Merry Christmas to all!

Oh Rest Ye Weary Mommies, Let Nothing You Dismay,
It isn't long before it will be dawn on Christmas Day,
So finish all your Christmas cards,
Lest they should go astray,
Oh, Tidings of Presents and Time,
Presents and Time,
Oh, Tidings of Presents and Time.

God Rest Ye Merry Daddies, Let Nothing You Dismay,
Remember all those toys must be together by Christmas Day,
To save us all from crying boys,
Lest the instructions lead us astray,
Oh, Tidings of Nuts and Bolts and Tools,
Nuts, Bolts and Tools,
Oh, Tidings of Nuts and Bolts and Tools.

God Rest Ye Merry Families, Let Nothing You Dismay,
Remember in spite of all the parties, pageants and holiday
Goodies and presents,
It's not about the 'perfect holiday',
Oh, Tidings of a Savior born for all,
born for all,
Oh, Tidings of a Savior born for all.


In hopes that all families have time to reflect on the true meaning of the season and that night in Bethlehem when angels, shepherds and a new family worshipped God's son, Merry Christas!

Has It Been a Month? Really?

The job is great. Challenging, but pretty undemanding in terms of deadlines, overtime and such. The schedule, however, is taking some heavy adjustment. I'm getting up at 5:30 every morning, otherwise referred to around our house as dark-thirty, because really? I'm so not a morning person. I have always thought that a 3-11 shift would be about right for me. When I was a teenager, I used to be merciless in making fun of my mom because she was ready for bed every night around 8:30. Now? That is so me. However, the after school care has worked out in a way that's a real blessing, the Hawkeye and I have been able to work out a schedule that has the boys leaving about 7 and getting home about 5, and otherwise the whole thing has been pretty painless. We have our first real test tomorrow - Little Brother has the makings of strep and a 102 degree temperature, and Hawkeye will be taking his first sick day for one of the boys and making his first sick appointment with the pediatrician ever in the morning. I think it's good for him! I do, however, hope Little Brother feels better soon. He is the most pitiful sick kid you ever saw.

The Job Is Secure. The Employee, However, Is Not.

You might have guessed from the title that I have found a job. Apparently, however, this is a new excuse for internal hand-wringing about how I'm going to manage household stuff, how the boys are going to handle the change, and what time I'll need to get up in the morning. I start the new job this week, and already the inner control freak that jumps in with both feet whenever I feel insecure is practically doing trampoline tricks. The boys are excited. The Hawkeye is excited. I am, too - but ten years without full-time employment is a long time, and I'm unsure. So, today, I am looking for serenity. Hopefully, I'll find it before I break an arm on the trampoline! ;-)

Feeling Thankful and Thoughtful

The boys and I had a picnic this week with another lovely family, a mom with two boys (unrelated note to our school system: the early dismissal days in the middle of the week are the dumbest of a long line of dumb ideas that anyone has ever generated. End of rant). The mom helped with Big Boy's den during day camp, and her son and Big Boy really enjoyed each other's company. This other family homeschools, and it's been a couple of months before we could get our schedules together.

I tend to focus on my boys' faults - the ways I wish they were different. I get overly concerned about their ability to focus, listen, and obey all the time. It can really lead to a critical spirit and I'm sure makes me not a lot of fun to live with at times. I think it's because I tend to turn the same magnifying glass on myself, and find many of the same faults. So, what drives me crazy about myself drives me crazier when I see it in them. I don't appreciate enough who they are - the neat gifts God has given them, how much fun they are, how loving and kind. Sometimes I spend too much time worrying about what they do instead.

What about the picnic made me think about these things? This lovely mother has two sons, and they are both autistic, and at different places on the autism spectrum. I can't even imagine how difficult daily life must be for her, much less managing homeschooling and her own needs and those of her husband. They are great kids with sweet spirits. But what I have thought a lot about in the days since our picnic is how positive and accepting she was of those boys. How patient, and kind. She did such a great job of redirecting her sons when they were out of bounds and adapting to their needs. In a couple of hours, she showed me where I fall short. Not intentionally, and I doubt if she even noticed any of the things that impressed me, but they did.

I've wondered what makes us able to extend patience to others, with greater or lesser degrees of success. Really, I think it's about appreciating grace more. It's amazing that God is so accepting of us. He loves us completely no matter how atrocious our behavior (and mine is, sometimes). He forgives us completely when we mess up and ask for another chance (and sometimes I really stink at that). I imagine he'd like me to conform a lot more closely to his standard, but he appreciates and understands that growth is a slow and steady process. I think if I can truly appreciate that grace, maybe I can extend it more freely to others, particularly those who live in this house with me. Maybe it will help me remember my life is not nearly as hard as I sometimes make it out to be.

Maybe it will help me see how full of good things my life really is.

Looking for a New Job

I am hunting for a new job. Somehow, after ten years away from the full-time workforce, I thought this was going to be easier than it has been. I know that some of my skills are rusty, and that my field tends to be slim in economic hard times, but I just knew it would be different for me. Because I'm delusional like that, I guess. After applying for 30+ jobs, I'm adjusting my expectations. Maybe working at the golden arches is a viable option. The boys would really think it was cool.

However, I did interview for a position this week. It's in training, and I will need to go back and present a sample class - it's really the only way to evaluate how well someone teaches. So, I'm casting about for an appropriate topic, given that I know next to nothing about my audience. If it were you in the audience, would you rather sit through 30-45 minutes on improving your writing, or basic presentation skills, or basic graphic design concepts, or some type of efficiency/time management training? This will be a multimedia extravaganza - PowerPoint is encouraged.

On a related note, the boys are really looking forward to the prospect of being in after-school care. I have let them know that I'm looking for a job, and some ways our life will change when that happens, thinking that this is a big change and I should prepare them for it. However, it really hasn't turned out that they are concerned - more like 'haven't you found a job YET?' Big Boy came downstairs the other morning and his first words of the day were: "So, Mom, what happens if you don't find a job?" Well, nothing, son. Things will stay like they have been. So, why did he look disappointed?

School has arrived!

Summer vacation is officially over. And . . . hmm. I thought I'd be glad, but this has felt like a season of endings the last few weeks. I'm looking for a job (and wow, that is much more difficult than I expected, but that's a thought for another day). I haven't held a full-time job in ten years, so this is a real titan of a change for us. This was probably my last summer at home, and I wonder . . . did I enjoy it enough? Did I appreciate the gift of being home with my boys the way I should have?

Big boy will be looking at middle school next year. Little brother will be looking at third grade, and really isn't a little boy any longer. Although he'll always be my baby, he's growing up, and seven is shaping up to be a good year for him.

Maybe I should look at what we accomplished this summer:

* The boys and I spent about three weeks working through age-appropriate Bible studies, which was some precious time learning more about God's word. They loved it, and so did I.

* Little brother really got comfortable with chapter books this summer. We spent lots of quality time with library books and all enjoyed reading.

* I've seen the boys change in their play. They are imagining together now, and it's such a treat to watch them. They have hideouts and are really enjoying one another's company.

* We spent wonderful time with our families this summer, helping them celebrate milestones in their lives. My grandmother celebrated her 85th birthday, and Hawkeye's parents celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary.

* Hawkeye and I celebrated our 15th anniversary with a relaxing, wonderful cruise. I enjoy his company more now than I ever have, and we appreciated the time to enjoy our marriage. Thanks, Mom!

* I learned to can. I've canned salsa, tomato sauce, and today, watermelon rind preserves.

So, maybe this has been a good summer. Busy, but with good things. Fast, but packed with memories to savor. The boys are excited about school, so on with the school year!

Oh, yes, I did ride that carnival ride

Tuesday night, we went to a county fair. One that operates on a very large scale. It also, coincidentally, requires a capital investment roughly equivalent to our grocery budget for a couple of weeks. Oh, I wish I were kidding.

