“When We Were Little” Wednesday

When I was little, my grandparents purchased a timeshare in the Great Smoky Mountains. We visited there every spring – usually during the first full week of April, when things around our town simultaneously came to a halt and ran amok due to a sporting event (yes, a sporting event….crazy stuff).

In any case, my family fled town and plunked ourselves down in the middle of the mountains of Tennessee. We wove through mountain roads and wandered through the woods and shopped at cheap souvenir shops and went to outrageous dinner theater shows. It was fabulous, and those were some of the best times of the whole year for me.

My little family and I just returned from a few days in the very place I spent many a spring break as a child, and it was bittersweet. We had a fantastic time, for sure, but it was strange because things have changed. At one point I found myself asking my dad, “Has it always been this way, or did you and Mom successfully shield us from this part?” It was rowdy – rambunctious college students celebrating their week of liberty, mostly – and a little unnerving. It wasn’t as I remembered it, and it was a little sad for me to see it that way.

On subsequent days things were more as I remembered it being, but the whole experience has had me thinking about how things change and how we have to roll with it. We can’t do anything about it – if things are healthy, they move on and evolve and shift and develop, so it’s really a good thing in disguise as a horrific development. Vibrant life is evidenced by constant evolution, which we have to embrace if we are to move forward and grow into the people we are meant to become. Nothing can stay the same, however much we think we would like for it to do so. If it stays the same, it is probably dying.

All of life is that way. It can hurt and cause the heart-wrenching ache of nostalgia, but it’s a good thing. It is. We just have to remember that we own nothing, and are but passing through.

And one (of many) pictures from this past weekend in the mountains:

More to come.

“Organizing Magic,” by Sandra Felton

All right. I cheated.

I told y’all awhile back that I was going to be reading this throughout Lent (read: until Easter) and was going to take it seriously. I felt my life was spinning into complete disorder, and I saw this book as a way to work my way back to the way I wanted things to be.

Well.

It’s a good book. It is. I had to laugh at different points, though, because each chapter tackles an assignment for the day….and some of those assignments, well, didn’t get done. Because, well, they would have taken far more than a day to do. Because they just would have.

So instead of reading it and following it like a manual to orderliness, I read it as I would read one of your blogs. She had interesting suggestions and ideas that came from her own experience, but in the end, I had to take the advice that I received (ironically) from her (in this very book): Take the advice that fits your own life, and ignore the rest. Essentially, it’s what we all have to do with anything we ask someone else about. We can accept their advice for what it is, but ultimately, if implementing their tips and shortcuts into your own life causes more stress than you had before, its – dare I say it? – not worth it.

That said, she really did have some good suggestions for ways to keep my home more in order all along, rather than watching it tailspin into chaos and then desperately trying to reel it back in. I’ve implemented some of them, and some of them I’m still working on. All in all, I do feel like I’m in more control of things. That’s what I was hoping for, so I’m happy.

Marvelous

Me: Do you ever wonder if other families just completely marvel at everything their kids do?

Scott: I don’t know. I hope so.

Me: I know. Me, too.

A Pocket Full of Rocks

Leah seems to have a personality that is prone to hoarding. Wherever she is and whatever she’s doing, I can guarantee that she has a handful (or two) of something, be it rocks, leaves, cereal, beaded necklaces, or bottles of nail polish. It is as though she is in constant fear that either the supply is on the verge of running out or that Mommy is going to swoop in and take it all away from her. (I should mention here that the latter does, in fact, happen a good deal. She’s learned the pattern; when I say, “Whatcha got, Leah?” she takes off running, knowing full well that whatever it is, she probably is about to lose it.)

As I was watching her the other day, I felt so frustrated for her. She had her hands full of little pebbles, but wanted to pick up a leaf. She bent over, over and over, trying to get it with her one spare finger, but couldn’t. She finally gave up, content to walk around with her rocks.

That made me think.

I don’t collect small rocks or dried-up leaves. I do, however, hoard things that I think will make me happy. “If I just had those shoes,” I think, “that’d be all I need.” Replace the word shoes with any of a number of things – cell phone, jeans, CD, car, career, friends – and you have the basic idea of many of my thoughts on any given day.

