Spring Love

Spring is my favorite season. The flowers are in bloom, the weather is perfect, there's Easter and various birthdays, and I just can't help from being happy. Today we enjoyed the weather by walking to the library. The kids slept in so I gave them breakfast in the wagon and we pretended they were at a restaurant on wheels. Luckily one of the diners finished her breakfast before we mounted a giant hill, because this waitress/cook has a hard time hauling a wagon of two kids up a steep hill. I also practiced my hospitality skills by offering several sincere compliments and introducing myself to several moms that I see every week but never knew their names. The best part about today's adventures, though, was picking buttercups and rubbing pollen on our noses.

The kids loved doing this, but unfortunately the time I used the camera, the pollen didn't show up so much. Oh well. Happy Spring!

Hospitality at Wal-Mart

One of my Lenten practices this year is increasing my hospitality. I'm usually pretty good at this, but somedays I am tired and don't feel like extending anything beyond my nose. My particular focus is greeting others even when it makes me a little uncomfortable.

Yesterday the kids and I were anxious to get to the zoo to see the new dinosaur exhibit. However, we were also out of milk, butter, eggs, and sodas for Adam's office. We were rushing around so we could run to Wal-Mart, grab our groceries, and hit the zoo.

When we walked in, I noticed the greeter was a darling elderly Asian woman. It occured to me that I should greet her but I thought to myself, "I'm tired and I have to get in and get out because we're going to the zoo!" But no. When you feel the urge to extend something to another, you better do it, or you will do it anyway. At least that's how it goes in my life.

So I had decided I was going to ignore the cute greeter but just at that moment Claire decided it was time to start singing "Row, row your boat." She started belting it out loudly as I was arranging my shopping cart.

Then the little lady came over and said, "What you singing? I know that song!" And believe it or not, she started belting out "Row, row your boat," as loud as she could sing it with Claire. It was hilarious because she was a TERRIBLE singer, had a thick accent and was LOUD. We giggled and talked to her and then she kept on singing, even when we were halfway through the store we could still hear, "Row, Row, row YOUR BOAT!!!"

I said a silent prayer of thanks to God for overcoming my laziness so I could get a giggle and a blessing from the crazy Wal-Mart greeter.

Blackberry Bush

About six years ago, when I was still a teacher, one of my friends gave me a cutting from her blackberry bush. I was very excited about it and went home and planted it immediately. My thought was that it would grow in the corner of my flower bed and I could save money on buying blackberries.

The first year, it didn't do anything. I vaguely remember stepping around something kind of spiky next to the pool.

The second year, a couple of blackberries sprouted, but they were immediately eaten, and I couldn't figure out what that spiky vine growing was. Sometimes I just don't connect the dots.

The third year, and each year subsequently, I have gotten zero blackberries, but the vine has taken over my little flowerbed! Apparently the blackberry "bush" didn't grow to be a bush, but a vine that is choking everything else out.

Each spring I put on my garden gloves and pull up the sprouts. I always get part of the root but not all of it. Every time I think I have it cleared out, it just grows back. It's quite frustrating and painful if you step on it.

Last week when I was pulling up the sprouts, I thought about how life is sometimes like a blackberry bush. Something small and good, if unchecked, grows into something bad that takes over your life. Also, if you're completely oblivious to the vine that is taking over your flowerbed, you're likely to get a thorn in your foot.

Loose Dogs! Again

We love our neighborhood. It's so quiet and friendly, with one exception. The neighbors across the street have at least seven dogs, and they let them run loose regularly. It frustrates me and infuriates Adam. So what do you do when your neighbors let their dogs run loose and the dogs come poop in your yard and bark and growl at you and your children? First we tried to be neighborly. We'd alert the family that their dogs were loose and chase them back home if possible. When that wasn't effective, Adam went over one day and told them their dog had just pooped in our yard and he expected them to come clean it. The lady said, "Sure, I'll be right over!" Then she got in her car and drove off. Adam scooped the poop and returned it with a note to their front porch. When that didn't change the situation, we called Animal Control. "Sure, we'll be right there to pick the dogs up," they said. Unfortunately Fort Worth is a big city and they always have other calls more pressing than ours. The dog catcher has never been able to catch these dogs. When that didn't work, we decided to approach the situation from a legal standpoint. We knew for a fact that they had more dogs than the city allows. We called code compliance and they sent an officer out to investigate. The neighbors claimed that not all the dogs lived at the house, that some of them were "just visiting." They didn't get a ticket, just a warning. And believe it or not, that didn't fix the problem, either. So last week when Adam was home and the dogs were out again, he got angry and called Animal Control again. They suggested that we start documenting the problem with pictures and go sign an affidavit. Supposedly this will cause the neighbors to receive a citation and will fix our problem. So here's a picture of a loose dog in our driveway. Unfortunately this is their cute, fluffy, and friendly dog, and not the giant menacing ones. We'll see if this makes a difference.

