We spent a wonderful day with some of our theater friends (in light of yesterday's post, there were no guards at this gathering). If you want to have a great time, this is definitely the group to spend your day with.
So, in honor of all our theater friends, and in light of recent happenings at one of our favorite playhouses, I'm going to write a Christmas musical. A sneak peek to whet your appetite:
"The Misadventures of Santa's Actors"
(Disclaimer: No, the King family does not celebrate Santa. The theater where our kids act, however, uses Santa in every Christmas show title. Don't worry, it ends with the greatest story ever told.)
So, beginning again:
"The Misadventures of Santa's Actors" takes place on Christmas Eve when 7 actors and a Santa Claus are stranded in Penn Station, hoping to get home for Christmas. One is here because her recent appendectomy kept her from going home a week earlier. Another rushes into the station after finding out that her car has been towed and she needs to find an alternate method of transportation - quick! Two unemployed actors arrive at the train station after using their limited strumming ability, mixed with a large dose of vocal fortitude, to find enough cash in their guitar cases to get them to their respective homes. Here's hopin' Mom and Dad provide the cash to get them back to the big city. The fifth is on her way home but a show closing case of laryngitis has her communicating all in charades. She's an actress; it works! The next couple, former actors and curent theater owners in the South, are headed home after a whirlwind tour of all their former haunts. They have their kids in tow, all named for roles they played in musicals during their careers: Rolfe, Liesl (the roles they were playing when they met), Curly, Nellie, Millie, and Lil Annie (from Annie, naturally). And Santa - he's just finished his last shift sitting on a chair facing a long line of snotty nosed kids. He's just glad he can finally go home where there aren't as many germs and no one demanding favorite toys, except that someone has stolen his backpack containing all of his earthly possessions. Of course our dynamic group of actors will burst into spontaneous musical numbers featuring your favorite Christmas songs, including a STOMP-like rendition of Jingle Bells, I'll Be Home for Christmas on maracas, and their own rendition of the Charlie Brown Christmas dance. It's a Christmas musical sure to put a smile on your face and which you'll want to return to year after year after year.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
OCD Thanksgiving
By now I'm sure many of you have seen the obsessive-compulsive Thanksgiving letter as it makes its way around the cyber world. If not, it's a must read. You can find it here: http://www.californiakara.com/p/thanksgiving-letter.html
In fact, you'll have to read it to better understand my thoughts for today. Because you see, as I read this letter, it made perfect sense to me. No use having your meal ruined by someone not following your carefully thought-out plans. You didn't take so much time attending to every little detail to have something forgotten or misplaced. But as I thought about it more, I realized that the writer of this letter is not an exact copy of me. The major difference here is that this writer is, as my husband would say, a High D personality. Now, I can never remember what all the letters stand for in those personality tests - that's John's job - but I do know that I am as far from a High D on those tests as you can get. In fact, I do not get along with High D people; they run right over me and have me cowering in a corner saying, "Yes, ma'am," and "No, sir" even though I don't agree with a thing they are saying.
So here's the difference: I would never write such a letter. I would be thinking it. I would be hoping everyone follows my directions. If I were to give you directions for Thanksgiving dinner, this is how my letter would come out (with notes in parentheses so you can understand the reasoning behind the words):
Happy Thanksgiving! (You are receiving this a month early because I am an over-planner and I want you to know that the holiday is approaching and it's time to start planning for it so that nothing goes wrong)
From: The 2010 Thanksgiving Planning Committee (Never put your name on something because if people don't like it they will complain about you; making it a group effort makes it look like you have friends who agree with you)
I am so thankful that I have all of you to help with the meal preparation. (Actually, I feel like I could do it better if I just did it all myself but that would be a lot of work. I'm going to try to allow you to help with the meal but I am very concerned that it won't all turn out just right. I don't have much faith in all of you but I'm trying. I do appreciate your futile attempts but I already know that I will be frustrated by the results.)
Below, you will find your name and the item you are to bring. Please let me know if this is a problem. (While I like what the original letter writer penned: "Now, while I do have quite a sense of humor and joke around all the time, I COULD NOT BE MORE SERIOUS when I am providing you with your Thanksgiving instructions and orders. I am very particular, so please perform your task EXACTLY as I have requested and read your portion very carefully. If I ask you to bring your offering in a container that has a lid, bring your offering in a container WITH A LID, NOT ALUMINUM FOIL! If I ask you to bring a serving spoon for your dish, BRING A SERVING SPOON, NOT A SOUP SPOON! And please do not forget anything," saying so would be too bold.)
Please bring your food item ready to be served. (This should not need to be stated but since not everyone can be as organized and detail-oriented as me, it needs to be spelled out.)
The Mike Bauman Family
1.Your turnip casserole, if you'd like. (By adding "if you'd like" I'm implying that you are the only one who likes it but I don't want to come out and say it. I'm hoping you'll figure it out yourself.)
2. Two half gallons of ice cream, you can get whatever brands or flavors you like but I know from other years that peanut butter swirl seems to be a favorite and of course vanilla is always a good option. (Make it sound like this is from past experience when really you just prefer peanut butter but can't say so.)
The Bob Moyer Family
Green beans or asparagus in a casserole with a lid and a serving spoon. You can make both if you'd like but you don't have to do that. If you make the green beans, it would be good to have about 4 pounds but if you make asparagus you might need 5 pounds. Last year we really liked the light sprinkling of toasted nuts on the top but I remember that you said it'd be better without the cheese. ("Would be good" and "might" make it look like you're not telling anyone what to do, only suggesting it. "Remembering" conversations that never happened is always a good idea, too.)
The Lisa Godshall Family
Lisa - congratulations again on your recent wedding! - we're all excited that you will be able to contribute this year. Could you bring the hors d'ouvres? (Questions are always good.) In the past we've always had something light. Since no one likes cocktail sauce and beans, you probably want to skip recipes with those ingredients. Last year we had a small platter of fresh vegetables so that might be a good idea. Everyone liked that. That might be nice. But you can bring whatever you'd like.
The June King Family
Could you make mashed potatoes like you did last year? They were so good and everyone loved them. (Compliments are always good). Last year you made 15 pounds and that was just perfect. You can serve it however you'd like but someone was remembering that the blue serving dish didn't work out so well. (Never admit that it was you who remembered that.) You might want to try using a smaller container and putting the rest in a plastic Tupperware container and we can replenish it as needed. Or you could just put it in two regular-sized casserole dishes. It's completely up to you. (But your way didn't work before so you should probably just use my ideas.)
The Amy Hostetler Family - PLEASE READ CAREFULLY (In other words, you never read my notes and if you do, somehow you always mess something up so please don't mess up this year.)
1. Pumpkin pie. I will send you my silver palate recipe. You don't have to use it if you don't want to use it. I just thought it would save you the trouble of finding one. I know that this one tastes great. (No need to tell her that last year's recipe wasn't any good; that might hurt her feelings.)
Looking forward to the 28th!!
Cindy and the 2010 Thanksgiving Planning Committee (one last shot at making people think that you aren't the only obsessive -compulsive member of the family.)
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! You'd better go back and find that email that Aunt Matilda sent out earlier this month. You wouldn't want to miss any of her directions!
In fact, you'll have to read it to better understand my thoughts for today. Because you see, as I read this letter, it made perfect sense to me. No use having your meal ruined by someone not following your carefully thought-out plans. You didn't take so much time attending to every little detail to have something forgotten or misplaced. But as I thought about it more, I realized that the writer of this letter is not an exact copy of me. The major difference here is that this writer is, as my husband would say, a High D personality. Now, I can never remember what all the letters stand for in those personality tests - that's John's job - but I do know that I am as far from a High D on those tests as you can get. In fact, I do not get along with High D people; they run right over me and have me cowering in a corner saying, "Yes, ma'am," and "No, sir" even though I don't agree with a thing they are saying.
So here's the difference: I would never write such a letter. I would be thinking it. I would be hoping everyone follows my directions. If I were to give you directions for Thanksgiving dinner, this is how my letter would come out (with notes in parentheses so you can understand the reasoning behind the words):
Happy Thanksgiving! (You are receiving this a month early because I am an over-planner and I want you to know that the holiday is approaching and it's time to start planning for it so that nothing goes wrong)
From: The 2010 Thanksgiving Planning Committee (Never put your name on something because if people don't like it they will complain about you; making it a group effort makes it look like you have friends who agree with you)
I am so thankful that I have all of you to help with the meal preparation. (Actually, I feel like I could do it better if I just did it all myself but that would be a lot of work. I'm going to try to allow you to help with the meal but I am very concerned that it won't all turn out just right. I don't have much faith in all of you but I'm trying. I do appreciate your futile attempts but I already know that I will be frustrated by the results.)
Below, you will find your name and the item you are to bring. Please let me know if this is a problem. (While I like what the original letter writer penned: "Now, while I do have quite a sense of humor and joke around all the time, I COULD NOT BE MORE SERIOUS when I am providing you with your Thanksgiving instructions and orders. I am very particular, so please perform your task EXACTLY as I have requested and read your portion very carefully. If I ask you to bring your offering in a container that has a lid, bring your offering in a container WITH A LID, NOT ALUMINUM FOIL! If I ask you to bring a serving spoon for your dish, BRING A SERVING SPOON, NOT A SOUP SPOON! And please do not forget anything," saying so would be too bold.)
Please bring your food item ready to be served. (This should not need to be stated but since not everyone can be as organized and detail-oriented as me, it needs to be spelled out.)
The Mike Bauman Family
1.Your turnip casserole, if you'd like. (By adding "if you'd like" I'm implying that you are the only one who likes it but I don't want to come out and say it. I'm hoping you'll figure it out yourself.)
2. Two half gallons of ice cream, you can get whatever brands or flavors you like but I know from other years that peanut butter swirl seems to be a favorite and of course vanilla is always a good option. (Make it sound like this is from past experience when really you just prefer peanut butter but can't say so.)
The Bob Moyer Family
Green beans or asparagus in a casserole with a lid and a serving spoon. You can make both if you'd like but you don't have to do that. If you make the green beans, it would be good to have about 4 pounds but if you make asparagus you might need 5 pounds. Last year we really liked the light sprinkling of toasted nuts on the top but I remember that you said it'd be better without the cheese. ("Would be good" and "might" make it look like you're not telling anyone what to do, only suggesting it. "Remembering" conversations that never happened is always a good idea, too.)
The Lisa Godshall Family
Lisa - congratulations again on your recent wedding! - we're all excited that you will be able to contribute this year. Could you bring the hors d'ouvres? (Questions are always good.) In the past we've always had something light. Since no one likes cocktail sauce and beans, you probably want to skip recipes with those ingredients. Last year we had a small platter of fresh vegetables so that might be a good idea. Everyone liked that. That might be nice. But you can bring whatever you'd like.
The June King Family
Could you make mashed potatoes like you did last year? They were so good and everyone loved them. (Compliments are always good). Last year you made 15 pounds and that was just perfect. You can serve it however you'd like but someone was remembering that the blue serving dish didn't work out so well. (Never admit that it was you who remembered that.) You might want to try using a smaller container and putting the rest in a plastic Tupperware container and we can replenish it as needed. Or you could just put it in two regular-sized casserole dishes. It's completely up to you. (But your way didn't work before so you should probably just use my ideas.)
The Amy Hostetler Family - PLEASE READ CAREFULLY (In other words, you never read my notes and if you do, somehow you always mess something up so please don't mess up this year.)
1. Pumpkin pie. I will send you my silver palate recipe. You don't have to use it if you don't want to use it. I just thought it would save you the trouble of finding one. I know that this one tastes great. (No need to tell her that last year's recipe wasn't any good; that might hurt her feelings.)
Looking forward to the 28th!!
Cindy and the 2010 Thanksgiving Planning Committee (one last shot at making people think that you aren't the only obsessive -compulsive member of the family.)
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! You'd better go back and find that email that Aunt Matilda sent out earlier this month. You wouldn't want to miss any of her directions!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Inspired by Julie
I finally watched Julie and Julia. I know, I'm really far behind in my movie viewing. I don't get out much. I am, however, completely up-to-date in my Veggie Tales, American Girl, Angelina Ballerina, and Little House on the Prairie. So I'm not a total loss.
I have to say that I am now inspired in my blog writing. Julie, the main character (for those of you who saw this so long ago that you now can't remember the plot), decides to cook through Julia Childs' cookbook of 524 recipes in 365 days and to blog about her experience. So, I'm trying to decide what my yearlong project could/should be.
I immediately ditched the Julia Childs idea since my picky eaters most certainly aren't into French cooking and I am most certainly not going to touch a duck.
Sticking to the cooking theme, however, I thought about cooking through the recipes in the Franconia Culinary Pride 'n Joy (Mennonite) Cookbook. But with over 800 recipes I thought it was a little out of reach. And while daily doses of variations on shoo-fly pie, jams, and homemade breads sounded more palatable than French cooking, I believe all those fats and carbs would have some disastrous results on my family's health.
I knew I had to find something I was more passionate about than cooking.
Children, of course.
So I thought about adopting a child each day for the next year. But unfortunately that's logistically impossible. And 365 does sound like a lot of children. Even to me.
Reading?
I thought it'd be fun to read a new book each day for the next year. The only problem with that is that I have a family to raise. I don't think this goal is very compatable with my other responsibilities.
Back to food, how about ice cream?
I could always try a new flavor of ice cream each day for the next 365 days. That probably wouldn't be very good for the figure. Or the grocery budget. Or my overall health. Maybe it'd be better to just make up a new flavor for each of the 365 days.
Something more adventurous?
I could do something on my Buckette List. Only it's not very long.
I could add something new to my Buckette List each day for a year. Only I'm not that adventurous and after 365 new items it would no longer be a Buckette List, it'd be a full-blown Bucket List. I'm not interested.
I'll give it til Dec. 31 to decide. Ideas appreciated.
I have to say that I am now inspired in my blog writing. Julie, the main character (for those of you who saw this so long ago that you now can't remember the plot), decides to cook through Julia Childs' cookbook of 524 recipes in 365 days and to blog about her experience. So, I'm trying to decide what my yearlong project could/should be.
I immediately ditched the Julia Childs idea since my picky eaters most certainly aren't into French cooking and I am most certainly not going to touch a duck.
Sticking to the cooking theme, however, I thought about cooking through the recipes in the Franconia Culinary Pride 'n Joy (Mennonite) Cookbook. But with over 800 recipes I thought it was a little out of reach. And while daily doses of variations on shoo-fly pie, jams, and homemade breads sounded more palatable than French cooking, I believe all those fats and carbs would have some disastrous results on my family's health.
I knew I had to find something I was more passionate about than cooking.
Children, of course.
So I thought about adopting a child each day for the next year. But unfortunately that's logistically impossible. And 365 does sound like a lot of children. Even to me.
Reading?
I thought it'd be fun to read a new book each day for the next year. The only problem with that is that I have a family to raise. I don't think this goal is very compatable with my other responsibilities.
Back to food, how about ice cream?
I could always try a new flavor of ice cream each day for the next 365 days. That probably wouldn't be very good for the figure. Or the grocery budget. Or my overall health. Maybe it'd be better to just make up a new flavor for each of the 365 days.
Something more adventurous?
I could do something on my Buckette List. Only it's not very long.
I could add something new to my Buckette List each day for a year. Only I'm not that adventurous and after 365 new items it would no longer be a Buckette List, it'd be a full-blown Bucket List. I'm not interested.
I'll give it til Dec. 31 to decide. Ideas appreciated.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
That time again
It comes around once a year. I don't even need to look at the calendar to know it's coming. 24 hours (or less) prior, my loving husband will pile all the children into the KingZoo bus and take them off to Wal-mart. A few hours later they'll come home with secret glances and lumpy packages. The mouths of the younger ones will be held by the hands of the older ones, trying to keep their "secret" mission under wraps. I, of course, will feign oblivion.
This year HopeAnne was the child voted most likely to give it away so she was terrorized and threatened with all sorts of horrible things if she gave anything away. They went even farther and told her that no matter what I said, she was to reply "a candle." So when they came home and I came up the steps from the basement, Hope said, "If you ask me what we got you for your birthday [insert dramatic pause and lower voice to a whisper], it's a candle and it's in the car." I wanted to see how far the brainwashing went so I woke her up in the middle of the night and asked her what she got for my birthday. She opened her eyes long enough to say, "a candle" and promptly went right back to sleep.
Yes, it's my birthday. My loving husband celebrated by saying, "I am so glad I get to grow old with you." I told him he might as well say he's glad he gets to look forward to smelling like a nursing home with me. He did get up early to take me to breakfast (my favorite meal of the day) and he's also taking me to dinner. Well, actually he's taking me to the wedding reception after the ceremony he had to officiate. But I'll get a meal. And it'll be good. And if we had just gone to dinner, I wouldn't have gotten appetizers and dessert. No dancing either.
Jesse was kind enough to transcribe Hope's birthday wishes into a birthday card. It went like this, "Happy birthday to you! I love you mommy. We can't talk about ghosts because they aren't real. I love you mommy cause I really love when you invite... I love you mommy. I love you forever. I love you mommy because you bring us to ice cream places and Frosty to get ice cream. I like when you take pictures but it is hard because I have to go to the bathroom sometimes when you take pictures. I like watching TV mommy, and I love watching TV with you doing your hair. I love to make silly faces at the mirror in the bathroom. I think I like sleepovers when [Eden's friend] comes some day. Not cry because [Isaac's friend] has staring eyes. I like monkeys and puppies and turtles and snakes. I love you mommy." Jesse only needed to add, " Happy birthday mom. I'm not going to rant on and on because there is no way I could do it better than Hope.
My aunt thought it'd be nice if I got to celebrate my birthday with a cozy blanket, a cup of tea, and a good story. I did have a cozy blanket but it was at Isaac's soccer game and there was no tea involved. No book on my lap, either. But I did get to see the story of a comeback soccer team and a mother who survived her son's goal-keeping. All on her birthday. There should be a special gift for that.
And my dad made my day with a note that made me cry. Thanks, Dad.
It was a great day.
***11PM addition: As if the day wasn't great enough, it ended with picture-taking at Allenberry's Murder Mystery Weekend. During birthday introductions I was introduced as celebrating my 22nd birthday today. (Thank you, Mykel! I owe you). To top it off, one man stopped me in the lobby to ask me if photography is my full-time job or if I'm in college full-time. Later during dinner, one table stopped me to wish me a happy birthday and to ask about my life as a 20 something. Ahh. My birthday day is complete. Time for bed.
