Farewell Summer

I like living in a place where school starts after Labor Day. I also like living in a place that experiences 4 distinct seasons that largely correspond with their start and end dates on the calendar. There seems to be this large communal deep breath as we all take in the last bits of summer over Labor Day weekend. Even the folks without kids are winding down their summer travels, camping trips, etc. And those of us with (school age) kids are of course enjoying our last hurrah before going back to that educational grind. The days here are growing a little milder and a little breezier and a lot shorter. Some of the leaves are even starting to change. So instead of just one more sweltering day, Labor Day was actually a perfect day for a family trip to the zoo. The only condition we imposed on ourselves was that we would go first thing in the morning since lots of other people would have the same idea. We arrived around 9:15am and had a really nice time. By 12:30 or 1:00, the kids had had their fill and we headed out just as it began to really get crowded and a little warmer. The timing really was perfect.

Here are some pics to commemorate the Young family's last 'unofficial' day of summer 2007.




The sea lions and sea otters at "Stellar Cove" are a mandatory stop for me.





Betcha didn't know how important it is to keep your volcanic peaks adequately hydrated.






Yeah, when the kids faces look like that, it's time to go.






It's an eagle's nest. Get it? They're being eagles. Humor them.

Triple Onion Soup with Triple Cheese Toast

I adore French Onion soup, so I was anxious to try this one. At least until I read through the ingredients list and discovered leeks and shallots. I'm guessing I can find these things in produce, but outside of that I have no clue. Fortunately, Erik did the shopping that day and he was able to track them down.

I have accepted the fact that I can not do what Rachael Ray does in 30 minutes, which is how long every recipe in this book is supposed to take including all the slicing and dicing. Whatever. I began chopping at 5:00. I believe we sat down to eat around 6:45.

What Rachael fails to take into consideration is how many times the 4 year old will stand outside your 2nd floor apartment window calling out "mo-om!" or how many times the baby will drop his plug out of his mouth and begin wailing in distress.

I did not get off to a good start when I thought it would be fine to just go ahead and drop the butter into the soup pot first. As my butter began to burn, I realized that she actually had a reason for telling me to put the olive oil in first and then "add" the butter. Point taken.

And then there were the leeks. I have begun to allow additional time to look up further info on the internet and this was one of those times. The instructions said simply to cut into "half moons", wash, and drain. Huh???? I tried to find pictures or further instruction online but to no avail. I will say this in hindsight. It would be fine without the silly leeks. Double onion is just fine with me.

Oh yeah, the prep time was also extended when I realized that my crusty bread purchased a few days ago had become far too crusty and my husband had eaten most of it anyway, so I had to place a quick call to him at work that he would be dashing out to the store for more bread as soon as he got home.

So overall, not what one would call smooth, but it did taste pretty good even with the 2 extra cups of broth I added. I won't even go into that.

Just thought I'd share a little bit of the comic stylings of Heather in the kitchen. Believe it or not, I'm making progress.

When God was handing out taste in feminine literature, I must have gone to pee. . . .

I have a confession to make. I am not proud of it and must admit it makes me feel somewhat incomplete as a woman.

I have never read a Jane Austen novel.

I haven't even seen any of the movies. I tried to once in my mid 20's but honestly I can't even remember which book it was. That's how disinterested I was. I just feel so inadequate and just generally unhip whenever people start talking all Mr. Darcy and Emma and whatnot.

But recently while at our public library, I actually left the children's area and wandered into adult fiction where I stumbled across Miss Jane's portion of the shelf. I thought to myself that perhaps I should give it another go, but I really don't know where to start.

This is where you come in dear readers. I know there aren't many of you, but I do know that you are primarily well read women. Where should a Jane Austen virgin begin? Maybe something without too many characters to keep up with? Should I brush up on English propriety of that era? (See, I don't even know what era she wrote in.) Or have I passed my Jane Austen prime now that I am solidly in my late 30's and rapidly approaching the next decade?

Any and all comments/advice are appreciated.

p.s. I did come home with an Elizabeth Berg tome, so I am not completely hopeless. Just lacking when it comes to the classics.

My new friend . . . and future enemy

Since being on maternity leave (not vacation as some of my co-workers believe) I have indulged a bit in one of my guilty pleasures. Daytime TV. I believe it was with my first child that I discovered "Trading Spaces" and with my second there was my afternoon getaway with Samantha Brown on "Great Hotels". Now we are back to basic cable so my options have been a bit limited. But I decided to give this little Rachael Ray gal a go and see what the big deal was and if she could help at all with my, ummmm, disorder. Well, I was sucked in enough to track down one of her cookbooks at the library and let me tell you, it has been quite a good time. I have prepared a meal for my family at least twice and sometimes 3 times a week. Even had friends over to join us. Erik has even taken seconds of a few things, which is one of my measures of true success.

I think what I like is that Rachael comes the closest to presenting a recipe in a manner that doesn't make me start twitching before it's all done. She does throw in random ingredients that I have no idea what they actually are, much less where to find them. (I have yet to locate a can of smoked paprika anywhere.) She also tends to rather high end ingredients. I think I've made 3 recipes with Gruyere cheese, which I do love, but it does not come cheap. The good news is that our grocery budget has recently been expanded - I may do a separate post about that - but it is a temporary situation. Eventually, the carriage will turn back into a pumpkin and I won't be able to afford her anymore, which means I will have no option but to hate her.

But until then, we're eatin' gooooood!

Prayer and perspective

Sometimes, folks will ask what is so different about Orthodoxy or what it is that I get out of it. I often find myself using the word "perspective". It is not that it has changed my beliefs, but rather has taken me on this walk to view and experience my faith from a different angle. I have this mental picture of actually walking around the perimeter of something and then stopping to look and realizing that from that particular vantage point the same thing looks very different. The object doesn't change, but my perspective does.

Case in point, prayer. Most of the praying I have known in my life involved claiming God's promises, speaking boldly (and sometimes loudly)about your requests and needs as well as your worship and adoration. It wasn't necessarily greedy self-centered prayers just very direct and audible and "me" based.

Now for a little different perspective. These are some excerpts from a series of books by Fr. Thomas Hopko entitled "The Orthodox Faith" specifically regarding prayer.
"Sometimes prayer is defined as a dialogue with God."

So far so good. This is just what I have always been taught and believed. But it goes on with the following.

"This definition is sufficient if we remember that it is a dialogue of silence, carried on in the silence of our hearts."

Whoah, there's a twist. A couple of paragraphs later it even says that

"Saying prayers is not the same as praying. Prayer should be done secretly, briefly, regularly, without many words, with trust in God that he hears, and with the willingness to do what God shows us to do."

Now that is almost a world apart from what I have known . . . up to now at least. But the thing is, it's still prayer as communicating with God, but it is a different way to look at the purpose and practice of it. I don't feel like it invalidates what I have known in the past, but it does fill out and give a much broader meaning to what prayer is. Here is the really tough part that to me truly alters the perspective of my motivation to pray. Quite frankly, it rings true in my heart while scaring the bujeezers out of me.

"The purpose of prayer is to have communion with God and to be capable of accomplishing His will. Christians pray to enable themselves to know God and to do His commandments. Unless a person is willing to change himself and to conform himself to Christ in the fulfillment of his commandments, he has no reason or purpose to pray. According to the saints, it is even spiritually dangerous to pray to God without the intention of responding and moving along the path that prayer will take us."

See it? Prayer becomes about changing me and not the world around me. It becomes about what I can be transformed to, by and for God and not what He can make happen.

Perspective is a good thing.

