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It has occurred to me that I have it all wrong. When I find myself in hot water, I react. I will do or try anything to achieve the desired outcome. I scramble, manipulate, toss and turn, mutter a plea to God, manipulate some more, worry, and ultimately mess up the situation even more with my own misguided attempts to outwit something bigger than me. Not that action isn’t important, or that strategy isn’t sometimes called for, but did anyone else notice where the prayers were in all this? Right in the middle. And they weren’t much to speak of. A friend of mine was facing such a situation only a month ago. She was the victim of a crime, and now she was facing a court trial. Things were tense. I spoke to one of those who would be taking the stand. I told her “Don’t worry about saying the wrong thing and messing everything up. The Lord has already written the story on this. He already knows the end, and this will come out exactly the way He wants it to for His glory. There’s nothing you can say or do on the stand that will change His will.” So why can’t I take my own advice? Is it really that hard for a follower of God to ask Him to supernaturally intervene and have faith that it can happen? Be clear on this: I’m not referring to things where we don’t know the will of God. I can ask God to give us a bigger house, but if it’s not His will jumping the gun and trying to make it happen will get us all burned. There ARE some situations, however, where the will of God is obvious, yet the odds seem insurmountable. Take David and Goliath in I Samuel 17. Goliath and the Philistine army had the nation of Israel in a check-mate. But when Goliath’s mockery reached David’s ears, David acted, and Goliath was destroyed. Sound like I’m contradicting myself. David didn’t pray that God would strike Goliath down supernaturally. Looks like he took matters into his own hands. Ah, but keep reading… v. 37 The LORD who delivered me from the paw of the lion and the paw of the bear will deliver me from the hand of this Philistine. v. 45-47 David said to the Philistine, "You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the LORD Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This day the LORD will hand you over to me, and I'll strike you down and cut off your head. Today I will give the carcasses of the Philistine army to the birds of the air and the beasts of the earth, and the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel. All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the LORD saves; for the battle is the LORD's, and he will give all of you into our hands." We all know how the story ends. One young man. One sling. One stone. One giant down. And the Philistine army flees for its life and is utterly decimated, their camp plundered. David acted because it was in his power to do so, and he had the blessing of the Lord behind him, the Lord who made good on his promise to Israel that day. Abraham, on the other hand, dealt with his insurmountable situations rather differently. Remember that manipulation I talked about? Abraham was FANTASTIC at it. In Genesis God promises Abraham a great nation. Unfortunately Abraham is childless. His wife is barren and getting older, so she suggests he have children through her handmaid, Hagar. He agrees, and Ishmael is born. God tells Abraham that Ishmael, too, will be the father of a great nation, but is not the nation which God has in mind for Abraham. Instead, Ishmael and his descendants would “live in hostility toward all his brothers.” (Genesis 16:12) Rather than having faith that God is the God of the impossible, Abraham takes matters into his own hands, and the father of the Arab nation is born…y’know, where the radical Muslims come from. Nice going, Abe. Okay, but what about someone that’s hell bent on doing something they shouldn’t? Can they really be stopped? You’ll love this one... In Numbers 22 the Israelites are indeed a “great nation” and are destroying enemies left and right. They go to battle. they win. They go to battle. They win. Wash, rinse, repeat. When they settle in the land of Moab the residents are in a panic. Their king, Balak, sends some messengers to fetch Balaam, a pagan sorcerer with a reputation for success in the department of blessings and cursings (not sure how you’d word that on a business card). Balaam told them he’d discuss it with the Lord, who didn’t give him permission to go. Balak’s servants come back without him. The king sends more servants who offer great wealth to Balaam if he comes with them. God allows Balaam to return with the king’s messengers, but He is still displeased with the mission. On the way to Moab, Balaam’s donkey sees an angel of the Lord blocking the way. Balaam doesn’t see it at first, and beats the donkey repeatedly before the donkey actually speaks to him. Then Balaam sees the angel himself, sword in hand, ready to strike Balaam down. Balaam bows before the Lord, willing to turn back, but the Lord allows him to continue. Once in Moab, Balaam asks the king to build altars and make sacrifices (the black magic kind). The king does this and sits waiting eagerly for Balaam’s curse. But when Balaam opens his mouth, only a blessing comes out. The king is beside himself, but Balaam explains that he is unable to curse because the Lord, in essence, is controlling his speech. The king, undeterred, takes Balaam to another location and tries again, same eye-of-newt-style sacrifices and all. Still, Balaam can only bless. They try again somewhere else, and after the third blessing, King Balak is royally (sorry) ticked off. To cap off the fine evening, Balaam issues some bonus oracles against Moab itself, that Israel will crush it. Needless to say, Balaam was not paid for his services. I think I’ve managed to make the case for God’s power. So back to our present day problem. When faced with impending disaster, do we act? Or should we just wait on God? Depending on the situation, we may need to act (prayerfully), or we may need to take our hands off and just pray. Modern example: Our children are at risk of experimenting with drugs, alcohol or sex. Knowing God’s will we certainly pray fervently, but we also ACT because we are commanded to do so. We train them from a young age, shelter them from danger and worldly influence through what we allow on TV, who they hang out with, etc. We provide a loving biblical example of Christianity. When we have done what we are supposed to do, we rest in faith that we have obeyed the Lord and He will be faithful in protecting our children. We don’t sit on the couch in faith, we ACT IN FAITH. Another example: Our church’s newest pastor, from North Carolina, is desperately trying to move his entire family up here, but it means selling their southern home during a bad market (which they finally did) and finding the right home here in PA for his family of seven on a pastor’s income. Until then, he and his wife have to live with agonizing separation, leaving his wife to deal alone with childrearing and health issues (two sons have cystic fibrosis and one is currently in the hospital). Is it God’s will that they be separated as a family? Of course not. Is there much they can do beyond looking for a home? Nope. They must believe that since God’s will is ultimately for them to be together, HE will have to do the work that only He can do. And God can do anything, can’t he? He can defeat an enemy. He can create a great nation through a childless couple. He can thwart evil plans, bring a man to justice, cause a car to break down so a tennager can’t go where he shouldn’t. He can find a job, feed a single mom who has no money or food. He can. He does. He will. We do not put our faith in a God who cannot do, but Who has already done. He has proven himself faithful. We can depend upon Him. We can rest in Him. Act when it’s appropriate to do so, but do not manipulate, hoping somehow to change the outcome of a situation you cannot, in reality, change on your own. What I’ve written will mean different things to different people. I pray God will give it wings to reach you wherever you are. |
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I've been itchin' to write this for some time now, and my friends have been bugging me to do so. I didn't want to be rash, however, so I waited for inspiration to bite. The puns could go on endlessly, but I'll spare you… Like sweepstakes winnings, I never thought it could happen to me. Cookie had been an outdoor cat for several years without so much as an itch. When we got Mitzy and introduced her to the wide open spaces, the bug community promptly passed around a memo that dinner was being served. Perhaps it was because Mitzy roamed farther than Cookie, or perhaps it’s because she's long-haired. Whatever the reason, the fleas found their way to her and before long, both cats were itching and scratching, not to mention my husband...and my brother...and my kids...and my nephew. No ankle was safe. I went online to explore the best ways to wage war against these creatures. The popular suggestions were to vacuum daily, empty the vacuum bag after each use, use a flea collar, bathe the cat using a flea shampoo, apply a monthly flea treatment, fog the house, and use a flea comb. Here’s how the suggestions play out in my house: 1. Vacuum Daily: Seriously? This means every carpeted area, upstairs and down, any place the cats sleep (which is everywhere) and upholstery. If there is a woman in the world who actually does this on a daily basis, I really don’t want to meet her. Then again, if she has time to vacuum her entire house every day, she can come vacuum mine. 2. Empty bag after each vacuuming: Okay, now, which one of you people wants to change out a virtually empty vacuum bag? That’s just plain wasteful. Now the logic behind this is that if you don’t empty the bag every day, the critters just find their way back out. To avoid this in my home, I just don’t vacuum. Problem solved. 