At the Bottom of the Food Dining Chain

(photo by Jason L. Gohlke, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons)

During our wonderful, relaxing vacation we had occasion to eat out. Three times. Once going there, once on the drive back, and once because A Musing Dad, who did a terrific job of grocery shopping and packing for our five days in the "wild", forgot a crucial dinner ingredient (and we forgive him, because, well he did so much to make the rest of the trip great). So we tried a new local-to-our-favorite-campground food joint. It was good enough. And the fast food during our car rides wouldn't have been memorable except for two things: I nearly got hit by a car while carrying food to our van across two parking lots (yes, the man was on his cell phone and never once noticed me as he backed within inches of me and two of my children, while I screamed at him to "STOP! ...HEY YOU, LOOK OUT! ...GET OFF YOUR PHONE & STOP! ...STOP!!!").

The other memorable part of that meal? The spork. Have you ever thought about what an ingenious invention this is? Two utensils in one! How much better can it get, especially for a clutter-buster like me? So I began musing about why it is that the spork hasn't really taken off as a household implement. Think about it: you can buy a ton of sporks and then never have to worry about having lots of forks when you really need spoons (while we're on the topic: why is it that we run out of spoons so much faster than forks when we own twice as many spoons to begin with?).

Then I thought about it more. And I figured out the reason the spork has been largely unused in households. It's because it's at the bottom of the dining chain. After all, when you're invited to a dinner, be it a wedding reception or other catered event, or even just a friend's house, what tells you how swanky the meal is going to be? Maybe the china, the crystal, the flowers. But really, REALLY what tells you the level of entertaining is the Amount of Silverware on the table. The more baffling the flatware array, the pricier and longer the meal. Enter the spork: one utensil where two could be. Is it no wonder then that the only place you ever find this eating implement is on the floor of your car? It is the essence of the bottom of the dining chain. You find a spork next to your plate and you know that there is not a seared ahi tuna or fresh foie gras to be seen for miles (then again, it also may just be that you're in Chicago). But mashed potatoes? Bean burritos? You'll find those a-plenty.

So I quickly abandoned my campaign to get the spork into every American kitchen. Heaven knows we all need to eat a little better than that day in and day out!

Just for WilyHacker...

who loves the Simpsons. Here I am in all my Simpson-yellow glory. Next time you see me on the street, I hope you'll say "hi".

Thanks to Jennwith2ns for cluing me in to the cool simpsonizeme site. I don't usually blog about what would I look like as (an Amazon woman, a Planet of the Apes character, or whatever other characterize yourself sites there might be). But with the new Simpsons movie just released and Wilyhacker's fascination with all things Simpson, I couldn't resist.

I'm Back

Sorry for the unannounced lull in posts. Between a big conference that I was involved in (decorations & gifts - wee ha!) and a five-day camping vacation, I've been largely absent from the blogosphere. But now I'm back and feelin' good. We arrived home on Thursday night and had just enough time to get most of the laundry done before packing the three girls off with their grandparents for the weekend! Life is good.

Can I tell you something that surprised me this weekend? I missed my kids. Not a ton, but like when friends invited us for an impromptu dinner tonight. My girls would have loved to have been there for some spontaneous fun with their friends. And I wished they could have been there. And church was easier, but different, sans kids. Otherwise...we had plenty of fun without them. And they had as much fun as three girls and their three second-cousins could have on a lake with their grandparents.

The other thing that surprised me lately: I'm a little sad about Timid Daughter starting first grade this year. It will be only the Uber-princess & I all day, most days. No sister coming home at lunchtime. It feels like the beginning of the end. On the other hand, sending Little Miss History off to first grade was great. It was the beginning of something else, something like freedom. I welcomed it. And I was sure with T.D. it would be more of the same, only better. But it's not.

Mind you, on the two mornings that I will drop the uber-princess off at preschool (her first year as well), I expect I'll be doing the freedom dance. Two hours to myself? Ah, the bliss! Grocery shopping...alone! Time at Starbucks, just me and my laptop! I'm nearly ready to count the days. But if I do, then it will be that much closer to First Grade. And I'm just not ready for that.

Forgetful

Note to self: when going camping, don't forget to bring the silverware that you took out of the camper for that big Christmas dinner. Camping might be "roughing it", but eating cereal and chili without spoons is asking a bit much.

Note to self #2: when taking three kids on a four-hour car ride, it might be a good idea to bring along a little more than one coloring book apiece to occupy them. Like how about those Game Boys their Grandma got them? Or books on CD? Or even car bingo. After all, the stakes for asking "how long until we get there?" are much higher than for trying to spot another cow if there are no squares to cover.

Note to self #3: when wanting to sight see, don't take three kids and a reluctant husband who's all too eager to call a barely functioning historical village with two covered bridges a good substitute for touring the Covered Bridge Capital of the World. It's kinda funny and makes for a good story later, but it's still real disappointing to realize how incredibly dull your interests are to your family. Go on your own. They'll never know what they missed and you'll never know how much they didn't.

Note to self #4: towels. Bring lots of them when camping. It's always sure to rain and if it doesn't they're still good for lots of things. Like drying dishes. And silverware... if you remember to bring it.

3 Fish & a Wedding

My sister-in-law got married this past weekend. The uber-princess was in her glory as the princess flower girl. She relished every minute of it from the lacy, twirly dress to the ride in the limo to...just being a true princess for a day. As I drove her to the bride's house before the wedding, she commented to me, "I'm so cute". And of course she was right, as many people reminded her all day long, especially after her adorable trip down the aisle carefully dropping the flower petals. So it was rough for her having to leave the reception - a total Cinderella at midnight moment. All of the splendor and finery were about to vanish and she cried miserably. That is, she cried until I pointed out that the tears would leave marks on her dress, at which point she turned them off in an instant. No need to ruin a perfect princess dress.

At the reception there were betta fish swimming in bowls in the center of the table (the bride has a thing for bettas). It was a neat way to decorate, but guess what the parents of the bride (my childrens' grandparents) sent home with us? Not one, but THREE betta fish - one for each granddaughter. Which means now A Musing Mom is left caring for Diamond the teal fish, Flower Girl the red one (guess whose that is), and Tuna Burger the blue betta. My track record thus far has been less than stellar in the betta department, but we'd been considering replacing Rhubarb in hopes we'd learned our lesson. Now he's been more than replaced. And so far all three have survived three days and one partial water change. But Flower Girl is not so active today. And Diamond is hovering near the bottom of his tank. And Tuna Burger rushes around in a huff when you get near his bowl.Oh, the worries of caring for three fish.

Would a dog be easier?

Up, Up, and Away

Yesterday I got the opportunity that most people will never have in their lifetime. I went in a hot air balloon - on TV!

Here's the story: like we have done every year for the past six or seven years, my family got up at 5:30am and drove over to the Lisle Eyes to the Skies Balloon Festival. We go to watch the balloons launch or land (depending on the direction of the wind). And it is a ton of fun! Well, when we got there we learned that the ground was too wet for them to do much of anything (the balloons are kind of like tents, except that once the sun is shining the wind picks up so they can't just be left out in the sun to dry before packing away in a bag). But there was a pilot sitting in his basket and he motioned us out on the field (a rare treat). Along with a TV cameraman.

This pilot was a real nice guy and told us all sorts of interesting stuff about ballooning. When he was done he invited anyone who wanted to climb in the basket for a picture. So my kids climbed in. Makes for a good change in my scrapbook pages from the annual shots of huge balloons in the sky and my kids all tiny beneath.

After that we wandered over to another balloon team where they'd actually spread out a balloon (were they going to towel it off after?). There we saw not only a cameraman, but also the local NBC weatherman, Andy Avalos, reporting on the festival. It was fun to listen to him do the weather update in front of a tiny screen showing the weather maps.

Then they put a big fan near the mouth of the balloon and began inflating it with cool air (standard procedure to get it ready for a hot inflation). Once that was done there was suddenly a flurry of activity. They were inviting people to walk into the balloon (not the basket) to give perspective on how huge these things are. So Timid Daughter, Little Miss History and I took off our shoes and walked on in. About twenty of us were in there. And we were on TV!

So there! I've been in a hot air balloon (without ever leaving the ground, thankfully). How about you?

What were they thinking?

I've been working on a fun new pampering project that involves turning placemats into purses. The results are terrific and it's extremely easy and pretty inexpensive. I'll post photos and links to instructions down the road once they've been given away (most of the ones I'm working on right now are for gifts). Anyway, I'm always on the lookout for clearance placemats and I found some cool faux suede ones at Pier I the other day. When I went to cut off the tag I found out why they were on clearance. It said "DRY CLEAN ONLY".

