At the Pumpkin Patch... Story Later!

Craft day at Paige's house

We decided to get together on Tuesday for a craft day. I'm not very crafty, so when other people decide to host something like that, I'm way on board. We go to Paige's house and she has got these great ideas all ready for us. We started studying Jackson Pollock in school. He was an abstract artist who was popular in the 40's and 50's who used a lot of dripping and throwing of paint as his medium. Pretty cool. We did marbles dipped in paint and then allowed the children to roll the marbles around on a piece of paper to achieve a similiar effect. Some of them actually looked very similiar to Mr. Pollock's! I was very pleased with the effects. I think I'm actually going to frame Corin and Silas' paintings. So then we melted crayons (that Paige had shaved earlier) between two sheets of wax paper to make light catchers. They are supposed to be leaf light catchers, but they kinda looked like mushroom light catchers to me. Who cares? They are taped in my kitchen window. And THEN we decorated our sugar cookies that we made with a pumpkin-shaped cookie cutter. Yumness. Fun craft day. I'm glad Paige and Heather know crafts. It's rare that we do stuff like that in my house. Too lazy. Don't be thinking I'm not gonna call them next Tuesday when we're bored!

A Favorite Halloween Memory


It was a dark and stormy night. Alright, not really, but I was in Philidelphia and it was cold. Thanks to my Dad working for Delta Airlines, I got to travel for free a lot in college. I actually remember finding out I could travel for free. Conversation went something like this at the age of eighteen:
"So, Daddy how much would it cost for me to go to somewhere on a plane by myself?"
Daddy replies, "Well, You and your sister technically get three free flights a year until your 23 years old or you get married."
Eyebrows raised and mouth opened by eighteen year old daughter. "Are you serious? By myself?"
"Yeeeeeeesss," oooh, he was hesitant, "but it is stand-by flying and you would have less priority than paying customers."
Really all I heard was free. "Can I pick where I want to go?"
His eyebrows go up, amused. "Well, I guess so. Within reason."
"Can I go to Europe?"
"No." Darn.
So I got to travel a bit in college. Very fun. By the time I had moved to Alabama I was 21, almost 22. That Halloween, I decided to fly to Philadelphia to see my old friend, Ryan. I love Philadelphia. It's great to sightsee there and there is always somewhere fabulous to eat. I had been wanting to go to Philly for Halloween to see the PhilHarmonic Orchestra do there big Halloween thing. I've never seen it, but I hear they all dress up in costumes and have this great concert. It was sold out that year. I was disappointed, but if there was one thing Ryan knew how to do, it was have lots of fun. He told me about how he had heard of this old place in Lancaster that did Edgar Allen Poe readings or something on Halloween. Lancaster was not close, but I did not care. So a group of us trooped over there and eventually pulled in this mansion parking lot. Wow. Gorgeous. And a little spooky. The mansion used to be a livable house, but now was a public winery that would house special events. We went into the house where we were welcomed by the Bronte sisters (yep, Charlotte and Emily) and escorted to a room. It was a night to honor Edgar Allen Poe (it was Halloween, after all) and the Bronte sisters, Mark Twain, Mary Shelley, and Edgar Allen Poe were all there to read his stories. It was fantastic. You would go into different rooms at different times and someone would read one of his stories or poems. My favorite was one of the Bronte sisters reading "The Cask of Amontillado". She had a brick and a mortar scraper thingy (yeah, I don't know what it's called) and would scrape the brick while she quoted the entire story. Very chilling. You could almost feel how damp and cold the cellar was and hear the sound of the bricks being laid to wall in a drunken nemesis. It was, as Anne of Green Gables would say, deliciously scary.
I don't remember anything else about that trip, except that it was cold and I didn't have enough cold clothes to wear.
I have my own Edgar Allen Poe traditions now. For the second year now, a group of us get together on Thursday nights in October at eight o'clock and read something by him to the kids. Actually, last week we read "The Spider and the Fly" by Mary Howitt, which has the most fabulous illustrations by Tony Diterlizzi (check it out), but tonight it will be "The Raven". And next week will be "The Tell-Tale Heart", my absolute favorite by Poe. I have this great reading of it by Glenn Beck (the CNN guy) and it is so scary. The first time I heard it was about three years ago on the radio and I stood completely still until it was finished. It is GOOD! A little too scary for the little ones, so they'll have a funny story next week in the house. " The Tell-tale Heart" will be heard outside, in pitch dark. Last year, it was raining and chilly. What will it be like this year? Wanna come?

