Money Fun

I don't know how it works at your house, but at mine, there was a constant battle going on (and on, and on...).

Suddenly the penny that was laying on the floor became the catalyst for World War III.  Is this just at my house?

My children fight used to fight over money.  Oh, the caterwalling and bickering was so pleasant to hear.  I couldn't stand it anymore.

As I was reading the Duggar's book (at least I think it was their's), I read of an idea to form a family bank.

BRILLIANT!

I dug out a money box that we use at every.single.unsuccessful. garage sale that we've ever held and called the kids together.  Each child had to bring their cash stash to me.  I counted each one's and wrote down their total in a small notebook.

(Sam's vacation deposit was

spending money left over from

our vacation)

I separated out the money into their compartments and now (the pure genius of it), no one knows who's money is who's.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!!

In the notebook, everyone has their own page for me to record their deposits and withdrawals in.  If they find or are given money, they are required to put it in the bank.  If I find money in the laundry or on the floor, it goes directly into the vacation fund jar, despite pleas of, "but that's mine!"

One of the best things I love about this system is that at the end of each month, Daddy and I look at their total and give them 5% interest on what they have in there.  Now not only are they not fighting about who's money is who's or bemoaning the fact that they last $1 of their birthday money, they're learning the benefits of saving.

There's also the added bonus of a less grumpy mama.  That's priceless!

Mother Eve

I'm a thinker.  I like deep thoughts and the opportunity to think them though.  My mom always chided me when I was younger saying that I thought too much.

I guess that's better than not thinking at all, but some might disagree.  Sometimes, I don't think and open my mouth.  Out pops something that even I wasn't prepared for which is rather unfortunate.  Funny at times, but uncomfortable with my size seven foot shoved in there.

Lately, though, I've had a lot of thoughts about Eve.  You know the woman I'm talking about.  Famous or infamous, we all know who she was.  Or just as importantly, what she did.

We can't escape it, as we live through the results of her decision every moment of our lives.  Especially as women, we shake our collective fist at her and murmur our complaints of painful childbirth, weight gain, sagging skin (okay, sagging anything) and PMS.  "If it had been me, I wouldn't have eaten that fruit" we think to ourselves.  Yeah, you and I both would have.

But have you really thought about her tragedy?  We're all used to such things.  Because of generations of experience, we're (sort of) prepared to face these gruesome facts of life, or at least have some sort of understanding about them.

Eve, poor Eve, was hit by a Mack truck.  She had no understanding, no previous experience, nothing to fall back on to get her through a newly sinful world.  She could, unlike the rest of us, look back and remember what life was like when it was beautiful and perfect.

Was that a blessing or a curse?

Did she remember a world without shedding dogs and heat waves?

What about the new imperfect harmony with her husband?  Now she had to deal with misunderstandings and even perhaps his blaming her.  Suddenly, he had whiskers that pricked her, morning breath and a terribly annoying snore.

Now she had to cook dinner over a destructive and painfully hot fire.  Did the smell of roasting meat repulse her? 

Stones pricked her feet and the animal skins, well let's be honest here, they were pretty stinky.

But even more than that, how did she deal with the emotional aspect of it all?  She had just lost perfect communion with her Creator.  What, at one time, been like breathing to her, now was distant and something that had to be worked at with every single heart beat.

Did she blame herself?  Probably.  She was, after all, a woman.

What about when Cain murdered Abel?  I can't imagine the way her heart was crushed.  There was no mother or friends for her to run to.  No therapist to help her get through it.  Maybe new and sinful feelings coursed through her. 

Rage.

Hatred.

Abandonment by her Lord.

Where was He in all of this?  Was He some distant Creator-God who took no interest in the lives, the joys and the pains of His creations?

Indeed not!

He was there, weeping.  Weeping.  He too had lost communion with his beloveds.  He alone knew the impact of that one fateful decision.  He knew the absolute horror and pain, disease and genocide that had just been unleashed.

But God...

God, being the definition of grace, promised Eve something in the midst of it all.  He promised that from her the Savior of the world would come and undo everything that she had done.  Because He loves us.

Because He loved her.

Did she hang onto this with every breath in her body?  Yes.

How do I know this?

Because I'm a woman, a mother, a sinner, just like she was.

And I've experienced His grace, just like she did.

