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".