All that matters

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It’s been a while, dear friends. I needed to process my grief for our latest surgical news, support my child who is doing her own grieving, and prepare for our upcoming celebration – our first high school graduate. I’ve been learning all sorts of things about myself through this process. Before I go any farther, I must admit that I LOVE (I mean love, love, L-O-V-E, LOVE, truly I do, love!) to throw parties. I am a planner and a dreamer which can be both a blessing and a curse. To have a party as significant as celebrating this milestone is something I have been dreaming about for years. Once we (as in I asked the Boy Wonder what he would like to do at this shindig) made our selections, I have been sketching, sorting, eliciting help from others, and doing a lot of behind-the-scenes prep work. I won’t give away any details until the big day.

For years now, my parents have asked me to assist them when hosting dinner parties and various assorted soirees. I have created invitations, menus, shopping lists and suggested decoration ideas from thousands of miles away. So other than the obvious fact that he is a guy and really only had a couple of things he was incredibly passionate about for the party, I have had free reign to create. The path has not been without troubles, the first disaster was our choice of an accent color. Somehow for a school with colors of Laker blue (think: royal) and black, the Class of 2015 chose tangerine and silver for their class colors.

Whether or not Leigh Anne Touhy actually said this, the line in “The Blindside” movie has never left me. I gave my best: “I will not use that gosh-awful orange . . . it is not in my color wheel!” He comes from deep Southern roots and decided a nice preppy navy would be his choice. I fully supported his choice for its amazing pairing with our theme décor.

Do you know how hard it is to find a true navy in fabric stores? Before anyone thinks otherwise, I am FULLY AWARE this is a first world problem and that no one other than my family will know the difference anyway. We spent four hours searching (to no avail) to find wide navy ribbon for our tables. I had almost given up hope when I had a spark of creative genius hit me at about three in the morning. Why not search for table runners? Voila! A great deal was found in navy and ordered promptly.

My excitement was giddy, only to have hopes be as swiftly dashed. Instead of the navy prominently featured in the picture on the website, the box contained Laker blue table runners instead. Curses, foiled again! This was a crushing blow which was followed promptly by the ordeal known as: “Oh good gravy! Who knew that mini-cheesecakes were this much work?”! In the words of Sweet Brown, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”

To most people, they would just roll with the punches. I. AM. NOT. MOST. PEOPLE. Thankfully, one in the inner circle was able to talk me off the ledge. Here is a sample of our conversation:

Friend: Hey Kan! How is graduation planning coming? What can I do to help you?

Me: (forlorn, but not so forlorn as to vow never to go hungry again while simultaneously planning my next ball gown out of the drapery) Not so well.

Friend: Oh? What happened? The last time we talked things were going great.

Me: I can say this to you and you won’t judge me. . . (long pause for dramatic effect and just good form in Southern story-telling) . . . why can’t I just be average?

Friend: (absolutely in stitches as evidenced by the fit of laughter on the other end of the phone) That ship sailed away a LONG TIME AGO.

Instead of suggesting I was thinking a little too highly of myself, she knew my heart. She knew that the Boy Wonder never (and I mean NEVER) asks for anything for himself, and here I was left pretty much feeling like a failure because I wasn’t producing the two things that he most wanted for his party – mini-cheesecakes and navy as an accent color. I just wanted to give him the desires of his heart because . . . Well, that’s obvious.

He’s my son, and I LOVE HIM.

Even with all the graduation planning and end of the school year ta-das for a busy houseful of children, I have been trying to spend time doing some things just for me. Exercising, reading, and crafting have been my escapes. Ironically, one of those big lessons learned about myself occurred at the same time as my disappointment with table runners and cheesecakes. With all the remodeling we have done in the last few years, I have allowed a few odds-n-ends to stack up. One of those undone items was to sew new hand towels for our new kitchen. I had purchased the linen toweling last fall, but there it sat, still in the sack on my crafting table.

I took one afternoon to cut, iron, and hem the ends of my future towels. Let’s just say what I envisioned in the quaint little fabric store in St. Paul is not what occurred in my basement. For some reason, my machine was sticking at the folded layers of linen and created what could best be described as a jumbled mess.

For several years, the Boy Wonder (who has since outgrown the severity) attended a camp just for children diagnosed with asthma. The weekend camp was in the heart of Amish country in Minnesota. While he and the other no-wheezers (seriously that was the name of the camp: We No Wheeze) were having the time of their lives, we were camping and enjoying the local farmer’s market where Amish families had their wares on display. The quilts were absolutely stunning. I’ve been told that the seamstress will purposely make a mistake because only God is perfect. I could say I was channeling my inner Amish, but even I know that would be more than a Mark Twain embellishment.

For some reason as my shoulder blades were approaching my earlobes as my frustration grew more intense, God reminded of one amazing truth. Like my towels, I was and am, at times, a jumbled mess. I am not AVERAGE, because I am daughter of the most high KING. Even though I sometimes take my desire for things to be “just so” a little too far, he sees beyond that moment. He also reminded me no matter what my party or my towels look like, he would always be with me because . . . Well that’s obvious.

I am his child, and HE LOVES ME.

And after all, isn’t that all that matters.

