I Confess . . . I'm a Fan

Yes, we watch American Idol. We've had fun with it this year and love, love, LOVE both of the top two contestants.

I'm a Chicago girl, so, in addition to the Blackhawks this week, I'm rooting for Lee tonight, but Crystal is pretty amazing as well. Needless to say, I have decision-making issues, so I didn't vote last night.

Here are my favorite performances from both of the top two this season. Enjoy!







And a little bonus . . . the top two singing their amazing duet. Love it!!



So??? Have you been watching?? Who do you want to win tonight?

Our Favorite Children's Books

I don't know why, but for some reason I have been thinking about children's books. Who knows why I think anything, right?, now that I've let you into the inner workings of my brain.

Anyway . . . I must be getting nostalgic these days. Graduation is coming. New stages of life are forming. It's as it should be, but I can't help thinking back.

We did a lot of reading when my girls were little. A lot. Surprised? I didn't think so.

So today I thought I'd let you in on some of our favorite children's books. These are books that the girls would ask me to read again and again. Books I could probably recite in my sleep.

Some are probably books you've heard of and have probably read to your own kids, but I am willing to bet that there are a couple on this list that you have never heard of. Nevertheless, they are books that have become Wild-fam favorites.

I'll start with one of our favorites that I am almost 100% certain you've never heard of. I would probably rank it on the top of our most-read list when the girls were little. It's called Ba Ba Sheep Wouldn't Go to Sleep, and it's a sweet story about a little boy sheep who thought he'd just stay up all night long and what happens to little boys (and girls) who don't get enough rest.

Not that I ever had a child who didn't want to go to bed at night. Oh no. I wouldn't know anything about that at all.

Bad news about Ba Ba, though. It's hard to find. Our public library has it, and yours might too, but on Amazon you can only find used copies. Must be out of print. Which is a shame. It's such a good book!

Moving on. . . . When one of my girls was in first grade she came home and told me that her teacher had read them such a good book that day that she might have just cried a little bit in school. Well, when a book makes a little girl cry in school, I must know what it is. I'm ashamed to say that at that time, many years ago, I had never heard of this classic, but the book that made my daughter weep was Love You Forever.



If you've never read this book, you should. It'll make you weep, too.

Speaking of "love books," here's another classic that my girls absolutely loved (get it?!). Guess How Much I Love You. Oh, Little Nutbrown Hare, how I love you, too.



I bought this book for Kate when she was young because I liked the idea of the Jack and the Beanstalk story with a strong female character. Kate and the Beanstalk is a very funny twist on the original. Love it. Love Kate.



Love Mary Pope Osborne. (She came up with the Kate idea.)

One of my very favorite children's books of all time comes from Max Lucado. You Are Special is just so . . . well . . . special. It tells the tender story of Punchinello, a wooden Wemmick who has, unfortunately, listened to what others have said about him just a little too often. He is defeated, dejected, depressed. But the Carpenter offers some words of wisdom that change Punchinello's life.



Awesome book. I might just have to pull it out as we traverse those ugly junior high years again. And, you know, even parents can learn a little something from this book.

Finally, here's a book that I'm pretty sure none of you have ever hear of. Ever. And if you have, definitely let me know because I would love to be proven wrong about this. It's Edward Fudwupper Fibbed Big.



This is a wild, fun story that actually does teach kids a lesson about lying. And the great thing about this one is that boys will love it as much as girls, so if you have a boy who doesn't necessarily like to read, this might be a good choice.

One reason we loved this book so much is because my college roommate, Jennifer, brought it for the girls when she came to visit one time. It just reminds us of Jen, and it makes us laugh (so does Jen). A lot. In fact, I read this book to a classroom of elementary school kids once, and they all laughed and loved it too.

So there you go. A few good books to check out as we head into those long, lazy days of summer . . . if, of course, you have little kids.

But then again, these are so great that even if you don't have little kids you might just want to read them anyway.

So tell me, what are some of your favorites? What do your kids beg you to read over and over again? What books did you like when you were a kid?

Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid.

Alright, folks, get ready. I'm about to let you in on just a smidge of how my brain works. It might scare you away forever, but that's a risk I'm willing to take.

All my life I've "pictured" the days of the week and the months of the year in my head. I think maybe once when I was young I tried to describe this to a friend, but she looked at me as if I had lost my mind, so I never spoke of it again. Not once. Not even to my husband.

But I've always, always, always classified time visually. It just works for me.

Well, this week I feel like I've joined the real world, finally, because Emily admitted that she, too, visualizes the days of the week and the months of the year. You just have to--HAVE TO--go read this post because she explains it so much better than I do.

It's O.K. Go ahead over there for a minute. I'll wait.

I was so excited to read Emily's post that I told B about it. He looked at me as if I had lost my mind, just like my friend when I was younger. But this time I felt justified. I am not alone. If you scroll down through Emily's comments you'll see that there are all kinds of people like us who visualize time.

It's like I'm breathing a sigh of relief here. Breathe with me, will you? In. Out. In. Out. Ahhhhh. I'm not crazy!!

Anyway, just in case you didn't scroll down to read all the comments on Emily's post, here's what I told her about how I see the year and the weeks:

"My year looks more like a balloon that's laid on its side. January and December are separated by the knot in the balloon, and spring lays on the bottom (picture the balloon lying on a table). Summer is my upswing, and fall is on the top of the balloon, heading back down toward the knot. . . .

You mentioned the weeks as well. My weeks definitely have a shape. I always picture two weeks at a time, in the shape of a football. (You promise not to laugh?) The side toward me is the current week; the side farthest away from me is next week. Of course, the weeks shift position every week. And each day is a sort-of square, like the squares on a sidewalk. Like I'm walking through my weeks."

Thanks to Emily, I've learned that this "condition" is called Spacial-Sequence Synesthesia. Wikipedia has an interesting explanation.

Another article I read said that people with this "condition" also have superior memories, which actually makes me laugh because I definitely DO NOT have a superior memory. BUT, I do have this other kind of uncanny ability . . . I remember phone numbers. B is always asking me, "Hey, what's so-and-so's number?" and I can usually tell him.

