Happy Birthday to David!

We didn't even know we needed another baby, but what would we do without him a year later?! Tonight he was much more interested in the paper and packaging than the treasures they contained, but he knew exactly when it was time for cake...and any time there was a camera in his face, which was often of course. Happy Birthday, David, and thank you, God, for knowing we would need the kind of joy that only a baby can bring at this time in our lives.

He is Risen!

Buxton

Yesterday morning I scrambled around to leave the house for the day at 8:50 with all four children groomed and in tow. That is not an ungodly hour, I know. I leave the house at that time every day to drive the children to school, but save for the eldest two children, we are not generally groomed. But this was no ordinary morning. The plan was to take the kids to school, drop Kathryn and David off at an in-home daycare, and then drive by myself to the mall, by myself, to shop by myself, for upcoming birthdays and Easter attire, and then meet a friend for lunch by myself with no children or strollers. You can see why I, myself, might be extry motivated on such a morning.

In addition to the usual routine, the kids had a buttload of stuff they had to take to school for a read-a-thon and there were many important last minute decisions to be made, such as whether to wear Crocs to the read-a-thon or sneakers and whether to take a water bottle for their beverage of choice or iced tea, whether to take a special blanket Gramma Jackson had made or a beach towel to sit on, and of course which books to take to read. I also had the foreign task of packing a diaper bag for a caregiver, extra bottles, extra snacks, an extra outfit, and all the trimmings. I had a couple of items to return to the store and blah, blah, blah. But we made it out the door right on time.

I quickly dropped the kids off at school and was on my way. The horizon of my life was looking brighter by the second as I anticipated the absolute freedom of the day. The stress of several weeks was beginning to abate.

I managed to drive about 15 minutes before reaching for my cell phone for the first time. But, umm, yeaaah, it wasn't in my purse which I knew, as I had dumped its contents out onto the car seat in my frenzied search. And it wasn't in the cup holder where I often put it. I reached for the diaper bag at the same time I remembered I had switched to a larger diaper bag to hold all the extra stuff, at which time I remembered that my phone was in the outside pocket of the smaller diaper bag which was at home. I am not excessively attached to my phone. I often forget to take it and hardly know how to do anything but answer it. I don't even have very many numbers programmed into it, and I don't text or play games. But I needed it today because I was meeting someone at a yet to be determined time and would be awaiting her call. So nothing to do but turn my wagon around and head homeward.

At this time, Kathryn, who was absolutely overjoyed to be going to a babysitter (for real), impatiently growled from the backseat, "Mom, you NEED the Buxton Organizer!"

The phone was, in fact, exactly where I had thought. I snatched it up and was on my way once again. My plans were only altered by 15 minutes and it was a wonderful day! Thank God for babysitters, retail therapy, and good friends. And daughters with good suggestions. =)

Phases

Despite a few setbacks, such as influenza and a busted sump pump,
we have made it this far.

Pro-Life?

This morning I was nearly run down in the grocery store parking lot by a speeding Buick driven by a bouffant-haired 60-something. She failed to yield. Badly. As she barreled on by, I noticed her bumper which was ironically emblazoned with "We are PRO-LIFE!"

The sanctity of human life apparently ceases once the life has exited the birth canal.

Gotcha!

This is for everyone who knows about the opossum we received from Meridith last Christmas at our family White Elephant gift exchange. Finally after over a year of scheming, a perfect opportunity to re-gift presented itself. Saturday the extended family had a surprise baby shower for her. I wrapped it up in the bag with some baby wash on top and attached a note that said I just wanted the baby to have something soft to snuggle with right away. She had no idea. I wish I could have captured what followed. She shrieked loudly and flung it across the table as the aunts looked on in horror. I wish I would have thought to take a video. Luckily Jeff's aunt caught this expression right before it went flying. Thanks, Aunt Kim! Love you, MerMer!

