The other day I was in the bathroom and bellowed to my husband to please bring me a roll of toilet paper. A minute later he cracked the door open and tossed my yoga pants at me!
For several years it has been an ongoing joke among my family about my chronic over-use of yoga pants, to which I feel no shame at all, may I add. The ridicule has gotten to a point where I feel like I need to defend myself and set the record straight. The only way I know to do this is to write my true feelings in the form of a love letter.
Dear Yoga Pants,
First, let me say right from the start that I love you...I mean, I really REALLY love you. You must know that there are those who are trying to keep us apart, those who would like to see our relationship cease. I write this open letter to you so that you, and others, may fully understand our devotion to one another. In pouring out my heart in this manner, I hope that they (those who are trying to destroy us) will accept the fatefulness of our relationship.
I love you because you are more devoted to me than any person on this earth. You have loved me at my thinnest and been with me through my pregnancies. Together, we have moved boxes and furniture in and out of homes, painted walls, and planted and harvested gardens.
You have seen me over-indulge myself with a plate of apple pie and been with me as I sweated through a brisk 2 mile walk. You have been right there with me while I held the heads of my little children as they puked in the toilet, then stuck by me as I scrubbed that vomit-splattered toilet the next morning.
You, and only you, have been with me in the middle of the night as I changed pee-soaked linens, rocked crying babies, and balanced the dreaded checkbook. You have seen my many sleepless nights doing a mountain of laundry, wrapping birthday and Christmas gifts, and pacing the floors waiting for storms to pass.
I ask, who...WHO, tell me...has been this faithful? None, but you!
You have saved the life of my husband, whether he realizes it or not. How many nights have I climbed in bed with hairy legs so deadly that he may have bled to death in his sleep, had it not been for you protecting him from near death!
Together we have slaved over the stove feeding my family, we have driven thousands of miles dropping off and picking up my children at their millions of activities. We have scrubbed floors together, and even held a dying puppy in his last hours of life.
Who can say they have been that faithful to me? WHO...I ask!
It is you who have suffered through my bladder issues, my monthly womanly issues...and remind me again, you haters of yoga pants, what was I wearing when my water broke?!?!?! And yet, my yoga pants have not judged me or shamed me. My yoga pants have not told the secrets of why I do not jump on trampolines. They have not abandoned me as I bleached my bathtub when one of my precious children pooped in it, *even when* that bleach got onto my yoga pants and left bleached spots, disfiguring that pair of pants so that it will never see the light of day again!
And yet, the solution that others offered me was to throw you away! NO! NO...I say! I will keep you forever because of your faithfulness to me.
Oh, yoga pants! I fear for you every time I leave the house. I wonder, "Will they seek you out and burn you, as they have threatened to many times before?" It brings a tear to my eye (well, almost) when I think of your enemies, those who would find and tear you to shreds.
As I am living and breathing, you must know that if that is surely your fate...it will not be at my hands! I love you too much to harm you.
With utter devotion to my true love,
Gina
I am so passionate about this that I am planning on doing "A Love Letter" on video for the world to see, so that the true heart-felt devotion can be understood! These written words just feel so inadequate and my yoga pants deserve better!
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Do you want to "C" what we're doing today?
This morning we cleaned our floors and living room. Then we cleaned our hands and cooked some cookies for our neighbors because we are going to visit them and see their baby chickens.
After we cooked our cookies, we changed our clothes and fed the cat, to which we very sweetly said, "Come here, little kitty." We decided that after lunch, which is cooking in our crock pot, we would eat left-over chocolate cake!
Before nap time we are going to read a story about chickens or cars or maybe "The Little Engine That Could."
Now if I can just get Colton to calm down...he is sooo excited about the chickens!
Can you guess what we are learning today?
After we cooked our cookies, we changed our clothes and fed the cat, to which we very sweetly said, "Come here, little kitty." We decided that after lunch, which is cooking in our crock pot, we would eat left-over chocolate cake!
Before nap time we are going to read a story about chickens or cars or maybe "The Little Engine That Could."
Now if I can just get Colton to calm down...he is sooo excited about the chickens!
Can you guess what we are learning today?
Thursday, December 23, 2010
The Best Potato Soup Ever...Ever...Ever
There used to be this little privately owned restaurant/gift and coffee shop in Jeffersonville. They got so busy that they were able to move to the big town of Mount Sterling, on Maysville Street, which is the happening street to be on! For the life of me, I cannot remember the name of that place...
Anyway, I CRAVED the potato soup they served there. It was like no potato soup I had ever put in my belly. Now, I need to give a shout out to my momma. Her potato soup is yummy. I grew up eating and loving her potato soup, but (I hope I don't get spanked for saying this) the soup this little mom and pop restaurant served was "perfection".
A few years ago, they closed shop. I'm sure they economy took a toll.
Anyway, I began dreaming of that potato soup, I *needed* it. I began to lust after the potato soup, nothing could satisfy me. It was like a hole in my heart...ur, my stomach.
So my quest to recreate the recipe began. I made it several times and flopped, but with each try I tweaked and added ingredients, and to my utter happiness... it got better and better.
Now, I'm not claiming this is THE recipe. But it has got to be pretty close! So, I won't keep you any longer. This is the copycat recipe for the best potato soup I have ever put in my mouth.
The Best Potato Soup Ever...Ever...Ever
Ingredients
5 lb bag of red potatoes-cubed, leave the skin on
1 stick of butter
4 cans of sliced carrots-drained
1 qt of heavy cream
12 cups of chicken broth
2 cans of creamed soup (chicken, celery, or mushroom...your choice)
1 package of real bacon bits
1 cup of shredded cheddar
2 stalks of celery-diced
1 tsp of onion powder
1 tsp of parsley
dash of garlic powder
1/2 tsp of pepper
2 tbsp of all-purpose flour
Topping
bacon bits
shredded mild cheddar
1. Boil potatoes until tender, then drain.
2. Cook celery over medium heat with a pat of butter for 5 minutes, to soften.
3. Combine all ingredients and bring soup to a low boil for 5 minutes, stir several times during boiling. Then simmer on Low/Med heat for at least an hour.
