The picture on the left is the one I was tempted to use for our Christmas card this year. It really represents who we are more than any professional portrait could convey. We are more of a "prop the point-n-shoot camera on top of a trash can/bar stool pyramid" kind of a family. We didn't plan our outfits. They were just what we wore to church one morning and we gave ourselves credit for taking the photos before we all changed into our Sunday football-watching lounge wear.

Two good samaritans pulled over to offer their assistance during our photo shoot. I guess the vicarious trash can/bar stool "tripod" in our driveway looked pretty desperate. We politely thanked them, but as my husband pointed out, it wasn't the camera, but rather the uncooperative subjects in the picture that we needed help with!

About 15 photos into our session, we were able to capture the acceptable moment in the picture on the right. I took my memory stick to CVS and ordered 60 photocards, but then "Martha" (see previous blog entry if you don't know who she is) reared her ugly head. She convinced me the photo was not going to measure up to the sepia-tinted designer cards that would be arriving in the mail. So, I promptly cancelled my CVS order and announced to my family that I would not be sending cards this year.

"But we posed like you asked," they protested.
"Yeah, well, I don't like sending cards and I don't want to spend the time and money on a picture we threw together at the last minute," I explained.

Today's mail provided me with enough conviction to give "Martha" a good smackdown for the remainder of the Christmas season. There were three cards from friends who threw in a last minute snap shot of themselves. Nothing professional, but the pictures touched my heart because they contained the faces of people I love. Then, there was the card with the hand written note from my mother in-law: "Every good and perfect gift comes from our Father above. You and your children are our gifts. What a blessing you have been."

I picked up our front porch photos again and thought about our Christmas cards with a new perspective. I didn't see last minute photos taken on top of a trash can. I saw us all together. I saw genuine smiles of a family who is most comfortable at home. I saw the joy on Jake's face as he looks up at his family gathered around him. These are my gifts and blessings from above.

So, on Wednesday I will be picking up a re-order of 60 glossy photocards of the photo on the right. What a family...and I never even mentioned that chihuahua in a Santa suit...love her!

Botched Batches of Bread

She didn't mean to do it. My thoughtful daughter innocently stated, "Mom, we should make some brownies for the new neighbors across the street."

"Mhhmm," I remember grunting, as I held a hair band in my teeth while I managed a braid, a sandwich, and a tube feeding with two hands. A typical morning in this house of randomness!

"Did you get the brownie mix?" she asked upon returning from school that day.

"No..." [insert disappointed look on daughter's face] "...but I have some canned pumpkin. We can just make some pumpkin bread," I replied, feeling pretty proud of myself for coming up with the perfect fall welcome basket on a whim. How very festive of me. My new neighbors will be so impressed, I thought.

Our new neighbors have been in their house for 17 days now. I have not met them and I have 4 loaves of homemade pumpkin bread, none of which have made it across the street. Here is why:

I have this inner perfectionist in my head that I forget to shush sometimes. I will refer to her as "Martha" since that is the name of two over-the-top women who cannot be content with making brownies from a box (one has the last name Stewart and the other is biblical Martha, rebuked by Jesus for being distracted by dinner preparations and not choosing the better thing...that is, sitting at His feet).

This is the little "Martha" voice that said to me, "No, that loaf is too dark, try again."

It's also the one that suggested during attempt #2, "Double the batch this time...then you can take some to the new neighbors, the friends next door, and have some waiting when hubby arrives home from work...oh, it will be a glorious Norman Rockwell moment!" When the double batch didn't rise and turned out as two flat loaves, "Martha's" only suggestion was, "Not good enough for the neighbors, try again."

Attempt #3 on pumpkin bread was tonight...somehow, while calling out spelling words to the first grader and answering phone calls from the traveling husband, I was able to create a pumpkin bread that was just the right color and thickness...it was (dare I say it?) perfect! Only, when I went to deliver it, the sun had gone down and my new neighbors had only a bedroom light on. Besides, I try to not make a habit of knocking on doors after dark.

So, in my kitchen, sits a large plastic tub, containing three botched batches of pumpkin bread. The loaf of perfection is wrapped neatly in saran wrap and holiday ribbon, awaiting a time tomorrow when we will put on smiles and greet our new neighbors. As they comment on how nice it was and I reply that it was no trouble at all, one of my children will likely blurt out the truth about how many loaves I had to make to get it right.

Ugg...will I ever learn to just shut "Martha" up and make the boxed brownies?

At Your Service

"I'm not your serve!" my 3 year old yelled at his sister. I giggled to myself, as I watched him imitate his sister's usual response to him. And so, "I'm not your servant" was born in our house as the response to any sibling request for assistance.

Only now that cute 3 year old is 6 and I find myself frustrated by my children's selfishness toward each other. It's enough to cause an all out war of the wills. Then, it happened...one of my children, after being told to unload the dishwasher, turned to ME, the one who washes puke out of his sheets when he gets sick, and said the unthinkable...yes, he used the "I am not your servant" response on his MOTHER!!!!! It was time for a biblical lesson...

