When you pray...

She was so adorable there, in her chair scooted up so close to the table. Plate of food before her, smile wide.  And she closed her hands and opened her words to pray:

"Thank you, Loyd, for the pizza...umm, and pizza...and..." Pauses to look at me. Holding up a breadstick she asks, "Mommy, what's this?"

"A breadstick," I smile.

"Umm, okay..." Closes her eyes once more. "And thank You, Loyd, for breadstick. Amen."

And my mommy heart swelled. Not with pride but joy that she's learning, too. Learning to name them- each and all- all the things she is thankful for. Because if we can name them, instead of blanket-like pray thanks for everything, we can learn to name the ways God is faithful, trustworthy, gracious, generous, sovereign, good. If she can hear me spill thanks instead of complaints, gratitude instead of selfish attitude, maybe then she'll believe me when I say I love the Lord I spill thanks to.

Because doesn't our attitude toward someone show how we truly feel about them?

How will she believe I feel towards God if all she hears is me complaining about what He's provided?

But how will she believe I feel towards God is she catches me spilling over thanks.

Thanks.

And if my words spill thanks perhaps my heart does to?

Thank You...

For a 2 year-old who names thanks
for pizza
and breadsticks
and the husband who brought them
and a night the oven (and momma) got to rest
for Christmas lights
and the true meaning of Christmas
for hard situations that bring light to your soft heart for me
for a  friend who loves me who I can call for opinions and advice
for date night
and Nana
and Your love for me that stretches farther than I ever will know

You have no idea

how much I love you.

Last night, we curled tight together on the tiny love seat and locked legs and squeezed middles tight. We had just finished a spontaneous spa time- soaked our feet in feet baths and clipped nails. You thought it'd be a good idea to sit in your bath and you were a smiling soaking mess by the time we were done.  I just kept thinking, "God has given me a daughter to share my world with. I am so blessed. I am so smitten with love."

And so, after our feet were dry and our clothes were dry, we cuddled close together on that tiny couch and held each other close and even sang that song you love: "This Little Light of Mine". And when I sing it with you, your smallish voice raising octaves in laughter and smiles, I can't help but think you are my little light, shining, beaming. You have no idea...

And we sat for a long time, long after your bed time, and we just held each other and talked about all the things important to you. And I gazed at this beautiful brown-eyed girl and wondered how so fast you became who you are now? I remember this little bundle, all 5 lbs. 8 ounces, wrapped in way more blankets than are needed in late April, bundled tight in a car seat, coming home. And I sat in the back with you staring at your every move, observing every breath, and wondered how I would ever again care about anything else in all the world. And your every move delighted and terrified me. You filled me with wonder.

And finally, last night, your little eyes started to droop and your voice grew quieter. "Mommy's tired." I whispered into your tiny ear. "Yeah, we're tired." You agreed. "Let's go to your room." You bargained. But I swept you up and took you to your room. Tucked my princess into bed after 4 books and prayers and more and more hugs. And my heart was so full I thought there'd never be a feeling in all the world that could replace this one. Never.

You have no idea how much. And that's okay. But baby girl, I love you. Always.

Love Mom.

Priceless Moments

It started as something on a whim. I helped the ten year-old clean his room and found a small dry erase board and a marker. When we'd finished and he ran downstairs I wrote on the board:

"You are wonderful. You are amazing. You are loved. I love you so much. Auntie Tricey (which is what he calls me)." And left it next to his bed.

He never said a thing about it. I didn't expect him to. Just hoped the message was received deep down into his being. Prayed and prayed he would hear it.

Then...today... A great day with some very not so great moments. I was on the receiving end of harsh, harsh words from someone whose feelings were hurt because of something I had decided. I stood by my decision, but those words. Those words racked me to the core. I was sad when the ten year-old came home from school so I explained to him, "Someone said very mean things to me today. It really hurt my feelings. There may be times in your life when someone does something like that to you. Remember to not say harsh things back at them, even if you really want to. Remember that you don't need to defend yourself. Remember to still honor God."

He looked thoughtful. Said he was sorry that happened. (He can be so mature at times.) Then we moved on with our busy afternoon...

At bedtime finally, I slip out of the infant's room and gather enough energy to change into my pajamas and get ready to plop onto the bed. But then I see it, on my pillow. The small dry erase board. A message written in ten-year-old pen:

"I love you auntie that you bless me. Roses are red, ice cream is cool and so are you! From Kameron to Auntie Tricey. Look on back"  So naturally, I looked on the back.

"Jesus loves you yes I know, for the Bible tells me so Auntie-O. Little ones come to Him, they are weak but He is strong- and so are you Auntie. Smiley Face."

Smiley face indeed.  What a way to end this day.

Great day, not so great moments, but other priceless ones.

Memory Monday: How I've Learned a Little What Love Is (Happy anniversary a few weeks late)

We were young. Oh my gosh we were young. You handsome and cool in that sweater vest I hated. Me all 20 and wild and carefree and a little wiser than I'd been a few years before.  You came, that night while I sat at the "Welcome" desk for Navigators. You came and you said you were looking for ways to get involved. And we smiled and talked casually. And yes, yes you tease me even now, I gave you my number. Best decision I'd made all year.

You called 8 days later, (maybe I counted) and we talked for two hours and it seemed we had more in common than not. I laughed, I remember, so so much. You were funny! You're still so funny.

That was August. August 2003. Babe, we've come a long way.

And we started "hanging" out. Coffee shops, movies, just getting together. We poured over each other's writing. We listened to Sade and Miles Davis and you enlightened me in music and I enlightened you in the art of cookie baking and my mad basketball skills. 

And in January you asked me, officially, you asked me "to go steady", because you're silly that way. And I said yes and by February knew I was in love. It was the best secret I'd ever kept because we promised we wouldn't say it till you put a shiny ring on my finger and promised to say it forever. 

And oh there were some bumps in the road- like former relationships and worries and what ifs. But we made it babe. Made it all the way to May of the next year when you, in front of our friends and our youth group and my mom, you got down on one knee and asked me that question. And you were so nervous you forgot to say I love you but I forgave you because you showed it, with that ring and with that knee bent, you showed it.

