Books, Books, Books

Jenn with 2n's tagged me to do this meme and since I love books I'm happy to play along.

1. One book that changed your life.
The Bible. 'nuf said.

2. One book that you have read more than once.
Chronicles of Narnia-the whole series. As a family we've been through the series at least once (we pretty much read it continually, although not daily) and I read it several times as a kid.

3. One book you would want on a desert island.
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J.K. Rowling. I just finished book five and while it would be nice to have both books six and seven with me, I'll settle for just number seven. It would take a long while to read and I'm itching to know how it all ends.

4. Two books that made you laugh.
Operating Instructions by Anne Lamott
Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller

5. One book that made you cry.
The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood. It is an excellent, excellent book. If you haven't read it - do!

6. One book you wish you'd written.
If You Give A Pig a Pancake by Laura Numeroff. Great concept that is well executed. Kids love to read it and parents too!

7. One book you wish had never been written.
The Road by Cormac McCarthy - it haunts me and plays on my apocolyptic fears. I've had nightmares off and on since I read it, most recently for the past two nights. It was an incredible book, so maybe it's not that I wish it had never been written, but that I had never read it.

8. Two books you are currently reading.
Pop!: Stand Out in Any Crowd by Sam Horn. Good for speakers, writers and marketing. Gives simple processes for coming up with clever titles.

The Suburban Christian by Albert Hsu. I've had this on my nightstand for a while and recently begun reading it in earnest. I'm particularly enjoying his references to local places because those are places local to me, I know these places. Which, if you've read his book, might be a bit ironic.

9. One book you've been meaning to read.
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

10. Five people that I tag (okay, I've only got four):
Wilyhacker
The Battered Ham
Llama Momma
Michelle Gregory

Humbling: When Your Ego Takes a Tumbling

"Oh, Lord, it's hard to be humble when you're perfect in every way". I used to sing that song at the top of my lungs as a child, a crooked lilt to the words. And I remember my parents laughing at me when I did. But truth is, I often lived my life as if I believed it.

Then yesterday I learned a lesson in humility, thankfully in the privacy of my own head. I'd been getting bummed about my abilities as a writer and a speaker. Reading through writer's group threads and blogs by professionals in the field of publishing and speaking, I'd come to the realization that I was one of those relative "newbies" that they were all describing. After all, I have only one book to my credit and a handful of magazine articles. Sure I've attended a half dozen writing conferences and I've been "writing" since I was six. But a "professional" writer that does not make. As much as I hope it might, it doesn't. I was reading these posts to learn more about the industry and what I learned most is that I have a lot to learn. It made me depressed.

But in the moments of quiet, before I went to sleep I began to contemplate reality: I really do have a lot to learn. I am a "newbie" in many senses. And that was humbling. Yet in the midst of that humbling, my depression disappeared. I was glad to know that I don't have it all together yet. It was good to realize how much I have to learn without making a fool of myself in the process. It was freeing to start my day today knowing that my efforts now will hopefully be outdone by what I do next year as I learn more.

Being at (or near) the bottom of the heap isn't a bad thing. It's just a starting point.

Proverbs 15:33 "The fear of the Lord teaches a man wisdom, and humility comes before honor."

Domestic Diva I am NOT

Yesterday things were humming along the Musing household. I'd been up early, had a quiet time, exercised and ran a several errands before picking Uber-Princess up from preschool. Ah yes, the items on my list were being checked off at a feverish pace and I was feelin' mighty good.

Then it came to my attention that the comforter in my guest room needed to be laundered. So I stripped it off and took it to my laundry room, smug as could be about this task that I'd soon be checking off my list as well. Loading the comforter into my Super Large Capacity washing machine, I found myself pushing and shoving at the piles of fluffiness. I'd always washed the queen-sized comforter off my own bed in the machine, but it hadn't ever been such a chore to get it in. Still, the lid closed and I went off to do the next chore on the list, making a mental note to check on the washing machine part-way through the load.

I forgot. Or nearly so. I jumped up during the spin cycle, wondering if the large load might throw it off kilter. And as I burst into the laundry room, a splash went up from the floor where two rivulets of water were streaming toward the wall. I stopped the machine and dashed to the basement. More water. Not lots mind you, but a puddle of some size.

And so commenced the mopping and drying. When I called my husband to check on the proper process for drying out a partially flooded laundry room I gave him the good news first: the floor had never been cleaner under the washing machine since we moved into our house. Thankfully the water was contained to a small area of the basement and things were dry relatively fast.

Well, the weather man called it pretty well yesterday morning: high potential for possible flooding. I just never considered it might occur inside!

Tuscany...someday

I've been searching the past few days for the "perfect" wall calendar. I actually know what the perfect one is and I've used it the past few years. It's the More Time Moms calendar. I love that it is really wide and has big squares with lots of lines for writing appointments. And it has stickers for things like doctor and dentists appointments and "mom's time". Best of all? It's got a pocket in the back for putting all those schedules and school calendars.

Now I saw my perfect calendar in the store before Christmas. But it was full price. I took the gamble and waited until New Year's. Bad move. They were all sold out. So I convinced myself that it was time to branch out and try a different calendar. There are tons of them out there and even a handful made just for "moms". Some of them have stickers. Some of them have pockets. A few even have lines. But none of them are as big or as nice as the More Time Mom's calendar. Unless it's the calendar that same company makes for teens which is identical except for the small pictures and sayings (and maybe the stickers). After taking home a different "mom" calendar and hating it I went back today to try for the teen calendar. It was sold out too.

I finally opted for a regular old wall calendar with photos of Tuscany. I made my own wall pocket to hang underneath. And I have a bunch of stickers still left that I can use. I'll just need to write smaller in the squares. So until the 2009 More Time Mom's calendar comes out in August (which I will get, full price), I'm going to dream of Tuscany. I've always wanted to go there and I'm sure gazing at beautiful landscapes every day will continue to inspire that dream. It won't guarantee a travel date written on any of those pages, but maybe someday...

In Which More Christmas Arrives, Belatedly

On the second evening after Christmas I was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep. Suddenly the thought occurred to me that I hadn't noticed a reaction from Timid Daughter to a certain gift I thought she'd particularly like. Then, being a mom of rather many thoughts, I promptly forgot that idea.

On the third day after Christmas I asked Musing Dad if he'd seen Timid Daughter playing with this particular toy. He had not. But he wondered if in fact, the toy still remained wrapped in the presents hiding spot. I gasped. Certainly it wasn't. It couldn't be. I went to the hiding spot. Deep in the bowels of the secret hiding place I found the toy, still wrapped.