Little brother was disappointed that he was almost tall enough to ride some of the really cool rides. We did not allow big boy to taunt him, because really, having to be measured and coming up short is enough trauma for one day. We let him play some of the overpriced carnival games instead. He won a small stuffed puppy, so that was some consolation.

What mom liked: the fireworks; the cotton candy; that Hawkeye rode the rides with the boys; the very, very cute little farmer display that involved the children interacting at different stations (station one: acquiring corn and soybeans; station two: planting some of the corn and soybeans, and harvesting plastic produce; so on and so forth, until they sell their products at the farmer's market and spend their loot on an agricultural item - milk, ice cream, animal crackers or an apple). This was a wonderful idea, and was well-executed and fun for all the kids.

What the boys liked: the rides - the end.

What Hawkeye liked: spending time with the boys. When the rides ended. What his stomach did not like: the rides - the end.

So, for the last ride of the night, Hawkeye and big boy were riding something where little brother did not measure up. So, he wants to go back and ride something else. Which they wouldn't let him ride without an adult. Which is how mom ended up riding this carnival ride that literally flung you from one place to another as it revolved. Can I mention that I am almost 37 years old (next week) and am really past enjoying carnival rides? However, I was not willing to disappoint little brother any further, so I got on it. What my stomach, arm, neck, and other parts of my anatomy did not like: the ride. The end.

What I read on my summer vacation

We spent yesterday afternoon corralling school supplies for each boy, as the first day of school looms large next week. So, in the spirit of back-to-school writing assignments, I thought I'd share this list of some selected summer reading highlights:

A Rush of Wings and Secrets, by Kristen Heitzmann - I had actually read A Rush of Wings before, and forgotten it. These are suspenseful Christian romances. I would put them in the same category with Dee Henderson and Terri Blackstock's writing - a bit better than Blackstock, not quite as good as Henderson. The characters are multi-faceted and feel like real people. The plot is condensed a bit too much in places, but great summer reading. I've put in a wish on PaperBackSwap for the sequel to Secrets, so I liked it enough to want to spend a precious credit on the sequel.

Robin Paige's Victorian/Edwardian mysteries - this is a series of 12 mysteries, beginning with Death at Bishop's Keep and ending with Death on the Lizard. I was looking for a series that I would enjoy as much as Elizabeth Peters' Amelia Peabody Emerson books or Laurie King's Mary Russell Holmes series, and this one has definitely held my interest. The basic premise of the series is to take fictional characters and intersperse them with real historical personages, intertwining a mystery in the process. I've read all but the last one, and they were entertaining and filled with period details.

Tasha Alexander's A Fatal Waltz - third in a series. I enjoyed the first two so much that I ordered the hardcover of this book, which puts her in the Elizabeth Peters category for me. I like the character and the suspenseful plots, and I enjoy novels set in this period - obviously, as I have read a lot of them!

The last is one I'm eagerly awaiting - Elizabeth Peters' new book in the Vicky Bliss series is released in August, and I have it on preorder.

What have you read this summer? Anything less 'fluffy' than my list?

Small joys for a cloudy day

Sounds to make a mom's heart glad:

--overheard discussions from the boys' room: today this involves each of them constructing and fortifying a base, making lots of noises and sound effects, and working together happily;

--sweet offerings from a son's heart: "Mom, can I help you?" is heard pretty frequently around here lately, and oh, it's a sweet sound indeed;

--giggling. Just giggling over nothing, their usual brand of general silliness, but it makes me happy that their hearts are carefree.

Bright additions to any day:

--two boys happily sharing the tire swing, sitting side by side and swinging lazily;

--hugs. They still hug me freely, without self-consciousness or embarrassment, and I'm so grateful.

--happy faces, grinning completely from ear to ear, smiling at each other, at me, at the world.

Today is a good day.

The Sounds of Summer

I heard my first cicada of the summer a week ago. It’s such a distinct summer sound, especially since they call in the daytime, usually in the heat of the day. I don't hear them nearly as much in Tennessee as I did growing up in Georgia, so this was a treat.

That sound screams ‘summer’ to me. It is forever wrapped up with long, lazy, hot Georgia days spent mostly in the shade of deep woods, climbing trees or swinging from them, building trails or playing made-up games. I remember what a drink of water tasted like before water bottles, when it was right out of somebody’s hose. I smell freshly crushed pine needles from climbing saplings. I see the deep, almost black purple juice that comes from poke salad berries when you crush them (it’s really purple on your clothes, though. And it doesn’t come off, either). I remember the smell of scorching hot pavement, wet from a summer thunderstorm, and playing in the garage with the door open, listening to rumbling thunder and pounding rain hit the driveway outside.

Cicadas are for bike-riding days, when we raced up and down the street, putting our feet on the handlebars as we flew down the hill, the wind cooling us when nothing else would. They’re for days of playing on the slip-n-slide until it was a puddle of red mud at the bottom and we all had swimmer’s ear by that evening. Evenings of catching lightning bugs and imprisoning them in a mayonnaise jar with holes poked in the top, just for an excuse to run around in the dark.

Cicadas are childhood to me, I guess. I hope someday they mean the same to my boys, wherever they end up, but somehow I think their memories will be different. Tennessee doesn’t have pine, it has cedar. We don’t live in a subdivision, but in the country. Their friends are mostly each other. I can’t let them roam nearly as freely or as far as I did. But the games of childhood haven’t changed - they enjoy riding their bikes and swinging from trees. They run and chase one another in the gathering dusk, and lightning bugs are still fascinating. Long, carefree days can still be magical. I do love summer, and its short duration reminds me: this is a season of life to hold on to with both hands.

The Summer of Extreme Traveling (TM) is now over

. . . . and we are officially tired. I tend to be a terrible traveler, and get cranky and sore, and I'm not sure that I ever want to travel that much, that closely packed together, ever again.

However. I have to say that we had wonderful, sweet visits with family. The kind where everybody is laughing, kidding around, and just enjoying each other's company. The ones that make you wish family vacations or something like them were an option more often, because we love our families a lot, and we just don't see them enough.

The boys had a ball playing with all of their cousins, doing silly kid things that they will remember fondly someday. Things that involved lots of giggling and running around and noise. The kinds of fun things I still remember from my childhood.

There was also some swimming in hotel pools (because as far as they are concerned, that is why we travel), and spending quality time with the travel DVD players. Because when it comes to traveling, I am a wimp, and let them watch more TV in a week's time than they watched in the previous six months. Which might leave them a smidgen, tiny bit, overstimulated and cranky. (Note to self: come up with some better TV rules before the next road trip, which better not be any time soon).

So, summer is now winding down for us. We finish Vacation Bible School tonight, and then there's about two weeks until school starts. What a summer!

Ten is uncharted territory here

Oh, the big boy in our house. Ten has already flung down the gauntlet, making it clear that we are in for some massive changes. His body is changing -- not puberty, not yet, God is good -- but how he is put together. He's getting more muscular, heavier, more capable. He brings in groceries now without much trouble (misslisslee hums the Hallelujah chorus). He's developing a sense of humor that is more grown-up (happily bidding good-bye to the knock-knock jokes that make no sense at all).

He's getting glasses today. He's reading big, thick books (he remarked a couple of days ago that 300-400 pages seemed about the ideal book size to him). His little brother is really driving him nuts (isn't that why little brothers exist?), but he's trying to be patient. At least when mom and dad are around.

He's thinking differently. He told me yesterday that, when he and dad were driving to church Sunday morning, they listened to part of a sermon on the radio, and he liked it. It was from the book of Romans and was talking about the law, and he remembered seemingly everything he heard. He seems like a sponge more than ever lately, soaking up everything that comes his way.

