Bold truth in firm love...

what the heck do I mean by that?

Well, let's see, here is a quote from an email I received from a mom with a question about her 6th grader. She said that she was asking for my counsel, "because of your extensive experience in raising boys through the middle school years, and your exceptionally high standards, and your complete lack of accepting excuses..."

Not only did that line cause me pause but I also laughed out loud. I readily acknowledge that I have a reputation as a straight shooter of sorts who will cut the bull, land the punch, and say it like it is.

When I turned 40, I announced to some friends that I had decided to take my Mimi's tactic when she turned 80 to say what I thought and no more holding back. To which one of those friends responded, "And how would that be different than now?"

Regardless, it is true that through the years my telling it like it is has varied both in truth (that it is like I am telling it), in maturity (spiritual growth and using godly filtering), and timing (honesty is the best policy but timing is everything).  And on many occasions, both at my fault and at no fault of my own, my speech has been interpreted as being without compassion, sympathy, and even gentleness.

And while I am not a touchy-feely girl, I do desire to evidence compassion, sympathy, and gentleness in my speech to others. I am very much a work in progress in all those things. Still.

So when someone comes to ask what I think about said child raising issues, I do not coddle the truth. I honestly do not think any mom has time or genuine need for less than the true truth. If she is brave enough to ask another mom what she thinks, while she certainly needs affirmation for her mothering, she also needs the truth she is asking to receive.

Affirmation for her mothering is firm love. I tell her what she is doing that accords with God's word, that demonstrates His grace to her, that speaks to her own spiritual growth, and is a blessing to the kingdom.

Affirmation is also bold truth to say and show her where she is coddling personal sin or denying what is really going on with her child. This is affirmation because it is God's grace when He shows us our sin and keeps us by His Spirit to confess, repent, and believe in truth. Over and over again.

It is not affirmation to falsely flatter a mom who is disregarding Biblical instruction regarding her child. For example, a child that is sassing his mom is not "just tired and needs a nap." He is being disrespectful and she is allowing that sin to continue by denying the sass (disrespect) as sin. Excuses are not a gentle restoring of the sinner (Gal. 6:1). When the Israelites were quarreling, grumbling, and complaining against Moses in the wilderness, did the Lord comfort Moses with the words, "They are just tired and need a nap."?

Of course not. The Lord dealt with the sin. And it was grace that He dealt with the sin in such a way as to point them to Christ. (Exo. 17)

Anyway, there are numerous examples of the sins of childhood and at least double that for the ways that moms (all of us) have wrongly excused the sin for an even greater number of reasons. Doing so will eventually lead a mom to the end of herself and when that mom asks me what to do, I tell her the truth.

Boldly. Firmly. Because it is how the Lord tells us the truth about Himself and His works in His word. Boldly. Firmly. There is no Book of Hesitations. No Book of Excuses. No Book of Denial. His Word is good and right and true and just and merciful and penetrating and sharper than a two-edged sword.

"All Scripture is breathed out by God and profitable for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness, that the man of God may be competent, equipped for every good work." 2 Timothy 3:16

P.S. And lest anyone think that Jesus deviated from a bold and firm truth when it came to His words, remember that He was clear to say, "My teaching is not mine, but His who sent me." John 7:16 Numerous times Jesus repeated the statement that His words to His hearers were straight from the One who sent Him.

P.P.S. There is more to say on this I'm sure, but ending it here for now. I'll see what strikes next.

Not the other woman....

but the older woman is what I have become. Funny, hasn't it been said that you're only as old as you think you are? If that's true, I'm still somewhere in my 20's. With the wisdom of my 40's of course. Weird, right?

Anyway, older woman status has been driven home in several ways of late. Most recently has been the requests of younger moms with sons asking for advice in raising sons. I don't yet have an empty nest. My oldest will be 18 in July. My middle just turned 17. And my youngest will be 14 in two weeks. I still know myself to be firmly ensconced in the work of "raising sons."

But I understand their questions, because when my boys were toddlers, preschoolers, elementary, and middle school, I was always looking for a mom just slightly ahead of me to ask how she did thus and so or what to do when the son did this and that. The questions come both from bewilderment over what in the world to do as much as from a need for affirmation that you are not raising the next Manson.

It can be bleak as a mom to know to whom to turn and ask in the noise of parenting articles proliferating in magazines, books, and social media. Fortunately, I was able to find a spiritual mentoring mom who took me firmly by the chin and told me to raise those boys to be "assets in the kingdom and not liabilities!" It became a mantra for me.

