I Am A Real Mom

The world of facebook got me to think about my role as a mother. The postings about, "Copy and repost if you're proud to be a mom" stuff? Well, it made me think about my less stellar moments and how we never talk about them. And why would we? Moms are infallable, tireless, exceptional examples of human greatness, right? Well, I decided to risk exposing some of my flaws in a therapeutic attempt to say, I Am Real! Enjoy!

Seeing my newborn’s happy grin at 2:46 a.m. didn’t always flood my heart with joy.

Sometimes the “sweet smell” of a baby wasn’t all that sweet, it just smelled.

I didn’t always change my baby’s diaper in a timely manner.

The time my baby rolled over, and off the bed, I didn’t scream because I was thrilled at this milestone in development.

I thwarted all my child’s efforts to climb.

When my baby babbled I put on an Academy-worthy performance of pretending I knew exactly what he was saying.

Co-sleeping was all about me getting more rest and had practically nothing at all to do with bonding or making my baby feel more secure.

I think babies shouldn’t learn to walk until they’re 5. They shouldn’t learn to talk until they’re 20, for that matter.

Potty training is best left in the hands of United States Military supervising officers.

Picky toddlers were the inspiration for food fights, by adults.

I have definitely yelled at my kids, sometimes even when they were being truly naughty.

When my kids ask if they can have a treat or watch a movie I will say no just because Mom can say no.

Muddy fingerprints on the wall will never be works of art.

I’m never mean on purpose.

There comes a very important time when a child gets mildly injured that I have to pretend I didn’t just see that happen.

I don’t completely trust my kids.

A good day is when the kids are alive at the end of it.

Crackers = Food = Lunch

It doesn’t make me a bad mother if I avoid hugging the kids when they’re dirty.

Just being honest, my reasons for homeschooling are not all noble. Unsuitable lunches and late starts are among the less noble reasons.

The fact that God loves my kids more than I ever will is proven every day.

Glory

House of Craig

We're trying ever so hard to keep track of our kids' wit and wisdoms. It's a good thing, then, that funny is a renewable resource among our children.

Enjoy!

MacAulay's Birthday dinner was followed by cake, of which there were six servings. While everyone was enjoying their delights, Murron cast a shadow over the mood with her proclamation, "Soon, we'll only have five at the table because one of us will pass away." We gasped and asked, "Who?" to which she replied, "Elizabeth is getting older.” Elizabeth’s face was white. We told her, “Not PASS away. She’ll MOVE away.”

Kitchen Moment #148: Bill: (accidentally spills food in the refrigerator and on the floor) "Dang it!" Aulay: (bravely mimics Daddy) "Dang it!" (while Bill cleans up Aulay helps and points to the food on the floor and explains) "That's a dang it."

SLAP! Aulay: " 'etend this is the water!" SLAP! Aulay: "I are swimming!" SLAP! Aulay: "See? I in the water." It takes seriously hardcore imagination to perform bellyflops on the kitchen linoleum!

Poor Ulie! With enormous tears streaming down his dirty little cheeks, he lamented, "The fly bited me!" I asked him to show me where the fly was and, as I suspected, it was actually a bee. After removing the stinger, to soothe his injured feelings, I put a hulk bandaid on his finger. Ulie said, "So the bee will get scared, right?!” You bet, kid!

We were playing piano and trombone duets, tonight, when Ulie remarked, "Hey, it's like The Muppet Show!" Bill's thinking, "What am I, Gonzo?" while Glory's flattered to be compared to Rowlf!

I saw Aulay and thought he'd had a nosebleed. Then I noticed that Ulie's nostrils had red tinges too. It didn't take long to sort out what was going on. Aulay displayed his new skill: get Brach's Cinnamon Imperials, stick one into the nostril, blow it out...I can't even make this stuff up!!!

Bill and the boys got haircuts, yesterday. Ulie believes that boys hair doesn't grow so Murron had to explain that, yes, his hair will grow, too. Ulie insists that his hair will always be short while Murron persisted that boys hair gets long too. How will he know if he always gets haircuts?

Aulay to cops of various kinds at a fire department open house: "Is that your gun?" (touching the holster with sticky hands) and an inquisitive: "Do you kill people?" Kudos to the county deputy who told him that he helps people. It's what he tells his own kids.

Ulie doesn't understand Bill's facial hair. "Why did you go to the bear and get it off and put it on you?" Ulie asked his daddy, perplexed. "Why did you do that?"

Family Room Moment #204: (While watching Bee Movie) Murron: "Does she have a husband?" Elizabeth: "No." Murron: "Then why does she live in a house?"

Ulie: "A penny!" Aulay: "Where da penny?" Ulie: "Right here." Aulay: "Yay, Bruddah!"