Sweet Oregon goodness

It is that time of year again. I have said it before and I'll say it again. If you have never had an Oregon berry of any sort then you have no idea what that humble little fruit is capable of. Not to mention how many freaking varieties there are. Aside from your basic straw, rasp, and blue, we've got your marion, logan, tay, huckle, sylvan, olallie . . . the list goes on and on.



Now you have to understand that I grew up in Arkansas, where narry a berry ever crossed my lips. While it is an agricultural area and we had a large garden for many years, I guess the climate and such is not conducive to fruit as much as veggies and I just wasn't interested in the stuff from the produce department much less in a can. My mom and sister were always quite passionate about strawberries, but I could never figure out why they always added about 2 cups of sugar to a bowl of them to get them down. Even though I wasn't a fan, that still seemed like some sort of desecration to me. Until 2 years ago, I thought all strawberries were quite firm and always white in the center. And then I moved here. Holy flippin cow.





And the very best thing is that almost anywhere you live here in the Portland area, you can get to a "pick your own" farm in about 15 minutes. Unfortunately, the strawberry season is a short one, so both this year and last we were only able to make one trip. These pictures were taken the week before I went into labor when I still thought I had a month left in my pregnancy. In the 3 weeks it took me to recover, the strawberries disappeared.












After the strawberries are gone it's time for raspberries, blackberries and all of their relatives. This week was about marionberries, and no we're not talking about the former mayor of Washington D.C. It's a blackberry hybrid that I have been told you can only get in this area, but I'm not convinced that is true. This here bucket o' berries cost us all of 5 bucks. Oh, did I mention that at U-pick farms, the prices run about $1.25 a pound. And are you catching the blackness of these blackberries? You are looking at a big bucket of YUM! We made a crisp that night and the rest are frozen for smoothies and ice cream toppings and so on. Ah yes, it's one of those things that make all that rain worth it.

Thank you SSA

Well, thanks to those stellar employees at the Social Security Administration, my new son has a new middle name. For those who may not know, we chose "Jude". The U.S. government, however, felt this would be more appropriate.

A new record

I actually prepared an evening meal for my family 3 nights in a row. AAANND, they were all edible. Didn't have to order emergency pizza or anything. One of the recipes was even worth saving for future use. You may laugh, but for me that is pure success. There may be a homemaker in me yet.

Stupid Upgrade

Yeah, so I finally upgraded my template so I could take advantage of all the wonderful improvements since Google took over Blogger. Now my name doesn't fit in the "about me" portion and my widgets are gone and for all its simplicity I can't figure out how to get them back. Not that any of you care about what is in my personal library, but it makes me happy and now it's gone. Oh, and I hate the font of my header, but I have absolutely no idea how to change that. Grrrr.....

I'll try to blog something of more note soon.

The Perfect Storm

On May 30th Erik received an email from a prof at George Fox who was looking to hire a student or 2 for a project he would be working on in southern Oregon for about 4-5 days. It is work that Erik has done before with this prof and he enjoys it. To get paid for it would be a bonus particularly considering it would be about the same amount that he would make in a month of work at REI. Seems like a no brainer, right? Here's the catch. The trip is to take place June 10 - 14. I believe it was just the day before when Erik and I had been discussing how huge my belly was and how neither of believed I would make it to week 40. When we agreed to select a date, he actually chose the 13th. I went more conservative with the 17th thinking how charming it would be to give birth on Father's Day. The overall point being, we both were confident the baby would come early, so how much of a risk would we be taking with him being gone for 5 days this late in the game. But we also knew that if he didn't go, and the baby did not arrive we would totally be kicking ourselves for passing up the opportunity not to mention the $$ right before I start maternity leave. So we discuss and agree that he will take the trip and if the baby comes, it comes and lots of fathers miss it, but life goes on.

The following week on June 4th, I have my regular weekly appointment and when the nurse takes my blood pressure, she looks at me and says "you're not usually high, are you?" To which I promptly reply "no, never". She takes it again and again I am in the 140/90 range which is not horrible, but for someone who hangs around the 120/60 area, it puts up this big waving red flag. Great. So in a nutshell, they send me home with this jug to collect a 24 hour urine sample, tell me to take the next 2 days off of work and come back on Wednesday the 6th to check the bp again. I have never missed a day of work for anything pregnancy related so I don't like this one bit, but I follow the orders. Let me just say though, how difficulat it is to go home with the instruction that 'we have some concerns, so we need you to go home and relax'. Sure, no problem. I'll just relax. Go back on Wednesday and the bp is now 167 or 176 over something ridiculous. They take it again and it drops down to 158 over something - still too high. Oh yeah, I failed to mention that Erik also had a retreat coming up on Friday and Saturday for the class he had been teaching. Not as far away as the other trip, but 2 full days of class regardless. So I of course then burst into tears over the fact that we have one day until he is gone for a full week and I am now considered a moderate to high risk pregnancy. I have never been any risk, in fact, I tend to be a downright boring pregnancy! This is not right at all! They start talking preeclampsia and induction and all kinds things that terrify me. Ultimately, the decision made was to admit me for 24 hours of monitering and then determine what the risk factor truly is at this point. I'm a little relieved though none too happy about spending the night in the hospital. They get me all set up in my room and Erik goes to make arrangements for the kids and work and such so he can spend the night with me. Meanwhile, they hook me up to the monitor to take my bp every 10 minutes and lo and behold it begins to drop down to the 130's range. Amidst the variety of folks talking to me we go from checking to see if I am "favorable" for an induction to the possibilty of being sent home. Finally, I was discharged with instruction to once again 'take it easy', no more work, and twice a week visits to the clinic for bp and urine checks. I promise Erik that I get the message and I will not worry one bit about any of the dishes in the kitchen or laundry to be done. I will absolutely chill out until he gets back from his trip, and then I will breathe a huge sigh of relief and probably have the baby soon after he gets home once all the stress is gone.

So we decide to leave Q and A at the neighbors place overnight so we can just get a good night's rest. The next morning I get up and decide to do a little of my prenatal yoga to help me start the day nice and relaxed. It was working just fine until my water broke. And we're off again! Only this time we know we will not leave the hospital again without a baby. What I did not expect was that my labor would never really get started on it's own despite the water breaking. I called the midwife just to let her know we would probably be in sometime, but she quickly corrected me and let me know that under my current circumstances they wanted me to head right in to the hospital so I could be monitored there. Lovely. Again we do as we're told all the while waiting for some kind of regular contractions to kick in which they never do. That monster Pitocin is there just around the corner lying in wait for me, I just know it. My midwife checks in with me, we talk again of what some of the risks are that we are looking at with my water already broken and my bp still running on the high end of the spectrum. She said she would give it about 12 hours before she really starts getting pushy about moving things along. After she leaves, Erik and I talk and agree that if we end up with Pitocin, we really don't want to start the process at 8:00pm just as I'm really starting to get tired. So we set 2:00pm as the deadline.
Again, because of the stupid bp, I have to be - at the very least - hooked up to a fetal monitor along with periodic bp checks so I am not allowed to leave the room and wander the halls in an effort to get things moving.



They were kind enough to let me have some kind of wireless fetal monitor so I could at least pace around my room and we did have windows with a halfway decent view. Still nothing. 2:00 comes and goes. Around 2:30 Maggie - my midwife - and her student show up to discuss. It still takes me awhile, but Erik and I both know this is what needs to happen. We all have our vision of what our birth experience should look like, but I really did not want to be foolish either. So we give the green light to get the pit drip started. It takes awhile to actually get all that stuff going I guess, so it was actually around 4:30pm when they actually got me hooked up and they did still allow me to have some mobility instead of making me stay in the bed. I have to give a big kudos also to my L&D nurse whose name actually escapes me now, or Maggie who wrote the orders, but the Pitocin was not nearly as horrible as I had prepared myself for it to be. For the most part I still got breaks to rest a little in between contractions and to be honest the pain of my first 2 kids is lost in the fog of the past so I can not really say that the pain of these was significantly worse. Labor is labor. It hurts. Period. Finally, though, at 9:17pm, our second son was born.