What were they thinking??? Dry clean placemats? You've got to be kidding me! Who on earth wants to put a piece of cloth under plates full of food when it needs to be dry cleaned? I'd be having a heart attack with every bite my kids (or guests) took. And even if I didn't have kids, I wouldn't want to use them, unless they absolutely, perfectly matched my decor. Maybe. But could you imagine the costs? How often would you be taking them in?

You can see I'm too practical for this. But if I come over to your house and you have faux suede placemats, don't worry I won't spill a drop. I'll even skip eating if you want me to. That way I'll have my mouth free to ooh and aah at your perfectly coordinated dining room. And I'll understand if you're too busy to come to my house the next week because you have to run to the dry cleaners...again.

Summer Reading, Part 2

Isn't funny how we idealize things? I had this idea that summer would mean lots of extra time for reading. A holdover from my childhood, I suppose, when I would read for hours on end, uninterrupted. Now? Who am I kidding? I need that uninterrupted time for work these days. Reading? Rarely. Except in the evenings. Oh those blessed evenings when the house is quiet and I can sink into a good book.

So, lest you think my mind is rotting from fluffy intake, I'll have you know that I'm not reading only chick lit. Besides which, I'm not so sure all chick lit is that fluffy or escapist. Some of it is oh so real. And therein lies its appeal. Currently I'm reading SAHM I Am. Interesting so far. It's written as a series of online group entries and emails. It works to a point, but I'm not so sure how great the character development can be under those constraints. We'll see.
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The other book that's majorly holding my attention? Anna Karenina. I know. WHAT WAS I THINKING?? 800 pages?! Hey, it doesn't work just for J.K. Rowling. Tolstoy has me hooked. We'll see if he keeps me to page 800, but given the fact that it's a classic has me determined beyond any level of interest. It is true literature.

As for non-fiction? I'm too entrenched in writing/promoting it to have time to read much of it. That is how I'm taking a reading break this summer. Back to the non-fiction come Fall.

Okay, a little aside for a factoid: did you know that Rowling's publisher only printed between 500 and 1000 copies for the first run of the first Harry Potter book? And look at where she is now! I'm not thinking I'll get past my first run (of 1,000 copies), but I'm hopeful.

Happy Birthday Dad!

It's my father's birthday today (not Musing Dad). I won't get to see him due to circumstances, but we had a fun time last night watching the Cavaliers drum corps at North Central College. It was a pretty cool show. If you haven't seen a live drum corps show, you really ought to. Nothing compares to it (the movie Drumline kind of gives you a taste).

A little about my dad today, in honor of his birthday:he's a retired government accountant, with a dry sense of humor and a penchant for puns. He's passed that on to his children and he'll be happy to know that his eldest granddaughter (Little Miss History) is starting to appreciate the subtlety of plays on words.

He's a good dad (and even funner grandfather). He built us kids a play set and allowed us to use the garage attic for a play house, drawing most of the neighbor kids to our house. My favorite outdoor creation of his? The Korean see-saw. It only lasted maybe one summer, but boy was it fun. The idea is that, unlike a regular seesaw, you don't sit. You stand. Circus style. In ancient times in Korean when girls were kept homes with high-walled yards, they would jump on a see-saw to see over the walls to the outside world. In modern times, we would jump just for the thrill. And the best was jumping with Dad because his size helped him to propel us littler ones way up into the air. Especially my younger sister, Christine. I'd crouch on the board and watch for his feet to hit the other end as he jumped. As he landed, I'd push off with my toes. If you didn't spring up on your partner's landing, they'd land with a jolt and you'd get knocked off backward. This happened a lot as we got used to it. But once we'd all learned...well, it was just a blast!

So Dad, thanks for some great memories! Seesaws and play sets, camping in the rain, biking 15 miles or more up and down the hills in Pennsylvania (ah yes, another one of Dad's antics - we'd ride a tandem together and he had only one rule: he'd pedal downhill, while I'd pedal uphill. But I had a secret: riding behind him I could put my feet up and then only pedal uphill, at least until he figured me out).

Happy Birthday! Hope it's a good one!

Whose Story Is It Anyway?

I've been learning a little about fiction writing lately, just for fun and a new challenge. One concept that has stuck with me (I'm pretty sure it was Randy Ingermanson who said it) is that to give depth to the story you have to consider all your characters as thinking the story is about them - even the minor characters. Hmmm... interesting idea isn't it?

The thing is, there's a universal truth to that idea. We all tend to think of stories as being about us. That wedding I'm going to? I've gotten a new dress and a hair cut for it. 'Cuz it's about me? Right? Okay, maybe not. But I'm sure the bride is thinking that and, well...she's right.

Anyway, my small group is studying Revelation (nice, light topic for summer, eh?). It's prophetic. It's about the end of our world as we know it to be. And so, of course, we think the story is about us. So what do we do? We try to interpret all the symbolism and story in light of ourselves and our world. Which is all good and well and even a little interesting. But, in my mind, it's futile to approach the book that way alone (and our small group is doing a good job avoiding that). Jesus even said that no one knows the day or hour (nor, I presume, can know).

Here's the thing:it's not really about us so much. We're just minor characters. It's about God. It's HIS story. When I began thinking about it that way yesterday, it suddenly became so much more interesting and not nearly so freaky frightening. After all, I love God. He loves me. And in the story of Revelation? He wins. The bad guys lose. When the focus is on God, the when and how aren't so important. Then we can see that yes, these things must happen to support the nature and character of God. And who likes a story where the bad guy goes free? Nobody. We want to see justice done. And, when you look at it as God's story, that's what happens in Revelation.

Okay, I'm no theologian, so feel free to disagree with me. I'm just a writer. That's my story...and I'm stickin' to it.

Enjoying Life

How to explain my absence in blogdom? We're off enjoying summertime! We've been to museums, watched a bed race, gone to a minor league baseball game; been swimming, bike riding and just having fun. Summer can be awesome.

This summer also contains three major events for A Musing Mom and her family, so there are a lot of preparations consuming the time we aren't out having fun. A wedding, a conference and a book launch within one month's time mean lots of little details to see to.

But back to fun: for Father's Day we bought these water shooters (which my girls discovered at the Llama household - Llama Mama has got a line on fun water toys). Then last Sunday we sent a Musing Dad out back to putt discs, while we loaded our shooters out front. Then we split up and went around both sides of the house to ambush Musing Dad. He ran and found our hose out front and returned our volleys in an uneven fight until we convinced him it would be better if he turned around and found the shooter we'd left him. The water fights continued all day long (with breaks for snacks and naps). I think it was a good Father's Day for Musing Dad. And it's a good summer for the kids so far.

Learning to Read

The first day of summer break I had my girls write out what they'd like to learn this summer (we spend an hour or so each morning on school work during the summer. Kind of like homeschooling...but not). Timid daughter asked to learn "math about money. How to read. How to tell time on a clock (meaning not digital). And math". And so we are. It's mostly fun. I give her several worksheets to do, we discuss things together and find other teachable moments during the day to continue learning. What she's asked to learn is completely within her grasp, so I think we can reach her goals this summer.

But some of it is painful, especially reading. Sitting listening to your child read verrrry sloooowly through a simple book, while exciting in concept, is torture in practice. If the payoff weren't so great, I'd stop. In fact, I'm starting to realize that at least the reading portion of her learning is going to have to come through the aid of more than just one teacher. Because if I have to sit through another half hour of that any time soon...

Okay, there you have it. I'm a bad mom. And this is why I don't homeschool full time (that and I have not been called to homeschooling). I love that my daughter is learning to read, truly love it. And she is doing so well. But it's still painful. I'd much rather listen to her tell what she thinks the words say the way she used to so wonderfully do. But there's no going back. So I guess I'm asking: is anyone willing to come listen to my daughter read for a half hour each day?

Going Buggy

It's the summer of the 17-year cicadas. Only there haven't been any in our yard. Or our neighborhood. Or, it would seem, our entire fair city. I know. My children have searched. High and low, under rocks and leaves, in every corner of our yard. The week the cicadas were supposed to have emerged they searched along the block as we went to school and in the school yard. No cicadas.

Then we dropped by their old preschool to register the uber-princess for next year. And, what luck(!), one of the students had brought in a cicada for each child in her class and there happened to be a few left over. So we looked at one. Buggy red eyes, huge, translucent wings and all. And it was...ugly! Completely ugly. Horribly, creepily ugly. So they wanted to bring it home. I'm a mean mom. I said, "no!". I didn't want to ride in a van with that thing, even if it was safely ensconced in a Dixie Cup with plastic wrap on the top. I saw those huge wings. And I knew if that cicada wanted to fly across the van and lodge in my hair, it would. I couldn't take any chances.

