Springtime Joys and Updates

This spring has had no shortages of joys in the Boyette family. 

Claire and her best friend won first place in the science fair with a hydroponics experiment they did entirely themselves. The project was part of her gifted and talented classwork so she didn't receive a grade and I decided that was enough reason to let her do it herself. It was difficult for me not to hover or even proofread her work, but we both succeeded. She kept telling me with confidence she knew what she was doing, so I let her do it. The project turned out great and went to the district fair. My favorite part was her note, "When you read this judges, we hope you find it interesting."
Paul lost his first tooth, immediately followed by his second tooth. Both kids are extremely smart, but they both also still believe, so Adam and I keep it up. Paul also was labeled gifted and talented, which is a big deal for any child, but especially for a kindergartener. That means he'll be in the smart kid class from here on out.

I started a new job as the Communications and Technology Coordinator at Central Christian Church in Weatherford. Since our church functions as our extended family, the move was bittersweet. I'm still settling in, but I love it and soon I will get to devote actual time to writing. My office makes me happy with its yellow walls and bright windows.




I finished my first semester of seminary and registered for my second. I'm baking banana bread to raise money for tuition. (Email me if you want some.) So far I've baked 31 loaves and I'm still taking orders!







Last night I had the opportunity to go to Arborlawn United Methodist Church to see Adam Hamilton. Adam is probably the best known United Methodist minister in the United States. He's also a talented author. I got to speak to him briefly, but I failed to mention that my Adam once wore Adam Hamilton's robe. Several years ago we were in Kansas for a wedding and my mischievious husband found the robe room and took a photo in the famous Adam's robe.




This weekend we'll have our annual Memorial Day grillout and opening of the pool. We're also celebrating Claire's birthday. We're headed into summer with a smile.

Moving Away From Home

When Adam and I were newlyweds, we moved to an apartment off of Hulen Street in Fort Worth. Both of us grew up in the mid-cities and went to college in Arlington, so Fort Worth was mostly unmapped territory.  We had to select what grocery store to patronize regularly. We had to find the post office.  We had to learn the routes to and from home. We also had to find a church home.

Adam grew up in the Church of Christ, I grew up Southern Baptist and neither one of us identified with those traditions any longer. So when Adam came home from work and said there was a pretty building on Camp Bowie that was a Methodist church, we were willing to give it a try.

The pretty building we've been at each Sunday since 2002.

It only took one Sunday at Arlington Heights United Methodist Church for us to feel at home. The people were kind and had an authenticity that was refreshing.  There wasn't a Sunday person/weekday person trade off. You could talk to a person on Friday night and the same person would be there on Sunday morning; you could even continue your conversation.

It was January of 2002.

Twelve years later, we're still there.  I've been on staff for four years working as the Communications Coordinator. I love my job for many reasons. I love serving others and I love utilizing both my journalism skills learned in college and my faith. 

In January I enrolled in seminary at Brite Divinity School.  I'm taking one class and I love it. Discovering the culture of the seminary and of faith learning has been another time of excitement and recognition of home and belonging.

I would love to write Bible studies one day and create small group discussion guides that cover scripture and great spiritual writing. I have thought and prayed about this over time and one day I believe I will do it.  I'm at the very beginning of my seminary career, though, and I assumed that day would be far in the future; probably after graduation when I was serving a Methodist church as a deacon on staff.

The view from my desk. I love my tiny art gallery!

This idea ended up being similar to my "I'll enroll in seminary when the kids are grown" idea. (Notice I'm in seminary now and the kids are still in elementary school.) As a routine, I submitted my resume to the field education office with notes on dreams and goals of mine.  Within a week two churches started looking at it.  Within a month I was going on interviews. I was found by a church who wants to create their own Bible study curriculum and eventually publish a book.  After many meetings and discussions with church leaders and in my home, I decided to take the job.

Beginning May 11 I will be on staff at Central Christian Church in Weatherford. I'm ecstatic about the new horizon, about taking my creativity and skills to the next level, about moving forward to achieve a dream.  Writing Bible studies won't be the only part of my job, but it's the part I didn't even know I could get so early in seminary.

I feel like a teenager moving away from home to go to college. Our church is part of the culture of our family. I can lead you to any part of the building with my eyes closed. Both of our children were baptized there.  Once a month Adam ushers in the early service. We both help teach children's Sunday school classes as substitutes.  I know nearly every single person in the congregation.  We all consider friends from church part of our family.  The kids are so at home they are unafraid to approach adults and begin conversations with them. We are going to miss it.