Happy birthday to my MIL

April is my favorite month because of the weather, the flowers, the birthdays, and Easter. I missed noting that my Uncle Greg's birthday was the day after mine, and on April 25, my niece Morgan will turn 11. Today, however, is my mother-in-law's birthday. Sarita will have to tell you herself how old she is; I can't remember and it's not proper to ask a lady her age. When I was in high school and college, I enrolled in several Spanish classes. In each class, you have to choose a Spanish name, so my name was always Sarita. In fact, I still have a couple of friends that call me that. So it was pretty funny that not only are our birthdays so close together, so are our names. Sarita was raised in Chandler, Texas, a suburb of the metropolitan Tyler area. She's familiar with rural life, so last year when Claire's pet chicken pooped on her head, she didn't even get upset. She's got lots of crazy stories about animals around the house and yard. Until a few years ago, Sarita was a special education teacher for high schoolers. Not only was she dealing with all the angst that comes with that age group, she was teaching the emotionally disturbed students. That alone qualifies her for sainthood in my book. I admire Sarita for her thoughtfulness and generosity. She never lets anything go to waste and always thinks of who could use something she has. A stale roll is given to the kids to feed ducks with, and old sweaters are packed up for the homeless. She's a huge scrapbooker and saves all her little clippings and unused stickers for the kids to use with crafts. She also sends off for free samples and passes them around the family and gives the leftovers to the homeless. Even her magazine subscriptions don't go to waste. She and Adam's dad, Stan, live in Grapevine, and she used to drive all the way to John Peter Smith to take her already read magazines so the waiting room would always have current magazines. Now that her health isn't what it used to be, she saves all her magazines for me to take to church for homeless ladies to read. At my house, we have a special drawer we call "Grandma's drawer." After I cut my coupons, I put the leftovers in there and when Sarita and I see each other, we exchange bags of coupons and other items. She always has a bag going for each family member, and you never know what you're going to find inside. Mine always has coupons, duck bread, random canned goods, and whatever she got free in the mail she couldn't use. In the family I was raised in, holidays were strictly family time. So the first time I saw that Stan and Sarita had invited extra people to their Christmas celebration, I must be honest and say that I was a little taken aback. But then I realized that the cashier at Wal-Mart didn't have anywhere else to go on Christmas Eve and how kind and generous it is to invite strangers and casual friends to celebrate with your family. Now every year I look forward to whoever shows up because it always makes it interesting. Sarita is always thinking about others. I also love how down to earth she is. There is not a bone of pretension in her body, so many people easily relate to her. Last week, she and Stan celebrated 37 years of marriage and today she celebrates 25 years of life. Yeah, I know the math doesn't add up, but just go with it. Happy birthday, Sarita, my favorite mother-in-law!

Happy Birthday to Mi!

Today is my paternal grandfather's 86th birthday. In honor of his birthday, I thought I'd share some of his history with my readers. His name is Jerry McClellan Baker. McClellan is a family name, but I must ask again where it comes from. He was born in Emhouse, Texas, close to Corsicana (home of my grandmother). His father died when he was six and his mother moved him and all the kids to her parents house. They survived the Great Depression with a garden and lots of creativity. He dropped out of high school to join the Navy. He worked on a hospital ship in WWII and walked the streets of Hiroshima three days after the bomb hit. After the war, he met my grandmother, Margie, in Corsicana. When I asked him what he first liked about her, he said, "She was a girl." I asked him what she liked about him and he replied, "I imagine that she was glad I was a boy." He got his grandpa name when my cousin Jeff couldn't say the words "my granddad." Jeff could only come up with the word Mi, so from then on he was called that. I love my granddad because he's a saver. He saves all his beer cans for me to take to church to recycle. He has a little shelf in his hallway that he puts all his empty beer cans in, not because he can't put them in a bag himself, but because the kids love throwing them in the bag. He saves all his complimentary address labels for Claire to play with. Ensure bottles are repurposed as spittoons and a empty bottle of nosespray is filled with glass cleaner for his eyeglasses. Rather than buying new eyeglasses for himself, he wears my grandmother's old frames. He is also thoughtful. He makes sure he always has corndogs, steak fingers, and strawberries for each time we visit him. He make sure the garage door is lifted when we come to visit and often backs out his car so I can park in the garage to not overheat my car's interior. He listens to Rush Limbaugh every day and always has a political opinion to share with me. "Look at all that snow. How's that for global warming?" or "Michelle Obama took all the fat out of my gravy." These are entertaining to me and sometimes spark a thoughtful discussion. Sometimes I just listen. In his working days, he climbed electrical poles for TXU. He still wears his uniform daily, unless it's a special occasion. He broke his hip in the 1980s and walks with an elevated shoe and a cane or walker. His house is covered with pictures and he tells me often how satisfied with his life he is. I love to hear his old stories and actively try to record them. Whenever he would repeat a story, I used to stop him to let him know that I remember it and appreciate his stories, but I've stopped that. Now I just listen to them again and enjoy that he is telling them to me and that I don't have to remember them myself yet.