And I do collect those things. I gather them up, clutching them with all I’ve got, unwilling to let them go because they, I think, are essential. Then something better comes along. I realize that this new thing – this new way of living for something other than myself and my own aspirations of what my life should be – could be the answer. Somewhere in my awareness I know that the new thing is really what I need – it’s to me what the leaf was to Leah, in a matter of speaking – and I want it. I need it, but I don’t have the hands to grab it. There’s no time for it. There’s no room in the life I’ve carefully created. I try to grab at it…try to grasp it with the last finger remaining…but there’s no use. I cannot have that life while simultaneously clutching the useless items I’ve hunted and gathered. Something has to go…and I just hope that this time, it won’t be the one that matters.

Don't store treasures for yourselves here on earth where moths and rust will destroy them and thieves can break in and steal them. But store your treasures in heaven where they cannot be destroyed by moths or rust and where thieves cannot break in and steal them. Your heart will be where your treasure is. (Matthew 6:19-21)

This is what the Lord says: “Don’t let the wise boast in their wisdom, or the powerful boast in their power, or the rich boast in their riches. But those who wish to boast should boast in this alone: that they truly know me and understand that I am the Lord who demonstrates unfailing love and who brings justice and righteousness to the earth, and that I delight in these things. (Jeremiah 9:23-24)

“Mommy and Me” Monday

For years (read: since my 8 year-old niece was Leah’s age) my mom has had some cut-up beaded necklaces of the Mardi Gras variety around for the little ones to play with. They’ve all had fun with them, but Leah seems to have taken a special interest in them. (She tends to be attracted to things others barely notice.) Knowing this, when my mom found a huge vase full of the necklaces at Goodwill, she thought it had Leah’s name written all over it. That was almost 2 months ago, and the child hasn’t gotten bored with them yet. She puts them on…she takes them off…she puts them on…she takes them off…. This happens over and over again, all day. Recently, she has also taken an interest in Mommy getting properly adorned, too, which leads to this sort of scene:

Spiffy. If you were to show up at my house at any given time, the odds are pret-ty good that this is what you’d find. We have fun together. She’s my girl.

Is it cake? Is it a cookie? Who can tell?!

My sweet friend Birdie, who enjoys many Scenes From the Crooked Maple, sent this recipe to me awhile back, and it has been replicated many times since. It is fantastic, though to me, it’s hard to mess up a cookie; even better, you can easily go from dry ingredients to cookies to completely washed dishes in an hour or less. The recipe is so easy that it would probably be a good one for kids to help with.

Without further ado, I present to you…..Birdie’s Cake Cookies.

They look good, don’t they? They are.

Here’s what you need:

1 package of cake mix (Our current favorite is basic yellow cake, but I made some pretty fantastic red velvet ones a few weeks ago. You can try anything you want.)

1/3 cup of oil

2 eggs

Here’s what you do:

Mix the ingredients. (It will be very stiff.) Spoon onto a cookie sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for 10-13 minutes.

Here’s what you can also do:

Add chocolate chips, butterscotch, peanut butter chips, coconut, marshmallows, cranberries, etc.

And here’s what you most certainly will do:

Enjoy. With milk, of course.

The Real Cost of Entertainment

I’ve recently realized that there are a number of things that I allow into my life and my home that I’m not sure I want allowed there. They aren’t bad things, per se, but they are things that have the ridiculous potential to steer my life in a direction I’m not comfortable with.

They make me anxious, unhappy, and critical. They cause my view of life to be something other than what I believe to be healthy and godly.

I allow this – all of this – in the name of entertainment. That’s ridiculous.

I won’t elaborate on all of the things that the Lord is opening my eyes to, because I don’t want anyone to feel badly about them if they aren’t dangerous for you. One such thing, though, is a particular television show.

The King of Queens.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen this show, or if you’ve ever even heard of it. It’s in syndication now, and being at home during the day affords me several opportunities to find it. At first glance, the show is fine. With the basic premise of a youngish couple living in Queens, New York with the wife’s father, it has a basic plot that isn’t dangerous at all.

The execution of the storyline, however, is quite dangerous for me. The wife is manipulative and demanding, and the husband is selfish and childish. They are both rude, prideful, and generally unpleasant. Their relationships with the wife’s father is sad, and his character is belligerent. Their friendships are self-serving, and their marriage is ungodly.

The show, though, is entertaining. It beats the silence which might otherwise fill my house, and I am to often willing to make that trade.

It was only recently that I realized that after watching the show, I am not the person I want to be. From just watching the unhappy lives of these three people, I become unhappy. I am quick to point out things in my own life that I don’t like, and I am unnecessarily critical of the people around me. I lean toward selfish in my own dealings with others, and I find myself unhappy without knowing why.