The good news is that like a college student, we'll get to come back home.  The entire family will return to AHUMC once a month. That will make our time even sweeter because we won't take it for granted.

We are bravely stepping forward in faith and I can't wait to see what's next on the horizon.

Goodbye, Papa Charles!

Last night Fort Worth lost a great man.  Charles Perry passed away.  He was a veteran, a teacher, a coin collector, a husband, a father, grandfather, great-grandfather, and a man of faith to the end.
My family first met Papa Charles at church, but it was outside of the church walls that he and his wife Mama Joy have made the most difference in our lives.
Recounting memories of him last night, we decided that Adam first got to know Papa Charles through his involvement in the United Methodist Men. I first met him and Mama Joy through my involvement with the Emmaus community at our church.
Papa Charles always had a good story to tell. I would try to tell him a cute story about my life and he would follow that with a story of history behind my story. I would tell him something like, "We got a new oven at home so I'll be cooking more.  Hahaha." Then he would look at me, take a breath and say, "You know the reason the oven is designed that way? It's because hundreds of years ago........"  I wish I had written down some of the  histories he shared with me, but I was usually caught off guard and wasn't expecting him to provide so much meaning in each exchange.  He had a talent for infusing meaning in everything he did.
Paul and Claire both have loved Papa Charles since birth.  When Paul was born, Papa Charles and Mama Joy began "visiting" the children regularly.  I would often slip up and call them babysitters but then they would correct me.  Papa Charles would say, "Now you know we don't babysit. We visit with children."  I have photos of Papa Charles and Paul as an infant, both taking a nap on our couch.  Adam and I both laughed as we shared with others that the kids were at home "with a young couple named Mama Joy and Papa Charles."
About the same time Paul was born, Adam rediscovered his love of coin collecting. He regularly takes Paul and Claire to coin shows and nearly always met Papa Charles there. Papa Charles would share with the kids history of coins.
It was cancer that took his life in the end, and Papa Charles gracefully entered into his role as a hospice patient. Just before Thanksgiving I took the children to visit him.  We sat with him while Mama Joy escaped to the grocery store.  While the kids acted crazy, he shared with us the names of birds outside and points of local history.  He also recommended I get my kids into chess because it focuses smart kids.  It was a profound moment for me when faced with death, he kept on teaching those around him.
Over the Thanksgiving holiday, he had to be hospitalized briefly and from his hospital bed, he told Mama Joy to get out some of his wooden puzzles.  She shared the story with me.  "Why do you want puzzles out, Dad?" she asked him.  He replied, "Because we're going to have children at our house visiting and I want them to have something to play with."
The next time we saw him was a couple of days before Christmas when we came to sing Christmas carols.  After the singing was over, we stayed and visited.  I eventually had to pry the children away from Papa Charles' puzzles so we could go home. He was so smart and selfless, making sure my kids had entertainment while he entered his last days.
Upon receiving the news of his death last night, Paul wanted to run over for "one last hug."  We all loved Papa Charles and will miss him greatly.

Papa Charles and Mama Joy waving goodbye to me from their front porch.

Why I keep my nametags

At the places I go, I often end up with nametags.  I always keep them.  Not forever; they often wear out and I have to toss them, but as long as the memory of the event is fresh in my mind, I keep my nametag.

This fall I travelled with a group of ladies to the Church of the Ressurection Leadership Institute in Kansas. At the end of the retreat, most people turned their nametags in so they could be recycled or repurposed.  I didn't.  My nametag hangs in my office and is a visual reminder of what I learned, how God worked in my life that week, and how lessons and techniques learned there are still being implemented and not forgotten.

At church I have a nametag that says "Communications Coordinator."  I wear it often, but not often enough.  It reminds me that I have a place of belonging, that I am part of a team, and that it is not my job to communicate everything that happens at the church.  It is my job to coordinate the communications.  When I'm overwhelmed, that makes a big difference to me.

At my school, my nametag shows that even though I'm only on campus two days a week, I am part of a staff.  I am an educator.  I don't have to attend faculty meetings, but the nametag gives me entry to every classroom in the building and respect from teachers and parents.

A few years ago, some friends of mine started a non-profit group. Adam and I attended the first Fort Worth Dish Out and I still have the nametag to prove it. It reminds me that I played a role, no matter how small, in the start-up.

