Why I Hate Showering

    Am I the only mother who loathes even the thought of showering?  Not because I enjoy maintaining the appearance of a homeless woman or because I want to smell like regurgitated infant formula. Oh no! Despite what you may think when you knock on my door during the day, unannounced, only to find a completely disheveled, bra-less, body odorous mother of three, barely hanging on to sanity because she's hanging on to a 2nd grade English teacher's guide in one hand and a fussy baby in the other. Don't let this picture fool you!  I actually enjoying smelling fresh and having hair that doesn't stay in a pony tail long after removing the elastic hair band. For this reason I LOVE showers!  But I'm a mother of young children.  Showers involve much more than simply rinsing away the dirt and grime of the day.  They involve things such as sacrifice, fear, panic, etc....   How, you ask.  Let's recap my shower earlier today.

   I was gross today.  So gross.  As in, my only plans were to go to the gym and sweat like crazy, but in order to do that I had to shower first.  I was that gross. I had it all planned.  Because showering when you have three children involves planning. I was going to have the boys at a point where they could finish their school work while I was in the bathroom and hopefully rock Calvin to sleep right before the shower began.  Of course, Calvin decided to reject my idea of taking a nap while I showered and chose to do it an hour before.  At least the big boys cooperated.  As I marched up the stairs, baby on my hip, it started.  The wah...wah...bbb..bbb..bb..bb....  It's like he knew what was coming and he needed to get his motor warmed up.  I tried to get him cozy and sleepy in his vibrating seat that stays in the bathroom, but he wasn't having it.  I gave up and jumped in the shower.  I was prepared to speed wash.  Get in.  Get out.  I haven't perfected completely showering in 3 & 1/2 minutes like my mother, but I can usually do it in just under 10 with the right amount of pressure put on me.  Pressure today was provided by the adorable baby who isn't happy unless someone is staring at him.  He was on his "A" game today! 
    So I'm going through my routine at lightening speed.  All while singing nursery rhymes and any song I can remember from KLOVE in a loud, lullaby-ish tone.  Occasionally hanging half of my body out of the shower door trying to reinsert a fallen paci to soothe a baby who sounds like he's enduring a surgical procedure without the aid of anesthesia (I'm sure that's what my neighbors are thinking). Meanwhile I'm dripping enough water on the floor to fill a kiddie pool.  I'm now past the halfway mark (mainly because I've decided shaving my legs today is no longer worth it today).  All I need to do now is rinse the shampoo out of my hair and condition it.  That's when I get the dreaded knock at the door.  It's one of the big kids.  I'm surprised I heard it over the blood curdling screams of the baby.  I reply in an ever so agitated tone, "What?". I hear no reply.  I try again, "WHAT!?".  Still nothing.  That's when insane mother logic kicks in.  I kid you not....  The following thoughts flew threw my head in under 2.3 seconds.
    "Why isn't someone responding?  Is that a neighbor checking to see if I'm performing surgery on my baby without the aid of anesthesia?  How did they get in my house!  Don't be ridiculous.  It's just one of the boys.  Why aren't they responding?  Oh no!  Whichever one it is must have sustained a debilitating head wound and only had enough strength and consciousness to climb a flight of stairs and knock on the door once before falling to the ground unconscious.  And now here I am agitated at my unconscious child when all he wants is the comfort of his mother while he bleeds to death on my carpet!  I have to save him!"
    So I leapt from the shower, over the screaming baby, while grabbing a towel and throwing it around myself in one swift motion.  I rip the door open and with shampoo now streaming down my face and burning my eyes I yell, "What's wrong!!!". There I find two giggly boys wrestling on my bed.  They look at me innocently, mind you not even faced by the half nekkid, crazy, blind lady in the doorway, and ever so sweetly say, "Nothing.  Can we play the game?". 

    Obviously, nobody was dying.  Well, maybe the baby who was now screaming even louder because he saw me leave the shower and not take him with me.  Can you guess how happy I was?  Standing there dripping wet, freezing cold because you have no choice but to run the exhaust fan so your angry baby doesn't overheat and smother from the heavenly warmth and humidity that normally fills your bathroom while showering.  If you guessed I wasn't very happy you'd be correct.  We'll fast forward through my tantrum.  Let's just pretend I reacted with the grace and self control of the Duggar mother and that my kids were not scarred for life from what they witnessed next.  The rest of my shower was a blur.  Probably because the shampoo had burned my corneas.  Calvin stopped crying soon after I got out.  Probably because I could now stare at him while he blew spit bubbles and flailed his arms around like the most interesting baby in the world. 
    So there you have it.  The sacrifice, fear, panic, etc... that comes with showering while having young children. So I loathe it.  Can you blame me?

I Will Praise You in This Storm

                                           I cried myself to sleep last night.

    When I laid down I was not ready to fall asleep.  My mind immediately went to Kyle.  Oh how I miss my baby boy.  It amazes me how I can so deeply miss someone I never truly met.  Yes, I carried him.  Yes, I held him and sang to him.  But he was not there.  He did not hear me.  I never got to see him smile.  But oh how my heart still aches when I think of him. 

   
    I've heard over and over again, "You are so strong." I understand why people say this. I've "handled it pretty well" considering what I've lost.  I can not, however, take one ounce of credit for any strength you've seen in me.  You may have read my encouraging posts on Facebook, or seen my smile when I mention him in public.  Some of you have heard me give God all the praise for the life and death of sweet little Kyle.  While these things are true and sincere, that is only a part of it. 
 
    While it is getting easier every day, and my "moments" are fewer and farther between, I am still in the midst of grief and healing.  I don't want anyone to get the wrong impression.  I want to be real and I want you to understand the whole picture.  I still lock myself in my room, clutching his picture to my chest, sobbing.  Sometimes in restaurants I have to fight the tears.  I've even excused myself to the car to pull it together, because even though we're all there, I'm overwhelmed by the fact that a very special person in our family is missing and the people around us don't even know it.  I have to force myself to not let my mind go to  "what if" territory.  What if Kyle had lived?  I would have a 7 month old baby today.  Wow has it really been 7 months!  Has it only been 7 months?  It seems like yesterday....  It seems like a lifetime ago. 
   
    In the middle of these moments I always wish that my doorbell would ring and that a friend would just happen to stop by and be able to share my moment with me.  Or maybe my phone would ring and someone could cry with me and listen to me and tell me it's okay.   To date that's never happened.  And though I physically have no one to hug me or soothe me I am always pulled out and brought to a place of praise and thanks.  Without even trying, these moments always send me to prayer.  I believe that's because of the ever growing relationship I have with my Savior.  He knows what I need.  He can bring me there even when I don't think to go there myself.  I wrote a few entries in a journal in the weeks after Kyle's death.  I titled one of them "Prayer is my Pain Medicine".  Drugs took care of the physical pain, but nothing could touch the emotional hurt.  Nothing except prayer.  One of my favorite hymns is "What a Friend We Have in Jesus".  The line that always gets me the most is:

"Oh what peace we often forfeit.  Oh what needless pain we bear. 