So, ten is good. We're going to be wrestling with it a bit, I think, but it's good. I'm so thankful for this boy, who is tiptoeing toward that path that will turn him into a man. I'm so scared that I'm not mothering him like I should, and so grateful for grace. For the Lord who decreed that I am the mother this child needs loves him so much more than I can. He is the God who sees, as he told Hagar, and he sees us today. He knows that I will fall short, and I believe that He will make up the difference.

My job is to keep His word as a lamp for my feet and a light for my path, and hopefully to show ten the path to eleven, and then twelve, and I justcan'tthinkanyfartherthanthatrightnow. And to remind my heart that mothering is a job that changes every day, and eventually involves letting go. So today, I'm picking up that gauntlet and meeting the challenge. Ten, let's see what you've got!

Your Regularly Scheduled Blog Post Has Been Interrupted . . .

By The Summer of Extreme TravelingTM. Since last we met, various members of the intrepid Hawkeye family have suffered the indignities of: Cub Scout Day Camp; a 7-day cruise (suffering horribly, as you can imagine); a six-hour layover in Logan airport before a puddle-jumper flight from Boston via Washington, DC to Nashville (why, oh WHY did we not check out what plane was flying this route?); and Scout Camp (involving actual camping in an un-air-conditioned tent). This is just the beginning. We also are making two other trips this summer to see family, and a 16-hour day trip with the church to go and see a museum.

These serious indignities are aggravated by the threatening malady summerus curtailedus, because the kids go back to school on August 8th. Wow, that is only a month away! Mom is also going to be going back to work full-time, so let the changes begin!

Where Did May Go?

Which might be a silly question, given that it's already 10 days into June. (Isn't it? I just had to check a calendar to make sure). I feel like I have lost about three weeks somewhere and am running perpetually behind on what I need to get done.

Take last week, for example. It was Cub Scout Day Camp time here in the Peach household. This is our third year for day camp, and I always volunteer. This year, the camp was over 300 boys, and in my position, I see them all at least once during camp, and usually a few times apiece. Additionally, just for kicks, it was much hotter than it normally is the first week of June. Amazingly enough, this didn't bother the boys at all. Just the 'old folks' like me.

I kept thinking, for the last three weeks, that I still had plenty of time to prepare my materials. Until Memorial Day had been and gone, school was out, and my deadline was suddenly a few days away. The blessing is that I've had the same position for two years now, and I could coast a bit.

Was it worth it? Absolutely. In my experience, Scouts are one of the few organizations left that actively teaches noble character traits like cooperation, sportsmanship, responsibility, honesty, and respectfulness in a systematic way, and the success rate is pretty good, all things considered. A great example of that success rate is that there were probably 30-40 Boy Scouts, from 11 to 16 or 17 years old, who volunteered their time all week to help out with these younger boys. Just a great group of boys who, on the whole, were lacking the attitudes that are common at that age and were providing a great example to the younger boys.

Anyway, that's where we've been. This was the big boy's last year at day camp, and he's pretty sad about it. My last year, however, is a few years in the future -- little guy still has three years to go!

Unintentional Humor, Courtesy of the Big Boy

I had a lovely Mother's Day. Complete with presents, a custom-grilled lunch by Chef Hawkeye, and lots of love from my boys.

My favorite present? A book that Big Boy made at school. He didn't mean it to be funny. But oh, it is.

Top Ten Reasons Why I Love My Mom, by Big Boy

#1: Well, you're my mom! (translated: doesn't that mean I HAVE to love you?)
#2: Because you're preety (hee, hee!)
#3: You cook DELICIOUS meals (translated: hey, we gave you a new stockpot, can you finally make me some homemade chicken noodle soup?)
#4: You take me on trips
#5: You love me (this made me think of the Barney song)
#6: You get me presents
#7: You buy me books
#8: You buy me toys (perhaps he's a bit materialistic?)
#9: You don't homeschool me (this one really cracked me up, and he totally didn't get why. He's quite serious, and all I'm thinking is that he's thanking me for not cooping him up in the house with me all day. I have no idea where this came from -- I have two dear friends who homeschool, and it's not like we've ever discussed it. Oh, the workings of that boy's mind!)
#10: You are the best mommy you can be (or, you can't help it that you can't do any better, you're just doing your best with what you have, poor thing)

Ya'll. So funny. The last ten years have been lots of growing and stretching and worrying and praying and changing, but so fun. These boys of mine amaze me every day!

So, That's How I Learned I'm Not in Control. The End.

The big boy had a rough 3-4 months, but left the hospital healthy and hasn't looked back since.

So, for anyone who is uncertain of God's care and His mercy, I can tell you -- your child is so safe in His hands. The one who created that child and knew him before you did (see Psalm 139) loves him more than you are even capable of loving.

I find that so comforting. Especially when I am looking at a completely normal, wonderful 10-year-old boy who survived and has thrived, without any long-term disabilities from his prematurity. That's God's hand. I don't know why, or what God has planned for his future, but I know that He's the one who has gotten us this far, and He doesn't change.

That makes it easier to give Him control of our direction. I know, now, that He is who He says He is, and that He is so much more capable than I am. And I am being reminded by our new Bible study of Philippians that my purpose is to glorify Him in everything. So I will, today, choose to remember what He has done, and look forward to what He is doing and will do in the future.

This time ten years ago . . .

That afternoon, I started feeling labor pains again. The biggest problem was that the monitor wasn't picking them up (I'm not a tiny girl, and monitors aren't designed for women who are barely 24 weeks pregnant). So, none of us realized how much worse they were getting until later that afternoon. I had been given terbutaline sulfate all along, but it wasn't working, so they tried magnesium sulfate. That didn't work either. As the evening wore on, the pains seemed to be slowing down, so my mom went home. They hadn't slowed down enough, though. And then they were intensifying again, and the nurse couldn't get the big boy on the fetal monitor. That's when things got very hectic.

The hospital had sent in a nenonatologist (a doctor who specializes in treating premature infants) to talk to us. Her prognosis was: a) our son would not live; b)if he lived, he would be profoundly mentally handicapped for life; c) he would never walk or live a normal life. Now, it's their job to be cold-eyed realists, but wow. We were scared enough to begin with, and I'm not sure that was really helpful.

Anyway. When things got hectic, the doctor (whom I had never laid eyes on before) decided that he had to deliver the baby. Now. So, off we are racing to the delivery room. We make it to the elevator, he uses a key to call it, and they're rolling my bed into it. Only the bed doesn't fit. So, rolling the bed back out again and calling another elevator. When we get to the delivery room, the Hawkeye can't stay with me. I'm in hard labor and scared to death. When we get into the delivery room, all I remember is the anesthesiologist was very worried about his paperwork, and how he couldn't put me under without it. I really could have decked him, I think.

Anyway, it was an emergency c-section, and the Hawkeye says they had the Big Boy out in under a minute. They let the Hawkeye look at him briefly, then whisked this tiny, fragile little life (he weighed 1 lb, 9 ozs and was 12 inches long) off to the NICU. Thus began our lives as parents.

This picture is the Big Boy, right before he turned one year old.

He's 10 Today!

Ten years today, I was waking up in the hospital. About four days prior, I had been awakened from a deep sleep (all my sleep is deep, a family trait, I guess) by labor pains. I was 23 1/2 weeks pregnant, and scared to death. I woke up my husband, called my doctor, and we raced to the hospital (no mean feat in Atlanta when the hospital is 40 minutes away and involves travel on two different interstates).

When we got to the hospital, a nurse examined me. She must have the best poker face in all the world, because I had no idea anything was really wrong. She said she would get the doctor and left. Later, she said that she had felt a foot. Obviously that wasn't right, but again, I didn't know that yet. The doctor came in (not my doctor), examined me, and brutally informed us of a string of facts: 1. I would not be leaving the hospital until my baby was born, as the amniotic sac was bulging out and that was why I was having labor pains; 2. She was ordering a steroid shot (for the baby's lungs) and for me to be put on a negative incline (called Trendellenburg) in the bed to hopefully allow gravity to work with us; 3. She didn't have a lot of hope in all of this.