This year HopeAnne was the child voted most likely to give it away so she was terrorized and threatened with all sorts of horrible things if she gave anything away. They went even farther and told her that no matter what I said, she was to reply "a candle." So when they came home and I came up the steps from the basement, Hope said, "If you ask me what we got you for your birthday [insert dramatic pause and lower voice to a whisper], it's a candle and it's in the car." I wanted to see how far the brainwashing went so I woke her up in the middle of the night and asked her what she got for my birthday. She opened her eyes long enough to say, "a candle" and promptly went right back to sleep.
Yes, it's my birthday. My loving husband celebrated by saying, "I am so glad I get to grow old with you." I told him he might as well say he's glad he gets to look forward to smelling like a nursing home with me. He did get up early to take me to breakfast (my favorite meal of the day) and he's also taking me to dinner. Well, actually he's taking me to the wedding reception after the ceremony he had to officiate. But I'll get a meal. And it'll be good. And if we had just gone to dinner, I wouldn't have gotten appetizers and dessert. No dancing either.
Jesse was kind enough to transcribe Hope's birthday wishes into a birthday card. It went like this, "Happy birthday to you! I love you mommy. We can't talk about ghosts because they aren't real. I love you mommy cause I really love when you invite... I love you mommy. I love you forever. I love you mommy because you bring us to ice cream places and Frosty to get ice cream. I like when you take pictures but it is hard because I have to go to the bathroom sometimes when you take pictures. I like watching TV mommy, and I love watching TV with you doing your hair. I love to make silly faces at the mirror in the bathroom. I think I like sleepovers when [Eden's friend] comes some day. Not cry because [Isaac's friend] has staring eyes. I like monkeys and puppies and turtles and snakes. I love you mommy." Jesse only needed to add, " Happy birthday mom. I'm not going to rant on and on because there is no way I could do it better than Hope.
My aunt thought it'd be nice if I got to celebrate my birthday with a cozy blanket, a cup of tea, and a good story. I did have a cozy blanket but it was at Isaac's soccer game and there was no tea involved. No book on my lap, either. But I did get to see the story of a comeback soccer team and a mother who survived her son's goal-keeping. All on her birthday. There should be a special gift for that.
And my dad made my day with a note that made me cry. Thanks, Dad.
It was a great day.
***11PM addition: As if the day wasn't great enough, it ended with picture-taking at Allenberry's Murder Mystery Weekend. During birthday introductions I was introduced as celebrating my 22nd birthday today. (Thank you, Mykel! I owe you). To top it off, one man stopped me in the lobby to ask me if photography is my full-time job or if I'm in college full-time. Later during dinner, one table stopped me to wish me a happy birthday and to ask about my life as a 20 something. Ahh. My birthday day is complete. Time for bed.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Twoo Wuv
My children love me. I know they do. They have lovingly expressed their devotion to me through the years, in so many different ways.
When Andrew was 2 1/2 he told me that I looked like a rooster. After I explained that we usually only say that to people when their hair is sticking up, he changed his mind and affectionately told me that I look like a cow. His compliments have brightened my days ever since.
A few months later he showed even more love when he started singing that oldie but goodie Christmas song, "Children go Where I Send Thee," but substituted his mom-honoring version: "Children Go Where I Cindy."
But his best compliment came at 3 1/2 when he said, "Mommy, you make good pie." It may not seem like much but since it was followed with, "And Daddy makes good grapes," I knew he saw my effort and I was loved.
Jesse, even as a young 2 year old, could see that I was a little challenged in the interior decorating department. No problem. On more than one occasion he took it upon himself to repaint various furniture items and walls. Carefully placed handprints was a common theme.
Imitation is the highest form of flattery, right? At 3 1/2 Jesse told me that he was going to grow up to be a mommy just like me. Hmmm, I guess that's flattery. A year and a half later he was planning to marry me when he grew up.
When Mariana was 4 she brought me to Biblical status. We were reviewing the Moses story in our family devotions. I asked someone to name Moses' mother and Mariana very proudly answered, "Cindy!" Okay, it sounded more like Cinny. But I knew what she meant. She meant that I was as wise as Jochebed and could have come up with a plan as great as floating a child on water, if need be.
By the time she was 6, though, I must have dropped a few notches in her way of thinking because her evening prayer included, "And please help Mommy not to sin." May not look like love but at least she was concerned enough to take me to the One who changes mommies when they need it.
At age 8 she had things a little more in perspective when she told me that she likes "plain people just like you." She knows who I am yet she still loves me.
Isaac, like his father, has always been loving and affectionate. Even at the age of 1 he always wanted to be near me and if we weren't in the same room I could count on hearing, "Mom, are you?" within a few seconds. At the same time, as I was teaching him to spell his name, I named the letter as I wrote it, "I," and he quickly responded with, "love you."
At 1 1/2, when the rest of the children were complaining about the food set before them, Isaac was the only one to pronounce my food, "deyicious."
Eden says she likes how I talk to the dog. I told you she was the next teacher in the family. Teachers are so good at finding the small things to praise. It's baby steps, right? At least she didn't say she likes how I talk to myself.
Hope loves me so much she couldn't bear to see me leave for the Funny Farm shoeless yesterday. As I walked out the door she was shouting, "Mom, not without your shoes!" Now that's true love.
Moments to cherish. True love. Yes.
When Andrew was 2 1/2 he told me that I looked like a rooster. After I explained that we usually only say that to people when their hair is sticking up, he changed his mind and affectionately told me that I look like a cow. His compliments have brightened my days ever since.
A few months later he showed even more love when he started singing that oldie but goodie Christmas song, "Children go Where I Send Thee," but substituted his mom-honoring version: "Children Go Where I Cindy."
But his best compliment came at 3 1/2 when he said, "Mommy, you make good pie." It may not seem like much but since it was followed with, "And Daddy makes good grapes," I knew he saw my effort and I was loved.
Jesse, even as a young 2 year old, could see that I was a little challenged in the interior decorating department. No problem. On more than one occasion he took it upon himself to repaint various furniture items and walls. Carefully placed handprints was a common theme.
Imitation is the highest form of flattery, right? At 3 1/2 Jesse told me that he was going to grow up to be a mommy just like me. Hmmm, I guess that's flattery. A year and a half later he was planning to marry me when he grew up.
When Mariana was 4 she brought me to Biblical status. We were reviewing the Moses story in our family devotions. I asked someone to name Moses' mother and Mariana very proudly answered, "Cindy!" Okay, it sounded more like Cinny. But I knew what she meant. She meant that I was as wise as Jochebed and could have come up with a plan as great as floating a child on water, if need be.
By the time she was 6, though, I must have dropped a few notches in her way of thinking because her evening prayer included, "And please help Mommy not to sin." May not look like love but at least she was concerned enough to take me to the One who changes mommies when they need it.
At age 8 she had things a little more in perspective when she told me that she likes "plain people just like you." She knows who I am yet she still loves me.
Isaac, like his father, has always been loving and affectionate. Even at the age of 1 he always wanted to be near me and if we weren't in the same room I could count on hearing, "Mom, are you?" within a few seconds. At the same time, as I was teaching him to spell his name, I named the letter as I wrote it, "I," and he quickly responded with, "love you."
At 1 1/2, when the rest of the children were complaining about the food set before them, Isaac was the only one to pronounce my food, "deyicious."
Eden says she likes how I talk to the dog. I told you she was the next teacher in the family. Teachers are so good at finding the small things to praise. It's baby steps, right? At least she didn't say she likes how I talk to myself.
Hope loves me so much she couldn't bear to see me leave for the Funny Farm shoeless yesterday. As I walked out the door she was shouting, "Mom, not without your shoes!" Now that's true love.
Moments to cherish. True love. Yes.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Table Talk
The dinner table is a great place to get some help with your homework. With a table of 8 you can throw out your latest discussion questions, project requirements, or any other assignment and get the perspectives of those from a variety of ages, skills, and life experiences. Tonight we were helping Jesse with a career inventory he was to complete. Poor guy had to come up with 20 careers he'd like to pursue. I have to say I do think 20 is awfully high. You'd have to be amazingly gifted to come up with 20 areas of interest, even if you hadn't already started thinking of life after college. I can remember having to do these things in middle and high school. I always had trouble after the first blank on the list.
1. Teacher
2. ??? I don't know. Well, you have to write something else. Okay, then. Is special ed. teacher different from a teacher?
3. ????? I really can't do this. Well, what else would you like to do? I don't know. Elementary teacher?
4. ??????? I need more? How about preschool teacher?
5. ????????? How am I supposed to come up with 5 careers? I only want to be one thing. Can I just write teacher again?
One time we were given a very scientific career inventory. The first time I completed the survey it told me I should be a secretary. Yeah right, I just love talking on the phone. And talking to real people is even better. So I checked out the score I should receive to fit in the education category and went back and changed my answers to make it say teacher.
So, when Jesse said he needed help, we were more than willing to jump in. We asked him what he had on the list so far. He explained that he had already gotten some help in class and had been able to rule out a few possibilities. While working on this assignment he asked his teacher, "Hey, Mr. Capriotti, would I make a good counselor?" So Mr. Capriotti suggested they try it out. He took a chair next to Jesse and said, "I've been feeling pretty down and sad lately. What do you think I should do?" Jesse's response, being a little on the non-sensitive side, "Suck it up, cupcake," gave the class a pretty good indication that this would not be the right career for him. Next he tried, "Would anyone trust me as their surgeon?" Again, no support. In the end, however, he didn't get much help from the family dinner table because what followed was a discussion of the careers that each family member should NEVER consider.
Andrew, we decided, should not be a talk show host. You generally need to say more than "good", "fine" and "nothing" for a job like that. You also need to be very low on the "um" scale. He did make a good argument that the jokes between the ums would keep everybody laughing and watching. He has a point but we still don't think it's the career for him. We also told him not to consider a career as a PETA representative. He's not much of an animal person. Just ask Linus.
We didn't think Jesse would make a very good philosopher. He's not really a deep thinker. He's also not much into sharing his deep, personal opinions. He'd much rather make someone laugh. Pro sumo wrestling is probably not in his future, either. He doesn't really have the build for it.
Hands-down it was agreed that Mariana should not become a comedian. While she is great on the stage, her jokes need a lot of work. I will say that she has come a long way from her early knock-knock days.
Knock-knock
Who's there?
(While looking around the room) Light
Light who?
(Still looking around the room) Light on the ceiling (followed by hysterical laughter for herself)
She did argue that she can act funny. This is true. Just not a trait for a great comedian. We also didn't think she'd make a good butcher. She's not really that into meat. Case in point: When she heard someone say "butcher", even though she didn't realize it was meant for her, her response was, "That's disgusting." This is the child who wanted to be a vegetarian until I pointed out that the root of vegetarian was the same as vegetable. She knew not to ask if she could be a carbohydraterian.
For Isaac's own safety the majority vote was that he should not be a professional gymnast. Built like his father and self-proclaimed clumsy to boot. One of Isaac's first phrases as a toddler was, "I'm okay" and it's still the most used today. His brothers, both of whom have shared his room at one time, announced that he would also not make much money as a maid. Isaac can walk into a pigsty and proclaim it white-glove clean.
Eden, bless her heart, would be sent packing if she were a private in the army. She prefers to give orders over taking them, she'd starve on army rations, and when tested (yes, during dinner), she couldn't do even one proper push-up. We also decided she would not make a good speech therapist. She'd have a whole generation of kids running around talking about boys and gulls and rushing to be fust in line.
Poor HopeAnne would never make it as a librarian. She just couldn't follow her own rules in keeping the noise level down. This is the child who shouts at us to be quiet because her dolls are sleeping. We also don't think she would survive as a spy. When questioned she would first point out that her lips were sealed, but upon spying a bird flying by she would lose her train of thought, shout, "Oh pretty", then, "My name is Hopie and I work for the United States Government." To her credit this would be followed with a hand over her mouth and the after-thought, "I'm not supposed to tell you that." She might then be able to suggest, "I'll make a deal with you." It has worked with her father.
Speaking of the patriarch of the clan, we came up with three answers for him. He wouldn't make a good stay-at-home mom, preschool teacher, or secretary. He can't multi-task, he walks right over or by jobs that need to be done, he likes to sleep, and he's deathly allergic to children's appointments or school functions. He also doesn't like toys that make noise or beings that make messes. Finally, he's not organized.
And for me, it was unanimous that I would not make a good counselor. Sorry Mr. Capriotti, but Jesse gets it from me. My favorite response to those with issues is to take them around the throat, shake them and say, "Just snap out of it." Besides, I spend too much time at the Funny Farm myself. It probably wouldn't be good for business. The kids also didn't think I'd make a very good math teacher. They cited numerous examples which will not be listed here. But in the end they had me convinced when they reminded me that math teachers do not have personality but lovingly assured me that I have plenty of personality. Aren't they great kids?
In fact, God has uniquely gifted each one and it will be exciting to see where those gifts lead. As a preschooler Andrew's career choice was to be an astronaut. We thought he just might be the first pacifist to enter the space program without going through the military first. About the time of his surgery he had an interest in medicine but that quickly passed. For a while now he's been pretty set on a career in the film industry. If he can influence this industry as he's influenced his lunch table, we'll be thrilled. Jesse had this mother praying very hard when he announced in first grade that he wanted to be a pilot and fly missionaries around the world. For a time he was interested in engineering or architecture, wanting to build orphanages in other countries. More recently he's thinking about education but just isn't sure. Mariana, as we all know, entered the world with her mouth opened and she has not shut it yet. But that's a good thing as she has needed those God-given lungs to make the world her stage. Who knows where this will take her. Isaac hasn't quite settled on one direction. We have seen him morph from a natural science curator to a video game creator. More realistically, he is very good working with his hands and as most of us know, is an excellent musician. Eden is a born teacher. Not much else to say there. And HopeAnne, time will tell but it will definitely involve much movemet and little sitting. John still hasn't decided what he wants to be when he grows up so he just keeps going to school til he figures it out. Me, that's easy. I want to be a mom and a teacher. I'll have to try that out some day. When I'm not at the Funny Farm.
1. Teacher
2. ??? I don't know. Well, you have to write something else. Okay, then. Is special ed. teacher different from a teacher?
3. ????? I really can't do this. Well, what else would you like to do? I don't know. Elementary teacher?
4. ??????? I need more? How about preschool teacher?
5. ????????? How am I supposed to come up with 5 careers? I only want to be one thing. Can I just write teacher again?
One time we were given a very scientific career inventory. The first time I completed the survey it told me I should be a secretary. Yeah right, I just love talking on the phone. And talking to real people is even better. So I checked out the score I should receive to fit in the education category and went back and changed my answers to make it say teacher.
So, when Jesse said he needed help, we were more than willing to jump in. We asked him what he had on the list so far. He explained that he had already gotten some help in class and had been able to rule out a few possibilities. While working on this assignment he asked his teacher, "Hey, Mr. Capriotti, would I make a good counselor?" So Mr. Capriotti suggested they try it out. He took a chair next to Jesse and said, "I've been feeling pretty down and sad lately. What do you think I should do?" Jesse's response, being a little on the non-sensitive side, "Suck it up, cupcake," gave the class a pretty good indication that this would not be the right career for him. Next he tried, "Would anyone trust me as their surgeon?" Again, no support. In the end, however, he didn't get much help from the family dinner table because what followed was a discussion of the careers that each family member should NEVER consider.
Andrew, we decided, should not be a talk show host. You generally need to say more than "good", "fine" and "nothing" for a job like that. You also need to be very low on the "um" scale. He did make a good argument that the jokes between the ums would keep everybody laughing and watching. He has a point but we still don't think it's the career for him. We also told him not to consider a career as a PETA representative. He's not much of an animal person. Just ask Linus.
We didn't think Jesse would make a very good philosopher. He's not really a deep thinker. He's also not much into sharing his deep, personal opinions. He'd much rather make someone laugh. Pro sumo wrestling is probably not in his future, either. He doesn't really have the build for it.
Hands-down it was agreed that Mariana should not become a comedian. While she is great on the stage, her jokes need a lot of work. I will say that she has come a long way from her early knock-knock days.
Knock-knock
Who's there?
(While looking around the room) Light
Light who?
(Still looking around the room) Light on the ceiling (followed by hysterical laughter for herself)
She did argue that she can act funny. This is true. Just not a trait for a great comedian. We also didn't think she'd make a good butcher. She's not really that into meat. Case in point: When she heard someone say "butcher", even though she didn't realize it was meant for her, her response was, "That's disgusting." This is the child who wanted to be a vegetarian until I pointed out that the root of vegetarian was the same as vegetable. She knew not to ask if she could be a carbohydraterian.
For Isaac's own safety the majority vote was that he should not be a professional gymnast. Built like his father and self-proclaimed clumsy to boot. One of Isaac's first phrases as a toddler was, "I'm okay" and it's still the most used today. His brothers, both of whom have shared his room at one time, announced that he would also not make much money as a maid. Isaac can walk into a pigsty and proclaim it white-glove clean.
Eden, bless her heart, would be sent packing if she were a private in the army. She prefers to give orders over taking them, she'd starve on army rations, and when tested (yes, during dinner), she couldn't do even one proper push-up. We also decided she would not make a good speech therapist. She'd have a whole generation of kids running around talking about boys and gulls and rushing to be fust in line.
Poor HopeAnne would never make it as a librarian. She just couldn't follow her own rules in keeping the noise level down. This is the child who shouts at us to be quiet because her dolls are sleeping. We also don't think she would survive as a spy. When questioned she would first point out that her lips were sealed, but upon spying a bird flying by she would lose her train of thought, shout, "Oh pretty", then, "My name is Hopie and I work for the United States Government." To her credit this would be followed with a hand over her mouth and the after-thought, "I'm not supposed to tell you that." She might then be able to suggest, "I'll make a deal with you." It has worked with her father.
Speaking of the patriarch of the clan, we came up with three answers for him. He wouldn't make a good stay-at-home mom, preschool teacher, or secretary. He can't multi-task, he walks right over or by jobs that need to be done, he likes to sleep, and he's deathly allergic to children's appointments or school functions. He also doesn't like toys that make noise or beings that make messes. Finally, he's not organized.
And for me, it was unanimous that I would not make a good counselor. Sorry Mr. Capriotti, but Jesse gets it from me. My favorite response to those with issues is to take them around the throat, shake them and say, "Just snap out of it." Besides, I spend too much time at the Funny Farm myself. It probably wouldn't be good for business. The kids also didn't think I'd make a very good math teacher. They cited numerous examples which will not be listed here. But in the end they had me convinced when they reminded me that math teachers do not have personality but lovingly assured me that I have plenty of personality. Aren't they great kids?
