The BIG O

Inquiring minds would like to know if you have “gone organic” and if so, do you feel any different?

Catching up.

Well, the girls are fairly settled into their new room now. I realize of course that we just separated them not too long ago. And before that too. This time we’ve made the twin-bed purchase, so we’re committed. Here they are the first night in their new beds. We haven’t hung anything on the walls yet, but we’ll get there. I’m a little slow about that kind of thing.

Brian & I were shopping at TJMaxx last week and ran across this lil’ feller. I wanted to buy him “just because” and Brian was like, No way! I don’t want a lazy gazelle settin’ on my shelf! He’d better be runnin from something. I just figured he was admiring his twin clearance price tags, but…oh well. We left him with the rooster cookie jar he was setting next to. [If you're wondering what the gazelle fascination is all about, click here].

I tend to think the sun can be a really healthy thing, so I’ve been spending a lot of time poolside this summer. The girls had been in swim lessons everyday for a couple weeks. Taylor took off and did awesome! She can swim underwater now. I am so impressed! I can’t stand to get my face wet … maybe she can teach me. Here is Taylor adjusting her sisters swim-top before taking her first jump into the deep end. Such a helper that child…

We weren’t there too much last week since my parents were here and we were all working around the house, but I’m headed back that way….so if your feed reader isn’t catching much from this direction, you know why, and you know where I’ll be! Come over and join us, why don’t ya?

Dining with children

I’m not sure whats better, my older daughter’s laugh in the background, or the spunk of the younger. I’m thinking no one will want to risk being seen in public with us after viewing this.

In case you can’t hear it, when she disappears under the table and pops back up, she says “thats a magic trick”. I realize this is probably one of those “had to be there” things. I wish I could remember/hear what song was playing at the time cuz her moves were right on with the beat!

I took it on my phone so the quality isn’t great and then it got a little blown out when I uploaded it…

Finishing nails.

Last night my husband & I were walking through the hardware store shopping for some special screws & brackets for the kids new headboards. It’s been years really since I’ve made my way through one of those places. I used to know the layout like the back of my hand and could get in and out in no time, but this time…not so much. We were wandering around. Up & down aisles, looking for these little L brackets and the right sized wood screws.

As we walked the aisle of ‘metal fasteners’, I was struck by the sizes of some of those screws! They looked like something that would be used to build a bridge more than some honey-do project around the house! (I’m SO going to have a ridiculous amount of spam in my comment queue. I know it.)

I was a long ways off from finding the little wood screws I needed for the kids furniture, but I just stood there staring: bin after bin of these massive screws.

And then it occurred to me. When Jesus died on the cross, the nails used could not have been finished so well. They were probably bigger. And as I looked at these things, many times larger than the size of one of my own fingers, I thought about it going through His wrists. Through His feet. Sharper maybe? More jagged? Larger than anything the Depot had to offer.

He did this for me? You know I welled up right there in the screw aisle at Home Depot.

He did this for me.

I grew up in church with this cartoon-like image of Jesus on the Cross between two robbers. The line drawing of the crown of thorns on His head. Polka dots on his hands and feet with a little red dripping down. Its a very edited image, appropriate for children…and until this year, it has remained exactly so in my mind, safe for me as an adult too. Distant and cartoonish to boot.

There’s this song at church that we sing and it always catches me right in the throat. I can hardly sing the words. Because it paints a different picture for me - a beautiful one, of His sacrifice and His love for me. Even when I go through bouts of running and pushing and hiding, (much like my own 5 & 6 year old girls from me some days), He loves me still. He knows my anxious thoughts. And I long for Him more. It really is a relationship. And most days, I nurture more relationships via email or on facebook and myspace than I do with Him. And He took the big ole jaggedy spikes for me. Nothing as pretty as what I saw at the store.

Freedom. The KING of Glory POURED OUT. Rescue! These are the words I choose to consider first. Maybe with time, the cartoon image will go away as the reality of my rescue rests on my heart.

I never knew death could be so sweet
I never knew surrender could feel so free
I never seen such meekness in majesty
That the blood of Jesus was bled for me

And now I sing freedom for all my days
It’s only by the power of the cross I’m raised
The King of Glory rescued me

How beautiful the blood flow
How merciful the love show
The King glory poured out
Victorious, I’m weeping

Never knew through these nails would love unfold
And never knew these wounds would heal my soul
I’ve never seen such beauty and sorrow meet
The blood of Jesus was bled for me

Beautiful the Blood - Steve Fee

Depression stinks. Paint fumes are not as bad.

My parents came to lovingly kick my rear into 5th gear visit this week, so I’ve hardly been near the computer except to check email real quick now and then. I think my mom might have been bored in Florida or needing a change of scenery, so she called last week and asked if we wanted them to come up and help us with painting the girls bedroom (the paint has been sitting unopened for over a year…it was not looking like it was going to get done unless they intervened). So they came up, but I’m sure you know that once a project like that is started, it just bleeds one into another. into another. into another.

What started off as simply painting a bedroom and putting it back the way it was also became so much more than that…and then some. We are exhausted. Once you’re in the middle of a mess like that, there’s no turning back. Tomorrow is day 4. Probably the last day. Probably. And then maybe I’ll post a picture or two for you to see what we’ve been up to.

