July 22, 2013

And So It Begins

I took a deep breath and looked around the room. We were ready. As much as I dislike this next stage, it would not be put off any longer. I had run out of excuses to delay. I only lacked a little encouragement.

"I can't do this, Sam."

"I know. It's all wrong. By rights we shouldn't even be here. But we are. It's like in the great stories, Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger, they were. And sometimes you didn't want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy?... But in the end, it's only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer... Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something."
"What are we holding onto, Sam?"
"That there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo... and it's worth fighting for.” 
- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers

Yes. That will do nicely. And if there are setbacks?

"You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it." 
- Margaret Thatcher

Hmm... fair enough. How 'bout a battle cry? Every battle needs a good battle cry.

"For Narnia!" - Peter Pevensie

I like it! Short and sweet.

The scene is now set. Battle lines have been drawn. The step stool has been pulled up. The tiny seat is in place. Cute "big boy" undies printed with cars and spaceships have been purchased. Treats are in the drawer.

Let the Potty Training begin!!!

"You may fire when you are ready, Gridley." - Commodore George Dewey 1898

June 9, 2013

Just Wondering

If the headlights on the riding mower are actually helping, does that mean it's time to call it a day?

June 8, 2013

Table Talk

His little eyes were darting from one face to another, his expression changing subtlety as he listened. None of the speakers noticed how closely he was following their conversation. Our family is typically quite chatty at the dinner table, and stories, jokes, and ridiculous banter are the norm. Joey's conversation skills are improving by the day and we love to include him in our table talk, but tonight he seemed to be all ears.

The boys were laughing about a favorite episode of Dr. Who, Mary was chiming in with her imitation of some of the show's catch-phrases, and Annie was discussing the use of the word "surreptitious". I was caught up in observing Joseph sitting in his highchair, eyes and ears glued to his siblings. As I watched him, his expression suddenly and dramatically changed. Something was building up inside him - a thought that must be uttered! There was no pause in the conversation. He would have to assert himself if he wanted to be heard. He straightened in his seat, filled his lungs with air, and in as loud a voice as he could muster, cried out


The surrounding conversation ceased and all eyes turned to him. "What was that?" "What did he say?" Joey's eyes were twinkling. He had their complete attention. "Poop." he said again, quietly this time. He then burst into laughter, throwing his head back and chuckling at this most humorous of jokes. 

It took a while for everyone to settle down after that. Of all the words in his vocabulary (a fairly descent vocabulary for a 2 year old) he had decided this was the pinnacle. This was THE word to add to any gabfest if you want to be heard. As I took a very self-satisfied little boy off to the bathtub, I could tell he was content in the knowledge that his contribution to the dinner table discussions was so provocative. 

And I? I now realize we may need to decline dinner invitations for a little while. Oh, poop.

May 31, 2013

An Ever So Slightly Greenish Thumb

I am most emphatically NOT covered in bruises. I know 'cause I checked. Twice. No bruises. Not even one. This surprises me because I am aching from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

Alright, I'm exaggerating. The top of my head is not aching. Although I think it's slightly sunburned.

Ladies and gentlemen, fasten your seat belts. 
We have entered Gardening Season. 

Now, I know many of you have been gardening for several weeks already, but Spring forgot to invite us to the party. A belated invite is better than none at all and to show I have no hard feelings I began gardening with gusto. Once again I ordered seeds from St. Clare Heirloom Seeds. Ridiculously kind neighbors with tractors tilled our garden plot and I began the work of creating beds and rows, planting seeds and laying mulch. I learned a trick or two and am optimistic for a better result than last year. At the very least I hope to provide a little less fuel for town gossip.

Last year Joey was not quite as mobile and it was easier to keep him from tromping on my plants. This year he is my shadow, following me into the garden, digging up the seeds I planted, wetting us both with the hose, stealing my garden tools, and in general being as helpful as only a toddler can be.

Using wooden stakes and twine the older kids and I sectioned off a part of the garden (a rather large part) to be a spot just for little Joe. In it we placed his Tonka truck, and a shovel and pail, along with a large metal rocket ship yard-art-thingie my hubby once received as a door prize. (Don't ask.)

