Saddle Up and Go West

I haven't even written about my girls' night this past weekend. My mom, sisters, and I went to see Steven Curtis Chapman and Michael W. Smith on their United tour. Once I got over the junior high nostalgia, it was a GREAT concert. I adore Steven Curtis Chapman, and listening to hear about the fatal accident of his little girl last year made me bawl like a baby. I had already warned my mom to get out the tissues if he sang the song Cinderella, which of course he did. I think of it every time my little girls dress up in their Cinderella dresses and want to marry Daddy or read a princess story. You never know when those precious moments might end.

I was never a huge Michael W. Smith fan. I think he is amazing on the keyboards, but his Go West years just didn't fit with my BeBe and CeCe Winans/Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir style at the time. I'm laughing just typing that. But...lately Michael W. has written some amazing worship songs that I didn't even know I should give him credit for. Here is a picture of us dining before the concert. My poor sister (seated) has a jacked up back and could barely get out of her chair, so we gathered around her. I'm sad for her and also sad that I couldn't crop me without cropping out her beautiful face. So here we are, ready to embark on our surprise rerouting to the high school across town where we would stand in line, board a shuttle, and be 30 minutes late for the concert. Which WAS still worth it.

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The Gospel is Written Everywhere

We rented the Will Smith movie Seven Pounds this weekend. Interesting movie. Of course I don't agree with the way the heroism played out, but it did make me think. Why are we so uncomfortable watching a movie like that? If you plan to see it, come back to this post after you've watched the movie so I don't ruin it for you.

In the movie, the character Ben--prompted by guilt about an accident he caused where seven people were killed--gives up his life to make the lives of others better. He brings pain upon himself so that others can live. He dies so that one person's heart can be healed and one man's blind eyes can be opened. We cringe because who would do such a thing? No one deserves that. He deserves a happy life even though he really was guilty.

But how about someone who would give up His life so others can live even when He had done nothing wrong? That should stir some emotion in our hearts. Someone who would let others torture him and kill him in a humiliating manner that only a criminal deserved? That will wrench your heart. Someone who would give up a throne and live a lowly life so that all hearts can be healed and blind eyes can be opened? That will bring tears to your eyes.

That, my friend, is the gospel. Mysteriously woven in even to Seven Pounds.

Ruthless and Toothless

I am getting implants. Don't get too excited. They are tooth implants...well, just one for now. The periodontist said that the root on the tooth next to it, though, is "like digging a 6-inch fencepost when it should be 6 feet deep." We might have enough money in our cafeteria plan to get that one done in 2013. Orthodontic work seemed like a great idea when I had buck teeth. Now it seems that it has reaked havoc on my roots. Apparently the only option to fix the first tooth was to get an implant. Trust me. I would NOT have chosen the most expensive possible option. But here we are.

Here are things I heard yesterday that I never want to hear from a dental professional again.

1. You might want to turn the radio up before I start this drill in your mouth.
2. Oops. I'm painting outside the lines (as they are wiping blood off of my forehead and cheeks).
3. Did you bring an extra tooth with you?
4. This is the worst part for most people (referring to the shots). Later...um...maybe that wasn't the worst part.

To be fair, the periodontist and his assistant were fabulous, good-natured, and did their best to put me at ease. I had headphones with a remote control (which I kept turning down the volume on because I wanted to hear what they were saying). After I started freaking out a little they even gave me a blanket to cover up with. It was actually very calming.

So now it's done. Oh, wait. No, it's not. Now I'm just missing a tooth. The implant will come later. I have one fancy retainer, though. It has one tooth on it--you know, in case I feel like dressing up and going out somewhere. It's a tough decision right now between looking like a homeless girl and shoving the fake tooth onto my stitches. Ouch. Darn that pride.

The Sign Says It All

This is a sign by the pool at the YMCA where Big Sissy takes swimming lessons. It always makes me chuckle because I have the same thought about 27 times a day regarding Little Buddy, who is almost 15 months old and STILL not walking on his own. We're not beyond begging, as you will see in these very dark video clips. I know he's close. I'm just getting impatient because the weather is getting warm and I hate for him to ruin all his clothes crawling on grass, mulch, asphalt, etc. Just walk please!

