Cooking Up Memories

Yesterday I decided to lead the kids in baking homemade cookies. I love cooking and want to impart that love to the children. Also, I want to make sure that when they graduate from high school, they can cook their way through college.
We had fun mixing the dough. Claire was using the electric mixer and every time she paused, Paul dipped his spoon in and ate some. I greased the cookie sheets and let them arrange the dough to their liking.
I opened the oven door while the cookies were baking and realized this recipe wasn't working. It came out of an old recipe book that Claire picked out at Half Price Books, so I wasn't surprised. The recipe is from the 1970s and maybe the ingredient list wasn't up to date.
So when I opened the oven I told the kids that the cookies weren't cooking right and Claire said, "Should we call the police and tell them we are cooking cookies?"
This was in reference to a recent incident when after baking a cake, I cleaned the oven and the neighbor thought his house was on fire. He called 9-1-1 and the firemen had to come inside my house and inspect it.
I assured Claire that the police did not need to be alerted that our cookies weren't baking correctly. When we pulled them from the oven they were hot and sticky and didn't look like cookies at all.
Undiscouraged, I waited until the pans cooled down and gave the kids a spoon. I told them to dig in. They each had a bite and were uninterested after that.
This morning in the kitchen we ran out of creamer. I buy it in bulk from Costco, so I was surprised. I was looking all over the place and then I remembered what happened.
Last week I made drums for the kids with coffee creamer cans. I had one empty can, but to have two, I emptied another into a ziploc bag.
I found the creamer and gave Adam his coffee. Then I realized that yesterday I used that same Ziploc bag to measure flour for the kids' cookies. That's why the recipe didn't work. We used a cup and a half of coffee creamer, not flour.
At least we made some memories.

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?

Lost and Found

When Adam and I lived in the TCU area, we developed quite a reputation for rescuing dogs. I can't even tell you how many dogs we caught and returned to their owners.
When we moved to Wedgwood, we had to give that up. One problem is that we never can catch the loose dogs, and the other problem is that we always know who they belong to. It's always the family across the street who have exactly 12 people and 1200 dogs and cats in residence.
This morning was different. Claire and Paul and I were going to go on a walk to walk our dog, Wesley Eugene, and scout for birds. Claire has a National Geographic bird guide, so we were going to identify every bird we saw.
As we were leaving, a little puppy came up to us and was jumping over Wesley. He was playful and friendly and missing his collar. I put him in the backyard for safety. I was going to take him to the pound, assuming that he belonged to our neighbor and thinking I would teach her a lesson.
I decided maybe that wouldn't be the best action, so I rang her doorbell and talked to her instead. It wasn't her dog.
So Claire and Paul and I went up and down the block ringing doorbells, asking if anyone knew the dog we had found. It was a sweet dog, and Claire named him Potatohead.
No one knew Potatohead, so we decided to go ahead and take him to the pound. I know what they do there, but it's a central location, and I was hoping the owner would call the pound to collect him.
On the way to the pound, I called Adam. He encouraged me to make flyers instead and post them around the block. So we detoured to Petsmart to buy the dog some cheap dog food so he could avoid eating Wesley's fancy stuff.
When we were checking out, I was visiting with the cashier, and she suggested I speak to the employees at the back of the store that run a dog shelter on site. I did and found out that the dog had a chip implanted in the back of his neck that told his name, his owner's name, address, and various phone numbers. So even though the dog didn't have a collar or tags, we were able to find his owners.
We returned the dog to his owners. His name is really Marley, but he also answers to "Potatohead." Apparently Marley is owned by a family with a three-year old who had been crying all morning because the dog had escaped.
It was a happy ending, and I believe an educational one for all of us. I learned that a little patience and mercy can make someone else's day. The kids learned that every animal has a home where he belongs, and home is always the best place to be.

Poop

Warning: If the title of this post wasn't enough warning, here is your second warning. This post is about poop! If you don't like reading about poop, don't read this.

Paul is now 25 months old, traditionally too young for potty-training, I believe. However, just after his birthday, he started saying "potty" and then actually going. I was amazed at the genius of my child, so I went out and bought him some cute Sesame Street underwear.
Off and on the last month, I have been putting Paul's underwear on and taking him to the potty regularly. He has been doing great!
The first time I took him out in public in underwear we were at church. I was just bragging on him to one of our pastors when I realized there was a puddle forming at his ankles. We took a break for a few days after that.
This week we are at it again, and Paul has been doing great. Yesterday at Lowe's he told me he needed to go potty and was able to hold it until we got there. I was so proud of him.
I left him in his underwear and went to a movie last night with my friend Alli. When I walked out of the theater and turned on my phone, I was snorting with laughter. Poor Adam sent me a picture of an unfortunate surprise that appeared when he was playing with the kids.
Today we went to my grandfather's house to visit. Paul peed on the floor twice and then pooped in his underwear. I patiently took him to the potty to clean him up, but then he stepped in it and started freaking out. Then he started thrashing his foot around, trying to get the poop off of it and we ended up with poop all over both of us. I wasn't very patient at that point.
He is currently in diapers.

Freaky Deaky

Two events happened this weekend that I can only refer to as freaky deaky or God. I prefer the latter.
I was driving home from the grocery store on Saturday and saw a man asking for money. He had an oxygen tank and a cane. I don't know if they were props or if he actually needed them, but I felt bad for the guy so I gave him $2. I also offered him a hot dog that Paul hadn't even touched, but he didn't want that. He said he couldn't eat hot dogs. That lead me to believe that maybe he was a faker, but oh well, I tried to share love with him anyway.
When I got home the mail was in the mailbox. When I opened it, I received $2 for a phone survey I recently completed. I was completely reimbursed from my investment with the possibly-faking-it bum.
Yesterday Claire and I went to early worship service at the church. Our late friend Susan loved going to early worship service. When we were singing the closing hymn, a memoriam paper from her funeral fell out in my hand. We don't usually sit where we sat yesterday; I always let Claire pick the pew. So of all the pews in the church and of all the hymnals in the pews and of all the pages in the hymnals, I chose the one with Susan's funeral program in it. I felt like she was there worshipping with us. I passed the paper on to a friend who dearly loved Susan but who couldn't go to her funeral.
So either these events were freaky-deaky coincidences or they were God. You decide.

Stranger Not Danger

I went running this morning, and I encountered several people along the way. That's not so remarkable, but I found myself approaching each person in a unique way.

To the elderly lady walking her dog, I said, "Good morning!" She replied with a smile a mile wide. To the landscape worker that I also saw yesterday, I looked away. To the man who came out to get his paper in his underwear, I looked down to avoid any embarrassment. To the two ladies that were chatting together as they walked, I turned the corner.

If my children had been with me the situation would have been completely different. Claire and Paul not only love interactions with everyone, they seek them out. When I walk pulling them in the wagon, they start yelling "Hi" to people a block before we actually approach them. They are always disappointed and sometimes cry when I forget to roll down the car window as we approach a construction site so they can greet the workers.

They brighten nearly everyone's day that they come in contact with. So on my run this morning, I was conscious of how unlike Claire and Paul my interactions were. I was raised to avoid communicating with strangers, so I often revert back to that. However, Claire and Paul like to smile and greet everyone. People come up to me all the time at church or even in stores to tell me what a blessing my cheerful children are. I agree, so I try to share them. Of course we have talks about leaving a place without me, but as far as having a conversation with a stranger, I encourage it.

I believe God often puts people on our path to interact with. The elderly lady I greeted might have been returning to an empty house and no one to talk to the rest of the day. The others I passed will have to be missed opportunities. Tomorrow when I go run, I will be more like Claire and Paul and seek out people to greet, rather than look away.

McDonald's Fail

For ten years or so, I've been boycotting McDonald's.

McDonald's is everywhere. My parents didn't take me there when I was a kid because they didn't like it and I grew up to feel pretty much the same way.