Momma got told! While helping Ulie settle at bedtime he decided on a small snack. When I expressed my disgust at his choice of tasty tidbits he informed me, "Mom, I'm a kid. I eat nasty snot." Curtailing this gross habit is going to be tougher than I thought...

Within the first 6 hours of Glory's parents' visit: Aulay: "Murron, why are YOU sitting on My Gwampa's wap?" Murron: "Aulay, they're MY Grandpa and Grandma too!" Ulie: (en route to look at Grandpa and Grandma's picture) "Let me see if you look like Grandpa and Grandma" (looks back and forth between photo and Grandparents) "Yup! It's you."

(regarding the role of cosmetology who work with morticians) Elizabeth: It seems that there’s more dead people than living people who want a makeover.

While driving through rural Lopez Island Aulay: “I’m mad now!” Mom: “Why?” Aulay: “Because the animals are pooping”

Ulie: "Superman...and Spiderman...and Larry Boy!"

Murron has said some hilarious stuff, lately. In talking about kids who aren't buckled in car seats, she quipped, "It's like riding in a cabbage." "What?" "You know, horses pull them." We laughed and said she meant carriage. Looking for a snack, she asked, "Can I have a graham crapper? *giggles* I mean, graham crammer *laughing* I can't say it! *pauses* Can I have a graham cramper?" :-D Explaining that matter is everywhere: "Even if you're in a room with nobody in it, you're touching something...even if you're outside, or jumping in the air, or naked jumping out of an airplane!"

Chain Reaction

“You inspire me.”

The lady at Curves marched with renewed vigor on the recovery pad. I had mentioned that I had run part of the way from our house to the center. It’s really not that far but it’s impressive enough for someone who has never jogged before. It felt good to have my efforts recognized and it has helped me stay motivated to do it.

I owe much of my persistence to Bill, who has been running for seven months. A high school friend was the initial impetus to get him started. They had the shared joy of running a 10K together, an experience that refueled Bill’s passion for running. He runs an average of 5 miles at a time, but has run as many as 10 miles. He is aiming to run a half-marathon in June and wants to complete a marathon by the end of this year. It’s exciting to see his progress and to support him as he pushes himself farther and harder.

There have been times when he has felt discouraged, sometimes to the point of not wanting to do it. I’m sure it’s not easy to maintain the interest or desire it takes to press on. More than a few times he has even come into the house, sweaty and tired, shaking his head when I ask if he’s glad he did it. In that moment he’s just glad he got it out of the way.

Bill has been an encouragement for others we know, too, It has been wonderful to see others take their health more seriously, not to the point of obsession or imposing their regimen upon others, though. Inspiring people to better themselves in any discipline should be empowering and positive in motive.

Hebrews 10:23-25 states how we are to inspire each other on a spiritual level, for the glory of God:

23 Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise. 24 Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works. 25 And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another, especially now that the day of his return is drawing near.

Hearing someone tell me how I’ve inspired them has been very encouraging, especially for those times when I just don’t have the motivation to put on my shoes and get out there. Knowing that others are watching my example, such as my husband and kids, keeps me accountable and reminds me that I am not alone in my pursuits. Children are natural imitators so, whether good or bad, I set the tone for what they say and do. With this in mind I ought to be careful and not lose hope when I don’t see immediate results. Rather I must be even more fervent and diligent and rise to the challenge that is set before me. There most likely is someone who needs to see and be moved.

Glory

A Change In The Weather

It smells like Spring, now. With slightly warmer days and longer evenings the air has a fresh sweetness that coaxes any Winter weary slumberer out from hibernation. Birds have returned to chatter melodically about the best nesting materials and fine earthy dining spots. And lawn mowers drone steadily in the afternoons.

In many ways last year seemed like an extended Winter. Personal struggles, health concerns, and tragic losses blew into our lives, the unexpected blizzards leaving us chilled and drifted over. Our faith has been tested in ways we never anticipated and our hope was frequently challenged. Yet the unfailing love of God kept us safe and sheltered throughout the long cold season.

I am certain that it was this subtle shift in the air that compelled me to drag out decades worth of accumulated clutter and begin sorting and tossing. As boxes were emptied and bins were refilled with photos and other keepsakes it became apparent that this ambitious project would not be easily or quickly accomplished. I couldn't hurry this through no matter how ruthless I tried to be just like the seeds can't rush their own germination and growth past layers of dirt and mulch. And this is inevitably messy work, the passage of time having resulted in dust and deterioration. Each box released a musty scent that wafted through the room. I even found a small stone pot of perfume crystals that I bought at the U of S. The deep amber fragrance continues to float through our room amidst the odor of yellowing papers and attic dust.

Spring is coming. Despite the months of sedentary existence the earth is still alive and well. As it wakes it perfumes the atmosphere surrounding us with sweet hope, heady delight, and lingering peace. And I inhale deeply with gratitude and relief that my Lord, again, has renewed my heart.