All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer."

   
    It is so true.  God is faithful to hear us and help us when we admit we can't do it without him.  God DOES sometimes give us more than we can handle!  But he promises he will never leave us and that means he'll handle it with us and sometimes for us.  We just have to ask Him!  If He were not holding me and helping me and speaking to me and if he had not prepared me for this, I would be confused..... helpless....... angry....... hopeless.  But in those moments when I can't do it, I'm sobbing, I don't know how to make the hurt stop, I call out to him begging him to help me.  And He is always faithful.  He begins to speak to my heart.  He reminds me of these promises.....    He's got my baby boy.  I'll see him again.  We'll spend eternity together.  Kyle's life and death has great purpose for the kingdom of God.  He will never leave me to deal with this on my own.  He's just a prayer away. 
   
    I woke up with the song "Praise You in This Storm" on my heart.  I thank God over and over for Christian music.  Sometimes I don't know what to say, but a song can be the perfect prayer for a situation that I'm dealing with.  Not only a praise to God, but a reminder and encouragement for me.
   
    I want you to know that I'm not sharing this for sympathy.  I don't want you to feel sorry for me.  I just can't help but share because I feel like God is teaching me so much through this experience.  I don't believe he set out to teach me a lesson, but rather the things I'm learning are just some of the blessings that are coming from an extremely difficult trial that I've had to endure.  I could choose to ignore them.... the good things that are happening during this heartache.  I could selfishly focus on how much this has hurt me and how unfair this has been.  But I would be missing the blessing of God's goodness and mercy and grace and presence in my life.  I will choose to praise God in this storm!  And I know He will be faithful to show up in the midst of it!           

"Praise You in This Storm" by Casting Crowns

Letting it Go

   This past weekend we enjoyed dinner with some friends and our new pastor and his family.  At one point in the conversation we were talking about incorporating popular songs into the Sunday service.  The song "Let it Go" from Disney's Frozen was mentioned.  I'm sure it was a joke (maybe), but it did make me wonder.  Today I decided to listen to it again, choosing Demi Lovato's version, as I had never heard it before.  Imagine my surprise when I heard what could very well be my testimony in the words to this very popular Disney tune.  My story of letting go of the things that were preventing me from finding true freedom in Christ.
    Now I know this may sound crazy to many people, but to make sure I wasn't reaching too far I listened to it again and again and again.  Every time it was there.  I think the easiest way for me to explain this is to break it down for you.  Below are the lyrics, as sung by Demi Lovato, and I'll insert my interpretation of how the lyrics speak to me.  (I've deleted the repeated lyrics.)

 "Let It Go"

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight,
Not a footprint to be seen.
A kingdom of isolation and it looks like I'm the queen.
(I don't know about being a queen, but I've spent years feeling isolated from the church family I was sort of, kind of a part of.  For years I really didn't feel like I belonged.)
The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside.
Couldn't keep it in, Heaven knows I tried.
(I secretly had a spiritual battle raging inside of me. The time came when I could no longer ignore it.)   

Don't let them in, don't let them see,
Be the good girl you always had to be.
(On the outside I tried so hard to be the good christian girl I was expected to be.  Being a preacher's kid from a "good" family comes with a lot of pressure.)
Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know.
(I was afraid for people to know the questions I had about spiritual matters.  I didn't want them to be misunderstood for doubt or unbelief.)
Well, now they know.
(The secret's out!  I have many different beliefs and convictions than some of my friends and family.)

Let it go, let it go
Can't hold it back anymore
(I can't hold back this new found freedom in Christ!)
Let it go, let it go
Turn my back and slam the door
(God opened a new door for me and I had to walk through and slam it behind me.  The past is in the past!)
And here I stand and here I'll stay
(I'm not going back to the way it was!)
Let it go, let it go
The cold never bothered me anyway
(This is what I tell myself since I always claimed to hate cold weather and I now live in Colorado.  Ha!)

It's funny how some distance makes everything seem small
(Being far away allows us to put aside our differences.  It's not important.)  
And the fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all.
(I'm no longer afraid of the fact that I don't have the exact same beliefs and convictions as the people in my past.  I'm free from the expectations!)
Up here in the cold thin air I finally can breathe.
(Yes the air is cold and thin in Colorado, but oddly enough I feel more myself here and more at home than I did "back home.")
I know I left a life behind but I'm too relieved to grieve.
(I did leave many things I loved behind, but the pros in this new life outweigh the cons.  I can not dwell on the things I left behind.  I choose to anticipate the things God has in store!)

Standing frozen
In the life I've chosen,
You won't find me.
(I refuse to stand still and be comfortable.  I love this new life, but I'm available to go where ever God sends me.  No matter where that is.  He brought me here and it's been an amazing, life changing experience.  I'm not going to deny myself what He has in store for me by refusing to move!)
The past is all behind me
Buried in the snow.
Let it go

    I'm not trying to turn this song into something it's not.  It's great all on its own.  I was just struck by how closely it told the story of events in my own life.  It's just a glimpse of what God has done in my life during the past few years.  A taste of my testimony.  To share everything He has done for me would take way too long to write in a blog post.  But I love to share in conversation.  God seems to have given me a desire to tell people what He's doing in me.  Where He's brought me from, and where He's brought me to.  Why did I share my Disney princess song testimony interpretation with you?  Honestly, I don't know.  I guess it just spoke to me, and I love to share.

    
Take a minute to listen to Demi.  See if you can find your testimony in the lyrics.   

Polo to Cardigan Upcycle

    I need a hobby!  Brian agrees.  Lately, he's been begging me to find something constructive and fun to do.  When I asked why he was so insistent on me finding a hobby he mockingly muttered something about being bored and begging for a poodle, but I'm sure it was nonsense so I ignored it.  

  I already have a sewing machine and basic sewing skills, so I've decided to put them to good use.  If I'm going to spend the money that a hobby requires, then I at least want to get some use out of it.  This week I've put my sewing skills to the test and I've surprised myself with how decent I am.    Besides the purse I've made and the sweater I've re-done, I want to share my "Polo to Cardigan Upcycle" that I experimented with.  I confiscated one of Brian's old polo shirts that he never wears anymore and I transformed it into a cardigan style shirt for myself.  I like layers!  I didn't take any pictures during the process because honestly I thought it would fail miserably.  Imagine my surprise when it worked!  

So here's the sad little polo before.....

And here's my new cardigan After!

    So basically I cut the body of the shirt down to fit me using a cardigan that I already have as a guide.  Then I cut off the collar including where it buttons and cut a straight line down the front of the shirt.  Where I had cut out the collar I had to create a curved line that blended into the straight line down the front.  I lucked out and was able to use the brown fabric from the collar as the facing for the new split down the front.  I sewed the sleeves to fit my arms and then attached them to the new body.  I added a loop for the button because it was just a little too tight across my bust if I had created a button hole, instead.  I then decided it was a little to loose around the waist, so I added some elastic to gather the back a bit and make a nicer fit.
    