Seeing a 4 year old have a tantrum might have an element of cuteness to it (oh he's just tired), but is that what I want to see when he is 14 and bigger than me? A 6 year old that can not control his emotions we chalk up to immaturity (and it is), but if he is not taught how to control his emotions, than what will be the result at 16 years old (dangerous, reckless, lack of self controlled behavior)? Based on her counsel, I began to filter my decisions through the long view questions of, "Am I willing to see 'this' behavior from this son when he is a young man, a young husband, a young dad?" "What is the Biblical principle happening here?"

Long view parenting means that we don't parent for the moment but we parent for the lifetime of that child who will eventually be required to take a place in society as either an asset or a liability.

It was valuable advice and this woman is still one that I can go to for those questions that plague the moms of older sons--jobs, girls, cars, college, life choices, etc. I imagine that even when that empty nest comes, she will be a beacon of counsel for how to interact with my adult sons.

So now the younger moms are coming to me with similar questions and I have to quickly blink my eyes to realize how rapidly the years have passed and although I still feel very much in the thick of it, I have the Biblical responsibility to do as my spiritual mentoring mom did for me--to speak the bold truth in firm love.

Speaking bold truth in firm love--yep, that's what I'll blog about next time. Put on your steel toed shoes.

Spring cleaning....

and all its requisite labors has been happening around these parts the last several days. While it is a relief to get rid of the clutter and see the original surfaces of things like floors, desks, cabinets, and the like, it is as much as an emotional labor as it is a physical one.

I'm one of those that has memories attached to things that others would quickly label as "junk." That shirt I was wearing the last time I held James. That book that was given to me after my first year as a Bible teacher. That brochure that I used to plan our family trip to Williamsburg.

Agh. I wish that I could easily toss those things. And sometimes I am able to break the bond, remember the moment, smile (or shed a tear) and "let it go!" But other times that thing, whatever it may be, just goes into the deal with it later pile.

This year's spring cleaning may have been invested with a tad bit more emotion, I will confess. Nate, my oldest son, went on his first college visit the same weekend that I was at the homeschool convention with my youngest son planning his high school courses while my middle son was at home playing a big regional soccer game. Between Thursday and Saturday my heart was in three very different places.

Spring cleaning was on the tails of trying to mentally group and re-group how very different one year from now will be in our lives. We are at the beginning of an ending of sorts. Spring cleaning in a year will involve packing one up for a move out of the house and not just a re-organization of his room.

As one friend would write, cue "Sunrise, Sunset."

So--clutter was removed. Memories were remembered. Some things just moved from one pile to another. And tears were shed that I blamed on the dust that is stirred up from all that cleaning.

If doing the same thing over....

and over again while expecting a different result is the definition of insanity, then fixing your focus on all that you cannot change while expecting a different result is certainly the definition of frustration. Infinite frustration.

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference." 

Wikipedia explains that this poem is attributed to Reinhold Niebuhr, an American theologian, and its most common association is with the Alcoholics Anonymous program. 

But as a mom of teenaged sons, I'm inclined to think that a mom on her knees and carpet fuzz in her nose hairs cried it out in the closet one dark night of the soul while interceding for the soul of her son.

In many cases I vividly remember the infinite frustrations of being a teenager. I realize now as a mom that I had no vision for the infinite frustrations that my parents must have experienced as they witnessed me wrongly focused on that which could and would not make me happy. Ever. While stubbornly focused on those things which I mistakenly thought could and would make me happy. Not ever.

Enter the mom's curse, a la Bill Cosby's wife's voice, "I hope you have children just like you!"

And then she did.

In most families where all are biologically related, I hear the picking apart of various traits through the genetic tree--"She's as stubborn as her Aunt Patsy," or "Well, that is clearly the Nicholson in her." In my family where in at least two cases there is not a genetic linkage, there is still the spiritual one where as sons of Adam and as daughters of Eve we seek not that which God has said is good, very good, but we choose that which promises better while only delivering worst.

And over and over and over again both in insanity of soul and frustration of spirit we lather, rinse, and repeat.

On the outside it all looks so simple. When you're counseling a friend, it all sounds so simple. But when your son is the one circling in frustration, it is not so simple.

It is at about this point in the blog post that a resolution should be on its way; at least for the writing. Neither the reader nor the author will have that in this one. Yet. While every day is a step towards some form of resolution, the story is still in process; it is not finished.

Hence the "Serenity" prayer: help this mom to have peace for what she cannot change; courage to change what I can; and wisdom (from the Only Wise God) to know the difference. And bring my son's heart home to You.

The older two guys.....

head off on a youth ski trip tomorrow. This is a first for them. Can you say "pervasive excitement"? Honestly the house is fairly pinging with the rush of teenage hormones that can't wait to not sleep for the next 96 hours. Next week was not an "off" school week, but I'm all ready re-thinking the strategy of trying to teach history and literature to the freshly glazed from ski trip teen.