Lessons From a Life Well Lived

Motherhood is Calling, Baby!  Monday has rolled around again, isn't that lovely?  Now, no groaning please, because that means it's time for my weekly link-up!  Link up a post about being a mama, you know, anything like a funny story, tip or photo.  Don't forget to use my button and link up!




Meanwhile....

Paco and I went to a memorial service this past Saturday.  Even though his family is part of our homeschool group, I didn't know this man well at all.

And that's my loss, for sure.

We sat there, musing over a life taken too soon from a family and extensive network of friends who adored him.

Towards the end, there was an opportunity for people to stand and share.  Every single person said practically the same thing.  He was loving.  He invested in their lives.  He put his family above everything, except his love of Jesus.  Everyone knew they were loved and listened to.

Each of his children mentioned the time of long talks, trips to the grocery store and times that their house was filled to the top with the kids' friends.  Everyone was a part of Thom and Susan's family.  And they knew that.

It made me wonder, as I was leaving the church, would my children, friends and my friends' children say the same about me?

Probably not.

And that must change because those people down there are simply too precious.

So, this morning, we started the mama and kid grocery store trip.  Mama and Livy had a great time, taking so much longer than usual, but having way more fun than usual, too.

It was a small step, but a step nonetheless.  Because she's worth it. 

They're all worth it. 

That's what I learned at the memorial service. 

Thank you, Thom, for a live well lived.  Thank you for the example of love and rightly-placed priorities.

You have blessed our family.

The Main Difference Between Hubs and Me

Everyone knows that men and women are different...vastly different.

Sweet hubby o' mine and I are no exception. {gasp}  It's true.  He's from northern Mars and I'm from western Venus somewhere.

No where was that simple, ancient fact more apparent than Santa Fe, New Mexico.  Why Santa Fe? you ask.

Aha!  There's a very good reason.  Santa Fe has incredible history.  And lots of good food.

I like the history. (well, food too, but that's not the point here)

Yes, I am a history nerd.  I love poking around old buildings, reading little plaques and reading headstones in antiquated cemeteries.  Don't hate me because I'm cool.

So as we're walking around Santa Fe, my sweet MIL and I are oohing and aaahing over the architecture, the amazing cathedral and chapel, the shops, Hubs is oohing and aahing over the street stand tacos and the pizza parlor.

One happy guy.

When it was my turn to choose what kind of sustenance I was going to partake of, however, I wanted only the best.

Who knew you could find a French creperie in Santa Fe that serves an amazing quiche Lorraine?

And that, my dears, is the main difference between my hubby and me.  He's a taco from a street vendor and I'm a quiche Lorraine from Santa Fe meant to be eaten with pinkies upraised.

Yes, I think that sums us up quite nicely.

Love ya, Babe.

Magical Oklahoma

Even though I haven't traveled extensively during my lifetime, I've learned that there are places that are real, just like their pictures, even though they are completely different than where I was born and raised and am now raising my children.

These places are somewhat magical.  They are places where fireflies reside causing my children's faces to light up with pleasure and excitement.  Clouds produce afternoon thunderstorms and windmills turn in the breeze.

They actually have green trees and creeks (or should I say criks?) that have water in them.  Imagine!

In these magical lands, clothing is an option.  Believe me, this doesn't happen at home.  Most of the time.

 

These magical places let us experience things like feeding the cattle at sunset. Warm summer breeze wafting over the stench scent of cows, the feel of cow patties under our feet, hearing them come to their dinner table with the same cacophony of sounds that my children make and the pure pleasure of doing something so ancient, yet timeless shows us how simple it can all be, if we let it.

Sometimes magical things happen even to unprofessional, amateur photographers.  They get a perfect shot, that even raw can take your breath away.

Such places have their own clock and soundtrack.  Looking out, you see the trees dancing to Dvorak's New World symphony, hearing it rustle when the wind blows through them.

Time, in these magic lands, is different...slower...more precious.

Even the smallest and noisiest are awed into silence at it's beauty.

Insta-Friends

Monday, Monday...

Here we are again!  It's time for Motherhood is Calling!





You lovely people know how the drill works.  Link up your mama-inspired post down here, adding my cute-sy button.  Hey, ho, let's go!