We were frantic. I cried a lot, my mom cried a lot, the Hawkeye just looked very stunned and tried to deal with the crying women.

So, this was how I found myself waking up in the hospital the morning of May 5. Just like every other morning up until then. I had no idea that Big Boy would be born that day. But God did. Nothing surprises him.

The Big Boy Turns Ten in a Week

Ten years ago today, I was a clueless woman. I was ecstatically, finally pregnant (not quite six months), my job was moderately stressful but involved lots of fun things, and I was planning. The nursery, staying home with my child, dinner, all of those important things. I really thought I had the world by the tail.

It's a funny thing. I can see now that it was a process, of God teaching me that I'm not in control and my life is more than safe in His hands, but at the time, I just didn't get it.

We had a hard time conceiving a child. As in, it just wasn't working for us, and we were going through all of the lovely, humiliating, letting-people-in-your-private-business stuff that is infertility testing and treatment. A process that, I'm well aware, can take even longer for some people, but for us it took about two years.

I struggled. Life had always happened on my timetable, and this just wasn't working out that way. I pleaded with God, I begged for direction, I tried to make bargains, and then. Finally. After much struggling and trying to do it my way. I really gave it to Him. I got on my face and told Him that I could even live with a 'no', if that was His answer. I just was at the end of my rope, unable to live with the uncertainty and living month-to-month that we were doing.

And then it happened. I took the eleven millionth pregnancy test of my life (I have a condition that makes the normal, oh-I'm-late indicators happen on a regular basis), and it was actually positive. So I made the Hawkeye go to the store with me to get another. Also positive. I was really sure that it was a mistake. But it wasn't. God had said yes. He had been waiting for me to learn my lesson and finally give Him total control over the whole thing.

So. I was pregnant. I went into full-control-freak mode on the pregnancy. The doctor says no caffeine? Okay. More fruits and vegetables? Check. Lots of milk? Got it. I think if the doctor had said I couldn't breathe the air, I would have found a way to have done that, too. I never really had morning sickness (made up for that with younger son), and I really felt pretty good. All systems go. I had it all handled.

And then God got my attention again. To be continued . . .

Happy Earth Day!

Although I'm not a vegetarian or otherwise wholeheartedly committed to the green earth movement, I do believe in being a wise steward of resources. As a result, we recycle in the Volunteer Peach household and try to reuse and conserve what we can. An increasingly difficult task with the boys who love playing in the water whenever they turn it on. So, here are some of the things we have adopted:

1. Recycling -- the Hawkeye bought three identical kitchen trash cans, which now live under our breakfast bar. They house paper, cardboard and plastic. Try this for a week -- you will be amazed how much packaging you throw away! We also recycle aluminum as we have it, which is rare, because we're mostly water drinkers here - our refrigerator has a built-in filter, so we drink tap water.

2. Water -- I have a kitchen timer in the boys' bathroom, and they have to set it every time they take a shower. This originally came about when I figured out they just sat down in the shower and waited for the hot water to run out! They get between 5-7 minutes in the shower. I also do my best not to run the dishwasher or wash clothes unless it is a full load.

3. Gas! -- this is more for frugality than anything else, but the Hawkeye is making many more trips on the way home from work (saving me at least 30 miles roundtrip) to pick up things. He is also looking into carpooling for his 35-mile one-way commute.

So, nothing really earth-shattering, but it makes me feel like we are better stewards, which the Lord expects of us. We're planting a garden this year and looking at purchasing some produce from the farm up the road, which also participates in a CSA (community-supported agriculture) program. The Hawkeye would like to get chickens and maybe a cow, but not so much for me!

Cub Scouts and Camping

Friday afternoon saw us setting out for a weekend of camping. After the massive deluge and occasional rumble of thunder was over, which meant it would be cold this weekend.

Camping is really not on my list of favorite things. When I was pregnant with younger son, I mentioned emphatically to my husband that I would no longer be sleeping on the ground, and if he wanted to continue camping as a family, it would be in a camper. So we bought a pop-up camper. We really enjoyed that camper, but after the second time it was damaged in a windstorm while parked at our house, we decided to part with it. We moved to this house shortly before that, and all the males at my house have been content for two years to camp out in the yard. Which meant that I got to sleep in my bed.

However. Since I have two sons who are now Cub Scouts, I knew I couldn't hold out against the camping forever. I've gone to campouts for the day and gone home, which was working for me. Not so much for my boys. So, the Hawkeye bought me a camping cot (oh, that is the way to go), and I agreed to go camping at our district family campout.

It was 38 degrees when we all woke up Sunday morning. I still haven't really gotten warm. It was muddy and windy. And damp. And drizzling as we packed up to go home.

However. I really had fun! The boys were experiencing the full-court-press of outdoor activity-laden excitement. They ran, they yelled, they played in a fort, a castle, and an indian village, they poked in the campfire, they shot off air-powered pop bottle rockets, they played parachute games and noodle hockey. They played football and pirates. And I loved watching them, participating with them, and visiting with the other parents (the Hawkeye says he is proud. I was the only mom there).

It's a funny thing about scouting. It's really family-oriented, unlike sports. Most of the people are nice, considerate and helpful, and trying to teach their sons to be the same way (again, unlike many of the sports teams we have seen).

So, am I a camper now? Not a backpacker, for sure. That cot is pretty heavy. However, we did go buy me a new sleeping bag when we got home yesterday. It has a memory foam liner. I think that's maybe princess-style camping.

Books I read reluctantly, but then really enjoyed

I was mulling over this topic last night. I am a voracious reader, meaning I'm always reading a book in the van for the car rider line, one by the bed for the occasional evening chapter or two, one in the living room that I'm serious about reading, and usually at least one Bible study. And all of these books have back-ups for when they are finished -- I really don't want to be caught without reading material.

So, I was chuckling to myself about some of the books I read only because I thought I should, or someone I care about insisted, or some other reason that made me reluctant to pick them up, and then I became pleasantly caught up in the story. So, here they are:

1. The Lord of the Rings series, and anything Tolkien, including The Hobbit. I think this dates to my high school days. I had a group of friends who were obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons, and who also loved Tolkien. Although they were friends and all, I thought the D&D obsession was kind of weird. Also, a subset of these people built small pipe bombs on the weekends for fun, which they dropped from one of those remote-control airplane models in someone's field. That was really weird. So, it was guilt by association.

However, after the first movie was made, the Hawkeye bought me the trilogy in book form. Given that I generally enjoy science fiction and fantasy, I finally read it. At first I was intrigued, then finally I gave in and was caught up in the story, to the point of reading the appendices and The Hobbit. I loved it. I had to see the movies. I loved them. You would think I'd have learned my lesson.

2. Jane Austen. I don't really know why I was reluctant to pick up Austen's books. I have always enjoyed historical fiction, particularly if it has well-drawn characters. However, I never read an Austen novel until a few years ago. Perhaps it has to do with being a journalism major instead of an English major. There's a lot of 'must-read' classics that I have never read, although one semester in college, I had to read the entire New York Times every day. That takes a long time, people. A really long time.

However, once I did pick up Austen, I was embarrassed that it took me so long. The characters! The plots! The heroines! The scenery! What an idiot I was, to have missed it for as long as I did.

3. Conan Doyle. I like mysteries, but Sherlock Holmes wasn't ever even midly interesting to me. However, thanks to Laurie King's Mary Russell series, (which projects Holmes, later in life, acquiring a female partner) I picked them up, and lots of references I've read elsewhere made more sense. It's a bit like reading Edith Hamilton's Mythology in order to understand references in classical poetry -- no one in America needs to know all of those myths to get by just fine in life, but when you are familiar with them, many of the things you read acquire a new dimension. And you feel like less of an idiot. Or maybe that's just me.