    I'm so excited that this actually worked.  If I find that I really like it then I'm probably going to hit up a local thrift store to find other polo's to reconfigure.  It's a lot cheaper than buying fabric!  And knowing that I got a new piece for my wardrobe while spending next to nothing makes me extra giddy.  You know......cause I'm thrifty.

Thanks for looking!

*Is it just me, or do I have freakishly pointy elbows?*

Kyle's Story

   On the morning of September 9th, I crawled out of bed around 6:30 a.m., exhausted and uncomfortable.  I had been awake most of the night.  Beginning at 1:00 that morning I was awake and crying with horrible neck pain.  After 20 minutes of crying in the bathroom I woke Brian up to help me find some relief.  He massaged my neck and then aided me in finding a comfortable position in the recliner.  I was surrounded by pillows supporting my neck because holding my head up on my own was excruciating.  It was then that I glanced at the clock.  2:15.  I realized that in the commotion I had not felt Kyle moving.  I asked God to give me a little kick to know he was okay.  I thought I felt one, but just to be sure I asked God for one more.  I was sure this time.  My little baby gave me a big kick.  Satisfied, I dozed off.
    Around 4:00 I woke up again.  My neck wasn't really bothering me anymore but I was extremely uncomfortable sitting in that chair.  I re-positioned myself a bit and switched from side to side.  Still uncomfortable.  I decided to go to my bed at 4:30.  From there I tossed and turned.  I dozed on and off.  Finally realizing at 6:30 there was no point and I should just get up.
    Immediately upon rising I felt pain.  A dull ache spread through my entire midsection.  I hobbled to the couch in the living room where Brian and my mother were already up and drinking coffee.  I laid quietly on the couch.  Kyle was not moving.  I prayed for him to wiggle.  Nothing.  I tried not to panic.  I decided to give him 30 minutes to do something before I would worry myself.  Ouch!  Another cramp.  Then another.  Contractions?  Impossible.  I'm only 28 weeks along.  I stared at the clock.  I asked my mom to bring me a pencil and paper.  I was astounded when I saw a pattern.  Three minutes apart.....
   There was no way this could be happening!  Our family was leaving for our big move back to Colorado in less than 24 hours.  I could not be going into labor!  But that wasn't even my biggest worry.  This labor was different.  The cramps were intense, but even between contractions I was still hurting.  The pain would not ease up, and it was steadily getting worse.
    Brian and I decided that maybe a hot shower would help me feel better.  I was in total denial.  I thought I could stop what was happening.  The shower was not helping.  Before I knew it I was on my hands and knees in the shower yelling for Brian.  I told him I was so sorry but I was in labor  and something was wrong and we needed to get to the hospital immediately.  I think that was the point where he realized this was really happening.  I dressed as quickly as I could and he helped me get into the car.  I remember saying bye to the kids.  I was trying to put on a brave face but I was not fooling Ian.  Wesley smiled and waved bye, but Ian was obviously worried.
    The drive to the hospital felt like forever.  I was in so much pain.  I cried the whole way there.  Brian told me he'd called my doctor's office and they said to come in to the office.  I asked why they didn't send me to labor and delivery if my contractions were three minutes apart.  It turns out Brian had misunderstood and thought they were 30 minutes apart.  He'd called his mother to inform her we were on the way to the hospital.  She met us at the entrance with a wheelchair because Brian had told her I could barely walk.  I slowly climbed out of Brian's car into the chair.  Every movement was agonizing.  Upon entering the office my doctor brought me straight to an exam room.  I was definitely in labor as he could feel the baby pushing down.  He pulled out the device used to listen to your baby's heartbeat.  Silence.  For what seemed like 10 minutes......silence.  Finally we heard a faint heartbeat.  Brian and I burst into tears.  I was sent immediately to labor and delivery.
    By now the pain was almost unbearable.  When I was pregnant with Ian I had been induced and spent several hours in labor.  Then, I had held out as long as I could in hopes to have a natural delivery without the aid of pain medicine, but the pain became so intolerable that I gladly accepted an epidural.  The pain I was feeling now had already exceeded that.  The nurses were trying to hook me up to a monitor so they could watch Kyle's vital signs.  However, they were never able to find his heartbeat.  A technician was called in to perform an ultrasound.  They asked me to lay my legs flat on the table so they could glide the equipment across the bottom of my stomach.  I couldn't do it.  The pain...  She began to glide the probe across every part of my stomach.  I was trying not to scream.  Sometimes I could hold it in.  Sometimes I couldn't.  The slight, gentle touch of the instrument on my stomach was excruciatingly painful.  Something was horribly wrong!  The technician never said a word.  She took the pictures she needed and quietly left the room.
    Brian and his mother tried to comfort me and help me handle the pain.  I was crying out that I couldn't do this much longer.  They were crying with me.  Not long after that my doctor entered the room:
                           "Brian and Rachel, I am so sorry, we lost the baby."
    No!  I felt the air being sucked from my lungs.  For a few moments the physical pain was completely overshadowed by the emotional pain that now tore through my entire body.  Brian and I grabbed for one another and held each other tightly as we sobbed.  I wailed for the life of my baby boy.  The sounds that were coming from me were something I could not replicate if I tried.  How could this be happening?  Why was this happening?  I was begging God for answers.  I couldn't believe it.  But I couldn't change it either.  My baby boy was gone.
    I don't know how long we held each other and cried.  My doctor apologized and said the heartbeat he'd found earlier in his office must have been mine.  I'm not sure when he left the room.  For all I cared, Brian and I could have been completely alone.  I didn't want to hear anything from anyone else at that point.  I just wanted my best friend, the father of this child, the only other person who could even begin to understand the heartbreak I was feeling.  Slowly the labor pains were coming back to my consciousness.  I began to beg them to give me something for the pain.  Brian was begging them to give me something for the pain.  A nurse was trying to insert an IV.  I felt a sudden gush.  It was as if my water had broke, but it wasn't amniotic fluid.  It was blood.
    I don't remember much after that.  I'm not sure if it was the drugs that caused me to forget or if I passed out from the pain.  It could have been either.  The few things I do remember are seeing a former high school classmate, who is a nurse, leaning over me and talking to me.  I don't know what she said.  I remember for a moment seeing two of my cousins and then my mother and sister standing against the wall with sorrowful looks on their faces.  I remember my uncle whispering to me that they had called their priest to have him pray for us, and I remember his whiskers scratching my cheek as he tried to comfort me.
    I was awakened by Brian and the nurses to begin prepping me for my c-section.  At some point my family informed me that a photographer was coming to take pictures if I wanted.  Thank God!  Years before I had read the story of another mother who'd lost her baby and couldn't remember what he looked like because the drugs from her c-section caused her to have a foggy recollection of the time she did get to spend with him.  If that was going to happen to me then I knew I needed pictures of my sweet baby boy.
   The c-section was awkwardly silent.  Understandably the staff in the OR was fairly quiet.  Only speaking when it was necessary.  I refused any extra pain medicine.  I wanted to be as alert and awake as possible when I got to hold Kyle afterwards.  I laid on the table praying.  I was asking God to please let the doctors be wrong.  Please let my baby be alive.  I was begging Him for a miracle.  I learned later the nurses were on stand by with all of the necessary equipment just in case.  Then Kyle was born.  Born still.  My baby was most certainly in heaven.  Like any other baby they cleaned him up and wrapped him in a hospital blanket before bringing him over for Brian and me to see.  I didn't know what to expect when they showed him to us.  Even though I would occasionally look at "your baby this week" articles online, I wasn't sure what a baby was supposed to look like at 28 weeks.  What I saw was a beautiful little newborn.  His sweet little face looked like he was sleeping.  His skin was perfectly pink.  I looked away.  That moment hurt more than anything.  He was perfect!  Why could he not be here?  Brian and I quietly cried together while my surgery was completed.
    Holding your baby in your arms for the first time should not be coupled with the feelings of knowing you're holding your baby in your arms for the last time.  It's sickening!  That's what I was feeling while I spent time with my lifeless child.  Sick.  A fresh wave of grief flooded over us when we held our baby boy.  I did try and cherish the moment, though.  We counted his fingers and toes.  I brushed his wavy red hair with my fingers.  He looked just like his big brother Wesley.  He was two pounds and ten ounces of perfect baby boy.  We smiled at how beautiful he was.  Then we cried.  Back and forth we went.  Our families came in to see their grandson, their great grandson, and their nephew.  I momentarily forgot my own heartache each time one of our family members would see him for the first time.  It was their first and last, as well.  We prayed together.  I sang a song for Kyle that I've sang over and over for my boys.  I had looked forward to singing to him since I'd found out he was growing inside of me.  I simply couldn't let him go until I had done so.  After about an hour and a half, we said goodbye to our baby boy and let my cousin, who was a nurse there, take him away.  I wish now I had held him longer.  But could I have ever held him long enough?  Probably not.
    The doctor informed us later that I had had a placental abruption.  The placenta had torn away from my uterus.  He said most likely by the time I realized anything was wrong it was already too late to save Kyle.  That information was probably meant to help me more than it did.  Immediately after my c-section I was given two units of blood because I had lost so much during the labor and delivery.  The following day I was sent to ICU because my doctor was afraid I was developing DIC (Disseminated Intravascular Coagulation).  Now my life was in danger!  Brian was a mess.  As if losing his unborn child wasn't enough, now he was facing the possibility of losing his wife and the mother of his children. I have never seen him so helpless....so distraught.  In ICU I was given four more units of blood.  In 24 hours my blood counts were back where they needed to be and I was able to go back to a regular room.  From there things began to look up.
      The following days were some of the best and worst of my life.  Brian and I have never been closer than we were in the days and weeks following Kyle's death.  There were some beautiful moments during that time.  We managed to find joy in our sorrow.  We couldn't help but praise God for the blessings we began to see around us.  Circumstances that had us boggled and questioning God before were now coming into light.  We could see pieces of a master plan coming together.  We were in awe!  Events that had previously taken place in our lives that had prepared us for coping with the loss of our baby boy......  The people God had placed in our lives to help us get through this....  We were not alone!  God had never abandoned us.  He had prepared us and was now carrying us through the most difficult time we had ever faced.
    Though hope was abundant, there was also unimaginable grief.  Pain that can only be known by someone who's experienced the stillbirth of a child.  I've had moments where I've let guilt for responsibility of his death creep in.  But in those dark moments I'm always reminded that God doesn't do accidents.  He doesn't make mistakes.  He didn't forget to make me realize something was wrong in time to save Kyle.  Saving Kyle was not in His plan.  And though the hurt is sometimes unbearable, I fully trust God's plan for my life.  No matter the confusion, the uncertainty, the unfairness, the pain, the tragedy....  God is always good.  He has a purpose through Kyle's life and his death.  I pray for patience as the plan and purpose unfold, but even if I never see the results, I know that God has meaning in this.
    After losing Kyle, someone who'd had a similar experience shared this with me.  "Just remember the valley is cloudy and rainy, but God is with you, and when He places you back on the mountaintop you will see the beauty and growth in your valley."  I look forward to the day He brings us to the mountaintop, but I have a feeling this valley is going to hold us for a while.  You can't go over a valley.  You really can't go under one, either.  Going through it is the only way to get to the other side.