In fact, God has uniquely gifted each one and it will be exciting to see where those gifts lead. As a preschooler Andrew's career choice was to be an astronaut. We thought he just might be the first pacifist to enter the space program without going through the military first. About the time of his surgery he had an interest in medicine but that quickly passed. For a while now he's been pretty set on a career in the film industry. If he can influence this industry as he's influenced his lunch table, we'll be thrilled. Jesse had this mother praying very hard when he announced in first grade that he wanted to be a pilot and fly missionaries around the world. For a time he was interested in engineering or architecture, wanting to build orphanages in other countries. More recently he's thinking about education but just isn't sure. Mariana, as we all know, entered the world with her mouth opened and she has not shut it yet. But that's a good thing as she has needed those God-given lungs to make the world her stage. Who knows where this will take her. Isaac hasn't quite settled on one direction. We have seen him morph from a natural science curator to a video game creator. More realistically, he is very good working with his hands and as most of us know, is an excellent musician. Eden is a born teacher. Not much else to say there. And HopeAnne, time will tell but it will definitely involve much movemet and little sitting. John still hasn't decided what he wants to be when he grows up so he just keeps going to school til he figures it out. Me, that's easy. I want to be a mom and a teacher. I'll have to try that out some day. When I'm not at the Funny Farm.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Object Lessons
I love it when living object lessons just fall into our laps. Truly, I could think of stories and examples and recite them to my children. But it certainly doesn't mean the same thing as actually having a "Yes, this really happened," experience to share. Like today (you knew that was coming, didn't you?)
We have talked about "sense of entitlement" ever since we went on a family mission trip to Mexico in 2006. Prior to leaving we spent several months preparing ourselves for the lessons we were to learn. Sense of entitlement was clearly a new phrase to our then 11, 10, 8 and 5 year olds. They caught on quickly to its meaning but didn't really start to understand until they were actually in the orphanage and surrounding areas. The day we went to the "colonia" at the city dump really opened their eyes. But of course returning home to comfortable suburbia quickly gives us varying forms of memory loss. So we continue to talk about these things.
This afternoon I was volunteering with a local non-profit agency that serves underprivileged families. The families had been invited to dinner and a show. While I was waiting for more families to arrive, I witnessed an interaction between another patron and the hostess. The patron had come to complain about the food at the buffet. She claimed that she had not been told that the buffet was mostly child-friendly. In return, the hostess very kindly stated that whenever the scheduled show is a children's show, the buffet is set with children in mind. So, in addition to the usual salad choices, they were serving chicken fingers, hot dogs, fried shrimp, mac and cheese, corn, and mixed vegetables. The woman raised such a fuss that the hostess offered for her family to choose from the main menu (not charging her an additional fee). The woman agreed to this option, took the menus and returned to her seat. About 5 minutes later her husband arrived in the lobby and said, "You gave us these menus but they are all for lunch. We want breakfast." The hostess explained that breakfast had closed 2 hours prior and all that was being served was lunch. He very rudely handed the menus back to her and said, "That won't do." Did he not realize that she had already offered him a deal by allowing him to order from the menu for no additional fee when it didn't come close to the price he had paid for the children's buffet and show?
All day I've been trying to wrap my mind around the sense of entitlement this family felt. Meanwhile the 34 people who showed up from the non-profit were overly grateful for the meal they were receiving. I didn't hear any complaining, all were extremely polite, and thoroughly enjoyed their meal. I so enjoyed my time getting to know some of them on a more personal level. Most of these children had never eaten at tables with cloths and centerpieces before. They wanted to know about the property and what my role was. We talked about our families and school. I learned all of their beautifully creative names and how to do their hair (I'm always looking for new ideas for HopeAnne). I'd much rather spend a meal with any of the 34 than the 2 who caused such trouble with the hostess. And likely, their discontent did not end with the conversation with the hostess.
As if that is not difficult enough for me to understand, on the way home Mariana told me about another family that was overheard in the dining room. They were dressed in their Sunday best and had likely come from right from church. They walked into the dining room to see what was being offered. One turned to the other and said, "This doesn't look like our type of crowd. Let's go somewhere else." I pray that none of the members of the non-profit group heard this comment. Instead, I pray that their meal and their experience seeing a quality show for the first time left them feeling blessed, special and loved.
We have talked about "sense of entitlement" ever since we went on a family mission trip to Mexico in 2006. Prior to leaving we spent several months preparing ourselves for the lessons we were to learn. Sense of entitlement was clearly a new phrase to our then 11, 10, 8 and 5 year olds. They caught on quickly to its meaning but didn't really start to understand until they were actually in the orphanage and surrounding areas. The day we went to the "colonia" at the city dump really opened their eyes. But of course returning home to comfortable suburbia quickly gives us varying forms of memory loss. So we continue to talk about these things.
This afternoon I was volunteering with a local non-profit agency that serves underprivileged families. The families had been invited to dinner and a show. While I was waiting for more families to arrive, I witnessed an interaction between another patron and the hostess. The patron had come to complain about the food at the buffet. She claimed that she had not been told that the buffet was mostly child-friendly. In return, the hostess very kindly stated that whenever the scheduled show is a children's show, the buffet is set with children in mind. So, in addition to the usual salad choices, they were serving chicken fingers, hot dogs, fried shrimp, mac and cheese, corn, and mixed vegetables. The woman raised such a fuss that the hostess offered for her family to choose from the main menu (not charging her an additional fee). The woman agreed to this option, took the menus and returned to her seat. About 5 minutes later her husband arrived in the lobby and said, "You gave us these menus but they are all for lunch. We want breakfast." The hostess explained that breakfast had closed 2 hours prior and all that was being served was lunch. He very rudely handed the menus back to her and said, "That won't do." Did he not realize that she had already offered him a deal by allowing him to order from the menu for no additional fee when it didn't come close to the price he had paid for the children's buffet and show?
All day I've been trying to wrap my mind around the sense of entitlement this family felt. Meanwhile the 34 people who showed up from the non-profit were overly grateful for the meal they were receiving. I didn't hear any complaining, all were extremely polite, and thoroughly enjoyed their meal. I so enjoyed my time getting to know some of them on a more personal level. Most of these children had never eaten at tables with cloths and centerpieces before. They wanted to know about the property and what my role was. We talked about our families and school. I learned all of their beautifully creative names and how to do their hair (I'm always looking for new ideas for HopeAnne). I'd much rather spend a meal with any of the 34 than the 2 who caused such trouble with the hostess. And likely, their discontent did not end with the conversation with the hostess.
As if that is not difficult enough for me to understand, on the way home Mariana told me about another family that was overheard in the dining room. They were dressed in their Sunday best and had likely come from right from church. They walked into the dining room to see what was being offered. One turned to the other and said, "This doesn't look like our type of crowd. Let's go somewhere else." I pray that none of the members of the non-profit group heard this comment. Instead, I pray that their meal and their experience seeing a quality show for the first time left them feeling blessed, special and loved.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
N.O.P.E.
Eden has been learning about trees this month. Seemed like an appropriate subject for fall. Today we read The Apple Pie Tree by Zoe Hall. Of course we had to make some apple pie (to eat with ice cream, of course) as a culmination of this unit. Too bad she almost didn't get to partake of her baking because she just couldn't force down her supper. I can't quite remember, but I think it was she who almost didn't get to eat her birthday dessert last year because she didn't want to eat her birthday meal (the one she had chosen). Or maybe that was Mariana? Or maybe both.
That's nothing new around here. I seem to have created a whole house full of picky eaters. The only non-picky eater is the one who doesn't share my genes. However, she is not free of food-related complaints. She will eat any food, it just takes her forever and usually involves someone else's repeated encouragement to, "Take another bite, please."
We've tried everything. Andrew, of course, was our guinea pig. I think the first attempt to coerce him to eat his supper was to insist that he stay at the table until the plate was empty. But what do you do at bedtime? I guess we could have kept him up all night but something tells me he still would not have eaten his supper. We then tried to just put the food in his mouth and hope it eventually got chewed up and swallowed. Thus followed several bathtimes and bedtimes with grosteque food still in his mouth. I then had to watch while he spit it out in the trash. And of course there was that terrible Thanksgiving when Jesse threw up his turkey on my grandmother because we insisted he eat it. I know my aunt used to serve supper for breakfast the next morning if it wasn't eaten on time but even I couldn't have for breakfast that which was meant for supper.
Which probabaly leads us to the root of the problem. "Hello, my name is Cindy. And I am a picky eater." Let's start by saying that I have improved greatly post-college. However, I will confess that many meals ended up in the napkin. Guess my parents wondered why all of a sudden I needed to wipe my mouth after every bite. But if you had a mother who served liver, calling it "like steak", you'd understand. It wasn't. The smell alone was enough to convince me. And besides, I don't like steak, either. She also put zucchini in every recipe causing me years of stress and an extreme aversion to the green stuff. They say you can't taste it. That may be so, but cake was never meant to have green flecks staring back at you from the fork. It got so bad that one year when the Lillian Vernon catalog came in the mail advertising a great recipe book full of uses for zuchini, I put a huge "X" through it and neatly printed "Sold Out" beside it. I guess it worked because she didn't buy it. Ten years into my marriage and I was still only using yellow squash; never green. It was the principle of the matter. But I got over it.
I was able to find some good uses for my pickiness. For some reason I only ate Raisin Bran for breakfast, only I didn't like the raisins. Some guy in my biology class did like raisins, though, and once I found this out, I never had to dissect another animal in class. For the price of a few raisins and the time it took to dig them out of my bowl before pouring the milk, he did the dirty work. Go figure. Maybe his mom didn't feed him real food at home? Or maybe he was a picky eater, too, and the only thing he liked was raisins. But his mom refused to buy them unless he ate his supper? I really didn't care why he ate the raisins. I just knew I was getting the better end of that deal.
Things were really bad once it was no longer cool to take my own lunch to school. Thankfully the high school had an a la carte line. My daily lunch then became Butterscotch Krimpets and chocolate milk. No wonder I couldn't comprehend math subjects! I bet they came right after lunch when I was crashing from all that sugar. And maybe I would have gotten better grades in gym class if I had added just a little more protein and vitamins to my mid-day meals. And I still can't figure out why I chose chocolate milk; I don't even like chocolate! Probably because I didn't like regular milk and chocolate was my only other choice. There was one advantage to this meal deal and that was the family lunch money rule: At the beginning of the week I was given enough money for 5 regular lunches. Any amount spent over that came out of my own pocket. Any money left-over . . . Even my poor math skills could figure out that I was saving a bundle. I think that's the money that put me through college.
I certainly wasn't alone in my eating habits. My very good friend, Janelle, was just as picky. So, at some women's function where we were forced to eat from the adult menu, we got creative. We decided to start our own organization. We called it the National Organization of Picky Eaters, or N.O.P.E. for short. We, of course, were the founding mothers so could make all the rules. We only needed two.
Rule #1: When asked if you'd like something to eat, just say "Nope."
Rule #2: Always leave a pile on your plate. This can be your vegetables, the skin from your chicken, or the little pieces of onion or pepper you've just picked out of the casserole.
This all worked just fine until I had children. Now I'm learning that wonderful mantra, "What goes around, comes around." Now I am the one telling my children about the wee little starving ones across the ocean. I am explaining that eating what is placed in front of you shows respect for the one who has prepared it. And to their credit, they are usually respectful outside of our home. For the older children, it helped to listen to some other children voice their opinions to a poor hostess serving what she thought was a good meal. That lesson was one I couldn't have orchestrated but went farther than any of my attempts. A trip out of the country also helped to solidify that one. It took a lot of preparation ahead of time but knowing that they weren't going to be allowed anything but what the children in the orphanage had to eat actually made them grow up quickly. Seeing how most of the world eats on a daily basis somehow makes your usual fare more palatable.
But we all have room to grow. I daily dread the loaded question, "What's for supper?" Someone is always unhappy. But someday they are going to thank me. I know they will. Not only will they thank me but they, too, will be hiding zucchini in the bread, cakes, brownies and soups. I know because I've become my mother. I don't even need that zucchini recipe book to know where to add this versatile pest of the food world. It just comes naturally. Have another brownie?
That's nothing new around here. I seem to have created a whole house full of picky eaters. The only non-picky eater is the one who doesn't share my genes. However, she is not free of food-related complaints. She will eat any food, it just takes her forever and usually involves someone else's repeated encouragement to, "Take another bite, please."
We've tried everything. Andrew, of course, was our guinea pig. I think the first attempt to coerce him to eat his supper was to insist that he stay at the table until the plate was empty. But what do you do at bedtime? I guess we could have kept him up all night but something tells me he still would not have eaten his supper. We then tried to just put the food in his mouth and hope it eventually got chewed up and swallowed. Thus followed several bathtimes and bedtimes with grosteque food still in his mouth. I then had to watch while he spit it out in the trash. And of course there was that terrible Thanksgiving when Jesse threw up his turkey on my grandmother because we insisted he eat it. I know my aunt used to serve supper for breakfast the next morning if it wasn't eaten on time but even I couldn't have for breakfast that which was meant for supper.
Which probabaly leads us to the root of the problem. "Hello, my name is Cindy. And I am a picky eater." Let's start by saying that I have improved greatly post-college. However, I will confess that many meals ended up in the napkin. Guess my parents wondered why all of a sudden I needed to wipe my mouth after every bite. But if you had a mother who served liver, calling it "like steak", you'd understand. It wasn't. The smell alone was enough to convince me. And besides, I don't like steak, either. She also put zucchini in every recipe causing me years of stress and an extreme aversion to the green stuff. They say you can't taste it. That may be so, but cake was never meant to have green flecks staring back at you from the fork. It got so bad that one year when the Lillian Vernon catalog came in the mail advertising a great recipe book full of uses for zuchini, I put a huge "X" through it and neatly printed "Sold Out" beside it. I guess it worked because she didn't buy it. Ten years into my marriage and I was still only using yellow squash; never green. It was the principle of the matter. But I got over it.
I was able to find some good uses for my pickiness. For some reason I only ate Raisin Bran for breakfast, only I didn't like the raisins. Some guy in my biology class did like raisins, though, and once I found this out, I never had to dissect another animal in class. For the price of a few raisins and the time it took to dig them out of my bowl before pouring the milk, he did the dirty work. Go figure. Maybe his mom didn't feed him real food at home? Or maybe he was a picky eater, too, and the only thing he liked was raisins. But his mom refused to buy them unless he ate his supper? I really didn't care why he ate the raisins. I just knew I was getting the better end of that deal.
Things were really bad once it was no longer cool to take my own lunch to school. Thankfully the high school had an a la carte line. My daily lunch then became Butterscotch Krimpets and chocolate milk. No wonder I couldn't comprehend math subjects! I bet they came right after lunch when I was crashing from all that sugar. And maybe I would have gotten better grades in gym class if I had added just a little more protein and vitamins to my mid-day meals. And I still can't figure out why I chose chocolate milk; I don't even like chocolate! Probably because I didn't like regular milk and chocolate was my only other choice. There was one advantage to this meal deal and that was the family lunch money rule: At the beginning of the week I was given enough money for 5 regular lunches. Any amount spent over that came out of my own pocket. Any money left-over . . . Even my poor math skills could figure out that I was saving a bundle. I think that's the money that put me through college.
I certainly wasn't alone in my eating habits. My very good friend, Janelle, was just as picky. So, at some women's function where we were forced to eat from the adult menu, we got creative. We decided to start our own organization. We called it the National Organization of Picky Eaters, or N.O.P.E. for short. We, of course, were the founding mothers so could make all the rules. We only needed two.
Rule #1: When asked if you'd like something to eat, just say "Nope."
Rule #2: Always leave a pile on your plate. This can be your vegetables, the skin from your chicken, or the little pieces of onion or pepper you've just picked out of the casserole.
This all worked just fine until I had children. Now I'm learning that wonderful mantra, "What goes around, comes around." Now I am the one telling my children about the wee little starving ones across the ocean. I am explaining that eating what is placed in front of you shows respect for the one who has prepared it. And to their credit, they are usually respectful outside of our home. For the older children, it helped to listen to some other children voice their opinions to a poor hostess serving what she thought was a good meal. That lesson was one I couldn't have orchestrated but went farther than any of my attempts. A trip out of the country also helped to solidify that one. It took a lot of preparation ahead of time but knowing that they weren't going to be allowed anything but what the children in the orphanage had to eat actually made them grow up quickly. Seeing how most of the world eats on a daily basis somehow makes your usual fare more palatable.
But we all have room to grow. I daily dread the loaded question, "What's for supper?" Someone is always unhappy. But someday they are going to thank me. I know they will. Not only will they thank me but they, too, will be hiding zucchini in the bread, cakes, brownies and soups. I know because I've become my mother. I don't even need that zucchini recipe book to know where to add this versatile pest of the food world. It just comes naturally. Have another brownie?
Sunday, September 26, 2010
On doing nothing
I was once asked (and I quote), "Do you still enjoy staying home and doing nothing?" Funny, how I can remember who asked this question, where it was asked, and what I said to John when I relayed the story to him later. I cannot, on the other hand, remember how I responded. I must have answered affirmatively, however, since, 3 more children later I still enjoy staying home and doing nothing.
And why wouldn't one find this to be the most amazing way to spend one's life? A typical day begins around noon when I convince myself to roll out of bed. I take a leisurely bath while reading a novel cover-to-cover in the master bath's whirlpool. About that time the nanny arrives to get the kids out of the house so I can have complete peace and quiet for the rest of the afternoon. As long as the bon-bons have been delivered on time, I can enjoy them for breakast/lunch while I start watching my soaps for the day. If not, I just set the DVR while I go out to eat and for an afternoon shopping at the mall.
The cleaning lady arrives during Oprah and also takes care of supper. After dinner I can head to the gym. Once a week there's time for a stop at the spa for a complete pedicure, manicure and massage. Twice a week I head to college where I'm auditing classes. I'm not working toward any degree in particular, just taking a little of this and a little of that. You know, deep and important things like ceramics, biology, British literature, advanced computers and macro economics.
The only bad part about all of this is that it's just so tiring. After a late night movie and a snack of ice cream with Reese's peanut butter cups, I'm ready to hit the sack. Thankfully the cleaning lady always takes care of pulling back the covers just so, placing a towel sculpture on the end and a mint on my pillow.
With all of these perks why would I even dream of going back to work and leaving my life of doing nothing all day? Even if you-know-who, the one who originally asked the question with condesenscion oozing from all pores, thinks it's a boring life that I'd be dying to leave. If people only knew the life I'd have to give up to return to work, they'd stop asking. So, this blog is for you. Now be quiet. I have new clothes to model in front of the full-length mirrors. And I have a movie to watch. And I need to get back to my ice cream before it melts.