Annie planted some mint - edible and he probably can't kill it - just for him smack dab in the middle. Now we shall see if he will stay busy enough in his garden to allow me to work in mine.

While all of the kids have given me a hand, it's David who seems the most eager and even now as I sit at the computer he's nagging at me to go plant something else. I gave him and Alex a section of the garden to plant leftovers - the last couple of seeds remaining in an envelope when I've finished planting a row. They planted an assortment of seeds all crammed into a small plot, with no regard for plant type or spacing.

Most likely it will resemble a small jungle when it all comes up and I've no doubt their plants will thrive, putting my careful plantings to shame. That will be perfectly okay with me. When it comes to veggies, they're always willing to share.

May 29, 2013

Hanging Clothes In Church

I love to use my clothesline. Standing in the fresh air and sunshine, watching the laundry flap in the breeze brings a sense of quiet and peace that takes the drudgery out of this routine task. The noise from the house is muffled and hardly touches me at all as I listen to the birds singing and bees humming while lifting each item from the basket and giving it a shake before pinning it to the line several inches above my head. I usually head back to the house with a touch of reluctance and pause at the porch steps to glance back at the colorful display on the line. It's is strangely satisfying.

Of course, not everything I hang is exactly display-worthy. Some of our things are well worn. There are a few towels with holes in them. There are play clothes stained with dirt. There are underthings that I try to hide from view by hanging them behind other things. I suppose I could instead put these things in the dryer, but I do like everything, even our ragged t-shirts, to smell fresh and clean rather than of floral dryer sheets, (plus it saves electricity) so up on the line they go for all the world to see.

This came to mind this morning while on Facebook when I noticed a post from a young mom struggling with taking little ones to Mass, or perhaps I should say struggling with the difficulty of keeping little ones good at Mass. My heart goes out to her! How well I know that struggle! I remember attending Mass with a four year old, a two year old, and twin baby boys, wishing desperately our church had  a crying room. I remember taking turns with my husband, standing in the back, rocking back and forth, bouncing a baby in my arms, straining to hear the homily. I remember how my face would redden when a toddler used a quiet moment of prayer to loudly announce a need to use the bathroom. I remember one small boy making a dash for the altar and how people laughed when my husband gave chase. I remember almost dying of embarrassment when in an attempt to covertly get the attention of a squirmy child I gave him or her a squeeze on the shoulder only to have that child screech at the top of their voice, "Ow! You're hurting me!" Oh yeah. No one heard that.

Years later, I'm still not much of an expert. I'm a fellow mom doing the best I can. There are (rare) days I think that Mother-of-the-Year award is almost in my grasp, and there are days (most of them) I know I've been banned from the competition altogether.

So, after  almost 17 years of parenting, what works for us? How do we handle going to Mass with little ones? We adopted an insane strategy - (No, we don't bring toys or baggies of Cheerios.) we sit in the VERY FRONT PEW. Seriously. First row. Where everyone can see us. *gasp* Like my clothesline at home, everything is out in the open for others to see: the lovely and the ragged, in full view, flapping in the breeze... When our children fold their hands in prayer or sit quietly listening to the scriptures, fellow parishioners can see that. When children get annoyed and elbow each other, or baby Joey crawls under the pew, they can see that too.

Are we crazy? Most definitely. There is a method to our madness, however. Our children can SEE what's going on during the Mass! They can watch the priest and altar servers. During his homily, our priest, Fr. Pat, looks them in the eye and smiles. Not forced to sit, staring at the backs of other's heads, they have a front row seat for the action. Theirs is an unobstructed view of the crucifix, the pictures of saints, and the stained glass windows. When they squirm or fuss we call their attention back by whispering in their ears "Where is Jesus? Can you see the cross? Look at the candles. Can you see Fr. Pat saying a prayer? Can you say a prayer?" They are included. They copy our gestures. They learn to participate. They learn that they belong.