And you know how I do that? For some strange reason I just visualize the number by picturing the buttons on the phone.

Emily also mentioned another type of synesthesia that involves color. I don't have that, but apparently some people associate numbers or letters with colors. Weird, I say.

So last night I was talking to my family about this. B doesn't get it at all. No surprise to me there--he's a very linear, analytical person. Maggie doesn't have it either, although she does say she sees shapes on the pages of books she reads. But as we were talking, Abby walked by and I asked her if she pictured the days of the week in her head. She kind of smiled and said, "Well, yeah. And every day has a color."

Ah-ha!!!

So I asked her to explain. She said, "Well, Thursday is orange."

I'm not sure I should even admit this, but I almost cried with pride and joy. Another synesthetic person in our home! Hooray!

(Kate is out of town this weekend, so I can't ask her about this, but you can be sure I will bombard her with questions as soon as she gets home. I'm guessing she has this too.)

Well, there you go. A little insight into my brain. I know, it's scary. But there it is.

Strange? Maybe. But it sure makes sense to me.

So how about you? I am dying to know--do you picture the days of the week or the months of the year? How do you see it?

I'm in Love

We have a joke around here about Joe the Trader. We're in love with him. And my husband knows it.

If you don't have a Trader Joe's where you live, you might just want to click away right now because after you see this you're going to be sad. And if you do have a Trader Joe's, I might just become your new best friend.

Because I am about to give you some classified information. Classified not inasmuch as it's available to everyone, but classified because it comes from me. (I know, that makes no sense. But that's because I'm listening to music while I write and that's just a no-no where I'm concerned. Multi-task-listening is not my forte.)

Anyway, I'm in love with Joe. Joe the Trader. And I don't care who knows. (Most people who know me already know it anyway.)

I have a lot of favorites. You know, things I buy every time I go there that have become staples in our home.

Like coffee. Be still my heart!


And jam. Even though it's the same price as grocery store jam, the quality cannot be beat. I'll never buy Smuckers again.



But recently I was introduced to what I think may become my all-time favorite Trader Joe's purchase. Of all time. Forever and ever amen.

Have you ever had these little puppies?



No? Well, let me introduce you to Trader Joe's frozen chocolate croissants. Hello, precious!

In all my travels I don't think I've ever had a chocolate croissant this good. And, trust me, I have sampled chocolate croissants all over the world.

I've always thought it might be fun to learn how to make croissants because, well, I'm a little crazy that way. But knowing that these are available, I don't think learning to make my own will be necessary.

Because all you have to do is take the little tubes of dough out of the box and place them on a parchment-lined baking sheet overnight. You don't even have to cover them! Just open the box, plop them on the sheet, and go to sleep.

When you get up in the morning, here's what you'll be greeted with.



Poufs of gooey deliciousness. But don't eat them yet. Brush them with an egg wash and pop them in the oven.

After about 25 minutes, you'll be calling yourself Jacques of Francesca or Madelleine because you'll feel like a French baker. At least, that's how I felt this morning when I opened my oven to this.



Now the hard part. You have to wait about 10 minutes before you eat them. I'm not sure why--that's just what the box says. And you know I always follow the rules. Just ask my kids.



Seriously, though, you probably want the chocolate to set just a little bit before you bite into all that gooey deliciousness.

I served these this morning for our last 6th grade girl's Bible study, and to say they were devoured would be an understatement.



Now, if you've read this far and haven't been salivating I'd guess that you don't have any salivary glands. So why are you still sitting here reading? Get on over to TJ's and treat your family to some of the best pastry you will ever taste. Ever. In all the world. Right here, in your own hometown.



You can thank me later.

The Lifeguard Team

Oh boy. I came to my blog this morning--Thursday, mind you--and realized that I haven't updated since Monday. In blog-time that's, like, forever. So today I really need to put something out there. Anything.

Except I can't think of anything to really tell you.

I'm sure you don't want to hear my laundry woes. Or me complaining about the weather. Or the furniture that was supposed to be delivered that isn't coming now until mid-June. (Grrrr.)

So, to find some inspiration, I went to my reader and started reading blogs I like. And you know what? At least four of the blogs that had updated this morning started out with some form of "I've had writer's block all week and don't know what to write about."

So it's not just me. Thank goodness.

But I have had one thought swirling around in my head all week that probably needs to come out. It's really just a recap of the sermon our pastor gave on Sunday, but it has stuck with me, which, to me, is a pretty good indication that I should share it with you guys.

Actually, most of our pastor's sermons stick with me. He's that good. And, knowing Josh, he would say it's not him. He'd say it's just him being faithful to the Word. And he is. Which is probably why his sermons stick with me.

Anyway, we've been working our way through I Corinthians on Sunday mornings because that's what we do at our church--work our way through books of the Bible. It's called expositional preaching and not that many churches do it anymore, but ours is pretty traditional and that's what we do. I love it.

Last Sunday we got to chapter 10 of I Corinthians (or "One Corinthians" if you're British like Josh is). Here's what 10:33-11:1 says (in the NIV): "For I am not seeking my own good but the good of many, so they may be saved. Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ." And here's what our pastor said about that: "Following Jesus, imitating Him, means giving our lives for the salvation of other people."

Clear. Simple. Direct. We aren't here for ourselves. We're here to make sure others get saved.

And then he used this illustration (the part that has really stayed with me all week). Josh talked about going to the pool in the summer and going down the water slides. They are fun. They are fast. They can be dangerous, which is why they have lifeguards standing at the bottom of the water slides to make sure the kids are safe. He then said, "Wouldn't it be terrible if the lifeguards were just standing around at the bottom of the water slide, talking about their weekend or what they are going to do when they get off their lifeguard shift, when all the while a little kid is flailing around in the water, struggling to stand up?"

Yes, it would be terrible. Because the job of a lifeguard is to save lives.

Then Josh said that as believers, we are all on the lifeguard team. Our job is not to argue about the small things (a big theme in One Corinthians), but to have a purpose. And that purpose, according to I Corinthians 10:33, is to save lives.