And why wouldn't one find this to be the most amazing way to spend one's life? A typical day begins around noon when I convince myself to roll out of bed. I take a leisurely bath while reading a novel cover-to-cover in the master bath's whirlpool. About that time the nanny arrives to get the kids out of the house so I can have complete peace and quiet for the rest of the afternoon. As long as the bon-bons have been delivered on time, I can enjoy them for breakast/lunch while I start watching my soaps for the day. If not, I just set the DVR while I go out to eat and for an afternoon shopping at the mall.
The cleaning lady arrives during Oprah and also takes care of supper. After dinner I can head to the gym. Once a week there's time for a stop at the spa for a complete pedicure, manicure and massage. Twice a week I head to college where I'm auditing classes. I'm not working toward any degree in particular, just taking a little of this and a little of that. You know, deep and important things like ceramics, biology, British literature, advanced computers and macro economics.
The only bad part about all of this is that it's just so tiring. After a late night movie and a snack of ice cream with Reese's peanut butter cups, I'm ready to hit the sack. Thankfully the cleaning lady always takes care of pulling back the covers just so, placing a towel sculpture on the end and a mint on my pillow.
With all of these perks why would I even dream of going back to work and leaving my life of doing nothing all day? Even if you-know-who, the one who originally asked the question with condesenscion oozing from all pores, thinks it's a boring life that I'd be dying to leave. If people only knew the life I'd have to give up to return to work, they'd stop asking. So, this blog is for you. Now be quiet. I have new clothes to model in front of the full-length mirrors. And I have a movie to watch. And I need to get back to my ice cream before it melts.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Back-to-School Night Blues
It's Back-to-School Night time of year again. Since my husband is allergic to anything school or appointment related, I guess it's a good thing only two of our children attend real school. As it is I'll be attending Back-to-School Night at the high school and the middle school. If they all attended the Mechanicsburg schools I'd be sitting through 4 of these; adding an elementary school and the kindergarten academy to my list.
I did not like Back-to-School Night when I was a teacher. Parents made me nervous. I preferred my students to be shorter than me and in teaching first graders I succeeded in that goal with all but one student. I liked him anyway. But parents are a different story. As a rule, they are larger than first graders. They don't fit so well in first grade seats. So I tried to make it fun, make then laugh. Be creative. Sure made me feel better. And by making them sit in those little seats, no one seemed to want to stick around for long afterward. Pity.
So when my first son, the test-everything-for-the-other-kids child rejoined the world of real school, I was excited for Back-to-School Night. I couldn't wait. I was thinking I'd get to meet his teachers and find out what they're really like.
I'd like to say I enjoyed that first Back-to-School night. But I can't. It was boring. All they did was hand out the same papers that came home with my child on the first day of school. The same papers that I was told to read and to sign on the "Sign here if you have read these policies with your child" line. I did all that. I am very conscientious about these things. So I'm not sure why these teachers find it necessary to pass the same paper out on Back-to-School Night. Not only do they give these papers out a second time but they also find it necessary to read them to me. If, on the first evening of school, I signed the paper stating that I did indeed read and agree with the classroom rules, I believe these same teachers should be able to assume that I can still read and do still agree with those same rules. They do not have to read them to me again. If I had signed with an "X" then maybe it could be assumed that I did not read it and I need to have it spoonfed to me. But that's not the case. Save a tree. Keep your hand-outs. Use words. Be personal. Tell me your life's history and why you think you're the right person to be teaching my child. These are things I want to know; need to know. Yes, your life history, or as much of it as you can fit into the 7 minutes you have before the next bell rings sending me off to my next class. The second year wasn't much better. Nor the third.
I know there are few teachers who actually want to spend a few extra hours at school on a school night so why not try to make it fun for all? I think the characteristic most lacking on these nights is creativity. Didn't these folks go to school so they could creatively inject a love of their speciality into their students? What happened to that spark? Where are all those great ideas? Where's the humor? Make me laugh. Make me cry. Make me do something. If you teach music, why not introduce a song and get the parents to sing it. You'll soon be able to tell which woman is tone-deaf Johnny's mother. If you teach math, give the parents a test. You'll be able to tell by the looks on their faces which man belongs to the kid who can't seem to get anything higher than a 50%. Collect the papers afterward and tomorrow you could ask the students to grade their parent's papers. English teachers, give 'em a story starter and have them write a paragraph. Now there's a good one. Creativity. It's a great benefit in the classroom, when in front of students or their parents.
Speaking of math, surprisingly it has been the math teachers through the years who have made me most proud to say that I was once an educator. In the past two years of Back-to-School Night nights, it has been the math teachers who have made me sit up in my hard, straight-backed chair and smile. Maybe even laugh at times. Yes, humor in math class! Go figure. These are the kind of people who should be teaching my child. And they were personable. I learned where he went to school, who he married, how many kids he has and what they are up to these days. I know what she does after school. I even know her first name. Now that's an important bit of information. It can tell you how old the person is if I know his name. Ideally my child's teachers should be older than me, with names like Lisa and Karen, Bill and Tom. They should not be named Savannah and Ainsley, Aiden and Brayden. These folks are way too young to be out of high school, let alone teaching my child. Anyway, if math teachers can conjure up a bit of creativity and pizzazz, just think what the rest of the education world could do!
Maybe the building principal should make it into some sort of contest whereby parents can judge each teacher and rate them according to some pre-appointed scale. These are educators. They like evaluations and grading scales. If a grading scale was involved, they'd step up to the plate. If their salaries were involved . . . Never mind. There's a union for that. Anyway, if anyone is listening, I'd like to propose a presentation scale for Back-to-School Night. For example:
Using a scale of 1 - 10, 1 being least effective and 10 being most effective, please rate your child's teacher on his/her Back-to-School Night presentation.
Believability (Does your child's teacher love his/her job, this subject and most importantly, your child?):
Use of technology (Did he/she utilize more than paper hand-outs and were there any typos?):
Creativity (Was there anything to set this presentation apart from others?):
Conciseness (Was this teacher able to fit his/her speech into the time allowed or did he/she need to ramble during and beyond the dismissal bell?):
Personality (Would you want to come back to hear this teacher tomorrow and the next day?):
Yes, I believe a little feedback might just do the trick. It works for our students, doesn't it? Let me just add that this one night out of the year in no way mars my view of the Mechanicsburg schools. From someone whose own public school career ended abrubtly in first grade when the teachers decided to go on strike well into Oct., I was personally leery about God's suggestion to send my children into the proverbial pit. However, we have been more than pleased with the school system, teachers, and academics in the school district. Andrew and Jesse have both made excellent transitions and have done well in every area of their schooling. And all this, despite the fact that their teachers don't know how to run a Back-to-School Night. I think they can be forgiven. And see it as a challenge for improvement. Maybe it'll be better next year. It better be 'cause I'm comin' armed with my pen and paper and my presentation scale.
I did not like Back-to-School Night when I was a teacher. Parents made me nervous. I preferred my students to be shorter than me and in teaching first graders I succeeded in that goal with all but one student. I liked him anyway. But parents are a different story. As a rule, they are larger than first graders. They don't fit so well in first grade seats. So I tried to make it fun, make then laugh. Be creative. Sure made me feel better. And by making them sit in those little seats, no one seemed to want to stick around for long afterward. Pity.
So when my first son, the test-everything-for-the-other-kids child rejoined the world of real school, I was excited for Back-to-School Night. I couldn't wait. I was thinking I'd get to meet his teachers and find out what they're really like.
I'd like to say I enjoyed that first Back-to-School night. But I can't. It was boring. All they did was hand out the same papers that came home with my child on the first day of school. The same papers that I was told to read and to sign on the "Sign here if you have read these policies with your child" line. I did all that. I am very conscientious about these things. So I'm not sure why these teachers find it necessary to pass the same paper out on Back-to-School Night. Not only do they give these papers out a second time but they also find it necessary to read them to me. If, on the first evening of school, I signed the paper stating that I did indeed read and agree with the classroom rules, I believe these same teachers should be able to assume that I can still read and do still agree with those same rules. They do not have to read them to me again. If I had signed with an "X" then maybe it could be assumed that I did not read it and I need to have it spoonfed to me. But that's not the case. Save a tree. Keep your hand-outs. Use words. Be personal. Tell me your life's history and why you think you're the right person to be teaching my child. These are things I want to know; need to know. Yes, your life history, or as much of it as you can fit into the 7 minutes you have before the next bell rings sending me off to my next class. The second year wasn't much better. Nor the third.
I know there are few teachers who actually want to spend a few extra hours at school on a school night so why not try to make it fun for all? I think the characteristic most lacking on these nights is creativity. Didn't these folks go to school so they could creatively inject a love of their speciality into their students? What happened to that spark? Where are all those great ideas? Where's the humor? Make me laugh. Make me cry. Make me do something. If you teach music, why not introduce a song and get the parents to sing it. You'll soon be able to tell which woman is tone-deaf Johnny's mother. If you teach math, give the parents a test. You'll be able to tell by the looks on their faces which man belongs to the kid who can't seem to get anything higher than a 50%. Collect the papers afterward and tomorrow you could ask the students to grade their parent's papers. English teachers, give 'em a story starter and have them write a paragraph. Now there's a good one. Creativity. It's a great benefit in the classroom, when in front of students or their parents.
Speaking of math, surprisingly it has been the math teachers through the years who have made me most proud to say that I was once an educator. In the past two years of Back-to-School Night nights, it has been the math teachers who have made me sit up in my hard, straight-backed chair and smile. Maybe even laugh at times. Yes, humor in math class! Go figure. These are the kind of people who should be teaching my child. And they were personable. I learned where he went to school, who he married, how many kids he has and what they are up to these days. I know what she does after school. I even know her first name. Now that's an important bit of information. It can tell you how old the person is if I know his name. Ideally my child's teachers should be older than me, with names like Lisa and Karen, Bill and Tom. They should not be named Savannah and Ainsley, Aiden and Brayden. These folks are way too young to be out of high school, let alone teaching my child. Anyway, if math teachers can conjure up a bit of creativity and pizzazz, just think what the rest of the education world could do!
Maybe the building principal should make it into some sort of contest whereby parents can judge each teacher and rate them according to some pre-appointed scale. These are educators. They like evaluations and grading scales. If a grading scale was involved, they'd step up to the plate. If their salaries were involved . . . Never mind. There's a union for that. Anyway, if anyone is listening, I'd like to propose a presentation scale for Back-to-School Night. For example:
Using a scale of 1 - 10, 1 being least effective and 10 being most effective, please rate your child's teacher on his/her Back-to-School Night presentation.
Believability (Does your child's teacher love his/her job, this subject and most importantly, your child?):
Use of technology (Did he/she utilize more than paper hand-outs and were there any typos?):
Creativity (Was there anything to set this presentation apart from others?):
Conciseness (Was this teacher able to fit his/her speech into the time allowed or did he/she need to ramble during and beyond the dismissal bell?):
Personality (Would you want to come back to hear this teacher tomorrow and the next day?):
Yes, I believe a little feedback might just do the trick. It works for our students, doesn't it? Let me just add that this one night out of the year in no way mars my view of the Mechanicsburg schools. From someone whose own public school career ended abrubtly in first grade when the teachers decided to go on strike well into Oct., I was personally leery about God's suggestion to send my children into the proverbial pit. However, we have been more than pleased with the school system, teachers, and academics in the school district. Andrew and Jesse have both made excellent transitions and have done well in every area of their schooling. And all this, despite the fact that their teachers don't know how to run a Back-to-School Night. I think they can be forgiven. And see it as a challenge for improvement. Maybe it'll be better next year. It better be 'cause I'm comin' armed with my pen and paper and my presentation scale.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Moving to Arabia
Cindy, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be a mother and set apart for the gospel of God - the gospel he promised beforehand through his prophets in the Holy Scriptures regarding his Son, who as to his human nature was a descendant of David, and who through the Spirit of holiness was declared with power to be the Son of God by his resurrection from the dead: Jesus Christ our Lord. Through him and for his name's sake, we received grace and apostleship to call people from among all the Gentiles to the obedience that comes from faith. And you also are among those who are called to belong to Jesus Christ. To all in cyber land who are loved by God and called to be saints: Grace and peace to you from God our Father and from the Lord Jesus Christ. First, I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you, because your faith is being reported all over the world. . .
I forgot to take my Bible to church this morning. As has already been established in an earlier post, venues with large groups of people are not my favorite places to be. So, at first I thought maybe the lack of a Bible was a sign from God that I should just turn around and go home. Unfortunately, when I told John of my predicament he thought that maybe my lack of a Bible was a clear sign that I should be in church. So I went to church.
I then had the dilemma of deciding where in church to go. I could go to first service or I could go to Sunday School.* I decided to go to Sunday School to be antagonized by John Miller (the formally nameless man at church who likes to ask the tough questions). Since I'm often dressed up like Cyndi Lauper on Sunday mornings, I feel like my presence in Sunday School would be a distraction so I don't get there on a regular basis. When I am there, John likes to comment on my presence. This morning was no different.
The discussion this morning was on Paul and the book of Romans, particularly the first verses, some of which were paraphrased and rewritten at the beginning of this post. We were asked to shout out descriptors of Paul and his writings. Someone commented that Paul's writings are "not fluffy and he cut to the chase" (I know because I wrote it down). Upon hearing these comments, John felt the compulsion to stare at me with a knowing look, implying that my writings could be similarly described. At this point several people noticed a nonverbal exchange going on between the two of us so the discussion shifted from Paul's writings to mine. Thanks, John.
In my discomfort I was still able to learn a lot about Paul and his book to the Romans. Thanks, Dennis. I probably learned all of this in Christian school many moons ago but forgot about it soon after the test. For example, I haven't really thought about Paul's run-on sentences until we were asked to perform a variation on sentence diagramming, using the first several verses in Romans. I would like to point out something that has been bothering me since this morning but which I felt would be pointless to point out while Dennis was trying to make a point and that is that it was proposed that "the gospel" was the object of this first sentence but since it is in a prepositional phrase it cannot be the object because the object of the prepositional phrase can never be the object of the sentence. I'm just sayin'. And I'm trying out my ability to write a Paul-style run-on sentence. But I know where you were going with this so I kept it to myself as long as I could. I do feel better now.
Anyway, I also learned that Paul went to Arabia for three years and we unfortunately know nothing about this time in Paul's life. How sad. I wonder what the book of "Arabians" would have been like if he had later written a letter to the people there. It may have been my favorite book of the Bible. Or yours. We could be studying that now instead of Romans.
Maybe I should consider moving to Arabia for 3 years. Maybe not Arabia. Maybe the beach. I could live there for an extended period of time. But don't worry. I wouldn't leave you hanging. I'd keep updating so they wouldn't be the three lost years in Cindy's life. Until then you can find me studying the run-on sentences in Romans. Maybe I'll assign Mariana to diagram a few of them this week. She loves diagramming sentences.
*Please don't feel the need to send me an message telling me that they are Bible Fellowship Groups and not Sunday School classes. I never did quite get the reason to change the name. And I have never seen a Bible fellowshipping with another Bible so it really makes no sense to me in that regard. And then, as if Bible Fellowship Group isn't hard enough to remember, each one of these groups has its own separate name. I can never remember the name of my class so when I sign my kids into their classes and I have to list my location, I have to give up and just list my location as John's location which is usually the sanctuary only it's not a sanctuary at McBIC it's a Family Life Center. Sometimes I can't remember that name either because it's not exactly intuitive. I usually don't go to the Family Life Center with my family since they are all in their own classes and it's not the center where my family got it's life so that doesn't work for me either. Pretty soon they won't call it church either and then I'll have to remember something like Mechanicsburg Brethren in Christ Family Bible Fellowshipping Life Center Building.
I forgot to take my Bible to church this morning. As has already been established in an earlier post, venues with large groups of people are not my favorite places to be. So, at first I thought maybe the lack of a Bible was a sign from God that I should just turn around and go home. Unfortunately, when I told John of my predicament he thought that maybe my lack of a Bible was a clear sign that I should be in church. So I went to church.
I then had the dilemma of deciding where in church to go. I could go to first service or I could go to Sunday School.* I decided to go to Sunday School to be antagonized by John Miller (the formally nameless man at church who likes to ask the tough questions). Since I'm often dressed up like Cyndi Lauper on Sunday mornings, I feel like my presence in Sunday School would be a distraction so I don't get there on a regular basis. When I am there, John likes to comment on my presence. This morning was no different.
The discussion this morning was on Paul and the book of Romans, particularly the first verses, some of which were paraphrased and rewritten at the beginning of this post. We were asked to shout out descriptors of Paul and his writings. Someone commented that Paul's writings are "not fluffy and he cut to the chase" (I know because I wrote it down). Upon hearing these comments, John felt the compulsion to stare at me with a knowing look, implying that my writings could be similarly described. At this point several people noticed a nonverbal exchange going on between the two of us so the discussion shifted from Paul's writings to mine. Thanks, John.
In my discomfort I was still able to learn a lot about Paul and his book to the Romans. Thanks, Dennis. I probably learned all of this in Christian school many moons ago but forgot about it soon after the test. For example, I haven't really thought about Paul's run-on sentences until we were asked to perform a variation on sentence diagramming, using the first several verses in Romans. I would like to point out something that has been bothering me since this morning but which I felt would be pointless to point out while Dennis was trying to make a point and that is that it was proposed that "the gospel" was the object of this first sentence but since it is in a prepositional phrase it cannot be the object because the object of the prepositional phrase can never be the object of the sentence. I'm just sayin'. And I'm trying out my ability to write a Paul-style run-on sentence. But I know where you were going with this so I kept it to myself as long as I could. I do feel better now.
Anyway, I also learned that Paul went to Arabia for three years and we unfortunately know nothing about this time in Paul's life. How sad. I wonder what the book of "Arabians" would have been like if he had later written a letter to the people there. It may have been my favorite book of the Bible. Or yours. We could be studying that now instead of Romans.
Maybe I should consider moving to Arabia for 3 years. Maybe not Arabia. Maybe the beach. I could live there for an extended period of time. But don't worry. I wouldn't leave you hanging. I'd keep updating so they wouldn't be the three lost years in Cindy's life. Until then you can find me studying the run-on sentences in Romans. Maybe I'll assign Mariana to diagram a few of them this week. She loves diagramming sentences.
*Please don't feel the need to send me an message telling me that they are Bible Fellowship Groups and not Sunday School classes. I never did quite get the reason to change the name. And I have never seen a Bible fellowshipping with another Bible so it really makes no sense to me in that regard. And then, as if Bible Fellowship Group isn't hard enough to remember, each one of these groups has its own separate name. I can never remember the name of my class so when I sign my kids into their classes and I have to list my location, I have to give up and just list my location as John's location which is usually the sanctuary only it's not a sanctuary at McBIC it's a Family Life Center. Sometimes I can't remember that name either because it's not exactly intuitive. I usually don't go to the Family Life Center with my family since they are all in their own classes and it's not the center where my family got it's life so that doesn't work for me either. Pretty soon they won't call it church either and then I'll have to remember something like Mechanicsburg Brethren in Christ Family Bible Fellowshipping Life Center Building.