White Bread and Puberty

Other things I never expected to hear my children say:

• Julia, crying: "But mommmmmm, I don't like white bread!"

(Not so very long ago, it was a great struggle to get white bread out of the house and off our food pyramid. I thought it would seem like a treat to make her egg salad sandwich on seeded Italian when our neighbor gave us a loaf this week, but not so much!)

• Andrew asking: "How old were you when you went through puberty? I am only asking because it is my homework assignment, not because I really want to know."

Inquiring Minds

I was unprepared for the barrage of questions that erupted from the backseat on the way home from the Salvation Army store today. I don't know why. As David snoozed, Kathryn asked me the following questions in rapid succession, in this order. After the first two I grabbed a pen from my visor and wrote them down on a napkin as I drove so I wouldn't forget.

• Can opossums do anything? When Grant and Ella came over, Ella actually said they can do ANYTHING!
  
• You hate mud, right?
• Do you think Indians are scary? Julia does.
• What colors do you hate?
• Do you hate to wear white or just to look at it?
• Were you brave when you were a little girl?
• I wonder how they made this seat, do you know how they made this seat? Mom, do you?

This all on the heels of "Judas was NOT Jesus' friend, was he?"

Who ever said motherhood was a mindless pursuit was smoking crack!

Trimmings

Yeah, I need to learn how to make compressed little slideshows or at least put the pictures next to each other or something. If any of my tech savvy friends want to come to my aid, I certainly wouldn't decline your assistance.

Today David got his first haircut from Aunt Robyn. He did very well. He patiently waited for nearly an hour while Kathryn got her 'do snipped and then took his turn. He was a squirmy, moving target from the git-go, but he didn't cry at all. When the water bottle failed to properly distract him, I resorted to allowing him to have his first sucker which saved the day.

BEFORE

DURING

STILL DURING...

ALMOST DONE...

AND TAAAA DAAA!

Day One: Demolition

We officially began "finishing" our basement yesterday which unfortunately will involve first "unfinishing" the handiwork of the nincompoop who lived here before us. Some people have no business TOUCHING a hammer. EVER! Each sheet of drywall has on average 70 nails holding it in place. 70 nails, not to be confused with drywall screws, which may or may not have even made contact with any targeted stud behind the drywall. Some of the seams actually fall between studs and none of the exterior walls are insulated. Sweet. Fortunately, however, he didn't think to glue any of it in place so it has made it slightly easier to take down. We let the kids have one piece of wall to play "Flip That House" with before commencing the tedious process of "cat clawing" the bazillions of nails out. One Saturday down, 17 to go...

Simple Things

BEFORE

I have written elsewhere about the new objection of my affection: my pantry/coat closet. And my husband, the builder of all things solid, level, and square. Important qualities for both closets AND men. =) In addition to having a respectable place to storehouse my non-perishable consumables, I also have a place for my vacuum and broom AND a low bar so the children can hang up their own coats. We have reduced the number of shoes in the closet from 11 to 6 and my paper towels are no longer stored in the garage. I even have one empty shelf on top that I plan to leave empty for now because it makes me feel RICH. My quality of living has skyrocketed.

AFTER...

MoonSand

I wonder what Jesus thinks of this....

Snow Day

Hooray for snow days!

Fatty McButterpants

10 1/2 Months Old

David busies himself as he waits to get scooped up and out the door to take the "big kids" to school this morning. Aunt MerMer, the giver of all lasting nicknames, lovingly calls him "Fatty McButterpants".

BFF's

Happy Birthday to my best good friend, Amy Lynn Morris. Today she is 29. I mean, er...um...30...something.

I would direct you to her blog to wish her a happy day, but she doesn't have one.

Feel free to leave birthday wishes for her here.

(Please someone leave at least one so she doesn't murder me.)

I love you, man! Hey, watch this!

