjoyable at this point. Brandon was all, "My weggs huwt, cawwy me!" Reece was all, "Haha, daddy. You had a tick on you too." And I was all, "We're going to get Lyme disease and I'm going to dream of ticks all over me," as I fought the psychosomatic symptoms of total tick infestation all over my body. Cierah, being our "blonde" daughter, was bouncing along, clueless. I can't be certain, but I think I heard her joyfully breaking out in song, "The hills are alive...with the sound of music." And Olivia took great pride in annoucing her tick-free status every 20 steps (which naturally only fed my tick-induced neurosis.)

Can I just interject something here and say..........
This is not how the first day of shorts-wearing hiking weather in the midwest is supposed to go. Not, not, N-O-T!!! Now, why don't I feel any better for having unloaded that? Sigh.

So we made our way back to the van, completing our b'zillionth tick check of the afternoon before allowing everyone to enter the van and take their seats.
No ticks noted.
Carl began the 30 minute drive home.
10 minutes into the drive, from the third row....
The SCREAM that was heard around the world.
Argh! Arghhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Brandon, clearly scared cleeean out of his britches, began to cry.
Olivia was freaking out as only I can, desperately trying to release her seatbelt as she said with great panic, "Spider!!!"

Wellll! That's all it took for this Arachnophobic mom. I ~~ordered~~ ~~demanded~~ asked Carl to pull the van over "NOW!" I jumped out of the van as Olivia practically flew out herself, me attempting to brush her off like a madwoman as she exited.
Spider check.
All clear.
Van check.
All clear......wait.
From the driver's seat, "Toni, it's on you now."
Freakin' Mike and Jake, what is on me? I was screaming like a banschee about to be boiled.
Screaming AND dancing.
On the side of the road.
Where passersby could get an eyeful, kinda like that routine traffic stop I mentioned a few minutes ago.
Nothing like being the roadside freakshow, I tell ya.
Free of charge.
Oh sure, take a gander 'cause I'm still screaming inside as I type this.

Turns out it wasn't a spider at all. NooOOoo! ANOTHER tick. People, Carl and I practially lived in the woods with our Lab back home in Ohio (chocolate Lab, that is, just in case you were picturing the wrong kind of lab). And I don't mean we just hiked on the main trails like we stayed with today. Off trail and into the woods, fields, etc. Never a tick noted. Not a one. And now we found ourselves dealing with THREE in a single day. Our first hike of the year, no less.
NOT how I'd envisioned our beautiful day together.

To put the icing on the proverbial bug cake, Carl stopped at Kroger to pick up a snack for the kids. We had checked the dog together before we all got into the van after our hike. No ticks noted. He suggested I attempt to search his fur coat again while he was in the store "just to be safe." I'm sure I don't have to tell you this is not a job I feel qualified to do, what with my light-headed aversion to bugs and all. But I also didn't want a tick, if present, to transfer from the dog to our van floor, then lie in wait to crawl up the leg of some unknowing victim (namely moi)for a disease-transferring bloodfeast either.

What to do? What to do?

I decided I just had to check the dog "just in case." As I searched under his right front paw, I felt a small nodule. It didn't freak me out, as I figued it was just dry skin and couldn't possibly be another tick. Better remove it "just in case."
And that's when the second scream that could be heard around the world was issued (locals, I apologize if you dropped your Kroger easter eggs because of me.)
Sure enough, it was another tick. I was sooooo willied out, it felt like my entire skin was crawling. As Steve Corwin once said to his cameraman when frightened by a pack of charging elephants, "What you do in your own pants is your own business."

Heebie jeebies round four!

"Leave your shoes outside."
"Strip to your undergarments and dump your clothes in the wash machine immediately."
"Stand on the tile floor while I brush your hair and check your scalp."
"Let me see your pits."
"Check your underwear. NOW! No, I am NOT kidding."
"Fold those ears over so I can see behind them."

These were the commands of a desperate and crazed mother, induced by her irrational fear of all bugs (but especially blood-sucking disease-spreading bugs such as ticks.) I still can't believe it happened. We were not wandering through the brush. And we've NEVER experienced this problem, even though we're avid hikers and are aware of the possibility of encountering ticks while hiking.

Oviously, I do not wish for a repeat of this particular "adventure" anytime soon. It is likely we were dealing with dog ticks, which unfortunately can be carriers of Rocky Mountain spotted fever. Unsettling (to say the least), even though we're confident we weren't bitten. But I probably don't have to tell you we'll be sticking to paved trails until the end of the initial tick season (yep, there is a fall season as well, sigh.)

At least we got to end the day with a good laugh. When we got home, the kids noticed their Dad's senior picture on a pile of photos I'm organizing for scrapbooking. Olivia quickly commented that it didn't look like her dad. I defended his honor, arguing back and forth with her that yes, it does look like him. She adamently stood her ground, insisting matter-of-factly, "Nope. Doesn't. Daddy does not look like that guy."
In one final attempt at defending him, I boldly stated, "Oh sure it does, honey. Just take away some of the hair and add a well-earned wrinkle or two. It's still your handsome daddy with the amazing blue eyes."
Her response? "No, mom. It doesn't. That guy has a round head and my dad's head is shaped like a pickle."

What can I say? I guess I've always had a thing for blue-eyed Larry Boys.

Toni

Cruise news

2010-02-21T13:37:00.012-05:00

A belated report on our recent cruise of the western Caribbean, taken the second week in February. Sorry for the absence. I believe the long winter froze my motivation. ;)

Goodness, there were so many things that, according to Newton's Law, should have thrown a wrench into our cruise vacation plans. Thankfully, Newton's Law is often in direct conflict with the prevailing will of God. In other words, nothing really went wrong at all. But that doesn't mean I came away empty handed. There's a story in there somewhere. Lesee..........

As you might know, I suffered a very serious migraine attack just days before we were to begin the steps to our vacation. If you've never had a serious one, let me just paint it this way. Someone sneaks up, hits you in the back of your head with a plastic ball bat. It stings. You know you've been hit and have the sting to prove it. While you're trying to get your bearings, they trade out the plastic bat for a sledgehammer and, BAMM!, they strike again. I'm totally serious. A migraine headache doesn't feel like a headache at all. In fact, it feels like a head injury. I was nauseated and wretching. The back of my head felt like the skull had parted and I could not lay down in bed at all. The softness of the pillows felt like a vise pressing down on my skull bones. It was that bad. I went to the ER in desperation. And they provided relief after IV meds and fluids. But before the sun rose the next morning, I was in pain again. For days. Prescribed Darvocet made me wretch all over again with overwhelming nausea. Can you imagine what that does to a sledehammered head? OUCH!!!
A visit to my family doc and a migraine prescription finally brought much needed relief. I hope you are not one who suffers from this excruciating ailment at any time.

And now, the highlights (and near mishaps) of our vacation.
FRIDAY:
The day of the major snowstorm warnings for the entire midwest. Carl got off work at 1:00pm. We left as soon as he got home, as we had a 6 hour drive to Ohio to leave our kids with my parents. It took NINE hours and we counted 42 cars in the ditches, plus one semi-truck jack-knifed on 71S just above Columbus, OH. It blocked all lanes of southbound traffic heading into Columbus. Oh my! Thank goodness we were northbound.
We went to bed around 11pm at my parents', then had to get up at 2:15am to get ourselves on the standby list for our morning flights (check-in time is one way to gain priority for seats when airline employees fly standby.) Naturally, our airline's employee portal was down online, so I had to sit there for fifteen minutes in the middle of the night waiting for the site to come back up. Sigh.

SATURDAY:
We got up at 4:15am (yes, we had just been up at 2:15am) to find a good 5" of snow or more. I was SO afraid we'd get stuck, especially when my dad backed out of the driveway and we heard the deep "crunch" under the wheels. We were in my mom's Tracker and thankfully the four-wheel drive prevailed. It was a tedious drive to the airport. I worried about my dad driving back home, a 17 mile drive, alone. He made it back safely though. Phew! All still well.

We had intended to connect through LaGuardia, as there were the most open seats for standbys there. However, with Philly expecting a FOOT of snow and all (Oy vey!)....good thing we went to Dallas. In fact, LaGuardia closed down (another disaster averted). We knew we'd likely get bumped off a few flights in Dallas, but barring a cancelled Dallas-Miami flight, we figured we'd eventually get out of Dallas and on to Miami. It took three tries, but we finally found ourselves on a flight bound for Miami (and had business class seats too. They fully recline, you have your own screen for viewing movies or playing games, and you're provided a full sized pillow and down comforter. Yeah, it was GOOD!)

We usually make a trip over to Bayside Mall in Miami. It's a funky, artsy outdoor mall with lots of eateries and boutique shopping. Unfortunately, we arrived in Miami too late to do that, so we ate at the airport and then headed over to our hotel. There had been some confusion over our reservation after we booked it (as in the hotel confirmed it, then later couldn't find it). We didn't want a room mishap because there were no rooms (zero, zilch) in all of Miami due to it being Superbowl weekend (yes, we're VERY lucky we got on any flights given that fact.) Thankfully, all was well. We received our room key and a welcome bag filled with snacks, bottled water and coupons. A nice touch from an old, refurbished hotel.

SUNDAY:
Got up early and took a walk outside our hotel. It was just down the street from where we stayed last year, but we didn't realize then that it backed up to a nice neighborhood. We enjoyed our sunny morning walk through the neighborhood, then headed back to the hotel to wait for our ride to the ship. We didn't have to wait long, and by 10:30am, we were on our way. We were one of the first 10 passengers or so on board. Our room wasn't ready, but who cares when you have a ginormous ship to explore? We enjoy looking at the millionaire homes alongside port of Miami, so we spent time doing that, eating lunch, and watching other passengers board before we set sail at 4pm. Woohoo!
MONDAY:
A day at sea. We worked out in the gym, walked almost 3 miles on deck, and enjoyed a beautiful, sunny day out by the pool. There are so many activities to enjoy that I won't list them here, but suffice it to say we had plenty to do (or not) to help us relax as we pleased.

Tuesday:
Today we were on the island of Grand Cayman.

We decided to take a Jeep 4x4 island tour. Whoa, was it ever F-U-N!

Carl was our driver, which suggests we had passengers. Another couple from our ship. Very nice, from Chicago, very TALL. I mention this only because of "the incident." Let me back up though and say that our day began with a trip to a local hotel where we had full use of their facilities; a private spot on Grand Cayman's 7-Mile Beach, lounge chairs, a free drink, restrooms, and free use of their snorkeling equipment.

We enjoyed about 2 hours on the beach before we bussed to pick up our jeeps for island touring. The guides took us to a BEAUTIFUL spot called Morgan's Harbor. It was a rustic, untouched area of coastline. In the photo, you'll see the waves breaking as a solid white line out from shore. That is actually the reef that surrounds 75% of Grand Cayman. From the shore to that point, the water only deepens to 15 feet. Beyond the reef? A FOUR MILE drop in places (I won't tell you how terrifying that is to me.)

The incident. Okay, so. We were heading back through the semi-jungle terrain of Barker national park. As we drove off of the sands of the beach onto the dirt road out, our guide yelled to Carl, "Give it the ol' Caribbean spin!" (think thick Jamaican accent there.) So Carl does what any "big boy with a toy" would do. He floored it. A 180º sand tosser and we quickly got up to about 45mph when he suddenly noted the HUGE potholes in the dirt road.

It was too late to safely avoid them, as we were already into the "put the shocks to the test" phase of hitting the potholes. If he had forced the breaks, we might well have flipped the vehicle. So there was nothing to do but release his foot from the gas and bump and bounce along until the jeep slowed down. And THAT is when it happened.

As we hit several large potholes, a loud "K-bang, k-bang" was heard in the back seats. I assumed it was seat belt buckles, but oh. no. it. was. not. Before I could safely spin around in my seat to see what had happened,.....BAMM! I myself was in the backseat.
Not just me.
All of me.
As in seat and all.
And I landed in the lap of a six foot tall stranger of a man behind me.
"Why, hellooOo there." To my great relief, he was laughing hysterically (and frankly, I thought it might be a sign of head trauma). It seems my jeep seat didn't lock into place well, as I ended up in said stranger's lap TWO MORE times before it was all said and done.

We spent time at the Rum factory (nothin' like giving a bunch of cruisers the keys to your jeeps, then heading on over to the rum factory and offering them free samples of about 15 different rums and rum cakes, eh?)

We also went to Hell.

No, not that Hell.
Hell, Grand Cayman.
It got its name from the unusual rock formation behind the post office (yes, you can send postcards from Hell. Who knew?)

Wednesday:
We arrived on the island of Cozumel. Because we've been there several times already, we opted to take a 45 minute ferry ride to the mainland to visit the Mayan ruins at Tulum, a 45 minute bus ride away.

The tour operators were wonderful and provided us with a thorough historical overview before arriving. The grounds were absolutely beautiful and the beach behind them? To die for. It was soooo lovely.

Not as lovely as Crane Beach on the island of Barbados, but still breathtaking. What wasn't so lovely, and in fact was downright frightening was the ferry ride over and back. The water was rough enough to make us somewhat seasick on the ride over to the mainland. Imagine our dismay when we got back from the ruins, only to discover the sea had become even more choppy. I was seriously concerned for our safety heading back to the ship. Hubby wasn't, but he tends to happily roll with the ~~waves~~ punches so you can't go by him.

Thursday:
Another day at sea as we made our way back to Miami. On this day, we saw the best performance we've ever taken in on a ship. It was a dance group from the Jean Ann Ryan Company. This production company turns out Broadway and Vegas quality shows and let me tell you, they were extremely talented and polished. They performed two nights and both were equally fabulous. However, on Thursday night, Hubs told me to look above my head during the show. What did I see? You'll have to go HERE, then click on the picture image to experience it. We sat right up front and I still can't believe that caliber of a performance was included in my cruising cost. Amazing!

Friday:
We got up very early, ate breakfast on the ship, then waited for the announcement that we could deboard. It came early enough that we wanted to try to make a mad dash for the airport to try to catch the first flight out. Otherwise, we anticipated a long day of full flights. Thankfully, we did get there in time to make the flight to Chicago and connected back into Cleveland with no trouble.

THE END (Well, until next year, that is. Getting this down, Sniz and Big Doofus?) ;)

Toni

Just a note to say...

2010-02-03T10:46:00.003-05:00

I don't usually jot down "just a quick note" but decided I would just this once, so you'll know where I've been and where I'm at.

Where I've been:
In a dark bedroom for 6 days, sitting upright in a chair and praying for healing. I had a most awful migraine that was relentless. A trip to the ER, IV meds and fluids, weekend calls to the doc for more meds (which made me sicker), a Monday visit to my family doc for an injection and even MORE meds and finally (FINALLY!), relief is coming now. So that's where I've been.

Where I'm going:
To the Caribbean to rest and recoup. It won't be the same without our dear, dear friends, SNIZ and BIG DOOFUS (they were with us last year and we all had thee BEST time together.) But It will be fun and it is sooo needed at the moment. I'll give a glimpse of it when we get back.

Oh, and one more thing.
I just wanted to say hello to several new friends who popped in very recently here on my blog. How nice to "see" some new names and I'll be sure to stop to visit you when we get back. And I want to say thank you too to faithful readers who have regularly come out of the shadows to comment and to let me know you're there. I really enjoy writing, first for myself as a creative outlet. It's something I've always needed to do, probably since around the fourth grade (courtesy of my phys. ed teacher who also happened to be a published author and encouraged my attempts with the pen and page.)

But I do write for my readers as well, in the hopes that God will somehow use my spin on the seemingly mundane moments of everyday life to remind both you and me that there really is a glass half full in the midst of whatever season we're in. To me (in my limited understanding of how life works) it would be terribly sad to have passed through the limited number of seasons we're each given to experience while on this earth, and to NOT have recognized the blessings hidden among the burdens. And sometimes,...sometimes those blessings are disguised as the average moments of average days. 'Nuff said.

See y'all soon! :)

Toni

Time travel

2010-01-20T00:06:00.012-05:00

I absolutely love calla lillies. Every time I see one, I'm immediately transported back in time to the absolute best of times, my early childhood and days spent with my grandparents back in Pennsylvania. My mom grew up in a tiny "patch" town which sprung up in the first decade of the 20th century in response to the coal mining industry there. I would venture to say that maybe 300 people lived in her town? And that figure might well be generous.

My grandparents had little in the way of material comforts. But they had what really mattered; a roof over their heads, enough food on the table, and deep, abiding faith that carried them through the very darkest of days, even the loss of their daughter, Toni, after she gave birth to their first grandchild.
Yet, I, as a child, wouldn't have known they had little. Because in my little girl eyes, they held the keys to the kingdom and I was always excited to head for their "castle" on the hill (yes, their little town flourished on the side of a lone hill.)

There were only 2 bedrooms in Gram and Pap's house (three if you count the storage room that was perhaps 6'x10' at best, and was once used as a bedroom.) Including myself, there were four of us kids, and we absolutely loved to pile into the down feather beds, two to a bed, to fall asleep to the sounds of barking dogs in the distance and the smell of coal in the air. That bedroom, to me, was special. It sat at the end of a short but curved hallway with a single sconce light on the wall. And I thought my Gram and Pap were rich because really, who has curved halls?

Mornings were always the same. I awakened to the smell of fresh coffee, visible in the glass top of Gram's perculator. And she sometimes gave me a plastic teacup filled with just a bit of coffee and a barrel of cream. I might have been 5 or 6 years old and definitely not fond of the taste of coffee, but that mattered none. At Gram's house, it was ritual and I was not about to miss out.

Her kitchen seemed large to me as a child. In retrospect, I realize it was really very small. I still remember the pattern on the linoleum. And the lovely glass knob on the basement door. The canned sardines in the pantry. And Pap's oak desk in the corner. Oh, and the warmth of the stove. But most of all, I remember the view from the kitchen window. It directed one's eyes further up the hillside, to the cemetery that sat near the very top. The cemetery where my Aunt Toni was laid to rest. Gram used to do the dishes there, and occasionally I would see her gazing up that hill. While I can't be certain, I do believe that she might have been with my Aunt Toni, if only in thought, in those moments.
Time travel? Hmmm...
I sometimes wonder if the view from that place in Gram's window brought both pain and peace.