So all of that to say we are pleased to introduce you to Milo Jude Young.




After a few minor issues that kept him in the NICU for about 4-5 hours we were finally all together by about 3:00am on Friday morning.

It truly did feel like one of those situations where a lot of undesirable factors and events came together all at once just to make things more complicated to navigate, but ultimately it worked out for the best as it removed the stress of trying to spend a week NOT having a baby. Erik did miss the first day of the retreat, but was able to be there on Saturday to wrap up as well as make the trip to southern Oregon and earn some money. Yeah, it wasn't entirely easy to be home without him, but I definitely felt far more confident doing that than the thought of going through the whole delivery without him there especially with the various decisions to be made. It is so true that every birth experience is just completely different, but it just helps to remind me that so are each of my children. I can't wait to see what new dynamic and joy and surprise Milo will bring to our family. Stay tuned . . . .

Awwww . . . . .

In case you can't quite make it out, that very succinct title is "Missionary Schools and the Enlightenment of the Alaskan Natives: A Theological and Sociological Survey of Russian Orthodox and Protestant Missionary Efforts Among the Natives of the Aleutian Islands and Southeastern Alaska". Yes, I know it may not be the Great American Novel, but to me it is one of the greatest pieces of literature ever written.

Some would say that our decision to move out here was absolutely crazy and if I were being honest I would probably have to admit there are some days they may be right. The last year has been particularly stressful as Erik spent much of it buried in this thesis business. But in March he turned in the final draft and in April he successfully defended it. It wasn't until all was said and done and it had already been turned in for binding that he showed me the dedication page. (Who knew a thesis had a dedication page?) Anyway, it won't mean much to anyone else who may read it, but it means the world to me.

You want me to do WHAT???

So I hit the 36 week mark of my pregnancy and went in for the first of my now weekly checkups. Being that this is my 3rd time around I knew that we would be doing the Group B strep test which means the end of external only exams. I've had 2 kids already so it's not like I'm particularly modest or uncomfortable when it comes to this point. What I did not expect, though, was that I would be asked to do the test MYSELF! I mean, come on, just because I prefer a natural approach to birth (which by the way I find to be a bit of a misnomer because in my opinion, unless the child comes out your nostril, it is a "natural" birth) does not mean that I am really that in touch with my body and would prefer to just do all of the work myself. I won't go into graphic detail, but suffice it to say that this is not a blood test. It involves a rather long q-tip looking thing and the nurse actually used the words "swish it around".

Now, I have actually been strip searched at a South American border crossing before and I would say that this was almost as awkward a moment in my life. And aside from the "do I really want to get to know myself this well?" factor, let me draw your attention back to the first sentence. 36 weeks. That's 9 months kids. My ever expanding belly is at a point where even my husband has told me it looks fake. Just managing to catch the urine sample each visit is getting a little dicey much less a feat like this. I'm still not sure I even did it right, but we'll just trust all will be fine at the delivery.

I am actually very happy to be with this particular practice and I specifically chose this hospital because of its' great reputation. I guess I'll just say that I never realized prenatal care would vary so significantly from one state to another and it's been a bit of an adjustment. Hopefully, there won't be too many more surprises.

Fear of Change

Strangely, this is not like me at all. My basic personality is one that rolls with, embraces, sometimes even thrives on change. But this whole blogger update has me hesitating. They would have me believe that blogging will be even easier and I'll have more flexibility and be able to do lots of new cool tricks. But the problem is that I just really like my template. When I set this whole thing up, I knew that was the one (like ya know with a good melon). ; ) And now I'm just afraid that if I take the plunge and update to the new blogger I will lose my template forever. Silly, I know but I'm just telling you how I feel. Weird where we sometimes find security.

Sisterly love

Not too long ago Erik and Quincy were talking a bit of trash to one another about how their wrestling match planned for the next day was going to go. At one point Erik says, "well, maybe I'll string you up by your toes like a pinata". To which Adelaide - who had been sitting quietly on Erik's lap the whole time - pipes up with "YEAH! And get some CANDY out of him!!

Nice to know the girl has her priorities straight.

Pascha

I don't know that I will ever be able to successfully capture the experience that is Pascha (Orthodox Easter). For one, you can't just jump in to Pascha without prefacing with the entire season of Great Lent and the journey that that is. This is only our second time around and while we did not participate to the same extent as we did last year - specifically in the area of fasting, but also with the myriad other services that take place - it was still an impactful (is that a word?) experience. At the very least, the kids were content to go and sleep in the parish hall during the Divine Liturgy allowing us to take more of it in. By the time it was over some of the the older kids had joined them so all were actually awake and a bit giddy with anticipation of the banquet to come as well as the fact that it was the middle of the night and they were in their sleeping bags in their Sunday School classroom. If that is all they take from it, it's actually fine with me because at least they got some sense of the excitement and joy that surrounds this holiday. The transition to the Orthodox Church has been kind of rough on them because they are not "entertained" as was the case in most other churches we have attended. This was exciting and different and I believe it is something they will look forward to with eagerness next year.

Soooo, since I am not willing to take the necessary time to describe the whole thing I will just say that it is all just dripping with tradition and symbolism and a sense of eternal community. And regardlesss of your faith tradition, if you have never taken part in Lent (Eastern or Western) I would highly recommend it. Most of my life it always seemed that Easter just kind of snuck up on me, but that is no longer the case. Try it out next year and see if I don't speak the truth.

Finally, what post about Easter would be complete without at least a couple of pictures of kids hunting eggs. Unfortunately, mine were so intent on the search, I couldn't seem to catch a photo with them looking at ME. They most certainly were not interested in the distraction of mom with her camera and posterity and what not. Till next year . . . . Christ is Risen!

For my friend Cori (the climber)

Maybe if they made this kind of harness for grown ups, you would feel braver . . . . or maybe not. If it's any consolation, I'm certain that you made it much higher than Adelaide and that she would be terribly envious of the matching pink hat and belt. = )
Oh yeah, and be glad Chuck doesn't work for REI because this was at our Christmas party.

Spring Break

Fortunately, Erik and Quincy's spring breaks fell on the same week so, miracle of miracles, we had one day where none of us had to be anywhere. So we took off for the coast, this time to Astoria. For you movie folks, this is the charming seaside community that was the location for 2 80's favorites, "Goonies" and "Short Circuit". We didn't spend much time actually in town except to eat lunch, but Erik did promise that next time we go he will be doing the 'Truffle Shuffle' in front of the Goonies house. But for this visit we headed out to Ft. Stevens to play in the sand and taunt the sea. I look forward to the time when we can spend more days like this . . . . .

Another year older . . . times 2

And then we had birthdays. The kids are 2 years and 12 days apart and this is the first year that we did a joint birthday party. I kind of hate to do that, but there were circumstances - one being duplicate guest lists - that made it seem just more practical. I gave them the option, and after a little thought they decided it was okay to have one shared party. Fortunately, since the advent of Belleville Lego sets, they were also able to agree on a single "theme".

I hesitate to post pictures just in case Gayla still checks in here. My efforts seem just a little less than pitiful when compared to the pirate extravaganza she put together. Oh well, we all work with the skills we have right? The kids seemed to have fun.

So here's a little bit of what it looked like . . . .



The kids hung the streamers themselves.