Last week our dear friend Charles died, and I believe having elderly people in our lives makes us better people, so I decided to try to do more activities with our blind friend, Jo. She wanted to go to the new McDonald's by her house, and because I love her so much, I consented.

Due to several circumstances, Jo had to back out at the last minute, but the kids, who had never been to McDonald's, still wanted to go. I decided to suck it up and do it.

I walked in and immediately was frustrated because I couldn't find the breakfast menu. Then I was informed that breakfast was over and they actually change menus when they stop serving it. So I settled for two Happy Meals and a yogurt parfait.

I let the kids eat and then play in the play area. Claire was having fun and making friends. Paul couldn't get up the ladder, so he stayed at the bottom, happy to wave at Claire above him. Then Paul figured out how to get up in the tunnels and immediately we had problems.

Paul couldn't get out. He was screaming like he was mortally injured. I sent Claire in to get him and he shouted louder and refused to let her push him down the slide. Then Claire tried pulling him, but she wasn't strong enough to get him moved.

I surveyed the slide and decided it could hold my weight and climbed up a little bit. I couldn't see him, so I slid down. He wouldn't move. I climbed up three times, but gravity worked against me every time and I ended up sliding down before I reached him.

I had to climb the ladder just like the kids. I'm not a waif, so I was really worried about breaking something. I had to contort my body to get up the ladder tunnel and then cross the netting and then pick the right slide tunnel to go down. I was also wearing a knee-length skirt, so I tried hard not to flash the people below.

Eventually I found Paul. He screamed even louder because I put him in the slide and pushed him down to the ground with my feet.

Both out of the tunnel, I grabbed our belongings and told the kids I hope they enjoyed it, because we're not going back to McDonald's.

Ode to Charles

Our dear friend Charles Harper died yesterday. He was 89.
Charles had an accomplished life. He received the Purple Heart in WWII and was known locally as Mr. Harper of Harper's Bluebonnet Bakery. He will surely be missed.
What I loved most about Charles was his generosity. Adam and I first got to know him when we started sitting by him at church. Before we had kids or a house with a pool, we would spend Sunday afternoons in Charles' pool and then dinner at El Fenix with Charles and a margarita. He was always glad to have someone around to swim with and we were happy to have somewhere to swim.
As he got older, he decided his home was too much work for him, so he decided on his own to move out. Before he moved he had his family come and pick anything they wanted out of the house. After they were done he even let Adam have his choice of tools from the tool shed. Charles moved to an assisted living facility and hired a firm to run an estate sale of his belongings. Then he sold his home. He never wanted to be a burden or extra work on anyone and wanted all his belongings distributed while he still could do it.
Charles used to take his camera to church and take pictures of everyone. The next Sunday you would be presented with a beautiful 8 1/2 x 11 candid photo of you or a family member. Most of the time you didn't even realize he had taken your picture. He also ran the church website until it was outsourced to someone else.
Every Monday and Friday morning Charles got up early and met the Methodist Men for a prayer breakfast at one of the local diners. At Vickery Cafe, they still have some of Charles' old license plates displayed. Every Wednesday morning he went to church to play dominoes and cards during Heritage Hour. As his health began to fail and he stopped driving, the church started to bring Heritage Hour to him.
Even in his late years, Charles was on the forefront of technology. He was the first person I knew on Facebook and Twitter, and he most recently took to Skyping his son in Las Vegas. He sent cute and clever e-mails daily. Sometimes he would send Adam a real funny one, but being a gentleman, would not send it to me. I always got an extra laugh out of that.
Charles loved our children. Claire took her first long walk down the hall of Mirabella, where he lived, and Paul enjoyed doing the same. When we visited him we would be surrounded by ourselves. I kept Charles supplied in pictures and he glued them to every surface in his home.
The kids knew where Charles kept his orange slice candy, held closed with a binder clip, and his peppermints. He never let the kids go home empty handed and even gave Claire a kitchen timer one time and unknowingly re-gifted several gifts we had given him. I always smile when I hear Charles kitchen timer from Claire's room. It's a popular toy.
Before the Sharper Image website went out of business he bought everyone he knew little gifts from there. We have cordless phones in our house and floating solar lights in our pool from Charles.
He had mechanical grabbers all over his apartment and the kids loved to use them to pick up items off his floor. He always had the Fox News network running on his television and several computers on to check his e-mail as it came in.
Before he died, Charles made all his funeral arrangements himself. He even picked out the funeral announcements to be passed out at the service. When he died yesterday, all his nephew had to do was make one phone call and everything fell into place.
The last time we saw Charles was Friday, July 2. We were headed out of town for vacation and wanted to give him a hug before we left. He told me he would be waiting until we got back. We returned Sunday and Adam tried to call him but there was no answer. He died the next morning, and I can't help but believe he did wait for us.
Somewhere in heaven right now, Charles and his wife Alta Faye are baking up a storm and tweeting about it. Too bad we don't have celestial Skype.

Happy Birthday, Paul!

Two years and one day ago I was huge pregnant and at the doctor's office. He heard a "hiccup" in my baby's heartbeat so he put me in a hospital room to be monitored for a couple of hours. Then he went home.
Although he claimed he didn't forget me, Adam and I are pretty sure he did. When he came to work the next day he said, "Okay, I guess we'll get this baby out since you're here!" I was excited and Adam was disappointed. He really wanted Paul to be born on his own birthday, June 20.
Today, June 17, is Paul's second birthday. Our lives have changed drastically since he was born.
I quit work; no more teaching, at least for now. I used my time nursing him to also hold Claire in my lap and read her books.
When he was little, I strapped him in the Baby Bjorn and put Claire on the monkey leash and took them both to the zoo. I started taking both kids to the library when Paul was about two months old and we still go every Wednesday at 10:30.
You can also find all three of us at the Museum of Science and History or Candleridge Park. It's hard to find us standing still, unless it's nap time.
Paul is just as sweet and compassionate as his sister, but he is also a completely different child. His favorite toys are balls. Every day he carries a different one around as a security blanket and a toy. "Ball! Foooootball! Pooooooooool ball!" he shouts.
The boy is also a shoe-lover. You will rarely see him barefoot. He even wears shoes to bed. I used to put him to bed barefoot, but then he fell a couple of times trying to reach a pair late at night, so now I make sure he has a pair on when he goes to sleep.
Pair of shoes is a relative term with Paul. Unlike Claire, who always wore hers on the wrong feet, Paul wears his correctly. He just doesn't wear matching shoes. Yesterday he walked to the library in one flip-flop and one tennis shoe. He often wears one galosh and one Croc. On Sunday morning I at least make sure he's wearing the same type of shoe, and it's usually one blue Croc and one orange one.
Paul is a climber. He often scales the changing table to get a new diaper. He also enjoys climbing on Adam and my bed so he can body-slam his father when Adam is asleep. One of his and Claire's favorite hobbies is jumping on the bed to wake Daddy. (Mama is always awake anyway, and I get out of danger's way when this happens.)
He is also immeasurably sweet. He is in love with my grandfather and runs up to him shouting and then laying his head on his lap to get a kiss from "Mi."
When Paul's friend Ella was crying the other day, he started rubbing her back and kissing her cheek. He is compassionate, too.
Happy birthday to my snuggly, wiggly, Paul-E-Wog!

Eulogy for Susan Unterseher

Note: Some of this was previously published on my blog.

Susan was my friend. My almost two year old son Paul ranked first on the Susan friend scale, followed by my four year old daughter Claire, and then me. My husband Adam was also her friend, but we were considered more as Paul’s entourage.

Susan loved Paul. When we came in her room she would shout, “There’s my Paul! I’m happy now because Paul came to visit me!” Paul loved Susan as well and climbed on top of her hospital bed to give her a kiss and a hug.

The first time I was amazed at Susan was about a year before her father, Ruben, 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 was 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. Raul 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 emblazoned 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 lady as her friend and shared her birthday presents. She gave her birthday cake, brand new crayons and even a small piece of jewelry.

