Autumn in all Seasons

A Snapshot in Time

2012-01-13T20:13:00.003-05:00

For many years now, I have wanted to immortalize my snapshots in time...that is, I have wanted to scan my pictures into our computer and digitize them for life. How much easier life would be with all of those pictures at hand! Teachers could request pictures of their pupil (aka - my child), and I wouldn't have to go through years worth of photo albums to find one from his/her toddler years, or another one in the sport of choice. For the "Star of the Week" event, I could simply email in the four or five pictures, and not have albums lying on my dining room table for the weeks to follow. This was all before I actually spent time beginning this process.
I just spent two entire days scanning and downloading pictures, rotating and cropping them, labeling them, then uploading them to a newly created album. I began the process where common sense dictates - the wedding albums. That is where this life, this family began. And this is where memory lane began.
We were a young couple. I had to laugh at our youthful appearances, not to mention the hair and the outfits. (I have yet to allow my children to look through these albums; I don't think I can handle their laughter quite yet). There were many pictures of people who are mere memories now. There are pictures of couples who are no longer couples, children who are no longer children, friends who are parents, parents who are grandparents. There are pictures of people who have moved in and out of my life, whose faces I hold next to my heart, and others who I struggle to remember their names.
I struggled with how to label these pictures. I kept thinking of the future generations who might one day look at them. Do I label me as "Autumn" or "me"? Do I label my grandparents by their given names, or by "Grandpa" or "Grandma", so that the ghosts of the future know their relation to me? Do I label relatives by their relation, or by their name, so that years from now someone knows how we were all connected? Does any of this really matter; will anyone really care?
I started feeling a little sad at the idea that, try as I might to preserve my life's memories, my future generations will not know me or know the times in which I lived, much the same way I look at old black and whites trying to figure out the place and time of those distant relatives. And I thought, why do we try and preserve this life? What is it that we wish to hold onto or send forth? By the time my great great great grandchild laughs her way through the photos, I will be celebrating my eternity in heaven. I can't explain the background of the snapshot, or who was standing by my side. It's just a thing, an object that remains behind for someone else to clean up.
Or is it? How much have we garnered by looking into the details of a photograph? How much history was learned simply by studying the trends, the inventions, or the people of the times? How connected does a person feel by the knowledge that (s)he resembles a relative of generations ago? How much of today has been changed by the mistakes of the past?
I'll continue to work my way through the many many photo albums that we've built over the years, all in the effort of preserving the life of today for the lives of the future. It will take me days, weeks or even months to scan all of the memories we've put to paper. But I'll do it with a lighter spirit, and label them in a way that makes sense to my future blood, giving them a snapshot of my time.

The Anticipated Beach Trip

2010-08-22T21:56:00.006-04:00

Currently, we are traveling back from North Carolina, having just spent a week at the beach with some of our life group. “Some” being exactly twenty two people under one roof, comprised of nine adults and thirteen children. I guess life group sounds so formal, so corporate. I should say that we spent a week at the beach with friends, friends who happen to share lives together.
Looking back, I have to say that all in all, it was a fantastic week! Three families arrived within minutes of each other (Cymbors, Gess’ and Snellgroves), two others (Simins and Stahls) within the hour. Not bad for a nine hour trip from our home town. The excitement and anticipation of this trip was bearing down on us. So after the initial room selections, house exploring, and unpacking, we all hit the beach.
I can’t say that everyday, every family was on the beach. Some (like myself) spent every chance possible on the sand, in the water, or combing the beach. Others came for a little while, then went exploring and sight-seeing to different places in the area. Some liked to spend more time at the pool. Each family moved to their own rhythms, yet these rhythms came together for some beautiful harmonies. Despite the span of ages in the children (five to seventeen), younger interacted with older, boys interacted with girls. Children grasped the hands of the trusted adult nearby, and the adults included any child in close proximity in their adventures or games.
I was, and still am, amazed, after being under the same roof for seven nights, at how well everyone got along. There were very few disciplinary measures needed, mostly occurring from sibling rivalry. But kids were tired, having been up to 11:00 or later most nights. Adults flowed on different schedules, some being early risers, some being night owls. Many people of the group stayed up late playing games together. Kids (but a few adults as well) played the Wii, incredibly working out a turn-taking schedule on their own. Adults (and a few kids) played card or board games around a table, connecting and building relationships. It all worked.
Some words that come to mind for this past week: respect – an understanding that we are all different in many ways, but can all get along; friendship – a growing bond between people, and not necessarily of the same age or gender; laughter – a feeling of goodness and happiness at sharing stories and life with someone else; prayer – the acknowledgement that our higher being, God, is healer, comforter, and the one who blesses us daily; togetherness – being one group of people, sharing laughter, smiles, tears, hopes, dreams, thoughts – yet not having to be in immediate presence of one another.
We have many shared stories of this week –both good and bad (twenty two people in a house where a toilet goes bad, or being in the North Carolina heat in August with the air conditioner not working). We will laugh over little things for many days, weeks and what I hope to be months and years. We can look at each other and know that what we shared this week will keep in our hearts forever. I was able to share my place of peace and serenity with people I love and have grown to love. I have a greater respect for everyone there, for everyone’s daily lives and trials. I have learned to appreciate the togetherness (literally – twenty two people in one house) of those around me, and the bonds we’ve created through our laughter and prayer. What started out as a trip to the beach ended as a journey through a part of my life. That part may seem small in the overall scheme of things, being only a week, but the impact it’s made will remain with me for my lifetime. Thank you friends.

A New Season

2010-08-22T21:42:00.005-04:00

I feel like a new season is upon me. Sure, it’s the last weeks of August. I am returning from our last trip of the summer. The back-to-school ads have been out for weeks. If you are local to State College, you know that the Grange Fair is about to start, signaling the end of carefree summer days.

My season is a little different, not quite tangible, yet monumental in many different ways. You see, I am returning from the beach, where I spent my 40th birthday with 21 other friends. The seashore is a place of total comfort, peace, solace and serenity to me. Even being around 21 others, I had a lot of “alone” time, listening to the waves crashing against the shore, much like I felt the last several days of my 30s were doing.

If my thirties were represented by the last week within them, I certainly am happy to see them go. The beach was the only place to rid myself of the daily stresses. Even with thirteen children ranging in age from seventeen to five, I felt peace there. The families that shared in this trip are close to my heart, both physically and in our shared love of Christ. We dove into each other’s lives, learning more, asking more, appreciating more, sharing, playing, walking, eating, drinking, laughing.

I spent the day before my birthday in a contemplative funk. I walked the beach, (always in search of shark teeth, sea glass or beautiful stones found there), pondering what in the world I had accomplished in my 39 years. What have I taught my children? What have I done to grow closer to Jesus? What have I done to improve my life, my disciplines, my relationships? Am I happy just passing through this life doing what I do on a daily basis?

As the sun set and dark approached, we found out that a meteor shower was expected for this night. The kids all settled into their evening routine of playing games. I went out to the deck and sat myself down to watch for the “show”. Within minutes, two others came out, then more, until we finally had all of the adults outside and a few of the older kids (including one of my own). We watched, in awe, at the light show above us, a gift I felt put on specifically for my birthday. A little egotistical, I know, but God knew my funk, and He also knew this would lift me up. We spent hours on that deck, many staying up past midnight (and past their bedtimes) to share in this with me, to be the firsts to wish me a happy birthday.

Accomplishments??? I didn’t need to question them that night. A family that knows my love of natural beauty – the seashore, the sand, the waves, the meteors, and who lovingly and willingly want to participate with me. Friendships that are invested, going deeper than the surface, people with whom I can laugh, cry, pray, and even walk around with morning hair. An awesome God, who knows exactly what I need and when I need it, and even if I feel undeserving, will still delight in showing His splendor.

Am I happy just passing through this life doing what I do on a daily basis? Yes, I can say that I am. I’ve invested well in forty years, and the gains are huge. By no means am I done. I know there are changes I want to make, improvements that are necessary to further my growth in all aspects of my life. Every season has some decay, which is necessary for new, beautiful growth. Entering this new season, I am looking forward to new buds opening, new life blooming.