And yes, I know he needs a haircut. . . . .

pictorial catch up

Back in March, we were able to go in with 2 other families on a cabin at Lake Odell in the Cascade mountains for a couple of days of playing in the snow. I actually was a little stressed with work and Erik was probably a lot stressed with his thesis, but we still had a really good time. And we were actually able to get the rare photo of all 4 (or technically 5 as you can tell by my bulging belly) of us together.



The night before we left we decided to go ahead and buy a sled. Huge hit! The only drawback was that after they experienced the sled, we couldn't get them to go more than 30 yards on the snowshoes and forget the skis. Maybe next year. It was still a ball to watch their faces as they sped down the hill again and again.

I'm Ba-ack

So yeah, it's been ohhhh . . . 3 1/2 months since I last posted. So long in fact, that my blog account was taken over by Google and I didn't even know it and besides that I could not remember the proper username and password to log in anyway. But my kids are at the neighbors house and my husband is at work and I decided I would sit down and figure this darn thing out. I have to admit, I'm also embarrassed that the last thing I did actually post was a silly rant. So hopefully I haven't lost the few readers that I did have and I will be providing something for your perusal soon. That doesn't mean it will be good, but it'll be something with which to waste a few moments of your day.

A long overdue rant

www.traveltheroad.com (Yeah, I still don't know how to post links, but in this case it's just as well, since I don't actually recommend this website or the program.)

Sorry, but these guys really annoy me. I have only seen this show a handful of times, but for some reason I keep coming across the same episode and it absolutely makes me crazy! They visit Tibet and witness a sky burial and their portrayal of it is one of the most culturally insensitive, not to mention completely ignorant, things I have ever seen. They know nothing of the Tibetan culture nor the Bhuddist religion. Two things one would think they would have researched just the tiniest bit before heading out to bring the 'light of Jesus' to these seemingly 'hopeless barbarians'. Not to mention educating yourself on something as simple as the weather. No lie, they head for the mountains of Tibet with nothing more than a lightweight rain jacket. I was appalled both as a Christian and as an REI employee.

Oh and the drama of the narraration. It's just ridiculous. And besides all that, what truly called and compassionate missionary takes a camera man with them as they flit through various volatile locations for, oh I don't know, 3-5 days at a time? Now that's certainly making an impact (she said rolling her eyes). I suppose I should watch the series for a while to truly give them a fair shake, but I find it just far too painful and it always puts me in this cranky state. And I don't like being cranky with folks who deep down probably believe the same core things that I do.

You would think I would have learned by now to stay away from TBN. I'm far happier with Globetrekker on OPB.

Rant complete . . . for now.

Something I still miss

Okay, so I have been attending an Orthodox Church fairly regularly for almost a year now and there is much that I love about it. Many of my lifelong paradigms - yeah, I hate that word too, but it's all I could think of - have been altered and many things I held tightly over the years have been released. I don't think there is anything I would change about the way they express their faith. But I have to admit there is one thing that I miss. For lack of a better term, it is contemporary worship. But not just any upbeat guitar and drums with pretty back up singers and a state of the art sound system. And not a bunch of 'Jesus is my boyfriend/girlfriend' type lyrics.

There are a few folks who read this who have had the opportunity to participate in a time of worship with Bob Thomas leading. Bob is one of those rare finds -- talented and humble with this amazing desire to just find and then rest in God's presence. If you would like to come along, he's glad to have you join him. I miss that. I miss the occasional unstructured time in a small group just rolling with wherever the worship takes you. And now that I think a little more about it, I don't think it's necessarily being in the Orthodox church that makes me miss it. I visited other churches when I first moved here that were closer to what I was accustomed to and even they left me feeling a little . . . . I don't know . . . unfulfilled. I know, I know, it is not the purpose of a Sunday service to fulfill me. I just have this little selfish desire inside to find some place or group that gathers maybe once a month or a quarter or something and just goes with it.

It's interesting to me how we all have different ways of being drawn into the presence of God or maybe just sensing that closeness that happens every so often. For some it can only be found in the classical styles of traditional or liturgical churches and this contemporary worship band stuff is just silliness while others feel quite the opposite. I guess there is really no right or wrong. I've tried to convince myself that the whole modernization of the worship was a bad idea, but then I remember a quiet Saturday night in Plano, TX singing "Resting" or "I Love Your Presence" or "I Receive" and I really miss it. I really, really do.

Now this is nice

It is 2:00 in the afternoon. Quincy is at school, Adelaide is taking a nap, and Cameron - the 5 year old who usually spends Mondays with us - is home with his mom today. I've got a nice big cup of hot chocolate and it is snowing outside my window. (I live in the "no stick" zone below 500 ft, but it's still fun to watch.) This morning I finished copying most of my favorite Christmas tunes onto my new and improved holiday itunes playlist. Yes, I'm still a sucker for Christmas music, and though there are still some gaps in my collection, I currently have 119 songs and 6.4 hours. That should do for awhile.

Here's to a cozy afternoon.

Oh, by the way . . .

I have no title for this, but it ain't pretty

Oh Ted, Ted, Ted, Ted, Ted. Look what you have done to me. I know that really all the opinions have been voiced, and honestly I have nothing to add to the conversation. This is really about me.

When my husband first read the news story to me, I will openly admit that my reaction was one of disappointment, frustration, annoyance, very little hope that any of it would prove to be false, and zero compassion. I rolled my eyes and let out a sigh. (Or maybe more of a groan.) This stuff makes me crazy, partly because anymore it comes as absolutely no surprise. I listened as the discussion unfolded on one of my yahoo groups about the political motivation of the accuser and how it was just a ridiculous attack. And then I watched the tone change - not in a bad way, just less "it can't be true" to more "we all sin" - as the truth trickled out. I truly admire all of the folks out there who immediately took the high road and pointed out that we are all indeed sinners. Yes, it's true that there but for God's grace, go I. I am also impressed by the grace and wisdom by which his church has handled the situation.

But here is what pisses me off. The only reason this even came out was because he basically got caught, and then it all played out like a political scandal. It was spun like anything else straight out of the beltway. Step one: deny, deny, deny. (I did not have sexual relations with that woman.) Step two: admit a little, just enough that people will accept, maybe be a little understanding, but not turn on you. (Yeah, I tried it, but I didn't inhale) You see where I'm going with this. A little bit at a time, until we reach full disclosure. Maybe. We never really know, do we? And ya know what, I really don't even care about the alleged homosexual relationship or the drugs. I can get past that pretty easily. What I am having a hard time getting past is the postions of power in which these men find themselves be it by their own doing or that of their "followers" that seems to make it even more difficult to have human failings. (And don't kid yourself by saying that we're all just following Jesus. Many of us have been known to follow a man. I know I have.) I'm also left wondering how this was even kept a secret for so long. Was there really no one close enough to realize that something was amiss? Was there absolutely no one that he felt safe enough to confide in or confess to? How have we as a church come to this? What I'm wondering is this. All of these sins that we all know we have, that are no worse than that of Ted Haggard, nor are they any more hidden from God -- are they still hidden from everyone around us? Even those who love us most? I suspect that as Mr. Haggard struggled with these things, he was repenting and praying and seeking "deliverance" along the way. I'm doubtful that he was basking in it, but that he was likely trying to get a handle on it with God's help. Meanwhile, there was probably help to be had and things might not have gotten so ugly had he felt there was a safe place to confess.

