I Don't Feel Very Good

GOSH!

Other Real Moms

Real moms ignore their children sometimes, too. Utterly. Completely. Inexcusably, at times.

And when they dare to speak or come near her, she contorts her face almost beyond recognition and screams loudly profanities such as the SU word and offers no apologies, and sometimes even worse than that.

A real mother feels regret for actions, but is comforted by the collective resilience and affection of her young.

And she reminds herself as her own real mother reminded her long before she bore children, "Tomorrow is another day."

And it is.

And I will keep right on breathing, Lord willing, and being real.

Miserable Robots

I should just create a blog for Kathryn. But for now her antics shall be reported here.

There is a song the kids sing at church called "Great Big God".

I heard her singing it in the bathtub last Saturday. I joined in with her.

Our God is a great big God (3x)
And He holds us in His hands

But that was the easy part. I was curious to see how many of the words she knew herself, so periodically I would stop singing to see if she would continue.

He's higher than a skyscraper
And deeper than a submarine
He's wider than the universe
And beyond my wildest dreams

Every time I stopped she carried on, tune and all, and didn't miss a single word. Until...

And He's known me and He's loved me
Since before the world began
How wonderful to be a part
Of God's...aaa..mmm...MISERABLE plan

=) (It's supposed to be amazing plan.)

Yesterday afternoon I had a bad headache. Surprising, I know. I got David down for his nap and got Kathryn situated with something on Noggin, and then told her I was going to lie down until the older kids came home from school in about 20 minutes. I told her NOT to come upstairs to ask me when I was getting up and that I would be getting up when her show was over.

Seven or so minutes later I heard my bedroom door hinges squeak followed by a tap tap upon my shoulder.

"Mom, can I have some salami?"

I told her she could if she could reach it herself, but that I would NOT be getting up until the kids came home and reminded her again NOT to come in my room unless it was an emergency.

In all seriousness she asked, "Like if robots come or something?"

I am wondering if she meant Mormons because we had a visit from a couple recently. Or perhaps even Jehovah's Witnesses because we had a disturbing encounter with some who would not leave the porch and were peeking in the window several months ago.

Or maybe she really meant robots. Who even knows? In any event they did not come.

Real Moms

Real moms wear their pajamas to drop their children off at school in the morning.

Sometimes.

And it is those times that they really hope there won't be a traffic jam in the parking lot that requires her to exit her vehicle in order to let her children out and escort them through the maze of automobiles to safety. Before the tardy bell even thinks about ringing.

That is a real mom's sincerest hope.

My next question is...

It pains me to ask this, but is anyone else disappointed with the new season of The Office?

Feel free to comment even if you love this season.

I promise I won't delete any hate comments directed at me and/or my humble opinion, but to me it seems very blaaaaaaaah! Funny, but barely. Everyone seems out of their groove. The timing is off. The chemistry seems lost.

What the heck happened?

Bee's Knees...Cat's Pajamas

I didn't start wearing pants until I was 20 years old. My first pair were a dark robin's egg blue, almost jade, but not quite even a little bit cool pair of pleated slacks from Fashion Bug that were exactly 2 sizes too big. You know, for the sake of modesty. They were just long enough to touch the top of my prized penny loafers that my new love interest, Jeff Jackson, had given me for Christmas. I was in my first year of college, but looked the part of a maiden well beyond my years in said attire. I could have almost passed for a mother of four back then.

Since that time I have struggled to find my way in the realm of slack wearing. I don't naturally possess a great deal of fashion savvy, so it honestly has been more of a challenge than some would believe. I see what I think looks good, but can never seem to pull the look together on myself. Consequently, I have a closet full of mostly too short, too tight or too loose, Mom-rise pants of nearly every description, and I almost NEVER feel "cool" in jeans. Add to that the fact that I am "tall" and I am a What Not to Wear candidate waiting to be nominated. (PLEASE, somebody, call Clinton and Stacy!)

Anyway, after having no luck this summer at garage sales or the Salvation Army, I broke down and bought some jean pants brand new from a store just last week. They fit me. They are long enough. And I think they might even be what some might call stylish. Today when I dropped Kathryn off at preschool, an uber cool fellow preschool mom, who is uber cool enough to drive a VW Beetle, complimented me on them. She has never spoken to me before. Nor could I recall at that moment EVER being complimented on a pair of jeans I was wearing. I looked around for a TLC camera crew, but there wasn't one to be seen. Minutes later as I was sitting in my van outside a store talking on my cell phone, a woman approached me and interrupted my call to ask where I got my hair done. I do frequently get this question, for which I take no credit, but on the heels of the other compliment, I was feeling like the bee's KNEES. For at least one or two minutes.

I like to appear put together, but I am not so shallow that I would derive ALL of my feelings of self-worth from two random affirmations, most days. But today I am just that shallow. =) Shallow as a puddle of spit, as my brother has said, but not about me.

It is good for a mom, particularly a mother of 4, to feel like the cat's pajamas every once in a while. Like once every 11 years at least. But more often would be nice too.