COMMUNITY GROUPS



I've grown to really love Community Groups at our church. It's been great to get to know new people and people who I don't see very often, as well as old friends. I took my camera on Sunday night to our group meeting, hosted by the Davis', and snapped some fun pictures of the kids playing and our absolute failure at making marshmellow ghosts. SOMEBODY (I won't say WHO -Paige Mitchell) burnt the white chocolate. Much laughing and good times followed in the kitchen. And maybe we made fun of the burner of chocolate a little. What you are supposed to do is slide three marshmellows on a popsicle stick and dip it in melted white chocolate and add chocolate chips or raisins as eyes. The kids didn't know there was supposed to be white chocolate and they were excited to just slide marshmellows on a stick and smoosh chocolate chips into their marshmellows to make ghost eyes. Thus ensued marshmellow ghosty guys. Minus the white chocolate. Ahem.
There are also pictures of the second attempt at caramel apples, which was slightly less successful than the first attempt, mostly because I added too much water to the caramel (see, it's not just you Paige). VERY messy. This was not done at Community Group, but was done with a couple of friends from Community Group at our house.
One thing I love about our church is the concentration of the gospel in every aspect of our lives. It has changed the way I think, and when I forget, there is a good friend to remind me who I am because of the gospel. There is freedom in the gospel and not guilt. Of course, I am guilty of sin which is why I need the gospel in the first place, but I'm talking about the guilt of a believer after they are saved. Constant guilt - not doing enough, not reading my Bible enough, try harder... do better, blah, blah, blah... I am not enough by myself - PERIOD. I am Christ's child and He loves me. There is a work He is completing in me. I will live the gospel through my life. This kind of philosophy filters down into my everyday life and not just churchy stuff. The freedom of the gospel allows me to trust women in the church to actually help me raise my children and to have friends I would never have allowed myself to have because of our culture's insistence on the perfection of the "mask". I love that I can be real. Community Groups has been another extension of our church and the outreaching of the gospel. My church family is exactly that. I'm so thankful.

My in-laws came on Friday to see us on and stayed on Saturday so that they could watch the boys' soccer games. We had such a great time and Jason and Michelle Little came out to join us with the girls (minus Brittney, who was working). It was so nice to be with family for the whole day. After Dick and Linda left, we went over to the Little's for dinner (steak, mmm) and conversation. It was so good. I wish we could see family more often. Sigh... My heart was full by the end of the day.

FOUND IT!

I tore apart the washer yesterday. I was convinced the jersey was there. It wasn't. I tore apart the boys' room. (Again) I cleaned it very well. Wasn't there. Crissy came over and helped me look. Went to Maja's van and looked. Nope. Half-heartedly looked in the big garbage can outside. Saw maggotts. Nevermind. Talked to the coach. No extra jerseys. Oh well, I guess it doesn't matter.

This morning I woke up and got up and checked my e-mail and my blog. Saw several comments about a two-year old and trash. I decided to re-check the big outside garbage can before I took it to the curb - maggots or no maggots. I took out all the garbage bags, trying to ignore the maggots. And at the very bottom, underneath maggots and nasty old food, I saw a flash of green. I tore open the side of the bag and Voila! There it was! Woo hoo! Mommy saves the day! Thanks for the advice friends!