3 1/2 months later you proved it when you said "I do" on that day in August with the perfect weather and the handsome tuxedo and your hair cut just the way I like it. And I remember thinking, is this real? Is it really real? And you were. And you still are.

Man I love you. I can't believe the years that have gone by. Can't believe the way we've grown and melded and figured out just what love is (think we'll be figuring that out forever). Can't believe the things we used to fight about. Can't believe the things we've learned along the way.

You've given me happiness, hope, a safe haven, strong arms, wisdom beyond my years, 2 beautiful children, laughter, peace and more love than I know what to do with at times. You lead me, you love me. You are patient and collected when I am worried and fearing. You are calm when I am a tempest. 

I'm still right more than you are. :) 

Thanks for 6 years of marriage and 8 of knowing you. I would never dream of getting off this ride. 

Love you.

Yep- Family Dinners are Important

Statistics regarding family dinner time can be overwhelming! According to WebMD, studies have shown that many kids who eat dinner with their families get better grades in school, are more likely to avoid alcohol and drugs, and don't struggle with obesity. In addition, these children often tend to feel that their parents are proud of them, talk more and discuss serious problems, and experience less stress at home. 

Family dinner time isn't too challenging with little ones who aren't involved in extra curricular activities, but I can see how this will become more difficult as our children get older and have the opportunity to be do more things outside of the home! My 10-year-old nephew is staying with us for the school year and already we are seeing this time being threatened with upcoming basketball practices, school activities and even church activities! We have a firm stance right now that we will fight for dinners at home. Even if that means (gasp!) saying no to other activities that conflict with that!

So...I was browsing the internet searching for some ice-breaker games last week when I came across a dinner party planning site. The site had many ideas for throwing dinner parties, including Family Themed Dinner Nights. Intrigued, I clicked on the link and fell in love!  The site suggested having a themed family dinner some time and then showed several different theme ideas. Considering how I already felt about family dinners and also loving the idea of adding a bit flair of fun to an already great family tradition, I quickly set to work planning our family themed dinner. I chose Tuesday nights for family themed dinner nights as that is also our family game night. This first week (last night) was a surprise for all of the family except for my mom who I invited to join us and asked to use some of her decorations.  

I chose a 50's Diner Theme, so for dinner that night I made homemade cheese Runzas and circle fries, with fruit cups, and cookie bars and ice-cream for dessert. 

I used Pandora on my ipod to play some 50's themed music. And...

...before the kids got up from nap, (and after banning my nephew from the dining room) Mom and I hung some simple decorations...

And set the table.

 

I had a great centerpiece, but "Lil Mama" destroyed it two days ago. Oh well! 

We had a great time at dinner! Everyone loved the decor and the theme! 

And after dinner we all settled in to play some games! 

It was so much fun!

I love doing little things to show my family I love them and that spending time with them is the most important thing I do each day! What are some family traditions you have?

Next week- Fiesta Night!

WebMD article here!

My Daughter Needs a Lawyer

Look at this face.

Cute huh? Adorable even? You may even say, innocent looking.  You may say that. I know the truth.


Let me present the case:

The Crime:  Strawberry Theft

The Players:

The Suspect: "Tiny Tot"

The Pawn: "Innocent Infant"

The Cop: Simply "Momma" 

(not pictured, because, well, no one reads a blog to see pictures of moms)

The Scene:

It was an ordinary lunch time, 1200 hours on Tuesday, August 30th. Tiny Tot had ignored her sandwich and pretzels and devoured all of her strawberries, and then demanded more. Momma promised more strawberries when Tiny Tot ate the rest of her food. A tantrum ensued. (From Tiny Tot, of course.) No sandwich and pretzels were eaten, no strawberries rewarded.

The phone rings and wakes Innocent Infant.

Momma gets up from the table to answer the phone and then retrieves Innocent Infant from his car seat. She places him in his exersaucer with some cheerios to munch while she talks to her mom, all the while glancing at the angry toddler at the table. Tiny Tot's wheels are turning. She is plotting. Strategizing. Something within her snaps.

Distracted Momma doesn't see her get down from her chair.

A few minutes later, it's quiet in the house. Too quiet. Momma walks to the living room to find Tiny Tot sitting "innocently" on the couch. But something is amiss. She surveys the area. Tiny Tot? Check? Innocent Infant? Check. But what's that on his exersaucer tray...?

Strawberries. A lot of strawberries. Whole strawberries with tiny bites taken out of them.

Momma checks Innocent Infant's mouth but it contains only cheerios. After clearing away the strawberries, she then rushes to the kitchen to check the counter where she left the plastic container of strawberries, but it is gone. Then she spots it. In the trash can. Empty.

Walking back into the living room she notices Tiny Tot's eyes intently on her. She also notices she is chewing something and there is red dripping down her chin.

Guilty!

While Momma was distracted, angry Tiny Tot, tired of being denied strawberries, grabbed the container of strawberries down from the counter, took bites of all of them and then FRAMED Innocent Infant by leaving the strawberry remains on his exersaucer! She even disposed of the container! Criminal mastermind in the making.

Where did that land her? Behind bars.

2-4 years. She may get out on good behavior.

Memory Monday- How I Maybe Still Love to Play Cards

We sit across from each other at the breakfast nook table. I deal out cards as his feet dangle just above the floor. He had asked, after a game of Go Fish- "Do you know any other card games, Auntie?" I nodded, remembering.


Late evenings, two girls 29 months apart sit giggling on their bedroom floor. The older deals out cards and asks the younger, "Remember what you can put on a Jack? You always forget."

The younger smiles and says she remembers- readies her hand.

The older yells, "Go!" and they flip over their cards and laugh and squeal- "nine, ten, nine, eight, seven- no I was going to put mine there- too slow!"

There is a lull in the game as each surveys her hand. Both decide they can do nothing more and flip another card, more laughter ensues. During another lull, the younger stares intently at her cards and then up at her big sister. "Can I put an "A" on the Jack?" Her sister laughs softly, affectionately. "I told you you never remember. Nope, only a Queen or a 10." The younger frowns at her hand, but the older realizes a play and slaps down three more cards. "I win!" she yells triumphantly. "Let's play again!"