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!

Birthday Reflections

Today is my birthday. I'm 33 and happy to be 33. I don't want to be in my 20s any more. Maybe as I get older that will change, but I'm happy right where I'm at. I'm more comfortable in my own skin at 33 than I was in my 20s. For my blog of the day (and I'm super proud of myself for blogging every day for approximately 8 days) I thought I'd reflect on the last year and hope for the next one. In my 32nd year, I

1. Potty-trained a two year old boy.


2. Started getting up earlier consistently and journaling, praying, and reading the Bible.


3. Began appreciating being called "Ma'am."


4. Slowed down my printed book buying and began transferring my reading to my Nook.


5. Had several nights reading quietly next to Adam. I love that he has become a reader!


6. Admitted and accepted that I'm a bad driver. No wrecks this past year, though!


7. Got a job! I'm the communications coordinator at church!


8. Lost some friends and got some new ones. Somehow it always happens that way. I'll mourn the loss of a friend to a move or a severed relationship, and then the next day casual friends start popping up out of the woodwork and becoming true friends.


9. Caught up and kept up with some old friends. I always love when I can keep enjoying a joke that was cheesy 15 years ago.


10. Enrolled the kids in preschool.

In my 33rd year, I'd like to:

1. Appreciate the moment more. I am currently making a conscious decision to do this. I recognize what makes me happy and I'm trying to stay in the moment and enjoy the happiness.


2. Continue to de-clutter my house. Yesterday I saw some novels that I wanted to read that were FREE! I picked them up immediately but then set them back down so I wouldn't have that extra clutter in the house. I've got plenty to read.


3. Get off junk mail e-mail and USPS mailing list. I want to save time and a tree!


4. Read what I want and not force myself to finish a book I don't like.


5. Get Claire reading fluently before kindergarten.


6. Teach Paul to write his name.


7. Save.


8. Eat better and exercise.


9. Recognize what makes me frustrated and try to get over it or fix it.


10. Go on a trip. (Adam and I are about to celebrate 10 years of marriage!)

Silly Hat Day and other photos

For some reason this morning, I can't figure out how to order these darn pictures. Oh well, I'll provide captions.

This is Paul after a long day of grocery shopping. He took his nap under his bed. Not sure why.

This is us celebrating crazy hat day at Aldi. Paul's wearing my Shamu hat, I'm in a police hat, and Claire's in a pink cowboy hat. I kept calling it Crazy Hat Day and Claire kept telling me her hat wasn't crazy, it was "real."

Pre-grocery trip, we were selecting what crazy hats we would wear to make things more interesting. The kids also brought their rubber rats to the store.

I took pictures of the kids in Bluebonnet Circle the other day. This is the first year I've noticed the bluebonnets in Bluebonnet Circle.

Who loves Mommy?

American Ninja Warriors

We have discovered a new TV series that the whole family loves. It's on G4 and it's called American Ninja Warrior. We also enjoy Ninja Warrior and Jump City Seattle. All of these shows are about male athletes pushing themselves to the limit and doing risky and exciting tricks. Several consequences have followed our television watching. On the show Ninja Warrior, which is filmed in Japan, Makoto Nagano is the big star. He is Japanese, of course. Recently we went to the local garage to get my car inspected. The mechanic is of Asian descent. Claire whispered in my ear, "He kind of looks...." I didn't understand what she said. Then she said it again. Preparing for her to make a comment about his race, I was thinking of how I could address the issue. Then I understood what she said. "He looks like Makoto Nagano." No compliment could have been greater. Uncomfortableness avoided. Another consequence of watching these shows as a family is that the kids want to imitate Makoto Nagano and the other stars. They've been doing flips off of their bed and jumping off furniture. We try to discourage this, but sometimes fail. Of course they're not really performing dangerous tricks, yet. Here's a video of Claire being a Ninja Warrior on her bed.

Confession that I'm a Walmart shopper

When I was a school teacher and was part of a dual-income family, I enjoyed telling people how much I loved buying all my groceries at Tom Thumb. Sure it's more expensive, I'd say, but you get great customer service and I use coupons, which really drives the price down. They do have fabulous customer service. All the employees knew me and one lady even knew our dog! I was against shopping at Wal-Mart. In fact, I boycotted them for about 7 years. I was quite adamant in this. Adam and I disliked Wal-Mart for their huge building, huge carts, and incompetent staff. One day, however, I had to go to Wal-Mart to buy my blind friend Jo some special seat cushions. Of course that was the day that my coworker saw me in the parking lot. I still maintained that I was not a Wal-Mart shopper. When I quit work, I started grocery-hopping as my friend Mary Annelle calls it. I would read all the sales papers and then do most of my shopping at Tom Thumb but go to other stores for their sales items. Due to realities of life, I eventually had to drop Tom Thumb off my regular rotation. What happened next was a snowball effect. I would pop into Wal-mart for one thing, a non-food item and then I would remember I needed cereal. Cereal is a full dollar cheaper there. I felt good because I bought my one item and remembered cereal. But then on the next visit, I remembered more that I needed. Then I started bringing a list. Now I am an official Wal-Mart shopper. I am still frustrated by the huge carts and huge store, but I have found competent employees who are both intelligent and friendly. Some items are so much cheaper there that it doesn't make sense for me to buy it anywhere else. My name is Sarah, and I am a Wal-Mart shopper.