4. Top with cheese and bacon bits.
**For a heartier soup, simply add more potatoes and carrots.
Now I have to cook in bulk, so be prepared to half this recipe or have company...or just over indulge and buy a new wardrobe in a larger size.
Much love,
from The Wooden Spoon (that's the name of my kitchen)!
Anyway, I CRAVED the potato soup they served there. It was like no potato soup I had ever put in my belly. Now, I need to give a shout out to my momma. Her potato soup is yummy. I grew up eating and loving her potato soup, but (I hope I don't get spanked for saying this) the soup this little mom and pop restaurant served was "perfection".
A few years ago, they closed shop. I'm sure they economy took a toll.
Anyway, I began dreaming of that potato soup, I *needed* it. I began to lust after the potato soup, nothing could satisfy me. It was like a hole in my heart...ur, my stomach.
So my quest to recreate the recipe began. I made it several times and flopped, but with each try I tweaked and added ingredients, and to my utter happiness... it got better and better.
Now, I'm not claiming this is THE recipe. But it has got to be pretty close! So, I won't keep you any longer. This is the copycat recipe for the best potato soup I have ever put in my mouth.
The Best Potato Soup Ever...Ever...Ever
Ingredients
5 lb bag of red potatoes-cubed, leave the skin on
1 stick of butter
4 cans of sliced carrots-drained
1 qt of heavy cream
12 cups of chicken broth
2 cans of creamed soup (chicken, celery, or mushroom...your choice)
1 package of real bacon bits
1 cup of shredded cheddar
2 stalks of celery-diced
1 tsp of onion powder
1 tsp of parsley
dash of garlic powder
1/2 tsp of pepper
2 tbsp of all-purpose flour
Topping
bacon bits
shredded mild cheddar
1. Boil potatoes until tender, then drain.
2. Cook celery over medium heat with a pat of butter for 5 minutes, to soften.
3. Combine all ingredients and bring soup to a low boil for 5 minutes, stir several times during boiling. Then simmer on Low/Med heat for at least an hour.
4. Top with cheese and bacon bits.
**For a heartier soup, simply add more potatoes and carrots.
Now I have to cook in bulk, so be prepared to half this recipe or have company...or just over indulge and buy a new wardrobe in a larger size.
Much love,
from The Wooden Spoon (that's the name of my kitchen)!
Monday, December 20, 2010
Why I avoided Kroger for 6 months
Oh my goodness, I can't believe I'm posting this!
I have come to a point in my life that I feel the need to purge my soul of some utterly embarrassing, humiliating, less than *Mother-of-the-Year* moments. Because, well, they're funny.
I have so enjoyed snickering at my past, I thought others should get a good laugh as well. AND, I'm also trying to teach my daughter that those horrible junior high moments, ya know the ones that you just want to crawl under a rock and die, well, they just continue on into adulthood. So she might as well get used to it...I mean, if everyone else is laughing at you, you might as well laugh too.
Sydney and Colton are almost 16 months apart. You can imagine how devastated I was when I found out I was pregnant again, and Colton was only 6 months old. I had barely recovered from the life changing routine of having a third child, then out popped Sydney.
And Colton was a handful, God love his heart. He was NOT an easy baby, I loved him just the same but recognized very quickly that this was "The One". Any woman who has "one of those" type of kids, knows exactly what I'm talking about. Demanding (from day one), busy, never settled, relentless kind of child. I *had* an easy baby, and I was an experienced mom, I *knew* Colton was not easy! And subsequently, I was a a scatter-brained, frazzled sleep-deprived wreck!
I tell you all of this so that you will begin to feel pity on me. Is it working?
When Sydney was two weeks old I took my first outing to the grocery store with all my kids in tow. I'm sure my grandmother or mom would have been happy to keep the kids for me, but I had resolved in my mind that I MUST get used to this. I had to figure out how to operate functionally with four little ones under my feet. And the grocery store was one of my regular stomping grounds, so I had to make it work.
I had a short list and a sleeping baby, so I felt confident that I could get in and out quickly. I grabbed 2 carts, one I would push with Colton in the kiddie seat, and one Summer would push with Sydney sleeping in her carrier. I moved quickly and efficiently through the store, knowing that I had a limited amount of time before Sydney woke and wanted "bo-bo", or Colton had a toddler meltdown. I purposefully avoided the cookie aisle and decided to do self-checkout to avoid the candy tantrum that JD and Colton would have when I told them "No candy".
I can't believe I'm admitting to this.
I paid for my groceries, turned to do a quick head count then smiling and feeling very confident of my motherly capabilities, I headed for the door. I had a skip in my step, and a haughty attitude. Look out Michelle Dugger...here I come. You ain't got nothin' on me!
I walked out the first and second double doors, past the sidewalk garden section, and looked both ways as I crossed the crosswalk chatting with JD and Summer who were close at my side. I bent over and gave Colton a kiss on his forehead and complimented him for being such a good boy in the grocery store, fully expecting my 16 month old to rave about what a loving and organized mother I was.
Just then I heard a voice...
Young Kroger employee: "Ma'am?"
(I turn around with a pleasant expression on my face, one that reflects my confidence and self-assurance)
Me: "Yes?"
Young Kroger Employee: "Um, I know this is a strange question, but...uh, um...did you leave a baby in the store?"
Me: "Oh, $#*+!" (Insert a very loud 4 letter word... in front of my children and a parking lot full of strangers, may I add!)
It seems that as we walked out of the self-check out area, I failed to make sure someone was pushing the cart with Sydney in it. Don't worry, the Kroger employees were very understanding (to my face, anyway) and after showing them my fake ID and bribing them all with $20 bills, they agreed not to call social services.