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me;
your rod and your staff, they comfort me."
-Psalm 23:4 NIV

Kyle Steven Walker
Received into the arms of Jesus
September 9, 2013

 
 
 

 

 

For My Mother

    So yesterday I was on my hands and knees in the snow and ice cleaning up my neighbors turned over recycle bin. Everyone's recycle bin had turned over and blew trash everywhere at some point, but these neighbors were at work and I decided to pick it up for them rather than let their trash blow from here to kingdom come. While scooping up their paper and plastics I discovered a perfectly good Christmas coffee mug with the nativity scene on it. "Why on earth would someone throw out a perfectly good Christmas mug? And one with baby Jesus on it! I think I'll take it home and add it to my coffee mugs." So that is what I did. I set it to the side while I finished cleaning up the trash and then brought it home and put it in the dishwasher. It was at that moment that I realized what I'd done.
    While cleaning someone else's property I took a perfectly good object from the trash and brought it home. Did I need it? Of course not! But you can't let perfectly good things get thrown away in the trash! Especially when they have baby Jesus on them! (You'll be glad to know I left the three shot glasses in their trash heap.)
    In conclusion, there is no escaping it. I am you. I don't even try to be. It just happens. I realize it could be worse. I may have permed my hair in the past but at least I didn't brush through it to make it as big and round as possible. I do NOT wear pantyhose under my jeans, however. And if I ever do that without thinking then I'll know for certain that this transformation into my mother is totally out of my control. I hope you're happy.

Sick Tunes!

Have you ever gotten queasy when listening to a particular song?

I have!

Here's why....

Many moons ago when I was pregnant with my first born we traveled to Annapolis, Maryland, for my brother's graduation.  I was in my first trimester and very nauseous.  During the long long long boring very interesting graduation ceremony I decided I needed a snack.  In a glass case on the snack bar I saw the most glorious sight.  A big, fat, soft pretzel with creamy, orange cheese for dipping!  At the moment it looked like heaven.  Boy was I wrong.  The first few bites made me very sick.  Everything went down hill from there.  I held it together until we got to our truck.  I curled into the fetal position in the seat and began to cry.  I just wanted to vomit!  I knew everything would be better if I could just puke!  I couldn't, however.  On the road back to Brian's uncle's house we got stuck in traffic.  An extra hour or more was added to our driving time.  Since I could not make myself puke I tried to make myself sleep.  At least then I wouldn't have to endure the sick feeling.  But, go figure, I couldn't make myself go to sleep either.