Confession. That is a tough one. That is probably one of the biggest obstacles to me being chrismated into the Orthodox Church. It is not optional there. I'm not sure how it plays out during the rest of the year, but come Pascha (Easter), if you have not been to see the priest for confession, you do not partake in communion. In her book Mudhouse Sabbath, Lauren Winner does a whole chapter on confession and how she began the practice. I remember reading it and thinking "there is no freaking way I could ever do that". I can confess and ask forgiveness when I have wronged my husband. Apologize and take responsibility when I've wounded a friend. But to share with anyone my deep dark ugly secret stuff? That is something else entirely. Especially when it is a sin against God alone. Why burden anyone else with that? And who knows when it might come back to bite you on the butt. It's probably best to just handle it on your own.

So maybe this is where Ted teaches me a lesson. Maybe this is where I can find some common ground and maybe even a little compassion. I have plenty of my own little secrets and isn't that, along with my judgement every bit as repulsive as anything he's ever done? I have always been 'the good one' so any shortcoming at all is utter failure in my eyes. The dark part inside of me that sizes up everyone I meet before letting them show me who they really are. That sees all of their flaws and none of my own. And that's just one of my more regular sins. There are plenty more that probably don't need to be on a blog. But I'm really starting to believe that they do belong out in the open somewhere, as terrifying as that is to me. How can we ever be the whole and unified body of Christ as long as we hold onto our secret sins?


"I believe, O Lord, and I confess that you are truly the Christ, the Son of the living God, who did come into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the greatest. . . . "

"Forgive me of my sins, brothers and sisters."

"May God forgive us all."

What goes around . . .

When I was a little girl, one of my favorite things in the whole wide world was when I would fall asleep while watching TV and my dad would have to put me to bed. I can remember being carried through the house when everything was silent, and him checking all the lights and locks to make sure his family was safe. Funny thing is that I don't really recall actually being put in bed as much as I remember being held in his arms. I loved this feeling to the point that I would either try to intentionally stay up past my bedtime or, more often, I would fake being asleep. At the time, I don't think I could explain why I liked this so much, but as an adult, I now recognize that amazing sense of security and safety of being held in my father's arms.

Fast forward 30 some-odd years. I now have a daughter who will be chatting away, fidgeting with a toy, or just squirming around under her blanket when we let her stay up to watch a movie or TV show with us. But when it is actually time for bed, all of a sudden her eyes are closed and she is perfectly still. . . . save the semi grin on her lips. As you go to pick her up, she actually helps you and puts her arms around your neck all by herself. She's a pretty bad faker, but the effort is just adorable. She's not to particular about whether it is Mom or Dad who carries her to her room, but I have to say that knowing what I know now, I really love it when it's Dad.

I'm sure there are some lovely devotional thoughts I could pull from this, but really I just wanted to draw the picture of something that seems to be inside us all.

Aaahhhh, winter in Oregon

9:00 this morning. This is across the street from our building and then looking around the corner down the street.
































3:45 this afternoon. Fog has lifted, but not much else has changed. This is what many days will look like over the next few months. It takes a bit of adjustment, but overall I really like it. Especially since very soon (hopefully) the rain down here will mean snow on the mountain. Snow park days can not be too far off.

Greetings from the road

Probably won't post much over the next week (I say that as if I post regularly) since we are currently in the land of country and Christian music for a wedding, followed by a road trip to NW Arkansas for a long overdue visit with my family. I have been away from the south long enough to forget how weddings are done around these parts. The bride is Alabama born and bred and sweet as can be. But man, I live in a totally different world. There are actually lots of things I would change about my own wedding if I ever got the chance for a do-over, but I think that with all the money and time in the world it would never be this perfect. I'm a fairly organized person, but way too type B for that. I think that's why Oregon suits me better. The first time I visited Portland, I noticed how many women had unstyled hair and no makeup. Then it occurred to me, what's the point since the rain just makes your face run and your hair frizzy. Here, I am definitely out of my element. The good news -- it really doesn't bother me so much anymore. As Adelaide said to me recently after one of her successful trips to the potty, "Look! I'm growing!"

Here's to getting a little more comfortable in my very own skin.

The Wonderful World of Poo

Warning: there is absolutely no redeeming value in the following post. In fact, it's kind of gross. Consider yourself warned.


She weighs 25 pounds soaking wet.



She has an affinity for all things pink.




She fancies herself a "ballerina princess".



And this petite, delicate, wisp of a girl can - and has, on more than one occasion - clog a toilet with a single bowel movement. I kid you not. The reason is that as adorable as she is, the child can be stubborn as an ox, and has taken to "withholding". (Last December, she gave herself a serious bladder infection, doing the same thing with "#1). It has been over a year since we began the "toileting" journey, and let me just say that all of those people and books and so called experts who would have one believe that girls learn faster than boys are just full of crap. No pun intended.

I think that most of us had these grand images in our minds of how we would do things just right when we had kids of our own. And then the kids get here, and they have their own little personalities and haven't read the same play book we have and it all becomes quite interesting.

Quincy's 'potty training' was really pretty easy. It seems like he was in his Spiderman underpants in no time and in the course of his life, I have washed out one pair of soiled pants. This daughter of mine is an entirely different story. First, let me assure you that she was NOT constipated. She just really hated pooping. I know that this is not an unusual thing for kids to go through, but let me tell you, it is absolutely maddening. We just kept thinking, she can't keep it in there forever. That is true enough, however, she is able to keep it in for up to 2 weeks. TWO WEEKS!!! Like I said, she weighs 25 pounds. How big could her colon possibly be?! Hence the clogged toilet over and over again. We would sit with her and hold her hand. We would leave her alone to work it out, so to speak, on her own. It just seemed to be getting worse. We could always see the tell-tale signs that something was brewing, when she would stop whatever she was doing, sit down, and just wiggle, wiggle, wiggle. When asked if there was anything the matter, the response was usually something like, "I DON"T need to go poop!"

We realized we needed to seek professional help, when her general distress began to turn to anger and just absolute frustration . . . for all of us. So we got a prescription stool softener/laxative. The doctor says she wants this to be as low stress as possible so we should probably go back to pull ups, because things would likely get messier before they got better. Okay. We will do our best. Just to show what she is capable of, she continued to hold it in. Well, not all of it, of course. After all, she is taking a daily laxative. So what began to happen instead was about every hour or so - sometimes every 15 minutes - we would hear, "I need to wipe my bottom and change my diaper". In one week we went through 29 pull ups. I'd be an absolute liar if I said we remained calm and low stress the entire time.

Then one night, the poo would wait no more. Unfortunately, (or perhaps for the best) she was in the bathtub at the time. Did you ever sing that song when you were younger about Jesus love is bubblin' over? Remember, it went "bubu-bu-bubblin". Evidently, that is what began to happen. Kind of like the tar pits or muddy hot springs. At least that's how Erik described it. I happened to be on the phone, but by the time I had to hand the call off to Erik, the poo had let loose. Not everywhere, but it was enough. It was in the tub, on the toilet, on the floor. You get the picture. And there stands Adelaide in the tub, just wailing while Erik is pouring bucket after bucket of water over her butt. I took over the clean up duties and tried to decipher what she was saying as she cried. "What? It's on your foot?" After a few more guesses I finally figured it out. My sweet, precious, and exceedingly obstinate little girl was weeping and saying "It's all my fault!" Broke my heart. We assurred her over and over that everything was alright and it was absolutely not her fault and no big deal at all. Got everything cleaned up and went on with our evening.

The next day we had a breakthrough. I honestly do not know what clicked. All I know is that she was beginning the wiggle and I carried her to the toilet despite her protestations. And then she accidentally pushed. And then she realized that it wasn't going to hurt. And then she remembered that we had a bag of treats for when she pooped without crying. And then she found the Dora fruit snacks. It was like the planets had aligned. We spent the next 2 days unloading what she had been saving up for the past 2 weeks.

