When things change, sometimes it hurts

9 Comments

It can be a strange thing when verb tenses change. Often it has been my experience that verb tense changes signify a modification in a situation or a person. I’m sure I use them all the time without a wince or a struggle and only notice when verb tenses change if something or someone’s situation is different and I wish it had not changed. Often when I do perceive this verb tense change thing, I find myself hurting because I want the verb tense to have remained the same. (Has any of this made sense???) 

Well, this week, I have experienced two significant verb changes. Something that is, isn’t. Something that was, wasn’t. Something you have, you don’t anymore.

On Monday, I lost my job. 

On Sunday, my husband lost his much loved uncle. 

After 7 1/2 years, the job I loved and poured myself into with every fiber of my being, is now gone. In a split second, after an emotional phone call from my boss, I experienced that verb tense thing I hate. I work in non-profit ministry. Correction, I worked and I was blessed to be around people I treasured.  When donations went down to an all-time low, a difficult decision was made and I, along with several other co-workers were laid off. It happened that fast. I harbor no hard feelings (at least at this point) with the decision. It’s just that I’m trying to get used to this new way of defining myself. Who am I now? 


There have been countless times when I have wanted to quit and I have dreamed of this day. When I have been overwhelmed by annoying students or heavily burdened by a teenager’s story. When a high school girl is picking her nose and eating it! the entire time we are speaking, um, yeah, I want to quit! When a skinny, pale-skinned teenager is bent on interjecting a sarcastic answer every time I speak, you bet, I want to hand in my notice! But then, there are times when a student is crying and her tears have soaked through my shirt, that I praise the Lord because I am there to encourage and love. Or the kids who write to me afterward and say we have changed their lives. Nothing can beat those moments. My job, working with teens and meeting so many in the midst of regretful choices and pain, has been exhausting on every level. Y’all, I have seen and heard more things than I ever imagined and most of it wasn’t pretty. But it was my mission field (in addition to my own OS and DH, that is).

But it’s that verb thing that is haunting. I found myself trying to figure out what verb to use today. I was talking about my boss, was he now “my former boss?” It seriously stings just to type those words. 

This is coupled with the fact that we are driving out of state for a funeral. On Sunday, my husband called to see how Uncle Bill was doing. We all knew he was seriously ill and would not survive much longer. When Aunt Emmy answered the phone, she told us his grave condition would soon end. We talked about Uncle Bill as we drove to the farmer’s market and then, about an hour later, when we were at home, Aunt Emmy called. Uncle Bill was gone. 

I began unloading the bounty from the farmer’s market and realized, crud, here goes that stupid verb tense change thing again. 

Uncle Bill was a heck of a guy. He was into everything. An avid Boy Scout leader, a researcher, very active in his church, he was a microbiology professor at Bowling Green University, he was a husband of 56 years and a father of four. And he was quirky. Like you’ll never meet another Uncle Bill. They broke the mold, as people would say. For example, he and Aunt Emmy were fascinated with Civil War medicine and attended conventions and seminars about it. Did you even know there were Civil War medicine conventions?? On their way to these conventions, they would stop by and visit. It’s there that I got to meet and love good ‘ole Uncle Bill. 

When Mark’s mom (Uncle Bill’s sister) died about 15 years ago, I gave the tearful eulogy. As I recall, he was the first person to come up to me afterward and give me a hug. I will never forget his kindness.

So in the span of 48 hours, I have reasons to weep over loss and verb tense change. We are on our way to Ohio for the services. I have Kleenex, family, memories and my Jesus to see my through.

Milestones and recognition

3 Comments

pubertyWe usually think of milestones in our children when they are little.

They start to roll over and drink from a cup, say their first words.

Big whoop. (Said as a mom of kids that are over that!).

Those things are a big deal but our OS have experienced milestones of their own recently that I just have to share.

How ironic (that is, if I believed in irony) that each of my OS would cross a major threshold in their lives at practically the same time.

May I have your attention, please?

Ike became a seventh grader. Woo hoo!

Aaron became a sophomore.

Take that you annoying upper classmen!

And…cue the snare drums…

Nate became a recognized plebe. Crowd goes wild!

No longer are my boys at the bottom of their respective proverbial social heaps of life. (Was that an awkward sentence?) After all the travail and toil, when it seemed as if the day would never arrive, my OS are happy to be movin’ on up, just like the Jefferson’s, remember those guys???