Once they got over their disappointment at not having a pet cicada, they just enjoyed talking about seeing one. They were especially excited to tell their Dad about seeing a cicada in person. But I couldn't help feeling at that point that they'd been gypped, not out of having a pet cicada, but out of the whole cicada invasion experience. Seeing one cicada in a Dixie cup, albeit an up close experience, does not equal the skin-crawling experience of seeing hundreds of them - buzzing in the air, crunching under foot, shaking the air with their loud chirping. My kids were missing out this time and now I felt bad.

So this week I took them to Dzedo & Grandma's house, right smack in the middle of 17-year cicada territory. And they had a blast. They went out in the yard and crunched over cicadas, watched them crawling out of their exoskeletons, heard them buzzing and humming loudly in the treetops. And they collected cicadas. Half dozen or so apiece (except for the uber-princess who just picked up one). They loved learning how to pick them up (by the two top wings because there are four and you can't grab the two underneath, or with a stick, if you'd rather). And Grandma was kind enough to give them each a plastic baggie to tie them in to take home. Some alive. And chirping. In...my...van.

This time I wasn't a mean mom. I knew how much it meant to them to bring home a part of the cicada experience. Especially a living part. A living, flapping, shrieking insect part. The driving was rough. I jumped every time one shrieked. Actually it was always the same one. He took to flapping his wings loudly against the bag too. But my girls assured me he couldn't escape.

And so we came to have a few cicadas in Naperville. Who knows, 17 years from now there might be hundreds. And my daughters will only have themselves to blame.

Summer Reading

Hey, only 7 hours and 45 minutes left of school for the year (or so my eight-year-old tells me)! Summer is nearly here. Of course we're not waiting on the official start of summer to start hanging out at the pool - we've been there the last two afternoons. Anyway, I'm excited about all the swimming and camping and boating and baseball games. But what I get really excited about as I start thinking about Summer is...reading!

Here's the deal: I'm always reading. The stack beside my bed never drops below about three books tall and usually towers higher. But a lot of that isn't light reading (see sidebar). It's "getcha thinkin'" type stuff. And I like to think. I'm hoping exercising my brain cells regularly will keep me going for a long time past a lot of other folks. Well, that and good genes.

So when Summer comes I look at that extra hanging out time - at the beach or the pool or the campsite and think: time to chill on some "just for fun" reading. Whaddaya mean, "just for fun", you're thinking? Now you're thinking I'm talking trashy romance novels. I'm not. But...well...I do have a thing for "chick lit" and "mom lit". So yeah, for me, good Summer reading involves a heap of Shopaholic, Devil Wears Prada, The Nanny Diares kind of books. Lots of light, unplug-your-brain page-turners.

Here's my problem this year: what to read. That's my criteria listed up above. Anybody got some recommendations? I'm hopin' to make a trip to the library in the next day or two to load up. Oh, I suppose if there's an excellent "thinking" book you'd like to suggest, I'll consider it. Just don't ask me to blog about it until Fall.

Family-Size Hospitality

Imagine having 50 to 60 people over for a backyard barbeque. That's what the Musing Family did yesterday. Actually, that's what we do every year on Memorial Day. And it's always a blast. But it's a ton of work getting ready and I often think to myself about two hours into the preparations, "why do we do this?". Then when the party starts and I'm having so much fun I remember why.

This year two hours into the preparations I wasn't pondering that question. Instead I was thinking about how much easier it's getting. In two hours we were nearly done with our top to bottom deep-cleaning on the house that included all the bedrooms, main floor, and even basement (yes, even for an outdoor barbeque because in past years we've been rained in). It was thrilling to see how much all five of us could do if we worked together. Sure, we were still putting the finishing touches on when guests started arriving, but that's only because Musing Dad had us filling 200 water balloons (he'd bought 400! Go ahead, ask him what he was thinking!). I think we only got about 50 done before my fingers were totally purple and threatening to fall off. Thankfully Llama Papa and some other nice dads pitched in to help Musing Dad finish (and then they pitched in later to help put those balloons to use).

I was pleased with how the party turned out. Everyone seemed to have fun, the gazillion kids (they multiply every year) played incredibly well together, the food was relatively plentiful and it didn't rain. But more than all those things, what pleased me about it was how it was totally our family's party. All five of us cleaned the house, all five of us worked at setting up the screen room in the yard (although I admit it's been amusing in the past to watch Musing Dad struggle with it on his own), all five of us put out tables and chairs and lawn games, together we filled coolers with drinks and ice and Musing Dad and his three girls set up the volleyball net. A sometimes gargantuan task is shrinking every year because of teamwork.

So, will we host a mega-barbeque again next year? You bet! And the year after that and...maybe one year not too far off Musing Dad and I will be able to flop our tired bodies into bed while the girls clean up. (I can hope, can't I?).

Born & Bred Suburbanite

I've been reading Albert Hsu's The Suburban Christian (see it listed on my sidebar?) lately. It's an interesting read to me first and foremost because I'm a suburbanite. I have lived in the same suburban county for all by my first three or so years of life. My husband grew up in the same county, as did both his mother and father. We are raising third-generation suburbanites. And a desire to know the implications of this compels me to read Hsu's book.

Most recently I was reading his thoughts on the individualistic nature of the suburbs. That great American dream to have your own house that continues to feed the growth of the suburban landscape. He suggests that perhaps as Christians we should consider a communal model:multiple families residing in one home, sharing common areas, but having their own space as well. I see all his arguments in favor of this. Not having to each own large appliances, lawn equipment and even vehicles sounds like a worthwhile concept. And there are so many other economies of scale that could come into play. Plus having that built-in community where families could share life together - it's worth thinking about.

Two related thoughts: I wish Hsu knew about the group of believers that at one time began a looser version of this by all buying homes on the same block and near the same church in Westmont. I have not heard recently how this is going, but it seemed like such an incredible idea. It's in his backyard, so to speak, so maybe he does know about it.

Second: the whole thought of homes and land and what this ownership means makes me think of the Old Testament. Land was part of the blessing God promised in His covenant with Abraham. And all through the Old Testament getting or having land was greatly significant. Yes, that was a promise to a specific people and it applied to the nation of Israel as a whole. But was that promise made because it answered a desire that all people have for owning a piece of land? Is this desire for a place to call our own inherently wrong? I don't know one way or another. I'm just wondering (in case you didn't know, that's a lot of what I"m about).

Any thoughts?

Pampering Public Service Announcement

It's that time of year again. And I don't mean the start of the good swimsuit sales (although I think it's that time too and I need to get out shopping). For all you bakers and chefs, and anyone who needs an inexpensive source of organza bags, ceramic baskets or other favor items, it's time for the Wilton Tent Sale!

For those who don't know, Wilton Industries is the manufacturer of Wilton cake pans, Copco & Rowoco kitchenwares and Weston Gallery frames. They're located on 75th St. at I-355 in Woodridge, IL. You can see their big white tent from 355.

Every year in June they have this big blowout tent sale where everything is 50-75% off. It's a great place for shaped cake pans (we get our birthday cake pans there every year), cake decorating supplies, any kind of kitchen gadget and even picture frames. If you need a wedding shower gift - go there. My favorite Wilton purchase? A jumbo muffin pan. Now I can have cafe sized double-chocolate muffins that I like for a fraction of the cost. And each year I just stock up on the liners at Wilton. Anyway, enough description. Here's the important stuff:

This year it takes place from June 2nd to June 19th. You need to go north on Janes Ave. from 75th to get the drive to their lot. Hours are 9a-8p M-F and 8a-6p Sat/Sun. If you don't live in Chicagoland, but are planning to visit in June, it's worth a stop. You never know what cool stuff you'll find.

For more information on creating inexpensive gifts and decorations, check out the new book, Pampering Gifts: Crafting a Ministry of Treating People Well For Less.

Freaking Out About Sports

Saturday is soccer day for us. And it's a lot of fun. I mentioned before about TD's theatrics on the field. Over the season she's really grown and is now pretty focussed out there. She rarely looks over at the spectators now, unless she's scored a goal. Her eyes are on the ball and usually her feet too. Her team is doing so well and we have a blast cheering them on.

Then there's LMH's team. They struggled for the better part of the season, as a team. But last week things clicked together and it's been so much less stressful to watch them. As for LMH herself, she's been playing awesome. Her mind is in the game and she really has good control of the ball. The difference in her own playing personally is dramatic from last year to this one and even since last season (Fall). She has even scored two goals during each of the last two games. Now she's working hard on pulling off a hat trick like her sister did earlier on in the season. Even if she doesn't, I'm pretty proud of her.