The Man Cave

2010-01-02T21:44:00.004-05:00

I can only guess that it's every man's dream. After all, commercial after commercial shows the man, gaping and wide-eyed, perhaps drooling slightly, at the big screen, surround-sound set up in the store. He no longer hears what is going on in the outside world. Sometimes he even faints dead away. It's more than he can imagine. Dare I say it ranks right up there with sex?

This past summer we had our basement finished into a game room. We have my grandmother's antique shuffleboard table down there, as well as a ping pong and fuseball table. It's a kid-friendly zone, made to withstand the likes of nerf footballs bouncing off the walls, carpet hockey tournaments, toy playing, or good old fashion wrestling. Two weeks ago, however, that all changed with the installation of the flat screen tv and surround sound speakers. Wrestling must stay within a certain area, and I haven't seen many footballs thrown around down there. The sectional sofa separates the game room from the "TV room". This small sitting/TV area has become...The Man Cave.

More evenings than not, I have felt a rumbling along the floor boards of my first floor. My dog has been barking at unusual noises coming up through the heater vents. My family has been devoured by this white door that is at the end of our hallway, the downward stairwell leading them into another world. I peer into that stairwell which they just traveled, but that world remains dark, with only a faint light snaking it's way to where I stand. I have even called them by name, but I swear I can hear my own voice echoing back. No other sound but the rumble from the speakers is heard. I think they are too far into the cave for me to draw them back. I'll have to wait at the entrance for any signs of life.

With the lack of school this week, and a lighter work schedule, my husband and children have had many late nights in front of the big square frame that hangs on the wall. I have tried to join them on occasion, but not being a huge tv watcher, I find myself watching them and their reactions to the movie when it suddenly sounds like it's all happening right in the same room. I've jumped from my seat just from the sounds emanating from the speakers, not because anything scary was happening on the screen. I did watch an entire movie, minus the part where I fell asleep in the middle. It's easy to fall asleep when the lights are out all the time. I turned the lights on once, not realizing the gravity of my mistake. I merely wanted to see where I was going. I now know why it's called a Man Cave - the lights are never on.

So I took a different approach. I tried to enjoy my new exercise dvd on that set up in the basement. I think it took me just as long to figure out the 4 remote controls and how to get the dvd to show up on the tv screen (after all, I could hear it. I just couldn't see it.), as it did for me to do my workout. I need to keep a sheet of paper down there, just to write down the instructions, the channels on which everything should be, as well as the password for the parent-protected channels. And forget about flipping through the channels. If it's not password-protected, then it's the HD equivalent in some high number that I'll never remember.

Ultimately, I know that the excitement and passion of this new setup with eventually pass. As a family, we just aren't huge tv watchers. This week I've learned that come 8:00, my husband will quietly enter through that white door at the end of the hall, down the stairwell, and make his escape to that darkened, underground world, to a place where loud rumblings and digital media coexist. It's his time to unwind, glaze over, perhaps even drool. As loud as the sound system gets, I know he has tuned out the outside world. If he's not in bed in the middle of the night, I'll know he has fainted dead away. I wonder if one of those remotes can set an alarm?

A New Year's Song

2009-12-29T21:57:00.006-05:00

Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind? As the year closes, I have a lot to remember and for which to be thankful. So many memories made with my children and husband. Taking trips with my family. Time spent with neighbors and friends. A new church branch beginning and spurting with growth. Another year of celebrating birthdays. Health. Love. Forgiveness. Grace.

I have an old acquaintance that I never forgot, and old friend that was always in my mind. My earliest memories contain memories of her. My first birthday party pictures always have her smiling by my side, or playing with my toys. My first trip to the emergency room was from an accident on her porch. My earliest sleepovers were with her. My first days of school always included walking with her to the busstop and waiting for our bus. We shared secrets, big wheels, mud pies, ball games, music... We played, we laughed, and we loved. We also grew apart.

I went away to college, she went into the workforce. I moved away from our hometown, she stayed. We tried. We tried not to grow apart, we tried to remain true to each other, but life had other ideas. It happened. We lost touch, we lost communication, we lost each other. We lost our sisterhood.

We moved along in life, marrying, having children and becoming the moms we always talked about. Our kids would grow up to be best friends, we said. We'll grow old and gray together, we said. Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?

As the years have gone by, so many times I've picked up the phone and put it back down. I've written letters that only got torn up and thrown away. I've run into her and made small talk, only to walk away feeling empty and sad inside. Old acquaintances should never be forgotten! This one time, I didn't hang up the phone. I left a message. This one time I didn't throw the card away. I put a stamp on it and mailed it. She didn't forget. I didn't forget.

As the year draws to a close, I've rekindled a friendship that has been a missing part of my life for 20 years. Why so long? We don't know. We're not wasting time on the "if only's" or the "what if's". We have a lot of years to make up. Our kids must meet each other, and though I don't expect they'll be best friends, they have shared stories that link them in ways of which they are not even aware. We'll grow older and grayer together. We've forgiven, and we've extended grace to each other, as we've been given grace from above. We're learning to love each other again. She's like the long lost sister for whom I've been waiting to come home. My heart was always open, and it has welcomed her back in.

Who Needs Sleep?

2009-05-29T21:59:00.003-04:00

Yawn...I am typing this and trying to stay awake at the same time. It's not late. It's just that I've been getting up early this week - REALLY early. I have begun my spring/summer ritual of powerwalking during the early morning hours. When I say early morning, my alarm goes off at 5:05 am, and I am on the pavement by 5:30 am. Waking this early is not an easy task for me. I am a 'day' person - not arising early, not staying up too late. But I am held accountable by walking with friends, who ARE morning people.

I am enjoying my morning walks. I've spent most of the days walking with one friend, who typically is a runner, but is restricted to walking for a few weeks. I feel blessed by her presence. She is full of energy and zest, singing, laughing and pleasant at this early hour. Me...not so much. I flat out told her this morning that I didn't know whether to laugh with her or tell her to shut up. I decided to laugh. It brightened my dismally tired mood and lightened my step.

The sun is not quite above the horizon at this hour. There is still a slight hue of dark blue/gray to the sky. There is a hush to the neighborhood. The dampness of the dew feels refreshing once we've been going awhile. Our voices echo off the hills and get lost in the woods. On a few mornings, we've caught sight of deer crossing the street. There may be the stray car that passes on it's way to another destination, but otherwise, we have command of the streets. It's the sweetness of these early mornings that we share our life stories: what happened the day before, what we have planned for the current day, how we deal with our children or husbands, what the doctor said, how we appreciate our parents, how to spit (surely a runner's thing). It's peaceful, blissful. It's what I need before the craziness of the day begins. I don't want to admit that I am beginning to enjoy that hour of the day. But I think I just did.

By the end of the hour, the sun is up, and we feel the stir of the day beginning. Sweat is pouring from our skin, but we've solved some of life's issues in that time together. I am fully awake and alive, laughing and looking forward to another day of walking. Until, of course, the alarm goes off.

Ring Around the...

2009-05-09T20:56:00.004-04:00

I recently spent an afternoon shopping, which is usually an enjoyable task for me. However, this particular time was a little different. It was my annual hunt for the right swimsuit. I don't need another suit, but swimsuits to me are like shoes for some women, or purses for others. Actually, I did need new black bottoms, so my idea was to find a pair of bottoms, and match it with a different top than what I already have at home. What I found was a whole different experience.

I don't know why I don't remember this year to year, but swimsuits do NOT run in the size that a woman normally wears. If I tried on the same size in which my year round clothing runs, I would cut off my circulation. Why is that? Why don't swimsuit manufacturers try the vanity sizing that all other clothing companies have gone into? It's not enough that most women are self-conscience anyway regarding how they look when wearing very little clothing in public. But now we have to go up in sizes just to find something that doesn't leave deep red rings around our thighs or back. It's a blow to our self-esteem.

And while I am on the subject of how suits fit, who invented the woman's swimsuit anyway? Why is it that 95% of men wear long, loose shorts (the other 5% should!) that could pass as everyday clothing, but women wear something akin to their underwear? We can't throw on a t-shirt and get into a restaurant dressed that way. Spend too much time in the sun, and the parts that shouldn't or don't normally see the sunlight get painfully burnt. (Then try wearing the undergarments after that!).