Once at the nursing home we were startled by a lady screaming. This particular lady was usually screaming when we came. 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 called her a friend.

At church, Susan was anxious to receive communion. She nearly ran down the aisle with her walker, and would 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.

When Claire turned three, Adam started giving her a dollar coin for her Sunday School offering. This was the same time we started taking Susan to church with us and she wouldn’t let Adam forget to give her offering money, too. She attended the three year old class with Claire officially as a helper and unofficially as a kid. She enjoyed coloring and making crafts as much as the kids did. Adam and I would have three kids to pick up on those Sundays. Paul stayed in the nursery and Susan and Claire were a team in the threes classroom.

When we picked Susan up to take her to church, she didn’t say “Hi.” or “How are you?” She would greet us with, “I want Whataburger today.” Or “I want Taco Bell today.” She was a woman who knew what she wanted and was easy to please. Each time we visited her at the hospital and often when we saw her at the nursing center I asked her what she needed and she would reply with a request for a Whataburger hamburger and a large iced tea.

Once 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 was so generous. If she didn’t have a colored picture for Claire and Paul, she would give them one of her stuffed animals or a puzzle. I was always emotional about that because her entire possessions fit into half of a small room and she was still giving stuff away. If we visited her at the hospital and she didn't have any toys to give away, she would give the children drinks from her cup of water or tea.

As her health declined, Susan had to quit her job, quit going to church, and quit walking. She still remained optimistic. She always had a good report to tell me. "Sarah, I went to work today." became "Sarah, I walked down the hall today." which became "Sarah, I sat up on my own today." No matter what she did, she was always proud.

Susan might not have had a college degree or even a high school diploma, but she knew what was important in life. She took pride in her work. She was unashamed to ask for what she wanted. She gave away anything she could. She showed love to everyone. In heaven now with her Mama and Daddy, she is still undefeated.

Happy Birthday, Claire!

Claire is four years old today. Four years ago today, I was a college-educated, career-driven wife. Now I'm a stay-at-home mom with no regrets.
Toward the end of my pregnancy with Claire, the doctor only allowed me to work half-days. She was born the day after school let out.
Claire was a fat and happy baby. I remember being so proud of her fat and thanking God that my baby was sturdy because I am a klutz and was terrified I would hurt her. We all called her Baby Claire, but when she turned two, she informed us all that she wasn't a baby anymore. She became a big sister then.
Now she goes by Claire Bear and is the smartest four year old I know. I taught her to write her name on greeting cards. I taught her to count to 30 when I applied temporary tattoos on her. I've been teaching her to read with little readers I printed off the Internet.
When we're driving down the road, Claire enjoys identifying cars and can tell you many makes and models of vehicles as well as who drives them. She'll point one out on the road and say, "There's a Volvo SUV just like Alli drives! or There's a Honda CR-V just like Maya and Ella have!" I often have to teach myself the names of cars so I can keep up with her.
She went to daycare until she was two, and then I quit work to take care of her and Paul. Daycare taught her how to count to 10 and it nearly made me cry because I wanted to be the one to teach her all her exciting first concepts. Now, right after she wakes up every morning, she eats breakfast and I sit next to her while she completes lessons for the day. If she doesn't feel like it I don't make her, but she wants to do it more often than I do. She loves learning and is a sponge.
She likes to tell people that she doesn't go to school but she goes to Sunday School. At church recently she announced that she was 3 11/12 years old.
She makes me laugh, she makes me think, and she makes me proud. Happy fourth birthday, Claire Bear!

New Friends

Last fall in my United Methodist Women circle, we decided to do the UMW study on the Sudan. About the same time, a Sudanese family visited our church. We became fast friends and have been since.
Both Adam and I were interested in their story immediately. Simon got to the United States via a refugee camp in Kenya. He walked for months through his country to find a place of peace. His wife, Ayen, is part of a family that was fortunate enough to leave the Sudan via plane.
Simon and Ayen live in a small apartment in Fort Worth with their two daughters and her brother, Emmanuel. They are some of the nicest, most generous people I have ever met.
After we became friends, Ayen called me and asked if I could come help her learn how to cook American food. I jumped at the chance. I love cooking!
So at least one afternoon a week, I would come to their apartment with my two kids and a bag or two of groceries and we cooked. I taught her tacos first and moved onto lasagna, baked chicken, roast in a crockpot, and other favorites.
Claire and Paul love the two little girls, Blessing and Glory. They all play together and when Simon arrives home from work, they all jump in his arms, Claire and Paul right next to Blessing and Glory. Unfortunately Ayen had to get a job and start working, so our visits to their home are less frequent now, but we still call each other and visit as much as possible.
We have received many blessings and learned lessons from our friendships with this beautiful family. We've had them over to our house for dinner a couple of times and are humbled. Ayen always helps me clean the kitchen, and then she moves onto other areas of the house and starts cleaning. I have to make her sit down or else I wouldn't recognize my house by the time they leave. Simon always says a blessing over the food, but he also always concludes the night with prayer.
Adam and I are pretty social and have people over for dinner often, but Simon and Ayen are different. No one else prays to God, thanking him for the food we served them and asking that God bless us in return. They don't realize that they are the blessing.
Last week Simon graduated with a two year degree from Tarrant County College. We were honored to be invited to the ceremony and a party afterward.
Many of Simon and Ayen's friends and family were there and after the ceremony they were taking group pictures. Everyone in the picture was dark as night and six foot tall or more. And then there was Claire. She included herself in every family photo. We kept trying to pull her out and let them take pictures without her, but everyone insisted we leave her in. "We love her!" they all said.
Simon works in a nursing home, from 5 a.m. until the afternoon. Ayen works at a cellular phone plant, from 4 a.m. until 2. Neither of them ever complain and nothing slows them down.
Today is Ayen's birthday, so we are all going to the Omni theater together as one family. As Simon says, "We are one family."

Sappy Thoughts

Today is Adam and my 9-year anniversary. While our two kids are still napping, I thought I'd post some sappy, fond memories of our life together.

It started with a box of Reese's Puffs. The moment I fell in love with Adam was when I saw him walking into the Shorthorn office at UTA brandishing a full-size box of Reese's Puffs to replace my trial size box that had been eaten. I was too poor/cheap to buy that cereal and was upset that someone else ate my little box, so when Adam replaced it with a giant one, I knew he was a keeper.

Before that, we were honestly just best friends. We bonded after his girlfriend dumped him and I tried in earnest to get them back together. We would give each other dating and relationship advice. Of course, that was before the Reese's.

We have been all over the country together. Adam loves driving and I love reading and napping on road trips. We've driven to Niagara Falls, Washington D.C., Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Matamoros, Key West, and several other places along the way.

Adam is completely left-brained and I am completely right-brained. This is often frustrating because we see nearly every situation completely different, but it's also a strength because we always get another viewpoint.

I love cracking jokes with him that only he will get. We have many inside jokes that have gone on nearly our entire relationship. Like we always say, our relationship is built on mutual harassment.

ALDI

I am a bargain-hunting junkie. I don't necessarily love grocery-shopping, but I love finding great deals and getting the most for my money.
My mother-in-law and I talk often about prices at Wal-Mart (where she shops) and everywhere else (where I shop.) I have finally admitted that Wal-Mart does have cheaper shelf prices, but there are so many drawbacks to shopping there that it's not worth it for me.
My bottom line is price. I want good quality, but don't have to have the best, and since I cook all our meals, I can always add extra spice, or oil or whatever to fix a dish up that is otherwise lacking.
When we heard Aldi was opening up in Fort Worth, we were both excited. I went there five or six times and left furious before I finally got with the program. One time I was was livid because I had just spent five minutes getting all my list, bags, and children together, only to walk up to the door and find out they were closed. The door greeter, who had been watching me the entire time, didn't have the courtesy to tell me before I got up there.
So here's some tips to actually enjoy your Aldi experience:

1. Bring a quarter to get a cart, whether you need a cart or not. One time I only had five items to buy, but since they don't have conveyor belts, the cashier put my five items in a basket and then wouldn't let me sack them before he started putting the next customer's purchases on top of mine. He also wouldn't let me push the cart to the sacking counter. Just FYI, the cashiers sit on a chair the entire time and will not get up for anything, even to help you.