But I'm also focused on the team as a whole, so I've been watching them all improve at their teamwork and not really paying as close attention to LMH. On the weeks the team did poorly Grandma had to remind me that LMH played terrifically. So you can imagine my surprise this week when her coach told us that a club team coach had scouted her out during the game.

Who? Our daughter? Being recruited? I thought this stuff only happened on TV and in the movies. Then again, I know where screenwriters get their material - from real life. Just not my real life. I was shell-shocked. She's only eight. I'd already thrown away the traveling team information because we're not ready to get that involved. Still this club didn't sound as intense. Maybe she should try it.

It's a tough call for us. We're not hyper sports parents. We want our kids to get a chance to try things out. And we applaud their success and like to see them excel. But we don't push it. It's more about having fun. Yet, when an opportunity like this arises...

Well, I don't know. It may be even more fun for her to play with a group of kids with stronger skills. But I still wouldn't want to get too hung up on it all and sucked into spending tons of hours every week on soccer. Doesn't sound like it, but we'll see. I'm just not used to having stuff like this happen. As a kid I usually went along my mediocre way without getting noticed and life was fine. This seems like a whole different ball game. And... Well, if you can't tell, I'm freaking out about it.

Known By Our Gifts

My last post was a list of "interesting" facts about me. Well, maybe it was interesting or maybe not. Guess it depends on who was reading it. You probably don't care that I'm a morning person unless you're staying at my house and have to listen to all the goings on beginning at 5:30am.

But on Mother's Day as I was opening my gifts, I realized that those too were somewhat telling of me, or at least who my family thinks I am. And I thought I'd share that with you today. Just because.

From the uber-princess: a note with my real name on it, not "Mommy" because she's very proud that she knows how to spell my real name. And with the note was a brand new Illini shirt that will soon be a collector's item because it has the now-banned "Chief" logo on it. She had also purchased a matching shirt for herself. We're both wearing them today.

From timid daughter: a Martha Stewart ribbon organizer (thank goodness because my stash of ribbons was piled in a messy heap in a basket in the guest room). Now I'm more like Martha with my ribbons trailing neatly out of the robin's egg blue box. And a rubber stamp with girlie things on it like purses and high heels and stuff. 'Cuz I'm a girlie mom.

From little miss history: homemade rose water room spray. The kid's got her mother's gene for inexpensive pampering. She found the recipe in a Highlights magazine and begged her dad to take her to buy roses to make it. It smells pretty nice. She done me proud. Along with that was some cool clear letter stamps for labeling scrapbooks or making cards.

From a musing dad: Gran Turismo 3 auto racing game for the PS2. Because I love car racing games. And I'm still girlie. Did I mention my thumb was hurting by Sunday night from pressing the accelerate button? And that AMD & I were nearly crying we were laughing so hard at the replay of the races showing my car starting in reverse and running into walls and... I'm asking for a steering wheel controller for Christmas.

Eight Facts Meme

Craver tagged me for a meme (rhymes with theme). I don't normally do memes, but this one is pretty normal and a little interesting. So I'll take a stab at it. Here goes:

1. Post the rules of the game.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling them they're tagged, and to read your blog.

Eight Facts about A Musing Mom:

1. Before I got married I changed my own oil on my car. Now A Musing Dad has me going to Jiffy Lube. I don't mind, but someday I'm going to teach him how to do an oil change.
2. As a kid I had a paper route. I loved it. I got up a 5:30 in the morning and was done at about 7am.
3. I'm a morning person.
4. I'm not at all a tomboy despite changing oil and delivering papers. I'm pretty girly.
5. Even though I love to do crafts, I don't really like craft shows. Why buy someone else's craft when you can make one of your own? Oh, but I do like arts & crafts fairs. There is a difference.
6. I plan on getting a table at a craft show at least once next fall. The one at our daughters' school will be a good chance to try to sell my book and a few items shown in it.
7. I totally, absolutely, positively LOVE laser tag! I love it! If you wanna hang out with me, suggest laser tag (although I'd probably hang out with you somewhere else too).
8. I'm introverted, but I enjoy being around people.
   

And now this is the part where I'm supposed to tag eight bloggers. And I don't think I can retag anyone Craver has tagged. Darn! Okay, here goes: Wilyhacker, Charity Singleton, Sarah, Jenn, and any four of you out there who'd like to consider yourselves tagged.

Freedom!

This past Sunday my husband packed our three girls into the minivan and headed downstate to Urbana to go to church (for a farewell to the pastor who married us). Ordinarily I would have watched them pull out of the drive and then skipped into the house and started the party. But I didn't. I had lingered in the open minivan door blowing kisses and wishing I could go, until the last minute. Then I trudged into the house and slowly forced myself to continue on with the preparations. I had to miss a family road trip to host a bridal shower. No time to enjoy the freedom of no kids in the house.

It was one in a series of commitments that has kept me from having much time for my husband, my kids, or for myself, or just for kicking back. I haven't kicked back for more than a few minutes in a long time. And I'm missing it - the time with my husband, the kids, alone. I can't wait until I can choose to just do something fun and not feel like I have to sneak that time.

So this morning I will be passing off a huge project I've been working for the last month and a half. And then? I'll be skipping all around the house having a big old celebration! Freedom! And this evening we don't have any commitments because Awana is over. Whoo hoo! I don't know what we'll do first. Play a game? Go out for ice cream? Run through the sprinkler? Or just cuddle in a blanket fort under the table?

Ah, the joys of freedom. Being able to choose what we do and when we do it - something we take for granted too often. This is one of the joys of childhood too and one of the best reasons to choose not to over schedule our kids. They need that freedom or they'll feel even more pressured and stifled than I've been feeling. It's unnatural, for adults and for kids. And while we've got a bunch of things left on our calendar for May, I'm really looking forward to June and Summertime. It's a blank slate right now and I'm going to keep it as much that way as I can. Then when July Fourth comes we can just amp up the celebration that's already going on.

I love my freedom!

(Note: the shower was actually a lot of fun and not the killjoy it might have come across as above. I had a wonderful co-hostess whose great planning skills had us sitting with our feet up an hour before party time. Thank you, Aunt Judy!)

It's Garage Sale Season!

I love to go to garage sales. To me, it's the thrill of the hunt. What great buy will I find? I've gotten nice pictures for my living room and dining room, window coverings for the living room, craft supplies, even candy!

Now, I'm not a garage sale nut. I look over the ads each week and find the ones in my corner of town. I don't drive all over the place. And I only go on Friday mornings. I don't arrive at the sales before the start time - nothing is worth being in the crowd of early-birds, with their brisk, deal-hungry approach. Being around those folks just brings me down. I don't need to "beat someone out" for a deal. If it's still there when I come later, great. If not, then I've been saved spending that money.

Plus I shop with a list. Really! This summer my list has two things: original Rummikube (the current versions have plastic tiles - I'm looking for the old style solid tiles) and decorative milk glass plates for the guest room. Oh, and maybe clothes for LMH if they're good quality.

So this morning the uber-princess and I set out for a handful of garage sales. She's got her eye out for American girl doll stuff - a rare find, but worth picking up if you do find it. No luck for her today. And nothing from my list either. But I did get a masonite clipboard for a dime. That goes into my stash for teacher gifts next year. Then it will become an altered clipboard. And I found a nice framed photograph of an English cottage. Don't know where it will go yet, but we've been drooling over this kind of photo at fine art fairs and so I knew it was a deal. Plus I just liked it. Now we're home and on with our day. No more garage saling until next Friday. And then, who knows what fun stuff we'll find!

Speed Demon

When I saw the comic strip Shoe on Saturday (go to the April 28, 2007 strip) it brought back memories. When I was in high school I saved up my money and bought myself a Honda Spree scooter just like the one in the picture. It was my main mode of transportation to school and work for my junior and senior years of high school and even during my first job after college. And it worked great - except in rain or snow. Plus it really only held one person. Not nearly as cool as a car, but certainly better than a bike. And it got great mileage!!

The memory that the comic strip brought back was of a time when my parents had gone out of town, leaving me in charge of three of my younger siblings. I can't remember how long they were gone, but it was long enough for us to run out of milk. No big deal. My scooter had a white wire basket on the front - big enough for 1 gallon of milk. So off to the store I went keeping to smaller residential streets since the maximum speed the scooter could go was about 27 miles an hour, maybe 29 going downhill with the wind at your back.

Now, you have to know that I was pretty proficient at controlling the throttle on that machine. I could sit at a stop sign and keep my feet up, while waiting for traffic to go all by opening and closing the throttle back and forth, letting the shifting keep me upright. And I did that all the time. On my return trip from the grocery store this proved to be problematic. You see, a police car was following me. And when I stopped at a stop sign without putting my feet down the officer pulled me over.