My trip ended with me trying on one size larger and finding it to be small, then trying on two sizes larger and finding it too big. There's nothing enjoyable about seeing yourself in the "too small" suit, in the three-way mirror, under the flurescent lights of the dressing room. However, when trying on the bigger size first, I did feel a little lighter, a little firmer, a little tanner (for some reason). I guess I can be glad that I need that inbetween size - my winter workouts have paid off slightly. Not enough, though, to want to walk around in my underwear at the public pool. Anyway, I didn't find black bottoms that fit properly, but I did come home with a cute bathing suit top. My search will continue, but at least this time I'll know what to expect.

Change for the Better

2009-04-03T22:20:00.005-04:00

Change is a scary thing for me. I have no idea why. I didn't have any major life changing event to make me think that change is bad. Actually, I don't think change is bad. I just like to keep things as they are, for the most part. I know there are instances where change is beneficial, like when one is trying to break a life-long bad habit. Change brings up our fear of the unknown. Some respond better to that idea, perhaps because they have an adventurous spirit. I tend to hesitate before jumping right in. However, with the upcoming weekend that includes a big change, I jumped right in feet first without a second thought at all.

Our church, Calvary Baptist of State College, is branching out. Actually, it already has, as we are beginning to outgrow the size of our current building. Not only did we branch out for the space, but we branched out to be able available to more people, to reach a different section of the community, to go out to people instead of expecting people to come to us. For the past year, we have attended our church service in the local high school auditorium, because it can seat (and park) more people. It turned out to be a truly wonderful experience, and the feeling that we were in a school dissipated within the first few weeks.

We are about to grow another branch of that tree. Starting this Sunday, Palm Sunday, we are starting a new service in an elementary school on our end of town. When this idea was first presented, I loved the idea of being closer to home, and in being involved in something from the ground up. As a keyboard player and singer, I also loved the idea of being a part of the worship team on a regular basis, though I knew it would be sacrificing a lot of our travel time on the weekends. I love the idea of reaching out, yet again, instead of waiting for people to reach out to us.

We are now a day and a half away from our "launch" of this new service. As I sit here, I have to stretch to see over the new electronic keyboard that I have been playing around with, the same one I will be using during our worship times Sunday mornings. At this time tomorrow, I will be at the school setting up the stage, some instruments, the chairs, the tables, the lights - all to bring God glory in yet another school setting. It is all so exciting, yet I sat in our regular service this past Sunday feeling a little sad. This would be my last time worshipping with the people whom I have worshipped with the past year, seeing the same familiar faces, sitting in our same row and same seats. I shared this with Mike, who responded, " I know, hon...you don't like change."

I thought a lot about that. This is one of those changes that is beneficial, if there ever was one. This new service will be on an end of town that is mostly country, with few places of worship to offer this community. This service is on the edge of a new and growing neighborhood. This service will also bring God into a school, regardless of whether it's a week day or not. This new service will bring a bond and form a community within the Calvary family - with those who have chosen to make this service in this location their new home on Sunday mornings. This service is another way to glorify God through ALL of the above. Change that is definitely worth pondering and thinking about.

Though I may not sleep all that well Saturday night, I look forward to Sunday morning. I look forward to meeting new people, I look forward to playing on a new worship team and forming bonds with the other musicians, I look forward to serving and witnessing to my own community, as this is very close to my neighborhood. I look forward to allowing God to use me in all of these capacities and those that I have yet to learn about. Those unknowns are definitely not anything to fear.

It's Ball Season!

2009-03-27T21:25:00.006-04:00

The sounds of spring...I know what you are thinking. I'm not talking of robins or raindrops. The sounds that say spring to me are the sounds of balls hitting mitts, clanging bats, and banging cleats, trying to remove the mud. We have entered ball season in this house.

We have a "Major" league player, which in this town, means that he has practice about 4 nights a week, plus the weekends. This continues until the season begins Easter weekend (I guess those that are on the board of the Little League see the sport as holy, to be beginning it that weekend). We have a first year fastpitch player, playing in the "Minor" league this year. She has yet to start her practices, but at least we have a coach's name and a team roster. We also have a player in the coach-pitch league. We are still awaiting his team information to come in.

I grew up playing softball, the sport that I love. I began in the fifth grade, and I began right away as a pitcher. With my dad as my coach, I'm not sure if he saw my potential as a pitcher, or he just put me there because of the lack of strength in my throwing arm. Even as an eleven year old, it took me some time to develop my throwing arm because, as we found out later, I didn't know with which arm to throw. I am, by most standards, right-handed. I write with my right hand, and I eat with my right hand. I started off the preseason that year throwing with my right hand. I remember catching with my dad in the back yard, and barely being able to get the ball to him across the yard. After numberous attempts, I believe he lost his patience with my"girly" throws and told me to take that glove off of my left hand and throw the ball. So I did. What I remember about his reaction was the fact that he didn't say anything for what seemed like minutes, but what was probably more like a second or two. What I remember him saying was, "Hmmm...so you're a left-hander." We had to get me a new glove, and I was ready for the season.

The softball field became a family affair for us. Dad was coach, mom cheered from her chair. My grandparents attended every game, even as we travelled in various tournaments. I remember grandpa carrying their two chairs, and I remember grandma keeping score with her little notepad she kept in her purse. These days, there seem to be so many parents who just do not enjoy sitting at these youth baseball or softball games for hours on end. But I just love it. I love the sounds of the ballfields. I love propping up the portable chair, lathering on the sunscreen, and screaming for my kids as they play. I love to find different flavors of sunflower seeds or rolls of bubble tape for them to enjoy in the dugout. I love to see them in full uniform - from hat to cleats. I love the dust from the field, hot dogs at the concession stand, and watching a sweet play on the field. Nothing speaks more to me of my childhood than the ballfield. And now I watch my children enjoy the same pasttime that I did. I enjoy having their grandparents come to watch their games, and their grandpa keeping the score.

It's the great American sport. It's a great family affair. And it's a great place to find me if you're looking for me.

Though I'll spend a lot of time in my van transporting my children to their practices and games, you won't hear me complain this season. If I could be in all three places a once, I would be at each field watching and cheering them on.

Miss Money Bags

2009-03-10T21:03:00.004-04:00

Today was 'Gift Card Shopping' Day. I have accumulated a pile of gift cards in my purse that are my children's, mostly as gifts from Christmas. With Spring Break being this week in our town, with the weather still cold and damp today, it was a perfect day to get out of the house and into the stores. In theory...

Actually, it wasn't all that bad. We hit the mall first, to spend my daughter's card. The boys were very patient at first. Then they starting finding items in this girl's store that they wanted to buy. (I allowed everyone to bring a small amount of money, in my mind to cover any costs that weren't covered by the gift card. I now see that the kids thought they brought their money to spend, spend, spend). The items weren't "girly" - but candy items, junky things...NO. We moved on from there to the shoe store, where my son thought he could spend his money on $60 shoes...NO. On the way out of the mall, they begged me to stop in the Game Stop, where they searched the walls for games. No one had gift cards here, so of course, the answers were NO, NO, NO. Barnes & Noble is always a fun place to take the kids. My oldest had gift cards to use there. Amazingly, we got away with his books, a couple for me, and no whining or complaining from the others. Target was our last stop. The two youngest had gift cards for there. I think I spent more time telling the oldest NO, telling the middle NO and keeping her from whining, "When is it my turn to look around?", and telling the youngest NO, and to decide on something for the price of his card. Again, it all sounded good in theory.

Trying to teach my children the value of money (even in gift card form) is a difficult thing. I want them to enjoy using the card, while choosing something they will love and use, but at the same time being careful that they are not buying just to buy something. So it seems to turn into a "NO-fest." I explain that for the price of their card, they can get X amount of items, or one big something special. They can also wait to watch their beloved item go on sale so they can get what they want for the amount on the card. But that's like hearing the ice cream truck, running to get your money, and having it never come down your street. DISAPPOINTMENT!