This means that Ike is eager to try out for basketball and not have annoying eighth graders hogging up the good spots. As long as he keeps his grades up and his tongue in control, my orange-haired fella will be just fine.

For Aaron, being a sophomore means the leadership skills he has honed this past year that will serve him well and he is positioned to forge ahead in whatever way the Lord directs.

But neither of them went through the valley like Nate. Sure, it’s tough being a sixth grader. And no one would dispute that a 9th grader is pretty low on the high school totem pool.

But try being a plebe. Just a few days ago, Nate successfully completed his plebe year. To a large extent, I feel like I also completed my own plebe year as a mom. I need my own badge or pin for surviving! I was counting down the days when Nate would make this transition, he’s been more than ready!

As I reflect on this last year, oh, my soul, there were so many days when I just wanted to scoop my baby up and take him home.

R-Day+and+after+244How could he endure such treatment?
Why did they have to be so sassy and mean to MY child? He doesn’t have to put up with that! (insert the “that” of your choice, especially if you have a cadet at WP or are a USMA grad!)

And while I’m at it, why couldn’t the professors understand that my boy was overworked and needed a break? Or had a nasty cold?

Despite my numerous offers to contact the higher-ups and plead his case, Nate never budged. He could handle it.

(For the record, if any WP folks are reading this, I would honestly have never done that but I thought about it. Nate would have KILLED me! I would have been disowned as a mama!)

And my OS finished really well. Since I will get in trouble if I say too much, let me say Nate should be very proud of himself. Thanks be to God!

A Spirit Week Day we won't soon forget.

A Spirit Week Day we won’t soon forget.

P1070031On Thursday, Nate got recognized.

It was a day he has been talking about for weeks.

What does getting recognized mean?

Well, at West Point, when you have completed your plebe year, there is a special moment, almost divine in nature, when the upper class cadets, acknowledge your existence.

Instead of calling you “Cadet Last Name,” the cadets extend a hand of fellowship your way. They shake your hand and learn something very wonderful about you. They learn you have a FIRST name! That is a MAJOR event in the life of a plebe!

Imagine living in a confined place for nearly a year and not having someone call you by your first name. Or having to wear a uniform every.single.time.you.go.out.of.your.room.

And consider for a moment, not being able to talk once you leave the confines of your room.

But Nathan did and the transition from lowly plebe class to becoming a Private First Class is something so sweet. He strutted outside his room in cadet casual (khaki pants and shirt) and acknowledged people by their first name. He didn’t have to cup his hands or do any of those things that have been the bane of his existence for the last 11 months.

Plebes are people too!

Plebes are people too!

Liberation,

exhilaration,

jubilation sum up how he felt stepping out as a PFC.

Lest my awesome OS become too content, reality will come crashing down on him. Tomorrow he begins Air Assault School and rumor has it, it’s not a picnic.

If you are reading this, please pray for the cadets as they begin a grueling 11 day training school. Nate must pass this in order to come home June 6th.

If he doesn’t pass, (and apparently many will not), he will automatically be re-enrolled and spend another 11 days there until he passes.

In Memory and Honor of Mr. Beall, someone I never knew

3 Comments

I never knew Mr. Beall but I have heard a lot about him and tonight I want to honor this teacher who taught my husband a couple of things about how a republic works and a much deeper lesson about caring.


It was 1979 and in typical teenager mode, my DH thought he was fearless and immortal. Perhaps that is why one day he was goofing off after school at Maconaquah High School in Bunker Hill, Indiana. It was before swim practice which was held about 1/2 mile away and I guess, since Mark had nothing better to do and was trying to show off, my DH had a great idea and I use that term loosely. He mused, “How about if I sit on the hood of my buddy’s car and have him drive me to swim practice?”


With nary a second thought, the guy agreed and Mark jumped onto the hood of the car, grabbed tightly to back of the hood and said, “Let’s go!” Weeee eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! According to Mark’s recollection, the guy cooked along pretty fast about 40-50 mph and they quickly reached their destination. No biggie, no consequence, no nothing, Mark didn’t think anything of his antics until the next day.

That’s when Mark strode into Mr. Beall’s Government class. Everyone sat down, got ready for class and before Mr. Beall started his normal lecture, he announced he had something to read. The stubby little teacher pulled out a newspaper article and without anyone else knowing, glanced intentionally at the cocky and really cute 17 year old swimmer aka my DH who was sitting at a desk.