As I think back on that incident, I wonder... had the sweet little Kroger employee not chased me out the door, who would be raising Sydney today?
I have come to a point in my life that I feel the need to purge my soul of some utterly embarrassing, humiliating, less than *Mother-of-the-Year* moments. Because, well, they're funny.
I have so enjoyed snickering at my past, I thought others should get a good laugh as well. AND, I'm also trying to teach my daughter that those horrible junior high moments, ya know the ones that you just want to crawl under a rock and die, well, they just continue on into adulthood. So she might as well get used to it...I mean, if everyone else is laughing at you, you might as well laugh too.
Sydney and Colton are almost 16 months apart. You can imagine how devastated I was when I found out I was pregnant again, and Colton was only 6 months old. I had barely recovered from the life changing routine of having a third child, then out popped Sydney.
And Colton was a handful, God love his heart. He was NOT an easy baby, I loved him just the same but recognized very quickly that this was "The One". Any woman who has "one of those" type of kids, knows exactly what I'm talking about. Demanding (from day one), busy, never settled, relentless kind of child. I *had* an easy baby, and I was an experienced mom, I *knew* Colton was not easy! And subsequently, I was a a scatter-brained, frazzled sleep-deprived wreck!
I tell you all of this so that you will begin to feel pity on me. Is it working?
When Sydney was two weeks old I took my first outing to the grocery store with all my kids in tow. I'm sure my grandmother or mom would have been happy to keep the kids for me, but I had resolved in my mind that I MUST get used to this. I had to figure out how to operate functionally with four little ones under my feet. And the grocery store was one of my regular stomping grounds, so I had to make it work.
I had a short list and a sleeping baby, so I felt confident that I could get in and out quickly. I grabbed 2 carts, one I would push with Colton in the kiddie seat, and one Summer would push with Sydney sleeping in her carrier. I moved quickly and efficiently through the store, knowing that I had a limited amount of time before Sydney woke and wanted "bo-bo", or Colton had a toddler meltdown. I purposefully avoided the cookie aisle and decided to do self-checkout to avoid the candy tantrum that JD and Colton would have when I told them "No candy".
I can't believe I'm admitting to this.
I paid for my groceries, turned to do a quick head count then smiling and feeling very confident of my motherly capabilities, I headed for the door. I had a skip in my step, and a haughty attitude. Look out Michelle Dugger...here I come. You ain't got nothin' on me!
I walked out the first and second double doors, past the sidewalk garden section, and looked both ways as I crossed the crosswalk chatting with JD and Summer who were close at my side. I bent over and gave Colton a kiss on his forehead and complimented him for being such a good boy in the grocery store, fully expecting my 16 month old to rave about what a loving and organized mother I was.
Just then I heard a voice...
Young Kroger employee: "Ma'am?"
(I turn around with a pleasant expression on my face, one that reflects my confidence and self-assurance)
Me: "Yes?"
Young Kroger Employee: "Um, I know this is a strange question, but...uh, um...did you leave a baby in the store?"
Me: "Oh, $#*+!" (Insert a very loud 4 letter word... in front of my children and a parking lot full of strangers, may I add!)
It seems that as we walked out of the self-check out area, I failed to make sure someone was pushing the cart with Sydney in it. Don't worry, the Kroger employees were very understanding (to my face, anyway) and after showing them my fake ID and bribing them all with $20 bills, they agreed not to call social services.
As I think back on that incident, I wonder... had the sweet little Kroger employee not chased me out the door, who would be raising Sydney today?
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
The Reality of Failures
Last night Jeff and I made the announcement to our children that our current (and failing) laundry routine was going to change drastically! I have decided to remove all of the laundry baskets from the bedrooms, and thus squash the surprise accumulation of dirty laundry. From today forward any article of dirty clothing needs to be taken straight to the laundry room and immediately sorted into the correct basket (red, white, towels, darks, or colors). By doing it this way I feel like I will gain some control over our laundry situation. When I see that a basket in the laundry room is full, I can go ahead and put it in the wash. What *was* happening was quite different...let me explain.
Any given day: With the help of my mother, grandmother and myself, the clothes, linens, and towels are now clean and piled on the couch waiting to be sorted and put in the bedrooms.
Day 2: I am committed to keeping the dirty laundry washed up. I may not have it sorted at the moment, but commit to start on that as soon as I throw a load in the washer. I call for everyone to bring their laundry baskets into the utility room, and within moments, I realize that I am double-behind, because not only do I have a couch full of clean clothes to be sorted, I once again have a mountain-sized pile of dirty clothes that has been accumulating in the bedrooms. I sigh in defeat, collapse down onto the laundry room floor and begin sorting. I put the first of many loads into the washer and shuffle in sadness out of the laundry room, taking my position in front of the couch where I separate the clothes by person into heaping piles. Sometime later that day each person takes their clothes to their room in baskets or armfuls. They each have a designated place for clean clothes, because the truth is, the final step of "putting away" rarely ever gets done. Or it may get done in Summer's room because I make her...and I do mean MAKE her...hang her clothes, but I am too exhausted to get to the other kids. So I promise myself I will do it tomorrow, and keep up washing and drying the dirty clothes as well.
Day 3: As I continue to wash and dry, I notice that the clothes are, once again, accumulating on the couch so I sort the clothes on the couch into the infamous "piles", then realize how busy my afternoon is going to be. Doesn't look like I will be able to put away any one's clothes today. I comfort myself in knowing that at least they are clean, and I don't mind ironing.
Day 4 thru 10 (or more): Too much to do...can't worry about the laundry today.
Day 11: Call my mom and grandmother in tears and ask them if they would mind helping me catch up. I haven't seen the laundry room floor in over a week. We have resorted to wearing socks two days in a row and underwear that we hate because nothing is clean!
Day 12 and 13: I take several baskets each to my mother and grandmother. They are gracious and understanding of my predicament. They quickly wash, dry, and fold the laundry, and call me when it is done.