Music makes the world go round

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We mommas do what we can. Need some medicine . . . Mary Poppins comes to mind. More than once, I have sang “Whistle while you work” especially after spending the whole afternoon out in the garden. Dolly Parton and I are best friends (only she doesn’t know it) when I am balancing the checkbook online. Singing for me makes any day just go better, and some days, it is the best I have to offer.

Over the weekend, I drove my children crazy! It was a nice role-reversal, I will confess. We are in graduation mode, preparing for our first high school commencement, and thus, are really trying to keep on top of all the details. At the same time, it means that we must be ever vigilant (that right there would have caused at least one of my kiddo’s eyes to roll) at keeping the house clean. As we were cleaning this weekend, we were simultaneously scanning in thousands (no joke) of film negatives and finalizing DVD’s which hold hours of our children’s early lives. The trip down memory lane has been well worth it.

To most people who have visited our home the whirlwind of frenetic activity which describes our weekend is definitely not surprising. We do crazy busy – well. For casual readers, my confession about disliking messes (okay, I loathe disorganization) was shared in my annual blog on the leprechauns a few days back. A few mommas were intrigued not by our wee visitors, but by my explanation of the cleaning day list. When I still worked full-time (outside of my home – do not ever think this is not work) AND had three small children under the age of five, we had a cleaning lady.

Back in those days our life was blur! So much so that one time my parents came for a visit but were leaving for the airport after we had left for school, work, and daycare. When I got home that night, I was shocked (SERIOUSLY SHOCKED) that my sweet parents cleaned my house top to bottom. It was sparkling clean. Tears in my eyes and lump in my throat, I called to tell them how much their efforts meant to me. My dad stopped me cold. “Toot (don’t ask), we were enjoying our coffee, when this lady came right on in and started cleaning your house. We assumed you knew all about it.” First of all, there is something seriously wrong when my parents don’t check for credentials, but even more so that my life was so busy that I completely forgot it was cleaning lady day. On that second one; I am sure she was shocked because even though she always did a superb job, we ALWAYS cleaned for the cleaning lady. Lest she think we were living in a complete pig sty.

One day, we got the bright idea (I am telling you that sometimes we are parenting geniuses) we were not doing our children or the future college roommates any favors by letting them skip out on the day to day maintenance of this house. Who I am kidding? Once again, it is all about appearances. I did not want the college roommates to think my children were raised in barn. But seriously, mastering the skills of wrestling the world’s largest dust bunny, scrubbing a bathroom until it sparkles, and removing mystery stains from laundry should be required on college entrance exams. So with many tears (mostly shed by our children), we let the cleaning lady go to another lovely family. I’m pretty sure that “Help us!” sign I found later had been scribbled by one of our progeny. The sure give away was the “p” looked like a “d” and the “s” was backwards. Traitors! Sorry future college roommates! That day started the list method of cleaning.

While the list went well, there are other things (not list worthy) I just could not “let it go” (and yes, I did just totally sing that out loud) along with various other songs that just sprang forth over the weekend.

Here are a few examples:

After tripping over my children’s shoes at the front door, I decided to devise a system to say that unless they want me to break a hip and come to live with them in a few years, they better start lining up their shoes along the edge of the wall, toes touching the baseboards. I broke into “It’s all about the base, ‘bout that bass, no tripping. It’s all about that base, ‘bout that bass or you’re in trouble”. My kids then asked me how I knew that song. When I said I saw it over Thanksgiving, they informed me I was completely clueless because my version is a parody song about basting with butter.

The next shining moment came when one daughter stepped over the salad greens she had dropped on the kitchen floor to get more ice for her sweet tea (well, she is her mother’s daughter). This time I broke into, “Stop! In the name of love before you break my heart. Stop! And put that lettuce into the garbage can. Think it over! Do it now –ow- ow!”

My vast song memory (and although not required for this, my ability to sing) came in very handily this weekend. There was a brief rendition of “Don’t stop believing” when the faint-hearted among us thought the work would never be done. A few other songs joined my repertoire according to whatever grumble my children had at the moment.

This wasn’t my first foray into using song to get my point across. Long ago, back when our little town only had a small mecca of the South before it supersized, my children were asking me begging incessantly for a new toy. I finally had enough, and right there in aisle 17, I broke into a completely impromptu rap song about wanting more and more stuff. My children were astonished. My voice carried across the store, and I DID NOT CARE. Parents in the area were surprised, but I received more than a few “Atta girl’s”! The song was such a hit, that one dad even asked if I could sing it again. It was one of my proudest moments as a momma! Of course, this was long before cell phones where I am certain I would have been an internet sensation: “Crazy mom loses it in Wal-mart”!

Song-a-palooza or not, we got all the work done. The house was cleaned, another bazillion film negatives of precious memories were scanned in, various odd jobs were completed, and I think through the magic of music, I got my point across. Well, mostly. . . just watch that first step. Hope they are saving up for in home care!

My view while typing this blog.

And if it helps any momma (or daddy) out there needs it, here is the cleaning day list!