How could this be? I'd done what I'd seen my mother-in-law do on several previous occasions, occasions where I had laughed at her forgetfulness. I'd forgotten a gift! And yet Timid Daughter hadn't noticed, had no reason at all to even consider it. She was content with what she'd received. Yet there was more...withheld. Oh how I berated myself for doing what I'd promised myself I'd never do. And yet there it was, a gift ungiven several days past the Date.

Musing Dad placed the gift prominently near the Christmas tree, in the midst of the detritus of Christmas Past. It wasn't long before Timid Daughter spied the bright wrapping and crept near to read the label.

"For me?" she asked.

I nodded, feeling ever more the rotten mom I suspected myself of being.

"Can I open it yet?" came the next request.

Yet? Yet!? Why would I ever make her wait a moment longer on a gift much delayed. Open child, open now! But we needed to await the presence of her siblings who rattled and clomped noisily in the room to see this oddity. A gift long after Christmas!

It was opened with glee and instigated a whole afternoon of new play. I only recovered from my mistake when I remembered the year that a whole pile of presents for my youngest brother were forgotten by an aunt for at least as long. And as that to me was comedy, I decided perhaps my own small mistake was not so much a tragedy. And perhaps I'm not so alone in neglecting to retrieve all the gifts hidden.

Editorial Note: on the eighth day after Christmas Timid Daughter came to me with a Christmas card she'd made and finally found. Touche, eh?

Post Christmas Gratitude

We had a great Christmas in the Musing House. The uber-princess summed it up best as we drove home on Christmas Eve, "I'm so happy!". We had the opportunity to share the Christmas story from Luke 2 as a family in our church service on Sunday. How special to be able to serve that way together (although there was some consternation on the part of the uber-princess. She remarked to her father as we walked off the stage, mics still hot, "heard and seen, Dad. Not seen and heard". Poor Dad, no one would have known his mistake if it weren't for her).

We also had the great fortune of coming across a living Nativity scene on Christmas Eve. There were even sheep, a donkey and a belching camel. And the sidewalks in one town we drove through were thickly lined with luminaria up and down street after street, a sight more beautiful than any holiday light display because if its simplicity and significance .

Now our house is riddled with the remnants of the Day. Bows and ribbons, packaging, toys. Our family was very fortunate. Me? I'm happy with all the neat things I got. And I'm especially excited about the chance I have to make a difference in other peoples' lives through the Kiva gift certificate I received. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check it out in the sidebar or at www.kiva.org.

The fact that I woke up with the stomach flu the day after Christmas? Not so bad. After all, everything went so well up to that point, who was I to complain. It sure is hard to get back into things now though. I'm glad it's still winter break for the kids. We need more time for playing our new video games and breaking in new Barbie dolls!

A Tribute to Grandma Higgins

I have no baby book, and pictures from my infancy are few and far between, most having perished in an apartment fire when I was very young. But the image that stands out in my mind is a picture of a teeny, tiny me being held by my Grandma Higgins.

Grandma died yesterday at the age of 97. She was a tough and resilient woman who lived for much of her adult life in the same house she raised her children in. I don't know much about her early years, except that she was a farm girl who married a school teacher and had five children. And she was an excellent seamstress, a skill she passed along to my mother, who in turn taught me.

What I know most of my grandmother comes from being her granddaughter - and a far away one, at that. While all of my cousins grew up nearby (several next door and a few one house away), we lived a nine-hour car ride away. So our visits to her house were cause for great celebration, and all my memories of Grandma's are of fun times - playing in the creek behind her house, tag in the field with cousins, sledding down the hill in her side yard come winter.

She was a youthful grandmother well into old age. Her visits to our house usually meant batches upon batches of fresh-baked cookies and lots of game playing. She even taught my sister and I how to play penny-ante poker so that she and Mom could play. And in her later years, once the casinos came to town, every trip to Illinois for her also meant a trip to "the boats".

One year for my birthday, Grandma treated me to getting my ears a second-piercing. But the fun part was watching her get her ears double-pierced too!

A lot of haphazard memories here, cobbled together in tribute to a woman I loved. I'll miss you, Grandma!

Gimme A Gift That I Can Keep On Giving

Have you ever heard of micro-finance institutions (MFI's)? Neither had I until recently when I read an article about them in my business school magazine. Sounds kind of dull, doesn't it? That is, until you understand what they're about. In a nutshell? They make small loans (under $1000 usually) to people for whom it will make a big difference. A vendor in Asia who needs $100 to repair his cart and stay in business. A Guatemalan shop owner who can support her whole family by expanding her offerings at a cost of $250.

The point is, these people's lives can be improved radically with just a small amount of investment. But they fall below the threshold for conventional banking loans. So MFI's fill that gap.

I learned in this same article of a non-profit MFI called Kiva, that in their words: "lets you lend to a specific entrepreneur in the developing world - empowering them to lift themselves out of poverty". The way it works is you log on to their web site, kiva.org, read the stories of businesses in need, choose one to support and contribute via credit card payment through kiva. Typical loan periods are 6-12 months, after which your money will return to you (no, you don't receive interest - I believe that's how kiva generates income to keep running). And the default rate is incredibly low - 0.2% on over $2 million in completed loans.

Okay, I realize it might sound like a scam. But with appearances on Oprah and the Today Show, and support from President Clinton, I think they're legit.

What does this have to do with Christmas? Well, I've put a kiva gift certificate on my wish list. Just think of the joy that would come from being part of helping someone make a better life for themselves. And with that money coming back to me later, I could do it over and over again. In fact, I think I'd like that as a Christmas gift every year so that I could compound the impact. Plus it's a great antidote to my problem of "too much stuff".

Mary to Gabriel: "Will That Be Fried or Scrambled?"

My kids are really getting into the holiday spirit these days. Christmas music blares from their radios and tinkles from our piano. And at the first notes of "The First Noel" Uber-princess perks up and shouts out the name as if it was "Name that Christmas Tune". I'm not sure how many others she knows, but as long as she knows that one, we're good.

However,in the midst of all the celebration, there seems to be a bit of confusion. For one thing, I overheard Timid Daughter accusing her surly sister of being a "grunch".

"Mom, will you tell her to stop being a Grunch?" she asked me.

"A what?", I replied.

"You know, a Grunch. That guy that stole Christmas. She keeps being mean to me and I want her to stop".

"You mean the Grinch?", I ask. Then I stop myself. Why should I correct her? Really it's much more fun to see her go around accusing people of being Grunches. And maybe they are. After all, who knows what a Grunch is?