We loved to sit on the high front porch on summer nights after our baths, Pap listening to his transister radio, mosquito coils giving off their famliar smell, as the glow of the imposing street lights cast a radiance on our time spent together. Bowls of icecream in our laps, we sang songs, chatted, and attempted to hang on to whatever time we had left to our day before the final bedtime call was issued. Then off we'd go, down the enchanted curved hall to our feather down slumberland for the night.

And that's when I'd always take note of it.

The oval framed photo hanging just through the entry way that lead to the curved hall. The antique frame, with it's beveled glass and youthful subjects. It was a photo of my grandparents on their wedding day long ago. My grandfather looked tall (he wasn't) and proud (he sure was). And my grandmother? The most beautiful bride I had ever laid my youthful eyes on.

And those flowers.

Those magnificant, soft and wonderfully curved flowers.
I didn't know what they were then.
I only knew that they captivated me every time I took notice of them.

I'm not sure I ever ventured through that arched entrance toward the back rooms of Gram's house without taking notice of the wedding photo and the magical beauty of the calla lilies my grandmother held in her bouquet.

So, many years later, when I became a bride, I carried calla lillies in my wedding too. They were, are, and always will be a symbolic connection to that brief and precious time in my life called childhood. I love that they transport me back to a place of incredible love, safety, and peace.

Time travel.

Perhaps not unlike that kitchen window and the faraway place I sometimes noticed in my grandmother's eyes when she stood there staring up the hill?

Only she knows the answer to that.

And I fully intend to ask her someday, when I am blessed to see her again.

Love and miss you always, Gram and Pap.
Wish I could tell you that in person on any given day.

Toni

Sketchy Santa: lesson learned

2010-01-13T22:24:00.011-05:00

It all started just before Christmas. Expectations shattered, that is. We had taken the kids to get pictures with our local Santa who, by the way, speaks with a serious southern drawl and looks,...hmmm, not sure,...like he's either very tired or somewhat tipsy (if you need ~~a good laugh~~ clarification, just go HERE and I'm sure you'll come away with a better understanding of our own sketchy Santa.)

So we waited in line for over 30 minutes for our chance at slapping down $15 for a single 5x7 photo (sheesh, apparently Santa's working the poor enconomy as well), and finally it was our turn. The kids briefed Santa on their wants of the moment (which were changing just about hourly at that point in the season). Santa then directed them to choose a candy cane from the box next to him. Brandon, age 3, had a puzzled look on his face.

"Go on, baby. Choose a candy cane."
(heard behind me: "Hey Santa, can I have two?" Heard from my own voicebox: "Hey Reece, don't ask Santa for more than you're supposed to get." Santa accomodated Reece's request, no doubt to move my pack along.)

Next thing I know, Brandon is taking a candy cane while pouting and clearly holding back tears.

As we walked outside into the artic-like winter winds, he began to cry.
"Baby, what's the matter? Didn't you like Santa?"
"Yes." (pout, sniffle)
"Don't you like candy canes? Santa even let you take two."
"Yes." (pout, sniffle)
"Then,...why are you crying?"
"Santa din't gib me a heweecoptoo an' a aiw-pwane."

Ahhhh, I get it now.
Brandon had seen Santa (the "one and only" Santa as far as his 3 year old mind was concerned) when we visited our Children's Museum a few weeks earlier. He had told Santa of his wish to get an airplane and a helicopter.
So as far as Brandon was concerned, the "order" had been placed.
In his little mind, we were going to see Santa again for one reason and one reason only.
To pick up his gifts.
The photo op was merely a formality. Where were the gifts?
Sketchy Santa failed to deliver. Brandon was highly disappointed.
Carl had to get down to eye level and explain in 3 year old terms that NO, Santa did not forget what Brandon had asked for. And NO, Santa did not provide token candycanes in lieu of Brandon's wish list. It's just that Brandon was too small to see the bigger picture.

Brandon felt forgotten by Santa. Haven't you ever felt like that? Like God doesn't hear you, that He isn't answering your prayerful pleas? I am vividly reminded of Psalm 77, where the psalmist is clearly traveling through one of life's darkest valleys.
He is tired.
He is definitely frustrated.
He feels so very, very alone.
And he isn't holding back as he pours out his troubled heart to God.

He mentions a sense of abandonment in verse 2. He also seems to lash out at God in desperate frustration in verses 3 and 4, going so far as to say that remembering God makes him tearful and unable to rest. Honestly, haven't you ever felt like that? I know I have.

But I love that Psalm 77 doesn't end with a burdened soul who cannot cope. To me, it's a message from God of tremendous encouragement. He wants me to know that He has not forgotten me, nor foresaken me (Heb 13:5). And He demonstrates this in Psalm 77 through the response of the psalmist to God's seeming silence, beginning in verse 10.

How?

Simply by recalling all the times in his life (or in the past) when God was there, when His hand did become evident, when it became clear that He in fact heard and was answering prayer, perhaps even when the psalmist didn't realize He was at work (my thoughts there.)

And like Brandon, sometimes we also are just too small to see the big picture. But it doesn't mean that it isn't being painted or even already finished. God is already there, at the end of each struggle we face. He knows how it will all work out. He does hear us.

The next time you're struggling to feel Him in your circumstances, why not meditate on the great things He has done?
Recall how He revealed Himself to you in times past, and draw on the knowledge that He was there then and is still there now.
Always listening.
Always working.
Always ready to provide His feet as a place where your burdens can be laid down.

Remember that.

And don't hesitate to meditate on the words of Psalm 77 when life blows in around you with gale force.

I cried out to God for help;
I cried out to God to hear me.
2 When I was in distress, I sought the Lord;
at night I stretched out untiring hands
and my soul refused to be comforted.

3 I remembered you, O God, and I groaned;
I mused, and my spirit grew faint.
Selah

4 You kept my eyes from closing;
I was too troubled to speak.

5 I thought about the former days,
the years of long ago;

6 I remembered my songs in the night.
My heart mused and my spirit inquired:

7 "Will the Lord reject forever?
Will he never show his favor again?

8 Has his unfailing love vanished forever?
Has his promise failed for all time?

9 Has God forgotten to be merciful?
Has he in anger withheld his compassion?"
Selah

10 Then I thought, "To this I will appeal:
the years of the right hand of the Most High."

11 I will remember the deeds of the LORD;
yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.

12 I will meditate on all your works
and consider all your mighty deeds.

13 Your ways, O God, are holy.
What god is so great as our God?

14 You are the God who performs miracles;
you display your power among the peoples.

15 With your mighty arm you redeemed your people,
the descendants of Jacob and Joseph.
Selah

16 The waters saw you, O God,
the waters saw you and writhed;
the very depths were convulsed.

17 The clouds poured down water,
the skies resounded with thunder;
your arrows flashed back and forth.

18 Your thunder was heard in the whirlwind,
your lightning lit up the world;
the earth trembled and quaked.

19 Your path led through the sea,
your way through the mighty waters,
though your footprints were not seen.

20 You led your people like a flock
by the hand of Moses and Aaron.

Toni

Outsourced!

2010-01-03T00:00:00.008-05:00

Don't you just love it when you get a new toy?
Honestly, it's great when you can catapult yourself back in time to experience the excitement and wonder of Christmas morning like a kid again; when, on occasion, you receive a gift that, simply put, feels like a toy. That's just what happened to Hubs and I this year. We made the six hour trip to Ohio to visit my parents the week before Christmas and found ourselves on the receiving end of a brand new toy. My parents got us a GPS.

Now you have to know that we LOVE small town America. Can't get enough of it. We'll be driving along a country road, out in the middle of nowhere, and we'll see a sign that reads something like, "Chatham, 2 miles." The curiosity immediately takes over.

Chatham?
What's in Chatham?
How small is Chatham?
Do they have a downtown to speak of?
A traffic light, even?
How many people live in Chatham?
Is there a must-visit diner in Chatham?

Before you know it, we're turned around and headed to Chatham because we simply MUST know.
Ya know?
Yes, really. We love to get our fill of small town America.
So a GPS, combined with a six hour drive back to our home? Oh baby, come to Momma. ;)

And at first it was great fun. We laughed when she reprimanded us for turning the "wrong" way (reminds me of that line from Planes, Trains, and Automobiles: "You're going the wrong way," to which John Candy replies, "How would they know where we're going?") We also enjoyed using the various GPS features to check out local sights. And the gas station feature? A must (we nearly ran out on our way home last trip, at night, in the middle of nowhere and with no knowledge of the route we had decided on that day.)

It didn't take long, though, to realize that she was taking over.
SHE! With her, "Turn here" and "Make a left there."
SHE, with her clarity of voice and powerful presence, all up in my ~~face~~ dashboard and all.
SHE, staging a full coup. An all-and-out, "Take your lame collection of laminated maps and your backseat driver's permit and join another row 'cause you're not needed in the front row any longer," take-over.
SHE, in reality, had replaced me.

Suddenly, I was just another passenger on the manifest.
No longer the second in command.
No longer the eyes and ears of the captain.
No longer the lighthouse or ship's navigator.
No longer needed for anything involved with getting us home.
In effect,.....I was outsourced.

Come to find out you're apparently supposed to name your SHE. And so, after careful consideration, we narrowed it down and crowned her with a title truly worthy of one who waltzes in and takes away the job of another.

Her name?
Nellie the Scab.
Well what would you name someone who came in and stole your job away? Exactly!

Oh, the adventures we look forward to with our new "friend", Nellie.
But I'm telling you right now, she better bring her best game at all times.
Otherwise?
I might see fit to dim her lights and resurrect my map collection.
Not that I'm bitter about my, uh hem, displacement or anything.

Toni

Fetch! (the laugh's on me)

2009-12-09T23:38:00.017-05:00

Winter waltzed right in. I witnessed its unrelenting force wreak havoc as child's play. It loosened the shingles on a nearby neighbor's home so effectively that the next minute they danced a rippled rhythm, as a banner high on a pole. So naturally, I sent hubs out to knock on said neighbor's door.
"In this weather?"
"Honey! You would want someone to tell you if your roof was coming off, right?"
I smiled and waved dutifully as he spotted me watching from the sliding glass window, while he pressed against the gale forces to make his way to the neighbor's front door. And in fact, the poor guy didn't know. His storm door had already been unhinged and now the roof. I felt awful for him as we too have been hit with large, unexpected expenses for three Christmases now. But you know, my house is warm and cozy, my kids are ~~still bickering~~ happy and healthy, and we have what truly matters most, faith in Jesus Christ and one another. Glass half full.

It eventually turned out to be a wonderful day. I consider us richly blessed to sit down to dinner together as a family just about every evening, a beautiful blessing indeed. After a good meal(coconut butternut squash pasta), we brought out all the boxes from storage and decorated for Christmas. How I love the yearly transformation. I'll share a bit of that in photos with you, but first a flashback from the earlier part of my day.

You might know we have a new dog, a Yellow Lab named Chance. Goodness, we all love that furry boy and he totally knows it. There are a few behaviors we're working on modifying, but overall he's just a big ol' yellow bunch of love. However, having rescued him from a shelter, we have been dealing with whipworms. Now I'm not one to shy away from the reality that having animals can create some gross situations, probably because I grew up with cats, dogs, rabbits, turtles, ducks, hamsters, and fish. I'm pretty darn used to the various scenarios that can play out when you own a pet. And, well, we've been dealing with an ongoing loose bowel issue since Chance joined us a month ago. Some days it's better, others much worse. He's been successfully dewormed but still the bowel trouble continues. :(

So today, we had to take another specimen to the Vet to be checked for worms. Now, I don't know if you're a pet owner or not. But if you are, you know how "lovely" it is when you're asked to bring in a "specimen." Uh yeah, you have to fetch a biscuit and I'm not talking bread.

Did I mention we had gale force winds?

So I waited until ~~my dog launched~~ the eagle had landed, then grabbed a sweat jacket, tennis shoes, and a baggie and off I went to get it. This dirty job couldn't wait. I needed to get it over with before the poo lay buried under snow or froze to the point of impossibility. The driving snow stung my squinting eyeballs as I stammered through to the end of the yard.

Am I reeeeally having to do this?
Where is hubs when I need him?
How to pick up a steamer with just a little baggie? (no, I'm not asking you; rather, I was asking me as I stood there in the cold being tossled like a wind chime.)

By the time I had answered my own "how to" question, I looked like the rusty tin man of Oz, my wind-chilled fingers frozen and uncooperative. The baggie suddenly got away from me and I nearly twisted my ankle attempting to make a sudden dash to retrieve it. Thankfully, it lodged into the fence posts where I snatched it back right quick and returned to the nasty task at hand.

I inverted the bag, grabbed, and sealed it tight.
Where to put it such a naaaasty little package?
As the whipping wind was quickly lowering my core temperature, I hastily settled on tossing it under the patio furniture. I figured it would be protected from the elements by the canvas coverings that donned each piece. It made good sense.

That is, until a humongous gust of wind kicked up and sent our furniture flying into the yard. That's when I thought I heard, "Cleared for take-off," and saw the steamer go fly-high-ing past our back windows.
Seriously, we had lift-off.
My kids were cracking up. "Look at mommy chasing a fly-away poo bag. Ha hah ha."
They're easily amused (grrr!)

But I'm happy to say I won. I vigorously chased and recaptured that bogus little baggie as it rode on the breeze like the tail of a kite.
SNAP! GOTCHA!!!

Now knowing that's how my day started, I'm sure you'll understand how much more I love how it ended, with decorating our home for the holidays.
Stay warm wherever you are.
On with the photo montage.....

Aw, go on and admit it. He's as cute as can be. He is!

Hubs bought these beauties for me after Thanksgiving, to ackowledge my hard work in preparing the meal for our family.

This cute little tree was created in honor of Hubs' mom after she died of colon cancer in 1995. Is that mini tree skirt and nativity scene the most adorable or what?

I love to line up photos of Christmas past on the stairs. My mom made the snowman.

I am crazy about our fireplace. Our faux cardboard fireplace with its faux flames. Kinda got a deer theme going on the mantle this year (the red one is at least 45 years old.)

HA! That's Cierah with a towel on her head. Why, you ask? Because we're playing a game called Back To Bethlehem and she was instructed to wear a towel on her head as a shepherd. This game gives great cause for laughs, as well as getting the kids to think about deeper things like, "What do you think Christmas morning is like for a homeless person?" Love it. You can find it online at Todd Wilson's website.

This is Hubs when he got home from work today. His company is flying some children to Dallas who lost a parent in service to our nation. There was face painting going on and a little girl asked Hubs if he wanted his nose "painted like Rudolph." He didn't, but said, "How do you say no to a little girl who lost her mom or dad in service to us?" Ten minutes later, he looked like this. :)

I absolutely love my nativity. My aunt found it on sale after Christmas many years ago and I thought it was the most beautiful I'd ever seen. The jewel tone colors are brilliant in person and the pieces are well detailed.

Toni

MESSAGES!

2009-12-02T22:35:00.007-05:00

It's the MOST wonderful time of the year! Can't you just hear Andy Williams flexing the golden pipes? Oh yeah! And to date, indeed it has been a wonderful holiday season. My parents came in from Ohio for Thanksgiving, Mom's first year in decades where she was not the primary cook. And in fact, she was such a good teacher that I had very little for her to help with while here. She did make us some awesome gravy, but more importantly, she and my Dad poured lots of love into our active bunch. Nothing measures up to that (even if I did make a good turkey.)

I have some Christmas "duties" out of the way and our outside lights are up. Trust me, this is muy early for my procrastinating nature. I mean, lights up before December 1st? Check me for the fever, y'all. But it's true. And it feels GREAT to have it done. A little more Christmas "duty" in the next few days is in order. I'm thrilled with our more timely approach this year (don't even pit me against those "I'm done in June" folks; I'm simply not from that realm, ya know?)

But not everything is going as smooth as butter. Take a few weeks ago in church, for example. I was standing there talking to my dear friend, Sniz, after service. My four kids were on short leashes, chomping at the bit to throw self control to the wind but knowing we expected them to mind us. So, Sniz and I were deep in conversation when what happened next left me momentarily speechless (I assure you, this does not often happen to me.)

Apparently, I had burned up my allotted "mom chat" time (you know, that magical child determined time where a mom can talk without interruption or embarrassment at the mercy of her accomodating little darlings). And to drive the point home, my sweet babes entered into a battle of sorts. A battle over who would claim the coveted seat next to Miss "K", a lovely teen girl whom my kids adore. In their efforts to WIN said coveted seat, a little creativity was in order. I mean, hey, mom's not watchin', right?

So child "A" came up with a plan to trip up child "B".

Yes, literally.

And since Child "B" was up wandering around (instead of remaining seated as we had asked) child "A"s plan met with success and child "B" went flying across the floor. The proof was in the wave of destruction that followed.
A loud "CRASH!" was heard.
Followed by several gasps.
Then several raised eyebrows and concerned expressions.
Because,...well,....okay, yes.

I give up.

It was my sweet little darlings,mine, mind you, who busted the church message board to smithereens. Fragments of what once was a means of communication amongst our members lay scattered about Sniz and I on the floor.
A frame edge here.
A few decorative fall leaves there.
Another frame edge.
And another.
And the other (yes, that's all four framing pieces, but who's counting?)

Sadly true! My little angels made big time wrestling out of church property and all eyes were on us to witness it.
Uuuuh,...I'm ready for my closeup??? (Toni smiles like a nervous Chesire.)
Those who watched SNL back in the day, think Mary Catherine. "Super star!"

Hubs and I did the only thing we could think of. We picked up the remains of the message board and made for the door, promising to fix and return the board later.

Fast forward to the following Saturday night. I had been up late, pressing clothes and getting ready for church again the next day. Hubs was off at "man camp" (a Christian men's retreat). I had bathed 4 kids, showered myself, and was now ready to turn in for the night. Only.....

RATS!

There sat the boogered up board on a chair in the corner of my bedroom. In the business of our week (Thanksgiving grocery shopping, dance and art lessons, picking up a few things for Hubs for man camp, packing him, etc.), we had completely forgotten to fix the board. Knowing it would be needed the next day in church, the task fell soley on me.

At midnight. Swell!

I ran down to the garage and gathered much needed supplies. A heavy duty staple gun. And a hammer and finishing nails "just in case." It took the better part of fifteen minutes for me to figure out how to reframe the corkboard with just one pair of hands. But I finally got the four sides reassembled and thus reached for my staple gun.