3. Use a flea collar: People, I’m telling you now—they don’t work if your cat already has fleas. I tried different brands to no avail. Personally, I think expecting fleas to stay away from the collar is about the same as expecting a nine-year-old boy to stay away from dad’s tools. It might be a little risky, but fleas (and nine-year-old boys) manage to have a good time nonetheless. I swear the fleas were having a party under those collars, and lived to tell about it. 4. Bathe cat with flea shampoo: Do I SERIOUSLY need to elaborate? Besides the risk to life and limb, not only did both feline and human species survive, so did some of the fleas. Yes, many did go down the drain, waving little white flags as they went, so I can’t completely turn up my nose at this suggestion. Do so, however, at your own risk. 5. Apply flea treatment: If you’re trying to prevent fleas, the cheap stuff’s fine. But if you’re already dealing with an infestation, bring the BIG wallet to the store with you. There’s a reason the managers keep these little boxes in locked cabinets, as if they were 24k gold jewelry. I squeezed a small tube of this liquid (which smells exactly like nail polish remover) between my cats’ shoulderblades where they couldn’t lick it off, and within days they were scratching less. The effects are temporary and incomplete, but welcome. 6. Fog the house: Here’s how this works…Wait for a day when you and your family plan to go out. Have a fogger can ready for each floor of your home, as well as a wad of newspaper. Cover all surfaces with newspaper that you will be placing the foggers on. Put away any food, cover all food surfaces and appliances, cover cat food & water bowls, and cover the crab cage (yes, you have two hermit crabs in this story). Turn off your hot water heater’s pilot light, since the fogger’s warning label states there’s a risk of explosion (though Mythbusters has proven otherwise). Get everyone in the car while you activate the cans and dash out of the room. Evacuate house for one hour (preferably to the mall or McDonalds) praying you didn’t forget anything at home because you are NOT going back in. After returning an hour or so later, run through house opening windows, while holding your breath since you fear residual toxic fumes. Exit house for one more hour. When it’s safe (presumably), enter house, throw away cans and paper. The next morning, take a cold shower because you forgot to turn the hot water heater’s pilot light on. Read misleading directions on side of hot water tank for lighting pilot light, which is not as easy as it looks on paper, not to mention intimidating since you’re turning on natural gas, then introducing a FLAME to it! Enjoy a flea free home for a few weeks, during which time the single male and female fleas that were hiding under the newspaper get busy. Repeat the entire process, except this time leave the pilot light on. If there IS an explosion, you can be assured the fleas will not survive. A small price to pay in achieving your goal. 7. Use a flea comb: This one requires some dedication (read desperation), and there is a bit of an “ick” factor since you will be coming into contact with the bugs themselves. Flea combs have teeth placed close together which snag fleas pretty easily. The important side tool in this is a container of soapy water. Fleas hate a soapy bath as much as…well…nine-year-old boys (it seems they're similar in a few ways). It kills them quickly (the fleas, that is). Basically, you keep combing until you rake up a flea, then quickly dip the comb into the soapy water until the flea croaks and floats off. Depending on the temperament of your particular cat, this could be as risky as the bath. At the very least, you’ll have to do this on the fly (sorry, couldn't resist). Whenever I found one of my cats in a relaxed state anywhere in the house, I grabbed the comb and soap/water bucket, which I kept always at the ready, and brought them to the cat. The last time I did this Mitzy was lounging in the kitchen. After only two minutes of grooming she took off. I intended to work on her more later, but not wanting to leave dead fleas floating in a bucket of water in my kitchen, I hastily placed it on the side porch. There was a freeze that night, and the next day when I went to comb Mitzy again I found the water had frozen through, the fleas suspended throughout. It looked like the makings of another Jurrasic Park sequel. By now it’s probably no surprise to any of you that the fleas are alive and well here in fluctuating population. Eradication is not an option. Considering how a flea egg embedded in carpet fibers can wait up to a year for a warm body to wander by before hatching, I understand now why God said he would destroy the earth by fire rather than by flood. A worldwide explosion may indeed be the only way to ensure irreversible annihilation. Unless, that is, God were to add some dishwashing liquid to the tidal wave. |
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I stated in my last post that our beloved cat, Cookie, is missing several teeth. In fact, a few years ago we had them extracted (see 1/27/07 post). Our wallets are still smarting. Since our cats have been outdoor cats, I was unaware how poorly Cookie’s food was digesting, or should I say NOT digesting. Since keeping her indoors, I had been cleaning up episodes of cat nausea twice a day. I was concerned, not to mentioned grossed out. Fortunately, our vet is not sheepish about charging the typical rate for full feline exams, which included x-rays that showed nothing. I have often been tempted to ask, “since there’s nothing there, can I get my money back?” This works well, I suppose, if you buy a toy that doesn’t work, but It doesn’t quite carry over into the world of medicine. I walked out with empty pockets, yet no definitve answer as to why Cookie was unable to digest her food. Before her appointment that day, I had braced myself for the possibility that we might not bring this sweet affectionate cat home again, but was happy to learn after her exam that she was stuck with us for a little longer. Since Cookie tends to swallow her food whole after losing those teeth, the only advice the vet had for me was to soak her food with some water so she could chew it easily, which might help her digest it. He was right, but the deed is almost as nasty as, well…the alternative I’d been living with. Have you ever seen a bowl of cat food that was left out in the rain? That’s exactly what was on the menu for poor Cookie. Surprisingly, she took it well. I, on the other hand, looked at the soaked concoction of mush I WILLINGLY created and thought, “I can’t in good conscience serve this up to her.” But serve I did. There’s NO WAY it tastes nearly as good wet as it does dry, but she manages to clean her bowl without complaint. On a side note to my kids, WATCH AND LEARN! The biggest challenge (as if you didn’t know this was coming) was Mitzy. Oh, she kept her food down fine. The problem is, she had no trouble keeping Cookie’s food down either. Picture the scene: Cookie is staring at me with starving eyes, looking pathetic with her bony, undernourished frame. I quickly scoop some food into her dish and pour water over it. Then I set it up where she can’t get to it until it’s soaked through fifteen minutes later. In the meantime I turn my attention to getting my nine-year-old out the door for school--a task for which all moms should earn a medal, I might add. Once he’s the bus driver’s problem I turn back to the bowl I prepared for Cookie--to find Mitzy has slunk over and consumed it completely (envision more than mild irritation here. Trust me--you won’t overdo it). Now I have to start all over again, scooping, soaking, and this time hiding the bowl behind a closed bathroom door, all while Cookie follows at my ankles and stares at me like Oliver Twist. Challenge #2? Trying to keep Mitzy’s DRY food away from COOKIE. Once I realized Cookie was not going to wait patiently for her homemade paté, I had to find a suitable place to keep Mitzy’s bowl where she alone could get to it. Thankfully, because she’s a younger cat, she still has some serious spring in her step and can easily leap to a high, deep windowsill we have in our finished basement--something Cookie can’t reach. So now her dish has a permanent spot there. It looks lovely, really, nestled in between all my tasteful décor…really. Okay, I hate it there, but I’m desperate. I’m waging a war against soiled carpets and mush under my feet. Disgusted yet? Now you know how I feel. Anyone hungry for a snack?... I have the technique down to a science now. The first thing I do after dragging son #1, kicking and screaming, out of bed, is go straight to the laundry room to prepare Cookie’s breakfast, which I then shut up in the bathroom until it’s ready. I also scoop some food into Mitzy’s bowl and place it in the high windowsill. Then I prepare human breakfasts for a while before returning downstairs to give Cookie her bowl, therby quelling her “stare of guilt.” The funny thing is, even though Cookie knows she has delayed gratification coming, she never ceases to act shocked that I do not serve up her food the minute it is scooped into the bowl. And I’ve learned never to mistake her silence for patience. Just the other evening Ryan and I sat in our family room and watched in shock as our dear geriatric cat, out of nowhere, decided to try an impulsive leap to the high ledge herself. She fell short, of course, but just barely, putting up a good fight. I think there are a few claw marks going down the wall where she clung for dear life, watching that coveted meal slip further and further from view. At least she didn’t hurt anything but her pride, which doesn’t cost an arm and a leg to be repaired.