That's not to say we don't go to the back when there is need. There are times nothing works and a red-faced, squalling, little person must be carried out until they quiet down. We want our children to feel welcome in church, but we want them to learn to be respectful, too. Church is a holy place.

We still attend Mass at a church with no crying room and that's fine with me. (There is a temptation to use a crying room as a playroom.) A trip to the back is not a reward for acting up. They remain in our arms until they settle down and usually look forward to rejoining the family in the front pew.

We've been blessed with a wonderfully tolerant parish family. There are smiles and encouraging nods directed at us and other parents if we're having a particularly trying time. They are vocal in their approval of bringing young ones to church. We have only rarely had to deal with negative attitudes like those mentioned in this article. I am grateful. You see, the Mass is NOT for adults only. We are  all - from the tiniest newborn babe in arms, to the most elderly among us; quiet or noisy, healthy or disabled, the lovely and the ragged- all of us are members of the Body of Christ. We all belong. Even that wild child throwing a fit in my arms.

Well, that's my two cents for today. Time to go hang some laundry.

May 22, 2013

Backyard Camping

"We'll roast marshmallows." they tried bribing me.
"I don't like marshmallows."
"That's weird, Mom. How 'bout we give you the comfortable bed?" they tried again.
"The bed in my bedroom is comfortable."
"Come on, Mom. It'll be fun!"

When I agreed to let the kids open the pop-up camper, I didn't know they planned on having me sleep out there with them. 

I used to love camping. Matt and I used to camp so often we could set up a camp sight - tent up, sleeping bags unrolled, fire going - in 10 min. flat. I loved the hiking, cooking over a fire, late-night star gazing. I had always assumed when we had children we would camp just as often. Then we had children. Camping became work and I became a worrywart.  Instead of hiking merrily through the woods, I began to see bears behind every tree, bears that might want to snack on one of my little ones. I worried someone would get lost. Instead of relaxing around the campfire, I spent time keeping little people from getting burned. We camped less and I grew out of practice. Now when the children wanted to camp they would take Daddy with them and I would stay home with whoever was the youngest at the time. Trouble was Daddy wasn't here. 

We had a camper now. We would be in the backyard instead of the woods. I was being a wimp. I sighed deeply, grabbing my pillow and blanket from my bed. "Okay. I'll sleep out there with you."

It was surprisingly cozy in the camper. Still early in the year for camping, the weather was cool. We snuggled under piles of blankets.We read stories. We listened to chirping frogs. Hopped up on marshmallows, noisy children joked and giggled. Pillows were tossed. Eventually everyone settled down and fell asleep. 

I awoke to the sounds of snoring children and the sun just peeking over the horizon. Sadly, there was no Matt building the fire for breakfast. Instead I crept from the camper, walked across wet grass and into the house to start the coffeemaker and get a shower. We had all survived the night. No one was eaten by a bear. No one had gotten lost. They might still be slightly sticky, but no one had gotten burned roasting marshmallows. It had been a different experience camping without my husband - not bad, just different. I could see us doing this again. 


May 20, 2013

January 31, 2013

I'm On A Roll

Third post in less than a week? What is going on here? Too much caffeine? Actually, this one might not count since I'm only linking to what someone else wrote. Read it anyway.

Hey, America: The March for Life just happened to you

    January 27, 2013

    Plus, I Was Bit By A Donkey

    Blog? What blog? Oh. You mean this blog. This blog that I've been neglecting since...October.
    In the words of Indigo Montoya:


    • The twins turn 12. Twins. I should be over it by now, but there are still days I see them and think "Oh my gosh! There's two of 'em."

    We celebrated with a barber shop themed party. We all wore paper mustaches (I look awesome with a handlebar mustache.) and played silly games.


    • Matt came home for Thanksgiving! It was WONDERFUL. I was so busy being happy to see him that I forgot to take any pictures of his visit.


    • Lots of cold. Lots of snow. 
    • Advent candles. 
    • Van sliding backwards on a icy hill.
    •  St. Nicholas Day. 
    • Matt home again. His ship had a schedule change and he was able to come home for Christmas! Whoo Hoo! 
    • Christmas tree hunting.