I don't know about you, but for me this really puts things into clear perspective. It helps me figure out my priorities, gives me direction for my days. Not that I have to stand on the street corner and shout "Jesus Saves" to the passing cars. It's just that what I need to be about, whether it's through my writing or taking care of my family or being a friend to others, is being a lifeguard.

Because you know what? There's a whole world out there that is drowning.

Toward the end of his sermon Josh addressed those who might have been in church who didn't yet know Jesus. He said, "You might not be on the lifeguard team yet. You might feel like you are drowning. But you've come to the right place, because here you are in a room full of lifeguards." Isn't that cool? A room full of lifeguards, just waiting to help rescue the few who might not yet believe.

I used to be a lifeguard way back when. I worked at the pool at my high school when it was available for community use. Most days I would do nothing. I would sit in a chair by the side of the pool and watch the swimmers go back and forth, back and forth. But one day I noticed that a little girl was struggling, so I did what I was trained to do--I jumped in and saved her.

You know what? That was scary for me. I wasn't sure, after all those hours of sitting poolside, whether I'd be up to the task. But I jumped in anyway and did what I needed to do.

This week I've been thinking a lot about being a lifeguard. I am on the lifeguard team, and I want to be ready to be used whenever I'm needed. It's scary. I pray I'm up to the task. But I want to be ready and available.

Will you join me?

Miscellaneous Monday

Since it's Monday and it's cloudy here and it's cold--way too cold for this time of year--and because, well, it's Monday, I thought I'd just share some miscellaneous things that have been on my mind.

My weekend was busy with house/homemaking projects. We all know I don't have the crafty gene, but I was kind of proud of the fact that this dress (which Maggie wore to her piano recital on Sunday) used to be long (well, too long for her taste).



And now it's shorter. By about 3 inches, thanks to my iron and the handy-dandy sewing machine my mom gave us a few years back which doesn't get nearly enough use.

And looky here! I actually made a curtain! In about a half an hour.



Seriously. In the time it took to watch Giada on Friday afternoon I installed the curtain rod and hung the valence. Can you tell what I used?



And finally, look what B and I did . . . together!



Let's just say that we're not one of those married couples who can tackle house projects together. Like, ever. Without fighting. But for some reason the stars aligned this weekend and we actually went to Costco together (always an expensive proposition when B comes along, which is why he's only allowed in the store under the most dire of circumstances), bought three arbor vitae trees (bushes? what are they?), shoved them in the back of my mini-van, brought them home, and planted them.

And the best part is that we did it without a single argument. About anything. Amazing.

(Now, don't get us started about the one that seems to be leaning a bit toward the driveway. We know, we know. We may have to fix that, but knowing us it probably won't get done.)

*****

Speaking of house projects . . . here's one I didn't do myself. At all. I left this one to the professional (our friend, Drew).



But I'm so happy with the tile work that I just had to show you.



It's only taken five years to get a backsplash. I think my kitchen is finally done.



*****

Happy birthday to my mom today!



(Aren't they cute?!)

Now, if you don't know my mom, you have surely not met the friendliest woman on the planet. When I was growing up she would bring home people she met in the most random of places . . . like the post office or Tastee Freeze or Marshall Field's. She always had a place for everyone at our table, and she always made people feel welcome in our home.

One quick story about Karen. Once, when I was a kid, I woke up in the middle of the night to hear voices downstairs. We were having a terrible snowstorm and, since Dad was the road commissioner (which meant that he was the guy with the snow plow), I knew that he would be out plowing the roads. I couldn't imagine who my mom was talking to, so I crept downstairs to find her sitting at the table with a neighbor, an older man who liked to drink a little bit too much every now and then. He had driven his car into the ditch near our home and walked to our house to use the phone. My mom made him some coffee and sat with him until his daughter came to collect him.

So that's our Karen. Beloved by neighbors, strangers, and drunks alike.

And beloved by her family the most. Happy birthday, Mom!!

The Nature of Work

On Monday of this week I worked in my garden. I had purchased some plants a few days earlier, and I had heard it was going to rain the rest of the week, so Monday was the day I HAD to get the plants in the ground.

When I surveyed the situation, I realized that there was a LOT of work that needed to be done.

I removed some hosta.



I planted perennials.



I even turned over some old beds and planted two flats of Impatiens. All in all I probably worked for five or six hours.

Tuesday morning came and I gotta say, I was tired. Five hours of manual labor was probably more than my body was ready for. Or will ever be ready for. I mean, I walk a couple of miles every day and I'm in O.K. shape for a 40-something mother of three, but it's not like I dig around in the dirt for hours every day.

When I got up on Tuesday morning I really felt my age. I was a little bit sore. I was definitely weary. And I walked like the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Only slower. And without my arms out in front of me. And no seaweed either.

So maybe I wasn't exactly like that creature guy, but I was definitely moving slowly. Veeeerrrry slowly.

And all week I've been thinking about my dad, wondering how he did it all those years. My dad was a farmer. No, he didn't plant corn by hand--he had some pretty cool and very large machinery that did it for him. But my dad's work was a lot of manual labor, nevertheless.

And I've been thinking about how some nights he'd come in the house well after dark. He'd wash his hands and arms at the laundry tub, scrubbing for what seemed like a very long time, then he'd sit down at the table to a plate of food that had long gone cold, and he'd eat his dinner alone while we kids would run around him, begging for his attention. I remember how he'd always remove his hat before sitting at the table--the yellow one with the seed company label across the front--to reveal the line across his forehead where his very tan face met the pale part that had been covered up.

I remember some nights when my dad was so tired that he'd eat and head straight to bed, sometimes too tired to say much of anything. I don't know how he did it. Especially as he got older. The exhaustion must have been consuming at times.

I thought, as I was rushing to get my plants in the ground before the rain came, about the nature of farming. How my dad sometimes had to work through the night to get the seeds in the ground before it rained. About how he had to wait for just the right time to harvest. How he was at the mercy of God and nature for our family's sustenance.