Brick wall::Forehead.

I will not ever regret the luxury of flexibility that homeschooling provides. Nev-ah. There are plenty of other things to regret in the moments of mom angst, but not the flexibility.

This morning we had to spend some time getting those last minute things as in underwear, socks, an extra sweatshirt, jeans, sunscreen. It's like going into the grocery store for eggs and milk and peanut butter and leaving with cinnamon rolls, frozen pizza, and havarti cheese.

We always hit the Goodwill store for trips like this. Very frequently I have found jeans and sweatshirts for the boys that grow an inch a week. It seems. Today we scored on the sweatshirts but bombed on the jeans. Kohls had the jeans. Wally World had the socks and underwear.

Thankfully the boys kept an attitude of "get'er done" with the trying on and choosing and checking out. Too much shopping with them or with me and we all break out in hives and unfriendly temptations.

I am excited for them to have this opportunity and will spend the majority of my weekend praying that they return with all of their bones intact. And obviously that they learn from the speaker who I understand is Ah-maz-ing. Watch out West Virginia, about 100 youth are about to descend upon your mountain slopes.

There is a fifth son in my home....

and apparently his name is Notme. I have never seen this fifth son. But I have seen the results of his handiwork, the evidence of his presence, and my other sons tell me about him all the time.

I ask, "Who left the milk out?"

"Notme."

"Who left their cup on the stairs? Full of water?"

"Notme."

"Whose turn is it to take out the trash?"

"Notme."

"Who put this dirty towel on my red couch?

"Notme."

Let me just say, as I've told the boys, when I do find Notme, he is in trouble for life.

Serious trouble.

I wish overalls would come back....

and then I wish my boys would wear them again.

When Nate and Matthew were little, I dressed them in overalls almost every day. Since about 18 months old, Nate had declared overalls as his favorite outfit because he loved the pockets. And you never knew what you were going to find in those pockets.

Overalls were an easy outfit to dress him in and quickly I realized a key benefit--whenever he was headed into danger or trouble or some combination of both, I could easily grab the back of his overalls and haul him out of it.

When Matthew came along, the propensity for running into danger and trouble and trouble and danger doubled, so it was overalls for both. Twice the running and twice the hauling. I should have really toned arms. "Should."

Now they are teens, big teens, and even if they wore overalls, there is no way this mom could haul them away from danger and trouble. Instead I have to use my words to plead, entreat, rebuke, admonish, instruct, counsel, and guide. Daily I recognize the inadequacy of my words. No matter how many or how few, my words are not persuasive enough to change their hearts.

And the dangers and troubles as teens are multiplied. Not only because of their age but because of these times. The heart of man bearing the propensity to seek out self and all of self's idols is not swayed by man's words.

So daily I look to His Words. His words that are living and true and powerful. His Words that convict and instruct and reprove and renew. His Words that are perfect and holy and just. His Words that convert the soul. His Words that transform hearts. Only His Words can do the impossible. Not only in changing my own heart and mind but to change their hearts and minds too.  

Overalls were easier, but not eternally lasting. Even if the boys hadn't outgrown them, they would have worn them out. But God's Words never wear out or lose strength or grow old. So my prayer remains that my sons would heed God's Words, finding life and light in them.

The music upstairs....

For this past Christmas, we declared an electronics moratorium. Earlier in the fall, we realized that some of our family habits related to electronics had become detrimental to us all. Temptation to play when school was supposed to be done (or other responsibilities) and saying yes to those temptations had happened.

It was a severe wake up call to all of us that something had to be done. So all the electronics were confiscated. And locked away. We returned to the old school ways of conversation and communication and board games and card games and family time.

It was the healthy reboot that all of us needed.

So when it came time to write a Christmas list, I told the boys to leave electronics off of it. No new iPods, Wii games, DSi games, computer games, apps, et cetera.

To our delight, the older two requested musical instruments. Nate wanted an acoustic guitar and Matthew wanted a keyboard. (Yes, I know it's electronic, but it received an exception.) Samuel just wanted a bunch of Atlanta Falcons' gear.

Christmas morning came around and delight was seen on faces when presents were opened. And then music ensued. Not cacophony. Which could have happened, but music.

Earlier we had tried piano lessons for Matthew, but the instinct and discipline to practice and give attention to detail was not there. Nate had never shown an inclination for music either.  I grew up playing the piano and had always wanted that someone in the family would show a love for music. Husband was a trumpet player. Both of us were in school band.