4. The Killer Angels, Michael Shaara. I don't care for war books, or really anything that is considered 'important,' which is code for 'you will cry buckets and be depressed when you finish this book' to me. I'm shallow, I guess -- happy endings for me, thankyouverymuch. I only picked up this book for my PaPa, who was a Civil War fanatic. As in he was from South Carolina, was a member of the Sons of the Confederacy, and went to the Citadel fanatic. I thought he hung the moon, and therefore read all of his civil war books as a preteen/teenager, including Shelby Foote and lots of other authors. So, I picked this one up remembering him. Amazingly, I found it fascinating, and I can't put my finger on why I did. The people were very real and the setting was well-described, I think. As a result of this experience, I've picked up some others here and there and enjoyed them, including Band of Brothers, which was a compelling, powerful story (yes, I know about the author's unfortunate plagiarism issues), and Unknown Soldiers: the Story of the Missing in the First World War, which was disturbing but I couldn't put it down.

So, there you go. This list could be even longer, but these are definitely some biggies. Maybe having this here will remind me in the future to branch out a little more. Happy reading!

Spring is here, so my sinus cavities tell me

The Volunteer Peach household had a lovely visit with my family this weekend - which means five adults and five kids in a three-bedroom house. Family togetherness - there's nothing like it!

Every Spring when my mother comes, she raves and raves about how green it is here. The greenness is due to what I affectionately call (especially after last summer's drought) the monsoon season. We normally receive so much rain here in the spring that we temporarily become a mushroom haven, all over the yard. As soon as the grass dries from the last rain, an amazing roar is heard -- simultaneous cranking of every lawnmower in the vicinity, as people sprint to cut their yards before the next shower.

I really love spring, all the new leaves and blooming flowers and trees and, actually, the rain. The main reason I love the rain is that it washes lots of pollen out of the air. Because my allergies are so bad that even Allegra, Flonase and Advair doesn't completely keep them at bay. So, generally, I enjoy spring through glass. It's kind of like a terrarium in reverse -- all the beautiful stuff is outside, and I'm in -- the house, the car, that kind of thing.

So, given those facts, what on earth would make me decide to go camping with my two Cub Scouts this coming weekend? Insanity, I tell you -- it's brought on by all those pregnancy hormones, and apparently never wears off. I wonder if it's possible to whip up an Allegra/Zyrtec/Claritin cocktail?

Peacefulness

.....is when everyone is finally not sick and at work and school. Leaving me to enjoy quiet cleaning of the house to eliminate the sick germs before my family comes to see me this weekend. Wait a minute, enjoy is not the right word. Tolerate, maybe. Grit my teeth and do it anyway, likely. Oh, no, I've got it --- postpone and procrastinate would be the truth. So......peacefulness is when I'm here by myself, not doing what I should be doing, and blogging about it instead! Hmmmm, maybe I should be working on that self-discipline thing more often . . . .

This year, I'm on a biscuit quest

It's hard to even be able to hold your head up as a Southern cook when you can't make biscuits. And I can't. I make such horrible hockey-puck-like biscuits that the Hawkeye kindly told me in our first year of marriage how much he loved those biscuits that came in the can. Ya'll. Biscuits in a can are meant for things like monkey bread and wrapping around cocktail smokies. But my poor husband, for almost fifteen years, has been stuck with them.

However. I am determined that this is the year I learn to make real, bona-fide buttermilk biscuits. So I've been trying recipes, even one that was in our old church cookbook (church cookbooks are the best when you are a Baptist - all of those ladies cook!) that had yeast. They weren't it -- they tasted too much like rolls -- although the Hawkeye did like them, the boys did not.

So, this is the best recipe that I've come across - bonus points because it uses oil instead of shortening (the Hawkeye needs to watch his cholesterol)!

2 cups self-rising flour
3/4 - 1 cup buttermilk
1 tsp sugar
1/4 cup oil
1/4 tsp baking soda

Mix oil and buttermilk; add to dry ingredients. Bake at 450 degrees for 10-12 minutes.

To the best of my knowledge so far, part of my problem has been that I rolled out my biscuits too thinly and didn't have a real biscuit cutter. Also, I mixed them too much. Really, the secret seems to be in just barely combining the ingredients, kneading a couple of times on a floured surface, and roll out and cut. So, I've solved those problems and these biscuits are really pretty good. This makes 6-8 biscuits for me.

However, if you have any hints on making those really fluffy, 3-4 inch thick biscuits, I'd love to hear them. Or actually, the Hawkeye and the boys would love to hear them. Since I'm on a quest and all. And they've suffered through some yucky biscuits, people.

Yes, that is the view from my front porch

It occurs to me that my title photograph might be a bit misleading. Although we do live in the country (I took the picture while sitting on my porch last fall), we aren't farmers. As a matter of fact, I am a transplanted suburban girl. When we bought this house (with a bit more than 10 acres of land), the Hawkeye and I had to have some agreements about it.

Agreement #1: NO farm animals. This includes '4H projects,' 'hobby farm' type animals, or anything else even remotely related to this category. Animals stink, in my humble opinion, and I would like to continue enjoying my front porch without the odor.

Agreement #2: NO expecting me to be a farm-type housewife. Although I am a housewife, my food preserving capabilities are strictly limited to the freezer. I am a fairly good cook (well, I am Southern, after all), but I have no idea how to can. At all. A pressure cooker looks, to me, like a pretty efficient way to blow up the kitchen. Have I mentioned that I'm klutzy?

So, this has worked for us. We get to watch the farmer (that's 240 acres surrounding our land) plant, work and harvest his soybeans, cut hay and other farm-type activities, without having to do them ourselves. However, that land is now up for sale (progress in Middle Tennessee is rapidly resembling the suburban Atlanta that I lived in growing up) and I'm sad.

Maybe we should buy a cow? Nah.

Sweet hearts

The Volunteer family has finally caught the flu this year. First, the Hawkeye had it (and was miserable and out of work for three days which should have been five). Then, older son has caught it, as I have. Younger son is incredibly proud that he is the only one in the family who hasn't been sick.

Younger son also has such a sweet heart and boundless energy. We don't do Easter bunnies and baskets and such, but we do let them participate in the egg hunts at school, since they aren't competing with our worship and appreciation of what Easter is. So, he had some plastic eggs. When I dragged myself out of bed on Easter morning, I found the sweetest surprise! Younger son had put together an egg for each of us and put them at our places at the table. They each were full of his candy and a note that said "Happy Easter!" That is so typical of his heart.

Usually, we make resurrection cookies on Easter. The recipe includes a Bible study to go with the cookie ingredients. You pound nuts and read about how Jesus was flogged, smell and measure vinegar and read about how Jesus was given it to drink on the cross, taste salt and read about the tears of the women as he was crucified. Then, when adding egg whites and beating them, you read about how His sacrifice has made us whiter than snow. They're meringue cookies, so you seal the oven (like sealing the tomb) and turn it off. The next morning, the cookies are ready and are hollow inside like the empty tomb. This has really been a meaningful tradition for our family. So, we made them last night instead. Which is typical of us -- a day late and a dollar short most of the time!

In which little girls are apparently thick on the ground . . .

The scene: My two boys, neither of whom has hit double digits, are eating dinner at home with me and my husband. Older boy has burped with a wide-open mouth for, oh, maybe the fifth time in the meal. Mom is DONE. So, I try to make this a teaching time, you know, about life.

Me: Older son, you know some day, when you're 17 or 18, you're going to want to take a pretty girl out on a date. If ya'll are sitting at the table and you do that, she is going to want you to take her right home, and won't go out with you again.