I kinda wondered what the problem was. Well, he cited me for failing to stop and for - get this: speeding! I immediately burst into tears, sensitive teen that I was and began pouring out my tale of woe. "I'm just out getting milk for my sisters and brother 'cuz I'm in charge while Mom and Dad are gone" (if it weren't for the milk jug right there he'd probably have thought it was a bunch of BS). And I explained the whole throttle deal. He made me demonstrate that I could stop without my feet down (harder to do from a dead stop, let me tell you) and finally let me off with a warning.

So, when I'm old I'm gonna have me another scooter. Then let them stop me for going 7 mph in a 5 mph zone! Just call me a scooter rebel.

Extreme Makeover: My Closet Edition

After

Today a friend came over and helped me do a wardrobe makeover. It was probably more like the show What Not to Wear than Extreme Makeover. Well, except I didn't get five thousand bucks to spend on a new wardrobe. I still kept a lot of my clothes. And there wasn't this big "reveal" at the end. But it was still a thrill and will continue to be for the next few days when I go into my now huge-feeling closet.

Here's how it worked: Before my friend, Linda, arrived I had emptied my whole walk-in closet (not including Musing Dad's clothes that have taken over some of the space) and all of my drawers onto my bed and a nearby chair. Then one by one we looked at each piece and decided one of four options: pitch, keep, give away, or store for "retro fashion parties" my daughters might attend (yes, some of my clothes had been around long enough to be almost retro).

It was exhilarating! Linda did a great job pointing out which things would go together and noting what items were mate-less. She even rescued the bottom part of an old suit to use just as a simple black skirt. Here's a picture of what we evicted from the closet:


The great thing about doing this is that I can now more easily see what I have. I found some great pieces I'd forgotten about. And I've only got a short list of things to purchase to really fill things out - at a cost of $150 max! Plus I know better what works together and what great outfits I've got.

I got the idea for this, not from TV, but from a wardrobe workshop I went to at the Hearts at Home conference. The presenter suggested this kind of closet gutting and I must say that I'm pleased with how it worked. It only took an hour and a half to go through everything and another half hour to put stuff back together. And now I've got a trip to the Goodwill Store in my future. Which always gives me a good feeling - getting my stuff I can't use into the hands of someone who can use it. I think Linda was a little motivated by the experience too. We both certainly had fun at it.

Question: is your closet crammed full? Are your drawers hard to close? Maybe you need a wardrobe makeover. I'm pitching my idea to Hollywood this week. Send me your application and I'll try to get you on for Season 1. And if you don't make the cut for that, there's always Supermarket Survivor.

A Special Day in the Life of Little Miss History

It's LMH's birthday today. She is so excited. Finally she can say officially that she's eight! It is obvious to me that we have entered the middle years. Suddenly being "older" really matters. So does being "fashion" (read "fashionable"). Boys are not a big deal - yet. Thank goodness. But I'm learning that the relationships at school are becoming more complicated. There are now friends AND enemies. Not just friends and not friends. But at least the "enemy" is the one who gets to the coat hook before she does and hogs all the cubby space. And LMH and said "enemy" worked things out so they hang up their coats at the same time (plus warmer weather will do away with the conflict soon anyway).

So I breathe a short sigh of relief and say that LMH has happily reached her eighth birthday. And I pray that God gives us the wisdom and patience to guide her happily through this ninth year. I see a whole new mom learning curve ahead and am grateful for friends with older children that I can watch and learn from.

Today WE celebrate. After all, I celebrate eight years since I becoming a musing Mom instead of just a musing Gal (and musing Dad, he celebrates the day he became Mr. Fix-it-all and Special Man to more than just one gal). It's a fun journey and we're glad for the child who started it all.

My Moses Moment

Do you know the story of how Moses got his start as leader of the people of Israel? It's pretty dramatic. God, THE God, speaks to him from none other than a burning bush. Whoa! Kinda freaky, huh?

Moses does get a little weirded out by it. But what really freaks him is actually hearing what God is asking. He doesn't feel up to the job due to his speech impediment (it's said that he stuttered). Well, this excuse does gain him a spokesman (his brother Aaron), but it doesn't get him out of a job. God's chosen people are being oppressed and He needs someone to speak out on their behalf. Moses is the one.

I've been reading Ed Gilbreath's book Reconciliation Blues recently. As I've read, I've searched for ways to identify with the struggles of people of other races. What does it feel like to receive an insensitive remark? How would I cope with being treated differently just because of what I look like? Then suddenly one day I found my point of identity and it left me changed. I recognized a group of people that is totally shut out of a popular dialog in our culture. It's a minority group (at least here in America) that, because of physical attributes over which they often have little control, are many times picked on, maligned and basically shut out of certain conversations. I'm a member of that minority group and I'm feeling a call to speak out. A little like Moses. And like Moses, I'm afraid. The group is such a small segment of society - is it worth speaking on their behalf? Will they care (sometimes the Israelites wished Moses had left them alone)? Should I allow them to continue to endure the thoughtless comments that come even from the lips of Jesus-loving, God-fearing people, without speaking up? In the end, does it really matter to any but a few?

Well, if nothing else, I am learning empathy for those who face racism. I know what it's like to not be able to shop in certain stores. I've had to deal with stares and whispers all because of being created different from the majority culture. And I'll tell you another time about being in a culture where I was in the majority and the huge sense of freedom I felt, like finally being able to let out that breath you've been holding when you didn't even know you were holding it.

But like the title says, this seems to me to be my Moses moment. Like Moses, I'm kinda freaked out by the whole idea of speaking up. But I'm not sure I have the choice to be silent. Oh, I didn't see any weird burning bush. In my case the burning is inside; not consuming me, but not going out either. Maybe God will send an Aaron, someone more eloquent who can speak for me. But probably not. So these are my first words. Forgive me if I've stuttered.

Oh...and please don't call me "skinny".

All the Field's Her Stage

We sat outside in the cold last weekend for several hours for the beginning of the spring soccer season. Our girls did not disappoint, timid daughter in particular. She was totally in her element on the field, not so much for the sport of it, but the attention. Every time she caught my eye (or the eyes of one of the three grandparents) she smiled and waved. No matter that the ball was traveling down the field toward her at that very moment. She had a audience to satisfy.

It grew more comical on the occasions that actually brought her to our side of the field. On one such occasion she was standing directly in front of us waiting for a throw-in. At least she was supposed to be. In reality she was grinning hard at us and never saw the throw-in until after the ball had hit her on the head. We cheered her "header" and she bounced back and ran off into the game, waving at us over her shoulder.

Did I mention that she had a hat trick over the course of that game? When the kid got her head in the game she was really "on". Timid and quiet on the sidelines, she turns into a monster powerhouse out on the field. That ball stays between her feet while she moves fast. And somewhere along the way she learned how to give it a good strong boot into the goal (okay, here's where I give her coaches some credit - they're doing a great job with this team). Naturally she's also motivated by the applause. More goals means more cheers for her and more chances to wave at Mom and Dzedo and Grandma and Grandpa. Maybe she's headed for a career on stage. But for now we're just going to enjoy the show on the soccer field.

French Memo Board for 18" (American Girl) Doll Cabinet

I created this french memo board to go in the doll cabinet my husband made. If you want a larger board, simply scale up to whatever size you want (you may want more ribbon intersections, in which case the measurements for the ribbon placement will change drastically). Here you go:

Doll-Size French Memo Board
1/4" thick foam core board cut to 10" x 15"
18" medium weight picture wire
batting cut to 14" x 19"
fabric cut to 15" x 20"
approx. 3 yds. of 1/2" wide grosgrain ribbon
5 buttons either 1/2" or 5/8"
heavy duty thread
four small squares of cardboard

Make two holes in board 2 1/2" from top and 2" from sides (I punched with an awl). Then thread picture wire through holes. Secure ends by looping back through each other and twisting tight. The twisted side will be the front (covered) side of the board.

Lay fabric face down on table. Place batting on top, then foam board with wrapped wire end toward batting. Trim a small square out of each corner of the batting to help ease the fullness. Next pull both layers around onto back of board, making sure front side is smooth. Pull taught, pleating down fullness at corners. Staple to hold in place, making sure to staple only through fabric. If you go through the batting the staples will pop back out.

Glue around entire edge of fabric.

Mark centers of all four edges with pins.

Cut two 23" lengths of ribbon. Then cut four 13" lengths of ribbon. Pin the 23" pieces from corner to corner across both diagonals, crossing in center of board and lapping ends to back of board.

Next pin each 13" length from the center of one side to the center of an adjacent side. Repeat all the way around.