Once I realized that, I was nauseated. I willingly allowed that into my life and my home. I let myself veer from the path that is right for me just so that I would be entertained for a half an hour. I permitted things I wouldn’t tolerate in my own life to taint my thinking, and that is unacceptable.

There are others, but this is the one that has been burning my heart. I have promised myself that when something takes me toward a life I do not want, it must be banished. It isn’t an option. It is a necessity.

Life Through A Lens

I recently joined a photography challenge group on Facebook. A very talented friend introduced it to me and, though I was really scared about placing myself alongside legitimate photographers, I thought it sounded like fun. We have weekly challenges to complete, and I’m really enjoying finding out my assignments and seeking out ways to capture the topic.

I’m finding that it’s a special thing to look at the world that way. If you look at everything as a potential photographic moment, everything seems more beautiful. Everything looks different when you think of how it might look through a lens or even in a frame.

There is a certain beauty to everything, and it’s exciting to look for it. It makes life look more like I think it’s supposed to look.

Carpet CPR Spot and Stain Remover

Our carpet was nasty. My precious little daughter loves to carry her little snacks around with her and, as a result, there are unidentified cakey spots all over our poor family room carpet.

Or….there were. There was the fig newton over by the love seat, the juice by the recliner, and the petrified banana piece under the coffee table.

Nice.

But…..they’re gone now. Gone, I tell you. Bye-bye, as Leah says.

I recently received a big bottle of Carpet CPR Spot and Stain Remover to try out, and I’m so glad I did. I really am. I sprayed it on…..let it sit…..and rubbed it off. The spots were gone. Bye-bye. The beige carpet was, in a strange twist of events….beige.

Imagine.

I’m a believer. I’m pleased to announce, too, that a full-sized sample of Carpet CPR Spot and Stain Remover can be yours for free! This is a $9 value….but quantities are limited, so act NOW. Seriously. Visit the website to find out more. You’ll be glad you did.

The Legalese: I received a full-sized sample of the Carper CPR Spot and Stain Remover to use and review. The opinions expressed in this review are mine and mine alone.

Leather CPR Cleaner and Conditioner

A few weeks ago, I was given a terrific opportunity to review Leather CPR Cleaner and Conditioner, a conditioning cleanser for leather furniture. Our couches are leather and, what with the addition of a tiny little person who likes to share her snacks with anything and anyone around, were looking pret-ty sad. Huge blogs of ick all over the place. Some looked like paint splatters….some looked more like smears…..some were more like spills…..and some, well, some I didn’t want to look too closely at.

I promise our house isn’t gross. We just have a toddler. I even took pictures of the gook and ick, but decided at the last minute not to include them in this post. I have a shred of pride left, and am not willing to let it go.

Trust me when I say it wasn’t pretty, though.

And trust me now when I say that our couches (which we bought secondhand) look infinitely better today than they did the day we brought them home. I smeared them down with the Leather CPR stuff yesterday, and they look fantastic today.

Fantastic. Truly.

They’re clean of the gook and ick and – AND – the stuff conditioned and softened the leather. It’s very, very nice.

Fortunately for you, the company has decided to pass on to you the same generosity they imparted on me. If your leather furniture is goopy and is in need of some serious help, you can receive a sample of Leather CPR Cleaner and Conditioner (a nearly $13 value) for free by visiting their website. Quantities are limited, though, so I suggest you hurry!

Give it a try. Your furniture will thank you…and your husband will think you’re brilliant.

And the legal stuff: I received a full-sized sample of Leather CPR Cleaner and Conditioner in return for doing this review. The opinions expressed are my own.

$3.83

Some of our consignment sale loot

The consignment sale of all consignment sales was last weekend. We’re talking two church gymnasiums full of everything you can imagine that might possibly pertain to someone under the age of 12. Yeah. It’s big, and this was the first time I actually consigned anything. I earned almost as much as I spent, which was pretty fabulous.

I bought a lot. I usually focus on getting “staple” items for Leah at those sales. They hold them every 6 months, so I focus on getting the essential items for the next couple of seasons. I was very proud of myself; I went in with a mental list of the clothing items I wanted to hunt and left with, basically, those things alone. I didn’t even peek at the toys or books or videos or anything. Clothes and shoes. Shoes and clothes. I did well.