Mr. Beall proceeded to read a story. He was known for having a file cabinet stuffed with newspaper articles. Long before the Internet, Mr. Beall had an arsenal of facts, stories and notifications. If there was a tidbit or a snippet, Mr. Beall must have had them neatly categorized, waiting for the perfect moment to share. And a perfect moment had arrived about 24 hours ago. 

And so he began to read. Most of the students were clueless as to why he was reading this particular story. But the cocky and really cute 17 year old swimmer aka my DH was keenly aware of what Mr. Beall was doing. The teacher shared with his students a newspaper article about a young man who took a joyride on the front of a car and fell off. He cracked his head on the pavement and died instantly. As Mr. Beall finished the story, he paused, looked at that kid and promptly told his class to open their books for the lesson.

That happened 31 years ago and although Mr. Beall has since passed away, his memory will live on. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard that story. I can’t tell you how many times our OS have groaned as Mark begins to repeat the “Mr. Beall” story.

But you know what? I love Mr. Beall. And you know what else? This world needs more Mr. Bealls. We have a shortage of people who care and are willing to stick their necks out and risk being mocked or hated when it comes to young people. I am now on my soapbox…

Today I had a Mr. Beall moment, I think. I dropped a friend from my facebook. He was a high school student, someone that had been in one of my classes. A very handsome young man I taught several months ago but lately his language on his facebook has become so curse-laden and offensive, I felt that I had no choice but to delete him as a friend. Before I did that, however, I wrote to him and explained why I was doing this. He in turn, promptly wrote me back and said he could care less whether I was his friend or not. 

Ouch.

I wasn’t expecting him to be devastated by losing me as a friend but I have to admit, that hurt my feelings. And that’s when good, ole, may he rest in peace, Mr. Beall popped into my mind. Mr. Beall risked popularity and ridicule to try to help someone. I tried to do the same. 

I wasn’t trying to be this boy’s mama or get in his business. I was sincerely wanting to be his friend in the truest sense of the word. Even though my oldest OS thinks I should have never written to the kid and simply let him go, I thought he deserved more. Like Mr. Beall, I wanted to give that boy something to think about.

I asked Mark, “did you ever tell him thank you?” He thought for a second and said, “I don’t know. I’m not sure.” I guess that’s how my story will have to end also. 

We always have lessons to learn. I am a work in progress and that’s an understatement but what would this world be like if someone didn’t speak out? 

I’d love to hear your stories and recollections of people who made a difference in your life. Maybe it would help me feel better. I have no regrets about what I did, I just wish his reaction would have been different. Here’s to you, Mr. Beall. Thanks for caring enough about that cute and cocky 17 year old kid who is now my precious husband and father to my babies. 

O Happy Day!

1 Comment

Today is a glorious day, a fantabulous day. A day when the sun is shining brighter, the birds are chirping louder, even the dark lines around my eyes seem to be fading away without the use of my trusty Bobbi Brown concealer. Why you ask am I such a cheerful soul? I’m glad you asked…


MY OS IS HOME AND NEARLY DONE WITH HIS PLEBE YEAR!!! 

O HAPPY DAY! 

This afternoon when the younger OS got home, we fluttered around the house.  I wanted everything spic and span, no excuses. It was as if the King of England (is there a King of England??) or of some other foreign country was coming to visit. It struck me as funny because it’s not like Nathan has never seen our house messy before. I mean, the guy was an active contributor to the clutter in our home for 19 years but I wanted him to walk in and think that things looked nice, not as if he was a guest but just a treasured member of our family. He’s the kind of guy who notices that sort of thing.  I knew it would bless him. 


My oldest OS is home until Sunday and is just days away from becoming a yuk (second year student). A year ago, on this day, I was clutching Kleenex and struggling to breathe out of my mouth because the tears were overwhelming and pretty much non-stop. Our oldest OS was graduating on this day last year and I was wrought with emotion. Sadness, joy, pride, fear, love, excitement…I remember one night my mother visiting and all my feelings bubbling to the surface. I confessed to her, “Mom, I’m not sure I can do this” and I utterly broke down. My precious mom pushed aside her own feelings regarding her first grandchild finishing a chapter of his life and starting a bold new journey and she simply ministered to me and my aching mama’s heart. 