MISSING: Green Soccer Jersey

Corin's soccer jersey is missing. Not just missing, but gone. The trolls have taken it far away. Why am I blogging about it? Because it's driving me nuts! I noticed that it was not in the laundry on Sunday and so I started looking it for it then. No big deal, his game is a week away. Monday I still couldn't find it, and started looking in less obvious places. Tuesday, Quinn and I moved couches and looked under the piano (don't ask me how it couldv'e gotten under the piano). I just sat and thought of all the places it could be. Tuesday night I woke up in the middle of the night (wide awake) and thought: "it's in some clothes that I washed". So Wednesday morning, I went through all the drawers in the house and took out clothes to see if it had somehow gotten dried in somebody's jeans or something. Nothing. I also have, by now, virtually torn the whole house upside down and shaken it. I sent the head guy over kids' soccer an e-mail, asking if there were extra jerseys. Yeah, so that he can think, "okay, lady, it's just one jersey, how did you lose that?". I haven't heard back from him yet. I have spent FOUR days looking for this thing. How can it be missing? I saw him take it off and throw it on the floor, where he was then instructed to take it to the hallway where laundry was waiting to be washed. We have grandparents coming to watch games and I've yet to take pictures of him with his team. My motherly righteousness is on the line! It is supposed to be clean, smelling of Tide and ready in his drawer by now.
This is not part of the October plan! I'm not supposed to spend days looking for a jersey, I'm supposed to be planning fun things to do! And I know what you're thinking. Calm down! It's not that big of a deal. Well, sure it's not, but it SO is. Especially since it is consuming 90% of my thoughts. WHERE IS IT? WHERE IS IT? WHERE IS IT?
What you are supposed to be imagining right now is me, standing on a table-coffee or dining- with my hair crazy and my fist in the air. I feel like I'm an old-time movie crazy lady. They always made them have big hair and crazy looking eyes. "I'm ready for my close-up,dahling." Okay, I'm getting down now.

If the trolls have brought this jersey to your house, please contact me. Otherwise, I guess I'll just have to get over it. That might not be a bad idea anyway.

Verbal Diarrhea strikes!

Can you say verbal diarrhea? Oh, I can. Unfortunately, I am so aware of this disease and have decided that I need to bring awareness to the world so that you can know if you have it.

Do you, when feeling uncomfortable, start talking and can't stop?

Do you, especially around others, know that the previous is happening and literally start panicking over the things you are saying?

Do you, in your panic, start backtracking and end up sounding a little bit more crazy with each passing second?

Do you, with crazy eyes, secretly beg people to not think you are crazy and then they tell you that you are not crazy so that you will get out of their house?

Do you replay the conversation over and over in your mind, trying to make it not true? And then does it get worse when you replay it?

Do you lose sleep over the conversation and worry about it for weeks?

Do you cringe in remembrance of the conversation?

Does the thought of actually seeing the people who you have had said conversation with make your heart beat faster and make you feel like you would rather eat worms and die?

If any of these things have happened to you, then I'm afraid that you have VD (not venereal disease- not even going there). I would suggest you get help, but I'm afraid that doctors are not taking this disease seriously. We must raise awareness of this issue! Call your closest friend and tell her she must stand with you at all times and kick you periodically in the butt to get your attention when you start talking too much. Otherwise, there's not much hope. Call your local senator today!

October is Here!

Simply put, I love October! I have loved this month since I was a little girl; really almost favored it above my birthday. I love the slight nip in the air and the coloring leaves; the pumpkins you see everywhere at fruitstands, and the sudden urge to make something cinnaminy (it's a word) in the kitchen. I'm not a crafty person, but in October, the Brenda (my mother) comes out in me and I'm the most fun mom in the world. Pumpkin shaped sugar cookies are traditions in our house in October as well as roasting pumpkin seeds after carving our Jack-o-Lantern, which we will research our favorite face for two weeks before we actually carve our victim pumpkin. We also will check out a book on custumes and look into making our costumes for the big night. Last year, Corin was an Indian, Silas was Robin Hood, and Felix was a lion (I did not make Felix's costume- Crissy Sharp lent me Brody's old costume). I was Red Riding Hood, Anne of Green Gables, and on any given day in October, spooky lady with black shirt and overdone black eyeliner.

Why the love? My sister's birthday is in October, about a week before Halloween, and her birthday parties when we were children were Halloween themed, you know, black and orange balloons and chocolate cake with candy corn. There were a couple of years that we had a Halloween party in the garage with dunking for apples, costumes, and a giant stuffed man sitting on a lawn chair. I was a witch (before it became politically incorrect for Christians) for several years in a row, a costume my mother made and I remember her painting a star on one cheek and a moon on the other. My sister was always a princess with this fabulous pointed cone hat with this pink chiffony thing coming out the back. I remember one year that my sister and I were waiting at the corner of our street waiting for people to start coming to the party when a large black woman starting waving at us from a block away and calling our names. My sister and I looked at each frantically and started sprinting to our house. We breathlessly told our mother what happened and she smiled a half smile and said "really?". While we watched, the woman rounded the corner and walked the short distance to our house, calling our names. It was my grandmother, dressed as a perfect replica of Aunt Jemima. I was a little nervous of her the whole night. We were never really allowed to go to a lot of houses for trick or treating, but one year I remember going to Southern Oaks (THE neighborhood to trick or treat in, rumored to give regular-sized candy bars) and trick or treating with my Aunt Cheryl and my mom, with my cousins and sister. So fun. November 1st was always a let down for me, much the same way as December 26th is. As I got older, I still loved dressing up (I was a punk rocker chick when I was 12-1987, a ghost bride when I was 14, and a Star Trek chick when I was in college) and I dress up with my kids now, enduring much teasing from my husband. Tease away!