So, we read from Philippians 2:

"Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves...Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant.."

We bowed our heads in a bedtime prayer, and my son prayed, "Lord, thank you for coming to serve us. Amen." I smiled to myself and went over the verses again, pointing out the part he missed...the imitators of Christ part!

It was later that it occurred to me that sometimes I have this same selfish struggle within me. How many times do I say no to my kids just because I don't want to clean up the mess or because I would rather check email than play a game? Or worse yet, how many days do I slack on my time with God, then wonder why I have such an attitude problem with my husband or the lady at the bank, or those little selfish people in my house!

Lord, help me to be an example to my kids as I follow your example.

Scorpions, Swim Team, and Guinea Pig Funeral

Ahh...summertime...sleeping a little later, moving a little slower, actually finishing my coffee before it gets cold in the mornings. We are in full summer swing, which has provided some blogworthy stories for me to share...

Story #1

So, there we are, hubby and I, deep in REM sleep at 2:00 AM. "Ouch," Ron says, as he awakens suddenly to a pain behind his left knee. First thought was that it might be my toenail. It had been awhile since my last pedicure, but my toes are not that gnarly! Second thought: Poisonous spider? Better check. Lights on, covers lifted up, and a large scorpion scurries across the sheets, disappearing under the bed! After 15 minutes of searching, we locate the scorpion, who is hiding in between the mattress and box spring. As Ron holds up the mattress, I mutilate the body with several slaps of a pink flip flop. Ron does a quick internet search, then returns with an announcement: "Florida scorpions are not poisonous and if I were allergic, I would be foaming at the mouth by now, so I think I'm good." Every night since: sheet check before bed!

Story #2

Youngest child tries out for swim team...no skills needed as long as he can propel in any fashion 25 meters without holding onto the wall or sinking. Success, he makes the team! First week of practices, he learns freestyle. No problem, he's got the arms circling, he's moving forward. Second week of practices, he is taught backstroke. Big problems...he's got the arms circling, but instead of moving backwards, he is sinking. First meet, our child is signed up for backstroke. Can he scratch? "No," the 19 year old coach says, I don't believe in "I can't." Will he do it for a treat? Sure, he will do anything for a treat. Flailing and barely staying afloat, he finishes 3 minutes behind everyone else. Hope those Razzles were worth it! More practices, including private ones with Dad. Second meet, our child does a brilliant backstroke, wins his heat, and returns with this statement, "I don't know what happened, Mom, I was terrible at practice, but I won at the race. I guess God helped me swim fast."
Swim team fee: $100
Swim team suit: $25
Swimming/life lessons: Priceless


Story #3

The life span of guinea pigs is somewhere around 5-7 years. FuFue and George, being 2 1/2, we figure they have at least a few years left. A few days ago, I notice Fu lying around a little more than usual, but with three children, one with more pressing medical needs than a subdued guinea pig, I get distracted and don't worry too much about it. Last night, we notice Fu is more than lethargic. He is lying on his side, unable to eat or drink. When he does try to move, he has trouble standing up. We prepare the kids for his passing. Lots of tears. A long night, but Fu finally passes away this morning. A family funeral, burial in the backyard. More tears. 10 year old daughter moves on and is all about the multiple craft ideas she plans to do in memory of her beloved Fu. 6 year old is still in mourning. Does not eat much, he's too sad. Lots of questions about death and heaven. He has a hard time when it rains this afternoon since he knows Fu is out there. His ideals about life have changed due to the death of a small rodent. I guess we have to start somewhere. I think I prefer the life lessons in the last story. Death is hard.

Note: The guinea pig on my blog template is our survivor George. RIP Fu!

Cancer, something we all can hate

Cancer...I think I was 8 the first time I heard the word. Two of my neighbors, both under 40, had it and eventually died from the disease. I remember being afraid of cancer because it was something that adults whispered about and people died from. I secretly hoped that a cure for cancer would be found by the time I became an adult.

My childhood dreams of a cancer cure could not have been more dashed than in the past 3 years, in which I have personally known 3 people touched by the disease...a beautiful young girl named Casey who danced in my daughter's dance class, passed away on Mother's Day in 2007, after a long brave battle with brain cancer. That same week, Steve, our friend and devoted husband of my friend Lauren, had to say goodbye to his wife and two young girls, as he died of melanoma at the age of 42.

Then, this year, one of my closest friends and 5 AM walking partner was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer. I am thrilled to report that after a long year of chemo, radiation, and two major surgeries, she is in remission! I pray she will continue in her healing and live many more years to see her children's children grow up!

As an adult, I understand the physiology of cancer better, but it is still just as difficult to understand the spiritual side of this disease. I struggle to grasp the concept of why these friends of mine have had to suffer while there are so many horrible people in the world who will probably live out their lifetimes to the fullest in seemingly perfect health.