This past week I attended open house at Brite Divinity School. My nametag there was simple; just my name on a stark white background, suspended on a string around my neck.  It was perfect in it's message.  Here's a place that is expecting me.  Here's a place that I belong.  I have no idea what this place will look like with me in it, but here is my name.  The future is a blank slate.

Nametags are powerful. I can't wait to see where I get my next one.

Learning about prayer from kids

Yesterday I had the opportunity to talk with eight preteens about prayer.

We started with prayer mandalas, so the kids would be focused on prayer.  (If you would like to meditate and pray while coloring a mandala, I get mine here.)  Coloring can be a centering activity, where you clear your mind and focus on your relationship with God.

We talked about the different times people pray, at church, before dinner, before bed, when you're feeling sad.  We also talked about praying when we were overwhelmed.  Each child offered an example of when they are overwhelmed.  Of the eight, three listed a problem on a screen "When I accidentally drown my character on my X box game."  "When I'm playing with my friend online and he chooses a hard opponent."  "When I'm trying to avoid being killed on the game."  It was fascinating to me because they weren't being silly.  These are real times when these young people feel overwhelmed.  Before the evening, I had anticipated their responses to be something like too much homework, extracurricular activities, or stressful relationships with parents, siblings, or friends.  The other half of the room listed these.

One of the ways to pray that I introduced them to was breath prayer.  The prayer repeats a one sentence prayer with each breath.  The one I use most is inhale: "I want to feel" and exhale "Your peace and grace."  (If you want to know more about breath prayer, there's an excellent explanation here.)

Usually I use breath prayer to request something intangible like peace or grace.  But it can also be used for tangible items.  I recently taught my six year old daughter how to do this and encouraged her to craft her own.  After a period of time I asked her what hers was.  She said, "I want to  make....good grades at school."  I was surprised for two reasons 1. She makes great grades...her lowest was 98 this six weeks and 2. I never thought about using breath prayer for something tangible.  For me it's a centering, calming, focusing, spiritual tool.  

I just love how when I think I'm smart and have something figured out, a child comes and teaches me something new.  (Luckily I usually don't tell others I've got it figured out so when I continue learning, I'm the only embarrassed one.)

The Last Seven Days

Today's blog is a run-down of what we've been doing the last week.  Above you see a picture of Lyndale the Literary Lion. We met him last week at the library. Apparently Lyndale is a full-time librarian in Dallas. He's an excellent presenter for kids. He had all the kids rapping along with him. It was pretty awesome. We've been rocking out to his CD, which was only $5. And guess what? He's on i-tunes!

Later on that night, Adam was riding  his bike around the neighborhood and then found this awesome sight.  At the church by our house, they had Christian gangsta rap blasting out their doors and fires in the parking lot.  I believe the name of the band was the John 8 Crew, but I couldn't find them on Google.

So yeah, what these people had going on at their church actually made us come from blocks away.  We heard about what was happening and immediately got in our car and headed to the church.  We toured the church and picked up all their literature.  Unfortunately not one person spoke to us.  I found that disappointing because we were trying to figure out what the occasion was, etc.  And, if I have something cool at my church, I want to make sure everyone feels at home and knows the program.  If the purpose of having gangsta rap blasting out your church is to draw people to church, that worked, but we were kind of disappointed after that.  We left after hearing the hit "Feel the Holy Spirit Drop" and having a hot dog weiner thrown at our windshield by a little kid.

Here's a picture of Paul at basketball practice.  Unfortunately I keep rotating this darn pic and it won't take.  So my apologies for the crick in your neck.

We also attended a goodbye party for our friends the Leonard family.  Here's Blake and Paul hanging out in the backyard.  The Leonards were friends from church who are now friends from Baltimore.

Yesterday was Paul's first basketball game.  He did well for a near three year old.  I think all the kids at one time running for one ball intimidated him and he wasn't as aggressive as some, but he did shoot for a goal one time (missed) and said he had fun.  His next game is tomorrow, so maybe he'll do better now that he knows what to expect.

Today is library day again, so who knows what the next seven days will hold?  Excitement for sure.

Employment

Since January, I've been the communications coordinator at Arlington Heights United Methodist Church. I'm in charge of the newsletter, the website, and various other church publications as needed. While the kids are in preschool, I get to sit in my office and pretend I'm an adult. I love it! Here's some pictures of my office: This would be my bookshelf with my shrine to cute kids...mine and Miss Marijn Joan Koons! This is my wall of original artwork. On the left is a self-portrait by Claire. In the middle is a real oil painting depicting faith as a tree. My friend Robin Stout painted it and I was so honored that she let me have it! It's so pretty. On the right is an Allison Smith pastel design. I love to stare at it.