    Once again we headed out to the Korbisch Tree Farm. We traipsed over the bridge and wandered across the hills looking for a tree that was just right. Joey was old enough to walk on his own and I loved watching him tromp through the snow in his tiny boots.

    Tromping  Joey

    Tree Hunters - (left to right) Annie, Joey, Alex, Brendan, Mary , and David.

    Matt's mom brought that lovely, warm, red alpaca hat home from her trip to Peru. Matt received it as a Christmas gift. He loves it. Teenager Annie was slightly less enthusiastic about the style. Being a good Daddy, Matt offered to wear it to the next teen's function at our church. Annie politely declined (read -  "Was utterly mortified and begged me to intervene.")

    After cutting down our Christmas tree we stopped to pet the animals. That's when David was bitten by a donkey. He reminded us of that terrible tragedy many times in the days that followed. It usually sounded something like this:

    "Let me have that seat. You got it last time. Plus, I was bit by a donkey." 

    This has become a favorite line in our house.


    • Some people have "Secret Santas". We have "Secret Angels". At the beginning of Advent the children draw names, then pray for and perform secret acts of kindness for the person who's name they drew. On Christmas Eve they revealed who they had drawn and gave a small gift to their special person. 

    Alex and David each gave the other a box inside a box inside another box. The most interior box held... an IOU. (Real gifts were exchanged shortly after.) I don't know when I've seen them laugh so hard! We all thought it funny that they had both come up with the same idea!

    December also brought a little of this:

    A Christmas surprise - Norman Radagast Rabbit

    And this:
    It feels so good to have Daddy home!

    And a little bit of this:



    • The flu round one - respiratory. Trip to the E.R. 
    • The flu round two - stomach. Eww. 
    • Flu round three? Stomach again? Is that possible? Oh, wait. No. Norovirus. Yeah. That makes more sense. 

    • More snow. More cold. Oh, and frozen pipes.

    Before the flu.
    The cause of the frozen pipes.
    God continues to take care of us. We live among truly caring neighbors. The pipes thawed. We are finally well, and we are waiting for the next time Matt will be home with us. There now, I think that sums it up nicely.

    I will eventually get back into blogging rhythm, but it may take a while. Finding time is a challenge.

    Plus, I was bit by a donkey.
    (Not really.)

    October 30, 2012

    Have You Met Sandy?

    There she is. 

    We live far enough away from the east coast that moderately gusty winds are all we will see from Hurricane Sandy. My dear hubby, on the other hand, is right in the thick of it. We have been able to keep in touch via email and brief, broken-up phone calls. He keeps reassuring me that they are perfectly safe and I keep praying, convinced that they are not. We are a well balanced team, he and I.

    I talked to Matt this morning. The storm is still raging, but it looks like the worst is over. Matt was on duty yesterday and all through the night. He had to walk the lines (massive mooring lines) at least once an hour. Outside. On the pier. In the wind and rain. With waves crashing over him. Let me say that again. WITH WAVES CRASHING OVER HIM. Yeah. Just the kind of thing a wife likes to hear.

    He did have a couple funny stories to relate. Both involve working to secure the lines. At one point he and and one other were really struggling to (Here's where I admit that despite 23 years as a Navy wife I still don't remember most of the technical terms.) wrap the line around a ... thingy.  A voice behind them asked what he was doing. Thinking it was another guy from duty section he responded in true boatswain's mate fashion - a.k.a. my hubby can cuss like a sailor. 

    "I'm trying to get this #@%$@ line wrapped around this #@$&! Why don't you grab a hold and help instead of @#$! standing there?" 

    The voice replied, "Hellooo. Captain."

    Sure enough it was the C.O. He laughed it off and told Matt to carry on.  Personally, I think he should have lent a hand - captain or not.

    I think I enjoyed the second story better. Yesterday they lost a line and had to get a new one attached. Eight less experienced sailors were hauling on a line trying to pull the heavy thing across the pier and attach it to a cleat (?). Handling mooring lines looks something like this:

    Disclosure: This is not my husband's ship.

