This sweet little guy is the reason I’m feeling rather melancholy—I’m exhausted!
For diversion (and because it fits my mood) I’ve been listening to Paul McCartney’s new classical CD Behold My Heart.
Though Nicholas has been sleeping pretty well (seven hour stretches), I have become far too acquainted with 3:00am. I think if I could sleep for 12 hours, uninterrupted for about 3 weeks straight . . . maybe I would start feeling like my normal self again.
But until then let’s hear it for great music . . . and caffeine!
Friday, November 03, 2006
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Join Us!
Today is a special day of prayer and fasting for Noah Steven.
Join us, and people all around the world, in any way you can. We’re asking God for a special miracle today!
Wouldn’t that be perfect on halloween?!
Join us, and people all around the world, in any way you can. We’re asking God for a special miracle today!
Wouldn’t that be perfect on halloween?!
Monday, October 30, 2006
October Fun
The best way to eat a hogdog:
Take a bite out of the hotdog, then a bite out of the bun. Repeat until both are finished.
At least that’s the way Cole does it!
Take a bite out of the hotdog, then a bite out of the bun. Repeat until both are finished.
At least that’s the way Cole does it!
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Love Is Kind
Nicholas, Cole and I were just leaving Walmart when the alarm went off. The older gentleman who always greets us at the door came over to check our loot. He asked if I had purchased any watches. I responded that as a matter of fact I had purchased two—getting an early jump on the Christmas rush!
He wouldn’t have had to mention it, but he did. His wife passed away in February . . . he wondered what Christmas would be like this year.
Such a sad note in his voice. Usually I see him only with a smile on his face. I expressed my sympathy at his loss.
After he gave us clearance, I walked into the parking lot with a heavy heart. So much hurt in the world—only One who can heal the brokenhearted.
As I loaded Cole and Nicholas in the van, I prayed for this sweet man. He has become a regular in my weekly routine. Maybe next time I will find more words than my usual, “hello”.
He wouldn’t have had to mention it, but he did. His wife passed away in February . . . he wondered what Christmas would be like this year.
Such a sad note in his voice. Usually I see him only with a smile on his face. I expressed my sympathy at his loss.
After he gave us clearance, I walked into the parking lot with a heavy heart. So much hurt in the world—only One who can heal the brokenhearted.
As I loaded Cole and Nicholas in the van, I prayed for this sweet man. He has become a regular in my weekly routine. Maybe next time I will find more words than my usual, “hello”.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Warning: Serious Bragging Here
Yesterday I spilled bright cranberry nail polish on the carpet in my office. It wasn’t a little droplet or a small smudge . . . no, it was a hugely gargantuan, let’s start crying, ghastly blob covering the span of nearly 16 inches!
Smack dap in the middle of the room—no way to cover it with the desk or even my desk chair! It just stared at me with evil in it’s sticky red tentacles. Even Cole, with an exaggerated sing-songish voice, felt the need to inform me of my plight: “Mommy, I think you’re going to get in trouble.”
After considering the fact I really had nothing to lose (the carpet was pretty much ruined if left as was) I grabbed the first cleaning supply I could find in my nearby laundry room.
I don’t own their stock and I’m not making money on any hidden advertisements—but you’re gonna want to write this down: Mr. Clean’s Multi-purpose Cleaner (the orange one).
Though I had only used this product previously to mop my kitchen and bathroom floors, I POURED large amounts directly onto the stain and then scrubbed.
Much to my surprise my efforts were not in vain—the seemingly already dried mess was disappearing! I added a great deal of water as the soap suds was becoming quite dense. Then I simply vacuumed it all up with my Little Green Machine.
Although some might find it hard to believe (especially if you’ve ever spilled nail polish on carpet), that bright cranberry nail polish stain is COMPLETELY gone!
Who knew?! I have talent after all!!
(With a little help from Procter & Gamble)
Smack dap in the middle of the room—no way to cover it with the desk or even my desk chair! It just stared at me with evil in it’s sticky red tentacles. Even Cole, with an exaggerated sing-songish voice, felt the need to inform me of my plight: “Mommy, I think you’re going to get in trouble.”
After considering the fact I really had nothing to lose (the carpet was pretty much ruined if left as was) I grabbed the first cleaning supply I could find in my nearby laundry room.
I don’t own their stock and I’m not making money on any hidden advertisements—but you’re gonna want to write this down: Mr. Clean’s Multi-purpose Cleaner (the orange one).
Though I had only used this product previously to mop my kitchen and bathroom floors, I POURED large amounts directly onto the stain and then scrubbed.