I had October planned for school before September and plan to study Edgar Allen Poe and Martin Luther, talk about Edvard Grieg, go to the Pumpkin Patch and Boo at the Zoo, and cook up spooky looking, fun things to eat. Monster Pizzas, finger hotdogs with real-looking fingernails, vomit dip, potion punch, and spider cupcakes are all fun things to make. Recipes to come on a later post. It's gonna be great. Let the fun begin!

BEWARE OF THE AFRICAN GIRAFFE!

I had a very productive morning yesterday. My house was relatively tidy and the boys were doing their schoolwork. I had started working on the Christmas Program (I am the Children's Choir Director) and was practicing some songs I hope to be able to play by Christmas. By 11:00, the boys had eaten lunch (we get up absurdly early at my house) and finished up language, reading, and a small study on Vincent Van Gogh. I told them to take a break and I went to clean up after Felix. He had taken all the books off the bottom bookshelf. He's such a big helper. I plopped my fanny down and went to work, him handing me a book and me putting it back on the shelf. I had to hold up the books already on the shelf to put more on and so I continued to add and move books. All of a sudden - BONK - and I was holding my head in pain and looking around for whatever thing I was about to hurl into oblivion. Ah, the wooden giraffe Missy brought back for the boys from Africa. Can't hurl that into oblivion. Besides, Felix was already holding it saying "No, no giraffe!". Corin was watching me lie on the floor holding my head and screaming "Mama, what should I do? I should tell Mr. Clayton! I should call 911! Mama is this an emergency? Mama!". Woah. What happened? Did I really get knocked in the head by a wooden giraffe? Should it really hurt this bad? I told Corin to just "be still and let me think". Yeah, think about the last time I got a concussion.

Embarrassingly, this is my second concussion within a year. Last Winter, I was changing the sheets (cursed sheets) on the boys' bunkbeds upstairs and knocked myself UNCONSCIOUS by slamming my head on the ladder. I passed out several times and don't remember chunks of the morning. I called Quinn, who was out of town for the day, to ask for instruction (I knew something was the matter because of the huge bump off my eyebrow and the fact that I kept drifting off to sleep) and promptly forgot what he told me as soon as I got off the phone. Gladly, he knew I was incoherent and called Ginger Donahoo to check on me. She called and Corin told her I was asleep on the kitchen floor. I think that I was on the phone with Missy at some point in the morning. It is still a little blurry. Ginger came over and dressed me (oh yeah, still in pjs) and took me to the doctor. I slept for two days and had blurred vision for about a week.

So now I'm sitting on my living room floor, checking for blood, and wondering what should I do. I knew, from my last unfortunate experience, that soon I would probably be feeling dizzy. I finished putting the books on the shelves and loaded the lunch dishes in the dishwasher. Now what? Quinn was in seminary classes in Atlanta and I did not want him to worry. I called Crissy hoping that her husband would be with her (he's a respiratory therapist). No answer on her cell. I called the church and she answered the phone (weird) and said that she would send Chris over. By this time I was unable to walk without holding the wall and the light was hurting my eyes. (Felix was also still holding the giraffe and periodically coming over to me saying "giraffe hurt mama?"). My eyes were not dilated weirdly and I was coherent. I did not want to go to the doctor. Pay $30 for the doctor to say "Yep, mild concussion. Go home and sleep for two days." No Thank You. So I laid in bed all day and couldn't do anything. ANNOYING. Chris and Crissy came over for the whole day and took care of me. It was nice. Ginger came and picked up the big boys for soccer. Paige got my stuff I needed to teach my co-op class today. The gospel at work.