Why is it that kids with money in their pockets feel that 'burn', or that need to use it up? They cannot stand to have money with them and NOT be able to spend it. If they even buy a candy bar, they are happy to have spent something. They would rather spend their money or card on something they sort of want, than to have to bring that money home and stash it back in their secret hiding places. It's just a matter of maturity levels for the most part. When they get to my maturity level, they may even forget they have gift cards to use (though I now have a special place in my wallet where I keep mine so I no longer forget).

After all was said and done, everyone came home with something. Lego's were being built, books were being read, new slippers were being worn, and I had time to enjoy a cup of tea. I still have more gift cards in my purse, as they weren't all used today. But that just gives me another chance to take a shopping trip and turn it into a teachable moment. Maybe I'll be able to give more YES answers!

Leaving Childhood

2009-02-22T15:18:00.003-05:00

Another milestone day is upon our household. Tomorrow, Monday the 23rd, will be my daughter's 10th birthday. The entering of the double digits, to never go back to the single digits again. As she looks forward to her entering the "tween" years, I look back to her "wee" years.

I knew most of my pregnancy that I was carrying a girl. We did not find out the gender by the ultrasound. I just had a feeling. This pregnancy was much different than my first. After eating my umpteenth pound of fudge, I told my husband that I had to be having a girl, because all I was craving was chocolate. I was also more grumpy, so I knew I had extra estrogen coursing through my body. And this pregnancy was a breeze. I had no extra water weight gain that forced me into bedrest, like I had with the first. I had minimal aches and pains. And to make things even more perfect, she was born exactly on her due date.

I remember that night like it was yesterday. Now I look at her turning 10, and I think to myself, "Where did those years go?" It's gone in the blink of an eye. She's no longer that tiny baby (she WAS our peanut), but is now our young lady. I can't say her personality has changed all that much - she is still as pleasant and easy going as she was as a baby. Her looks haven't changed all that much - still the blue-eyed, blonde beauty with the rosy cheeks and bright smile. But she IS growing up. It's not as cool having mom and dad around all the time. We are so lame when it comes to electronics or music. (Though, funny, we are the ones that have to get the music on her Ipod!). I can embarrass her at the drop of a hat, just by shaking my shoulders to a song in the department store. The best is when I get to drive her and her friends around. I just LOVE singing loudly to songs on the radio. Her friends laugh, she turns red.

Yet, my little girl can still be a little girl. She loves to be read to, to cuddle a stuffed animal, to be in her daddy's arms. Occasionally, she still lets me comb her hair. Sometimes, when I see her walking off in the distance, she just looks so small to me. I know I am grasping onto the last threads of her childhood. One by one they are breaking, leaving me with just a few remaining in my hands. I know these last ties to her parents and childhood won't be broken, but will be taken out of my hands from my daughter herself. She'll want more independence, more of her friendships, less of her family. But I'll keep those threads tucked safely away, because they can always be used when we eventually become cool again. For now, I've got a few more hours before the 10th birthday rolls around. I think I'll go tie some extra knots in those threads.

My Visitor

2009-02-11T21:59:00.003-05:00

Did you feel her today? Did you hear her with each passing whirl of wind? Did you see her shadow cross your way? Did you smell her in the air? Did you take the time to notice her presence? Tomorrow she'll be gone. Her freshness, her sparkle, her ability to transform - all gone in the blink of an eye, so short a visit in the realm of time.

People that don't have the pleasure of experiencing the changing of seasons will not understand what I am writing about. Those that have seasons, but those seasons are mild, have a little bit of an idea. In what is usually a bleak time of year for anyone above the Mason Dixon line, today proved to be heaven sent. In a rare showing for early February, spring visited us today. I like to take it more personally and think that she came to say HI to me. Winter is such a low time for me - the grayness, the cold, the wind whipping, trying to reach it's tentacles through the cracks of my windows, the neighbors that I won't see until we are done hibernating. She knows this. She sees it every year. And every year I am sure she visits me to tell me that it's OK, to hang in there just a bit longer. But it's new to me every year, because I never know when she'll be in town. Or for how long, for that matter.

I have felt her the past two days. I knew she was coming for a visit. I am so glad I didn't miss her today. What a great time we had! We drove around together with the windows down, we enjoyed the sun warming our faces. Together we walked around the neighborhood, listening to birds, watching the honey bees, saying Hi to neighbors. She visited with my children, playing basketball with them, following them around in the yard. We spent part of the evening watching the sun setting later than it did yesterday.

And then I felt it. A little chill. I knew she had to go. It's not yet time for her to stay longer, at least not in my part of the world. She had other places to visit. She's taking her time leaving though, parting is such sweet sorrow. I know she'll be back. She visits me every year, and every year I greet her with a smile and warm embrace. We're old friends, you see. I can count on her return year after year. I'll just have to wait a bit longer to see my dear friend again.

Friendships

2009-01-29T20:08:00.003-05:00

Friendships. They start when we are so young and small. Some last us throughout this great life of ours, and some come and go like the passing of seasons. I am grateful for both of those kinds of friendships, because they have made me into the person I am today.

I have spent the past week watching my children interact with their friends. My 11 year old son "hangs" with his friends. My 9 year old daughter runs to her room with her friends and hardly comes out. My 7 year old son is very physical with his friends - football, wrestling, gun battles, car crashes. These are all friendships that have been made and developed in the past 2 years. But you would never know. Watching them, I would think that they have grown up together from babies to their current age. Each relationship is changing who they are, if even a little bit. Every interaction builds up more of their trust, more of their openness, more of their ability to laugh, love and accept.

I have a lifetime of friendships that I think about often. I think often of my baby-to-college friend, and where she might be now. I run into her now and then, when I am in my hometown. We chat, talk kids, and have to rush on. I think of her often, and wonder why I just don't pick up the phone or a pen and contact her. What's the harm in trying to rekindle an old friendship? The harm is in the pain of maybe having to let go again. The "what if" scenario - what if she doesn't want the friendship any longer, what if we try, and I end up in a one way relationship again? Sometimes friendships are just made to pass away.

I think of the friends I had in elementary school, junior high, high school, and college. My friends made me who I am during those formative years. I played sports with many of them, been in the band with some, spent four years together with the same kids in elementary school, had classes with so many, loved and married my best friend from high school, roomed with 2 of my best friends in college. What is so nice is that I keep in touch with many of them today, via my facebook account. We've caught up with each other's lives after 20 years, all written into a paragraph or two. It's been fun to see the changes in each person. I'm not talking physical, but their jobs, their families, their beliefs - their adult selves. I look fondly upon many of them because they all touched my life in the past and left an imprint on my heart.

I look at my adult friendships - friends I've made while working and while staying at home. The women who have shared in child rearing with me, who have shared in illnesses with me, who have shared in joys as well as sorrows. The friends I've shared meals with, made meals for. The friends I have helped pack boxes and move out of town, and those I've helped unpack their boxes. The friends I have made in my churches, my children's schools, my sport's teams or my children's sport teams - all of these people collectively are shaping me into the person I am today. My adult friendships are teaching me to love sweeter and trust deeper, to open up sooner and listen more intently.

No one can enter this world without making a print in the sand somewhere, without touching the life of at least one person. And like the tide that comes in and covers those prints, friendships are made, washed away, and new ones are formed in their place. It's a natural progression of life. One can be sad over a lost friendship, but must be ready to expect another to jump in it's place. There is a great big world filled with people just waiting to be met! There is no such thing as a stranger. A stranger is just a friend you haven't met yet. Be willing to open the door of your heart, because the next stranger you meet could just be your best friend.

The Little Things

2009-01-22T23:31:00.002-05:00

It's the little things in life that count. A smile from your spouse first thing in the morning. A hug from your little one at night. Your middle school child still wanting to engage in a conversation with you (just not when the friends are around please!). The tween daughter belting out tunes while listening to her ipod. Spending hours with women who love God. The temperature rising above 32 degrees (woo hoo -that may not be such a little thing). Along those lines, the beauty of a large icicle hanging from your gutter, but with the smallest water drops dripping from it's bottom. Having hair long enough to feel it blow in the wind (I am at that point now!!). Eating M&M's. Finding great sales.