So where does the song come in, you ask?  Well, my husband had just discovered the band "The Fray."  He was listening to their new album and was playing "How to Save a Life" and "Over My Head"  over and over and over again.  I desperately wanted to tell him to turn it off, but I knew that my crying and gagging and whining was already pretty annoying.  I didn't want to take his music away, too.  So I listened to those two songs.  For hours!  All the while regretting that darn cheesy pretzel and wishing I could vomit.

So here's the weird part..... To this day I can not listen to either of those songs.  This morning, for instance, I was driving home from dropping my now six year old, eldest child off at school.  Suddenly the song "How to Save a Life" came on the radio.  I immediately thought "Cheesy Pretzel!" and started gagging!  I kid you not....I was violently slapping the dashboard trying to change the station!  The saddest part is, I really liked those songs BEFORE the cheesy pretzel nausea incident.  And now I can't listen to them anymore.  Wah!  Now that I think about it.....there was another song that made me sick as well.  It was a rap song that I remember hearing over and over and over again at work.  I don't remember what it was and I don't want to remember what it was!  I just remember grooming dogs with my lips pressed together and my cheeks puffed out because that's the "I'm gonna throw up" face I make.  (You just tried it, didn't you?) 

Anyways!  It still baffles me that a song can make me queasy.  It never happened when I was pregnant with my second one.  Did something like that ever happen to you?  Please tell me I'm not the only person with strange pregnancy issues.

Seriously...  I want to make sure this isn't all in my head!

That Darn Armpit Slobber

    I'm sure we all have things we are self conscious of.  Something we try to hide or cover up.  One of the things I consider to be a major flaw of mine is the fact that....(sigh).....I sweat like a man.  It's true.  It's gross.  I have always been like this.  In fact, in high school I wore a jacket almost year around to try and conceal the dark circles under my arms.  Well, that and I was trying to hide what I thought was my too flat rear.  Gee how I long for what I thought was my too flat rear...  Though my rear is no longer flat I still have the man sweat issues.  Maybe that's why I love summer.  You're far less likely to get armpit sweat spots in a sleeveless shirt!  Okay, okay.  So why am I telling you this?  It's just a little background info for the story I'm about to share.  A story of how, once again, my boys kept it real for me.  
    My day started with a typical woman's dilemma.  What should I wear today?  I think I stood in my closet for 15 minutes staring at my clothes convinced I had nothing good enough to wear to bring my kids to and from school today.  Then my eyes fell upon something new!  I'd bought a grey, ribbed long sleeve shirt right at the end of winter earlier this year.  It was too hot to wear when I purchased it, so it's been hanging in my closet awaiting Fall.  I paired it with khaki hiking pants and tennis shoes.  I stepped up on the side of my bathtub to check out my new outfit in the mirror above my sink (because I'm my husband's too cheap to buy a $15 full length mirror from WalMart).  I was quite proud of this new outfit, and considering I was also having a great hair day, I thought I looked good.  Well, minus the over abundant junk in my trunk.  I'm sorry I ever hated you "what I once thought was my too flat rear."  It did cross my mind for a split second that maybe I was dressed a bit warm for today's weather.  Nah!  I thought.  It's windy so I'll be fine.
    Indeed I was fine.  Dropping Ian off, getting groceries with Wesley, and then picking Ian up, I was totally fine.  I was feeling somewhat beautiful and confident today.  After picking Ian up from school, we had to wait about 20 minutes before it was Wesley's turn for school.  I parked in the shade, rolled down the windows, and started reading my new book while two wild, half brained monkeys my children entertained themselves in the back seat.  Even in the shade and with the breeze I did get a tad warm.  To avoid pit spots I read my book with my elbows up and out.  Imagine your bent armed barbie doll trying to read a book.  That was me.  It helped the pit situation a bit, but not completely.  It was now time to bring Wesley to class.  It was rather warm out because the breeze had stopped.  I stayed on the playground a few minutes with the boys and then we retreated to the shade by the steps that go into the classroom.  There, in an attempt to stop my pits from gushing further, I propped my arm on the railing that was about shoulder height.  It was in that moment my confidence came crashing down.

Ian- "Mom, who slobbered on your shirt?"

Me-  "What?"

Ian-  "Your shirt.  Who slobbered on it?  See, it's wet."

(At this point he begins poking MY ARMPIT!)

Me-  "Stop, Ian.  That's sweat."

Ian- "Sweat?  What's sweat?  Why do you have sweat under your arms?  It looks gross!  It's wet!"

Me-  "Forget it, child!  Stop touching me and go play!"

  

    So why was this harmless conversation between mother and son able to destroy my confidence?  Might I refer you to a previous post.... "Hi, We're The Yellers!".  This was not a conversation simply between mother and son.  This was yelled loud enough for all the parents on the playground to hear.  Did they hear it?  I don't know.  These days, I refuse to look around and see if anyone heard.  Because I'm sure they did.  I prefer to pretend that no one else is around because things are a lot funnier and a lot less embarrassing when no one else sees or hears it.  Like the time Wesley pulled up my skirt at the grocery store.....in the checkout line......which is the busiest part of the whole grocery store!  I just jerked it down and kept on bagging my groceries.  It would have been a lot more horrifying if I had looked up to see people starring and giggling at me.  Besides, I'll never see those people again!  Well, maybe the grocery store people.  I only have to see the people on the playground at Wesley's school four times a week!  Bah!  I'm so glad it's almost jacket season.

Hopelessly Sweaty,

Rachel

 

Hallelujah He Colored!

    My eldest started school last week.  He is now a big kindergartener!  He was very excited about going to his new school.   I was anxious about how well he would do the first couple of weeks.  My dear sweet Ian, in the heat of the moment, does not handle change very well.  In fact, he needs a little extra help in some of the social and emotional areas of his life.  I'd been praying very hard the few weeks before school that he would handle it well enough.  I didn't ask for a miracle.  Things didn't need to go perfectly.  I just wanted him to be able to cope with a brand new school, brand new teachers, brand new classmates, and a brand new schedule.  And I knew that was asking a lot!
    He awoke a little after 6am the first morning.  He was so excited!  He was ready to get going.  Mommy, however, was neither excited nor ready to get going.  Not at 6am!  Not when we didn't have to leave until 8:15!  The morning was very uneventful.  He ate the breakfast of his choice.  Willingly put on the clothes of my choice.  And happily posed for a few pictures.