Much to my surprise my efforts were not in vain—the seemingly already dried mess was disappearing! I added a great deal of water as the soap suds was becoming quite dense. Then I simply vacuumed it all up with my Little Green Machine.
Although some might find it hard to believe (especially if you’ve ever spilled nail polish on carpet), that bright cranberry nail polish stain is COMPLETELY gone!
Who knew?! I have talent after all!!
(With a little help from Procter & Gamble)
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Such A Generous Soul
Cole came in from playing outside and asked for a piece of bread.
Surprised I asked, “Without peanut butter or jelly?”
“Yes,” he said. “Just a plain piece of bread—I’m feeding the ants!”
Surprised I asked, “Without peanut butter or jelly?”
“Yes,” he said. “Just a plain piece of bread—I’m feeding the ants!”
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Thirteen Years Ago Today . . .
The majestic brilliant colors of Colorado seemed jubilant in praise as afternoon was slowly drifting into dusk. The Rocky mountains glistened as the western sun showered the front range with her last lingering rays of glorious radiance. Slowly we drove toward a favorite place overlooking a picturesque scene quite similar to a view from that famous, beloved musical where the hills are alive. Just to the east all of Denver could be seen as if this city of a million plus was nothing more than a quaint little village out of Dr. Seuss’ tale of how the Grinch stole Christmas.
Clasping my hand in his, David led me up the mountain path that lay before us. Reading from Proverbs 31 he described all the ways in which he cherished me.
Suddenly in our ascent, a small delicate obstruction interrupted our journey: A perfect crimson rose standing tall between a myriad of carefully placed rocks (I was beginning to get suspicious). David reached down and picked up the rose expressing his surprise to find such a treasure of beauty on this lone path we were treading—carefully noting it’s symbolic significance.
With delight I took the rose as my heart beat faster realizing this might not turn out to be just a casual stroll. David then directed my eyes just slightly of to the left where three other roses just like the first, created a small path into the brush. Taking a few steps to pick up each rose, I stumbled onto an entire bouquet of roses. We continued up the incline when it suddenly became apparent to my wondering eyes—the entire mountain was filled with carefully placed roses!
By the time we reached our destination of a seat of rocks on which to rest, I had no less than one hundred roses in my arms! Sitting together we bowed our heads in prayer. It was a holy moment. A hush filled the air in the grandeur around us. It seemed as if the angels leaned in close to listen.
Taking my hands in his, David asked me that ageless question a heart in love longs to hear, “Beth, will you marry me?” My mind whirled with the many words my brain had learned with which I could answer: da (Russian), duai (Chinese), ah-cha (Hindi), te-ke (Urdu), e-ye (Kazakh) . . . finally without further hesitation my mind came into focus and English would simply have to suffice—YES!
Clasping my hand in his, David led me up the mountain path that lay before us. Reading from Proverbs 31 he described all the ways in which he cherished me.
Suddenly in our ascent, a small delicate obstruction interrupted our journey: A perfect crimson rose standing tall between a myriad of carefully placed rocks (I was beginning to get suspicious). David reached down and picked up the rose expressing his surprise to find such a treasure of beauty on this lone path we were treading—carefully noting it’s symbolic significance.
With delight I took the rose as my heart beat faster realizing this might not turn out to be just a casual stroll. David then directed my eyes just slightly of to the left where three other roses just like the first, created a small path into the brush. Taking a few steps to pick up each rose, I stumbled onto an entire bouquet of roses. We continued up the incline when it suddenly became apparent to my wondering eyes—the entire mountain was filled with carefully placed roses!
By the time we reached our destination of a seat of rocks on which to rest, I had no less than one hundred roses in my arms! Sitting together we bowed our heads in prayer. It was a holy moment. A hush filled the air in the grandeur around us. It seemed as if the angels leaned in close to listen.
Taking my hands in his, David asked me that ageless question a heart in love longs to hear, “Beth, will you marry me?” My mind whirled with the many words my brain had learned with which I could answer: da (Russian), duai (Chinese), ah-cha (Hindi), te-ke (Urdu), e-ye (Kazakh) . . . finally without further hesitation my mind came into focus and English would simply have to suffice—YES!
Friday, October 20, 2006
In God’s Hands
True confession: I’m a news junkie.
Most days the news can be a downer, but as of late it can be overwhelmingly bleak. If you’re tuned in you know—it seems as if the whole world has gone awry. Can’t help but wish my kids were growing up in a safer world.