Anyway, there is something to be said for personal discovery and interests. These last few weeks without formal lessons of any kind, both boys have begun to teach themselves. I have enrolled them in a co-op class that will give some direction, but pretty much their afternoons are engaged in practicing, discovering, and creating.

Electronics to a small degree have been phased back in but with a greater appreciation and accountability for their ability to deceive us into wrong habits. Meanwhile, a sweet music is happening with my teens, and I am truly grateful.

The band plays on.

Deer to the last minute...

With all of the rapid growth of these first few teen years, meat for my resident carnivores has been a big deal. Budget is also a big deal and I am not an extreme couponer. Even if I was a coupon expert, there are not often coupons offered on things like ground beef, roasts, and tenderloins.

So I do what I can. I buy when meat is on sale. I stretch the meat by adding beans or cheaper cuts that require a little extra prep but still nourish. But the number one thing we do to afford meat is hunt deer. We depend on a minimum of 2 deer a year to help us through. We process our own deer as well so that we avoid that $75 fee of hanging, cutting, and packaging. It takes time, but we find the effort to be worth it.

I use venison in any recipe that calls for ground beef. If I'm making hamburgers, I will add in some ground chuck because the leanness of venison requires some fat to hold together. Husband will even make his own sausage and jerky with some of the cuts.

Certain cuts (tip roasts, tenderloins, & backstraps) we do not grind but freeze whole for grilling, crock pot, or dutch oven recipes. Our family has learned to appreciate eating game when beef is not affordable.

With such a high value in our home on having venison, I was getting quite nervous as the season ended and no deer had stocked my freezer. Between work and a truck that wouldn't work, Husband had not had the time nor resource to get out into the woods for the yearly hunting expedition.

Three days after the season ended in our area and with all factors finally in our favor (truck, work, weather) Husband and Nate took off for the southern region where deer were still in season. They vowed to live off of pop-tarts and beef stew and not return until deer were in the coolers. I wished them well and settled down to dependence upon the twice a day check in calls.

And the call came! Nate had snagged a deer that morning--a big doe. Big means lots of meat! I was thrilled. As was he. He's only hunted the past few years, but every year brings its thrills. One down meant one to go.

That night, the second call came. Number two deer was on his way to the cooler. Success at last. Down to the last minute of the season practically, but we will take it. And eat it.

When the boys call....

In this new part time job I took in June (coinciding I think now with my fall off the blogmobile), I had to make sure that the boys could easily reach me at work. I keep my cell phone on my desk, but they also had my office number.

On the days that Husband couldn't work from home and they had to be at home alone for a short period, it was still important that they be able to call. We've done all the drills on what to do in case of fire, in case of a knock at the door, in case of a phone call, in case of a severed artery.

Ok, that last one I kid. Sort of. They all have passed their Boy Scout first aid training.

Anyway, those first few times they called at the office, I jumped to answer thinking this was it, some terrible thing has happened and I knew I shouldn't have taken this job and ohmygoodness how will we ever explain/survive/deal.....

Me: Hello? Are you okay?

Boy on phone: Umm, yes. We're all okay.

Me: Is the house okay? Anything on fire? Are you cooking in the kitchen?

Boy on phone: Umm, no, Mom. Everything is okay.

Me: Then why are you calling?

Boy on phone: Well, umm, what can we have for lunch?

And so it went. Every time they called, it concerned food. Lunch food. Snack food. If I left really early before they woke up, it was about breakfast food.

Folks, I don't hide the food in the house. Excepting that Mom's cabinet where chocolate and/or special crackers may or may not be tucked away. Ahem.

And most days I tried to leave a note detailing the where, what, and how related to meals, but whatever I did happen to leave out of said note always elicited a call.

And always about food.

This would be why I'm looking up at a 6 foot tall 14 year old and a 5' 10 1/2" 15 year old. The younger one calls to make sure he actually gets some food.

Someone send a side of beef. And leave a note about where you put it so I don't get the phone call.

My big guys are headed off....

to the mountains for Church Camp. When I was in youth group, our church camp was at the beach. I prefer the mountains. Wish I was in youth this week.

Not really, but almost.

These two, Chess and Pele, have been to overnight camp before with the Boy Scouts. This will be a whole different experience. I have mixed feelings and thoughts about youth group. My experiences were less than stellar and definitely gave me enough reason as a parent to put the kiebosh on the the whole thing for these guys.

In truth, we kept our boys out of the typical youth experience for some time, longer than most. It has only been this last year that we decided to allow them to participate in a Wednesday night activity and then also the Sunday morning class. We are not carrying the keys to a helicopter regarding our boys, but we do believe that we, and not a youth pastor and his interns, are responsible for the Christian training of our sons. So we stay involved by asking questions, observing the interactions, and following up where necessary whether with our sons or their teachers.