I finish dealing and stare at the sandy blond-haired boy before me. He looks like his dad but his smile is all his mom. That and his stubbornness and tender affection, too. 


"What's this game called, Auntie?" 


"Speed." I answer. The word gets caught in my throat. Why's it so hard to remember?


"Oooh, I don't know how to play, but I know it's gonna be fast!" He gets wide-eyed. Excited. Lord, he's so much like her, I say to Him Whom I know is ever-present. Help me keep it together, here.


I laugh and explain the rules. There are a few more than he'd like, but once we get going he laughs and declares he loves this game. I hesitate, then say,"Your mom and I used to play this all the time. She always beat me."


He smiles big, still so proud of her, I think. But then he announces, "I bet I could beat her." I smile at this competitive streak in him. He got that honest, too. 


"I don't know," I tease, "She was really really good!"


We sit in comfortable silence for a while. He thinking who knows what, and I...wishing for just a second for a chance to see that match-up and thousands more. 


Then- "Do you want to play again, Auntie?"


"Yep." I say finally. Thankful for this match-up right before me. 

When Words Do Flow

When words don't come I sit and doodle or think or trace the dated page over and over. I stare at the page and wonder.

It's a part of me. Writing. How I work things out, how I see things clearly. How I reach out or dig up or pile over.  But when words don't come I can't force them. They've a mind of their own and sometimes I think I'm just the vessel they use to make their voices heard. But I need them like water and I want to flow like it, too. Flow words like water. But when the tap is dry there is nothing I can do. Maybe.

But then, words are still a part of me, whether written or spoken or read or thought or heard. And so sometimes, when words don't come, I find myself thinking on them anyway. On the words I used with my husband or the cashier or my children. I think on the words I let myself take in through the t.v. or the radio or through the lips of a friend. I wonder on the tone I used to deliver them, the attitude I had to receive them, the motive I had before I said them.

I think, too, about His Words. How He promised that what He wanted them to achieve they would. Like water to the earth. (Isaiah 55:9-11) I think about how He is the Word, (John 1:1) and the power of Words. How they can build a person high or bring them crashing, falling, low. How they can fill and enrich or drain and destroy. How is a person after walking away from my words? How am I?

When words don't come, I take a moment and ask- what would people say, how would they feel, how might they live- when they do come? And if I can't say, with certainty, they would feel blessed, they would feel loved, they would feel uplifted, they would feel filled- well, then. If that is the case, then God take my words and transform them into something beautiful. Not for me but for your glory.

Unless words please the Lord there is no point at all in saying them, or typing them, or reading them, or hearing them, or thinking them.

"May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be pleasing in your sight, oh Lord, my rock and my redeemer."Psalm 19:13-14

Let it be so...

Having my Monster Cookies and eating them, too!

I made promises this summer that I intend to keep, even if that means making some sacrifices. For instance, I promised the Texan and one of my former students, a fifth grade girl we'll call "Julie" (I don't know why) who I am providing care for this summer, that I would bake with them this week. So bake we shall! 

Today we made Monster Cookies. They are good. They are very very, sinfully, good. The kids thoroughly enjoyed making this recipe but of course, as is the case with all good cookie recipes, they enjoyed eating the cookies the most. I didn't take any pictures during the process because I was too busy drooling. But, here's some of the finished product. (Some, mind you, because we have already eaten a considerable amount and we also sent 3 bags home with Julie. Quart sized bags not gallon, because I have trouble parting with cookies.)

This is an awesome recipe from my friend Mindee's blog. In fact, we'll be making most of her recipes all week long. Tomorrow is her Devil's Food cake, and Wednesday her cinnamon rolls. Thursday we're cheating and making a homemade ice cream sandwich recipe that I found online which doesn't actually require any baking at all, but it looks yummy and simple. SIMPLE. And I may have implied that this Friday we would take a field trip to a local gourmet cupcake shop to gorge ourselves learn more about baking.

It's a tough job, training young children in the culinary way they should go. But...I will sacrifice my time (and apparently my waistline) to answer the call.

The recipe! Just scroll down a bit!

What we all need

It had been a long day for my little boy. His little 7-month-old body was tight and tense and long, loud cries escaped from his mouth. Tears ran down his face which was contorted into a defeated and angry expression. It was bed time. He was done. The day of breaking in 6 new teeth had proven too challenging for him. He hadn't napped all day, hadn't been too interested in playing or laughing and now, now he was just done.

I scooped him out of his bouncer chair and turned the lights down in his cozy room, turned his sound machine on low- the sound of soothing rain, sank down into the recliner in his room and I nestled him close- one last time to nurse before bed. And he settled. He settled. His little eyes stopped seeping tears and his body relaxed and he melted into me. He was finally where he wanted to be. I looked down at his sweet little face, the face of the one I love, and I cried.

I cried.

Big, heavy tears shaking from me, maybe shaking me loose? Because, Oh God, isn't that where I want to be? Maybe where we all want to be? Oh to be nestled close to You where You can soothe the things that hurt. That have hurt so long. That hurt so deep. Because in 13 days the calendar will mark the date when she took her last breath 3 years ago and I'm still hurting for her, that sister who left too early. And there are other things, too, things I don't understand and can't make sense of but that hurt or make me pause and shake my head and wonder why? Isn't close to You, oh God, where You nestle me close and rock me still and settle me? As he settles- sweet little child- in my arms, I cry big, hard tears and wish and pray that You could settle me, too.

Isn't it what we all want? Oh God, ain't it what we all need?

And immediately, (oh, that hard hard lesson of gratitude), immediately I feel thankful that You are the settling type of God.


A furious squall came up, and the waves broke over the boat, so that it was nearly swamped...The disciples woke him [Jesus] and said to him, "Teacher, don't you care if we drown?" He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, "Quiet! Be still!" Then the wind died down and it was completely calm...


..."Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!" (excerpts from Mark 4: 35-41)


Who is this? Oh, He's my settling type of God.


He does care. Care if we drown. If the sorrows of life- the hardness of life, the "why's?" and wonders and things that make us sadly shake our heads- threaten to swallow us up, to drown us completely. He cares. So when the day has been too long and the challenges of life have proven to be more than we can bear, He draws us close, nestles us close, and brings the stillness and the calm that we all need.