Quinn was slightly annoyed I did not go to the doctor, but I rationalized well. (Oh, sure, trust the lady with the concussion). This morning I woke up with a slight headache and was glad I felt almost fine. Nevermind that nagging cloud in front of my eyes. It was smaller than yesterday's cloud anyway. I did go to co-op to teach my music class. Where we made homemade kazoos. And danced. Dizziness and headache back by 11:00. It was a GIRAFFE. A small wooden carved, docile animal. Crissy said, "Thank goodness it wasn't a lion, huh?" Cute.

Caramel Apple Anyone?
A new tradition! Last minute today, we made caramel apples. Very fally. Such fun! The kids had a blast, but I think Paige and I had more fun eating the leftover caramel. I will probably do it again very soon. Wanna come over? You could just buy a bag of caramels and some apples and show up. I'll chop some nuts. Come one, come all... Let's do something for fall!

What's in Your Pantry?

I just got off the phone with Ginger (link to the right) and reluctantly gave up going shopping with her. To clean my house. Ahem. Now I'm blogging for the second time today. I may give up blogging for Lent next spring.

Anyway, in our conversation I mentioned in passing (possibly for trying to lure her over) that I had nine pounds of chocolate chips in my pantry. Who does not have nine pounds of chocolate chips in their pantry? Allow me to explain. First of all, I am a chocolate freak. Most people know this. Blairs have chocolate running in their bloodstream. I make this chocolate cake called Triple Chocolate Bundt Cake. Very tasty (if I do say so myself). This cake requires 3 cups of chocolate chips. So, I always have two bags of chocolate chips in my pantry because I make this cake for just about every get together I have at my house or to take to someone else's house. Well, I had three bags of Ghirardelli Bittersweet Chocolate Chips (wipe your mouth) in my pantry because they are the absolute best chocolate chips. Then I went to Sam's. ooooh, I love Sam's and sometimes I get a little bit carried away there. It's like a grown-up playground and they have YUMMY pizza. Anyhoo... I went down the baking aisle and NOTICED that the Nestle Tollhouse chocolate chips were 8.50 for a big bag (not sure pounds- maybe 4) and the Ghirardelli Bittersweet Chocolate Chips (which they don't always carry) were 3.50 (or something like that) for 3.5 pounds. WOAH. Fate stepped in. Or fate dipped in chocolate stepped in. I even felt a wave of adrenaline hit me as I picked up the bag and felt its cold, lumpy packaging. I picked up 3 bags initially, but put back one, remembering that I had three bags at home in my pantry (9 pounds of chocolate is okay to have in your pantry, but definitely not 12... that's crazy). I never thought that this was irrational (okay, maybe a small part of me did because I did NOT want Quinn to see that I had bought that many chocolate chips) until I was talking to Ginger and I realized that there was actually NINE POUNDS of chocolate in the pantry. Hmmm. I also like there to be lots of cereal in the pantry. Not sure why.

So here's the recipe for my Triple Chocolate Bundt Cake (okay it's really Southern Living's recipe) that I know from memory:

1 box Devil's Food with pudding in the mix
1 5.9 ounce box of instant chocolate pudding
4 eggs
1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 1/4 cup oil
3 cups chocolate chips, divided
1/2 cup whipping cream

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease and flour bundt cake. Mix 1st five ingredients in a bowl until well blended. Stir in two cups of chocolate chips. Pour into prepared bundt pan and bake for 50 to 55 minutes. Toothpick will not come clean, but cake is done when you push on top of cake lightly and it bounces back.
Allow cake to cool for 10 minutes in pan and then let cool on wire rack for one hour. On low heat stir together remaining chocolate chips and 1/2 cup of whipping cream until it's chocolaty smooth. (Don't worry, you can lick the saucepan). Let ganoche (that's what the icing is called) cool for 10 minutes and then drizzle over cake. Allow to sit so the ganoche can harden. Enjoy.

PS. Quinn doesn't really like musicals. He was being sarcastic. I think it's funny though that people thought he really did like musicals and was secretly enjoying the fact that it was annoying him that people thought that he did. Heh, heh. I love musicals... dipped in chocolate. Yum.

ANNOUNCEMENT!