Look! I look important and busy!

Robin took these photos and said, "You're so important and busy that you have to work on two computers at the same time!" I was cracking up when she was taking the pictures. That's how serious I am. If you look in the background, you can even see my college diploma framed! Woohoo! I'm a grownup!

Getting Along at Church

When I was a kid, my behavior at church was the best it was all week. My sister and I might have been fighting in the car en route to church, but we knew once we walked through the doors, we better straighten up. My mom would pinch the underside of our closest arm to get us in line should we waver.
As an adult, Adam and I pride ourselves on attending a church where people act the same in church as they do outside of it. There's not a metamorphosis that happens at the church door like I had growing up. We can go to church on Sunday morning and then later go out to lunch and order a beer. If we run into one of our ministers at the restaurant, we don't have to disguise the beer.
We love our church and all the people in it. Obviously, we are closer to some than others, but we don't have anyone we actively avoid. We are friends with the entire congregation.
That's why it's so confusing to us when others don't share our view. I'm involved in several groups at the church: a prayer group, Sunday school, ladies organizations, book clubs and committees. The last few years, several of these have suffered rifts. There was the prayer group rift over who was serving at a special worship service. There was the Sunday school rift over liberal vs. conservative theology. Last Sunday, there was a rift about the homosexuality issue.
Adam and I believe that everyone has their mind made up about certain issues. I will never debate hot button issues with my friends. I don't discuss homosexuality, the death penalty, or abortion with others. No good ever seems to come out of those conversations.
I do discuss love. I believe we are supposed to love everyone, regardless of their beliefs and doctrines. If you are Muslim, I feel free to call you friend. If you are homosexual, you are my buddy, too.
I believe love fixes everything. If I remember that I love you, I'm less likely to get upset when we disagree. Little comments or issues don't matter. Love does.
So to you, friend I agree with, I offer you love. And to you, friend I disagree with, I also offer you love.

Mortification as Ministry

Every Thursday night during the summer and winter months, our church hosts up to twelve homeless ladies for an overnight stay. The program is called Room in the Inn, and the Boyettes love it.
I love helping with RITI because I love to cook and you will not find more willing taste-testers than those ladies. Also, I never considered cooking as a ministry, but have discovered that it can be.
Some people that serve don't bring their children. They know the kids will be underfoot and make other arrangements for them. That's not an option for me, so I bring my kids along. I believe it's good for them to be around all types of people growing up so they can learn that everyone no matter what color, handicap, economic, or housing status is a valuable person.
About a month ago was our first time to serve this summer. I was busy in the kitchen dishing out the food so I let the kids roam around, visiting with the ladies. One of my friends alerted me that I needed to grab Paul. He was jumping on the guest beds. I was mortified and immediately yanked him and apologized all over myself. The lady who was lying down said she had seven kids of her own and didn't mind Paul at all. I relaxed a little, which gave the green light to Claire.
The next time I looked, both kids were jumping on the mattresses and Paul was also actually riding a lady like a horse. Church members kept alerting me that my kids were going crazy, I kept apologizing, and the homeless ladies kept enjoying it.
This past Thursday we served again. During the appetizer portion, Paul and Claire ate off of everyone's plates. One lady kept getting more grapes, only to have them hijacked by Paul every time. Claire begged for another lady to pour her punch and went around the room showing everyone her new McDonald's toy.
During dinner it was more of the same. I was serving, and the kids were going wild. They were jumping on beds, doing somersaults, and leaving their shoes all over the room. Paul kept approaching one lady and showing her his big boy underwear, which I later realized was filled with poop.
My stress level was to the roof and I was mortified. Several families at our church have children that are quiet, graceful, and well-behaved all the time. My children act the same way at church as at home: full of joy, enthusiasm, and energy.
Once I discovered the poop, we had to exit. I was embarrassed and exhausted.
Yesterday at church, one of the homeless ladies approached me. She told me Claire and Paul were the talk of the Day Resource Center on Friday. Apparently a few of the ladies who visited our church were telling stories of those crazy kids. Cindy told me they talked about Paul's shoes which never match, Claire's new haircut, their personalities, and even that they jump on beds. Apparently several of the ladies asked about the bed-jumping and said, "That actually sounds like you guys have fun!"
So this Thursday when we go to see the homeless ladies at church, I'm not going to fret it. Apparently jumping on beds can be a ministry.
Another activity that mortifies me is taking Paul to "big church" service. We started taking Claire when she turned two, slowly training her and escaping to the nursery when needed.
Last week Paul had to leave when the sermon started because he was singing "Halloooya!". This week he lasted almost to the end of the sermon when he started army-crawling under the pews. He was very quiet, so I felt we had some progress.
After service everyone gathers in the atrium to fellowship. No less than three strangers came up to me to ask why I had to take Paul out of worship service. "He was being so good. He wasn't disturbing anyone." They all commented on what joy it brings them to watch my energetic, enthusiastic kids during worship.
I had been cursing under my breath and regretting that we let Claire seat us in the front row. Apparently sitting in the front row is okay because we're providing entertainment for the entire congregation.
I've learned that having hyper kids at church is one of those turning lemons into lemonade moments. Who knew that my mortification was preventing the kids from sharing joy?