Older son: (nonchalantly) So, that's when I'll need a back-up plan.

Me: (totally confused) A back-up plan?

Younger son: (In the well-of-course-voice) Yeah, another little girl.

Me: (trying to smother instant laughter) Well, see there's a problem with that plan. Teen-age girls would talk about these things, and the first little girl would tell the second about how older son has horrible manners.

Younger son: (shrugs eloquently, like of course this is no big deal): Well, then you need a third little girl.

Older son: (piling on here) Yeah.

My husband: Laughing uncontrollably.

Me: Also laughing uncontrollably, and thinking well, at this rate, I won't have to worry about them dating at all.

Just an example. The younger son is six, and honey, we rarely catch him flatfooted. He has an answer for everything. Maybe in my retirement years he can support me with his lawyer's salary.

Bible study

My church's women's group finished our study last night. It was this one, and was a great choice for this group. The workbook was frustrating because of some highly annoying graphic design and editing goofs, but the study was wonderful, and Liz is a phenomenally gifted speaker. So, now we're looking for another one. Although I love Beth Moore and have participated in three of her studies, the group just isn't ready for that yet. We're looking for 6 weeks, and some homework. Anyone have suggestions you've tried?

Fragility

I received an email yesterday from a dear friend at church. Her children are the same age as mine. Her mother has cancer and is hospitalized, and she is overwhelmed with the burden. It brought me to tears when praying for them -- that was our family, four years ago.

My father was terminally ill, four hours away, and we were overwhelmed. Physically, emotionally, and sometimes spiritually. It's the little things that sometimes send you over the edge - the grocery store trip that didn't happen, the homework that was forgotten, the laundry that needs to be washed. The children's questions that you can't answer. The situation you never thought you'd be in - my dad wasn't yet sixty when he died.

I've thought a lot since that time about how fragile life is. We all live like we're promised forever, like every day will go on just like the day before. We cling to life desperately, trying to wring every happiness we can out of our days. However, God didn't promise us forever here on earth, and I don't think He means for us to be that frantically attached to our life here. Forever is a promise to our souls, and unless we believe in his Son's sacrifice on the cross for our sins, that forever isn't pleasant at all. If we do, however, accept His invitation to believe, confess our sins, and follow Him, then, in His graciousness and mercy, He gives us forever, in heaven, with Him. Perfection for eternity. So why do we still long so much to stay here, where sickness, cruelty and sin rob us of so much joy?

My dad is healed in heaven. He will never again struggle for breath, never cry a tear, never have another panic attack. Do I miss him any less? (Of course not -- I'm in tears just thinking about it). Am I comforted knowing I will see him again someday? Absolutely. But I still hug my boys tighter, cherish my husband and my mom more, and look at life differently because I know, now, that it is short. That I can't control its duration, any more than I can control the weather.

Thinking of my friend, I longed to tell her of the good things God redeemed from that time. Both of my boys have made salvation decisions (because we prayed and talked about heaven so much, I think.) One of my friends selflessly poured her time and energy into our lives, taking care of so much for me and teaching me so much about joyful service. But that's so hard for my friend to think about right now. So I told her, instead, the truth: we're praying for her, as her church family, we're here for her, and I will do anything she will let me do to help her.

Because I know what fragile is. And I know what my Savior would have me do. And I long to be the woman, someday, that he wants me to be.

A Friday Without Plans

Today, I rose from my bed, ambled out to the kitchen to check the calendar, and lo! What surprise! Nothing is scheduled for today. After I double- and triple-checked, (true story: I once missed a final because I didn't read the final exam schedule correctly) I began calling my friends (after dropping the kids off at school, of course). The conversations went something like this:

Me: Hello? Good friend? Can you come out and play today?

Good Friend: Nope. Lots of commitments, things to get done while the kids are in school.

Me: No? Well, it's short notice, we'll do it again sometime.

Me: Hello? Just as good friend? Can you come out and play today?

Just as Good Friend: Well, no. Plans to clean the house, bake, other commitments while the kids are at school.

Me: No? Okay, it's short notice, we'll pick another time.

Me: Well, that stinks. I'm boooooooored. I waaaaaant someeeeeebody to plaaaaaaay with. Oh, my. Those words, and that tone of voice, aren't allowed in this house.
Should I go outside to say them?


Actual conclusion: I guess I'll spend this day working on some of those projects I never seem to have time to complete. Gee, doesn't that sound exciting?

Thankful

Wow, what a nasty night! I'm not much on reading scientific studies and all, but the fact that these kinds of storms are in January and February and not, oh I don't know, March and April, says that maybe there's something to this whole global warming thing. Seasons sure don't look now like they did when I was a kid. I don't think we had more than a handful of bad thunderstorms all spring and summer, and then we're getting them in the wintertime instead.

I am so thankful that we came out of it okay. No tornadoes, just a series of storms and then one last storm with really strong straight-line winds. We live in a windy area and are pretty accustomed to strong gusts, especially since we live on a hill overlooking a field, and there's nothing to break the wind. Last night, however, was a whole new ballgame. We spent some time in our downstairs bathroom as a family (just appreciating family togetherness?), and the wind drove in rain all around my front door to the point that it took three big bath towels to sop up most of it. Is that a big deal? Certainly not. Was I wearing my knees out in prayer? Absolutely.

So, today I'm praying for those who lost so much last night. That the Lord will restore them. That He will comfort grieving families. That His provision will be powerful, visible and miraculous. And that this will be a reminder to those of us who could use it to be thankful for blessings and open-handed and generous in sharing them with others.

Sick days and Miracles

The big boy has been home sick for the past two days. Which is something that has rarely happened since he had his tonsils and adenoids out just before he turned 2. It's really amazing how quickly they're no longer little any more -- it used to be that when he was sick, I was constantly needed for something. Now, he doesn't want me hovering over him, he wants a book, maybe some TV, and peace and quiet. Which is pretty much what I want when I get sick. But somehow, that leaves me feeling like I'm not doing my job.

It's amazing how quickly I can forget to appreciate that he is here at all. Big boy was born at 24 weeks gestation, weighing 1.6 lbs, almost 10 years ago. He spent about four months in the hospital, with lots of complications along the way, but came home healthy and hasn't had to be hospitalized since, except for one night with the tonsillectomy. He is a miracle walking around (or actually today, lying around) in my house. He shouldn't be leading a happy, healthy fourth-grader's life, but he is, because God has a plan for him --- that involves growing up! (which is intended to make Moms obsolete, isn't it?)

We are going today for a blood test that might show a slight problem with his endocrine system and I have been all worked up about this, worrying as if my life (or his) depended on it. As if I didn't learn almost ten years ago that God is in control, and I am not. A point that was pretty emphatically driven home when I couldn't even control my own body to keep him from being born.

I remembered this morning, looking at him, what it felt like to look at him when he was little, and sick, and so needy. And instead of feeling unnecessary (which I've been struggling with a bit lately), I think I'll choose instead to be grateful. If he doesn't need me so much, it's by God's grace. If he has this small problem, it's manageable -- and that's by God's grace, too. So, maybe I'll be obsolete as a Mom someday. But if God has a plan for him, he has one for me, too. Plans to prosper, and not to harm. Plans for hope, and a future -- and I can't wait!

When did Shoney's decide I'm in their target demographic?

I have a couple of friends who like to go out for breakfast. So, we're not ladies who lunch, we're ladies who breakfast. Perhaps that says something about us. Something like, we're cheap and easily distracted. Oooh, look at that shiny thing over there! What was I saying??