Sackcloth and ashes

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Yesterday, our family was dealt another blow in what seems to be a never ending litany of challenges. A little over a week ago, Sister had a one year check in (on a partial tear of her left ACL) with the orthopedic surgeon. I was unable to go, but I was not expecting the phone call I got afterward from my husband. Our doctor did not like the pain she described, ordered a second MRI, and asked us to return in a week.

For the entire week, I prayed desperately not to let fear rule my days. We only told a handful of people, until the night before our visit when I rallied the prayer warriors to flood heaven’s gates. Their response was immediate, bringing tears to my eyes. If you get nothing else from today’s blog, know that we are loved and know that we know it.

At first, our doctor was very happy to see her ACL was unchanged. It had not gotten worse which could have happened. All was looking really good until he spotted a small tear in her medial meniscus. His suggestion was to repair the tear which will require a six month over all recovery and rehabilitation process. What pushed me over the edge were his thoughts that while he was in there he should just make sure the ACL is not really in need of repair or reconstruction. If it is, then an additional surgery will take place and her recovery will be twelve months.

I cried. The doctor cried because he knows our story. My tough girl held back her tears. And my husband asked a bunch of questions.

For as long as I can remember, this sweet girl has loved the game of basketball, attending her first clinic at the age of three – just to be with her boys. Now once again, she will have to sit out while her peers are getting to play. To add insult to injury (no pun was intended there), she loved swimming, but due to a severe allergy had to give up swimming competitively. Because of the injuries she received to her shoulder in the bus crash, she was forced to choose between softball and basketball.

My heart was broken for my girl, who didn’t do anything to cause any of this. She has the heart of a competitor and a love for the game. My spirit was crushed because I know the uphill battle she is climbing, chasing a what now feels like an elusive dream to play at the college level. My soul was searching, pouring my heart out to God asking “Why can’t you just fix this?” For the record, this will push us over thirty surgical procedures in seven years for our children. I am thankful that my children are still here, but in my book that is about twenty-nine too many surgeries.

Outside of brokenhearted and crushed, I was simply mad. A WHOLE LOT OF MAD! Mad because this keeps happening to us. Mad because instead of support last year, what she had to deal with was a lot of rumors about her faking her injury to get attention. Mad because those rumors persist today. Mad because my children have to continue settle, because disappointment is a part of their vernacular. Mad because our big family vacation will have to deal with a child who cannot bear weight on her leg or our dates will have to be changed altogether. Mad because I now have to cancel all of the camps and clinics she had signed up to attend. I am sick and tired of dealing with plans B, C, and D. I just want to get up in the morning and not have to deal with changing every aspect of our lives because once again, we are in hospital and rehabilitation mode, where making plans and moving forward are really just plain tough.

Oh, we can do tough. If it isn’t in our DNA, it certainly is in our collective experience. Some days, I just want to do easy. I want to get up and not have the hurts of our story be so blasted time-consuming. I want to get up and fly by the seat of our pants, not worrying about medications, crutches, braces, and appointments. Yesterday was the first time I wanted to just simply quit. I wanted to jump on a plane, land anywhere there was a beach, and add my salty tears to the briny water.

When the doctor was crying, I said I remember when Sawyer was two and diagnosed with severe asthma after we found him blue and nonresponsive in the backyard. I thought that was the worst possible news we could ever receive. I COULDN’T HAVE BEEN MORE WRONG! All the days I played momma as a little girl never once did my imagination think I would encounter all of this.

But I won’t quit. My children deserve better than a momma who throws in the towel. I will resolutely stand on the sidelines cheering them on and working to help her get better. I am not promising what might happen to the next person who tells me that my children are faking it, but I will remember that pledge when I hear someone else talk about anyone with a hidden hurt. Trust me, there are millions of people who look absolutely fine on the outside, but who are dealing with invisible pain or loss every day. EVERY. DAY. I will figure out how to balance the needs of a surgery of one child mixed in with the graduation of another one. I will cry because that’s what mommas sometimes do when we know that there isn’t a single thing we can do to make any of this better outside of praying. I will pray A LOT, even when my prayers are ones of anguish, despair, rage, and bitterness, because even though I don’t FEEL it right now, I KNOW God has a plan for all of this. I will beseech everyone to pray that the lesser surgery is all that is needed, and I will cling to that hope. I will do my best not to let tomorrow’s challenge rob today’s joy, but that will take every last ounce of energy I have to do it.

But first, I will have to change out of my sackcloth and wipe away the ashes. Along the way, a big glass of sweet tea with extra ice probably won’t hurt either. Taking a little liberty here, it would help to remember that perhaps I was chosen to be their momma for such a time as this. (The book of Esther, chapter 4)

My little baller in one of her first basketball t-shirts (which of course, she had to wait until her brothers outgrew it).

Leprechauns: y’all going to make me lose my mind

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I should probably start off by apologizing for today’s title to my two most beloved high school English teachers: Mrs. Langemoe and Mrs. Gallagher. Although upon second thought, I think both those sweet, sassy women would get a pretty good chuckle out of my word choice. Today’s hijinks vexed my very last nerve, and I am not kidding in the slightest. Before I get into the sticky (and I do mean sticky) details, I should give a little background.

