Happy Mother's Day

A friend of mine sent this to me via email. I definitely thought it was worth sharing.



A Mother's Footsteps


It was a busy day in our Costa Mesa, California, home. But then, with 6 children and one on the way, every day was a bit hectic. On this particular day, however, I was having trouble doing even routine chores -- all because of one little boy. Len, who was three at the time, was on my heels no matter where I went. Whenever I stopped to do something and turned back around, I would trip over him. Several times, I patiently suggested fun activities to keep him occupied. 'Wouldn't you like to play on the swing set?' I asked again.


But he simply smiled an innocent smile and said, 'Oh, that's all right Mommy. I'd rather be in here with you.' Then he continued to bounce happily along behind me.


After stepping on his toes for the fifth time, I began to lose my patience and insisted that he go outside and play with the other children. When I asked him why he was acting this way, he looked up at me with sweet green eyes and said, 'Well, Mommy, in my Sunday School class my teacher told me to walk in Jesus' footsteps. But I can't see him, so I'm walking in yours.'


Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is one Lord: And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might. And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart. And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up. Deut. 6:4-7



~Author Unknown

an indelible mark

Sometimes things happen in life that stun us and leave us asking questions to which there are just no answers. That happened this week when friends, Eric and Susan, released their precious baby boy into God's hands.

So many of you have left comments and emailed me about how much Luke and his journey spoke to your heart and how the faith of his parents ministered to you. It's in that spirit that I write these words:



Dear Luke,

We praise God for you because you were "fearfully and wonderfully made." As the Creator himself knit you exquisitely together, He missed not one detail. You were beauty and perfection and grace all wrapped up in dewy soft skin and destined to touch the lives of many. And so you did.

You will never know the impact you made on our lives during your short time here. The lessons we learned from you touched us deeply and in ways that mere words seem woefully inadequate to express.

You caused us to dig deep--to not just say we have faith in God, but to live each day believing Him. And to not just believe Him, but to earnestly seek Him. Seeing you struggle drove us to our knees time and time again. We found ourselves on our faces crying out to God for healing and mercy, our hearts being drawn ever closer to you and to our Heavenly Father.

You also taught us what it really means to rejoice! We jumped for joy at every miracle and each sign of God's divine intervention. Seeing you hold tight to your toys and watching your little chest move up and down with each breath of life made us grin from ear to ear!

You reminded us to be thankful. Life is precious and short, and each day is to be celebrated. You spoke softly to us to slow down and really breathe it in.

You left an indelible mark on each of us, and we will never forget you. And Luke, I can't wait to meet you in heaven one day, sweet boy, just to say thanks.

wordless wednesday

This is not a typical "Wordless Wednesday" post. I'm just calling it 'wordless' because I don't have words; I just don't know what to say.



Yesterday's post from Eric and Susan:

"God chose to heal Luke today and he is now with Him in heaven - whole and healthy and breathing freely. We praise God for His goodness and mercy."














Please pray for Eric, Susan, Hogan & Sydney and go leave them a word of encouragement.

a scream and a holla

About three months ago, we moved away from suburbia to what I jokingly call "the holla." We really are not out in the country, and are in fact mere yards from a two-lane highway. There are only three houses on our little lane, ours on the end by the road and two others, all of which are separated by the equivalent of a football field (or so). E made friends pretty quickly with the neighbor kids, but especially with the boy next door who is her age. It is normally rather peaceful and quiet. I like quiet.



HOWEVER...



A peaceful afternoon with the big kids playing outside while the little ones napped was interrupted by screaming. Not your ordinary screaming, but screeching the likes of which I have only heard in horror movies. These shrieks could be heard inside the house, drowning out The Food Network and an awakening baby, and I'm pretty sure I saw Paula Deen wince at the shrillness and sheer volume of the racket coming from my very own backyard.



Well.



Being completely annoyed responsible and concerned, I momentarily ignored the sounds of my littlest waking from his nap and the recipe for the deep-fried something-or-other being whipped up on the tube so that I could go out and face what surely must be a severed limb or something equally gruesome. I wondered if I should have my phone in hand, with emergency number on speed-dial, for the crisis that most certainly awaits me on the other side of the grove of trees, from which the hubbub originates.



I step outside, shrieking now somewhat subdued, almost as if children up to something may have heard the back door close. Then it starts up again, and I see my eldest coming toward me through the maze of jungle-like growth that is my backyard. I keep walking toward the yelling, his steps now nearly matching mine, and bark in his direction, "WHAT?!"



"M (neighbor kid who lives in the middle house) is up in the tree, and he won't listen to me when I tell him how to get down, and he's just screaming and..."



By now we have reached the "scene of the accident." And I'm here to tell you, with that much clamor, there SHOULD HAVE BEEN an accident. There were no severed limbs, just a kid sitting on one refusing to come down. Barely six feet up, mind you. And my daughter was standing on a limb ABOVE him, waiting patiently to get down.



Now, look, I am basically a nice person. At least two or three days out of the week. Really, I am. But this whole scene had just been played out a few weeks ago in another tree, in another yard.



As I relived my own flashback of this EXACT SCENE, I got a little angry. I'm not sure why. Maybe this just is not my day to be nice. Or maybe it was an unlucky day to be stuck in my tree. Hard to say.



You see, the last time Tarzan tried to climb a tree, he got "stuck" about six feet off the ground with his bent knee wedged in the crook of the tree which commenced the screaming and screeching and dogs howling and sent my daughter running down the lane in tears, terrified that M was so stuck he might have to just live up in that tree and WAH and "Daddy, you've got to help M, Daddy, pleeeaaassseee!" So Jay, being the nice one and all, jogged down to the neighbor's house, to find the grandmother on a step ladder with her hand under his rump while he screamed and yelled things like...