Then, of course, the new youth pastor, moved in with us this past November. He was waiting for his house to sell in S.C. where his wife and children were still living. We had a spare room and separate entrance so we offered them to him. Getting to know him and his philosophy of working with youth and their special quirks has been helpful in understanding and trusting our sons' involvement with the youth group.

When this opportunity for them to go to camp came up, we were grateful for the Lord's provision for them to attend. Now everything is packed from deodorant to toothpaste and shorts to bathing suits and towels to sleeping bags. I hope they come back with the majority of their things.

But mostly I am praying that this week is one of them learning more about themselves and the Lord in their lives as their King and Savior. That they will grow in their trust and assurance of the gospel for their daily lives. That they will be a blessing to those around them. That they will have fun, laugh, and maybe even dance at the costume party at week's end.

To the mountains they go, but may they return with more than just having had a mountaintop experience.

Old mom at the pool....

is what I have officially become I realized today. The boys and I were invited to a mostly all day pool party about a half hour away. It was one of those eclectic gatherings at a backyard swimming pool where the kids outnumber the adults by 4 to 1 and the floaties outnumber the kids another two times. Everyone brought their own picnic lunch and snacks and juice boxes. Everyone slathered their own kids with sunscreen and any kid standing in near proximity to their kid. Everyone then counted the number of heads that swam and the number that would try to drown. The pool rules were handed out and the chaos ensued.

Except for me and my crew. They were responsible for packing their own stuff, from towels to sunscreen. They slathered themselves. Okay, I helped the Chairman with getting the stuff on his nose and under his eyes. Mine are all accomplished swimmers so I instructed them to make sure the kids near them were not drowning and asked them to keep it down on the cannonballs.

And then I laid out my towel in my beach chair and sat down with an actual book and began to read. I read two chapters before the noise was too much. I didn't have to count heads. I glanced up now and then to make sure the screams from the littles were not being motivated by my biggers. I had complete conversations that were not punctuated by the voices of the Interrupters. When it was time to eat, everyone fixed their own and cleaned up their own. I ate my lunch in one complete sitting.

Did I feel useless? Inadequate? Unneeded?

Absolutely not! It was divine.

When we left, it was not because anyone was falling apart or needed a nap (although I took a short one when we got home). We didn't have to leave because of bickering or punctured floaties. We left because we had been there long enough and home welcomed us back.

Mothers of littles, this is not a gloat or a boast. It is a picture for you of what one day at the pool will look like for you. One day. And not even all that far off if time travels as quickly for you as for me. So, hang in there with the juice boxes and floaties, with the training on obedience and not interrupting, and with the sibling issues and cleaning up after yourselves. The days pay off. 

One day you'll be the old mom at the pool.

Brain dump, status report, part four....

and now we are alive and well in D.C.

When we set our agenda of all the things I hoped the kids would be able to see and experience, I admittedly called the plan ambitious. Others were calling it "insane." However, when all was said and done, we accomplished a whole lotta' sightseeing. Here's the rundown:

Monday: Scored handicapped parking in front of the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History. Trekked some blocks to the National Archives and although an hour and a half early according to our timed entry reservation, they let us in. Toured through there for around two hours before trekking city block upon city block, over hill and dale, through a sculptures garden, to Capitol Hill where we happened upon a press conference regarding the Supreme Court hearings on healthcare. Saw the protestors in front of the Supreme Court, pointed out the Library of Congress, and then trekked another galaxy into the eating district to stuff our faces with burgers and fries from Good Stuff Eatery. With full tummies, we trekked back to Capitol Hill for our staff led tour of the Capitol. In there almost three hours we saw everything we could, including both galleries and even at the favor of a security guard we were allowed into a press room for a special picture. Home again.

Tuesday: I jumped out of the car in front of the Holocaust Museum to wait in line for about 35 minutes but scored major tickets to the museum for that day. Met the others at the Smithsonian Castle and then on to the Air and Space Museum then the Holocaust Museum followed by lunch followed by the Natural History Museum. Home again.

Wednesday: Scored handicapped parking on Constitution Avenue right next to Constitution Park where we then toured the WWI, WWII, D.C., Korean, Vietnam, and Vietnam Women's Memorials/Monuments. Climbed up the steps into the Lincoln Memorial. Also glimpsed the MLK, Jr. Memorial and the Albert Einstein Memorial (which was blocked off and under construction). Drove by the Thomas Jefferson Memorial, Air Force Memorial, and the White House. That afternoon we toured the Smithsonian Museum of American History. Several exhibits, almost the entire west wing, are under renovation though so not as exciting. Serendipitously we happened into a special MathAlive exhibit in the underground International Gallery that was really neat for the kids. Home again.