Stay tuned for Episode Three in the cat trilogy, which I’m just itchin’ to write (painful pun intended). |
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We recently reintigrated our two cats to exclusively indoor living. While they have enjoyed the freedom the great outdoors allows, they developed the nasty habit of wandering into neighboring yards and leaving presents of the unwanted kind. I never heard complaints per se, but the elderly woman next door called one day to say she observed someone in an official looking truck (animal control?) which had pulled up to the single woman’s house across the street, where our cat, Cookie, happened to be lounging. I took that as a sign that not everyone feels the same way about our felines as we do. As it turns out, we later discovered that this woman LOVES Cookie, and had no idea she belonged to us. She even gave her the name “Domino,” and has enjoyed her affectionate nature. While I can’t be certain that anybody actually called Animal Control, I still thought it wise to keep them inside. "Why not put collars on them," you say? Tell that to the cats, who have managed to come back at the end of the day with theirs missing…several times. Since their imprisonment they have made it understood in no uncertain terms that they are displeased with the arrangement. There are several ways they have communicated this: 1. An insanely full litter box. While I realize that the litter box was rarely used while they were outside cats, there’s NO WAY on God’s green earth they could have consumed enough food to produce the piles I am scooping and dumping on a daily basis. I know I have some corks around here somewhere… 2. The meowing…no, the whining…the INCESSANT WHINING at every door, window, crevice, crack in the wall, you name it. These cats are serious, and not about to give up, even three weeks into their solitary confinement. 3. The sassy behavior. Actually, I pin this one totally on Mitzy. She was ornery from the moment we got her, but became much more settled once I introduced her to the outdoors. She tasted freedom, then had it cruelly snatched away. I am never to be forgiven and shall have to sleep with one eye open for the rest of my life…or perhaps just the rest of hers, which will be greatly shortened if she so much as swats at me from the top of the refrigerator just ONE MORE TIME! 4. The refusal to compromise. This one is worth spending some time on. Now, folks, we all know cats in general are not instinctively leash friendly, not to mention averse to water (but that’s another painful blog). If a cat owner wants his/her pet to tolerate a leash, he/she had better start young. I didn’t have a choice in the matter. Mitzy was already three years old when I inherited her, and Cookie was at least five when she was adopted, and is now knockin’ on borrowed time. I’m not sure of her age, but if her lack of teeth is any indication, she at the very least should be taking Geritol. But I digress…. I wanted Mitzy, in particular, to venture outdoors once in a while, so I told my husband I was going to buy a leash and harness and see if I couldn’t break her in. He advised against this, but I talked him into it with my powers of persuasion (which is really just me wearing him down to the point of exhaustion. It works rather well). He said I would never be able to drag that cat anywhere on a leash. It turned out he was wrong. I indeed, DID drag that fool cat (literally) all the way across the street and back, with her hissing and howling at me, a sight which I probably could have charged admission for. Either that cat is incredibly stupid or incredibly stubborn, because, despite having her beloved fur mangled by the surface of the cold asphalt street, she chose to lay on her side, legs stiff as a board, while making noises that would have put the fear of God into a Doberman. This went on for several minutes before she managed to wriggle out of her harness. I wouldn’t have minded that so much had it not taken me two hours to get that blasted, God-forsaken, octopus-like, blankety-blank contraption on. I’m not really sure how I managed to wrap that thing around her body and still come away unscathed, but let me just say it took two cans of tuna fish before I was successful. It was a small price to pay for unbroken skin. A word to the wise: If you see an invention hanging from the pet store shelf that requires you to reach under your unwilling cat and through her front legs to attach straps to tiny little clips, keeeep walking!
Stay tuned for Part Two: The Chef’s Special (subtitle: What lengths you’re willing to go to so your cat will stop barfing all over the house); and Part Three: The Flea Circus |
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While last year's Chrismas tree adventure may never be topped, I am aware (mostly through personal experience and the stories of others) that there are many other holiday fiascos that could inspire anyone to shout "bah, humbug!" So, in keeping with what may soon become tradition, I give you this year's offering, how to repair that wonderful invention, the string lights. This is my story... 1. Eagerly dig lights out of storage and plug them in to ensure they work. They do. 2. String them on the tree after children have gone to bed (this is to avoid having to pull broken glass out of little feet.) Being anal retentive is key here. Wrap the string of lights two or three times around each branch (Martha Stewart style) to make sure they stay put and the wires are camouflaged. 3. Stand back and admire tree. 4. The next day, decorate the tree with the children, with Nat King Cole and Perry Como singing in the background on the CD player. 5. Observe in horror that the middle string of lights has been extinguished. 6. Search throughout tree for offending bulb, using handy bulb tester. 7. When you are unable to find the bad bulb, resolve to strip tree of ornaments, and remove the lights from the tree. Make a mental note to send hate mail to Martha Stewart for influencing you on how to carefully wrap each branch with this now tangled monstrosity. 8. Not wanting to spend money when you don't have to, lay lights across floor and proceed to remove each bulb and test individually. 9, Realize that tester has died because son played with it. Send husband to store to buy new tester. 10. Using new tester, check each bulb. Bark at children who feel the need to keep stepping on the lights, despite the fact that you are not in a high traffic area. 11. Replace several bulbs to no avail. 12. Admit defeat and spend the three bucks to get new lights. Restring tree and hang ornaments. 13. Now on to the garland. Plug in another string of lights, which work, and begin wrapping them around your fifteen feet of garland. It looks beautiful and you can't wait to hang it outside. 14. Unplug and carefully carry the garland/lights to your front porch, where you proceed to attach it to railing. Plug in. 15. Resist the urge to swear when lights refuse to illuminate. Examine bulbs. 16. Unattach garland and drag back inside. Yell at children to stop stepping over the garland and to get the heck out of the living room so you can work on these darned things in peace. 17. Unwind light string from greenery, which by this point, being old, is shedding little fake green needles all over the floor and is starting to show bald spots. 18. Not wanting to spend another DIME on new lights, proceed to yank EACH AND EVERY bulb from its socket and test in bulb tester, which you realize works only part of the time because it was made in China, where people don't celebrate Christmas, so what do they care if it works? 19. Massage sore fingers. Yanking 100 bulbs out of their sockets hurts, people! 20. After checking the light fuses and replacing about 15 burned out bulbs (since bulbs are apparently like women and don't like to do anything alone), the string will still refuse to light, and you are left witih no choice but to purchase more. 21. Buy new strand and rewrap garland. Your efforts are finally rewarded with illuminated garland. 22. Make travel plans for next Christmas to avoid having to decorate. ...and to all a good night!