Logical

One of the reasons I don't usually enjoy those little flip devotional calendars is that I find anything that smacks of chicken soup for my soul to be utterly unpalatable. Detestable. Repugnant. Light, fluffy not theologically sound little whatnots. Mmmm...mmm...not good! Don't like 'em. My soul likes chocolate. And other stuff.

But our dear and very generous neighbors brought our family gifts the week before Christmas. Fun shirts and Pez dispensers for each of the kids. Various forms of chocolates for us "grown ups". Knowing we are "religious" folk, they also tucked in a Max Lucado calendar and devotional. Under other circumstances I might have been more aghast, but for some reason I was so touched that I wept. Be that as it may.

The other reason I don't usually like them or anything else that I feel I have to keep up with is simply that: it is just one more thing to keep up with. Before I know it a week has passed and I haven't flipped to the next day. Not surprisingly this has happened already in the new year, but this time it has been intentionally frozen on January 19 as I continue to ponder the words on the page.

"Logical thinking will discourage you; theological thinking will encourage you." Stress Fractures p. 222

Hmmmm. Yeah. My first reaction was "That is stupid!" That is something a stupid person would say. A stupid person who lacks the capacity to think logically or critically anyway, or simply chooses not to in the name of...I don't even know what...intentional narrow-mindedness?...maintaining a "pure" mind? I don't know. But for some reason I left it on that day, and I have thought about it every day since as it sits perched on my kitchen windowsill.

I don't have the fittest mind myself, and I can't really explain it, but it has grown less stupid to me over the past ten days. I have recognized personal significance to its meaning. I would even go so far as to say I don't think it is one bit stupid. I kind of like it.

The accompanying verse for that day was not stupid either:

"It is unthinkable that God would do wrong, that the Almighty would pervert justice." Job 34:12 NIV

Selah.

Prescription Shoes

I have reached the age where shoes matter. Not so much for fashion purposes, but for supporting my achy breaky hooves. And back. For years Jeff has been warning me that all my flip-flop and casual archless slip-on shoe wearing would eventually catch up with me. I have not disagreed, but also have not taken appropriate measures to prevent this from happening. And well, now that I am getting on in years, it is happening.

Our house has been a shoe-free zone since we got married. It was a foreign concept to me and it took me a while to acclimate to this Jackson custom, but it works for our family and I reap the benefits, most days, except for on especially productive days when I actually STAY on my feet all day. Lately I have spent some long days in the kitchen in my stocking feet and they just can't take it any more. Later the same night, but especially the next morning, I struggle to walk. My tarsals ache, my ankles ache...my dogs are barkin'! Owwww!

So I went shopping this week and bought some new boy kickers, as my sister would say, after Jeff threatened to have the real-live horseshoer who attends our small group fashion me some proper shoes.

Among other things, I did find some nice SLIP-ON sneakers that are very comfy and cushiony and archy. I am just not a sneaker wearing kind of girl, but I bought them to only wear around the house, which has NOT gone unnoticed by my second generation no-shoes-in-the-house children, I might add.

So when I picked the kids up from the bus that afternoon in my snow boots and we came back home, Andrew spotted my new shoes sitting by the door and asked, "Whose orthopedic shoes?"

I don't know if I will be able to survive having a sarcastic pre-teen in the house. It's like looking in the mirror. For all those who are reading and knew me in my younger years and longed for the day my time would come, IT HAS COME! Not only do I have to deal with the likes of my very own mini-me, daily, I also have to wear orthopedic shoes. Sweet vengeance is upon me.

The next morning he asked me, "So, are you still so psyched about your new orthopedic shoes?"

Yes, I am.

Love Thy Neighbor

So last Tuesday I was driving back from printing the funeral program folders at our church. It was just the day after Sharon had died. I had a lot on my mind. Obviously. I was still mentally editing and rehearsing the eulogy, and had not yet finished the slideshow. I was on my way home to receive a meal from one our church's small groups which I needed to deliver to my father-in-law's house. We still had hundreds of folders to fold. And then I needed to drive about 30 minutes north to pick up my kids from my mom and dad's house, bring them home, take Andrew to get a haircut, look for a suit jacket for him, and still had to confirm childcare arrangements for the following day. And grocery shop. I had a lot of my mind. Not to mention I was grief-stricken and exhausted.