I was thinking about the dismal state of affairs when a memory, almost forgotten, came flooding back.
After college I left my beloved state of Indiana for California—not exactly known for hometown hospitality or a low incidence of crime. My parents were more than a little nervous about this arrangement, but the way my mom always says it, they were “putting me in God’s hands.”
The day after I arrived I attended Jack Hayford’s congregation, Church on the Way with some friends. Even though there were over 6000 people in attendance, my parents actually caught a glimpse of me walking up the aisle toward my seat—they were watching the pre-recorded service that evening in their living room, 2200 miles away! My dad yelled out, “There’s Beth—turn on the VCR!”
Who knows what they were taping over, but in the fury of the moment they quickly hit record and now have a permanent reminder that God cares about the details.
Pastor Hayford is known for asking his congregation to turn to their neighbor and “tell them such and such, or ask them this or that.” Had an angel directed me to my seat? Am I magnetically drawn to TV cameras? This I don’t know. But several times throughout the service, while I obediently did just what Pastor Hayford asked, well the cameras rolled . . . and I was their spotlight.
Now that I’m a parent, I’m guessing that random, what’s-the-chances moment in time did my parents a world of good. It was like God was saying, “See, I am holding her in My hands.”
That particular tape is just collecting dust somewhere among the many in my parent’s guestroom closet. Yet even today the message resonates—though God is well aware of the nuclear activity of North Korea and the sneaky terrorist exploits of Iran, there is really only one safe place to reside . . . In His hands.
Most days the news can be a downer, but as of late it can be overwhelmingly bleak. If you’re tuned in you know—it seems as if the whole world has gone awry. Can’t help but wish my kids were growing up in a safer world.
I was thinking about the dismal state of affairs when a memory, almost forgotten, came flooding back.
After college I left my beloved state of Indiana for California—not exactly known for hometown hospitality or a low incidence of crime. My parents were more than a little nervous about this arrangement, but the way my mom always says it, they were “putting me in God’s hands.”
The day after I arrived I attended Jack Hayford’s congregation, Church on the Way with some friends. Even though there were over 6000 people in attendance, my parents actually caught a glimpse of me walking up the aisle toward my seat—they were watching the pre-recorded service that evening in their living room, 2200 miles away! My dad yelled out, “There’s Beth—turn on the VCR!”
Who knows what they were taping over, but in the fury of the moment they quickly hit record and now have a permanent reminder that God cares about the details.
Pastor Hayford is known for asking his congregation to turn to their neighbor and “tell them such and such, or ask them this or that.” Had an angel directed me to my seat? Am I magnetically drawn to TV cameras? This I don’t know. But several times throughout the service, while I obediently did just what Pastor Hayford asked, well the cameras rolled . . . and I was their spotlight.
Now that I’m a parent, I’m guessing that random, what’s-the-chances moment in time did my parents a world of good. It was like God was saying, “See, I am holding her in My hands.”
That particular tape is just collecting dust somewhere among the many in my parent’s guestroom closet. Yet even today the message resonates—though God is well aware of the nuclear activity of North Korea and the sneaky terrorist exploits of Iran, there is really only one safe place to reside . . . In His hands.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Smart, Cute . . . And Color-blind!
Last night Jon and Kelly came over with their daughter Jordan.
While the four of us played cards, Jordan and Ashley were drawing pictures. Ashley asked, “Hey Jordan, what color is your pencil?” Jordan called out, “Pink!”
Totally shocked I asked Kelly, “She knows her colors?” Kelly replied, “Oh sure. Hey Jordan, what color is Auntie Beth’s hair?” Jordan called out, “Pink!”
As it turns out, everything in Jordan's world is "Pink!"
While the four of us played cards, Jordan and Ashley were drawing pictures. Ashley asked, “Hey Jordan, what color is your pencil?” Jordan called out, “Pink!”
Totally shocked I asked Kelly, “She knows her colors?” Kelly replied, “Oh sure. Hey Jordan, what color is Auntie Beth’s hair?” Jordan called out, “Pink!”
As it turns out, everything in Jordan's world is "Pink!"
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Kindergarten Memories
It was Christmastime and we were visiting David’s parents. Displayed on the wall of their guest room were two self-portraits of David and his twin brother, Jon, from when they were in kindergarten. David pointed out that while his was pretty basic—stick figure with a head, Jon’s was rather elaborate with both dimension and detail.