I wouldn't say we are done yet with the process, but we finally seem to be heading the right direction. Now I think she's a little disappointed when we go to 'see if there is any poop that needs to come out of my bottom' and nothing happens. However, she also seems to lose interest when the treats in the surprise bag are not her favorites. But we will stick with it and probably have a little more compassion on those parents whose kids may seem a little delayed in their "toileting" or various other skills. I have said many times that I don't care how many books there are out there telling us how to do this parenting thing right, ultimately we're all just guessing and doing the best we can. God bless us all.

Ouch!

You can safely assume that you've created God in your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.

-Anne Lamott

ht: Christina

What it's like, part II

It's kinda like country life versus city life. Or possibly European versus American. Take whichever one you relate to most.

My point is that virtually every other church on the planet that I have had any part of, seems, for want of a better word, "busy". It was certainly at it's worst when Erik was on staff, but I'm speaking in more general terms here. For instance, on any given Sunday you arrive and there is typically a sort of bustling about the place as folks are greeting one another, depositing children to their appropriate locations, settling into their preferred location in the sanctuary, gathering needed information in lobbies, and nowadays even having their coffee and pastry. People to see, places to go, things to do. Like a busy dowtown street. (Please don't take this to mean that I have anything against greeters, childcare, or even pastries, although I do resent coffee that is offered with no options for us tea drinkers.)

On the other hand, when I walk into St. Nicholas on Sundays, I walk into rest. I walk into prayer and adoration. I see it, I hear it, I even smell it. The service starts with Matins, and while I will admit that my family does not make it early enough for that part, I'm pretty sure that there is minimal socializing happening. (I do know that is what it's like at Vespers.) Even prior to the beginning of the prayers, the priest is attending to rituals in preparation for it, so typically there is always an air of reverence in the place. There is no break between the end of Matins and the beginning of the Divine Liturgy. It is all just one seamless event. The thing about Orthodoxy though, is that your level of participation is largely open. The general standard is to stand the entire time, but there are some chairs for those who can't. Light a candle if and when you want. Kiss an icon. Make the sign of the cross. While there is an order to the service, there are also many aspects that are kind of "at your leisure" and as a matter of your personal worship experience. But throughout, you are also a part of the larger event that is happening.

My parents still live on the farm where I grew up in the Arkansas Ozarks. Whenever I wake up there, I get this wonderful sense of peace. The place is situated at "the head of a holler" which in everyday English, means it sits at one end of a long valley. When you sit on the porch swing, the peacefulness of it just surrounds you, engaging all of your senses. You breathe it in deep and at the same time recognize the bigness of all that you see. There are no deadlines when you live out there. It's not that there isn't work to be done, but it's just on a completely different timeline. As my Mom and Dad used to say, "ain't nobody waitin' on us". You can take the time to take it in. And that's kind of how liturgy feels for me. It's very deliberate, but not in an effort to take care of business, but more like an effort to be present both here and now as well as there and then.

I don't think I will ever find the perfect analogy to describe it, but for now, this is the best I can do. Hope it makes at least a little sense.

Another debacle in the kitchen

It sounded good on paper. Cozy Cheese Strata. Not so appetizing in real life, though, huh? The good news is that I think I have found the common denominator on these two recent disasters. I'm pretty sure it is a combination of doubling and eggs. The recipes I am working from are either for 6 people or 2 . . . basically too much or too little for us. So what I was trying to do was take the recipe for 2 and double it. Seems simple enough, right? Sure, until you actually compare the recipes and see that the difference in the eggs is 1 small egg for the 2 person and 1 large egg for the 6 person. Come on! Now, what I want to know is this. Does anyone out there shop at a grocery store that actually offers small eggs? All I have ever seen are things like large, extra large, jumbo, stuff like that. Not fair, I tell you. Not fair!

I did have one dish turn out alright last week (read: fully cooked), but it still wasn't really . . . . "right". I'll keep trying, though. Quincy said something about lasagna last week. Maybe we'll give that a shot sometime soon. I'm pretty sure there are no eggs, so what's the worst that can happen?

Don't answer that.

Dig this

www.pandora.com

It is this really cool streaming radio site, where you can customize your radio stations. All you do is enter one song or artist that you like and it will find other music with similar harmonic style, rhythms, and other musical type terms that I really don't understand. (Sorry Fil and Mil, no classical in their library yet. It's a shame, I know.)
Anyway, I have been having a lot of fun with it as I always seem to be on the search for something new, as well something old that I haven't heard in a while. Sadly I am finding it to be true that the older I get, the less appealing I find the current popular music.
You can check out my stations at the lower left hand side of my page. If you do decide to go and create some of your own, feel free to share. I'd love to hear!

My little scholars

Sent both my boys off to school last week. Makes a mother - and a wife - so proud.




Hopefully, the big one will be finished before we are at the little one's graduation. (Just kiddin' sweetie!)

You thought I was kidding, didn't you?

"Honey, what are we having for dinner?"

"Ummmm . . . vomit?"

Seriously, I have problems in the kitchen. This one went wrong on several different levels, but believe it or not, we still actually ate some of it. Quincy even said he liked it, but that child (thankfully) will eat just about anything. The dogs and the garbage disposal got what was left. I think Aslan was pooping corn for about 3-4 days after.

Oh yeah. This is gonna be fun.

My "other" journey

Anyone who has known me for more than, say . . . ohhh . . a 24 hour period, probably knows that I am a far cry from a domestic goddess. Perhaps domestic pauper would be a little more accurate. However, I have found myself once again, with this strange desire inside of me to become profecient in the kitchen. (I'm also trying to keep my home tidier and in better order, but one lofty goal at a time here folks.) This isn't my first attempt, but for whatever reason, I seem to have more resolve this time around so we'll see how it goes. I actually stuck my toes in this water back at the end of spring, got discouraged during the summer, but now I'm back. In an effort to perhaps up the entertainment factor of my blog for my 3 readers, I thought I'd document my, err, odyssey? So far this week has seen 2 culinary travesties and 1 meal that we didn't throw away, which for me is a moderate success. So stay tuned kids, you never know what the future may hold . . . .

By the way, if I make it to Arkansas next month, my mom said she could teach me to knit. Could be interesting . . .

Another suggestion for your listening pleasure . . . .

Ray Lamontagne. The CD I am currently to is "Trouble", but I know he just released a new one that is probably every bit as good or better. If you don't trust me, go sample it on itunes. Or go check it out at the library. You may have to wait awhile, but I think it's worth it. If you like mellow, relaxing, folksy type stuff, you will think so too.

What it's like . . . part 1

It's like finding your birth parents. Only you didn't know you were looking for them.

That's how I often feel about the past 9 - 12 months I have spent in the Orthodox church. Like I've discovered this whole . . . heritage, I guess is the word, that I never knew was there. All of a sudden I have 2000 years of family history and to be honest, I feel a little cheated that I didn't know about this sooner.

I am pretty much your typical Heinz 57 type American. A little of this, a little of that. Mostly Anglo with a little German and American Indian mixed in. The thing is, I know precious little of my family history. My paternal grandmother immigrated at the age of 2 (I think) from Germany. For much of the first half of the last century, being German was not something you particularly wanted to call attention to. The family stopped speaking the language or practicing any traditions, and today I don't know that my grandmother could string together a simple sentence. On the other side, my mom's mom was raised in Kellyville, OK by her Indian father and older sister. Her mother had died when she was 2 years old. We were always told that great Granpa Doty was full-blood Cherokee, but that has been called into question over recent years. Regardless, there was some Indian blood, they were poor, and things just weren't good in Oklahoma. (I still have my Grandmother's class ring that was the last thing purchased before the banks closed during the Great Depression.) It was another heritage that seemed to be viewed as shameful and one we know so very little of. Oddly enough, I know even less about the background and families of either of my grandfather's and they are the ones with all the Irish and English in them. Go figure. Both are/were wonderful men, but I know nothing of the world or ancestry that shaped them. No photos. No letters. No oral history. Nada.