Glory

Don't be afraid

The family and I were at the beach at Waldport, Oregon, this weekend. With the blue sky, relatively calm ocean waves and very little wind, we wondered if this really was the latter part of February or May. This is not winter in the Northwest to be sure.

Before we left for home on Sunday, we walked on the beach one last time. The kids ran and played and we drank in the sounds and smells of the beach before we had to head home. I had the kids close their eyes to listen to the waves. I told them to take a deep breath and smell the saltiness of the air. I asked them to remember these moments. When they are in their beds at night waiting for sleep to come, they could remember these times on the beach and retreat back to them.

The Oregon coast is one of our favorite places. We get the spectrum of emotion when visiting. We see the ocean at its angriest in early winter. In the summer, the ocean sometimes pitches a fit but it mostly behaves like a toddler frolicking, kicking around and having a good time. The ocean this weekend was a little flirtacious, teasing us but really meaning no harm.

But in a brief display of might, the teasing ocean yesterday wasn't anything one would want to mess with. It was with that background that I read a little from Mark 6: 48-51:

48He saw the disciples straining at the oars, because the wind was against them. About the fourth watch of the night he went out to them, walking on the lake. He was about to pass by them, 49but when they saw him walking on the lake, they thought he was a ghost. They cried out, 50because they all saw him and were terrified. "Immediately he spoke to them and said, 'Take courage! It is I. Don't be afraid.' 51Then he climbed into the boat with them, and the wind died down."

While reading, I asked Murron, our seven-year-old to imagine being on a boat in the waves, being afraid, and then seeing a ghost, and being more afraid, but then realizing it was Jesus, who said to not be afraid. Watching the waves, it wasn't hard imagining what I would do in that situation.

But when God says not to be afraid, He means it. If He made the winds and the seas, then there really shouldn't be anything to fear. It's a constant lesson. But to actually obey the Lord and not fear when things appear to be out of control would be a great thing. Until then, or at least while trying, I'm still begging the Lord to get in the boat with me. I don't want to be out in the storm alone.

Bill

Accept His Love, Respond With Love

There was nothing fair about it, I can tell you that straight off! All of my 14 siblings had been married at least once already and not even once had I come close to wearing an engagement ring. Their advice to just stop looking and God would make it happen didn’t even work. Somehow I had become so very pleasing to date that any idea of a lifelong commitment was unnecessary. I made an excellent girlfriend but not a prospective wife.

So when I finally had my fill of relationships that were going nowhere I was already 30 years old. Having come from a family where practically everyone had married in their early twenties I might as well have been a retired schoolteacher enjoying my pension in a little cabin on Turtle Lake, Saskatchewan. I was also the mother of an extremely active and artistic girl. Mine wasn’t the only pregnancy out of wedlock in my family but mine was the only one that couldn't be smoothed over by a brief engagement and timely wedding ceremony. While the shame of it all no longer paralyzed my heart I had given up believing that any man - single, divorced, or widowed - would be anywhere near taken with the idea of becoming instant dad-in-a-box complete with directions and ready in five minutes.

It was May when I finally dragged my Bible and a box of Kleenex into my living room and began the ugly task of pouring it all out to God. I would have rather been sitting in a dentist’s chair getting a root canal on a back molar than sitting on that couch with all my emotions and nerves exposed like that. It was terrible and I winced at every truth that God spoke into my heart that day. I knew I wanted to serve Him without any reservation. I wanted my heart to belong to Him alone. I wanted to be His bride and live a life of purity and wholeness. I wanted to do all of that whether I was single or married, and I spoke plainly when I said I would accept either option. But I knew that opening my heart to the man God wanted me to marry would be harder later than it would be right then. I wanted to be sure that God and I understood each other on that account because I meant every word.

By then Elizabeth was in 2nd grade and ballet and I was in my third year of University studies, working at a daycare, and very actively involved in my church. I was a worship leader, pianist, vocalist, and soloist. My typical week consisted of Monday night music practice, Tuesday afternoon ballet and Young Adults evening worship and Bible study, Wednesday night Kid’s Club, Thursday evening ballet, and Sunday morning and evening services. My time was occupied enough that I couldn’t think about being single or hate being alone.

One day while I was at the University of Saskatchewan computer lab finding lyrics and chords for worship songs I found a Christian chat site where I could dialog with other worship leaders and musicians. Most of the time the conversation formed around issues such as music style or dress codes. Not once during this time did I think I would meet anyone who would consider me on a romantic level.

There was one man, however, who intrigued me above anyone else I chatted with. He was my age and he was a reporter at a newspaper in North Carolina. The first thing that interested me about him was his appreciation for the music of Keith Green, 2nd Chapter of Acts, and Phil Keaggy. As our first conversation progressed I was increasingly aware that I was developing a connection with this man that lived 2000 miles from me. This was so unexpected that I can remember feeling anxious about how anything like this could even be of God. We talked about exchanging e-mail addresses then I asked the question that had been burning a hole in my thoughts:

“Are you for real?”

