Friday Night Dates

My husband is a duck.  Or a seal.  Or some sort of water-loving creature.   My seven-year old is as well.   The nine month old seems to be following in their footsteps….er….paddling along behind them.   I don swimsuits quite frequently because my family loves it.   I had plenty of swimming lessons growing up so I am a passable swimmer.  I just would prefer the hot tub and a good book.    My family wore me down and we just bought a swimming pool.   It’s a simple above ground pool but promises to be a prominent part of our summer plans.

Last night our Friday night date involved putting together the swimming pool.  It came in a very large box.    My favorite part of the whole process is the box.  It’s currently sitting in our family room being utilized by the seven-year old as a cave.  She’s tucked in with a whole stack of books.  I made her day when I let her eat her dinner in it.

When the resident chef and I first got married we owned a futon, a hand me down bed and an old desk we got at a work garage sale.    One of our first big purchases was a dinning room table and chairs.    We had to put them together.    We argued and stomped and growled and some of the chairs still wobble a bit.     We do directions a lot better than we first got married.  Fourteen years of practice and frequent trips to IKEA will do that.

Last night we let the seven-year old help.   The baby was taking a nap.   She knows how to crawl now.   This is not helpful.   Cute but not helpful so timing the great pool put together party with a nap was critical.     The three of us successfully read the directions, removed all the packaging and snapped the edges together.   My husband stood inside and held up the walls of the pool while the seven-year old and I  attached all the footings.    We stood back and felt a great sense of accomplishment because  we didn’t argue a bit.  Praised the seven-year old for her help.   Then we realized that two of us were outside the pool and one of us was not.    The ladder was still in pieces.   Oops.

Part of me wanted to hold him hostage.   I threatened to leave him there until morning.   The seven-year old grinned.   I realized that dinner wasn’t complete yet and the competent cook in our family was trapped in an empty pool.   I found the directions for the ladder.  The resident chef hunkered in for a long wait.

I love this little girl.   We worked well together.   We rescued the sheepish chef.    The seven-year old retreated to play in her box.    I sat and fed the baby and watched my spouse finish our dinner.    Chicken Stroganoff.    This wasn’t the Friday night date with roses and romance.   It was better.

 

Pinterest Lies

This is a cautionary tale. Pinterest lies. When I peruse Pinterest I get caught up in lists of great books and darling photos of baby animals. I laugh at stupid jokes, collect random quotes, wonder about the women who choose to paint their fingernails to look like cupcakes and I pin an occasional DIY page. For those of you not sucked in DIY means Do it Yourself. Not that I’ve actually done any of the brilliant DIY pages. I just pin them. Until this last week.

My family had an appointment to get our photo taken for the new church directory.

Side bar: A church directory is just a phone book with photos. Those of you who don’t attend or are new to attending church probably don’t fully appreciate the amazing function that a church directory serves. See what happens at church after the singing and before the sermon is a nifty little two-minute time called greeting. This is where you ooh and ahh at new babies, make lunch plans, welcome visitors, practice your handshake, catch up on your weekly hug quota and stretch your legs before settling in for the sermon. The problem is that after several weeks of greeting the same people you reach a point where you really can not again ask for their name. Here is where the new church directory is golden. Picture = name = no more weird greeting times.

Anyway. We had an appointment for family photos. I got home from work and realized we’d not picked out what we were going to wear. This put me into a slight mode of panic. One of my life goals is to never have a family photo qualify for the Awkward Family Photos website. Basically if you can control your hair, stick to plain backgrounds, leave the props at home and not wear matching plaid I think you are safe. We picked cute dresses for the girls and the resident chef voted for white button up shirts and jeans. Simple enough.

Problem is I’m only six months past my maternity jeans. My cute jeans don’t fit yet. I think this might have more to do with the package of Oreo’s I just finished off than the baby but that really is not the point. The point is that I bought a new pair of jeans just a couple of days prior. I’m short. They were too long. I had a Pinterest Pin that said “WHAT? This is absolutely amazing. Why am I just learning how to do this??? How to hem jeans the correct way leaving the original edging intact”. The pin had step by step photos and promised that I could hem my jeans properly in just 15 minutes.

