A Break

So, did any of you watch that video? I love that group! (Lost Dogs)

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I'm going to be taking a break from this blog for a bit. There are too many things going on in my mind, my heart, my life, and my extended family. I'm starting to feel like Bilbo: butter scraped over too much bread.

I hope you are enjoying the summer! It's flying by, isn't it?

Mother-in-Law Part Deux

A few weeks ago I wrote a post about Mother-in-Laws. Specifically, I wanted to know how on earth to be one.
I have a new friend who gave me the best advice yet:

Wear beige and shut-up.

If they're old enough to marry, it's their problem.

(Good advice for simply parenting adult children. Or should I say Un-parenting?)

It Just Ain't Fair

If nail polish determined femininity, I'd be a man.

Last week I sat here and contemplated my toes.

I've often thought my toes were Fred Flinstone toes. Wide, fat, and ugly.

I sat here and looked at those Flinstone toes and thought, well, maybe a little nail polish will help them look more feminine. Maybe it would help me feel more feminine. So I went to the store and bought some pink nail polish.

I am not a pink person. I didn't realize it until after I'd polished my toes, but I know it now. I removed the pink nail polish and the next day back to the store I went. This time I thought I'd try a deep burgundy. Maybe that's my color.
Now, the label on the nail polish said "Chocolate Truffle", but it looked like deep burgundy, so I bought it. Guess who was right?
That stuff looked like dark Dove chocolate had melted onto my toe nails. I may love to eat dark Dove chocolate, but to wear it on my toes? I don't think so.

I quickly grabbed the nail polish remover and got rid of the "chocolate look". Then I sat here and contemplated my nail polish and my toes once more. How much more money do I want to waste on this project? I looked at the pink. Nope. The Chocolate Truffle. No way. But then I had a brain storm! Pink and dark chocolate together just may make a deep burgundy!

I got out a paper plate, some Q-tips and both bottles of nail polish. I poured out a little pink liquid onto the plate, then a little pile of chocolate and, like Van Gough, I carefully mixed them together. It worked! I had thee perfect color! So, I painstakingly began to polish my toes. This is when my real problems began.

I am 2 years away from being half a century old and I wear bi-focals. Well, even with my glasses on my toes were so far away I could hardly see where my toe nails ended and my toes began. I slopped that burgundy concoction all over my foot. And, by the time I had 3 toes done I'd run out of thee perfect color and had to mix some more.

So, I poured out a little of each color, blended them together and finished foot #1. Then I noticed two things. the first thing I saw was that 3 toes had one lovely shade of burgundy, the other 2 had a completely different shade. The other thing I noticed was that my toe nails had grown wider and longer. Oh wait. That's just polish. I grabbed the nail polish remover, (luckily I'd thought of buying some when I purchased the nail polish) and a Q-tip and tried to remove the nail polish from the last two toes and the skin around toes #1, 2, and 3.

I bet you can guess what happened and you're right. Even with my bi-focals on I couldn't see very well so I accidentally removed half the polish from toe #2. I now had 2 1/2 toes polished. Back to the drawing board.

I removed all the polish from each toe, and mixed another batch of polish together. This time I made sure to make enough for all ten toes. Then I began the process of trying to polish only the nails on each foot. However, it took so long, because I couldn't see the nails very well, that by the time I was done with 7 digits my little pile of paint had dried up.

So, then. Back to mixing. Then polishing. Then realizing the new color didn't match the other 7 toes. Then removing all of it. Then trying again. Then getting them all done only to remove half the polish off each toe as I tidied up the area around the polished nails. So I had to remove it all and start over again.

This whole adventure took about 90 minutes. When I looked at the clock and realized how much time I'd spent on Femininity I was shocked. I also realized that men have it easy. They have to work hard at not looking masculine.

I have waved the white flag on my battle with nail polish. It's over. I'm now wasting time Googling "Craft Projects Using Nail Polish."