Thursday: Traveled to Arlington National Cemetery. Took a wrong turn on the way but ended up getting to view the Iwo Jima Memorial and then made it back to Arlington to not only see a changing of the guard ceremony but also two wreath laying ceremonies. That afternoon we went to the Newseum. Home again.

Friday: Overslept. Gave hugs, kisses, and farewells. Limped to the car with packed bags and then flew drove home arriving 12 hours and 15 minutes later. Kissed my Sealy Posturepedic and Husband and went to bed.

We didn't get into things like the Pentagon or the Bureau of Engraving and Printing, which we wanted to do, because they require a 4-6 week advance reservation. However, there is now a reason to go back and all of our main goals were accomplished.

Educational, yes. Exhausting, yes. Priceless, yes. I'm very thankful for how God gave the provision in my friend K, the time, the opportunity, the funds, the weather (it was fabulous!) and in all of the many details.

Here ends the telling of the brain dump, status report edition.

Brain dump, status report, part three...

it was a dark and stormy night....no, wrong novel.

It was actually a partly overcast morning. Perfect for driving to D.C. Which was the plan in place. Leaving Greenville, S.C., at around 8:30 a.m., we were scheduled to arrive in Springfield, V.A., nine hours later. Give or take a bathroom and/or food break.

Digression: along with K's strict instructions regarding packing, she is militant regarding stops. She, therefore, has trained her girls' bladders to expand to greater than normal size while in the car and not expect emptying but every 13 hours or so. I almost kid. On this side of the fence, my bladder needs emptying about every 30-40 minutes. Friends who know us both were overtly calling our planned adventure, "Felix and Oscar Go To D.C."

Knowing the task ahead of me, I had been in training, as in weaning off of water and coffee for the four previous days, so as to prepare myself for the Olympian task ahead. (You think I kid.) By Sunday, I was ready.

Into the SUV we piled, packed to the gills, and plowed off. Food and bathrooms came four hours later because we needed gas. Never have I been more thankful that Chevy has not converted their full-size SUVs to electric/hybrid/whathaveyou vehicles yet or my bladder may have needed a transplant. There are advantages to a car that still needs fuel.

And so it went, all the way to V.A. I hesitate to tell you what time we actually made a nine hour trip in because some of you with mad math skillz will be able to figure out if two trains are going 80 miles an hour and pass a rest stop every 930 miles but do not stop, what time they cross the equator in central standard time.

Anyhoo. Arrival meant another blessed toilet and uncramping our legs. We were staying with my cousin's family so it was also a sweet family reunion for me. The kids, all seven at that point, were immediate BFFs, eager to live happily ever after if it meant no more driving.

I suppose I could regale you with tales of the actual in car time, but my brain has mercifully blocked out those things.

I kid. On the whole spectrum of this temporal life, everyone cooperated, helped out, there were snacks! and only a couple of times did the moms think we would need to chew our ears off for greater world peace and unity.

So ends part three of the telling.

Brain dump, status report, part two...

picking up from last edition, I was in Greenville, S.C., learning tons and hacking greater tons due to an onset of the Bronchitis, Pollen Specialty.

The workshops and seminars of the convention lasted from around 9 a.m. until 9 p.m. We had to pick and choose, share notes when one of us attended something different, and decide whether to order CDs or not for the ones we missed all together. In between our workshop choices, we cruised through the exhibit hall with eyes wide open, stopping by the vendors we were familiar with, and being introduced to new vendors for further consideration. I went to bed early every night to conserve energy for the next day.

By Saturday evening, we were done in, believing we had squeezed every possible moment out of a truly rewarding weekend. Part one of the 10 day adventure was now over. Part two to begin in less than 24 hours.

My friend, K, and her girls arrived early Sunday morning. The goal was to fit two adults, five kids, and their assorted luggage into a Suburban for a 9 hour trek to D.C. K's youngest uses a wheelchair so that was taking up one corner. To accomplish this feat, K had purchased large plastic totes for better stacking. Each of us had one large, one medium, and two smalls.

I am not known as a "light" packer. I do like options when it comes to both clothes and footwear. Husband is very used to the assortment of bags that accompany me. He knows that I come from a long line of "bag ladies," and fairly early on he chose not to die on that hill of marriage.

K, on the other hand, could fly to Europe, with her two girls and all of their stuff, for a 12 day trip, with a carry-on. I stand amazed. Holding bags in my arms, but still amazed.

The gauntlet had been thrown. The ground rules were thus: as long as you only use the provided plastic containers, you can take whatever you can fit in them. Well, that meant two sets of clothes for each boy and the rest of the room for me.