Day 14: Repeat "Any given day".
I know from the outside looking in, it may not seem that my new method is going to help much. But it makes sense to me that this is really where the failure of my current system begins. When I get bombarded with 7 large and overflowing laundry baskets (one for each person plus towels and washcloths), that is when my situation feels overwhelming and hopeless. And, what I am really excited about is that this is actually step 1 of a three step laundry renovation! Step two being the highly controversial implementation of the family closet. And step three being the even more controversial implementation of the "changing of the guard", where I will release the bulk of the laundry duty to my children...and I will simply be the overseer. There is also a hidden step that I will share with you, but I haven't shared with my kids yet...the downsizing of our mass of clothing!
I decided to blog about this because housekeeping is truly not my strong point as a stay-at-home mom. And laundry is the one area that I have been running behind in for YEARS...I kid you not! Sometimes it helps to tell others of your failures in order to truly be able to release those shortcoming. I mean really, what good does it do me to continue to keep working at a system that is failing, my current laundry system simply doesn't work the way it is suppose to. I think that over the years I have tried to tweak and change it, but all I've really done is add more steps to an already failing system.
I know that God has plans for my life and it doesn't include sitting in tears on the laundry room floor for years to come! Somethings got to give... I am chucking our laundry system out the door! I don't know if this new system will work, it seems drastic, but I am hopeful because it feels like I am simplifying.
In closing, I have to say that I LOVE the changing and shedding of old habits from one year to the next. I NEVER set resolutions, but I do set goals for myself, things that I will work toward changing in the new year. Laundry is one of the things that I am committed to making better in 2011. Here are a few more of my goals:
-The kitchen is closed! There will be three meals a day and an afternoon snack where you may eat and drink until your belly is full. After that there will be no in-between grazing. No eating leftovers or snacking...not even drinks.
-We will eat at the table only. No eating in the bedrooms, living room, computer desk, or the vehicle.
-Back-to-basics parenting. I've been far too "liberal" this year due to some bad counsel, and it has produced the exact fruit that I was worried about to begin with...back talking, interrupting, blowing off household responsibilities, arguing, etc. So here are the tried and true parenting techniques that I will be returning to:
*3D parenting: (ANYTHING that is considered disrespectful, dishonest, or disobedient...anything)
*First response: (I speak, you acknowledge that you heard me. If you don't acknowledge, I
will say it again and give you another chance to respectfully acknowledge me. You do not
walk away, heave loudly, or roll your eyes unless you want to feel my wrath.)
*No means no...every time and until I tell you differently: (I will not change my mind out of
guilt or continuing to ask me. I only change my mind in the case of extreme improvement
in behavior.)
*Lessons in conversing with adults: (We will be practicing using respectful tones, words,
and manners. I feel like children these days are far to casual in the way they speak to
adults, mine included, and these lessons start in the home. I am beginning to think that my generation is the last to call adults by their last names, or even use the simple words, ma'am and sir.)
*It's all in the tone: (I intend on spending some time reprogramming my children in the
tone that they use when they are speaking to me. I read of a great way to do this was to
simply look at your children and say with a stern voice, "Why don't you try that again."
You keep saying that until they are speaking to you in a sweet, compliant, respectful tone
of voice.)
May your Christmas be focused on Christ, and may your New Year be focused on improvements!
Any given day: With the help of my mother, grandmother and myself, the clothes, linens, and towels are now clean and piled on the couch waiting to be sorted and put in the bedrooms.
Day 2: I am committed to keeping the dirty laundry washed up. I may not have it sorted at the moment, but commit to start on that as soon as I throw a load in the washer. I call for everyone to bring their laundry baskets into the utility room, and within moments, I realize that I am double-behind, because not only do I have a couch full of clean clothes to be sorted, I once again have a mountain-sized pile of dirty clothes that has been accumulating in the bedrooms. I sigh in defeat, collapse down onto the laundry room floor and begin sorting. I put the first of many loads into the washer and shuffle in sadness out of the laundry room, taking my position in front of the couch where I separate the clothes by person into heaping piles. Sometime later that day each person takes their clothes to their room in baskets or armfuls. They each have a designated place for clean clothes, because the truth is, the final step of "putting away" rarely ever gets done. Or it may get done in Summer's room because I make her...and I do mean MAKE her...hang her clothes, but I am too exhausted to get to the other kids. So I promise myself I will do it tomorrow, and keep up washing and drying the dirty clothes as well.
Day 3: As I continue to wash and dry, I notice that the clothes are, once again, accumulating on the couch so I sort the clothes on the couch into the infamous "piles", then realize how busy my afternoon is going to be. Doesn't look like I will be able to put away any one's clothes today. I comfort myself in knowing that at least they are clean, and I don't mind ironing.
Day 4 thru 10 (or more): Too much to do...can't worry about the laundry today.
Day 11: Call my mom and grandmother in tears and ask them if they would mind helping me catch up. I haven't seen the laundry room floor in over a week. We have resorted to wearing socks two days in a row and underwear that we hate because nothing is clean!
Day 12 and 13: I take several baskets each to my mother and grandmother. They are gracious and understanding of my predicament. They quickly wash, dry, and fold the laundry, and call me when it is done.
Day 14: Repeat "Any given day".
I know from the outside looking in, it may not seem that my new method is going to help much. But it makes sense to me that this is really where the failure of my current system begins. When I get bombarded with 7 large and overflowing laundry baskets (one for each person plus towels and washcloths), that is when my situation feels overwhelming and hopeless. And, what I am really excited about is that this is actually step 1 of a three step laundry renovation! Step two being the highly controversial implementation of the family closet. And step three being the even more controversial implementation of the "changing of the guard", where I will release the bulk of the laundry duty to my children...and I will simply be the overseer. There is also a hidden step that I will share with you, but I haven't shared with my kids yet...the downsizing of our mass of clothing!