P-tink, p-tink!
Oh for crying out loud!

Those staples would NOT pass through the tough particle board frame. And worse yet? I couldn't get them back out. They were stuck reeeeal good. I was afraid to pull, afraid to damage the board even more. I was not at ALL opposed to simply buying a replacement, mind you. It's just that it was after midnight, I was home alone with the kids, and it was too late to implement that plan. Naturally.
Ever so gingerly, I tugged and tugged. A good 20 or so times and FINALLY out came the staple. Sheesh!

Okay then. Hammer and finishing nails it is.
Oh!
No!
It!
Isn't!
I could have bam-bam-bammed 'til the cows came home, but those nails weren't going any deeper than the staples had gone, no matter how hard I pounded.

What to do, what to do???

You crafty types know where I'm going with this. Because fact is, in the crafting world, a girl's gotta have her tools.
Get....me....my....glue gun!
I filled the tracks along each framing piece and I did the only thing I could do.
I glued 'er on reeeeeeal good. Then I stepped back and examined my work. It was holding. I was happy. But at the same time, I was very concerned.
Concerned that the job was fragile.
Concerned that the glue might only work in the short run.
Concerned that I'd carry that baby back to church and gently sit it back on the display tripod, only to find myself stuck in my own version of a scene in the movie A Christmas Story. You know the scene I mean. Where the leg lamp gets "accidentally" broken and the Dad glues all the pieces back together. But when he gently replaces the shade, the whole thing falls apart again. Uh huh, I had visions of that happening as I ever so gently carried the glued message board back into church last Sunday.

Only,....

It ended up being totally unnecessary.
The staples.
The finishing nails.
The hot glue gun.
The worrying about my personal "leg lamp" moment.
It was all unnecessary because, as I approached the tripod, my eyes fixed on a new and beautiful message board.
Whole, sturdy and unflawed.

And isn't that just like our great God and Father? We are so broken before Him. And yet He can pick up any little shard of us and use it to let His light shine through our brokenness. He can make us whole and sturdy and unflawed, if only we allow Him. If only we are willing to be made new in Jesus His Son, who died for all sin for all time. Oh, that He CAN make us whole. That only He can. And that we should discover that for ourselves. Just as I discovered the message board made whole again, not of my own efforts but of another, just as we are redeemed not because of our own efforts, but because of what Jesus did for us. Now that's a message worth sharing. Happy holidays!

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men's sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ's ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ's behalf: Be reconciled to God. God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God. 2 Corinthians 5:17-21

Toni

A fish tale (of sorts)

2009-11-10T21:50:00.018-05:00

If you know me personally or have read my blog for any length of time (don't all three of you wave at once) then you know the incredible way that Brandon appeared in our lives and was grafted to our family tree.

Fast forward.

Brandon will be 3 in December. Three! Goodness, it's the most true cliche out there; they grow up so fast (I tell mine all the time to "stop growing this very instant", but kids being kids, they never listen.) Brandon is a character, let me tell you. He's very smart and able, 'gets' humor (it's a hoot to share a funny with him because he truly gets it), and he is independent in ways that our other children weren't at the same age. I suppose he's farther along developmentally because of the age gap between him and his older siblings? It's my best guess anyway. But it makes interacting with him a lot of fun.

Tonight, Brandon asked me to play Let's Go Fishing with him. It's a battery operated game where little plastic fish open and close their mouths as the "pond" spins, while you try to catch them with a tiny plastic fishing pole. Oh believe it, I looove playing this game (not really, but more than Old Maid anyway.)

So we got things set up and Brandon began to run the show almost immediately.
"Dis is my pole. It's not broe-kin."
I'm thinking, "What the heck, he gets the good pole?" I immediately had reason to believe I was going to be fishing for plastic fish with a toothpick. Not off to such a good start, know what I mean? And that's when he shoved a dinky plastic yellow pole in my hand and commanded, "Dis is yowze, Momma. You fish heeuw!" whereby he literally pointed to my "area" of the pond.

Great.

Just great.

I've been banned to a specific "spot."

In a plastic pond.

Kid's taking this game waaaay too seriously.

And tell me, do you think that's where the fish are known to be biting? Oh, I'm certain not.

(Let me interject something at this point; Why is it that all toddlers sound like Asian elderly men speaking broken English? "I tell you go NOW," or, "I no play wit you any more." 'Nuff said.)

Okay, so. I was sitting there (in my "spot" and all) contemplating the many skills needed to be an almost 3 year old master angler (which basically, as I see it, amounts to controlling the game and getting away with it) when he suddenly flicked on a switch to start the action, then quickly demanded, "Wait!"

Wait???
Did he just start the game and demand that I wait?
Oh no he did NOT tell me to wait,...only to proceed to fish his little heart out,...right?

Oh. Yes. He. Did. Too.

Every time I attempted to stick my stinkin' ~~toothpick~~ pole in the pond, he whined convincingly, "No, momma. You wait!"

Okay, what the heck am I waiting for?
Because seriously?
I'm ready to catch me some plastic walleye already.
But nooOOoo! Mr. Tiny Tyrant 2009 has not granted "permission" to enter the plastic pond.
So I sat miserably on the bank, losing the "early cast" advantage, while Brandon proceeded to rack up a score of THREE-ZIP before he'd even entertain the thought of allowing me to enter the pond.

Finally, he gave me the green light and away I went, putting my years of trout and walleye fishing to the test. Could I do it? Could I catch up to Mr. Advantage or was I destined to tell the proverbial tale of the one who got away?

Oh no, it's o-o-o-o-on!

I fished and I fished. And I caught some too. And it even appeared at one point that I might at least tie for the big plastic win.

That is, until Brandon decided that wasn't ever going to happen. He started with a little something I like to call the whine tactic.
"StooOOoop, Momma. Stop dat wight now. You don't catch doze fish, okay Momma?"
But I tell you, it's hard NOT to catch plastic fish when you've been an angler for many years. It's in my blood, I tell you. Like a hunting dog who just has to fetch the duck from the pond because it's what he does, I had to catch those fish. And I had to make up for lost time in the pond too.

That's when Brandon pulled out the heavy guns.
Enter....the man handle. In a moment of clear frustration with the gains I had made (even though he had done everything in his toddlerhood power to give himself the advantage), he reached for his secret weapon, the dreaded men handle.
Grumbling and with eyebrows scowling, he barked, "Dis fish won't git on my pole!" And with skill and timing that would rival any Bill Dance fisherman, he grabbed a plastic fish by its googly head and man handled him right out of the plastic pond.

No pole.

No fisherman's patience or luck.

A total man handle.

Score one for the little guy.

Then, to make my own fate sealed even more, he gloated, "Haha! I got DIS one wiiiight heaw. You don't haff dis many, do you, Momma! And you don't catch deeze eeder, okay? You oniy catch duh pink ones."

Come again?
Did my boy just pull the "traditional roles" card on me, banning me, a woman, to the pink fish only?
Are you kidding me?
Hmmmf!

I tell you, it's a lonely spot on the plastic pond when you're banned to the area where the action is nil and you're limited to a pink catch only.
Need I tell you who won?

Like I said, this boy's sharp. No wool growing over his eyes. But I'm going to have to teach him a lesson or two where his little attitude is concerned. I'm thinking a pole in the "big pond" might be just what the doctor ordered.

Ever see a 3 year old try to bring in a real walleye?

HA HA! (evil grin)

I'm just sayin'.

Toni

What were the chances?

2009-11-03T21:57:00.013-05:00

Reece has been asking for one specific thing for quite some time now. This "thing" happens to have four paws and fur. Uh huh, I know. But since his last birthday, the idea has not died. A whole year and he's still asking for a dog.

I grew up with all kinds of pets; fish, turtles, ducklings, rabbits, kittens, cats, puppies and dogs. We've had mixed breeds and pure breeds, hunting dogs and companion dogs and cats. You name it. At one point, my parents had four kids, 3 hamsters, 2 cats, an dog and a rabbit. What can I say, we loved our little zoo.

Sure, pets are hard work. They can be expensive (though generally speaking, cats are waaaay less expensive to care for than dogs.) They get dirty. They make messes we must clean. They can be smelly, sometimes even when they're clean (have you ever smelled a wet dog? Ick!) Some shed. Some aren't well suited for children. And you know, they can infringe on your freedom to come and go. All this is true.

But there is a flip side. A good pet is a good companion, and a good companion is wonderful company. When you've had a bad day, a good pet is happy to see you. When you're at your worst, a good pet doesn't seem to mind. When you're sad, a good pet can really be a source of comfort (something about that unconditional love.) And children can learn so much from a good pet. Compassion. Caring for "someone" outside themselves. Patience. And lessons about living and dying, and learning that good memories are ours to keep forever. These are just some of the terrific things about having a good pet.

So you see where I'm going with this, right? This whole, "I want a dog," thing with Reece. He just wouldn't let it go. And his birthday is in two more days. Last week I explained to him (and read the resulting disappointment in his eyes yet again) that I was sorry, that he would not be getting a dog this year either.
It wasn't that we were totally against the idea.
It's just that we had our,.......our rules.
Rules like, "No dog until all people in the house are potty trained first."
Or, "No dog until we have a run added to our backyard fence."
Or how about, "No dog until summer, when we can devote more time to training."
But yet......sigh. Reece was just sooo looking forward to "a real dog." Have you ever read the Debbie Maycomber book Where Angels Go? Among other dilemmas in the book, a little boy wants a dog with all his heart (trivial note; the angels' names are Surely, Goodness, and Mercy, lol.) Anyway, the boy in that story wanted a dog in the worst way, just like my Reece.

Fact is, I've been checking local humane societies, rescues, and breeders for quite some time now. We definitely have a preference for one particular breed, the Lab Retriever. For us, there simply is no better dog for kids (you're entitled to your own preferenc and opinion, but for us Labs win, hands down.) I occasionally would find a Lab mixed breed. Or a very senior Lab (which would be fine for Carl and I, but there's more to consider there with four active kids around a senior dog.) But otherwise, I didn't have much luck on locating a pure breed Lab and the local rescues' fees were more than we could afford at this time anyway.

The other night, I tucked Reece in and again reminded him that a "real dog" would not be unwrapped for his birthday again this year (he often brings the topic up as I tuck him in.) On a whim, I decided to check rescues and humane societies further away from us, something I had not done in the past. I found a humane society several counties away and noted that their fees were much more reasonable than our local area. "That's good," I curiously thought, "but I'm sure I won't find the dog we're looking for." I mean, I'd been searching for a year. What were the chances? Famous last words (literally.)

I began searching through the list of available dogs. A very cute Lab mixed breed caught my attention. "Hmmm, could make a great pet. I mean, she's cute as can be, on the small side, and....maybe." I was curious about her, but continued on down the list. As I neared the end, I came across a dog that made me lean in to my screen for a closer look.
I was truly surprised.
There it was, a purebred Lab Retriever, and only 10 months old.
"No way! Can't be!" But it was. We have a preference for female dogs and this was a male. But wait, does it say his name is..........Cleveland?

Really???

Okay, my heart raced a bit as I began to think it was meant to be. We moved to IN several years ago from Cleveland, and now we were coming full circle, metaphorically speaking. Yes, this dog's kennel name was Cleveland. I felt compelled to run this one past Carl and we both agreed we should "just go look." HA! As any Lab lover knows, there is absolutely NO SUCH THING as, "Just go look." If you're looking, a Lab is coming home with you. This is why Carl and I have avoided "just looking" for soooo long now.

So we did. We packed the kids into the van on Monday and made the drive to the humane society, over 90 minutes away. Our intent was to check out the female mixed breed and the pure male Lab. When we pulled in though, Carl said, "Ut oh. There's the female now, walking with those people out in the field." Sure enough, it was her. While we waited in the office to see the available dogs, hoping the Lab was still there, the couple came in and announced they would be taking the female mix. I'm glad we got to see her. She was very sweet, gentle, and great on the leash. But I'm fairly certain we would not have selected her. That's because the male Lab was indeed still there and we all fell in love with him immediately.

We took him out of his kennel and ventured outside with him on a leash. Carl took him for a walk through the field. He loved on our kids. They loved on him. He was HAPPY to be with us and we noticed our kids were happy to be with him. A "pros and cons" discussion quickly followed, the result being that I went back inside and stated, "Our family is in love with Cleveland and we would like to adopt him."

Paperwork was started as I chatted with the office worker. She informed me that we were "lucky" to see and adopt our dog, as Central Indiana Lab Rescue had been notified and he was scheduled to move there within 24 hours. We had visited in perfect time. She also told me that they weren't sure he knew his name, Cleveland, or if it was even his official name. She asked if we would change the name. We all kind of liked Cleveland, but it was by chance that so many things fell into place and so we decided that CHANCE should be his new name.

He is being neutered and micro-chipped before he comes home with us this coming Saturday. We were glad for the extra time to gather all the things we'll need to make our home his home as well. We found a crate on Craigslist for a good price. Food, toys, feeding and water dishes, snacks, and a chew bone are now purchased and ready. All we need is our handsome boy, Chance. When you see him, I'm sure you'll agree.

Toni

The funny, the scary, the heartwarming!

2009-11-01T22:41:00.010-05:00

The fall weather has, for the most part, been dismal here in Indiana. It's rained a lot and the cold snuck in way too early and came on way too strong. Admittedly, these things do NOT make me happy. I praise God in the midst of it anyway though, since abiding spritual joy (unlike the emotion of happiness), has NOTHING to do with what goes on outside of me. Rather, it abounds because of Jesus Christ, who lives IN me. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

So anyhoo, given the ugly weather, I knew there was a very real chance the kids would not get to trick-or-treat this year. I hoped for the best and kept watch via the long term forecast. It rained several days this past week, including on Friday. But thankfully, Saturday was partly sunny and no rain. Chilly, very chilly, but no rain.

After an early dinner, the kids' excitement grew to a moderate frenzy. I think we had to ask them to sit down and chill out a good ten times or more. Reece reminded me of a toy with a short in it, fritzing out in warp speed because he simply could not contain his enthusiasm. After several rounds of hair, makeup, and warm layers, the kids donned their costumes and were transformed. Olivia, a cowgirl. Cierah, "old man Jenkins" (an idea we got from a character on Spongebob). Reece, Spiderman. And Brandon, Thomas the train (isn't that what every 2yo boy wants to be?) I must say, they all looked terrific!

That said,
Cierah was initially less than thrilled about having to dress as old man Jenkins (you MUST click on the photo to get the gist of how cute she really was; can't see it well in the photo but we painted a gray mustache and eyebrows on her as well.) Thatw is, until she realized the attention and compliments her costume drew, then she beamed. And I have to say, she fooled more than one passerby who commented, "Your son's grandpa costume is adorable." People didn't realize a little girl was in there.
What a hoot!

So, everything was going pretty status quo (although candy distribution was noticeably down this year; the recession has now reached the pumpkin buckets of little children all across America, I suppose?) We decided to hit a couple streets we normally don't frequent, as the kids wanted their buckets to be "full like last year." Hey, you're only a kid once, so we figured what the heck!

Away we went.

And that's when it happened.

Now, let me just back up and say Carl had just commented not two minutes earlier that a few kids burned out his retinas with their high powered flashlights. But when our kids headed up a driveway behind those same kids with the mega-beams, we could not have known what would soon occur, even as the doorbell summoned the homeowner.

A shuffle of feet was heard. A slow creak.
And there stood a little elderly lady who very much reminded me of Grandma from Sylvester and Tweetie, only with darker hair. Well okay, that and a grumpier spirit perhaps. Fact is, the glare of one of the mega-beam flashlights caught her eyes, and reflected off her glasses, and....well,...probably acted as a magnifying glass because she suddenly scared the jeebies out of all the kids, angrily screeching, "That better not be a strobe light. Turn that thing OFF!" (I won't even share that I myself was scared to the point of near incontinence. TMI, to be sure.)

But it was too late. It just was.

The mega-beam (and perhaps her banschee cry) had knocked grandma off her game. Shifted her center of gravity. Rotated her universe if you well. I just didn't see ~~her~~ it coming.

Grandma fell out.

Literally.

Yes, that poor old woman fell out of her doorway and onto the outside step, candy flying everywhere. WHOA!
"Are you okay???" My Reece was quickly concerned, bending down to help her pick up the spilled goods. I was so concerned for her myself that it wasn't until long after the incident was over that I realized that something incredible had happened in that moment.
Reece had responded with compassion.
And maturity.
These things don't necessarily come easily to my little man. It's not that he is incompassionate. He is. But Reece has some special needs that make his reactions sometimes inappropriate, though not deliberately unkind. It was entirely possible that he would have "read" that incident as funny and then responded as such. Instead, he realized it was most serious and he wanted to know if the lady was okay. What a great moment to witness.

But he didn't stop there.

He also bent down and began to pick up the candy for her. This too was a mature gesture that Reece might not think to extend in such a circumstance. But he did. He did. And again, this was a big (BIG!) deal. I'm soooo grateful to God for our little man showing us how, in his time, he is learning to gain wise perspective on a situation and to extend compassion.

Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. Ephesians 4:31

Oh, and by the way? I'm listening to PANDORA as I type this. It's absolutely soothing. If you, like me, prefer NOT to miss your blessings, to see your glass as half full, then I will HIGHLY encourage you to head over to Pandora, go to the genre box half way down the center of the page, and select "holidays" and then "peaceful holidays." Then, sit back, a relaxing herbal tea in hand, and be soothed and ministered to by the gifted musicians whom you will experience. No, it's not too early for this Christmas music. Do yourself a huge favor and trust me on this one, would ya? ;)

Toni

IN PURSUIT OF COLOR

2009-10-21T21:10:00.013-05:00

So I got this coupon in the mail the other day for a free quart of Glidden paint. Always one to enjoy a freebie, I quickly visited the website and selected my winning color, a most lovely shade of reddish(ish).

Okay, fine.
So I don't really know what my color selection was called because "they" (the apparent paint naming gods) tend to come up with crazy names I could never remember. Names like buttered sweetcorn, guilded pear, or frosted pine. Sheesh, why does every can of paint need to be a "newborn baby" just waiting to be named?