For years now, we have had a system for cleaning our house. One day every couple weeks, we clean our house top to bottom. Originally we assigned jobs for each person to complete. The jobs were getting done, but closer inspection revealed, not really well. After a LONG family chat, we decided to create a master list of all jobs to get our house spic-n-span, allowing each person to pick the jobs they most desired to do. This system worked much better, and after one task is crossed off the list, we keep picking jobs until the entire list is completed.

I don’t know if it is just the way my mind works, but I like things neat and orderly. My desire for a clean house is so strong that cleaning day is not thwarted by extra guests or unexpected playmates knocking at the door. One sweet boy seemed to have the uncanny luck to always have a sleepover with Reed on days that coincided with cleaning. He never once balked and always stepped right up to help out. My personal favorite was the time two brothers showed up to play with our kids. My answer stating my kids couldn’t play until the house was clean was met with a question asking if they could help speed up the process. I simply pointed to the list, and watched one brother pick up supplies to scrub toilets while the other grabbed the vacuum. Not bragging, but I am not sure Mary Poppins can’t top that story!

When the house is done, we always treat ourselves. Hot fudge cake in the crockpot is a perennial favorite, as is a trip to the ice cream shop. And yes, if you cleaned, whether I gave birth to you or not, you have earned the right to celebrate a job well done. Also, before anyone turns me in for child labor concerns, the entire process to dust, scrub, and polish our modest home takes less than two hours start to finish . . . or about as long as it takes for that cake to bake. But, I digress. . .

This whole long tangent is to explain my discovery this morning dealing with all things Irish and engineering. Over the weekend, Sal, the scientist extraordinaire, got busy perfecting her latest in the way of leprechaun traps. Little did I know that said trap needed some type of goo to help ~~snare~~ entice the objects of her affection. I went to bed, hoping and wishing that my little Irish girl would finally get her wish of meeting a real live leprechaun, but awoke to something much less desirable than order and decorum.

All of my dining room chairs were strewn about, the piano rolls which had been conveniently placed to form stairs to one of the ~~traps~~ fun times were kicked to kingdom come, Sal’s bedroom was covered in toilet paper, and finally, the “Fairy Party and Leprechaun Lounge” was tipped over leaking syrup all over our floor. Happy momma went to panicked momma in about 2 seconds flat. Apparently our leprechaun friends were lured to the lounge by the video on the pink tv (ipod) in which a fairy friend explained how much fun it was in there. Little did I know how much faeries and leprechauns are fans of maple syrup! Seriously, if that is how our tiny friends like to party, who am I to judge?

I am nothing if not a fan of imaginations; so, when I saw my girl’s intense examination of all her designs, I couldn’t be mad. I just simply couldn’t do it. Syrup cleans up (Thank you God above)! According to the miniscule note from our little Irish friends, we understand one of them did indeed get stuck and is now worried that every dry leaf and blade of grass from here to Ireland will be stuck to him. For that I am sincerely sorry, because wanting things clean is something I understand.

It took quite a while for my gang to uncover the whereabouts of the hidden treasure box which this year held gold wrapped candies and new Irish t-shirts. After the syrup incident, I am surprised our leprechaun friends didn’t wage war on my little (and big) engineers. Thankfully, they are much too noble for such pettiness!

As I was heading out the door, Sal wanted to share what she had uncovered about leprechaun traps in her ten years of experience. 1) any box used has been knocked over pretty easily. 2) any trap which involves falling into hasn’t been deep enough yet. Wheels of genius spinning, she was already devising a plan for next year. As a science teacher, I couldn’t have been more proud of her observations and thinking.

So to Seamus (again, terribly sorry about your coat), Finnegan, and O’Malley: Thank you so much for keeping her creative ideas flowing, even if, at times, it feels like I am going to lose my mind. But most of all, thanks for keeping her reaching for the ~~pot of gold~~ stars.

Cowabunga Dude

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Growing up, I was the only girl on one side of my extended family for many years. Then, they just kept bringing home one little girl after another for a lot of years. When it was just me and the boys, I learned to love a lot of things that my brother and cousins did. Do not get me wrong. I was ALL GIRL, playing countless hours of dollies dreaming of the day I would have a huge family, but I loved baseball, football, muscle cars, building things, and superheroes as much as they did. I am so thankful those conventions of my childhood are starting to break down.

The first weekend I met my future in-laws we took all the grandkids (one niece and two nephews at that time) to a petting zoo. I don’t remember why there was a petting zoo, but I do recall pushing the old umbrella style stroller with my little tow-headed niece down the streets of Leeds, North Dakota.

From the first moment, I was smitten. If I wasn’t going to marry this wonderful guy, could I, at least, keep these kiddos and this family? When I later learned that the oldest nephew loved a certain clan of superheroes, this news only solidified my thoughts of love at first sight. My future nephew’s favorite was the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. For years, my sweetie and I would search high and low to find the perfect TMNT items for Derek’s gifts for Christmas and birthday. Whenever we would visit, we would watch the cartoons together. All these years later, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, Leonardo, and Master Splinter feel like old friends. I can never take a home-baked pizza out of the oven, and not think of one of the turtles wearing oven mitts doing the same thing.