One thing that my hubby and I have tried to instill in our children (besides not picking noses, saying please and thank you, and fighting against the impulse to destroy our home and/or each other) is the characteristic of friendliness.  For some reason in my mind, that is one of the most important characteristics I want to pass down to my children.  It ranks up there with faithfulness, loyalty and kindness. 

We expect our children to look others in the eye when speaking, remember to ask questions about others and be genuinely interested in them.  Sometimes it works, other times, well you know. 

It seems to me that we might be doing all right in this department.

Case in point:

This little guy is one of my best friend's sons.  These guys met for the first time about three seconds before this picture was taken.  Judah just hopped out of the car in Colorado Springs and grabbed the nearest guy his size and bear hugged him.  If you didn't know, we're huggers in our family.  I'm starting to realize not everyone is, though.  It can lead to some awkward moments...

Not all of our kids have an easy time with this. Olivia can have a harder time, though she tries really hard.  Sometimes.  Notice in this picture with Oklahoma cousins she's a little shy to get up beside the others whereas Sam is in the thick of it.  Maybe it's because she's the only girl out there.  Me?  I would have been thrilled at that prospect at that age, but that's a different story.

Sometimes, other children are little quieter and reserved than our children.  Notice that does not stop Judah in any way, shape or form.  He just throws his arms around them anyway.

And then there are those who pledge undying loyalty and supreme frequency in the penpal department after becoming dear friends in less than two minutes from meeting.

Sometimes, though, the best friends are those that are built in.

Letting It All Go - Repost

(Originally posted in June of 2010, this is one of my favorites.  Even though we are still learning everyday how to let it all go, He hasn't dropped us and He never will.)

I love Floaties. You know the ones... Those little flotation devices that we mamas (and sometimes daddies) manage to manuever onto wiggly, sun-screen slippery bodies that want to make a mad dash for any nearby body of water.

Ya-Ya, Summer 2008

I especially love the said floatation devices when they're on this cute little person, even though they're boy-blue and not girl-pink. One of the hazards of having a big brother.


Twice a week, I get to take this cute little floatie-wearing person and her non-floatie wearing older siblings to our neighborhood pool to take part in a swim club co-op. My brilliant friend (and bright idea phenom) put this together and all the moms take part in teaching one of the age groups. I've been working with the middle age group, but yesterday, I got to work with Ya-Ya and Bubba's group.


Nothing says summertime fun like five (usually there's ten) little 3-5 year olds splashing water at each other and the teachers and then giggling.


We practiced kicking, scooping, putting our faces in the water and blowing bubbles.


Over and over and over and over....


Ya-Ya had been doing really well with her floaties on.


Knowing that these floaties are just a device to keep my child from becoming another statistic, there is no way I want to her to get used to swimming with these puppies on.


Nope, those babies were coming off.


Instant panic.


Being the mama, I got to overrule her because I knew I was doing it for her own good. I chased her down, pulled those floaties off and threw them out of the pool as far as I could (which was pitifully short of the intended goal), all while holding onto a three-year old who suddenly had become like a barnacle.


I explained that all I wanted her to do was kick, kick, kick and I would never, never let go. Do you think she believed me?


Big, fat no way.

There was no way I was going to convince her with words, so I had to show her. Still holding on, I started walking and having her kick.


It went something like this: Panic scream, panic scream, hysterical giggle, hysterical giggle, real giggle, huge grin, "Hey, Mama, this is fun!"

Ya-Ya Summer 2010

It was so cute and so utterly Ya-Ya. As I was thinking over that incident this morning though, I realized that I'm a Ya-Ya.


I think that I can tell you that I've been having a rough time here lately. Lots going on, big painful things that God is showing me about myself, which is just not any fun. Anger and resentment, bitterness and unforgiveness that I didn't even know I had have been brought to my attention. How long have I been like this? Then there are the outside factors with other people. Almost all of the plates that I've somehow managed to keep spinning in the air have dropped.


All at the same time.


There have been days when I have been begging and pleading, on my face, groaning and crying, asking God to show me what He's doing.


I still don't know.


I've been clinging to the areas that I can control in my life like they're my floaties. I've let God have most of me and my stuff, but I want to hang on to those floaties because I think they won't let me drown.


Now, I've been asked, even commanded, to take the floaties off and trust that He won't let me drown.