Together, these little things all made my day what it was. But one thing that's not so little will ring louder than the others. Good news from the doctor's office will always make the top of the list, won't it? No matter how great your day is going, if you get a call with bad news, that's what you will remember about that particular day. Likewise, no matter how bad your day is going, one call with great news will turn that day around in a heartbeat. But when the day is already sprinkled with random little treasures, and you get that news that everything is OK, how much larger and sunnier does life become? The noises that bothered you once don't seem so loud today. The cold that pierces your warm winter layers doesn't seem all that bad. The food that had too much fat in it yesterday sure does taste good today. And you see that those random little treasures were not so random afterall, that God has sprinkled the day with those little bits of love and beauty to show me that He's there. He's in the little things. And that's all that matters.

The Life Cycle

2009-01-16T21:38:00.006-05:00

My birthday is in a great year, because it is always easy to figure out my age (you know that there are times you forget how old you are too!). 1970 - a nice round figure. This is the last year of my 30's. I thought it would be interesting to see what happened in 1970 compared with where we are today.

Here are just a few interesting facts from the year 1970. The average cost of a new house was $23,450.00, with the average income being $9,400.00. Here's a good one - a gallon of gas was 36 cents! A one carat diamond ring cost $299. Head and Shoulders Shampoo cost 79 cents. A postage stamp was 6 cents. The Dow Jones dropped to 631. The National Debt was $380.9 billion. The inflation rate was 6.5%. Jimi Hendrix died of barbituate overdose. Janis Joplin died from a heroin overdose. The Beatles disbanded. The first New York marathon was run. The first Earth Day was celebrated. Four students were shot and killed in what is known as the Kent State shootings. The voting age is lowered to 18. PBS begins broadcasting. The United States EPA begins operations. Nixon orders US troops into Cambodia. Ninety percent of downtown Corpus Christi, Texas, is destroyed or damaged by hurricane Celia. Ziploc bags are created.

The year 2008 gave us these historical facts. Gas averaged a price of $3.17 a gallon. The stock markets around the world plunged, with the Dow Jones dropping to 370. The US unemployment rate reaches a 14-year high of 6.5%. Median home prices plunged 7.6% to $206,500. The average income (from 2006 - the last year of available information) was $46,996. Stamps are 42 cents. Barack Obama becomes the first Africa-American president-elect. Heath Ledger dies of an accidental overdose. Brad Renfro died of a heroine overdose. The deadliest tornado in 23 years strikes the southern United States, killing 58 people. US troops are still in Iraq. Michael Phelps wins eight Gold Medals in a single Olympics. The Nasa spacecraft Phoenix reaches Mars. The iphone 3G becomes available for purchase.

It's interesting to see that in 39 years, not much has really changed. 1970 (and that decade) saw an oil crisis, high inflation, huge national deficit, natural disasters that ruined American cities, war, violence, death due to drugs. It also made great strides when the EPA began, with awareness of the importance of taking care of our earth with the first Earth Day, PBS begins (what mother could not live without PBS and their daily run of Sesame Street and similar children's programming), and the ever popular ziplock bag. 2008 saw an oil crisis, financial crisis and recession, a huge national deficit, natural disasters, war, death due to drugs. It also made great strides with the historical election of an African-American for president, in the scientific world of space, the invention of the iphone (a little more technologically saavy than ziplock bags, but EVERYONE can use a ziplock bag!). With every negative that our country has withstood, it has been counteracted with a positive invention or event.

I look back over my life and wonder how I have changed over 39 years. I don't have a google page that I can just look up all the statistics of my life. What negatives have been or are counteracted by the positives??? My looks haven't changed all that much - I look older, and I fill out my clothes a little more. But that's because I bore three beautiful children who are turning my hair gray. I am less patient than in my youth, but I am more knowledgeable and wise. I am still naive in many ways, but I still look for the inheritant good in people. I am still an introvert, but that makes me a better listener.

Life goes full circle, doesn't it? We see today many of the same problems that were around at the time of our births. In-between have been good times and bad times. There is always war, there is always natural disaster, there is always violence. And yet there is always the birth of something greater, something new, something beyond what we could have comprehended. We have the comfort in returning to the familiarity of what we have known, whether we like it or not. It just happens.

First Snow & Letting Go

2009-01-12T10:22:00.009-05:00

Wow - the first big snow of this winter. It is hard to believe that we are almost two weeks into January, with this being the first to show for it. We've had a few ice storms, but one really can't get out there and play on the solid, slippery ground, let alone build anything.

We had six inches of snow fall this past weekend between Friday night and Saturday evening. It was beautiful to see (knowing that I didn't have to get out there and transport anyone anywhere!). The kids went outside to sled and play around 11:00 Saturday morning. I puttered around in my pajamas until about noon on Saturday, then showered and dressed for the day. I planned the wardrobe according to what I thought I would be doing that day - playing in the snow with my kids. I wore my thermal cuddle duds underneath a pair of heavy-duty sweatpants, I wore a turtleneck underneath of a fleece sweatshirt, and I wore a pair of thicker, crew socks. I was excited at the thought of trying out my new snowpants that I got for Christmas (I guess Mike was tired of seeing me in my neon blue pair that I wore back when I skiied - another lifetime ago, another blog).

I puttered around the house some more - doing a jigsaw puzzle that the kids and I started earlier in the week, getting on the computer, knitting a sock that I started over Christmas, reading a little. I decided to have lunch, thinking that the kids would come tearing in through the garage any minute and ask, "When are you and dad coming out to play?" About an hour after lunch, Mike decided he was going to take Sophie (the dog) for a walk up to the park and see what the boys were up to, since we hadn't seen them in awhile. I muttered an OK, and puttered around the house some more.

I realized that I was trying to find things to do, because not one of my children came back to get us to play outside. Avery was out with the girls, and I wasn't even sure where. The boys were out with about 20 others kids from the neighborhood sled riding on the ice (which we didn't find out until AFTER Mike's visit to the park). And I had no one to play with. My children didn't turn to mommy and daddy first to go out and play, like they used to. We heard, "going out now, see you later" and they were gone. I didn't have to get anyone's boots on, didn't have to find the missing glove, or didn't even have to yell, "Don't forget your hat!" Just gone.

I don't know what it is about that first significant snowfall of the winter, but it brings the child out in everyone. Parents riding on sleds, barreling down hills they probably shouldn't be. Parents that turn shoveling into igloo making. Parents that start a snowball fight. This time, however, we were two parents who watched from the inside (after Mike's visit to the park, falling on the ice and hurting his neck, his outdoor fun was done). I DID get to make several mugs of hot chocolate, as the boys and some friends came back here to warm up. I did not see my daughter until dusk that day. It's a rite of passage though. They are doing exactly what they are supposed to be doing - growing up, becoming independent while growing their friendships. As their mom, I delight in seeing it, yet it's painful to let go. I guess with the next snowfall, I will have to be the one who gets dressed first and ask the kids to go out and play. Otherwise, I may be stranded at the window, watching them go off their separate ways. I guess I could still get the hot chocolate ready.

An Advocate

2009-01-09T19:16:00.003-05:00

'We Are...' Those of us living in Happy Valley follow those words with '...Penn State!' However, tonight 'We Are' means something completely different to this PSU alum. I received an email today from the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. In big blue letters scrawled across the home page is 'We Are'. But underneath of those letters follow words more endearing than 'Penn State'. The words are, 'Making a Difference in the Fight Against Cystic Fibrosis.'

I am an advocate for the Cystic Fibrosis foundation. Every now and then, the foundation will email those of us who wish to receive the advocate emails, and request that we write to our elected officials. This time the foundation wants us to speak out for Cystic Fibrosis and tell Congress to vote for Children's Health Care. Next week, Congress begins to debate the State Children's Health Insurance Program (SCHIP), a vital program that provides health coverage for over 4 million children, including many children with Cystic Fibrosis. When children with CF have health coverage, they are more likely to get the regular treatments they need to live long and healthy lives.