So I was sitting at a stoplight about a mile from my house. Front of the line.

And the light turned green.

And yeah, I guess I was just a little too lost in thought because I didn't take off promptly
enough for SOMEONE'S liking.

A burgundy minivan came FLYING up from about 3 or 4 cars back, could have been further, it was a blur, and passed me on the right.

I remember seeing a pasty complexioned hand, and a middle finger gesturing in my direction, before it swerved in front of me and slammed on the brake.

Hard.

Harder than any other such time anyone has ever tried to teach me a lesson.

I slammed on mine. Dishes from the back came flying forward.

I honked my horn.

Loudly. And longly.

So the pasty handed, minivan driving ASS did it AGAIN.

And I had to brake even harder. I think they even squealed a little.

I was livid beyond description.

I could see red. Seriously. I felt almost homicidal.

I fumbled for my phone to call 911 (on the minivan driver, not myself) but soon found that the license plate was too dirty to make out the numbers.

It continued to drive painfully slowly in front of me. I purposely lagged way behind. I was relieved to see my turn come into view. I put on my blinker to get in the turn lane, but at the last minute the van also swerved into the turn lane. The street to my subdivision is just after
said turn. I was reluctant to put on my blinker, lest it too would turn into my subdivision. I simply could not tolerate being provoked any further without harming someone. Sure enough as I was slowing to turn, it too slowed and turned into my subdivision.

GREAT!

So I went past my street and turned on the next one to come into the sub the back way, strategizing my plan of attack if the need should arise. I half expected it to be waiting for me when I got to the end of the street.

And it was.

PARKED IN ITS GARAGE!

It was someone from my own stupid neighborhood. I have talked to them before. I have gone to their garage sale for years, even before moving there, and they have come to mine. I wave to them a couple times a week.

I could not believe it.

The driver was nowhere to be seen so I still don't know if it was the mom or the teenage son. I know it wasn't the dad as I had just seen him in town.

It took all that was within me to stop myself from going up to the door to "apologize" for my wrongdoing and to let them know I was their neighbor. Their grieving neighbor. Even after I went home, I considered going back down there just to let them know who I was.

But I did not.

I had way too much to do to waste time killing anyone that day.

Life Goes On

It has been over a week since the funeral and almost two weeks since we got the dreaded phone call to say that she was gone. I am both comforted and disturbed by the passage of time. Comforted that life can go on. But equally disturbed that...well, that life can go on even with this gaping hole in our lives. How can this be?

Yes, this is all of our first (minus Meridith's husband who suffered 3 significant family losses for 3 consecutive years) encounter with the death and grief on a personal level and these feelings that are so novel to us have been a sad reality for so many before us. Though no one loss can be compared with another in terms of degree, and no two people grieve the same loss the same way, it feels a lot like the kinship I felt with other women who had given birth once I gave birth for the first time, only with a lot less joy. At the very least, you are instantly transported to a greater level of understanding, awareness, and compassion for grieving people: past, past, and future. You can identify with a degree of grief that up until that point was foreign to you.

But then life goes on. Carpets get cleaned. Primary elections get held. Trips get planned. Meals get eaten. New messes get made. Vehicles break down. And neighbors die, of the same kind of cancer your dear loved one did.

We got the call the day before yesterday that our neighbor at the end of the street had found his esophageal cancer which had been treatable 7 years ago had returned and that it was terminal. He died yesterday morning. His name was Paul. He was 65.