In that room, that quiet room where my little boy sleeps nestled and firm in the arms of a momma who loves him, I cry crazy gratitude that You are the God who settles and that I can sleep firmly nested in arms of a Father who loves me. Who calms the storm.

Isn't that what we need, oh God? Isn't that what we all need?

60/30 Time

Right now at "Blessed" it is Sixty-Thirty Time. When I was little this time was called "Grown Folks Time"- and I hated it. Now, as a "grown folk" I can't think of anything more wonderful. Sixty-Thirty is a name inspired by a local camp I used to volunteer at. There it was called "Thirty-Thirty Time" and meant that campers were to rest for 30 minutes and then be involved in some sort of devotional activity for 30 minutes.  Right now, here, sixty-thirty time means 60 minutes of IN YOUR ROOM non-screen activity, and 30 minutes of IN YOUR ROOM free choice time.  Did you get the "in your room" part? That's the best part, you see.

Things are actually going really well with having my nephew here, so far. He is using his summer passport daily! I haven't heard "I'm bored" yet and he's been here almost 2 weeks now. That being said, Momma still likes her quiet time during the day, and having a 10 year-old who doesn't nap was impeding on this self-proclaimed necessity of mine. That's when an angel of the Lord appeared and told me to implement 60/30 Time. (Okay, there was no actual, literal, angel, but I feel like it was a gift from the Lord!) Surprisingly, Texan boy was eager to begin this new tradition. (Perhaps he realized Auntie was getting crabby without her nap and he was anxious to be invited to leave her presence? Hmmm?) The first day we started, I helped him gather his much needed non-screen activities: books, poster board sized coloring pages of super heroes I bought him at Wal-mart, a box of wooden Tangrams, and a set of basketball cards; noted the time we were starting and then let him calculate when we'd be ending (that's right, I made it a math problem), and bid him not to come out of his room until the time was up. He dutifully (and quite quite surprisingly) obeyed.  I peeked in on him a couple of times puzzling over a Tangram and then arranging the basketball cards in some order only he could explain, then smiled and ran to my bed for a quick nap before the 7-month-old awoke from his. For each consecutive day I have just checked to make sure was settled and then let him be.

I LOVE 60/30 time. I want to make it a Valentine and ask it to go steady.

Eventually, I'd like to use some of 60/30 time to encourage the Texan to do a devotional, memorize scripture or read the Bible. I'm not a big fan of forcing that, though, so I am thinking of some ways to make that fun and interactive so that he'd desire to do this instead of feel like it was a chore. I have a great book I'm using to help with some ideas, called "The Well-Versed Family".

Here are our 60/30 Time Rules:

1. This time is flexible, not set in stone each day. (I usually begin it when the toddler goes down for her nap.)
2. Activities during this time must be able to be done in your bedroom and may not require adult assistance.
3. Unless it is an emergency, you may not leave your room at this time.
$. All activities need to be quiet to moderate in volume so as not to disturb sleeping 2 year-olds (or 28 year-olds).

If you don't have some "Grown-Folks Time" during your day, might I encourage you to implement something like this? It's so so very wonderful.

Stress Free Summer 2- Activity Passports. Avoiding the phrase "I'm bored!" All summer long!

As many of you know, my 10 year-old nephew lives with us for the better part of the summer each year. He will be here in less than a week. He's a wild little boy with beautiful eyes and the holder of a special place in my heart. I love him. And, quite often?

He drives me nuts.

You see, for some reason, this young boy feels the need to be entertained daily. Every hour. Every minute. The previous summers he has spent with us he has expected daily trips to the zoo or the park or the water park, or visits to a friend's, or visits from a friend, or a trip to the movies, or brand new video games, or trips to the Children's Museum, or something new and grand and different and life changing every single solitary day! ...I can't, I just...I can't... There is NO way I can meet all of these demands requests.

This summer, while considering how I may indeed tie him up and gag him if he repeatedly tells me he's bored and/or rolls his eyes and stomps his feet when I yell, "Nothing!" in response to his repeated "What are we doing today?" questions, I decided to be proactive.

While browsing one of my most favorite homeschool websites, I discovered these cute little passports this blog author and homeschool momma used in a geography unit with her children. I loved the idea of recording a learning objective and then stamping the objective in a "passport" once the objective was met.  I decided to create one for my wild boy, which will be met with much grumbling and complaining. Good thing I have 2 years of parenting and several years teaching experience under my belt which have fully prepared me to not care at all about either of these responses.

Now, the "Passport" I created is not cute at all. In fact it's just three different pages with lists of activities, followed by a recording/stamping page, all bound together in a three-ring folder. You could totally put it into any format you want, though, and even add pictures and clip-art. I did not, but my nephew is quite the little artist so I will tell him to jazz up his folder and the pages with whatever he sees fit! This could be modified for younger children by using pictures of activities coupled with words.

Each page is a different category: Math, Literacy and Free Choice. I chose math and literacy because he still needs to work on some school related objectives during the summer to help his success during the school year, and free choice because he can never seem to think of what to do in his spare time. Which results in him asking me the aforementioned question constantly, which results in me locating the duct tape and threatening his existence, which results in really just a negative atmosphere for everyone.

Anyway, on each page, I listed 12+ ideas that fall in the category, with space to add more as we think of them. He then chooses from the ideas and records what he wants to do that day in the passport section. Requirements are that he must choose at least one objective from reading and math each day, and then he can do whatever he wishes from free choice the rest of the day. He is not allowed to say he is bored because he always has options before him of how to spend his time. At the end of the day, I'll stamp his passport for him, and by the end of the summer, he'll have quite a nice little log (and some cool projects) to show for what he did all summer. Some projects are lengthy and will take more than one day to finish. That. Is. The. Point. :) Oh, and also he'll be enriched by learning and trying new things, yada yada yada.