I kid. The boys stuff took the medium container, and I took the large container. With two pairs of shoes in the top of the boys' container. I kid not. It was progress, people, trust me. In compensation for my shoes in the top of their container, I packed the two small boxes with food snacks for them. Because when you're dealing with boys-to-be-Husbands-one-day and luggage, the way to their affection for you and your "bags" is food.

Once packed, stacked, and stuffed in, the show of Two Mom, Five Kids, and we left the husbands at home was about to roll.

Here ends part two. You are welcome.

Brain dump, status report, part one.....

because if I don't blog this now, I will not remember it for later.

Two weeks ago I was preparing for ten days out of town. First, we were attending a Great Homeschool Convention in Greenville, S.C. Second, a friend and her two daughters, also attending the GHC, was then to meet me at my mother-in-law's house to pack up and drive to Washington, D.C. We were calling ourselves Two Moms, Five Kids. Until we realized that in D.C. that might sound like a glorification of an alternative lifestyle so we amended with 'Two Moms, Five Kids, and we left the Husbands at home.'

My brain was literally split between three significant areas. The first one being the life and times that still had to be completed before I drove out of town, the life and times at the convention, and the life and times that would exist in D.C. It was truly an eat one bite at a time of the elephant experience.

Compounding the good times was that the superabundant, never before seen, highest levels of pollen ever, event was taking its toll on my allergies and asthma. I realized everyone else around me was breathing much easier because I had become the human filter, sucking up all of the pollen. Gasping, watering eyes, wheezing, sneezing, choking, coughing, and hacking were the seven dwarves of allergy season abiding within my one person.

By Thursday night, at the convention, I was running a fever as the pollen giants had set up residence within my chest, naming their own convention Greater Bronchitis in Greenville. But we pushed on. Because my children need educating and I needed refreshing at the workshops and seminars of the greats in parenting and home education. I heard Carol Barnier, Dr. Kathy Koch, Steve Demme (whom my youngest son with stars in his eyes met, shook hands, and received an autographed biography), Dr. Carl Jobe, Dr. Jay Wile, Diana Waring, Dr. John Rosemond, Mark Hamby, and Adam Andrews.

Inspiration, encouragement, and affirmation for the love of home education abounded, and bronchitis or not, I was grateful to be there. Husband and I, plus the three boys, all took away a great many new things for learning, considering, and doing in this life learning journey.

Ideally, I'd like to run back through my notes and blog some of the things that I learned in my workshops. Realistically, we'll see what happens. The elephant has not been entirely consumed. Yet.

So ends part one of the status report brain dumping edition.

A nearly 15 year old....

washed all, ALL, A.L.L., of the dishes in the sink the other night of his own accord. I came home from a busy evening and thanked Husband for the gift. He told me that the nearly 15 year old had done the deed. After he had also cooked supper for his dad and brothers.

A moment to savor.

This son is helpful, do not misunderstand. I was not savoring the moment that he helped, rather the moment of seeing him step outside of the routine chore box to do what he was not required to do for the sake of another. And I was glad to be the "another." Earlier in the week he helped his dad with two different prescribed burning projects. Monitoring the fires. Putting out small jumps. Doing a man's job. And doing it well.

The moment reminded me that prayers and training and conversations about being a blessing to others do bear fruit. Somewhere, somehow, by God's grace, the seeds take root and ultimately bloom.

Even in a kitchen sink.

The New Year and all....

its pressures of new projects had me hankering for a fresh vision of cooking breakfasts. Some years ago I made the switch to cooking breakfast six days out of seven because we could not afford the milk and cereal that was otherwise being consumed by the pre-teen boys. Not only due to the amount they wanted to consume but also due to that amount still not being enough to fill them up past an hour and a half.

The children needed eggs! bacon! pancakes! sausage! fruit! muffins! and the like! The like meant cooking.

I had a fairly good selection of breakfast recipes which we tucked into without much transition trouble. Several things could be done ahead of time as well, which always helps with the morning grumble.

I found a recipe for homemade doughnuts a while back and tried it for the first time this morning. It was not a success. The dough was uber sticky and even though I rolled it out on a floured counter, per instructions,  the doughnut shapes did not lift up to make it into the hot oil with any triumph. Rather they stretched and tore and twisted themselves into odd shapes of confection. As they turned in the hot oil, I felt rather like a medieval torturer watching them writhe. And fry.

I gave up trying to make actual doughnuts with a hole in the middle and stuck to the holes part. The odd pieces of dough stayed just that---odd pieces of dough. Fried to a golden brown. Except for the ones that I burned black because I was busy fighting with the uber sticky dough. However, I reaffirmed the truth that cinnamon sugar and powdered sugar will make almost anything taste good.