So Monday night we had Jeff's dad over for breakfast dinner. Right as we were sitting down to eat, one of the kids made a joke about how that was David's cue to wake up because it seems like he always does. But he didn't. Instead, the phone rang. I didn't recognize the number and assumed it was likely someone from the Mike Huckabee camp as they had been ringing my phone incessantly over the past week. But for some reason I answered it anyway. And I'm glad I did.

"Hi, Janelle, this is Kay SoandSo, you don't know me, but..."

It turned out that she used to be a neighbor of Jeff's family about 20 years ago and Sharon had led her to the Lord through some at home Bible studies they had done together. Eventually they moved away and lost contact over the years. She lives in Phoenix now, but had read Sharon's obituary online and looked up our phone number to express her shock and sympathy.

It was neat.

And comforting.

And worth giving up my hot pancakes to take the call.

Tuna Tracks

This is for those who knew me back in the glorious phase of my life when I would make up gourmet tuna entrees and delicacies just for fun:

Last night I served two of the children Moose Tracks ice cream, a family favorite. The other child, surprise surprise, wanted to wait until later. You know, after the kitchen was all cleaned up and I had sat down to watch a movie. I had used up the rest of one container on the first two kids, but I knew we had a new 1/2 gallon that our neighbor had brought over the day before. However, when I went to open it, I realized it was Turtle Tracks, not Moose Tracks. Knowing this particular child does not adapt well to such sudden changes to her dietary plans, I quickly briefed her on the differences between Turtle Tracks and Moose Tracks and assured her that I had even tried a spoonful and that it really was quite tasty.

Kathryn, who was distracted by the movie and not really paying attention, interrupted disgustedly, "WHAAAT?! Did you say TUNA tracks?"

Tuna Tracks...mmmm...that sounds good...I'll have some of that!

For those about to ROCK...

...We

salute

YOU!

We had more fun with Guitar Hero last night. Meridith and her kids, and our real rockstar friend, Dave, came over to show us how it's done. He arrived in full costume and ready to rock! It was good clean fun! The game has to go back today. Rats!

Yesterday

Thank you to everyone who took the time to view the slideshow and read my previous post about my mother-in-law, and thank you to those who commented and sent cards.

The funeral was yesterday and was a beautiful tribute to her in every way. The service was packed full of the gospel, at her request. She knew that most of her very large, predominantly unsaved family, as well as a few special friends whose souls she had prayed for for years, would be there. It was a full house. I haven't heard an exact number yet, but it was estimated between 250 and 300, with about that many at the viewing the previous afternoon and evening.

I am at a loss for even recounting the events of the day, or week, it is all still such a blur. There were just so many neat little details, but I don't even know how to do them justice or provide enough background in this space to help my readers understand their significance. So many people who came who we would not have expected. Such an outpouring of love and support from people who hardly know us. Neighbors we hadn't even met yet brought meals and desserts when word spread down our street. (Remind me to tell a tale of a not-so-very nice neighbor who made ITSELF known this week in another post...and don't be surprised if you see me on COPS sometime for aggravated assault.)

An acquaintance I made just in the last month, the mother of one of Andrew's new friends, has proved to be such a support. She brought us a meal last week before this all even happened. She and another one of Andrew's friends mothers brought a couple of snack trays with fruits, veggies, and chocolate, and water bottles to the funeral home on the day of the viewing to have in the lounge for the family. She communicated with Andrew's teacher to get his homework and brought it over when she watched my kids for one of the three shifts I had lined up that day AND best of all she brought over her son's Guitar Hero III game for Andrew to play while we were gone. Much to our great pleasure she left it. I don't know if she meant to or not, but it was here last night when we got home. It was the perfect stress relief for the evening. We were exhausted, but we played it as a family for a few hours, and Jeff and Julia stayed up till 11:30 playing it while Andrew and I fell asleep on the floor. We are closet rockers, I cannot lie. I pretty much have no skills, due to my lack of eye hand coordination, or coordination in general...I fell down the stairs this morning, but it is a TON of fun! I am working on perfecting The Seeker by The Who, but so far I am getting whooped by my kids.