My Awesome Sisters-in-Law and Niece

These are my sister-in-laws. That's Amanda on the left and Angie on the right. Today for the best birthday present ever, they came and cleaned our house. All of it. It was amazing.

Adam took the kids to a coin show so they weren't underfoot. Amanda and Angie and our niece Morgan, got busy. You wouldn't recognize my house, so I took pictures. I also want to memorialize the event before the kids get home.

Here's a bookshelf with only vertical books! There are no papers or piles of paperbacks! Amazing!

They even organized the pool towels! Incredible!

Look! This is Paul's room! There are books and boots, all in the right place! Unbelievable!

Here's the kids bathroom! No toys or towels underfoot! Breath-taking!

Here's Claire's bookshelf! I'm speechless!

This is Claire's room. That brown stuff on the floor is carpet! There's a bedspread on her bed! There are stuffed animals stacked neatly!

I took more pictures, but I didn't want to rub it in how awesome my house looks. No, Adam doesn't have a brother, but Amanda's single! I am humbled and exhausted. Happy birthday to me! (And it's not even my birthday until Wednesday!) Best birthday present EVER!

Destinations vs. The Journey

This morning in my meditation I was thinking about Adam and how we are different. He is a destination man. Once he sets his destination, he sees only the path to his destination and nothing else. Like last night I asked him to clean the table off after dinner and work on the kitchen. I was thinking that he'd move all the dirty dishes to the kitchen for me to wash later. No, he was trying to create a spotless kitchen, so it was hard for him when I tried to distract him by asking him other things. He saw his destination and he couldn't get off the path to it.

I, on the other hand, am a journey girl. I know my destination and I know I'll get there eventually, but I like to stop along the way and smell the flowers, visit with friends, read a book to the kids, etc. One time I was on my way to my friend Stacy's house. We were going to have a playdate with her daughter and lunch with her mom. Along the way we saw a truck that looked like this:

I was so excited to show the kids this muddy truck that we followed it down the highway and ended up getting lost. I eventually made it to Stacy's house but not on time.

I think stopping to see the muddy trucks in our path helps make life exciting. The kids sure were excited about it!

Riding a Horse at 6 a.m.

What were you doing at 6 a.m. this morning? I was attempting to read the Bible and have my quiet time. I try to get up at 5:30 every morning so I can have 30 minutes or so to myself. Then I can inject coffee into my veins and get a little Jesus peace. This morning I had to search for peace next to a squeaky rocking horse.

Paul got up with me this morning and while I often can get him to snuggle while I read and pray, today it was a no go. He wanted to play with Legos, and his toolset, and a squeaky horse. I placated him with fruit snacks and tried to focus.

In the Bible, Jesus welcomes distractions, no matter what he is doing. So this morning, I gulped coffee and tried to be grateful for a loud horse at 6 a.m.

Love and Logic Skirts

This is what Paul looked like when I rolled out of bed this morning. Notice the lovely ballerina skirt. I could say this is the first time it's happened, but that would be a lie. One time I put him to bed and he woke up in a grass skirt. As part of our "Love and Logic" parenting, we put the kids to bed (together if they want) and let them go to sleep when they feel ready. Sometimes this means they go right to sleep, but sometimes it means they stay up late playing dressup together. Last night when I went to bed at 10, there was a tea party going on in Claire's room. For some reason, Barbie had a teacup on her head. Paul's skirt happened sometime between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. Adam and I took a Love and Logic class when Claire was about one year old. We have consistently benefited from the course. There are several one-liners that we use consistently: "Uh-oh. Little bit of room time coming right up!" and "I love you too much to argue with you." are our favorites. We use them so much that the kids have taken to saying them. I have heard both Claire and Paul in a dispute say, "I love you too much to argue with you!" It's pretty awesome.

Raising Ducks in Your Kitchen

These are the ducks. From left to right, we have George Washington Quackers, Skeletor Stinkor Washington Boyette, and Ducky Strawberry Shortcake Washington Boyette.

Last year for Lent, we raised chickens in a coop in our kitchen. Our kitchen is quite long, so we were able to separate them from the food areas and tried to keep it as hygienic as possible. The chickens stank, though, and made noise into the night as well as had floating feathers. We took them to a chicken farm where they were going to be raised to live into long life. Nugget was promptly stolen by a hawk but word on the street is that Birdie still is there.