Monday, August 30, 2010
The firsts
The first day of school brings out many firsts for the King clan -
First day of 10th grade - Wow! Did I just say that I have a 10th grader? I think I'll pretend it ain't so. However, since he's the best high school student I know, I think I'll keep him.
First day of 8th grade - My second son set off for school wearing his Eagles jersey, mostly because his homeroom teacher is a Cowboys fan. That's my boy. He refused to let me walk him to the bus so that was kind of disappointing but I got over it.
First day of 7th grade - My "I'd rather be acting" daughter got off to a great start. Let's keep it up!
First day of 4th grade - My merry wanderer is now in 4th grade, and still wandering. Tomorrow I'm going to tie him to a chair so he can't leave til he's done. Otherwise he finds all sorts of ways to disappear.
First day of kindergarten - And it couldn't come soon enough according to Eden, although she was a little confused as she didn't actually GO anywhere. I think she's wondering what the big deal is.
Not to be outdone, HopeAnne had her first day of viola lessons. Surprisingly she did great! Attentive for one whole half hour.
And then there's Rachel. This is her first day in the King household. Boy is she in for a shock! Or a treat. It's all in your perspective.
Speaking of perspective, we played a concert last night for Stephen Bloom who is running for State Representative. It was a pig roast at a farm. There was also a corn maze so they let everyone enjoy the maze. After going through the maze with her big brother, Hope emerged and immediately asked if she could go back in the forest. It's all in your perspective.
So, perspectives on all of these firsts?
Andrew thinks he's going to have a great year. He likes all of his teachers. However, he admits that he thought Lindsey the Science Teacher was pretty good last year. Until the 2nd day. It went downhill from there. He thinks one of his teachers is really old. At least 40. Perspec;tive, right?
Jesse had way too much fun with his teachers and that Eagles jersey. Apparently his homeroom teacher looked at him and the first words out of her mouth were, "Do you have an older brother named Andrew?" Then it was the same story in English where Andrew's favorite teacher asked Jesse the very same question, in reference to the same shirt.
Mariana says she had "kind of fun and it seems like it's going to be a good year, at least math is going to be great." Wow! Is that my daughter?
Isaac thinks 4th grade was okay. Other than that he doesn't care. And that's my Isaac, a man of few words.
Eden says kindergarten was good. Then I realized she was talking about her preschool into kindergarten graduation at church. That made quite an impression. School today did not.
HopeAnne likes Ms. Barb because she was playing viola with her, even though she didn't get to do "Watermelon, Watermelon."
And Rachel, I'm afraid to ask her perspective. It was a little loud at dinner. But that was with 8 Kings, 5 Algers and 1 Brubaker. Should I tell her it'll be just as loud when it's only 8 Kings and 1 Alger? Probably not. Better to let her find out for herself. At 7:00 in the morning, when the house is really hoppin.
First day of 10th grade - Wow! Did I just say that I have a 10th grader? I think I'll pretend it ain't so. However, since he's the best high school student I know, I think I'll keep him.
First day of 8th grade - My second son set off for school wearing his Eagles jersey, mostly because his homeroom teacher is a Cowboys fan. That's my boy. He refused to let me walk him to the bus so that was kind of disappointing but I got over it.
First day of 7th grade - My "I'd rather be acting" daughter got off to a great start. Let's keep it up!
First day of 4th grade - My merry wanderer is now in 4th grade, and still wandering. Tomorrow I'm going to tie him to a chair so he can't leave til he's done. Otherwise he finds all sorts of ways to disappear.
First day of kindergarten - And it couldn't come soon enough according to Eden, although she was a little confused as she didn't actually GO anywhere. I think she's wondering what the big deal is.
Not to be outdone, HopeAnne had her first day of viola lessons. Surprisingly she did great! Attentive for one whole half hour.
And then there's Rachel. This is her first day in the King household. Boy is she in for a shock! Or a treat. It's all in your perspective.
Speaking of perspective, we played a concert last night for Stephen Bloom who is running for State Representative. It was a pig roast at a farm. There was also a corn maze so they let everyone enjoy the maze. After going through the maze with her big brother, Hope emerged and immediately asked if she could go back in the forest. It's all in your perspective.
So, perspectives on all of these firsts?
Andrew thinks he's going to have a great year. He likes all of his teachers. However, he admits that he thought Lindsey the Science Teacher was pretty good last year. Until the 2nd day. It went downhill from there. He thinks one of his teachers is really old. At least 40. Perspec;tive, right?
Jesse had way too much fun with his teachers and that Eagles jersey. Apparently his homeroom teacher looked at him and the first words out of her mouth were, "Do you have an older brother named Andrew?" Then it was the same story in English where Andrew's favorite teacher asked Jesse the very same question, in reference to the same shirt.
Mariana says she had "kind of fun and it seems like it's going to be a good year, at least math is going to be great." Wow! Is that my daughter?
Isaac thinks 4th grade was okay. Other than that he doesn't care. And that's my Isaac, a man of few words.
Eden says kindergarten was good. Then I realized she was talking about her preschool into kindergarten graduation at church. That made quite an impression. School today did not.
HopeAnne likes Ms. Barb because she was playing viola with her, even though she didn't get to do "Watermelon, Watermelon."
And Rachel, I'm afraid to ask her perspective. It was a little loud at dinner. But that was with 8 Kings, 5 Algers and 1 Brubaker. Should I tell her it'll be just as loud when it's only 8 Kings and 1 Alger? Probably not. Better to let her find out for herself. At 7:00 in the morning, when the house is really hoppin.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
God is good, all the time
There is a man at church who likes to stump me with difficult questions. Well, they're not always difficult; sometimes it's just that the answers are lengthy. For example, during John's interview with the church board back when he was applying for his current position, this man asked me, "What are your top three Spiritual gifts and what are your bottom three?" I want to know how many wives out there had to answer a question like that when your spouse was being interviewed for a job? Oh, you didn't have to be a part of your spouse's job interview? My point exactly. But that's a topic for another day. Last night, this same man asked me, "So, do you regret coming to Mechanicsburg?" Regret? No. Sometimes sad? Yes. The answers were actually easy but he got me thinking. Maybe it's because this week marks the 7th anniversary of our move to Mechanicsburg.
I explained to him that the move was melancholic because of the things I miss. I miss my family. But two hours isn't all that far, right? And I miss my house. I was living in my dream house; a 200 year old farmhouse, in town, with a long driveway, large yard, and a rental property. I miss my best friend who still lives in the apartment we created out of a former office space attached to our two-story garage. But I don't miss the neighbor who lived at the end of the driveway and at times made life miserable. I miss my school since it wasn't just my alma mater, it was also where I taught, where my children attended and where I continued to substitute and volunteer even after resigning to stay home with my children. In many ways it was my identity; it was what I did and who I was. I miss my home tutoring business. I suppose I could have continued that after the move but without the natural connections, it would take too much effort to get the word out and get referrals. I miss the beach which used to be just a day trip away. Now the 3 hour trip means it's always a vacation, rarely a get-away.
So melancholic, yes but regrettable, no. Our family learned so many life lessons and gained so much in moving here. I like to try to take a God's eye perspective on why He brought us here. I know that His reasons are far more vast than I can even imagine, but even seeing a small part of the picture reminds me that it's a good thing I'm not the one in control.
We learned that even though it may be tough, when God says, "Go," you go. You don't need to plan out your journey because He's already taken care of it. Looking back, He was gently nudging us to take a leap of faith long before we came to that conclusion. In fact, it took some pretty big kicks to the backside to bring us to that point. So you can call us slow learners but when we finally got it, the ball started rolling. Of course things went downhill for some time before they got better. I'll admit that in the thick of things I was having some trouble trusting that there was a bigger plan already set down for us. The short story of a very long and complicated one is that John's last day was fast approaching and we were deciding between two churches, one in Ohio and one in New Jersey. After much prayer we declined the offer in Ohio. Within a week, though, the church in New Jersey decided that since they couldn't decide if they wanted to hire a children's pastor or a family pastor or a youth pastor, then they were going to decide not to decide by not hiring. In desperation John got creative and went to churchstaffing.com. The rest, as they say, is history.
On the way home from my first visit and our first joint interview with a young adult team from McBIC, I commented to John, "This place could be good for our souls." I was so right. The emphases on worship and prayer have taught us so much. The healthy atmosphere brought healing to us as individuals, as a couple, and as a family. The challenge of serving our community has brought us out of our comfort zone and into the lives of some of the most wonderful people.
Since it was our instrumental teachers who encouraged various aspects of The King's Strings, that probably would not have happened if we had not moved here. Mariana would not have had some wonderful venues to pursue her interests in theater. We would not have homeschooled. We also would not have sent our children to public school and therefore would not have seen their joy in bringing unchurched friends to youth group. I wouldn't be dressed up like Cyndi Lauper on Sunday mornings, transforming myself into a naive, treehugging tween named Sam. Come to think of it, I'm not sure if that's truly a benefit. Oh well, it's fun.
And one other benefit. Remember that neighbor I mentioned earlier? The one who put a string across his property line and told us in no uncertain terms that if we ever crossed his line he would break our legs? The one who would stand at that line on mowing day to make sure we didn't miss any of our grass, mow any of his, or break his string? The one who would just stare at me and the boys as we waited for the bus? The one who we think killed our rabbit during the night? I can't tell you how many times we prayed that God would give him a good reason to move. Or that God would miraculously change his heart. After calling the police three times, though, he was no different. Well, in the end God moved us instead. Now we have wonderful neighbors. Someone else is calling the police on Rob.
I love the analogy of the tapestry. God is weaving a beautiful design and can see the whole picture from the top. We can see only the back and sometimes it looks messy. I'm learning that messy is okay. Someday I'll see the whole, beautiful picture. Until then I'm willing to trust Him to lead me. Well, I'm learning to be willing to trust Him. But that's what this life is all about.
God is good. All the time. All the time. God is good.
I explained to him that the move was melancholic because of the things I miss. I miss my family. But two hours isn't all that far, right? And I miss my house. I was living in my dream house; a 200 year old farmhouse, in town, with a long driveway, large yard, and a rental property. I miss my best friend who still lives in the apartment we created out of a former office space attached to our two-story garage. But I don't miss the neighbor who lived at the end of the driveway and at times made life miserable. I miss my school since it wasn't just my alma mater, it was also where I taught, where my children attended and where I continued to substitute and volunteer even after resigning to stay home with my children. In many ways it was my identity; it was what I did and who I was. I miss my home tutoring business. I suppose I could have continued that after the move but without the natural connections, it would take too much effort to get the word out and get referrals. I miss the beach which used to be just a day trip away. Now the 3 hour trip means it's always a vacation, rarely a get-away.
So melancholic, yes but regrettable, no. Our family learned so many life lessons and gained so much in moving here. I like to try to take a God's eye perspective on why He brought us here. I know that His reasons are far more vast than I can even imagine, but even seeing a small part of the picture reminds me that it's a good thing I'm not the one in control.
We learned that even though it may be tough, when God says, "Go," you go. You don't need to plan out your journey because He's already taken care of it. Looking back, He was gently nudging us to take a leap of faith long before we came to that conclusion. In fact, it took some pretty big kicks to the backside to bring us to that point. So you can call us slow learners but when we finally got it, the ball started rolling. Of course things went downhill for some time before they got better. I'll admit that in the thick of things I was having some trouble trusting that there was a bigger plan already set down for us. The short story of a very long and complicated one is that John's last day was fast approaching and we were deciding between two churches, one in Ohio and one in New Jersey. After much prayer we declined the offer in Ohio. Within a week, though, the church in New Jersey decided that since they couldn't decide if they wanted to hire a children's pastor or a family pastor or a youth pastor, then they were going to decide not to decide by not hiring. In desperation John got creative and went to churchstaffing.com. The rest, as they say, is history.
On the way home from my first visit and our first joint interview with a young adult team from McBIC, I commented to John, "This place could be good for our souls." I was so right. The emphases on worship and prayer have taught us so much. The healthy atmosphere brought healing to us as individuals, as a couple, and as a family. The challenge of serving our community has brought us out of our comfort zone and into the lives of some of the most wonderful people.
Since it was our instrumental teachers who encouraged various aspects of The King's Strings, that probably would not have happened if we had not moved here. Mariana would not have had some wonderful venues to pursue her interests in theater. We would not have homeschooled. We also would not have sent our children to public school and therefore would not have seen their joy in bringing unchurched friends to youth group. I wouldn't be dressed up like Cyndi Lauper on Sunday mornings, transforming myself into a naive, treehugging tween named Sam. Come to think of it, I'm not sure if that's truly a benefit. Oh well, it's fun.
And one other benefit. Remember that neighbor I mentioned earlier? The one who put a string across his property line and told us in no uncertain terms that if we ever crossed his line he would break our legs? The one who would stand at that line on mowing day to make sure we didn't miss any of our grass, mow any of his, or break his string? The one who would just stare at me and the boys as we waited for the bus? The one who we think killed our rabbit during the night? I can't tell you how many times we prayed that God would give him a good reason to move. Or that God would miraculously change his heart. After calling the police three times, though, he was no different. Well, in the end God moved us instead. Now we have wonderful neighbors. Someone else is calling the police on Rob.
I love the analogy of the tapestry. God is weaving a beautiful design and can see the whole picture from the top. We can see only the back and sometimes it looks messy. I'm learning that messy is okay. Someday I'll see the whole, beautiful picture. Until then I'm willing to trust Him to lead me. Well, I'm learning to be willing to trust Him. But that's what this life is all about.
God is good. All the time. All the time. God is good.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Allow me to indulge myself
I didn't know I was in the midst of a mid-life crisis. But then I went to Allenberry to photograph their current show, "Mid-Life! The Crisis Musical" and I found that I uderstood all of the jokes and sketches in the show. I guess I'm older than I thought. So this is what midlife feels like.
But that's okay because whenever I'm feeling really old, all I have to do is go to a King's Strings concert. Inevitably someone will make me feel young again. Like Sunday night. Mariana was making small talk with a concert-goer who was asking about the family. The woman audience member did a quick head count of all those wearing red polos and asked Mariana if there were seven children in our family. Mariana corrected her by telling her we only have six. The woman then pointed to each of the seven she had counted. Mariana started laughing when she got to me and said, "No, that's my mom!" You can choose to believe it or not, but this happens at every single concert we have. After that infamous New York TV audition, we were standing on the sidewalk and as people left the theater they would recognize us from the audition and come over to talk. One woman looked at us and asked, "So, you're a bunch of kids with your dad?" Again Mariana made it her duty to correct the very nice woman who might possibly have a vision problem (but why get technical?).
Actually, when I'm feeling old it seems as if I don't have to go any further than to the pediatrician's office. It does make me feel old to sit there with my preschoolers when most of the parents of similar-aged children appear to be in their 20s, but today the receptionist made my day. I was sitting in the waiting room with Mariana when the very lovely and extremely nice receptionist opened her safety sneeze shield window and asked, "Mary Anna, is your mother with you today?" Even better, I was sitting right there - and the receptionist was looking right at me! Maybe they pay her to say nice things to old mothers. On the other hand, who's due for a yearly check-up? Anyone not feeling well? A little feverish, maybe? Who's due for a shot? I think I need to go back!
But that's okay because whenever I'm feeling really old, all I have to do is go to a King's Strings concert. Inevitably someone will make me feel young again. Like Sunday night. Mariana was making small talk with a concert-goer who was asking about the family. The woman audience member did a quick head count of all those wearing red polos and asked Mariana if there were seven children in our family. Mariana corrected her by telling her we only have six. The woman then pointed to each of the seven she had counted. Mariana started laughing when she got to me and said, "No, that's my mom!" You can choose to believe it or not, but this happens at every single concert we have. After that infamous New York TV audition, we were standing on the sidewalk and as people left the theater they would recognize us from the audition and come over to talk. One woman looked at us and asked, "So, you're a bunch of kids with your dad?" Again Mariana made it her duty to correct the very nice woman who might possibly have a vision problem (but why get technical?).
Actually, when I'm feeling old it seems as if I don't have to go any further than to the pediatrician's office. It does make me feel old to sit there with my preschoolers when most of the parents of similar-aged children appear to be in their 20s, but today the receptionist made my day. I was sitting in the waiting room with Mariana when the very lovely and extremely nice receptionist opened her safety sneeze shield window and asked, "Mary Anna, is your mother with you today?" Even better, I was sitting right there - and the receptionist was looking right at me! Maybe they pay her to say nice things to old mothers. On the other hand, who's due for a yearly check-up? Anyone not feeling well? A little feverish, maybe? Who's due for a shot? I think I need to go back!
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Predicting Eden's future
Today I was dutifully humoring Eden in her daily request to "do school" which means that HopeAnne also wanted to "do school." This child asks for the same thing every day of the week; holidays, weekends, and yes, summers included. Hope was writing her letters while babbling in a constant stream of consciousness while Eden was reading to me about flowers and baskets. It occurred to me that Eden is not only unphased by the constant monologue going on across the desk from her, she is able to learn in this environment. I, on the other hand, am not able to learn a thing. And I already know how to read!
The babbling continued into lunch. I finally looked at Hope, and in what must have been a very weary voice said, "Hope, do you EVER stop talking?" She stopped. And smiled at me. A big, sweet smile, And she stopped talking long enough for Jesse to ask, "Mom, are you tired?"
Yes, I need peace and quiet. I yearn for peace and quiet. (And my children wonder why I take so long in the bathroom. It's only because it's the closest I can get to peace and quiet. At least until someone comes knocking on the door. Or two children are standing outside the door arguing. But if I've slipped away unnoticed it gives me at least a few extra seconds of solitude while they roam the house yelling for me and I can pretend that I can't hear them, or they can't hear my feeble, "In here!")
This led to a conversation about Eden's college years. Having shared a room with Hope, and having shared her school space with the same, Eden is going to be able to sleep and study through everything. It was decided by popular vote that Eden will be able to share a college suite with 7 cheerleaders, all of whom listen to different radio stations at the same time, while also practicing their cheers. In the next suite over will be members of the marching band - percussion and brass sections - who also practice their craft in their room. On the other side will be members of an up-and-coming rock band and of course they will also practice at full volume. Eden will be unphased by all of this. When questioned, she'll calmly reply that she grew up with the Queen of Energy who fell asleep talking to the wall, her Barbies, and no one in particular - for hours. She'll also state that she learned to read and write while sitting across from an ever-spewing volcano of noise. So why, after all these years, should she not be able to concentrate with much less distraction than her own home?