Do you know how hard that is? I never knew before this. Maybe it's that I've been trusting in those floaties too long. Maybe I'm afraid He'll drop me. Maybe I have some trust issues I never knew about. Maybe it's that I just don't know how to do this.

Guess I'm going to learn.


I don't know if anyone else is going to read this. If not, that's okay. Maybe I just needed to write if for me. If you're are here reading this, though, first of all, good job reading this terribly long post, and secondly, I have to ask, have you gone through this? What have you had to let go that was incredibly hard? What did you learn from it?

Death of My Vanity - Repost

(This is a repost from last August.  Enjoy yourself at my expense.)

Oh, boy. Summertime in Arizona is not the time to be forgetting one crucial step in my morning routine.


Picture it:


August.


In Phoenix.

High temp is predicted to be 108 degrees which is actually cool-ish. Yet, crazy as that is, it still feels like the surface of the sun.


The stage is set...


On Tuesdays during the summer, my most precious, loving, sanity-saving mother-in-law takes 3/4 of my children out on an adventure. Sometimes it's the movies, sometimes different museums, sometimes whatever...


Have I mentioned lately that I love her? As in, deeply?


Today being Tuesday, they were off to the magical land of the Musical Instruments Museum. Pretty cool. I never knew it even existed. Oops, digressing.


My lovely, fun outing was running errands. Actually, it wasn't bad. I had to go to two different government offices and only having to take one child was actually vacation-like. And the best part, Paco told me I could grab lunch while I was out. Apparently, people get to out for lunch.


People who are NOT stay at home moms.


Now if you've ever been in a government office of any sort, you get to observe that there are all kinds of people. From every walk of life, these people come. Some very conscientious of their personal grooming, others, um, not so much. That being said, we'll proceed.


The first stop was in downtown Phoenix. I don't have to drive to downtown alot, so I don't know my way around very well. When I don't know my way around very well, I get nervous. When I get nervous, I sweat. When I'm pregnant, I sweat even more. When I live in a scorching desert, well, you get the picture.


Found it okay, mission accomplished. A little sweat, but no biggie.


Next stop, another government office. Have to walk across the blazing asphalt parking lot into the building. Because it's a courthouse, you have to go through a metal detector. No big whoop. Ju-Ju out of the stroller, purse on the X-ray machine, nothing I hadn't expected.

Oh, wait. I forgot about the butter knives in my purse.
Seriously, I had butter knives in my purse. Who doesn't?
Well, apparently, they could be considered weapons. Um, oops.

Cue more sweating.

Next, I find myself in a room trying to figure out how I'm supposed to be getting the information I HAVE to have. Uh, oh. Getting nervous. The room is getting busier and busier, it's lunchtime and I had to wake Ju-Ju up from his short car-trip nap.


Disaster in three...two...one

Again, noticing the different kinds of people, feeling philosophical about how God makes all different types, sentimentally watching the young couples come in for marriage licenses, playing with my surprisingly happy son and thinking everyone should be envying me. That's when I noticed a scent. Or maybe it was more of an odor.

Yup, definitely an odor. I did a couple of quick glances around the room, looking for the person who gave off that (ahem) unclean smell and that's when I realized...

Oh, my heavens. It was me. {gasp!}

I promise, I put deodorant on this morning. Apparently, though, when you live in the broiling oven called The Valley of the Sun, one or two swipes just doesn't cut it.


Now, I don't know about you, but when I realize my deodorant isn't working, I sweat even MORE.


The only solution is pray the line moves fast and not lift your arms for anything or anyone.


Finally done, I was in a conundrum. Paco said I could take Ju-Ju out to eat. He promised. I had earned it. But, did I really want to go anywhere else smelling like, well, you know.


What do I do? Well, I wasn't missing out on my lunch, darn it. I went out anyways. I pulled the baby out of the car again, trying not to inhale deeply. I went in, ordered, and looked for a table. Found a table, but where were the high chairs? Oh, no. On the other side of the restaurant, on the other side of the tables all mashed together. Which meant, I had to lift the high chair up, while carrying the baby and all our paraphernalia in the other arm.


My pride and vanity plummeted.


The sad thing is that I was going to take pictures of my first date with Ju-Ju.


I was too ashamed to even lift my arms to take a picture.


And all because one or two swipes wasn't enough.


Learn my lesson, friends. Learn it well. Everyone will thank you for it later.