I waddled into my spouse’s office roughly twenty minutes before we needed to leave for our photo appointment and asked him to fold up my jeans to the proper length. He gave me one of his looks. He asked if I really thought this was an appropriate time to be hemming jeans. I said “Of course, Pinterest says it only takes 15 minutes”. He snorted but dutifully turned my cuffs up.

I waddled downstairs and shrugged off my jeans and carefully followed the steps to hem. I pulled the first pant leg out and realized I’d sewn the leg shut. So I sighed. This is where I should have quit. Instead I pulled out the seam. This is where I should have remeasured. Instead I guessed. I followed the rest of the pin and successfully got everything to match the photos. This is where I should have checked the jeans. Instead I quite confidently cut off the excess.

I put the jeans back on and strutted upstairs. My sweet spouse looked at me. He held back a grin. He asked “When do you start your shift at Pirates of the Caribbean?” Ah Sarcasm. I snorted. I said “I know….what do I do to fix it?” He said “Put on a different pair of jeans”. I clearly need to stay off Pinterest. A friend sent me a pin about how to turn a pair of jeans into a hip little jean skirt. I believe she may be mocking me. Either that or trying to provide me with more blog material.

 

Pavlovian Response

The choral group from Sandy Hook Elementary who performed at the Super Bowl caught my heart. I was in love when those sweet kids started swaying back and forth. That gentle choreography was a sharp contrast to the violence they faced not long ago. It was also more effective entertainment than the dark high booted half time show. A friend’s kid wanted to know why the girls didn’t have any clothes on. Good question.

A better question is why a 30 second Super Bowl ad is worth 4 Million Dollars. Don’t misunderstand. I like the ads. The farmer one made me cry. I laughed out loud at the space babies. I’m a sucker when those Budweiser horses show up. I did not understand the dancing fish. Not crazy about the voodoo football guys. I have a minor in marketing. It made me cynical enough to be very careful about what ads my kids watch. I also tend to personally deconstruct ads I’m watching. A lot of very intelligent people have spent hours studying the effect of advertising on consumer behavior. Apparently consumers have a pavlovian response to inane ads and promptly rush out and buy enough product to warrant the advertising dollars. Hence 4 million dollars for 30 seconds.

The best question however is if a 30 second ad is worth 4 Million Dollars because consumers respond, then why does the media industry expect us to believe that hours of violent movies or video games will have no effect on our behavior?

I recognize that not everyone who watches violent TV shows or movies is going to rush out and commit mass murder. Just like not everyone who watches a dad in a wedding dress is going to rush out and buy Doritos. But I wonder if the marketing guys are right. When I’m at the store do I now tend to gravitate to Doritos? The studies say so. After a violent movie I am not going to pick up a gun and head out the door to cause another tragedy. But do I tend to gravitate to a nasty attitude? Does my response to my children get harsher? Do I drive more recklessly? Do I wait patiently or do I snap? Do I argue from a rational perspective or does the debate deteriorate to name calling. Oh wait. That’s what politicians do. Wonder how much TV they watch.

According to the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry studies reveal that children watch approximately 28 hours of television a week, more time than they spend in school. The typical American child will view more than 200,000 acts of violence, including more than 16,000 murders before age 18. Oh wait. I was talking about the esteemed politicians. Not children. Pardon me.

I believe a society that is gorging on a diet of visual blood and hate and anger is in trouble. Which brings me back to those sweet Sandy Hook kids. Want to join me in softening our culture? Want to push back on some darkness?

Turn Off Your TV.

Take a walk. Hug your kids. Pray. Read. Dance. Cook. Call a friend. Go for a run. Play with Play-Doh. or Legos. or dress up clothes.

Turn Off Your TV.

Volunteer. Blow Bubbles. Pet your dog. Make cookies. Eat all the dough. Smile. Laugh.

Turn Off Your TV.

Pick up trash. Plant flowers. Read the Bible. Sing. Tell a joke. Eat gummy bears.

Turn Off Your TV.

There. I repeated the message. I’ve marketed appropriately. Now do your part.