Oh, and theres still a bathroom to do. I think I’ll wait til the kids are in school to attack that. I miss the pool.

I sure am grateful for my parents. I wouldn’t be able to do it without them. Actually, I probably just wouldn’t do it without them. At least, not as good. Certainly not as quickly. They are pretty awesome.

While Brian was at work and we were all busy with the bedroom painting project, the girls were attempting to stay busy too. They had lost TV and POOL privileges for bad behavior the night before…however, I had to laugh when I walked outside and heard them squealing … I peeked around the corner and saw them spraying each other with the hose. They were having so much fun! That’s one way to cool off!

I started having a panic attack this morning on my way to workout and had to turn around and go home, crying the whole way, then crawled into bed and cried myself back to sleep. No, I wasn’t afraid of Chad’s mile/500…I was actually up for the challenge…but some days just don’t start off the way you expect that they will.

Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow I will wake up and have freshly ground jamaican blue mountain coffee. At 7:47am the cuis will have it ready for us, and we will be waiting! I’m going to sleep now so I can wake up and enjoy that all the sooner…

Public Displays of Affection

One of our daughter’s has professed her love for her daddy (we are not sure which one loves him this much. they are sworn to secrecy). Whichever it is, she etched a heart on his car door to remind him of it:

stuff that stuck.

Here are links to some stuff that stuck with me this week. Like glue. or gum. It might stick on you too if you go explore. So go! Then come back and tell me what you found in the blogosphere that was sticky for you this week!

Bible Lessons in the Beer Aisle :: Desperately Seeking Sanity

Tomahawk-chopping Chic-Fil-A cow heads to Turner Field :: AJC This is awesome marketing right in its own hometown!

Our friends Chris & Jenni Graebe were on 700 Club last week. I can’t seem to get the video posted here though, so take the link to watch their story!

Cul-de-sac Party :: This Beautiful Life. A beautiful peek into the lost art of community.

Reality Check :: Punk Rock Mommy. If only we were all so brave…

Guest Blogger Anne Jackson :: Without Wax. Wow. So transparent & true!

101 reasons I hate Victoria’s Secret.

Or a few longwinded descriptions. Whatever.

Twice a year for the past (many) years, I looked forward to a big event: the semi-annual sale at VS. In my former life, I had their platinum card and maxed it monthly. I still have stuff I bought there 5+ years ago with the tags on it. Thats some quantity, y’all.

However, I am so much more mature than I used to be! And educated. And older. And lately, more irritable. Along with the gift of maturity, came that of becoming “less endowed” as well. Hey, you win some, you lose some.

And so, you can imagine my surprise when I went into the greatest bra store on earth to find out not only do they not carry my size, but their sales people also have looks of pity that accompany the news upon its delivery. Apparently it is because they are thinking more of the commission they won’t be earning on me that day. Their giggling certainly would not have preempted that news, would it? I didn’t think so either.

I thought I’d try again another day after I learned that they do carry my size in a special section. Nice, huh? So I asked a girl and she got on her official earbud and asked another bragirl - loudly - if they carried it. “No, we dont carry that anymore” she announced - yes, announced. I turned around to look for my husband who had completely bolted in the opposite direction and was standing in the doorway hand in hand with our angelic [read on} children. I thought for sure he would be there to have my back and offer sympathy. Or compassion. Or a “that was just wrong, baby!” kind of thing. Of which I got none because he had completely distanced himself from what evidently he saw coming like an inbound train.

I always loved the semi annual sale. you can get some new pretty stuff, cheap-er than “sale” priced. However, somehow in all my irritability of late, I have found myself completely disgusted at the store. Not only are there rounds upon rounds of under-things, but women crowded around them digging for stuff. Stuff you would wear. They are handling it. Throwing it around. It is like the world’s largest panty raid and inevitably, upon entering you are going to have mental images stuck in your head as you see people sort through and decide on their purchases. I try to get out as quick as I can and never make eye contact with anyone.

I have attempted to save a few bucks this month at the sale, however my kids are not the best shoppers in that store. It is like walking through the door flips a switch on their brains. One child spanks the bottomside of the mannequin. Another likes to feel the material of its bra. I suppose if I had boys doing that, then it would be worse. Regardless, it is a bit awkward to have to tell your kid to stop touching the mannequin inappropriately.

I finally had them standing still as I dug through bins of bras. Next to what I hoped might be my size if I found the right style, a 14 year old girl, digging in a bigger sized bin declared “Mommy! Look how cute this one is! Can I get it?” I could have thrown up right there in that bin of overpriced bras. How could that little girl be fitting that stuff? Life seems unfair some days. I left.

After an especially trying afternoon with the kids yesterday, I got a babysitter so I could go out and attempt some shopping alone. And by attempt, I mean, see if VS was more tolerable without kids or if my opposition for digging for the right size & style was pretty much just that.

I must be fly-paper to 14 year old girls because there I stood, diggin through bins yet again, listening to a “little girl” shop right next to me as her mom and younger sister gave her advice on which were “cuter” and she gave an entire rundown of her opinions of fashion for said item. And seriously, her choices were much more than “cute” if you know what I mean.