Possibly these pictures would have never been given a second thought had David not chosen Elementary Education as his major at ORU. It was there he learned kindergarten students tend to draw pictures of themselves in stick figures. If they give shape and substance to themselves, it shows the child is quite bright and can function academically at a higher standard than what would be considered normal.
When my daughter Ashley came home from kindergarten one day with a picture of herself placing a star on top of a Christmas tree, I was more than delighted. The little figure was quite well done. Not only had she given shape, substance and a great amount of detail to herself—the picture was colorful and very pretty.
Like all good moms I hung it on the fridge. I might have been a little bit out of control, but I felt it only right to inform all of our Christmas guests about the little tidbit David had learned in college—obviously our little darling was showing great promise.
After Christmas when I was putting away all the ornaments and decorations, I decided the sweet picture needed to be preserved with all our other Christmas paraphernalia. As I gently removed it from the fridge Ashley asked, “Do you like that picture of me, Mommy?” “Oh yes,” I replied. “I like it very much!”
“I like it too,” she chirped. “My friend Megan drew it for me.”
Possibly these pictures would have never been given a second thought had David not chosen Elementary Education as his major at ORU. It was there he learned kindergarten students tend to draw pictures of themselves in stick figures. If they give shape and substance to themselves, it shows the child is quite bright and can function academically at a higher standard than what would be considered normal.
When my daughter Ashley came home from kindergarten one day with a picture of herself placing a star on top of a Christmas tree, I was more than delighted. The little figure was quite well done. Not only had she given shape, substance and a great amount of detail to herself—the picture was colorful and very pretty.
Like all good moms I hung it on the fridge. I might have been a little bit out of control, but I felt it only right to inform all of our Christmas guests about the little tidbit David had learned in college—obviously our little darling was showing great promise.
After Christmas when I was putting away all the ornaments and decorations, I decided the sweet picture needed to be preserved with all our other Christmas paraphernalia. As I gently removed it from the fridge Ashley asked, “Do you like that picture of me, Mommy?” “Oh yes,” I replied. “I like it very much!”
“I like it too,” she chirped. “My friend Megan drew it for me.”
Monday, October 09, 2006
Bubba Rage
We were driving to church. Matthew Ward was singing, How Great Thou Art. The mood was, in hindsight, ironically tranquil.
Just as we were turning into a gas station, Bubba, in a well worn red pickup, was pulling out. Apparently he missed the page in the Driver’s Ed manual about stopping and looking both ways before pulling out into oncoming traffic—he came ALARMINGLY close to hitting us.
Instead of recognizing his mistake and taking responsibility, he . . . let’s see, how do you say it in a family friendly blog . . . he told David in no uncertain terms, YOU’RE NUMBER ONE!” (Picture two hands, violent shaking, beet red face . . . )
Maybe it’s just me. I take such communication as signals—clues if you will: Take the blame, tell him you’re so sorry . . . and if that doesn’t work, drive away FAST!
Just when I was opening my mouth to congratulate David on handling the situation with maturity, grace and a great deal of self-control, David opened his door and called back to Bubba, “Is there a problem? Are you gonna be alright there, Big Daddy?”
Bubba responded by reving his engine a gazillion times, peeling out, circling around the station, burning a year’s worth of rubber off his tires and glaring at David who was now outside the van pumping gas.
While the kids in the back we’re questioning me as to what was going on, I was searching for a phone to dial 911—just in case.
At this point, David changed his MO and totally ignored the guy. Bubba and I made eye contact. Maybe he recognized I was close to calling for backup. Or maybe he was just starting to realize what an idiot he was being. Thankfully he peeled out of the station one last time and went on his way.
David finished filling up and got back in the van. He was waiting for the inevitable, “Was that really worth it” speech. I’ve recited that speech a million times . . . pretty sure David has it memorized. So instead I smiled.
Incredulous, he asked, “What’s so funny?”
Realizing I have now stumbled onto what is far more effective than worn out speeches, I replied, “Thank you for a great post!”
P.S. Just incase you were wondering, this was posted with permission of all parties involved . . . well, except for Bubba.
Just as we were turning into a gas station, Bubba, in a well worn red pickup, was pulling out. Apparently he missed the page in the Driver’s Ed manual about stopping and looking both ways before pulling out into oncoming traffic—he came ALARMINGLY close to hitting us.
Instead of recognizing his mistake and taking responsibility, he . . . let’s see, how do you say it in a family friendly blog . . . he told David in no uncertain terms, YOU’RE NUMBER ONE!” (Picture two hands, violent shaking, beet red face . . . )
Maybe it’s just me. I take such communication as signals—clues if you will: Take the blame, tell him you’re so sorry . . . and if that doesn’t work, drive away FAST!