⁸ Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8

 

A formidable combination

My mother turned 65 yesterday. We threw her a big surprise party. Family and friends from all over came into town. Aunts and uncles, cousins, small group members, new friends and old.

We ate wedge salad with blue cheese and bacon, steak and pork and oddly colored ravioli. We had cake; chocolate, cream cheese carrot, red velvet and tuxedo. I honestly don’t know what was in the tuxedo cake but it was pretty so we bought it. My mom likes pretty things. We all like cake.

We talked about my mom. She’s incredible. She’s funny and charming and silly and fierce. She is tenacious and intelligent and mischievous and profound. She is a good friend. My dad smiled when he talked about her. My daughter said she loved her grandma really a lot. My sister cried. I quoted Nelson Mandela and said that “a good mind and a good heart are a formidable combination”.

My mom likes to tell me on my birthdays to double my age and think about how much life I have left. I think its supposed to spur me on to appreciate each day and redeem my moments for things that matter. Yesterday I mentally doubled her age and my heart hurt. You see, my mom is 65. She’s not going to double her age. And then I remembered Proverbs 31. Not that bit about a good wife who can cook and keep a house organized (although my mother’s pork chops are lovely and her napkins are always ironed). Not the bit about how her industry makes sure her family is not hungry (although as her business partner I can attest to her talent). I remembered this bit:

She is clothed in strength and dignity and she laughs without fear of the future. Proverbs 31:25 That’s my mama.

My heart is full of lessons from my mom; Wink. Watch your grammar. Take dinner to sick friends. Put butter on your popcorn. Improve your vocabulary. Dance in your kitchen. Read lots of books. Don’t give up on the Seahawks. Say yes more than no. Travel. Use your good crystal often. Read The Hiding Place whenever you have a bad attitude. Take very hot baths. Buy comfy shoes. Invest in people. Stand up against injustice. Laugh often. Hold hands. Date your spouse. Hold your faith.

When my mom stood up at her party last night she thanked her friends and family for coming. She thanked them for their love. And she reminded them that her life is for Christ. We all hope and trust that she has bright years ahead to travel and read and serve and laugh. But beyond that, she has eternity. So her tomorrows are all secure. Corrie Ten Boom said it best “Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.”

Happy Birthday Mom.

 

 

 

 

Reading Olympics

My eldest daughter is a reader.   She comes by it quite naturally.  She’s spent the last six years of her life being read to and watching us read.   I’m trusting that her baby sister will join in the love of books as she gets older.   If not, she’s going to have a rough time getting our attention when all three of us have our noses in books.

The first grader’s school runs a contest all year called Reading Olympics.    To participate you just fill out a calendar each month with how much you read each day.    I’m worried that this year the people who keep track aren’t going to believe that we filled it in properly.    The six-year-old discovered Diary of  Wimpy Kid at the library.   She can’t put it down.   I read part of it with her.  We were giggling quite hysterically.   I told her if she got any ideas or picked up attitude we were shelving Greg Hefley.   I figure I survived reading Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing and didn’t turn out too bad.

She received a set of several more of them for Christmas along with a couple of Baby Mouse books.  After she opened her first book on Christmas morning she promptly started reading.   We had to tell her to put the book down to open her next gift.  She reminds me of me. Really the whole point of this blog was to share this photo.    Add a pair of glasses and you have me thirty years ago.

 

My first grader and I have many similarities.  We are both fiercely protective and amazingly proud big sisters.   We both don’t shy away from a microphone.   We are both learning to stand up for the under dog and love the bully into submission.

There are some ways that my daughter is nothing like me.  Ways that I am very proud of her.  Ways that she’s a lot like her dad.

She’s way tougher than I ever was at her age.   She can do the entire monkey bar circuit at school.   She beat a third grader at tether ball.    I never beat a kid at tether ball.   I think the third graders would still beat me.   In fact….I’m pretty sure my first grader could beat me.   I asked her how she accomplished this feat.   She says that a friend told her the secret tip.   According to the first grade girls you wind up the ball, fling it behind your back and then throw it as hard as you can.