(p.s. I would love to hear your holiday fiascos. There are some great stories out there that need to be told. If you're on Facebook go to my homepage and look for Biggest Christmas Fiasco. If you're not on Facebook you can just post them in the comments section here. After all, what good is a holiday disaster if you can't laugh about it? My family will take a vote on the one we think is the best story. The prize? A string of my very own lights...lucky you.) |
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During the recent presidential campaign, The recurring theme was our economy, and understandably so. Each candidate had ideas and philosophies as to how he would fix the economic crisis. I'm not an economist, and I haven't the desire to add my 2 cents...I haven't got it to spend anyway. But something has occured to me that will be disappointing for some: No president can ever successfully create a long-standing, stable economic climate in the U.S. None. Why? Because I believe we can never stabilize the economy on a national level unless it is dealt with on an individual level. So now your next question is "how in the world is my family's spending choices going to affect America's economy?" Allow me to paint an overly simplistic picture (because, as I said, I'm not an economist, merely a homeschool mom trying to figure out what's in the freezer for tomorrow's dinner). Family #1: Wife drives to the mall in her middle class $340/mo sedan for a little shopping therapy as an alternative to sending the kids to military camp. She finds a pair of jeans, perhaps some shoes, and a skirt. To round out the evening she grabs a coffee at Starbucks. Therapy sessions occur every three or four weeks, averaging about $100 each time. Husband works demanding hours and collapses at the end of each day in his easy chair to unwind in front of his $50/month cable network programming. He eats some leftovers from yesterday's dinner out, where the food bill came to $65. They eat out roughly twice a month, not including occasional fast food trips or pizza delivery. The three children, temporarily spared from military camp, are enrolled in basketball camp instead. They are involved in several sports throughout the year. Let's see...that's three pairs of cleats, uniforms, socks, shin guards, and sports fees. Hmmm...ignorance is bliss. The list of expenses incurred for one thing or another is almost never ending. Several Christmas presents, vacations and Girl Scout cookies later, this family has spent somewhat within their means, but it's getting harder and harder to keep a low credit card balance with a 23% interest rate. Then the car they still owe three year's worth of payments on breaks down and requires a costly repair. A month later, the hot water heater has to be replaced, and the refrigerator is making funny noises. The paycheck can cover some of these things, but the credit card absorbs the rest. Within a few years, this family finds itself $80,000 in debt. The husband gets laid off and it has become clear that they will not be able to make the monthly payments on their home. Unfortunately, many families across the U.S. are experiencing the same financial crisis, and the banks are not getting their money in mortgage payments. Lending becomes too risky for financial institutions. People become unable to sell the homes they need to get out of. You see where this is going. Family #2: Husband and wife sit down every four weeks and discuss the spending needs for that month (groceries, clothing, entertainment, household repairs, etc.) They have a written budget unique for that month which addresses their needs. The wife reminds the husband of a large tax bill that will be coming due in four weeks. They decided to put off purchasing some patio chairs until after the tax bill is paid, even though it means not having them available for their daughter's backyard birthday party. They opt to borrow some chairs from neighbors and family, even though they won't all match. Trips are deferred, sports are pared down, and the cars are a bit beat up and high on miles, but are few months away from being paid off. They live in a modest home, save on groceries by shopping at a discount mart, and shamelessly appear in the Goodwill store to find a replacement for their son's worn-out tennis shoes. It's slim pickin's right now, but they are managing to add about a hundred or so into savings with every paycheck, without fail. There is temptation to spend what has not been written into that month's budget, but the numbers don't lie, and they know that once their foolishly obtained credit card has been paid off and they have a substatial amount in savings, they'll be able to afford a more reliable car that they can pay for in CASH. In the meantime, they have factored about $50/month in car repair bills for what they consider to be the inevitable. If they manage to dodge the bullet that month, they roll over that amount into the next month and keep the duct tape handy. It's already holding the back bumper on. They look at that car lined up in the church parking lot in between the SUV's and sportscars and laugh to themselves. It looks pretty funny there out of place, but they just keep repeating their motto to themselves: "If you live like no one else, someday you will live like no one else." That quote comes from Dave Ramsey, talk show host and financial guru who went from riches to rags to riches before learning the principles he teaches today in his TV and radio segments, as well as in his book "Total Money Makeover." Go to the library and get it...now. Ryan and I are just beginning this journey. We are realizing our mistakes and our goal is to be debt free (except for the house) in about a year and half, Lord willing. It's gonna be tough, and it won't be fun, but we're in it together. We don't want to be another failure statistic, and we don't want to be forced into depending on the government, however good it may be, for our needs. We have dreams of the kind of house we want to live in someday, and the vacations we will be able to take, if God allows. Whatever we accomplish financially, we want it to be by our own hand, through hard work, resourcefulness and a lot of temporary self-denial. Yes, we do still give to worthy causes (church, etc.) and we place faith in the Lord that He will provide for our needs, while keeping in perpsective that it is our responsibility to work with what He has already given us. And it starts with the little things. Perhaps Dean Alfange put it best: An American Creed I do not choose to be a common man. It is my right to be uncommon-if I can. I seek opportunity not security. I do not wish to be a kept citizen, humbled and dulled by having the state look after me. I want to take the calculated risk; to dream and to build, to fail and to succeed. I refuse to barter incentive for a dole. I prefer the challenges of life to the guaranteed existence; the thrill of fulfillment to the stale calm of utopia. I will not trade freedom for beneficence nor my dignity for a handout. I will never cower before any master nor bend to any threat. It is my heritage to stand erect, proud and unafraid; to think and act for myself, enjoy the benefit of my creations and to face the world boldly and say, "This I have done." So go ahead and tell the president, "thanks, but no thanks. I think I've got it covered." And hold your head up high.
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I know I am not alone here. It's time for moms everywhere to UNITE in our battle cry, to be heard round the world and in homes everywhere!
KIDS, FLUSH THE TOILET! It seems that no sooner do many of us train our husbands to put the seat down, we're faced with another commode conundrum that is much more distasteful. I've tried scolding, and it doesn't work. I had hoped that reminders alone would get the idea drilled into their heads (like that ever works). Then I remembered one woman who told the story of going on vacation with the family for several days, only to return to a stench-filled house because one of their teenaged boys neglected to flush before they left. My oldest is eight. I don't think I can handle ten more years of this. I decided today to employ a more creative approach to the latest potty training issue. The new rule is, if you don't flush it, you have to scrub it. And that's exactly what Son #1 got stuck doing today. Not just the inside of the bowl either. Uh uh. He had to wipe the outside with a disinfecting wipe as well. Might as well make it memorable. I'll let you know how it goes. |
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There I was...stranded...in a remote, wooded area, trapped by fear and worry, wondering how on earth I would escape what lie before me. That's right. I had locked my keys in the car at Mingo Creek Park. Now, just so you're aware, I was not alone. In fact, there were several people nearby who were witness to all of this. The kids and I were at the park for a homeschool class on animal skull identification, which took place at the shelter across from the parking lot where my now useless car sat, me thumping my fist against the window in despair. Emily sat, clueless, on the curb, sipping the drink she had begged for that brought me back out to the car in the first place. Thankfully, while cell service is spotty out there (and downright useless when one's cellphone is on the wrong side of the vehicle) one of the park staff who was teaching the class let me use hers, which got great reception. I had to call Ryan out of a meeting to look up the number for Roadside Assistance through our car's serivce plan. As luck would have it (not on my side as it was), they cover many things...locked cars were not one of them. When they told me it could still be done to the tune of $75, I asked them to transfer me to AAA, who were willing to restore my life for only $50. And, no, I'm not a member of AAA because I have Roadside Assistance...you can see how nicely it worked in this situation. Once I witnessed how easy it was for the guy to actually break into my car, it would have been hard to cough up the dough were I not so grateful. By that time the kids' class was done. While I was bummed I didn't get to listen in, I still learned a few things, like... Rule #1: NEVER lock the door using the button on the door panel. If I had followed through in using my keychain remote I would have realized I'd left the keys on the passenger seat where I laid them to get a drink for my pestering four-year-old. Rule #2: The next time someone pesters me for a drink, they ain't gettin' it! |
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I went clothes shopping for my four-year-old daughter a few weeks ago. We found some adorable outfits on clearance from Boscov's, which was going out of business. I was so excited when the weather turned colder because she could finally wear them, but was sorely disappointed. The shirts were so skin tight I could hardly get them on, and the jeans were low rise. Every time the poor girl bends over or plays on the floor, the top part of her bum is out there for everyone to see. Even finding dresses that are a decent length are difficult to come across. I realize not all girls are as energetic as mine, but when my four year old gets to running around in church before Sunday School starts, she forgets what she's wearing and the skirt flies up. A lower hemline would certainly help. Thank goodness tights season is upon us. At least her polka-dot undies won't show again until spring! What part of "little girl" are the clothing manufacturers missing? Four-year-olds are not teenagers, for crying out loud, and I have no desire to make mine look like one, but it has become increasingly difficult for me to find decent fitting, modest clothing for her. Must I REALLY whip out my sewing machine and somehow learn overnight how to sew something appropriate for her, or worse, spend big bucks a children's boutique? Okay, enough about that. On to rant #2. It's halloween time again. Now...I am not here to examine whether or not a Christian should participate. There are plenty of websites to go to for that, and I don't want to be one of them. I remember going trick-or-treating as a kid. Kooky Spooks comes to mind (anyone remember those? Perhaps I need to post an old pic)! My dad once wore a sheet and hid behind our bushes on mischief night. Whenever the boys in our neighborhood attempted to soap our car's windows or toss toilet paper over our trees they were met with a surprise that sent them out of their skins! I have lots of good memories, and memories are what I long to make for my kids. Unfortunately, the only halloween memories they've made so far THIS year are images of an eight-foot-long inflatable of the grim reaper riding a carriage pulled by a huge black horse with red eyes. That's on display at the entrance of the local grocery store I won't be able to take my kids to until November. My middle son, in particular, is frightened by it. I'm not quick to blame it on Asperger's, but I'm sure it doesn't help. I just wish that retailers would keep the littler ones in mind when they put up their displays. One house down the street used to be inhabited by a rather eccentric family that went all out for halloween. Their front yard was like an outdoor haunted house complete with Michael Jackson's "Thriller" blasting on outdoor speakers. My little girl, then two, was terrified to even go past the house. During my childhood the scariest thing I think I ever encountered while out begging for candy was a jack-o-lantern. Totally lame by today's standards. I know that the temptation is to up the scare factor in order to achieve new heights of complete and utter terror, but are we as citizens forgetting who the halloween festivities are for? It's for the kids...right? Perhaps, just perhaps, I myself am turning a blind eye to what the whole "holiday" represents. The emphasis on witches, ghosts, goblins, and the glorification of gory killers in the movies...is this honoring to the Lord? But there I go. I wasn't going to bring up a debate. Sigh...I am done now. I feel better. |