Now if *I* were to have the coveted paint naming job, I assure you your trip to Lowes would be much easier. Forget all that buttercup sweetcorn fluff. Friends, you would be free to explore paint colors like sunburned red, fake-bake orange, or my own personal favorite, puke green (because every mom or auntie knows what that color looks like. Much easier to remember, yes?)

We recently painted our kitchen green(ish). According to the paint naming gods though, we officially have not a green(ish) kitchen, but rather (look out, here comes the posh name) a "dry grass" kitchen.

Ooookay.

Ironically, we actually have plenty of genuine dry grass, only we have another posh name for it.
We call it our yard.
And let me tell you, our yard is the most beautiful shade of "dry grass" you've ever laid your eyeballs on (snark, snark.)

Seriously? We've tried every trick we can think of to obtain to a more refined shade deserving of a really posh name. You know. Something like, oh say, "Alive Grass"?
Yes, "Alive Grass" would be a nice choice. But not happening, I tell you. No amount of watering, weed-n-feeding, organic wheat glutening, or scolding (yes, I even yelled at our grass in frustration) has made one iota of difference. It seems that dry grass is our resident color.

And naturally, the nextdoor neighbor is the poster child for Better Homes and Gardens.
And get this. It's a B.I.G. secret what makes his lawn so green (Toni waves hands in a most sarcastic manner as she rolls eyes and spits nails.)
I've never seen Chemlawn over there and his children don't run around with third eyes or anything, so I have to believe him when he says he uses an "organic" product. But,...what?
I called the local co-op. They had no idea.
Carl asked him what he uses. You'd think the neighbor choked on a butterfly, what with his trying to dance all around the answer to avoid telling us. I asked his wife, who quickly deferred back to her husband ("Oh, J does all that. You'd have to ask him, but it's something organic.") She even snickered, yes SNICKERED, as she laughed an annoying little "wish you could grow some green grass, don'tcha" laugh and boldly pointed out to me, "Our yard is even greener than C's yard and he uses Chemlawn, hee hee."
Why, I oughta!

So a lil' gift came today. I saw it in the in-flight shopping magazine when we flew to Albuquerque recently. (do those mags carry thee coolest overpriced products or what?)

Aeration shoes.
Eureka, I found it!
Carl needs aeration shoes.

It wasn't a thought I could simply push aside, what with our lovely perpetual shade of "dry grass" and all. So I ordered them. And they came today. And it was sunny and just a perfect day for stompin' around like a manly caveman in your brand new aeration shoes.

"Will I look like a dweeb in these?" he asked.
Me, eyelids batting, "What, in your man-boot aeration lawn cleats? Why noooOo, honey. No. You won't look dweeby at all. A bit Clampetty, perhaps, but definitely not dweeby."
I reminded him that J (a.k.a. Home and Garden) played basketball with his kids in our cul-de-sac one Saturday morning, wearing nothing more than a bathrobe and a smile. Ewwww, now that was dweeby looking. And the family across the street occasionally gets their drink on and then makes dweebs out of themselves for all to see. And then there's one who, well, just IS dweeby, plain and simple. So, no. Walking around in his ~~Clampett~~ aeration shoes couldn't be that dweeby.
Right? Because when it comes to yard-czar of the year, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

Ah! What we won't do to keep up with the Jones's.

Toni

WHERE I SPENT MY (INDIAN) SUMMER VACATION!

2009-10-14T00:10:00.007-05:00

We had plans to take our annual family vacation in Charleston, SC. We were so looking forward to Fort Sumter (where the first shots of the civil war were fired), Boone Hall Plantation (our family is very interested in learning about the history of slavery and civil rights in our country), and of course some ocean beach time for the kids.

The best laid plans (sigh!)

The flights to Charleston were very full. We fly standby and would have needed SIX open seats on FOUR different flights. Way too iffy for us. Next? We tried several other destinations.
Columbia, SC., full.
Corpus Christi, TX., rain predicted.
Boston, MA., rain and cold predicted.
Ft. Myers, FL., rain predicted.
Savannah, GA., a possibility, but not exactly "sure thing" flights and then there was the dilemma. Stay in Savannah and make the best of it or drive the 2 hours to Charleston to stick with our original plan. It gave us headaches and twitching eyeballs just to think about it.
Pensacola, FL.? Okay, a maybe. The flights were better. But the few things we would have desired to do were either closed due to previous hurricanes or not open during our time there. And as much as we enjoy the beach, we're totally not beach vacation peeps. We could not spend more than a day on the beach without losing interest (genetic mutation, I know.)

As a pathetic last ditch effort, Carl said, "Pull up a map of the United States and let's see where we might have overlooked." (Wasn't it Miss Teen SC, ironically, who said that some U.S. Americans don't have maps? Good thing we weren't among them.)

Albuquerque. We decided to check flights to Albuquerque.
BAMM! Available seats for our party of 6 going in and out.
And banner weather predicted.
Oh, and looky here, lots of neat things to see and do.
Alberquerque, here we come! And so it was, from Saturday, September 26th to Wednesday, September 30th.

We even got to take a rare afternoon flight because A) there were available seats all the way (pretty rare for traveling standby in the afternoon) and B) because Carl's co-worker, Danielle, was kind enough to trade shifts with him (we ALL really appreciated that.)

Our hotel sat right on historic route 66, which was really cool. And we had a heated indoor pool and free breakfast. It was only a Travelodge, but the staff was friendly, the price was very right, and the location was great. Win-win!

A few highlights:
We took the Sandia tramway over 2 miles up the side of a mountain to an elevation of over 10,000 feet. It's the longest cable tramway in the world.

We were personally saddened to see a few remaining pieces of wreckage from a 1955 TWA flight that crashed into the side of the mountain in fog. To say that the location was highly inaccessible is an understatement. There were sadly no survivors.
There is a very nice restaurant with amazing views at the top. It was too pricey for our family vacation budget, but I would love to dine there someday when our kids are grown. In the evenings, the tram crowd changes drastically from school groups and tourists sightseeing to D.I.N.K.s and urban professionals going to dinner.

At the top, we hiked along a dirt road through the pines, taking in the most beautiful scenery and freshest air we've ever breathed. It was wonderful. That is, until a very funky looking "squirrel" (we weren't exactly sure what it was at that point) scampered out onto the road and proceeded to hop-hop toward us in a very confident manner.
"Kids, back up. Back uuuup! Uh oh, no. No, don't try to go to it. Kids, back...back...RUN!!!!!!!" In a panic somewhat based on an irrational fear of rabid animals, we were instructing our four kids to run.
To RUN, for cryin' out loud.
From a squirrel.
Clampetts!

Fact was, it was not at all rabid. Just not scared of humans because it clearly doesn't encounter them often enough to need to fear them. But this is what we saw coming at us.
I ask you, would YOU know it was a squirrel? Oh sure, if you're familiar with the Abert squirrel, you would. But where I'm from, squirrels have teeny little ears, not rabbit-sized mutent antennae on their heads. SHEESH!

When we had wandered a good three quarters of a mile from the tramway, it occurred to us that we were in fact not alone. Lions, no tigers, but bears, oh my!
Yes, mountain lions and black bears are on the mountain.
Suddenly, every stump was a wild animal.
Every sound a potential ambush.
I was not amused. I pointed out to Carl that we were not well versed in our food chain defense tactics where bears and mountain cats were concerned.
He quickly comforted me. "Hey honey, we have nothing to worry about. After all, you see how well we handled a rabid squirrel coming at our kids." Honestly, we told them to RUN from a 2 pound squirrel. What were we going to tell them to do if we saw a bear?
Sing show tunes???

We did figure out (later) what you should do if you encounter bears or mountain lions. Let me just say, it wasn't what we would have thought to do and so we'd have been up the creek without a paddle (and that's a heck of a place to be in a torrential rain.) We also decided to let the kids have a much safer encounter with nature, by heading straight for the local zoo when we got off the mountain. Zoo animals, btw, are GROSS! You know the various behaviors you've seen. But this guy was just waaaaay too cute for words, I tell you. I think you'll agree. We also spent a day at Bandelier National Monument in Bandelier national forest. The drive up was both spectacular and heart wrenching. We saw the gorgeous desert terrain agains the mountainous backdrop. Then we saw the amazing and intimidating rock exposed cliffs (and the falling rock warnings to remind us that beauty and danger often coexist.) Finally, rocky cliffs yielded to spectacular Ponderosa pine forest (which was on fire in one area as we headed back out at the end of the day, a sight that was sobering to see.) We passed through many tiny mountain towns, several of which were on Pueblo Indian reservation lands. The poverty in those towns was truly difficult to take in. They are so very, very proud of their heritage and their history. And so gracious to share it with all of us (as I'll get to.) But their lives are drastically different from the life I know. I wondered if their basic needs were met. I wondered if they were content in their circumstances. I wondered if my perception didn't equate with their reality. All questions not easily answered, I suppose.

So, if you're not familiar with Bandelier, then I'm sure you definitely ARE familiar with Pueblo cliff dwellers from one of your history classes along the way. We had the privilege of hiking out to see an archeological dig, the Tyuonyi Pueblo (a permanent village of the Pueblo people, which consisted of multilevel adobe apartment dwellings of terraced design, clustered around a central plaza.)

Even more incredible was the opportunity and experience to ascend ladders along an enormous and intimidating rocky mountainous cliff to physically enter the cliff homes of Ancestral Pueblo people who would have lived there in the 1300's A.D. Unbelievably moving experience that I would fail to adequately describe to you.

Most of the cavates were easily accessible by climbing a short ladder to one of the cliff dwellings above. However, for the more adventurous, you could hike another 1.2 miles to ascend four ladders (140 rungs) to enter both a very large cliff dwelling known as Alcove House, as well as its restored kiva (kivas were circular structures that were entered by descending a ladder through a hole in the roof. The kiva was the center of community life. Knowledge was passed on from parent to child. Faith too. And important decisions, a la tribal business, was also conducted there.) The height of this particular dwelling was dizzying (literally for me.) The view, while absolutely spectacular, reminded me that we must remain very cautious and focused at all times. Folks, we were HIGH up on a rocky cliff, I tell you.

Our kids have had some experience with ascending ladders on cliffs, as we hike in several state parks here that have similar ladders. I do believe it gave us ALL the confidence and experience to be able to enjoy this one time experience at Bandelier. If you're ever in Albuquerque or Santa Fe (or you enjoy native American history), I would highly encourage you not to miss a day trip to Bandelier. $12 got our entire family into the park to enjoy this otherwise free experience. We all enjoyed it fully.

We did make it over to Santa Fe for a day of shopping in the old town section. Lots of funky, artsy boutiques and stores. I purchased a beautiful, colorful costume jewelry earring and necklace set to remind me of our time there. We toured a gorgeous historic Catholic church, the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi.
Somehow, don't ask me how, we forgot to visit Loretto chapel, whose famous staircase you may well have heard of. I know I have. Two blocks away and we forgot to stop and see it. Isn't that special? Grrr!

We had to wake our four kids up at an unthinkable hour, 3:45am, to catch a 6am flight back to Indy. Yeah, we were all packin' a few extra bags there, if you get what I'm putting down.

Seriously though?

Our kids are wonderful travelers. They know the drill at this point, even our 2yo. We gave the pep talk the night before, reminding them there was no slow-poking allowed when the dreaded wake-up call came. All ~~hands~~ feet on deck. We had 2 suitcases, a diaper bag, a carry-on bag, a backpack, two carseats, a purse, a stroller, and four kids (up, dressed, teeth and hair brushed) out the door and on our way to the airport in 25 minutes' time.
Sheesh, not bad, eh? ;)

But this travel tale would so not be complete without telling you about the knot. When we got to the rental car return, Carl and I hurried to unpack our 6-party load so we could sk-diddle over to the shuttle bus back to the airport. Carl yanked the stroller out of the back, while I grabbed a a few bags and started for the side of the car.

That's when it happened.

The stars. The momentary confusion. The PAIN!

For just a brief moment, I seriously thought I had been struck in the head by an attacker in the parking lot. But remember, I was passing the back of the car, where Carl was busy getting the stroller out in a hurry.

You don't think he'd inadvertently hit me in the head with a heavy-duty stroller, now do you? Of course not. He'd use the hatchback door. And I so have the knot on my head to prove it. Nothing says, "souvenir" like bodily injury, what with no customs declarations needed on that one.

Toni

Our annual send-off/Kick-off

2009-08-20T21:47:00.008-05:00

Reg'lars know that we take a short trip at the end of each summer, heading north to stay at a Jellystone campground and then to an amusement park the next day (just a half mile from the campground.) It's what we H's call our Send-off/Kick-off, sending summer on its way and kicking off our upcoming homeschool year. We swim in the two pools (did swim), roast hot dogs (did roast them), make S'mores (did make 'em), and the kids love sleeping in the cabin bunks (did love it.) See where I'm going with this?

In keeping with my life theme (If it can go wrong so we can laugh at it later, it definitely will), some things were gonna rock our boat this year. It all started back in July....

Carl got online in early July, as usual, to reserve our amusement park tickets at the homeschool rate (it's a significant discount; normal price is around $36 pp, homeschool rate is $10 pp.) I was in the kitchen when I heard him sigh like an elephant and grumble something unitelligible.

"What, babe? Did you say something?"

In a tone heavily laden with frustration and surprise, he fired, "Yes. I did. I s-a-i-d,...they moved the homeschool week."

Oh.
Okay. So we weren't going to enjoy the last week of August.
Last week.
No crowds.
No lines.
Lots and lots of rides just waiting for us to step right up and enjoy.

But not this time. Because this time, they moved the week.

"Oh," me thinking out loud, "okay,...so,...do we have to go like next week or something?"
"NooOOo, we had to go the first week in June."

Me, suddenly high pitched and with a twitching eyebrow, "JUNE???"
Up-speaking now.
"Ju-u-UNE? Why the heck did they move it to JUNE? I mean, who does that?"
"Gee, honey. I dunno. It's not like they sent out a memo or anything."
Ah, Sarkey in duh house.
(That's what we say when one of us gets so frustrated that sarcasm sets in, which happens easily seeing as we both have a sarcastic sense of humor anyway.)

So now we were both clearly frustrated. The park moved the date from the last week of the summer to the first, without notifying any of its homeschool customers (yes, they may have had our information on file somewhere, as you have to order the tickets in advance each year.) What to do? I'm not a defeatest type of gal. If there's an angle to work, I'm on it.

"Get me their email."
Hubs saw it. I saw that he saw it. (Remember Dodgeball? "You know that I know that you know.")
He saw that "I have an idea" twinkle in my eye.
I saw that "Oh snap, there she goes again" wrinkle in his brow.

And off I went, feverishly tickling the keyboard until I had fully explained myself to the group sales office, asking them point blank to extend the rate to us as a courtesy under the circumstances.

It took nearly three weeks (I was disappointed and apalled that they wouldn't at least respond with a respectful "no way, lady") but finally an email arrived. With an apology for the oversight regarding my request.
They did in fact honor the rate, which we so appreciated.

But the ~~fox pox~~ fau paux was NOT over yet.
The cabin.

We always book a single night at Jellystone. The rate has been between $79-$90 for a cabin that sleeps six. And during those last August weeks, the campground is always nearly empty, with maybe 3 or 4 cabins filled (I think there are 14 of them) and perhaps 10 lots camped on.

"Sir, there is a 2 night minimum and it will be $170 per night."

Sweet mother of crime sprees, they're robbing us BLIND!
For an empty campground, mind you.

Me to hubs, "When did THOSE rates kick in?"
Hubs in frustration, "Gee, I dunno. They didn't send out a memo or anything."

See where I'm going with this?

New management + New rates + New 2-night requirement = empty cabins, lost customers (namely us.) Yep, this was the first time in 4 years that we drove to the amusement park DAY OF, no overnight.
Disappointing? Sure.
Paying $340 for a pool and a marshmallow on a graham cracker?
Shh-yeah, right.

We did have a great time at the park, I'm happy to say. Cierah conquered her fear of upside down coasters (loved it). Olivia squeezed her lanky self into kiddie rides for the sake of her baby brother. Reece was ELATED that we couldn't ride the "scary" pirate ride (denied boarding because there were 3 of us; another policy change from the previous 3 years). And Brandon is already asking me if he'll be big enough to ride the "roasters" next year (my thrill seeker of a toddler, I tell ya.)

I love (LOVE!) being in the midst of truly magical childhood moments, the ones you KNOW are being etched into conscious memory in the "good times" category. The memories that you KNOW they'll resurrect to share with their own children someday.

"Did I ever tell you about the amusement park and campground we always visited at the end of the summer when I was a little kid? Well, 'cept for that one year when we missed the homeschool week and....sit down. Let me tell you about it."

Toni

Ace of Cakes fan???

2009-08-14T11:50:00.002-05:00

I've never watched the show myself. I am aware of it though, and can certainly appreciate the artistry and talent of Duff Goldman. He created a cake in honor of the 70th anniversary of the American Airlines Admirals Club (American Airlines being near and dear to my heart, as most of you know.)

It depicts a business traveler seated in the privacy of the members-only club, as an airplane takes off out the window. Wow! Can't believe it's a CAKE. I'll not tell my kids (they think my creations ARE Duff worthy, lol.)

Toni

Get out and move it!

2009-08-02T23:06:00.006-05:00

We spent the afternoon hiking at Turkey Run today. I don't use that term ("hiking") lightly either, because y'all, this isn't your run-of-the-mill meandering trail. Most of the trails at Turkey Run are quite challenging; high cliffs, gorges, river, muddy creek beds between narrow walled canyons of rock, steps, steps, and more steps,...oh, and the ladders.

The ladders are sooo cool. Of course, you have to hike back through the walled canyons, THROUGH the muddy creek bed to get to them (okay, I suppose it's not always muddy, depending on when the last rain passed through, but seeing as it rained last night...uh huh.)

Cierah fell twice.
In the mud.
Swell.

Reece fell on concrete steps and just kind of hung upside down off the edge of them (thankfully not dangling over a cliff) until help pulled him back up.

Brandon, age TWO (stated with great amazement) was the recipient of this year's mini-hiker extraordinaire. The many steps, gorges, river banks, muddy creek bottoms, and yes even the ladders didn't bother that child one little bit. He *loved* it. Surivor Man, move over.