Susan

We have a friend named Susan. She is 55 years old and she's always teaching us life lessons.

Susan is mentally challenged. She was cared for her entire life by her father, a friend of ours, who passed away recently. We were casual friends with Susan before, but have stepped in to help out since her father passed away. The result has been a beautiful friendship between her and our entire family.

The first time I was amazed at Susan was about a year before her father passed away. She had just gotten home from the hospital after surgery. We had never been to her house before and were amazed at the artwork on display there. Her favorite activity is coloring and the walls on both floors of her home were covered with framed color by number marker posters. Her father was as proud of them as he would have been owning a Monet.

A couple of weeks after her father's funeral we discovered Susan was staying at a home near our house. One of our ministers was driving across town to make sure she made it to church every Sunday, so we took over that job. Her favorite outfit to wear to church included a T-shirt emblazened with the words "Still Undefeated." It was in reference to a football team, but we found it appropriate for her situation, too.

Eventually she had to be moved to a full-time nursing center because of health problems. We were initially horrified at the center because she was roomed with a severely mentally unstable lady who was convinced everyone was out to hurt her. Adam and I cringed when we visited Susan because of her roommate and couldn't stand to think about Susan staying with her. Susan didn't mind. She introduced the crazy lady as her friend and shared her birthday presents. She gave her birthday cake, brand new crayons and even a small piece of jewelry. She has a new roommate now, and we love her.

Recently we were at the nursing home and were startled by a lady screaming. This particular lady is usually screaming when we come. Claire was scared of her, and I must admit being unsettled myself. When we picked up Susan Sunday to go to church, she stopped in front of the lady's room and called her by name. "Bye Diana!" she said, and the lady responded in kind, calling Susan by name in her yell-speak. I was afraid to be around the lady and Susan calls her a friend.

At church, Susan is anxious to receive communion. She nearly runs down the aisle, and I have seen her clap her hands and point to her palm in anticipation. I enjoy communion myself, but I have never run down the aisle or demanded my communion come faster. Maybe I should.

Yesterday we took Susan to dinner at Whataburger (one of her favorites) and she thanked us as well as each employee when we left. "Thank you. It was very good!" she told them all. I always tell fast-food people thank you when I receive my food, but I have never gone back to compliment them on their hard work. They weren't used to it, either, and were obviously impressed.

Susan always gives Claire or Paul her artwork from church. She attends class with Claire because they are on about the same level. She might have the intelligence of a three year old, but her wisdom is ageless.

This Week

We've been very busy the past seven days. Friday afternoon, Adam loaded our truck Clampett-style and we went camping in San Marcos.



We went with a group from our church and we all had a fun, with the exception of Wesley Eugene. He was the only dog in the group, so he got constant attention. He's not fond of children to begin with, so this was a weekend of torture for him. Luckily he didn't snap or bite any of them.

Claire learned to use a port-a-potty. The first time she sat down on it she said, "Hmmm...This is interesting."



We all went tubing down the river, even Claire and Paul. The water was calm enough for even the littlest Boyette to enjoy it. Claire even took a nap while tubing with Adam.



Sunday we headed back home.

Monday morning, I took Claire and Paul to the zoo, for the special "Members Only" activities. Claire got to get up close and personal with a flamingo.