On Tuesday morning of this week I gave thanks that I could get out of bed, that I could move my muscles even though they were sore and tired. I gave thanks for my own dad who must have been exhausted some mornings, but who made the trek out to the field every day so that I could go to college. And I gave thanks for the father of my own children who, although he sits behind a desk most days, still comes home later than he'd want to on some nights in a state of exhaustion that his type of work brings.

I guess it's the nature of work, this exhaustion. And if work brings exhaustion I say bring it on. I'd rather be exhausted from working than to not be able to do anything. Thank God for being tired.

Uphold the Law? How Controversial!

I turned on the radio as soon as I got up today because the weather was a little dicey and I wanted to know whether my basement was going to flood for the fourth time since we've lived in this house. (Hopefully the answer to that question is going to be no.) But I quickly learned that the hot topic of the day is not the weather, but the Chicago connection to the Arizona story.

Just in case you're not clued in yet or for some reason you don't pay attention to Chicago news (it's entertaining, let me tell you!), yesterday a high school in the area, Highland Park High School, decided to not send their girls' basketball team to a tournament in Arizona. This is a tournament the girls had been looking forward to for a long time. They held bake sales in order to raise their own money so they could go. All the arrangements had been made and the team was ready to go, but suddenly the administration decided that the trip would be cancelled.

They cite various reasons--from fear for the girls' safety to a discrepancy between Arizona's laws and the school's "beliefs and values."

They decided arbitrarily. They decided, in my opinion, too quickly. They decided wrongly.

And here's why: keeping those girls home won't change a thing in Arizona. And because keeping them home won't change anything, the very fact that the administration is denying them this opportunity makes it a political maneuver. Sorry, but that's not what I send my kids to school for.

As a parent of a former basketball player, I've been trying all morning to put myself in the shoes of those girls and their parents. After all, these are the people who matter in this story. The opinions of the school board members, the administrators, even the staff of the district should not matter--they aren't being denied. The girls are.

So, if this had happened in our district to my daughter, how would I feel? I'd be mad. Really mad. Because I'd feel like my child was being used to make a political statement. And I would be resentful of that, you can be sure.

Highland Park High School has sent students to China in the past. Are they telling me that the way China treats its citizens, women in particular, is acceptable? But, God forbid we send students to the awful, terrible state of Arizona. Puh-leaze!

My parents live in Arizona--Tucson, to be specific, which is only about an hour's drive from the Mexican border. Lately my mom has told me stories about what's going on there that make me shudder. Stories about people being shot in their own homes. Stories of violence. It's scary, and I have started to wonder whether my parents are safe. And, most telling of all, last week my mom told me that she and my dad had finally, after 50 years, started locking their doors at night. (I know, I know, but they lived in the country for a loooong time and just never bothered.)

Here's the thing. The Arizona story is much bigger than what we here in Chicago can even begin to understand. We just can't get our heads around it unless we've lived there. (Kay lives there and has written a fantastic post about it here.)

And we just can't understand this "controversial" law unless we've actually read it. I wonder if the Highland Park High School administrators have read it.

I have. Here's the first line of the law that seems so controversial to liberals: "The legislature finds that there is a compelling interest in the cooperative enforcement of federal immigration laws throughout all of Arizona."

Just in case you are a member of the Highland Park school board, let me explain this to you in simple language. All Arizona wants is to uphold FEDERAL IMMIGRATION LAWS. The laws are already in place. They pertain to the entire country--even to Highland Park residents.

And if it seems so controversial for an individual state to uphold a federal law, maybe Highland Park administrators should consider moving to China. I'm sure they'd get better treatment there.

Intentional Parenting - Just In Case You Missed One

I'm sad that the Intentional Parenting series is over. It's kind of like saying goodbye to an old friend. But even though I probably had much more to say on the subject, I felt like posting much more would kind of be like overstaying my welcome. You know, like being the last guest to leave a party.

And I would never want to be the last guest to leave a party. *shudder*

So anyway, just in case you missed a post or two, or you think you might reference my pearls of parenting wisdom every now and then, I thought I'd put them all in one place for you. Kind of like a hostess gift from me to you.

Thanks for coming to my party!

Introduction

Intentionally Disciplined

Intentionally Truthful

Intentional Stewardship

Intentional Service

Intentional Worship

Intentional Kindness

Intentional Travel

Intentional Prayer

Intentionally Letting Go

Intentional Parenting - Conclusion

A Day Late

O.K., I know it's a day late. Mother's Day was yesterday. But I didn't see this video until my friend, Jennifer, turned me on to it this morning.

As many of you know, Kelly Corrigan is one of my favorite authors. She's real. She's honest. She's funny. I'd love to be her friend. (Crazy and slightly stalker-ish, I know.)

Anyway, watch this video and pretend it's yesterday.

Could we just hit "rewind" and do the weekend over again?

Mother's Day was great. I got wonderful, heartfelt cards from my girls and a wonderful gift *coughiphonecough* from my husband. We went out for brunch at our favorite restaurant, and generally enjoyed the day.

PLUS, H finally had her baby after, like, 99 hours of labor, so I went to visit her in the hospital. That crazy little girl must have been all warm and cozy in her mama's belly because she DID so NOT want to come out of there. But, alas, God knew she couldn't stay in there forever and allowed her to be born into this world on Saturday. So exciting!

No, the real reason I would like to rewind this weekend is because I did so many stupid things over the course of just 48 hours. It's amazing how stupid I can be sometimes.

(Just as an aside . . . when our kids were little--well, even now that they're big--we did not, and we still do not, allow them to use the word "stupid." I don't like that word, and I think it's kind of ugly when it comes out of a kid's mouth, but in this instance it fits.)

Here's a quick "for instance." I stopped at a Walgreens near the hospital to pick up a little Ben and Jerry's for H because, while having a good friend come visit you after you've had a baby is nice, there is NOTHING like a little visit from Ben and Jerry after you've had a baby. So I'm going out to my car, ice cream in hand, and I click the door unlock thingy while I'm walking. I reach for the handle of my car and notice that a woman is walking toward me. As I open the door to the car, I can see clearly that I have opened the wrong door to the wrong car. Her car.