Actually, I don't even care for breakfast (just give me a cup or three of coffee and nobody will get hurt), but I am a friendly sort (or really I'll just jump at any chance to get out of the house), and so I go along. Last week, we went to Shoney's for the breakfast bar. It's probably an undeserved reputation, but Shoney's, to me, is redneck-o-rama. Right up there with the Awful Waffle in my view. Particularly in the morning on a weekday -- when most people who are not self-employed are already at work. However, again with the getting out of the house - at this point, beggars can't be choosy.

So, we're sitting there, having our typical mom conversation about our kids, the school, how different our older kids are from the younger ones, (I know, if you're not a mom -- major snooze factor, here) and I keep getting distracted by the music. It's like the 80s festival all up in there - I heard Paula Abdul/Forever Your Girl, Paco/Puttin' On the Ritz, and something by The Outfield. At one point, we commented that the only thing was missing was Michael Jackson (at which point we all made the skeeve face). So, what do you think was played within the next 10 minutes?

Now, I have a Theory. If I am in a store and they are playing songs from my teenage years (yes, I did grow up in the 80s, thank you very much), I figure they're pretty obviously targeting my age group, in the hope that as I'm bouncing along, happily reminiscing, I am filling up my buggy without noticing. I have noticed this phenomenon in both Wal-Mart and Michaels. That did not, however, bother me, because when I looked around, many of the other shoppers, were in fact, noticeably close to my age. However, if Shoney's is looking for my age group, and when I look around, I don't really see anyone who I think resembles me in age or situation, what does that say about me? Perhaps, you might be a redneck, if????????

Frugality is a Learned Behavior

We try to live frugally here in the Volunteer household. My mother raised my brother and I on very little money (she really had a way with hamburger and hot dogs, let me tell you), and I picked up many frugal habits without realizing it. I'm endlessly thankful for those now, being in my later 30s and having had so many friends over the years who were not raised that way and for whom a frugal lifestyle feels restrictive and miserable.

Here are some of my family habits that are ingrained (and for which I am massively thankful):

-- turning off the lights when you leave a room;
-- keeping leftovers for another meal or for lunches (freezing if necessary);
-- buying good deals in bulk and keeping a stocked pantry (which has been a real blessing time after time for us);
-- shopping places that require a little more work, like overstock/closeout stores, salvage stores, Aldi, etc. to save money;
-- shopping end-of-season clearance (the Hawkeye has often threatened to buy me a clearance rack for my birthday);
-- frugal meals like dried beans and cornbread, vegetable soup, tuna fish salad and meat stretchers (like meatloaf);
-- doing it yourself whenever possible (like painting, wallpapering, fixtures, etc.);
-- buying used over new when we can (cars, lawnmowers, even clothing through consignment/thrift where possible).

I have had lots of friends who don't understand the value of shopping with a list or planning meals ahead of time (groceries are one of those areas the Volunteer budget can get quickly out of control) to save money. Right now my chest freezer (which is a must-have frugality tool for us) contains a lasagna, a chicken casserole, a pumpkin pie, extra sugar and flour bought on sale, extra loaves of bread to last us until my next planned trip to the store, frozen vegetables, meats and a few convenience items like chicken nuggets and frozen pizza to keep us out of the fast-food lane when there truly isn't time.

I have been married almost fifteen years and it took me until the past year or two to really figure out that it's just as easy to make two lasagnas, casseroles, pies, quick breads, etc. as one, and then I have extra on hand! This also makes it easy to take someone a meal when they need one (can you tell I'm from the South? We're Southern Baptists -- it's all about the food, people!)

We are not anyone's poster people for frugality, but these things are painless penny-pinching for me, because it was part of my raising. Thanks, Mom.

Veggies, Marketing, and Unexpected Insight

Although my older son is a bit old for them now, we went to see the new Veggie Tales movie yesterday. Older son actually has never been a huge Veggie fan, but indulges me (especially since we only go to the movies once a year or less). My younger son always enjoys the funny songs and action, action, action! (Having boys is so much fun, ya'll. Except when they've been cooped up too long and all that energy goes toward picking on one another.)

The movie was really cute and entertaining, although the songs did feel a bit grafted on to the story. I have to say, however, that movie previews have become significantly longer in the last few years. And why do movies rated G have previews for movies that are not rated G? There were fully 20 minutes' worth of previews before the movie started, and is it just me, or are they exponentially louder than the movie itself? (can you tell we don't get out much?)

Elder son actually got the allegory behind the story. When I asked them who the king was meant to represent, I wasn't expecting them to have the answer. I was really just making conversation, as we were sitting in a parking lot waiting for the next item on our busy social calendar to begin. He really surprised me by getting a lot of the symbolism in the movie. Oh, this former English teacher's heart grew three sizes that day. Or something like that.

How do I explain the heartbreak for the little boys?

Of going to bed with snow on the ground, more snow coming down and sure of a snow day . . . .

---and waking up with the snow almost gone and having to go to school? That's just wrong!

I have two very sad little boys that I just dropped off at school.

It started snowing yesterday about dusk. It didn't really stick on the roads, just the grass, but it was coming down pretty hard, for Tennessee. We went on to church (because the Hawkeye fears no frozen precipitation, people), and when we came out there was probably an inch or so on the grass and the parking lot and steps were a little slushy. So, after a snowball fight with our good friends and a couple of the youth (the boys were so enthusiastic in throwing snowballs that they both cried all the way home about how their hands were hurting as they warmed up), we headed home and put them to bed, almost completely sure there was going to be a snow day.

And then, shortly before the Hawkeye and I went to bed, it changed to rain. Steady rain. Snow-eating rain. So, this morning we just have little bits of snow left to mock the little boys, and they had to go to school.

Disappointment lives in middle Tennessee today.

On Obedience

It struck me this morning, as I was explaining to my six-year-old that obey means do what you're told, when you're told to do it yet again, that sometimes I give God the same excuses my son gives to me. Such as:

--I didn't hear you. Oh, were you talking to me? I thought that was merely one of those stray thoughts that I could feel free to ignore. Because it didn't seem like something I would want to do.

--I forgot. Oh, that deny yourself and take up your cross thing? Well, I didn't think about that today. I was too busy.

--I thought you meant my brother. You know, the one who is more gifted and talented than me. Or just older and more experienced. Or more energetic. Or less busy.

Wow. That's some serious opportunity for improving my discipline staring me in the face. I wonder if I disappoint and frustrate God as often as my boys disappoint and frustrate me by not obeying? And if part of this parenthood journey is meant to open my eyes to where God is wanting to work on me? Thank you, Lord, that Your mercy is new every morning. May I do a better job of showing your mercy to those you have entrusted to my care.

Maybe no isn't a bad word, after all

I just read this post and I find that I have the same problem. My extended family, folks at the school, and sometimes even my husband all think that since I am a stay-at-home mom and my kids are in school all day, I must have massive amounts of free time just waiting for them to lay claim to it. And I feel guilty that I'm not the world's best at time management, so I think:

1) I should be able to do that . . . . and say yes. Or
2) If I don't do it, who will? . . . . and say yes. Or
3) that won't take much time . . . . and say yes. Or
4) the boys will be really happy if I do that . . . and say yes. Or
5) I don't want to admit that I don't really have time for that . . .. and say yes.

In reality, what often happens is . . .

1) I can do that . . . but it is a massive, detail-oriented, painstaking job, and those three things make me a nervous, irritable, procrastinating wreck. Really.

2) I was not the first on the list, just the first sucker to say yes to it. And it's a job that will be mine forever now.

3) Actually, it takes a lot of time and is a drawn-out project. (I am notorious for thinking I'm going to accomplish 15 things in the time it really takes to do 2 of them. Quite a recipe for frustration.)

4) The boys couldn't care less. My oldest thinks he has been seriously deprived because he's never been in day care, so I'm thinking that he's not really good at seeing the whole picture. This reality is the reason I've really quit stressing over scrapbooking. They're boys, they are not going to want to keep 20 scrapbooks when they're adults (and at the rate I was going, that was going to be a conservative estimate!)