Tuesday morning, I took the kids to see Kung Fu Panda. It was a free showing, so I didn't feel bad taking a baby to a movie theater. We went with our friends, Alli, Emerson, and Declan, and Alli and I later kicked ourselves for that. Emerson and Claire might as well be sisters. They fight all the time and feed off of each other. About 20 minutes into the movie, Claire needed to go potty. As soon as we got back, Emerson needed to go.

About that time, a family arrived late and sat directly behind us. Our noses told us that. If you've ever been to the Fort Worth Zoo, you know it has a very distinctive smell, a mix of animal poop and stagnant water. Sometimes (and this has happened to me) you leave the zoo smelling like it. It's pretty bad.

So immediately when this family sat behind us, Alli and I looked to each other and verified it wasn't our kids smelling like that. I kept sniffing Paul to make sure he didn't have a dirty diaper. I guess that family had smelled like that all day and didn't notice it. (This has also happened to me, but the Adam has been gracious enough to let me know.)

At one point in the movie, the smell got a lot worse. The boy apparently pooped in the seat because soon after the smell worsened, he ran down the steps with a package of wipes in his hand. The rest of the family left soon after, and the smell remained. Apparently he pooped on the chair.

Alli and I had been very stressed out about our kids during the whole movie. Claire wouldn't sit down, Paul tried to crawl around the theater, Alli's kids were restless as well. But when the kid behind us, who had to be seven or eight, pooped in the seat, it made me grateful. It could always be worse. I could be fleeing from a darkened theater where my kid just pooped on the seat.

Tuesday night, Adam and I went on a hot date to see Twelfth Night at TCU. Wednesday we went to the library twice, once for story time and once to see clowns. We also had a pool playdate.

Last night, after all her friends had left, Claire asked me, "Do people have tails between their legs right here?" She made a gesture toward her privates. "No, silly," I said. "Why do you ask?" "Because Gabe and Paul do." Apparently Claire had walked in on her friend Gabe using the restroom, and she sees Paul naked all the time.

Claire is definitely getting to the questioning stage. She also asked me recently if Paul had peanuts. She definitely needs the information, but I'm not ready to give it to her, so I blew her off with "That's just their bottoms. They're boys, so it's a little bit different."

Claire's pretty smart, so I don't know how long my vague explanations of body parts will last. I want to teach her all the correct words, but I don't want her to shout at the library that boys have penises. (Yesterday, she yelled, "That boy is sooo black!" I don't even know where she got that, because I never talk about that.) I'm going to have to wait until she has developed a little discretion. Of course, that might be a mistake, too, because I know I am not her only source of information. Parenting is hard work.

Claire in the Sr. Pastor's chair

Just Another Manic Monday

Yesterday was hectic. Here's what happened.

4 a.m. Paul wakes up hungry. I feed him and fall back asleep.

7:15 a.m. Adam's alarm goes off for the umpteenth time and I finally hear it. I jolted out of bed and ran to make coffee.

7:20 a.m. Check e-mail for just a minute.

7:21 a.m. Claire hollers and I hope she goes back to sleep for a few minutes.

7:22 a.m. Coupon cutting ensues.

7:23 a.m. Paul wakes back up and is hungry again. Adam fumbles through the kitchen, ironing his shirt.

7:30 a.m. Claire screams again. I sigh and go get her up.

7:45 a.m. Breakfast commences. En lieu of Bible study, I cut coupons.

8:20 a.m. Adam flies out of the house, late for work.

10:30 a.m. Kids and I are bathed, dressed, and fed. Ready to go shop.

10:45 a.m. We walk into Costco. Claire's bathroom trips = 1

11:15 a.m. We walk into Target. Claire's bathroom trips = 1

Noon We walk into Kroger. Claire's bathroom trips = 3, Spilled milk = 1, Leaking baby food jars = 1, Crying baby = 1, Fights between a toddler and a baby = 3 or 4, Elderly shoppers getting tripped up by a toddler = 3 or 4, Claire squats in the aisle, mimicking going potty = 10

2 p.m. We walk out of Kroger and apologize to Adam for the tardiness of his lunch.

2:10 p.m. Fly into the house, throw lunch together, serve it, throw the kids in the bed for a nap and start putting up groceries.

4 p.m. Get kids up to go to church for two meetings. Several snacks, potty trips, and changes of clothes later, we get in the car at 5:00.

5:02 p.m. Paul starts crying uncontrollably.

5:23 p.m. We pull into the church parking lot and realize we have lost a pacifier.