This year we decided on ducks. It would be easier, we thought, to let them go in a local duck pond than search for a farm for them to live at. We did some research and adopted three baby ducks from a local feed store.

The ducks were quieter and there weren't any feathers flying around like the chickens. They did somehow manage to poop outside of the coop while they were in it. They would line their rears up to holes in the wire and poop on the floor. This was frustrating as was the wood shavings that got all over our house.

On the plus side, they liked to play in a kiddie pool in the backyard and would clean off their shedding feathers that way. They slept all night and put up with whatever position they were held in.

Two weekends ago we released them at the local pond. They were about two months old, nearly full-grown and very healthy. Ducky did have an incident with our dog Wesley, but was healed minus a bald spot. I had been feeding them high-protein duck food and leaving them outside during the day as much as possible to acclimate them to the outdoors.

They jumped right into the pond. The next day we went back and found only Skeletor. He had paired off with a mallard duck and denied knowing us. The other two have yet to be seen.

So we learned several lessons through this experience.

1. No matter what the species, birds in your kitchen are generally not a good idea.

2. Pond ducks are much different that ducks raised indoors.

3. Duck poop and chicken poop stink about the same.

4. We don't want to be urban or rural farmers.

Please, dear reader, learn from our experience.

Getting over myself

Dear Blog readers,

Yep, I haven't been blogging a lot lately. This is due to my illusion of self-importance. I haven't been blogging because I've been thinking to myself, "This is not worthy of my blog. My blog is only seriously intelligent stuff." I know. Isn't that hilarious? So now I've gotten over myself and will be blogging regularly.

Last week I read the book The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin. I highly recommend this book. The book contains practical advice on how to be intentional about being happy. I am very happy, but I am guilty of several "happiness drains" and I'm trying to fix them.

One happiness drain of mine is clutter. There are few square inches in our house not covered with papers, books, or toys. I'm working on it.

I also have e-mail clutter. I'm slowly unsubscribing to lots of e-mail newsletters and deleting unused accounts. Today I went to delete my myspace account but then waxed nostalgic when I started printing off my old blog posts. I blogged on that site for four years and have lots of memories stored there. I printed them and will bind them. I realized that my writing is not always worthy of a professional publisher, but it's full of memories and usually funny. How can you not laugh at blogs about poop?

That's all for right now, but you know more will be coming soon. I'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack in action!

Paul Eating Ice Cream

Yep, our son decided the best way to eat an ice cream cone was from the bottom up. For some unknown reason, it actually didn't make a mess.

Blog-hop

Our friend Ardis is having guest speakers on her blog. For some crazy reason, she wanted me! Here it is: http://thefreemanfamilyadventure.blogspot.com/2011/02/guess-speaker-blogger-reader-numero_22.html

The Importance of a Social Network

The last few years I have noticed a trend. I don't know if the world has always been this way and I'm just now opening my eyes to it, or if the world is changing.
Despite what your Facebook friend count is, I've noticed that many people are not connected to a social network. It seems that as we get more connected online, we are less connected face to face. That's a problem.
Online, we can paint a perfect picture of our life. We only post the photos and experiences that are socially acceptable and will interest our friends. Rarely do you see a post about something personal and negative. So looking at each other online, we can't paint the complete picture.
Talking to someone face to face involves a much more complete story. You can see you friend's facial expressions, hear their voice intonation, and give them a hug if they are upset. A word of encouragement over e-mail is nice, but it can't replace the good old-fashioned hug.
I believe it is important and vital that each person is plugged in with some sort of group. For Adam and I, it's church. We go to church, we feel loved, we support others, and we feel grounded. For others, it might be the school PTA, or the Kiwanis club. What matters isn't the location or how you got there. What matters is that you surround yourself with people that love and support you and keep you sane.
Time and again, Adam and I have run across people that are disconnected from society. What usually happens is that they also get disconnected from reality. They start obsessing over small actions and thinking of ideas that probably aren't healthy or true. Without being connected to a group, they begin to believe the ideas and then the world starts looking a lot more grim.
So I insist that if you are not currently connected to a group via a class, organization, or church, that you do that as soon as possible. It makes you happier and more sane.

Holy Laundry

I'm currently reading Barbara Brown Taylor's book, An Altar in the World. Today I read the chapter on incarnation, called "The Practice of Wearing Skin." Besides many thoughts about the holiness of our bodies, it contains a paragraph about laundry. This passage spoke to me because washing clothes is one of my primary job functions here at home.

She writes: "Hanging his laundry on the line becomes a labor of love. I hang each T-shirt like a prayer flag, shaking it first to get the wrinkles out and then pinning it to the line with two wooden clothespins."