My spiritual life seems to be very similar. I have spent the vast majority of my life in "non denominational" churches. Most of them were able to trace their roots all the way back, ohhhh . . . . . . 10 or 15 years. The really old ones could go all the way back to the 70's! Before that, I don't really know what there was. According to my upbringing, just sad, lifeless "denominations". My mom's family went to the Christian Church or Church of Christ or Disciples of Christ or something like that. My Dad's family didn't go anywhere. Several of the churches that I personally have attended were birthed out of the "Jesus Movement" of the early 70's in Southern California. I could probably tell you pretty accurately the story of John Wimber's journey to Christ and his foundin of the Vineyard (now known as the Association of Vineyard Churches.) Going back further than that I could also tell you the story of Oral Roberts and how his healing ministry was started after he came to know Christ. But I can't connect those two and it seems like since they are part of the same family - not just Christianity, but even very similar expressions of it - I should be able to somehow.

Now, however, I have this seemingly endless line of ancestors who have done all these amazing and courageous things, and most importantly have passed it on, reasonably untainted, from one generation to the next. Now I take part in some of the very same events that those ancestors did in the very first century. I hear/sing some of the very same hymns as St. John Chrysostom did in 4th century Constantinople. I see their pictures every week and am reminded that I am a part of something so much bigger than me. I am able to read their writings so I know what they felt and thought. I can know how they lived and how they died. This "genealogy" so to speak, is not without it's dysfunction or corruption, but there doesn't seem to be any effort to hide that. No one seems to be particularly proud or fond of Arius, but we still talk about him because his beliefs played a part in shaping and defining us and what we believe. And not just Orthodoxy with a big O, but really all of orthodox Christianity. I think it's kind of sad that I didn't know things like this before.

On more than one occasion I have said something to my husband about wishing I could be part of a Greek or Italian family. One reason is because they are just so passionate about everything they do. The other is because they have such a rich history and they treasure it. I grew up believing that "traditional" pretty much equaled dull and uninteresting, but I have an entirely different perspective now. Tradition can indeed be lifeless habit if you allow it, but what I have experienced of it over the past year is truly a beautiful thing and I am grateful to have discovered it.

Simple vs. Easy

This morning, while visiting a friend's blog that I rarely frequent, I read this quote. "Simplicity does not reveal the level of effort involved." It was said during a business meeting, and then the blog went on to sing the praises of the simplicity of using a Mac and some other technical things pertaining to his work. I found the quote interesting, nonetheless. (ht to Chuck) And then later this morning, in the book I have just barely started reading (Julie and Julia), there was a brief paragraph on how "simple" is not exactly the same as "easy". Hmmmm. . . . . . .

As much as I really hate to admit it, perhaps living simply does take a greater amount of effort than I would like to accept. When you really think about it, It is harder to prepare a meal than to go out, call for delivery, or grab something at a drive through. And shopping! I get frustrated enough trying to locate what I need in the merchandising disaster that is Old Navy, and shamefully have remained too proud to really make an effort at Goodwill mostly because I can't find any rhyme or reason to the order of things there. Even making the choices to NOT be involved in every activity, every form of entertainment, every distraction available seems difficult in our go go go culture. I'm actually getting pretty good at that one though, mostly because my children are still quite young, I moved far away from my social network, and quit going to church for awhile. As I branch out more and my kids start getting older and wanting to try new things, those choices will come again I'm sure.

It just seems like simple should equal easy, doesn't it? I really waaaant it to equal easy. I'm starting to think that is not the case, though. I believe I'm going to have to mull it over for awhile before I'm really certain. In the meantime, I still hold to the idea that regardless of effort required, the payoff for cutting the clutter - physical, mental, emotional, wherever it may be - out of our life is still worth it. Right?

Other people's children

When we decided to have children, we knew that we would have to establish boundaries, set limits, and dole out consequences. When the second came along we realized that somewhere down th road we would be involved in all kinds of various conflict resolutions. We would teach our children - hopefully - how to be kind, gracious, and all those "mannerly" type things.

Enter "the neighbor kid". Now, my kids have played with plenty of other children and I am well aware that they are far from angelic. But the thing is, up to this point they have always been playing with the children of MY friends. People who for the most part share some similar parenting philosophies. People whose children I already adored. This is my first foray into the world of new friends whose parents I have virtually no relationship with at all. I've seen my kids cry before while playing with other kids and I've seen my kids make the other kids cry, usually because they threw a block or got a little too rough with the wrestling or what not. But never had I heard any child speak those dreaded words "I'm not you're friend anymore!" or "if you don't stop I am just out of here and I am never coming back to your house again". Seriously. Here are just a few examples of conversations overheard or even spoken directly to me from said "neighbor kid".

Here's one from a few days ago . . .
Me (after hearing Adelaide wailing outside): "Quincy what game are you guys playing?"
Quincy: "Well, I don't really don't want to tell you cuz I don't think you're gonna like the answer."
Me: "Quincy, it's true I may not like the answer, but I will always love you no matter what. You need to tell me the truth."
Neighbor Kid: "Don't tell her"
(Quincy did tell me the truth and accepted the consequences like a man.)


Just yesterday . . .
Quincy: "Mommy, [neighbor kid] just slapped me on the belly."
Adelaide (crying): "Mommmmy, [neighbor kid] just hit me with their legs!"
Me: "Neighbor kid, why did you slap Quincy on the belly?
Neighbor kid: "Well, he was just being very rude to me!"
Me: What exactly did he do that was rude?"
Neighbor kid: "He is just telling me what to do and he is not the boss of me!"
Me: "Again, what exactly did he tell you to do that was bossy and rude? I need to know so I can explain to him what he did wrong."
Neighbor kid: "He was telling me to stop hurting Adelaide"
Seriously, as near as I can figure from the stories of 2 5 year olds and a 3 year old, Adelaide was accidentaly injured through the course of some game. Quincy says something in defense/protection of his sister. Neighbor kid slaps Quincy's belly. There was actually a face slapping incident a while back, but I can't remember the details of that one.

From early on in our relationship . . .
Neighbor kid (spoken directly to me upon leaving): "You need to give him a lesson on how to be nice because yada, yada, yada. . . "

Neighbor kid: "Do you have pop tarts?" (This one just happened as I was typing when the wrappers were spotted in the trash. Sure, not thaaaat rude, but still a little more forward than I would like my children to be at someone's house.)

As I said before, my kids up to this point have always played with children whose parents I already had a relationship with. We're all okay with correcting each others children and to be honest, none of my friends kids have ever caused any real trouble. Truth be told, it's usually mine who need to have their behaviour corrected. So what do you do when someone else's child is just flying in the face of everything you consider mannerly? You don't know how they are disciplined or if they are disciplined at all. It's really not my job to train someone else's child anyway, right? And another thing . . . Quincy and Adelaide ask plenty of questions, but neither of them have ever gotten into the whole "why" thing. Neighbor kid is the freaking mayor of Why town. It just makes me crazy. I have found myself getting so frustrated and realized I was getting rougher and sterner than I probably should have with 'neighbor kid'. So now I am just trying to regroup and focus back on my kids and their behaviour and just hope and pray that some of it rubs off or that we discover some new friends who live in the complex once school starts. It also makes me pray all the more that what we have planted in them is rooted enough that they will not be easily swayed by by what they see other kids doing all around them.