The game at breakfast quickly became "Name Your Fried Dough Shape Before You Eat It." I heard wolverine, Nebraska, horseshoe, tibia, headless cougar, and a starfish with a missing arm as suggestions. Maybe homemade doughnuts are in my future, but it will have to be with a new recipe. I'll take suggestions.

Because the boys need doughnuts!

Thankful it is November.....

and I don't have to write every day anymore. I privately challenged myself to write every day from the middle of October until the end of October for the sake of writing. October is a tough month for me, and I knew I wouldn't have much to say until the boom of grief had its toll, but once it did, I knew I would have lots to say.

The whole trend of 31 days of all things hit me a bit like most trends do. Namely, is this something worth the investment of my time and bandwagon jumping? Um, no, it was not for me personally. I read some of the other 31 bloggers and benefited from their words, but as far as my blogging personality goes, I have to wear the jeans that fit me best.

Which is writing when I have words, writing when I want to practice writing, and writing for the sake of completing thoughts that otherwise would ping pong around inside of my head and make me inhospitable to the other house inhabitants.

Maybe I should write more. But I buck the trends that do not fit my natural vein. Thankful Thursday though, I love. I don't know if The Upward Call or Rebecca Writes gets first gratitude on it, but my thanks to both for their examples.

My comment that I'm thankful I don't have to write every day anymore is a jest to myself. I needed the personal challenge without the public announcement. I learned about my writing as I made myself do it. Most of my posts were done without editing and editing and editing. More stream of consciousness writing and it was a liberating exercise. Turning off the critic and writing as the words flowed helped me remember why I love writing and also warned me why blogging, for me, has very specific limits.

Of course, November is the month of that Nanowrinomososhopobo thing, or something like that, which also has great intentions. I am just not sure if those are my jeans or not. In the meantime, things I'm thankful for today:

Automated funds monitoring: while sometimes the banking system gets a bad rap, and sometimes rightly so, I was thankful to get a call this morning from my bank stating they had put a hold on my debit card because of suspicious transactions. I called immediately because the children need food to find out that someone else's children apparently needed clothes. To the tune of $2,010.00 from a fancy store in Canada. I confirmed that our shopping was primarily done at Goodwill these days and not online from Canada. The number was cancelled and a new card on the way. The automated system worked on our behalf and also for the merchant who did not, thankfully, lose any merchandise.

Soup: as temperatures drop and friends send great soup recipes, we are all tummy grateful. Still.

Bible study: I'm working through Acts right now and Chap. 14 was a favorite because of its instruction to remember that strength and encouragement come from the truth that through many hard things we will walk to enter the kingdom of God (v.22). Commitment to Christ and His work requires persevering through adversity. He is worthy of any and all we might undergo in this life. He is worthy.

Family: raising teens and a tween is a challenge bar none at times but the sweetness continues to persuade me of why the investment and the struggles are so valuable.

A 5K in under 25 minutes...

while wearing navy blue canvas boat shoes. That's my son, Pele.

Yesterday I was telling the boys my plans for Saturday--to help out at a 5K race for Jay's Hope. I was to (wo)man the runners' snack food and drinks tables. The founder of Jay's Hope has been a close friend ever since she was a starry eyed newlywed and her first child, a daughter, was a colicky infant who had a smile to light up the sky. The daughter no longer has colic but still that smile. The family also contains Jay, born in 20001, and another son, a dimpled upcoming baseball star.

Jay died in 2006 from cancer. Jay's Hope, a foundation to support and improve the quality of life for kids with cancer and their families was born out of the grief that grieves with hope. Helping out at the Jay's Hope events is a way to remember Jay and celebrate the life that kids with cancer can have.

Pele promptly informed me that he wanted to race. He has not trained for a 5K. Although he runs weekly with soccer. The only other 5K that he has participated in was in Montreat, NC, over July 4th. Where he ran up a mountain and then back down. He did that in about 28 minutes. He would have run it faster but he stopped to take his inhaler for his asthma.

So we got up at o'dark early this morning to go to the race. I asked him about the shoes, but the navy blue canvas boat shoes were what he wanted to wear. He wore the race t-shirt and camo shorts. He looked like a kid headed to hang out with friends, not like he was about to run a 5K. And run he did. He started out with a friend who eventually told him to quit waiting for her and run on. And just under 25 minutes he came across the finish line. He placed third in his age group.

Imagine what he could have done with running shoes at full throttle. Boggles my mind.

He's an amazing kid. I'm thanking God for him today--his God-given strengths and his heart for living life full out.