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I know how important questions are to learning. We observe something, we ask questions, we get answers, we learn. And as a parent I'm supposed to foster my children's inquisitive nature. But it seems there are just some questions that can't be answered. Take my middle child, for example. He doesn't ask questions about why the sky is blue. I can answer that one (believe it or not). No---he asks "mom, why is our CAR blue?" "Um...because that's the color Daddy and I wanted." "But WHY is it blue." Sigh...."Because that's the color the men painted it." "But why did they paint it BLUE?" "BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T PAINT IT GREEN!" The thing is, with "Aspie" kids, asking that question once is never enough. Off and on since we've bought our newest minivan (which is blue, in case you haven't caught on), he has asked this question, not necessarily because he's looking for a satisfactory answer, but because children with Aspergers Syndrome tend to fixate on a particular subject, discuss it with total strangers at the grocery store every time we go there, draw picture after picture of it for weeks, perhaps months, and discuss the subject until the parents are on the brink of madness. And, of course, they will ask endless, often unanswerable questions about it. Here's one for you, brought up during snack time: "Mom, what does the inside of jello look like?" Remind me not to feed him that EVER AGAIN! |
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Well, the one that survived is free, anyway. We released the beautiful creature in the backyard yesterday. The other two died before they could be "born again" as true butterflies (poor little larvae). Our newer cat, Mitsy, kept attacking the butterfly cage and claimed one little life. The other? Well...let's just say it escaped and decided to attach itself to the back of a hairspray bottle. The unwitting owner of said spray bottle inadvertently squashed the chrysalis while attempting to spray her hair (name withheld to protect the guilty). The moral of the story? Vanity reaps destruction...and a green squishy mess. |
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Oh trust me, it was hilarious. But let me start from the beginning. Thursday: A hairy day. The kids were ornery and fussy, and one in particular was doing everything in his power to tease and push my buttons. To be fair, he hadn't been medicated that day. He was overdue for his Psych appointment and needed to be seen before his prescription could be refilled. So he was, shall we say, rather energetic (an understatement, believe me). As I prepared for dinner Grant decided it would be funny to go out the front door, which would lock behind him, then incessantly ring the doorbell or pound on the door until I open it. He knows full well that the side door is open for him, but he seems to think this is much more fun. Usually I ignore it so I don't reinforce the behavior, but being worn down from the day, I let him back in to cut short the act. Besides, I didn't want to cause a neighborhood scene from the constant banging and ringing. I turned back to the complicated recipe I was trying to follow, and my son decided it was a perfect time to pull the same stunt. I ignored him this time, and he was none too pleased. After five minutes of ringing and banging, he came around the side, entered the kitchen, and proceeded to behave rudely and spoke in a way that was meant to be hurtful. Not trusting my ability to react calmly, I locked him in his room until I could get a level head. It occured to me at this point that I had a selfish child who wanted his every whim to be satisfied. If it wasn't, he would lose his temper and speak rashly. He had no idea the hurt he was causing other people, not to mention his lack of consideration for other's needs (particularly mine). Hmmm...perhaps walking a mile in his mother's shoes might set him straight. His dad and I informed him he would be Mom-for-the-day tomorrow, then sent him to bed early without dinner. Friday: My son was eagerly waiting to serve breakfast to his hungry family (apparently he thought this little role reversal might be fun). I bounded into the kitchen demanding my waffles, buttered and with syrup, and something to drink. Grant was pleased as punch to serve me. He placed my breakfast before me, as my daughter happily munched away on a bagel. Son #2 stumbled in soon after and plopped down beside me. My daughter, seeing my yummy breakfast, decided the bagel just wouldn't cut it. She shoved it over to Son #2 for him to finish off. So Mom-For-The-Day prepared a couple more waffles. My daughter then asked me for a drink. I told her "sorry, can't do it. Ask your brother." It was at this point that big brother was starting to feel overwhelmed. After all, he hadn't eaten yet and had been trying all this time to make some chow for himself. Finally he pushed some waffles toward her and stuffed a couple more into the toaster. "Tell me when they pop up, okay Mom?" It was Son #2 who was next to decide he wanted what everyone else was having. Here's how it played out: Son #2: Mom, I want waffles now. I don't want this bagel anymore. Mom: Sorry buddy. can't do it. Ask your brother. He's in charge today. Son #2: (Turns to older brother.) I want waffles! Mom-For-The-Day: Just a second! I can only do one thing at a time! Daughter: (Spills drink everywhere), Oh no! I'm all wet! Mom-for-the-day: Oh great! NOW I have to clean this all up! Son #2: I want a drink too! Just then the waffles pop up. Mom: Waffles are ready! Mom-for-the-day: Aaarrrgh! (goes to corner and bangs head against wall in despair). I finally had to leave the kitchen before I split a seam! Honestly, I don't think I could have scripted this to go any better than it did, and I couldn't thank my daughter enough for her clumsiness. It was a nice touch. For the rest of the day my son had a rather lengthy checklilst of duties to fulfill. he vacuumed, did several loads of laundry, wiped down sinks and tables, supervised others' chores, sweeped the kitchen, responded to sibling requests, and cleaned up some pulled weeds I had left in the driveway. He did manage to get in a little play time, albeit with the many interruptions that usually plague my own moments of relaxation. At the end of the day, his father and I sat him down for a talk after the other two went to bed. It was clear he had learned his lesson and was rather remorseful. Now, I don't aspire to think that this has been a cure-all. Selfishness is not easily squelched. But today during moments of griping or disobedience I would simply say, "oh, do we need another 'MOM' day?" That put him back in line. My only regret is that I didn't capture it all on film. |
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Nothing stinks more than conviction, and lately I've been hit over the head with it thanks to a couple of Steve and Terri Maxwell's books Keeping Our Children's Hearts and Homeschooling with a Meek and Quiet Spirit (see Titus 2 link at right). I really wish they'd let up, and yet I dive into the pages of one book or the other each morning just to see if they can make me feel worse than I did the day before. All kidding aside, this wonderful couple has a gentle, humble way of opening my eyes to the wonderful truths of God's Word as it applies to both parenting and homeschooling. I am learning so much, though it will be a lifetime to master all of the things I have been challenged with. There is one bit of wisdom that I have found invaluable, and I believe every parent needs to put this into practice. The results might just amaze you. Here is a quote from Keeping Our Children's Hearts: "What we discovered in our parenting was that generally it was easy to love a child, but sometimes it required a choice on our part (I Corinthians 13:4-7). When the child was struggling with wrong behaviors and bad attitudes--particularly when this was ongoing--our natural tendency was to pull away from that child. Instead we had to return love for his unkindness. It was important to reach out to the child with hugs, pats, and physical closeness. As parents, we needed to encourage each other in our loving the difficult child and abundantly expressing this love to him. If consequences were necessary, then we had to be very gentle, matter-of-fact, and patient while giving them. Nothing could be done in a spirit of anger or revenge. If we are to keep our children's hearts, they must feel our love so strongly that there is never any doubt of it in their minds. They should know we love them when they are obedient and when they are disobedient, when they are happy and when they are sad, when they are diligent and when they are negligent--all the time. This will be expressed verbally and through physical closeness such as an arm around a shoulder, a good morning kiss, a smile when we see them, or a walk-by hug." (emphasis mine) Okay, I admit it. When one of my kids balks at a chore or loses his temper or talks back to me, my fuse is short and I take these offenses personally. How dare he/she defy me. Heads will roll! The results of "strong will meets fiery indignation" don't make for a good rest of the day. So how did this bit of Maxwell wisdom work in my home? Just the other day when I asked my oldest son to empty the dishwasher, one of his hated chores, I met with the usual opposition. But this time I willed myself to come close to him, put my arm around him and give him a squeeze while saying "I know you don't like doing this chore, but it's very important to me and I need you to obey." I pushed out a smile. "AND you'd be pleasing the Lord too." With a kiss and a toussle of his hair I said, "c'mon, let's get this out of the way, okay?" I was not prepared for his reaction. That strong-willed, work-evading boy dropped what he was doing and complied. He still didn't want to, and I still needed to check in on him from time to time to keep him on task, but his heart was softened when he realized he didn't have to brace for a battle. I was shocked. It was like magic. Do I struggle with loving my child sometimes, both in attitude and action? Of course! Is it normal? Some would say so. But is it the will of God that I only show love to my child when he or she is well-mannerred and compliant?Absolutely not! I don't ever want any of my children to doubt my love for them, even when they're unloveable. After all, if a holy God, who HATES sin, can love me, a selfish, sinful, disobedient, rebellious child, can I not do the same with my own? So...you say your child just took the car without permission and crashed it into a police vehicle? Grit your teeth and give him a hug, and tell him you're glad he's safe. (THEN, ground him till he's forty). |
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We went on a picnic at the park with another family after church today, and had an absolute blast. We waded in the stream, caught crayfish, spotted a frog and a snake, watched bats huddle in the eaves of a covered bridge, and went on a nature hike, where we learned that it's NOT always a good idea to sniff unknown fruit you find growing near the ground to see if it smells gross (it does). After extensive internet searching I discovered that this particular plant is a Mayapple, the fruit of which is edible when fully ripe, though not tasty in the opinion of some. Apparently you can even make it into jellies, marmalades and pies. The seeds are not safe to eat and the rest of the plant is quite toxic. According to a few accounts, a native american wishing to commit suicide would eat the highly poisonous roots.
