A memoir...in six words

I suppose that I could have used this post to qualify as my participation in the Six Word Memoir Meme. And I had planned to, however, it just did not feel exactly right.

I struggled with the challenge placed before me by Michelle, Just Mom, Gayla, and Lisa. I read with admiration their inspirational memoirs that seemed somehow to poetically capture exactly what they wanted to say about their life...in just six simple words.

How could I do that? How could I sum up the whole of who I am, when really, most days I simply have no idea? How could I resist the urge to fall back to the comfortable crutch of sarcasm and be real with not only myself, but any that choose to read? Which part of my identity would I seek to represent? The mother, the wife, the daughter, the friend? Are not all of these roles part of the one?

Finally my eyes were opened to what I would say in six words about my life, opened while sipping a cup of late night tea. What I would hope is represented in the way that I live, the way that mother, the way that I love. These are not my own words, but the words of one of the most inspirational women ever to live, Mother Teresa.

Do small things~with great love.

That is it. Exactly. Nothing spectacular. Nothing extraordinary.

Just the small things of life: changing the diaper of my soon-to-be-potty-trained-two-year-old, laying out the clothes for my son and daughter each morning to allow them extra minutes of sleep before school, cooking a meal with vegetables, protein, and fruit, even though it will not be met with acclamations of praise, but nonetheless necessary, packing my husband's overnight bag just because I know how little he likes to do it, calling my parents regularly to ensure that they know I am thinking of them and love them, offering my home as a place for women to gather for fellowship and prayer, emailing my friends to make sure that they know I have not forgotten them... all small things.

I will not be remembered for my influence on the modern education system. I will not be remembered for my profound spiritual knowledge. I will not be remembered for changing the political climate because of my progressive viewpoints. I will not be remembered because my words were published in the current New York Times best seller.

But I hope, I pray, that when someone remembers me, they remember someone who loved. Even and especially in the small things.

*I believe that there are some rules that go along with doing this meme, but the only pertinent one, in my opinion, is that you say it in six words.

Trying to find the good

By now all must know of the Spring blizzard we were surprised with this past weekend. Surprised, because our local forecasters (being as reliable as a Ouija board), failed to predict the intensity and voracity of this storm. So instead of the "one to two inches that would melt before it accumulated", we were instead dumped on with eight to ten inches of accumulating snow. And we were the lucky ones. Some had 19+ inches.

I have completely lost my sense of humor in all of this. Snow at Easter, HA...that is one to remember, Prom postponed to Sunday because of a storm, WOW...that will be one for the yearbook, a threeking blizzard the last weekend of April---NOT FUNNY ANYMORE.

While my attitude has slide downhill over the last few weeks about the snow, I have been reminded of the joy of childhood in their constant thrill to see the same bicycles that they were just playing on one day completely covered in snow the next.

But I am afraid that this schizophrenic South Dakota weather has finally managed to spoil even the optimism of my children. While helping them ready for school by slumping into the snow pants and boots that had been washed and put away last week, my daughter said with much disdain, "I hate snow." This is the same girl that just months before, heck, even weeks before, would have gleefully ran out into the snowdrifts and ate her fill of fresh white powder before coming in to warm her cheeks with hot cocoa.

What is this crazy weather doing to my children!? I tried desperately to find the good in the situation. Remembering that I am an example to my children, good or bad, so I best have a positive response--quickly. "Well, at least you get to wear some slammin' new snow boots to school (that mommy bought on Lands End clearance for NEXT year)."

Thankfully, that brought a smile to her face. But I am warning you Old Man Winter--I am seriously out of good humor. We have had ENOUGH.

Full Steam or None At All

Does anyone else function in this mode? Full steam or none at all? There are days when taking a shower, getting out of my yoga pants, (which are worn solely for the comfort and not the exercise), and slippers and putting in my contacts before 3:00pm when I have to run out to pick up the kids, is a MAJOR accomplishment. On those days, everything is an effort. Little other than survival goes on at my house. Brushing teeth? Dressing the kids? Pouring cereal and milk into a bowl? Making lunch? Reading nap stories? Putting the dishes into the dishwasher? All of these things are done with the littlest amount of energy possible.

Then there are the other days. When by 10:30am, I realize that I have accomplished all that was on my to-do list for the WEEK. Floors scrubbed, laundry done (it's NEVER technically done...is it?), kids' rooms re-organized, bedding washed, toilets cleaned, floors all vacuumed, and counter-tops de-cluttered and wiped down.

I know, I know, some of you only noticed that I do not have very high expectations of what I can accomplish in a week. No, I probably do not. But in addition to those tasks comes the refereeing, tidying, feeding, bathing, kitchen prep and clean up, bed making, picking up, taxi driving, running to meetings, conferences, basketball games and the like. So, I try to set realistic weekly to-do lists as something unpredictable always surfaces.