Then there's the carol that every kid loves to sing simply for it's long drawn out chorus. Gloooooo o o o o oooooooooo o o o o ooooooo o o o oooooria. It so happened, during a car ride while they were all belting this out along with Michael W. Smith or whoever that was on the radio, that Little Miss History fessed up.

"I always thought they were saying in EGGSHELLsies deo. But why would there be eggshells?", she wondered aloud.

"Ah yes, dear. That's just one of the mysteries of Christmas", I wanted to say. But I didn't. I just agreed that eggshells sounded kind of silly in a song about Jesus.

Now if I could just get them to stop singing "Jingle Bells, Batman smells...".

My Kind of Store

I think I've finally found a grocery store I might sort of like. You know I can't stand grocery shopping. But maybe that's just because grocery stores make it so I can't stand them. I'm thinking I've found a new place to shop where they understand me better. In fact, I think maybe it's a match made in food shopping heaven.

Have you ever heard of Bloom*? It's a new concept in grocery stores that I think has a lot of the right stuff. First of all, they've got special nearer-to-the-door parking spaces for quick trips and moms with kids. What great thinking! After all, how quick is your trip for a gallon of milk when you have to hike across a big parking lot and then hike across another expanse inside the store? Did I mention that they have their milk near the front of the store where it's easier to grab and go? So I'm thinking when I've got a quick trip for milk and my kids are with me, I'll be parking right next to the dairy fridge where I reach out the window, grab a gallon, pay and go. Okay, so maybe it's not that easy. But it still sounds like a great improvement.

And there's more: you can choose to check out as you go by getting one of those hand-held scanner things (you know, the kind that they give you when you're registering for a wedding and the groom-to-be carries around like it's a futuristic gun thing and scans all sorts of odd stuff so when you're opening gifts as newlyweds you're going, "Hey, what's this drill press? And why did somebody give us Risk? Did we register for these things?" and he's just grinning and grinning. Yeah, one of those things). The way it works at Bloom* is you scan stuff as you put it in your cart. Then you just swipe your credit card at the door to pay and off you go. Works for me, especially since half the time I'm bagging my own groceries because I like to use my own eco-friendly bags.

Then there's the Bloom* staff. They're so full of energy. You walk into the store and they're singing the Partridge Family theme song and dancing and tossing stuff into your cart. Plus they wear one of my favorite colors: lime green. You can see them here.

Yup, Bloom* is the store for me. Sounds super-convenient and efficient. If only the nearest store wasn't 750 miles away.

Technologically Challenged

I'm learning something about myself this week: I'm technologically challenged. Oh, it's not that I don't know how to make use of current technology. It's that I don't know how to function without the use of technology. My calendar is kept online. I write up my daily "To Do" lists with the aid of an online time manager. Weather forecast? Online. Favorite TV show? I watch via internet. Christmas shopping? I do as much online as I can.

Thus now that our cable service has become virtually non-existent (leaving our cable internet crawling below dial-up speed and our cable phone mostly inoperable) I'm in a lurch. No connection to the outside world save dialing my cell phone or stepping out the door. No shopping, tv watching, blog reading, list making. I'm stuck, stuck stuck!

How did I do all these things before the arrival of my laptop less than one year ago? And how is it that I've become so dependent on the internet? Is there any hope for me overcoming this addiction? I'm in withdrawal here, folks. And the cable guys won't be here until Saturday. Eeek!

I'm throwing this post out there into the bitstream to see if it will float. It's my message in a bottle to you all. I'm stranded here. Don't forget me. And send help if you don't hear from me in another week.

Now That's Commitment!

Wishing you all the best & many more years! Love you lots, Mom & Dad!

Gratitude for All Things

Today as we give thanks (those of us in the U.S.), undoubtedly many tables will be filled with talk of all the good things that have blessed those gathered. And truly we need to be thankful for those things and not take them for granted. But after hearing a sermon at a wedding last week, I'm rethinking my sources for gratitude. The pastor was exhorting the married folks present to thank God for those things in their spouse that once attracted them and now grate on their nerves. He pointed out that the grating was more a symptom of our own need for refining in our character than that of our spouse. And so we should be grateful that God would use our mate to show our weaknesses and use their "faults" to scrape away at ours.

I plan to spend a little time this Thanksgiving, perhaps before I go to sleep tonight, to give thanks for those things that don't appear to me as "good". Because I trust that in the hands of a loving God, even those things He will work for good in me. Indeed once I include those sources of blessing, I'm sure I'll reckon that I have been overwhelming blessed.

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose". Romans 8:28

Making the Right Decision

Timid daughter brought home a plastic bag filled with "books" she had written at school. There was "Things I Like", "Animals", "My family" and so on. It was fun to look through and see her personality and preferences revealed. She was proud to show off her work and read along with me as I went through each one.

When I came to one book (I don't remember the title), I found these words on the first page: "Mommy is my first favorite". It was accompanied by a drawing of a woman, presumably "mommy". The next page said, "Daddy is my second favorite" with a picture of a long-haired dude, that is, "daddy". When I read this page I turned and looked questioningly at timid daughter. Her face blanched. Quickly I turned to the last page, "Sister 1 and Sister 2 are my second favorites too", it said, with a drawing of these two girls.

I set the book down and turned to Timid Daughter. She still had a stricken look on her face.

"Will you show that to Daddy?", I asked.

He was sitting nearby, but was paying no attention to us.

Timid Daughter shook her head, grabbed the book and quickly folded it up. Just then one of her sisters asked to see it.

"No!" came the fierce reply. Timid Daughter hurried to the garbage can to dispose of the book. What had been "truth" to her on the day she had written the book, maybe some weeks ago, was no longer so. Her conscience had been smitten and she made the wise choice not to reveal her unkind thoughts.

No other words were spoken of the book and Daddy never saw a copy. If he reads these words, he will know that he holds just as tender a spot in Timid Daughter's heart as her mother does. And in that same heart resides the Holy Spirit who convicts of sin. What blessing!

Editorial note: Lest you think I'm harsh in judging favoritism, it was Timid Daughter who did the judging and through her reactions exposed the true nature of her thoughts. Preferring one parent over another is normal and probably common. In this case though, it was more than just expressing a preference.

The Victory Dance

When was the last time you pushed yourself to do something you thought was beyond your abilities? As a mom I think it's part of the definition of the job. Raising kids is tough on a good day. But outside of parenting, what motivates you to go where you've never gone before? And how does it feel to get there?

I've been pushing my limits almost daily in an effort to promote myself as a speaker. And while it's challenging and tiring, it's also pretty rewarding to see that I'm capable of more than I thought. The funny thing about pushing yourself is that adrenaline rush that comes with success. Anyone watching in my kitchen window the past week or so might catch me in the midst of a victory dance. You know the kind: a full-out whole body boogie complete with chanting, "Whoo hoo! I did it! I did it! Go, me! Go, me!".