The babbling continued into lunch. I finally looked at Hope, and in what must have been a very weary voice said, "Hope, do you EVER stop talking?" She stopped. And smiled at me. A big, sweet smile, And she stopped talking long enough for Jesse to ask, "Mom, are you tired?"
Yes, I need peace and quiet. I yearn for peace and quiet. (And my children wonder why I take so long in the bathroom. It's only because it's the closest I can get to peace and quiet. At least until someone comes knocking on the door. Or two children are standing outside the door arguing. But if I've slipped away unnoticed it gives me at least a few extra seconds of solitude while they roam the house yelling for me and I can pretend that I can't hear them, or they can't hear my feeble, "In here!")
This led to a conversation about Eden's college years. Having shared a room with Hope, and having shared her school space with the same, Eden is going to be able to sleep and study through everything. It was decided by popular vote that Eden will be able to share a college suite with 7 cheerleaders, all of whom listen to different radio stations at the same time, while also practicing their cheers. In the next suite over will be members of the marching band - percussion and brass sections - who also practice their craft in their room. On the other side will be members of an up-and-coming rock band and of course they will also practice at full volume. Eden will be unphased by all of this. When questioned, she'll calmly reply that she grew up with the Queen of Energy who fell asleep talking to the wall, her Barbies, and no one in particular - for hours. She'll also state that she learned to read and write while sitting across from an ever-spewing volcano of noise. So why, after all these years, should she not be able to concentrate with much less distraction than her own home?
Sunday, August 15, 2010
I never thought . . .
I never thought I'd only have 6 children. Enough said. We've been through this one before.
I never thought I'd be the one taking the old tile off the bathroom wall. When I was in high school and my family was building our new house, I was the one who volunteered to stay at the old house to "hold down the fort" and to have supper ready for everyone.
I never thought I'd move away from my hometown. I'm the one whose answer to John's marriage proposal was, "Yes, if you'll move to Pennsylvania." I guess I should have been a little more specific.
I never thought I'd like teen-agers. Our pre-parenting agreement clearly stated that I would raise the children through middle school and then John would take over. He was, after all, the youth pastor. However, not only do I like my teen-agers, I love them. And I haven't had to take any by the throat and shake 'em a few times to try to knock some sense into them (yet).
I never thought I'd be on TV but so far my family has talked me into one cheesy commercial and a reality show audition.
I never thought I'd have a musical family that was compared to the von Trapp's. If I had considered it, however, I would have seen myself as the one making matching outfits out of curtains, not participating musically.
I never thought I'd be a pastor's wife. I do, however, distinctly remember looking at John one day when we were dating and thinking, "This guy's going to be a pastor someday." Why, oh why, did I not take it to its logical conclusion that if I married a man destined to be a pastor, by default that was going to make me the pastor's wife? I must have been in love.
I never thought I'd homeschool. Children belong in school, right? With people who've paid money to learn how to do such things. God has a sense of humor. I haven't given in on this one entirely, though, since my children are not allowed to dress like homeschoolers. At least, they are not allowed to leave their bedrooms unless they are most definitely NOT looking like homeschoolers. And for those of you who don't homeschool, don't worry, I have not turned into a militant homeschooler, meaning I will never look down on those who do not homeschool and I do not believe it is God's only plan for the education of children. Your family is safe with us.
I never thought I'd allow my children to choose their own clothes. And hair styles. But then I had boys whose hair suddently became curly in puberty. It's cute. So I let them keep it long. Even if Grandma doesn't like it. And then there's Jesse who likes to wear bright orange shorts with red crocs. And tie dye. And Hawaiin shirts. He's being an individual and not hurting anyone. So that's okay in my book. And of course there's Mariana who likes hats and long earrings. Again, she's comfortable for who she is. That's a whole lot better than I was at her age. I do draw the line at out-dated and mismatched clothes but that was already addressed in the last paragraph.
I never thought I'd drive a full-size van. I don't know how I thought I was going to haul around my 13 children. Thankfully I've come to find that I enjoy sitting up high in the driver's seat where I can see everything around me. I did not, however, plan to have such a conspicuous vehicle with an even more conspicuous license plate. Even Andrew's friends can keep tabs on me and let him know where they've spotted the "King Zoo".
I never thought I'd take my children in public places with running snotty noses. Then I had children and they had colds and I realized that if I wanted groceries, we had to leave the house.
I never thought I'd help to catch bugs and euthanize them in the freezer. I still feel guilty every time. But I do it. I am an accessory to the crime because I love my bug-loving son.
I never thought I'd own a snake. Well, officially it is Andrew's but it is in my house. Not only does she (the snake) live here but I've grown quite fond of her and probably hold her more often than anyone else in the house. Except on feeding day. I do not participate in the feeding of live animals to another live animal.
I never thought I'd write something that others would read. Well, there was that periodical that closed up shop soon after I began my career as a contributing writer. And there are a good number of skits that have been performed here and there. But other than that. . .
I never thought I'd be the one taking the old tile off the bathroom wall. When I was in high school and my family was building our new house, I was the one who volunteered to stay at the old house to "hold down the fort" and to have supper ready for everyone.
I never thought I'd move away from my hometown. I'm the one whose answer to John's marriage proposal was, "Yes, if you'll move to Pennsylvania." I guess I should have been a little more specific.
I never thought I'd like teen-agers. Our pre-parenting agreement clearly stated that I would raise the children through middle school and then John would take over. He was, after all, the youth pastor. However, not only do I like my teen-agers, I love them. And I haven't had to take any by the throat and shake 'em a few times to try to knock some sense into them (yet).
I never thought I'd be on TV but so far my family has talked me into one cheesy commercial and a reality show audition.
I never thought I'd have a musical family that was compared to the von Trapp's. If I had considered it, however, I would have seen myself as the one making matching outfits out of curtains, not participating musically.
I never thought I'd be a pastor's wife. I do, however, distinctly remember looking at John one day when we were dating and thinking, "This guy's going to be a pastor someday." Why, oh why, did I not take it to its logical conclusion that if I married a man destined to be a pastor, by default that was going to make me the pastor's wife? I must have been in love.
I never thought I'd homeschool. Children belong in school, right? With people who've paid money to learn how to do such things. God has a sense of humor. I haven't given in on this one entirely, though, since my children are not allowed to dress like homeschoolers. At least, they are not allowed to leave their bedrooms unless they are most definitely NOT looking like homeschoolers. And for those of you who don't homeschool, don't worry, I have not turned into a militant homeschooler, meaning I will never look down on those who do not homeschool and I do not believe it is God's only plan for the education of children. Your family is safe with us.
I never thought I'd allow my children to choose their own clothes. And hair styles. But then I had boys whose hair suddently became curly in puberty. It's cute. So I let them keep it long. Even if Grandma doesn't like it. And then there's Jesse who likes to wear bright orange shorts with red crocs. And tie dye. And Hawaiin shirts. He's being an individual and not hurting anyone. So that's okay in my book. And of course there's Mariana who likes hats and long earrings. Again, she's comfortable for who she is. That's a whole lot better than I was at her age. I do draw the line at out-dated and mismatched clothes but that was already addressed in the last paragraph.
I never thought I'd drive a full-size van. I don't know how I thought I was going to haul around my 13 children. Thankfully I've come to find that I enjoy sitting up high in the driver's seat where I can see everything around me. I did not, however, plan to have such a conspicuous vehicle with an even more conspicuous license plate. Even Andrew's friends can keep tabs on me and let him know where they've spotted the "King Zoo".
I never thought I'd take my children in public places with running snotty noses. Then I had children and they had colds and I realized that if I wanted groceries, we had to leave the house.
I never thought I'd help to catch bugs and euthanize them in the freezer. I still feel guilty every time. But I do it. I am an accessory to the crime because I love my bug-loving son.
I never thought I'd own a snake. Well, officially it is Andrew's but it is in my house. Not only does she (the snake) live here but I've grown quite fond of her and probably hold her more often than anyone else in the house. Except on feeding day. I do not participate in the feeding of live animals to another live animal.
I never thought I'd write something that others would read. Well, there was that periodical that closed up shop soon after I began my career as a contributing writer. And there are a good number of skits that have been performed here and there. But other than that. . .
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Stop, thief!
We just had a wonderful 2 days of vacation. It started with a matinee performance of My Fair Lady at Allenberry (yay, friends!), then on to Dutch Apple for George M! (great to see you, Chris and Megan), then a good night's sleep before heading to Sight and Sound to see Joseph. And we didn't have to pay for any of it; a nice combination of Cindy's photography comps, comps from friends, and a gift card. The only negative to the whole thing was the notification we received right before all this, letting us know that my very kind and trusting husband had been swindled out of a substantial amount of money through a bad PayPal deal (it's long and complicated and too boring for a Cindy blog). But we will survive and it couldn't completely overshadow the fun of family bonding. (I did suggest that since we have his email address we could send him a "nice" letter, thanking him for leaving our 6 children homeless, starving and wearing rags. John said he'd send him a prayer.)
I suppose there have always been those who feel the need to take what does not belong to them. If not, why would God have felt the need to put the 10 Commandments so early in Biblical history? I personally dealt with this at a very young age when my favorite doll was stolen from the front porch. Presumably it was a thief-in-training neighborhood girl who thought that my "Beth" (named for a favorite babysitter) would be more fun than her own dolls. I sure hope it wasn't an adult male burglar. That's just sick. And no worries, "Mary" (named for Beth's sister, another favorite babysitter) quickly took Beth's place. She was better than Beth anyway; she could cry.
Several years later my parents had a cassette tape case stolen from the family car. I'm not sure what this thief thought he/she was going to find but I'm certain Dottie Rambo and the Gaithers were not the intended goods. Someone out there is a thief who changed the course of his life after listening to Germs on Down by the Creek Bank.
In college John and I went to visit his sister and while we were enjoying a nice restaurant meal a group of thugs smashed the passenger side window of my car to get to the purse that I had placed under my seat. According to the cops they had this type of thievery down to a science and had actually been scoping the parking lot, looking for females who exited their vehicles without a purse. Other than the scare of hearing my license plate announced over the intercom system at the restaurant, seeing my smashed window, and knowing that someone had my license and keys, it was a pretty useless night for those thieves. They must have been pretty disgusted with what they found in my purse because a week later it turned up in the dumpster of a local shopping mall, with all 11 cents still in my wallet. Even though I got my pennies back, I learned my lesson and never hide my purse under my seat. Now I just hide it under all the kids' junk in the back seat.
These people really should start a national registry so they could list the people they victimized and the loot they did or did not get. If they did, they would know that Cindy King is really not worth burglarizing. But now it's gone international, and they're taking things from my own children!
Andrew was recently on a missions trip to Nicaragua. While there he had many amazing experiences but the one to write home about occurred on the last day when the team was out shopping. The team's suitcases had been placed in two buses, all except for a few suitcases which did not fit so were fastened to the top with bungee cords. Andrew's suitcase just happened to be placed on top. While the kids were out shopping, but the bus drivers were still sitting in the buses, a car pulled up and out popped one Nicaraguan thief who grabbed Andrew's suitcase from the top of the bus. His buddy stayed in the car to make the fast get-away when Guy #1 returned with the goods. We've had some good laughs imagining the conversation between these two men when they realized that the contents of this suitcase were not going to land them on Easy Street any time soon.
(Since most of you probably do not speak fluent Spanish I have taken the liberty of translating the conversation into English for you.)
Thief # 1: So open it already! What are you waiting for? Try that outside pocket. That looks pretty thick. I bet there's a big wad of money in there.
Thief #2 (opening the outside zipper): Do you have a headache, Boss?
#1: What do you mean, do I have a headache? Who made you so sensitive all of a sudden? You thinkin' about going to medical school, or somethin'?
#2: Well, I'm just askin' 'case all I'm findin' in here is a bottle of Ibuprofen, a few Pepto tablets and , a prescription for malarial meds, and anti-diarrheal medicine. You got diarrhea, Boss?
#1: No, I don't have diarrhea, and quit callin' me Boss! Check that other pocket. That could have something valuable.
#2: Not unless you break your glasses.
#1: What are you talkin' about now? Breaking my glasses? I don't even wear glasses.
#2: Oh, then maybe you can use these contact lenses. 2 weeks worth, Boss.
#1: Okay, forget about the pockets. Those Americans are smarter than we thought. Must've put their money and valuables INSiDE the suitcase. Open it up, already!
#2: Okay, Boss. Whatever you say. Phew! Do you smell that? Smells like ... Smells like ... Dirty socks and underwear. Yep, that's definitely what it smells like, Boss. You finish. I can't do this. Yep, either you finish or I need some rubber gloves. This job is more dangerous than I thought, Boss.
#1: This ain't no job and my name ain't Boss. And we don't wear stupid rubber gloves like stupid sissies! This is an order: Open the suitcase and see what's inside! Oh, you're giving me a headache.
#2: Need some Ibuprofen, Boss, 'cause I got some right -
#1: (interrupting) JUST OPEN THE SUITCASE!
#2: Right, Boss. Yep, it's underwear all right. Looks like it's been worn front, back, inside and out, too. Boss, this ain't some rich American, this must be one of those teen do-gooders from some North American church! We ain't gonna find noth -
#1: Im gonna give you a headache if you don't finish the suitcase!
#2: Right away, Boss. Okay, dirty socks, more dirty socks, more dirty underwear. Wait! What's this? There's somethin' different about this underwear, Boss. It's decorated. Looky here: eyeballs on the butt cheeks, and "I love Grandma" written around the top.. Hmmm. If I were a bettin' man, i'd guess the teen do-gooder kid forgot his undies when he went to Grandma's house and then I bet his girl cousins went to the store to buy him more but before they handed it over they decorated it. Yeah, that's it, see -
#1: And now you're a novelist? What kind of preposterous story is that? If you don't find somethin' valuable in that bag I'm gonna -
#2: Wait! I found it! Somethin' valuable, Boss. Look at this! A camera battery charger. I've been wantin' one of those! Bingo!
#1: Do you have a camera?
#2: What?
#1: Is there a camera in there?
#2: Ahh, let me see... No, no camera.
#1: So you don't own a camera and there's no camera in the bag. Then what do you think you're going to do with a charger?
#2: That's a good question, Boss. I hadn't thought of that. Okay. You need some khakis? Or some dirty T-shirts? The kid must've spent the last month workin' like a ... like a ... Well, workin' a lot in the sun, let's just say. And without no showers or laundry. Don't those Americans take showers? Or do laundry?
#1: WHAT ELSE IS IN THE BAG?
#2: Right, Boss. I kinda' got carried away there. It's just that I can't stand dirt and germs and such. I'm tellin' ya', if we're gonna keep this up I need to invest in some good rubber gloves. I might catch something in here. You know foreigners and their diseases. Yeah, this kid might have some kind of disease. That's why he's got those meds there in that pocket. Wait, give me that prescription bottle. He must have malaria, that's why he's got this prescription here, see? I better take one of these here pills right now -
#1: Give me that bottle! The kid doesn't have malaria! NOW WHAT"S IN THE SUITCASE?
#2: Ah ... um ... oh ... a sweatshirt. Got an eagle on it. Ain't that the symbol of them Americans? Oh, and it says somethin' here: Pi-hi-del-pi-hi-e-a. What on earth is that? Don't them Americans believe in vowels? Why put P and H together without vowels? What kind of word is that? Oh, I see. I told you this was some teen do-gooder. And he ain't rich, neither. No siree. He buys his clothes at the seconds outlet. Yup, that's it. This here sweatshirt is missing it's vowels so the kid got it cheap and -
#1: Don't you know nothin'? P and H go together in English. They make a sound like fffffffffffff.
#2: Ffffffffff? What are you talkin' about, Boss? Who ever heard a such a thing? Maybe you've caught what the kid's got. Do you need some Ibuprofen?
#1: NO, I DON'T. AND DON'T CALL ME BOSS! JUST EMPTY OUT THE BAG!
#2: Right-e-o, Boss! I got one more thing. A book. A little book. Maybe this kid couldn't read, neither, so he just got a small book.
#1: Give me that. That's a Bible. It's a travel size. See, it says right here: Backpacker's Bible. Even has a name inside: Jesse King.
#2: AHHHHHHH! The King? You mean we just stole this suitcase from the King of America?
#1: Oh, shut up already. They ain't got no king in America.
#2: Oh, for a minute you had me scared, Boss. Afraid that the Embassy was gonna come after us for taking their King's suitcase. But wait a minute. Did you say "Backpacker's Bible"?
#1: Yeah, backpacker. What of it?
#2: Backpacker, eh? Are you tellin' me that this kid has been haulin' that suitcase around on his back? I heard them Americans are big folks. Can you imagine? This suitcase belongs to some kid do-gooder and he carries his suitcase around Nicaragua on his back? How tall you think he'll be when he's full grown? I'm thinkin' at least 7 feet! And a Bible, you say? I heard about them things. Yep, my uncle, you know, the one that immigrated to Pennsylvania? He stole a case of cassettes out of a car once. Found a whole bunch a Christian tapes. Tapes, you know, ah, ah, cassettes, they're called. He listened to them things and turned himself around just like that. Went out and bought himself a Bible and now he goes to all kinds of interesting places with weird names like Casting Crowns and Purple Door. Imagine, a purple -
#1: Give me that Ibuprofen! I've got a headache. In fact, give me all the medicine he's got. I need it all!
#2: Told ya, Boss.
I suppose there have always been those who feel the need to take what does not belong to them. If not, why would God have felt the need to put the 10 Commandments so early in Biblical history? I personally dealt with this at a very young age when my favorite doll was stolen from the front porch. Presumably it was a thief-in-training neighborhood girl who thought that my "Beth" (named for a favorite babysitter) would be more fun than her own dolls. I sure hope it wasn't an adult male burglar. That's just sick. And no worries, "Mary" (named for Beth's sister, another favorite babysitter) quickly took Beth's place. She was better than Beth anyway; she could cry.
Several years later my parents had a cassette tape case stolen from the family car. I'm not sure what this thief thought he/she was going to find but I'm certain Dottie Rambo and the Gaithers were not the intended goods. Someone out there is a thief who changed the course of his life after listening to Germs on Down by the Creek Bank.
In college John and I went to visit his sister and while we were enjoying a nice restaurant meal a group of thugs smashed the passenger side window of my car to get to the purse that I had placed under my seat. According to the cops they had this type of thievery down to a science and had actually been scoping the parking lot, looking for females who exited their vehicles without a purse. Other than the scare of hearing my license plate announced over the intercom system at the restaurant, seeing my smashed window, and knowing that someone had my license and keys, it was a pretty useless night for those thieves. They must have been pretty disgusted with what they found in my purse because a week later it turned up in the dumpster of a local shopping mall, with all 11 cents still in my wallet. Even though I got my pennies back, I learned my lesson and never hide my purse under my seat. Now I just hide it under all the kids' junk in the back seat.