And Olivia is lucky she didn't bust her tail feathers because she hopped and jumped off every possible obstacle, daring a fall to take her (in spite of our umpteen pleas for her to stop before she learned a painful lesson called natural consequences.) Like a sure-footed mule (and definitely just as stubborn), she continued, never so much as a wobble.

The weather was gorgeous and it was the kind of family Sunday you just want to drink in until you can't drink any more. Glass half full? You betcha!

Toni

One of those "I know I shouldn't laugh but my funny bone tickles anyway" moments!

2009-07-28T17:22:00.004-05:00

Remember the poor SC beauty pageant teen who stated that "some U.S. Americans don't have maps"? Well, move over Miss SC, because (sad but true) your successor has arrived. This poor woman. She seriously boggled my mind, especially the part about the east coast having slaves which apparently they don't have on "the new west coast" because of unions. Huh??? Anyway....

Road Trip

2009-07-06T15:19:00.010-05:00

Just got back from a trip to Ohio to see family and a few dear friends. Checked the weather before we left and knew it would be cool at night with a few days of possible showers, but the temps were otherwise expected to be between 72 and 80º. It never hit 80º and the 70's felt like 60's. It was overcast and chilly. We brought jackets but had to buy a pair of pants for each of the kids. This is how the time played out;

Tuesday

Wednesday

Thursday

Friday

Saturday

Sunday

We took a new route this time. We like to take backroads because we love the country as I mentioned already, and because we also are very intrigued by small town America. Got to see some literal dots on the map like Trinity, Gaul, Republic, Bryant and more. Here are some of my favorite sights;

-a huge marker in the likeness of Chief Francois Godfroy of the Miami nation. A treaty was made to set aside nearly 4,000 acres of land for the Miami in 1818. Those lands were sold in 1827 and 1836.

-the Arcadia "superette" (surely the "ette" suggests small, seeing as it was a one-horse town. Not sure how it was decided that small should be paired with "super" in naming the business??? So naturally, I couldn't help thinking "ette" referred to female, a girly girl's grocery gig if you will.)

-Betty's Pie House. Nothin' like stopping by the pie house and filling your pie hole, eh?
-And this gem. A gas station was advertising its hotdogs on sale. But these were special hotdogs. Deep fried hotdogs. So instead of gradual plaque buildup in your arteries over time, these babies are more like mainlining. Might as well shove one of those babies right in a major artery. I need some nitro just thinking about it.
-Lake St. Marys. It was huge. Didn't realize we had such a big lake in a landlocked area. We let the kids wade on the shore, but the water was too algae ridden to consider actually swimming in it. Ewwww!

There was so much more to take in as we rolled along, but you get the gist. I'm glad to be back home and settling back into our own routine. Brandon's teeth are still causing fever and lots of crabbiness, so say a prayer for our little guy if you read this. And now, back to life as we know it.

Toni

Was I absent that day???

2009-06-27T15:02:00.014-05:00

I was in 2nd grade when I instructed NOT to take my regular bus home for a time. I was to join a handful of friends who, in addition to attending my public school, were also in my Catechism classes at our Catholic church. We were to walk to a street corner a block away, where a bus would pick us up and take us to the church for First Holy Communion practice (How the heck did the church coordinate with the public school to get us on a bus headed for religious instruction? Oh, the days that were and are no more.) First Holy Communion. It's a big, BIG deal in the Catholic church.

To be honest, in the second grade I was much more excited about the fact that I got to wear a veil and communion dress (which, to a 2nd grade girl, might as well be a wedding gown.) Thinking back on those days of rehearsal, I clearly received instruction on the ways of receiving communion. Or,...did I?

Was it all a figment of my imagination?

I mean, given the communion fau pauxs of my children at my own church recently, I really have to wonder. Is it possible that,...could I have been...what I'm trying to say is, was I perhaps absent on some crucial training day back in the 2nd grade?

I told you about Reece grabbing the bread with BOTH hands his first time to communion (we no longer attend Catholic church btw, so it wasn't a formal first time, but it was his first just the same.) I also told you about the second time, where he basically played tug-of-war on the bread with the petite server. Yeah, swell.

So let me tell you about last Sunday (why yes, the saga DOES continue and thank you for asking.) So it was our row's turn to rise and join the communion line. I was getting a few butterflies, wondering what Reece might pull this time. We stood up to walk out of the row and it started (why wait until we're front and center when the show can start now, eh?)

Loudly whispering (oxymoron?), "Mom. MOMMMmm! I wanna be by Daddy 'cause he hasn't ever seen me get communion."

Dad was already out in the aisle, as was big sister. They had no idea that Reece was insisting on a game of musical chairs in the communion line. But he had a point. He was excited for his dad to see him receiving communion and it's not a joy I wished to squelch. So I tapped his dad's shoulder and waved him back. Perplexed, he filed in at number 2, pushing big sis out in the lead. This commotion did NOT put Reece in position with his dad.

Frowning, I tapped him and tried to use a Clampett form of sign language to motion him and Olivia into the proper positions. Next thing I know, Liv is at the back of the line, Dad in front, then me and Reece in the middle.
Still not right, but no problem.
I'll just trade places with Reece and is right with the world (keep in mind, we're in a larger line that is moving along as we ~~Clampetts~~ H's jockey for position.) So I shuffle Reece in front of me, directly behind his dad.

Loudly whispering, Reece called. "Daddy. DADDddy! I wanna go fuwst because you've nevew seen me get the bread before."

OY VEY! (Bug eyes buggin')

Reece's world is rocked when it doesn't go the way he perceives it should. And on this day, he felt that he needed to be first with his dad right behind him. Wish we'd known that before we stood to join the line. But the bigger challenge still lay ahead. Could Reece get through the front of the line without an "incident"? The odds were against it, but there's the power of a praying mom, right? ;)

Imagine my surprise (and relief!) when he got his bread and juice without a hitch. Naturally, his dad had missed all the more "charming" trips to the front on previous Sundays because he had to work. And naturally, it went perfectly smoothly the day his dad was there. (I think kids purposely save some of the lovliest moments just for moms, don't you?)

Back in our seats, we waited to take communion with the rest of our church body. Being curious, Cierah pointed to Liv's tiny cup of juice to inquire. Only...
she bumped it. Three spots of grape juice splashed onto Liv's light mint green dress. Their daddy was sitting on the other side of me, oblivious to the entire scene. Naturally.
"CIERAH!" (VERY loud whisper from Liv)
"Sowwy, Sis." (not so whispering voice by Cierah)
"MommMMm!" (Whining low tone from Olivia)
"SHHHH!" (Not so quiet shhhhh-sh from Mom)

I remembered that there was a Tide pen in the bathroom, that I could quietly slip out with Olivia and spot treat her dress before the stains set. Ah, mighty nice, right? Yeah, well. We're in Toni's world, remember?

I can't be sure what brought on the next moment.
Was it carelessness on Olivia's part?
Did Cierah bump her again under the radar?
Or, perhaps, did my harsh "Shhhh-sh!" scare the bejeebies out of her?

Dunno.

But I do know this. Liv's voice was a near cry as she pleaded, "Oh, Mommm!" and I turned to see her ENTIRE CUP of grape juice dumped on her lap, slowly seeping into the once lovely fabric of her mint green dress.

Sigh.
Resigned, deflated sigh.
Nothing to do but wait for full absorption into the dress (talk about your bad options.)

So we did. We waited until the juice no longer puddled, then headed toward the doors at the back of the church, a couple of kids being punished for disturbing the class (or so it felt that way). And we went from a former plan of spot treatment only to an all out wash in the sink and dry by fanning in front of a small audience of ladies who were present in the bathroom. Naturally!

So,...I gotta wonder. Did I really go through training and rehearsal for my first holy communion? Or not? You tell me. And while you're at it, know any good communion trainers in the area? Clearly, I'm not one and frankly? I'm beginning to think it's never too late to go to clown school.

James 1:2 Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials

Toni

On the 6th day, God created man AND beast!

2009-06-08T21:39:00.004-05:00

A conversation between Reece and I as we headed into Sam's Club tonight.

Reece, very affectionately: "I love holding hands with you, Momma."

Me, drinking the moment in: "Aw, thanks, bud. I really like holding your hand too."

Reece, reflective and then, matter-of-fact: "I don't like holding Daddy's hand."

Me, unsettled by Carl's close proximity: "Reece! That's not really a nice thing to say about your Daddy."

Reece, quickly clarifying: "No, momma, I love Daddy. But I just don't want to hold his hand because it's all fuwwy (furry)."

BA HAHAHAHA!
(I assure you, it's not that furry.)

Gen 2:19
Out of the ground the LORD God formed every beast of the field and every bird of the air, and brought them to Adam to see what he would call them. And whatever Adam called each living creature, that was its name.

Toni

Life in my backyard

2009-06-07T15:07:00.003-05:00

Olivia and her moon boots!

Momma duck and her ducklings out for a walk!

My tiger eye sumac (a minimal to non-invasive sumac variety.) Gotta love that beautiful mix of color it produces!

Toni

And another Cierah moment

2009-05-30T21:20:00.002-05:00

Before bathtime tonight, Cierah noticed a bar of soap on the counter in my bathroom.
"Mommy, what is that?"
"It's soap, honey."
"Oh. Well,...how do you squeeze it out of there?"
(Me, giggling) "No, honey. It's not like liquid soap. You don't squeeze it out at all."
"Oh, do you just rub your hands around it?"
"Yes, something like that. When I was a little girl, we didn't use liquid soap. Everyone used bar soap."
"Uh huh. Was that in the olden days?"

Sigh. Out of the mouths of babes.

Toni

Snippets

2009-05-29T08:49:00.003-05:00

Like all of you for whom summer calls, life is busy here in the H home. Good busy, but busy just the same. The kids' final soccer game and pitch-in is this Saturday. Two days later, they begin swimming lessons. We're also looking forward to a likely visit from my brother and sis-in-law next weekend. So many blessings to take note of. I trust that you too are taking the time to see your blessings in the midst of this season you're in, because they truly are always in the mix.

I talk a lot about Reece here on my blog. Fact is, he's the child most likely to produce blog fodder in our family. Reece is,...well, Reece. If you were around him for more than a minute, you'd spot it. Animated. Quirky. Dramatic. Talkative (oh so talkative). So it's very easy to "catch" one of his moments. I'm going to pass on him today and bring you a moment from each of my other blessings.

Cierah. Our free spirit. She'll charm you with her twinkling smile. She LOVES anything pink or princess. She's cute as a button. And yet....she is not afraid to take on boundaries as an army of one. Oy vey! She keeps us on our parenting toes. Now, Cierah loves loves loves to read (actually, all my kids do, but she is especially fond of filling down-time with a book.) So, she was reading a children's book about the Nativity yesterday.

"Mommy, is this Jesus as a newboWn?" (gotta love the /w/ sound for /r/ in kids).
"Mommy, is this Joseph? I don't think he looks like that."
"Mommy, look at Mary. She's pretty. She's wearing pink." (Not that Mary wasn't pretty, but I'm sure it's the pink factor that won Cierah's heart here.)

"Mommy, is Mary still alive?"
"Oh no, honey. She lived a very long time ago. Over 2,000 years ago."
Eyes widened to suggest surprise, Cierah continued.
"Oh my. That's a long time. So,.....is she still alive?"
Oy vey!

Brandon.
Brandon turned 2 in December. He is the most cognitively advanced child we've had as he passes through the stages our kids have already been through. Things come easy to Brandon. His new thing is to point out the types of trucks on the road and name them.
"Tractor trailer.
Delivery truck.
Tanker.
Garbage truck.
Street cleaner.
Flatbed."

So yesterday, Carl (who has mild to moderate Asthma) needed to use his inhaler. He picked it up from his dresser and squeezed, breathing in the metered dose and holding it in his lungs as usual. Suddenly, Brandon, who had been standing there watching, sought Carl's attention. "Daddy! Eeeeeee?" The "Eeeeee" was Brandon's imitations of his Daddy's wheezing. Oh my, that child.

And my Bunker girl, Olivia (if you've read my blog in the past, you know why we call her our Bunker girl.) This week as I was scrapbooking out of an altered computer cabinet, she inquired.
"Mom, when you write that paper that tells everyone what they're getting after you die, will you be sure to leave your scrapbook cabinet to me?"
I didn't know if I should be offended or laugh, I tell you. I decided that giggling was in order.
"It's called a will, honey. And you're very easy to please (hee hee). Sure, if my scrapbook cabinet means that much to you, you can have it."
Elated, she replied, "Oh, THANKS, mom! I'm going to use it to examine my dogs when I own a dog rescue."

Wat Wah!

Toni

REDS fan (part II)

2009-05-23T00:44:00.006-05:00

>>>>>>>>>>>This photo has nothing to do with the REDS. Just the cute factor.

On our way home from the REDS game, we stopped at LaRosa's in Batesville. One of the best pizzas we've ever eaten (we will NOT go to Cincinnati in the future without eating deep dish pizza at LaRosa's on the way home). We were sitting in a semi-cirle around the table, when Reece literally screamed, "SPIDER!" Cierah didn't move quick enough for his liking, so he plowed right over her, standing to make the pass. Turned out it wasn't a spider at all. A wasp. A huge wasp. Reece suffers from post traumatic stress where wasps are concerned. You would too if you were stung three times in the face while playing on your backyard slide as a 3 year old, or two times on the nose as a 2 year old at a birthday party.

I saw the wasp fly down onto the seat, but when we checked,....gone. Where the heck did it go? Carl checked from one side, Olivia from the other, and all three of us checked the floor under the table. No sign of it, yet we didn't see it fly away either. It took some serious convincing, but we managed to coax Reece back to the table and into his seat. "It's gone, honey. He flew away." Five minutes later,...

I HEAWWWW IT. GET OUT. GET OUT!!!" He again blew past Cierah and out of the circular booth. It was still there alright. And fresh off the baseball fields of the Cincinnati Reds, it was now Carl's turn to take a swing. He took of his ball cap (REDS, of course) and....BAMM!!!!!!!! He hit it with all his might. A line drive. ;) You know that "someone's looking at me" feeling? Yeah, well, I looked over my right shoulder and what did I see?
Every last eye in the house on our family.
Our post-game, dirty, stringy-haired hat head, salt lick of a family. And what could I do? I managed a nervous but polite smile, then turned my attention back to my ~~clan~~ family. Clampetts!

Toni

Rough week for the REDS

2009-05-22T21:21:00.018-05:00

Seriously, I think if my family and I had taken our regular walk last night, the deer would have tried to use us as a salt lick. I'm just sayin'. We took the kids to see the Cincinnati Reds play against the Philadelphia Phillies, a 2 hour drive from our home. The plan was to leave at 9:30am so we'd have plenty of built-in time for unexpected delays. The best laid plans. We left the house about 25 minutes behind schedule and found ourselves in an odd little jam of cars on the highway that runs between Indy and Cincy. Couldn't figure out why, at 11:00am on a Thursday, with no visible cause for traffic, we were stuck in a pocket of cars for a good 20 minutes (thankfully, a "jam" that was managing to keep max speed). Turns out the Rolling Thunder organization was riding and we eventually passed no less than 200 motorcyles who took part in the ride. It was neat to see them, as their mission is to bring attention to the cause of POW-MIA, and many members are veterans.

But naturally, this jam did slow us down a bit. We still figured we had enough time to make the starting pitch. Got to Cincy, found the parking lot a friend said we should park in,........

......then found ourselves on a bridge into Kentucky (that's the third state in one day, for those who are counting). Already quite pressed for time, dh was NOT happy that the entrance to the parking lot was not marked by signs. A quick U-ey in Kentucky and we were back in Ohio and parked the van. Thus began the cave stomp to the ballpark.

Through the blazing heat in the blacktop parking lot we stomped, up the steps, across the grassy knoll, down the street past the construction zone, and finally into the stadium. Sheesh, good thing our kids have been walking 2 miles 3-4 times a week with us. And let me tell you, we were all grumpy, hot and sweating from that walk in the heat and sun. But we were determined to shake it off and have a nice time.

A quick stop at the kiosk to pick up our tickets, and off we went to find our seats. They were great seats along the 3rd base to home stretch with a totally unobstructed view. However,....

....it was about 85ºF in Cincy yesterday, full sun, and only the occasional cotton candy cloud floating by. Oh, and just the slightest hint of a breeze every now and then. Good thing all the kids had hats with them.

We took our seats, and literally 3 seconds later, "Ladies and gentlemen, please rise to sing the national anthem."
And I just pulled out my soapbox. See me up here?
SING, y'all.
What is with no one singing the national anthem anymore?
Or not even putting their hand over their heart.
Or taking their hat off as a sign of respect?
SING, I say.
Okay, soapbox safely back in storage.

We sat down again and I went for the sunscreen in the diaper bag, as only two of us had fully applied it at home, Reece and myself. A panic rose from within.
"Honey, I can't find the sunscreen."
"It's in there. I put it there."
"Huh. You did? Huh, because see, I'm not finding it and, well...," digging frantically now, "it wouldn't be good if the kids sit here for 3 or 4 hours without sunscreen on."
"It's there. Check again."
Olivia chimed in, "Dad, you took it out in the car to grease your face, remember?"
Me, frustrated and concerned, "It's in the car."
"What do we do now?" inquired Carl almost in disbelief.
"Well," I said, thinking it but not wanting to breath it to life, "One of us is going to have to march all the way back to the car to get it."

I volunteered.

I know, I know already. He left it, he should go back. But he's that kind of husband, y'all. The kind that would have went in a heartbeat if I really insisted. But how do you make your Reds Fan miss the first inning when he's recently shared with you that he hasn't been to a Reds game in Cincinnati since 1973? That'll put a lil' pressure on a gal, ya know? ;)

SooOOoo, I sucked it up and began the trudge back to our van, some 10 minutes away, in the blazing sun. The journey of a thousand miles begins with the the first step. My first step? Those narrow, endless concrete stadium steps. I had to climb about 25 of them just to get started. Did I mention I had wedge heeled Bass flip flops on? Great walking shoes, wouldn't you agree? Grrrr!

About the time I got to the top of that concrete beast, a new thought occured to me. See, normally, I'd gripe and moan about having to pay five dollars for a bottle of sunscreen on any given day. But today, for Toni,....fifteen dollars says I'm not walking all the way back to our car. I sought out an usher and inquired. Let me tell you, Father God had mercy on me.
"We don't sell it, Ma'm. But if you go to first aid, they'll give you some for free."