Full steam. No time to waste. When my energy level is soaring I need to move it or lose it.

Saturday Snapshot

Are you flippin' kidding me?

Friday Foto Frenzy

I COULD

NOT

ASK FOR

MORE.

Something that is so good to see

Not the Freshest Spice in the Cupboard

I recently heard that you are supposed to get rid of spices that are older than 6 months....seriously? I am pretty darn certain that there are some spices on my shelf that have been around five or more years, and there is a pretty darn good chance that they will be there another five or so before I finally admit that I have no idea what to sprinkle them on.

Did you all know this already? Was this in the "Cooking Healthy Meals for Your Family" break-out session at the Conference for Inept Mothers? Because really, I just completely do not instinctively know these kinds of things. Mom, do you have this tid-bit of information in the Rules of Motherhood manual that you are still writing for me? I do hope to get that before I am a grandmother, by-the-way.

These little bits of information are what sometimes make me question my credentials for this position entirely. Certainly if it was an isolated incident and I could honestly say that I am rarely ever surprised with new information on better mothering techniques, I would not be alarmed by something as insignificant as old spices in my cupboard. But I am surprised on a regular basis.

I will admit that once I heard about the shelf life of my spices I became slightly alarmed. What had I been doing to my family? Thank heaven for GOOGLE. I was able to learn all sorts of interesting information and also able to reassure myself that I had not been unknowingly poisoning my family over the past five years. Old spices will simply lose their potency. That is not so shocking, I guess. Don't we all with age?

I would rather

I would rather have my helpfulness go unnoticed, than my lack thereof be recognized.

I would rather upset my child with discipline, than feel his affection falsely.

I would rather be considered naive, than to believe that people are evil.

I would rather spend my money with the ones I love, than save it for the unknown.

I would rather sing out of tune, than live a life without rejoicing.

I would rather go without some frivolities now, so that I can be frivolous with my time.

I would rather state my opinion and be challenged, than silently wonder if I am right.

I would rather adhere to a faith in this lifetime and be wrong, than find out in the next the error in my adherence to none.

I would rather pull my children to church on Sunday unwillingly, than allow them to willingly become ungrateful.

I would rather protect the unborn, than defend my rights as a woman.

I would rather be scolded for over-parenting, than laughed at for my laziness.

I would rather defend someones character and be wrong, than spread rumors and and be wrong.

I would rather give my kids poverty and peace, than wealth and selfishness.

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Is it working lunch?

A working lunch means two entirely different things to those in the normal work force and those of us in the home service industry.

My husband's idea of a working lunch:

A meeting scheduled with other working types over the noon hour at a food service locale, in which discussion will focus on a certain topic related to their field, and food of their choosing will be served and cleaned up by an unknown waitress.

My husband's idea of a preferred lunch:

Driving home and spending about 50 minutes in the comfort of his home, eating a lunch prepared and served by his wife (albeit nothing spectacular).

My idea of a working lunch:

*See above description of husband's preferred lunch.

My idea of a preferred lunch:

*See above description of husband's working lunch.

A prom I wouldn't miss

My dislike for prom in general is minimal compared to the great love and admiration that I hold for these two girls, and their mom, for that matter.

The distemper of the weather here in the upper Northern region forced the postponement of the scheduled Friday night prom due to the blowing and dumping of 10-15 inches of snow and led to a less then conventional Sunday night gathering.

Girls, you looked amazing. And although you were stunning in appearance your outward beauty dims in comparison to the great beauty of Christ within you both. I am so proud of you both and the choices that you make and the life that you live.

untitled

i watched her walk in

and sit quietly beside the rest

i watched her shoulders drooping lowly

her eyes reddened and downcast



i wondered as she sat there

what thoughts consumed her mind

i wondered what pain she was feeling

as her heart tried to rewind



thoughts of future deficits

or thoughts of times shared

thoughts of what will be missed

or thoughts of how she cared



certainly thoughts of God's plan

and what He means to make

of this life that now rests in Him

even if it causes great heart ache



i look across at the face of my own

the face of the one who bore me

a tear rolls down my cheek as i ponder

without her what would my life be

my friend now walks out

with the stain of grief in her eyes

is peace also there

deep within her does it lie



joy and sorrow

coming and going

losses and winnings

uncertainty and knowing



each morning the sun rises

each day will be made new

we know not how it will end

but that it will is true



we were not made to be here

we were not created to remain

temporary is our earthly home

eternal life is why He came



rest my friend

rest in His love

know that while you are

your mother is also above

Picking a zip code

Nicholas unexpectedly delivered this news to me:

"Mom, I definitely know where I want to live when I grow up and get married."