Love?...Cholera?

Is anyone else thinking the title of the upcoming movie "Love in the Time of Cholera" sounds just, well...icky?!

WWJD?

Yesterday morning the girls were going at it. Again. Neither had been up longer than 7 minutes. There was snarling. Insults were being hurled. Illogical arguments abounded.

Once again, I asked aloud, "What would Jesus do? How would He get along with His siblings?"

Julia was the one to answer this time. "If you were this bad at His house, I know He would take control of you!"

This to follow up Kathryn's retort to Julia when she was asked the same question about a year and a half ago which was, "I think Jesus would punch YOU right in the face!"

Siblings

"Stay close to your siblings. They are the best link to your past and the most likely to stand by you in the future."

Thank you, brother and sister, for making the effort to regain and maintain that closeness one year ago today. I will never forget the warm windy day on the farm or the rainy day in D.C. that followed.
You're the best!

Joseph

I just want to write something real quick like before last Sunday becomes too distantly removed from my memory.

I want to be like Joseph.

I don't long to wear a varicolored tunic. And I don't want to be hated by, betrayed by, and sold into slavery by my own brothers. I don't want to live in a foreign land separated from my father. I don't want to be wrongly accused of a violent crime or imprisoned.

But I want to be as quick to forgive people who don't deserve it and quicker to see God's sovereignty in my life.

"I am Joseph! Is my father still alive?"

Those would not be the words that I would choose to reveal my identity to the ones responsible for my suffering of 22 years.

But then he goes on.

"And now do not be grieved or angry with yourselves, because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve...to preserve for you a remnant in the earth, and to keep you alive by a great deliverance. Now, therefore, it was not you who sent me here, but God."

I need to forgive. Really forgive. And let grudges go. Forever. I need to acknowledge the sovereignty of God, not just when it suits me.

Thank you, Pastor Larry, for the excellent plagiarized sermon. And thank you, Dr. David Jeremiah, for being the source he ripped off.

School Pictures

It is school picture time again. It is in times such as these that I pause to thank the Lord that He saw fit to dig a little deeper into the Jackson end of gene pool when He knit my children together in the womb. No offense, Mom and Dad, you are comely enough looking creatures yourselves, but you had no control over the fact that your third born inherited all the kickback, recessive, jacked up genes from generations of yore. Honestly, I am not bitter. I am not bitter that some of my earliest memories are those of Julie and Charlie telling me I was adopted. From a frog swamp. And I am certainly not bitter that just recently my very own best friend asked me if I used to be Asian when she saw one of my baby pictures. Not even bitter. Only that much more appreciative of the "normality" of my own children.

Would the REAL nun please stand? My own 5^th grade picture was my first thought when Andrew brought his home, even though his is much better. Oddly enough, I remember being pleased with the outcome of this photoshoot back in '83.

I was NOT, however, pleased with this one, not one little bit. It was already a "re-take" because my collar was tucked under on the original and my fastidious mother would have none of that. I didn't think it was so bad. So, my parents were gone away somewhere on re-take day and I was left in the charge of my sister, Julie, who was SUPPOSED to have put my hair in spongey curlers the night before. But she didn't. She assured me that the ringlets she haphazzardly wrapped with a curling iron that morning would stay put long enough to produce a proper portrait. So, yeah. 1980 was a bad year. But the important thing is that I have let it go.

Generations

Four Generations, minus Julia who is at Amy's with Ella for the weekend.

Another Toy Recall

Ponderosa

Our church hosted a Trunk o' Treat last night that was intended to be a community outreach complete with 50 trunks full of treats, a "gospel magic" show every half hour, and cider, donuts, and coffee inside. Oh and a photographer who attends our church offered free portraits inside as well.

Since our church currently meets in a renovated building which happens to be an old Ponderosa restaurant, the theme for the evening was "Ponderosa". We were encouraged to dress ourselves and our vehicles up in keeping with that theme.

There were country/western/cowboy/farmer/hobo-looking folk aplenty, as well as quite a few people who dressed up in random traditional Halloween gear that didn't have anything to do with anything Ponderosa-ish. But there were a couple particularly interesting costumes which reflected a more liberal interpretation of the somewhat vague theme suggestion.

This fellow here had been seemingly quiet and reserved heretofore. Though we have gotten to know him a little better recently in our small group and seen that he has some "flare" if you will, we were shocked and greatly amused to see his inner rockstar unleashed. He came as a member of the fictitious 80's hairband, Ponderosa. Given my love for this era and genre, and my interest in the unusual, I found it difficult to avert my eyes from this sight all night. Somewhat like the fascination of a car wreck, only a little less morbid, of course.


Our pastor chose to come as a T-bone steak, because what could be more Ponderosa than a steak? He was unable to convince Mrs. Pastor to come as a bottle of A-1.

Our family was a mixed bag of makeshift cowboys and cats. Oh, and my mom was there too.

A good time was had by all.