Over the years, his interests changed as he grew and matured, and he is now a husband and daddy himself. But I never forgot about all the hours we would spend bonding over the latest way our favorite mutant reptiles would battle Shredder and his lackeys, Bebop and Rocksteady. Many times in my daydreams, I remember joy savored in the days long gone. So this last year I put my mind to preserving some of that joy by making a quilt for Derek and his little girl for his birthday and her Christmas present.

I thought this would be a great plan since our TMNT friends were making a comeback. Maybe if I lived in a larger area or maybe if I was a last minute gift planner, that plan would have come to fruition easier. It however did not. I could not physically find fabric anywhere. Rather than despairing, I called my sister (I dropped the in-law moniker years ago) and asked if by chance she had saved any of the bedding our boy had years ago. Not only did she, but she had just ran across it! As a busy mom of busy kids, knowing where something is located is a incredible feat in and of itself.

Words do not adequately express how thrilled I was when I got the flannel fitted sheet, but I will confess to being more than a little nervous. This worn flannel was a precious part of his childhood. I had a hard time cutting it into quilt squares. Once I finally mustered the courage, there was no turning back. I wanted the quilt to be cuddle sized for each recipient, and I wanted a simple design that exuded all things cartoon turtle. It didn’t take long to choose a fleece blanket backing with flannel squares in orange (for Mikey), red (for Raph), blue (for Leo), purple (for Donnie), and turtle green. The only difference between daddy’s and daughter’s quilts would be the addition of some denim squares in the larger quilt and a different sized quilt blocks due to the nature of the repeating pattern of the original sheet.

She shops around for the best yarns and cottons, and enjoys knitting and sewing. ~Proverbs 31:13 (MSG)

While I love quilting, cutting squares is not always my favorite thing to do. I chalk it up to having tiny hands; so I did have more than a few helpers on that part. The piecing and simple tie quilting were all my handiwork and I loved every minute of it. What an honor to accumulate those three original nieces and nephews and to have added four more on that side of the family and five more on the other side of the family! My dreams of a huge family came true, and with that dream came more blessings than I can even count, including these two cuddle bugs for sure.

Thanking God today for all the little boys and girls in my life over the years, and all the great adventures they have added to my world! Cowabunga!

What they didn’t tell us about teaching

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There are so many things I love about being a teacher. While the pay is not always indicative of how much we educators pour our hearts into our students, the non-tangible fringe benefits are out of this world. The opportunity to see a student master a topic that previously caused them to struggle is amazing. To see a scholar tackle a problem in a new and creative way is awe inspiring. Watching your students grow into incredible people who are truly making an impact in the world is breathtaking. And then there is what happened at a burger restaurant . . . that completely caught me off-guard.

I recently took my university students to their first professional conference. Thanks to the generous work of a colleague’s grant and the devotion of the science department, outside of paying for a couple meals, my future science teachers were able to attend the two day event for free. After seeing the long lines at most restaurants, my little group decided to head to a “Five Guys Burgers and Fries” for our evening meal. When we got up to leave, I realized that a darling young woman whom I had taught in middle school and her significant other were also there. As my group was on the way out, I stopped by the table to say hello. When she introduced me to her beau, I was humbled by her word choice, “Jeff, this is Miss Stevens, my absolute favorite teacher!”

Wow! What an introduction! As my group loaded up in the van to return to the hotel, one of my students whom I had hoped to inspire with the energy and enthusiasm known as the Minnesota Science Teachers conference blurted out, “That was better than ever earning teacher of the year!” So true, my young friend.

Forming relationships with former students and their families is just one more endearing benefit to being a teacher. Last summer, I had the opportunity to put my crafting skills to work to help one such family. I had taught two of their children and was extremely close to their third and youngest as she formerly dated my son. Over the years, our families have transformed from colleagues (the momma is also a teacher) to close friends. The oldest of their children was getting married and had her heart set on a having a chandelier for her outdoor venue. The bride could not find what she wanted, and that is where I come in.

I believe all teachers would go to great lengths to use creativity and innovative ideas to help students make knowledge their own. I guess I could say the same about sharing my talents when someone needs help. Can’t find the decoration of your dreams? Let’s see if we can put our thoughts together and make it happen. (I tell my university students all the time that we cannot teach resilience, but we can sure model it!) After some initial brainstorming, the bride’s mom, sister, and I got down to business to create a chandelier to meet (and hopefully exceed) her bridal dreams. We spent countless hours shopping and crafting, but in the end, the finished product was more than worth it.

First we found the perfect chandelier to “up-cycle”. It may not look like much, but trust me, just like a struggling student, I saw its potential from the first moment I laid eyes on it at our local Habitat for Humanity ReStore.

Next we removed all the electrical components and spray painted it. The one thing we learned is that while Chicago may be the Windy City, it has nothing on southwestern Minnesota. We also learned you can get spray paint out of your good jeans, but that is a story for another day.

The next step was to add the flowers and greenery. A few trips to Hobby Lobby resulted in some of the best greenery, roses and faux hydrangeas to coordinate with the live ones that would be coming from the bride’s grandmother’ garden for wedding day.

The final steps were to hand string the crystal beadwork for embellishment and attach the solar crystal garden lights for the piece de resistance! Our hours spent pondering over beads in Michael’s paid off on the finished product. The lights came from our local big box hardware store.