These people really should start a national registry so they could list the people they victimized and the loot they did or did not get. If they did, they would know that Cindy King is really not worth burglarizing. But now it's gone international, and they're taking things from my own children!
Andrew was recently on a missions trip to Nicaragua. While there he had many amazing experiences but the one to write home about occurred on the last day when the team was out shopping. The team's suitcases had been placed in two buses, all except for a few suitcases which did not fit so were fastened to the top with bungee cords. Andrew's suitcase just happened to be placed on top. While the kids were out shopping, but the bus drivers were still sitting in the buses, a car pulled up and out popped one Nicaraguan thief who grabbed Andrew's suitcase from the top of the bus. His buddy stayed in the car to make the fast get-away when Guy #1 returned with the goods. We've had some good laughs imagining the conversation between these two men when they realized that the contents of this suitcase were not going to land them on Easy Street any time soon.
(Since most of you probably do not speak fluent Spanish I have taken the liberty of translating the conversation into English for you.)
Thief # 1: So open it already! What are you waiting for? Try that outside pocket. That looks pretty thick. I bet there's a big wad of money in there.
Thief #2 (opening the outside zipper): Do you have a headache, Boss?
#1: What do you mean, do I have a headache? Who made you so sensitive all of a sudden? You thinkin' about going to medical school, or somethin'?
#2: Well, I'm just askin' 'case all I'm findin' in here is a bottle of Ibuprofen, a few Pepto tablets and , a prescription for malarial meds, and anti-diarrheal medicine. You got diarrhea, Boss?
#1: No, I don't have diarrhea, and quit callin' me Boss! Check that other pocket. That could have something valuable.
#2: Not unless you break your glasses.
#1: What are you talkin' about now? Breaking my glasses? I don't even wear glasses.
#2: Oh, then maybe you can use these contact lenses. 2 weeks worth, Boss.
#1: Okay, forget about the pockets. Those Americans are smarter than we thought. Must've put their money and valuables INSiDE the suitcase. Open it up, already!
#2: Okay, Boss. Whatever you say. Phew! Do you smell that? Smells like ... Smells like ... Dirty socks and underwear. Yep, that's definitely what it smells like, Boss. You finish. I can't do this. Yep, either you finish or I need some rubber gloves. This job is more dangerous than I thought, Boss.
#1: This ain't no job and my name ain't Boss. And we don't wear stupid rubber gloves like stupid sissies! This is an order: Open the suitcase and see what's inside! Oh, you're giving me a headache.
#2: Need some Ibuprofen, Boss, 'cause I got some right -
#1: (interrupting) JUST OPEN THE SUITCASE!
#2: Right, Boss. Yep, it's underwear all right. Looks like it's been worn front, back, inside and out, too. Boss, this ain't some rich American, this must be one of those teen do-gooders from some North American church! We ain't gonna find noth -
#1: Im gonna give you a headache if you don't finish the suitcase!
#2: Right away, Boss. Okay, dirty socks, more dirty socks, more dirty underwear. Wait! What's this? There's somethin' different about this underwear, Boss. It's decorated. Looky here: eyeballs on the butt cheeks, and "I love Grandma" written around the top.. Hmmm. If I were a bettin' man, i'd guess the teen do-gooder kid forgot his undies when he went to Grandma's house and then I bet his girl cousins went to the store to buy him more but before they handed it over they decorated it. Yeah, that's it, see -
#1: And now you're a novelist? What kind of preposterous story is that? If you don't find somethin' valuable in that bag I'm gonna -
#2: Wait! I found it! Somethin' valuable, Boss. Look at this! A camera battery charger. I've been wantin' one of those! Bingo!
#1: Do you have a camera?
#2: What?
#1: Is there a camera in there?
#2: Ahh, let me see... No, no camera.
#1: So you don't own a camera and there's no camera in the bag. Then what do you think you're going to do with a charger?
#2: That's a good question, Boss. I hadn't thought of that. Okay. You need some khakis? Or some dirty T-shirts? The kid must've spent the last month workin' like a ... like a ... Well, workin' a lot in the sun, let's just say. And without no showers or laundry. Don't those Americans take showers? Or do laundry?
#1: WHAT ELSE IS IN THE BAG?
#2: Right, Boss. I kinda' got carried away there. It's just that I can't stand dirt and germs and such. I'm tellin' ya', if we're gonna keep this up I need to invest in some good rubber gloves. I might catch something in here. You know foreigners and their diseases. Yeah, this kid might have some kind of disease. That's why he's got those meds there in that pocket. Wait, give me that prescription bottle. He must have malaria, that's why he's got this prescription here, see? I better take one of these here pills right now -
#1: Give me that bottle! The kid doesn't have malaria! NOW WHAT"S IN THE SUITCASE?
#2: Ah ... um ... oh ... a sweatshirt. Got an eagle on it. Ain't that the symbol of them Americans? Oh, and it says somethin' here: Pi-hi-del-pi-hi-e-a. What on earth is that? Don't them Americans believe in vowels? Why put P and H together without vowels? What kind of word is that? Oh, I see. I told you this was some teen do-gooder. And he ain't rich, neither. No siree. He buys his clothes at the seconds outlet. Yup, that's it. This here sweatshirt is missing it's vowels so the kid got it cheap and -
#1: Don't you know nothin'? P and H go together in English. They make a sound like fffffffffffff.
#2: Ffffffffff? What are you talkin' about, Boss? Who ever heard a such a thing? Maybe you've caught what the kid's got. Do you need some Ibuprofen?
#1: NO, I DON'T. AND DON'T CALL ME BOSS! JUST EMPTY OUT THE BAG!
#2: Right-e-o, Boss! I got one more thing. A book. A little book. Maybe this kid couldn't read, neither, so he just got a small book.
#1: Give me that. That's a Bible. It's a travel size. See, it says right here: Backpacker's Bible. Even has a name inside: Jesse King.
#2: AHHHHHHH! The King? You mean we just stole this suitcase from the King of America?
#1: Oh, shut up already. They ain't got no king in America.
#2: Oh, for a minute you had me scared, Boss. Afraid that the Embassy was gonna come after us for taking their King's suitcase. But wait a minute. Did you say "Backpacker's Bible"?
#1: Yeah, backpacker. What of it?
#2: Backpacker, eh? Are you tellin' me that this kid has been haulin' that suitcase around on his back? I heard them Americans are big folks. Can you imagine? This suitcase belongs to some kid do-gooder and he carries his suitcase around Nicaragua on his back? How tall you think he'll be when he's full grown? I'm thinkin' at least 7 feet! And a Bible, you say? I heard about them things. Yep, my uncle, you know, the one that immigrated to Pennsylvania? He stole a case of cassettes out of a car once. Found a whole bunch a Christian tapes. Tapes, you know, ah, ah, cassettes, they're called. He listened to them things and turned himself around just like that. Went out and bought himself a Bible and now he goes to all kinds of interesting places with weird names like Casting Crowns and Purple Door. Imagine, a purple -
#1: Give me that Ibuprofen! I've got a headache. In fact, give me all the medicine he's got. I need it all!
#2: Told ya, Boss.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
My little drummer boy
I think it's time to face the fact that we are entering a new phase in this parenting thing. We knew it was coming, and I'm guessing that we aren't the only ones feeling just a little out of our league in this one, but it is still a bit of a shock whenever it comes up. "It" has to do with the opposite sex; "opposite" of whichever child we are currently talking about.
For years, my children have watched my blood pressure boil when strangers and friends alike insisted on asking my preschoolers about their girlfriends and boyfriends. I know that we all have our different standards and rules when it comes to "going out" and dating, but I don't know too many people who would allow their kindergartner to go to a movie with a fellow 5 year old. More recently my children have had to listen to my rantings and ravings concerning the practice of middle school (and some elementary-aged) students "going out". Where, I ask, do your friends who are "going out" go? My children respond by looking at me with blank looks, as if I didn't know that 12 year olds can't drive themselves anywhere. As we probably all know, "going out" is not a literal thing, it's more of a state of mind. An ever-changing mind (sometimes weekly), so what's the point?
Between the moments of exceedingly high blood pressure and rants, we do enjoy many interesting conversations with our children. Sometimes the discussions get a bit awkward as we have teen conversations above the listening ears of preschoolers. HopeAnne, with her ADHD personality is never really paying close enough attention. Eden, the observer, is. Never was this more apparent than after one such conversation when Eden said, "Mom, I know a REALLY bad word. It's sax." My response? "Yes, dear. That's a REALLY bad word and it's not something you should be talking about." I am a little concerned about what will happen when she meets a sax player or sees a saxophone up close or if we go to a concert and she asks about that "J" shaped instrument, but I'm willing to cross that bridge when I get there.
Thankfully other peoples' children have given us many opportunites to watch and learn, laugh and discuss. Like the boy who has been sending Mariana love notes since 2nd grade. These are not your typical "Do you like me? Circle 'yes' or 'no'" notes but are notebook paper-length discourses on his affection for her. They also share his undying love for her while insisting, "I love you so you have to love me back." I can't imagine what type of parent encourages this type of thing in 2nd grade. I guess it could be argued that maybe his parents don't know. But if that's the case then according to his writing ability even as far back in 2nd grade, he's the next Mark Twain or Charles Dickens.
And then there are all the girls who have befriended Mariana with the larger goal of getting Andrew or Jesse to like them. That's ingenuity. It also turns the King kids off - all of them. And their parents. So don't try it. Or we will talk about you around the dinner table.
Or like the first week of 7th grade when Jesse came home from school to tell us that he had been asked out by two different posses of girls. Apparently if you are too shy to ask a guy to "go out" with you, it's standard practice to send your group of friends to do the deed. And in case you're wondering how he answered, just remember that he's been sufficiently brainwashed to know that if you are only in middle school and have no where to go, you're better off not "going out" in the first place. There was also the girl who started emailing me to ask me about our family and our church. She said it was for a school newspaper article. When I told Jesse she seemed like she needed a church family and maybe he should ask her to youth group, he smiled sheepishly and said he couldn't because she liked him.
More recently Mariana tagged along with me to a photography job at a junior and senior high camp. While eating our meal, a certain male camper came to sit with us and proceeded to tell Mariana that he likes her hair and her eyes. More specifically he likes how she expressively uses her eyes when she talks. To his credit, he also complimented Mariana's mother's eyes. Not to his credit, he mistakenly assumed that I'd be thrilled to find him hitting on my 12 year old daughter right in front of my (beautiful) eyes.
And just last week Jesse was invited to play drums for a theatre performance involving a large number of preteen and teen girls. Unbeknownst to Jesse, a 13 year old male drummer is considered a highly desirable specimen for hormone-crazed girls. It didn't take long before girls were trying to get a peek at him, tucked away behind the drum set. One staff member relayed a crazed conversation between her and a female teen trying to find out more about this young man. During a break, one of the girls who knows Jesse from a previous show made it her job to introduce enraptured girls to him. During the same break, Jesse was accosted by a group of girls, one of whom was so stricken with his hair, that she could only ramble on-and-on without making any sense. One young woman came to me and asked, "When did Jesse get so cute?" How does a mother answer this question? Hasn't he always been cute? I thought he was cute when they first put him on my chest and later when we carved a pumpkin and put him inside to introduce our new little pumpkin to the world. I also thought he was cute when he wore that princess dress and when he sang the Bunny song from Veggie Tales. I don't really think that's what she meant, though. Jesse found this all quite humorous, which is a good thing, and we had a nice, long talk on the way home.
I have, however, come to terms with the fact that this parenting job will likely turn into a mother-in-law job and quite possibly (we hope), a grandparenting job one day. It also occurred to me that that day is not as far away as it once was. I could go one extreme whereby I forbid my children to leave the house, tie them to the kitchen chairs and implant tracking devices under their skin. Or we can keep talking and I can continue to pray for each future spouse. To that end, may he or she be at least 21 years old before first meeting my child. (I know some people make this age as high as 30, particularly for their daughters, but let's be honest, I want grandkids before that! And besides, we've read Interviewing Your Daughter's Date by Dennis Rainey. We're prepared.)
For years, my children have watched my blood pressure boil when strangers and friends alike insisted on asking my preschoolers about their girlfriends and boyfriends. I know that we all have our different standards and rules when it comes to "going out" and dating, but I don't know too many people who would allow their kindergartner to go to a movie with a fellow 5 year old. More recently my children have had to listen to my rantings and ravings concerning the practice of middle school (and some elementary-aged) students "going out". Where, I ask, do your friends who are "going out" go? My children respond by looking at me with blank looks, as if I didn't know that 12 year olds can't drive themselves anywhere. As we probably all know, "going out" is not a literal thing, it's more of a state of mind. An ever-changing mind (sometimes weekly), so what's the point?
Between the moments of exceedingly high blood pressure and rants, we do enjoy many interesting conversations with our children. Sometimes the discussions get a bit awkward as we have teen conversations above the listening ears of preschoolers. HopeAnne, with her ADHD personality is never really paying close enough attention. Eden, the observer, is. Never was this more apparent than after one such conversation when Eden said, "Mom, I know a REALLY bad word. It's sax." My response? "Yes, dear. That's a REALLY bad word and it's not something you should be talking about." I am a little concerned about what will happen when she meets a sax player or sees a saxophone up close or if we go to a concert and she asks about that "J" shaped instrument, but I'm willing to cross that bridge when I get there.
Thankfully other peoples' children have given us many opportunites to watch and learn, laugh and discuss. Like the boy who has been sending Mariana love notes since 2nd grade. These are not your typical "Do you like me? Circle 'yes' or 'no'" notes but are notebook paper-length discourses on his affection for her. They also share his undying love for her while insisting, "I love you so you have to love me back." I can't imagine what type of parent encourages this type of thing in 2nd grade. I guess it could be argued that maybe his parents don't know. But if that's the case then according to his writing ability even as far back in 2nd grade, he's the next Mark Twain or Charles Dickens.
And then there are all the girls who have befriended Mariana with the larger goal of getting Andrew or Jesse to like them. That's ingenuity. It also turns the King kids off - all of them. And their parents. So don't try it. Or we will talk about you around the dinner table.
Or like the first week of 7th grade when Jesse came home from school to tell us that he had been asked out by two different posses of girls. Apparently if you are too shy to ask a guy to "go out" with you, it's standard practice to send your group of friends to do the deed. And in case you're wondering how he answered, just remember that he's been sufficiently brainwashed to know that if you are only in middle school and have no where to go, you're better off not "going out" in the first place. There was also the girl who started emailing me to ask me about our family and our church. She said it was for a school newspaper article. When I told Jesse she seemed like she needed a church family and maybe he should ask her to youth group, he smiled sheepishly and said he couldn't because she liked him.
More recently Mariana tagged along with me to a photography job at a junior and senior high camp. While eating our meal, a certain male camper came to sit with us and proceeded to tell Mariana that he likes her hair and her eyes. More specifically he likes how she expressively uses her eyes when she talks. To his credit, he also complimented Mariana's mother's eyes. Not to his credit, he mistakenly assumed that I'd be thrilled to find him hitting on my 12 year old daughter right in front of my (beautiful) eyes.
And just last week Jesse was invited to play drums for a theatre performance involving a large number of preteen and teen girls. Unbeknownst to Jesse, a 13 year old male drummer is considered a highly desirable specimen for hormone-crazed girls. It didn't take long before girls were trying to get a peek at him, tucked away behind the drum set. One staff member relayed a crazed conversation between her and a female teen trying to find out more about this young man. During a break, one of the girls who knows Jesse from a previous show made it her job to introduce enraptured girls to him. During the same break, Jesse was accosted by a group of girls, one of whom was so stricken with his hair, that she could only ramble on-and-on without making any sense. One young woman came to me and asked, "When did Jesse get so cute?" How does a mother answer this question? Hasn't he always been cute? I thought he was cute when they first put him on my chest and later when we carved a pumpkin and put him inside to introduce our new little pumpkin to the world. I also thought he was cute when he wore that princess dress and when he sang the Bunny song from Veggie Tales. I don't really think that's what she meant, though. Jesse found this all quite humorous, which is a good thing, and we had a nice, long talk on the way home.
I have, however, come to terms with the fact that this parenting job will likely turn into a mother-in-law job and quite possibly (we hope), a grandparenting job one day. It also occurred to me that that day is not as far away as it once was. I could go one extreme whereby I forbid my children to leave the house, tie them to the kitchen chairs and implant tracking devices under their skin. Or we can keep talking and I can continue to pray for each future spouse. To that end, may he or she be at least 21 years old before first meeting my child. (I know some people make this age as high as 30, particularly for their daughters, but let's be honest, I want grandkids before that! And besides, we've read Interviewing Your Daughter's Date by Dennis Rainey. We're prepared.)
Friday, July 23, 2010
Welcome
Come September there will be a new member of the King family. Not in the usual sense (remember, John doesn't want to put any more through college). Not even a foster child (well, we can only hope). This new member comes fully prepared for adulthood; all we have to do is house and feed her. Her name is Rachel and she's a 2010 high school graduate from Virginia who will be attending the Global Awakening school and just needed a place to call home while she does so.
How, you ask, does a non-people person feel about this? Actually, I enjoy seeing our family grow in this way. We have gotten to know some wonderful people through the years, just by making the family decision that we don't need as much personal space as most Americans. God has blessed us, why shouldn't we bless others?
And ultimately, it's my grandfather's fault. "PopPop Bauman" performed our wedding ceremony. I am honored to be part of a long line of family members who can make that claim. Unfortunately, I was also the last as his health was declining even at our wedding and my brother had to help him up the steps of the sanctuary. I am so grateful that God allowed my grandfather to marry us as he is a man whose life I highly admire. By his actions, he taught me a lot about welcoming others and sharing what you have. But that's not why it's his fault. His share of the blame comes from the prayer he prayed at our wedding: "Make of this new home a place where the Spirit of Jesus will love to dwell. May the home they are forming become a pillar in the church, a sign of Your grace and glory in the community and a blessing to every child and guest who enters its portals." Take out the archaic language and I think that means he was commissioning us to have an open home. I always thought of him as a prophet. Now I know.