I tried to make it as fun and creative as possible. Here are some of the activities I listed for him in literacy:

Literacy Passport Destinations:

• Write a play or puppet show and then make the puppets or props

• Make a comic book

• Write a poem

• Write a story

• Make a book with illustrations, a cover, a title page, and an author page
• Make a dictionary of made-up words- don't forget to use ABC order and to tell what part of speech each word is and to use it in a sentence!

Mathematics Passport Destinations: (Disclaimer- is there a way to be fun and creative with math objectives? Someone help me come up with more fun ideas!!)

Mathematics Passport Destinations:

• Choose a math activity from softschools.com- 20 minutes
• Play Number Munchers- at least 15 minutes
• Sort Number Cards by multiples
• Write and solve at least 5 word problems
• Write a math story using at least 5 math vocabulary words

And then Free Choice consists of things he loves to do like play the Wii, draw, arts and crafts, making his own snack, playing outdoors, etc.  I'm sorry I don't know how to give you a PDF copy of my Passport yet, but I assure you that the lists I showed are really all it is. Oh- and the stamping page looks like this:

Passport Stamp Page

Date_________________

1. Activity_________________________________

2. Activity_________________________________

3. Activity_________________________________

4. Activity_________________________________

I just stamp the end of the line when he finishes the activity.

I really hope this, and the other fun stuff we're doing this summer, which I'll highlight tomorrow, will be enough for me to avoid the dreaded phrase. We'll see! I did stock up on duct tape just in case.

Oh, and here's the link to the inspirational website!

Wish me luck!

Stress- Free Summer 1

Even though I haven't taught formally in a classroom since the early beginning of last school year, I still consider myself a teacher and run on teacher-time. That means summer is supposed to be laid back and stress free. No meetings to attend, no IEPs to write, no classroom set-up to configure- just relaxation. Well...with two young children in the house and a 10 year-old Texan on his way soon, that simply is not my reality! Plus? I don't do too well on relaxed and casual schedules. Part of what I loved about teaching (aside from getting to hang out with sweet kids everyday) was the order and structure of the classroom environment. I am a firm believer that structure and organization are the best components and most necessary ingredients to a successful classroom environment. Not because it keeps children under control and in a box, but very conversely, because it gives children the freedom to learn, roam, express themselves, try new things- all in an environment that is predictable (like- they know where to find pencils and paper each day), clutter free and prepared to accommodate their learning whims!

So...if I were to transfer that philosophy to my own home which is my children's classroom, well, then, I've got some work to do!

I fought to be organized in my classroom, and it is the same fight at home! I am the walking, living breathing definition of a scatter brain. I forget where my keys are constantly, always put things away in a different place and never know where my cell phone is. I see very clearly how this affects me day to day, especially how much time I spend looking and re-looking for things each day. And I wonder how a mixed-up, non-organized environment may affect my children as well as their organization skills down the road.

So, this "relaxing and stress free summer" is going to be about getting my home organized and in good working condition for me, my husband and my kids by August which is when our first homeschool year officially starts! And of course I will go about it in true teacher fashion and draw up "classroom plans" of how I want things to look and then I will implement my plans. I may also use a few websites I've found that may be helpful in assisting this effort, that I will highlight this summer.

I'm hoping to take pictures of each area I change, before and after shots, to involve you in keeping me accountable, so stayed tuned!

Also to come? A cute little plan I modified to avoid hearing this phrase, "I'm bored. There's nothing to do!" from the 10-year-old all summer long! :)

Summertime!

I either have a very lengthy case of writer's block, or I just have nothing really pertinent to write about. But here are some of our summer time pics so far. Maybe at some point I'll find the words to share as well!

Memory Monday: How I Started to Understand

We lived in two apartments before we bought our first house. One before I was too small to remember, but the apartment I remember had two bedrooms. One large for Momma and Daddy and one medium-sized for two girls who were sisters and best friends. A small kitchen with a little counter-top window, perfect for talking with Momma while she flipped pancakes Sunday mornings. And the living room with that big TV and our cozy couches and the big pillow. In the evening, after dinner was done and lounging was done and baths were done, two little girls were tucked into bed. And in that lateness of the evening, although I didn't really know Him at all, didn't really know He knew me, I talked to Him because something told me He was there. No one had ever really told me. I just knew it. Knew by the way Grandma prayed in her old Baptist church and on her knees at night before bed and again on her knees mornings before work. Knew by the way my heart hurt a little when someone used His Name in vain. Knew by the way the world was turning- knew it couldn't all be by some miraculous accident.  So I talked to Him. I remember what I'd say, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, and if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. And God bless everyone up in heaven and everyone down on earth. And God, this is Latrice Nicole Hall. Maybe you don't know me, but I live at 999 Wood Road, Apartment #208. Please keep Momma and Daddy and Meah and Me safe, alive and well. Thank you. Amen."

And I always thought that was our beginning. Always started my story right then. When people would ask, how did you come to know the Lord? I'd say, when I was a child, I prayed to Him. I didn't learn about Jesus till I was 15 and didn't commit my life to the pursuit of God till then, but I always knew He was there.

Funny thing, though, lately memories have been rushing my mind like a flood. Moments I haven't thought about in years gently rocking on the surface of the pool of mind memories. And I think, I think He's saying He knew me long long long before I ever even thought about knowing Him. I think He's saying He's always known me.  Even before the bunk beds and the counter-top window. Before the apartment I don't even remember. Before I was too young to even make memories,  He was making them with me. Funny to think he knows when I got my first tooth, how long it took to break up into the surface of my gums. Funny to think He laughed and looked on as I learned how these legs worked, and fell and rose and fell again. Funny and crazy and wonderfully comforting to know all the memories He holds of us, from before my own Momma felt me kicking inside her womb. From before my own Daddy held me and beheld my little face. Funny, thinking of all the memories on this Memory Monday, that God has of me.

No need to tell Him who you are, or where you live, or what you need. No need to remind Him of the things going on in your life as if He isn't aware. No need to accuse, like Peter in boat tossed by wind and waves, that God sees your circumstances but deoesn't care. He already knows. Knows you. Always has. Always has had memories of you that you don't even have. Funny to think of, and so wonderful, too.

And I think, maybe what He would love, too, is for us to remember Him. Always. Every day and in every way. Remember the memory giver and maker and holder and protector.