WEE HAW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The first aid nurse, a guy, handed me a tiny medicine cup with a little squirt of sunscreen in it.
"Sir, I'm sorry. There are four of us in full sun with no sunscreen."
He looked me over, rolled his eyes, and then handed me two more squirt cups. Yes, I had to put up with a round of judgmental juju eyeball intended for, uh hem, the source of our sunscreen fau paux, but it was worth it to walk out with my three squirts of free sunscreen so my kids didn't come home with sun poisoning. Off I went, proud of myself for avoiding the cave stomp back to the car, but not without dumping some of the precious commodity on my hot pink capris. Naturally.

Dh was highly impressed with my ingenuity. We quickly slathered everyone from head to toe (it ended up being more than enough), and I finally settled in to watch the game. We had purchased 3 bottles of water on the street for $1 each, a good deal as water was $4.25 inside the stadium. And we refilled them at the drinking fountain several times, making sure everyone rehydrated every half hour.
I'm happy to say that not one of us got sunburned yesterday, not even our toddler or our very fair skinned strawberry blonde, Reece. Our kids were troopers. They sat there in the blazing heat for almost 4 hours, full sun mind you, melting with sweat, but with minimal complaint. I think it's paid off that we've taken them to football games since they were infants. They know to sit still in public events, 2yo included.

The kids' eyes were large and telling as we passed homeless people on the way back to our car who were begging for food, money and beer (yes, one homeless man was soliciting for alcohol. How sad is that?!) Our kids were naturally curious (sweet Reece was trying to say hello to all of them) and I knew the questions would fly once we got back to the car. I was right. Olivia began.
"Mom, why were some of those homeless people begging for stuff when they're rich?"
You just never know how a child perceives a foreign situation, so I dug in.
"Whadda you mean, rich? Homeless people are not rich, Olivia. You know that."
"Uh huh! The guy asking for beer was."
"Olivia, he was not rich. He's a homeless man without a job, honey."
She bugged her eyes out to suggest shock at my apparent failed attention to detail, then exclaimed, "MOM! He owned a bike!"
I giggled. A lot. Oy vey, in her young mind, bikes are clearly associated with wealth. Oh, the lessons life will continue to teach my sweet, naive girl.

And for the record, it's been a tough week in baseball. Our REDS lost to the Phillies. Twice. (Did I mention dh is the assistant coach of a group of great young men also called the Reds?)

Luke 6:36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.

Toni

Family matters

2009-05-17T21:28:00.008-05:00

It's spring. The Noah project has ended (40 days of non-stop rain, or so it felt). The 10 day forecast shows sun or partial sun and that just makes me giddy as can be.
We've taken our 2-mile family walk on a local park trail for several days now. It winds past three ponds and a river, ending at a fishing lake with a beautiful view. Our kids like to run ahead to lay branches across the path as obstacles. Dh and I have to act like we don't see them and pretend to trip over them. Pathetic performances? Oh yeah! We've been making fake dorks out of ourselves for months now and yet...every time we take family walk together, game on.

My brother is a big birding fan. I try to catch a few pics to show him. However, I bring camera, birds laugh and fly away (seriously, I think they're laughing). I leave camera home and the rarest of birds are spotted. I told dh I wouldn't doubt that several birds might just land right on my shoulder, might even boldly serenade me just because I had no camera to document the occasion.
Or that I might spot a non-native species and completely miss the money shot. You know, like say, a toucan in a birch tree. Don't think I'm not lookin' either.

Oh, and another game we play...wait, let me clarify this one. A game that moi played exactly ONCE (yesterday) and won't likely play again is a foot race in the parking lot. We got back to the lot yesterday and the kids decided I needed to race them to our van. G'head, take yer best shot, chitlins. I lined up, standard starting position. They all tried to strike the same pose all the way down to the 2 year old. Daddy was the gunner dude (I'm sure that's not the official name for the, uh, official race starter person).

"On your mark! Get set! GOooo!"

I shot out like a bat out of Hell, Reece on my left, Cierah on my right. Note to self. Teach littles how to stay in their own lanes in a foot race. Next thing I knew, Reece cut left, Cierah cut right, their legs got all boogered up in a big snarl directly in front of me, I tripped and flew cleeeeeean over them, and feared I either crushed toes or sent foreheads crashing to the black top. Thankfully, they were fine, thanks in no small part to their mama tensing every possible muscle in her body to abort an out and out collision with their tiny frames. Which meant, for me, a few pulled back muscles. Which would be fine if my spine wasn't the subject of a Mother Goose Nursery Rhyme (There was a crooked man who had a crooked house...)

Okay sure, so that nursery rhyme was actually about a man. Point is, my Scoliosis-ridden spine was NOT happy I was falling in multiple directions all at the same time. Carl laughs when I say I'm gonna have a bad case of Kyphosis some day (and that's in another story, the Hunchback of Notre Dame). With my luck, I'll be the only hunchback with the pleural form, Kyphosai. A two-humped camel, if you will. Our foot race just nudged me further in that direction. It's never too early to peer into the future and prepare. Off to check out walkers on Craigslist.

Oh, and p.s.
We had our family bible lesson tonight, as we often do. Carl and I talked about a few heavier but very important messages with the kids, like marriage and family and God's purposes and will at work there. As we took turns praying, our collective words were serious, God centered, and filled with words of adoration and thankfulness.
That is, until Reece jumped in.
"God, please make Brandon stop liking golf. He's been taking my golf balls and playing with them for like 3, or prob-ly more, like 4 or 5 days or something, and I can't even play golf. It's my game too, so I really really hope he quits liking golf. Thank you for my wonderful family. In Jesus' name I pray. Amen."

Toni

A work in progress

2009-05-10T12:04:00.014-05:00

So clearly we still have some work to do in the art of receiving communion. You might recall that last time (which happened to be Reece's first time), Reece grabbed on to the bread with both hands (we break off a small piece from a round loaf) after very specific instruction to use two fingers only. Yeah, well!

We took communion again today. So naturally, I, his communion coach, reviewed our gameplan before stepping into the aisle.

"Two fingers, buddy."
"I know, Mom."
"Don't double hand it."
"K!"
"Just use two..."
"I know, Mom. Just two fingers. I got it."

Uh, yeah right. There was a better chance he got his bed made this morning and that was a long shot. But alas, I couldn't make a (bigger) scene in the middle of service, so I had to trust that he knew what he was doing this time.
And, exit stage left. Up to the front we meandered.

Two fingers poised and ready. Good. This is good. Flashes a smile at Mom. Always good. A shy grin passed at the petite server and then...

Reece pinched.
Two fingers on the bread, yes.
But NOT at the edge.
Oh nooOoo! I didn't think to tell him to stay on the edge of the bread.
He extended his pincher grasp a good 2 inches into the bread, then began to pull with all his scrawny might.

The petite server seemed caught off guard. Then I realized it was worse than that. She was actually off her center of gravity.
She leaned back a little.
A tug-of-war!
Oh my gosh, a tug-of-war on the communion bread for cryin' out loud!
Started by my deviceful strawberry blond, no less.
Okay then, I'm really beginning to doubt my abilities as communion coach.

So we get back to our seats and I ~~crouch and try to become invisible~~ sit down between Reece and Olivia.
He's beaming with pride.
"Look at the size of my piece, Mom."
It's a doozy, alright. I reel my bug eyes in just in time to hear Olivia bellow, "Mom, we need to get the recipe. This bread is sooooo good!"
Oh, for Pete's sake! My girl's picturing Paula Dean in the background instead of Jesus in the foreground.
Note to self: Well now, there goes my Mother of the Year award.
Oh how I looove me some redirection! (if you haven't already, feel the air of sarcasm brush over you now.)

And naturally, we weren't done yet. Because in Reece's world (here it comes, I know you know this by now), it's never really done. I turned to adjust myself in my seat and I saw Reece licking at his cup (yes, I said licking) and attempting to wipe up the grape juice he had just dumped all over his khaki pants. Gosh, I'm so glad I have it all together like one of those moms (add rolling eyes for dramatic impact.)

By now, we were about to share the bread together. Reece made an exaggerated gesture, extending his head forward from his neck while widening his already big green eyes to suggest, "What? Whadda want me to do? It was an accident!"
And really, what could I do?
No use cryin' over spilled juice (pun intended).
In the middle of Sunday service.
Where everyone else's children were gingerly guarding their tiny juice cups to prevent that very thing from happening.
Oh nooOoo, not in my world though. Clampetts!

And the icing on my Mother's Day "cake" came when Reece put his oh-so-large piece of bread in his mouth and began to chew.
And chew.
And CHEW!
"It's gonna be really hard to swallow this big piece, huh Mom?"
Huh indeed!
Back to the drawing board.
Again!

1 Corinthians 11:26
For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.

Toni

Deep thoughts with Reece

2009-05-06T14:37:00.003-05:00

Reece came into my room yesterday with a burning question.

"Mom? When am I gonna go bald?"

Sighing restlessly, he added, "I don't wanna!"

I assured him that his strawberry locks were anchored safely in place for some years to come and that he would have plenty of time to admire them in the mirror before that unwanted moment arrived. He seemed satisfied for a moment, but then a frown returned as the eyebrows raised, a new lightbulb obviously illuminated.

"Well,...how long am I gonna have to stay bald?"

Toni

Barbequed pizza, vegetarian style. Good Eatin'!

2009-05-01T22:32:00.005-05:00

Our family has taken a liking to barbequed bean pizza. It's our substitute for barbequed chicken pizza and we were pleasantly surprised by how yummy it is. It's a great meatless substitute. And you don't have to add any sauce at all, as there is plenty of flavor and "sauce" in the Bush's Grilln' Beans. Oh, and the beans give the most wonderful texture to the crust.
Be different. Give it a try!

BBQ BEAN PIZZA
******************

-two 22 oz. cans Bush's GRILLIN' Beans (barbequed), lightly drained.
-one 20 oz. can pinapple tidbits in natural juice, drained.
-three Jiffy pizza crust mixes (or your preferred crust)
-1½ bags shredded pizza cheese (more or less as you desire)
-1/2 tsp. dry oregano
-optional: very thin pepper slices

-Preheat oven toe 425º.
Make crusts according to directions on the box.
The dough is very moist after mixting and allowing to sit for 5 minutes. I then turn it out on the counter and knead a bit with additional flour until I achieve the desired texture.
Prebake crust for 3-4 minutes (water is the only ingredient added to Jiffy crust mix).
-spread beans over crust to within 1/2" of edges.
-Toss oregano with cheese, then add half the cheese to pizza.
-add pineapple layer
-add the remaining cheese.
-Bake for 14-15 minutes until crust is lightly browned.
-Cool slightly before slicing.

NOTE: For us, 3 Jiffy crusts makes one large rectangular pan and one round pizza pan.

Toni

BUNKER-LAND again!

2009-04-29T23:56:00.007-05:00

Olivia had to use the word "epidemic" in a sentence as one of her vocabulary words this past week (just before the whole Swine Flu crisis hit the news full force). I reminded her that there was an example provided in a recent bible lesson.

"Liv, do you recall the disease that affected many people? The one where they were required to live outside the city gates and when people were approaching them, they had to yell, 'I'm unclean! I'm unclean!'"

A bewildered look settled on her face for just a moment, then...
"Oh, yes. I remember! Cheetah!"

An even more bewildered look settled on my own face as I again found myself "going there", stepping into the hilarious world of my Bunker girl to see what was spinning that pretty little head of hers. Her Bunkerisms often confuse me but always make me giggle.

"Liv. Liv!
What.
In.
Thee.
World.
Is.
CHEETAH?"

Almost instantly, a big ol' cheesy, "We've been here before in BunkerLand and you know we'll be here again," smile spread across her face as she clarified.
"Sorry, Mom," with a giggle, "I meant Leopard-sy!"

Oy vey!

Toni

Communion a la Reece

2009-04-26T21:25:00.007-05:00

Today was Reece's first time participating in communion at church. He was very (VERY!) excited about it. I was very (VERY!) nervous, Reece being Reece. I just never know what he might do.

Or say.

So, I spent this past week coaching him on the proper way to receive communion. Now, I don't mean the "why" of taking communion. We've been over that in scripture together and he understands it as much as I think he possibly can for a boy of 7. No, I'm referring to the "how". And I decided it would probably be a good idea (a really, really good idea) to talk to Reece about HOW to go to communion.

"Honey, you're only going to use two fingers to pinch a piece of the bread. Just your two fingers, NOT your entire hand."
"I can't just grab it and get myself a big piece, right Mom?"
"Absolutely not. Just two fingers to pinch off a little piece of bread."
"How big is little, Mom? The size of a marble?" (Reece loves marbles)
"Yes, marble-sized would be good."
"No, it won't be good because maybe I won't remember how big a marble is. The size of my fingernail? Would that be good, Mom?"
"Okay, yes. Fingernail sized. You've seen our piece of bread when we come back to our seats, Reece. Tiny. Just a tiny piece."

Oy vey, how would it all go? It could go either way, Reece being Reece (which was not a comforting thought).

Now naturally, Carl is working on Sundays at this time so he had no worries at all. No, this one was all mine.
Our turn came.
Up we went.
Breath held.
Reece quickly eyed the bread and then....

BOTH hands on deck! Yes folks, he grabbed the bread with BOTH hands. Not only did he "forget" to only use two fingers to pinch off a piece, but he placed BOTH hands on the bread. Swell. Just swell.

The grape juice.
Please don't dump the grape juice.
After ~~manhandling~~ clumsily getting a piece of bread (three times the size of my piece, mind you), Reece's attention turned to the grape juice. He hesitated just long enough to again make me antsy. And I figured out why he hesitated. He was eyeballing the tiny cups to determine which one had the most in it. Yes. He. Did. Too.

I was stifling a giggle (and willing him not to trip and spill his juice in the middle of the aisle) as we headed back to our seats. But it wasn't over yet.
Reece is never really done. He began.

"Look at my piece, Mom. It's bigger than yours. Hahahahaha!"
"Mom, where do they buy these little cups?"
"Hey," (very concerned tone), "this bread doesn't match my shirt. Oh, but it matches yours. Hahahahaha!"
"I hope it doesn't taste rotten. Hey, it tastes like the bread we eat at Udupe."
"Does God know this is grape juice in this little cup?"

And there you have it. He really does understand the link between trusting in Jesus as his Savior and taking communion. Honest (we wouldn't have allowed him to take this next step if we felt he didn't.) But, well,...you have to know Reece.
This is him all the way.
Imaginative.
Talkative.
Inquisitive (one of his favorite thing to do is to watch the show, "How Stuff Works.")

I do believe I might need to bring Alka Seltzer to his baptism someday,...Reece being Reece.

Toni

Yards vs. (scary) Sales

2009-04-23T23:26:00.018-05:00

Today was Carl's day off, so we decided to hit a few garage sales before getting around to some much needed yard work. I don't know about you but in my way of thinking, life is too short. Who the heck needs to spend 8 hours pampering the lawn on their precious days off from work? Isn't that just more work? (Just nod your heads in agreement.) After all, a little splash of dandelions never did kill anyone, and they are every child's "dozen roses" for mama. So, garage sales first. Yard work ~~as an afterthought~~ next.

The first garage sale was a bit of a faux pas (that's fox pox for those who don't speak French). It was in our neighborhood and we saw tons of cars parked all around a house that had the garage door open and indeed was filled with lots of "stuff." Only, where's the sign? There's no sign in the yard. Only a vaccum cleaner by the curb, propped up against a mailbox. Okay, maybe but....

"Honey, let's go up and see."
Carl didn't like that plan one little bit. He thought it was some kind of "inside" sale or "giveaway." (seriously). I was all, "Just what kind of "inside" sale do you suppose they're having? Exactly how does one get an invitation to the pre-launch private sale before they open to the general public?" Carl wasn't amused. And c'mon, giveway? For crying out loud, I saw people hauling couches and mattresses out of the house. There's a better chance it was a break-in than a giveaway.

Anyhoo, we trodded up the drive and sure enough, sale was in full swing. It wasn't meant to start until tomorrow, but there was a garage sale sign posted at the entrance to our neighborhood, not far from this particular house, and all the sale groupies thought they had found their mark. And the garage sale operators (not the homeowners, btw, who are living in CA) were letting everyone stomp through the house to check out the goods, a bit like a tag sale.

Honestly? I just had fun checking out the house because it's bigger than mine (Oh, just stop. I'm not gonna hang my head too low here because all you Home and Garden types know you'd do it too.)

Finishing there, we moved on down the main road and found a sign at the end of a very long driveway. It was a bit intimidating, the thought of committing to a quarter mile drive off the main road just to check out someone's ~~junk~~ stuff. But we ended up taking that as a positive, thinking there just might be some good finds because others would have passed on the scary driveway. How I wish I'd learn to listen to that little voice inside, just as I was taught.

The first thing I noticed was a little shed with "Phyllis' pecans" on it. Yeah, that's because Phyllis is nuts (did I say that out loud?) Phyllis was probably in her late 60's, more like Grandma Phyllis (No offense to any grandma readers here; just setting the stage for what's about to come in this story.) And Phyllis was, well,....she was just kinda scary (think Nanny McPhee).
Why scary?
Well, for one, do you suspect your grandma wore a thong? I thought not.
Granny Phyllis does.
And that's not all.
They're see-through thongs at that.
And she was selling them at her garage sale. Oh sure, you can try to convince me that they weren't hers ("That's not mine, officer. I was just holding it for Granny Rose.") But the thing is, there wasn't a single thing in that sale, not one, that would have belonged to anyone BUT a grandma like Phyllis. Lots and lots of stuff she should have tried to sell back in 1972. You know the kind of sale I'm talking about.

Except for the thongs.

And I might have not thought they were hers. That is, until I discovered her collection of two-piece bathing suits, also circa 1972. I just don't know how to put this gently, but they had to be size 42 X-long (I'll leave you to your own visual on that one.)
Now I can't be sure, but I think I stifled a slight whimper on that note. It wasn't over yet, however. I looked in the corner and there sat Grandpa (a pecan picker back in the day, I assume). He had this, this....look. This strange smile that said he found my discomfort amusing. I so wanted to turn to Carl and say, "Grandma got her freak on! We need to get the heck out of here NOW!," but I believe I only forged a strained, "All done. Ready, honey?" The look on Carl's face told me he too had passed Granny Phyllis' scary collection of sale items, which apparently left him a bit queasy and disoriented. Time to go!