Just when I was opening my mouth to congratulate David on handling the situation with maturity, grace and a great deal of self-control, David opened his door and called back to Bubba, “Is there a problem? Are you gonna be alright there, Big Daddy?”
Bubba responded by reving his engine a gazillion times, peeling out, circling around the station, burning a year’s worth of rubber off his tires and glaring at David who was now outside the van pumping gas.
While the kids in the back we’re questioning me as to what was going on, I was searching for a phone to dial 911—just in case.
At this point, David changed his MO and totally ignored the guy. Bubba and I made eye contact. Maybe he recognized I was close to calling for backup. Or maybe he was just starting to realize what an idiot he was being. Thankfully he peeled out of the station one last time and went on his way.
David finished filling up and got back in the van. He was waiting for the inevitable, “Was that really worth it” speech. I’ve recited that speech a million times . . . pretty sure David has it memorized. So instead I smiled.
Incredulous, he asked, “What’s so funny?”
Realizing I have now stumbled onto what is far more effective than worn out speeches, I replied, “Thank you for a great post!”
P.S. Just incase you were wondering, this was posted with permission of all parties involved . . . well, except for Bubba.
Friday, October 06, 2006
The New York Times
This newspaper is so liberal I often wish I had a subscription . . . just so I could cancel it!
But today . . .
Well let’s just say I’m calling a truce.
Cool Article: Front Page!
But today . . .
Well let’s just say I’m calling a truce.
Cool Article: Front Page!
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Caution: Very Serious Blog
Everytime I dial in, AOL offers me several news articles to tap into at my leisure. Today one caught my eye and click, click I learned Ms. Magazine will be publishing 1,016 names of women who are unashamed of the decision they made to have an abortion. They are sending a petition to Washington hoping to influence Congress, the White House and state legislators.
Nicholas is now seven weeks old. His chubby little cheeks never cease to make me smile. He loves to snuggle, listen to music, sleep and eat. He is just starting to focus with his eyes, and occasionally he will give a glimmer of a smile. I find myself wondering many times throughout the day what God’s plans are for this little one.
Sweet baby. There are not words to describe the depths of the love I have for him. I am so thankful for this gift from God and would hate to imagine my life without him.
I had other plans. I loved college and always intended to pursue higher education. Though I started a masters program, I never finished it . . . other things kept taking precedence.
Cole will be going to a full day K-4 class next fall. Because I love to be way out in front on being prepared, I had already made plans to go back to school when Cole started this program . . . once again my plans have been changed.
I have learned in life that God’s plans are far superior to mine. I wouldn’t trade Nicholas for all the doctorates in the world. All of my kids are the joy of my life. Without hesitation I would gladly give my life for them.
Most parents know exactly what I mean. They too share this deep down love—indescribable with words; overwhelming in depth.
I wonder at the 5000 women who have signed this petition thus far (they only had room for 1,016 in the article). Do they ever have sleepless nights wondering what contribution their child might have brought to the world? Do they ever have regret for a decision they can never undo?
I have a suspicion. In an attempt to quell such feelings of possible doubt, maybe it is easier to sign a petition stating the opposite—reaching out to find “strength” from others who have made the same choice . . .
For those of us who know differently, we are sad. We are sad for these women who bought into a lie. I’m sure there are many who suffer in silence trying to forget . . . while others sign petitions to boldly proclaim their lack of regret. Only God can bring peace to such self-inflicted sorrow.
But most of all, we are sad for the millions of little lives that will never know the light of day, never know what it is to breathe, and never know the feeling of sweet safe contentment found only in their mother’s arms.
Nicholas is now seven weeks old. His chubby little cheeks never cease to make me smile. He loves to snuggle, listen to music, sleep and eat. He is just starting to focus with his eyes, and occasionally he will give a glimmer of a smile. I find myself wondering many times throughout the day what God’s plans are for this little one.
Sweet baby. There are not words to describe the depths of the love I have for him. I am so thankful for this gift from God and would hate to imagine my life without him.
I had other plans. I loved college and always intended to pursue higher education. Though I started a masters program, I never finished it . . . other things kept taking precedence.
Cole will be going to a full day K-4 class next fall. Because I love to be way out in front on being prepared, I had already made plans to go back to school when Cole started this program . . . once again my plans have been changed.
I have learned in life that God’s plans are far superior to mine. I wouldn’t trade Nicholas for all the doctorates in the world. All of my kids are the joy of my life. Without hesitation I would gladly give my life for them.