No, I'm not pregnant. I just wanted to let everyone know that I have set a new precedence for myself. Lately I have been made aware, by my own incapabilities, that I cannot keep my house clean for longer than two hours. This last fact I have known for some time but I constantly fought it. "Surely" (this is me to myself) "Surely I can keep the house clean for the evening until tomorrow morning." This, unfortunately, cannot be. It always surprises me that in the morning the house is a wreck. Maybe I shouldn't be blaming myself at all. Maybe it's the dirty house trolls that leave their secret hiding places when I fall asleep. They pour little Cheezit crumbs on the floor and pour a tiny bit of milk and cheerios on the table so that by morning it turns to concrete. They pee on the back of the toilet and leave cat hair on the sofa. The sink is full of dirty dishes and the dishes in the dishwasher are clean and have been for at least 36 hours. It's the trolls who wear clothes for one hour and throw them in the hamper and leave poop streaks in their underwear.

Anyway, I am not going to clean my house anymore. I left the house yesterday morning knowing that people were coming for lunch and my house was horrible. So that was my start. Then the house was basically clean last night and this morning it was a pigsty (really, how does it happen?). I've decided that I will singlehandedly make dirty, disgusting houses the new style. If you come to house, I will brew a nice pot of coffee in my disgusting coffee pot and we will clear a spot on the sofa to chat. I will wear my jeans (trouser ones of course) that can stand up in the corner by themselves and always wear shoes so that I don't feel the dirt under my feet in the kitchen. That sounds nice.

Not really. It's giving me the heebs just thinking about it. So I guess I'll load the dishwasher and mop the kitchen floor. And the bathroom floor. And just maybe I'll venture upstairs to clean the boys bathroom. Eewww. Maybe not. Quinn will eventually announce that the boys bathroom is disgusting and he'll clean it. He does a really good job. I'll throw a load of clothes in the washer and vacuum the bedrooms (do your bedrooms get vacuumed ever?). Maybe I'll even dust. The house does smell good when it's clean. For two hours. Ah well...

The Essence of My Life

What does my life smell like? It depends on your perspective. Sometimes it smells like piles of dirty laundry being ignored in the hall or mildewed socks that were discarded wet... in the corner... in shoes... two weeks ago. Sometimes it smells like Tide and Bounce and I enjoy smelling every piece of clean laundry (really, every single piece).

Sometimes I come in the house and squint my eyes and wrinkle my nose and say "what is that smell?'' Then I look for it until I find and discard it in the outside trash. Sometimes I come in my house and smell Pot Roast that has been cooking for six hours and breathe deep and sigh. My favorite smell is a baking triple chocolate bundt cake that is almost done. Or chocolate chip cookies. Or banana bread. Or pumpkin pie. Or maybe a giant turkey with gravy, sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, Yankee dressing (what I refer to as my dad's most delicious white bread dressing... Perhaps I should say what Quinn refers to as my dad's dressing. Either way, it's magnificent.), and yeast rolls. Yum, I love food. I absolutely adore the smell of something yummy cooking in the oven.

Sometimes my house smells dank and unopened. It feels dark and smells of air conditioner. This time of year I love to open the windows in the morning and let that cool air drift through the house. It smells of fall. I can never fully explain the smell of fall. And I almost want to dread it because I detest being freezing, but then the end of September comes and I am in love and dream of boots and trouser jeans. I love the smell of a great candle, like vanilla bean or pumpkin spice.

Sometimes the smell of sweat overwhelms you in the house. Especially after exercise. And boys, with Crocs. Blech... Crocs make for nasty smelling feet. But then there is baby bath and Pert Plus and the boys are edible again and ready for cuddling. And the shower that I dread, especially when I wash my hair. Mmmm, my mother-in-law gave me this brown sugar scrub that smells so good and I love the smell of Pantene shampoo. Clean: hate to get there, but love to be there.

Sometimes I feel like that I'm repulsive in every way. I hate the way I look, or the way something fits. I hate that I overeat and that I'll never weigh 115 pounds. I just feel that, no matter how much I roll in my own perfume, I still have never recognized that it is my own filth and my love to revel in it outweighs the love for my Saviour. My life seems to be this never ending circle of faith, pride, unbelief, destruction, consequences, and repentance. He sees me differently and poored out Himself for me. How can that be? The essence of my life... I am clothed in the finest of robes though I see rags and I smell of the finest perfume though I deserve my own filth. Grace greater than all my sin!