Sew five buttons onto the center of each ribbon intersection as follows: mark a starting point on the back of the board by poking need through front center mark of ribbon "x". To keep thread from pulling through foam, anchor by sewing through a cardboard square. With thread doubled and knotted, pull through cardboard, then through previously made hole in board. Sew through button and back down through foam board and cardboard. You can repeat if desired. Then knot.

Finish off board by gluing loose ends of ribbon to back of board. Then hang.

Note: we put two 1/2" small screw eyes (opened with pliers) on the door of the cabinet and hung from wire. To keep it from swaying when door opens and closes we also put 1 1/2" piece of sticky-back velcro on the back of the board and pressed in place against the door to hold.

Princess Uber-Princess

On Easter Sunday my sister-in-law asked my three-and-a-half year-old daughter, "Will you be the princess in my wedding and drop flower petals?".

Immediately the uber-princess answered with a firm, "I will" and planted a big, wet kiss (her favorite kind to give and least favorite to receive) on her aunt's cheek.

Since then she's talked about it almost non-stop. When I asked her what she would be doing in the wedding she told me, "I am going to drop the flower petals on the ground. And I'm not going to pick them up because Aunt ___ said I can't".

So she's ready. Well, almost. You see, there's that all-important detail called "the flower girl dress". It must be pretty. And pink. And spinny - that's probably the most important feature. There have been tears in our house before over dresses that didn't properly spin. And so we shop. And shop. And shop more because added to her requirements are her mother's requirements that it not cost much more than any special-occasion dress her mother would buy for herself. Which is proving to be a challenge.

That and the constant request for pink. The wedding color is periwinkle. Not pink. A pink flower girl would be cute, but a little off. So the flower girl's mother works on that one too. Ultimately though, the bride will not be disappointed. The uber-princess has been waiting for the day that she would get to be a flower girl like her sisters were for another aunt three years ago. She's seen the pictures and she's up for the thrill. Of course, what outgoing uber-princess isn't?

4/17/07 Update: A dress has been chosen & ordered! The uber-princess chose this one herself because it's "like a fairy tale" (wouldn't you know the dress description actually uses those words). She was very certain that this dress was "the one" (oh my, visions of prom are upon me now! Lord help us). Since spaghettipie requested, here is a link to a photo of the dress.

Gonna Make Ya Sweat

I grew up with lots of Easter traditions. There were traditional foods (babka, pascka, cirrhets), ritual happenings (pizza at midnight to break the Good Friday fast), and traditional greetings (Christos Voskres! Voistin Voskres! He is Risen! He is Risen Indeed!). But the one tradition I never got was the horseradish challenge. And Sunday I missed the annual Easter horseradish challenge.

What is this challenge you ask? It's about opening a fresh (very FRESH) jar of horseradish. It's about slathering that fresh horseradish thickly on a slice of ham, preferably in a layer thicker than the ham itself. And it's about forking a large piece of horseradish and ham into your mouth, then closing tightly and not flinching while that very FRESH horseradish eats it's way into your brain. It's about the BURN. The stronger the better. You should be feeling that horseradish sting upwards into your nasal passages, sending pressure up into your eyeballs. Yes, if it's that good, you should be beet red from the stinging heat and perhaps if you're lucky, even crying.

Like I say, I missed it this year. My husband's family does not have this tradition. But this does not mean that my husband does not participate in such abuse. Instead for him it's about spicy chili. The spicier the better. In his case it's a good bowl of chili if it makes him sweat. Literally. If it's too mild he just tosses a chiltipin (a very tiny, very potent pepper) into his own bowl. Thankfully the rest of us don't have to join him (unlike the horseradish challenge this year where my brother goaded my mom into taking part).

So my question: what's up with that? Why eat something that hurts, burns, even fries the inside of your mouth (and head)? Sure, your sinuses might clear from the horseradish, but can you still taste anything else? Okay, so I'm far from understanding this tradition. I like my fresh horseradish in moderation. To me it's like the people who go to horror films for fun. What?! You like to be scared silly?

Can anyone explain?

Easter Memories

We went to the library yesterday and Musing Dad checked out the CD soundtrack from Jesus Christ Superstar for me. Listening to it brings back memories!

When I was a kid I loved that movie. Trouble was, back in the day there were no VCR's or DVD players so the only way to see any movie was to catch it when it was actually on network TV. And usually this movie (perhaps for the liberal approach it takes to the story of Christ's last week) aired at a very late hour. Too late for this youngster to watch. Or so my folks said.

One year I desperately wanted to see it, late night or not. So I arranged a plan. I would take our little black and white tv into my bedroom closet, along with an earphone and camp out in there to watch it. The bonus of that old black and white was the brightness dimmer - no chance of light escaping under the closet door.

Only remaining detail was the need for me to be in my bed. Solution: a decoy. Thankfully I had a Marie Osmond styling head (okay, if all the other things I've said haven't dated me, surely that does. We not only had the styling head, but my sister also had Donny & Marie dolls, complete with Donny's trademark purple outfit). Marie's hair very nearly matched mine and with that head on my pillow and some extra stuffing under the bedding you could hardly tell I wasn't in the upper bunk (the added height helped too).

At the appointed hour I snuck into the closet. It was glorious watching that movie. All those catchy tunes and the funky seventies dance numbers. I don't remember if I watched it all the way through. And as far as I know my parents were none the wiser. According to my younger sister who occupied the bottom bunk, Dad actually kissed the Marie head good night when he came in later (so see, the movie couldn't have been on too terribly late). And I wasn't any worse for the wear the next morning.

After that year though, I don't remember any other extreme efforts to watch the movie. In fact, I can't remember how long it's been since I last saw it. Musing Dad doesn't think he ever watched it. Maybe next year we'll have to rent it. And this time I can watch it on the couch, even during daylight if I want.

It's Friday and God is Good

It's "Good Friday" today. Every year at this time I think to myself, how did they come up with that name? A little searching on Google didn't help. All I found out is the origin is uncertain. Me too. I'm not always certain why you'd call the day we remember an innocent man being convicted on trumped up charges by jealous detractors. We remember his torture and ultimately his death. And we call it "good"?

To those who were there that day it wasn't good. And I have to think Jesus' disciples were filled with not just grief on that night, but also doubt. All their assumptions about a Savior were being dashed before their eyes. Was this what God meant to happen? All they could see was the evil and the tragedy. And indeed on the human side, that is all there was to that long ago Friday.

But God is good. And His intentions toward us are always good. So in the midst of supremely evil events, He did the ultimate Good. He gave His one and only Son up to a humiliating, painful, undeserved death because it was the only way to satisfy the demands of His promise to His people.

The disciples had to have spent that night wondering. Their faith must have been challenged to the utmost. But it wasn't over yet. They were about to learn a whole new way of relating to the convenant-keeping God.

Do you ever have doubts? Are the assumptions you've carried with you for so long being challenged? Could it be because there are things you do not yet know? Is that doubt just the frontier to an undiscovered land? Wait for new information. After all, like Tony Campolo says, "It's Friday, but Sunday's coming!".

Holy Week Meditation: Well, Duh!

I'm reading through the account of the final days before Jesus' death and resurrection in the gospel of Mark. Each day I'm trying to follow what Jesus did and said on that particular day of the week. Yesterday I was shocked at Jesus' cursing of the fig tree. It was supposed to be bearing fruit, but it was bare - a foreshadowing of what he would find in the temple in Jerusalem. His indictment of the goings-on there was just as strong.

The next day (Tuesday) finds Jesus and his disciples passing by that same tree. In one day it has died and withered from it's roots. The disciples are surprised at this. I don't scoff at their "well, duh!" moment. When Jesus explains that even greater things can be accomplished by them through prayer it reminds me of all my surprised reactions to answered prayer. "Well, duh!", I often have to remind myself. "You did pray for that. What did you expect?".

Then I go on in the story and find the tension beginning to build. All of those who are threatened by Jesus come to him in turn trying to catch him with crafty questions. They're looking for a basis to legally get rid of him. He's God. He doesn't fall for any of it. Nor does he shy away from them and their mistaken beliefs. His time has come. He takes them on in ways they don't expect. Did any of them see who He really is? The text doesn't say, but we certainly get the impression that even if they did, they're not about to bow the knee.

The juxtaposition is stark. Jesus continues to teach and encourage his disciples. He pours into them what they'll need in the days and weeks to come. But for his accusers there are no more answers, only questions, only exposing their faked arguments. Jesus never minced words for the "white-washed sepulchers" around him, yet there is an in-your-face feel to what is happening here. His face is set on the cross. He has wept for Jerusalem. His time has come and he is not about to shy away. What a blessed Savior!