The final sale was almost as scary. Should have turned back when we saw a guy that looked like Waldo (yes, that Waldo) attempting to start a chainsaw in the front yard. Again, it was a long driveway. Again, we failed to heed that warning sign. We got out of our van and a geriatric Cujo began toward us. He was probably part Chow and his upper lip appeared to be slightly curling as he made his way in our direction. I quickly shoved my kids behind me and forbade them to attempt to pet him.

A "bohemian" woman suddenly appeared out of nowhere. She had a ragged handkerchief tied over her head, hippie style, camoflauge pants and a heavily worn army green tank top on. No shoes and some very curly but unkept (a la wild) hair.
"He don't bite. He don't even hear," she yelled.

Swell, so now geriatric Cujo is also deaf. Given that he also had cataracts, I began to feel a bit better about his approach, wondering if he even still had teeth. Could it be any worse?
That's when Tripod, the 3-legged cat, appeared from around the back of the house. Naw, not really, but it wouldn't have surprised me after seeing Chainsaw Waldo in the front yard. We're so outa here!

Four hours of yard work didn't look so bad after all that. And it was a most productive four hours at that; mowing, weed whacking, weeding front yard beds, dropping organic fertilizer in the front and seed in the back, thatching and bagging the front yard, and blowing away stray clippings from the drive and sidewalk. And frankly, after the garage sale adventures we had today, that yard work was more like child's play.

Afterthoughts:
Did I mention that I hit Reece in the leg with the weed whacker? He snuck up on me. If you're thinking, "I've done that before," then you've never seen Reece's legs. He barely hits the height/weight charts (3rd to 5th percentile). And his legs? Well, I'm thinking dandelion stems stand a better chance against the weed whacker. I'm just sayin'.

Oh, and I was clued in to enter a contest over at Pioneer Woman's blog. Admittedly, I am not a regular reader (don't hate me). But okay, I'll jump in on a chance to win a sw-weeet mixer. She was giving away 4. I scrolled down and saw over 400 entries. Well,...okay, about a 1% chance of winning. Not terrible for a giveaway.
I added my entry and...............I was officially something like entry #11,468. After reeling my bug eyes in, I gave a defiant little, "Hmmmf!" and thought, "I'll just run my own contest sometime. I'm sure I can come up with something for the 18 followers of my blog. Granny Phyllis had a few choice items, for example. What size sheer thong do y'all wear? ;)

Toni

ANOTHER NAME WRITTEN...

2009-04-18T21:07:00.002-05:00

IN THE LAMB'S BOOK OF LIFE! The lamb's perfect record has now extended itself to include Reece, who, after precious times of talking about who Jesus is and what He has done for all (Romans 3:23, Romans 10:9-11), asked me to pray with him tonight as he asked Jesus into his heart as his Lord and Savior. Praising God for Reece's decision to follow Jesus!

“There is rejoicing in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents!” Luke 15:10

Toni

HE HAS RISEN!

2009-04-12T11:35:00.004-05:00

HE HAS RISEN INDEED!

A Happy and Blessed Easter to all!

Toni

Woe is me (part 1)

2009-04-10T21:21:00.007-05:00

TurboTax is my Brad Pitt. I mean, I hold that handsome little product up on a pedestool and pledge my deep devotion. ;) Seriously, I'm a TT fan for life. It all started about 4 years ago when my dad had a heart attack. He had been preparing my taxes for me since,..well,...always. The thing is, I am no financial whiz. And as far as taxes go, I have not clue one. But my Dad, on the other hand, loves numbers. And he really enjoyed doing taxes for anyone in the family who wanted him to. Me want!

So during the tax season of 2005, my dad had his heart attack and was unable to prepare our taxes. Now, for the record, my dad survived (quintuple bypass surgery) and that's all that truly matters in this little "woe is me" tax tale. But one fact still remains.

I'm not good with financial "stuff".

I'm not good with spread sheets, payable and receivable, or red and black either. And of all years to have to learn about taxes, it was the year my dh moved out of state, which of course meant filing in two states (and the following year it involved THREE states; I'm thinking God was proving a point, that He wasn't happy with my indifference to accounting class in the 11th grade? I"m just sayin'...)
Left to our own devices, TurboTax saved the day.
And has ever since.

So this year, we were all excited to have filed and hit the notorious SEND tab. That is, until the next day when the feds rejected our returns. OUCH!

It seems we forgot to change Brandon's name with social security(SS) when we finalized our adoption last year (I know). I called SS to see what we would need to bring in to make the change. I got one of those, you know, "lovely" automated voice systems, which btw, screamed at me. I am so serious when I say that. Apparently, I didn't answer with a prompt yes or no and I ticked the fake person off on the other end because the next thing I knew, "she" was screaming the question in my ear. Seriously, folks, screaming. The volume had been amplified like mega times louder. And I couldn't scream back either because "she" would have taken me back to the beginning of the options menu ("She" had all the power, I tell ya.)

So "she" told me, and I quote, DO NOT BRING IN A BIRTH CERTIFICATE. YOU MUST HAVE AN OFFICIAL COPY OF YOUR ADOPTION DECREE, NOT A NOTARIZED COPY. Okay well, being just a tad bit leary of the screaming automated voice system "she" (who clearly was not very stable), I waited patiently to be screamed at by a real person instead. And while the real person didn't actually raise her voice to me, she did basically call me a moron when she condescended, "Because M'am, you really needed to make that name change. Otherwise, when your son needs a driver's license, he won't be able to get one." Oh, how I wanted to fire back, "Exactly, sister, you got me there. Exposed my devious plot. I don't want my son to get a driver's license. Because then he might actually, what, drive, and we couldn't have that, now could we?"
Anyhoo (sheesh!), she verified that yes, I would only need to bring an official adoption decree to the SS office to get the name changed.
Great!
Dh would go the next day.
"Honey, I'm home. They couldn't do the name change because I didn't bring his birth certificate with me."
Well, excuse me while I scream. So clearly, my calling to check on the necessary documents (and subsequently being yelled at by the automated voice "she" AND being reprimanded by the live "she" for withholding driving privileges from my 2yo) was a complete waste of time. Fact was, we did need Brandon's birth certificate.
Swell, one small problem.
Forgot to name change that document post-adoption as well.

SOOOO.....TAX TIME COMETH AND YOU DON'T HAVE THE BIRTH CERTIFICATE THAT CHANGES THE SS NUMBER THAT PROMPTS THE FEDS TO ACCEPT YOUR TAXES. WHADDA YA DO?

Sure, we could file an extension, but that wouldn't be all complicated and crazy. Kind of like filing the 1040EZ. Why do that when you can sweat and toil over the 1040, right? ;)
Tune in next time when visit...the rest of the story.

Toni

A CLASS ACT

2009-04-02T22:06:00.021-05:00

We are a class act, the "H" family. If you've read my blog for any length of time (stand up and be counted, masses), then you know we find ourselves in some, uh, "classy" squeezes.
*Reece checking himself VERY publicly for mud bunnies (here).
*Olivia threatening to throw down with an elderly lady at the post office (here).
*Cierah clinging to me like a 6-toed cat on an angora sweater because she was not about to use a brick glamour twa-lette (here).
*And nothing, absolutely nothing points out the many fine qualities of the H family and our high falutin' class like our stellar Denny's incident (here).
If you know us and know the stories, well then, you know. Class act all the way, baby.

So then, this evening's outing will come as no shock to you reg'lars. Walk with me...
Hubs had a very busy day at the airport and was held for 90 minutes mandatory overtime at the end of his shift (small potatoes as mandatory overtime goes, but just enough to unravel one's last nerve when it's hanging by a frayed thread). Meanwhile, back at the ranch (we don't have a ranch, I just wanted to add that for visual drama), I was being brutalized by four tough little commandos and their brilliant plan to rule the empire.

FREEZE FRAME: Loud crash heard in upstairs bedroom during Liv's math lesson.

Mom rushes upstairs to find a crying Brandon with a rasberry on his chin and buckets-o-tears flowing down his sweet (but not so innocent) little face. The hap? He and Reece decided to make a game out of Brandon jumping on Reece's VERY high bed to try to make slam dunks with Reece's stuffed animals. The hoop? None other than Reece's ceiling fan. Oh, and impish Reece? "I was just the ball return, Mom. I don't know how he got that boo boo." Hmm, seems I recall Richard Pryor once saying that a lamp got broken when his boys ran through the house. On questioning, one son replied, "I don't know how that got broken, Daddy. Why, that lamp was broken before I was even born." ;)

So now that you have a little glimpse into our chaotic day, you'll understand why us grown ups rebelled by refusing to cook dinner. Oh yes I would too do that. I defiantly tossed my kitchen apron in the darkest closet I could find and harshly slammed the door, a firm stand taken against my personal army of pint-sized banschees. Hmmmf! That'll fix their broken wagons! Okay, so I don't really have a kitchen apron. Just roll with me, would ya?

So the waitress at Sals Italian Restaurant takes our order. Our kids have no idea
what they're ordering, but they love to read menus and they think placing an order is aiken to waving a magic wand and POOF, food arrives on a plate in front of them.
Reece: "I'll take the fet-two-chinny with TWO bread sticks. TWO! It comes with two. Not just one. Make sure I get two because it says TWO right here." Naturally, his sisters pipe up and insist that their "feh-two-chinny" comes with two bread sticks as well. THANK GOODNESS for 1st grade readers. I mean, I'm sure the restaurant would have absolutely no idea how many bread sticks to include if not for our little Einsteins and their brilliant and necessary clarification (Toni tries not to fall under the table from embarrassment.)

The waitress brought some complimentary slices of bread to the table. Carl and I enjoy the dipping oils and so we poured some and placed it in the middle of the table for all to share. Reece took a particular liking to it.
"Mom, why are we eating oil?"
"Because it's good with the bread. Do you like it? It looks like you're enjoying it."
"Mmm-hmm. It's good. But it doesn't have any taste."
"Well, there's a slight spicy taste to it."
"No, no taste," then more insistant and sing-songy, "Nothing!"
Perplexed, I continued. "Yes, well,..uh,..then why are you eating it if it tastes like nothing?"
"Right. That's what I asked you in the first place."
(Toni is now baffled into silence, but Reece is NEVER silent)
"If it doesn't taste like anything, I can't say I don't like the taste because it doesn't HAVE any taste. So, I like it."
(Help me, Lord)

The service at SAL'S was uncomfortably slow, so Reece worked toward his inevidible requisite pit stop.
"I have to go to the bathroom."
We reminded him of all the things Reece needs constant reminders for, like walking and not running, speaking in a whisper and not screaming, flushing once and not making a game out of flushing again and again (When he was potty training, his dad taught him to yell, "Fire in the hole!", which Reece would bellow again and again as he flushed...we've got class written all over us.) As he left the table, he became intrigued by the fact that there was more than one passageway out of our area of the restaurant to the side that housed the bathrooms.

"Watch, Mom. I'm gonna wait 'till I get back there to cut over to the bathroom." He walked to the back of the room, turned and flashed a huge red-headed grin, then disappeared through the doorway to the other side.
"BACK AGAIN!", he yelled almost instantly, forgetting his inside voice and scaring the b'jeebies out of me, my feathers all ruffled and my heart a racing.
"Shhhh!" I shot back, insistently pointing back toward the bathrooms.
Again, he disappeared through the doorway.
I waited a few moments.
He didn't reappear.
Satisfied that he was really gone this time, I turned back around in my seat to chat with Hubs.

Suddenly from behind me, "PSSSSSSSST!"

For Pete's sake, what now??? I turned around to see Reece, both arms stretched out, palms facing forward, as he whispered loud as anyone could ever whisper,
"I
HAVE
TO
POOP!"

Now would be a good time to point out that linen table cloths double nicely as full body cover. I nearly pulled ours out from under the overlaid glass, I tell you.

On impulse, I loudly whispered back.
"REECE!
DO NOT ANNOUNCE YOUR BUSINESS.
JUST GET IN THERE AND TAKE CARE OF IT."

He loudly reciprocated. WHISPERING, of course.
"I CAN'T.
SOMEBODY ELSE WAS IN THERE FIRST AND IT'S GOING TO FLOOD IF I FLUSH IT."
(Ewwwwww!!!!!!)

Folks, howz that for class? Didn't help one bit that Reece is in major need of a haircut, put clothes on this morning that were three sizes too big, and basically looked like an extra from a Little Orphan Annie stage production. Proud mama here, all aglow (red-faced embarrassment will do that). Clampetts!

Truth is, I genuinely treasure our quirky, challenging, never-a-dull-moment family that God knitted together.
It's NOT perfect.
It's NOT smooth sailing all the time (or even most of the time).
And it's NOT easy to meet all needs, all the time, all that well.
But it is the family God called me to.
And no matter what happens within the dynamics of us on any given day, I am absolutely certain that His plan is at work in all our lives, individually AND collectively.
Glass half full, it's a beautiful vantage point, there for the taking.
It's God's telescope. Grab a view.

And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28 NAS

Toni

Airline Industry, "HA!"

2009-03-26T21:39:00.010-05:00

I gotta say, nothing gives blog fodder like a job in the airline industry. Now you might think, "What's so special about that industry?
You'd have to ask A&E Network, as they clearly felt it was the perfect choice for a (once) new reality show, entitled (naturally) "AIRLINE".
Now, I imagine they crossed a few contenders off their list before narrowing it down to the frontrunner.
Reality shows like "RESTROOM" (where the men waltz right in but the women stand in lines for 15 minutes or more).
Perhaps "TAX TIME" was also in the running, along with "CALL CENTER" and my personal favorite, "THE D.M.V."
But at the end of the day, it was "AIRLINE" that won out.

Having worked in that industry for more than 13 years, I know a thing or two about it. Ah, the stories I could tell...
-the man who took off all his clothes mid-flight and would not put them back on. Wouldn't keep the blankets over him either. No statement. Just no clothes.
-the lady who checked dead cats (smelly dead cats at that)
-the young man who was yelling at me because he was supposed to be in Cleveland. Which he was. Only, he failed to tell anyone he needed a ticket to Cleveland, TN (which would be a significant detail, seeing as his ticket read Cleveland, OH)
-the lady who threw a snake away in the trash because she couldn't check it.
-the guy who hid darts with pornographic images on them in our teleprompters because he couldn't travel with them.
-the couple who was from Jordon, who were highly offended that I "dared" to examine their travel documents closely (I assured them that I took the safety of ALL passengers from ALL nations with equal seriousness; that they should feel reassured that we do our jobs thoroughly, to which they suggested I shouldn't have to look their documents up, that if I was efficient, I would simply KNOW if they were okay to travel or not...sigh)
-being asked at least 10 times if I would park someone's car for them because it was curbside and they were about to miss their flight
-having a late arriving doctor demand that I bring the flight back to the gate or it would be on MY conscience that someone died in Atlanta (you don't have any dead relatives in Atlanta, do you?). I'm glad *I* needed to have that on *my* conscience, and that he didn't need to feel bad about, what?, being LATE!

As you can see (and if you've ever watched A&E's show), it's a "lively" job.
The few.
The proud.
The gluttens for punishment.
The Airline Industry.
I won't get into the nature of the beast (irregular operations, the anxiety associated with flying, etc.) I'll just share the latest "unique experience" that hubs encountered (most of you know that while I left the industry to care for our children, he is still there, God rest his nervous system). So today, he was working the ticket counter when an older lady with a furrowed brow and a brightly colored moo moo approached his position. Clearly frustrated, she grumbled, "They won't let me take this through security. I need to put it in my bag." Now, there was a day when it might have been possible to call the bag room and retrieve a passenger's bag. But for reasons I won't get into here, it was not going to be possible today. So hubs shared that bad news with her.

SCREECH!

She was NOT happy.
In.
The.
Least.

She barked, "Just what do you expect me to do with this?"
(Insert Toni's thought: "Um, you don't want a serious answer to that question, right?)
So hubs suggested she allow someone from her send-off party to take it home with them. LOL, she blew him away. You're gonna love this one. It was (according to hubs) one of those bottles of Bath&Body Works body sprays. She huffed and hawed and then working toward a near screaming crescendo, she spouted, "I will NOT have someone take my stuff home. I'm gonna spray this entire bottle on me before I board my flight. I will smell from head to toe and I don't care if it makes the other passengers sneeze or choke or anything else!"
(My guess is that last one made reference to an all-out asthma attack or allergic reaction to her full bottle spray down, but it's only a hunch.)
I can't help but giggle as I picture this, but she grabbed the bottle and aggressively waved it at hubs before defiantly continuing. "See! I'm gonna start right NOW!", and she walked away in a cloud of spritz, liberally sraying herself all over, pits and all.
Just another day in Paradise!

Toni

Just what IS is he looking at?

2009-03-22T13:37:00.005-05:00

So I'm sitting in church today and 7yo Reece is next to me, clearly enthralled by something. He was leaning forward to see around me,while glancing upward toward the wall on the other side of me, the wall which was half an aisle away. I quickly became curious as to the source of his focus (because let's face it, anything that holds a 7yo boy's attention for more than a few seconds is probable cause for genuine alarm).

I looked over at the wall. Hmmm, not much there to stare at, other than the light fixtures. Oh, gulp! I certainly hope he hasn't discovered something he best NOT be rudely staring at, like blue hair on an old lady or something. I cringed as I investigated. Phew, safe. No blue hairs, third eyes, or anything else I would have needed to crawl under my chair for.

So,....just what is that boy staring at?
Only one way to find out.
I leaned over and, ever so quietly, inquired.
"Reece, honey. It's not polite to stare."
"Sah-wee, Mom."
Couldn't leave well enough alone, so I pressed onward.
Again, whispering, "Reece, what were you staring at for so long?"
"Your nose. I could see right up those little holes on the bottom of it."
I just had to ask (sigh).

Psalm 18:15 ESV
Then the channels of the sea were seen, and the foundations of the world were laid bare at your rebuke, O Lord, at the blast of the breath of your nostrils.
(Well, what verse would you choose?)

Toni

Ant Rant!