And there was a moment of stillness on the monitor screen before his answer came back:

“Yes, I am for real.”

God, how can I know? How can I trust his word? How can I verify anything he’s told me about himself?

The questions came pouring out like all those painful emotions I had poured out to God only a month earlier. I wanted to be safe. I needed to be sure. I had to feel protected while this man entered the fortress of my mind and stood before the heavily guarded gates of my heart.

As we began e-mailing each other, and later talking on the phone I became very good at tossing out selective bits of information about my life. Not only did I avoid sharing any private or personal details but I also concealed my deeper thoughts and kept vigil over my feelings. We could flirt with our words, banter wittily, and even drop casual remarks about the possible what ifs. But I would remain distant and detached because I was not going to fall in love, this time. I had experienced my own great fall in love and all the king’s horses trampled me underfoot and all the king’s men had only left me bruised and broken. Now that I was put back together I would stay clear on the other side of the wall.

Two weeks after our first phone conversation I felt that I was done with my cautious waving at the window and decided that I was going to bid my farewell to Bill. I picked out a nice looking greeting card and carefully wrote that “I think God just wants us to be friends.” I hadn’t really asked Him if He did or not but it sounded like something He might have said. What I didn’t know is that God had been having frequent conversations with Bill and that he had been told something completely different than what I had written in my card.

I was finishing up an afternoon at work when a delivery man showed up with a bouquet of three roses for me from Bill. The room was quiet and all the kids disappeared into the faded white walls and crayon drawings. I studied the roses carefully and it wasn’t long before I read the message he had written on their slender stems, their green leaves, and their dewy petals.

Roses are the most treasured of flowers and I will treasure you. Life will have thorns that we must be careful of. Our love began as friendship so let the yellow rose be a reminder of this as we journey together. Our love is deeply passionate like this red rose so know that I will move heaven and earth to be with you and stay by your side. Above all let the white rose assure you that our love is pure as it was given to us by God and will continue to flow through us as we abide in Him.

I’m not sure how I carried that bouquet home with me. By the time I walked through the door and dropped my belongings on the couch where I had poured out my heart two months earlier, I fell to my knees and begged God to tell me what to do.

Accept.

Accept?

Accept his love.

Just accept his love?

Respond.

Respond how?

Respond with love.

It sounded so simple yet my mind could not understand nor could my heart believe what it had just heard. I stayed in that spot motionless for several minutes before I knew what that meant. I got up, found the card I had ready to send, carefully salvaged the stamp from the envelope, and destroyed the rest.

Accept and respond became my mantra during the seven months of our courtship and taught me more about marriage than anything else in my life. Perhaps that had been my problem all along but even that didn’t matter anymore. I had fallen in love and I had landed in a safe place. When we eloped February 4, 2002 I knew that and I was happy to give my heart over to this man who had made me his wife.

Our New Year Greeting and Newsletter

It's finally finished and ready to print! Well, ready for YOU to print, that is. :-) Just click on the photos and copy/paste into a Word document, adjust the size and, you've got our 2010 New Year's Greeting. Enjoy!

Our Photo Greeting


Our Newsletter

Nina's Mission Adventures!

Since we began attending our current church we have been thrilled and pleased to observe Nina's development and growth as a minister in our childrens Christian education to becoming a vibrant young woman of God in missions.

She has a newly updated blog that is a delight to read as well as listen to, as she's cleverly uploaded a music player. For the record, her blog is not all taupe and boring whereas ours? Well, let's not go there, now.

Check it out and tell her we sent you, 'kay?

Blessings!

Grace: An Indispensible House Seasoning

I like the term creative juices. It sounds like a pitch for some whirled and blended concoction on a late night infomercial. But what I am writing about, however tempting a smooth citrusy beverage sounds, is the kind of energy that inspires and impels us all to imagine, dream, and aspire to do the original. For me it’s mainly lyrics and music but cooking also provides an enticing outlet. For other members of my family it’s many other things along with poetry, drama, art, and dance. Whatever the bent it transforms our home into a supermarket of ideas and interests that flows nearly unhindered all throughout the day. It’s a little disappointing, then, when the finished product receives severe criticism.