When Leah and I left the sale, we were famished. Because it would have been close to an hour before we got home and I was hoping that Leah would begin her nap in the car, I decided it would be best to stop into McDonalds. Despite how well I had done at the sale, though, I was mentally beating myself up. We’re living on a very definite budget, and I felt guilty for stopping for lunch when I knew there was food at home. Regardless, we had to eat, and soon, so we stopped.

In the drive thru, I ordered our food and pulled up. The lady in front of us seemed to be taking longer than normal, so I entertained Leah by popping up and around the back of my seat until it was our turn. Once we got to window, I – cash in hand – leaned out to pay.

“Did you have the double cheeseburger?” the cashier asked.

“Sure did!”

“Okay,” she said with a smile. “The lady in front of you paid for it. Said to tell you lunch was on her today.” Apparently there had been some mix-up in the sequencing of the orders, and they told her my total originally…which she paid…and then they corrected it and told her her own total. Rather than have them right the wrong, she handed over more money and received only half of the food for which she had paid.

I was speechless, and literally fought back tears as I placed my money back in my wallet. As the woman in the Xterra drove off, I waved my arm out the window, but I don’t think she saw me. There was nothing I could do to express my gratitude. All I could do was accept it. (A few minutes later, I wished I had had the presence of mind to offer to pay for the car behind me in line…but then thought that probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. With my luck, that one would have been a 15-passenger van full of preschoolers waiting on their Happy Meals. That, I assure you, I would not have been able to afford.)

I’ve been thinking about this since Friday. I doubt very seriously that the woman thought that morning, “I’m going to bless someone today. I’m going to do something extraordinary. I’m going to be unnecessarily generous and make someone’s day.” I don’t know – maybe she did. It’s entirely possible. Either way, though, I want to be more like her. I want to have the presence of mind to do something unexpected and brighten someone’s day. I want to seek out ways to help others. I want to have eyes to see the needs in front of me…and even to see the needs that aren't right in front of (or behind) me. I want to be more like that.

Leah, thoroughly enjoying some free french fries

“Mommy and Me” Monday

Krystyn had a fantastic idea: INTENTIONALLY take pictures of yourself with your kids. On purpose. Intentionally. Every week. And share them.

Y’all know how I feel about doing things intentionally, right? You should. I’m pro-intentional, as a rule. I’m joining in on Krystyn’s “Mommy and Me” Mondays because I think it’s a good idea….and I like to be intentional. Intentionally.

Basically, if you want to participate, you head over to her blog and link up on Monday’s post. Write a post including a picture of yourself with your wee ones (or your wee furbabies, if necessary) and a little anecdote about the wee one. It doesn’t have to pertain to the picture you’re including. Easy enough.

Here we go. This week’s picture:

And this week’s anecdote:

It actually does relate to the picture. Leah is currently o.b.s.e.s.s.e.d. with anything that flies. She first noticed flying objects the other day when there was a pretty serious car accident right outside our neighborhood and a helicopter came to airlift the victim to the hospital. She was enthralled by the thing as it hovered overhead and finally zoomed off. Since then, we’ve noticed an increase in sightings: airplanes, helicopters, butterflies, birds….you name it. In this particular shot, Leah was more interested in the hawk circling overhead than in looking at the camera. I wanted the picture, though, so I tried again:

That’ll have to do. (She’s looking at the cat, that time.)

Heart and Soul

The photos included in this post have absolutely nothing to do with the post's content. Nothing.

I like to think of myself as something of an amateur photographer, though, and Leah's my favorite subject.....so I have lots of pictures I like to share. Enjoy.

Once a week I have a “Mommy Day.” I visit with my accountability partner in the morning, and then head to Atlanta Bread Company for lunch (by myself – hurray!) and some writing. It’s wonderful.

There is a man I see every week. He works at ABC, straightening up the lobby and dining room area, clearing people’s tables as they finish, and enthusiastically greeting everyone who comes in. He is a very nice man; aside from the work he does in the restaurant, though, I knew nothing about him.

Until today.

As I type this, I’m sitting in my usual booth in the back corner. The nice man is chatting passionately with a girl two tables over, and it is clear to me that the subject of their conversation is very important to him. He’s telling her about different Native American Indian tribes and the injustices done to them. He’s passionate about it. His hands gesture and his face expresses more emotion than I would have expected from him on this – or really, any – subject.