Vision

'O God of grace, You have transferred my sin to my substitute, and have transferred His righteousness to me, clothing me with a bridegroom's robe, decking me with jewels of holiness. Yet I daily live as though dressed in rags - my best prayers are infected with sin; my tears of penitence are polluted with pride; my confessions of wrong are attempts at earning your favor which only increases my guilt; my receiving the Spirit is tainted with selfishness. I need to repent of my repentance; I need my tears to be washed; I have no robe to bring to cover my sins; no loom to weave my own righteousness; I am always standing clothed in filthy garments, and by grace am always receiving change of attire, for You do justify the ungodly; I am always going into the far country, and always returning home as a prodigal, always saying Father, forgive me, and You are always bringing forth the best robe. Every morning let me wear it, every evening return in it, go out to the day's work in it, be married in it, be wound in death in it, stand before the great white throne in it. Grant me never to lose sight of the exceeding sinfulness of sin, the exceeding righteousness of salvation, the exceeding glory of Christ, the exceeding beauty of holiness, the exceeding wonder of grace. Amen.'

Valley of Vision

We read the above in church yesterday in unison. I was struck by the accuracy of myself in it. Jesus is the Lover of my soul. My own sin stuns me. I am distracted by it and it continually makes me stumble. Very frustrating. I love the reminder that Christ brings forth His best robe, no matter how many times I leave as a prodigal. How sweet the sound!

FELLOWSHIP of the HILLS

Went to Christa and Jeremy's house last night (sure wish Christa, had a blog-she's a hoot... a-hem). Anyway. We had so much fun. When I say "so much fun" I mean I nearly wet myself laughing. Doubled over- I feel like I did crunches for two hours- laughter. With the children neatly tucked away upstairs (except for the babies) we just hooted and nearly cried over our shananigans. Virginia took pictures. Michelle Quinn absolutely is the most hilarious person that God ever placed on the earth. Carol Burnett reborn. She hits my funny bone just right. I had been looking forward to last night since Christa e-mailed about it two weeks ago. And it was just right. We came home at midnight (for those who are curious: yes. I was delirious after 10:00- really just made the stories funnier). I had Quinn laughing at one of Michelle's stories on the way home. Laughing hard. My children slept 'til 8:00 this morning. Unheard of. I actually did the "YES" arms this morning when I woke up and saw that the clock said 7:50. Perfection.
I love that God made us to interact and love each other. Laughter is the most ingenius creation. We had a fab-u-lous time.
Gotta get ready for two soccer games.

I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO glad today is Friday. Not that the weekend is any less crazy, you understand, but at least I can let my kids watch TV on saturday morning with no guilt. Well, I do feel a leedle bit guilty after 4 hours, but hey, I just smooth on past the guilt. Just ROLL on. Big Mac Truck. Rolling over the guilt. Vroom. Toot, toot, chugga, chugga, Big Red Car... travel near and travel far. Love the Wiggles. Seriously. Maybe it's the Australian accent. I always was a sucker for accents.



I have a new reason for feeling guilty. We have instituted a new rule in our house. The rule is the boys' room has to be clean before they go to bed. This started innocently enough. The room just kept getting more and more trashed. I hated going up there at nighttime, knowing what was going to greet me. I talked to Maja (mother of 7 children has much knowledge) and was complaining about it. She told me that she had instituted a new rule of room must be clean before bedtime. She gives the girls (her two youngest) a check for a clean room and an X for a messy room. They are only allowed one X for the week. If they have more than one, then no TV saturday morning. Brilliant! 'I will institute this rule immediately', I said to myself. And I did. So this is our third week. I have shown "mercy" twice already. Or "forgot" about the X's. Am I so addicted to "Little Einsteins" that I have issues with consistency? Um, yes, I am.

So, they are cleaning their room right now. And they will watch "Little Einsteins" in the morrow. And I will drink coffee and watch the Biography preview channel with my husband like I do every Saturday morning. And feel guilty that I'm not showing consistency. And then get another cup of coffee.

Oh, well... maybe next week...