The ride to school was very chatty.  His excitement was giving me hope that everything was going to be okay.  Then we pulled up in the parking lot.
    There were kids everywhere!  Obviously.  It's an elementary school.  Ian immediately deflated.  He barely spoke a word when walking to find where he would line up.  He sat down in line, his eyes wide with uncertainty.  He managed a little smile for my camera phone, but I could tell he was afraid.  I hugged him, kissed him, gave him a pep talk, and waved goodbye as his class filed into the building.  I feared this was not going to be a good day.
    A few hours later I returned to pick him up.  When he spotted me he ran straight for me with a huge smile and arms wide open ready for a hug.  His first words were, "I was really good today!"  Thank you, Jesus!  He went on to tell me he didn't cry not even once and he never got in trouble.  On the way to the car he was telling me all of the places they visited around the school:  the library, the cafeteria, the spanish room, etc...  My heart was about to explode.  I felt like I couldn't have asked for a better day.  Then he pulled a picture out of his back pack.  I gasped and slapped my hand over my mouth.  I was about to receive the over the top icing on the cake that had been what I thought was a good enough day!  "Look what I colored, Mom."  I replied in a high, squeaky voice, barely audible to the human ear, "Ian!  Did you color that?"  As if I were an idiot, he said, "Um.  Yes." 
    I could not believe my eyes.  My baby had colored a picture.  Although not completely finished, he'd stayed in the lines, and he'd used the appropriate colors.  He had never, ever done that before.  Ian hates coloring.  He comes home from Sunday school almost every time with a blank color page.  The few times he had colored it was with one color scribbled over the entire page.  Obviously, just to appease us and say he'd colored.  I immediately called Brian.  I held my composure long enough to share what all he told me and that he'd had a good day.  Then I lost it.  I squeaked out, "And he colored a picture!"  Sobs followed.  "Are you okay, Sweetheart?  It's good that he colored a picture, but why are you crying?"  He was giggling at me.  Understandably.  He shares an office with another guy and I'm sure the image of his wife sobbing over a color page was a tad humorous to anyone on the other side of the phone.  "Brian, you don't understand.  He colored it!  Like he really colored it!  In the lines and everything!"  Now he was getting it.  "Did he use different colors?,"  he asked in a slightly disbelieving voice.  "He did!  The teddy bear is brown and the sun is yellow!"  More sobs.  He laughed and told me to make sure I told Ian how proud he was.  We said goodbye and I immediately called my mother.  I had less composure for the beginning of this conversation.  I squeaked out most of it and kept repeating myself because my mother doesn't have canine capacity hearing.  Then the sobbing and snorting started again.  At this point I'm beginning to realize how ridiculous I must sound and how I may be overreacting.  Just a tad.  Thankfully my mother understands and she was very excited for me.  A bit scared for me but mostly excited. 
    We celebrated Ian's fantastic, unbelievably wonderful first day with ice cream at Menchie's.  I think I cried two more times that day when reflecting on how well it went.  Above and beyond all expectations.  I can only believe my Savior had a hand in this.  He loves Ian more than I can ever hope to, so it's not surprising that he could give him such a great first day!
     I have to admit....  The next morning I asked his teacher if he had actually colored the picture by himself.  I hate to say it, but I wondered if he'd had help.  That's how unbelievable it was!  She assured me he'd done it himself.  Phew!  I'd have been sobbing all over again for a different reason if she'd stated the opposite.  Shame on me for doubting him!

Sincerely,
One Super Proud Momma

The Shared Wisdom of One Apparently Great Parent

    Several times over this past summer I've been complimented on how well behaved my children are and how Brian and I are great parents.   What?!  Wow!  Really?  I'm almost always speechless when this happens.  I usually laugh.  The first three times I assumed the people telling me this had one too many drinks before making that comment.  However, the fourth time made me scratch my head and wonder.... Maybe they're not drunk.  Maybe there's another Rachel Walker in Loveland who looks exactly like me, and she, too, has an Ian and  Wesley that look exactly like mine.  This makes much more sense to me than the thought that my kids are actually good and I've got it together enough to be considered a great parent. 

    I assure you this post is not to brag or gloat or toot my own horn.  (There's enough tooting going on around here without me doing it.)  I genuinely am puzzled over these compliments.  Grateful.  But puzzled.  I'm gonna let you in on a little secret.  I feel like I am a terrible parent most of the time.  And I doubt I am alone on this one.  My children drive me crazy.  I yell at them way more than I should.  I'm often too busy to play with them or read to them when they ask me.  Sometimes I think I push them too hard.  I often hurry them for no reason other than I'm in a hurry.  I don't have a lot of patience with them.  There are a million things I know I could do better when it comes to my two little boys.  So how does this make me a great parent?

    Well, I'm not going to say I'm a great parent.  I think I'm a decent or at the very most a good parent.  I love my heathens boys unconditionally.  There is nothing in this world that could make me not love them.  They could drive me off the crazy cliff and as long as I survived I'd still love them.  They embarrass me every time we go out in public.  But I still love them.  I have cried my eyes out in frustration over their misbehavior, all the while my heart aching because it is bursting at the seams with love for them.  Both of my children need some extra help in certain aspects of their life, and somehow that makes me love them even more!  Why do I love these wild, complicated, whiny, cute little boys?

    I believe it's because we were made specifically for each other.  Literally!  God gave me (and Brian) Ian and Wesley!  On purpose!  I have asked God out loud before, "WHY?  Why these two?  I can name 18 other kids that would have been a better fit for me!"  I'm surprised He didn't part the clouds, pull back the roof, and reach down and slap me.  God doesn't do accidents.  He gave me a specific personality, just the right amount of patience, just the right lack of patience, just enough energy, several other things I probably don't even realize, and most importantly a sense of humor to deal with these precious little boogers that He was eventually going to bless me with.  He knew that when they would start a wrestling match in the shopping cart I could just whisk them off to the bathroom, set 'em straight, and continue my shopping as if nothing happened.  He knew that my emotional five year old who cries at the drop of a hat needed a mother who could say, "Dry it up kid.  It ain't worth crying over."  He knew when Wesley pulled my skirt up while I was bagging my groceries that I could yank it back down and not care who just saw my pink striped panties and laugh about it later.  He knew that when my boys took every book they owned off of their bookshelf for the umpteenth time, after being told not to, that I would have the strength to bag them up and "throw them away" (in the basement) even though my boys were weeping and waling and begging me not to.  He knew because He is the one who gives me everything I need to deal with these two.  And I can't thank Him enough.

    There was a time when I was really struggling with some issues I was having with Ian.  I sought the advice of someone who I felt had been there and done that and could share some wisdom with me.  She told me something that day that really changed the way I view the difficulties I face with my children.  She said, "Rachel, God did not make Ian perfect, but He did make him perfectly.  And He gave him to you and Brian because you are the perfect parents for him."  Wow!  If that statement is true, and I believe it is, that means that not only can I handle these two, but I am divinely equipped to handle them better than anybody else on this planet!  Besides Brian, of course, who is equally equipped.  Talk about encouraging!

   In closing, maybe I can now accept the idea that I am in fact a great parent.  Not for your kids, or my sister's kids, or my friend's kids, or my neighbor's kids.  I am a great parent for Ian and Wesley!  Because whether they like it or not.....whether I like it or not.....God stuck us together for life, and I gratefully accept the challenge! 


Gladly going off the rails on a crazy train,
Rachel

HI, WE'RE THE YELLERS!

    I have recently come to the conclusion that we are a family of "yellers."  We yell.  A lot.  It's not that we are always mad at each other.  This is simply how we communicate.  It doesn't help that we have three levels in our home.  Heaven forbid we get up and walk towards whomever we need to speak to.  We just yell.  As adults, my husband and I can refrain from yelling when we are outside of our home (or the home of our in-laws).  My children, however, yell anywhere.  Department stores.  Restaurants.  Other peoples homes.  Even church.  During the service.  They have no concept of "inside voice" or that thing called being polite.  To them, yelling is a perfectly acceptable form of communication.  What have we done?!