    Only it was not a pleasant, sunny day. The weather was more like this:

    Disclaimer: This is not my husband's pier.

    They were taking too long, and tired, wet, and cold, Matt's patience washed away with the crashing waves. He had had enough. That was the moment he, as he calls it, "went Bosun on them". He grabbed the line away from them, told them to stand clear, and single-handedly hauled the line to the cleat and in a flash had it secured. The sailors stood, gaping at him. News travels fast and by the time he got to the foc'sle (area  inside the ship where he works) he was greeted by several seamen on their knees, bowing to him.

    "We don't need to secure the ship to the pier. Just have Boats (his nickname) stand outside holding the lines!" 

    It was a moment of silliness in the midst of a very tense day.

    My husband is very strong, but he assures me this was simply his greater experience that allowed him to move that line on his own. "Anyone can do it if they know how." I tend to react more as the young seamen did. My hubby is my hero and I am amazed at the things he can do. Here he is on the ship:

    My hubby. My hero.

    We are keeping everyone still in Sandy's path in our prayers. I pray that the good Lord will send those in need an angel to lend a helping hand. Or at the very least, an experienced Boatswain's Mate.

    September 27, 2012

    Something Beautiful

    Someone recently reminded me to listen to - to sing along with - praise music. "There is nothing like praising Our Lord to lift a hurting heart." What a blessing it was to bump into this recording. It's made even sweeter to my ears because I actually know these lovely girls. Enjoy.

    September 25, 2012

    Pea Soup, Angels, and a Birthday

    I raised my eyebrows at the baby as the dog licked split pea soup off my socks. Joseph was throwing a fit for no apparent reason and had splattered my clothes with a spoonful of the thick, green stuff. Why do babies wake up so horribly cranky? I don't like waking up either, but you don't see me throwing a fit - or soup.

    Perhaps today he had an excuse for tantrum throwing. Matt was home for a brief visit and left again in the blink of an eye. These past few days have felt so off. I know Joey feels the loss. We all do. The reason for Matt's visit was a happy one. He came to celebrate my 40th birthday, and celebrate we did, but first I had to bring him home from the airport.

    I have never been a very confident driver, and driving long distances or through areas I am not completely familiar with cause my hands to get sweaty and my stomach to knot. The airport was over an hour away and the only route I knew was closed for road construction. It was also the middle of the night... and it was raining...hard. Really.

     I started on my way, nervously praying, straining my eyes in the darkness to see the deer I knew waited to spring in front of my car. I had looked up an alternate route and the map sat on the passenger seat beside me. The sound of the wipers swishing across the windshield was strangely calming. I was going to make it, on time, even. Minutes ticked by and as I drew closer to my destination, excitement took over. In a few moments I would see my husband! ROAD CLOSED. Wait. What?!?

    I had forgotten to check for construction on this new route and there it was - orange cones, flashing lights, and everything. From where I sat I could see several other roads had likewise been blocked off. I had no idea which way to turn. I was a woman alone (wearing a skirt and heels, I might add), at night, in a strange part of town, and had the distinct displeasure of knowing Matt's plane had just landed without me there to greet it. 

    Taking a chance, I made a turn down a side road and found a gas station. Oh relief! I would ask the attendant for directions! The lights were out. The station was empty. It was a little creepy.

    "What do I do, God?"

    A car pulled in around me and parked. Two women were inside. Women! Not scary! I pulled beside them and popped my head out the window. "I'm lost. I need to pick my husband up from the airport, but I can't find my way around the road work!" The response was immediate.

    "I'll take you there. Just follow me."

    She navigated through the maze of roadwork, driving slowly enough for me to follow, and several minutes later - the airport. Had I just been assisted by angels? I'm inclined to think so. But, whether angels or no, I am convinced they had been sent to help me. God is so good.

    It was wonderful to see my husband again. (He had only been home for a week since May. Stinky ol' Navy...) I couldn't believe he had been able to come for my special day! He had planned something special. The following day I was instructed to pack a swimsuit and a dress, and off we went for a romantic overnight get-away.