For instance, yesterday the thought of a hot bowl of barley soup recalled pleasant childhood memories of winter suppers on the farm. Tender pearls of barley floating through a rich broth mingling with vegetables and small bites of meat was sure to warm any shivering hungry soul. I set to work preparing the barley then worked on a broth of pork cooking in water. When the pork was cooked I strained the broth and set it to simmer lively while adding carrots, celery, onions, and diced and lightly sautéed Delicata squash. Once the vegetables were nearly cooked I added parsley, thyme, garlic and a little house seasoning. I wasn’t altogether content with the taste or aroma, at that point, and felt it needed something extra special. So, after sneaking in a tablespoon of balsamic vinegar, I decided to abandon caution and added a splash of cream sherry hoping to transform the soup from interesting to intoxicating. The scent was delightfully heady and I knew I’d done something ingenious. The cooked barley completed the portrait and all that was needed to play off the soup was a batch of cornbread studded with green onions. I was anxious for the response.

It was not at all what I’d hoped for. Of course Bill and Elizabeth enjoyed it greatly but the younger set just didn’t respond favorably. They are, after all, my harshest critics of whatever I set on the table. Unless, of course, I’ve made pasta or something else that is familiar and favored. I’d even tentatively served them very small portions in hopes that they would be braver knowing they only had a few bites. Murron ate her first miniscule serving with apparent gusto but wouldn’t hear of having any more than that. Ulie tried a few bites but faltered quickly after that while Aulay protested any attempts on our part to coax him into trying the smallest bit of pork. All were interested in cornbread, though, until they discovered the green onions. Dinner was over and, by bedtime when Aulay was insisting that he was hungry but would not eat the soup, Bill finally let him have a bowl of cereal.

This was not the outcome I had been envisioning. It’s enough to discourage even the most optimistic of at-home chefs. At times, in fact, I feel like the Beast in Disney’s movie when he hollers at Belle, “Then go ahead and STARVE!” Yet, however soured my creative juices may be, there is always another meal to be made, another opportunity to introduce my family to my own childhood favorites, and another challenge to season my cooking with a little more grace. And, perhaps, be more mindful of how my own criticism needs to be served more gently and carefully.

Oh, and the house seasoning recipe I use is this: 1 cup kosher salt, ¼ cup black pepper, and ¼ cup garlic powder. Store in airtight container for up to 6 months. From Paula Deen. Enjoy!

Glory

Bittersweet Discipline

Since early in our marriage Bill and I have kept special chocolate treats in our bedroom. These decadent treasures have ranged from simple chocolate kisses to extra special dark chocolates. Bill and I like to give these to each other at random moments and often secretly. They're not so much a secret anymore, however.

The girls have known to keep out of this private collection for a long time, now, but the boys have stumbled upon their discovery and had been looting our trove like bandits. So today was no different as I was occupied in another room when I heard a terrible crash. Elizabeth was the first to investigate and let out a shriek. I came into our room and quickly sent both boys to their rooms and asked Elizabeth to make sure that was where they stayed until I was finished. Bill’s tall dresser, which held the chocolates was tipped completely onto its face assuring me what they’d been after. After cleaning up the mess it was remarkable that only one thing had broken, a perfume bottle. Even more surprising was the fact that neither of the boys were hurt in any way.

As I walked to our oldest boy’s room I could hear him sniffling then, as I entered, he wailed, “I’m so sorry, Mommy.” I hugged him close and told him I knew that but what he did was so dangerous that he can’t do it ever again. I told him I had to discipline him and he took it like the little man he is. Afterward he said, “Let’s pray, Mommy.” I held him as he told God he was sorry, that what he did was dangerous, thanking God that no one got hurt, and thankful that I’d disciplined him. He was thankful for the consequence! He is only four years old but in his little tender heart he understands the meaning of correction and that I love him enough to do it. I sat there and cried, at which he started laughing and said, “Don’t cry, Baby” I cried even more and he laughed again and said, “You’re not a baby!” I then went into our youngest son’s room and went through the same process, with slightly different results, but we prayed too. Still too young to appreciate his lesson, like his older brother, but accepting his discipline nonetheless.

I’m left to think about my own heart and how I accept correction. I’m not the most obedient child and I’m not always thankful for God’s discipline. But while the broken bottle of perfume sits on the dresser and fills this room with it’s aroma, I will remember the sweet repentant words of my son and try to follow his example as best I can.

Glory

By Hand

Today begins another new chapter in our lives. While we are pleased with our decision I'm very sure there are some who would think our choice to be strange, silly, or even simplistic.

We moved the dishwasher out.

No, Elizabeth is still living with us. The actual load up, drag to the sink, hook up and run dishwasher. This means that we're doing dishes manually, again.

Part of our reason for this lies in the environmental impact dishwashers have and part of it is to make more room in our kitchen and maximize our use of space. But there may be another part that will produce more long-term benefits than even those previously mentioned: doing things by hand.

There was a time, several years ago, before email, chat, and facebook when I would write letters and send them off by mail. You know, putting pen to paper, envelopes and stamps. That kind of writing. Well, I've woefully gotten out of that habit and I know there's something I've come to miss. Bill says that the written word takes thought and time to convey meaning. The one who writes is obligated to put thought and time into sending the intended message. The reader also should take time and put thought into finding meaning in the words. This makes it profoundly relational.