    My sister once mailed me the following comic strip...

I was greatly amused until I read the handwritten post-it note that was attached.  "This made me think of ya'll.  Ha Ha."  Did you read the part where I said she mailed it to me?  She felt so strongly that it resembled us that she paid 42 cents to show me.  Sigh....  It's true, though.

    Too often the yelling does come from frustration and anger.  The following is a common exchange in our home:

Me:  "Boys, it's time to get upstairs and clean your room.

(A minute later...)

I SAID GET UP THERE AND CLEAN IT NOW!"

 Ian:  "I'M GOING.  I'M GOING."

 (A few minutes later from upstairs....)

Ian:  "WESLEY, YOU HAVE TO HELP ME CLEAN UP."

Wesley:  "NO, I TOO TIRED!"

I:  "I'M GONNA TELL MOM!"

W: "I NOT YOU FRIEND!"

I: "YES, YOU ARE!"

W: "NO, I IS NOT!"

I:  "MOM!  WESLEY SAID HE'S NOT MY FRIEND."

Me:  "WESLEY, YOU ARE HIS FRIEND SO GET USED TO IT AND START CLEANING!  AND STOP ALL THIS YELLING IT'S DRIVING ME CRAZY!"

At this point they are standing at the top of the stairs looking at me like I'm crazy.  Because I am.  Because they've driven me there!  

     Wesley is more of a yeller than Ian is.  In general he is just more of a presence than his brother, but I think some of the yelling also stems from the slight language barrier we have between his three year old jabber and my understanding of what the English language should sound like.  Often when I can't understand what he's trying to tell me, he just starts yelling at me.  Because obviously screaming it at the top of your lungs makes it so much more understandable than speaking it in a normal voice.  

W:  "Mom, wadoo why-ins bite whena tuts dem?"

Me: "What?"

W: "I SEH!  WADOO WHY-INS BITE WHENA TUTS DEM?"

Me:  "Wesley, I still can't understand you babe.  What are you saying?"

W:  "WADOOWHYINSBITEWHENATUTUSDEM, MOM!"

Me:  "WESLEY, STOP YELLING, YOU'RE MAKING IT WORSE!"

Ian:  "He wants to know why lions bite when you touch them, Mom."

W:  "YES!  WHY WHENA TUTS DEM?  I JUS WANNA TUTS DEM BUT DEY BITE!"

Me:  "Oh.  Uh.... Cause they don't like to be touched."

W:  "Oh. Uh-tay.  I hungwee."

    Not all of the yelling is negative.  I can't count the number of times Wesley has yelled "I WUBOO, MOM!" as he runs by me in his underwear and a batman cape or some other fantastic superhero costume concoction.  Every night bedtime ends with a series of "I LOVE YOU" and "I LOVE YOU, TOO" being yelled back and forth from Brian and I and the boys as we leave their room.  But I'd be lying if I said it didn't end almost every night yelling, "I KNOW, WESLEY!  NOW STOP YELLING!  IT'S TIME TO GO TO BED!"  We apparently can't help ourselves. 

    I have at times attempted to consciously stop the yelling.  Usually these attempts are made after I watch a "19 Kids and Counting" episode.  I watch Michelle Duggar, in the midst of the chaos and pandemonium that is her home, whispering, "Alright now we need to settle down.  Let's use our inside voices.  Please don't do that.  That's not very nice.  Let's try to calm down."  Her children seem to listen and respond so well.  When I've tried to do the same, my children act as though I'm not in the room.  I can say, "Stop fighting guys.  Someone is going to get hurt."  And I get no response whatsoever.  I can yell, "STOP FIGHTING GUYS.  SOMEONE IS GOING TO GET HURT."  And amazingly they stop.  I've had their hearing tested.  Both tested normal.  They just don't listen.  Maybe it's a boy thing?  Seriously.  I have a couple of extra boys at my home right now and they too are yelling every other sentence that comes out of their mouth.  Maybe we are not alone, but rather I'm the only one willing to openly admit that we yell all the time.  Or maybe they are just yelling because our home has a "Yell All You Want" vibe in it.  Feel free to weigh in on the matter....

    So in closing I would just like to say, 

WE ARE A FAMILY OF YELLERS AND PROUD OF IT!

Okay maybe not proud, but I don't see it changing anytime soon, so we might as well embrace it. 

 THANKS FOR READING!

BYE NOW!  

Country Style Meat-n-Beans

    Today I'm going to share a recipe.  Gasp!  It's not gourmet, but it's cheap and easy.  I know someone who reads this will appreciate it.
    It was a staple in our home when I was growing up.  My momma calls it "Country Style Meat-n-Beans."  Once, in an attempt to make it sound more appealing to a young boy she was babysitting, she called it "Cowboy Beans."  While my boys eat it well enough, they could always use some extra incentive.  They care nothing for cowboys, but both are on a Star Wars kick so I'm considering calling it "Light Force Tauntaun-n-Legumes."  I'll tell them it's what gave Yoda and Luke Skywalker their powers while living in the creepy swamp.  Hopefully they'll scarf it down and then I can sit back and giggle at them trying to use the force to move the entertainment center.  Or even better, maybe they can try to move the toys in their room from the floor to the toy box!  And we all know Luke Skywalker would never give up, so it'll get done one way or the other.  Clean their room, they will!  So good, I am!

Here's what you need:
1 lb of Hamburger Meat
1 T. of Onion (I used minced or chopped onion from a jar)
1 Bell Pepper finely chopped
1 t. of Salt
1/8 t. of Worcestershire Sauce (I just give the bottle several shakes into the mix)
2- 15oz. cans of Ranch Style Beans
2 cans of Water

    Brown your meat with bell pepper and onion.  Drain the grease.  Now add salt and worcestershire sauce and cook for approximately two minutes.  Add beans and water.  Bring to a boil.  Then turn down the heat and let simmer until blended and almost dry.  Serve over rice.  (We enjoy crackers with it, as well.)

     It really is super easy and cheap!  You can't go wrong with meat and beans.  Haven't you heard the song.....

"Beans, beans, a musical fruit.

The more you eat'em, the more you toot.

The more you toot, the better you feel.

So eat your beans at every meal!"

There's also the verse about how "they're good for your heart," but my mother would die if I recited it.

P.S.

Working, my plan is!

Smack-a-wha?

    We have a new word at our house.  Smackapootchie.  Pronounced Smack-ah-pooch-ee, for those of you who don't understand "goofball."  I say it's a new word.  It's actually been around for a few months.  My husband made it up.  At least he told me he did.  I guess he could be lying and he actually stole it from someone else, but I highly doubt it.
  
 The word could be a term of endearment.....

"I love you my Smackapootchie!"

It can be used as a combined verb-noun....