Somehow by the grace of God and I say that with all seriousness, I got through the graduation ceremony. And somehow by the grace of God, our family survived R-Day six weeks later including the long 10 hour ride back to our house without our cherished son.

And here I sit in my tidy house and tonight feels peaceful. Like that feeling you get when there’s a bad thunderstorm outside and all your babies are safe and at home. Or like when you wake up on Christmas morning and there’s presents to open and your kids are all getting along (at least until all the gifts are open). Everything is in its place, all is right with the world. 


I vividly recall those moments when Nate was a baby and I longed for the days when he would be grown and I’d finally have some peace and quiet. When he was on a crying jag or going full throttle on a temper tantrum, I wished he would just hurry up and get older. It annoyed me when older folks would chide me about how fast time passes. Inwardly I rolled my eyes at their comments. And now look at me! Those days are here and I find myself happy and sad. My DH calls me a “complex organism” when I get in one of these moods. Do I smack him or just humbly agree?

Nate’s friends will be over at the house soon and the sounds of young men will fill my house. I will live in this moment and find the tranquil beauty of it all. O happy day!

The VCR project

5 Comments

On the Honey-Do list I placed a humdinger of a project for my husband. Convert all of our old VCR tapes to DVDs. Sounds easy, right? HA! I get these crazy ideas and lately I’ve been on a mission. As I am cleaning out closets and purging the unnecessary, I have uncovered boxes and boxes and boxes of VCRs. They have littered our drawers and now it’s time to do something about it. “NOW!” she cheerfully bellows to her doting DH.  Double HA!

We ordered a VCR/DVD converter and after many attempts, my good man has figured it out. In order to preserve our marriage, I told him I wanted nothing to do with this project and have deferred to his good judgment, (most of the time). He has risen to the task and will hopefully be finished sometime before the DVD becomes extinct and I’ve given him yet another gargantuan chore. 

Completing this job, is not easy to do partially because we made it more complicated thanks to our very stupid video techniques.

I shall now confess… 

I mistook the on and off button and captured hours and hours of nothing. Example – when my brother got married, I lugged the clunky camera to the reception wanting to capture special moments of the happy occasion. Apparently I forgot to turn off the camera. I set the camera down on a chair still in “record” mode and now we have about 45 minutes of compelling close up footage of the upholstery. In addition to hearing all the background sounds of the wedding reception, you can hear the whirl of the video camera as it attempts to try to figure out what in the world it’s supposed to be taping! 
In addition, we didn’t label most of the VCR tapes. If you like a bit of mystery, this is the way to go. You will never, ever know what you’re looking at and that keeps things really exciting! 

And if we labeled a tape, one of us knuckleheads advanced the tape about 30 minutes and then taped new material from oh, say, 5-7 years later. In other words, everything jumps around. You are in a very funky time warp.

As crazy as this process has been, I am relieved to be retrieving old memories.  I’m laughing one minute watching my babies and tingle inside at the sight of their soft faces. Then I hear their squeaky voices and I want to cry. Although I desperately love my big boys now, I could burst into tears at this very minute as I wistfully recall those times. 

The little boy who was  is almost finished with his plebe year at West Point was a toe-headed leader almost from the start. Last weekend, this same child successfully completed an 18 mile ruck and earned a German Armed Forces Badge for Military Proficiency to don on his uniform.


The chunky toddler with a husky voice, is a tender-hearted musician /thespian/athlete. We have footage of him fake karate-chopping his baby brother as he swings innocently in the baby chair. Aaron remains my expressive boy but there’s muscle, arm pit hair, a young man is emerging.

And then there’s my Orange Love (Ike). In one movie, my youngest OS is sucking on his paci and I’m lugging him around on my hip. He can’t say a word but you still knew that Ike needed/demanded/expected something. Oh my, if I could just reach right into the television screen and squeeze him again – 

Dozens and dozens of tapes and memories await. I’m going forward but looking behind, it’s a bittersweet journey. 

Sixth Grade Awkwardness

4 Comments

It is not easy being a sixth grader. Your body is changing, other people’s bodies are changing. You’ve got your girl drama and although most people don’t believe it, you’ve got boy drama too. I should know as the mama of three sons. Sometimes your nose is outgrowing the rest of your body, an occasional blemish will show up unexpectedly to your horror, I bet we all are glad to be over and done with sixth grade, right? 