Uh, yeah. So you do this too, right? I'm not the only mostly reserved, somewhat quiet, suburban mom who breaks into a wild dance when she proves herself able to leap tall buildings and convince program directors to consider booking her for a meeting. Right?

Not Cuttin' It

It's the time of year where (if your children are schooled outside the home) you get a report on your children's progress. I look forward to these parent/teacher conferences. It's good to see someone else's perspective on your child's academic & social abilities. And generally we enjoy these conferences since, for the most part, we get positive feedback.

But I just got a progress report from the Uber-Princess's preschool that gave me pause. She's right on target for most things - socially, emotionally, academically. However, it seems as parents we have failed her in one respect: she is somewhat lacking in "scissor skills". That's right, the girl can't cut.

It probably doesn't help that we never actually let her use scissors at home. And that's because...well, I have a thing with giving sharp implements to three-year-olds (never mind that she just turned four, she's in a three's class at the school). So her first experience with cutting was at preschool, which, you can imagine, was less than stellar.

So for now our goal is to work on improving her scissor skills. I'd say she's got her work cut out for her, but that's what got us to this point in the first place, isn't it? The good news is when I arrived home from work the day we got the report I found the Uber-Princess already sitting at the kitchen table making mincemeat of the Sunday coupons. She cut and cut for well over a half hour. I just hope this gets her on track for passing preschool. And if you have a three-year-old (or younger), let this be your warning: if you don't give them scissors soon, they may not make the cut.

Eight Things

Thanks to the Beast Mom for tagging me. My blogging pen had run dry before this prompt. We'll see if this gets things flowing. First off:
Here are the rules. (1) Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves. (2) People who are tagged need to write a post on their own blog (about their eight things) and post these rules. (3) At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names. (4) Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

1. I love fleece. It is a wonder fabric because it totally, utterly, completely blocks out cold and keeps in heat.

2. I can't stand being cold. But from October through April the temps around here are usually below my threshold - many times well below my threshold. So for that half of the year, fleece or no fleece, my nose and hands are usually like ice. Yuck!

3. I wrote my first book when I was six. It was fully illustrated and was about the good ship SIJ (which was really my grade school because this was what the head priest called our school during his addresses over the PA system. He'd end by saying "Fifth grade overboard" or fourth grade or any one of the grades and each class always hoped it would be tehm grade and when it was theirs they cheered wildly).

4. I owned a Sony Walkman before they were in vogue. But I still don't have an iPod or MP3 player or any intentions of getting one. When would I ever use it?

5. I used to know the whole actual dance routine for Staying Alive because I did it for a school talent show. Now I can only remember a few parts, but definitely more than most people.

6. I took a break-dancing class as a junior-higher and learned the whole routine for Michael Jackson's Thriller. And yes, I still know a portion of that too. Maybe if I combined it with the moves from Staying Alive I'd have a whole dance.

7. On the dance theme: we actually did the Macarena at our wedding. Then again at that point in time it was pretty new and hadn't been beaten to death.

8. More dance stuff just because: I was sent to ballet class (and tap) for a bunch of years as a young child in hopes that it would bring me grace. No such luck. The only grace I have is what I've gotten from Jesus.

Okay, I need to tag somebody but it's too close to bedtime to think of anything else. Maybe in the morning - so watch for your name here later.

Putting It Out There

I spent six hours over the last two days sitting in a mostly empty gym, behind a mostly filled table, waiting. Around the perimeter of the gym were a line of other mostly filled tables, with people sitting behind them, waiting. In between long stints of waiting a person or two would enter the gym. At first, most of us behind the tables would get to our feet and appear alert and interesting. The person (or persons) would slowly walk past each table, stopping to look and engage in conversation with the lively table-sitter, perhaps even picking something.

And so it went, hour after hour. As the waiting progressed, table-sitters here and there would wander from their own table to visit another, quickly returning to their post when a new person arrived. But over time, when a new person would pass through the doors, not as many of the table-sitters would bother to return to their own spot, or if at their table, could muster the energy to stand.

It was wearying, this waiting to be picked. So much like grade school gym. The captains going down the line, assessing your skill and then passing you for another, more able body. But in gym, there was a rule, an unspoken rule: once a person was chosen, they were yours. No tradebacks. No refunds. Being picked last was a cruel fate. To be returned would be worse.

But in business, there is the opposite rule: the customer is always right. And so I, after all those hours of waiting, received the ultimate rejection: "I came back to return this. It wasn't what I really wanted". It was shocking, to say the least. Being picked, then tossed back. A complete breach of etiquette. But what could I do?

Only one thing and that is this: to warn you dear reader, a craft show is not a department store. Many of the people there are selling you the work of their hands, in essence a piece of themselves. Shop wisely; be respectful. And remember what it was like in grade school gym.

Coming Down From the Mountain

Our church did something pretty neat this Sunday. They canceled our morning worship service and instead of gathering together, we all went out. There were five service projects in all:serving breakfast at a women's shelter, cleanup at a teen shelter, preparing a home for refugees who will arrive soon, clearing trash and excess growth from a forest preserve and finally, helping deliver a refrigerator to a woman in need.

You can guess which ones were most popular with the core members of the church: the people-oriented ones. So as part of the forest preserve team I actually had the unique opportunity of interacting with a large number of newcomers to our church. Say what you will about the lack of spiritual/relational value in clearing a forest - I loved the chance to get to know a few people with whom I'd had little previous opportunity to interact. Plus it was satisfying to see the huge difference three hours could make on a small tract of forest.

It was no surprise later at our celebration service in the evening to hear the emotional "mountain top" experiences of the people serving in direct contact with others. I was encouraged by these reports. But I'm also a bit jaded after over twenty years in this type of setting. I thought to myself as one weepy person after another shared their stories, "Sure, you feel this way today. But where will you be in another couple of months? Will you, like most other comfortable Americans, settle back into what you've always done?".

There were the determined speeches promising to do more, asking for others to commit too. All good and well, except that they were prompted by emotion, not wisdom. Even that evening as I spoke with other people about their experiences I learned the other side: some needs were too deep to be fixed with the band-aid approaches that the emotions were calling forth. And now the emails have started to fly, suggesting we add more jobs to our already over-taxed Sunday morning schedule, without taking the time to see what jobs can be dropped to accommodate them.