Hello, Embarrassment. Want to walk me to the right car?

But in my own defense, I have to say that at least the car door I opened was to the same kind of car as mine. And I'm sure it won't be the last time that happens because pretty much every one in the world--at least the world I inhabit--owns a Honda Odyssey. Oh well.

That was embarrassing, but I got one better. Hold on because you're gonna love this one.

On Saturday night, B and I attended a black tie gala in Chicago, a fundraising event for the Alzheimer's Association. We were invited by B's boss, who hosted our table and who was being honored that night. I was the lucky girl who got to sit next to the boss-slash-guest-of-honor.

The theme of the evening, I have to say, was a little weird for me. It was a Cirque du Soleil theme, so there were all these acrobats in extravagant costumes and heavy make-up walking all over the place. They even did their show for us while we were eating.

I didn't eat much.



Cirque du Soleil kind of freaks me out. What with all the massive head coverings and the lack of any other type of covering. And don't even get me started on the contortions. Oh my. The show kind of reminded me of the Chinese acrobats we took the girls to last year, except without the Chinese aspect to it.

Anyway, on our table were these little cellophane packages, tied up with an orange ribbon. Very cute. They looked like little hostess gifts, one for everyone, and I love me some hostess gift so I was anxious to see what was inside of it. So there we sat, B's boss and I, discussing these beribboned packages, wondering together what might be inside, when he says, "Let's open them."



We were like little kids, breaking the rules and opening our gifts before we were supposed to. And I quickly thought back to all those Christmases when I was a kid and how (sorry, Mom) I would rummage through my mom's hiding places and find my gifts ahead of time. And just like that my mouth started going. And going. And going.

What ensued was like something out of a movie, where suddenly everything starts going in slow motion. It's like a nightmare, but you just can't stop it from happening. Well, that was the conversation that happened between me and B's boss as we surreptitiously opened our little packages.

Me: So, were you the kid who opened his Christmas presents early and knew everything you were getting ahead of time?

Him (looking askance at me then shaking his head slightly): Ahhhhh, no.

For a brief second I wondered what was going on, but the second was definitely brief because all of a sudden I remembered that B's boss is Jewish. Gulp.

Backtrack? Oh, yes, I tried. "I mean, Hanukkah gifts. Did you ever open your Hanukkah gifts early?"

Still nothing. "Ah, nope."

By then it was too late. The slow motion tape was running and I was the star of the show. There was no escaping it, no running away from the table, no getting out of there. I was stuck next to this really nice man who just happens to be Jewish who was at that moment thinking about how he could get rid of my husband so he wouldn't have to sit next to me at another fundraising event.

Later, when I told B about my blunder, he just laughed and said, "Well, I hope I still have a job on Monday morning!" He was kidding.

I think.

So, did you say anything stupid this weekend? Come on, I really want to know!

Just in case you needed something to do this weekend.

Remember the French Market and how much I love my town and how I went there last Saturday to buy food for the week? Well, lots of times, more times than I'd care to admit, I buy all that yummy food and some of it, just some of it, might not get used. I hate that. Isn't that terrible of me?

But this week, I am happy to report, all of the food that we bought at the market last Saturday has been consumed. Even though it's been a busy week, it's also been a healthy-eating week for which we are ALL thankful around here.

(Just as an aside, I had to admit to my Facebook friends a couple of weeks ago that we were eating pizza for the third time in a week. I got a lot of response from that one!)

Anyway, I just had to tell you about the pasta we bought because I made the most amazing dish, if I do say so myself.

There was a new booth last Saturday, one we hadn't seen before, and believe me, I would know if it was a new booth because I know all of the booths. I know which ones I like, and I know which ones I just skip right past. Which place has the best flowers and which place has the kind of jewelry I like. It's all a matter of personal preference, of course, because you just might like ugly jewelry and there would be a booth for you there.

But I digress.

The pasta booth was new. It is a company called Pappardelle's Pasta, and I went to their web site and found that they are expanding all over the country. And, get this, the main way that they sell their delicious pasta is through farmer's markets like mine (I say mine like I own the place, but that's kind of how it feels. I'm the Queen of the French Market!).

We bought a pound of the Basil-Garlic Fettuccini, which sounded delicious, but I wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Now, I do think I'm a pretty good cook, but I usually have to follow some sort of recipe. I don't usually get terribly creative with food, except for pasta which is one of my favorite food groups. This week, though, I got creative with the Basil-Garlic Fettuccini.

Here's what I did.

Cook the pasta according to the directions, which I didn't have, so I guessed. About 5-6 minutes was perfect.

Heat a saute pan until it's pretty hot, just not too hot because that's what I did and I just about burned down the house (don't tell B). Anyway, get your pan nice and hot, and add about 3-4 tablespoons of olive oil. Heat that for a minute, and then add about 5 seeded and chopped fresh tomatoes and two cloves of chopped garlic. A little garlic on top of garlic isn't a bad thing, is it?

Meanwhile, fire up your grill and grill some fresh zucchini. When that's cooked (it only takes a couple of minutes), bring it back in the house and cut it up into small chunks. Throw that in with the tomatoes and garlic in your really-hot-but-not-too-hot pan. Add about 1/2 cup of white wine and let the whole mess simmer for a few minutes.

Put the pasta in a pretty bowl and top with the tomatoes and zucchini. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese. Mmmmmmm.

I didn't happen to have any that night, but if I made it again I think I might throw in a little bit of fresh basil too.

So there you go. Just in case you were looking for something to do this weekend, you can now make this delicious creation.



Oh, and by the way, did you happen to notice that there is no meat in this recipe at all? We've been talking about healthy eating at our house (my sisters and parents are laughing right now), and we're trying to eat vegetarian once a week. I know it's not much, but it's a start, and it gives me something to think about when I'm planning meals for the week. Kind of an interesting aside . . .

And one more thing. Remember my friend, H, I told you about on Monday? Well, she's going to have a busy weekend because she's in labor RIGHT NOW. Say a prayer for her if you think of it. Thanks!