Another discovery I made while we were munching on lunch was a little fuzzy white caterpillar I couldn't resist bringing home. From my research it appears to be a Hickory Tussock Moth. I guess the only way I'll know for sure is if it looks like the proper moth when it comes out of its cocoon---that is, if it lives long enough in captivity. Apparently it prefers the leaves of trees like walnut, which were in abundance at the park, but not in my backyard. It will eat other hardwoods, but it looks like I need to find some walnut trees in short order to make it happy. In the meantime I need to keep the kids from touching it as the hairs are irritating to the skin and eyes.
Regarding our monarch caterpillars, one thing I am finding a challenge has nothing to do with keeping a supply of milkweed on hand. No, the difficult part is finding a place where our new cat, Mitsy, can't get to them (which would be nowhere). She's quite the climber, and she's constantly knocking the 30" high mesh-enclosed habitat off tables and batting it around on the floor. The poor things are getting motion sick. I've contemplated hanging a hook in the middle of the kids' bedroom ceiling to suspend it from. Can cats pole vault? |
(pic not mine)
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Time to take inventory of our total household population.
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Nothing But the Finest for our Backyard Friends (Summer, 2005) Our family recently took a weekend trip to upstate New York for a family reunion. We stayed in a quaint little town complete with lake for swimmers and boaters. One day while my oldest son, Grant, and I were wading at the water’s edge, we made a fun discovery. We shared the lake with freshwater snails. They were attached to a concrete wall that sectioned off the swimming area. Being a fledging homeschool mom, always on the lookout for a science lesson, I just couldn’t leave the snails there safe and sound. They’d have much more adventure in the energetic hands of my 4 1/2 year old. Carefully I peeled two unsuspecting creatures off the wall and put them in a bottle of water to take home, along with some intact empty shells we also found, just in case they survived long enough to grow out of their portable homes. Amazingly enough, they weathered the seven hour car ride home in better shape than my husband and I, probably because they don’t have ears to hear recurring sounds like, “I’m hungry,” ”I have to go potty,” and my all-time favorite, the tearful, “Connor’s looking at me!” If I never hear Veggie Tales sing, On The Road Again, it’ll be too soon. The easy part, actually, was getting the critters home. The hard part was figuring out how to house and feed them. Freshwater snails can attach themselves just about anywhere, but they’re picky eaters, preferring algae and microscopic cuisine. Where was I gonna come up with that? About the only gross thing in my home (besides whatever is growing at the bottom of my fridge) are dirty diapers. I could wait for the kids’ wading pool to turn green, but I wasn’t interested in entertaining mosquitoes as well. In the meantime, I placed the snails in a plastic container with some tap water. We have city water, which is chlorinated, and I wasn’t sure if our slimy friends could tolerate that. If they died because of the sanitary conditions, I had the comforting thought that at least they’d be well-preserved. Apparently snails are tougher than they look, and very smart too. They know how to play dead. A few days after they settled into their home I decided to gently tip the fake Tupperware back and forth. Unfortunately our two new pets floated freely. I went outside to dump them before they started to smell, but when all the water and empty shells were on the ground, I found them clinging to the sides of the bowl. They live! Fortunately, by this time I had someplace more suitable for them. I’ve been rooting some ivy clippings in a bucket for later planting, and the water they’re sitting in has grown some algae. PERFECT! Welcome home boys! Or were they girls? Actually they’re hermaphrodites, but I’m not going to get into a sex ed lesson on snails. Look it up. Satisfied that I had made the snails happy, I turned to another task at hand, this time dealing with some undesirable wildlife (as opposed to the slimy, one footed creatures with retractable eyes who now call the bucket of algae their home. Clearly I’ve lost my mind). Recently Ryan and I have tried our hands at a backyard garden. If you’ve ever seen our property, this will make you laugh. Our house sits on postage stamp-sized turf, eighty percent of which is on an unuseable 45-degree angle. In our tiny backyard we have a swing set, sandbox, grill, patio furniture, kiddie pool, and...oh yeah...a bucket of green water with snails and rooting ivy. The kids never need to touch the ground when going from one thing to another. We cut the grass with scissors. Obviously I overstate the case, but you get the idea. Not much room for a garden, but we’re doing it anyway. We’ve worked hard to cultivate our squash, peppers, and tomatoes, so when we realized we shared the backyard with a hungry groundhog, who made a burrow for his home on our hillside, I realized we’d never see ripe produce while he was at large. I immediately called animal control and they dropped off a trap. I learned something about the intelligence of groundhogs, as opposed to the stupidity of raccoons. For example. Did you know you can bait a trap for a groundhog with the most succulent vegetables from the most expensive grocery store, and they will turn up their noses? Yet a raccoon will see an empty trap, say to himself, “why look, what an interesting contraption. Let’s see what happens if I crawl inside.” We’ve caught six raccoons this way, which is fine with me, because I’m tired of picking up garbage strewn all over my front lawn after they’ve ripped open the misnamed Steel Sak. “Hello, Hefty? I’m suing you for false advertising….” Fast forward to today. I called animal control to pick up yet another ignorant gray creature we trapped sometime in the middle of the night. Before the officer showed up to empty the trap, I thought now might be a good opportunity to teach Grant about respecting wildlife. I took him out back to see the raccoon. “Oh, how cute,” he said, “but I think he misses his mommy.” How sweet, I thought, that he still has a tender soul that thinks of the animal’s happiness, unlike his cold-hearted mother whose main objective in life is to catch vermin, stand them all up in a row with blindfolds, and have them shot. Okay, perhaps that’s a bit harsh, and I don’t really feel violently toward God’s creatures. I love anything with fur or feathers...can’t get enough of them, really. I put bread out for the deer, fill the bird feeder for my winged visitors (and the squirrels, unfortunately), and even take pleasure on a stray cat passing through my backyard. I felt a little sorry for the forlorn creature in my prison, who looked up at me with sad eyes. But I can compartmentalize my affection for animals when it comes to the well-being of my kids and my garden. Off with his head! I explained to my sweet son that even though wildlife is enjoyable to look at, he must never try to touch a wild animal, because she may bite and scratch in order to defend herself, and he could get hurt very badly. While Grant observed the incarcerated raccoon from a safe distance, I decided to check on the snails. I was not prepared for what I found. The ivy that had been growing roots in the bucket were now strewn about, and not a single snail could be seen. At first I thought they had made their escape in the night. Then I saw it—broken shells all over the ground. I looked up at the cage, and quickly put two and two together. Apparently our raccoon friend came upon the gourmet dish while foraging, and had himself a tasty meal. Then, like the idiot he is, he climbed into the cage for an after dinner nap. Just then the animal control officer came by to empty the cage. He thrust his pole into the contraption, lassoed the animal, and lifted him out. All at once the sweet, fuzzy creature with the soft brown eyes became an enraged, demon-possessed thrashing ball of teeth and claws. He did not ruffle the twenty-year veteran officer, however, who blithely swung the pole this way and that, down to the street where he placed the animal into another cage built into the side of his truck. In moments they were on their way to wherever animal control goes to put critters to sleep. I don’t feel guilty about his death in the least. He had a terrific last meal. While my son played in the back yard with a potato bug he found, I reset and baited the trap with a piece of zucchini for the groundhog I know will not touch it. Next I placed the ivy back into the bucket of water, mourning the loss of the homesick snails that never knew what hit them. I’m sure they missed their mommies too. Our next family reunion to New York will not be for two more years, but already I’m looking forward to trying again with more snails. I’ll have a bucket of fuzzy water sitting out in preparation for them, however, I plan to keep it higher up so our innocent creatures have a greater chance for survival. Escargot anyone? |