I feel as if I do laundry all day every day. It is a never-ending process, and though I don't mind it, I often don't think of it as spiritual. So this morning when I was folding Adam's shirts, I shook them out like a prayer flag and thanked God for all our blessings.


This summer, Rev. Nancy Allen taught a Bible study called Holy in the Ordinary. It focused on reverence in our daily lives. In that study, she played this song for us and copied the lyrics. I have referred back to it many times and thought other mothers might get something out of it.


The Gathering of Spirits
Carrie Newcomer
2002 Lyrics

Holy As A Day Is Spent

Holy is the dish and drain
The soap and sink, the cup and plate
And the warm wool socks, and the cold white tile
Showerheads and good dry towels

And frying eggs sound like psalms
With a bit of salt measured in my palm
It’s all a part of a sacrament
As holy as a day is spent

Holy is the busy street
And cars that boom with passion’s beat
And the check out girl, Counting change
And the hands that shook my hands today

Hymns of geese fly overhead
And stretch their wings like their parents did
Blessed be the dog
That runs in her sleep
The catch that wild and elusive thing

Holy is a familiar room and the quiet moments in the afternoon
And folding sheets like folding hands
To pray as only laundry can

I’m letting go of all I fear
Like autumn leaves of earth and air
For summer came and summer went
As holy as a day is spent

Holy is the place I stand
To give whatever small good I can
The empty page, the open book
Redemption everywhere I look

Unknowingly we slow our pace
In the shade of unexpected grace
With grateful smiles and sad lament

As holy as a day is spent
And morning light sings “providence”
As holy as a day is spent

Carrie Newcomer 2001

Post-Thanksgiving Post

Since my last post was all potty-talk, I decided to post a listing of my blessings. This is by no means a complete list.

On Sunday mornings, I am thankful for my church. My entire family is accepted and loved and we are constantly met with grace. I am also thankful for the lifelong tradition of Sunday naps. We take the day of rest seriously around here and usually stay home and spend time together after church.

On Mondays I am thankful for my husband, who goes to work so I don't have to. When I was teaching, Monday was a day of anxiety for me, but now I enjoy it. Monday is the day of catching up for us. On Mondays I am thankful for a working washer and dryer.

On Monday nights, I am thankful for my prayer group. They accept me as I am and have helped me out in countless ways countless times. I am grateful that I can tell them that I've had a poopy week, haven't done any Bible study, have yelled at my kids, and they love me all the same.

On Tuesday mornings, I am thankful for Ms. Carol's music class. Ms. Carol takes rules and procedures seriously and I am grateful for that. She insists on the children raising their hands and following rules. I am quite laidback by nature, so I appreciate the structure and formality that she provides to my children. Of course they also have fun in her class.

On Tuesday afternoons, I am thankful for our zoo membership. We can pop into the Fort Worth Zoo whenever we feel like it and for whatever length of time is convenient. I love taking the kids to the monkey house and letting them observe chimpanzees for as long as they like.

On Wednesday mornings, I am thankful for our library. I am thankful that we can walk to it, and often do. I am also thankful for each and every employee. We are always treated with courtesy and grace. My children and I feel quite at home and I'm not ashamed to ask for what I need, even if it's a roll of tape to repair my shoe.

On Wednesday afternoons, I am thankful for my husband that comes home for lunch and then leaves before naptime. I'm usually exhausted after hauling the Radio Flyer wagon full of books and kids to the library and back.

On Thursday mornings, I am thankful for my grandfather. He's 86 now and still lives alone. He doesn't mind that I invade his house weekly with two enthusiastic children who interrupt his silence and routine. He is always doing sneaky and thoughtful things for us. He's constantly "accidentally" buying too much breakfast sausage or corndogs.

On Thursday afternoons, I am thankful for the homeless ministry at our church. It has been such a blessing to us to be able to put a face on homelessness in Fort Worth and do our small part to help. Our church provides a safe and loving environment where my children adopt the ladies and call them friends.

On Friday mornings, I am thankful for our museum membership. The kids learn about the world every time we enter the building. From the planetarium show with Big Bird to the Children's museum with X-ray charts, they explore learning in ways I can't do at home.

On Friday afternoons, I am thankful for payday and coupons that help our money stretch.

On Saturday morning, I am thankful for late sleepers and catching up on laundry and Bible study.

On Saturday afternoon I am thankful for our two dependable vehicles that get us from place to place. I'm thankful for our many friends who have birthday parties on Saturdays. Sometimes I'm thankful we don't have any friends with parties that day.

Every day I am thankful for our friends. We are blessed beyond measure. Even though Thanksgiving was last week, around here we give thanks every day.