Most parents know exactly what I mean. They too share this deep down love—indescribable with words; overwhelming in depth.
I wonder at the 5000 women who have signed this petition thus far (they only had room for 1,016 in the article). Do they ever have sleepless nights wondering what contribution their child might have brought to the world? Do they ever have regret for a decision they can never undo?
I have a suspicion. In an attempt to quell such feelings of possible doubt, maybe it is easier to sign a petition stating the opposite—reaching out to find “strength” from others who have made the same choice . . .
For those of us who know differently, we are sad. We are sad for these women who bought into a lie. I’m sure there are many who suffer in silence trying to forget . . . while others sign petitions to boldly proclaim their lack of regret. Only God can bring peace to such self-inflicted sorrow.
But most of all, we are sad for the millions of little lives that will never know the light of day, never know what it is to breathe, and never know the feeling of sweet safe contentment found only in their mother’s arms.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Marketing Geniuses
We were driving in three lanes of traffic when from the back we heard, “That’s a lovely truck.”
Me: “What truck Cole?”
Cole: (age 3—can’t yet read) “That Wal-Mart truck.”
Guess Wal-Mart has the branding thing down.
Me: “What truck Cole?”
Cole: (age 3—can’t yet read) “That Wal-Mart truck.”
Guess Wal-Mart has the branding thing down.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Glimpses Of God In Hazel And Blue
I was in Uzbekistan. My friends and I were seated on the floor at a low table enjoying a traditional Uzbek meal with a Muslim family. The atmosphere was warm and inviting; the food was amazing.
As we sat and talked, our conversation drifted toward the meanings of our names. After learning the name “Beth” means “House of God”, our sweet hostess looked at me intently and said, “I understand why that is your name. I can see Him in your eyes.” That is the single greatest compliment I have ever received.
Speaking of names, maybe you’ve noticed the change in mine. There are a few reasons . . .
1) If you google “hasz blahs” it questions whether or not you really meant to type “hezbolah”—yikes!
2) Though I have always thought of “blah, blah, blah” to mean something like “talk, talk, talk”, my husband thinks of it more like “bummer, bummer, bummer”, “boring, boring, boring”, or worse yet, “stupid, stupid, stupid”—oh great!
3) I have been told in this day and age, one should not be so liberal with personal information—probably true.
Not wanting a familiar association with the likes of terrorists, depression , boredom, stupidity or danger . . . I decided it was time for something new.
Hazel and Blue are the colors of my kids’ eyes. I love their beautiful eyes; I see God there. When you join me here, hopefully you’ll see glimpses too.
As we sat and talked, our conversation drifted toward the meanings of our names. After learning the name “Beth” means “House of God”, our sweet hostess looked at me intently and said, “I understand why that is your name. I can see Him in your eyes.” That is the single greatest compliment I have ever received.
Speaking of names, maybe you’ve noticed the change in mine. There are a few reasons . . .
1) If you google “hasz blahs” it questions whether or not you really meant to type “hezbolah”—yikes!
2) Though I have always thought of “blah, blah, blah” to mean something like “talk, talk, talk”, my husband thinks of it more like “bummer, bummer, bummer”, “boring, boring, boring”, or worse yet, “stupid, stupid, stupid”—oh great!
3) I have been told in this day and age, one should not be so liberal with personal information—probably true.
Not wanting a familiar association with the likes of terrorists, depression , boredom, stupidity or danger . . . I decided it was time for something new.
Hazel and Blue are the colors of my kids’ eyes. I love their beautiful eyes; I see God there. When you join me here, hopefully you’ll see glimpses too.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Happy Birthday Jonathan!
Today Jonathan is 8.
I find it hard to write about this sweet and wonderful son . . . I fear you’ll think I’m bragging. Jonathan is the kind of son every mother dreams of.
I was telling a sweet Jonathan story over dinner one night with some friends, when my friend Mitch—better known as Stolmit in these parts—leaned in close to my face and asked, “Could he be the Christ?” Though it makes me laugh out loud ever time I think of it, it is that sole memory which keeps my rantings about my sweet son’s virtues in check.
But, it is his birthday . . . so let me summarize my little darling with a peek into his world.
At the end of the year parent/teacher conference David and I went to in May, his teacher started the session with, “Well, your son is perfect—he makes perfect grades, he academically ranked highest among his peers, and even tested in some areas at a sixth grade level. He is sensitive and kind—never gets in trouble. Everybody loves him. Let me repeat . . . your son is perfect!”