First there were the foster babies. Yes, even in the beginning I needed my baby fix on a regular basis and even before we had the six who stayed there were:
Courtney - a beautiful baby girl who I predicted would grow up to be tall and slender
Andrew - I often wonder about Andrew as he has Down Syndrome, it was amazing to us that God would give us a boy with this name as we had already decided we wanted to name our first boy Andrew
Tabitha Pagie - we both became very attached to this smiler
Johnnie - had his days and nights very mixed up and had the appearance of a very old man
Kelly - a delightful baby who rarely cried
Carlos - part Honduran and part Brazilian, Carlos was a beautiful but big baby
Taneesha - born premature and exposed to cocaine she weighed only 5 pounds
Shanice - another night owl who wanted us to enjoy the nightlife with her
Marcus and Tymir - not twins but stayed with us at the same time - one white and one black
Kevin - we actually met Kevin's adoptive family and John was able to hand him to his forever mother
Avis - another would-be keeper that we were both very attached to
Richard - a smiler and a talker
Anthony - a cute face and a ton of hair
Gabriel - came to us at the beginning of December, if I told you I named him I bet you could guess what the sermon was about that week
Justin - came "justin" time for Christmas
Bianca - a girl with a big appetite
Nancy - came to us without a name and I named her in honor of a favorite figure skater
Angel - one of our healthier babies
Matthew - really struggling with the disappointment of infertility at this point it was very difficult to give up Matthew, he touched both of our lives in a special way
April - another who came without a name but since she came in the month of April...
Olivia - once again named by me, the social worker handed her off at The Olive Garden Restaurant
Samantha - a little older than most of our babies, she was already able to hold her own head and sit with assistance
Crystal - BIG eyes!
Cheyenne - BIG cheeks!
Malachi - a sibling to Marcus who stayed with us earlier, I chose an "M" name to match his brother's
Brianna - I think she was the oldest child to stay with us
Dollie - named by me because she was so tiny
And in case you weren't keeping track, that's 28 little peanuts that came into our home while they were awaiting adoption. But then I got pregnant and was too tired to be waking up all hours of the night with little ones, many of whom were preemies born with the effects of drugs.
About 6 years later we decided to open our home as a shepherding home with the local crisis pregnancy center. Through this program, a single pregnant mother would live with us until the birth of her baby and then for up to 4 months following the delivery. It was our job to not only give her a home but to demonstrate healthy family life and to teach her independent living skills. We were already slightly familiar with this program as I had been the birthing coach for a teen mother who went through the program and was living in a different shepherding home. So, one after the other we welcomed "Emily" and "Michelle". Emily gave birth to a little girl and Michelle had a premature little boy and I once again had the joy of helping a young mother welcome her little one into the world. These situations each came with their own challenges but I am thankful for the opportunities of each.
Then we moved to Mechanicsburg. Not finding a similar program in this area, and also not being entirely comfortable bringing teen mothers into our home when we also had junior high aged sons, shepherding has not been an option here. No problem. John came as the young adult pastor and young adults often need a place to live. In the 7 years we've been here we've had 5 different young adults live in our home for a period of several weeks to several months. Each has a special place in our hearts and in our family. Now it's Rachel's turn. We hope she feels just as welcomed and becomes a part of the family just as quickly.
How, you ask, does a non-people person feel about this? Actually, I enjoy seeing our family grow in this way. We have gotten to know some wonderful people through the years, just by making the family decision that we don't need as much personal space as most Americans. God has blessed us, why shouldn't we bless others?
And ultimately, it's my grandfather's fault. "PopPop Bauman" performed our wedding ceremony. I am honored to be part of a long line of family members who can make that claim. Unfortunately, I was also the last as his health was declining even at our wedding and my brother had to help him up the steps of the sanctuary. I am so grateful that God allowed my grandfather to marry us as he is a man whose life I highly admire. By his actions, he taught me a lot about welcoming others and sharing what you have. But that's not why it's his fault. His share of the blame comes from the prayer he prayed at our wedding: "Make of this new home a place where the Spirit of Jesus will love to dwell. May the home they are forming become a pillar in the church, a sign of Your grace and glory in the community and a blessing to every child and guest who enters its portals." Take out the archaic language and I think that means he was commissioning us to have an open home. I always thought of him as a prophet. Now I know.
First there were the foster babies. Yes, even in the beginning I needed my baby fix on a regular basis and even before we had the six who stayed there were:
Courtney - a beautiful baby girl who I predicted would grow up to be tall and slender
Andrew - I often wonder about Andrew as he has Down Syndrome, it was amazing to us that God would give us a boy with this name as we had already decided we wanted to name our first boy Andrew
Tabitha Pagie - we both became very attached to this smiler
Johnnie - had his days and nights very mixed up and had the appearance of a very old man
Kelly - a delightful baby who rarely cried
Carlos - part Honduran and part Brazilian, Carlos was a beautiful but big baby
Taneesha - born premature and exposed to cocaine she weighed only 5 pounds
Shanice - another night owl who wanted us to enjoy the nightlife with her
Marcus and Tymir - not twins but stayed with us at the same time - one white and one black
Kevin - we actually met Kevin's adoptive family and John was able to hand him to his forever mother
Avis - another would-be keeper that we were both very attached to
Richard - a smiler and a talker
Anthony - a cute face and a ton of hair
Gabriel - came to us at the beginning of December, if I told you I named him I bet you could guess what the sermon was about that week
Justin - came "justin" time for Christmas
Bianca - a girl with a big appetite
Nancy - came to us without a name and I named her in honor of a favorite figure skater
Angel - one of our healthier babies
Matthew - really struggling with the disappointment of infertility at this point it was very difficult to give up Matthew, he touched both of our lives in a special way
April - another who came without a name but since she came in the month of April...
Olivia - once again named by me, the social worker handed her off at The Olive Garden Restaurant
Samantha - a little older than most of our babies, she was already able to hold her own head and sit with assistance
Crystal - BIG eyes!
Cheyenne - BIG cheeks!
Malachi - a sibling to Marcus who stayed with us earlier, I chose an "M" name to match his brother's
Brianna - I think she was the oldest child to stay with us
Dollie - named by me because she was so tiny
And in case you weren't keeping track, that's 28 little peanuts that came into our home while they were awaiting adoption. But then I got pregnant and was too tired to be waking up all hours of the night with little ones, many of whom were preemies born with the effects of drugs.
About 6 years later we decided to open our home as a shepherding home with the local crisis pregnancy center. Through this program, a single pregnant mother would live with us until the birth of her baby and then for up to 4 months following the delivery. It was our job to not only give her a home but to demonstrate healthy family life and to teach her independent living skills. We were already slightly familiar with this program as I had been the birthing coach for a teen mother who went through the program and was living in a different shepherding home. So, one after the other we welcomed "Emily" and "Michelle". Emily gave birth to a little girl and Michelle had a premature little boy and I once again had the joy of helping a young mother welcome her little one into the world. These situations each came with their own challenges but I am thankful for the opportunities of each.
Then we moved to Mechanicsburg. Not finding a similar program in this area, and also not being entirely comfortable bringing teen mothers into our home when we also had junior high aged sons, shepherding has not been an option here. No problem. John came as the young adult pastor and young adults often need a place to live. In the 7 years we've been here we've had 5 different young adults live in our home for a period of several weeks to several months. Each has a special place in our hearts and in our family. Now it's Rachel's turn. We hope she feels just as welcomed and becomes a part of the family just as quickly.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Flapper thingie
I walked into the kitchen tonight to find my husband standing by the microwave watching a little red plastic thing go round-and-round on the turntable. Turns out it's called a flapper and it's to fix the toilet. The toilet that's been sitting in our driveway for a month. Right next to a huge pile of tile, plaster, chicken wire and lath. I'm sure the neighbors have been having very interesting dinner-table conversations as they look out the kitchen window, at our lovely bathroom-in-a-driveway. It's kind of like bed-in-a-bag only not quite so small, and definitely not as pretty. Certainly just as practical. It's a good thing the social worker hasn't been around. I would have had quite a time explaining that we do have indoor plumbing and that we don't force any of our children to use the bathroom-in-a-driveway. I only wish I had thought of taking a picture of it all before the toilet (still unusable) was moved back into the bathroom.
It happened like this: While John and his cohort were studying away in Virginia, Isaac and I started to pull the tile off the bathroom wall. Then we found that underneath was plaster. Then my dad came and he got Andrew and Jesse to help him pull off the plaster and all the surprises that they found beneath that. By they time they were finished they were all sporting white hair. The new tub was installed. Then it leaked. Then John came back and Grandma and Grandpa decided to visit from Ohio. We thought they'd probably prefer indoor plumbing so John brought the toilet back into the house. He's not a plumber. It leaked, didn't work, and in the end needed to be flushed the old fashioned way - with a gallon jug. Did I mention it was leaking in the basement?
On a positive note, we have a great looking bathroom. It has everything it needs and is almost finished. Except for one small thing...
So back to the little red plastic flapper thingie that was in the microwave. Apparently it's the second one he's bought but can't get to work. He thinks it's a little bent so he's now trying to melt it enough to reshape it. Kind of like a football mouthpiece, he says. I'm not sure I'd compare something that goes in my mouth to something that helps eliminate bodily waste but if that suits him, who am I to complain? In the future, though, I think all plumbing in the King house is best left to the professionals - including the reshaping of flapper thingies.
It happened like this: While John and his cohort were studying away in Virginia, Isaac and I started to pull the tile off the bathroom wall. Then we found that underneath was plaster. Then my dad came and he got Andrew and Jesse to help him pull off the plaster and all the surprises that they found beneath that. By they time they were finished they were all sporting white hair. The new tub was installed. Then it leaked. Then John came back and Grandma and Grandpa decided to visit from Ohio. We thought they'd probably prefer indoor plumbing so John brought the toilet back into the house. He's not a plumber. It leaked, didn't work, and in the end needed to be flushed the old fashioned way - with a gallon jug. Did I mention it was leaking in the basement?
On a positive note, we have a great looking bathroom. It has everything it needs and is almost finished. Except for one small thing...
So back to the little red plastic flapper thingie that was in the microwave. Apparently it's the second one he's bought but can't get to work. He thinks it's a little bent so he's now trying to melt it enough to reshape it. Kind of like a football mouthpiece, he says. I'm not sure I'd compare something that goes in my mouth to something that helps eliminate bodily waste but if that suits him, who am I to complain? In the future, though, I think all plumbing in the King house is best left to the professionals - including the reshaping of flapper thingies.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Formerly Known As
Important! Please read before continuing: I have written blogs in the past that have been vetoed by my husband and rather than being published they have either a. been deleted or b. remained in that mysterious cyber world known as "edit posts" to be used at a later date, at my own discretion. This veto business is usually due to content but has also been done due to inflammatory language and unnecessary violence in the written word. This blog, however, has not only passed his scrutiny but has been given his blessing. Nay, it has not only been given his blessing it has been strongly recommended that I put my verbal comments down for all to see. All this to say that I am not to be held responsible for anyone who is upset by the content of this blog.
On that note, please read on.
In recent years I have adopted a lifestyle which has helped me to better cope with my role as pastor's wife and this lifestyle involves staying free of any and all denominational mumbo jumbo, discussions, controversies, etc. Believing that God never intended His people to fight about questions such as whether it is better to read our music from a book or off the wall or whether sanctuaries should be surrounded by stained glass or basketball nets, I have chosen instead to just sit back, listen, watch, and observe. I do believe my health thanks me for this stance.
Recently, however, I have heard a lot of talk about something called Brethren in Christ General Conference. It appears as if it has been going on for quite some time, possibly since the first BICers arrived in the New World. I am not sure how I have missed it in the past, but I did.
The most interesting phenomenon about this current conference is talk about changing the name "Brethren in Christ" to something a little more inclusive. Funny, I didn't know that I was previously excluded, but apparently I was. I should say that my cousin did warn me. Back when we first left the MENnonite church to join the BRETHREN in Christ, she asked me if our denomination had issues with inclusive language. I told her that it had never come up. Either I was wrong or they've somehow figured out that there should be a problem. So now it has to be solved.
I wasn't invited to these name-change meetings, and probably wouldn't go even if I was, but I did share some of my ideas with the family at dinner. That was when I was highly encouraged to share them with everyone, so here goes. You'll not only get to see my thoughts but you can also follow the evolution of ideas.
Idea #1 - Brethren and Sisters in Christ. It has a nice sound although Brethren and Sistern in Christ gives it more of a poetic feel (or should I say poema so it sounds more Biblical?). It opens up great possibilities for a logo, including the obvious stick figure male holding hands with a stick figure female, in the tradition of those stick-ons you see on the back of all the mini-vans around town. Or maybe they shouldn't hold hands since brothers and sisters don't really do that a whole lot. Maybe the arms should be around each other's necks in a type of strangle hold. That would probably be more realistic. The biggest down-side to this option, in my opinion, is the difficulty in shortening our name. Mechanicsburg B.S. or Carlisle B.S. doesn't look very nice on letterhead and it'd be embarrassing to invite your neighbors to join you at the local B.S. church on Sunday morning.
Idea #2 - Brethren and Cistern in Christ. Think of it as a play on words. To the untrained ear, it will sound like Idea #1 but without the difficulty in abbreviating. For example, we at Mechancisburg Brethren in Christ (McBIC) could still be McBC (no one will miss the "I" since people eliminate vowels on vanity plates all the time) and no one need be insulted. Males and females, thinking they were hearing about the Brethren and Sisters church, would feel equally included without all that B.S. business. It kind of gives it an Adam and Eve feel, doesn't it? And as for a logo, this one is perfect. With the double meaning of sistern/cistern, we could develop a logo with a stick figure diving into a cistern, thereby incorporating believer's baptism at the same time. This option is also environmentally friendly as we could eliminate our baptismal fonts and just baptize in the local cistern.
I admit, though, that there are still some complications with this idea. So, I came up with a third option.
Idea #3 - It's a little difficult to describe this option so stay with me here. Those of us who grew up in the 80s and 90s will remember The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. This concept of changing one's name to something unpronounceable has always intrigued me and I'd like to propose the BIC name-change dilemma as just the right time to replicate this by becoming The Denomination Formerly Known as Brethren in Christ. I admit that it is rather lengthy but just as The Artist Formerly Known As Prince came to be known only by a logo or TAFKAP, we could do the same. The abbreviation would be a breeze as it would be the same as our denomination name: "TDFKABIC". McBIC would become McTDFKABIC. It would fit just fine on a sign, even saving us a couple bucks for all those letters we wouldn't need. We could have a contest to design the logo and another to come up with the generally-accepted pronunciation of TDFKABIC.
(Let me pause here to put in my vote for pronouncing this like "T.D.-fake-a-bic" showing that not only do we accept both males and females, those in the church and those out of the church, but we also love and accept people who like football and people who put on a fake face when in public - if that doesn't include everyone, I don't know what does).
Author's note: For obvious reasons the author of this blog does not want her identity known so she is writing under the pseudonym "TAFKACK". Please submit all correspondence concerning this article to the correct address.
On that note, please read on.
In recent years I have adopted a lifestyle which has helped me to better cope with my role as pastor's wife and this lifestyle involves staying free of any and all denominational mumbo jumbo, discussions, controversies, etc. Believing that God never intended His people to fight about questions such as whether it is better to read our music from a book or off the wall or whether sanctuaries should be surrounded by stained glass or basketball nets, I have chosen instead to just sit back, listen, watch, and observe. I do believe my health thanks me for this stance.
Recently, however, I have heard a lot of talk about something called Brethren in Christ General Conference. It appears as if it has been going on for quite some time, possibly since the first BICers arrived in the New World. I am not sure how I have missed it in the past, but I did.
The most interesting phenomenon about this current conference is talk about changing the name "Brethren in Christ" to something a little more inclusive. Funny, I didn't know that I was previously excluded, but apparently I was. I should say that my cousin did warn me. Back when we first left the MENnonite church to join the BRETHREN in Christ, she asked me if our denomination had issues with inclusive language. I told her that it had never come up. Either I was wrong or they've somehow figured out that there should be a problem. So now it has to be solved.
I wasn't invited to these name-change meetings, and probably wouldn't go even if I was, but I did share some of my ideas with the family at dinner. That was when I was highly encouraged to share them with everyone, so here goes. You'll not only get to see my thoughts but you can also follow the evolution of ideas.
Idea #1 - Brethren and Sisters in Christ. It has a nice sound although Brethren and Sistern in Christ gives it more of a poetic feel (or should I say poema so it sounds more Biblical?). It opens up great possibilities for a logo, including the obvious stick figure male holding hands with a stick figure female, in the tradition of those stick-ons you see on the back of all the mini-vans around town. Or maybe they shouldn't hold hands since brothers and sisters don't really do that a whole lot. Maybe the arms should be around each other's necks in a type of strangle hold. That would probably be more realistic. The biggest down-side to this option, in my opinion, is the difficulty in shortening our name. Mechanicsburg B.S. or Carlisle B.S. doesn't look very nice on letterhead and it'd be embarrassing to invite your neighbors to join you at the local B.S. church on Sunday morning.
Idea #2 - Brethren and Cistern in Christ. Think of it as a play on words. To the untrained ear, it will sound like Idea #1 but without the difficulty in abbreviating. For example, we at Mechancisburg Brethren in Christ (McBIC) could still be McBC (no one will miss the "I" since people eliminate vowels on vanity plates all the time) and no one need be insulted. Males and females, thinking they were hearing about the Brethren and Sisters church, would feel equally included without all that B.S. business. It kind of gives it an Adam and Eve feel, doesn't it? And as for a logo, this one is perfect. With the double meaning of sistern/cistern, we could develop a logo with a stick figure diving into a cistern, thereby incorporating believer's baptism at the same time. This option is also environmentally friendly as we could eliminate our baptismal fonts and just baptize in the local cistern.
I admit, though, that there are still some complications with this idea. So, I came up with a third option.
Idea #3 - It's a little difficult to describe this option so stay with me here. Those of us who grew up in the 80s and 90s will remember The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. This concept of changing one's name to something unpronounceable has always intrigued me and I'd like to propose the BIC name-change dilemma as just the right time to replicate this by becoming The Denomination Formerly Known as Brethren in Christ. I admit that it is rather lengthy but just as The Artist Formerly Known As Prince came to be known only by a logo or TAFKAP, we could do the same. The abbreviation would be a breeze as it would be the same as our denomination name: "TDFKABIC". McBIC would become McTDFKABIC. It would fit just fine on a sign, even saving us a couple bucks for all those letters we wouldn't need. We could have a contest to design the logo and another to come up with the generally-accepted pronunciation of TDFKABIC.
(Let me pause here to put in my vote for pronouncing this like "T.D.-fake-a-bic" showing that not only do we accept both males and females, those in the church and those out of the church, but we also love and accept people who like football and people who put on a fake face when in public - if that doesn't include everyone, I don't know what does).
Author's note: For obvious reasons the author of this blog does not want her identity known so she is writing under the pseudonym "TAFKACK". Please submit all correspondence concerning this article to the correct address.
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