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Here's another little story I found while cleaning out my hard drive. I wrote it a couple of years ago after experiencing a day not to be forgotten...have a good laugh on me. Once upon a time there was a queen named Mommy who woke up one Saturday morning determined to do everything she set out to do while being cheerful and kind to her children and helpful to her hubby. She got out of bed with a smile and served breakfast to her children, even managing to eat herself. Feeling sorry for her overworked prince charming, she cooked a special omelet for him along with some sausage, and made him his favorite flavor of coffee. Since he had to work at home that day the queen knew prince charming wouldn't be able to help very much, but she was sure everything would be okay as long as she kept a cheerful, positive attitude. After all, what could go wrong? Her first goal of the day was to exercise on her machine for twenty minutes. But as Queen Mommy began her workout, she noticed some squeaks and noises coming from her machine. She rummaged through the garage for the WD40 and some tools. Finally, a half an hour and four interruptions later, she stepped onto the machine to begin her workout. But then her little princess, in the joyful stages of potty training, needed some assistance. After getting the princess situated on her little throne in front of the television, the queen was ready to continue exercising. Prince Charming even gave her some headphones so she could listen to music and block out the children’s noises. Undaunted by the headphones, however, Queen Mommy's royal children shouted louder in order to be heard, forcing her to remove her headphones every two minutes to make sure that there was nothing urgent needing her attention. Of course there never was. After the workout it was time for a shower. But one of the queen’s princes had been waiting patiently for her to play a game with him. After tossing some clothes into the dryer which contained the only pair of clean pants she had for the day, she was ready to play. But then her little princess needed her throne emptied and her pants put back on, so that came first. The prince, who had already set up the game and had been waiting for her, grew impatient and threatened to interrupt Daddy, who was shut up in his bedroom on a work phone call. Mommy finally sat down with the prince to play Chutes and Ladders. Unfortunately the prince became discouraged that he was only getting chutes, and no ladders, and stormed off the battlefield. Mommy cleverly put on her psychology thinking cap and coerced the prince to return, saying that she herself got a chute and had to go all the way to the bottom. Feeling no guilt over her lie, she fooled the child, who eventually won the game to the queen’s relief. During their play, prince number two constantly begged to join the game, so Queen Mommy promised him a turn. During THAT game, however, the princess wet her pants and needed to be changed. Prince number two was growing bored anyway and left the game. Now was a good time for the queen to finally get her shower. The queen undressed and turned on the shower. While waiting for it to get warm, she bent down to pull out her scale. Then she noticed a puddle on the floor beside her. As she moved her pile of wet clothes from the puddle, she realized the puddle was growing. Turning around she discovered to her alarm that the shower head was cocked at an angle and water was spewing onto the floor. Leaping to her feet, she whacked her head on the towel bar. With skull throbbing, she pulled back the shower curtain and a spray of water met her face. She reached in and adjusted the showerhead while trying not to slip on the wet floor. At the same time the princess came in to use the BIG throne this time, so the queen put her on it. Then she returned to sopping up the lake in her bathroom. Picking up the throw rug, which dripped with water, she noticed a suspicious circular stain on the underneath of it. One sniff told her that one of her cats recently used it for a litter box. So, while the little princess was still on her throne, choking the toilet with large wads of paper, Queen Mommy gathered up all the wet and soiled items and carried them to her bedroom hamper. Prince Charming, ever so kind and sweet, laughed at her disheveled appearance, for she was cold and wet, had an armload of dirty laundry, and not a stitch of clothing on. Taking pity on her, he came to the bathroom to help the princess finish up. Finally, after frequent visits from a prince or two inquiring when she would be finished, the Queen Mommy stepped out of the shower. It was then that she discovered a fresh yellow puddle on the floor. Deducing that her princess had not yet mastered her potty training, the queen cleaned this up as well. After partially dressing, for the queen’s pants were still waiting in the dryer, her princess came to her with wet pants again, requiring another change. The queen then decided to ban her from juice for the rest of the day. She barely finished redressing the child when heard the other children coming. Still half-dressed herself, the queen raced to her bedroom to hide, slamming the door behind her. Prince Charming was sitting on the bed, working on his computer. She begged him NOT to give away her position. Unfortunately the noise of the slamming door gave her away, and the children pounded on it, begging for a snack. Prince Charming owed her one. The queen then left the room to face the royal pains…er…children. Determined to finish dressing, she made her way down to the dryer with whining children in tow. Feeling ever so loving, she tenderly yelled at them to leave her alone. Finally the queen donned her royal pants and was ready to dole out some food. Desiring that her children only eat healthy snacks, she served up some chocolate chip cookies and sent them to the couch to watch TV, breaking her own rule about eating food outside the kitchen. The queen became hungry herself, so she popped in a video to keep them from disturbing her and went to heat up some lunch. The children, however, were not fooled by her clever trick. Immediately disinterested in their favorite Barney episode, they visited the kitchen frequently to ask for drinks, beg for a different video or complain that someone had pushed them off the couch. Fiercely defending her right to a hot meal, she practically tossed them back downstairs. Suddenly there was a noise from the living room. The queen rushed in to discover one of her cats (the one guilty of soiling the bathroom rug) climbing up her sheers. Aghast, she leaped to the window, shouting. The cat frantically scurried away, having had a few lives frightened out of him. Returning to her now cold meal, she gobbled it down before something could interrupt her again. Sure enough, one of the princes came along to remind her it was time for his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The queen’s heart sank as she remembered using up the last of the peanut butter yesterday. Upon learning this, the prince broke down in sobs and hysteria, crying royal tears. Knowing that the other children would soon follow suit, the queen thought it best to hasten to the nearest convenience store. After everyone had eaten their sandwiches, it was time for a trip to the park, the weather being so nice. The royal children enjoyed climbing, sliding, and swinging, and wearing themselves out good. While they played, the queen took stock of her day. Despite the mishaps and interruptions, the queen had managed to eat breakfast and lunch, exercise, shower, and dote on her husband a little (which paid off when he emptied the dishwasher for her). She even got to spend some quality time with each child and play with them at the park. All in all it was a successful day. And despite new piles of soiled laundry, cookies crumbs on the couch, a dirty bathroom floor, snagged curtains, cold meals and frazzled nerves, they DID all manage to live happily ever after. The End
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While cleaning out my computer files I came across an article I wrote for no particular reason other than that I was feeling inspired at the time and did not yet know about blogging. I wrote it about three and a half years ago and thought I'd better post it here in case I lose it. So here goes: I never want my children to be creatively challenged. I also don’t want them to miss out on the wonderful world God has created for their enjoyment. I believe we short-change God when we rob Him of the joy of seeing our children discover, taste, see, smell and touch all His creation. I love the outdoors. It’s probably the reason I dislike winter. Sure, the snow is magical, but the cold keeps me inside most days, and I quickly get cabin fever. So, the first spring thaw we had, we burst forth like hungry animals emerging from hibernation, and eagerly began searching for signs of life. Since I plan on home-schooling my children, I’m always looking for ways they can learn while having fun. Over the winter my four-year-old son, Grant, and I discovered a tiny little bird braving the icy weather to find what little sustenance he could forage in our front yard. The internet informed me it was a black-capped chickadee. While I’ve never been interested in bird-watching, I thought it might be a good educational opportunity.