What a simple act. It took me all of five minutes to read the standard letter and add my experience (and my family's) with CF. I typed in a few details of my demographics, then hit send. Immediately, the email letter was sent to three of my elected officials. I am glad it went automatically, because I am embarrassed to admit that I would not have known who to send it to had I had to send it myself. I guess that's why the demographics information was needed. The Government Affairs group of the CFF thinks of everything. Type your zip code, and the email will be delivered to the elected officials of your area. The hard work was taken out of the task.

Five minutes can make a huge difference in the lives of so many people - children and adults - living daily with CF. I may never know the impact those 300 seconds had on the lives of the thousands of people affected by CF. But I will know the difference it plays in the life of my niece, my sister's family, and the rest of our family. You don't have to be a direct relative of a person with CF to write to your congressman. If you would like to spend your next five minutes typing and clicking, email me. I would love to share the email with you. Together, with the CFF, we are adding tomorrows every day.

Ice and Salt

2009-01-06T21:27:00.004-05:00

Right now, I am sitting on my loveseat, listening to two conflicting sounds. One is the ice outside pelting against the windows. The other is the sound of a waterfall (it's actually my aquarium that is a little low in water, so it IS a mini waterfall). I am layered in clothes - turtleneck and fleece sweatshirt, cuddle dud pants and jeans, socks and slippers. What I really long for is not the clothing that goes with the first sound, but the clothing (or lack of) that would go with the second sound. Add to the water sound a little breeze and the smell of salt air, and I am transported to the beach, where I can believe that the warmth I am feeling from my layers of clothes is from the sun warming my skin. I can believe that the low lighting of my family room is the sunset I am watching from the deck of the beach house. The sound of the ice against the windows, well maybe that is a short passing storm of warm rain.

I absolutely love the beach. I had gone a time or two as a child. It wasn't until I was married that my soul yearned for the sounds, the warmth, the smells of the beach. We had started going yearly when our oldest was a little over a year old. We've tried various places - some in New Jersey, different ones in North Carolina. I found that I didn't enjoy the northern shores as much, because 1: the water is much colder, even in August or September, and 2: the weather is much colder, even in August or September.

I am a southern beach girl, if only by heart. I've never lived anywhere but Pennsylvania, though I have tried many different cities within the state. But there is something about the south that tugs at my heart. Definitely right up at the top of the list is the weather. I love hot and humid weather. I don't care if my hair sags, I sweat all day, or my make-up runs. I am at my most happiest when the weather is hot. I also love the way southerners talk. Did you ever notice how easy it is for a northener to "pick up" a southern accent after just a conversation with someone from the south? My children know when I have been talking with a dear friend, now living in PA, but hailed from Georgia. I pick up some of her drawl, and it takes me a little while to get back to my own brand of language.

All this being said, nothing tops the smell of salt air. Always, regardless of the time of our arrival, the first thing I do when we get to the beach house is run to the deck, close my eyes, and just inhale. There is something so cleansing, so calming about the sea air. It alleviates the aches and pains of sitting in the van for hours on end, it alleviates any allergy symptoms we may have (is there any scientific proof for this??), it unites us in a way that nothing up north can do. I've tried to pass this simple, yet powerful act on to my children. My oldest gets it. The others will learn.

Our yearly trek is more than just a vacation for us. It's a soul restorer for me, reaching my innermost depths. It warms my heart as well as my skin. It's a time where I feel like "I'm home". I can actually feel it calling to me, even now, midway through the winter, and I yearn to answer back. It's almost alive, as if breathing life into me with each crashing wave. Mike has suggested heading west on a trip, maybe to the Rockies. Or maybe go North, to New England. I'm fine with that, but not in place of the beach. It's too much of who I am, and I cannot let it go.

When I stop typing and look around the room, I realize that I am in PA in January, surrounded by ice and layers of clothing, where the sun sets long before dinner (I don't even think I can tell you what a January sunset in PA looks like. I will have to watch it the next time the sun comes out), and the air is crisp and smelling of frozen earth. But I was transported "home", even for a brief moment, and my heart has a little skip to it now. I think I will begin planning our trip, so I can call back "I'm coming".

Machine vs. Human

2009-01-03T18:40:00.003-05:00

I am typing this blog on my new laptop. It was not quite a Christmas present, but a gift from my husband nonetheless, purchased in addition to the new laptop he purchased himself for work. I guess it's not a new laptop, as I never had an old one, but it's new to me.

It is a little hard to get used to. It is a mini laptop, but it has more power than my traditional desktop computer. Already, I have had to backspace and erase several typing errors. If I rest my hands on the edge of the computer like I am used to doing on my traditional keyboard, then the cursor skips to regions unknown. I spent just about 24 hours trying to gain internet access, which my husband finally conquered after talking with his "computer guy" via the phone all afternoon. (Do I dare tell him that my desktop computer now no longer has the wireless internet access?? At least we would be conversing, instead of both of us stuck in our machines). Since I couldn't gain internet access yesterday (the day the computers arrived), I played games to try and master the touch pad. I think I have that down pretty well, and the kids know how to play pinball on the computer.

I love it though. I feel like a kid on Christmas who plays with their new toys all day long. I've carried this little thing from room to room, checking emails, facebook, and reading news online. I even went so far as to comment that if we weren't such a family-oriented unit, that I could see us cancelling our newspaper subscription and reading the news online each morning. We could cancel all of our magazine subscriptions, thus reducing our carbon footprint, and subscribe online to those we truly want. I can see me going to coffee shops or Wegman's with my laptop, sitting there enjoying a hot chocolate (not a coffee fan here!) and doing "work", just because I now can. In essence, I would have my nose stuck to the screen all day long. It's easy to see how society really has become technologically dependent, and personal relationships are taking a back seat. I just couldn't see us all sitting at the breakfast island, reading our laptops and not conversing. If I subscribed to online magazines, how would I rip out all of those recipes or good workout hints? And what would I do with my current stack of ripped out articles?

It's going to take some good hard disciple on my part to get my work and exercising done, as well as my quiet time in, before I turn this little machine on. Maybe that will make me work all that much faster and harder. After all, I want to be mom when the kids come home, and not have to text them 'Hello' as they walk in the door.

Resolutions

2009-01-01T13:55:00.002-05:00

It's a new year! With that is expected to be new beginnings from everyone, right? I guess that's the case with many people. Yet here I sit, puttering away on the computer, doing the same things I do everyday (perhaps even more so, since I am taking down Christmas decorations, washing Christmas blankets and towels, cleaning up Christmas presents that still linger under the tree, washing Christmas dishes and cookie platters). It's hard to start new habits and resolutions when the first day of the year is a holiday. Who wants to work on the holiday??

I always start out the year with good intentions. I've been sitting in my workout clothes since I got up this morning (at 10:30, mind you!). I've yet to workout. I'll do it though, and I have a time constraint as well, since the Rose Bowl comes on at 5:00. Plenty of time yet to exercise. One of my recurring resolutions is to be "Fit by 40". I've got plenty of time to do that, seeing as I don't turn 40 until 2010. However, I really want to try to establish the good routines and habits NOW, rather than waiting until next year. At least, that's what I say every January 1st. But now it's getting to be that I'm running out of January 1sts in which to say that.

I always intend to spend more time in prayer and reading my bible. Last year was a start, as I began a program which allots 16 weeks in which to read through the bible. I started in September with the hopes of finishing by the end of the year. I am in week six. However, with this new beginning, I am going to finish the last 10 weeks in this next 10 weeks. Maybe I'll start that tomorrow, because today is a holiday, and there are many college football games on afterall. How can I concentrate on the word of God with screaming fans in the background? (I can't ask my husband or youngest son to turn off the game so I can study). And who couldn't spend more time in prayer? But the prayer I want to spend time in is on my knees, giving my all to God, not as I clean the house or drive the kids around town.