Please???

Pretty please?

Every Story Whispers His Name

My name is John*, and I'm an alcoholic. I'm thankful that God spared my daughter's life and that she is coming to AA meetings with me.

My name is Amy*, and it's been 6 months since I've smoked marijuana. I'm thankful that my friends are respecting my wishes.

No, this wasn't an AA meeting. Or group therapy. This was my church this morning. The names have been changed to respect the privacy of the people involved. I'm sure there were some folks squirming. We have traditionally been a church full of engineers and professionals, and we are good at pretending we have it all together. But times are changing. The neighborhood is changing. The church body is changing. So here we sit with our respectable jobs and clean fingernails and cute clothes wanting to be comfortable while Jesus wants to rescue the whole world. Everyone. The drug addicts. The prostitutes. The alcoholics. Are we ready to love them as Jesus loves them? This story is about them too. The gospel story, I mean.

My new favorite Bible is The Jesus Storybook Bible. It says it's for kids ages 4-8, but I sometimes cry reading the stories to Big Sissy because it tells the gospel story so powerfully. Here is an excerpt.

The Bible isn't a book of rules, or a book of heroes. The Bible is most of all a Story. It's an adventure story about a young Hero who comes from a far country to win back his lost treasure. It's a love story about a brave Prince who leaves his palace, his throne--everything--to rescue the one he loves. It's like the most wonderful of fairy tales that has come true in real life!

You see, the best thing about this Story is--it's true.

There are lots of stories in the Bible, but all the stories are telling one Big Story. The Story of how God loves his children and comes to rescue them.

It takes the whole Bible to tell this Story. And at the center of the Story, there is a baby. Every Story in the Bible whispers his name. He is like the missing piece in a puzzle--the piece that makes all the other pieces fit together, and suddenly you can see a beautiful picture....

The most wonderful thing about this Story is--it's your story, too!

Paraphrase of John 1:12-13

For anyone who says yes to Jesus

For anyone who believes what Jesus said

For anyone who will just reach out to take it

Then God will give them this wonderful gift:

To be born into

A whole new Life

To be who they really are

Who God always made them to be--

Their own true selves--

God's dear

Child.

A Tisket A Tasket...

A Two Dollar Basket!!!

You might recall my saying that I'm in love with baskets. This Easter I especially loved Little Buddy's basket. I went to Sam's this week, and guess what I found...coordinating baskets/buckets for the girls at about 75% off. Score. I'm thinking of getting some more to use as gift baskets. Have I mentioned I love baskets?

Bra Burning

Disclaimer: If you are a boy and have no desire to hear about bras, you might want to skip this post. I'm just sayin'...


I'm done with nursing bras..forever and for always (singing Shania Twain song). I want to burn them. Oh, I do. But I've invested a lot of money in them (as has my dear mother who has bailed me out more than once), and they're still in good shape despite the fact that I've been wearing them for 5 years now.


The problem is that I can't think of a graceful way to give them away.


"Wow. You're looking like you could use a new bra" doesn't seem flattering.


"What size are those getting to be? 'cuz I've got some Big Mama bras I could give you" sounds too personal.


Trust me. I don't need one more reason to be awkward. I guess I'll let them hang out in my closet with my other abandoned unmentionables and let my family bumble through the decision after I pass.


Unless you have some other ideas for me.


In the meantime, I am taking my next paycheck (I mean my husband's next paycheck) and buying something CUTE. I'm pretty sure he will approve of this wise use of our resources. And I'm wearing a dress every Sunday for the whole summer just because I can. OK, so I'm a little sad about this phase passing but....oh look. I think I'm getting over it.

Death Hath No Sting

I woke up this morning full of anticipation for what God had in store for the day. One of our sweet pastors lost his wife yesterday, and so the day was tinged with sadness. He was there, though, and gave testimony of God's faithfulness and the hope that we have because of the Ressurection. Church was packed full of visitors, and our pastor gave a clear presentation of the gospel. I was weepy with thankfulness for what Christ has done. It made the late start, the bubble-gum stained Easter clothes, and the missing baby shoes pale in significance as I took time to celebrate God's power over even death.

Clotheslined!