During quiet time, when Connor and Emily were taking their afternoon naps, Grant and I would spread some birdseed on our front porch, lay on the floor on our bellies and watch through the full-length glass storm door to see what would come by. It didn’t take long for the birds to discover the new diner, and we learned a lot just observing them eat. Chickadees, for example, were happy-go-lucky, energetic little birds who fearlessly watched us through the glass before picking up a seed and flying right back to their perch to eat it (they can even be trained to eat out of your hand). Other birds, like the blue jay, cardinal, and even a red-headed woodpecker, visited our fine establishment. I never saw so much color in winter in all my life! How had I not noticed them before? Probably the most amazing part of becoming a bird watcher was how interested in birds my son became. Before long he was able to name many of the birds who ate off our porch. He would laugh and try to imitate the funny way the mourning doves walk, poking their heads out like chickens with every step. Even my then 2 1/2 year old, Connor, was picking up the hobby, in his own simple way. Anytime we hear a bird singing while we’re in the back yard, he asks “what’s that?” I resist the impulse to say “a bird,” and instead tell him exactly what kind it is. We search through binoculars to try and spot the singer. If it’s a new bird to us, we leaf through my field guide (a Christmas gift from my hubby) to see if we can find out what it’s called. I had no idea how many birds have made our little postage stamp-sized yard our home! Our birdhouse is home to a house wren, whose mating dances entertained our family for days on end (human males aren’t the only species who show off for a girl)! Up in the attic we have a mommy and daddy house sparrow that chirp noisily all day long. The other day when our family went fishing (a hobby my husband instituted), we discovered a gorgeous shimmering tree swallow peeking out of her nest box at us. She flew away when we got close and the boys and I had the rare opportunity to sneak a look at her tiny white eggs while she watched from a nearby tree. “See how carefully and lovingly she made her nest out of grass and feathers?” I explained to my boys. “This is how she keeps them warm. Isn’t God so amazing to make such a smart little mommy bird?” I hugged them tight. “She loves her babies just like I love you!” My children are learning the wonder of creation and living in awe and thanksgiving to the Artist...and we are bonding. And later, if my husband ever catches a fish, my sons will learn what fish like to eat and how they breathe underwater through their gills. My kids enjoy the outdoors more than TV, and I prefer it that way. They also enjoy doing things with their hands...building things, picking flowers, painting and coloring, and sculpting with Play-doh. Perhaps bird watching isn’t your thing. Maybe you or your husband like physical activity, woodworking, painting, sewing, working on cars, hunting, growing a garden, or reading. Whatever it is, involve your kids in it, even if it seems a little over their heads. They’ll learn faster than you can imagine, and develop physically and mentally ahead of their peers. You’re also fostering creativity and a love of learning, and most of all, an appreciation for their creator and the wonderful world around them. Doing a hobby together, you might find yourself enjoying your kids even more, and they will enjoy being with you. A word of warning: enjoying hobbies together often forms friendships, so don’t get into a hobby together unless you want to be your kids’ closest companion! |
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In reading Gena Suarez's latest post on recent criminal activity among school employees, I was struck with how trusting we as parents can be when it comes to our children's care. The article listed several links to news stories about school employees (teachers, teachers aids, a bus driver, and even a cafeteria worker) who were charged with drunken driving, sale or possession of illicit drugs, child pornography and sexual assault. The parents interviewed in these articles were either shocked, angry, or shaken. These families had trusted the individuals whose children were in their care. It can be so easy to fall into this trap of trust, and I'm no exception. Let's face it...when I'm desperate for a date night with my husband or have had an especially stressful week, I'd be inclined in those weak moments to yank a virtual stranger off the street to watch my kids. Because we as Christian parents strive to create a wholesome environment for our children, we generally want to believe that others who we put our trust in hold to those same values or eithics, simply by virtue of the position they hold. Not necessarily so. I, for one, prefer to believe the best about people, and not even because they have done anything to deserve it. Perhaps it's my way of protecting myself from the idea that there could be so much corruption in our world. I know in my head that our society is corrupt, but I so want to believe that such a cancer hasn't found its way into my sphere of contact. But then I open the paper or watch the news and I learn that it's closer than I'd like it to be. Probably the most unintentionally deceptive way to gain a parent's blind trust is through the mandatory background checks that are required for employment in virtually every occupation, especially those related to child care and education. A church I once attended even ran one on me as standard practice before I was allowed to serve in the nursery. While I see nothing wrong with the idea of a background investigation and appreciate its importance, I have come to realize one thing...it is FLAWED. Why? Because it can only check an individual's recorded history. Let's face it...a pedophile who hasn't been caught in the act, and therefore has a clean record, is still a pedophile, and an unacceptable choice for a gym teacher. A woman who deals drugs but doesn't do them herself and therefore has a clean urine test is still unfit to be driving an elementary school bus. In one of the news articles listed in Gena's blog, a parent was quoted as saying she was surprised that the individual charged had an occupation at the school since the school performs background checks. Basically she was saying the individual should have been weeded out before he was hired. She put her faith in a flawed procedure. Let's think about this another way. A person who sexually abuses children in his care had to have a first victim. There had to be a first time. The seed had to have been planted in his or her heart at some point in order to do such an atrocious act. But where would the documentation on that be, which would warn parents not to trust that individual with their children? You won't find it. It's impossible. It only comes about (if at all), AFTER the incident has happened. But for that victim it's too late. The damage has been done. There IS valid documentation on the state of a person's heart and motives, and it comes from Jeremiah 17:9. "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. Who can know it?" In other words, don't blindly trust! A person left to himself is inclined toward evil, not good. I don't mean to say we should assume the worst about everyone or treat every caregiver with disdain (cynicism and disrespect aren't holy), but what I do believe is that we should not assume anything. I once had a conversation with a police officer in my district who told me he used to teach "stranger danger" whenever he visited schools, but no longer. Why? Because kids aren't very good at recognizing strangers, and are often abducted by people who are not strangers to them at all. We as adults aren't much better. We seem to think that because we are grownups we now have the ability to differentiate between the good and the bad. But that's an impossible job! For example, we might say "our son's 4th grade teacher isn't a stranger. She's my son's educator. I know her." or "my daughter's bus driver is so friendly. She smiles and waves to me every day when she picks my child up in the morning, and my daughter really likes her." Truthfully, there are a TON of wonderful people who serve our children every day. They're not all bad. So, your job is to know which ones are safe and which ones aren't. And you only get one chance to be right. Not so easy, is it? I had to put my money where my mouth is recently with regard to my son's therapy. For several months he was attending Wonderkids, a social therapy group for kids with ASD (autism spectrum disorder). He spent six hours there every week. Wonderkids has helped many an autistic child learn the social and communication skills that are often lacking in kids on the autism spectrum. Thankfully, as it seems, my son doesn't struggle socially, but that's not the reason I pulled him. Every day that I took my child to the therapy sessions we went through a little side door in the basement floor of the building. We sat in a tiny waiting room until the staff specialists (who looked more like college students than professionals) opened a locked door to let all the kids in. Parents were not allowed back. I'd hug and kiss my child goodbye and send him off with the others for three hours. When it came time to pick him up, I'd wait in that little room again until the locked door opened to let him back out. I was not allowed to observe anything (for the sake of other parents' privacy). I was never even invited to tour the facility or given information on their techniques or their daily activity schedule. I didn't like it, and I imagine it doesn't sound too good to most of you, either. I didn't know those girls who took him from me each day. We were never even introduced. I had to find out from my son what their names were! I had no information on their credentials, their education, etc, except that they were college grads. A school wouldn't even operate this way, and I was to intentionally allow this for my son? Sure, he was having fun, and was disappointed when it came to an end, but I believe I did the right thing by him. We use other therapy services now, and it's much more parent-inclusive and in the safety of my home under MY supervision. I sleep better at night. Some final food for thought: It's certainly true that your child may NEVER come in contact with a pedophile or a drug dealer during his entire educational experience. I, for one, never came across any, either in the public or private school. I thank the Lord I don't have those experiences to haunt me for the rest of my life. But I can tell you that I picked up on my fair share of garbage from other students. That opens up a whole new topic I don't want to go into at length, but I regret being exposed to things I should have been kept from, and I must note here that the bulk of it was at the Christian high school I attended. I did not choose my friends wisely, and they were a negative influence, and it was one of the lowest points in my life as a believer. One of my relatives was devastated to learn her elementary-age son was taught about all kinds of abberant sexual behaviors from a friend--things she wouldn't have even imagined, as well as all the crude phraseology to go along with it. She hadn't even had the chance to teach her child about sex before he received a corrupted version that will remain in his memory forever. In life our kids are going to bump elbows with lots of folks. Some good, some bad, some downright dangerous. Consider the ways you can reduce the probability that they will be jarred by the wrong elbow. |
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It has been said that it is impossible to reason with children since they do not possess the necessary logic. I beg to differ.... Enter my five-year-old son, who is playing in the back yard. Upon realizing his bladder is in need of some relief, he does what any hot blooded male child would do and turns a corner of the yard into his personal bathroom. Father, upon catching son in the act, admonishes human fountain that this is unacceptable behavior. Chastised son replies with "but Dad, it's cleaner. This way I don't have to wash my hands!" Now, how can you argue with THAT? |