I decided to blog about this because housekeeping is truly not my strong point as a stay-at-home mom. And laundry is the one area that I have been running behind in for YEARS...I kid you not! Sometimes it helps to tell others of your failures in order to truly be able to release those shortcoming. I mean really, what good does it do me to continue to keep working at a system that is failing, my current laundry system simply doesn't work the way it is suppose to. I think that over the years I have tried to tweak and change it, but all I've really done is add more steps to an already failing system.
I know that God has plans for my life and it doesn't include sitting in tears on the laundry room floor for years to come! Somethings got to give... I am chucking our laundry system out the door! I don't know if this new system will work, it seems drastic, but I am hopeful because it feels like I am simplifying.
In closing, I have to say that I LOVE the changing and shedding of old habits from one year to the next. I NEVER set resolutions, but I do set goals for myself, things that I will work toward changing in the new year. Laundry is one of the things that I am committed to making better in 2011. Here are a few more of my goals:
-The kitchen is closed! There will be three meals a day and an afternoon snack where you may eat and drink until your belly is full. After that there will be no in-between grazing. No eating leftovers or snacking...not even drinks.
-We will eat at the table only. No eating in the bedrooms, living room, computer desk, or the vehicle.
-Back-to-basics parenting. I've been far too "liberal" this year due to some bad counsel, and it has produced the exact fruit that I was worried about to begin with...back talking, interrupting, blowing off household responsibilities, arguing, etc. So here are the tried and true parenting techniques that I will be returning to:
*3D parenting: (ANYTHING that is considered disrespectful, dishonest, or disobedient...anything)
*First response: (I speak, you acknowledge that you heard me. If you don't acknowledge, I
will say it again and give you another chance to respectfully acknowledge me. You do not
walk away, heave loudly, or roll your eyes unless you want to feel my wrath.)
*No means no...every time and until I tell you differently: (I will not change my mind out of
guilt or continuing to ask me. I only change my mind in the case of extreme improvement
in behavior.)
*Lessons in conversing with adults: (We will be practicing using respectful tones, words,
and manners. I feel like children these days are far to casual in the way they speak to
adults, mine included, and these lessons start in the home. I am beginning to think that my generation is the last to call adults by their last names, or even use the simple words, ma'am and sir.)
*It's all in the tone: (I intend on spending some time reprogramming my children in the
tone that they use when they are speaking to me. I read of a great way to do this was to
simply look at your children and say with a stern voice, "Why don't you try that again."
You keep saying that until they are speaking to you in a sweet, compliant, respectful tone
of voice.)
May your Christmas be focused on Christ, and may your New Year be focused on improvements!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
James
I am not so sure how this post will flow. I'm a bit concerned to be honest, because I have so many thoughts swirling in my head.
First, today is my oldest son's birthday...James Davis Taylor is 8 years old today. As I look at the clock, it was about this time 8 years ago that I went into labor. Everyone who knows him calls him "JD". I also call him "Mr. Taylor" because I have so much respect for him. For a good portion of his toddler years he was known as "Big Man" because until Jeff and I married, I considered him the man of the house. JD is a beautiful soul, he has been a pleasure to have in my life. The boy does not cause me a minute's trouble and he has so many awesome character qualities that I wish more people had, including myself.
JD is a very humble person. There are many times that he has done exceptional things, things that people would not expect of such a young man. I've heard about these things days or weeks later from others because he just isn't the type of kid to come home and brag on himself. I remember one specific occasion when I got a call from his Kindergarten teacher telling me that one of JD's classmates had been bullied in the bathroom by some much older boys. Instead of participating in the bullying or ignoring what was happening and running away, JD stayed to protect his friend. His teacher was so impressed with his courage and his judgement to so quickly make the right decision.
Just simple things like watching him participate in sports reaffirms to me what an exceptional kid he is. For one, he is quite the little gentleman, he really struggles with guarding little girls in basketball or soccer. After a game where he has been paired up against a girl he articulates in the best way he knows how, that he doesn't like to be rough or take the ball away from a girl. I watch him shyly drop his head after he scores a goal in soccer, as if hoping that not too many people noticed it was him. He never does a victory dance or proudly accepts praise and cheers with a swelling chest or head. He just has this look on his face that I recognize...as if he's saying, "Let's just move on."
JD has this really gentle way of dealing with Sydney. When she's scolded, he is the first person she cries for and I know it's just because he is so sweet to her. In his shadow, I suppose she feels protected and loved...and she truly is. JD is a brilliant mind, from a very early age he could do impressive things. His fine motor skills were way ahead of age appropriateness. He has this way of figuring things out that I can't believe a kid his age is capable of doing. He loves anything with a million pieces that needs to be put together. He loves to tinker with building and constructing, he's a whiz on the computer! I know that God has something really amazing in mind for JD and I am so excited to watch and see the type of man he will become.
But there is also another James I have been thinking about today...Jesus' brother. My pastor started a new serious today on the book of James. The sermon was about James' encouragement in dealing with trials and tribulations in our lives. In regards to the meat of the lesson, I understand that we should "consider it pure joy" to know that in our troubles, we have the opportunity to put our faith in the Lord and know that he will mature us and teach us the lessons that can be learned from such hardship.
But the one comment that Pastor Grant said that really threw me for a loop was that James did not believe his brother was the Christ until after he witnessed Jesus' resurrection. Wow! Let me just share with you my thoughts about that...
James grew up in a household of at least 4 brothers and at least 2 sisters. Jesus was the oldest of them all. As a child, I am sure that James witnessed his older brother doing some really exceptional things and because Jesus never sinned, I would assume he was a wonderful big brother. I feel certain that Jesus shared his toys and was patient with his younger siblings. I'm sure that he didn't say hurtful things or bully and tease his little brothers...I mean I would assume that Jesus would have been the best older brother that a kid could have....right?