    The drive was beautiful. Fall color is just beginning to appear. For the first time in years I got to swim, really swim. (I'm usually too busy making sure children aren't drowning.) It was so much fun. We dressed for dinner and headed out to a local casino for a fabulous seafood buffet we'd heard about. Visions of crab legs danced in my head.

    We're not gamblers and neither of us had been to a casino before. (I did peek inside one as a child.) We had no idea what it would be like. Once we arrived we headed straight for the restaurant only to be told there was a two-hour wait. How would we pass the time? (As if the casino didn't know.)

    Matt ordered a margarita for me and while I sipped at the pretty drink we talked and people watched.

    "Is this what old folks homes are like in Vegas?"

    There were old ladies using walkers and old men on oxygen support (some puffing away on cigarettes) seated before slot machines with names like "Lucky Tornado" and "Million Dollar Goldfish". We walked past a craps table where a man with an extremely serious-looking expression rolled dice across a table.

    "What exactly IS craps? It sounds naughty." I looked at Matt. He shrugged his shoulders. "I have no idea."

    We passed blackjack tables and more slot machines. "We still have an hour and a half. Do you want to try a game?" Matt turned to a slot game called "Party Time" that featured a polar bear in a birthday hat. "It's your birthday. You try it. This one lets you make penny bets." He put a dollar bill in the slot. We must have looked ridiculous, pushing buttons at random. "What is 5 line?" "Don't know. Try it." "Hey, I won 45 cents! Hit the cash out button. I want out while I'm ahead." Yeah. I think I'm what they call a high roller.

    Now it was Matt's turn. I chose a game for him and he put in the money. By now we had figured out which buttons to push and knew we could make this tiny amount of money last a long time. Then Matt pressed the button for the second time. A light began to flash and a bell sounded "cha-ching, cha-ching!" "What did you do?" I asked. "I think I won the jackpot." The numbers on the screen kept going up and when it finished our penny had turned into $26.70. "Cash out!" we laughed. Neither of us had any desire to continue. I don't think we would make good gamblers. "This will pay for dinner." Nice. Very nice.

    Dinner was even better than we expected - crab legs, oysters on the half shell, smoked salmon, and even caviar! (Okay. The caviar was icky, but now I can say I've tried it.) And, thanks to that silly jackpot, it was on the house. I felt so spoiled.

    On leaving we bumped into some friends...from church(!) who were just arriving. They looked at us and we looked at them. I had to laugh. "So, this is where all those sinning Catholics go - to the casino!" Of course word would get around. The very next day... No. The very next morning we met another man from our church and his first words to us were, "So I heard you two went to the casino."

    The rest of Matt's visit was quieter and was over before we even had the chance to feel settled into his presence at home. Other deployments during Matt's 23 years in the Navy were so hard, but this one... this one is the hardest yet, with the possibility things will get harder still. Some days I am sure I have reached my limit and just don't have the strength to carry on. I'm leaning on my God. Sometimes I fear how much it will hurt before we are through, but I know He will see us through it.  I'm grateful Matt was here. I'm sorrowful that he has left. I feel like... I feel like... I feel like ... throwing pea soup!

    August 30, 2012

    In Defense of Trudging

    William: Oi sir, what are you doing?
    Chaucer: Uh... trudging. You know, trudging? To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a man who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on.

    Trudging. It feels as dreary as it sounds. When feeling overwhelmed, I must admit the thought of giving in - plopping down in a chair, closing my eyes, and ignoring the world -  flickers through my mind, (for all of about ten seconds.) 

    "Ugh. Breathing. Not really feeling it today."

    That is when reality (often in the form of my very busy toddler) smacks me on the forehead and demands that I get moving. Of course I must keep moving. I must plod onward. I must trudge ahead. There are children to care for, dishes and laundry to wash, lessons to plan, and lots and lots of lawn to mow. The wood needs to be split and stacked. The car needs an oil change. There's butter to churn. (Okay, not really.) There are fitted sheets to fold, toilet paper rolls to be changed (over, not under), and shoes to be found.  Oh, and then there is dinner to cook...