2009-03-20T23:00:00.005-05:00

I know y'all are aware of the gift I have for meeting colorful characters. Lessee, there was Bubba and 'em dawgs. And my own personal dream team. And who could forget Grandpa Cradle and his plans for the pulpit? Now, now. No need to covet. Apparently I just have a knack. And so the good gift continues.....

We were checking out groceries at Kroger the other day. Have you seen Napoleon Dynamite?

OK, well, he works at my Kroger (Sniz can vouge for me). So Napoleon noticed we were buying ant traps. He began.

" 's only way to get 'em, ya know."

Dh, coming out of his grocery line stupor, responded in question.
"Come again?"

"Ants. There's only one way to get 'em. Basically, ya gotta spray 'em dead."
Dh, not wanting to debate unsolicited but friendly advice, simply nodded.

"Well?"

I could see the confusion-induced droplets of sweat beginning to form on dh's brow. He was heistant to take on our local version of Napoleon, especially where God's tiniest creation was concerned. So he stood there staring blankly, obviously confused by what it was, exactly, that he was supposed to be answering, when Napoleon broke the ackward silence and continued.

"Course, if you spray everything down, your dog might die."

"Huh!" dh mused, obviously considering how our dog might be impacted when, in fact, we don't even have a dog.

"And nobody wants dead pets." (Yes, Napoleon, I believe we can safely agree on that one. Most folks definitely do prefer to co-habit with the live version.)

"Plus if you spray, they come for their dead and take them back to their little hive," a slight pause for consideration, then he added, "or whatever."

At this point, I was wondering if I should be helpful and dab dh's brow. Conflicted about how to handle the strange stand-off, I overcompensated by frantically packing groceries (think Edith Bunker).
Back to Napoleon...

"So really, spraying'll just bring more ants, which really is the opposite of what you're trying to accomplish. So if I were you, I'd just set out some ant traps."

Dang, that boy's got some skills! ;)

Btw, you might know that we recently cruised to the Bahamas with our dear friends, Miss Sniz and Big Doofus. What you might NOT know though, is that Big Doofus, he's got some pipes. Check him out HERE and be sure to let him know you stopped by.

Toni

Always interesting (conversations with Reece)

2009-03-19T20:42:00.002-05:00

Into the kitchen Reece came, a science book in tow.
"S...A..R...S...A...P...A...R...I...L...L...A. What does that say, Momma?
Can we eat it?"
I explained that the root has been used to make a "sasparilla" soda, quickly recalling that Reece drank it last October when we were in Tucson.

"You had it, actually, when we were in Tucson."
"I did? What did it taste like?"
"A little like root beer. Do you remember?"
"Was it at a restaurant?"
"Uh huh."
"Did it come in a brown bottle?"
"Uh huh."
"Was the bottle kind of tiny?"
"Yes, uh huh."
"Hmmm,...I don't remember that."

OY VEY!

Toni

Play-Doh: one toddler's aversion

2009-03-15T15:33:00.007-05:00

At 2 years old, my others have been fearful of all sorts of things. Olivia was afraid of mall Santas. Reece, anything involving movement or loud sounds (he basically skipped amusement parks from age 2 to age 6). And Cierah just knew that toilets (especially pit toilets) were going to suck her into their vortex below.

But Brandon's different. Our daredevil. He'll try most anything. And he's quite pleased with himself, but for a few exceptions. Play-doh, my friends, is one of those.

Oh sure, he'll get out his "paw-doh" and roll it around in little balls. He'll hand press it into molds and cut it with plastic knives and cookie cutters. Heck, he'll even taste it (while pretending to like the taste of salt and ply.) But there's just one little problem Brandon has with "the doh" and it goes like this.

Do not press the playdough through any of the pressers. Instant willies for Brandon. But don't take my word for it. Let him speak for himself (and I do believe his word of choice is, "Yuck!")

Toni

Cruise recap!

2009-03-08T11:35:00.011-05:00

Okay, I finally have some photos uploaded from our recent cruise with Miss Sniz and Big Doofus. If you have never gone on a cruise, I highly suggest you consider it when it is possible for you. Not only do I feel it's a good value, but I also think it's THE most relaxing vacation you can experience. No worries about what to do, where to eat, where to stay, or how to get around. You literally board your ship and indulge in relaxation for the duration of your cruise. That fact alone deserves some weight when considering the cost. ;) And now, a little peak at our time out to sea!

Behind the boats is a long pink building. That's Bayside, an artsy Miami mall that is a favorite stop for tourists who overnight before their cruise. At the far left of the shot is a round building. That's the Hard Rock Cafe, where we all had dinner the night before we sailed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~All aboard!~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sniz and I enjoying the sunshine by the pool on our ship.

Dh and I, outside Señor Frogs, Nassau.

The four of us hiked up to Fort Fincastle and the Queen's Staircase. That's Sniz heading down the Queen's staircase.

The "international airport" at Great Stirrup Cay (the private island). This heli- pad was part of a past military installation.

Our ship anchored near our private island. We had to take a tender boat in choppy seas from the ship to the island. Click on the photo and you'll be able to see the tender docked at the side of the ship.

See that open door? That was where we boarded the tender to go over to the island. Dh couldn't believe how little seperation there was between the threshhold of the door and the surface of the water. Yikes!

Our own private island in the Bahamas! Love this place.

Sniz and Big Doofus. Don't they look adorable? This was our last night, out on deck under the stars.

Toni

Putting out a fire of my own

2009-02-28T12:29:00.013-05:00

Our homeschool group met at a local fire station for a field trip yesterday. I registered for this trip a good three months ago and had to sign the littles up for a 9 o'clock tour and my oldest for the 10 o'clock tour. I received an email from the coordinator, asking me if I could just bring all my kids to the later tour to help balance out the registration numbers. Sure, no prob!

So I showed up yesterday at 10 am and the "sign" came. You know, the "It's not going to be smooth sailing," kind of sign. The coordinator walked up to me, peering over the top of her wire-rimmed glasses, and inquired, "Did you have some of your children signed up for the earlier tour?"

She thinks I'm late. Isn't that special?

"Why, yes. I did. But I was asked to show up with all my chitlins at the TEN o'clock tour." (Hmfff!)

To my chitlins, "Fall in!"

And off we went. Now first of all, you'd have to know my Reece to understand how this was bound to go for me. He talks incessantly. He doesn't always remember to be socially appropriate when desiring to speak and it's something we have to work on constantly. And besides, he is a highly inquisitive child and, well, he just has LOTS to say. ;) And so he began...

"What's down that hall?"
"What's that for?"
"Where do you go to the bathroom?"
"What's this hole on the fender for?"
"Why are your shoes laying by the fire truck?"
"What's that stair climber for?"
"OH MY, MOMMY! LOOK AT HOW BIG THESE WEIGHTS ARE!!!"
Me, to Reece, "Shhhh! Listen to the man quietly please."
Reece, glossing over my words and turning to the man, "Who uses those things?"

It went on,...and on,....and ON!!!!!

That is, until a live call came in. The sounding alarms nearly scared Brandon clean out of his diaper. I tried to calm him down as I checked my own pulse for cardiac arrythmia (Sheesh!) Meanwhile, Reece is spinning with curiosity.

"What's that? What's that? Do you hear that, Momma? (as if) Hey, why are they,....WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Never mind that they TOLD us where they were going. As usual, Reece glossed over their words and responded from his own world of sensory overload and sensory aversion. It is sometimes concerning yet somehow endearing all at the same time (parents of a special needs child, can I get an amen?)

We got to watch as the guys loaded up onto the truck in only one minute (literally) and were on their way. Touring with the secretary, while I appreciated her efforts, just wasn't the same. Thankfully, it was only a first responder's call and they were back in less than ten minutes (according to the captain, about 85-90% of their runs are first responder calls and only about 10-15% are actual fires each year).

So the very humorous Harry Connick Jr. look-alike fireman resumed our tour. He was telling us that they do try to save personal items when possible, and gave a shining example of braving fallen roof timbers to save a box of photos for one family.
One homeschool mom spoke up and said, "I told my husband that if our house is ever on fire, he's to save our dishwasher."

She giggled at her comment.

I tried to control my twitching eyelid (that's what I get for rolling my eyes.)

Her self-amusing giggle wasn't nearly as hard as I giggled, however, when Harry Connick Jr. spoke up and cracked, "So,...he would grab you by the hand and lead you out!" Get it? Save the dishwasher. Bahahahaha! Harry and I were laughing to the exclusion of everyone else on our tour, who clearly missed or didn't get his joke (it was early).

We finally headed upstairs to take a look at the fire pole. Now, I once visited my dear fireman friend, Dan, at his station in Cleveland (Hi, Dan!!!) It was an old station (I believe they called it the bat cave) and indeed had a pole. Dan told me no one really used it though (curse that 70's show, Emergency, for making us think they do.)

So Harry's telling us that the pole is the only one in our local fire stations and is there for historical significance, that "no one really uses it." According to him, they used to let touring parents or chaperones slide down the pole. That is, until one dad went THUD at the bottom. Good thing he was among EMT's, eh? I'm thinking he might should have, what, held on? Just thinkin'.

So, 'bout the time Harry's finishing up this story, Brandon (age 2) decides it would be a good time to pull my sweater out and take a look-see inside. Mortified, I pulled it all back in place with as much dignity as I could muster. Oh, the game was on. He did it again. And AGAIN. And now, I had an audience. A "we're pretending we don't notice this hilarious power struggle but we actually DO notice" audience. Swell! I couldn't put him down, lest he made a bee line for the pole. At the same time, I wasn't reveling in the thought of defending my pieces-parts and dignity against the will of a 2 year old. Did I mention it was a brass pole? I flushed with embarrassment as it took on a whole new meaning in the midst of our power struggle.

Fire station tour!
Half dressed mom and a brass pole.
Fire station tour.
Half dressed mom and a brass pole.

Oh why, oh WHY could that live call not have occurred in that charming moment?

Needless to say, I was sooo glad to be done with our little venture to the local fire station. And if my house ever catches fire, you can be sure I'm calling the next town over.

Toni

Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale...

2009-02-23T22:37:00.009-05:00

Okay, couldn't resist opening with the first line from Gilligan's Island. People, we had a GREAT time. Y'all have no idea how this all came together, so I'll just expand on it a little. Walk with me...

Carl was working the ticket counter one day in January, when our friends from church stopped by to say hi to him as they departed for their cruise. Their excitement stirred a flicker in him, a flicker that would soon ignite a flame. See, we had been blessed to take many cruises B.C. (before children) due to the travel industry discounts Carl gets through his job. The last cruise we took was in May of 1999. Our foster kids had just reunited with their family that week and we cruised to Alaska, hopeful for them that their family crisis was over and yet saddened by the silence of our home, a home without children. We returned from that cruise to learn that our foster kids' mother wanted us to adopt her baby (due to be born that July). That baby is our oldest daughter, Olivia. That cruise to Alaska, our last one.

Fast forward ten years. Carl called me from work in January after seeing our friends at the airport.
"Why couldn't we do that?"
"Well,...uh,...I dunno. I guess we could."
And so began the journey of a thousand miles (1024 flight miles to be exact, Indy to Miami). And it began with the proverbial first step. Calls were made. Childcare was lined up. Expenses were considered. And then...

"Why don't we ask our dear friends Big Doofus and Miss Sniz to join us?" There are many reasons we thought this was a great idea, but it really all came down to one; we knew we would enjoy their company. And so we asked. And after another dozen or so details were addressed, it was a go. And go we did, the four of us, to Miami.

We spent the night in Miami to ensure that there wouldn't be any travel related delays and/or fatigue that interfered with our first day on the ship. All four of us were feeling adventurous, so we decided to access public transportation to head over to Bayside Mall for the evening. And we made it there too, in spite of the fact that there were no less than three bus routes that supposedly were "the one" to get us there. We even met an older Jamaican gentleman who was trying to be very helpful as we maneuvered the transfers from bus to rail, but we were so obviously "tourist lost" that he just kept laughing at us as if we were unknowing characters in a situational comedy. Dinner at Hardrock Cafe and a stroll through the artsy Bayside mall were enjoyed by all.

The next day, we were up and moving, ready to head to the port at 11 am. Check in was a breeze and in no time at all, we were on board and welcomed with a complimentary glass of champagne. Have you seen the movie Groundhog Day? If so, then you'll appreciate the part where we all got lost while exploring the enormous Norwegian Sky and found ourselves back at square one, receiving a complimentary glass of champagne. I had to laugh as we boarded, because the crew was standing there in tropical shorts with big smiles on their faces. I couldn't help but hear Ricardo Montalban's, "Smiles, everyone!" as we passed their grining faces.

From that point on, reality blurred with surreality. It was sooo wonderful to be pampered, to enjoy delicious meals amid dear friends, and to make memories that will stay with us for the rest of our lives.
We shopped at the straw market,

visited Christ Church cathedral,

and made our way to the Queen's Staircase.

We spent a fun day at sea, sunning to a crisp (this was NOT part of our plan, I tell you. I had 30spf on and still fried.) In spite of our sunburns, it was a truly wonderful day of complete, carefree relaxation.

And we also spent a day on Norwegian's private island, Great Stirrup Cay. This was my third time on the island and I love it as much as I always have. The water is a beautiful turquoise blue. The pines and palms rustle in the tropical breeze. The lighthouse stands magestically at one end of the island (a mile by hike). And of course, there's the international airport (nothing more than a heli-pad). The seas were choppy and the tender ride over was quite bumpy, but it didn't put one iota of a damper on our day. Not one.

I'll share some actual photos with you soon (I'm a slug about uploading photos, which doesn't compliment the hobby of scrapbooking too well). Until then, thought I'd give you an update so you know we made it back alive and well. Sniz has some photos posted on her blog so stop by and check them out.

As for our way home, dh and I were flying standby. We got ourselves on the list for Miami to Chicago. I asked him to login to a gate computer just to double check the standby list and see if we were likely to make the flight. Uh, no. That would be a definite no, what with FIFTY standbys ahead of us on the list. That's right, F-I-F-T-Y. So, we flew back to Indy, then purchased standby fares on Continental into Cleveland (yes, ironically Indy is home and we made it back to Indy but our children were waiting for us at their Nana and Papa's house back in Cleveland).

Toni

Hoist up the sails!

2009-02-08T18:40:00.003-05:00

It's kind of quiet here In The Midst, as I am knee deep in packing for our upcoming cruise next Monday while simultaneously continuing to homeschool and maintaining some semblance of domestic life. Stay tuned for a cruise recap in coming days.

One of the many tasks at hand was to buy a new swimsuit. A few stores do have them out now. I know this because I spent the last few weeks looking for them and let me tell you, most stores do NOT have them. Not even TJ Maxx, where I could have counted on good quality for a reasonable price. Kohls has beautiful suits out. At uh,...$36 to $40 PER PIECE (sheesh, they're basically just loin cloth). So Target it was. Still not happy with price (given the lesser quality) but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.

Imagine my surprise when I walked out of my dressing room to check the suit in the chamber of humiliation (a.k.a. the 3-sided mirror) and who should walk in? A guy. A young guy walked into MY dressing room. Yes. He. Did. Too. Oh yeah, I'm sure Mr. co-ed college dorm dude wasn't at all taken aback (well, other than the sight of moi in a tankini). But *I*, on the other hand, was quite surprised. Albeit not as surprised as seeing every flaw present on my entire body in that evil mirror. I mean, who comes up with the exposured lighting anyway? Wouldn't they want us to think we actually look good in a swimsuit (as opposed to thinking we look like a 4 year old's lumpy playdough creation).

So, in honor of my uncomfortable swimsuit shopping gala, I thought I'd share a little blast from the past for ya. Swimsuit adventures aren't only for the old, you know. Without further ado, I give you....A BLOND MOMENT!

Toni

Fruitcake!

2009-02-02T22:24:00.010-05:00

We had to go to War-mart the other night (as my friend, Vicki, would say). One of the things we needed to pick up was some faux fruit to fill a black wire basket on our new kitchen table. I had seen the fruit there previously and knew it would work perfectly. First though, we had to pick up some hair mousse, which was near the front of the store. As always, dh was the task master, while I was busy talking his ear off. It's a gift.

He headed down the necessary aisle while I waited with the kids in the main walkway.
Returning a minute later, he said, "Look, buy one, get one. Now, let's go get the fruit."

Leading the way, he began walking again, while I, naturally, begin talking again.
"So the girls went to see that Renee Zellweger movie. Well, okay, so it's a Harry Connick Jr. movie too. Which, uh hem, doesn't have anything to do with why I wanted to see it too."
Anything much, that is.

When I stopped to inhale, dh said without skipping a beat,
"Where is this fruit? This way?"

"Uh huh. So, as I was saying,..." and I rambled on, not really aware of where we were heading at all, or even why. I was too busy doing what we women do best, ~~annoy them with our incessant rambling~~, talking his ear off.

We were almost to the grocery end of the store when dh again asked, a bit more frustrated this time, "Are we headed in the right direction? Where is the fruit?"

Now frustrated with his apparent lack of interest in my story, coupled with his apparent inability to find the dang fruit, I grumbled, "It's this way, in the produce section."

SCRATCH! (enter DJ vinyl album sound effect)

He stopped abruptly, turned to face me and calmly said with a hint of surprise in his voice, "Not that fruit. The fake stuff you needed for our kitchen table. Where is thaaat fruit? The vegetables are clearly right here beside me, but where is the fake fruit?"

A slight pause (and slight chill in the air) followed by all out laughter. I stood there laughing like a mad woman. Yes siree, I was so busy talking that I actually went into auto pilot mode and tried to mindlessly lead dh to the produce section. Good thing this same "auto pilot" isn't responsible for getting us to Florida to catch a ship in two weeks, eh?

Toni

A little Bunkerism

2009-01-31T17:09:00.003-05:00

I went out for dinner with some girlfriends from church last night. This morning, I asked my Olivia what she and my other kids did with their dad while I was away.

"Daddy yelled at Brandon."
"Really? What for?" (Brandon is 2)
"Well, you know how smart that little guy is. He took one of your mouse pads and figured out how to use it as a frisbee. Mom, he was frizzin' it all through the house, and wouldn't stop when dad asked him to."

Frizzin'?
Apparently, that's what it's called Olivia's little world of Bunkerisms.

Toni