In our final Easter Eve celebration, we went to the house of our dear friends who have 4 boys. Big Sissy, a bit of a tomboy herself, is enthralled with them, their toys, their games. She is always excited to go there because they have swords, cars, and dinosaurs. Admittedly, our house is a bit estrogen charged. I managed to keep her out of the sword fight with the older boys, in which she fearlessly tried to join the battle manned with a baseball bat. This, however, I did not expect--my sweet little girl clotheslined by a kite string. Thankfully the eye itself seems to be functioning fine, but it sure left a doozy of a mark--just in time for Easter photos.

I'm In Love With Baskets

I love baskets. Everything about them. I love how they look. I love how they feel. I love filling them up with fun gifts for people. When Hubby and I were dating and used to try to stay up way too late to be together, one night we both fell asleep watching a movie and cuddling. In my half-asleep dreaminess I said, "This is nice. You remind me of a Longaberger basket." As soon as I said it I woke up. Oops. I think what I meant is that he made me feel comfortable and like I was at home with him. I guess I was falling in love.

This year the girls' baskets contained makeup (because I haven't learned my lesson yet), Easter tissues (appropriate since they've had colds for 2 weeks now),

Pez candy, bubble gum eggs, princess eggs, Tinkerbell panties, and magnetic doodle pads.

Little Buddy's has an array of wonderful baby items. Oh, wait. On futher inspection, it seems his has only sippy cups. Don't knock it. I mean, what baby wouldn't be totally excited to drink his delicious vanilla soy milk out of a brand new sippy??? At least it makes up for in cuteness what it's lacking in content.

Dyeing Eggs Is Fun, Right?

Sometimes I forget that my little ones are...well, little. I had something in my head about dyeing Easter eggs that wasn't quite reality. Next year I'll try to remember, and I think it will be more fun for everyone. Here's what I learned.

Covering the table is a good idea.

Little hands have to touch water. Especially when it's purple.

Eggs need time to turn vibrant colors. Preschoolers don't have that much patience.

Stickers don't really stay on when they're in water.

Last, the crayon is for before the egg is dyed, not after. I learned this after complaining to my friend, who happens to be a scientist AND a seasoned egg dyer. I was just following the instructions, which clearly said DO NOT DECORATE UNTIL THE EGG IS COMPLETELY DRY. Apparently writing with a crayon is different from decorating. Crayon before. Stickers after. Got it.

My First FB Quiz

We're driving down the road and Big Sissy says to me, "Mommy, my favorite color of traffic light is red, but I bet yours is green."

Why, yes, oh Analytical One. You are right, my child.

Which brings me to the first of my Facebook Quizzes I am writing. I see the weirdest ones out there: "Which Kenny Chesney Song Are You?" "What Kind of Car Are You?" "What Color Is Your Aura?" "Which Position Are You?" (Don't ask. I didn't actually want to see my friend's results on this one.)

So Here's The Quiz: "What Color of Traffic Light Are You?"

Red: You don't like to get in a hurry--ever. You appreciate opportunities to look around, observe others, and you don't want to be rushed. You need those extra moments in the car to put on makeup, study for your exam, read your directions, put on pantyhose--all the things you didn't do at home because you don't like to be in a hurry. You are social and analytical at the same time.

Yellow: You are a thrill seeker. You like the challenge of a yellow light because it prompts you to go a little faster and make it through before it becomes red, although you're really OK with a little orange tint in the light. You believe rules were made to be broken--especially inane rules. You live for the moment and handle change well.

Green: You are focused and task-oriented. You know where you are going and are not easily diverted from the goal. Red lights represent a kink in your plans, and you have a hard time adjusting to change. You want people with you, along for the ride, but you don't have time for many distractions. You will usually marry a yellow or red light.

I'm usually a red light girl, but I'm finding myself in a green light phase of life. What color traffic light are you?

Delilah (Samson's Version)

My friend Lance posted this on Facebook. I couldn't find the "polished" version, but it still cracks me up. A little Sunday School humor for you...