I will leave you with one special story. It seems special, anyway, it made the day for me. Jeff's sister, Meridith, had the idea to get white balloons for the grandchildren to release at the cemetery following the burial service. Kind of like blowing kisses to Gramma. Some of the grandchildren had prepared notes to attach. On cue, they were released and up, up, up they soared. Within a minute they were all nearly out of sight, all but two. Two got caught up in a tree nearby. None of us knew whose they were, but it was heartbreaking to me to see them left behind. Most people had already gone back to their cars and were leaving, but the family stayed behind to wait to see if they broke free. Slowly one was liberated, but the other one seemed hopelessly stuck. The breeze seemed to have no effect on it. The others were long gone. I prayed. And waited. I did not want to leave, but it was time. As I started to get in the van, I heard some commotion and looked up to see it had come loose and begun flying upward. Kind of silly, I know. It isn't as if any of them would actually make it to heaven, but it seemed like a little miracle, or a little blessing anyway, for our family.

Here is a little slideshow from last night. There is no audio.

It's a long way to the top, if you wanna rock and roll!

Slideshow

A huge thank you to Mr. Dave Loven for posting this for me and for helping me salvage some otherwise unusable photos for the slideshow. And thank you to Casting Crowns for recording good music for me to use without written permission.

January 7, 2008

Sharon Mary Jackson
September 6, 1945 - January 7, 2008

“For I am the LORD, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and
says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.” ~Isaiah 41:13

Dear Jesus

"Dear Jesus, why did God make a bad choice?" prayed the littlest girl.

Yes, she was talking about Gramma. =(

Yes, she is still hanging on...God bless!

Hanging Tough

It has been a week since Sharon's IV has been out. She is still hanging on.

She very weakly slurred, "I am STRONG, Janelle!" on Monday.

I should have taken her seriously. I was too taken aback that she had not only recognized my voice when she seemed so unaware of her surroundings, but also had heard me quietly exclaim about her strength to Dad when I was helping her sit up.

She is strong. Good-NIGHT!

She is resting comfortably. She does not appear to be suffering. She is showing all the signs now. It won't be long. She is ready. We are as ready as we'll ever be.

It still doesn't seem real. I hate it.

The End is Near

The hospice nurse confirmed the day before yesterday that it could be any time now, but that she did not believe Sharon (my mother-in-law) would be here next weekend. She is exhibiting signs of decline, but not the worst of the worst yet. She is resting comfortably, mostly, and she is at home. Jeff's dad is continuing to do a phenomenal job in caring for her. I am amazed every time I see him in action at how well-composed he is and how tenderly he cares for her. I believe she would not receive better care anywhere right now and that he is every bit as dear as she.

We did have our family Christmas a week ago today as planned and it went well. She was able to be awake for a few hours and was aware enough of her surroundings for it to be meaningful for her. She has been declining steadily ever since.

She is still responsive and recognizes us when we come. She usually tries to talk, but has been making less and less sense over the past 10 days or so since her drug dosages have been increased. Due to their effects, we don't know from one word to the next what she is going to come out with and some of it has been hilarious! We all feel like we can laugh about it without being disrespectful to her and it provides a little relief from the grief at hand, even for a minute.

Tonight as Jeff and I stood by her bed and he touched her arm to get her attention, she turned her eyes toward us and began squinting. She very weakly and slowly said, "You guys are all blue!" Thinking she meant our mood, Jeff assured her we were doing okay and that we weren't blue. She said, "You guys are all PAINTED blue!" And she would not be convinced that we were not the color blue, no matter what Jeff said. Finally she gave up. She rolled her eyes before closing them tightly and shaking her head as she pointed her finger at us and said softly, "You guys are NUTS!"

It was sweet.

Please pray. Pray for her peace and comfort. Pray for Dad's strength, emotionally and physically. And for all of us. Pray that what ever purpose God has in this will be fulfilled, on earth or in heaven. That is her greatest prayer.