2. Only go to buy basics like dairy or bread. Their merchandise rotates. Their chips are cheap and decent and they do have some staple products, but everything is their brand, so if you're picky about brand names, don't go. Also don't go with a big list because you'll be disappointed.

3. Bring your own bags. They charge 10 cents for paper and six cents for plastic.

4. Aldi does not accept coupons. All their merchandise is store-brand, so they couldn't even if you tried.

5. Aldi only accepts cash or debit cards.

6. Aldi closes at 8 p.m.

7. The benefits of shopping there are price (a gallon of milk is less than $2) and the speed of shopping. You can get your essentials and be in and out of there in 5 minutes.

Since I've learned how to do it, I like Aldi. They can't be my main grocery store, but they are my main emergency store stop.

Enrique's Journey

I recently read Enrique's Journey by Sonia Nazario for UMW bookclub. This book was based on a newspaper series which won two Pulitzers, one for writing and one for photography. It was an emotional read for me because it deals with mothers leaving their children to immigrate to the United States.
In the book, Nazario says "A World Bank study in in 2000 found that 42.5 percent of Mexico's 100 million people live on $2 or less a day."
As someone who is always cutting coupons and finding the cheapest way to do or buy anything, this hit home to me. I rarely go to Starbucks, but last week I spent $8 at the drive-thru. That was four days in a poor Mexican's life.
Yesterday Adam and I bought drinks at Outback. $22 or a day's worth for 11 people.
I broke my glasses on Saturday and had to get a new pair immediately. Even with the Wal-Mart exam (cheapest I know of) and a $100 off coupon at Lens Crafters, I walked out the door with new spectacles for $398.98. That's a day's worth for 200 people; a small town sitting on the bridge of my nose.
I pride myself on being thrifty and mostly not concerned with material objects. I do fall into the trap occasionally and spend money on worthless "stuff." What would my life be without all my stuff? How would my life be different if I lived on $2 a day?

Zoo friends

This is Paul with his friend, Ella. I guess I should call her his girlfriend. Ella and her sister, Maya, were in music class with us this semester. We made fast friends and do something nearly every week. Yesterday we went to the zoo where Paul took care of Ella. When her hat blew off, he put it back on and here he is making sure she doesn't fall.
Cute in her own right, Ella calls Paul, "P-Paul."
Maya, is the same age as Claire and they like to dinosaur roar at each other.
On another note, did you know that Jesus loves dinosaurs? At our home, Adam has taught the kids to pray with their hands held up to their chest, like a T. Rex with tiny hands. After we say our blessing, the kids and Adam raise their arms and roar loudly. Our prayers are said with reverance, but then followed by a roar. I'm sure Jesus would laugh if he were at the table.

Claire's Smarts

Yesterday during the children's sermon, Claire announced to the congregation that she is 3 11/12 years old. On the phone with Grandma this morning, she asked if Pawpaw was "abailable."
My girl is so smart! She has started learning to read with the website www.starfall.com. Last week I started printing off decodable books for her to read and she can now read four books! She can write her name without assistance and can copy simple messages such as "Happy Birthday" or "I love you."
Yesterday some friends from church gave her a new bicycle and she is pedaling like the wind.
Today's blog isn't thought-provoking or soul-searching. It's just bragging. I have a smart girl and I'm proud of her.

My Son

Oh, my son is so much different from my daughter. Little Paul William will be two this June, but I think he's added five years to my age in the short time he's been living.
Paul is all boy, and a tough one at that. When we get together with Claire's friends from church, he's in the midst of the wrestling boys, holding his own with four year olds.
One of his favorite activities is climbing onto our love seat, pulling off the cushion, and diving headfirst into the ground. He never misses the cushion. I used to hold my breath every time did that, but now I carry on, knowing he'll be fine.
I was on a tall ladder, trimming bushes this week. I kept feeling the ladder shake and looked down to find Paul right under me.
Adam is teaching Claire to ride her bicycle, so she'll pedal down the street, focusing hard. Paul gets on his little motorcycle and scoots until he's flying down the hill with no control.
He has no fear. He will climb any ladder or slide down any slide, no matter how high. He will jump off any ledge, no matter how far down the ground is. Luckily, I have taught him to say, "No, no pool!" which just might save his life. Our pool in the backyard is deep and unfenced, so Claire has grown up constantly being trained to stay away from it. Paul is a curious little booger, so I often catch him right next to it and hold my breath. Usually, though, he's standing next to the pool to point to it and say, "No, no pool!"
We are blessed to have one girl and one boy. Adam and I haven't decided yet whether we will add another, but we're sure that the two we have keep us busy enough right now.

Learning

Before I quit work to be a stay-at-home mom/housewife, I was a teacher. I taught first grade at an elementary school in the Poly area of Fort Worth.
My school was just blocks from the intersection of I-35 and Rosedale, which during the 1990s, was the murder capital of the United States.
Since I've stopped working and am mostly focused on parenting, my eyes have been opened to just how wide the achievement gap is. Claire, almost four, knows more about the world, life, and even school subjects, than many of my first graders did.
I always knew that my students were behind those at the prosperous Tanglewood Elementary, but I never realized how much. When I had Paul and Claire was two, I started noticing. It makes me sad for those less fortunate children in our own city who start out behind and will probably spend their lives catching up.
Claire has been writing her name for almost a year now. She can count to 100 if the numbers are in front of her, or to 30 if she's counting aloud without looking. She knows the insect life-cycle and what a plant needs to grow. She adsorbs anything you teach her and retains whatever goes into her head. (This is not so good when I want her to forget things.)
She is a sponge of information, and whenever I'm teaching her and am amazed at her knowledge, (she read a small book today.) I can't help but feel a little sad for the children whose mothers have to work two jobs to put food on the table and who don't have a computer to print off storybooks or the time to even read to their children.
I know that the majority of teachers are giving above and beyond to teach their students everything they can. I know that the majority of parents do the best they can for their kids and only want them to succeed. I also know that the achievement gap is real. I don't know the answer. Some kids were born to succeed, and some to fail. I believe part of that is just the way the world works. Life just isn't fair.

New pictures

Two weekends ago, we rode Molly the Trolley down to the Stockyards. ($1.50 each way for Adam and me, kids free) They had a free petting zoo and free pony rides. Here I am with a baby goat.

Paul on a pony. I think his was named Ariel.

Claire's pony.

We brought a picnic lunch and ate it on the lawn. Claire finished eating and then greeted all passerbys with "Good afternoon!"

We splurged and dropped $5 for this picture of the kids on Big Jake. Total cost of a day of fun = $11.

Later that day we planted flowers. I just love this photo of Claire's face.

Last week was our niece, Morgan's spring break. We rode the TRE to DFW to pick her up from Grapevine. Here's a lovely pic of Claire on the train.

Paul at the train station wearing his bunny ears.

Molly the Trolley

Last week the kids and I discovered Molly the Trolley. From 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. the trolley runs around downtown Fort Worth every 15 minutes and it's free.
Claire was in need of an adventure the other day, so I took the kids down to ride the trolley. We got on in front of the Sheraton and rode around downtown. Of course we had to stop at Marble Slab and Barnes and Noble, so while the transportation was free, the trip cost me $42. Oh well.
Last night we rode Molly again and went to Jamba Juice. The kids love it! This morning, if we can get everyone together, we're going to ride to the Stockyards to see the stampede. The trolley costs $1.50 on Saturday, but the stampede is free and we're bringing a picnic lunch, so we'll have lots of fun for under $10. Pictures coming later!
http://www.mollythetrolley.com/

Chickens!

Paul reaching for Lady Birdie Johnson.