Though occasionally even Jonathan displays behavior giving evidence to the fall, we do agree this child is pretty special. With a tender heart for the things of God and genuine love for people, he brings joy to the world is so many ways. We often wonder what God's plans are for him.
But today he is 8 . . . so he will eat cake, open his presents, play with his siblings, and laugh at his favorite tivo-ed shows, “Leave it to Beaver” and “Andy Griffith”.
Happy Birthday, Jonathan! We love you! You bless us, and the world, far more than you will ever know.
I find it hard to write about this sweet and wonderful son . . . I fear you’ll think I’m bragging. Jonathan is the kind of son every mother dreams of.
I was telling a sweet Jonathan story over dinner one night with some friends, when my friend Mitch—better known as Stolmit in these parts—leaned in close to my face and asked, “Could he be the Christ?” Though it makes me laugh out loud ever time I think of it, it is that sole memory which keeps my rantings about my sweet son’s virtues in check.
But, it is his birthday . . . so let me summarize my little darling with a peek into his world.
At the end of the year parent/teacher conference David and I went to in May, his teacher started the session with, “Well, your son is perfect—he makes perfect grades, he academically ranked highest among his peers, and even tested in some areas at a sixth grade level. He is sensitive and kind—never gets in trouble. Everybody loves him. Let me repeat . . . your son is perfect!”
Though occasionally even Jonathan displays behavior giving evidence to the fall, we do agree this child is pretty special. With a tender heart for the things of God and genuine love for people, he brings joy to the world is so many ways. We often wonder what God's plans are for him.
But today he is 8 . . . so he will eat cake, open his presents, play with his siblings, and laugh at his favorite tivo-ed shows, “Leave it to Beaver” and “Andy Griffith”.
Happy Birthday, Jonathan! We love you! You bless us, and the world, far more than you will ever know.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Out Of The Mouths Of Babes
Cole: Mom, can I go outside and play on the tire swing?
Me: Not right now, Cole. There is no one to watch you.
Cole: Mom, God is going to watch me!
Me: Not right now, Cole. There is no one to watch you.
Cole: Mom, God is going to watch me!
Monday, September 18, 2006
So Cool . . . If You’re In The Fifth Grade
Ashley came home from school the other day proclaiming she had sprained her wrist in gym class. Chalk it up to my vast experience at mothering—eleven years, I knew exactly where this conversation was heading.
While pregnant with Nicholas, I woke up one morning with pain in one of my wrists. My doctor diagnosed it as tendonitis which can be common in pregnancy. I wore a simple wrist brace for a couple of days, and the pain was gone.
Knowing that wrist brace was doing absolutely no one any good in our medicine closet—Ashley wore it to school . . . along with the glasses she has not yet discarded.
While pregnant with Nicholas, I woke up one morning with pain in one of my wrists. My doctor diagnosed it as tendonitis which can be common in pregnancy. I wore a simple wrist brace for a couple of days, and the pain was gone.
Knowing that wrist brace was doing absolutely no one any good in our medicine closet—Ashley wore it to school . . . along with the glasses she has not yet discarded.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Better Than A Paycheck
Little “rewards” that come your way when you finally give up on your kids actually cleaning their rooms in a way that resembles clean, and just do it yourself . . .
• You find a first place blue ribbon your seven-year old won in a poetry contest last May—who knew?!
• You find an odd looking 2x3 picture of a grown man under your child’s bed. Knowing it’s not a relative, you have a panic attack that a pedophile has befriended your little one . . . only to discover it is actually a picture of Grover Cleveland—22nd and 24th President of the United States. You learn the Baby Ruth candy bar was named after his daughter who was nicknamed “Baby Ruth”.
• You find your daughter’s $400 retainer she lost something like a month ago.
• You find one of your son’s, required for school or you get a uniform demerit, belts. You are quite glad about this because all four of his belts are missing, and he had to wear his little brother’s very small belt this morning.
• You get the satisfaction of seeing what those cute little rooms are suppose to look like after all the time and money you spent decorating them.
• You are reminded once again this season of life will one-day be long gone . . . and you’ll wish with all your heart you had a few messy rooms to clean instead of just the memories.
• You find a first place blue ribbon your seven-year old won in a poetry contest last May—who knew?!
• You find an odd looking 2x3 picture of a grown man under your child’s bed. Knowing it’s not a relative, you have a panic attack that a pedophile has befriended your little one . . . only to discover it is actually a picture of Grover Cleveland—22nd and 24th President of the United States. You learn the Baby Ruth candy bar was named after his daughter who was nicknamed “Baby Ruth”.