As we prepare for Easter consider your own faith. Do you wonder at the power of prayer, even though it's been promised to you? Do you feel the weakness of your faith exposed in those "well, duh!" moments? Are you ready to be encouraged? Or are you simply challenging Jesus and His authority in your life? Do you throw out red herring arguments about issues that aren't really even a part of your life hoping He'll go away? Do you have ears to hear the real answer? It's Holy Week. Good Friday approaches. What do you make of all this?

Musing on the News

A couple of news bits in the paper today caught my eye:

• San Francisco's Board of Supervisors has voted to ban plastic bags from supermarkets. Woo hoo! A small step in the right direction toward ridding our world of this evil. Of course I don't know if that means they've banned just the handled plastic bags they use at the checkout or if that includes those fantastically frustrating produce bags.

• Oprah has chosen Cormac McCarthy's book The Road for her latest book club selection. If you look at my list of current reading on the sidebar, you'll see it there. I'm trudging through it based off a recommendation on Marcus Goodyear's blog. I say "trudging" because it's depressing material - the world has been burnt to a crisp and this father and son are hiking south to the ocean in hopes of... well, I don't know what. There's not much to hope for in the world McCarthy paints. I can't read this at night; I have enough apocalyptic night terrors as it is already. And my daytime schedule allows for little reading. So it's slow going, but I hear it's worth it. If you can find a copy at your library after Oprah's announcement maybe check it out. And then check out something more upbeat like one of the Shopaholic books to go with it for balance.

Mega Cooking

I can't stand cooking. Next to grocery shopping it's my least favorite chore. And to me it is a chore. Laundry is tedious, cleaning a pain, but cooking is downright troublesome for me. Not that I'm a bad cook. I can make most recipes turn out fine. I just don't enjoy doing it. Or planning it. Or shopping for it.

Then at the Hearts at Home conference a couple weekends ago I heard a speaker talk about the benefits of freezer cooking. So I picked up the Freezer Cooking Manual, browsed through the recipes, and made a list of chicken recipes to try. I found chicken on sale (though not the deal Llama Momma found) and bought a bunch of packages.

Saturday I cooked. For four hours. Since I was only doing single recipes to see what my family likes it wasn't nearly as efficient as it was supposed to be. At least that's what I'm hoping. In four hours I only put away four entrees and four sides. The idea is to spend 8 to 10 hours and get 30 entrees put in your freezer. The problem is I still don't like to cook, especially not for 8 hours straight. But I guess those 8 hours would buy me a month of no cooking. So maybe it's worth it. If I could just work a little faster and maybe with a friend.

I'm not giving up on it yet. Eating from the freezer could be my salvation. In fact it actually saved my exhausted body on Saturday night. We had frozen pizza.

To My Not-So Timid One

"When I was One,
I had just begun.

When I was Two,
I was nearly new.

When I was Three,
I was hardly Me.

When I was Four,
I was not much more.

When I was Five,
I was just alive.

But now I am Six, I'm as clever as clever.
So I think I'll be six now for ever and ever."

from Now We Are Six by A.A. Milne

Happy Birthday to my favorite six-year-old!!

Our Furry House Guest

This is Guiness. He was my sister and brother-in-law's dog until they moved away into a pet-free apartment. Now he lives with my parents. BUT... when they travel he comes to stay at our bone-and-breakfast. Since my girls keep begging me to get a dog, I look at this as a symbiotic deal: my parents get free dog-sitting and we get a "pet" on loan (kind of like being a grandparent - all the fun without the long-term hassle).

We've done this before. So he knows us and we know him. We know that our backyard is his playground and a quick walk to the corner will usually get the job done. And we also know that once our children are in bed he'll be looking for extra attention from us big people. He knows he'll usually get it.

He's honestly a great dog to have around. And I'm not a dog-lover. This time around he's here for a total of two weeks. I think my girls will really cry when he leaves this time, after all, he is kind of like family by now. And I'm starting to think we're almost ready to have a pet in our home (besides beta fish - we haven't gone back to try a third time yet). The girls really do take good care of him.

The real reason I think it might not be too bad to actually have our own dog? I don't mind the late-night walks before bed any more. And it's only March, so it can be pretty cold out there at 10pm. But those walks have gotten me to slow down, even for just five minutes. I get to breathe deep the night air and gaze at the stars. I begin to unwind and soak up the silence.

Sometimes the early morning walks are even better. The sun is just peeking over the horizon when we go out and the chortling of birds is pretty much the only sound. I savor the continued peace of daybreak, the calm before the chaos.

Having a dog around has introduced me to a new exercise in "being still" and finding brief moments of solitude outdoors.

(Btw: I'm not saying I want to do this every morning or night, in case A Musing Dad reads this).

March Pampering

Indoor Gardeners
This time of year gardeners begin to map out their plans, start seeds and look longingly out the window at the ground waiting to be tilled. Encourage those green-thumbed ladies with this houseplant care kit centerpiece and flyswatter gift combo. This theme required very little manual labor to give our hardworking team a much needed break.


Houseplant Care Kit
one wire basket
pair of gardening gloves
garden trowel
plastic spray bottle
gardeners hand creme/lotion or wash
plant food spikes
packet of peet pots
small green plant
tissue paper

Tuck two sheets of tissue paper in bottom of basket. Arrange items in basket, beginning with larger items in center such as spray bottle and flower pot. Tuck taller items behind these such as plant spikes, trowel and gloves. Place in center of table.


Fly Swatter Gift
Our speaker's topic this month happened to be anger. Suddenly the fly swatter gift became a more comical addition to our tables (an anger management tool?). We found these cute ones at IKEA and really if they were just ordinary fly swatters they might not have worked as well. We used a cute flower-tipped clothes pin to attach a verse card to the top of each flyswatter. Then all we had to do was put one at each place at the table.

For more ideas like these and other information on creating inexpensive gifts and decorations, check out the new book, Pampering Gifts: Crafting a Ministry of Treating People Well For Less.

Dumb Injury Stories

It seems a lot of people have them. But some of us have more dumb injury stories than others. My most drastic (to date) was the injury I got last summer. I was trying extra hard to reach an itch on my back. Extra hard. Then suddenly I felt/heard a pop in my shoulder. Instinctively I grabbed at my shoulder and pushed to see if I'd dislocated it. Nope. I was so relieved. The next day it ached a little, kind of like a pulled muscle. Then the next day it hurt a little more. By the time I went to see a doctor a week later (after hauling furniture outside for a garage sale and regularly swimming laps at the pool) I couldn't even use that arm. The tendon was torn. That graceful incident took three months to "heal". I'm still working on regaining strength in that arm.

Well, this week I fell down our basement stairs. Luckily I had my hand on the banister and was able to catch myself before I went more than five stairs down. Fortunately it wasn't my right arm that born the brunt of the fall. I caught all my weight by hanging on with my left hand. I ached that day, but not much.

Guess what? It hurt more the next day and more the day after that. And now I'm noticing all those same symptoms from before (I hate the fact that I know what a torn tendon feels like). My range of motion has decreased, applying pressure with that arm hurts. But I'm not going to the doctor yet. After all, what are the chances of tearing a tendon in the other shoulder less than a year later?

Am I in denial? I don't know. I do know that I wish I could have more glamorous stories to tell about my injuries. Like I got hurt while skiing or sky diving. Or maybe I slammed into the catcher while sliding into home to win the game. Only one problem: I don't ski, sky dive or play softball. Do you think maybe if I lived a little more recklessly I'd be more fortunate?

Contentment Part 2: Cosmetic Contentment

It's been a long time since my first post on contentment. Maybe I've been more content since then...but probably not. What go me thinking about it today was a haircut appointment. You see, I've never been totally satisfied with my hair (well, maybe once). It is fine and limp and doesn't always do what I want it to do. I keep trying new stylists and new 'dos in an attempt to find that elusive "perfect style". Now, this is not something that consumes me. I rarely go for a haircut more than every two months and I'm usually willing to just live with it. I just wish it could be better.

What does this say about my contentment with my looks? I'm not entirely sure yet. But it does make me more cautious in my judgments of other people who are in pursuit of some physical "ideal". I used to consider plastic surgery an affront to the Creator. He made us the way we are and He didn't make all of us the same. To change one's face or body in an artificial way seemed to say what God made wasn't good enough. My old views would allow for exceptions on the basis of physical pain/discomfort and disfigurations, but that was it.

Like I say, now I'm not so sure. What made me change my mind? I colored my hair. I fell prey to cultural norms that say graying women are in their fifties or sixties. I wasn't content with letting nature follow it's own course because it seemed a bit premature. Here is the shocking discovery I made when I decided to use a color a few shades lighter than my naturally very dark brown:I looked better. People were complementing me all the time on my hair and only half of them realized the improvement was due to the color not the cut. Even men who aren't prone to giving complements were praising my hair. Weird!