Paul with Lady Birdie Johnson on his shoulder and Wendy C. Nugget on his arm.
Lady Birdie Johnson and Wendy C. Nugget last week.
Put your bird on my shoulder! Claire and Birdie.

When Adam was a kid, his parents bought he and his sisters chickens for Easter. Recently his mom called to tell us the feed store down the street had chickens for sale. She was calling because the newspaper ran an article about a cat that mothers all the baby chicks, ducks, and bunnies at the store. Apparently they all live together happily in a washtub.
Adam decided our kids had to have some, so when I came home from church that afternoon, there was a cardboard box with two chickens in our kitchen. The box obviously wasn't fancy enough for any chickens the Boyettes might raise, so Adam got to work building a coop.
This was only three weeks ago. In the meantime, the chickens have not stopped eating and are growing and maturing at a rapid pace. We've named them Wendy C. Nugget and Lady Birdie Johnson.
Birdie, Claire's chicken, is the larger of the two and is getting in her mature feathers and waddles. She started out as a pretty yellow chick but is turning brown. Nugget, Paul's chicken, has survived well despite predictions that his loving on her would end in death. Nugget started out dark brown and his mature feathers seem to be about the same color.
Before we got the chickens, Adam made an agreement with a coworker that she would take the chickens when they were mature. She lives on a farm and has access to chickeny stuff.
Our dog, Wesley, has not grown tired of the new additions to the family. He whines and barks at them all day and I've caught him licking the coop a few times.
I am growing weary of cleaning the coop, which we keep in the kitchen. I pointed out to Adam yesterday that Birdie's poop is now the same size as Paul's. I'm not very comfortable touching bird poop that is as big as a small human's.
The chickens are a pain and they stink, but it's all worth it for the laughs that we get and the happiness they bring the children. Paul and Claire both love hugging their chickens, petting them, and chasing them around the kitchen when Wesley is outside. (An introduction to Wesley ended in an attempt on Nugget's life.)
Last week Claire re-named her chicken Weenie and loves to have "Weenie-holding time." (Her words, not mine.) I keep encouraging Claire to return to Birdie as a name.
The chickens have about three weeks left at our house and it's sure to be full of poop and laughs.

When Adam posed for this shot, he made sure that Paul wasn't looking so Paul wouldn't repeat this action. He forgot about Claire.

Looking backward while going forward

Last weekend Adam and I drove two cars to his parent's house in Grapevine. He was coming from the barbershop and I was coming from the mechanic. We were on the same highway at the same time, but I was a little bit ahead of him.
I drove the exact speed limit the entire time so he could catch up and I could wave at the kids. He never caught up. I reached our destination and waited there.
The entire time I was driving, I was looking in the rear view mirror. Of course I also looked out through the windshield, but mostly I was looking backward.
Then I realized I couldn't move forward safely or swiftly while I was looking behind me. And then I realized my situation was a parallel to my life.
We all have things in our past that we hope or fear will catch up with us. Maybe it's something good, like a moment whene everything was perfect. Or maybe it's something bad, like an argument that replays over and over in our heads. Either way, we can't move forward if we're constantly looking backward.
Because I slowed down to find Adam, the world whizzed past me. I was stuck in the right hand lane, looking at my rear view mirror and everyone else was looking out their windshield moving on. When you're focusing on the past, the present will pass you by.
It's also dangerous to focus on what's behind you. I could have been in an accident. If something had happened right in front of me, I wouldn't have been prepared to deal with it. Living in the past means you're not prepared to deal with the future.
So for safety reasons, as well as metaphor reasons, I will no longer drive forward while looking backward.

Funny Stuff

Yesterday Paul picked up a piece of firewood and tried to put it in the fireplace. He saw Adam start a fire last week and wanted to do it himself.
I taught Claire the word "flock" as in birds, but she is now using it every time she sees a large quantity. "Look at that flock of cars!" she said this week.
Paul just walked in wearing a toboggan and one of Claire's dress up shoes.
My grandfather gives Claire all his free address labels from charities. She sticks them all over the house. Yesterday, during a tea party, I was scraping some off of her table. "Why are you doing that?" she wanted to know. I realized then she wanted those stickers there. I thought it was just a mess, but apparently it was interior design.
Every day the kids do something hilarious, and I struggle to document it now. However, I must close this list because apparently it's Curious George's birthday and I must attend the party.

A Child's Pain

Two days ago we were driving to church. I was thinking about the eight tasks I had to complete there and about the bookclub discussion I was about to lead. My to-do list scrolled through my mind when I glanced back at Claire. She looked sad.
All of the sudden, the entire world fell away and the only job I had to do was whatever it took to make her happy.
It turned out that she wasn't sad, only tired. I had forgotten she didn't take her nap that day. Her expression and my response triggered a new line of thinking.
As Jesus' crucifixtion drew closer, he and his Father both knew it. It must have been excruciating for both of them. Obviously Jesus wasn't exactly looking forward to dying on the cross and his Father must have been worrying and trying to figure out another way. When a child is sad or injured, the emotions are magnified in the parent.
I think about what I was prepared to do for Claire because she might have been sad. And then I think about God and what he had the power to do with his Son. They both chose the hard way and 2010 years ago, people are still being blessed because of it.

Fat body and dirty house = happy kid

This morning I tried to workout. Every time I pressed play on the exercise program, Paul screamed and raised his arms at me.
I tried to sweep. Paul grabbed his mini-broom and swept my nice, neat pile all over the kitchen.
Frustrated with that, I tried to sit down and journal to relieve some stress. Paul used that opportunity to use me as a jungle gym.
As I type this, he has climbed in and out of my lap, typed on the keyboard and cried.
I feel like a Mack truck has hit me this morning with the realization that I need to let some frustrations go. I will be overweight, with a dirty house and an empty journal, but I can always fix those things later. Paul won't keep. He'll be in kindergarten before I know it, and I doubt he'll still want to hold me while I exercise.
Now he wants a hat. I better go pay attention.

Long Johns

Friday the temperature was 17 degrees, so of course the entire family put on their long johns. Claire was asking why they were called that. I told her I didn't know why they were called long johns, but I did know that Long John Silver was a pirate and he said, "Arr, Matey!"
Claire informed me that these were not pirate long johns because they were not silver. "They're white with hearts on them," she said.