9/11


Well, today is 9/11. What a very sad, horrible anniversary. I had just found out that I was pregnant with the Si-guy and Quinn was off work that morning. We watched the Today Show in absolute horror. I will never, ever forget the fear and dread of that day. Even now, the footage just brings back that exact same feelings and I am back on that couch, unmoving and sobbing. I kept just saying 'surely there's nobody in those buildings... they've evacuated them haven't they?' And then I would see someone jump out the window. Oh dear God, the memory is torture itself. The horror of that day! Jason and Michelle (family-link to the right under Littles) had been to New York several weeks before and had had breakfast in the World Trade Center Restaurant. I, myself stood on top of one of the twin towers on an unforgettable trip to New York with some FBC friends in 1995. That's what I think when I look at pictures from that day. I stood up there and saw New York and laughed with my friends and took pictures. Crazy. What if it had been that day? At 20 years old, I had no knowledge of the bombing that took place there two years earlier. Mostly because I was completely ignorant of the news.
So now what do I think? The future freaks me out. I have three children and they are growing up in a scary society. No doubt, we will be a completely socialized government in 10 to 20 years (or at least medically). What will their lives be like with their wives and children? I have a good friend who was a bridesmaid in our wedding (Jodi) who lives in Canada. After having her little boy I asked her about her birthing experience. Did she have an epidural (women just ask these things, you know) and she laughed and said "you don't get an epidural in Canada unless you have a C-section". Think about that! Yikes!
The gospel is ringing in my ears now and I know that my children are being raised knowing the gospel. Christ is our only hope and we are hopeless without Him. I think about other countries, like China, who are not allowed to have the gospel and their country is busting at the seams with believers. Not just lame ducks like me either, but people who are alive and burning with it. Do I really want to be on fire? Of course, I'll say YES, because that is what I'm supposed to say, but really? What is it like to be trembling with fear and pain and refusing to recant the gospel? I don't know. I don't know. Will I ever? It's a possibility. It's a huge possibility with our kids. What's next?

Hey. Just did the Pilates class. Wow. Gonna hurt a little bit tomorrow. I'm excited about it though. If you've been thinking about it, COME! I think somebody said to me "I'm not wearing a tutu." Well, as much as I actually would like to wear a tutu, I don't think we'll be wearing them.

On a completely observational, neurotic note... I've gained five pounds this summer. Last summer I gained 7 pounds. I lost it in the winter. It seems I'm always in better shape in the winter. Why is this so? I know it certainly could not be that I'm lazy, LAZY in the summertime and snack the whole time on pool ministry days. I'm sure that is not the case. Anyway, it seems a little backward to me. And I know that it's just 5 pounds, but it makes a difference in the way clothes fit. It also drives me batty. Anyhoo. Perhaps I need to speak to my inner child. Tell her, "it's okay to put down the 1/2 gallon of Moose Tracks." Mmm, Moose Tracks does sound good. However, if I had it in the freezer, I would go to it with a spoon just to take a little, tiny bite and then completely lose conciousness with the fact that I am eating ice cream. Especially if the first bite revealed the delicately lined fudgy, peanut buttery stuff underneath. And then you have to push down your spoon a little bit harder to get it. And then it's the size of a mini candy bar. And that bite was just so good that you had to have "just a couple more bites" and then you're digging for the next bit of fudgy, peanut buttery stuff. Before you know it, 5 minutes has gone by and your hands are sticky and you throw your spoon down in disgust. It sure was good though. For this reason, I bought Edy's slow-churned chocolate chip cookie dough simply because I do not care for it. Quinn loves the cookie dough ice cream. Not a fan. Unless, of course, I make a batch of cookie dough and then put some in a bowl with a couple scoops of Breyer's Vanilla Bean and some homemade hot fudge sauce. yumness. You know, if I made the hot fudge sauce, I could probably choke down a couple scoops of cookie dough ice cream. Gotta go...

Did I mention the Pilates class?

I am so obnoxious at nighttime. Anybody got a good bean soup recipe? I thought I had one and I don't. I think I used to make one, but I don't remember what I did.

Tomorrow I am starting a ballet/pilates class that Michelle Davis (Briarwood Ballet Instructor) is teaching at our church for grownup ladies. FUN FUN FUN! If anybody is at all interested, the classes are $5 per class. And you can pay as you go. I can't wait. Maybe I'll be a dancer yet!