    I think trudging gets a bad rap. Perhaps I would rather be seen as striding, cantering, or even sauntering through my day, but truly, trudging will do. Trudging implies an act of the will to keep moving when everything in you begs you to go take a nap. Trudging means I haven't given up entirely. Trudging means... Dare I say it? Hope. Yes, that's it. Hope. Hope that if I just keep on keeping on things will get better.  

    Here's hoping that in time my trudging will give way to a forward motion that better resembles the slo-mo-hero-walk toward the camera. 

    Oooh, yeah.

    August 17, 2012

    I Want This On A T-Shirt.

    I laughed when I saw this on facebook. I have no idea who created it, but wanted to share it anyway. Don't we all need to be dragged a bit sometimes?

    July 23, 2012

    Fessing Up

    Washing migraine pills down with a gulp of cold coffee is not my favorite way to start the day. I'd rather still be in bed. And it's not just the headache that's bothering me. The fact is I am a fraud. Despite my brave posturing, I have been the guest of honor at my very own pity party. And even though I have realized that fact, rather than ending the party, I'm still hanging decorations. Balloons? Streamers? Oh yeah. The works.

    He left again. It was hard the first time. It was worse the second. Matt was with us for a week. A very short week. I reveled in it. I snuggled up to him on the couch, I sat beside him at the table, I watched as he played with our children. I washed his laundry. He made dinner. We stayed up late into the night catching up on all the little things that never made it into our phone conversations. It was happy and sad at the same time. Happy that he was home, sad that it wouldn't last. Sad that this had been the shorter separation and the next would be longer. Perhaps many months longer.

    I usually try to look for the best in any situation or at the very least take on a "suck it up" attitude. I well know that there are so many who are facing difficulties I cannot even imagine. My piddly problems are so small in comparison, and yet, here I am feeling sorry for myself. Not just a little - I'm wallowing in it. Pitiful. Even worse, I'm not sure I want to feel better. Like a little kid who refuses to calm down and shouts, "No! I'm not done being mad!" How dumb is that? Even I'm rolling my eyes at me.

    This isn't the first time I've fallen far short of the me I thought I was. I much prefer the heroic, virtuous woman I am in my own head. The imaginary me is awesome. The real one, not so much. I take comfort in knowing that my Lord is not surprised by my shortcomings. He knows all about my true self, and rather than pushing me away in disgust, He calls me to come closer. I am thankful.

    I'm slowly shaking off off the depressing effects of my own self-pity. I am leaning hard on the knowledge that my God is beside me every step of the way and that His grace is sufficient. It's a good thing. Left on my own I'd probably be hanging a disco ball about now.

    June 15, 2012

    Talk of the Town

    Did you add lime?


    Did you mix in manure?


    He scratched his head. I waved away a fly that kept buzzing my face. The seconds ticked by as the hot sun beat down on us. Quietly, I waited for the wisdom I knew would be forthcoming. He was an expert. At last he spoke.

    Do you ever water them?

    I tried to keep a straight face.

    Water them? Do tomato plants need water?

    He just stared at me 'til his wife nudged him in the ribs.

    Of course she waters them, Dear.

    This was embarrassing.

    Earlier that morning another neighbor from the farm down the road had stopped by and I gathered the courage to ask his advice on my failing tomatoes. Farming here for most of his 70+ years, I figured that if anyone knew this soil and how to get things to grow in it, it would be him.

    I had been so proud of the lush, healthy seedlings I started weeks before in my window sills. I carefully followed directions for hardening them off and planted them in much anticipation of a crop of the loveliest tomatoes anyone had ever seen. Oh, yes. This would show all my neighbors that I truly belonged out here in the country.