I'm just hoping these people who are moved by emotion to do more will take time to slow down and think more. That they will reason out steps that will work, not just the first thing they think of. I also hope as they come down off the mountain and return to the reality of people not having the time or energy they're asking for, that they don't lose faith - in God or people. We all want to do more. Some of us have no space for it right now. Some of us need to start smaller, with baby steps. And some of us are still listening to know what our part will be. I also hope they don't burn themselves out trying to do it all on their own.

My biggest desire? That more of what happened on Sunday does get incorporated into our church life. Maybe not on a weekly basis. But in a doable way that respects what we've already committed ourselves to, yet allows us to get outside ourselves and do more.

Forgive my ramblings. I'm still processing this whole deal. If you have thoughts, share them.

Home Grown Cleaning Service

The uber-princess and I washed our hardwood floors today. She loves to do this chore because she feels like she's being Cinderella (surprise,surprise). I love having her do it because it gets done faster...most of the time.

So what happened today while we were doing this? Well, you know how it goes. Looking down at the floor, I noticed the basedboards were dusty. And since I was looking at the baseboards, that made me pay more attention to the doorframes. They were full of grime and fingerprints. But if you're going to look at doorframes, then naturally you'll see the doors themselves, which I could tell were not very close to the white color I'd painted them. At this point one would assume I'd start looking over the walls themselves. I didn't.

Instead we finished washing the floors and then we stopped. We were both tired out from all the floor scrubbing. I put the uber-princess down for a nap and went on to other things. But...later in the afternoon, after homework was done and snacks were eaten, I called upon my other two daughters to tackle the baseboards and doorframes. They jumped at the task with glee, prompting the uber-princess to join in. In little time the task was done.

So now I sit in a kitchen with gleaming floors (oops, ignore the crumbs left from dinner and the leaves tracked in by Musing Dad) and shiny baseboards. The doorframes have no fingerprints and the doors... Well, they're still not quite white. I'll have to save them for the girls to do another day. But what a joy to share my burdens with my kids!

Guest Blogger on NaNoWriMo

By now you might have heard the buzz about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), where thousands of everyday people take the challenge to write 50,000 words in one month. Sounds a little insane, writing nearly 2,000 words a day, every day, for 30 days straight. But many do and even live to tell the tale, or better yet, their tale lives beyond those thirty days in the form of a published novel. One such fearless writer is Michelle Gregory. She offered to share her NaNoWriMo story with us. Here's Michelle:

For thirty years, I was a fiction writer who avoided writing. I read about writing, wrote in a journal, shared family stories in scrapbooks, and blogged. Deep inside, though, I knew I was a writer, and I almost didn’t give that part of myself a chance to be heard.

That changed in 2005 when I read a little book called No Plot, No Problem by Chris Baty.

Mr. Baty is a man who came up with the crazy notion that all it takes to write a novel is to write it. The catch is that you write it in 30 days. His reasoning is that if you write it that fast, you have to turn off your internal critic and just write. Of course, writing it that fast means that you have to lower your expectations from “this will be the next bestseller” to “this will not make someone throw up.” On the other hand, if you don’t write anything, you’ll end up being the “one day novelist” – as in “I’ll write a novel one day.”

In October 2005, I visited Mr. Baty’s website and read about his contest, known as National Novel Writing Month. The thought of writing 50,000 words in 30 days was staggering, but I decided to sign up for NaNoWriMo anyway, just to see if I could do it. I could have done it any month, but November is the official month of NaNoWriMo, and there was something exhilarating knowing that I would be furiously typing 1700 words a day with thousands of other people around the world.

As I subjected myself to neck cramps, bleary eyes, and possible carpal tunnel, I learned that the story in my head was frantic to get out (I guess it had been in my head for too long). By day three, I had 9,000 words. By day 17 I had 53,000 words, and the story was only half-finished. I stopped and realized that I had not written the story that I really wanted to tell. But I had written something, and I had proved to myself that I had a story in me.

To pursue my dream, I had to give up time with my children, time with my husband, and time with friends. I put aside nagging household projects, and did only the minimum to keep my house running.

Would I do it again? Yes, because it was the best thing I ever did for myself. I enjoyed it so much that I’ve signed up to go through the 50,000 word frenzy again this year. In my opinion, NaNoWriMo is a great way to discover the writer who may be hiding inside. You could join me and find out if there’s a writer inside of you.

Michelle Gregory and her husband of twenty-one years reside in Mesa, Arizona. Amidst the craziness of homeschooling three children and taking care of four dogs and fluctuating numbers of fish, she finished her NaNo novel – Eldala. It is now available at Amazon.com. When she isn’t writing, she also enjoys blogging, playing with her kids, watching chick movies, working on her scrapbooks, and reading a good book. You can visit her blog at Life in the Midst of Writing.

Retreat

I'm going away on a brief retreat this weekend. It comes at a good time. I'm ready for a little time away from the busyness of everyday. There's a lot to ponder, to process, to pray about - both good and hard. This week I've learned of two people that are facing the diagnosis of cancer. My heart feels grief for what they are going through and the challenges that lie ahead. But at the same time, I know that both of these ladies will draw strength from God in the days ahead. So while the walk is each of theirs alone to make, they won't make it alone. They'll travel it in the company of the One who made them and who knows every bit of what they face and what they need.

My family is in the process of memorizing all of Psalm 103. And I am so glad for the words there. Charity and Leslie, I pray the words of this Psalm for you - that you'll be able to praise the Lord with all your inmost being in the trials you face, that you won't forget the benefits of knowing Him, the One who knows how you are formed. I pray that a new depth of knowing that the Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in love comes to you as you walk this hard journey.

Then there is also the good: in Sunday school this week they gave a presentation of the Gospel to the children. This time Timid Daughter was ready to take a stand - she prayed with her teacher that Jesus would become her forever friend:the Savior who died for her sins and the Lord whom she'll follow and obey. What grace!

Blog Interview on Book Promotion

Michelle Gregory at Life in the Midst of Writing has been doing a series of author interviews on the subject of book promotion - in part due to her interest learning book promotion for her new release, Eldala, and I believe (correct me, Michelle, if I'm wrong) also in part as a lead-up to NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) next month.

Today she features an interview with yours truly. If you're interested, check it out and let me know what you think. She does a good job interviewing and has featured some neat writers, so it's a fun series to read.

When Smaller is Better

I'm sure I've said this before, but it bears repeating: I hate grocery shopping. I've come to despise it more and more over the years, but until recently I couldn't pinpoint why. It's because the stores have been getting so dang HUGE. When Meijer first opened their store here a few years ago, I was excited to shop there. For me, it's usually about price and well, they had me there. That is, until they rearranged their store. Now, instead of all the items I need in a grocery trip (foodstuffs, cleaning products and toiletries) being on ONE side of the store, they've got them spread to opposite ends. Once I have all the food, I have to trek ten miles across a wasteland of car parts, live animals, plastic containers, shoes, clothes and the like to get to the toothepaste and body soap. Forget good prices, time is money, honey. And that store takes up too much of mine.