Poopoo and Peepee

Become a parent means losing all inhibitions about bodily functions. It also means having more conversations about bodily functions than you ever want to have. You have to have strategy sessions with your spouse over what to call the toilet, the urine, and the feces. What is not okay to call it?
All these and more have to be discussed and re-discussed when you are a parent.
If it's not hard changing diapers that get pooped in seemingly every half hour, it's harder to change underwear that gets pooped in. This requires other limitless conversations. To wash or to toss?
Several months ago Adam and I felt Paul was ready for underwear. He was using the toilet with success and we hoped that underwear would be a successful venture as well. We went to Wal-Mart and bought the cutest Sesame Street underwear you've ever seen. I had a long talk with Paul about how Big Bird doesn't like poo poo or pee pee on him, so Paul must use the potty. We were doing pretty well, until one day he pooped on the floor three times. Before I knew it, Claire had stepped in it and I had to scrub footprints and hand prints off the floors and walls. I was so frustrated that I put him back in diapers.
Since then, we've been occasionally throwing underwear on him, but yesterday we were going to be home all day, so we decided to go all the way again, and hopefully for the last time. He had three accidents before lunch, including one major mess. The thing I hate about it is that you have to get way more personal with poop in underwear than you do in the diapers. Diapers involve indirectness, but with underwear, there is little chance you are not going to end up with fecal matter on your hands.
We had a little girl over, too, and she ended up having an accidental poo about 15 minutes after Paul's. Then the dog escaped to the neighbor's front yard to let loose. Yesterday, I really was grateful for those in the house whom I don't have to clean up after.
Today we bravely left the house in underwear. Five minutes after we entered Half Price Books, Paul had wet himself. Off to the bathroom for cleaning.
Then we went downtown. We were at the trolley stand waiting and Paul told me he had to go potty. He proceeded to rain a puddle on a sidewalk in downtown Fort Worth. This time there wasn't a potty to whisk him off to for cleaning. We had to do it right there on the sidewalk.
But that wasn't the supreme violation of potty etiquette. Because it started raining, we decided to explore downtown indoors. I took the kids to some of the skyscrapers that have indoor pedestrian bridges. We were looking out at the downtown skyline when two businessmen informed me that my son was peeing into the air conditioning vent. I was trapped. I didn't want to cart him somewhere else, dripping his way through the City Club. I had to change him right there. So yes, today I stood above Calhoun street taking my son's clothes off for all to see. I said a silent prayer of thanks that he didn't stain any carpet and hope for quick evaporation.
Next stop: Costco. I hope to only have to change him once in there.

Drive Through Wisdom

My husband Adam is a coin collector. Every two weeks on payday when he goes to the bank, he asks them what uncommon coins they have. Then he cleans them out.
A few weeks ago Adam got nearly $200 in half-dollars. He opens up the rolls, pulls out any he needs for his collection and then we spend them.
This week we were toward the end of pay cycle and I was out of cash. Adam reminded me we had several rolls of the 50 cent pieces, so I took them and spent them.
At CVS I picked up my prescription. $9 in half dollars was put through the drive through window. I apologized for all the coins, but the employee loved them. The clerk was so excited, he said, "I feel like a pirate!"
Yesterday my grandfather had surgery, so after I secured babysitters for the kids, I stopped by Whataburger for a biscuit. I often drive through this Whataburger have wondered why it takes me 10 minutes or more to get my food. Since it was just me and I didn't have to deal with any kids in car seats, I decided to walk in and avoid the drive-thru line.
What I found inside amazed me. Every employee had a smile on his or her face, and everyone was working as fast and as hard as they could. Since it takes so long to get food there, I had assumed there were a bunch of teenagers slacking off talking, but I was wrong. They made every order fresh and to specifications. There were probably ten people behind they counter and they darted around each other working like a well-oiled machine.
I paid for my biscuit with half dollars and the cashier was jubilant. "I love these!" he said. He even gave me a free drink in appreciation of my coinage.
Yesterday I was blessed with two lessons. 1. Don't be ashamed of what you have. Sometimes paying in coins is fantastic. 2. Have patience at the drive thru. You can't see what goes on inside, and the employees just might be working as hard as they possibly can.

Being a Hippie

I consider myself a modern hippie. I've always loved peace, love, and 1970s clothes.
I've been this way my entire life. When I was in kindergarten, my teacher labeled me the class "peacemaker." When I was in middle school, I was on the "spirit team." When I was in high school, I wore bell-bottoms and flower necklaces. I made sure that no one in Haltom High passed me by without a cheerful hello.
Today I am much the same way. Don't even try to pass me on my morning walk without receiving a greeting. The same goes for church. If I see you at church, you are getting at least a smile and a hello, if not a hug.
Last Christmas, Adam and I sent out about 200 Christmas cards. No one ever gets dropped off our list and every year the list grows.
I say this not to document how awesome I am, but to tell you sharing love always pays off.
Yesterday I spent an hour or two writing cards and sending pictures while the kids were playing. I keep our address book on a clipboard and flip through, writing cards for anyone we haven't had contact with in a while.
Later in the day I received a call from an elderly lady at church who wanted the children to have some hand-made dolls she owned. She had left them for me in the church parlor. We were all honored to be the recipients of such cute grandma and grandpa dolls.
Not only was that lovely, we received another gift last night. Alex, who used to be our favorite sacker at Tom Thumb, and now is a busboy at a local restaurant, bought the kids each a pumpkin for Halloween. I was so humbled that he would spend some of his small and hard-earned paycheck on my children.
So I am here to tell you that when you offer love, it is always returned. Not always from the same place that you gave it, but it always comes back. Take it from a hippie who knows.