Not to mention that James' mother and father, Mary and Joseph, had personally experienced the miracle of a virgin birth, and the prophesy of that birth from an angel who appeared to both of them individually. Then appeared to them at least once more (that the bible speaks of) when they were told to flee Bethlehem and go to Nazareth. I feel sure that Mary and Joseph were people who undoubtedly believed their son was the Messiah and surely shared that testimony with all of their children. Yet, it wasn't the miraculous testimony of his mom and dad or the witnessing of Jesus' exceptional life that won James over. It wasn't the knowledge that the Old Testament prophesies were being fulfilled by his older brother right before his eyes. It wasn't the multitude of people who flocked to Jesus or even the very public miracles he was performing. How about James' cousin, John the Baptist, who was nothing less than a Jesus-Freak and passionately shared the salvation message with everyone he came in contact with. Not to mention the personal testimony of Jesus himself who out-right admitted that He was God's son. It wasn't his unjust arrest, trial, beating, or the murder of his brother that made James realize that Jesus was God in flesh and had fulfilled all of the prophesies.
See, James did not believe that Jesus was the Messiah until he saw Jesus with his own eyes after the resurrection. I'm sure there is all kinds of details and scripture and biblical theology that I am not educated on, but it intrigues me that even our Christ could not win over his own family during His ministry before His death.
This is where I struggle to tie all of this together...
And this is where it becomes very personal...
There are people who I love more than myself, some of which I share the same DNA with, people who I would lay down my life for, I would do anything...anything for these people...family. Who I know have the awareness that Jesus is God's son, and who I know have the knowledge of what it takes to receive salvation. People who profess to know that Jesus is Lord. Good...no, great...no, WONDERFUL people...family. Yet, I have this unsettled feeling in my heart because I know that being a wonderful person will not save us from the pits of hell! Which brings me to this question...Why is it so hard to witness to the people we love the most?
Maybe it feels like I'm saying to you that your life isn't good enough. Maybe it feels like I'm placing judgement or condemning you, and that would cause hard feelings between us. Maybe because when you say "no" to me, it feels personal and I don't like feeling rejected by my loved ones. So in order to keep the conversation light and our feelings for each other warm and fuzzy, I resolve not to ask the hard questions. But what I really want to say to you is this, "What is the state of your soul? Do you know Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, and even more important, on Judgement Day will he know you? Or will you be one of the ones that he looks at with confusion and sorrow and says, 'I don't know who you are.' Do you know that you are running out of time?"
When I get to heaven, I hope to look around and see all of the faces of the people that I love. I hope not a one of them is absent, but that's not a choice I can make for them. I hope that if anyone reads this and feels convicted by it, you should know that God does not convict you to condemn you. He convicts you because he longs for a closer relationship with you. And a personal relationship with Christ and the acceptance of Him as your personal Lord and Savior is the only thing that will grant you eternity in Heaven.
If it was difficult for Jesus to reach *His* family, I suppose I shouldn't expect it to be easy for me.
Please watch this video...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhX7m3rF20c
First, today is my oldest son's birthday...James Davis Taylor is 8 years old today. As I look at the clock, it was about this time 8 years ago that I went into labor. Everyone who knows him calls him "JD". I also call him "Mr. Taylor" because I have so much respect for him. For a good portion of his toddler years he was known as "Big Man" because until Jeff and I married, I considered him the man of the house. JD is a beautiful soul, he has been a pleasure to have in my life. The boy does not cause me a minute's trouble and he has so many awesome character qualities that I wish more people had, including myself.
JD is a very humble person. There are many times that he has done exceptional things, things that people would not expect of such a young man. I've heard about these things days or weeks later from others because he just isn't the type of kid to come home and brag on himself. I remember one specific occasion when I got a call from his Kindergarten teacher telling me that one of JD's classmates had been bullied in the bathroom by some much older boys. Instead of participating in the bullying or ignoring what was happening and running away, JD stayed to protect his friend. His teacher was so impressed with his courage and his judgement to so quickly make the right decision.
Just simple things like watching him participate in sports reaffirms to me what an exceptional kid he is. For one, he is quite the little gentleman, he really struggles with guarding little girls in basketball or soccer. After a game where he has been paired up against a girl he articulates in the best way he knows how, that he doesn't like to be rough or take the ball away from a girl. I watch him shyly drop his head after he scores a goal in soccer, as if hoping that not too many people noticed it was him. He never does a victory dance or proudly accepts praise and cheers with a swelling chest or head. He just has this look on his face that I recognize...as if he's saying, "Let's just move on."
JD has this really gentle way of dealing with Sydney. When she's scolded, he is the first person she cries for and I know it's just because he is so sweet to her. In his shadow, I suppose she feels protected and loved...and she truly is. JD is a brilliant mind, from a very early age he could do impressive things. His fine motor skills were way ahead of age appropriateness. He has this way of figuring things out that I can't believe a kid his age is capable of doing. He loves anything with a million pieces that needs to be put together. He loves to tinker with building and constructing, he's a whiz on the computer! I know that God has something really amazing in mind for JD and I am so excited to watch and see the type of man he will become.
But there is also another James I have been thinking about today...Jesus' brother. My pastor started a new serious today on the book of James. The sermon was about James' encouragement in dealing with trials and tribulations in our lives. In regards to the meat of the lesson, I understand that we should "consider it pure joy" to know that in our troubles, we have the opportunity to put our faith in the Lord and know that he will mature us and teach us the lessons that can be learned from such hardship.
But the one comment that Pastor Grant said that really threw me for a loop was that James did not believe his brother was the Christ until after he witnessed Jesus' resurrection. Wow! Let me just share with you my thoughts about that...
James grew up in a household of at least 4 brothers and at least 2 sisters. Jesus was the oldest of them all. As a child, I am sure that James witnessed his older brother doing some really exceptional things and because Jesus never sinned, I would assume he was a wonderful big brother. I feel certain that Jesus shared his toys and was patient with his younger siblings. I'm sure that he didn't say hurtful things or bully and tease his little brothers...I mean I would assume that Jesus would have been the best older brother that a kid could have....right?