So I quit going to Meijer. Now I just shop at the smaller grocers. I'm still learning the layouts of the local ones, but even if I miss something it's no big deal to backtrack a little.

The other thing I couldn't stand about Meijer? The tons and tons of plastic bags I'd take home with each trip. No paper available there. Just plastic. It helps that I now have a beautiful big canvas shopper and a nice Trader Joe's handled plastic-coated grocery sack. Today I made a quick and breezy trip to the Polish grocer and came home in less than an hour with a week's plus worth of groceries and only one plastic bag. No big long hikes, no plastic bags into the landfill. Oh, and I didn't have to fight with the produce bags either.

Playing Pretend

I'm standing in my kitchen today and I get a surreal feeling. Like, is this for real? Is this beautiful kitchen mine? Am I the lady of this house? How did I get here?

The lyrics of the Talking Heads song, "Once in a Lifetime" start playing in my mind. Part of it goes: "And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile. And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife. And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?"

Do you ever feel that way? Like you're just shamming; playing pretend; faking your way along? Today is that kind of day for me. Somehow I got to be the wife and the mom in this house. And I have to play those roles convincingly, even though I'm not always convinced myself that I can play them or even any of the other roles I play. I "coordinate" things for the church nursery and write up convincing sounding correspondence for my moms' group. I try to fake it in sales and marketing for my small business, pretending I've got a slick, professional operation when it's really just little old me at my computer banging out marketing copy and press releases.

I'm waiting for someone to find the curtain and pull it back to reveal...me. Just a simple gal, blowing all the bells and whistles to make it look like I know what I'm doing. Then again, maybe there is no curtain. Maybe I'm learning enough along the way that some of the things I'm doing are no longer shamming. And a saying I heard as a teen from motivational speaker, George O'Hare, still echoes in my mind louder than the Talking Heads lyrics. "Fake it 'til you make it", he said. Maybe he's right, maybe someday soon I'm actually going to "make it".

A Rush Hour Chuckle

About a week or so ago I had occasion to travel through our fair "city" during the evening rush hour. I was only making a short trip, but the long wait at stoplights was starting to get on my nerves (surprise, surprise). Then while I was waiting in a particularly long backup I noticed a movement of yellow in the window of a car a little ahead of me on the right. I watched the car carefully. There it was again!

At that moment traffic ahead of me moved slightly. I inched forward too, straining to see inside the car. When I got up far enough I could see it clear as day: an older gentleman, plaid fedora on his head, with a tiny white-haired woman in the passenger seat beside him. He was busily shaking a pair of maracas, apparently in time to some music. The steering wheel didn't seem to impede him in any way. And the traffic delay stole little of his joy. He just merrily shook those bright yellow maracas, barely pausing when the traffic moved along.

I sat watching him, chuckles bubbling up inside me, glad for the rush hour delay. I enjoyed this soundless concert for two whole traffic light waits. Then, still laughing to myself, I had to continue on my way. What a delightful moment where rush hour became something to enjoy.

Shopping Can Be...Fun?

Friday was a half day at school. It was also my day to get a few errands run. At the mall. When I told my children this you would have thought I'd suggested an outing to the stock yards.

"You're going to ruin my half day off!" LMH exclaimed.

I sighed. They'd caught my distaste for shopping. Perhaps it is not a bad thing in the battle to avoid materialism, but it's definitely un-American. And given the extra time we had together, I didn't want them to think their day was ruined. So I did what any sane mom would - I gave them cash. A dollar apiece to add to the bits in their wallets and the open invitation to spend what they had on whatever they wanted.

Naturally I also gave each child the option to visit a store of their choosing. We ended up at the Disney Store, Claire's Boutique and...that was enough. All three wallets were sufficiently drained in two shops and three girls were pleased with their purchases.

After a snack of Cinnabon rolls, they declared it a fun afternoon.

As for me? The company of my children was enjoyable. I took satisfaction in getting most of my errands accomplished and even in finding a nice outfit for a good price. But shopping? It's still pretty much a drag.

WBGL's First Day of School Photo Contest

Check out this Cute Video

Celebrating Your Birthday...Mommy Style

A noise jolts you awake in the early hours of the morning. You struggle to listen and then remember the child that you put to bed with a fever. In a fog you stumble down the hall to the bathroom where you find your child, looking drawn and drained. You get the thermometer and sit down to wait. 102.9 degrees. Too high. Way too high. The tub won't fill fast enough as you frantically begin pouring warmish water on the child.

"Are you cold? Is it making you shiver?", you ask.

"No," the child mumbles, giving you a sad, but grateful look.

In a bit you return to your bed. The fever had spiked higher, but with some medicine and rest you're hopeful it has turned around. As you climb under the covers your husband turns and sleepily says, "Happy Birthday".

You sigh. You'd planned to spend the morning eating pastries and drinking coffee with the neighbor ladies while your youngest was at preschool. Then maybe you'd sit and read the novel you've been yearning to finish. And certainly it would be a day of no chores. Or few chores at the least. But plans change. And oddly, you're okay with it. 'God has something else in store for my day', you think. That thought comforts you.

Later as your sick child rests on the couch, you stand and stroke her hair.

"Hey, you get to spend all day with me on my birthday," you say. "If you weren't sick you'd have been at school instead. How lucky am I!"

Your child turns and gives you a weak smile.

"It's a good birthday," you say. And you mean it.

What's Missing in Our Microwave Society

Craver brought this up the other day, and then I encountered it in my reading this morning: as a society we have become all about the end result. Forget waiting! I want (fill in the blank) now. It drives our technology. We can get our emails (just think of that alone:instant communication, no waiting for postal service) wherever, whenever we want thanks to technology. We can see who's calling us on the phone without even answering it - no need to wait to hear their voice. Dinner in an instant. Get cash now.

And unfortunately this sometimes spills over into non-material areas of our lives. We want that tough relationship resolved NOW. We look for the fastest route to the top of our careers. We long to have our kids potty-trained in a day.

The problem is in valuing the end result we've gypped ourselves of seeing the worth of the process. We long for the finish line of the marathon without feeling the bone-crushing agony of mile 17 or hearing the encouraging words of spectators at mile 20. Waiting is hard. But what happens during the wait and our response to the wait can change us, for better or ill, and for eternity.

Here's what I read this morning that prompted this:
"It is not good to have zeal without knowledge, nor to be hasty and miss the way." (Proverbs 19:2).

