Wednesday, June 24, 2009
So we're slowly redoing our bathroom (I'll do a complete before and after post when it's done); We popped off the old medicine cabinet.
I stood staring at the marks on the wall behind it; wondering who wrote them and when; whether he lived in this house, etc., etc.
Then I looked to the left and saw this: "H. Wolf. Aug. 1956"
And to the right and saw: "Rose Wolfe, August 1956 & Rosalie Wolfe 1956"
That means my medicine cabinet was over 50 years old! I'm definitely going to look these Wolfes up; Charlotte, I'll need your help!
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Jesus stopped by just as my son screamed for more --
More syrup, More butter,
More, More, More!
The Messiah pulled out a seat,
his robe drug across my filthy floor
"You see that?!" I demanded as my kid ran from the table
"You see that?! I slammed my fist, "It's Thankless -- Motherhood is Thankless!"
He sighed and smiled, then helped me clear the dishes
Later, he joined us on a walk where my boys stomped the life out of me with muddy boots and demands for hoists to the highest branches
As we shuffled home, I cried again "Thankless, Lord -- Motherhood is Thankless!"
He nodded then took the stroller at the steepest part of the hill
Back home, it was ANOTHER meal with every morsel heated just so and every sippy cup filled just right and every screaming tot in my litter regarding my work with a MAGNIFICENT lack of appreciation
This time, I just shot Him a look
Again, He nodded
I threw the kids down for naps then collapsed on the couch
Christ sat on the floor beside me and took my hand
I felt his palm -- my finger traced callouses then stopped at the hole in its center
"It's Thankless, Lord, " I said, "Motherhood is SO Thankless"
And as I fell asleep, He stroked my brow then covered me with a blanket
He closed my drapes and turned on the fan, knowing I like its hum
He then whispered in my ear before He slipped out the door,
No dear, Motherhood is not Thankless,
Because it is Precisely How
You Thank Me
Thursday, June 11, 2009
By the chance your mother provide you with the pink, pig piggy bank you demand,
until evening falls ... then swaddle him tight with papers and rags
and tuck him safe in a box made for shoes
Then slide him into his "cubby hole" (your mother's computer chair will do)
And bid him fair dreams, lulled by the clacking of computer keys above him
Monday, June 8, 2009
Here's my latest column at Blue Mountain Moments. Enjoy!
Season Pass to the Lake:
Help Me "Pay This One Forward"
Last summer, my little family was nervously wading into the waters of opening a new business. My husband had been laid off the previous winter, and with no job prospects in sight, we gathered up every extra copper – in the couch and under the car seats -- and bought a field to fill with seed (or something like that).
In short, last summer we were B-R-O-K-E. I don’t just mean broke. I mean broker than broke. But to put it more tastefully, as the season had its sweet spots, let’s just say we were on a Budget [note: a budget with a capitol “B”].
For example, it was with glee, joyful shouts and a jar of bacon grease, we wedged our third son’s car seat between his brothers when he joined our family last spring. Cause, yup, the minivan savings plan had been sunk into the field. We had three boys crammed into the back of a Plymouth that had seen better days -- specifically, those of the Reagan era. The rusty sedan sputtered and spit and shook like it housed a rabid family of silverware-sparring squirrels. That, and it would overheat over the smallest annoyance – like its driver glancing in the rear view mirror (oh wait, it didn’t have one), or a power-walker passing in the wrong shade of purple, a southerly rainbow, a northerly one, fog.
Suffice to say, last summer our vacation plans amounted to those of a “staycation.” However, until a dear, true friend sacrificed some of her hard earned dollars to bless us with a special gift (which I’ll tell you about in a second), the only ideas I had in mind involved a hose and a well-worn kiddy pool.
So here’s the best part. I’ll never forget returning from an outing last June just as summer settled over the town for its heavy, three-month nap. The air was a wet, wool blanket. The kids were cranky. The sedan, smoky. And I was overwhelmed with it all – the new baby, the new business, the perpetual broke-ness. [Forgive me if this sounds whiny, or humor me if you’ve never been so broke you cannot relate, but the debate between “deodorant or Nair, deodorant or Nair … ‘hmmm, do I want body odor or a mono-brow’” GETS REALLY OLD!!!].
It was on that sweatful day, I dropped my limited drugstore purchases on the counter to find a Hawaiian lei taped to my fridge with five season passes to Mauch Chunk Lake pinned to it snugly. I cried. Then I dried my eyes, called that dear, true friend to thank her and pinned passes on diapered bottoms to the left and right of me. We headed up the mountain to waters that nurtured my soul and didn’t return till September.
I could write for days about my baby boys running and jumping at the foamy lake’s edge. I could write novels about cool winds blowing over the water and how they cleared away life’s stresses, putting them into perspective. I could write about how when lost in a moment of splashing I caught my reflection in the water and saw hope in my eyes.
I could write about all that, but it would take more space than this kind paper could allow. So instead, I’ll sum up with a request. Here it is. That field I mentioned worked. I mean it flew. Or better put, it grew enough barley for the basics. Late last fall, we scrapped the sedan [sigh] and bought a “new to us” minivan. I beamed. By winter, I even hit the toiletries aisle at the drugstore with a tad more freedom. Not only did I leave smelling like flowers, I picked up a [...drumroll...] mascara as well. I beamed again. Those around me did too.
So what’s the request? Just this. Help me pay this lake pass forward. Here’s how. If you’ve faced hard times and could use some sandcastle building with your kids, shoot me an email and I’ll drop your name in a hat. Winner gets a family lake pass for the season [I won’t publish your name, but I will snag your sand toys if they’re cooler than mine when our play dates collide]. Or, if you’ve experienced more fruitful times as of late (and this is truly relative), receive inspiration from the dear, true friend I mentioned (who, by the way, was not void of pressing needs when she graced my family with the priceless gift of thought, care and fun) and pick up a pass for someone in a rough spot.
Pay it forward. It doesn’t have to be a lake pass. But how great if it is! Perhaps for you it will simply be a phone call to a friend going through a tough time or a glass of iced tea to a thirsty soul. Pay it forward, and when you pick up that pass at the pavilion labeled Mauch Chunk, tell ‘em I sent you.
*Note: we have a winner; I won't print her name but she knows who she is; and listen, lady -- your cool sand toys are all mine!
Monday, June 1, 2009
It was Pop Pop's birthday so we headed down for a day of fun
Pop Pop bought the things he wanted most of all: a SHARK water slide for starters,
a pool complete with another (you guessed it) SHARK!
Simeon watched from the sidelines
Gabe scared us all with a "Boo!"
And Haven only cried 500 times but was thrilled nonetheless. Joy!
As many of you know, the late-term abortionist George Tiller was shot and killed in his church yesterday morning.
There has been much to say about the sobering event. I'll add only this:
I'm rejoicing that his schedule was cleared today.
It is my duty to pray for Mr. Tiller's soul and so I do.
Please join me in this act of charity.