I was right...

When I was pregnant with our first child, a friend of mine who has five of her own children, came over for a visit. She complimented the votives and decorating accents dotted around our humble home, and then commented that after the baby was born we wouldn't be able to have nice things. She then told a humorous story of how she once had owned a very nice pair of kitchen shears. One day when she needed them they could not be found anywhere. When she asked each of her five children where they were, not one could recall having ever seen them.  Months went by and one day, out in her yard after the last snow of winter had melted, my friend saw her kitchen shears in the soggy green.  She told me that this was how my life would be after the baby was born.

I, of course, in all my new mommy wisdom (ahem- naivety) assured her that this would not be happening in our household. I would, like a perfect housekeeper/mother, keep track of all of our belongings and no way would my child ever use something incorrectly or play with things I asked her not to.

Today, with a two year-old "helper" in the house, I cannot find:

1. my car keys
2. any of our flashlights
3. the cover to my ipod
4. half of my pairs of earrings
5. the TV remotes
6. my cell phone
7. the remote to our Mac
8. 3/4 the contents of my purse
9. the pack of batteries I just bought
10. and my chap stick

But, I know where my kitchen shears are. So I was totally right. Right?

On this day, choose life.

Dead dandelions grow rampant in the front yard reminding me that we haven't yet done the work to kill those weeds. Windy day blows the seeds in winding patterns. Planting more of what we don't want. Why's the work so hard to kill that which we don't want? No effort at all to let it grow. But time, and sweat and planning and purchasing to flourish the green and kill the weed.  Ah- so much like life inside here, too. No effort at all to let me live unchecked. Multiplying seeds of doubt or discontent or just something not really of Jesus. Words that knock down instead of build up. Thoughts that dishonor instead of glorify. Fears that leave no room for trust. Self image that leaves no space for grace. Deadly multiplying weeds that plant more and more unwanted hardships.  Oh, foolish gardener to let weeds grow so far and let wind scatter bad seeds. I need to tend the soil.

Stop and listen. Read and pray. Sing and be silent. Soak Him in. My words can encourage when He's pouring out of me. My thoughts can be on things that are good and holy and pure when He's leading me there. My fears are diminished before His presence. My image is rooted in my Maker when I take time to ask Him to remind me why He made me, why He loves me. God- He loves me.

And my heart flourishes under that love. If I make myself available, He will tend the soil.


He's a nurturing God. Has a way of stopping the bad from multiplying. Has a way of producing a good crop instead. A good crop from my soil. But I have to be available for Him to tend to me. I have to do the work.

Stop for a moment to ask Him what you are here for. Ask why He made you.

You will hear Him say it's to know Him. And in knowing Him you have life.

Live today.

Ninjas Beware!

Around 2:00 AM this morning, (only a few minutes after Reuben came to bed after ironing his clothes for work*), Reuben and I were very rudely awakened by a rather loud crash from the downstairs. I, of course, was terrified and Reuben quickly jumped out of bed to go and investigate. Remembering the hammer I left on top of the dresser a couple days earlier, I grabbed it and the telephone and crept into the upstairs hallway to listen for noise of a brawl downstairs. (Yeah, that's right, a brawl!) My heart was racing along with my thoughts as I pictured the gang of ruffians (I'm on a roll) that Reuben was facing off against. They, of course, were super sweet ninjas possessing advanced weapons of mass destruction. There were 12 of them and they could jump and freeze themselves in the air and Matrix themselves out of compromising positions. They worked-out 5 days a week and ate only fresh fruits and vegetables and absolutely NO processed foods. This could get ugly quickly.

It was only after several minutes of silence that I began to wonder if my mind had slightly exaggerated the situation. When Reuben returned to the upstairs this was confirmed. He reported that a pan placed precariously on top of another pan fell and made the noise. I listened as I watched him walk into the guest room and put something down.

"What was that?" I asked.

"The iron." He replied non-chalantly, returning the bedroom.

Following him, I asked, "What were you going to do with that?"

"I don't know. It was still hot and the corners are pointy."

Ninjas beware. If you enter this house we will hammer and iron you. You better just keep walking. You don't want none of this.


*I will not be judged on being a poor house wife! I did not know Reuben needed clothes ironed and if I had, I maybe, possibly, would have ironed them earlier.  Besides, we needed that weapon to be hot still. :)

Terrific Two's- Happy Birthday Naomi!

My little girl is two today. Two. I know all of the things that are said about this age. I've witnessed quite a few of these up close and personal. Not pretty.  Despite the bumps in the "learning to be more independent and willful" road, however, I LOVE this age. Actually, I've loved every one of her ages and stages. I loved when she was a newborn and nestled into me for safety and protection. I loved when she learned to sit up and balance on her little cushy bottom. I loved when she learned to crawl and explore her world (putting absolutely everything into her mouth). I loved when she said her first word- yeah- it was "Mommy". I loved when she learned to walk on her chubby little legs. And I love this age as well.

She's growing, she's talking, she's learning so much! Shapes, letters, counting, colors. She's learning that Daddy is the best for games of tag and that her little brother loves it when she tickles him. She's learning that Mommy will laugh and beam when she breaks out into spontaneous song. She's learning that pizza tastes best dipped in ranch dressing and that she doesn't actually have to eat those peas on her plate, but that Mommy is going to keep trying to get her to anyway. She's learning that sometimes, no matter how many times she says please, the answer is still no, unless she's asking Nana and then the answer is almost always yes. She's learning that we thank God before dinner and after dinner and at night we pray on our knees because we are so grateful. She's learning that the time-out chair is really not that fun of a place to be but that this knowledge doesn't always keep her from doing what she needs to avoid it. And I hope, most of all, she's learning that she is so abundantly loved.

Happy birthday to my precious girl! Looking forward to every moment I get with you in this year to come!

Sisters- A League of Their Own

I got a rare moment today to flip on the t.v. while both of my little ones napped at the same time. Apparently we are getting a free sample of movie channels because there they were, all inviting and stuff on this cold, rainy Monday. I flipped through them briefly and was elated to find "A League of Their Own" just starting!