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REMINDER:
Don't forget: tomorrow (September 20th) is the day. Place an order for Pampering Gifts and get a free beaded bookmark. And check out their website. They've got project photos, sample chapters, even downloadable templates.

Placemat Purse Pampering

Here's a fun idea that I got from a friend at church. It's a placemat purse (ie. a placemat turned into a purse/bag). We used it as a conference goody bag for guest speakers this summer and plan to use it again for our moms' group soon. It makes a great, inexpensive gift. And it's a lot of fun hunting the clearance racks to find cute placemats. After all, buying the orphaned ones is a public service, isn't it? And so many of them are ones I'd never put on my table but gladly sling on my shoulder.

I found the best instructions for this at Amy's Favorites. She shows the ribbons tied into a knot, but I've also just sewn the ribbon on straight (takes less ribbon if you're on a really tight budget). Also, there is no width specified on the ribbon, but I've found 7/8" to be ideal. Play around with patterned ribbons or different ribbon colors. They're super fun!

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ANNOUNCEMENT
Wordcrafter Communications has announced a special promotion they're running on the book Pampering Gifts this Thursday. Every order placed online (www.pamperinggiftsbook.com) Thursday, September 20th, will receive a free beaded bookmark (retail value $6). They're pretty cool looking bookmarks. If I can get a photo of one I'll try to post it here.

September Birthdays Can Be a Bummer...or not

Yesterday was the uber-princess's birthday. She'd been looking forward to it for...a year! At least that's what it felt like to her, I'm sure. The whole week prior everything paled in comparison to her approaching birthday.

"Are you excited to start preschool?", we'd ask.

"I'm excited for my birthday", she'd answer.

And each day that passed that no one left the house to shop for her she'd get more anxious. "You need to buy my presents," she sternly told her sisters. They laughed and meanly told her she'd get none, when in reality the presents were already wrapped and waiting.

So we celebrated heartily yesterday. Presents in the morning, presents and a balloon at Grandma's later, cake and more presents in the evening. But no kid party. She's only just started preschool and I wanted her to have time to make some friends that she could invite (little did I consider that she had a guest list already planned). And today she eagerly went to school remembering birthdays when her sisters were in preschool.

"I'll get a birthday crown," she said.

But there will be no birthday crown. They're slowly settling into their schedule and rituals. No parent helpers for another week. No birthday celebrating until then either. Hers is considered a "summer birthday". Bummer for her.

I know what it's like. In September you're still getting to know the other kids, the schedule, all that stuff. So when your birthday falls in September, it gets only sort of celebrated outside your home. When you have a party for school friends you can only invite the old ones, the new ones are too new. And if you're involved in an outside group, chances are it's too soon for doing birthday stuff at all. It's like a summer birthday, except you don't get the half-birthday celebration to make up for it.

I feel bad for the uber-princess: having to wait for her kid party, getting no crown today at preschool. But then again, I think September is one of the best months in the year. And so what if it September birthdays sometimes get overlooked in the transition. Having a birthday in September just makes all the excitement of a new school year that much more exciting. And not having to be publicly recognized for your birthday gets to be a better deal as you get older, especially if you don't want to discuss how much older that is.

All said, the uber-princess had a great birthday and since it's in September she's going to keep stretching it out for a bit. Tonight we'll be going to Famous Dave's in her honor.

Post Script: the uber-princess did get a crown at preschool after all. And she got a sticker and a card and the class sang to her. So okay, no bummer for her other than her mom not planning the kid party yet.

What to Do?

Llama Momma broached this topic a little while back. She raised the issue of churches providing childcare for events involving women. But what if your church can't even muster enough childcare for a Sunday morning? Then what do you do?

That's where we're at where I go to church. More particularly, where I run the church nursery and two-year old class. My team roster contains ten names of wonderful, committed people. The registration for those classes is currently at 14, but will easily go to 17 once the newborns get a little older. 10 adults. 14 infants and toddlers. Can you see why this doesn't work? Especially when those adults can only be in there once a month or less (nor would I expect many to be in there more often, it's demanding work and without a second service it's a huge sacrifice), this amounts to a severe shortage. So far we've had to schedule only two weeks a month to hold our nursery and two's class. Ouch!

So what do you do? Our pastor has put out an appeal for the past two weeks. It's summer. Attendance is low. So naturally we've had virtually zero response. Still our kickoff for Fall classes is one week away and we need to know what we're doing.

Now the children's ministry coordinator has put out an email asking the whole church to pitch in and help one time before the end of the calendar year. So this may get us through til then. But when January comes, then what?

I'm praying. I'm making phone calls (which ranks up there as the number one thing I like to do least. I have a hard time even calling friends to chat. Whether it was those years taking complaints in customer service or what, I don't know. But I'd so much rather email or talk face to face than use a phone).

When it comes down to it, our church has more children than adults. We're putting a bandaid on the problem now. But does that mean it will go away? And honestly, having different people in with these little kids is so incredibly less than ideal. Do that to a grade-schooler and they'll be jarred, but they'll roll with it. For little ones? I don't know. How secure will these children be feeling by January? How hard will it be for their parents to get them to come in there?

It's a bad situation. One that I've spent the last year trying to make the best of. I've tried hard not to run a co-op where all parents have to take their turn helping if they have a child in there. It's a model that works perhaps, but doesn't necessarily serve some of the neediest people in our church. Parents of little ones need a break. I've been trying to give that to them. But instead it looks like church is going to become the last place where they'll get it.

What would you do?

Postscript: Most of the people in our church are working hard. Some of them in two and three different places. And therein lies the complication to my problem: there are few people to turn to for more help.

We've scheduled almost through December with people pitching in for one time during the semester, so the crisis has been averted. But the long-term solution has yet to be reached, and I'm honestly just not sure what that is.

A Magical Zoo

Our house is getting busier by the day. We have the delightful company of our favorite dog. The girls are hoping he can stay for at least the remainder of their lifetimes the week. And the three betta fish are all still living, despite one thrashing about so wildly during a bowl change that she ended up on our kitchen floor TWICE. Plus about a week and a half ago two monarch caterpillars joined the fray.

We no longer have the caterpillars. We dutifully fed them milkweed leaves multiple times a day (boy, can those things ever eat). And we even did a container change to empty out all the caterpillar droppings. But then it happened. One of those caterpillars began hanging from the lid, in a "J" shape. Our astute now-third-grader knew what was up after her unit on butterflies last year. "He's going to become a chrysalis now!" she told us. Sure enough, the next morning we found a slimy, pale green blob hanging from the lid. A chrysalis indeed. A couple days later the other caterpillar followed suit. One chrysalis is now brown, soon to turn clear and then...well, we hope they both live for us to see.