So I had to rethink things. Would God have made me in a way that was less than ideal? Yes, I think that is a very real possibility. People are born every day missing limbs, having debilitating deformities and other physical traits that set them apart from the "norm". Are they less touched by the Creator? I would say not. Then is it okay to seek to improve oneself physically? And to what extent? Does this relate to our ability to be content in every circumstance?

"Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life."
Proverbs 16:31

Sunny, 55 Degrees. A great day for

playing in the snow?! Yup. While out driving yesterday, we saw two young boys happily playing in a large pile of snow. We've had so much snow and cold in recent weeks that despite several days of spring-like warmth the ground is still somewhat frozen and those big mounds made by snowplows are remain pretty big.

My girls spent most of the afternoon out riding their bikes, drawing with chalk on the driveway and climbing in one of our smaller trees. My husband took advantage of the warmth to go throw a couple of rounds of disc golf (too mushy on the course for us to join him though). In fact, it seemed like most of our fair city was drawn outdoors by the hints of spring yesterday.

But these two boys fascinated me most. I was kind of jealous. I don't ever remember being able to play in the snow without being all bundled up and freezing my nose and toes. Yet there they were: no coats on, enjoying a sunny, warm day, building things with snow.

I hadn't noticed any snow before I saw those boys. Then I began paying attention. They hadn't found the lone snow pile in Naperville. There were others. Sure most of them were dirty, but they were there, largely being ignored by walkers and bikers, kids on swings and slides. We're all quick to rush onto the next season.

One thing about our culture is the penchant for the newest, latest, greatest things to come on the scene. But maybe sometimes it's good to savor the last bits of the old things, the old seasons, before they're gone, before we're just reminiscing about how it "used to be". In another few months we'll be missing the snow, but we still have the chance today to see it and touch it and enjoy it.

Now if I can just find a carrot and that old top hat...

Unanchored

I've recently begun reading Ruth Haley Barton's Invitation to Solitude and Silence. It seems especially appropriate for the Lenten season since I'm more in the mode for reflection anyway. And I'm finding that Barton has a lot to say that speaks to my life. She shares how in the midst of a hectic and busy schedule as a mom, church staffer and seminarian she found herself floundering spiritually. When she finally sought the help of a spiritual director, this is how that director summed it up: "Ruth, you are like a jar of river water all shaken up. What you need is to sit still long enough that the sediment can settle and the water can become clear".

That image has stuck with me. I'm in much the same boat. Busy with home and work, church and hobbies, I rarely take time to sit unless I'm reading or eating. And those things don't bring an inner stillness.

So I've been starting to practice silence, trying to learn to still my body, my thoughts, and perhaps eventually, my soul. In that practice a new image surfaced that describes my current inner state: a boat, unanchored and adrift in open water. Oftentimes recently I've found myself wandering my house, lighting on one task briefly, then drifting on to another. My days sometimes lack focus and purpose. The unsettled river water keeps the boat drifting. All the more reason to continue practicing silence. My soul needs that settling. And in some ways I don't think the concept is not too much unlike the idea of fallowing that L.L. Barkat has suggested on her blog.

Is your soul anchored? Or are you adrift?

"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where Jesus, who went before us, has entered on our behalf." Hebrews 6:19-20a

Homemade Chalk Boards

I've been wanting to share this new project for a while. I created several small kitchen chalkboards, for myself and for birthday gifts. They were very easy and lots of fun to make. And if you make your own chalkboard paint they're also quite inexpensive.

To create them I took a 2'x4' sheet of hardboard and cut it into 5 1/2"x 7 1/2" pieces on a table saw (actually A Musing Dad cut them down. I mostly watched). Then A Musing Dad helped me round the corners using his router and I beveled the edges slightly using a sander. You don't have to do the rounded corners and if you don't have a saw I believe hardware stores offer a cutting service where you give them the measurement and they cut it for you (don't know if there is a fee involved). So fear not if you don't have big power tools. You can still do this project.

Next you'll need to mix up your paint. You can find formulas on the internet under chalkboard paint, but the basic idea is you mix up colored acrylic paint (not latex), with powdered tile grout and a glazing medium (used for creating faux finishes). I only worked on small areas so I didn't mix much at a time. It works well to mix it up in an old margarine container because then you can seal the container between coats. This way the paint lasts up to two days.

Now paint your surface. I only painted the front of the board with chalkboard paint because the surface of the back is just too rough. I found a painting sponge to work better than a brush. The brush leaves too many marks. Let it dry for at least a half hour. Then sand with a fine grit sand paper to remove any extra bits of grout and recoat. When you're finished, rub across the surface with a piece of chalk to "prime" it.

I bought small plate stands at a craft store to stand them on. As you can see from the photo you can also paint terracotta pots for labeling windowsill herbs (or just for using as a small container or pen holder).

For more ideas like these and other information on creating inexpensive gifts and decorations, check out the new book, Pampering Gifts: Crafting a Ministry of Treating People Well For Less.

Repeat After Me

Over the past few days I've been learning the truth of an old Russian saying I'd forgotten: "repetition is the mother of learning" (of course in the Russian language it's a much more lyrical saying, but it's still worth repeating in English). I've seen it's value in more than one area:

Math: believe it or not, after only a few short days Little Miss History is becoming much more proficient at her subtraction facts. It just took a lot of drilling over and over and over, but enough repetitions and it began to stick.

Scripture memory: I've only got one verse to go and I'll have gotten all of Deuteronomy 6 down. My secret? I carry laminated verse cards in my purse. Then when I'm out and about I pull them out. Stop lights are good times to read them over. Then while driving I just repeat them out loud over and over until I get to the next light. Second-hand benefit? My kids end up learning along with me, whether they want to or not. They're a captive audience.

New skills: There's nothing like doing the same action over and over again to learn a new skill. For example, Musing Dad took Little Miss History skiing a couple of weeks ago. This is an annual tradition for them. Good father/daughter bonding time. This year after a 2 hour class with lots of up and down repetition on the slopes LMH had actually gotten the hang of really skiing, turning both directions and slowing down if she needed to. For further practice she and Musing Dad took the fast lift up and did a few runs down the green hill together, up and down. But then Musing Dad took her up and let her go down on her own while he did a couple of black runs on his own. Musing Mom's reaction when she learned this afterwards? Musing Dad, repeat after me: "I will not send a seven-year-old down the ski hill alone. I will not send a seven-year-old down a ski hill alone. I will not...".

Happy Birthday, Musing Dad!

Yes, it's Musing Dad's birthday today. I hope he realizes that he's one of the luckiest dads around. After all, how many dads get their own boy Polly Pockets for their birthday? He's guaranteed hours of fun playing with the Uber-princess now (at least that's what she's hoping).

Today is a virtual holiday in our house. Musing Dad was wise enough to take off work (especially since the girls have a break from school). We've already showered him with gifts and have plans for dinner at Famous Dave's tonight. Between now and then Musing Dad is allowed to do whatever he fancies. He's thinking of repairing our broken garage door opener, which is a fitting enough way for him to spend his birthday.

A little about Musing Dad that makes him so lovable: he loves Jesus, wrestles honestly with tough topics instead accepting everything he hears by rote, and works harder than anyone I know at whatever project he's given (except maybe painting because he just doesn't like to do it). He's a brilliant guy and a handyman to boot. In our nearly eleven years of marriage he has built and repaired hundreds of things: rolling appliance cart for our pantry/kitchen, pinewood cars with our girls and a beautiful wood shelf for me, among them. He's replaced lights and plumbing, done drywalling, and has probably tackled every kind of home repair project possible.

So raise a hammer in honor of Musing Dad! Happy Birthday, hon!

Math, Math, Math

Ugh! Little Miss History is having trouble learning her math facts. And I have no idea how to effectively help her. We do flashcard drills. No dice. We try worksheets. No go. I set her up on the computer doing games and problem sets. But she doesn't get it.

This is reason number two why I haven't considered homeschooling my children (beyond the summer months). My daughter has no desire to be taught by me. I have no idea how to reach her. We both end up incredibly frustrated.

Here's the thing: she's got to learn them. I'm not sure she even understands that part. She works her hardest to just get through the drills or worksheets, but never puts any effort into actually learning. And she also doesn't seem to get that it's just a matter of memorization (which she's good at). She constantly counts in her head instead. It's slow, but she gets to the correct answer and as long as it's not a speed drill then she's fine. Guess what? At this point in the school year it's all about speed.

The thing about this is, she's a bright girl. Most things come easily to her. So actually I'm glad she's hit a wall as early as second grade. It's easier to figure out how to work at learning now than to suddenly face it in high school or college. At least I think it is for her. Just not for me.