If you haven't seen it, this movie is about the woman's baseball league started in the 40's when men were fighting in World War 2. I LOVE this movie. Love it. The athlete in me loves it. (Yes, for those who know me and find it hard to believe, I was once a basketball, softball and track team member.) The girly girl in me loves it. There's romance and dancing and missing far away husbands fighting in war. And, the sister in me loves it. Because, after all the baseball and the war stuff, the competition and conflict- this movie is about two sisters. Two wildly different sisters who love each other wildly and strongly and only in a way you can ever truly get if you are a woman and have a sister.

The climax of the movie is when the sisters' different teams meet in the World Series. The younger sister, who felt inferior to her more talented and beautiful older sister most of her life, hits the ball into the outfield, races the bases and ends up having to charge into her catcher sister (Gena Davis) in order to score to win the game. At this moment, Gena's character, who always, always catches the ball and makes the play, drops the ball and her sister scores and wins the game. It is left to be imagined if she actually dropped it on purpose, but I have always known she did.

When I was younger and saw this movie, I hated this moment. The competitive athlete in me knew that Gena Davis' character could easily have held the ball but chose to drop it so her sister could win. I didn't feel like I'd make the same choice. Relationships with loved ones can be mended- but come on! This was the World Series! You don't get that moment back!

Now, though? After the lessons I've learned, after the life I lived with my sister, after the difficulty of saying goodbye; now I see this movie in a different light. And I get why she did what she did. And I like to think that given the chance I would do the same.

Sisters really are a league of their own. Ask any woman who has a sister and whether that relationship is good or bad, she will most likely agree that her relationship with her sister affects her strongly. I was blessed to have an excellent relationship with my late sister, Meah, so much so that movies like this one, reduce me to tears now, because I miss her so deeply and I miss that relationship- a relationship that will never be replaced, no matter how many great girl friends I have. And we weren't perfect- we argued, we disagreed, and we could not have been more different. But, it doesn't really matter what views you agree or disagree on, or how far away you are, or when the last time you talked was. If you are sisters, there is some unwritten rule that you simply are there when you need to be. Always. Doesn't matter if the whole team is expecting you to hold the ball. Doesn't matter if it's the World Series or the Olympics. You just have to be there. That's what being in this League means.

I know too many people who have strained relationships with their sisters. I am praying, truly, often, that these relationships will be mended. I feel like it's a privilege to have been in this League, even for the short time I was. And if you're in this League- well, then, you're blessed my friend. And I hope you and your sister(s) are willing to drop the ball when it counts!

Vase of Thanks

I read the book and wanted it to change me. Instantly- a person with grateful attitude. But I am slow to learn and quick to lean on my old ways. So when the dishes pile and the toddler wakes at 4:00 am and my husband disappoints and I disappoint I am not thankful. Not grateful. Instead I grumble and complain and pity myself and worry too much.

I am trying.

Today I read her blog and try again. Ignore the dishes and instead grab a plastic red art caddy and empty it of the crayons and glue. Write the word "Eucharisteo" (give thanks) on paper and tape it on. I wish my handwriting were better but I feel glad anyway. Glad at the step I am taking again. Glad to keep trying. And the infant watches as I cut papers into various sizes of various colors and fill the caddy. Then I plop in some pens, too. He smiles like he understands when I explain this will help us give thanks. I smile back and feel thankful for him right to my bones.

I place the caddy on the dining room table and fight the feeling of doubt that this will be another failed attempt. I am hopeful. The rest of the day I am hopeful.

When we sit down to dinner, my husband, the kids, my mom and I all joined around a table, talking and laughing and eating, I hesitate, then plunge in and explain the "Eucharisteo" caddy.

"I thought, "I explain, "I thought that after dinner we could each write down some things we are thankful for and then put the papers..." I hadn't thought that far, but suddenly I decide they would look nice in a vase. A vase of thanks.  So I grab a large vase, too large for most of the flowers that make their way into our home but maybe the right size to hold our thanks for a little while. I place it on the table next to the caddy and feel great.

I am trying.

Reuben loves the idea and mom does, too. So after dinner we write our thanks and Naomi colors hers and we sit quiet for a minute until it's time to say them. Then around the table verbal thanks flows.

"For my family."

"The red tulips in the front yard."

"My job."

"Fresh fruits and vegetables."

"My health."

"Food to eat."

"Our tree in full spring bloom."

And I feel it. That joy rising up within me. This talk is more full, more fulfilling than our typical how was your day? Guess what my boss did? What's for dinner tomorrow? This talk was joy talk because giving thanks gives joy. And I feel it again. That feeling, deep in my bones. And I want to cry it out- "Let me learn it, Lord! Let me learn it now!" I don't want to grumble and complain and pity and worry. I want to give thanks. Receive joy. Live alive. And full.

I am trying.

And I see them there. Little pieces of thanks in a vase looking out. And me looking in on our thanks. Wondering how many papers I can fill tomorrow.

Memory Monday: Photo Flashback

First stop after that very first road trip? Disney World! 

Grandma, Me, Meah and Mom. Dad's behind the camera! 

Yes, Meah and I are wearing matching outfits and yes Meah is sportin' a fanny pack. 

Good times. :)

Proof (plus some super cute pictures!)

Let's take a look at Wednesday's picture of me again.

Okay, these first two pictures were my attempt to recreate the first photo. Also they're just super cute so I included them.

But here is the proof that he has ears like his Momma! Look at those ears! So so cute! Okay, can you tell I'm a bit biased? Plus? That smile is only the best smile I've ever seen before! Makes my heart melt!

He'a 4 months today! Love you little boy!

Unfadingly Beautiful

In my early twenties, for 5 summers in a row, I volunteered at a camp for kids ages 7-11 who have been victims of abuse and neglect. The camp is one week long and we pour every ounce of love, encouragement and fun we can into the kids during that week. My favorite event during the week is the birthday party. We throw one big birthday party to celebrate all the campers' birthdays. The boys wear ties and tuxedo shirts. And the girls-oh the girls wear beautiful dresses and have their hair and makeup done and wear jewelry and practice walking in sparkly high heels. And inevitably, every year, at least one of the girls says something like,"Look at me! I'm a princess!" or "I'm so beautiful!"