Baby Got Book

(Thanks to my good friend Dave 2.0, not to be confused with D2, who is always privy to the funniest little whatnots on the web.)

Merry Christmas!

A Happy Day

Jeff's youngest sister got re-married on Saturday. It would have been a joyous day anyway. We were all happy for her to have found such a good fellow to love and marry, but it was made even more joyous by the presence of Jeff's mom who was able to be there. It was no small effort she made, nor was the price she paid for her exertion, but she was there. And she looked lovely. And it was good!

My Week in Review

Monday I had to evacuate my house in the middle of doing tendyhundred things because my carbon monoxide detector was going off. Incessantly. Waited in my van with children till help arrived. False alarm. Bad batteries.

Today I was first on the scene of an accident involving a feverish Vietnam veteran and a tree. I was lost in thought, busily composing an upcoming writing project in my mind when I saw him lose control just ahead of me on the exit ramp. In slow motion I watched as he struggled to right his veering vehicle before going down an embankment and hitting SEVERAL trees.

This is the second time I have found myself in this position.

I am considering becoming an EMT...as long as I can choose to respond to only those calls which do not involve blood or anything else I don't want to see.

He was inscathed. I waited with him until the police arrived.

Oh and I had an anxiety attack at small group Tuesday. Sometimes people make me very anxious.

My mother-in-law is not doing well. Please pray that her suffering will be minimal, that her husband will continue to have the strength to care for her at home, and that she will be able to have some wakeful periods on Sunday when we celebrate Christmas at their house.

Holiday Cheer

Christmas is a joyous time of re-connecting with old friends...and family members...


Yesterday we received this card in the mail. In the interest of protecting their identities, I won't call them by name, but have I told you lately that I love Jeff's family? In the midst of the dreariest Christmas season our (or THEIR) family has ever known, they took the time to continue a delightful tradition, the photo Christmas card. Never too busy to find time to laugh. Never too consumed with grief to pass up a chance to brighten someone else's day.

The back was inscribed with a request to move in with us just till their baby, Cletus, is born because their RV got re-po'ed.

Thanks, guys! Of course you can!

Good News!

The doctor himself just phoned and said everything came back "normal". We will continue to observe. Thank you, Lord!

Child’s Eyes

How often I have wished to possess the faith of a child, the innocence of a child, the I-don't-have-a-care-in-the-world spirit of a child, or the wonder of a child at things that one time I found dazzling. Christmas. Birthdays. Trips to the movie theater. (Oh that's right, I still find that dazzling.) Anyway. We've all felt the longing to experience a life that didn't involve too much thinking or feeling or analyzing, one like we might have lived before this life got too complicated.

That's all dandy till you are talking to your 4 year old trying to calm her anxieties regarding an upcoming battery of medical tests and you begin to realize what it is she THINKS they are going to do to her.

I thought I had prepared her for the most painful test which was to be the blood draw. I had walked her through what to expect including pushing up her sleeve, placing a rubber band around her arm, feeling for veins, swiping her arm with a wet cotton ball, and finally pinching her skin as if to poke her. I knew she wasn't looking forward to it, but she hadn't talked about it in days. This morning as we were getting ready to go to the hospital, she became quite teary at the possibility of having pictures of her insides taken. I couldn't imagine why this would be traumatic to consider aside from it just being an unfamiliar process, but I assured her it would be painless and quick. Then she asked with quivering lips and tear-filled eyes, "But will they have to take my skin off?" Because how ELSE could pictures of her insides be taken? Sheesh. I am thankful for my ability to think like an adult today. But only today.

Everything went fine. She smiled sweetly for each X-ray as if that, too, would be captured on film and lend some clue as to her internal condition. And she didn't shed a tear for the blood draw.

And it is nothing critical, as far as we know, just some pre-cautionary measures being taken to calm Mom's adult anxieties.

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.