Happy Friday, everyone. I love you for stopping by.

Now tell me, what are your plans for the weekend? Cooking anything delicious? I'd love to know!

True Success

This morning I read this headline on Yahoo! News: "NYC Bomb Suspect's Life Unravelled Quickly." Here are the first couple of paragraphs from the story (you can read the full story here):

BRIDGEPORT, Conn. – Not long ago, Faisal Shahzad had a pretty enviable life: He became an American citizen after emigrating from Pakistan, where he came from a wealthy family. He earned an MBA. He had a well-educated wife and two kids and owned a house in a middle-class Connecticut suburb.

In the past couple of years, though, his life seemed to unravel: He left a job at a global marketing firm he'd held for three years, lost his home to foreclosure and moved into an apartment in an impoverished neighborhood in Bridgeport. And last weekend, authorities say, he drove an SUV loaded with explosives into Times Square intent on blowing it up.

I read this story and wondered, how does that happen? How does someone who lives a supposedly "great life" have it all fall apart so quickly? How does a well-educated person with a home and family end up leaving a car bomb in the middle of Times Square?

And it's not just this guy. I remember a story from a couple of years ago of a man who lived not far from here who killed his wife and small children seemingly on a whim one night because he was hearing voices that told him to do it. This guy lived in a nice home in a nice suburb with a lovely family, and yet he threw it all away.

Stories like this turn my stomach, but they also make me wonder how on earth that can happen. In my wildest dreams I can't imagine it.

And yet. . . .

Could I? Could my life just as easily fall apart? I pray not. The phrase, "There but by the Grace of God go I" seems apt.

Just yesterday I read the first chapter of Joshua. Moses had just died, and Joshua is supposed to take the people of Israel into the Promised Land. God is having a little chat with Joshua before they head out--a little pep talk, if you will. He's giving Joshua instructions for all the people, telling him what they are supposed to do. I was struck by God's words early in the chapter, how encouraging He is, how much He wants to see His people succeed.

Verses 7 and 8 especially hit me. God says to Joshua, "Be strong and very courageous. Be careful to obey all the instructions Moses gave you. Do not deviate from them, turning either to the right or to the left. Then you will be successful in everything you do. Study this Book of Instruction continually. Meditate on it day and night so you will be sure to obey everything written in it. Only then will you prosper and succeed in all you do."

Twice here God talks about success. It's like He's saying, "Want a successful life? Who doesn't? And I want you to be successful, so here's what you do." And then He lays it out. Simple.

God tells the people of Israel two things to do if they want to have a successful life. First (verse 7), obey. I know, I know, that's harder than it seems. But it's there and it's pretty straightforward. Obey God's word.

Second (verse 8), study God's word. The only way we can obey what God tells us is to know what it says. Again, this sounds easier than it really is. There are days--many days--when this just doesn't get done in my life. Breakfast, dirty dishes, laundry, kids all seem to crowd in and my time in God's word gets pushed aside. But when I look at reading the Bible, really knowing it, as the path to success, it seems like it should be easier to make the time.

Now, I have no idea where the NYC bomber is spiritually. I wouldn't even want to speculate--that's not my job. But when someone's life falls apart and desperation creeps in, I can't help but wonder how it happens. I wonder what could have stopped it.

And I know in my heart that the only solution is a spiritual one. The only way for us to feel safer in this life, the only way children can go to sleep in security, the only way to have true success in this life is to know God--the one true God who created us, loves us, and who is cheering for our success.

Out of the Mouths of Babes . . .

Last Sunday I was at a potluck with some friends from church. We were celebrating the one-year anniversary of a three-and-a-half year search for a pastor for our church. (Did that sentence even make sense? The committee searched for 3 1/2 years, found a new pastor, he started a little over a year ago, and now we are celebrating. Got it?)

Anyway, we concluded the afternoon with a short time of prayer--you know, when anyone who feels like praying can go ahead and pray, but which also means some long periods of awkward silence while we wait for the next person to pray--and I think one little guest was getting a little antsy because, during one quiet moment, she looked at her dad and said, "Amen, Daddy?!"

We were pretty much done after that.

*****

Earlier this week as B and Maggie and I were driving home from a dinner we had just attended, Maggie said, "Gee, I hadn't seen 'Susie' since basketball season. She's really changed."

"How so?" I asked.

"In just three months she got both braces and acne!"

Good Reads

I've been meaning to share a few great posts that have been helpful or inspiring to me lately. Check these out:

Sandy wrote about slowing down yesterday. We could all take her lead, I think.

Bloggers, this one from John helps put everything into perspective.

And, oh my goodness, if you read ONE post today, make sure you read this one. Kay lives about 10 miles from the Mexican border in AZ, and she offers a sane, yet scary, perspective on what's going on there.

Mary DeMuth, wonderful author herself, wrote a book review that I found interesting. I haven't read the book, so I can't endorse it, but I loved the answers the authors gave to her questions. They talk about intentionality at home, and you know I'm all over that. Might have to check this one out sometime.

Now, I've already read these posts, so I'm going shopping today. Actually, that's not as fun as it sounds. I have to find a dress or some shoes or some jewelry to wear with a dress I already have for a black tie event that B and I are going to on Saturday. Friends, you have no idea how much I dislike doing this kind of thing. I would much rather stay home and read blog posts. But, alas, I will do my wifely duty and find something to wear.

Meanwhile, you all carry on. And while you're here, leave me a comment letting me know what you're doing today. (I didn't hear from ANYONE yesterday, and I'm feeling a little lonely.)

Intentional Parenting - Conclusion

My friend, H, is going to have her first baby this week. Isn’t that exciting? She does not know yet how much her life is about to change, the thrill ride she is about to take, the highs and lows she will soon experience.

So, as a conclusion to my Intentional Parenting series, I thought I’d write an open letter to H, just giving her a little something to think about while she waits for her baby to be born.

*****

Dear H:

This week you will receive a gift. A gift like none you’ve ever received. A gift more valuable than the most precious of jewels, more rewarding than the highest of degrees you could attain, more enthralling than your greatest love.