I want to take better care of my health. It's not just in the sense of exercising, but in my overall well-being. I guess most moms in general tend to put themselves last on the list of getting things tuned, removed, checked, poked and prescribed. Two years ago I was very diligent in getting skin checks and having moles removed, as I have many covering my body. I can't say I've kept up with that this past year at all. I'm overdue for my allergist appointment. My epipens have expired, and I've suffered with sinus problems for the past three months due to allergy symptoms. I tend to stretch out my chiropractic appointments longer than I should, as I tend to think that I don't need them that often. Then I bend or move in a way that keeps me bent over for a week, needing multiple visits per week to get me to a standing position. Not good.

I also want to spend time catching up on projects, starting new projects, or simply reading for enjoyment. Those kinds of things lower stress levels and blood pressure, so I can say that this is for my health. I did a little of that last year - got some picture albums caught up, though I have a new stack of pictures to put in. I started to catch up the kids' scrapbook albums, but realized that I needed pictures off of the computer from 5 years ago in order to continue. The next logical project would be to go through the pictures on the computer, organize them into years and events, and burn them onto a CD. I keep putting that off because we have so many pictures on the computer that it overwhelms me as to where to even begin. I did manage to update my ipod. I went six months with the same 40 songs on my ipod, until the week after Christmas where I took the time to rip songs off of the many cds we own, then download them for my listening pleasure. Check one thing off of the list. My bedroom needs painting. We've lived in this house for three years now and still have that lovely coat of flat eggshell on the walls that was there when the house was built. The room is so large, though, that I know it will take me a week or more to finish that project. Maybe, if I at least pick out a color, I'll feel like I'm halfway to accomplishing that task. I'm even thinking now that I can frame out our basement myself. We want to finish about two-thirds of our basement, and the estimate we got to do this seems very high to me. I have an idea on how to do this, after talking to my dad about it, plus I have a book to show me how. How fun would this be to accomplish a task like this? Then I go down into our basement, which is infested with toys, storage clutter, and who knows what else, and I think..."Where would I even begin?"

I can see why so many New year's resolutions fail after a week or a month. It's just too overwhelming to keep this kind of "To Do" list. I'm beginning to see that no matter how many tasks, projects or appointments I manage to check off of my list, the list will never grow smaller. Life continues on, and so do the tasks. Something else will come up to fill the space. So instead of making resolutions this year, I am just going to agree to do what I can each day and let the rest go. That, in and of itself, will be a major accomplishment for me, as I am an organizer, a type A personality when it comes to the "list". But if I live my life by lists that don't seem to ever be completed, where and how do I fit in fun, family, leisure, pleasure, enjoyment, relaxation, or whatever it is that my resolutions are "forcing" me to do? And how can I confine God to a list? I don't want to make God one more thing I check off on my list. No more resolutions for me. No more making myself do something for the sake of keeping the resolution. If you ask me what my New Year's resolution is, you'll likely receive an answer that I resolve not to resolve. Happy New Year!

Traditions

2008-12-24T22:58:00.004-05:00

In one hour it will be Christmas. I think my children are still lying in their beds, wide-eyed, listening, waiting, anticipating. Really, it's the same thing I am doing, except I am allowed to stay up a little longer, if only to put the finishing touches on the egg casserole for morning, or finish cleaning up the kitchen from our Christmas Eve dinner. I, too, am waiting for Santa to come. But that won't happen until they fall asleep. And that gets later and later every year, while it's harder and harder for me to stay awake.

But I like that time in the late evening. The lights are low, the tree is on, 'It's a Wonderful Life' is playing on the TV. I enjoy the serenity, because I know in a mere 7 hours it will be chaos. I would normally enjoy a glass of wine, or perhaps a hot chocolate, but I am still so full from our Polish dinner. (By the way, the pierogies were a big hit!). I feel as if a big dose of de ja vu has hit. Our children are such creatures of habit, so into the traditions that we have started. It's the same year after year. We have our dinner with friends, exchange little gifts, rush off to Christmas Eve church service, come home to read Christmas stories, give them one gift to open and send them off to bed, while we finish the clean-up, the wrapping, the waiting. We awake in the morning, they pounce on us to get up, we open gifts, play awhile, then eat our cake and eggs for breakfast. Yes, I said cake. This is the best tradition I think I have passed on to our kids. Every Christmas morning, BEFORE eating breakfast, we celebrate the birth of Jesus, our Savior, by having a birthday cake in HIS honor. It's actually a healthy version of cake, a cranberry quick bread (made with wheat flour) that I simply put into a bundt pan. I put 3 candles in it (enough for each child to blow out one), and we sing Happy Birthday. It's such a simple way to remember the reason for this season, yet it's such a part of their life, that I can't even change the type of cake I make. It's a tradition that I grew up with and am glad that my children love it so much.

As I settle in to wait for Santa (or at least try to stay awake), and enjoy the glow of the Christmas tree lights throughout the room, I'll also enjoy the anticipation of the early morning wake-up and the start of our morning traditions. Happy Birthday Jesus!

Don't Miss the Blessing

2008-12-22T14:02:00.002-05:00

Today, I have been blessed to be a part of God's handiwork here on earth. I love it when I see things from a different perspective after the fact. A lot of times, the perspective changes for the better. I'm glad today was one of those times.

As part of my church, my family belongs to a "Life Group". A life group is, at it's basic, a group of families that come together and "do life". We spend time in studying the bible together, we spend time having meals together, our children play together. We get to know one another on a deeper level than the passing "Hello" in church. As a way to bless others this Christmas season, we as a group "adopted" a local family, a family in need this Christmas. We spent time shopping for the presents together, as well as spending another night together wrapping and sharing cookies.

I must confess here that I did not enjoy the process of shopping and wrapping. Usually I am the first one in line to shop for others, willing to take it for the team, willing to spend hours wrapping and singing. However, the night we went shopping I had to have all of my children with me in the mall (mothers - thank you for that collective groan I just heard). The boys are not shoppers by nature, so of course spent much of the night running in and out of the racks. I was tense and on edge much of the evening. Also during this timeframe, I was on prednisone for unexplained nasal swelling that had stayed with me for 3 months. So I had sleep deprivation, as well as irritability, from being on that. The night was long and chaotic. Then the following week, we as a group wrapped all of the bounty we had collected from the week before. There was nothing there that made the night unenjoyable, but it was one of those nights where I had to drop one kid off here, another off there, run to this house and wrap, run back and pick up one child while my husband left early to pick up the other child. It was just easier to stay home.

Getting ready to deliver the presents, I realized that I was one of two of us that is home during the day, therefore having the flexibility to be able to deliver at the family's request. I was dreading it. I am a behind-the-scenes kind of person - I'll shop, wrap, bake, run around, but I would rather not be the main player. However, I saw no way out of this. And do you know, I almost robbed myself of this blessing because I had such a negative attitude. I didn't want to see the people whom we were blessing, because what if they were ungrateful? What if they hmppphed a Thanks and sent us out the door? Or what if I went into their home and found more things, newer electronics, better this or that, than my own home? Would I still want to give in the nature it was intended?

We took two vans of presents to this house. We pulled into the parking lot, and Mrs. was at the door ready to greet us. She came out, sans a coat, and helped us carry the packages into her home. Mr. was at the upstairs window, with it wide open in this 15 degree weather, watching. He is disabled in some form, and therefore could not come and help. We made several trips back and forth from van to home. At one point, after putting the gifts down on the floor, I came eye to eye with a picture on the coffee table. It was of one of the three children from that household. The face was familiar to me. As I stood, I turned and looked at the pictures she had hung on the wall of all of her children. There he was, the one that was familiar, at various ages. My eyes felt the sting of tears as I realized that her baby, and my oldest, went to elementary together. I couldn't remember which grade they spent together, but knew he was from one of the early years. I remembered that boy - not a lot, but enough to think of him as quiet and polite. I remembered enough to see his little face, framed in glasses, in the classroom. I thought of the innocence of those years, the wonderment that this time of year must have brought to him, as it does to every small child. Does he still feel it? Will he again because God's hand has touched their lives?

That's what I now see. Our group didn't buy those gifts, wrap them, and deliver them to make us feel good about blessing others. Who am I to judge what they need and don't need? Why should I care what they have and don't have, or what they say to me or don't say? God has blessed them through us - we were merely the ones doing the work. Those children may never know who we are, and that's OK. We were the carriers that took God's love to their doorstep. We were the ones to deliver the gifts, with God's message coming back to us from that open upstairs window - "Thank you and Merry Christmas to you". I locked eyes with Mr., smiled, and knew that I was the one that had just been blessed.