• You find your daughter’s $400 retainer she lost something like a month ago.
• You find one of your son’s, required for school or you get a uniform demerit, belts. You are quite glad about this because all four of his belts are missing, and he had to wear his little brother’s very small belt this morning.
• You get the satisfaction of seeing what those cute little rooms are suppose to look like after all the time and money you spent decorating them.
• You are reminded once again this season of life will one-day be long gone . . . and you’ll wish with all your heart you had a few messy rooms to clean instead of just the memories.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Oops!
Maybe I erred.
I was sorting the mail, listening to messages on the machine, and holding the baby all at the same time. Cole was standing on a step stool, quite close to my face, trying to ask me something . . . so it just seemed like a good time to hand him the catalog that had just arrived in my mail pile—JC Penney’s Christmas Big Gift Book. Ironically, I even had to show him a few pictures in it before he took me up on my, “Hey Cole, you wanna look at this magazine?”
That was yesterday. He hasn’t put it down since. He watches TV with it, holds it while playing with other toys, takes it to the bathroom, and even sleeps with it. I have lost count on how many things he now wants for his birthday and Christmas . . . oops!
I was sorting the mail, listening to messages on the machine, and holding the baby all at the same time. Cole was standing on a step stool, quite close to my face, trying to ask me something . . . so it just seemed like a good time to hand him the catalog that had just arrived in my mail pile—JC Penney’s Christmas Big Gift Book. Ironically, I even had to show him a few pictures in it before he took me up on my, “Hey Cole, you wanna look at this magazine?”
That was yesterday. He hasn’t put it down since. He watches TV with it, holds it while playing with other toys, takes it to the bathroom, and even sleeps with it. I have lost count on how many things he now wants for his birthday and Christmas . . . oops!
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Distress
A few random phases overheard at our dinner table last night—I’ve rated them for your reading convenience.
Cole: (age 3) “I’m not going to college.”*
Jonathan: (age 7) I decided I don’t want to be a doctor anymore . . . I want to be a salesman.”**
Ashley: (age 11) I’m going to get a tattoo.”***
*Very bad moment
**Very, very bad moment
***Very, very, really bad moment
Cole: (age 3) “I’m not going to college.”*
Jonathan: (age 7) I decided I don’t want to be a doctor anymore . . . I want to be a salesman.”**
Ashley: (age 11) I’m going to get a tattoo.”***
*Very bad moment
**Very, very bad moment
***Very, very, really bad moment
Monday, September 11, 2006
Super Hero Wannabe
Cole had just finished watching “Toy Story” when he informed me he intends to be Buzz Lightyear when he grows up.
I’ve never actually watched that movie. Is that a good thing or bad thing?
I’ve never actually watched that movie. Is that a good thing or bad thing?
Thursday, September 07, 2006
Sentimental Moments
David: “Cole, I’ve got a secret to tell you.” Whispering in his ear, “I love you!”
Cole: “Dad, I’ve got a secret to tell you.” Whispering in his ear, “I love Chick-Fil-A!”
Cole: “Dad, I’ve got a secret to tell you.” Whispering in his ear, “I love Chick-Fil-A!”
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
Sweet Jonathan
Our son Jonathan has been a bit of a mystery to us since the day he was born. He is kindhearted and tender—always concerned about the feelings of others.
The other day when he, David and Ashley were bringing in groceries from the van, all of a sudden Cole was laying on the living room floor crying as if his heart would break. The cause: There were no more groceries to be carried in—and Cole so loves to help.
Jonathan, with no coaching from us, took an empty grocery bag and put some lightweight groceries in it, and then quietly placed it back in the van.
Jonathan informed Cole that indeed there were more groceries to be brought in. Cole then happily did his share of bringing in the groceries and went on his merry way.
Sweet Jonathan—no need for fanfare, recognition or praise . . . he is simply always finding ways to be a blessing to others.
The other day when he, David and Ashley were bringing in groceries from the van, all of a sudden Cole was laying on the living room floor crying as if his heart would break. The cause: There were no more groceries to be carried in—and Cole so loves to help.
Jonathan, with no coaching from us, took an empty grocery bag and put some lightweight groceries in it, and then quietly placed it back in the van.
Jonathan informed Cole that indeed there were more groceries to be brought in. Cole then happily did his share of bringing in the groceries and went on his merry way.
Sweet Jonathan—no need for fanfare, recognition or praise . . . he is simply always finding ways to be a blessing to others.
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