The wedding was beautiful. The couple stunning as was their venue atop the Stillwater (MN) Public Library. It was such a picturesque evening with ideal temperatures, lighting, and fellowship. Oh and along with the bride and her brother, I had the wonderful opportunity to catch up with these amazing women, all of whom I had the joy of teaching. That, my friends, is a priceless treasure and one I will store in my heart forever.

A lesser known benefit of teaching is sharing your family with the students you adore. There have been countless moments over the years where that has happened. When going through the wedding photos with the bride’s parents, we stumbled across this jewel. My littlest has a penchant for catching the bouquet at weddings. She is in the pink dress on the left hand side. Notice her stealthy moves as she once again came away as the victor!

As school years are coming to the end, if you have the chance in the upcoming weeks to thank a favorite teacher (whether it be your own or your children’s), it will be a gift worth more than gold!

Getting down and dirty

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Not that long ago, I read a housekeeping blog on how to clean your front-load washer and dryer. What do you mean? The forced and mandatory clean cycle is not enough? Say it ain’t so, Joe! It always seems that pesky reminder message appears when I am dealing with Mt. St. Laundry and (No! Thank you very much!) I do not wish to run the clean cycle right at this moment. Thankfully, there is a by-pass mode which allows me to complete five more loads before having to run the cycle to clean the washer itself.

I would be lying to you if I said I had never encountered problems with my front loader before. My last set developed a distinct (Oh, shall we say used sweat sock) odor that no matter how many cycles of bleach, vinegar, or various washer-manufacturer cleaning supplies could not eradicate. A quick cursory look on the internet told me what I didn’t want to learn – mold! We had a serious mold issue in our tub which turns out is a known proclivity of front loading washers. When you have a child that is off the charts allergic to mold, this knowledge that her clothes could lead to anaphylactic shock was defeating at best. Short of replacing the tub, a costly expenditure to say the least, there was little we could do to remedy the situation.

We spoke to a technician who gave us some ideas of old fashioned remedies that helped for a while, before it became obvious we would have to replace the washer. When we bought the new set (another front loader) I did a ton of reading on how to prevent the mold build-up from happening again. Most information centered on not using commercial fabric softeners and using specific detergents for front loaders. All the forums highly recommended (as in Do not pass go and do not collect $200) never skipping the clean cycle on your front loader. Yeah, well tell that to my children who generate Mt. St. Laundry in the first place, and then need a specific shirt or uniform by dawn’s light. Where are the cleaning fairies when I need them?

After doing a little further research, I learned that just running the clean washer cycle was probably not enough and some other periodic cleaning would need to be done manually or should I say “womanually”. Hope springs eternal, and to be honest, I want to take care of the items God has chosen to bless my family. Not that many years ago, my husband washed his clothes in a bucket in the middle of a desert, when fighting for our country. A washing machine is a luxury globally, and even though the irritating reminder comes on at the least opportune time, I do want to take the best care I can of the old gal (Okay, really she is only a couple years old. I don’t want to offend her).

The process involves creating a mixture of half water and half vinegar. For the chemists among us, that would be a 1:1 ratio. Grabbing some paper towels and Q-tips is also very handy. Using the mixture you wipe down the interior tub and every available surface on and inside the washer. Then comes the part of cleaning inside the rubber seals on the tub and the tiny holes where water filters out. At first, cleaning the large areas just felt good and productive, but by the time I got to pulling back the rubber seals and digging into those tiny holes thoughts of “Well, I am sure glad I got a degree in advanced chemistry for this job” were at the forefront of my thoughts. Let me tell you people what came out on those cotton swabs was beyond disgusting. I liken it to what the cleaning lady saw after the birth of Reed when the doctors and nurses and my husband and my new baby left me lying there on the table because two of us mommas shared the same doctor in our small town hospital. I had the luck of delivering two minutes before the other gal. Rather than finish piecing me back together, there I lay waiting for almost an hour. The poor cleaning lady thought the room was empty and just came right on in to the shock of her life. Needless to say the gunk that came out of my washing machine was equally as shocking!

I do not advise cleaning your washer with clothes inside it. But it is a snow day in Minnesota and we are getting lots done around here! These are the offensive holes.

The longer I worked the more my efforts resulted in more hidden disgusting gunk being revealed. My thoughts were not pleasant and a whole lot of grumbling was going on. Then I was reminded of the time my lamenting about cleaning kids, dishes, and laundry resulted in my Mama saying, “Well, bless your heart. Isn’t it terrible you have all those things to clean?” Pretty convicting words!

Sitting on my laundry room floor surrounded by more yuck than I knew was imaginable; I began to examine my heart. How many times do I harbor the gunk of life and bring that with me to the throne room of God? More often than I want to admit. I want to bring my requests and my concerns – a laundry list, if you will – without cleaning out the yucky stuff first. It was a humbling lesson. A reminder from God what place I sometimes reserve for him in my busy day. Definitely not something I would boast about. Thankfully though, my God specializes in messy people. He loves us even we forget to clean out the dirt and have it hidden in all kinds of places. Instead of grumbling like me about misplaced opportunities, God has the crimson blood of his son which scrubs every heart clean and fresh as snow.