And you know what? Every  one of them is beautiful. Every one is a princess. And it's not the hair and makeup or the jewelry and beautiful clothing that makes this true, for they were beautiful long before and after the birthday party. Sometimes, though, those things are just tools that help bring out the beauty that's already there- the beauty that's been there all along. Truly what makes those girls beautiful is the hand of a Creator Who looked and called them good after He designed each and every one of them. Uniquely designed. Amazingly lovely. Unfadingly beautiful.

I believe that for every day of her life, every woman should get to look in a mirror and sincerely declare, "I am a princess! I am so beautiful!" And that, my friends? That is why I love Unfading Beauty- the spring fashion review my church puts on every other year. Because whether you are walking down the runway or sitting in audience, the goal of the show is for you to know that you are beautiful. You are amazingly unique and lovely and you deserve to be celebrated. And if it takes a little make-up and a cute outfit to get you to realize what we already know about you, what God already knows about you- well- let's make a night of it then!

So bring your girl friends and your daughters and your momma and your aunts and go and be celebrated for the uniquely made, beautiful woman you are. And while you're there, review the latest fashion trends with modesty in mind, have some dessert, enter (and hopefully win!) some fabulous giveaways, shop at local vendors' booths, hear a passionate woman speak all about you, and mix and mingle with other beautifully made ladies.

And if that's not enough for you, join us for breakfast the following morning and a mini-conference designed with you in mind! Sign up for a break-out session, be encouraged by a great speaker and walk away with tools to help you love you more and more! I'll see you there next Friday at 7:00 at Christ's Place Church! More details here!

Less Words Wednesday: The First

It's true.
I was born.
On this day, 28 years ago.

This picture was taken around my first birthday. Insert oohs and ahhs here.  Look at those ears! You can hear a dog whistle with ears like those! Also? Lincoln has ears like those, too. They're genetic apparently. I'll prove it later when I can take a picture when He's NOT sleeping. I don't care if you don't believe me. I refuse to wake him just to prove this point.

Hmmm....apparently turning 28 makes you snotty towards your blog readers. Sorry. :)

Wow, that's a lot of words for "Less Words Wednesday". Better wrap it up. Have a good day. Eat some cake for me! (I mean, with me, cause it's my birthday and I'll eat cake if I wanna!)

Memory Monday: What Wednesdays Used to Mean

I got the old photo albums out the other day. The ones with pictures of me when I was small, and of Meah, too. Pages filled with my smiling parents, arms around each other. Meah here petting a rabbit at the County Fair; me there crying on the carnival ride I thought I wanted to go on but changed my mind too late. 
Memories.
     It's funny what change can do to memories. Change like your parent's divorce or your sister's death. Drastic changes can make true remembrances seem instead like mirages so that when you get close you see they are not what you thought they were; what you thought you remembered. But that is Satan's lie, for they are what they were when they were made-fossils from a time, frozen and preserved. Though life now may look drastically different from the times of those memories, they are still true. Aren't they?
     It's then that I realized I needed to preserve those memories. Fossilize them right where they were when they were made. Put words to the pictures I know so well. Put words to the life I can forget if I'm not careful. A sister I loved, now gone. A family I cherished, now scattered. But I have those memories. And in them- the pulse, the heartbeat of a time I long to remember. A time that made me, largely, who I am right now. A time I can't find anymore but know was there because of the memories.
     Do you want to join me? Lock arms with me as I toddle down that lane? You know the one- that lane with all the memories. Perhaps you, too, have some that need revisiting, need refocusing, just need conjured up for a while. Perhaps you have some you need to preserve? Lock arms with me then. Toddle with me now. We'll see what we can see. We'll find what we can remember.


So thank you for joining me for Memory Monday. And here is what Wednesdays used to mean.


My dad has worked for Shopko since before I was born. He started out as the guy you call when somebody steals something, and worked his way up to manager of the whole store- a position he still holds. He worked mostly day hours when we were little, but on Wednesday nights he had to close the store, which meant he wasn't home until Meah and I were asleep. So Wednesday nights were just for us girls. 
Momma would be there to meet us at the door when the school bus dropped us off from school. Then we'd hurry excitedly and finish our chores because it was Wednesday, and we knew what Wednesday meant. After quick chores (and an after-school snack, of course) our Wednesday would begin.
In cold weather, we'd climb into Momma's car and cruise around town spotting Christmas lights or singing loudly to the radio. In nice weather, we'd take the long way downtown, towards Shining Lake Michigan, to play at the park on the little makeshift beach while Momma watched on and laughed that soft, tender laugh she still laughs with me today. Then we'd pile back in the car and drive to Pizza Hut which may as well have been Disney World- we loved it that much. We'd order our deep dish sausage pizza and breadsticks and tell stories about the boy at school who fell asleep during math today, and the girl who wore the same shirt as Meah without them even planning it, and didn't Momma think my hair would look better if I got it cut like just like hers and what, oh what movies would we rent tonight and could I please have a Kit-Kat AND a Reese's Peanut Butter cup because I got an A on my spelling test? And Momma would smile and laugh and nod "yes" or shake "no" and look at her girls the same way I look at my tiny ones now. And we loved our girl time and we loved our Momma.
Then after we'd stuffed ourselves full of pizza and bread we'd go to the movie store and pick out two movies, because Wednesdays meant getting to stay up just a bit later. Then we'd trek on home and Meah'd pop popcorn and I'd gather blankets and our great big pillow. And we'd smooth blankets flat on the living room floor, one on top of the other making a cushy movie palette and Meah and I would sit with our popcorn and our only one piece of candy (because A's on spelling tests don't mean excess candy) and Momma'd sit behind us on the couch- a Momma bird over her brood- and we'd watch our movies and eat our treats and Wednesdays meant something special. 
Then, after the candy, after the popcorn, after the movies and all the talking and fun, Momma'd tuck her baby birds into bed with kisses and hugs and that same, tender smile. And we loved our Wednesdays and we loved our Momma. And in the quietness of the room we shared, with tired eyes and happy hearts, Meah and I would discuss our favorite parts of the movies and what we'd want to see next week and how much we loved what Wednesdays meant.