My youngest OS is a little sixth grader who is looking forward to school today. He normally simply tolerates school. My bookends, the oldest and the youngest OS, are certainly different from one another. Nate’s at West Point, doing extremely well in every aspect. Ike’s in middle school. He has to work hard to maintain good grades and would much rather be on a basketball court or at a friend’s house. Poor Isaac, his dumb parents stress the importance of education so he has no choice but to do homework and keep learning. Woe is he. 

Today is an extra special day because in Science class, they are going to suture a pig’s foot. They are studying skin disorders and a special guest, Dr. Saad will show the sixth graders how to do it. Ike’s teacher, Mrs. Hamo thinks that the students are mature enough to handle this. Ike thinks otherwise. Although he is confident he has the intestinal fortitude to handle the procedure. “If it were a liver or something, that would be disgusting,” he commented to me just before leaving for school, Ike has heard that people have passed out AND thrown up in the past. I can’t wait to hear about all the theatrics quite honestly. 

Ike stated that suturing a pig’s foot will definitely be a step above one of the most recent lessons in Mrs. Hamo’s Science class.  Again, the class was studying skin but this time they learned about…are you ready? Do you think you can handle this? Are you sure? Ok, it was on…(begin rolling eyes)…mammary glands. 

Did you know that mammary glands are only found in females? True! Ike said he didn’t necessarily know that helpful fact but I think my 12 year old could have lived a LONG time without that piece of knowledge. Apparently he wasn’t alone because the entire class erupted into laughter. Can you say AWKWARD!

Why, I can still fondly recall the special assembly at Jefferson Junior High in Naperville, Illinois. No boys were allowed. It was just for girls  and we watched a movie in the gym. It was about menstruation and I seriously wanted to die. If my memory serves me right, I think there was a girl riding on a horse and after that, everything was a blur. She seemed so happy even on her period. “Kill me. Kill me, now,” I desperately pleaded as I sat on the aluminum folding chair. 

I’ll let you know how Ike handles today and I suppose I won’t be able to use actual names in the post though for fear of even more sixth grade troubles. 

Does anyone else have a special middle school memory that just won’t leave your mind no matter how hard you try? 

Chaos and clutter, order and wonder

2 Comments

It’s incredible the feeling of freedom and empowerment a person can feel from a calendar. About two years ago my organization consultant turned me on to an old-fashioned concept. Little did I know the changes it would bring and how the trickle-down effect would help two other people in the process.

Prior to enlisting the help of Geralin (who by the way is one of my besties although she doesn’t really know it), I was a cluttered mess. I suppose in utero, as the Lord was knitting me carefully in my mother’s womb, He gave me an overabundant love of words and virtually no innate gift of organization. 

For years, I have survived without a calendar. I’d make an appointment at a doctor’s office, get the little card detailing the date and time and then promptly lose the business card. This meant, either

1. hoping I had the date tucked securely (yeah, right) in my brain or 
2. calling the office to get the information every.single.time. This is a picture of chaos. 


Then, upon getting the information, I would go to my computer, log on and enter it into the calendar program. Maybe. If I were in an especially organized mood, I might even print out the calendar sheets and then stuff them into my purse/plastic bag/whatever. The process failed miserably. 

But somehow, miraculously, I plodded along assuming my life was doomed to chaos.

Enter Geralin…I truly believe the Lord put her in my life because she gave me the impetus to transform many aspects of my harried life…like my home office went from this


to this…


As I allowed her to investigate other aspects of my life, she asked me how I kept track of appointments and important dates. With a shameful gulp, I attempted to explain my paltry system which she quickly poo-pooed (sp?). Instead of my completely unreliable technique, Geralin told /urged /forced /suggested /recommended these guys and their products.

I consider myself to be a fairly technologically savvy person but she urged me to employ a time-honored tradition…a paper calendar (I really like this style) and, get this, a pencil!

Since I devote a lot of my professional life to speaking, I can’t tell you how much easier it is for me to see when/where/if I can speak by simply leafing through my calendar. And it’s equally exciting to use a pencil because I can effortlessly changes dates without leaving inky scribble marks all over the place.

My co-worker now uses the same method. I love it when we are together and we can check our schedules with a mere turn of a page.


But the really exciting person for me to introduce this method to is my mom. She had several doctor appointments today and the physical therapist commented to her, “Wow, you are really organized!” Now I have her set up with a calendar and a binder to store all her important paperwork. And at the risk of sounding braggadocious, I even scrap booked the front and back of her binder with some treasured photos I had around the house. 