    But there I was, asking if there was any way to save the spindly, shriveled up, pitiful remains of my plants. My neighbor tried very hard to encourage me, but I could see it on his face. There wasn't much hope for this novice gardener. He made a couple of suggestions (You could try some Miracle Grow.) then headed for his truck. As he drove off I thought I heard him saying something about stopping by another neighbor's to ask if they had any ideas. Surely not. I probably misheard him over the noise of the truck tires on the dirt driveway.

    It didn't take long. I wanted to hide my face as a four-wheeler rumbled up my driveway. The man and his wife carried four good-sized leafy plants.

    You like cherry tomatoes, don't you? We had too many. It was either throw them away or bring them to you.

    The lie was meant to protect my pride. I had no use for that pride anymore. It quickly vaporized in the face of such kindness.

    Thank you, yes! We love cherry tomatoes. *sigh* Come take a look at my garden. Maybe you can advise me.

    We planted the tomatoes, covering them with empty plastic milk jugs with the bottoms removed. This would shelter them a bit while their roots became established in their new home.

    We then visited for a good while. We discussed the merits of various soil additives and plant types. We talked about cows and dogs and children and chickens. I listened with interest to tidbits of information about the goings on in the neighborhood and town. They knew everybody it seemed, and everything about everybody, too. They weren't the only ones who knew. There were no secrets in this tiny town. I wondered how long it would take for the news of my tomato troubles to make the rounds. I didn't have long to wait.

    A couple of days later we were asked over to see some newborn calves. I was introduced to a very nice young man who upon hearing my name politely asked how my tomatoes were doing.

    Wow. I've never been famous before.

    Just wait 'til they see my radishes.

    May 30, 2012

    He's A Genius I Tell You

    Little Joey is just so smart and helpful.
    It would never have occurred to me to use an entire bottle of baby shampoo to clean the bathroom floor. 

    It only took me two large bath towels, a few million gallons of water, and 15 minutes on my hands and knees to create a large sparkling clean spot on the floor in front of the tub.

    As a bonus, the room now smells like the top of a baby's head.


    May 28, 2012

    A Little Perspective

    I know.
    It's been a while.
    I have an excuse.
    There have been some CHANGES. *sigh*

    I want to whine. I want to complain. I want to tell you how awful, lonely, hard, unfair it is; how I miss him so much it hurts to breathe. I want to sit in a corner and cry. (Oh. Wait. I guess I can check that one off the list.) I want the little peon responsible for my husband's oh-so-sudden-totally-not-expected-he's-too-close-to-retirement-and-they-promised-he-could-stay-put deployment (ugh) to come down with a bad case of poison ivy... in places he can't scratch in public. (Guess I still have to work on that whole not holding grudges thing.)

    I Miss him!!!

    But then comes a day that puts things into perspective.

    Then comes Memorial Day.

    Why? Why do people volunteer to serve their country instead of themselves? Why would anyone choose to sacrifice comfort, time with family, personal freedom, and sometimes even life itself?

    It is the acknowledgement that there is something higher than self,

    that liberty is worth fighting... and dying for, 

    that the strong are compelled to protect the weak.

    It is a God-given call to to confront evil with good whatever the cost,

    and a call to hope for the future while honoring the past.

    Yes, I do miss my husband. Our whole family feels the loss, but, God willing, it's temporary. Hard as it is, there is a reason he does what he does. We are proud of him and all who sacrifice to serve. Today we remember.

    On this Memorial Day
    Grant peace to the souls
    of all those soldiers who died in war.
    We remember the tears and grief of their families,
    The pain of mothers, wives, husbands and children
    Who lost precious loved ones.
    To build a meaningful memorial to them,
    We ask God to give us all the will
    To work for peace around the world
    So no more sons, daughters, husbands, wives, fathers, nor mothers
    Are slaughtered by the guns and bombs of war.
    We ask Mary, who held the lifeless body of her son
    And was pierced by the sorrow of his suffering and death,
    To grant us the compassion and wisdom to affirm life
    And honor the dead through forgiveness and peace making.
    May God have mercy on the souls of the departed.
    Grant them peace, O Lord.
    May we have mercy on the living.
    Grant us peace, O Lord.
    In Your name we pray.