5:24 p.m. I hand off the kids and drive as fast as I can to Walgreen's.

5:35 p.m. Made it to the first meeting.

6:30 p.m. Nursery workers leave, telling me they weren't booked for the second meeting.

6:35 p.m. I take my kids to the meeting.

6:45 p.m. More nursery workers appear and I am relieved.

8:00 p.m. Dash home, feed Paul immediately, start dinner immediately, get Adam to bathe the kids.

9:10 p.m. Dinner on table.

10 p.m. Kids in bed. Cleanup commences.

11 p.m. Attempt to watch TV with Adam, but collapse within 30 seconds or so.

So tell me...When does the "stay-at-home" mom part start?

Paul's Baptism

Paul was baptized Sunday. It was crazy, in true Boyette fashion.

We attend Arlington Heights UMC. I was raised Baptist, but grew up knowing I didn't agree with many of the Baptist doctrines. After Adam and I got married, we joined AHUMC. We feel completely at home. Our kids do, too, which is a blessing and a curse. Claire felt so much at home on Sunday that immediately after the baptism, when we were trying to make our way back to our seats, she decided to crawl around the front of the sanctuary and declare that she was a puppy dog. I was calling her and she said, "I not Claire, I a puppy dog." I said, "Okay, puppy dog, come on."

I was so preoccupied with all the family and friends we had there and making sure everyone was okay that I didn't get to contemplate or even focus on the event. Of course I can now, but I was frustrated that I was just reading the script and not thinking about what it said.

Adam was baptized as a baby and I was baptized in third grade. Although I think it's an important thing to do, I don't believe it has anything to do with getting into heaven. I think of it just as a public declaration of a life that is (hopefully) devoted to God.

In Sunday School our friend Leigh read a passage out of a book that was titled, Being Methodist in the Bible Belt. It talked about how people are saved and how to answer the question, "When were you saved?" I liked the response...."In A.D. 33 when Jesus died for me."

Funny, huh?

La Posada

Last week our whole family had the opportunity to represent the Holy family at our church's live nativity, La Posada. They selected us because I called the church in early October and volunteered. Several families have had baby boys since then, and would have been much more appropriate candidates, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I really wanted to do it.

I thought Claire would have to be wrangled down and kept away from the manger, but the lady that was in charge let her be an angel.

We had so much fun. I rode a donkey down Clover Lane in Ft. Worth. We had police escorts! Usually you only get a police escort after you die and the coffin is travelling down the road. I got a police escort for riding a donkey! Of course, the police were also there to protect the procession following us, but still, it was pretty funny.

My first attempt at mounting the donkey ended in disaster. He moved.

We had better luck the next time.

I tried hard to be reverent and serene, but those are two adjectives that don't fit me quite well. I was very honored that irreverent and funny as my family is, we were allowed to represent the Holy Family. I was Mary, mother of Jesus! Adam was Joseph! Paul was the Baby Jesus! And Claire was an angel! I still am amazed that we got away with it.

Sheep and camels came to bow down at the manger. Claire really wanted to go pet the sheep and shouted "Baa! Baa!" at them. (Coincidentally, she also shouted that when she noticed a stained glass window at church yesterday. During worship service.)

In this picture, Claire is about to go run to pet the sheep, but as I am holding the Baby Jesus, I am also telling his big sister to stay right there. Adam is attempting to look reverent. He did a bettter job than me on that.

After the drama was over, people came to greet the "newborn" 20 lb. Baby Jesus.

We had a lot of fun and laughs. Paul and I both passed out blessings to people. As much fun as we had, though, I also had moments of clarity. It was difficult for me to ride a donkey, but I can't imagine doing it when I was 9 months pregnant! It's tough to breathe when you're that pregnant, much less ride a donkey!

And as happy and proud as we are of our little "Baby Jesus," I am speechless when I think about the real Jesus and what an honor it must have been to be his mother. A few days later I was working on my Bible study and one sentence stood out to me. "He was born to die." We talk often about God being Jesus' father and he gave his "only begotten Son," but what about his mother? I can't imagine raising a child like that. It must have been excruciating! You know that your Son has the hope for the entire world on his shoulders, so you're proud of that, but he's your Son! You don't want him to die! I don't know how soon Mary knew that Jesus would have to give his life, but my children are like body parts to me. I can't imagine watching one of them die.

Playing this role has made me think this holiday season. I always try to focus on the true meaning of Christmas, but you understand the meaning a lot better when you act it out.