This week God will deliver to you a child. He is entrusting this gift to you and R because he knows you will take your responsibility seriously. He knows you will treat her with care. He knows you will love her deeply—you already do.

But He also knows that you will never love her as much as He does. He knows that, and He still gives us children—isn’t that amazing?

Having been down this road a time or three, I’ve thought long and hard about the adventure you’re about to take. Sure, you’ve been warned about the diapers, the laundry, the sleepless nights, but has anyone told you about those moments when you are so filled with love for your daughter that your heart just hurts? Or when you stare so deeply into your baby’s eyes that you feel like you can see into her soul? Or the worry that will fill you as you look at our fallen world and you wonder what kind of future there could possibly be for her?

H, you are in for a ride like none other.

So here’s my advice as you embark on this journey: be intentional. Every day, have a plan and seek to carry it out. Now, I know that sounds completely overwhelming, but it’s not. I can break it down into two simple steps—Intentional Love and Intentional Trust.

Intentional Love. You already love this little girl—everyone who knows you knows that. But there will be days, trust me, when she won’t be loveable. There will be days when you’ll want to put your comfort above hers—a little more sleep, a little more time, a little more . . .

But parenthood is never for us or about us. It’s about loving these gifts that God entrusts to us by putting their needs above our own. And by needs, I don’t mean the “stuff” of this world. What our kids need is discipline, responsibility, a sense of right and wrong. Jesus. Teaching these things takes time and energy, and you never, ever stop.

That is love.

Intentional Trust. It’s a funny thing, parenthood. God entrusts these children to us, knowing full well that we cannot do it on our own. He knows we are not equipped to do this job the way He intends, and yet He gives them to us anyway. Thankfully, He gives us His word and prayer—two mighty defenses that we need in order to conquer our daily battles.

And in return, we must give God our trust. I’ve written and spoken on this topic quite a bit, you know, but I believe with all my heart that God does not want us to live in fear. Yes, this world is scary. Yes, having kids in this world is scary. Yes, there is so much that could go wrong. And yet, God tells us, “Do not fear.”

One of my favorite verses is Joshua 1:9: “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

As you step out into the battlefield, fighting for this child every day—praying for her, defending her, loving her—trust in the One who gave her to you to walk beside you wherever you go. He has promised to do this, and you can trust Him.

So, do not fear, H. God is with you.

And you, and R, and your daughter are loved.

This is just one of the many reasons I love where I live

Every Saturday morning from mid-April through October, our town holds a French Market. And just about every Saturday during those months I head downtown for fresh bread, flowers, fruits, and vegetables. It is a treasure and a treat.

And it's not bad that I live just a few blocks from the French market, so on really nice Saturdays when I have lots of extra time, I will walk down there, grab a Starbucks on my way, and just stroll through, enjoying all the handmade jewelry, the exotic olives (even though I would never in a million years buy any), the delicious coffee which is roasted right here, and the lovely Carmelite nun who brings her yummy croissants and other delicacies with her every week.

One more great benefit to the local French market: catching up with friends. This morning we probably saw ten people we know. On other mornings, we will bring the Wonder Dog along with us, and she'll help us make new friends. It's a real community event.

This morning, Kate and Maggie came with me for our first foray to the French market, and we came home happy girls with lots of goodies to keep us healthy and well-fed all week. I thought you'd enjoy some pictures of our trip.

This is the donut booth where they actually MAKE the donuts right there. This morning they were giving free samples of warm donuts sprinkled with cinnamon sugar. Guess what's for breakfast tomorrow!


Lots and lots of fresh tomatoes on the vine this morning.




One thing we buy every week--it's our Saturday lunch--Pretzel Bread. Mmmmm.


This is a picture of everything we bought this morning. We'll be eating well this week, don't you think?


So tell me, do you have any Saturday traditions?

Didn't Your Mama Teach You Any Manners? Part 2

Seems there's a theme to this week. Yesterday I wrote about the bad luck we had at Nordstrom last weekend. Ill-mannered? Maybe. Wrong? Most definitely.

Today I want to address another ill-mannered person who seems to be in the news quite a bit these past couple of days. Senator Carl Levin. If you heard any of the Goldman-Sachs hearing on Tuesday, or if you listened to the news on Tuesday, or if you were in the vicinity of the Capitol building, you probably heard or heard about Senator Levin's rant to the Goldman executives who were called in to testify.

In case you missed it, you can read the story and watch the video here. But be forewarned: there is some nasty language being bandied about.

It seems Senator Levin likes to use the s-word. A lot.

In Tuesday's hearing, he used it 12 times in the 4 1/2 minute clip that's all over the web now. (You can click the link above to see it.)

Now, Levin might argue that he used the s-word only as a quote of some Goldman executives. 'They used it first. Na na na na na na.'

But, honestly, 12 times in 4 1/2 minutes? Is that necessary? Doesn't Senator Levin know that the s-word is still, thank goodness, considered inappropriate language? It's vulgar, it's crude, and most of all, it's rude.

Senator Levin (and, for that matter, many of his colleagues on the Hill) seems to have forgotten to whom he was speaking. In his rant to the banking executives he pressed in, like a hyena circling his prey. He pushed and prowled and pounced until he felt like he had humiliated them into submission.

But what he did was rude. Unstatesmanlike.

Has Senator Levin, and others like him, forgotten who signs his paycheck? Last time I checked, it was the American citizens whom he is supposed to represent.

So today, as a mother who would never tolerate her children speaking like that, I'd just like to remind Senator Levin that talking to your employers in such vulgar, demeaning terms, is just plain bad manners.

Didn't Your Mama Teach You Any Manners?

Dear Nordstrom Shopping Bag Thief:

So how does it work? Did you just happen to stroll through the shoe department on a Saturday afternoon and see a random shopping bag sitting there and decide to take it? Or were you stalking teenage girls, just hoping that in their teenaged forgetfulness they would get careless and set their bag down, not remembering to pick it up?

Either way, what you did has really bothered me for the past few days. I think about it while I'm standing at my kitchen sink. I wonder what possessed you to do it while I'm falling asleep. I ask myself how you could do such a thing to an innocent girl while I'm folding laundry. It's like I can't get you out of my mind.