Pierogies

2008-12-19T10:46:00.004-05:00

The Pierogi (or Piirohi)...such a staple in the life of my Polish husband. Fried in butter and onions, I admit they are quite delicious. My children have grown to love them, as it is always included in a meal when we are visiting my in-laws. We get dozens to take back home with us after a weekend visit in their home - except the one time I truly need them. We left after Thanksgiving without them. It's not that I need them for the satisfaction of my own palette, or even for that of my family's. I need them for our annual Polish Christmas Eve dinner, which we host for dear friends who join us every year. I make fish (though not 7 varieties), mashed potatoes, piergoies, kielbasa and kraut, haluski, etc etc. And as of right now, I have no pierogies.

I have gone over my many options: buy frozen (to which my husband's nose wrinkles up), make my own (to which MY nose wrinkles up), have my mother-in-law ship them up (the most favorable option), have a Polish neighbor, whose name I don't know, make them for me. I've even talked to the head chef at Wegman's, our local grocery store, to ask if they could make them. I was told I could find some in the freezer section. I replied that my Polish husband did not find that as a preferred option, to which he replied that I haven't yet trained him right. I've gone to local specialty markets, in the hopes that they have them. The best I have come up with is a recipe from a friend who makes them with her mother every year. Her mother was so excited to pass along this recipe. I can't help but think that she has very fond memories of making pierogies with her family - the bonding, the conversations, the laughter, the eating. I have visions of being in their kitchen, flour up to my elbows, making sure I am pinching the edges just so. In this vision I am actually ENJOYING making the pierogies. Then like a mirage, it fades out enough that I see reality - a long day in the kitchen, by myself, muttering under my breath that I see nothing wrong with the frozen kind, wondering if I am pinching them enough so they stay shut in the boiling process. I know what to expect because I have made them before. Just once.

Many Christmas Eve's ago, I was in the same predicament. I ran all over town doing the same things I have done the past several weeks. I had my mother-in-law's recipe and thought, "I can do this. I will do this for my husband." I spent all day in the kitchen, boiling, mashing potatoes, rolling out dough (the recipe called for flour and water - just mix it until it's doughy - no measurements), cutting, filling, pinching, and finally boiling. As I watched them boil, I also watched the potato filling leach out of the dough. I watched the water turn murky, and I watched the dough flop. I pulled them out of the water, and what I had left was basically a noodle. There was no time to make more, as this was the day before Christmas Eve. So I kept them. On Christmas Eve Day, I made more mashed potatoes, fried my "noodles" in butter and onions, threw some mashed potatoes on them, and called them pierogies. I thought they were fine, even tasted pretty close to the same, but...and here's where every wife would be justified in any action she chooses to lay out, they were "not quite like my mom's". I'm not sure I remember what happened the rest of the night, but I'm sure Silent Night, Joy to the World, Peace on Earth, Fa La La La La's were not to be heard that night. Which is why I am willing to take all of my ingredients to the Polish neighbor, whose name I don't even know, and beg of her to make them for me.

I am going to attempt it one more time, the day long process of making the beloved pierogies. I now know, from the friend who sent me her recipe, that the secret is in the pinching. Maybe it's time to start a new tradition with my children - having flour up to our elbows, peeling, boiling, rolling, talking, laughing, singing Christmas carols, and making sure that the edges are pinched just right.

Enough

2008-12-18T08:07:00.002-05:00

I realize that not everyone believes in the same cause as another, and not everyone even has a cause in which to believe and support. Not everyone knows everything there is to know about every single illness or disease that is spread around this world. But I would think that a person would know a little something about Cystic Fibrosis to know that running drills in an elementary physical education class is something that a child with Cystic Fibrosis should not be forced to participate in. Cystic Fibrosis is an inherited chronic disease that affects the lungs and digestive system of about 30,000 children and adults in the U.S. (70,000 worldwide). A defective gene and its protein cause the body to produce unusually thick, sticky mucus that clogs the lungs and leads to life-threatening lung infections, and obstructs the pancreas and stops natural enzymes from helping the body break down and absorb food. Advances in research and medical treatments have further enhanced and extended life for children and adults with CF. Many people with the disease can now expect to live into their 30s, 40s and beyond.

I read a message yesterday from my sister saying that my niece, who was born with Cystic Fibrosis 9 years ago, had to be sent home from school because she "overdid" it in gym class. Not only was she sent home, but had to endure two back to back albuterol treatments. After about an hour, she went back to school. Now, my thinking is this: My niece is a pleaser. She loves to please others and does not like to disobey. She's a nine year old with an "older" spirit - she cares for others like no child I have seen. She ran 26 wall-to-wall drills in this class because, as I am thinking, she wanted to please her teacher. She could have stopped, she could have said that she couldn't do it, but she didn't. I'm sure she was given an instruction, and she followed through. At what point does an instructor think that enough is enough? I am not putting blame on anyone here, but I am bothered enough to say that not every child can be treated equally, and not every child should be treated equally. I can imagine her little cheeks becoming hot pink as they do when she overheats, I can imagine her coughing kicking in, and I can imagine her little legs pushing her to the other wall. When is enough enough?

Enough is enough when we have found a cure for this disease! Researchers and scientists are actually very close to this miraculous discovery! My niece's doctor believes it will happen in her younger part of life. It can only happen with people like you who believe enough in a cause to want to make an impact in the lives of others. The Cystic Fibrosis Foundation is a non-profit, donor-supported organization. Nearly 90% of every dollar in revenue goes to fund CF research, care and education programs. You can read more about CF and it's foundation at www.cff.org.

Enough is enough when 70,000 lives are saved.

Childlike

2008-12-17T11:08:00.000-05:00

My day begins on a 2 hour delay. I feel like a child again! The excitement of getting to stay under the warm covers awhile longer, having time in the morning to enjoy each other, or breakfast, knowing my day will be "shorter"...it puts a little lift into my morning. Then the kids start bickering, fighting over who gets to play what game, wrestling on the furniture (too close to the Christmas tree, I might add), yelling through the house. I am suddenly snapped back into the reality of adulthood. Sigh...I push them to get ready for school, even though there is another forty-five minutes before the first has to leave. Get some chores done, get your bags packed, brush your teeth, do you have your instrument? Anything to take more ticks off of the clock. Why is it that 2 children are manageable, but 3 are out of control? Are the kids out of control, or have they succeeded in tiring me out? One leaves for the bus, and the remaining two suddenly are a sea of calm, sharing, playing together, laughing. I even add to the mix a neighbor who needs to catch the bus here, and not a wave is felt. Maybe it's the time of the year, and my oldest still has as much trouble controlling his emotions as my youngest. Then again, I look at myself, and I, too, can hardly wait another week for Christmas morning. No, I need to remember to think like a child, and remember the excitement of having a school delay, the excitement of having five more days of school before Christmas break, the excitement of actually having some snow on the ground in which to play. For the next week, maybe I should allow myself to wrestle on the furniture, a little too close to the tree.

2008-12-16T19:46:00.000-05:00

I decided to try this blogging thing after getting a facebook message from a friend of mine. The message content was one of those "survey-type" messages, you know the kind...Do you like this or that, list 25 things about this, etc. This particularly long message wanted me to list 25 random thoughts that others could read about. I admit that I am a sucker for these emails. I am usually the one listed as "most likely to return the email first". So the challenge of coming up with 25 random thoughts sounded like fun. The first couple were easy - as I was watching the snow falling outside, my first thought was of the beach and how my soul longs to be there. But as I went through the list, it grew increasingly harder to come up with random thoughts. Then I started thinking, "Are these really random thoughts if I have to sit here and think about them?" I managed to finish the list, but upon reading it, thought, "Wouldn't it be better if others besides my facebook friends could read some of these?" And the blog was born.

I plan to add some of these "random" thoughts and stories I have. Right now, it's time to snuggle in with the kids and watch a Christmas show.