It just ain't fair...

Off He Goes

In less than two weeks our third son will be leaving us. He will walk out the door with thoughts of rafting, meeting new friends, caving, and late nights without "The Parents" telling him to get some sleep. He will be just slightly nervous about being so far away from home for the first time in his life, but thrilled about being so far away from home for the first time in his life.
Two weeks later he will come home, exhausted. Thoughtful. Overwhelmed. Prayerful and challenged. Hopefully.

When our oldest son was entering high school, we sat down and made a list of "extra" requirements (things that aren't "legally required" but are "dad & mom" required) in order for him to receive his diploma. Things like:

-know how to change the oil and a flat tire on a car
-be able to do your own laundry
-know how to cook at least a few meals
-be able to sew a button on a shirt
-pay your bills and follow a budget

There are other things on the list, but I'm sure you get the idea. Along with that list, we made it a requirement that he, (and his brothers) must attend a two week Summit conference at least once prior to graduation.

We want our sons to know what they believe and why they believe it. More and more young people are leaving the church and their relationship with Christ once they leave home and we don't want any of our sons to become one of those statistics.

Just the other day the importance of knowing what he believes and why was slammed home to #3. He was at work, plugging along doing his own thing, when one of his fellow employees suddenly asked, "So, do you believe all that Jesus ----?"
"Yes, I do."
"Why?!"

Our oldest son has been in college for the last 4 years and he's run into the same kinds of questions. Some people simply want to argue or defend their "unbeliefs", while others are genuinely searching for answers they can trust. Here are just a few of the questions he's been asked while attending college:

What is a human being? What is our purpose?

What happens to a person when he dies?

How do we know what is right and wrong?

If God is a God of love, why are there so many bad things going on in the world?

Is there a God and what is He like?

How do you know the bible is true?

What if you're wrong?

Is Jesus God and God's Son? How can that be?

Is Satan real?

Is the Bible accurate in all of its teachings?


I must admit my faith is based pretty much on "faith" alone. Our oldest son's faith is a mixture of faith and logic. He can sit and reason with people and answer their toughest, deepest questions with logical, practical facts as well as faith.

If someone were to corner me for a little chat, I would have a dreadful time trying to answer those kinds of questions. Summit does have a one week course for educators and I've toyed with the idea of going once our little guy isn't quite so little. In the meantime we'll send our sons, one at a time...

A Grave Mistake

My third pregnancy was a nightmare through and through. I won't bore you with all the details-just know that I spent the first 3 months of that time on the couch. If I so much as moved a muscle I had to run to the bathroom to throw up. I couldn't even keep water down.
Things finally settled down around the beginning of the 4th month. I was able to sit up! Then I was able to stand! After that I began to function again. Cooking, cleaning, and the best part? Being able to interact with my then 5 and 3 year old sons. It felt sooooo good to laugh with them and play and talk to them again. I'd really missed them.
That Thanksgiving Day was wonderful. We were having an unusually warm November-the sun was shining and it was gorgeous outside. So, after dinner we decided to take our little guys for a walk. We were living in an apartment and nearby there was a small cemetery. Somehow that's where our feet led us. My husband was walking through the cemetery, keeping an eye on our 6 year old. He was running around "grave hopping" and reading each and every name and date on every single headstone.
(I should stop here and tell you that our 3 year old son had a slight speech impediment-he couldn't really say his "R's".)

Anyway-while my husband and older son were traipsing around looking at all the tombstones, I was meandering through the cemetary with our 3 year old son, James. I was only half aware of what he was saying; it felt so good to be "up" and "out" again. But, all of a sudden that boy said something that really caught my attention.
We came upon a grave where there was a little cross-it was probably only 12 inches high. James stopped in his tracks and stared at that little cross, a curious exprression on his face. Then he shrugged and said, in his best little Elmer Fudd voice, "Look at dat cwoss Mommy. Jesus wasn't vewy big, was he?"