Even though that was seriously one of the dirtiest jobs I have ever done, today I am so incredibly thankful for endless grace for messy hearts and a washing machine that still gets the job done!

A true measure

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Dear son – A few days ago we quietly ushered in your 18^th birthday. No matter how quickly I wanted to slow down time to prevent this day’s arrival, my efforts failed miserably. I wanted to bottle you up as the little curly-headed boy who would pad into my bedroom and ask “Is it time for ‘bweakfast’ yet?” and keep you that way forever. If I had, I would have missed out on the glimpses of who you would really grow to be.

Time slows down for no momma which was very evident over the course of the last weekend. If time was a better friend, she would have realized that it was all too much to mourn our darkest day and then a few days later celebrate your achievements. The irony was not lost on this momma’s heart that we were remembering letting one son go as we prepared to let another one march into the world on his. If time was my friend, she would have slowed down enough to let me recover from one moment before rushing headlong into the other one. I am pretty sure time and me are no longer on speaking terms.

When you were little we planned elaborate birthday bashes, but now, you are marching to the beat of your own drum and chose to go out with friends, joining us later for a dessert celebration. The day was a reflection of what will most likely be for years to come. It was during our family gathering I was once again reminded of who you are at the core of your being. After an order mix-up, you gave your friend the bigger dessert – on your birthday. There was no arguing with you that we could order another one because it was already way past your baby sister’s bedtime. From the moment the doctor said, “It’s a boy!” on the day you arrived into the world on one of the coldest days in history, I have lived every moment investing in raising a gentleman. The dessert debacle proved to me, while I still hope you are remembering to open doors, a gentleman is indeed what our efforts produced.

I’ve never been nervous about launching you into the world. My confidence in your future lies in believing you embody an old saying “A true measure of success is how you overcome the obstacles in your path”. I have lost count of all the surgeries and procedures you have endured, and there is no test for the childhood lost as you were forced to grow up so fast. Yet, you have always been my gentle giant, who leads with a quiet strength. Your faith has been unwavering, your perseverance beyond admirable, and your convictions your guiding light. Having the courage to stand by your convictions exudes character well beyond your years. It may not feel that way to you, but I am not the only person who has noticed how the obstacles you have encountered have been treated as mere bumps in the road. Your eyes were always on the prize – serving your Jesus.

Watching you face the giants in your life has been one of the most humbling experiences of my lifetime. It was just a dessert some would say, but to me, it was a reminder from God that He has been, is, and forever more shall be the real navigator of your success. He has taught you the real meaning of life – loving him and serving others. Along the way mixed in with many different lessons, He has taught you about frailties: your physical being, the fleeting vapor of life, and the tenderness of a momma’s heart.

From that last one, I hope you know that I am so incredibly proud of you and all that you stand for. I love you always and forever, and I will always have extra dessert – just in case – when you come home from college next year.

Love – Momma

To my Sunshine . . .

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Dear Reed:

I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been dreading this day. My friends all know it, and they do their very best to love me through it. There are extra hugs, more texts just checking in, and offers to “sock ‘em in the nose” for the people who seem to get great joy inflicting wounds when we are down. The first two warm my heart, and the last one just makes me laugh. As January draws to an end, I don’t want to flip the calendar to February. Just the name of the month is too painful to bear.

For the last few weeks, I have struggled to eat and sleep, and have felt I was one tear drop away from releasing Niagara Falls. If I let one drop fall, a gusher was going to follow and I might not be able to stop. I knew this day – the day that changed my life forever – would come again.

I decided to avoid thinking about it, other than planning a date with a Kleenex box. I knew your siblings would be going to school; so aside from ~~being~~ trying to be strong and available for them, my plan was to do nothing but be kind and gentle to myself. Daddy chose to spend the day with me, taking a day off from work. You know how difficult that is for him to do; so, the tears leaked a little at his decision.

All that tossing and turning through sleepless nights resulted in a big neck ache. As I walked past the kitchen table on my way to the hot tub, I saw a beautiful jar I recently won. Emblazoned on the side are the words, “There is hope”. Today I clung to that promise. As I let my thoughts soak away in the steamy waters, my sadness was carried to God’s ears on the melodic notes of birdsong. More tears leaked out as I realized your garden was full of beautiful little birds singing the songs of hope to me. God knew what I needed to help me smile through my watery eyes.

Throughout the day, the tears came off and on like when the lady at doctor’s office realized who I was and said, “Oh this has to be a hard day for you.” Ma’am, you have no idea. More tears after the doctor saw my shirt (the last Reed’s Run one that both Erin and I chose to wear today) and in the middle of his explanation of my lab tests exclaimed, “you are truly a woman who loves her God. Romans 8:38 – 39 on your shirt. It just caught my eye.” and then just shook his head. I try, Doctor. I really, really try. I just don’t know any other way. The leaking just kept on coming when an unexpected text came asking how someone could support Sister. Even more came after the love ambush this afternoon.

Grief is a messy thing, Reed. Some of those tears were of sadness. Others were of joy and relief for the amazing grace-filled love that comes from the best friends I could have never imagined, let alone ever dreamed of asking for. Without their love and the grace of our Lord, I don’t know that we would have ever made it this far. We are far from through it. How could we ever get over you?