The same differences can be seen in recipes made from scratch, handmade clothing, original artwork, and personally crafted gifts. Come to think of it, I don't recall ever seeing anything handmade in a second-hand shop or thrift store. It's possible that some people may in fact give away or toss out things that were made specially for them or their children. Seeing the blankets, hooded towels, and handmade clothes that our kids have been given as gifts I can say with certainty that would not be me. I understand the time and thought that went into each stitch, tuck, and hem.

So it will be with our dishes, again. Carefully washing the plates, cups, pots, and pans will require time, a little thought, and some getting used to, again. If I'm fortunate to have a dish washing partner then it will go quickly and perhaps even pleasantly. But part of me is looking forward to the lessons I am sure to learn, with my hands in warm soapy water.

Who knows? You may even get a letter from me, by hand, smelling faintly of Dawn Citrus.

Glory

When the wife's away...

...the hubby will work!

Yes, it's been a fast several days while my wife and youngest daughter departed for the Great White North to attend a nephew's wedding. We wished all of us could go, but we couldn't afford it. We're making plans for all of us to fly up to Canada for Christmas in 2010. That will be great.

It's been challenging to keep things going here at the home without Glory AND working my job AND making sure our oldest gets things done that she wants, too. But the biggest thing here has been ensuring that our plantation of a home is kept up.

We have a quarter-acre lot. We have one apple tree, six plum trees, a hazelnut tree, cedar hedges, lots of grass, flowers and such. It's a real English garden here that grows and grows and grows. On top of tending all that, I've painted, weeded, mowed the lawn, cleaned the house, washed the dishes, cooked food for the kids, tore up the dining room floor and made sure the kids have been cared for. My eldest has been very helpful in making sure clothes are put away, the boys are taken care of and her mom's new plants survive curious but destructive mauling hands.

It hasn't been all work and no play. We've taken a couple of ferry rides on Puget Sound, gone to church and tried to have fun, too.

All of this has made the time go by faster. In two sleeps, my traveling ladies will return home and things can get back to normal around here.

I don't know if that is so appealing to Glory.

Bill

Silliness at the school

Tonight was a red letter day. Our youngest daughter graduated from kindergarten and our oldest passed to 10th grade. Their school had an open house tonight, complete with the standard programming: kids graduating, demonstrations from music students, a few karate students kickin' and punchin' each other in demonstrations for all the parents who have been wondering what their kids have been doing at that school, anyway.

Now we know, and Glory and I are very proud.

Our younger ones even were attentive at tonight's festivities. They sat on our laps and stared in admiration at their sisters as they were recognized for their achievements.

But they really got into those karate kids. Our three-year-old was making the motions as he watched the students perform. I don't think he really took it all that seriously, though.

"Do you like that?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he said, while watching, transfixed. "They're silly."

Even our young graduate commented similarly:

"What are those silly things they're wearing, Daddy?" she asked me.

But, our three-year-old wasn't going to let his sister get away with her own form of comic relief. As he started at her mortar board, I asked him what he thought of her "hat."

After a long pause, he replied: "She looks like Peter Pan."

With that, she flew up in the air and did battle with the karate students and vanquished them all, as her little brothers watched in awe.

They can't wait until they get to go to school, too.

Bill

Getting ready for the mountains!

In a week we'll be on the road to the other side of our fair state to visit friends and to go camping! We're pretty excited. We managed to reserve a spot at a state park campground that has awesome privacy.

Going there fulfills the desires of nearly all the family: Our oldest gets to ride a horse. Our second-oldest gets to go fishing. Our third child gets to go see the mountains. Our youngest just gets to have some fun. Glory has been a tough one to convince that she has desires on this too, but she only needed to think but a few seconds and realize her inner micro-manager will be quite satisfied as she puts together the camping list and orders everyone about. I get to get out in the outdoors and have some fun with the family.

We bought a new family tent that is the size of a small hotel. The girls broke it in the other night in the back yard. This portable cabin will be great for us as we attempt to rough it in the great outdoors. We also bought a screened-in canopy, to keep the bugs away when we eat or visit. Just these two things alone, plus fishing licenses and other things, cost a small fortune, but we will have them for many years to come, and they will pay for themselves. As a cost comparison, we've already paid for a two-night stay at a nice hotel. Only now we have open-ended accomodations.

Next on the shopping list: bug repellent, camp food, another fishing pole or two and perhaps a lantern and tabletop grill. I would be satisfied with what we already have in the lighting and cooking department, but if I ever expect Glory to agree to go camping again, I have to mortgage the house and buy all this new, cr--, er stuff to make us all happy while we commune with nature.

Note to self (as Glory glares from across the room): don't forget the shower tent.