5) I do it, but with a poor attitude and grumping and grumbling the whole time. It makes me unpleasant to those around me and I have to seek forgiveness.

So, I'm going to pray more and longer and be slower to answer. I'm already managing my household (not well, either), facilitating 2 Bible studies (soon to be 3) and trying to run a Cub Scout pack, and that's all, folks.

So thanks, Queen B, for inspiring me to think about this topic. I want to be a woman whose priorities are in the right place: God first, my husband and kids, then those things that can be added to that list where there is time and God's blessing. I don't ever want to think I have wasted my time and talents by using them somewhere God didn't intend.

If anyone tells you propane heat is efficient, or inexpensive

....laugh maniacally, then run as fast as you can the other way. Because they are infected with the crazy.

When we bought this house a couple of years ago (not a McMansion, it's under 2000 square feet), it was a couple of years old, and has a propane furnace and hot water heater. We're out in the country- five miles from a town with one red light. That scene from The Notebook where they are lying underneath the red light could have happened here. Therefore, natural gas isn't available. So, we filled the tank in September and then the truck showed up just after the first of the year. The total was over $800. To fill the tank only 80 percent full. And we keep our house so cool that my mom asked if we didn't heat it during the day -- the thermostat is set at 64 during the day and 60 at night.

We just finished Little Town on the Prairie as our book we read to the boys at night (we take turns picking a book, then read 1-2 chapters at night after our devotion). I have been picking the Little House books, as I have boys, and they won't read them otherwise, although they are really enjoying them. The scene where they woke up with a foot of snow on their beds really convinced me what a wimp I am. I don't know how they did it all without collapsing from exhaustion!

So, there may be a heat pump in our future. Which always reminds me of this Georgia Power commercial when I was a teenager -- old ladies sitting around a bridge table talking about a dinosawwr of an air conditioner. Those old ladies all sounded like my Meme or my Aunt Edna. And yes, we need one of those. Heat pumps, that is -- not old ladies playing bridge.

Learning from David's life

I'm working through A Heart Like His by Beth Moore with a young single mom at my church, and I am amazed at how much is packed into David's life. I'm always so appreciative that when God inspired scripture, He included people with their warts and all. It means so much to me that even when David messed up (and he did, and I do), God worked to reconcile David to Himself, because that gives me hope. Once David had repented of his sin, even though he had to live with the consequences, God forgave him and still used his life for God's purposes and promised such beautiful things to him. When I think of all the messed-up decisions and actions and thoughts I have made over the years, I am amazed at God's grace. I should be useless for the Kingdom, yet God still wants to use me. I should be cast aside for losing so many opportunities to testify for Him, yet God still gives me new opportunities, including two little boys who need to see Christ in me. There's only one perfect man in the Bible, and he is also God. I'm so thankful today that Jesus, the perfect God-man, chose to give up His life that I might live eternally.

One of my favorite praise songs comes from Paul's writings, and I love the recording by Phillips, Craig and Dean. I can really shatter some glass with "For I am crucified with Christ, and yet I live! Not I, but Christ who lives within me. His cross will never ask for more than I can give, for it's not my strength but His. There's no greater sacrifice, for I am crucified with Christ, and yet I live!"

Now that's a happy Friday thought.

My favorite frugal place for books

I have been a member of www.paperbackswap.com for two years now. The way it works is really pretty simple: when you sign up, you post 9 books you are willing to swap, and get 2 free credits. You can use those credits right away to request a book from someone else. When someone requests one of your books, you access a .pdf file with a predesigned wrapper, print it and wrap up your book for mailing. You then mail it at first-class or media mail rate, whichever is cheaper. When the requestor receives your book, you get a credit to request one for yourself.

I have found some great new authors through their recommendations feature, and I have completed some collections of my favorite authors (most notably Elizabeth Peters ). You can post or request hardbound editions, if that's your preference.

I've posted thrifted or yard-saled books, and for approximately $2.50 I have requested a hardbound or popular book I've been dying to read. If a copy of the book you want isn't available, you can add it to your wish list, and the system will notify you when someone posts it.

Can you tell I'm really enthusiastic about this site? I still can't pass a bookstore without going in to check it out, but I sure don't spend much anymore, when this is an option for me!

Going to the Dentist is Fun! (Really?)

The older son (almost in double digits) has some seriously messed-up teeth. Like, we had our first taste of orthodontia at four years old messed up teeth. So, at nine years old, he's already had one of those expander contraptions and what is called Phase I of braces (basically, an Inspired Scheme to Sucker More Money Out of Us by stretching this out as long as possible). I had braces twenty years ago, but apparently the thinking nowadays (you know, since we're no longer in the Dark Ages) is to put them on when the kids are younger.

Not that this has been a problem for him. When the dentist's office is essentially a video arcade / television fun time with a brief intermission for someone to mess with your mouth, what's not to like?

However, all of this means my nine-year-old son has a retainer. Now, if you have never been to the Land of the Nine-Year-Old Boy, you have no idea of the level of crazy thinking and unexplainable behavior it contains. Just for example, this boy can't get the thought out of his head that mom is responsible for this appliance that spends most of its lifespan in his mouth. Hmmm, really? So, the result of our residence in this land is that he has lost one set of retainers and then broken the replacement, all in less than six months' time. The six-eight permanent teeth he has in his mouth are lovely and straight and all, but dude, I'm not sure this is really worth it. Keeping up with his backpack is about as much responsibility as this kid can handle, really. And some days he doesn't even do that too well.

So, the long and the short of this situation is my need to decide where we're going from here. Do we replace the retainer yet again? Do we accept that the six-eight permanent teeth might become less straight before Phase II of the bloodletting, a.k.a. paying for more braces, begins, and just ditch the retainer? Because mom is really over all this, let me tell you. Especially when I talked with the orthodontist about this yesterday, and her response was to remind me that it is really likely that, even with the retainer, his teeth won't remain straight and lovely as more permanent teeth begin coming in. Really? So Phase I of the blood, sweat and tears (and money - we're a one-income household, people) was for what, then?

In other news, second son is six, and those first permanent teeth in the front aren't looking too good. Maybe we should put him to work now.

Why yes, I am a Southerner, thank you . . .

It's a funny thing, being married to a guy from the Midwest (which is what my grandmother told everyone at my wedding . . . no, I didn't just marry a Yankee, I married a midwesterner). He still occasionally calls our couch a davenport and a gutter an eavestrough (?what?), but I sure love it when we have a bit of snow on the ground and he will do the driving. I grew up in a place where people clean out the bread and milk any time the weather forecast even mentions the 'S' word, and black ice is one of the most feared (and pretty much phantom) road conditions. So, it is really comforting to know I don't have to drive in the stuff. It makes me a nervous wreck. Not that I don't enjoy the snow -- we lived on a street with a steep hill growing up, and at least every other year would get a good snowstorm with a layer of ice underneath. Then we all loved the neighbor with a real sled (my husband says they're called toboggans). The more kids we got on that thing, the faster it would go, and that was all kinds of awesome. Along with the bread sacks on our feet to keep them dry (because who would spend money on real snowboots in Atlanta, people?)

However, I'm still all Southerner. We had three days in December where I could open the windows (horrible allergies + endless pollen season = that never happens), and there has already been a January day where lots of people around here were wearing shorts. Just seeing real snow never ceases to amaze me - the first time we went to visit my Hawkeye's family in the winter, I was stunned to see an entire river frozen. And his stories about growing up sound like something Norman Rockwell would have painted (building a bonfire next to the river and ice skating, anyone?)


My two boys, however, have never been able to ride a sled. And the oldest is almost 10! So, I'm (quietly) asking for a good snowfall or two this winter. My friends who grew up in this part of Tennessee say it's a possibility. So, cross your fingers for me!