Not to mention that James' mother and father, Mary and Joseph, had personally experienced the miracle of a virgin birth, and the prophesy of that birth from an angel who appeared to both of them individually. Then appeared to them at least once more (that the bible speaks of) when they were told to flee Bethlehem and go to Nazareth. I feel sure that Mary and Joseph were people who undoubtedly believed their son was the Messiah and surely shared that testimony with all of their children. Yet, it wasn't the miraculous testimony of his mom and dad or the witnessing of Jesus' exceptional life that won James over. It wasn't the knowledge that the Old Testament prophesies were being fulfilled by his older brother right before his eyes. It wasn't the multitude of people who flocked to Jesus or even the very public miracles he was performing. How about James' cousin, John the Baptist, who was nothing less than a Jesus-Freak and passionately shared the salvation message with everyone he came in contact with. Not to mention the personal testimony of Jesus himself who out-right admitted that He was God's son. It wasn't his unjust arrest, trial, beating, or the murder of his brother that made James realize that Jesus was God in flesh and had fulfilled all of the prophesies.
See, James did not believe that Jesus was the Messiah until he saw Jesus with his own eyes after the resurrection. I'm sure there is all kinds of details and scripture and biblical theology that I am not educated on, but it intrigues me that even our Christ could not win over his own family during His ministry before His death.
This is where I struggle to tie all of this together...
And this is where it becomes very personal...
There are people who I love more than myself, some of which I share the same DNA with, people who I would lay down my life for, I would do anything...anything for these people...family. Who I know have the awareness that Jesus is God's son, and who I know have the knowledge of what it takes to receive salvation. People who profess to know that Jesus is Lord. Good...no, great...no, WONDERFUL people...family. Yet, I have this unsettled feeling in my heart because I know that being a wonderful person will not save us from the pits of hell! Which brings me to this question...Why is it so hard to witness to the people we love the most?
Maybe it feels like I'm saying to you that your life isn't good enough. Maybe it feels like I'm placing judgement or condemning you, and that would cause hard feelings between us. Maybe because when you say "no" to me, it feels personal and I don't like feeling rejected by my loved ones. So in order to keep the conversation light and our feelings for each other warm and fuzzy, I resolve not to ask the hard questions. But what I really want to say to you is this, "What is the state of your soul? Do you know Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, and even more important, on Judgement Day will he know you? Or will you be one of the ones that he looks at with confusion and sorrow and says, 'I don't know who you are.' Do you know that you are running out of time?"
When I get to heaven, I hope to look around and see all of the faces of the people that I love. I hope not a one of them is absent, but that's not a choice I can make for them. I hope that if anyone reads this and feels convicted by it, you should know that God does not convict you to condemn you. He convicts you because he longs for a closer relationship with you. And a personal relationship with Christ and the acceptance of Him as your personal Lord and Savior is the only thing that will grant you eternity in Heaven.
If it was difficult for Jesus to reach *His* family, I suppose I shouldn't expect it to be easy for me.
Please watch this video...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yhX7m3rF20c
Monday, October 4, 2010
Mamaw Duck
Fall is my favorite time of year! My spirit aches for it all year long. During the spring (which is my second favorite time of year) all the beautiful colors still make me think of autumn leaves. I have been known, many times, to refer to a chilly spring morning as reminding me of mornings in the fall. In the summer time I long for fall every second that I am outside enduring the sweltering heat. And although I like winter time, it still doesn't stir the happiness and contentment I feel during autumn.
On Saturday morning I was enjoying the quiet of the house before everyone woke. It was a little nippy because we hadn't turned the heat up before bed Friday night. And the sweetest memory came to my mind, so for a few moments I indulged myself....
When I was a young girl I remember spending time at my grandmother's house. Her name was Virginia Davis and she lived on a sweet, picturesque little farm in Bourbon County...Plum Lick Road to be exact. Her and my Papaw bought the farm when they were a young couple and raised their sons on that land, my Papaw farmed it his whole life. He passed away in his 50's. I'm not sure who built the house originally, but I know that Papaw built onto the original 4 room structure when he was a young father to make room for his boys. My memories of Papaw are the sketchy memories of a young child, I wish I had more. What I know about him mainly came from stories that my Mamaw or Daddy have told me.
Anyway, I have a lot of great memories of being with my grandmother....still, I wish I had more. She passed away in December 2007. Mamaw's house was heated with a fireplace and a wood burning stove, she had no air-conditioning either. In the summer time she threw her windows open and spent most of her day outside. I still remember the lace curtains that she hung in the summer and how they would sway constantly, proving there was always a breeze even if I couldn't feel it! In the winter, days were spent playing in the living room in front of the fire. It's a thousand wonders we didn't get burned because I remember her fire crackling and popping, and yet my sisters and I sat on the floor directly in front of it, playing and absorbing all the warmth that we could.
But in the fall, there was this hoovering conflict that consumed Mamaw's thoughts...when to light the fireplace. See, once she started the fire she would need to try to keep it going, because to start the fire was difficult and time consuming and sometimes smokey and stinky. Generally, it was just a "pain in the tookus", as Mamaw would say! But she didn't want to start it too early in the year when the days could still reach the upper 80's, yet the autumn mornings could leave this lingering chill in her house....
I remember being awakened by the wonderful smell of bacon and coffee. Although I didn't develop an appreciation for the taste of coffee until early in college, I still remember that wonderful smell that came from Mamaw's kitchen in the mornings! I would climb out from under the weight of the blankets that she had put over me during the night. I always went to bed with soft sheets, big fluffy pillows, and a thick handmade quilt on the bed. But when I woke in the morning, I could have as many as 10 blankets on top of me! I would put my warm toasty feet on the cold hardwood floor, grab a throw off the bed to wrap around me, and run as fast as I could into the kitchen because I KNEW it was the warmest place in the house. As I hurried through the house jumping from rug to rug, so as not to touch the cold wooden floor, I would round the corner of the kitchen, careful not to slip on the final rug that was in the doorway. I would plop myself in a chair she had purposefully placed in front of the open oven door. The seat was warm on my back and my "tookus"...sometimes TOO warm, but looking back at her gesture, I know she was giving me the best seat in the house!