Bill

Big Buckths!

Losing teeth is a BIG deal at our house. So much so that we don't bother with the tooth fairy, quarters for bicuspids or 50 cents for molars. In our case, we give the kids Eisenhower dollars for their pulled baby teeth. Our six-year-old calls them, "Big Bucks."

They are big. Too bad we don't have huge coins in circulation anymore. I remember as a kid wanting to get the giant coins in change. That was until 1979 when the quarter-sized Susan B. Anthony dollars replaced the Eisenhowers. It was unfair.

Over the past year we have gone to the local coin dealer and have exchanged current currency for the older dollar coins and have put them in the safe so we can give them to the kids as gifts on special occasions. When Murron started losing her teeth last year, I told her she'd get big bucks for them.

Now Murron must think she's on to something for today she lost teeth number three and four: her two front teeth, both at the same time.

Murron and her little brother can be quite daring during playtime. They try to best each other in performing stunts. Their ideas of play sometimes end up being a parent's craziest nightmare.

We don't know if Ulie was leading Murron around like a dog, or how the pink cloth tie ended up in her mouth. All we know is that Murron gasped sharply several times before Glory heard her exclaim, "Ulie!" At point, she was on the verge of tears when Glory found her packing a wad of toilet paper in her mouth. Then she gave a muffled indication of what had happened.

"My teef!" she said.

Glory asked Murron where they were. Murron didn't know but pointed to where the mystery incident took place, and there were her teeth, on the floor. Through this whole time, Ulie kept hugging his now toothless sister and kept telling her how sorry he was.

It's not like this was a complete surprise. Murron had been working on the teeth for at least a week. They were getting quite loose.

After the shock wore off, Murron explained that Ulie had yanked on the tie, thus dislodging her teeth from her head.

Within 15 minutes, Murron told Glory that she now would get her big bucks for the teeth, which she repeated when I got home from work.

I immediately went to the safe and produced two coins. Murron excitedly grabbed them, studied them for a bit and then put them in her ceramic chicken, where she had two other big dollars.

She then showed me her new trick: letting her tongue poke through the toothless gap. It was pretty cute.

Bill

Don't challenge the man of the house

My manhood was put to the test last night.

I defended my home from intruders.

And they're lucky they didn't get hewn in pieces.

We were watching "Phantom of the Opera" last night when we heard something coming from the shed adjacent to our home. I just ignored it at first, but then it got louder, like someone rumaging through our home. Springing to action, I retrieved the only weapon nearby that would likely dispatch someone quickly, but also scare the living crap out of them, too: our broad sword. Our daughter watched with wide eyes (in admiration for her protective dad, I'm sure) as I unsheathed the sword and went outside to the shed at its outside gate that I found open. I asked Glory to go to the other side from our garage so that she could turn on the light in the shed and scare whatever was there. Ready for a fight, I charged in.

There wasn't anything there.

Lucky for him.

Later, we heard it again. This time, I grabbed flashlight and my menacing BB gun pistol and went on the roof. Nothing there. Then we went back to the shed and looked in the rafters. Still nothing.

On the other side of our lawn or in one of our trees, the culprit (or culprits) was watching and chuckling. The oppossum that Elizabeth saw outside our sliding glass door a few minutes before this whole ordeal started likely was frightened by the mere sight of the weapon that would have slashed him like a knife to butter. And that cat that toyed with me probably skittered to the nearest neighbor, relieved that I didn't cap it in its little kneecaps.

Yeah. They'd better be scared.

But while these intruders were trying to get their heart rates down, Glory laughed at me. "The first time we have to deal with an intruder, and you unsheathed your sword for...an oppossum!"

Glory also chided me, saying that in time of war, I wouldn't have just gone to protect my family. I would have asked her where her gun was, too. Hey, I said, two guns are better than one.

Yeah, keep laughing, wife. That oppossum will never come back now. And neither will that cat. I can smell fear, and it ain't me.

I am the man of the house! I am resourceful! I protect my own, I thought as I, with trembling hands, put back our weapons in their rightful places. But they weren't shaking nearly as much as those menacing little creatures. They were just scared to death, I'm sure.

They'd better be!

Bill

Same Space, Different Look

There's not that much different about our house. Just looks a little different.

When we bought our house almost two years ago we thought it was HUGE. But as the kids have gotten older, we are learning very quickly how that just is not so.

Our little boys have been sharing a room for more than a year now. As the littlest one gets closer to two, he has been the one who has kept his brother awake and gotten him to wake up at an ungodly hour of the morning, forcing him to tattle to his sleepy and, eventually, grumpy mom and dad that his little bro is doing something wrong...about five times every morning before we all have to get up before washcloths are flushed down the toilet, curtains are ripped apart or entire contents of cereal boxes are emptied out on the kitchen table and onto the floor.