I watched the most profound video last night and want to share the link www.deathisnotdying.com. The woman in the video is named Rachel Barkey and on March 4, 2009, what started out as a speaking engagement for 40 women from her church, blossomed into an event attended by over 600 women. The video is 55 minutes long, but once you start listening, she will have you captivated and the time will fly by! I laughed, cried, and was inspired as I listened to her explain how it is that she can serve and trust in God, despite having terminal cancer. I cannot explain how it will change and challenge you...you just have to hear this incredible message!

So, click on the link, turn up your speakers, and fold some laundry while you listen. You won't be disappointed!

My Dog

"If dogs could talk it would take a lot of the fun out of owning one." - Andy Rooney

We adopted a dog this past summer when we saw the pet rescue sign and agreed that we would "just look" (has anyone ever walked away without a pet when they said that?). There were several crates of dogs, bouncing around as if to say, "Pick me! Pick me!" One dog caught my eye because she sat regally in her kennel with her front paws crossed. It only took a few minutes of petting her to know we wanted to adopt. The rest is history...now Pixie is part of our family.

With three kids in our home, I wouldn't say that Pixie lives a life of leisure. She generously fulfills the roles that each child demands from her. To our disabled son, she is a devoted nurse and can often be found, lying in between his legs, giving him companionship and comfort. To our daughter, Pixie is a thespian, wearing various costumes and playing parts in homemade musicals. To our youngest son, Pixie is a playmate and displays the virtues of longsuffering and patience, as she endures the rough play of a 5 year old boy. No wonder she loves to catch up on her sleep during school hours!

My kids are not the only ones smitten with Pixie. After I had babies, I wondered why I would ever want a pet again. Then, my babies became children and I realize the importance of having a quiet being in the house who still thinks I am brilliant. I will admit, my kids sometimes accuse me of liking the dog more than them, to which I respond, "Don't be silly, I will always love you guys more." Love is the key word here...there are many days I like the dog more! She is obedient, never talks back, and even helps with housework (I haven't had to vacuum crumbs since we got her).

On the crazy dog owner scale, I like to think I am still far away from the extreme category of the Paris Hilton's of the world who carry their poodle in a handbag. I love my dog, but I am still sane enough to know that she is not an accessory. However, if we ever have a hurricane and it comes down to evacuating without the dog, you might find Pixie and me on CNN, being airlifted from our roof! On second thought...maybe I will just invest in one of those handbags.

Lunch for a Stranger

Recently, I was driving through a shopping center when I saw a homeless man. This was not the first time I have seen him. He is our local "townie" and I see him at least once a week, shuffling across the bridge, wearing the same shabby clothes and sporting a long beard that is as matted and grey as the locks that cover his shoulders. Sometimes, I pity him. Most of the time, I see him like the sailboats and palm trees, just part of the usual backdrop of the trip to my comfortable life in the suburbs.

That day in the shopping center was different. As I drove by the grocery store, I quickly covered my mouth in disgust, as I saw the townie, scooping morsels of rubbish into his mouth. I thought about the maggots, parasites, and other dwellers inside of that trash can. I considered how desperate I would have to be to reach into festering trash in the heat of summer for a bite to eat. I wondered how long it had been since the townie had eaten. I thought about buying him something to eat, but then remembered I had my 4 year old in the car with me. I considered it a risk for me to talk to this man, especially with a child on my arm. The next time I see him, I vowed, I will buy him lunch. Accelerating my van forward, I felt good about my oath to help the homeless. A small voice from the backseat interrupted my justification to put off feeding the hungry.

"Mommy, why is that man digging in the trash can?"
"He doesn't have anything to eat."
"Then, we should buy him some lunch, Mom."

I have never heard the audible voice of God, but I thought about the verse that says, "From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise..." (Ps. 8:2) Out of my son's lips came the wisdom of God and I could not let the opportunity to feed this man get away.

So, after a trip to a drive thru restaurant, we were off in search of the townie who needed some lunch. By this time, he was walking down his usual route toward the bridge. Finding the first available parking spot, I put the van in lock down mode and firmly whispered, "Stay in your carseat and do not call out to me."

My hand shook as I approached the familiar stranger and passed him the extra value meal we had purchased.

"We thought you could use some lunch," I curtly said.

His fingers were dirty, his nails even filthier, but his smile was gracious as he quietly thanked me and took his lunch.

As we drove away, the townie sat in the same spot I met him and devoured his cheeseburger.

"He was hungry," my son observed, "Good thing you gave him that lunch, Mom."

Not wanting to let this teachable moment get away, I quickly let him know that Jesus says to give food to people who don't have any.

"Does he have a house, Mom?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Maybe we could give him some money to buy a house, too, " my son suggested with the same ordained innocence as before.

Someday, he will understand, I thought, and what a sad thing that he will.