Yes, having a calendar and being aware of one’s life, the comings and the goings has brought freedom and control into my scattered brain. I highly recommend it – Hail to the Calendar and the Pencil!

Floods

8 Comments

Like all good daughters, I have subscribed a number of MY personal issues onto my mother. Because of my mom, I (fill in the blank)______________. Many of you probably can relate and would admit that the mother/daughter relationship thing can be hard and complicated. Maybe that’s why the Lord, in His infinite wisdom, choose to bless me with three sons! To demonstrate, here is but a small list of the things I have blamed my mother for in the past:


I lack athletic prowess because my mom didn’t stress the value of sports.
I don’t know how to swim because my mom never took me for swimming lessons as a small child.
I am bad with money because my mom didn’t teach me the value of a dollar.

And the list goes on and on…I will stop there as to not further embarrass myself. 

But yesterday, I found myself humbled and blessed. Something that has long been on my “list” needs to be removed.

For decades now I have told people that there are not a lot of photos of me when I was a child. If you and I were in a random conversation and you happened to mention something about pictures of yourself as a kid, I would probably have sighed heavily and told you of my picture woes. (Strum sappy violin music). When I was a girl growing up in Wheaton, Illinois, we had a flood in our basement and it destroyed, among other things, boxes and boxes of pictures. I recall the soggy, blobby paper mess and the dismay I felt in my young girl’s heart as I saw my memories destroyed. Who was to blame for the flood? Well, it honestly didn’t matter, I knew the culprit. I suspect you can guess my prime suspect. Yes, it was my mom. 

This week, following a meeting with my favorite organization consultant, I began the necessary and tedious task of de-cluttering my home. In various closets, possibly in every room there is a box or basket full of pictures. This week I have begun to weed through them, tossing out the bad photos, hanging on to the good ones. Geralin has a theory about pictures which I now claim as my own. She says, “if I don’t look good in the picture, then it goes.” Geralin’s my girl, one of my fab five, as my youngest OS would jest.

I am amazed at the scads of pictures we have EVERYWHERE! The stockpiles of pictures blurred my head as I tossed one photo after another into the trash. It has been freeing to re-claim lost closet space and re-discover sweet pictures of days gone by.

And last night, I believe the Lord healed a part of me because in the frenzied mass of photos, I am finding a lot of pictures of myself. There are many of me as a little girl on random Picture Days, a couple of me walking up the sidewalk for my first day of kindergarten, a few particularly unflattering pics of me blowing out candles on a birthday cake as a pimply teen, you get the idea. 

Oh, dear friends, I have found me. 


My past was not completely destroyed in that basement. There were salvages of my life still preserved, in greater proportion than I ever realized.

And so in the tv room, after everyone was in bed, I held picture after picture of myself in my hands and drifted back to those moments. They are not gone. They are preserved both in these pictures but also within me. Sorting through all the clutter and getting rid of the unnecessary, buried among it all, was Cindy. She hadn’t dissolved away into nothingness. As I make room in my home, I am finding new places in my spirit as well.

I’m learning that I can no longer blame my mom for a lot of things I have done in the past. Honestly, I have been aware of that for about 12 years now since asking Jesus into my heart and looking squarely at my own contrition and culpability. But how immature I have been to blame an act of God like a flood on my poor mother. I mean really. For goodness sake, she had no control over it no matter how much power I think a mama can wield. 

I hesitate for a moment and wonder to myself. Actually, a jab of anxiety wafts over me…what will my OS blame me for? What will be something that they say I should have done differently? Will we just laugh about it or will I carry around grief and guilt. Ew. What salvages of their own shortcomings will they try and attribute to me, their mom who, like my own, is trying the very best she can to make a sweet and wonderful life for them?


That is not something that I can answer. Today I’d rather focus on what I can claim victory over. I found me. I, or rather, remnants of me, weren’t swept away in an unpredictable flood.  And if all the pictures were gone, I now admit it wouldn’t have been my mom’s fault in the first place. 

When we went out for a late-night run to the grocery store to buy dish washing detergent, (doesn’t that sound like a fun outing!?), I decided to release this guilt from her once and for all. She has been staying at my house recovering from surgery on her wrist and a bout of pneumonia. The healing process has been painful and discouraging but last night, I believe both of us got healed in a way we weren’t expecting. We got in the car and I couldn’t wait to tell her my revelation. It wasn’t a gushy moment but I felt a weight off my heart and I noticed she had a look of contentment on her face and it wasn’t because we were going to buy dish washing detergent at 10pm! 
 