"Oh my God! AAAHHH! I'm gonna die! OOOHHH! Call the fire department! WAAHHH! Just cut down the limb! AAACCKKK! You're killin' me! OOOHHHOOOOHHHOOOOHHHOOO I'm dying!"


So my husband, who is nice, calmly tells him to push up with his arms, and VOILA! With the weight off his leg, he easily gets "unstuck" and comes down.



After my flashback, which took probably 5 seconds to replay in my head, during which I'm pretty sure my ears began to bleed, I just looked at him in disbelief.



Then I lost my mind for a minute. And I yelled. At him. And everyone nearby. And probably the dog.



Could I have helped him down?



Uh-huh.



Should I have helped him down?



Probably.



Did I help him down?



Nope.



While this is not one of my prouder moments, I could lie to you and tell you that I consciously thought that this would be a wonderful "teaching moment." You know, the kind that good parents have when they let their offspring learn the "natural consequences" of their mistakes...blah blah blah.



Yeah. I wish I could tell you that's what I did.



Nope. Not me. Given his history of histrionics and his propensity for pandemonium, and since he was in MY YARD with MY KIDS and stuck in MY TREE, and I had to wade through poison ivy to get to him, SO I COULD YELL, he was pretty much on his own.



After a little more yelling, his and mine, he finally made it down and was told not to climb any more trees if all he was going to do was scream when he got up there.



Because I am nice.



Then I told ALL OF THEM to kindly find something else to do and STAY OUT OF THE TREE, because all the screaming had "worked mah nerves" and now I had to go take care of the other screaming now coming from the little one who just wants up from his nap, thankyouverymuch, and ohmylordybe, and blah blah yada blah blah, you made me miss Paula Deen.



I did not move to the holla for all this drama, y'all.

2 Year Old Receives Pink Slip

Dear Almost Three-Year-Old:



Due to the recent and marked change in your behavior, I feel the need as CPO (Chief Parenting Officer) to inform you that it is our desire to reconstitute the governance to which we had all grown accustomed, and our highest priority is to reestablish some semblance of order. I also wish you to know that while we will diligently seek a peaceable reconciliation, we are prepared to take further action as necessary, some of which may be categorized as desperate drastic measures. We will not succumb to your attempts at subversion. Consider yourself on notice.


Due to your litigious nature as of late, many have hypothesized the catalyst of such a marked change. Some theories include:

a) ingestion of a foreign, presumably toxic, substance

b) having been temporarily overtaken by an extra-terrestrial given to fits of rage

c) the mastication of multitudinous quantities of bananas resulting in simian-like behavior

d) the receipt of a blow to the head, either self-induced, or by a sibling, effectuating the similitude of a tiny terrorist


While these hypotheses have been taken into careful consideration, it has come to our attention that most "experts" (sans children) consider the causation of this change to be an expected phase, and in their professional opinion, cavilling and cavorting in even the strangest of ways falls within their own defined "normal" limits.



heh.



That being said, as CPO, I am willing to continue our working relationship and to allow you to continue to reside in your current domain, receiving the same level of care and compensation to which you are accustomed in the form of unconditional love and hugs, clean laundry, hot meals, *toys with which to play (see below for details), the reading of books, and a timely change of wet/soiled disposable undergarments pursuant to, and in despite of, your abhorrence of said toilet training. (additional explanation below)


While it is my intention to make every effort toward a peaceable resolution, there are several behaviors which will not be tolerated.


For example:


While you are free to play with the myriad of play things available to you (as long as they are put away when not in use and handled in the manner in which they are intended), *the throwing of said play things will result in their immediate removal from the premise.


And consider yourself warned, that the (presumed) fit that follows the abeyance of toy privileges will also not be tolerated and may result in the precision usage of duct tape.


The grace period for your aversion to toilet training is nearing its end. Obviously, you are not in any way moved by beatings berating and bribes in the form of small candy-coated chocolates. Fine. Just know that while you are free to continue in this barbaric and boorish behavior, the day is fast approaching when I will no longer be your succor (or your sucker) in this area. If one day you suddenly find yourself standing naked in the middle of the yard with baby wash in one hand and the garden hose in the other, remember that you were duly warned. And bathe the dog while you're at it, would you?


Banging your head when you are angry does not hurt me; it only leaves sizable lumps on your noggin. Please stop.


Your categorical determination to scream your head off while riding in the van unless I am holding your hand is growing old and hyperextending my shoulders which gives me momentary lapses and visions of driving into a tree. Please stop.


While I recognize there exists a small language barrier between the CPO and yourself, it grows smaller by the day, and will no longer be considered an excuse to ignore or otherwise disobey said requests and/or commands. Comprendez-vous?


While everyone is entitled to change their mind, your incessant indignation over your cup being filled with the wrong drink, the precise one you requested, by the way, is, well...crazy. I think there is medication for this kind of crazy.


And lastly, yes, I know that you cannot yet read. I taught you to communicate through speech, and frankly, I question the wisdom of that decision at least once every hour on a daily basis, especially when you respond to conciliatory requests with screams and shouts of, "NO! I NOT DO DAT!" You will be taught to read one day, but until then, I am referring you to the EPO (Executive Parenting Officer), better known as Daddy, for any questions you may have concerning this notice.


The CPO is out to lunch until further notice.



Sincerely,


The CPO

Better known as Mommy.

I knew it! Laundry IS hazardous to my health!

Seeing a







brown recluse






on my husband's freshly folded



















made me













and want to call












Just sayin'.