What It Takes to Potty Train

We started potty training Little Sissy this week. I am pretty sure you can accomplish this with just a toilet, a stepstool, toilet paper, handsoap, Clorox wipes, and lots of patience. But since I am missing one of these assets (I'll never tell which one), I tend to go overboard in preparation. This is one of my LEAST favorite parts of parenting, probably because it did not go well with Big Sissy. It was characterized by lots of tantrums, lots of frustration, and lots of time in nasty bathrooms. I'm optimistic that everything will be easier the second time around. But still...

Here are some things I have that I do NOT need:

First of all, I do not need this ugly vinyl flooring in my bathroom. Unfortunately, when we moved in the house, replacing this floor was not the priority. I also don't need Toilet Learning, a book my pediatrician recommended. It totally creeps me out. It has pictures of mommies going potty, daddies going potty, firemen going potty, etc. They are rated G drawings, but still...gross. The other book is fun and makes a fun flushing sound when you push the button over and over and over and over...

I also have regular panties, padded panties, plastic pants to go over panties, and plastic panty/regular panty combination. The WalMart bag is for when all the above-listed urine catchers fail while we're out in public. The jar is to collect quarters: one for a potty and two for a poopy. I didn't really choose this method. It sort of evolved from my dad giving Big Sissy quarters when she kept her pull-up dry at their house. I really don't believe in paying people for things they should be doing anyway. I just don't want the sense of entitlement to get started...but here we are giving quarters. The problem is that it is going pretty well, and it's getting expensive. Right now she has exactly 8 quarters and 3 dandelions in her jar.

Here are the things I have that I do need:

And one cute little girl who is more than happy to hang out in Ariel panties while she learns to go potty like a big girl.

Oh, I also have a potty chair which I only use in an emergency (ie. all the other toilets are in use). I can't stand dumping out the urine, cleaning it out, etc. I just want to flush everything away and be done with it. I know big toilets can be scary, but driving a car is scary and I learned to do it, right? Just kidding--sort of. I am hanging onto the potty chair for a while, though. It's apparently much faster than learning to actually walk.

Family Reading Time

Big Sissy is reading "My Sister's Keeper" by Jodi Picoult. She thinks it's my Bible. I think she was singing about Abraham. Or she might be praying, judging from her kneeling position. Little Buddy's book of choice is the car seat installation manual. He's such a boy.

I've Heard of Fits Like That

This is what it looks like when Little Buddy has free reign of the spoon. Cute, but a little messy...yes?

So today I thought I would just drive for a while so we could get the mission accomplished. Little Buddy threw himself into a fit like I've only heard of. He cried so hard and so long that he forgot to breathe. He literally turned blue and his eyes rolled back in his head. I think he was about 1 second from passing out when we turned him upside down and snapped him back into reality. That might be the scariest thing I've ever seen him do. It took him a good ten minutes of cuddle time to recover. Please tell me my sweet little baby is not going to start doing the "Give me what I want or I'll hold my breath until I pass out" thing. PLEASE!!!! Did I say I had the baby bug? Can I take it back?

Bubble Gum, Bubble Gum, In a Dish

Our girls have learned some new rhymes lately from some of the "big kids" in our small group. One is eenie meenie miny moe, which I was glad to hear "catch a TIGER by his toe." Sadly, that's not how I learned it. How embarrassing. Another new rhyme, which they are obsessed with, is "Bubble gum, bubble gum in a dish. How many pieces do you wish?"

Little Sissy has simultaneously gotten confused and gotten obsessed with this rhyme. Probably a dozen times a day she asks me, "How many people do you wish?" I've gotten very boring. I always say 5, since that's how many people are in our family. It's really fun to ask when we're somewhere else, though, so we can name all the people present. She asks other people this too, which is especially confusing because of the way she talks combined with the fact that the question doesn't make sense even with perfect articulation.

Last night, after promising myself I was going to bed at a decent time, I was still up at 1 a.m. I was downstairs on the computer (of course), when I heard little footsteps running upstairs. I ran up to see what was wrong. Little Sissy, squinting because she was still half asleep, rubbed her eyes and said, "I jus' need to ask you sumpin'."

"What is it, honey?"
"Um...um...um...how many people do you 'ish?"

So I have a computer obsession, and she has a "bubble gum in a dish" obsession. I guess it's genetic.