You were our sunshine. Even though you are not here, your spirit’s light still shines brightly. You are still here – just like the lyrics of the song shared with us today. We carry you in our hearts, our memories, and our stories. We share those stories over and over because we want every memory to still be alive in Sally’s mind. She was so tiny when you had to go home with Jesus, but there are so many times that I stare at her because she sounds just like you. She loves learning and reading and math and superheroes and Legos and animals – all the things you loved. You would bubble over with excitement as she is reading some of your old books, whipping right through them like you did. She has the same reactions when she watches the movies too! But the thing that most reminds me of you happened at her parent-teacher conference; her teacher shared how incredibly kind she is. More tears leaked out on that February day.

Then there are Sister and Sawyer. You would be so proud. Your light, that today basks in the glory of heaven, shines so brightly in them. They hold true to the values that our family holds dear, even when it isn’t cool or popular. They root for the underdog, and they give back in the best of ways. They hit rough patches, but time and time again, they have proven they are resilient. Remember that time when Erin got hurt on her bike, and you picked her up and carried her down the block back home to my loving arms. There are so many times they both wish they could have done the same for you on that awful February day. If it is true that the angels pray on our behalf (and I believe it is), always, always ask them to hold your brother and sisters close to their hearts. Where you live, there are no tears, no sadness, but trust me, Reedy, there is plenty of that to go around back here on earth. Sadness doesn’t define our days, but there are the moments when it engulfs us.

Maybe, just maybe, tears bring us closer to God, who reminds us this is not our forever home. Homesickness has a completely different meaning when we look through that lens. Another thing about those tears is they clear our myopic vision to truly see the blessings and as much as there is sadness, there blessings to infinity and beyond we encounter every day. Tears have also removed scales from our eyes so that we more easily see when someone else is hurting, and perhaps that is what God had planned for all of us for now. What if blessings come through raindrops and healing comes through tears are more than just song lyrics; they are truly the reminders of hope that keeps our eyes looking to heaven and our ears listening to the birds, who are whispering God’s love in every note.

Through my tears, I see the blessings – including the time God shared you with us. Always wishing it was for a lot longer and always loving you until I can hug you again!

Momma

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

you’ll never know, Reed, how much I love you

The wonder of a box

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I think every parent has been there. It’s Christmas morning, and there sits your child inside the box of the latest greatest toy you spent hours standing in line to purchase earlier in the month. Instead of dropping the big bucks on the toy, you could have headed to the office supply store and spent less than ten dollars on the biggest box available. Better yet, you could have put out a request to friends to see if any were making any large appliance purchases before the holidays and requested to “simply take the box off their hands”.

I remember as a child when one of my best friend’s family purchased new kitchen appliances. Jackpot! We spent the next few months creating an elaborate house out of the boxes. Using markers, crayons, scissors, and construction paper, we made windows and doors as well as decorated our corrugated home like it was straight out of the pages of Southern Living.

Over the years, my children have had similar experiences only instead of a house, they made the Batmobile, the Space Shuttle, and a personal favorite was the Tardis of Dr. Who fame. Of course, there were smaller creations, but these were the most memorable. One weekend last year, the wonder known as the box took center stage in my littlest’s plans. She had a sleepover with a friend. They didn’t have any big plans until . . . we decided to assemble the new recliners we had recently purchased. Both littles were great construction assistants, but as soon as the chairs were sitting ready, they flocked to the boxes like bees to honey.

After a long and lengthy discussion, they settled on becoming Wonder Women. They created “gold” bracelets out of the remnants of the Styrofoam tube packaging and instead of an invisible jet, they got to work creating their very own time machine AND a magic carpet.

They spent hours and hours just drawing and adding details. There were no squabbles or arguments, but plenty of words of encouragement for each other. They couldn’t have had more fun if we had planned a day full of activities. Uncomplicated, unscripted and unplugged – they embraced the moment. Completely content – oh the adventures they had!

I sent these pictures to the other momma with the caption of “Our Wonder Women”. Almost immediately, she acknowledged the lure of the cardboard box, fondly remembering both her own adventures as well as those of her sweet kiddos over the years.

Recently, I’ve been thinking (A LOT) about contentment and my tendency on occasion to compartmentalize life making all my details fit inside “my box”. In my ponderings, I remembered these two sweet little girls, and their unbridled joy when I said the box was theirs for the day. Making lists and checking them twice have been my strong suits for a long time. Keeping my hands busy was a close third on my compartmentalizing strengths. Gently, God has been nudging me to just stop and be present in the moment, just like the girls. This morning I saw a photo that perfectly captured my ability to be caught up in what I am doing, but miss the rest of what is going on around me. It is going to be an uphill battle, but I am ready to embrace what God has laid before me, open to all the possibilities.

Keep company with God, get in on the best. Psalm 37:4 (The Message)

And who knows? Maybe along the way that will mean time spent in boxes, blanket forts, and tents in the backyard! I’ll have the crayons ready . . . just in case.

Sweet Grace Blog

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To my Sunshine . . .

The wonder of a box