"Get it clean before I Smackapootchie!"

Or a means of harassment.

"I- "Wesley you're a Smackapootchie!"

W- "No I is not, Iah!"

I- "Yes you are! HaHa!"

W- "No I is not!  Momma, Iah call me a Smackapootchie!"

R -"Stop calling him that, Ian."

I- "But he is a Smackapootchie!"

W- "Momma!"

R- "I said STOP!"

B- "You're my Smackapootchie."

(*Kiss*Kiss*)

R- "Awww....  Thank you, dear.""

You should try using this versatile term today.  It could bring some wanted or possibly unwanted excitement to your day.

Love,
Brian's Smackapootchie

New Traditions, New Fences, & Goofy Sisters

    Hellooooooooooooo everyone!  It's been awhile, so I thought I'd let you know what I've been up to in the last month. 

    First of all, I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday season!  I must admit, I had a touch of the holiday blues.  This was my first Christmas away from my family, which meant we had no plans with anyone.  Kinda lonely.  But we made the best of it.  We spent one night driving around different neighborhoods and looking at Christmas lights while sipping on over priced hot chocolate and coffee from Starbucks.  Then we made sugar cookies for Santa while listening to Christmas music.  However, the recipe made 974 sugar cookies, so there were enough for Santa and all of his elves.  Guess who ended up eating most of them.  Ugh...  Our children had a wonderful Christmas and got everything they wanted.  I never thought letting all the credit go to a non existent fat man would bother me, but this year it did.  Just a bit.  Will it be terrible if we inform our children that Santa Claus died this summer and that we will be providing all of their wonderful gifts this year?  I'm just kidding!  Sort of.  They'll get over it, right?
   
    New Years was lonely as well.  On New Year's Eve we attempted to work on the fence that we are building for the back yard.  I was enlisted to help because according to my husband this is my fence.  I ever so politely informed him that I do not need a fence to stay securely in our back yard.  His children (and my dogs) do!  Ha!  He didn't care.  I still had to help.  I was given the task of cutting all the fence pickets to the correct size. We didn't want to be weenies and let the hurricane force winds stop us from getting some work done that day.  However, when the pickets started flying off the back of the trailer and at ME, we decided to call it a day.  We resumed work the next afternoon and got a lot done.  What a great way to bring in the new year!  Working on a way to keep the kids and dogs wrangled!  WooHoo!

    My younger sister spent this past week with me.  We had a great time!  I haven't laughed that much in quite a while.  I like to laugh.  I can totally revert back to a goofy, moronic preteen when I'm with my sisters (who also revert back to goofy, moronic preteens).  *Sniffle*  I miss them.  *Tear*  Thankfully I have memories like "Leaping and Bounding," "Armpits, Cherry pits, Pit bulls, Pitrowsky," and awfully choreographed Christmas lip synching numbers to keep me smiling.  *Sniffle*  I miss them.  *Tear*  I mean how can you not laugh until your sides hurt and you pee a little when your sisters do stuff like this.......

She's gonna kill me!

Welcome to 2012!

Rachel

DIY Teacher Gifts

    It's almost Christmas!  Yaaaaaaaaay!!!  I had hoped to have this particular project done a few weeks ago, in case anyone wanted to do the same thing for this year, but who am I kidding.  The queen of procrastination doesn't do anything a few weeks before it needs to be done.  So what is this project I speak of?   Teacher gifts!  This is my first year to do teacher gifts, and wouldn't you know that between his two schools Ian has two teachers and three paraprofessionals (I'm guessing that's a fancy word for teacher's aide).  Of course, I didn't want to spend an arm and a leg, so I thought I'd make gifts.  I found this wonderful tutorial for flower pins on Pinterest:

http://www.notmartha.org/archives/2010/04/23/a-flower-pin-for-you-favorite-mom/

So cute!  I didn't want anything too "teacher-y," and I decided that this would be a nice gift for any lovely lady.  So I went to Hobby Lobby and bought all of my supplies, including the little boxes to wrap them in.  I spent approximately $10 for all of it.  Later I went to WalMart and bought Dove chocolate to put in each little box.  That cost around $8 for two bags.  Here's the final project:

    I chose five different colors and then let Ian decide who got what color.  I think they turned out great.  It was fairly easy, but time consuming.  Each flower took approximately an hour and a half.  Of course, that includes a number of distractions.  "I'm hungry."  "I need something to drink."  "Wesley's in the bathroom and he wants you."  "Put the cat down right now!"  "Ian just hit me."  "What's that gross stuff on the floor?"  This list could go on and on and on.  I had to stop every ten minutes.
    On the link I posted above you will find a link to the tutorial and also a link titled "a few notes on what I learned."  I recommend you read the one about what she learned as well.  It has some helpful tips.  And I'll add to that.....  Do not use too much glue!  Otherwise you'll have a terrible mess.  Those little glue strings will be everywhere and your flower will look like it has a spider living in it.  Not pretty.  Another helpful note.....  Don't freak out over cutting the petals.  When I first realized I had to free hand cut each and every petal, I almost hyperventilated!  I am very much a perfectionist and I had no idea how I was going to make each petal the exact same.  Good news....  You don't have to!  I spent minutes on each of the first few petals trying to make them all the exact same size.  Minutes is a long time when you have 40 petals times 5 flowers to cut out!  I soon realized it didn't matter.  Because you're cutting each petal from squares that are the same size, they'll all be the same size.  Who would have thought....  They may not be the exact same shape, but you can't tell.

    So to wrap this up.  I put a piece of tissue paper in each box and threw some candy in it.  I figured anyone who works with 4 year old's all day deserves a little bit of chocolate.

Then I put the flower on top.

Wrapped it up.  Closed the box. Voila!

Five teacher's gifts for around $18!  I'd say that's pretty thrifty!

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Rachel

Sorta Kinda Answered Prayer

Remember this from my last post....


""Dear God, please give me something mildly debilitating.  Enough to keep me indoors on Saturday yet still have me well for church and running the kids to school.  I know it's my time for sickness and I will gladly accept it.  Amen."

God doesn't always answer our prayers with a yes.  At least he hasn't answered this one yet.  He'll probably do it sometime in the middle of next week."

Well guess what?  I've been sick every day this week.  I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  Up until this morning it's been stomach issues.  (I tried to put that politely.)  This morning I woke up with a sore throat and throbbing ears.  Ugh.....  This is what I want to do today....

Curl up in my nice warm bed with Da Tote and Da Smidge.

Here's what I need to do today....

Take this out.

Put this in order.

Feed this umpteen times.

Take this to school later.

Tackle this.

Put this where it belongs.

Let this thing out 28 times today.  (You'll have to tilt your head to the right.  For some reason it's loading on its side.  Sorry.)

Save the cat from this kid 1,637 times.

Give yet another sermon on why this is NOT ok.

Wash, dry, and put away the ever growing pile of this.

Drag these two out of the tree 793 times.

But who am I kidding....

I'll probably do this most of the day.

I have a good excuse!

Sincerely Sick,
Rachel