Misc. Thoughts

During the rain last week, we went to the zoo. Only five or six other people joined us. The animals were active and the zoo was empty, so we were able to sit and observe for as long as we wanted. We literally sat in front of the chimpanzees for 30 minutes undisturbed.

The zoo is currently featuring Baby Layla, a new chimpanzee. We were fascinated watching the interactions of the chimp family.

You might wonder why I am posting a blurry picture. This picture is out of focus because I was trying to take a picture of Layla, but then her daddy jumped at the glass and knocked on it. I was a little startled.

We went back to the zoo this past Monday and the zoo was empty again. We were able to talk to zookeepers and see animals up close. The kids even got to pet a 22-year old gecko.

So FW zoo fans, note that rainy days and Mondays are the best days at the zoo.

In other news, I have been a long-time customer and fan of Just Between Friends, a consignment sale that happens twice a year at the Will Rogers Coliseum. Every six months, my mother-in-law and I take the kids and buy all their clothes for the next season. We each spend about $50 per kid and are able to outfit them for the next six months.

This season, I decided to consign. The jury's still out on whether or not we will have another kid (probably not, but maybe) so I can't sell anything that might be used again. However, I have a ton of stuff that we can do without. My goal was to make $300.

This was my first time selling, so it took me a while to learn all the rules of hanging and tagging. I spent at least 15 hours preparing all my items. Adam tallied them all up and let me know that if I sold every item at full price, I'd only make $138. I made about $60.

I also decided to go all the way and volunteer as well. If you volunteer four hours, you earn an extra 5 percent. While working my four hours, I realized that I was hoping for an extra $6.50. I requested leave and was granted.

So I was extremely disappointed, but am hopeful that now I know how the system works I will make more money in the spring. I will not be volunteering, however.

And in still other news....My kids love balloons. We were at JBF picking up my unsold items on Monday night, when the kids spotted an unclaimed balloon on the floor. They both begged for it, but since there was only one, I said no. I knew they would fight over it. A few minutes later, another balloon floated on the scene. The kids were asking if they could have those balloons, and just as I was saying yes, a little boy went and took them both. All kids love balloons, so I understood. At one point, the little boy dropped one of the balloons, and sweet Paul walked over and handed it back to him. My kids are so compassionate and giving, I get sappy.

But last night we were at Albertson's and I was disappointed. The store was having a celebration and we were meeting Chester Cheetah. The PA system announced a cakewalk in the bakery, so my kids begged and ran to the cakewalk. They were looking for a spot to stand on, but before they could find one, all the places were taken. There was one family that was taking up a square for each parent and child. They pretty much had half the walk covered. So my kids were running in circles, trying to fit in. Several adults smiled at them, but no one was going to let them in that cakewalk. I couldn't believe it. The kids were so disappointed and Claire was about to start crying. It made me upset, because if I was an adult on the cakewalk, I would certainly step aside for a kid to play. If my kids were playing on the cakewalk, I would have had them share a square so everyone could play. It frustrates me when I am always teaching my kids to love others and share and then the world disappoints them. I think we might bake a cake today.

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.

God in the Gaps

This morning I got up at the ungodly hour of 5:30 a.m. I used that time to be godly.
I haven't been up that early in a while and didn't realize the moon shines so bright at that time of the morning. The sun was not even thinking about rising yet.
Our neighborhood features a street that runs parallel to Granbury Road but is also completely separate from it. You can walk down this street and feel like you are in the midst of traffic but stay perfectly safe and protected by curbs and medians on a deserted street.
Usually when I walk the traffic on Granbury is steady, but this morning it was sporadic. Several seconds of fast cars clumped together was followed by several seconds of silence. The silence was beautiful, calm, and peaceful, and immediately trampled by traffic.
I was thinking about Psalm 46:10, the verse that says "Be still and know that I am God." I have a hard time living out that verse, because as soon as I sit still to focus on God, my thoughts and lap are trampled by children. My life is like the traffic this morning on Granbury Road.
But having your peace trampled isn't always avoidable. In fact, it's usually not. However, that doesn't mean that the stillness that you experienced for those few seconds or minutes didn't exist. So today I am focusing on noticing God in the gaps of traffic. In between bombardment of requests and needs, I will be still and know. Then when I'm in the midst of the traffic, I can hold onto the calmness that once was.

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.