She loves science.   For Christmas we got her a Snap Circuit set (very cool…check it out here).    She can now explain resisters, circuits and the path that electricity follows.    I even understood what she was talking about.   She and her dad have been spending at least an hour a day since Christmas building simple machines.  They just completed a cool art spinning motor.    I love girls who love science.   I love dads that hang out with their daughters.

My baby girl and I are sitting in front of the fire while the two scientists putter in the other room.    I’m blogging.   Shocker I know.   It’s because my sister-in-law and my sister ganged up on me today and told me it was time.   They are probably right.   The baby next to me is celebrating the fact that she has a new skill.  She knows how to roll over.    Life is about to get very interesting.   Wonder who she’ll turn out to be like.

 

Baby dedication

Yesterday was an important day.   We dedicated our baby girl to the Lord.    A baby dedication is like a baptism or christening.   Dedications are a ceremony at church where you dress your finest, invite the whole family, listen to the pastor’s instruction, promise to do your best to raise a Godly and loving child and then listen while the pastor prays a blessing on the baby.   During all this you hold your breath and hope baby (and hyper hormonal mom) don’t cry while everyone is staring. 

Here I am in one of the two dresses that actually fit in my post baby body.   The first one I wore the day before to a wedding.   My six-year-old is wearing her flower girl dress.   My husband is wearing a very cool shirt he got off Ebay.   Baby is wearing the dedication gown that her big sister wore six years ago.   It was made by my aunt from a pattern that matched her daughter’s.   I cried when I opened it.   The bonnet is my favorite.   

I’m  not sure if big sister thought baby was going to fall out, if she was worried the dress was too long so she was hiding it or if she just wanted to hold on.   I know I want to hold onto my baby sister and my daughters most of the time.  Letting go is hard.    Part of a dedication is remembering that we don’t own our children.  They belong to God.  We just get the amazing privilege to care and guide them for a little while.

This photo makes me happy.   Our family stretches all the way across the front of the church.   I love that people came from near and far to attend.   I love that this family includes people who are grafted in by years of friendship.   I love all the cousins, they were perfect.   I love that all our parents were present and that they invest in my girls.   I miss my grandmothers. 

I love that Jesus told his disciples not to send the children away.   I love that my daughters were both dedicated in the church I grew up in and where my spouse and I were married.  I love that my pastor loves babies.  I love that my eldest is impish enough to be grinning into the camara in the middle of this prayer.    

I think she gets the spunk from me and she has my grin.   I love that my tall strong husband is gently guiding the little one off the stage.    He’s a good man.  I’m grateful to share the job of raising these two with him.

 

It was a good day.  I’m grateful.

Clean Desks Are Suspect

Last year we were in Disneyland when our daughter’s school had curriculum night.   This meant that all last year we were trying to pry information out of the then five year old.   She didn’t really care what reading group she was in or what math concept they were learning.   This year we attended curriculum night.   It was very helpful. 

I’m a planner.  I really like lists and calendars and any sort of app on my phone that keeps track of data.  When I was in school I loved getting the class syllabus and looking at the course schedule.  I was and am a proud nerd.  

Our six year old marched us around her room.  We saw where her coat hangs.  We peeked in her mail box.   We reviewed the class rules.   She then showed us her desk.   I laughed.  It looked a lot like mine in first grade.   Messy.   When I was in first grade I attended a private school.   This meant the teachers had a little more leeway in punishments.   So every day the entire year I was in trouble.  Not because I acted out.  It was because my desk was a mess.   Right before recess my teacher would give me a choice.   She’d say “Mindy, your desk is still messy.  Do you want a spankin’ or do you want to miss recess….again?”.   I missed recess.  The little boy who sat next to me picked the spanking.  Every day. 

My daughter had only been in school for a week and she already had wadded up papers,  crayons, wrappers and oddly enough a plastic fish all jumbled together.   I sat beside her on a little plastic chair and helped her bring order to the chaos.  Not that I think it will last. 

I have a photo of my dad’s desk in college hanging above my desk at work. Its a mess.   It blends in with the disorder on my desk and reminds me of my daughter.   We’re creative, industrius, hardworking people.   It makes a mess.  Clean desks make me nervous.