We would sit in the kitchen and talk about what we were going to do that day. Maybe there was a homemaker's meeting to attend and I would get to make a craft. Or maybe we would drive down the road to visit Gladys Oldson and I would play outside with all of her cats. We would plan to have lunch at The Skillman House (Catherine's, we called it, because we knew the owner personally). After lunch we would share a piece of pie, and then I would take my own dishes to the kitchen and maybe bus a few other tables in the restaurant if the waitresses were busy, to which Catherine would give me and my sisters a quarter for all our hard work. Or maybe we would just stay and play on the farm all day, climbing in the barn, spooking the cows, and taking a walk to the pond to hear the frogs make their loud "ribbits" as they splashed in all at once.
As I get older, I love revisiting those moments! I had a happy childhood for the most part and my grandparents, on both sides of my family, were a presence that have etched beautiful memories in my heart. I have one living grandparent now and I consider myself blessed to have been given as much time as I have had with all of them. But for the past few days, I have been thinking a lot about Mamaw Duck, we called her that because she collected and decorated with ducks of all kinds. So this morning as I climb out of my bed and put my feet on a warm, carpeted floor, I feel a little chill in the house, so I throw on a sweatshirt and hit the buttons on the thermostat. I consider myself blessed to have such luxury, but something inside me this morning stirs and yearns for homemade quilts, a cold wooden floor, and a warm toasty kitchen chair by an open oven door....and one more day with my grandmother.
On Saturday morning I was enjoying the quiet of the house before everyone woke. It was a little nippy because we hadn't turned the heat up before bed Friday night. And the sweetest memory came to my mind, so for a few moments I indulged myself....
When I was a young girl I remember spending time at my grandmother's house. Her name was Virginia Davis and she lived on a sweet, picturesque little farm in Bourbon County...Plum Lick Road to be exact. Her and my Papaw bought the farm when they were a young couple and raised their sons on that land, my Papaw farmed it his whole life. He passed away in his 50's. I'm not sure who built the house originally, but I know that Papaw built onto the original 4 room structure when he was a young father to make room for his boys. My memories of Papaw are the sketchy memories of a young child, I wish I had more. What I know about him mainly came from stories that my Mamaw or Daddy have told me.
Anyway, I have a lot of great memories of being with my grandmother....still, I wish I had more. She passed away in December 2007. Mamaw's house was heated with a fireplace and a wood burning stove, she had no air-conditioning either. In the summer time she threw her windows open and spent most of her day outside. I still remember the lace curtains that she hung in the summer and how they would sway constantly, proving there was always a breeze even if I couldn't feel it! In the winter, days were spent playing in the living room in front of the fire. It's a thousand wonders we didn't get burned because I remember her fire crackling and popping, and yet my sisters and I sat on the floor directly in front of it, playing and absorbing all the warmth that we could.
But in the fall, there was this hoovering conflict that consumed Mamaw's thoughts...when to light the fireplace. See, once she started the fire she would need to try to keep it going, because to start the fire was difficult and time consuming and sometimes smokey and stinky. Generally, it was just a "pain in the tookus", as Mamaw would say! But she didn't want to start it too early in the year when the days could still reach the upper 80's, yet the autumn mornings could leave this lingering chill in her house....
I remember being awakened by the wonderful smell of bacon and coffee. Although I didn't develop an appreciation for the taste of coffee until early in college, I still remember that wonderful smell that came from Mamaw's kitchen in the mornings! I would climb out from under the weight of the blankets that she had put over me during the night. I always went to bed with soft sheets, big fluffy pillows, and a thick handmade quilt on the bed. But when I woke in the morning, I could have as many as 10 blankets on top of me! I would put my warm toasty feet on the cold hardwood floor, grab a throw off the bed to wrap around me, and run as fast as I could into the kitchen because I KNEW it was the warmest place in the house. As I hurried through the house jumping from rug to rug, so as not to touch the cold wooden floor, I would round the corner of the kitchen, careful not to slip on the final rug that was in the doorway. I would plop myself in a chair she had purposefully placed in front of the open oven door. The seat was warm on my back and my "tookus"...sometimes TOO warm, but looking back at her gesture, I know she was giving me the best seat in the house!
We would sit in the kitchen and talk about what we were going to do that day. Maybe there was a homemaker's meeting to attend and I would get to make a craft. Or maybe we would drive down the road to visit Gladys Oldson and I would play outside with all of her cats. We would plan to have lunch at The Skillman House (Catherine's, we called it, because we knew the owner personally). After lunch we would share a piece of pie, and then I would take my own dishes to the kitchen and maybe bus a few other tables in the restaurant if the waitresses were busy, to which Catherine would give me and my sisters a quarter for all our hard work. Or maybe we would just stay and play on the farm all day, climbing in the barn, spooking the cows, and taking a walk to the pond to hear the frogs make their loud "ribbits" as they splashed in all at once.
As I get older, I love revisiting those moments! I had a happy childhood for the most part and my grandparents, on both sides of my family, were a presence that have etched beautiful memories in my heart. I have one living grandparent now and I consider myself blessed to have been given as much time as I have had with all of them. But for the past few days, I have been thinking a lot about Mamaw Duck, we called her that because she collected and decorated with ducks of all kinds. So this morning as I climb out of my bed and put my feet on a warm, carpeted floor, I feel a little chill in the house, so I throw on a sweatshirt and hit the buttons on the thermostat. I consider myself blessed to have such luxury, but something inside me this morning stirs and yearns for homemade quilts, a cold wooden floor, and a warm toasty kitchen chair by an open oven door....and one more day with my grandmother.
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