See, I have to confess that I judged him. Because of the work that he does, I assumed that he was, somehow, of lesser intelligence. I assumed that about him, knowing virtually nothing of him. I figured – in my upper middle class Caucasian way – that he was doing this job because there was nothing else for him. Listening to him, though, I realize how far off base I was in my assumptions. His monologue – which it really is, because his enthusiasm for the subject doesn’t allow anyone else to really participate in the discussion – digs up facts from my United States history classes that had disappeared into the recesses of my mind. He brings up names and events from history as though he read of them in today’s paper. He loves this subject, and knows more than most anyone else about it. That much has become clear.

So today, when I leave my warm booth in the corner, I will know more about this nice man. I do not know his name, because my eyesight is poor and I cannot read his nametag, and I do now know his story. I know more about him, though. I know of his passion, and I know something of what consumes him. And through that simple fact, I’ve learned (or relearned) a very important lesson.

No one is as they seem. Everyone has a passion. An interest. A story. There is a lot more to people than you could ever know by looking at their faces. There is a life behind every pair of eyes you’ll see today, and a heart and a soul that longs to be expressed.

I’ve learned that today, and I hope the lesson sticks with me. I’m challenging myself – and you, too, if you’ll let me – to reach out and try to uncover some of what hides under the surface. Even the most closed of people has something they long to tell if given the opportunity.

And if it had…

My Bible and journal

For the past several weeks at church, there has been a persistent announcement for everyone to bring in their “used, good” books for a sale to benefit our women’s ministry. The sale began this past Sunday, and when I left church part-way through the second service on Sunday I found an oasis of good reads in the church lobby. I was fully prepared to pass it all by (because I really, really don’t need any more books right now) until I saw that there were some children’s board books on the tables. Well, now, you know I had to stop. I handed Leah over to her daddy for a few minutes and began to browse.

I found two books I *had* to have for Leah, dropped my donation into the basket, and joined up with Scott and Leah. Leah and I headed home so she could get her nap in before playtime at the park, and Scott headed back into worship to finish his duties as sound-guy extraordinaire.

At about 12:40 or so, I was sitting in the recliner when Scott came home. In his hand he held my Bible and journal. Suddenly, I knew that something very bad could have happened…but the fact that he was holding the two precious books said that it hadn’t.

“You need to thank Josh and Diane.”

“What?” I said. “Where did I leave those?”

“On the book table. People were flipping through them, wanting to buy them. They stopped anyone from getting it and brought them to me.”

Oh. My. Goodness. My heart froze in my chest and I mentally admonished myself for my carelessness.

I had left…..and someone had almost…..and I almost lost…..forever…..and people could have read…..

I shake just thinking about it. As I tremble, though, a thought comes to me.

I wonder if it really would have been the end of the world. Yes, I would have lost the Bible Scott bought me when we were dating, and all of the notes and highlighting and memos that have been recorded there over the past 5 years. Had my journal found a new home, many, many sermon notes and scripture passages would have been available for whoever happened on them. On top of those, though, poems and prayers and journal entries that have cathartically ministered to me in some pretty dark times would have been there for someone else. Perhaps for someone who needed it. Perhaps for someone who needed those more than I ever will again.

Perhaps my words are not for me once they leave my pen. The act of writing, maybe, is for me….while the reading and reflecting are for someone else.

Perhaps. And from there, I move forward with my blog.

Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God. For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows. If we are distressed, it is for your comfort and salvation; if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which produces in you patient endurance of the same sufferings we suffer. And our hope for you is firm, because we know that just as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our comfort. (2 Corinthians 2:3-7)

“When We Were Little” Wednesday

When I was little, my younger sister Ashley and I shared a room, as I’ve mentioned before. In elementary school, I have very distinct memories of our mom coming in to get us up for school when we were in elementary school.

We had to be at the bus stop at 8:00, and at 7:20, Mom would come into our room. (I can’t even imagine getting ready that quickly in the morning at this stage in my life….but that’s another post.) “Good morning, girls…..it’s 7:20….” And then she would sing to us.

“Good morning, Mr. Sunshine. What makes you come so soon? You used to come at twelve o’clock, but now you come at noon.”

I love those memories. I love that we didn’t have to depend on alarm clocks when we were that little, and I love that Mom was there to get us up in that way. I sing that same little song to Leah in the mornings now, and I like to think that maybe if I keep doing that kind of thing, she’ll have sweet memories when she gets older, too.