So I thought I'd just clue you in on what you "found" at Nordstrom on Saturday, the little "BP" shopping bag that you happened upon and decided to claim as your own.

Did you know that what you took was a birthday present from one sister to another? Did you know that my daughter and I had just a few minutes earlier enjoyed a fun moment together choosing this gift for her sister--laughing over the silly pink sunglasses, debating which pair of earrings and which necklace she would like best? Did you know that the purchaser of this $36 gift had worked several hours at the public library in order to save enough money to buy her sister just the right thing?

No, I suppose you didn't think about that. I suppose you just saw the little bag sitting on the sofa in the shoe department and thought, 'Ha! It's mine!' and took it home.

Did you open the little boxes and think they were gifts just for you? Did you wear the earrings and necklace this week, get compliments on them from your classmates or coworkers and say, "Why, thank you!"?

Or did you tell the truth about your new jewelry?

Did you tell them that you just saw a little bag sitting all alone on a sofa in the shoe department at Nordstrom and stole it?

Oh, and one more thing . . . has it bothered you at all?

Sincerely yours,

A Hurting Mother

**Disclaimer: I am not one bit blaming Nordstrom for this incident that happened last Saturday. In fact, I called their Customer Service department as soon as we realized that the bag was missing, and their people could not have been more helpful. I still love Nordstrom and will continue to shop there. I'll just watch my bags a little more closely.**

Intentional Parenting - Part 10; Intentionally Letting Go

On the day my first daughter was born I held her in my arms, looked my husband in the eye and said, “I feel like my job from now on is to teach her to not need me anymore.”

I know what you’re thinking: How weird is this woman?

But in all seriousness, whether that thought was from God or not, that idea has stayed with me for the past 18 years, and it has largely shaped my philosophy of parenting. And somehow I believe that in that most significant moment of my life, I was given a gift.

The gift of letting go.

Perhaps God knew that this was one area of parenting my daughters that would be hard for me. Perhaps my past had something to do with it. Whatever it is, the idea of purposefully teaching independence and intentionally preparing myself to let my daughters go has been at the forefront of how I parent them.

I probably think about letting go more than the average mom, most likely because I experienced a forced letting go when I was young. I think every day about how my beauties are here for a moment and could be taken away just as easily.

When I was a young girl, eleven years old, my younger brother drowned in an accident at summer camp. This loss has shaped me in many ways, but it has made me examine my relationship to my kids and has forced me to think about letting them go in ways that many parents do not. Losing my brother has made me realize that, as a parent, I am only a caretaker of these three incredible gifts God has given to me. He is ultimately in control of them—not me.

Of all people, I would love more than anything to hold my daughters close to my breast and never let them go. I love my girls with a passion, and since I love them so much, I naturally want to hold them close to me. But I know that would not be God’s best for them, and so, because I love them, I choose to let them go.

And there are benefits to this letting go.

Letting go has given my girls a confidence that comes from independence. From the time they were young, my husband and I have given them small bits of freedom that have served to make them more confident as young women. Little bits . . . like walking to school alone, riding bikes around the neighborhood, driving a car all by themselves (!) . . . become bigger bits . . . like choosing a college, deciding on a career, choosing a husband. I cannot make these big decisions for my daughters, but because they have learned to handle smaller responsibilities, they are well-equipped to make bigger, independent decisions.

Letting go has caused me to trust God more. Believe me, the first time I put Kate on a bus that would take her to summer camp for two weeks was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done as a parent. If any mother wanted to protect her child from any one situation, it was me and camp.

But I put Kate on that bus when she was ten years old because I had to. I had to trust her into the care of the One who entrusted her to me. I had to let her go to camp because I had to learn to fully trust God with my children.

It worked out. She came home. And every one of my children has enjoyed many weeks at that camp. They have grown tremendously because of that camp, and I could not let my fear of the “what if” keep them from that growth.

So why is letting go of our kids so difficult? I mean, when you think about it, kids are messy, they take lots of time and money, and they don’t always say thanks for the effort. But our kids are also a part of us. We’ve poured our very lifeblood into them—so much so that there is very little of us left in the end. But we’d do it again and again and again because they are ours and we love them.

And then there’s the “what if?” which is where so many parents seem to get stuck. They give in to their fears, their worries, and focus on all the scary stuff that’s around us all the time. Yes, parenting is an incredible privilege and an incredible joy, but it can also bring incredible pain along with it.

How can we counter this fear and really learn to let go? It begins with trusting God, the One who gave you your children and the only One who can really protect them. I think often about a pastor I know who moved his family into Chicago to plant a church. Someone asked him if he was afraid for his kids in the city—would they be safe? His answer has stayed with me to this day. He said, “My children are in more danger living in the suburbs if we are out of God’s will than they will ever be in the city, living in God’s will.”

We cannot protect our children from every evil around them. It’s just not possible. We cannot protect them from failure or disappointment or sadness or even death. But when we begin to look at our children not as possessions but as gifts, we can truly trust God with them.

Letting go is kind of like teaching a child to ride a 2-wheeler. At first we hold on lightly until we knew they can do it. Then we gently let go of the bike, running alongside while our child wobbles a bit, figuring it out for herself. Pretty soon we are left just standing there with our hand shielding our eyes as our child rides off into the sunset. There is no keeping up.

There is no need.

In just a few short months I will send my firstborn off to college. I could look at this as a scary time or a sentimental time or a sad time, but I will not. I will look at her new journey as an exciting time for which she has been well-prepared. Because on the day of her birth I held her in my arms, looked my husband in the eye, and said, “I feel like my job from now on is to teach her to not need me.”

Hopefully, I’ve done my job.


**Next week I will wrap up my Intentional Parenting series. If you've missed any of these posts, you can just click on the links below to get caught up.**

Introduction
Intentionally Disciplined

Intentionally Truthful

Intentional Stewardship

Intentional Service

Intentional Worship

Intentional Kindness

Intentional Travel

Intentional Prayer