Fighting

Seven years ago, I got into a fight with my parents. I'm not going to rehash it and place blame, but I will tell you that the fight continues today. This morning I was thinking about the last seven years and how my communication with my parents and later, sister, has evolved.
It was the day after Christmas and circumstances led my husband Adam and I to abruptly leave my parents house in Austin. Everyone involved was very upset.
On the way back to Fort Worth, Adam and I thought, talked, and prayed. I was sick to my stomach and was crying off and on. Several accusations had been made and we felt the best way to clear up any confusion and to state our side of the story was to put it in writing. Back then there wasn't a Facebook and we didn't rely on e-mail as much as we do today.
Rather than writing my parents a letter, Adam and I both decided e-mail would be the best avenue of communication. Speaking over the phone would be too emotional and we might be interrupted or distracted. With e-mail, my parents were sure to read what we had to say and think about it.
We wrote our e-letters at Adam's office so we could both see what the other was writing and edit and critique it. We spent a couple hours crafting our words to say exactly what we felt. We sent it, hoping for a resolution within 24 hours. It didn't happen.
Because in-person meetings wouldn't be possible, my parents and I had several phone calls back and forth. Cell phones were just getting more minutes, so I had several discussions with them over cell phone.
A resolution was again not forthcoming, so we took a break. Over the next few years when we saw each other, it was awkward but not angry. Occasionally we would send each other cards, but there wasn't a pattern to it. If we were on good terms, we'd send each other cards. Otherwise, holidays and birthdays went by ignored.
We all decided that communicating via e-mail was the most effective means. Or maybe Adam and I decided and everyone followed suit. Phone calls always ended in anger, but e-mail seemed safe and easy.
When I discovered I was pregnant with Claire, I did call them. I also called when I was in labor. Their visit to the hospital included more fighting, this time with my friends and in-laws, but thankfully Adam and I were completely oblivious to it. I was busy birthing a baby and Adam was busy telling me the score of the Mavs-Suns game.
After that, communication was between my sister and I only, and it was text messages only. There was an occasional phone call, but frankly, I don't generally like talking on the phone. I'm always in the middle of changing a diaper or cooking and have a hard time forming sentences while doing something else.
About that time, I started blogging via MySpace. Unfortunately, that ended in disaster. My sister and or my parents began reading my blogs and had my grandmother call me and ask if I was suffering from depression and in danger.
More e-mails and now text messages later, I was pregnant with Paul. Adam and I thought it would be cute to send everyone an e-mail picture of my pregnancy stick. This would be fast and we could communicate with all sides of the family at the same time. Some thought that was hilarious, but my family apparently took offense.
When Paul was born, I sent an e-mail to everyone in my family and everyone at church whose e-mail address I had. My father replied to everyone a long e-mail, making very public our problems.
Since Paul's birth, I have begun regular posts of stories and pictures on Facebook. Though it might not seem like it, I think hard before every post. I try to keep it all positive and not reveal any private information. When my parents joined, I thought becoming "friends" would be a good first step toward a healthy relationship. They could see pictures of their grandkids and get daily updates. My sister could keep up as well.
I wasn't prepared for several negative posts by my father and sister. I assumed cyberspace was neutral ground. However, once again, they made our problems very public by posting them on my page. I could delete them, but since they wanted to post them, I left them up. I have nothing to hide and will tell the whole story to anyone who wants to know.
So seven years after Adam and I ran out of my parents house, we have gone from fighting in person, to fighting over cell phone, to fighting over text message, to fighting over e-mail to fighting on Facebook. Each step seems to get more technical and more public.
Yesterday I deleted my parents from my "friends." I would have also deleted my sister, but she beat me to it. She also posted on her page that her sister was "being very hateful."
I think it's sad that the fight has lasted so long. I think it's sad that 0ld-fashioned face to face communication isn't an option. I think it's sad that my family has to rely on technology to communicate with each other. I also think it's sad that now people that have never met my parents, and conversely, people that have never met me, know about our private problems.
I don't know what the future will hold, but maybe someone will come up with a technology that heals relationships.

2009 Wrap-Up

What an eventful year! Last year at this time Paul was a mere six months old and just had his first acting gig as the Baby Jesus. Claire was two and a half and still using diapers and sippy cups. We've come a long way.
I've developed several fans of this blog, but the problem with that is that I've been afraid to blog because I want the perfect message. Well, I'm just going to have to poopoo that idea. I think I've had about five perfect ideas and Lord knows I've had a million not so perfect ones. So you, my readers, will have to start sifting, because I'm just going to keep writing.
This holiday season I learned two very important lessons.
1. No matter how much I want to do everything, I cannot. I do get a sense of fulfillment from doing good deeds, but more good deeds does not equal more fulfillment. It's not my job to save the world.
A week before Christmas, I had an emotional collapse under the weight of my commitments. Luckily, a team of people (yes, a team!) allowed me to delegate nearly everything and I was able to enjoy Christmas with less stress. It was eye-opening to me to realize I needed a team of people to carry out the commitments one person had gotten into.
2. People love baked goods just as much as they love that "perfect" gift. Every year Adam and I break our necks shopping in a mad rush, trying to find the right gift for everyone. This year's economic outlook limited our shopping and I chose to bake instead of buy. I received just as much appreciation and excitement from those opening baked goods as I always have. I love cooking, and I don't enjoy shopping, so I'm started a new trend. Next year, no matter what the budget, I'll continue to stay out of the stores and stay in my kitchen.

In the new year, I hope to do less and enjoy more. It's hard for me to learn of needs and not break my neck to fulfill them, so we'll see how long I can sit on my hands and stop volunteering. I'm not Martha Stewart or Mother Theresa, so I will try to accept my limitations.

I'm a shellfish!

I was reading a story to Claire about the different types of fish in the ocean and found I related to the shellfish. The book said a shellfish has a hard outside to protect its soft, beautiful, fragile inside. A shellfish keeps its shell open but shuts immediately if it senses danger.
The book Shellfish Aren't Fish by Alan Fowler is me in a nutshell.
No, I don't live in the bottom of the ocean, but I have many similarities with the shellfish. Clams and oysters have ugly outsides, but beautiful pearl on the inside of their shell. While some people might be impressed with my outside, I believe all my best attributes are inside.
Rather than focusing on hair and makeup, I always focus on relationships and helping people out. I, too, keep my mind and spirit open, but close myself off when I sense ugliness.
The shellfish opens itself back up when danger passes it, but unfortunately, I am not that brave. Once I close up, it takes time and effort to open back up.
"Every mollusk makes its own shell. So in a way, a mollusk's home--its shell-- is a part of the animal."
Isn't that true about humans? I believe we, too, make our own shells that become part of our self.
"Sometimes a grain of sand gets inside a bivalve's shell. When it rubs against the animal's soft body, the bivalve coats it with a smooth material called mother-of-pearl."
So when something small gets inside the oyster and irritates it, the oyster turns it into something beautiful. That is something I would like to do.

Balance and Candy Corn

When I called my elderly friend Jo for a visit recently, I wrote down her grocery list. I've been buying her groceries with my own for years, but since Paul came along, it's been a little more difficult. I have to take two kids to the store every time I go. That means four hands that have to be supervised the entire time.
Also, I only go once every two weeks because of the economic crunch from my lack of income. Add to that the task of feeding two hungry kids at least five times a day and you have a basket full of groceries, exhuastion, and stress.
Because of the enormity of the shopping experience, I have started buying Jo's groceries on a separate trip. It's usually a short list, so I just run in her small local grocer and grab the items on the way to her house for a visit.
So this week she needed coffee, creamer, milk, and candy corn. Her store was sold out of Halloween merchandise. This meant I had to drag the kids to another store to buy what she wanted.
I know helping the elderly is right, but after consulting some friends, I'm going to have to put a limit on it. The message of the church is to give more, but sometimes I feel like I over-give.
I am often sent on wild goose chases for my grandfather or Jo. Either my grandfather's sight is failing, which is likely, or his local Wal-Mart is cutting their stock every time he goes. Each time I visit him he tells me about some grocery item that his store "doesn't sell anymore." For a while I wrote these items down and tried to buy them at my store, but they were never the right item.
"No, not that kind of tomatoes. There's onions in the can," or "No, that can is too big. I just can't use it."
I am now imposing a one store limit. If I can't find what is requested at the first store, then I just have to visit with empty hands. That might actually be better anyway because it would take the focus of my visit off of the groceries and onto the people.
I want to help because it's right and I enjoy it. The chase for candy corn will now stop so I can take a load off and focus on the other loads I carry.

Being Grateful

My elderly friend Jo lives alone with her dog, Sir Charles Lowe Throckmorton. She calls him Charlie for short, but we all know he's royalty.
Jo is almost completely blind, has constant dental and dietary problems, but you would never know it. She is the happiest, most grateful person you've ever met.
We used to live next door to Jo. One of my first memories of her is after we moved in we were talking to her and she stopped abruptly. "Let's get something straight," she said. Adam and I both froze. I was worried we had somehow offended her and she was about to put us in our places. She put us in our places, but not in the way we were expecting.
"My name is Jo," she said.
We had been calling her Mrs. Throckmorton. And thus was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Before work, I would go to her house and have a cup of coffee. I would walk our dog Wesley and her dog, Bucky, around the block and then sit down in her front yard for coffee and conversation.
I started purchasing her groceries with ours. Because she's blind, she obviously can't drive or see items on the shelves. She gets around her home because she's lived there since the 1950s and knows exactly where everything is.
Seven years later, I'm still buying Jo's groceries, she still makes me coffee when I come over, and she's still exactly the same wonderful lady she's always been.
Jo is the most grateful person you will ever meet. Whenever I bring her something I've baked, she eats it and exclaims, "Now I don't want anything better than that!" Or if I give her a gift, she replies, "This does my heart good." She is genuinely grateful for anything she receives, from a paper clip to a something big, like Adam trimming her trees. Her thanksgiving is always at the same level. I once teased Adam that she would thank me for a dirty diaper, and one day she did.
When Claire was a baby she once had a gigantic poopy diaper at Jo's house. I apologized for having to place it in her trash, and Jo said to me, "It does my heart good to have something of Claire here at the house."
I wish I was more grateful for the things I have, even poopy diapers.