Guilt and blame, in all of its forms, are as destructive as a flood. Forgiveness and grace, on the other hand, fellow imperfect mamas of the world, well that can wash over a multitude of sins. 

Hallelujah, grace like rain, washing down on me…


Hmmm…

Homage to our friend, the stomach

4 Comments

I could blog about the weird dream I had this morning involving me in college where I lived in a dorm building and there was this elevator and for some reason, never explained in a dream sequence, a glass roof was installed in the dormitory building at my college which was poorly constructed with a one-inch gap between the elevator and my dorm room floor and then, out of nowhere, my stepfather magically appears. In the dream, my dorm room was on the top floor and therefore I could see lightning strikes and I wasn’t sure if I could deal with those living conditions. As someone who is afraid of heights, I spent most of the dream terrified about how to negotiate the one-inch gap between the safety of the elevator and the security of the floor and I’m still thinking about it! I awakened this morning scared and in need of a hug which my husband gladly supplied. What the heck did any of that mean? No clue!

OR I could blog about how I visited five medical office buildings today and how my mom’s wrist is doing better following surgery but now she has pneumonia; how my son has a cold/allergies and that there is a good chance I have a micro-fracture on my stupid tooth and might need a crown. 

But instead I’d rather tell you about the best brochure I’ve ever seen about an organ in the digestive system, the stomach. 

And I’d like to brag about the creator of this amazing brochure, my youngest OS, Isaac.


In his sixth grade English class, the students had to create a travel brochure for any part of the digestive tract they had recently studied. Among the choices, Ike could select the esophagus, the stomach, the liver, the mouth, the gall bladder, the small intestine, the large intestine and let us not forget, the anus. (I never thought I’d be writing that word on my blog!) Remind me to tell you something about that word in a minute. But my little, orange-haired OS knew instantly what body part he was going to pick = the stomach. I think this might have been his favorite homework assignment ever and he attacked this project with vigor.

This brochure was so good, I think it should be at every internist’s office. The headline was:

The Stomach – if you like getting dirty and slimy, come have some fun with us!

You open the tri-fold brochure and inside you see an “illustration” of the stomach. Isaac’s teacher thought the diagram was kind of weird because there is no face on the drawing. She said usually you have a face but apparently Ike wanted all eyes on the stomach. I think it worked quite nicely. 

Continue reading the contents of this stomach travel brochure and learn about:

Imports and Exports  – 

Favorite line in this paragraph, “There is only one way into the stomach and two ways out.” All-righty then…

Accomodations – You can stay in one of the best hotels ever, it is called the Stomach Hotel. This hotel has big beds, big rooms and lots to chow on. You will not be disappointed, trust me!

Dangers – The stomach does have some dangers. If the stomach has a virus  you are likely to be shot out of the stick-like tube and out the mouth. Also if you eat too much you may be thrown up. 


Why should I come here? – Well, if you have had a long week you can come here and enjoy a nice hot tub and be massaged by the best massagers in the stomach called Peristalsis Massagers.

What happens here? – Lots of things happen here. You can get a massage or go in a nice hydrochloric acid hot tub. The possibilities are endless. (I seriously wanted to book a weekend at the Stomach Hotel!) 

If there was any confusion, Ike was gracious enough to include directions in the stomach:

1. Enter the mouth
2. Go down the esophagus for four seconds
3. Then you enter the wonderful stomach

I was delighted to learn that Isaac got a 98%! Yay! There had been no need to pester or prod Isaac to finish this homework and then to see his creativity in high gear and the resulting high marks made me forget that weird nightmare and the rest of my harried day.

Oh, and the thing about that aforementioned word…ahem. Isaac informed me that he had learned that there are actually two sphincters in the human body in class but he didn’t even know the word “sphincter” existed until last year. Ike went bowling with his two older brothers just prior to Nate’s high school graduation. My three awesome OS were enjoying special brother time and at the bowling alley, throwing balls down the lane, when suddenly his oldest brother, the West Point-bound son and role model, Nathan, decided to change Isaac’s name on the electronic score board to “Anal Sphincter.” 

So charming! Let’s all give it up for the Amazing Stomach! Woot!