So anyway, that's my quasi rant for the day. Just needed to get it off my chest.

Good Tunes

Damien Rice. "O"

For when the kids are in bed and you just want to chill with a glass of wine or a good book. Tender and quiet one moment and then intense and passionate the next. I couldn't tell you what half of his lyrics are, I just love his music.

And now for something completely different, I've gotta go watch Rock Star: Supernova now.

Is my son "saved"?

Born again.
The 4 spiritual laws.
The sinners prayer.
Asking Jesus into your heart.

These are phrases that have been a part of my life for about as long as I can remember. Lately, they are starting to sound more and more like a foreign language. What in the world do those things really mean, and where did they originate? How old or young are these concepts? Do they have any rightful place in my faith? Admittedly, I am spouting before searching, but I can certainly still ask, right?

Let me relay a little story. Back in our early "courtin'" days, Erik accompanied me to my college roommates wedding. Her whole family is very dear to me and I respect them a great deal. It mattered to me what they thought of this new guy in my life. Within minutes - seriously, mere moments - of being introduced to "Pastor Paul" (did I mention that my roommates dad was a minister?) he asked Erik point blank when he came to know the Lord. You see in my world, there is a point of demarcation and if you really meant it, then you would know the precise moment that you became "born again". I had no idea how Erik would respond. I am sad to admit it today, but the truth is I was disappointed when he had no real "testimony" to offer, at least not by my definition. I doubted his salvation.

Now, here I am today with a 5 year old son. A son who is learning about God and Jesus and Faith (big F intended). A son who has quesions to ask his mother who daily questions what truth and Faith and this Christian life really are. Here is what I still believe right now. God does not have grandchildren. While our Faith can certainly be passed on, it certainly is not a part of our DNA. Each of us must make our own personal choice. However, I am no longer convinced that that choice needs to look or sound any particular way. Seriously, if one does not pray the sweeping "forgive me of my sins and come into my heart" prayer, (whatever 'come into my heart' means) are we not truly followers of Christ? Right now, Quincy believes that God is real. He also believes that God and Jesus are one and that Jesus is always with him and loves him no matter what. What if he never prays "the" prayer? Are all his beliefs for naught?

I get the impression in the Christian world - at least in the circles I have been in - that we parents carry this sort of burden, if you will, to ensure our children's salvation. That we can't really rest until our children have stated in no uncertain terms that they are on board. It's almost like we strive for that moment when we can wipe our brow, let out a big sigh and know that we are good parents and our children are going to heaven. And most of all, we need something to point to so we can say "see, that's when it happened". Is God really going to hold me accountable for my children's salvation or am I simply accountable to be honest with them and share with them what I have come to know as the truth, foggy as that may be at times? And is salvation a moment in time or something that occurs over a span of time? Or does it even have to be either/or? If I live my life following Christ the best I can, and Quincy follows along, is that enough?

My husband still does not have an event to point to, but I no longer doubt his salvation. I still don't know what to make of my son, though. I'm pretty sure I need to let it go because after all, it is personal. But I am finding that old habits and beliefs die hard. Once again, is it really my responsibility to make sure he chooses to follow Christ or do I just need to provide him with the tools to make his own choice? I remember the anxious thoughts I had when I was pregnant with Quincy. This often overwhelming sense of responsibility to raise up a decent human being and then add on top of that leading him to Christ. Yikes! My husband shared what I believe to be some very wise words with me at that time. He said that without a doubt, we will pack some emotional baggage for our children. No parent is perfect and we really should realize this at the beginning. But the best part of what he said was this. "All we really have to do is love him and show him Jesus." I know that is terribly simplistic, but I'm a pretty simple gal. I still am not sure of the answer to my question, but I am slowly learning to loosen my grip and trust God to lead not only me, but the rest of my family as well.

Good Times

Sunday we went to a birthday party for a 4 year old. (Fortunately, Connor's mom is a smart lady and only invited 3 other little boys knowing full well that would be plenty to handle.) I had a crock pot recipe I thought I would try (for those who know me, I'll give you a moment to catch your breath -- yes, I am making a greater effort at cooking) and checked it to see if I needed to get it started first thing in the morning or if it could wait until we returned from the party. I know you're wondering what this has to do really with a kids birthday party but just stay with me. Turns out the recipe was 1 hour on high and 3 on low, so I figure the party is at noon, there's really only 3 guests, so we'll probably be home by 2:30 or so. We'll eat a little later than usual, but should be able to prepare the meal, no problem. At 6:30pm I arrived back home.
Ah, but you now think that my title is sarcastic and that I have a tale to tell about all kinds of plans gone awray. Not so, my friend, not so. Let me start from the beginning. First we all - and I mean all 4 of us - go to a meeting at REI from 9-11:30. Yeah, pre-schoolers love nothing more than to sit through an hour and a half long work meeting for mom and dad. They actually held up pretty well and did us proud. Then the kids and I dash off to Target because we have not yet selected a gift. We get that and I realize I failed to put the wrapping paper from home in the car so we could head to the party directly. A short delay, but it's just a mile back home and then we're off. It was a busy morning, but we are only 15 minutes late and still the first to arrive so no worries at all. And then 6 hours went by. Connor has a good sized fenced back yard with no real hazards of any sort, so that alone was a huge treat. The kids played inside, the kids played outside, the kids just had a ball. There were some organized activities, but for the most part it was just freestyle. Meanwhile, the parents hung out around the kitchen table and then out on the deck and just enjoyed some food, some drink, and some conversation. And that's why I still haven't had my crock pot chicken. At no point was there an awkward lull that said it's probably time to wrap things up now. And the hosts just never ever gave off any vibe that they really needed people to get out of their house. In fact, I think it was around 4:00 that Boris brought out big glasses of wine for everyone, and by big I mean the size that you do not serve your guest and then expect them to immediately get in their cars and drive. I wasn't entertained. I was engaged. I learned so much about my new friends and they learned about me. We all met back in September and have just never gotten together. It was just such a lovely afternoon. Good times. Good times indeed.

Square peg

Do we ever really outgrow that nagging need to fit in? Here I am, solidly into my 30's and still hoping that people will like me. I don't need everyone to like me, just the cool kids. How pathetic is that.
When I started visiting churches here in the Portland area, I was not looking for a home. Quite frankly, I just wanted to see if there were any churches out there that didn't give me the heebie-jeebies. And after a number of uncomfortable - and one downright horrible - experiences, I found a really great place - Evergreen - that really was as close as I've ever seen to what we were trying to do with Sanctuary back in happier times. (Maybe not happier, but at least easier.) I eavesdropped on the forum for hours on end, and when I finally visited the people actually lived up to everything their web site said they were. They were kind, genuine, witty, smart, lovely, gracious people. I stopped visiting other churches (outside of St. Nick) and have become fairly regular there. But here's the thing. After about 9 months of attending off and on, having some folks over for dinner, attending some community events, participating a little on the forum, I just don't fit. But I really waaaaant to fit. They're all really cool people. It seems like we have things in common. But I just get this vibe that no one wants to really know me. Although, I will readily admit that I very well may give off a vibe that I don't want to be known. For some reason, I have a hard time making eye contact when I'm there, and my conversations are soooo strained. I am totally accepted there. But something is still amiss. With me, that is, not with them. It's a great place. Truly. In fact, if I meet people who are looking for a church, it's the first place I would recommend. It's just that it's like the really cute guy, who totally gets your jokes and likes to hang out with you, but there's no way it's going to be anything more. Sort of. Maybe not.
What I'm starting to wonder, though is that maybe I'm just not supposed to fit.