Blowing Bubbles

One of Claire's favorite pastimes is blowing bubbles. We like to sit on the deck and she, Paul, and our dog, Wesley, chase them until they pop.
When I was pregnant with Paul, I was still working and had little play time with Claire. I also had the same laundry, cooking, and cleaning responsibilities I do today. To make sure I had time play and was still able to make dinner, I would sit outside with Claire and a kitchen timer. We would blow bubbles for ten minutes and then I'd go work for ten minutes and repeat.
Yesterday Claire pointed to my kitchen timer and reminded me of that time. She also reminded me of how fast time goes with little children. Just 12 months ago Paul was a tiny baby, Claire was still wearing diapers, and I was getting up at every hour of the night, getting my days and nights confused.
Right this minute, Claire is playing with a naked Ken doll and offering dance instructions to Paul, who is dancing while holding a blanket and a balloon. She still says "Hold you!" when she wants to be held, and Paul still snuggles, a little.
But like the bubbles that last for only a short time, I know this time will be gone as well. I'm trying to focus on every opportunity I can to enjoy my kids and play with them. In a world of e-mails, cell phones, errands, and church meetings, it's hard. I know there will be more bubbles of opportunity but as my kids get older, the bubbles will pop, so I need to catch them while I can.

Being a Badass

Recently, the kids and I were on TV as we protested the proposed closing of our favorite library. We went to the city council and we marched in a protest march. We were on so many channels that being on TV started being mundane.
I got word that the city council had withdrawn it's proposal to close the library, so even though it won't be official until they adopt the budget tomorrow, I know our library will stay open. It's an empowering feeling, and I've been using it.
Since the march I've become confrontational where I've felt it might do some good.
At the park by our house, I saw a group of four teenagers sharing something they were smoking that smelled suspicious. They also were all drinking out of the same Sprite bottle. We've had an increase of grafitti at the park and the school that shares the park's land was having a PTA event. I decided to fight back. I approached them with my stroller, three-year old, and tiny dog and asked them to leave. I told them I didn't know what they were doing, and I didn't want to know, but that was a park for kids and they needed to take their business elsewhere. Three of them left immediately, but one stood her ground. I called the police, but before they could get there, the lone girl ran off as well. Unfortunately my glasses aren't strong enough to let me read license plates 50 ft. in front of me, so they got away.
Adam said I did a good deed, and that we should stand up for our neighborhood. I was upset because I'm not used to confronting people, and all that mess ended up taking the time I was going to go swimming with the kids. So I got the punks out of the park, but my kids suffered. I'm still debating whether that was worth it.
The next day Adam's godparents were in town and I took his godmother, Kaa, to Costco. We were enjoying the Costco feast, where you can sample food on every aisle. The last sample before the checkout was some fountain of youth in a wine bottle, non-alcoholic juices to make you look younger. Kaa tried it and nearly spit it out. "This is awful!" she said. "I can't believe anyone would buy this!" The lady who was offering the samples scoffed and said under her breath, "You wouldn't buy it, because you don't understand what it is for." I thought that was rude, but continued on our way. Unfortunately, the employee was an older woman who needed to drink more of the juice she was sampling. She also needed some hearing aids. When another employee approached her to relieve her of her duties, she started complaining to him in a loud voice, "Stupid people, don't understand what this juice is about..." I know she was trying to speak quietly, but she wasn't successful. I whirled around and approached her. "She is not stupid," I said, referring to Kaa. "You work in customer service, and you should not be calling your potential customers stupid!" The old lady backed down and said she called Kaa silly. "No, I heard exactly what you said." She apologized, and I was about to call her manager and complain, but Kaa didn't want me to. She said she felt sorry for anyone who had to sell something that tasted so awful.
Then I started feeling guilty about chewing out an old lady. I think I'll go back to being good-ole-easy-going me.

Cleaning up, Cleaning Out

My house is a constant explosion of toys, books, and laundry. Dirty laundry is confined to laundry baskets, and dirty dishes usually are confined to the sink, so my house isn't as dirty as it is cluttered.
I'm always worried about it. I have a hard time "living in the now" when there's always a load of dishes or clothes to wash, toys to pick up, a meal to cook, errands to run, etc. I know my kids are growing up faster than I can keep up with them, but I have so much guilt about keeping up with dishes/laundry/cooking/shopping/correspondence/visiting old folks, I have a hard time focusing on any one thing.
Last week I decided to focus on cleaning, and maybe that would make me feel better.
Claire has about 1,000 books. Some people are always buying their kids toys, but I always buy mine books. We have baskets of books all over the house to encourage reading. Both kids love reading, but Claire had so many books that we couldn't read them all. I sat on her floor for several hours and went through each book and toy. We kept everything she wanted and immediately boxed everything she didn't.
The books we took to Half Price Books. Claire proudly sold them back and recieved $10 in exchange. I told her she could purchase two books with her money and put the rest in her bank. I was touched when she decided one of her books would be for Paul. So she got to purchase two books, had $2 left over, and put that in her bank. I got to condense her library into one bookcase. No more baskets of books to drive me nuts.
With her toys, we took them to Goodwill. I explained to her that some children don't have any toys and we'll give them to Goodwill and they will give them to the kids that need them. She was totally fine with this. We turned in two bags of toys and condensed all the rest into her toy boxes and kitchen. She was happy to give away some of her toys, and I felt like a load had been lifted off of me. It's been a week now and her room is still neat. She hasn't mourned the loss of any of her toys or books.
I realized that I was more attached to all her "stuff" than she was. Kids get over stuff pretty easily. I found that out again when she lost her favorite stuffed dog at Albertson's on Friday. I advised her not to bring it in the store in case she lost it, but left the decision up to her. The dog did get lost, either because of her or because Paul pitched it overboard; I'm not sure. But I was sad about it; almost crying when I realized it was gone. Claire didn't shed a tear or throw a fit. Instead, she requested that I print off a picture on the computer so she could play with a new dog. I found a picture of Clifford, printed it out, and she put it on a leash. She feeds that piece of paper and drags it around the house on a real dog leash.
It's amazing what my kids teach me on a daily basis. Let go of "stuff." Have fun with what you've got.

Things I've Done Wrong

Many think I am the perfect parent. As calm, collected, and pristine as I may seem, it's not true. (Laughing yet?) I do the best I can, but I've screwed up, too. Try to avoid these errors with your own kids.

1. Saying "yes" to crap.
At stores, Claire is constantly begging for food, toys, etc. I tell her "No. No. No. I'm sorry, no." I don't give into her every whim, but occasionally, if the toy/snack/piece of crap is affordable and she's been stellar, I say "yes." But between what I buy and what she receives from others, our house is overflowing with toys. I was thinking yesterday that I need to teach Claire about value. She occasionally picks up her toys, but usually I go behind her and do it. So if I only allow bigger toys/toys with less parts in our house, I might have a lot less to pick up. I'm not sure this theory will work.

2. Saying "The trash man's going to get you!"
When Claire was two, way before Paul was born, I getting Claire dressed one morning when the trash man drove down our street. Obviously the truck has lots of beeps, buzzes, and mechanical sounds. Claire asked what the noise was, and I told her, "It's the trash man. He's going to come get you!" at which point I tickled her and we played. I did this one time and to this day she is afraid of the trashman.