Surprised that he would even mention marriage, as becoming a professional football player consumes most of his future planning, I replied, "You do? Where?"

"Here. In Mytown (replaced actual town)."

Assuming that he chose this because of his desire to be close to mom and dad, I encouraged him with, "There are a lot of great places in this beautiful country to live Nic, but dad and I would love it if you lived somewhere near us. But what about your wife, she may not want to live here."

"Yeah, I guess we might live somewhere else. But no where far away...definitely not Nebraska." (don't be alarmed Nebraskans, we are not preaching a hate for your state in our home. not sure where that came from...distance, i think he was going for distance.)

At this point Olivia decided to stake her claim to a piece of land for her adulthood and chimed in with, "Maybe I'll live in New York City!" (a girl after my own heart)

"Really? I would love to come and visit you there."

"Or, maybe Sioux Falls," she concluded.

Well, either way it looks like good shopping will find me while visiting my daughter, and my son will definitely be no farther than Nebraska.

One last hoorah!

While our kids were being pampered, indulged, and all around made to feel special, Chad and I were able to get in one last ski outing before the season ended.

Aunt Barb, Grandpa and Grandma, and our dear friends, the Thyen's, all pitched in to provide a special weekend for the kids, as we headed out to the Black Hills for the last weekend of skiing at Terry Peak. Our main purpose in going was not just to get in another day of skiing, but to have the opportunity to ski with Chad's parents, who were already out in Deadwood for a Polka Fest. As part of a very last minute decision on our part, we decided to call up some local friends to offer the ride and ski time to them as well.

Because of the nature of our moody weather system, we were completely unable to plan this trip until two days before we actually left. On our drive out it was 57 degrees. I was wearing a t-shirt and sandals, all the while questioning how there could possibly be the snow on Terry Peak that their website claimed. Added to the sunshine was a 60% chance of RAIN on Saturday, our day for skiing. It was not looking promising.

In the end, it was a glorious day for skiing. We were able to spend time outdoors in recreation with family and friends. Nothing is more glorious than riding on a chair lift and looking across the hills covered in snow and feeling the warmth of sunshine on your cheeks. It is such a good thing.

In addition to a great day of skiing, we enjoyed the opportunity to watch Jim and Joyce in their element. Dancing. They even managed to pull us in for a few trips around the dance floor. All in all, it was a fabulous send off to Old Man Winter, who took the opportunity to flex his grumpy old muscles one last time on Saturday night by dumping six inches of fresh snow on us.

We see this as one of our last solo skiing excursions, as we plan to teach the kids in the upcoming seasons. We are so excited to share something so exhilarating and fun with them.

Thank you very much to those of you who made it possible for us to have such a great weekend. Your kindness is the reason we feel so enormously blessed.

Things are different when daddy's not around

When daddy is gone, life is different here at Castle de' la Comes.

The kids attempt to use the mommy as a human trampoline and launching device. But much to their dismay, mommy does not react with the same vim and vigor to such activities as the daddy.

The coffee pot sits remarkably lonely on the counter, going unused for the day, as making a pot of coffee that will not be shared, spoils half of the pleasure it brings.

Mealtime becomes more of a cafe than a round table of shared laughter and love, as two hands--without the help of the daddy's, preparing and serving, make more of a waitress than a mommy.

Bath time becomes all business and no play as the mommy attempts to round them up, throw them in, and clean them, knowing that she has four bodies to ready for bed without the help of a partner.

Bedtime prayers are shortened to simplify the moment, as the mommy struggles to keep even the youngest members of the family silent and still, leaving the eldest longing for the time usually spent in quiet reflection with the daddy.

Slipping into bed does not signify the end, the finale of a long day, when the daddy is away. Instead, the mommy gently removes the toddler from her now sweating arm and rolls him softly towards the oldest, who is laying in the spot his daddy usually owns.

The mommy, although unable usually to admit her need for help, says a prayer of thankfulness when the morning sun arises on the day that daddy returns.

Blame it on the school.

As part of the crummy sickness that has weeded its way through my home, headaches were just one of the many uncomfortable symptoms.

Olivia, being a girl and naturally not prone to exaggerate her symptoms, was beat down pretty badly by the whole bug. But like a trooper, usually kept quiet about it and just lied down with her blankie to rest. I came to sit beside her on the couch to try and get some idea of what she was feeling.

After asking her if she was feeling cold, hot, achy, had an upset tummy, sore throat or cough, I was pretty sure that she indeed had what most of us had already experienced. She weakly said, "Mom, my head hurts."

"Oh, you have a headache honey?", I questioned. "Yes." She replied, "It's because of school. Because my brain is getting too big."

Leap of Faith

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