I stood there and suffered through her commentary because being a birthday girl this month, I had a ten-dollar off coupon for my purchase. I’d already attempted to shop there 3 times this month with kids. If I walked away today with nothing, I was giving up altogether.

Eventually I made it to the checkout, choices in hand, and after politely refusing the Angels credit card, I gave her my “Birthday Wish” discount card. “That isn’t valid on special priced items.” “Special priced? Like ’sale’ items?” “Yeah, you have to buy something … not on sale to use that.” “Full priced?” “Yeah.”

Well color me stupid. I thought for sure they just wanted business these days, but evidently the 14 year olds are the real prized customers. Someone please tell me why it is so important for a kid - because they are kids - to wear underthings I never dreamed of laying eyes on until I was ready to get married?

I must be old. Or old-fashioned. Which my mother would appreciate.

So because I’m irritable and I know it (clap your hands), I’m going to share a tidbit of information with you that I learned a while back; their bras are made by the same people who also supply bras to another store you frequent. I know this based on two things: a “bra engineer” from the manufacturer in a not so far away land, and a saleswoman at another store who divulged to me that she’d had shipments for VS delivered to her incorrectly labeled. It’s no secret, it’s all the same, y’all.

Guess what I saw today!?

CHRISTMAS STUFF at Hobby Lobby!!!!
I wonder when Brian will let me put up the tree this year!?

I’m confiscating the whistle.

I’ve taken issue with whistles ever since Mrs. Bouwer’s P.E. class in 7th grade. Hearing one nearby makes my neck compress into my torso, so you can imagine when it was inside my house that every hair on my body stood up while I froze in position.

I wasn’t sure where the whistle came from, however, it prompted a thorough cleansing of the kids bedrooms today. They hide stuff in so many places; behind the drapes. In a box inside a box under the bed. I promised I could handle it myself, but they mysteriously wanted to help. I guess bringing out the biggest garbage can in the house “speaks their language”.

I so appreciate those of you who wrote me to tell me how normal you think I really am. I’m not sure you’re right, but here’s hoping. Maybe in the parenting magazines I’ve read over the years no one really described it the way I see it many days. Gut wrenchingly difficult. Confusing. And when its just you to deal with it during the day, it can be colored with a tinge of helplessness. So much so you think you might just throw up. And then a few minutes later you’re smiling and proud and crazily assume the confrontation may have been worth it after all.

It was practically 2 against 1 here tonight. I had clearly asked them to finish picking up in Avery’s room - at least 5 times. (Thats why I’m claiming the whistle) But for whatever reason, their listening skills were dull tonight and it wasn’t even the streams of silly string that sent me over the edge. It was when Taylor went into the room and came right back out and decided to work on gluing beads to rocks.

Finally, with one last order they went in the room to pick up what to you & I looked like not much at all, but they couldn’t seem to do a thing. I told them to turn around and face the window. They stared at me. I used both my index fingers pointing at the floor and made a circling motion. “Ohhh” Tay said as she did a ballerina spin landing on the bed. “NO! This isn’t the hokey pokey! Face the window. You’re getting a spanking for disobedience.”

Tay’s face completely changed and she stuck her hip out, put her hand up on it and garbled up something while her neck moved mysteriously back & forth. “What was that?” I asked her. “That was spanish!”

I proceeded to spank her and now she’s spending the rest of her evening in her room, for sassing me en espanol. She informed me she intended to sleep in her nice outfit and wake up and have it wrinkled and sweaty. (What was it that I predicted again? That 6 would be a sweet age?)

After a few minutes had passed, I went in her room and sat at the edge of the bed, informing her that I would not allow her to be disrespectful to me or anyone else that way, however if her daddy heard her do it, she would be in a whole heap more of trouble. He was never really my “knight in shining armor” until the kids started talking back. Now he really is my hero. It is a huge relief to have a boundary line drawn on your behalf! I just love Tay too much to let her start acting that way! I explained to her that there is a time to be funny in spanish and a time that it is just not appropriate. And that was it. She understood. We were all good again.

She came out of her room after about a half hour and asked to talk to me. She had a nice outline of 3 things that she knew she did wrong and what the correct thing to do would have been (She’s gettin’ good!). I was actually so proud of her for coming to say that to me. Gosh, you know, I just want to pop her up some popcorn and stick in a movie, but she’s supposed to stay in her room the rest of the night.

Such is life. Normal, right?

Well, I have to get to some housework yet, but some of you will love this. We were layin around the house this weekend and Taylor brings out Avery’s hot pink guitar. She loves to sing - has forever been musical - and decided to sing us a song she made up. I was on the computer when she came in, so I tried as hard as I could to keep up with her lyrics. I kid you not:

Where is my toy
Where is my favorite toy
Somebody is selling it
This is a sale
Where is my toy
Do not buy it, Do not buy it
That was my favorite toy Mommy
Do not let them buy it
But they already got it in their car
I will go chase them down the street
What country do they live in?

I am fairly certain that my child is scarred by garage sales. No wonder she hides her stuff.