Something had to be done.

We always wanted an office, but now that dream is no more. Our office now is in our sanctuary, our marriage chamber; something that we never wanted. But sanity at this point is more important than precious space, so little Aulay now has his own room, allowing his brother to finally get some decent sleep.

I will say it has been a little sad while it has brought relief. Aulay seems too little to have a room all to himself. He's only two, but already he seems to have grown up in his small way. Soon, though, we will make it into a place that he can relax in, with pictures of dogs, horses or trains. He will grow to like it. At least we hope so.

But if he gets lonely, anyone will gladly open their rooms to him to give him comfort and company, including us.

But we sure hope he gives us a few days. We need the rest.

Bill

Family friendly venting

We do try to teach our kids that certain words and phrases are unacceptable.

For instance, we do not stand for "OMG" or the long version in our home. Saying such a phrase will earn the offender a quick stern glance from Glory or me.

We also shy away from "stupid." No one is stupid, nor are they being stupid. It's just a stupid word and saying such a word will earn the offender a quick stern glance and a chastening from Glory or me. But if Glory or I utter the forbidden word, we'll feel bad, recognize our hypocrisy and apologize to the children, who sent us quick stern glances.

There are a few others, but the felonious phrase at the top of our "DON'T!" list is "Shut Up!"

It should be uttered rarely but pointedly. If "Shut Up" is uttered, there are to be quick and decisive changes in the recipient's tone, attitude or what have you.

But the world stops at "Shut Up" in our home.

A few days ago while we were in the van going somewhere, our three-year-old was trying to say something but his little 22-month-old brother was interrupting him. Finally, Ulie had enough.

"Shut up, Aulay!" Ulie yelled.

The air got sucked quickly out of the van. Everyone gasped. Glory told Ulie that he was not to say such things and tell his brother he was sorry. Ulie was repentant and quickly apologized. Aulay, however, kept pestering him. Still annoyed, Ulie was getting frustrated, but not one to repeat his mistakes, looked for another way to make his point.

"Slow down, Aulay!" he said. Aulay just looked confused and kept pestering away.

And Ulie just grumbled.

That was OK.

Bill

Terry Bowen Life Lessons

It was a year ago this month that my boss, Terry, was diagnosed with chronic leukemia. I had hoped then that we wouldn't have to face what we are facing today.

My friend Terry died this afternoon after his valiant fight with cancer. So, his desk that is next to mine will remain empty. I won't be able to tag along with him in our public CPR classes anymore. We won't be enjoying a trip to the local real Mexican food place at the 76 Station anymore.

But, as I write, with his death very fresh on my mind, I am comforted to know that Terry made it home from the hospital two days ago and was surrounded by family and friends when he passed. That was what he wanted.

But moreso I am comforted that he had faith in the Lord Jesus. I will see him again. I have no doubt of that. And, as I write, he is with the Lord, a FAR cry better from this place we call home. That is our hope -- eternal life, of which we have surety, but only in Jesus.

Naturally, I have been thinking of death over the past couple of month, since Terry started his final fight as the leukemia advanced. While we can't stop what ultimately will happen to each and every one of us, there are things that we can do to make this place a better one:

1. Love the Lord with all your heart, soul and mind and strength.
2. Love your neighbor as yourself.

These two sum up about what our actions should be based.

Yet, here are some others that I have thought make practical sense.

3. Tell your family and friends that you love them, and mean it and show it.
4. Keep your accounts short with people.
5. Make a will and keep it current. And tell your family where it is.
6. Write notes to your kids, even if they are too young to read. They will have them for later.
7. Take lots of pictures. When you're gone, your loved ones will thank you.
8. Travel a lot together and make memories.
9. Take care of yourself.
10. Pay your debts. Don't leave them for your family to pay.

Bill

Five Dollars!

Our oldest boy is just starting to figure things out: his name, his age, how he's doing, and how to answer these important questions.

Over the past couple of months when we've asked him how he's doing, he responds, "I'm Uilleam!"

"Yes, we know you're Uilleam, but how are you doing?"

Pause.

"I'm Uilleam!" he repeats.

He replies the same when we ask him his age.

"I'm UILLEAM!" he insists.

We've had to talk a lot about money lately, what with the state of the economy, tax returns and so forth. Perhaps overhearing our conversations have caused him to answer in his new way.

"So, how's my boy?" we will ask him.

"Five dollars," he says.

"No, Ulie, how are you doing?"

"Five dollars!" he says.

Then we'll ask him his name.

"FIVE DOLLARS!"

There was a kid in the Peanuts comic strips whose name was "Five." Perhaps we ought to change Uilleam's name to "$5" since he's going to be faced with issues related to money all his life.

That's probably not a good idea seeing that he now is learning his ABCs, and I'm sure by next week his name will be "Letters."

Bill