So my husband and I were watching the second Harry Potter movie the other night. We were totally engaged in this world of magic and wizards, good versus evil, creatures being turned into objects, objects behaving as creatures. But we had to pause to take the dog for a walk before turning him in for the night. Thus it was in this magic-absorbed state of mind that I stepped into my kitchen and saw the once-caterpillars' again. There, I suddenly realized, was real "magic" taking place. Creatures turning into something different, right before my eyes. And I was amazed by it. Maybe because it wasn't something in a story book, but real, in my own home. Maybe because it really does border on the mythical.

I'm glad that my daughters love bugs and creepy crawlies. Thanks to their inquisitiveness about the creaturely world I'm able to witness to such a thing. What magic!

Habits

Parents swarmed about, each brandishing the mandatory camera, catching as many moments of this FIRST as they could. Some children stood stiffly in line, afraid to move or to even shift that new backpack. Others hopped from foot to foot, eager to start the day, the year. Down each line came the respective teacher, gently greeting the boys and girls and applying a nametag to each one. All too soon the process was completed. The bell rang. Parents stepped backward, some tripping over younger siblings in their effort to make way for the procession. Tears blurring their eyes. The lines began to stream around the corner and in the door. Then a line suddenly broke off at one child who'd become dazed and missed the movement in front of him. With a prod to his back he regained his focus. Where was the rest of the line? He raced straight ahead, aiming for the wrong door. For the old door. The door of kindergarten.

The rest of the line followed. Cattle. Lemmings. New first graders unsure of this new year of school. Someone waved and turned them around. Back to where they'd started. On around the corner and into the first grade door at last. Starting a new year. Building new habits.

This was funny to watch. And it was almost as funny to hear of third graders who, returning to their class after recess, accidentally went to their second-grade classroom. More than one of them, to more than one room. Oh, the laughter in that school. The joyful confusion of building new habits and new routines.

I'm glad for the new school year. I like the transition, the definite beginning point and a chance to start things new. Like new habits and new routines. Mine are still rough. I'm still returning to the old habits I'd like to erase. And I have to laugh and turn around to redirect my course.

I Love...

tulle. I honestly do. It's great stuff. And it's cheap. I bought like bunches of yards of it when it was on sale for fifty cents a yard.

I know, you're thinking to yourself, "but why?".

Well, first of all, tulle (otherwise known as "illusion" - see, another reason to love it) is different than plain netting. The holes are smaller, finer. It's what bridal veils are made of. But it comes in lots of colors other than white. It's poufy and girly. And you can use it for all sorts of things. Wrap it around a fake tree for a romantic touch; drape on banisters or along tables for party decorating. Pull it around a bonnet to tie under your chin like Mary Poppins. Or cut a length to tie up gifts. Cut it into circles, fill with Jordan Almonds, tie closed with a bow and Presto! you're ready to throw a bridal shower. A very versatile, and - did I say it before? - cheap fabric.

I write all this because I now have gobs of tulle at my disposal after using them to decorate for the previously mentioned book launch (if you were there, did you even notice? ...No? Aha! See why they call it "illusion"?). And I am so pleased about this. There will be no lack of romantic decorations in my household for years to come. No uber-princesses crying for lack of veils or tulle skirts. No bridal showers without favors. No more unadorned ponytails or packages. My friends, this is one happy, tulle-filled house.

Okay, maybe not. There is still one male living in our household. So the tulle is tucked away until needed (like say, tomorrow). But just ask, and I'll be happy to show you my stash. All five colors. It's stunning.

New Book (Warning: Shameless Promotion to Follow)

There's a new book being released later this week. It's called "Pampering Gifts: Crafting a Ministry of Treating People Well For Less". As you can see, the author has graciously allowed me to post an image of it here on my blog.

Now, before I tell you more about it, you must know that I'm a bit biased. However, so far five of five readers have liked the book, and one of them wasn't even a friend of the author. Must be good, right? So what's it about?

Pampering Gifts is a how-to guide on creating gifts for ministry events or even just to say thank-you to your babysitter (or somebody like that). The idea is to give people a place to start on coming up with inexpensive gifts or decorations, without having to reinvent the wheel. I mean, let's face it: those bridal/baby shower favor books almost always have you spending an arm and a leg. And when you're doing it for a non-profit, or wanna have just a little something extra for someone, that doesn't always cut it. Plus, there are actual instructions for fifty or so gifts and decorations (hey, pretty much like what you've been seeing here). And these are all things that have been used by a mom's group - they've been tested and approved! The author claims that most of them cost a dollar or less (for the gift ideas), with the more expensive centerpiece stuff running like five to ten bucks. With inflation, they might run you a little more, but still, that's pretty cheap.

Okay, so on to the promotion stuff: the author is having a book launch (an open house dessert event)Thursday evening at the CrossTown Church office. See "Upcoming Events" on her web site for details.

Oh, and you can get more info (even see photos of projects and get FREE instructions) at www.pamperinggiftsbook.com. Come book release day (Thursday), you'll even have the option to buy it online at her site.

Some Musings on Faith

I've been relatively silent on matters of faith recently. Not for lack of faith, but rather for lack of words and a fear of speaking negatively in the midst of trials. After all, who likes to listen to whining?

Faith. A big word. Sometimes too big to be accurate. But sometimes the only word.

"For in the gospel a righteousness from God is revealed, a righteousness that is by faith from first to last..." Romans 1:17

By faith from first... - when the scales drop away from our eyes and we see our own sin for the nastiness that it is. When we see God for who He is. When we throw ourselves on Jesus work on the cross in taking the punishment our sin deserves. Then that righteousness comes from Jesus to us, so that our sin is gone and God sees the righteousness of Jesus when He looks at us.

...to last - by faith (dependence and trust in God) I am able to do right things, to live a righteous life. And so my faith continues to work out in me what God already sees to be true. Day by day. In the good times and in the tough times. Up to the last.

The way I understand it, I am not righteous in God's sight because I do the right. I do what is right because I am already considered righteous by virtue of my faith. Oh it is a slippery concept, but at times I catch a corner of it and get a tiny grasp before it slips away again.

Faith? What I know about it for sure is that it's a decision. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. I decide that what I read in the Bible about God is true. I determine to believe that God is good and faithful, even when I've fasted and prayed and yet the book I'd worked so hard to have done for a conference isn't completed by the publisher in time. By faith I watch for the different answer, for what will happen when it does come. And by faith I wait. It's a long hard road, but the journey is an adventure. And the company is great!

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.