3. Mexicom
One day I thought I'd be a smart mom and teach Claire that a stop sign is a hexagon. We drove around that morning and pointed them out. Claire couldn't pronounce "hexagon," and called them "mexicoms." It wasn't until that evening when I bragged to Adam about Claire's new knowledge that he told me a stop sign is actually an octagon. I'm still trying to correct that, and Claire still says, "No, it's a mexicom."

Political Activism

We love our library. Every Wednesday morning at 10:30 you can find the Wacky Boyettes at the Wedgwood Branch of the Fort Worth Public Library. The children's librarian, Vidya, (known to Claire as Miss Video) leads the kids in songs and stories and crafts. Claire and Paul both love it.
If you've ever seen Claire at church, you can picture her at the library. She feels right at home, runs up to different librarians to say "hi," hides in the bookshelves, shows off the stuffed animal of the day, and generally makes herself comfortable. Paul likes to dance to the music and pull books off shelves.
We're regulars at the library and consider the librarians our friends. So when we heard that the Fort Worth City Council had proposed shutting down our library, we were horrified. Sure, there's another library close by, but it's too big and crowded. If Claire hid in the shelves there, I'd never find her. We like our little library.
We immediately fired off a letter to city council and the mayor. They responded, thanking us for our comments and promising to do the best they could. Adam and I talked and we felt that wasn't enough. I wanted to go speak to the council in person but didn't want to take the kids. Adam had a different idea.
"You should take the kids, because they are patrons, too," he said. "Every time they disturb the meeting, the council will be reminded why you are there and maybe that will make a difference."
So yesterday we tried it. We got to city hall at 9:30 a.m. The meeting was supposed to start at 10, so we signed in as speakers and sat down to wait. A 30-minute wait is manageable; I brought Barbie and Ken and snacks. Everyone thought the kids were precious.
Thirty minutes dragged on to an hour. We went into the meeting and everyone still thought the kids were adorable. We sat quietly and looked at books while the council went through the agenda, approving resolutions and listening to presentations about various topics.
Thirty minutes after that, Paul was done. He wanted to walk around. His cuteness was waning. Claire had brought her giant magic wand from the circus and was waving it around and tapping people with it. Her cuteness, also, was waning.
We waited in the lobby, calmed down, went back into the meeting, got fussy, left, came back, left, came back; I lost track of the time. I finally told the police officer my name and asked her to come get me when it was our time to speak. At this point some people were sympathetic and some people were irritated. City council meetings aren't for kids.
When it was our turn, we made a grand entrance. Claire pranced down the aisles tapping people with her wand and entertaining the audience. Paul tried to speak into the microphone. I tried to be serious. The mayor thought it would be a great idea to pass down his gavel for the kids to play with. I just set it to the side.
I did get to say my piece and I think they listened. It ended up being a good idea to bring the kids because it was definitely memorable for all involved. Apparently we even made the news and appeared on two different channels last night. Unfortunately we missed both showings.
Some people would be horrified at the idea of taking two small children to such a serious event, and I have to admit I was at times. Adam and I both believe that sometimes our presence is more important than our decorum. I hope that turns out to be the case here. We'll know if they keep our library open.

Super Brownies!

When I make my brownies, humility is not included in the recipe. They are the best brownies you've ever had. I offer my apologies to those who make good brownies, even those who make delicious ones. Mine are better.
My brownies have a layer of chocolate candy in them. They are so tasty that whenever I make a batch, strangely, the entire pan never makes it to the destination.
That was the case yesterday when I made a batch of brownies to serve the homeless ladies who were spending the night at our church. Claire and I wanted to offer our best, so we taste-tested them before we took them to church. Our friend Robyn wasn't satisfied that I had properly tested them, so when she cut them and put them on the serving tray, she too, had to try them out.
I don't have much experience dealing directly with homeless people. I've seen homeless folks, even talked to a few, but there's always been something separating me from them like my car or a serving line.
Yesterday I brought my brownies and my kids to church and it was a tie as to which made the ladies happier. Claire was ecstatic at having an audience and flailed around the room laughing and jumping on their beds. (I kept trying to get her to stop that, but something about a mattress just makes kids want to jump!) Paul toddled around the room hijacking food and chasing me.
Having the kids there was stressful. I was in charge of coordinating all the volunteers last night and had a hard time concentrating because of a constant worry that Paul would crawl down the stairs (two attempts) or that Claire would run away (lost count on that one.)
Having kids there was right. Kids are universal. No matter if you are rich or poor, everyone loves cute kids. And as luck would have it, my kids are cute. Claire and Paul offered a common topic of conversation that didn't involve any class divisions. They are also entertaining in their rambunctiousness. Several of the ladies labeled Claire and/or Paul as their "friend" and tried to keep them. One lady asked if Claire could spend the night.
So I'm glad I brought Claire and Paul, and I'm glad I brought brownies. I overheard one lady mentioning she was used to eating stale food. They all loved the brownies and asked if they were having them again for breakfast. I told them no, but found some baggies and gave each one of them an extra brownie in a bag. Some of them hid those under the table and I saw at least two ladies take their brownie bag to the bathroom, unwilling to part with it even for a minute.
I'm not claiming to have changed any lives, but I think I helped offer a little bit of happiness with my kids and my brownies. And if my momentary stress offers someone a distraction from their problems, it's worth it to me.

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.

Games we play

Around the Boyette household, we have several games that we play daily. Here's a brief listing:

1. Boo! -- About a year ago, Claire got into a phase where she loved to shout "boo!" and "scare" people. Adam taught her to be polite when she does it, so she says, "Pardon me, boo!" We crack up every time. Adam says it's nice for her to say excuse me before she scares people half to death.

2. Whoo! -- Adam and his Uncle Gilbert have named each other animal names so they can feel tough and trash-talk using animal lingo. Adam is Spotted Owl and his uncle is the Horned Toad. (Don't ask, I don't know why those were chosen.) When Adam comes home from lunch everyday, he walks in as quietly as possible. Claire always hears the door creak, though. They tiptoe in a circle around the house until they find each other at which point, they yell "Whoo! Whoo! Whoo! With a little razzmatazz!" Apparently that's what spotted owls say.

3. Meowwwwww! -- We have several children's CDs, but Claire's favorite contains a song about the "Three Little Kittens." The cats lost their mittens and they cry and I hate that song. We listen to it daily. The lady who sings it makes the cats sound like they are dying. When we sing along we try to make the most pathetic cat sounds you've ever heard. "Meoooooooooooooowww!" The winner is the one who makes the most awful sound. I've shared this song with Adam's mom and she's in on the game as well. She answers her phone with an awful meow sound. Adam's father has begged us to stop, but it doesn't look like that's going to happen any time soon.

4. Ow! -- Claire's favorite panties are "monkey panties" featuring Curious George. Adam is also almost always wearing an animal logo somewhere on his clothing. Every morning when Adam is getting ready for work, either she or he will point to the other's clothing. "Is that monkey/horse/dog/elephant on your shirt/shorts/panties/pants/boxers nice?" The reply is always, "Yes, that one is, but you have to watch out for this other one because he's mean." At which point the questioner bravely sticks out his/her hand toward the "mean" one and shouts "Ow! That monkey/horse/dog/elephant bit me!"

5. Love Pat -- Since we first started dating, Adam cannot pass behind me without smacking my behind. I don't even notice it anymore. Claire does, though, and asked Daddy why he was giving Mama "pankings." (She has problems remember initial 's' sounds, which makes interesting words like skunk without the 's.') Adam taught her the difference between a spanking and a "love pat." So now she'll run up behind Adam, me, or other friends and smack their bottom followed by a declaration, "That was a love pat!" When it's too hard, the victim argues, "No, that was a spanking!" I've had to explain Claire's actions a few times to friends whose bottoms she's slapped. She also likes to "burp" people, modeling what we do to Paul.

I've been told children love routines, and around this house, silliness is definitely the routine.